COLD FEET
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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Rurouni Kenshin, Makimachi Misao, Saitou Hajime, or Saitou Hajime's ass.
The premise for this one is simple: the idea is that all of the Saitou-Misao blanket scenario fanfics ever written are simultaneously true in the RK universe.
If you've written a Saitou-Misao blanket fic... don't think of this as parody, think of it as an homage.
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Why does this always happen? Misao found herself wondering once again.
Why do I keep finding myself stranded in this abandoned cabin? In the middle of a blizzard? Huddled under a blanket with Saitou Hajime?
It's like a bad dream. Misao glanced over her shoulder at Saitou, who was lying on his side behind her, eyes closed, the warmth of his breath tickling the chilled skin of her exposed shoulder. Saitou's not a bad dream. He's a nightmare.
A nightmare with an ass to die for.
Misao sighed. It's like I'm trapped in a series of fanfics whose authors can't think of a better way to get me in the sack with the Wolf of Mibu.
Maybe I should listen to Jiya when he complains that he can tell a snowstorm is coming because that old knee injury of his is acting up.
Maybe I should take the time to make a girl friend or two so that I'll have a warm place to run to the next time I realize that Aoshi is never going to like me that way.
Maybe I should stop wearing shorts when it's ten degrees below freezing outside.
The gruff, amber-orbed, very naked cop lying next to her eyed Misao's shoulder with barely-suppressed lust and pressed his warm body more snugly against her, while still somehow carefully managing to avoid touching her in any way that might be construed as being anything other than an attempt to save her from impending death by hypothermia.
Saitou. He's saved me from freezing to death...what? 20 or 30 times? It was kind of weird, actually, how he always seemed to be in Kyoto during the worst blizzard of the year. Every winter, he'd be working on a case in the forests outside of town, slogging through snow drifts as deep as his heavily-muscled thighs. He'd find her lying in the snow, unconscious and shivering, her lips turning blue and her hands and feet numb.
Saitou always found her after she'd succumbed to the cold, but before she'd been exposed long enough to suffer frostbite or any other serious damage. Then he'd heft her over one strong blue-clad shoulder, carry her to this same abandoned cabin, strip off her wet clothes and try to warm her up with his own body heat.
Why does he keep doing it?
A wry voice in her head suggested a possible answer to the indecipherable conundrum that was Saitou Hajime. It probably helps that you fuck him after you wake up.
Misao wondered what kind of case Saitou was working on that brought him out here in the middle of nowhere every winter, and what evidence he was expecting to find buried under the snowdrifts where Misao inevitably passed out.
Come to think of it, didn't Saitou mention something last year about planning his vacation time so he could come to Kyoto to play in the snow? And hadn't she overheard him saying to Aoshi-sama last week that he'd bought a little cabin in the woods out here?
Misao shrugged, forgetting that she was having a conversation with herself, and that unless there was a mirror somewhere in this hovel, she had no way of seeing the shrug.
It's probably just a coincidence.
The cabin was small and dusty from disuse -- it looked like it hadn't been lived in for years. But there was always a half-burned candle lying around, and the lumpy old futon with one blanket. Really, the blanket was intended for one person, which meant that, if she wanted to stay warm, she had to snuggle up pretty close to Saitou.
She rolled over to face Saitou, who gallantly kept his hands to himself while she settled her nubile goosebump-covered body closer to him. He smirked at her with his trademark 'Love Me, I'm a Bad Boy' smirk(TM). "Your feet are freezing, Weasel."
"I hate it when you call me 'Weasel!'" she snapped.
"What's your point, Weasel?" Saitou smirked snidely (and alliteratively).
God, it turns me on when he talks like that. Misao hoped that he would think her shiver of arousal merely a reaction to the chill in the air. He sounds so sexy. So masculine. So delightfully irritable.
"Are you shivering with arousal, or are you just cold?" Saitou asked, his mesmerizing amber eyes flickering along with the candle flame. He tucked the blanket up under her chin, the gesture simultaneously tender and sarcastic, and his out-of-character niceness caused desire to flare through her belly. Either that, the ohagi I ate for lunch were a little on the old side. Indulging in some OOCness of her own, Misao leaned forward and kissed him. He responded ardently, claiming her lips with his own, the smirk(TM) never wavering.
"Wow, you can kiss and smirk at the same time?" Misao was so impressed that she forgot it's impossible to speak intelligibly when you've got your tongue down someone else's throat. "You are good."
Saitou, who heard "Mmmmph hnnnnn mmmmmm mmmphm hnnn,' took charge of the situation with a point-of-view change, and broke the kiss reluctantly. "What?"
Misao blushed, appalled at her own lack of modesty, an emotion that should not have been mentioned at this point in the text, because the point-of-view was now firmly in Saitou's powerful grasp, along with Misao's perky 16-year old left nipple. It's a good thing that Meiji-era Japanese women are considered sexually- mature and of marriageable age at 16, he mused. If we were in America in the 21st century, Misao would be jailbait and I'd have to arrest myself for gently caressing her breasts like this.
Saitou positioned himself over her, raining soft, fluttery kisses on Misao's breasts. Should I let him do that? He lapped at her nipple with the flat of his tongue, sending a warm tingle down her spine.
On the other hand -- Misao reasoned, using the part of her brain that had thought it would be a good idea to fall in love with Aoshi, a man who paid more attention to his hair than to her -- sex that results from a noble attempt to save someone's life by warming them with your own body heat doesn't really count, does it?
So technically, I'm still a virgin...
She moaned, arching her back in pleasure. "Wait... Saitou..." Misao gasped. "Aren't you married? What about Tokio?"
"She left me." Saitou allowed a haunted look to pass across his features briefly before he resumed swirling his tongue around Misao's erect nipple.
"Last time you said she died."
"Yes." He moved to the other nipple and began suckling in a way which suggested to Misao that, although he was enjoying her breasts immensely, he was definitely haunted by the departure and subsequent death of his dear wife. "She left me and then she died."
"Oh," Misao breathed, her eyes filling with tears of sympathy. "I guess it's okay for us to do it, then."
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After several more hours of ensuring that Misao would not, in fact, freeze to death, Saitou got up out of the futon and began to get dressed. In spite of the fact that his clothes had been soaked when he'd taken them off and that they'd been draped over the back of a chair all night in an unheated cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, they were completely dry. Thank you, laws of anime physics, he smirked gratefully.
Misao interrupted his thoughts. "Saitou... what about us? We have a relationship now. Right?"
"Of course we do, Weasel." He kissed the top of her head. "It's just that you'll be having your half of the relationship here in Kyoto, and I'll be having my half back in Tokyo."
"The snow seems to have stopped. Want to come back to the Aoiya with me for dinner?" Misao asked hopefully.
"I can't, Weasel." Saitou tousled her hair in a final display of OOC affection. "It's a week's walk back to Tokyo and I promised Sano that I'd tie him up and drip hot wax all over his balls." He winked at her, and Misao blushed, even though her training as a member of the Oniwabanshu had led her to think of hot wax on genitalia as a technique more suited to the interrogation room than the bedroom.
"Oh...!" she gasped. "You found about... Sano and Kenshin?"
"You mean Sano and Megumi."
"Right," Misao replied quickly, using her years of ninja training to cover the slip. "Sano and Megumi." She thought for a moment. "What's the occasion?"
"It's Sano's birthday." Saitou smirked hungrily at the thought of chaining the rooster-headed street fighter to his desk and slapping the younger man's tender buttocks with the week's worth of unfinished paperwork that was doubtless awaiting his return. And then the hot wax... Yowie, but that's going to be fun!
"But...but, Saitou..." Misao's lower lip began to tremble. "What about me?"
"You don't have balls, Misao." Saitou extinguished the candle that had been burning on the table, dumped out the molten wax that was still pooled at the top, and shoved it into the chest pocket of his uniform shirt. Then he smirked cheerfully and waved goodbye to the green-eyed, raven-haired ninja.
"See you next winter, Weasel!"