A/N: IMPORTANT NOTICE! This is based off the LIVE ACTION Rurouni kenshin/AKA Movie-verse! I really wish they'd spent a little more time on the Aoshi/Misao dynamic. I really liked these characters more, compared to the anime, so here's my take on what 'might' have happened off-screen!
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Thoughts/flashback
'Dreams'
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SPOILERS AHEAD!
《》
Warmth
Rebirth
《》
(Flashback…)
"If you desire to take revenge for okina's death, then do it.
I don't need your pity.
Kill me."
The tiny woman dropped softly to her knees, turning slowly in his direction – one part of her was determined to get through to him, while the other part wanted to flee as far from him as possible; in the end, "…actually…" she began carefully, "…I think I'll let you live; I think, if Himura can change…then maybe you can change too. I'm sure of it."
He turned away from her, unable to bear the look of pain and betrayal mixed with pity in her eyes.
At the sound of the broken man's soft sobs, Misao took her leave, hesitating for only a fraction of a moment – wanting to reach out to him, yet thinking better of it – before she reluctantly left the room, leaving Aoshi Shinomori alone with his grief.
《》
When they buried Okina, Misao wept silently; the tears fell, but the tiny Omnitsū uttered not a sound, nor a word to any of the Oniwaban members; he'd never seen her this still before…this subdued. Her eyes never met his for longer than the span of a breath, and the only emotion he could detect was sorrow and something alike disappointment.
Her gaze would flicker away in the next instant, and he found himself loathingher reticence (a distant Misao was uncharted territory) and wishingshe'd just hate him.
.
When he made the decision to rush to Himura's aid against Shishio, Misao was the first face he saw when they finally returned to the shore once more.
"Aoshi-sama!" she'd cried out and rushed to his side; he was surprised when she touched him so willingly as she slung his arm over her shoulders, baring a good bit of his weight against her side. This time when her eyes met his, it was chastisement that greeted him in her stare – well, he had still been recovering from his fight with Himura when he'd rushed off brashly, in an attempt to regain some shred of his honor – but there was also a sliver of pride hidden beneath the layers of mystery in those dark eyes of hers…
. . . It was then that he recognized Misao's intent was understanding and forgiveness; her maturity and wisdom had increased in his absence, beyond what he'd ever expected.
She may be sixteen. . . But the one who walked steadily at his side, lending her strength, was no child – she was a woman.
.
.
When they bid Himura and his friends farewell, the two Oniwabanshū returned to the Aoiya, and yet again, Misao's demeanor towards him changed; once more, her quietness was an anomaly that unnerved him, as she moved about him in a careful, deliberate manner, like she was intentionally forbidding herself from entering his sphere of existence.
Aoshi was mystified; had she treated him with outright scorn and disgust, he would have understood, even welcomed her righteous condemnation. . .yet not once since the death of Okina, had Aoshi ever sensed judgement from Misao.
Shock, pain,
Disbelief, betrayal and yes, keen disappointment. . .
but never had she condemned or judged his actions. She took the man for what he was – disillusioned, and unveiled of her belief in his deification – in all his flawed, broken, humanity.
So. She didn't hate him, that much was clear. Yet, she was cautious around him. Conscious and aware of the way she moved in whatever space he occupied, and as maddening as her chatterbox, jittery ways had been, Aoshi found himself preferring that, to this newer, quieter version of her that was a complete stranger; he had no idea how to approach her this way, and he was left floundering for what to do.
.
.
.
Days passed, turning to weeks, and one evening, things were much the same; while Aoshi sat at his desk listlessly mulling over a few documents, Misao appeared dressed in a soft baby blue yukata, hair un-braided down her back, with his evening meal in hand. She entered carefully, minimizing the disturbance of her movements as she dropped softly to kneel and shuffled across the floor to lay his tray of food upon the Kotatsu.
"Your dinner; please eat, Aoshi-sama." She spoke softly, then withdrew, hands clasping together and pressing into her lap as she rocked fluidly to her feet.
She was turning towards the door when the brooding man voiced in a deep murmur, "are you regretting your decision to let me live?"
This question blindsided her, and Misao stumbled a bit, catching herself at the last second before turning wide eyes upon the usually silent man.
"I – no. We've been apart for m-many years, Aoshi-sama but – " she licked her lips, then steadied herself and stood a little straighter, leveling him with a straightforward stare, "you should still know me well enough to know that I don't live with regret. Every decision I make, is with both eyes open."
"Hm. As Hann'ya once taught you." He mused offhandedly.
"However, your reasoning is partly incorrect; when you say I should – 'know you well enough' – I don't. And I think we both know it. Why else would you be so – " in this moment, the Okashira's eyes darkened with a peculiar look as his gaze swept her form upwards, dark eyes narrowing in upon the curvature of her figure in a way that wasn't suggestive, yet not altogether innocent either.
The novelty in his expression unnerved her and she shifted upon her feet. "I see. Maybe it is somewhat - w-wishful thinking." She began timidly.
"What is?" He asked.
Her eyes flickered up to his, surprise evident in her gaze.
His remained steady, settling on her round face which had become less cherubic and more womanly since the last time they'd met.
When was the last time he'd laid eyes on her anyway. . .?
Another scuffle of her Zori upon the floor. "Just that – uh . . ."
Aoshi watched her carefully, his head tilting as he waited for her response with keen, focused eyes
For a moment, Misao's words were frozen as she was suddenly caught in that dark studying gaze of his.
For all the years she'd known him, Aoshi was a deeply serious man, contemplative and deliberate. He spoke little, which leant a weightier meaning to the words he chose to utter, and his loyalties were steadfast and unquestionable.
It's why his betrayal of Okina and by extension, the Oniwabanshū, had shaken her so completely; he'd thrown away everything he'd always stood for – all he had taught her – for the sake of being named the strongest.
She understood it was his grief that drove him; the death of his comrades – his family – was the catalyst for his thirsting revenge. . .
Even so, her understanding hadn't lessened the emotional burden she still bore; the burden that the man she'd admired, the man she fought for and loved. . .was not the same person she'd thought he was.
In this, Misao was greatly conflicted, and the warring of her heart and mind, caused her to keep her distance.
.
.
Her wandering thoughts returned to the present as movement entered her vision; Aoshi had risen from his seated position and now stood across from her with eyes more intensely focused then she'd seen in years; there had always been pain shuttered behind a dull rage, or simply cold indifference.
The look in his eyes now – was concentrated. Curious.
"You're no longer a child," he said at length; she startled at his words.
"You may not hate me for what I've done, but your resentment is justified. There's no need for you to hide it. Don't be cowardly; speak to me as I am. You are a woman now, Misao. A Kunoichi of the Oniwabanshū,"
"Why?" she whispered suddenly. His words stilled, gaze catching upon the quiver in her chin, and then his eyes snapped up to her dark orbs just as they filled with tears.
Something about the fragility in her face, struck a nerve in Aoshi, and his lips parted when she uttered brokenly, "Why did you have to come back? W-Why did you – why did you have to kill him. . .? He was weak Aoshi-sama, he n-never could've –! "
Any further words from her were lost in the broken sob that racked her tiny frame.
She brought a forearm to her lips, smothering the sound of her cries, and Aoshi was struck with sudden déjà vu at the gesture – as a little girl, Misao had always fought to be brave, and crying was a vulnerability she'd loathed. Whenever it overcame her, she'd hide it behind her arm, just like now; like the child, the woman braced against the emotional onslaught, refusing to expose her pain to anyone – especially him.
Though her grief over Okina's death at his hands, was a painful strike of guilt upon him, her words 'why did you have to come back?' were like a bucket of white-hot acid being poured down his throat.
He'd expected her disdain. . .never anticipating the excruciating pain her rejection would bring him.
"So it is true. You wish I'd died after all; perhaps Shishio was an opportunity that you'd hoped would finish me; that he would deliver the final blow, thus inadvertently granting your desire for vengeance – "
"You – !"
"I told you to take your revenge, did I not?!" He cut in sharply, face darkening into a sneer, before Misao rushed at him shrieking and slapped him once, then twice, stunning the man to silence.
When he'd attacked Himura, the shuriken to his back, had been her valiant attempt to aid the redheaded rurouni, and Aoshi hadn't been surprised nor really affected, by her attack.
. . .but this was the first time Misao had ever laid her hands on him to do him harm. He was struck with the sting of an altogether different kind of betrayal.
But her next words sent him hurdling over the proverbial precipice as she glared up at him with tear-stained cheeks and eyes lit with fury, screaming, "I loved you, you stupid, insufferable, idiot! I wanted you home, b-but all you cared about was your stupid revenge; you didn't even stop and think what Hann'ya and the others would've f-felt; seeing their precious leader throwing his life away, for what?! WHAT?!"
Some time between her slapping him and the start of her screaming, Misao had crossed into his personal space and now, the woman pummeled him violently with her fists, her cries hysterically echoing in the space around them as she kept repeating 'why, why! I loved you; why? how could you?!'
For the first time in ten years, tears burned in Aoshi's eyes as he helplessly held her wrists in both hands – not to save himself from her blows, but for fear shewould only hurt herself – and words tumbled from his lips in broken murmurs. "I'm sorry. I – I'm sorry, Misao - it's all my fault; please – please don't cry, I – "
Suddenly, the door of the room slid open and the others rushed in.
Aoshi clenched his jaw and addressed them, "She was confronting me regarding – Okina-sama's death; she's upset, so please – take care of her. Omasu,"
The pudgy motherly woman shuffled forward, taking the girl from his outstretched hands and baring the distraught Misao against her bosom, "Of course, Aoshi-sama. Misao, dear, come…"
The others cast wary, furtive glances at their Okashira, before Misao's surprising words drew their attention as she was lead from the room. "Gramps loved Aoshi even in death; you all know that. So please – don't hurt him. He is our Okashira."
Her dark eyes caught Aoshi's just before the thin rice paper door slid back into place; she was beyond his reach.
.
.
.
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In the days that followed, he and the girl did not speak again, and Misao kept mostly to her room. She even took her meals there, though Omasu almost always returned with a despondent frown as she carried an untouched tray of food, back to the kitchen.
Aoshi would look at her expectantly, but the woman would respond with a sad shake of her head; Misao had turned her and everyone else away, as well as Aoshi and the Okashira began agonizing over his mounting worry; if Misao carried on like this for much longer – what could he even do?! He was the cause of all this; certainly there was no power within his hands to fix it!
. . .if only Okina were still here.
The tall Okashira clenched his fists as he strode purposefully through the Kyoto streets on his way back from an errand; no use thinking of that now, he chastised bitterly to himself.
Somewhere, he'd swear the old man cackled at his expense, right then.
A bitter smile curved his mouth as he turned up another street. Damn you, old man – you knew, didn't you. You always did…
Boots scuffed along the dirt road, kicking up a billow of dust as Aoshi passed by a tea house, when the doors to the establishment burst open and out rushed Misao. She was practically unrecognizable, dressed in an expansive silk kimono the color of the ocean, with her hair pinned up in an elegant chignon held fast by a pearl white hair comb and glittering gold senbon.
Her lips were stained a striking red and her eyes lined with a smoky charcoal making them pop, even more so when her dark orbs clashed with his and widened in surprise and horror.
Aoshi was frozen in the street, his eyes fixed upon Misao's in a dead stare that was only broken by another occupant exiting the establishment.
Something in Misao's gaze shifted – the horror changed to dread and suddenly she was rounding on her heel – giving him her back – and addressing the newcomer;
"Just what on earth – " the young gentleman was muttering and appeared somewhat disheveled and red-faced.
"Inoichi-san," Misao called the man, straightening her spine and swallowing down her obvious nervousness, before she spoke in a stronger, steadier tone that was tempered with the manners of an elegant, well-bred woman.
Aoshi had never seen this side of her and he stared in silent fascination.
"My appearance today, was by no means, to insult you; I accepted your invitation to tea as a courtesy, to make myself clear, not as an acquiescence to your proposition."
Proposition?!
Though Aoshi had relinquished his traditional trench coat in favor of a cooler, sleeveless uniform, the Okashira felt the stirrings of anger boiling beneath his skin, causing him to break out in a sweat.
This – this was a marital negotiation meeting.
Someone had soughtMisao's hand in marriage, and as all young women her age, who were members of a reputable clan, she'd been duty-bound to make an appearance and give him her answer.
Logically, he shouldn't be surprised; she was sixteen after all – sixteen, a woman, and – beautiful, talented, breathtaking –
But no logic dictated the turbulent mix of emotions that now surged violently within the Okashira.
His dark eyes sharpened like the points of a kunai and zeroed in upon this intruder who dared think himself worthy enough to seek after the heart of the Gem of Oniwabanshū – Hann'ya's words from long ago, were now a thunderous echo inside his head.
'She's the Gem of the Oniwabanshū; she is our legacy'
" – you hadn't, then why make such a presentation of yourself, when coming to see me?" the boy's tone bristled with irritation and impatience.
With Aoshi at her back, it appeared that Inoichi had Misao's full attention, but she'd sensed a shift in her Okashira's demeanor some time ago; the air around him was thick and sharp with something that tasted like ire. She shivered, knowing that sensation from before; he'd shed Okina's blood that time, and the young woman could only dread what Aoshi might do next.
"I was doing things right, Inoichi-san; your intentions towards me were serious, how could I in good conscience, dishonor that, had I not shown myself and made appropriate preparations?"
The lovely Omnitsū maintained a poised, gracious air, yet inwardly she was on edge, and eager to defuse this situation as soon as possible.
"Please, see reason, Inoichi-san" the woman implored; something in her stance drew Aoshi's gaze away from the snake of a man she spoke to, and his dark eyes raked the length of her form.
Her aura was tense; clearly, she felthis own aura whipping violently about them as he fought to leash his anger, yet she remained poised, confident, self-assured. . .
He felt it then.
A surge of heady emotion, so strong, he went dizzy and blanked out;
Lust.
Want.
So sharp and poignant, he could literally taste the temptation of it on his tongue as he beheld Misao's elegant strength; she was beauty and grace, incarnate; how had he never known this?
Perhaps the answer was all too obvious; he'd been gone for so many years – and she had become only too adept at concealing herself.
"I don't believe you are as immune to my sentiments, as you claim," Inoichi continued haughtily, and he boldly stepped towards her – ignorant or dismissive of Aoshi's presence – and reached out a hand as his expression morphed into a sickening sweetness laced with lascivious intent, "perhaps you just need persuading,"
In a flash, the woman before him had vanished, and his hand grasped thin air, before another figure appeared; tall and imposing, with dark eyes burning a furious inferno, as the owner breathed out a poisonous warning, "your 'persuasion' ends here; dare to touch her, and you will lose a limb – " Aoshi shielded Misao behind him with an arm extended before her, while his other hand flickered to the hilt of his weapon.
The slide of steel unsheathing had Misao's blood run cold and in a thoughtless moment born from desperation, the beautiful omnitsu pressed herself into Aoshi's side, slipped her fingers around his bare corded bicep, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.
All sound and intent ceased; blood rushing in his ears, Aoshi's movements froze – kodachi only partially unsheathed – as he turned his head and his eyes fell upon Misao, lips still lingering against his shoulder in an act that was by far, the single most unexpected counteroffensive.
In their culture, even for a betrothed or married couple, to display such intimacy in public was widely frowned upon; the fact that Aoshi and Misao weren't even technically on speaking terms, let alone 'intimate' only compounded the opprobrious situation. . .
Yet, even knowing this, Aoshi stood immovable, his eyes still transfixed upon Misao who now withdrew until her lips were but a whisper against his skin, "Aoshi. . ." She spoke softly, his given name a confident murmur upon her lips that arrested every one of his senses which had previously, been trained upon the slithering lowlife who now cowered before them, trembling.
". . .you don't need to hurt him; please, if – if Gramps' sacrifice taught you anything at all, just – " her eyes raised, connecting with his, and for the first time since Okina's death, Aoshi caught a hint of her true smile, beneath the sadness that still lingered.
"I didn't come here to acquiesce," Misao reiterated firmly, though it was not clear whether she spoke to Aoshi, as her eyes held his steadily, or to the boy, Inoichi. However, it seemed that Fate had it in mind to decide for them.
"Y-you are – a-ah I see. He's the one you've been promised to." Inoichi voiced, smoothing down his hair and clothes with trembling hands.
Neither Misao nor Aoshi deigned to correct him.
"of course, I – I completely understand, I- p-p-pleaseexcusemyimpudence," he rushed out, and then he was hurrying away as fast as his stumbling feet could carry him.
.
.
.
The pair appeared not to have noticed Inoichi's hasty retreat, as Misao's hand slid down the length of Aoshi's arm and took hold of his hand. Her eyes held his gaze steadily for a moment longer, and then turning, she laced her fingers firmly with his, leading him away.
Still in a daze from the remnants of his anger – and ensnared beneath the spell Misao continued to weave – the Okashira willingly allowed himself to be lead away, the sensation of her hand in his, sending shockwaves of heat coiling up his arm; he felt heady and warm. . .
The other beasthad been unwittingly awakened.
.
.
.
.
When they reached the Aoiya, Misao spoke not a word, as she lead Aoshi through the garden and then around back; the rear entrance would afford them the privacy of entering without an audience and the girl sensed Aoshi's desire for discretion was in line with hers.
When they reached the hall, he noted her hand had not released his for even a moment, and reflexively, his fingers squeezed hers on an impulse.
Misao's breathing hitched.
"In here," she murmured. "It's just about evening rush, so I don't think the others know we're back yet."
She tugged him through the doorway of his own room, and when the door slid closed behind them, Misao's fingers loosened on his, as her eyes watered and her entire being began to tremble. "Shit, I'm sorry Aoshi-sama, I – I d-d-don't even know what to say I – "
"Misao, you don't need to – "
" – just so embarrassed! I mean the guy was acting like a complete fool and I know he made you angry, but I just – "
He caught the edge of her sleeve and tugged her to an abrupt halt.
Catching her chin in the cradle of one hand, the Okashira used his thumb to lift her chin upwards; he stared straight into her eyes and his words were succinct and matter of fact,
"His behavior towards me was of no consequence; the fact that he was insulting you, that he deigned to lay a hand on you; that, I could never condone."
". . .Oh." the girl mumbled, and her eyes dropped to the floor between them; her teeth catching on the corner of her crimson painted lips, drew Aoshi's eyes and again, that surge of heady desire suffused his veins in heat.
Wordlessly, the man dragged the pad of his thumb across her lips, smearing the blood-red color from her mouth.
His touch was brazen and intimate in a way that had Misao's face heating in shame; she felt a coil of something tightening low in her belly.
"Ah - A-A-Aoshi-sama. . .?" the tiny thing squeaked, and the ghost of a smile actually curled his mouth before he uttered in a strangely husky voice, "Yet – that slithering snake was right about one thing – you present yourself. . .as an unwitting temptation. . ."
The pad of his thumb dragged one final smear of red across to the corner of her mouth, seconds before his mouth was catching hers in a kiss that was instant inferno.
Ice cold sluiced her body, chastened by heat as Aoshi's lips moved insistently over hers in a non-verbal demand for her response.
Great heavens!
This moment was all she'd ever dreamed of, yet Misao was on the brink of tipping into a sea of terror as the silent, indifferent Okashira she'd known, feasted upon her lips with a hunger she'd thought long-sated by his 10-year blood crusade.
Where was this – what is this urgency, this passion. . .?
"A-Aoshi – waityou – nono wait – " she attempted to push against him, but then the man's eyes were all she could see as his face filled her vision, and then his lips descended once more at the same time that his hands settled on her waist – no, not her waist, that's not quite – Oh!
Aoshi's hands had strayed to that delectable little backside, and he squeezed, groaning aloud when he felt her shiver and gasp against his mouth.
He was being driven by pure, raw instinct, but it wasn't just mindless; it was her. Misao. Everything about her, her scent, her presence, her voice – the taste and feel of her – all drove Aoshi to one singular, purposeful goal; take. Want. More. . . Mine. . .
'When you have found what you are lacking; when you find that 'something' that's worth fighting for. . . I'll be more than happy to be your opponent.'
The words Himura had spoken to him that day, had been a maddening riddle of defeat that had plagued and tortured his mind. . . Only now, did he truly, fully understand what it was Battousai had meant.
'She's the Gem. The legacy. No, not just that - she's more to me now; she's the reason and purpose, I am driven to protect, to fight, to claim. . .
. . . She's the 'everything' where there was once emptiness. . .'
". . .Still, Woman," the man commanded breathless; then, he released her mouth, his dark piercing eyes gentle, as he whispered, "the day I bade you to speak to me as I am, you reproached me for my failure against Okina. . .and then, you said you loved me."
Unable to escape his captive gaze, Misao was forced to bare her furious blush before his eyes; but she held true to her vow – 'live with no regret, and with both eyes open' – and gazed back at her Okashira with equally unflinching eyes, "Yes." Her answer was a soft unwavering whisper.
". . .To condemn me – "
"No, I could never – " the girl protested.
He held up a hand; she closed her mouth, though he detected the trace of defiance that lingered in her eyes, and again, his lips curled in a grin.
" – you were right in doing so; to condemn me. But then to love me, all in the same sentence. . .I never expected it."
"You talk like you had no clue; come on, Aoshi-sama. Everyone knew, you can't tell me you didn't even suspect?"
"I did," He admitted. But then his expression overshadowed, and he drew out the next words as though they were painful instruments inflicting wounds upon his body, "but I denied it. I knew I would only – I could offer you nothing but pain, anger and bloodshed. You were always so bright and pure, I didn't want – "
The tiny woman surged up on tiptoe and caught him in a kiss this time. When she withdrew, his eyes were a dead-stare, face shrouded in disbelief.
"I never wanted to be 'pure'," the tiny woman voiced shakily; their eyes simultaneously connected, and Misao couldn't bear the concealed intensity within his gaze. Bowing her head, she rested her forehead against his chest and the sudden urge to cry had tears burning at the corners of her eyes. "I – I j-just wanted you. . ."
Her admission astonished him and a fresh wave of emotion slammed into him leaving an unearthly heaviness within his heart; "Misao,"
Her broken sob was unexpected, even more so when she suddenly backed away from him. "I'm s-s-sorry, but – I can't seem to keep it together right now, I – shit, I d-don't know why this hurts so much!" and then the tears were coming faster until Misao was on her knees, face buried in her hands, weeping like a child.
The sight of her breaking apart was too much for him to bear, and crossing the room, Aoshi knelt before her and swept her trembling form into his arms.
There was a sudden knock, "Aoshi-sama? Misao, is – we can hear her, is she al – "
"Leave us!" the Okashira snapped. He knew some of the members had difficulty trusting him and while he didn't blame them, he simply had no desire or patience to deal with their misgivings right now.
"…forgive me, Aoshi-sama but – I won't leave until I hear it from Misao's own lips that she's alright."
The man grit his teeth, but then he felt Misao's head shifting where he held it cradled against his chest and he softened his hold enough for her to speak, "I'm - I'm okay, Omasu," the girl sniffled, "I'm just – upset over Gramps so please, please just leave us be, alright? T-Tell the others too."
With that, Misao spoke no further and returned to resting in Aoshi's arms as all the stress and grief built up through the years, came pouring out of her at last.
". . . Very well. . ." Omasu relented, and once more they were left alone as night had fallen, wrapping the Aoiya and it's inhabitants in it's sheltering embraced.
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.
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They spent that night together; when the bulk of Misao's grief was quieted, Aoshi slipped from the room and brought her a fresh set of clothes. As she dressed, the Okashira slipped off to the kitchen and returned moments later with a large tray of rice, miso, fried salmon and green tea.
Upon reentering, he discovered Misao lingering by the open window, dressed for sleep, her arms loosely folded and her hair down, save for one stray senbon she'd missed.
Setting the tray upon the Kotatsu, the man pulled out an extra futon and settled it right next to his own. Satisfied, he called to her with an outstretched hand, "Come. You need to eat."
When her head slowly turned and she looked at him, the traces of sorrow and exhaustion lurking within her gaze, broke his heart.
She'd been through so much. . .
He'd put her through most of it.
Standing to his feet, he crossed to her, reaching out his hand to rest on her shoulder. "Misao. . .you need to eat, " he reiterated as his other hand came up to gently comb through her hair, freeing the forgotten senbon.
She reluctantly allowed herself to be turned from the window; she couldn't explain how she felt such happiness in Aoshi's presence and affection, and yet such sorrow still weighed heavily upon her heart.
Loving this man had been her lifelong endeavor; it was not a choice, yet feeling it now, truly drained the strength from her bones.
". . .I'm not all that hungry, Aoshi-sama,"
"Mm-mm," The man shook his head as he dropped a kiss to her forehead; he was rewarded with a dusting of red across her cheeks. "I am nothing but 'Aoshi' to you. And I did not ask you if you were hungry. Misao. . ."
She lifted her eyes to his and when met with the guilt and worry masked beneath a harsher expression, the Omnitsū actually smiled a little. "What's that look for?" she asked teasingly, but was surprised by his answer,
"Let me take care of you. Let me heal you. . ." One of his arms came around her then while he cradled her cheek and pressed a lingering kiss to her temple.
That coil of heat returned to her belly, and Misao inhaled shakily, savoring the warmth it provided.
She wanted that warmth – his warmth – everywhere.
"I don't – want to eat r-right now," She whispered, leaning into his touch. "I just want to be warm." Her arms snaked around his middle and she held him to her as she pressed back against his lips which were questing a feather-light trail across her forehead and down the bridge of her nose.
"Are you cold?" the Okashira asked, brows furrowing in concern when he looked down at her.
But the look in her eyes was completely unexpected, and Aoshi went a little breathless.
"Mm-hmm, I'm cold." she affirmed, then looked deeply into his eyes as she murmured, "I want to be warm; just make me warm, Aoshi. Please. . ."
A single chord of restraint snapped, and the man tugged her harshly against him – his body beginning to tremble – muttering darkly, "You don't – even know what your are truly saying; even so, I will take you at your word, whether you know what you are asking, or not."
Bringing his mouth within a breath of hers, he murmured a warning, "despite what you want to believe, I am not like Himura, Misao; I am not 'good.' I will kill anyone who may seek to harm this family – to harm you. And when you tell me – to 'make you warm' I will do it in every possible way; I will embrace you as a man embraces a woman he means to have for himself. I won't stop. I won't hold back."
He searched her eyes for any indication that she did not understand, or that she was afraid.
All he found was trust and acceptance in her gaze.
" 'good' does not equate 'purity' or perfection, Aoshi. Mr. Himura was Battousai the Killsword; he lost his purity a long time ago. Yet we both know he's a good person. Why? Because of his intentions. See? And I know you. I don't expect you to make some vow to never kill; that isn't you," she emphasizes this by pressing her hand over his heart. "You are 'Aoshi Shinomori', leader of the Oniwabanshū – and the man I love. The fact that you will kill, is something I've long accepted, because I know you do it to protect."
Her words were healing in the most inexplicably painful of ways; it was like tearing open every one of his festering wounds, and pouring salve into them, just so she could put the broken pieces of him back together.
Tears burned at his eyes, and Misao saw them, her own eyes widening in wonder.
"As for – the rest of it; I get that you've known me since I was a kid, but - I'm sixteen, Aoshi; I'm not that child anymore. I'm not naïve. . ."
The hand over his heart, shifted upwards until she was cradling his cheek as she spoke whisper-softly, "I know what I'm asking. It m-might scare me a little but – that doesn't matter because it's you, a-and I want you, so - !"
Unwilling to wait a second longer, the man caught her in a heady kiss just before sweeping her up into his arms. He carried her to the futon – the food he'd brought for both of them, all but forgotten – and cradled her in his lap.
Facing him and still wrapped in his arms, Misao held fast to his shoulders as he settled seiza-style upon the futon. For a moment, she felt awkward essentially kneeling atop his knees, but then the man curled strong hands at the back of her knees and applied pressure. She gasped when her legs came apart almost reflexively, and her face flooded with heat as she dropped down into his lap, straddling him.
The Okashira caught the hitch in her breath as well as her wide eyes and reddening face, and he actually smirked. "You say you 'understand', yet you are overcome with embarrassment to be held like this." He shook his head ruefully.
What Aoshi couldn't know was that heat was flooding her core and now, Misao could feel a traitorous moisture gathering between her thighs – right where she was pressed against him.
'Oh g-gods this is mortifyin'! W-W-What do I do if he notices?!'
She didn't get the chance to decide; with a strong arm banded around her waist, Aoshi pulled her flush against his body and then kissed her. He'd been right in his previous warning; he did not hold back. His tongue traced the seam of her lips and when she gasped, startled by the sensation, he delved into her mouth, licking and prodding her flavor insistently.
The feel of his mouth on her – in her own, so intimately – was far too much for the very-much-innocent Omnitsū, and a gush of slick between her thighs had her going rigid and half-struggling to get away from him.
But Aoshi had already taken note of her arousal; the woman had fought valiantly to hide it, yet he'd practically tasted her desire the moment he'd had her in his arms.
"Ahh. . .A-Aoshi, letmego," the little thing whimpered in embarrassment, but he refused.
"No. I told you. Besides, your struggling is unnecessary. . .your body's call to me is natural, and you shouldn't feel ashamed."
Squeezing her eyes shut against the fresh wave of mortification, Misao went mostly limp in his arms, her hands clenching to fists where they rested on his shoulders, "B-But. . .it's weird and – it might get o-on you and – well I don't w-wantyoutobedisgusted."
The man stilled briefly, pulled back and practically gaped at her (though, Aoshi-sama does not 'gape'). "You really are clueless aren't you." He stated plainly.
When she pouted indignantly, the man tangled fingers in her hair and pulled her down roughly to meet his lips.
His mouth bruised hers and his arms crushed her lithe delicate body against the hard planes of his own, "Do you have any idea how absurd that is?" he rasped, dragging his lips along her jawline, then down the column of her throat, licking and biting into her flesh as he went.
She'd doubtlessly bear his mark for days, afterwards. . .
Every ministration had Misao convulsing, shivering and desperately trying to smother the moans his fiery touch dragged from her throat; she failed miserably.
Not only that, but her desire only gushed more abundantly, till Aoshi could feel the wetness of her slick soaking through his pant leg. "There is – nothing disgusting about your essence, Misao,"
She gasped when he named it so boldly, cowering in her instinctive reaction to hide away from such coarse, intimate language; yet her body continued to betray her, shivering and breaking out in heated goosebumps, till the man snared her earlobe between his teeth, bit down and whispered huskily, "What I wouldn't give to have your essence saturating my clothes. To have your slick pouring into my hand – "
The woman's eyes rounded in abject horror, "Aoshi, no!" She half-shrieked, scandalized, but her Okashira would not heed her cries (her body sang with each erotic word he spoke, spurring him on).
" – yes. And I would gladly taste that honeyed nectar of yours, on my tongue,"
At that admission, the woman in his arms fought him, blubbering and stuttering in profound embarrassment, until she was forced nose-to-nose with her soon-to-be lover, who landed his final blow, "Iwill lay you bare – spread out on my bed like the tantalizing feast that you are. And I will taste every. Last. Inch of you. I want your flavor on my tongue – for days, Misao. . ." Aoshi declared passionately, caging her in his arms and snaring her lips in an open-mouthed kiss, as if to prove the truth of his seductive promises.
As his tongue swept into her cavern, tasting hers, Misao could've died right then; her underclothes were soaked through, and the last shred of her 'dignity' unsalvageable.
"P-P-Please - st-o-op, Aoshi. I – I s-swear I'll faint if you keep talkin' like that!"
"You like it." He countered; he kissed behind her ear and her hips gave a stuttering jerk against his.
His dark eyes dilated, heating to an inferno of limitless desire, "See? Your mouth may say 'no' but it's just your shyness. Your innocence is normal – make no mistake, I treasure it; I want to be your first and only – "
"You are, oh – shit, gods you've - g-got me talking all crazy t-t-too, oh no!"
He'd distracted her and nudging her chin up with his nose, the man was suckling at the tender place where neck and shoulder joined. So many clusters of nerve endings lived there, and Misao was particularly responsive when he'd alternate between sharp little nips paired with a strong vigorous lick over the teeth marks.
Something was building inside of her; that coil of warmth had morphed into a blaze that was spreading as it wound tighter. At this point, she could not suppress the rhythmic rocking of her hips and each time she brushed up against the hardness of the man beneath her, a sharp hiss tore from her lips, and she shuddered.
"O-Oh greatheavens I – I can't stop," she cried breathlessly, some small part of her mind still obstinately rallying for control.
But then Aoshi's dark, fearsome timbre would command her, "Don't. I forbid you to repress yourself; stop fighting it, Misao," then her answering whimper would draw upon the gentleness in him, and his tone would soften, murmuring sweet encouragements to her and soothing her anxieties.
But it wasn't long before lewd exclamations were pouring from his lips again, and at last, the woman was on the verge of the precipice; "Stop saying such - t-t-things!" She insisted vehemently, head thrashing back and forth.
"Fine. Enough 'talk'; I will do all I want to you. Soon, but tonight - I'll spare you further – 'mortification'," he snickered, lips brushing the tip of her nose, "and simply show you instead!"
In an instant, he was mostly disrobed, and with his free hand, he hastily bunched Misao's yukata up and around her hips. The woman gave a guttural, surprising squawk at being practically manhandled, but then all further protests died on her lips when the thick, hard heat of Aoshi slid forth into her.
For one blinding second, she went rigid from the intrusion. But then her body opened around his girth like a flower taking in the sun, and Misao cried out, as the most insanely intense pleasure crashed over her. Her first orgasm had been swift as a result of Aoshi working her over so thoroughly in foreplay, yet even as the tiny woman came down from the euphoric high, one look into her Okashira's smug, pleasure-filled eyes, had her swooping down, catching him in a fiery kiss and undulating against him, already thirsting for more of his gloriously wonderful warmth.
By the third round, Aoshi was on his back, arms spread out to his sides with the glorious creature hovering above him, straddling his hips as she shamelessly nibbled and sampled his body with lips, teeth and tongue. He was stunned to near-fainting when Misao's lips had reached his carved abdominals, only for the sneaky little minx to dive open-mouthed for his aroused flesh! She'd taken over half of him in her mouth, and taken a long, drawn-out slurp that had her groaning in approval, which only had Aoshi's length vibrating, and he was forced to fist her hair and yank her up and away from there, before he did the unthinkable, like coming in her mouth.
"You. Are wickedly insatiable." The dark-eyed Oniwabanshū growled.
Her response was a saucy smirk as she licked her lips and said just as heatedly, "Well, you're presenting yourself – as a very irresistible temptation – Anata. . ."
Her admission warmed his heart, sending a thrill of heat through his body, and he brought his lips to hers, whispering into her sweet mouth, "I am yours to indulge on, as much as you wish."
Her thirst was an unquenchable thing, yet Aoshi knew he'd never tire of it.
It was her passion that had made a home for his wounded heart, and battle-weary soul.
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That night as they slept, Aoshi was plagued by nightmares in the wee hours before dawn.
'Misao's face haunted each one as she appeared; sometimes as the girl she'd been when she'd first come to live with them, other times, as a small baby left abandoned and crying in the middle of a blood-soaked battle field, and still others, she appeared as the woman she was, only his dream self was still a bloodthirsty avenger and hell bent on cutting down any who stood in his way.'
This final dream played out a vivid memory of the day he'd fought Himura, when Okina had finally succumb to his wounds; 'the moment her shuriken struck him in the back, Aoshi felt himself hovering above his body; it was like he was a 3rd person spectator, yet he could feel every moment, thought and sensation as plainly as though he were reliving it. The moment Misao flew at him in a rage, he caught her wrist and felt his hand tighten as he mindlessly crushed the delicate bones. Misao grimaced and then cried out as she dropped to her knees, only to groan in excruciating pain as Aoshi struck her down further, kicking her in the ribs till he heard the telltale crack of her ribs give way. Cold and dispassionate, his dream self appeared immune to her cries of pain as he viciously kicked her out of the way with the toe of his boot. Yet inwardly, Aoshi was screaming and clawing to reach her, to shield her from the horrible ugliness of the man he'd become; but he could only stand by helplessly – unable to move – as Misao's body limply rolled away like a rag doll and blood trickled from her lips. "stand in my way again, and I swear I'll kill you." His dream self vowed as he glared down viciously upon Misao's shaking form with an empty gaze that held nothing but death and destruction.
'NO!' Aoshi screamed.'
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"NO - !"
Aoshi gasped awake, his body broken out in a cold sweat and shaking as the remnants of his night terror lingered.
Dropping both elbows on his knees, the man rested his face in shaking hands while he attempted to fend off the oncoming panic attack, and breathe.
The room was silent, save for the muted sounds of night that drifted through the open window, and then there was a rustling of bed linens before he felt a small hand settle comfortingly on his knee.
Dragging both hands down the front of his face, Aoshi let them fall uselessly in his lap, before he turned his head and looked down at the woman sleeping beside him, who was now wide awake and watching him with dark eyes steeped in sympathy and understanding.
"I woke you," he rasped in a voice gravelly with sleep and regret.
"Mm, it's alright. Nightmare?" she probed gently.
He said nothing for a long moment, until the woman dragged herself to sit up and pressed herself against his side, ghosting her lips across his shoulder.
The action was achingly tender, and he pulled away as though he'd been burned. "Don't – touch me." He uttered in a voice thick with guilt, and Misao had a pretty good idea as to what he'd been dreaming about.
"Aoshi, don't push me away," she started, but the man was already distancing himself as he threw back the covers and slid closer to the edge.
"No, you don't understand," his head dropped to hang between his shoulders as he murmured with his back to her, "you have never harmed anyone the way I have. What's worse still, is I hurt you."
She was shaking her head as she gathered the sheets up to cover her breasts, and scooted towards him, "Tch, you were just defending yourself; A-Aoshi I attacked you with a weapon, I- "
"No!" the man shouted, silencing her with an upraised hand. "I was the one who was out for blood. You were only trying to aid Himura and – snap me out of the senseless rage; you were trying to get through to me – to save me – and I struck you down, no, don't tell me it 'isn't true' I just saw it, I dreamed it, I lived it!"
By the end of his tirade, Aoshi was panting, chest heaving, as sweat stood out on his brow and mini tremors seized his hands and drew his shoulders taut like a bowstring.
Misao was not ignorant to the brokenness of his soul, nor to the fragility of his mind – she knew some things that would break him instantaneously, yet she also knew that 'space' was something Aoshi'd had far too much of.
Despite what he might want in this moment, she refused to abandon him to the darkness anymore; his time drowning in guilt and shame was at an end, and she'd be damned if she let the Okashira push her away.
Decision made, Misao threw off the sheets and without preamble, crawled towards Aoshi until she knelt just behind him. On her knees, she threw her arms around his shoulders and crushed her naked breasts to his back.
His bare skin was icy at first touch, causing her nipples to peak and harden in response, but she ignored the discomfort and only wound her arms tighter, resting her cheek atop his head of sleep-tossed midnight hair.
The press of her bare skin snapped the man to attention, yet some part of him fought half-heartedly to get her off of him.
"No – enough, Misao I – I don't deserve to touch you or b-be near you, so just stop – "
Huffing in frustration, the tiny Omnitsū gave and indignant growl before she suddenly locked both legs around his middle and roughly wrestled him to the floor.
Her maneuver had caught him completely by surprise, and once the man gathered his bearings, he discovered the woman sprawled out below him, with her legs still firmly locked about his waist, and her naked core wedged snugly against his groin.
"Don't. Tell me. What to do." She bit out furiously, "I decide who is worthy of my heart. I choose who I want. Not you. And you don't get to be a coward again and push me away," she warned sharply, and Aoshi clamped his mouth shut against any further protests.
She was right.
But it was so hard freeing himself from beneath the crippling guilt that had been his companion for nearly a century.
Sensing his conflict, Misao gave him no time to second-guess and slipped a hand behind his neck so she could pull him down into a kiss.
Her mouth was persistent and demanding, and then Aoshi nearly died when the woman boldly took his flesh in her hand and guided him to slide within her waiting heat.
The noise he made against her lips, was somewhere between a libidinous moan and a keening cry and he gave a harsh thrust into her, unable to ignore his body's cry of take, want, more.
Misao sighed in pure delighted ecstasy and eagerly responded to the man who now ravished her with reckless abandon.
When his orgasm chased him, Aoshi's lips parted against hers and senseless mutterings of 'gods, its t-too much. No, not enough, I – more, I want more of you,' tumbled in an endless litany from his lips.
When the wave of his pleasure crested, he was clinging to her and moaning her name with his face pressed into the side of her neck.
Misao held him close, his body shaking with remnants of adrenaline and orgasmic aftershocks; "Now do you get it? I already know everything you've done. It doesn't change the fact that I want you. You, Aoshi, not anyone else. I don't know how to be 'me' without you, so p-p-please just – "
Her voice was breaking, and he lifted his head from her bosom and spoke soothingly to her, "Misao. . .forgive me. The guilt still haunts me. And it's a century's worth, I,"
"I know," she whispered back, her fingers combing his sweat-dampened hair away from his face. She saw the look in his eyes; despite his warring emotions, his true heart could never be hidden from her.
"And yet, despite my struggle and misgivings when it comes to my 'worthiness' of you, I – "
Dainty fingertips touched his lips, silencing any verbal qualms; the woman beneath him simply opened her heart to him through her eyes, that he might see her deepest love and profound understanding. "I know. I know you're heart, Aoshi-sama, and I can be patient."
He cocked a skeptical brow at that, knowing already that 'patience' was Misao's chief weakness; the girl relented a bit with a self-deprecating smile, "Oh, alright, I know I'm not the greatest at it but – at least promise me that you'll remember one thing?"
His eyes held hers steadily and she flushed from the intensity of his stare before she parted her lips and said, "You're my warmth, Aoshi. You and only you. Without you, I'll - o-only ever be cold."
He caught her lips in a heart-felt kiss, "Of course I'll remember. I know your 'taste' by heart now, after all – parts of it," he leered.
"Aaaaoshiiiiii…." The woman's cheeks burst into flame, but the man just smiled and said,
"Now I've solved Himura's riddle."
Misao's brows furrowed and she tilted her head quizzically, "eh? What riddle?"
"The day when I fought him; he told me to 'find that something that is lacking' within me. Battousai won that fight, simply because he had found something worth fighting for. His life became precious to him only when he realized it was 'living' that would enable him to protect his friends and those he loved."
"Aoshi-sama. . ."
"And now I know what it is that I've been missing; my purpose to not just exist, but to live and treasure it - it's you."
His words were spoken with such ardent conviction that they brought tears to Misao's eyes.
Aoshi noted each one and wiped them away as he cradled her face in his hands and poured every ounce of his love into the kiss on her forehead, "You are my rebirth, Misao," he whispered fervently.
Her voice broke on a joyful quiver and she offered him her most brilliant smile, "I love you – welcome back,
Aoshi-sama. . ."
His lungs expanded at her words, the weight lifted – "Aa. I'm home, my little Misao. . ." His nose nuzzled hers just as he went in for a kiss,
". . . And, I love you dearly. . ." He whispered shakily, his lips sealing over hers.
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《》
Fin.
《》