Hello, my readers! Look! Two updates in one week! It is a miracle (of small proportions, I know, but I take what I can get.) I am made of win!
I've upped the rating to T, not because this is all that racy, but do I think K-level kids ought to be reading this? The answer is: probably not.
Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin, Aoshi and Kaoru do not belong to me.
The first thing Kaoru noticed was the heavy air, thick with unshed moisture. Another hot one, she sighs to herself. They really should make clothes that are lighter for women to wear…something that allows us to breathe. Briefly, Misao's ninja outfit crosses her mind, but the thought of showing so much leg is daunting. But I bet she's loads more comfortable than I am right now.
Aoshi takes a deep breath, the saturated air sitting in his lungs. Tokyo is stifling, he thinks. Perhaps rain will fall soon, and grant us a break from this unending heat. Today is a market day, and he knows the trip will be that much more problematic for Kaoru, with the oppressive temperature. With the air as drenched as it is, the day feels twice as hot and even shade offers little comfort.
The walk to town is quiet as always. Kaoru is fairly miserable in the heat, and even Aoshi, ever cool and collected, cannot maintain his icy demeanor. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches him walk, all lithe grace and controlled power. His shirt is beginning to stick to his chest, and he has widened the gap at his collar in the hopes of catching any slight breeze in the sweltering heat. She imagines sweat-soaked clothes, slowly taking them off, and exposing glistening skin. She wonders if it would feel as hot and slick beneath her hands. Does his perspiration follow the lines of scars and muscles on his bare chest? How she would love to trace the paths with her fingertips, down, down, down... Her face flushes, and she has somehow made herself even hotter than before. It must be the heat, she thinks, subtly fanning herself with her hand.
Feeble rationale for her racy daydreams in which a certain ninja, always cool and collected, plays the leading man.
In the marketplace, when he sees another man look at her (the way he himself must be looking at her), he is boiling jealousy and possessiveness and he can barely contain himself. She is tempting, he knows, with her glowing skin and innocently flushed face. How he would love to trace the tendrils of hair clinging to the nape of her neck, disappearing beneath her collar. Slowly peeling the clothes from her form, and discovering if every inch of pale, dewy flesh is as hot as he imagines. His nerves are fraying with unfulfilled desire, and he is perilously close to losing control. He aches so badly to touch her, but he can't, not in front of all these people, and to have men staring...
His temper has never gotten the best of him before, and he can only chalk it up to how suffocatingly hot the day is.