I smirked: "Challenge accepted."
As Toshizō stood up and unrolled his futon, I released my messy bun and passed the beautiful comb in my hair to detangle the mess our sparring had done. Then I lifted some heavy tresses and twisted them to fix the comb. I knew it wouldn't last long, but for the moment, it seemed secure enough. Once the bedding was set, my lover approached silently. His hand hoovered over the comb, a satisfied flicker dancing in his eyes.
"I knew that colour would look good with your hair."
I couldn't see it, but had no trouble imagining how lackered black and blood red would compliment each other. Still, I felt my cheeks blush from the close attention.
"Hai. Thank you, again. It is a beautiful gift."
"I am glad you enjoy it", he breathed, taking another step.
By now, his greater stature towered over me. My eyes remained locked on his collarbone, marvelling at the contrast between pale skin and deep purple cloth. His lips touched my forehead, searing warmth over cold air; my eyes fluttered close. Silence enveloped us, heat radiating from his frame. For a moment, neither of us moved, basking in that moment of quietness offered by circumstances.
Toshizō sure was a man who knew how to enjoy little things. Slowly, I was getting used to those contemplative moments where everything just seemed to be perfect, just for a breath.
Then, my fingers ran alongside the ties, reaching for the front of his hakama. I'd seen him dress and undress many a time, but still remained confused by the sheer number of layers, of twists and turns required to actually make this outfit look so put together. Despite my inability to dress him, I might manage to undo all those knots without strangling either of us to death, right?
He didn't move an inch as my nimble fingers undid the butterfly knot that held his hakama together. This one was a nightmare, with strings overlooping in a complicated pattern that scrambled my brain. His breath fanned upon my hair, tickling slightly as I worked the binds. At last, the back of his hakama was untied and I breathed in relief. Toshizō's chest seemed to shake from silent laughter, and I didn't even grace his amusement with a response as I circled him to attack the back knot. This one was easier to untangle, and I pulled at the strings from my position.
"Impatient, Kitsu?", his voice rumbled.
I laid my hand to rest upon his shoulder and squeezed gently. I pushed slightly to have him step out of the hakama – the one I'd patched – and found the obi knot tied below the small of his back. Men wore their obis on their hips rather than the natural waist as women did. If it wasn't a problem for Chizuru whose curves were inexistant, I had more trouble fixing a man's hakama to my hips for it kept shifting to settle at the natural curve of my waist.
The purple hakamashita was shorter than a standard kimono, and I hummed thoughfully. Toshizō hated the cold; his fast metabolism caused him to lose his bodyheat much faster than anyone else.
"Shouldn't you wear a kimono for the winter?", I asked.
Hijikata's eyebrows knitted adorably, thoroughly puzzled by my question.
"You mean a Kosode ?"
It was my turn to frown as I failed to get the difference.
"A long thing."
The Vice Commander chuckled slightly.
"You and your weird expressions…"
I mentally noted to have a look at the meaning of kimono[1]. True, Chizuru called garments Kosode, Furisode and such. None of the men had ever called a kimono by its name. Mulling over it, I almost missed Hijikata's quiet words.
"But I get what you mean. I need to move easily, I can't afford to have my legs restrained."
I just nodded; usability before comfort. I expected nothing less … still, I nibbled on my lower lip in worry as I attacked the next piece of clothing. Toshizō's obi was plain, but folded neatly. I gave it a playful tug; the man humoured me, pivoting three times upon himself as I pulled at the cloth.
"Are you enjoying being the puppet master?", he whispered, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. The obi gave way, at last, revealing another simple string that kept the kimono – ack, hakamashita ! - together.
"Depends if the puppet will allow me to play some more."
Our gazes locked, heated; I didn't dare breathing, wondering if my bold questioning was altogether too pushy. Hijikata was in charge, the Shinsengumi depended on him more than they wanted to accept. How would an unyielding man like him respond to such a challenge? His arm snaked around my waist, pulling me flush against him and I bit back a yelp.
We couldn't afford to be discovered.
"I'm all yours", he breathed against my lips before they were captured in a heated kiss that left me in such a haze that I almost forgot the game. But my hand longed to touch skin, and Toshizō was far too covered for whatever I had in mind. So, after he left my lips swollen and begging for more, I grabbed the string and worked that third knot diligently.
"What's this called again?"
"Koshi himo, Kitsu."
I hummed. Waist string. That made sense.
"All those layers, they look good on you… But damn, it takes forever to get dressed."
"This is part of our philosophy", he shrugged.
The hakamashita loosened, the left panel sliding over the right as was the custom. Chizuru had taught me that right over left was only for the dead. I paused, watching the white cloth peeking under the deep purple one. I stowed the string away, then snaked my hand under his hakamashita, finding the soft cotton of the juban. At least, in this era, they could use cotton rather than the itchy hemp or linen stuff they wore in the fifth century.
I had to admit that Japanese cloth looked vibrant and was comfortable compared to my past travels. Given I'd been there for nearly a year, I wasn't about to complain about it.
"How did you get there so fast when Chizuru was attacked?", I asked.
"I wasn't sleeping."
I rolled my eyes; of course, he wasn't. One dark eyebrow lifted, and I just chuckled before I pulled the garment past his broad shoulders. I couldn't help it: my fingers trailed sensually over his chest. Then I grabbed the hakamashita and folded it, careful not to crumple the fabric. Toshizō stood stoically in his juban, the garment falling just above his knees, long dark hair constrating with the immaculate cloth that covered his bare skin.
"Hurry up, Kitsu", he grouched. "I'm freezing my ass."
Ah, there was the temper again. I grabbed both of his hands – too cold - and dragged him to the futon, pulling the cover over his legs. Most people slept with the juban, especially in winter … but given we shared warmth, I wasn't about to allow a piece of cotton to separate us.
"Better", I asked?
He cocked his head aside, his eyes piercing. Assessing. By now, I knew Hijikata trusted me enough to share his sleeping quarters. Still, I could feel the usual defiance rear up its head sometimes. Now was one of those times; the man needed to unwind, and I knew just the thing to achieve my goals. So, without a word, I untied that last Koshi himo and slid the juban away from his frame. Once more, I marvelled at the near absence of hair upon his chest; his jaw, too, was smooth. Compared to those hairy guys of the fifth century, he certainly was something else.
Well, I could adjust.
When I released Toshizo's beautiful hair and pushed him back on the futon, it fell in a waterfall of dark strands. After laying the garment upon the tatami, I smothered the lamp; the room grew dark, embers from the brazier the only source of light. Soon, my eyes adjusted and I found dark eyes peeking at me. I just smiled mischieviously, getting rid of my own garments in a heartbeat. Compared to the multiple layers that he wore, tearing away mantle, tunic and wool pants felt way too easy. I only kept on my panties, just as he still wore his fundoshi.
I slid beside him under the covers; he turned towards me, and my lips found the skin of his collarbone. The heat of his hand crept over my waist, pulling me close as I explored the hard planes of his chest. I wondered, sometimes, how badly his experience with women outmatched mine. Did he find me too bold, or entirely too boring compared to what Shimabara could provide?
One day, I'd find the courage to ask. But not today. Today was entirely dedicated to taking care of him. And so, I eventually pushed his back down and climbed in his lap. Hunched under the cover to prevent the cold air from assaulting us, I kissed him deeply, invading his mouth until he was moaning beneath me. Then, my lips travelled to his jaw, and further down his neck. His bare skin called to me, and I thoroughly delighted in being able to taste him without anyone knowing.
This intimacy was our little secret; it would remain thus. Outside of this room, I called him Fukuchō, and he ordered me around. Such was my vow when I accepted my feelings. His position within the Shinsengumi was more important that any lover's consideration. He knew it as well as I did; I wouldn't take advantage of those moments to gain the upper hand in an organisation that struggled to survive.
As for those moments of tenderness and passion … there were a gift to us both. One day might come when this would end. Until then… I allowed my tongue to trace the soft valleys of his chest, and sink deeper and deeper. He shivered under my touch … not from the cold. I dipped and grabbed his hips with renewed fervor, his hand found their way in my hair. Strong fingers massaged my scalp as I lavished him with kisses, nips and playful suckles. His skin tasted so good. But I wasn't after his skin alone.
I managed to wrestle the fundoshi away from his body, tearing it away with a little fumble to reveal the object of my affections already eager to greet me. Good. Just as I was about to dive in, Toshizō's gasp caught me off guard.
"What are you doing, Kitsu?"
My hand caressed the pulsating flesh gently and I pouted; not that he could see me, but he would sure hear the tone of my voice.
"Enjoying myself. If that's alright with you."
His throat produced a strangled noise, and for a moment, I wondered if he would allow me to go that far. In many cultures, oral sex was exclusively dealt by prostitutes … or by dutiful wives with great discretion. Still, it imprinted the morality in so many countries that I had no clue whether or not I was about to perform a faux-pas. Toshizō's grunt, though, told me otherwise as his hips bucked under my weight.
"Contrary to rumours, I am still a man," he breathed.
I smiled; that seemed to be an answer for the many things he couldn't possibly say.
"Then I'll enjoy myself a while longer."
And God I did. Toshizō did not express much when it came to intimacy; he certainly could rip someone's head off in a fit of anger, but wouldn't utter a word even through his release. His panting was key to knowing where he stood, and the few grunts and moans I elicited rewarding enough. I certainly enjoyed myself until he could take no more and crumbled in my arms; once he was spent, I rested upon his heart. The steady, but fast paced 'thud thud' lulled me to sleep in no time. But not fast enough … as I slumbered, the words left my lips before I could take them back.
"I love you", I mumbled, half-awake.
Whether he heard me or not, I didn't know. A minute later, I was out cold, peacefully sleeping off my day in his warm embrace.
[1] Kimono means literally 'thing to wear' and wasn't called such after the Meiji revolution where the diversity of Japanese outfits got a little crushed by occidental clothes.