Author's Note: I put you guys through the Rubicon of Woe for almost a year. Here is the fluff I promised.
Chapter XXXVIII: Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough
It was dark by the time she got to Tokyo. The days were short now; night followed quickly on the heels of the Shinkansen. She'd taken an afternoon train, knowing that he wouldn't be free until that evening. She alighted from the carriage and onto a wind-swept platform, moving alongside a herd of people jostling and pushing towards their final destinations. It was the height of the mid-week evening rush—a few hundred thousand people were coming and going at any given second. The mob moved like a single organism towards Tokyo Station's labyrinth of escalators and hallways, shops and arcades.
She should have been calm, but she was a maelstrom of anxiety instead. The crowd had been overwhelming, but she had no cause to be anxious. Kuon had kept his promise; they'd spoken daily during their weeks apart—and they'd grown closer, if that was possible. But her heart was pounding anyway, almost as if she was meeting him for the first time. Her worries rolled through her mind in a repeating loop. Maybe she hadn't done her makeup right—should she re-apply her lipstick? Maybe Tokyo Station was too inconvenient for him—should she meet him at LME, instead? Maybe she should've insisted on a shorter visit—wasn't he going to miss work? And the gift she'd brought—how could it possibly be good enough!?
All the storefronts were decked out in Christmas finery, garish and loud and bright with manufactured magic, calling out to anyone that would listen. The air was close and heady, too warm with the forced heat. She was surrounded by shops, and all of their wares made what she'd brought him seem so cheap by comparison. Maybe I should buy him something else, she thought, but nothing she saw seemed appropriate. She walked by store after store as she walked to the exit and saw absolutely nothing that was worthy. She was sure he received meaningless presents all the time; she was also sure he didn't need any clothes or gadgets. He'd never mentioned being into a particular manga or anime, so none of the character goods would do. She didn't think he'd be into anything too cutesy—and of course he wouldn't want any food.
She was beginning to panic a little. She should've thought harder about what to give the 'Gorgeous Star,' and now it was the day before Christmas and all she had was her shabby little present and her shabby little self. She was sure—very sure—that he was going to do something needlessly elaborate and expensive. She didn't have time to look for a better present now. She couldn't claim to be coming later—she'd texted him when she boarded the train. She walked until she found the ticket gate and then stood still underneath the Station's rotunda, a single, solitary figure panicking on the inside and looking upwards at the yellow dome with its frame of white doves.
Marunouchi Square, she told herself. They'd agreed to meet in Marunouchi Square. She felt the uneasiness in herself and knew she was letting her latent insecurity affect her, but there was a gap between what she knew and what she felt—she couldn't relax. The music was too loud, there were too many people around her. What was she doing here? It was one thing to be with him in Kyoto, tucked far away from the eyes of the world, but here? What would all those people say, if they saw Ren Tsuruga coming out to meet her?
Get a hold of yourself, Kyoko.
She knew she should text him; he probably knew her train had arrived. Instead, she sighed and then wheeled her luggage behind her as she exited the station. She would wait until she was calmer.
The automatic doors whispered shut. The discord and cacophony of the station were trapped behind them, leaving her to the sound of traffic on the streets.
Oh.
Marunouchi Square was in front of her, its avenue of trees lit in warm gold. They shone against the backdrop of Tokyo Station's brick. Her breath made clouds in the air as she took in the view—the station's cupola against neon towers. It was cold—much colder than usual for Tokyo. The air had a metallic tang—like a clean, sharp blade after the warm air of the station.
The phone in her pocket buzzed and then dinged. I'm almost there, it said. I can't wait to see you.
She smiled. Just as he'd done all these weeks apart, he calmed her from afar. The chaos of the station, all of her doubts, the chill in the air—just a word from him and it all faded away. She was Kyoko and she was Kuon's. Nothing else mattered.
Slowly at first, and then with more confidence, she walked to the Square's center. To her left and to her right, the Illuminated trees lit up the night in orderly rows. People moved all around her—couples, families, salarymen rushing home from work. Out here, there was room to breathe. Had she ever taken the opportunity to stand still in Tokyo? She thought of all the times she'd passed by scenes just like this—always in a rush, always exhausted, always worried about how she'd make ends meet. She'd worked herself like a slave for Sho-chan, and had somehow missed the beauty that had been in front of her all long.
A sudden hush enveloped the world.
It seemed to arrive all at once—first, a snowflake on her sleeve and then a quick gust of white, descending onto the ground and over the crowd like a blessing from the gods. She opened up her hand to watch the snow fall onto her palm and then looked up into a purple sky, low-hanging clouds reflecting back the brilliance of the Tokyo night.
She wished, then, that she'd texted him sooner. Asked him to come earlier. It would've been wonderful to share this moment with him—to be one of the couples sitting on benches or standing hand-in-hand under the trees. Could she allow herself to feel the thrill of the season? All of this was oh-so-cliche for Christmas Eve. And anyway…was this something that really happened? She wondered where he was. He said he was on his way—perhaps he was looking up at the same sky…and wishing for her. The thought made her blush. With his help, she'd been trying to change the way she thought about herself. The old Kyoko would never have presumed to even think that Kuon might actually be wishing for her. But learning to accept his love meant accepting the fact that he, too, might actually want her presence.
She felt him before she saw him.
He appeared by her side almost as if some genie had granted her wish. She could feel him take up his place beside her, almost as if he'd never left it.
"You always seem to bring it with you." His voice was quiet, calm. He was looking up at the sky too.
The snow was coming down in earnest now, and the square was quickly covered with a dusting of sugar. Lights from the trees were magnified and reflected. It felt as if they were standing in a golden wood.
Her heart was turning somersaults in her chest. "Bring what?" she whispered.
"Magic," he said.
His smile was all she saw at first, lighting up his model-perfect face with its angular lines and sensuous mouth. She was breathless again—butterflies were in her stomach and in her chest. She felt like a girl confessing to her crush for the very first time.
"Hi," she said shyly.
"Hi," he answered. She saw the rest of him, a tall figure dressed in a stylish coat over a well-tailored suit. He had Ren Tsuruga's hair and Ren Tsuruga's eyes, but the smile on his face—that was all Kuon. "Welcome back to Tokyo," he said. "These are for you."
He handed her a bouquet of fragrant red roses, already sprinkled with snow, and grabbed her luggage. She took the roses from him with shaking hands, breathing in their heady fragrance. "Thank you," she said.
She felt a tension between them and didn't know how to dispel it. She'd imagined this moment a thousand times since their goodbye in Kyoto; each time she imagined it, it had been different. She'd pictured herself running into his arms; she'd pictured herself running away from hordes of his fans. She'd imagined him picking her up and whirling her around the way he'd done back home.
Reality left her trembling with the weight of all those possibilities as they foreclosed and distilled into a single moment.
"Hungry?" he asked. A polite smile accompanied a polite question.
"Not just yet," she responded awkwardly.
He smirked. "I am."
She gasped as he grabbed her by the waist, dropping the roses to the ground as she moved by reflex. Her arms folded around his neck as he pressed her against him, and she was feeling the heat of his body under Ren Tsuruga's clothes. His hand cupped her face—a familiar gesture—as he tilted her lips upwards.
He kissed her softly, one arm around her waist and another pressed against her shoulder. He tasted sweet; as always, she felt in him something that promised it would give far more than it took. He moved his lips against her own and she mewled, feeling the world grow warmer and her heart lighter as every doubt was silenced. She rose up on her tiptoes to meet him and kissed him back—he groaned as the tip of her tongue ran along the edge of his lips. She melted into him as his mouth claimed her own, because there was nothing else in the world—just her and him and the falling snow.
The sound of laughter brought both of them back to the Square, reminding them that they were not alone. Kyoko jolted and pulled away, mortified. Kuon saw the blush on her face and smiled, tightening his embrace and trapping her.
She froze and then she smiled and buried her face in his chest, hugging him back. "I wasn't going to run, in case you were wondering," she said.
"I didn't say you were."
"Why so grabby, then?"
He laughed and squeezed her even tighter. "It never hurts to take precautionary measures," he teased. "You have a long history of running off."
"I do not," she pouted. "It's not like I run off every day…"
"No, not every day. Just some days," he said. He grinned as she squirmed against him. " Anyway…I know you like this."
She gave him a small, playful shove and he took the opportunity to kiss her again.
"I missed you," he murmured into her ear. "So much."
"I missed you too," she whispered. "So much." He notched his head above hers and leaned into their embrace, trusting that the white flurries would somehow hide them from prying eyes. They lingered in each others' arms as snowflakes fell, kissed their skin, and melted into nothing.
=.=.=
Kuon didn't want to stop holding her.
Weeks. He's spent weeks thinking about this—holding her, feeling her, tasting her—inhaling the sweet scent that rose from her skin.
He'd spent those weeks in a state of constant anticipation, burning off the resulting energy in a burst of activity that pleased both Yashiro and Lory. The entertainment circuit had noticed his absence; he'd deployed his trademark smile when asked about it. He knew the cycle of promotions for his upcoming dramas would start soon—in tandem with Shingai's inexplicable Ring Doh reboot. The public seemed glad to have him back, but their approbation was worth much less to him now than it had before. He was going to press Lory on being true to his word: fewer roles, but better roles.
In the meantime, he was glad to finish up the random commercials and appearances that Yashiro had booked and then rescheduled for him. He took all his roles seriously, of course, but some roles were just easier than others—and these assignments took very little effort. There was nothing to distract him from preparing for her arrival. He set to it with a certain amount of glee. Kitchen gadgets had to be organized. Her favorite toiletries had to be bought, her favorite snacks and teas and flowers—she'd told him she intended to travel light, so he took the opportunity to buy her a few nice things, just so she'd feel at home.
Well…maybe slightly more than a few nice things.
He'd rushed through his last appointment—an episode of Yappa Kimagure Rock that had gone on interminably as he watched the clock tick down to her arrival. He'd turned down a number of invitations tonight—Lory's holiday party, some actress's birthday. He was sure there were one or two live TV specials he probably could have made appearances in. Whatever. It didn't particularly matter. He only ever went to the parties for the networking anyway. He'd considered donning a disguise before venturing out to the station, but he didn't have the time—he barely had the time to grab the bouquet of roses he'd ordered from the florist. He wanted to be there when she arrived, already waiting for her.
He took his car. Public transportation had not been an option for him in years—and besides, a princess deserved a carriage, didn't she? But the commute to Tokyo Station had been frustrating. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to get in his way. The surface roads moved like sludge, especially now that the weather forecast called for snow. He couldn't find parking close to the station, and had needed to park his car in a garage a few blocks away from it.
He messaged her just as he locked his car and headed to the street. I'm almost there, he texted. I can't wait to see you.
He'd been rushing towards the station when the snow started falling and he cursed, wondering if perhaps he should've brought an umbrella and an extra sweater for her, just in case she hadn't dressed warmly enough for the sudden cold snap.
Frustrated, he stopped and checked his phone. 6:15. He knew her train had almost certainly arrived. He knew that the platforms were long and the hallways were confusing, but he was sure she'd had enough time to disembark and make her way to the exit.
There was no text from her.
Perhaps she'd stopped to get food. Perhaps she'd gotten lost in the building. Perhaps she just wanted a moment to shop—
He looked up and realized he'd made it to Marunouchi Square.
He looked past the line of illuminated trees.
He looked past tourists and couples, flashing lights and traffic—because there, in the middle of it, was the unmistakable figure of Kyoko Mogami.
She transfigured the night. Words from Christmases long past echoed in his head. All is calm, all is bright, he thought, looking at her. He saw her lit in gold, standing like an angel in the night, and followed his crimson thread to her side. She was looking up at the sky with rapt attention, dressed in a fluffy white hat and a pink coat which flared attractively from her slim waist. She was wearing sensible boots—still stylish, but well-textured and appropriate for snow. Of course they're sensible, he thought to himself. Had she arrived in heels, he would have questioned where the real Kyoko had been taken and how much they wanted for her ransom.
And now, she was in his arms again, sighing, and his lips were wet with her kisses.
"It's beautiful," he said. "You're beautiful."
"So are you," she said. He beamed at her, happy she'd accepted the compliment.
He pressed her closer to him before loosening his grip. They would need to move eventually. She'd said she wasn't hungry, but he'd made reservations at a nice place nearby. Given her insistence on him eating proper meals, he was certain she'd want something before long. He brushed snow off of her hair and off of her shoulders, just as she'd done for him. And then some semblance of common sense came back to him as he took a closer look at her. He was sure she'd blushed, but still—her cheeks were pink from the cold. She wasn't wearing gloves, and her coat, while stylish, did not look particularly warm. Perhaps this would have been fine during a normal Tokyo winter, but tonight was different. He took his scarf off and wrapped it around her shoulders—she'd just gotten over pneumonia!
She eeped in protest, an adorable sound that warmed him. "Kuon!" she said. "I have a scarf—you need to take this back—"
But he shook his head at her. "You look cold," he said. "And that coat doesn't look warm enough. The car is a little bit of a walk away—though…maybe you could stay in the station and I'll grab it and meet you there?"
She frowned, and that was adorable too. He loved the little furrow that formed between her eyebrows. But he knew he was doomed when she tilted those golden eyes up at him. "Couldn't I…walk with you?" she said. "The snow is so beautiful—and maybe we can see more Illuminations on the way?" She gave a little jolt as she looked down. "Oh no…the roses!"
She twisted out of his embrace to pick up the roses he'd brought her, already lying forgotten on the ground. He could see she was mortified at having dropped them, but he'd been pleased she did—perhaps it was petty of him, but the fact that she'd forgotten everything to kiss him was an inordinately wonderful thought.
"Don't worry about the roses, love," he told her. "They're just roses—lots more where they came from." He grinned. He knew she would yell at him once she realized his entire apartment was filled with roses for her.
She looked appalled. "Kuon!" she said. Her eyes were soft. "They're a treasured gift from you," she said. "How could I just let them fall to the ground like that? Besides—someone took great care of them. And they grew and bloomed just to be cut like this. So much beauty and so much effort, just in one of these little flowers, and they had to die just so you could give them to me. The least I can do is appreciate them fully for what they are."
He wanted to kiss her all over again. Kiss her and kiss her and kiss her, until she was dizzy and swooning in his arms. He wanted to kiss her for being adorable, and kiss her for being wise. He wanted to kiss her for being someone who kept trying to make herself better and kinder and more loving to herself and to others. He wanted to kiss her for being the kind of girl who cared about a flower's feelings—but most of all, he wanted to kiss her because she was his, and he was hers, today and for all of their tomorrows.
But instead he only nodded at her, offering her his hand for the taking. "I'm glad that they ended up with you, then," he said.
She put her hand in his, giving him a dazzling smile. "Thank you for the flowers," she said, and he knew she wasn't thanking him for just the flowers.
She blushed at the look on his face. He gave her a kiss on the forehead before gesturing across the square and down a brightly lit avenue. "Shall we go see the lights?" he asked.
She nodded, took the bouquet into her arms. He put an arm on the small of her back before taking her small hand in his.
"Let's go," she said.
=.=.=
They walked through a subdued Marunouchi district, quieter than expected. The snow had chased many people home, it seemed, and now the streets and sidewalks were quiet as it continued to fall. Kuon considered it a lucky break. Now that she was by his side, his earlier impulsivity bothered him. He should have at least worn a hat or fake glasses or…or anything. But whatever magic had brought both her and this rare snow had also given him the rare gift of invisibility. People passed by them, rarely giving them a glance. They were simply another couple out on a winter night, enjoying a stroll on Christmas Eve.
Kuon loved watching the world through her eyes. "Kuon!" she'd say, pointing to a display, "Look! Look!" He'd never seen her so childlike before. Or so free. The Kyoko he knew rarely gave herself a chance to shed the responsibilities on her shoulders. But tonight, he wondered what she would have been like if her childhood had been kinder to her. Her eyes were wide in wonder as she took everything in. He indulged her every wish for photographs, posing happily next to displays of frosted snowflakes or tall Christmas trees.
"I want a selfie in front of this one," he said, dragging her to a heart-shaped confection of twinkling lights and shiny red glass. She obliged him, smiling happily into his camera. When he kissed her cheek at the last minute, she'd been too surprised to prevent it—he promptly made the resulting photograph his wallpaper as she protested in mock outrage.
She had her revenge in the next picture, when she did the same to him—though by the time they took the third photo, they were kissing each other.
For Kuon, posing for photos was work. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been in a picture with someone he truly cared about. Or the last time he'd posed…just for fun. He'd had thousands of photographs taken during his career, but none of them were photos he wanted on his phone. Or framed by his bedside. Or in the little inset in his wallet.
The world was a snowglobe of light and the streets were pathways of gold. She was too worried about the roads to linger at a fancy restaurant—he refused to let her cook so soon after arrival. They compromised and bought oden from a smiling oji-san at a street-side food cart. He canceled the reservations he'd made at the upscale hotel with little regret. They could have a fancy dinner some other time; tonight was for Kyoko.
She held his hand as they drove home, smiling when he refused to let it go as he shifted gears. "You'll just have to learn how to drive with me," he said. "I'm not letting go."
"So long as you drive safely," she huffed.
"Pffft. Do you seriously think I'd let anything get in my way right now?" he asked. "I finally get my girl to come home with me—nothing's going to stop me from dragging you into my lair, madam…"
"Caveman."
"Nothing wrong with being a caveman," he grinned.
"You know, you're not supposed to like being called a caveman, Kuon—"
"—I like it lots better than being called a playboy. Besides, at this rate, I'm definitely throwing you over my shoulders—"
"Hrmph," she interrupted. "You—you—caveman playboy."
He laughed as she pouted, and then she laughed too.
He was glad his building had a garage—he didn't want to parade Kyoko past the guys on the night shift at the front door. Friendly as they were, he knew Kyoko's appearance would set their tongues wagging: he'd lived in the building for five years now, and they knew he'd never brought a girl home before. They maintained a careful distance in the elevator, aware of the camera overhead. She was looking at the floor, a faint flush staining her cheeks. He was looking up into a corner with studied indifference. They were behaving, as he called it—though the act only made them more aware of the magnetic pull between them, made more acute by the fact that they had to be apart. It was the Paradox of Kyoko, all over again: he wanted to spoil her rotten, wrap her up in warm blankets, give her all of her favorite things. But then…he was also barely holding back the impulse to pin her against the elevator walls and kiss her senseless. He settled for holding her hand as the doors opened.
The elevator dinged, and he took a breath in as he looked over at her surreptitiously.
"This is us," he said, motioning her forwards. She nodded and stepped out of the elevator, waiting for him primly before following him down the hall. "We're the only people on this floor," he said. "So you can relax."
"Oh," she said. Her eyes were wide. "All…this?"
"Mmmhmm," he said. He stopped in front of the door, opening it. She took a step towards him, anticipating that he'd motion her in. But instead, he blocked her path.
She looked up at him. "Kuon?" she asked, confused.
He just grinned. Without a word he swept her off of her feet. She squealed in surprise, finding herself being held aloft. But he'd lied to her a little—there was very little of the caveman in him as he carried her over his threshold. She felt like a princess at the end of a fairy tale, being taken back to her castle.
"Kuon!" Her surprised yelp echoed through the hall, but she was happy to be in his arms. She threw her own arms around his neck, clinging to him out of reflex. Her Prince Charming couldn't have been more dashing, holding her easily and walking as if she weighed nothing. Once they were inside, he took the opportunity to kiss her before setting her down gently.
"Welcome home, love," he said softly. The blush that had been on her face deepened at his words.
"I—thank you," she said softly.
He'd slipped off his shoes and knelt to help her unlace her boots. She jolted."Oh—you don't have to," she said. "Let me—"
"Shhh." He gave her a hand once her boots were unlaced, helping her step out of them and into…a pair of fuzzy pink slippers. There were little crowns embroidered on them.
She looked down at him, still on his knee. "Yes, I bought them for you," he said, and stuck out his tongue.
"Oh no—You…" And then she gave him a sidelong glance, trying to look unamused. "This…this is…this isn't the last of it, I'm guessing," she said.
He beamed at her and then wheeled in her luggage, shutting the door behind him with a resolute thud. "Nope." He had a look of joyful mischief on his face. "Definitely not. And you can't do anything about it."
"Kuon," she said sternly. She wanted to reproach him—and found herself defeated by his puppy dog eyes. She could only shake her head and suppress her smile. It wouldn't do to surrender to his profligacy so easily.
He looked at her and hummed happily, helping her out of her coat and then shedding his own. He hadn't turned on the lights beyond the entryway. Her eyes were drawn past the dark room and onto the large windows beyond, showing a stunning view of skyscrapers and sky. They'd managed to make it home before the roads got too bad, but the snow kept falling. They could see it falling from the floor-to-ceiling windows, accumulating lightly on the skyscrapers next door. Faintly, they could hear the wind blowing against the glass.
"They say it'll all melt tomorrow," he said.
"How sad." She looked wistfully at the snow. "We don't get snow very often in Kyoto."
"Not in Tokyo, either," he told her. "But if you want more snow for your birthday, I'll take you to Hokkaido—there should still be flights available. We can leave tomorrow once the weather clears—"
"No—no—I'm perfectly happy to be here—"
She had grabbed his arm, shaking her head in some distress. He smiled at her and relaxed. "I'm happy if you're happy," he said.
She relaxed. He smirked and turned on the lights, illuminating the room beyond.
Her eyes widened.
"I…didn't think you'd want to carry all of these home from the station," he said dryly.
Roses…he'd filled the room with roses. Roses all around—roses just for her.
"Kuon—I—"
"You must be tired," he said, almost as if it were perfectly natural for him to have a greenhouse full of roses in his living room. One of his arms was sidling its way around her waist.
"Not so tired," she responded, leaning into his warmth. "Not with you here."
She blushed, knowing the implications of what she'd said. She saw a spark in his eyes as his lips quirked upwards—their bodies moved together until they were standing toe-to-toe and they were breathing the same air. But he ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her on the forehead, stepping away. "Good," he said gently. "We haven't even eaten dinner yet."
She took a deep breath. Her goosebumps faded but the tension remained, a low simmer inside her. She knew he felt it too, but there was a time and a place for everything. She was happy to enjoy this slow introduction to his home.
His large hand covered her own and he entwined his fingers in hers. "Let me show you around."
=.=.=
Kyoko had a conundrum: she felt as if she knew him as well as she knew the back of her hand. And yet she knew so little of the life that belonged to the Kuon-she-didn't-know. His home was just a part of it.
It was needlessly large. Too large, especially for a man who lived alone.
And perhaps a little too empty.
Despite the roses, despite the view—it was as cold and as impersonal as an airport lounge.
It made her sad.
Seeing it made her a little lonely, and she wondered if he'd felt lonely here, too. There was nothing of him in his living room; no pictures, no mementos.
He pulled her along gently, part of him always touching her. Her hand in his. His arm around her shoulders. Fingertips grazing over her skin. Always the pull towards him, underpinning each and every single one of their interactions.
He showed her the kitchen first, knowing she'd ask about it. It was immediately to the right of his entryway, anyway, gleaming and…empty. "Do you like it?" he asked anxiously. "Tell me if you don't like it—we can get everything changed out. Do you think you'll be able to use it? Does it need anything? Is there anything you don't like? Maybe you'd prefer another brand for the rice cooker…"
"You're acting like it's my kitchen," she said, bemused.
"Isn't it?" he asked.
She was smiling, despite herself. She believed in the power of a very sharp knife, a well-seasoned wok, and a stove capable of delivering the BTUs. She knew and understood how to use the most esoteric of kitchen tools, but she didn't like them. Why have a tool whose sole purpose was coring avocados? Or a tool only used only to make girolles?
This kitchen had more than she could ever need, at least for home-cooking. His range was top-notch. His pots and pans, too. She opened a drawer and noted the panoply of instruments in it…and noted that all of them looked new. She had to stifle outright laughter when she realized that the pots had never been used before.
"I…can see you do a lot of cooking, Kuon," she said. She was holding back a fit of giggles. "It's so perfect it looks like a movie set."
"I make myself coffee and tea very often, thank you very much," he responded. She rolled her eyes. "OK, you know I don't cook. But I have been eating better."
"I know," she responded, thinking of the videos he'd sent. She was looking at her reflection in a perfectly shiny, perfectly flawless copper-bottom pan hanging from a rack above his counter. "It's practically a mirror," she said reproachfully. "Have you even ever set it down onto the stove?"
"Well…Lory had them bought for me," he said sheepishly. "Said that copper cookware's the best."
"They're a nice, well-known brand," she said. "A little bit of a pain to maintain, so I do understand keeping them up on the rack. But it's a pity to never use them." She picked it up, turning it this way and that. "If you don't mind…I'd like to cook while I'm here."
"How could I possibly mind?" he asked. He'd made every effort to send her videos of his meals, but he'd missed her cooking terribly.
"Well they wouldn't be perfect anymore," she told him. "Even the gentlest of cooks will put small scratches on a pot being used daily. And copper marks up as soon as you heat it. It's soft. Pretty, but soft." She stood still. "I'm happy to teach you how to cook more things, you know."
"Well…I can do more now, after Taisho taught me that recipe," he said. "I'll learn."
She rolled her eyes but smiled. "I'm glad that you want to," she said. "The kitchen's too nice to not be used."
"I'm…looking forward to it," he replied, looking hopeful.
But she was distracted. She opened a cupboard, just to see what was inside…and found a mug sitting there with her name on it.
"I see you found your mug," he said, and grinned at the mock-glare she gave him. "Oh!" He opened up the pantry door and she saw something pink and frilly on a hook. It, too, had been embroidered with her name. "Speaking of you cooking…I didn't want you to think that you had to cook," he explained. "But…I knew you probably would want to. So I got you an apron in case you wanted one."
"So unnecessary!" she exclaimed. "Really, a nice kitchen towel does fine—"
"I'm sure it does." And then he grinned, waggling his eyebrows at her. "But then…I thought maybe I could convince you to…you know. Wear it. With nothing else. Underneath."
Her cheeks reddened instantly. Part of her felt like she ought to be scandalized—the other part was already imagining it.
"One should never cook naked, Kuon," she said primly.
He laughed.
He dragged her away, took her to see his gym, his library ("Doubles as an office!" he said proudly), and the spare bedroom.
She gaped at the room. There were two queen beds, an ensuite bathroom, even a TV.
"I made space in the main closet," he said. "But you can have these closets too. Or we can get you a spare tansu or a dresser, something—whatever you want."
The closets were empty. She blushed and then gave him another look. "I…only brought this suitcase, Kuon," she said. "How much clothing do you think I have in there?"
He only grinned back. "I know," he told her. "But…perhaps just in case…"
She shook her head and grinned. "You presume too much, sir," she said.
"I presume nothing. I'm just saying…that there's plenty of space here if you need it."
"Annnnd—" Again, he took her by the hand. Across the hall, he opened the last door. "Last but not least—"
The bedroom.
"Our bedroom," he said. She didn't fail to notice the 'our' and felt the butterflies in her stomach again. The bed was far too large. She supposed it needed to be—he needed something tall enough for his frame. Floor-to-ceiling windows were hidden behind dark curtains. But the room was like the rest of the condo: bare. Minimalist. Nothing on the walls. Nothing on the tables. Nothing, except for one thing: a single photo frame on his nightstand.
She picked it up as he moved to open the master bathroom's door, turning it around in her hands.
She saw what it was and her heart twinged. The picture frame held a picture of her, smiling at him in the summer sun. She recognized their little clearing in the forest behind her.
"Kyoko?" he asked.
She looked up. His voice was coming from inside the bathroom and she followed him there, clinging to the little picture frame.
"The bathroom," he said, gesturing around. Her breath caught again. The bathroom itself was huge—a large room lined in white marble. There were his-and-hers sinks, a separate room with the toilet inside it, a standing shower with an array of spray nozzles jutting out from the wall. Near another bay of windows was a marble tub, sunken into the floor, big enough for the two of them to use it together; she saw it was ready, with rose petals floating in it.
"There are controls for the bath in the kitchen and on that tablet," he said, gesturing to a lighted display on the wall. "But you can control it remotely, too. I ran it while we were on our way."
He was babbling cheerfully as she looked around. "It's ready for you, if you'd like to take a bath," he said. "Though I didn't know if you'd want to eat first…The warm towels are on the warming rack…and the extra towels are here," he said, opening up yet another closet door. "And if you want to adjust the lighting, the main panel is over there—"
The bathroom was stocked with the toiletries she'd favored. She saw a bottle of Royal Snow on a little shelf by her sink, matching lotions and handwashes; he'd even found the same paulownia-wood comb she used for her hair. There was a little bamboo-wood footstool in case she needed to reach for something; a brand new toothbrush in a cup.
Why did that little toothbrush make her feel so loved?
All throughout this space, there had been nearly nothing of him—but here, in this master suite, she realized it: he'd formed a Kyoko-shaped space in his home.
A lump was forming in her throat.
"Oh," he said, noticing her gaze. He walked back to her side, smiling sheepishly. "I—yeah—I thought it might be nice if you didn't have to pack your shampoo and stuff—"
"Kuon." There was an ache building in her chest; a kind of joy that was too heavy to hold carelessly.
"—and did you see your bathrobe?" he asked, offering her something blue and fluffy. He draped it over her shoulders and then clung to her, turning them both around to see their reflection in the mirror.
She ran her hands over the soft cloth. The bathrobe was made of a high-end cotton, a waffle weave cloth hand-dyed with Japanese indigo. She recognized it—she'd been in charge of buying them for the ryokan—and knew that he'd gone out of his way to make sure he bought something that wasn't just expensive, but something that she loved. The one he'd put on her was already warm. It had 'Kyoko' embroidered on it.
He was looking at her as if he could never bear to lose her.
She felt her eyes getting misty. All her life, 'home' hadn't just been home. 'Home' had always been a place where she'd worked—a place to put others' needs before her own. A place where she'd had to earn the right to sleep at night.
Had she ever lived in a place where she hadn't needed to put someone else before herself?
All of this—all of this was so like him. For all of the restraint of his professional persona, for all of the darkness in his past, she could see he was still the fairy prince she'd met by their stream, his heart unchanged—a gallant young man who'd seen a girl crying and learned to fly without wings to make her smile again. And now, she could see: everything he'd done, everywhere she turned—with every step into his home, Kuon was showing her: You belong here. There's space for you here. I *want* you here, and I hope you want to be here, too.
She felt tears form; despite herself, she felt them running down her cheeks.
Kuon had been curled into her, nuzzling her as he embraced her. But he felt the sudden tension and then the paroxysms of the quiet sobs that escaped her.
"Kuon," she said again.
"Hey," he said, "hey—Kyoko—" He turned her around, taking her hands and then kneeling before her before holding her close. He looked up as tears fell down her cheeks, wiping them away with his fingers before wiping them away with a handkerchief. "Kyoko, love, what's wrong?" he asked. "Is it—should I not—? You don't like—?"
She clung to him, too, leaning into him as he burrowed himself into her chest. "I love it," she whispered fiercely, and he knew it wasn't just the bathrobe she was talking about. "I love you."
"I love you too," he said. His eyes looked worried as her tears fell, but he kept holding her. "I love you so much—"
"I'm not used to this," she told him. "To everything. The way—the way you—" She paused, wiping away the tears. Her voice quavered. "—you love me," she finished. "You keep showing me…you keep doing it—over and over again—"
She pulled him up by the lapels of his shirt—they were home now, but he'd only just shed his suit jacket. He came up willingly, knowing what she wanted, bringing his hand around to the nape of her neck and pulling down as he surged upwards. One kiss. A welcome home kiss, full of her gratitude, full of his longing; a hungry kiss, giving tangible form to what they'd both wanted since she'd arrived.
He got up off his knees, a gentle finger wiping away her tears and then running along the edge of her jaw. She looked up at him expectantly, leaning into his hand and waiting for him to make a move. "I'm going to keep showing you," he said softly. "Until you are used to it. Until you know that you don't deserve any less than this. I just wanted you to feel welcome. Wanted you to know how I missed you—"
"You've done so much," she told him. "More than you should have. More than I deserve."
"You deserve so much more. It won't ever be enough," he said. Again, she found herself swept off of her feet. The bathrobe fell to the floor, unheeded, as he walked her to his bed.
Gently he laid her down, taking care to fan her hair over her pillow. She sprang upwards, attempting to move out from under him. She put her hands on his shoulders as her legs curled underneath her. "Please?" she asked. She looked up at him with wide eyes as her body grazed his quickly stiffening member. She wanted to please him, to take him in her mouth, to hear him groan and take his release into her body. She could see his eyes dilate at the thought.
But he shook his head, refusing her. "No, love," he said.
He wanted her to come first this evening. He grinned and pressed a firm hand on her sternum, pushing her back down onto her back. She fell back onto the bed with a huff, too dazed with sensation to fight him but pouting in mock frustration.
There was something so adorable about her thwarted lust. He wanted to suck the lush softness of her lips into his kiss all over again. The look on her face went straight to his cock—perhaps he would go to hell, he thought, for wanting to fuck this angel's mouth. Everything about her set him ablaze, but this was not the time or the place to sate his baser urges. He had no desire to move quickly tonight. For the first time in a long time, his tomorrow was free to do with as he liked; he wanted to spend it with her. He'd wanted to do things properly, maybe wait until she'd at least had dinner and a shower, perhaps even after she'd taken a nap—he was too guilty too often of pouncing on her without regard to her comfort. Being unable to touch each other these past few weeks had forced them to come clean about their desires—and inflamed them. But time spent on-screen was a pale substitute for this. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. And though this wasn't exactly the progression of events he'd planned, he was determined to make love to her. There was plenty of time later to fuck.
He climbed over her again to capture her lips in a kiss. "So beautiful," he murmured.
He laid on his side, propping up his head with one bent arm, running his fingers through her hair with the other. She arched upwards into his touch like a cat, letting him set the pace. Lazily his hand stretched to its full span; he raked it over her clothing, past the swell of her breasts and over her taut belly. His fingers found the hem of her sweater; he grabbed it and pulled upwards as she brought her arms upwards. She wriggled beneath him, slithering out of her panties and the warm leggings she wore. He kissed down her neck and latched onto her breast, thumbing the lace of her bra out of the way as she gave a soft moan. His fingers flicked her bra's clasps off and she mewled as the cool of the open air puckered her nipples. "I won't ever let you go," he said, circling one of them with his tongue. "I'll do whatever it takes—" She bucked underneath him. "—to keep you here with me—"
He caged her underneath him, hovering over her. Her hands flew up to him, palms up, traveling down his chest.
"Please, Kuon," she said, reaching out to him. He kissed her lips gently as she fumbled with his buttons. Their bodies were already moving in rhythm—he moved frantically, too, pushing down his own pants as his shirt came undone.
When all his clothing had been removed he pressed against her body, both of them gasping at the electric feel of bare skin-upon-skin. Still, he was determined to go slow. He took his time with her, tasting her, feeling her soft lips seek him and then yield. He teased at her tongue, sometimes shy, sometimes bold. He kept an arm beneath her, possessively clutching her figure against him.
He paused to look down at her, but she was gazing at him with glazed eyes. "Please don't stop," she whimpered. "Kiss me."
He did.
With his hands and his mouth and his body, he worshiped her. He felt as if he could never express the immensity of his need for her—how could he? Separating from her had nearly destroyed him; these past few weeks apart he'd felt as if she were right next to him and galaxies apart all at the same time. More than air, more than light, more than sustenance—having her here with him gave him life. She was more than his heart; she was his soul. She was part of whatever made him him, and loving her was no less than throwing a gauntlet into the eye of the world and insisting on his own happiness.
He kissed her from the top of her forehead and lingered on her lips, leaving them, he licked at her breasts until her hands fisted in his hair. But touching her body wasn't enough. He wanted to melt into her, feel her thoughts inside his head, feel her breath in his lungs.
"Kyoko." She felt his breath against her belly, breathing sharply as his tongue drew circles from her sternum to her belly-button and down to her mons.
She squirmed against him as he descended, his touch sending tiny bolts of lightning against her skin. "Kuon," she whimpered. She was still beneath him, but now he was between her legs. She looked up at him with fevered eyes, flat on the mattress as he loomed over her.
"Give yourself to me," he whispered.
She nodded. She knew what he wanted; knew better, now, than to protest. She screwed her eyes shut as his hands found her ankles in a firm grip. The flats of his palms traveled upwards—skimming along her trembling skin, from the knob of her heels to the insides of her knees, pushing her legs further apart. She turned her head into the pillow—she'd accepted the lewdness of his touch for a while now, but she could not yet bear to watch him so brazenly.
Again he descended downwards—she felt his breath and his warmth, his lips against the fragile skin of her upper thighs. She felt the soft fringe of his eyelashes give her butterfly kisses as she tensed, anticipating his touch. Firmly, he pressed against her—she moaned as he nipped at the space where her legs met her mound of Venus. She felt his intake of breath and blushed, knowing he could smell her arousal. She was clutching at his sheets, keeping herself still. This stasis was part of his game, she knew. She wondered if it would ever be possible to feel this with anyone else—he could torture her by merely breathing in place. Would he make her beg? She was a hair's breadth away from begging. She wanted him so much more than she wanted to keep her dignity—it was selfish, she knew, but he was holding her ecstasy in the palm of his hand.
He felt her pulse racing, could see it in her jugular. Her chest was rising and falling as she panted softly; her muscles were tensed. He pressed her legs even further apart, ignoring the soft moan that escaped her.
"Please…Kuon!" she said in frustration.
He chuckled. "You know better, love," he said. His voice sounded sinister to his own ears. "I love your body. I love looking at your body." He brought his hands to her mound and parted her delicate lips with his thumbs. "These past few weeks…seeing you like this. Listening to your cries. Watching you cum over and over again all alone and not being able to touch you. I haven't gotten my fill yet." The pink of her slit shone with her slick. He could see her clenching for him—clenching on empty air. He ran the tip of his index finger on the rim of her lips just to see her shiver. "I love how wet you are for me," he said.
She groaned as his finger pushed into her, attempting to bring her legs together.
Instantly, he stopped, removing himself from her. "I don't want to keep asking," he said, a sharp edge to his voice. "You know better." Firmly he pushed her legs apart again. "Hold yourself open for me," he told her.
She opened her eyes and stared at him but he kissed a knee and then grabbed her shaking arms. He hooked her knees around them, forcing her into offering herself obscenely. She shivered again as she felt the chill of the air on her fevered body, but she didn't protest.
Softly, slowly, he began teasing her. His tongue flitted over her core, licking her with feather-light touches on the edges of her labia, dipping in to taste her inner lips before spiraling outwards again to tease at her perineum. He lapped up her slick with the broad flat of his tongue as her hips began canting up towards him. She hissed as he entered her again with one finger and then the second. Gently, always gently—she was so tight that he was afraid two fingers at once would hurt her.
"Ku-o-on!" she cried out. His fingers were larger and thicker than her own, and after the weeks they'd been apart, they filled her thoroughly. She was still holding her knees upwards and outwards, keeping herself open for him. He was thrusting his fingers in, slowly but rhythmically. He curled them upwards into her, finding the bundle of nerves within and making her spasm inwards as he licked at her in tandem. Pleasure jolted through her, but he was teasing her and she knew it—his fingers were playing a wicked game but his tongue continued to avoid her clit. She panted and moved her hips towards him, wanting more.
"I love the way you taste," he told her, making her throw her head back as his finger pressed into her spot.
"Kuon, Kuon—please—" she said.
"Please what?" he asked. He circled her clit with his tongue as she gasped. "Hmm?"
"You know," she begged. "Please—"
"I do know," he teased. "I absolutely know. But I want to hear it from you anyway." He stopped thrusting his fingers into her, keeping them frozen just outside her quivering pussy.
She moved frantically, desperately, pushing her hips into him, wanting him to continue. "I want to, Kuon," she said.
"Do you?"
"I need to. Please let me—please let me cum—ah!"
"Look at me," he told her. "I want to see your eyes—"
She looked down at him. He was grinning between her legs as his fingers invaded her again—this time, he pressed into that place without restraint. Over and over, his fingers dove into her; his tongue finally teasing at her clit. She gave up on holding herself open, unable to control the trembling in her legs and in her arms. She was clutching at his sheets again, grabbing them in her fists, trying to find some way to cope with the pleasure building in her. Vainly, she attempted to silence the moans escaping her. She could hear the lewdness of her pussy as he worked her into delirium—she knew she must be making a mess on his bed.
When he took her clit into his mouth, her world fractured into bits of light and dark. All of her senses focused into the pearl of sensation between her thighs—between his fingers and his tongue, she had no chance. He brought her to a screaming frenzy, bringing her over with an expert's skill—he grunted in pleasure when her hand tangled itself into his hair and only redoubled his efforts when her thighs squeezed him in place.
He felt her cumming on his hands and almost came himself—she was gripping him tightly as her wetness coated his face. All of her body was clenched tight around him for a few blissful seconds. When her body began to go limp, he started again. She cried out at the overstimulation—the pleasure-pain of it was overwhelming as he brought her swollen clit into his mouth again. But again she came, crying and begging, and again he buried his tongue into her body.
The second time she came, she went limp—he took pity on her and rose up to hold her as she shook. Weakly she reached out to him, kissing him and tasting herself on his lips. He tucked her into his arms like a little spoon, pressing into her body with his painfully hard cock. She was swollen and drenched, satisfied but somehow still hungry. She wanted him—badly.
Silently she reached for his member behind her, taking it into her hand. He was so hot and so hard—almost like a burning brand. He was throbbing, his slit weeping with precum as she closed her fingers around him. "Do you want me?" he rumbled into her ear. His voice was hoarse.
"Yes," she answered meekly. "Please."
He flipped himself on top of her, caging her in his arms again. She gasped and bit her lip as she gazed up into Ren Tsuruga's brown eyes. Her legs had parted to accommodate him, and now he ground up against her. "Put me inside you," he said.
She reached between their bodies, seeking his member. He hissed as her hand circled it and then exhaled as she notched it at her entrance. She arched herself upwards, feeling his glans beginning to part her lips, and then she couldn't help but cry out as he moved his hips forward to force the first inch of him inside her.
"You're so tight," he whispered in her ear. He pressed further into her. "So fucking tight—so beautiful—"
"I'm yours," she moaned. "Take me—take me—"
She'd kept her eyes closed but opened them to look into his. In that moment, he drove himself fully into her, his cock bottoming out and kissing her cervix as she cried out. "Kyoko—" He grit his teeth, calming himself. He'd been at a fever pitch for hours now, having controlled himself with an iron discipline throughout all of his appearances and then with even greater restraint once she'd arrived. He felt her delicious flesh parting beneath him, her hunger for him obvious in the slick velvet heat of her pussy.
He thrust and kept thrusting, watching her face all the while. Her eyes, when he met them, were blown wide open in lust. She would bite her lips as she held in the sounds of her ecstasy, and when she couldn't, he would watch as they opened with lascivious groans. Her body was writhing beneath him, sucking him in as she clung to him and cried out. She whispered his name like a prayer as her body arched against his, moved against his, trembled against his. "I need you," she was whispering. "I love you—I want you—please—Kuon—make a mess of me—"
Her hips were meeting his of their own accord and when he felt her clench against him, he cried out with her and came.
She held him against her again, not caring how heavy he was.
"My Kyoko," he said, and smiled.
=.=.=
She was clinging to him, dazed in the aftermath of their coupling. Her hand was still in his hair, her leg still flung across his body.
He wouldn't have changed any of this for the world.
He would have been happy to drift off to sleep next to her, but it was still early. Not yet nine in the evening—and he knew that she hadn't had dinner yet. Nor had she unpacked, or showered, or even been given a drink of water. He was the worst host ever.
It wasn't the slow evening of seduction that he'd planned. Though, in retrospect, why had he planned a slow seduction? They'd been apart for weeks. Didn't he know by now that he was incapable of keeping his hands off of her? He should be impressed they'd even made it as far as the bed.
Fondly, he moved a wisp of hair from her forehead. "Mmm," she murmured, nuzzling into him.
He kissed her hair in response.
He was well and truly trapped here. He occupied himself by memorizing her—watching the rise and fall of the breath in her chest, the bend of her shoulder. He contemplated the curl of her pinkie, and the Cupid's bow of her lips, wondering, all the while, how he hadn't managed to fuck this up yet.
No. He'd asked her not to think like that—he wouldn't, either.
"Kuon?" Her voice, still hoarse, called out to him.
"Hey," he said. He ran a reassuring hand up and down her arm. "How do you feel?"
"Good." She grinned. "And you know it." She yawned, stretching out into his bed. He accommodated her, straightening out his leg so she wouldn't be entangled. "What time is it?" she asked sleepily.
"Not quite nine," he answered. Any second now, she'd realized he hadn't eaten.
He was going to count down from thirty.
30, 29, 28, 27—
"Kuon!" She sat up, bolt upright, looking at him. "You—you haven't eaten dinner yet, have you?"
He stifled a chuckle. "In my defense, I was distracted," he grinned.
She narrowed her eyes at him, suppressing her own smirk.
He threw the blanket off of his lap. "Let me get you cleaned up."
"No, no," she said. "I can move."
Reluctantly, she moved away from him to let him up, and then tried to get up from the bed. She felt wobbly, shaky…her knees weren't quite bending the way she wanted them to.
He stood up before she did and caught her by the hand before she fell back into the bed. "I'm going to take this as an honor," he said, pulling her close.
"Wah?"
"The fact that you're shaking—"
"Kuon—!" She wriggled to get away from him but he had her by the waist—she squealed as he took her in his arms again.
=.=.=
Ten minutes later, she was slowly sinking into rose-scented bubbles. He'd asked if she wanted dinner first, but she shook her head—the bubbles had looked too inviting. Bubble baths were a novelty to her; the ryokan had traditional baths that did not lend themselves well to them. He insisted on washing her hair for her; insisted, again, on scrubbing her back. By the time he had her in the bath itself, his hands were kneading the knots out of her shoulders and she was leaning back onto the firm flesh of his abs.
"You don't have to—" she'd tried to say.
"I don't have to, but I want to, and you, madam, are not going to stop me." He'd set his mouth in a firm line and she knew he wouldn't budge. It was hard to argue with him, really, when his touch was melting her into a puddle. "I don't get the chance to do this enough," he said, kissing the lobe of her ear.
"You won't even give me the chance to—"
"Nope," he said, smiling. "You're the princess. You just got here. I attacked you as soon as you walked in the door, so it's only fair—"
"I didn't walk in, you carried me," she pouted. "You're not even letting me walk—"
"Nope." He found a particularly stubborn knot at her shoulder right then, and for a while she lost her train of thought. "Not letting your feet touch the ground," he said. "Not if I can help it."
"You're going to have to let me up some time. How am I going to cook otherwise?"
"What if we just get things delivered, and you stay in my arms?" he asked.
"And that would be a terrible waste of money," she chided. "Not to mention unhealthy—so much easier to cook at home—"
He stopped kneading long enough to plunge his hands under the water and around her waist, holding her close as she squeaked in surprise. He buried himself in the nape of her neck, kissing her wet skin. "Please don't ever change," he said. His voice had a soft wistfulness in it that made her throat catch. "Please?"
She couldn't find the right words to respond. She found the hands holding her close, instead, and put her own over them until his grip loosened enough for her to entwine her fingers in his. She closed her eyes and leaned back, enjoying the stillness of the moment.
She looked beyond the edge of the tub and out to the view beyond, watching as the aviation lights pulsed like living things on the snow-bound skyscrapers. "One-way glass," he'd assured her. Below them, Tokyo was a neon-lit wonderland, blazing like a jewel in the night. Windows blazed gold in the purple sky. Traffic below ticked along lit veins of brilliant white. She could see that Tokyo's heart beat faster than the river waters by her ryokan. There was so much life here, an upswell of energy and speed playing out beneath her.
The sight made her press closer to him. "Tighter," she murmured, so he held her tighter. Her legs were bent up so that her knees formed little islands in the water; he took his own legs and trapped hers between them.
"Good?" he asked.
"Mmm," she said. She could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong. His breath, soft on her neck. The warmth of the water around her body, the silky edge of the bubbles, heady with the scent of roses. She was all too cognizant of how warm she was, even as the snow accumulated in little drifts outside their windows. He made her feel warm. He made her feel cherished and safe, like a boat at harbor.
"It's beautiful," she breathed.
"Do you think so?" he said.
"I do."
"When I moved here, I told Lory that if I was going to live in some kind of gilded cage, it might as well have a view," he said. "Not that I've spent a whole lot of time looking at it."
"It must cost a fortune."
"It does." He sighed. "LME paid for it before I 'made it.' And now—I guess I'm just used to it."
"How could you possibly be used to this?" she asked, motioning towards the window.
"The same way you get used to everything, I guess," he said. "You live in a jaw-droppingly beautiful place, aren't you used to it?"
She was silent for a while. "No," she said pensively. "I'm not. It changes all the time, Kuon. Every single day is different—the way the river runs, the way the trees bloom in the spring and color in the fall. It's hard to get used to it, especially when you have to change with it." She closed her eyes. "But I think every day here would change, too," she said. "You can see the sunrises and sunsets, can't you?"
"Yes." He looked past her. "I guess I—haven't had much of a chance to watch for them. Usually too busy getting out of here in the mornings…and I'm usually back past sunset."
"How sad," she said.
"I don't think I'd ever had a chance to really watch a sunset until I came to Kyoto," he said. "And I don't think I've ever had a chance to admire a summer afternoon—do you remember Moppu-san?"
She laughed. "Yes," she said. "How could I forget? I was jealous of Moppu-san."
"Good," he said, satisfied. "Glad I did that right then." Softly, he took her hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss onto the back of her hand. "Kyoko?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you like it here?"
"I do," she told him. "It's beautiful, Kuon." She paused, hesitating. "But…"
"But?" he echoed, troubled.
"It seems so lonely here," she said. "So empty. It's lovely, but if you took away the roses and all the things you bought for me…"
"Yes," he said simply. "It was just an address before. A place for me to sleep in. I don't think I wanted anything more from an apartment until you came along."
She squeezed his hand. "I told you that Ren Tsuruga was a paper doll," he said. "Paper dolls don't have homes, love."
"That's…so sad, Kuon," she said. It was a pithy remark, but it was all she could say.
"Make it a home with me," he said softly. There was a quiet plea in his voice.
She blushed. They'd never spoken explicitly about where she would live if she decided to study in Tokyo, but somehow both of them had assumed she'd live with him. She hadn't even considered moving back to the Darumaya—she knew she'd be spending her time with him anyway.
He was suddenly serious. "Maybe it's selfish of me," he said softly. He was treading into the territory of their fragile dreams. "To want this."
"You aren't selfish," she said.
"I am." He sighed. "I can't help it. I keep hoping you might go to university here—even though I don't want to influence your choice—"
"Tokyo is ranked higher than Kyoto, Kuon," she said. "It wouldn't be a bad choice to study here, even if you and I had never met—"
"I dream of it," he said breathlessly. "Waking up with you, every single day. Packing your bento. Seeing you off in the mornings. Hearing you say Tadaima when you get home. Going to bed with you every night."
Butterflies, again. She could see it too. You are my home wherever you are, he'd told her, and oh, how she wanted him to be her home, too. She blushed, grateful he couldn't see her face. "I have to get into Tokyo University first," she said.
"You will," he said flatly.
"You're so sure."
"I am."
"How?"
"Maybe…maybe it's just that I believe we're meant to be together?" he said. "That the red string will pull you to me?"
She turned her face towards him. "What if it isn't that easy?"
He shrugged. "Then we'll figure it out. Don't you think?"
She smiled at him as he closed in for a kiss. "I am never, ever, ever letting you go again," he said, touching his forehead to hers. "Say you understand—"
"I understand," she said. Teasing her with his tongue, he kissed her until she was panting and lightheaded, and then he pulled away, leaving her with kiss-swollen lips.
"Say you'll never leave me," he said, kissing along the line of her jaw.
She closed her eyes, tilting her head as he found her pulse on her neck. "Say it," he said, nipping her skin.
He sucked in sharply as she gasped and stuttered—"I'll never leave you—"
"Never?" One hand was toying at her breasts, fingers circling one nipple and then the other. She gasped again as his other hand plunged under the water to circle at her clit.
"Ne-ne-ver," she whimpered. He kept her trapped between his legs as he teased her, the length of his manhood against her back. The soap made her skin slick; his fingers glided over her breasts and then her abdomen.
He teased her until she was bucking underneath his touch. She was crying out and straining against him, overwhelmed and yet wanting more. He rose up out of the water, lifting her up by the hips. He sat down on the tub's generous ledge; he sat her on his lap. This time, his finger parted her lips. She was ready for him, slick despite the water. He wasted no time and thrust inside her, pumping upwards as he held her against him.
"Touch yourself," he ground out. He was close, he didn't want to cum without her.
She obeyed. Frantically he thrust into her, holding on until he heard her cry out—until he felt her clench against him, her core sucking him deep into her as he spent inside her. He cried out her name as he came, clutching at her breast and at her waist. When he was done, she turned around and sat down again on his lap, curling her ankles around his back as she kissed him.
"We're never going to get to dinner this way," he said.
"You started it," she answered.
"I did not."
"You did. This time."
He kissed her one last time as she got off of his lap, slowly. "I'll concede," he said. "But you can't blame me."
=.=.=
It was late by the time they finished their oden.
It had been difficult to extricate themselves from each other—the aftermath of their lovemaking left both of them languorous. It had only been a few weeks since the last time they'd seen each other, but it might have been years. Coming together only made them realize how much separation hurt, almost as if their time away had forced their minds to dull the sharpness of that pain.
Kyoko dried his hair and let him dry and brush hers. She unpacked her clothing and hung them next to his own on brand-new satin hangers. She sat next to him in her bathrobe as he fed her dinner; sat with her legs atop his as they watched TV.
When their eyes grew heavy, they snuggled underneath a down duvet in each others' arms.
Kuon watched the bedside clock tick over to midnight.
"Happy birthday, love," he said.
It was the last thing she heard as she fell asleep.
=.=.=.=.=.=.=
Author's Note: OK, so, I actually wrote this chapter before I wrote the last one. So…I had more time to spend on it! BUT! Anyway…
Hiya from the Jesus Room at Parkers' parents' house.
Merry Christmas Eve if you celebrate Christmas.
Please let me know what you think? As a Christmas gift?
If I can pull it off, there should be another chapter out tomorrow.
Sending you and yours love and light this holiday season.
Parkerbear, 24 December 2023