B E N E V I O L E N C E

Her smile is rose-petal soft, exquisite blooms of pure red coming into full beauty across her empyrean features, her eyes radiant and glowing and crescent-shaped as deigned by the grandeur of her moonlit grin; she emanates a great joy, looks at him as if he is the first glimpse of sun she has seen after a thousand years of grey-coloured despondency, so dazzling, her wide unveil of perfectly-aligned teeth, that a soiree of otherworldly flowers sprout from the earth as gorgeous as she is, their velvety bodies dappled in sugared starlight and the tails of gold-gilded comets. She only meant to tease him, to see his reaction to her shamelessness, to stand witness to how he functions under pressure, to determine whether or not he crumbles under the topic of sex which stands to be her favourite and, instead, she finds herself enamored with him, held rapt by his stuttering and blushing in spite of his cocky personality, his sheepishness for all of his overbearing self-confidence. She does not realize the strength of her supernovæ-shaming smile, its Big Bang brilliance, its Eta Carinæ luminosity painting the world anew, their surroundings more vibrant, everything near them full of vim and vigor, bright and unbelievably striking as if she has poured indescribable colour into each item.

❝I… ❞ Distraction shades her luscious tones, her smile still blindingly strong despite such, ❝will keep that in mind,❞ she says, punctuating her sentence with a coy tilt of her head, placing a hand on her hip. ❝I can hardly concentrate, what with how adorable you are.❞ Her other hand, tentative in its movement, finds the curve of his cheek, to which she gently brushes the back of her knuckles against in an achingly romantic gesture, thereon running the tips of her fingers against his skin in appreciative, sensual-soused strokes. ❝I could kiss you… Could, if you told me how much you’d like me to.❞ It is a purred command and in no way a question.

Masamune doesn't realise he has been holding his breath until he releases it all at once; Kohana's smile is far too brilliant, far too dazzling, so much more beautiful than anything he has heretofore borne witness to. And yet she radiates an effulgent light that’s almost sweltering with its intensity, pools of effervescent green pouring out from beneath the heavy canopy of her eyelashes. She is so striking, so honest in this moment, the white of her teeth seeming to glitter as she gifts to him the largest smile he's ever seen grace her ethereal features. This smile of hers is one that she gives to him, the expression upon her face is for him, and in this knowledge he finds himself humbled before her.

Typically, he would balk at being called “adorable” and instead take it for an insult; he is a Daimyо̄, a samurai, a beacon of hope for his people, and above all -- and at the very least -- a constant burr in the side of all of his rivals. But when it comes from Kohana he finds himself arrested by the conviction and offers nothing but a gentle smile of his own in response. As when it comes from her, he doesn't take for granted the compliment, nor does he doubt the sincerity of it.

He is grateful.

He hasn't had the chance to respond and already she is reaching out to touch his cheek; he closes his eye reflexively and relishes the tender caress of her fingertips. Masamune is not used to kind touch. He has been formed by hurt and war, his own body a battlefield and there are too many bloodstains to count, to many scars etched into his skin like grave markers. But it doesn't seem to matter to her at all, doesn’t perturb her in the slightest as she continues to stroke his cheek lovingly.

He is utterly unprepared.

A quiet laugh falls from his lips, lightened by the release of tension the mere contact brings him. If she desired him to voice his desires, who was he to deny? It was the least that he could do to repay her for the comfort her mere presence brings him, for how she quiets the tempest of rage within his chest so effortlessly.

A hand finds itself on the wide width of her hip, her stance standoffish, mouth drawn into a feline sneer and eyes narrowed to slits, tilting her head slightly to the left in an attempt to make sense of this, to grasp his persistent dodging of her question ( it is unprecedented, it makes her upset ). ❝I’m asking you what you like up your ass.❞ A bit more blunt this time, a bit more stern. ❝Start speaking in full sentences before I shove my heel up it, then you’ll wish you did.❞

Just like that, he begins to choke on the air, choke on his own embarrassment. Masamune is naturally commanding and assertive; he knows what he wants, and cares little about the opinions of others lest they are of the exalted few he admires and respects -- and that makes for quite the interesting situation right now. He is capable of being quite brash and typically is, but right here, right now? The slow heat of embarrassment crawls up from his belly and stains his cheeks a bright red. What is a classy way to admit you like to get pounded so hard you forget your own name?

Trick question. There is none.

She brings an index finger to the corner of her cherry-ripe lips, smirk ever devious, her gaze full of liquor-laced mischief. ❝Just ‘massive’? I haven’t done anything yet, and already you’ve forgotten how to speak. You know how to elaborate, yes? Well then, don’t keep me waiting. I wish to hear your preferences.❞

❝So… Masa…. How big is too big?❞

❝Hmm… I don’t know…❞ she drawls, mashing the fullness of her lips together in a catlike taunt, running the pad of an index finger against her cheek and tapping it thereafter( slow and sensual, her movements sly, feral ), ❝if you came to see my nipple again, all you had to do was ask. Why preface that with the monotony of a greeting?❞ Although she did appreciate his smile.

The aforementioned smile he donned especially for her (and was incredibly genuine, in comparison to the smiles he was wont to make otherwise, which were all very deceitful in their purpose; rather than displaying pleasure, their sole intent was to conceal his emotions and true personality behind a brilliant, amiable façade) begins to wilt almost immediately. It does not fade into a frown, or any other such expression, but instead flattens out into an incredulous -- and extremely embarrassed -- stare.

He does little beyond stare at her and blink rapidly for several seconds, mouth held agape as if she had ripped all his words straight from his throat at the same time that she had stolen all the air from his lungs.

‵ I, I -- ′ a rather undignified stutter bounces off his tongue as he attempts to regain his composure. Masamune was rather used to being the one to disarm others, to leaving them speechless and mystified by his motivations, to purposefully pulling their leg all for the sake of his own amusement. But Kohana has proven more than capable of doing the same to him on several occasions, as she has so beautifully exemplified in the breadth of a single sentence.

the  imitation  does  not  pass  unnoticed.  a low hiss comes from the hunter’s throat, grating on the ears, and she shifts her weight to the other foot, daring him to follow suit.  this mimicry is a game to him, she thinks.  she is not certain of it, but then again, she is rarely certain of anything when it comes to masamune.  and if she ever does believe she’s getting somewhere,  he puts up additional fronts, relishing her confusion as any opponent takes pride in a careful outmaneuvering.  is the nature of any dragon to AGGRAVATE her, even self-professed ones? ( it’s a cruel comparison, but still a little funny. ) 

❝  you waste it on me . ❞  such a lovely talent !  how flawless his execution !  she clicks her tongue. his efforts are to be commended, but what use is there wearing a disguise to fool the blind besides to mock their lack of sight ?   ❝  do you trust anyone ?  ❞   there should be bite to those words, but curiosity softens their taste.  she could tell you the secrets of the stars before she managed to pull a single hidden truth from masamune’s heart,  but one does not need to dig so deep to find the weight of responsibility, the mantle of leadership.  the look of a warrior is universal. ( and perhaps that is why when he smiles, she follows along as if she gets the joke. )  ❝  or can you not afford it ? ❞

Masamune’s eye tracks her shift in posture, that smile still plastered to his lips as if it had any meaning whatsoever. He again imitates her, shifting his weight to the opposite leg, but follows it up by crossing his arms over his chest. This little game has never been one with the intention of frustrating her, or intentionally irritating her; it’s more-so his own attempt to play. Granted, his sense of playfulness errs on the side of combativeness, but it’s certainly not something that is purposefully so. Years of being denied the ability to socialise regularly has somewhat skewed his understanding of what it means to “play around”.

Having rarely been afforded even so much as the idea of having acquaintances since he was young – well, those that weren’t from the family, or strictly allies, or enemies sat the table for negotiations – he’s at something of a disadvantage when attempting to convey the comfort he finds in Samus’ presence. It’s not a homely comfort, that’s for sure, but is something that feels distinctly like camaraderie; but he dare not say as much where she could hear. He feels comfortable enough to engage in activities with her that went beyond picking a fight, though he understands if she doesn’t quite see it the same way. (All that said, he wouldn’t be opposed to going a round or two in a fight with her. It would be interesting, and he’s sure that he could stand to learn a thing or two from her, as mighty a warrior as she is.)

But as she accuses him of distrust – no, her tone isn’t accusatory, though he feels as if it is all the same – his customary smile falters a bit, his brows knitting, before the smirk is gone altogether, replaced with a grim line. It figures, of course, that she would want to know. Anyone would. Hell, Samus has the right to know.

His countenance utterly changes: the loud, boisterous, overbearing and immature demeanour he typically purports disappears almost instantaneously, and is replaced by something calm, quiet, and contemplative. Masamune has no reason to pretend in front of her. (Not about this, anyway.) This is the absolute least that she deserves – and, regretfully, is all that he can manage for now.

A smile appears on his lips once more, though it’s something decidedly softer than what is typical of him. Rather than smug self-assuredness, this smirk betrays only sadness; it is mournful, the corners of his mouth drooping beneath the weight of a sadness so pervasive that for the first time – in front of her – it’s palpable. Within an instant it’s gone again, and he catches himself staring at his feet. He kicks the dirt with resentment, Masamune allowing his arms to fall free from their crossed position over his chest. His hands float down to his hips, and there’s a silence that settles between them that’s anything but customary.

For once, he’s allowing her to see him as he truly is:  a reflective man, mournful, and always, always aching for one reason or another.

‵ I trust, ′ he says finally, his voice coming out as a low baritone, resonating with hollowness. ‵ Though it has proven to be a damning quality in the past. ′ Be grateful you did not know me before now, Samus, he thinks, closing his eye and inhaling sharply. ‵ I can’t afford to do so anymore. ′ And yet here I am, trusting you with this part of myself, Masamune sneers internally. There’s definitely some bitterness in his words. This was never something that he had asked for.

He had never wanted to be a lone figure, without anyone to call a real friend. Of course there’s Kojūrо̄, so he isn’t so entirely lonely; but even so, Kojūrо̄ was born into an obligation to the Date clan, and Masamune was born into his care. Their bond was something that had been predetermined for the both of them. (This doesn’t imply that Masamune appreciates the man any less – only serves as mere observation.) He earnestly wishes that he’d been allowed the opportunity to form relationships that hadn’t been dictated by someone else, or were merely cultivated as a matter of convenience – allyship and war, to name two – or as the by-product of some other political bullshit.

          A spectacle to behold, surely, the man that stands before him and the company just behind. There’s no manner of a way he could feasibly cleave through – it is not in his interest to give himself away like so; He is only here for the sake of a peaceful venture. There are no weapons at his disposal beyond the bow and arrows he keeps, the errant hunting knife and his own wit to parse. It is nothing against the estemed Lord that arms himself to the teeth both in weaponry and armor alike.

     He knows of him. Of course he does. The Date family is of importance here. No, he makes it sound as if it is merely passing knowledge to retain, they mean more than that in all affairs by comparison. But he has no interest in prostrating himself for the sake of passage. The great Nobunaga could appear to him and his stance would not change. He bows to no one, foreign or of his own, and it is obvious in the narrowing of his eye that he has no inclination of yielding to the great One-Eyed Dragon, Date Masamune, before him.

     Such a gaudy title.

           ❛  I would be so inclined to offer pleasantries if I were not in a rush and you did not see it so fit as to make a nuisance of yourself.  ❜  Could he truly blame him? It was his territory as he had so declared and he knew it to be true. Time, however, was an asset that he could not waste on the intricacies of explanation and that of a royal pissing match. Especially in the cold and snow.

     ❛  Either you will let me pass, or I will be forced to fight you. That choice is entirely your own and I suggest that you make the correct one.  ❜

A “nuisance”, hm? If that is what this trespasser desired to call him, Masamune has no qualms with it. After all, it is well-known that he is, in fact, probably the biggest pain in the ass out of any of the many daimyо̄ who now fought each other in their desire for sole sovereignty. It is a title he accepts gracefully, a wicked curl on his lips all the while. He prides himself on his incredible ability to make a nuisance of himself. It meant that he could not be ignored. Everyone was forced to recognise him either as an equal, or an opponent, and he couldn’t care which they wanted to call him – he would beat them all in the end anyway.

Masamune peers down his nose at the traveler whilst a wicked sort of smirk burgeons across his lips. He can tell that the man is well-aware that he stands little chance against both Masamune and the wealth of his army that had gathered behind him – cutting off any escape route, forcing him to move towards О̄shū and therefore Masamune as well. A derisive snort is all the response he can muster at first; an admirable spirit the other possesses, to be sure. That’s something worthy of respect. He likes that attitude he’s been met with. That said, he can’t provide any sort of preferential treatment just because he likes the way some random nobody does – or doesn’t, in this case – treat him. If the other would refuse to do so much as introduce himself (even enemies are capable of that small courtesy), then Masamune has no choice but to observe him as a threat and assume that he has the power to defeat his army – judging by the cool, unperturbed (if irritated) manner that his new opponent regards them with.

With a single raise of the hand, palm outstretched almost in a placating gesture, the sound of weapons lowering rings throughout the mountain pass. Each and every single man in the Date army returns their swords to their sheaths, their spears to their sides. They don’t say anything, but there’s no concealing the excited glances they spare one another. Energy begins building in the atmosphere, almost as oppressive as broiling heat. Kojūrо̄ behind him snorts. Masamune smiles, and gracefully dismounts from his horse’s back. There’s a flourish – he has to do everything in style after all. The One-Eyed Dragon wouldn’t suit his own reputation if there wasn’t at least a little bit of showmanship in his actions.

All at once the army behind Han seems more like an eager crowd than any sort of organised military, bunching together and shoving each other out of the way for better views and scrambling for vantage points in the commotion. Masamune’s gaze drifts from them (the look in his eye is almost tender upon the wriggling forms of his men), to this stranger before him.

‵ Hmph, ′ he snorts derisively and shrugs, only to shake his head. If at all possible, the smug look on his face only grows. ‵ Can’t be helped then, I suppose. I, Date Masamune, shall be your opponent. ′ He sounds respectful in his address, despite his otherwise exuberant mannerism. There is no needless name-calling, no silly remarks meant only to upset and incite violence.

‵ Kojūrо̄. ′ At his name, Masamune’s Retainer nods solemnly, a grim expression marking his features as he takes hold of the reigns of Masamune’s horse and backs his own up, away from both of the men.