#goujun

That, however, was precisely what Tenpou balancing on a high step stool wedged unevenly among a pile of books in the middle of the room amounted to.

"Ahh, Commander," Tenpou greeted as Goujun shut the door behind him. "I had thought it was you." He stretched up and out, something green and leafy in his hand, reaching for the ceiling. "The requisitions are in my desk; I'll get them for you in just a moment."

"…Dare I ask what you might be doing?" Goujun threaded his way carefully around the haphazard clutter of scholarly pursuits that littered the space. Such untidiness irked him, chafed at his sense of order, but he had developed a persistent and undeniable yen for the young officer's company that had come to outweigh his distaste.

"Ah? Oh, nothing really, I'll just be a moment—" Tenpou began, but the words turned abruptly into something between a yelp and a startled squawk as he overbalanced on the uneven stool and tumbled abruptly down, arms flailing.

Reflex had Goujun lunging forward to break his subordinate's fall, Tenpou's shoulder catching him square in the chest. He grunted, braced, righted them both, disregarding the upset piles of books that slid to the floor around their feet.

Tenpou met his gaze sheepishly. "Anh…thank you, Sir." His eyes flicked to the stool, now on its side among the books. "I suppose that was rather foolish of me, especially when it's only for the sake of a little decoration…"

He glanced up, past Goujun's face.

"My, how serendipitous!" he remarked brightly, beaming.

Goujun followed his gaze upward, to a sprig of green leaves and waxy white berries hanging innocently above their heads.

His eyes returned to Tenpou expectantly.

Tenpou simply kept beaming.

Goujun let his gaze bore into Tenpou until the man could no longer feasibly pretend not to realize that his commanding officer was awaiting further explanation.

"Ahah. Well." Tenpou straightened his glasses but made no move to untangle his feet from the books about them or step away from the weight of Goujun's arm across his shoulders. "Do you recall the conversation we had recently regarding the evolution of folklore in many of the cultures Down There and the various traditions that have ensued?

"I do." It had made the tedium between holding audience with the Jade Emperor and meeting with their counterparts in each of the other armies far more bearable.

"Yes, well, I took it into my head to explore certain of these traditions in a little more practical depth. Do you recall, specifically, the lore of the mistletoe?"

"Indeed." He had thought the tale rather odd when Tenpou detailed it to him, but then he thought the same of many aspects of many peoples who were not his own. "Is tumbling from a carelessly-placed stool a part of this particular custom, then?"

"Ahaha no, Sir. It's just that I really can be quite clumsy at times!"

Goujun knew that his subordinate was far from clumsy, obviously, but let the excuse stand unchallenged. "If you are unharmed, then…" He made to step back, withdrawing his arm from about Tenpou.

Tenpou ignored the hint; his hand remained in place at Goujun's shoulder, entirely too familiar quite suddenly. "Ah…Commander?"

Goujun looked down at him, perplexed.

"The mistletoe," Tenpou added helpfully.

Goujun glanced upward again, and back down at Tenpou.

"Mmm…you do realize that you and I are standing beneath it?"

Something warm curled in the pit of Goujun's belly, soft and foreboding. "So it would appear."

"Perhaps you have forgotten the particulars of the mistletoe, then?"

"Upon the resurrection of a god slain by an arrow fashioned of this plant, the mother of that god decreed that henceforth the mistletoe should be a symbol of joy, love and goodwill. Therefrom arose the custom of exchanging a kiss beneath it." That soft warm foreboding stirred again, almost imperceptibly, anticipatory despite itself. He refused to consider that Tenpou should expect him to actually adhere to this bizarre custom, but it was difficult to fathom whatever else he might mean.

"Then"—Tenpou's eyes grew bright and liquid behind his glasses, mouth ripening to something just short of a crestfallen pout—"aren't you going to kiss me, Sir?"

Goujun recoiled slightly, biting back a hiss of disapproval. "Absolutely not," he growled, pushing away from Tenpou's hand, uncaring that the marshal stumbled and fell on his backside in the avalanche of books. "I am—you are—it would be highly inappropriate! Good day." And he swept abruptly out of the office before Tenpou could offer any rebuttal.

He had left without the requisitions that had been his excuse for the visit, but he was not going back. They would keep in the face of Tenpou's brazen behavior, his utterly uncalled-for attempt at—at—

At what, precisely? An intimate overture? A joke? An exploration of cultural traditions outside their own?

Goujun stalked through the halls of the Western Army compound, scowling, chastising himself in hindsight for the severity of his response. He could have reacted with amusement, brushed it off as the joke he ought to have assumed it. He could have honored Tenpou's ridiculous request, given a courtly kiss of regard on the cheek. Instead, he had immediately taken it for romantic intent, seized up with panic, fled most disgracefully.

He trusted his instincts, after all. Tenpou was not the sort to joke or prank in such a manner, not in his experience with the man. Which meant—

Several things were settling with clarity as his thoughts eddied and swirled, a current of insight washing ashore into revelation—the frequency and ease with which Tenpou sought his company, the intensity of Tenpou's eyes upon him during their many conversations, the subtle brightening of Tenpou's scent over time.

Tenpou was infatuated with him at the very least, Goujun was beginning to see, and he was distressed at how little the realization appalled him.

He was Goujun, Dragon King of the Western Seas, Commander of the Western Army of Heaven, and in no position to entertain amorous advances from any quarter, particularly from those under his command. And yet.

The idea of Tenpou's interest was undeniably appealing.

Which meant Goujun found Tenpou appealing, in more ways than he had previously cared to admit.

Something in his chest fluttered, spread fledgling wings of joy that even in this, perhaps especially in this, the two of them were in concert. They rode the same winds in so many regards—to think that they were matched in attraction as well, it thrilled him even as it filled him with dread.

His own burgeoning interest had been easily ignored, a self-told tale of appreciation for a kindred spirit and nothing more—for anything more would be inadvisable. But if Tenpou was like-minded in the full nature of his regard, and willing to act upon it, it became much more difficult for Goujun to disregard what he wanted.

To want it was dangerous.

That did not stop the desire from making itself known.

Goujun shook his head, increased his stride, suppressed an agitated growl. What either of them might want mattered little in the face of duty and pragmatism. The existence of attraction did not necessitate acting upon it, any more than the sweetness of the summer wind necessitated taking flight upon it. An affair between them, however discreet, would be thoroughly inadvisable.

He swept into his own office at last and shut the door behind him, huffed a sigh through his nostrils, eyes closing briefly. His refusal had been appropriate, necessary, but he had perhaps been…needlessly harsh. He would apologize to Tenpou for his abruptness at the next opportunity, and he would make clear in a calm and civil fashion that nothing would come of this shared infatuation.

Nothing could come of it.

Pursuing it would be most unwise.

There were too many eyes about Tenkai, eyes and ears and wagging tongues loyal to the fattest purse, the greatest promise of power. He would not be led to indiscretion on account of interest in a charming and cunning young officer under his command, no matter how engaging his conversation, no matter how pretty his face, no matter how seen Goujun felt in his company. He would not.

He could ill afford such distraction, such attachment, such exploitable weakness.

He would not pursue it.

He almost believed his own conviction.

= Started: 12/5/06 Drafted: 3/6/26 Posted: 3/17/26