#pickle-scribbles

“What a proper answer. Good,” he tells her, and lifts one of her wrists from her silk-covered belly to his mouth. She wears only a gold belt and the high skirt, split at both sides, in a rich blue. It’s the finest thing she has ever worn but he does not seem to care about it at all. He kisses her below her palm, then licks the kiss, and the gasp she sucks in through her nose makes him laugh. “Relax,” he orders. “You are here because I deemed you worthy. Do you question my judgement?”

“Never,” she swears.

He hums and keeps his eyes on her as he moves his mouth back to her wrist and lightly scrapes his teeth over her pulse. She can feel it jump so strongly she thinks he must feel it, too.

“You did well,” he says graciously, placing her arm back on her belly and leaning over her on his bed. He looms. “Few earn this. Know that you are free to enjoy everything that happens here tonight. I will not tell you so again.”

She stares into his eyes, and knows only a want to look at him and look and look, forever. It is as though two bloodred moons look back at her, vibrant from their place in the sky. Expectant. “Thank you, my king,” she says quietly. “I will keep trying to please you.”

“See that you do,” he mutters as he comes down to her mouth. He does not kiss her, exactly, but he sucks her lower lip into his mouth and gently presses it with his teeth. She already feels like swooning and does not hide the lustful cry that comes out of her open mouth. That is his. It is not her place to deny him.

He stays above her, sublime and regal. But he turns her what feels like every which way through the night: onto her side where he grinds into her, on her back where he holds her by the hips and blesses her breasts with suckles and teeth. On her stomach, where he hauls up her hips to come close to him in heaven and pounds into her so fiercely the pillows do nothing to muffle her cries of pleasure. He laughs when she finally stops trying.

“There it is. Let them all hear. My entire great city in every direction, you let them know who is king.”

“Gilgamesh!” she cries.

“Louder!”

“Gilgamesh!” she screams as he presses into her and grinds himself deeper, so deep if he were not half god she knows it would hurt. Everything should hurt, but he keeps touching her and it does not. His fingers are unerring and graceful, occasionally tweaking but almost always blessing her with strokes and circles and zigzig patterns that make her legs fall open like an unrolled carpet, something meant for him to walk upon. She can hear the way her body never stops slicking itself for him-- he never lets up, it is always his heavenly mouth or fingers playing her. She did not know she was a lyre but she shakes at his every pluck, whether he uses the fingers of his hand gloved in gold or the naked one.

In moments of rest they feed each other apricots drizzled with honey, bites of cheese and pistachios. There is cold water flavored with roses and sweet wine. He tells her “Do not swallow,” before he kisses some of the wine into her mouth and her head swims as though she has had a full cup too fast. Some leaks out one side of her mouth and he laughs again-- he laughs so often her heart is weak-- and makes great show of cradling her face and licking from her chest up to her lips.

The sky is more purple than black by the time his energy finally wanes, as though he has kept the world alive through the night by staying awake with her. She is ready to bow beside his sweet-smelling bed and stumble away when he tugs her back to his sweaty chest with a huff and tells her she is to sleep there if she does not want to sour his mood. She tells him she would never dare and promptly falls asleep, where her dreams will never be sweeter than the night she has just endured.

She wakes on her stomach at midday, alone. There is one of the king’s tablets, the ones he magics, under her shoulder.

“You were just the person I was looking for, Mitsunari. Well, Mitsuhide too. But I must give you these before you depart tomorrow morning.” She hands him one of the furoshiki bundles she’d kept close by her side for the entirety of the evening.

“A gift for you.” Her smile widens at the pleased look that takes Ishida’s face when he unveils his present. “Writing implements! Thank you so very much. I can only hope the fabric we brought you earlier can offer you even a modicum of the joy I feel at your thoughtful gift.”

They speak of the affairs of Azuchi Castle and its town— two people close enough to share a laugh over a drink or two. The stark awareness of her comfort in Mitsunari’s presence scorches bitter ash across his tongue—a feeling he tries and throttles into submission. Failing efforts; until he feels the warmth of her hand across his where it rests clenched – he notices belatedly – on his knee. “Kenshin.”

Nothing sounds better than the syllables of his name on her tongue and he relishes the sound of it. “What is it?”

“I’d like to excuse myself for a while. Mitsunari tells me he hasn’t seen Mitsuhide in a while. I’d like to go search for him, give him his gift before he returns.” The effort it takes to slip his hand away from hers, to not hold on and tell her to stay, right by his side. The last of his iron-clad will hardening, crushing back base impulses before he does something he shall regret. Kenshin watches her leave in silence, the ice in his chest surfacing within odd eyes to leave them devoid of warmth as he swipes the last of his drink. Bidding Mitsunari a swift, curt farewell, Kenshin excuses himself for the night.

The air outside washes pleasant over her cheeks, flushed from sake and happiness as she finally spies the back of familiar robes; silver strands almost luminous under the moon. The man facing away from her as he speaks to one of the Oda retainers; low, indecipherable words exchanged in between the two— ones she fails to hear from where she stands. Hesitance and caution in her steps, she shuffles forward, silent so as not to disturb the men. However— 

Mitsuhide tips his head in her direction. “And what is our dear chatelaine doing out here all by herself? Tired of entertaining the Dragon, I presume?” Dismissing the man she believes is his subordinate, he turns to face her.

She shakes her head, venturing closer. “I was looking for you, Mitsuhide. Why’d you leave the feast midway?”

His gaze – just as discerning as she remembers it – sweeps across her and holds. “And what of you?”

“Irritatingly evasive as always, I see.” Her smiles; of amusement, she lifts the object she carries, up for inspection. “I wanted to hand over your gift.”

“A gift? For me?” Something akin to surprise flickers its way into his voice and she continues, pleased to have caught the man off-guard.

“Yes. I had gifts prepared for everyone at Azuchi once I learned you’d be visiting. I’ve left the rest in Mitsunari’s care and brought yours.”

Slender fingers reach for the offered box, a soft question spilling, as if an afterthought.  “I gather these gifts are your way of announcing your decision? You’ve decided to stick by the God of War.” A lull follows her nod, Mitsuhide choosing to work through the binds of his gift before he abruptly pauses, a smile stretching slow across his face at the revelation. “A salve for cuts,” he muses.

“I wasn’t in Azuchi for long but I did gather you dealt with… questioning our prisoners. I often noticed the nicks on your hands.” Mitsuhide continues to watch her, levity dancing across his features but she continues, unperturbed by that look. “Figured I’d take matters into my own hands and give you something for their well-being since it’s clear you care as much about your body as you do about taking proper meals.”

A soft, sudden sound slices through the quiet of the night; low and sonorous and she recognizes the quality of Mitsuhide’s laughter, broad shoulders shaking with mirth. “Seems as if a certain silly bird is far more aware of her surroundings than initially given credit for.”

She angles a critical glare at the offending man, half of a mind to smack the smile right off that irritating face of his before he stops, his ridiculing fit supposedly having subsided for the time being.

That penetrative gaze finds her once more and stays. Mitsuhide’s voice drops several octaves, softening in a manner she’s never heard from the man, as if in preparation of revealing a heavy secret. “I assume Azuchi will grieve the loss of its Chatelaine for a long time to come.”

She catches those barely tangible threads of mischief in his gaze… but his words, she accepts them for the sincerity she hears in them and smiles. “Thank you, Mitsuhide. For everything. Try not to make things hard on Hideyoshi, alright?”

“Why, you almost sound like the Mother himself, little one.” Tapered digits reach for her face then, as if he means to trace her features. She thinks she catches the streak of something within gold eyes, almost… almost— 

“Continue as you are and I shall cut you down where you stand, Kitsune.”

Concentration shattered, the scent of  cherry blossoms and sake assails her senses before she feels the drape of a familiar arm around her, possessive in its hold as Kenshin catches her back against his chest.

Angling an inquisitive glance his way, she’s rendered speechless at the barely trapped frost that seeks to skewer as if by sheer will, within eyes— sapphire and emerald, edged to a dagger’s point.

The two men continue to stare at each other and she almost holds her breath at the unusual tension that pulls taut within the air. Opening her mouth to intervene in whatever it is she finds herself caught in, before Mitsuhide’s silken tones slice through the tightening pressure. “Ah. I see how it is. How utterly lucky for you, little mouse. It seems as if your favor is returned.”

“And plenty.” He adds, a corner of his mouth pulling into an enigmatic smile to catch the crush of Kenshin’s jaw, the hand he spots trembling to pull his sword free at his hip. Mitsuhide retreats a few stops before inclining his head at Kenshin in farewell. “The hour grows late. We must depart for Azuchi at dawn’s first light, so if you shall excuse me now.”

Affording one last glance her way, Mitsuhide melds one with the shadows; footsteps fading fast into the distance before all that drapes them is heavy silence, settling pregnant with questions unspoken deep within her heart. The steady movements of his firm chest with each breath, deep and reassuring against her back, the rhythm of his heart – she notices belatedly – setting back into rest. And yet, he does not release his hold on her.

A sigh rasps past his lips, scorching hot against her ear lobe, from where his mouth rests close. Always. Close yet not quite touching.

Before she hears the low, sonorous echo of his voice forming words her befuddled mind struggles to string into coherency until it does— “What must I do to make you mine?”

—and blanks.

The tip of her tongue traces the edge of her lips, once, twice in an effort to return much needed moisture. This careful game they’d been playing for the entirety of her stay here, his eyes speaking clear and yet, his feelings still so obscure. His heart hidden from sight, tucked away close where she couldn’t reach, it hurt her every time to have the man she loved pull away from her as if her touch itself were poison or perhaps his.

Kenshin moves away, the warmth of him leaving her back to engulf her hand, far smaller in his grasp as he urges her to her feet. “Come. I shall walk you back to your chambers.”

The warmth of her touch slips away from his grasp; Kenshin turning back to return to his own quarters, far colder for her loss— before those delicate fingers find their way onto his haori. Frail. Breakable. Just as the rest of her. “Kenshin. Won’t you come inside? I have… gifts for you too.”

A foolish decision, his mind derides as he finds himself seated in the comfort of her chambers. A place he too, finds relief in, despite never having stepped through her doors before.

The colorful varied fall of fabric designated to a corner of her room. Books she’d borrowed, perhaps off Sasuke, shelved neatly in place. One of such tomes placed upon her writing desk alongside her sewing implements. Threaded needles spilling from an overturned canister as if their owner had only just left and meant to return soon.

The scent of her as she bustles about the room: the cherries she so loves, and crisp fabric— commingles with an essence that’s just her.

Kenshin finds himself inhaling, slow and deep, as if to savor the scent of her within his lungs— just as she seats herself in front of him. The objects of her quest in hand, she places in between them.

Lifting each curious gift in turn, she begins to speak. “A polish for your blades. I asked Shingen for advice and purchased the most appropriate amalgam for swords in town.”

Her hands flit towards the second canister. “This one’s tea. A herbal concoction to be exact. I’m almost certain I got the proportions right. This should help you sleep easier at night.” She speaks as if she knows of the demons that plague the object of his nightmares. Except that now… instead of a young princess he’d failed to save from the dark gallows once upon a time, the burbling ghosts of his mind reach to tear into her now.

She trails off, even as her fingers reach for the last offering. “And this is—”

“Pickled plums.” Kenshin finishes. A feeling, so intense it almost knocks the breath from his lungs, takes over and sinks as he takes silent stock of her ‘gifts’. Each crafted and procured with careful thought, her desires in doing so almost impossible to ignore.

“Yes,” she nods, face blooming into a smile. “I know you don’t fancy tea much so I’d hoped to balance that bitter gift out by this one. You’ll be able to enjoy your sake with your favorite snack for the next, good while.”

She lifts her face, hope seeping into wide eyes until all Kenshin sees is how it takes her features in entirety. A wish, surely, he is the wrong person to ask for its fulfillment.

“I know these aren’t much but…”

“No.” An obscure emotion had begun to gain meaning once more, ever since her arrival. His heart a thing she seemed to hack the vines off of. A cage that had held it protected for so long. Numbed.

Yet, slow but sure, the chaffs shedding off of the past… useless to leave him unrestrained, it terrifies Kenshin to feel the burgeoning of this nameless bloom he cannot control. Almost as frenzied as the desire to spill blood in battle.

Ire and darkness manifesting in the possession he desires to have of her: mind, body and soul— the Kitsune’s face flashes through his mind then. Deliberate words, his eyes as they had settled upon her and appraised, almost fond. Hands that had reached for her. Hands he’d wanted to slice through for daring to.

A lump makes itself known heavy within his throat. “You are…” Sapphire and emerald; glittering edges as he ventures closer, as if a beast prowling toward the prey. But she does not cower, fragile digits reaching to snag against his clothes just as his catch against her cheeks, palms cupping around to feel their warmth. A deliberate, careful sweep of his thumb across her cheekbone sends the dark fan of her lashes trembling before they fall to shroud her gaze from sight.

Uncertainty knocking distant within his ears, he coaxes her eyes back to his, the frown he feels budding in between his brows, settling chaotic and needy to have her answers. “Why? What is the reason for your kindness? Why do you… ” unsettle my heart as you do?

A hand comes up to splay across his own, emotions he dare not decipher in that gaze, spilling forth on a murmured sound. “You know why… don’t you?”

Consternation deepens its hold across his features before Kenshin rasps out what he knows. What he has known for so long. His surrender leaving him on a wretched breath before he tightens his hold on her. “Push me away, struggle and run away if you must… if you do not want me, tell me now. Or else…”

I would not be able to contain myself once I have you.

I would not be able to let you turn back into the arms of a man you truly desire.

I would ruin us both before I’d ever let go.

Stop me. Despise me.

Her breaths tremble against his lips, the heat of a fire he’s ventured too close to. The slightest of brushes against his mouth as she leans in, flooding open the violent barrage of emotions he can no longer throttle, open mouth and tongue crushing against hers to swallow her staggered moans. Clawing at his shoulders in a bid to pull him closer, her desperation spurs his own vehement desires.

Dragging open the collar of her kimono to trace the rapid flutter of her pulse against a hot tongue, Kenshin’s teeth easily close around the tendon he finds straining against her neck and her head lolls back further in a shuddering whimper to feel the force of his manic desire. Her voice leaving her on a strangled sound of his name, eager fingers thread through his hair to tug and draw him back toward her mouth, open and wanting, unbearably hot; fleshing searing against flesh— the taste of her against his tongue inundating his senses far heavier than any liquor. “I have known what I’ve wanted and for so long. And I… I am afraid.”

Her eyes – hazed over with the burden of her want, brimming along with the love he sees set alight in them – meet his and hold. Her hands, ever so tender, his salve to wounds she uncovers afresh to let him see where he hurt…. and wanted for her— she traces his features as if she finds it a wonder to be holding him as she is now and the thought sends a fresh barrage of needles stinging through his heart. “If I have you now, I won’t ever be able to let go. I’ll restrict you; shackle you down until you’re sick and weary of me. And yet… I cannot make myself let go.” Kenshin moves forward, laying a delicate kiss against her lips.

“Then don’t, Kenshin. I don’t want you to.” His lips trace her features, committing to memory as she speaks. “The man I love cherishes me. I’ve always seen him strive for my comfort and my happiness.” A kiss he places against her brow, subdued tremors taking him at the intensity of his emotions. “You are worth far more than you give yourself credit for. You won’t hurt me, Kenshin.”

“Foolish woman… you don’t know that. You can’t.” A weary smile breaks across his face but it hurts her… he sees how it causes her expression to crumple in on itself. Taking his hand within hers, she guides his palm to rest above her left breast, her heart fluttering rapid beneath the touch of his hand.

Desire so acute, it almost hurts to hold back at the exhorting look she fixes him with, asking him to fall, let go. “This is yours. If you do not trust in my words, let me be here to show you how you honor me. Let me love you Kenshin… please. Let us be in this together. Let me be your support.”

Her arms coming around his back to hold and draw close. Undoing the barely held cascade of hunger and desire: for her heart, her body, all of her in its entirety… until Kenshin’s pressing her back onto the floor, his own form overwhelming her smaller, trembling one. Her chest heaves with her breaths, heavy and rapid as she reaches to pull back the rest of her kimono, finally bared before him.

A dark, foreign growl leaves the confines of his chest as Kenshin drives her legs apart before settling himself at her entrance. “I love you. I want you. Tell me to leave you now if you do not wish for me to go further.” A broad, quick stroke of his tongue against her swollen clit sets her quivering, her thighs tightening their hold against his head.

“I want you to go much, much further. I want you so much it hurts.”

The last of her words heard and acknowledged, Kenshin surrenders to the desire that rages and runs within his very marrow, for this woman as she twists beneath his grasp. Each shallow stroke of his tongue through her folds wrenching sounds from her he swears he shall never tire of. A kiss he places near the junction of her thighs before drawing flesh into his mouth to leave red blooming in its wake.

Her hips, as if of a mind of their own, lift and press against him, her moans and hands desperate as they work to drive him closer and Kenshin’s hands slip beneath her to anchor against his mouth, fingers pulsing into the flesh of her buttocks. Tongue slipping into her depths till she cries out with the intensity of the stimulation. 

Addiction rolls liquid heat in his veins to feel the clench of her deep within, gathering moisture onto an insatiable tongue. Drinking of her until she spills herself sweet against him.

Swiping a careful thumb against his lips before slipping the digit into his mouth, sucking, he gathers himself above her. The hard length of his cock dragging through her folds, coating himself in her essence before he presses in, groaning to feel the give of her wet flesh around him. Sinking deeper until she’s taken all of him up till the hilt. Kenshin reaches to find relief against her neck as he begins to move. Her fluttering walls; exquisite torture to leave him wanting to come undone in moments.  Just as she calls for him on withering cries he sends higher with each harsh swing of his hips against hers.

Over and over, until it feels his own body could mesh with hers, cock leaving the confines of her wet relief only to sink right back and it’s agony; Kenshin reaching to tug a pebbled nipple into his mouth, groaning as he worries gentle teeth against the puckered bed. Frenzied fingers reaching for the bead of pleasure at the apex of her thighs, pressing in to slide them down against the slick, gathering moisture, until he feels for the place he joins her in ecstacy.

Her insides clench around him to keep within her depths every time he withdraws and Kenshin moves to place his lips against her temple – a silent, whispered hope – trailing down toward her neck, lapping at the taste of the woman he knows he could never hope to have enough of.

For fear still held him captive within its jaws, his desire to protect her reigned stronger and as he feels the flood of her warmth, Kenshin, too, spills himself into her, binding her to him, repeating that thought over and over until one day he too finds it true:

She will not share the same fate as Isehime’s. I will protect her. She will not be Isehime.