#ushinaga

Today, she has found a rare example of someone with two traits worth taking. The young man lying split-open on the tatami mats is not particularly handsome, but he does have beautiful ears—well-sculpted, smooth, not too oily or dry. They had caught her eyes immediately, and she had stopped in her tracks, a bag of vegetables in her hands, to watch him scarf down bowl after bowl of—what had he been eating? She had been too focused to notice; her eyes had lingered on the ears, and then on the growing pile of bowls on the table next to him. He must have a strong stomach, she thought, to be able to eat so much. 

Their current base of operations was empty when she returned, as she had known it would be, except for Kantarou, who seems scared of her enough to keep his distance unless she does something particularly conspicuous. Probably because it would’ve been him split open on the tatami mats not so long ago if Ushiyama hadn’t stopped her.

She thinks about Ushiyama as she fries the ears, knelt by the stove. Large, powerful Ushiyama. He could have used his strength to stop her from killing Kantarou if he had wanted to, but it hadn’t come down to that, of course; she hadn’t put up that much of an argument. Perhaps she should have. He had held Ienaga in his arms in the charred rubble of her inn, and, barely conscious, she had felt the way his muscles felt against her. Ever since then, the touches had been fleeting—his shoulder against her shoulder while they were posing for photographs, his fingers on her arm when she was still bedridden—nothing like the closeness she had felt then. Certainly nothing like the primal, half-aware way he had grabbed at her hours just before that idiot Shiraishi had gotten her inn destroyed. She hadn’t minded it then, but she had had more important things to worry about than having sex with Ushiyama (namely, cutting his dick off and eating it). Now that she can’t very well kill him, she also can’t help but think of it from time to time, the feeling of her body against hers. 

She might have missed her chance. She hasn’t seen him like that since then, all frenzied and raw and desperate—probably because he busies himself at the brothels every night, anyways. Still, he’s hardly acknowledged it, and Ienaga hopes, deep in her stomach, that he hasn’t lost his attraction to her. She knows that Ushiyama isn’t the type to be concerned with genitals and previous gender and that sort of thing, but there’s any number of other reasons for him to have changed his mind about her, isn’t there? They’re something like comrades now, and that makes things different; they used to be inmates together, and that knowledge is awkward; she eats people. It could be any of these things and others, but she can’t exactly ask him about it.

But if their proximity, if their status as comrades cools Ushiyama, it only does the opposite for her. No matter what she does, he is always there, strong and bold and perfect and large, eating next to her or speaking with Hijikata across the room or training his body. She sees him every day. They’re so close, it’s intolerable. 

But languishing in it will get her nowhere. She has body parts to cook.

The ears are done, she can tell by the browning. She slides them carefully onto a plate, then turns to the stomach, which sits, reddish and cleaned and carved up and ready to have parts of it cooked, on the pale of the young man’s chest. She thinks she’ll simmer it. 

Before she can even reach for the meat, though, the door slides open. In the split second that Ienaga spends whipping around, she imagines that it must be Kantarou, summoned by the smell of food, and she should be able to scare him off without much trouble, surely. She’s ready to fix him with a stare and tell him to leave when she realizes that it is not, in fact, Kantarou at the door. 

Ushiyama has returned from training. His judogi hangs off his body, well-fit and damp with sweat, and Ushiyama himself is wet with it, too. Despite this, he doesn’t seem really tired—but she has never seen Ushiyama truly tired, not outside of the odd fight with Gansoku way back when. No, Ushiyama’s body seems as unfettered as ever. As soon as his eyes rest on her, though, she sees something like exhaustion flicker behind them. 

“Ienaga,” Ushiyama says blankly.

“Yes?” Ienaga answers, matching his tone.

“You’re getting blood on the tatami.” 

“I put towels under the body.”

“You’re getting blood on our towels.”

“I’ll clean them.”

Ushiyama regards her for a moment, then, with a bullish sigh, takes a couple of steps forward and sits down near the crime scene. Closer, Ienaga can see the curves and contours of his muscles, can smell the manly scent of his training; she averts her eyes back to the stomach to prevent herself from staring, tries to remember how she was going to cook it. 

“You’re not supposed to be doing this,” he says, and she can feel his eyes watching her. “It’ll draw unnecessary attention to us.”

“No one will ever trace it back to us,” she responds dismissively. “I’ve been doing this for years. I know how to cover my tracks.”

“You can’t know for certain you won’t be found out.”

“I won’t be. In any case, we’re leaving this town soon, aren’t we?”

“Either way, you can’t do this again.”

Ienaga pouts, looking back at Ushiyama and making her eyes as big as possible. “Please?”

“No.”

“At least let me eat this one,” she whines.

Ushiyama doesn’t respond to that, affirmative or otherwise. Instead, he asks, “How did you get off on your own, anyway? Wasn’t Kadokura supposed to be shopping with you? Or Kirawus?”

Ienaga scoffs. “Those two are useless. They’re probably still off on their own somewhere, not even wondering what I’m doing.” 

Ushiyama nods wordlessly.

The smell of simmering meat fills the air and Ienaga breathes it in, pleased. She hasn’t been bothered by the scent of human for a long time, but she notices the bridge of Ushiyama’s nose wrinkle. She almost laughs, but instead asks, “Did you see Kantarou? What’s he doing?”

“He’s asleep. What are you cooking?”

“Tripe. I fried his ears, but I haven’t eaten them yet.”

“Why do you still bother? You’re pretty enough already. Your stomach works fine. I don’t see the point.”

“One can always be more perfect, Ushiyama, and I want to be as perfect as possible. I don’t expect you to understand; no one does, unless they’ve tried it too, and there aren’t many who have.” She places the cooked tripe onto the plate next to the ears, then pauses, sending a sidelong glance to Ushiyama. “Do you want to try it?”

Ushiyama snorts. “Why would I want to try it?”

Ienaga sits back, studying him with her eyes. Clinically, she says, “Your ears could stand some improvement.”

“Why should I care? I like my ears as they are.” 

“Maybe you do, but don’t you think women would find them more attractive if they didn’t look like that?”

“Women don’t seem to mind them,” Ushiyama grumbles, “unless you beg to differ.” 

For some reason, that makes Ienaga’s face warm. “Well, my feelings aren’t relevant, I’m just being frank. Most other women don’t find ears like that attractive. Look, do you want to have some or not?”

Ushiyama’s nostrils flare. “Fine.”

“That’s—wait, seriously? Really?”

“I said fine, didn’t I? I’ll try it.” The bridge of his nose wrinkles again. “But you have to give it to me fast, before I change my mind.”

“I—yes, alright.” Ienaga shakes herself out of her shock and picks up the plate and a pair of chopsticks. She shifts closer to Ushiyama and offers them both to him. “Here.”

He takes them from her like he’s handling a poisonous snake, eyeing the meat with skepticism and apprehension that he isn’t even bothering to disguise. Gingerly, he lifts one of the ears up with the chopsticks. A bit of the breading crumbles off. 

Ienaga is leaning forward, almost without realizing it. She watches through huge eyes as he lifts the ear to his mouth, then back down a sun or two, then up again, faltering between the two. His lips curl back and he slowly clamps his teeth down on just the smallest section of the ear—then he pulls back, grimacing and puffing air out through his mouth. 

“No,” he says, setting the ear back down on the plate. “I’m not eating human. It’s just too wrong.”

Ienaga pouts and takes it back from him. “There’s nothing wrong about it, Ushiyama; don’t be so mean. If you don’t eat it, I will.”

Ushiyama eyes the plate with distaste. “Go ahead.”

Ienaga sighs, raising the same ear Ushiyama had bit (barely) to her mouth. Surely he wouldn’t find it that wrong if he just tried it. After all, he’d killed plenty of people before; why should eating one be any different, when the guy was too dead to care? People are so prudish, and apparently Ushiyama is, too, about some things. But after the first time, it really isn’t that difficult. It tastes good when prepared well, just like any other food, and the benefits are obvious—she’s living proof of that. She was joking when she first suggested it, but now she’s just annoyed. If only he’d try it. 

The ear is small enough for her to fit it all into her mouth cleanly if she angles it well enough, so she does, letting the flavor of the cartilage sink into her tongue. Suddenly, an idea—more of an urge, really—strikes her. 

Ienaga sits the plate down on the floor, shifts onto her knees, and leans forward, grabbing Ushiyama’s hulking shoulders in her dainty hands. She pushes any thoughts out of her head, and the last thing she sees is Ushiyama’s eyes widening before she shoves her mouth against his. 

She feels her lipstick smear against Ushiyama’s lips, and suddenly his hands have moved to her hips. He’s so warm, still damp from training, and his smell fills her nose. She can feel the way warmth moves through his body, pulls at his limbs, and she can almost feel something growing stiff and solid through his judogi (but maybe that’s just wishful thinking on her part). Suppressing a shudder, Ienaga opens her mouth and pushes the ear through Ushiyama’s teeth.

There’s half a beat of stillness, of silence, before Ushiyama shoves her away. She falls back, catching herself on her hands, and looks up in time to see him spitting the ear out onto the floor, face shadowed by an emotion so indescribable that it almost seems like an entire lack thereof. 

“Hey!” Ienaga shouts, stumbling to her feet. “I put a lot of work into cooking that!”

“It’s disgusting,” Ushiyama says flatly. 

“My cooking is not disgusting!” 

“It’s human.”

Ienaga groans, covering her face in her hands. Her lipstick is messed up for nothing. “I can’t even eat it now! You spat it on the ground!”

“You shouldn’t have tried to make me eat it in the first place.” Ienaga brings her hands down and sees Ushiyama glance over to the corpse, apparently not upset about having a fried human ear forced into his mouth anymore. “Don’t you think you should get rid of that? Hijikata and Nagakura will probably be back soon.”

“I will.” She sits back down, looking forlornly at the wet, discarded ear as she bites into the untouched one. “I’ve done this before.”

“You had your inn before. It won’t be that easy now.”

“I did this before I had the inn, too, you know,” she says with a shrug. “Just let me eat, and then I’ll take care of it.”

“Still, it’s been a long time since then.”

Ienaga grits her teeth, still chewing through the cartilage. Finally, she swallows it and says, “I’m not some old woman, Ushiyama. Trust me.”

“I have a place in mind. I could go with you.”

She looks up from her tripe to focus on Ushiyama. His expression is unreadable. 

She shrugs. “If you want to.”

It ends up being a good thing that Ushiyama offered to come with her. She had almost wanted to turn him down, if only because of her pride, but now she’s glad she didn’t; it’s just practical to have him with her, with the corpse slung over his tight, bulging frame. Ienaga carries the towels with her, watching Ushiyama’s shoulders and knees and legs and ass move as he leads the way through the forest. She can tell he’s been here before because the trees look like they’ve been squeezed in two. If he knows his way around, that’s all the better. 

Finally, the trees make way, and they come up on a pond. The sun is setting, and the still water is dyed red with light like pooling blood. Ienaga stands wordlessly by Ushiyama’s side and pulls rope from her bundle of stained towels. She watches as he ties the corpse’s limbs to rocks and hurls it right into the center of the pond like a sack of potatoes or some other unremarkable thing. It splashes loudly, sending ripples out through the red water. The first few stars of the evening are glittering in the sky.

“Do you think Hijikata will be concerned that we’re gone?” she asks, finally.

Ushiyama is still looking out over the water. He doesn’t respond for a moment. Then, “No. We’re adults, and Hijikata isn’t paranoid.”

“Maybe he should be, considering his position,” Ienaga mutters.

He snorts. “That old geezer has good intuition. I’m sure he knows we’re fine. And he’ll probably be able to tell what you were cooking.”

“Do you think he’ll be upset?”

“I don’t think Hijikata gets upset. He’ll probably want us to keep a closer eye on you, that’s all.”

“What was the point of coming all the way out here before he got back, then?”

“Hijikata is one thing. Nagakura probably wouldn’t have liked it. The rest of them would probably have panicked if they saw you cooking a dead body at our place.”

“They’re all so close-minded.”

“You know I’m not letting you do that again.”

Ienaga smirks, turning toward him. “Are you going to keep a closer eye on me?”

“Someone has to do it. You’re not so bad to look at, anyway.”

That last bit almost stuns her into silence. She blinks a few times, looking back away. 

“Like I said earlier, I don’t think you need to keep doing... all this,” Ushiyama says after another moment. “Any man would be hypnotized by you. It seems pointless.”

“It’s not pointless. It’s only because of my methods that I was able to look like this in the first place.”

“But that was then. This is now, and this is who you are. It’s not like you could ever go back, and you’re fine as you are. You don’t have to take such risks to make yourself beautiful when you’re already beautiful. It’s senseless.”

Ienaga takes a sharp breath in. Beautiful. “It isn’t that simple. I know that I’m beautiful, but there’s still something I don’t have.”

“And what’s that?”

She doesn’t look at him. “One can always be more perfect.”

He snorts. “Which is why you want me to get different ears.”

“Well—I wasn’t being serious about that.”

“Good, because I’m not going to become a cannibal.”

Curiously, she glances back at him. “Does my opinion matter that much to you?”

“I wasn’t being serious. Anyway, I already know you find me impressive.”

“I still do.”

“You’d better not still want to eat my dick.”

Ienaga almost chokes. She had almost forgotten, over the course of the past hour, that she had tried to kill him once—it seems like such a waste, after all, killing someone like Ushiyama. She sees that now that they’ve been together for this long. More than that, though, the sentence brings forth some very different images in her mind. She remembers earlier, leaning toward Ushiyama on the floor and feeling his mouth against hers. She can still feel the ghost of its touch.

(Her lipstick is still smeared on him, she realizes suddenly. He hasn’t wiped it off.)

“Not anymore, no,” she says, voice carefully even. She lets it grow sultry, smooth. “Not in a literal sense, at least. But figuratively…”

She steps toward him, resting her hand on his upper arm and trailing it slowly downward. He doesn’t respond at first, and she wonders if the comparison is too corny, or too unpleasant, for him.

Before she has a chance to feel anxious, though, he says, “Do you think you could?”

“Oh, please, Ushiyama, don’t mock me,” she purrs. “I’ve taken larger body parts before.”

“Not all at once, little lady.”

“Try me.”

Their bodies move together. The twilight air is cool on Ienaga’s skin.