fic, Sen to Chihiro, "Wet Spell" (2/2), R
Continued from part 1. Please see warnings in previous post.
Wet Spell
The bath somehow takes longer than expected. By the time they emerge, the rainclouds have tattered across the sky, letting shafts of bright sunlight through. While Haku makes lunch Chihiro takes off her shoes and wades into the vegetable beds, thinking to pull weeds while the soil's still damp. She doesn't want Zeniba to come home to find the garden completely overrun. Half an hour later it occurs to her to wonder whether there's a spell for pulling weeds, but if Yubaba's bathhouse--and studying for entrance exams--taught her anything, it's that often there's no substitute for hard work. Soon she's sweating again, with dirt mottling her shins and knees, feeling grateful that Haku had the wisdom to leave the bathtub filled.
Just when she can't stand to pull another weed he appears with tea and onigiri, asking what she'd like for dinner. Chihiro hrmms and wipes her brow with the back of her arm.
"The eel was really good. We could make it with sauce this time, instead of doing shirayaki. If you don't mind catching more?"
He doesn't mind. She has to clean up again--her hands, at least--and then they find a spot to eat in the garden, in the shade of a persimmon tree by the well. The patch of grass is still damp from the morning rain, until Haku passes his hand over it and makes it fit for sitting.
"Shall I help you in the garden?" he asks her as they eat.
"I'm done for now," she says, heaving a sigh. "It's too hot. I'm taking a break."
He nods, looking into the distance. "In that case, I may go out for a short while."
"For eels?"
"Not for eels." He turns to her. "I found something else yesterday that you might like. I won't be long."
Chihiro waits for him to say more, but he doesn't. She bumps her muddy foot against his pristine shin. "You're being mysterious." But she's used to that. Mystery is one of his charms. She takes another bite of her rice ball and happily chews. Cooking, that's another one. If she made a list it would probably run as long as his whiskers. Maybe both whiskers and tail combined.
He smiles and says nothing more.
"So it's a secret."
He nods.
"Hmm."
Still smiling, he looks serenely upward. The few clouds scudding across the blue are white now, puffy cumulus, the kind people imagine into animal shapes. When Chihiro looks into the sky she has trouble seeing anything but dragons, even when Haku's not really there. At least in this world there are no airplane trails to fool her. She stretches her legs out across the grass and thinks of how nice it would be to lie down here, in the shade of the tree, maybe to take a nap or maybe just to watch the clouds sail.
When she's done eating she does exactly that. The scent of earth and grass deepens as she settles backward, pillowing her head on her folded arms. Haku looks on in approval, then rises to his feet and steps out of the shade into the sun.
"I'll be back soon," he tells her again.
"Okay."
A moment later she hears a rush like a gust of sudden wind, and a white dragon goes spiraling up toward the clouds.
She could've sworn she only closed her eyes for a little while, but when she opens them again the shade has moved--her toes are in the sun--and a bright glint is approaching from the eastern sky. The glint lengthens into a shining ribbon, and soon she can make out Haku's lithe shape, his legs tucked against his body, the green line of his mane.
He stays high as a wild bird until he's directly overhead, above the garden, then circles down in a narrowing coil with enough speed to buffet the boughs of the tree. The leaves rustle wildly and shimmer as he lands. Chihiro's hair flutters back from her face.
He alights almost on top of her, winding around her spot on the grass as she sits up to greet him. He's making his beautiful purr-growl, the one that vibrates all the way through her ribs, as he lowers his head until it's level with hers. Laughing, she hugs his muzzle and plants a kiss on the top of his snout.
"Do I get to know the secret now?"
He curls his lips, not to smile or snarl but to show her something dark and roundish held between his front teeth. Chihiro cups her hands and he drops the something into them: a clam--no, a mussel, dense with meat and broader than her palm.
"For me?" Smiling, she turns the shell over in her hands. It's still sealed up tight, like a wrapped present. "If I'm supposed to open it, I'll have to get a knife."
As she moves to get up his coiled body arches into a fence around her: no, she's not to do that.
"Okay--what, then?"
Lowering his head again, he touches his nose to the mussel's shell.
It opens slowly, like a flower beginning to bloom. The flesh inside is rosy, and within the flesh as it unfolds she sees a single gleaming pearl.
"--Oh."
Holding her breath, she picks out the pearl with her fingers. It's big, big as her thumbnail, uneven in shape, pale pink tinged with silvery gold. A freshwater pearl, not cultured, not the too-perfect white kind she's seen at jewelry counters in department stores. She holds it up in the light, tilting it to watch the iridescence swirl.
"It's so pretty."
Haku deepens his purr. Chihiro lays her cheek against his muzzle, hugging him as best she can with one arm.
"You don't have to get me things. But I love it." She squeezes the pearl in her hand. When she goes home she'll have to keep it secret; her mother would want to know where it had come from. She can carry it in her pocket, maybe, or keep it in her purse. After a minute she looks uncertainly at the opened mussel. "Is this for eating?"
In answer he swipes his tongue across the meat, scooping it out and downing it in one gulp. For him it's not even close to a mouthful. She snickers.
"I guess it is." The inside of the empty shell, too, is pearly and tinged with pink. Chihiro strokes its glossy smoothness before setting it down beside her on the grass. "But how did you know there was a pearl inside?"
Haku's eyelids droop, and he looks pleased enough with himself to be called smug, almost.
"You just knew?"
He rumbles. Maybe it's because she's touching him, her legs and shoulders leaning against his sides, but the sound goes thrumming right through her body, down to the pit of her belly and below. The reverberations summon an answer there, a roil of want like condensing cloud. She sucks in a breath. Haku's eyes sharpen, and she can see his nostrils flare. If anything his sense of smell is keener in this shape, so there's no hiding from that. She's about to ask him to change back, and then she thinks of the possibility that almost choked her at dinner the night before, the thing they haven't tried.
She feels like maybe she could swallow it now, if he could.
"Haku," she says, in a small voice, "can I ask something?"
He nudges her cheek lightly, swiveling his ears. Of course she can ask.
"Can we...can we, like this?"
His eyes widen. It's almost funny how long his lashes are, especially in this shape, but she's too uncertain of his answer to laugh. He draws his neck back--it reminds her less of a snake than of a heron when he does that, or maybe a startled swan--and then his entire length shimmers and goes hazy and contracts. The transformation leaves him blinking at her, kneeling close beside her on the grass.
Chihiro draws her legs up and smiles sheepishly, fighting the urge to cover her face and hide. "I guess that's a no?"
He grasps her hands, studying her. "Is that something you want?" At her wordless nod he asks, "Why?"
Why not doesn't seem like enough of an answer, not for this. She takes a deep breath. "Because--you're still you. I mean, I don't just...stop feeling how I feel when you've got scales on. You're still beautiful." She ducks her head. "I don't know, maybe I'm being too simple-minded."
"No. Not at all." He sits back onto his heels. "You've thought of this before?"
"Sometimes. A little bit. When we're flying, sometimes." It's been hard not to, now that she's not a kid anymore, when he's naked from nose to tail and she's straddling his body, with her breasts pressed to his mane. The way he undulates in midair while he's ascending is no help.
He blinks once or twice more, no longer searching her face. Some of the tension seeps from his arms. "I see. It's only that I never thought you might wish to. Since this form--" he gestures tersely at himself, "is more suited." He pauses. "Does the other one please you better?"
"No! Oh no. They, um, they both please me," she says hastily. "A lot."
"I see." The corners of his eyes soften, and he tightens his clasp on her folded hands. "Chihiro, thank you."
"Y--you're welcome?"
"But...." He pauses again. "I'm afraid it would be too much for you."
It, he says. She's not sure which it he means, and maybe she's better off not knowing. Trying to get a dragon to fit where he doesn't think he will seems like a bad idea. She supposes the point of going to the trouble of having a human shape is to do human-ish things in it, like having sex with your human significant other. But she doesn't see why the only options should be all or nothing.
She bites her bottom lip. "Couldn't we maybe, still...play, a little bit?"
He looks surprised again, and then begins to smile. "I'd like that."
"Really?"
"Yes." Letting go of her hands, he lays one of his at the top of her thigh. Not quite at the crux of the matter, but close--close enough to make her pulse jump, and to rouse twinges of ache where he's almost touching. "I'd like to taste you."
"Ahhh--okay." The nape of her neck prickles, and the twinges worsen. She shifts her weight. "Um, now?"
"If you like."
She glances toward the cottage--are they really not just doing this, but doing it outside?--but then she thinks of how cramped the loft would be, with all his coils. A patch of grass in the shade is nicer than the hard floor of the house. And her feet are still muddy from the garden, besides, and his fingers are curling in the fabric of her sundress and no, no, they're not going anywhere. She bobs her head.
Cupping her cheek, he leans in. "Yes?"
"Yeah."
He changes. When the shimmer subsides his body encircles her, so she's sitting at the heart of a white coil. He nuzzles the place on her cheek where his hand was only seconds ago, and she hugs his whole snout, not letting go until he tugs his head free to lower it to her lap.
Part of her can't believe this was her idea, but it's a small and feeble part. As his muzzle brushes along her thigh, pushing under her sundress, any doubts she might have had are drowned out, and then drowned altogether in a flood of heat. His head is big; she has to scoot down and spread her legs further, and that makes her feel wanton in a way it doesn't when he's in his other shape--and then she doesn't care if she's being wanton because he's nuzzling her, right through her panties, warming the cotton fabric with hot, damp breath.
Why on earth did she bother with underwear today, she wonders wildly--is he going to tear them off with his teeth? But his teeth have never scared her, not even the time he was wounded and snapping at everything in his pain, or in the moment when she thrust her hand down his throat to feed him the bitter dumpling that would cure him. Instead of tearing he licks, lightly, through the fabric. Testing, maybe. He's never done that before in any shape--licked her with her panties still on--and just from that she's throbbing, tightening, hunching her shoulders. "Ah--"
He looks up, jaws parted slightly, waiting.
She fumbles to pull her dress up, clumsy and air-headed with want. "No, it's good, it's--more?"
With a purr he wedges his nose between her thighs. Chihiro slumps against whatever part of his belly is coiled behind her. Of course his tongue's bigger this way, a swath of wet warmth that can lave her whole mound and everything below it in one lick. In a few more licks her panties are soaked from both sides. When she can't stand the feel of damp cloth on her anymore she pushes his nose away, just enough to let her lift her hips and drag the panties off and kick them aside.
"Wait," she gulps, when he looks like he's ready to dive right back in. "What--how should I--" Catching hold of his muzzle, she pets his face, his nose, the crest of his mane. "I want to touch you, too. I don't know what's good, like this."
He nudges upward, licks the hollow of her throat. Then he tilts his head to bare his own throat, exposing the place underneath where soft ruff gives way to scales.
"Here?" She puts her hand there, hesitant, then rubs as if he were an enormous cat. He lets out a faint hiss, and his whiskers curl upward, rippling. The way they hover has always amazed her--it's like gravity has no effect on them, like they just float without effort on the air. Of course his whole body is like that when he flies, as buoyant in sky as it is in water. Whiskers, though, whiskers are for sensing, so shouldn't they be sensitive, too? She grasps one of them lightly where it sprouts from his muzzle, enclosing it, and runs tentative fingers along its length.
Another hiss, and he flares up--his mane, his ears, the ruff around his jawline, the arch of his neck.
She lets go of him quickly. Before she can apologize he's nudging her hard, with enough strength to knock her over if she weren't already braced against his body. His eyes glitter. His whiskers trail toward her, as if to insinuate themselves again into her grip.
She clasps both whiskers in her hands, one on each side of his face, and strokes them. He purrs and purrs and nuzzles a path back down her middle, nipping at the fabric of her dress, until he has his nose between her thighs again to press against her sweet spot and lick. Flushed and shivering, she keeps stroking. Then she feels something against her ankle: the tapered end of one whisker, coiling like the tendril of a pale vine. There's no force in it, no real grip--she could shift her foot away if she didn't like it, but not liking it is the furthest thing from her mind.
For a minute she leans her head backward, pillowed against him, looking up dizzily at the sun through the boughs of the tree. She rocks her hips into the press of his tongue, feeling like she's melting under it. His whiskers stiffen in her hands, and all of a sudden it's like they're everywhere, gliding under her sundress, between her breasts, against her skin. The tip of one of them brushes her mouth, almost coaxing; she shuts her eyes and opens her mouth and lets it slip inside.
The growl he makes when she suckles is almost a groan. She feels his body shifting behind and around her, slithering against itself, his tail sweeping back and forth against the grass and then lashing the ground like a whip. She doesn't want to let him out of her mouth, but she needs to breathe, has to jerk her chin up to let him slip loose so she can pant.
"Haku," she says raggedly, "Haku, maybe you should change back and--ah--"
Just then he tilts his head, searching for an angle that lets him slide his tongue deeper in. It's too big, it ought to be too big but it's hot and wet and thick and her body just wants, wants that, wants him. Caught without any breath to moan, she reaches down with both hands and spreads her own swollen lips. He licks hard, growling into her, so she feels the sweet thrum of it right on her clit. With a short sob she lets go to grab hold of his mane, his horns, clinging to him. He growls once more, like it's an affirmation, and she bends over his head and shudders with her release.
For a long time after he goes on licking the insides of her thighs, gently, as if to lap up every last glimmer of wet. Chihiro buries her face in his mane, mumbling to herself or both of them.
"That was so good. Why was that so good." She doesn't need an answer or expect one, not even when he changes back into his other shape and tilts his head up to kiss her mouth. Kissing is better this way, for sure, but she feels a little bereft, a little more naked without his coils wrapped around her, making a nest for her to be dissolute in. His gaze on her is still soft as grass. His fingers touch her hand, coax it open, and place something small and hard in her palm.
She blinks down at the pearl in surprise. When had she--
"You dropped it," he says, with a smile just this side of wry.
--
They spend the rest of the afternoon in the garden, more at play than at work, and the evening after dinner settled in the loft, side by side, browsing books from Zeniba's bookshelf. Haku leafs through the book of magic, while Chihiro pulls out The Knitting Way: A Guide to Spiritual Self-Discovery.
"Maybe I could learn to knit," she muses. At Haku's quizzical look she says, "It's not just for old ladies. I knew some girls at school who were really into it. They started a club and everything." She flips through the book, looking mainly at the pictures: hats and scarves and shawls and totes.
Haku peers at the open page. "I never thought it was only for ladies of any age. Only that your people are always making things."
Human people, he means. Chihiro supposes it's true. In the old days women had to make clothes for their entire households--it must have been a lot of work, she thinks, feeling a little in awe of her ancestresses. But she can't imagine her mother sewing or knitting anything. "I guess we are. I could make you a scarf. If I made you a scarf, would you wear it?"
"In summer?"
She doesn't quite roll her eyes. "Not in summer."
"Chihiro," he says, leaning toward her, "I would wear anything you gave me."
"Really? Anything?" The possibilities begin to swarm. "Sunglasses? A Hawaiian shirt?"
"A what?"
She rolls over onto her back, wracked with giggles. He looks on peaceably, unperturbed, and asks whether she doesn't approve of how he clothes himself.
"Oh, no. You look good in this." She reaches out to finger the front of his yukata. "Really, really good."
He smiles and puts the book of spells aside.
On the third day the clouds return, dark and gravid. Once it sets in the rain is relentless, nothing like the idle showers of the day before. The two of them stay in bed for hours, well into what must be afternoon, although Chihiro can't tell from the murky tone of the light what time it is, and the clock on her mobile phone is frozen at the hour she crossed over from the other world.
At last she has to beg for a respite. For a second Haku stares as her blankly, like she's speaking in tongues, before he blinks and draws a sharp breath as if snapping out of a daze. She's never seen him look so chagrined.
"Forgive me--"
"No, it's okay," she soothes. "Really, it is. You didn't break me or anything. I just need a rest."
"Of course."
She pulls his head to lie pillowed on her breast and pets his hair to reassure him. "Do you not get worn out, ever?"
Bemusement slowly replaces his chagrin. "I don't know. I've never...been this way before. It's not the same as flowing to the sea, or furrowing the earth. But I never tired of doing those things."
"Oh, wow." She's let herself in for it, though. A few thousand years, a few tens of thousands. And she wants that, never mind she's slightly winded at the moment. The thought of having to leave the cottage in the morning fills her with heavy reluctance. Three days is too short a time, barely enough to get her feet wet. She wants to stay, to go on keeping house with him, or better yet to find or make a place of their own, a place for both of them to be.
It isn't easily done in her world. Maybe it would be easier in this one. She looks up at the cottage roof-beams, wondering as she never has before how Zeniba came to live here. Whether there might be other houses like this one, at other stations or further afield, uninhabited. Waiting for someone to take up residence.
"Haku," she asks in a murmur, "could we live in a place like this? Like, not this house, but a different one? I mean, it's really nice." A little lonely, maybe, but there would be friends nearby, friends to visit at the bathhouse, and probably other friends in this world she has yet to meet. "I could get used to living here."
"You have a place in your world," he says quietly. "And your schooling. Do you not want to finish it?"
"No, I want to." She didn't go through all the work of getting good grades and passing exams just to give up on school. If she can do something to ensure that what happened to Haku's river happens to fewer others, she wants to do it. Even her dad seems proud that she'll be following in his footsteps, in a way. She sighs. "I guess it'd be hard to commute, huh. But maybe someday?"
"Someday," Haku murmurs. "I hope we can."
It's hunger that drives them out of bed at last. They crawl down from the loft to make a meal in some uncertain space between lunch and dinner: tea and rice, and eggplant grilled with miso glaze. When Chihiro ventures into the garden it's like a jungle--both the weeds and the vegetables are inexplicably huge--but the rain keeps streaming down, and in the time it takes to pick the eggplant her hair and clothes are slicked to her skin.
By morning the rain has almost cleared, but then it's time to say goodbye to the cottage. As she and Haku make ready to leave Chihiro writes a note to Zeniba. Dear Granny, it reads, I'm so sorry about the weeds. Yesterday it rained all day and we couldn't really do any work in the garden. Maybe you know a spell that can get rid of just the weeds without hurting the vegetables. Haku says it's hard to do. Other than the weeds we didn't have any trouble, and nobody tried to break in and steal anything. Thanks for asking us to stay. We had a really nice time.
--
On her return home Zeniba takes one look at the petunias in the window boxes--the lush leaves, the fat burgeoning blooms--and claps her hands.
"What did I tell you?" she cackles. "Worked like a charm. Better than any spell I could've cast, and that's saying something. We'll have to send them a melon as a thank-you gift."
Her companion heaves her suitcase down with a gusty sigh. "Ah, ah."
"I'm sure you would have, but a girl like that has her modesty, and I'd be surprised if the dragon took kindly to your gawking. His kind may be good-natured, but they get tetchy about their pearls."
"Ah, ah."
"Yes, I know she's not literally, you goose, it was a metaphor. Come on, let's have a look at the beans. I'll bet they're as tall as the house."
☆
Wet Spell
The bath somehow takes longer than expected. By the time they emerge, the rainclouds have tattered across the sky, letting shafts of bright sunlight through. While Haku makes lunch Chihiro takes off her shoes and wades into the vegetable beds, thinking to pull weeds while the soil's still damp. She doesn't want Zeniba to come home to find the garden completely overrun. Half an hour later it occurs to her to wonder whether there's a spell for pulling weeds, but if Yubaba's bathhouse--and studying for entrance exams--taught her anything, it's that often there's no substitute for hard work. Soon she's sweating again, with dirt mottling her shins and knees, feeling grateful that Haku had the wisdom to leave the bathtub filled.
Just when she can't stand to pull another weed he appears with tea and onigiri, asking what she'd like for dinner. Chihiro hrmms and wipes her brow with the back of her arm.
"The eel was really good. We could make it with sauce this time, instead of doing shirayaki. If you don't mind catching more?"
He doesn't mind. She has to clean up again--her hands, at least--and then they find a spot to eat in the garden, in the shade of a persimmon tree by the well. The patch of grass is still damp from the morning rain, until Haku passes his hand over it and makes it fit for sitting.
"Shall I help you in the garden?" he asks her as they eat.
"I'm done for now," she says, heaving a sigh. "It's too hot. I'm taking a break."
He nods, looking into the distance. "In that case, I may go out for a short while."
"For eels?"
"Not for eels." He turns to her. "I found something else yesterday that you might like. I won't be long."
Chihiro waits for him to say more, but he doesn't. She bumps her muddy foot against his pristine shin. "You're being mysterious." But she's used to that. Mystery is one of his charms. She takes another bite of her rice ball and happily chews. Cooking, that's another one. If she made a list it would probably run as long as his whiskers. Maybe both whiskers and tail combined.
He smiles and says nothing more.
"So it's a secret."
He nods.
"Hmm."
Still smiling, he looks serenely upward. The few clouds scudding across the blue are white now, puffy cumulus, the kind people imagine into animal shapes. When Chihiro looks into the sky she has trouble seeing anything but dragons, even when Haku's not really there. At least in this world there are no airplane trails to fool her. She stretches her legs out across the grass and thinks of how nice it would be to lie down here, in the shade of the tree, maybe to take a nap or maybe just to watch the clouds sail.
When she's done eating she does exactly that. The scent of earth and grass deepens as she settles backward, pillowing her head on her folded arms. Haku looks on in approval, then rises to his feet and steps out of the shade into the sun.
"I'll be back soon," he tells her again.
"Okay."
A moment later she hears a rush like a gust of sudden wind, and a white dragon goes spiraling up toward the clouds.
She could've sworn she only closed her eyes for a little while, but when she opens them again the shade has moved--her toes are in the sun--and a bright glint is approaching from the eastern sky. The glint lengthens into a shining ribbon, and soon she can make out Haku's lithe shape, his legs tucked against his body, the green line of his mane.
He stays high as a wild bird until he's directly overhead, above the garden, then circles down in a narrowing coil with enough speed to buffet the boughs of the tree. The leaves rustle wildly and shimmer as he lands. Chihiro's hair flutters back from her face.
He alights almost on top of her, winding around her spot on the grass as she sits up to greet him. He's making his beautiful purr-growl, the one that vibrates all the way through her ribs, as he lowers his head until it's level with hers. Laughing, she hugs his muzzle and plants a kiss on the top of his snout.
"Do I get to know the secret now?"
He curls his lips, not to smile or snarl but to show her something dark and roundish held between his front teeth. Chihiro cups her hands and he drops the something into them: a clam--no, a mussel, dense with meat and broader than her palm.
"For me?" Smiling, she turns the shell over in her hands. It's still sealed up tight, like a wrapped present. "If I'm supposed to open it, I'll have to get a knife."
As she moves to get up his coiled body arches into a fence around her: no, she's not to do that.
"Okay--what, then?"
Lowering his head again, he touches his nose to the mussel's shell.
It opens slowly, like a flower beginning to bloom. The flesh inside is rosy, and within the flesh as it unfolds she sees a single gleaming pearl.
"--Oh."
Holding her breath, she picks out the pearl with her fingers. It's big, big as her thumbnail, uneven in shape, pale pink tinged with silvery gold. A freshwater pearl, not cultured, not the too-perfect white kind she's seen at jewelry counters in department stores. She holds it up in the light, tilting it to watch the iridescence swirl.
"It's so pretty."
Haku deepens his purr. Chihiro lays her cheek against his muzzle, hugging him as best she can with one arm.
"You don't have to get me things. But I love it." She squeezes the pearl in her hand. When she goes home she'll have to keep it secret; her mother would want to know where it had come from. She can carry it in her pocket, maybe, or keep it in her purse. After a minute she looks uncertainly at the opened mussel. "Is this for eating?"
In answer he swipes his tongue across the meat, scooping it out and downing it in one gulp. For him it's not even close to a mouthful. She snickers.
"I guess it is." The inside of the empty shell, too, is pearly and tinged with pink. Chihiro strokes its glossy smoothness before setting it down beside her on the grass. "But how did you know there was a pearl inside?"
Haku's eyelids droop, and he looks pleased enough with himself to be called smug, almost.
"You just knew?"
He rumbles. Maybe it's because she's touching him, her legs and shoulders leaning against his sides, but the sound goes thrumming right through her body, down to the pit of her belly and below. The reverberations summon an answer there, a roil of want like condensing cloud. She sucks in a breath. Haku's eyes sharpen, and she can see his nostrils flare. If anything his sense of smell is keener in this shape, so there's no hiding from that. She's about to ask him to change back, and then she thinks of the possibility that almost choked her at dinner the night before, the thing they haven't tried.
She feels like maybe she could swallow it now, if he could.
"Haku," she says, in a small voice, "can I ask something?"
He nudges her cheek lightly, swiveling his ears. Of course she can ask.
"Can we...can we, like this?"
His eyes widen. It's almost funny how long his lashes are, especially in this shape, but she's too uncertain of his answer to laugh. He draws his neck back--it reminds her less of a snake than of a heron when he does that, or maybe a startled swan--and then his entire length shimmers and goes hazy and contracts. The transformation leaves him blinking at her, kneeling close beside her on the grass.
Chihiro draws her legs up and smiles sheepishly, fighting the urge to cover her face and hide. "I guess that's a no?"
He grasps her hands, studying her. "Is that something you want?" At her wordless nod he asks, "Why?"
Why not doesn't seem like enough of an answer, not for this. She takes a deep breath. "Because--you're still you. I mean, I don't just...stop feeling how I feel when you've got scales on. You're still beautiful." She ducks her head. "I don't know, maybe I'm being too simple-minded."
"No. Not at all." He sits back onto his heels. "You've thought of this before?"
"Sometimes. A little bit. When we're flying, sometimes." It's been hard not to, now that she's not a kid anymore, when he's naked from nose to tail and she's straddling his body, with her breasts pressed to his mane. The way he undulates in midair while he's ascending is no help.
He blinks once or twice more, no longer searching her face. Some of the tension seeps from his arms. "I see. It's only that I never thought you might wish to. Since this form--" he gestures tersely at himself, "is more suited." He pauses. "Does the other one please you better?"
"No! Oh no. They, um, they both please me," she says hastily. "A lot."
"I see." The corners of his eyes soften, and he tightens his clasp on her folded hands. "Chihiro, thank you."
"Y--you're welcome?"
"But...." He pauses again. "I'm afraid it would be too much for you."
It, he says. She's not sure which it he means, and maybe she's better off not knowing. Trying to get a dragon to fit where he doesn't think he will seems like a bad idea. She supposes the point of going to the trouble of having a human shape is to do human-ish things in it, like having sex with your human significant other. But she doesn't see why the only options should be all or nothing.
She bites her bottom lip. "Couldn't we maybe, still...play, a little bit?"
He looks surprised again, and then begins to smile. "I'd like that."
"Really?"
"Yes." Letting go of her hands, he lays one of his at the top of her thigh. Not quite at the crux of the matter, but close--close enough to make her pulse jump, and to rouse twinges of ache where he's almost touching. "I'd like to taste you."
"Ahhh--okay." The nape of her neck prickles, and the twinges worsen. She shifts her weight. "Um, now?"
"If you like."
She glances toward the cottage--are they really not just doing this, but doing it outside?--but then she thinks of how cramped the loft would be, with all his coils. A patch of grass in the shade is nicer than the hard floor of the house. And her feet are still muddy from the garden, besides, and his fingers are curling in the fabric of her sundress and no, no, they're not going anywhere. She bobs her head.
Cupping her cheek, he leans in. "Yes?"
"Yeah."
He changes. When the shimmer subsides his body encircles her, so she's sitting at the heart of a white coil. He nuzzles the place on her cheek where his hand was only seconds ago, and she hugs his whole snout, not letting go until he tugs his head free to lower it to her lap.
Part of her can't believe this was her idea, but it's a small and feeble part. As his muzzle brushes along her thigh, pushing under her sundress, any doubts she might have had are drowned out, and then drowned altogether in a flood of heat. His head is big; she has to scoot down and spread her legs further, and that makes her feel wanton in a way it doesn't when he's in his other shape--and then she doesn't care if she's being wanton because he's nuzzling her, right through her panties, warming the cotton fabric with hot, damp breath.
Why on earth did she bother with underwear today, she wonders wildly--is he going to tear them off with his teeth? But his teeth have never scared her, not even the time he was wounded and snapping at everything in his pain, or in the moment when she thrust her hand down his throat to feed him the bitter dumpling that would cure him. Instead of tearing he licks, lightly, through the fabric. Testing, maybe. He's never done that before in any shape--licked her with her panties still on--and just from that she's throbbing, tightening, hunching her shoulders. "Ah--"
He looks up, jaws parted slightly, waiting.
She fumbles to pull her dress up, clumsy and air-headed with want. "No, it's good, it's--more?"
With a purr he wedges his nose between her thighs. Chihiro slumps against whatever part of his belly is coiled behind her. Of course his tongue's bigger this way, a swath of wet warmth that can lave her whole mound and everything below it in one lick. In a few more licks her panties are soaked from both sides. When she can't stand the feel of damp cloth on her anymore she pushes his nose away, just enough to let her lift her hips and drag the panties off and kick them aside.
"Wait," she gulps, when he looks like he's ready to dive right back in. "What--how should I--" Catching hold of his muzzle, she pets his face, his nose, the crest of his mane. "I want to touch you, too. I don't know what's good, like this."
He nudges upward, licks the hollow of her throat. Then he tilts his head to bare his own throat, exposing the place underneath where soft ruff gives way to scales.
"Here?" She puts her hand there, hesitant, then rubs as if he were an enormous cat. He lets out a faint hiss, and his whiskers curl upward, rippling. The way they hover has always amazed her--it's like gravity has no effect on them, like they just float without effort on the air. Of course his whole body is like that when he flies, as buoyant in sky as it is in water. Whiskers, though, whiskers are for sensing, so shouldn't they be sensitive, too? She grasps one of them lightly where it sprouts from his muzzle, enclosing it, and runs tentative fingers along its length.
Another hiss, and he flares up--his mane, his ears, the ruff around his jawline, the arch of his neck.
She lets go of him quickly. Before she can apologize he's nudging her hard, with enough strength to knock her over if she weren't already braced against his body. His eyes glitter. His whiskers trail toward her, as if to insinuate themselves again into her grip.
She clasps both whiskers in her hands, one on each side of his face, and strokes them. He purrs and purrs and nuzzles a path back down her middle, nipping at the fabric of her dress, until he has his nose between her thighs again to press against her sweet spot and lick. Flushed and shivering, she keeps stroking. Then she feels something against her ankle: the tapered end of one whisker, coiling like the tendril of a pale vine. There's no force in it, no real grip--she could shift her foot away if she didn't like it, but not liking it is the furthest thing from her mind.
For a minute she leans her head backward, pillowed against him, looking up dizzily at the sun through the boughs of the tree. She rocks her hips into the press of his tongue, feeling like she's melting under it. His whiskers stiffen in her hands, and all of a sudden it's like they're everywhere, gliding under her sundress, between her breasts, against her skin. The tip of one of them brushes her mouth, almost coaxing; she shuts her eyes and opens her mouth and lets it slip inside.
The growl he makes when she suckles is almost a groan. She feels his body shifting behind and around her, slithering against itself, his tail sweeping back and forth against the grass and then lashing the ground like a whip. She doesn't want to let him out of her mouth, but she needs to breathe, has to jerk her chin up to let him slip loose so she can pant.
"Haku," she says raggedly, "Haku, maybe you should change back and--ah--"
Just then he tilts his head, searching for an angle that lets him slide his tongue deeper in. It's too big, it ought to be too big but it's hot and wet and thick and her body just wants, wants that, wants him. Caught without any breath to moan, she reaches down with both hands and spreads her own swollen lips. He licks hard, growling into her, so she feels the sweet thrum of it right on her clit. With a short sob she lets go to grab hold of his mane, his horns, clinging to him. He growls once more, like it's an affirmation, and she bends over his head and shudders with her release.
For a long time after he goes on licking the insides of her thighs, gently, as if to lap up every last glimmer of wet. Chihiro buries her face in his mane, mumbling to herself or both of them.
"That was so good. Why was that so good." She doesn't need an answer or expect one, not even when he changes back into his other shape and tilts his head up to kiss her mouth. Kissing is better this way, for sure, but she feels a little bereft, a little more naked without his coils wrapped around her, making a nest for her to be dissolute in. His gaze on her is still soft as grass. His fingers touch her hand, coax it open, and place something small and hard in her palm.
She blinks down at the pearl in surprise. When had she--
"You dropped it," he says, with a smile just this side of wry.
--
They spend the rest of the afternoon in the garden, more at play than at work, and the evening after dinner settled in the loft, side by side, browsing books from Zeniba's bookshelf. Haku leafs through the book of magic, while Chihiro pulls out The Knitting Way: A Guide to Spiritual Self-Discovery.
"Maybe I could learn to knit," she muses. At Haku's quizzical look she says, "It's not just for old ladies. I knew some girls at school who were really into it. They started a club and everything." She flips through the book, looking mainly at the pictures: hats and scarves and shawls and totes.
Haku peers at the open page. "I never thought it was only for ladies of any age. Only that your people are always making things."
Human people, he means. Chihiro supposes it's true. In the old days women had to make clothes for their entire households--it must have been a lot of work, she thinks, feeling a little in awe of her ancestresses. But she can't imagine her mother sewing or knitting anything. "I guess we are. I could make you a scarf. If I made you a scarf, would you wear it?"
"In summer?"
She doesn't quite roll her eyes. "Not in summer."
"Chihiro," he says, leaning toward her, "I would wear anything you gave me."
"Really? Anything?" The possibilities begin to swarm. "Sunglasses? A Hawaiian shirt?"
"A what?"
She rolls over onto her back, wracked with giggles. He looks on peaceably, unperturbed, and asks whether she doesn't approve of how he clothes himself.
"Oh, no. You look good in this." She reaches out to finger the front of his yukata. "Really, really good."
He smiles and puts the book of spells aside.
On the third day the clouds return, dark and gravid. Once it sets in the rain is relentless, nothing like the idle showers of the day before. The two of them stay in bed for hours, well into what must be afternoon, although Chihiro can't tell from the murky tone of the light what time it is, and the clock on her mobile phone is frozen at the hour she crossed over from the other world.
At last she has to beg for a respite. For a second Haku stares as her blankly, like she's speaking in tongues, before he blinks and draws a sharp breath as if snapping out of a daze. She's never seen him look so chagrined.
"Forgive me--"
"No, it's okay," she soothes. "Really, it is. You didn't break me or anything. I just need a rest."
"Of course."
She pulls his head to lie pillowed on her breast and pets his hair to reassure him. "Do you not get worn out, ever?"
Bemusement slowly replaces his chagrin. "I don't know. I've never...been this way before. It's not the same as flowing to the sea, or furrowing the earth. But I never tired of doing those things."
"Oh, wow." She's let herself in for it, though. A few thousand years, a few tens of thousands. And she wants that, never mind she's slightly winded at the moment. The thought of having to leave the cottage in the morning fills her with heavy reluctance. Three days is too short a time, barely enough to get her feet wet. She wants to stay, to go on keeping house with him, or better yet to find or make a place of their own, a place for both of them to be.
It isn't easily done in her world. Maybe it would be easier in this one. She looks up at the cottage roof-beams, wondering as she never has before how Zeniba came to live here. Whether there might be other houses like this one, at other stations or further afield, uninhabited. Waiting for someone to take up residence.
"Haku," she asks in a murmur, "could we live in a place like this? Like, not this house, but a different one? I mean, it's really nice." A little lonely, maybe, but there would be friends nearby, friends to visit at the bathhouse, and probably other friends in this world she has yet to meet. "I could get used to living here."
"You have a place in your world," he says quietly. "And your schooling. Do you not want to finish it?"
"No, I want to." She didn't go through all the work of getting good grades and passing exams just to give up on school. If she can do something to ensure that what happened to Haku's river happens to fewer others, she wants to do it. Even her dad seems proud that she'll be following in his footsteps, in a way. She sighs. "I guess it'd be hard to commute, huh. But maybe someday?"
"Someday," Haku murmurs. "I hope we can."
It's hunger that drives them out of bed at last. They crawl down from the loft to make a meal in some uncertain space between lunch and dinner: tea and rice, and eggplant grilled with miso glaze. When Chihiro ventures into the garden it's like a jungle--both the weeds and the vegetables are inexplicably huge--but the rain keeps streaming down, and in the time it takes to pick the eggplant her hair and clothes are slicked to her skin.
By morning the rain has almost cleared, but then it's time to say goodbye to the cottage. As she and Haku make ready to leave Chihiro writes a note to Zeniba. Dear Granny, it reads, I'm so sorry about the weeds. Yesterday it rained all day and we couldn't really do any work in the garden. Maybe you know a spell that can get rid of just the weeds without hurting the vegetables. Haku says it's hard to do. Other than the weeds we didn't have any trouble, and nobody tried to break in and steal anything. Thanks for asking us to stay. We had a really nice time.
--
On her return home Zeniba takes one look at the petunias in the window boxes--the lush leaves, the fat burgeoning blooms--and claps her hands.
"What did I tell you?" she cackles. "Worked like a charm. Better than any spell I could've cast, and that's saying something. We'll have to send them a melon as a thank-you gift."
Her companion heaves her suitcase down with a gusty sigh. "Ah, ah."
"I'm sure you would have, but a girl like that has her modesty, and I'd be surprised if the dragon took kindly to your gawking. His kind may be good-natured, but they get tetchy about their pearls."
"Ah, ah."
"Yes, I know she's not literally, you goose, it was a metaphor. Come on, let's have a look at the beans. I'll bet they're as tall as the house."
☆