[Oneshot] That soft smile
Today is my anniversary. Exactly 6 years ago I stumbled into a screening of Kimi wa petto at an anime convention and was immediately Junbaited. To this day he remains special in my heart, for without Gentle J I would never have found this fandom, and never have made friends with so many wonderful people.
To celebrate I have an Ohmiya fic in which Jun......isn't mentioned at all. I do love you J, I do, I just don't express it as much as my love for Ohmiya.
Title: That soft smile
Pair: Ohmiya
Genre: Historical AU, mild angst, porn with plot
Rating: R
Summary: An ukiyo-e artist fell in love with a beauty he could not afford
Note: I'm fairly certain that someone has already written Ohno as an ukiyo-e artist, and if I had $10 for every time someone has written courtesan Nino I'd be able to buy a trip to Japan. In fact it is entirely Nino's fault that I ended up spending my entire Saturday writing this.
Given the nature of the Historical AU genre, a number of Japanese terms are used in this fic, all of which should be self explanatory, but if not I would be happy to provide explanations or Wikipedia links. Also, I might have developed a kink for fundoshi.
Edit: I don't know why lj keeps reformatting the paragraph breaks. I keep fixing them, and lj keeps breaking them.
The most beautiful person in the world, Ohno believed, was Ninomiya.
It had nothing to do with Ninomiya’s fine kimono, beautiful in its own right as a design of pine on gold. It had nothing to do with the number of cups of sake Ohno had consumed or the lighting of the room or any other external factor.
It was Nino’s face. The soft curve of his cheek. The angle of his nose. His mouth. His eyes.
Ninomiya was so beautiful that Ohno forgot that he was in a room full of a dozen other rowdy, drunk people. He forgot that the party was actually for Ohno’s own sake, celebrating his promotion from assistant to master, and his entry into the more exclusive social circles of artists, authors, actors and poets.
They did not exist, nor did the rest of the world beyond the screen walls.
There was only Ninomiya. The soft sadness in his eyes, even as he smiled. The hand hidden in a sleeve that would fly up to muffle a laugh.
Whenever their eyes met, Ohno found himself pulled deeper into the landscape where only he and Ninomiya existed.
Ninomiya looked down, a movement that was a mere fluttering of eyelids, and the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth suggested concealed amusement.
Ohno looked away too, but not far, setting his vision on the beam of the screen behind Ninomiya, so that he could still watch him with a soft, out of focus gaze.
“Master, a letter has arrived.”
“Un.” He grunted. His hands were sweaty, and his legs had long since fallen asleep, but if he stopped now the whole image would be ruined. “Set it above my sketches, I’ll read it when I’m done.”
At last Ohno sighed, wiping his brush as he sat back on his heels to admire his work. Designing ink prints for sumo wrestler pamphlets were always one of Ohno’s favorite commissions. There was just something intriguing about all of those rolls of fat on the human body.
Slowly he rose to his feet, working the feeling back into them a little before he reached for the letter.
It nearly dropped from his sore fingers when he saw who it was from.
Master Ohno, thank you for the print you sent me. It is said that of late most prints are theater house propaganda, uninspired pornography or else crude grasps at that elusive thing known as beauty. However it would seem these people are under informed, given that I have received a print of Lake Biwa comparably more breathtaking than the famed location itself. In return for such a wonderful treasure I am afraid I have nothing to give except my profound gratitude. -Ninomiya Kazunari
The blossoming elation Ohno had felt from reading Ninomiya’s name, and receiving his praise slowly began to wilt as Ohno read the last sentence over and over. “Nothing to give…”
Ohno slowly sunk to his knees, feeling sick, and hollow, leaning his elbows on his work table. “O-of course he was going to reject me. Of course.”
Ohno stopped taking commissions. His assistants threatened to quit, but he simply instructed them to do as they wished. Ohno couldn’t paint sumo wrestlers or kabuki actors or cherry blossoms anymore regardless of how badly the Guild wanted him to, or how well sold.
He began painting storms, shipwrecks, ghosts and demons. Battlefields, and war. And anguished lovers.
He rarely left his room, and probably wouldn’t have eaten, if the few assistants that remained hadn’t brought him food.
“Master Ohno, a letter has arrived.”
“Burn it.” Ohno said, without looking up from the blood he was painting on a wolf’s fangs.
“But…it’s from the Guild.”
Ohno sighed, dipping his brush in water and then in ink, not wishing to stop or listen, “Read me the important parts.”
“Yes sir…….let’s see, it says here……Oh!”
“What is it?” Ohno looked up, confused at the excited exclaim. Usually letters from the Guild were cherry or plum blossom viewing party invitations or some other frivolous thing. Nothing good ever came from letters.
“Your ‘Terrible and Disgusting Horrors’ collection is selling faster than they can make prints! They’re sending your profits over soon, and invite you to a celebratory gathering!”
“It’ll be nice to have the money but…I don’t like parties.” Ohno clicked his tongue, and pouted, folding his hands inside his sleeves.
“Patrons?” Ohno repeated, making sure he heard the guild leader correctly. “I have patrons?”
“Nearly thirty of them! Mostly retired generals and retainers with too much money and too much ego. They’ll be wanting portraits, but that’s trivial compared to the amount of funds they’ve already started sending your way.”
Ohno blinked, stunned. He didn’t know what to say. He was too shocked to even feel honored. He was fooling everyone, he knew. Those prints that made him famous were terrible, merely manifestations of sadness, loneliness and heartbreak. They were so far removed from artistic sensibility that Ohno had been ashamed to sign them.
No one wanted to hear that, however. The Guild wanted him to be pleased, grateful and indebted as it was an invitation into their wealthy upper circle.
“Master Ohno, a letter has arrived.”
“Is it from someone important?” Ohno asked, tiredly. If he had to paint another pompous samurai portrait this week…
“I do not recognize the name…Ninomiya Kazunari?”
A tear of red ink dropped from the brush onto the painting Ohno had spent the last seven hours laboring over.
Ninomiya smiled his soft, mysterious smile, and turned on his knees to prepare the sake on the lacquer tray. His sky blue kimono was patterned with an embroidered silver stream. Although Ohno knew it to be erotic in symbol, on Ninomiya it spoke only of unparalleled natural beauty.
And he was so beautiful. Ohno could simply live his life watching Ninomiya move, blink, breathe and smile. Ohno never thought he’d see Ninomiya again, hadn’t dared dream that they’d be alone together.
“I’ve kept it, you know.” Ninomiya said, gracefully pouring the sake. “The print you sent me of Lake Biwa. It hangs in my room.”
“T-that was nothing.” Ohno mumbled, his ears distractedly hot. “An early piece, it was full of juvenile mistakes.”
“I believe you are being modest.” Ninomiya smiled, “Your works are so widely circulated, and highly acclaimed.”
“It’s nothing.” Ohno repeated, the heat spreading from his ears to his whole face. “There’s just a sudden craze for the macabre.”
“I have seen these too, the ‘Horrors,’ and while they are truly detailed and captivating, I have been wondering why the talented master who created the beautiful landscape of Lake Biwa suddenly began such a ghastly series.”
Their eyes met before Ohno could look away.
He said nothing.
Ninomiya understood.
“I am well practiced with the biwa.” Ninomiya said, gingerly breaking the silence, with that same soft smile. “Shall I perform for you?”
“Yes.” Ohno said, happy for an excuse not to talk, and the invitation to openly watch Ninomiya.
The biwa was sent for. Ninomiya spoke of how he taught himself to play as a child, receiving formal training only after employment. The instrument arrived, and Ninomiya settled near the open window, tuning the strings one by one.
He played an early spring tune, with melodies that brought to mind melting snow, spring birds, and the brave first buds.
Ohno tried to listen, as Ninomiya was indeed talented, but he kept finding himself distracted by way Ninomiya’s small fingers held the plectrum against the strings. Or by the way concentration drew new lines on Ninomiya’s face.
“I’ve never had such a captive audience before.” Ninomiya said at the end of a series of songs long enough to have been a concert, with a touch more amusement in his smile. “I’m used to playing in the background at parties where everyone is too busy talking or laughing to give me any attention.”
“That is a shame. I could watch you play forever.” Ohno said, and he meant it.
Ninomiya smiled wider, and laughed. “It would be my honor.”
Ninomiya rose, and went to the door, giving the biwa to an attendant in the hall. He did not resume his seat however, moving to the other side of the room, and pulling back the door to the side room.
Ninomiya kept his hands on the door frame, and didn’t turn around.
Beyond him, Ohno could see a futon had been laid out on the tatami floor.
Slowly, Ninomiya looked over his shoulder, his eyes half lidded and his small smile amorous, “Would you care to follow me, Master Ohno?”
“Y-yes.” Ohno rose to his feet, feeling strangely outside of himself, as if Ninomiya’s biwa music had drawn out his soul. Yet at the same time he could feel his blood beginning to accelerate, and he could feel a flush developing on his cheeks that was entirely independent of the alcohol he had consumed before the performance.
“Is this your first time with a courtesan?” Ninomiya asked, his voice so soft and so gentle, “Or your first time with a male courtesan?”
Ohno didn’t answer. He didn’t want to state his experience in case he didn’t perform up to Ninomiya’s standards as a professional. Even if he wanted to answer, Ohno couldn’t have remembered another face if he tried. He could only see Ninomiya, those wise, gentle eyes, and that mysterious soft smile.
Instead he asked, “Can…can we take it slow?”
“Of course we can.”
He let Ninomiya lead him into the room. Ohno knew that it was his role to take charge, to take Ninomiya.
But he didn’t want to take. He wanted to give.
He reached up, touching Ninomiya’s neck so lightly he wasn’t sure he’d made contact at first.
His fingers slowly found the little hairs at the base of Ninomiya’s neck.
Ninomiya’s eyes were low lidded, and Ohno could hear his steady breathing. Ohno moved just a little closer, daring to place his hand on Ninomiya’s obi.
He drew them closer. Their noses met.
Closer.
Their lips.
Ohno stopped.
Pulled away, just by a hair.
losed his eyes.
issed him again.
Tongues meshed and molded. Ohno pushed, Ninomiya pulled.
Pulled him, coaxed him down onto the futon.
Ninomiya laid back.
Ohno settled on his knees between Nino’s legs.
Ninomiya freed one arm from the sleeve of his kimono.
Ohno stared at the pale skin and the dark nipple. He and his assistants often wore little clothing during the summer months, yet to see only one nipple, to have only one revealed was like seeing something that wasn’t meant to be seen. It felt more erotic than glimpsing a woman’s breast.
He traced his hand up Ninomiya’s side, delicately fingering the hardening nipple. It wasn’t enough. He slipped his other hand beneath the sky blue fabric to find its pair.
Ohno felt a hand on each of his elbows. Ninomiya pulled him down, back into a kiss.
He could feel Ninomiya’s hands moving, roving, in the back of his mind that wasn’t preoccupied with the kiss, and Ninomiya’s nipples. He barely realized Ninomiya’s hands had found his obi until he realized his waist was being pulled closer and closer.
Ohno didn’t realize exactly how heavy he’d become until his groin made contact against Ninomiya’s. The friction of his fundoshi, the weight of his own kimono sent tingles of desire through every limb. Their kiss eased apart, and Ninomiya’s guiding hand was steady on his waist, his smile tighter, anticipatory.
With each passing grind, the fabric burned, and he throbbed. He could feel Ninomiya’s matching bulge, and struck against it. Ninomiya hissed just barely before catching his loose collar in his teeth to muffle himself. It was the first time Ohno had heard Ninomiya’s voice sound so unrestrained, so pleasured.
Ohno slowed to a stop, resisting the urge to stroke himself. He lifted himself up off Ninomiya, moving back just a little. The beautiful sky blue kimono had worked its way up Ninomiya’s legs. Ohno straightened the folds, searching for the open flap.
Ninomiya lifted himself up on his elbows, loosening his obi, as Ohno pulled the rest of the fabric of the kimono free.
For a moment, Ohno forgot everything. He forgot what they were in the middle of doing, he forgot who he was. He forgot that Ninomiya didn’t care for him one way or another, and that to him, Ohno was just one customer of many.
Ninomiya was beautiful. His thin, pale body, his birthmarks, his bellybutton, his knees, his toes.
Ninomiya untied his own fundoshi, revealing his erection, and a clean shaved pubis.
That soft smile returned, as did that gentle, half-lidded gaze. One arm still remained in a sky blue, stream patterned sleeve, which was the arm Ninomiya used to beckon Ohno forward.
“Master Ohno, a letter has arrived.”
“I’ll read it later.” Ohno hurriedly pulled on his hanten and geta.
“Master Ohno, what are you…are you going out? What about the patron’s commissions? Lord-“
“I’ll finish them later. Take the day off, and have some fun! I’ll be back tomorrow!”
“Does it hurt?” Ohno asked, feeling sublimely languid, as he traced his fingers across Ninomiya’s arms, as they cuddled naked under the futon.
“Hmmm, sometimes.” Ninomiya’s eyes were closed, his eyebrows relaxed, and Ohno could tell he was headed towards sleep. “More often it feels good though.”
“You always make it seem like it feels really good,” Ohno continued, talking more towards himself, “but having a penis up my ass just sounds painful.”
“Do you want to try it?” Ninomiya said, with dry sarcasm and in the middle of a yawn.
Ohno didn’t pause to think. “With you, I could do anything.”
Slowly Ninomiya opened his eyes. He shifted his weight and sat up, his face emotionless and unreadable.
Ohno sat up too, worried at the change in mood, “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”
“Wait here, Master Ohno.” Ninomiya began to rise, but Ohno caught his hand.
“Please don’t call me that. You know I don’t like it.”
“It’s part of the service.” Ninomiya replied, bending over to kiss the top of Ohno’s head. Ninomiya slipped away, pulling on a yukata, and disappearing from the room.
Ohno laid back on the futon. It was cold alone, and he wondered where Ninomiya went. Perhaps to the bathroom. Or maybe to order them food and sake.
Ninomiya returned soon, not with food but with a small ceramic jar.
“What is this?” Ohno asked, when Ninomiya handed it to him so he could undress again.
“It’s a salve. It’s given to the young boys when they first start working. It serves as a lubricant, usually, but this particular one also has herbs in it known to increase pleasurable sensations.”
“Oh.” Said Ohno, blushing a little, as he opened the jar to evaluate the creamy white contents.
Ninomiya took the jar back, staring at it with an unreadable face. “If you want me to, I will do it, but it’s better if you don’t tell anyone.”
Ohno knew that, should someone spy on them, and see their roles reversed, rumors would spread tarnishing both of their reputations.
“If it’s with you,” Ohno said again, “I don’t care.”
Their eyes met, and something flickered behind Ninomiya’s reserved gaze. Gently he laid his hands on Ohno’s shoulders and eased him back onto the futon.
“Spread your legs a little further apart.” Ninomiya said, coating his fingers with the salve, “The way that you’ve seen me do.”
Ohno did as he was told, fighting embarrassment as he spread his legs further apart on either side of Ninomiya.
With his salve coated left hand, Ninomiya gently pressed a finger into the sphincter.
The sensation was strange. It felt neither good, nor bad.
“I’m going to put another finger in. It’s going to hurt, just a little.”
Ohno bit his lip to prevent himself from telling Ninomiya to stop. He didn’t think he could handle it if a third one was going to join the party.
Slowly, however, Ohno began to notice a tingling, warming sensation, heightened every time Ninomiya’s fingers moved in or out.
He began to grow erect.
“What is…” Ohno panted, beginning to stroke himself, but the strange, burning, itching need seemed only to worsen.
“The salve is beginning to work.” Ninomiya reported, adding his free hand to Ohno’s. The salve that coated his fingers mingled with the pre-cum, easing the friction from stroking, yet still not easing the painful need.
The fingers slid out of Ohno, and he held back a gasp, knowing what was next.
Ninomiya ceased pumping Ohno to coat his own erection with more salve. Ohno closed his eyes.
Ninomiya climbed over him, kissing him lightly on the lips, the cheek, and his ear, whispering, softly, gently, “Don’t be afraid, Satoshi. I will not hurt you.”
Ohno ceased to function without Ninomiya. When he returned home, he couldn’t paint, for all that he could see in his mind’s eye was Ninomiya. Even when he tried to paint Ninomiya, it turned out badly. Ninomiya was frustratingly too beautiful for capture.
His commissions were building up. His patrons were waiting for their portraits.
More of his assistants quit, which made matters worse.
Ohno didn’t care.
Seeing Ninomiya again was all that mattered.
“You are mysterious. After all this time I don’t know anything about you.” Ohno said one evening, as they watched the autumn sunset from the window of their room.
Ninomiya smiled, that same soft smile with the barest edge of a challenge, “Ask me what you want to know.”
“You wouldn’t tell me though, would you? You like your secrets.”
“I do.” Ninomiya agreed, this time with a true grin. “I do like my secrets.”
“Then I want you to keep them.” Ohno said, taking Ninomiya’s hand. “You’ve given me so much, I’d feel greedy if I took all of you.”
Ninomiya laughed, a rare, beautiful sound. He pressed their foreheads together. “I may be mysterious, but at least I’m not abnormal like you.”
“Master Ohno, a letter.”
“I’ll read it la-“
“With all due respect Master, it’s from the Guild and you need to read it now.”
“I don’t want to-“
“Master please! Stop this! This is why you’ve lost so many patrons!”
Ohno froze. “I have? When? Where are the tabs at? How much money do I have left?”
“I’m not sure sir, the letter says Guild wants you to contact them immediately. It…it doesn’t look good.”
“…I…I understand. I’ll contact them. Hand me the letter.”
“ I’ll get to work again. The patrons will come back.” Ohno echoed, feeling sick as fear overwhelmed him.
But even if he got back to work, he knew he was fooling himself to think he’d regain the trust of his patrons and the Guild anytime soon. His reputation as a responsible Master artist was tarnished, and would take years to repair.
He had wasted all of his time, all of his money on Ninomiya
And he knew, if he ever got a second chance, he would do it again.
“You seem off tonight,” Ninomiya reached across the table to place his hand over Ohno’s. “Is something wrong?”
“Tonight…” Ohno’s voice cracked. He stopped, and tried again with a steadier voice. “Tonight might be the last time….”
Their eyes met.
Ohno explained no further.
Ninomiya’s eyes softened. He understood.
He squeezed Ohno’s hand in gentle reassurance. “Even if you don’t come for a while, I hope you’ll come again eventually.”
“Would you be able to see me, even if I couldn’t pay you?”
Slowly, silently, Ninomiya withdrew his hand, looking down and away.
“That’s okay.” Ohno laughed. Ohno wept. “I knew that would be your answer anyway.”
Ninomiya looked up, smiling that soft smile, “Can we take it slow tonight?”
Ohno smiled back, laughing over his tears. “We can take it as slowly as you like.”
“Master Ohno, a letter.”
“Put it by my tea, I’ll read it in a minute.”
Ohno finished inking the pine pattern on the gold kimono. He cleaned his brushes, stood up, and stretched.
He took a sip of tea, and opened the letter.
Satoshi. I received your gift on Friday. Your talent for landscapes has only become more evident. Particularly the print of the tidal waves seemed to me so real that I could feel the ocean’s breeze upon my face. I hear too, that your erotica are selling well, and would like to congratulate you for such an exact representation as to where exactly the hidden moles on my body are. However, I must ask you to please refrain from creating further works that depict sexual relations between my likeness and an octopus. I assure you that that is no one’s fantasy except your own. I regret to inform you that there is nothing I can give in return for such a gift, except for my hope that his letter finds you healthy, and happy, and in your usual place at midnight during the full moon. -Ninomiya Kazunari
Ohno folded the letter and carefully tucked it into his sleeve. He opened the door to his room and peaked out at his only remaining assistant.
“Chinen, do you know when the next full moon is?”
“I believe its tonight, Master. It will be a beautiful night for an evening stroll.”
“Yes,” Ohno smiled, a small, soft smile, “I think I might go out.”
To celebrate I have an Ohmiya fic in which Jun......isn't mentioned at all. I do love you J, I do, I just don't express it as much as my love for Ohmiya.
Title: That soft smile
Pair: Ohmiya
Genre: Historical AU, mild angst, porn with plot
Rating: R
Summary: An ukiyo-e artist fell in love with a beauty he could not afford
Note: I'm fairly certain that someone has already written Ohno as an ukiyo-e artist, and if I had $10 for every time someone has written courtesan Nino I'd be able to buy a trip to Japan. In fact it is entirely Nino's fault that I ended up spending my entire Saturday writing this.
Given the nature of the Historical AU genre, a number of Japanese terms are used in this fic, all of which should be self explanatory, but if not I would be happy to provide explanations or Wikipedia links. Also, I might have developed a kink for fundoshi.
Edit: I don't know why lj keeps reformatting the paragraph breaks. I keep fixing them, and lj keeps breaking them.
The most beautiful person in the world, Ohno believed, was Ninomiya.
It had nothing to do with Ninomiya’s fine kimono, beautiful in its own right as a design of pine on gold. It had nothing to do with the number of cups of sake Ohno had consumed or the lighting of the room or any other external factor.
It was Nino’s face. The soft curve of his cheek. The angle of his nose. His mouth. His eyes.
Ninomiya was so beautiful that Ohno forgot that he was in a room full of a dozen other rowdy, drunk people. He forgot that the party was actually for Ohno’s own sake, celebrating his promotion from assistant to master, and his entry into the more exclusive social circles of artists, authors, actors and poets.
They did not exist, nor did the rest of the world beyond the screen walls.
There was only Ninomiya. The soft sadness in his eyes, even as he smiled. The hand hidden in a sleeve that would fly up to muffle a laugh.
Whenever their eyes met, Ohno found himself pulled deeper into the landscape where only he and Ninomiya existed.
Ninomiya looked down, a movement that was a mere fluttering of eyelids, and the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth suggested concealed amusement.
Ohno looked away too, but not far, setting his vision on the beam of the screen behind Ninomiya, so that he could still watch him with a soft, out of focus gaze.
“Master, a letter has arrived.”
“Un.” He grunted. His hands were sweaty, and his legs had long since fallen asleep, but if he stopped now the whole image would be ruined. “Set it above my sketches, I’ll read it when I’m done.”
At last Ohno sighed, wiping his brush as he sat back on his heels to admire his work. Designing ink prints for sumo wrestler pamphlets were always one of Ohno’s favorite commissions. There was just something intriguing about all of those rolls of fat on the human body.
Slowly he rose to his feet, working the feeling back into them a little before he reached for the letter.
It nearly dropped from his sore fingers when he saw who it was from.
Master Ohno, thank you for the print you sent me. It is said that of late most prints are theater house propaganda, uninspired pornography or else crude grasps at that elusive thing known as beauty. However it would seem these people are under informed, given that I have received a print of Lake Biwa comparably more breathtaking than the famed location itself. In return for such a wonderful treasure I am afraid I have nothing to give except my profound gratitude. -Ninomiya Kazunari
The blossoming elation Ohno had felt from reading Ninomiya’s name, and receiving his praise slowly began to wilt as Ohno read the last sentence over and over. “Nothing to give…”
Ohno slowly sunk to his knees, feeling sick, and hollow, leaning his elbows on his work table. “O-of course he was going to reject me. Of course.”
Ohno stopped taking commissions. His assistants threatened to quit, but he simply instructed them to do as they wished. Ohno couldn’t paint sumo wrestlers or kabuki actors or cherry blossoms anymore regardless of how badly the Guild wanted him to, or how well sold.
He began painting storms, shipwrecks, ghosts and demons. Battlefields, and war. And anguished lovers.
He rarely left his room, and probably wouldn’t have eaten, if the few assistants that remained hadn’t brought him food.
“Master Ohno, a letter has arrived.”
“Burn it.” Ohno said, without looking up from the blood he was painting on a wolf’s fangs.
“But…it’s from the Guild.”
Ohno sighed, dipping his brush in water and then in ink, not wishing to stop or listen, “Read me the important parts.”
“Yes sir…….let’s see, it says here……Oh!”
“What is it?” Ohno looked up, confused at the excited exclaim. Usually letters from the Guild were cherry or plum blossom viewing party invitations or some other frivolous thing. Nothing good ever came from letters.
“Your ‘Terrible and Disgusting Horrors’ collection is selling faster than they can make prints! They’re sending your profits over soon, and invite you to a celebratory gathering!”
“It’ll be nice to have the money but…I don’t like parties.” Ohno clicked his tongue, and pouted, folding his hands inside his sleeves.
“Patrons?” Ohno repeated, making sure he heard the guild leader correctly. “I have patrons?”
“Nearly thirty of them! Mostly retired generals and retainers with too much money and too much ego. They’ll be wanting portraits, but that’s trivial compared to the amount of funds they’ve already started sending your way.”
Ohno blinked, stunned. He didn’t know what to say. He was too shocked to even feel honored. He was fooling everyone, he knew. Those prints that made him famous were terrible, merely manifestations of sadness, loneliness and heartbreak. They were so far removed from artistic sensibility that Ohno had been ashamed to sign them.
No one wanted to hear that, however. The Guild wanted him to be pleased, grateful and indebted as it was an invitation into their wealthy upper circle.
“Master Ohno, a letter has arrived.”
“Is it from someone important?” Ohno asked, tiredly. If he had to paint another pompous samurai portrait this week…
“I do not recognize the name…Ninomiya Kazunari?”
A tear of red ink dropped from the brush onto the painting Ohno had spent the last seven hours laboring over.
Ninomiya smiled his soft, mysterious smile, and turned on his knees to prepare the sake on the lacquer tray. His sky blue kimono was patterned with an embroidered silver stream. Although Ohno knew it to be erotic in symbol, on Ninomiya it spoke only of unparalleled natural beauty.
And he was so beautiful. Ohno could simply live his life watching Ninomiya move, blink, breathe and smile. Ohno never thought he’d see Ninomiya again, hadn’t dared dream that they’d be alone together.
“I’ve kept it, you know.” Ninomiya said, gracefully pouring the sake. “The print you sent me of Lake Biwa. It hangs in my room.”
“T-that was nothing.” Ohno mumbled, his ears distractedly hot. “An early piece, it was full of juvenile mistakes.”
“I believe you are being modest.” Ninomiya smiled, “Your works are so widely circulated, and highly acclaimed.”
“It’s nothing.” Ohno repeated, the heat spreading from his ears to his whole face. “There’s just a sudden craze for the macabre.”
“I have seen these too, the ‘Horrors,’ and while they are truly detailed and captivating, I have been wondering why the talented master who created the beautiful landscape of Lake Biwa suddenly began such a ghastly series.”
Their eyes met before Ohno could look away.
He said nothing.
Ninomiya understood.
“I am well practiced with the biwa.” Ninomiya said, gingerly breaking the silence, with that same soft smile. “Shall I perform for you?”
“Yes.” Ohno said, happy for an excuse not to talk, and the invitation to openly watch Ninomiya.
The biwa was sent for. Ninomiya spoke of how he taught himself to play as a child, receiving formal training only after employment. The instrument arrived, and Ninomiya settled near the open window, tuning the strings one by one.
He played an early spring tune, with melodies that brought to mind melting snow, spring birds, and the brave first buds.
Ohno tried to listen, as Ninomiya was indeed talented, but he kept finding himself distracted by way Ninomiya’s small fingers held the plectrum against the strings. Or by the way concentration drew new lines on Ninomiya’s face.
“I’ve never had such a captive audience before.” Ninomiya said at the end of a series of songs long enough to have been a concert, with a touch more amusement in his smile. “I’m used to playing in the background at parties where everyone is too busy talking or laughing to give me any attention.”
“That is a shame. I could watch you play forever.” Ohno said, and he meant it.
Ninomiya smiled wider, and laughed. “It would be my honor.”
Ninomiya rose, and went to the door, giving the biwa to an attendant in the hall. He did not resume his seat however, moving to the other side of the room, and pulling back the door to the side room.
Ninomiya kept his hands on the door frame, and didn’t turn around.
Beyond him, Ohno could see a futon had been laid out on the tatami floor.
Slowly, Ninomiya looked over his shoulder, his eyes half lidded and his small smile amorous, “Would you care to follow me, Master Ohno?”
“Y-yes.” Ohno rose to his feet, feeling strangely outside of himself, as if Ninomiya’s biwa music had drawn out his soul. Yet at the same time he could feel his blood beginning to accelerate, and he could feel a flush developing on his cheeks that was entirely independent of the alcohol he had consumed before the performance.
“Is this your first time with a courtesan?” Ninomiya asked, his voice so soft and so gentle, “Or your first time with a male courtesan?”
Ohno didn’t answer. He didn’t want to state his experience in case he didn’t perform up to Ninomiya’s standards as a professional. Even if he wanted to answer, Ohno couldn’t have remembered another face if he tried. He could only see Ninomiya, those wise, gentle eyes, and that mysterious soft smile.
Instead he asked, “Can…can we take it slow?”
“Of course we can.”
He let Ninomiya lead him into the room. Ohno knew that it was his role to take charge, to take Ninomiya.
But he didn’t want to take. He wanted to give.
He reached up, touching Ninomiya’s neck so lightly he wasn’t sure he’d made contact at first.
His fingers slowly found the little hairs at the base of Ninomiya’s neck.
Ninomiya’s eyes were low lidded, and Ohno could hear his steady breathing. Ohno moved just a little closer, daring to place his hand on Ninomiya’s obi.
He drew them closer. Their noses met.
Closer.
Their lips.
Ohno stopped.
Pulled away, just by a hair.
losed his eyes.
issed him again.
Tongues meshed and molded. Ohno pushed, Ninomiya pulled.
Pulled him, coaxed him down onto the futon.
Ninomiya laid back.
Ohno settled on his knees between Nino’s legs.
Ninomiya freed one arm from the sleeve of his kimono.
Ohno stared at the pale skin and the dark nipple. He and his assistants often wore little clothing during the summer months, yet to see only one nipple, to have only one revealed was like seeing something that wasn’t meant to be seen. It felt more erotic than glimpsing a woman’s breast.
He traced his hand up Ninomiya’s side, delicately fingering the hardening nipple. It wasn’t enough. He slipped his other hand beneath the sky blue fabric to find its pair.
Ohno felt a hand on each of his elbows. Ninomiya pulled him down, back into a kiss.
He could feel Ninomiya’s hands moving, roving, in the back of his mind that wasn’t preoccupied with the kiss, and Ninomiya’s nipples. He barely realized Ninomiya’s hands had found his obi until he realized his waist was being pulled closer and closer.
Ohno didn’t realize exactly how heavy he’d become until his groin made contact against Ninomiya’s. The friction of his fundoshi, the weight of his own kimono sent tingles of desire through every limb. Their kiss eased apart, and Ninomiya’s guiding hand was steady on his waist, his smile tighter, anticipatory.
With each passing grind, the fabric burned, and he throbbed. He could feel Ninomiya’s matching bulge, and struck against it. Ninomiya hissed just barely before catching his loose collar in his teeth to muffle himself. It was the first time Ohno had heard Ninomiya’s voice sound so unrestrained, so pleasured.
Ohno slowed to a stop, resisting the urge to stroke himself. He lifted himself up off Ninomiya, moving back just a little. The beautiful sky blue kimono had worked its way up Ninomiya’s legs. Ohno straightened the folds, searching for the open flap.
Ninomiya lifted himself up on his elbows, loosening his obi, as Ohno pulled the rest of the fabric of the kimono free.
For a moment, Ohno forgot everything. He forgot what they were in the middle of doing, he forgot who he was. He forgot that Ninomiya didn’t care for him one way or another, and that to him, Ohno was just one customer of many.
Ninomiya was beautiful. His thin, pale body, his birthmarks, his bellybutton, his knees, his toes.
Ninomiya untied his own fundoshi, revealing his erection, and a clean shaved pubis.
That soft smile returned, as did that gentle, half-lidded gaze. One arm still remained in a sky blue, stream patterned sleeve, which was the arm Ninomiya used to beckon Ohno forward.
“Master Ohno, a letter has arrived.”
“I’ll read it later.” Ohno hurriedly pulled on his hanten and geta.
“Master Ohno, what are you…are you going out? What about the patron’s commissions? Lord-“
“I’ll finish them later. Take the day off, and have some fun! I’ll be back tomorrow!”
“Does it hurt?” Ohno asked, feeling sublimely languid, as he traced his fingers across Ninomiya’s arms, as they cuddled naked under the futon.
“Hmmm, sometimes.” Ninomiya’s eyes were closed, his eyebrows relaxed, and Ohno could tell he was headed towards sleep. “More often it feels good though.”
“You always make it seem like it feels really good,” Ohno continued, talking more towards himself, “but having a penis up my ass just sounds painful.”
“Do you want to try it?” Ninomiya said, with dry sarcasm and in the middle of a yawn.
Ohno didn’t pause to think. “With you, I could do anything.”
Slowly Ninomiya opened his eyes. He shifted his weight and sat up, his face emotionless and unreadable.
Ohno sat up too, worried at the change in mood, “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”
“Wait here, Master Ohno.” Ninomiya began to rise, but Ohno caught his hand.
“Please don’t call me that. You know I don’t like it.”
“It’s part of the service.” Ninomiya replied, bending over to kiss the top of Ohno’s head. Ninomiya slipped away, pulling on a yukata, and disappearing from the room.
Ohno laid back on the futon. It was cold alone, and he wondered where Ninomiya went. Perhaps to the bathroom. Or maybe to order them food and sake.
Ninomiya returned soon, not with food but with a small ceramic jar.
“What is this?” Ohno asked, when Ninomiya handed it to him so he could undress again.
“It’s a salve. It’s given to the young boys when they first start working. It serves as a lubricant, usually, but this particular one also has herbs in it known to increase pleasurable sensations.”
“Oh.” Said Ohno, blushing a little, as he opened the jar to evaluate the creamy white contents.
Ninomiya took the jar back, staring at it with an unreadable face. “If you want me to, I will do it, but it’s better if you don’t tell anyone.”
Ohno knew that, should someone spy on them, and see their roles reversed, rumors would spread tarnishing both of their reputations.
“If it’s with you,” Ohno said again, “I don’t care.”
Their eyes met, and something flickered behind Ninomiya’s reserved gaze. Gently he laid his hands on Ohno’s shoulders and eased him back onto the futon.
“Spread your legs a little further apart.” Ninomiya said, coating his fingers with the salve, “The way that you’ve seen me do.”
Ohno did as he was told, fighting embarrassment as he spread his legs further apart on either side of Ninomiya.
With his salve coated left hand, Ninomiya gently pressed a finger into the sphincter.
The sensation was strange. It felt neither good, nor bad.
“I’m going to put another finger in. It’s going to hurt, just a little.”
Ohno bit his lip to prevent himself from telling Ninomiya to stop. He didn’t think he could handle it if a third one was going to join the party.
Slowly, however, Ohno began to notice a tingling, warming sensation, heightened every time Ninomiya’s fingers moved in or out.
He began to grow erect.
“What is…” Ohno panted, beginning to stroke himself, but the strange, burning, itching need seemed only to worsen.
“The salve is beginning to work.” Ninomiya reported, adding his free hand to Ohno’s. The salve that coated his fingers mingled with the pre-cum, easing the friction from stroking, yet still not easing the painful need.
The fingers slid out of Ohno, and he held back a gasp, knowing what was next.
Ninomiya ceased pumping Ohno to coat his own erection with more salve. Ohno closed his eyes.
Ninomiya climbed over him, kissing him lightly on the lips, the cheek, and his ear, whispering, softly, gently, “Don’t be afraid, Satoshi. I will not hurt you.”
Ohno ceased to function without Ninomiya. When he returned home, he couldn’t paint, for all that he could see in his mind’s eye was Ninomiya. Even when he tried to paint Ninomiya, it turned out badly. Ninomiya was frustratingly too beautiful for capture.
His commissions were building up. His patrons were waiting for their portraits.
More of his assistants quit, which made matters worse.
Ohno didn’t care.
Seeing Ninomiya again was all that mattered.
“You are mysterious. After all this time I don’t know anything about you.” Ohno said one evening, as they watched the autumn sunset from the window of their room.
Ninomiya smiled, that same soft smile with the barest edge of a challenge, “Ask me what you want to know.”
“You wouldn’t tell me though, would you? You like your secrets.”
“I do.” Ninomiya agreed, this time with a true grin. “I do like my secrets.”
“Then I want you to keep them.” Ohno said, taking Ninomiya’s hand. “You’ve given me so much, I’d feel greedy if I took all of you.”
Ninomiya laughed, a rare, beautiful sound. He pressed their foreheads together. “I may be mysterious, but at least I’m not abnormal like you.”
“Master Ohno, a letter.”
“I’ll read it la-“
“With all due respect Master, it’s from the Guild and you need to read it now.”
“I don’t want to-“
“Master please! Stop this! This is why you’ve lost so many patrons!”
Ohno froze. “I have? When? Where are the tabs at? How much money do I have left?”
“I’m not sure sir, the letter says Guild wants you to contact them immediately. It…it doesn’t look good.”
“…I…I understand. I’ll contact them. Hand me the letter.”
“ I’ll get to work again. The patrons will come back.” Ohno echoed, feeling sick as fear overwhelmed him.
But even if he got back to work, he knew he was fooling himself to think he’d regain the trust of his patrons and the Guild anytime soon. His reputation as a responsible Master artist was tarnished, and would take years to repair.
He had wasted all of his time, all of his money on Ninomiya
And he knew, if he ever got a second chance, he would do it again.
“You seem off tonight,” Ninomiya reached across the table to place his hand over Ohno’s. “Is something wrong?”
“Tonight…” Ohno’s voice cracked. He stopped, and tried again with a steadier voice. “Tonight might be the last time….”
Their eyes met.
Ohno explained no further.
Ninomiya’s eyes softened. He understood.
He squeezed Ohno’s hand in gentle reassurance. “Even if you don’t come for a while, I hope you’ll come again eventually.”
“Would you be able to see me, even if I couldn’t pay you?”
Slowly, silently, Ninomiya withdrew his hand, looking down and away.
“That’s okay.” Ohno laughed. Ohno wept. “I knew that would be your answer anyway.”
Ninomiya looked up, smiling that soft smile, “Can we take it slow tonight?”
Ohno smiled back, laughing over his tears. “We can take it as slowly as you like.”
“Master Ohno, a letter.”
“Put it by my tea, I’ll read it in a minute.”
Ohno finished inking the pine pattern on the gold kimono. He cleaned his brushes, stood up, and stretched.
He took a sip of tea, and opened the letter.
Satoshi. I received your gift on Friday. Your talent for landscapes has only become more evident. Particularly the print of the tidal waves seemed to me so real that I could feel the ocean’s breeze upon my face. I hear too, that your erotica are selling well, and would like to congratulate you for such an exact representation as to where exactly the hidden moles on my body are. However, I must ask you to please refrain from creating further works that depict sexual relations between my likeness and an octopus. I assure you that that is no one’s fantasy except your own. I regret to inform you that there is nothing I can give in return for such a gift, except for my hope that his letter finds you healthy, and happy, and in your usual place at midnight during the full moon. -Ninomiya Kazunari
Ohno folded the letter and carefully tucked it into his sleeve. He opened the door to his room and peaked out at his only remaining assistant.
“Chinen, do you know when the next full moon is?”
“I believe its tonight, Master. It will be a beautiful night for an evening stroll.”
“Yes,” Ohno smiled, a small, soft smile, “I think I might go out.”