Saiyuki Gaiden Tag-Team Fic (LONG overdue)
Posted months and months after we wrote it because I'm just that behind on the uptake. Honestly.
Title: Untitled
Pairing: Tenpou/Kenren
Rating: PG-13ish?
Summary: The "unruly general" attempts to get his boss to loosen up.
Author's Notes: Written with rattyfleef/fleeftastic in a tag-team fashion; edited by Teresa since then to smooth out transitions and to fix a few typos. Far too much fun. ^^
Heaven basked in the sunlight, and even Konzen had been observed smiling. Goku and Nataku were giggling together by the fishpond, up to their knees in lotus-filled water and mud, the Bosatsu was actually *outside*, and Kenren...
Kenren was sneaking.
He'd garnered a few odd looks as he crept through the palace's white-marbled halls on his way to Tenpou's office, but with a little black leather and a cocky grin, he'd found, one could get away with almost anything.
Even kidnapping a certain obstinate Marshall, who just this minute was peering over his glasses at a scroll written three hundred years before.
The footsteps at his door faded and Tenpou, had he been paying more attention, might have sighed in relief or exasperation. As it was, the part of his brain not focussed on the texts in front of him was merely glad that the noise had stopped. People always tried to bother him when he was working -- one would almost think he had a job outside this office.
Honestly.
Tenpou set the scroll aside and unrolled another, holding his breath until the puff of dust settled. Kenren had helped him clean just that past week, but things never stayed where he put them. Not to mention Goku had been in yesterday, looking for new material, and the boy had problems reshelving things.
The Marshall sighed and rubbed absently at his temple. The histories of the Lower World, while fascinating and utterly absorbing, weren't giving him any insight to the machinations he knew were occurring in the upper ranks. Perhaps it was time for a break.
...
Well, making jokes at oneself was always fun, after all.
Outside Kenren glared at the hapless messenger who'd just been about to knock on Tenpou's door. He added a scowl and jerked his head back the way the messenger had come. Get outta here! Twit wouldn't last until *dinner* in enemy territory, with footsteps that loud. The messenger winced and backpeddaled, hurrying off in a doppler-fade of sandals and breath.
The lanky General held his breath set his ear against the door. Nothing, nothing... the barest rustle of parchement. He grinned, hunched close to the door and slowly twisted the handle. He kept glancing quick darts to the left and right, but *snort* the Bosatsu must approve of his plan as no-one else arrived with loud feet and ignorance to foil his plan.
He exhaled slowly, started to push.
Patience, patience, and when at last Kenren had eased the door open enough to peer in, he saw the great bookshelves all weighed down with books, stacks of parchment and notes, a broad window pouring sunlight over Tenpou's desk. And Tenpou's high-backed chair, set at just the right angle for Kenren to see his untidy brown hair and there, one long-fingered hand pressed to his forehead.
Workaholic. Kenren slipped inside and began the gradual process of closing the door. Even Tenpou's obliviousness had limits.
Now, Tenpou wasn't a high-ranking military official for nothing. His expertise might be in strategy rather than fieldwork, but he could tell when someone was sneaking into his office.
Not that he would let it interfere with his work, oh no. The mere fact that said person was sneaking narrowed it down immediately. If it were Konzen, the man would stride in and demand Tenpou's attention immediately; Goku's presence was always accompanied by a cheery 'Ten-chaaaaaaan <3" [OOC: Yes, the emote is necessary] and half a conversation before the boy noticed no one responded. Aides knocked nervously and others glanced in, saw the room empty, and left again.
This only left one person, and while Tenpou enjoyed the General's company, the equation created by adding Kenren, Tenpou, and any sort of work to be done was muddled at best. It most definitely did not equal Tenpou accomplishing anything productive.
His headache worsened, and Tenpou took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes with one long-fingered hand. "I'm working," he said, knowing it was useless.
Kenren froze; ice gathered in his stomach and his feet started to hurt. Bus-ted. A familiar feeling, though this time at least there were no massive, malodorous demons or jealous husbands to deal with. Only Tenpou, with his ragged bangs and pale skin, glasses dangling from one hand, fingers of the other pinching the bridge of his nose.
Kenren knew his recovery time to be legendary; he had a reputation to maintain. So he straightened and propped his shoulders against the wall, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. He found a smirk somewhere and wore it.
"Sunny outside," he remarked. "Must be gettin' about time for a break, neh?"
Tenpou rubbed his forehead again, a little harder this time. "It may have slipped your notice, *General*, but I am working. What do you want?"
Kenren grinned his sharpest grin. "At the moment? For you to take a bit of a *break*."
Tenpou put his glasses back on with more force than the action warranted. "Kenren, I'm --"
"Working, yes." Kenren tipped his head back and regarded the marshall through a haze of red hair. "You've been in here for three days, working. And I'd say you're done for now."
"Do you, now." Tenpou raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "Well, I may be your adjutant but I still outrank you, taishou, and I believe I'm more competent to decide when I'm finished here."
He couldn't see Kenren from his current vantage point but one didn't need to know the man for long to predict when he would be smirking. Perhaps examining his fingernails or some other falsely casual gesture while grinning to himself; most likely leaning against the wall or the doorframe, or parking his hip against the desk. Kenren rarely stood anywhere.
"Oh yeah?" The man's voice was lazy and, as always, seductive -- and not even in a sexual way; Kenren always sounded like smoke and honey, like a good book when one had other things one really should be doing. "I say that's bullshit. When's the last time you ate?"
Tenpou blinked. "Well, that is --"
"If you have to think, it's been too long."
Tenpou blew out his breath again and knew he would end up caving eventually. It didn't help the pounding in his skull, though.
Tenpou closed his eyes-- his eyelashes were so long they almost brushed his cheeks. Kenren felt a familiar clench low in his belly. Not lust-- or rather, not just lust-- this had something softer and stronger wound 'round it, something Kenren didn't want to think about. To distract himself he pushed away from the wall and threaded through stacks of parchment, piles of books. He took care to make his footsteps loud and deliberate.
"Anything about long-term campaigns in those books?" Kenren said lazily, all but stalking the Marshall. He made sure to stay out of Tenpou's line of sight. "Anything about maintenance, about the importance of sleep and food for a soldier's alertness and health?"
Tenpou shifted in his chair. A slight breeze stirred his hair and rustled parchment. "I'd prefer if you'd--"
"I'd what?" Kenren asked. "Go away? Let you work? Leave you alone in here with an empty belly and a goddamn headache?
Kenren stood just behind Tenpou's chair now. He leaned his chest against the high, hard back and settled his hands softly at the nape of the Marshall's neck, under his collar, under his hair. The muscles there were knotted, and Kenren was sure Tenpou's shoulders were worse.
Tenpou tensed further. "Kenren--"
"Why is everyone else allowed to take a fuckin' *rest* now and then, but you? You'd never put anyone else through this kind of shit!" Kenren couldn't keep the anger out of his voice, but he kept his hands steady.
A true warrior knew when to strike and when to wait.
"You know what Konzen would say if he saw you like this," Tenpou remarked, keeping his voice light and teasing because, if he were to be honest, the feel of Kenren's hands on him did strange things to his brain. "He might just make a snide remark about mothering."
Kenren just snorted, muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath, and his fingers twitched against Tenpou's neck.
"Besides." Tenpou began to crane his neck back in an attempt to see Kenren's expression -- thunderous, no doubt -- but his muscles decided that was a bad idea. Defeated, he lowered his head again. "I merely allocate work according to people's individual abilities. I demand more from myself because, quite frankly, I can handle more than many subordinates. I don't require several meals and catnaps during the day like our Goku, for example."
Kenren's shoulders bunched, and he supressed a sigh. "Stop trying to change the subject, Ten-chaaaan. You think I -- shit man, you think I like seeing you neglect yourself?"
Tenpou's muttered "I'm not" had no strength to it. Kenren folded his hands around the breadth of Tenpou's neck, thin skin and warmth and fluttering pulse. He began to stroke his thumbs along his nape, pressing at the base of the skull and down either side of his vertebra, firm pressure for a moment at the wing-edge of the shoulderblade and back up. Wait, wait. Slow, firm strokes, patience, as the Marshall's head sagged further and his breathing eased. Tension drained. Kenren tried to ignore the warm, weak feeling he always got when he did this. Tenpou, trusting him enough to relax, even a little.
"What do I gotta to do get you to look after yourself? Eat a little now and then? You'll burn out. You burn out, who'll replace you?"
Kenren tried to put some bounce in his voice, some lightness. Something wobbly and weak came out instead, Tenpou's hair soft on his gloves, on his hands.
"Not you," Tenpou murmured, unable to raise his voice much as his brain seemed determined to disengage. "Not unless someone gives you a brain transplant with someone less obnoxious and more willing to take orders."
"And you'd like that, huh?" Kenren's hands kept moving, then his hands were at Tenpou's collar, fingers working at fastenings until he got the top few undone. Tenpou's breath caught. "Me all weak-assed and spineless like the rest of these worthless shits out there? Maybe toss in a coupl'a 'Yes, O Mighty Emperor'-s in there, too?"
His words and tone were cranky but his hands still gentle, fingers slipping beneath the now-loosened shirt to knead Tenpou's shoulders unimpeded.
"Now you're just being ridiculous." Tenpou smiled as his brain came up with the image of Kenren pouting. "One might even infer that you need the rest, not I."
Kenren sighed and snarked to cover the melting he felt. He didn't pay much attention to what came out of his mouth-- it normally spoke without consulting him anyways. Tenpou was gradually sagging towards his desk, until his head rested on his folded arms, his shirt rutched and twisted below Kenren's slow-moving hands.
Tenpou's shirt was half off, his skin fine-grained and warm beneath Kenren's hands. Kenren paused for a moment and tore his fingerless gloves off, shoving them in a pocket of his coat. Have to be fast, can't let Tenpou start thinking again. Gods, he was still wearing that tie.
"You didn't answer," Tenpou muttered. There was a hum beneath his words, a slow release of breath.
"Nnn?" Kenren said, focussed on the stubborn knots of tension where Tenpou's neck flowed into his shoulders. He kneaded with his palms, stroked lightly with the pads of his fingers. He ought to drag Tenpou away, sit him down under a tree somewhere and feed him, lay him out in the grass and warm breeze and stroke his forehead 'till he fell asleep.
Tenpou dragged in a deeper breath, let it out in a gust. "You didn't answer. Have you been resting...?"
"Hey!" Kenren's voice was gruff and sharp; not at all unlike the one he used on subordinates whom he caught slacking (as though he had any right to scold, of course, but then who was counting). "I get lots of rest. I'm not the one who stays in an office all day, shut in with nothin' but boring paperwork."
He paused, and in the silence Tenpou could hear the lascivious grin sliding over his friend's face. Kenren rarely hesitated but when deciding whether or not something was the perfect level of offensive. "If I was gonna be in any place for that long, I'd make sure I'd have some beauty's legs wrapped around me to pass the time."
Ah, and there it was. Tenpou rolled his eyes and seriously considered pulling away from Kenren's hands, but then the man's fingers did something lovely to his spine and he sank a little futher. "You always were a charming conversationalist."
It was becoming steadily more difficult [OOC: He can't just say 'getting harder', oh no] to maintain any sort of verbal coherence, but perhaps that was all right. If he fell asleep he wouldn't have to listen to Kenren tell him about his latest conquests -- though, given the incredible prowess and beauty these women allegedly held, Tenpou suspected most of these encounters existed only in the General's mind.
He couldn't bring himself to be particularly broken-hearted about that.
Kenren slid his hands as far down Tenpou's back as he could, and up to the vulnerable nape of his neck, rubbing one finger lightly over that ridiculous tie. "Takes more than charm to make an impression on someone," Kenren murmured. He ran his finger along the tie, round to Tenpou's breastbone. Down, to rest a fingertip lightly over the Marshall's heart. He let it linger there just long enough for Tenpou to notice, then went back to kneading the tense mucle of his back.
Tenpou was more awake than Kenren had thought, though. He raised his head. "Kenren, what was...mm."
Kenren grinned a little and gentled his touch, lingering on the base of Tenpou's neck. A faint scar, a silvery knife stroke, was barely visible along one shoulderblade. Kenren wondered if the skin there would feel different under his fingers. Under his tongue. He said, "Was just thinkin'...I'm damned good at this, you know. Massage. You've never let me give you a proper shirt-off massage. Come eat something, let me rub your back." The grin sharpened a little, widened alot. "You'd like it."
Perhaps Kenren wasn't entirely incorrect; perhaps Tenpou was a little behind on things such as getting proper amounts of rest. Yes, that had to be it, for no other explanation existed. There was no other rational reason, save impending exhaustion, why Tenpou would entertain the thoughts of acquiescing to Kenren's absurd suggestion.
Yes. Perfectly absurd. Tenpou had work to do; it was bad enough already that he was allowing Kenren to distract him so; far worse would it be to allow him free rein. Tenpou could think of nothing more distracting, more unproductive than Kenren's hands sliding over his skin, unhindered by clothing or location or the threat of interruption --
Unproductive. Hm. Unproductive meant unpleasant; yes, that's what that thought was -- unpleasant, and certainly unwelcome, much like the idea of Kenren's weight settled on his hips to afford better leverage.
"You're thinkin' about it." He could hear Kenren's grin again when he spoke, like a razor set against a man's throat. Tenpou swallowed and the noise sounded startingly loud in his ears. "C'mon. I promise I'll behave."
As if that were in question. The so-called 'unruly General' saved any sort of that behaviour for his lady-friends, and thank goodness. Yes. But then Kenren's nails dragged down Tenpou's back and he wondered, for a moment, whether or not this was appropriate behaviour for a Marshall and his subordinate. Tenpou shook his head. "This has been kind enough, thank you."
Kenren drummed his fingers against Tenpou's shoulders, and his tone changed. "Nah, I don't think so. You need this and I'm gonna make it happen."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah. If you don't come with me and let me give you a good massage, eat somethin' and rest a bit, then the next time I bring a lady home I'm takin' her here."
"What?" Tenpou tried to sit up; Kenren held him down. Physically Tenpou was any match for the general, but in normal combat situations he hadn't had his muscles turned to liquid.
"Mm-hmm. All over your books. Just think about it. You'd never get the stains out."
"You wouldn't!"
"You wanna try me, Marshall?"
Kenren grinned at the back of Tenpou's head, and then at the side of his face when Tenpou turned his head to glare over the tops of his glasses. He'd known threatening the Marshall's precious books would get a rise out of him. Still grinning, he trailed a fingertip lightly up Tenpou's neck and along the side of his face, just brushing the edge of his ear. Tenpou's eyelids flickered and some of the indignation went out of his expression.
"C'mon, Tenpou," Kenren coaxed, trying to keep Tenpou just enough off balance that he'd allow himself this. "Where's the advantage in saying no? You'll work better, afterwards." The man was such a bloody martyr half the time, he was more than overdue a taste of the finer things in life.
Kenren considered himself near the top of that list.
Tenpou sighed and straightened his spine, settling his composure over his bare skin like a familiar cloak. "That was nice, Kenren, thank you."
"Hang on!" Kenren said. "You just agreed! Didn't you just agree?" He tightened his hands on Tenpou's shoulders.
Tenpou rubbed the back of his neck, then gave Kenren a sidelong glance and lightly stroked the General's fingers, lingering along the back of his hand where it flowed into the thumb. Before he could say anything, the General bent and kissed Tenpou's knuckles, the soft spikes of his hair brushing Tenpou's cheek. The General's breath was warm and had a slight, sweet taste of smoke to it. Before Tenpou could decide on a reaction Kenren had pulled away and had swept Tenpou's glasses off.
"You'll be wanting these back, hey?"
Tenpou swivelled the chair and half-rose. "Kenren!"
Kenren grinned and backed up a step. "Look at you, Marshall! Shirt half-off, bit of color to your face! What would people say? You want these, you'll have to come get them. Come to my rooms. I'll go order us a meal and meet you there."
Any sort of warm feeling vanished the moment Tenpou's glasses disappeared. No, no, not 'disappeared' -- were forcibly and most inappropriately stolen from him by a man whose decency was --
There now, Tenpou told himself, calm. Calm was good. Ice was the way to deal with Kenren; not heat. Hot-headed anger only amused him and fuelled his own fire.
Ignoring the remains of that strange feeling curling in the pit of his stomach, Tenpou rose and levelled his stare in Kenren's direction. He wasn't completely blind without the lenses, thank goodness.
"I'm afraid I have no idea why you insist on being so irritatingly persistent, but this has gone far enough." His voice slid into a nagging snappishness, and Tenpou wrenched it back. No, that wouldn't do, either, but he couldn't help be shaken; the contact had done something to him.
Kenren made a mocking 'tch' sound and twirled Tenpou's glasses in his hand, idly. "You're always so prissy, Ten-chan. All I want is to make you relax, y'know? Get that stick out of your ass for a little while."
Tenpou twitched. Relaxation, while a foreign concept, was not wholly an unpleasant notion, but when coupled with Kenren's insufferable attitude, it made for an image of a very trying afternoon. If it became about control, it became a game; and in games, someone had to lose.
Tenpou did not lose. Ever.
"You are behaving in quite a juvenile manner. If you're in the mood for childish games, I suggest you visit Goku."
Never mind that he wanted Kenren's hands on him; never mind that the thought of spending time with his friend was growing on him. His headache returned, with reinforcements.
He couldn't see, but imagined that Kenren's face tightened. What he didn't expect was for the man to throw Tenpou's glasses down on the desk, without breaking them in the process but not for want of force. "Dammit, Tenpou, why can't you just make this easy? Everything's such a damn battle with you. I just want --"
There, he stopped. And this time, Tenpou didn't think it was because he couldn't think of something rude enough to say.
Kenren stared at the glasses, at the sunlight that scattered through the frames and flared out over the parchment and old wood. I just want...? His anger tangled with the wistful desire and hedonistic lust and trust for his friend, tangled in his gut and became something sinuous and sharp.
Kenren turned one of his sharper grins on the Marshall. He knew what he wanted. He wanted Tenpou's long, deft hands, the near-endless legs, the stubborn scary-smart brain that chased itself in circles. He swiped Tenpou's glasses off of the table and put a twist to his hips when he walked. Step, step, boots on wood, Kenren's eyes on Tenpou's. Kenren invated Tenpou's personal space, stood close enough to smell salt and Tenpou scowled and there, he clenched his teeth the way he did when he was about to say something sweetly scathing. Kenren didn't want Tenpou to talk. The Marshall could talk for three weeks without saying anything. Kenren swiftly put a hand over his mouth, but solving one problem created another. A demon rage began a slow burn in Tenpou's eyes and if Kenren didn't head it off there was going to be a fight.
Mm. Kenren still remembered the last time he'd seen Tenpou in the practice ring, sweat and slick-speed, in complete control of the match.
Perhaps another time.
Kenren folded Tenpou's glasses and tucked one of the arms into the knot of Tenpou's tie. He leaned close to Tenpou, close enough for their bangs to tangle and for Tenpou's breath to ruffle the air by Kenren's throat.
"I want this, and so do you. Want to set conditions? 'Cause I'll consider them." Kenren took a half-step forward and wound his hands in the fabric of Tenpou's shirt. "You're allowed to do anything but leave. And don't order me to go, either, 'cause I'll know you're lying." Kenren tilted his head a little, showed Tenpou his teeth. "C'mon Marshall. Try something. Or don't you know how?"
Well. This was different.
It was and wasn't what Tenpou had been expecting; he'd thought he'd seen hidden promise and heated secrets behind Kenren's gaze, certainly, and there had been times when a touch lasted longer or placed itself lower than was perhaps strictly necessary. But there were rules in place with that sort of thing, and men like Kenren didn't -- didn't want --
And someone like Tenpou most certainly did not want it back, except that he did, oh he did, but this was different. Not flirtatious gazes and sly winks; not the teasing dragging out of syllables with an upward tilt at the end, no. This was something else, and it called forth in Tenpou feelings he wasn't used to dealing with outside the battlefield.
"You like to think you're in charge, don't you?" Tenpou managed to keep his voice soft, but left the edges hard. "You would prefer me to think I have no choice in the matter."
Kenren just grinned wider, who knew what he was thinking, and one hand slid up Tenpou's chest to cup his neck. "Hey, I said anything goes as long as you don't leave, didn't I? It's not my fault you're too chicken to try anything."
'Chicken', indeed. Tenpou's eyes narrowed. "You forget, General, that I am still your superior, and am not so for no reason." It was ridiculously difficult to speak, much less maintain coherence, with their proximity so close, now that Kenren was near enough that Tenpou could smell him, sweat and smoke and something else, but he had to. "And as such, you must submit to me."
If he had his glasses he could have seen Kenren's face and known for sure, but Tenpou felt the other's hands tremor for a moment and that was as good as the eye-flicker he suspected. "Hey, now --"
"Not so fond of that idea, are you?" Tenpou's heart pounded blood through his veins at double its usual pace, and he fisted his own hand in the collar of Kenren's jacket. "What if I told you that my conditions are that you relinquish your control to me?"
Because that was it, the thrill of it all singing through his body, the sharp tang of uncertainty and almost fear radiating from Kenren as clearly as though Tenpou could see it. That's what the confused fumblings of his brain, late nights awaking to tangled sheets and full-body sweats amounted to. Kenren's hands on him, yes, that was nice, and good for driving away a headache. His hands on Kenren, however ...
"Ten-chaaaaan!"
The voice at the door, wood shaking as fists pounded it. Tenpou jumped; Kenren swore. "Ten-chan, are you in there? Are you hiding under your desk again?"
Kenren and Tenpou exchanged a glance and dove for the window. Hot-blooded dominance games aside, they both had enough experience in the field to know when it was time for a strategic withdrawal. Tenpou vaulted out first, Kenren followed, and they ran. Goku wasn't known for his patience, or his respect of closed doors.
Tenpou's office overlooked one of the smaller gardens, and the hot yellow sunlight made the dark grass that much greener on the sculpted lawns and paths. Kenren tossed a quick glance over one shoulder, then the other, but saw no one. He veered towards the cherry gardens only to have a hand clamp onto the collar of his coat and wrench him back towards Tenpou.
"What the hell!"
"Don't argue!" Tenpou was actually smiling, not the scary you-know-not-where-your-death-lies smile; this smile promised fire and blood and bruised wrists. He'd shrugged his shirt onto his shoulders, and the unbuttoned fabric billowed and pulled at the wind. He was dragging Kenren towards the maze. Which, Kenren was forced to admit, was a better idea than the cherry gardens. More cover.
Less romance.
High walls of shrubbery enclosed the maze, tiny twisted leaves and a fresh green scent. The grass was thick, and Tenpou took a series of quick turns and tripped Kenren into a cul-de-sac. He went sprawling and hit the ground with a grunt, but quickly sat up. Kenren twisted and bristled, but Tenpou dropped to his knees close by and leaned in. That sharp smile had settled a bit into something stable and mildly terrifying. His eyes were like deep water.
"You stole my glasses," Tenpou murmured. He put one hand on Kenren's shoulder, and set the other on his thigh.
Kenren drew in a slow breath and tipped his head back slightly. This was a terrible idea. This was insane. "You have them. They're...tucked into your tie."
Tenpou's smile didn't change, but his eyes crinkled slightly. His breathing was even, but a little deeper than usual. He pushed Kenren's coat off of his shoulders, as Kenren had done to his shirt. "Oh, I know," he said. 'But still. You stole them. That's insubordination and disrespect to a commanding officer at the least, wouldn't you say?"
Kenren swallowed. This would either be very good or very bad, and something quivery and fierce low in his belly didn't seem to care. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes.
To say Tenpou hadn't thought of this would be a lie; to say that he hadn't thought of this in tremendous detail would also be far from the truth. Tenpou was a military man with expertise in planning and strategy; he knew exactly how to get what he wanted and was familiar with the mental regimen involved in doing so.
But he was also a man of books; he was far more comfortable with dusty scrolls and ancient tomes than the feel of skin on skin, the press of bodies, of mouths and tongues and teeth and heat. Much like the differences that could occur between a battle plan and its execution, Tenpou soon discovered that the same was true for sexual encounters.
The banter was easy; he and Kenren had been sparring verbally for as long as they'd known each other. Just as simple was pressing the General to the ground and kissing him, tangling long fingers in the short hair and shifting their hips in a way that produced an effect no text could possibly explain in a way to do it justice.
It was even a matter of little difficulty to maintain the upper hand; to trap Kenren's hands above his head and tell him that, for his punishment, he wasn't allowed to touch until Tenpou allowed him. Where it got complicated was Kenren's smile, razor sharp and full of promise of late nights and dark rooms, of repeating this afternoon against walls, over desks, or anywhere they could sneak away. When Kenren clasped his hands together behind his head and gave no indication of wanting to wrest control away, leaving it entirely in Tenpou's court.
He "knew how" to go about this sort of thing but didn't know how; even the most detailed explanation couldn't prepare him for the physical sensations. Even those moments alone, quick and methodical and aimed for expediency of relief, had nothing on this. And Tenpou, though he craved control as well as pleasure, couldn't help but be starkly aware of the discrepancy in their experience.
But Kenren ... somehow, he managed to fix it. Without threatening the roles in which Tenpou had placed them, without mocking or suggesting his own superiority, without even saying anything other than a groaned 'Here, try this', he managed to guide them, aid Tenpou when he faltered. Yet all the while he made it clear that Tenpou was still, unchallengingly, the one in charge.
Somewhere in the haze of sensation, of touch and sweat and joining, Tenpou wondered just how it was he'd gone without this. It wasn't simply the next step in their friendship; it was their friendship, their everything, and he couldn't get enough.
Afterwards, when they were sprawled together beneath an evening sky, when Kenren had ceased to breathe in moans and Tenpou's chest had ceased its heaving, there was a moment of awkwardness. Tenpou felt...not quite uncertain, certainly not remorseful but...out of place. The flavour of his friendship with the mouthy General was forever changed; the difference between a clean mouthful of air and a mouth that still remembered salt.
"Mmn," Kenren muttered, cracking open one eye. "You're thinkin', what're you thinkin' for?"
"This changes things," Tenpou breathed, still enamoured of the lean body pressed beneath his.
Kenren stretched and wound one arm around Tenpou, fingers splayed against the Marshall's shoulder. "No 't doesn't. Now I just get to do all those things I've been wanting to do forever. And so do you."
Tenpou drew a breath, to argue, to question, but Kenren shifted his hand to the back of Tenpou's neck, and shook him gently. "Nah, isn't this something worth workin' for?"
Tenpou scowled slightly. "You presume--"
A bright, sharp grin, and Kenren tightened his legs about Tenpou's hips and arched. Tenpou's breath caught. Kenren said, "Oh, I think you're the one who presumed. Mmm. Isn't this somethin' worth having long-term?"
Tenpou raked his fingers through Kenren's damp hair, cupped his face. "Define 'this'." There were hard, clever hands; cupping his throat, stroking his back.
Kenren said, "I want the right to insist you eat, and to drag you outta your office sometimes, and I want you to friggin' relax with me, like this. Y' can have anythin', but you've got to relax enough to take it."
Tenpou swallowed, ran the tip of his nose up Kenren's face, kissed him lightly. "Are you saying you wish a relationship of mutual and lasting impostion?"
Kenren chuckled, the vibrations shaking Tenpou slightly. Kenren grabbed Tenpou's hips and leered broadly, waggling his eyebrows.
"Now you're talkin'. Want to blow this place, find a bed and, heh, impose on each other again?"
Tenpou's eyes slitted. He placed a careful, deliberate bite at the side of Kenren's neck.
"Later," he said.
Title: Untitled
Pairing: Tenpou/Kenren
Rating: PG-13ish?
Summary: The "unruly general" attempts to get his boss to loosen up.
Author's Notes: Written with rattyfleef/fleeftastic in a tag-team fashion; edited by Teresa since then to smooth out transitions and to fix a few typos. Far too much fun. ^^
Heaven basked in the sunlight, and even Konzen had been observed smiling. Goku and Nataku were giggling together by the fishpond, up to their knees in lotus-filled water and mud, the Bosatsu was actually *outside*, and Kenren...
Kenren was sneaking.
He'd garnered a few odd looks as he crept through the palace's white-marbled halls on his way to Tenpou's office, but with a little black leather and a cocky grin, he'd found, one could get away with almost anything.
Even kidnapping a certain obstinate Marshall, who just this minute was peering over his glasses at a scroll written three hundred years before.
The footsteps at his door faded and Tenpou, had he been paying more attention, might have sighed in relief or exasperation. As it was, the part of his brain not focussed on the texts in front of him was merely glad that the noise had stopped. People always tried to bother him when he was working -- one would almost think he had a job outside this office.
Honestly.
Tenpou set the scroll aside and unrolled another, holding his breath until the puff of dust settled. Kenren had helped him clean just that past week, but things never stayed where he put them. Not to mention Goku had been in yesterday, looking for new material, and the boy had problems reshelving things.
The Marshall sighed and rubbed absently at his temple. The histories of the Lower World, while fascinating and utterly absorbing, weren't giving him any insight to the machinations he knew were occurring in the upper ranks. Perhaps it was time for a break.
...
Well, making jokes at oneself was always fun, after all.
Outside Kenren glared at the hapless messenger who'd just been about to knock on Tenpou's door. He added a scowl and jerked his head back the way the messenger had come. Get outta here! Twit wouldn't last until *dinner* in enemy territory, with footsteps that loud. The messenger winced and backpeddaled, hurrying off in a doppler-fade of sandals and breath.
The lanky General held his breath set his ear against the door. Nothing, nothing... the barest rustle of parchement. He grinned, hunched close to the door and slowly twisted the handle. He kept glancing quick darts to the left and right, but *snort* the Bosatsu must approve of his plan as no-one else arrived with loud feet and ignorance to foil his plan.
He exhaled slowly, started to push.
Patience, patience, and when at last Kenren had eased the door open enough to peer in, he saw the great bookshelves all weighed down with books, stacks of parchment and notes, a broad window pouring sunlight over Tenpou's desk. And Tenpou's high-backed chair, set at just the right angle for Kenren to see his untidy brown hair and there, one long-fingered hand pressed to his forehead.
Workaholic. Kenren slipped inside and began the gradual process of closing the door. Even Tenpou's obliviousness had limits.
Now, Tenpou wasn't a high-ranking military official for nothing. His expertise might be in strategy rather than fieldwork, but he could tell when someone was sneaking into his office.
Not that he would let it interfere with his work, oh no. The mere fact that said person was sneaking narrowed it down immediately. If it were Konzen, the man would stride in and demand Tenpou's attention immediately; Goku's presence was always accompanied by a cheery 'Ten-chaaaaaaan <3" [OOC: Yes, the emote is necessary] and half a conversation before the boy noticed no one responded. Aides knocked nervously and others glanced in, saw the room empty, and left again.
This only left one person, and while Tenpou enjoyed the General's company, the equation created by adding Kenren, Tenpou, and any sort of work to be done was muddled at best. It most definitely did not equal Tenpou accomplishing anything productive.
His headache worsened, and Tenpou took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes with one long-fingered hand. "I'm working," he said, knowing it was useless.
Kenren froze; ice gathered in his stomach and his feet started to hurt. Bus-ted. A familiar feeling, though this time at least there were no massive, malodorous demons or jealous husbands to deal with. Only Tenpou, with his ragged bangs and pale skin, glasses dangling from one hand, fingers of the other pinching the bridge of his nose.
Kenren knew his recovery time to be legendary; he had a reputation to maintain. So he straightened and propped his shoulders against the wall, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. He found a smirk somewhere and wore it.
"Sunny outside," he remarked. "Must be gettin' about time for a break, neh?"
Tenpou rubbed his forehead again, a little harder this time. "It may have slipped your notice, *General*, but I am working. What do you want?"
Kenren grinned his sharpest grin. "At the moment? For you to take a bit of a *break*."
Tenpou put his glasses back on with more force than the action warranted. "Kenren, I'm --"
"Working, yes." Kenren tipped his head back and regarded the marshall through a haze of red hair. "You've been in here for three days, working. And I'd say you're done for now."
"Do you, now." Tenpou raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "Well, I may be your adjutant but I still outrank you, taishou, and I believe I'm more competent to decide when I'm finished here."
He couldn't see Kenren from his current vantage point but one didn't need to know the man for long to predict when he would be smirking. Perhaps examining his fingernails or some other falsely casual gesture while grinning to himself; most likely leaning against the wall or the doorframe, or parking his hip against the desk. Kenren rarely stood anywhere.
"Oh yeah?" The man's voice was lazy and, as always, seductive -- and not even in a sexual way; Kenren always sounded like smoke and honey, like a good book when one had other things one really should be doing. "I say that's bullshit. When's the last time you ate?"
Tenpou blinked. "Well, that is --"
"If you have to think, it's been too long."
Tenpou blew out his breath again and knew he would end up caving eventually. It didn't help the pounding in his skull, though.
Tenpou closed his eyes-- his eyelashes were so long they almost brushed his cheeks. Kenren felt a familiar clench low in his belly. Not lust-- or rather, not just lust-- this had something softer and stronger wound 'round it, something Kenren didn't want to think about. To distract himself he pushed away from the wall and threaded through stacks of parchment, piles of books. He took care to make his footsteps loud and deliberate.
"Anything about long-term campaigns in those books?" Kenren said lazily, all but stalking the Marshall. He made sure to stay out of Tenpou's line of sight. "Anything about maintenance, about the importance of sleep and food for a soldier's alertness and health?"
Tenpou shifted in his chair. A slight breeze stirred his hair and rustled parchment. "I'd prefer if you'd--"
"I'd what?" Kenren asked. "Go away? Let you work? Leave you alone in here with an empty belly and a goddamn headache?
Kenren stood just behind Tenpou's chair now. He leaned his chest against the high, hard back and settled his hands softly at the nape of the Marshall's neck, under his collar, under his hair. The muscles there were knotted, and Kenren was sure Tenpou's shoulders were worse.
Tenpou tensed further. "Kenren--"
"Why is everyone else allowed to take a fuckin' *rest* now and then, but you? You'd never put anyone else through this kind of shit!" Kenren couldn't keep the anger out of his voice, but he kept his hands steady.
A true warrior knew when to strike and when to wait.
"You know what Konzen would say if he saw you like this," Tenpou remarked, keeping his voice light and teasing because, if he were to be honest, the feel of Kenren's hands on him did strange things to his brain. "He might just make a snide remark about mothering."
Kenren just snorted, muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath, and his fingers twitched against Tenpou's neck.
"Besides." Tenpou began to crane his neck back in an attempt to see Kenren's expression -- thunderous, no doubt -- but his muscles decided that was a bad idea. Defeated, he lowered his head again. "I merely allocate work according to people's individual abilities. I demand more from myself because, quite frankly, I can handle more than many subordinates. I don't require several meals and catnaps during the day like our Goku, for example."
Kenren's shoulders bunched, and he supressed a sigh. "Stop trying to change the subject, Ten-chaaaan. You think I -- shit man, you think I like seeing you neglect yourself?"
Tenpou's muttered "I'm not" had no strength to it. Kenren folded his hands around the breadth of Tenpou's neck, thin skin and warmth and fluttering pulse. He began to stroke his thumbs along his nape, pressing at the base of the skull and down either side of his vertebra, firm pressure for a moment at the wing-edge of the shoulderblade and back up. Wait, wait. Slow, firm strokes, patience, as the Marshall's head sagged further and his breathing eased. Tension drained. Kenren tried to ignore the warm, weak feeling he always got when he did this. Tenpou, trusting him enough to relax, even a little.
"What do I gotta to do get you to look after yourself? Eat a little now and then? You'll burn out. You burn out, who'll replace you?"
Kenren tried to put some bounce in his voice, some lightness. Something wobbly and weak came out instead, Tenpou's hair soft on his gloves, on his hands.
"Not you," Tenpou murmured, unable to raise his voice much as his brain seemed determined to disengage. "Not unless someone gives you a brain transplant with someone less obnoxious and more willing to take orders."
"And you'd like that, huh?" Kenren's hands kept moving, then his hands were at Tenpou's collar, fingers working at fastenings until he got the top few undone. Tenpou's breath caught. "Me all weak-assed and spineless like the rest of these worthless shits out there? Maybe toss in a coupl'a 'Yes, O Mighty Emperor'-s in there, too?"
His words and tone were cranky but his hands still gentle, fingers slipping beneath the now-loosened shirt to knead Tenpou's shoulders unimpeded.
"Now you're just being ridiculous." Tenpou smiled as his brain came up with the image of Kenren pouting. "One might even infer that you need the rest, not I."
Kenren sighed and snarked to cover the melting he felt. He didn't pay much attention to what came out of his mouth-- it normally spoke without consulting him anyways. Tenpou was gradually sagging towards his desk, until his head rested on his folded arms, his shirt rutched and twisted below Kenren's slow-moving hands.
Tenpou's shirt was half off, his skin fine-grained and warm beneath Kenren's hands. Kenren paused for a moment and tore his fingerless gloves off, shoving them in a pocket of his coat. Have to be fast, can't let Tenpou start thinking again. Gods, he was still wearing that tie.
"You didn't answer," Tenpou muttered. There was a hum beneath his words, a slow release of breath.
"Nnn?" Kenren said, focussed on the stubborn knots of tension where Tenpou's neck flowed into his shoulders. He kneaded with his palms, stroked lightly with the pads of his fingers. He ought to drag Tenpou away, sit him down under a tree somewhere and feed him, lay him out in the grass and warm breeze and stroke his forehead 'till he fell asleep.
Tenpou dragged in a deeper breath, let it out in a gust. "You didn't answer. Have you been resting...?"
"Hey!" Kenren's voice was gruff and sharp; not at all unlike the one he used on subordinates whom he caught slacking (as though he had any right to scold, of course, but then who was counting). "I get lots of rest. I'm not the one who stays in an office all day, shut in with nothin' but boring paperwork."
He paused, and in the silence Tenpou could hear the lascivious grin sliding over his friend's face. Kenren rarely hesitated but when deciding whether or not something was the perfect level of offensive. "If I was gonna be in any place for that long, I'd make sure I'd have some beauty's legs wrapped around me to pass the time."
Ah, and there it was. Tenpou rolled his eyes and seriously considered pulling away from Kenren's hands, but then the man's fingers did something lovely to his spine and he sank a little futher. "You always were a charming conversationalist."
It was becoming steadily more difficult [OOC: He can't just say 'getting harder', oh no] to maintain any sort of verbal coherence, but perhaps that was all right. If he fell asleep he wouldn't have to listen to Kenren tell him about his latest conquests -- though, given the incredible prowess and beauty these women allegedly held, Tenpou suspected most of these encounters existed only in the General's mind.
He couldn't bring himself to be particularly broken-hearted about that.
Kenren slid his hands as far down Tenpou's back as he could, and up to the vulnerable nape of his neck, rubbing one finger lightly over that ridiculous tie. "Takes more than charm to make an impression on someone," Kenren murmured. He ran his finger along the tie, round to Tenpou's breastbone. Down, to rest a fingertip lightly over the Marshall's heart. He let it linger there just long enough for Tenpou to notice, then went back to kneading the tense mucle of his back.
Tenpou was more awake than Kenren had thought, though. He raised his head. "Kenren, what was...mm."
Kenren grinned a little and gentled his touch, lingering on the base of Tenpou's neck. A faint scar, a silvery knife stroke, was barely visible along one shoulderblade. Kenren wondered if the skin there would feel different under his fingers. Under his tongue. He said, "Was just thinkin'...I'm damned good at this, you know. Massage. You've never let me give you a proper shirt-off massage. Come eat something, let me rub your back." The grin sharpened a little, widened alot. "You'd like it."
Perhaps Kenren wasn't entirely incorrect; perhaps Tenpou was a little behind on things such as getting proper amounts of rest. Yes, that had to be it, for no other explanation existed. There was no other rational reason, save impending exhaustion, why Tenpou would entertain the thoughts of acquiescing to Kenren's absurd suggestion.
Yes. Perfectly absurd. Tenpou had work to do; it was bad enough already that he was allowing Kenren to distract him so; far worse would it be to allow him free rein. Tenpou could think of nothing more distracting, more unproductive than Kenren's hands sliding over his skin, unhindered by clothing or location or the threat of interruption --
Unproductive. Hm. Unproductive meant unpleasant; yes, that's what that thought was -- unpleasant, and certainly unwelcome, much like the idea of Kenren's weight settled on his hips to afford better leverage.
"You're thinkin' about it." He could hear Kenren's grin again when he spoke, like a razor set against a man's throat. Tenpou swallowed and the noise sounded startingly loud in his ears. "C'mon. I promise I'll behave."
As if that were in question. The so-called 'unruly General' saved any sort of that behaviour for his lady-friends, and thank goodness. Yes. But then Kenren's nails dragged down Tenpou's back and he wondered, for a moment, whether or not this was appropriate behaviour for a Marshall and his subordinate. Tenpou shook his head. "This has been kind enough, thank you."
Kenren drummed his fingers against Tenpou's shoulders, and his tone changed. "Nah, I don't think so. You need this and I'm gonna make it happen."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah. If you don't come with me and let me give you a good massage, eat somethin' and rest a bit, then the next time I bring a lady home I'm takin' her here."
"What?" Tenpou tried to sit up; Kenren held him down. Physically Tenpou was any match for the general, but in normal combat situations he hadn't had his muscles turned to liquid.
"Mm-hmm. All over your books. Just think about it. You'd never get the stains out."
"You wouldn't!"
"You wanna try me, Marshall?"
Kenren grinned at the back of Tenpou's head, and then at the side of his face when Tenpou turned his head to glare over the tops of his glasses. He'd known threatening the Marshall's precious books would get a rise out of him. Still grinning, he trailed a fingertip lightly up Tenpou's neck and along the side of his face, just brushing the edge of his ear. Tenpou's eyelids flickered and some of the indignation went out of his expression.
"C'mon, Tenpou," Kenren coaxed, trying to keep Tenpou just enough off balance that he'd allow himself this. "Where's the advantage in saying no? You'll work better, afterwards." The man was such a bloody martyr half the time, he was more than overdue a taste of the finer things in life.
Kenren considered himself near the top of that list.
Tenpou sighed and straightened his spine, settling his composure over his bare skin like a familiar cloak. "That was nice, Kenren, thank you."
"Hang on!" Kenren said. "You just agreed! Didn't you just agree?" He tightened his hands on Tenpou's shoulders.
Tenpou rubbed the back of his neck, then gave Kenren a sidelong glance and lightly stroked the General's fingers, lingering along the back of his hand where it flowed into the thumb. Before he could say anything, the General bent and kissed Tenpou's knuckles, the soft spikes of his hair brushing Tenpou's cheek. The General's breath was warm and had a slight, sweet taste of smoke to it. Before Tenpou could decide on a reaction Kenren had pulled away and had swept Tenpou's glasses off.
"You'll be wanting these back, hey?"
Tenpou swivelled the chair and half-rose. "Kenren!"
Kenren grinned and backed up a step. "Look at you, Marshall! Shirt half-off, bit of color to your face! What would people say? You want these, you'll have to come get them. Come to my rooms. I'll go order us a meal and meet you there."
Any sort of warm feeling vanished the moment Tenpou's glasses disappeared. No, no, not 'disappeared' -- were forcibly and most inappropriately stolen from him by a man whose decency was --
There now, Tenpou told himself, calm. Calm was good. Ice was the way to deal with Kenren; not heat. Hot-headed anger only amused him and fuelled his own fire.
Ignoring the remains of that strange feeling curling in the pit of his stomach, Tenpou rose and levelled his stare in Kenren's direction. He wasn't completely blind without the lenses, thank goodness.
"I'm afraid I have no idea why you insist on being so irritatingly persistent, but this has gone far enough." His voice slid into a nagging snappishness, and Tenpou wrenched it back. No, that wouldn't do, either, but he couldn't help be shaken; the contact had done something to him.
Kenren made a mocking 'tch' sound and twirled Tenpou's glasses in his hand, idly. "You're always so prissy, Ten-chan. All I want is to make you relax, y'know? Get that stick out of your ass for a little while."
Tenpou twitched. Relaxation, while a foreign concept, was not wholly an unpleasant notion, but when coupled with Kenren's insufferable attitude, it made for an image of a very trying afternoon. If it became about control, it became a game; and in games, someone had to lose.
Tenpou did not lose. Ever.
"You are behaving in quite a juvenile manner. If you're in the mood for childish games, I suggest you visit Goku."
Never mind that he wanted Kenren's hands on him; never mind that the thought of spending time with his friend was growing on him. His headache returned, with reinforcements.
He couldn't see, but imagined that Kenren's face tightened. What he didn't expect was for the man to throw Tenpou's glasses down on the desk, without breaking them in the process but not for want of force. "Dammit, Tenpou, why can't you just make this easy? Everything's such a damn battle with you. I just want --"
There, he stopped. And this time, Tenpou didn't think it was because he couldn't think of something rude enough to say.
Kenren stared at the glasses, at the sunlight that scattered through the frames and flared out over the parchment and old wood. I just want...? His anger tangled with the wistful desire and hedonistic lust and trust for his friend, tangled in his gut and became something sinuous and sharp.
Kenren turned one of his sharper grins on the Marshall. He knew what he wanted. He wanted Tenpou's long, deft hands, the near-endless legs, the stubborn scary-smart brain that chased itself in circles. He swiped Tenpou's glasses off of the table and put a twist to his hips when he walked. Step, step, boots on wood, Kenren's eyes on Tenpou's. Kenren invated Tenpou's personal space, stood close enough to smell salt and Tenpou scowled and there, he clenched his teeth the way he did when he was about to say something sweetly scathing. Kenren didn't want Tenpou to talk. The Marshall could talk for three weeks without saying anything. Kenren swiftly put a hand over his mouth, but solving one problem created another. A demon rage began a slow burn in Tenpou's eyes and if Kenren didn't head it off there was going to be a fight.
Mm. Kenren still remembered the last time he'd seen Tenpou in the practice ring, sweat and slick-speed, in complete control of the match.
Perhaps another time.
Kenren folded Tenpou's glasses and tucked one of the arms into the knot of Tenpou's tie. He leaned close to Tenpou, close enough for their bangs to tangle and for Tenpou's breath to ruffle the air by Kenren's throat.
"I want this, and so do you. Want to set conditions? 'Cause I'll consider them." Kenren took a half-step forward and wound his hands in the fabric of Tenpou's shirt. "You're allowed to do anything but leave. And don't order me to go, either, 'cause I'll know you're lying." Kenren tilted his head a little, showed Tenpou his teeth. "C'mon Marshall. Try something. Or don't you know how?"
Well. This was different.
It was and wasn't what Tenpou had been expecting; he'd thought he'd seen hidden promise and heated secrets behind Kenren's gaze, certainly, and there had been times when a touch lasted longer or placed itself lower than was perhaps strictly necessary. But there were rules in place with that sort of thing, and men like Kenren didn't -- didn't want --
And someone like Tenpou most certainly did not want it back, except that he did, oh he did, but this was different. Not flirtatious gazes and sly winks; not the teasing dragging out of syllables with an upward tilt at the end, no. This was something else, and it called forth in Tenpou feelings he wasn't used to dealing with outside the battlefield.
"You like to think you're in charge, don't you?" Tenpou managed to keep his voice soft, but left the edges hard. "You would prefer me to think I have no choice in the matter."
Kenren just grinned wider, who knew what he was thinking, and one hand slid up Tenpou's chest to cup his neck. "Hey, I said anything goes as long as you don't leave, didn't I? It's not my fault you're too chicken to try anything."
'Chicken', indeed. Tenpou's eyes narrowed. "You forget, General, that I am still your superior, and am not so for no reason." It was ridiculously difficult to speak, much less maintain coherence, with their proximity so close, now that Kenren was near enough that Tenpou could smell him, sweat and smoke and something else, but he had to. "And as such, you must submit to me."
If he had his glasses he could have seen Kenren's face and known for sure, but Tenpou felt the other's hands tremor for a moment and that was as good as the eye-flicker he suspected. "Hey, now --"
"Not so fond of that idea, are you?" Tenpou's heart pounded blood through his veins at double its usual pace, and he fisted his own hand in the collar of Kenren's jacket. "What if I told you that my conditions are that you relinquish your control to me?"
Because that was it, the thrill of it all singing through his body, the sharp tang of uncertainty and almost fear radiating from Kenren as clearly as though Tenpou could see it. That's what the confused fumblings of his brain, late nights awaking to tangled sheets and full-body sweats amounted to. Kenren's hands on him, yes, that was nice, and good for driving away a headache. His hands on Kenren, however ...
"Ten-chaaaaan!"
The voice at the door, wood shaking as fists pounded it. Tenpou jumped; Kenren swore. "Ten-chan, are you in there? Are you hiding under your desk again?"
Kenren and Tenpou exchanged a glance and dove for the window. Hot-blooded dominance games aside, they both had enough experience in the field to know when it was time for a strategic withdrawal. Tenpou vaulted out first, Kenren followed, and they ran. Goku wasn't known for his patience, or his respect of closed doors.
Tenpou's office overlooked one of the smaller gardens, and the hot yellow sunlight made the dark grass that much greener on the sculpted lawns and paths. Kenren tossed a quick glance over one shoulder, then the other, but saw no one. He veered towards the cherry gardens only to have a hand clamp onto the collar of his coat and wrench him back towards Tenpou.
"What the hell!"
"Don't argue!" Tenpou was actually smiling, not the scary you-know-not-where-your-death-lies smile; this smile promised fire and blood and bruised wrists. He'd shrugged his shirt onto his shoulders, and the unbuttoned fabric billowed and pulled at the wind. He was dragging Kenren towards the maze. Which, Kenren was forced to admit, was a better idea than the cherry gardens. More cover.
Less romance.
High walls of shrubbery enclosed the maze, tiny twisted leaves and a fresh green scent. The grass was thick, and Tenpou took a series of quick turns and tripped Kenren into a cul-de-sac. He went sprawling and hit the ground with a grunt, but quickly sat up. Kenren twisted and bristled, but Tenpou dropped to his knees close by and leaned in. That sharp smile had settled a bit into something stable and mildly terrifying. His eyes were like deep water.
"You stole my glasses," Tenpou murmured. He put one hand on Kenren's shoulder, and set the other on his thigh.
Kenren drew in a slow breath and tipped his head back slightly. This was a terrible idea. This was insane. "You have them. They're...tucked into your tie."
Tenpou's smile didn't change, but his eyes crinkled slightly. His breathing was even, but a little deeper than usual. He pushed Kenren's coat off of his shoulders, as Kenren had done to his shirt. "Oh, I know," he said. 'But still. You stole them. That's insubordination and disrespect to a commanding officer at the least, wouldn't you say?"
Kenren swallowed. This would either be very good or very bad, and something quivery and fierce low in his belly didn't seem to care. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes.
To say Tenpou hadn't thought of this would be a lie; to say that he hadn't thought of this in tremendous detail would also be far from the truth. Tenpou was a military man with expertise in planning and strategy; he knew exactly how to get what he wanted and was familiar with the mental regimen involved in doing so.
But he was also a man of books; he was far more comfortable with dusty scrolls and ancient tomes than the feel of skin on skin, the press of bodies, of mouths and tongues and teeth and heat. Much like the differences that could occur between a battle plan and its execution, Tenpou soon discovered that the same was true for sexual encounters.
The banter was easy; he and Kenren had been sparring verbally for as long as they'd known each other. Just as simple was pressing the General to the ground and kissing him, tangling long fingers in the short hair and shifting their hips in a way that produced an effect no text could possibly explain in a way to do it justice.
It was even a matter of little difficulty to maintain the upper hand; to trap Kenren's hands above his head and tell him that, for his punishment, he wasn't allowed to touch until Tenpou allowed him. Where it got complicated was Kenren's smile, razor sharp and full of promise of late nights and dark rooms, of repeating this afternoon against walls, over desks, or anywhere they could sneak away. When Kenren clasped his hands together behind his head and gave no indication of wanting to wrest control away, leaving it entirely in Tenpou's court.
He "knew how" to go about this sort of thing but didn't know how; even the most detailed explanation couldn't prepare him for the physical sensations. Even those moments alone, quick and methodical and aimed for expediency of relief, had nothing on this. And Tenpou, though he craved control as well as pleasure, couldn't help but be starkly aware of the discrepancy in their experience.
But Kenren ... somehow, he managed to fix it. Without threatening the roles in which Tenpou had placed them, without mocking or suggesting his own superiority, without even saying anything other than a groaned 'Here, try this', he managed to guide them, aid Tenpou when he faltered. Yet all the while he made it clear that Tenpou was still, unchallengingly, the one in charge.
Somewhere in the haze of sensation, of touch and sweat and joining, Tenpou wondered just how it was he'd gone without this. It wasn't simply the next step in their friendship; it was their friendship, their everything, and he couldn't get enough.
Afterwards, when they were sprawled together beneath an evening sky, when Kenren had ceased to breathe in moans and Tenpou's chest had ceased its heaving, there was a moment of awkwardness. Tenpou felt...not quite uncertain, certainly not remorseful but...out of place. The flavour of his friendship with the mouthy General was forever changed; the difference between a clean mouthful of air and a mouth that still remembered salt.
"Mmn," Kenren muttered, cracking open one eye. "You're thinkin', what're you thinkin' for?"
"This changes things," Tenpou breathed, still enamoured of the lean body pressed beneath his.
Kenren stretched and wound one arm around Tenpou, fingers splayed against the Marshall's shoulder. "No 't doesn't. Now I just get to do all those things I've been wanting to do forever. And so do you."
Tenpou drew a breath, to argue, to question, but Kenren shifted his hand to the back of Tenpou's neck, and shook him gently. "Nah, isn't this something worth workin' for?"
Tenpou scowled slightly. "You presume--"
A bright, sharp grin, and Kenren tightened his legs about Tenpou's hips and arched. Tenpou's breath caught. Kenren said, "Oh, I think you're the one who presumed. Mmm. Isn't this somethin' worth having long-term?"
Tenpou raked his fingers through Kenren's damp hair, cupped his face. "Define 'this'." There were hard, clever hands; cupping his throat, stroking his back.
Kenren said, "I want the right to insist you eat, and to drag you outta your office sometimes, and I want you to friggin' relax with me, like this. Y' can have anythin', but you've got to relax enough to take it."
Tenpou swallowed, ran the tip of his nose up Kenren's face, kissed him lightly. "Are you saying you wish a relationship of mutual and lasting impostion?"
Kenren chuckled, the vibrations shaking Tenpou slightly. Kenren grabbed Tenpou's hips and leered broadly, waggling his eyebrows.
"Now you're talkin'. Want to blow this place, find a bed and, heh, impose on each other again?"
Tenpou's eyes slitted. He placed a careful, deliberate bite at the side of Kenren's neck.
"Later," he said.