[Setouchi] 56
#56
a Setouching drabble that got too long
The note described something delicious and ephemeral, with all the elegance and tact of a broken sword, so Chousokabe Motochika assumed that Date Masamune personally wrote the note while vaguely recalling something that his retainer said, two minutes ago. The pirate races east on horseback, with the looming crimson mountains tragically obscuring the sunset.
"I hadn't missed a single sunset this year, until you called me here," he says later to a grinning dragon, who tosses another log into the fire. To be honest, the pirate has thought about simply writing a no-thank-you response back, but mystery has proven too enthralling. Plus, the Date camp has been set up close. Suspiciously close. "What are you doing so far West?"
"We were picking something up from Kyuushuu," the shadows behind the dragon interject vaguely before Masamune can bite his diplomatic foot. "We ran into something interesting on the way back, and thought you may want to take a look."
"What is this," the pirate mutters as the edges of his lips twitch. No wonder Takenaka Hanbei has twisted his purple panties over Katakura Koujuurou--the man knows how to plan a subtle lure and bait, without whipping out the guns and gold. "Did you catch a fox? Foxes don't do well out on sea." He stares at the back of the official Asswiper of the Date Clan's neck, but Katakura doesn't even twitch out a chuckle. Finally, they reach one of the back tents, and Katakura flips open the entrance.
Chosoukabe whistles low. "I didn't know foxes came in this color."
Katakura's face remains unimpressed.
The pirate suddenly grabs the tent out of the strategist's grip, and whips it shut as if he plans to bring the entire tent down over Mouri Motonari's limp body. "Hey, what is this, Katakura?" the pirate demands, his baby blues suddenly brimming with gravity. "You don't run into some one like Mouri Motonari accidentally, especially not so far from Aki."
A shade of puzzlement crosses Koujuurou's face. "We owe the Chousokabe clan a favor."
"So you lure out Mouri Motonari?" the pirate practically cries with disbelief. He stares and stares, but the strategist's poker face remains wooden. Finally, he tosses his head back and flashes that wondrous shark-bite grin. "Fine. Okay. I'm not going to ask."
"You will take him?"
"I'll talk to him first," the pirate assures and shoos Date's battle butler away with all the promises of a cheeky adolescent boy.
There's no way he's sleeping, the pirate grins to himself when he enters the tent. A lonely candle flickers on a holder staked to the ground, so the pirate blows the flame out and finds his fox through the moonlight filtering through the white sheets like cobwebs. He brushes a finger against Mouri's smooth cheek, but no luck.
"I took a piss, and didn't wash my hands," the pirate deadpans.
Mouri's nose scrunches up.
"How'd you get in this mess?"
The warlord turns his face to the dirt ground, so the pirate just sighs and traces his finger down the blurry edge between moonlight and night on the back of the warlord's neck. Mouri squirms, but the bonds around his hands, thighs, and feet restrain any violence against Chousokabe, who works his ways into undoing the tassels crossing that strained back.
"Look, I was just kidding about the pissing part," the pirate says when the warlord begins to resemble a jumpy snake.
"Are you going to take me?" a small voice asks from the ground.
"Well, I don't think the Date clan deserves to hear your cute bedroom voice."
Pure animal growls from the back of the warlord's throat. He rolls over and lunges forward to greet the pirate's teasing chin. The night shades Mouri's face, but anger alone sparks off those dark eyes. "Be serious, you fool. Are you taking me, or are you killing me here?"
And you've got a backup plan for either, don't you, the pirate wants to say but, for some reason, even the fury staining the warlord's high cheeks fails to draw any excitement from his bones. The pirate takes the warlord's face between his palms to inhale deeply, but does not smell the sea, the blood, the steel, or the sparks. He does not smell anticipation, like the cool rains following the trails of the sirocco. His heart does not beat in staccato, and his breaths remain steady. Chousokabe bows his head, and confesses, "I'm most likely a masochist."
"Well, you're definitely an idiot."
"You're in no position to be saying anything," the pirate retorts, but cannot even manage to fake passion. He will, later, knock the warlord out cold and drape him across his shoulder. He will thank the Date clan, and then will carry his light burden all the way to the gates of Aki, where Mouri's stunned guards will do little more than stare. He will then return to his ship, crash into his hammock, and then smile contently because when Mouri Motonari wakes up the next day--migraine blazing--the chase for that fine piece of warlord ass will resume.
a Setouching drabble that got too long
The note described something delicious and ephemeral, with all the elegance and tact of a broken sword, so Chousokabe Motochika assumed that Date Masamune personally wrote the note while vaguely recalling something that his retainer said, two minutes ago. The pirate races east on horseback, with the looming crimson mountains tragically obscuring the sunset.
"I hadn't missed a single sunset this year, until you called me here," he says later to a grinning dragon, who tosses another log into the fire. To be honest, the pirate has thought about simply writing a no-thank-you response back, but mystery has proven too enthralling. Plus, the Date camp has been set up close. Suspiciously close. "What are you doing so far West?"
"We were picking something up from Kyuushuu," the shadows behind the dragon interject vaguely before Masamune can bite his diplomatic foot. "We ran into something interesting on the way back, and thought you may want to take a look."
"What is this," the pirate mutters as the edges of his lips twitch. No wonder Takenaka Hanbei has twisted his purple panties over Katakura Koujuurou--the man knows how to plan a subtle lure and bait, without whipping out the guns and gold. "Did you catch a fox? Foxes don't do well out on sea." He stares at the back of the official Asswiper of the Date Clan's neck, but Katakura doesn't even twitch out a chuckle. Finally, they reach one of the back tents, and Katakura flips open the entrance.
Chosoukabe whistles low. "I didn't know foxes came in this color."
Katakura's face remains unimpressed.
The pirate suddenly grabs the tent out of the strategist's grip, and whips it shut as if he plans to bring the entire tent down over Mouri Motonari's limp body. "Hey, what is this, Katakura?" the pirate demands, his baby blues suddenly brimming with gravity. "You don't run into some one like Mouri Motonari accidentally, especially not so far from Aki."
A shade of puzzlement crosses Koujuurou's face. "We owe the Chousokabe clan a favor."
"So you lure out Mouri Motonari?" the pirate practically cries with disbelief. He stares and stares, but the strategist's poker face remains wooden. Finally, he tosses his head back and flashes that wondrous shark-bite grin. "Fine. Okay. I'm not going to ask."
"You will take him?"
"I'll talk to him first," the pirate assures and shoos Date's battle butler away with all the promises of a cheeky adolescent boy.
There's no way he's sleeping, the pirate grins to himself when he enters the tent. A lonely candle flickers on a holder staked to the ground, so the pirate blows the flame out and finds his fox through the moonlight filtering through the white sheets like cobwebs. He brushes a finger against Mouri's smooth cheek, but no luck.
"I took a piss, and didn't wash my hands," the pirate deadpans.
Mouri's nose scrunches up.
"How'd you get in this mess?"
The warlord turns his face to the dirt ground, so the pirate just sighs and traces his finger down the blurry edge between moonlight and night on the back of the warlord's neck. Mouri squirms, but the bonds around his hands, thighs, and feet restrain any violence against Chousokabe, who works his ways into undoing the tassels crossing that strained back.
"Look, I was just kidding about the pissing part," the pirate says when the warlord begins to resemble a jumpy snake.
"Are you going to take me?" a small voice asks from the ground.
"Well, I don't think the Date clan deserves to hear your cute bedroom voice."
Pure animal growls from the back of the warlord's throat. He rolls over and lunges forward to greet the pirate's teasing chin. The night shades Mouri's face, but anger alone sparks off those dark eyes. "Be serious, you fool. Are you taking me, or are you killing me here?"
And you've got a backup plan for either, don't you, the pirate wants to say but, for some reason, even the fury staining the warlord's high cheeks fails to draw any excitement from his bones. The pirate takes the warlord's face between his palms to inhale deeply, but does not smell the sea, the blood, the steel, or the sparks. He does not smell anticipation, like the cool rains following the trails of the sirocco. His heart does not beat in staccato, and his breaths remain steady. Chousokabe bows his head, and confesses, "I'm most likely a masochist."
"Well, you're definitely an idiot."
"You're in no position to be saying anything," the pirate retorts, but cannot even manage to fake passion. He will, later, knock the warlord out cold and drape him across his shoulder. He will thank the Date clan, and then will carry his light burden all the way to the gates of Aki, where Mouri's stunned guards will do little more than stare. He will then return to his ship, crash into his hammock, and then smile contently because when Mouri Motonari wakes up the next day--migraine blazing--the chase for that fine piece of warlord ass will resume.