HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
That hand was currently resting alone on cooling sheets, and it was the prickles on his skin from the chill of exposure which woke him. His hand fisted in the still-warm sheets and Kenshin propped himself up on his other arm, red hair spilling over naked shoulders as he surveyed their room for a glimpse of Kaoru. It was the witching hour, and the air was damp and that quick glance had told him wherever she had gone she hadn’t taken her robe.
The door to the balcony stood slightly ajar, and Kenshin slid out of their bed and padded over to it. Silently opening the door, he found his missing lover.
She stood there, glorious, black hair cascading down pale skin as her hands lightly gripped the railing. He leaned against the doorframe and watched her watch the fireflies. Their dance lit the world with sporadic bursts of light, each shining out in an attempt to attract another. They flickered and spun and pulsed about the same way his heart still did when he let himself watch her move, even after so many years of marriage.
“Kaoru,” his voice was low and he held out his hand to her, “come back to bed."
It was shortly after they had added Yahiko to their little ‘family’ at the dojo when it happened. Kaoru had been ‘helping’ him make riceballs.
Their hands collided, fingers tangled, and Kenshin hadn’t wanted to let go. For a heartbeat, he forgot the burden he carried and all he felt was the way heat had run through their connected skin. The unexpectedness, the shock of it, created an opportunity for the feeling to grab hold of him and his heart unknowingly memorized the spark of attraction, the warmth of their touch.
If Kaoru hadn’t blushed, and sputtered, and withdrawn her hand a heartbeat later, Kenshin did not know what would have happened. He’d smiled at her and ignored her awkwardness as the full weight of his guilt came crashing down on him again.
But his disobedient, rebellious heart would take that moment out late at night and fan it, nourishing the spark until it grew like a flame in the back of his mind, until even the slightest glance of her blue eyes would send warmth coursing through him.
If this was some sort of a test, Kenshin was sure he was failing it spectacularly. Kaoru had finally brought him to meet her surrogate family, and nothing could have gone more wrong. The dinner he’d carefully prepared had been shoved aside in light of the KFC that large one with the messy hair had brought, the woman with the red, red lips kept using them to tear him down in one breath and flirt with him in the next, and Kaoru’s younger brother had cornered him and demanded to know his intentions.
He may never recover from the trauma of having a ten year old kid question his ‘adequacy.’
Kenshin was not hiding in the kitchen. He was not sulking. He was just very, very sure that if he stepped into the dining room, he would slaughter the lot of them. He sat down at the kitchen table and sighed. It was too bad bloodstains were such a bitch.
Small, cool hands slipped over his eyes. He immediately relaxed. Only one person could sneak up on him like that, and the sweet scent of jasmine confirmed Kaoru’s presence.
“Boo,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to say it,” Kenshin said, taking one of her hands away from his eyes and bringing it to his mouth. He kissed her knuckles. “You were right. Your family’s insane.”
“Poor baby,” Kaoru said, dropping her other hand to his shoulder and massaging some of the tension out. “On the other hand, they like you.”
Kenshin groaned.
Kaoru laughed, and leaving her arm around his shoulders she slid around his side and sat on his lap, straddling him. “Look at it this way,” she whispered, eyes dancing. “Now you know you can handle anything. And I know just what you’d put up with to be with me.”
Kenshin’s eyes widened, but before he had a chance to ask, she was kissing him. He wrapped one arm around he waist and tugged her closer.
If this was a test, Kenshin thought just before Kaoru nipped at his lips, then maybe he hadn’t done too badly after all.
Gaara (for Robyn)
Canoodle. He’d heard two old women use the word disparagingly. ‘Disgraceful,’ they had said, ‘to do so much canoodling in public.’
Verb. Gaara had been unfamiliar with the word, so of course he’d looked it up. His eyes had lit when they had found the definition, and the corner of his mouth had quirked up in one of his more sane smiles. The sight of that smile still would have sent those who knew him running, and it was a reaction fully justified by the unholy light of glee in his eyes.
Slang. ‘Canoodle’ was a funny sounding word, but Gaara had to admit he was glad to have become familiar with it. He had been told, and quite firmly, that in order to fully learn something he had to not only memorize the facts but experience each new aspect. He had been dragged off on many a misadventure as a result of that hypothesis, to the children’s ward to teach him ‘compassion,’ (effective, he must admit), to the playground and ice cream stand to teach him ‘fun,’ (marginally less successful, as the kind of fun he had in mind as a result of those excursions was not the sort which was appropriate in public), and forced into weight lifting competitions in an attempt to teach him ‘humility,’ (perhaps that lesson should have been categorized under ‘fun’ as well), only to return to a persistent stack of paperwork that refused to diminish.
‘Caress, fondle, or pet amorously.’ A knock sounded on his door. “Come,” he called.
A pink head and a smiling face announced the presence of his favorite medic as sure as her chakra signature, “You wanted to see me, Gaara?”
“Sakura.” Gaara stood up from his desk when she came in, and began subtly directing the sand he had placed by the door in preparation for her appearance to shift into the crevices of the door shut behind her.
“I was hoping you would have the time for a little vocabulary lesson.”
She just wouldn’t shut up. It’s not that she babbled-she didn’t run on and on and on like she had nothing to say. It’s just that she always had something to say. It was usually intelligent, usually somewhat observant, and it always demanded his attention.
Initially it had been hard to take her seriously. She had a high, clear voice and bright pink hair and eyes too large and innocent to have seen what he knew she’d seen. Once, he had been one of the monsters in her vision. But Haruno Sakura stared at him like she’d never seen with his face merged with Shukaku’s, she lit up when he smiled like she’d never seen rabid drool speckling from an insane grin, and she kept trying to get him to talk like she’d forgotten he was still learning how to do this ‘human’ thing.
But she just. Wouldn’t. Shut. Up. It was incessant. And while he was certain that what they were talking about was very, very important, Gaara was having a very difficult time concentrating on the meaning of the sounds she was making. It was far more interesting watching the way her lips would move to form each syllable.
Besides, he was sure he could get her to repeat herself.
It was said that if you had a cricket in your house, it was good luck. You weren’t supposed to kill it, you were supposed to take care of it.
She was still talking when he moved so close they were breathing the same breath, and her eyes were wide, and the sounds she was making weren’t registering except that they were piping high, clear, and musical in their own way. She made no move to stop him when he put his hands on her upper arms, and fell, at last, blissfully silent moments before he tentatively pressed his lips to hers.
Gaara kind of liked her sounds. But he had better ideas about the use of her lips.
Sakura’s name was a lie. A cherry blossom was fragile, meant to fall, meant to fade. It provided beauty for a short time, and its beauty was treasured because of its brevity.
Sakura was not made to fall. (She was so fragile.) She would allow nothing to touch her in battle, she shattered mountains with a well-timed fist, she had grown formidable, had grown strong. (He could snap her wrist without effort, the way she let her hand sprawl on his chest was an invitation for some sort of touch. Her bones were brittle, like everyone else. He had to be so careful.)
She was a study in contrasts. Soft curves and hard lines, bright eyes and shadowed pain, ridiculous hair and matchless skill. (He counted each soft burst of air as it pulsed against his neck. Her breath was warm.) Her heart was open, soft like her hair, and steadfast like her strength. She told him once that she had memorized all the rules in the shinobi handbook, and despite all her effort, her emotions still had the power to overcome her. She confessed it as a weakness. (Her emotions left her vulnerable, especially since they left room for him.) He had twined his hand into her hair and pulled her forward into a kiss.
She could feel, fierce and free, what he had denied existed for so long. Her emotions beat at him like the wind on the sands, shaping him and shifting him, and forever beyond his reach. But with her flame caressing his hardened heart, sooner or later it had to happen-he had to go soft.
She fit so well against him, Gaara thought he could die happy. (He pulled her closer, not tighter, and breathed her in.) But he wouldn’t. Because their time together would not be brief.
The door to the balcony stood slightly ajar, and Kenshin slid out of their bed and padded over to it. Silently opening the door, he found his missing lover.
She stood there, glorious, black hair cascading down pale skin as her hands lightly gripped the railing. He leaned against the doorframe and watched her watch the fireflies. Their dance lit the world with sporadic bursts of light, each shining out in an attempt to attract another. They flickered and spun and pulsed about the same way his heart still did when he let himself watch her move, even after so many years of marriage.
“Kaoru,” his voice was low and he held out his hand to her, “come back to bed."
It was shortly after they had added Yahiko to their little ‘family’ at the dojo when it happened. Kaoru had been ‘helping’ him make riceballs.
Their hands collided, fingers tangled, and Kenshin hadn’t wanted to let go. For a heartbeat, he forgot the burden he carried and all he felt was the way heat had run through their connected skin. The unexpectedness, the shock of it, created an opportunity for the feeling to grab hold of him and his heart unknowingly memorized the spark of attraction, the warmth of their touch.
If Kaoru hadn’t blushed, and sputtered, and withdrawn her hand a heartbeat later, Kenshin did not know what would have happened. He’d smiled at her and ignored her awkwardness as the full weight of his guilt came crashing down on him again.
But his disobedient, rebellious heart would take that moment out late at night and fan it, nourishing the spark until it grew like a flame in the back of his mind, until even the slightest glance of her blue eyes would send warmth coursing through him.
If this was some sort of a test, Kenshin was sure he was failing it spectacularly. Kaoru had finally brought him to meet her surrogate family, and nothing could have gone more wrong. The dinner he’d carefully prepared had been shoved aside in light of the KFC that large one with the messy hair had brought, the woman with the red, red lips kept using them to tear him down in one breath and flirt with him in the next, and Kaoru’s younger brother had cornered him and demanded to know his intentions.
He may never recover from the trauma of having a ten year old kid question his ‘adequacy.’
Kenshin was not hiding in the kitchen. He was not sulking. He was just very, very sure that if he stepped into the dining room, he would slaughter the lot of them. He sat down at the kitchen table and sighed. It was too bad bloodstains were such a bitch.
Small, cool hands slipped over his eyes. He immediately relaxed. Only one person could sneak up on him like that, and the sweet scent of jasmine confirmed Kaoru’s presence.
“Boo,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to say it,” Kenshin said, taking one of her hands away from his eyes and bringing it to his mouth. He kissed her knuckles. “You were right. Your family’s insane.”
“Poor baby,” Kaoru said, dropping her other hand to his shoulder and massaging some of the tension out. “On the other hand, they like you.”
Kenshin groaned.
Kaoru laughed, and leaving her arm around his shoulders she slid around his side and sat on his lap, straddling him. “Look at it this way,” she whispered, eyes dancing. “Now you know you can handle anything. And I know just what you’d put up with to be with me.”
Kenshin’s eyes widened, but before he had a chance to ask, she was kissing him. He wrapped one arm around he waist and tugged her closer.
If this was a test, Kenshin thought just before Kaoru nipped at his lips, then maybe he hadn’t done too badly after all.
Gaara (for Robyn)
Canoodle. He’d heard two old women use the word disparagingly. ‘Disgraceful,’ they had said, ‘to do so much canoodling in public.’
Verb. Gaara had been unfamiliar with the word, so of course he’d looked it up. His eyes had lit when they had found the definition, and the corner of his mouth had quirked up in one of his more sane smiles. The sight of that smile still would have sent those who knew him running, and it was a reaction fully justified by the unholy light of glee in his eyes.
Slang. ‘Canoodle’ was a funny sounding word, but Gaara had to admit he was glad to have become familiar with it. He had been told, and quite firmly, that in order to fully learn something he had to not only memorize the facts but experience each new aspect. He had been dragged off on many a misadventure as a result of that hypothesis, to the children’s ward to teach him ‘compassion,’ (effective, he must admit), to the playground and ice cream stand to teach him ‘fun,’ (marginally less successful, as the kind of fun he had in mind as a result of those excursions was not the sort which was appropriate in public), and forced into weight lifting competitions in an attempt to teach him ‘humility,’ (perhaps that lesson should have been categorized under ‘fun’ as well), only to return to a persistent stack of paperwork that refused to diminish.
‘Caress, fondle, or pet amorously.’ A knock sounded on his door. “Come,” he called.
A pink head and a smiling face announced the presence of his favorite medic as sure as her chakra signature, “You wanted to see me, Gaara?”
“Sakura.” Gaara stood up from his desk when she came in, and began subtly directing the sand he had placed by the door in preparation for her appearance to shift into the crevices of the door shut behind her.
“I was hoping you would have the time for a little vocabulary lesson.”
She just wouldn’t shut up. It’s not that she babbled-she didn’t run on and on and on like she had nothing to say. It’s just that she always had something to say. It was usually intelligent, usually somewhat observant, and it always demanded his attention.
Initially it had been hard to take her seriously. She had a high, clear voice and bright pink hair and eyes too large and innocent to have seen what he knew she’d seen. Once, he had been one of the monsters in her vision. But Haruno Sakura stared at him like she’d never seen with his face merged with Shukaku’s, she lit up when he smiled like she’d never seen rabid drool speckling from an insane grin, and she kept trying to get him to talk like she’d forgotten he was still learning how to do this ‘human’ thing.
But she just. Wouldn’t. Shut. Up. It was incessant. And while he was certain that what they were talking about was very, very important, Gaara was having a very difficult time concentrating on the meaning of the sounds she was making. It was far more interesting watching the way her lips would move to form each syllable.
Besides, he was sure he could get her to repeat herself.
It was said that if you had a cricket in your house, it was good luck. You weren’t supposed to kill it, you were supposed to take care of it.
She was still talking when he moved so close they were breathing the same breath, and her eyes were wide, and the sounds she was making weren’t registering except that they were piping high, clear, and musical in their own way. She made no move to stop him when he put his hands on her upper arms, and fell, at last, blissfully silent moments before he tentatively pressed his lips to hers.
Gaara kind of liked her sounds. But he had better ideas about the use of her lips.
Sakura’s name was a lie. A cherry blossom was fragile, meant to fall, meant to fade. It provided beauty for a short time, and its beauty was treasured because of its brevity.
Sakura was not made to fall. (She was so fragile.) She would allow nothing to touch her in battle, she shattered mountains with a well-timed fist, she had grown formidable, had grown strong. (He could snap her wrist without effort, the way she let her hand sprawl on his chest was an invitation for some sort of touch. Her bones were brittle, like everyone else. He had to be so careful.)
She was a study in contrasts. Soft curves and hard lines, bright eyes and shadowed pain, ridiculous hair and matchless skill. (He counted each soft burst of air as it pulsed against his neck. Her breath was warm.) Her heart was open, soft like her hair, and steadfast like her strength. She told him once that she had memorized all the rules in the shinobi handbook, and despite all her effort, her emotions still had the power to overcome her. She confessed it as a weakness. (Her emotions left her vulnerable, especially since they left room for him.) He had twined his hand into her hair and pulled her forward into a kiss.
She could feel, fierce and free, what he had denied existed for so long. Her emotions beat at him like the wind on the sands, shaping him and shifting him, and forever beyond his reach. But with her flame caressing his hardened heart, sooner or later it had to happen-he had to go soft.
She fit so well against him, Gaara thought he could die happy. (He pulled her closer, not tighter, and breathed her in.) But he wouldn’t. Because their time together would not be brief.