Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ In the Forests of the Night ❯ miso horny ( Chapter 2 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Enishi sprawled face-down, barely propped up by his elbows as
he recovered his senses. Everything bad in his life seemed to
have been wrung out, leaving him empty of anything except
Kaoru in his arms. She lay nearly as motionless beneath his
chest, but not quite. Even after several minutes, she was
still trembling in little aftershocks around him, her fingers
tightening on his shirt with startled flutters of breath. He
thought maybe it was physically possible for him to move now,
though every nerve protested the prospect of leaving her
body, even to save it from being crushed by his own weight.
But when he tried, she made a faint whimper of protest and
pressed her feet against his legs.

He never would've taken Battousai for a fool. Yet the red-
haired brat hadn't just kept this sweet bluebird starved for
pleasure, he hadn't guarded her closely enough to keep her
safe. Well, Enishi certainly wouldn't make the same mistake.
She was his now, his from the start as Tomoe never could've
been anyway.

Steeling himself ruthlessly, he rolled away onto his back,
despite Kaoru's indignant squeak. She held on enough to half-
roll with him, flopping her head onto his shoulder. Her hair
clung damply to his neck. Reminded by this, he slid a hand
over her hip and behind it, over her dewdrop-moist skin.
"Battousai always used to say this was the best way to tell
you'd done right by your woman-- the love-sweat in back of
her thighs, just here under the lovely curve of your bum. He
hasn't bothered with that for a while, has he?"

She made another noise of some sort, but not so he could tell
whether she was in any shape to understand him yet. There
wasn't any point in taunting her about Battousai now, really.
Poor little thing, she must be all in, what with chasing
around after Jineh, fighting off a pile of zombies, and
ending up with him. Her closed eyelids seemed to have a faint
wash of indigo. He wondered if it was from fatigue, or
whether it was simply the translucent echo of the deep blue
eyes beneath them. "Kaoru, love," he said more gently.
"You're not hurt much, are you?" He drew his hand back from
her. There was a bit of blood on it, but not enough to look
serious. He knew that a lot of pain could be inflicted
without ever drawing blood, though. The cloth over his
shoulder felt damp. She wasn't crying, was she? "Sweetheart?"

When he stroked her face, she moved enough for him to see it
clearly, and he smiled with relief. She wasn't crying. She'd
already fallen asleep, and the moisture he felt was the
slightest trickle of drool from her beautiful mouth.

Well, that let him off the hook for now. He eased out from
under her and sat up to figure out which corner he'd flung
his pants into. Ah, there they were, hanging over the lamp.
He pulled them back on and found his jacket in a different
corner altogether, though he still felt far too warm to need
it again.

Kaoru, though, was still curled on top of the disarrayed
bedspread. She was starkers except for Tomoe's kimono peeled
back from her obi, all crumpled behind her like the wings of
a newly-hatched butterfly. He couldn't pull the covers out
from under her without jostling her about.

Carefully, he unfastened the obi and all the layers beneath
it, unwinding them from around her pinched little waist, then
spread the kimono back over her and covered it with his
jacket. After a moment or two of indecision, he let himself
back out of the bedroom and went to do what seemed best.

---

Kaoru wasn't really asleep. It didn't make much difference,
though, because she could barely move anyway. She felt like
she'd been turned into some kind of liquid, just lying in a
serene, hazy pool of warmth. This was nice. She was just
going to concentrate on experiencing the niceness of it all,
because in some ways, this was a lot like fighting Battousai.
If she stopped to seriously think about all of the
consequences of what she was doing and how it might
ultimately affect Kenshin, it would kill her.

She wondered where Enishi had gone. Did she still have any
chance of escaping? Well, not in her condition right just
now, but maybe later? She still didn't know where she was,
but there had to be some way to find out.

There was an soft knocking echo from the hallway outside the
door now, punctuated by occasional more resonant thumps. What
was going on out there? It wasn't the right sort of noise for
it to be Kenshin or any of the others breaking in to rescue
her, because that would involve yells and metallic clashes
and meaty thwacking. It wasn't loud enough to keep her awake
by itself, but it was puzzling enough to anchor her to
consciousness. And now there was the hint of a baritone
melody?

That did it, she had to see for herself. Somehow. The first
stage involved crawling off the side of the bed and pouring
herself onto the floor in a puddle of silk, with the delicate
rose kimono all tangled up with the heavier brocade of
Enishi's jacket. The second one involved standing back up.
That took longer. She wasn't about to put the kimono back on,
so she simply pulled on his jacket-- its hem fell halfway to
her knees, so she felt reasonably decent once it was
fastened-- and went out in that, following the sounds down
the hallway.

"I'm singing in the rain," clop clop, "just singing in the
rain," thump, "what a glorious feeling," clop, "I'm happy
again," clop thump, "I'm laughing at clouds--"

When she poked her head around the corner, Enishi broke off
the song. "Cheerio, love, up already?" He was in the kitchen,
chopping up stuff for miso soup: daikon, mushrooms, tofu, and
he even had a flowerpot growing live green onions to make
sure they were fresh. Behind him, steam was rising from a pot
on the stove, under a strainer dripping with limp bonito and
seaweed. He'd even made fresh dashi? Jeez, even undead demon
guys were better at making soup than she was.

She didn't say anything. After a blink or two, he resumed the
tune as a whistle, scooped up the daikon bits, and put them
into the dashi to simmer ahead of the softer stuff. Still
whistling, he washed his knife, dried it, and then tucked it
and all of the other knives in its storage block onto the top
of his cabinets, at least two feet above her reach. Damn him.
Turning back to her, he grinned. "All bright-eyed and bushy-
tailed now, are we? What're you hiding back there for?"

Reluctantly, she edged the rest of the way into the kitchen,
wondering why his grin was fading away into a more serious
expression. It made her insides feel funny. "That my jacket
on you, hanging down off your hands?" She nodded nervously
and stopped moving toward him. He closed the gap himself and
lifted her to sit on a counter. After rolling the jacket
sleeves up, he raised one of her wrists to his mouth.

Its warm rhythm against her pulse-point was exactly the same
attention as he'd given to more obvious parts of her body
before: the same suction, pressure, and movement; the same
lips, tongue, wafts of breath, and the barest edges of his
teeth. Behind the little tinted glasses-- he must have
recovered them from the other room and put them back on-- his
eyes were closed, his face and entire body indicating no
other purpose in the world but to do this for her.

That expression, as much as anything else he was doing, made
her completely fall apart. But even as she let herself tumble
into the whirlpool of sensation, she couldn't help but
compare this to the kiss of Battousai's knife. He'd traced it
across that very wrist-vein in the alley beside the Akabeko,
months before. Then, as now, there'd been no possible way to
resist her body's response. But instead of terror and nausea,
Enishi was offering her only bliss. It didn't matter if he
was doing this to spite Kenshin. He was offering her pleasure
instead of pain, and that would have to be enough for her to
cling to.

---

She must've had no idea how delectable her lovely bare legs
looked from under the edge of his jacket, Enishi thought.
They'd be even nicer wrapped around his waist again, but time
enough for that later. Meanwhile, she was breathing more of
those soft dove-cries into his neck. He loved the way she
went all melty and boneless against his body.

He wondered why she didn't have the holding-on instinct at
all, though. If he put her hand somewhere on him, she
wouldn't take it back off, but she wouldn't touch him on her
own, either. Was it just him, or was it something Battousai
had done to her? Well, he knew one way to test this.

Leaning closer in, he tipped her balance backward to see what
she would do. Yes, there went her arm up behind him, and when
he pulled her forward again, she didn't let go. So it was
just a bit of initial reluctance, almost shyness. But once
that was overcome, it was in for a momme, in for a ryou, and
she wouldn't hold anything back.

Or was she struggling now? Doing something with her legs at
his side, nudging at his hip with them-- reluctantly, he
stopped making love to her wrist so he could ask her about
this. "What are you after, sweet? Do you want me to stop? Or
are you just hoping to put that kneecap into the family
magatama?"

She looked genuinely hurt by that suggestion, though he had a
suspicion that it was partly because she hadn't thought of it
first. When he moved back with one hand on her leg as a
buffer, she slid that knee between their bodies but without
aiming it at anything vulnerable. With that paradoxically shy
abandon, her knee continued on its way to the other side of
him. Her hand still curled around his shoulder flexed ever so
slightly in a tentative invitation to return.

It was a good thing daikon took a while to cook, because this
lot on the stove wouldn't be going anywhere for a while.

---

The countertop had obviously not been designed with this in
mind, Kaoru thought, exasperated. It was higher than his hip
level, and the stupid rounded edges were impossible for her
to hang on to. On the other hand, she'd never previously
considered the advantages of having separate ties for the
front and the back of hakama-style pants, so you could undo
one or the other and still have them stay on.

She lost her grip on the counter's edge again and produced a
really embarrassing squeal as she slid off it and all the way
down onto him. It was his turn to hang onto the counter, she
decided. She had other things to pay attention to.

---

He was in her so deeply now that he was afraid he might be
hurting her. But if she was hurt, she'd be trying to get away
instead of clinging like an amorous limpet, with arms and
legs all locked tightly around him. The trouble was, no
matter how warm and welcoming she might be, there wasn't any
bloody friction this way. Bugger this countertop for a lark.
He was declaring a change of venue.

What did that particular squeal of hers mean, anyway? She
made it again when he lunged a few steps off to the side,
carrying her with him and pinning her up against the wall. He
planted one arm on each side of her, giving her something
else to hang onto, and oh yes, friction, sweet friction. He
could move against her now, fast and hot, like the wooden
shaft whirled in a bowstring to rekindle the sacred fire. She
was the bow and the fireboard and the nest of tinder all at
once-- smooth curves tautly flexing against his grip;
relentless pressure grinding up to blood-bright heat; and
suddenly the white smoke-plume pouring out from him as she
burst into blinding flame.

He slid to the floor as she collapsed onto his chest.
Belatedly, he took off his glasses, letting them thump down
in his hand to the side. There were cobwebs under the
baseboard. He'd have to talk to the maids about that,
somewhere off in that other universe that didn't involve
lying here with Kaoru's hair half-covering his face.

The daikon was still simmering on the stove. He didn't care.
They hadn't taken more than a few minutes here anyway, though
it'd been quality time for certain. His pulse was still
thundering in his ears, so it was almost as much by resonance
through his chest that he heard her voice. "Oof. 'Nishi?"

"...Yeh?"

"That was nice."

He thought this over, hoisted his glasses-holding hand back
into the air, and let it smack him in the forehead. "Woman,
you've just exploded the very marrow from my bones, and the
best you can say for yourself is it was nice? I should give
up and go back to the bloody Taoists to squirrel away my qi,
if it's not doing you a bit of good."

Now, that was a muffled snort of laughter from her if he ever
heard one, and he'd made a few in his time. "But it was nice.
What'm I supposed to say?"

"Hm. 'I worship your manly thews, you peerless love-god' has
a good ring to it."

"What's a thew exactly?"

"Damned if I know. Think you've exploded those too, anyway."
He tugged at her hair with his teeth as she laughed, until
she made a startled eep and pulled away to look down at
herself. He lifted the edge of his jacket for a peek. "What's
all this then? Oh, you've just burped out some of our juices
from your pink parts, not to worry." Dabbing a finger against
her leg, he held it up in demonstration before popping it
into his mouth. "I could clean you up, if you like. Wouldn't
mind an aperitif myself."

If only he could bottle that look on her face and sell it to
dab behind the ears. "Um?"

"Need a bit of a vocab lesson, do we? Well, first, stop lying
on my pants strings so I can tie them back up and recover my
manly dignity, as it were. Ta. No, you stay there." Lightly,
he elbowed her back down, then settled between her legs and
tucked her knees over his shoulders, firmly anchoring her
hips in his arms. He'd actually forgotten how lovely and
smooth a girl's inner thigh was against the face, just right
for nibbling on like a squeaky toy. She did squeak very
obligingly, though she also wiggled her foot against his ribs
in revenge, at least at first. He smacked it with his glasses
before spinning them off across the floor.

Spread out like a smorgasbord before him were the whorled
orchid-petals of her girly bits, all ripe and dewy, even when
faintly stained with the last traces of her maidenhead. It
just added to the palette of roses and fuschias and mauves,
layer within layer of rich hues and textures. He worked his
way up her legs to the edges, nuzzling his hair against her
skin to dry it, and then craned up at her again. "Oi. You
still awake there?" She stopped gasping for breath long
enough to bat him on the head. He caught her hand and nipped
it.

Around her fingertips, he said. "Right. Word for the day is
'aperitif'. Short for the French 'vin aperitif', a bit of
grog before the meal to make you more peckish, like. I'm
going to spell that word out for you so you don't forget it,
so mind careful now." Neatly, he spat out her fingers and
dipped his head back down to trace out each letter with deep
swirls of his tongue, warm and probing. And there was the
rest of the liquor they'd pressed out together from her body
and his, creamy, sweet, and streaked with red from the cherry
garnish. He always loved doing this. Especially the part
where he dotted the Is like a schoolgirl or a diner waitress,
with happy smiley faces up top.

He bobbed his head back up with a grin. This jacket of his
had never looked so good on him as it did writhing off of
her. "All right, guess you can't read plain print in Braille,
coz you keep saying all of them are some kind of vowel. How
about we try again in cursive?" A minute or two later, he
checked on her again. Now she looked as if someone had
dropped her from two floors up. "...Not yet? How about Gothic
blackletter?" Or maybe six or seven. "Katakana?" Well, if he
kept this up too long, her warranty would run out for
certain. "Oh, you're just hopeless, love. One last try with
the hiragana, and then I'm going back to finish making the
soup."

---

Ow.

Her hair was pinned beneath her again. If she'd thought she
couldn't move before, she was way wrong compared to now. Now
she really seriously couldn't move, possibly not even if...
if... okay, she couldn't think either.

Ow. And yowzah. But also ow.

She could hear Enishi walking around the kitchen again,
whistling at the top of his lungs and occasionally making a
cheerful "whup!" or "ho!" as he probably did some show-offy
thing like tossing mushrooms into the soup pot from behind
his back. Gah.

If he'd learned most of this stuff just from watching
Battousai with Tomoe, then Kenshin also had to know all of
this, and maybe more. She wasn't sure whether she felt
resentful or grateful that Kenshin had never done this to her
himself. But mostly at the moment, she felt ow. There were
probably a lot of muscles involved that normally didn't get
used much otherwise, and right now they were all upset at
having their test-drive go on for longer than they'd
bargained for.

And now he actually stepped over her to return to the main
room, carrying a bunch of stuff clacking together on a tray.
At least he came back to get her, though. Could she even open
her eyelids? The answer seemed to be no. When he sat her up,
she just flopped over again. He snickered. Bastard.

"All right, bluebird, let's take these broken wings and learn
to fly again." He scooped her up and carried her back to the
same table where he'd poured out tea for her, several
versions of reality ago. Or at least she assumed it was the
same table, because the cushion he draped her over felt about
the same as before. After a moment, he pulled her back to
prop her up in his lap, stroking her face. "You going to make
me feed you like a little baby chick?" He sounded half-
amused, half-tender.

She attempted to pull together some sort of shred of dignity,
but evidently she'd run out of them for the night. The only
thing she managed was a ridiculously appropriate weak squawk.

"Open your mouth, then," he said, as if she probably weren't
already sporting the latest slack-jawed drooling look of
idiocy. Well, it wasn't as if she could close her mouth
either, so she waited for a spoon to approach with an
airplane zoomy noise and a payload of soup. What came to her
lips instead were his, bringing her the mingled warmth of
miso and broth and their own two bodies, nudging bits of tofu
into her mouth with his tongue.

-----

(I am sooo doooomed. Instead of providing catharsis for all
of the bottled frustrations of the characters in the main
Edodale project, this tangent seems to be spreading back to
them. The current draft of chapter 14 just has all of these
random couples pairing off-- it's bad enough Yumi's been
doing costume changes from Faith to Anya and is now angling
for Jenny Calendar, but would someone tell her for me that
the last one does not automatically mean she gets to jump
Hiko's bones? Oh, and if JML is still wondering how Battousai
would be like with Kaoru, he'd be a lot like Enishi. Except
even more so. She would need the extended manufacturer's
warranty for sure, and lots of WD-40.)

(extra value-added note: perhaps no one else was likely to
fall into this particular trap, but I may as well provide
fair warning-- if you're trying to get E/K smut off the brain
long enough to resume writing something else, it will not
help you to buy three E/K hentai doujinshi from eBay. And you
may be obsessing a little too much about Enishi when you go
buy baggy trousers in that shade of orange because wearing
them will be like BEING IN HIS PANTS. Yes. However, that sort
of distraction may be highly enjoyable for your spouse or
significant other. We now return to our regularly-scheduled
non-smutwriting. I hope. Did I mention the part about being
doooomed?)