dinohouse | [Mushverse: For Genta and Takeru]

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[Mushverse: For Genta and Takeru]

We've done a fair amount of research since Hiromu accidentally ran into the Vaglass agent that looks just like me, and what we've found out has been disconcerting to say the least. Troubling enough, especially where a certain previous Sentai team is concerned, that it's back to undercover for me. I need to make contact with my best bet at finding out what's going on there, and the best way to do that is to place me back into class at Amanogawa, so I have an excuse to go to Genta's sushi cart.

Of course, for the first two days the cart is dark and folded up, unmanned. I worry that something's happened to him, until the day he shows up as usual, welcoming the few customers that have time.

I sidle up to the counter while his attention is focused on a dark haired boy with a cat perched on his shoulders. Well, it takes all kinds.

"Salut, Genta."

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I tense at his answer, because that shouldn't even be a choice. Leaving shouldn't even being an option. Not for his duty, the honor of the line he's been adopted into, and not if he still loves me.

He wraps me in his arms again, and I lean into his warmth, starved for his affection after so long without it. "How could I ever be happy without you?"

I pull back just slightly, though not out of his arms. I reach up and gently cup his cheeks, and then lean in to press our foreheads, to brush out noses together. "I've pledged my life to you, I've sworn my name to your line. I won't say I'll die for you, because I know you don't want to hear that, but... but I will go with you to meet death someday, side by side, if you will allow me."

I sniffle softly, doing my best to keep my tears in check. "You are my Lord."

I kiss him, letting it linger before pulling back again. "You are the other half of my heart and soul."

How... How could I ever begin to match that. How could I ever hope to give him one half, one tenth, of what he has given me?

I played lord for so long, loathing but resigned to the necessity of others devoting themselves to me, to my safety. I am lord in truth now, and Genta is dedicated to me both for that reason and because he... because he loves me for myself, and it is too much. I am not worthy.

No. I am not worthy.

But I must be. For he thinks me to be, and because I will not hurt him again by appearing to waver.

"I am indeed fortunate to have you in my life," I say softly. "I can neither thank you enough for all that you do, or apologise enough for all the pain I have caused you. I... I have always loved you, I think, but it took your words on the holiday for me to realise it initially, and your apparent danger for me to accept it this time."

I stroke his hair back behind his ear, fixating on it instead of the roughness of my voice. I will not waver. I will be honest, will answer his strength-in-vulnerability with myself. "I did not stop loving you. I do not believe myself capable. Other... other matters blocked it out for a time, and in my foolishness I allowed it."

I press my lips to his forehead, exulting in the feel of him. In his life, which he has chosen to share with me. "Do not, I entreat you, speak of death, however. You are not allowed to die. I command it."

I sniffle again, as he speaks, as he kisses my forehead. His words wash over me, and I cling to them. As I cling to him.

"You can't command me not to die with you when the time comes." I state, as firmly as I can. "Because there isn't life in me without you. I'll die beside you and meet you as children again in our next life together."

It's a bold statement. A final one. A forever one.

"But I won't mention it again, not until the time comes." I kiss him, not deeply, but firmly.

I let go of him finally, so that I can shimmy back a bit on the bed. I gesture for him to join me, because I need him to stay close to me. Because I think he needs to be close to me.

Because I want to feel his heartbeat as strongly as I did back on that holiday he mentioned.

"Ah, my Genta. Forever disobedient," I say fondly. I will push against the mere notion of his death until the end of time, but I would not have him any other way. He is himself, and an example to others.

To me.

He kisses me, and I let my eyelids close. His lips are sweet, familiar, and again I wonder at myself for being able to consider, on any level, giving this up. I am necessary for the Shiba line, and for the fight, as is he. I foolishly believed myself more of a hazard than a help.

But on a personal level, I could not be without him. He balances me.

He moves up further on the bed. I wipe my eyes unselfconsciously, and join him.

I spread out and settle back on the pillows, reaching for him, guiding him with me. I don't regret trying to stop his sword earlier, but I very much wish my hands didn't need to be bandaged right now. I want to touch him, cup his cheeks in my palms, and really feel him.

I do cup his cheek though, and let my thumb brush lightly under his eye. I sniffle, again, but my eyes are dry now, I'm just caught up in emotion. In loving him so much it hurts.

"You mean more than the world to me."

He cannot keep from touching me, it seems, and I am overcome with a wave of... ridiculous though it is, a wave of relief. He is endlessly forgiving and I am endlessly fortunate.

I catch his wrist gently and turn it over, pressing my lips to the pulse point just next to the bandages. "I would be lost without you," I admit. Not a statement of love, though I love him without measure.

Just a statement of fact.

I could say a lot of things about that, but I decide to let the statement slide. Now is not the time to question him or his feelings, even though I know my Takeru is strong enough to keep going through anything, even without me.

I am glad that he feels he needs me so much though. I don't want him to ever think about leaving again.

"I love you." I kiss him, sliding closer to him. I hook one ankle around his. I shiver slightly, pleasantly... maybe a little fearfully.

Probably a lot fearfully.

I loathe what I have done to him. Physically, and emotionally. The only way out is forwards, however. To try to rebuild his confidence in me. Perhaps I should seek Mother's counsel, also.

I thread my fingers through his hair, slowly, lovingly, as he kisses me.

I can't stop shaking. Not hard, just a low quiver, but still, I am trembling against him, into the kiss.

I draw him closer, right up against him. And I gasp, because it has been so long, so long since I've felt him this close. He's never fully open, but I would like him to be as open as he can be with me.

I want to feel him against me, want to...

I just want him. Maybe more than I ever have.

"Take-chan." My voice is a whisper against his lips. Comforting. Coaxing.

I have never comprehended how he can be so comfortable showing so much of himself to the world. How he can be quite so open.

He shakes against me.

I find that I want very much for that shaking to cease.

"Genta," I respond softly. He has done so much for me, whether or not he has wished to. Anything further at this juncture is a matter for him to decide.

Maybe I shouldn't be feeling like I want to be intimate with him right now, not in this moment, after so much pain. Maybe that's too bold, too crass.

I don't really care.

I want to be intimate with him. Slowly, purposefully. I want to move with him, and feel him move with me. And maybe I wan't to reassure myself that he loves me, maybe I want to reassure him that he is still worthy of love.

I slide my hand down, down from his cheek and over his chest. I linger for a moment with my palm pressed, relearning the beat of his heart, then I glide my hand lower, slowly, not wanting to startle him.

I keep kissing him throughout. Slow lingering kisses.

His hand moves carefully down to my chest, to my heartbeat. I know it is foolishness but I feel as if my heart quickens at the touch of his hand.

His lips are on mine, and I allow myself to relax into that, smiling against him, safe and content in his hands as always. Whatever he wishes to do, I will follow his lead.

I can already feel myself twitching in need.

I make small, vaguely needy sounds, most of them lost to his mouth. My hand slides slowly lower and lower, down to his waistband, which I grip, and tug lightly at, and then gently work the closure of it open.

I don't even have to slide my hand inside, my fingertips brush the warm, toned surface of his lower stomach, and I tremble. The intimacy of that touch, where only my hands have ever wandered.

"I want you inside me." I whisper, maybe too low for him to hear, but I can't imagine he doesn't feel what I need.

I need him inside me, over me, finding his pleasure within me. I want to move slowly, not hurried or frantic. I want us both to cry over how strongly we feel for each other.

His hand dips lower, and my breathing becomes more ragged. I am hopeful that we might be intimate. It is hardly the only way to connect, but it is... important, and fulfilling, and my body craves it with him nearly as much as my soul.

"Ah," I say softly. "I would like that, also."

I find his lips with mine.

He kisses me, and i sigh, groan, nearly whimper into that kiss. Arching very slightly closer to him. I don't want to force anything; my body wants what it wants, but it also has needs that are much deeper than simple physical desires.

I ease my hand lower, tracing circles over his skin as it goes. Slowly, nothing hurried. We're relearning each other, in a way, and I want each moment - each touch, each sigh - to be measured and gentle.

I finally dip my hand inside his jeans, and I don't even reach very far before I tremble a little from his heat. I think this may be as far as I am bold enough to go for now. I know my hands, injured as they are, won't be able to do much more.

He will need to guide us further.

He is slow. Gentle.

Reverent.

I must be careful in return, for hurting Genta, emotionally or physically, would be intolerable. His hands are bandaged, and there are limits to what he can do without discomfort.

His hand brushes against my growing erection, and I shudder against him.

"Let me be your hands for a time," I murmur, working at his shirt. I will disrobe us both, then... take care of him.

I suck in a slow, only slightly shaky breath, my eyelids fluttering, nearly closing. His words are so soft and gentle, and sweet, and so very like my Take-chan.

I love him so completely, always have. Always will.

His fingers brush against the bare skin of my chest as he works my shirt open. And each little touch of his fingers makes my breath hitch, sends shivers all through me.

"Take-chan..."

"Genta," I return, leaning down to press my lips against each new area of bare skin exposed by my ministrations.

His shirt is unbuttoned, at last, and I ease it off his shoulders and arms, taking particular care with his hands.

He is ridiculously perfect. Every muscle, every slim line of him. He is Genta-shaped and exactly as he should be.

I sit up slightly, helping him ease my shirt off my shoulders. I almost feel shy, and I've never felt that way with him. Not once in our lives. But this situation is... it's deep, and important, and fragile, and I may tremble a little, just slightly, once my shirt is off.

I reach out for his shirt, but, between the bandages and the subtle shaking of my fingers, I can't get very far. Just tug a little, silently asking him to take it off. So I can look at him. So I can relearn every inch of him.

He shakes again. I do not like this. My Genta. That I should have undone you this far...

I push the guilt down inside. This time must be about Genta. About reaffirming our connection, making him feel appreciated and loved. I am most certainly capable of this.

He gives me such joy, such peace, when I am open to him.

He attempts my shirt, but finds it difficult. I assist, sliding it off over my head swiftly.

I let out a soft breath when he takes his shirt off. It's cliché, and a little silly, to say that he takes my breath away. But he does, especially now, when I thought... when I didn't know if I would ever get him back.

"Take-chan..." I reach out to press one hand against his chest, a little frustrated that I can't feel all the warmth of him beneath my palm because of the bandages. Still, I feel what I can.

I swallow, and lick my lips, and try to catch his gaze. I want him desperately right now, but I also want him to find his pleasure in this. I want him to find himself again, know that he is loved. That I will always love him.

...we have time.

More than enough time. We do not need to rush this, do not need to hasten towards orgasm as if it is a prize.

He is the prize, and he has given me joy so many times over.

If he wishes to feel my heartbeat, slow, strong, his, then so be it. I move around behind him, awkwardly for I do not wish to jar him any further, and nestle him in between my thighs. My legs are on either side of his. I pull him close, gently, with utmost care, so that his back is against my chest and my arms around his shoulders.

I bury my face in the side of his neck and whisper love to him.

I falter a bit when he shifts, but then he's drawing me close, my back against his chest, and I lean into him, feeling mildly overwhelmed for a moment.

I could cry I'm so happy, and yet still sad. Some part of me still wonders if this is his way of saying goodbye. Wonders if after this he will leave me while I sleep, slip away and never be found again.

His face is against my neck, and he's whispering his love to me. A small, almost desperate, little laugh escapes me, and I turn my head so I can nuzzle into him. Into his hair. I breathe him in, deeply. As I have wanted to since I was able to free him. As I have always wanted to do.

"You are my everything. A part of me." I speak softly into his hair, hoping my voice doesn't break. "My Take-chan, I'd be nothing without you. You make me shine."

He quivers, but leans trustingly against me. I... I do not like the frantic nature of that laugh, but of course I understand it. I caused it.

He trusts, but does not trust entirely, and I am heartsore.

I will be patient. I will give him time, as he has given me both time and his unselfish nature, and perhaps one day he will be able to believe that I shall not abandon him.

(Perhaps one day I... no, I cannot even think it.)

He inhales me, my scent, and I hold him closer.

...no. I cannot, his words...

I steady myself. Most certainly, I can. If this is what he needs for now, I can perform any task, support him in anything. Not because I am in debt to him, though I am. Not because I have hurt him, though that weighs on me. This is not a matter of balancing a ledger.

It is a matter of balancing Genta. Genta is in need and that is all that is of import.

I turn my head, and brush my lips against his cheek. My hand goes to his chest, to his heartbeat, steady and strong, and I align myself behind him. His heart beats against my chest; mine against his back. "My heart is yours, my Genta," I say quietly. "You carry many burdens, without complaint, and I would like to ease your heart for a time."

I let my hand drop further, grazing the waistband of his pants. "I would take great delight in giving you pleasure."

I breathe a small sigh, doing my level best not to tremble in his arms. Even as he pulls me closer, as I feel his heartbeat thrumming powerfully against my spine.

Lips against my cheek, words spoken near my ear. His strong hand pressed firmly against my chest.

"T-Take-chan," I can't stop my legs from sliding further apart, my hips from angling toward his hand as his fingers trace my waistband. I grip at the bicep of one of his arms, trying to steady myself, practically clinging to him.

"I want you to find your pleasure in this too..."

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