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Winter is handled with such tender care in poetry and books. Whether it's found in cups of tea or dainty descriptions of hoarfrost or fingers of ice hanging from a rustic awning, the season seems nothing less than elegant.
Imagine Kashuu's surprise when it's anything but.
The biggest tragedy of his new human life is that there's no pretty, pristine winter waiting for him. No cozy fireside cuddles, no gentle marveling at a glittering white landscape. He'd experienced his first snow earlier in the week and the only thing it brought him was goosebumps from the chill.
As it turns out, winter's firsts are all largely unpleasant. There's the first runny nose. The first fight for hot chocolate that cools too quickly. The first case of chapped lips that simple balm won't fix. The first moment he washed his hands too many times in one day, making the skin along his knuckles dry out and split. After begging the Saniwa for extra lotion, that first had also been a last, at least.
Then there's the matter of heat.
It's not something he's ever considered before in a non-abstract way. Temperature is nothing novel even to a sword. The hands holding him had always contrasted beautifully with the steel making up his body. His own sheathe was cool. The things he cut into had been warm. The blaze of a smithy's fire was hot, white hot.
But it's not the same as flesh making contact with bitter cold air, and he had learned quickly that he's the unfortunate sort of person who just can't seem to retain his heat.
"Ah—choo!"
Yasusada glances down, since Kashuu has tucked himself against his side yet again. He's like a furnace and it's entirely unfair, except for the part where Kashuu gets to share the warmth.
"Are you alright?" He's already pulling the tissue box across the table. Kashuu squints at it, loathe to stick his hand out from the cocoon of blankets he's currently swaddled in.
The sun has only just dipped below the horizon and he already regrets everything about the further waning temperature.
"These bodies are stupid." As far as he's concerned, that's as good as any no, I most certainly am not. "They're stupid and they get cold waaay too fast."
Yasusada doesn't at all seem troubled by the fact that his partner sword is slowly freezing into a lump of solid steel against him. "That's just yours, I think."
But he raises his arm beneath their shared blanket to wrap around his shoulder and Kashuu finds himself fuming for the umpteenth time over just how unfair Yasusada is. His stupid portable heater body is unfair. So is his arm and the way it creates the perfect cove to hide in, or how he looks so cute with minimal effort, or the way that staring at his mouth makes Kashuu itch to kiss it even when he's stuffing in the last segment of a peeled orange.
Yes, Yasusada is unfair all around and Kashuu hates him for it if he tries hard enough.
With the orange finished, Yasusada's free hand pokes out and drops the peel unceremoniously on their table. Kashuu scrunches up his nose.
"Can't you at least put that in the trash?"
"Didn't you just say it was too cold to move?" Yasusada gives him a look - the one saved for when he says particularly contrary things, which is often.
"For me, not you."
"But if I get up, you'll lose the heat, too."
Yasusada has a point, and that's more aggravating and exhausting than it is unfair. Arguing is a staple of their communication, but winter leaves him feeling sluggish. It's harder to win that way, so Kashuu cheats and shuts him up instead with a kiss that steals the last drops of orange juice from his lips.
Kissing is nice.
Kashuu had decided that immediately after his first, which was only a barely-there brush after fieldwork when he'd rolled over and shoved his face much too close to Yasusada's. He hadn't really known what to expect despite having watched humans kiss before, or even after reading about it in kitschy magazine articles that offered a lot of words and no explanations. It wasn't anything particularly electric, but it had been good. Enjoyable. A little like a homecoming.
With time, he'd learned that kissing could be nice in different ways. Good morning pecks were reassuring. The ones he received for a job well done were just as golden to him as head pats from the Saniwa. He liked when his face was showered in little light kisses, or when Yasusada's lips would rest against the shell of his ear or the back of his neck. Good night kisses were either a comfort, or left him wanting for something he had never ventured to ask for.
This time, there's none of the softness but all of the warmth. A little too much, even. Spurred on by that, he finds his missing energy surging back with aggression and he carries the lead. He often does, in spite of vague implications when he's appointed captain that the role doesn't suit him.
Yasusada's lips aren't soft. Like an idiot, he hasn't used the balm Kashuu gave him. He also refuses to fully give, sinking into the way Kashuu swipes over his bottom lip with his tongue, but only so much. Their constant competition is intrinsic, rising to the surface like a heartbeat. When Kashuu pulls away to complain about how unpleasant a chapped texture is to lick, Yasusada chases after him, and the resulting bump of mouth on mouth is a little sore.
"Geez! Calm down a little, would you? I'm not going anywhere."
It's nice to be able to say things like that and mean it.
Yasusada just laughs in the way that makes the corners of his mouth tremble, like his body or mind or both can't pick the emotion it wants to express. His hands are hesitant in a similar way. It's like he doesn't know what to ask for, or if he does, he isn't sure what answer he wants. Indecision is a bad habit. His fingers are still wet with juice from peeling the orange when he reaches up to touch Kashuu's face. Kashuu accepts it with a scowl and a sideways attempt to bite at his fingers.
"Isn't there a saying about not biting hands that feed you?" Yasusada chides, but brings his closer to Kashuu's mouth despite the warning snap. Kashuu, to his credit, resists the easy bait.
"There's probably also a saying about not touching someone's face with sticky hands, but you already ignored that one."
He likes the laugh that follows a little more. His tongue darts out briefly, curling over the tip of the closest finger. Whether he's rewarding himself or Yasusada, not even he's sure.
The night is quiet around them with a heaviness unique to the season. Kashuu is suddenly very aware of the contrast between his temperature and the air caressing his cheek, opposite the fingers that trail from his mouth to his chin. His heart leaps. Organs are silly like that, always feeling like they're moving around even if they stay securely in one place.
Eyes are a little silly too, allowing them to communicate without their mouths. It's different from the speech of tsukumogami, who can easily detect the presence of their own and read emotions, movements, thoughts out of nothing but a swath of metal. Still, when he searches Yasusada's eyes for the answer to a question he's not sure how to word, it's undeniable that he finds it.
They both tend to cling. That's what Yasusada does now as they slide to the floor. Kashuu greedily holds the blankets close around his shoulders to keep the chill out of the pocket of warmth they've created.
Funnily, it's not the tatami that registers first. It's the clothing beneath his back that's anything but kind, a contrast to how comforting it had been just moments ago. The threads suddenly feel more like twine than cotton against his heating skin. He squirms and shrugs his shoulders like a clumsy butterfly trying to shed its scratchy cocoon.
Yasusada's fingers hook beneath his hanten and they seem unusually rough, too. He's never taken care of his hands in the way he should, refusing to buff out the callouses or soak his palms in gently fragranced water as Kashuu insists. But it's like he can feel every dip between every ridge of skin in his fingerprints, all the unfiled edges of each nail.
"Hey," he interjects when a hangnail bites into the curve of his neck. His hanten and the yukata beneath are pulled down to his elbows. Yasusada seems a little preoccupied. "Let me fix your nails up later, okay?"
"Hm? They haven't bothered you in a while, though."
"They always bother me even when I'm not saying anything about them. They just bother me more now."
As though he can sense Kashuu is gearing up to continue that gripe (he is), Yasusada leans forward to occupy his mouth.
The kiss is a little sweeter now. More aware. His lips and hands are rough, but they're careful as they trail over his exposed shoulders and down his spine, like Yasusada is making a map of his bones inside his head. Maybe he is.
"You have nice skin," he says, unromantic in every way. Kashuu can feel his ears flush regardless.
"Of course I do. I take care of it, you know? Not like you."
Yasusada has talked to him about his own skin before. He doesn't think that it fits quite right. He plucks and picks at it sometimes, magpie-like in his fascination and inhuman in his pale revulsion. It looks normal and fine, so it must be fine; that's what Kashuu had said.
But there are times like now when Yasusada seems to be looking at him from somewhere far away. It's like he's possessing the body of another rather than sitting comfortably within his own. Like what he sees is just on loan. Kashuu has gotten used to that. It doesn't usually bother him.
Today, he doesn't think he likes it much and decides to make it change.
When he reaches up, it's with the confidence of someone who knows what they're doing, even though his hands just end up wandering. They brush the side of Yasusada's face, skirting over his chin and across the ridge of one cheekbone. They aren't high and proud like Kanesada's or Nagasone's, but they're still defined enough to be nice to look at and touch.
Yasusada's eyes watch, crossing for a moment when that finger slides over the bridge of his nose. Kashuu snorts. It's not very pretty.
He pushes Yasusada's fringe aside next. The way the flat of his palm presses over his forehead is reminiscent of a fever check, but it's still contact and it still feels nice. Solid. Yasusada kisses the inside of his wrist as it passes by his mouth. He can feel a little puff of warm air as he breathes out.
It's a little frightening how human he feels when he's stripped down.
"Kiyomitsu... Can I?"
Yasusada's short question is answered with a distinct lack of hesitation; the first decisive move of the night. Kashuu raises himself up onto his elbows, feeling Yasusada's hands curve over his back under his yukata before sliding out so he can undo the sash still holding things in place.
"Just don't lose the blanket," Kashuu stipulates, tucking himself closer. "It's still cold."
Which is only a little bit of a lie because it is, even if he's very warm now.
With the cover of the blanket, it only gets warmer. His yukata - rough - falls away. Yasusada's hands - rough - trail down from his hips and over the outside of his thighs.
He doesn't particularly enjoy the thought of his naked body being looked at. It's what he adorns himself with that make him beautiful; the trinkets, the gold, the red (ruby or blood, always - never rust). He's still being held like a precious thing, but he prefers it like this, under the shelter of the encroaching night and the blackness of the surrounding fabric where he can't be seen well.
But those are ugly thoughts and Yasusada's hands are inviting like the hearth, like the winter he'd hoped to get. He would rather spend his attention on that.
He lets his own hands continue to wander, feeling the jut of bone where Yasusada's shoulder blades rise. It reminds him of a bird's wings; a sharp peak from a smooth slope, waiting to burst free from his skin. The muscles there are lovingly traced, and when he presses down against the soft edge at the dip of his spine, it earns him a bowed back and a delightful little sound that makes him want to lean forward and kiss Yasusada again.
So he does.
He's a little bolder with the third. He licks at the corner of Yasusada's mouth, thinking of his watery smiles. His exploration is careful and Yasusada tastes of nothing particularly exquisite beyond the oranges he'd been eating, but it isn't disappointing. He only breaks away when Yasusada's hands skirt a little too lightly over his sides, dancing down his ribs. Kashuu chokes.
"Hey, hey--! Careful!"
Yasusada's eyes twinkle with amusement. He prefers it infinitely to the times when he can't tell if he's the one being looked at.
"Sorry, that was an accident."
What follows isn't. His fingernails skate upward and then his fingers are dancing across his stomach. Kashuu very nearly reaches out to cuff him even though he's too busy covering his mouth to battle inelegant snorts of laughter.
"Cut it out!"
Yasusada is merciless.
His fingers are deft and his mouth is curved bright. Kashuu throws a hand out to stop the tickling onslaught. When it's predictably caught by the wrist, he wriggles against the floor as those hands continue their travels, poking and prodding and feathering across his torso until his face is red and tears have sprung to his eyes.
Yasusada is merciless, but he's also hungry.
Kashuu can't pinpoint when things moved from tickling back to where they had been before. The blankets are far too toasty now, begging to be tossed aside. The firelight from their lanterns cast long enough shadows that it would hardly be a problem. Kashuu doesn't quite recognize the sound of his own voice as his laughter becomes more breathless, until it's just him trying to catch his breath at all.
Yasusada's brow is furrowed. His hand moves without conscious thought, thumbing over it as though he can smooth it back out. It's Yasusada's turn to laugh and he sounds bewildered. Kashuu mentally seconds the sentiment.
Bewilderment is light, actually. He doesn't know what the next step is. The realization had escaped him in the fuzzy moments leading them here, but it slams in now, rude and obtrusive. It's different, observing others or reading how-tos and actually feeling someone's mouth against his neck, or the warmth of their legs between his own. Words like scary or overwhelming don't do it justice.
So he does what he does best when he's a little bit lost and afraid and has no idea what to do, and continues to behave like he does.
The sounds that he earns from Yasusada are enough to distract him from himself for at least a little while. He raises his hips in a staccato burst of movement, and the upward rocking grind that he follows with is enough to buy a breathy gasp against the point where his neck and shoulder meet. Smug words dance on the tip of his tongue. For once, he bites them back.
He bites Yasusada's shoulder, too. He's not sure why. Because it's there, maybe? Right in front of his mouth, brushing against his lips as Yasusada's body moves in time with another grind. It seems like a good idea, and who is he to turn that down?
The faint taste of blood on his tongue is not different from any other blood he's drawn from a human, but not at all like the blood of their enemies. That blood is thick and foul, always blistering and burning away into nothingness with the rest of them no matter where it lands.
(He supposes he should stop considering such unromantic things when his hands are busy undressing Yasusada, but he finds it difficult to hook his mind back into place when it begins to wander.)
Yasusada's hands are also wandering again. They're more substantial than before, but no less sure. He searchingly presses down on skin and muscle as though he's trying to figure out how to work the same noises out of him, like it's unfair that Kashuu is the only one earning them.
That's his guidance, though, and Yasusada is as quick a learner as they come. The spots that garner little or no reaction aren't revisited except in passing. The ones that draw keening noises and moans are held and stroked and caressed until he familiarizes himself with all of the different noises he can draw from each one.
Again, unfair. Absolutely unfair for someone like Yasusada to be such a natural talent. Tremendously unfair that Kashuu feels so pliable under his hands, like his body has been waiting to be molded back out of nothing all this time. He's gone from freezing to sweating in a matter of minutes and it's the most he can do to keep up by kissing and nipping and letting his hands go where they please. Yasusada matches his pace far too easily. He's always had more stamina.
It's only when he's nestled snugly between Kashuu's legs that he starts to slow down, which is intensely frustrating. They play endurance games sometimes, but he'd like to think Yasusada would have a little more tact than pulling them out now.
Yasusada looks down between their bodies and then back up at Kashuu's face.
"...Do we just - go? Like this?"
Hundreds of years and swords aren't exactly the purest of spirits, but Kashuu supposes it's no surprise that a weapon of Okita Souji - infamous for being married to his job - doesn't know the step-by-step. Even Kashuu doesn't know everything, but he knows enough to figure that his eyeroll isn't unwarranted.
He can't scrub away the exasperated fondness, even so.
"Not like this," he explains, calling back to the days he'd spent walking riverbanks and listening to the night businesses serve their rounds. "That would hurt way too much. It's like this--"
He may be a child of the river, but actually putting these things into words is a little crass for him. He guides Yasusada's hands instead, tugging one up to his mouth and sliding his tongue along his index and middle fingers. Maintaining eye contact is almost a little difficult, but he's apparently doing a good job of seeming like it's easy if the way Yasusada sharply swallows is any indication.
It's only after he wets three fingers that he moves Yasusada's hand again, this time guiding it back between his legs. The way he brushes against Yasusada's skin on the way down is entirely intentional. He enjoys the little hiccup of a breath that he wins.
"Like this," he repeats, pressing in. Yasusada is always quiet when he's concentrating, so Kashuu finds himself biting down on his lip to keep from being too noisy. A single finger is a little uncomfortable. Two is more painful than he anticipated, but he encourages Yasusada to continue by angling his hips up, moving his leg between Yasusada's. The feel of his body tensing is nice.
A third finger, less so. He whines at the first thrust and the subsequent ones do little to ease his fresh tension. Yasusada leans forward, placing his lips against his jaw in something that isn't quite a kiss and works with a silent determination.
"Is it okay now?"
His voice is low and it makes Kashuu bring his shoulder up to his ear reflexively, shying away from the puff of breath. He can already feel Yasusada move, pulling his hand away and pressing in instead with his cock.
Another strange thing about these bodies: physical hungriness in any form is formidable.
Kashuu hums his consent and braces, but even their combined patience - stretched thin as it is - isn't quite enough. The comforting heat from before is quickly overtaken by burning discomfort as Yasusada enters, and barely anything is in before Kashuu is smacking his palm against the floor.
"Wait, wait--" A breathless order that Yasusada, startled as he is, obeys immediately.
"What is it? Did I do it wrong?" His concern is genuine, which somehow only makes this more humiliating. Kashuu wiggles on the floor, easing himself away. The little cozy bubble they've created is stifling. He's the one who ends up pulling down the blankets somewhat.
"That hurt way too much. There's no way that's right."
If humans had to deal with that every time they slept together, he's absolutely sure it wouldn't happen so often.
That said, this might be new to his human body, but he has the knowledge from those long-gone shops that lead him in the right direction. He considers the things those people spent their money on. Soft mats for the customers, scented perfumes for the workers, boiled red seaweed and aloe for--
"...I think we need like, oil or something. Something to keep things, you know... wet."
The way his tongue dances around the words speaks to his embarrassment, even though he manages to keep a straight face. Yasusada seems less bothered, except by way of being interrupted.
"Well... We can ask if anyone has anything like that, can't we?"
Mortification seizes Kashuu, who slams a hand over his face hard enough to distract him from the pain elsewhere.
True, there are a few swords in the Citadel who might have what they're looking for. They're also the swords that Kashuu wants to be having this kind of discussion with the least, and he very seriously debates if continuing would really be worth it when weighed against the possibility of hearing about sexual exploits he's just not ready for.
In the end, Kashuu demands that Yasusada take responsibility by going on the hunt, refusing to extract himself from his lump of blankets.
Fortunately, no one asks questions, even if Nikkari's horrifically detailed explanation of lube is one Yasusada could have lived forever without.
-
Things are a little more successful later, though any lingering warmth of the day is long gone.
Yasusada keeps the bottle of lube he's received tucked near the table, since the floor is apparently their chosen bed. Kashuu reaches out to snag his ankle as he walks by to unroll a futon, still tucked under the blankets and a little more preoccupied with saving his temperature than devoting himself to fresh touches.
It doesn't take either of them very long to catch right back up to where they'd left off.
It's a process of trial and error now. At some points, Yasusada presses too hard and Kashuu swats at his hand. At others, it's too light and he laughs into his chest, where his mouth is staking claims. Kashuu's leg is between his again and Yasusada's hair has tumbled half out of its ponytail and he looks like an idiot, honestly. It's with an unfortunate amount of tenderness that Kashuu reaches up to tug the tie out, allowing the rest of it to fall down into his face. He sputters. There's little bounce or shine to it, but it does smell like the lavender shampoo he'd gotten Yasusada months ago with the insistence that he would not sleep next to someone who smelled like dirty hair.
His lack of plan extends onward as his hands do, as Yasusada's hands do. There's a lot about the human body that he hadn't pinned as contradictory until this moment, feeling all the harsh edges and knots of muscle that the one above him offers. He's feverish. Yasusada's stare is a little distant, and Kashuu wonders if he's still feeling uncomfortable in his skin.
The second time he enters is much less unpleasant, even if it's still more painful than he had hoped. He has his suspicions they might still be doing something at least a little wrong.
Lifting his hips helps, though. Yasusada breathes into his hair. Kashuu can't see his face from where it's buried, but knows his brow is furrowed again.
"Go slow, okay?"
Slow is romantic, he's heard. Slow is what you want when you're showing someone that you love them and for some reason, the more they've touched, the fuller his heart has grown until it feels like his love will spill over and go to waste if he has nowhere to put it.
Yasusada pushes in with the slowness he'd requested, but pulls out a little too quickly, setting the pace above the bar he wanted to aim for. Kashuu finds he likes that just fine anyway.
Exploration is a strange waltz from there. There are moments where it's not just about touching anymore - where it elevates above the points where their bodies meet, where their heat is shared. When he moves, it's to get closer, like all the spaces between and within can be filled up with searching fingers and kisses.
It's not perfect.
He's quick to discover that Yasusada is prone to losing control in both battle and bed. The difference is nowhere near as stark, but there's a sense of familiarity as he watches his features sharpen into something focused and starved. It's somewhat thrilling to be the subject of that kind of look.
He does, however, have to occasionally remind Yasusada to be a little more careful with sharp tugs to his hair or scratches down his back that rapidly welt up.
Yasusada doesn't seem to mind much.
Beyond that, there are some times when he's able to feel as sturdy as he acts, letting his natural rhythm carve a path through his foggy thoughts. There are others when he's overwhelmed by fullness and his body spasms inelegantly, making his cries sound choked and awkward.
He moves his hips with too much vigor at one point and knocks Yasusada into the table leg with an indignant "ow, ow!" He doesn't apologize for it.
It's not cute when he drools on his own chest. There's nothing attractive about Yasusada slipping out on particularly vigorous thrusts, or about sweat falling into his eyes, making him flinch and curse. The way his cheeks turn red when he accidentally holds his breath is unpleasant.
The sounds they make, enticingly low before, become keening and higher pitched as neediness grows. He grips a little too tightly, and the space between their stomachs has become sticky in an awful way.
As it turns out, sex is a messy thing, but nothing he can recall captures the exact same mix of emotions.
He winds his arms and legs around Yasusada's body and holds tightly, thoughts of matted hair and smeared make-up and worries about being heard through the thin shoji screens briefly fading. Their hips sync up again. Matching comes and goes in cycles, their rhythm imperfect and unpracticed.
When he finishes, he's struck by a profound sense of loss that threads through the pleasure, through the tight-locked grip of his fingers, through the love that swells his heart and throttles his ribcage. He bites down again, not sure if it's Yasusada's shoulder or upper arm or the junction of his neck. He tastes salt and tries not to sob.
As his senses settle back in properly, it's almost in bits and pieces. He can hear the rustle of the blankets nearby - they're nearly all kicked off by now, of course - much more clearly than he can hear what Yasusada is saying. The words are still unintelligible even when he focuses, broken up by harsh gasps.
He kisses him to make him stop talking, accidentally mashing their noses together on the way. His arms lock and refuse to let Yasusada go after his chest has stopped heaving, even after the sticky pool splashed across his stomach has begun to cool unpleasantly. He finds himself inexplicably not wanting to detangle their legs. Yasusada starts to shift first, restless. The feeling of him moving inside and pulling out is enough to send a jolt through Kashuu's body, all the way up to his neck where the hair prickles.
"Kiyomitsu..."
His voice, likewise, is the exact perfect pitch to satisfy him. He cranes his neck a little just to get closer.
"...My feet are going numb."
Kashuu sighs, whipping up some of Yasusada's hair into his own face, and reluctantly starts easing his grip. He realizes after he lets go that it had been a little tighter than he'd meant, leaving red and white patches of skin behind.
"You're not romantic at all," he huffs. A prompt wince follows. It's a good thing they heal quickly, since his voice is much raspier than he'd expected and his throat is a little sore. He's sure that'll be the least of his worries by tomorrow morning.
Yasusada seems to notice. He always notices the worst things. It's with a mixture of worry and amusement that he raises his hand, the tip of his finger ghosting over the dip between Kashuu's collar bones.
"Should I get you some tea?"
The thought of Yasusada leaving sits sourly and he shakes his head a little too hard, pulling Yasusada over much too hard. He ends up banging his elbow on the same table leg on his way down, but his whines are muffled to Kashuu's ears as he curls up close.
This is nice, he decides. Much in the way kissing had been after his first, it's imperfect but memorable. It leaves him warm.
"Stay here. It's too cold."
Again, only a partial lie.
Yasusada seems content to believe it. He also seems content to let Kashuu cling, rumpled as they both are. The habitual thoughts that plague him are growing louder as the buzz begins to fade, telling him he needs to clean up, make himself presentable again.
But Yasusada's comfort is contagious in much the same way nearly everything about him is. He memorizes the way that his body slacks and relaxes instead of allowing his thoughts to be consumed. The tension is soon ebbing out of his own shoulders.
It's a ridiculously short time before Yasusada's breathing evens out and familiar light snoring follows. He'll start drooling and they'll have even more to clean up, but for once, Kashuu decides to deal with that mess later.