I don’t hate this lifestyle.
But I would be lying if I said I enjoyed it too.
Killing people. Fighting enemy groups. Protecting my side while fighting other ones attempting to do the same.
I’m just doing what I always thought I ought to be doing.
Neither enjoying nor despising it. Simply doing my duty, like my father and grand-father did before me.
I take no joy from any of it.
She came into my life.
I pass the threshold of our home and I feel it.
The smell of her cooking.
The warmth that exudes from anyplace she’s in.
I see her popping her head into the entrance.
This is where I belong.
She smiles as she takes me in.
I can see the tension leaving her shoulders.
I don’t even think she’s aware it’s there herself.
I risk my life every day when I go out, but she never knows if I’ll make it back ok before I actually do.
She has to spend every day in there, always under protection, unsure of my fate.
I hate that I do this to her.
I hate that I have no choice.
I hate how much she hates the powerlessness she feels.
I love that she accepts it anyway.
Because she loves me.
And I love her so much in return.
I love hearing her footsteps, hurrying to meet me.
I love watching her smile when she sees my face.
I love the tone of her voice when she welcomes me home.
And I love taking her small figure into my arms.
And yet so trusting.
Knowing full well what I do for a living.
What terrible things the hands touching her have done.
How could I be allowed to feel such happinness ?
To hold someone so good, so precious when I myself am lacking everything she deserves to be given ? How could she want to be with me when she deserves so much better ?
I release her from the circle of my arms and as I look at her face, smiling so fondly, no doubt my own face mirroring her own, it suddenly does not matter any longer.
I don’t need to understand her reasons, I don’t need to think her right. I don’t need to think anything at all as long as she wants me, I shall do my utmost to be worthy of her. To be worthy of what she sees in me that I don’t.
As I follow her happy trotting to the dining room where she starts setting up the dishes she must have spent hours on, for the first time that day, I’m happy with my life.
She makes it all worth it.
It’s like my whole life I’ve been a puppet of what was expected of me, never choosing or acting for myself, watching my life unfolding from another person’s perspective.
But not with her.
Never with her.
She makes me feel alive.
Makes me want things for myself.
Makes me want more.
Makes me want her.
Not now though.
Not when she’s telling me so happily about her day as she eats.
I wait fo her to finish. For her to set her chopsticks down.
And when she’s about to get up to get us some dessert I say.
« I don’t need dessert. Right now, I only need you. Can I ? »
Watching her face taking a cute shade of red does nothing to lessen the strain in my groin, nor does the shy nod that follows it. I stop holding myself back and sweep her in my arms before carrying her to bed.
I set her down as gently as I can, but I’m on her immediately . I need everything, fast, but I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to scare her. I need her to feel how precious she is to me.
How I only feel whole when I am with her.
I kiss her, searching for her tongue and feel her own looking for mine.
My hands are everywhere, I want to feel every curve of her body, every inch of skin, every shiver of want.
I feel her trembling as I trace a path down her neck with kisses, and she gasps when I play with one of her nipples through the fabric.
But I want to feel more.
I want to hear more.
She’s restraining herself.
She’s still holding back.
I want to make her feel so good she can’t even think anymore.
Can’t even think about anything but me as she screams my name.
I pull myself off her so I can take off my shirt.
I want to take off my trousers too but if I were to do so now I’m not sure I could hold myself back much longer.
I run my hands below her blouse, lifting it up as I go and trail kisses along my path. Her breathing is ragged and I can feel her shift below me, I find out why when I feel her hand taking a hold of my lenght over the fabric and starting to stroke it.
I inhale sharply and am unable to keep myself from rocking against her hand. My eyes flutter closed but I force them open to look at her face. Her breathing is still ragged but she looks awfully pleased with herself as she grins at me.
I take her wrists in my hands before I unravel completely and pin them above her head.
« No. I’m taking care of you right now »
For all the time you spend worrying about someone like me.
Waiting for me to come home.
Praying for my safety.
« If you want to take proper care of me, could you maybe hurry it up ? I...I want you now. I need you now. »
I grind my teeth. Despite how shy she is, she still manages to say such things in times like these. When I'm already on the verge of losing control.;
« If you say things like that, I won’t be able to hold back anymore. »
« Then don’t. I don’t want you to hold back. I don’t need you to hold back. I want you. I want all of you. Please. Give it to me. All of it.»
This tiny and frail and beautiful woman who couldn’t shoot a gun for the life of hers.
Who couldn’t fight back against any of the guys who would want to harm her just for being my woman.
And she wants to be anyway.
I see it in her eyes.
I’m so much taller.
So much stronger.
So much more dangerous.
I always worry I’ll break her by holding her too strongly.
I always worry she’ll be hurt by me.
That I’ll fail her.
And she knows I could.
But she’s not scared.
She never was.
Aaaaaahhhhhh. No matter how many times we do it I always lose. No matter how I try to care for her, protect her, she always ends up being the one mending me.
I take off the rest of our clothes hurriedly.
I make sure she’s ready before entering her, and she screams my name as we become one.
« Soryu ! »
And in these moments, my name is the sweetest sound I know.