That Sensual Night…
Lately, I've been wondering about Oriya. It's a terrible cliché, but the man looks as if he could use a drink. With me, mind you. He would hardly stand for drinking alone. Impropriety, you know.
But a drink. It seems that he could really use one.
The careless fall of dark hair against pale skin, his expression unguarded - a hiccup. Yet I can tell that he's getting quite drunk, the way his hands unconsciously trail through the hot summer air, as if swatting at invisible mosquitoes, his lips quietly singing something incoherent. The movement breaks his usual stillness, as the plop of a fat frog disturbs water.
He sighs, his eyes close. He reeks of alcohol.
This, you know, was never the way anyone planned it to be. No one could have expected it; he started pulling off his kimono, complaining of the heat. I had to restrain him.
I suppose that's what drew us closer. Physically, that is.
I had offered, he hadn't refused. He never would have asked, but it seemed right at the time, to give him a backrub. A friendly gesture, really. He’s been so terribly tense. He slid the sleeves of his light kimono off, pushing the top down, revealing his bare skin. It's a perfectly nice thing to do in the summer.
As summer is the season for nudity.
There was no massage oil to be used. No lotions, not even hand creams. Nothing. But I can still give a good massage when I put my mind to it.
And now, his hair falls back over his shoulder, trailing along his back, his head lolling toward me.
His eyes haven't opened. His face is full of lazy contentment.
"Oriya," I say. "Oriya, please. You should think about going to bed."
His eyes open at the sound of my voice, and he stares at my hand, resting against the skin of his bared shoulder. There’s not much of a contrast – he’s pretty pale underneath his clothes.
"Please." I give his back a friendly pat. "You're terribly drunk. I'll pull off the coverlet if you're too hot." And I reach out to him, solicitously turning him around to stand up.
Numbly, he leans against me as we rise, and his mouth finds mine. There's nothing more to say. Not that I could say anything in any case with his tongue going where it went. We stand before the open sliding door, to catch the breeze. I'm terribly shocked. Fine, I'm not really that shocked. But it's still a little unexpected.
"Do. Do you think. That I'm sexy?" His words come haltingly, voice drawling out the phrases.
"Well...I can't really say…" I pause. He says nothing. "Exactly how much did you have to drink?"
"Obviously more than you." His hand tightly grips my arm. "Now come here. Why don't you continue that sensual night under the sakura with me?"
"How did you know about that?" I blink.
"I know." His eyes look toward the saké jar. Mine do not leave him.
"It's none of your busi-"
"Oh Muraki, who needs a skinny little Shinigami when you've got me?" He launches himself into my arms. “I mean, really. He’s got such small hands. You know what that means.” I can’t pry him off.
"Shall I walk you to bed now?" I offer, trying to change the subject. This has taken a turn for the disturbing.
"Thank you." He doesn't refuse. But he does drag me with him. Uh, Oriya? This might be a bad idea...Oriya? AAH!!