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Worlds Apart	By : kamorgana Category: Rurouni Kenshin > General Views: 2290 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Worlds Apart
- 1
Disclaimer: RK is property of Watsuki, but the plots, ideas and text are mine. Story written for non-profit purpose.

Edited for disclaimer. Thanks to Firuze, Marlingrl and FengShuiSensei for their reviews.

Worlds Apart
1874- In the mountains around Kyoto.
If objectively he couldn�t but admit that he was one of the brightest minds ever, he would have had to think that he never learnt from his mistakes.
Why did he have always to end up helping some poor lost soul?
He should bother to distillate sake himself. That would spare him the trips to the village nearby his retreat and the reiteration his heroic deeds. Moreover he was sure that after a while he would make an even better one than the finest he bought from the old man.
He had to leave now�He couldn�t help a glance in her direction. She bowed as well as she could in her state and she looked away immediately, a gracious move of her long neck accompanying the one of her eyes. And damn.
Contenting himself with defending the widow and the orphan crossing his path would be mere damage control, with his unfortunate nosy nature. It happened once in a while: it gave him at once an enjoyable although widely underestimated reputation of skilled fighter keeping imbeciles at bay and provoked some grateful awe amongst the villagers, which manifestations weren�t exactly unpleasant either. Unfortunately, several times in his life he had been moronic enough not to stop caring at a �thank you�. The last one, the sad yet willful violets eyes of a little boy had gotten over his good sense. This time, it was the shocked yet proud amber gaze of a woman.
He kicked lightly the dead body of the group�s leader.
�Where is the key?� he asked her detachedly with a nod at her hands imprisoned in handcuffs.
She shook her head negatively. He got closer and understood. The hairpin still planted in her disheveled hair, he had seen one very long ago, in another place and another life. Handcuffs. On his way he had seen policemen drinking in the tavern down the road, which belonged to one of her aggressors. The other men were reeling of cheap beer. For a mind as brilliant as his, deducting that she was an ex-oiran who had been arrested by the police, and that the corrupted officers had exchanged her against a generous alcohol tab, was no big deal.
He stared at her while freeing her hands from the metal, confident that his ki would impose on her and as expected she gazed back, leaving him fascinated. There was the shock that any victim experienced after a sudden violent attack, although without the stupor of the sheltered wives or maidens confronted to the ugliest side of men. In that woman, the shock was of different nature. Oiran chose their partners, oiran were courted, oiran were revered, and she had blatantly just realized that it wasn�t the case anymore. The voice of her disdainful refusal echoed to his ears, the man�s fist about to hit her appeared in his mind, and he was quite sure that she experienced the same flashback. She was used to being treated as a queen, and those men hadn�t even granted her the status of woman.
She was still standing with a queen�s port, her tousled hair forming a naturally harmonious style, her hairpin was her crown, her old kimono from which emerged beautifully curved shoulders wrapped around her like a principal dress, and her eyes rebelling and glittering.
Glittering with a little spark of gratitude, but lit by the flames of pure hatred.
He had saved her from her attackers but she had lost to the world. She would die of that hate: he had seen it enough to foresee. It would be a mistake to go farther. But�He sent her a meaningful glance before he turned on his heels and walked away. She would understand or not, she would follow or not, she would decide. The forest was calm and still under the spring�s sun, and he didn�t hear her paces. Not glancing back.
After a second, he heard the slight movement of the grass under her feet.
***
Everything hurt. The light of the sun playing between the high trees and splattering luminous stains on the leaves. Hurt, the sweet smell of the grass and the flowery perfume of the breeze. Hurt, the deep busy silence of nature�s seasonal rebirth. Hurt, the beauty around. Hurt, the end of her foolish denial.
She had ignored reality. She had gone to the countryside, far away from the madness, and she had tried to pretend that she could go on as before. It had shattered in pieces half an hour before. The government had called them cattle and she had refused to believe it. The bastard policemen had burnt her house down and had called her cattle, and she had scorned them. But then they had treated her as cattle, exchanging her against a few glasses, and so had the men from the tavern. Even when she was debuting and didn�t have the leisure to say no, never did anyone try to force her through physical violence.
It hurt, that feeling in her growing and growing again, too big for her mind, too big for her heart. She looked up at the man walking in front of her, relieved as the feeling eased off again. She kept her eyes fixed on the tall muscular silhouette, noticing the royal way of walking, the assurance emanating from him, the long hair swaying in the wind. As long as she looked at him, she had a kind of anchor to resist the storm of darkness in herself.
Soon she got too exhausted for anger to dominate her. It was at the end of the trip: they arrived to a clear with a small house in the middle. She followed him until the door but didn�t dare to pass the threshold. His last glance had been a telltale and he didn�t order her to leave him alone�he didn�t talk at all, though. For the first time in years; no, in her whole life, she wasn�t confident. Maybe he didn�t want her in his house. She was just cattle after all.
Most unexpectedly he bowed with some grandiloquence that oddly struck her as sincere. He was merely hiding it under that ironic move. She owed him more than her life and her physical integrity, she realized. Above all, he had allowed her to keep her dignity.
They could call her cattle and treat her as cattle. It wouldn�t make her one.
***
The woman had fainted on the bed just after she had entered the bedroom that he had silently indicated to her. He didn�t want to talk to her. Talking created a bond, and the implicit and immediate understanding that had settled between them was already too much. She was from the same spheres that he had used to frequent before he chose his definite and lonely path.
Stepping outside and contemplating the blue sky, he couldn�t help melancholia taking over him at the idea that the small room was occupied again. He thought about expressing those feelings in art�how clever of the Japanese tradition to have encouraged warriors into subliming their emotions through literature, painting or pottery in order to be rid of those interferences when completing a duty asking too often for inhumanity. It was baffling that nature sometimes failed where society succeeded: his disciple, who would have needed to write at least one hundred haiku a day to canalize his damn oversensitivity, had been the most ungifted being in those delicate fields. His awkward calligraphy alone had been painful to the view.
The red-haired kid had had no hatred in his eyes, which was why he, the master, had mistaken. The boy had tricked him with his sincerity and kindness in an extent that the most expert manipulator would never have dreamt to attain. People thought that a samurai or a kenshi had first and foremost to be sensible, or cold-blooded, or magnanimous, or dutiful. All thought that the most important was to be skilled in swordsmanship. They were wrong: all those qualities were accessory. There was one and only teaching that a bushi needed: to know the price to pay for the privilege of holding a sword. It meant understanding the meaning of killing, the consequences of it and the weight of a life spent destroying others. Beings devoured by hatred couldn�t be taught because they didn�t care about the price to pay for its satiation. They could be technically perfect yet they would die by the sword for not understanding its truth.
His disciple had gone not out of hatred but out of love for his fellow human. His disciple had gone without knowing the price. He did now and must he have paid it dearly. What a joke, he snorted inwardly, at his baka deshi�s pathetic life and at his own pathetic gathering of information about the other�s predictable becoming.
He walked to the foyer in the middle of the clear, where he kept part of his sake provision, and he drank while helplessly reminiscing the past.
***
It was the middle of the afternoon and filtering through the window, the sunrays hit ruthlessly her face. She was yet unable to blink, eyes wide open and full of memories. She had slept of a dreamless sleep for a few hours and now, lying on the comfortable but simple futon, she was too caught in her inner turmoil to feel tired or acknowledge exterior annoyances. She had much more crucial to deal with.
She had her hatred to feed. She had reminded every moment since she had been arrested, like in an endless kaleidoscope. An old quote about punishment and redemption being intimately linked and that she had heard at the teahouse sang like a bell to her ears when she reminded one of the conversations between the cops. She had been punished but she hadn�t been guilty. As for all the innocents of this world, the penalty for being a victim was the cruelest. It wasn�t redemption that had been sent to her. They hadn�t left her a choice but to sell her body and then they had decided that she was worth nothing if she did. Well, then she would sell herself to the devil, since they had given her no choice of client. The deal was her damnation for their punishment.
It sounded fair to her finally. Anything was fair as long as it appeased the furor in her.
The dry noise of a breaking pottery attracted her attention and she got reminded of where she was, of who was outside. She left the room and stopping in the frame of the door, she saw him drinking. It aroused her curiosity. So much drinking meant a problem and the man who had saved her, so strong and so confident, couldn�t possibly have one� It also reminded her that for the second time in her life, she owed someone.
She would take her definite decision later.
***
He had barely noticed her wandering around. He had seen her coming back from the river whose flows were murmuring nearby. She had bathed and her hair was a loose bun on her neck. It was free of the hairpin. She had cleaned her kimono, yet she still wore it in the same way as when he had found her, opened low on her shoulders. She had understood that her world would not come back but displayed like a protesting shout her condition of prostitute by offending the proper way of dressing.
He couldn�t ignore her anymore when, the night falling, she came to settle near him with a first tray of food. So it was her way to express her gratitude, fine, he preferred this to wet puppy eyes or a discourse full of grateful tremolos. He didn�t dislike being served by an educated woman. He couldn�t deny that he liked deference even though he was well aware that it was nothing but shallow vanity. The food was excellent and he appreciated the artful simplicity of it. Her gestures were a dance and she poured the sake with admirable grace, respecting the traditional ceremonial.
He couldn�t ignore the remarkable beauty of the woman either. She had reminded him of a queen even covered in dust and blood, and now she was stunning. She had slender fingers that he could imagine coursing delicately on the cords of a shamisen, and her hands were small and shaped. Every of her gestures were thought and controlled behind the easy grace, results of years and years of severe training. He wasn�t one to despise perseverance, and oiran like samurai had to make show of a will of steel to reach the top of their art. The white fragile skin hid a backbone of iron, carefully concealed in the gorgeous shell only to reflect in her eyes, clear amber orbs revealing strength and abnegation.
It came to his mind that she wouldn�t eat unless he allowed her too. He was sitting on a trunk and shifted on the right to leave her some space. She complied, lifting her gaze towards his. What a pity. He knew too well that light in their depths: it was the desire to change or to avenge. He had seen it many times, the first of them in his own mirror years ago and the last of them in the eager violet eyes of a teenager.
He shouldn�t even have allowed her to come here or given her the chance to make a choice. It stirred bad memories and confronted him to his contradictions. He was sure and serene concerning his decision to stay away from the world�but couldn�t help supporting the attempts of those who wanted to fight it. It was what he would have done himself before he had been taught to know better.
***
The man had stood up suddenly and she had followed him into the house. She liked his presence and she liked that he was silent. She didn�t want to talk, she had too many ideas boiling, threatening to overwhelm her; and she was also relieved she didn�t have to. Her duty had been a lot about conversing and listening, hence silence had always been synonym of tranquility.
He lit another fire, and he had lots of sake inside the house too. Soon they were seated side to side again. She had been curious about him at first, trying to divert her thoughts on him, but little by little and with every new glass she had lost interest�she would be gone tomorrow, what was the use to get to know him? Her decision was taken, and tonight she could take a last rest and forget about it all in alcohol. Just like he did, and he wasn�t a disagreeable companion.
Slightly dizzy, or maybe she was truly drunk, she observed him; the liquor had already awoken another kind of interest. She had never seen a man that tall and so muscular. She had had a few good looking clients but mostly they had been common�he was definitely not. He hid his body under that long cape, what a shame. In his eyes, in his moves, in the way he had fought and killed, all in him was hidden strength and mastered power and she found herself irrepressibly attracted to him. She glanced at the sake jugs, oh, that made a lot and she was already unable to count them.
The cape bothered her. Obeying to an impulse, she extended her hand to untie it. A last afterthought, he might get angry, and she wrapped it around her shoulders. He would think that she was cold, he was a kind of weird gentleman�his reaction got limited to a frown before he shrugged and went on drinking. She imitated him, and after one more jug she was frankly ogling at him. The design of his chest was a pure marvel�He glanced at her sideways every now and then and she finally noticed a grin lifting the corners of his full lips. A greedy smile appeared on hers. He liked to be admired, he was obviously flattered. This was a game that she liked to play.
A game. Not a work, not a duty. Even though after a few years she had chosen her partners, they had been clients and her success had always forbidden her the right to grant her favors by pure caprice. She had not been disgusted by many of them and she even had been attracted to a few, but she realized that never she had slept with a man just because she had felt like it. She had never done what she truly wanted and they called her less than a woman? Tonight she would take a sweet revenge. He was the most fascinating specimen of man that she had ever laid eyes upon and she would have him.
He wouldn�t say no�she knew how to change his mind if he dared. With a purposeful smile, she went to kneel just at his feet. Her smile widened as she placed her hands on his thighs. They were hard and warm through the fabric. Shivers ran down her spine when his hand closed upon hers.
***
If he were absolutely honest and although he couldn�t remember it as a calculation, he had chosen to be courteous and respectful of women because it gave a flattering image of himself to others, and to him. There was nothing better for self-satisfaction than doing the right thing. Moreover, he had discovered rather fast that it were a better way to be granted favors than being rude or brutal, what neither his retarded contemporaries nor the Westerners seemed to understand yet; not that he had ever been tempted to force one anyway. After decades habit had become nature, and it was cursing it in petto that he took her hand off his thighs.
He had had his share of women and never had he met one unwilling to bed him. He was rather irresistible and false modesty was ridiculous. This one was attracted to him too, but she acted out of gratitude, in the only way she had been taught. His stupid disciple would call it misplaced pride or overly self-centered eccentricity, but he would never accept a partner who wasn�t entirely consensual. He was above cheap satisfaction� morally speaking since satisfaction with that woman would certainly be all but cheap. He nodded patronizingly to her in order to signify that she didn�t have to.
She widened her eyes and then�ah well, if it were on those terms the moral issue was irrelevant.
***
She, who had blushed for the last time at the age of 12 which corresponded to three months after she had entered the teahouse, felt a warm veil covering her cheeks as he refused her advances�out of consideration for her. She had excuses: she had been offered jewels and rare flowers, she had been treated with the best food and liquor, haikus and letters had celebrated her beauty and wits but never, any of those generous donators had even thought of her wishes when it came to sex. It had been a given and it had been logical, but suddenly and through that simple gesture which would have once mortally offended her, it didn�t make sense at all. She had loved to be an oiran, although the way to arrive there hadn�t been pleasant�yet she had considered it as a normalcy. She regretted her status and unless for the Meiji bastards� new rules she would never have questioned it. Now, she did, she began to see what she had missed for the nothing that she had left; hence she was going to make a victory out of this wreckage and take all that she had sacrificed to obtain that spot as a compensation for being deprived of it. The list began with that surprisingly thoughtful and very attractive man�
Her surprise past, she gave him a knowing smile and arched a brow to express that she wasn�t motivated by gratitude. He liked to be admired: her long experience of men had murmured to her that it was a manifestation of ego, hence insinuating that questioning his desirable nature hadn�t even come to her mind would have the desired effect. She wasn�t disappointed: in answer, his dark eyes glittered with undeniable lust. At ease in her game with nevertheless an exhilarating feeling of novelty, she glanced at his hand still restraining hers and gave him her sweetest pout. He let his hands down with a false gesture of helplessness and a hungry smile belying it.
To encourage in the close future such clever response, she gave him a little taste of how gifted her hands were. She let her fingers trail on his legs again and reached between them, reinventing what she had been taught for that special occasion. She had thought that he was of good size, since to her knowledge assurance in men found its cause there. One thing, then, could be said about this man: he had to be even more self-assured than what he had shown her. She looked into his eyes while massaging him: he blatantly appreciated what she did but he expressed it through a satisfied expression, as if she was a good little student. He passed his big hands in her hair as a teacher rewarding a pupil. She clamped her legs, growing excited. She had been trained to make her partners lose their mind and she finally admitted that it was always too easy to be anything but boring. Although her inclinations were towards men and that most of her experiences with women had been under the formers� wishes, she had finally been more fulfilled sexually by the confronting intercourses with the other girls of the house than by the rapid surrender of the males to their own pleasure. This one was different, he resisted and he would be enduring...
He had noticed her excitation for sure, since he closed his fingers around her breast and caressed them, pinching the hardened peaks. Oh, yes, she liked it and she liked the way he looked at her, sure of his effect. She contained a superior grin. She had more tricks up her sleeve�
***
Love and war, or rather sex and war, were two sides of the same coin of human nature. In both he liked worthy fights with rivals in his league, and in their sensual duel his current adversary didn�t demerit. She was educated to serve yet she had that subtle way to fight for some control, which only a man as sure of himself as he was intelligent enough to appreciate. Her fingers were pure delight and he was hard now, as always loving the sensation of his own power. It was almost as good as getting drunk on sake. There was nothing better than a knowing courtesan, and she was exceptional. He had begun to touch her breasts to encourage more caresses on her part; they were full and perky, it would be such a pleasure to suck on them later�maybe now.
He couldn�t help a frown when she unexpectedly withdrew, leaving him seated while she stood up between him and the fire. He understood when slowly, she began to undress while performing a traditional dance, the red and white of her kimono matching the color of the cape, improvised harmony fascinating him for long minutes. The exact and graceful gestures, the moves of the fabric, the light of the flame reflecting on her creamy skin until she stood naked in front of him�the artist in him was delighted. She went to retrieve her place between his legs, and while kissing him the way westerners did, letting him taste the savor of the sake she had drunk on her tongue, she got him rid of his clothes. The little sighs and the evident enjoyment that she took caressing expertly his body were as exciting as the caresses themselves. She parted from the kiss when he was naked too, and with an admiring look at his manhood she licked her lips.
Knowing what she would do now, he decided to take the matter in hands�if he could say so; he chuckled inwardly to his wittiness.
***
Incredible. She hadn�t been surprised that he knew how to kiss like Westerners whereas this practice was only confined to the best teahouses. She had come to guess that she shouldn�t be surprised at anything concerning this man. No, the incredible was the texture of his skin, tense to the maximum over the powerful hard muscles, and how good it felt to touch him. He had barely touched her and she was wet already. She couldn�t wait to close her mouth around his member, and why should she wait anyway since it was what she wanted�
She frowned as he stopped her again. He couldn�t be a kind of masochist and call it quit now, could he? She was relieved as she understood that he was merely installing them into the position that had his preference. She wouldn�t complain about it: in the reverse sense, knelt on top of him while he lied on the floor, he could caress her breast while she licked eagerly at his tip. Her tongue rolled and coursed on the sensitive skin, which fragility contrasting with the rest of his body aroused her more. He liked it, his hands stroking her in return and his groans when she sucked on it were enough of a clue. She felt like grinning when after a particularly bold move that had him almost coming, his hands went down her hips. Did he make a pause because he was vexed? Another of those little flicks and she would have him comply to her every will�
His fingers had grasped her hips and he pulled them down suddenly. She bolted as she felt a humid and hot thing foraying between her folds. His tongue. She was almost shocked�only women did this. The next stroke was longer, almost lazy, and a shot of pure heat went through her body. She registered somewhere that her pleasure had never been the matter and that it explained the whole �men don�t do this� thing, but she was too enthralled to be able to think. So he thought that he would win? She bent to her task again yet he seemed to control himself better now. As long as he was only titillating she managed to go on, but as soon as he went rough she lost her mind. His tongue was as hard as it member, ruthlessly licking her wetness and finding her core to torture it with more heat. Soon she needed to whimper her pleasure and she replaced her mouth by her hands, but then he nibbled and sucked and her nipples ached with need and she let go. He changed rapidly of position, placing her on her back, settling between her spread legs and while she massaged her own breasts in an attempt appease the fire, he stroked her until her nerves were so raw that she cried out when he penetrated her, playing with her until her voice broke.
***
Her body was covered in sweat, little pearls on the pearly skin. She was trying to catch her breath after the orgasm that he had given her and even in release the full globes of her cleavage were still heavy and pert. She was definitely worthy of his attention: he had rarely been that close to lose control and to come before the moment he had decided he would�and coming to think of it, it had better be soon. One didn�t get that kind of passionate response without needing complete fulfillment, and this time the ego bolts experienced at being able to put an oiran in that state wasn�t sufficient.
She had opened her eyes, orange reflects playing in them with the flames of the fire nearby, and a light close to guilt flicked briefly into them. He had expected it and this was partly why he had wanted to have this particular intercourse with her. It had never been about her and her pleasure since her job had been to care uniquely about the client�s. He had wanted her to know that she could have it too. She was a woman like the others now. Amongst other reasons, that would make the last part of their encounter so much more intense.
Lying next to her, his hand caressed the inner side of her thighs. She looked at him with content awareness when his fingers went to tease her again, probing at her entrance. When she got newly aroused, he sat up and she followed his move, extending her hand to get a sake jug. He lifted a brow when she got a sip before he did, to grin when she brought her face to him, sharing it along with a deep kiss. Her assured boldness retrieved, she let a few drops spill on her neck, on her collarbone, on her breasts, beckoning him each time to lick it on her skin. The combination was delicious and he appreciated once more her inventive initiatives. She didn�t play the little tasty game for too long, though: he was pressed against her and she knew that he wouldn�t wait anymore. He was really big and had to help her to stretch, and after playing with her little nub until she nibbled at his lips with impatience, he slid a first finger inside of her. She tugged herself on his hand so that he would put a second. She rode them, her head tossed back with pleasure. She looked at him again when she was ready, her eyes bright with the closeness of pleasure. Gritting his teeth, his erection painful after her show of greedy desire, he began to enter her. The reason why he mastered other techniques than penetration was his size: it wasn�t rare that the latter was uncomfortable to his partner, and his pride demanded that he made her come completely.
She had grasped his shoulders, her eyes widening as steadily he went deeper, her breathing growing heavy, but to his utter relief she welcomed him beyond his thoughts.
***
He was huge, his member impaling her slowly, steadily. It hurt, he was stretching her to the point that she was afraid to be torn, but at the same time he filled her so completely that her nerves were wrenching with impatience�he still penetrated her, slower, again immobilizing her hips when she wanted to ease the urgency by sitting on him rapidly and now, it had to be now, she was dying with impatience and the slow move was maddening her and she was hot and raw and he had to stop teasing her�
At the moment when she thought that at last he was in, she heard a long and loud whimper. Opening her eyes only, she realized that she had emitted it. She stared at him, wriggling around his member, experiencing the amazing feeling. He was still smirking yet this time, the dark eyes were slightly blurred. She smiled back, caressing his shoulders, and he began to move. To move her.
After she had abandoned herself completely and been rather passive, focused on her own sensations, she had wanted to repay him by using her knowledge to make that last part unforgettable to him. She wondered why he didn�t let her, did he think that she wasn�t able�she interrupted her thoughts to toss her head back and let out a sigh of pure pleasure. He was making her sit up and down to his rhythm, in deliciously deep strokes. A glance at his face made her understand at last what was the most exciting to him: her response. If she hadn�t been that bewildered today she would have noticed it earlier. Knowing that he drove her crazy made him come as much as the act in itself�almost.
Yes, almost. He controlled their mating and himself but she felt in him the will to let go�probably it was uncomfortable to his partners when he did. But she wasn�t anybody, she could, she would enjoy it�She had to let him know that she yearned for the storm, too. Kissing him passionately, she managed to sneak her way out of his arms�only to prop herself on her knees and elbows, in front of him, her legs parted and ready to receive him again. Giving a peek from over her shoulder, she saw how much it pleased him: desire had made his pupils turn black in intensity. She felt his warmth as he knelt behind her, she felt his member probing at her entrance just has he seized her waist with one hand and with a forceful move she sheathed him completely. The penetration eased by their position, she moved with all the strength that she had left, trying to match him, letting out louder and louder shouts while he rode her without holding back. The feeling to be at the mercy of that powerful man, his force scary and reassuring at the same time; his member thrusting inside of her, those rapid and strong waves of pleasure accompanied with a little tingle of pain, all that drove her nearer to the edge and she had no need to think for responding the way he expected and he liked. It seemed to last over and over and somewhere at the end of this frenzied eternity she came, collapsing on the ground, her trembling limbs unable to carry her, vaguely hearing him crying out.
***
He had collapsed next to her after the hell of a climax and had sunk into a profound recuperative sleep. He woke up just before dawn. She was still sleeping; she had rolled herself into his cape during the night. He propped himself on his elbow, watching her, and as if she had felt it she stirred.
For a second her gaze stayed unfocused, a smile for him passed into it and it was erased by the hard light of hatred when she reminded who and where she was.
They weren�t meant to be. Decades before in the impulsivity of youth he might have tried to change her mind, a few years before still not very wise he would have tried to let her stay until she knew how to use a sword in the hope that she would survive the life ahead of her. He would have been convinced that their memorable night together could be a beginning instead of a stolen moment; yes, decades before he had been that stupid and he had paid it dearly, too. A few years before, he would have grasped at this way that they had had to communicate silently in the morning and the afternoon, in those old codes and traditions of a certain world that they shared to convince him that they had some common grounds.
But they didn�t truly know each other and never would. The previous night was just enough to stress regrets on what might be there. They had only one common ground: it was, though in different ways, too late for both of them.
***
She didn�t want to stay and he didn�t want to ask. No, it was more subtle, she thought as she got back from the river, two hours after dawn. She wouldn�t mind to stay and he wouldn�t mind her to, but what for? She would leave one day.
Entering the house, she found him still resting on his futon. There was a beautiful tanto placed in evidence near her little pack of belongings. She turned towards him, their eyes meeting. He had guessed that she wouldn�t take the hairpin back. It was a symbol of her past life; she had a new one now and the dagger was there to help her on the way. It was a precious gift and still, it was less than what the previous night had taught her. It had been more than what she had expected, more than carefree, just-for-the-pleasure sex. It had made the rupture, and it had freed her in a way: she knew now what she could ask for.
She gathered her things and nodded in goodbye to him. As she expected he was detached, but something somber lingered in his eyes, as if he had known her intentions.
They weren�t meant to be. One night alone, even passionate, couldn�t be source of love. She had forgotten about her hate yesterday but this morning and sober it was more vivid than ever. They had a weird connection, a sort of understanding; maybe they could have learnt to know each other and maybe more�but in another life. In this one they wouldn�t do more than crossing paths. He didn�t want to save her and she didn�t want to be saved, he wouldn�t save her and she couldn�t be saved. They were so well accorded in missing each other: it could only be irony of destiny.
She was about to pass the threshold, feeling his gaze on her back, when she had an impulsion.
�My name is Yumi,� she whispered.
She walked out on a decided pace, in the last mists of morning. The scenery didn�t hurt her today, it gave her strength. She repeated endlessly, like a song, what she had decided. Part of it she had deduced from her encounter with the hermit: she was the depositary of her own dignity and as a woman she was free to love. One day she would belong to one man and be devoted to him, and he would be hers only. Never again she would share or be shared. She would never settle for less than this again.
Those were the principles. Her hatred for Meiji would lead her life, as it guided her steps right now, direction the woods of Otsu near a little village called Shingetsu.
She hoped that this Shishio Makoto, whom the cops seemed so afraid of, would be as strong and as decided to destroy the Meiji government as they had said.
***the end***
Author�s notes:
This fic is the result of a challenge in the rk_bad_boys_citrus_paradise MLborn from the imagination of Mightymightymunson (who had the original idea) Firuze and I and it required:

-A one shot lemon that can rely on another of the author�s fics background

- No more than 15 pages

-At least three out of four objects: handcuffs, edible underwear/food, hairpin, fabric.

-One sentence: Where is the key?

-Writing time: from Sunday November 21st to Saturday November 27th.
Don�t miss the other�s stories, posted on AFF like Firuze�s �All well that ends well� (Enishi) or posted in the ML. (^-^)
1- About the fic: one shot lemon and a challenge are a bit too much to be realistic, especially on 15 pages. I still managed to place a bit of a plot/character development especially on Yumi�s side. I know, of course I had to write an alternate pairing *sobs*. In a one shot. I�m crazy, LOL.

2- I�m still not an English native speaker, please forgive the grammar and vocabulary mistakes, I do my best.

3- Angst. Again. Why??? *sobs* It isn�t my favorite genre AT ALL.

4- About the characters: hopefully they are IC, Hiko-sama is rather terrifying to write. Yumi�s outbursts depend on whom she confronts (see her �cautiousness� with Usui): this is why she has none here. Moreover, in the beginning, her life shattered but I hope to have expressed the strong sides of her temper too.

5- About the pairing: At last! I�ve been trying to write this pairing for ever (I even had thought about it for Preys but the plot said no *sobs*)!!! I had had a dim idea about a one shot for those two since a long time ago and it went �tilt� for this one. I didn�t truly develop why this pairing would work for me because well, it isn�t supposed to work in the RK timeline and I didn�t have much space to do more than to hint. One-shots are horribly frustrating. But I also have Yumi/Hiko as a �side pairing� in another of my fics with a �better� ending. :D

6- About the RK timeline: I placed the story in 1874 so it�s a �could have been�, LOL. Nothing should contradict the manga events if I didn�t forget any detail. Yumi didn�t meet Shishio during the Bakumatsu here, both options are possible. She doesn�t know Hiko�s name hence she couldn�t mention it later. I chose Shingetsu village as the original place where Shishio began his kunitori since the area was his base of power. On the map in tome 9 it�s placed not far from the Otsu area; and the situation lets believe that the village has been under the mummy�s rule for a long time.

7- About mature themes: I tried to respect Yumi�s character and most of her reactions on her past situation rely on her talk with Chou in tome 17. But needless to say that to me a woman regretting her status of sex slave (whatever fancy name they want to call it) is in need of therapy. Allusion to F/F relations but it isn�t rare for prostitutes to perform them even though they are straight.

8- About the lemon: See note 1 on lack of realism�OTOH it�s absolutely devoid of love, which is realistic so I would say that it�s all in all balanced, LOL. Yumi is no maiden, and Hiko is no saint imo. Oh well I can confess�Yes, Hiko bought me with wine and other liquors so that I would write him as an amazingly well-endowed sex god. I�m no Elliott Ness *grins*

9- Thanks to the people who read and reviewed �Preys� on this site. It�s finished and posted entirely on my site http://www.geocities.com/the_wolf_of_mibu_lair/fanfiction.html and my fics are updated first in the mailing list rk_bad_boys_citrus_paradise, at yahoo groups.
Thanks for reading.
Kamorgana
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