Green Tea

A/N: My first A/M. Not very good.

There's no reference to the breaking of Misao's hymen because, statistically, most women don't have a discrete hymen before their first time. Misao especially would likely lose hers before ever having sex, due to her super-active lifestyle.

Matcha tastes like soap and lawn clippings, but I like it anyway.

Japanese cultural/historical consultant: jai (LiveJournal).
*~*~*~*~*~*

Misao was wakened suddenly from a light, fitful sleep. As she opened her eyes, she could hear something brushing and swishing over the roof, almost imperceptible. Was it rain, or the tree branches decked out in their fleeting fall glory?

Slipping from beneath the coverlet, she glanced at the window. Faint shadows danced behind the shoji, and now she could see that it was rain. Now she heard it dripping off the eaves and into the gutters, then finally hitting the street below. She paused for a moment to straighten her braid, which had come slightly loose as she tossed and turned. Her slippers sat ignored in the faint, dappled light as she slid open the door.

The rain hadn’t been loud enough to wake her up. The hallway was pitch dark, so everyone else must be asleep. Misao had been restless lately, as if sleep were just an unsatisfying way to pass the time when there was something else she should be doing. She felt just that way now as she eased silently down the purposefully creaky stairs. A faint golden glow illuminated the landing, and she realized that someone was still up after all. Her heart leapt, and it took all of what little self control she possessed not to go barreling down the hallway. After all, there was only one person likely to be up this late. Just thinking about him brought a flush to her cheeks: he would be reading or meditating, face set in handsome, expressionless contemplation. Yet when he saw her, he always lifted his eyes, however briefly…

“Go back to bed. You need sleep.” Aoshi’s voice was nonchalant. Misao almost jumped out of her skin. She hadn’t even made it to the door yet, and he had recognized her footsteps. She couldn’t help but smile. That was what made him their okashira, being a genius ninja, even if it was rather unsettling at times.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Aoshi-sama, but I can’t sleep.”

There was a significant pause from the other side of the door. She could only faintly make out his silhouette with the light to the side rather than behind him. It reminded her of trying to guess his thoughts. The wind picked up in a sudden gust, and a tree branch scraped loudly against the eaves overhead.

“Come in.”

An instant spark of elation made her blush even more. Trying to compose herself, she slid open the door. As she’d known he would in her mind’s eye, Aoshi sat in quiet contemplation, sleek black hair hiding most of his face from her view at this angle. She was seized by the urge to brush it out of his eyes, to find out how it felt between her fingers. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides. Noticing the motion, Aoshi glanced at her briefly, then went back to his ineffable thoughts. “Sit down.”

“Yes.” She wanted to sit down next to him, but didn’t dare. There was something different about him in the shadowy lamplight and the quiet furor of the rain outside, something that made him even more unapproachable than usual. She sat across from him, legs tucked under her a bit awkwardly.

Reaching to the side, Aoshi produced a small teapot and cup. He poured the cup full of steaming, lurid green liquid, then set it in front of her. She looked blankly at it, than him.

“Aoshi-sama?”

“Tea helps you sleep. Drink up.”

It dawned on her just then that he had given her his late night cup of tea, intended for himself. He was constantly drinking tea, so Misao knew he had been looking forward to it in his understated way. Her heart warmed, and suddenly she couldn’t bring herself to look into his face as she usually did.

“Oh. T-thank you, Aoshi-sama…” He nodded, didn’t speak, simply sat in silence as she sipped.

I should be the one thanking you. He almost wanted to smile as he watched her from beneath the curtain of his lashes. Though he’d never admit to it, he sometimes found these late nights lonely despite the serenity and hard-bought quiet. For all her presumptuousness and tendency to be loud and brash, Misao’s presence always cheered him up a bit, a bright flame of amused affection in the great abyss of his Zen. She looked down, her cheeks pink from the warmth of the tea and perhaps something else. He opened his eyes fully, noting that she was still in her white yukata for sleeping, which she hadn’t bothered to throw anything over. Always so impulsive.

She had left her breasts unbound for sleep, and he was surprised to notice a little cleavage behind the low neck of the garment. Her shinobi clothes were practical, streamlined, not meant to enhance any budding womanly charms, and somehow he had never noticed that she was no longer a little girl.

Feeling his gaze on her, Misao glanced up. His eyes were that intense azure blue that she loved so well, that she sought him out time after time just to get a glance of. Though his face betrayed no other expression, his eyes alone made her insides melt just as they always had. She was seized with the urge to throw herself into his lap, twine her arms around his neck, press her cheek against his just to feel the electricity of being close to him. Her hands shook as she put the teacup down, and she looked away, though she desperately wanted to go on staring forever.

Inwardly, Aoshi sighed. It seemed that as she matured, she was always somewhat on edge with him. Even though he knew it was out of what she perceived to be unrequited feelings and her respect for him as okashira, he missed how carefree and unrestrained her affection had been when she was a child, always ready to leap into his arms or rest her head on his shoulder. And, his cynical side told him, he couldn’t help wondering how that would feel now that she was developing a woman’s body. He wasn’t made entirely of ice, after all.

“Are you tired?” His voice, low and quiet, sent a small shock through her. She shook her head.

“Misao…” Instantly, her eyes snapped up to his. His tone was still neutral, but different somehow. She almost thought she heard impatience, frustration of some kind.

I must be annoying him, bothering him during his quiet time. Tears of shame and hurt pricked at her eyes. She scooted away, started to get up. “I’m sorry, I’ll go…” Strong fingers closed around her wrist, keeping her down on the tatami.

“Misao.” Something like amusement. “I didn’t say you could leave.”

She flushed again, indignant. This wasn’t a battle, so he had no business telling her what to do! Maybe she would rather go to bed and toss and turn than be a burden on the person she loved most. She ineffectually yanked away, failing to dislodge his grasp. “Let go.”

“Or else?” There was definite amusement in his voice now, almost laughter. She had never heard him laugh, really couldn’t properly imagine the sound. She froze, her eyes roaming over his face. Still, he betrayed no outward expression. He released her wrist, but she felt the slightest lingering as his fingertips brushed over the soft skin beneath. This time, his voice was quiet and neutral once more. “Go back to bed for now.”

She was too stung by the abrupt withdrawal to draw any implications from “for now.” She could have sworn that she almost made Aoshi-sama laugh, but then hope was withdrawn like it had never existed. What she wouldn’t give to hear that sound, to see him smile just for her!

“Good night, Aoshi-sama.” There was a tinge of bitterness to her voice as she left. He said nothing.

For some reason, it was much harder to find her way back up the stairs, and she almost tripped once. She was so flustered from the brief encounter with an Aoshi emotion other than detachment that the world felt rather surreal. Back in her room, she threw herself back onto the futon and half-tried to sleep. She still wasn’t really tired, but the tea had been soothing enough, and tomorrow would be another busy day.

Just as sleep began dampening the sharpness of her shinobi senses, she heard footsteps in the hall. They stopped outside her door.

“Misao.” It was the third time Aoshi had said her name that night, like it meant something she was supposed to know without his saying, and she was annoyed momentarily before she realized the implication. He had sought her out for once. Her heart pounded against her ribs, heavy with her disbelief.

“Come in…” She didn’t know what else to say.

The door slid open. She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. She couldn’t see his eyes, again veiled by his hair, but it didn’t matter because in almost an instant, he had somehow found his way onto her futon. An arm snaked around her waist, and he pulled her on top of him. Shocked, she trembled at the completely alien, but not unwelcome, feeling of his lean muscularity beneath her.

“Aoshi-sama!” The words escaped in a high-pitched squeak.

“Shhhh, you’ll wake up everyone else…” The words were murmured against her lips as he pulled her down. His cheek was pressed against hers, just as she had imagined only a little while before, but nothing could have prepared her for the velvety warmth of his lips as well. His eyes were closed, long, dark lashes tickling her face slightly. A few moments felt like an eternity as she took in the sensations for the first time, as sweet as she’d always imagined them to be. Misao couldn’t stop a sigh at the long-desired feeling of his mouth on hers.

Aoshi struggled to keep the kiss chaste, to go slowly. Her lips were warm and soft, and he wanted to taste more deeply. His hand moved from her shoulder to wrap in the silken rope of her braid, tugging gently. His fingers found the metal cuff at the end, carefully prying it apart and freeing her hair into a waterfall of black that shimmered faintly in the dim light. He fanned the strands of the braid apart, combing with his fingers, taking pleasure at the cool softness flowing over the back of his hand.

Unsurprisingly, Misao was tense, awkward, disbelieving. He felt a little guilty for being so sudden, but he was the type of man who did drastic things without ceremony. At sixteen, she was old enough to learn the ways of the world by experience. Thinking of all the things he could show her made him smile outright, and a soft sound of surprise escaped her as she felt his lips curve against hers. She tried to pull away, wanting to see it fully, but he wouldn’t let her.

“Aoshi-sama…” He didn’t let her finish, taking advantage of her words to drink more deeply of her mouth. The sensation of his tongue sliding over hers was pure electricity. He took in her small gasp, turning it into a sigh.

Sliding his arms around her waist, Aoshi sat up and gently pressed her back onto the futon. He didn’t want to frighten her, knowing he had already gone far over any line of conduct there had been between them before. He paused to watch her eyes, deep pools of dark aqua in her sharply pretty face. Her cheeks had taken on that pink flush so deeply that he thought it might be permanent this time, and her mouth was half open in confused disbelief. He reached up, slightly callused fingers brushing her bangs from her forehead so he could plant a gentle kiss between her eyebrows. “Relax…”

Misao tried hard to do what she was told, but the ambiguity of the situation made it impossible. Though he was back to being essentially expressionless, she had never been so close to him, never imagined that he would do any of these things. She wasn’t totally naïve, of course; she had the basic idea of what was happening, or at least what It implied, and it was mildly frightening. Nevertheless, the feeling of Aoshi’s lips was a salve to her soul, washing away years of loneliness in an instant, and without her willing it, her arms twined around him, holding him against her. She realized in that same instant that she desperately wanted to feel more than the fabric of their yukata would allow. As if he could read her mind, he was ahead of her. Nimbly, his fingers undid the loose knot of her yukata sash, and the garment fell open.

She was trembling visibly beneath him. He wondered if it was more trepidation or excitement. Ignoring the promise of her body, nude beneath the loosened fabric, for a few moments longer, Aoshi kissed behind her ear, finding the exquisitely sensitive spot there and reveling in her shudder of pleasure.

“Do you trust me?” His warm breath tickled as he whispered in her ear

He pulled away enough to look Misao in the eyes again. He didn’t want to hear what she thought he wanted to hear; he wanted the truth. Misao paused only long enough to find her voice. There was no doubt in her voice, no more trepidation or uncertainty in her eyes.

“Yes. I trust you and I love you, Aoshi-sama.”

She didn’t expect him to return the words, knew that he wouldn’t, but still felt a slight pang of disappointment when he didn’t. He said nothing, simply kissed her mouth, lingering but not deep. His fingers coaxed the lapels of her yukata apart, slipping the fabric off her shoulders. The cool air kissed her now-bare flesh, making Misao shiver. With something very close to lust, Aoshi’s eyes took in what had been hinted at before: usually hidden under yards of bandage, her breasts were milky pale, soft curves still too small to fill his hands, but no less luscious to his eyes for that. The tips, pink and velvety as young raspberries, hardened instantly as his fingertips grazed each one in turn. Cupping the gentle swell of one breast and feeling her heart pound like a caged bird against his lips, Aoshi kissed her nipple as tenderly as he had her lips. He felt a shock go through her as he took it into his mouth, grazing lightly with his teeth and then suckling the tiny pain away as quickly as he inflicted it. A sigh fanned his breath over her now very warm skin. The other breast was just as ripe, the pink bud just as tight yet soft in his mouth. He smiled secretly at her tiny moans.

Somehow, Misao’s fingers had found her way into his hair, the smooth, raven-black strands almost slippery between her fingers. Suddenly clumsy, she struggled to get a grip on him. If she pulled his hair, Aoshi didn’t complain, just placed a lazy, soft brushstroke of a kiss between her breasts, which heaved with her shallow breaths. His mouth planted a trail of still more kisses down over her flat stomach, stopping to nibble at the edge of her belly button. Misao tensed, somewhat unconsciously, as she realized where he was going with his lips.

Aoshi felt her unease and paused. His fingers grazed her stomach and over her thighs, caressing with a whisper-light touch that was soothing and provocative at the same time.

“Misao, trust me.” It was a plea disguised as a command. His voice was warm and surprisingly sweet. It stuck in her somewhat hazy consciousness, flowing over her heart and mind like liquid honey. Misao nodded and tried to relax. Tenderly, he nudged her thighs open, holding her open in loose grip that nevertheless was as secure as steel bands. Suddenly, she was acutely aware of her vulnerability to him, but she knew in her heart that she really did trust him. She closed her eyes.

Despite her determination to lie still and behave, she almost jerked off the futon when she felt the wet stroke of his tongue along her outer lips. It was a gentle, exquisite tasting, an intimate promise of much more. Misao laid trembling, rapt with this new discovery. Aoshi kissed the inside of her thighs, his warm breath ruffling the soft down between her legs. A fingertip gently coaxed her subtly swollen lips apart. She was already wet, glistening in the faint light. There was a moment of nothing but his breath, slightly chilling the moisture of her sheath, and then the tip of his tongue found the tight, hard nub within. The slightly rough wetness on her most sensitive spot made Misao cry out.

“Aoshi-sama!” She bit down on her lower lip, drawing a little blood, as his tongue teased her in lazy patterns. She had never felt anything like this; sharp, almost stabbing pleasure that went straight through her like a bolt of lightning with even the slightest touch. It was more intense than any pain she had ever experienced, and Misao couldn’t tell if she was struggling to get away or get more. His tongue strayed lower to test the true depth of her desire, and she squirmed at the new but delicious sensation of something inside her.

Taking his time, playing off her anticipation, Aoshi returned to teasing the hard center of her passion. His fingers skimmed between her lips, finding them at first dampened and then slippery with her essence. With exquisite gentleness, he slipped a finger inside her. Misao stiffened and gasped, her sheath contracting sharply around him. Tender but persistent, he added a second finger, stretching her carefully even as his tongue mercilessly provoked ecstasy. She was torn, her feverish mind unable to pick sides in the battle between the incredible pleasure his mouth caused and the disconcerting sensation of his fingers deep inside her. She knew the latter was the significant part somehow, but was too disoriented to remember why exactly. The only thing she knew for sure was that she would die if he stopped: something sweetly violent was building within her, a heavy pressure at the base of her spine behind the pleasure, bringing her closer and closer to an edge she knew nothing about.

Suddenly, he stopped. Misao very nearly yanked his hair in frustration, but somehow stopped herself in time. It was futile anyway; he had slipped free of her death grip as easily as if he were water. She felt fabric fall against her skin, and opened her eyes for the first time in a long while.

She had to bite her lower lip again. Aoshi had always been handsome to her, but she had never seen him without clothes before. He had always been focused on decorum around her, even more so than with Okon and Omasu. Now his bare chest beckoned to her curious touch, and she reached out to brush her fingers over the taut skin, feeling the twitch of barely leashed powerful muscle beneath. He had a few scars, of course, but they seemed to enhance his beauty somehow. He inhaled sharply at her caress, catching her wrist to hold it there. Misao could feel his heartbeat against her fingers, strong and quick with excitement, echoing her own.

He let go, gently pressing her arms down by her sides. Misao was dimly aware of something pressed against her hip, iron hard yet velvety smooth. Aoshi knew she felt it. She was suddenly as tense as a bowstring beneath him, her eyes wild, and he wondered for a moment if she was afraid. He was sweetly surprised by her mouth against his, pressing eagerly for more kisses, innocent but already bewitching him. She had always been a quick learner, and he vaguely wondered what sort of madness he was about to set loose.

This time Misao saw him smile outright, and it took her breath away, burning itself into her memory forever in an instant. Unthinkingly, she reached for him once more, her fingertips tracing the curve of his mouth and over his cheek. He turned his face into her touch to kiss her fingers.

“Misao, do you know what happens next?” Aoshi carefully kept his voice neutral, not wanting her to sense his urgency and feel pressured into going along with his will. She was so sweet and compliant with him most of the time despite the emotional upheavals of her teenage years, particularly the ones he’d caused, and this was something she had to do freely, with complete understanding.

“Yes. Kinda.” Her voice came out as a squeak, and Misao blushed on top of her flush of passion. “I’ve seen shunga…”

Aoshi smothered a laugh. The situation was somewhat more serious than erotic art prints let on, of course, but it was close enough.

“Then relax, and close your eyes.”

Misao nodded mutely and obeyed. He kissed the hollow of her throat, nuzzling at her neck, the warmth of his breath on her sensitive skin making her sigh with pleasure. One knee effortlessly slid her thighs apart, and she shuddered at the fresh memory of the feelings he’d awakened in her as one finger tested her wetness once more. She felt on edge, but somehow lazy, almost content.

Then she felt something different, a sensation of gentle but persistent pressure at her entrance. Something blunt but smooth, hard and unyielding. Aoshi trembled against her, and though she still didn’t understand perfectly why, Misao found herself reveling in this new power she held over him despite all his physical prowess and calculating genius. Without realizing the consequences of her actions, or even that she was doing it, Misao wriggled against him, spreading her thighs more, welcoming him. He groaned into her neck.

“Misao, be still.” Though his words were commanding, there was a definite tone of desperation to his voice. She could tell that he was deadly serious, and, although she wanted more, she forced herself to be completely still.

With exquisite care, he pressed forward into her, stretching her gradually, letting her become accustomed to the intense new sensation of fullness. It took every last bit of Aoshi’s deep pool of self-control not to take her in one stroke; he wanted desperately to feel her warm wetness, tight and pleading, around his every inch. He slid one hand into Misao’s now thoroughly tousled hair, caressing and kneading her scalp, which he knew would be exquisitely sensitive from her heightened responses after his earlier pleasuring had turned her into a bundle of nerves. She shivered, a sensation he felt along his length and then through his entire body, setting him on fire and eliciting a shudder from him in turn. Unable to resist any longer, he sheathed himself fully within her, dizzy with the ecstasy caused by even the tiniest twitch on her part. When he opened his eyes at last, he found her gazing at him in heavy-lidded wonder. He kissed her lips.

Misao moaned as he shifted on top of her, her body protesting the loss of his warmth inside her. In an instant, she was desperately empty and yearning, like she had never been without that feeling at all. His arms wrapped around her back, cradling her tenderly even as he pushed back in. Aoshi was drunk on the feeling of her small breasts pressed into his chest, the sight of her lips swollen and shining, the building whimpers and moans close to his ear as he moved within her. He slid one arm under her hips, angling them up so that his thrusts could stimulate her at just the right angle, and he was rewarded with almost a scream of pleasure. He caught it in his mouth, savored it.

“I told you to be quiet unless you want to wake everyone up.” He was teasing her, obviously, but she didn’t care. The feeling was incredible, completely unlike anything she had ever imagined. In her fervor, Misao believed that she undoubtedly couldn’t have imagined it, that something like this was only possible with Aoshi-sama. This had to be some kind of magic that only he knew. Her body responded to him like her heart always had, a finely-tuned instrument crafted just for him. She couldn’t open her eyes now even if she wanted to, the heavy, building pleasure turning her eyelids leaden.

Moving in slow, restrained thrusts, Aoshi watched her face, enjoying her very palpable response to his every bit of him, every tiny motion. His free hand slipped between their bodies, again finding that swollen nub of ecstasy and toying with what his tongue had left so exquisitely sensitive. The sensation was almost too much, and Misao all but jerked away as his thumb grazed her. He persisted, stroking gently but with firm pressure, watching the intensity of sensations and emotion sculpt her expression. It was framed by her hair, now a wild fall of black over her shoulders and the futon.

“Aoshi…sama…”

This feeling, she realized, was exactly what she had come so close to earlier. It seemed like a point of no return, a precipice with an edge she couldn’t see over until it was already too late and she had fallen. She wanted desperately to fall, though, because she was convinced that she would fly. Misao forced her eyes open, not understanding entirely, looking to him for reassurance. He was watching her, though expressionless, with a warmer version of his usual calculation. She knew Aoshi knew every bit of what she was feeling, knew exactly what was about to happen, and better than she did.

“Aoshi-sama!” Her hips thrust up with irresistible force, seeking, straining to feel every bit of sensation in crystalline perfection. Suddenly, Aoshi’s mouth was on hers once more, stealing a kiss at the height of her ecstasy, claiming her unrestrained passion as his own reward. She whispered his name again, this time into his mouth, tapering the last syllable into a sigh.

“Aoshi-sama…” For all his restraint, for all his carefully controlled movements, the feeling of Misao wrapped vise-tightly and shuddering around him was more than Aoshi could take. He was distantly aware that this was different from his casual dalliances in the past, that he was going to lose himself forever this time, but it seemed right. No, he knew it was right, that she was more than just a little sunlight in his darkness. Especially here and now.

Still caught in the whirlpool of sensation from her own climax, Misao felt him shudder above her, and a liquid heat deep inside. It seemed to seep into every pore of her being, the very marrow of her bones, warming and filling her. She had never known it was possible to feel so complete, so satisfied, so exhausted. With great difficulty, she managed to open her eyes. He had loosened his embrace enough to free he arms, and she reached down to tangle all her nimble fingers in his hair, as though she could keep him here forever with that alone. Aoshi leaned into her touch with something like a sigh.

Suddenly, irrationally, Misao was bothered by the memory of the tea she had drank.

“Aoshi-sama, your tea…”

“Misao, I wanted you more than the tea.” Despite the vague ridiculousness of being compared to tea, a bolt of happiness went through her.

“I’ll make you your morning tea, Aoshi-sama.”

“Mmm.” He disentangled himself from her grasp, then kissed her fingers, tucking them between his. Misao looked down at his strong hands, wrapped firmly around her delicate ones. Here, like this, she could believe for a while that he never wanted to leave either. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, warm, not exactly emotionless, though she couldn’t read what emotion it might hold. “Don’t think about the morning just yet.”