Along Came a Shinobi

A/N: The only fluff in this is Misao’s underskirt. Do not read if you don’t like the idea of Aoshi and Misao acting out a few porn mainstays.

Anachronism: As far as I know, Halloween (always my favorite holiday) wasn't widely celebrated by dressing up in costumes in the 19th century (certainly not in Japan). However, this fic is to make up for my not getting to dress up for Halloween this year so we'll get over it.

I like this fic more when I imagine Aoshi wearing little black kitty ears.

Shinobi arts consultant: saluspopuli (LiveJournal).
*~*~*~*~*~*

Misao sat on a tuffet, skinny legs folded a bit awkwardly under her. It was a spectacular tuffet, bearing a striking resemblance to a black brocade cupcake, with the ninja girl as the cherry on top.

It was the dress that made things awkward: the fluffy lavender crinoline and fuchsia lace over it were equally itchy, making her squirm inadvertently. Her top half was cold, despite long sleeves, due to the fact that most of her peach-sized breasts were bared, their ivory swell slightly goose-pimpled. Her neck, at least, was reasonably covered: freed from its usual braid, her dark hair lay in a generous fall of soft curls, adorned more than restrained by a huge lavender satin bow in back. Plus, she had her bowl of warm shiruko to comfort her. Its gentle heat seeped in through the ruffled lavender lace of her fingerless gloves, making her nice and toasty. Contented, she sipped the syrupy red liquid.

Catching a flash of bright color in his peripheral vision, Aoshi stopped in the doorway, then did the Aoshi version of a sweatdrop: a strictly internal one.

He couldn’t get anything done around here. He had been trying to walk down the hallway on some errand, like a normal human being. Of course, now he had zero memory of what he’d been on his way to do. The bath usually cleared his head, but whatever mental sharpness he’d gained there had evaporated into a fog of disbelief and piqued male interest.

Indeed, he was helpless to do anything but stare. Why was she in this outlandish Western costume?

Misao looked up from her bowl to see the object of her adoration in the doorway, clearly absolutely transfixed by her. His shirt was mostly undone, revealing a trail of skin she knew would be lusciously smooth yet firm under her hands. Yes, he was just the thing to warm her up. She flushed, adding a pretty pink glow above the lurid fuchsia, and then giggled.

“Aoshi-sama! Do you like my Halloween costume?”

For a long moment, he couldn’t speak. The frilly confection of a dress revealed far more than it covered; though not that much skimpier than her usual Oniwabanshuu uniform, something about the candy colors and exotic fabrics made It distinctly erotic to his sensibilities. He glanced at where her legs met the overstuffed cushion beneath and caught a hint of slightly sheer black lace, a tiny peep of hot pink ribbon.

His mouth went as dry as the Gobi.

“Halloween…costume?”

She noticed the catch in his voice and smirked inwardly. Being Misao, it translated into a slight outward smirk as well.

“Yes, a holiday where you dress up in a costume and eat sweets until you fall over! It’s the best idea ever!”

Eat…sweets…

Something in Aoshi’s brain broke, with the sound of shattering glass audible only to him.

“Aoshi-sam---EEK!” She hadn’t even seen him move. One moment he was several feet away, watching her in his peculiar way, and the next he was on his knees in front of her. Suddenly he seemed like much more than a potential source of warmth, intimidatingly lithe and feral. A large, powerful hand reached back to clamp around her ankle, pulling her forward and pressing her thighs apart.

Aoshi growled low in his throat, unwitting and predatory. Her legs were clad in the sheerest of black silk stockings, her skin a pearly glow beneath, with a couple of inches of creamy flesh between their lace-trimmed tops and the ruffled hem of her skirt. One thigh was garnished prettily with a wide band of lavender lace, itself embellished with fuchsia ribbon and a tiny, sparkling fuchsia charm in the shape of a lemon.

He couldn’t be bothered to waste time pondering the implications of that, his nose already honed in on the intoxicating scent of Misao’s eager femininity. He didn’t need to see to find what he wanted, content to thrust his head under the poufy pink and purple skirts. She squealed as she teetered uncertainly on the tuffet, grabbing him for support and ending up with fistfuls of his hair. It was still damp, cool black silk, curling with deceptive tameness around her fingers. If Aoshi cared that she was supporting herself by his hair, he showed no sign of it.

He was tempted to ask where the Hell she had gotten her undergarments. Every drop of blood in his body rushed downwards, pooling between his thighs, as he noticed the strands of fuchsia ribbon holding black lace together, more a suggestion than a fastening.

It would be a shame to ruin something so naughty, but self-control wasn’t even a distant memory as Aoshi’s teeth closed over smooth satin. A jerk of his head ripped it loose, causing the immodest undergarment to gape open, leaving her open to his gaze and hot breath. His hands clamped down her thighs, every bit as inescapable as iron bands, holding them apart in readiness for him.

This was his Misao. She was always ready for him, already aroused, a hint of flushed pink escaping the shadows at the apex of her thighs. Unable to resist a moment longer, he ran the tip of his tongue from the base with its opening that seeped with her desire, up to the hard, tight nub that waited like a sacred object for the lavishing of his worship. He shifted, his elbow keeping her skirt up and out of his way as his fingers moved to hold her outer lips apart, exposing her fully to the cold air and his searing hot gaze.

She all but screamed when Aoshi’s tongue laved roughly over her clit, her hands fisting in his hair. He growled again, a rumbling vibration that made her moan and squirm, but she was completely immobilized against his strength. This was more than a teasing; it was a tongue-lashing, his nose pressed roughly into her mound as he lapped her up like a starving man. Abruptly, he draped her legs over his shoulders, then hurriedly shrugged his shirt off like a demon shedding its serpent form. The slippery warmth of her silk-clad skin against him made his thoughts even more obscene.

“Misao, look at me.” He fixed her passion-sleepy eyes with his hot blue gaze, wanting to make sure she watched as his tongue slipped and slid wetly over her clit. He pulled back a bit, enjoying the conflicting helplessness and desire washing over her delicately pretty face, now nearly as pink as her dress, as his fingertips probed between her perfectly formed petals. Aoshi was teasing her mercilessly even as the clamp of her thighs around his neck told him she was desperate for more.

She whimpered. “Please…”

He kissed her thigh just above the garter, nibbling the edge of a lacy ruffle. “Please what?”

“Please, I want you inside me…” Aoshi’s heart dropped into his stomach, then lower, a throbbing pit of desire at her honesty. That was his Misao: a quick learner and unabashed hedonist.

He obliged, two long fingers sliding into her, almost uncontrollable in her copious wetness. Barely able to maintain neutrality himself, Aoshi watched, unabashedly enjoying the changing pleasure wandering across her face, her small, rosy mouth pursing in anticipation and then forming a pert little “o” at the raw sensation of being filled and stroked all at once. She released his hair, her hands roaming restlessly up her own body, squeezing her breasts hard through thick layers of lace and satin. She watched him finger her at first, tingling at the sensation of sword-callused skin against her excruciatingly sensitive flesh, the moisture glinting on his fingers at each withdrawal, before it became sensory overload and she couldn’t bear to look. Somehow, Misao’s hands managed to find the fastenings of the dress, tiny hook and eye closures that were frustratingly hard to work as he distracted her most sweetly. Yards of brightly-colored material finally fell from her curves, down to the cushion on which she was perched, then tumbled to the floor.

Aoshi stared, rapt. A band of black lace encircled Misao’s slim back and perfect breasts, lifting and holding each one at attention without so much as a scrap of fabric to cover the milky mounds. Each nipple, tight and perfectly defined by her lust and the chilled air, was a candy pink topping on a luscious dessert bared fully to his eyes. He didn’t bother resisting, the pad of his thumb pressing against her clit as he scraped his teeth over one rose-colored peak, unable to resist a wicked little smile as Misao arched, pressing her nipple against his lips. He obliged, his tongue darting out to wet the velvety skin, letting the cool air torment her for a moment before taking it fully into his mouth.

She was completely out of control, bucking under his attentions, legs splayed wide even as her ankles hooked behind his neck to make sure he didn’t escape. The slow, excruciatingly gentle circle of his thumb on her clit was driving Misao mad, pushing her towards the edge so slowly that it was torture, even as she was clenched so tightly around his fingers that it almost hurt them both. Somehow opening heavy-lidded eyes, she was transfixed by the sight of Aoshi’s head at her breast, suckling with greedy wet noises before lavishing the same attention on the other side. He nuzzled at her collarbone, kissing the hollow of her throat and then her chin before moving to her lips, claiming her mouth for the first time. She was always bereft without his kiss, but this one was new: wet, biting, more illustrative than suggestive as his tongue slid in and out of her mouth, echoing what he’d done with his fingers and what he was about to do with his cock. She drank up every bit, greedily opening to his plundering, feeding him little sighs and moans.

Her legs had slid down to wrap around his waist, her throbbing sex soaking through his pants so that she could feel the iron ridge of his arousal oh-so-close: a threat, a promise. Misao squirmed against his length, her fingers finding the waistband of his trousers and tugging, silently begging for that final, most delicious of salvations. He released her lips to nip at her earlobe, giving her breasts a final tender grope, before releasing her.

She was on edge for a long moment before she felt Aoshi’s hands around her waist. He turned her gently over, her knees pressed into the tuffet, her exquisitely sensitive nipples rubbing against the slightly rough pattern of brocade and dampening the fabric with the remnants of his saliva. Only now, with her backside in the air for the world to see, was she aware of how intensely wet she was: she could all but feel her juices dripping out, an advertisement begging him to have his way.

Aoshi’s hands slid down to grasp her hips with more gentleness than she’d expected, holding her in place. There was a rustle of cloth on skin, and as he leaned forward she felt him pressed against the ragged lace and satin of her ragged panties, the blunt, hard tip already seeking entrance.

The lavender bow slipped out of her hair as if by accident, but she could feel the vague brush of his fingers. He leaned over Misao, his raging erection momentarily cradled between the rounded cheeks of her bottom as the hot expanse of his chest pressed into her back. Aoshi nuzzled the back of her neck, breathing deeply of her scent: sugary, clean, wildly aroused.

“Misao, I don’t need you dressed up like a gaijin whore to make me want you…” His teeth sank delicately into her tender flesh, making her shudder. One hand slid beneath her, cupping a breast and massaging possessively. His lips strayed to her ear, tongue flicking to tease the exquisitely sensitive spot behind. He shuddered in turn as Misao arched, pressing the satiny soft, smooth skin of her bottom into him.

His voice was a hot, breathy purr. “Open yourself for me, Misao.” She reveled for a moment in the beloved sound of her name from his lips, then froze in something akin to shock.

He always guided them both, arousing and then taking her, while she laid back and enjoyed with no effort involved, especially not something so…wanton.

Aoshi lifted his head just enough to watch an even deeper flush sweep through the paleness of her exposed back and neck. The ruffled edge of the lavender crinoline grazed temptingly over the swell of her rear, providing a frame rather than an obstacle to his ravishment. He moved his hips, letting her feel just how eager his cock was for her. The voice in her ear now was somewhere between velvet and okashira, irresistibly commanding. “Prove to me that you want my cock, Misao, not just my fingers. Open yourself for me.”

Shaking slightly beneath him, Misao obeyed. She flinched a little at the touch of her own fingers on her ultra-sensitive flesh, still thrumming painfully near the edge of her release from his slow torture. The suffusing warmth was gone from her back; he had pulled back to watch.

For a long moment, Aoshi couldn’t breathe; the sight of those slim, pale fingers parting her sheath for him, welcoming him was too much for his lungs. The flesh within glistened ruddy pink, a tender flower glistening with midsummer dew, a sweet void begging for his cock. He bit down on his tongue, remembering with near-painful clarity how every engorged petal felt wrapped around him.

He didn’t resist. He slid into her wetness in one stroke, sheathing himself fully in her scorching, wet velvet depths. Misao’s small hands fisted in the tuffet’s fluffed-up top, dark curls spilling down her back, as she screamed his name. She had loved his length and thickness, craved its infinitely satisfying pressure from the first time he made love to her, but she had never felt it so deeply before, never felt so full. It was though he were splitting her apart, impaling her from behind, and her torment was heavenly. Fighting with two kodachi required almost unimaginable hip strength, and she got every sweet iota of it now. The angle was perfect, stimulating something inside her and creating a dull, almost faraway pleasure that nevertheless built stronger and more quickly than before.

His fingers snaked into her loosened hair, gently pulling her back into him so that Misao’s cries weren’t muffled by the cushion beneath. Aoshi wanted to hear every gasping breath, every tiny moan as it crescendoed into a fresh scream. Her trembling around him told him that she was dangerously close, each cry rising in timbre until she spilled over the edge.

Misao’s climax was sudden, more intense than she had ever imagined possible, causing her to jerk so hard that she felt something pull in her back. Aoshi’s husky laugh was melted honey in her ear, making the afterglow that much better. His other hand reached beneath them, stopping her from collapsing in her exhaustion borne by ecstasy. As his fingers brushed over hers, she moved as though to let go. His teeth sank into her shoulder.

“No.” Misao shivered at the silken, ominous sound of Aoshi’s voice. “You’re not done yet.” His pleasingly rough fingers slid past hers, finding her clit and pinching sweetly between his fingertips, massaging in time with his deliciously punishing thrusts. Her lower back already ached with the force of his railing her, indistinguishable from the faint cramping pain of her own internal clamping around his length, trying to hold him inside her as he pulled out and then sundered anew as he pressed back in. He was unstoppable, irresistible, dominating her with every inch of his cock, and she found her body begging for it yet again.

Aoshi shuddered, watching droplets of his sweat fall onto her creamy back like a faint rain. Misao was almost painfully tight as her ecstasy built anew, even as the quaking of her first orgasm stroked and milked him; he was only a man, not a god, and was rapidly climbing towards his own point of no return in the clinging depths of her wetness.

“No…no, I can’t, again!” But she did, the second peak climbing up and building on the first, so intense that she believed for a moment that she had died, only the sound of her own scream ringing in her ears tying her to Earth. “Aoshi-sama!”

Aoshi murmured agreement in her ear, thrusting into her one last time as her shrieking orgasm sent him over the edge. Misao was suddenly full of molten heat that her body sucked up like the nectar of life itself, trapping him inside her. His powerful arms wrapped around her, cradling her tenderly even as he all but collapsed onto her, enjoying those few short, deliciously sweet, wholly involuntary strokes of his still-hard cock.

After a long while, he pulled back, though she moaned a protest. Misao’s rear was still in the air for his perusal, frilly skirt failing utterly to hide the reddened skin. As he watched, his seed trickled from between her swollen lips, running in a pale stream down the backs of her thighs to mar the pale purple lace of her garter and then the black silk of her stocking. Her “Halloween costume” would undoubtedly be ruined. Chuckling quietly as she squirmed away from his touch, hyperstimulated from his good thorough fucking, Aoshi slipped a fingertip in, feeling the cooling wetness within her still-shuddering sheath ooze around him. Affectionately, he patted her rear, then leaned down to plant a kiss on each sweet cheek for good measure.

Misao collapsed onto the tuffet, exhausted, sore, and still slowly leaking her lover’s seed. Dazed, cheeks flushed, she gazed up at the ceiling, her eyes glowing deep turquoise in her utter satiation. She might as well have been dead, though little tingles of pleasure still chased up her spine when she thought about Aoshi’s fathomless gazed locked on hers as he pleasured her with his tongue, his hips driving into her and finding totally new depths, the two climaxes in such short succession...

How was that even possible, anyway?

Her bowl of shiruko sat on the floor, cold and forgotten as she fell into the sleep of oblivion.