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“Lap pillow. Now.”
Nagao Kagetora is a person bound by orders. And while it’s not so much because she’s a Servant per se, but the one demanding for her thighs is none other than the altered Jeanne d’Arc, a person whom she would mildly claim as a person of interest.
As they are the only two occupants in their hotel room, Kagetora knows that this command is meant for her. The Lancer sets aside the shirt she was in the middle of folding, and scoots over to the Alter’s side of the bed. Impatiently, the Berserker drums her fingers onto the spot adjacent to her. When Kagetora finds herself seated, the familiar weight of Jeanne Alter’s head nestles onto her lap.
“Your hair is ticklish, Alter,” Kagetora chuckles as she combs away the stray strands that have snagged underneath her legs. A tiny groan ambles through Jeanne Alter’s lips as she feels the other girl’s nails run a familiar route through her scalp. “You better not stop until I tell you to.”
“Someone is feeling awfully cuddly today,” Kagetora comments, gazing at the Alter that now has her nose buried on the former’s stomach. “Shut it, Kenshit. Even you’d want this if you were this tired,” replied the former Avenger, with a scowl pressed to Kagetora’s shirt. Lancer does not stop her fingers from smoothening out white tresses, nor does she halt its descent onto the back of Alter’s neck; scratching a particularly soft spot that earns a satisfied sound from Jeanne Alter’s throat.
“Can’t believe our vacation’s ending. Did we seriously spend a whole week just selling a bunch of bootleg manga?” Jeanne Alter rolls over as she says such, her chin pointed to the ceiling. “I don’t think you should be degrading your work like that,” quipped the Lancer, smile unchanging as she watches the Berserker toss around like a cat on her lap. “And what are you getting at?” Alter mutters as she settles for digging her cheek against Kagetora’s skin.
“What I mean is that one should not overlook the thirty energy drinks, ten reams of bond paper, and forty hours of sleep that you sacrificed to create obscene reading material for the general public.” Kagetora says this all in one breath, and when Jeanne Alter’s blanched face is enough a response, she adds a little sidenote: “Quite a remarkable feat, a merit, yes.” A fist then flies through her peripheries, which is no challenge for Kagetora to stop before it can connect with her face.
“You… never let a fucking detail slide huh, Bitchamonten?” Jeanne Alter growls as she moves to lower her hand. Kagetora’s palm follows the direction of Alter’s retreating fist, callouses rubbing against rigid knuckles.
“As a Lancer, perception is my forte,” Kagetora casually states, and continues: “Just like how I’ve noticed for the past few moments, you’ve been eyeing my hood, correct?”
“It’s stupidly out-of-place. Who even wears something like that at the beach?” Jeanne Alter already has her free hand undoing the white cloth wrapped around Kagetora’s broad shoulders. “Technically, we’re indoors,” is a comment that Jeanne Alter mutes out as she works her hands through the accursed hood. “Give it to me,” she says and with a final tug, the fabric comes off. Jeanne Alter is quick to scoop it in her arms, a makeshift blanket of sorts that brushes up to her nose.
She hopes that Kagetora doesn’t notice how she takes a discreet whiff of her hood.
“You’ve changed, Alter.” Are the words that jolt Alter from her reverie.
“Where the hell did that come from?” Jeanne Alter tries to regain her composure by lowering the white hood down to her chest. “Are you picking another bone with me, Kenshit?”
“Well, your Servant class is the most obvious of changes,” the Lancer proceeds to ruffle the Alter’s hair, much to the latter’s chagrin. She swats Kagetora’s hand away from her now mussed fringes. “Thanks for fucking pointing that out, any other wise observations, O Ava-turd of Bitchamonten?”
Kagetora just laughs, her hands now settling behind her as she reclines back. “I’ve also noticed how much happier you’ve become.”
Jeanne Alter promptly chokes on the verbal barbs she had intended to fire. “Excuse me?! Happier? Are you—“ and Alter feels a cool finger dip at her lips. Scorching gold eyes then follow the finger retract back to Kage’s own lips, a smile playing behind it. “I knew you’d say such, but if I may add – your temper remains the same, Alter.”
As much as Jeanne Alter wants to shove the nearest pillow up Kagetora’s mouth, she doesn’t want to prove the Lancer right; and ends up swallowing the first wave of anger that comes along. But that’s where Jeanne Alter notices how her frustration dissipates almost as quickly as it passes.
“Ah…”
“Do you understand, Alter?” Kagetora asks, now returning to pat the shorter girl’s head. “Your overall mood has improved because your Avenger class no longer impedes you from enjoying your present circumstances.” The lilt in Kagetora’s voice has no judgement in it. Jeanne Alter scoffs. “And what’s that got to do with you?”
“I wonder if I can also change as well.”
Kagetora trails off, her gaze set out the window where the sunset’s rays trickle in its amber hue. By now, Kagetora’s hand has stilled upon the crown of Jeanne Alter’s head. The latter finds herself craning her head to follow where golden-green eyes continue to peer, a longing etched in those once empty eyes. “Perhaps coming here has made me rethink my priorities as a Servant. Save for the BB incident, our trip here has been all smooth and peaceful. I wonder if I could let go of my title as Bishamonten’s emissary.”
“I’m here to relax on your goddamn lap, and I can only lend an ear for so long. Out with it, Nyagao.”
And Kagetora lets out her signature ‘nyaa’ with the mention of a rather endearing nickname. “I mean, if the peace is kept, why would anyone need the God of War around?”
Silence then permeates the room, ironically deafening to Jeanne Alter’s ears. Unconsciously, her grip on the once forgotten hood tightens. She searches for any hint of expression in the Lancer’s carefully chiseled poker face; but her half-hearted smile gives Kagetora away.
“Stop talking like that,” it’s a mix of a command and a plea, which ultimately Kagetora interprets as a request that she cannot disobey. “Ah, my apologies, Alter. May I request you forget this silly Bishamonten’s rambl—“
It is Jeanne Alter’s turn to cut short any more words from escaping Kagetora’s now occupied lips. Unlike a light tap of a fingertip, Kagetora momentarily feels Jeanne Alter’s hand cup her cheek before registering the kiss being shared. There’s barely any pressure in Alter’s lips, a far-cry to what her Servant class should be doing; yet Kagetora knows the appropriate thing to do is to allow Jeanne Alter’s body to press her down, until her black and white hair fans around the bed beneath them.
“Whoever said you haven’t changed?” Alter ventures a whisper against their sealed lips. For once, Kagetora does not have a sagely reply, preferring to let out a pensive hum. “Fine then. Let me phrase it out so that your stupid black streaks would understand,” and with a smirk, Jeanne Alter continues.
“Isn’t the mere fact that you’re staying with me already a large change in your being the so-called God of War?”
There’s some understanding dawning on Kagetora. Her smile quivers only a bit, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by Jeanne Alter. “I mean, you’ve preached to me how you could not tolerate people who do not have decent moral codes. Well guess what, your girlfriend’s the epitome of immorality!”
“I don’t think that’s something to be proud of, Alter,” a chuckle rolls through Kagetora’s mouth, honest amusement playing at her features. “Oi, don’t laugh, I’m not done,” the Berserker chastises her by grinding her fist onto Kagetora’s temple. When the peals of laughter have died down, Jeanne Alter clears her throat in finality.
“Tell me then: who was the one that brought me not just cans of energy drinks, but also hand-made Japanese meals for the past week? Who delivered me stacks of both clean paper and manuscripts when I was too swamped to do anything else? And lastly,” Jeanne Alter taps the top of Kagetora’s nose, as if to point the answer already, “Who stayed up with me all those nights, giving me cuddles and power hugs on request, until I churned out the manga that you so lovingly enjoy leafing through.”
“Ah—“
“Don’t try to deny it, I saw you reading it four times while you were on store duty,” Jeanne Alter lets out a little triumphant huff. Kagetora is speechless, to say the least, yet her widening smile speaks volumes of its own. The silence barely sets in, as Jeanne Alter is unable to hold back a blush creeping up her neck, realizing how damn cheesy her lines were just now.
“Aaaah! I’m being roundabout as fuck, but all I want to say is that if you claim to still be that unchanged God of War, would you have done all those things for someone like me?!”
“Alter.”
“W-What?” Jeanne Alter ends up pitching her voice higher than she had wanted.
“Thank you for bringing about these changes in me,” Kagetora lets the sides of her mouth quirk higher, cheekbones arching until her eyes soften into an expression that Jeanne Alter could never tire of.
Similarly, Kagetora could never get enough of how fast the Berserker’s cheeks tinge from pink to crimson. She doesn’t bother blocking the pillow bashed against her face, nor ignore how Jeanne Alter swears permutations of her name. And when she finds the Alter’s initial outburst quelled, Kagetora firmly pulls Jeanne Alter back down to her arms, unwilling to let the squirming Alter go.
“I take it all back! You’re still the same idiot house cat that Bishamonten decided to possess!” Jeanne Alter gasps from the sheets, face now buried against Kagetora’s shoulder. “And you’re my proud pet owner then, Jeanne Alter?” Kagetora replies with a chuckle, any further doubts melting away as the rumbles of laughter reverberate from her senses; something Jeanne Alter can confirm to be genuine as she feels the rapid cadence on Kagetora’s chest.
And while Jeanne Alter did bite back the urge to join in Lancer’s earlier laughing spree, she doesn’t shove down the new idea forming in her mind.
“Oh but there’s one thing you better not change,” Jeanne Alter drags herself bump their foreheads together. And while there’s an inquisitive raise in the Lancer’s eyebrow, Kagetora’s eyes soften as she watches Alter’s lips curve into a rare, unguarded smile.
“Your stupid laugh. Lose it and I’ll beat it back into you, Kagetora.” And while the God of War is indeed a being bound by orders; Nagao Kagetora follows her heart to tilt her face up and meet Jeanne Alter’s expectant lips once more.