Chapter Text
Zoisite traced his finger down the middle of Kunzite’s bare chest, pouting. “Kunzie, I don’t see why we have to get new uniforms! I miss the primal beauty of our old looks!”
Kunzite looked at his lover with knowing eyes, having anticipated this line of complaint. It has something has weighed heavily on his own heart. Recently, Prince Endymion had gotten into his head that his generals needed a new look and had introduced...something. Kunzite had been following with trepidation the feminization of militaries in recent years, but never would have guessed the spectre would land at his own doorstep. A soldier was, after all, the height of virility and needed a uniform that reflected this reality: An open garment that allowed one's phallus to move freely so that his waging of war could follow suit. But the trend in recent years had been towards some manner of bifucated lower body garment, in which material was arranged in two tubes through which the legs are placed and the privates pressed against the body. Suitable, perhaps, for women, who bore no difficulty with such constriction, but for a soldier? Kunzite thought that if they were going to go that far, one might as well simply add bindings upon his hands and feet to the standard dress.
His concerns, however, were not shared by Prince Endymion, professed “reformer” that he was. In point of fact, the only reformation Kunzite suspected he was interested in was reforming the lover’s embrace with the Moon Princess every evening. The mother to the princess in question, Queen Serenity I, had a court that could only be described as a menagerie: talking cats from beyond the stars and warrior women who harnessed all manner of elements from fire, to lightning, to water, and more. The most bizarre, however, and, in Kunzite's opinion, most dangerous was Sailor Pluto, some manner of omnipresent overseer, living in her isolated white room and seeing all of history and time at once, reading past, present, and future as plainly as one reads a map. In this capacity, she saw the rise of outfits unheard of to Kunzite, uniforms he understood she called military dress but in his opinion resembled a jester’s motley more than anything found in a Soldier’s kit and, through the Princess, soon Prince Endymion was captivated by the samesuch images and Kunzite and his fellow knights were paying the price.
Zoisite sensed the tensing of his lover and withdrew his hand. “Oh, don’t bother at all. I was just making silly conversation, think nothing of it! Return your mind to me, my big strong knight. Give me your affection. Instill in me your purity!” he cried out, rolling over on top of the significantly larger Kunzite, who responded by gently lifting his lover up and depositing him back onto their bed. “I fear your remarks have stirred more in me than passion, my dear Zoisite, for you are too true in your criticism.”
Kunzite rose to his feet, giving Zoisite mere moments to admire his naked form before he drew his tunic around him. “Too true indeed. I simply cannot afford love-making while this problem of pants still lingers over us all. Apology after apology, my love, but my mood has soured.” With those words lingering in the air, Kunzite was gone.
Zoisite frowned, realizing belatedly he had written his own punishment. Kunzite was normally such a even-tempered fellow, that it was a rare pleasure (and a pleasure it was!) when his passions were inflamed. Zoisite had simply indeed to rouse something in his Knight of Affection by playfully bringing up a sour spot. Zoisite had underestimated just how sore it was and now was paying the lonely price for the miscalculation. With a heavy heart, he removed his glove.