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A man and woman sat on a rickety couch, opposite of each other. The one in a vest, Aoi, had a well-kept bobcut, as well as an army of folded cranes at her side, supplied by metallic junk She tapped the armrest with an erratic beat, off tempo with the current song.
The other hawas a reserved sort. Nobody has seen him with his hood dropped, nor his skin be shown. His drifter rags, a ceusting mud colour; Mask and goggles, an approaching storm. On his lap sat a blade, curved slightly, a smooth sheet of metal, glrmai g in the light as he dragged a rag along it's dirty length.
“Gosh, isn't this song great?!“ The lady burst into activity as a crescendo hit, then died. “Doesn't it just make you feel like you wanna go for a run and explore the world?!“
“It sure as hell does.“ He bobbed his head slightly, and his foot jiggled. Each string of the guitar strung amidst the chaos was awesome. “Shit, makes me want to explore the System, Grineer and Corpus be damned.“
“No clue who they are!“ She yelled above the music, kicking her feet gleefully. “But I wanna explore it, too! Always wanted to see what mars is like.“
“It's a desert.“
“Well, that's lame!“ Her features tightened, then loosened and brightened. “Fine! Neptune!“
“Can't argue with that.“ He ended, as the two leant in closer to the speaker, feeling the light rush of adrenaline being shoved into their veins, making a run for it as the next, final crescendo promised a louder, theatrical explosion.
When the song stopped, Aoi finished drumming the metaphysical drums, and the Drifter, stringing the guitar with one last flourish. Finished, he picked the rag up again, and wiped.
She jumped first.
“Okay, we gotta sing one of these!“ She bounded and skipped to the where the CD lay, and soon replaced it with 'Welcome To The Jungle.' “Wanna go first, Marty? Promise I won't laugh!“
“I'd you did, I'd kill you where you stand!“ He growled. With great reluctance, he sheathed his sword, then set it aside, rising to his feet, utility belt and cloth fluttering. Aoi took his seat, yoinking the sheath, feeling up the texture.
He stood before her, and as the chorus, sounding like the horde of the damned, he tried to him along, loosen up the chords. Then, as he and Aoi were welcomed to the jungle, tilted his chin lower, using as little power necessary for the words to fly from between his lips. His throat rumbled in a hearty purr. He had a tendency to roll his R's. He clawed at the air, raising to the heavens as the pitch rose. Where he struggled was trying to sing every piece, from singer and choir. He'd run out of breath half way through, then clear his throat, waiting for an opportunity to jump back in.
He consistently hit the pitch and tempo of the sang title, then failed the subsequent gibberish, eventually bursting into a laugh mid song.
Thankfully, by the time the arrival of the final stretch came, minutes later, Aoi was clapping along to the beat, lips forming a smile. When it came to an end, the time traveler's puffed up chest then deflated, his hands leaning against his knees. “Fucking Sol in heaven, that took it out of me.“ He rasped. Lifted a finger, a dagger, in her direction, threatening a queen's mortality. “You, now.“
“What? Hey, no no, let go of me!“ Aoi giggled, kicking her legs from his grip as he tried dragging her out of her seat.
“Your. Turn!“ He growled, then choosing to grab at her wrists to pull her up, which was successful. She stood was brought to her feet, staggering, then glared daggers at him, her cheeks all ruddy.
“Grr. I'm gonna get you for that, Marty!“ She stomped cutely, replacing his spot under the metaphysical spotlight. “I know just what song I'm gonna —”
“Can't be 'Party of Your Lifetime.'”
“Oh, come on!“ She whined. “Why not?!“
“Lady, you've listened to that song a million times! Kinda cheating, singing to that! Come on, pick something.“
She held her wide hips, cocked an eye. “You're a mean one, aren't you?“
“Yeah yeah, bite me. Pick.“
The second in command huffed. “Fine. 'Stand in the fire!'” She gave him a faceful of back, more than happy to look down at her collection as she rifled through it for what she was looking for.
“That's my favourite, you know.“
“What is? The song, or my butt?“
“Mhm. Both, I suppose.“ He retorted, to which she playfully wiggled her hips. Definitely not a bad ass, in all honesty. Especially for a bad-ass!
“There we go!“ She rose to full mast, CD in hand. “Get ready, Marty, for your mind to be... bloooooown!“ She drawled, the end of her arms a set of jazz hands as she began playing the song. Began with a wicked guitar solo, which she began to nod to gently. She quickly grew more energetic as the drums kicked into gear, dancing like a lone woman beneath a disco ball on the light up flooring.
Her voice was heavenly, and the drifter smiled beneath the mask as she reached the highest of highs, a siren's call, a fist held before her mouth, a microphone of her own.
The beat was generally upbeat, intense and very much an earlier song, from the 80s. The original singer was a killer, but Aoi was his accomplice, not one to run out of breath often as she went. The crescendo began to rise and rise, and the words were stretched longer and longer straining the voice at such a high pitch, till she finally screamed the final words, huffing and puffing as the stringing guitar faded into obscurity.
He clapped. Once, twice, thrice, a couple more times.
Aoi bent by the waist, holding the hem of a dress she was not wearing. “Thank you, thank you!“ She lifted her head, a sly smile on that smooth face. “Think you're up for round two, Marty?“
*
As the drifter wandered the apartment he now had, in the backroom, somebody knocked. Stood before him was none other than the white and blue haired menace, three movie CDs fanned out in her grasp. “Hey, Marry. You wanna... chill?“
*
Brick walls. Concrete flooring. Undusted. There was a leak. Now, the drifter wandered. Embracing his new home. One of many. The orbiter, his first, beyond Duviri. Then the dormizone. Now this. The backrooms. Came free with some furniture. The essentials. Seating, bedding, tables, kitchen appliances, though supplied by Arthur.
Knock on the door. He opened widely, faced with a blue and white haired menace. She held a couple CD cases, not music, fanned out in her grasp. “Hey, Marty. Though you might've been bored, and I had some movies. You wanna... chill?“
“Then you guessed right, yeah.“ He let her in, the vampire given entry. “Got a selection to choose from, do we?“
“Mhm. Couple choices, if you're feeling daring. Action. Murder mystery. Even... romance.“ She purred. “Mind making us some popcorn while I set everything up?“
The high seas were intense, splashing against the walls of her eyes, demanding release. Smoldering look. Boiling, it seemed. Hooded. A pursed, secretive smile. A predator, lying amidst the grass. She cocked an eye. Noticed his staring. He shied away. Realized he didn't have anything to hide, though when he faced her again, she had already left. Wondered what she had in store, today, for their hang out.
The naivety of this man, I, the narrator, must emphasise. Put it down to a lack of experience with women and flirting.
He left her to her own devices, as well as his own. He found a bag of kernels, pulled out some salt and butter, and got to work, microwaving and spicing it up to perfection. A bead of sweat rang along his temple beneath his cloak and, with some reluctance, pulled it back. Maybe... maybe it's time.
Time she saw him.
When he entered the room just at the top of the stairs, which then lead into his bedroom, she was sitting on the couch, cross legged. She stared at him, brows lifted high and pupils wide like a doe's. Kept staring even as he set the bowl on the table. “Wow, Marty, you look... good.“
This was the first time he was showing himself, to anybody since Teshin or his younger. The man had a festering mass of black, wispy on the upper lips, growing larger and more visible the closer to his chops they went. He had a stern face, seemingly burrowing his brows at all times. What surprised the proto-frame the most was the fact he had so much hair, wild and unkempt, with some tucked and done neatly near the base of his skull.
“You... Geez, Marty, you look —”
“Kashiyama.“ He politely interrupted. “About time my best friend learnt my name, right?“ He slicked back some of the glistening hair. Really, he despised summer. “Don't be too surprised. People in the future actually still have names, like Entrati. Mine's... a lower class orokin name.“
“Kashi... yama?“ She shook her head. “Geez, Mar — Sorry, Kashiyama, it's just... I – Actually, I don't know what I thought. You had a name, or you didn't. If you did, I thought your name might've been something like 'Gorb the world devourer!'”
He punched her arm. “Oh, come the fuck on! Names in the future aren't that weird! Worst I've heard was Pekk Egg, though.“ He confessed, then blinked. “Shit, sorry. Surprised, though?“ He stroked his chin thoughtfully.
She shifted closer. “I'm... more than a little surprised, yeah. But you're strangely... handsome. And... familiar, in a way.“
“Oh? Go on.“ He said, soon silenced with a finger to the lips.
“Shush, you. As I was saying... you remind me of... home, actually.“ She cocked a brow, questioning. “Are you... sure your culture wasn't inspired by mine?“
“Oh, that's easy.“ He murmured against her skin, nipped at it till she pulled it away with a gigglish squeal. “Quincy brought me some books on history, that sort of stuff. Seems the Dax — imagine elite soldiers in gold armour and these, uh, somewhat ridiculous pants — share a lot of similarities with samurai.“ He cleared his throat. “Should I get into it?“
“Only if we can put the movie on in the background and cuddle, Kashi.“ She smirked. With a flick of her hand, her powers isolated the presence of the TV remote, which flew into her hand. Still not seeing anything wrong in particular, he gave her the order, she turned it on.
Crawling on all fours from the opposite side of the bed, stalking her oblivious prey as he stretched out across the cushions.
Crawling on top of him, she pressed herself against him, face not too far from his, as she settled down. His arms wrapped around her back.
“Now, where was I?“ The man, who seemed older, almost a fatherly type, grumbled. “Right. The Dax have these teachings, though they were almost lost to time, like the samurai's code of honour, the Bushido. Total loyalty to the master, as well as fearlessness. I believe in the books, they say, in your language, that your instructor would be a 'sensei,' that right?“
“Right.“ She stared at him, ignoring the noise from the TV.
“Well, my own, um, 'sensei,' was a Dax soldier. He saved me from Duviri, and taught me the ways of the warrior. Of the Dax. Gave him his twin nikanas, too. Sun and Moon. Remind me to show you sometime, hm?“
“Holy shit...“ She blinked. “My best friend is a freaking samurai!“
“Not only that,” He replied, “We also have our own version of the crane folding, uh, thing that you do.“
Aoi's face was suddenly right on his, the only sight he could see. Her eyes were rather intense, and he felt naked under it. “Tell. Me.“
“Alright, alright, fine. Just, bloody...“ He pushed her head away, and she fought back. Gave up. Sighed. “In the future, it's custom that two people fold five hundred cranes each in order to then combine them and receive one wish they both must decide on. Generally something done by couples, though even close friends did that sort of thing.“
“Then...“ She reached up, grabbing the sides of his face. “You better get folding, lover boy.“
With that, she pressed her lips against his, to his surprise. Her flesh was... pudgy. Remarkably soft and pliant, molding against his. Finally, a synapse within his brain snapped correctly, and he tightened his arms around her back, squeezing her, as he kissed back.
She moaned softly against him. Couldn't open her eyes.
The entirety of her curvy, womanly body relaxed against the hard planes of his, feeling the facial hair brush against her flawless skin. Unlike Arthur's, when they were together, this wasn't nearly as irritating, nor scratching at her.
It was soft. Fresh. Her thumbs caressed the fur further along his jaw, rubbing the skin.
When they parted, Aoi looked down at Kashiyama with lusty, hooded eyes. Dragged the tip of her finger along his prominent cheek bones. “That was... good. Amazing, actually.“ She murmured in a low, raspy voice, our of breath.
“That...“ He felt his lips, credulous. “That was... good.“ He blinked. She was beginning to cloud. “Hey. Hey,” He pressed his own finger to her lips, silencing her, “I... don't know why you'd choose me. I'm older. Much older, Aoi. But... well, Duviri years are different.“
“Oh. Right.“ Tilted her face in the direction of the colours and noise. “Yeah, I... I totally remembered that.“ She blushed. “Sorry.“
He chuckled. “Apology accepted. Popcorn must be getting cold.“
This... man...
“Gosh, Kashi,” She held his nose between her thumb and index, shook gently, “You sure can be clueless. The popcorn... is for later.“ She purred, gearing up for another go at his face. Snuggled in nicely, her hands resting on his shoulders. “Really wish I knew what you looked like, like, way before, you know. Might've done this so much sooner, but... I like you.“
He raised his brows. “Oh? Just like?“
“Don't push it.“ She growled, less an angered predator on the prowl, more so an annoyed kitten. “I... started having thoughts... about you, maybe... maybe even... us.“ She breathed. This was happening. Oh my gosh, I'm actually saying this! “And I, um... wanted to know if you've... thought the same? You know?“
“Clue me in here, I'm totally clueless.“ He stated calmly, so matter-of-factly.
He winced as she dug her nails in his skin. “I'm trying to be serious here, Kashi!“ She huffed. “Come on, just... tell me. Tell me if I'm just...“ Her lungs deflated. “Tell me if I'm just wasting my time, okay? Don't... don't drag this out...“
Kashiyama was stone, set and unmoving. The immovable object, against the storm. An object immortal, it's impotent mortal enemy, erosion. His brows were furrowed, trenches of war. Jaw, locked, cemented into place. Eyes, ancient yet futuristic, a portal to nothing. To seeming apathy, uncaringness. Lips, tight, pursed.
Aoi's heart, closely guarded, was bearing it's tender core. She's felt the cold plunge of the blade before, never followed by the splash of fluids. Her eyes misted. Weakness. Hers. Theirs. A mutual weakness.
The guardian of moss and earth lifted her chin, looking into the portal of her soul. They shimmered, an ocean he's never before seen. Full of sensuality. Anticipation. Anxiety. And a looming sense of dread.
He kissed her.
She sobbed, actually cried, against his face as their lips met. Her arms wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him as close as possible. He caused this cathartic... mess! This huge, messy... mess! He should feel the brunt of it's devastation!
And take it, he did, with the grace of a warrior. Of a man who, unused to feeling, was ready to embrace it.
The kiss was stiff at first, but as hearts pumped anew, rigid, taut flesh loosened. Purses lips slackened, widening, melding against the woman's, the man's, with growing intensity. Flavours. Strawberries. Sweat. Meat. Addictive. Beyond so! The best meal they've ever tasted, and they were ravenous, hungering folk. Tongues slithered, and out they shot, colliding, tangling in dance. The first dance they shall share, followed by another of some sort, then, sometime or another, one on the floor beneath the ball or moon.
Tears were crusting, wetness drying. The disciple's hands trailed along her back, the finger tips dragging, making the amalgamation of skin and metal prickle with sensitivity. Held her tight by the torso.
“Oh my god, oh my god... oh... my god.“ She whispered against him, breathy, moaning. The background noise transitioned from random babble and into a musical, but only she cared about the romantic implications of such a detail. Pulling away, she let out a shuddering sigh and, silenced. Quietened, forcefully.
“I accept. I want you, Aoi. I'm... not used to love, or the sort, but I'll try. I'll try to make you happy.“ He gripped the back of her head, pulling her closer. She pushed against it, a mock resistance. Let herself fail the battle of attrition as he continued. “You aren't wasting my time.“
With a squeal, she pounced, surprising her captor as she peppered him with love, marking the jaw, cheeks, temples, forehead and the tip of his nose with kisses and faint lipstick.
He chuckled, then laughed, then roared!
“H-Hey, stop that this instance, young lady!“ He howled, afraid of the beast he's unleashed. She devoured him, bit by bit, limb by limb, till the world was but a hot and humid desert of a husk, ended by her manic glee.
Sated, she sat up, resting on his lap, hands pressing against his chest. Her eyes were hooded, chest and breasts heaving. “That's... what you get, —”
Growling, an angered beast, he grasped her sides, fingers dancing erratically. Aoi shrieked, writhing, her heart pounding, racing at the speed of light. She died of laughter, why simply died with a wide, fearful smile! Until the very end, she laughed and giggled and roared and screamed, tickled into an early grave!
The great Aoi Morohoshi, felled with such ease.
Pushing the advantage, he pushed her over, forcing her to collapse against the cushions as he loomed overhead. Collapsed against her, her arms and legs spread, wrapping around him as he settled in, a grip on her jaw. Firm kiss to the cheek.
“I win.“
“Mhm... did you, now?“
His grip tightened, squishing her cheeks. “I did, princess. You. Lose.“
The proto-frame shrugged, her face a chipmunk feasting on nuts. “Oh no, I lost! Oh, whatever will I do?“ She murmured huskily. “Why, I hope a dashing, handsome prince comes to my aid!“
He rolled his eyes, though his smile never lessened. “Alright, alright, cut it out. We gonna watch this movie, or do you... have any other ideas?“
“Mhm... Well, if you're offering...“