Words dissolved, somewhere under the warm breath licking against her palm. Natsumi tried twice to drag a coherent sentence together, and finally managed it. "We're in a Buddhist temple, you know. I'm fairly sure that anything profane--"

His eyes opened, clear and dark and amused; she could feel his smile curling against her skin.

"We're only in here together because some of the monks are retired ninja," she added hastily. "The ones who healed you were medics during the Second Great Ninja War. There was a fuss about separating us; apparently I shouldn't even be in the monastery at all. I'm not sure some of the monks should be, either, if they can't control their lustful thoughts, but--"

She was babbling, and he knew it. His thumb swept gently over her pounding pulse; he let her hand drop at last from his mouth, though he didn't release her wrist. His split lips had scabbed. She licked her own, and steadied herself on the heel of her right hand.

"You kept your word. I'll keep mine."

He was still lying on his stomach, sprawling in a tangle of comforter and yukata, smiling sunnily up at her. It wasn't quite the old cocky smirk, yet; he looked startlingly young, perhaps even no older than her. She thought abruptly of how much she didn't know about him, and then of how none of it mattered.

She bent down, lifted her bandaged hand to steady the side of his face, and kissed him.