| [Apr. 22nd, 2018|09:29 pm] |
Yes, apparently, and no. Kakashi was standing still, slightly wind-tousled, wrapped in a boldly patterned blue and black yukata with a little too much extra cloth around the middle. He was still wearing his mask. Fumi blinked down at one empty paw, and then up at Kakashi. Himself removed his pipe long enough to cackle.
And Kakashi’s eye was on Ryouma, warm as the firelight. He didn’t look away when Ryouma unbuckled his pants, or when he stepped out of them and reached out to collect the green-and-white yukata Fumi held. It was knee-length on Ryouma and the wide panels could have lapped him twice around, but the belt tied snugly and the crisp cotton smelled of a hot iron and—
Ryouma sniffed. “Cherry blossom soap?”
Fumi looked delighted. Himself puffed approvingly. “Will you trust Fumi-chan with your laundry, or should I have her bring you some soap?”
Fumi looked significantly less delighted. She made a small whimper of protest. “This late?”
Kakashi, whose laundry contained both knives and Konoha secrets, said quickly, “Soap is fine.” He glanced at Ryouma. “Do you have orange blossom?”
The small tanuki brightened up again. “It’s not the season for orange blossom, but I’m sure I can find some of last year’s stock. I’ll leave it by your beds when I’m done with this errand.” She hefted up her stack of folded cloth and bustled off again, toward a lantern-lit path up a rising hill.
Ryouma said, hopefully, “Beds?”
“First things first.” Himself stepped closer, soft-footed despite his bulk. He bent his head to peer at each of them in turn. His eyes glittered, dark and depthless under his furrowed brow. Then he reached out and caught Ryouma’s chin with two delicate claws.
Kakashi made a short, bitten-off noise. Himself slanted an amused look at him. “Your turn next.” He reached back with his other paw to catch up an armful of his immense, fluffy white tail.
Fur brushed like snowflakes over Ryouma’s face, his head, his shoulders and chest. Himself rumbled thoughtfully, and an intense warmth itched for the span of two heartbeats in the bridge of Ryouma’s nose and the tip of his right ear. The warmth followed the sweep of the tanuki’s tail down Ryouma’s face, over his jaw and throat, flaring briefly in the scar-knotted muscle over his left shoulderblade and the new seam on his right triceps. It faded halfway down his chest, as Himself’s tail fell away.
“That’s everything that would give you away to your friends,” the tanuki god announced. “And I cleaned up a few other little things while I was at it. Shall I do the rest of you? Your knee isn't unsightly, but..."
Ryouma felt, fumbling, for the angling divot in the top of his right ear, under his hair. His fingers found a flawless smooth curve.
“It didn’t match,” Himself explained.
Ryouma’s knee hadn’t buckled since the last session with Niimi-sensei, but it was seriously considering doing so now. His voice came like a croak. “That’s good enough…”
Himself’s claws tapped lightly on his chin, and released him. Ryouma stumbled back. The scratch on his jaw was gone. He pulled open his yukata, and found no reddened marks on his skin. His tattoo was still there, vivid red-blue-green in the firelight, and so was the nipple ring, but when he shoved the collar down his shoulder he found the striated line of Genma’s field-forced healing had disappeared into smooth, perfectly tanned skin. The old burn scar on the back of his right arm had faded nearly to invisibility.
Akiyama’s scar still shone livid across his wrist, with the wolf goddess’ teeth-marks above it. Himself’s healing had swept away every scar his tail touched, like a divine cosmetic brush. But he hadn’t gone below the elbow, and Ryouma didn’t know whether the clench in his chest was gratitude or anger.
He hadn’t liked any of those scars, but he’d earned them.
He let his breath out, slowly. “Better let Kakashi choose.” |
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