Gardenia
by Michalyn
Warnings: Tomomasa + Takamichi. Angst?
Rating: PG13
Notes: A maiko is a young geisha in training, an obi, the wide belt used to fasten a kimono. Tabi are special split-toe socks worn with Japanese clogs (geta) or sandals. People can also be seen wearing them (tabi)inside since Japanese consider entering a house with shoes on, rude.
The breeze shakes the lanterns on the verandah, bringing with it the sound of muffled voices. The koto twangs in the stillness.
Outside, Takamichi can just make out two blurry figures making their way across the garden path from the main building where celebrations are in full swing. The breeze rushes in again, carrying a woman’s trilling laughter and the huskier tones of her companion as they pass beneath the lanterns. A flash of white, the bold patterning of a flowered kimono…. There, is that a touch of aquamarine he sees? The candle guts.
Fireflies burn against the darkness.
Takamichi makes an impatient sound and rises. He lights the candles again and returns to his desk. The scroll fanned out against its surface remains half-written. He cannot concentrate and his hands tremble as he dips his brush into the ink. Swish, swish, swish across the paper. Soft, soft, soft like the ritualized steps of tabi-covered feet against the tatami.
Tonight, the maiko was very beautiful.
A fine young woman, about Takamichi’s age, pale and graceful, bound in an iridescent obi. He had been close enough to smell her perfume. A delicate scent, something flowery. A lingering hint of gardenias. Takamichi was not her only admirer, there were other eyes on her as well.
He has only written one more sentence. Takamichi sighs and contemplates abandoning his work for bed, but is startled bythe padding of feet on the verandah. There is a quick knock and his door is opened.
“There you are, Vice Minister, Takamichi.” The man leaning against the doorframe smiles, watching Takamichi from beneath drooping lids. “Running away from the party, again?”
Takamichi stills. He will not stop writing now for the world.
“Ah, Tomomasa-dono.” He smiles. “What brings you here so late in the evening?”
The older man does not wait for an invitation and instead advances. His fan, normally plied between his fingers, is tonight notched in his belt. He makes himself comfortable, sitting next to Takamichi, with one leg stretched out before him. His other knee is raised and he rests his arm on it as he leans over to peer at Takamichi’s work.
“Do the civil affairs of the city keep you up so late, Takamichi-san?” There is sake on his breath.
Takamichi shivers as their shoulders brush. The space between them is heavy with the scent of crushed gardenias.
A surge of heat, not quite anger but with a pain like lightning shoots through him. Takamichi inclines his head. “You must forgive me, Tomomasa-dono, if I ask you to excuse me, but as you can see, I must complete this.”
Tomomasa studies him. Do those eyes miss anything? Takamichi’s brush moves rapidly over the page. He doesn’t think so, but then, he cannot be sure of anything when the General’s hand covers his. Large and warm and more callused than one might expect.
“Your penmanship is beautiful, Takamichi-san.”
The ink blots on the scroll, spreading as fast as concealing darkness. Tomomasa laces their hands together, his fingers insinuating between the slenderness of Takamichi’s own. The wind howls on the verandah and this time when the candle guts Takamichi does not move to re-ignite it.
His hair is loose about him, his glasses tossed aside. Tomomasa’s breath is hot against his ear. Clothing rustles and shifts and now he can feel the night air against his skin.
Takamichi recalls the noise of the party and the brightness of Tomomasa’s hair in the firelight, turquoise and burning aquamarine as the maiko dances before them. A different kind of fire is stealing through him now and Takamichi’s breath is coming fast. The perfume of gardenias clings to his nostrils and he cannot remember where he first scented it:
From the girl twirling in an iridescent obi or the handsome General sitting next to him.
End
Tags: angst, Harutoki, non-gw, tomomasa x takamichi