Work Text:
It’s summer, which you can tell on Lungmen because it’s not snowing outside your window. Or, so the joke went behind superintendent Chen’s back when Hoshiguma was first getting assigned a locker. No, the city really does turn into an oven, and businesses close as employees head to the ocean in droves … which is somewhere that she’d ever expect Ch’en to be. Ch’en, Ch’en, Ch’en … at what point do you consider yourself enough of a lost cause that you check yourself into a ward? Did Chief Wei ever actually set her up with health insurance that would cover that, or did he assume that oni were bulletproof inside and out?
“How’re you feeling, Madame?” the old Vulpo that ran the auto-repair shop patted her on the shoulder with an affectionate, rough gloved hand.
“Feeling fine, sir, although it’s fuckin’ hot,” she tried her best to smile, but at least the fountains of sweat pouring over her forehead were genuine.
“Damn right it is — you want a beer?”
“You shouldn’t be drinking on the job, no?” Hoshiguma put down her tools to rummage through the clattering mini-fridge anyway. She almost tossed a can in his direction, but paused at the last moment, realizing there was no guarantee he’d catch it.
“Yeah, but folks like you can do whatever they want,” he chuckled, gingerly taking the can from Hoshiguma’s hand, his arm trembling from years of grueling instrument work.
“Hm, I wouldn’t say so,” Hoshiguma took the time to fold her freshly-empty can into a near-perfectly circular shape. “Say, what do you do when you have a headache?”
“Well, I go on down to the convenience store, and—”
“And when you got those stitches on your head, I bet they put you under.”
“Sure, I mean …”
“I dislocated both my shoulders, bruised majority of my ribs, forget what happened to my spine, wasn’t great though — and I had to stay in that hospital wide awake and stone cold sober.”
“Ah, but don’t you folks heal faster or sum’in?” The Vulpo sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.
“Even if you knew it’d be good as new tomorrow, would you want someone to break your arm today?”
“S’pose not, point taken,” the man sighed. He was a bit of a caricature — floppy ears and a big gut, arms covered in coarse hair that was singed in some places and matted in others, and a thick, rat-like tail that was always slow to wag. Hoshiguma liked him because he almost never got business, meaning she could stay in his garage and tinker with her bike for as long as she’d like without someone asking if she still had her L.P.D. badge.
“That baby looks about how I’d imagine it straight off the lot,” he sniffed and pointed to the oni’s prized possession. “You sellin’ it?”
“You have a good offer?”
“Who, me? Madame Oni, I couldn’t afford a bike like that with all of me, my wife’s, and maybe my kids’ part-time work put together — don’t tell me you’d be stupid enough to get rid of ‘er. Thought you had a better head on your shoulder n’ that.” He broke into a loud, wet cough, his metal folding chair slightly rocking from the effort.
“Have a little more faith in me, sir,” Hoshiguma managed to make a sound that could be passed off as laughter.
Summer in Lungmen meant that the wind didn’t sting her eyes and bite her lips as much as she rolled around the city at night, humming some tune she didn’t know the name of but was still hopelessly stuck in her head under her breath.
She saw a late-night premier of some movie she didn’t realize was a sequel until about half-way through. She played pool at a nice bar and talked about some car manufacturing start-up with some old biker friends she hadn’t seen in a while.
She went home.
Tomorrow she’d probably check in at Rhodes Island and help instruct some classes with Saria, like she’d promised she would. Maybe she’d go for a jog in the park down the street at some point because the Rhodes Island gyms were very nice but the industrial grey walls were starting to get to her a bit.
She picked up her police badge that’d been sitting idly on her kitchen table for … well, she hadn’t quite been counting the days. She hated being so keenly aware of where it was — both because she didn’t need it anymore and because forgetting it was always a good excuse to … someone else lives there now. She wondered what they did with everything in that apartment, including that old band T-shirt that Ch’en had stolen from her. She missed it a bit. The band broke up a few years ago.
Maybe she should sell her bike. Maybe she should scour around some thrift stores to see if she could find another shirt. It would give her something to do other than replay those few seconds where she locked eyes with the navy-haired Lung on the beach. She’d never expected to see her in a place like that. Then again, she never expected to see her again at all.
And certainly, she didn’t expect to catch her as she was about to ring her doorbell when she’d come back from her aforementioned jog the next morning.
They stared at each other for a good, long while, hands hovering at different places around the door. Hoshiguma wasn’t one to feel self-conscious usually, but soaked in sweat with her athletic T-shirt pinching every crevice of her skin was certainly not how she’d wished she looked right then. Then again, she wasn’t sure exactly how she’d ever imagined this moment, if at all.
“I can come back later,” Ch’en muttered, rapidly blinking and averting her eyes.
“No, no, don’t worry about it,” she cleared her throat. Realistically, maybe saying that right now wasn’t the best time would be at least … practical. Without thinking about it, she opened the door and let her old boss in, locking it behind them.
“I’m … realizing I’ve never been here before,” Ch’en offered a small smile.
She really hadn’t. Hoshiguma wasn’t sure if Ch’en had ever even known where she lived, save for skimming over her file some years ago — if there even was a permanent address there yet or just her prison cell number. If looking like she’d been out in the pouring rain wasn’t enough, she was also keenly aware of what kind of bachelor den this place looked like. She had all kinds of antique decorations from her homeland — masks and rugs, interspersed with her horde of weapons that were certainly not LPD certified, let alone had any legible serial numbers. There were posters of bands — both popular and those she’d snagged at one-off shows, and memorabilia from the bike tours she used to go on. More prominent than any of that, however, was the dedicated place she hung her shield; the scar left behind by Chi Xiao — a centerpiece in itself. She watched for a moment as Ch’en carefully reached out to touch it, caressing the charred grooves like it was a wound on some gentle, leather-skinned beast.
“I’m surprised you never got this fixed …” Ch’en murmured, more to the shield than to its bearer.
“Not sure how I was supposed to,” the oni shifted her weight to the balls of her feet and then back again. Before Ch’en could say anything else, she announced: “I’m going to go take a shower. You …”... make yourself comfortable? Was that even possible? “Anything you find in the kitchen is yours.”
Hoshiguma leaped into that shower faster than she ever had in her life, and only mid-rinsing her hair did she realize that she’d never brought a change of clothes. There wasn’t any reason technically for her to hesitate walking out shirtless or even naked, but right now, Ch’en looking at her without her usual armor felt worse than naked, somehow, like a medical examination by a doctor you’d never met before. Somewhat innately, you know that this is someone you’re supposed to trust, but the deliberate touch of their cold, freshly-washed hands feels more imposing than even a stranger’s.
Carefully tip-toeing out of the bathroom with the assurance that Ch’en was in fact in the kitchen, Hoshiguma considered that they really were no better than strangers at this point. Hell, they’d always been. Even little Miss Swire had known more than her, and it hadn’t even been her arms that the Lung was climbing into at the slightest sign of inebriation.
Hoshiguma began to run through all the times that they had been “together” — although somewhat uncountable, a pattern still prevailed — Ch’en was drunk, Ch’en was stressed, tired, or scared, or inexplicably felt so hot to the touch that Hoshiguma swore the little dragon could breathe fire.
There was never any please, or thank you, never, “Is right now a bad time?”. She was lucky if Ch’en was feeling sentimental enough to complain about work a little before she fell asleep.
She’d always thought that it was enough, that that blue tail wrapping around her thigh as they slept meant everything it ever had to … but in truth, Ch’en was still suffering, more than her shieldbearer could ever lift off her shoulders. A truth whose absence, despite being felt only in hindsight, now felt like a chasm that not one flying thing could ever hope to have enough fuel or energy to cross. Your best bet might’ve been to jump.
… but did you ever even get close to the edge?
“Never seen this look before,” Ch’en’s brows slightly lifted in surprise as Hoshiguma returned to the kitchen.
“Yeah, probably not,” Hoshiguma rolled her shoulders — the slightly grease-stained flannel was about the only thing she could think of putting on that would make the little dragon’s gaze feel less piercing. “How long have you been in Lungmen?”
“Only a night so far,” Ch’en drummed her fingers on the side of a mug she’d grabbed after making some tea she’d found. Hoshiguma forgot she even had tea, so devoted she’d been to the whiskey.
“Where are you staying?”
“Sw— … nowhere? Swire let me stay the night, but I don’t think that hospitality will last very long,” she chuckled. Hoshiguma mimicked the sound. “You … resigned?”
“Rhodes Island work took priority after a while,” she shrugged. Although … not today, clearly.
“Swire was telling me you’d been giving her a hard time up until then.”
“Not as much of a hard or easy time as I give anyone, really,” she readjusted her ponytail. She really had never been one to cook but the kitchen felt too damn small even for one conversation.
“I’m sorry for barging in like this.”
“I let you in.”
Hearing Ch’en apologize felt wrong. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Even the cold winds of Chernobog never made her feel that way. No ‘sorry’ then (not any she’d take anyway), not a postcard in the interim, but now …? “You can stay for as long as you’d like, I can sleep on the couch.”
“That’s not why I stopped by,” Ch’en hung her head. Hoshiguma flinched. Maybe it was instinctual — a pair of sharp, polished horns pointed straight at your chest was more commonly seen as a threat than a gesture of repentance.
“Oh?” Hoshiguma’s throat went dry. She dug her nails into her forearm as her arms lay crossed — she wasn’t sure if she was chaining herself from anger or anticipation.
“I figured you deserved to know the truth.”
“Only now?”
Ch’en abruptly lifted her head, breaking out of her apologetic ceremony. A fresco of shock, hurt, and fear welled in her eyes to the point that Hoshiguma almost wished she hadn’t said anything at all. Almost. “I’d … thought you’d understand.”
Hoshiguma cocked her head to one side and then the other. Now what the fuck was that supposed to mean?
Ch’en opened her mouth to speak but her voice died right where it lay in her throat. She’d just spoken in a foreign language neither of them understood.
The silence held fast. But unlike times past, there was no accompaniment of shoes getting kicked off and sword hilts clattering on the floor and the rustle of fabric as Ch’en’s jacket flies over to some part of the couch, no guttural moans and growls that were as inhuman as they were intimate. It was late morning and traffic hummed somewhere outside the kitchen window. Birds took off in a flutter of coos and feathers off the balcony of the outdoor hall.
Ch’en cleared her throat. “If you told me not to come back, why did you let me in?”
Like the primitive nature that made her wary of horns aimed for her stomach, Hoshiguma’s tongue curled to cruelty. I don’t know. I should’ve killed you for being an Infected and a deserter then and there. I should’ve killed you when you turned your back to me once you saw me on that beach. I’m going to make good on that threat today regardless of if I’m satisfied with hearing you out, because at least if I’m the one that makes you cough up blood, I’ll get to hold you one last time before I see a stained analog photograph of a black bag with your badge attached to the zipper. Her horn felt too heavy and its asymmetry along the lines of her skull felt too obvious. She wanted to throw up. “Force of habit.”
“You’ve never denied me anything only to change your mind,” Ch’en looked focused enough that the recollection of anything Hoshiguma had denied her seemed a difficult task. Which would be correct.
“Do you ever listen when you’re told ‘no’?” Hoshiguma decided that her ponytail made her scalp itch too much, so she let it down. Her hair on her back made it too hot, and off the flannel went. With her arms tightly re-crossed left in only a stretched, old white tank top, she glared at the little dragon through her forelock. It was meant to be a glare anyway, but through years of muscle memory she knew damn well that her face was far from a scowling mask of rage and mercilessness. She lowered her gaze and sighed. “So, is there anything left for you to tell me? The leader of the Reunion was your sister, you had been an Infected for three years …”
“When you put it like that, it’s like you’re expecting me to say I have a wife and kids abroad and have been to outer space,” Ch’en leaned on one hand.
That relaxed posture is something Hoshiguma could only vaguely remember through the haze and low lighting of a night club they had once been scoping out. The trail had turned cold and the bloodhound decided she’d drink her disappointment away. Hoshiguma sat and watched as frustration and rigid composure melted into a puddle of skin and clothes desperate to separate like oil and water.
“Say, Hoshi~,” Ch’en flashed her fangs, nearly ‘falling’ off of her own hand that lazily propped up one cheek. “Imagine if we got to do shit like this every night … like normal people.”
“Neither of us are normal, Sir,” she’d replied, reaching over and catching her boss by the lower jaw, intending to snap her out of it, but getting only an elated grin in return.
The extent to which she’d been right, she’d have never guessed then. She’d never even have thought to ask.
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Hoshiguma looked off to the floor she hadn’t mopped in weeks. It wouldn’t have taken any energy at all, but it would mean she was expecting someone other than her to be here. Ever.
“Well … I guess you’ve gotten the gist of it by now, but,” and she began to talk.
Hoshiguma slowly lifted her head. Outside of complex mission debriefs, she wasn’t sure she’d ever heard her speak for this long, especially not any point when she could see the corners of her mouth twitch in anything other than disgust or anger, or her brows raising and lowering one by one as she recalled and commented on different steps of her journeys. She heard her laugh — not her sarcastic cough, not her intoxicated giggling, but she laughed, recounting as operators of Rhodes had completely looked her over for a tourist because she looked that unrecognizable in a trucker cap.
“But even after all that,” Ch’en took a sip of the tea she’d made, and by the way she licked her upper teeth, Hoshiguma could tell it’d gotten cold and she’d taken a swig of the bitter pool of leaves at the bottom. “No matter how much I kept breathing a deeper and deeper sigh of relief over having nothing to do, you know, I kept missing it — Lungmen. You think all mobile cities are made of concrete, and yet the streets smell different after it rains … it’s embarrassing, isn’t it? Crawling back to a place you’d vowed to never return to, killing the part of yourself that’d grown roots down to the bedrock here, and then praying for a flood that washes away the new soil and gives them air again.”
“Is that what this is — the flood?” Hoshiguma swallowed. Her throat was dry. Her back was a little bit sore from standing in one place for long enough for the traffic to swell and turn into the irritated honking of first shift workers migrating home.
“Why did you save me when that building was going to fall on us?” Ch’en’s face regained its insistence that Hoshiguma remembered so well, the laser-eyed stare that made criminals’ blood turn cold before they even started rolling the tape in the interrogation room.
Hoshiguma opened her mouth to answer but Ch’en pressed on.
“Why did you try to stop me from leaving the city?”
“Have I not made myself clear enough?” Hoshiguma shouted. She lunged forward, grabbing the back of Ch’en’s chair and bracing against the small kitchen table with the other hand, putting such force on the surface that glass and porcelain came clattering off, shattering on the floor. She could feel the veins on her throat and neck stand on end like the bristling fur of a beast. With how hot her face got, she figured she must certainly look like one, but right now, in front of Ch’en, she didn’t care.
She watched Ch’en’s focus shift from one of her eyes to the other, as if each one held different answers. “Why did you come to my apartment after I’d left?”
That fucking cat.
The gas stove which had held the boiling-over pot of Hoshiguma’s anger clicked off. She could swear she could hear the decrescendo of hissing as she crumpled to her knees, the last of what had rolled off the sides falling onto rapidly cooling iron. If she could tear her eyes away from Ch’en’s, she wouldn’t be surprised if she’d see steam rising from where her heavy tears fell onto the fabric of her pants.
“When were you ever going to tell me anything, Hoshiguma?” Ch’en cupped her face in her hands. They felt softer than she ever remembered them.
“You didn’t exactly make it easy, Sir,” her voice was dry of its usual dripping pride and confidence. What was left was hoarse, quiet, and by all oni standards — pitiful. “Was it supposed to be before or after we dented one of the women’s lockers?”
Ch’en laughed. Hoshiguma had only heard the sound twice now in her life but she was already addicted.
“Was I supposed to set an alarm, guessing when you’d sober up and slip out of my arms in the early hours after you’d called me so drunk you couldn’t remember what day of the week it was?” Her voice dropped down to a shaky whisper. “Do you think I haven’t thought about it? Do you think any night I’ve spent here by myself hasn’t been sleepless? And, and … and, what? Would it have stopped you?”
Ch’en’s head shifted to one side along with her gaze, squinting slightly.
Hoshiguma sniffed, trying to gather herself. She wanted to wipe her tears on her shoulder but Ch’en’s thumb had been faster. If only she knew that would only make it worse. She pulled away from her hands, ready to get up — or at least telling herself that she was. What else was there to say?
“Can you say it now?”
Hoshiguma froze. She swore her heart skipped a beat, or two, or three. And then she blurted, in a voice her ears couldn’t believe were her own: “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to leave me. I don’t want anything to ever happen to you — I don’t care what happens to the rest of the world, I don’t care if letting you go means the Sun won’t come up tomorrow. I want you to stay. Here. With me.”
Ch’en patted the top of her head softly, like ruffling the fur between the ears of a stray. “Alright.”
Hoshiguma heard the tears on Ch’en’s voice but she barely got a second to see them because she sprung at her with everything she had, enveloping her in a crushing hug that sent anything that was left on the table flying off, too, as its edge made contact with her shoulder.
How the hug turned into a kiss, neither of them could quite remember. Maybe this would be the one constant in their lives, no matter what the future held — that the sequence of some events could only be pieced together by the scattering of clothes along their path to the next semi-comfortable empty plane of space. When her eyes could properly focus on anything in front of her, Ch’en was straddling her, half-way through slipping off her bra, while Hoshiguma half-layed, propped up on her elbows, surprisingly shirtless herself. Her silhouette was perfectly contoured by the afternoon light coming through the window opposite the bed, and if Hosiguma squinted, they looked like angelic rays, accompanying a being descending from the heavens. “Have I ever told you that you’re beautiful, Sir?”
“Sounds a bit condescending when you put it that way,” Ch’en scoffed, taking out her hair from the loose bun it had been gathered in. By the way she smirked, it seemed she appreciated the way Hoshiguma didn’t hide her mouth-agape look of appreciation at how long her hair had grown. “But, no. More than once, though, I remember you saying something about how anyone getting to see this must be the luckiest person on all of Terra.”
“Sorry if I ran out of cliches at some point,” Hoshiguma tenderly ran her hand from Ch’en’s side down her thigh, and then up again, watching that red-tipped tail softly twitch and begin to arc towards her.
“S’alright,” she exhaled, shutting her eyes tightly as Hoshiguma’s hand reached her breast, her thumb circling around the darker skin around its center.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” the oni paused, moving her wrist back only to have it grabbed by a deft hand much smaller than hers and brought back exactly where it was.
“Since when did you start treating me like I’m made of glass?” Ch’en’s ruby eyes glowed with anticipation and what Hoshiguma had once quickly learned was hunger.
“You should be careful what you wish for,” Hoshiguma offered a kiss on her sternum, comforted by the full expanse of soft, warm skin there, and not the shadows of bone.
“I thought we were done hiding things from each other,” Ch’en kissed the top of her head in turn, and then the base of her horn.
“Sure,” the oni’s slow kiss was interrupted by a smile. Her mouth’s attention turned to Ch’en’s breasts now, foregoing all restraint. Brushing aside her own overgrown locks of dark ocean-blue hair, Ch’en wasn’t about to assign any, either. Her surprised yelps and pleased moans were praise enough for Hoshiguma’s honesty.
“Is that … all you’ve had on your mind?” Ch’en somehow found the breath to tease, somewhere between Hoshiguma alternating between one glistening nipple and the other, a string of saliva accenting her continued efforts.
“Still making demands of me, Sir?”
“What had you called me back then? Princess? That’s not a badge I ever remember hanging up,” Ch’en placed her hand on Hoshiguma’s cheek and the oni let her believe that her thumb on her tongue held any leverage against her. She bit down on it softly — she had no proper fangs of her own to show, but she could see the dragon’s as she bit her lip. She felt the soft tip of her tail brush against her forearm, longing to have some excuse and proximity to coil around it.
Usually, it would be Ch’en’s tail that’d do the talking for her — where closed-eyed instinct would otherwise guide her in these kinds of encounters, she had to carefully watch each one of its small movements, lest she face the wrath of the superintendent’s temper. Avoidance wasn’t so much motivated by fear as it was that a Ch’en that had a chance to get off was much easier to get along with than one that pushed her off in frustration and told her to fuck off for the rest of the day. For once, her audible demands were in tune with the rest of her body. Perhaps later, Hoshiguma would marvel at this opportunity to rediscover her old partner, but for now, she had a task at hand — what good would she be to her Sir if she couldn’t fulfill the orders given?
From attention to her upper body alone, a healthy stain had begun to pool on Hoshiguma’s sweatpants where Ch’en had been rhythmlessly grinding against her; to such an extent, in fact, that Hoshiguma was surprised she hadn’t come at least once already. Not that would’ve stopped her, of course — no, today, she was sure that there wasn’t anything that Ch’en could say or do that would.
Without much ceremony, Hoshiguma pressed her thumb first just above the hood of the woman’s most sensitive core, and then shifted lower, millimeter by millimeter until it was Ch’en herself that was rolling her hips against it exactly where she needed. This wouldn’t be enough, however — not to either of them, and in some mutual agreement, Hoshiguma beckoned Ch’en’s knees to come further up until she was straddling her neck instead. From here, the procedure wouldn’t be much different than had she been in Hoshiguma’s lap still, save for maybe the oni greedily dipping her tongue into the hot, wet folds of Ch’en’s arousal, as if the slick already rolling down her chin wasn’t enough.
Hoshiguma probably should’ve said something about how her apartment building was a bit more rundown than Ch’en’s — she wasn’t awarded such luxuries as thick, sturdy walls and neighbors that had the sound mind to stay out of other people’s business … but, what, was she supposed to let go of this opportunity to be selfish? She was supposed to loosen her grip on Ch’en’s trembling thighs for something as trivial as dignity?
“Enough,” the offending vocalist in question pleaded in between open-mouthed moans that bordered on wails.
“Lost some endurance on your travels?” Hoshiguma allowed for a pause, however much every beastly desire in her begged against it.
“You wish,” Ch’en emphatically squeezed her thighs around Hoshiguma’s head to show she had the strength left to make it till nightfall. “You’re just too far away.”
“Nearly breaking off my horn isn’t close enough for you, Sir?” Hoshiguma leaned on Ch’en’s right thigh, savoring her scent — sweat, and a lingering note of some perfume — the mix of it sweeter, deeper, and more savory than anything that’d ever graced her tongue (and she liked to consider herself somewhat of a connoisseur of finer things like spirits and cigars).
“No,” Ch’en pouted.
“You know,” Hoshiguma paused as Ch’en wrapped her arms around her shoulders, the view reversed with the shorter woman on her back. “You’ve said that to me before, do you remember?”
“What?” Ch’en cocked her head, confused. Her tail impatiently tapped against Hoshiguma’s thigh, an open book not unlike that of a Feline’s.
“About wanting me closer.” She’d said it more than once, in fact — Hoshiguma would have an exact count … that is if she was 100% sure what Ch’en had been saying were words and not a conjecture pieced together from guttural sounds the Lung made while climbing into her lap.
“Do I even want to know the context?”
“Did our escapades mean so little to you?” Hoshiguma put on a mockingly offended tone. It didn’t matter anymore, but distracting her meant more opportunity to tease her until that tail would begin to threaten cutting off the circulation in her arm.
“I won’t pretend like those were my proudest moments,” Ch’en draped an arm over her eyes. “I’d always curse myself after, threaten to tie my own tail into a knot if I so much as lay a hand on you again, and then find you in my bed the morning after.”
“Or three knuckles deep in the back of a police car,” Hoshiguma chided, rubbing one of said knuckles against her entrance, resensitizing her to further contact.
“That only happened once,” Ch’en snapped.
“So? I liked it,” the oni leaned closer, lips just barely far enough from her ear not to touch. “Who knew the sight of you clinging onto that chainlink divider between the back and the driver’s seat and your underwear hanging off of one knee would look that good?”
“Would you prefer that?” Ch’en whispered in turn.
“You know I’m not good at indirect games,” Hoshiguma clicked her tongue.
“Am I still everything you’ve ever wanted?”
“Sir …” Hoshiguma had to pause her delicate attention to brace against both of her arms for a moment and suppress laughter. “With all due respect, do you really think I'd be doing this if you weren’t?”
The scene in question devolved into an incomprehensible tangle of longer and shorter limbs, broader and leaner muscle, emerald hair cascading into azure, Hoshiguma’s back adorned with what could only be described as claw marks, and Ch’en squeezing down on the oni’s fingers so hard, she had no choice but to caress her deeper, faster.
Hoshiguma knew, somewhere in the back of her mind that Ch’en was scratching her — it was obvious by the pressure of her raking her nails across, and by the soft itch of her own blood mixing with a stray drop of sweat, but if Ch’en was telling her not to stop — she wouldn’t. In fact, she let herself go one step further; with the distraction at hand, she bit and pinched at the soft skin of her partner’s neck, leaving a collar of blooming bruises anywhere she could reach. In her defense, it wasn’t like the dragon’s canines were just for show either, sinking deep enough into her shoulder to break more than just skin, sloppily licking over each wound in apology when her mouth wasn’t preoccupied with her name (maybe with a bit of “Fuck” and “More” thrown in).
The setting sun cast a few pools of warm, amber light onto the floor of Hoshiguma’s apartment. Her bedroom was absent of any such daily passings of the sun, leaving herself and Ch’en — who lay snugly in her arms — in brown-blue shadow. The lingering warmth of the waning celestial body would’ve likely been unwelcome regardless of the stunning, yet comforting sight. Their bodies already struggled to cool despite the air conditioning, the conduction of previous exertion not helped by how tightly they lay pressed against each other, the dragon’s tail wrapped tightly around the oni’s thigh.
It would’ve been a beautiful summer’s day on Lungmen, reveling in a long sigh of relief free of its usual troubles, with malls to explore and restaurants to try and rooftop pools to lounge by. Tomorrow, perhaps, she’d take Ch’en out on her freshly polished bike and they’d see the re-release of that old spy movie she knew they both loved, and make good on an old musing about seeing her boss in a sundress rather than her windbreaker and lanyard.
But for now, Hoshiguma figured, this was enough.