Chōsokabe Motochika (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
behisstrength) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
vatheon2012-10-05 01:45 pm
behisstrength) wrote in vatheon2012-10-05 01:45 pm
(no subject)
Who: Akechi Mitsuhide [wavesoakedlegs] and Chōsokabe Motochika [behisstrength].
When: Late morning/early afternoon.
Where: Their home.
Style: Prose.
Status: Closed.
Staring at his reflection in the full-length mirror in his and Mitsuhide's bedroom, Motochika resigned himself to defeat. While it was not impossible to tame his hair back into its usual spikes, hardly any time passed before his efforts were for naught and the ends of his hair curled again.
He was not a man who hid from the truth. This battle he could not win.
The last time that the ends of his hair had curled into loose waves had been when he was a boy. Along with his features, it had added to his famed feminine appearance -- and that he had been glad to leave in the past. While the current curl of his hair was in no danger of negating the obvious masculinity of his adult form, it was a blatant echo of his Himewakako days.
Motochika huffed a laugh, and strode away from the mirror.
At least it would bring a smile to Mitsuhide's face and a fond, teasing light to Mitsuhide's dark eyes. Defeat that gave Mitsuhide joy was not so bitter.
He left their room and descended the stairs.
It was normal for Motochika to wake up alone with the fading warmth of Mitsuhide's side of the bed his only company -- Mitsuhide was an early riser, up with the dawn. Perhaps Mitsuhide had seen the curl of his hair whilst he'd slept, but perhaps not. Either way Mitsuhide had not come back into their room since Motochika had woken, and considering that he had been stubbornly battling for a few hours, it meant that Mitsuhide was busy.
It became clear that Mitsuhide remained in their house when Motochika reached the bottom of the stairs and heard sounds of life in the living room. Motochika made his way in there, only to pause a step in and blink in surprise at just how busy Mitsuhide had been.
The conviction, the extent of motivation Mitsuhide displayed was admirable. That one man could do so much in a handful of hours...
He looked around the room, eyebrows raised, and then maneuvered round the pile of furniture in the middle of the space to stand beside Mitsuhide.
"Feeling inspired, were you?"
wavesoakedlegs] and Chōsokabe Motochika [behisstrength].When: Late morning/early afternoon.
Where: Their home.
Style: Prose.
Status: Closed.
Staring at his reflection in the full-length mirror in his and Mitsuhide's bedroom, Motochika resigned himself to defeat. While it was not impossible to tame his hair back into its usual spikes, hardly any time passed before his efforts were for naught and the ends of his hair curled again.
He was not a man who hid from the truth. This battle he could not win.
The last time that the ends of his hair had curled into loose waves had been when he was a boy. Along with his features, it had added to his famed feminine appearance -- and that he had been glad to leave in the past. While the current curl of his hair was in no danger of negating the obvious masculinity of his adult form, it was a blatant echo of his Himewakako days.
Motochika huffed a laugh, and strode away from the mirror.
At least it would bring a smile to Mitsuhide's face and a fond, teasing light to Mitsuhide's dark eyes. Defeat that gave Mitsuhide joy was not so bitter.
He left their room and descended the stairs.
It was normal for Motochika to wake up alone with the fading warmth of Mitsuhide's side of the bed his only company -- Mitsuhide was an early riser, up with the dawn. Perhaps Mitsuhide had seen the curl of his hair whilst he'd slept, but perhaps not. Either way Mitsuhide had not come back into their room since Motochika had woken, and considering that he had been stubbornly battling for a few hours, it meant that Mitsuhide was busy.
It became clear that Mitsuhide remained in their house when Motochika reached the bottom of the stairs and heard sounds of life in the living room. Motochika made his way in there, only to pause a step in and blink in surprise at just how busy Mitsuhide had been.
The conviction, the extent of motivation Mitsuhide displayed was admirable. That one man could do so much in a handful of hours...
He looked around the room, eyebrows raised, and then maneuvered round the pile of furniture in the middle of the space to stand beside Mitsuhide.
"Feeling inspired, were you?"
no subject
For quite some time now, they had been living in their large house alone. Though originally home to four people, two had gone (what with Lord Japan returning to his world and Gracia moving out) and yet Mitsuhide had not done anything to change and decorate either their new space or the old.
The moment he had stepped into the living room, pondering on what to do with himself, he had realised this.
But an hour later, all of their furniture was shoved into the middle of the room and protected by sheets. Mitsuhide himself had his hair bound into a bun and was clad in his mustard-yellow kimono from a previous curse. It was a garment he did not like at all, but now he had a use for it; painting clothes.
By the time Motochika came down, a long while later, Mitsuhide was covered in flecks of paint and regarding the walls thoughtfully. All of the base white colour had been done, and now he was wondering what to do on top of it. When he heard his lover address him, he turned to make a reply...
That reply was put on hold, because his attention was immediately drawn to the curls Motochika now sported. Stepping forward, a warm smile crossing his face, Mitsuhide raised his one clean hand and ran it through the locks.
"Good heavens, my Lord... this is not a look I have seen on you for a long time."
Not since they were boys, and Motochika known as a Little Princess. Motochika's hair would likely always curl if it got long enough, but since those days he had not let it do so.
Inevitably, Mitsuhide laughed.
"I am certain you would not have come down here like this if it were possible to tame."
no subject
"My best efforts were resisted with ease," he confirmed.
Normally his hair had to be much longer than his current cut for any waves to appear, a fact that he made good use of for many years. He briefly wondered what memories it buoyed to the surface of Mitsuhide's thoughts.
"But nevermind the state of my hair."
There was a much more intriguing occurrence at hand, in his opinion.
Motochika swept out a hand, gesturing at the painted walls. Curiosity resounded in his tone and his expression.
"You have certainly exerted yourself, Mitsuhide. Tell me of your plans for this room."
no subject
There certainly were memories running through his mind. Mostly of childhood adventures... if that was the right word.
After a moment he leaned in to kiss Motochika lightly on the lips.
"It suits you well enough," Mitsuhide said with a light tease in his voice, afterwards, "and it certainly feels as pleasant as always."
Afterwards, however, he stepped back and ceased his teasing, turning his attention back to his work.
"In truth, I am not exactly sure. My plan was to decorate the walls and then use that as the inspiration for the rest of the room. Something personal, creative... a little different from the usual."
no subject
He made a thoughtful noise in his throat as he basked in the warmth Mitsuhide emanated, then pressed a kiss to Mitsuhide's hair and considered the blank canvas of the wall before them.
"I shall help you," he declared.
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"You have ideas?" Mitsuhide's voice was soft, curious. "A place to start would certainly be welcome. I have many ideas in my head, but they are numerous enough that choosing one has proved to be difficult."
Many ideas was right. The small table he'd set up to hold his materials bore many different shades of paint and different sizes of brush; as uncertain as he'd been, he'd opted for a 'little bit of everything,' so the speak.
no subject
He pressed his cheek to Mitsuhide's crown.
"Compose it as you would compose a poem."
no subject
His gaze flicked to their fireplace, the central feature in the room.
"Perhaps I could paint a verse onto the main wall?"
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"A fine plan," he encouraged, relinquishing his hold on Mitsuhide before giving his lover a playful shove towards the small table of materials. "Do it!"
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"I did not marry you for your bossiness, my Lord," Mitsuhide said, laughing despite himself. "You do not need to push me to get your own way."
He picked up a small brush, and began to look over the different paints. Hmm... perhaps working with their respective favourite colours would be a good idea? Mitsuhide's hand hovered over a deep blue.
"Maybe this one, for the words..."
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Marry him?
A warm current of recognition washed through him a moment later as he watched Mitsuhide deliberate. That was right, wasn't it? It felt so, when he examined it closely. They could be no less than joined in all ways, and marriage in Vatheon was not a matter of politics but of love.
There was no other he would choose.
It still felt new, in many ways, and at times the realisation struck him like a flash of sunlight upon a wave, sudden and with the fierce impact of the first time all over again.
He was filled with a breathless, vast, overflowing exhilaration as he looked upon Mitsuhide with the certain knowledge that they were married radiant in his mind.
Unable to stay away, Motochika followed, intent upon claiming another kiss before he let Mitsuhide get to work unhindered.
"Oh? What did you marry me for?" he drawled, his tone provocative and deep.
no subject
"Are you looking for compliments, Lord Motochika?" Mitsuhide smiled softly. "Because I am certain you know full well why I..."
He trailed off, smile fading and a confused frown spreading across his face. A certain thought in the back of his mind had finally caught his attention.
The mention of marriage had made him drift back to that day. Or would have, if any trace of it existed in his memory. Surely he would not forget an event as important and emotional as that?
When Mitsuhide spoke next, he sounded nervous. If it turned out that he had just forgot...
"Do you actually remember getting married?"
no subject
"Don't you?" he challenged, his own smile fading as his gaze grew keen, running over Mitsuhide's features searchingly.
Motochika slid his eyes shut. Small moments from their wedding played in his mind, but they were oddly insubstantial, less like memories and more like --
-- dreams.
Motochika opened his eyes and reached out, grasping Mitsuhide's left hand. He lifted his lover's arm and turned his unwavering gaze upon the inside of Mitsuhide's wrist.
His eyes lingered on the pale, unmarked skin for a handful of seconds before he returned his focus back to Mitsuhide's face.
"No," he said, grim.
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Mitsuhide sighed softly. The network had deduced pretty quickly that there was some kind of 'rumour' based curse going on, like one Vatheon had experienced quite some time ago now. Knowing that, and being unable to recall actually getting married... the obvious conclusion was that someone had created a rumour that the two of them were joined in such a way.
The idea of marrying for love, and marrying the one you loved regardless of their gender, was an idea they had only encountered in Vatheon. Thinking back, Mitsuhide realised he had never thought about that idea in terms of himself and Motochika.
Why would he, after all?
But now... the realisation that they weren't married left him feeling genuinely disappointed.
Mitsuhide turned to face Motochika fully, painting forgotten for the moment. For a short while he didn't know what to say, but eventually, something came out.
"You looked at my wrist, Lord Motochika. Why was that?"
Perhaps not the best question in their current situation, but Mitsuhide did genuinely want to know.
no subject
Motochika huffed a laugh, disappointed by the truth and unwilling to turn from it, yet too assured of the depth of their intimate bond to be truly dismayed.
He tugged Mitsuhide's hand to him and pressed a tender kiss to Mitsuhide's pulse point, a meaningful gesture. Private warmth flooded his intense eyes -- a loving look reserved only for Mitsuhide.
"An echo of a dream in which we were wed," Motochika explained, unflinchingly honest of his own desires, subconscious or not. "It was there that we wore a permanent symbol of our union, tattooed onto our skin."
no subject
Nothing could have stopped Mitsuhide from flushing deeply in that moment; that look and that sentiment combined ensured such was the case.
"Once again I find myself saying that you are as much of a poet as I am."
He wanted to question Motochika further on those tattooes. Design, colour size... but there were other things they needed to talk about more than that, weren't there? They weren't married. They still felt married. Such a union had never occured to Mitsuhide before, but honestly, that feeling was something comfortable and right.
The cultures that treated marital bonds in this way had the right idea.
"Lord Motochika." Mitsuhide tilted his head; his voice was soft, and a little awkward. "Do you think it will feel the same? When the curse has finished?"
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"No. It will feel better. Without a curse looming over us you shall be free to cast aside your doubt."
Motochika released Mitsuhide's hand and brought his to cup Mitsuhide's face.
"Ask yourself this, Mitsuhide: are you so certain that this feels different to last week? The week before? The month before? Tell me... what has changed?"
He did not allow Mitsuhide the space to answer immediately, however. Instead he kissed Mitsuhide, passionate and lingering.
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"Right now? I would answer 'nothing,' Lord Motochika," Mitsuhide replied. "But we are cursed, and we are not married despite feeling like we are. Next week, we shall still not be married. Is that not so?"
This was all incredibly confusing. Mitsuhide paused for a moment; a moment or two later, he visibly relaxed a little more.
"But I do know for certain that I love you," he said then. "A curse cannot give me doubts when it comes to that."
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Motochika held Mitsuhide's gaze and stroked his thumbs over Mitsuhide's cheeks affectionately. When he spoke next there was a clear promise in his confident words.
"Indulge in this week, my love. I shall ask you how you enjoyed being my husband when it is over."
no subject
"...as you wish," he replied softly, when his lover had finished. "That seems like a wise idea."
For a moment he stood still, quiet and awkward, before shaking his head with a quiet laugh and gesturing towards the table. Mitsuhide still had a room to decorate, after all. The matter of marriage was unlikely to leave his mind anytime soon, but neither was the urge to create.
"Shall we continue painting, then? I have settled on a colour for my poetry, at least. You should find a place to start too."
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"Very well."
He made no immediate move to collect materials himself -- rather, he waited to glimpse Mitsuhide's work before adding anything of his own to the wall.
no subject
For a moment he was silent, merely staring up at his chosen canvas, but after a while a smile spread across his features and he reached up to paint his first line. Stepping back afterwards, he tilted his head and tapped the end of his brush on his chin.
'The ocean heart,' said the line.