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
"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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
"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.
no subject
"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."
no subject
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."
no subject
"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.