.

.

There was a time she kissed him once, before they were lovers.

It was a few weeks after the slaughter of the Ma clan. Her wounds were mostly healed, but she still found great comfort sitting by him. Hundreds of names were ripped away from hers in an instant, but Kazuma's name remained a bright, shining constant. During bad days she would trace the mark on his hand with trembling fingers, the tears pricking her eyes as she'd lift his hand to kiss his mark. He didn't know what to do with her, then. Just watched her cry, suffering in silent agony.

"Will you stay with me?" she would ask. She didn't like to be alone, then. Silently Kazuma would kneel by her pallet while Bishamon would lay her head in his lap, and quietly he would card his fingers through her hair, stroking her scalp, gently. Sometimes she would fall asleep like this, her arms circling his thighs and her cheek pressed against his lap. Usually when this would happen, he would carefully remove himself from beneath her, gently placing her head on a pillow and quietly slipping through the rice paper door.

"Kazuma," she said one day, as he was gently laying her head back down on the pillow. "Will you hold me?"

"Bishamon-sama?"

Her eyes cracked open. She smiled at him, weakly.

"Please?" she said.

Silently he nodded, then gingerly laid down next to her.

All at once, she cupped her body against his, and the first thing that struck him was how soft she was. She fitted her body against the curve of his neck, and he could feel her warm breath fanning against his skin.

She was kissing his neck. It took a moment for Kazuma to process. She kissed his neck softly, rubbing her mouth against his collarbone and pressing her body against him.

Her eyes were half-lidded, bloodshot and glazed over, and when she kissed him, it was with fatigue and sorrow, lying heavily on top of his body. He didn't know what to do at first, but gradually hesitance gave way to something wetter, hungrier. He kissed her and he felt her hand sliding over the ponytail holding up his hair.

"Wait," Kazuma said. His voice was a ragged whisper. "Bishamon-sama. Wait. Wait."

"Please," she said. She kissed him open-mouthed, rocking her pelvis against that stiff knot of arousal that had hardened between them. "Please. I want you to touch me."

"Master," Kazuma said, and she reared up as if she had been struck. Whatever fog of half-sleep that had clouded her judgment lifted. Hesitantly, she unhooked her legs from around his hips, and Kazuma sat up shakily, pulling a pillow over his lap. His chest was exposed and his ponytail had come undone, and his hair fell loosely over his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she said. She wasn't looking at him. "I was lonely and I wanted to touch you."

"I know," Kazuma said, quietly. "But Bishamon-sama. I don't want you to do something you'll later regret."

She closed her eyes, a single tear spilling. Dully she nodded and leaned against him.

"Thank you, Kazuma-kun," she said, softly. She rested her head back on his chest.

He never hated himself more than at that moment. He loved her. He wanted nothing more than to gather her close, kiss her eyes and brush back the tracks of her tears. But the fact remained, she was vulnerable and he was the one who betrayed her.

She fell asleep on his chest, her hand a loose curl against his shoulder.

xXx

.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, centuries later in a darkened Near Shore hotel room. Kazuma had been holding her,curling his body against her back and gently combing his fingers through her hair. Somehow, the decor of the room had brought back old memories, and he found himself remembering the bad times - how he held her those first, early nights, exactly like this.

"I was just remembering the old days," Kazuma said, quietly. She reached her hand up over her shoulder to squeeze his fingers, comfortingly. He smiled against her nape. "I never thought we would end up like this."

"Like what?" Bishamon said. She shifted to look at him.

"Together," Kazuma said. "Intimate."

"We've always been intimate, Kazuma. I don't think I understand what you mean."

"I-" Kazuma shook his head and laughed softly. "Veena we're naked."

"Oh I see. You're talking about sex."

"Yes," he said, and he hugged her closer, smiling and kissing her hair.

"You know, we could have been doing this much sooner," Bishamon reminded him. "Remember that time I kissed you before? You rejected me spectacularly, if I recall."

"I was feeling guilty. I didn't want to take advantage of you."

She turned to kiss him, the sheets tugging around her body as she moved.

"You're hard," she said, smiling. Their faces were close. He smiled back at her.

"Are you tired?" he asked.

"No."

They kissed. He slipped inside her easily, his body facing hers.

"This is a good weekend," Bishamon said, smiling. He smiled against her jaw, rocking gently.

Later that night, he fell asleep spooning her from behind, his face burrowed against the back of her neck and his arm curled protectively around her. His hair fell in messy tangles over his forehead, and his eyes were two closed crescents, fluttering gently as he breathed.

She rolled to face him. His sleeping face was peaceful, almost boyish, and tenderly, she fluffed his hair with her fingertips, moving to press a soft kiss against his cheek. He smiled, sleepily hugging her to his chest. She nudged her forehead against his chin and rubbed her mouth against his collarbone.

She turned around so that they were spooning again, pulling his arm around her chest and pressing her lips against his knuckles. In the dark, she could still make out the markings of his name in the soft moonlight, which she traced reverently with the pads of her fingers.

They had to go back to Takamagahara tomorrow. The other shinki will probably have questions, and no doubt Yato gleefully filled the others in with pointless gossip. But for now she was happy to stay with him like this, pressed against the warmth of his body and feeling as if she were already home.