Tomorrow's Doom A.3/C.22 - Unruly Slaves

Chapter 21: http://pastebin.com/j1dtNvij
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Chapter 22 -  Unruly Slaves

Shortly after finishing the game, a stray dark cloud strolled over the horizon and brought with it a brief thunderstorm. A sudden torrent drenched the ground, along with anyone caught outside, and some lightning flashes brought the echo of thunder rumbling between the bungalow's stilts, reverberating throughout the house. Tadao was the last to head inside at Amaya's request, but only after the rain had already soaked the patio and ruined his sandwich.

Nobuo is all smiles when we burst through the door, giggling at the suddenness of the downpour, but, upon figuring out why, I could see the diasppointment on his face. Evidently he had planned to go do some fishing before dusk, but the rainstorm is enough to thwart his half-hearted plans. Instead, he finds his way to the bench along the window in the kitchen to sit and watch the rain.

Apparently, according to Naoko, he was ready to propose to his girlfriend, but, deciding she needed to focus on her education, she preempted his proposal by breaking up just before Tanabata. Knowing that now, I feel a little bad about flaunting the budding relationship between Hisao and I when we visited their booth. It also makes me a little self-conscious; I'm not sure if seeing happy couples might be adding insult to injury.

While Nobuo sulks by the window, the rest of us retreat into the living room to wait out the rain by watching a movie. True to their word, our indentured slaves dutifully follow our beck and call, usually laughing or simply nodding at the increasingly silly requests. The heierarchy established by the volleyball game makes it more work for the Swooners, who go about fetching drinks and snacks while the rest of us change out of our damp clothes. Once everyone has settled into seats, or on the plush area rug, Kenta begs for silence and starts the movie.

Apparently it's one of his favorites, but I'm not particularly thrilled by the noir genre. According to him, it's based on an American graphic novel, but I've tuned both him and the movie out within the first ten minutes.

Shizune is no more interested in the film, instead sinking into an armchair, busying herself with some schoolwork she apparently brought along. Taking the role reversal with Misha rather well, her stoic acceptance of her game's terms isn't really surprising. If nothing else, Shizune is a good sport.

Considering Misha's usually bubbly personality, seeing her so perplexed by the role reversal is almost worrisome. Were it anyone else, I don't think she would be so tentative about making requests, but she has a lot of respect for Shizune, it seems, and doesn't seem thrilled by the prospect of ordering her around. Either that, or whatever she's thinking about asking is too outlandish to even utter aloud.

Yoko is somewhat less compliant, but it's mostly out of embarrassment. Keeping a smile on her face anyway, she never seems certain whether Naoko's requests are genuine or just teasing. Since they sat down in front of Kenta, Naoko has been relaying his outlandish, rude and or lascivious requests, all signed rather than spoken, to poor Yoko, causing her face to assume some of the most desperate, confused and shocked expressions I've ever seen.

Tadao has Amaya waiting on him hand and foot, which brings amusement to everyone in earshot. Returning sarcastic comments, Amaya only protests verbally, otherwise following his orders happily. Wrapped around each-other on the couch, basically spooning, both of them are caught up in the drama of the film. Every so often I can hear Amaya giggle, but the source remains a mystery.

I don't think I want to know the source, really.

Seeing them comfortable enough to stay so close even in the presence of so many prying eyes, I'm a tiny bit jealous. It would be too embarrassing for me to sit like that with Hisao. It might be enjoyable, but I'd never be able to keep a straight face or make eye contact with anyone.

Considering Hisao as he sits in the plush armchair behind me, I realize that, despite being my slave, I've actually been tending to his needs more than the other way around. Watching him go through an arrhythmic attack still has me tied in knots, and I'm concerned he could end up relapsing if he strains himself. Having chosen to sit on the floor a few feet in front of him, I periodically glance back reflexively; like I'm checking to make sure he's still there.

Feeling content just having him nearby, I'm glad it turned out to be benign, but thinking about what I saw out on the beach keeps me listening to his every motion and breath. Amaya's epileptic attacks often leave me in a similar hypersensitive state, but the churning in my stomach is new; like butterflies but worse. This mix of terror, concern and a little bit of resentment has me wishing I really could cuddle with Hisao so I wouldn't have to keep looking to make sure he's alive and breathing.

Shifting uncomfortably, I attempt to roll a little to assume a new sitting position, but leaning on my shoulder makes me wince. Whatever I did, the rain seems to be making the pain there multiply, and sitting down here like this probably isn't helping. When we first came in, Shizune noticed I was favoring my shoulder and asked whether I wanted to take something for it, even relaying me to Yoko, but I refused; I don't even like taking aspirin.

Before she let the subject drop, she did turn me on to an interesting suggestion; asking Hisao for assistance. Maybe I can't cuddle with him just yet, but if I got him to rub my shoulder, I could get the fabled two birds with one stone; relief from the pain and assurance that he's still there. Glancing back and wincing again, I look up at his blank expression, still absorbed in the movie, and decide to allow myself the luxury of asking for his help.

Nudging his knee, I grin and wait for his eyes to peel away from the movie before whispering, “Slave, I have a task for you.”

Best to make it sound like an order.

Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, Hisao's eyes perk up at the notion and he leans forward. Assuming a neutral expression, he addresses me, “yes, Mistress?” and inquires, “what is your desire?”

“My shoulder is killing me,” I say, blushing a little, “I think I pulled it chasing after a few of your volleys.” That might actually be true, or it could be a convenient lie, but neither of us can really tell. Suggesting he might have had something to do with my discomfort makes him straighten up and look apologetic, which I find amusing.

“Which one?” he asks, his eyes darting back and forth, “I thought you were favoring the right one.”

“Yeah, but you might as well get both while you're at it,“ I reply. Turning back, I scoot back along the floor until I'm flush with the front of his chair between his knees. It's an awkward position, but the other option consists of sitting in his lap.

Yeah, no... not with people watching.

Bowing my head, I pull my hair out around to the front, exposing my shoulders and start to say, “just-”

His warm hands gently grasp just below my neck on either side, causing the rest of my words to get lost in a comfortable groan. Making circular motions, his hands dig in ever so slightly, sliding outward along both shoulders, pushing the tension further away with each stroke. The sensation makes my head swim and plants a contented smile on my face, which I'm sorry he can't see.

Wriggling and swaying as his hands start pushing down along my arms, I stifle a giggle and hold up a hand, grasping his and squeezing it so he'll stop for a moment. “Is something wrong?” he asks, “I barely know what I'm doing, so if I hurt-”

“I'm just a little ticklish,” I interject, giggling at the concern in his voice, “mostly around my shoulders at the top of my arms.”

“Oh,” he says, breathing out a sigh of relief; or maybe realization.

“Unless you want to send me into a giggling fit,” I explain, letting go of his hand, “try to keep away from there, okay?”

Closing my eyes as he continues working out kinks I didn't even realize were there, I hear some whispering from over on the couch and smirk. Amaya and Tadao have apparently noticed his masseuse work, and I can't quite hear what they're saying, but I imagine it's mostly lewd. Not feeling like I need to explain myself, I let them whisper their lecherous litany, though I can't help but think they're being a little hypocritical.

At least we aren't dry-humping in front of all our friends.

Working mostly on my right shoulder, Hisao's hands work wonders for the soreness, and he manages not to trigger any giggling. Feeling his warm hands continually thrumming across my shoulders and down my back causes my mind to wander as a hot feeling begins emanating from my core. Imagining his hands moving over more delicate parts of my body causes my heart to quicken and my breathing becomes ragged; though I'm not sure if it's because of the thoughts or his hands.

Letting my head swim in the feeling, I have to keep reminding myself there are other people around. Part of me just wants to let go and give in to the sensations, especially when his hands start wandering down over my collar bones, which sends little electrical charges straight down my chest and all the way to my toes. Fighting the desire to pull his hands further downward, I'm thankful my hair is covering my expression because there isn't a doubt in my mind the face I'm making looks positively lustful.

I need a distraction!

Snapping my eyes open, I turn a curious look toward Amaya, but she's still in a loving daze. Seeing no help there, I continue scanning until I set my eyes on Kenta. Almost blurting something immediately, I realize that would probably make the situation obvious, so I fake a smirk and look at him with a forced quizzical expression that he doesn't seem to notice.

Hisao's fingers trace circles along the front of my shoulders while I'm searching for a distraction, making me wonder if he's doing this on purpose. My response to his advances so far has been either neutral or encouraging, so I can hardly blame him for pushing further. However, that same logical side of my brain is also screaming that I have to resist; even if I'd like nothing more than for his hands to find their way over every inch of me.

Sitting on the floor across from me, I notice Yoko has set about braiding Naoko's green locks, probably at her request, and is blissfully ignoring the movie. Glancing at Kenta again, I think of a particularly devious suggestion, but wonder if it might be overstepping my self-imposed bounds. At this moment, though, my mind is too addled to come up with something better, so I lean forward a little and nod toward Yoko, beckoning, “hey!”

The act of breaking the silence does wonders to push the fantasies out of my mind, and the red flush on my face begins to dissipate. However, now Yoko is looking at me with a perplexed expression. For a moment I reconsider the idea, but it's really too late for that. Pointing a thumb behind me, I whisper, “you should try this.”

For a second, Yoko stares blankly, but realization dawns across her suddenly, causing her eyes to widen. Seeing her reaction, I don't think she quite took it the way I intended. Waving at her to come closer, I stifle a giggle as I wonder if Hisao heard my suggestion, and what he might be thinking in that case.

Does he wonder if I'd make him do that?

Pushing away that line of thinking, I flit my eyes toward Kenta as I whisper, “from the other one there.”

Yoko turns and follows my eyes, but quickly turns back, he freckled features flushing bright red as she scowls at me and shakes her head emphatically. Kenta doesn't notice the exchange, but Naoko's attention isn't quite so focused elsewhere. Turning toward me, she raises an eyebrow and asks, [what're you planning?]

Smiling innocently, I fidget for a moment before realizing she can't have understood what we were talking about. My hands come up defensively for a few seconds before I sign a hasty reply, [nothing! Just making a suggestion.]

[You realize you could make it an order,] Naoko retorts, smirking deviously.

Maybe she does know what we were talking about.

Her suggestion makes me smile brightly and bob my eyebrows at Yoko, but she's not playing along. Instead, she stares back pleadingly. For a moment, I entertain the idea of doing just that, but her doe-eyed expression does well to defeat my moxie. Realizing she would probably have a coronary if I made her ask Kenta for a back-rub, I decide against pushing the subject further. Happy just to have put the idea in her head, I sigh and lean back.

My mind temporarily cleared, feeling sufficiently distracted from Hisao's wandering hands, I smile contentedly. From behind me, I hear a gentle, though somewhat sarcastic whisper, “pardon my comment, Mistress, but I'm glad to see you're not poking the bear.”

He's right, though; all I really did was sacrificed one temptation for another. Reaching my hands up to grab onto his wrists, I lean my head back and find him leaning forward, wearing a mocking half-smile. Caught in his deep brown eyes again, I smirk playfully and shrug. Whatever other power Hisao might hold over me, I'm still getting lost in his eyes regularly, but I don't find it bothersome. The somewhat disappointed look he's using on me is humbling, though, and I almost feel like apologizing.

Instead, I break eye contact by leaning forward and letting go of his wrists. Reaching skyward, I stretch my arms and back, then rotate my shoulder as I let my hands drop down to my sides. His ministrations have pulled most of the tension out of the shoulder, but there's still a lingering ache.

“Feel better?” Hisao asks, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Yes, mostly” I reply/ His index finger begins tracing along my shoulder and I suppress a giggle. Letting it linger there without protesting, I lean my head against his other hand and sigh contentedly, “thank you, Slave.”

Continuing to trace his finger up and down, I'm getting the sense he's teasing me intentionally, but I'm letting him get away with it for now. Pressing my ear against his hand, I bite my lip and close my eyes, trying hard not to giggle as his finger starts moving faster. Lifting my head, I feel his other hand start tracing up along my shoulder to the nape of my neck, and then all the way up to my ear. While I'm still busy trying to stop myself from giggling, which would mean he's winning, he leans down and kisses my earlobe.

“Ticklish, eh?” he whispers, lingering beside my ear as his hand moves down to rest on my other shoulder, “now why would you tell me that?”

“Don't you dare!” I breathe, but it's too late. His fingers start rippling against my exposed shoulders, sending tingling all up and down my arms and along my spine. The stifled giggle turns into a raucous laugh and I start squirming with my feet and hips, trying to slide away from his relentless, twitching fingers.

My unhinged laughter draws the attention of the rest of the group, and, much to my chagrin, they start cheering for Hisao. Following me as I continually try sliding away, writhing on the floor, he kneels beside me, and I suddenly regret ever desiring to have his hands all over me.

Well, maybe I don't, actually. I feel like I should, but I don't.

Relentlessly twitching, his fingers move across my sides and around my arms, then down as far as my hips. The thin fabric of my t-shirt hardly does anything to dull the sensation, and my cut-off jeans do nothing to protect my legs, but when he starts down toward my knees, I grab his shirt and pull him away, shaking my head furiously. Catching on to my unspoken protest, he reins back, but his hands are still free to roam across my abdomen and back up to my shoulders.

“You brought this on yourself!” he roars playfully, and I can do nothing but agree; this is penance for poking the bear. He's enjoying this far more than I am, if his nearly maniacal laughter is any indication.

Gasping for air between loud guffaws, my face is bright red, I'm sure, and my hands keep pawing at him; trying to push him away, even as I'm thoroughly enjoying his assault. Thrashing, rolling and laughing thunderously while mumbling incoherently, I can't help but think it's ironic I was just wishing his hands were all over me, and now he's torturing me kindly with them.

Eventually, he slows the persistent attack, choosing to let me breath in between short bursts of tickling. Managing to sit up and turn to face him, I breathe deeply and try to calm myself; though every time I get close to regaining myself, he directs another few seconds of tickling at my abdomen, shoulders or ribs. Finally, I've had enough, so I cross my arms and set a sour look on him, which makes him recoil and lean back on his elbows, still smirking pridefully.

From behind me, Amaya exclaims, “get him back~!”

Holding up his hand to ward me off, he continues smirking as I roll up onto my knees and crawl toward him, plastering a mischievous grin on my face. Still catching my breath, I stare at him, glowering. “Such a defiant slave!” I accuse, narrowing my eyes and folding my arms as I sit back on my knees, “you should be punished for your insolence!”

“A thousand deaths~!” Amaya suggests mirthfully.

“Make him wear a dress!” Kenta adds, laughing hysterically.

Sitting up and setting a delighted stare on me for a moment, Hisao glances around the room, looking nowhere near as terrified as he should; the prideful smirk remaining. Amaya's suggestion is somewhat drastic considering the offense, although I know it was meant in jest, and Kenta's would likely be entertaining, but I want him to suffer beyond the sarcastic barbs of his peers; I want him to be damaged internally, psychologically.

How do I do that, though?

Realizing I'm probably taking longer than I should to imagine a decent response, I think the silence is starting to wear on him. That's perfectly fine with me. He should feel uneasy about what I might be planning. Seeing him start to fidget makes me wonder what I could do to make Hisao even more distressed.

What do I know about him?

Obviously he has confidence enough to turn a back-rub into a tickle attack in full-view of all his new friends, so I won't get far assaulting his bravado. That really shoves Kenta's suggestion completely out of the list of possibilities.

Somehow I'm certain he'd enjoy being tickled in response, and I'm probably too shy to do that in front of people, anyway. Besides, making him laugh hard enough to lose his breath might cause more problems than I want to invoke; really bad problems.

Heart problems.

That gives me an idea, though. Hisao obviously cares about what people think of him; keeping his heart condition secret even from Tadao, whom he has been friends with the longest other than myself, is proof of that. Telling people about the past concerning his heart would be a breech of trust, but I recall something he left out of his retelling; something I'm not even supposed to know about, I'm sure.

That colorful letter on his desk. Iwanako was the name on the back.

Catching his eyes with mine as I lean forward, finally motioning to speak, I smirk sardonically and point at him. “I know things about you Hisao,” I state coolly, staring into his brown eyes, “things you don't think I know about!”

Straightening his face, his eyes widen a little and he furrows his brow. His expression is somewhere between abject terror accusation; he has no idea what I might be talking about, and that's just fine. Letting him stew in his thoughts for a few moments, I grin when his hand comes up to rub his sternum, and almost laugh seeing his face contorting back and forth between silent contemplation and motioning to protest.

The pattering raindrops against the window fill the room as the tittering falls to dead silence, everyone fixing their eyes on either Hisao or myself, all waiting with baited breath for my inevitable disclosure. Even Nobuo has taken notice of the exchange, walking over to stand behind the couch with a dreamy expression and a half-smile.

Feeling their eyes all start to move onto me, I decide it's time I break the tension, but I want this exchange to be between me and Hisao. Standing, I take a few steps closer and kneel beside him. Leaning close and cupping my hand over his ear, I ask a very simple question, “who is Iwanako?”

Retreating back to observe his expression, I'm not surprised he looks a little angry, but it's mostly shock carving deep worry-lines into the corners of his eyes as a grimace spreads across his lips. Somewhere in his look there's an apology of some kind, but I'm content just to see him squirm, so I don't indicate he has to answer; him merely knowing I have such information to lord over him is torture enough.

I still don't know who Iwanako is, but that's not the point right now.

What the letter, Iwanako, or his secrecy about both means is immaterial. All that matters is his bewildered reaction to my confessed knowledge, and the hint I may know more than he ever thought to tell me. Effectively putting him on the defensive, I'll hold this bit of information over him for a while; unless it's not important, in which case I don't think he'd look so anxious.

My other friends remain silent, watching Hisao as I take his seat and smirk proudly, delighting in their curious stares. After he doesn't say anything for a few moments, Amaya throws up her arms and sighs, “well? What's the big secret~!”

“Nothing I plan to share so long as Hisao acts as my loyal pet,” I explain, beckoning to him with an upraised palm, “you will sit by my side and dote over my every whim,” pointing my index finger at him woefully, I add, “or I'll tell them your sordid secrets.”

Frowning, Hisao glances around the room, looking for support, but everyone knew the rules before the game started; he'll either comply or risk further humiliation. Turning his gaze back at me, he locks his eyes on mine and sets his jaw in a firm grimace. Nodding finally, he follows my beckoning hand, taking a seat cross-legged beside my chair like a good dog – slave, rather.

The look in his eyes, though, as he looks up at me from his new position, is nothing but apologetic. Relaxing my cold expression, I smile at him to alleviate his distress a little. The look doesn't dissipate so much as transform into a more worried look, similar to the one he wore when he first told me about his heart condition; he wants to tell me something.

The importance of the letter may be deeper than I suspected.

My pondering time is cut short when Kenta stands suddenly and heads toward the kitchen, absently asking, “there any food around here?”

“I was about to start on dinner,” Nobuo says, following him, “anyone got any allergies?”

Shaking heads and a few negative grunts make him wave his hand and nod approvingly. “Just know I warned you,” he comments, heading over to the window bench.

Looking back down at Hisao, he's happily distracted by the subject change. Catching my look for a moment, he blinks and shrugs. “Ask me about it again sometime,” he says, his face turning serious again, “it's something you should probably know.”

Nodding, I make a note to hold him to that later, but, for now, it seems like my suspicions were partially correct. Exactly what part I was right about isn't clear, but I'm actually happy to know there are still unsolved enigmas concerning my mystery man. He said he would tell me when I asked, and that's enough for now; I don't think it's something he wants to discuss in front of an audience.

Maybe I'm not really cut out to be the Master in this situation.

“Hey the sun's peeking out,” Nobuo remarks from his window perch, “it's turning into a sun-shower out there.”

That catches everyone's attention. Standing, I beckon toward my pet and head for the window. Pulling back the curtain, I smile seeing clear blue sky peeking between the dissipating clouds. Hisao stands beside me, looking unsure what to do with himself, so I wrap an arm around him and remark melodically, “sunny day, sweeping the clouds away~!”

From behind me, Amaya picks up on the lyrics and answers in her somewhat grating singing voice, “on my way... to where the air... is... clear~!” Squeaking and rasping as her voice goes out of pitch.

Blocking my ear before she can continue, I hear her muffled gasp and turn to see Tadao holding a hand against her mouth, shaking his head and sighing disdainfully. “You'll stop strangling the cat, wench, or I'll put you over my knee!” he threatens. A delightful smirk spreads across his face as he holds her, responding to her playful elbow jabs with hearty laughs.

“Will you just calm down!” he exclaims, which actually seems to work. At least she stops her thrashing and calms, nodding complicitly.

When he takes his hand away, she sticks her tongue out at him, then continues, “can you tell me how to get,” tossing her arms up wide, dramatically, as she holds the off-key notes, “how to get to Sesame Street~!” Her voice cracks terribly as she holds the last phrase.

Quicker than I would have expected from laid-back Tadao, he scoops her tiny frame up into his arms, tossing her over his shoulder, and starts walking toward the bedrooms. Turning back he rolls his eyes and claims, “excuse me, I must discipline my slave or her unruly behavior could become habitual!”

Amaya is nothing but a giant grin as she's carried away, and everyone, even sullen Nobuo, busts out laughing.  Nobody bothers making any comments, though we're all likely thinking the same thing. Hearing one of the doors open and close, I shake my head and wonder exactly what he means by “discipline.”

Probably something unsavory.

Feeling my cheeks flush a little at the thought, I catch a smirk on Hisao's face and turn away. The laughter behind us continues for a while, finally calming enough for Nobuo to start making noise, clanging pans in the kitchen. Unfortunately it isn't enough to distract Hisao, who's still staring at me. Not that I mind his attention, but the thoughts I imagine are running through his mind just make my blush deepen. Whatever Tadao really meant, I can guess what it's making Hisao think about.

Teenage boys think about that every seven seconds or something, right?

Before I start glowing, I step over to the French door, slipping by Hisao, and pull it open, stepping out into the cool, damp air. The wet deck is cold and clammy on my bare feet, but that's helping the blush subside. The rolling waves are lapping up near the high tide mark, foamy and churning as the wind continues cutting across the beach, sending the tall grass waving about erratically.

Leaning down to rest my elbows on the wet rail, trying to keep my clothes dry, I hear another pair of feet slapping against the wet cedar planks and turn to see Hisao has followed me outside. There's still a hint of bewilderment in his expression, but the sunny sky has drawn his attention upward and forced a broad grin into his chiseled features.

Maybe it's the shafts of light streaking through the clouds, or the wind tossing his messy hair wildly, but right now, he looks more handsome and serene than I've ever seen. This strange, geeky, mysterious boy probably looks plain to most people, but, ever since I first saw him, sitting in dark contemplation at a desk five weeks ago, he's been worming his way into my heart. Gazing at him, I feel weaker and stronger at the same time.

Mom said something like that about Dad once, but it was under very different circumstances. Standing behind a modest podium, barely able to stand, she told a room full of strangers and family the story about how she met him, and how he won her heart without trying. Looking away from Hisao, I remember where Mom told that story, and I can't even imagine how hard it was for her; Dad's funeral was pretty surreal.

Taking a deep breath, I lean harder against the rail, forgetting about keeping my clothes from getting wet. It doesn't matter, I'll take any discomfort right now not to be thinking about Dad's funeral. Instead, a comforting hand finds my shoulder. Hisao stands beside me now, but I can't bear to look at him.

Not because I'm afraid of him seeing me look sad, but because, for the first time, he's actually the source. Inadvertently reminding me of a bittersweet memory isn't what he planned, I surmise, but it happened anyway. Maybe it's because of the place we're in that reminds me so much of Dad and Mom; and even Midori.

“She would have been running around out in the rain, y'know,” I say, absently reminiscing.

“The younger you?” he inquires, making me smile.

He does that so easily.

Looking over him, I wonder if that's what he's been doing; winning me over without trying. Once before, I told him Dad would probably approve, and he consistently makes that assumption seem more probable.

“Well, yes,” I reply, shrugging and smiling sheepishly, “but I was thinking of Midori.”

“Your sister?” he prompts.

“Yeah, she's thirteen and attending middle-school in Italy,” I explain.

Nodding he replies, “you mentioned that, I think.”

“Did I tell you she speaks fluent Italian?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

“No,” he says, “but that makes sense. Did you learn any?”

“I can barely grasp Japanese, never mind Italian,” I reply disdainfully, “she answer the phone in Italian sometimes, even when she knows it's me; just to spite me.”

Laughing, he retracts the hand on my shoulder and leans against the rail with his elbows, mimicking my position. “You're not that bad with Japanese,” he says, “though I've heard your English, and it's about as good as mine.”

We share a self-deprecating laugh at that. When we've recovered, he looks out toward the surf and remarks, “I'd like to meet her sometime.”

“She's thirteen; did I mention that?” I retort, raising a mocking eyebrow.

Rolling his eyes at my attempted innuendo, he wraps his arm across my waist and proclaims, “she sounds like she'd be good for a laugh.”

“Well,” I lead, grinning at him, “you might get that chance.”

“Oh?” he prompts, his eyes widening with what seems like excitement.

I hadn't planned to tell him, but, oh well.

“Yeah, assuming you're hanging around during summer break for a while,” I say, leading him into answering an unasked question.

Looking away, he gets that narrowed expression I've come to find amusing and then turns back to nod and reply, “probably for the first week or so, maybe. My parents want me to come back for a while, at least.”

Shrugging, I nod and explain, “I talked to Mom earlier in the week and she's probably gonna pack Midori on a plane and fly out to spend a few weeks in the city near Yamaku.”

“Just to see you?” he asks, looking a little surprised.

“Well,” I start to say, but I stop myself. Hisao mentioned he isn't that close to his parents, and I don't want to seem ungrateful for her attention, but his innocent question really makes me wonder. Mom and I get along and she loves me, I know that, but I'm not actually sure why she would jump on a plane and fly half-way across the world to spend a few weeks with me.

I'm taking too long to answer.

“I guess so,” I say finally, offering another shrug of uncertainty, “since Dad... left...” I start, frowning at my inability to mention is death casually, “and she moved to be close to her family in Italy, we only see each-other a couple times during the year.”

“Must be rough,” he says, his hand starting to rub my back, “from what you described you're a lot closer to your family than I am with mine.”

“Sorry,” I say reflexively.

“Hey, it's not your fault,” he assures me, leaning over and kissing the top of my head, “different strokes for different folks.”

“Is that a swimming joke?” I ask sardonically.

“What's your mom like, anyway?” he asks, realigning the subject.

“Well, I told you she's a chef instructor,” I reply, smiling at his quick nod; he remembers. “But she's also a hobbyist painter, singer and she plays a few different instruments,” I continue, “and she's a royal pain in my ass sometimes.”

“I was waiting for that part,” he replies, smirking, “figured you didn't talk about her much for a reason.”

“Yeah, well,” I remark with a shrug, “I still love her to death, but sometimes...” Trailing off, I let out a long sigh and slump down against the railing. “I told her about you,” I mention, “about us... dating.”

Hearing that, he pales a little and rocks back on his heels. Setting a concerned look on me, he raises his eyebrows, but says nothing. “Nothing too specific,” I say, alleviating his nerves, “she was mostly just excited to find out I was finally dating.” Seeing his face relax, I decide to drop the other shoe. “She wants to meet you,” I say, adding a derisive little laugh, “that's part of why she decided to head out for a summer break visit.”

Taking a deep breath, he fights against looking frightened, but isn't doing very well. Continuing to laugh at him, I can't help but picture his first meeting with my boisterous mother; it's a delightfully evil image, really. Standing apart with forced smiles, him with his hand tracing along his sternum, and her studying him with her eagle-eyed, analytical expression, the deafening silence would be interminable. Once broken, she would barrage him with questions, demanding to know everything he was thinking, I'm sure; it's how she starts conversations sometimes.

Midori will probably be the tie-breaker. Stepping in to look him over and practically sniff him out like a dog, she'd either bounce playfully and approve, or turn up her nose and walk away in disgust; there's very little gray area with her. However, I think she'll approve, and so will Mom.

“She'll like you, I think,” I say, which has the immediate effect of making his shoulders relax.

“I'm not worried,” he retorts, trying to save his pride.

“Yes you are!” I accuse, slapping his shoulder and turning a derisive smile at him, “but that's fine; you ought to be terrified. Mom is many things, but her best trait is her ability to judge character.” Wrapping my hands around his neck, I pull him away from the rail and grin up at him approvingly. “But I'm even harsher sometimes, and I like you,” I say sincerely, “even if you're an unruly slave.”

Setting his hands on my shoulders, he gives me that warm smile and replies, “you enjoyed the whole thing.”

“Maybe,” I admit, “but don't think you can get away with that all the time.” Before he can say anything else, I stand up on my tip-toes and plant a soft kiss on his lips. Brief and sweet, I pull back quickly and duck under his arms, headed for the door.

Turning to see him slightly mesmerized, apparently taking longer than expected to recover, I prompt, “come along, slave!”

Shaking his head to clear the far away expression, he pivots and chases after me, breathing, “yes, Mistress.”
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Chapter 23: http://pastebin.com/aEwWqxHE