I don't
love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
-- Pablo Neruda
Jun grew up in dark hallways that smelled of incense, fine, expensive stuff
that curled out in delicate spirals to fill the large stuffy rooms. For years
she thought it was the smell of magic, of a shaman's power.
Jun had been wrong about many things and she was wrong about this. Pailon, the
culmination and effigy of her strength and skill, smelled either of skin or
smelled of nothing.
***
She never asked why he stays, but she did once ask why he had forgiven her,
which may have been just a more complicated and subtle form of that question.
He had no answer except that he woke up from a grey twilight to a future that
had been denied to him, and when he raised his hand to punish the person responsible
her eyes had been more betrayed and hurt than afraid.
When they move now they move in tandem, well-oiled and precise, quick and hard.
Her kisses are teasing and breathless. She winds her arms around his neck and
stands on the balls of her feet. Her breasts are high and full in his hands -
the breasts of a girl too young for him even when he was alive, breasts she'll
have for another ten years if she's lucky - and he always feels clumsy touching
them. His hands can break cement, but a sledgehammer is not the right
instrument for work this gentle and delicate. He uses his mouth instead and she
arches her back and sighs.
Pailon found her once with her hair down, looking at the moon and thinking
about her father. He rested a hand on her shoulder.
"I refused to fight when I thought it meant killing you," she said after a
moment.
"Ah."
She looked back at him and her eyes are steady and filled with the way things
are. "But I would have put you under my complete control again if it had meant
saving Ren."
"I know, Tao Jun."
She kissed his knuckles with a mouth as cool and smooth as stone.
***
She didn't know how to treat him in the beginning, this awoken Pailon, and it
showed in every command with a 'please' tacked onto it with the same painful
and awkward attention of someone learning to walk with a crutch. He did not
know how to treat her either, his mistress of twenty unconscious years with
eyes that could be full of feline cruelty unless she was with him or her
brother or speaking of Asakura Yoh, who she thought saved them all. So they
watched each other and spoke politely.
As the months passed and the politeness wore into comradery, they were left
simply watching.
It had all the inevitability of water swirling down the drain. They had
spiraled around this nebulous and powerful thing between them for months before
meeting it and each other at its center.
***
Pailon puts Jun in mind of the grottos she had only read about, secretive and
cool and deep, water echoing as it lapped against stone. When she watches his
back as he fights, as immediate and furious as a fire demon, or when he holds
her, his body secure and immoveable as a monolith, she forgot this. It is only
when he is staring at his hands or her body or practicing a move over and over
again until it is burned into his memory that the shock of recognition hits
her. It has something to do with his kindness, the gentility that results from
true skill or the search for it, something to do with the way he always looks
startled when they first touch.
His body is a pillar and Jun wraps herself around it. She has explored all his
scars, traced his stitches with her tongue. At night she wrapped her mouth
around him and taken delight in his clutching at the sheets and his groans and
the heavy heat cradled between her lips.
She does not deserve Pailon's loyalty or his wry, knowing smirks or his
sweet-kitten look of confusion. She does not deserve to watch the muscles move
underneath his skin like knotted rope in the morning light when he practices.
He must know it, and that he gives her these things anyway is as close to
absolution as Tao can get.
****
He has his own bed now. He rarely comes to hers, does not come at all if Ren is
nearby out of some sort of respect for him or her. She does not come to his
often either. They meet in the middle.
Her cheek resting on his shoulder, Pailon smells of skin or of nothing or of a
fresh wind. Jun can close her eyes and sleep.