Going Up, an inu × boku ss/妖狐×僕ss fanfic

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author's Note: I finished the Inu x Boku SS anime the other night. In a word: asdfghjkl.

Warnings: First Inu x Boku fic, so it's probably OOC. Anime-based, as I've not had a chance to read the manga. Some sexual content. Fluff. Future and family fluff, specifically. Fail editing—and writing, I imagine—since it's been a while since I ficced anything. XD;

Dedication: For Hannah. Thanks for the help… and for the DVDs! XD

XXX

Going Up

XXX

He changes with the change of rooms.

When he visits her apartment, he's her bodyguard. In the car, he takes on the role of chauffeur In the kitchen, he plays her chef; in the dining room, her steward. He is an individual without individuality, and the more that realization dawns on her, the more it niggles and grates at her heart.

But then the elevator doors slide closed, and his two-toned eyes grow sharp and cold. His bottom lip quavers as his hands clench into fists. He says he is jealous.

And in the very back of her startled mind, Ririchiyo wonders if maybe—just maybe— they've found a place where Miketsukami can be Miketsukami.

Delicate hands tremble around the base of her bag, anxious fingers flexing against its thick red paper. The decorative seal that the pastry shop had affixed to the parcel gleams a metallic gold, reflexing stray beams of florescent light as Ririchiyo inadvertently crinkles and crumples the sack. It whines loudly with each new wrinkle, but the young girl can hardly hear it through the pounding of blood in her ears. She tries not to think too hard about her increasingly irregular heartbeat. Instead, she focuses on breathing.

In, out. In, out. Calmly as they climb, in, out. In, out. Even still, as the elevator rises, she begins to wonder if she'd accidentally forgotten her stomach in the lobby. Her legs buckle. And so weak are her knees, Ririchiyo nearly collapses beneath the gentle, downward pressure of the heady air as her ride ascends.

In, out. In, out. Ba-dum, ba-dum.

The innumerable hearts decorating her purchase remind the girl over and over again that today is Valentine's Day. A day to spoil loved ones. A day to show you care. Of course, in the end, she'd not been able to muster the courage to buy Miketsukami the truffles she'd had her eye on. But…

But she'd gotten a chocolate cake to go with today's coffee. A dark gateau with strawberries. Chocolate. Just for him. She hopes he'll notice.

(He always notices.)

I noticed you failed to eat all of your grapes at breakfast. Please eat an extra serving of fruit at lunch to make up for this imbalance and I love you.

I hope your second period test goes well and I love you.

Yesterday, you mentioned wanting strawberry soup. I will buy the necessary ingredients and I love you.

Be careful not to spend too much time in the sun during break. I do not wish to see you burn yourself again and I love you.

I will be there presently to pick you up and I love you.

I love you and I love you.

Ririchiyo smiles faintly, an exasperated sort of giggle sticking in her throat as she skims the texts she'd missed while at school. Typical Miketsukami behavior. Through the draping curtain of her tresses, the girl casts her secret service agent a brief glance, watching him press the appropriate buttons on the elevator's panel. It's sad, really. He's like a lost puppy when she isn't around. Though he had been awfully good today…

After a long moment of silent deliberation, a very rosy Ririchiyo pushes a few idle keys and tucks her phone into a pocket. As there's nothing innately unusual about this action, her ever-attentive guard pays it little mind… At least, until his own phone chimes a few seconds later.

"Hm?" Miketsukami blinks twice, innocently bewildered as his attention is drawn to his cell. Had she just…? For him? Now? Should he wait, or…? But with a nod of permission from his tight-lipped mistress, he cocks his head and retrieves his new message.

I'm home and I love you.

For a minute, Ririchiyo thinks he might cry.

He always notices.

"You do not need to force yourself, my dear," the bodyguard reassures, albeit in a strangled whisper. Having witnessed the precise moment that warped youth and inexperience into fear and discomfort in Ririchiyo's mind, his tender hands sympathetically still her own, ending what she'd begun with a kiss to her forehead. A patient sort of amusement glitters in his sun-and-sky eyes as her knuckles turn cloud-white against his belt.

She wants to do this, to touch him, but…

"Oh. This is our floor."

She's on the floor.

Her eyes are closed. Tightly jammed. It's a childish response to the situation, she knows, this ridiculous attempt to pretend that everything is her own doing. But she needs to stay calm, needs to combat claustrophobia, and after being stuck in a virtual box for an hour, she's ready to try even the most ludicrous of tactics. Perhaps attempting to remember the color of the elevator's carpet might help, too. It's a more tactile and grounded approach. She can feel it rubbing against her back, right now—the itchy, tight weave of it, rough against bare thighs. She'll get a rash, at this rate.

"Everything will be all right, Miss Ririchiyo. There is no need to be frightened…"

The silken skim of his soft lips against the shell of her ear— unseen in this crushing blackness— elicits a twitching shudder and a choked sob from the terrified mistress. She considers muffling both pathetic sounds against the solidity of her boyfriend's body, but there'd be no point. He'd hear her, anyway. He'd know. So instead, she surrenders to her fears and nestles her face into the curve of his invisible neck, holding him closer. Dragging him to her.

"Miketsukami …"

There is a muted moan, the rustling of a suit in the dark. Gingerly, gradually, suddenly, Ririchiyo can feel the smooth cloth—the hard, warm flesh—of a long, familiar leg as it slips and extends, easing a shadowed body down, down, down. Soon, her bodyguard has lowered the length of himself to the ground as well, and lies along beside her. Chest to chest, nose to nose, knees to knees, as if this were any other Sunday afternoon. But there is less space here than in Ririchiyo's room, and Ririchiyo herself is more jumpy. Dangerously so. Their stalled car groans in its shaft, and his charge's abrupt jolt of surprise has Miketsukami's leg slipping between her own. Their hips bump with fabric-riddled friction as her uneven breaths waft against his nape, and her lacy lashes tease the planes of his throat.

"M-Miss Ririchiyo…"

She doesn't respond. Not to him, anyway. Instead, she answers the elevator's second whine with another lurch—a brisk, quick jerk against her bodyguard's upper thigh, followed by an open-mouthed gasp beside his shoulder. The heat of it lingers between them, nearly palatable. And so startled had she been by the jammed lift's antics, it takes Ririchiyo a full minute to noticing that she's no longer the only one trembling. Now, she can feel faint tremors racking her agent's body, too…

"Miss… Miss Ririchiyo…" Miketsukami clears his throat, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. It gives her pause. "M-maybe it would be prudent for me to stand in a corner…"

"…?" Temporarily distracted by her bodyguard's unusual stammer, Ririchiyo cocks her head and pouts in puzzlement. What? Is Miketsukami scared, too? He must be… His slender fingers, so gingerly placed, are quavering upon her waist. Twitching, as if he's simultaneously trying to pull her closer and push her away. His muscles have coiled and tensed beneath her; his heartbeat—so clearly felt when they lie together like this—is as erratic as her own. Is he really that frightened? But he hadn't been afraid prior to this mo…

Her leg shifts against him.

Oh.

In half an instant, Ririchiyo's abnormally pale features flush a deep scarlet, drain entirely of color, then turn pink all over again. "Um… I…"

"I apologize for the inappropriate reactions of my body," Miketsukami murmurs, sounding more distressed than his mistress had ever heard before. Though she can barely make out the silhouette of his face, she can very clearly hear his dejected scowl— can picture the way his brow has furrowed in self-loathing and regret as he gently tries to disentangle their limbs. "I wanted nothing more than to comfort you, but I am afraid I have merely exacerbated your anxiety in this time of crisis. Though I am unworthy, your dog begs for your forgivene—!"

She still can't say it. She wonders if she'll ever be able to say it. But… But especially here, in the anonymous darkness, she can at least show him what she wants…

"M-Miss Ririchi— Oh…"

At first, her movements—though now intentional—are just as jerked and graceless as her instinctive, fear-filled jumping. He sucks down a breath; she does the same. Together, they hold it. Waiting. Wanting. Both somehow expecting to be rejected, or perhaps rebuked. But no. She shifts again—carefully, purposefully— and feels something warm begin to well inside of her, beautiful and bright. Like a flower made of fire, it flares and grows, its scalding petals blooming outward and dripping wet pollen.

Her panties are wet. She wonders if he can feel that.

"Miketsukami…"

Though his name is an encouragement, a virtual plead, Miketsukami doesn't answer. Doesn't move. He doesn't want to hurt her, or force her, or scare her into stopping. That said, the agent's body is his charge's to do with as she pleases, so neither does he discourage Ririchiyo when she urges him—with teeny shoves and whimpers— to lie upon his back… Nor does he protest when she primly straddles him, smoothing her skirts like a lady… Or when, decisive, she places his palms upon her waist and grinds down, hard, rubbing against her boyfriend with an erotic earnestness that catches him totally off guard.

"H-hah—! Ah, M-Miss Ri—!"

Stars in his eyes and shooting through his veins, Miketsukami throws his head back with a rasped gasp, nearly disorientated by his surprise. She bucks again. The heat of her seeps into his suit, sweet scented and moist. Delicious. He wants to taste it. Taste her. All of her. Soon. Every nerve in his body tingles with anticipation at the thought, at his daydreams and desires… And he must not be the only one who hungers, for soon Ririchiyo's little mouth has found his chin, nose, lips; a sharp canine nips at the agent's earlobe, and whatever threads of composure had been holding him together snap entirely.

"Miss Ririchiyo—!"

"Ngh, Miketsukami… please…!"

Her clothed thrusts find a sort of rhythm. His hands clench around her tiny hips. And soon they are moving together—slowly, steadily, then fast, faster, faster, desperately, frantic— up and down, up and down, up and down, as if in place of the broken elevator.

His smile is contentedly sweet as he stands beside his mistress, phone in one hand and her fragile fingers in his other.

"Just look at how much you've grown," he coos, flipping through a terabytes' worth of old jpegs and video files. Ririchiyo, in reply, scoffs and nudges the screen from her face with her usual indignation, cheeks stained a flustered scarlet. In her free hand, she holds a thick leather tube. It brushes against her outer thigh with every languid movement of her arm, and its ginger prodding helps to chip away at the surreal strangeness of the moment. She appreciates the anchor to reality.

She also appreciates how she could use it as a weapon against her idiot boyfriend. If necessary.

Soushi chuckles, his own features pinking prettily as he turns the cell's display back towards himself, relishing his precious collection. "Miss Ririchiyo, your beauty has always been beyond compare, and I have never been worthy to so much as gaze upon your blessed countenance. Still, I must confess that even I am taken aback by how stunning you've become these past few years."

That flatterer. Ririchiyo snorts, casting a sidelong glance towards the reflective aluminum of the elevator wall. A familiar face glowers back at her, just as she knew it would. "I look the same," she counters—almost bitterly. Same round eyes, same petite frame. At the age of 18, she is starting to resent her childish stature. "I've not grown at all…"

"Miss Ririchiyo!" She starts, twisting back towards her agent. He sounds horrified. "Oh, Miss Ririchiyo, I can most definitely assure you that that's not true! Why, your hair has lengthened by 3.45 centimeters, your hips have widened by 5 millimeters, and your breasts have—"

WHACK.

"Idiot," the young woman grumbles half-heartedly, dropping the black cylinder heavily against her shoulder. Her bodyguard is laughing again, unfazed by the chastising bop to the forearm he'd been dealt. Regardless, his grin speaks of a promise to behave. With his usual poise, Soushi slides his cell phone back into his pocket and instead slips both arms around his charge, pulling her to his chest and resting his head atop her crown.

"Congratulations on graduating high school, my dear," he breathes into her ear, all but purring as she shivers against him. "I am very proud of you."

"You said as much in your earlier text…" Ririchiyo mutters, but allows herself to be embraced all the same. They reach the fourth floor landing with a tinny ring of a bell. The chime of it echoes strangely in her head—the sound of something ending, of a new door opening. Congratulations. I love you. What do you wish to do now?

What does she wish to do now?

She holds more tightly to his hand.

"Oh dear."

"The car's stopped."

"This seems to happen to us quite a bit, doesn't it?"

"Yeah… I'm starting to think it's somehow intentional."

"What? Could you possibly be suggesting that I've been purposely sabotaging the elevator wiring in order to spend more time alone with my precious, angelic mistress in a small, dark space?"

"You wouldn't risk my safety like that."

"Ah! It fills me with immeasurable and untold joy that you know me so well, Miss Ririchiyo!"

"Mmm, you're more likely to pretend the door lock is jammed so you're 'forced' to spend the night in my apartment."

"Indeed, that is more my style."

"Pervert."

"Only for you, Miss Ririchiyo~"

"…do you think they'll get it working again, soon?"

"I would assume. Are… Are you all right, mistress? You don't seem as frightened as last time, but…"

"I'm all right. Really. I mean, there's nothing to be afraid of if you're here."

He twines their fingers.

"Exactly. I will always protect you."

She doesn't let go.

She doesn't let go of the button.

He'd warned her not to. In that low, velveteen drawl of his that makes her fine hairs stand on end. That sly, slippery simper that speaks of sin and seduction and secrets. He'd warned her, in that voice, with all manner of devious intent. So she doesn't.

"A… Ah—!"

Legs spread, skirt flipped, Ririchiyo keens like the wanton vixen that Soushi had playfully begun referring to her as, her rounded hips thrusting backwards as if she really were a dog in heat. "H-hurry…!" she begs, hoarse and moaning, her tiny, sweat-slicked fingers slipping on the switch that keeps the lift doors shut. Her other hand—braced against the wall— palms and claws wildly at the panel, accidentally illuminating half of the different landings. She rocks and wriggles; his nails bite into her rear. It's not enough… Tears of frustration begin to well in the corners of her eyes, glittering in the eerie glow of the buttons. At least, until her lover leans over and licks them away, his chest deliciously heavy draped across her concaved back. The tease. "Soushi, p-please…! R-right ther— Ngh…!"

"Miss Ri— Ririchiyo…!"

It isn't unusual for the elevator to make a varied array of banging noises as it operates. This is, however, one of the first times the sounds originate from inside of the car.

He opens his phone before the first note of her ringtone has a chance to play out.

Where did you go? the brief message reads, almost curt in its demand. Almost, but not really. It goes without saying that Soushi can detect the concern and loneliness that lurks beneath the surface of his beloved mistress' text. And the bodyguard must admit, her confusion isn't unmerited; it is quite rare for him to willingly sacrifice time at her side. Especially on a Sunday. For these reasons—and many more—he smiles warmly at the screen as he saves (and backs up, and emails himself an extra copy of) the note, then keys in a reply.

I apologize profusely for making you worry, Miss Ririchiyo, he begins, eyes flicking fleetingly to the elevator's upper panel. First floor, second… He'd be at their apartment shortly. For me, too, the time we spent apart felt like a small eternity. However, today is Saint White's Day, and your unworthy dog wished to find you a suitable gift to thank you for this year's chocolate cake.

"Though really…" Soushi murmurs to himself as he snaps his phone shut, and instead opens the box he'd hidden in a pocket. Within its blue-velvet depths, a ring of white gold and diamonds winks merrily up at him. "I'm afraid that this present, as well, is more for my benefit than yours."

"You know, you can put me down, now," Ririchiyo comments flatly, rolling her eyes as her new husband holds her all the closer. Though she can appreciate tradition, carrying the bride over the threshold usually just means… Well, carrying her over the threshold. Soushi had picked her up immediately upon leaving the wedding ceremony and hadn't let her go since. On the plus side, as they'd finally made it to the Ayakashi Kan elevator, they were nearly home— at which point he'd have to set her down. But on the off chance that he was getting tired, she figured she'd at least suggest—

"Never," Soushi croons happily, still wearing the thousand-watt beam he'd had affixed to his face all day. It almost hurts to look at, it's so blindingly brilliant. "Being married means I never have to let you go again. It's the best form of contracting, don't you think, Miss Ririchiyo?"

The young woman responds by frowning a touch, arms crossing as her features take on a pinkish hue. "I think it's time to lay down a few ground rules, if you think being married means you'll get to tote me around like a bag all day," she drawls, though of course—as always— the trifling threat rolls off Soushi's shoulders like water off a duck. He does, however, give pause at Ririchiyo's next comment. Quite literally.

"Though you know," she continues, her tone deceptively mild as she glances at her secret service agent through her partly lowered lashes. "Being married means I'm not a 'miss' anymore… And really, even if I was, don't you think… Don't you think maybe you could just call me Ririchiyo, now?"

Had he not been holding her so carefully, he very well may have dropped her out of shock.

His expression is priceless. Wide-eyed and aghast, mouth flapping soundlessly, the young woman watches in vague amusement as a vibrant cherry stain begins to crawl up her husband's neck, his eyes darting back and forth as if she'd just made the most embarrassing suggestion that the world had ever heard. This coming from the man who'd attempted to sexually assault her during a children's game of House. In front of all their friends. And a four year old.

"I… I couldn't," Soushi flounders with a gasp, visibly and genuinely horrified by the idea. "The very thought…! It'd be too rude. I am barely worthy to speak your name as it is…" he trails off, expression taking on a guilty edge when Ririchiyo regards him with intense disappointment. Mulling on his refusal, she toys with his collar for a bit, smoothing his lapels and pouting.

"Can't you just try?" she then wheedles, eyebrows knitting as she cocks her head. The camellias that pin her snow-white veil into place shift and flutter, perfuming the scant space between them with their lingering fragrance. She is still fully bedecked in her wedding gown, and she looks like a satin-clad angel. "Please? It'd really… mean a lot to me."

He can't very well deny the request of an angel.

"M… um…" Swallowing hard, nearly as red as a tomato, Soushi somehow manages to bite back the honorifics and half-wrestle, half-choke out a strained sounding: "Riri… Ririchiyo…"

In that instant, his wife's smile outshines his own. "Yes, Soushi?"

He nearly faints.

It isn't the only time.

"So what are today's plans, my dear?" Soushi cheerfully inquires, readjusting his glasses as he skims one of the many lists that Ririchiyo had allowed him to carry on her behalf. Desired food was catalogued there, of course, along with a few trinkets for their apartment, new stationary, some dresses...

"The mall, I think," Ririchiyo decrees, fist curled around the strap of her purse as she keeps her eyes—rather intently—glued to the metallic door of the elevator. Either she's having a staring contest with herself, or she's avoiding looking at a certain someone. Since Soushi can't imagine why she'd be evading him, he decides she must've just wanted a challenge. "We need to pick up some groceries, laundry detergent, shirts for you, cake… and I'd like to purchase some announcements."

"Oh? What are you announcing?" her bodyguard asks pleasantly, conversationally curious as he gives the fifth, meticulously complied list a quick read-through. Or, at least, he begins to. But then his eyes get tripped up and stumble over words like bottles and teething rings. Cribs. Mobiles. When his head snaps back up, he finds his wife still staring down the lift's door… But her cheeks have grown rosy, and her expression has pinched in a sort of flustered embarrassment. She couldn't… no. Wait. Could she…? "Ririchiyo…? What are… you announcing…?"

"That I'm pregnant," she states—surprisingly matter-of-fact— before peeking at her flabbergasted bodyguard from the corner of her eye. "I figured that was something worth telling people. You know, formally." With a nervous flick, she sweeps her long locks over her shoulder and gives them a twist, waiting for his reaction. "So… what do you think?"

He gawks at her. Face blank. Mouth agape.

"…you…"

She…

"Soushi…?!" With a cry, Ririchiyo lurches forward when her husband starts to crumple, falling to his knees with a reverberant thud. "Soushi, are you—?!" the panicked young woman begins, but cuts herself off when he suddenly moves: reaching out, grabbing hold, yanking her close. The abruptness of the motion startles her; she stumbles into his grasp with a gasp, only just managing to balance herself against his quaking shoulders. Is he…? "Soushi…?"

Face burrowed against her still-flat belly, the arms that Soushi had coiled around his wife tremble and tighten. He says nothing. Nothing that Ririchiyo can hear, anyway. But after a moment, she can feel a growing wetness seep into her sweater— hot and bubbled—, and rapid, heated breaths whispering quiet promises of love and devotion and protection and gratitude.

Her startled features soften, melting into the warmest of smiles.

"Happy birthday, Soushi."

The double doors are barely shut and already he's upon her, pushing back her sodden hair and tugging off her sopping jacket. For half a moment, Ririchiyo seems ready to object… But then his large, tender hands glide over the swollen lump of her belly, and the firm warmth of that caress feels too good to resist. His eyes gleam like gemstones in the dim light; Soushi regards his mistress (and the round of her stomach) with a primal sort of satisfaction that never fails to make her blush.

"Soushi…"

"We can't have you catching a cold," he murmurs—half in seduction, half out of stubbornness—, as the heat of his breath clouds in a foggy mist between them. They're still panting from their sprint; the pull and expulsion of each tight breath echoes silently, barely any louder than the drip-drip-drip of the raindrops that fall from the fringe of their bangs. A chill begins to settle on drenched extremities, eliciting less pleasant shivers.

That won't do.

"You either. I can't have you getting sick..."

Tie. Belt. Two popped buttons. An equally insatiable Ririchiyo scrabbles at her husband's garments, nearly tearing him out of his suit. His arms curl around her sides; her legs ensnare his waist. The aluminum wall squeals as a slender back—lubricated by rainwater— slips lower and lower…

"Let's warm you up."

She's on the floor again, eyes closed, head sprawled against his shoulder and back pressed to his chest. It's a comfortable enough position, Ririchiyo muses—especially when Soushi takes it upon himself to massage her shoulders— though she does wish she could lie down. She misses lying down. But she'd probably suffocate herself if she tried, nowadays... And besides, even if she were physically capable of doing so, Soushi wouldn't have been able to lie with her: he needs to stay in reach of the elevator panel, or else they'll stop moving. And if they stop moving, the babies in her belly will wake, and their consequential rowdiness will keep her up all night.

"You're not cold, are you…?" Soushi murmurs into his wife's ear, curling the better portion of his nine tails around himself and his mistress. In the back of his mind, he's half-considering bringing the laundry with him tomorrow— the sheets and the towels, at least, so that he can construct another of his little fox nests in the lift. He's already made a semi-permanent one in the corner of their apartment, crafted lovingly from an amalgam of blankets and t-shirts, and forces Ririchiyo to cuddle with him inside of it for the majority of each day. She used to protest, but as the trimesters wear on she finds she's unable to move, anyway… And it takes too much effort to resist him.

"I'm okay," Ririchiyo sighs, smoothing her hands over the sizable mound of her stomach. There's a whole litter of kits in there, she's been told—probably with tails and horns and all sorts of very obvious youkai traits, because that's just what happens when two throwbacks of their standing decide to mate. She smiles blearily as Soushi's hands join her own, rubbing tenderly at her distended sides. If she's still, and he's careful, they can trace the outline of each of their three, partly-demonic babies, squirming serenely just beneath her skin. "I'm tired. Just tired..."

That's all she ever is, lately. But it's to be expected, at this point.

"Mmm. Then sleep, love," her husband urges, nestling against her nape as the elevator slowly rises… and falls… rises… falls. Like breathing, steady and slow. He hums a familiar melody—Kagome, Kagome, crouch little bird inside your cage— as one of their kits gives a lazy kick. (When oh when will he get out?) "Rest while you can."

She closes her eyes.

"Nnngh— aah!"

"Ririchiyo—?!" Pale as one of the many sheets he'd bundled her in, Soushi frets and fusses, pacing on his knees beside his wife like a nervous dog. Wet anxiety glistens in his eyes; he clenches one of her clammy hands with a grip that nearly rivals her own. "Miss Ririchiyo, it'll be all right. Please, just breathe…"

No kidding.

"T-trying," Ririchiyo bites through gritted teeth, in too much distress to sound quite as exasperated as she'd prefer. She opens her mouth to add more— but whatever thought she'd had flies from her mind in the next moment, chased away by another contraction. The sudden intensity of it sends a scalding jolt of electricity down her spine; everything below her waist responds with a gut-ripping throb. Despite her best efforts, the young woman cries out again, toes curling in some inane attempt to fend off the mounting ache. It's a wasted effort.

"S-Soushi…" Her chest heaves, head lolling in a half-hearted attempt to find her bodyguard's shoulder. Matted forelocks stick to Ririchiyo's forehead and cling to her pallid throat, making her itch; she squirms with a squeal of anguish, eyes jammed and knees locking. The sight makes her husband whimper like a kicked animal.

"This is all my fault," Soushi laments in a voice thick with tears, fox ears drooping as he shuffles beside his wife. "It's because of me, your unworthy servant, that you are being forced to bare this pain…! I will never forgive myself for condemning you to suffer such torment, Miss Ririchiyo! I swear, I'll never touch you again!"

"That might be taking it a bit far." From the opposite side of the elevator, lounging languidly against its jamb, Sorinozuka is shaking his head. He yawns—understandable, as it's barely 3 am, but then, he'd be yawning at 3 pm, too—before glancing towards Nobara, who has crawled into the car to kneel before Ririchiyo, as well. For once, the blonde regards her young friend's body with nothing more than a detached concern, frowning faintly as she takes mental note of contraction times and apparent dilation. (Not that a pregnant woman isn't worth going maniac over, but there's a time and place, and this isn't it.) "You might not want to make promises you won't be keeping after labor."

"B-but I…"

"Well, things are happening fast," Nobara interrupts in the cool tones of an elite, trained professional. Which she is, technically. Cleaning her glasses—and then her hands— she turns to the duffle bag she'd prepared earlier that month and begins to rifle through it, searching for her scissors and spare gloves. She'll send Sorinozuka to collect sterilized water in a moment. "Even if we'd been able to bring her to a hospital—"

"Or physically move her. Oh, I'm kidding, Miketsukami…!" So much for lightening the mood.

"—it'd be too late, at this point," the blonde finishes, ignoring—as usual—the idiocy of her best friend. "She's too far along. So it looks like we're doing this here."

"Pretty convenient that you seem to have stocked the elevator full of blankets and towels…" Sorinozuka remarks, eying the mini fortress of laundry that Soushi had, for whatever reason, seen fit to build in the elevator. Oh well; it would prove useful now. "One less thing for me to grab. I'll go get some hot water, then," he smiles, shooting his honorary sister an encouraging thumbs up. "You can do this, Chiyo."

But she's not really sure she can.

She's quite sure she can't.

"Come on, Ririchiyo, just one last push! One more, then you're done!" Nobara cheers, flashing a heartening grin that Ririchiyo doesn't bother opening her eyes to see. She can't. She's too tired. On top of this, even the smallest movement of her pinkie would be too much physical exertion. Frustrated and weary, a warbling sob catches in her throat; braced behind her, Soushi nestles against his wife's sweaty nape, trying to sooth her. It's a small comfort, but a comfort nevertheless. Still, in the most distant recesses of her mind, Ririchiyo is a bit surprised that her husband can differentiate her cries from the others around them: a pair of tri-tailed, ashen haired, purple eyed boys already rest in the arms of kimono-clad doppelgangers, snuffling and sniveling from stresses of their own. All in all, it makes for a cramped and noisy elevator car.

Then it grows louder.

"That's three!" Nobara happily exclaims, cradling one last baby boy against her messy, ample bosom. Confused and cold, the healthy little one gazes up at the blonde with wide amethyst eyes, squirming and balling his chubby fists. His tufty tails twitch; a puzzled, bleating squeak escapes him as he begins to flail against the pseudo-nurse, further ruining her white shirt. This one seems particularly feisty—even more so than the others. In less than an instant, yet another Soushi has gingerly extracted the child from his friend's embrace, cuddling and shushing the boisterous boy with the same blinding affection that his doubles are showing the youngest's siblings.

In that instant, everyone releases a breath that they hadn't realized they'd been holding.

"Wow. Great job, Chiyo. You did amazing," Sorinozuka compliments, hovering as a jet-black cloth above the heads of the triplets, entertaining them with loop-the-loop antics. "I know our bodies are stronger than the average humans, but seriously. I don't know of anyone else who could've done what you just did."

"You really were fantastic," a fatigued Nobara agrees, mopping her own brow of sweat. She offers the couple her brightest beam, even though she looks as if she's just stepped off the set of a horror movie: blood and gunk and bits everywhere. "Congratulations," she croons. "They're all beautiful." (Which is true, of course. And she means it. Although, the blonde privately muses, it's a pity they're all boys.) "You should be proud."

Proud…?

The word makes dark lashes flicker. Proud. She should be proud. A person is 'proud' of things they've accomplished. Good things. So she's accomplished something. They have. They've done something good.

"Miss Ririchiyo… Ririchiyo."

He sounds proud.

Her name echoes, as if in surround sound, from beside, before, and behind the exhausted young woman. It rouses her, realigns her senses. Brings her back to herself. As she stirs, a familiar cheek takes to nuzzling against her own, and cool lips pepper kisses across her sodden temple. Body relaxing, bent knees caving, Ririchiyo assents to her husband's wordless plea to open her eyes… and flushes, speechless, to find four, teary-eyed Soushis beaming down at her, their expressions so warm and reverential that it's nearly enough to break her heart. "Rirchiyo, thank you. Thank you so… so much," they whisper, their voices so cracked and choked that all four are needed to make the words audible, and even then they're only barely so. "Would you like to hold your sons…?"

Sons…?

"…?" Her own eyes widening, Ririchiyo feels her heart skip a beat—fluttering like a trapped butterfly as the nearest Soushi offers her one of the precious bundles. Her sons. Her sons. She'd labored so long over them, waited so long to see them. And now they're here. Right here. Finally here, and she'd be damned if she was going to let exhaustion stop her from meeting them properly. Expression innocent with enthusiastic anticipation, the young woman eagerly reaches out, trying to push herself upright. Yes. Yes, she'd very much like to hold one of her s—

"—!"

With a shrill gasp, Ririchiyo collapses in upon herself, hands flying to her belly as an unanticipated pulse of agony rips through her, re-scattering her wits. Someone screams; she's as startled as everyone else to realize the voice is her own. Nobara and Sorinozuka jump and blanch; three of the four Soushis step immediately backward, giving her space and protecting their sons. The original, nearly as frightened by the sudden attack as Ririchiyo herself, twists himself more tightly around his wife, neck craning to catch a glimpse of her expression.

"Ririchiyo—?! Ririchiyo, what's wrong?!" he demands, trying to loosen her death-grip upon her own sides. Her tiny hands have turned paper-white, and are trembling like autumn leaves. "What's the matter?!"

What is the matter? What's going on? "H…hurts...!" Ririchiyo manages in a wheeze, writhing and thrashing as her body begins to tense and squeeze and throb again, forcibly opening itself. Without thinking, she props her knees once more, and attempts to suck down a steadying breath. "W-why…?!"

"W- what—?" Obviously startled, Nobara exchanges rattled looks with the baffled Sorinozuka, the petrified Soushi… before trying (completely in vain) to craft herself a reassuring sort of grin to shoot Ririchiyo. No one buys it. "It's… It's probably just the afterbirth," she guesses, too uncertain to be convincing.

It doesn't matter, anyway. The younger woman had begun tossing her head long before the blonde had finished speaking. "N-no," Ririchiyo says firmly, albeit breathlessly, as her rounded nails bite and grind into parted thighs. With a groan of both discomfort and dread, she hunkers herself down and prepares for the inevitable, even as her mind races in alarm. There are only supposed to be three we planned for three we have clothes and bottles and beds for three what is going on— "It—it's like befo…! Nngh—!"

"She's dilating again…" Ririchiyo can hear Nobara hiss, sounding just as shell-shocked as the mother herself. "I thought they were supposed to be triplets?!"

"Apparently not," the ever-helpful Sorinozuka corrects, spiraling himself downward to dab at his 'sister's' forehead. Oily patches of shiny ebony blossom upon his fabric, but there is no time to worry about that now. "She actually is gonna have a litter. Hey, Chiyo! At this rate, you'll have your own baseball team by lunch. Won't that be fun?"

"Ungh—!"

"I don't think she's listening to me…"

"Miss Ririchiyo, just hold on for a bit longer—!"

"Aaah—!"

"Ririchiyo, I can already see its head!" Nobara shouts, also ignoring the hovering throwback and his inane asides. Poised as before, the woman positions herself to support the child as soon as it slips free… and as such, she is the first to notice… "It's— oh… Oh, it's so tiny…"

"Well, it's a baby. Of course it's tiny," Sorinozuka points out, fanning Ririchiyo a bit with his tail end as—with a final yowl—she collapses fully in Soushi's arms, barely conscious. The latter is so concerned about his wife, he hasn't even bothered making another duplicate, yet. Thus, Nobara is left to cradle the new parents' fourth child, though she looks a bit worried as she does so. "Haven't you dealt with enough babies yet today to figure that out?"

"Yeah, but... This one is really tiny," the blonde reiterates, sounding a bit taken aback… before noticing something that turns her pale as a ghost. Then red as a rose. Then she's panting so hard that she fogs up her glasses, a maniacal grin spreading across her face as she lets lose a shriek of pure glee. The whole of the elevator seems to shudder as, with a cackle of delight, Nobara looks up at Soushi and Ririchiyo and screeches, "It's a giiiiiiiiiirl!"

The couple gawps at their insane friend, one too drained to speak and the other too startled.

"…a… a girl…?" Soushi eventually manages, his voice oddly strangled as he blinks at Nobara, mismatched eyes sliding from her gore-and-sweat streaked face to her stained shoulder, from her stained shoulder to her gloved arms, from her gloved arms to… To… "She…"

"She's certainly the runt of the litter," Sorinozuka snorts good-naturedly, watching as Nobara gingerly passes the baby to her astonished father. Where the child had been a wee handful in Nobara's delicate hold, she's barely that in Soushi's: from head to foot, she fits cozily curled in the palm of his hand, seemingly too bity to be real. Unlike her snow-capped brothers, her downy locks are as dark as midnight, and her pallid temple decorated with the nubs of teeny horns. She has a tail, but only one; it clings, scraggly and wet, to the outline of her spine in the aftermath of birth.

"A gi… rl…" With a happy croak, the utterly spent Ririchiyo sighs and slumps further against Soushi, her violet gaze glassy, but delighted, as she watches him assess their newborn daughter. "We h-have… a girl, too…"

A girl.

"Yes," her husband agrees in a whisper, the brush of his breath making the tiny child stir. "We do."

And in that moment, Soushi realizes that he nearly feels guilty. Strangely guilty. Horribly guilty. Because he'd sworn—to himself, to his wife, to whatever gods or goddesses happened to be out there—that he'd never, ever love another girl as much as he loves Ririchiyo. Not ever. He hadn't thought it possible.

But then his daughter wakes up. And when she looks at him with her sun-and-sky eyes, Soushi feels that promise break.

"Off we go~" sing-songs a very cheerful, feminine Soushi, pressing the appropriate lift buttons with one hand and gently jostling the children's extra wide pram with the other. In their respective cots, Kishi, Kizu, Kito, and Youko reward their sire's efforts with giggles and burbles, reaching up to bat at the dangling mobiles of plush youkai that undulate above their heads. "Time for the park, little ones. You like the park, yes? Just wait until you're old enough to play fetch. Then I'll never be able to convince you to leave."

"Blehgsdafsp," Kizu squeals—as if in agreement—, as he makes a grab for one of his three tails. Following a bit of squirming, he manages to work the tip of it into his mouth and smugly gums on it. Soushi, with a gentle smile, gingerly extracts the appendage and tucks it back into the 5 month old's hakama. "Pttth…"

"There, there. If you're hungry, I'll feed you. (So long as you don't tell your mother, because she still gets very offended when I try to take that job away from her)," Soushi simpers, booping the bity boy on the tip of his button nose. "But we can't have you gnawing those off," (s)he continues with a chuckle, readjusting the blankets around the infant as the elevator descends with a series of lazy pings and dings. "You need to set a good example for your brothers and sister."

"Padskfath?"

"Yes, you. Because if you don't, then—"

"Aaaskfspth!" With this bold declaration, Kishi— always a few minutes late to the party— bolts abruptly upright, his purple eyes shining. Notably startled, both Soushi and Kizu turn his way… then watch, nonplussed, as he flops gracelessly over, trying to grab hold of his tails, as well. Point made, Soushi rolls her eyes as (s)he lovingly rearranges Kishi, too.

"As I was saying."

"Ladsfjkdsffff," an exasperated Kito rebukes his siblings, half-asleep and snuffling around his thumb. Soushi, agreeing with the infant's assessment of the situation, underscores the comment with an exuberant nod.

"All of that said, I suppose I should be grateful that you lot are so easily dominated, right now," (s)he then comments to no one in particular, laughing a bit as Youko (for the fifth time that day) rediscovers the wonders of her own fingers. "This will all be much more difficult when you're toddlers."

"Actually, this could be worse," Soushi gaily decrees—again, to no one in particular— as he and three of his doppelgangers bounce screaming two-year-olds against their hips, waiting for the elevator to reach and release them at the ground floor.

No release at the ground floor. Not yet. Not yet…

"Going back up," a Soushi murmurs hotly, his talented tongue giving a flick in her ear. The moist heat and teasing tickle both elicit sharp shivers, and Ririchiyo gags on a staccato groan as gravity tugs her even further down. She couldn't move away, even if she wanted to: four strong arms have bound themselves around her shoulders, holding her still as zealous lips nip kisses and love bites across the pale slope of her neck and clavicle. She cries out—keens for more, really—, and an extra mouth appears out of nowhere to swallow the desperate sound. (They're passing their floor, after all, and the children are asleep.) There is a lazy grinding against her hips, and greedy fingers trace her trembling breasts, and scalding tongues trail across her quavering throat, and he is everywhere, all at once: the sight, the sound, the smell, the feel of him surrounds her, and he is before and behind and beside and inside her all at once.

"S-Soushi…!" she whimpers into the musk and the heat, burrying her face in a sweat-slicked chest and raking her nails across it.

And all of him (all of the hims) respond with an equally awed, "Ririchiyo..."

"There you are," Ririchiyo sighs, hands on her hips and eyes rolling towards heaven as the elevator doors part, revealing four all-too-innocuous six year olds. Holding fabric paint and dye. Which they subtly slip behind their backs, smiling sweetly. This conversation could only end well. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Nothin'…" they chorus as one, the very picture of innocent surprise. "What would we be doin', Mama?"

"We'd never be puttin' dye in our juice an' den 'acciden'lly' spillin' it on Uncle Sorinozuka," Kishi tells her bluntly, eliciting groans and elbow-jabs from his siblings. "What? We never would," he pouts, even as he's forcibly shoved behind his brothers and sister, effectively hidden from view. "Hey!"

Ririchiyo, in the meantime, busies herself by having a mild heart attack. This would explain the ruckus she'd earlier heard coming from the lounge… "You four!" she reprimands, waving a reproaching finger at her mischievous, bickering children. "How dare you! You should know better. How would you like it if we dyed your tails? You will be writing notes of formal apology to poor Sorinozuka, and then no tofu or aburage for a month!"

"Oh my. No aburage? That seems harsh. Whatever's going on here?" Blinking placidly, Soushi appears from somewhere behind his wife, readjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. In his arms, he holds an elegantly wrapped parcel, which his little ones eye shrewdly. "Are you naughty children teasing your Mama again?" he admonishes, even as a smirk of his own worms onto his face. The kits, apparently in on this same, bizarre joke, slap their hands over their mouths and try to swallow back laughter. They fail rather spectacularly.

"Yeah," giggle Kizu, Kito, and Youko, their guiltless expressions taking a turn for the genuine. "No," Kishi calls from the back, before frowning and grunting, "Oh, now it's okay t' tell the truth?"

"…huh?" Their mother, understandably bemused, glances at each child in turn before spinning to face her grinning husband. As usual, they all know something she doesn't. "What's going on?" the young woman demands, even as she allows herself to be ushered into the open elevator. Soushi—just one step behind— merely smiles his usual smile, gesturing encouragingly at their little ones. Said little ones, in turn, steal silent glances at each other… before Youko hops forward, pigtails bouncing, and helps herself to the package in her father's hands. She then offers it to Ririchiyo, mismatched eyes glittering with adoration.

"Happy Mother's Day!" the litter chants, their identical tails wagging as they regard their beloved parent. Ririchiyo, startled, feels herself turn a bit pink as the gift is thrust into her hands, and eight little arms wind tightly around her legs and waist. "We love you an' we dec'rated you an apron!"

("I told you we'd never put dye in our juice an' den 'acciden'lly' spill it on Uncle Sorinozuka.")

"We used our hands!" Kizu tells her, proudly showing Ririchiyo the skin of his violet-stained palms. Watching from the corner, Soushi chuckles to himself, privately amused by the kits' inability to keep quiet long enough for Ririchiyo to open their present on her own. Not that his wife seems to mind. Rather, she looks a bit startled and choked up. She's never gotten used to receiving gifts.

"Th-thank you," Ririchiyo murmurs, regarding the parcel as if it were some sort of holy ornament. Later, when she unwraps it, she'll discover a flurry of red and purple handprint butterflies—each with a child's name inscribed nearby— dancing about in a grove of carefully painted vines, which she'll know were her husband's contribution. But for now, to keep it safe, she slips the still-wrapped packet into her purse and beams. "I love it. I love you four. Five," she corrects with a grin for Soushi, kneeling a bit to return her children's embrace. For a single, perfect moment, they nestle and purr against her, savoring their mother's gentle hold.

Then, with a chime, the elevator doors open. And in half an instant, the four have bolted.

"Yay! Time for th' park!"

I noticed you failed to eat all of your orange slices at breakfast. Please eat an extra serving of fruit at lunch to make up for this imbalance and I love you.

I hope your presentation at 11 goes well and I love you.

Yesterday, you mentioned wanting potato stew. I will buy the necessary ingredients and I love you.

Be careful not to drink too much coffee during your break. I do not wish to see you suffering another headache tonight and I love you.

I thought you would appreciate this picture of Kito making mud balls while playing House with Youko, Kizu, and Kishi and I love you.

The children and I will be there presently to pick you up and I love you.

I love you and I love you.

The elevator reaches the fourth floor landing with the sound of a bell and the mechanical wheeze of sliding doors. Smiling, the business woman glances up from the day's collection of text messages, choosing instead to tenderly watch her talkative children skip from the car, shadowed by her husband. Her husband, so full of affection and gratitude; her husband, who has changed so much, and yet so little. Soushi is laughing, now—sincerely and delightedly—at some clever quip that Youko had made, and hesitates only when he senses that Ririchiyo is no longer directly behind him.

"Dear…?"

Pausing in the jamb, head tilted in curiosity, the bodyguard glances back at his lingering wife, eyebrow arched in silent question. As if waiting for that cue, Ririchiyo smirks… Then she presses one last button on her phone, slipping it into her purse. Not half a moment later, and Soushi's phone is the one peeping and flashing, its display illuminated by its own familiar message.

I'm home and I love you.

"…" The agent's eyes crinkle, soften. Ririchiyo wonders if he'll always tear up like this. She hopes so.

"Come on, then, Soushi."

Beaming, she takes his hand.

XXX