Tarragon looked at the curled up figure on the bed, covered by a light summer comforter, his hair a tangled mess against the whiteness of the bed. He crept closer, glad of the dim light from the outdoor lamp that shone into the room through the window. Tarragon bent over to watch Genrou's sleeping face, wanting to smooth away that little furrow between his brows. Instead, he moved around the bed, untied the strings of his loin cloth and slid in under the sheets, careful not to disturb the other. He had barely settled in when he got the scare of his life. Genrou turned to face him, then threw a leg and an arm around his body with a soft little sigh that swept over Tarragon's neck.

Tarragon was frozen on the spot, a rigid block under Genrou's limbs, waiting for him to wake up with a shout. An interminable moment passed before Tarragon realized that he was still deeply asleep. He turned his head and relaxed -- that little frown on Genrou's face was gone. Tarragon sighed with relief, and slowly extricated his left arm from under Genrou's embrace. He traced a little path over Genrou's face, outlining the arched brows, running his finger over Genrou's cheekbones, then over his parted lips. He felt the soft sigh that breathed out of Genrou's mouth, a current of heated air that moistened the skin on his fingers. He pulled away, a jerking reaction against the swirling electricity that buzzed up to his skull.

He lay quietly, watching Genrou sleep, both of them unmoving. But even pure ardor couldn't keep his tired body from relaxing into that lulling void. Sleep spread her cloak over him, and he plummeted into comforting heat.

***

Genrou woke slowly, savoring the relaxing embrace of the bed and the scent of clean linen. He was so warm, almost uncomfortably so under the light summer comforter that was pulled over him. He woke a bit more, aware yet unwilling to open his eyes, hoping that he would fall asleep again. What had woken him? The puzzle grew in his mind. He inhaled deeply, loving the scent of the fresh white sheets, his arms tightening around the pillow that he was clutching to his side.

Then he realized several things simultaneously. The pillow was moving. Up and down, a slow rhythm. Second, he recognized that faint scent of woody pine musk. It was so familiar, so intimately known, but he didn't want to recall where he had smelled it before. He was busy trying to fall back asleep and ignore this strangeness when he heard it.

A low indrawn breath. One pitch higher and it would have been classified as a snore. And Genrou wasn't the one who was making the noise.

His eyes flew open, his arms tightened around the "pillow" in shock and gave a loud gasp. The "pillow" snorted. The "pillow" was Tarragon. Tarragon was in bed with him. Again.

Genrou gave a little yell of surprised anger as he pulled away, yanking the bed clothes with him and clutching the sheets to his chest like an offended maiden. Tarragon snorted again as he woke up, stretching cat-like on the smooth white sheets. Gold against white. He opened his eyes and looked over to his side to find Genrou huddled against the headboard. He smiled and whispered, "Did I wake you?"

With an unintelligible snarl, Genrou grabbed a pillow and began to hammer Tarragon with the fluffy white cushion. Tarragon tried to protect himself against the feathery onslaught, until finally tiring of the game and grabbed Genrou's hands.

"What the _HELL_ are you doing?" the soft sounds of impact "You pervert!" more sounds of pillow against flesh, "Tarragon you bastard!" low muffled thuds.

Tarragon grabbed Genrou's shoulders and yelled, "Will you stop acting like the wounded virgin for one second and LISTEN TO ME?" He punctuated each word with a shake. Genrou just glared at him, confused and angry and relieved, before dropping his eyes.

His eyes almost bugged out at the sight of Tarragon's half erect penis that rose from a tangle of gold-red hair. Genrou gasped and jerked his eyes wildly to meet Tarragon's irate green ones. Tarragon, reading embarrassed panic looked down on his lap and realized he was butt naked. He blushed, let go of Genrou and pulled a pillow over his lap. The same pillow that Genrou had used to pummel him.

Genrou and Tarragon stared at each other, abashed, unable to talk. Genrou stared at Tarragon and realized that he was having a hard time trying to keep a straight face. A little gasp of amusement left his lips before he could suppress it.

Tarragon blushed harder when Genrou snickered. He fiddled with the ends of the pillow, wishing he'd kept his loincloth on before slipping into bed. ::God, I've never felt so embarrassed in my life...::

A low laugh escaped Genrou's lips, then guffaws of embarrassed amusement when he saw Tarragon blush like an innocent. Tarragon on the other hand, was not amused. Forgetting what he was using the pillow for, he snatched the cushion off his lap and began to whap Genrou on the head. Genrou doubled over with laughter, unable to catch his breath, unable to figure out _why_ he was laughing so hard. And why he felt such relief that Tarragon was here. Genrou felt the soft pillow hitting him on the head, and still laughing, yanked another pillow from the pile and retaliated.

Tarragon grinned unwillingly at the sight of Genrou's helpless laughter, the scene (without the pillows and with him wearing mud rather than being naked as a jaybird) reminding him of the aftermath of Genrou's sneezing fit. That same easy comfortable hilarity. For his absorption on memories, he received a hard hit to the head that burst the pillow, showering the room with feathers.

Silence reigned for one heartbeat. Then Tarragon gave a shout of laughter and dove for Genrou, rolling them both over soft white feathers, while more of the downy stuff rained from the air. Genrou gave unintelligible shouts of mirth punctuated by yells of "Oh my god, put some clothes on!" "have you no shame?" all the while, hitting Tarragon with another pillow he had grabbed.

Tarragon succeeded in trapping Genrou underneath him, his body pinning the other down against the bed and his hands grasping Genrou's wrists above his head. He leaned down to rest his forehead against Genrou's as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes closed and his mouth stretched into a wide grin, he drew in a breath that was filled with the unique scent that was entirely Genrou. Clean and herbal and Genrou. He opened his eyes and met Genrou's with a shock.

Genrou was still trying to catch his breath, and all those feathers weren't helping any. He looked up to see Tarragon grinning like an idiot, chest heaving with exertion. And it was still as shock when Tarragon opened his leaf green eyes. Their gazes clashed and melded, and a slow burning fever ignited.

"Genrou," Tarragon breathed as he closed the gap between their lips, his eyes still holding the other captive. It was a soft touch, a seeking of admission, a light graze of satiny skin against velvet. Genrou jerked underneath him, his whole body becoming a taut cable of wire strung tension. Tarragon pulled back.

He let Genrou go, and rolled to this side, freeing the other. There will be no rape here, no forced coupling. He knew exactly where that led, there was nothing wonderful about it, nothing erotic. He would wait. He would be patient.

"Genrou, I'm sorry." He apologized, a low voice that caressed over the warm air of the room.

Genrou kept silent, his hand slowly going up to touch his lips. He could still feel that buzzing throb that pooled against his throat. He turned his head, and watched Tarragon stare at the ceiling.

"Why?" A simple question. A calm voice.

"Why what?"

"Why do you want me? Is it because I'm the master and that's what the master is supposed to get?" Genrou's voice was still calm, almost curious.

"No. You should know better than that." Tarragon clenched his jaw, then turned his head to meet Genrou's quiet gaze. "The other master, your Grandfather... It was never like that with him." His gaze sharpened, became desperate. "Genrou, at the waterfall--"

Genrou cut him off by lifting a finger to Tarragons lips. "Wait. Shut up for a second."

Tarragon waited, in a welter of confused hope.

"Answer me this. Why me?"

Tarragon was silent, then he pulled down Genrou's hand from his lips after kissing that one finger. Then he held that hand against his chest. "Why? I don't know why. Maybe because you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen -- and yes you are beautiful, and its my turn to talk so you listen!" He glared at Genrou, who immediately shut his mouth. "I don't understand why you believe what that bastard said about your looks." Tarragon shook his head then continued. "Maybe because we laughed together. Maybe its because I liked you. Maybe because I know you could be a friend and more. I don't know. Theres no one or one hundred reasons why. It just is. I just do. I can't help it." Tarragon fell silent as he waited.

Genrou was still for a second before he sat up and moved off the bed. Tarragon closed his eyes in despair, rolling onto his back and putting an arm over his eyes. This hadn't gone as well as he and Shiira had planned. It had seemed so easy. Slip into bed, seduce Genrou while he was still half asleep and show him exactly what needed to be done. But nothing went right and so here he was again, alone.

Then he felt it. The bed dipped under someones weight. A heated proximity, so close to him. His muscles jumped when a hand, strong yet so delicate in its touch, ran its fingers over the taut washboard of his stomach.

His breath hissed out as he sat up. His eyes widened in surprised delight at the sight that greeted him.

Genrou had taken off his overlarge pajama shirt and was kneeling next to him. A pale pink blush covered his face, yet his eyes were straightforward, filled with anxious need, desire and trepidation. He kept his hand on Tarragon's stomach, fingers lightly touching slick flesh that rippled under his palm.

"Show me." Genrou breathed. "Please."