His heart ached to see her this way: eyes glazed over, barely 
seeing, features numb and expressionless.  He tapped at the thick glass 
separating them, wishing that she could see him, could remember him.  
There was a faint trembling in her eyelashes when her eyes flickered in 
his general direction, but that was all.

	So lifeless as this, without the smiles and the laughter that so 
animated her features and gave them warmth before, her beauty (and she 
was still lovely) had become severe and almost startling - the sterile 
perfection of a statue, a mannequin.  The glow was gone from her skin, 
which had grown pale.  And her hair, it had been cut short, too short.  
He missed its rich length, the way it moved back when a frenzied desire 
to be happy still danced in her eyes.  Looking at her, he could imagine 
the way she used to be, and sometimes he still half-expected her to burst 
out, laughing, as she said, "Why are you looking at me so?"  He wanted to 
touch her hair, like he used to, so very long ago, when they were both 
children.  It had been so soft and fine.  The dividing glass was cold 
against his fingertips.

	"I," he struggled, "I expect you to provide her with the best of 
care, and nothing less, while I am gone."

	The ruddy-faced, thick-bodied man beside him nodded.  "But of 
course, sir.  There is still a chance that she might recover.  With the 
new medications avail-"

	"Good-bye!" said the first one forcefully, stalking away.  

	He did not like being impolite but, being with his sister like 
this, it always sapped his strength.  What little of it was left, anyway.  
When he was finally outside the cool, sickly-sweet smelling, sky blue 
building, he leaned against the wall, breathing deeply and slowly.  He 
cleared his mind, or tried to.  The sun beat down hard against his eyes 
and he shut them, shut them and felt himself slipping away.

---
The NFT Zu 
presents


painted mornings

a story of 'The Setting Moon'
by Nikholas 'Rain Man' F. Toledo
(Overseas Correspondent)
---

	"Good evening, Miss Kuonji, Mister Kurenai."  He bowed his head 
stiffly, cheeks still tinged an embarrassed red.

	"Kuno?  Is that you?"  Ukyo and Tsubasa peered at him curiously, 
circling him and examining him with their eyes.  

	"Yes, it's me," he shifted his feet from side to side somewhat 
nervously.  "Please, stop looking at me like a specimen in a zoo."  He 
managed to keep from fidgeting otherwise, although he did need to resort 
to shoving his hands in his pockets.

	"Sorry," the two said simultaneously.  They eyed each other, 
wondering what to say, wondering if there was some way to break this 
awkward silence.  

	The train lurched slightly as it rounded a tight curve just a 
little too quickly.  

	"Kuno -"

	"Please," he said, lowering his eyes, "Tatewaki will do."

	She fingered that white ribbon on her wrist once more, as she 
caught Tsubasa's look, and sighed.  "Um, Tatewaki?  Why are you on this 
train?"  'And why,' she did not ask, 'are you wearing jeans and a white 
T-shirt?  Why are you talking... well, normally?'

	There, she had said it.  The gauntlet had been thrown and he 
wondered what he would say, how he would answer.  Perhaps he should just 
ignore it?  "I am on this train because -"  Because what?  What should he 
say, he asked himself - that he was paying his respects to Ranma and 
Kasumi?  That he was feeling sentimental and wanted to see the high 
school again?  

	He could see the moon through the window.  The truth was 
humiliating.  And the steady murmuring rumble of the train's progress was 
beginning to give him a headache.

	Tatewaki turned back to them.  "I am visiting."  He was surprised 
at how strong his voice seemed.

	Tsubasa and Ukyo gave each other another look, this one so obvious 
that Kuno almost flinched.  "Anou, to visit Akane, Ku- um, Tatewaki?" 
Ukyo ventured tentatively.

	"Yes.  No.  Well, in truth, no.  Although, I should say hello, I 
suppose.  If only to apologize for my conduct in the past." 

	"Apologize?"  

	Tsubasa mouthed silently to Ukyo, "Bizarre."  He bit his lip 
guiltily when he saw Tatewaki looking at him.  

	"So," Kuno said lightly, "stopped cross-dressing, have we?"

	He smiled lopsidedly.  "Just for today."

	"Ah."

	"Um, Kuno -"

	"Tatewaki," he interrupted.

	"Right.  So, Tatewaki," Ukyo continued, "anh, what's been happening 
to you these past few years?"

	"This and that."  The lines around his eyes, which had seemed so 
weary only moments before, crinkled with amusement.  "You do not know 
just what to make of me anymore, do you, Ms. Kuonji?"

	"Ukyo," she said, nodding.

	The humor in his eyes spread to his cheeks, the faint hint of 
dimples showing as his lips curled.  A familiar light streaked in the 
dimness deep in his eyes, and he leaned forward impulsively.  "Good," he 
breathed into her ear.  "The new hair suits you; it shows off your neck, 
your ears."  She was too flustered to stop him when he slipped his 
fingers about hers and lifted her hand to his lips.

	The contact was light, brief, and it should have warranted no more 
response than some act of violence upon his person, but his lips felt 
strange and soft and rough at the same time against her knuckles.  She 
could see a wondering sort of reverence in his face as he did this, could 
feel it in the lingering contact of skin against skin.  There was such a 
tingling in her cheeks and she hated the feeling as it traveled, 
spreading wide and reaching to the tops of her ears.  The moment of 
confusion was just long enough and he backed away quickly - fast enough 
so that her open hand missed his cheek by inches.  

	He laughed, and that surprised her, too, as he set his practice 
sword down against his chair and sat.  "Won't you sit?  Sorry, no free 
drinks or food, but the company is free."  He spread his arms 
magnanimously, a hint of the old fire glowing in his open smile.  "As you 
might imagine, there is a reason why I am taking a train - in a cheap 
seat, no less!  But I can be generous of a few things still.  Won't the 
two of you sit with me, and tell me what's been happening to you?"

	Tsubasa grinned, "Wow!  Ukyo, it's been so long since I've seen you 
blush like that!  Hah!  And you're still so red -"

	"Shaddup," she muttered, somewhere between cross and embarrassed.  
"You're still the same, after all."

	"You wound me.  Truly, you do.  Oh, will never the woman smile at 
me with warmth and longing as I smile at her?  Ah, such pain - to have 
only the moon as my own, in the deepening silence of the night..."  

	Ukyo rolled her eyes - his expression was so intent and focussed 
(and almost cross-eyed) that it was a caricature - and his tones were 
mocking, sarcastic.  She shook her head.  "That sounds familiar... I've 
read that line before, it's from, from..."  She tapped her foot 
impatiently, struggling to remember.

	"Who cares," Tsubasa said.  "It's been a long day."

	"Where," Kuno asked, "are the two of you staying in Nerima?"

	The brown-haired girl stepped on Tsubasa's foot as he spoke, 
ignoring her.  "We're not quite sure.  Hopefully, there's going to be 
some hotel nearby with vacant rooms - this trip was kinda spur-of-the-
moment."

	"Ah.  Well, perhaps the two of you would like to stay with me?"

	"The mansion?"  Ukyo tilted her head.  "I'd heard that it was 
demolished, the land sold to some company."

	"... there is a boarding house, fairly close to Furinkan High, 
actually, that my family still owns.  It is summer and, hence, mostly 
empty at the moment.  It is, well... it's small and cramped, but it is 
clean.  A cousin of mine is the manager."

	Tsubasa shrugged.  "What do you think, Ukyo?"

	She took another long, appraising look at the figure seated before 
them: the sardonic dip of one eyebrow, pale lips hinting at a smile.  He 
had not gotten much taller since high school - although he seemed taller 
due to what she realized was a significant amount of weight loss.  He was 
all wiry muscle and tendon over bone now, with very little fat to sheathe 
and shape.  He was as skinny as Gosunkugi used to be, she realized.  But 
that was not what she was examining - it was his eyes.  What kind of a 
man had he become?  

	"Won't you trust me?" he said, surprising her again.

	"It's okay, I guess - so long as you don't pull any of that stuff 
you used to," she murmured.

	Tatewaki chuckled, "I guess you'll have to take your chances on 
that, at least."  He looked out again at the sky - at the ring of light 
around the moon - and whistled a nameless tune.

	"What happened to you?" Ukyo blurted out before she could help it.

	He arched an eyebrow.  And shrugged.

	"The words slipped away from me, I guess."

---

	"Akane-san, I..."  The words - where were the words?  What was 
happening to him?  "Oh, goddess so... so..."  They came so easily before, 
they threaded in and through and about his thoughts so totally that to 
speak them was all he could do.  And now, he could not remember - he 
simply could not!  "Goddess, nymph, perfect, divine, to what... to what, 
my love?"  Was it a spell, some foul device of the sor... of...  

	What was happening to him?  Opportunity seemed to beckon to him - 
she was there, before him, clearly unhappy because, because - because 
what?  The passion in her eyes - was it really tempered by grief?  Could 
he really comfort her?  Should he?

	'Where are all these questions in my mind coming from?' he asked 
himself.  There was never doubt before - it was simply destiny, destiny 
that showed that only he could be a fit mate for Akane!  But where was 
that destiny now, now that Ranma had left her for another?  And he could 
not even muster the indignation that had always filled him with such 
strength in Saotome's presence or even at the thought of him.  

	'She is looking at me,' he thought - and she was.  

	Akane was seated beneath a tree, in the courtyard of the school, 
leaning against the trunk and she was watching him.  It was very early 
that morning and, despite himself, he had been genuinely surprised that 
she had agreed to meet him before school today.  'Obviously,' he 
reassured himself, 'relieved that she can finally show me her lov-'  Only 
not.  Why did it hurt so to breathe?  These clothes, the gi he wore, the 
hakama - they all seemed so heavy, so constricting, like snakes.  Or 
chains.  What was it that he could see in her eyes that he never could 
before?  What was this poison in his brain?

	He walked towards her and, this time, his head was not held so 
high, his footsteps began to drag along the ground, and looking at her, 
looking at her filled him, not with the incredible, fiery elation and 
wonder that he was accustomed to, but something dark and unfamiliar.  His 
throat was dry and he did not notice when his nerveless fingers had 
released the bouquet of roses to fall to the dusty schoolgrounds.  It 
seemed that there was a terrible buzzing somewhere between his temples 
and he had to fight to stay on his feet, to fight the weight pushing down 
on his shoulders.

	"Sempai," said she.

	That was all it took.  

	He turned and ran.  Ran fast and hard and long, and he ignored the 
sounds the other students made as the first of them started to trickle in 
for classes that day.

---

	"Um," he said.  He was looking at his feet, which were scuffing 
along the deep blue carpet of his apartment.  "Um."

	Her expression crinkled in amusement.  His manner had always amused 
her.  Even when he was like this and silly and perhaps a little 
defensive.  "Hush.  You don't have to say anything," and she gave him a 
long, easy embrace.  "I know," she said just before brushing her lips 
lightly across his.  "Good night, Ranma.  Sleep well."  Although there 
were times when his reluctance to say the words she heard so little from 
him made her want to roll her eyes, she found it oddly appealing.  "I 
love you, too."

	"Oh, well, that!  Ah.  I love um.  Yeah."  He hung his head 
sheepishly.  "Be careful on your way back."

	"My room's just one floor up!" she giggled.  "It's a nice thought, 
though.  Thank you, I will."  She waved once, before she closed the door 
behind her.  'He can be so cute,' Kasumi thought.

	"Why can't I say it?"  He struck his forehead against his door.  
"Won't you stay tonight?" he said too late.  The night was quiet and 
still, but a quiet breath of it seemed to sigh as it came in through his 
open window.  "Good night, Kasumi..."

	He woke up the next morning, disgracefully late, and moaned as he 
started the preliminary stretching and warm-up.  "I have a headache."  
But he pushed himself towards full combat-readiness.  He would be 
training with her again soon, and she was becoming more and more 
challenging to spar with every day.  But he looked forward to it, and to 
watching her play later that night.

	He hoped they would not be too tired when they took the bus back to 
her home afterwards...

---

	"It's good, I guess, to be going home," said the young woman as she 
waited for him to finish drawing her hair into a single, thick braid.  
"Where is home for you now, Ryoga?"  There were faintly reddish hints in 
her hair from the rising sun and she wondered if he thought about taking 
another picture of her.  She did not think that she would mind so much.

	"Nowhere.  Everywhere.  My home is wherever I am, wherever I can 
find something, capture something worth seeing."  Gentle fingers slid the 
coil of elastic rubber into her hair.  "There.  All done.  Is home for 
you really still the Dojo?"  

	She looked at him.  "You still have that bandanna."

	He accepted that and shrugged.  "It's something.  Did you sleep 
well last night?"

	A shrug in reply to him.

	The hike to the bus station would take them most of the morning - 
and the lightening, cloudless sky promised a hot, humid day.  And so they 
began the long walk.  They knew that they would never discuss what they 
had shared the night before, a private moment of her shared pain.

	"Hey, Ryoga," she said.

	"What?"

	She shook her head, clearing it of everything that she felt should 
have been left behind long before.  Akane smiled.  "What do you think of 
Jinpachi?"

	The tall, broad-shouldered figure almost stumbled into a tree, or 
rather, through a tree.  

	"He's, ah.  He's...  um, nice?"

	"Stop fumbling.  What is it you don't like about him?"  Her steps, 
he noticed, had grown lighter - she almost skipped along.  She seemed 
completely unlike the person he was with just the day before - in the set 
of her shoulders, the vibrancy of her voice, the darting quickness of her 
eyes, even the bounce in her footsteps.  Almost spritely, she left no 
prints in the sandy loam of the trail they walked and her smile was an 
easy and natural-looking curve of lip that looked as though it had always 
belonged there.

	He sighed.  "He has a lousy temper, he's easily confused, dense as 
a rock and is given much to melodramatic declarations of the obvious."  
Ryoga admitted to himself that he had needed to rehearse that line.  "And 
the way he uses his... uh, extra talents is uncontrolled and immature.  
Like a martial artist with poor self-control."  In Ryoga's book of do's 
and do-not's, that was just terrible (he had learned some things about 
himself, after all).  

	"He's also a really passionate and loyal guy.  And he's honest - he 
even admits that he likes you!"  Akane laughed.  "You should be easier on 
him."

	"You were never," he whispered, stopping himself in time.

	"Did you say something?" she said as she turned back to him.

	He shook his head and spoke a little too hastily.  "I guess I 
should be easier on him."  What he had meant to say was, 'You were never 
easy on Ranma,' but he thought of the why's and the how's of it and knew 
he could not hurt her that way. 

	Ryoga flinched as he glanced back once at the tree before it 
disappeared from view.  Had he really been so optimistic when he had 
found her there?  'It would be so easy.'  He sighed and tried to let loose 
the resentment he knew he felt.

	There was a breeze blowing in through the woods.  It pushed to one 
side the thick locks of his hair, and there was a time he could have lost 
himself, letting himself get carried along on the gusts of wind, carried 
along on wandering paths that led everywhere and nowhere - but always 
returned, it seemed, to Nerima.  Then he smiled ruefully, making sure to 
keep Akane in sight before, once again, the wind would bring him 
wandering.

	After all, he was already out of film.	

---

	Ukyo touched her lips as she woke.  She imagined that they felt 
warm, and she touched her cheeks and she thought that they still felt 
warm, too.  Maybe it was the rays of sunlight through the venetian 
blinds.  "Stupid," she said.

	'Just when had he become like this,' she had wondered.

	"I merely decided," he had stated the night before, smirking in a 
way that she never thought she would associate with the man, "to fall out 
of the madness."

	The ceiling above her, she noticed, was not quite white.  It was 
off-white - some vague in-between shade that was not beige, either.  Her 
room was simply, but cozily, furnished, and her bed was just the right 
mix of firmness and softness.  The floor beneath the tatami was, he had 
informed her proudly, the original hardwood.  "You can't get wood of this 
quality," he had said as he pointed out the dark, rich-looking grain, 
"anymore."

	 "Would you prefer silk sheets?  My cousin keeps them around here 
somewhere."  The sheets on the bed were of surprisingly soft linen.  They 
were all her tired body could have wanted.

	 "The mansion may be gone, but I am no barbarian," Tatewaki had 
said.  "You are my guests."

	Tsubasa, Ukyo remembered, had asked for the silk.  And for the loft 
in the attic - it was supposed to have the best view and Kuno had given 
him what he had asked for.  She had gotten a room on the second floor, 
overlooking an old and familiar fence.  

	"I thought that you would like to sleep where you could see the 
place he once ran along to school."

	Ukyo had called him an insensitive prick.

	"But of course, my dear.  I don't deny it."  That's when things 
got... blurry.  She thought that he had said something like, "Needs.  We 
both have them, it's true."

	And she almost trembled.  "Don't be afraid of me," he had asked, 
pleading - and she hadn't been.

	She was confused by the odd embarrassment she felt when Tsubasa had 
walked in and said, "Good morning."  Her eyes would catch his, now and 
then, as they talked, this strange new morning in another's home.  He had 
walked in without even bothering to knock.  Somehow, even naked beneath 
the blankets, she was not in the least offended or disturbed by that.  
The truth is that they were good friends.  It was something else that 
troubled her.  She hoped that he would not be able to guess.

	"I'm not a teenage girl with her heart in her eyes anymore!" she 
cried out at one point.

	"Of course not," Tsubasa soothed her as he sat on her bed.  "What 
made you think so?"

	She could not bring herself to tell him about that one brief touch, 
or about how much she had wanted and needed it.  Or the other things.  She 
groaned, "I'll tell you some other time."

	"Of course, whenever you need me, Ukyo," Tsubasa said as 
reassuringly as he could, with much warmness of eye and only just enough 
touching of hands, "I will listen."  He handed her the pyjamas, which she 
vaguely remembered throwing violently to one corner of the room.  "I will 
listen about anything," he said pointedly, before turning on his heel and 
leaving.  

	'He's mad,' she thought.

	After a time, 'Oh, I suppose he guessed.  How did he do that?'

	She flushed, wondering if her old friend had noticed that her 
bedsheets were just a little too rumpled.  And maybe, in some places, 
even damp.  But it had been so disappointing to wake up alone, alone when 
she could still feel the warmth left behind, caught between the folds and 
creases on the sheets beside her.  She fell back into her pillows and 
sighed.  There were places on her skin that still tingled at the thought 
of the night before, and she needed to compose herself before seeing... 
well, seeing Tatewaki again.  

	"This is so embarrassing," Ukyo said miserably - because it had 
simply felt so very good.  And that somehow made the whole thing that 
much worse.  "I wasn't even drunk."

	After a time, she screwed together some amount of conviction and 
proceeded to take a prolonged bath, which she thought would give her some 
time to think.  It did, although it was not helpful at all as all she 
could think about was how embarrassing it was, somehow.  She was 
immensely relieved that the tiny room had the luxury of a private bath 
and shower - she did not want to chance bumping into him yet.  

	There was a knocking at the door and she was so startled that she 
nearly slipped.  As it was, she received a small bruise at the back of 
her head (she had bumped the wall).  "Anou, I'm in the shower!" she 
called out self-consciously.

	"I'm cooking breakfast."  There was amusement in his voice when he 
continued, "Want a back-rub?"  

	She heard him step into her room and a tiny bit of terror escaped 
into her reply when she said, "N-no!  No thanks!  Ah, you go ahead and 
start!  I'll be down in a minute!"  She could not help the trembling in 
her words.  "Only don't come in, please."

	She saw his outline through the thickly frosted plastic panels of 
the door to the bathing area.  Ukyo closed her eyes, "Please, Tatewaki, 
don't look at me."

	"Why not?"

	The door squeaked as it started to swing inwards, and steam from 
the heat of her bath escaped out of the crack.  

	Her eyes were still closed when she felt his hands on her 
shoulders, and she sighed.  "I won't look."

	He laughed then, and when Ukyo opened her eyes, she was alone.  

	She wondered if the odd feelings in her stomach and chest meant 
that she was relieved or merely disappointed.

	Eventually shaking off the languor, she toweled off, threw on a 
plain white T-shirt and an old pair of jeans that was almost too tight.  
"Maybe I should start training again," she muttered.  They used to just 
fit her before, but now, the denim was stretched somewhat revealingly 
over her buttocks and hips.  After a few minutes of looking in the 
mirror, she decided that she did not care too much and made her way to 
the dining room.

	She sighed when she saw them sitting there.  Tatewaki was setting 
down plates of eggs and toast and sausage.  There was a peach apron that 
was too small hanging loosely over his chest and when he turned to look 
up at her descending the stairs, she smiled crookedly.  'I will talk to 
you.  I shall talk to you.  The both of you - we're going to discuss this 
like mature adults, right?' she thought.

	"A 'Hello Kitty' apron?"

	He arched an eyebrow.  "It belongs to my cousin.  Sit and eat!"  He 
extended an arm towards the chair beside Tsubasa.  "I am no expert, but 
I'm not bad.  Orange juice, milk or coffee?"  

	"Coffee.  Please."

	He stepped back into the little kitchen.

	She sighed again, and wished that she could keep herself from 
sighing so much.  It was like a complaint that tried to pass itself off 
as a statement of fact, of being unsatisfied, rather than a simple 
complaint.  She sat and glanced at the man next to her.  "You look very 
pretty today."

	"I," he sniffed in response, "always look pretty."  His hair 
streamed down his back in a smooth, shiny tumble, and his simple yellow 
dress sheathed his slenderness very well.  His makeup was subtle, 
slightly pouting lips just a little darker than usual, faint lavender 
eye-shadow making his eyes look somehow larger, almost luminescent.  If 
Ukyo had not known him, she would have taken him for a model.  

	"You're mad."

	"Of course not,"  Tsubasa sipped delicately from the tall glass of 
orange juice in front of him.  He colored prettily.  "Why would I be?"

	"Because," Tatewaki said as he returned with a pot of coffee and a 
mug for her, and a tall glass of juice for himself, "if it had been him 
last night, he feels that he at least would have earned it, while I, on 
the other hand, probably just took advantage of you."

	Ukyo blazed a deep scarlet.  "Um."

	Tsubasa snorted.  "Why must everyone choose to misunderstand me 
sometimes?  I'm not angry!"

	"Perhaps it is because you are so easy to misunderstand, pretty 
lady," Kuno half-smiled.

	"Oh?" 

	"My good man," Kuno said, "are you fluttering your eyelashes at 
me?"

	Tsubasa beamed cutely, drawing a frown from the woman beside him.  
"But you look so handsome, good sir."  It was his little-girl voice and 
it was perfect.  Flowery, sugary-sweet and adorable, but not excessively 
so.  "I couldn't help myself!"

	The other man cocked his head to one side, a raised eyebrow the 
only hint of expression.  

	"'Basa," Ukyo warned.

	Kuno abruptly leaned towards Tsubasa - so quickly that Ukyo nearly 
bit her tongue in surprise.  "Be warned," he said, not a little huskily, 
"I find such a smile as yours very alluring.  On a woman."

	Ukyo gulped, sipped some juice from a nearby glass.  It was Kuno's, 
but she did not care at the moment.  He looked so intent!  Was he 
dangerous?

	Face only inches from Tatewaki's, Tsubasa calmly drew his long 
bangs away from his face.  "But I'm not a woman.  A shame, isn't it, 
dear?"  He smiled as he glanced down at his chest.  He was wearing the 
appropriate equipment and if Ukyo had not known him, she would have 
thought him a pretty young (young!) girl almost brazenly thrusting her 
breasts out at the former Blue Thunder of Furinkan High School.  But he 
did not expect the reaction he got.

	"Indeed."  Kuno cupped Tsubasa's cheek in a gentle, almost sinuous 
motion, drawing him up and close...  His breath was a strange newness 
against Tsubasa's pale skin, and...

	Ukyo spewed.

	"..." Kuno replied.  

	Tsubasa stumbled out of his chair.  "Guess I'd, um, better wash 
this dress.  I wouldn't want to get a stain on this dress, after all."  
He departed rapidly, but not before Ukyo spotted the red in his cheeks.  
"Um, see you guys later..."  He nearly tripped in his rush up the stairs 
to his room.

	Tatewaki quietly wiped his face with a convenient red napkin.

	Ukyo brought the glass up again and drained it, gulping quickly.  
She let loose a breath, half-satisfaction and half - well, what was it 
anyway?  "What was," her tone dropped into its frostier reaches, "THAT 
all about?"

	"That's my juice," he observed.

	"I don't care!"

	Tatewaki smiled.  She looked uncommonly lovely to him then - 
perhaps it was the morning light, he thought.  It made her look warm, 
passionate.  Or maybe it was because she was so very clearly angry.  
There was a thin trickle of orange juice down the side of her chin, but 
he doubted that she noticed.  The spots high on her cheeks were very 
brightly flushed again, though not quite in the same way as before.  It 
made her look years younger - almost as if she was a teenager again.  

	He stood slowly, "I had better wash my shirt as well."

	She blinked.  "That's it?  Is that all you're gonna say?"  Her 
voice was getting louder and louder.

	He eyed her curiously.  It made her feel ridiculous.  "Stop it," 
she spat.  She grabbed him roughly by the collar and drew him close - 
'she still has a lot of her old strength,' he thought.  "Are you just 
going to wait until I get mad enough to hit you?"

	He laughed and it shocked her to hear it, she did not know why.  He 
laughed and wrapped his arms around her tightly enough so that she could 
not breathe.  Her eyes were very wide when he kissed her, the wet warmth 
of his tongue soft as it slid atop and then beneath her own.  When he 
drew his tongue back, she wondered what mad impulse made her flicker her 
own out into his mouth to follow.  The velvety touch was strange, it 
struck her that they had not kissed at all the night before (not on the 
lips anyway), and it was very, she was not sure, comforting perhaps - 
pleasurable, certainly!  She pressed herself against him, remembering 
the feel of his whipcord body against hers last night.

	Afterwards, she spent a moment trying to remember how to breathe.  
"Whew!"

	"Whew, indeed," he said, eyes twinkling and very much amused.  "I 
cannot decide if you look prettier angry or embarrassed."

	She opened her mouth, snapped it shut.  This was a little too much.  
"Were you really going to kiss him?" she asked plaintively.

	He laughed as he pulled away and began gathering the dishes.  
"Well, he is quite a beautiful man.  And, of course, by bushido, the best 
love is between men - a samurai and his lord, that is."

	Ukyo's mouth was hanging down very far, and he laughed again, his 
maddening laugh as he patted her lightly on the cheek.  He pecked off to 
one side of her mouth, tasting a little of the sticky juice that had 
dried onto her skin.  "It is so very easy to play with the two of you!" 
he said as he disappeared into the kitchen, dishes stacked and balanced 
on one hand.  She could still hear that carefree laughter ringing in her 
ears.

	"But, I...  Kun- I, you...  Tsubasa!  Rebound, ah!"  It was too 
late to say anything of course.

	She sat back very unsteadily, head spinning.

	"Whew!"  But it had been such a nice kiss, really it had.

	She held her head between her hands, groaning.  "So much for mature 
conversation," she trailed off.

--- to be continued at some point between stuffies