beautiful one, sharer of my longing

22: Kiss and make up

Gojo Satoru was a little irked when you did not show yourself to him in the onsen. After all, you said you would. He expected you.

Instead, after an hour or two, he threw the thin yukata back over his shoulders and stepped back into the building. The halls were long, a proper ryokan inn that housed many people from all over the country who knew him just by his hair. He acknowledged their deep bows with slight dips of his head, but his focus was elsewhere.

His feet slapped against the tile as he made his way to the special half of the estate they had cleared out specifically for Satoru (and yourself). Ceilings too low and hallways too cramped, he wanted nothing more than to just sit down and have an opportunity to properly speak with you.

Satoru's life was hard, but he supposed it wasn't like yours. He had been groomed as the eldest pureblooded Gojo child to be the next daimyo fit to rival the gods, with another, younger brother brought up to be his scribe. Unfortunately, that brother died and Satoru was all alone in a big world of politics and hatred. No matter where he went or what he did, his father and many other people always looked to him for answers that he was not supposed to know yet.

A man of twenty-eight was just as clueless as you.

You, who he knew had a harsh upbringing. All Zen'in women did, because all Zen'in men were cruel. However he didn't know you too well.

It was bad enough that he already betrayed himself by growing to like you, quitting the childish addiction that was Kamo Ira the moment you told him your vows and gave yourself to him. But still, the thought of you loving someone else, even years before you really knew him, made him sick.

Satoru was an actor, a performer, a thespian to his own immediate family, but he hated to be a false man in front of you.

Why will you not fully give yourself to me?

Your voice haunted him, and after stepping inside of his suite and seeing you wrapped up in the blankets about as snug as his unborn baby, he felt more guilt.

I cannot give everything.

He could not.

Being a man in this world was about being full of strength and courage, being uncaring of love and giving wrath with the cutting edge of a sword. He was not fit for anything except for that. He was all bouyant smiles and ignorant bliss, thinking that people were incapable of hating him before now, before you really did seem to hate him.

If Satoru could be transparent, he would. But he can't.

Still, he sat next to your legs on the bed and very gently pushed the blankets back to reveal the slight distention in your belly. Just barely noticeable, but he knew your body too well to not catch it. With a hand on the small, clothed bump and a sad sigh, Gojo Satoru felt a certain heaviness in his heart that may never alleviate.

If his child loved him, that would be a miracle.

If you loved him, he didn't know what he would do.

Would he be happy? For real this time?

"Husband?"

He liked you, and although he only showed this through teasing and the feeling of his mouth and cock rutting against you almost every night, he could not say the words properly. He liked you. He had to, didn't he? So you'd carry his heirs?

Suddenly it wasn't even about heirs anymore. It wasn't about allegiances or family rivalries, it was about you trying to make the best out of the situation. Being kind to him and his townspeople and his friends and servants and-