It's like looking in a mirror, and it makes Yukimura inescapably curious. [Lime]
Disclaimer: Samurai Deeper Kyo is not mine. No copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: I have no idea where this came from. Stupid brain. Yukimura entertains me entirely too much as a character, but I really don't think that's to blame for this fic. Canon is vague at best, because I'm only halfway through the anime and haven't even looked at the manga.
Sanada Yukimura first meets Anayama Kosuke when he is sixteen and she not quite ten. He has always been short, femininely slight even with all of the sword-training he has done, and Koskue is tall for her years. She has the same blue eyes, the same fine features, enough that he thinks at first he is looking at a cousin, or even a younger version of himself. She is nothing of the sort, however, only a common girl chosen to serve as his kagemusha.
He does not expect himself to grow fond of her. A degree of closeness is expected, when she must know him in the smallest detail to be able to mimic him. Soon enough, though, he does not give a thought to her presence, any more than he does to the omnipresent shadow Saizo is - only that when she is gone, he feels vaguely naked. It's a foolish notion, when he knows her purpose is to be him while he is elsewhere, and he knows it will pass, but he has grown accustomed to her.
They both grow as the years turn, but he gives no thought to it until after Sekigahara, when he wakes one morning to find her winding the white silk about her breasts to give herself a more masculine silhouette, and realises that the little girl he had known is a woman grown. She, equally easy in his presence, does not react to his gaze, only tucks the end of the cloth in and reaches for her kimono.
But he cannot forget. It is not love, he knows - the love he feels for her is nothing of romance, but that of fast friends - but he is curious all the same, cannot get the image out of his mind. She is his mirror, what he would be if he were a woman. Making love to her would be, he supposes, like some sort of twisted masturbatory fantasy, and yet he cannot stop wondering what it might be like.
And so they come to this: pale limbs tangling in the darkness of the forest, mouths meeting, tongues duelling. Her body is as lithe as his own, if surprisingly generously curved; he wonders fleetingly how she can hide all of that when she masquerades as him, but the thought is banished as when she pushes him onto his back and straddles him. He moulds his hands to her body, curving along hip and thigh and buttock, giving himself an anchor as she slides down, wet and slick and hot about him. Yukimura's head falls back, spine arching. He has known women before, but this is different, somehow. This is -
He laughs, suddenly, a sound of pure delight cut short in a breathy gasp as Kosuke moves /just so/, and his fingers clutch desperately at her sweat-slicked skin for purchase. Even with the distraction, though, the amusement remains, because he was right - it's like a mirror, almost, especially when she knows him so intimately, and the pun wins another abortive laugh.
"You find this entertaining?" Kosuke demands suddenly, stilling atop him, her palms flat on his chest. Her eyes are very dark; he guesses his own must be as well. They are both breathing heavily, panting nearly in tandem.
"Oh, infinitely," he assures her, and in a sudden move rolls them over so he's on top, and smothers his laughter by kissing her. As he moves, and she moves with him, and the earth seems to move with them, the urge to laugh fades into the haze of desire.
Afterwards, he tells her why he was laughing, and she muffles her own laughter behind a slender hand. It doesn't surprise him that she understands - she is, after all, his kagemusha.
- finis -