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canis_m. In which I rip off Bai Juyi like, AGAIN.
Midwinter
Midwinter nights in the far country of Tai are long. To those weary for sunlight they seem without end. Kouri is awake before dawn and for a long time merely lies there, still in the position of slumber, eyes open wide to the darkness. In this in-between time he feels the quiet as if it were a sentient, sleeping thing, draped around him like a lost shirei. As if he could reach out and stroke its invisible fur, perhaps. Tiny noises magnify in his ears: the crackle of coals under the bed, the shift and fall of his hair against the pillow, his own heartbeat. The slow rise and fall of Gyousou's breathing… An eternity or an hour, before a royal attendant bows himself into the bedchamber, in order to stoke the braziers and light the lanterns with a glowing coal trapped at the end of a wand of bronze. The same length of time again before it will be possible to distinguish the shape of windows by the grey of the sky behind them. In the antechamber quilted boots will be laid out, winter robes lined with silk floss, and basins of steaming water perfumed with resin for the toilet...
Not until midway through morning audience will there be full light.
After a while he turns his head to look at Gyousou. The king still sleeps, his unbound hair a paler shadow among shadows. But already the rhythm of his respiration is quickening, growing shallow; he will wake soon.
How strange it is, Kouri thinks, the city where he lived in Hourai was far more temperate than Kouki but on winter nights he always shivered in his futon, trying in vain to draw his chilled extremities closer to his body. He took ill every year back then, but he has always slept warmly in Tai... It would be good to press close to Gyousou, breathe the scent of his skin and doze a while longer. No need of names or memory, like animals curled in their den of earth beneath the snow. For them winter was one long night preceding the thaw. But in truth it would be hard to fall asleep again, now.
He knows the moment Gyousou wakes: as always a heartbeat's-time transition between slumber and alertness. The king reaches out, touches Kouri's face.
"You're always awake before me," he says. "I apologize. I would rather let you sleep a while longer, there's no need for you to hold court so early..."
Kouri shakes his head. It is the natural thing for them to wake together, he wants to say, but cannot find the words to explain. Instead he allows Gyousou to draw him close, cradling him against his chest. Gyousou runs his hand through Kouri's hair and down his back, again and again, tracing the curve of his spine. He turns his head and deposits a kiss on Kouri's collarbone.
It is their secret hour, snatched from the night before the day's travails. For Kouri it is filled with the slow travel of Gyousou's hands and his voice, raspy from the disuse of sleep. He moves against Kouri in a way that makes Kouri breathless and lightheaded, as if he's been underwater too long.
"It's nearly dawn," he says, but he parts his knees and allows Gyousou's weight to settle between them. The covers shift; cold air tingles against his throat and the inside of his arm flung carelessly across the pillow, but it is almost welcome. Gyousou is as warm as flame, and his gaze intent on Kouri's face.
"There's time yet," he says.
***
Later he murmurs a story in Kouri's ear: once there was a king who acquired as concubine the greatest beauty his land had ever known, with limbs of fine jade as pale as milk, and hair dark and shining like a moonlit sea. The king was taken by her as if by enchantment. He went to her every night, and never again did he hold a morning audience—
"Master Gyousou," he protests, alarmed. Gyousou laughs, a soft rumble, and lifts Kouri's fingers to his lips.
"She must not have been as responsible as you," he says. "Tentei has another moral for us, I believe."
canis_m. In which I rip off Bai Juyi like, AGAIN.Midwinter
Midwinter nights in the far country of Tai are long. To those weary for sunlight they seem without end. Kouri is awake before dawn and for a long time merely lies there, still in the position of slumber, eyes open wide to the darkness. In this in-between time he feels the quiet as if it were a sentient, sleeping thing, draped around him like a lost shirei. As if he could reach out and stroke its invisible fur, perhaps. Tiny noises magnify in his ears: the crackle of coals under the bed, the shift and fall of his hair against the pillow, his own heartbeat. The slow rise and fall of Gyousou's breathing… An eternity or an hour, before a royal attendant bows himself into the bedchamber, in order to stoke the braziers and light the lanterns with a glowing coal trapped at the end of a wand of bronze. The same length of time again before it will be possible to distinguish the shape of windows by the grey of the sky behind them. In the antechamber quilted boots will be laid out, winter robes lined with silk floss, and basins of steaming water perfumed with resin for the toilet...
Not until midway through morning audience will there be full light.
After a while he turns his head to look at Gyousou. The king still sleeps, his unbound hair a paler shadow among shadows. But already the rhythm of his respiration is quickening, growing shallow; he will wake soon.
How strange it is, Kouri thinks, the city where he lived in Hourai was far more temperate than Kouki but on winter nights he always shivered in his futon, trying in vain to draw his chilled extremities closer to his body. He took ill every year back then, but he has always slept warmly in Tai... It would be good to press close to Gyousou, breathe the scent of his skin and doze a while longer. No need of names or memory, like animals curled in their den of earth beneath the snow. For them winter was one long night preceding the thaw. But in truth it would be hard to fall asleep again, now.
He knows the moment Gyousou wakes: as always a heartbeat's-time transition between slumber and alertness. The king reaches out, touches Kouri's face.
"You're always awake before me," he says. "I apologize. I would rather let you sleep a while longer, there's no need for you to hold court so early..."
Kouri shakes his head. It is the natural thing for them to wake together, he wants to say, but cannot find the words to explain. Instead he allows Gyousou to draw him close, cradling him against his chest. Gyousou runs his hand through Kouri's hair and down his back, again and again, tracing the curve of his spine. He turns his head and deposits a kiss on Kouri's collarbone.
It is their secret hour, snatched from the night before the day's travails. For Kouri it is filled with the slow travel of Gyousou's hands and his voice, raspy from the disuse of sleep. He moves against Kouri in a way that makes Kouri breathless and lightheaded, as if he's been underwater too long.
"It's nearly dawn," he says, but he parts his knees and allows Gyousou's weight to settle between them. The covers shift; cold air tingles against his throat and the inside of his arm flung carelessly across the pillow, but it is almost welcome. Gyousou is as warm as flame, and his gaze intent on Kouri's face.
"There's time yet," he says.
***
Later he murmurs a story in Kouri's ear: once there was a king who acquired as concubine the greatest beauty his land had ever known, with limbs of fine jade as pale as milk, and hair dark and shining like a moonlit sea. The king was taken by her as if by enchantment. He went to her every night, and never again did he hold a morning audience—
"Master Gyousou," he protests, alarmed. Gyousou laughs, a soft rumble, and lifts Kouri's fingers to his lips.
"She must not have been as responsible as you," he says. "Tentei has another moral for us, I believe."
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Date: 2005-12-06 01:37 am (UTC)no subject
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