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She was food. Or at least, the promise of food. She was also a warm bed, clean sheets and, if he played his cards right, a hot bath and a little bit of leisure time not spent worrying about day to day existence. She was youkai sure, but youkai women were still women in this part of the world.
Which is why he didn't hesitate, just sauntered over with the right amount of deference, and the right amount of promise in his smile.
"I do contract work," he said. "Can I help?"
She was, as expected, skeptical. She asked him his age and, as usual, he lied. It was getting to be less of a lie now that he was a few months past eighteen, but she was still at least ten years his senior so the question wasn't unexpected.
It was natural for her to need to mull it over.
It was natural for him to pursue.
"I'll do it for cheap. No need for money, just put me up for the night and give me a hot meal." He looked at her, innocent charm mixed with seasoned maturity. "We'll call it even at that. What do you say?"
The plea for human kindness softened her.
And by 10:00, he was in her dining room, indulging in a simple noodle soup that tasted like heaven.
"So where are you from?" she asked.
They always asked. And he always made up something about coming from the South. About having no knowledge of his unusual heritage because his father died before he was born. Neither statement was true. He was all too aware of his impure blood, and all too aware that his father's affair with a human woman had created it. He lived between worlds on the best of days, in the shadows on the worst.
But if she knew about the lie, she didn't let on. Just ladled out more soup and refilled his rice bowl.
He slept that night in the attic. Warm and dry under a soft blanket. And in the morning, he set to work repairing the railings on her porch and patching leaks in the weathered roof, the early spring sun warm against his bare shoulders.
She came out to visit about noon. "Would you like some water?"
"Please."
He accepted the earthenware cup and drank, cool liquid spilling down the back of his throat. It gave him a bit of a chill and he felt his skin prickle as a flush spread along his cheeks.
"Thank you." His gratitude was sincere. "I'm almost finished. Maybe another hour and then I'll be on my way."
"Stay for lunch," she said "It's the least I can do since you've been out here all morning."
He smiled at that. Because it was a gracious gesture. He tended to work with a fair amount of efficiency, but he also wasn't in a position to refuse further hospitality.
And over dumplings she asked, "So how are you with plumbing?"
"Competent," he said honestly. "What are we looking at?"
"Nothing major. Just a clogged drain." She trailed a chopstick through the soy sauce on her plate. "But you look like you wouldn't mind a shower should it get fixed."
"Heh." He wiped his lower lip with a grin. "Am I offending you?"
"No! No!" She waved her hands. "No, I just mean you seem like the type of guy who keeps up with his appearance. Not in a bad way, just that you make an effort. So you fix the shower, I let you use it. An equivalent exchange for hygienic purposes."
He nodded, catching the subtle undertone. He wasn't so young that he didn't know women were visceral creatures.
"Okay," he agreed. "Equivalent exchange."
Unclogging the shower took him a little over ten minutes.
And the feeling of warm water gliding over his skin took him to paradise.
"I'll leave a towel here." She stood just inside the door. He could see her through the gap in the curtain. "Do you need anything else?"
"No. That's perfect, thanks." He moved to where he knew he wasn't hidden. "I appreciate it."
"Yeah," she murmured. "I mean...you're welcome."
She turned away, a blush hot across her cheekbones.
Not unexpectedly, he was invited to dinner. And then offered one more night in the attic room.
Breakfast waited for him the next day, along with a subtle hint about a squeaky hinge on the bedroom door. He took care of both, perhaps spending more time than necessary lingering around in her personal space, but she didn't seem to mind. And rather than charging him with little tasks, she simply made lunch and invited him to stay a little longer.
"I'll agree," he said, "but you have to let me do something for you. I can't take this without giving you something in return."
The way she tucked a strand of long, dark hair behind her ear spoke volumes. "You can keep me company."
Ever the charmer, he feigned innocence. "I'm afraid I'm not sure what you mean."
"I mean that I'd like you to stay and there's no need for manual labor. Just...you."
She raised her chin, as if daring him to defy her.
He came around to where she stood.
"I wouldn't dare presume," he said. "But are asking me to bed?"
She nodded, stepping close. Her nails, blunted by filing, traced a path up his chest. One finger hooked on an open button hole and pulled.
The fabric slid off his shoulder, catching on his wrist.
He held his breath. She didn't move for a moment, her gaze about level with his collarbone. And then he felt the warm press of lips against his sternum and the quick graze of thumbs across his nipples. She kissed the base of his neck.
And then she looked up and he found her lips-- warm and inviting and ripe.
They moved to the bedroom in silence. She undressed him first and nudged him back. She was still in her chemise. He went to remove it, but she stayed his hand, shaking her head.
"Please," she whispered. "Don't."
He didn't, though it was hard to hide his disappointment. The soft fabric hinted at some lovely curves, and he would have loved to explore them. But this was her game, not his.
He was only along for the ride.
Or, maybe more appropriately, he was the ride.
She climbed on top. She took care of protecting him and taking him inside her, and he moved only when she encouraged it, smoothing his hands up and down her thighs as she whimpered and gasped and took her pleasure.
And after, she got up, leaving him on the bed as she went to her dressing table to smooth her hair.
He waited for the span of several heartbeats before getting up and coming to stand behind her.
Their eyes met in the mirror. "Was it enough?"
She didn't answer, and he sensed the hesitation wasn't necessarily a yes. His hand curled around her waist. "You can have more," he murmured. "I don't mind. I'd rather you take what you need than not be satisfied."
She flinched. He could feel her getting ready to push him away.
He held tight. "What is it?"
More hesitation, but he wasn't deterred. "Tell me," he urged. "It's all right."
That seemed to shift her out of her silence, and she caught the hem of her chemise. As he watched, she lifted, exposing a long, puckered gash across her stomach. "He tried to kill me," she whispered. "He tried..."
He kissed her cheek, resting his chin on her shoulder. "My mother tried to kill me, too."
Her breathing hitched. Never taking her eyes off him, she reached back, touching the twin gouges on his cheek. He did the same, tracing the line across her belly. They watched each other, their silence a mutual understanding. And then he took her garment completely off and brought her back to the bed.
He spent the next several hours doing nothing more than loving her; kissing everywhere he could kiss, tasting everything he could taste. He made a point of not avoiding the scar. He couldn't get rid of it, but if he could take away the pain- even for a little while- then he would. She was as beautiful naked as he'd imagined, and he wanted her to know it. He wanted her to understand.
By the time they came together again, it was hard for him not to go too quickly.
"You never told me your name," she breathed. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and her body moved with his, wanting. Needing.
"Gojyo. Sha Gojyo." He nuzzled into her neck. "Yours?"
"Tae Ming." She shuddered, taking him deeper. "I'm Tae Ming."
"Tae Ming," he whispered. "You're beautiful."
He heard her whimper, and then she came around him, squeezing him tight. His own hold on his control broke and he tumbled with her, down, down into sweet, sexual oblivion.
When he could think again, he realized her cheeks were damp.
He curled her into his chest. "I didn't..." he began, but she shook her head.
"No. I'm fine. I just wasn't expecting that."
"What? Me?"
"Yes." She raised her eyes. "Someone so young shouldn't be such an unselfish lover." She touched his lips. "But I guess that just means you've done this before."
They were naked with no pretense between them, and yet she said the one thing that caused him to blush.
"I..." he began, but she shook her head.
"Don't explain," she whispered. "It's not important. Though I should have guessed it from the beginning. And yet, I fell for it."
He said nothing nothing. Because he had no words. No defense.
"You're good," she said. "I almost believed you."
"But I..."
"It's fine. I understand. You did what you needed to do."
Gojyo withdrew. And she didn't stop him as he slipped out of bed and dressed, drawing his crimson hair back into a ponytail.
"Thank you for the hospitality," he said softly. "If there's anything I can do before I go..."
"No. Thank you." She didn't turn to look. "You've done enough. Any more and I might feel like I owe you something else."
Gojyo winced, but he didn't let her see.
He showed himself out.
Of course it was starting to rain. Which meant sleeping was going to be uncomfortable if not damn near impossible. He contemplated it anyway, weighing the option of spending the night alone.
But in the end his feet knew better than his heart. And they led him back into town, back to the pub.
Back to the poker table where he waited for the next one to walk in.
She did, all porcelain skin and ink-dark eyes.
And as he mustered a smile and strolled over, he knew that he would be doing much more that night than buying her a drink.