Title: Shimmering
Author: Luce Red
Series: Tactics
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of Kinoshita and Hiagashiyama.
Pairing/Notes: Beware spoilers.  Hint of Haruka/Kantarou. A haori is a sort of overcoat worn by males over a kimono and hakama.  Kantarou wears them.
Summary: Kantarou and his clothes.

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"You could have come by yourself," Haruka said, as he settled into the hiding place Kantarou had selected.  "It's probably just a minor demon; you can deal with it yourself."

Kantarou's voice floated over to him.  "I always feel better when Haruka is here!" he exclaimed.

There was no arguing with Kantarou when he was in this mood; Haruka fell silent and prepared to settle in for a long wait. It was too dark to see Kantarou's face at all, but Haruka thought he could make out the faint glimmer of the silk from Kantarou's haori.

Haruka could never understand why, if Kantarou often had money problems, he insisted on wearing those elaborate, extravagant, and (it went without saying) hideously expensive haori.  Then again, he knew that if questioned, Kantarou would no doubt give an elaborate, extravagant, and (it went without saying) unconvincing answer about the importance of following and upholding the sartorial practices of one's culture, and the need to be taken seriously as a folklorist and a demon-buster.

He had given the same lecture that very afternoon to the monk of the temple they were staking out. Haruka suspected that the man was too anxious about the disturbances in his temple to pay much attention; he had been most eager to detail each instance of weird sightings, nightmares, and destroyed furnishings instead.  Luckily, with an eye on the fee he would receive for getting rid of whatever was disrupting the activities, Kantarou had gone on to reassure the man that "with the assistance of Onikui Tengu, your problems will be solved!"  Still, the monk's eyes had nearly popped out when he saw Kantarou's outfit for the evening just now.

Haruka suspected that the main reason for all those haori was that Kantarou was vain.  After all, he did look very good in the various haori that appeared in his wardrobe from time to time, and they added an air of expertise and professionalism to his appearance.  Clothes maketh the man, it was true.  He always found himself regarding his master in a different light when Kantarou wore one.  Not for the first time, Haruka wondered at the significance of his master giving him a western suit to wear while he continued to go about in traditional dress.

He remembered the haori which was stenciled over and over with  a butterfly motif; the butterflies had seemed almost alive, and when Haruka helped him to pull it off, it seemed as though they would take off with every movement.  It was the first time he remembered being so careful with what he was touching.  Kantarou had said nothing, and Haruka had gone on to lay the haori on the futon, before reaching out to untie that ridiculously large bow on the front of his hakama.  He had pulled the collar of Kantarou's kimono apart so he could look at his skin; under moonlight, his skin had looked whiter than the white kimono. When he touched Kantarou, his senses had spun, and he had felt as though the room had filled up with shimmering butterflies.

The soft 'ting-ling' from Kantarou's bracelet made Haruka look up, turning his head in the direction where he sensed Kantarou was. 

"It's here," Kantarou said, and Haruka nodded in the dark.  He could just sense a presence moving about in the main hall of the temple, and was about to leap forward when a hand closed over his.  How Kantarou could find his way about in the dark when he, the Onikui-Tengu, could not, he did not know.  "Wait," Kantarou said, his voice a whisper yet perfectly clear to Haruka's ear.  "I want to know what else it does," he added.

Trust Kantarou to know that the intruder was not just here for simple destruction; he always had an affinity for demons, he had told Haruka.  There was something about him that demons trusted, and Haruka did, despite himself.  Kantarou always seemed to know when he was troubled, though he sometimes pretended not to know, and he always seemed to be one step ahead of the demons and spirits they dealt with.  Though Kantarou had seemed awfully surprised when Haruka jumped him, that time at the hot springs.

Of course, Kantarou, for all his love of money and play, was not incapable of tenderness and sensitivity, and the combination had ultimately proven to be irresistible, even in the short time they had known each other.  Kantarou had been mischievous enough to dunk Haruka in the hot spring, yet understanding enough to help the children find their way home.  For all that he looked like a child even in his kimono and hakama, when bare of them Kantarou was slim of limb and possessed of a sweetly wicked smile.  When Haruka pressed his lips to the warm flesh he had seen the wicked smile soften, until the wickedness went out of it, and only sweetness remained. 

"She's going for the altar," Kantarou whispered.  "Now, Haruka!"

His staff extended, Haruka managed to distract the intruder from smashing the altar.  Sparks of lightning provided a split second for him to take in its appearance: a kitsune, he realized, before Kantarou shouted, "Wait, Haruka!"

He came to a stop.  When Kantarou commanded him by name, Haruka could not help but obey, though in this case he shared Kantarou's puzzlement.  Kitsune were customarily mischievous, but nothing about the vicious destruction of the temple's furnishings had made them think of a kitsune.

He could hear the mutter of Kantarou saying a spell to immobilize the kitsune.  He went to light the oil lamps placed on the altar, so that they could see.

"Why were you destroying this place?" Kantarou asked.

The kitsune looked like Youko, though it--she--was bigger and showed fangs at them.  "Let me go!" she said, struggling to move.  "I will pay Kenji back for ignoring me!" she shouted at them.

"Ah, so you do know Inoue-san!" Kantarou exclaimed.  Inoue Kenji was the monk who hired Kantarou.

At that, the kitsune's expression turned uncertain.  "You know Kenji?" she asked.  Then her eyes turned sharp.  "He brought you here to get rid of me!" she deduced, and broke free of the spell, springing at Kantarou.

Haruka's staff was aimed right on the hollow of her neck.  "Stop," he told her.

Behind him, Kantarou was tugging at his sleeve.  "Don't hurt her," he said urgently.

The kitsune's eyes were wide.  "You... you're the Onikui-Tengu!" she said.  "Ahh!" With a scream, she ran right into Kantarou's arms.

Haruka watched as the kitsune began to sob prettily onto Kantarou's shoulder.  "I... I came to check on the monk when the temple was built..." she said.  "He liked me, but then he realized that I was a kitsune, he ignored me!"

"So you tried to destroy the temple."

The kitsune nodded.  "Then he'll talk to me again."

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Minami."

It was not a normal kitsune name; nor a youkai name, for that matter.  Haruka met Kantarou's eyes and saw that he had come to the same realization. 

"Minami," Kantarou said, "who sent you here?"

Instantly, the kitsune's eyes narrowed.  With a shove, she pushed Kantarou to the floor, and before either of them could react, she had disappeared into the night.  Haruka started to give chase and found that for the second time that night, Kantarou was tugging at his clothes.

He could remember the first time Kantarou did that--no, that first time, Kantarou had simply wrapped his arms around Haruka's waist to stop him from attacking.  He could still remember the impact of Kantarou's action, and how the unexpected grip had made him freeze.  It was as though he could feel the imprint of Kantarou's skin through their clothes, though he had not realized until much later how unerring Kantarou's touch could be when there were no clothes to impede their movements.  As he should have expected, tickles and sly, teasing touches were as much a part of Kantarou as his deceptively innocent face.

"Don't, Haruka," Kantaro said.  "She's from the mountains.  We'll investigate that tomorrow."  He straightened.  "Minami," he said, thinking.  "It's a nice name."

It was a good name; whoever had named the kitsune had done it well.  It was unlike the name Kantarou had given him: overly formal and ornate.  If he still had all his memories 'Haruka' might be a fitting name, but now it was not: too rich, too bright, too grand.  Much like the clothes Kantarou sometimes wore--was wearing now, Haruka reflected as Kantarou dusted himself off with a few soft pats, making him think of unfastened haori clasps and loosened hakama ties.

Bare skin looked just as tempting on Kantarou as an intricately printed haori, Haruka decided, even though the haori in question, decorated with a hand-painted phoenix with colours that shimmered in the dim light, was a work of art.  Haruka wondered where his close-mouthed master had obtained it, and looked forward to removing the garment from him.

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