Trying Again

A story of Uotani and Miroku. Warning: Porn Approaching

I can feel the difference now; I couldn't have before. He sits on my left ring finger, a tiny slice of dreams and magic bent into the shape of a falcon. I could barely sense magical energies before that night of dreams; now with the powers I forged into myself, into him, I can feel the flows, the way Mother does, and my sister Motoko. The way Grandmother Nanami did when she was alive. The way Miroku can.

He is not yet a part of me, not the way my gloves are, or the way my sister Nanami's sword is for her now. My sister. It seems so strange to think of her that way. After all we've been through. I expect we'll still fight sometimes. Sisters always do. Even Hana-chan and I fight sometimes.

Miroku is running about in wolf form in the rain, yipping happily. No doubt he plans to shake himself dry on me. He loves rain, probably because it reminds him of showers, which he loves to have sex in. He's likely already forgotten we're getting ready for a cyberpapal ambush, and probably is anticipating sexing me up. I can't deny some anticipation of it myself, but it's my job to be the practical one in this relationship.

I've laced the rain with ECM; it should jam the hell out of any cyborgs who attack, and jam any automated guidance systems. Miroku is supposed to be molding the shadow to be full of angry priests who will hurl flame at the cyberpapists and angry gunmen to shoot them. Instead, he's playing in the rain. I wish I could be that carefree, but I have responsibilities beyond fucking everything in sight.

Alright, that's not entirely fair to his priesthood, but it is sometimes hard for me to take the cult of Kundali seriously. Miroku doesn't always make it any easier like this.

Now he's yipping around my legs and wants me to come play with him; he's forgotten I can't shapeshift again. Instead, I bark a word of power and he snaps back to human form. "Miroku, we're preparing for an ambush, you know."

"We sped up the shadow," he says. More precisely, HE sped up the shadow. I could have tried to use Broken Pattern to find us a fast shadow, but it would probably have been filled with monk-eating prudes or something. I envy him his access to an unbroken power. And I long for the time when I will be healed, and Pattern will be mine to command. I always envied Nanami that hugely. "We have time."

"Best to take no chances," I tell him. "In the Guard, we party AFTER the mission, not DURING it."

"I'm not a guardsman," he says, now standing up.

"Good thing too. You'd wash out," I tell him. He'd have had to change or been eaten alive. Or turned into Commander Misato's harem boy, I suppose. But probably not.

He looks hurt. He's good at that. Because he knows it works on me too much. Not today. Not even if he saved half the universe from destruction. Maybe because he did.

It scares me a little. The survival of our universe, hanging on Miroku. I could see the Logrus in his eyes afterwards. I can still see it, though it's retreated deeper. How can he do something like that and be like this so soon afterwards? Or is he like this because of the Logrus? Maybe it just made him more the way he already is. I never knew him before he walked it, not really.

Or maybe he is holding it all deep inside. I want him to share it with me. Or maybe he doesn't think I could handle it. Maybe I couldn't. His mind is so much stronger than mine, though I am oceans ahead of where I once was. I might break. I'm not good at metaphysics.

"I can do anything I set my mind to," he says.

And he can. It's just that, like his sister, the main thing he sets his mind to is getting nookie. Though not harem nookie. I can't tell if he's given up or not, though I suspect he's just going to wait a bit and start trying to tug me around to it.

"Set your mind to rustling up our army," I tell him. "And double-check my weaves."

He kisses my cheek. "I trust in your skills," he says, then reaches out with half a dozen Logrus tendrils and begins a working I can't see or touch.

Black lines sweep across the shadow, and in their wake, ranks of gunmen form, units with priests of fire interspersed among them. Flying gunships materialize, hovering over the city which rises from the fields like a surfacing submarine.

I can dimly sense the power, but I can't see it unless he lets me. So he takes my hand and opens his mind and I open mine. He trusts me so much; it's both romantic and a little scary. I see through his eyes, see the lines of force molding the stuff of shadow, see lives being born. Lives created only to die. Are they real? I'm not good at metaphysics, but it bothers me, sometimes. But not enough for me to not grasp every edge I can get to stop these Outsider-worshipping freaks. Do what you must and pay for it, they say.

Miroku senses my concern, if not its source, and now I feel a wave of reassurance from him. He must think my confidence is flagging. I send him back a pulse of gratitude and love, and he smiles. I couldn't have done that a few weeks ago. My mind was clumsy, blinkered, full of brute strength, but with no grace. I have a long way to go, but now my mind is a ballet dancer where before it struggled to walk in a straight line.

The black lines flick out of sight, and they bring me my disguise, which I step into a handy building to don. I emerge as a helpless looking blind woman, dark haired in tattered clothing, with a seeing-eye dog, as Miroku becomes the wolf once more. I pray the wig will stay on this time.

I speak eight syllables and make the four mystic passes, and now our minds are linked. I love casting spells. I have wanted to for so long, and now, I finally can. I probably do it too much, like a hungry man gorging himself, but I don't care. Not right now.

Our men spread out, passing as ordinary townsfolk. I walk around, trusting to Miroku to guide me, while he scries into shadow to watch for their approach. Five minutes. Four minutes. There are three flying vehicles, probably containing some sixty of them total. No problem.

I wait tensely, and then the air ripples, and they roar into sight. Not being fools, they prepare to bomb the city first, then descend. We anticipated that. The bombs fall, but thanks to the rain, they don't go off.

Then comes the next trick of ours. Doubles Miroku made of us with the Logrus, magically disguised so they don't look like Chocolate Amber-Uotani and Chocolate Chaos-Miroku, sprint across an open plaza into a building. The vehicles swoop down to land, already wobbling as the rain attacks their control systems.

As they do so, I stumble their way, letting Miroku-wolf half-drag me along. I get most of the way to them as they stumble out of their vehicles. That's when our men all open fire on them. Bullets whiz at them from every direction except behind us. They spread out and form a defensive perimeter, as Miroku and I try to get close enough to strike.

We don't get as close as I wanted before six of them open fire on us. I grab Miroku and leap high into the air; as we jump, he becomes a raven which perches on my head and unleashes the magics chained within his spikard. A great wave of green energy flows over the nearest gunmen, who clutch their heads and collapse.

The gunships attack now, strafing the defensive positions. The cyborgs are mowing down our gunmen, as they are tougher than hastily made shadow folk, but we have a full shadow's worth, while our foes do not. Some of the cyborgs begin to short out in the rain.

The priests aim at me, just the way I hoped for. Miroku-raven joins his will to mine as I hold up Horus, my ring, ahead of us as we fly towards them. The priests hurl a huge cyber-crucifix made of flame at us, seeking to burn us where we stand. It meets Horus, who catches it in his talons, backed by our wills, and turns it back on them.

The flames strike the priests, igniting them. And then I am down in the middle of them. The Logrus whips out from Miroku, scything through the crowded ranks of our foes, and I begin hefting and smashing priests.

I point to a damaged vehicle and bark a word of power. The vehicle's engine builds up to a critical level, causing it to explode. Cyborgs go flying everywhere.

Four of them shoot at me; I leap airborne and they shoot each other, then I come down on two more, grinding my feet into their faces. Miroku wings through the enemy ranks, throwing mental blasts from his spikard and smashing anyone who stands up to that with the Logrus.

A priest tries to crucify me; I find it immensely gratifying when, by my will alone, I turn his power back on him and nail him to a burning vehicle. Then I kick off his friend's head, right into his face.

I hear a fusion cannon whirring to life behind me. A shouted word of power, and the fusion cannon finds its reaction suddenly going out, leaving it a hunk of metal. A hunk of metal I kick into another of the vehicles.

The violence becomes a blur, my fists driving through metal, my feet connecting with soft flesh. I grab cyborgs, breaking them over my knee. The eye-gouge Sensei Corwin taught me disables three more, when they're foolish enough to try shooting stupid eye-lasers at me.

Miroku blurs through their ranks, shifting forms, becoming a wolf to tackle one man, a nine-tailed fox-man as he spins through the middle of three more, a raven to fly overhead and unleash the Logrus. I keep half an eye on him, knowing he may well get in over his head.

But he doesn't, and now our foes are scattered like chaff. Many are dead, the rest laid low by Miroku's mind; we'll take them back to Chaos for questioning. Though I think I know the answer: 'Our Stupid Evil God Commands Us To Kill'. Fools.

Devastation surrounds us, hundreds of dead gunmen, destroyed gunships, a city beginning to burn. I can feel it, the fading minds of the dying, even as Miroku comes over and kisses me on the lips. "You were magnificent," he says. "A goddess in your wrath."

And then he feels my sadness, and he looks around, and it finally sinks into his mind why I cannot be entirely happy. We created these people to die on our behalf. Perhaps we were created for the same reason; do we stand to the Powers as these folk do to us? Miroku trusts them implicitly, because he grew up favored by them. I was not, and things like this make me worry.

He gestures, and the Logrus flicks out across the shadow. The dead rise, their wounds made whole. The city rises again, as intact as we created it, no better, a gleaming metropolis where none will ever want or go hungry. At his hands, it becomes a dream of the perfect city, its people well-fed, happy, and safe.

But that is too easy. We are not strong enough to do that for every shadow, and perhaps it is impossible. It may be that all possible shadows must exist unless we explictly wipe them out or change them with primal power. But every act of molding casts ripples. Our actions have consequences. Which we often cannot foresee. And a thing which comes too easily is not treasured like one we worked for.

I sigh; some days I cannot be satisfied with anything. I can feel Miroku's confusion as our minds still touch. He could hide it from me, but he is utterly open and honest with me. Sometimes too open, as with all the times he's tried to talk me into some harem scheme.

"What is wrong, my love?" he asks softly.

He loves me. I know this. I have seen inside his heart. Like his parents, he loves to share minds when making love. But at the same time, it means I know that it is not enough. He is stupid, and can't be satisfied. I can see why he is tempted; I can't say I haven't sometimes thought of having a harem of men. But I am not crazy enough to make it a goal.

He is trying to give it up, but I fear he will fail, though I hope for success. He loves me, and I love him. But sometimes love is not enough to let us escape our own foolishness.

"I want all of you," I tell him. "All of you."

He looks at me in confusion. "You have all of me, Arisa my love." His eyes burn into mine, those deep blue eyes he got from his mother. I can see myself in them, and tiny, deep behind me, I see the Logrus. I can feel his mind embrace mine as our gazes consume each other. There is no one else in his mind, no other woman, no one but me, me in battle, laying waste to our foes, me staring at the fallen with sadness, me laughing in a memory of times past, me standing in my uniform with Tomos and Hana-chan, saluting someone, perhaps his parents. Or is there? His mind is strong. He could be reviewing some time he had with Minako in the back alleys of his mind for all I know. I cannot hide any secret from him that he wishes to take, while I can never be sure if he is hiding secrets from me.

But I hope he is not. I feel he is not. Surely this can't be fake, the way he feels. But then, the last time I caught his eyes wandering, he still radiated love to me whenever we touched. I never knew until it was too late.

I keep taking him back because I am insane. Because I need him. Because no one ever loves me as much as he loves me, even when he isn't loving me with everything he has. I don't know if I could survive him loving me with everything he has, if this is what having only part of him is like.

"How can you be so happy?" I ask him. I wish I knew, so I could be that happy, all the time.

"I am by the side of the woman I love," he tells me. "I have touched eternity and survived to tell the tale. My world is safe, at least for now. Why should I not be happy? What is wrong?"

"I'm thinking too much," I tell him. "Let's go take our captives in, and then I want you to fuck me until I can't think any more."

"As you wish," he says, wrapping up our captives, and whisking us across shadow with a trump.

The prisoners tell us what I already suspected. Their boss dropped in and told them to get even for the giant bitchslapping Grandma, my brother-in-law, and my sister gave them a century ago. What worries me is how they knew to put ME on the list. Everyone else is publicly known to be descended from those three, but I'm not. Yet.

More things to make me worry. Well, we'll have to slap those bastards to death again, I guess.

Miroku and I bop across the universe to Amber, and I report what I learned there to Commander Misato, so people will know. I want to go see the rest of my family, make sure they're alright, though she tells me they were triumphant.

But first, I want to get cleaned up, so Miroku and I go to my room. Guard Captains have private baths; rather convenient. It's going to turn into love-making. I know this. I want this. I need to steady my nerves and try to clear my mind before I go to see everyone. And, to be honest, I like sex a lot. Especially when I have a boyfriend who has well earned his title as a sex machine. Even if he needs more endurance.

As soon as the door closes behind us, his fingers are up inside my jacket even as I'm unbuttoning it, sliding up to rub my breasts through the sturdy wool of my shirt and the durable...whatever the hell it is...of my bodysuit. Goat-spider silk, I guess. The rubbing of the cloth against my flesh begins to excite me. Once I take my jacket off, I place my hands over his, interspersing my fingers between his, enjoying touching myself.

When I do this, he takes one of our hands and slides it down inside my pants, only to find himself thwarted, for the moment, by my body stocking. So he strokes me through the tough fabric, and I moan, enjoying the touch.

I see a flicker of blackness, and my belt comes undone and my pants are pulled off as I begin to moan gently. I may never get used to being undressed by the Logrus. I feel Miroku's robes rise up my back and over his head. For a moment, I wonder how they can get over his arms when both hands are pressed to me.

But rational thought soon marches out the door as I feel his mind inside my body, touching mine, and stirring me to orgasm ever faster. I can smell him, a faint smell of cinnamon, as he exudes pheremones which lower the threshold it takes me to orgasm. I breathe them in greedily, feeling myself become ever more aroused as a result.

The bodystocking peels off me, leaving my flesh bare to the cool air of the room, and open to my lover's touch and my own. I can feel his naked flesh against mine, feel his manhood flapping against my leg as it rises, aroused. As the cloth falls down my legs and I kick it aside, I spread my legs, reaching down to grasp him as he takes his hand and strokes inside me, fingers bending impossibly to pleasure me better.

His other hand is on my other breast now, while I bring my other hand back to stroke along his leg, which wraps around mine in impossible ways. I'm supporting him, somehow, with legs spread wide as he clings to me with his legs, and I wonder briefly if he's using the Logrus to help stay up as well.

I feel myself getting wet as even the gentlest touch now sends ripples of pleasure through me. And then he thrusts into me, his dick bending in ways impossible for a normal man. I feel him bend behind me, and while I love it, I am also a little glad I can't see how much he's contorted himself.

I'm stroking his legs and he's inside me, nuzzling my neck with his lips, his body bent around my back like a cloak, and I howl with pleasure, loving every second of it. I feel his mind, full of joy, full of arousal, and for a moment, I feel what it feels like to be inside me, and I give him the feeling of being penetrated. He gasps and I cry out.

And then I come, screaming with pleasure and moaning. He rides inside me, and then comes, and I feel the power of his orgasm inside my mind, whether either of us wants it or not. And I want it because it feels so good.

He pulls out of me and off me, and then I am on the bed, on my back, legs spread, as he kneels down to lick me below. His tongue is a miracle worker, an act of divinity, and for a moment, I understand how Miroku can worship sex as a cosmic principle.

Our minds touch and mingle, and I feel him struggle, trying to not remember every woman he has done this for. So I retaliate with every man who has done this for me, and we lose ourselves in the memories, more his memories than mine. It scares me, sometimes, how many different women (and men) he has been with. Whether I am anything other than just one more.

And then all his memories of his sensation of their orgasms hits me at once, and I come and come and come, screaming again and again as I am two dozen women at once, and all of them are coming. Echoes of orgasms crash with others, and the waves intersect, building each other up, and I moan until the last waves crash upon the shore and fade away.

But even as the last one fades, a huger rock falls in the pond of my mind, and I am suddenly a purple-haired student at the Great School of Magic, trying to steal Deirdre's boyfriend who is no good for her, but he certainly seems good for me, as he is kneeling over me on the bed and his tongue is sliding around inside my slit and it feels so good and I realize I am Miroku in disguise and that I got a serious ass-beating for this later, but this was my first time to experience this from this side.

I cry out in ecstasy, and then the memory releases, and I am shaking with pleasure. I pull Miroku up my body and whisper, "Was it worth the ass-beating?"

"It usually is," he says, laughing, and then he kisses me, and we mix our body's fluids together, uncaring as our tongues explore each other's familiar homes.

My hand finds his cock and shapes it, then guides it into me, and he pierces me with a struggle. He's not very strong, compared to me, anyway, and I have an extremely tight cunt. But he perseveres, burrowing in deeply. I can feel him inside me, in my mouth, in my vagina, his flesh inside mine, his mind inside mine. My body is on fire with pleasure now, and he hardly needs to strain himself to bring me to orgasm again.

I wonder again, briefly, what it would be like if he was as strong as his father. I keep pressuring him to work out with me, but he's lazy about it. I need to get Mother to beat his ass again.

He senses my thought, of course, and I feel hideously embarrassed. It's the problem with doing this sort of thing like this; if your mind strays, you make a fool of yourself.

There aren't too many things which will kill Miroku's mood, but being compared to his father is sometimes one of them. And sometimes it drives him to redouble his efforts. It makes him crazy that his father is apparently higher ranked among Kundalites than he is, despite not wanting to be.

He sighs. 'I'm doing my best, honey,' he said. I could feel him starting to lose it.

'I know you are,' I tell him, licking the inside of his mouth. 'And it's incredibly wonderful. I love you, you know.'

'I love you too,' he tells me, kissing my mind. 'We'd better get cleaned up so we can go see everyone.'

I sigh as our minds and bodies disengage. I could have used some more loving. Not that what I got wasn't exquisite, but I like volume as well as quality; dating Miroku always spoils me on that, as he delivers both.

We bathe each other gently in the shower; it is a good winding down, so I won't start randomly fantasizing about sex while visiting my new sister and everyone else. Once we are clean, we both get into clean clothing and finish straightening each other's outfit out.

"Ready to go?" I ask.

He kisses my cheek and takes my hand. "Lead me on, Arisa-chan."

"I need to give you a cute nickname," I tell him.

"Just don't call me Waldo," he tells me.

"Why would I call you that?" I ask him.

"Don't ask," he says, so I don't.

I take a trump and call Morgenstern. Time to see the family.