Ashura’s tunic is narrow, which suits his frame, even now that he’s grown. It’s simple, merely two pieces of cloth bound at his waist and wrapped at his shoulders, which suits his taste. And he goes bare under it, which suits both his desire and his humor.<\/p>\n
He likes to feel Yasha’s hand sliding, absently, up his thigh to settle just where the curve of his hipbone guides Yasha’s fingers further along his stomach. Not that they often slip as far as Ashura would prefer, at least during daylight.<\/p>\n
He likes to feel hungry eyes on them, when they visit the court. Likes to turn, under those eyes, and spread his hands possessively against Yasha’s chest. Likes to feel Yasha’s hand close around his hip, long fingers sliding under cloth, as Yasha pulls him closer. The heat in the watching gazes pleases him almost as much as the gentle stroke of Yasha’s thumb over the soft skin of his waist.<\/p>\n
Of course, he likes it best when the heated eyes are Yasha’s. He likes to tease Yasha, and the narrow tunic makes that easy. Easy to turn just a bit too quickly, so that a glance back over his shoulder shows him the flare of desire in Yasha’s eyes as Ashura’s tunic flies out, baring the curve of his rear. Best of all are the times Yasha steps closer, hand following the path of his eyes over Ashura’s skin.<\/p>\n
Sometimes Yasha even teases back, catching Ashura’s ankles and spreading them apart until Ashura falls back, laughing, against the pillows, only barely covered by a slim length of cloth between his thighs. On those nights, Yasha wears a small smile as he strokes Ashura’s legs and only just runs his fingertips under the edges of Ashura’s tunic. The scantness of the cloth makes that teasing touch very close to where Ashura wants it most, and Yasha’s smiling slowness makes him growl. It’s always Ashura who gets impatient first, pulling Yasha’s hand under the cloth of his tunic and pressing it between his legs. Yasha’s smile widens when he closes his hand and Ashura’s growl becomes a gasp.<\/p>\n
Ashura has his own laugh, though, when they finish fencing some days and he rests the point of his sword between his wide-set feet and sees Yasha swallow. He knows that Yasha is looking at his legs, bared in the sun with a naked sword between them, and is thinking of how easy it would be to lift the narrow drape of Ashura’s tunic and slide something else between his open legs.<\/p>\n
Ashura rather wishes Yasha would do what he thinks about more often. He likes having the hardness of Yasha’s body between his legs, likes feeling the little strain in his thighs as he stretches them wide to kneel over Yasha at night. He likes how large Yasha’s hands are, and their careful strength as Yasha touches him and opens him. He likes how large Yasha is all over, actually. He especially likes feeling how large Yasha is inside him. He likes the thought of how easily he could be stretched around Yasha’s largeness like that, even during the day. Likes the thought of Yasha leaning back in the grass, pulling Ashura down over him, and how neatly the back of Ashura’s tunic would fall to barely cover Yasha moving in and out of him.<\/p>\n
He thinks Yasha likes the thought, too. At least he’s never said anything about how Ashura dresses. And that small, quiet smile is on his face again as he wraps his large court overrobe around both of them, and his hand slides gently up Ashura’s thigh until his fingers stroke the naked hollow of Ashura’s hip, just under the edge of the tunic.<\/p>\n
End<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A post-manga reflection on Ashura’s tunic and the likely adolescence of a god of destruction. All that energy’s got to go somewhere. This is entirely the fault of the artbook.