FIC: 36 View of Mt. Fuji: Summer (3/9)
Title: 36 Views of Mt. Fuji: Summer (3/9)
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Disclaimer: The boys belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Series Notes: 36 Views of Mt. Fuji is a series set early in Batman and Superman's careers, shortly after the S/B annual #1. The full series can be found here.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Clark and Bruce arrive in Hiroshima and settle in where they'll be staying. What? Separate rooms??
Word Count: 2400
Undisturbed,
my garden fills
with summer growth--
how I wish for one
who would push the deep grass aside.
--Izumi Shikibu
The bullet train pulled away from from Tokyo Station so smoothly that it looked like the platform was receding from the train. Soon it was sliding steadily through the city on its way to Hiroshima.
Bruce Wayne stretched his long legs in front of him. "Much better than flying," he said. He glanced over at Clark Kent, who was thumbing through a notebook filled with clippings. The first clipping was of a newspaper article titled: "Manga Come to Life Defends Hiroshima!" The picture beneath the headline showed a gigantic warrior, apparently bio-mechanical, sheathed in emerald-green armor and battling a silver robot.
Bruce knew the story by heart, of course. An alien probe had landed in downtown Hiroshima, only to be confronted with an armored warrior apparently straight from a currently-popular manga: Bio Armor Jade Warrior. The two had battled, and the Jade Warrior had flung the probe into space and disappeared.
"We don't know he's a good guy," Bruce felt compelled to point out again. "He could just be highly territorial and not like alien probes poaching on his turf."
"Ah, yes," nodded Clark. "Goodness knows territoriality rules out heroism." Bruce merely snorted and shook his head. "No," continued Clark, "One of the stories interviews an bystander who claims that the Jade Warrior stopped and opened himself up to attack in order to shield her from flying debris. He's all right, I can tell."
"Might be a she," Bruce noted.
"Okay, granted."
Bruce tapped the notebook. "What else have you got there?" Clark flipped the page to reveal another newspaper clipping, from a few months ago: "New Concept Industries Goes Public." "What about it?"
Clark made an abstracted noise. "New Concept Industries, based in Hiroshima, is a new company specializing in retrieving and analyzing alien artifacts."
"Ah."
"Ah indeed," Clark echoed. "Suffice to say I managed to convince Perry White that I should write a report on such an...intriguing business." The smile he shot Bruce was slightly grim. "And you? You said you had connections in Hiroshima you needed to visit?"
Bruce stopped as he was about to answer and instead pointed past Clark to the other side of the bullet train, his eyebrows raised. Clark turned and saw Mount Fuji looming above the small towns flashing by, stately and framed by clouds. Salarymen scrambled for their cell phones and there was a frenzy of clicking. "You don't often get to see it during this commute," Bruce said, watching the calm symmetry of the mountain, floating in the clouds.
"It looks so close," Clark said.
Bruce snorted. "It's further than it looks." Untouchable. "Anyway, I'm going to Hiroshima because WayneCorp is trying to establish a community dojo for Gotham teens and we'd like to have ties to a dojo here in Japan."
Interest sparked from turquoise eyes. "Really? That sounds like a great idea."
Bruce lifted his chin. "Of course really. And of course it's a great idea."
"Yours, I gather."
Bruce didn't deign to reply. "Yoru-sensei has graciously written a letter of introduction for me to the Kouka Dojo. The current sensei of the dojo will be meeting us at the station and letting us stay there for the next few nights while we work out the details."
Most of the route from Tokyo to Hiroshima was urban sprawl, unremarkable stretches of tangled power lines and squat beige buildings. As the terrain grew more mountainous, the bullet train would speed through dark tunnels and emerge now and then, for a brief moment, into a valley between mountains, a small town nestled into it, glimpsed and then gone as the train rushed on.
At Hiroshima Station, the two men negotiated the exits and emerged into the concrete maze of a city shimmering in the July heat. As they did, a young woman in a black business suit approached them. "Mr. Wayne?" She held out her hand, a smile warming the rather severe lines of her face. "I'm Tatsu Yamashiro, of the Kouka Dojo. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Bruce tried not to look surprised: the character for Tatsu's first name could be read as either a man's or a woman's name, and female dojo-cho were rare--especially ones so young. The hand that shook his was blunt and calloused, and there was an easy and economical grace to her movements that marked her, to the informed eye, as an excellent martial artist.
"Welcome to Hiroshima," Tatsu said as she ushered them into a compact car and took off through the city streets. They made small talk, and Bruce was relieved that her English was good enough for casual conversation; it was always surprisingly draining to pretend not to know a language. The dense cityscape slowly gave way to suburbs, lines of houses broken up with tiny rice paddies.
"Yes, I inherited the family dojo when my mother and father died in a car accident a few years ago," their driver was explaining to Clark. "It's been hard to keep it going, sometimes, but it seems I have things to teach that people wish to learn." Her lips curved slightly at what could almost be taken for bragging in Japan. She glanced into the rear-view mirror at Bruce Wayne. "A partnership with an American dojo would be helpful indeed. Yoru-sensei was kind to suggest it."
Bruce smiled easily. "Kindness had little to do with it; he said you were one of the best students he'd ever taught."
The strict lines of Tatsu's face didn't change, but she seemed pleased as she turned the car up a gravel driveway. "He said you were one of the most...surprising students he had ever taught."
Bruce actually laughed out loud at that. "It was polite of him not to specify in what way."
The dojo was a relatively old structure, set into a grove of cedars. The front door opened to reveal a young man, jovial where Tatsu was severe, balancing a toddler on each hip. The two girls reached out to their mother as she approached, and she swung one of them away from her husband and into her arms. "Mr. Bruce Wayne, Mr. Clark Kent, I'd like you to meet my husband, Maseo Yamashiro." Maseo bowed politely to them, revealing long hair pulled into a ponytail. "And these little ones," Tatsu continued, tickling the chortling baby in her arms, "are our daughters, Yuki and Reiko."
"Please, come in," Maseo said politely, ushering them inside. "You must be very tired and hungry from your long journey."
The interior of the dojo was still and serene. The halls were of some dark wood like walnut, giving way to tatami in the rooms. "This is a beautiful place," Clark said appreciatively, and Maseo beamed.
"Is it not? Tatsu's parents were extraordinary people and they created an extraordinary dojo. Tatsu and I only hope to continue their good work."
As they made their way down the hall, they passed a display case filled with knick-knacks in a bewildering array: a profusion of rather chintzy dolls, thimbles, figurines, posters, souvenirs and mementos. Clark couldn't help but smile at the contrast between the somewhat tacky display and the serene elegance of the rest of the house, but Bruce Wayne stopped dead in his tracks, staring.
"Jesus Christ," Clark heard him whisper.
"What is it, Mr. Wayne?" Tatsu asked politely, following his gaze to the case.
"Those swords." Bruce's voice was blank with astonishment. "Those are--those are good swords." He seemed to be struggling to stay in feckless playboy mode. "Very...very pretty."
Tatsu raised an eyebrow. "You've studied Japanese swords? Yoru-sensei was right, you are suprising."
"I was lucky to learn a little bit about swords from him."
The woman frowned, looking at the swords. "Those are a Muramasa and a Masamune blade."
Bruce managed, sounding a bit stifled. "Why do you keep them in a display case next to a Hello Kitty bobblehead doll?"
Tatsu smiled very slightly. "Who would think to find them there? It's the best security we can afford."
"I'll get you better security!" Bruce blurted.
The woman continued down the hall. "Father always claimed that there were magical wards on the dojo to keep them safe as well." She shrugged as she slid open the door. "But that was Father--always telling extravagant stories." She nodded toward the room. "This is your room, Mr. Wayne. Mr. Kent's is the next door down."
"Oh." Clark felt rather crestfallen. "We...each get our own room? How thoughtful of you."
Bruce moved into the room and put his bag down. He still seemed to be somewhat in shock. "I thought Muramasa swords were supposed to be really dangerous. Wasn't he the crazy sword maker?"
"Yes, Father used to tell me stories of the legendary cursed Muramasa blades, as well as the holy Masamune swords." She smiled fondly. "Father loved his tales."
"Stories like what?" Clark asked, largely to cover for the fact that Bruce was sounding far too authoritative and far too alarmed about the sword.
"Oh, my favorite was of the test between a Muramasa blade and a Masamune blade. They put the swords in a river. The Muramasa sword cut through everything that floated against it--leaves, grass, fish, frogs, the water itself. The Masamune sword, on the other hand, cut nothing at all." Tatsu's voice was slightly sing-song, retelling a tale she had heard many times. "Muramasa laughed, thinking his victory was assured, but the monk they had asked to judge the swords bowed low to the Masamune sword. When Muramasa demanded to know why, the monk said, 'Your sword cuts everything, but his is judicious. Your sword destroys all it touches, indiscriminately and recklessly. Masamune's is the superior sword, for it refuses to harm the innocent.'"
"Other stories tell of Muramasa swords that can't be sheathed until they draw blood, or that possess their owner." Bruce's face was shadowed.
"Folk tales and superstitions," Tatsu said, sounding slightly tired. "It is a well-made, valuable sword, and nothing more. I am not a child, to be frightened by my father's wild tales." She turned. "Mr. Kent, your room is over here."
Clark's room was sparse but attractive, with a spray of blue flowers in a bamboo vase on the wall to catch the eye. Dusk was falling, and cicadas droned shrilly outside the house. It was still very hot. Tatsu bowed politely. "I shall bring you some tea in a moment. Please make yourself comfortable."
The room was quiet and empty. Clark brushed a hand along one beige wall. On the other side of that wall...he resisted the temptation to use x-ray vision to check on Bruce. He paced the room a couple of times.
Nice room.
Very quiet.
Very empty.
: : :
Bruce had hardly finished unpacking his toiletries when there was a hesitant tapping on the door. It slid open to reveal Clark Kent, looking large and awkward in stockinged feet. "Mind if I come in for a second?"
"Sure, sure." Bruce hoped he sounded blase enough. Clark sat down on the tatami. "So tomorrow I'm talking to Tatsu while you go check out this New Concept Industries? And we'll both keep an eye out for...the other thing we're here for." Jade Warrior had appeared only a couple of times since his battle with the space probe, for major emergencies; he didn't seem to be a helping-kittens-out-of-trees type of hero.
Clark frowned and tapped the tatami thoughtfully. "That sword really rattled you. You don't really believe in magic swords, do you?"
"Clark, by now I'd think you've seen enough to not write magic off so cavalierly."
"You don't think that sword is magic?"
Bruce felt cornered. "No...of course not. I'm just not totally ruling it out, either."
Clark laughed at Bruce's disgruntled look, but stopped as the door slid open. Maseo stood there with a tray and two cups of iced tea. "I'm sorry we don't have air conditioning here," he said lightly, making a face. "You'll have to settle for cold tea."
The tea was strong barley tea, astringent and refreshing. They sipped in silence after Maseo left. Bruce broke the quiet, shooting a glance at Clark. "It must be nice to not feel the heat."
"I can tell it's pretty bad," Clark said, noting the sheen of sweat on Bruce's brow.
"It's not the heat, it's the humidity," Bruce said cheerfully, lying back on the tatami. "Ah, it's not often I get to say something that banal and mean it."
Clark smiled and pursed his lips slightly.
The temperature in the room immediately dropped about ten degrees.
Bruce sat up, feeling the sweat drying on him, the air cool and crisp. "I forget I'm traveling with a living air conditioner," he said. He looked curiously at Clark. "I didn't know you had such fine control of your cold breath."
"I can control it from anywhere between 'slightly cool' and 'liquid nitrogen,'" Clark said. He exhaled again, softly, and Bruce felt a cold breeze lift the hair on the back of his neck, caressing his nape. He shuddered, eyes sliding shut before he could help himself, then cleared his throat brusquely. "That's probably enough. Thanks." He schooled his features to "cantankerous" rather than "lustful" before continuing. "Of course, it's just going to get unbearably hot again soon enough."
"I could stop by in the middle of the night and give you another blow if you wanted." Clark's tone was so utterly guileless that Bruce decided to let the accidental innuendo go unremarked-on.
"No, that's...fine, thanks. But I appreciate the offer."
Clark drained his iced tea and stood, bowing ironically. "It's always open," he said lightly. "Good night, Bruce."
The room stayed cold longer than Bruce would have expected, but eventually the temperature crept back up toward sweltering. The shrilling drone of the cicadas outside the window was like metal on metal. He closed his eyes and imagined cool air touching his face, sliding across his bare skin, lifting his clothes gently to slip beneath the cloth, shivering caresses...
It only made him feel hotter.
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Disclaimer: The boys belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Series Notes: 36 Views of Mt. Fuji is a series set early in Batman and Superman's careers, shortly after the S/B annual #1. The full series can be found here.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Clark and Bruce arrive in Hiroshima and settle in where they'll be staying. What? Separate rooms??
Word Count: 2400
Undisturbed,
my garden fills
with summer growth--
how I wish for one
who would push the deep grass aside.
--Izumi Shikibu
The bullet train pulled away from from Tokyo Station so smoothly that it looked like the platform was receding from the train. Soon it was sliding steadily through the city on its way to Hiroshima.
Bruce Wayne stretched his long legs in front of him. "Much better than flying," he said. He glanced over at Clark Kent, who was thumbing through a notebook filled with clippings. The first clipping was of a newspaper article titled: "Manga Come to Life Defends Hiroshima!" The picture beneath the headline showed a gigantic warrior, apparently bio-mechanical, sheathed in emerald-green armor and battling a silver robot.
Bruce knew the story by heart, of course. An alien probe had landed in downtown Hiroshima, only to be confronted with an armored warrior apparently straight from a currently-popular manga: Bio Armor Jade Warrior. The two had battled, and the Jade Warrior had flung the probe into space and disappeared.
"We don't know he's a good guy," Bruce felt compelled to point out again. "He could just be highly territorial and not like alien probes poaching on his turf."
"Ah, yes," nodded Clark. "Goodness knows territoriality rules out heroism." Bruce merely snorted and shook his head. "No," continued Clark, "One of the stories interviews an bystander who claims that the Jade Warrior stopped and opened himself up to attack in order to shield her from flying debris. He's all right, I can tell."
"Might be a she," Bruce noted.
"Okay, granted."
Bruce tapped the notebook. "What else have you got there?" Clark flipped the page to reveal another newspaper clipping, from a few months ago: "New Concept Industries Goes Public." "What about it?"
Clark made an abstracted noise. "New Concept Industries, based in Hiroshima, is a new company specializing in retrieving and analyzing alien artifacts."
"Ah."
"Ah indeed," Clark echoed. "Suffice to say I managed to convince Perry White that I should write a report on such an...intriguing business." The smile he shot Bruce was slightly grim. "And you? You said you had connections in Hiroshima you needed to visit?"
Bruce stopped as he was about to answer and instead pointed past Clark to the other side of the bullet train, his eyebrows raised. Clark turned and saw Mount Fuji looming above the small towns flashing by, stately and framed by clouds. Salarymen scrambled for their cell phones and there was a frenzy of clicking. "You don't often get to see it during this commute," Bruce said, watching the calm symmetry of the mountain, floating in the clouds.
"It looks so close," Clark said.
Bruce snorted. "It's further than it looks." Untouchable. "Anyway, I'm going to Hiroshima because WayneCorp is trying to establish a community dojo for Gotham teens and we'd like to have ties to a dojo here in Japan."
Interest sparked from turquoise eyes. "Really? That sounds like a great idea."
Bruce lifted his chin. "Of course really. And of course it's a great idea."
"Yours, I gather."
Bruce didn't deign to reply. "Yoru-sensei has graciously written a letter of introduction for me to the Kouka Dojo. The current sensei of the dojo will be meeting us at the station and letting us stay there for the next few nights while we work out the details."
Most of the route from Tokyo to Hiroshima was urban sprawl, unremarkable stretches of tangled power lines and squat beige buildings. As the terrain grew more mountainous, the bullet train would speed through dark tunnels and emerge now and then, for a brief moment, into a valley between mountains, a small town nestled into it, glimpsed and then gone as the train rushed on.
At Hiroshima Station, the two men negotiated the exits and emerged into the concrete maze of a city shimmering in the July heat. As they did, a young woman in a black business suit approached them. "Mr. Wayne?" She held out her hand, a smile warming the rather severe lines of her face. "I'm Tatsu Yamashiro, of the Kouka Dojo. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Bruce tried not to look surprised: the character for Tatsu's first name could be read as either a man's or a woman's name, and female dojo-cho were rare--especially ones so young. The hand that shook his was blunt and calloused, and there was an easy and economical grace to her movements that marked her, to the informed eye, as an excellent martial artist.
"Welcome to Hiroshima," Tatsu said as she ushered them into a compact car and took off through the city streets. They made small talk, and Bruce was relieved that her English was good enough for casual conversation; it was always surprisingly draining to pretend not to know a language. The dense cityscape slowly gave way to suburbs, lines of houses broken up with tiny rice paddies.
"Yes, I inherited the family dojo when my mother and father died in a car accident a few years ago," their driver was explaining to Clark. "It's been hard to keep it going, sometimes, but it seems I have things to teach that people wish to learn." Her lips curved slightly at what could almost be taken for bragging in Japan. She glanced into the rear-view mirror at Bruce Wayne. "A partnership with an American dojo would be helpful indeed. Yoru-sensei was kind to suggest it."
Bruce smiled easily. "Kindness had little to do with it; he said you were one of the best students he'd ever taught."
The strict lines of Tatsu's face didn't change, but she seemed pleased as she turned the car up a gravel driveway. "He said you were one of the most...surprising students he had ever taught."
Bruce actually laughed out loud at that. "It was polite of him not to specify in what way."
The dojo was a relatively old structure, set into a grove of cedars. The front door opened to reveal a young man, jovial where Tatsu was severe, balancing a toddler on each hip. The two girls reached out to their mother as she approached, and she swung one of them away from her husband and into her arms. "Mr. Bruce Wayne, Mr. Clark Kent, I'd like you to meet my husband, Maseo Yamashiro." Maseo bowed politely to them, revealing long hair pulled into a ponytail. "And these little ones," Tatsu continued, tickling the chortling baby in her arms, "are our daughters, Yuki and Reiko."
"Please, come in," Maseo said politely, ushering them inside. "You must be very tired and hungry from your long journey."
The interior of the dojo was still and serene. The halls were of some dark wood like walnut, giving way to tatami in the rooms. "This is a beautiful place," Clark said appreciatively, and Maseo beamed.
"Is it not? Tatsu's parents were extraordinary people and they created an extraordinary dojo. Tatsu and I only hope to continue their good work."
As they made their way down the hall, they passed a display case filled with knick-knacks in a bewildering array: a profusion of rather chintzy dolls, thimbles, figurines, posters, souvenirs and mementos. Clark couldn't help but smile at the contrast between the somewhat tacky display and the serene elegance of the rest of the house, but Bruce Wayne stopped dead in his tracks, staring.
"Jesus Christ," Clark heard him whisper.
"What is it, Mr. Wayne?" Tatsu asked politely, following his gaze to the case.
"Those swords." Bruce's voice was blank with astonishment. "Those are--those are good swords." He seemed to be struggling to stay in feckless playboy mode. "Very...very pretty."
Tatsu raised an eyebrow. "You've studied Japanese swords? Yoru-sensei was right, you are suprising."
"I was lucky to learn a little bit about swords from him."
The woman frowned, looking at the swords. "Those are a Muramasa and a Masamune blade."
Bruce managed, sounding a bit stifled. "Why do you keep them in a display case next to a Hello Kitty bobblehead doll?"
Tatsu smiled very slightly. "Who would think to find them there? It's the best security we can afford."
"I'll get you better security!" Bruce blurted.
The woman continued down the hall. "Father always claimed that there were magical wards on the dojo to keep them safe as well." She shrugged as she slid open the door. "But that was Father--always telling extravagant stories." She nodded toward the room. "This is your room, Mr. Wayne. Mr. Kent's is the next door down."
"Oh." Clark felt rather crestfallen. "We...each get our own room? How thoughtful of you."
Bruce moved into the room and put his bag down. He still seemed to be somewhat in shock. "I thought Muramasa swords were supposed to be really dangerous. Wasn't he the crazy sword maker?"
"Yes, Father used to tell me stories of the legendary cursed Muramasa blades, as well as the holy Masamune swords." She smiled fondly. "Father loved his tales."
"Stories like what?" Clark asked, largely to cover for the fact that Bruce was sounding far too authoritative and far too alarmed about the sword.
"Oh, my favorite was of the test between a Muramasa blade and a Masamune blade. They put the swords in a river. The Muramasa sword cut through everything that floated against it--leaves, grass, fish, frogs, the water itself. The Masamune sword, on the other hand, cut nothing at all." Tatsu's voice was slightly sing-song, retelling a tale she had heard many times. "Muramasa laughed, thinking his victory was assured, but the monk they had asked to judge the swords bowed low to the Masamune sword. When Muramasa demanded to know why, the monk said, 'Your sword cuts everything, but his is judicious. Your sword destroys all it touches, indiscriminately and recklessly. Masamune's is the superior sword, for it refuses to harm the innocent.'"
"Other stories tell of Muramasa swords that can't be sheathed until they draw blood, or that possess their owner." Bruce's face was shadowed.
"Folk tales and superstitions," Tatsu said, sounding slightly tired. "It is a well-made, valuable sword, and nothing more. I am not a child, to be frightened by my father's wild tales." She turned. "Mr. Kent, your room is over here."
Clark's room was sparse but attractive, with a spray of blue flowers in a bamboo vase on the wall to catch the eye. Dusk was falling, and cicadas droned shrilly outside the house. It was still very hot. Tatsu bowed politely. "I shall bring you some tea in a moment. Please make yourself comfortable."
The room was quiet and empty. Clark brushed a hand along one beige wall. On the other side of that wall...he resisted the temptation to use x-ray vision to check on Bruce. He paced the room a couple of times.
Nice room.
Very quiet.
Very empty.
: : :
Bruce had hardly finished unpacking his toiletries when there was a hesitant tapping on the door. It slid open to reveal Clark Kent, looking large and awkward in stockinged feet. "Mind if I come in for a second?"
"Sure, sure." Bruce hoped he sounded blase enough. Clark sat down on the tatami. "So tomorrow I'm talking to Tatsu while you go check out this New Concept Industries? And we'll both keep an eye out for...the other thing we're here for." Jade Warrior had appeared only a couple of times since his battle with the space probe, for major emergencies; he didn't seem to be a helping-kittens-out-of-trees type of hero.
Clark frowned and tapped the tatami thoughtfully. "That sword really rattled you. You don't really believe in magic swords, do you?"
"Clark, by now I'd think you've seen enough to not write magic off so cavalierly."
"You don't think that sword is magic?"
Bruce felt cornered. "No...of course not. I'm just not totally ruling it out, either."
Clark laughed at Bruce's disgruntled look, but stopped as the door slid open. Maseo stood there with a tray and two cups of iced tea. "I'm sorry we don't have air conditioning here," he said lightly, making a face. "You'll have to settle for cold tea."
The tea was strong barley tea, astringent and refreshing. They sipped in silence after Maseo left. Bruce broke the quiet, shooting a glance at Clark. "It must be nice to not feel the heat."
"I can tell it's pretty bad," Clark said, noting the sheen of sweat on Bruce's brow.
"It's not the heat, it's the humidity," Bruce said cheerfully, lying back on the tatami. "Ah, it's not often I get to say something that banal and mean it."
Clark smiled and pursed his lips slightly.
The temperature in the room immediately dropped about ten degrees.
Bruce sat up, feeling the sweat drying on him, the air cool and crisp. "I forget I'm traveling with a living air conditioner," he said. He looked curiously at Clark. "I didn't know you had such fine control of your cold breath."
"I can control it from anywhere between 'slightly cool' and 'liquid nitrogen,'" Clark said. He exhaled again, softly, and Bruce felt a cold breeze lift the hair on the back of his neck, caressing his nape. He shuddered, eyes sliding shut before he could help himself, then cleared his throat brusquely. "That's probably enough. Thanks." He schooled his features to "cantankerous" rather than "lustful" before continuing. "Of course, it's just going to get unbearably hot again soon enough."
"I could stop by in the middle of the night and give you another blow if you wanted." Clark's tone was so utterly guileless that Bruce decided to let the accidental innuendo go unremarked-on.
"No, that's...fine, thanks. But I appreciate the offer."
Clark drained his iced tea and stood, bowing ironically. "It's always open," he said lightly. "Good night, Bruce."
The room stayed cold longer than Bruce would have expected, but eventually the temperature crept back up toward sweltering. The shrilling drone of the cicadas outside the window was like metal on metal. He closed his eyes and imagined cool air touching his face, sliding across his bare skin, lifting his clothes gently to slip beneath the cloth, shivering caresses...
It only made him feel hotter.