Breakfast

The scent of sizzling eggs and fresh coffee coaxed Karasu from a rare peaceful sleep. He blinked, disoriented by the simple domesticity of the sound. The space beside him was empty, but still warm. He could hear Rei humming softly in the kitchen, a sound so alien and yet so deeply satisfying it made his chest feel tight.

He padded out, shirtless, his slacks slung low on his hips. Leaning against the doorframe, he watched her for a moment, the focused set of her shoulders, the way she tucked a furiously red strand of hair behind her ear. The weekend’s predator was gone, replaced by something softer, something that felt dangerously like contentment. She turned, flipping a pancake onto a plate, and caught him looking. A warm, unguarded smile touched her lips, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” he grunted, his voice still rough with sleep. He slid into his usual chair at the small table just as she set a plate in front of him along with a mug of black coffee. The normalcy of it was a deterrent against the chaos of their lives. He took a few bites, the silence comfortable, until the Spider in him, ever vigilant, broke it.

“Tonight. If he takes you to the villa in Aurora Cliffs. He’ll have the newest security systems. I want you to—”, he was cut off by the sharp tap of her chopsticks being set down on her own plate. He looked up. Rei wasn’t smiling anymore. Her gaze was level, a warning. “Reports and mission orders,” she said, her voice calm but allowing no argument, “are not for the apartment.” She picked her chopsticks back up, her eyes holding his, “This is couples-time. Our time. Talk to me about something else.”

Karasu stared at her, a flash of pure, unadulterated annoyance surging through him. His instinct was to push, to demand, to reassert the hierarchy. But he saw the strength in her eyes, the same grit that had negotiated with a Kuroda exec and won a concession. She wasn’t his subordinate right now, she was his partner, enforcing the boundary he had agreed to. A frustrated exhalation escaped his nose, but a begrudging flicker of amusement followed. She was completely infuriating and just as magnificent.

“Fine,” he muttered, shoveling a too-large bite of pancake into his mouth. He chewed aggressively for a moment, thinking, “The fish vendor on the corner. He tried to raise his prices again.” Rei’s stern expression melted away, “Old Man Sato? Again? What did Aoi do?”, she asked. “Put a snake in his delivery crate,” Karasu explained, a smirk tugging at his lips, “Not a poisonous one. Just… startling.” Rei broke into a genuine laugh, bright and surprised. She shook her head, still laughing, “I hope it was one from Madame Ling’s exotic pet shop. She owes you for settling that dispute with her synth-fur supplier.” Karasu confirmed, taking a sip of his coffee, “It was. She was happy to provide it. Said it had a disagreeable attitude anyway.”

They fell into an easier stillness for a moment, the shared knowledge of their intricate, sometimes absurd, network of contacts and dealings creating a comfortable space between them. “Speaking of disagreeable attitudes,” Rei ventured, picking at a piece of fruit, “I saw Jin-ho from the tech bazaar the other day on my way back here. He looked like he’d been sleeping in a dumpster.” Karasu grunted, “Probably was. He tried to skim a percentage off a data deal with the Iron Oni. They don’t take kindly to that.”

Rei pushed a grape around her plate, “Did you bail him out?” He glanced at her, “Not yet. I’ll let him sweat for a few more days. Teach him the value of my protection. Why? You need something from him?” Rei shrugged, “My personal commlink’s audio is glitching. Was going to see if he could take a look, but if he’s in your doghouse…” she took a sip of coffee.

“I’ll have it fixed,” Karasu said dismissively, “I’ll send one of the twins over to pick it up. They owe me for the last time they botched a simple pick-up.” He pointed his chopsticks at her, “But you’re getting a new scrambler installed. A better one. No arguments.” It was a command, but it was wrapped in concern. A part of their strange, violent world that was just ordinary logistics.

“Fine”, Rei acquiesced, hiding a smile behind her cup, “But tell the twins to be careful. Last time they fixed something for me, they almost synced my music library to the Den’s main sound system.” A rare, full smile broke across Karasu’s face at the memory, “That was a good night. The clients loved the Italian disco.”

They spent the rest of the breakfast trading inconsequential stories about the market, about a noisy neighbor who’d been ‘convinced’ to move, about the best new noodle stand that had opened; anything but work and Kuroda. It was stilted at times, unnatural, like speaking a forgotten language. But slowly, with each shared smirk and rolled eye at the antics of their shared underworld, it became easier. The tension bled away, replaced by a fragile, newfound normalcy. It was an armistice, built on the casual, comfortable language of their complicated life together.

Karasu finished his food quickly, draining his coffee. He stood up, but instead of heading for the door, he looked at her, a different kind of hunger in his eyes now. “Shower,” he stated. It wasn’t a question, “I have a meeting. But we have time.” Rei’s blush returned, but she met his gaze with a spark of her own challenge. “Couples-time?” she asked, a playful lilt in her voice. “Something like that,” he said, already turning, leaving no room for argument.

She followed him into the small bathroom. He had already turned the faucet on with hot water, the room growing steam-fogged rapidly. While shrugging out of his shirt, the muscles in his back rippled. The usual tension that coiled through him before a meeting was there, but it was different now, channeled into a new purpose. As she closed the door, he turned to face her, the space instantly intimate and close. The steam began to curl around them, softening the edges of the world outside.

“Let me,” Rei said softly, stepping forward. Her fingers went to the button of his slacks, her movements more deliberate than the energy of the night before. This wasn’t about claiming or being claimed. This was about unwinding the knot of stress she saw in his shoulders. He watched her, his breathing deepening, as she pushed his slacks and briefs down his hips. She knelt to help him step out of them, her hands smoothing up his calves in a gesture that was purely tender. When she rose, he cupped her face, his thumbs stroking her lips.

“Now it’s your turn,” he murmured, his voice husky. Turning her around, his fingers made quick work of the buttons on her yukata. He pushed it from her shoulders, his lips finding the nape of her neck, planting a soft, open-mouthed kiss there that made her quiver. His hands were efficient but not rough as he helped her out of the rest of her clothes, his touch lingering on her skin as if memorizing its feel.

He reached into the shower testing the temperature and turned the heat down a step before guiding her under the spray. The water cascaded over them, plastering her red hair to her skull and sluicing down his torso. For a long moment, they stood there, holding each other under the stream, the water washing away the lingering traces of the outside world.

Rei looked up at him through the steam. A new, dark heat flickered in his gaze. He gently guided her back out of the water rays, until she was up against the tiled wall. She gasped from the slick coldness of them. Then he knelt before her, his hands on her knees, parting them. He looked up at her, his expression one of intense, focused reverence. “I need to taste you,” he murmured, his voice thick.

Before she could respond, he leaned forward and buried his face between her thighs. His tongue, hot and expert, found her core, licking into her with a slow, deliberate thoroughness that made her cry out and her hands fly to his damp hair. He held her hips, fastening her, as he worshipped her with his mouth. He stroked and suckled, his movements slow and devastatingly intimate, until she was trembling above him, her breaths coming in ragged gasps, her fingers clutching at his shoulders.

“Karasu… yes… please… can I… come…” she begged, her hips moving against his mouth of their own accord. He didn’t stop until she was right on the edge, her whole body taut as a wire. Only then, did he pull back, leaving her shaking and desperate. He looked up at her, his lips glistening, his eyes sharp with satisfaction. “Yes. Come,” he said, his voice rough, bringing his tongue back with perfect precision, causing Rei to peak violently, digging her nails into his shoulders.

With a smirk he rose again, pulling her still trembling body with him under the spray. The hot water cascaded over them. He reached for a bar of soap, the simple, clean scent a stark contrast to Takumi’s complex perfumes. He worked it into a lather in his hands and began to wash her. His touch was thorough yet gentle, a soothing balm after the storm he’d just wrought.

He soaped her shoulders, her back, his strong hands kneading tension from her muscles. His soapy hands sliding over her breasts, as he turned her around, then down her stomach, down her thighs, in a ritual of care that felt closer than any act of passion.

He didn’t speak, just continued his ministrations, rinsing the soap away. When he was done, he pulled her tightly against him, her back to his front, his arms banded around her waist. He rested his chin on top of her head. They stood like that, breathing in sync, as the water rained down on them. It was a serenity filled with everything they couldn’t say. An apology for his jealousy, a thank you for her strength, a promise that this, between them, was the only truth.

Eventually, he moved her round in his arms. Water streamed down his face as he looked at her, his gaze softer than she’d ever seen it. He leaned down and kissed her, not with desperate appetite, but with a deep tenderness that stole the breath from her lungs. It was a kiss of connection, of home. When he broke the kiss, he held her face near his. “I need to go,” he said, his voice rough with emotion he wouldn’t voice. “Then go,” she whispered back.

He pulled her into a brief, fierce hug, his body warm and solid against hers, then rapidly washed himself before leaving the shower cabin. The world waited outside, but for another moment, there was only steam, hot water, and the fleeting, precious illusion that they were just two people, stealing a few more minutes together before the day tore them apart again.

He grabbed a towel, drying himself with quick, efficient motions before offering her one. She turned off the water, stepped out and wrapped herself in the towel. Soon after, the Master Spider’s mask slid back into place and he walked out of the bathroom without another word, leaving her standing in the steam, wrapped in the scent of his soap and the profound, tender echo of his touch.