It’s peaceful in the countryside. Then again, it’s peaceful everywhere these days.

Three bridges straddle their path through the river, like red metal giants holding the patchwork of islands in this area together with their great legs. Though their designs are similar, each casts a unique shadow on top of the little ferry carrying them to the ryokan. The first one, high in the air, holds for several seconds, while the next one, low-hanging, flashes by like a dream.

When the third flicker of darkness passes, marking that their destination is near, the sun shines on them with the indulgent coolness of late spring. It's the right temperature for a light jacket, for layers that can be peeled. The calendar promises endless rain in a month or two, but not yet—not yet.

"Did you notice the sakura started blooming in April again?" Kagami asks. "They moved up to March for a couple decades."

"Could be a coincidence. Just a run of cooler years," Tadashi murmurs.

"Sure, it could be."

Tadashi doesn’t say more, and Kagami doesn’t press. Look at the good in the world, they mean to say. Look at what we have now.

He knows that; he doesn’t need to acknowledge it every second, does he?

"It’s good to get away," he says.

"Yeah. Not that we live that close to everything anyway, but..."

He nods. Not too close to the controlled chaos he grew up in, but not so far from work and school and the family he can’t quite stand to separate from—for longer than an occasional vacation, that is.

He does need a break from everything after his last string of shamisen performances. They were sold-out affairs, bolstered by an irritating (if correct) rumor about him. He would have liked to earn that crowd on his music’s reputation alone, but it wasn’t like he could play poorly in front of such expectant onlookers.

He presses his hand to the ferry’s railing and stares ahead, each tantalizing twist of the algae-tinted river ripe with expectation. The calluses on his fingers scrape against the smooth painted metal of the railing. They aren’t as raw as they were a few days ago.

At last, the ryokan perched on the side of an island comes into view.

It’s three stories tall, white with dark-stained accents, and bends with the natural shape of the cliff. The bottom floor is supported partially by the island, partially by a pier. Its wooden posts stand tall in the green river water, bushes and white stone peeping through behind them. Some paint is peeling, the wood is weathered, but the building has been repaired and maintained with care. It will last another hundred years. Maybe more.

It’s a classic place right out of one of Kagami’s folktales, something that looks stitched together with words and affixed to the island by pen and paper. Hard to believe the construction has survived earthquakes and typhoons, not to mention economic disruption and changing times.

"It’s perfect," Tadashi breathes.

"What’d I tell you, dude? Never doubt me again," Kagami says, all cockiness as they grin.

He blinks at them. He would never.

Besides, he knows they spent days researching this getaway. Kagami projects a confidence he can only dream of, but it’s as carefully constructed as the retellings of ancient legends they craft for their books. Their on-trend streetwear, their tied-up blond-streaked brown curls, their hi-top sneakers, the way their loose shirt collar shows the dip between their pectorals—it’s all just another part of the story they’re telling.

"You look cool today," Tadashi says.

Kagami puts the pink underside of their tan palm on his face, jostling his square black glasses. "Shut it, nerd."

He smiles and says no more, just straightens his glasses. When they first met, this kind of reaction confused him, but he’s familiar with Kagami’s concealed bashfulness by now. Back in high school, their initial crush on him had looked like bullying to anyone on the outside, and to him. It took him a full year to catch on that the colorful punk always breaking the dress code, mouthing off to teachers, and calling him an oversized dork wanted to kiss him.

Tadashi appreciates directness, but Kagami’s sideways approach to affection makes the moment their walls come down all the sweeter. They have enough years between them; he knows those times always come back around. He can wait.

The ferry docks and they disembark, tugging suitcases behind them. Other guests march one at a time up the stairs. Tadashi, not a fan of crowds, lingers until they’ve gone ahead. Kagami is second to last. He steps in behind them.

"Nice view, isn’t it?" Kagami says. They grin over their shoulder.

Tadashi considers this. He can’t see much but short scrubby trees, the weathered aluminum bridge railings, the river they already looked at for several hours, and the edges of people ahead. The rest is Kagami, their broad back in a windbreaker and the fitted sweatpants that hug the shape of their—

Oh, they’re flirting. Suggesting he waited to watch the way their butt flexes as they walk up the stairs. Of course.

He nods and says, "Yes, very nice."

It is nice. He likes to put his hands on their hips. He used to worry about giving them dysphoria, but since their chest reconstruction, they seem content with the rest of their body.

Kagami narrows their eyes, then focuses back ahead with a snort. They must realize he had to put two and two together. He’ll make sure to reassure them how much he likes them when they’re alone, even if they get embarrassed. How they can flirt so audaciously and then flounder when he lays it on a little thick is just one of their charms.

"Oh, beware of bears. That’ll be you in a few years."

Kagami points at a sign on the side of the path with a drawing of a standing bear. Tadashi stares at it, uncomprehending. They really insist on confusing him today.

"Come on. I told you all about that slang, didn’t I? Try to keep up, Tadashi," Kagami scolds.

Did they? He shakes his head. They speak four languages, while he only knows Japanese and a few bubbling, slippery words from his father’s native tongue. He favors this place he was born into, the place his mother comes from, over anywhere else.

Kagami likes it here too—the history especially—but they wear their other status on their sleeve, highlighting their textured brown hair with bleach, letting their tan skin darken further in the sun, bursting into Korean or Portuguese or English with ease. It’s that confidence they have. He envies it, he flinches at it, he loves it. It makes him like himself a little more. If Kagami can be so different from everyone else and still belong here, then so can he.

The lobby is sunny and open. Its large windows illuminate the warm cedar floors and clusters of low furniture. Tadashi takes charge of checking them in at the front desk. Though Kagami found this place, he had been the one to book it using his father’s resources. There are certain advantages to his lineage he can’t refuse, not when they live on a writer’s and a traditional musician’s salaries. The occasional free vacation is one of them.

"Ah, then you’re..."

The woman searching for his information fumbles at the keyboard. She swallows as the other two employees behind her look up. They glance past her at the screen, then at Tadashi’s face. They study his strong jaw, his pointed nose, his narrow tsurime eyes, his pale skin.

"Morning Grace," one of them whispers, like she’s speaking in a temple.

Tadashi swallows a sigh. "My mother, yes. Can we please continue? Is all the information there?"

"Don’t forget his husband," Kagami says cheerfully at his side.

The woman at the keyboard pauses, then hits the tab button a few times. "Y-yes, you’re both right here, sir. All of the special requests for your room have been made. Thank you for sending the... the materials ahead. Your room number is—"

"I can take you there!"

One of the employees behind the front desk hurries around to stand beside them. Before anyone can say anything else, he snatches the key with a wooden carving attached to it out of the front desk woman’s hand.

"Right this way, please, honored guests," the young man says, his voice high and ingratiating. He gestures to his left; a porter with a cart appears. "Someone will take your bags ahead. We have a beautiful room for you, our largest in fact! Let me tell you about the history, if it wouldn’t be an imposition..."

When the man turns away, Kagami and Tadashi share a glance. Kagami mouths A fan. Tadashi does not roll his eyes, but he imagines doing it.

The lecture their enthusiastic host gives on the ryokan’s history is nothing Tadashi hasn't already read online. He’s more interested in the range of art on the cedar-paneled walls as they pass by. Kagami, likewise, turns their head and studies each piece. They’ll probably have a walk together later and take in the art for themselves. Kagami is short-tempered with strangers, and Tadashi always feels like a fish out of water, so they prefer to do things without guides.

The young man ahead of them doesn’t get the memo, unfortunately. He notices them pause at a sketch of colorful little youkai—Kagami’s favorite subject—and launches into a rambling, breathless explanation of how the print came from a local artist who claimed to have seen the creatures outside of town.

"Perhaps an early version of the evils that Kurage-sama banished along with her wives," he concludes. His round eyes shine, his middle-parted bangs cupping his face in a way that emphasizes his chipmunk cheeks. He must be in his early twenties, young enough to barely remember a world without Tadashi’s father around.

The young man blinks hopefully, waiting for validation.

Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want to talk to you or anyone about her, Tadashi wants to hiss—but he’s far too polite for that. And too shy. He fumbles for a response, looks up at the ceiling, manages a faint hum of agreement, then gives up and stares straight ahead.

"Enough celebrity gossip," Kagami says. They put their hands on the young man’s shoulders and point him away before they lean in close and lower their voice. Their syllables roll with menace. "My husband doesn’t like undue attention. Tell the rest of the staff that for me, huh? Now no more slipups. Take us to our room in peace."

Kagami releases the young man, who’s shaking down to his sensible black loafers. He begins stumbling forward without another peep.

Tadashi forces himself not to smile; it would undermine Kagami’s entire intimidation attempt. What a relief to have married a former yankee with plenty of swagger. He can rely on them to enforce his boundaries when he locks up. Strangers don’t know that Kagami is a gentle, thoughtful soul under the projected attitude.

Well, fairly gentle. They have their proclivities. Then again, so does he.

* * *

The young man clearly wants to say something when they make it to their room, but he settles for handing over the room key and pointing out the extra on the table when Kagami glares at him.

"P-Please call the front desk if you need anything from me, from us, for your s-stay! If you a-ask for Aoki, I will surely—"

Kagami cuts him off. "Bye-bye, Aoki-kun."

One sharp nod of their chin has him scrambling out the door. He slides it shut quickly but respectfully until it closes with a mere whisper. Kagami clicks the lock.

"Alone at last, babe." They spin around and break into a grin. "Let’s check out the digs."

Tadashi assumes that means the room and nods. He’s smiling a little himself, now that that they're in private.

They both slide their jackets off, walk past the their luggage, and explore the living room. Kagami steps between the numerous couches to open empty drawers while Tadashi slides the window blinds up. Everything is traditional, like its been here for decades, yet still clean and fresh. Tadashi can’t tell if its new construction mimicking the last century or not. He likes it either way.

The rest of the room is labyrinthine, split into a number of small rooms. There’s a kitchenette with a mini-fridge, two nearby half baths, a tatami-mat sitting room with a low table and a balcony, then another tatami-mat room that could be used as a bedroom. But instead of futons spread on the floor, they find a much stranger sight: A metallic platform with a glowing, open, egg-shaped pod full of strange jungle plants levitating above it, supported by nothing but the light the platform emits.

Well, it’s either that or some other force. Tadashi doesn’t really understand the specifics. It’s an alien invention, something purchased and delivered across galaxies by one of his father’s allies. What matters is that it’s a portable habitat that can be folded into an interspatial carrying case, perfect for species that need to bring a piece of their native environment with they for their health. These are the "materials" they’d sent ahead. All the staff had to do was open the case.

Kagami walks up and sticks a hand into the pod. There’s a rustling sound as they wiggle their fingers, but the tangle of glistening extraterrestrial foliage is so dense that the movement barely registers.

"Yup, that’s moist as hell," they say. They pull back and wipe the purplish, translucent slime running down their fingers on Tadashi’s arm, where it rapidly disappears into his skin. He shivers a little at the sensation.

Since they’re staying here for a week, he’ll need to spend the night in the pod once or twice. Earth is a much dryer place than where his father came from, and though her children—he and his siblings—have human mothers, her method of reproduction is more parasitic than mutual. Tadashi can take a form that looks human, and that form resembles his mother, but it’s just a disguise.

There’s nothing like their species on Earth, as far as he knows. But it’s a little like a wasp hatching with the markings of the caterpillar it ate its way out of.

He shuts his eyes for a moment.

"Hey." Kagami nudges him with their elbow. "What’re you brooding for? Don’t make me slime you again."

Tadashi opens his eyes. "Just thinking that I’ll miss you when I have to sleep in there. That’s all."

Kagami grins and hooks their arm through his. "I’ll always keep the bed warm for you. C’mon." They guide him out of the room.

The last place they inspect is the bedroom with two western-style beds. Kagami throws themself down on one before rolling over and telling Tadashi they might need to push them together. He helps them back on their feet and agrees they can do that later.

Attached to the bedroom is a full bathroom, and past that is a balcony with the room’s final amenity: an outdoor cedar tub filled with hot spring water.

Kagami slides their indoor slippers off and walks out, not minding the warm water that sluices over the edge of the tub and pools beneath their feet. Tadashi hesitates for a moment, then joins them.

They linger outside, enjoying the air and the view of the river. Ahead of them, old-growth trees cover every inch of space that isn’t occupied by water. There are no sounds or signs of other people.

"Think that simp wanted you to continue to family tradition," Kagami says as they stand at the edge of the balcony, facing away from him. The view through the railing is blocked up to waist height on the left, while the front is covered only by a clear glass. Boats must not pass by often.

"Kagami," Tadashi laughs. He brushes up the back of their neck to some of the curls that are too short to be tied up. "No need for that."

They lean into his hand. "What am I supposed to say when they throw themselves at you like that? Not like I mind."

"Maybe later," he says. It depends on his mood. "I like you best."

"Duh. Not the point," they grouse, but they don’t elaborate.

He answers by letting his weight settle against them, his chest against their back, his hips against theirs. He folds his arms around their shoulders. They’ve bulked up in recent years, thanks to time, effort, testosterone, and what help he can offer. They’ll always be a head shorter than him—he takes after his tall mother—but they’re bulkier. A far cry from when they were just starting high school and the boy’s uniform hung off of them.

"You looked good climbing the stairs. I enjoyed looking."

"Oh yeah?" Kagami’s low voice prickles at him. He thought they might get embarrassed, but they don’t waver. "Seemed like I had to remind you to check me out."

"No, no. I was looking. I just can’t always follow your innuendo."

"Hmmm." Their hum is pleased, not doubtful. They emphasize it by arching back against him.

As soon as they came out here, Tadashi had a feeling Kagami would try to entice him. And he walked right up to them and wrapped them in his arms, didn’t he? He can’t deny some culpability.

"I could get my dick," they murmur. They tilt their head up to meet his eyes.

Tadashi can’t keep the flush off his face. "Ah... Later. Everything’s still packed. I’ll handle it."

"Handle it, will you? What a gentleman." They drop their head and support more of their weight with the railing, pushing back with their hips. "Rail me on the balcony then, Mr. Gentleman."

"Kagami," he grumbles. They always tease him like this. He’s the one from a species with little regard for privacy, so why are they the exhibitionist?

"Just change into your other form if you’re worried. Everyone will get it then."

He bunches his fingers into the forest of their curls and tugs until their neck starts to bend back. He kisses their cheek and finds it warm. "You’re provoking me."

"Caught me. What’re you going to do about it, though?"

"I..." He glances at the open water in front of them again. Not one boat has come by this whole time. Maybe the daily ferry is the only one. He bites his bottom lip.

Kagami doesn’t wait for him to decide. They shift their arms, using their chest to brace themself against the railing, and bunch their sweatpants and boxers below their hips.

He feels the difference in heat when their bare ass presses back against his groin, even through his jeans.

"Been horny since the boat ride, with you looking out over the water all stoic-faced," Kagami purrs. "Front or back, okay? Make up your mind."

Tadashi scoffs into the top of their head, wondering how they can say such things with a straight face. But he does undo his jeans. They hiss at the sound of his zipper, which sends another pulse of arousal through him. They start rocking backward, not helping matters. His fingers slip.

"Just—wait," he mutters.

"But it’s your fault I get like this." Their words spill over him like hot syrup. "You know I’m supposed to be dryer on T, right?"

"Kagami." Tadashi clamps a hand over their mouth. If they don’t stop saying shameless things where anyone could hear them, he’s going to die. But they just moan against his fingers, making him fumble with his pants again.

His eyes narrow, then he shuts them. "Fine. You win."

He’s not like the rest of his family. When he imagines himself, he doesn’t picture his real form: translucent green skin that glows with neon-blue patterns, sucker-tipped fingers, thin tendrils that curl around his forehead, solid blue eyes. Instead, he sees his disguise: a pale complexion, short black hair, dark-brown eyes.

Yet even there, he has his tentacles.

They fold against the muscles of his back and blend in with his human skin, but they unwind like energetic greensnakes with a thought. They’re stronger, longer, and more flexible than his other limbs, the tapered ends sensitive to pleasure. It’s impossible to forget them—and when Kagami presses, he can’t resist using them.

They make a low noise into Tadashi’s palm as two of his tentacles wrap around their bare thighs and hold them in place. Another tentacle loops around their waist before tracing the trail of curly hair on their stomach, inch by inch to the cleft between their legs. The head of the tentacle splits in four places, then buries into their bush. He finds their swollen clit and sucks.

Kagami keens and thrashes. He loops two more tentacles around their torso and holds them tight, not letting them escape the intense stimulation. They tense, buck, and tremble, locked in his grip. He doesn’t relent, even when they whine from overstimulation, thighs quivering. He can taste their sweat, their musk, through the ends of each tentacle.

"You started this," he murmurs in their ear.

Behind his hand, their lips curl into a smile. Even as sweat drips from their forehead onto his fingers and they whine again in the back of their throat, he knows they’re not overwhelmed. Not really. He can do anything with them.

He strokes the little black pattern that’s bloomed on their back. His personal mark, the one he left only after Kagami begged him to claim them properly, like his father with all the women she’d favored. He couldn’t deny them forever, not when their brown eyes dropped their cocky sheen and turned pleading.

They got married first, though. Tadashi wanted to observe the human tradition before he considered any ritual from his species.

Even now, even with them tangled in his tentacles like a fly in a web, he doesn’t change the rest of his appearance. They’ll take the impression of his human cock and like it, thank you very much. He doesn’t need any nubs or tendrils to satisfy them.

"Gimme," they murmur, muffled by his hand, like they know what he’s thinking.

The anticipation was the turn on, and Tadashi shakes at the edge of his control as he lines up with their pussy. Kagami really is so wet for him, their body bound to his needs by the mark as much as his heart is bound by their smile. They were both much shier about this place when they were younger, but now it’s just, well... another part of them that’s for him.

He pauses for one more moment, glancing around. No one has walked out onto the nearby balconies, and there still aren’t any boats. But he cares a little less than he did before as he thrusts into them.

Outside like this, his heart in his throat, his tentacles linking them together—neither of them can stand it much longer.

He yields his clarity to the moment, stops covering their mouth with his hand, and silences them with a thick tendril instead. It feels like kissing them in a perverse way. He drinks in their saliva, the sweat on their back and chest, the tang of their insides, wherever he can reach. In return, they squeeze him like they’ll never let go. His glasses fog up. He doesn’t remember pulling their shirt off, but now it’s floating in the bath to their left. The strangled grunts they make embarrass and arouse him, same as the sounds he answers with. His brain never seems to shut off and let him enjoy anything wholeheartedly, but then he feels them shudder and lean forward on their tiptoes, their gasps as high as their voice can go, and they’re so handsome and his that he pretends, he pretends, he pretends—

As always, he gives them everything.