Chapter 39: A Bath of Atonement
The walk to the bathing nook was short, but Taichi’s legs were useless. Yamato half-carried him, the omega’s bare skin cool and clammy against his own. The door to the small chamber was always ajar, a pulley system rigged from the great hearth keeping the large copper tub perpetually warm. It was Taichi’s one vanity, this tub, bought with his first real brewing profit.
Steam rose in gentle curls, softening the edges of the lantern light.Yamato tested the water with his elbow. Lukewarm, not hot.Good.He couldn’t handle scalding Taichi’s sensitive skin.
“In you go,” he murmured, lowering Taichi in over the rim. The omega hissed as the water met the tender marks on his hips and thighs, but he sank into it with a grateful shudder. Yamato didn’t hesitate. He stepped in behind him, the water sloshing up to his chest, and settled against the curved back of the tub. Then he pulled Taichi back, fitting the omega’s spine against his own chest.Taichi went rigid for a second, then melted. Every muscle unclenched.A sigh, so deep it was almost a sob, leaked from him.
Yamato reached for the soft linen cloth and the cake of plain soap on the ledge. He wet it, worked up a lather that smelled of nothing but clean, and brought it to Taichi’s shoulder.The first touch was a question. Taichi answered by letting his head loll back against Yamato’s collarbone, his eyes closed.So Yamato washed him. Not with the frantic, possessive energy of the night, but with a slow, meticulous reverence. He ran the cloth over the sharp line of Taichi’s shoulder, over the faint bite marks scattered there like dark petals. He followed the trail of bruising that mapped the grip of his own hands on Taichi’s hips, lavender and yellow blossoms on pale skin.Each mark was a story of the heat’s fury. Each one made Yamato’s chest ache.
He pressed his lips to the highest bite, on the curve of Taichi’s neck, just below his ear. His skin tasted of salt and heat.“I’m sorry,” Yamato whispered into the damp hair.
Taichi shivered.“Don’t be.”
“I am. For any that hurt.”
“They didn’t.” A pause.A swallow. “Not the way you mean.”
Yamato moved lower, washing the taut plane of Taichi’s stomach, the traces of their spent passion swirling away in the water. His fingers traced a particular scratch, angry and red, that ran across Taichi’s ribs.He kissed that too.
His hand, with the cloth, slid lower still, into the water clouded with the aftermath of their coupling. He cupped Taichi’s sex, his cock soft and spent against his palm. Then he moved further back, to the tender, swollen flesh between his thighs.Taichi jerked, a full-body flinch.
“Easy,” Yamato murmured.“Just cleaning.Nothing else.”
He was as good as his word. The cloth was gentle, rinsing away the slick and the drying seed. His fingers smoothed over the overheated skin, felt the slight puffiness, the delicate rim that was stretched and used. He cleaned with a clinical care that felt more intimate than any of the fucking had.This was tending.This was aftermath.
A tremor ran through Taichi.Then another. Yamato felt warm drops fall onto his forearm, draped across Taichi’s chest.Not sweat.Tears.He stilled his hand. “Tai?”
Taichi shook his head, a minute movement. He was crying silently, the tears just leaking out from under his closed lashes.His breath hitched once, dangerously.
“Does it hurt?Did I—”
“No,” Taichi choked out. He brought a wet hand up, scrubbing violently at his face.“No, you bastard, it doesn’t hurt. It’s just… no one has ever…” He bit off the sentence, his jaw clenching.
Yamato waited.The water settled around them, silent except for Taichi’s ragged breathing.
“No one has ever stayed,” Taichi finally whispered, the words cracked and thin.“After. They get what they want from the needy omega and they fucking leave. They can’t get out fast enough once the scent fades.They don’t… wash you. They don’t kiss the mess they made.”
The raw admission hung in the steam-filled air. It was more vulnerable than anything he’d said during the heat.
Yamato turned his head, nuzzling into Taichi’s hair.He kissed the tear track on his temple, tasting salt. “I’m not them.”
“You say that now.”
“I said it before I ever touched you,” Yamato reminded him, his voice quiet but firm. “When I tasted your spiced mead and saw you glare a hole through that drunk miner.I said, ‘That one. I’m going to marry that one.’”
A wet, shaky laugh escaped Taichi. “You’re an idiot.”
“I know.” Yamato rinsed the cloth, then draped it over the side of the tub. He wrapped both arms around Taichi, holding him tight, skin to skin in the cooling water.“But I’m your idiot. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Taichi didn’t answer. He just let his weight sink fully against Yamato, his head tucked under the alpha’s chin.His breathing slowly evened out. The last of the tension bled from his shoulders.They stayed like that until the water lost all its warmth. The lanterns flickered, casting dancing shadows on the wooden walls. From downstairs, a faint clatter hinted at Sora beginning the morning prep.
“We’re going to prune,” Taichi mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion.“Probably.” Yamato made no move to get out. He was cataloguing the feel of this: Taichi, pliant and trusting in his arms.The profound quiet after the storm. It was better than any victory, any prize.Finally, Taichi stirred. He lifted a hand, water dripping from his fingers, and placed it over Yamato’s where it rested on his stomach.His touch was tentative.“You meant it? About the posting?”
“Yes.”
A longer pause.Taichi’s thumb rubbed a slow circle over Yamato’s knuckle. “Good,” he said, so softly it was almost lost in the drip of water from the tap. “Because I’d… I’d have to find someone to fix the bedframe. And it’d be a pain to explain why it’s broken to a stranger.”
Yamato’s heart did a slow, heavy roll in his chest. He smiled against Taichi’s hair.It wasn’t a declaration.It was better. It was Taichi, in his own stubborn, pragmatic way, asking him to stay.
“I’ll fix it myself,” Yamato said.“Today. After I get you back to bed and bring you some broth.”
Taichi nodded, a tiny movement. Then he tipped his head back just enough to look up at Yamato.His brown eyes were clear, weary, but present. “The water’s cold.”
“It is.”
“We should get out.”
“We should.”
Neither of them moved for another full minute, clinging to the fragile peace of the water, and the warmth they made for each other within it.