The Art of Us

by Hilaria Alexander

  “I can’t believe you’re not holding a grudge against her.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, she has pissed me off the last two weeks—plenty—but I get her…or at least I think I do, and it’s because I feel the same way about Switch.”

  She sighed, and I didn’t feel like interrupting her, so I didn’t ask the questions that were running through my mind.

  “I probably have no more than four or five issues left at the most. I’m terrified to get to the end. I don’t want to let go of my character. Yes, the story needs to end, I know it…but I’m scared. I’m scared of letting go. It’s the same for Ishikawa. She doesn’t want to let go of Aiko Uemura and Aiko Matsumoto. This is the end of the road for her as an artist. What else is left after this?”

  I scoffed. “Heck, the last three issues alone are probably going to outsell any other comic ever, just like the first did years ago. She will probably retain the record for best-selling manga artist for years.”

  “That’s not what she cares about, though. She doesn’t care about records. She cares about her stories, and as much as she’ll keep dreaming and wishing to write new ones, new characters…she won’t be able to. That would destroy me. Would it not destroy you?”

  We were out of the tunnel now, and we both glanced to look outside as we caught blurry glimpses of the countryside.

  I sighed, thinking about her words. Maybe she was right about Ishikawa; she understood her better than I did.

  Could I let it go if I couldn’t be an artist? Could I be happy if making art wasn’t an option anymore?

  It would slowly kill me.

  “I suppose it would.”

  LENA

  There’d been something different in him ever since the previous night. I was surprised by how he’d taken charge of the situation and decided we had to get out of town.

  I wasn’t sure if it was going to get us in even more trouble, but I didn’t care.

  I went along with his plan, eager to take a couple of days off.

  The atmosphere in the house with Ishikawa had become toxic, and we’d never make any progress if she didn’t snap out of her funk. Maybe while we were away, Hiroyuki could make her see reason.

  We got to a small, quaint hotel on a little street in Kyoto.

  If Tokyo was often overwhelming and noisy, Kyoto was the opposite.

  A smaller, quieter city rich with history and gorgeous temples, it made you feel like you’d traveled to the past. Every little street off the main boulevard was lined with traditional-style restaurants and bars.

  Our place, a Japanese-style hotel called a ryokan, was a hybrid of Japanese and Western elements.

  It had a Western-style bed and all kinds of modern commodities, but the structural elements of the room were just like the ones in our house in Tokyo.

  The room was quite large, and it had big glass windows that faced a very small but private garden.

  I pressed both my hands against the glass, my right one still clad with the obnoxious brace, when I realized it was the very first time we’d been alone.

  Back in Tokyo, we tried to be subtle and quiet, in and out of the bedroom.

  We were hardly ever alone, and we were always trying to make sure not to be too noisy at night.

  Only once, a few weeks back, we’d gone to a love hotel.

  The name said it all. A love hotel is a place where you can rent a room just for a few hours. It was on a little street in Shibuya called Dogenzaka that was lined with many of them.

  Love hotels in Japan can be entertaining even just for the crazy décor; our room, however, didn’t have any shock value. It was big and had a jacuzzi tub, but other than that, it was like any other hotel room.

  We’d gone there so we could have some privacy and get as wild as we wanted with each other.

  And now we were in Kyoto, alone, away from everything and everyone.

  I turned around and found Amos looking at me with hazy eyes full of desire.

  He walked toward me, and I didn’t waste any time taking my shirt off.

  His eyes darkened and he touched my breasts as he pressed me against the window. He rocked his hips into me and I leaned back against the glass wall.

  His hands roamed my body as mine started fiddling with his shirt.

  I ran my palms up his sides, feeling every ridge and muscle of his beautiful, sculpted body. Amos’ lips placed kisses down from my neck to my cleavage as he dug into the lace of my bra, getting one of my breasts out. I reached behind my back and took it off.

  “Take off your shirt,” I commanded, and he obliged, though not without giving me one of those seriously fucking hot glances of his where he looked like he was deliberately eye-fucking me while we still had our clothes on.

  Thirsty. He was making me thirsty. He was so good at it.

  “Take your jeans off,” I said, and he cocked one eyebrow in response.

  “Only if you take yours off.”

  We mirrored each other’s movements, both of us being deliberately slow, watching the other. He took his underwear, socks, and sneakers off then stood naked in front of me as I stood pressed against the window, wearing my black cotton undies.

  I bit the inside of my lips and kept my eyes on him as I skimmed my hand inside my underwear and touched myself with two fingers.

  I moaned quietly as Amos’ eyes focused on the task ahead.

  He stroked his erection a couple of times as I flicked my clitoris over and over, getting ready for him.

  Oh, but I already was.

  Nipples hard, heart racing with excitement and anticipation, the wetness between my legs soaked my underwear.

  The coolness of the window behind me made my skin erupt into goose bumps.

  I was waiting for him to make the next move and take me.

  “Stop,” he said. “I want to do that.”

  He knelt in front of me and pulled my underwear down to my ankles then off.

  He parted my legs and hooked one of them over his shoulder. His eyes met mine before his mouth kissed my most sensitive, vulnerable part.

  I shuddered against the window as his tongue moved in lazy circles on my clit.

  My other leg was already wobbly, so he lifted it with one arm, opening me more to him, sucking and stroking until my whole body tensed up, aching for a release.

  I moaned his name as he increased the tempo of his sweet torture, steady and relentless. My clit throbbed under his tongue as the release washed through me like lightning.

  Still shaky, he put me down and took one of my hands, ready to move over to the bed.

  AMOS

  It was amazing seeing her like that. I loved when she let go and lost all control.

  I loved the feel of her under my tongue and my fingers, and it only got better when I was inside of her and her body was arched around mine.

  I loved every part of her and I never got tired of discovering and possessing the most hidden, vulnerable part of her soul.

  I took the condoms out of my overnight bag and placed them on the nightstand.

  I heard the noise of Velcro and turned around to see Lena removing her brace.

  “No way. You’re keeping it on.”

  “But I want to touch you,” she explained.

  “You still have your left hand, right? That’s the one you’ll use this weekend. You’re going to keep your magic hand in the brace.”

  “Pffff.”

  “I’m serious. Do you want to damage your tendons for good and not be able to draw anymore? Be my guest.”

  “You’re such a mood killer,” she protested.

  I grabbed her left hand and brought it to my cock.

  “I don’t think so.”

  She let out a small laugh as she started stroking my dick slowly, a bit unsure.

  “Here.” I handed her a condom and she slowly rolled it on, using her left hand and the tips of the fingers of her right hand.

  I brought her on top of me so she was straddling me. Her beautiful golden hair fell
across my face, and she brushed it away so she could kiss me before she guided my erection inside her and started moving up and down, slowly at first, and then with increased rhythm.

  “Fuck, Lena. I will never get tired of this…of you. I will never get tired of seeing you come.”

  She moaned as I pinched one of her nipples, and I started moving my hips up and down in sync with her. Her breasts bounced and I wanted to be able to touch her everywhere, but I knew what she liked and what she needed, so I placed my thumb at the opening between her legs, giving it just enough pressure to send her over the edge.

  I pressed myself into her faster, harder, until her panting got harsher and eyes met mine, ready to let go.

  She came before me, her warm release spreading around me. I flipped her over and thrust into her hard as she reeled from her climax and wrapped her legs tightly around me.

  “I fucking love you,” I murmured as I lay down on top of her.

  Her body shook with laughter under mine, her erratic heartbeat still trying to go back to its natural rhythm.

  “I fucking love you, too.”

  LENA

  Kyoto became our relaxing sex getaway.

  If we weren’t out sightseeing at one of the many temples, we were eating or screwing each other’s brains out.

  After months of being constantly on edge with very few moments to ourselves, it felt quite liberating.

  But, there was something lingering in the air, something that didn’t let us completely enjoy our time off.

  We felt guilty even taking a few days to ourselves, because we knew we were already behind on our schedule. In a way, we’d embraced fully the Japanese mentality that work comes always first. It was hard for us to stop working and give our minds and bodies some time to recover.

  By accident, we’d ended up in Kyoto during the weekend of the Jidai Matsuri, which celebrated the foundation of Kyoto. We stumbled upon the parade that traveled between the imperial palace and the Heian Shrine.

  I dragged Amos around the old imperial capital and we visited all the major temples, including the ones I’d been to before—like the Ryoan-ji, one of the finest examples of Japanese Zen gardens—and the Rokuon-ji, Kyoto’s famed, postcard-worthy golden temple, also called Kinkaku-ji, which meant, Temple of the Golden Pavilion.

  It was exceedingly beautiful in the fall, surrounded by Japanese maples in all shades of red.

  I hadn’t been at peace with myself for a very long time, and despite the fact that I didn’t really believe in Shintoism or any other religion, there was something extremely calming about visiting each one of the temples Kyoto had to offer.

  We scheduled our sightseeing hours around my acupuncture appointments with my friend Yuri. She agreed to come in during the weekend so I could have a couple extra sessions. I knew they weren’t going to be enough, but truth be told, I was already feeling better. I had been icing my wrist off and on since we’d gotten there, and without overworking it for hours a day, I’d felt some relief after the first acupuncture session.

  “How do you feel?” Amos asked on Saturday evening. We’d been off on our adventure for three solid days.

  “Much better, but guilty at the same time. Did you get to talk to Marty?”

  “I did. He didn’t really have anything to add. He agreed that if you weren’t feeling well, it was a good idea to take a couple days off.”

  We were walking along a little street filled with street food for the festival. We’d been sampling a bit of everything, from takoyaki, octopus balls made with flour and scraps of tempura, and yakitori, grilled chicken skewers, to dango, rice cakes on a stick covered with a sweet soy glaze.

  We were stuffed, so we agreed to walk a little bit longer and head over to Gion, Kyoto’s entertainment district where to this day, you can still find geishas.

  It’s a common misconception that a geisha is a concubine or a prostitute; in reality, that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

  A geisha is a highly skilled entertainer.

  You could pay for her company to enjoy a traditional Japanese tea ceremony, have a conversation about literature, listen to her play the koto—the Japanese zither made of thirteen strings—or watch her dance a traditional Japanese dance.

  I’d read somewhere that if you walked around Gion at dusk, you might have the chance to run into a geisha or two.

  We got lucky and were able to spot three or four.

  I didn’t want to stare, but it was hard to look away. There was something regal in their demeanor and attire. When my eyes met the gaze of a geisha walking opposite us, I bowed, not wanting to come across as the rude foreigner staring at a local attraction.

  Amos’ fingers brushed against mine. His touch never failed to make me tingly.

  “Do you know what I love about this place?”

  I smiled and shook my head, eager to hear his impression. I loved seeing everything through his eyes, as if it were the first time for me, too.

  “I love the way history and modernity seem to blend so easily. It might be a naïve and inaccurate observation, but I can’t think of another country where they constantly move toward progress and modernity without letting go of some core traditions.”

  I understood what he meant; in Japan, more than in other places, there was such a mix of old and new, and it was especially true in Kyoto. When you arrived in town by train, the first thing you saw was the ultra-modern state-of-the-art station, the second largest in all of Japan.

  But, once you stepped outside, you were surrounded by history, temples, and pre-war buildings.

  “Did you know Kyoto was supposed to be hit by the atomic bomb?” Amos shook his head no. “I’ve read it was Secretary of War Henry Stimson’s idea to remove it from the target list. Can you imagine what the city would look like today if it had been hit? Its entire history would have been wiped out in a matter of seconds.”

  Amos gave me a long look, and then the corner of his mouth curled up.

  “You’re sexy when you talk history.”

  “I didn’t know history turned you on.”

  “Only when it comes from your lips.”

  I laughed softly and looked away from his serious brown eyes.

  He stopped me, one of his hands on my hip, the other cradling my cheek.

  “What are you doing?” I whispered as his lips got mere inches from mine. “Are you trying to shock people passing by?”

  He laughed, and his warm breath washed over my face. We’d never been closer than we had been in the last few days, and even though we’d spent plenty of time exploring each other’s bodies, the electric current between us was always there. Even when we tried to put some distance between us in public and tried to tone down the sexual tension, the feeling was always there, always present.

  All we needed for the switch to come back on was a simple touch or caress.

  Amos ran two fingers down the side of my neck, all the way to my collarbone, making me shiver. What was he doing? How far was he going to go?

  “I need your lips, Lena. Right now,” he said in a gravelly voice that sent shivers down my spine. I swallowed, unable to push him away. I glanced around and made sure no one was paying attention to us.

  I brought one of his hands under my shirt, all the way up to my breast. He pulled me close, and I could feel him hard against me.

  I wanted him.

  I wanted his hands all over me.

  “Not here. Come.”

  We found a few corners of Kyoto where we could kiss undisturbed.

  By the time we made it back to our hotel, we were frantic.

  I was ready to get down to it, but Amos had other ideas.

  He told me to get undressed, and I did, but he didn’t take his clothes off. Instead, he grabbed my suitcase and opened it.

  “What are you doing?” I asked him as he rummaged through my bag. “What are you looking for?” I wasn’t as much appalled that he was going through my things as I was curious.

  “Your thing—yo
u always take it with you, don’t you? What did you say to me that night? Ah, yes: ‘a lady must always be prepared.’” He gave me a wicked grin and grabbed one of the kimonos the hotel had given us.

  “Wear this,” he ordered. I did as he asked and then grabbed the belt.

  “No, leave it open. Get on the bed.”

  I frowned. “Any more requests, m’lord?”

  He leaned down and kissed me, the tip of his tongue licking my lips, parting them. He gave me the sweet taste of his mouth for only a few seconds then retreated just as I was getting lost in his kiss.

  He was a fucking tease.

  “Do as I say.” His breath washed over my face. Glaring at him, I did as he asked, lying down on the bed with my body on full display.

  “Aha! Found it!” He came to the bed victorious, holding my vibrator in his hand. “Look at this, so smooth—I bet it feels amazing. Will you show me?” he asked, touching the large round tip of my vibrator as I gave him a horrified look.

  “But, why?”

  He leaned in, close enough so our noses were touching. “Because it’s fucking hot…because I’ve had the image of you pleasuring yourself in my mind for as long as I can remember. As a matter of fact, I can’t believe I haven’t suggested this already.”

  I lifted myself up and turned off the light on impulse, but he turned it back on.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” I muttered.

  “You’ve never been shy about your body—why start now?”

  He had a point, but for some reason, masturbating in front of him made me feel suddenly shy.

  “When I say I want to see you, I mean I really want to see you.” He leaned in for a kiss. I kissed him back, hands wrapped around his neck, suddenly needing more of him.

  Too much talking, not enough kissing and touching. He broke the kiss and then nibbled at my bottom lip.

  “What about my brace? Can I take it off?”

  “No. Use your left hand.”

  “Ugh! All this foreplay is going to kill me,” I grumbled, and he laughed, eyes bright with amusement. “Give me my vibrator and let’s get this show started,” I told him, sticking my hand out. He swallowed, his eyes suddenly darker.