Page 83 of Fumiko and the Finicky Nestmate
The muscle twitched. “What are you doing?”
“No hair. Sinder, either.”
Zuzu was suddenly crouched beside her, scrutinizing Juuyu’s thigh. “You’re right! What lovely skin. Makes me want to touch.”
“You’ll smear the paint,” Fumiko chided, adding more red petals.
“What if I only touch the unpainted spots?” Zuzu asked sweetly.
Juuyu patted Zuzu’s leafy crown and said, “Have a care for your own paint.”
She shot to her feet and turned this way and that. “Did I smear? Is it spoiled?”
“No, leafling,” he soothed. “But this kind of art is ephemeral.”
“Like nippets?” Zuzu pointed to a tiny painted bird perched near her navel. “Aren’t they sweet?”
“The smallest of avians. They are sweetness itself,” he agreed.
Fumiko took extra care, admiring the way red looked against Juuyu’s skin. He was perfect for reds. And oranges. And golds. Was it silly to admire someone for something they’d been born with? Maybe he wouldn’t have minded. After all, Sinder said dragons craved compliments. Did avians like to be admired?
Again, a touch on her head made her pause.
“Mammalian Amaranthine tend to have more body hair than those of us from other lineages.” Juuyu angled his head and calmly added, “You seemed curious.”
She was. Enough to ask, “What tradition does your clan have that involves body painting?”
“Many of our clan’s stories are not so much told as performed. Those reenacting our histories and legends are first painted, to indicate their role in the story.”
“Like theater?” She’d watched so many plays in the library’s audio-visual room, back when Diva first added video cassettes to their collection.
“Perhaps dance would be more accurate.”
“You like to dance?”
Juuyu hummed. “Under appropriate circumstances. And in accordance with the customs of my people.”
She would have loved to see that. But she wouldn’t ask for it. Juuyu’s tone suggested that these weren’t appropriate circumstances. And she wasn’t his people.
“This is fine. This is more than I ever expected,” she murmured, struggling to rise in the soft sand.
Juuyu caught her hand and supported her other arm, steadying her to her feet.
Red flowers next bloomed along his collarbone, across his chest. Juuyu was so much more approachable when he wasn’t buttoned into a suit.
His breaths were coming deep and slow, and when she stole another peek at his face, he blinked placidly at her. He was as mellow as a tourist drunk on summer pollen.
She painted a cluster of red flowers beside his eye so that he’d match Akira.
He let her.
More gathered over his eyebrow, across his cheekbone.
In her imagination, every petal was a kiss.
Juuyu’s pupils widened, and his lips parted. She wondered what kind of story Juuyu would tell, wreathed as he was in flowers. If it were up to her, it would be a love story, like those of the noble wolves who somehow managed to win the hearts of elusive moon maidens. There would be kisses and a promise to keep. One that wouldn’t fade.
Fumiko looked away long enough to load her brush, then slowly, carefully painted a red flower onto the fullness of Juuyu’s lower lip.
