Chapter Text
It’s a quaint little inn, modeled after what you think is Higashian architecture. The little Oni woman who ran the front desk said as much in what heavily-accented Victorian you could pick out, and you have no reason to really doubt such a sweet old lady. She seemed almost overjoyed when you and Platinum arrived, eager to usher you both to a room before you had even registered that you were staying. So here you are, standing in a humble room with a bouncy, soft floor made of what felt like bound straw, eyeing up Platinum before glancing at the spartan bed.
“Honeymoon suite?” the white-haired mare says flatly. As a former competition knight, she’s probably seen more luxurious rooms than this. “I guess that their claim to fame is the baths, not necessarily their rooms.”
“...honeymoon?” comes your delayed reply, having only just realized what she had said.
Platinum doesn’t explicitly answer you, instead shrugging before she takes a casual stroll around the room. Her cursory inspection uncovers towels, robes, and the assorted sort of sundries like a hotel. She tosses you what must be your set.
“Might as well see if the reviews are true, right Doctor?”
“R-Right. Meet you back here in an hour?”
“An hour? Mmm… okay.” she replies slowly, perhaps even a bit hesitant… but there’s still the promise of the evening’s later… activities that makes her tail flick with excitement.
The hot springs look as if it has two sides; one for men and one for women. Platinum reluctantly lets go of your arm, parting with a flirty little wink and swish of her tail before pushing past the red flap with a woman’s outline on it. The cobalt blue one says something in Higashian, but helpfully has the outline of what seemed to be a male Oni, and when it parts you are met with some open cubbies clearly meant for your bathing supplies.
At least that’s your assumption, because when you peek at the actual bath, it’s not a hot spring pool like you assumed. There’s showers and stools, but no stalls or any sense of privacy.
And that privacy bit is particularly pointed, because in the corner of the room is an ancient-looking Oni man, hunched over like a statue. Concerningly, he’s naked save for a towel draped over his bits, and even though you avert your eyes, you see the smile creasing his already age-shrunken eyes.
“Come in, young man.” he calls to you in a thickly accented Victorian. “You bathe here. Clean the body before the springs.”
Seems… counter-intuitive to clean yourself before the thing you’d use to get clean, but the time on Rhodes Island has taught you that different cultures have different values. Not wanting to appear rude, you put the towels and robes into the cubby before getting your bathing suit out and searching for a changing space.
“Clothes back there. Bath towel is all you need.” the old Oni says jovially.
“Ah, but I need to change-”
“Towel is enough. No shorts.” the Oni reiterates, motioning for you to put the shorts away and come sit down on a stool.
“You mean… naked?”
“Natural. Closest to nature, yes? Towel is enough.” he waves off any argument like it's just steam before shooing you back around the partition to strip.
When in Higashi, you suppose- keenly aware that technically this is still Sieta.
You strip, covering your extremities with a towel that seems dangerously small now that you’re naked… but the old Oni chuckles at your bashfulness, pointing at a vacant stool and showerhead farthest from him. There’s all the things you need to clean your body already laid out for you, so you take the briefest scrub-and-shower, ever vigilant of the spectator in the room. The Oni, for his part, is respectful when you cast glances back over your shoulder.
“Back.” he motions like scrubbing his back with a towel, “Or I can help.”
“No thanks.” you answer hastily, much to his amusement. Must be something that the proprietors amused themselves with considering his grin. You thank the gods that at least he’s quiet; the last thing you’d want is small talk while you very conscientiously bathe.
When you’re done, the old Oni simply points to another set of blue curtains that you hadn’t seen before. A trick of the eyes? Some ancient Oni Arts that concealed the prize until after you have purified? Either way, you thank the old man and quickly and stiffly shuffle your way over
“Enjoy, honored guest.” he says, a wide and toothless smile as you pass.
The public exposure is worth it the moment the curtain parts. Small lamps ring a small pond, giving a peaceful yellow glow and highlighting the steam rising into the cool night air. The moon hangs in the heavens above, bringing its own warm aura to the already aesthetic scene. Just beyond the spring’s loose bamboo wall, you can make out the twinkle of Siesta’s lights, and in the calm, serene silence atop the mountain you feel like you can make out the soft echoes of the city’s festivities.
At once you feel what the old man mentioned. Lowering yourself into the spring, you can tell that this is a place of peaceful contemplation, and it is just the thing you needed. The stress and anxiety easily melts away like ice would in these waters, and it pulls a long, therapeutic sigh from your lungs.
You soak in the tranquility, mind wandering and drifting in the stillness and warmth.
At least until you hear the wet patter of feet on stone and a soft little gasp of surprise. You glance back, expecting the old man or someone other than who is actually there.
It’s Platinum, naked, covering herself with nothing but the same small bathing towel given to you. You half expect her to scream in surprise, or perhaps call you a pervert or something akin to one of those Higashian animes, but then you remember just what you two are. The snow-haired Kurantan simply sighs, brushing aside her bangs while throwing her weight onto one leg and swinging one of her voluptuously wide and curvaceous hips.
“Mixed bath? I don’t want anyone else seeing me but…” she mumbles before flicking her wet hair back with a throw of her hand. “Well, since we’re already here, I might as well join you…” she sighs. Was she expecting some alone relaxation time then?
You avert your eyes out of politeness when she strides up beside you and lowers herself into the spring. She sucks in a sharp breath, letting it out slow and measured as she acclimates to the warmth. For the shortest span of time, you both relax but it feels like Platinum keeps cutting glances at you.
“Doctor.” she says in a low, almost venomous tone.
“Y-Yes, Platinum?” you keep your gaze locked straight and the towel of your crotch, feeling her eyes bore into you as she leans closer to scrutinize. When you smile meekly, she snorts and mutters something under her breath. There is a splash of water, the flash of her long white hair and tail in your face, and suddenly her petite frame is on your lap.
Reflexively you blurt, “Platinum this is a little close-”
“ Centaurea -” she interrupts, slapping the back of her hand against your chest, “Please don’t be stupid for once.”
She’s prickly once more. Despite all the affection and… more intimate activities the day before, this feels more like the Platinum you knew back in Kazimierz. Is the cold bite an act? It has to be an act, considering you had spent nearly half the earlier day stuffed inside her.
Or was that what this is all about now? Is she mad that you haven’t been affectionate or caring enough? Had you made it just seem like this is a sex thing? Now that you think hard about it you never really made yourselves official or anything-
“Sorry.” you manage to say without stammering. It must have been convincing enough, because she simply snorts in response. The hot-cold attitude is all the more twisting considering that she’s tempting you by rubbing her hind against you. Your mind is equal parts fear response and lustful instinct, and you can’t keep your body’s instinct of having a fine, mateable mare on your lap in check. Trying to keep your cool is harder when you realize the white thing sinking to the bottom of the shallow bath is her towel, meaning that all of her is on display to the world- or more specifically to any other guest who decides to use the spring too. That thought sends a pang of jealousy through your heart. A faltering that, for someone keen to find weaknesses as Platinum, she immediately exploits.
“You spent all day yesterday calling me Platinum .” she pouts, though there’s still an ounce of venom to her tone as she leans further back against your chest. Now you definitely can’t resist glancing down at her chest. For some men, the bigger the breast, the more arousing the body, but in Centaurea’s case, the soft little mounds fit her frame better than any else. She has the body of a dancer: fit, tight, curves in all the right places, so anything else would just be superfluous on her. Her particular highlight though? Her hips and her hind- the things she is currently flaunting against your instinctual reaction.
“Sorry, Centaurea.” you manage to whisper into her ear, hoping that it sounded sensual. She flicks her chin away from you, but not even an actress of her quality can hide the reflexive twitch of one of her ears.
“And how are you going to make it up to me?”
You answer her challenge by lovingly, tenderly wrapping your arms around her and pulling her close. Nothing sexual- not yet at least, not when you need to warm her up. A fleeting little kiss on her neck sends a shiver through her beautifully smooth skin and pulls a soft little coo from her lips. Speaking of her lips, you can see her bottom one tremble slightly, the veritable sign that she wants a kiss but is fighting the urge. So she still wants to play the hard-to-get game right here in a public bath?
“Centaurea.” you whisper before she can jerk her head away again. Didn’t get to say the rest of your heated little confession, but she doesn’t try to break your embrace. She doesn’t move when your hands start drifting across her flat, honed belly, nor does she complain when you nuzzle her neck and catch the scent of sweet shampoo.
“A good start.” she huffs, hands beneath the water now as she tentatively reaches back, stroking your thigh in response.
A sign for you to advance, if just a little! As a show of vassalage to her majesty, you cup the warm, reinvigorating water and gently pour it atop her breasts in an effort to keep her warm. She shivers at first, but doesn’t object, nor does she make mention of your other hand massaging its way down across her lower abdomen in a not-so-subtle attempt to find where her line of demarcation is tonight.
It finds none. Your fingertips rub massaging circles lower and lower, easily sweeping over her smooth-shaved plains, lingering on the spot that you know she particularly is partial towards.
“Doctor…” she mumbles, wiggling on your lap. If she hadn’t realized how throbbing hard you were before, she does the moment she nocks your meaty arrow into the crack between her cheeks. You pause for a second, but the anxiety is easily banished when she looks back at you with a knowing grin.
“Better hide that, Doctor.”
“And you?” you answer, “I better cover you up in case.”
With boldness coursing through your veins -and arguably further down as well- you reach across her chest to “cover” one of her breasts with your hand.
“Modesty, in case someone comes in, right?” you huskily whisper in her ear while palming the delightful doughiness of her modest mound. Of course she pouts, mumbling a half-veiled threat as part of the act, but that doesn’t hide the truth of her reaching back to stroke your lance.
“A towel would be… more effective.” she huffs as your kneading gets more greedy and your lower fingers move on to the next field of pleasurable play.
“It would, but it’d be less enjoyable, right Centaurea?”
She chokes back a light moan when you start circling her petals, applying pressure on her favorite spot with each pass. Her movements get more and more squirmy against your lance, fingers finding where to tease you most. Your backs are to the bathhouse, so until someone came right up to the water they’d never tell that you’re slipping a finger into her while roughly pawing at perfectly springy and bouncy breasts.
“If someone… if someone comes, how are you… going to hide that?” she flirts while rolling your spearhead sensually against her palm.
“I could think of a few ways.”
“A towel?”
“I was thinking inside of you.”
“Really now? How… -ah~- bold of you.”
She raises the stakes of your tease by rising from the water and crossing to the other side of the spring. Hands planted on the stone, she sensually bends herself over, modesty is preserved only by her tail draping over where her luscious thighs meet. Her expression tells you exactly what she’s thinking; ‘Are you bold enough to come over here and take me?’
She even baits with a suggestive flick of her hips, giving you an eyeful of her perky peach jiggle and the flushed, puffy petals peeling open.
Now a more sane and cautious plan would be to drag her back to the bedroom and absolutely ravage her, but your battle plans could often be described as… unorthodox.
A polite term for reckless, of course. You answer her silent, questioning gaze by confidently striding over to her and laying your cock down upon her hind as if you were knighting it.
“I didn’t think I was going to get this far…” she says almost… surprised. Funny, considering this is also the woman who had sucked you off in a Ferris Wheel, consented to being pinned up on a wall beneath a rollercoaster in a crowded amusement park, and then finished the night off with leaving her body imprint on the glass door of her shower before sending you on your way.
Yeah, she could be surprisingly coy- the sign of a skilled actress in how she plays you.
She might be playing coy… but the unintended consequence is just how cute she honestly is beneath it all.
“Centaurea…” you breathlessly express your adoration, taking in the picturesque sight of her presenting a plump white peach as you stroke her long, lusciously silky tail.
Your tone catches her ear, makes it twitch with excitement when she casts a glance back at you. It’s a look somewhere between knowing smugness and burning excitement.
“We can see where this goes, I guess…” she whispers, unable to hide her blush or deviously eager smile. With little effort, Centaurea stands on her tip-toes to give herself that little bit more clearance over the point of your spear. You line up with her, excitement leaving a trail of starkly contrasting shimmer on her already wet rump.
Neither of you say anything, you simply push your lance down, braced and ready against her for the charge into soft, hot, sticky womanhood. You are slow and controlled though on the advance though, wanting both of you to savor the sensation of coupling. Your tip parts Centaurea’s precarious pink petals, feeling the tight entryway constricting each inch of you that passes into her.
Both of you hold your breath until you're entirely inside, the residual heat from the hot spring now radiating inside of Centaurea’s abdomen. A cute little whine escapes your mare as you gently grind into her, her sticky walls clinging to your every movement. You know she’s ready when she starts rocking herself back against you, the little bumps of her butt sending a delightful ripple through her hind. With one hand playing with the beautiful strands of her tail and the other rubbing her **, you give her the first testing thrust. A little gasp to accentuate the delight of her folds clinging tight to your girth, a spark to ignite the deeper desire and fuel the slow and sensual steaming pistoning of your bodies together.
She breathlessly whispers your name at the end of each wet impact, the smacking of your coupling echoing off the bamboo fence and into the night sky for all to hear. Not that you care, your singular focus is the former idol before you: how the springwater laps at the back of her thighs with each swing of your hips, how she tenses with the strain of desire and pleasure against the fear of remaining modest, how her back arches more and more with each thrilling shudder up her spine.
Her fingernails scratch against the stone as her arms tremble from impact after impact against her hind. She’s starting to falter off her toes, her dancer-like poise being worn down each time your cock kisses her deeply. You feel her draw her proverbial bowstring back, straining to get as much as she can before loosing the arrow…
And when you stop thrusting, you take that rhythm right out from under her. Startled, she whips her head back to glare at you, ‘Why did you stop?’ written all over her frown.
You bend over her, nipping her ear, whispering, “You’re getting a little loud, Centaurea.”
She scowls at you, probably contemplating whether to call you an idiot and shove you off, or call you an idiot and drag you in closer.
Of course, a woman as clever and cunning as Centaurea makes herself a third option. With a sly grin on her lips, she simply sways her hips, focusing all of her amorous attention on the front-end of your spear. It’s a warm, seductive stimulation -a tease-for-tease- that tempts you to just finish the stroke… but you manage to consciously hold your hips back from pounding into her. She giggles playfully though, having noticed how you twitch with eagerness.
“What? Scared of getting caught now?” she playfully snipes back at you, “After Garrison Park?”
“Got me there, Centaurea.”
She wiggles her hips, warming and polishing the head of your spear with her honeyed walls, but even with the warmth coming off the the rest of your shaft is chilly by comparison. Oh how nice it’d feel to be all warm and snug inside her…
You dig your fingers into her asscheeks, always appreciative of the perfect mix of lean fat and muscle beneath the creamy skin, but it's a vain attempt to hold yourself back. You know it, she knows it, and to further the prurient provocation, she shakily stands and reaches back for your hands.
“We’re already here and you’re already inside me.” she says with a band of red blush across the bridge of her nose. On further urging, you hold her up so that she can reach back behind you to play with your hair and scalp. She manipulates you easily into a kiss, mewling and sighing with each tangle and toss of your titillating tongues, her movements growing more heated and frantic as she feels your cock swell that little bit more inside her.
When you finally catch a breath, Centaurea is staring at you with lust-clouded eyes. She bites her bottom lip expectantly before arching her back to whisper in your ear, “So… why not fuck me like we’re the only ones in the world?”
Leave it to a former assassin to so effortlessly kill your self-control with a well placed arousing arrow. You grab her by her arms and just thrust. Thoughts empty, instinct in pure control, you plough your platinum mare’s field with full-bodied and ever robust ruts. There are moments in your fucking frenzy that you take her off her feet, and no matter how light she is, when her weight is held to a single point, well the results are her struggling to breathe in the humid air. Your cock pistons into her lower abdomen like you’re trying to tap a new hot spring inside of her, each sopping wet impact driving an animalistic, delirious grunt from her lungs. Maybe it's the atmosphere here, maybe it’s the heat making you feverish, but all you can do is wail away at her and pray that she doesn’t break.
Platinum might be a soft, workable metal, but Centaurea is made of sterner stuff. You feel her cum once… no, twice. They are electric shudders of her body, her fingernails digging into your arms, paired with the wild clenching of her pussy to your girth. She doesn’t cry out or scream, just a slobbering, babbling groan as your cock continues to light her already pleasure-frayed nerves alight.
“Centaurea-”
“Inside.” she pants with sudden clarity. There’s an assuredness to her voice when she looks back over her shoulder and dead into your eyes.
“Don’t… get the spring dirty.”
Leave it to Centaurea to know what you were going to say next.
Leave it to Centaurea to tell you exactly what she wants.
You smash together, the crashing crashing of your coital keels crafting a tempestuous storm too powerful for the waters as the waves break on the ring of rocks. To Centaurea’s credit, she doesn’t cry out when the climax hits her. A low, guttural rattle escapes her lungs as her body spasms, like the last breath had left her body to mingle with the steam of the springs and your lovemaking. Warmth floods into her, hotter than the water you both stew in, and it melts Platinum down into the mold that is your body. You both ease back into the spring, letting the euphoric haze of mutual pleasure mingle with the bawdy steam.
“Stay like this with me.” she hums, relaxing into your loving embrace once more. How could you not oblige? How could you not set a better throne for her by leaning back and putting your knees up so that she could lounge against you and not lose your connection. After a moment of silent contemplation, you playfully cup her breasts and ask,
“All according to plan, Centaurea?”
“Mmm- all according to plan.” she softly sighs, satisfied enough to not even remove your groping hands. She instead rests her head back against your shoulder, urging you to gaze up at the stars with her. A soft moment, the kind that she’s sorely deserved after all this time, and she lets you know her happy contentment as she absentmindedly plays with your hair. Time slows with the small talk, the kisses and tickles, the little laughs at the realization that you’re swelling for a round two.
“You know…” the voice of the old oni man calls out from the bathhouse, “Hot springs do increase fertility, but please do so in your room afterwards?”