Her thumb traced a small circle against his sternum. The gesture was almost maternal, almost intimate, and entirely Yoruichi. She gave him a final, knowing look—those gold eyes promising that the real lesson would come later, in the dark, when there were no Hollows to blame for his racing pulse.
He swung an elbow—nothing. She flowed under his arm, and for a dizzying second, his face was level with the curve of her waist, the smooth plane of her stomach. He caught a scent: jasmine, lightning, and old temples. yoruichi by theobrobine
“Eyes up, Koibito ,” she laughed, and flicked his forehead. Her thumb traced a small circle against his sternum