Romance is subtlety, Yukio thinks. Even before partners are together, atmosphere is decided by one thing: environment. A stone in the dirt path is ground beneath his soul, causing him to lift his foot. A sugar-sweet scent hangs on the air. Roses and wildflowers; two breeds splendid apart, and when put together they sustained fervour. The quickening of his heart, a dry throat, sounds that travel up his spine and neck and chill his skin. And it’s because they’re together.

New lives ought to move on from the old. This he completely believed, for he had to. In his past was darkness of the heart. He did not remember the killing. Teardrops fell, his emotions high in dread, hit by terror; birth records, a career, friendships. Everything died in her name. Though they existed in two bodies, everything of them was one. One voice, shared pastimes, the desire for a family. Love. It showed in their family name, Tanaka. Each followed, loved and protected the other.

A time machine.

Visit the past? Their future had arrived, and for him it walked forward dressed in white. Innocence and purity. He sought not the sunlit garden of memory – it was here. Moderate-sized poplar trees rustled in the wind, and he was glad Ayako brought him love. He loved her everyday, completely. And that she reciprocated lifted his spirit.

And so they had married.

Sex. He had thought of it before, with her. And finally he’d done it; it was an expression of love; revolutionised relationships. He would admit it was a spine-freezing pleasure that he longed for. Their first time had been a special moment. He was glad he’d waited, for it had been wonderful.

The king-sized bed was cool in this hot climate, and at that moment it had been sweltering, the covers heaped then kicked aside when he pounded her and buried himself deep inside, needing to be close. They expressed their emotions at the wall; he was ridden like an animal on the floor, and then the shower – cold, hot, wet, exciting.

Yukio was carrying a picnic basket. It was heavy, and he removed it from his arm and rested it at his feet. Ayako was holding his gaze – for longer than acceptable for casual acquaintances. He walked over, leaving the basket, and suddenly halted. He was inside her personal space, running a hand through his hair; he saw a midge on her shoulder, still as a wasp, and shoed it off.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You’re an idealist.”

He thought she was amused.

Yukio’s gaze wandered to the dry earth; dusty, he thought – he unbuckled his right sleeve then left, and then the top clasp of his shirt. Ayako smiled at this and his heartbeat quickened: he’d done good. It felt right, too; his parents were dead, he was free, and he was loved. He wasn’t needed in the role of the gifted son: his talents were special, but he knew Ayako loved him unconditionally.

“I know.” He plucked a leaf out her hair. “It doesn’t matter. I love you: that’s the important thing.”

“You do, do you?”

“Everyday, completely.”

Ayako snatched his wrist. His left arm was caught and held, except he was unresistant. He allowed her to lower it, down to side, and then that same hand with a grip so firm was straightening his clothing. He reached for Ayako’s hair. His nails guided it to spill over his fingers, and then he let it go. He felt her stroke his arm – she was looking at him again.

He bit his lip.

“Let’s go sit down before something happens,” he said quickly.

“Sitting is all you desire, Yukio? That’s hard to believe.”

“Have I done something to upset you?”

Ayako shook her head. “I want to sit on you.”

“On me?”

Their non-physical behaviour was provocative: they talked about sex. Yukio had in mind one reply – put your money where your mouth is. Sexual compliments, subtle comments with double-meaning.

“No. Not that.” Ayako shook her head.

“I like it when you blush.”

“I am not!”

“It brings out the colour of your hair.”

Yukio didn’t flinch as Ayako grabbed his hair near the temple on his right. He brushed his left side back and checked his matching sleeve; he saw her smile and trusted her not to lead him on. For trust was everything; both had fractured it, but for the correct reasons. He had been – was – ill, and she worried by his state of mind.

“Ayako, what are you doing?”

“I like it.”

“What Ayako wants, she gets?”

“Yes.”

Their arms bumped together. Yukio dusted his.

“My apologies.”

Then brought it over: his hand rested on Ayako’s bare arm. The Mediterranean sun had tanned her skin, save the areas covered by clothing: dresses, shades, tops mostly. He stroked down Ayako’s arm, and his nails were creating sensation when they drew over her flesh.

Ayako’s other hand grabbed his shoulder.

“It’s late,” she whispered by his ear. “We should sit down. I’m hungry.”

And now she was touching his face. His left cheek, and then she cupped the right. Yukio struggled to breathe – he was forced to do it quickly. And she was laughing at him.

“Now whose blushing?”

Yukio blinked, and again when she took his hands. Her grip tightened – he couldn’t free himself easily. But why? It was a warm, pleasant, relaxing afternoon. And then she kissed him – on the lips. He stepped back but she kept him with her: their hands. And it was pleasurable, in this heat.

An idea.

He bit Ayako’s lip. Gently, but enough to make her back away. He walked on, left arm swooping to collect the basket. Quick footsteps. He dropped it.

“Stop tickling me!”

And it continued, and again he couldn’t breathe. He felt as if he’d never become accustomed to this heat. Nor could he cope with this rough treatment.

Ayako let him go. She picked up the basket and approached the hillside beyond the poplars.

“Come on,” she said, almost motherly. “You need to rest.”

Yukio followed. Past the slim trees, he saw a valley: an expanse of hillside vastly different to the type back home. There was no ocean in view. They must be in the centre of the isle, Yukio thought. He followed Ayako down the slope and could smell the wildflowers. At the basin, ne’er a mile away, a vineyard.

“Yukio, sit down.”

He did as told – as ever – and approached Ayako’s left. She was covered by her hat; he sat down and removed it, turning it appraisingly before placing it aside.

“Warm,” he commented.”

“Mmm.” Ayako leant against the grass, arms folded under her head. He took her hand and looked at it.

“Are you sure about us starting a family?”

“Yes. Now stop asking me. Be decisive. Be the man I require.”

Comfortable, Yukio leant back. He reached left, climbed over Ayako, spread himself on top, and kissed her. That brought no response. Expected? She was looking at him from the corner of her eye, and he felt as if he could take control of this intimate encounter.

He deepened the kiss thoroughly.

Ayako let Yukio continue it for a moment. His aptitude to intimacy was that it was about passion and desire, and when they were supported by a pure love he enjoyed it thoroughly, and risked a feel. He massaged her left breast through her clothing.

“Let me get this clear,” said Ayako. “First you say we should go out for lunch, and then you refuse to eat out – you bring us here and then do this?”

Yukio felt guilty. He moved off but felt a hand on his back pocket. It clenched his muscle through the stiff fabric. He cried.

“You want me?” said Ayako.

Stuck on top, Yukio found her formidable. She was strong, as far as he could judge; her voice was raspy, and her blue-green eyes quite unreadable.

“What are you doing?”

Ayako shoved Yukio back down, forcefully, and unbuttoned his collar – taking her time. They moved a little closer. Yukio smiled; if their clothes brushed below, in that way, Ayako would moan from the corners of her mouth – he wanted to hear it, and began to slowly move his hips. Ayako writhed under him, against the hill, and dug her nails into his backside. Her moans were filling, and Yukio fervently ran his hands through her orange hair and firmly pressed them together against her head. One moved to Ayako’s crown. He played with her hair more, winding it round his fingers. Behind, he could feel her fingers slipping under his belt; they moved to the front, and he moaned, arching his back as they brushed over his groin.

Ayako was hurriedly unbuckling his belt, unzipping his trousers; she pulled the belt out and unzipped the latter. Suddenly, Yukio felt calm no more. He knew the result of feeling like that.

His genitals were rubbed – a rush of blood. They had tried this undressed, but he liked to be sensitised by the lace of her bra, her pantyhose, and socks and stockings. He began to move himself against her hand, instinctively.

“Well, this is a surprise,” said Ayako. “You can barely contain your exuberance.”

She was watching him with a measuring sort-of-look, and he pulled her dress above her knees. She moved so he could tug it over her waist. Before marriage, they’d rubbed together as a method to achieve sexual gratification without the more sexually explicit vaginal intercourse, and to maintain chastity.

Ayako produced a smile of warm delight, much to Yukio’s amusement. He moved his right leg and turned her onto her side. She remained still, and he used his right knee to rub up and down her buttocks, the backs of her thighs; he pulled them together, sideways, and used his left hand to massage her lowest breast – the right slipped into her knickers and began to massage her clitoris.

And Ayako turned round and rubbed up against him – their genitals touching. Yukio kissed her, and turned in a leisurely way, putting out his arms to support his weight by placing both palms on the land. Ayako seemed, to him, be wondering what she could do. He was aware of her unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and pulling it out his trousers. She was massaging his rear, her hands under his trousers and briefs. It distracted like hell, but he could solve it, he hoped, by rubbing against her. Deeply confused, Yukio supported himself on his right hand, and slid his left under her dress. It moved up her bare chest, over her lingerie, and took hold of her left breast.

“Oh gods. Just stay there.”

“All right.” He took her right nipple into his mouth, and began to suck.

Five minutes passed.

Ayako reached down, taking Yukio’s hand off her chest. She massaged each finger in turn and Yukio was directed to hold her sides. He clutched her hips with both, moved them up and down, and continued to suck her areola. His right hand went back to her clitoris. Then he bit it.

“Down already, damn it.”

He bit her nipple once again and felt her touch the area over his scrotum. He bucked – twice – and groaned as she ran a hand under his boxers and cusped them. He could probably figure out what hand – he didn’t care. She stimulated him there with her nails, drawing them over the hairless patch of skin on the underside. Yukio dropped his occupied hand from her clit. She snatched it and put it back, and kneed him in the abdomen for her trouble.

“You’re so temperamental, Ayako.” He sat up and started to massage himself.

Ayako stopped him by taking his wrist.

“Let me help.”

She returned his hand to the inside of her knickers, and Yukio lifted his fingers at the abrupt sensation of heat.

He shook his head to clear it. This was purely physical and intense. He could feel like this spontaneously during the course of the day or night, even when awake right after sleep. And now Ayako was pumping him with her right hand, rubbing the palm of the other over his chest. His nipples were cold – erect now they’d been exposed to the air. She flicked them, and suddenly he was aware of his own stiffness.

“Hang on a minute,” he said.

And Yukio left Ayako – briefly – to snatch the wine bottle from the picnic basket. He rubbed the flat, rounded surface against her vulva, and when Ayako moaned he knew it had worked. His hair was seized.

“Ow!”

He reached for his head.

Painful, Ayako realised: Yukio knew this because one hand returned to massaging his penis and the other pulled his boxers down – exposing him to the air. Her index finger played around his anus. Yukio felt a surge: his hips bucked. Ayako forced him to slow down with a kiss. She was using her tongue, he realised. Except that made him impatient in the desire to penetrate. She was encouraging him, he believed: her massage made him swollen, hard, and enlarged; a rush of blood and he acted on desire. He took Ayako’s hands, now on his backside, and threw them off.

“I want to fuck you so hard.” Yukio rubbed himself against her thigh. His left arm lay across Ayako’s stomach, keeping her down. And he chose to – what was that phrase? Eat her out? He took her clitoris between his teeth- bit it, nibbled it, poked it with his tongue. And sucked it into his mouth – swirled his tongue lovingly, wetted it with his saliva. Inserted his fingers.

“I love you.”

Yukio barely heard it. He tried to lift his head but her hands kept him close.

But then something wet tickled his nose and he pulled back. He saw Ayako’s excitement: her lips were swollen, damp to touch – her whole body appeared flush and she was writhing atop the ground. He teased her by rubbing her genitals with the head of his penis till she came – and moaned loudly enough to draw attention.

Ayako could finish him off when his back was turned. He smiled, an expression of love and emotional intimacy, and inserted himself into her vagina. As he did that, her muscles contracted around him. He stared at her – she looked as amazed as he was. He couldn’t understand why she loved him. He’d killed people, and though deep down he knew he wasn’t responsible it still hurt to think of what he’d done – not as much to them as Ayako herself. And she was looking at him, waiting. He mumbled an apology and moved his hips to move his penis backward and forward, generating more friction. He felt her hips touch his, pushed deeper inside, and never removed himself fully.

“Ah!” Her nails were digging painfully into his backside.

The two of them carried on. Quicker, harder – and Yukio pushed against the hillside, finding it increasingly hard to thrust. Ayako moaned in frustration: no comfort. And here he was, fucking his wife in a place they could be seen in and arrested, and he didn’t care. It was thrilling!

Yukio found it hard to do anything in this position – view and touch Ayako’s chest, delay ejaculation, or stop himself becoming tired. He’d been forced to support his weight, but he was also selfish – he wanted a quick fumble on the hillside. He wanted it done his way. He didn’t want to be troubled by fretting about what Ayako wanted; massage, kisses, compassion. He was active, dominant. He came. A commanding rush of blood, impulse, and an ejection – two, three, four, and five – and collapsed.

A minute passed. Then two, three, ten: they were cuddling. The sunlight warmed Yukio’s skin – they’d been here longer than thought. He felt Ayako stroking his back, underneath his shirt. He moved to get off and she pressed him to her chest, motherly.

Yukio flicked Ayako’s left nipple, which he found was still erect. He was limp but remaining inside her, choosing to enjoy her warmth. They’d used no contraception, but that was all right – they were trying for a child. He would prove himself. He could love it as much as Ayako – cold, selfish. Perhaps he hadn’t changed much at all.