Something Real

One-shot

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Kaze no Stigma, Takahiro Yamato does.

It was dark in Kazuma's penthouse. Dark, and colorless; all bland gray walls and plain furnishings and generic motel artwork. Odd that she hadn't noticed before.

Ayano's fingers brushed over the tabletop, following a vein in the polished wood until it disappeared beneath a row of thick books. Somehow, she doubted that Kazuma read Shakespeare, but the books seemed right at home nonetheless. Behind her, Kazuma flipped the television channel again, the comically dramatic music from the rejected station fragmenting into a string of laughter. She tried to ignore the jarring change by trailing her fingers over the neatly arranged books, straight and orderly and punctuated by tasteful wooden bookends that looked suspiciously like they came with Kazuma's expensive suite. In front of the books rested a handful of coins in a haphazard pile, the only evidence of its owner to be found.

Idly, Ayano wondered how someone could live in a place for months and yet never leave a trace of himself behind. She felt suddenly guilty for her intrusion.

In the beginning, just after Bernhardt had vanished, coming here was something Ayano had savored. She had found such joy in sitting on the plush sofa, her skin tingling with the knowledge that Kazuma was within arm's reach of her, and betting herself on when he would finally reach over. Surely, she had thought, it would be at any moment, because that day when she had felt a soft breeze blowing through her hair, touching her in just the right way so that she knew it was Kazuma, he had pledged himself to her. It was a promise without words, but the way his fingers trailed through her hair left her with no doubt. All that had been left was for Kazuma to fulfill that promise.

She had waited for that moment for three months. The stinging chill of winter had softened as spring approached, and yet she never felt warm. She almost didn't remember what it felt like.

Ayano pinched a 100 yen coin between her fingers, placing it to the left side of the smaller denominations. How far she had come in these months: from glowing with the excitement of a new love to arranging pocket change.

"If you're going to clean," Kazuma's smirking voice advised her, "at least put on a maid's outfit."

Sighing, Ayano looked down at the unorganized coin arrangement. Kazuma's perverted jokes were nothing new. He was always finding new ways to irritate her, whether it be commanding her to cook for him or blowing up her skirt with an especially ill-timed gust. She almost looked forward to those times, because she had an excuse to try and knock some sense into the pervert. But lately, her anger at his antics became less and less. Today, it wouldn't come at all, and her stomach clenched in some strange combination of wistfulness and admission.

"You're an idiot," she said in a resigned tone, as much out of habit as because it was true. Kazuma chuckled, seemingly unaware that Ayano hadn't been talking to him.

Kazuma was an idiot, but Ayano was the biggest idiot of all. Only someone brainless would have thought that Kazuma would ever let go of Tsui Ling enough to start over. What a fool she was, for waiting this long for something that was never hers to begin with. Why was she still here?

"I'm going home," Ayano declared softly as she picked up her school bag and gathered her uniform jacket. Despite what he had done and said, Kazuma was not ready. As Ayano began to move toward the door, she found herself thinking that he might never be ready.

The television flipped off. "What's with you?" Kazuma asked, rising and taking a few long strides toward Ayano. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Nothing," she said, forcing her inflection to rise as Kazuma continued to advance on her.

"Oh?" His index finger pressed to his chin in a mocking attempt at pensiveness. "You know, if you have PMS, you can just come out and say so."

Ayano scoffed but stopped her path to the door in mid-stride. Idiot or not, she wasn't about to let that be the last word. "Maybe I'm just sick and tired of watching you channel surf." Ayano turned, her glare meeting Kazuma's smug grin.

"Or perhaps you've just reached your limit when it comes to defending yourself against my cunning wit," Kazuma smirked in that way that Ayano had very recently found irresistible. He took another step toward her, no doubt counting on the fact that he was every inch as adorable as ever. The only thing Ayano thought was that she had wasted enough of her time because of that charming half-smile.

"So what?" she demanded, her hand clenching around her jacket. "Maybe I have reached my limit." Ayano stopped, her voice buried beneath her weariness. Exhaustion sank into her as she realized that she still, after everything, wanted Kazuma's fingers to weave through her hair, persuading her to stay just a little longer.

Ayano turned abruptly and started toward the door. She was tired, so tired of waiting. If she could just get to the door, maybe her throat wouldn't be so tight.

Kazuma slid his arms around her waist, pulling her backwards, her back bumping against his chest. "Stay," he said in a low voice, his breath rustling her hair and tickling her neck. Ayano tensed, not knowing whether she'd hoped for this or dreaded it.

"Why?" she whispered, trembling as Kazuma's arms tightened around her. He was so warm, so solid behind her. The cruelty of that realization settled thickly into her; what a twisted distortion of her dream this was.

Kazuma nuzzled against the nape of her neck. "Stay," he repeated, his tone somewhere between commanding and imploring. The heady undercurrent of his voice made Ayano shudder.

"I...can't..." The words that would finish that sentence echoed in her mind, but Ayano wondered if she was capable of speaking them. I can't be her.

Kazuma's lips brushed her skin above the collar of her shirt. "I know," he whispered. Ayano gasped, both from the sensation of his soft kiss and from the cold shock of his words. Had he known, all this time, what was in her heart?

The soft rustle of cloth murmured in Ayano's ears as Kazuma's touch shifted to her waist, then her hips. His fingertips played slowly along the pleats in her skirt, his caresses teasingly light against the edge of the cloth and then a little harder, grazing the skin beneath. A soft thud beside her let Ayano know that she'd dropped her bag. Kazuma chuckled softly and she felt his smile against her ear.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said. One hand trailed along Ayano's arm, tracing a soft path along her skin and settling over the hand that still held her jacket. Kazuma's fingers slid between hers, her grip loosening and sending the jacket fluttering to the floor. Ayano's breath caught as Kazuma's tongue slid up the shell of her ear, and she thought that she must be so weak to be this easily deterred, but Kazuma slid one hand beneath the hem of her skirt and the other was gripping hers, and she couldn't find it within herself to care.

Ayano turned to face him, missing the feeling of his touch as it slipped away but overcome with need for something else, something more. She flexed the arch in her foot, raising herself to the tips of her toes and leaning in quickly, dampening her fear that he might turn away from her and thinking only of her need to know whether his touch was honest. His eyes flickered in the dim light, but she couldn't think about what it meant as she closed her eyes and leaned toward him; instead, she focused on her heart pounding in her ears and the hope that just this once, he would give her what she needed.

Her lips met his and there was a fleeting pause that lasted just long enough to make Ayano's face burn with embarrassment. Then, his chin dropped and his lips parted and Kazuma was kissing her, fast and hard and overflowing with everything she had wished for. Kazuma teased her lips apart and his arms wrapped around her, and she fell against him with a gasp as his tongue swept across her lip and dipped into her mouth. Instinctively, Ayano pressed herself against him and for a second Kazuma squeezed her tightly, a low noise rumbling in his throat. His hands began to move, along the small of Ayano's back and over the curve of her hip, gripping her and pulling her with him as he stepped backwards.

Ayano opened her eyes as Kazuma pulled her across the floor, but the room was lost in a haze of heat from the insistent fingers on her thigh and the heavy sound of Kazuma's breath. Their movements forced the kiss to break, but Kazuma pulled her to him, her body pressing close enough to feel his growing erection against her hip. Kazuma took another step, pulling away from her and leaving her suddenly cold. Ayano stumbled as Kazuma yanked her toward him again, their lips meeting again in another hungry kiss.

The kiss broke when Kazuma grasped her shoulders, and then Ayano's back was against the sofa as Kazuma pushed her down, his weight settling over her as he draped himself on top of her. He kissed her mouth softly before moving to her neck, and Ayano's back arched as a delightful rush coursed through her. Kazuma's hand rested on her bent knee for a moment, but then she could feel his rough palm moving up her leg, his fingertips swirling with insistent strokes. His hips rolled against her and Ayano showed her approval with a keening moan. She shifted, parting her knees and clutching at his shirt as his hand skimmed down the inside of her leg.

He stopped, his hand stilling on her thigh and his lips withdrawing from her neck. Kazuma didn't pull away fully; his face remained buried in the crook of her neck and she could feel each panting breath, humid and sticky on her skin. She glanced at him curiously out of the corner of her eye, still very much aware of the way he was so hard against her hip. For a long moment, and then another, Kazuma didn't move except for his heavy breaths and the tension that shuddered through his shoulders, making his fingers twitch. Ayano spit out a lungful of air and loosened her grip on his shirt.

"Stay," was all he said, his voice a muffled rumbling against her skin. Ayano sighed, her eyes slowly closing as she realized that there was a part of Kazuma that still wasn't ready. His hand moved away from her leg and then laid against her shoulder, maddeningly chaste. It was the closest he would come to saying that he was sorry.

Ayano ached, her chest tightening as a wistful sorrow filled her. What Kazuma had seen and felt would be enough to break anyone else, and yet he was still here—he was trying his best to live on. His pain wouldn't go easily, but he was willing to try. She had finally seen a bit of his heart that was for her, and so she would be by his side until he was free of it.

She cradled him gently in her arms. "Okay," she said, hoping that her answer was of some small comfort and wishing that she could do more. For now, it was all he would allow her to give him.