How They Wish It Was Raining
-TheSilentReader-
It was already morning. The sun peaked at a pair of lovers from the small slit of the sliding paper door of the empty Japanese hut. It was early spring, and the remnants of the past winter season was still greeting their skins the coldness of its passing. Today, it was not raining, as depicted of how bright the sunlight pierced his eyes. He did not moved even a single inch from his current position, even though the thin light that invaded that small slit of the paper door hit his right eye with blinding accuracy. He then tried to move slowly, his head nearer to the person beside him.
This would advantage him in two ways: He would be rid of that damn morning light, and his face would be much closer to her neck. It was bliss, to finally able to move.
She shifted silently, as the heat of his breath culminated with the coldness of his lips. She moaned from the contact; thus, as he heard her moan, he further advanced by sliding his right hand to her left breast, his right leg coiled more with her legs, his left hand stretched beneath the small of her back and be placed on the wide arc of her left hip. He was further spooning her, and she loved the feeling. Of the moment he held her like this.
Naked. With only a white blanket to cover them and a large, old futon to accommodate them both, enough to capture warmth from the crisp coldness of the jealous winter leaving for the debut of the spring.
Now he was fully awake.
With his hand covering her breast, he remembered last night when he said that he loved how her breasts spilled onto his palms. He never hesitated to say it as he held them against her. She was more embarrassed by the declaration, even though he had taken all his clothes off and she still had her panties. One undergarment still in function still made the difference. She was sitting then rather stiffly, her buttocks resting on the soles of her feet, her knees touching. Her arms then were covering her breasts, crossing them across her upper torso, and her face was facing the candle beside her, which illuminated how red she was.
She was so ethereal, her virgin eyes still facing the orange flame of the candle. He held her in his arms, moved her face by locking his forefinger and thumb against her chin, and kissed her gently.
But that was last night.
He intended to be a nice boy, thus he tried to relax, forcing himself to sleep again.
He shifted again with his face to finally be in contact with her neck. She stifled a small chuckle after he had done this; his prickly bangs tickled her neck. But, as gentleman as he was, he knew when to be aggressive, and when to be subversive. She thanked him for that, being able to read her. Last night had been so deliciously tiring, and to do it again this morning would be the death of her. Not that she mind, it's just that . . . it's early in the morning. But, she did not mind, she . . . didn't. She would be happy to do it again.
She pulled the white blanket up to his neck, covering the rest of him. His breath, she thought, was enough to warm her exposed neck. While she did this though, she did not bother him to remove any of his appendages that possessively held her. It took long enough for them to be like this. She would not hesitate to give everything to him—she was selfish for the longest time. She wanted share to him, all the things that she was.
The sides of her upper left arms were now immune to the weight of his head and the fine spines of his dark brown hair. His hair, although prickly at its ends, was incredibly smooth along its length. She moved her formerly limp lower arm and placed her hands to the side of his skull. She closed her eyes, and transcended the feeling of his smooth hair with her fingers to her memory. She repeatedly stroked its short tresses, from its base, with all her five fingers, and up to its tips with just her thumb and forefinger. His breath was even in its intervals—the hot breath upon her neck and the rise and fall of his hard chest against her right breast and torso signified so.
He shifted after so many minutes—all that time she just stroked his hair. At some point, she would lower her head to his, and feel him with her cheeks. After that, she would kiss his hair, or nuzzle her nose to it. He tried not to move, but he could not take it anymore. He pressed closer to her, his nose closer to her neck, as well as his wet lips. He felt so small and fine hairs there, those invisible hairs that erected lightly as his nose descended to the skin. He never felt so sensitive to these things before, never to any woman but her. As he shifted, the blanket revealed his neck and shoulders as it moved downward.
But his appendages still held her in place. Especially his hands on her left breast.
"You're awake." He greeted her with a sigh.
She recognized his greeting by moving the blanket up to his neck again with her left hand, further covering them both. He clearly knew its significance; she did not want yet to get up. That, he was glad to correctly interpret.
"Please stay." She heaved a moan. For a moment, she almost regretted speaking so bluntly. It took her a very long time to voice out what she wanted him to do, and another fragment of forever the moment for her to voice them out truthfully. She was always a liar, she never did eradicate that flaw of hers, but something with the glibness of her tongue that made her unique among all the liars in the world. He finally found a way whever she lied or not. This fox hesitates whenever she's in front of his face. She bluntly told him before that this realization would be the end of her—her mask transparent to him.
She told him, with brute hurt elevating with the emerging lines and vessels on her face, that she did not want this to happen—for them to happen. Eventually, she shouted then, that someone would leave the other. She's reluctant to follow what she really wanted; she did not trust him yet.
To earn her trust was the longest struggle he had. She was a hard stone to crack, but after all this time he finally forced his way. It felt so good, he inhaled deeply, his nostrils recognizing the scent of her neck. He could not help but flick his tongue across his lips. He wanted to kiss her sweet neck, but he needed approval. She's still tender, that's why.
But he did it anyway, man that he was.
She anticipated his moves; his deep breathing gave her a hint. She did not want to feel shy in front of him anymore, even act with feigning hatred. It was all in the past now. She did not even reject his advances last night. He was cold, so was she. Maybe, they just needed warmth, any physical contact to prevent the threatening cold. Maybe, he just needed someone for a quick encounter. They almost were exhausted from the storm and the sexual tension for being alone in this silent, lonely hut.
But they begged for each other last night.
She held him tighter; her free arm that was laid unoccupied ran across them and snaked under his armpit and onto his back. She adjusted to her side, facing him, drawing him closer to her, as physically close they could be. She buried her face to his hair. She silently drew his fragrance, and she smelled last night's rain from his hair. They did not bother to look for a bathroom in this solitary place in the middle of the forest. They just found firewoord and a large futon and blanket while rummaging the small house.
"Is something wrong?" He asked, after he felt her shiver.
"None. Nothing is wrong." She hugged him tighter.
"I don't think so," He hugged back.
She didn't like what she saw outside. That small slit of the paper sliding door, emanate a good weather. That good weather, would force her to get up, and find their way to the highway again, after being stranded in the storm. They would fight again, while fixing his car, about his broken car, her nagging mouth, their stupid friendship, and his fucking difference from his sister. Too much drama—he grew to be opinionated, he treated her differently from other girls.
The fact that they became best friends were even a shock to both of them, Or did they ever considered each other as friends? Now, she didn't know anymore.
A friend told her once that they fought and hangout more like a lovers than best friends did. How could she say so? she told her former classmate in Lillian Academy. The former said that even though there were no dates, no parties, no romantic dinners between the two, they still found other measures to be together, even not in a romantic way. Medical school was never happy. They would study together, even though she was a year level behind him, and he was doing more studying than she did. They have known each other since high school, because of the culmination of Hanadera and Yamayuri Councils. She would usually eat with his family, for she was very close to his older sister. To her surprise, he was even frequently invited when Kashiwagi Onii-sama and she was going to hang out. Her cousins, and he and his sister were close during high school. It was sometimes impossible not to see him once a week.
Now, they were in the same medical school, pursuing the same dream.
She found him so fascinating, as lively as his older sister. And now, she found him so loving and passionate. The more she wanted rain and wind to be harrassing the forest around the hut now. She didn't want to wake up. She just wanted to be here, with him, one more time.
No medical books, no cadavers, no headaches, just . . . ecstasy.
"I hate going back." She said against his hair, stopping herself from jerking a tear. It felt hard to cry in front of him now—she cried many times as she found comfort from a best friend like him, but not now. Since last night changes everything.
"Me too." He said, then ascended to kiss her.
He shifted his body to be on top of hers again, his groin rested lusciously on hers. The morning light creeping from the door was forgotten immediately. As she opened her mouth for him, he put his left hand to the back of her head to put her in place. His other hand still rested on her left breast, kneading her, making her forget whatever induced her into bitter tears.
Their tongues danced, since no one was urging a fight from one another. Neither of them wanted to be in dominion. They just wanted to be free from all things that clouded their consciousness and be concentrated in this small futon. She whimpered when he ruluctantly removed his lips from hers, but sighed when his mouth contacted with her earlobe, grazing his tongue to it gently. The coldness of the thin sheath of saliva upon her lobe was weakening.
"Touko," He finally breathed her name.
"Yuu—" She could not even finish saying his name from the dryness of her mouth. "Yuuki, I nn—"
She wanted to protest that they should not be doing this again, that last night was just a trick, a spin-off from all the frustrations that gathered through time, and were released to each other in just one night. But he kissed her again on the mouth, muffling all her protestations out and away to the thin nick of the paper slide-door. He kissed her with more fervor than he did last night, thinking that if ever her objections would spill out of her mouth, this would be the end of the moment both have been aiming for. Many times they prevented this, many times they inwardly fought against themselves . . . but now he would not take any chances. He then put both his palms on her cheeks, and dart his tongue to her expecting mouth. Her arms were on his back, were pulling her closer, pressing her chest more to him.
She broke the kiss—she felt tears on her face.
She was not the one crying—it was Yuuki's tears.
"No, please . . ." He begged.
His tears fell, she never saw him with them. She'd seen him teared up because of the harsh basicity of formalin evaporating from dead human flesh while he dissected its cadaver in one of their late laboratory classes. His eyes apathetic even as he saw blood spurting out of a large blood vessel, making his masked mouth and nose blotted with decaying blood. He teared up even with protective glasses. She was the one in front of him, not a gray cadaver, but he let tears fall . . . his mouth half open, his eyes on her.
He kissed her again. She surrendered.
He pulled her closer, his left hand on her upper spine, drawing her closer lifting her chest to him. He was so strong holding her like this, while only his left elbow supported his exertions. She raked the fingers of her both hands upon his scalp, roughly foraging his fingernails on him. She encircled one of her legs onto his waist. Their cries and moans resound beyond the doors. Her cries were never suppressed, nor his movements. He touched every part of her possible, while she gripped on him—on his back, his buttocks, his hair. Whenever he pistons, she would dig her teeth on the bulge of his wide shoulder, imprinting love bites that almost bled. Their hips moved achingly slow but firm, back and forth, never minding the creaks of the floor whenever its decaying lumber were in friction with each other, not the rising sun and the heat of its rays penetrating across the paper doors and their small gap.
This time, there was no provocation, no trifling fights, no forced intimacy between them, both of them giving and taking.
Oh, how they wish today was raining.
TO BE CONTINUED
AUTHOR'S NOTES:This fanfiction was made out of lack progress in my other ongoing fanfic, Behind Closed Doors. I hope that this would make you happy for a while . . . while I finish another chapter of BCD. Thanks, and please review!
I was planning to provide another chapter, if you want to have it, just tell me so!
