Warnings: BDSM, Yaoi, OOC?, Pillows.
Passion and Pillows
Second in the Closet Dom Arc
By: Yuuki Miyaka
You know there's a problem with your love life when you dream of fucking a pillow. And I dreamed of it every night.
I was beginning to think he'd ruined me, after that one night of hot sex. Ruined me for others, that is. Before Aya, I'd been careful about my decisions, but I'd seriously contemplated finding myself a Dom and settling down. Now, though, I couldn't entertain the possibility, even in jest. And during all this time, he hadn't touched me once.
It was almost as if nothing had ever happened between us. I couldn't find it within myself to confront him about it, and he wasn't talking. Not to me, not to anyone. He'd gone back to the brooding, silent assassin he'd been before the whole Estet mess, when Aya-chan was still in her coma. Even Ken and Youji noticed, though I was beginning to doubt they cared. They were still avoiding us, or at least, that was what I believed. They certainly weren't inviting us to join them when they went out.
But what bothered me wasn't being ignored by two of my team. It was being ignored by the only one I really cared about. And the more I questioned it, the more I began to realize that I did care. I wanted more than the farce of a relationship we'd already established. The "I'm horny, submit now" phase only worked once . . . I hoped. But once was enough to leave me gasping for breath as I came awake from dreams of pillows gripping me. It bothered me, too. The idea of fucking a pillow had been strange enough in the surreal atmosphere of that night, but in the aftermath of loneliness and silence, it was truly disturbing.
And it all came back to the pillow. That pillow seemed to symbolize to me the futile hope of our relationship. I hadn't made love to him, and for all that I wanted to believe in our bond, he hadn't made love to me. It couldn't precisely be called rape, because I'd welcomed him, and I would again. I didn't regret a single moment of the night, and yet . . . it hurt. There was no future for us, nothing to bind us together beyond that stolen illicit moment. I hated that.
I went searching for the pillow, at one point. I wanted to see it, wanted to know how it worked, where the reservoir was, remember how it had gripped me when he thrust into me. I got into his room without an issue, but the pillow was nowhere to be found. After systematically searching the entire damned motorhome, I came to the conclusion that he either stashed it somewhere on the road, or that he had some secret hiding-hole that I didn't know about. Either way, it drove me nuts.
And in all of this time, Aya pretended like it didn't exist, like we didn't exist, like I didn't exist. There has to be something supremely screwed up in his head when he can just dismiss me without a thought, as though I didn't matter to him at all. And . . . maybe I don't. Maybe I've just dreamed up this whole bond I feel we share, this understanding of our roles in each other's life. Part of me sometimes believes that he needs me, that I complete some part of his soul that he's never even realized was empty. The way he commanded me, there was a need there, a desperate longing that I wonder if maybe I didn't imagine into being. Maybe it's all a dream, and I'll one day wake from it. With luck, I'll wake before I make a complete fool of myself.
But until I do wake, I'll dream waking fantasies of Aya and sleeping fantasies of his damned pillow.
~Owari~