By virtue of a certain lovely instrumental from TSFH and as a gift for WritingAmateur, I present this fic and my apologies as it somewhat filthy… as far as my style goes anyway…
Enjoy?
. : Fire : .
Ignite
It hadn't been serious.
Just something to amuse Marik.
Liquor and ink pens went surprisingly well together. Well, if not for the last address she'd penned.
Head pounding, fingers grasping at the blinds the next morning, she'd regretted sending it all together and prayed that, with any luck, it would join the rest of the world's letters somewhere in the yawning abyss of "lost".
She was unlucky in mail and in bra choices evidently…
The strap slipped off her shoulder for the third time but best to leave it. He'd call it fidgeting.
Nervous fidgeting.
"Nervous?"
"I hardly have a reason to be now."
The reason was sitting but a foot away, phone in one hand, glass in another where slick cubes clinked of their own volition whenever the car rolled over a slight bump.
He held the grace of a priest somehow, in all black. Customary chunks of metal and straps and all had been exchanged for a trim coat of sorts, falling open around now-crossed legs. The prominence of its expense was a silver line of buttons down his chest ending at the top of his pants. Leather, naturally.
"Thirsty?"
Her throat wouldn't allow for another lie and clearing it, she replied,
"You don't have to go to any trouble."
"It's no trouble." His tone smoothed over any thought of polite objection.
The limousine's interior was dark. Tight leather stitching stretched up one side to a dark, closed window separating them and the driver. On the other side was a short counter he was busy with now, chimes of glass and ice telling.
The carpet under her heels was likely more expensive than she cared to know and above was a sight: shattered mirror in a long mosaic, passing streetlights casting rhythmic light like the sun on waves.
Like the world was upside down.
Where she bore no great love for posh gatherings, she'd found she lost track of time for once, the game of words and masques brought to life in a way she'd never quite seen before. Somehow it had gone from stiff conversation and unpronounceable bits to eat to whispers and smooth words, eyes on every gesture or the lack of them. No one was ever too honest but some more than others and it was thrilling to hear the sordid details he worked out of people.
As easily as symphonies worked from strings in the hands of a master.
And to think he'd made it a point to show it all to her.
He had been in perfect form that night. Sweeping about the space as easily as if he owned it. Conversing each time engaged. And all never too far from her.
It was a wonder then how long her colleagues had waited for a chance to drag her aside.
"Well done, Miss Ishtar."
"Thank you. Though I'm afraid it is nothing more than a date."
More than once, he'd caught her eyes in the midst of all his stalking about like some winged thing, aerial limbs outstretched to show all the colours hidden underneath. Granted, if that had been the purpose then it hadn't been ineffective...
He cleared his throat and offered a glass half-filled with a kind of deep red.
Hands brushed as she took it and noticed a bit of stitching dotting his gloves, if they could be called that anyway what with the way the fabric cut across his palms.
"Thank you."
Glass lifted to her lips, she tasted rich pomegranate perched atop the bite of alcohol.
The low hum of the car itself and others passing filled the silence.
His attention returned to his phone and hers to keeping still another moment. In the next she gave up, tugged her bra strap up her shoulder, and lay her purse aside.
"Kaiba," she ventured quietly. When he failed to respond entirely, she tried again. "Seto."
The phone screen resting over his knee went black.
"Before the night wears on any longer, I'd like to thank you for accepting my invitation."
He downed the rest of his glass.
"It's good publicity."
Her hands clasped tight in her lap.
How reasonable was. Now. All evening. More than reasonable but description here wasn't a preferable avenue of thought. Perhaps the credit was undue...
"Pardon my asking but, how many have you had tonight?"
"Mm?" he murmured in the midst of a sip from a fresh topoff.
"Drinks, I mean."
"At the museum or afterwards?"
"I see."
Evidently he held his alcohol quite well.
"Did you…" he turned nearer, knee bumping hers as he did, "enjoy yourself tonight?"
She found him looking at her.
At her lips.
Then the rest of her. At thighs half covered in emerald taffeta. Hands wrapped around glass.
Condensation and words slipped between her fingers. All but two.
"Of course."
Of course she'd had thoughts before. These thoughts. About him. He was intelligent… powerful… too many more besides. What she'd taken for lingering glances both of years before and of hours tonight had long been written off as misjudgements.
There was nothing to judge now.
He'd made himself clear.
It was time she did the same.
"Do you attend these sorts of events often?" she asked.
"Over-decorated parties, yes. Museum exhibitions, no."
He hadn't quite moved away from her but nor would she ask him to.
"They're little different from one another."
"If you say so," he said it in a way that almost dared her to detail.
"The difference here I suppose would be setting. Finery and all in great houses of history…"
Just like that, nerves were uncoiling and something else curling in to fill the empty space.
A notably loud chink of ice broke her reverie.
"This stuff is honestly what gets you excited," he sighed and set his glass aside.
In a manner of speaking...
"Yes."
Where nerves left empty grooves, something great and quivering had begun to seep in.
Her glass made a small thud on the counter near his.
"Antiquity happens to be my interest and you have your own, respectively. Am I not allowed to be excited about what interests me?"
"I never said you weren't."
"You did imply something to that effect."
The both of them were reaching. For debate. Something. Anything familiar even while it was all disappearing.
"You're putting words in my mouth."
"Hardly," she spoke quietly. "And I would thank you not to criticize what, to use your words, 'gets me excited'..."
Words trailed as did his fingertips across her skin, black fabric smoothing over her knee then between the pair of them.
Heat carouseled silently with her. Music faint but growing as his hand slid up, thumb pressing circles into the tender flesh of her inner thigh.
"I think I can do better than a museum."
Then it was a burst. An endless spin. Bright lights casting heat. Music both unfamiliar and familiar. In slow time with the steps of beasts stalking about. Each one the same red.
"Is this why you accepted my invitation..?"
His answer was all over his face. His eyes. Their darkness was a struck match finding fuel.
Yes.
"Show me."
Gloved fingers curled under her chin. Touched her lower lip. Pressed. Open. Her lips to grant his tongue entry. He tasted like brandy and sugar. His lips. His tongue. His. Everything. Every breath. Every faint murmur against her mouth. One curling into sound. Aching and her name.
"Ishizu."
Like a spell.
In a bolt down through her body to the juncture of her thighs and snapping them together lest any more slip out. Wet, precursory pleasure. Desires. For him to say her name again. Low and quiet in a way that thrummed against her rib cage.
"I.. I don't…" she breathed.
I don't know where this is going.
Where didn't matter as much as how.
She wanted it to burn.
Fingers a rough twist in his hair, she leaned up into his lips with her own. Sparks leapt from point to point. Her to him. Then back again as he pressed into her mouth once more. Anger. Consuming. Consummating. Lips and teeth in necessary contact.
Hands raced up the front of his coat, itching for something to anchor her while the world began to go up in flames. Already, all she could think about was the moment. When he'd bury into her. Sound like he did now. Louder. Harder. With hands gripping tight enough to bruise.
And it wasn't possible to kiss him enough. She'd never have stopped if it weren't for his growl against her mouth and the tug at the back of her head. Untangling from him, she tore the clip from her hair. It was flung elsewhere along with one of his gloves. Then-bare fingers pulled the plaits out of her fair and buried. Into the strands. His tongue back into her mouth. Himself into her senses.
Moment after moment, they were never more than a breath apart. Hands all over. Her mapping out his body. Everywhere. Then at his shoulders for balance. Stitching snapped as she slid one leg over the both of his. He shoved her dress further up and ran hands over newly exposed flesh.
Astride him, she worked at the line of buttons down his chest as he explored. As his face pressed to the curve of her neck and his hand between her thighs. She didn't quite realise what he was at until he was at it, fingers running long circles against the covered petals of her sex. Ministrations incited shivers and she sat, growing ever dizzier on her own arousal.
His unemployed hand slid up to her hip and stopped. Grains of ribbon between his fingers, he hid a smile against her neck and pulled them apart one by one as though opening a long awaited present. And with it out of the way…
Nothing would get him to stop teasing, stop caressing the slick shapes under his fingers. Not requests broken up between breaths. Not trembling hands grasping, crushing the fabric of his coat. If he didn't stop… He had to stop…
Her mouth fell open with a silent cry.
It was. Close. And not enough. The space his fingers took within her. Moving steadily. Like some imitation of what she wanted.
Needed.
But everywhere he touched. Didn't stop touching.
When his lips grazed her ear, hers were still parted in delicious anticipation. For what he might say and what she might in turn. It was her name he branded upon the shell of her ear then so many more things besides. Sweet nothings in the dark and each string of words as light as it was deep. Heavy. Pressing upon her until she stumbled over the edge.
Within and without, she quivered like drawn strings ever tighter. Then snapping apart. Erupting. Into salacious strain.
There and spilling steadily into inertia.
Adrift in thinning haze, she thought to bring him here as well and, in his hand's withdraw, pressed her own between them. Fingers working open the closure of his pants then into it. He rasped a groan across her skin and senses. So painfully ready. And out of patience.
And yet he'd wait a little while longer, eyes snapping shut the moment her fingers moved around him. Under her, he shuddered, enthralled in the pleasure of each of her hand's motions. Their kisses were lingering. Distracted. More lips near and him breathing expressions of pleasure at each other while her fingers pulled. Pressed in pulse-like rhythm. Over and over.
Opening heavy eyes, she saw his head laid back against the seat, neck bared. From under his eyelashes, he looked at her. What a sight he was. Hair in his eyes. Features shifting in grimaces of pleasure. Faint white of passing streetlights flickering over the sheen of what of his skin could be seen. And he was a delight for her ears, sounds made fainter and fainter.
Suddenly she stopped and started again, thumb smudging the very tip of the flesh in her grasp.
He broke into melody. Quivering. He hadn't been able to help it any more than the words to follow. However breathless and all foreign.
His eyes flicked open and she only wished she could see. Whether or not colour, unbidden, had risen to his face.
"I didn't know... you could speak French, Seto..."
Before she could say any more, he'd pressed her hand away and seized her ass, pulling her against him.
They'd waited long enough.
His protest for her rising up on her knees was short-lived.
Her hand fell from his shoulder. Like rents left in the wake, shudders rippled under her fingertips. Under the smoothed shapes of his chest. Lower. For a last time, her fingers curled around his flesh. Repurposed it into a brush. Herself a profane artist. Holding. Moving.
Along petals. Medium.
Smeared.
And his gasp set her aflame.
She played guide for but a moment and in the next gripped his shoulders with both hands. Anchoring. While the world was to be engulfed in flames. One last time. All burned. All it was to begin to feel him.
Slowly.
They came together.
Noises blended. A hum sliding off her tongue. A groan rolling up his throat.
Then more like echoes. Louder.
Not to move. Just to feel him. To have him. To be within her.
Leaning down slowly, her lips brushed his and she felt him stir.
Suddenly, the intercom crackled within the cabin.
"Mr. Kaiba... We'll be arriving at Miss Ishtar's place of residence shortly."
For all the effect it had, it was like she hadn't heard it at all, dotting his face and neck with kisses even while he stretched out a hand and fumbled for the console up between the windows.
Fingers grazed the buttons and fell away as she took his face in her hands. The vibrations. Her moan against his lips and tongue. He nearly melted. Strained sound scratched at his throat as she pulsed around him. The fluttering sensation was more than he could wait for.
Breaking from her, he held down the speaker button and grated.
"Change course for the airport."
Letting go, he went right back to awaiting lips, her little sounds filling his ears. His senses. All of her. All too soon interrupted by another crackle...
"M-Mr. Kaiba, what should I tell the captain?"
Fingertip of a glove between his teeth, he pulled it off and reached for the intercom.
Right button on the first try.
Then a growl.
"Figure it out."
Nothing more would interrupt.
There was only her. Undulation. The form of her body bearing down against his. Until the last remnants of the world began to blacken at the edges. Burn. Until there was nothing he could remember but the name passing lips like a mantra. Hers. Them.
Nothing more than them. Colliding.
A last time.
Pleasure. Pouring out of every nerve ending. Endlessly. Ending. In light and duets electric. Louder. Higher. Fainter. Dizzying pressure of everything forced into one. Shattering. Into a thousand pieces.
And collecting again slowly while the two of them were sent adrift in the music of the spheres.
Gently, she rose and felt him slip away.
The stars danced before eyes closed and eyes opened.
Then later.
Across the blue-black of the skies seen through small, round windows.
The soft sounds of easy breath intermixed over the steady thrum of the jet's engines, the pair asleep where they sat together.
. : End 1 : .
This took forever and is actually the third version I completed! I hope you enjoyed it and do feel free to leave me a review and let me know what you thought.