Disclaimer: I do not own rights over the original story, this is merely a fanfiction for potential reader entertainment.
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Poof.
The room is so dark that I can hardly see... all I can do is feel. Feel the refreshing chill from midsummer rain, the dull slap of skin on skin, the indecipherable grimace of the man beneath my hips. I can't tell what he's thinking when he looks at me like that. It's the same look he wears when he's lost in thought, when we're watching the television... and when I cook for him, it's just like he's in that other form – you know, the one with the horns and the fur, and the big doe eyes. It's almost like... after 'reparting' bits of him never make the full change. A defect, if you will. The only way to describe his expression... well, I can't really... because it's more of an absence of one.
But there's something in that well-practised poker face. Something that I only see when I'm straddling him on our bed.
Our bed.
Our bed.
I stop moving.
"Hey." His hand comes up to reach me, brushing my hair out of my face. "Hey, what's wrong? Why did you stop?" Even pointedly avoiding his gaze, I can feel it. It's a burning sensation that lingers on the surface of my skin, raising hairs, and spreading like wildfire.
It feels so good but, still, I flinch out of reflex.
"Hakka?" He says again. "Did I hurt you?"
I can't look at him. Well, technically I am looking at him... but I can't see anything. My face is so red that my eyes have gone blurry and suddenly those dark eyes have merged into the rest of his face. One big muddy puddle of stupidly handsome...-argh. I smile. "I'm fine." I say.
"We can stop if you need to. I won't force you if you're uncomfortable."
"No." I shake my head, perhaps a little too much. "I mean... I am comfortable." I force myself to look at him, face nearly purple with humiliation. "So, please... don't stop."
He pauses for a second, fingers skimming down my arm like an afterthought. Then, suddenly, I'm lying with my back pressed into the mattress, staring up at him. "Perhaps it's better like this?" He chuckles, his face now more animated, more mischievous. I like all of his faces, but this one is frequently the most troubling. "If you've run out of stamina you should just say it out-right instead of beating around the bush. I can certainly go a few more rounds like this."
"But Ginge-ah!"
And, once again, he's inside of me, and my toes are curling, and I feel so completely and utterly full – reduced to blubbering like a tongue-tied idiot.
Yes, I wanted to argue with him. I wanted to tell him that it wasn't that I'd run out of stamina or anything... and that if he hadn't been staring so intently, I could have kept going... but I'd completely lost the will to do anything. My brain had descended to mush with one jerk of his hips, and, as a result, all I can do is watch those full lips hovering inches from my own.
Bewitched, I lean forward and-
POOF.
It's twelve o'clock in the morning. I am lying in bed, still very naked and still very tangled in the sheets... except it's not the torso of a lean man that's pinning me to the bed. No. It's the torso of some sort of life sized plushy. A very angry, neuter plushy.
And the situation is just too hilarious not to laugh.
"I'm sorry-" I manage through sporadic gasps and wheezes, clutching my belly because it's starting to cramp. "I was so into it that I forgot that it does that when we... you know..."
The strange animal just stares at me accusingly, incapable of speech.
"Maybe we should stop, Ginger." I turn to the bedside alarm clock. 00:25 glares back at me. "It's already past midnight, and besides saving the world around the clock, I still have work tomorrow. I'd like to get some sleep, at least."
At first he hesitates. If you didn't know Ginger well enough, you wouldn't be able to notice it. I almost didn't. It's like a flicker – a trick of the light. But it's there. Then, either unable to argue with me or simply unwilling, Ginger rolls away and stares at the ceiling.
When I know he won't push me away, I cuddle against him, arms clinging greedily to the soft torso, enjoying the springy cushion that makes up his limbs. I pretend to be asleep, hoping that he won't pry my arms off him too soon.