Because I should stop reading the badbadbathhouse meme. I really really should. The plotbunnies are rabid over there, I swear. I... really don't care about the possibility of un-anon-ing myself, because this is the first thing I've written since... September. And I really liked the way it came out, even though it's (very) thinly veiled pr0n.
Title: Unspoken
Pairing: SoujixNaoto (because there needs to be way more of it than there is. Seriously.)
Spoilers: Microscopic ones if you haven't gotten Naoto in your party yet.
I don't own Persona 4 or its characters. That honour belongs to Atlus, the delightful company of people who are keeping the PS2 alive.
She never wants to make it obvious. She's still shy; uncomfortable with herself. But she still does it. The slightest of glances at him. Eyes hesitant but there's something there. Something smouldering. And damn it if it doesn't get him. Every. Single. Time.
Not that the others notice. She's too subtle for that. Her eyes are always hidden beneath that cap of hers anyways, and they're all too used to the sideways glances by now to pick up on anything out of the ordinary. But he knows better. And she knows he knows.
Her eyes burn just a bit brighter, and her face flushes just a bit more and when she sees that he's looking back and that he knows what she's thinking, she pulls at the bill of her cap, readjusting it out of nervous habit. But she smiles a bit, just a bit, just enough to be teasing. And god he wants her now.
It's always difficult to make up excuses for leaving. It would be so much more convenient if they were in two separate places and didn't have to worry about everyone getting ideas; but then they wouldn't be in this situation to begin with, so the point is moot. But eventually they're on their way, and as soon as the rest of them are out of sight, he hears her sigh of relief and just about pins her against the wall right then and there.
But they make it. Somehow. And he's incredibly glad that no one is home; working late, and camping with a friend. It makes things a lot easier. No interruptions, no time constraints, and no need to keep things down. He knows she's as happy about it as he is, but she doesn't voice it. She never wants to make it too obvious. At least not in public.
As soon as the bedroom door is closed she's on him in an instant, pulling him down to her height and pressing against him and if this is what she's been holding back, he isn't quite sure how they managed to make it back here without her jumping him in the street. Her lips are soft and yielding, and her hands are grabbing and searching, and her knee is in just the right spot to make things interesting.
He is all too eager to return the favour. He pulls away, and hushes her whine of displeasure with his mouth as he yanks her down onto his futon, which he conveniently forgot to fold up this morning. The whine becomes a happy murmur and she straddles his hips and the way she's moving erases any lingering doubts from his mind.
When she eventually pulls away, her eyes are positively blazing, her face is flushed, and her breaths are hard and shallow. But her usual reservations are starting to make their way through the lusty haze, and she buries her face shyly against his neck, knocking her cap askew. He puts it on the table with unsteady hands and brushes her hair and he murmurs breathlessly into her ear about how amazing she is and please don't stop it was just getting good and god he loves her so much right now. And he's not exactly sure how much of this rush of information she actually hears, but she's smiling with a heart-stopping mix of shyness and warm affection, and she gets that look again and now her movements are slower, but far more deliberate.
He's not sure how much more of this he can take, so he flips her onto her back and starts working at the buttons of her shirt, which she eagerly mimics, all shaky hands and fumbling fingers, and he can't quite get over how endearing it is to see the normally stoic detective so flustered. But then his mind is jarred from its wandering by a pair of small hands tugging at his belt, and he is all too happy to aid them.
There isn't much left between them but thin fabric, but he approaches the bindings carefully, like always. She's gasping for breath, and surprises him with encouraging murmurs and helps him tug at the offending material, and the first tiny moan escapes her lips when he gently brushes the angry red skin beneath it.
She's all soft skin and gentle curves and he can't keep his hands from wandering, and, not for the first time, he's struck by how small she seems in his hands and arms. But then he's suddenly flipped onto his back and she's against him again, lips on his, her entire body needy and insistent. They don't last long like that, before he's sitting up, her in his lap, and he's reaching between them, pulling the offending, and very damp, fabric down her legs.
The entrance is easy, and she makes some kind of noise he can't really describe, except that it drives him crazy, and moving turns her little noises into full fledged moans. And then she's pushing him down a bit, taking control, and he doesn't have any problem with this because she's damn beautiful when she lets her guard down and just lets herself go like this.
The room is getting warmer and everything starts to get a bit hazy, and she presses close to just try and hold on to something, and her voice is desperate and it feels like he's flying and when they peak together, her cry in his ears sounds better than anything he can imagine.
She curls against his chest like a child afterwards, warm and tired. She laughs a bit, embarrassed, but her eyes are practically glowing, and he knows that she knows this definitely won't be the last time this happens. Because for all her deductions and logic she can't deny the simple fact that she loves it as much as he does. Loves the respite from the stress of school and cases and life in general. Loves the way she feels needed and that she's found her reason to stay and how well they fit together when they're like this. She's never too, too obvious about it, but he knows. And as he watches her slip into a doze against his chest, hair tousled and a smile on her face, he knows that he can't agree more.
So.... yeah. Comments? Criticisms? Anything? Bueller?