notes: A small drabble. Done while I was re-reading the "Minority game" arc.
layla
He finds her running around the mansion, and in closer inspection he sees her eyes are red and her eyelashes are wet. It's three in the morning, but there's a surprising number of people running around. Her dress flutters oddly about her knees when she grabs it - he catches a glimpse of skin and his throat tightens slightly.
"Stop crying," he says, and it comes out a bit harsher than he intends it to be, "You'll never win if you don't stop crying."
She swallows, and nods. Her shoes press into the carpet and Akiyama notices the smallness of her feet.
He suddenly wants to know whether she's ticklish.
"I'm sorry, mister Akiyama," she croaks, and in that moment he wants nothing more than to catch her in his arms and never let go. It's something about her, some primal instinct that he has - he needs, desperately so, to protect her. "D – Do you think they'll sell me?"
He thinks of her, pale and so naked it's painful to the bearer's eye, and he thinks of his hand against her chest. He wants to listen to her heart, he wants to listen to her breath skip. He is thinking about the way he wants to drag his tongue across her stomach when Nao hiccups. He nods his head slowly, trying to clear his head but amazingly failing all the while.
"Anything can happen." What he means is, I won't let it happen, but for some reason he has a hard time getting the words out. He suspects it has something to do with his hardships and psychosocial tendencies, so he tries to sweeten the deal, "Don't worry. I have a way to win this game."
She answers him with a smile that lights up the whole room; even with tears in her eyes and wet cheeks, she's a natural beauty.
"How?"
"I can't talk here," he replies, and tries not to think about her hair should look, sprawled against the floor as he'd slowly take her, "Come to my room."
Somehow that comes out dirtier and more vulgar than he hoped it would be, but Nao, ever-trusting and foolishly honest Nao, she just nods her head and wipes her tears with the back of her hand. He wants to kiss them off, to wipe them with his lips and then leave her gasping for air while he moves to leave her damp in other places. As she walks beside him, her eyes fixated on the floor, her short hair leaning against the soft skin of her neck, he suppresses the urge to touch her, drag his fingers across her scalp.
Akiyama thinks that, by the time she slips out of his room, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide with something akin to happiness, she probably notices the way his eyes stop and stitch themselves on her eyes, her neck, her legs – her. The fact that she doesn't mind it leaves him up all night - that, and the fantasies of her, him, and the wide bed he is lying on.
Amazing! You're incredible, mister Akiyama!
He imagines it said on his ear and smiles.
