A/N: Akihito and Mirai doing the do ok vague M material here not for kiddies written for a friend on tumblr because she's relentless. I am literally so embarrassed oh god *covers faces with hands*
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First Time
Mirai Kuriyama stands there in his doorway and he has known the pink-haired warrior for long enough that many unusual things about her arrival pique his immediate concern.
The first, is that she is breathing heavily, her chest moving rapidly as she leans against the wall outside his door. One hand is braced against the frame, the other - her usually bandaged hand - hangs limp by her side, blood dripping from her fingers and staining the concrete.
The second, is that she has not said a single word since banging erratically on his door moments ago and his eyebrows draw in further as he steps over the threshold and places a hand on her shoulder. Silence is not strange for her, but it is not normal either, not with him.
"Kuriyama-san?" he says urgently, but quietly, his hand clenching around her shoulder.
She stirs abruptly and slowly lifts her head. The panic in his chest that something awful is wrong with her lessened as he catches a glimpse of the exhaustion on her face, the tired way her eyebrows slope over her sacred glasses.
The third and final thing Akihito notices, is that she is anemic.
She manages a twitch of her mouth - whether she intends to say something to him or smile is unknown - before her eyelids slide shut and she leans more heavily against the wall. He shakes his head, amused and dismayed at her current state.
"You ought to be a little easier on yourself when out fighting youmu," he tells her as he pries her weight from the wall and allows her to settle against him for a moment. His heart turns funny in his chest and he knows that she can hear him from the little grunt of dismissal she gives. "Especially if you insist on going alone."
She leans heavily against him and the sharp, metallic tang of her blood is in his nose, but so is the soap she uses to wash her hair, and the detergent she cleans her clothes with. He swallows thickly over words caught in his throat and coils his arm around her waist. Even half-conscious and utterly grimy from chasing youmu all over the city and she still makes him weak in the knees. Absurd.
"Shhhh," she manages to tell him and he rolls his eyes at the way she brushes off his words. "I'm. . .f-fine."
He kicks his door shut behind him and brings her to the chair in the corner of his kitchen. She slumps into the seat immediately, leaning her head back against the wall as his hand lingers on the curve of her waist before letting go. "You look real fine," he snorts. There are spare bandages that he keeps in the drawer by his sink for occasions like these, and he retrieves one now before kneeling and taking her bloody hand into his.
She wrinkles her nose as he begins to wipe up the excess blood and wrap her hand. "I can. . ."
He knows what she's trying to say. Of course he does; knowing her, reading her, is easy as breathing. The scent of her shampoo still clogs his nose and he keeps his eyes trained on her hand as he works. "I'll do it. You can barely even speak." The words came out softer than he thought they would.
She mumbles something bitterly under her breath, but doesn't argue. Desperately, he tries not to think about how her skin feels against his, tries to push away thoughts of how exactly he can warm her hands and return heat to her, how he can make her cheeks red and her neck pink. Dangerous territory, he decides, staring at the little golden band on her pinky finger.
After another drawn out moment, he rises from the floor and heads immediately to the fridge. "When did you last eat?"
"Before I left," she mutters with a certain amount of labor and then sighs heavily before slouching ungracefully onto the table.
He nods in approval as he begins to reheat the leftovers he'd made for himself for dinner. Akihito has a habit of cooking in large quantities; the larger the better. Not only does that save him days of cooking later, but it also keeps him well stocked in case a certain bespectacled beauty swooning with anemia decides to drop by. It happens more often than he'd like.
Not to say that he doesn't enjoy her company. Quite the contrary; she is undoubtedly his best friend, and for the past few weeks, spending time with her has developed into the sweetest kind of torture he can imagine. What he doesn't like about her unexpected visits is how tired and weary she is, how she slouches and leans and sighs breathily. If he's being honest, seeing her in such a weakened state scares him. What if one day she doesn't make it to his apartment? He hates to consider it.
Once the food is cooked through, he sets the plate in front of her with the proper utensils and takes the other chair across from her. "Eat." He doesn't have to say it; she'll eat anything, he's found out, and she'll eat it at any time. Akihito isn't a superb cook, but he isn't terribly bad either. You'd think he'd be Japan's top chef with the way Kuriyama-san manages to scarf his food down.
She lifts her head and sniffs appreciatively. "Mmm," she hums, a smile tugging at her lips. There is a spoonful in her mouth before she is even sitting up straight. If she realizes how hot his gaze is, she doesn't seem bothered by it, even as his eyes caress her face and linger on the way she licks her lips with satisfaction. Perhaps she's just grown accustomed to it. He's always looking at her, after all, especially when she isn't.
As she eats, the life begins to come back into her. The blush of her skin is no longer pallid and her eyes are brighter, her movements more eager. He has to smother a smile by pressing his lip together when her enthusiasm for the meal rewards her with crumbs at the corner of her lips. An horribly exhilarating notion to lick them from her mouth overcomes him and he quickly rises to get her a glass of milk, avoiding eye contact.
"Mmm," she mumbles around the food in her mouth as he sets the glass on the table. "Thank you, Senpai."
He reclaims his chair, his heart nearly stopping in his chest when his leg bumps against hers. For a moment, his mind goes blank and he jerks his knee away from her like she's burned him. Her spoon pauses halfway to her mouth and because he is so mesmerized by the way it is parted, it takes him a few seconds to realize that she is speaking.
"What?" he replies dumbly.
She frowns and swallows before going in to scrape the plate clean. Her golden eyes, warm and bright like sunlight, assess him warily. The hair stands up on the back of his neck, and he feels his chest swell so much with her attentive gaze that he almost leans over the table and kisses her squarely.
"A-are you okay, Senpai?" she asks, her cheeks unexpectedly reddening. She reaches for her glass and holds it between both hands. He stares for a minute before shaking his head vigorously.
"Fine," he tells her, though he thinks he might die if he does not touch her soon.
She narrows her eyes. "You're acting weird."
"Says the girl who showed up half-dead at my doorstep," he counters smartly. Her eyes flash, the light catching on the glass of her spectacles so splendidly that he thinks he's never wanted to kiss her more.
The blush on her face deepens. "I-it's not that weird," she remarks.
While he can openly admit that he's pleased it's his house she comes to when she wears herself out like this, it still doesn't make up for the fact that she's wandering the streets in that kind of condition. The suspicious looks he gets from his neighbors from time to time don't really do anything for him either.
He sighs and shakes his head slowly as if disbelieving. "Were you really so far from your own apartment that mine was your only choice?"
Her reaction is interesting. His mouth parts slightly in surprise as she turns pink again, dropping her chin to her chest. "A-am I a nuisance to you, S-Senpai?"
Alright, so maybe not so much interesting as incredibly ridiculous. He takes her now empty plate and cup to the sink, rinsing them quickly, before turning back around to face her.
"To be completely honest, Kuriyama-san," he says, "you don't bother me enough."
She looks up at him in surprise and the atmosphere of the room feels like the calm before the storm, a crackle of static in the air.
"S-Senpai?" Her voice is soft and breathy and his resolve to keep distance between them is slipping away quickly.
"D-do you wanna watch a movie?" he asks her tenderly. With slow measured steps - he doesn't want to scare her off, doesn't want his desperation to overwhelm her - Akihito approaches her, and after a moment of stillness, lightly touches her wrist, which lays limp on the table.
She shudders. "A m-m-movie sounds good."
His fingers wrap around her wrist and he tugs her up. He's done this before, but this is different, this is electric and they are completely and utterly alone. The prospect is thrilling and terrifying all at once and he wonders if he can actually last an entire movie without folding her into his love-starved arms.
"You can pick," he whispers. He won't be watching the movie, anyway.
She nods and he slips his hand away from hers. No more touching, he tells himself as he leads the way to the couch. Touching her. . .was the skin of her stomach as soft as her wrist? What about her thighs; what would it feel like to touch them? W-would she like it?
I need to seriously stop this. His thoughts are final, pulling the curtain over the images flashing in his head. If he keeps this up any longer, he's not sure how much he can abstain before his apparent and overwhelming need to be next to her, touching her, kissing her, consumes him.
Kuriyama-san plucks the remote for the TV off table farthest from where Akihito sits, leaning back into the sofa, and his breath seizes in his chest as she sits on the cushion directly next to him. Her stocking-clad thigh is inches from his, and she seems just as aware as he is. Absently, her fingers flick through the movie channels before she settles on something that seems remotely acceptable and then slouches back. Their shoulders brush.
He's staring at the screen and he's trying to make sense of the storyline, but he can feel her heat and smell her shampoo and it's not easy. Idly, his index finger presses against a run in her tights. She trembles as he lays his palm flat against the top of her thigh, as his thumb lazily runs in circles and he knows that he is not the only one burning up when she sighs unevenly.
"I-is this okay?" he murmurs, unable to look at her.
"O-okay," she affirms in a whisper.
He doesn't know what he's done to deserve her. His hands are curved into the claws of a monster, are tainted by the blood of people who are their friends and allies. He has birthed more destruction than he has any sort of creation or growth. Without a shred of doubt, he knows that he is useless. Someone to be protected rather than someone who can protect. It kills him, and he thinks that every time Kuriyama-san shows up at his doorstep, swaying from exhaustion, that if he were stronger, more in control, then perhaps he could be of some use.
But despite his flaws, his awful deeds, Kuriyama-san sits beside him. Allows him to place his hand over her leg, though they are hands that have given more pain than happiness. He is so bursting with love for her that the terror he's caused pales in comparison and it both scares him and excites him that she is so powerful, that he is fit snugly around her finger like the golden band she wears. He wants to make her happy, wants to be the source of her smiles and her bouts of laughter.
"Senpai." Her voice is tender, drawing him out of his thoughts.
He turns his head, angles it so that their eyes meet, and his hand stills against her leg.
"Hmm?" he hums softly.
She stares at him, her mouth slightly parted, and suddenly, he knows. His head tilts down as he leans toward her and she presses her shoulder against his, her hand brushing against his jaw lightly before finding a home in his hair. With every stroke of her fingers in the curls, a shiver runs down his spine. His hand clenches her thigh and then she is tilting her head and their lips are touching.
He wants to be gentle, but he knows that she is not made of porcelain and the only one in danger of breaking here is him. She sighs against his mouth and the sound is happy, something akin to finally and he agrees with her. The grip on her thigh brings her in closer, turns her body as he turns his. Both of her hands are in his hair now, tugging and threading and driving him crazy. Still, she's tender with him, as if she knows that she is his weakness, and he kisses her with all the reverence he feels.
She breaks from him, pressing her forehead to his chin and he shudders. "Kuriyama-san?" he says softly.
Suddenly, she's sitting up straight again, averting her eyes, vigorously cleaning the lenses of her glasses. Her face matches the color of the frames and he shakes with sudden mirth at her belated anxiety.
"I-I-I'm sorry, S-Senpai!" she exclaims and he thinks she is absurd, so he plucks her spectacles from her fingers, instantly drawing her attention back to him.
"I'm not," he tells her matter-of-factly, though he may be blushing a little.
Her eyes widen and she reaches for her glasses. "You're unpleasant."
He is absolutely powerless to the smirk that crosses his face. "You don't mean that, ne, Kuriyama-san?" She visibly trembles as he slides her glasses back onto her face and fixes them just so. The tension seems to melt from her body, as if she has only just realized that he isn't pushing her away but pulling her in. She has such a bad habit of chasing after him and then running away, but he's prepared and he won't let her escape, not when he knows that he belongs to her in every single sense.
"I do," she says, but it's not convincing because she's leaning toward him again. Her face is still bright red, flushed from embarrassment and the last kiss, her hair a little bit ruffled, and she is so beautiful, he thinks.
"I'd like to kiss you again," he replies.
She looks like she wants to say something but she only presses herself forward until their lips are flattened against each others.
This time, he does not kiss her with the shaky hesitation of trying to be as careful as possible, of prolonging the sweetness of her mouth and the caress of her tender fingers. This time, he is reckless, and she is exuberant as she takes it all in stride. Through the absence of his thought he is only able to feel her as her hands wander up his chest, as her breath mingles with his, the thrill as her tongue runs eagerly over the seam of his mouth.
Heaven, he decides as he grunts in surprise and parts his lips to surrender to her. She is heaven.
He doesn't know how it happens, but suddenly, she is in his lap and he is trapped between her and the back cushions of his sofa. It's not like he minds, of course, it's the only place he wants to be, possibly for the rest of his life, and a large part of him is excited about how utterly forward Kuriyama-san is. Her back is arched, pressing their chests together, and she is breathing heavily against his skin as she flattens her lips against his eyelids; she curls her hand around his jaw and tilts his head the way she wants it. His hands wander idly, one at the back of her thigh as she straddles him on her knees, one daring to slip under the hem of her shirt. He can hardly breathe, but there are perks to being immortal, he supposes, because air is absolutely and certainly less important than her mouth, than her hands, than the little hum of pleasure in the back of her throat.
His hand inches up under her shirt and she gasps when his fingers meet her skin, the uncharted territory there. He sucks air in through his teeth as she pulls away from him slightly, and he is startled by how gorgeous she is, glasses askew, face flushed, hair a tangled mess around her face. A curl of desire and satisfaction coils in his stomach as he notes the particular redness of her lips, the warm haze in her eyes.
"S-Senpai," she says. Her voice is harsh from the lack of air. "A-are you sure you're o-o-okay with this?"
"I'm more than okay," he admits shamelessly, his hand slowly moving up and down the back of her thigh. "Are y-you okay with this?"
She runs a hand through his hair and then smiles shyly, brilliantly, through the blush on her face. "I-it's perfectly pleasant," she whispers soberly and he nearly faints at the emotion in her voice. "T-thank you, Senpai."
"Ridiculous," he mutters, as he presses his hand against the small of her back, his fingers curling into her skin, hot from his touch. His lips move against hers. "There is nothing to be grateful for. I have always belonged to you."
She shudders and kisses him fervently. Her suddenly desperate hands claw at his shirt and she begins to stand, pulling him with her by the tie.
"What are you doing?" he mumbles against her mouth, following her because that's what he does, he chases her when she runs away.
"I hope your room is clean," she mutters in reply walking backwards, hand still latched on his tie, her free arm looped over one shoulder, fingers in his hair. "Otherwise this won't be half as romantic as it ought to be." She sighs against his mouth and chokes on a laugh.
Though thoroughly making out with Kuriyama-san on the couch was stimulating, he begins to feel the heat stronger in his stomach at her words.
"A-are you sure?" he asks as she backs into a wall. His height almost towers over her with the proximity, but he brings his face to her level, tilting her head back gently with his hands as she yanks on his tie and kisses him senseless.
"I've a-always been sure about y-you, Senpai," she says when he folds her tighter against him. "Y-you were the first one t-to treat me like I was normal. T-to make me feel like I belonged s-s-somewhere." Her face is red now, probably brighter than it has been all night, and he finds it endearing as the butterflies wrestle in the pit of his stomach.
He sighs and kisses her temple, the bridge of her glasses. "You belong wherever you want to belong," he says softly.
"With you," she replies without missing a beat. He straightens her glasses nonchalantly though he feels like he could burst and she gives him a look. "You should probably kiss me again."
"I'm definitely considering it," he replies.
"In your bed," she whispers, tugging on his tie.
"Mmm, I think that can be arranged."
Her tights are the first to come off. She bites her lip, head against his favorite pillow and he is torn between quickly disposing of them and taking his time. As soon as his hands find the untouched skin of her waist, he is unable to restrain his movements and his hands are desperately yanking the fabric off her legs, a blush flushing his face when he catches a glimpse of her underwear.
She laughs at the expression on his face and sits up, quickly and fearlessly whipping her shirt off over her head. His blush reaches to his hairline and she readjusts the glasses on her nose. It goes without saying that she'll leave those on for now. She seems embarrassed for a moment but he wants this and she does too, so he leans forward and kisses her, lips unyielding. Her response is encouraging. As she continues to kiss him, she shimmies out of her skirt and he works at the buttons on his shirt with clumsy, eager fingers.
"Senpai," she mutters, her hands finding the flushed skin of his chest. They are cold, just like they always are. He trembles and pushes forward until her head is on his pillow again and she makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat as she spreads her legs and he settles against her.
He grunts against her mouth, kisses her more firmly. "You're still sure?" he murmurs, because his hands are wandering up her exposed stomach and he has nearly reached the point of no return.
"There are better uses for your mouth," she states breathily as his fingers brush against the underwire of her bra, "than asking stupid questions."
"How unpleasant," he laughs heartily, teasingly. She arches into him as he slides his hand around to her back and struggles to undo the stubborn clips of her bra. Mirth shakes her as his fingers fumble but she makes no move to help him, only runs her hands around the waistband of his pants as if urging him to hurry, enjoying his clumsiness all the while.
"I don't like those things," he declares as he finally manages to slide the offending article off her body and tosses it to the floor. He only pauses a moment to look at her and her blush is as bright as his, before he is kissing her throat, his hand carefully covering the part of her chest that he has not yet explored. She gasps sharply at the contact and curves her back again, her hips unknowingly grinding against him. A groan resonates in his throat and he kisses her collarbone. His hands touch her, chart the stars of her skin, backtracking and repeating himself when she shows approval.
"S-Senpai," she exhales in a gasp, arching her back again when his mouth begins to follow his hand.
"Hmm," he hums as he tries something new with his tongue.
She moans loudly, lips parted, hands tangled in his hair. Her legs clamp around his waist and she jerks her hips against his sharply, causing him to stiffen and gasp in response. He doesn't know what he's doing, he's never done this before, but Kuriyama-san's lip is caught between her teeth and her skin is slick and hot and he thinks that maybe he's doing something right.
Slowly, he lifts his head from her chest to look at her. She offers him a bleary look, adorable at its worst and sexy at its best. His heart thumps unevenly in his chest and he can't believe that this is real that she is here under him and that she wants him the way he wants her. Gently, he slides up so that his face hovers over hers and he kisses her, deeply, drawing a visceral response out of her.
"Pants," she hisses as he rocks against her. "Why are you still wearing pants?"
"Hmm," he says absently, kissing her hard before pulling away and sitting back on his knees. She watches in awe as he quickly unbuckles his pants and pulls them down with his underwear. Her face turns red in a second as he quickly disposes of his uniform and tosses it off the side of the bed. He's blushing too, he can feel the heat radiating off his face as he watches her react to him being fully exposed and fully aroused.
"I-I-I don't know what I'm d-doing," she says softly.
He laughs under his breath. "Neither do I, Kuriyama-san."
"B-but I want to."
"Me too."
She blushes even harder and averts her eyes as she removes her underwear with shaking hands. Once the panties are tossed away, he reaches out and takes a hold of her hands, offering what he hopes is his best reassuring smile. He can feel the softness in his own eyes.
"I'm very happy r-right now, Kuriyama-san."
Her eyes look a little wet and she threads her fingers through his, bringing his hands toward her mouth so that she can kiss his knuckles shyly. "M-me too. I. . ." She kisses him and releases one of his hands, reaching out until her fingers glide over the part of him that she has only recently been acquainted with. He jerks his mouth away from hers and draws in a sharp breath.
"S-sorry," she mumbles.
"Sorry," he mutters under his breath, "she's sorry."
"W-what?"
He laughs with a hint of incredulity before pressing forward, pinning her to the mattress again. Her pink hair is splayed around her face, bangs askew on her forehead and he grins knowing that she has kept her glasses on for him.
"You're incredible," he says, pressing his mouth to her chin.
She trembles and huffs adorably. "You're unpleasant."
"You really don't mean that." He looks down between their naked bodies and reaches to position himself near her. She seems to hold her breath in anticipation, hands gripping the bed sheets on either side of her with white knuckles. "I won't hurt you," he whispers.
She nods vigorously. "I know."
He pushes in slowly, waiting for her when her face twitches. His lip worries between his teeth and the sounds he makes at the feeling of being with her like this are raw and rough in his throat. Once he is settled all the way in, he pauses and she blinks up at him.
"Well?" he asks softly, eyes searching her face for confirmation. The heat in his blood is coursing through him, his hips angled and desperate to move against her.
She blinks again before a smile breaks across her face. "It feels weird," she giggles quietly, almost hysterically. His eyes widen in disbelief and he doesn't know whether to laugh with her or cry because she's wounding his pride. He decides to focus instead on how beautiful she looks beneath him, the red frames perched perfectly on her nose.
He decides to shift his hips since she only said it feels weird and that it doesn't hurt and he is instantly rewarded with a sudden intake of breath, her laughter cut short.
"Oh," she whispers.
His face is red as he nods in agreement. She's already so tight around him; he's not so sure he'll last that long. When he pulls away from her, she angles her hips up to meet him unevenly, craving the friction and she giggles at the ungraceful movement when he collapses on top of her. He shakes his head. Incredible. Who knew she was a chronic giggler in bed?
"Mirai," he says, his voice rough with both arousal and frustration.
"Akihito," she mimics, smothering her laughter into the back of her hand.
"It's not even that funny!"
Her laughter starts to shake her whole body. "I'm sorry!" Interestingly enough, her mirth causes her to tremble hard enough that the movements draw a moan out of her mouth and her hand tangles in his hair. "Mmm."
Lifting himself on his elbows, he rocks his hips back and forth over her and she writhes, her fingers in his hair as she presses his forehead to hers.
"Senpai," she cries out as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. Her hands run down his chest and press against his hips and she's breathing heavy as she says, "I want to try."
She's certainly unconventional, he thinks, but he doesn't want her any other way. He rolls until he is on his back and she is sitting above him. There is something incredibly erotic about his favorite bespectacled beauty naked and perched on top of him and he groans as she begins to move. Slowly at first, and then with more desperation. She's moving vigorously enough that her glasses bounce on her face as well and Akihito yelps in surprise when they fall off her nose and hit him in the mouth.
Instantly, Kuriyama-san is lost to the hilarity of the scene and she doubles over on top of him in laughter. It must be contagious because even Akihito begins to chuckle at the absurdity of it all. It only worsens when she reaches over to grab her glasses and slips them onto his face; her stomach begins to ache from the excessive laughter and while sexually frustrated with his beautifully naked and glasses wearing girlfriend falling into hysterics on top of him, he is enchanted by the happiness on her face. He grins at the sight of it, his chest swelling impossibly. God, how he loves her.
"Maybe," she giggles, blushing, "maybe I shouldn't be on top."
"Maybe not this time," he says in a voice that's unexpectedly low as he removes her glasses from his face and places them back on her nose. He sits up and she kisses him as an arm winds around her waist, rocking her hips back and forth against him. Clumsily, he turns them so that she is once again spread out below him and he is hovering over her, pushing in and pulling out. A cycle. Every passing moment, the friction builds and the heat blazes in his skin. She laughs once, briefly when they fumble again but the recovery is quicker this time.
They find a rhythm and she is gasping into his shoulder as he smothers his face into her hair. The fire in his belly is unbearable and he tenses as he reaches his climax groaning deeply into her ear, enough to give her goosebumps over every inch of her skin. Only a few thrusts later and she's clenching around him, crying out into his skin, and then he falls limp against her chest, head tucked under her chin.
He listens to her wild heartbeat even out and then her fingers begin to play in his hair. His eyes slide shut and he doesn't think that he's ever been so content in his life. He'd be happy to stay like this forever, with her.
"S-senpai," she mumbles, her meekness returning.
"Hmm?" he hums as her fingers stroke through the curls of his hair.
"T-thank you. I. . .I enjoyed that."
This time, it's his turn to laugh. "You're absolutely incredible, Kuriyama-san." I love you is what he means to say.
She blushes and tugs his hair in an unforgiving gesture. "You're unpleasant."