Paradise Lost

Word Count: 1544

Rated for sexual scenes.

…

Masako stood outside in the pouring rain. Her glossy black hair dripped as she trembled, from the damp chill or the remaining adrenaline, she wasn't sure. She didn't know how Naru kept his stoic demeanor after connecting with a psychometry vision.

But she couldn't ask, since Naru wasn't there. The only one next to her was John, who had his arm around her shoulder, stilling her tremors.

The house before them looked so innocent. It was small, a little rundown, but it should have still been a good home.

Not a mire of anger.

After a close encounter with death, she needed something to validate she was still attached to the physical realm. Masako reached up and gripped John's hand.

The house was vacant and ready for foreclosure, so they had been given permission to enter. Well, the living had given them permission. Not the hateful spirit and his horrible memories that were imprinted on everything that remained in the building.

Masako had been sure she had done everything right. She had researched the location; she had thought she knew what she was getting into. But maybe she should have given the lead to Naru anyway. She wasn't really capable of doing this stuff by herself, was she? She was just looking for stories for her ailing TV show. The show that was suffering so much that she, the supposed TV talent, was scouting out haunted locations herself if she actually wanted a new episode next week.

Tears flowed down her cheeks, smoothly blending with the rain. She turned to John, at first just to look away from the house, but she soon found comfort in his face. Her eyes took in his blonde hair, flattened by the rain. She couldn't imagine what her own hair, which was past shoulder length, currently looked like. His blue and black shirt darkened the color of his eyes, or maybe they were reflecting the heavy storm clouds, which made a late afternoon look like evening.

"I can't do this anymore," she blurted out. "My producer said I've gotten too emotional with age."

He gave her that easy smile. "You're only twenty-five, Masako," he said.

"I shouldn't have come here without a video camera," she said, ignoring his comment. "Now I don't even have any proof. I just didn't expect anything to happen."

Maybe that's not true, she realized. Otherwise, she wouldn't have asked John to come with.

He had agreed to her request without hesitation. You could always trust John to be around when needed, so she buried her head in his soft flannel shirt and let her tears dry up. If he hadn't been there, Masako was sure she would still be in that house. John stroked her hair slowly, murmuring something in English.

He asked her if she was ready to go home, and Masako vaguely remembered answering yes. When she didn't move of her own accord, he gently steered her to the car and she got into the passenger side without a word. She was glad they had taken his car; she didn't think she was up to driving.

When they stopped, she looked out the window and found them in front of her apartment. Masako didn't remember the ride, she wondered if she had drifted off. "I'm sorry," she said as she unbuckled her seat belt. For what, she wasn't sure. Everything, maybe.

"For caring deeply about a lost soul?" He held her gaze without wavering. "That isn't something to apologize for."

She watched the way his lips curved as he spoke and wondered why she had never found him attractive before. Cute, maybe, but never sexy. Masako leaned over and kissed those lips. The contact was brief but it chased away the chill for a moment.

"I'm sorry," she repeated after she pulled away.

John blinked, his lips still slightly parted.

"I just don't want to be alone," Masako said, a line from romances that she had vowed she would never use. "So you're welcome to come up, but you know, I understand if you don't." She opened the door and stumbled out. She had ruined her image more than once today; maybe it was time to go to bed.

When she almost slipped on the rain slick stairs, he was there, a steadying hand on her lower back. She hadn't heard him follow her.

In her apartment, Masako knew he was probably only there to calm her, as his profession dictated, but that wasn't the type of comfort she was seeking. The touch of a living human being was what she needed, so she shut the front door behind them and pressed him against it as she found his lips again. She liked how they molded to hers, how her body fit to his. His hands conformed to the swell of her hips, and he was just the right height for her to tangle her fingers into his damp hair.

John matched the tempo of her kiss, and she knew he had hid how much the house had shaken him much better than she did.

The scent of the cold spring rain still clung to their skin and clothes. She breathed the scent in deep when they separated for a moment, eyes closed, foreheads touching.

"Are you leaving?" Masako asked.

"Do you want me to?"

In reply, she intertwined her fingers in his and pulled him into her bedroom. When she had moved to the apartment, she had done the room in monochrome. She had regretted it, but today his presence added the much needed color, so she left the small lamp switched on that sat on her nightstand.

She pulled her dark green sweater over her head, her flustered skin cooling rapidly. As he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, he had an air of confidence about him she had not expected.

Masako saw a glint of gold around his neck, and realized it was a small gold cross on a thin chain. Before she could scrutinize it, John stepped behind her and unclasped her bra, then slid it down her shoulders slowly, and dipped his lips to where the strap had been a moment before. His skin was warm against her back, exactly what Masako sought, and her head fell back as his fingers traced over her already hard nipples.

She undid the button and zipper on her jeans shakily. The denim was still wet, and he didn't wait for her to struggle out of them. Instead, he teased the front of her panties with his thumbs, and then moved a few fingers lower. The friction of the tight space between her jeans, her panties, and his fingers made her shudder.

He finally helped her slip the jeans off her hips, and even thought she no longer had control over her knees, she managed to step out of them without falling over.

Masako faced him and explored the hard planes of his chest, seeing the cross but choosing not to give it a thought. After her hands had followed the thin line of hair that started beneath his navel and disappeared beneath his jeans, she tugged him onto the bed and started on his belt. She caught his eyes, and faltered as she finally remembered who John was, what John was. Her fingers stilled as she wondered what the hell she was doing.

With no words he sat up and took her chin, and guided her lips to his again. The kiss was slower than before, but equally exhilarating. Masako moaned into the kiss, the first real sound she had let go of since they had started. It didn't take long before her fingers started again of their own accord.

When he was nude before her, she moved her fingertips down his length with closed eyes, and lost herself in his labored breath, knowing she was what caused it.

John placed a hand on her collarbone, gently lowered her onto the bed, and reached over to turn the lamp off. Her window let in the small amount of light that the clouds allowed to filter through. She stayed there, and watched him with lazy eyes as he slowly removed her panties, doing little to help. She let him spread her legs, and a soft cry escaped her as he slowly entered her. Masako tangled her legs around his hips, uncertain what to do with her hands until she found them twisted into her sheets, while her back arched, toes curled, and silly over-used words like 'more, faster' fell from her lips.

He silently obliged.

…

They laid there as rain still pattered on her window. He was on his back, and she had one leg over his, her head almost on his chest with his arm holding her close.

Instead of an after-sex glow, a gloom fell over her as she had to admit to herself what she had just done. Masako sighed, and he seemed to know it wasn't a happy sound.

"Please don't worry," John said.

"I just coerced a priest to have sex with me."

"I would say I was equally to blame."

"I'm going to hell."

"I was already on my way," he murmured.

The first roll of thunder echoed through the room, drowning out his words.

…

Summary adapted from lyrics from 'Paradise Lost' by Ga In.
I'd like to give her credit for the title, but that really belongs to John Milton.