My first attempt at a rated M story, so please be kind? Do not read if stories like this offend you. You have been warned.
Disclaimer: I do not own DC
Lost
She hesitated by the door, almost fearful of what she would find inside. As the door swung open gently, she could feel the noticeable difference of the air within, heavy with grief. She thought then about running away, but she couldn't steel herself to leave. She had already put off seeing him for weeks.
He sat, hunched over on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, his dark hair shielding his eyes.
"I… I heard about the news." She said softly.
He looked up and nodded, acknowledging her presence for the first time. She flinched back at the look in his eyes. It was the same emptiness, the same pain that she had seen in her own mirror after the death of her sister.
The antidote was finished. They had both returned to their original forms.
But his angel had fallen.
After all the lies to protect her, after everything they did to finally bring down the syndicate, it was one drunk driver that had ruined the happy ending of this story.
He downed the half empty can of beer in his hand, and set it down on the table with a loud clunk, leaving a ring of water on the wooden surface.
He hated himself, despised himself for the state he was in. Many a time he had mock Mouri Kogoro for trying to drink his troubles away, but now he was no different. And the cold truth was, no amount of alcohol can numb his pain.
Shiho approached him, sitting down next to him uncertainly. She lifted the can, wiped the water gently with her sleeve, and set a coaster underneath. "I'm sorry."
She said nothing after that, knowing from experience that there's nothing she could say. She sat there in silence, knowing that he has to be the one to speak first.
"I never…" he said after the longest of silence, his voice coming out hoarse and broken like he had forgotten how to use it. "I never had a chance to…"
She nodded, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. It was four in the morning, she had dark rings under her eyes from the lack of sleep all week, but she didn't leave. He needed a connection to the world, to be reminded that there are still people that worried for him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered again. "I wish there was something I could have d-"
The rest of her sentence turned into a gasp. He had leaned forward suddenly, and pressed his lips against hers.
"Kudo-" she gasps, and he abused the exclamation to deepen the kiss, his tongue invading in, twining with hers. His hand laced through her strawberry blonde hair, kissing her hungrily, almost violently, as if he was searching for something beyond the kiss.
Her mind seemed to be frozen. A hum had started up somewhere deep in the back of her head. She could taste the alcohol in his breath, but it wasn't what made her head spin. "You're drunk." She murmured, her shoulders touching the couch as he leaned in, his elbows supporting his weight so he wouldn't crush her. Her hands were on his shoulders, trying to push him away. "I'm not-"
He kissed the words from her lips, distracting her from what she was going to say.
"Kudo, I'm not who y-" she tried again.
His kisses trailed lower, lips grazing roughly, wildly down her neck, her ear, her collarbone. She bit back a strangled moan.
"Don't-" Her argument blurred, faded, the hands on his shoulders weakening.
Her struggling ceased. Arching into the couch, she allowed his hands to slide under her shirt, up the soft, satin skin of her waist, to her back, removing her shirt altogether. She hissed as her bra landed among the growing piles of clothes on the ground.
There were no loving words, no romance. Only sensations.
She moaned again when one hand cupped her breasts, his thumb grazing the tip. She leaned into him, pressing herself into his caresses; head arched back, lips lightly parted in fear of forgetting how to breathe.
Their breath came in short bursts. She could only whimper as his hands traveled everywhere, her neck, her breasts, the plains of her stomach, her back, her waist, again and again, exploring as if the months of abandoned curiosity from the detective had been found again all at once.
His clothes had joined hers on the floor. She flushed at how they were pressed so close to each other, skin against skin, and wondered how two people can be so near yet so far apart.
Shiho cried out as his fingers found her center. Her hips jerked involuntarily, moving instinctively for more, a slender leg draped around his waist. She felt like she was falling. Drowning.
Her fingernails bit into his shoulder, the only reminder of reality as he entered her, his face buried in the sweat-dampened skin of her neck. They moved in a rhythm matching his groans and her soft gasps, with a somehow perfect synchronization.
Her shoulders hit the couch time and time again, her back wrinkling and smoothing the fabric over and over as she met his thrust for thrust, reminded with each movement that she was not the one on his mind, that the name she hurried to kiss from his lips to save herself from hearing will never be hers.
She could hear her own moans escaping from her throat, though she was biting her lips so hard it bled in vain attempt to silence herself.
They came at the same time. She almost blacked out, aware of the strangled cry escaping her lips. Waves of bliss mixed with pain overtook her. She was crying. Frantically she fisted his hair, seeking his lips desperately so that she couldn't hear the name he was biting back, so he wouldn't break her heart so directly.
They kissed, tongues battling for control. Wildly, furiously, with a desperation they both couldn't fathom.
They lay there, listening to each others slowly steadying heartbeat, when she realized that he was crying too.
Their lips met once more, tears merging, pain merging.
She rose to leave. And she never came back.
A/N: Maybe it's not a story to be written by a 15 year-old. Sorry if it was a total... I don't know what. Leave a comment, whether good or bad, if you found it decent enough to finish!!