Please please me.
I don't own Ouran or Kyo or Ranka!!!
Part 1
By Blue Apricot
A half-open book lies in his palms. From the vast ocean, the ship whistles a high-pitch tune, startling several gawking seagulls during their daily hunt for breakfast. They fled hurriedly, after making some circles overhead. The boy with the jet-black, bangs flopping around as the gentle breeze blew, adjusts his spectacles and crosses one leg over the other in a casual yet graceful manner. You could tell that he's from a well-bred affluent family. The stone bench is getting uncomfortable, he grumbles. He idly drums slender fingers on the knees of his pants. A quiet breeze, gentle as a baby's breathe brushed against his bangs. A sudden wave of longing nauseous washes over him. It has been clinging on to hand like a desperate. He tries not to think about it, but it is so hard not to. I'm straight, he argues to the voice in his head spinning of the another day's activities. Never in 17 years had he felt like this before.
Vividly, he remembers the shameful short fling. One minute ago, they were discussing politics in the neighborhood ochaya with legs tucked in neatly on a silk tatami mat. They were exchanging pleasantries light-heartedly. He recalled tucking the photos of Haruhi in his diary planner and "her" asking intently about "her" daughter, questions after questions.
The next minute, they were rolling about under the sheets on a canopy bed in a hotel suite. It was beyond comprehendible as to why they ended up doing couples thing. In an act of unforeseen desire, his mouth enveloped "her", at the same time slip a wandering hand up "her" skirt to feel the smooth budge over "her" panties. The soft moaning escaping from the back of her "throat" had a sensual, riveting zing to it. As he continued fondling it and feeling the hardness press against his thighs, he could feel the want for "her" growing. He wanted "her" to moan his name. They had earlier decided that their fling would be no more than a kiss, but at this stage, he couldn't stop.
Their breathing became heavy and clouded with passion and lust his mind started to become foggy. In a swift action, he tugged "her" blouse away and ran his tongue over "her" chest, nibbling ever so gently at "her" nipples. He noticed that "her" chest was hairless and smooth. He dug his hands to feel "her" firm, hard chest… the feeling was glorious to touch. "Her" creamy fair skin, like a woman was so alluring and seemed to tremble touch me, lick me, taste me. So he did. "She" had tasted of raspberries and cream. It was such a delightful inclination. The guilty pleasure built up rapidly, their actions piling on a scaffold, strengthening the whole formation.
He could feel "her" quivering under him. He pushed her skirt up so that it was bunched up at 'her" waist, hooked his fingers around the lace and pulled her panties down. Running a hand down "her" length, he heard her breathing grow sharper. He smiled. He liked having authority over people. Here, he was like the chairman having control over his subordinates or the man behind Maslow's theory, satisfying employees needs to achieve goals. The length in his hand was hot, glistering and convulsing.
Suddenly, "her" head snapped up and "she" looked at him with such raw need that he hesitated for a moment, satisfaction replaced with excitement. "Faster", 'she' cried breathlessly.
And so, he increased his speed, hand brushing against the mass curls of dark hair till "she" came. He was pleased when "she" screamed his name, "her" head thrown back with vigor.
"It's my turn" 'she' had said, with a cheeky glimmer in her eyes. A chill went down his spine and his stomach did a flip flop. He had no idea what "she" had in store for him.
With that, "she" got up, fumbled with his belt and yanked his pants together with his boxers down. "Her" mouth found his manhood, in the dark and started suckling it. He felt the ripples of pleasure stretch out and engulf him. "She" was gentle but firm, and also tentative but bold at the same time.
It was a foreign feeling. He was drowning in the passion. Passion was the stream where the invisible river monster hid behind the veil-like weeds and dragged new habitants down to the river bed. On the other hand, pleasure, a whore who has been lurking around in dark corners waiting for subjects to victimize, found her way in.
So baby let's go. Have that wreckless love, that crazy love, that I-don't really-care-we-can-have-it-anywhere kind of love.
He gripped the sheets tightly as he felt something leaking out of him. He felt the lower part of him tightening in "her" mouth. What she was doing was amazing.
Suddenly, the phone rang jotting him back to reality. His head jerked forth the minute the offending tone rang and his heart thudded wildly. He felt like a child caught in the act of stealing cookies. The fear inside him mounting up; an awful feeling of shame began to shake him.
"Huh?" panting, he scanned the room and fixed his eyes on the telephone perched on the dresser with wooden legs like a cat's. It was still ringing.
"Not bad for an old man, eh?" 'She' licked her lips in a seductive fashion, while a little of his release dripped out. "Let's continue".
However he started panicking. He tried hard to think straight. The heir of Ootori should never be doing such things like this. Soon, he would be engaged to the daughter of one of his father's business partner. What the hell was he doing in a situation like this? And engaging in sexual activities with the father of his club member proved to be of no merits.
"She" was still seated on the carpeted floor, nibbling him, while his legs were parted. He began to lock and unlock his fingers, and he could feel a drop of sweat on his forehead. It was hot, of course, but not that sort of sweat. He couldn't take it anymore; he was coming. He shut his mouth tightly after a groan escaped from the back of his throat.
With great effort, he pushed "her" away roughly, got dressed an instant and dashed out much to the surprise and disappointment of "her".
Presently, he remembers that his last words to "her" was "I'll get the bill". When he thinks about the events that occurred today over and over in his head – he cannot fathom what had happened really, truly happened. His face was tinted red by now. He realizes that he is savouring the moment unknowingly. After that heated moment of passion, his lips had been so red and swollen, he'd used a whole tube of chap stick trying to bring down the swell.
Was it because of the tea? Tea wasn't martini. Why did it happen? This question has been haunting him for a long time. The air carried a heavy scent, or more of a stench of shellfish and acidic salt, despite the refreshing aura around it. He sniffs harder. Actually it smells a tad like "her" perfume, not the smell of marine fish but the smell of a ocean, fresh, pure and volatile.
The fact that he is thinking of her unknowingly hits him hard.
He glazes in the open waters trying to empty his thoughts. The horizon of the sea was littered with green specks of islands and he is certain he has spotted a box jellyfish, tingling with poison, bobbing among the choppy waters. He shudders when he thinks of the daily fishing routine crab trappers and fishermen go through.
His trip to the port was an unfertile attempt to clear his mind and sort out his thought. Perhaps, hot yoga will distract me, he sighs. Besides, the horrid smell of roasted chestnuts and corn floating from the roadside stalls are making him ill.
He shifts his position so that his view looks towards the harbor entrance. Boats are returning to the port. The tide is rising. It's time to go.
Halfway to his waiting limo, he turns back sharply and wishes that someone would take action and mend the sinking boardwalk by the harbor entrance soon.
School is starting in half an hour's time. He'd better hurry.
A/N: Ochaya-teahouse
Lyrics – Alicia key's "wreckless love"
Part 2 will come out shortly!
Thank you for reading! I wonder what are your views on it… … do you like the pairing? I have to admit it's a bit absurd!
