Disclaimer: Maggie does not own PokeSpe or any of the characters presented in this story.
This fic was inspired by an OkitaXKagura doujinshi entitled "Missing". Apologies to the author for using your idea without permission (I don't know how to find you TwT).
Prisoner—
He felt her tremble underneath him, but her undecipherable eyes was still firm as she stared. Irritated at the thought of not being to solve her, he tightened his grasp on both her wrists, as if to keep her firm beneath him.
She was his prisoner, after all.
The room was dark, the atmosphere cold. The surface of the floor felt hard against her back, and the eerie silence was deafening.
"Quit looking at me as if you don't understand," he lowly growled. She didn't reply.
Maintaining an unsolvable facade was her specialty, he realized, and he hated it. Puzzles were his weakness, even from the beginning, and she was the worst case there was.
"Well, I don't understand this either, so it would be no use asking me why..."
There was a slight flicker in her still eyes, something in line with either hesitation or resistance. Was she looking for some sort of escape?
"It's no use..."
She was his prisoner, after all.
The flicker went as soon as it came, and soon, she was undecipherable again.
He was back to hating her, but he had learned to shrug off that trivial feeling and give way to the other, stronger feeling he had been keeping from her; the feeling that he once tried to ignore and deem momentary but soon grew into something that not even he can control.
Her lips tasted of Lum—slightly sweet despite the bitterness it promises. They remained closed, refusing permission, keeping everything else that did not belong to her past where they belong: outside of her. Away from her.
There was an outburst of pain, and he immediately withdrew. He raised his right arm and wiped his lower lip. There was blood.
She's bitten him.
Resistant. Afraid, perhaps?
The eyes showed no signs.
"Is there something else you'd like to tell me?" he asked, spitting to his side. The small flow of blood didn't stop. She only kept mum.
He sighed, and slowly lowered his hand to return his tight grasp on her wrist. She hardly moved at that momentary lag, possibly aware that struggling was futile. Instead, she remained quiet, albeit the still pair of eyes was beginning to show a different hue; something hazier...
Was she going to cry?
She was his prisoner, after all.
"N-NO! LET ME GO!"
Her smooth skin smelled like the fragrance of gracienda. That scent followed him as he journeyed his lips downward, from her chin, down to her neck, her shoulders, her chest, and further. Her body twitched upon every contact, as if every time his lips would touch her skin, it would burn.
It was then that she began to outwardly fight, screaming as she freed her wrist and tried to push him away, though to no avail. He was well-built, physically stronger than her, and he was sure that she knew that. Her force felt nothing to him.
Lower... and lower still, from her breasts down to her stomach, and even lower still. Her screams were soon drowned, and all he could hear was his own heartbeat, intensifying as he went farther down into the depths of her.
And then he found himself stop, midway through her abdomen. There was a slight pause—it was almost unnoticeable—a short break for him to wipe a tear away, before returning his lips back to her face, brushing them against her moist cheek.
He's decided to show her mercy.
She was his prisoner after all.
The resistance soon died and her screams gradually softened until they became nothing but small, almost inaudible whimpers. She was whispering a name—a particular name—and it was only unfortunate that he had to hear it.
"L-Lord N...P-Please... S-Save me..."
And just like that, the villain became the hero, and vice versa.
His lips traced her jawline, all the way down to the small patch of skin where her ear met her neck, and he began biting it, gently. He felt her twitch again, her fingers jerking at sudden sensation of pain and pleasure combined. She was still crying, he could feel that.
"Lord N... Lord N..."
Again, he stopped in the middle of licking the throbbing, tender part, raised his head to face her, and covered her mouth with his hand.
"Sshh," he hushed her, giving a stern, irritated face. "Stop that."
To his surprise, her look was not that of asking for mercy or help, but rather that of utter disbelief and astonishment. He looked back at her, bewildered.
Slowly, she raised her free hand—the one he had let go—and slowly touched his face, disrupting the heavy flow of tears coming from his eyes.
It was only then that he realized that he was crying as well.
Cry? Him cry?
He lifted his hand from her lips and placed it where her hand met his face, and felt only the slightest struggle. Only a small amount of heat came from her fingers as he interlaced them with his, but he was aware of it. She was tracing the path of his tears, from the corner of his eye, across his cheek, all the way down to his chin, where they amass into one big droplet, to drop into her softening face.
Was she showing him pity? The look in her eyes was driving him crazy.
Overwhelmed, he pulled her up and held her close for a tight embrace.
Suddenly, he couldn't face her.
He couldn't s stop crying.
Surprisingly, he was afraid.
"I'm a jerk," he whispered into her ear. "I'm no hero... That I've finally understood."
He felt her two arms snake their way underneath his to return his gesture.
"Forgive me..."
The emptiness of the room began creating a suffocating atmosphere. Even though it was already reaching sunrise, and that the streets should already be alive with people, he could not hear anything but the sound of his own despair.
Her absence was sickening. Loneliness felt all too foreign, but it was always there.
It was only his skills in misleading that made him believe otherwise for quite a long time now.
There was a small trail of fragrance coming from her, left in the small bouquet of graciendas idly sitting on his empty desk, filling his air and his mind with the image of her... with that smile... that smile that belongs to someone else...
"Is there one for me, too?"
He was supposed to be a great escape artist—he was supposed to have been trained well—but he couldn't escape the restraints of his own feelings, which have now subdued him to subordination. It was something they didn't teach him back at the academy.
The lone figure hoped for a sound—a soft hum or a thud—that would tell him that she decided to come back for him, but there was none.
Yet still he waited.
He was her prisoner after all.
-FIN-
I don't know why I did this TwT
But either way, thank you for reading :D Please do review if you can :D I'd love to hear what you have to say :)