At the End of the Universe
She's beautiful. She's perfect and she's beautiful, and the morning light catches on her sunset-colored hair in a way that makes his breath catch in his throat. She bores him to tears.
When he'd taken her hand in both of his six months ago in front of his friends and her family and her incredibly intimidating father, he'd imagined all sorts of things. The promotion her father had promised, sure. A warm, sunny house outside the city. Children someday, maybe. He'd been ecstatic at the thought of children someday.
The problem isn't Euphie, and that might be why it stings so badly. The problem is him; it's this mean thing that bubbles up within him. He can't take that home to her, can't grind her face into the bed springs as he fucks her roughly from behind. No, he comes to Luluko for that.
She's watching him from where she's perched on the edge of the bed in the cheap, disgusting hotel room he's rented for her. It's the same room as last week. Her eyes are sharp, pinning him in place as she crosses her legs. She looks a little bit bored as he reaches up to loosen his tie.
"I must admit I was a little surprised to see you again," she says. Her voice is smooth and husky, dark as the hair resting on her shoulders. "You said you weren't coming back, didn't you? You said you had a wife to go back to." Her reminder stabs at him and he grits his teeth.
"Shut up. I don't want to talk about that with you." He shucks off his jacket and hangs it over the back of the only chair in the room. Nervously, he wonders if he's sweating through his shirtsleeves; he feels damp and clammy as the room's air conditioner kicks in with a crack like a gunshot. She shrugs elegantly.
"What do you want to talk about, then?" Her eyes are impenetrable.
"I don't pay you to talk," he snaps, then bites his lip. He doesn't like being called an adulterer. She doesn't like being called a whore.
Her eyes darken and she crosses the room in quick strides. He imagines her growling like an angry cat, her lips turned down in a bitter frown. She wraps a fist around his tie and yanks viciously, leaning up to his face. Her voice is poison-sweet. "What do you want to pay me for first, then?"
"Suck my cock," he blurts, then flinches, expecting a slap. She stares at him, expression unreadable, before releasing his tie.
"Fine." Her voice is cold. "Get on the bed."
The rasp of his zipper is loud. It's somehow louder than the hum of the air conditioning, louder than the sound of the neighbor's TV leaking through the walls. Louder than the sound of his heartbeat. His belt buckle clanks when it hits the floor. The tired old springs groan in protest as he settles back against the headboard.
Luluko is so different from Euphie, it's like they're night and day. Dusk and dawn. Euphie's wider, generously curved with a sweetly full mouth. Luluko's thin, sharp and angled with a pinched, flat mouth. They're both beautiful, but Euphie will never stand in front of him wearing nothing but these scraps of lace that Luluko calls underwear. They're tools of her trade, these stockings and suspender belt, and he finds himself irrationally annoyed at the thought of perhaps dozens of other men seeing her as she is now, her short black dress puddled on the ground as she moves to straddle his thighs. He pulls her down sharply by the hair, and she only barely manages to swerve in time, leaving him with a mouthful of black silk.
"Fuck you," she snarls, shoving at his chest to right herself. The heat of her anger touches the flare of his jealousy and ignites; he crushes her smaller body to his and tries again, this time managing to smear his lips across her chin before she slaps him. "I said--!"
He cuts her off, rolling her over to press her into the bed. Her legs come up to curl by his sides and she arches prettily, but her eyes are still livid. He knows better than to try again. Instead, he hefts her hips up to take her panties off. "If you want to kiss someone--" He reaches down to thumb her clit and she pauses, dazed for a moment. "If you want to--aah!--k-kiss...."
He smirks. Leans close to her face and stills his hands to let her catch her breath.
"Kiss your fucking wife," she bites out, and he really shouldn't be as angry as he is, but he is and his vision goes blank with anger.
He can capture and hold both of her tiny wrists in one hand and he does so, trapping them on the wall above her head. With the other, he fishes for the tie at his throat. She's glaring up at him and struggling with all her might, but she's small and weak, and it's really a marvel that, with a mouth like hers, no one's really hurt her yet. He throws her onto her belly and ties her wrists in the small of her back, grunting in satisfaction when he hears the stitches in the fabric pop from tension and her whimper of pain muffled by the pillow.
He's so turned on that the cotton of his shorts is painful. He yanks them down in the front, groaning with relief. She's glistening wet, and he barely manages to fish a condom from his pants before he nudges her legs just far enough apart and slides in deep. The angle's all wrong, so he yanks the pillow from beneath her head and grabs her hips, repositioning her. She moans loudly and he can't help answering with one of his own as he pounds her into the mattress. He can't do this with Euphie--she's too delicate, too sweet. Luluko's mean and spiteful and too easy to be cruel to. He raises a hand and slaps her ass hard, drawing a surprised squeal from her lips and a flushed to her skin.
Whore or not, she's deliciously tight, and it isn't long before he can feel himself approaching orgasm. He reaches down to flick at her clit and she almost sobs with relief, cunt tightening almost impossibly as she shakes her way through climax. He manages a few more strokes before bending down to press his teeth to a shoulder blade. Her cunt is drawing his orgasm out of him slowly, like melted sugar, and he pulls out, tearing the condom off before fisting his cock roughly. He bites down hard as he comes, shooting his load onto his tie and her bound hands.
Sagging against her, he slumps to the bed and rolls her over, ignoring her pissed off expression. He laughs weakly, reaching behind her with one hand to loosen the knots he'd made in his ruined tie. As she flexes her numb fingers to bring the feeling back, glaring balefully at him, he impulsively covers her mouth with his palm. Her eyes widen, but when he looks, there's no fear. Something unnameable swells in his chest and Suzaku leans over her, pressing a tender kiss to the back of his hand. Her eyes close and he feels her lips move against his palm.