day three: sinful sunday
words: 1616
characters: tachikawa mimi, ishida yamato
summary: she is all luxury, and he is a greedy man.
warning: this entry contains very explicit sexual content, and i am almost sorry for posting it here. except, i'm not.
At first, he stares at her for what feels like an eternity without blinking; his eyes are not yet used to the sight. Of course he has seen her before, countless times. He knows her high, pale breasts, the slender dip of her navel, her long, creamy legs. But as she lies back in the handsome marble tub, thin shoulders shining under the candlelight, he has to stop, take a small breath, remind himself he is still alive. His blue eyes follow the tip of her toes as they come out of the water, her ankle, shin, a whole thigh; they come and go like underwater mountains and when she finally turns to him, he is already half gone.
Her soft, heart-shaped face is framed by a couple of loose curls, the messy bun above her head keeping most of her caramel tresses in check. She stands unabashedly, letting the water drip freely down her every nook and crevice, barely giving him a thought as she reaches a hand out for her towel. It's her smile that prompts him to action, makes him take a step from the doorframe and walk over to hand her a long, silken robe.
"Thank you," Mimi purrs, allowing him to help her into her garment. She ties the knot lazily around her waist; half a breast peeks out but she does not seem to care.
Yamato follows her silently out of the bathroom, only stopping for half a second to go back and blow the candles out. Somehow, in the dark, he can still imagine her luminescent footsteps.
The place, like all of her, is elegant, dripping in luxury. He finds her daintily spread on a low sofa, crimson robe revealing silky legs, and the valley between her breasts where beads of moisture still gather. She holds a glass of champagne between slim fingers, cocking her head to one side as he walks into the living room.
"What took you so long?" she asks, as if she has been waiting for him, and not the other way around. It takes him a moment to answer; his eyes are ravishing her, and she knows it. He doesn't want to tell her about work, and having to come home late, or talk about meeting her father earlier during the day and being invited to a family dinner. Yamato shrugs and finally picks up the other champagne flute, bringing it to his lips.
"You're going to burn us both to the ground."
"Drama Yama," she mutters lazily, "You worry too much." But her eyes are shining with affection, and he feels himself relaxing in her presence. He takes another drink, and a third one finishes off his glass. Mimi, downing hers, reaches for the bottle and fills both to the brim, watching him as he sits on the low table, in front of her.
His hand moves automatically to touch her, the combination of cold silk and hot skin is driving his senses crazy. Mimi watches his deft fingers, shivers lightly beneath his touch, rubs her thighs against each other, both eager and coy. Yamato removes his hand, and takes another drink as he stands. He can hear her move behind him, her long gown trailing behind her as she sashays into the other room, searching for another bottle. He hears the soft pop, the liquid slushing, and he picks up a cigarette despite knowing how she feels about him smoking in the apartment, lights it even as he bends down to remove his Italian leather shoes, and black socks. The marble is cold under his feet, sends shivers all through his spine.
The first intake of tobacco revitalizes him, wakes him from some long-lost reverie. He places a palm against the expansive window, exhaling. He can smell her before he can feel her, the strong scent of violets, Amarena cherries, licorice blossoms, and that scent that is Mimi's, and hers alone. One hand brings the champagne to her rose lips, the other wraps around him from behind. He can feel the her breasts against his back and he swallows the wine, the cigarette spending itself in his hand.
"I missed you," she says, and his heart skips a beat because this woman, in all her glory, naked and drunk and heady and she misses him and taking a deep inhale of his cigarette is all he can do not to cry out loud.
Yamato finishes the rest of his drink as her hand drops lower, rests above his belt. He puts down the empty glass, the offending cigarette forgotten inside it. He takes her drink, too, and places it on the table. As Mimi giggles, loosening his tie, he buries his fingers in her hair and lets her curls cascade freely over her shoulder.
"You look stunning tonight," he says in a low voice as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. He is taller than her, but there, standing barefoot and half-naked before him, he feels as though he were the one looking up, always looking up at her. He fingers the hem of her gown delicately, half for the fabric, half for the hidden skin of her chest and as he reaches the deep v where the gown is loosely tied, his smile widens, and he stops as she gasps.
First, he unbuttons his shirt, folding it neatly over the back of the couch. Mimi watches him with interest, the champagne never leaves her hand. She walks towards the bedroom, looks at him over her shoulder.
"Are you coming?"
He looks up.
"I'll be right there," he murmurs, and watches the sway of her hips as she disappears through the door into their master bedroom. He means it—he'll be there, eventually. He knows Mimi will wait impatiently for the first few minutes, then she'll take matters into her own hands if he takes too long. Mimi enjoys putting up a show for him, but he doesn't think it'll come to that tonight. So he takes his sweet time drinking his wine, allowing his senses to be only slightly lulled before following her into the bedroom.
Mimi turns to see him and he offers her the kind of secret half-smile she has always loved. His fingers, like long, pale spiders, touch her bony shoulders, brush over her pert breasts, pinching a nipple through her gown. She bites her lip, but is otherwise silent as he continues his way down her sides, toying with the ribbon around her waist, undoing it like the flimsy thing it is. Her skin glistens under the dimmed light, a sheen of glitter that shines like complete galaxies upon her body. He doesn't get to touch the gown again because she takes it off, letting it pool around her ankles as he bends down to kiss her, pushing her slowly into the expansive bed.
He has known this path before, has seen and touched and kissed every inch of her in the past, but it's always half familiar, half a new discovery. His fingers know where to push, prod, pinch—his teeth know when to bite, suck or lick. One hand kneads her left breast, the other one supports his weight above her as he kisses her, hard. Yamato is the first one to break away, blinking slowly as the light dances in his vision, the way it does when closing your eyes after staring straight at the sun. It feels like that sometimes, looking at Mimi. Like she's the sun, too bright, too hot—too far away from his reach.
So thinking about this, he dives in to kiss her even harder, his hand reaching between her legs to part them for him even as she frantically undoes the button in his slacks and pulls him free. The first few seconds there's just electricity, incredible friction, he's harder than he's ever been and she fits him like a glove, pressing around him and pulling him closer, impossibly close. Then he pulls out and she gasps, but he is getting rid of his pants now and, with no restriction, swiftly pushes himself into her once more. This time they are not soft, and they are not quiet. Mimi moans and gasps and he grunts occasionally, drawing closer to murmur into her ear all the things he had never imagined he'd say to her, of all people. But she loves it, and he is eager to please.
They spend the rest of the night in and around each other, Mimi kisses every last bit of him, and he worships her as if she holds forgiveness between her legs. At some point they reverse positions and she straddles him, taking complete control and holding his life between her slender fingers. His hands, trembling, line her waist and hold on fast to her hips and go up, squeeze a breast, pulls her closer to capture it between his teeth, taking as much of it as he can into his mouth. He is not careful, not delicate, and she doesn't want him to be. But her hand finds his and she bends closer, bringing him deeper inside her, and Yamato swears he can touch the stars.
"I love you," Mimi whispers, and Yamato stops his thrusting, looks up at her longingly before gasping out, "I love you too," over and over again, like a crescendo.
"I love you," he murmurs again, holding the nape of her neck, pulling her down into a kiss that feels as though it is the end of the world.
"My God, I love you," once more, and he swallows that last moan as she comes, like it is water and he is a man drowning.
