Go Downtown (To Taste The Sweetness)
23:15 - Totsuki - Third Year
Yukihira Soma is 100 percent peeved. Erina Nakiri has really only been his girlfriend for three months, but she's had more than two years to accustom herself to the whims and fancies of the baka she's (privately) called the love of her life, so she can tell. And really, it isn't often that Yukihira gets annoyed – she can only recall a handful of other instances when she had ever seen him this worked up, and none of those situations had been ideal. It's evident in the slightly soured downward curl of his lips, his narrowed amber eyes and the way he more than impatiently swats at the hair over his forehead. It's even moreso in the monotone responses he's been offering up to her all night, a melange of 'yes', 'no', and 'fine'.
So she lets him stew.
It's an hour-long car ride between the awards gala dinner they'd been attending, and plenty of space between them in the back seat. Her driver, evidently unused to seeing them silently seething as opposed to eating one another's faces, tries, and fails to make conversation. Eventually, he settles on a Spotify playlist of 2011's best hits, and she has to physically stop herself from reaching forward to strangle the old man when Stereo Hearts comes on.
By the time they make it back to her office in campus, she's just about ready to start yelling, and if it weren't for the fact that Yukihira looked so damn hot in that three-piece suit, she would. Instead, she backs a pace as he rounds on her, eyes flashing and knuckles pale as he tugs his bowtie from his neck to loosen his collar.
"Well?" She demands, her heart pounding in her chest and a lump in her throat. "Are you about done sulking? Mind telling me what the actual fuck this is all about?"
Yukihira tosses the bowtie onto the couch, then crosses his arms, crimson brows knitted together in a half-scowl, half-grimace. "That fucking Asahi guy. Did you mean what you said earlier?"
She stares at him. "What?"
Yukihira slides his arms out of his coat, and discards that. His voice takes on a clipped quality, one she's not sure she's ever heard. The last time she'd seen him angry, he'd been yelling. She gets the feeling this is much worse. "I said," he says through gritted teeth. "Did you mean what you said about Asahi's food?"
"What the hell are you on about? It was an impeccable dinner service he put out, and if you think I'm going to lie to save your precious ego—"
"Two years," Yukihira growls, and she misses a breath as he bridges the gap between them. "Two years and you've yet to say anything I've cooked is delicious, but with him it's all 'Oh, Chef Asahi, that's delicious'. So tell me, Nakiri, if he's so obviously superior, why the fuck are you still with me?"
Her blood boils, and she slaps away his hands, striding over to her desk. "Oh, fuck you, Yukihira! You know why!"
"Why?" He turns towards her, eyes flashing. "You gonna let me know ahead of time when you pick the right partner to run this ship with? Because I'd really like to know if I'm going to be out a girlfriend, Nakiri."
She slams her fist into her desk, cheeks flushing. Every bone in her body aches from hours spent in heels, and her earlobes are sore from bearing the weight of the ten carat earrings on loan from her contact at Cartier. And yet, the exhaustion ebbs, cowed into submission by the rise of red-hot fury.
"You're saying you still don't know after two fucking years?" She swallows, clenching her fists to keep the shivering at bay. "Really, you're going to play this card? If you're going to be posessive and jealous over someone who, at some point, wanted to get in my pants, at least be honest about it instead of hiding behind your cooking aspirations."
She counts to ten. He stares her down, and she thinks that if it were possible for a human to burn a hole in another's head by sheer will alone, she would be dead. She's barely had time to wonder if she's more pissed off or turned on before he crosses the room in five long strides, and half a breath and barely an exclamation later, he's there in front of her, hands in her dress and tongue in her mouth.
They wrestle for control – they always have, but something about the man tonight makes her burn all the fiercer. Before she knows it, pens and papers go flying, and she's flat on her back, the cold, hard marble surface of her desk sending chills down her spine. Something rips – sequins and beads glimmering in the night as the heat of Yukihira's tongue mounds on the pearl between her legs. He laps at her, slowly, at first, in that familiar, circular way that makes her toes curl. Her fingers find their way into his headful of hair, srunching up fistfuls of crimson to tug and pull – a haughty demand and a silent plea for release.
Her peak is refused. Since their first drunken time in that closet at the Polar Star Dorm, they've had more occasions to experiment in the ancient and noble art of fucking, making for some very quick, but nonetheless satisfying trysts; and yet, Yukihira is evidently intent on taking his time at present.
"Say it," He growls into her, his nose nestling against her engorged nub. She bucks against him, but he's strong and she's powerless to resist. His fingers wrap firmly about her wrists as he shifts his weight to bear down upon her, his hardness evident against the flat of her belly beneath the tattered remains of her dress.
Snaking her hand from his iron-clad grasp takes a while, but she manages; yet he jerks away when she reaches for his manhood. A smirk of amusement crosses Yukihira's lips as she lets out an agitated whine, but that, soon, is wiped away as she snatches at his half-unbuttoned shirt to pull him down for a sloppy, messy kiss. He tastes of her own salt, but there is also more than a little bit of Yukihira that she relishes in.
"De-fucking-licious, now put your cock in me already, you piece of shit."
When he finally obliges, the world explodes in a shower of stars and blinding white lights. She cries out against him, fingers digging into his shoulders even as he pumps into her. One. Two. One. Two. Drowned in the pleasure of his thrusts, she loses count, and as he takes her face in his hands – possessively, his eyes dark in the night, she whispers the words. Her words.
They finish as one, their cries a song and their limbs entwined. After, he touches her face, fingertips tracing her jawline and eyes slightly narrowed. "Did you mean it?" He whispers, thumb on her lip.
She kisses his fingers, then shuts her eyes and nestles closer. His heartbeat slows to a gentle thump against her cheek. In the darkness, her hands find his.
"I meant every word."
Yukihira sighs, and in that moment, she knows peace. "I love you too, Nakiri."
A/N - Thanks for the comments, likes, and faves, guys!