why, shirayuki992? wanna see? im ok writing b/r. guest (margecamins - is this u?) and guest, thats lovely thank u ೭੧(❛▿❛✿)੭೨. anon and aorizuki - ahh yes, thank u.
lilith is nxt, vine.
nymph and satyr
by appleschan
Ms. Kuchiki believes in love. No matter how abstract it is. In theory and in practice, love is sincere, it is unquestionable, it is endless, it is honest, it has no escape, it demands unfailing loyalty and absolute obedience, it includes fear, and it does not end well with death. Ms. Kuchiki loves her brother.
And love, after all, like justice, is blind. These things - Dr. Kurosaki does not get, has not learned.
There is something of Mr. Kuchiki into Ms. Kuchiki; he has taught her to walk, to speak to people, look at people. There is Mr. Kuchiki in the way Ms. Kuchiki primly eats, even her penmanship resembles his, and her tone emulates him. Mr. Kuchiki has taught her love, after all, along with everything.
The leather chair is too big for her, as it is made for tall men with good shoulders - men like her brother and , but it makes her seem big, an authority, she relaxes nonetheless.
Dr. Kurosaki is bent over her, intensely staring and coaxing her to reply, "Ms. Kuchiki?" he says once more.
He has turned them slightly sideways, the afternoon summer sunrays then land on them. Ms. Kuchiki observes, the sun is good on him regardless of his obscene hair color, it lits him in honeygold and makes him appear gentler, like human - like he isn't some deranged man with obsessive tendencies and questionable thinking.
Conversely, the sun is not good on her brother and on her. The rays make them pale and clash with their hair. They dress superbly for high occasions, refined and neat and cold and dark and sophisticated, the sun counters that, makes them unwelcome with its merriness and charming laughs and brightness.
Yet another reason to stop seeing Dr. Kurosaki - he does not understand her world nor belonged in it.
(in all truth - the truest one - lying deep, deep, deep: she does not fully understand her world either despite her concrete learnings on love - like it has no escape and is endless. It's a world based on love - her brother has said, it is unfailing, it will never have cracks, he said. Still, Ms. Kuchiki stepped inside Dr. Kurosaki's clinic)
Dr. Kurosaki doesn't put much pressure on her forearms, his grip is firm but it allows her room for movement.
Ms. Kuchiki considers his confession - was it that? - then decides it should mean little to her. What does it matter that some deranged man thinks of her? It should mean little, her mind reinforces.
Before, she does not think much of others' opinion, of females, colleagues, the people she dismantles in court, her assistants, of most males, they will all come to pass. She has come to know firmly there is only her brother and he is enough and he'll be a constant.
(if only Dr. Kurosaki will come to pass quietly, too)
Ms. Kuchiki surmises the doctor must revel in his position - as if trapping her, like he has power over her.
Ms. Kuchiki, carefully and gracefully, lifts her right arm. She meets little resistance from Dr. Kurosaki, he loosens his left grip and lets her. Ms. Kuchiki touches his face.
It must have surprised him when she reached out, Ms. Kuchiki thinks. Her palm and fingers are cool and smooth, resting on his cheek.
Ms. Kuchiki feels the sudden and hard tension on his head and tightening on his spine, nevertheless, Dr. Kurosaki maintains his form, half-crouching, leaning down on her, and pinning her with his stare.
Then, Ms. Kuchiki, too beautiful up close, slowly caresses his face with her fingertips.
Considering his confession, Ms. Kuchiki asks softly, "How come?" she sounds teasing, "I understand...you have a fiancee…?" she trails, remembering the doctor's profile on her desk, the morning when she first visited him.
Dr. Kurosaki casually scoffs, "I don't even remember her fucking face," he says unabashed, then affirms, "fucking really."
"And anyway," he continues, sneers this time, but Ms. Kuchiki's hand on his cheek is proving to be a distraction - it feels soothing, "does that matter? That didn't stop you from fucking me the first time?" He recalls Ms. Kuchiki fucked him good, too, she's a better fuck.
"Hmm," Ms. Kuchiki appears to remember too, but she continues stroking his cheeks, "I assume you have broken up?"
"Yeah," he purrs, slowly getting lightheaded, feeling her palm on his cheek. Dr. Kurosaki rarely submits, let alone purr.
On another time, he may consider it embarrassing. But there is a terrible pull towards Ms. Kuchiki.
He smells the perfume on her wrist, she doesn't take to wearing strong, sweet scent like most women do, she prefers lighter scents, flowery but fresh.
Dr. Kurosaki's grip on her other arm is slacking, and so is the strength in his knees.
He could (would) not differentiate between a stroke on his cheek or a stroke on his hard dick, does it matter? Ms. Kuchiki's touch is different - that's all he knows. There is power there.
"Hm, that's too bad," Ms. Kuchiki comments quietly, genuinely sounding disappointed.
Ms. Kuchiki needs Dr. Kurosaki to obsess over others to get rid of him. She continues her stroking, he has his left hand over her palm, occasionally landing a light kiss on her wrist.
"What is she like?" It is easy to ask, easy to manipulate Dr. Kurosaki when he submits easily like a puppy caving to its owner's petting, "tell me."
Bringing out his former fiancee, she hopes, would remind him there are other women. Surely, he harbors at least one affectionate memory from the other girl.
It's a long moment before Dr. Kurosaki answers, "nothing like you," he says obediently, a bit vague.
Dr. Kurosaki closes his eyes, his other hand is on Ms. Kuchiki's ankle, sliding towards her thigh. He's descended on the floor, but his knees don't feel the threads of her white plush carpet, and Ms. Kuchiki's palm is still on his cheek, and he's got a hard dick.
"Hm," But Ms. Kuchiki takes that as a positive, aware of his hand, "then why leave…?"
"She likes it in the ass, and I never fucked her in the ass ever."
"I see," Ms. Kuchiki nods in understanding, strangely however, there is no trace of hatred in his voice. It could be a good sign, so she threads lightly, "do you still want to see her-? Would you...like to see her again?"
Ms. Kuchiki lightly strokes his cheek, then subsequently brings her other hand to cup his face and run her fingertips on his hair. Her face is close to his. He is broadly handsome, and his breathing has become labored.
"Stop trying to turn me away, will you?" Dr. Kurosaki tells her slowly, "no shit is going to ever fucking work."
Ms. Kuchiki suddenly stops stroking his face, he is now leveled lower than her.
"And please, don't seduce me and tell me to fuck other women," Dr. Kurosaki says sharply, opening his eyes - they are dark amber and very clear and only reflective of her.
Ms. Kuchiki tries to withdraw, but Dr. Kurosaki holds her in place - with both of her palms on his face.
"Shit won't work because...wait, do you even know how you affect men?" he asks, a light, amused smirk playing on the side of his face.
When Ms. Kuchiki has no answer, Dr. Kurosaki pushes on, "what, your asshat brother never let you go outside your mansion long enough to see others…? Was the two other men you fucked some manservants?"
Then he toys with the more probable idea, "or is it because your brother is cautious of men like me?"
Ms. Kuchiki's face is back to passivity, Dr. Kurosaki is back to being hateful again.
"Look at me properly, Ms. Kuchiki," he commands, low.
Her eyes are hard, how dare he make such commands. She does, however, let her eyes do look at him properly.
Ms. Kuchiki has him -
"Do you see now, Ms. Kuchiki? I can't leave you," Dr. Kurosaki says, there is a harsh sound coming from his chest, he is half-croaking from elation and realization; she has him down and she doesn't even know, he continues, "because this is where you reduce men to -"
"- kneeling for you."