Hehe, looks like this time it's Aya drowning in angst 'cause a wicked li'l
Kenken's playing with his heart
Title: Irony of Ironies
Part: 1/1
Author: focsfyr
Pairing: AyaxKen, hints of Ken+Kase
Warnings: Aya POV/stream of consciousness, angst, heartbreak, aggressive uke-Ken, bit of OOC on both Aya/Ran's and Ken's part.
Rating: PG-13 for suggestive language
Disclaimer: I don't own them and have no money. No copyright infringements are intended.
Archive: Whispers in the Dark, fanfiction.net and the official archives (if there is one) of the ML's I post this too. Others please ask
C&C: adored
Spoilers: Kaze and eps. 4
Thanks to the lovely Lilas for beta-ing! You're the best!
IRONY OF IRONIES
You're doing it again, beckoning me to bed with the flirt of your hips, drawing me in with your need. My love, my life, my fear, my hate. I love you...
...but I hate how you use me. How you run your callused hand down the arch of my back and look at me with those smoldering eyes, and how with one touch, one look, I give in, desiring only to please you.
It's ironic that I would be the one to fall. I, with my icy façade and forbidding demeanor, while your smile warmed all it touched. But how could I resist? You were light to my dark, warmth to my cold and you drew me like a moth to flame.
Tantalizing lips curving in a smile or a frown, you radiated sincerity surreal on a murderer's face. Somehow, despite the blood staining your hands, you never lost your smiles. No one ever knew why. How could they when it was all an act? I don't mean the sincerity, the smiles. You were always sincere, but each smile was a lie, just something to distract us from haunted eyes.
You hide even better than I do.
I saw it too late and was already caught up in your spell. But you know...I didn't regret it. I had my masks too. I didn't care to try to break yours or wrestle with your stubborn nature. I was ready to just look and content myself with dreams.
You wouldn't let me.
You caught my gaze tracing your form and pinned me down with a glare that asked -- *demanded* -- that I follow. Face dark as a thunderstorm, you led me to the back room.
I expected a fight -- you had other ideas.
Moving as gracefully as a dancer without your usual earnest clumsiness, you toed off your shoes and loosened your pants, leaving them crumpled on the cool tile floor. For the first time in my life I was completely speechless as you lifted my hands to your skin. Who'd have thought you to be aggressive when you blush so easily? I was like a child stroking a butterfly's wing, fingers tentative and light for fear of causing harm. Impatient, you pressed closer, deftly removing my pants -- right there amongst the flowers, where anyone could walk in and see.
The desire burning in your eyes demanded satisfaction, and I was all too willing to give it.
Since that day we've been lovers. You demanded the pleasure you craved, and I certainly never protested. Why would I argue such a sweet deal; sex with no commitment desired and no reason for guilt? We had sex. That was it. You asked, I agreed, whenever -- *wherever* you wanted. We rarely exchanged kisses, just a few hasty touches -- who knew you'd like it rough? -- then you'd strip off your clothes, however much necessary and offer yourself for the taking.
Braced against the wall, bent over the counter, kneeling on the floor on your hands and knees, demanding I fulfill your desire. Ass in the air and legs spread apart, you asked and expect to be answered. But even when I denied you your advances, that never stopped you from returning for more. You always came back, never went to another. An exclusive slut. Submissive, seductive and all of you mine.
If you ever asked to top, perhaps I would let you, but the question never came up. It wasn't what you wanted.
I recognized the symptoms that very first time, the desire to initiate but not to control. It was a game of power and pleasure.
You want to be taken. You want to be loved. Who knows why, but you want to be owned. You take pleasure in the giving of yourself. I was just lucky you settled on me when the one you wanted was far out of reach.
I'm not sure when lust turned to love. I don't know when you became more than just a sweet fuck. It slowly evolved into such.
A week went by when you didn't accost me, touch me, smile at me, anything at all. Granted, we were both exhausted by missions, but you didn't even glance my way.
It hurt. I brushed it off as unappeased lust and grudgingly went on my way.
The next day was the same. You and Omi were dozing before we even got home, sleep deprivation finally catching up with you both. Again, that pain. Couldn't you stay awake any longer? I would have settled for a simple caress.
Again and again, day after day. Wouldn't you give me *something*? A smirk? A look? A word at least? Or if it's not asking too much, perhaps a real smile?
You see, I hate you though I love you, because it's not me you desire. You still feel his tongue tracing your neck, his dark gaze burning your skin. He was a lover and a friend but twice he betrayed you, took your life in his hands and crushed it with glee.
Yet…you don't want me, you want him.
You don't need me. You just need to be needed.
Because for you, knowing that you can drive me mad with desire is proof of the self worth you don't truly believe in. It soothes the wounds caused by his spiteful words.
You want him.
You need him.
He hurt you and you forgave him, because even when I'm buried in your scorching heat, my name gracing your oh-so-lovely lips…he's still the one you love.
OWARI
Title: Irony of Ironies
Part: 1/1
Author: focsfyr
Pairing: AyaxKen, hints of Ken+Kase
Warnings: Aya POV/stream of consciousness, angst, heartbreak, aggressive uke-Ken, bit of OOC on both Aya/Ran's and Ken's part.
Rating: PG-13 for suggestive language
Disclaimer: I don't own them and have no money. No copyright infringements are intended.
Archive: Whispers in the Dark, fanfiction.net and the official archives (if there is one) of the ML's I post this too. Others please ask
C&C: adored
Spoilers: Kaze and eps. 4
Thanks to the lovely Lilas for beta-ing! You're the best!
IRONY OF IRONIES
You're doing it again, beckoning me to bed with the flirt of your hips, drawing me in with your need. My love, my life, my fear, my hate. I love you...
...but I hate how you use me. How you run your callused hand down the arch of my back and look at me with those smoldering eyes, and how with one touch, one look, I give in, desiring only to please you.
It's ironic that I would be the one to fall. I, with my icy façade and forbidding demeanor, while your smile warmed all it touched. But how could I resist? You were light to my dark, warmth to my cold and you drew me like a moth to flame.
Tantalizing lips curving in a smile or a frown, you radiated sincerity surreal on a murderer's face. Somehow, despite the blood staining your hands, you never lost your smiles. No one ever knew why. How could they when it was all an act? I don't mean the sincerity, the smiles. You were always sincere, but each smile was a lie, just something to distract us from haunted eyes.
You hide even better than I do.
I saw it too late and was already caught up in your spell. But you know...I didn't regret it. I had my masks too. I didn't care to try to break yours or wrestle with your stubborn nature. I was ready to just look and content myself with dreams.
You wouldn't let me.
You caught my gaze tracing your form and pinned me down with a glare that asked -- *demanded* -- that I follow. Face dark as a thunderstorm, you led me to the back room.
I expected a fight -- you had other ideas.
Moving as gracefully as a dancer without your usual earnest clumsiness, you toed off your shoes and loosened your pants, leaving them crumpled on the cool tile floor. For the first time in my life I was completely speechless as you lifted my hands to your skin. Who'd have thought you to be aggressive when you blush so easily? I was like a child stroking a butterfly's wing, fingers tentative and light for fear of causing harm. Impatient, you pressed closer, deftly removing my pants -- right there amongst the flowers, where anyone could walk in and see.
The desire burning in your eyes demanded satisfaction, and I was all too willing to give it.
Since that day we've been lovers. You demanded the pleasure you craved, and I certainly never protested. Why would I argue such a sweet deal; sex with no commitment desired and no reason for guilt? We had sex. That was it. You asked, I agreed, whenever -- *wherever* you wanted. We rarely exchanged kisses, just a few hasty touches -- who knew you'd like it rough? -- then you'd strip off your clothes, however much necessary and offer yourself for the taking.
Braced against the wall, bent over the counter, kneeling on the floor on your hands and knees, demanding I fulfill your desire. Ass in the air and legs spread apart, you asked and expect to be answered. But even when I denied you your advances, that never stopped you from returning for more. You always came back, never went to another. An exclusive slut. Submissive, seductive and all of you mine.
If you ever asked to top, perhaps I would let you, but the question never came up. It wasn't what you wanted.
I recognized the symptoms that very first time, the desire to initiate but not to control. It was a game of power and pleasure.
You want to be taken. You want to be loved. Who knows why, but you want to be owned. You take pleasure in the giving of yourself. I was just lucky you settled on me when the one you wanted was far out of reach.
I'm not sure when lust turned to love. I don't know when you became more than just a sweet fuck. It slowly evolved into such.
A week went by when you didn't accost me, touch me, smile at me, anything at all. Granted, we were both exhausted by missions, but you didn't even glance my way.
It hurt. I brushed it off as unappeased lust and grudgingly went on my way.
The next day was the same. You and Omi were dozing before we even got home, sleep deprivation finally catching up with you both. Again, that pain. Couldn't you stay awake any longer? I would have settled for a simple caress.
Again and again, day after day. Wouldn't you give me *something*? A smirk? A look? A word at least? Or if it's not asking too much, perhaps a real smile?
You see, I hate you though I love you, because it's not me you desire. You still feel his tongue tracing your neck, his dark gaze burning your skin. He was a lover and a friend but twice he betrayed you, took your life in his hands and crushed it with glee.
Yet…you don't want me, you want him.
You don't need me. You just need to be needed.
Because for you, knowing that you can drive me mad with desire is proof of the self worth you don't truly believe in. It soothes the wounds caused by his spiteful words.
You want him.
You need him.
He hurt you and you forgave him, because even when I'm buried in your scorching heat, my name gracing your oh-so-lovely lips…he's still the one you love.
OWARI