Okay, my feelings are hurt. No one reviewed my story, and I work hard on
those cold winter nights. I forgive because the beginning is kind of
confusing, but if I don't get at least 20 reviews, I'm going to erase all
those chapters I've already finished. Here is Chapter Two. ::sniff::
Part One - Chapter Two
So days passed by, filled with more joy and mirth from my bachelor days. It was as if that little beacon of sunlight, angel, had brought something meaningful apart from women, work, and booze. This girl without a name had appeared in my life and transformed it into laughter and smiles, teasings and funny faces. I tend to keep it that way, here with the girl be my side.
Here, as I watch, blessed Angel sweep away abundant piles of fallen leaves, in vain, the leaves, mercilessly scattered with the wind's hand once again after she piled them in a neat package. (Okay, is there trees near the ocean? Of coarse there is! *someone replies "no it doesn't!* from the background and now he is lying with a BOOT stuck in his mouth, a gift for the holidays* Yes there is! I know there is because I have a um . . . book! ya, that's what that thing with paper stuck together, right? A book that tells all about . . . uh, what are we talking about again? Oh ya, stuff. *my room is the exact duplicate of Wayne's World)
Leaves entangled themselves in her hair's violet embrace, and a pout present gave her a complete look of tempting innocence. There it goes again, flying away from her pile. Rather amusing, if you ask me.
Exsaperated, she clumsily tumbles on what's left of the leaf pile, enveloping her in the sea of maples and reds. This was when I decided to join her in the "bed" of leaves. Once I lay aside from Angel in the rustling leaves, my hand abscently started to stroke her hair. Instinct weaved my long, lithe finger against the silk. How soft it felt, like her skin. . . and maybe her - okay, that's enough erotic things for a moment. She whispered a small sigh, probably the most heavenly sound I've ever heard. It took resistance to not take her then and there amongst her enemies, the leaves. Also, it amazed me that Angel could let out small noises, even a laugh or giggle, but she can't talk at all. Can mute people do that? Never mind, my nonsense.
"Angel? Having trouble with the evil leaves, sweetheart? Give it a rest and enjoy the sky? Quite beautiful, like you, don't you think?"
I gaze at her blushing figure. Another amusement was her easily made blushes when I teased her eternally. However like many things, it complimented her beauty.
"Sweetheart. Love. Caro. Innamorata. Darling. Toots. Dear heart. They're all things to call you. Which do you like the best? Would it mean anything to you when I call you "love?" I rather prefer Sweetheart. Suits you, doesn't it? You are very sweet."
I loomed over her, both hands at her sides, trapping her like the week before.
"I'd like to taste you for dessert. A treat, something so unbearably addicting I'll ask for more. Something like you."
Our lips were moments away from dessert, when her tiny hand tried a vain attempt to push me away. In which I secured in my hand, cradling the small thing into a kiss at the hand's back. I gave a few sensual kisses, my tongue bearly tasting the peaches and cream texture of her hand. How very sweet this felt against my tongue.
Then to the crook of her neck, the prize of a swan's envious gaze. Placing tiny bites where ever the horizon reached, a primitive growl came from my mouth. I wasn't the only one enjoying this. Dear sweatheart had her eyes shut closed in pleasure and cherry mouth a bit parted. At her picture, I took a big bite at her mouth. I devour every inch of that luscious dessert, the most insatiable treat I've ever gotten. Everywhere, my teeth nipped at hers. Then, I lifted my head, rather reluctantly, and looked at the leftover of my dessert. A second helping. Yet I wouldn't take another bite, if I wanted to ravish her on a pile of leaves. Which would probably scare her off.
My hand brushed away a leave that handed at the base of her neck, brushing against the infinite softness.
"Come, sweetheart. Let's get some dessert. You need your energy to do the chores. You after all are my servant to pay for staying here. Not that I mind your company. Come, sweetheart. Let's eat."
And so we did. Yet, I craved more than a few butter biscuits and green tea. So much more than simple pleasures of the tongue.
*********** The washing device that cleans clothes into a new bleached fit spun around and around with suds everywhere. It was quite amusing to watch actually. Curiousity made me an attentive worker, or so that's why Eriol-kun told me. Once I finished washing his clothes and a few of mine, I folded it in neat little packages in the basket and went on my way, carrying his heavy load of laundry. Laundry. Such a funny word. A giggle escaped my mouth. Laundry. Laundry. Lau -
"Sweetheart. You need help with that?"
A voice from the front called out. I knew it was Eriol, from his endearment to his scent screamed out the undescribable person that I call my soulmate. My slacking arms demanded his aid, weary they seemed to be. Yet, pride, another of those damned emotions. Oh dear, I cursed again. It seems to happen more often than usual. Pride had made the torchure to my arms prolong even more. I didn't want him to see my other weakness apart from the mute situation I found myself in. It proves I'm less worthy of him than I am normally.
I shook my head a silent "no." However, Eriol, being the masculine "macho man" he is, decided that my "no" didn't exist in his one-page dictionary. A tug on the mahogany basket was made by my vain love's hand, yet I kept my thin grip on it. Sooner than we think, a massive tug-of-war was taking place in the laundry room. A pull earned a tug; a tug gained a pull. So and so. Then from the World War 3 that took place, the starch white linens and cotton shirts flew in the air, smothering us in their fresh scent. It was like a snowfall; everything was covered in its white embrace.
Yet, it felt nothing like a snowfall, emotionally. It wasn't inspiring or gorgeously ivory. All my hard work, the things that proper wives were meant to do, was on the floor again. The same dust-covered clothes that came the washing device. Simply, because I couldn't do my stupid job! I am a pathetic excuse of a wife, now Eriol won't except me. Tears threaten to spill and fall on the linens, but that would cause more chaos.
My gaze lingered on Eriol, who at the moment appeared to be smothered in . . . erm, my underware. The lacy pink frills covered his eye as he wore the asset quite in a red face that clashed with the pink satin quite horrendously. Laughter attacked my self-control with a useless defense with its melody mocking the very red Eriol Hiiragizawa. A boyish arch of his eyebrow explained his amusement rather than anger.
"You think this is funny, don't you? While you laugh at my riduculous fashion statement on my head, which I have to applaud the fine taste in lingerie. Pink, I never thought."
So now it was my turn to turn an unpleasant pink, like my laced underwear. Mirroring the same chorus laughter, Eriol kept smiling that smile while laughing with his comical self. Suddenly, an emotion I've never felt before gushed inside like Old Faitful of Yosemite. Frustration and anger. Anger spilled loudly on my face, as I stomped myself away leaving a man and his scattered laundry. I didn't want to leave the scattered laundry, it means more to me than the man. So I stopped to gather it, earning an arrogant chuckle from Shuichiro.
But, stubborn, dogged Eriol wouldn't give up with my first warning. He insisted to carry the large bundle from me, creating the Fourth World War. Yet, he cheated his way to victory, that man used a weakness that I seem to possess. Finger, slender and delicate so very much like the surgeon he was, approached the corners of my belly. Then he massacre my inside my using my ticklish fetish. Tickled here and there, every inch was conquered, until I was red with laughter.
My grip on the basket released, then caught by the theif himself. Not only had he caught his laundry, but thrown me over his shoulder as if I was some inanimate object to carry. Such cavemen actions! I hmphed at him, arms crossing in a defying gesture and tongue stuck out in the most childish implication of boys with "germs."
The man never seems to surrender to anything! We continue on our journey to his bedroom to drop off his clothes. When we reached our heavenly destination, I found myself landing on the soft contours of his bed and next to me, the laundry basket. He sat next to me, then possessively drags me to his lap. Snug and fit, I sat questioningly at him and found a fir burning through his eyes. Still a bit annoyed at him, I stuck my tongue out again. Gaining an explosive laugh from him, he moved, and my tongue accidently grazed against the soft cartilage of his ear.
He stiffened and shot the same heated gaze towards my direction. Lips were connected in a desired kiss filled with all the extended control gone. I could only see him, only him with his scent and taste. His fingers skimmed everwhere where a few buttons where undone. Then my unexpected gasp and fear rushed through my veins and turned into a scared expression upon the curves of my face. Being the observant man Eriol was, he saw that fear.
His expression hardened into a rigid face of irritance.
"Don't come near me again if you don't want to be raped. I have my self- control and my dignity, but I don't know when that will last. Sweetheart, next time I won't hold back. Next time, desire will take me as his puppet and claim his insatiable prize. Next time, my dear."
There, he left with a dramatic wind of nature out the door with a slam caused my power. I shivered at the dominance he holds, how Eriol Hiiragizawa can merely take a kiss to render me helpless in his spell. I wonder how long I could hold, until I can't hold back anymore.
To this I have to confess the secret I've been holding. Much to the extent of my love for the man, I can not give him what other perfect woman can. I, on the other hand am not a beautiful and intelligent model of existance, so my mission I have concluded for myself personally was to prepare him for when the time comes I find him a perfect housewife. A sacrifice that will kill me forever, but possibly for the best. How can I refuse him when I cannot refuse my own passion. Oh, hateful creature of burning passion. When did I taste your forbidden passion fruit?
With I becoming the loser in all his unfair battles, emotions of human came easier, and so I found myself burning with desire for a man beyond my soul. Burning in the pits of hell for thinking of the most illicit thoughts given by my first taste of the passion fruit. With my tousled hair and disarrayed clothing, I wept at my passion and my loss. I curled into a tight round ball like a confused, pained kitten, thinking of days without end of a man I loved with all my existance.
On the other side of the wall seperating two souls, the man closes his daring eyes and listen to her pleading tears with silent ones trailing along his face. Thinking that these tears were simply the sign of stressed passion and an impatient libido. Yet, his heart burned at the sound of the pained cries his lover had made, wishing that "living happily" ever after seemed closer than it seemed.
"I apologize, sweetheart. I ache for you with a passion that might drive you away. And . . . I don't want to wake another day alone. Please, I don't want to be alone."
A/N: That is so sad. Man, I feel really depressed now. Poor Eriol-chan! Oh, I love this fic. It's so cute, entirely different from my other ones. Oh, for the Harry Potter Fanfic fan in you. . . you might want to check out Lustful Expectations, which I didn't update for a lifetime already. Jeez, I'm sorry to all those L.E. maniacs out there, but I still got a life . . . or maybe I'm just trying too hard to get one.
Tsukuku.
Part One - Chapter Two
So days passed by, filled with more joy and mirth from my bachelor days. It was as if that little beacon of sunlight, angel, had brought something meaningful apart from women, work, and booze. This girl without a name had appeared in my life and transformed it into laughter and smiles, teasings and funny faces. I tend to keep it that way, here with the girl be my side.
Here, as I watch, blessed Angel sweep away abundant piles of fallen leaves, in vain, the leaves, mercilessly scattered with the wind's hand once again after she piled them in a neat package. (Okay, is there trees near the ocean? Of coarse there is! *someone replies "no it doesn't!* from the background and now he is lying with a BOOT stuck in his mouth, a gift for the holidays* Yes there is! I know there is because I have a um . . . book! ya, that's what that thing with paper stuck together, right? A book that tells all about . . . uh, what are we talking about again? Oh ya, stuff. *my room is the exact duplicate of Wayne's World)
Leaves entangled themselves in her hair's violet embrace, and a pout present gave her a complete look of tempting innocence. There it goes again, flying away from her pile. Rather amusing, if you ask me.
Exsaperated, she clumsily tumbles on what's left of the leaf pile, enveloping her in the sea of maples and reds. This was when I decided to join her in the "bed" of leaves. Once I lay aside from Angel in the rustling leaves, my hand abscently started to stroke her hair. Instinct weaved my long, lithe finger against the silk. How soft it felt, like her skin. . . and maybe her - okay, that's enough erotic things for a moment. She whispered a small sigh, probably the most heavenly sound I've ever heard. It took resistance to not take her then and there amongst her enemies, the leaves. Also, it amazed me that Angel could let out small noises, even a laugh or giggle, but she can't talk at all. Can mute people do that? Never mind, my nonsense.
"Angel? Having trouble with the evil leaves, sweetheart? Give it a rest and enjoy the sky? Quite beautiful, like you, don't you think?"
I gaze at her blushing figure. Another amusement was her easily made blushes when I teased her eternally. However like many things, it complimented her beauty.
"Sweetheart. Love. Caro. Innamorata. Darling. Toots. Dear heart. They're all things to call you. Which do you like the best? Would it mean anything to you when I call you "love?" I rather prefer Sweetheart. Suits you, doesn't it? You are very sweet."
I loomed over her, both hands at her sides, trapping her like the week before.
"I'd like to taste you for dessert. A treat, something so unbearably addicting I'll ask for more. Something like you."
Our lips were moments away from dessert, when her tiny hand tried a vain attempt to push me away. In which I secured in my hand, cradling the small thing into a kiss at the hand's back. I gave a few sensual kisses, my tongue bearly tasting the peaches and cream texture of her hand. How very sweet this felt against my tongue.
Then to the crook of her neck, the prize of a swan's envious gaze. Placing tiny bites where ever the horizon reached, a primitive growl came from my mouth. I wasn't the only one enjoying this. Dear sweatheart had her eyes shut closed in pleasure and cherry mouth a bit parted. At her picture, I took a big bite at her mouth. I devour every inch of that luscious dessert, the most insatiable treat I've ever gotten. Everywhere, my teeth nipped at hers. Then, I lifted my head, rather reluctantly, and looked at the leftover of my dessert. A second helping. Yet I wouldn't take another bite, if I wanted to ravish her on a pile of leaves. Which would probably scare her off.
My hand brushed away a leave that handed at the base of her neck, brushing against the infinite softness.
"Come, sweetheart. Let's get some dessert. You need your energy to do the chores. You after all are my servant to pay for staying here. Not that I mind your company. Come, sweetheart. Let's eat."
And so we did. Yet, I craved more than a few butter biscuits and green tea. So much more than simple pleasures of the tongue.
*********** The washing device that cleans clothes into a new bleached fit spun around and around with suds everywhere. It was quite amusing to watch actually. Curiousity made me an attentive worker, or so that's why Eriol-kun told me. Once I finished washing his clothes and a few of mine, I folded it in neat little packages in the basket and went on my way, carrying his heavy load of laundry. Laundry. Such a funny word. A giggle escaped my mouth. Laundry. Laundry. Lau -
"Sweetheart. You need help with that?"
A voice from the front called out. I knew it was Eriol, from his endearment to his scent screamed out the undescribable person that I call my soulmate. My slacking arms demanded his aid, weary they seemed to be. Yet, pride, another of those damned emotions. Oh dear, I cursed again. It seems to happen more often than usual. Pride had made the torchure to my arms prolong even more. I didn't want him to see my other weakness apart from the mute situation I found myself in. It proves I'm less worthy of him than I am normally.
I shook my head a silent "no." However, Eriol, being the masculine "macho man" he is, decided that my "no" didn't exist in his one-page dictionary. A tug on the mahogany basket was made by my vain love's hand, yet I kept my thin grip on it. Sooner than we think, a massive tug-of-war was taking place in the laundry room. A pull earned a tug; a tug gained a pull. So and so. Then from the World War 3 that took place, the starch white linens and cotton shirts flew in the air, smothering us in their fresh scent. It was like a snowfall; everything was covered in its white embrace.
Yet, it felt nothing like a snowfall, emotionally. It wasn't inspiring or gorgeously ivory. All my hard work, the things that proper wives were meant to do, was on the floor again. The same dust-covered clothes that came the washing device. Simply, because I couldn't do my stupid job! I am a pathetic excuse of a wife, now Eriol won't except me. Tears threaten to spill and fall on the linens, but that would cause more chaos.
My gaze lingered on Eriol, who at the moment appeared to be smothered in . . . erm, my underware. The lacy pink frills covered his eye as he wore the asset quite in a red face that clashed with the pink satin quite horrendously. Laughter attacked my self-control with a useless defense with its melody mocking the very red Eriol Hiiragizawa. A boyish arch of his eyebrow explained his amusement rather than anger.
"You think this is funny, don't you? While you laugh at my riduculous fashion statement on my head, which I have to applaud the fine taste in lingerie. Pink, I never thought."
So now it was my turn to turn an unpleasant pink, like my laced underwear. Mirroring the same chorus laughter, Eriol kept smiling that smile while laughing with his comical self. Suddenly, an emotion I've never felt before gushed inside like Old Faitful of Yosemite. Frustration and anger. Anger spilled loudly on my face, as I stomped myself away leaving a man and his scattered laundry. I didn't want to leave the scattered laundry, it means more to me than the man. So I stopped to gather it, earning an arrogant chuckle from Shuichiro.
But, stubborn, dogged Eriol wouldn't give up with my first warning. He insisted to carry the large bundle from me, creating the Fourth World War. Yet, he cheated his way to victory, that man used a weakness that I seem to possess. Finger, slender and delicate so very much like the surgeon he was, approached the corners of my belly. Then he massacre my inside my using my ticklish fetish. Tickled here and there, every inch was conquered, until I was red with laughter.
My grip on the basket released, then caught by the theif himself. Not only had he caught his laundry, but thrown me over his shoulder as if I was some inanimate object to carry. Such cavemen actions! I hmphed at him, arms crossing in a defying gesture and tongue stuck out in the most childish implication of boys with "germs."
The man never seems to surrender to anything! We continue on our journey to his bedroom to drop off his clothes. When we reached our heavenly destination, I found myself landing on the soft contours of his bed and next to me, the laundry basket. He sat next to me, then possessively drags me to his lap. Snug and fit, I sat questioningly at him and found a fir burning through his eyes. Still a bit annoyed at him, I stuck my tongue out again. Gaining an explosive laugh from him, he moved, and my tongue accidently grazed against the soft cartilage of his ear.
He stiffened and shot the same heated gaze towards my direction. Lips were connected in a desired kiss filled with all the extended control gone. I could only see him, only him with his scent and taste. His fingers skimmed everwhere where a few buttons where undone. Then my unexpected gasp and fear rushed through my veins and turned into a scared expression upon the curves of my face. Being the observant man Eriol was, he saw that fear.
His expression hardened into a rigid face of irritance.
"Don't come near me again if you don't want to be raped. I have my self- control and my dignity, but I don't know when that will last. Sweetheart, next time I won't hold back. Next time, desire will take me as his puppet and claim his insatiable prize. Next time, my dear."
There, he left with a dramatic wind of nature out the door with a slam caused my power. I shivered at the dominance he holds, how Eriol Hiiragizawa can merely take a kiss to render me helpless in his spell. I wonder how long I could hold, until I can't hold back anymore.
To this I have to confess the secret I've been holding. Much to the extent of my love for the man, I can not give him what other perfect woman can. I, on the other hand am not a beautiful and intelligent model of existance, so my mission I have concluded for myself personally was to prepare him for when the time comes I find him a perfect housewife. A sacrifice that will kill me forever, but possibly for the best. How can I refuse him when I cannot refuse my own passion. Oh, hateful creature of burning passion. When did I taste your forbidden passion fruit?
With I becoming the loser in all his unfair battles, emotions of human came easier, and so I found myself burning with desire for a man beyond my soul. Burning in the pits of hell for thinking of the most illicit thoughts given by my first taste of the passion fruit. With my tousled hair and disarrayed clothing, I wept at my passion and my loss. I curled into a tight round ball like a confused, pained kitten, thinking of days without end of a man I loved with all my existance.
On the other side of the wall seperating two souls, the man closes his daring eyes and listen to her pleading tears with silent ones trailing along his face. Thinking that these tears were simply the sign of stressed passion and an impatient libido. Yet, his heart burned at the sound of the pained cries his lover had made, wishing that "living happily" ever after seemed closer than it seemed.
"I apologize, sweetheart. I ache for you with a passion that might drive you away. And . . . I don't want to wake another day alone. Please, I don't want to be alone."
A/N: That is so sad. Man, I feel really depressed now. Poor Eriol-chan! Oh, I love this fic. It's so cute, entirely different from my other ones. Oh, for the Harry Potter Fanfic fan in you. . . you might want to check out Lustful Expectations, which I didn't update for a lifetime already. Jeez, I'm sorry to all those L.E. maniacs out there, but I still got a life . . . or maybe I'm just trying too hard to get one.
Tsukuku.