Disclaimer: I don't own it, and probably never will, sad to say.
An Authoresses Musings: Well, this was an experimental crossover, and an experimental pairing. It has no meaning, really, but I may write a full-fledged story, but I'm only tinkering with the idea.
This is a Lemon. Citrus. Fear me.
Amidst the tangles of long, soft, silken, brown or black hair, fanned out in erotic fantasies upon the soft cloudy pillows, blankets of snow-white stained by their lustful sin.
She twists his hair between her long, slender fingers, feeling it slide through slowly, swiftly. He lets her.
He runs his long, slender fingers across her fair, pale body, remembering every outline with sensual pleasure. She lets him.
She arches her back gracefully, moving into him, melting into him as he melts into her. She's gasping and he's panting, and the air is thick with warmth and sweat and hungry love.
He was tired of acting feminine, so he dominated her, and took over her. She was tired of acting masculine, so she submitted to him, and let him take over.
He arches forward with silent grace, feels her move into him and he moves into her, and he's melting into her and she's melting into him. She's moaning and he's groaning, and the air is silent with the sounds of love.
It hurts, it hurts so much but it feels so good, so very good and so very wrong.
She wraps her legs around him, around his hips, moving back and forth and back and forth, and he tastes so sweet, so forbidden it hurts. Her arms are around his neck, grasping him as if he'll get up and leave her even though he never will.
He presses his lips to her, to everywhere, and she feels warm and she tastes like passion, deadly passion as he moves back and forth and back and forth and he pins her down as though she'll get up and leave him even though she never will.
Oh God this feels like sin it keeps devouring me and killing me but I love it so much.
The clothes are scattered everywhere, torn off, ripped off, in a delicious frenzy, left and forgotten like dreams.
Please, I need you, I need you, please, Oh God, Oh God.
She's rubbing her hands over his shoulder blades, and it feels good, so very good, and he's fluttering kisses down her neck and her chest and all over her and pretending not to feel her fingernails digging into his back as he thrusts harder, deeper, hearing her whisper, moan his name.
So wrong and so right.
They climax, warm and wet, sticky and sweet.
"Do you love me?"
"…Hush."
It hurts to breathe; their breath comes out in short bursts.
Fevered skin against fevered skin, so hot and so cold.
The breeze is cold, almost icy, fluttering the curtains, flirting with the flitting candle flame.
"Will you leave me?"
"Why should I?"
He looks into her eyes and she looks into his.
So deep, so dark, so endless.
It hurts, it hurts so much but it feels so good, so very good and so very wrong.
All of desire.
Sweet, sweet sin.
"I hate you."
Her eyes betray her.
He doesn't mind that she lies, and brushes a strand of long, black hair away from her pretty face.
"I hate you too."
He kissed her before she could say anything else.
Sin that was never sin.
I wrote this to get the scene out of my head. Well, believe it or not, this is a crossover with Love Hina. I decided not to put it in the front so that my dear reader could experiment and guess, or slip in different characters. Come to think of it, I could even fit in Ban and Ginji. Hmm. Just change the shes to hes.
Kazuki x Motoko.