Would you like to buy an O?
A Short Story in the Lemon Tree Series
Huge thanks to my bae-ta, Uglygreenjacket. You da best, girl.
So... lemme get some things straight, first. This will be the Teach Usagi Sex trope. But in my twist. And this will be neither Mamoru The Porn Star nor Usagi The Innocent Flower. This will, instead, be The Closing Of the Orgasm-Gap, which everyone of you who's been reading my tumblr for a while will know I'm pretty passionate about. And, this will be realistic sex. This will not be steel-rods and marathon romps, this will be the kind of sex that we all can have - the kind that makes female orgasms. Delicious, intense, female orgasms.
I wrote this for someone. You know who you are. Thank you for being so very open on this topic with me, for all your valuable input, and I hope this fic is all you imagined it to be. I poured every last ounce of knowledge I ever gained on the topic into this – be it through books, classes, feminist essays, courses or intervention congresses on the topic (which mostly always burns down to this: communication and self-exploration!) and gave it my own flavor. Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to do this for you, and trusting me with this!
One last note on Mamoru's apartment: I'm going with the one room version, here. How it at least looked in the first arc of crystal (I know that changed by Infinity, and anime!Mamoru's apartment looked different all the time, too - but ALSO had his bed in that one big room) - anyway, y'know - big room and big windows and big bed at the end just by the window.
Oh, and also, AU setting, btw. But you guys know I like my AUs very close to canon ;)
"I know a guy," had been Rei's offhanded words, as she'd gotten up and left the table, glossy, ridiculously perfect hair getting flicked behind her shoulder as she left.
Usagi's breath had stuck in her throat. She hadn't agreed to this, even when Minako and Mako-chan had both already whooped all around the table and spooked all the other patrons currently trying to eat their fluffy, ridiculously perfect pancakes in peace.
Now, different day, different restaurant, Usagi sat in the back of the darkly lit izakaya, her legs falling asleep under her butt on the plush tatami mat, as she wiggled her toes in her pink, ruffle-y rabbit socks that she wondered if they weren't too childish for... such an occasion, and tapped her hands nervously against her phone.
'Be on time', Rei's text, still open, read. Beneath that an address and the details to a table, reserved under her name.
What the hell had she agreed to, here?
She hadn't agreed to this, not really, and yet… for whatever reason, for what must have been only like, the third time in her twenty six year long life, Usagi had not only been on time, she had been half an hour early, and dressed in her chic, dark pencil skirt and that one, powder colored silk blouse - the one that hugged her skin in just the right spots, but wasn't too... She shook her head, exhaled forcibly, and checked the time.
7:56.
Her heart hammered against her ribs and she straightened up her spine involuntarily when the curtains of the entrance, far across the noisy room, were pushed aside and a tall man entered. Tailored suit, top buttons undone, cheeky smirk, white teeth, sexy… and her heart hammered some more.
Before deflating with a sigh and slumping shoulders, when he waved to a group of men off to the side, who greeted him with loud choruses of 'Kanpai!', and raised glasses of beer and Highballs.
She shook her head again. Squeezed her eyes shut. Who was she kidding? What was she doing here? What had she been THINKING, admitting at their weekly Sunday lunch together that she had never had an orgasm during sex, with Minako AND Rei at the table? How could she have been so stupid?
And then she jumped, startled, by a voice she would recognize anywhere, that washed over her like arrogant, condescending ... wait.
"Odango Atama,"
Her eyes whipped up, shocked, and met his dancing, smirking ones.
Her hands curled around her phone, ready to smash it into the innocent table, as if Rei's text could feel the pain.
"'I know a guy'?!" Usagi scoffed incredulously, eyebrows raised, too loud.
Mamoru's smirk faltered a little, as he knelt to remove his shoes, and stepped up onto the little platform.
Was this a joke? Usagi blinked. Was Rei pulling her leg? Setting her up with the only guy who…
When Mamoru knelt on the tatami mat, folding his ridiculously long legs underneath the low table, Usagi was still too shocked to even yell at him. Or… you know, one of those things that she used to do when they were teenagers and riled each other up in the streets of Juuban.
He looked at her, those gorgeous dark blue eyes she'd first dreamt of when she was fifteen, and had to swallow.
He hadn't said anything, either, and it was getting uncomfortable, here in the loud, cheerfully crowded izakaya, as she stared dumbly at the one guy who had gotten away. Literally.
He swallowed, ran a hand through that obnoxiously silky hair like he used to do when he was nervous, swallowed, and raised a hand, shouting – moderately loudly, this place was packed – to get the waiter's attention, who rushed over to them immediately.
Usagi was still staring, looking intently at Mamoru's lips as he spoke, but not listening. Were they all being serious? Was Mamoru actually here to… to…?
She jerked up, mumbled another order – she needed food, this was a food kind of situation, and fast – when Mamoru's mentioning of her name startled her out of her thoughts and back to the waiter. A lanky, short but cute guy, a little younger than her, maybe, who rushed away as quickly as he came to get their order ready. Usagi didn't even really know what she'd asked to get.
Once he was gone, though, Mamoru's eyes – seemingly reluctantly? Why was he here, then? – met hers, and he swallowed once more.
Usagi blinked when she realized she'd been glaring at him.
She shook her head, shook out of it, and resisted the urge to rub her hands across her face.
"Why are you here?" she asked instead.
Mamoru's instant blush at her question at least answered for him – even when he cleared his throat and obviously struggled to find an answer.
"I – I mean Rei called and said – said that – I mean, you…" He shook his head, broke off.
Usagi nodded, a little quickly, eyes a little wide. Right. Damn would she kill Rei next time she saw her.
She grabbed her glass a little tighter, suddenly wishing it was alcohol and not strawberry soda. "And you came?" she asked, and cringed at her choice of words.
His blush intensified and he shrugged, and she cursed the fact that it looked adorable.
So, she had babbled out at Sunday lunch, while Minako was talking bad sex experience and how awful the guy had been in bed and how she'd upped and left halfway through, that she had never had an orgasm during sex. And Rei just went and brought this info to the one guy she'd really fallen for during high school, the one that had taken her forever to get over, to come fix the situation? And he just agreed?
She frowned, ready to ask again, when the waiter arrived, and placed two double sized plates of yakitori and grilled mochi mochi cheese in front of her, and poured Sake from one of those rather tiny but ornate, green 330ml bottles into a small glass in front of Mamoru, overflowing it into the little wooden box, before placing the bottle on the table.
Her frown deepened. Figures. She should have ordered that, too.
"Why'd you agree to come?" she asked, once their waiter was out of earshot, a little breathlessly. The words came out, she had no control over them.
His eyes were startled. He blinked, his cheeks still that adorable rosy hue. His teeth brushed his lower lip before he spoke, just a moment, just briefly.
His eyes were just a little bit wide.
"I was your first kiss, wasn't I?" he said, and her heart stumbled over the reminder. "Seems only..." He cringed, apologetically. "Sorry that sounds..." He shook his head.
Her heart hammered. Thump, thump, thump, right out of her chest.
It did seem... feel... right.
Mamoru took a rather long sip of his drink.
The group next to them, one empty table of a gap between – all in suits and costumes with loosened ties in what seemed to be an after-work get together – roared in laughter and upped their volume as someone shouted a boisterous story across the group that washed over both of them.
Usagi exhaled a shaky breath, grabbed a yakitori stick, and did the only thing she could think of. She excused herself to get to the bathroom.
Mamoru blinked at her, even when she was already getting up and away.
She felt a little comical, how she bit all the chicken pieces off the skewer all at once. Pushed it, in passing, into the little bamboo holders for them at the counter, and stomped, one frustrated chew per quick stride, into the little, darkly painted unisex bathroom behind the curtain, sat on the lowered toilet seat, and hacked into her phone.
WTF. Why would you set me up on a sex date with MAMORU-BAKA?! Usagi grunted when she pushed at the 'send' button.
To her surprise, her phone lit up right away.
It's an orgasm date. Not a sex date. Get back out there.
Usagi pretty much growled at her phone, as if Rei could hear it, and started cursing, before slumping back against the water canister.
Chiba Mamoru. Usagi sighed, closed her eyes, willed the one image back up that she'd tried to forget so many times, the one that had haunted her dreams.
Teasing, teasing, teasing – for years, and then… And then that night. Dangling feet over the rim of the fountain, their fountain. The one she would always, so, so often, run into him at their park, with the little clock tower in the middle. Water that slowly soaked the hem of her skirt, but it was a warm, humid night and he was there and she didn't care. When they'd sat and talked and teased and giggled, and they'd just... stayed, even when the moon came out, and her heart had pounded so hard when she'd admitted to herself why her blood started to boil whenever he was near, and why her very skin started to sizzle when he looked at her like... so.
And how … hours later, she'd scooted over a little closer, hammering heart and all, and slipped her hand into his on the not-so-cool-stone of the fountain. And how she'd slipped down, and into the fountain, and his hands were pressed to the back of her neck and his lips were on her.
They both got soaked, and she drowned. It had been her first kiss. Her best kiss.
He'd walked her home, hands trembling, not speaking.
The day afterwards she'd found out that he was leaving for Harvard. She'd cried for a day.
She hadn't answered the phone when he called. Walked past him when he stood in front of her school gates the day after that. She didn't go to his farewell party at the Crown, a month after that.
And then the years flew, because time was weird like that and she suddenly had to start wearing smart looking clothing for work, and he was back, and they pretended they barely knew each other. At least she did. She was in a relationship, when she'd first learned he'd returned, a couple years ago. And nothing ever happened between them but a first kiss and dreams of more that never were to be.
They'd passed orbits sometimes. Nodding to each other at parties they both attended. Sometimes he came up in conversation. She knew he did his residency in the same hospital Ami did. They were in the same study group, had been since their state exams. Once every few months he went for tea with Rei.
Rei was the only person in the world who knew – because Usagi had been so drunk at that one party the girls had thrown her to cheer her up, in her and Mina's apartment, after she'd broken up with her ex. The girls had all been asleep but Rei, and it had slipped out –
Rei was the only person in the world who knew it was Mamoru's face, and that kiss in the fountain, that she thought about whenever she touched herself.
Usagi exhaled, deeply. Bent forward and hung her head between her legs. Breathe in, breathe out.
Sex with Chiba Mamoru. It was the one sexual fantasy she knew she had. And even if she'd need a lifetime to get over him this time…
She inhaled, steeled her shoulders.
Mamoru's hand was back in his hair when she returned. He jumped, just a little bit, when she let herself drop back onto the tatami mat and reached for his glass in one movement.
It shook a little, and some of the Sake splashed onto the table when she took a big gulp of it and placed it back in front of him.
"Listen, Usagi," Mamoru had started to say. "If you don't—"
She interrupted him.
"Back in high school, Minako and I bought this book together," Usagi said, and Mamoru blinked. "It was called 'The perfect lover: How you make him wild'. We wrapped it in blank paper so no one would see what we read, so we could read it in turns while the others thought we were studying for our final exams."
Mamoru snorted softly and rolled his eyes, even when he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table so he could hear better, and Usagi could talk a little quieter, ears a pink tint.
"It was full of tips," Usagi continued, "on how to give the best blow jobs, how to get rid of your gag reflex, which yoga lessons to do so you could perform the weirdest positions, how to tone your body so you would look irresistible for him, and which positions and things to avoid because they make you look less attractive. And we ate it all up."
Mamoru frowned, blinking a little.
"It didn't even occur to us how stupid it was to read a book on how to give guys good orgasms, instead of learning how to give ourselves good orgasms. We didn't question it," Usagi said. "And we bought more. Lots of glossy magazines for women that taught us in which underwear we would look sexiest for him, sex tips on how to be a 'sex goddess.'…" This time Usagi snorted, too. "There was this one article that promised the "hottest sex you will ever have" and it was something where you had to half kneel, half hover, and ignore the shaking muscles in your thighs. Next to it were fitness tips on how to train yourself to endure it better, and a chart on how many calories you would lose with it, and that it would be so worth it, because he would just love us for it."
Mamoru's frown deepened, and he lifted his glass back to his lips for a long, slow sip, but said nothing.
Usagi picked a cheese mochi off her skewer, and ate it in one bite, chewing while she talked on. "The first time I had sex," she continued, mouth full, and blinked briefly as he stiffened a little, "I was so obsessed with thoughts of if I was doing this right, if I was performing the way I was supposed to, if my tongue was swirling the way it was meant to, if he was finding the lingerie I'd picked sexy enough, I was too busy to even register any feeling at all." Usagi shrugged. "It wasn't bad, really. But it really wasn't good at all, either. It was… empty. It was…" she frowned, saw Mamoru swallow as she searched for a word.
"…a performance?" she finished with a cringe, and he nodded.
"Anyway," Usagi cleared her throat. "What I'm saying is… they don't exactly teach you to make this good for yourself, you know? And I didn't even notice at first. So it's no wonder I've never…" Usagi blushed "… you know…"
He nodded, rendered a little mute, cheeks red.
She cleared her throat again. Popped another mochi cheese ball into her mouth, the comforting, calming company of food, and continued talking, even redder.
"It's totally fine on my own, at least now. You know, once I actually started … on my own?" She mumbled under her breath, and he swallowed and nodded, a little choked. "But… during sex? I've tried… I don't know. Maybe my clit is broken? Maybe I'm having sex with the wrong gender? I'm…"
Usagi exhaled and shrugged. "I've tried... I've had … dates that landed in bed, here and there, and one long relationship – as you know," she said, and he nodded, even when it seemed a little forced.
"Did he know?" he interrupted her. She lifted her head.
"What, that I never came?" she asked under her breath, ears burning.
His blush intensified, but he held her gaze for a little moment of uncomfortable silence. "Did you fake?"
She pressed her lips together, rolled her eyes. "Sometimes, yeah. Of course I did."
Mamoru blinked, and Usagi flushed when he cocked his head sideways, and his hair fell a little into his eyes as he talked. "Of course you did?" he repeated.
Usagi rolled her eyes again, and sat back onto the heels of her feet. "You wouldn't understand," she said. "I mean… everyone fakes, right?"
He raised his eyebrows. "How would he begin to understand the extent of the problem if you fake?"
Usagi's eyebrows scrunched together in a glare, and Mamoru swallowed. "Oh c'mon," she said, shaking her head at him as if he were being dense. And for once, he was. "He felt horrible, every time. If I didn't fake at least sometimes, he would feel like a failure. Doubted himself, made this all about…"
"Him?" he interrupted.
Usagi blinked, cringed apologetically. "Kinda…" she mumbled.
He exhaled, but said nothing.
Usagi sighed, propped her elbow up on the table and rested her chin in her palm, while picking the rest of the mochi cheese balls off the skewers to pop them in one after the other. "It's just…" she frowned, shot Mamoru a look. "You guys are so FRAGILE in this regard…"
"'Us guys'?" he repeated, eyebrows raised.
"Men," Usagi said, and Mamoru's eyebrows rose higher. "At least, y'know, every man I've had sex with. It's like…it's like... all your pride and self-worth depends on whether you're good in bed."
Her voice rose a little, and she noticed several of the heads at the table nearby turn, and lowered her voice to a hiss instead, but continued.
"And, and… if I just say a little thing you're all ..." she frowned, thinking "…indignant and… don't even really try, just do more of what you already did … and then it's all on me. And I mean…. If he doesn't want to anymore, and I know that I'm not gonna come anyway, not like this, and I mean… I do have a vibrator you know, which works every time, so… why bother?" Usagi huffed. She knew she was making little sense, she was jumping too fast. But…
She took a deep breath. "And I close up too, you know? All that concentration, all that trying to loosen all my muscles as the internet says I'm supposed to do to relax, the deep breaths down to the core, the… trying to imagine sexy scenes…" she slowed down and broke off, swallowing, blushing again. She hadn't meant to let that slip.
Mamoru frowned. "You imagine you're somewhere else during sex?" he asked.
She blushed.
Mamoru blushed, cleared his throat. "With someone else?"
Her cheeks burned again, and she shrugged awkwardly and cursed her voice for being somewhat raw when she answered, "Whatever helps?"
He just looked at her, with those intense blue eyes that she imagined all too often in those instances, and she knew she was blushing even harder, even when she hated that she did. Well, it wasn't like he knew, right?
"And did it?" he asked.
Usagi blinked. She had to remember what he meant, she'd been too distracted. But then she did, and sighed.
"No," she said with another slow, somewhat defeated shrug. "I'm always super tense and trying too hard. Not relaxed at all. And then when I did try to talk about it… he was super tense as well, and not coming anymore, either, as if I'm contagious in my non-orgasms."
He chuckled at her choice of words and his eyes widened when she glared at him for it. But then he nodded, and somehow, suddenly, his shoulders lost their tenseness, and he started talking. About the nervous system, and models of arousal, and mediators, and… she didn't follow.
"— traditional model of the female sexual response says that you'd need activation in the parasympathetic nervous system to get aroused in the first place, but nowadays neurologists found that sympathetic activation is needed to—"
Usagi lifted her hands, crossed them, and started laughing. "What, are you a sexpert now, too?"
He blushed. "No, but I'm a doctor. And I'm trying to explain the neurological processes behind orgasms."
She grabbed her soda, amused, waved her wrist at him with her other hand, rolling her hand once around, in a 'go ahead' gesture.
And the tenseness was back in his shoulder, when he rolled them awkwardly and raked those sinew-y, long fingers back through his inky hair.
"It's like this," he started, voice a little low.
"If your body is alarmed – be it through too intense nervousness, or fear, or y'know, apprehension, then your nervous system will activate all bodily reactions it needs for survival. But at the same time shuts everything down that's not required for survival. Like arousal," he said, gesticulating somewhat awkwardly and it made Usagi smile.
"So you're saying too that I should relax, or I won't get wet," she said, and he swallowed.
But he held her eyes, and inclined his head. "It's the traditional model. It's not completely disregarded, but the newer models actually say that for women a little 'thrill', if not needed for arousal, is what's needed to actually come. But the evidence on that is still a little mixed."
Usagi frowned. "So, you're saying science has no clue how women come?"
"No, they do! But they're saying the female orgasm is way more complicated than the male one is," he said, voice a little raspy.
Usagi rolled her eyes and snorted. "And they needed science to figure that out?"
Mamoru chuckled at that – the low, sexy rumble of his voice that she remembered all too well from her teenage years – and he grabbed at the tiny green bottle still on the table to refill his little glass, before winking at her.
Usagi cursed the small throb it caused in her, and she cleared her throat, and nodded at his drink.
"Are you planning to get drunk?" she asked. It was a rather forward question, especially with a bottle so small, but the thought that the prospect of sex with her was something he needed a drink for was kind of… disconcerting.
"No," he said directly, vehemently.
Usagi frowned.
He threw her a look, before he spoke. His eyes didn't waver from hers. "To be honest, I'm planning to get a little courage."
Her heart skipped a beat, and her voice was a little breathless when she spoke.
"For what?"
He shrugged. "For being honest. And forward. And good enough."
Usagi blinked, completely taken aback. "'Good enough'?!"
He threw her a little smile and a shrug, and clinked his glass against her soda glass, but didn't elaborate.
Good enough? Did he think he wasn't… or that she was… Usagi inhaled sharply. And… for being honest…?
"Why did you agree to this?" she asked again, in a whisper, and almost held her breath.
His eyes stayed on hers, but the sip he took on his glass was a little longer.
When he set it back on the table, he closed his eyes, tightly squeezed shut, before they landed back on her.
"Because you're the only one I was ever in love with."
She nearly choked on her soda, but Mamoru held her eyes. Steady, all cards on the table, while her brain fired.
It was really silly, of all the things she could have asked… When? Why did you not tell me? Are you kidding me? …Or even, guess what, me too. Or… Why did you leave, back then? Why did you not try harder, then?
The thing that came out of her mouth was, "Was?"
He shrugged again.
Her head went on speed dial. Her heart hammered. "Why did you never..." but she trailed off, didn't have the guts to say more.
He shook his head, only a little, and his eyebrows scrunched together.
But, weirdly, it was more than enough to realize she'd long made up her mind.
"Ok," Usagi whispered.
He blinked. "Ok, what?"
"Ok," she breathed. "Let's do this. Let's have sex."
His eyes widened, and Usagi's courage faltered a little.
"I mean… only if you want..."
He reached across the table for the little bottle, and topped his still pretty much filled glass up, before filling her now empty soda glass half-way with his liquid courage, as well.
Only then did he meet her eyes. "Tell me why it's never worked," he said.
Huh? Usagi blinked, confused.
"What did they do wrong?" he said, holding her gaze.
There it was again, that little throb. Usagi flushed a little, and knit her brows together. What did they do wrong? She knew they'd always tried. Rubbing where they assumed it felt good, fondling where they'd thought it was right.
It took Usagi a moment to answer. It wasn't anything she'd really ever thought about, and she frowned all the way through her response because of it.
"They…" she started, thinking. "They never… asked?"
Then she shook her head. "Sorry, that's probably not a really helpful answer."
He shook his head vehemently. "What do you mean with that?" he whispered, and she leaned a little closer.
Suddenly she was very aware of the fact they were in a crowded public place.
She cleared her throat. "What I liked. They didn't ask. They assumed, instead." Then she frowned. "But probably because…"
"Because?" he asked.
"I don't know. It's weird to ask. You're admitting you don't know what you're doing. I get that that's a hard thing to do. And I mean…" she swallowed. "I didn't tell them, exactly, either, that for one I prefer two fingers instead of…" she blushed, trailed off. "Or you know, what I like."
"What do you like?" he asked, immediately, a little breathless.
Usagi felt her heartbeat through her chest, in her ears, in the tips of her fingers when she took a sip of his drink. It was surprisingly sweet for a rice wine, and sadly not at all potent. She hadn't noticed when she'd taken a sip of his glass, earlier.
She shook her head just a little. "Are we really having this conversation?" she asked with a snort.
He rolled his shoulder, gave her a small smile, and she shook her head again and envied him a little. Sure, he blushed a lot. But the way he sat there was utterly composed, while her fingers shook around her glass.
"How can you be so calm with this?" she asked.
He blushed. Raised his glass for her and cleared his throat. "If it makes you comfortable, full disclosure, I'm shaking," he said.
She raised an eyebrow, made a point to look at his very still, very calm hands.
He chuckled, and his eyebrow twitched as he held her gaze. "But I'm also a surgeon, and have needed to learn to be completely able to work, and to not let it take me over when I'm nervous."
"You're nervous?" She whispered.
"Very." His voice was low, almost inaudible over the noise.
She bit her lip, talking right over her wildly beating heart.
"Why?" she whispered back.
"You," he answered, with a newly returned blush.
She looked at him, put all the 'Why' she had in herself into her eyes.
His blush deepened. "I told you why…"
Her heart thundered in her ears. "You said 'was'."
He sat back, held her eyes, but didn't answer. She was ready to smack him, when he leaned forward again, and asked.
"When you do it on your own…What works?"
She flushed. Back to business, it seemed.
"Do you have any fantasies?" he asked with a slight, embarrassed break in his voice that she didn't fail to miss and it made her smile even when the question mortified her.
My only real fantasy is you.
That's not the kinda thing you answer, right?
"I don't …" She swallowed. "Not really. At least not…" she broke off, flushed to the roots, and he took pity on her, and didn't pry.
"Do you?" she asked, instead.
He swallowed.
"I do," he said after a moment, and her shoulders slumped in relief that she didn't have to reveal her embarrassing secret after all.
"Tell me about it," she said, and felt a little pride in how she was immediately more relaxed.
He swallowed before he started to talk. And the moment he did, her heart felt like it stopped.
"We're back in the fountain," he started, and her hands immediately start to tremble. "And you push me into the water down with you, just like you did, and your lips—" he exhaled, his eyes unsure, licked his lips and pressed them together. But he continued after a small break, and a whimper from her lips. "Your lips open, just like they did, and I drown in your taste and moan into your mouth, and my hands slip into your hair."
She gripped her glass a little harder, and his eyes flew to her hands.
"Go on," she whispered.
His eyes flick back up to hers, and his lips open a little, as he exhaled, deeply. "And then I break off the kiss, but instead of… what we really did, you press me back down, and you take off your shirt, and then…"
"And then?" she asked. Too urgent, too breathless.
He licks his lips again, and her eyes are glued to his mouth. "You start to undress me, shirt first, and I get to lick the water off your chest while you pull down my pants. And you reach under your skirt – the pleated, navy school skirt of your high school uniform that you wore that night – and you leave it on, but you remove your panties, and…" his voice broke, and he exhaled. "And then you kneel over me, and take my hand, and slip it underneath your skirt, and…"
He broke off for real then, and his eyes left hers, and he took a chug of his drink.
But his words travelled straight between her legs, and she grabbed the little slip of paper that was their current bill from underneath his Sake bottle, and before he even registered what was happening, she was at the front of the restaurant, paying, and back to grab her purse, and his hand.
"Let's do this, then," she whispers, threading her fingers through his, and he jerks alive, and rushes them out, leaving half full glasses and the remnants of her food disregarded on the table, and it's minutes later that her hair trails behind her in the wind, and her thighs lock around him, and her fingers stretch across his stomach, and he drives them through nighttime Juuban to his apartment.
It was exhilarating. The roar of the engine in her ears and vibrating beneath her legs. The cocooned feeling of the slightly too large spare helmet, the feeling of being pressed against him so thoroughly, arms tightly clasped around him, and she found herself trying to push herself forever closer, as her home district rushed by her.
It was in itself something she had secretly always dreamed of – climbing up behind him on this motorcycle, getting that legitimate excuse to crush herself against him with all she had. Whenever she'd seen him (way back when and even only recently) rush by on his bike, she'd licked her lips and imagined what it would be like.
Tokyo was a big place, but Juuban wasn't at all. Not a week went by sometimes without at least seeing glimpses of his shiny motorcycle cross a street, turn a corner. She didn't look, mostly. On her way from or to the metro station that took her along the main street that he so often took on his rides. But she always found her senses tune in on the sounds of motorcycles in general because of him. Reaching out without daring to look, and then looking after all, and cursing herself when it wasn't him, and cursing herself when it was him, too.
And now it was happening. And not only this… Her heart couldn't keep up, really. It rushed in her ears almost louder than the roar of the ride. And it stayed even when she felt the muscles in Mamoru's thighs flex and the bike slow down, as they approached a grayish apartment complex on the fringes of Juuban that she dimly recognized from when she'd been here once, when she was 16, with a silly excuse to drop off a book Ami had borrowed, and got invited in for the most uncomfortable, awkward tea she'd ever had, weeks before that kiss.
She felt her body involuntarily move with him, almost disappointed, when the bike stopped and he lifted himself up and off the bike, removing his helmet in one move.
His eyes found hers, and he licked his lips, just ever so slightly, when she still sat on his bike and he stood in front of it. He closed the gap between them, and her breath caught when his fingers found the clasp of his spare helmet, and he lifted it off her head, his eyes never leaving hers, but not saying anything.
And just like the last time it was her that made the move, when she clawed her fingers into the button border of his ever-so-fancy grey dress shirt, and pulled.
She dimly registered the helmets simply clatter to the ground, when his fingers pushed into her hair, slightly messy from the ride, and his lips connected with hers. Soft, warm, Mamoru.
She sighed into the kiss, opened her mouth immediately, impatient, and he moaned when his tongue brushed against hers – ever so lightly, ever so tentatively – and the grip in her hair got a little stronger, and her own mouth a little more insistent, as she wound her arms around his shoulders, pulling herself up against him.
It was almost better than she remembered.
She ground herself against him, half hovering off the bike, felt it wobbling dangerously beneath her as she tried to deepen the kiss even more, taste even more. But his hands slipped from her hair and to her cheeks – those strong fingers so very, very gentle – and his thumbs stroked against her skin even as his mouth closed, and his soft lips brushed against hers calmly, lovingly, before he retreated, and she once again moved with him, reluctant to let go.
His eyes were wide when she opened hers again. He didn't say anything, still, just held out his hand to help her off his bike.
She took it, swallowing thickly, threading her fingers through his.
He didn't let go of her hand, even when he fumbled for his keys, or pushed the button for the elevator. Even when the silence became thick when they stood and looked at their feet, and she felt his hands begin to tremble, when neither one said anything, and her heart pounded out of her chest because this was it. This was happening. Now.
He only let go from her hand when he opened the door to his apartment for her, and motioned for her to enter before him, eyes still wide, adam's apple bopping.
She felt the soft click of his shutting door as if it vibrated right through her.
Her heart had already been beating in a rhythm that pounded in her ears. Now it was speeding up, causing her hands to tremble slightly and her breath to hitch.
She stumbled a bit over her own feet in the narrow genkan, not daring to look back at him, but even clumsier than usual due to both her nervousness and the darkness.
He hadn't turned on the lights. Yet, the moon shone dimly from the big room up front, shrouding them both in mostly shadows.
She slipped out of her shoes, her breathing feeling too loud in the dark, silent apartment, and her skin vibrated, almost, knowing he was right behind her, knowing he'd… they'd…
There was a hollow thud on the wooden floor when he stepped up from the genkan, and stopped right behind her. She sucked in her breath when his front brushed her back ever so slightly, and she felt him bend behind her, just barely.
She almost jumped when she felt his hands settle around her waist, slipping against the soft fabric. Felt his mouth against the shell of her ear, his breath and voice against her neck when he whispered.
"Is this ok?"
She blushed at the way her nod was so quick, so breathless, so desperate, almost, and she breathed a mumbled, "uhuh", just for clarity. Embarrassed how he hadn't even done anything, and she already felt like pressing her knees together. But the situation… there was something about this.
"Close your eyes," he whispered, lips brushing the sensitive skin behind her ear and she bit her lip, as she complied, immediately.
She could feel the tremble in his hands, when his hands around her waist started to move, tugging on the fabric of her blouse, pulling it from her skirt, and slip beneath. It gave her a slight thrill, knowing he was shaking, too. That this was affecting him, too.
She exhaled. It was a little shaky, and her belly jumped when his fingertips slipped against it.
His hands were a little cold. A little clammy. And they moved tentatively, as if he really dared not to touch her, it was feather-light. Yet they scorched her skin, and she found herself holding her breath.
His hands were slipping higher, lifting her blouse in the process, his grip a little fuller, and she felt his shaky breath against her neck, when she arched her back to meet his hands full on, and she lifted her trembling arms above her head.
'This blouse can go now', her stance said. And she squeezed her eyes a little more tightly shut, when, with one barely audibly groan coming from his lips, his hands slipped across the lacy fabric of her bra. They hovered there, just a moment, his fingers twitching over the fabric, and she felt her naked back brush against the fabric of his silky button-down, heaving from labored breathing, before his fingers curled into the fabric of her blouse and he lifted it off her body. With a quick whoosh, her head was tangled in it, her sight growing even darker behind closed eyes.
And then it moved across her hair, and she heard the fabric settle on the floor.
It was his exhaling that she heard through the silence this time. And her own that joined soon after. Her skin exploded in goosebumps, even when it wasn't cold, even when his hands weren't even on her, but she knew his eyes to be. It was a moment that took just that little bit too long – and he stepped back up behind her, and this time she could feel the bulge that had formed in his pants press against the fabric of her skirt.
"More?" he asked, his voice just a hush against her ear, and she could only nod that fervent, impatient, mute nod again.
And then his hands were back, trembling even harder than before, and she felt a finger slip beneath the back of her bra, and his breath against the top of her spine when it came free.
She rolled her shoulders, moving to get it off, when his hands gripped her arms, stopping her.
"Not so fast," he whispered, urgently, and it pooled between her legs, the way his voice was raspy, on the brink of control.
Instead, his fingers moved – his touch still so, so light – to her shoulders, beneath the straps, and with the softest touch, moved them down and off her arms, until her bra simply fell from her and onto the floor. And even though her eyes were still closed, she knew of course that she was standing topless in his dark hallway, when he was still fully clothed.
And then she had to bite her lip again, when he was still not touching her, not really, and instead his hands moved higher, and into her hair, and with a few tugs, and a few light thuds of bobby pins that met the fate of her bra on his cold wooden floor, she felt her hair tumble down across her back, and him shudder audibly.
His hands wound into her hair, then. And his voice broke in a little groan that travelled through her like lightning, and for the first time she got it – all the years of teasing, of calling her that name. It all coalesced into this one, strangled breaking of his voice.
He was really, really into her hair.
The revelation burned between her legs. That thought that maybe, maybe it was right. That he'd been dreaming about her as much as she'd been dreaming about him.
She opened her eyes, then. They adjusted quickly to the dark, and she could see into the big, single room in front of her. The big bed, the dark sheets, the blinking lights of Tokyo Tower shining in through the grand windows – curtains fully open. It looked exactly like the one time she'd been here, years and years ago.
She took a few steps, without even thinking. Her girly, silly, frilly socks created almost no sound on the hard, cold floor, and she felt her hair glide through his fingers as she walked into the room on slightly shaky legs. Passed by the bed, her fingers absentmindedly gliding along the dark, silk sheets, and stopped in front of his majestic view.
You could see almost all of Minato, this high up.
Boldened by the knowledge that she was standing in the dark, and that she could see but they could not, she brought a hand up to the glass of the tall window, and stood half-naked over Tokyo.
She heard the shaky intake of his breath, when he stopped behind her.
"What do you want?" he asked, voice low and hitching.
Her fingers curled against the glass, and she felt the warm puff of her own breath reflected back against her lips by the wall of glass in front of her, when she spoke.
"I want you to touch me," she said, still facing for what might just be all of Tokyo to her. Her voice was strong, much stronger than his, and it felt bold, scandalous, almost, even when she knew this was what she was here for.
He stepped closer, and once again she could feel the slip of his shirt as it connected to her naked back, and his hands once more settle on her hips – naked now, along the seam of her skirt. But, to the frustrated rumble in her belly, his hands slipped higher, not lower.
But she gasped nevertheless when his fingers ran, ever so lightly, along the skin just below her breasts, stroking back and forth, back and forth – and her voice came out a little strangled, when one hand reached up and grasped one nipple, rolling it between his fingers almost delicately, and it puckered up almost instantly.
She moaned, deep and almost pained, and arched back into him. Moaned even louder, when he pressed back, and she felt her chest connect to the cold glass, and her ass to his cock.
Her breathing sped up. It would be so easy. So absolutely easy, and the thought thrilled her. If he'd just flip up her skirt, lower his zipper, move her panties aside, and fuck her into this window, breasts pressed against Tokyo.
He didn't, of course. He was nothing if not tentative. And she didn't voice the thought.
"What do you want?" he breathed against her neck, once again, and she groaned, biting her lip.
I want you to fuck me. I want you to bend me over and thrust until you can't.
She didn't say this, of course. Part of the problem, she supposed. Instead she said, again, and it frustrated her immensely this time, "I want you to touch me."
The weight against her back lifted, ever so slightly, as he bent his face towards her ear and whispered, "Show me."
Her eyes widened, just a little, and met his, when she turned in her spot. Latched straight onto those blue, piercing eyes, so near to her face, and licked her lips.
She brought her hands up to his collar, then. Loosened the first few buttons with quick but trembling fingers, felt his adam's apple bob against her fingertips as he swallowed deeply and brought his hands up to still her movements.
How can his hands be so gentle, was her only thought, as his thumbs stroked her palms and his cheek slipped against hers as he leaned in to whisper once again.
"Not on me," he said.
It was her time to swallow, when her eyes once again found his.
Oh.
His face was all blush, even when his eyes were strong, and she felt the thrill of it all flutter in her chest and her gut when she, without breaking his gaze, reached one hand beneath her skirt, and dragged her panties down her legs with just her thumb hooked into them.
His breath hitched with the almost noiseless sound of her panties hitting his shiny floors, and her heart hammered against her chest, when his legs gave way, and he lowered himself to his knees in front of her, top buttons now undone, and stroked his hands from her knees up her thighs. His grip was stronger now, pressing into her flesh, her skin moving under his fingers, as he lifted her skirt in order to be able to see.
Her fingers shook, and yet, she was not at all surprised to find she was wet in a way she hadn't been in a long, long time, when her back fell back against the cold glass behind her, and her middle and index fingers slipped in practiced, blind movements between her folds, collecting moisture to spread where it felt good.
And oh god, the thrill, the way his lips were slightly open, his fist kneading into the fabric of her skirt, the other into the fabric of his pants. The way he shifted, slightly, closer, eyes glued to her fingers. The way she saw his bulge twitch in his pants, her eyes straying, straying to his crotch with every movement.
"You, too," she felt her voice rush out, breathless, without thinking.
He flushed an even deeper red, his eyes flicking up to hers, away from her fingers even when she saw his eyes flit back to them and back up to her eyes, and this tongue slipped out, just briefly, to press against his lips and the raging war behind his eyes. A war that was obviously won in her favor, when his eyes jumped back to the movements of her fingers, but his own hand slipped down to undo the shiny silver buckle of his belt, rip it from his pants, and blindly flung it behind him, before he lowered his zipper and reached inside.
"No," she groaned. "Let me see."
She groaned against the desire that rushed through her, flooding her fingers, when his tongue flicked out to lick his lips, and his eyes went up to the ceiling as he steeled himself for what was obviously very embarrassing to him, and yet very, very hot. But then he ripped at the button of his pants, and it shifted down his form just slightly, baring his cock to her eyes, hard and veiny and red and thick in his fist, and her fingers got slicker still.
It was easily the most erotic situation she'd ever been in, easily the most erotic situation she'd even ever thought about, and her breath came quicker and she felt her insides spasm just that little bit, with a shudder that ran through her, at the sight Mamoru made – breathing harshly through his clenched teeth, eyes transfixed to the movement of her fingers moving in slow but ferocious circles across her clit and underneath. At the sounds he made, clipped, tortured little grunts as he exhaled, his eyes rolling back into his head for just miniscule moments – she'd almost missed it – before back between her legs, while he pumped his hand up and down between his own legs, on his knees in front of her.
And she felt it building in her gut, and her muscles tense, and she stopped her movements abruptly and breathed out harshly, meeting Mamoru's startled eyes that seemed to be almost agonized, his tip already covered in a thin sheen of moisture.
Usagi licked her lips involuntarily, and withdrew her hand completely.
This wasn't what she was here for. She already knew she could bring herself to orgasm. This was his job tonight.
Her breathing was still coming out in labored puffs, breasts moving with her heaving chest, and Mamoru seemed to notice – his eyes seemed absolutely torn where to keep their attention, they seemed almost crazed in the way he tried to keep her gaze, and his own hand slowed when he understood she wasn't going to go on.
But what he did then made her shudder all over again.
He lifted himself up, only slightly, lifting his bum from his feet, and himself fully up on only his knees, erection still in one hand, and leaned forward. His free hand grabbed her wrist, and brought her hand to his lips. And with a tiny, almost inaudible catch in his breath, his lips opened and wrapped around her index finger first, and she felt his tongue swirl, licking off every last bit of moisture he found there, before repeating the same with her middle finger.
It felt as if her entire sex throbbed at the sight, and caused her to whimper, and his eyes to fly back to hers around her fingers.
There was so much swimming in his eyes. So much she couldn't name. So many intense emotions that felt like they crawled right into her skin.
He released her finger with a little pop, his eyes not leaving hers, and she sucked in a harsh breath through her teeth, letting the back of her head hit the glass behind her, when his hand let go of himself and instead both hands moved to dig deep into her thighs, and his lips planted a sweet, slow kiss against her swollen, pink, lower ones.
But even when she held her breath, tense and ready and eager, his tongue didn't come out to play.
Instead he whispered, lips moving against her wet skin, right into her sex.
"Tell me what to do."
She released the breath she'd held with a growl, almost, and sucked in another, when his index finger moved up and stroked, gliding softly, slowly but precise, along her wet, slick and noisy folds and it coiled in her belly.
"That," she panted. It was harsh, raspy.
He withdrew his hand immediately, chuckling, shook his head.
"No," he whispered, brushed his cheek against the blonde curls of her sex. "Tell me."
She couldn't help but buck her hips a little, felt his nose bump against her, and she moaned. But he didn't move again, waited patiently for her to talk, and she had to roll her eyes back into her head.
What was he supposed to do? What did she like?
She squeezed her eyes shut, grabbed at one of his hands still at the top of her thighs, holding up her skirt.
"Tongue," she rasped, after a little while.
He rewarded her with a slow, careful lick, and she shuddered, but frowned. It was wrong, just a little too far…
"Tell me what to do," he repeated, whispering.
"Higher," she moaned. It was louder now, stronger.
And he reacted, immediately.
"Higher." This time it was a demand, and she groaned, guttural, when his tongue touched the underside of her clit.
"Suck," she almost shouted, this time, into his dark apartment. And when he did, and she cried, "more teeth," and he did, and her head flung back against the glass, again and again, because he sucked harder, and she didn't need to say anymore, and her toes curled and her muscles tensed and it all coiled and coiled tighter and tighter in her and she was almost, almost there…
Except that it wasn't enough, it wasn't deep enough, and her inside clenched, and her legs wobbled, and she was ready to cry because she was just right there, and…
"Tell me what to do," he breathed, harshly, and she wouldn't have understood it with her clit in his mouth as it was, if she didn't know what he was saying anyway.
"Not –" she breathed, erratic, groaning "—enough. Dee-p."
He almost yanked one of her legs up, then. Up, and over his shoulder and she keened, and almost fell in her slippery sock, if it wasn't for his strong grip on her, because it was deeper like that, like a deepened, intense kiss and she throbbed, and throbbed and shit-fuck-damn this was so good, but…
"Fingers," she cried. She didn't even care how desperate she sounded, how feral. "Inside."
He let go of his tight grip on her then, and she screeched, because she lost her footing. But his hand was back, immediately, to steady her, and she cried out in frustration, because with a loud, wet smack his lips let go of her. It was a second before she felt herself being pulled, almost pushed, slightly lifted, and her back and head hit the dark, soft, silk sheets, and her hands clawed into them when she felt herself pulled closer towards the foot of the bed.
He was kneeling in front of it, in front of her, and this time he pulled both her legs over his shoulders and his mouth was back on her, sucking hard until she keened, and then she felt his finger push in and curl inside.
It caused her to wail, mewl pitifully, and her thighs to clench around his head, and the muscles in her insides to spasm once more, because it was the right spot, the right pressure, the teeth, and his finger touched where it was perfect and it was so good and so close… but not deep enough. Not nearly deep enough.
"Tell me what –" he started again, but this time she shouted her request out before he had a chance to finish uttering the words, and what she shouted caused him to emit a strangled groan.
"Fuck –" she shouted. "You. I need you. Inside."
His lips ripped away from her, and she cried out in protest, even when she lifted her head and saw through bleary eyes how he almost fell over his pants in his haste to get them down, while digging in his pocket for a piece of foil that he ripped with his teeth.
His eyes were wide, when he held his cock, thick and hard and weeping and neatly wrapped in rubber, one knee on the bed and her thighs around his waist, at her entrance.
She exhaled a shuddered breath, the frenzy a little bit lifted, and met his eyes.
Those unsure, gentle, kind eyes, so full of burning want. It made her throat constrict and her core flutter.
"Tell me what to do," he whispered, hair falling into his eyes.
He was breathing so harshly, his lips glistening with a moisture she knew was her. And those eyes. Those blue, blue eyes.
She lifted herself up on her elbows, and higher, caught her hands in the button border of his shirt and started pulling. He came down to her with a jerk, losing his balance slightly, and they both cried out, eyes on each other, when his cock, still in his fist and poised at her entrance, pushed inside ever so slightly with the fall, but he didn't push in further, waited for her to talk.
She licked her lips, ripped at his shirt – her hands were trembling too much, she wasn't able to do it gently. A few buttons must have ripped, she felt something clatter to the floor, something else hit her chest, but she got most of them undone. She pushed her hands inside, groaning at the feeling of his skin beneath her hands, and instead of pushing it off him, she pulled at the ends, and he fell on her lips.
The kiss was deep, wet, a little sloppy. She bit at his lower lip, and it made him whimper so much she felt his cock twitch against her and the thrill of it to run along her spine.
And then there was his heartbeat. She felt it beneath her fingers on his chest. It was even faster than hers. Much, much faster than hers, and that weirdly fueled her on so much more than even the kiss did, and caused her to writhe against him, and him to whimper even more.
He released her lips abruptly, exhaled harshly against them, eyes feral and so, so close to hers.
"Tell me what to do," he repeated, again. It was almost pleading.
Usagi swallowed, thickly, and with wide eyes, she decided not to tell, but to show, once more. And with a courage she had no idea where it was coming from, she grabbed his cock, feeling utterly self-satisfied at the sharp hiss it elicited from his lips vibrating against her own, and started rubbing it – slow at first, then faster – against her clit.
And how sweet the thrill of feeling his fingers curl and clench against her, as he tried to stay in control, tried not to come, and his forehead fell against hers as he started to pant, and her own breathing sped up once again.
She had to bite her lip, when she moved his cock around her clit in slow but strong swirls, up and down and lower. Hissed, when she dipped him in, just slightly, and he nearly cried out, only to move him back up. Arched her back and pressed her chest against him and he whimpered again, and his fingers clawed into the mattress as he tried to keep himself up to not to crush her beneath him.
And then there was this point, that sweet, sweet point, when she rubbed it, slick and wet, from underneath, and shitfuck it was good and ohgawd was this it? and her eyes rolled back into her head, and she felt him twitch in her hand, and Usagi cried out in frustration when he pulled himself out of her grasp with a fierce grunt and a staggered, "S-sorry."
His cock was back in his own fist, then. Hips raised away from her, and her eyes found his face. He was breathing hard through his nose, eyes scrunched shut, his lower lip between his teeth, and she got it.
Oh.
The feeling traveled down quickly and curled inside, the fact that he had nearly come without even being inside of her, yet.
And then his fist curled into the fabric of his sheets next to her face, his biceps flexed, just a little, as he balanced himself on his elbow, and he lowered his hips to her again. And now she didn't have to do it, because he was a fast learner, and he rubbed his cock, up and down, up and down, and in those delicious swirls around her clit once more, and this time she arched her back and her hands flew around him, underneath his shirt and clawed into his back, because now she could just feel, and nothing else, and fuck it was good.
And he dipped his cock back in, just the tip, just like she had done, and moved it back up, and her insides fluttered around him because this was delicious, beautiful torture, and her nails dug into his skin as her muscles twitched and convulsed and fuck –
And he did it again, and she hit her head against the pillow cause shit shit shit –
And he did it a third time, dipping in, just the tip, but then he groaned, and cursed, and with a powerful push that moved her up the bed just a little, he was buried deep inside. They cried out into each other's mouths, and his hand flew to her clit and swirled – index and middle finger, just like she had done herself earlier, only a little clumsier - while he withdrew with a low groan and shoved himself back in, deep, deep inside, deeper than before.
She held her breath, clung to his shoulders, clutching at his back, and arched her pelvis up to meet him, and it was these frenzied, hard rubs of his fingers, at the same time that he thrust back in, that it was finally there.
She whimpered, strangled, teeth against his shoulder as her whole body seemed to spasm and she forgot to breathe for a second, when her world went white for just a moment.
It was different from the sharp, local orgasms she'd brought herself to on her own. Maybe not better, but so, so different, and her head hit the mattress with a thud, and she dug her heels into his back to continue, so she could ride this out a little longer.
And even when he was still moving, panting, his hand came up and he propped his elbow up on the other side of her, and she started giggling through her shudders, when his forehead landed back on hers and he smiled, even when his lips still quivered and his eyes were that intense shade of frenzy.
It was two, three, four more thrusts, and he shuddered, too, and Usagi had to bite her lip, because damn, he looked gorgeous when he came.
And then his eyes opened back up, hooded and spent, but glued onto hers, and his chest heaved and his exhales where harsh, and mingled with hers.
She suddenly noticed, again, that the apartment was still completely dark, completely silent, and that her skirt, hunched around her middle, was still on her, and that his shirt hung around them, open, covering them both, and his eyes were searching something in hers that made her throat constrict.
She had to bite her lip, and smiled a sheepish little smile at him, and then she reached up and glided her hand underneath his shoulders, and slipped the garment off his back.
He chuckled, low and rumbly and a little breathy.
"It did work…" he said then, blushing slightly "...right?"
She snorted, shook her head a little, and his eyes widened a little with a frown, before she pushed herself up and nodded.
"Yes. It did work."
But his frown stayed, and turned into alarm, when she straightened up farther, leaning to stand, and he grabbed at her arm, his breathing picking up again.
"Wait-" he breathed.
She met his alarmed eyes. She'd meant to get up to get rid of her skirt, and blinked, realizing it must look she was getting up to go...
She swallowed, held his gaze, and cocked her head sideways, and with clumsy fingers, blindly found the zipper on her skirt, and pushed it down her legs.
He exhaled with a little "Ah," and it sounded a little embarrassed.
She climbed back on the bed, and lay down on her side, completely naked now, both of them, except for her silly rabbit socks, and somehow she thought it fitting – this was all her. She settled down close to him, but not touching, and pillowed her head on her own elbow and arm, tucking her other hand beneath, and met his silent stare.
He didn't say anything, even when he smacked his lips and seemed to try.
When he seemed to have given up the fight, and stayed mute, Usagi moved her hand from underneath her elbow, and placed it back on his chest. Just like before.
His heart was still hammering strong. Maybe even stronger than before. She felt him tremble beneath her fingers, and she swallowed thickly.
"Are you going to leave the country again?" she whispered toward his chest, and her hand, rising and falling with it.
He shook his head, and his hair fell back across his eyes. "No," he whispered.
She nodded to herself then, swallowing. "Good," she said, and with that she swung over and on top of him, and lowered her face down to his.
He caught her by the lips, and his kiss this time was a little more desperate, and his hands in her hair and on her thigh a little stronger, as if he were afraid she'd up and leave at any moment and he would have to hold her there.
When she broke the kiss, it was him that moved with her this time, reluctant to let go, and she slid her fingers into the silky, soft raven hair and brushed it from his eyes.
"Can I see you again, tomorrow?" she whispered.
He nodded – quickly, breathlessly, but then frowned. And with a powerful push, he swung her around, pinning her beneath him, and kissed her again, with more longing, more hunger than before, and when the kiss ended, she was flushed and panting again, and his hands were brushing lower.
"How about you stay?" he whispered back, and his voice broke, and she could only nod before she drowned once more.
It was a text that woke her up the next morning, sprawled across his chest, sticky, hair curled from sweat, and his hand that clasped hers tightly, even in sleep.
Rei, 11:03 am
So? ? ?
So there you go xD. The teach Usagi Sex Trope meets the Orgasm-Gap in a female-gaze smut fantasy. I'm a fan of open endings, as you know, and I really hope you liked it!
Also, for everyone who's concerned about drunk driving: if you look closely, I made them share - and not even finish – a small, standard 330 ml bottle of japanese rice wine. So no one was really even tipsy here (which was important to me, because accountability of decisions and all.) But alcohol is a realistic factor in situations like these, so I wanted to keep it in.
So yeah, I know, I know, commenting smut is weird - and this time it really was a full blown smut story - but please let me know how I did, and what you'd like to see in this series, and, y'know, talk to me, please? ;)