Hormonal
By
Hexes
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"Hiro," Kisa gasped, clutching the fabric of his short-sleeved dress shirt tight--so tight she thought it might rip. She could accidentally tear it into shreds, unknowingly mutilating it to pieces--just as he was doing with her depleting sanity. Everything was spinning as the lights flickered in her mind; she couldn't keep her senses under control. She was a mess to put it frankly--probably madly disheveled and stutter-worthy, but in a good way. She felt a hot, rushed breath against her neck, and a hand at her back--gradually move further down, adding to the chaos of emotion.
Feeling a push at knees, she felt as if he was silently willing her backwards, pleading, asking, her to fall onto the old couch--dead center in the old musty basement. She sank down, hitting the maroon furniture with a small squeak, one that rivaled the couch's old moans. The springs creaked again as he moved after her, pinning her to the back. He came down, a leg on either side of her, as she straightened her back to be parallel with the old couches.
Hiro continued his intimate assault by brushing a shaky-turned-strong hand down her mid-thigh; he bushed it delicately as if remembering who exactly he's pinned beneath him. His usual sense of possessiveness and power was in the air. He was a man with an ego, and that was something she didn't mind. He keep him self in check to--hardly ever allowing any thing to turn get of hand; a quality she silently thanked in him. Every now and then he'd concentrate on her body less, and her mind more, ignoring his raging teenage hormones. And she knew how much of a hard time he had doing that.
She spoke his name again quickly, in a short, shaky tone. He hands twitched as she latched onto his shoulders, leaving the now wrinkled and beaten shirt behind. Her hands shook, she knew. She couldn't help it as she felt the muscle through the thin, light-brown fabric that complimented his eyes so beautifully. She always made a note to shyly tell him that, and of course he'd say 'nah' and brush it off. Hiro had to make sure to keep his cooler-then-thou façade in tact--something he surprisingly held so dear. Kisa was learning more about him everyday. It can take a lifetime to fully experience even one person, and she was doing it. She was trying. She was in love.
He went to slyly dip his hand down her back, separating her sweat-consumed backside from the couch's suction grip. He moved slowly, careful not to startle, as he pulled the hem on her shirt up; he was headed for flesh. Tracing lines up and down her back, finding the natural one that was placed perfectly down the middle, he sent small, tiny ripples across her hot, over-heated skin. Every hair on her body stood up, flattered with a sense of desire at the contact.
End
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A/N: I think this goes without explanation. I was going to put a warning at the top for a potential lime, but honestly, that just would have ruined it.
