Author's Note: Hello! This chapter contains sexual content. You may proceed to the next chapter and not miss anything imperative to the story line. As a general note, this is a very mild scene of maturity (please leave a review of what you think, if you want!) but I respect those uninterested in such chapters. Thank you for the favorites, follows, and reviews!
I expected my hands to shake.
To feel the queasiness of self-consciousness grip my senses, make everything visible only through a harsh filter of doubt; especially in comparison to a body so lithe and capable.
But then he smiled, and the words my heart knew and my mind denied finally connected, stitching together a mosaic of rose-colored glass.
His forearms gave way to his shoulders, his face, catching his mouth with my own until there was no space between us. My fingers didn't stutter on the button of his jeans, cleverly standing on the bottom hem of one pant leg to aid their dismissal. Shota lived up to Eraser Head's smooth reputation as he slipped free, never breaking the kiss.
The floor beneath me disappeared and I let out a surprised yelp, quickly wrapping my legs around his waist to keep from falling. "Don't! You shouldn't-"
"Why?" His tone aimed for normal, to mock such a mundane question he didn't understand, but the quickness of his breath gave away the attempt. He'd picked me up as if it were nothing; the knee against the bed didn't even seem to be bearing his- our- weight.
"I'm not- I don't think it's good for you to-"
He snorted a violently un-sensual noise in his mood-lit bedroom before standing back up in straight defiance. I was caught between embarrassed annoyance and the way his lips looked this close up.
"We can continue like this if you'd like, ye of so little faith."
"If you're going to turn this into some weird macho-ego thing, you can return me to the living room."
The dimple was hard to see, barely a shadow on his cheek in the dimness. I quieted its teasing with my lips and the scratchy surface of his cheek shifted higher, unshy. His chest brushed against mine as one arm kept me close, the other busied in ripping back the blankets to glide me onto a cool sheet, his body following close behind. My heart gave a sudden jump; why did being under the covers versus on top of them feel so much more...intimate? Did other people notice this, too? Calm down, this is so not the time.
I found the smoothed surface of the long, crescent scar I never remembered to ask about, wrapped around one lone rib. He cut a trail from the corner of my mouth to the slope of a shoulder, hands grazing up the sides of my body as if profoundly interested in discovering every unclaimed inch. I tensed when he lifted my arm, found another freckle on its underside. The skin was too ticklish; I raised a leg against his waist and muscled him onto his back, preoccupying those mischievous hands with my rounded thighs instead. He complied rather willingly, providing more coverage than my laced underwear certainly did. A shiver greeted his fingers when they trailed across the small of my back, already wandering north.
"Don't even bother," I managed against his mouth, effortlessly tossing my bra aside before he destroyed its intricate design. A thankful sigh answered, and I swear his shoulders relaxed. Had he been worried over it?
"Shut up," He muttered, fingers pressing into the hollows between ribs, tracing to their ends. I sat up, running a hand through my hair to properly scowl down at him with an unobscured face.
"Here I am trying to help and you tell me to shut up?"
"Mm."
"That's all you have to say for yourself? Mm?"
He wasn't paying attention to anything I was saying. Or even looking at my face, I realized. A flicker of self-consciousness at last set in.
He caught the arms trying to spare my exposed chest with a quiet noise of protest, twining our fingers together.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
I couldn't shrink away; there was nowhere to go. I couldn't make out the grey of his eyes in this light- just the silhouette of his features, pulled strangely tense. He shook his head.
"Don't discredit how striking you are."
The words swayed into my ears, spilled like warm honey down into my lungs, reverberated in the slow breath I took. He didn't smirk; his voice didn't bear sarcasm or patronizing.
He spoke like the opposing idea, my inherent reaction, was something painful to experience, eyes drawn strangely at the edges.
I forgot his hands were laced around mine. In unison they cupped his face as I drew in, suddenly in desperate need to shed the few breaths of space between us.
I forgot to feel insecure when his hands touched my body, gentle against the newly exposed skin.
I forgot that there was anything outside of this bedroom, this moment, but the feel of his skin on mine, stripping the scant remainder of clothing from our bodies.
I forgot every instance of mediocrity as his hand slid beneath the soft dip of my stomach, gliding my legs apart to tantalize the bundle of nerves set at the apex. He spared no expense, tracing maddeningly slow circlets before delving deeper, breath catching when my body came to life against his fingers, unconsciously reacting. I forgot to feel embarrassed and instead touched him, relishing the subtle tremble in his limbs before I tangled a hand in his hair, forced his mouth from my collar back to mine.
I forgot to feel a shred of awkwardness when I pulled away enough to ask, rising up and meeting him halfway when he returned, catching me in his arms and pulling me back to the bed.
I had been right about the sketchy dresser drawers.
His eyes widened as I nudged him yet again, hands braced against his chest.
"Did you think I was a damsel in every way?" My voice sounded three octaves sultrier than I'd ever heard. He must have also noticed; I could feel the quickening of his already-enlivened heart.
There was a tightness, turning my body rigid before I could fully adjust. A noise I'd never experienced fell out before Shota could breathe it back in. He touched my hips lightly, as if attesting to my genuine existence, patient. His eyes were closed, neck flaccid against a pillow, appearing how he had during my Whiteout demonstration and when I'd first walked out in shorts on our very first date all those weeks ago.
The tenseness ebbed into something else, melting my edges. I reinforced his hands with my own, moving against his body until our rhythms fell into harmony, letting him guide the movement.
Submersion merged us into one frantic heartbeat until I couldn't tell the two apart, breath quick and teeth sharp against his neck when an ever-persistent hand roamed back down between our bodies, unfinished with cloying the bundled nerves until my entire core shook and I couldn't even see straight, panting a string of illiterate sounds that probably contained more prolific curse words I hadn't known I knew.
I leaned back until my face breathed at the ceiling, reveling in the ice-and-fire sensation burning through every single nerve ending, setting my abdomen aflame like a pyre.
The intense, ridiculous notion to laugh cracked my lips into an open-mouthed smile before I could stop myself. The body beneath mine shivered and I looked down.
Shota stared back, looking ferociously undone for someone usually so reserved.
"You," He nearly wheezed, eyes open wide. "-are terrifying."
I forgot to taper my smile so the chipped tooth I'd never had fixed wouldn't show, even though it brought me nothing but self-consciousness and kept my smile caged. I kissed him sweetly, tenderly, before falling onto my own dampened back.
"It's not even that late. Let me take a shower and we can watch a movie. Then we 'can continue like this if you'd like, ye of so little faith'."
He got up and returned, lying next to me again. I scooted onto the headrest he offered.
"I wonder what other awful words you'll teach me later. Do you talk to the students like that?"
I turned to him with a dead stare. "Who do you think taught them to me?"
Shota Aizawa's lips drew back, revealing teeth that parted as laughter filtered through, setting me alight all over again.
I'd forgotten what it was like, to be in love with someone.
