1Disclaimers: Hana Yori Dango is the property of Kamio Yoko, etc. Borrowing for entertainment purposes.

External Brakes

May 13 / Love passed into the House of Lust

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The aromatic smell of burning wood lulled her into a sated half-doze. Dinner was just over and, while most of the gang chose to linger over their crusted-over dessert (pies with the finest of the season's apples) and booze to further mellow the company, Makino Tsukushi followed her fiancé into his makeshift office and was currently slouched in a leather sofa with half-a-dozen overstuffed pillows. It was still fascinating to watch him while he did his work, all stern and earnest, and grown-up and, well. . . awfully manly. Really, it was quite a contrast from his usual image of imperial brattiness.

The four years they've been apart weren't as bad as they had both expected. There had been phone calls often enough and email as much as they wanted ("Makino, I want to kick my bitchy confessor's goat face. Pray I miss 'coz I probably won't." And, "Domyouji, I think you meant professor. Don't do it.") and very rarely outings like this wherein the F4 dragged her for overseas visits where the two of them could see each other for a few hours. It's been a year since Tsukasa got his degree and he's been free for the most part. He fulfilled his promise to go back for her, but they were older now: a little more realistic, a little more patient. . . She would be following him back to New York this time, but under her own terms; a few years' internship waited for her at a huge pharmaceutical corporation and after that, who knew?

It was actually Tsubaki-neesan who spearheaded this trip. She wanted time with Tsukushi and had invited her over to their rest house in Canada, just two sisters, cozy. Then the others happened to be free too and before she knew what was going on, so was Tsukasa.

Or perhaps he wasn't as free as he vehemently stated when he surprised them all by showing up at the front door a couple of hours past midnight yesterday. He was looking stressed out right now, a rather severe grimace on his face as he massaged away an impending migraine.

In spite of herself, Tsukushi felt suddenly lonely.

Tsukasa lowered his hands to look at her.

"What's the matter?" he asked her gruffly.

"Nothing," she replied. Realizing she sounded a tad defensive, she squirmed in her seat. Sometimes, the man was so perceptive it unnerved her.

He gazed at her for a thinly stretched second, the play of shadows and firelight adding mystery to his already undecipherable expression. Then he drew a hand through his curls and motioned for her imperiously with the other.

"What?" Tsukushi asked irritably, fighting the rising flush off her cheeks. "What's with—" She aped his beckoning gesture with exaggerated imperialness. "I'm not a dog."

"Come here," he said. "If you make me get up, I'll maul you like one."

"Geeze. . . So rude!" But she got up, anyway.

She stood before him with her arms crossed, diminutive in a borrowed sweater one size too big and Shigure's sweatpants that sat precariously low on her hips.

"Well."

Tsukasa stood and picked her up in a single sweep, then plopped them both back into the sofa she had just vacated.

"What are you doing?" she yelped.

"Getting settled," he answered with a grunt as he arranged her on his lap.

"After that obviously!"

For an answer, he bowed his head and took her lips. As usual, she had trouble thinking of an appropriate comeback to that.

Infuriating!

She wriggled in her seat to try to get to a more comfortable position. Failing that, she rose to her knees and straddled him. He pulled her back down by her nape as he deepened the kiss, his other hand coming to rest at the small of her back. The exploration of her mouth was slow and lazy, as was the travel of his hand as it sneaked under the voluminous folds of wool to feel her warming skin. Finding the situation utterly unfair, her hands descended from their purchase on his stubborn hair and began to fumble with buttons.

Eventually, she was able to slide his shirt off his shoulders, but by then his lips had moved on to lavish her neck, placing her again at disadvantage. To avenge herself, she bit the exposed bit of his muscular shoulder. He gasped deliciously, a very un-Ore-sama sound, and she giggled against his flesh. Not allowing her that little victory, he took her face between his hands and proceeded to bruise her lips with bold strokes of his tongue, their contact rapturous, rising bliss. However, that still left her hands free, and they roamed the tough plains of his broad chest, the ridges of his pliant torso, the tantalizing dips that hinted the paths to his groin. . .

Somehow, that became not enough soon.

She left his body's topography alone only because she couldn't quite remove her sweater with just one hand. The frustration ripped at her, for she wanted more closeness, more contact—were it possible to dive into his being she would have, and then they would be in just one space, even if it were just a single tiny spot in creation, as long as they were together and one, shared.

He was stopping her.

She mewled angrily and slapped his hand away. With persistence, he kept her shirt from getting off her body. Dazed, his fiancee finally sensed something amiss, finally noticed when he detached himself from her unwillingly.

Tsukushi opened her eyes to see several pairs of eyes peering at her from a wide open doorway. She blushed violently—or rather, the red of her face became a more intense shade—and buried her face against her boyfriend's chest.

"Domyouji," she agonized. "How long. . .?"

"Not long," replied Nishikado clinically. "She had just opened the door without knocking."

"Spoiled brat, no manners," added Mimasaka, pointing at Shigure.

"I'm sorry!" wailed the eccentric heiress. "I didn't realize–!"

"Oh, I'm not complaining," drawled Sakurako, eyeing the half-naked Tsukasa.

The other girl hesitated. "Well— The polite thing to do would be to close the door again."

"But they're dry humping," pointed out Nishikado as if that explained everything.

Mimasaka glared at him in disgust. "Thanks a lot," he groaned. "What a nasty way to put things."

"The point is, we have an obligation here."

"Yeah. Leave."

"No. They said they're going to wait till they're married. That doesn't look safe to me." Nishikado pointed at the compromised position of the silent couple. "I mean, dude, I don't care what they do, but since they're both incurably romantic, wedding night bonanza and all that, I am compelled as their friend to put a foot down."

"But it's none of our business!" Mimasaka yelped.

"Techinically, it's not, but since it's their self-imposed restriction, we do have to look out for them. They are such kids, really."

Just then, a new head poked in on the fiasco.

"What's going on here?" asked Rui with a yawn. He opened his eyes wider and looked into the room. "Oh. That." He turned and shuffled back out of sight. "Good night, you two."

"'Night," said Tsukasa, but continued to stare at the others coldly.

"Yeah, good night," Mimasaka said hastily and firmly closed the door. Behind it, he could be heard irately overruling the protests of Nishikado and Sakurako.

A few moments later, Tsukasa spoke again.

"Your friends are so damn annoying," he said with an exasperated sigh.

"They were your friends first," she pointed out.

He snorted.

"I suppose I should get off you now."

"Yeah, I need to take a shower," Tsukasa growled.

"Cold?"

"Icy."

"You started it," she accused.

"I warned you about a mauling."

"Ugh."

"'Night."

"Good night."

They parted, but not without another extended goodnight kiss.

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