So it's been a hot minute since I last posted. Please know this story will NEVER be abandoned. I'm just putting every spare minute into the completion of the Drops of Moonlight Zine. Plus, I have a one-track mind that struggles doing multiple things at once, so I'm doing the healthy thing and prioritising. This fic will pick up speed again once the Zine is distributed!
However, I'm working on this slowly whenever I get a pocket of time, and so you get this chapter now. Be aware that this is the all-awaited All-Sex chapter, just so you know what you're getting into when reading this at the dinner table lol.
Also, with this chapter part 1 of the fic is done, and we'll time jump to part 2 and pick up from the prologue! (You know I love my non-linear writing lol).
Anyway, I've written especially the first part of this chapter to the song 'Mon amour, mon ami' by KALIKA which is where the Usagi-portion of the lyrics at the beginning of this chapter are taken from, so if you wanted a soundtrack to this chapter, this would be it. It has a 80s/90s synthie beat and kind of a psychedelic dream feel to it and also has whis 'wei wei wei wei wei' bit that can be 'rei rei rei rei rei' if you squint lol.
And most importantly, forever thanks to Antigone2 who has been betaing this beast for MONTHS now, and also to everyone who is still around to read this despite my irregular posting schedule! Here you go!
Puppetteer
Chapter 8
I've never met a boy like you before
And if I did, I don't remember,
What good does it do to try to make comparisons?
I've got a heart that knows when it is right
And what's why it has taken your name
You, my love, my friend
When I dream, it's you I dream about,
My love, my friend,
When I sing, I sing to you.
My love, my friend,
I can't live without you.
My love, my friend,
And I know pretty well why.
We can never know where love can take us
And I thought I could love you forever,
Yes, I left you and there's no use in holding on
Sometimes I sing to others like you
A little bit worse every time
.
I wanna be the first man you look at tonight
I wanna be stuck in your head and make you go wild
I wanna leave you alone in the middle of the night
I wanna be a good man and I wanna see you smile
And I wanna swim between your thighs
I wanna hold you in my arms tonight
For your love I'll do whatever you want
I'll do whatever you want for your love
So tell me what you want, I'll give you what you want
Sometimes the carousel in her heart was a rocking ferris wheel gondola.
It was a memory that was seared into her brain. Odaiba Palette Town, a pink metal cage swaying in the wind and the rhythmic movements of the ferris wheel. The life-size Unicorn Gundam lit up dramatically in front of the Diver City mall straight in their view, set in front of a dramatic sunset in pink and orange and purple with cotton candy clouds and the sun a mere pinprick on the horizon with the power of a star.
It all casted an oil painting worth of color on his skin, making him more irresistible than he'd already been.
His voice had carried across the space between them with a harsh edge. A sword cutting the silence with frustration and despair, and lingering there.
"What if I don't want you to hold back?" he asked her, his hair shifting softly with the breeze blowing through the metal-mesh of their tiny box windows.
Her galloping heart was a synthesizer, the beat a building, insistent thrum in her veins. Rei, Rei, Rei, Rei, Rei, it thumped. She couldn't do this to Rei. Rei who had never gotten over Mamoru, not really.
Rei to whom she'd felt guilt ever since, even back when Usagi hadn't done anything except misunderstand her own jealous heart. But that wasn't how it worked. And then she'd kissed him after that play and nothing had remained the same and—
How stupid she had been. How stupid that she hadn't known she was doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over across lifetimes.
His sigh was of the desperate kind, too. "What if I've never wanted you to hold back?"
Her synthesizer heart was a 16-bit cage, faster and faster, a bass in her bones, egging her on, thumping in her ears, louder, louder, louder.
"I don't want to hold back," she'd confessed barely above a whisper and yet ringing in her ears.
A beat. The world around them fell with the upward travel of their cage.
And then he reacted. Reached out and pulled her across the tiny divide when she was already falling towards him. She fell on him like he was redemption and starvation. Poured herself all over him and gobbled him up.
The whole gondola shook with her attack on him, the balance of the cage off-kilter with how she straddled him. The rocking motion of her hips grinding against him sending the metal frame into a soft sway that reacted too slow – a soft sway that settled into a counter-balance rhythm with her body. Backwards when she rocked forward. Forward when she rocked backward. A centering presence to her frenzy, odd and grounding.
His kisses were pure dopamine. The crazed press of his lips - the single best sensation in the world. His tongue so deep in her mouth, his whine against her lips so frantic, his hands in her hair first but then slipping beneath her skirt so quickly. She gasped into his mouth, nearly bit him accidently when his hands travelled up and stroked beneath the hem of her panties, his hands cold against her naked ass, kneading into her skin.
Her skirt out of the way, she felt the bulge right against her panties, making her see red. Her tongue was nothing but a clumsy slide deep into his mouth, trying to crawl into him as best she could, when she rocked herself against him automatically.
The sensation was illogical, really? How could a sensation so benign zing across her nerves this much? But rocking her panties against his hard dick as it was fighting a battle with the fly of his pants had been the single most erotic experience of her life until that point – back before Endymion and back before Serenity's memories. But that day in the gondola— the knowledge of exactly what it was poking against her from beneath, and what it all meant, so close to her touch? This visible and tactile and so sensational proof that he desired her too? That this was arousing to him, too? It had wrecked her.
And him too, judging by the breaking croak deep in his throat, the shudder as he threw his head back and yet insisted to take her mouth with him.
It all got out of hand. Frantic, whispered conversation between gasps and moans and tongue against tongues. (Do you want this? Yes. I need you. Me too. God, me too.) The ripping sound of his belt as it slid out of her way. The heady feeling of power as he moved with her in all the ways she wanted. The way her tinted lip-balm glistened softly pink all off of him, messing up his mouth, his neck. The heady look in his eyes. The way they went too far in the pink sky above Tokyo and never far enough. His hand up her shirt, his fingers making her spasm through the thin fabric of her bra as they circled her nipple over and over and a little bit too gently, too carefully. The way he fell apart so visibly when she slipped her hand where it absolutely should not go, rocking up at her helplessly. His cock so thick and pulsing in her hand, his mouth a shaky moan against hers.
The song in her heart was a synthie battlecry that only the loud creak of the metal around them could penetrate when the gondola began its descent once they'd crested the top.
Oh god.
Her eyes shocked saucers, she startled out of her haze, but his eyes were on her. Aware and clear and focused and she knew right then that he knew exactly what he was doing. Was all in. It was her who reacted out of impulse. He was here, all senses straight.
Her hand twitched against his cock. She wanted so badly to go on. So badly to give in. So badly to let this get absolutely and irrevocably out of hand.
But her heart chanted Rei's name, and so she held his eyes, his breath labored against her lips, and slacked her grip around him.
Before she could even make to remove her hand from his pants, his hand locked around her wrist, keeping her in place, desperation back in his eyes.
His other hand flew from its sharp grip at her bare thigh to cradle her cheek in the most heartbreaking way.
"I want you," he vowed, his thumb gently brushing along her cheek. It threw her the way his eyes shone a little glassy.
In the real world, in the moment this had actually happened, this had been her cue. To try and bargain. To make this a secret. To break his heart. When instead of speaking of her fears, of Rei, of her guilt, she'd… not. Eventually, she'd gotten off of him. Made it all weird, only to make it worse over and over.
But here the colors were too bright, a kaleidoscope painting the picture of a memory, blurry at the edges. The synthie beat in her heart an actual song. This was a dream. A psychedelic replica of what had been. A place where she could change things.
A memory her dreams had changed a thousand times. When instead of breaking both their hearts, she'd given in. When the gondola never descended at the top, but remained suspended there: a moment frozen in time when her dream changed the world and she sunk so very slowly down on his cock, his hands twitching wrecked into the flesh of her butt, pushing her down, bucking his hips up at her to receive her readily and stretching her deliciously full, slowly making him hers, never letting go. She'd ridden him, in control, until he belonged only to her. Over and over, night after night in a pink dreamscape edged into her brain.
A place where she could do it all over, a place where she could fluster him and keep him and do what she'd always wanted to him.
So why did it go so differently these days?
In her dream now, Mamoru's tip had barely disappeared in her when another set of identical hands wrapped around her from behind. Stubborn hands that graced her breasts in that sexily self-assured way before twisting one nipple in that firm, entitled way that made her gasp and her vagina flutter as he ripped her off of Mamoru, off of his dick, his breath hot at the sensitive skin behind her ear.
"Don't you wanna say you want me?" Endymion's lips at her skin, his possessive hand sliding down to cup her cunt, the other dipping down into her shirt and ripping the fabric of her bra out of his way impatiently. Mamoru's voice beneath her an angry growl as he pulled at her to take her back.
In her dream, the gondola had grown a little crowded these days.
Because yes, in her dreams Mamoru was the one she wanted to fluster. The one she wanted to sit on and overwhelm until he couldn't take it anymore, driving him to the point where he finally touched her without any inhibition. But Endymion? Endymion was who she surrendered to in her dreams. She wanted both. And here, in this world, there was no one in her head to revolt that she shouldn't be doing either of that.
No one but these two.
"No," Mamoru growled, shivering in want and grabbing her face to distract her away, his lips a wet slide into her mouth that made her knees weak.
But Endymion was wrapped all around her, behind her. Her shadow. The possessively firm press of his hand gliding all over her sensitive skin, pressing her against his chest and away from Mamoru's. "Oh, I don't think so."
Her lips disconnected from Mamoru's with a pitiful whine falling from her soul, but he curled his fingers with hers tenderly, holding on, reaching.
A voice next to them. "They don't share well," came the remark. Her willing narrator, off to the side.
"I really don't," they both growled at the same time. The same frustration, the same passion.
She shuddered, four hands touching her and she enjoyed it too much, arousal pooling white-hot behind her eyes.
"I want Mamoru," she said petulantly. But even as she said it, she felt Endymion's cock thick and hard against her spine, felt herself move desperately even as she ground against Mamoru's wet dick, in the hope to feel more of Endymion's, too.
Dimi sat next to them in the enamel seat wrapped round the inside of the gondola, one leg crossed over the other, wearing the embroidered tunic he wore the day she took his first shared orgasm. "Usagi," he said. "He's here because you want him to be."
She frowned, the scene freezing. Mamoru and Endymion wrapped around her, one she was looking at and one she couldn't see behind her but felt so much of. Still as if time had stopped, and the gondola no longer rocked.
Only Dimi still moved.
He uncrossed and re-crossed his legs in a mirrored fashion. Right over left, then left over right. "It's your dream," he told her slowly, unhurried. "You're the director here. Everything that happens here is in your power. Your fantasy."
She frowned, her skin tingling impatiently where four hands lay unmoving.
Not even the clouds moved, nor did the ferris wheel. Her creaky gondola was silent as if suspended in the hot pink sky.
"If that were true, why doesn't it go how I want it to go?"
He smiled. That half bemused one. The one they all shared. "How would it go, if it went the way you wanted it to?"
Her mind screeched a rewind-noise as everything flew in reverse. Starting again, they would cooperate. Interact. She wanted them both, she wanted all of them. She wanted Mamoru to encourage her with words of reverence as Endymion undressed her. Wanted Mamoru to swirl his dick around her clit even as Endymion stepped up behind her and spread her apart. She wanted to grind against Mamoru, wanted him to hold her safe, hug her, cradle her. She wanted her nipples chafing against the green fabric of his jacket every time Endymion fucked into her…
She wanted them both and she wanted them to embrace each other too. She shuddered, spasmed around this spike of a thought – Endymion's mouth caressing Mamoru's cock, Mamoru's mouth against her clit while Endymion pounded into her, coming against her in spurts because he felt it too, felt everything Endymion felt. Two sides of one person feeling everything they did to her as one.
That. She wanted that.
Then why did it not happen?
She dug her hands into their frozen ones, trapping them both against her. One hand tight against the harsh hand that held her, one hand tight against the gentle one. "I want them all," she confessed.
But neither of them moved.
"I know," Dimi said, pity in his voice.
"Then why…"
He shrugged. "Maybe you just haven't decided."
No. That felt wrong. She knew exactly what she wanted, had even started to allow herself to want it, but had yet to learn how to demand it, too.
She was in a dream. She was allowed things in a dream. This was her space, she could write the script. She could rewind and make it go the way she wanted it to.
She could do it all. She could morph the scene. She could let herself get absolutely rimmed. Here, she could control everything.
It could be just Mamoru. It could be just Endymion. She could choose, if she wanted. Go back to only wanting one.
She could.
But she hadn't been doing so in a while. It had always been both of them, for a long, long time now.
"What do you want, Usagi?" Dimi asked her as both Mamoru and Endymion disappeared like shifting holograms, and the sunset clicked off like the switch of a lamp, leaving her bare and alone in the dark with a ghost of her past.
She wanted all of them. Why couldn't she have all of them?
It was a dream that haunted her too often, now.
Like clockwork, Endymion's dot strategically appeared on the screen around 4pm. With Ami long gone, it was just her in the control room, linked via voice to the cats – Luna perching on a wall near the embassies in Roppongi as Kunzite talked to some British socialite lady or whatnot, Artemis immediately on his way to Shinjuku to shadow Endymion.
For about an hour she watched his dot wriggle around Kabukichō and internally boiled as Artemis reported his various whereabouts and interactions for the day – Kabukichō was famous for its more adult-themed and very expensive entertainment variety, and her skin tingled with every hostess club, gay bar, cabaret club and love hotel that Artemis reported from. Had her ears suddenly decided to do that cartoon-y whistle noise in rage, she would not have been surprised.
Alas, she snapped silently. Excused herself curtly and an hour earlier than she had planned, and made her way to Shinjuku too.
Not straight to Kabukicho. She wasn't that stupid to run straight for the dot, no. Instead she got her ass to Shin-Ōkubo –north of Kabukichō and substantially more residential for Shinjuku standards– and stomped around there instead.
She knew he was doing this on purpose, obviously. He only ever let himself get tracked when he knew she was watching, or when it was her time to shadow him anyway. And this meant he was striding around hostess clubs on purpose, knowing full well that jealousy was her biggest flaw.
She also knew that he had weird Spidey-Senses whenever she came into his vicinity. So she walked into Macapresso because when she was here already why NOT rage-chomp happy-looking, cream-filled macarons with sprinkles as she waited, and counted down the seconds for him to abandon getting himself tracked and teleporting straight to her instead.
Any minute now.
Any. Minute. Now.
What the hell was he doing there that long?!
By the time she finally bounced into his chest she was almost back to the station, her macarons ancient history, her oreo macachino empty. Passersby were giving her strange looks due to her visible mood, and her skin was a sizzling tornado.
His lips were in his trademark slow smirk, barely falling when she gave him, like, a look.
Under his coat, he was wearing the most grotesque late-80s sweater imaginable, all color-blocked geometric patterns and swirls that hurt the eye, a pressed black dress shirt peeking out from under it, collar and hem. It was as much Mamoru as waiting for battle in high places was. Usagi could barely look at it, and so she stepped around him, and continued on her way to the station eyes-forward.
He combined these clothes better than Mamoru had. One crazy item against a neutral or monochrome base. It was a strangely saddening thought. She didn't think she'd ever miss the crazy pants.
"I thought you didn't want me to say yes just because I'm jealous," she snarled, didn't make sure that he followed, but of course he did.
One quick glance to the side, she watched his lips simply stretch wider ever so torturously slowly, his spine stretching as he preened, the absolute ass.
This was Tuxedo Mask in spirit, alright.
"Are you?" He licked his lower lip delectably. "Jealous?" And then he held her eyes, his porcelain teeth brushing over glistening red flesh.
She didn't deem it an answer, just glared, but it didn't seem to dim his mood.
"This is going to be a problem," Usagi told him instead.
"Oh?" He moved, swerved around a mother with her kid and buggy, and caught Usagi's hand. He laced their fingers in that infuriatingly intimate way, and pulled her along.
His long fingers felt perfect in her hand, and she almost lost her nerve as he walked her down the semi busy street and towards the entrance of the JR station.
It was practically deserted this time of day, even if it would flood in a few hours when rush hour started back up.
"Yes," she said. "You insist my 'yes' means nothing when I'm jealous," she said, reaching in her pocket for her phone with her non-dominant hand instead as they approached the green turnstiles. "How will you believe I mean my yes if you keep making me jealous?"
She swiped her Suica card tucked into her phone case, and almost missed his heavy eyes on her.
She mourned the warmth of his hand when he let go of it, teleporting not even a meter –from one side of the turnstyles to the next, a girl in a two-piece suit looking up from her phone and whirling around in confusion but unsure of what she'd seen in the corner of her eye.
She sighed. Jumping turnstyles was something so decidedly not Mamoru, and it did put a chip in her heart, and yet at the same time, what bothered her most was that the action put a distance between them that she didn't want, not anymore. She tried to put it all in her eyes. The way way her heart bloomed in determination as she stepped back up to him and claimed his hand once more.
Her heart had been the 'Do It For Her'-Simpsons meme for months now, her mental board full with pictures of the girls, of Rei and Minako and a cute wiggly cartoon gif kind of cabbage with adorable : smiles and pink dots for cheeks because obviously. But slowly, almost without noticing, she'd grown a second board. Do It For Him. Photos of Mamoru on it, yes for sure, but equally Endymion. Both of them, all of them trapped, kidnapped, alone. In danger. Lonely - his whole life, any of them.
He'd always wanted her. Any form of him wanted her. Wanting wasn't a bad thing, Ami had said, and she was ready to give him what he wanted. What they both wanted.
She was going to do this. He just had to trust it, too.
Her eyes lingered on the crazy patterns, heart beating as she reached up and settled her hand over his heart, over the surprisingly soft cotton, two kids in their Middle School uniforms passing around them in the middle of the station.
"I want you, too." she told him, voice croaking. "I'm saying yes."
He sighed, tilted up her face by the chin, his touch on her always so gentle.
His eyes looked sad. Really, they were pretty much Mamoru-eyes.
Because it was a problem. Endymion didn't seem to believe her yeses. Maybe she'd said no too long that he couldn't trust her with a yes. A tragedy, since he was a man who desperately yearned for yeses - in any form he took.
"How can I convince you?"
When he didn't answer but pulled at her hand again, towards the stairs and the train and away from this conversation, she grew frustrated so egregiously it felt like she'd been dropped back into boiling onsen water.
But she let it happen, clutched his hand much harder when he pulled her into the JR train car behind her.
A group of high schoolers already on the train, the girls of which immediately checked Endymion out.
She had never thrown so much stink eye in her life than she had in the past 24 hours. She unconsciously stepped closer to him, her tights rubbing soundly against the pitch black of his pants, and his hand twitched in hers.
"I have terms," she whispered up to him.
His head tilted down at her, waiting. It was eerie, the way she had his absolute full attention, always.
A beat in which she collected all her courage down from the floor. "This needs to remain a secret." She didn't manage to say it without a painful break in her voice, even when she whispered it.
She'd said this to Dimi a thousand times. To Mamoru a few times too.
Both of them had never reacted all too well to it. But Endymion's eyes only darkened.
"Yes," he said too loudly, voice that touch sardonic. "You've said that to me before."
Her pulse picked up the drums.
"It has to," she croaked.
"Yes," he said. "You've said that, too."
And then he didn't say anything else to her for the rest of the ride.
She sighed loudly.
"Tell me how I can convince you that I want you anyway," she asked him again, but he held her eyes. Said nothing.
"Please."
By the time her station arrived, her emotion carousel was out of whack again.
"Right, my second term," she growled, gripping the handle above her head tighter. "At the end of this, I want you to choose me back. All of me. I want you back."
When she looked back up at him, his face was an unreadable mystery, searching her as she was searching him.
"Come see me tonight," she growled in irritation, and then stepped off the train.
He didn't follow. Instead, she heard the high schoolers scream even as the train left the station, marking his nonchalant disappearance without her having to glance back.
She would find a way to convince him. She was ready, he wanted her too, this was going to happen. And if by being with him, by binding him to her, she got a way to protect and save him, then, well… Then she got everything she wanted.
So logically, she'd set out to masturbate in front of him that night. An intentional decision, her inevitable evening plans. She didn't know exactly how this would go, how long this might take, how often she would be doing this, but she'd prepared. She'd bought a candle for the tub and charged the batteries for her trusty, beautiful peach-pink Iroha Zen vibrator to top them up fully in advance, even though she'd never ran out of battery on it before, such was the level of her planning.
The last time he got really close to tipping over his line in the sand with her was in that onsen, when she masturbated on top of him. He'd clearly let that go on longer than he'd planned to.
She could do that again, only that tonight, she was determined to stomp all over that line until it was unrecognisably gone. And if she had to frustrate him as much as he'd frustrated her over the last weeks upon weeks, she was determined to win. When he appeared in her room today he'd find her coming over the thought of him. And if she had to do it over and over again until he caved, that didn't exactly feel like a loss.
Her own need for release definitely felt as insistent as smelling food that sizzled on the stove when she was hungry.
Her parents were out, Luna was with Artemis for the night, Shingo was still with his friends, and she put music on and turned the faucet of the shower to almost-onsen hot, as hot as she could bear. It fogged the room up with thick steam, her body ready as could be, sensitive even to the brush of her louffa against the insides of her thighs, her neck, her pebbling nipples under the spray of the shower head as she sat pressing against hard plastic of the little stool beneath her. Soaked in the tub afterwards, her phone purring French lyrics she had heard on a Paris riverboat. Laying down on her bed in only her towel after her bath, when she was scrubbed soft and her legs freshly shaved and touching her own skin was a joy all in itself. The luxurious feeling of her freshly conditioned hair, soft from her blow-dryer but still a little damp, brushing against her skin. She enjoyed her own touch along the edges of her towel, the thin skin of her neck, and stroked her hands up her shins, to the insides of her thighs, stroking into her bath-soft pubes, sighed against her arousal.
Closing her eyes, she paid close attention to the sensation of her fingertips softly brushing her hyper-alert skin in all the places she was most sensitive, exhaled with relish when her mind wandered and replaced her hands with his.
To the way his teeth had brushed over his plump lips today. To his hard dick beneath her as she squirmed on him in hot water in the snow. To his fingers brushing her lips with so much mourning. To his wrecked eyes as she'd gripped his hair and tipped his face back on her yellow chair the day he'd propositioned her. To that outrageously smug grin when he'd fiddled with the blister of her pill with too much gleeful elation.
And yes, also to broken moans on a ferris wheel, her hand in his pants. To dark, blotching hickeys blooming on his neck in a purikura booth, painted there by her lips. To his voice panting brokenly in her ear that he wanted her, had always wanted her, and asking if she wanted him, too.
To the image of her dream that had morphed this scene. Her breath coming in puffs of desire against Mamoru's kiss-bruised lips, his heaving chest lifting and falling with arousal when his hands around her pulled firm at her buttocks to open her up for the nudging warmth that was Endymion's thick cock impatiently prodding at her from behind.
She was ready. She was so, so ready.
The way he'd stood in that quiet Zen garden so full of quiet fury, the way he held himself, touched her like she was divine. The way he'd held her in her towel naked in the snow, so careful not to push her where he wasn't sure she wanted to go. Held himself back, so careful not to touch her too much, and it left her wanting even more.
After all, things that were denied to her often had that effect on her. It was one of her worst traits.
She reached across to her nightstand to her lube. It was the fanciest, most luxurious item she owned. A heavy glass bottle, hiding in plain sight, as elegant as perfume. It was the most indulgent thing she'd ever invested any money in. Now, it thickly coated her fingers silky and smooth, and prepared like this, she moved them underneath the towel, and touched her slick fingers cool and full of sensation against her hot flesh, spreading it around her clit. The pleasurable sensation of the slippery substance coating her, cool and silky-soft. Smoothing her touch and making it glide in the best way against her skin. She wanted to soak tonight.
Imagining how he might step inside the room and immediately take her as he pleased was a fantasy oft-conjured but never really allowed. But now, her conviction a petulant force she finally embraced, she stubbornly wrapped herself in the idea, soaked it up and sought it out. He would step into her room just like he did the night he'd propositioned her, when she sat in nothing but a towel ust as she did now, but this time when he sat on her bed, he would sit on her and spread her open, the towel falling away as if he willed it so.
He'd be able to slip right inside, she was so wet. He could stretch her slow and wide, thick and warm, pressing down on her until she was full of him. She felt her cunt flutter in anticipation of her wish, and her back arched off the bed as she keened and pressed herself against her hand, flat and grinding.
His voice startled her less than it should have. It fit too well within her fantasy.
"I see you've started without me," he said in that dry tone.
She didn't jolt. Simply opened her eyes. Panting hard and knees and thighs clamped harshly around her hand, creating pressure where she needed it. A pang of regret in her gut - what if instead of trying to interrupt her like so, he would have joined her. What instead of making his presence known, he would have fucked her. What if instead of his voice in her room, it was his cock in her cunt that surprised her.
The thought made her flush with heat, made her fingers coat with slick. Oh God, did she want him.
But instead of sitting down on her like she wanted him to, he sat down in her stupid chair, and she felt like chastising him for it. Of complaining loudly and whining, because how fucking could he? Of course, he looked way too elegant doing it, way too far away.
A slow lick of his lips, shadow-pink tongue across plump, coveted skin. Just a cursory glance down her body, too modest. To her hand beneath her towel, down her bare legs, one moving track of his eyes that never lingered anywhere too long, but still set her heart on fire.
"Who are you thinking about when you're doing this, my love?"
She huffed out an irritated sigh over too-labored breathing and threw him a look. Frustrated, instead of answering him, she unclamped her legs, spread her knees.
The towel slid open, and she did nothing to prevent it from falling. The complete opposite: she shifted and moved so it dropped around her completely, and just for a second, his eyes flashed.
An impulsive decision; one she did for him, only for him. She usually didn't touch herself quite in this way, quite so openly. But God, did she want him to see. And so, when she brought her finger pad to slide slowly, gently around the swollen, sensitive skin of her vagina, just ever so scraping her fingernail around her entrance, the heel of her hand pressed firmly against her clit, yes, she did it because she wanted him to see where she wanted him to be.
And yes, it did feel like triumph when she heard his breath stutter, his tongue clicking as his eyes finally weren't quite so controlled.
But his eyebrows lowered, his brow puckered.
His eyes grew impossibly intense. "Is it him?" he asked. "Are you thinking of him?"
She frowned. Held his eyes, but kept on it.
"I choose you," she said, as she swirled a finger around the wet, sensitive nerves just at the breach of her, the puckered scrunched up skin of her, her voice an intense hue. "All of you."
Because no. No, in this moment at least, slipping through her window and taking her, it wasn't Mamoru she had thought of.
But he seemed to take it as a yes.
Eyes growing darker, angrier still, he crossed his arms tightly, spread his knees on her chair as if to mirror her unconsciously. "Do you want me to leave?"
For someone offering to leave, he sunk very heavily into her chair.
"No," she breathed around a moan. Definitely not.
Her fingers felt ever-so-slightly cool against her flushed skin, the lube making her feel squishy and soft as she fluttered her finger against her entrance - doughy soft and pliable, and stroked her fingers slowly down and gently, softly up and across her swollen clit. She shuddered long and slow when her finger caressed its little hood with the softest upstroke, and then tapped it, and she trembled. It was almost too much, this would be the last time she could touch it directly, his eyes a turn-on so hard she should have expected it.
Her voice was a needy mess. "Would you like to join me?"
Because she could try the easy way, right?
"You know I do," he said easily. Dismissively. And made no intention to move.
So yes, she flicked her thighs open even wider. She was trying so hard to make him come fuck her if he already insisted to be here. If he chose to slip into her room and stay there while she did this to the thought of him. Tried to tempt him so he would do all those filthy things he said he wanted to do with her, without her having to say the words.
Those may be out of reach, but she could utter different words instead. Even when they lay heavy on her tongue; she needed bravery to utter them.
She licked her lips, dipped her finger around wetness. "How well do you remember that day in the throne room?" she whispered at him, and boy, did he react.
His throat moved, his arms unlaced and crossed again. His eyes—
She swallowed, fluttered her middle finger against her entrance, never breaching. "I remember the sensation so well," she keened, arching against her hand and his view. "That moment I sank down on you so excruciatingly slowly, felt you tremble as I made myself so full of you. The stretch of it, thick and slow into me, the quiver in your skin and your moan in my ear."
He made a noise, something of a helpless huff, his eyes now prisoner of her cunt. It felt so fucking powerful, made her bold. Her voice became strong, sure.
"The way you shook with need," she sighed with pleasure. "Your eyes –you looked at me like I was your goddess and you were willing to do anything for me if just so I would do this to you."
He reacted. He looked wrecked, eyes on her hand, eyes just where she wanted him to be.
"Just like you're looking at me now."
She let her finger glide slick-smooth along the sticky wet plane between her folds, from her clit down the short distance to her cunt, soft and squishy and swollen and hot.
"The way your cock throbbed when I'd made myself come on you." She threw her head back, moaned from deep in her belly. "Your mouth latched onto my neck as I hung on you so absolutely debauched, my head thrown back because the fill of you - so slowly so deeply and then so fast and strong, however I liked it in this moment, whatever I wanted to do to you."
She licked her lips- dry and heavy and feeling a little bit foreign she was so worked up. Found his pitch black eyes. The untouched bulge in his pants between his knees, as he sat with his legs still thrown so wide, wide open for her as hers were for him.
He looked like was trying to not look and definitely not to act, but he was visibly suffering. Triumph tasted sweet.
"The sensation when you came, that hot, open-mouthed, silent scream against my neck as you still tried so hard to be quiet even when I moaned on top of you without abandon, and I felt you shoot so hot inside of me, felt the silver crystal glow inside of me to fight you off when I didn't want it to."
A small twitch of his hips, lifting into nothing but air as he visibly tried so hard to stay composed but failed so miserably. It shot between her legs, coated her fingers even more. "The feeling of your dripping cock slipping so noisily from me. The sensation of your thick, creamy cum dribbling down me, smearing on your lap and mixing with the mess I'd made there, the air hitting my thighs as I lifted myself off you just to feel it dripping from me and onto you, smearing that golden seed against you and making you so very sticky with us, in the hopes that someone might come in and see how that wretched holy seed of you coated both me and you so perfectly, so sinfully, so marvelously."
He crossed his legs with visible struggle and she whined in protest.
Perhaps it was in punishment that she switched gears almost immediately.
"That day in the gondola. The way it shook when I crossed the tiny pink thing to straddle you, dangling over Odaiba in the pink sunset, your hand under my pink skirt, kneading my ass, Motoki and Reika just out of sight one gondola above us."
That got him angry. She knew he would be.
She didn't care.
"How you opened your belt for me so helplessly fast when I asked you to," she continued.
"I wanted to sit down on you that day, too. When I reached into your pants and felt your hard cock and your whimper was so fucking wrecked across my throat. I wanted to draw you out, push my panties aside and sink down. Wanted to ride you so hard the whole gondola would have swung on its hinges, letting everyone see from all sides of Odaiba what must be happening inside of it, how I was taking you."
He moved his leg, crossed them even tighter. He looked pained and furious.
"I'm not him," he growled and reached down, fingers twitching, clenching and unclenching at his pants as he pulled at them.
"No," she agreed, orbited her clit in a slow figure 8, breathing out against the sensation to keep it at bay, because she wanted to stay on top. "No, you're not."
He exhaled as if relieved. Opened his long, beautiful, slender legs for her again. He was still hard, maybe even more so, erection fighting against his pants but… still, he was not doing anything about it.
"He never crossed that threshold," she told him, fingers slick and squelching. "He never wanted to be my secret."
He held her eyes, strong and impenetrable, unreadable.
She licked her dry lips again, rough from the force of her worked up exhales. "Do you?" she asked, all the challenge in her voice, Serenity's entitlement in her tone.
A beat of silence filled with the sound of her own hammering heart, and she stopped moving her hand. Watched him walk until he stood, crossed the small space between them, and stopped standing over her bed, looking at her with eyes that he shielded on purpose.
His outfit –noticeably not what he'd worn earlier today, he'd dressed up for her– as dramatic and yet understated. Something like a tailored black denim jacket, dark roses in black and blood-maroon embroidered against the shoulders like ornamental frames around art. Black, narrow jeans and a crisp white shirt contouring his chiseled body. He looked too unbearably sexy, and he was too far away.
She slipped her hand from between her legs, and his weight landed on the mattress around her with a thud and a harsh depression, pressing the mattress down as he sat on the bed with her, one leg curled beneath him, the other dangling off the side.
She swallowed, flicked her eyes to where his pants stretched tight, deeply uncomfortable looking, but he didn't flinch a bit. Just sat there, just within reach and yet so far away.
If he only acted. If he only overwhelmed her. She wanted him to do with her as he pleased, and didn't know how to get there, sitting in his intense gaze.
Her lip smacked with a soft plopping noise as she licked it this time, her tongue catching on the dry skin, and his intense eyes flew to her tongue, noticing.
It was a weird, intense staring contest in the moonlight, her wet cunt on display for him and yet he simply sat there and waited. Looked her in the eyes even when the rounded flesh of her breasts were quivering with her harsher breathing, her legs open for him like a lotus flower.
"Do you?" she repeated, and bravely stretched to touch her toe to his cock, her foot between his thighs.
His look turned even darker, almost dangerous, and she shivered, her naked skin breaking out in goosebumps. A sensation that turned into a deep moan when he shifted his weight, pressing her bed down - and her, straddling her thighs.
She fell back on her elbows, arching her back in want, stretching her boobs up like the horny mess she absolutely was.
He licked his lips, eyes on the pebbled tips of her breasts, then back to her face. Leaned over her, stiff jean fabric rough against the soft skin of her thighs.
"Not if it's only him you want," he said darkly, pressing his strong hands into the flesh of her thighs, brushing upwards with a shuddered exhale.
"Even if you choose to let me take you, know it is your choice. Your choice, and I start. One no, and I stop," he growled into her skin, eyes at her wet cunt then flicking up to focus on her face with stark intensity. "You decide that I am acting. You're not passive, Serenity. You're my puppeteer. Make me."
Thundering heart, she beckoned him closer, crooked her fingers come hither.
He shook his head, "Not enough, my love."
Her face tightened with irritation, and she slipped her hand back between her legs.
But he focused on her face, not her cunt. That wouldn't do.
"I want you to see," she told him darkly. "I want you to watch."
A quirk of his lip, but he didn't move his gaze. A beat in which she inhaled to protest, but in a sudden movement, he moved off her and flipped her around. The whole bed bounced as she landed on her stomach with an oomph.
"Then give me a show, my love."
It shuddered through her, she bucked her butt at him, wiggling, bouncing fat and skin and full-body tremor. And honestly, slipping her hand between her body and the bed, it was even easier if she wasn't directly looking at him. She was braver like this. Her vagina squelched loudly around her touch.
But it wasn't enough, she didn't have enough reach like this. She wanted to get on her knees, but with a heavy weight descending on her, he sat back down on her thighs, the fabric stretching across her nude skin, and she shuddered even harder. The image imprinted itself on her brain automatically of course, coming alive in her mind. A lowered zipper, his dick pressing between the cheeks of her ass to slide into her cunt. She wanted it so, so badly.
Of course, he didn't do it. But the pressure of her hand pressed between the mattress and her vulva was the most delicious torture to this particular enticing mental image.
She pushed two fingers inside of her to a relieved moan, pretending it was him.
Hot hands dug into her thighs just beneath her butt out of nowhere, gripping firm and insistent and entitled and it was enough to nearly push her off the edge.
He pulled her apart for his gaze. Leaned over her heavily, pressing her down.
"This could be me," he quietly hushed directly against her ear as he leaned over her completely, "inside you. Right now."
Then he sat back by her ass, pulling her apart even further for his inspection in a 'tsk, tsk' kind of voice. She spasmed around her fingers.
"Your pretty flower." His voice a besotted, tortured prayer. "So pretty and pink and blossomed out for me. So wet and dewy and impatient."
She shuddered hard. He talked like a fucking regency novel protagonist, and she couldn't believe it got her almost coming.
"Rub it more, my love. Let me see."
She flushed so hard she barely got breath in the down of this enormous pillow, but she rubbed a little harder.
His voice fucking broke. His fingers pressing into her thighs so hard it almost hurt, and she couldn't believe this sensation made her even wetter, too. "My neglected, precious orchid. You're art, my love."
He leaned over her. Inhaled. Deeply. His breath at her flushed labia, cool across her wet finger. "Hmmmmm," he hummed, bowed over her, spreading her.
And then he traced two fingers in wide, firm strokes down her labia, as if he were drawing on them, as if he was framing her fingers and her sex, and her whimper was a choking, desperate affair.
She barely managed to form words. Had to force them out. "Just fuck me already."
That infuriating hum again, but he didn't move.
"I know you want to fuck me," she growled in utter frustration.
"You have no idea how much I do, my love," said in the most infuriatingly calm voice.
She nearly threw him off in her forceful effort to flip around. Sitting on her butt once more, her hands were an impatient blur ripping at his pants, and he did not stop her. In fact, he leaned his crotch to her, stretched so she could reach where she needed to. She undid his pants and drew him from layers of fabric.
Endymion hissed when the tip of his cock escaped its prison and hit the air, standing straight from its confines. He was so goddamn hard. It was an excruciatingly torturing visual for her and yet he seemed, overall, way too fucking unphased.
She could lean down and kiss the tip. So easily. Her insides shriveled in a prick of want at the mental image, and she denied herself only a second before she did just that. Her lips felt almost cool against the salty, slippy skin. The kiss she pressed against him was wet, slow, and his exhale broke into something between a sob and a moan. When she sat up again, eyes on his, waiting for him to act, she expected him to pounce.
But he didn't. He still didn't move. He still didn't bend her over to dick her down. He sat there watching her, intense eyes curious and patient.
She growled as she grabbed at his cock, and he moved with her pliantly, willingly, but didn't thrust. Poised above her, her whole body shuddered to the sensation of his throbbing dick nudging just at the slippery, pulsing entrance of her wet vagina. Instead, he ground his teeth together and moaned - one of those deep belly moans, one of hers, but no more.
She collapsed on her back with a frustrated keen, body and boobs bouncing with the force, and scooted almost awkwardly but singlemindedly towards him on the mattress. Reached for his cock again, spread herself around him wide, and rubbed it across her folds, around her clit and swirling, circling her entrance. He looked like he physically hurt from keeping his hips still, but he just knelt there, allowing her to do with him as she wanted.
She bucked upwards, ready to take him, but this was his threshold. A hand at her belly, pressing her down. One at his cock, taking him from her.
Pumping, drawing his foreskin over his tip as if to calm it down, stroking almost lazily, he inhaled deeply, exhaled deeper, before he met her eyes again. She'd never seen them so black, in any life.
"Please," she begged, canting her hips up at his dick.
With a tortured sigh, he rubbed his dick across her folds but never going in. The frustration gave her tunnel vision, she rubbed her fingers almost furiously against her clit. It was frustrating for him too, she knew it, she saw it, his face so composed between hard breaths but when he shuddered and squeezed them shut, there was a frustrated tear leaking from his eye just as his swollen tip coated itself in a fresh dribble of moisture.
Her hands flew down her mound, stretching her labia apart, trying so hard not to beg.
He sighed in tight regret, ran one hand up her thigh, strong and possessive and controlled. Kept brushing his cock around her entrance, but obviously not planning to penetrate.
And yet his cock was alive, an active participant in her torture, pulsing and straining and twitching and red and crying for her even when Endymion so rudely denied her. He was so hard for her it was excruciating, and she spasmed against the deliciously thick pressure at her entrance so painfully still.
Her voice was a petulant grouse. "Are you going to thrust?"
His cock throbbed against her. He reached out, plucked at her nipple and she spasmed harder, keening loudly. "No," he said, rolling her nipple between his fingertips.
And then she jolted at him hard, panicking, because downstairs a door slammed, Shingo announcing loudly that he was home, coming up the stairs. There was no way she could keep her voice down, and worse than that, with a start, she expected him to leave. And holy shit, she wouldn't be able to take this again. She would combust if he didn't let her come this time.
She was about to scream at him to stay, Shingo be damned, when she felt the beginning wobble of his teleportation.
What she didn't expect was for him to teleport her right along with him, and her scream echoed in a different room. Stark naked, she landed in a bed. She had no fucking clue where, except these were the softest, most luxurious sheets her ass had ever landed on, in a perfectly circular bed so light and fluffy it felt like heaven, a thick milky canopy surrounding this round bed bathed in orange candlelight. She bounced off it heavily, his knees sinking deep into a cloud of a mattress clamped around her.
But she had no mind to pay her surroundings any closer attention, because this beautiful man leaned down and over her, black fringe brushing against her sensitive face, black eyes the most turned on she'd ever seen him look, and he nipped at her lower lip. She felt like she was scalding.
He moved his mouth up her jaw, one elbow by her head. And then bucked his dick against her sharply, the shaft shifting along her clit.
Her sharp exhale was shaking.
"How would you want me?" His warm breath by her ear, as if nothing ever happened, as if they didn't change locations.
Huh?
"When you finally want me. Beg me, How do you want me?"
Another shift of him, and she wailed, clamped her legs tight around him, her shins crossing around rough fabric.
He huffed a breath down her skin, amused. Wrapped a strong hand around one of her thighs and rocked against her. She tried so hard to maneuver him in a way that he'd just… that's he'd just fucking slip inside, finally.
"Do you want me to dip inside, just the tip? Tease you until every centimetre I eventually push in deeper feels new and fresh and filling?"
She gasped, clawing at the rough fabric of that damn denim jacket, her fingernails scratching and destroying embroidery, growing wetter.
He grinned, his lips stretching at her ear. And then he bent, dragging rough hands down her chest.
"Do you want me to ram myself into you, fuck you hard and fast and have my way with you?" He asked into her chest, and then he sucked her nipple between his teeth, a harsh popping noise before he released it with a hard kiss pressed around it.
Her eyes shot open, her mouth tensed in an open gasp. Oh god. Oh holy fucking shit.
He stretched back above her, his cheek against her skin. His hand gently brushing the hair from her frantic face when he was once again aligned with her gaze. "Or do you want me to go slow and deep, grinding, rolling into you with firm pressure, press my weight down on you and fill you up?"
Fuck.
And then he raised himself above her. Too far too far too far. "Or like this?" Slowly, languidly, he rubbed his dick around her clit. And then—
Smack.
She nearly rose full-body of this cocoon of a bed. Eyes popping smirked, and did it again, smacking his dick against her.
Her eyes rolled back in her head, she spasmed once. A little more of this, and she would—-
He stopped. "What's it gonna be?"
She grunted in frustration, a yelp and a whine, bit her fingernails into his jacket, pulling as hard as she could and he didn't budge a centimeter.
Until he relented, his weight pressing down on her, his lips at her face, wet and open, dragging up her jaw.
Her eyes must have been pure frenzy. "Can I have all of those?"
He grinned at her ear, pressed an open-mouth kiss behind it that made her toes curl. "Not at once, no."
"Eventually?"
"Hmmm," he hummed into her throat. The faintest stubble on his chin felt deliciously rough against this part of her body as he talked against it, inhaling her. "That means I get to have you at least four times."
A heavy stroke of his warm, strong hand up her thigh. Another smack of his dick against the space just between her vagina and her clit.
She was ready to cry in desperate want.
A harsh whisper in her ear, his hand curling hard and desperate into her undone hair. "What do you want, Serenity?"
She moved her face to glare up at him for the name even as she was dripping wetness on him.
A moment of quiet, harsh breath mingling, and his eyebrows lowered when he sat up.
He was back on her thighs, his cock out of her reach even when it stood glistening for her. Back to the start.
Oh no, oh no, oh no. She whined pitifully, bucked her hips at him, but he pushed his hands against her waist, pressing her down strongly.
"If you want my cock," he told her darkly, "you only have to demand it. It's all yours, my love. It's always been yours."
With that, he pushed his hands beneath her butt, pulled her buttcheeks apart, and holy fucking shit. It's a move she taught him in a past life, and it made her vagina come alive, shifted every hazy memory of when he'd done this to Serenity to the forefront of her mind in sudden stark clarity, many of those with his dick deep inside of her. She wanted to feel him moving in her again so badly. She was overstimulated and exhausted from this torture, she was so ready to be fucked she could cry.
"You know what to say."
She squeezed her eyes shut. "Please," she shouted.
"Uh-uh, my love."
She grunt-keened in frustration, frustrated, horny tears squeezing at her lashes.
But he just sat on her legs, dick out and fully clothed, and nodded at her hands. "Go on, then."
She didn't understand for a second, disoriented. Until she did—
She glared, but touched herself. Her fingers not unwelcome, never bad -her own touch was practiced and reliably good after all- but right now altogether not what she actually wanted, and Usagi hated not getting what she wanted.
He shook his head. "No, like you did when you didn't know I was here."
She growled, low and harsh, finding his eyes. His cock was right there.
But he was serious. "Go back to your fantasy," he told her. "Go back to what I interrupted."
She smacked her lips, smashed her head back against the mattress, and relented. Fuck it, then. Better than nothing. Gingerly slipping a finger between her quivering, swollen, sensitive flesh, then two, and she bit her lip, she was drawn so tight.
She squeezed her eyes closed. Conjured up the image of Endymion and her room, her towel and her bed, so painfully lacking now that she'd experienced almost what she wanted if he only let her.
His hand at her chin, desperate and strong. "No, look at me."
But she didn't. Ignored him. Just scrunched her eyes up tighter, and gasped at the pressure of the heel of her hand, rubbing.
He growled, but didn't take her. She still kind of hoped he would.
But her imagination didn't take her long. Obviously. It was not a far stretch. All she wanted was for him to fucking move.
She squirmed closer to him, squirmed against his tip, rubbed herself, teeth scraping hard against her lips. Clenched around him rhythmically, involuntarily, and it drew him in like a light suction the barest, littlest bit, making her cry out. She wanted to fuck herself on his cock so badly the image filled her every vision.
She was so fucking close.
She didn't even notice she was speaking before he reacted.
Her moaned, 'Endymion,' was quiet. Drawn out. A moan on her lips to the fantasy behind her closed eyelids. Not Mamoru. Not Dimi. But the man currently so rudely withholding his cock from her, the man she'd wanted for weeks but denied herself. No more.
The hand around her chin this time, pulling, was immediate and more pressing than before. That weird mix of harsh and gentle, and it pulled her out, shocked.
"You're thinking of me–" he said. Harshly. Wondrous. "Not him. You thought of ME."
She exhaled harshly, naked chest quivering against rough embroidery.
"I did," she pressed out, eyes scrunched shut, breathing hard.
But his voice was painted surprise, growing urgency. "Only now? Or did you also think of me when… "
She opened her eyes almost with a struggle, blinking through heady lust at him, her mouth so dry, her lashes refusing to open all the way. "Yes."
His molars pressed together audibly. The look on him so dark, so intense. But with one movement, hands flying hard to her hips, he thrust into her so deep it rocked her up the bed.
Her mouth opened in a silent scream, no sound left, only sensation. She was so worked up, so wet and ready, that this thrust, his thick cock penetrating her for the first time in this life, illogically and almost disappointingly was enough to trigger her orgasm reflex. But because her stubborn body apparently decided this could not be it, she'd waited too long for this to be done with it so soon, she just kept on coming as he kept at it, lifted her only to keep thrusting, hands clamped around her hips possessively.
She clung to him weakly, a tight coil unraveling, head thrown back and coming.
The sensation was a drug to her veins, her entire perception pin-pricking to the slide of his cock against her, across her folds and into her, deep-deep-deeper with every stroke and filling her, stuffing her, satisfying her.
However much she tried to expel the thought from her mind, in this moment she was Serenity all right. Serenity who had been denied this from him for thousands of years, because there was no way Usagi's months of longing could compare for this level of need for release, for this sensation of near completion and homecoming. Her soul was calling out for him, trying to anchor him to her on the most primitive level.
Wave after wave it thrashed in her, her head thrashing against the soft pillows over and over in mindless response to the sensation. She was hypersensitive and high off him and insatiable, her cunt demanding what he'd denied her for weeks - or millennia - and she wasn't even thinking of being done with him yet, she would never be done with him. Release was an abstract concept fully out of her reach even as she tipped in and out of orgasm.
She pulled on his hair, the silky strands pulled tight against his scalp. Held on.
He pushed her back into the mattress hard.
"Is this what you want?" He panted, rocking her high up the twisted sheets, his cock stretching her full and stroking her walls, a deep pounding barely sufficient at caressing her so good.
She arched her back to take even more, trap him with her, in her, and never let him go. "YES." Her head hit the pillow again and again.
But he stopped, cock seated deep inside of her and she throbbed and clenched around him, her walls fluttering against the delicious, thick intrusion. "Why."
"I want to be fucked hard," she cried out, tears of frustration beading at the corners of her eyes.
His cock slipped out of her with a whimper and she wailed.
"Why."
She opened her eyes, found his face so very twisted and desperate, searching her eyes, her hand hanging from his hair.
It rocked through her like lightning, mixing in her craze.
"I don't want flower petals. From you, I want what he wouldn't give me." She gasped. "I'd get flower petals from Mamoru."
He growled, ready to– she didn't know what, but he penetrated her thick and strong, a sensation like the first thrust all over again, and fucked into her even harder.
And… oh god. Holy shit, yes. She squeaked the most unladylike sound and honest to fuck laughed because… holy shit, yes this was amazing. All the tension fell off of her, nothing mattered but the building, building coils deep in her gut, the clap-clap-clap of his flesh against hers and oh shit— The sheer delight. The white hot magic in her veins, at the edges of her vision, building and building and building again.
She collapsed around him, awash in sensation and surrendered all her weight willingly to him, this strong hard man who held her steady in gentlest hands even while he fucked her hard. Nothing mattered but the thick slip of his cock into her, the deep pressure of him rocking her, stretching and broadening, and her fingers fluttered weak against her own clit. His movements slammed the bed against the wall, the mattress creaking loudly beneath their frenzy and she wanted even more.
"From you?" she cried out, her voice a broken up squeak, a mix of wonder, exhaustion, and utter relief. "I want to be taken. You want me to want you? This is exactly what I imagined you doing to me."
He didn't slow, even as he reached out one strong hand and heart-achingly tenderly, in an almost baffling juxtaposition of incongruent sensation, brushed her fringe from her eyes and forehead with the gentlest touch even as he pounded into her. Sweaty hair from a sweaty face, so nothing even this insignificant could obstruct her view from him, or so it seemed. Because that heavy eye contact spoke unspeakable things, and he kept it that way. And she got it. He wanted her to see who was doing this to her.
He fucked her hard into this perfect mattress, slammed into her over and over, never too much, never enough, his dick the absolute perfect size not to hurt her at all but to just barely graze at her cervix when he hit deep. The bed rocked under his movements and he pushed her across the sheets and into the pillows with a weight and pressure so delicious, so perfect it made her breath come out in staccato snorty things of bliss, somewhere between a giggle and a moan. His fingers drenched and reaching to press at her clit, but hers were already there, drawing circles around herself. Fucking her into blissful oblivion, stopping before she fell over the edge and she huffed out the most drawn-out, hiccup-y breath through her mouth and nose, an utterly weird sound she wouldn't advise anyone to ever fucking put in porn, but she had no braincells left to self-monitor or perform any picture of desire that did not come naturally. So it was all gulping, wide-eyed hiccups of drawn-in shock, and the feeling of surfing on the edge of bliss that he rudely interrupted just so that she might feel this unreasonably magic threshold for as long and as often as possible.
He drew all the way out to her frantic thrashing, thrusting only back in when she'd calmed down, then fucked her through two absolutely illogical orgasms back to back, impossible if they hadn't been based on years of sexual denial and frustration, and years worth of diluted, ancient memories of mutual experience on top of that.
They fit together like a glove, they'd known every secret of each other's bodies before they were born in this life, and he finally gave her what she wanted.
Her walls contracted on his cock, she was a tremor of nerves, and she loved how he looked at her so completely deranged as he fucked her wildly, so completely tormented and owned.
She was a quivering mess when his cock pulsed thick inside her and he came, load after load, mixing his slick with hers. His cum warm and sticky as it dripped down her thighs and she moaned through the sensation, sated and warm, memories mixing together.
In this one moment, finally, her head was blissfully empty. Relaxed for the first time in months, maybe years. A state that was addictive all in itself and she was hungry for it again before it had ever dissipated. The guilt would come back, of course it would, inevitably. But right this second, she found an antidote, the one thing potent enough to make her live in this moment alone, to make her shoulders feel unburdened for a little while, to let go, however wrong it might be. She couldn't find it in her to regret it right now.
She was confused about the sound that woke her.
Well. Actually, no, the sound itself was very familiar. But about its being here. Here being a room she'd never seen, stark naked between the softest sheets that had ever touched her skin.
She looked around with a gasp. Last night, she hadn't paid attention to anything but the softness of this bed and the delicious feeling of his thick cock stretching and filling and caressing her at last. Had absolutely missed that, apparently, he'd teleported her straight into a magical, natural utopia for the occasion.
Holy fucking shit, this must be the most gorgeous place in the whole world.
A dome of a round room much bigger than what she would be used to at home, made up of slender branches that didn't quite keep out the sun everywhere, thatched together in geometric patterns. Gaps in the thatched structures formed round moon doors that led out to a terrace overlooking turquoise ocean waves lapping at wood and white sand. There was a fucking wooden swing hanging from thick ropes at the edge of the terrace, directly at the mouth of the ocean. Everywhere around her, thick stems of trees and dark foliage warped around the pervious walls. It was a treehouse in a jungle at the sea, nothing but cream and green and earthy beige-and-brown as far as she could see. The bed itself was elevated like a throne on thatched steps, raised high above the rest of the room, the canopy falling off it like a river, thick macramé framing it like art. Cream colored pillows everywhere, hanging seats and thick clay vases filled with trees and plants rising to the ceiling and beyond, and everywhere thick candles in round bowls sat dotting the room, blown out in the soft morning light that glittered off the gently flowing waves.
Like something from an Aztec dream. Or maybe Mayan? Something ancient. Something rich both in tradition and harmony, luminous and luxurious and at one with nature. Even the air smelled alive.
That same sound again, cutting out above the rhythmic sound the ocean breathed. Vibrations against a surface, a chirp of a sound she knew well. Right. Next to her, on a wicker basket in between large cushions that surrounded the round bed, her phone reprimanded her impatiently, and she remembered what had woken her.
How had it even gotten here? He'd apparitted her here naked and pretty much about to be inside of her, had not stopped a second pressing that thick cock against her and then finally into her between her bedroom and this cocoon of a garden eden.
But there it was, right next to her. Her phone.
I'll be sure you'll have your phone next time.
The serious way he'd said it in her memory shifted, got a different flavor than the one she'd read in it that day.
She reached for her phone with trembling fingers. Her lock screen displayed two sets of times. Current and origin. Wherever 'here' was, here it was morning, at home it was not.
Minako's icon in the corner, several missed calls from her, her text full of impatient emojis and a simple 'where are you?'
With a thundering heart, she refreshed the little arrow underneath the time on her phone, where her GPS signal displayed her location, and then frowned. Where the hell was 'Tulum'?
She glanced at the still form next to her only out of the corner of her eye. Warm and solid and addictive and completely nude, breathing very deeply and evenly under the same gorgeous cream-colored covers she lay beneath, his naked thigh pressed against hers. He looked even more beautiful than he ever had before. His gorgeous face relaxed, strong arms looking clean and smooth and glowing against the cream of the sheets, the thin blanket bleeding peach-and-powder color across this marshmallow of a bed, the soft sunlight filtering through the gaps in the wooden frame of this paradise of a room and dancing off his form with the breeze.
In sleep, he looked indistinguishable from Mamoru. Of course, the thought brought a pang of guilt with it. What would he think, seeing her like this?
Usagi's heart started thundering, her fingers starting to shake as she sat up rigidly and texted back too honest and not honest enough.
'Watching Endymion.'
It wasn't a lie. It wasn't, she promised herself. But Minako's immediate reply didn't help.
'Oh! Good!'
In fact it made her feel a shame so deep, so deceitful, she–
He stirred. Moved in a way that made her doubt he'd been asleep very deeply at all. He caused the creamy canopy around them to sway, and the thick, soft tassels dangled off their blanket just a little. Hummed into her side and bit her shoulder, blunt and tongue and all, let his hand wander down with sure aim to curl his hand possessively into her pubes without fully being conscious yet.
Her phone vibrated in her hand with a new text. Is he up to anything?
Usagi flinched hard, Endymion's hand shamelessly combing and stroking through the coarse hair all around her cunt. I'll see, she texted back. So, so, so guilty.
She'd barely pressed send when he snatched the phone from her hand and threw it all across the room— She made a very unladylike sound in protest as it forcefully smacked into a friggin macrame'd hammock filled with a sea of cream-colored pillows. The impact made it shake back and forth noisily on its metal hinges.
Then he pushed her just as forcefully down against the bed. She was bouncing off the mattress when his lips –the gentle contrast of his touch so startling– brushed tenderly against her temple and down to her ear.
"I'm not someone who is willing to share your attention, my love."
She shuddered. Yeah… yeah, she knew that.
The realisation that this would be her life from now on hit her harder than it should have. After all, this had been inevitable: She'd done it before, and she'd do it again.
As you know, almost all locations I put into my fics are real, but the Tulum hotel is ESPECIALLY gorgeous, it's the Aqua Villa at the Azulik Resort. I put photos on my tumblr post for this chapter!
Either way, if you find the energy to leave me a comment/review, you have my love forever, but obviously I understand that times are hard and sometimes you just wanna disengage! Either way, all the love, and see you in the next chapter!