Scent
There was that line again. He had stubbornly avoided it this morning when he had turned his head and closed that drawer.
But this was holding more of him then just his eyes. Her scent wafted up, faint and familiar from the crumpled heap of towel she'd left on the bathroom counter.
Behind closed doors, the conscience was easier to ignore. Without the buffer of suddenly being found out, there was just him and his will, and his will was always weaker at night.
With softly parted lips he reached out a slow, steady hand and rested it on the white cloth. It was still slightly damp.
The image in the mirror only revealed his mouth, his chin tilted down and the long length of his bangs fallen over his eyes. There was a breath on his lips, a peak of teeth and tongue.
He lifted the towel to his face and took a deep breath, his eyes shutting as his body reacted.
His conscience was silent-some things were stronger than right and wrong.
He discarded his clothes haphazardously on the floor, climbed into the shower and reflexively leaned into the corner to avoid that first slap of ice-cold water.
As the water slowly heated, he stood, letting it hit only his legs as he held that towel, rubbing his thumb over the cloth in almost too intent circles. Then he stepped back until his hot back came flush with the cold tile, his shoulders and then his head.
He brought his free hand up, then slowly closed his eyes and licked a long, wet line across the palm.
His skin tasted like soap and water, and salt, and he imagined that hers tasted the same. Gods, he wanted to taste her.
He brought her towel back up to his face, took a deep breath, then slid his wet fingers down, wrapping them with a familiar squeeze around his swollen length.
A moan as his hot palm rubbed against the even hotter flush of his skin. He curved his hand, cupping the flesh and drawing it tight across veins and muscle. It twitched, his thighs shaking as a flutter clinched hard at his stomach.
Gods, it happened so much easier when her scent led him. He didn't even have to hold an image in his mind, all he had to do was breathe and feel, and let go...
He set a slow pace, because he knew he wouldn't last long. He could already feel the pressure building at the base of his spine, the tightening in his lower stomach that squeezed sticky lines of moisture out to spread across his hand. His hips lifted away from the wall, a gentle, primal rocking. He felt light-headed, and slow-moved, and as if there was a star of ice growing in his stomach.
He tightened his grip, meeting no resistance as he pumped his hand steadily, up and down, up and down.
The water was pooling shallowly around his feet now, too much falling too fast for the small drain to keep up. He didn't even notice. He bit his lip and furrowed his eyebrows as if in pain, keeping his eyes closed because in the darkness of his head he could see her around him, slowly rising and falling with the rhythm of his body.
His nails dug slightly in the towel as he took a harder breath. And another. There was a slight pant to it now, a slight plea. Without conscious thought, his hand sped up on its own, barely reaching the throbbing base before it jerked back up again. He was so close now that he couldn't stop. Hovering, teetering on the edge of pleasure and exhaustion, knowing that he needed one last push to fall.
Another breath, deeper this time as he tried to pull in as much of her scent, as much of her as he could. And then he steadily, quickly took that one last step over the line that he had been taking for weeks now.
"Aya!"
A whisper, swallowed quickly in the rush of water hitting tile. His hips thrust once, hard, arching his back away from the wall as he came, his hard length convulsing in his hand and mixing his seed with water.
He slowly slumped back against the wall and re-learned how to breathe, rebuilt the mask he was facing the world with more and more every day.
Then he pushed away from the tile and reached for the shampoo.
( ) *
The door opened and she went still, biting her lip to keep in a snicker as she heard two bare-footed steps, and then complete silence. Water dripped from the shower curtain in the bathroom.
"Aya...what are you doing?"
I'm asleep, you dope. It was so hard not to squirm, especially when she knew she shouldn't. Not if she wanted to keep up this game. She was trying so hard not to giggle that she knew there was no way she could possibly fake a snore, so she just lay there, casting all her effort in remaining still.
"Aya?"
"..."
"Aya, come on, I know you're awake." Softer now, as if he wasn't certain of that fact at all. A slow breath and a shuffle, then nothing...
What is he doing, she thought impatiently. She was just bursting to move. Her fingers twitched and she hoped hoped HOPED he hadn't seen that.
"..."
Did he go to bed? Oh, she really hoped not! But that would be just like him, to pull such a stealthy move and completely ruin her game. She should look...No, that's what he was waiting for! He was standing there, waiting for her to give up! She just knew it!
"..."
Right?
"..."
A tentative, feather touch on her bare ankle where it peeked from the edge of the blanket. So unexpected that she couldn't help but jerk, her knee drawing up quick and dragging fingers over her heel. She squeaked.
A breath of silence, and then a low growl. "Aya."
Her eyes widened, and then the covers were being ripped away with a hard snap. The streetlamp spilling in from their one small window gave him a sinister edge. Giving him a halo of faint light that masked his face in shadow. It did nothing to hide the rigidness of his stance, however, or that one hand he had on his hip in the classic pose of aggravated siblings everywhere.
"Uh...hi?"
"Aya." Low, clear voice. "Bed is mine tonight."
"But Aki! I had a really hard day, today." Put-upon whine. Big, big eyes.
"Bed. Mine."
She frowned slightly. He really wasn't in the mood to play tonight. She didn't know why, he had seemed fine when they walked home from her work.
Of course, she had a habit of pushing even when she shouldn't. So she slowly reached up with her arms, and hugged his pillow to her.
He went completely still. A strange sound, before she could identify what it was he spun around on his heel and marched right up to the futon. Without a word, or even a look, he threw himself onto it and quickly dragged the cover over his head.
Aya blinked, then blinked again. "Aki...?" Something clenched painfully in her stomach, making her feel almost nauseous. She never wanted to hurt him...
"..." Silence, not even a shift under the covers. He couldn't possibly be asleep already?
"Aki..." Please don't be mad at me...
A sigh. "Aya, just leave it, okay? I'm tired."
He did sound tired. Really, really tired. Just not in a physical sense.
It wasn't in her nature to 'leave it', but she really didn't know what to say to make the situation right. She didn't even know what was wrong.
"I love you?" A quiet, hopeful voice.
A shift, finally, but he didn't look at her. He wound the blanket tighter around him, drawing his feet under.
"I love you, too."
TBC...