Music and colour.
Aya was in a familiar bathroom, standing before a familiar mirror, looking into a face that was not her own. Ceres was glaring at her, furious and angry, but there were tear-trails from her eyes.
Aya raised her own hand to her face and realized she was crying.
"Why?"
"I told you," Ceres said, but did not answer her question. What was she asking? What did Ceres tell her? She didn't understand.
"He can't be trusted."
Who?
Water ran in the sink, a small whirlpool that drained away just as quickly as it filled up. Aya blinked at it, then reached out to turn it off. Her fingers touched cold, smooth metal, and the door behind her opened.
Distant revelry, distant music. It was their birthday and they were putting sixteen candles on the cake.
It's wrong...
There were only supposed to be fifteen candles.
She hoped Aki wouldn't notice. He was really good at math.
Ceres gave her a disappointed look, then slowly stepped aside. The mirror reflected the bathroom, and the open door. But it didn't show her...Where was she?
Keitou stepped into the doorway.
Aya gasped, turned. Her hands came up, ready to push or fight.
But it wasn't Keitou in the doorway, it was Aki. He was in the shorts he always wore to bed, and the door was closed behind him.
Aya relaxed, tilting her head at him curiously. "I thought you were somebody else."
"I was," he said seriously. And she didn't understand, but it didn't seem to matter. There was silence, such silence. Water dripped from the faucet behind her, and it seemed to fill the whole bathroom.
"We're going to miss the party," she said brightly, turning back to the sink. She had forgotten to wash her hands.
"The party's already over." His voice was in her ear, a strange whisper, full of pain and need. She lifted her eyes to the mirror, and felt such relief. She was back, her image reflected in the silver glass.
But...where was Aki? She couldn't see him...
Breath, on her hair. The bathroom light dimmed and brightened. She couldn't find him, did he leave with everybody else? Where was he?
"Here." Hands, on her hips, gentle pressure, gentle touches. They slid up, parting her lips and deepening her breath. They cupped her breasts, a perfect cradle, a perfect fit. "I'm here."
He wasn't in the mirror. She looked down and saw her own hands resting on her breasts. The door closed behind her.
"What are you doing, Aya?"
Aya bit her lip, her eyebrows furrowing as she flexed her hands, making absolutely sure that they were her own. "I thought they were yours..." A puzzled answer. She was so confused.
"They are," he said, and hands joined hers, slid over hers, intertwining fingers and warmth. He kneaded her breasts through her own hands, rubbing and touching, and moaning softly when the nipples peaked against her own palms.
Could he feel that? Could he feel what she felt?
"I always feel what you feel," and his left hand slid down, taking hers with it. His fingers curved over hers, guiding hers down familiar paths. She leaned her head back against his shoulder and opened her eyes, just barely peeking from lashes that seemed far too heavy.
"Do you see," he asked, a breath against her temple, but he still wasn't there. The mirror only reflected her.
A slight pressure and the heel of her palm pressed gently between her legs. He rubbed slowly back and forth, and she gasped, curving her fingers instinctively around her sex and pressing harder. She shook.
Don't...she thought, but the word was all alone in her head, being tossed and battered on a sea of pure sensation. She couldn't make herself pay attention to it. She didn't even want to. Not if it meant giving up this feeling...
Her panties were gone now, and fingers slipped against hot, wet flesh. She whimpered, her hips lifting slightly as he guided her fingers down to her entrance, curving his middle and ring finger against hers and pushing in. She followed blindly, sliding her fingers in, deeper and deeper as he slowly drew his fingertips back, rubbing them over the soft skin between her knuckles. With a whisper she didn't understand, he bent his wrist and forced her penetration to its fullest. Then he gently eased back, then did it again. And again.
"Like that," he whispered, kissing her neck. "Think of me."
Tears stung her eyes, but she wasn't in pain. Why was she crying?
"Do you think of me?"
She was so hot, so so hot. But it felt amazing. And comforting. And somehow...lonely. His hand rested sweetly over hers, palm against wrist, fingertips on knuckles. He rubbed little circles that seemed somehow more intimate then the gentle thrusting of her own fingers.
"I think of you," he whispered, turning his face into her hair. She couldn't see it, but she could still feel it. In the mirror she touched herself, in reality she touched herself, but she could feel him. Guiding her, touching her, showing her the way.
"Oh!" she gasped, feeling as if she was no longer in control of her mouth. "Close! I'm going to-"
Go crazy. Wake up. Realize that this is wr-!
He suddenly slid his fingers down, following the path of her own and thrust them deep inside her.
She shrieked, struggling wildly as she climaxed without warning. She ripped her hands free of his, clawing back at his arms as his fingers continued to push in and out of her. Her entrance clenching and spilling liquid, filling her ears with the primal sound of flesh slapping against wet flesh.
Stop, she thought, Stop! I can't take anymore!
A deep, hard push, and he curled his two fingers up inside her. Her legs abruptly went limp, her spine bowing as she cried out. He caught her to him, rocked her gently as his wet fingers combed through her hair.
"Don't cry, Aya..."
He turned her to him, and they went tumbling across a familiar bed, rolling like children at play. He pushed her over onto her back and she laughed, pulling him with her and dragging him into another turn. It still ended the same, as when she pulled, he pushed, and she found herself on her back once more.
He stared down at her with hot eyes, his hands clenched in the sheets to either side of her shoulders. Her eyes widened as she realized they were both naked, and beyond the door she could hear distant revelry. And water.
But here, in this familiar bed, there was only silence and breath.
"Party's over," he whispered, and she could feel her naked thighs flex against his hips, skin sliding against smooth, warm skin. He was pressed so close to her, she could feel the gentle weight of him resting in the hollow of her entrance. The light shift of him each time they breathed.
She stared up into eyes so like her own, but not the same. There was some tiny shift, some dilution of colour that made them different. The force of desire behind them made them different.
Her breaths sped up, coming harder and harder. Something was changing here. Something was coming. She began to shake.
"You're mine."
And she reacted, her whole body jerking once.
No...
He shifted his hips, pressing slowly against her. She couldn't help but close her eyes, couldn't help but feel. He was pressed against her most intimate door, poised to take that final step in.
"Mine."
She shoved at him wildly suddenly, like an animal in a trap. "No! NO! Don't come inside!"
"I'm already inside." And with that he did once slow push, and her body yielded easily, taking him all the way in. Her spine bowed as her eyes widened, her hands scrabbled across the bed looking for something to hold onto, something to pull her up out of this insanity.
"Hold onto me," he whispered, slowly pushing deeper into her. "Hold onto me."
TBC...