DISCLAIMER: SKIP BEAT! and its associated characters are the creations of Yoshiki Nakamura. This author claims no ownership of Skip Beat or any of its characters. All other rights reserved.
RenKyo Ship Week 2023: June 15, 2023
Prompt: same/change
TW: Discussion of infidelity (Don't worry, Ren would never cheat on Kyoko). Smut at the end.
To Have and To Hold
"What do you know, anyway?" Moko screamed. "You and your perfect marriage. What do you know about how I feel, Kyoko?"
Kyoko closed her eyes and held onto the phone, listening to Moko weep and rage. She'd called as soon as she saw the news. She knew Moko would be too proud to call her, and if she knew anything about her friend, it was the fact that Moko always tried to keep her pain bottled inside her.
"I don't know," Kyoko said. And perhaps it was wrong of her to commiserate with Moko. She'd been relatively lucky. She'd had twenty years of marriage to the man who'd taken her virginity at seventeen—twenty years of marriage to one of the world's most beautiful men.
Twenty years of watching him surrounded by the world's most beautiful women.
As Kyoko had aged, so had her co-stars. But Kuon's? The world was not so changed as to stop pairing forty-seven year old men with nineteen year old ingenues. "But I know what it's like to constantly doubt him. Constantly doubt yourself—"
"Well 'doubting' sure as fuck isn't knowing, Kyoko," Moko screamed. "He fucked her in our bed. He put her in my clothes."
The actress on the other end of the phone broke down into incoherent tears. "I'm so sorry, Moko," Kyoko said, unable to say anything more. What Moko needed was a safe place, a kind voice, some love. Kyoko tried her best. She couldn't take her friend's pain from her, but she could help her bear it. They were part of a sisterhood, weren't they? An international federation of women of a certain age. Both of them retained their youthful looks; both of them were regularly tapped to play heroines in their twenties—nowhere near the end of their prime. But they both knew that the cliff was coming—a horrible precipice in between being a viable leading lady and becoming a mature legend. Kyoko was lucky—her genes, fitness regimen, healthy diet, and pre-emptive shots of Botox made sure nothing had changed about her face except the knowledge in her eyes.
"Do you want me to fly over? I can be in Tokyo tomorrow if I take the red-eye," she said. "Say the word and I'll murder him in his bed and make you lunch." She was in California shooting her latest movie, Wonder, but she was certain she could reschedule her shoots.
"No, no," Moko said. Kyoko smiled to hear a bit of release in her voice. "I know you're filming. And I'm sorry. I don't mean to take it out on you—it's just that you and that golden boy you call your husband—you're so happy it makes me sick." Moko's voice broke as her weeping began again. "And I hate that I hate you because of it—"
Kyoko paused.
"The only difference between you and me is the fact that Koga-kun was caught, Moko," she said. "And you know it." And in a few moments, she'd told her. How her marriage was far from perfect.
That calmed Moko. "Fucking men," she growled.
"Fucking men," Kyoko answered.
"I'm going to fucking kill him—" But she bit back her words. Kyoko heard the slam of the door. "Moooom?"
It was Moko's daughter.
"Oh god, the children," Moko said. "Maya's back from school—" Kyoko heard her gather herself in, listened as she sniffled and then calmed her sobbing. She could only imagine what Moko looked like right now—eyes red from crying, hair in disarray. "I have to go. Thank you for listening."
"I love you," Kyoko said.
"You too."
She sighed and leaned into the headboard of the bed she shared with Kuon and closed her eyes as the screen blinked and went dark. Kyoko sat in silence for a while, feeling her own pain wash over her. In many ways, she dreaded the day when it would be her turn to weep and cry on the phone. The rumors had never been confirmed, true. Kuon had steadfastly denied it all to the press, and he'd denied it all to her. When they were first married, she'd been able to laugh off all of it as mean-spirited media speculation. How long had it been since the first rumors had surfaced about him on-set? Years. She couldn't even remember the first actress's name, but the rumors had come one after another. Tiffany, Kylie, Amanda, Bella—all of them lissome, succulent young things looking to make their mark in the world. She didn't know how it was possible that Kuon somehow managed to keep up a playboy reputation and his image as a devoted husband. But then, this was Hollywood. They served absurdity every morning alongside their turmeric oatmilk lattes.
She'd believed him, completely, until she felt him growing more and more distant. A year ago, he'd taken on a new project that required him to spend a lot of time away—and though they'd been separated before, this time felt different. It had started slowly, but over the past few months, she couldn't pretend it away. He'd…closed himself off from her. Wasn't confiding in her. She tried her hardest to ignore the rumors around his current leading lady, but she couldn't help doubting him. Doubting herself. Doubting them. He hadn't changed how he treated her when they were together, but the doubt, once seeded, had grown deep into the foundations of their marriage. It was only to be expected, wasn't it? How could she hold the attention of a Kuon Hizuri? She was only Kyoko Mogami, a girl who had to dress up as other women to be anything other than plain. Kuon had been a better man than most, but he was still only a man, and the goddesses he cavorted with would tempt even an angel from heaven. And didn't all men cheat? Wasn't it hard-wired into their DNA? What had made her think her marriage was so special? She found it better not to ask. Told herself she saw no evil, heard no evil, spoke no evil. She'd kept up appearances, of course. Even in private, she pretended everything was ok. She was proud of how complete her 'happy wife' character had been.
She sat in their bedroom and wondered how long she could possibly hold on like this.
=.=.=
He probably should've known something was wrong as soon as he walked in the door. Their Malibu home was much bigger than their Tokyo condo, but they always tried to be there for each other when one of them got home first. Kyoko's car was in the garage and her schedule was free, but his "Tadaima!" went unanswered.
The house lights were off. Unusual. On normal days, Kyoko would be in the living room, or in the kitchen, always busy with one project or another. He'd been dreaming of surprising her—hoping he'd see her cross-legged on their couch, her face animated as she read through a new script. Or maybe he'd see her in the kitchen, putting together a quick meal for herself. He'd been looking forward to walking in on her while she worked. Watching her happily engaged was something that delighted him.
"Kyoko?" he called out. He'd taken an earlier flight than he'd been scheduled to, so perhaps it was reasonable that she hadn't been expecting him. He had news—and he couldn't wait to tell her. They'd finished shooting the first season of the Marburg Chronicles, his latest series, and though he'd been offered—no, begged—to stay on, he'd decided to turn it down. The role had taken a toll on him. In many ways, it was his most challenging role since Black Jack in Tragic Marker. The character was someone whose choices and values ran completely against his own. But he knew she was playing a number of challenging roles, too, and he hadn't wanted to burden her with something he should've been handling on his own.
He'd told her he was fine, and he hated it.
Could she tell he'd been holding back from her?
He hated not telling her how he felt. He hated time away from her. He missed her, missed feeling her presence around him. And though he knew she would have gladly taken on his burden, he figured the healthier thing was to stop burdening himself in the first place. He was done with Marburg, done with its difficult director, co-star, and filming location. What he wanted was some time with his wife—just his wife, enjoying her company, spoiling her rotten, listening to all the fanciful thoughts she had because she was Kyoko, and Kyoko was always going to Kyoko.
Something was wrong.
He crept through the dark house, making his way to the one light that seemed to be on.
He heard her voice from their bedroom—was she…crying? Angry?
"The only difference between you and me is the fact that Koga-kun was caught, Moko," she said. "And you know it."
Her voice stopped him in his tracks. Belatedly he remembered seeing the entertainment gossip today, too. He wasn't at all surprised to find her talking to Moko. But the pain in his wife's voice—that cut him with an exquisite kind of agony, recasting their life together under an entirely different light.
How long had she felt like this?
He crept silently down their hallway, moving closer and closer to the bedroom. He heard her tell Moko about his younger co-stars, the ones the producers and the directors kept pushing for. He heard her tell Moko about long, lonely nights alone without him, with him unavailable and off-the-grid entirely. How she'd created a 'happy wife' character that she disappeared into when they were actually together. How she closed her eyes and held her breath every time a new rumor surfaced about the newest 'It' girl and Kuon Hizuri—and how she didn't ask him anymore because she simply didn't want to hear him lie.
It was like a sucker punch to the gut. How had he missed it?
Illusions were shattering all around him, and he blamed himself. In keeping to himself, he'd alienated her. The year had gone by with him entirely occupied with Marburg—he hadn't realized the toll it was taking on her, too. He'd thought she would have said something if it bothered her, but she had not. It hurt him to know that she hadn't been happy. It hurt to know she felt like she couldn't tell him about it. But most of all, it hurt him to know he'd lost her trust.
The feeling blooming in him felt an awful lot like heartbreak.
Heartbreak, tinged with anger.
Because as far as he was concerned, his love for her had been a constant, a star he navigated by. He'd kept each and every vow he'd made to her, and he would until the day he died. To betray her—in any way—would be like cutting himself. It was not possible.
And yet.
And yet his wife was on the phone, crying with a friend and telling her that she'd thought he'd been cheating. The fact that she thought so little of him was a betrayal in and of itself, and yet—had he done enough? To comfort her? To show her how much she meant to him?
Categorically, the answer was no.
He'd been myopic in assuming he could handle his Marburg role alone. He should have told her from the start. Instead, his silence had been misinterpreted as disinterest. No, worse: that he'd been betraying her all along. Their physical distance hadn't helped.
He watched as she ended the call, sat down and closed her eyes.
=.=.=
"Kyoko," he called from the doorway.
He was proud and amused at the way she sprang up and instantly took a defensive stance. She'd kept up on her martial arts since her Lotus days, and he pitied anyone who thought they'd be able to take her down without a fight.
"It's me," he said. Tentatively, he took a step forward. She relaxed, breathing in a sigh of relief.
"Kuon?" she answered.
"I took an early flight," he said. "I missed you." He hesitated. On any other occasion he wouldn't have thought twice about folding her into his arms and kissing her silly. But tonight, there seemed to be a silent barrier between them.
Now that he knew what to watch for, he saw her put on a smile—though the longing in her eyes was real, her smile looked pained. Forced. Still, she turned and reached for him—he closed the distance and clutched at her, finally, pulling her close. For a second he pretended he hadn't heard what she'd said on the phone, that he hadn't spent the year hiding his turmoil and alienating her. "Kyoko," he breathed. He bent around her, using the length of his limbs to entrap her fully in himself. He buried her face in her hair, filling himself with her scent, nuzzling at her throat and finally, finally, kissing her softly on her upturned face before falling to his knees so he could rest his head on her chest. Even unsettled as things were, he felt relief for the first time in months. He was finally with her again, and her presence calmed the constant ache in him.
Kyoko squeaked and then sighed, and his heart melted. "I missed you too," she said softly. "So much."
He felt her arms enfolding him and clutched at her tighter. "Love you," he murmured, "So much."
Listening to him, Kyoko could almost believe that nothing was wrong. It was part of the special magic he had—he made you forget everything outside his orbit. The electric spark between them pulsed and flared alive. Being with him like this fed a part of her that was hungry—starving—for his undivided attention. His mouth sought hers; they were drawn together like magnets and for one breathless moment there was the sweetness of the kiss of reunion, a reminder of the bonds that tied them together.
But she pulled away, and when he looked up he saw a sadness in her eyes. The euphoria of reunion faded, and they could both sense the tension in the air.
"We need to talk," he said thickly. "I heard you. On the phone."
Dread washed over Kyoko; her heart pounding, she braced herself for it as if it were a sword about to come down, ending all of the pretenses between them.
"I know what you'll say," she said. "And I want you to know that I understand. If you want a divorce—"
"NO! No," he said, reeling. This had gone too far too quickly. He'd come home with a happy heart, wanting to sweep her off her feet somewhere where the sky was blue and the sands white. He knew he'd distanced himself from her, but he hadn't accounted for the destructive effect of distance, time, and rumor. "Fuck no. You've got it all wrong—I'd never—I can't lose you—"
"Then what…"
"I swear to you…I never meant to be so distant," he said. "And I want—I need you to know that I have never cheated on you." He clutched at her hands, holding them both in his own. "I have never broken any vow to you, in thought or deed. I've only ever loved you."
She was silent. Her face was a stony mask, her eyes cold and closed to him.
"Do you believe me?" There was strain in his voice, a certain wildness. He was still on his knees, looking up at her.
She looked into his eyes and he held his breath. "I don't know," she said. Tears blurred her vision. "You left, Kuon, and then you stopped talking to me…I knew something was bothering you and I waited for you to tell me what was wrong but you didn't, and next thing I know there's these pictures of you and…and…"
"Pictures from on-set, taken during a scene while I was acting, leaked by a production assistant—I thought you knew…"
"You never said. It looked convincing enough to me." The words came out clipped and bitter, and even Kyoko found them surprising. "And these past few months—"
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I thought…I thought…after all these years…all the times those assholes have done that—it's never been true—I thought you knew me better."
"I thought I did too. But the Kuon I know tells me what's bothering him. He doesn't jet off to the ends of the earth without telling his wife what's wrong."
"It was the role."
"We've talked about each and every one of your roles, Kuon."
"But this one…"
"You shut me out."
"I'm sorry—"
"I thought we'd promised never to hold anything back. What was I supposed to think? And you…you missed Christmas—"
He had. He'd missed her birthday. He'd tried to get back to Japan desperately for it, but there had been a snow storm so fierce even the electricity had gone out. "I told you—"
She sniffled. "I know."
"How could I talk to you about a man who's a serial cheater, Kyoko? Who delights in it? Takes pride in it? It did things to me, thinking about the ways I would betray you like that. I couldn't talk to you about it because I couldn't even imagine—"
"Well it looked great on the screen," she said. "Rave reviews. So real people thought you'd really done it."
"You, too?"
She looked away. "Yes," she said quietly. "Me too."
Another pause. Kyoko sniffled and wiped the tears off of her cheeks with a sharp flick of her hand. He watched helplessly, wanting to kiss them away. He held back when he saw the fierceness in her eyes.
"I thought you knew me better than that," he said. His own voice broke in desperation. Take my phone, he wanted to say. Take my clothes, swab them for DNA, do a forensic investigation on my trailer, my hotel room. Ask for surveillance videos. I'll take a lie detector test. Irrational thoughts scattered in his head like shards of broken glass. How else could he prove anything? It was his word against a year's worth of erosion. But deep down, he had faith in her. In them. Surely they were strong enough to survive this. "It's the Kimiko thing all over again. It hurts, Kyoko, thinking you'd believe the worst of me so easily."
She looked away. "It felt like you'd changed."
"Maybe I did. I couldn't do the normal Method thing you and I do. Because I didn't want to be that guy." He shook his head. "But I will never stop loving you. That would never happen. I just…I was struggling."
She stared at him, at his upturned face—his beautiful, well-loved face, all chiseled angles offset by the sensuous curve of his mouth. She knew the beseeching look in his eyes, the timbre of his voice, the way he hummed in the shower when he got ready in the mornings.
She did know him.
Knew him well. Had always been able to read him. Even from the start, she'd known the difference between his real smiles and his fake ones, had known exactly how he took his coffee and the foods he enjoyed. All those things were just surface trimmings. With him before her like this, she was reminded that in the years since they'd been married, she'd come to know his depths, too. I have not changed, he seemed to be saying. I have not changed and you know I would never betray you. She searched his face for dishonesty and saw only hurt and bewilderment. She put her palm against his chest and felt his heartbeat racing against her skin. There, with his heart in her hands, she felt the ice around her own thaw a little. "You should've told me."
He'd felt naked under her eyes, watching her assess him, but he could feel the shift in her. He nodded. "Yeah. I should have."
She gave him a bemused look.
"I turned down a second season," he said.
Surprise crossed her features. "What? Why?"
"I missed you. It was too much. Too far. Didn't want to be Marburg anymore."
"Oh." His arms tightened around her when he felt her trying to move away. "Kuon—"
"I took the first plane home I could."
His face was tilted up towards hers and she could see the flakes of burnt sienna in their emerald depths. "All I could think of was you," he said. "What can I do? To show you—how much—"
Kyoko looked down at him, resisting and then giving into the urge to tangle her fingers in his hair. She didn't answer him, but her touch undid some of the tension between them. It was an opening that he seized. He took in a breath and relaxed into her before standing and scooping her up into his arms.
"Kuon!"
He sat down on the bed and kept her in his lap, leaning back into pillows that smelled like home. "I made a mistake," he said, "but not the one you think I made. I shouldn't have left you in the dark."
She resisted for a minute, her body stiff. He sat beneath her, arms slack at his sides. He was holding his breath. She'd be free to move away from him if she wanted—he was hoping she wouldn't.
She didn't.
Instead he felt her body relax into his and he breathed out slowly in relief. This was his true homecoming, because home was Kyoko, and now she was truly, truly here. Tentatively his arms came up around her, cradling her on his lap.
She was still looking away from him, her eyes focused on their bedroom window. "I should have been more direct," she said. "I was busy, too. I thought that perhaps it was my fault and I dreaded asking you…"
His hand found one of hers. Slowly he entwined their fingers together, marveling again at how delicate and small her hands were. When she curled her fingers around his palm, he knew she was listening.
He felt her take a deep breath, and then felt her breath against his neck as she tilted her face against it.
Relief. He smiled at her.
He knew they would be ok.
"I would have told you," he said. "Ask anyone on-set."
"...and today, when the news about Koga and Moko broke—"
"I'm not Koga." He ran his hands up and down her body again, enjoying the swell and dip of her hips and her shoulders, the curve of her spine. And then his arms tightened around her, holding her flush against him. "Fuck Koga," he added. "Makes all of us look bad."
"It…it made me feel like it wouldn't be too long until it would be my turn," she said. Kyoko tried to free herself from him, but he refused to let her go.
"Kyoko. Look at me." Amber eyes met his own again and he saw the vulnerability in them. She made him want to protect her—against anyone that would ever hurt her, including himself. "Never," he said fiercely. "Even if the world ended."
Kyoko opened her lips, as if to question him, and then said nothing. She drew in a breath. "I—" She stopped, sighed and then finally, she smiled.
His heart soared. "Even if they paid you a million dollars?" she asked.
He smirked. "They already did that, remember? That one French director who wanted us to do that orgy scene. So no."
"I forgot about that."
"Probably for the best. That movie was terrible."
"It would've been a better movie if we'd done it," she said.
"Maybe, but—"
"We would've never—"
"Done it," they finished together.
Kyoko had always known that the head and the heart didn't always agree. Her head told her to keep pushing, keep asking, to be more suspicious, to get the records he promised and look through his phone. But her heart was the better part of her nature, and deep down she knew she believed him. She could feel him again, back with her. Truly present, without the preoccupation that had marred their remote interactions.
"Even if the most beautiful woman in the world begged?" she asked.
Heat flashed in his eyes. "You are the most beautiful woman in the world, dearest, and I would love it if you begged."
She rolled her eyes, but he saw an answering desire in them. Eventually he let her hands go, freeing up his fingers to caress her, the rough skin of his palms moving up and down her flesh and then kneading the knots at her neck and her shoulders. For a few minutes she gave herself up to the sensation of it, absorbing his warmth like a flower in the sun. She was aware of him from the roots of her hair down to her toes. It all felt new again, somehow.
The electricity between them pulsed.
She wanted more.
"Kuon?"
"Kyoko?"
"Kiss me?"
His lips were on her before the question ended. Months of longing for her, all of the distance between them—all of it seared away as his tongue found hers. She moaned into him, a long throaty sound, and he reached around her to tilt her body towards his. Twenty years of marriage had passed and yet he found himself as hungry for her as the day he'd realized how much he loved her.
Kyoko let him hold her and calm her, let herself unfold and settle into the safety of his arms. She knew there was so much they had to talk through, but right now this was enough. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him back, giving him leading kisses that pulled him closer towards her. She was surprised at the comfort his simple presence provided her—a video call was all well and good, but a call couldn't convey the way his fingers traced fire on her skin…or
She broke for breath when he nipped at her lips and he kissed down the length of her throat. His hand had crept underneath her shirt, the other was splayed on her abdomen, keeping her body flush to his.
"Kuon—I need—mmph—!"
"Yes," he told her. "I need you too—"
She gasped when the questing hand found a nipple, already pointed and needy for him. He teased her, playing with one and then another, kissing her neck all the while. The kisses deepened, she felt him lick and then suck—she knew he was marking her; she relished it and arched her back into him.
"I've missed you so much," he murmured again into her neck. She could feel his voice thrum through her body. Her eyes were blown wide as he rolled a nipple in his hand; she cried out as he pulled at it and then again as he pushed the shirt up and sucked it into his mouth. He loved watching her come undone like this—no length of time would ever change that.
His other hand reached past the flat expanse of her stomach and the tips of his fingers slid into her leggings, pushing the gusset of her panties to the side. Rough fingers crept down to her cleft, already slick for him. Teasing, he grazed down her length, careful to give her just the lightest of touches.
He knew what she wanted.
"Such a wet little cunt for me," he whispered into her ear. "My cunt. The only one I cum in. The one I come home to." He dipped his index finger into her folds, feeling her slick coat his hand as her breath quickened. The fabric of her leggings strained to accommodate his hands but he refrained from taking them off. "Do you know how often I thought of this?" he asked. "Of my delicious little wife and her tight little body—holding you like this—tasting you—"
"Kuon," she whimpered, "Please. Don't tease me—" She twisted her hips towards him, and he laughed, holding her down.
"Patience." The timbre of his voice was low, a soft growl against her ear. He gave it a small lick and then took his hand away and she cried out at the sudden emptiness. His tongue moved downwards to lick lazy circles on her throat as he pulled at her top, breaking only to pull it up and off of her body. She slid off her leggings and her panties and threw them off the bed. Fully naked, she brought her own hands to his shirt and unbuttoned it to reveal his chest beneath. She ran the flats of her palms across his pectorals, catching the collar of his unbuttoned shirt and sliding the sleeves off of his arms. He sat up and finished shrugging it off; she remained on his lap naked. She could feel his throbbing cock, still straining against the fabric of his trousers and ground herself against it.
Their lips found each other again and he turned them over until she was beneath him, looking up into his eyes beneath his fringe of bright hair. "Please," she said again. She knew he could reduce her into a sobbing, begging mess—she didn't care. She placed her arms on his shoulders. Her legs were stretched wide around him and she was arching her back for him. She blushed to be so exposed but he kissed her softly once more on the lips.
"Tell me you love me," he said. "Say it."
"I love you." She looked into his eyes and said it. "I love you. I love you I love—"
He swallowed her mouth and her love with his own, kissing her fiercely before descending down between the peaks of her breasts and past her belly, settling down with a soft kiss on her mons before finding her core.
He looked up and met her eyes. "I love you too."
And then he bent his head downwards between her legs. "Do you believe me?" he asked.
She hesitated, looking into his eyes. He was looking up at her intently, waiting.
She drew in a breath.
"Do you?" he asked again.
This time he didn't wait for a response. His body knew hers, knew its tells and its needs. He knew where she ached to be touched. He'd never grown bored with it—he lived to find new ways of reducing her into a quivering, begging mess. Faster than she could breathe, the tip of his tongue made contact with her center, moving down and then up her weeping slit. He circled her clit as his finger entered her again, parting her folds and pushing upwards into the spot that made her see stars.
"Yes," she cried out. "Yes…yes…"
She clutched at the sheets, her voice rising, but he didn't stop. A second finger joined the first and she was full, full, full—she rolled her hips against him but he pinned her down with his other hand in a firm grip. His tongue and his fingers drew her into a frenzy; when he sucked her clit into his mouth she came quickly, an explosion with a primed fuse.
"There's my girl," he told her. He kept pushing his fingers inside her, relishing the way her voice cried out as she came. "Cum for me."
Watching her cum on his fingers was a beautiful thing. Her entire body clenched with the force of it—she bucked and arched against him as her pussy pulsed on his hand. He licked her clit through her orgasm and then let her pant and come down from it, catching her with his arm as her arched back released and fell onto the bed. In a haze, she looked down at him, still perched between her legs. She felt his breath still on her. She was feverish with bliss, her body just beginning to drift after the paroxysm of her climax.
But just as she was about to relax into her languor, he grinned at her wickedly. Slowly he took his fingers from inside her and sucked them into his mouth.
And then he began again.
This time, he kept her pussy lips spread open with his fingers, exposing her. His thick tongue swirled around her clit before its sinuous length penetrated her as far as it could; she couldn't stop herself from crying out at the feel of it. His body kept her legs from closing and again she felt exposed, pinioned like a butterfly under his gaze. She knew he could see every twitch of her aching cunt—her desire was pouring out of her and she was helpless to stop it.
She canted her hips upwards and found herself immobilized again; she tried to bring her legs together and found the muscular hulk of his body between them. She couldn't relieve the pressure he'd built up. She whimpered in frustration and he smiled as he watched her pussy clench on air. She could get no relief—he was so close and yet she was so very empty.
"Kuon, please," she begged.
"Please what?" She could feel his breath on her pussy.
She nearly sobbed in pure want. "I need it—"
"Hmm?" He didn't move. "Need what?"
The calm of his voice inflamed her. "Please fuck me, Kuon, please—"
The fingers on her pussy were removed and again she twisted upwards, seeking their touch. "What lewd woman my wife is," he said. "Begging for my cock like this..."
"Yeeesss," she moaned. "Your cock, please, Kuon, I need it, I need it—"
But he just grinned. "No," he said, and dove back into her with his tongue. She gave a little shriek as he gripped her hips and moved her towards him. She gave herself up to him, trapping his head between her legs. His tongue was driving her into a frenzy and all too soon she felt it—the tension and then the release as the world went white for the third time.
"I love watching you cum." She was coming down again, defenseless against him. He rose from between her legs and up off the bed.
"Wait," she said. "Wait…don't go—" She felt too weak to move, but the bed suddenly felt so cold without him in it.
"Shhhh," he said. "I'm not leaving." Quickly, he unbuttoned and unzipped himself, throwing his pants off and into the corner. She looked at him hungrily, eyes raking over the muscular span of his thighs and down his torso before resting on his hardened cock, weeping pre-cum for her.
He dove back into bed, feeling her arms pulling him into her. He ground his hard length against her and she moaned, surrendering to the way he twined his fingers into hers and then trapped her hands overhead. She could feel his cock notched at the entrance of her pussy. She was panting in anticipation, waiting for the first thrust that would stretch her wide open, claim her, ruin her. She was his, he'd said it himself, her body knew it and dripped for him—she knew he'd fuck her hard and fast, use her until she was a quivering mess underneath him. And she would love it. She would love every second of it, and she would ask for more when he was finished—
But instead, he kissed her. Softly, as if she were the most precious thing in the world to him. His tongue melted into hers and as she found his arms cradling her instead of pinning her down. His gentleness surprised her. It made her feel more vulnerable somehow, unable to hide her feelings behind a hard, fast fuck. She trembled underneath him, feeling him graze his cock against her slick folds. He was running it up and down her slit, slowly, gathering her wetness, teasing her. She kissed him back, putting all of her longing for him in it. He was caressing her with a restrained intensity that was somehow more than the roughness she'd anticipated. "I wanted to ravage you," he whispered. "But right now I just want to love you."
He made her breathless. He looked at her with his heart in his eyes, his body tense and waiting. "Love me, then," Kyoko said. He took her mouth again, kissing her as he snapped upwards with his hips. Her eyes were closed when she felt him enter her, leaving her to the sensation of his cock stretching her with its girth. She couldn't help the moans that escaped her as he sank into her slowly, feeling every inch of him in an agonizing bliss. The hands that had trapped her were touching her softly, holding her and cradling her as their bodies joined. Somehow she'd forgotten what this was like in the months he'd been gone—she'd forgotten how the world shrank until it contained just him and her alone. She cried out into his mouth, but she understood. They were putting themselves back together, repairing the frayed edges of their bond and reinforcing it anew.
He broke the kiss and looked her in the eyes as he bottomed out. She was so tight and so hot, so small against his frame. He caged her beneath him as he began to move, keeping his eyes on hers all the while. She gasped and keened and whimpered as the friction began, and then he felt her legs wind around him, pushing him in as her hips found his rhythm. "So good," he said through gritted teeth. "So fucking good, Kyoko." He was trying not to lose control, trying to savor her. She was a drug in his veins—all he knew was that he wanted more. He kept himself to long, languid strokes at first, determined to enjoy her body. But the way her tiny fingers clutched at him, the way she offered herself—left him maddened. Soon he was rutting into her and she was writhing under him, moaning as her release began to build. He looked down at the joining of their bodies and saw the ring of her pussy straining against his size; he bent and took a nipple in her mouth as she threw her head back at the sensation.
"Yesyesyes—" She was crying out for him, "Don't stop—please—I'm going to—"
He felt her pussy flutter and clench around him as she came. He didn't stop. He drove hard into her, holding her by her hips so tightly he knew she'd have bruises the next day. One thrust, two, and then he came, emptying himself into her with a great cry.
"I love you," he said, and fell.
He kept his spent cock inside her as they both came down. Neither one of them wanted to let go of the other, and so they stayed in each other's arms as their heart rates and their breathing calmed.
"I'll get you a wet towel," he said, moving to extricate himself.
She stopped him. "Just a little longer, please, Kuon?"
He ran his fingers through the hair splayed out on her pillow. She looked dreamy and content, her lips swollen with his kisses. With an appraising eye he noted the love marks on her neck, her breasts, everywhere he had sucked her and licked her during their lovemaking. "Of course," he told her. "Whatever my princess wants."
"Mmmm."
=.=.=
It was Kyoko's growling stomach that finally roused them.
"You—you were going to skip dinner!" she said, glaring at him. "You were distracting me with sex so you wouldn't have to eat dinner."
"Of course not," he called. He was in their bathroom, moistening a towel for her. "I did eat dinner, in case you forgot—"
"I am not dinner."
He walked out of their bathroom grinning. "Well. It was tasty, anyway."
She threw a pillow at him, which he caught. "Here," he said, offering her the towel.
She cleaned herself and then slithered off the bed. "Thank you." She tried to stand. Her legs were shaking and he caught her in his arms. "I need to cook dinner," she said. "I would've had something ready for you, but you got here a day early—"
"Kyoko."
"—I was going to go to the market for some salmon, too, because I know you like that—"
"Kyoko."
"—and I know that you haven't been eating well—mmph—"
He was kissing her.
"Kyoko," he said softly. "Are we just going to pretend we just fixed everything?"
"Didn't we?" she asked him.
"I'm not so conceited as to think I could fuck all of that pain out of you." His arms tightened around her and she cuddled into him. He tilted them back onto the bed, and they fell onto fluffy pillows, still tangled in each other. "It really bothers me to think you've been miserable all this time—"
"It bothers me that you didn't tell me what was bothering you."
"Lesson learned. But maybe we should get counseling? Not because anything's wrong, just…I know I can be a better husband."
"You're an amazing husband, Kuon." She paused. If she was honest with herself, she'd admit that her lingering insecurities had compounded his lack of communication and caused what could only be called a rare low point in their marriage. Counseling was uncommon in Japan, but she'd often felt that everyone had a therapist in LA. "I'm open to it. Because I love you."
"I love you too. And you're an amazing wife."
"Maybe we just need to spend some time together," she said. "I've missed you so much over this past year—"
He kissed her forehead. "I was thinking the same. Even before I got here—I looked up some things, picked out some places."
"Someplace warm."
"With beaches."
"—Guam—" they said together. He felt his heart skip a beat when he heard her little giggle.
"Doesn't always have to be Guam, Setsu." He gave her Cain's puppy-dog eyes and she responded with Setsuka's pout.
"But I like Guam, nii-san," she said.
"I hear Bora Bora's nice," he said. "We could get one of those over-water bungalows. I'll even let you feed me breakfast."
"They're so expensive, though," Kyoko said.
"Though I think maybe I'd prefer a private island," he responded.
"—that's even more expensive, Kuon—"
"One with just the two of us on it…and maybe your clothes could disappear for a little while—"
"Pervert."
"Minx."
"Wonder wraps up in another month," she said. "And I don't have anything big lined up for a bit after that—"
"I don't either."
"We can go, then."
She took both hands and cradled his face. "I'm so lucky," she said. With a twinge, she realized she'd forgotten Moko and her pain entirely. "When other people—"
"Kanae."
"Yes," she sighed. "I feel so guilty, talking about beaches when she's so miserable."
"Her misery isn't your fault," Kuon said. "And just because Hiromune's an asshole doesn't mean I am."
"I just…I feel like I should be there."
"You're a good friend." He sighed. "OK. How about Okinawa? It's close by. I'll fly with you to Tokyo and maybe keep myself busy with some small shoots while the two of you hang out. And then maybe we'll fix her up with Yashiro and run away together?"
She laughed at him but felt her heart swell just a little more—the fact that he recognized her friend's need meant the world to her. "Yashiro's still holding a torch for her?"
"Yup."
"He never said."
"He wouldn't say. He's classy like that. Plus you're her best friend."
"I wouldn't betray his confidence, though."
"He knows you wouldn't, but." Kuon shook his head. "Maybe this time he'll finally have the courage to ask her out."
"He should've asked her out years ago."
"Woulda shoulda coulda." He picked up her hand and played with the gold band on her finger. "Life's weird like that. But I'll support you no matter where you go or what you want to do, even if your friend hates me for being a decent guy."
"She was just hurting. She doesn't really hate you."
"I know," he said. "Dad always said that falling in love could be a matter of chance or a matter of destiny," he said, "but staying in love is always a matter of choice. And I will always, always choose you, Kyoko. That will never change. Shame on Hiromune for making a shit choice."
"They always did say staying married was harder than getting married," Kyoko mused. "They keep saying 'oh, it's a lot of work.' And then they point out the statistic for celebrities."
"They can take their statistics and shove them up their asses," Kuon said. "I'm willing to do the work."
"It's never felt like work with you," she said.
"To have and to hold," he said. "For better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish." He grinned. "But I'd haunt you after death," he said. "And even after."
She smiled back at him. "Kuon," she whispered. He kissed her again.
They missed dinner.
And it was entirely Kuon's fault.
=.=.=
Author's Note: I'm pretty sure this is one of those stories I'll read again someday and just absolutely cringe over. Hopefully there's something redeeming here. ANYWAY, here is my (very late) submission to RenKyo Week 2023. Please let me know what you think? Reviews always welcome.