Chapter XXXV: Kintsugi
Set me as a seal upon your heart.
On bright-sky days, they went up to the roof.
November was unexpectedly sunny, with cool, clear weather beckoning them upwards and outwards to the hospital's tiny rooftop Japanese garden. Kyoko's doctors had insisted on plenty of rest and plenty of fresh air—she was to take walks, spend time in nature, be mindful. The first few days after her waking, she'd argued that she'd do better at home—home was a beautiful place, one of the most beautiful in all of Kyoto. And it was full of as much nature as anyone could ask for. But the doctors merely shook their heads. The patient had an abnormally low blood pressure, they said. The patient was fighting off pneumonia. The patient was dehydrated, the patient had sudden bouts of lightheadedness. The patient had a lingering, low-grade fever, the patient was severely deficient in potassium—and so on and so on. She found herself still in the hospital, day after day, hour after hour, spending time wandering the halls like a petulant ghost.
And Kuon was with her.
He was a sharp pain in her heart—an imperfect joy intertwined with her guilt and her shame. He hadn't left her side at all on the first day, and on the second he'd only gone because she'd convinced him that he needed sleep, too. He found a hotel room across the street and inhabited it during the hours he couldn't be by her side. He would princess-carry her to and from places when her vertigo made a wheelchair necessary. He would come to her room bearing small gifts: roses and books, an exquisite chess set made of black and white marble. Bananas and balloons, cakes and pastries, small, whimsical things that made her smile. When he caught her saying that her toes were cold, he brought her fuzzy slippers, thick socks, and an extra blanket, fluffy and warm and princess-like to lay at her feet. Her hospital room was cozy, and home-y, and it was all because of him.
She was grateful. She couldn't possibly ask any more from him—in every respect, he was the perfect boyfriend.
…So why did she feel uneasy?
She pondered the thought in her mind, turning it this way and that, just as she used to turn the Corn stone to watch it flash gold. But it wasn't until she caught a phantom look in his eyes that she realized it: he was holding back.
She stopped herself from asking him why immediately; she kept herself from making any assumptions. They'd promised to trust each other, hadn't they? She took note of their conversations, really listened to him. Heard how he would deflect their conversations away from him, away from them. Always, always, always, he would work to make her smile, and when she did, the smile on his face made her feel as if she were the luckiest woman alive. But when she thought about it, the cause of her unease was obvious. The hours and days after their reunion had been so blissful that she'd forgotten—or perhaps she'd wanted to forget—a ragged voice by her ear telling her, You broke my heart. He'd been so kind that she hadn't had to face the brunt of his anger and his grief, and he was still being kind. She'd missed it during the haze of her illness, but now she saw clearly. He was keeping her aloft above the murky depths. For all of his levity, his generosity, his solicitous attentions—
Kuon was still hurt.
The realization fed the seed of anxiety in her gut: if he wasn't ok, then why wasn't he talking about it? She didn't want to pretend that everything was fine—she knew, deep down, that things weren't. Not yet, at least, though the fact that he was still with her spoke volumes. She'd promised they would talk after that first confession, but they hadn't. She felt that promise hanging overhead, waiting to trouble this fragile serenity. It was important to her that they build their relationship anew. And if they were building their relationship anew, she didn't want him to swallow emotions that were the consequences of her sins.
"It's cold today," he mused. "Colder than normal. Colder than it should be." Their breath made clouds in the air and then she was silent, enjoying the warmth of his hand in hers. They were by the railing, looking past the concrete jungle immediately below them to the horizon beyond. The sound of sirens, of crosswalks, of crowds echoed from far away. She liked being with him here. Being under the open sky gave her clarity, made the shadows inside her retreat. Sunlight had a way of putting nightmares in their place…and revealing unvarnished truths in their stead.
"Yes," she said. "Kuon—" she started. And then she stopped. She didn't want to ruin things, not when they'd been so perfect. I'm sorry, she wanted to say. But she didn't. She'd said those words plenty of times, and she'd meant them, each and every time. But they were just words. They didn't fix things. She'd resolved to be kinder, sweeter, more considerate—but was it enough? Were they going to rely on time to heal all their wounds?
"Kyoko?" he answered. He looked at her curiously, a small smile waiting in the corners of his mouth. "Hmm. You're cold."
She made as if to shake her head no, but he simply tsked at her, shucked off Cain Heel's trench coat and took off the hoodie he'd layered beneath. She was going to protest—he needed to stay warm, too—but he raised his eyebrow at her and she had no choice but to nuzzle into it. It came down to her knees. It smelled very much like him.
A particularly strong gust of wind made her shiver and huddle closer to his warmth—he stood behind her and embraced her, his hands around her waist. She was flush against his abdomen and made a cursory sound in protest—he ignored it, and she gave in, leaning backwards into him as he hummed happily into her ear. "I should make you wear my hoodies all the time," he said. "You look so cute."
She raised an eyebrow at him.
"What?" he asked, all innocence. "Am I not allowed to call my girlfriend cute?"
She blushed. "I'm…I'm not really dressed up or anything," she said. He felt her tensing in his arms.
"You don't need to be dressed up to be cute," he answered. She could tell he was grinning without looking at him. "Besides, you don't just look cute, you are cute." He could tell she was struggling to accept the compliment. In the past, she would've denied it—or worse, called him a playboy.
He chuckled at her discomfiture and held her tighter.
"You—you're sure this is ok?" she asked.
"Sure what is ok?" He was fiddling with the fringe of her scarf.
"You've…been here a while," she said. "A little over a week—"
"Just barely," he said.
"What about your schedule?" she asked. "Aren't you—missing out on things?"
"A few photo shoots and coffee commercials," he shrugged. "Nothing big."
"But—"
"Are you worried?" he asked.
"I am," she said. "I don't want you to lose out on these opportunities—I don't want to hold you back."
"I'll be plenty busy in the future, love," he said. "And if there's anything I've learned, it's the fact that none of those things matter as much as you."
She was silent again, unsure what to say. Accepting his love had been a lesson she'd left unfinished. His time was a gift she knew she ought to treasure. She bit back a protest. At least he's not skipping out on anything major, she thought.
He gave her a small nudge. "Kyoko, Kyoko, Kyoko," he said. "Don't worry. I shot two major movies this year. Finished up Forest of Spiral and Dark Moon. It's fine. I'm here with the Shachou's full blessing. And Yashiro's busy booking me things as we speak."
She was worrying about him, and for some reason that made him smile. "I brought scripts for Midnight Strikes," he said. "In case you wanted to read with me."
"Oh!" she said. "I hadn't realized you'd agreed to do it."
"I did. Because it was the one you liked," he said. He wasn't due to start filming Midnight Strikes until February. "Besides, Yashiro and the Shachou talked them into giving the prince more of a real role. So I'd welcome your help if you're up to it."
"If…if you think it would be useful to you," she said. She had no doubt he didn't need her 'help' at all, but acting—even if it was just reading—with him was just fun. "I hope I'm actually helping."
"Always," he said. "I usually have to imagine someone saying the lines back, and you do them so wonderfully."
"I just don't want to be in the way," she said.
"You're not."
"I don't want to inconvenience you—"
"You aren't."
"But—"
"You're sick. and I love you. People who love you take care of you, Kyoko," he said. There was an unintentional edge to his voice: subtle, but sharp. He saw she'd heard it—she flinched; he felt the tension in her body. Oh no, he thought. Patience, asshole. The last thing he wanted was to have her think he resented taking care of her. He squeezed her, feeling her soften, and spoke softly. "We'll bring you roses and feed you congee and grab you tissues. We visit when we can. It's what we do."
"It feels like a lot."
"It's not. You're indulging me, remember? And you would do exactly the same for me if I were sick."
She knew he was right. If he were sick, she knew she'd be by his side. More than that—she'd stop at nothing to be by his side. "Sometimes I swear I feel like an invalid in the movies, Kuon," she said. "As if I were dying of consumption in some sanatorium somewhere. Didn't they swaddle them up and put them outside too?"
"You are not allowed to die of consumption," he said, sharply. "This isn't that kind of story, Kyoko."
"Tell me, then," she said. Closer and closer to the heart of the matter. "What kind of story is this?"
"A fairytale," he said with a flourish. And then, leaning into her ear, he whispered, "Or a romance. The kind with a half-naked guy on the front page…and some poor girl in a corset—"
She giggled, but then quickly stilled. He sensed the shift in her mood—he kept an arm around her waist but looked down into her eyes as she turned to face him.
"Hey." She was worrying him. He could see she'd been thinking about something—something, perhaps, that had been making her distant all morning. "Kyoko?"
She leaned into him, pressing her face into his sweater so she wouldn't need to meet his eyes. "I read a story once," she said. "There was a golden bowl in it. One of those extended metaphor things. It was made of crystal, but it was covered in gold—but it wouldn't ring the way crystal does. Because there was a crack in it, and the crack was invisible."
He nodded. He understood why her mood had shifted now, could tell where she was going. Admittedly, he'd been avoiding the conversation—he'd hoped she wouldn't be able to tell as he worked through his own issues internally. "Mom was in the movie adaptation," he said. "The Golden Bowl."
"I didn't care much for her character in that movie," Kyoko said. "But I couldn't forget the lesson—the way things looked fine on the outside—even beautiful on the outside—but weren't actually fine on the inside. And Kuon—"
She took a deep breath, as if to ready herself for a plunge in cold waters. "I am incredibly grateful you're here," she said. "I love you—I love you so much that I didn't want to say anything, because I didn't want you to think that I wasn't happy you came back." Her hand was getting clammy in his, and he held it with both hands as he tightened his hold around her. As always, she seemed to him like a bird about to take flight—but he was determined to keep her by his side. "But I can't help but think that I broke us, Kuon. That we look fine on the outside but there's this crack on the inside and we may never be whole again—"
"You know that isn't true," he said.
"I keep waiting for you to yell at me," she said. "For being cruel. For being irrational—to talk to me the way you did when you thought I was asleep. But you're so kind. So good. Even after I did these terrible things to you—you're still here." Kuon heard her throat closing as tears gathered in her eyes. "So I just want to ask you…" Gold eyes looked up at him. "Why?"
Kuon held his breath for a second. Why? seemed like a silly question. She'd asked him why before, and he'd always answered. Because I love you was the only answer that mattered, wasn't it? He hadn't wanted to interrupt her convalescence with any serious talk about the as-yet unsettled and uninvestigated aspects of their relationship. It was enough to know that he belonged to her and she belonged to him again—with that as an incontrovertible truth, all the other details faded into the background.
Love would conquer all.
But.
There were times when he felt like a child who'd just burnt himself on a stove. Rushing headlong into her arms felt as good as ever, but there was a part of him that feared an inevitable withdrawal from her. Or a pre-emptive strike—some new reason for her to build a wall between them. He understood why she did the things that she did—but now he knew first-hand what that kind of rejection felt like, he found himself being cautious, even when he didn't want to be. And as for his anger…his resentment—he didn't have the words to express them to her, nor was he sure he wanted to. Or needed to. He'd found his own way of dealing with those emotions, and it was…something he was unwilling to subject her to. In any case, he didn't want their reunion tainted by a witches' brew of darkness. Anger and fear were unworthy of her, and unworthy of him, too. And so he'd taken those feelings and put them into a box, locking it tight. In time, he trusted, those feelings would die a natural death.
Still…choosing to love her—choosing to give her all of him felt almost like—
Like living with a gun pointed at his heart.
"You know why," he said. Simply, without looking away. "I…I won't deny that what you did still hurts me. That would be lying. But all I need is time. Time with you. Time to let us grow into each other, because I promise you, I'll be OK. We'll be OK. I told you I was giving you my trust—that, my good faith, and my love. I take you at your word that you love me too. "
"It's unfair to you," she said softly. "That I get to live without having to face the consequences of my actions—"
"Kyoko, you're in the hospital," he said. "I'd argue that you're living with those consequences in a more extreme way than I am."
"I just—I just want to make things better," she said. "I can feel that things aren't ok, Kuon. But I don't know how to change. Sometimes I think it would be easier if you revenged yourself on me—"
"By doing what, exactly?" he asked—too quickly.
She was silent, looking at him with her heart in her eyes. "I don't want you to censor yourself," she said. "Sometimes it's the things you haven't said that speak the loudest. Part of me wants to beg you to chop me up into pieces or flay me alive. Is…is it odd that I want you to hurl your anger at me?"
"If I yelled at you, how would that help? Would it make our relationship stronger if I did? Would it change the past?" He started slowly, paused. Poison was seeping out of that locked box he'd made. There was more of it inside him than he'd realized—more, even, than what he'd already told her. "Do you think I would feel better if I told you how shitty it feels to wait like an unwanted dog outside your door? Or how it feels to be accused of things you 'know' I'll do in the future?"
"No," she whispered. Her voice quavered. "But I'm glad you're telling me anyway."
The bolus of sadness was back in his throat, weighing down his words. "I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to scare you. But…you hurt me because I love you. And what terrifies me the most is that you'll end this again—that you'll keep finding something, anything to tear us apart."
He sighed. She had no words to say in response—how could she? A promise was worth nothing—she could only take a lifetime to show him that she wouldn't. She turned to face him; put her own arms around him, hoping he understood.
"That morning when you left for school—you told me you loved me," he said. "And I know you meant it. When I came back, you—you wouldn't even look at me, Kyoko. You never even explained why. I didn't know if I'd somehow done something to hurt you—but all I could remember doing was making you lunch and asking you to spend time with me when you got back. But you didn't—you shut me out without a word. Did you even stop to think that I had feelings, too?"
She remembered the look in his eyes that day she'd turned away from him. The confusion, and then the hurt. She'd seen it back then, but she kept going. She knew what that felt like, didn't she? She'd learned that cruelty at her mother's knee, and she'd inflicted it on the first available victim. Would knowing its origin keep her from lighting its fuse?
"I did," she whispered. Her eyes were glassy with tears again. "I—I saw it on your face but I kept going—I just—I had convinced myself you couldn't possibly care that much."
"How could you think that?" he asked. But he knew how—he'd known since he was ten. Kyoko had defenses because she needed defenses. She'd evolved them through a lifetime of survival. He'd flirted, cajoled, and loved her with that in mind this whole time. But they'd come so far that summer—he'd pinned his hopes on her newly-opened heart. Seeing that heart suddenly closed to him had been a cruel turn of events. "You're part of me. If I tore out your heart, you'd scream too."
"I promised you I would never break us like that again," she said. The threatened sobs escaped her. Tears were falling down her cheeks. "For what it's worth." She sniffled, he gave her his handkerchief. "I had to lose you—I don't think I understood how much you meant to me—and now I'm afraid I'll still lose you."
"No," he said. "You won't lose me." She was clinging to him as another gust of wind whipped around them. "You won't lose me because I'll hold onto you. Just like I did at that matsuri." He paused. "If you want me to."
"I do." She smiled at the memory, but persisted. "But. What if I don't know how to do this?" she asked. "What if I can't help it? Even if I'm trying my best? I don't want you to be with someone who's…broken, Kuon."
"Kyoko." He pulled her towards him on the garden bench. "We aren't made of glass—we aren't bowls. Human hearts heal, love. We knit ourselves back together." He sighed, squeezed her tight and then sat on a bench. He pulled her onto his lap, ignoring a tiny whimper of protest. "Maybe I shouldn't have kept all of that in," he said. "But I didn't want to ruin things before you had a chance to heal up. Before we had a chance to heal."
"I didn't want to ruin things either. But I could feel it. I felt something wasn't right."
He looked at her, tilting up her chin so he could see her eyes. She sniffled, he kissed her softly just on the corner of her mouth. "I'm scared of this, Kyoko. More scared than I was when we started. Because I know how badly you can hurt me. And…because I know how badly I need you."
"I was scared—I'm still scared," she whispered. "Part of me is still terrified you'll change your mind. Or that you'll get tired of me. Maybe—maybe I'll always feel that way."
"Mutually assured destruction." His tone was wry but his eyes were gentle. "We live together or we die apart. Maybe love means accepting the fact that I may lose you someday—but giving everything to you anyway in hopes that I won't. I want this. And if you want this too, then all we can do is trust each other. And talk to each other. Because I'll take on whatever risk I need to take. Because I love you and I have faith."
She trembled. "You might have too much faith in me."
"Maybe. I'll take my odds." He paused. "Do you want to stop being terrified?" he asked.
"Sometimes it feels impossible," she said. "Like it's been hardwired into me. There's a little voice that won't stop—every time I feel safe, it's there telling me that there's no such thing as safety."
His hands were rubbing small circles onto her back, but he was silent. "I mean—I know it's wrong," she continued. "I know that I promised to trust you—and I meant it—but…"
"But?"
"Maybe I can't be fixed," she said lamely. "Maybe I'm just a terrible person. Maybe instead of worrying that I wasn't pretty enough for you, I should have been worried about being kind enough to you."
"You didn't answer my question," he said.
She looked up at him through bleary eyes. "Yes," she said. "I do. I want to know what it's like to love you and not be afraid of it."
"You can start by being kinder to yourself," he said. "I've seen you trying, you know. To not push me away."
She looked up, surprised. "When I told you I understood, I meant it," he said. "I knew—even when we were kids. I knew. I couldn't do anything about it back then—but I could see. You needed love more than I did—because at least I had parents that loved me. I saw how alone you were. How badly you were hurt. And I was broken too, but I gave you what little love I had and it was enough to make you smile. There were a lot of dark days that came after that," he said. "Times when I thought that there was nothing good in this world. And then I'd remember this little girl in Kyoto, and I'd go on another day." He traced the curve of her face, and the look on his face gave her a pang in her heart. "All the rest that came after—I know what pain looks like, Kyoko. And it took every bit of my strength to see how you hurt yourself when you were hurting me."
She breathed out. She remembered how mean she'd been to him—how she'd minimized and denigrated his story simply because he was in showbiz. She was reminded again of how she'd refused to listen to him, time after time. Even when he'd told her about his past, her anger at Sho had come between them.
"All this time, you've been supporting me," she said. "And I was so cruel to you. You told me about your friend who died—and I wouldn't even listen."
"You were right, though," he said. "You didn't coddle me. You gave me exactly what I needed. After Dark Moon, I was wallowing in some pretty indulgent self-pity."
"I could've been kinder."
"You were kind, love. In your own way. Maybe you weren't nice, but you were kind."
"Ouch." She smiled wanly. "You have an odd way of characterizing kindness, Kuon."
"What you did forced me to look at what I'd been doing with my life," he said. "It forced me to talk things through with people I'd wronged in the past. So yes. Even if you don't think you were being kind, your words were certainly a kindness."
"Sometimes I look at the things I've done to you and wonder if I gave you any reason to want to be with me—"
"I have plenty of reasons," he said. "You were prickly, but you still took care of me. You're dedicated. You're smart, and funny—and I love talking to you—"
"You keep giving me gifts, but I haven't bought one thing for you."
"Love isn't about keeping score on who gives who gifts. I don't need you to buy me anything—I've got all the stuff I need. Give me your trust. Give me your time." Give me a lifetime, he wanted to say.
"You have my trust. And my time," she told him. "Everything."
She burrowed into his chest and he held her, two people sheltering against each other as the autumn wind chilled the world around them. The day he'd returned to her, he'd asked for her trust, and time and time again since, she'd reaffirmed it.
But having her in his arms prompted him to ask for more.
He chose his next words carefully. Trust was a big, big thing, a concept nearly as vast as love or eternity. But like love, trust was both noun and verb—both a thing and an action, something requiring affirmative effort in a way that had been lacking between them. He knew they could love each other every day, in kisses and caresses and in a thousand small kindnesses. But trust…trust was harder.
"Promise me," he said.
"Promise you?"
"Promise me that we talk to each other. About everything. About the things that bother us. About the things that give us pain. Even if you think it doesn't make sense. Even if you think it'll hurt me, Kyoko, I want you to tell me. I—I don't think we should hold things back from each other," he said. "Because trust means letting each other know when something hurts."
"That's an easy promise to make," she responded.
"Is it? To tell me everything?" She felt his body tense underneath her. "Some people don't think radical honesty is terribly easy, love. But…I want you to tell me every time you feel like I'll betray you," he said. "All of those future sins I haven't committed yet—every time you think of them, I want you to tell me."
"I'll tell you," she whispered. "But—what would be the point? Wouldn't it just…re-open old wounds?"
"The point is that you'll give us a chance to talk through these things—all the things that came between us. It'll give me a chance to defend myself against whatever that's inside you breaking us apart. I want you to let me comfort you when bad memories come—and build your faith in me. So that I can show you that I won't leave you. That I won't betray you. And…" He paused and breathed in, holding his breath before speaking again. "...it'll show me you won't cut me off again."
She heard the pain in his voice and felt her heart twist all over again. This kind of radical honesty would be new to her—might be new to them both. But had she told him what she'd been feeling on the day she'd returned to school, she might have kept herself from subjecting them to the tortures of the past few months. "I will," she said. "Even though it still feels like I'm getting off lightly."
"Does it?" he said. His hand was rubbing circles on her back, comforting her. She was clinging to him again, not caring how brazen it made her feel.
"Yes," she said shyly, rubbing her face into his chest.
He smiled down at her, cradling her head. She didn't see him; her eyes were closed as she enjoyed the warmth of his body. Even this was healing to him. "We're going to be OK, love," he said. He felt her nod her head silently and relax into him.
"I hope so," she mumbled into his sweater.
He smiled as he felt her melt. He hadn't intended on addressing these feelings, but found himself glad that Kyoko had. It was a chance to heal over new and old wounds.
Still…
He smirked. He didn't want her dwelling on his sadness, but if she wanted penance, then he'd find a way to make it advantageous for him. "Well…if you really feel you're getting off lightly, I'll ask for more. Give me three more things."
She looked up, saw his smirk, and raised an eyebrow. She smirked back, sensing some impending mischief.
"Three wishes," he said.
"Three wishes?" she echoed.
"Your punishments," he said. "Since you want me to punish you so badly."
"Kuon!"
"What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I was trying to be serious," she replied.
"I was serious," he said. "You said you wanted to make it up to me. I told you: your radical honesty and three wishes. You do anything I want. Within reason."
She was beginning to blush.
He saw her blushing and his grin widened as their eyes met again. "I…am not sure what you were thinking of, love, but I've a feeling I'd like it—"
"KUON!"
She pushed him away in mock horror, but he brought her closer instead, laughed, and kissed her.
She kissed him back, feeling a weight fall from her shoulders. She could feel herself healing in his arms.
=.=.=
By now, the leaves had fallen from the trees. Kyoto was on the cusp of true winter. Autumn's glory had faded; pine trees kept their greenery, but it was too early to hope for one of Kyoto's rare snows. The world, then, was grey and bare, muddy and ugly. People looked towards their hearths and their homes for warmth as the nights grew longer.
Kyoko was discharged from the hospital and was welcomed back to the ryokan by an enthusiastic staff and an emotional Yayoi and Etsuro. 'Cain Heel' followed after her like a shadow, though everyone at the ryokan knew who he was at a glance. Kyoko was relieved to be home again, relieved to come home with him—snuggling with him in her own bed was a comfort no words could convey.
She found that the promise she'd made him was harder to keep than she'd anticipated. Telling him all of her fears made her confront her insecurities—how was it possible to want love so much and yet reject it with an equal and opposite force? Keeping her promise made her realize that if 'protecting' herself meant rejecting love, then she would never be able to love him as much as he deserved. Kuon had called it "mutually assured destruction," and he'd been right. She wanted to be a better person for him—to be someone who knew better than to continue the cycle of push-pull she'd been guilty of.
Changing herself—that's what she was doing. Changing herself, not because Kuon had asked her to, but because she wanted a future that would not be possible otherwise. The exercise only showed her how difficult change actually was. She didn't have instructions or textbooks or classes, but she was conscious of her thoughts now in a way that she wasn't before. And perhaps, she reasoned, that would make a difference.
Their talk in the rooftop garden opened the floodgates. He asked her questions, she answered. He told her more about his life before Japan—about Rick, and about Tina. They spent hours sitting under her kotatsu, entwined in each other, just talking.
"What happened on that day?" he asked. "The day that took you away from me. You never explained what happened—or why. And I think you should tell me—at least so I understand what triggers you."
And so she told him. About that day. The day when she'd struggled to go back to being a student again. How she'd realized that falling headlong into love with someone compromised her ability to study. And then she told him about Hana and her coterie of lesser-bullies. "She—she ruined the bento you made for me," she said. "Everyone just stood and stared when she did it. That...that bento was so dear to me. And when I saw it on the ground like that—all of the hard work you'd done wasted—it hurt. At first I was just…angry. And then I realized how terrified I was that I was so upset over a simple lunch," she told him. "It shouldn't have had the power to upset me like that—but it did. I thought—if this can bother me so deeply, what will happen when it's…not just a lunch?"
He could see her mind's mental gymnastics, leaping from one conclusion to another. "And you wanted to protect yourself from that."
"I…thought that choosing a stable future would be better than risking everything for a fairy tale."
"I wish you'd talked to me," he said.
"I…thought…I knew that you'd talk me out of it—because it's really hard to say no to you, Kuon," she replied. And then she sighed. He'd become her best friend over the summer. Why wouldn't she have told him? "And on paper—it just seemed more reasonable. A stable future with a guaranteed income…no volatile entanglements…no rabid fans. I felt as if I'd done the math and I knew what the right answer was." She shook her head. That sounded absurd now.
"Of course I would've talked you out of it," he said. "But I get it. It would've given me another way to wound you."
"It seems so silly now," she said wryly. "Because I think I've known this entire time where I belonged. No—it was because I was selfish. I…didn't even think you would care that much."
"Do you still think that?" he asked.
"It seemed so unbelievable to me," she said. "But I did know. How much you cared."
"Maybe your heart did," he said. "But not your head. Though…perhaps if you'd factored in how much I love you, it would've changed the answer on that math equation."
"Well…" she said. "The lesson was that it isn't a math equation, Kuon."
"No. It isn't."
There was another kiss, and another burden lifted off their shoulders. Slow going, yes. But she'd begun to feel as if they could truly heal each other after all.
=.=.=
They'd fallen onto her bed. His mouth was on hers, her arms were around his neck. She was still clothed. He'd crept up between her legs and now she was under him. She could feel his desire against her core, hot and hard. Her body, long dormant under illness, burned for him. And though she blushed to think of it, she wanted him in the way that deserts want rain.
She found relief in the heat of his kisses. He hadn't touched her, not like this, since before. She'd assumed it was because she was sick—the hospital offered no privacy, and she could think of few things less appetizing than making love to a coughing invalid. And when she'd gotten stronger, he'd kissed her, he'd caressed her. He'd nuzzled her and carried her—he held her hand and ensconced her body in his as if she were a treasure so precious he couldn't bear to separate himself from her. His hands had traced heat up and down her body, but he always stopped before they reached the critical point. She hadn't wanted to ask why—asking why would only give credence to the kernel of anxiety inside her. She told herself that he would tell her, in time.
But now…now she felt how his longing for her equaled her own for him.
"Kuon," she was whimpering. "Please…" He was just as dizzying, just as intoxicating as ever. Her memories told her that all of this should feel familiar, but everything felt new again. His lips had found the pulsepoint on her neck and she shivered as his teeth nipped against it. She groaned as he sucked her skin into his mouth, making her moan as his tongue drew circles on it. Her hands were in his hair—raven-black, for now, pushing him against her as his hands had crept up under her shirt. She trembled as he touched her bare skin, anticipating their rough touch on her puckered nipples.
"Fuck," he groaned. "Kyoko—"
She loved him. But she also wanted him. Before him, she hadn't known what it was like to lust. She'd been such an innocent, thinking she knew all there was to know about sex because she'd taken classes in school. But he'd taught her—on her knees and on her back—what it was like to beg like an animal. There was something incomplete about loving him without fucking him, and as vulgar as the thought was, she knew it to be true. They couldn't knit themselves back together, not fully, without this.
Giving in to her desire felt good.
She was raising his shirt, running her hands against the hard ridges of his muscled chest. Her fingernails grazed against him; she was about to unbutton his shirt—oh god, she wanted, she needed to feel the heat of his skin against hers—
And then he froze.
She felt him jolt and then tense—for a second, he stopped caressing her as he recoiled.
"Kuon?" she asked. She felt as if she'd been doused in cold water. He'd frozen over her, his hand springing away from her skin as if she'd burned him. "What's wrong?" All of a sudden, she was scared. Nightmare scenarios flooded her mind—did he no longer want her? Was she not attractive anymore? Was she no longer worthy? She felt the burning fire in her disappear, only to be replaced by a numbing dread.
His face was shuttered close as he rose up from her, getting up out of bed and then sitting on its edge with his head in his hands.
"Fuck," he muttered.
"Kuon?" she asked again. Her stomach was dropping. She felt adrenaline rushing through her. Hard as she'd been working to believe in him, he'd never frozen like this before. She got out of bed too, her shirt and her hair askew from where he'd stopped. "What—what's wrong?"
"Kyoko." He refused to look her in the eyes. "Fuck."
She sat down behind him, cautiously spooning him and bringing her arms around his waist. He shivered at her touch and her heart quailed. Maybe she had broken them beyond repair—
"I can hear you thinking, love," he muttered. His head was still in his hands. "It's not you—it's not anything you did."
"But…Kuon—"
"It's something I've been holding back," he said. "It started when I met those women. In Guam."
She stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"I'm sorry," he answered. "Because I told you we'd tell each other everything, even the things that hurt us both. And…this…I've kept this back from you."
"What…what is it?" she whispered. Her heart was beating frantically in her chest. She hadn't pried, hadn't asked him any more about that encounter, not even during those hours at the hospital. He was entitled to do it, she'd told herself. The idea of him touching anyone else was painful—how could it be otherwise? But she'd avoided thinking of them. It would only torture her to do so, and she was trying to be better, wasn't she?
"I was hoping…I'd forget."
The silence lengthened as she held him awkwardly, not knowing what to do.
She could feel panic rising within her. What hadn't he told her? Perhaps there had been someone else. Maybe the girl who'd answered his phone hadn't been just a colleague, after all…? Maybe he hadn't told the truth about those two women—"What…what else I should know?" she asked. "Because…when I touched you—"
"When you touched me, he said hesitantly. "It reminded me…"
Her body tensed. He noticed.
She didn't know what to do, didn't know if her touch was still welcome. "I'm—I'm…I'm sorry." She moved to take her arms back, afraid that she had continued to remind him of them. But he caught her arms before she could move from around his waist.
"No." He raised his head. "Don't be. Don't let go."
She tightened her embrace in response. She was afraid of what he'd say, but she was determined not to presume the worst of him. "The…women?" she prompted. She wanted to understand why he hesitated…why it bothered him so much that he'd pulled away from her.
"They ran their hands over my chest," he said. "Just like you just did. And—I couldn't help it. I froze."
"I'm sorry, Kuon," she said. "I don't want to remind you of things that hurt you."
"It's…hard to explain," he said brusquely. "I still feel dirty—guilty. Maybe…I'm afraid being with you won't be the same. Because of what I've done. Because it feels like I betrayed you."
"—but you didn't," she said. "You didn't. As much as it hurts me to think about it. I'd broken up with you—"
"—Technically," he said. "Formally. On paper. But I don't think I ever really accepted the idea of you not being my girlfriend. There was a time that I thought you'd be the last woman I'd ever fuck, and I hate myself for letting anyone fuck that up."
"And now…"
"And now…I feel like I'd poison you if I touched you. You keep saying how kind I am to you—but you forgave me for this…even when you shouldn't…"
"You—you didn't do anything wrong—oh Kuon—"
"I ruined everything."
"You didn't," she told him. "I did." She wanted him to understand that she held him blameless, though she'd be lying if she claimed to be unbothered. The thought of those other women made her sick with jealousy and brought out a fierce possessiveness she hadn't known she was capable of. There was something in her that wanted to scream Mine at those vaguely fashioned phantoms in her head.
"No…I should have listened to my instincts," he told her. "Even if I had truly accepted it was over, I knew I wasn't ready to be with anyone else." He sighed. "I know it doesn't make sense," he said. "But it feels like I cheated on you. And I feel guilty about it, even if you say I didn't do anything wrong. If you'd cheated on me, could you sit here and kiss me as if nothing had happened?"
She shook her head. No. Though…the idea of cheating on Kuon was so absurd as to be downright ridiculous. She couldn't fathom being with anyone else.
"I wish I could take it all back," he said. "Pretend it was you I'd met in that bar."
"You have me now," she said. "It's in the past. We can make new memories, Kuon. There's no need to feel guilty." She gave him a small kiss on his shoulder, wanting to reassure him. Whether or not Kuon was actually guilty of something, he still felt guilty. And she understood the feeling of guilt. She wanted to expunge that feeling from him and fill him, instead, with the certainty that she loved him.
She bent low to his ear. "Everything they did, I can do better," she whispered. She blushed. She hadn't meant to sound so brazen.
His head was still bowed, but he let out a sharp laugh. "Oh I know you can, love. Never a doubt on that. They couldn't even keep me hard. But you—you don't even need to be in the room and I'd be out of my mind for you." He shook his head, paused, and sighed. "I…I wish this weren't so hard to explain…"
"There's no rush," she said. "I'm here to listen."
"It…isn't just that they touched me," he said. "Or how you reminded me of it just now. Not just this idea that…they tainted me. It's more." He gulped and continued. "Because the really fucked up thing—what really bothers me—is that even though the thought of them repulses me, the idea of it is so fucking hot. I thought of you that entire time, you know—tried to close my eyes and ignore who was actually with me. And when I got back to my room I fapped to the thought of you doing the things they did."
He paused, as if waiting for her to say something, but she merely squeezed him in quiet support.
"I thought of you like that…over and over again. For weeks, like I was some fucked up schoolboy. So I keep thinking of you doing the things they did. Fantasizing about meeting you at a bar. Getting you drunk and fucking you quick and dirty. It gets me off, every single time. And I feel guilty that it does."
There was a bitter grin on his face. His thoughts were disordered—he'd never considered how to say this out loud.
"Does that disgust you?" he asked.
She could feel how rigidly he was sitting, bracing for some attack she knew she'd never attempt. She gave him a squeeze and felt his hand cover hers again. "No," she replied. "It doesn't."
"I wish I could pretend it never happened," he said. "I just…wish I could rewrite those memories."
She kissed his shoulder again, moving up to his neck and then his cheek. And then she leaned on his broad back. When she thought she'd lost him forever, she'd felt that pain in her body; Kuon was no different. She could feel his apprehension in the tension of his muscles and in the ragged breaths he took.
"Should I be disgusted?" she asked.
"Probably," he said darkly. "Kyoko." He swallowed. "If I'm honest, I think I'm afraid that the reason why those fantasies of you felt so wrong is that maybe I secretly want to be that asshole fuckboy. And if I acknowledge that the fantasy of hooking up with you is hot, I might have to admit that what DID happen was also hot. And that feels so wrong, because no part of me wants anything to do with those women."
She was silent for a while, considering what he'd said. She was beginning to understand the nature of his guilt. She wasn't terribly experienced, and he'd been her only lover. But she'd learned a hard-won lesson when they'd been apart: that setting didn't matter so much as the person you were with. The fireworks which had been so mundane with Tadao would have been magical with Kuon. Likewise, something repulsive with those ladies could be enjoyed without tainting his need to do those same acts with her. After all, his fantasies of her may have originated from that encounter, but the premise existed independently of it. His words echoed and then lodged in the recesses of her mind, and to her surprise, she found she wanted to find out what it felt like to be with this version of Kuon.
"I want…" she began. "I want…you to live out those fantasies with me."
He froze and then turned around to face her.
She was staring at him fiercely before pulling him towards her. Boldly, she kissed him, claiming his mouth with her own and then leaving him dazed and confused when she pulled away.
"You said…you think about me…doing those things…" she said.
He nodded his head dumbly.
"...over and over..."
A single nod this time, afraid to acknowledge it.
"So show me, Kuon. Who you were. Who you wanted to be. Who you want me to be." She held out her hand, waiting for him to put his own in it.
She felt him tense up again. "You…you don't understand," he said hoarsely.
Her heart caught in her throat, but she looked at him curiously. She realized, then, that it wasn't merely his guilt over sleeping with other people. Or the fact that he'd…wanted her in the same way he'd had them. There was something more here, something she had not realized. No…what was bothering Kuon felt like something else.
"Help me understand, then."
His mouth had gone dry. He'd been a passive participant on that day—but he'd also been cold. Cold, and indifferent. He'd told those women that they'd need to do all the work. He'd been falling apart on the inside, but on the outside, he'd been every inch a selfish fuckboy of a man…at least until he realized that he was too broken to keep up the act.
That sad, unfulfilling encounter had morphed into increasingly lurid fantasies about Kyoko. The fantasies were made of guilt, made of lust, made of anger—he hadn't wanted to acknowledge that this was how he'd coped with her absence. Perhaps in his daily life, in his daily thoughts, he'd managed to lock those feelings in a box. But after the encounter with those women, he found himself wanting to lash out against her. He'd taken those emotions and hurled them at this fantasy-Kyoko. Perhaps he wouldn't have felt so guilty if it had merely been the substitution of her body where those other women had been. But it was more. In real life, he'd been cold and indifferent. In his fantasies, he'd gone much, much further.
He swallowed.
In his mind's eye, he'd watched and climaxed to the sound of her cries as he used and abused her. He'd imagine how she would beg him for release—and how he would deny it. He'd punished her. He'd treated her like a dirty whore. If her own broken past had manifested in her rejection of his love, then his broken heart had manifested in these twisted fantasies. They'd been rougher and crueler than anything they'd ever done in real life, and he was afraid to tell her.
He turned to face her, to look her in the eyes. "I wasn't…very nice to them," he said. "And in my fantasies, I'm not very nice. To you." There. That was his dirty little secret, and now he'd said it out loud.
Her eyes widened and a flush appeared on her cheek. She saw the promise of cruelty in his eyes. "Oh," she said softly.
"Do you understand now?" he asked hoarsely.
"I do," she said softly. "I think." She could sense his turmoil, and she didn't want to back down. Since they'd reunited, she'd shown him the very deepest parts of her soul. But all this time, he'd hidden the nexus of his anger. She knew it was there, she'd seen glimpses of it. But though he'd alluded to it, he'd never expressed it, exactly. He'd only asked her to give him time. She was happy to give him that time, but she couldn't help but think he hadn't been as open with her as she'd been with him. In a way, it was a relief to hear him say these things out loud.
"I fantasized about using your body the way those women wanted to be used," he said. "Treating you like a slut. Claiming you. And then I thought about punishing you for the way you treated me. So now—when I touch you…" He sighed. "I feel like a monster about to molest a princess. Because I shouldn't want to treat you like that. And here you thought I was being kind…"
The darkness in his voice electrified her. Kuon had always been a generous and thoughtful lover. She trusted him implicitly with her body; she knew he would never hurt her. But that dark look in his eyes…it made her feel things she wasn't sure she ought to be feeling. She thought of the times he'd…captured her by her wrists and pinned her down. Of the times he'd lost control and taken her, hard and fast and merciless until she cried out for him in utter abandon. She thought of all those things and felt her breath quicken and the place between her legs throb. She would not let him hide his lust under a veil of shame. If this was what he wanted…what he needed, she could give that to him.
"I still want you…" she whispered. "...to show me. So you forget the way that they touched you. I…I want to meet the Kuon they met. Even if you're not nice. Even if it's you punishing me." She found herself panting, pushing herself to say the words out loud. "Use me. Because I want you to."
Only the sound of his racing heartbeat filled the silence of those next few moments.
Guilt and desire warred inside him. He loved her, and it had been too long since they'd been together. He didn't want to take her like this, to subject her to all the violence inside him. Not just as they'd found each other again.
He should say no. He should take these feelings and lock them up again, and then he would scoop her up like a princess, kiss her, caress her, and then make love to her gently.
But then he heard her speak softly. "You don't always have to treat me like a princess, Kuon."
He looked at her. She was flushed, her eyes dark with want. It surprised him, seeing her like this. He'd expected her to be disgusted, at best; scared, at worst. But the woman looking back at him offered her submission as his equal. I see you, her body said, and I want you. You belong to me, and I belong to you. I give myself freely.
He felt the blood rushing through his veins. He was too aware of how close she was to him, how heady her scent.
For a while, he sat silently, breathing her in. And then he nodded.
He leaned into her for a kiss; she gave him one, moaning softly as his lips took possession of her own. He started gently but found himself demanding more and more—he sucked her lip into his mouth, explored hers with his tongue, and then he tore himself away for one last, assessing look.
His imagination was already at work.
And he was painfully aroused.
"You're sure you want this?" he asked. His voice was rough. She felt the shift in his body.
She would not allow the past to come between them again. "Please," she said. "Don't hold back."
He closed his eyes and she watched as his demeanor changed. When he opened them again, she saw that her loving boyfriend had disappeared. The man in front of her was grinning his Emperor grin, reaching towards her with a possessive hand. "Oh, I won't," he growled.
She shivered. Something about his voice made goosebumps rise on her skin. There was a certain coldness to it—a callousness. This was him, she realized. The man he'd described. His character.
"Strip," he commanded. "I'm not going to do it for you." There was a cruel turn to his lips. She saw his canines flash as his grin widened.
Awkwardly, she stood in front of him. He looked at her shamelessly, up and down, wordless and impassive. She moved in fits and starts, unused to this distance between them. She took off her shirt, pulling it overhead, and then unclasped her bra. Her nipples puckered in the open air, and covered them with her arms. He'd seen her topless many times, but somehow, having him looking at her like this was different.
It made her feel vulnerable and exposed.
It made her feel like prey.
"Kuon," she said. "I—"
But he didn't smile. He shook his head and motioned her onwards. "You're not finished," he said. Reluctantly she moved her arms and then slowly pushed down her skirt and her panties. He looked at her with an appraising glance, lazily raking her over with hooded eyes. She'd never seen him like this before. She realized, now, that he'd always made her beautiful and treasured. There had always been a reverence in the way he'd undressed her—even in the throes of their passion, he'd always made her feel as if her body was precious. But now…now, he was looking at her like a piece of meat.
He remained on the bed, seated, clothed. Hesitantly, she took a step forward. She stepped between his knees and bent to kiss him, but his hand grabbed a fistful of her hair, stopping her. She gasped. He was holding her immobile by the nape of her neck. She could feel the power in his arm and it made her clench between her legs.
"I don't kiss sluts," he said.
His voice made her tremble.
He tugged her hair, pushing her downwards. "Get on your knees," he growled.
She landed on the floor in front of him. She knew this treatment shouldn't arouse her but it did. There was something in the way he took command, something in the way he looked at her. Her pussy began to weep between her thighs in anticipation—"Take my shirt off," he said, and she began a slow ascent, running her shaking hands underneath its fabric and then onto his muscled torso, raking his skin with her nails the way she had before he'd frozen. Her eyes descended to his body but he took her chin and tilted her face upwards. "Look at me," he said. "Keep looking at me. I want to see you do this, Kyoko."
"Yes," she whispered. She looked into his eyes as her hands found their way by instinct—one button, and then the next, until she could run her hands from his face to his belt of Adonis without obstacle.
"Good girl," he said, and she felt an unexpected wave of pleasure at his praise. Before, he'd always put her pleasure first. He'd taken her hard and fast, but only when he knew her body cried out for it. Even when he'd taught her how to please him with her mouth—he'd been gentle for as long as he was able, only losing control at her instigation. But there was no question as to whose pleasure would come first today. She wanted it to be him. There was a relentless pulse between her legs at the thought. She unbuckled his belt and unzipped him—she pushed his pants and his underwear down until his manhood was revealed to her, already hot and hard.
Tentatively she took him in-hand, running her fingers up and down his veined shaft. She could feel him twitch as she closed her fist around him, reacquainting herself with the feel of velvet skin and rock-hard flesh. Reverently, she took him into her mouth again for the first time in a long time. He held still and she pulled back, moving her tongue against his slit and his glans, luxuriating on the underside of his shaft before taking him deeper again—as deep as she could. She knelt on the ground before him and grasped at his hips as she pulled back and then forward again, slowly. It was a tortuous rhythm, a shameless tease.
Again his hands took a fistful of her hair, pulling her off of him with savage speed. "No." His voice was unforgiving.
She looked up at him with lips swollen from her efforts, but he merely said, "Open." She did; he thrust into her mouth and held her against him as she choked and her eyes watered. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he asked. His hips thrust forward again before she could answer. "Being used like a little fucktoy." He began to thrust, settling into a rhythm as he held her immobile. She looked up into his eyes as he fucked into her mouth and it drove him to go faster—she moaned and he nearly came at the sound of it. "Good girl," he groaned. His frenzy drove him to close his eyes. "Good little slut—"
She'd wanted to take him slowly, taking him like an act of worship. Instead, he used her as an instrument to sate his lust.
"Fuck, Kyoko," he groaned.
He was relentless. She held onto him as his hips thrust into her. She could feel his legs tensing as she felt his balls tighten—moans escaped him—he was close. Part of her anticipated taking his cum in her mouth, but again he grabbed at her and pulled her to a stop. "Not yet," he said.
He took her by the hand, raising her up off of the floor. He pulled her forward as he moved to the center of the bed, laying down with his cock straining towards her. She looked at him, questioning, and he realized she'd never ridden him before. "Straddle me," he said. "Show me that cunt. Show me how wet you are."
He hadn't touched her, but she was dripping. She was appalled by her own lewdness. Was she really the kind of woman who got wet just from pleasuring a cock with her mouth? Hesitantly, she climbed over his prone body, feeling her nether lips open as she straddled him. He sat still underneath her, thrumming with feigned nonchalance. He didn't guide her, didn't seek to prepare her for him in any way.
"Put it inside yourself," he said. "See if you can make me cum."
She nodded. Rising up off her haunches, she took his veined shaft in her hand, holding him steady as she notched its head into her folds. She gave a small whimper at the feel of it—she'd forgotten how large he was, how wide and long, how it felt to have him split her in two. She bore down and gasped as his glans parted her—they'd been apart for months and she was unprepared for the twinge of pain as her core stretched around him. She cried out as she was breached, feeling a painful friction between them. It caused her to pull back and start again, her legs shaking with tension. Inch by inch, she took him inside her. Her gasps turned into moans as she took more and more of him, and when he bottomed out inside her she couldn't stop herself crying out his name.
"Ku-o-on," she said. She was clenching and unclenching around him as she reveled in the feeling of being full. Of being complete. Of being fucked.
He let out a low moan as he felt her velvet heat engulf him. Above him her body was tight and taut, arched backwards with her breasts to the sky; she was splayed open lewdly atop him. The sight burned itself into his retinas, preempting visions of anyone else. She was all he would ever remember. Everything else—anyone else—faded into dim obscurity. She was wiping his soul clean.
"Fuck you're tight," he groaned. His hands reached up to take their place at her hips. He was fully ensconced in her, and he could feel her wetness dripping out of her and onto him. He watched as her mouth opened in a continuous moan and couldn't help flexing his body upwards into her.
He'd meant to be cruel, but he was finding it difficult to maintain this character. For weeks he'd fantasized about her, all alone in his Guam hotel room. For weeks, he'd thought about taking his pleasure from her without giving back, trying to find a way to satisfy his lust for her body while taking back his heart. He thought he'd need to be cruel to her to exorcize his anger, to burn away the taint of having been with other people. But now, joined as they were, he found that he didn't have the heart for it. His fantasies crumbled and left him with a simple truth: he needed her. The real her, with the real him. They had broken apart into jagged pieces, and he'd turned to those fantasies to dull the rending pain inside.
He stared at her with love that felt both dark and light—all of the intoxication of desire, all of the worship of angels. He reveled in the curves of her flesh, the way she looked with his name on her lips. Perhaps she wasn't his princess tonight, but neither was she his whore. She was simply his other half, and there was still an open wound between them.
She moved her hips slowly, tentatively, supporting herself with her hands on his thighs as she arched backwards. "I-I never-knew…ah…it feels…so good," she moaned. She moved her hips upwards and then down, moving by instinct. His cock strained the lips of her cunt as she gasped at the feel of him moving within her.
Her skin was pale in the moonlight and glistening with a light sheen of sweat; she was panting. She ground herself against him, moaning every time his cock touched her cervix within.
"Touch yourself," he said.
She groaned as she obeyed. She'd never done this so brazenly in front of him. She couldn't hide her lust from him, not while riding him like this. She felt filthy and lewd, looking him in the eyes as her fingers circled her clit. She clenched her thighs and rolled her hips as she rode him, feeling his cock throb and move inside her.
"Do you like watching me?" she asked. Her eyes had narrowed to slits as her body tilted backwards. Her pert breasts were pointing to the ceiling when she took her other hand and played with her nipple—he couldn't help moaning at the sight.
He grit his teeth. She was such a frighteningly fast learner—their first kiss had been mere months ago. He felt her fingers on her clit as he moved inside her. Her slick was all over him—she sucked him into herself as her hand moved faster and faster over her center. He felt her core pulsing around him and he abandoned all restraint.
"Yes, Kyoko," he growled. "I fucking love watching that wet cunt fuck my cock." His hands teased at her nipples, kneading them and pulling them towards him as she moaned. "You were made for me," he said. His hands grabbed at her hips, so hard she was sure she'd bruise. "And I was made for you." She cried out as he thrust upwards into her, matching her rhythm. She shook with the force of his movements.
"Kuon—Kuon—" she was saying, his name like a prayer on her lips.
"Keep playing with that clit," he said. She was close, he could feel it.
"Please…Kuon…ah!...ah!"
"Look at me while you cum," he said. He watched as her amber eyes widened in ecstasy.
"Yes…yes, Kuon—"
He felt her pussy clench hard around him, her slick flooding them both as she spent. His hands pulled her close against him as she came back down to earth—she smiled and bent down to kiss him.
This time, he let her. For a second he allowed her to lead—she was kissing him softly with her sweet, tentative tongue. And then he pushed her away. She gave a little whine in surprise as their kiss was interrupted. "My turn," he growled. His cock was still hard inside her when he flipped them over to trap her beneath him, and then his mouth found hers again. He wasn't gentle. His kiss was hard and demanding, and she realized he was far from being done.
He was full of unsated craving—he'd dreamed of this night for months now—and everything in him cried out to be satisfied. He could not pretend to be indifferent. He wasn't ever going to get enough of her body—and tonight he would take and take and take until she was ruined for anyone else. He licked and bit at her skin, enjoying how she shivered when he did it. He worked—worked hard—at marking her neck because he wanted her to bear his mark for all the world to see. He thrust forward as he bent and took a nipple in his mouth, feeling her clench her pussy in response as he did so. What he needed was to claim her body, to meld with her, to knit together the places where they'd been torn apart. She understood this instinctively and submitted to him, moving with him, running her long legs alongside his own and then meeting his thrusts with feverish abandon.
He pushed her legs apart, opening her wider and wider to him as he pumped inside her—hard, deep thrusts that shook all of her body and made her cry out. She was so small, so delicate, so soft beneath him, and part of him wanted to break her, to drown her in sensation until she was reduced to a quivering core that could do nothing but receive the love he gave.
"Please…" she was babbling. "Please—ah—fuck—ah—" She was still sensitive from her last orgasm and the sensation of him moving within her walked the line between pleasure and pain. He'd placed both his hands under her ass, tilting up her pelvis towards him and allowing him to close the space between them. There was nothing beneath her to shield her from the full force of his thrusts.
"Louder, Kyoko," he said. "Tell…me…what…you…want." She writhed underneath him, begging and pleading—her words were incoherent. He knew he was being rough but she was so wet…so open for him. He thrust into her hard, rutting into her like a rabid animal—rutting so hard her breasts shook obscenely before him. He didn't slow down. He kept thrusting into her, forcing her to take all of him. He pushed and sloughed off the raw edge of violence, leaving the kind of love untainted by sin and refined by fire.
She was clinging onto him now, her fingers digging into his shoulders and then his arms and then pushing him against his chest. Her voice was hoarse and guttural. "Cum inside me…please…Kuon—cum inside me…with me…please…" He felt her clench and pulse and this time, he let her take him with her orgasm.
They came together in a blaze of light, clinging onto each other as if they'd never been apart. He cried out his release. He filled her with himself, one pulse and then another as he pushed deep into her. "I love you," he cried, "I love you, I love you—"
He fell onto her, still within her as the ecstasy subsided. He looked at her and found himself weeping. Rough, ugly sobs tore out of him, the paroxysm of emotion escaping the box he'd sought to hide them in. He'd wanted to see her destroyed, helpless, wanton in the heat of their lovemaking. But he'd been right: he couldn't destroy her without destroying himself.
She wrapped herself around him, locking her arms and then her ankles behind him and holding him close. She closed her eyes as she clung to him, and when she opened them, she found herself weeping too.
Kisses, again. Over and over, they sought and found each other as they mended the wounds between them with gold.
When his heart calmed, he smiled at her. Tendrils of her hair clung onto her face, shiny with the sheen of her sweat. Tenderly, he brushed them off of her brow and then cupped her face in his hands. "I am going to marry you, Kyoko Mogami," he said.
"Yes," she whispered. She was still weeping, but her smile echoed his own.
Their joy was a palpable thing.
=.=.=.=.=
Author's Note: Hi everyone—thank you so much for reading, if you've made it this far. This was actually supposed to be part of LAST chapter, but, well, as you see, it's kinda long. I wanted to address some of the things that had been 'hurried over' in their first conversation, so in many ways, this chapter was a variation on a theme. I know there are writers out there who eschew the idea that 'the characters just decided to do xyz and I could not control them' way of thinking, but *this* Kuon wanted to shield *this* Kyoko from knowing the full scale of his devastation—though he still needed a way to cope with those emotions. I don't know if the way I wrote this was successful, but as with so many other complicated chapters…I'd been working on this for WEEEEEEEEEEEEEKS now, and I'm…tired of looking at it. Eventually you work at something so much you lose sight of what it actually looks like. Please let me know what you think?
Also…FFnet's emails have not been working. I'm slowly working through reviews and answering them, and I am MONTHS behind, so you may have a message from me in your inbox. If I haven't messaged yet, then I just want to say (again) THANK YOU for reading. I am so thankful for your kind words.
Love,
Parkerbear, 16Nov2023
Some notes:
1. Kintsugi - the practice of mending pottery with gold and lacquer, celebrating an object's history rather than trying to hide it. Supposedly originating in the 15th century. Lotsa contemporary interpretations of it wandering around the internet.
2. "Set me as a seal…" - from the Song of Solomon.
3. The Golden Bowl - a novel by Henry James about two terrible people cheating on two lovely people. (Basic premise: Very rich older man with a daughter marries his daughter's friend. It just so happens that his daughter's friend was, at one point, banging the daughter's husband. Predictably, they hook up again.). The role Kuon alludes to is Charlotte, the rich man's wife. The titular golden bowl makes an appearance throughout the novel and is a metaphor for the characters' flawed marriages. As Kyoko says, the characters find a beautiful crystal bowl, covered in gold. There's a crack in it, but the crack isn't visible—the bowl looks beautiful on the outside but imperfect within.