[Fic] i wanted you to stay on the other side
Title: i wanted you to stay on the other side
Fandom: Crossroads
Characters: Akiyama Kou, Yomohiro Tomoe | Kou/Tomoe
Word Count: 1,158
Rating: M
Warning/s: foot fetish, oral sex, what might've been love
Summary: it starts like this, on a calm, quiet morning with raindrops pattering against her windows. | kou, tomoe, and rainy days
Disclaimer: Kou is Miles'!
Notes: this is turning into a series of daily snapshots in their alternate universe (employer-employee rel'p). - that is not to say that this is a daily occurrence =((( this is like chillax morning nothing much just chillin'. title from the same song by summer heart #30DaysofErotica
it starts like this, on a calm, quiet morning with raindrops pattering against her windows. she rests against her headboard and listens to the rain while he lounges at the foot of her bed with a newspaper in his hands. this is the space they've carved out, hidden in the middle of the city - solitary, silent, tranquil, theirs. she won't admit, not to him, but she might like these moments most of all - when it's just him and her, them being themselves in their own separate manners, together.
sometime in the expanse of the morning, his hand migrates to the top of her foot, fingers curling around her ankle. she might have hummed, but it is a slow, uneventful morning and the newspaper crinkles as he turns another page.
she is catnapping when his thumb moves over her instep, a feather-light touch that is almost indiscernible.
oh this is new.
she opens her eyes, a languorous slow flutter of her lashes until his image swims into focus. he is still reading his newspaper, but he runs the side of his forefinger from her toe and up the bridge to rest against her outer ankle.
at this point, she has two options. she goes with the simpler one and settles against her pillows, watches him with a dawning interest that he strokes with the line of his nail against the arch of her sole. she does hum this time, and stretches her leg, pushing away his newspaper.
"i would rather you didn't divide your attention, akiyama," she presses her toes against his abdomen, over the shirt he wears.
"would you now," he drawls, kneading the sides of her foot, cupping the heel with one hand. he leans down, and she does not for one moment think that he is doing this to be subservient. it's just another form of control, to show that even if he's down he still has power over her body. she knows this very well; she does it with him too.
he presses a brief kiss against the tip of her toe, gives it a sharp nip, a stroke with the flat of his tongue. he does this in only a matter of seconds yet she feels every touch as if it is imprinted in her nerves. holding her foot, he hovers over her ankle, breath fanning across her skin like a warm caress.
new is exciting, challenging. he turns her leg, moves his lips over her calf, following the line of a vein against the pale expanse of her skin as he slides her pajamas up. he murmurs something she doesn't quite catch, words that remain his, remain a secret that only he holds, as he presses an open-mouthed kiss against the back of her knee, the side, the notch directly below. she exhales, a contented sigh, and his lips curve against her flesh as it traipses up her thigh.
she reaches for him to card her fingers through his hair, scratching lightly against his scalp. he leans against her touch for half a second she might have missed if he wasn't the center where her world converges right at this moment.
he pushes up and hooks his fingers against the waistband of her pajamas, tugging it down with her panties. it is plain white cotton, old and unadorned. once, she felt distinctly unattractive beside him, him with his arresting eyes, his broad shoulders, his strong hands. now she is comfortable allowing him to see these small variations to her behind the pressed dresses and professional pantsuits, just her in her simple entirety.
he spreads her legs and settles between them, attention wholly diverted to the apex of her thighs.
it's nice to feel wanted when her whole life had been about rejections.
his breath is hot against her flesh when he bends down, his tongue scorching as he presses it against her clit without preamble. this is the kou she knows, going straight for what he wants, impatient, determined. outside, the rain slows to a drizzle and she realizes she is drenched when he traces the line of her slit with one probing finger. her hand tightens on his hair, her legs closing reflexively. but he hitches one leg on his shoulder, his fingertips making indentations on her thigh.
his hair bleeds against her pale skin. it's a beautiful contrast, but she thinks wherever he goes he would stand out, or-
he follows the path of his finger with his tongue, a slow, arduous stripe
-she thinks maybe it's because he's disassembled the cogs of her gravity and implanted something of himself, gradually assimilated his nuances into her until he's the north pole to her south, and there is nothing to do but to fall into his pull.
he wraps his lips around her clit, suckles lightly, slides a finger inside her until it is buried to the knuckle. she shifts beneath him, squirms. he holds her in place and swipes his tongue against her folds, a stroke against her labia, as he slides his finger out and countermands it with a shallow thrust inside her.
she keens, cannot keep from canting her pelvis up, bucking against his mouth. he skims her clit with the tip of his tongue, the flat of his tongue, a harder pressure, a more insistent contact. she moans, not even bothering to quell the sounds he draws from her with a swipe of his tongue, a pump of his fingers - he adds a second, plunges the full length in, sliding out and thrusting with only his middle finger, leaving out the forefinger so she groans and tugs on his hair insistently.
it's like stepping up a flight of steps, climbing up a ladder, higher and higher as he rubs her with a quick, circular motion, a hard thrust in a new angle. she's breathing harder, panting with the effort to reach the promise of the top, the elusive secret of a sensation that lasts for a few seconds blending into eternity - that rush of overwhelming heat with electricity thrumming against her skin, closer then as he hastens his tempo. and she runs faster towards that completion, reaching out for it with a breathless agony which compounds into a pressure that builds, tightens, swells, and then suddenly explodes like fireworks behind her eyelids, a gratification that charges through her body and which he coaxes with a gentle lap of his tongue, a kiss against her inner thigh.
the rain has stopped.
he eases up, pops his fingers in his mouth and settles down beside her.
she wonders if this is a tally mark in their ledger, a point for him she must requite with a retaliation of her own, but he takes hold of one end of the blanket spread haphazardly against the side of the bed and pulls it up over her, and she remembers why she has a preferential option for days like these the most.
This entry was originally posted at http://quadrantal.dreamwidth.org/12273.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: Crossroads
Characters: Akiyama Kou, Yomohiro Tomoe | Kou/Tomoe
Word Count: 1,158
Rating: M
Warning/s: foot fetish, oral sex, what might've been love
Summary: it starts like this, on a calm, quiet morning with raindrops pattering against her windows. | kou, tomoe, and rainy days
Disclaimer: Kou is Miles'!
Notes: this is turning into a series of daily snapshots in their alternate universe (employer-employee rel'p). - that is not to say that this is a daily occurrence =((( this is like chillax morning nothing much just chillin'. title from the same song by summer heart #30DaysofErotica
it starts like this, on a calm, quiet morning with raindrops pattering against her windows. she rests against her headboard and listens to the rain while he lounges at the foot of her bed with a newspaper in his hands. this is the space they've carved out, hidden in the middle of the city - solitary, silent, tranquil, theirs. she won't admit, not to him, but she might like these moments most of all - when it's just him and her, them being themselves in their own separate manners, together.
sometime in the expanse of the morning, his hand migrates to the top of her foot, fingers curling around her ankle. she might have hummed, but it is a slow, uneventful morning and the newspaper crinkles as he turns another page.
she is catnapping when his thumb moves over her instep, a feather-light touch that is almost indiscernible.
oh this is new.
she opens her eyes, a languorous slow flutter of her lashes until his image swims into focus. he is still reading his newspaper, but he runs the side of his forefinger from her toe and up the bridge to rest against her outer ankle.
at this point, she has two options. she goes with the simpler one and settles against her pillows, watches him with a dawning interest that he strokes with the line of his nail against the arch of her sole. she does hum this time, and stretches her leg, pushing away his newspaper.
"i would rather you didn't divide your attention, akiyama," she presses her toes against his abdomen, over the shirt he wears.
"would you now," he drawls, kneading the sides of her foot, cupping the heel with one hand. he leans down, and she does not for one moment think that he is doing this to be subservient. it's just another form of control, to show that even if he's down he still has power over her body. she knows this very well; she does it with him too.
he presses a brief kiss against the tip of her toe, gives it a sharp nip, a stroke with the flat of his tongue. he does this in only a matter of seconds yet she feels every touch as if it is imprinted in her nerves. holding her foot, he hovers over her ankle, breath fanning across her skin like a warm caress.
new is exciting, challenging. he turns her leg, moves his lips over her calf, following the line of a vein against the pale expanse of her skin as he slides her pajamas up. he murmurs something she doesn't quite catch, words that remain his, remain a secret that only he holds, as he presses an open-mouthed kiss against the back of her knee, the side, the notch directly below. she exhales, a contented sigh, and his lips curve against her flesh as it traipses up her thigh.
she reaches for him to card her fingers through his hair, scratching lightly against his scalp. he leans against her touch for half a second she might have missed if he wasn't the center where her world converges right at this moment.
he pushes up and hooks his fingers against the waistband of her pajamas, tugging it down with her panties. it is plain white cotton, old and unadorned. once, she felt distinctly unattractive beside him, him with his arresting eyes, his broad shoulders, his strong hands. now she is comfortable allowing him to see these small variations to her behind the pressed dresses and professional pantsuits, just her in her simple entirety.
he spreads her legs and settles between them, attention wholly diverted to the apex of her thighs.
it's nice to feel wanted when her whole life had been about rejections.
his breath is hot against her flesh when he bends down, his tongue scorching as he presses it against her clit without preamble. this is the kou she knows, going straight for what he wants, impatient, determined. outside, the rain slows to a drizzle and she realizes she is drenched when he traces the line of her slit with one probing finger. her hand tightens on his hair, her legs closing reflexively. but he hitches one leg on his shoulder, his fingertips making indentations on her thigh.
his hair bleeds against her pale skin. it's a beautiful contrast, but she thinks wherever he goes he would stand out, or-
he follows the path of his finger with his tongue, a slow, arduous stripe
-she thinks maybe it's because he's disassembled the cogs of her gravity and implanted something of himself, gradually assimilated his nuances into her until he's the north pole to her south, and there is nothing to do but to fall into his pull.
he wraps his lips around her clit, suckles lightly, slides a finger inside her until it is buried to the knuckle. she shifts beneath him, squirms. he holds her in place and swipes his tongue against her folds, a stroke against her labia, as he slides his finger out and countermands it with a shallow thrust inside her.
she keens, cannot keep from canting her pelvis up, bucking against his mouth. he skims her clit with the tip of his tongue, the flat of his tongue, a harder pressure, a more insistent contact. she moans, not even bothering to quell the sounds he draws from her with a swipe of his tongue, a pump of his fingers - he adds a second, plunges the full length in, sliding out and thrusting with only his middle finger, leaving out the forefinger so she groans and tugs on his hair insistently.
it's like stepping up a flight of steps, climbing up a ladder, higher and higher as he rubs her with a quick, circular motion, a hard thrust in a new angle. she's breathing harder, panting with the effort to reach the promise of the top, the elusive secret of a sensation that lasts for a few seconds blending into eternity - that rush of overwhelming heat with electricity thrumming against her skin, closer then as he hastens his tempo. and she runs faster towards that completion, reaching out for it with a breathless agony which compounds into a pressure that builds, tightens, swells, and then suddenly explodes like fireworks behind her eyelids, a gratification that charges through her body and which he coaxes with a gentle lap of his tongue, a kiss against her inner thigh.
the rain has stopped.
he eases up, pops his fingers in his mouth and settles down beside her.
she wonders if this is a tally mark in their ledger, a point for him she must requite with a retaliation of her own, but he takes hold of one end of the blanket spread haphazardly against the side of the bed and pulls it up over her, and she remembers why she has a preferential option for days like these the most.
This entry was originally posted at http://quadrantal.dreamwidth.org/12273.html. Please comment there using OpenID.