untitled izaya/namie
By Lily M.
When she closes her eyes, she tries to picture it. The right set of lips on her neck, the delicate touches on her skin. She can hear his voice whispering in her ear, words that make no sense because they are not supposed to, because his hands, they talk for him, they tell a whole story of the forbidden, the passionate, the improbable.
And he’d whisper that he craved her, that he needed her, that there was only her, them, and then there would be no more words, because that was all that she needed to hear, that was all that she wanted and he would give it only to her.
But in the perfect world, there wouldn’t be those invasive teeth on her throat, or that uncomfortable desk under her. Nonono, it is all wrong and he is not lovely Seiji, no, he is rough and unpredictable and his hand goes places she hadn’t dreamed of, under her skirt, up her blouse.
And she can feel the smirk on his lips, on her lips, their heavy breathing filling the open office. For a second she opens her eyes just slightly, just barely, to look through those tall glass windows, wishing to the night sky that the faint light upon them would change the scenery, would change everything.
But that one, foreign name escapes her, and she immediately bits her lower lip, to keep herself from voicing anymore of her downfall. Surprisingly, he does not laugh. One of his long, inspired laughs. He doesn’t even need to. The walls do a pretty good job at mocking her, for every following day after that, reminding her of his scent suffocating her, her legs around him, and his voice penetrating her ears, saying absolutely nothing at all.
And he would act like nothing had happened. Casually browsing his computer like that desk had been the stage for nothing more than his annoying schemes. And so that sweet nothing would haunt her, mercilessly disrupt her dreams, until he felt like turning it into something again.
Until one day, she could no longer picture the right words in her fantasy anymore. Her Seiji was a blur of vague, distant touches, and all that was left was that taunting smirk.
And more than stripping her of her pride, she absolutely loathed him being narcissistic enough to rob her of her very own dreams.