And Finally, Exhale [Fruits Basket: Shigure/Akito, R]
Title: And Finally, Exhale
Author: darknightrain
Rating: R
Warnings: Sex with a dash of breathplay.
Word count: 638
Prompt: Fruits Basket, Akito/Shigure: asphyxiation - She liked to see him squirm
A/N: SPOILERS FOR THE WHOLE MANGA, read at your own risk.
1.
He wakes up crying (once more), and even though there was no dream this time, even though no one had said anything, he knows. He changes clothes and rushes out without thinking.
He sits outside the door and waits, minutes stretching into hours, and when he hears the high pitched, desperate cry, he stands up and breaks into the house. He dashes through the corridors, ignoring all the maids who try to stop him. He can't even hear them yelling because his heart is beating so loud in his ears he thinks he might go deaf. But he doesn't, because he can still hear her voice, scared, confused.
It's calling out to him.
Three pairs of hands reach for him as soon as he enters the room. He kicks and struggles effortlessly, so close yet so far away. Until the woman in bed sees him and mouths something he still can't hear. But then the hands are not touching him anymore, so it doesn't matter. Nothing else does.
The woman shifts the small bundle in her arms for him to see, she's crying and shaking so uncontrollably it makes his eyes well up with tears again.
He reaches out to touch her hand, and her tiny fingers wrap around one of his tightly.
She stops crying.
He, in turn, is sobbing so hard he can barely breathe.
2.
She has him trapped so completely, although trapped is not the best word for it, because this is not something he wants to break free from. The weight of her whole body keeping him down on the floor as her hips move upwards, then down on him again. He smiles absently, watching her small breasts (unbound) move with the same hypnotic rhythm. Her kimono slips further down her arms with every movement.
She doesn't make any sound, though. She never does. Throughout the years, he's learned to be able to read and understand her from the way her body arches and tenses, from the way her eyes flutter closed, and from the hitch in her breath.
His fingertips brush over her bare thighs. He tries his best to focus on the feeling of her skin because her pace is starting to become more frantic now, more urgent. A series of reactions (unconscious or not) that lead her to close her fingers tighter around his neck.
The world begins to blur and dissolve into something else, and he's not sure whether to blame it on the lack of oxygen or the fact that he's very close, too. He sees her through it, pleasure washing all over her as she holds onto that sensation and basks in it. Bright spots of multicoloured light frame her trembling silhouette until they become too blinding, even for him, and he's forced to close his eyes.
He can hear himself let out something that is supposed to be a chuckle, but sounds dry and strained, instead. And with the bright splutters of light still present in his mind, he wonders if she would ever have the courage to keep going like this until the very end.
3.
It's not the sundress billowing in the wind, or the flower in her hair, or the discreet make-up adorning her face, or the melodious ring of her laughter, or the way her feet kick at the water, or how perfectly their hands fit together when their fingers are entangled.
(But they certainly do help.)
It's the words that she doesn't say, but that he can read in her eyes, as she steps on the tip of her toes and pulls him down firmly by the collar to press her mouth to his. And he wraps his arms around her and parts his lips, gladly letting her steal away all the air in his lungs.
Author: darknightrain
Rating: R
Warnings: Sex with a dash of breathplay.
Word count: 638
Prompt: Fruits Basket, Akito/Shigure: asphyxiation - She liked to see him squirm
A/N: SPOILERS FOR THE WHOLE MANGA, read at your own risk.
1.
He wakes up crying (once more), and even though there was no dream this time, even though no one had said anything, he knows. He changes clothes and rushes out without thinking.
He sits outside the door and waits, minutes stretching into hours, and when he hears the high pitched, desperate cry, he stands up and breaks into the house. He dashes through the corridors, ignoring all the maids who try to stop him. He can't even hear them yelling because his heart is beating so loud in his ears he thinks he might go deaf. But he doesn't, because he can still hear her voice, scared, confused.
It's calling out to him.
Three pairs of hands reach for him as soon as he enters the room. He kicks and struggles effortlessly, so close yet so far away. Until the woman in bed sees him and mouths something he still can't hear. But then the hands are not touching him anymore, so it doesn't matter. Nothing else does.
The woman shifts the small bundle in her arms for him to see, she's crying and shaking so uncontrollably it makes his eyes well up with tears again.
He reaches out to touch her hand, and her tiny fingers wrap around one of his tightly.
She stops crying.
He, in turn, is sobbing so hard he can barely breathe.
2.
She has him trapped so completely, although trapped is not the best word for it, because this is not something he wants to break free from. The weight of her whole body keeping him down on the floor as her hips move upwards, then down on him again. He smiles absently, watching her small breasts (unbound) move with the same hypnotic rhythm. Her kimono slips further down her arms with every movement.
She doesn't make any sound, though. She never does. Throughout the years, he's learned to be able to read and understand her from the way her body arches and tenses, from the way her eyes flutter closed, and from the hitch in her breath.
His fingertips brush over her bare thighs. He tries his best to focus on the feeling of her skin because her pace is starting to become more frantic now, more urgent. A series of reactions (unconscious or not) that lead her to close her fingers tighter around his neck.
The world begins to blur and dissolve into something else, and he's not sure whether to blame it on the lack of oxygen or the fact that he's very close, too. He sees her through it, pleasure washing all over her as she holds onto that sensation and basks in it. Bright spots of multicoloured light frame her trembling silhouette until they become too blinding, even for him, and he's forced to close his eyes.
He can hear himself let out something that is supposed to be a chuckle, but sounds dry and strained, instead. And with the bright splutters of light still present in his mind, he wonders if she would ever have the courage to keep going like this until the very end.
3.
It's not the sundress billowing in the wind, or the flower in her hair, or the discreet make-up adorning her face, or the melodious ring of her laughter, or the way her feet kick at the water, or how perfectly their hands fit together when their fingers are entangled.
(But they certainly do help.)
It's the words that she doesn't say, but that he can read in her eyes, as she steps on the tip of her toes and pulls him down firmly by the collar to press her mouth to his. And he wraps his arms around her and parts his lips, gladly letting her steal away all the air in his lungs.