[OOC][fic] |D
I think I'm just going to post all camp-related fic to this journal from now on. HE'S THE WRITER OF MY GROUP, AFTER ALL. \o/
This is because Yuuko asked. AND IT WAS HER BIRTHDAY A WHILE AGO AND I FAILED AT. DOING ANYTHING. Sob. Love me, Yuuko-san. :( Though this is one of the most. Clinical sexfics I've ever written. Huh. O-oh well?!
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Yuuko's bedroom is a bright and airy space, unlike the rest of her shop: there are wide windows with two sets of curtains: one heavy enough to keep out all light, and the other gossamer-thin and deep red in color. It does not block the light so much as color it: it lends a flushed tint to the white skin of her arms, her throat, her breasts and belly. When she leans over him, and her hair slides down over one shoulder, she could be any other woman taking him to bed, warm-skinned and heavy-eyed.
She is hardly any other woman, though, and whatever he might say to the contrary, he is aware this is an honor few ordinary men have been allowed.
"You're thinking again," she accuses, tapping her nails against his chest. "And after you drank so much of my good sake! I've charged men a lifetime's salary for just a cup."
He just laughs and skims his fingers down her sides. Her skin is cool to the touch as his own, but there is warmth in the contact and the movement, and his skin is tinted the same illusionary pink as hers. Her perfume has rose, lavender, and ylang ylang: he knows because he sold it to her himself. She leans down into the touch and presses her mouth to his jaw -- not to the mouth, because that is a courtesy allowed only to one man long-gone -- and she says, "You owe me."
Again he laughs, then brings his hands up, till his palms can fit the heavy curve of her breasts. "Do I?" he says. "I had thought ... perhaps the perfume would make us-- even."
Yuuko answers with a disdainful sniff, which only half-disguises the hitch in her breath when he skims his finger against the tight point of a nipple. "I am a businesswoman," she declares, even as she shifts and sinks onto him, settling their hips firmly together. "I can't ask for any more than what it's worth, but I won't accept any less, either." She spreads her fingers against his shoulders and then digs in with her nails. "You understand?"
"I would never," he says, even as he cants his hips up, "presume to leave Yuuko-san ... wanting."
"Lying's a bad habit," she tells him severely. "There's a cost. There is -- always -- a cost." She bites her lip a little, and makes a shimmy that in a less-graceful woman would have been a squirm. "I won't stand for it."
"Truth," he sighs between his teeth, "is ... important to me. You know that."
She sits up and tosses some hair back over her shoulder. Some strands of it remain against her lower lip. There is a flush in her cheeks that doesn't come from the tinted light, faint enough to be a fantasy. "Your truth," she tells him, "is entirely too set in stone. It's irritating. You are irritating." She takes one of his hands and tugs it down between her legs, where her body fits snugly around his. He laughs again and moves his fingers obediently. Yuuko makes no actual sound, but her breath quickens, as does the rocking motion of her hips; he can count each swiftly-steady heartbeat and knows the exact number it takes before she's done, before she rests against him and strokes her nails thoughtfully down the length of his chest.
It's no rushed thing: they are old and comfortable with each other. He closes his eyes as orgasm comes, slow, steady, with the same familiar detachment as always. He only opens them again when Yuuko settles atop him, her breasts pressed securely to his chest, and her hair sliding over his shoulders. She's smiling, and the light is warm against the sharp edges of her cheekbones, and the lines of her smile.
"It'll do for now," she says, and she stretches. "I expect that you'll continue to pay properly in the future."
"Ah," he says. He doesn't quite laugh this time, but his smile moves to match hers. He raises a hand to touch her face, and his thumb presses briefly against the corner of her mouth. "I'll do that."
This is because Yuuko asked. AND IT WAS HER BIRTHDAY A WHILE AGO AND I FAILED AT. DOING ANYTHING. Sob. Love me, Yuuko-san. :( Though this is one of the most. Clinical sexfics I've ever written. Huh. O-oh well?!
+++++
Yuuko's bedroom is a bright and airy space, unlike the rest of her shop: there are wide windows with two sets of curtains: one heavy enough to keep out all light, and the other gossamer-thin and deep red in color. It does not block the light so much as color it: it lends a flushed tint to the white skin of her arms, her throat, her breasts and belly. When she leans over him, and her hair slides down over one shoulder, she could be any other woman taking him to bed, warm-skinned and heavy-eyed.
She is hardly any other woman, though, and whatever he might say to the contrary, he is aware this is an honor few ordinary men have been allowed.
"You're thinking again," she accuses, tapping her nails against his chest. "And after you drank so much of my good sake! I've charged men a lifetime's salary for just a cup."
He just laughs and skims his fingers down her sides. Her skin is cool to the touch as his own, but there is warmth in the contact and the movement, and his skin is tinted the same illusionary pink as hers. Her perfume has rose, lavender, and ylang ylang: he knows because he sold it to her himself. She leans down into the touch and presses her mouth to his jaw -- not to the mouth, because that is a courtesy allowed only to one man long-gone -- and she says, "You owe me."
Again he laughs, then brings his hands up, till his palms can fit the heavy curve of her breasts. "Do I?" he says. "I had thought ... perhaps the perfume would make us-- even."
Yuuko answers with a disdainful sniff, which only half-disguises the hitch in her breath when he skims his finger against the tight point of a nipple. "I am a businesswoman," she declares, even as she shifts and sinks onto him, settling their hips firmly together. "I can't ask for any more than what it's worth, but I won't accept any less, either." She spreads her fingers against his shoulders and then digs in with her nails. "You understand?"
"I would never," he says, even as he cants his hips up, "presume to leave Yuuko-san ... wanting."
"Lying's a bad habit," she tells him severely. "There's a cost. There is -- always -- a cost." She bites her lip a little, and makes a shimmy that in a less-graceful woman would have been a squirm. "I won't stand for it."
"Truth," he sighs between his teeth, "is ... important to me. You know that."
She sits up and tosses some hair back over her shoulder. Some strands of it remain against her lower lip. There is a flush in her cheeks that doesn't come from the tinted light, faint enough to be a fantasy. "Your truth," she tells him, "is entirely too set in stone. It's irritating. You are irritating." She takes one of his hands and tugs it down between her legs, where her body fits snugly around his. He laughs again and moves his fingers obediently. Yuuko makes no actual sound, but her breath quickens, as does the rocking motion of her hips; he can count each swiftly-steady heartbeat and knows the exact number it takes before she's done, before she rests against him and strokes her nails thoughtfully down the length of his chest.
It's no rushed thing: they are old and comfortable with each other. He closes his eyes as orgasm comes, slow, steady, with the same familiar detachment as always. He only opens them again when Yuuko settles atop him, her breasts pressed securely to his chest, and her hair sliding over his shoulders. She's smiling, and the light is warm against the sharp edges of her cheekbones, and the lines of her smile.
"It'll do for now," she says, and she stretches. "I expect that you'll continue to pay properly in the future."
"Ah," he says. He doesn't quite laugh this time, but his smile moves to match hers. He raises a hand to touch her face, and his thumb presses briefly against the corner of her mouth. "I'll do that."