Weiss Kreuz
Doors
by mei
Pairing: B/Y
Rating: NC-17?
Disclaimer: Not my characters. If they were, I'd have this animated.
A/N: If you saw tashigi's art post... ^_^
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I saw you at work today.
That's stating the obvious, because eight out of ten times at 'work', you guys appear. If I didn't know better, I'd accuse you of messing with our missions on purpose, so you could watch Aya go all petulant that he's never able to get to Takatori with you around.
What am I saying? That's why you even let him attempt to kill you, isn't it. Sadistic bastard.
Damn you for managing to keep that slightly ruffled but neat look even after after the damned office got swallowed by flame. Which, of course, was a result of your team mate's pyromaniacal habits.
I voiced that observation once, on a reckless whim. If looks could kill, I would have been shredded that night. And here I thought Aya only had two expressions - angry, and stone-faced. Probably should thank my lucky stars that he didn't find the time right to spill my guts then, or you wouldn't have gotten your fuck that night.
And again, you emerge from tonight's scuffle looking unruffled, without even a wrinkle on the expensive suit. The same suit that I know you'd be wearing later, when I meet you as arranged. The namecard with the address is sitting innocently on my dashboard, a simple white and blue design that sells only a luxury hotel, the address printed in two short lines.
I know that when I arrive, all I need to do is to enquire for your name, and be directed to an expensive suite. Where I am supposed to wait, for the lover, the enemy, the man who would play my body like a maestro, exacting precisely what he wants, controlling even the exact moment the body beneath him reaches pleasure's climax. It's been that way since that first night.
But tonight, instead of waiting in the room, I think I'll turn up late. I want to walk up to you as you wait in the lounge area, yank you off the armchair, and physically pull you into the empty elevator. As the doors close, I want to press you against the mirrored walls, and kiss you hard enough to scrape my teeth against yours, to taste the blood when I bite your lower lip. I want to pull that tie loose, and dip my head to suckle at the tempting skin over your pulse, and I want to leave a mark that marks you for mine. I want to hear your breath quicken as the elevator ascends to the suite you booked. Before the doors open at our level, I want your shirt pulled out, my hands raking the hot skin of your stomach. I want to rumple the shirt, the suit, and the pants, and then I want to kiss us both breathless again, tongue on tongue and burning--
Then when the elevator doors finally open, you would push me out, fumble for the card key, and shove me forcefully onto the huge bed. You would rip off buttons from my shirt as I toss yours away, fabric in a messy heap on the plush carpet. You would tear off my leather pants, then your own, and fuck me into the sheets, so hard even the solid rosewood frame would creak in protest, so hard the fire rushes through my blood, searing our senses into white-hot incoherence.
I wonder, if I want it enough, if you would See it, if you would allow yourself a lapse in the perfect countenance.
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end
by mei
Pairing: B/Y
Rating: NC-17?
Disclaimer: Not my characters. If they were, I'd have this animated.
A/N: If you saw tashigi's art post... ^_^
--------------------
I saw you at work today.
That's stating the obvious, because eight out of ten times at 'work', you guys appear. If I didn't know better, I'd accuse you of messing with our missions on purpose, so you could watch Aya go all petulant that he's never able to get to Takatori with you around.
What am I saying? That's why you even let him attempt to kill you, isn't it. Sadistic bastard.
Damn you for managing to keep that slightly ruffled but neat look even after after the damned office got swallowed by flame. Which, of course, was a result of your team mate's pyromaniacal habits.
I voiced that observation once, on a reckless whim. If looks could kill, I would have been shredded that night. And here I thought Aya only had two expressions - angry, and stone-faced. Probably should thank my lucky stars that he didn't find the time right to spill my guts then, or you wouldn't have gotten your fuck that night.
And again, you emerge from tonight's scuffle looking unruffled, without even a wrinkle on the expensive suit. The same suit that I know you'd be wearing later, when I meet you as arranged. The namecard with the address is sitting innocently on my dashboard, a simple white and blue design that sells only a luxury hotel, the address printed in two short lines.
I know that when I arrive, all I need to do is to enquire for your name, and be directed to an expensive suite. Where I am supposed to wait, for the lover, the enemy, the man who would play my body like a maestro, exacting precisely what he wants, controlling even the exact moment the body beneath him reaches pleasure's climax. It's been that way since that first night.
But tonight, instead of waiting in the room, I think I'll turn up late. I want to walk up to you as you wait in the lounge area, yank you off the armchair, and physically pull you into the empty elevator. As the doors close, I want to press you against the mirrored walls, and kiss you hard enough to scrape my teeth against yours, to taste the blood when I bite your lower lip. I want to pull that tie loose, and dip my head to suckle at the tempting skin over your pulse, and I want to leave a mark that marks you for mine. I want to hear your breath quicken as the elevator ascends to the suite you booked. Before the doors open at our level, I want your shirt pulled out, my hands raking the hot skin of your stomach. I want to rumple the shirt, the suit, and the pants, and then I want to kiss us both breathless again, tongue on tongue and burning--
Then when the elevator doors finally open, you would push me out, fumble for the card key, and shove me forcefully onto the huge bed. You would rip off buttons from my shirt as I toss yours away, fabric in a messy heap on the plush carpet. You would tear off my leather pants, then your own, and fuck me into the sheets, so hard even the solid rosewood frame would creak in protest, so hard the fire rushes through my blood, searing our senses into white-hot incoherence.
I wonder, if I want it enough, if you would See it, if you would allow yourself a lapse in the perfect countenance.
--------------------
end