Strawberries
Strawberries
By: Kolinshar Benito
Rating: M
Kyoya hates strawberries.
Warning: Nothing explicit, however this may be upped in rating.
He despises strawberries.
He hates its smell. He hates its taste. Even its color is displeasing - too symbolic for passion and sweetness. Too symbolic of everything he is not.
Even the very sight of strawberries displeases him. But here it lies before him. So he closes his eyes.
Kyoya thinks this, as he takes in her scent and kisses her deeply, his entirety being filled with its presence. The smell of strawberries has invaded his every orifice, encompassed all his senses, and has filled his mind with nothing but the thought of red fruit.
Throwing caution to the wind, he decides to bite into it.
Surprisingly, his first bite is better than he expects.
His callous-free hands gently caress her backside, one hand slipping underneath the folds of her skirt into a cave of slippery warmth. The girl in his arms whimpers, clutching Kyoya closer to her body as he strokes her. He rubs and presses deeper into her, and she gasps, her breath tinged with the odor of the sweet fruit he detests so much. Her hands are clutching at the back of his shirt, and he shudders slightly as her nails rake down his back. His body is clothed, however, and the nails leave nothing but red marks which will fade and disappear in time.
It’s suddenly too hot. Their bodies are hot to the touch. But truly, he is cold. The scent of ripe strawberries is wafting through the air.
And his second bite is even better.
She collides against the back wall, her skirt pushed above the waist, with her lean legs wrapped around Kyoya’s waist. Slacks around his ankles, he pushes against her and she inhales sharply against the intrusion. Eyes still closed, he buries his face in her neck, every movement now accompanied by a small grunt. Her chocolate coloured hair is sticking to her neck, to his neck, to his face from the light sheen of sweat they began to produce.
God, the smell is so overpowering.
She moans. He thrusts.
They move together.
The wall behind them shakes. On the wall, a replica of Manet’s Le Déjeuner sur l’herbe joins them in their movements as it bangs against the wall with their rhythm.
He swallows the rest of the fruit.
“Kyoya...” she deeply moans, and she stops and silently shakes from the pleasure.
Her voice is what snaps him out of this world. He opens his eyes and feels himself go limp.
Suddenly, her hair isn’t the colour of dark chocolate.
Golden haired eyebrows narrowed suddenly at his withdrawal.
“What’s wrong, Kyoya-sama?"
Strawberries overwhelm his senses once more.
Why did he eat the strawberry? He hates strawberries. Why? Why did he eat it when what he really wanted was chocolate? Warm, dark, sweet luscious chocolate...
Ugh.
He could think of fewer ways to feel disgusted with himself.
“Get out of here, Renge.”
There is a sour taste in his mouth.
This strawberry was clearly unripe.
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End.
Or read at FF.net: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3313811/1/