( it feels like they've reached some kind of breaking point. maybe it's more accurate to say that she's reached some point inside of him, a wall of ice that's she's come at with handfuls of salt, hoping to watch it melt and now, determined, chips it open with an ice pick, driving it in until it snaps. the way that he holds her, the soft, earnest sound of her own name, past his lips--it's a strange place to be, where her heart catches and while she normally doesn't feel nervous like this, while she's normally comfortably sure of herself, here, she worries: is he going to say something, admit to something, give her something to wrap her hands around and hold onto? or is he going to carefully, gently, drive her right off a cliff?
her eyes open, but they're hazy, watching him; she doesn't want to say anything, doesn't want to interrupt what must be a difficult moment for him, doesn't want him to feel any measure of impatience or like he has to get it out in a timely manner. for a moment, she just waits, lifts her hand and lets it go through his hair, carefully drawing what she can away from his temple; there's a sliver of loneliness, in it, like she can't quite believe that she's felt so alone and now, like this, with someone that doesn't even come from the same planet as her--she feels peace.
it is, of course, short-lived.
he comes back to himself the way that a record skips and stalls, the way it suddenly revs up at the end and rewinds on itself; his hands push at her knees, and the way he draws back, separating from her, is a harsh burn through sensitive, wet skin; she hisses a breath, nearly kicks him in the knee in protest, but tries instead to stay carefully still. the comfort of orgasm is over, by the looks of things: struggling, she blinks a few times, forces her gaze to steady through tired lashes, listens and tries to work out what the hell he's panicking over.
right. that.
that, which she didn't worry about anyway--she hasn't had her period since she arrived in this place, figured that must have been a sign of something, had asked around and discovered what he clearly had never wondered about.
her elbows dig into the wood floor, pushing herself up onto them and then, carefully, up entirely; her dress falls, pools into her lap, and neatly, she brings her hands up to her chest, pushing her breasts together so that they fit in the cups of her bra, hooking it together again. she leaves the buttons undone, for now. )
So you're just going to abandon me?
( oh, it's definitely evil to have fun with him, but she'll tell him the truth after a moment--for now, she looks at him calmly, her hair a damp disarray around her face, unbraided and messy and tumbled around her cheeks. )
You have to take responsibility, Akira-kun.
( wait, he said--abruptly, she leans forward, narrowing her eyes at him in suspicion. )
she is a terrible person
her eyes open, but they're hazy, watching him; she doesn't want to say anything, doesn't want to interrupt what must be a difficult moment for him, doesn't want him to feel any measure of impatience or like he has to get it out in a timely manner. for a moment, she just waits, lifts her hand and lets it go through his hair, carefully drawing what she can away from his temple; there's a sliver of loneliness, in it, like she can't quite believe that she's felt so alone and now, like this, with someone that doesn't even come from the same planet as her--she feels peace.
it is, of course, short-lived.
he comes back to himself the way that a record skips and stalls, the way it suddenly revs up at the end and rewinds on itself; his hands push at her knees, and the way he draws back, separating from her, is a harsh burn through sensitive, wet skin; she hisses a breath, nearly kicks him in the knee in protest, but tries instead to stay carefully still. the comfort of orgasm is over, by the looks of things: struggling, she blinks a few times, forces her gaze to steady through tired lashes, listens and tries to work out what the hell he's panicking over.
right. that.
that, which she didn't worry about anyway--she hasn't had her period since she arrived in this place, figured that must have been a sign of something, had asked around and discovered what he clearly had never wondered about.
her elbows dig into the wood floor, pushing herself up onto them and then, carefully, up entirely; her dress falls, pools into her lap, and neatly, she brings her hands up to her chest, pushing her breasts together so that they fit in the cups of her bra, hooking it together again. she leaves the buttons undone, for now. )
So you're just going to abandon me?
( oh, it's definitely evil to have fun with him, but she'll tell him the truth after a moment--for now, she looks at him calmly, her hair a damp disarray around her face, unbraided and messy and tumbled around her cheeks. )
You have to take responsibility, Akira-kun.
( wait, he said--abruptly, she leans forward, narrowing her eyes at him in suspicion. )
--Not old enough to drink? How old are you?