yet another self indulgent aef AU

[discarding]

[Midousuji and Aerith have been…friends (or something—Midousuji wouldn’t call it that even if it were that simple, because he simply didn’t put titles on any type of relationship for fear of spontaneous combustion per his breadthy slew of mental problems) for a little over half a year.

he hates, as a matter of fact, that he knows the time they’ve known each other to the week, day and hour; a curse of an obsessive personality and an over-calculating brain that parses logic by numbers before anything else. it, of course, makes him feel gross.

as too do his feelings, of which he can no longer deny in the privacy of his own mind—and even that’s been a milestone to cross. he’s aware, to his great irritation and dismay, that he has feelings for Aerith. gross ones. ones that make him wonder how she’s doing, what she’s doing, and do things like reach out to her on purpose, or occasionally vandalize her porch with a small gift (extremely sparing are these gestures; god forbid Midousuji be transparent about anything).

and in Aefenglom, he has no purpose—there is no any particular reason to construct himself in any particular way, because he’s only ever molded himself as his own idea of the perfect machine suited best for victory. the only thing he’s ever had, and the only thing he’s ever cared about. but he’s been in this horrible place for a horrible year, and with the disservice (help) of new memories imparted to him the previous Summer, Midousuji has changed. it’s subtle, being the long-limbed picture definition of a slow-burn in any capacity.

even his sexual attraction to Aerith was late to catch up to every other type of attraction that had been months-festering, and if he hadn’t had…a disquieting dream that sort of slapped him in his dense-idiot face, Midousuji might not have ever become aware. it was easy to dismiss as an offshoot, and then he’d gone and had another. he was able to dismiss that as a coincidence—but after the 4th time, Midousuji had to (with great frustration) resign himself to his fate. and his dick. terrible.

but despite all this, Midousuji’s behavior hasn’t changed from when Aerith had first met him. not too much, anyways. he’s of course more comfortable (though not by a heap), even if that too was a months long journey; he’s now more playful, more goading. it’s easier to lean into that with his (gag) crush, too. and of course, because he’s frustratedly aware that this is an aspect of him that may never change, Midousuji is still plenty shy, too, despite that. but now, if Aerith incidentally and innocently shows a bit too much leg, or leans in a way that, in combination with his lofty height, shows a bit too much of the soft, inviting cleft between her breasts, Midousuji sharply looks away, and takes longer to recover than any of his typical sheepish gaze-dodging—whereas before, Midousuji didn’t bat an eye at these things. if he’d even noticed.

doesn’t help that it’s not like he has access to porn in Aefenglom. the asshole powers that be should sooner strike him dead than catch Midousuji stooping so low as to buy a racy, old-timey skinmag.

all of this combined has gotten Midousuji into the unique (though admittedly, teenagedly predictable) situation that he’s in now.

Midousuji and Aerith don’t have a lot of types of magic in common that they like to practice—but the one overlap in their interest, though for very different motivations, is divination. part of Midousuji’s interest in divination is that he has any at all, and so does Aerith. meaning, of course: it’s an excuse to spend time with her, guised conveniently and for his comfort as him being his typical hardworking and studious self. Aerith probably isn’t fooled, but Midousuji thinks he’s pretty clever and doesn’t even consider that.

tonight, against his better judgement, but not for the first time, he’s studying at Aerith’s—worse yet, and also not for the first time, in her room. but at least, they were sat on the floor—any suggestion to move somewhere more comfortable gets an eye-rolled shrieking tantrum from Midousuji adamantly putting down the line with a hard no. too risky!

and they’ve studied late into the night. Midousuji hadn’t wanted to admit that he was getting drowsy, and when Aerith teased that it seemed so all the same, Midousuji simply blamed her—said because she was acting groggy and yawning that his animal brain was being tricked into picking up her sleepy cues. but they were almost through this chapter. Aerith was more familiar with tea-leaf divination than Midousuji, so maybe she’d just been a little bored. truth told, Midousuji’s not all that interested in it either. so he is bored, despite how riveted and on-edge he feels at the same time.

it doesn’t prove to be enough to keep him awake, and, resting on his belly, Midousuji eventually nods off, drooling onto the page of his book before his head suddenly slammed down against it, arm still propped as it had been to support his chin. and just like that, he was out like a dead person. he always slept hard, and suddenly—and he had a pretty regular routine, too, working his own clock against him in this circumstance.

if he shifts in his sleep, he doesn’t notice; he tends to be quite still himself, but there’s some unfamiliar parameters at play in this situation. one of which being a warm body sensed near by in his subconscious, tied to a familiar scent that brings both comfort and craving. Midousuji’s never hugged anyone in his life—not even his own mother—but somehow, at some point, maybe due to Aerith’s dozy nearness or her curious, too-close inspection a couple of hours, Midousuji’s bony, awkward arms have pulled her in. the only reason the hold isn’t especially stiff and awkward is because much of his body’s tension comes from his mind, which had been currently off.

so to speak, anyways.

another lurid dream had began to tingle the peripherals of his mind—and elsewhere. he squeezed Aerith a little closer, thin, strong arms pressing in parallel folds across the soft of her tummy, his head swimming with the scent of her. and, unfortunately, while Midousuji wasn’t one to express his inner workings, sometimes, his body was. this was made evident, depending on whether or not Aerith was even awake, by his obvious, urgent hardness against her body. he wasn’t doing anything as foul as rutting (by some miracle; Aerith was lucky), but in the back of his mind, in his subconscious, he was aware of a soft, pleasant pressure. it informed his dream, though it was kind of abstract and hard to pin; holding Aerith’s jaw with one upturned, clawed hand to taste the inside of her mouth and to bite her lips, grindingly deep within her. the dream is surprisingly nothing frantic in its depiction; just close, hard, quiet; quiet gasps and panting—

but no orgasm, as these dreams tend to go by the design of a young man. indeed, Midousuji wakes suddenly, for whatever reason. maybe the warmth against his crotch had suddenly dawned on his sleep-self’s brain as being too real, or maybe Aerith had stirred in some way. but either way, his eyes open in a sudden snap, and simultaneously, he sucks in a raspy, choked gasp.

frozen, his arms then do cage in an unnatural, stiff grasp. realization coming in sleep-drunk, confused pieces, Midousuji’s eyes drop with pin-pricked horror, noticing the position of his arms. and thus, subsequently, Aerith’s body—and his hard, stupid dick.

Midousuji shrieks, throwing his one arm off of Aerith while desperately yanking his other one away from underneath the (lovely) dip of her side, and scrambles backwards so suddenly that he slams the back of his head and his bony spine against the hard wood of her bed frame. which, of course, gets another yelp out of Midousuji, turning in wide-eyed surprise as his back bends to boggle at the bed frame. he’d forgotten where he was. mortified, Midousuji then whips his head around to stare, wide-eyed, at Aerith. he can’t even find words.

but his head is an echo-chamber of “no”s.

no, no, no, no, this is bad. he’s crossed a line!! he couldn’t be—wasn’t that kind of person! sure, yes, urges were normal! even attraction was, fine! but that—that wasn’t why he spent time with Aerith! that wasn’t why he wanted to be closer to her!! and now it’s going to seem that way. and his intentions be damned, his attraction is enough to make him a monster anyway! he’d fucked it up!! he’d fucked it all up!

panic swells in Midousuji, which does nothing to de-escalate the swelling of his unspent wood, because he’s the worst. he has to get the fuck out of here right now.]

Comments

[bloomly]

( selfishly, a part of her had always hung onto the cottage she had shared, once, with tifa, only because she wanted a place of her own.

and how hard was that, to explain to people like cloud or zack at the time, people who were protective of her for all the right reasons, that she still wanted time to be by herself--or, more selfishly, that she wanted time, and a place, to be alone with the people she wanted to be alone with? she had loved her surrogate mother like a real one--and yet staying in that large house with the two boys had felt like going back home, to a time and a place where she'd been constantly watched over, where the turks had kept their eyes on her and where she could never step out of line and where her mother worried if she were ever an hour late? for all the right reasons, and she never begrudged anyone, but--

it's different, here. in the cottage, in a place that's been cleaned by her own hands, decorated by her own hands, a place that's open and welcoming and worn in all the right places by her, where she can stay up late and practice divination and barrier magic and all kinds of spells without worrying about disturbing anyone, or that they might worry over her the same. it's selfish, right? to want to have this place to be alone with her thoughts, her feelings, and most of all, to be alone with midousuji akira, who is perhaps one of the most precious people she's found in this strange place?

it's obvious to her where her feelings lie: and there had been guilt over them for awhile, guilt and fear and worry. but as the days and the weeks and the months went by, the guilt melted away into something softer, something in the back of her mind rather than right at the front, barring action or response or anything reactive; it felt at times when they were together that it was their own little world, a place safe from outside eyes, just like the cottage. just like the room they're in now, just like the late hours of the night: just like the idled sounds of his breath, melting into sleep, clearly not as interested in the tea leaves as he'd somewhat claimed to be.

it doesn't bother her. she finishes her own glass with a gulp, idly drawing a finger around in the leaves, and decides a nap is precisely necessary; and with him stretched out on the floor, it's almost like he's just asking for her to cozy up next to him, right? the sleep she falls into, tucked up against his side, is hardly disturbed by the arms that he wraps around her. in some ways, it's even better--it's warm, and comfortable, and something she wishes she had the guts to ask him for normally. the tea cup is just above her head, nestled against the books spread open across her bedroom floor, and the open window lets in just the right amount of cold breeze, the beginnings of autumn, and--

by the time she's waking up, it's because of movement: the sudden jerk of his arm out from beneath her, her own elbows hitting the worn, wooden floor, knocking against them in confusion. worry flares up inside of her, a fear that's born from years of being pursued by those wanting to lock her up in a facility: is it monsters? people? something terrible? what's happening? the way that he rockets back away from her offers no answers--her eyes hang, lashes drooping with sleep and anxious worry, as she presses palms to the floor to push herself up. )

Really, you're that upset about cuddling? ( she sounds cross, the first time she's ever really sounded anything but pleasantly amused, around him; mostly it's because she doesn't understand, twisting around to face him--her eyes, as a routine, go down the length of his body and back up again--and then her lips snap shut, trying to swallow down the laugh that she knows, absolutely knows, would be taken the wrong way. ) You probably have a concussion. Come here.

( one of her hands goes out, reaches for his arm--her fingers wrap around his wrist, using it almost like an anchor to slide herself closer to him, across the floor. with the bed so close to him, there's little place for him to escape unless he wants to go skittering right beneath it. does she care? not really. elbows be damned, shoulders be damned, she slides herself right back down onto the floor in front of him, twines herself closer and tries to tuck herself right in against his chest, instead, fully aware of the slight, draped tenting at the front of his pants. )

It's really not that big of a deal, you know. ( now she's teasing him: her lips curl up at the corners, looking up at him with those big green eyes, full of mischief and warmth and a tiny, tiny little pinch of fear that he'll shove her away again. ) Let me help.