discarding | yet another self indulgent aef AU

Entry tags:

aef,
psl

yet another self indulgent aef AU

[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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( she'd had a boyfriend for awhile, sure, and maybe some would argue that she's beautiful, that she's good with her words and flirty enough to make things happen--but when his tongue dips inside of her, threatens to lap through the damp heat there and push entirely inside, her thoughts are so far from any of it that she doesn't know what to do. had zack ever been so adventurous? had he ever wanted her so badly that it became such a carnal desire, like this, a determination to taste every inch of her instead of only the bare minimum to find satisfaction? no, he's not a terrible person--and certainly not a terrible lover, when he had been one. but this is drastically different, and if she had her head in a place able to think actual thoughts: that might even make her upset. not at midousuji, not at herself, though maybe she should be; but why has it taken this long, when she should have known what this would feel like long ago?

it feels ridiculous, but the tongue that works inside of her roots her to the moment--to the hard floor beneath her, to the distant whistle of the wind beyond the cottage, to the fact that she's in a strange land with the only person she learned how to trust, the only person she could rely on as a friend and, now, surprisingly, as a lover. it would probably scare him to speak it out loud; to make it real like that, especially when he's so focused on what's in front of him. her hands have long given up, now that midousuji's touch is precisely where it should be--where her breath falls from wet lips in little hiccups of gasps and jolts of pleasure, an instruction of its own. they reach for his shoulders and then, giving up, for the curve of his ears and then his hair, and for awhile, selfishly, she lets him continue on while the sensations build and build.

yes, it is selfish. yes, the whole reason this started had been something else entirely--and how has he lasted this long? uncomfortable, hard, wanting, sprawled out on the floor between her legs? despite her razor-sharp focus on drawing out the pleasure that his tongue and fingers give to her, dutifully, like this is another technique, another task that he has to master: she knows she shouldn't let it go all the way, that she shouldn't find herself spent and exhausted here, when he hasn't even had her own hands on him. turn about is fair play, give what one gets, all of that--but does he even want to?

her fingers curl, one hand twisting gently, reassuringly, into the short locks of hair between her knuckles--almost trying to get his attention, even as her hips arch up in urgent pleasure. )

All this and you don't even want to be inside me?

( it's teasing--her usual tone with him, soft and warm, and it's sort of a lie, isn't it? his tongue, intimate and purposeful, has already cleaved between her legs, dipped into the heat of her entrance there with more fervor than she thinks she's ever felt from anyone. )

I'll let you if you say please.

( another gentle pull of his hair, but this time, it's to get his attention: this time, it's to help draw his chin up and away from the wet heat between her thighs. )

Well~?

[Midousuji jolts, but very, very subtly as Aerith starts to let go of so many sweet, startled and excited sounds. it’s the best feedback possible, and encourages him. fuels him, even! yes, this was about his boner at first, but god damn if this isn’t the first time he’s felt that he’s been had a damn chance to win at something that has an iota of worth.

his eyes thin in a flutter as he breathes out a low, airy moan, his tone almost as quiet as the breath that carries it out of him, tilting his head as he pushes deeper. his eyes shut completely when he feels her cool fingertips tickle along his shoulders and burning pink ears. the way her fingertips comb through his hair makes warmth wade and curl through him, and to his surprise, despite his hot blood inducing him to this madness, he’s oddly soothed. it’s comforting; warm, intimate, and subduing. not that it distracts from his task, but rather, Midousuji melts into it as Aerith selfishly allows him to continue—it doesn’t feel like his time is being unduly taken from him at all. in fact, his knuckles drop heavily against the ground, better to focus on her, no matter his wanting.

Midousuji doesn’t notice when she curls her fingers in little pulls, at first, even when her hips raise; instead, his breath sucks and catches in his throat, finding himself thrilled by the way that her hips rut subtly against his lips, a little disarmed by how hot he finds it.

her question makes him stall, though, and baffled, he lifts his head, eyes wide—once again, unflatteringly, threads of her wet stick to his jowls and face, his jaw slack. he blinks slowly once, parsing her teasing with late process.]

Haa—?

[his eyes widen again, his heart thudding heavily. inside?? inside?! god, he doesn’t think he could handle that-he’s positive he’d cum in an instant, but he’s so pushed to the brink of arousal, he almost can’t care. even if he humiliates himself.

thankfully, Aerith’s little caveat saves him. he narrows his eyes, tilting his head, and his tongue winds across and just below her pubes, flicking across her stiff clitoris. sneakily, Midousuji slides in a finger, experimentally turning it—and then pushes in another as his tongue pulls back in, replacing that pressure with the suction of his lips.]

Mm, [he starts, parting from her flesh with another heavy breath, licking against the stiffness of her arousal between every other word.] It’s not that I don’t want to.

[Aerith might notice that Midousuji is smiling—he’s as naughty as he is wanting, and is definitely prone and happy to play games.] But I’m not gonna beeegggg. [Midousuji decides to slowly move his fingers in and out of her as he laps around her clit. and it’s torture, for sure!! he does wish that was dick. so much he can’t even think about it, because he’s half-worried he might jizz his dancer tights appropriated into leggings. but Midousuji is petty and competitive, so maybe he can get her to beg first. if not, he’d be satisfied in at least getting her to or close to orgasm.]

I like what I’m doing, after all…

I’m having funnnnn.

( fun? fun? there's a part of her that wants to laugh--a part of her that wants to giggle at him, wants to reach for his face and pinch his cheeks between her fingers in playful punishment. he makes it sound like it's all just some entertaining little game to pass the time, and maybe to someone else, they might be offended by even the idea, the misinterpretation, of it; to her, it just makes her warm and rosy with affection, almost to the point where it feels like she's going to burst. this is so decidedly him that it reminds her of what it is they're doing, here: that it's been days, weeks, months of dancing around this, of teasing him mercilessly just to see his reaction, to earn it, somehow, to try to desperately find the affection he has for her, if there's any of it at all, and if not, then simply to learn as much as she can about him. and this? he's having fun, right?

maybe it's the fact that he keeps pushing her, bringing her closer to an edge that she's afraid of falling over by herself--his tongue laps at her clit and her legs feel weak, and even worse is the way that one finger sneaks its way inside like that had been all she'd been asking for all along, and then two fingers, like that will somehow make up for it. she should be prepared for it, really, the response to her own teasing--she should have been prepared for a counter-maneuver like this, and yet it startles her so much that she feels herself close in around his fingers, tight and wet and wanting, before relaxing in again, her breath stolen so abruptly that she can't even tease him back for a moment, too preoccupied with the little hiccup of a moan that escapes, hummed past her tongue. her teeth find her lower lip, pressed into it--and she steadies herself, tries not to think of how everything feels like it's boiling over, uncontrollable: she's going to end up blurting something out that she'll regret.

measured, then. like all of her feelings aren't coming to a head at the same time as her arousal--they're knitted together so closely here that she doesn't have the time to sort them through and separate them out, not when he's mercilessly pressing forward. she tries, anyway: )

I'm going to come. ( it sounds like scolding--and it is, breathy and desperate, as her hips press down into his fingers, her thighs tense, like they might close up around his head entirely and keep it trapped there. ) ...If you keep this up, I can't...

( frustrated--she laughs, despite herself, and pulls at his hair, but the soft amusement twists into a groan, and now it's almost like she's whining at him, petulant: ) Sto~op, I swear, I'm...

( and it's desperate, the way she squirms into his mouth, into his fingers, the way she's so tight around him it feels like they can barely move--another laugh, but it's so quiet, like she's struggling to stay on the right side of ecstasy without falling over the edge of it-- ) I'm not doing it without you, Midousuji Akira.

[the way she stammers and moans is so pleasant it’s almost musical, and Midousuji is almost startled when he feels her clench around his narrow, long fingers, squeezing them together, and his cock aches again with envy in a way that pulls a frustrated, rumbling keen of a growl from his throat. it’s so silky, despite the vice.

more surprising is her admission she’s going to cum. Midousuji’s eyes widen in a snap, then they wander towards Aerith, narrowing again with a smug, hissing little laugh through his teeth, boyish, teasing and silly. he did it! he figured it out. and he’s got here where he wants her—this is what he likes best. their back and forth of trying to turn tables on each other—keeping each other on the other’s toes. he’s more comfortable now, so they’re at even odds more often…

Midousuji tilts his head, tongue lapping firm in a snaking wind against her clit from between his teeth, framed by a naughty grin. he continues to watch her, and tries to mind his timing with the pumping of his fingers. it’s still awkward, his motor skills not the best even if he’s got a good sense of cadence—but this isn’t a multi-tasking he’s yet used to. but it’s easier to get good at something if it’s enjoyable—and watching Aerith squirm in frustration and pleasure is surprisingly enjoyable indeed. he never thought he’d have any (granted, friendlier) sadistic inclinations towards her, but here they are…

when she begins to nearly grind against his face, Midousuji’s smile vanishes as he feels a hot wash of tingling heat ripple hard through him, knocked off his mind-games for a moment by the enticing desperation. her little laugh is initially unnoticed, Midousuji’s eyes closing as he tilts his head again, this time between the soft, slippery folds of her labia once more—he pushes his tongue in along with his fingers, though her clit is miraculously spared some mercy in turn. he squirms his tongue deep in again, slowing but deepening the pacing push of his fingers, breathing heavily and slowly through the thin slits of his nostrils.

he pauses again, though, parsing her assertion belatedly. too many sexy distractions, too little blood in his brain. groggily, Midousuji lifts his head, tongue hanging from his mouth as it slowly retracts from Aerith. his fingers remain deep inside her, but motionless, and Midousuji blinks slowly. he wipes his mouth against his hand again, and his tongue absently follows the motion without consideration, chasing the taste of her.]

Huh…?

[he narrows his eyes and scowls, tilting his head.]

Without…me?? How are we gonna do it at the same time??

[head still tilted, Midousuji drops his neck to look back at her flushed, wanting sex, and he brushes his thumb in a firm, one-two stroke across her pert clit. Midousuji licks his lips, then bites down on his lower lip, his dick jumping a bit in its confines.

does she mean sex?? still? that wouldn’t work. he could jerk off while he finished her with his mouth—he wouldn’t mind that at all, but he feels like that isn’t what she’s getting at…]

Grooossss, there’s no way… I’m gonna pop the second I get inside, I think… If that’s. If that’s what you—mean…

[Midousuji watches his fingers shift as he moves them slowly in and out again, just moving them from their first knuckle. he bites his lip again, this time a bit harder. it’s too erotic, even just watching how she moves around him—how his appendages cozily vanish inside. he feels like he could do this all day—just play with her body senselessly.]

So soft… Tight… Too gooood, too yummy, too good…

( and it's only him, really, only him that could get away with that astounding hum of grooossss without putting her out of the mood entirely, without making her thighs snap shut and her feet push to disentangle herself from the other person. with him, it just makes her want to laugh--laugh, and then, oddly, almost like a prick of overly-fond emotion that pulls at her lashes and forces her eyes to close. she's stubborn, too stubborn to let herself go just yet, and maybe it's too much, now, to be constantly reeling herself back or squirming herself in one direction, and then the next, to avoid letting him hit the spot that makes her cry out. he's a surprisingly fast learner and even so, surprisingly consistent; it's the kind of pleasure that's almost overwhelming, in a sense, almost like she's scared to let it wash over her entirely.

with his mouth occupied with the words, at least, there's some reprieve: and honestly? she's hardly even thinking about what he's saying, hardly even registering that he's talking at all, or more than that, that he's talking about her. her thoughts narrow down on those slender fingers inside of her, on the way her hips push up to meet them, and she's too far gone to even be embarrassed about the way her thighs fall apart or the fact that he's likely staring at her, in that ghoulish way, with his eyes wide and wondering. she keeps her lashes lowered and brings one hand down: first, it's simply to fluff up the skirt of her dress out of the way again, to pull it up even further, the dip of her stomach with breath taut and staggered. )

What do I... ( is that even really a sentence? is she saying this out loud? her head throbs, she wants to find his name on her tongue but can't quite get it out: not even the playfully warm thrum of midou~suji a~kira~ that would usually come out, teasing and light. she thinks, briefly, of cutting it down, of what it would sound like to just say akira-kun like he tried to teach her, or akira-chan to be cute, or is she allowed to just use his name? what happens when a person does that, where he's from? does it mean things? ) I...

( --can't, maybe, is the word she's looking for, where her own hand moves down between her thighs again, where her finger hooks over her wet clit and circles around it, where she doesn't even care that she's doing it instead of him because his fingers are inside of her, and that, well, she can imagine, vaguely, having him pressed over her, in her, pressing his hips to hers--

and it isn't some spectacular sight, she figures, when she finally lets herself come: a moan that drags out of her like she's shaking, crying out, pressed around his fingers and then, squeezing, her hips shake, her hand stilled and then drawn away; too sensitive. the waves of it pulse her around his fingers and she thinks of nothing, really, but the pleasure of it all--until she starts to come down from it and thinks, instead, of how ridiculous she might look, with those small pieces of her hair stuck to her face with sweat, with her skirt all askew, with her thighs pressed in near his arm. and so she struggles out a small, breathy little laugh, embarrassed and spent: )

Damn you. ( --is what she says, and then laughs again, small. )

[he’s almost used to her fervent cries, but the implication held by “almost” is demonstrated by how pulling each call is. it’s unexpected, catching his notice each time it comes, but becoming more familiar. Midousuji likes that.

and indeed, that’s why he stares at her in that puzzled, wide-eyed and antsy way, despite his own hunger and anticipation. his ears are tuned too deceptively to her every little sound, every cliff-hung word—because earnestly, despite the silly question, he wants an answer.

his eyebrows raise, stunned to find her fingers back where they were before, as if he hadn’t requested a demonstration earlier. but it’s stunning because it’s unprompted. it makes it so much more erotic.

so of course, just as Midousuji has the blessing of beholding all that, Aerith’s voice rends differently; she shakes, her voice cries out again in a different, shattered way, and like she intends to mangle him, the vice of her sex clamps hard and pulses around his fingers. such he can barely move them, really—and with belated realization, Midousuji’s jaw drops again, watching that entry point with great envy.

despite all this, despite how worked up he is—he really does wonder what she was trying to ask, so addled and distracted by pleasure as she was.

apparently.

which, fuck. damn.

Midousuji doesn’t even realize until then that his every breath has carried a trembling in its heavy exhale until he slowly, and in disbelief, extracts his fingers. is he understanding?? did she—

Damn you, she says, and Midousuji’s cock throbs in a way that’s so hard and unpleasant it actually feels kind of good—like being stimulated without touch.

Midousuji drags his tongue across his fingers, already missing her taste, but he doesn’t spend much time to savor—soon, his bony, long fingers are grabbing her hip as he suddenly lurches forward, unthinking. rationale chips steadily away, too spurned on, especially with the stupid knowledge that Aerith was willing to chastise him for getting her close to orgasm, then hypocritically treat him to the sight itself. which, as a teenager who no longer has had access to porn for at least a year…

that’s definitely gonna stick. in fact, even presently, Midousuji can’t take it.]

Damn me…?

[Midousuji buries the lower half of his face against her neck, breathing in her scent. if she did it that way, so can he, right? unless she changes her mind. she can reroute him. but Midousuji’s teeth graze against her skin, scapula tense and raised as he strokes his cock; their height difference lands the lewd display basically hovering above her navel.]

You did that yourself… How nasty. Blaming others. Unaccountable.

[once sobered from his horny insanity, Midousuji, even know, is too sure he’ll want to die from embarrassment from all this. but his head is empty.]

You came, right?

[she’d gotten off on this. brazen; just like her. Midousuji can’t stop thinking about it. his breath plumes heavy and hot against her neck in haggard unsteadiness. like this, having felt how hard she squeezed him as her walls pulsed and hungrily gave caressing throbs around his fingers, it’s too easy for him to imagine how it might have felt, if he’d—

Midousuji’s back arches outward in a bodily twinge, and he bites his lip. he won’t be much longer, himself.]

Aerith-chan…

Edited (jesus. dont write while sleep deprived) 2021-12-31 15:56 (UTC)

( nasty, he says, unaccountable. they're not really the words that a girl wants to hear right after she comes, and not really what she wants to hear from him at all, but it's okay, like this, it's okay, coming from him, or maybe she's just convincing herself of that, or maybe it just doesn't really matter. he lurches over her and she can feel his hand fumbling--she knows where it's going, knows that he must be frustrated beyond belief at this point, and well, she would remind him that she tried to remedy that for him earlier but decides not to tease him. there's more of a point to this than just making him uncomfortable, or making herself uncomfortable, or trying to fight off their affection, or attraction, for each other like they would normally. that's all out the window, at this point. and now?

with the way his face presses into her neck, she brings her arms up around his own, slings them along his shoulders and her thighs ache, her body tired from the floor, from the exertion, from holding back and then letting go and now, not quite finished, lifting and pushing her legs to accommodate him. she makes room there for him and doesn't care that he's likely going to come all over her stomach, or the lacy edges of her skirt where it's pushed up there; she doesn't care that he asks a stupid question or purrs her name out like that, a way that makes her whole body feel warm, a pool of it between her legs like she could just ease back into it just as quickly.

her knees bend and one leg hooks over his thigh, up his hip, and she laughs but it's quiet and warm, so close to his face-- )

I did, stupid. Was it that hard to tell?

( one arm stays firm around his shoulders--the other moves, trails fingertips down his neck, along his back, and it feels novel, to be able to touch him like this without him twisting away, without him recoiling or trying to get away from her. instead, it's almost marvelous to feel how he seems to urge himself in against her; that's not something he would normally do, not something she would get to experience, and is it selfish, really? to curl up around him like he's the missing heat in a place that's always felt so cold? )

Akira-kun. ( --she decides, is safest; it's gentle, encouraging, a soft breath of his name against him. ) Akira-kun.

( she'll let him do whatever he wants, whatever he needs, press in wherever feels good: as long as he'll stay close like this, as long as he won't pull away. her arms, her legs, her chin and her voice--none of that will let him escape, now, and maybe that's how it's always been with them, maybe that's nothing unusual. he's too close to run away. )

[no.

no, why is she doing that.

why is she doing that?

his breath hitches and stalls with the way that her soft leg rests across his thigh, edging up his hip, and his hand stills over his cock, a stuttering rolling in the back of his throat.

and the little touches, down his neck? his back? the arm around his shoulders.

Midousuji’s eyes fall drowsily closed, jaw dropping, unable to help the way his mouth is too wet; it’s gentle, and affectionate, but too enticing. and, stupidly, he’s worked himself up yet. but though previously desperate to just get it over with, Midousuji abruptly lets go of his cock, strings of persistent precum threading to his fingers as they claw like he’s burned himself on it.

it’s close. it’s warm. he doesn’t want it to stop.

when she says his name, Midousuji tenses, freezing, heart stuttering. he’s seized by it—an overwhelming blooming of warmth abruptly wells in him, so suddenly it stings his eyes, squeezing his throat and his lungs. Midousuji lets go of a shaky breath, brows knitting in a way that puts creases in their eyebrows, slanted back as he suddenly snaps his mouth shut, biting his lip as he hisses through his teeth. at the same time, Midousuji hides against her neck again, this time almost shy; the skin of his face is so flushed it feels like a bad fever, and he nuzzles there with a little sound between a mumble and a groan.

he doesn't even know what to say. or what to do. but he knows what he wants to do. besides cum, obviously. had her offer been facetious? was it worth humiliating himself further, acknowledging that he was so close?]

I…

[he what? he can barely form the thoughts, and if he could, he doubts he could get them out. his eyes open, barely, and his nose nudges just below her ear. because it's a little awkward, it might initially be hard to miss that this too is an affectionate gesture.

Midousuji's hand wanders back down to his dick, thumb pressing against the top of the base as his forefinger does the same to the underside. he directs himself downwards, and he barely has to adjust the position of his hips, thanks to Aerith's intimate, suggestive posing. he feels somewhere between an orgasm, a panic attack, and

and.

something. something more compelling than the sorely needed release. some blissful pinnacle of—connection?

connection…

Midousuji bites his lip again, and careful to handle himself lightly and to not press too hard, Midousuji swipes the glans of his dick between her labia, parting it. he shudders hard, letting go of a stuttering, vocal breath. she's so wet it's basically unreasonable, and the temptation is too much. it'd be so easy. there's no way she's a virgin.

he wants to vocalize his desire—his feelings, even—but can't. it's just a compounding feeling of wanting and hunger, which is probably why in frustration, Midousuji ends up giving her a little bite against her neck, muffling a low, almost-whine against it. saving himself from the urge to push clumsily in, maybe in part due to being a little bit scared, he pushes forward with a tilt of his hips that instead flattens the base of his cock against her. his tongue unfurls from his mouth, releasing her now slightly pink skin from the light clamp of his teeth, and strokes across her neck, near her jaw. he ruts once, twice, slow and carefully, careful with how much pressure he administers.

desperate to finish, desperate to prolong.

damn it. he likes her so much. his heart is racing to discomfort, he feels like he’s suffocating, he feels like he’s got heat stroke, but he feels so… held? so close. more than just the obviously physical way.]

I-it’s…too nice… It’s too nice…

( she's almost ashamed to admit that his teeth on her neck, biting down like that? it's the first time she's ever felt something so savage, like that, and yet not savage at all; zack's never been like that with her, never marked her--always treated her more with the lacy, ruffled edges of love and affection than anything quite so carnal, like this, has never thought to drag his teeth across her throat or suck down on her skin to leave something behind. would it have been harder, if he had? would it have been more difficult to see him disappear without a trace, if she'd had more than just the silly, busted flower cart to remember him by? it's hard to say, and pointless to try to remember; this life is one so distant, so far away from those years she had spent mourning him that it doesn't really seem to matter.

or maybe it's this moment, twisted up inside of her--maybe it's the way he says it's too nice, when he ruts up against her, like he's afraid of going all the way; maybe it's the way his body seems to envelop her just as much as she wishes she could envelop him. is it too forward, to move? for a moment she stays still, her leg around his hip, the end of her foot sliding down against the back of his thigh--she doesn't want to get in the way of his pleasure, doesn't want to deny him it, or make him think that she's uncomfortable.

it's just, greedily, she wants more than that for him--as if this connection is the thing she's been clawing at, all this time, for so long; as if he could simply part her legs and find purchase between them, and that would somehow seal them together like this. that temporary bond? she thinks of it, now: of how it's felt strange ever since, as though small corners of her miss that knowing, as if the heated fringe of his emotions, on the edge of hers, has always been something she's wanted back. )

Don't hesitate. ( she says, but it's gentle--in that same, soft voice she'd said his name in; the teasing is gone, the flirting lilt is gone, this is just her, almost at her purest--not diluted with any urge to be anyone else, just herself, nothing hidden. ) Don't stop yourself.

( it would normally be scolding? but now, it's not like that--she doesn't care what he does, really, as much as she selfishly wants what she wants; more than that, she just wants to see what it'll be like, what he'll sound like, how it will feel to have his face flush against hers again, and this is the kind of intimacy it feels like she's hungered for, for years--she wants it so badly that her fingers dig in, a brief click of her nails against his back before she smooths them out again. )

I'm here. ( is that soothing? in any other situation, he would scoff and balk and cringe away from it--what about now? ) Akira-kun.

( i want you, she thinks, but that's not something that feels right to say out loud--too much and she might push him far over the line, push him into anxious wondering and too much pressure; her hips angle up to brush against him but she lets him rub the base against her, feels her skin slick to the touch of his, and a breath escapes, warm and encouraging--another tilt of her hips to encourage him to move his, to help with the friction there, to try, in some small way, like she always does: to try to help him how she can. )

[Midousuji is panting open mouthed, breath ragged, the muscles of his shoulders and arms occasionally twinging and tensing as he lets his hips move on their own according to his instinct. and it’s sort of mindless, in a way, giving into this, and it’s something Midousuji likes. letting his mind empty a little bit; just channeling in on the sensation. on Aerith’s warmth, her closeness.

which is why his mind isn’t completely empty; among that haze, it’s filled with her. flighty, ephemeral memories—old feelings, the ones that have culminated to this spot. more than a clumsy rut, it’s a release, and more than just sexually. it’s freeing, almost, to just act on it. more than the sexual desire, as well, but to act on his feelings. to let himself be held.

and that’s how he feels, he thinks, however distractedly so—he feels…held, though he’s unsure of what that totally means, or what he might mean by it. seen, cradled, close, safe. vulnerable, but without the scary feelings that come with it. it’s further emphasized by her gentle voice, doing what she always does—a sweetness, reassuring and comforting, that by the same token, is wickedly tempting, always siren singing Midousuji to some kind of edge. such that his breath stutters and a gasp catches dry in his throat, and he snaps his teeth together, gritting them as he curls his head forward. his face, previously buried against her neck, is replaced by his forehead as he parses her encouragement, boiling his blood.

he’s still on the fence with it, such that his hips come to such a sudden stop they tremble—even if she’s inviting him, is that really okay? this was supposed to be a simple handjob. is it really okay for him to penetrate her? she’d be his first, and that idea is too alluring to fully resist.

he lets go of a low groan in the back of his throat when she says his name, his cock throbbing. his mouth drops open again with a heavy breath, and he clumsily scrambles a hand backwards, grasping at the root of his dick again when his hips. he struggles to find the right spot, slipping a couple of times, and to his surprise, the entrance is a bit lower than he thought—but there’s a give and a pressure when he catches that confirms he’s got it, and he clumsily pushes forward, too graceless by default and too far gone to be self-aware.]

Ah— [Midousuji’s voice wavers, and he pushes forward again, his body lowering more and towering less over Aerith’s as his glans breaches. an arm, shaky, unpracticed and unconfident, ventures to loop around the back of her neck, careful at least of her hair; it slips beneath her braid, and Midousuji’s other arm does something similar, now braced on his elbows. and with another shaky, full push, Midousuji finds himself about half in, and he hisses through his teeth, grazing his little nose, flushed face and furrowed eyebrows against her neck. it’s hot, almost searing, and so tight, but also somehow impossibly soft, silky and wet.

this is what he’s been afraid of. connection. but with the more obvious physical analogy, the numbing bliss of it makes that aversion seem silly. it’s not natural territory for Midousuji, but it’s clear the invitation, perhaps at last, is not unwelcome.

another push, a bit less hard as a thrust this time, sinks almost fully in. he shudders, arms tensing, his fingers lifting in an awkward, over-stimulated clawing, and he breathes hard, trying to acclimate to the overwhelming sensation, both emotionally and physically. he wants to speak, but his mind is numb; there’s some pending sentiment of some kind on the tip of his tongue, but not one he can find.

he breathes out hard through his nostrils, then winds his hips back—that sensation alone incredible, with the tight, silky grip of every little fibrous nodule of the vice—and he pushes back forward. the sound that comes out of Midousuji almost sounds shocked, his voice quivering and in a raspy hush, and he does it again, and the next time after that, Midousuji’s body already has a sense for consistent rhythm, instincts falling into place as he clings around her. and he’d be happy to just go ahead and ride that train, but he knows he’s absolutely going to lose it soon, and he’ll be lucky if that’ll be as long as a minute from now.]

Nnghahh, god—A-Aerithhhh… [Midousuji bites his tongue on the end of his low whine of her name, eyes tightly shut.]

( it's hard to know, at times, where to push, and where to hold back--she's definitely pushed too far with him before, and that's a problem she has, not knowing where the lines are or where to cross them, where she should simply toe them or even better, stay fully on the other side of them. it's part of what is terrifying about this, in some small way: she wants to help him get there and doesn't want to inhibit him, doesn't want to wrap her legs around him and force him in, or move her hips too much and disrupt the line of pleasure he has going, coiled around his thoughts. even when he reaches a hand down and she can feel the clumsy way he slips down against her--her hands itch to reach for him, to help him, but something in her tells her it's more important for him to do it on his own, that she doesn't want to interfere and ruin it. so her arms stay around his shoulders, solid: her hands brush against his back, gripping at him, forcing her breath out as he presses in.

at first, it's slow: at first, it feels like it's been so long since something like this has happened that she doesn't know what to do, or how to accommodate; his face tucks down against hers and she breathes with him, feels her lips tremble with a soft sound of encouragement, and her thighs shift, a slightly lewd display as they fall further apart to help him in. fully seated, it feels--ridiculous to say, of course, that it's like a connection, because it is a connection, physically, but it's more than that; it's the feeling of his body hovering over hers, the way that his arms gather her up like it's important to stay close. she feels almost embarrassed of it, how warm her face feels, and how--it feels like he's the one in control, for once, like he's finally melted and molded her down to her core.

his hips shift: she lets out a soft sound, quiet, near the side of his face; she can feel strands of her hair sticking to her temples, sticking to him, too, most likely, and a part of her would laugh at that, normally, if she weren't so distracted. if she weren't so wrapped up in the feeling of him, as he finds a rhythm that suits him--and she would have never doubted this part of him, honestly, virgin or not, experienced or not; the way that he moves himself, the way that he rides that bike of his, there's something innately aware of his physicality, no matter how gangly or long. and she trusts him, anyway; she trusts him, and only shifts her hips to meet him halfway, to show that she's here to help, too.

but then that whine--the giggle isn't offensive, just so breathy that it barely makes it past her lips. )

Feels good? ( okay, that one is a little teasing--one of her hands lifts, strokes her fingertips down the back of his neck, urging her hips up to close the distance between them; her eyes fall shut, the lashes trembling slightly. ) You make me feel good, too. You're not stopping, are you?

( maybe that's a bit challenging--maybe she just wants to see him finally fall. )

[Midousuji feels increasingly like he’s embarking on some departure from reality; every soft push of their skin with the resistance of their bodies come together makes his mind spin dizzy, utterly kiltered off by their meshing. every stroke inside is better than the last, such that he bites his lower lip, sucking it anxiously as he shuts his eyes tightly closed, trying to stay with her in this moment so it’s not over so soon.

but it’s so difficult. Midousuji is a formidable proprietor of endurance and self control, but he’s never been tested like this. endurance is so much easier when it’s something you don’t like. resisting something that instinctually makes your every cell scream to do what its programmed to do, bribing biology with a reward so sensationally delicious—feels impossible. the way Aerith spreads her legs subtly, more and more, and shifts her hips against him, knocks stars behind his eyelids as he lets out a tense, grinding groan.

the tickling of her gentle fingertips stroking down his neck somehow makes him mad, too—probably any touch will, at this point, he feels.]

Y-… yes, [he answers breathlessly, punctuating his response with a shuddery little gasp, then a hard swallow.] I—f-feel…so goooood…

[an understatement. not enough of his mind is even left to quantify it anywhere near his true take. even if he were totally lucid, he’s not sure he has the communicative ability to do it descriptive justice even in that scenario. his thrusts suddenly seem to pull less distance with every thrust, and Midousuji realizes it’s because of Aerith’s subtle shifting of position again; the way her hips have lifted makes Midousuji realize he’s doomed. pelvis up, cornering him into basically only being able to jackhammer her—it seems like it’s the most ideal way for her to receive the culmination of all this.

her voice is so sweet, breathy and soft. every lovely little un-sharp gasp, murmur and breath. and the way she tells him she feels good, too—a slap in the face realization that (obviously) it’s him being inside her, fucking her, that makes her say that, makes Midousuji shudder hard. Midousuji’s neck strains and his teeth snap when he lets go of his lip, letting go of another urgent sound, this time more of a hoarse moan. his teeth grit again as he sucks through them, nostrils flaring briefly. he’s too breathless to answer her next question, but that answer is that all he can do is his best.

it may be like Midousuji’s finally come into some control—some trust, some confidence despite uncertainty and nervousness, and that’s certainly true. but Aerith’s been the one leading him, nudging him straight to where they are now. and now he’s truly going to unravel, which is frustrating. but he can have it, just for a moment.

Midousuji’s wiry arms tense, bending further at the elbow to scoop Aerith closer; he keeps his back bowed as best he can so their shoulders are at least somewhat level to each other, which, while he’s always been aware of their height difference (women, alas, be tiny), it feels so much more exemplified than it ever has, holding her close this way. he can feel how her skin’s becoming a little damp or slick here and their from their shared heat; the mulling of their breaths; closeness. in this heat, with a probably reckless manner, Midousuji fucks Aerith hard, close and fast. strangled grunts and huffs trap in his throat, almost staccato, and he can feel how his skin drips from the exertion of their act and his restraint both.

but it doesn’t last long, unfortunately for Aerith—Midousuji regretted touching himself at all, right before he started to push inside her, thinking he would have done this all a little differently if he could have any kind of foggiest inkling it might go in this direction. Midousuji’s thrusts began to tremble, then stutter, increasing briefly in clumsy force, jaw dropping along with his head, forehead pressing beside Aerith’s face, uttering in some kind of blind-sided awe. then with another hard, sudden push, getting as deep as he can, his hips tremble as his thrusting ceases entirely.

he groans, long at first, then consecutively, each a bit briefer, to the timing of how his cock throbs inside her with its every pulse of release.]

Ah! Ah…! Ah, Aerith…ch…! it hits Midousuji so hard he can barely breathe, and his body twinges, over and over—in the arms, shoulders, little slack-mouthed gasps leaving him as he clings close.]

[but as his body still seeks to be pressed as deep as possible as he cums, Midousuji somehow manages to decide that isn’t sufficient.

Aerith likes it, and she didn’t get to experience it very much. and neither did he.

and so, though he’s still certainly quite overstimulated, with some remiss, Midousuji straightens out one of his arms from under Aerith, using it instead to brace himself up. and at the tail end of his orgasm, Midousuji grits his teeth, other shoulder still dropped near her, thrusting deep, but slow. it makes his fingers twitch where his palm flattens against the floor, then curl. it’s sharp, and far too much—but he’s an earnest, hard worker. he can endure. especially, although no one would ever know to peg him as the type, if it’s for someone he deeply cares for.

he winces an eye just a crack open, peeking on her, and manages to continue his slow thrusts. Midousuji’s dark, hazy eye curiously dips downwards as well, as if to get a look at where they meet. the orgasm has passed… but he doesn’t feel himself softening, just yet. he bites his lip, seeing vaguely the pretty, pert pink of Aerith’s clit, visible where he can see where his cock slowly pulls in and out, bound against Aerith’s soft labia by strings of sticky, thick white. Midousuji, to his surprise, is spurned on, rather then spent. but it feels perilous—he doesn’t want to overstimulate with sensation, nervous he might lose his defiant erection.

so he can go with something else, then—encourage it to stick around with some other sensory titillation. he doesn’t want to free up his other hand from holding her, just yet—his long fingers curl in her hair, this time with a little bit of a pull, rolling her head back just a bit. with the way his arm is straight, he isn’t quite close enough to be nuzzling in her neck anymore (for now), but he’s close enough to stroke his tongue across it, slow and hungry. he needs this distance for optics, after all. here he is, even in this circumstance, strategizing. ridiculous.]

Aerith-channn, [Midousuji’s voice rumbles quietly, deeper than usual from all the nosiness and panting. he pushes deeper on his next thrust, some dumb animal part of him too satisfied with the visual context he’d just given himself, staying like that for a moment before he resumes his careful, slow pace. the thrusts still aren’t terribly long, given her hip placement, but he’s far from upset about it. he feels himself acclimating past the sensitivity, nearly, though he still feels a little shaky, still out of breath.]

Open your dress for me… Just a few buttons…

[this is real endurance, right? maybe less how long you last the first time, but how long you can go before you drop. like how he races.]

( there's something that's edging inside of her that isn't precisely connected to the way that he presses her close, or the way that his arms circle around her, or the way that she feels impossibly pulled into him, as though there's not a single inch of space between them; he breathes and she feels it, he pushes inside of her and she feels it, like every piece of them works together, moves together, aches and releases and breathes in tandem with each other, and there's some overwhelming sense of good in it, to feel that distance become so small. most of their friendship has been spent in pursuit of something like this: not the sex, really, or not initially, anyway, but more the closeness, the way that she spent so long gently chipping away at all the brick and mortar just to finally see it all crumble and fall, even just for the moment. her arms scramble to hook more solidly around his neck; for awhile it feels like she's just clinging to him, just as much as he's holding her close.

and it should just be about the sex, she knows--it should just be about the way his body curves up into her, the way the urgent press of his hips becomes more fervent and then, for a moment, stretches into nothing, into silence, and then into the warm heat of release, between her legs, and the desperate catch of his breath that gives her goosebumps; it should be about the pleasure that he's found, rutted into her, the strange, absent feeling when he draws back even just a little, the fullness when he presses back in again and contends with the heat that she can feel, prickling and building back up again. it feels like the wind's been knocked out of her, when she's able to lay mostly on her back again, once there's some space between them for breath; her mouth lingers, open and swallowing, a shallow, soft sigh that makes her figure it's over and done with.

but what now, then? will he close himself back up again, start building that wall back up and force her outside of it? it feels like she's choking on her own emotions; there's not enough air between them, and her lungs are filling like the fluid of it all will drown her out. for a second, her gaze swims, looking at him; and then, with a swallow, he says aerith-channnn and she thinks this will be the end of it--

but the request makes her laugh, just a small, desperate little splutter of it, both of her arms sliding back so that she can take his face in her palms and give it a fond little squeeze. )

You're not done?

( he doesn't feel done--the slow, shallow dip of his cock inside of her makes her own body feel tight and warm, like she desperately wants to keep it going for as long as she can, too, like she's greedy for all the things she has no right to have. )

...Well, only because you asked nicely. ( --did he? there's another little laugh, but it's quiet, heated, the kind of private joke shared between them, like some naughty secret that no one else is privy to. one of her arms settles again at his shoulder, hooked around his neck, but the other drops between them, idles slender fingers from the apex of her throat down, tickling, tracing some fanciful path between her collarbones to the curved opening of her dress. ) And only because I li~ke you.

( her lips, dashed up into another little grin: and she doesn't even watch herself do it, watches his face instead, steady, as her thumb and index finger nimbly pop open one button, and then feel for another, undoing it, and a third; the fabric gives, shows the white of her bra, the swell of her breasts trapped within it; she gives up on the dress, fingers down to where the clasp of the thing sits between the cups and pinches it until it gives and falls open. )

Too much? ( an idle question: and one without meaning, since she's parting the bra, parting her dress, just enough, the staggered rise and fall of her own chest with anxious, interested breath exaggerated by the way the fabric falls further away. )

[Midousuji’s gaze is properly diverted back to Aerith when she takes his face like that, eyes widening and pupils ticking to pinpricks, suddenly completely jarred from his horny, teenaged frenzy. his heart is still racing, his body drenched in sweat, but there’s a sudden—and brief—overwhelming…something. rolling, fluffy, full and…lovely. it gives him, or perhaps reminds him of, a lightness and ease. it’s similar to the affection he’s been savoring (with humiliation) this entire time, but the impact is nostalgic—which, you know, weird when you’re losing your virginity, but life may as well go that way. he should be bothered, maybe, but he isn’t.

instead, he tilts his head, freeing one of his hands to gently take Aerith’s wrist, and his eyes go half lidded, skirting his lips across her palm. he glances at Aerith, up from the messy scatter of his bangs.]

No…

[this would have been a great opportunity to get the leg up back on his control over the situation, but she’s unexpectedly stricken him meek, right to the heart. jeez. as usual. he keeps his pace, trying to not let himself get too distracted, and he mostly succeeds. still slow, and deep, while Midousuji tries to also look for cues; what sounds she makes with what, etc.

Midousuji’s curious eyes wander along with Aerith’s fingers, his carnal mission kindly reminded to him, as, with no exaggeration, he can feel his mouth water.]

That would be too soon. Not enough experience... For you too, right?

[then his gaze snaps away in shock again, to nothing in particular, eyes widening and thrust stuttering when she says she likes him. which is a little—does she mean that? is she just playing??

well. okay. he is actively inside her. so. maybe that’s not. crazy??

is that not crazy??

wait.

is he stupid?

it feels reasonable to assume she’s just teasing, as he’s assumed this whole time, but she’s invited him quite literally but also figuratively inside her. but maybe she’s just the type who has sex with friends, when the circumstance aligns? Midousuji can be that type of person, he thinks.

he looks back at Aerith, jaw dropped, paused in his thrusting entirely without having realized.

that’s not what’s happening right now, though. he doesn’t feel like he’s just satisfying some horny, young and foolish curiosity. it’s not just sex with a friend, at least on his part.

his eyes are lured by the unclasping of her bra, heart hammering—he gave himself just enough to process at once, but of course Aerith had to gently over his burden. but predictably, what she reveals to him is sufficient for distraction. just a hint—a shy blush of areola hidden in her fabrics. Midousuji’s free hand shakily surges forward, suddenly, and he pushes the fabric apart, palming her breast. he bites his lip, hissing, brows knitting as he does the same to the other, properly exposing them.]

Too much… not at all…

[not true, of course. her teasing is still looping in his head, but well enough—it’s arousing, even if he’s convinced it wasn’t said in the way he wanted it to be meant. he begins thrusting again, well and fully to hardness now, and he leans back just a bit more. more distance between them, but more for Midousuji to look at; now he has the pleasure to enjoy how they sway in full, slow bounces with his thrusts. he’s not going too hard, or anything… not yet.

Aerith hopes Midousuji can keep her pelvis elevated a little, but with him leaning back now, he does keep a hand to grasp hard between her hip and thigh. his other hand gives a flirty stroke of his rigid fingertips, still managing to be gentle, across Aerith’s clitoris. like this, he isn’t getting in his own way to give her a little more.

and he wants to. he’ll work until he drops if he can please her the way he wants to, determined to figure it out. the juggling will be taxing, because there’s hot waves pulsing all through him again with every thrust, feeling recalibrated. he bites his lip, breathing out through his nose heavily, strands of his bangs stuck here and there from sweat.

How… do you like it…

[shit, he doesn’t mean like—what he’s doing. that’d be lame. and weird. maybe? is that normal]

I mean… how do you like to get fucked…

[now he finally has the nerve to look at her face, appropriately tuning back into his confidence thanks to the hazing intoxication of pleasure and lust. which is why, finding his upper hand, Midousuji gives her a slow, scheming smile. now he’s just flirting meanly, fucking hard and slow as he leers down at her. his tongue splits his clean grin, snaking up his cheek in a wind.

he chuckles lowly, through his nose.]

Yeah… Tell me, how do you want me to fuck you, Aerith-chan? May as well put me to use; return the favor.

( put me to use, he says. return the favor.

and really, the rest of it? none of it bothers her. the fact that they're screwing around on the floor of the small cottage where she used to share talks with tifa, when she'd been there, or send messages to cloud through the watches, hoping that he could be taking good care of himself, or even talking to zack, when she could, when he could. none of that stings; instead, it feels like some culmination of some other thing happening here, some other life that she's being led down the path of, something that takes her further and further away from the realities of what could be waiting, if or when she ever gets back to midgar. it feels like a drastically different path, this one--where he touches her and pushes inside of her and splits her dress further apart, where she doesn't have to worry about who might be here watching her or who might be waiting just outside the windows. it doesn't bother her: it feels like some sort of wild, fairytale adventure that she's being taken on, that they're both being taken on together.

she doesn't care when his hands palm over her--she likes it, likes the way that his back arches away from her to dip a hand down against her clit; she likes the way he touches her with the care of someone desperately searching for her points of pleasure, like nothing else matters. maybe it's selfish, to enjoy this sort of thing: to enjoy having this amount of attention, which could be overwhelming for anyone else but for her, it's like she flourishes in it. it's like the proper amount of sunshine for a plant that's been waiting, lonely, all winter for nourishment. it feels good to not feel bad about it, either.

but: put me to use. maybe it's not really a fairytale?

it's funny, really, that they could be thinking such drastically different things. she says because i like you and she knows, fully, that he'll take it the wrong way, or that he won't even take it at all, and it's not the worst thing, really, given the context. it's more that she wants that idea there, percolating in his thoughts; that will be much better than demanding that he come to some understanding about it, that they're not just friends who have sex from time to time, or maybe, pointedly, that it's something more than that which she wants. but maybe that's where it stops, for him? maybe this is just her 'use', for him?

he gives her that slow, scheming smile: she gives him one back, one that makes her nose wrinkle, slightly. she'll let that buoyed thought, that worry, sink for now. )

Fuck me like I matter. ( because that's got the be the hardest thing for him, right? having to put some feeling into it? ) Like I'm all you've got.

( and because those instructions are vague--her hips shift, slightly, pushing down just enough to try to correct the angle; one of her hands abandons his shoulders to trace down his arm and nudge his hand back between her thighs, encouraging touch there. then, lightly, teasingly: )

A little harder, too. Don't go too slow, I won't like it.

[Aerith’s misunderstandings, her anxieties—they’re all founded. but they’re wrong, all the same—Midousuji offers to put himself to her use so completely because she is significant; normally, if he did say this kind of thing, it would be with some kind of malice.

the way her face scrunches a little from her mirroring his smile softens his smile into something a little brighter and less naughty, finding it too charming. it’s incredible, he thinks, and although inappropriate, it’s so endearing—the way even like this, she has humor. even like this, she isn’t so serious—it helps him feel at ease.

until she says it. his eyes widen a little, expression going blank in shock—of course she’s wrong. but of course, he’s not built efficiently enough to just plainly contradict her in the heat of the moment. immediately, he recognizes his weakness, and his eyes draw downward, solemn, but not readably. it’s not that he’s offended she’d think so; it’s actually so obvious she’d assume his feelings were more callous. he’s a callous person. from there, he watches Aerith’s hand move his hand towards her clit, and he thinks, stupidly, for a moment, he should take her hand, instead. there’s something that doesn’t sit right, making him queasy in his chest, that she doesn’t think she matters to him. especially like this, body bare, peppered with dew, her face rosy and soft with affection.

he has to do better than that.]

Matter…

[Midousuji wonders if anyone in his life who does matter is even aware of it. doesn’t help that he purposefully goes out of his way to avoid making such declarations, even privately in denial. it started to clear up a little, and has advanced a bit from there in Aefenglom.

but it’s still a weakness.]

I want you to like it… [he says quietly, tilting his head.

but, also, they’re in the middle of something here. the shift in Midousuji’s gears is probably obvious—he’s suddenly less playful, but that’s not too unusual when he goes into work focus. he can do his best (he will) and see if he can get her off again, then he’ll work hard to express himself a little clearer. it’s still so far out of his comfort zone, but so too was even riding a bike, once upon a time.

at least, even if the first part isn’t intentionally so, Aerith gives clear instruction. it’s a map with a clear path. and it’s good, too—Midousuji wants to fuck her harder. her words make him want to cling to her again as he fucks with clumsy animal abandon, because that’s when he was fucking her like she mattered.

but, he also wants to touch her clit. part of the instruction. and she came well around his fingers with that dual stimulation before, but this would be trickier… slowly, carefully, after some consideration, Midousuji comes forward again. he’s still more over Aerith than on top of her, as before, but he isn’t leant back anymore. he braces himself up with his other palm, and cranes his head down, looking at Aerith with half lid eyes as he moves his body accordingly; he’s focused, trying to keep his head clear through the haze of the pleasure as he finds his pace. there’s a couple of experimental cycles, but Midousuji manages to go hard and fast, strokes mostly full, and his head drops again with a breathy moan. hazily, his eyes crack back open, almost watery, focusing on rolling his fingers over her clit. he’s thankfully lean enough and gratuitously flexible, so leaning forward like this, his body doesn’t disrupt touching her.

he just sets his pace with his fingers to match that of his hips, not wanting, and increasingly, not able, to differ the paces with the way the pleasure is mounting again. but he’s determined—he’ll make her cum before he does. and hopefully it won’t be the last time he does.

he just has to do better.]

Edited 2022-02-20 19:32 (UTC)

( she knows that he won't have any issue following instructions, just like she knows that it won't take much guidance for him to find the right rhythm for the both of them. in this, ironically, despite all lack of experience, she imagines, on his part, and the small wealth of it that she has on hers, she trusts him--she trusts that he knows how to listen to his body, the way that he must when he's riding his bike, or when he's doing anything here. operating with such long limbs must be good for something other than the towering way he hovers over her, or the way he uses his flexibility to, at times, try to scare other people. at least, that's what she thinks it must be: that he uses it as a barrier between himself and others, like he's circumventing being hurt by doing it himself. if he comes off strange enough, clumsy enough, no one will even try. and maybe she's used to that kind of person, now--maybe she's too stubborn to stop something once she's got her fingers in it.

i want you to like it, he says. she wonders if he knows that she would like it any way, so long as it's him: realizations that have sat, patiently waiting, in the pit of her heart to be addressed or answered.

and really, like she figured, it doesn't take him long to get it going. at first, the tandem movements are a little clumsy, and in encouragement, she keeps herself still, lets him find the connection between his hips and his hands and offers, instead, soft, little breaths of pleasure to keep him going. it's not slow, and it's not lengthy, and it's not the kind of strange, sensual fucking that she's heard of before, like it's more romantic that way or something; she's never liked the thought. this, here, is more romantic: where he touches her and pushes himself forward, where he stretches inside of her and rubs over her in a way that's impossible to escape from. his body cranes over her and her arms lift to clutch at him--both hands crawling up the back of his neck, curling up into his hair in affection.

at some point, it becomes hard to even consciously think of what she's doing--her body does it for her, too, lets her eyes finally close, lashes that tremble almost like the pleasure is so good to the point of being overwhelming. it's hard, in some ways, to reconcile it; her fingers get tight in his hair, arching up the back of his head, like she wants to smash him into her chest and hold him close, but even that wouldn't get them any closer than this. it feels like her body is at his mercy: and she likes it. likes it so much that her thighs start to cage in around him, that one of her knees knocks against his hip and she thinks, a little, that her gasp of don't stop sounds childish and silly, like he won't like it at all but she can't help herself from blurting it out.

it's not supposed to be like this, is it? she's supposed to guide him, or something; she's supposed to help, or something, not selfishly claim orgasm twice in a row.

her fingers tremble, pull--her lips fall apart, split by a hot breath, and her hips press into him, almost shaking with effort that doesn't even really need much effort at all. the second orgasm always comes a little easier than the first, after all; she rides it out around him, squeezes and tilts and rolls herself into his cock, and the only hint of shame is when one of her hands breaks away to wipe a bead of sweat off her forehead and then, carefully, to reach in between them for his hand. )

Sensitive... ( she whispers, by way of explanation--her eyes are barely open, looking up at him, hazy; satiated; drowned in an affection that she can't put into words. )

[Midousuji drinks in her clinging embrace, overwhelmed by the savoring in it—his parched spirit eagerly receives the way her fingers sweetly comb through his hair, and even how she comes to pull, earning a low groan from the bottom of his throat and a hiss through his teeth. with all his focus, Midousuji tries to keep his rhythm of his fingers and thrusts in time without being lost to the sensations it incurs. he notices the way she tips her hips, just right, to best receive him, and he feels his cock jolt in a way that almost interrupts his pacing when she makes that little hiccuping cry, pleading him to keep hold of his control, keep pushing.

her second orgasm is a quivering vice-clamp around him, and his mouth drops open as his eyebrows raise, a silent gasp caught in his throat as she rolls her hips against him, catching his thrusts with an unintended force. he lets go of a quivering, low whisper of her name, followed by a tattery, broken staccato of rapid breath, in and out, his abs tensing. he can’t hold on any longer, with how tight she is, and how she clenches so hard she almost pushes him out. mitigating, again, Midousuji pushes as deep as he can, holding himself so that he isn’t ejected—his arm comes around the top of her head, clinging to her as he feels his cock pulse hard in another release. and it’s then that Midousuji’s shoulders drop, resting on his elbows again as he towers over her with a craned back, groaning in a way that almost sounds wounded.

reeling, Midousuji is still like that for a moment, desperately trying to catch his breath as he comes down from having stars knocked behind his eyelids like that—and his other hand comes around, moving to complete his embrace so that it encircles her, and he watches her groggily. her hand unintentionally intercepts him, then, and he blinks. Midousuji’s not great with social cues as a rule, especially in tender circumstance, being so inexperienced and with a script so underdeveloped. not to mention, of course, his body is weak, almost shaky, and his mind is still in pieces—so rather than take her hand, his instinct leads him to close his eyes, turning his head to brush her hand against his face, cradling his cheek in her palm as his eyes close. he isn’t sure, either, what exactly she refers to, and is pulled in too many directions to even remember to respond, just yet.

he breathes out slowly in a heavy sigh. he’s content, of course, but too full of too many feelings. a head-spun disbelief, an uncomfortable, overwhelming well of affection, and frustration. at himself—this very thing. his inability to connect, or to communicate, even when he intends to. for now, anyways—limitations are always temporary, so long as you work hard to surpass them.

he lifts a hand, with notable hesitation—it falters, almost withdrawing, on the way to the hand he’s made to rest on his face, and with an awkward, shy lack of confidence, he rests his hand stiffly over hers. then, he relaxes it.

he has to be intentional, right? push through. he can’t let her keep misunderstanding—more accurately, he can’t keep misleading her.]

…Aerith-chan…

[he isn’t even sure what to say. does he say anything. it’s appropriate to just be silent after sex sometimes, right? though what the hell would he know, he just lost his virginity.]

Aerith-chan, I-I…

Edited 2022-03-08 01:35 (UTC)

…I. [wait a minute. oh no. Midousuji’s eyes suddenly snap open, and he reels back, both of his palms suddenly grasping her knees, and he rudely (thoughtlessly) pulls them open in a panic.]

—came inside of youuuu!! Fuck! Twice! Fuuuucckk!

[Midousuji’s not even the type to curse, but he’s been known to have a fit of it here and there. his mind races, or it tries to, his face hot as he tries to think of any herbal tinctures or…something he’s maybe ever heard for about emergency contraceptive, but he’s never been conscious of that thing to log it away, because he wasn’t ever interested and getting laid!!! AND NOW HERE IT WAS. HAPPENING. WORSE, POST-HAPPENING!!]

Pyyyyaaaghhhh—! [Midousuji drops his face into his hands, scrubbing it in stress. thankfully, his hands settle to instead pull at his hair, and he stares dumbly down at Aerith’s lap. at least he’s released her legs.]

What do we do—?? I can’t be a father! I’ve never had one, or even anything like one!! And I’m not even old enough to drink legally, in my country!

[if he didn’t know any better, that it wouldn’t help, he’d just. try and push it out of her, or something.]

I can’t believe how carried away I got… [Midousuji’s face sinks back in his hands, and he sways side to side, his voice dropping to a quiet, frustrated hiss.] Like a dumb, gross dooooggggg…

[what if there’s nothing he can do??? can he do it?? oh my god? what an overwhelming thought, that kind of commitment. but it’s accountability.]

( 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. )

--Not old enough to drink? How old are you?

[Midousuji’s head snaps back up, eyes wide as he leans in a sudden lurch forward again, though it’s more of a looming than a towering, with the way his arms hang back near his hips.]

What?!

[nevermind, there’s one of them—slapping the damp flesh of his own cheek-hollow, long fingernail beds dragging down his eyelid as he tilts his head.]

Groooosssss, ab-an-don?? Who said that?

[it’s easy to be mad. the fact that Midousuji thinks it, thinks it’s easier to be mad, scares him. but the part of him that can’t always discern jokes from serious accusations stalls in a loop in his head, and he doesn’t like the way it makes him feel. it’s not a feeling Midousuji’s used to, so much, like many others, he doesn’t even know how to name it—it hurts.

when she tells him he has to be accountable, the tension in his hand, face and body go suddenly slack, iris’s shrinking to gob-smacked pin-pricks. right…he was just panicking about this, wasn’t he?

his face goes pink to each of his earlobes, throat tightening—he looks away, looking for his response, finding it hard to come up with something clever or appropriate to say when he’s just examining a possibility like that for the first time in his life. his jaw drops a little, not the way it normally does when he’s just doing his own thing, but like he’s about to speak—

then she’s leaning forward, and Midousuji gasps, reeling his big shoulders back as they hike, genuinely startled. not because his personal space is tetchy right now, but because he’s on edge. you know, despite two orgasms. leave it to Midousuji.

he tilts his head, and his hands draw uncertainly up, folding between his chest and collarbones as he tilts his head, furrowing an eyebrow in agitated confusion.]

The same as you, right? Aren’t you 15 to 17? Something like that?

[then again…Midousuji knows he doesn’t exactly look like his age. but he’d surely alluded to something that would imply he’s young at some point. right? hadn’t he? he’s mentioned studies at home, but who even knows what that means in Aerith’s world… and doesn’t talk about his home life much at all, keeping everything pretty vague. after all, he’s extremely private—and also, he knows there’s a good chance his experiences aren’t universal.]

People often think I’m older, because of my voice, and because I’m tall…

[he blinks, eyes flitting back up to Aerith, and he blinks again. his hands rest on his cheeks.]

Did you think I was older?

[Midousuji’s gaze falls, not seeming bothered—yet. his eyes wander from the friendly, scarce tuft of Aerith’s pubic hair up her belly, and his eyes stop dead. he’s still convinced Aerith is in the range he guessed, though finds the prospect she may have thought he was in his early twenties or something interesting.

Midousuji’s not sure which reality would be more irresponsible of him.

he leans forward, drumming his fingertips briefly against her belly, where he carefully undoes the last buttons of her dress. after that his gaze is empty and nowhere as he rests his cheek between his hands, resting against her flesh as his long fingers dip beneath and part the fabric, his body partially curled over and against her. the rest of the messy fabric sticks to his damp skin, which he can feel finally beginning to cool. just a little. his breathing is still a little heavy, which doesn’t help his eloquence.]

Even if we’re the same age, though…

[Midousuji glances down towards his chin, which tucks a little.]

I—wouldn’t…

I mean…

I don’t…want that. But I wouldn’t… [Midousuji pushes his voice, past the awkward block in his throat, feeling like he did as a child when his words wouldn’t make it through his teeth.

his fingers curl, careful not to scratch her belly.]

…abandon…

[he finally finds the ability to glance back up at her, because there’s now some confidence behind what he’s saying, even if he’s discovering it in real time. this does have something to do with some of his personal experience. he wouldn’t be like his dad. never ever.]

Being a single mom is so hard it can kill you.

Edited (DAMN IT I WAS TOO EXCITED AS USUAL (fixes THRICE)) 2022-03-21 03:00 (UTC)

( it feels like there's rarely a moment where she's able to so keenly regret doing something, or more accurately, to see the repercussions of her actions, in alarming real time: his expressions, his body language, even his voice changes, and it's going to be hard to admit this one, hard to reel it back and affect some kind of cheerful just kidding! and wonder if he'll hate her afterwards. he coils in against her the way that it feels like a child might seek out their mother; and that's it, isn't it? the way he says being a single mom is so hard it can kill you: he spoke of his mother before, once, and maybe that's all she'll ever know about her. maybe he'll never want to share more with her, and maybe that's okay--she isn't sure she wants to begin to explain her own family, or if he would even want to know at all in exchange. but if this is how he views it all?

it's sad, in some way. it sinks her heart a little, from where it had trembled with warmth after orgasm, or tickled brightly with mischief after his exclamations. it's not like she thought he would leave, either, even if it had been true, but this soft display: it's sweet, aches a little, like eating sweets too fast. she doesn't know what to say.

her hands move, a familiar motion, to find the top of his head; her fingers work through his hair but it's a little tangled now, dried with sweat like hers, and it takes careful, deliberate movements to go through it without causing harm. but then--

fifteen? fifteen? her mind circles back to it, as though desperate to remind her of what he'd said. how could that possibly be true? he has the air of someone who has lived a long life already, someone who has already been tainted by the disappointments of late teen years. maybe that's her own poor judgement showing; maybe she should have been smart enough to ask. and it doesn't bother her, necessarily: age has never really been a problem, and give or take a few years, what's the big deal?

but still--her eyes narrow. )

I'm in my twenties. ( --is what she ends up saying, slowly, like she can't quite believe it. and then, abruptly, she laughs. ) You're fifteen?

( sure, he'd given a rather generous range, but still--it makes so much more sense, now, in some ways, and in others, makes her wonder about how painfully childish she is, to be able to relate so much to a boy still in his teens. that doesn't bother her very much. her hands continue through his hair.

that makes it easier, somehow, to admit-- )

You don't have to worry, anyway. I can't get knocked up in this place unless we both want it to happen--and! I think I've just figured out how we both feel about it.

( another bright laugh, but this one is tinged, slightly, with regret. )

I'm sorry. You don't hate me now, do you? You're not allowed to, anyway. We're fine. Nothing to worry about.

[Midousuji had mentioned his mother before, yes—but he hadn’t specifically gone into anything too deep, hadn’t unearthed or exposed his trauma. he’d thought about it, of course, privately, and without intention—when he’d learned she was an orphan; how that gave a certain context to the lonely gloss in her eyes, framed by sloped eyebrows and a kind, hurting smile. nothing like him, nothing like he could ever be, but a different model of a human being he could at least understand—it had clicked, suddenly.

Midousuji’s eyes thin shut and he tilts his head so his temple brushes the soft, lean flesh of her stomach, finding himself surprisingly susceptible to how she toys in his hair. he’s always been adverse to touch, so prone to being overstimulated, and so resentful and distrustful of other people… so it’s hard not to lean in, when it’s just right. the depth of it soothing is striking.

but when she says that she’s in her twenties, Midousuji’s eyebrows raise, and he lifts his head, though his hands are still delicately folded below and on either side of her navel.]

Ha?

[her question makes him reel back a little, and he blinks a few times in rare, rapid succession. he can’t even answer her initially, because before he even thinks of how to respond, she gives him the humiliating, reeling knowledge that she can’t even get pregnant? it makes sense he wouldn’t know—it’s not like he had any reason to inquire about contraception or things related to that, so disinterested in sex as he was until….all this.

he screws up an odd, indignant frown about it, then she laughs in that way that’s got a dreary wind that Midousuji can’t place. he tilts his head, and sinks his head back down, chin denting her skin between his thumbs as he peers up at her. sulkingly, yes, brattishly perhaps, but he’s maintaining eye contact despite his indignation. it’s a good sign.]

…You shouldn’t have mislead me there like that. I’m dehydrated, exhausted and all side-ways brained from everything that’s happened, you know…

[it’s a lot to process—he’s really only been awake for maybe thirty minutes, and in that timespan, he’s lost his virginity to his crush (which is a gross subject—feelings), had two orgasms, and has been faced to process two high bandwidth emotional items: that he’s lead her to feel she doesn’t matter, and that apparently, she’s somewhere in the neighborhood of anywhere from 4 to 9 years older than him. not to mention the brilliant brain fiasco of facing potential fatherhood, for a second.

but, of course, she apologizes right after he says this, and he blinks, feeling his cheeks heat at her question. they’re fine? she doesn’t care he’s so young? this isn’t done, as soon as it’s started?

why does that feel like a win? his heart flutters, and it makes him grumble, lips pursing in a pout as his eyes go downcast to literally navel-gaze. he idly strokes a finger across her stomach, repetitive and anxious.]

…I’m not sure I could, [Midousuji admits honestly, extending his thin fingers to gently reach and enclose around Aerith’s hand, rather than nervously pet her belly—a twitch of hesitation proceeding the motion.] Hate you, [he clarifies in a dodgy mumble, tucking his stressed brow against her body.]

Also, [he begins again, quietly, tapping his long nail beds against the back of her hand twice, but subtly,] …I’m almost 17. Not 15.

[if that. uh. helps. his face burns. his body, also, still burns. his heart burns, and he doesn’t even have the emotional clarity or self awareness to recognize it. his bold, confrontational and antagonist persona—more “Midousuji” than “Akira,” though it’s not like the former is a total construct, either—is fallen to the wayside, leaving him feeling feeble, out of his element.

but the reason he finally felt unblinking in her calling him by his given name says more than all in sum. regrettably, however, even so, he can’t just say what he feels. what he wants. “good, then be my girlfriend.” even in all this confusion, this lack of emotional self awareness, Midousuji knows, and has known, he has no desire to constrain Aerith. which is puzzling, because he wants control—his lively, ugly sides want to possess.

however, he trusts Aerith enough to have done this for a very clear reason: she does not want to control, shape, or tame. and her own subtle wildness has been one of the many factors that pull his eye to her.

and so, what is the right thing to do? or to say? especially when Midousuji, despite sore and irritated from the risk lead in pregnancy, is also so inexperienced. and shit, twenties? what does that even mean? he’s not worried, if she’s not.

but can he justify such a significant demand?]

I hope so, [he mutters, and turns his head, no longer smothering herself in the soft sweet of her flesh.]

Actually…let’s…maybe…[his glance up to Aerith is brief—and it chases away with an irritable scowl.] …the floor is stupid. Was stupid. Let’s…

[Midousuji then lurches back up, pushing himself on his palms, peering down at Aerith.]

…at least, [his head tilts.] go to your bed? Unless you’d prefer I go? I fell asleep on accident, but we got biblical.

Edited (speaking of premature, guess who prematurely hit send. badumchhhhhhh *EDIT PART 3 ALSO. SORRY. *4. GOD) 2022-03-28 16:08 (UTC)

( it takes a significant amount of self control not to just shout out to him, to dig her fingers into his arms and demand that he stay, because there is no part of her that thinks it would be a good idea, or that he would respond in a way that's good at all. she knows him, even if it's only in the little snapshots of himself that he's willing to give her, and those, at least, she's studied a thousand times, like a private photobook that only her hands are able to open. he wouldn't like having her boss him around like that, and he wouldn't like being told to stay as though he doesn't have any choice in the matter--and really, when it comes down to it, it isn't even really about him at all, is it? there's just a fear of being left behind that's been instilled in her since the beginning: and now, with everything that's happened, it's almost grown to enormous, unmanageable proportions.

to feed it a little, though, she lifts her hands up--moves them out of his hair, and touches his arms, a brief, reassuring slide of her fingertips against them before she nods, briefly. she's slept on worse, honestly, but why bother suffering if there's a bed involved, anyway? she pushes up onto her elbows; the dress, unbuttoned, falls to either side, which makes her laugh a little, despite being so clearly exposed. )

No, I want you to stay. ( a small beat, as she pulls her legs up, knees to her chest as though she's about to rise--but instead, her gaze falls on him, round and curious. ) Is that okay?

( even if it isn't--even if he refuses, something that will sear inside of her, she still has to get up; her legs feel wobbly, uncertain of her own balance, and when she finally manages to stand, her hands move to brush all of her tangled hair over her shoulders, collapsing down her back. there really isn't much she has to offer him, which is where her thoughts go: there's a wardrobe in the room, left from the previous tenants, where she's been storing most of her clothes--she's used to not having much, so there isn't a lot inside of it. even zack's clothes, or cloud's clothes, aren't here--she hasn't borrowed anything from them, would feel terrible if she had.

it's a strange feeling, thinking of zack. with midousuji here, it feels--bittersweet, somehow, like watching memories fade away.

her face doesn't show much: there's a flicker of sadness that washes over it, but she's facing the wardrobe now, tugging the big doors open so that she can find the thin slip dress she usually sleeps in, here, and swap it out. that means there's a moment, of course, where her arms shrug out of her unbuttoned dress and her hands move to unhook her bra and toss them both inside and she's naked, there, with her back to him, tugging the other dress over her head as she talks. )

Make yourself comfortable, okay? You get to sleep against the wall.

( --which will essentially trap him there, unless he wants to crawl over her while she's asleep. there's some amusement in her voice, at least, as she pulls the slip down entirely, smoothing it out where it covers her hips and hits mid thigh. a comfortable thing to sleep in, especially without panties: her hands are gathering up her hair as though to pull it into a ponytail or something, when she turns to face him again. )

Do you want something to wear? ( this is definitely a tease. ) I have another dress in here, if you want it.

[Midousuji’s heart does a funny little hiccup with the way she brushes against the sides of his of his upper arms, blinking down at her. as she pushes onto her elbows, Midousuji crawls back, his hands sheepishly folding across from each other, wrists atop one another, his bony knees up in front of them as he curls up. his fingers tense in awkward clawing. Midousuji isn’t laughing—he’s anxiously staring, face turning red. he glances away sharply, pursing his lips.

when she asks him, Midousuji’s eyes are back on her again, though, and though his face is still dusted with blush, his eyes are just as wide and curious as hers, though it’s the confusion that makes his brows, very subtly, slant backwards as he tilts his head.]

Why are you asking me? Of course that’s okay—it was my suggestion…

[Midousuji knows he makes it clear without even having to say anything he’s withdrawn and distrustful of intimacy, but is it so bad that doing something as intimate as fucking someone might not illuminate that boundary doesn’t apply, here?

—or. well. okay. he could probably have sex with someone in some weird other circumstance and absolutely not want them to touch him the second it was over, and boot them out, or see himself out. but this is different. this is someone important.

boggling both pensively and attentively, he watches Aerith get up, his thoughts knotting and snagging over each other. but, they do so somewhat sluggishly—he’s sure his thoughts will peter out as exhaustion works its way deeper, once his pulse stabilizes. or you know, once Aerith just casually reveals her naked body to him. that certainly does the trick, his thoughts halting abruptly. and with her back turned to him, he’s free to stare in stupid, slack-jawed awe, his fingertip hooked against his bottom teeth from when he’d been more contemplative and less…observant. he sucks in his lower lip, pressing his knees together as he stares off to a far corner of the floor, her sleek and delicate curvature burned in his mind.

when she tells him to get comfortable, Midousuji shoots up rather suddenly, and trips as he scrambles to her bed. the wall is fine. good, even. cozy. and he can press his back up against the brick if he ends up overheating from the shared body heat, or the way his hormones and body collaboratively seem to have a death wish on him. and as she smooths her dress, Midousuji’s already escaping under her blankets in an antsy panic, and he does exactly that—he presses his back up against the wall, yanking the blankets up near his chin simultaneously.

when she asks if he wants something to wear, he glances down, then back up.]

Um.

[yes. great response. he makes a face at being offered the dress, and rolls his eyes away thoughtfully. he wouldn’t actually mind that—he’s not afraid of that kind of thing. not his brand of fragility. he glances back at her, and blinks.]

I could, [tumbles out awkwardly, and Midousuji realizes that was probably a tease, but he’s too off-guard to come up with a normal, witty retort on the fly. especially with her standing there like that, expression still with a healthy, glowing flush, flesh soft even to the eye, pretty in her simple little night dress. it’s so intimate. it’s so intimate, he can’t be clever. so he just elects not to.] …If…that’s…all you have. But. Naked’s fine too. If it’s fine with you, I mean.

[sleeping naked isn’t a thing Midousuji does, really…but given the context, and the fact that his sweaty clothes need a wash, it’d be okay. less cozy, but he’s not confident he’s going to be resting well. even if he gets to sleep, he suspects it might be brief. then just a lot of wide-eyed, anxious and lonesome staring into the dark.]

It's fine with me.

( there's a note in her voice, something that lifts up, slightly, almost like she wants to say something else but stops herself--almost like it's better that whatever it is gets tucked into her thoughts, gently thumbed in there like a favorite page of a worn novel, to rake her eyes over later. in truth, really, she's thinking about his clothes--even some of her own are scattered, tossed across the floor, and she ought to gather them up and set them aside for washing, later, should at least pretend like she'll get to it before he leaves in the morning so that he doesn't have to wear them back home.

and there's another thought, another folded corner, but this one feels more like it's marked with pins, holding it in place the way that butterflies get stretched to corkboard: in the morning? he'll leave then, won't he? will he leave before she even wakes up?

maybe that's partly the virtue of keeping him by the wall. it's a trap, but not really; it's a pleading, maybe, some silent wish to have him stay at least long enough for her to wake up and see his face. if he wants to scramble then, make some excuse or even insult her, at that point? it doesn't really matter. she just wants to know that she won't be abandoned while she sleeps--won't wake up and find him missing, the way she's found others before. a silly little wish from a silly little girl, but then, she can't be mature about everything. maybe there are some things that she can't grow up from.

midousuji is already tumbled under the blankets, pulled up to his chin like he's watching a horror movie, and it makes her smile--carefully, she moves to switch the lamps off, to douse the room in utter darkness instead of the hazy, near-night glow that it had been previously. now, like this, her bed and the shape of him are just lumpy shadows while her sight adjusts; carefully, she steps her way to the mattress, pulls back the covers from the far side and eases her way beneath them. rather than give him any amount of time to adjust, she slides: inches and wiggles her way across the bed to him, facing him despite knowing very well that he'll likely hate it.

just for a moment. she stares up at him in the dark, eyes round and warm and surprisingly fond--there's something terrifying here, about putting so much of herself in another person, but she's never learned how not to. )

Will you hold me? ( there's no sense of shame, or embarrassment in her voice: but it's soft, quiet like it has to be, in the dark. ) Just until I fall asleep?

[Midousuji watches, indeed, like he’s some hapless moron of a victim in a horror film, as Aerith approaches. his round, wide eyes roll their dark, velvet irises to her in the dark, trying to parse her frame, and with trepidation. but despite his appearances, it’s a juvenile giddiness that informs this tension; nerves, yes, but mostly, excitement. the sort of embarrassing giddiness that makes him want to jump right out of his own skin; disgrace any skin he’d ever thought he’d had in the game.

except, well. you know, the…recent obvious.

when she peels the covers back, Midousuji lifts his hands away from their hems, fingers fanning out in passive surrender, though the gesture is a little comical in its gratuitousness—not that that’s at all unlike him. but at least the gesture isn’t abrupt, and startled. rather, it’s measured and slow, and Midousuji peers at Aerith eagerly as he ignores the incessant pounding in his grotesque, wide rib cage.

when she inches towards him, he continues to stare with a delayed, processing wonder—and in a similarly belated fashion, he very carefully lays the blankets across her torso, right at her shoulder, but not over it, to cover her arms.

she stares at him, and he stares right back, wondering how it’s possible that when he can only barely see her, her eyes still shine so brightly, carrying so many stars and warmth. he blinks at her in utter bafflement, and says nothing, too beside himself to work a script. he finds that her gaze draws him in, in the way that scares him—or maybe more accurately, used to scare him. now it’s more like an enveloping, warm comfort. like a blanket. the way she looks at him—he thinks he understands it, a little better, though admittedly, not completely.

when she asks if he’ll hold her, he blinks again, his thin eyebrows raising suddenly enough to crinkle his brow a bit. he can see her more clearly now, vision adjusted, and it makes the whole experience feel all the more sideways as he continues to struggle to digest his current reality. this aftermath.

his jaw drops, just a bit, as he almost says something—and quietly, slowly, it closes again, his gaze briefly dodging. it’s now he realizes (at least, in full clarity), that despite even the love for his own mother, he’d never returned her hugs. how his first time hugging anyone had been just recently, stupidly hammering his pelvis into Aerith with some dumb, animal abandon. it’s rare he feels imposed by his own unknowing—rare that he feels unconfident, and even more rare does he feel as he does now additionally, so afraid of executing a Normal Human Function incorrectly.

his gaze shyly peers back up to her, and he suddenly juts an arm outward, long and sinewy, trying to hide how his breath shudders so subtly with its every exhale. and his arm would give that tremor away, if it weren’t so dark—but perhaps it might anyway. she’s annoyingly perceptive.

the way he holds his arm straight up like that creates kind of a cape with the blanket, indicating his invitation to her. he swallows, trying to think of how to accept, how to mitigate, how to earnestly and truthfully just…express. with accuracy. there’s some implication there—that it’s a favor to do something as small as hold her until she falls asleep, like she’s still some terrible burden. but maybe, so too, she simply sees him for the type of person he is—skittish of intimacy, and maybe just respecting the way she perceives his, not inaccurate, boundaries.]

…It doesn’t have to be so brief…

[whether she takes it on herself to move in or not, Midousuji, awkwardly hinged like some under-greased machine, extends an arm to close it around her middle back, pulling her closer into him.]

As long as you don’t mind that I don’t know how to be this way. It’s not like I don’t like it.

[it’s his failing, here—not hers. he pauses, and tilts his head (to an angle that’s just on the cusp of uncanny and disgusting, as usual, the fuzz of his hair pushing against her sheets), peering at her curiously.]

The way you talk to me… Really, how do you think I feel about you?

[well. ok. that’s less of an earnest admission, and more familiar angling as antagonistic, or defensive. he swallows, glancing away as he tries again.]

I…

[words.]

Iiiiii…

[WORDS, DAMN IT. WORDS!!]

…None of this is just…some coincidence, you know…

[now anxious, Midousuji unintentionally squeezes her, just a bit, trying to outlet some of the rising tension in his body as it swells uncomfortably.]

I’m…

[his voice dries up, his throat too tight with nerves. to cope, he’s looking away again.]

…glad…to be here. Now. This way. With you.

It’s good.

I think…you misunderstand me.

But, I think, that’s my fault. Not yours.

( it's an invitation that does not come free of its own caveats. she can tell with the way that his arm lifts, the way that it stretches out almost like it's some kind of mechanical outcropping, something that billows up the covers enough to keep them from getting trapped between them. it's not even that she minds, at least not really, that it's not something so simple; she hadn't imagined that it would be. she's spent too long trying to get close to him, and having him balk at every turn, to think that she can just put her arms around him and listen to him breathe, or that she can press her face into his neck and hide away there, an urge that happens so rarely for a person like her, who loves to turn up towards the sunlight. it's not even that she's ashamed of what they've done, which she imagines, in some perceptions, that she should be: there is a person out there, somewhere, trapped in the fate that they made together, a person that she may never see again who deserves more than just the simple promise of her loyalty.

but it had been different then. but this is different, now. there is no zack fair here to wrap his arms around her; there is no cloud strife to hold her hand and promise that things will be okay. there is no tifa lockhart to pet her hair and soothe her when she's upset; there is no one here anymore but the person that cares enough to wrap the covers up around her shoulders, the person that came when she thought she could ask no one else to. he's still the person she called when she sat up on that roof and wanted to disappear into the night sky, terrified of it all the same--and now he's the person that pulls her in close and tries to make her feel better, even when she doesn't deserve it.

at least it feels that way, at first. when she slides in beneath his arm and tucks herself up against him, he says it doesn't have to be so brief. it's exhilarating, as much as it is scary--to be able to trust someone, like that? to be able to have faith in them?

and then it starts. it's like leafing through a bush to find sweet raspberries there, but when reaching in, the thorns pluck at raw skin and make them bleed: the way you talk to me… really, how do you think i feel about you?

that's the midousuji akira that she knows--so why the sudden hammer of dread in her stomach? has she gotten it all wrong?

her breath goes shallow, hot against the skin of his bare shoulder, because she's found her way up against him, because she's found the crook of his neck perhaps the safest place to hide. her expectations aren't fair--even when he continues on, soothes over the initial wound, she almost wishes that he would blame her for something, so at least she could alleviate some sense of guilt about it all. she likely has misunderstood him. and why? because she's too wrapped up in her own worries to see clearly, here? or is it simply because she cares so much that she's terrified of declaring things with her usual playful confidence?

her arms, folded up between them, brush against his chest; it's just the lightest touch, a small trailing of fingertips like she's trying to organize her thoughts using the plane of skin there. )

I want you to like me.

( he wants honesty--she's willing to give it. but just like his arm, tremoring slightly in unfamiliar use, her voice shakes all the same. )

Do you like me?

I like you.

( like it's the easiest thing in the world to admit. like even if he says he doesn't, it's fine to say so. like she won't spend a whole night crying like an idiot if he decides he doesn't. could her intuition be that wrong? )

[Midousuji feels his world go black, and so suddenly, so small.

it’s not as if this night hasn’t already been vulnerable. he’s shared his body with her—chastised himself for how she thinks of him, of his feelings—briefly went through a life-flash of fatherhood…

his arms awkwardly come around her—gracelessly, first, beneath her waist, his awkward, sweating open palm unsure of where to grasp—and his other arm comes around her torso, pulling her close, somewhat out of anxiety. and the way her scent fills his head is different, then—dizzying in a different way. why does it feel like a death knell?

at least, on one hand… the one that so fears the generosity of giving his real feelings—the risk that takes, the one that made him run from it for so long. far before Aefenglom—that nauseating, embarrassing, unifying factor of all humans. the desire to connect, and so to with it, the genuine fear of being unable to.

but he owes her that much, doesn’t he? it’s unfair to even expect a mother’s love to be without transaction.

he nuzzles into her hair, quiet for a moment, his voice low, barely above register, trembling with his jaw.]

Of course I do, stupid.

[his long arm quells its unsteadiness by grasping her shoulder, and his chin dimples a little, causing him to frown around his teeth awkwardly, closed mouth. he lifts his legs a bit, bumping Aerith’s up along with them, their legs clumsily entangling where they manage to touch.]

I’m just…

I’m…not good at it…

[why does admitting this make him feel like this? why does he feel like his face is on fire? in a different way—a painful way? is it shame? fear? part of him does want to recoil, to bail, as before, but—

they’ve come this far, right? both of them. together. he can’t discard her journey just because he’s been refusing to see that it’s his, too.]

—so much, Aerith… For a…for a long…

time…

You're really not good at it.

( but there's a fondness there, like it doesn't matter. there's attraction there, like maybe it's part of what pulls her to him. and more than that, there's acceptance there: that despite knowing it, despite dealing with his thorns or encountering his brambles, despite climbing in beneath fences that tell her to keep out and words that land like walls between them, it doesn't really matter if he's good at it, or not. it doesn't matter if he's never been with someone like this or if they're going to share all of his first times together, or if he gets scared sometimes and tries to elbow her aside.

and is that too much? is that too fond, too delicate, too warm? she doesn't say it out loud, though her lips press together and instead a breath escapes, warm and heated, to the side of his neck. their legs tangle together and it feels like he's sealing something into place--after all, for him to come closer of his own accord is something special, she thinks, so special that she doesn't want to call him out on it.

so she doesn't. she doesn't call him out on the rest of it, either, though his admission makes her stomach twist and her throat feel warm and excited, like she wants to laugh but doesn't want him to get the wrong idea. it's not like she's gone around confessing her feelings to a whole bunch of different people, either: she has little experience here, too, just enough to know that honesty is really the best course of action, and that she can move past anything else. his arms circle around her in that clumsy way and she feels: oddly, almost safe, in a way.

if she laughed, if she cried--either way, he'd get the wrong idea, wouldn't it?

her nose bumps up, dots along the ridge of his jaw, and she nods a little, as if cementing it. )

...Then you'll stay, in the morning, and I'll make breakfast.

( one of her hands shifts, palms against his chest, slides down to brush near his ribs almost teasingly. )

Maybe we'll wash up together. If you're lucky.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

yet another self indulgent aef AU

YOU'RE TOTALLY FINE ♥

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writes an essay about dumb virgin being overwhelmed by 3 and a half humps

a+ essay, 10/10, would read again

1/2. somehow.

2/2

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wtf happened to my 1/1 tag up there lol. and wow midousuji went on a whole journey here

I LOVE YOUR WRITING

WEH TY MUCH MUTUAL SENTIMENT

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oops meant to say 1/2. SURPRISE

she is a terrible person

they both are. they deserve each other

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I’M…SO SORRY……i got COVID after a bunch of crazy irl bs… pls forgive me

💖 no forgiving necessary