Hello everyone! I've been very busy with my new puppy (I'll post some pictures soon!) so it's been hard to find the time to write. That's why I've only sent a couple of emails and have only posted a few lemons. Just wanted to let everyone know that I'm in no way finished with the requests that were sent in and am still writing whenever I can find the time! If you haven't received an email from me, you still might within the next few weeks ;3

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

A Haruka Nanase Lemon -- You Are Infinite

Character: Haruka Nanase

Fandom: Iwatobi Swim Club

OC: [Name], quick to anger and has a penchant for revenge

Inspiration: Skinny dipping~   


To say that you are angry with your overly reluctant boyfriend wouldn't be completely true.  You are perhaps upset with him.  Maybe a little annoyed at his lack of passion.  Probably a bit disconcerted at the fact that he is seemingly disinterested in, well, fucking.  It doesn't exactly make you angry.  Just confused and unnerved.  And sometimes, very rarely when you can't keep it down, maybe a little bit (extremely) irate.  Which is why you're currently dealing with your pent up emotions in the only way you know how: through manhandling.
It had started out as a peaceful evening, as always.  You'd trailed after Haruka on his way home.  He'd let you roll out the bedding and take a shower and watch TV while he cooked mackerel for dinner.  You ate mackerel.  You watched more TV.  You went to bed.  You got annoyed.  Perfectly normal.
What hadn't been normal was the way you'd grabbed at Haruka, wrestled him out of bed, and decided that you needed to just force fuck him or something.  Because you know by now that he isn't about to go into this happily.  He'll be reluctant and he'll fight back.  Which is why you're currently pulling him into the back of Iwatobi, to where the pool glistens silently beneath stars.
He's confused, upset, maybe a little disconcerted at the way you're acting.  But you don't respond to him when he asks why you've brought him back to school.  You remain silent and just cross your arms, looking over his figure and the mussed up presence of him, still sleepy and reluctant.  He hadn't had the chance to get dressed and is still wearing his boxer briefs and an old undershirt.  He's lucky he had time to slip into his shoes, though they're still untied and his heel has just barely made it inside.  In all, he looks positively messed up, just the way you like him.
You don't bother looking down at how you look.  For the last few weeks, you'd been wearing less and less to bed in hopes that Haru would decide he's (finally) in the mood to ravish you.  It hasn't worked of course, hence the reason you're here.  In the middle of the night, at a pool, wearing a skimpy little nightshirt.
He barely gives you little outfit a second glance.  He's got eyes only for the water, which looks like a reflected sky full of stars and planetary bodies circling.  You decide you'd very much like to push him in (let's see if that gets his damn attention), but then that would ruin all your evil, vengeful, lovely plans and you can't have that.  So instead you just saunter up beside him and follow his gaze, watching the way the water shifts, like it is in fact a living breathing mass that collides with life.  Stars.  Planetary bodies circling.
"Why did you bring me here?" he asks again, after a few moments of silence.  The only sound that can be heard is the soft lap of waves and the rare sound of a car moving past, outside the school grounds.  You like the solitude and you know Haru does too.  With a shrug, you tell him, "I felt like going for a swim."  And you do, just not in a conventional way.
He gives you a sideways glance, seeing through your words immediately, because, "You were swimming at practice today."  You raise your eyebrow and chuckle.  The type of swimming you had done that afternoon required a bathing suit.  But this type of swimming does not. 
You kick off the shoes you'd hastily tugged on.  When you speak next, your voice is alight with mischief and all kinds of secretive plans that make Haru stop and stare, curious and wary.  "Haru…haven't you ever wanted to swim actual freestyle?"  You pull your shirt off in one sudden, fluid moment which leaves him sort of stranded, from your words and your actions.  But not completely stranded, because you're still wearing a soft cloth bra and he's seen you in it before.  But still his eyes betray him, ducking down quickly to glimpse your abdomen, the way those little panties slip over your hips, the length of your legs, the graceful curve of your ankles.
Then your words hit him and he frowns, jerking his gaze back to yours and pretending as though he hadn't just been looking you over.  You let him pretend, for now, though it is only a matter of time before you take the situation over completely.  It's down to seconds now: the moment you'll take control.
He turns his gaze back to the water (a safer place to look, if nothing else), and says, "I do."  Swim freestyle.  But he doesn’t get it.  His voice is tempered with the slightest touch of confusion and you smirk, stride forward.  His back is mostly facing you so he doesn't notice the way you slip out of that cloth bra, shimmy out of those panties.  Then you are behind him, splaying your hand over the back of his undershirt.  And you purr, "You don't.  You've never been completely free in the water.  You've never surrendered completely."
He still doesn't get it.  Your words hold a concept, a truth that he cannot understand.  You decide to show him, then.  So the next moment, you are backing up a few steps then bursting forward, pushing off the side of the pool, body arching into a perfect dive.  Then you're under, and the water creates a new world that makes everything else slide away unimportant, except for the man that stares wide eyed from the opposite end.  But you ignore him, for now.  For now.
You break the surface with a soft gasp, your back to Haru.  Your hair is plastered to your scalp and your nude body shimmers in the light of the moon, and it's lovely.  Haru stares with his mouth slightly hanging, still shocked.  But even in his surprise he can be appreciative, and his eyes drop over the imprint of your figure as it floats beneath the water.  Your legs seem to crash on into infinity.  Perhaps the water is hiding your flaws, but your rear seems absolutely perfect, and he'd very much like to touch your back and kiss over your shoulder blades and lick your neck and -- "Haru…?  Aren't you coming in?"
Somewhere in his meanderings you've turned around, and now you're blinking at him.  Your eyes are wide and curious but ever so wicked, even now.  Especially now.  But that's not exactly what catches his attention.  He thinks he's never seen a pair of breasts that look so temptingly lovely in that moment.  (He hasn't really seen a real pair up close, until now.)  But he suddenly finds it difficult to breathe, and his eyes are glued to your body and he suddenly wants to join her, touch you, kiss you.  His face is reddening because he doesn't quite know how, though, and he's feeling very much overwhelmed.
Somehow, in some way, you had always known that water would do the trick.  Water breaks him.  It rebuilds him.  It makes him feel alive.  So it is only natural that water would make him aware of all your passion and desire.  He is comfortable in the water and you had figured that he'd be comfortable tonight, too.  You hadn't been completely correct in that assumption, it seems. 
He clears his throat and looks away from you, as if he's got no idea what to say or do or think.  For a moment, you are both suspended (him in time, you in water), but then you are shifting forward, cutting through the water, swimming back to him.  And Haru's eyes just naturally drift back to watch you.  He shivers violently because the sight of you in his element is so raw the he swears he can feel the effects in the spaces, crevices of himself that he hadn't known existed.  He does feel the effects of your bareness, very physically in fact.  There is a hardness growing between his legs and there's nothing for it, he can't stop it, can't stop becoming aroused.  But he doesn't necessarily enjoy it.
You appear at the side of the pool, directly in front of him.  For a moment you just stare up at him, but then you sigh (you're perhaps a little annoyed, disconcerted that he isn't acting like you'd expected).  Before he knows what's happening, you are heaving yourself up out of the water, and said water is cascading down your body and around your breasts and suddenly his arousal is spiking to levels unknown and -- "Haru.  What are you doing?"  God, he hasn't a clue. 
You step up to him, all bare and glorious.  Your skin seems to tilt off in every corner of his vision because he can't stop looking at you.  At the way you're waist is small enough to grasp and the way you thighs are beaded with moisture and the way your nipples are taut and hard.  He swallows thickly and clenches his fist, and you suddenly can't stop the chuckle that leaves your mouth.  He stares at you in surprise and maybe a little annoyance, because you're not supposed to laugh in a situation like this.  But you are.
"It feels wonderful," you tell him, smiling now.  You step closer, so that you are mere inches away, and slip your hands beneath his shirt.  Your fingers linger lightly against his abdomen, waiting to see if he'll let you take the shirt off.  When he doesn't complain, you slip the fabric up and over his head.  Then you lean in, brush your hands against his chest, reach up to cup his face.  He stares down at you carefully, but you can clearly see the desire that he tries so hard to hide away.  You smile again and murmur, "Being in that water, completely bare…it's so easy.  Come on and join me, Haru." 
He shivers because the way your say his name is so lovely and sinful, and he's never heard it spoken like that before.  But he'd like to hear it again, from you, and he leans forward closer, inclining his mouth towards yours.  You let him kiss you, let yourself become immersed in the gentle way his lips tremble against yours.  It's raw and simple, that kiss, just like the moment itself.  But it isn't enough, and so a moment later you're catching his hands and dragging them to your waist.  And the abrupt feel of your skin beneath his seems to open the floodgate of his courage, because suddenly he's grasping you tightly, pulling you against him, deepening the kiss, running his fingers over the length of your back.  And you can feel the hard desire that bulges from his boxers.  You'd very much like to see it, too.  But this process involves baby steps, and you're patient when you need to be.
Though not patient enough, it seems.  When you reach your hand and push it over his boxers, very gently tracing the hem of them, Haru bursts back like he's been struck, chest heaving.  His face is red because he's never done this before, and though he's thought of it for quite a while, thinking and doing are two very different things.  But you're calm even in the face of his hesitance, sort of. 
You aren't entirely angry at him.  Maybe just a little annoyed that he's stalling so much.  He's a guy, after all.  Guys are supposed to jump head first into these types of situations.  But Haru reluctantly hangs back, unsure, always removed, and you'd be lying if you said it doesn't bother you.
You pause, then sigh.  In a calmer voice, you ask him, "Come into the water with me."  And it might be him, might be all the little thoughts revolving through his head, but it almost seems as if you're actually pleading, 'don't reject me this time, not when I've put myself this far out'.  And he doesn't want to reject you.  He doesn't want to turn away from you, not when you're like this.  And that's why he swallows, nods shortly, and mutters, "Fine."  He watches the relief blind your eyes for a brief moment before flickering out of sight.
The water is cool and soft as he pushed himself into it, still clad in his boxers, and he's shivering for two reasons.  One is simply the atmosphere around him, the knowledge that you are utterly naked, the fact that he is letting it all happen.  The other has everything to do with his own arousal, which strains furiously against his last remaining bit of clothing.  It feels so strange, sliding into the water with that hardness, that desire spiking over him.  All his thoughts are bent on it and he can't possibly think about anything else.  Especially when he feels your hands craning over his shoulders, pressing down lightly, comfortingly before darting away again.
"Relax," you whisper to him, trying to sound sympathetic.  But in actuality you are burning with eagerness.  He is finally within your grasp.  You have waited months for him to become this comfortable around you, and you are ecstatic that things are finally working out.  You can barely contain your excitement as you slide down next to him, once again immersing yourself in the cool water.
For a few minutes, Haru just stands there.  He eventually turns his eyes to you and allows himself to look over your figure.  He doesn't touch you, though, and so you just take his hand and pull him deeper into the pool, and the spell of his reluctance breaks a little more.
He cannot ignore the water, even when he's got other things on his mind, and so it doesn't take much prompting to get him interested enough to swim.  He lets his body fall into the water like it's his oxygen, and in a way it is.  It helps clear his mind from the fog of desire, helps him to understand the situation better, helps him to accept it.  And when he cuts back towards you, where you wait in the shallow end, he's got a harder sheen to his eyes.  As if he's made up some sort of very difficult decision.
It's not hard to guess what said decision had been.  Not when he's stepping right in front of you, taking your face in his hands, and leaning in to kiss you.  Not when he's pushing his body against yours and letting you feel the full extent of his desire.  Certainly not when he's letting his hands slide down your back, cup around your rear, and pull you closer.  It is such a sudden, delightful move that you are left speechless.  Blinded and dumbed down and drowning against his mouth and hands and body.  And you are circling, and you are infinite, and it feels as if there is a part of you that is screeching and wrestling its way out of you, searching for freedom.
You gasp and clutch at him, overcome by his sudden passion, by the way his kisses make you into a lightheaded fool.  How had he learned to kiss like this?  Did he always possess this ability and you just hadn't noticed?  All at once you're laughing against his mouth, disbelieving, and Haru is pulling back with a frown because he thinks you're laughing at him.  You hurry to say, "Why didn't you kiss me like that before?"  Because it's clear that he's been hiding this lovely little talent of his and you will be enacting your revenge for that.  You add it to your mental list, filled with all the other plans of revenge you have thought up.
He blinks, then blushes.  You have perhaps never seen his blush like this before, not this close, and you stare as his cheeks turn a pinkish color that makes him lovely.  He chuckles a little, bashful, and murmurs, "…Was it good?"  You raise your eyebrows, lean in, kiss his jaw, the underside of his chin.  You whisper with a soft groan, "Definitely."  He blushes just a little bit more and holds you tighter, silently enjoying the feel of your breasts pushed up against him.
"I've never…" he pauses, not wanting to finish his sentence.  What person wants to admit that they have no experience?  But you know that anyhow, and you just pull back a little and tell him, "That's okay.  We'll take it slow."  Baby steps.
He looks relieved to hear you say that, and he nods.  But when you reach down to trace the hem of his boxers, he stiffens back up and reluctantly clears his throat.  You won't let him pull away again though, not when you're so close.  So you press your body against his and keep your eyes trained to his face as your fingers get to work.  His boxers are easy to pool off in the pool.  They slide away without much of a problem, but the aftereffects leave you both drowning even further into the passion that has been built around you.  It doesn't help when you slowly start to curl your fingers around his shaft. 
He immediately gasps and clenches you tightly, pushing you back against the wall.  But he doesn't stop you.  Instead he follows you, pushing his hips against your palm and letting you touch him.  It feels rather like he's been put on fire, and even in the middle of the pool it is a scorching hot one that burns right down to his bones.
This time, you let yourself look down at him.  He doesn't seem to notice, because he's too busy trying to reign in the intense pleasure.  If he'd known that sex would include this, he might've been more interested in the past.  But right now he can't be bothered to think about all those wasted months.  Right now, all he can think about is the way your fingers are deftly pumping his rigid flesh, up and down.  His heart feels like it might burst.
He buries his head into your shoulder and breathes out.  There is the edge of a moan in his voice and it sounds so erotic that you can hardly believe this is Haru and not someone else.  But it is, of course, otherwise you wouldn't be this excited, and God help you but tonight you are going to be very, very selfish.  Though perhaps not as selfish as you usually are.
Slowly, you stop touching him.  You've suddenly got other things on your mind that you'd like to try out, so you pull your hands away and instead run them over his body.  You are aching all over with desire, but you push that aside because you want to deal with him, first.  You want to take your time with him because you've wanted this for so long.  Letting it happen too quickly would be sinful.  You splay your hands over his chest, thinking.  After a moment of this, you nod and tell him, "Go sit on the edge of the pool."  And he stares, because he's not stupid and he knows that that position would give you direct access to his --
"Go, Haru," you tell him with a soft chuckle.  You start shooing him to the side, as if you both aren't naked and about to partake in very delicious things.  It does make him feel a bit more comfortable, and he allows you to shepherd him.  But his comfort is utterly broken when he does sit down, and with you right between his legs he can't possibly hope to get it back.  It's just as well, really.
You look utterly wicked with that smirk stretched over your lips, and it makes Haru feel tense.  But that tenseness loses its grip on him when you gently wrap your fingers around his length once more.  You gently pump him and he sort of shatters, his body collapsing into tiny little shivers that run endlessly over him, just out of sight.  He thinks his face is turning red but can't really give a damn, and neither can you because that's when you start replacing your hand for your mouth.  And if he felt good before, it does not compare to how it feels now.
He trembles, his eyes wide as he watches your lips spread and take him against your tongue.  His cock is hard, and the sight of you doing this to him makes it harder.  He bites his bottom lip and swallows back a moan that would no doubt embarrass him very much if he were to let it out.  He's not sure, at first, what to do with himself or his hands, which hang uselessly by his legs.  But after a moment he can't think about stuff like that, and everything starts blurring because of the pleasure, and his hands just do whatever they want to.  They are soon tangled into your hair.
You cannot deny that you've wanted to do this to him for a while.  But it feels even better now, now that it is finally happening.  The realness of the situation makes you flounder, raise your eyes to look at him.  His eyes are wide open and he's staring right back, and the sight of your upturned eyes and your mouth stuffed around him has got him tossing his chin up and panting.  His hair rushes into his eyes.  His hips jerk forward of their own accord, trying to push his cock further into you.  You handle it well though, and press your hands to his thighs to stop him.  But you take him deeper as well, relaxing your throat and trying to get used to the sensation of having something lodged there.  Your gag reflex almost kicks in a few times, but after a few minutes you get used to the feeling and gain more confidence.
Haru is busy watching you and trying to remember how to breathe.  He's also busy wondering if it's normal to want to come so early.  He has never done this before and has zero experience other than listening to the rather disturbing stories of his classmates.  So as you suck, turn your tongue, pump him in and out, he hangs there in between the shades of his passion with no idea what to do.
But the funny thing about love (or sex, or romancing) is that no one knows what to do.  They only do whatever they can to keep the atmosphere where they want it to be.  They struggle and deceive and explore until there is no area of their lover's body that they do not know.  And that is when they know what to do with their hands and their hearts, until the next lover comes along and they have to start from scratch once more.
Haru lets out a soft, "[N-Name]-!"  That makes him blush, but it can't be helped.  You are sucking at his tip now and he can feel his orgasm coming up fast, headily racing over his body.  You can tell that he is nearly there, so you drop your fingers down over his length, to the very base and give a little squeeze.  Your thumb sinks lower to rub over him, dashing gently against his skin.  The effect it has on him is nothing less than hazardous.
All at once Haru's gasping, bucking his hips forward in little thrusts, clenching his fist into your hair and throwing his head back.  His neck cranes softly in the moonlight, which illuminates his skin in a sacred sort of paleness that makes you stare openly.  You think, for a moment, that Haru is beautiful.  It is not the first time you've thought this over the last few years you've known him, but it is the first time you've seen him like this, in such rapture.  And you cannot look away from him, even as you hurry to drag out his finish, even as you swallow everything he's got to offer.
Even when his hips stop moving, Haru remains suspended, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his lost breath.  You watch him almost idly, letting his softened member slide away from your lips.  For a moment you just stare up at him, and he stares down at you, and you share a strangely intimate moment that seems to supersede the one you just had.  Then you lift yourself up onto your elbows and let yourself drop down into his lap, resting your head on top of his thigh.  He sighs and drapes his arms over your body, smoothing his touch against your back and into your wet hair.  And the moon watches, and the planetary bodies circle, and you slowly decide that tonight is not the beginning or the end.  It is simply a new start to an ongoing story.  A story that makes you feel very, very, very alive.


~~~

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

A Yuki Sohma Lemon -- Stumble (in the dark)

Character: Yuki Sohma

Fandom: Fruits Basket

OC: Kai, perverted and blunt but outwardly innocent

Inspiration: Thunderstorms :3  Also, I doubt I have to mention it, but the curse has already been broken!


It is 4 o'clock in the morning, and Kai is constantly reminded because the clock noisily ticks and tocks away.  She watches the minute hand slowly loop around the numbers.  5…10…15…  She holds her tea tight in her hands and jumps a little every time the restless night clashes, glimmers with thunder.  She can't sleep.  It's not because she's afraid.  It's simply too loud, too violent and unsettled.  And so she just sits there in the kitchen, in the gray darkness of very, very early dawn, and watches the clock.  25…30…35…  And then… "Kai?" 
She jumps again, this time not from the thunder but from the presence behind her, which she had certainly not anticipated.  Yuki is standing in the doorway of the kitchen looking sleepy but restive, as if he'd been tossing and turning in that great big bed they often slept in.  He steps closer and she turns, swiveling her chair to face him and smiling very softly.  A slap, crash, fizzle of thunder illuminates them like two souls endlessly searching.  Neither quite understand just what they are searching for, but Yuki thinks he might have found it when he circles his arms around her shoulders and drags her against his chest.
She turns fully to him, sliding her arms around him, too.  In that high stool, her head fits snugly against his shoulder and neck, and she sighs out as she leans into him.  He strokes his fingers through her hair and murmurs slowly, "Have you been here long?" 
She hums, a long drawn out sound filled with that yearning for sleep.  When she answers him, her voice is unused and cracking with splinters of exhaustion.  "A while," she mutters, and looks up at those eyes of his, which look gray in all this darkness.  "The thunder woke me up."  And he smiles briefly because it woke him up, too, but what ultimately kept him up had been the fact that she'd been gone.  And breathes out, "Me, too," and leans down to press a soft kiss to her forehead.
Perhaps it is that kiss that sparks an odd urgency within Kai.  Perhaps it is the kiss, but other things too.  Like the dreary, lazy, languorous atmosphere that the storm brings about; or the softness of the night and the way it turns their reservations to smoke; or simple the way they fit against one another, with that flawlessness that makes it seem as though they'd been made solely for each other.   Perhaps it is all these things and more.  Regardless, Kai lifts her head and returns his affections with a well placed kiss on his neck, tucked just beneath his jaw.  And Yuki starts to feel that odd urgency too, in the way her tongue cleverly lilts over his skin. 
He thinks he likes it.  He thinks he likes it but he is eternally hesitant when it comes to the matters of flesh, and so he stiffens just a little bit.  Kai knows not to take his reaction for rejection.  She might've, once upon a time, but that had been before she had really known him as well as she does now.  And so tonight, she takes it all into stride and chuckles lazily against his neck,  dragging her hand up his chest and caressing his cheek.  She pushes her head back and meets his eyes boldly. 
He thinks he sees a great many things in that gaze of hers.  Desire, certainly, which surprises him.  How can she want him so very badly, from just a simple, comfortable kiss?  Mischief, too, which makes that desire implode into little smatters of other emotions, like amusement and affection and arousal.  And speaking of arousal, Yuki thinks he feels one of his own climbing down the back of his spine, infiltrating through his skin and bone and marrow, stiffening his body in other ways. 
"Yuki…" she drawls, her eyes gleaming, cutting through the darkness like bursting diamonds.  The thunder fractures, taints, smashes through the room and Yuki shivers, because her expressions gets briefly lit up and he can see a whole lot of other emotions.  And it's like looking into a very small window of his future.  And he thinks he likes that, too.
Her hands reach up over his chest, then higher to the first button of his pajamas.  His fingers tighten around her waist as he watches her undo his shirt, slowly but without reservation.  He can see that glint in her eyes and he knows it to have very delicious consequences.  And while it frightens him it also makes him yearn and want.  Her, her kisses, her touches, her expertise and the way she makes him feel anxious and desperate and fulfilled all at once.
"You're not tired anymore…?" he finds himself wondering.  His voice is tight and unsure, but only because these situations scare him a little.  Inside, he is also feeling aroused and excited, but it's a bit harder for him to express that side of himself. 
Kai gives him a crooked smile that calms him down, because it's filled with comfort and admiration and maybe even love.  She's halfway down his chest now and she leans forward to press her mouth against the revealed skin.  But before she gets there, she whispers, "I'm not tired at all.  Are you?"  And her mouth descends upon his flesh just as her fingers finish unbuttoning the shirt.  She shoves the fabric out of her way and moves to kiss his nipple, licking over it and touching the other side of him as she does.  Her touches are lazy, too, like she can't be bothered to hasten the pace.  But he likes this laziness.  He likes it very much.
"Mmm…n-no…" he breathes, feeling his arousal heighten.  How can anyone make him so hard, so fast?  But she does.  With just a few of her addictive kisses, she turns him into clay and it's delicious, the way she handles him.  The way she knows instinctively just what he needs.  He moves his fingers to grip her hair and she moves her fingers to grip his arousal, which strains softly against the fabric of his pajama pants.  Yuki immediately reacts, a surprised moan spilling from his lips when she squeezes, rolls her palm over the bulge, squeezes again.  She's not entirely gently but she's not entirely rough, either, and her touch is a delightful mix of the two. 
"K-Kai," he whispers, unsure if his outcry is a warning or a plead for more.  Of course he wants her.  But this is happening so fast and his senses are miles behind him, lost in the stupor of the strange night as it crashes them away.
Kai looks up at him and lets her fingers trace over the hem of his pants idly, like she's debating on whether she should take them off fast or slow.  Yuki swallows thickly and chuckles, breathless.  She hooks her legs around his and murmurs, "Let's have sex, Yuki."  And her words make his face burst with red, embarrassment rising up within him like a tide.  But she only blinks, as if her words are totally normal.  Her eyes glint with that mischief-amusement-desire, and he knows that she will get her way.  She always does.
He raises his hand to run it through his hair, brushing it back as he searches for something to say in return.  Nothing comes to mind and he falters, looking lost.  Kai decides to help him out and smirks, reaching out to push his shirt away from his shoulders.  He lets it drop to the floor, altogether powerless in the face of her passion, and shivers when she whispers, "Come on."  She shifts out of the seat, takes his hand, and pulls him into the living room.
The lightening illuminates their way here and there, but mostly they are stumbling in the dark.  It's okay, he thinks, especially when they find the couch without incident.  Everything's okay until Kai pushes him rather roughly onto said couch, and he falls against the cushions without warning. 
"Kai!" he exclaims, blushing, but she only chuckles darkly and slips into his lap.  The next moment, all his complaints die on his tongue because she's circling her hips over his growing erection, and Yuki thinks he might die from the pleasure. 
"Kai…" he moans, surrendering.  He grasps her waist and lets his head fall back.  She immediately leans forward to kiss his jaw, her hands slipping over his chest.  He watches her luxuriously for a moment, and she smiles and kisses him, sealing her mouth with his.  He kisses back slowly, his need for her growing and spiking with every tilt of her hips.  And he knows that there is no walking away from this now.  There never really was, but he overlooks that because he can't be bothered with 'what-ifs' or 'maybes'.  All he can think of is what he feels now.
She takes the kiss deeper, angles her mouth and runs her tongue over his.  Yuki feels invisible and insubstantial against her expertise, and yet so so grand.  He thinks her kisses will be the death of him, but she continues to prove him wrong at every turn.  When her hands drop over his body and curls around the hem of his pants, he's got a feeling that everything's about to get a little blurrier.
It really does.  Because after a moment spent wrestling off those pants, Kai immediately reaches for his member, which shifts up into the air as a hardened mass.  Yuki's not expecting the abrupt touch, but he finds himself moaning softly and tumbling back, overcome by the soft way she touches him.  Her fingers are astoundingly gentle even while the rest of her movements are not.  She doesn't pump him, not really, but rather pushes her fingers from his base to his tip and down again.  It's a bit of teasing but Yuki doesn't mind, not yet.  Because then her mouth is descending on his once more and he's kissing her back as fervently as he can.  And the combined feeling of her touch has got him shrinking further into the couch, feeling more aroused than he would've thought possible.
"Mmmm…Yuki," she whispers, her words drawling over his mouth.  Their kiss becomes ash that is gusted away, flaking out of existence.  Yuki opens his eyes to look at her, just as the lightening flashes, crumbles, fluctuates.  She presses her forehead against his and their passion dwindles into a burning furnace fueled by other emotions, not just stark desire or material gain.  And he thinks he could spend forever and a day mapping out those eyes of hers, finding her emotions and exploring the ways they change her eyes.  The colors of them, the shifts of light and darkness, the marrying of the two.  But there's no time for that, not now, and so when Kai murmurs a low, husky, erotic, "Take my clothes off," he decides he'll have to postpone that exploration for another time.  They clearly have more important things to do.
He shivers.  Her words alone have a kind of power over him.  It makes him want to please her, makes him want to do as she says.  He doesn't particularly like to think of himself as submissive, but when it comes to this he doesn't care either way.  All he cares about is being with her, being bare with her, being honest and truthful and in love with her. 
He slips his hands into her nightshirt, thanks the heavens that it's the only article of clothing she's wearing, and lifts it slowly up.  She doesn't try to hurry him.  Kai likes his slow passion, likes the way it makes her crazy with eager anticipation.  She shudders and whispers his name, dropping kisses over his jaw and ear and neck.  His fingers feel up her spine, press touches into every vertebrae that he uncovers, takes her desperation and makes it crash and burn and shatter on the floor.  By the time he pulls the clothing completely off, Kai thinks she might go insane from his tenderness. 
And yet Yuki's got this lovely way of proving her wrong at every turn, too, and when he leans down to kiss her slowly, gently, she's utterly blown away.  She kisses him back, moaning, loving the way his hands drop over her skin and breasts and hips.  There is a genteelness in his every movement, in every finger that strokes heat into her flesh, and Kai craves it just as much as she wishes he would go faster, faster.  Until her desperation is a compacted mass that makes her head spin delightfully, always circling.
He likes the sight of her like this, bathed in this gray light, her bare skin illuminated just a little, just enough to make it all mysterious and soft.  He palms up her body, tracing the hem of her panties then pattering upward to touch the plane of her abdomen, the curve of her breast, the tops of her shoulders.  Then he reaches back down to cup her breasts again, because he really can't help it, and the light squeeze of his touch makes Kai breath out and press herself more fully against him. 
He likes this, too.  The way her breasts are neither small or large, but fit into his hands perfectly.  He likes the he can engulf them if he wants.  It makes him feel like he's got a little bit of her bold power, like he can be colorful and powerful too, if he wants to be.  But he also likes the idea of making her as bare as him, and that's what ultimately prompts him to continue his quest back down.  He hooks his fingers into her panties and slips his hands inside them, curving them around her butt.  The fabric follows his wrists, clings to his skin as he eases it away.  Kai helps, shifts her hips, chuckles when the little piece of clothing gets momentarily stuck around her knee.  But when it has dropped away, there isn't really anything about the situation that makes her want to laugh.  Because he is bare and she is bare and they are both very aroused, and only one emotion is born from such a delightful state.
They stare at each other for a short moment then suddenly the stillness shatters.  Kai leans in and Yuki follows suit, and their mouths are suddenly moving very quickly indeed.  Her hips are bucking against his and Yuki is murmuring her name, and his length is hard and pokes against her inner thigh with a vengeance.  And really, it's no surprise that they both desire one thing and one thing only, and so Kai is quick to grasp his member and guide it to her core.  She's even quicker to sink herself onto it.
Their union is sudden but yearned for, and Yuki lets out a harsh breath as he feels the heat and tightness of her.  He is filling her up in the most delicious way and she moans, clutches his shoulders, rocks her hips forward.  The movements takes his cock and pulls it deeper inside her.  It's hard to moan now, and all Yuki can do is watch her move and try not to faint from the intense bliss.
"Mmm…" Kai moans.  The sound sinks into his skin and shakes him down, making his grasp her harder, pulling her tight against his chest.  Holding her is so wonderful and he is so glad that he can do this, be this close to her.  His curse has shattered and he is thankful for it, thankful because it would be so hard to do what he's doing now if he still had it. 
It feels so good being inside her.  Yuki pushes his head back against the edge of the couch and sighs.  His voice is the cusp of a moan and it makes Kai shiver, clutch at him, drive her hips faster.  She takes him as deeply as she can and then drags him back out, almost to his tip, before she starts again.  Her thrusts make him feel numb with pleasure, and he thinks he might come soon.  So he threads his fingers into her hair, presses a kiss to her temple, and whispers hoarsely, "Kai…I'm almost…almost there…" 
She nods at his words, swallowing back a thick wave of desire that threatens to overpower her.  Her orgasm licks at her lower body, boils over, cracking through her flesh like a tendril of that lightening that still flashes outside.  Her end is like that lightening, too, and it rises up within her so quickly that she barely has time to warn Yuki.  But that's okay, he doesn't need her warning.  He can feel her muscles clench and tighten over his shaft and he just knows that she's about to come.  And the thought of her coming on him, because of him, has him racing toward his own release.
"Yuki!" she gasps, arching her back.  She raises her upper body off of him, tilting into the air, and Yuki blurrily watches the lovely way she shudders and trembles and shifts.  He bucks his hips harder, trying to catch up with her.  In response, she does the same, until their lower bodies crash and crumble against one another, until they have no idea as to where one of them ends and the other begins.  The lightening splinters, pauses, rebounds.  They do, too.
He spills himself into her with a long moan and a breathy, whispered, "Kaiii…"  It sounds so erotic to hear her name like that, and Kai keeps up her thrusting and drags his orgasm out, breathing hard against his neck.  And by the time she has stopped moving, Yuki has just begun to catch that lost breath.  They remain very still, laid out against one another, and the thunder gently booms.
It continues to storm even as Kai lifts herself off of him, even as they settle together on the couch, bodies splayed out against cushions and skin.  When the morning finally serenades them awake, the storm has passed but their love hasn't, and neither has their desire.  And it threatens to swallow them whole, just like a thunderstorm that wrinkles, clatters, surges against the beating of their hearts.

~~~

Saturday, June 28, 2014

A Prussia Lemon -- Fester, Double, Shatter

Character: Prussia

Fandom: Hetalia

OC: Rose, hot-headed, auburn hair

Inspiration: Angry sex.  Yup ;)


It hadn't actually been her fault.  She hadn't meant to lock them out of their apartment.  It is just a twist of fate: one of those uncertain, deceptive struggles that life often throws at you.  If anything, it's more Prussia's fault than hers, because he'd been the one complaining about missing the show and how much time it could possibly take to put a fucking dress on.
"What?" he mutters when he hears her say that.  He narrows his eyes at Rose and crosses his arms.  In an annoyed voice, he spits, "You were the one to leave the key on the table.  Inside.  How the fuck did you forget to take the goddamn key?!"  Oh, he's angry.  Angrier even than before, when they'd first realized the mistake.  But luckily, Rose is well equipped at dealing with her sometimes emotional lover, and she just glowers.
"You're the man.  Shouldn't the men remember stuff like that?"  She's not as angry as him, of course, but she'd definitely like for him to stop blaming her whenever something bad happens.  Besides, it had been his fault, or at least partially.  He had been so distracting as they were leaving that of course she'd forgotten to take the key.  If he hadn't been putting his hands everywhere and giving her those eyes, then her common sense would have been firmly retained.
Gilbert lets out a laugh, one of those I-can't-believe-this-is-happening-to-me laughs, and turns around to face the stairs.  Their apartment is on the sixth floor of a rickety old building that literally anyone could walk into, because the safety system is shit.  The wallpapered walls are peeling and the paint is chipping off the stairway railing.  Theirs is the only door on this landing, because to the right is the emergency landing.  It's an old fashioned layout, not like the modern duplexes, but it's cheap and close to Rose's work place.  Gilbert usually doesn't mind the building.  It has that old charm which is rarely seen in cities anymore, and besides, he doesn't need much to live on.  But tonight, the stairway feels suffocating and his anger clouds all of those sentiments, and Gilbert just wants to get out.
"You're right," he growls, his voice low and dangerous but not very scary, to Rose.  She slides down the door and watches as he turns back to her, eyes sweeping over her figure as she sits on the floor.  Her dress is hiked up to her thighs and her hair is messy from the last five minutes, when she'd constantly been running her fingers through it.  She looks tired, too, and a bit upset, but mostly just accepting.  This is life.  It happens.  They can just go to a hotel for the night and call the landlord or a locksmith tomorrow.
But Gilbert's not accepting.  He's angry.  Maybe not at her but at the night in general, and at the fact that nothing ever seems to go right for him and he's got the worst luck and it drives him insane.  And maybe he's a bit jealous of that accepting attitude, the way Rose can just take things into stride and turn them into blessings.  Whichever, he bites out an annoyed, "You're right, I am a man," in response to her previous words, which he saw as a way of her questioning that manliness.  He absolutely can't have her questioning that part of him. 
Rose raises her eyebrows and looks at him, a little bit confused.  The smile she sends him is bathed in amusement, like she's not sure where he's going with this and hadn't expected him to so adamantly insist it.  She tilts her head to the side and says lightly, "I know you're a man, Gilbert.  That's exactly what's wrong with you."  He glares.  She shrugs.
He starts pacing, spewing curse words that would make a sailor cringe.  Some of his words are English, things he'd picked up on during his time with the English speaking countries and most of Europe, for that matter.  They are bright words, pushed past angry lips that make them even brighter, like scintillating promises and threats and warnings.  Most are German words, because he knows much more of those and can string them together faster.  They spin off his tongue like never ending seasons that burn, crush, freeze, bloom, and Rose watches in mild interest because he mutters them so quickly and she's always liked foreign curse words.  They amuse her.
But she's not really amused when he mutters, "Fuck it, this is all your fault, where are we gonna sleep - Wie blieb der Fick ich mit solch einer stummen Frau stecken?" [1]  No, that doesn't really amuse her.  Especially when Rose can understand what he's saying.  She immediately switches from lighthearted to furious, her eyes a boiling inferno, her mouth twisting into a dangerous scowl.  Gilbert doesn't even see her until she's pushing his face into the wall and pinning him against it with her body, but by then he's nothing but a snarling, angry mess and they're gone.  Lost in a fury that has no outlet.  Save, perhaps, one.
Can he help himself if her anger turns him on?  No, of course not, and why would he want to stop it anyhow?  Still, he hardly notices that little shift of arousal because he's too busy eating wood, and it takes him a few seconds to get out of the insulting hold because he really hadn't expected it.  But when he does get out of it and turns around, Rose just pushes his back against the wall instead, and Gilbert doesn't mind this position as much because he realizes what that shift of arousal is doing to him.  And speaking of eating wood, he's got a lovely feeling that he'll be making her sample some, too.
But Rose has other plans for the night, most of which involve kicking his ass down the six flights of stairs that delve off into the darkness to their immediate right.  She glares at him, their faces inches from each other, and even though he's taller than her she still looks fairly intimidating.  And really, what can he do?  What can he do when she's got her body pressed against his, when they're totally alone in the dark, when they're stuck here anyway with all that delicious hot blistering wicked anger?
He kisses her.  Rose immediately makes a disgruntled noise and tries to jerk back, but his hands are already tangling into her hair and he's pulling her in for more.  His mouth is already taking her down and devouring her senselessly and clashing angrily against hers.  And it is a clash, that kiss.  It's nothing but teeth and snarls and fury.  It's not at all romantic and not even a little bit gentle, but God it feels good.  And even Rose has to admit that it isn't the worst kiss she's ever had.  The anger she feels dives into a furious arousal that overcomes her far too quickly, but she fights it off because she wants to see how far Gilbert will take this.  How much he'll make her crazy with his semi-forced kisses and his own angry desire.
"You bastard - " she tries to hiss, but her words are immediately swallowed and muffled and they turn into a vibrating mess that can't be understood.  And Gilbert is growling and his hands are slipping away from her head because he'd like to touch her in other places, too.  He moves to roughly squeeze her butt, heaving her against the bulge in his trousers and bucking his hips against her.  She bites her lip but he can't see the reluctant passion in her eyes, because he's too busy marking red kisses down her neck and over her collarbone.  His fingers are shifting over the back of her dress and then he's hastily jerking at the zipper of it, tugging it down before she can stop him and struggling to get the fabric off. 
But Rose won't go down without a fight.  She snarls and tries to keep the fabric on, and Gilbert doesn't appreciate it because the next moment, he's slamming her against the wall and victoriously eyeing the heap of her clothes, which are kicked away before any more complaints can be voiced.
He pins her body with his, overcoming all her struggles.  He inhales them, loves them, enjoys the way she squirms at his touch and tries to bat his hands away from her.  Because a part of him knows that she's not really against this, that she's only putting up a fight for the sake of it all.  He can see how much she likes his touches and his kisses and his rough handling of her.  He can see it in her eyes as she stares sightlessly at the ceiling.  He can see it in the way she haplessly grasps at his shirt and bites her lip and swallows her moans.
His mouth descends angrily on her breast, and he's not gentle, not even a little bit.  His teeth clash against her skin and his kisses are harsh sucks that make her red and delirious.  If someone hears them, or happens to be coming home late tonight and is coming their way, there is literally no place to hide.  But in a way, the knowledge of this makes Rose all the crazier, and she sinks and trembles against the wall.  She trembles even more when Gilbert forces her panties down with both hands and curls his fingers around her rear, stroking over her heat and circling his hips against hers at the same time.
He's so hard, and it feels so good, and all Rose really wants is for him to sink himself inside her and just take her already.  But then she remembers that she's supposed to be angry with him, and that they're fighting, and that Gilbert is really just taking advantage of the situation to get her back and to dissipate her anger.  That thought makes her mad.  She snaps her eyes open and looks up at her brusque lover, who is now blinking at her, inches away.  But he's distracted, distracted by the way his hips are roiling over hers, distracted by the way she's making his trousers wet with her arousal.  He's distracted and Rose decides to act.
A moment later, she's hooking her ankle around his and jerking it to the side.  He stumbles, surprised, and she twists him around and pushes him against the wall again.  Before he can get his bearings back, she's swiftly undoing his belt and thrusting her hand into his trousers, wrapping her fingers around his hard cock and making him groan, sink back, melt.  Her other hand rips at his dress shirt, forcefully popping the buttons open (some clatter to the floor), and pressing harsh kisses over his skin.  Her revenge is sweet but painful, and all her harsh little kisses and bites leave Gilbert clutching at her, overcome by the heightened pleasure of having her hand around him, pumping him roughly, and her mouth doing silly things to his head. 
She is rough.  God, she's taking no mercy out on him.  His cock almost hurts from her harsh handling of it.  There's no soft friction between them, no lube to make her touches easier.  It's just her palm against his skin, dry and fierce and angry, forcing that pitiful pleasure all over him, making it capture him and swallow him whole.
"F-F-Frau - !" [2] he cries out and shudders, then glares at her because he hadn't meant to say that words so pathetically.  She doesn't stop biting over his nipple, or struggling to get his shirt out of her way, but she does look at up him and smirks.  He tries to sneer but that goes wrong for him, too, and it only makes his expression into a gratifying mess of pleasure.  The pleasure might have something to do with the way she's pinching lightly, quickly over his tip and dragging his pre-cum over her thumb.  He feels like he might burst at any moment, but he really hopes he doesn't because that would be really lackluster, coming to the painful way she thrusts him.  He wouldn't forgive himself, either.
He grits his teeth and huddles over her form, which is now kneeling before him.  She's kissing/nipping/biting over his abdomen, leaving furious red welts everywhere she goes, but it feels so God damned good that Gilbert can't even work up a complaint at how she's treating him and defiling his awesome body.  He watches her thrust her hand over him, watches her devour his skin, and mutters and helpless but annoyed, "Scheisse." [3]  Then he swallows thickly and says, "Fucking…suck me off already…Frau - !"  Because he really can't take anymore of those dry touches.  He needs her mouth, tight and wet around him.  He needs it so badly that he think he might cry.  And he would sooner kill himself than cry from this kind of torture.
Rose glares up at him, pumping his cock faster.  She watches him crumble above her, watches the way his expression is flickering with emotion and anger and helpless pleasure and pain.  But she won't give in, not the way he wants her to.  She leans in and licks over his skin by the hem of his trousers, then murmurs lowly, "First, apologize for saying that right in front of me."  She will drag an apology out of him if it's the last thing she does. 
Gilbert stares at her in surprise and annoyance and all sorts of other pitiful emotions that he'd like to ignore.  He can't believe that she is so evil, that she'd rather hear him apologize than let him come.  That she's going to use his arousal as a way to control him.  He grits his teeth and twists his mouth shut, silently telling her that he'll never apologize, at least not when she's using his cock as leverage.  Rose can't help but think that she likes this.  Likes the way he fights back and doesn't immediately give in.  She smirks.
She's already kneeling in front of him, so the next step of her wicked plan is fairly simple.  She drags his cock toward her as she thrusts her hand over it, and brings the tip of him into her mouth.  Then she sucks.  Painfully, deliciously.  And Gilbert can't stop himself from bucking his hips forward and muttering out a breathless, "Gott!  Sie werden mich, Frau kommen lassen - !" [4]  And he's about to, he's so close, but then Rose is popping her lips away from him and dragging her hand to his base slowly, so fucking slowly that absolutely no pleasure can be garnered from her touch.  There is nothing, nothing except the hopeless yearning for the end.
He's so God damned angry with her that he thinks he sees stars clouding over his vision and turning it red.  He glares down at her through his crimson eyes and tightens his grip of her hair.  Then he forces her face against his cock and she cries out a little in surprise, and a little desire too, because his shaft is suddenly rubbing against her cheek and she quite likes the sight of him.
She still wants her apology, though.  So she raises her eyebrows and turns her gaze to his cock, which strains tight and angrily into the air.  Then she looks up at his face, tilts her head, and says, "You want me to finish you off?  I'll suck you right to your finish.  You want that?"  He swallows a spike of hard desire that comes from hearing those hot words, and growls because he knows what she's doing, but he can't stop himself from nodding shortly.  He's not surprised when she doesn't give in.  She can be ridiculously stubborn.  She leans in and licks over his cock, her tongue burning wet heat against his shaft and making him see more of those stars.  But then the sliver of pleasure ends and she whispers, "Then apologize to me, Gilbert."  And she jerks away, leaving him gasping and breathless against the wall.
He doesn't like this.  He doesn't like being dominated by someone else, especially when it comes to sex.  He notices that her hand isn't really pumping him anymore.  It's just slowly dragging over him, too slowly for him to feel much pleasure, and so he decides to take advantage of her lack of power and do something about his pitiful situation.
Rose had (stupidly) thought that she'd taken the fight out of him.  But suddenly he's grasping her upper arms, dragging her into the air and pushing her against wall for the second time that night.  And their roles are reversed so quickly that Rose can barely keep track of his movements, and the fight is definitely not gone from his eyes.  Definitely not.
He pants, overcome by his sudden power, his sudden control and dominance.  He gasps because he's so fucking hard and it hurts and he's going to get her back for this.  He's going to fuck her so hard that she's going to hurt, too.  And as for her apology, it'll have to wait for now because literally all he can think of is stuffing himself as deeply into her as physically possible.
His trousers are still tight around his hips but luckily his member is very much removed from their confinements.  He jerks her legs into the air and shoves his cock against her core, rolling their arousals together and sighing at the intense pleasure it brings.  Rose arches her back and moans, feeling helpless but deliriously good, but very wary about the glint in his eye.  He smirks and mutters roughly, "Do you know how much that hurt, woman?  Having you touch me like that?  It felt like you were stripping my skin away piece by piece…"  He rolls his hips into hers again and she gasps, digs her nails into his shoulders, clutches at the dress shirt that still hangs loosely around his torso.
He'll make her crazy with his words alone, she thinks.  But it gets worse, of course it does.  This is Prussia, after all, and he wants to remind her of it.  He growls angrily, "I won't be gentle with you tonight.  I'm not gonna be gentle, Rose."  His warning is a wicked promise that makes her toes curl and she can't wait, can't wait for his roughness.  She swallows thickly as he mutters, "It's gonna hurt.  I'm gonna make you scream."  His words dive off into a smattering of his native tongue but she can barely hear him, now.  She's far too busy paying attention to the way he's suddenly stuffing his swollen head into her core.
She cries out when he snaps his hips roughly into hers, pushing her forcefully back into the wall and hilting himself completely.  He's so deep that she can feel his base against her clit and it does hurt, really badly, but God it feels good too.  Especially when he starts off at a pace that leaves her miles behind, hanging precariously against the wall and him, clinging to his body as he has his fill of her.  Takes and takes and takes and gives, too, just a little, just enough to make her whimper and press moans against his neck. 
He gasps and pushes his forehead against her hair, slamming his hips into hers and bruising her, annihilating her, making her voice rise and fall.  His cock is a fast drag against her inner walls and it makes her crazy, and she thinks she might come already and it's only been a few minutes.  But Gilbert doesn't care if she comes, he wants her to, and he kisses her cheek and jaw and ear.  His kisses are the only romantic part of their union but that's okay.  The anger behind their movements makes for an intense, numbing pleasure that's got them both moaning, clutching at each other, thrumming towards their end faster and faster.
He's going to com, too, and he lets out a desperate, "Rose…Rose…mmmm…" that makes her gasp and pant and tangle her fingers into his hair.  They're both so sensitive that it doesn't take very long, really, to find their end.  But just before Gilbert let's himself come he murmurs a half delirious apology against her hair, and it is that gentleness in the midst of all this fury that makes Rose buck her hips forward and come, too.  And their ends are rough, too, and not very fulfilling because they're still aroused, and he's still hard.  But he spills himself into her and she pants, breathless against the wall.  And it takes them all of three seconds before their mouths are angrily crashing against each other, kissing roughly and headily and crazily, clashing with pleasure and a combined need that makes them feel weightless.
"I already want you again," Rose laughs, surprised at her suddenly hearty libido.  But tonight Gilbert isn't surprised, and he won't deny her what he wants too, at least if his half hard cock as anything to say on the matter.  He growls playfully and steps away from the wall, but he doesn't realize that his legs are boneless and they stumble, together, to the floor.  Rose is laughing again and Gilbert rolls over her and shuts her up.  And suddenly it's starting all over, and their hips are pushing and their connecting again, and Gilbert is thrusting into her and surprising her and God, she's so fucking wet and he can hear every thrust.  And by the time he's had her fill of her, and her of him, the sun is beginning to color the sky with a lighter shade of blue and they've got a feeling that they've woken up their neighbors.  But neither care, because they're too busy falling into that angry, passionate sort of love that very rarely comes into existence, but has the ability to color their lives very brilliantly indeed.

~~~

Translations:
[1] Wie blieb der Fick ich mit solch einer stummen Frau stecken? … How the fuck did I get stuck with such a dumb woman?

[2] Frau … Woman

[3] Scheisse … Shit

[4] "Gott! Sie werden mich, Frau kommen lassen - !" … God! You'll make me come, woman - !