Sunday, May 12, 2013

A Souji Okita Lemon -- Cascade

Character: Shouji Okita

Fandom: Hakuouki

OC: Makira Itsuka, passive aggressive, wears black kimono with red accents

Inspiration: Makira is taking care of Souji and…stuff happens.  Lol :D

Souji Okita isn't poetic.  He doesn't have a way with words.  He doesn't really know what love feels like.  No, Souji doesn't put a lot of stock into romance, but the first time he saw her, he swore his entire world imploded.  It is a good sort of implosion, a satisfying one.  Not made of anything in particular or earth-shattering, but good.  Wholesome.  And it makes him want more every time he is faced with it.
"Don't you dare," Makira warns.  She swats his hand away from her body as it comes near.  She is all too happy to give him what he wants, but not now.  Her duty comes first, always.  And this time of the day dictates that it is time for Souji's medicine.
Makira never thought she would play nurse to someone like Souji.  She often does such work, even before Kondou hired her to care for the Shinsengumi's sick.  It had started out as a part time sort of job that escalated into more.  Into something that centered around only Souji. 
She stirs the powder medicine into his tea silently, ignoring his stare.  His eyes have a certain power over her that she doesn't want to admit to, so she often chooses not to meet them.  But there is something in the atmosphere today, something that burns and singes between them, and it prompts Makira to gather up the courage to raise her eyes.
Passion.  It swirls in Souji's gaze like a vice, dark and intense.  Makira studies it for a moment, and then turns away and shifts his tea toward him.  He shifts it back.  His eyes are more than intense, she realizes when she goes to tell him to hurry up and take his medicine.  They are quaking with an emotion that cannot be described, only felt.  And Makira feels it in every single muscle, tendon, and cell, right down to her bones.  Bittersweet lust.  Twisted desire.  Knowledge.
"Souji - " she wants to tell him that now isn't the time for such intricate feelings.  She wants to turn away and leave his room.  It is hardly noon and she had things to attend to, other patients to help.  But his hand snaps out for her wrist before she can stand and he holds her in place.  Not with the firmness of his grasp, but with the rest of him, which is nothing less than overpowering.
"Stay," he utters.  It is a sacred word.  It is breathed past lips that are yearning for her, into air that is stale without her immediate presence.  He needs her, now.  That much is discernable from the unshaken resolve in his dark eyes.
She obeys.  She's not sure why, only that she suddenly can't leave.  It is almost as if her entire universe is suddenly altered.  He is now the sun in which she orbits, the stars which lead her through space and time, the equinox between passion and normality.  Gravity, meaning, importance.
He lets her move in her own time, content to sat back and watch.  Makira pauses, finger touching the rim of the tea in an almost hesitant manner.  And then all at once she pushes the tray away, skidding it a few feet to her right before crawling toward him.
They meet in melodramatic bliss, sighing out as though the world has been keeping them apart.  He drags one hand into her hair and catches her mouth with his.  Their lips move in a frenzy, as if making up for lost time.  She throws one leg over both of his and pushes him onto his back, immediately restarting their kiss.
"Someone will catch us," Makira whispers out, though she doesn't slow down and she doesn't seem to care.  Her words were merely an observation, an edge of a warning.  Souji takes it all into stride as he grunts and breaths, "No, they won't."  They won't.  He says it with such assuredness that it makes the thought fly away.  Bold pleasure quickly replaces it.
The next moment finds Makira flat on her back with hardly any knowledge as to how she got there.  Souji smirks down at her and her eyes burst with delicious lust that makes him feel empowered.  He leans down to kiss her hard, moving his tongue against her mouth.  She sighs out at the pleasurable taste of him and lets him overpower her.  She likes this, though she will never admit it.  She likes to be helpless beneath him, likes to see the bold lines of his face sneer down at her in something akin to hard passion.  It makes her feel alive, makes her world explode with color.
She gasps out as his hands move.  They surprise her with quick caresses that leave her cold and hot at the same time.  They bypass her clothes and press calloused touches to her bare skin, down her back, around her hips, atop her thighs.  She wants to die and live and feel and love him.  She wants to have every single part of him, physical and emotional and mental and spiritual.
The depth of her thoughts make the moment all the sweeter, and Makira forces herself to break the hasty kiss in favor of more interesting endeavors.  Souji stares down at her with knowing eyes, all too happy to see her gaze flare to life with determination.  Her hands smooth down covered chest, twice, before she delves beneath the fabric and pushes it aside.  Immediately, she is met with pale skin, strewn with scars yet still flawless, to her.  A moment passes them by and bathes them in a sweet sort of reverence that surprises Souji.  But he likes it, like the delicate way it changes Makira's features into something more feminine, something less rough.
But she takes too long in her admiration of him.  Souji leans back, abandoning his own pursuit of her flesh as he turns to his own.  He sends a soft smirk down to his lover and watches in amusement as it causes an even softer blush to catch her cheeks.  She never blushes unless she is laid out beneath him, watching as the lust shakes their bodies and turns them into something more, greater than mere humanity, immortal.
His hands make quick work of his robe.  It shifts down his shoulders easily, creating a sort of halo of colored cloth and skin.  For a moment, Makira watches, as though he is a rare sliver of beauty that she can't look away from.  And then, when Souji begins to tend to the remaining clothes, that beauty shatters and is replaced with something so much stronger.  It is mesmerizing and exquisite and alluring. 
And then that moment passes, too, and in it's wake is only the carnal touch of desire.  It moves Makira like nothing else, transforming the delicate blush of her cheeks into something bolder, more pronounced and less shy.  She has no reason to be nervous around Souji.  She has seen more of him in these past few months than she has seen of any other man.  So she sits up, face looming near to his.  Their breath intermingles but they don't touch.  There is something about the closeness that is revering, important.  It remains unbroken as Makira raises her hands to her own clothes. 
Souji watches.  He watches as she loosens the robe that covers her.  He watches as she slips it down pale, perfect shoulders and reveals to him her chest.  He watches as it lands in a soft swish of cloth on his futon.  And then he can't simply watch anymore.  It's too painful and his hands betray him.  He reaches out to her, touching first her waist.  Then her breasts, rolls his calloused fingers over the soft skin, over her nipples, around the fullness of her chest.  He watches, for a moment, the effect this touch has on her before he realizes that it isn't enough.  He wants more.  So he takes more.
The last remaining clothes on Makira's body disappears.  She is gently pushed back down.  Souji's eyes flicker over her nakedness.  They aren't memorizing.  He already knows everything about her.  Instead, he is reassessing, and then he is delivering.  His touch makes her gasp out in harsh delight that knows no end.  There is only the 'middle'.  The middle of their lovemaking, the middle of their day, the middle of their desires.  Beginnings and ends have no hold here. 
"Souji," she whimpers, and reaches for him.  He lets out a soft exhalation that is almost a chuckle, and kisses her.  It is a reassuring kiss, and it silently tells her that she must remain patient.  It is hard for them to do so when they are faced with such unequivocal desire, but Souji knows how sweet it will be if they can allow it to build slowly, and so when he goes back to touch her it is with gentle caresses. 
His fingers have a mind of their own and, even as his touch remains soft, Souji is also faced with the harsh need to see her break.  He wants to watch her scream his name, wants her to come quickly and then take her even more quickly.  It is an abstract sort of lust that hastens the gentleness and makes him slide his fingers down, down.  Into soft curls and then into wet folds.  His eyes flicker to her face and he is amused by her expression, and also lusty and narrow-minded.  He wants her, but he also wants to see her come for him before they are united.  He won't be happy until she does.
His fingers sink into her flesh, following the path of her wet core.  She bites her bottom lip when he slowly pushes past her walls.  And then his pace is faster, quicker, harder, and he very nearly brings her to her quickest orgasm yet.
But he stops, thankfully, ruefully, just she Makira is about to come hurtling over the edge of reason.  He stops and then starts again, much slower, in such a teasing fashion that it makes Makira glare at him.  She opens her mouth to give him a piece of her mind but then throws her head back in a harsh gasp.  Souji will have none of that.  He picks up his pace again and this time, circles his thumb around the very sensitive areas he knows will make her cry out.
She doesn't cry out though, and that's what makes his resolve harden.  He wants to her lose herself and come for him.  He will make her forget everything around her and see stars, raining down on her from the heavens.  He will make her see only him.
He does, and it isn't as hard as he thought it might be.  He brings her to her end slowly, building up the tension in her body until it is as breaking point and then immediately tumbling his fingers faster.  Lightening seems to strike her solid.  Her body tenses and she moans out long and hard and her hips jerk against his fingers and he pushes her down, down into his futon.  And then he withdraws his fingers, brings them to his lips.  She watches him with eyes that are so heady, so deprived that it makes him harder than ever.  And then she curses at him.
"You bastard," she drawls lazily.  He smirks at her slowly and watches as her eyes flicker down to his manhood, which strains out toward her.  He doesn't try to stop her from touching him.  He wants her to, and he nearly closes his eyes in bliss as her fingers lightly stroke the sensitive skin.  But it isn't enough, it never is, and hardly a minute later Souji is pulling her hand away, pushing her back down, hovering over her with intense, determined, stark eyes.
"I need you," he tells her, and it's true.  He's dying to bury himself into those delicious wet folds.  He can't stand another moment of his sweet torture.  He doesn't care if it is noon and if people can hear their actions or guess at what they are doing.  He doesn't care if there is only a flimsy paper wall separating them from the rest of the world.  He is going to take her.
She lets him.  Of course she does.  She wants nothing more than to be one with him.  Her arms wrap around his neck and she brings him down for a kiss.  Their lips move hastily as he lines himself up, and then the kiss is broken and he pushes himself into her and their worlds are demolished into tiny little fragments that make no sense unless they are put together.
It is a quick coupling and yet it isn't.  it ultimately doesn't take long for them to find their end.  Makira is still feeling the after effects of her previous orgasm and Souji is so hard that he ends faster than he'd like to admit.  And yet as they remain together the world seems to slow down, lengthen, make room for them.  And they get lost in the intricate movements of their bodies and the silent words that leave their parted lips and the emotion, which drags through them in such a primal way that they are left breathless in each other's arms.
"Souji," Makira whispers again, but this time it is not to make him pick up his pace but rather to slow down.  Because she never wants this to end.  She wants to stay like this for eternity, against all odds and all forms of reality.  Souji's tuberculosis, the Shinsengumi, the war.  It all creates a wall that cages them in and yet separates them even in private.
He slows down, for her.  Even though he wants to jump ahead and spill himself into her like an adolescent boy.  He does it because he can see the look in her eyes and he knows what she is thinking of and he wants to take her mind off of it.  He is dedicated to the Shinsengumi and the war, but in these soft, passionate moments he hates the ties that keep him connected to such hatred.  In these moments, all he wants is one thing, one person, and she is someone he can never truly have. 
It makes their ending bittersweet.  They come separately but very close to one another.  Makira is pushed off the edge first, and the delicious pulse that singes through her body prompts Souji's own release.  He thrusts hard into her, folding his arms above her head and kissing her.  Bittersweet, rough, antagonizing.  And yet so, so perfect.  He draws out their pleasure slowly with sporadic movements before lowering himself onto the futon beside her, still connected.
As they lay still, catching their breath, sinking into each other's hold, they allow that bitterness to cascade over them. 
She almost says she loves him, but she can't get the words out.  They get stuck in her throat like a lie, like a tragedy.  She wonders if she will ever be able to tell him.  Because withholding such a powerful truth is unhealthy, stupid, and it will make her regret for the rest of her life.
She wraps an arm around him, throws her leg around his waist.  Souji shifts and pulls her closer.  They lay together silently, softly, and the noon time sun begins it's slow arch across the sky.


Monday, May 6, 2013

An England Lemon -- Something Like Inspiration

Character: England

Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia

OC: Alexis Selvea, stormy eyes, sassy, a writer

Inspiration: Eh...sorry for the picture.  Couldn't find any good England images D:

It was one to those days.  And it was driving Alexis crazy, insane, mental with boredom.  Even the characters she was writing weren't reacting how they should.  The room, normally filled with inspiration and creative thought, was nothing more than a drab reminder that she had a deadline to meet in only four days.  And she'd barely even started.  And she'd run out of coffee.  And her fingers were cramped.
"ARG!" she tossed a pen at the wall, feeling a twisted sort of pleasure as it added to the splattered ink marks of its previously fallen brethren. 
Her office was littered with the most random items, but their oddness were usually what contributed to her thought process.  A birds nest on the side table, a bowl of stones beside it, the flag of a country she couldn't even name hung up on the far wall.  She added to the room on a whim, basing her addition decorations on how they matched color-wise and how strange they were.  But even looking at the decorative four-foot tree in the corner didn't help her mood.
"What's wrong, love?" the sudden voice of her husband wondered from the doorway.  She glanced over at him and saw the mug of coffee in his hands.  Her eyes danced with something that Arthur couldn't really identify, except that it edged on a sort of danger that he didn't dare approach.
She leaned forward, "Coffee."  And watched as he rolled his eyes and stepped into the room.  He set the mug on her desk and watched with mild amusement as she lifted it immediately and took a thankful sip.  She practically inhaled the damned stuff.  Something about it being her 'liquid inspiration'.
Arthur slid his hands to her shoulders, rubbing them softly as he gazed over her head at the open laptop.  She was hardly two paragraphs in, and it was apparent that she was writing a romance scene for one of her books.  He recognized it as the chapter that she'd been dragging her feet to write.
"Well?" he questioned, kissing the side of her head.  "What happens next?  Is the coffee helping that over-imaginative mind of yours?"
It wasn't.  Alexis sighed and shook her head.  She craned her neck to look up at him and pouted, "Arthur.  I'm suffering from the biggest mental block I've ever had."
He smiled down at her, somehow finding the situation much more endearing that she did.  "Well, you don't usually write romance scenes.  Maybe you should switch to something else for a while and then go back to it."
She stared at him for a long moment, and he raised a brow at her in return.  Her voice, when she next spoke, was riddled in an emotion he knew very, very well.  "Or I could take a break.  With you."  And her mouth twisted into a smile that he dearly wanted to kiss.
"Mmm…I think…it might be in your best interest to do exactly that," he murmured, smirking softly and turning her swivel chair to face him.  Her arms slid up his neck and he leaned in, hands shifting beneath her thighs to lift her up into his arms.  Their lips met with a sense of soft accommodation that quickly turned hasty, direct, intense.
He set her on her desk and her legs wrapped themselves around him, pulling his hips against hers.  His mouth was like a storm, pushing and pulling; giving and taking.  His love filled her up with all the strange bliss that filtered around the room.
Her fingers tunneled through his hair and she tugged his head back, watching with heady eyes as he groaned and stopped.  "What is it?" he wondered, his hands tightly grasping the back of her shirt as he waited for her to speak.
She pouted, "Arthur, be a little bit more romantic and take me to the bedroom or something." 
He raised a brow at her, "You've never complained before."
"Yes, well, before I wasn't struggling with my inspiration.  Now distract me properly."
He sighed and lifted her back up, immediately going in to kiss her as he walked to the door.  She responded wholeheartedly, melting against him as he jostled her with every step.  She was too distracted to decide if he was doing it on purpose or not, but it didn't matter anyway.  The bedroom was only a few doors down.
And entirely too far away.
"Mmm!  Arthur, stop, stop," she murmured, drawing away for the second time.  He shot her a narrowed look that she didn't really take as a threat and he said, "Alexis, I don't care where we do this so hurry up and take your pick.  Bedroom or office."  Because God, the only thing he was interested in at that point was taking her.  Burying himself so deeply within her that he'd have to struggle just to remember his name.
Evidentially, it was all she could think about, too.  Which was why, as Alexis dragged her fingers through his blonde hair, all she could really say was, "Wall," and trust that he understood.
He did, he definitely did, and hardly a moment later Arthur had her pressed between the hallway wall and him.
He ground his erection against her core and watched with through lidded eyes as she arched her back, hungrily pushing for more of the delicious contact.  But Arthur's mind was elsewhere, and his fingers moved mindlessly over her clothing, pulling at it until her shirt was hanging loose and her pants were shifted down her legs.
And then, after fixing his own pants, he was inside of her, and she was gasping and moaning because this contact felt ten times better when it was bare and raw and burning through her.
The wall wasn't a cushion, but there was something sinfully perfect about it that made being pressed up against it sweet, romantic.  She closed her eyes and sunk into the harsh feeling of being entirely dominated, a feeling that she appreciated and even longer for.  And then she opened her eyes again because she had to see him.  Had to watch him quake and shudder and moan and move.  Sinful, erotic, hers.
He breathed out her name and shifted her in his arms, pushing her farther up the wall to create more space.  The result was a barrage of thrusts that had Alexis skyrocketing, shooting upwards and moaning.  Her head hit the wall as she arched her back, pressing forward, against him.  Her fingers jaunted over the collar of his shirt, which still hung around his frame.  The entire moment was haphazard at best.  Their clothes were half on, half off and it was hard to be intimate against a wall, of all places.  But the moment was also delicious, so so amazing, simply because Arthur was around her, taking her, loving her and it made her want to explode.
Which she did, not long afterwards because his thrusts felt so good inside her and his length was so hard and amazing.  She gasped loudly and suddenly felt herself coming uncontrollably, moaning out his name loudly and tugging at his hair and kissing him and becoming utterly undone.  He watched her come with half lidded eyes that screamed out in thick desire, and when she'd finished Arthur leaned against the wall and continued on his own, still hard and so turned on.
"I'm sorry," she gasped, and they shared an exasperated chuckle that had more to do with the hurtling amount of desire they faced than the actual fact that she finished ahead of him.  Arthur only moaned and stumbled back, "S'fine."  And Alexis gave him a soft smile as he let her down.
"I'll take care of that," she said, smirking and glancing down at his length, which was hard and soaked from their contact.  He blushed a little but she didn't seem to notice.  Instead, Alexis slipped her hand into his and lead him into the bedroom, closing the door behind her even though they were alone in their house.
She didn't bother teasing him.  That sort of frivolous play was far behind them, lost in the tumults of desire and heart-wrenching lust.  There was really only one thing on Arthur's mind and she knew that, so Alexis wasted no time in pushing Arthur down onto the mattress and kissing his chest.
"How do you want me?" she asked him, almost playfully.  Her voice was tinted in a desperate, thick lust that had him craving her.  His hands pulled her into him and he pressed open mouthed kisses along her neck and shoulder.  "All of you, now," he ordered, and she nearly moaned at the sinful, decadent quality of it.
Her womanhood was still zinging with the sensation of her last orgasm.  When she pushed her lover back and slid down onto it, she threw her head back at the shattering feeling of coupling after such a short amount of time.  The moment she was fully sheathed on his member, Arthur immediately dove back into the passion, thrusting upward and burying himself again and again and again.
It felt ridiculously amazing.  She was slick and hot from her orgasm and Arthur felt so good.  He gripped her hips hard, pulling her down forcefully and rocking his hips against hers as though their lives depended upon it.  As though the Earth would crumble and fall if he didn't take her hard.  As though the sky would darken and the sun would explode and the stars would fall down down down in a shower of angry light.
They tipped into a world of their own making as they came.  Arthur lost himself first, ramming his hips and pulling her into his passion.  Alexis felt a second orgasm implode within her as she watched her lover come, his face screwed up in bliss, his body careening forward, his moans washing over her.
She tilted her head back and came hard on his member, gasping loudly, whimpering his name.  It was a force to be reckoned with, their love, and it made them immortal as they rode out the throes of lust; and satisfied as they breathed loudly and collapsed; and utterly at peace as they laid together in a warm embrace.
"Well…" Arthur gasped, smirking, "how was that for inspiration?"
Alexis could only grin giddily, press a kiss to his chest, and close her eyes.  The warm silence carried with them throughout the rest of the night.