Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/696874.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      X/1999
  Relationship:
      Nekoi_Yuzuriha/Shiyuu_Kusanagi
  Character:
      Nekoi_Yuzuriha, Shiyuu_Kusanagi, Inuki_(X/1999)
  Additional Tags:
      Sexual_Content, CLAMPkink
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-02-23 Words: 6973
****** We Just Won't Be Defeated ******
by stardropdream
Summary
     The battle is over. But there are still pieces left to pick up.
Notes
     Originally posted on the CLAMP kink meme and then reposted to LJ
     October 20, 2010.

He found her, slumped against a slab of building, waist-deep in water, her head
lolled to the side. Inuki looked up at him as he approached, and let out a
small whine, licking at her cheek. She did not stir, but he could see the
steady rise and fall of her chest and knew that, at least for the moment, she
was still alive. He slogged his way through the water to her, kneeling down in
front of her, patting his hand against her cheek in hopes of waking her up
without hurting her.

“Missy…” he said, and wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that his heart was
racing so much, that it was physically painful for him to think I almost didn’t
make it.

Yuzuriha stirred, her brow furrowing and she turned her face away from
Kusanagi’s tapping on her cheek. He didn’t wish to jar her, didn’t want to
shake her and possibly hurt her—he didn’t know the extent of her injuries, or
where exactly she was hurt.

She groaned, a small gasp of pain as her eyes blinked open. She stared at
Inuki, who licked her nose, before she exhaled loudly and sat bolt upright.

“Kamui-san, look out!” she shouted, and her mouth fell open as she tried to
find wherever her Kamui was. There was no one else around, and Yuzuriha’s
expression paled. “What—” She looked around, and finally her eyes landed on
Kusanagi. “Ah—Kusanagi-san!”

And then her eyes filled with tears, and she jerked her face away from him.

“How could you?” she asked, her voice choked and her body shaking.

He didn’t pull back, because he’d expected it. She knew now, that he was a
Dragon of Earth—she’d seen him, in the midst of the battle between the two
Kamui. He never intended to do anything about his position, kept telling
himself that the end of the world didn’t matter a thing to him. He would have
stayed in the shadows, but it was just an ill-timed encounter, in the moments
when he arrived to his Kamui’s side for the sake of making sure that Yuzuriha
was okay—that he wanted to protect her more than he did the Earth—he saw her
eyes fall on him, saw the way her face rippled in confusion, then slowly into
realization and betrayal. She’d taken off, to help her teammates, to not dare
look at him again. That’d been the last he’d seen of her until now, until after
the battle had died down and Kusanagi hadn’t been able to find anyone else.

“Missy,” he began gently, reaching for her elbow.

She stiffened up, stared up at him with tear-filled eyes. “You’re—!”

She shook her head, and tried to stand up. Her legs were wobbly, but she didn’t
seem that injured—a few cuts and bruises. Her body swayed, almost so violently
he feared she would fall down again, but she shifted so all her weight was on
one foot, and maintained her balance.

“How could you?” she said again, gasped for air, begging him though she tried
so hard not to.

“You shouldn’t be standing up so soon, Missy,” Kusanagi said, ignoring for the
moment her demands in favor of taking care of her possible injuries.

“Don’t treat me like a child!” she cried out and stumbled back a bit to rest
her back against the rubble of an old building. Inuki hovered beside her, and
she grabbed him from the air, holding him tightly to her chest, as if to
protect herself. The tears spilled down her cheeks. “I have to find the
others—Kamui-san, Karen-san, and Aoki-san… where are they? What did—what did
your… their side do to them?”

“I don’t know,” Kusanagi said, honestly. “But you won’t be able to find them
now—It’s almost night, Missy.”

“I have to try,” she said, and let out a small gasp of pain when she tried to
take a step. “I have to… I can’t leave them behind—what if they need me?”

“You can go find them first thing in the morning,” Kusanagi said. “It’ll give
you time to rest, and to find shelter. Tonight it will be cold.” He added,
gently, “You won’t be able to find them in the dark.”

She stared at him, her expression crumbling, and she bowed her head and wept.
He slouched down, reaching out, slowly, to touch her, so that she could jerk
away if she wanted. But she didn’t, and he lifted up her chin with his fingers,
his thumb wiping at the tears.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and said nothing else because there was nothing else he
could say.

This only seemed to make her cry harder, and she shook her head from side to
side. It seemed she couldn’t keep herself angry at him, because she slouched
against him, wrapped her arms around his middle, and cried into his shirt,
heaving sobs—for everything. All the things she’d lost, her missing teammates,
her tired body, and knowing, finally knowing, that he was not the person she
thought he was. He let her stay like that, crying into his shirt, until the sun
finally did go down, the air grew too cold, and the water they stood in turned
frigid. Her shoulders heaved and her grip was tight, and all he could do was
stand there, letting her lean against him, hands resting lightly on her
shoulders.

“Missy…” he said, slowly, touching his hand to the back of her head. “We should
get you to shelter…”

She pulled away, staring up at him—and the expression was different, different
from what he was used to seeing from her. She knew, now. There were no secrets
about their roles anymore—though he knew he should, would have to, explain
everything to her. She would demand it, ask it of him. He could see the
questions in her eyes.

“But…” she began to protest.

He looked at her, and said, not without apology, “If they need you, you’ll be
able to sense their kekkai, won’t you?”

She still seemed a little surprised that he should know that, and her eyes
flickered away for half a moment. When they looked back up at Kusanagi, there
was an understanding there—if not confusion, and the telltale worry for her
friends she couldn’t just dismiss. It wouldn’t be her, if she could just forget
them. She bit her lip, looking torn. Her gaze pulled away from Kusanagi and
looked out over the pitch-dark cityscape. Save for a few, stray lights in the
city, it was completely empty, almost completely destroyed. For the first time
in decades, there were more stars to see in the sky than there were lights in
the windows.

She shook her head, slowly, and then looked away, from him and the city. She
looked down at her feet, refracted in the water, looking chilled and distant—as
if they were not her own. She wiped away the tears from her eyes and then, with
her eyes closed, she nodded.

“… Yes,” she finally admitted, a small exhale.


---


He took her to the first undestroyed building he could find—the city was
abandoned, and the room would have to do. Kusanagi felt a little guilty,
breaking in the door with his shoulder, holding Yuzuriha in his arms (for she’d
grown too weak on the walk, drained from the battle and the extent of her
injuries worse than he’d originally anticipated). The apartment was small,
modest, and just a bit chilled without the central heating. Kusanagi took
Yuzuriha directly to the bedroom, laid her out comfortably on the bed before
turning around and leaving to shove the door back up against the doorjamb he’d
busted it from. He leaned it up as best he could, to try to keep out the
chilled night air. He scoured through the apartment, picking up old blankets
and sheets he could find, searching around fruitlessly for a first aid kit.

He couldn’t find one, so he would have to make do with his skills, instead. He
returned to the bedroom to see Yuzuriha toeing off her water-logged shoes and
socks, gingerly, her legs quivering from pain she was trying to suppress. She
looked up when he arrived, and she was still looking at him in that way she had
before, eyes wide. And it was so strange to see her without a smile—he’d grown
far too used to seeing her smile. He wanted nothing more than for her to be
happy again.

He sat down on the side of the bed, draping a blanket over her slim shoulders
and taking the sheet up, ripping it into shreds to use as makeshift bandages
for the shallow wounds on her legs and arms.

She dropped her socks and shoes on the ground and stretched her legs out,
slowly, leaning back against the headboard and watching Kusanagi as he worked.
He could feel her eyes on him, but he did not look up at her until he had
finished. Then, as he shifted, he turned to meet her gaze.

She was watching him, her expression serious.

“Why are you helping me?” she asked.

He paused, then picked up her leg, his fingers curling hesitantly around the
back of her knee then sliding down her calf, drawing her foot to him so he
could wrap up her ankle with shreds of bed sheet. She let him, and did not try
to draw away. But she was watching him, obviously waiting for his answer.

Her foot wrapped up, he took up another strip of bed sheet and began to tie it
around her thigh, pushing up the fabric of her slightly dampened school
uniform.

“Kusanagi-san,” she said, frowning.

“Why wouldn’t I help you?” he finally answered, wrapping the sheet tenderly
around her thigh, trying to avoid hurting her unnecessarily—hurting her more
than he already had.

“You’re… a Dragon of Earth,” she said, and though they’d both known, now,
saying it seemed to make it all the more real. He looked up at her, bent over
her leg and tying the wound off. She stared at him, her expression pained, but
not because of the cuts and bruises on her body.

“… I am,” he said, quietly.

“So… why are you helping me now?” She was shaking. “E-ever since what happened
with… Inuki…” She paused, then reached out to touch the little dog’s head, as
if to gain some kind of comfort. “You would have known, wouldn’t you? Why
didn’t you ever do anything?”

“… I knew,” he said.

They fell into an awkward silence, Yuzuriha staring at him but Kusanagi saying
nothing more. He focused on tying up the makeshift bandages, and once he was
done, he went to pull away.

She grabbed his hands, however, and kept him there. “Kusanagi-san…”

“This battle… I told myself it didn’t concern me,” Kusanagi said. He shook his
head, shifted his hands so that he could hold hers, in turn. She did not pull
away. “I had no intention on acting on my role. And you… once I’d found out, it
was after that time and you were already upset.”

“I’d thought you’d left Tokyo,” Yuzuriha said. “Because of all the earthquakes
and the flooding… I’d wanted you to meet Inuki.”

Kusanagi cracked a hesitant smile, and after a long moment, Yuzuriha returned
it.

“He seems to like you, though,” Yuzuriha murmured, looking now at the little
puppy floating up near Yuzuriha’s head. Her cheeks were pink as she looked at
the dog, as she spoke to Kusanagi. “It’s because we both know that Kusanagi-san
is a good person…”

“Missy…”

She shook her head. “I know…” She paused, and then collected her words. “I’m
upset. But I also know that it hadn’t been something Kusanagi-san would have
wanted to say. Or had the chance to say.” Yuzuriha looked down then, and drew
in a steady breath. “But… If you try to—if you… I will fight you, if I have
to.” Her voice was shaking, but her gaze did not waver. “I made a promise, that
I would protect this world where everyone I care about can be happy. That
includes you, Kusanagi-san.”

“I don’t want to fight you,” Kusanagi said calmly, collecting the spare
bandages in his hands and depositing them on the bedside table. He turned his
gaze to meet Yuzuriha’s, not quite smiling but not frowning either. “I have no
intention of fighting you.”

Yuzuriha seemed to relax visibly, and she gave him a slightly shaky smile. “…
I’m glad.”

The rest of the early evening passed in silence, with Kusanagi caring for
Yuzuriha’s wounds and Yuzuriha silently worrying over her companions—he could
tell she was worried, by the way it etched across her brow, or the way she
stared out the window, as if willing the sun to rise again.

“You should try to sleep,” he said, presently, after a long few hours.

“Yeah,” she admitted, her eyes out the window. She slowly turned her face to
look at Kusanagi. She snuggled into the blanket he’d draped around her earlier
in the night. “I’m a little cold…”

“You…” he began, and then paused, turning his face away. “You should get out of
the wet clothes.”

Yuzuriha was silent, and in the darkness he knew it was stunned and possibly a
little embarrassed. She bundled into the blankets and mumbled something that
sounded like a small yes.

“Kusanagi-san, too,” she said.

“I’m fine,” he said warmly, with a small, dismissive smile. “They’re almost
dry—they aren’t made of cotton like your clothes are.”

She nodded her head, looked, though, as if she would protest before she thought
better of it.

He stooped to pick up a few more blankets from the pile he’d left on the
ground. He spread a few more out on the bed for her, and then kept a few for
himself.

“If you need me, I’ll be out on the couch,” he said.

“W—No, wait,” she protested, and reached out, grasping at the sleeve of his
shirt. He paused, blinking at her in surprise and even in the darkness he could
see how her face was red. “Stay here… I don’t…”

He stared at her. “Missy…” he said, warningly. “I don’t—”

“If we stay together, we’ll stay warm, right?” she protested, and did not let
go of his sleeve. Instead, she tugged, urging him closer. “There’s enough
blankets, too.”

“Missy—”

Her voice became commanding: “It’s cold out there, since you broke the door, I
bet. Stay here, Kusanagi-san. I won’t take no for an answer.”

She tugged harder, and he relented, letting her sit up and tug him down onto
the bed, lying him down the mattress. He blinked up at her, frowning, as she
stood and, with shaking, uncertain steps, stripped off his boots and his socks,
dropping them down to gather with hers. He feared for a moment that she would
strip him completely, but instead she pulled the blankets up, covering him with
one layer, then a second. She took a step back, surveying her work, hands on
her slim hips.

“… Close your eyes,” she whispered, and he immediately obeyed.

He could hear her stripping, hear the shift and fall of clothing as she pulled
her uniform off. Then he felt the blankets shift and told himself that he
should pull away, go to the other room and sleep on the couch, but then he felt
her warm body slip beneath the blankets. She shifted, twisted on the mattress,
picking up the other spare blankets and covering themselves layer by layer.

“You can open them again,” she said, and he did open his eyes, turning his head
to look at her as she rested under the blankets beside him. He could see the
thin straps on her shoulders, and that was all—he was reassured, if not also a
little alarmed, to know that she was at least wearing her underwear.

She rolled onto her side, then, facing away from him, and shifted closer. She
picked up his arm, and slid up to his side, making herself comfortable, then
wrapped his arm around her. His hand ended up placing itself a little awkwardly
against her stomach, and her body was warm and he could feel the flutter of her
breath and heartbeat beneath his hand, and with the rise and fall of her back
against his side.

“Missy,” he said, though wasn’t quite sure what to say beyond that. The words
caught.

“Your pants are damp,” she said, and shivered against him. Her body felt warm
against his. “It’s cold.”

He didn’t say anything at first—debated leaving her, then, to stay warm while
he went to the couch. But even if he knew that was a practical reason, he did
not pull away to leave. He tightened his hold around her, pressed her up closer
to his side, to the warmth of his shirt. His free hand went to his belt and
undid the snap of his pants, his movements jerky and hesitant, unsure even as
he moved decisively to do as she suggested.

He swallowed thickly, and second-guessed himself. Then, closing his eyes, he
slid his pants off and dropped them down onto the ground, after a little
rearranging under the blankets. The entire time, Yuzuriha stayed incredibly
still against him. In his underwear and shirt only, now, he shifted, sinking
into the mattress.

“Better?”

He felt her nod. “Yeah,” she said quietly, and her small hands covered
Kusanagi’s over her stomach, and he felt the little quiver of her breath under
his hand. “Yeah, much better.”

She seemed to relax against him, snuggling into his arm and letting out a quiet
sigh. He, however, felt tensed and uncomfortable. This was not the situation he
should be in, and his mind was racing.

And then he felt Yuzuriha’s foot breeze against his bare leg and he closed his
eyes, trying to calm down. It was a completely innocent situation—body heat,
survival. But Yuzuriha seemed content not to let him get away, held him tight
and held him fast—there was no defeating her, there was no running away.

“Kusanagi-san,” Yuzuriha said quietly, and then rolled over under his hand so
it shifted from stomach to back, and he felt the graze of her body against him,
the shift of her hips, the press of her little breasts. He hummed quietly,
because he didn’t trust his words, and looked up at Yuzuriha as she sat up a
little. His hand on her back fell away a little, but he found that he couldn’t
bring himself to pull his hand away completely. She sat up, and the blankets
fell away from her shoulders—and he wasn’t sure if she was aware that he could
see her from the waist up, even if she was wearing her bra—if she was aware,
she didn’t pay it any mind. If she was unaware, whatever she had to say must
have been very important. He knew better than to interrupt her. She looked at
him for a long moment, her eyes lidded. “I have a question.”

“Yes?” he finally managed to ask.

He could feel her leg pressed up against his, almost tangled together. He
wasn’t sure if he should be disturbed by how easily they fit together.

“If I ask—will you be honest?”

He stared up at her. “Missy—”

“Kusanagi-san… I know you couldn’t be honest, before… about who you are. But
please be honest now.”

He swallowed thickly, weighing the possible repercussions of whatever question
she wanted to ask. Her face was so serious, he thought that he must have an
idea, and that faced him with the question of whether or not he wanted to
proceed from here. He was already in a strange position, in a strange
situation. But the possibility of refusing her his honesty was too much, and
promising it with the intention of lying was just as bad. So with a shaky, yet
somehow steady, breath, he looked up at her and nodded.

“I will be,” he promised, and wondered again if it was too dangerous to give
that kind of promise.

She shifted, pushed herself up over him, planting her hands on either side of
his head. He stared up at her, and she stared right back at him, the hair
spilling over her ears and framing her face. She hovered above him. She didn’t
say anything for the longest time, just steadied her gaze upon him.

“Kusanagi-san…” she began.

“Yes, Missy?” he prompted, when she trailed off.

She inhaled and exhaled, her body inflating and deflating. Then she seemed to
gather her courage and asked, in a quiet yet commanding voice: “Do you really
see me as a child?”

He stared at her, and she stared at him just as calmly as before. He stayed
like that, frozen, unable to move—how easily he could push her away. He knew
that he was treading in dangerous territory, but also knew he had to be honest
as well.

“You’re…”

“Kusanagi-san?” she asked, when he trailed off. She looked at him, calmly, and
said, quietly, almost hesitantly: “I am no longer a child… you’ve—they’ve made
sure of that. I’m…” She, too, trailed off. But she did not look away. She
swallowed, and whispered, “You don’t have to treat me like a child anymore… you
don’t have to worry about the things you say, or the person you are. It’s
okay—I’m okay. I’ll prove to you I’m not a child, if I have to.”

He stared at her, but still could not find the words to speak.

Which was just as well, because it seemed that there was another question
Yuzuriha wished to ask, another incident for her to take up the mantle of
conversation. She watched him, slowly, testing him for his reaction.

But after her hesitation, there was no hesitation, only expectation, in her
voice when she asked, “Do you love me, Kusanagi-san?”

He jolted, then, his eyes flying open. No words fell from his mouth, but he
could feel them lodge in his throat—knew he was cornered.

But she was so small—he could so easily push her away. He could stop this right
now, refused to answer—it wouldn’t be honest, but it also wouldn’t be a lie.
Insist that she go to sleep while he went to the couch, avoid this entire
conversation and incident in the morning. He knew this was too dangerous, that
there could only be trouble here on out, if he were honest. He hadn’t allowed
himself to be honest about this, not with her, in the past. He could so easily
push her away now.

But he did not.

She watched him. “Kusanagi-san… you don’t have to hide anything from me.
Please… just be honest.”

He swallowed around the thick lump in his throat. But despite knowing that
everything could easily slide downhill from here, he knew he couldn’t lie to
her. He’d promised his honesty, knew these were the things she would ask. She
already knew who he was, and wasn’t pushing him away—instead, she was drawing
him closer, encouraging him to come closer as well. So he knew, then, what he
would have to say, what he would have to do—he’d known since the beginning.

He did not lower his eyes when he said, “I don’t see you as a child, Missy.”

She did, despite it all, seem surprised by it.

“… I haven’t for a long time,” he admitted.

Still she seemed surprised, but it soon melted away and she gave him a wide
smile. She looked away, her cheeks turning pink, before she seemed to remember
herself and sat back a little, adjusting her hair and coughing a little. Her
face seemed to only grow redder, and he hadn’t realized just how much she would
flutter under his confession. And he hadn’t even answered her second question—

She seemed to remember this about the same time that he did. He watched her
stiffen up in expectation, her mouth falling open as if to speak and then
thinking better of it. She watched him, eyes wide, not even breathing.

“And,” he said, paused, second-guessed, tripled-guessed. He swallowed thickly,
and let the words fall away, “I do love you.”

There was no immediate reaction, aside from the small exhalation from Yuzuriha,
as her body seemed to sink closer to him. He did not resist when she pressed
own onto him, shifted so that she was not pressed to his side, but rather
pressed down on him, her legs finally tangling with his.

She stared at him, her eyes wide, and perhaps the smallest touch of tears.

“I love you,” she said, quietly, blinking a few times.

He offered her a hesitant smile, a small laugh that didn’t seem to fit in the
quiet of the room. “I know.”

Kusanagi figured to himself that he should push her off, gently, let her go
onto one side of the bed, and him the other—because her pressing down on him,
in her underwear, was anything but an innocent act. Yet, she was smiling at him
so happily, so genuinely, that he couldn’t help but continue to smile, too,
until he felt as if maybe he was becoming more relaxed.

“I’m so glad,” she whispered.

Her mouth was very close to his, and it was with a dismissal of the small alarm
bell in the back of his head that he finally lifted a hand to cup her cheek,
and guided her down to kiss his mouth. She kissed back, enthusiastically,
shimmying up his body to come closer, her hands on either side of his head
shifting to cup his cheeks and draw him closer. She kissed him, inexperienced,
but earnestly—her movements were awkward at best, but it was the emotion behind
it that made it alright, in the end.

She kissed him, slanting her mouth over his, and falling against him.

And Kusanagi knew that he was too far gone to care what this meant.

Her hands slid off his cheeks, rested on his chest and fisting in the fabric of
his shirt. Her hands were a little chilled and she pressed up against him, her
small body fitting so snuggly against his own. His hands rested on her back,
unsure what to do with them or what he should do with himself. Her back was
smooth, in a small arch, and he could feel the bumps of her spine under his
square fingers. But Yuzuriha kept kissing him, and he kept responding.

“We should—” Kusanagi began to say, but was cut off when Yuzuriha leaned in to
kiss him again, chaste and gentle. “Go to sleep.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m not tired.”

“Missy…” he began, and felt as if he began a lot of sentences he never ended up
finishing.

She stared at him, implored him with her wide eyes. He swallowed thickly, and
she sat up a little, straddling him. He stared up at her, watched the way the
blanket pooled around her waist, the way her back curved just right, the way
her slim hands rested against his chest, just above his beating heart. His
hands shifted from her back and slid down, cupped her bony hips.

“Don’t be afraid—I’m not afraid.”

He wasn’t sure what, exactly, she was saying. She didn’t move. She did, indeed,
look rather awkward, perhaps a little unsure. But also determined. She shifted
her body, her entire body seeming to quiver.

“I’m not a child,” she reminded.

“I know,” he whispered.

“So it’s okay—when two people love each other…”

He understood now. He felt his body stiffen up, and he was torn between finally
pushing her off and retreating to the couch, or trying to simply dissuade her.
But he did neither, and that enough was the answer for himself as to why he was
letting her sit on him like that, why he wasn’t embarrassed about seeing her
only in her underwear, why it didn’t seem completely wrong to share this bed
with her.

“Missy, I don’t want you to do something you aren’t ready for.”

She seemed surprised by that answer—as if she had expected him to refuse her
completely. She stared at him in shock for a moment before her expression
melted away to something much softer. She took one of his hands off her hip,
held them between her hands. He could see, then, that they were shaking, that
she was nervous, no matter how much she would deny that being the case. She
smiled at him, and threaded their fingers together with one hand, while the
other simply traced at his squared, bulky knuckles. Her hands seemed dwarfed in
comparison to his, and she seemed fascinated by it. He watched her only.

“I… I want to,” she said, finally, voice quiet. “Do you want to?”

He shifted, somewhat awkwardly. Then sat up, wrapping his arm around her waist
to keep her tethered to him, their hands joined together. The hand stroking his
knuckles fell away, rested against his chest. Kusanagi leaned against the
headboard, staring down at her in his lap, saw her shift her leg very carefully
so as not to hurt herself and disturb the injuries.

“It’s okay, isn’t it? Holding hands like this… kissing,” she paused, and bit at
her lip. The hand on his chest slid slightly downward. “Being together—it isn’t
a bad thing.”

“I’ll hurt you,” was all he could think of to say.

But Yuzuriha only seemed to get annoyed by that, and her brow furrowed. “I’m
not a child,” she reminded, “you don’t have to worry about me for things like
that…”

She cleared her throat, and then decisively slid her hand downward, under the
lip of his underwear.

“Missy—” he began to protest.

Her eyes widened, her face a bright red. “Ah… oh.”

It seemed it was what she wanted, but that she also, obviously, had absolutely
no experience in the area. He watched her swallow several times, blinking,
looking completely bewildered. Her hand did not move, even though Kusanagi
realized, achingly aware, that he was not repulsed by that touch, no matter how
unresponsive her hand was.

Her eyes were wide, and on him, her hand unmoving for a long moment. He stared
back, the color steadily creeping up his neck and settling on his cheeks. He
swallowed thickly.

“I’ll prove to you,” Yuzuriha said, “I’m not a child.”

And then her eyes slanted away, downwards, eyes on her hand as she slowly
fisted her hand around him, her hand shaking just a little. And then her hand
began to move and Kusanagi forgot to breathe for a moment.

But he lifted his hand, touched her shoulder. “You don’t—”

She looked up at him, not frowning, but her eyes determined. “If you tell me to
stop, I’ll stop. But I want to keep going.”

He stared right back. “You shouldn’t do it to prove something, Missy.”

Her expression flickered, and she leaned forward, hesitating, kissing his
cheek, and her hand dragged length-wise and it made his breath hitch. Yuzuriha
stayed close, no longer able to look him in the eye or just refusing to. She
saddled up closer to him, their bodies pressed together, her chin resting on
his shoulder—and he could smell her hair. Her hand kept moving, slowly,
tentatively, but not faltering.

“Then it isn’t to prove anything,” Yuzuriha said, quietly, in his ear, “But
because I love you and I want to sleep with you.”

He couldn’t be sure what kind of expression she’d be making then, but he could
guess as she shifted, burying her face against his shoulder—and her ears were
pink. She stayed still, waiting for his reply.

He took a deep breath, then lifted his hands to run them over the smooth curve
of her back, one hand lifting to the back of her hair to run his fingers
through the short hair there. “Okay,” he said quietly. “It’s okay.”

She lifted her head at once, staring at him. He looked down at her and offered
her a little smile. It took a moment, but it seemed that once the words
settled, it opened a floodgate. She beamed at him, her expression softening as
she leaned up and kissed him enthusiastically, pushing up against him. He held
her tightly against him, let himself fall back and rest against the headboard
as she kissed him soundly on the mouth, her hand resuming its pace again.

Her body was so slender against his, and he kissed her softly, wound his
fingers into her short hair and pressed her closer. His other hand shifted,
almost shook, and pressed flat against the small of her back, just as her spine
began to curve inward. He gave in, and Yuzuriha welcomed him to her, kissing
her soft lips along the hard line of his mouth, ever softening to her dominion.
She shifted, sat up on her knees to kiss him harder, and the hand on her back
slid to the warm curve of her hip. His hand stayed there, thumbing at the
waistband of her underwear. Her hand continued to pump in a jerk, inexperienced
motion but because it was her it felt good and Kusanagi knew he’d be breathing
heavily if he would just remember to breathe.

The hand on her hip shifted, pushed down under the cotton fabric of her
underwear, and hesitated. She grew a little still, pulling away from his mouth,
her breathing harsh and fluttering, but a shy smile on her face, her eyes
encouraging him.

“Please,” she began but he did not let her finish as his hand shifted, over the
wiry, crisp curls into slick folds and she gasped, loudly, a rattling shock of
air as her entire body shook when his fingers first grazed over her. She
grasped onto his shoulder tightly, her mouth falling open slightly. He froze,
afraid that perhaps he had hurt her, until she seemed to sink against him,
boneless, and whispered a breathless, “Please.”

He nodded his head, leaned in to kiss the slight slope of her jaw, hovered
until he found her mouth. His fingers explored her, stroking and following each
shiver and shudder her body gave him. His thumb found her clit and he stroked
it circularly, hesitantly, and she gasped against his mouth, with such force
that she almost rocked away from him completely. He stroked at her entrance, at
the slick folds, being careful not to hurt her, not to push her too far too
soon.

“Wait, wait,” she gasped against his mouth and he froze instantly. She shook
her head, pulling away only slightly, removing her hands from him only to grasp
the sides of her underwear, shimmying her small, slim body out of them and
tossing them aside with only the slightest reddening of her cheeks. When she
looked back at him, it seemed some of the ambivalence, some of the fear, had
melted away from her, and she looked at him only from desire, from love—looking
at him as her equal.

He almost spoke, but she silenced him, kissing him quietly and tugging at his
clothes—tugging his shirt off before fisting at his own underwear, pulling the
boxers down and away from him.

“Kusanagi-san,” she whispered, pulling herself over him, gripping his shoulders
tight enough to leave bruises in the shape of half-moon cuts from her
fingernails. She did not look afraid, only perhaps a little apprehensive, but
wanting him—only him.

He cupped her hips, lifted her easily to bring her closer to him. Her hips
rolled fluidly against him, and her eyes flickered down, staring. She
swallowed, her face heating up only slightly.

“If you want to stop…” he began.

But she quickly shook her head and jerked her face up to meet his. Her eyes
were firm and her voice did not waver when she said, “I’ll be okay. I want
this.”

Her look then almost turned impish as she leaned forward, kissing him silently.

He kissed her back, and moved her body to him, pressed her down, so slowly,
waiting for when she would break away and tell him to stop because it was too
much. He did not want to hurt her.

But it didn’t come. He pressed slowly into her, and her body tensed up and her
back arched, and the first little whimper against his mouth was not one of
pleasure. He froze, stayed so still it almost ached. She whispered his name,
broken syllables, against his mouth, stroking her fingers over his body in a
means to distract herself. He just kept kissing her, and whenever her body
would relax and she would shake her hips just a little, he would push himself a
little further into her.

It was almost excruciating, holding them both so still as she adjusted, but she
was right there beside him, saying his name, kissing him, stroking her fingers
over his body, stifling quiet moans that went straight to his gut, and he was
hard and aching and just wanted for something to move, to happen. But he would
wait for her, wait until she whispered his name and pushed down further. In the
meantime, he devoured her with kisses, and pressed his thumb against her clit
again to let her feel something that wasn’t pain.

Finally, he was inside her, her little body curled boneless against him, her
arms wrapped around his neck and her breathing shallow against his collarbone.
She stifled a little moan as he pushed up, just a little, against her.

“Kusanagi-san…”

“I’m here,” he said, soothingly, running his hand down her back and undoing the
clasp of her bra. And as it fell away, there was nothing blocked between the
two of them, and she swiveled her hips, just a little.

He bit back a moan and pushed out and back into her, and she gasped, her breath
hot against his collarbone and neck, her little moans breathless and broken
gasps of his name. He set a smooth, gentle pace, and she fell into it soon
enough, grasping his shoulders for leverage so she could bob up and down on
him. The hair fell in her face and bounced along her chin as she smiled up at
him, her eyes shining as she took him in and pushed herself up and down on top
of him.

Sweat dotted her forehead as she smiled up at him, her body humming from the
exertion, but she did not slow down, matching his pace and pumping her tight
body over him and it was almost too much for him, and he felt as if he was
choking but there was nothing he could do, because he was completely gone,
completely surrendered to her.

But soon she stopped, suddenly, biting her lip. “Ah—ow.”

“What is it?” he asked, and was surprised at how breathless he sounded.

“My leg,” she said, apologetic, her hand falling away from his shoulder to
grasp at the wound on her thigh.

His brow furrowed, and he picked her up against him, cradling her, his hands
smoothed over the underside of her thighs. She let out a small gasp of surprise
and clung to him, her legs wrapping around his hips.

“Kusanagi-san?” she asked.

He smiled at her and kissed her forehead in apology, then shifted so that she
was lying back on the mattress, looking up at him and the ceiling. He pulled
himself over her, her legs still curled around him, and he pushed back into her
again.

“You should keep the weight off it,” he said, as way of explanation, his face
red.

She smiled at him. “Thank you,” she gasped. “Keep going.”

He did as she asked, resuming the pace.

They did not last much longer after that. He could feel himself nearing the
edge, and with one hand he reached between them, his thumb finding her clit
again and rubbing against it as he pushed into her, gently rocking her body
against the mattress. She grasped at the blankets beneath her, moaning quietly,
her eyes hooded and her body thrumming with energy and glistening just slightly
with sweat. She panted out his name as he continued to stroke her until she
tensed up, suddenly, arching like a bow and tightening around him until it was
almost suffocating, crying out his name in a hitched gasp. Her body shook,
tensed, before slowly she sank away, seemed to melt away into the mattress her
chest heaving as she gasped for air.

Watching her, he felt himself coming closer to the edge, and it was with a few
more shallow thrusts of his hips that he finally found his release, too, and
shuddered above her, planting his hands down on the mattress for balance. He
clenched his eyes shut, bit back a moan, as he shuddered over her.

When he opened his eyes again, it was because he felt a hand touch his cheek.
He blinked them open and found her lying there, staring up at him with a wide,
slightly shy, smile.

“Kusanagi-san…” she breathed.

He gave her a small smile in turn, leaning down and kissing her forehead. She
tilted her head back, though, and captured his mouth in a sweet, breathless
kiss. He returned it, sinking down to his side and pulling her up to him, so
that she curled into his side. Her arms wrapped around his neck and held tight
as she kissed him back. His free hand groped around for the blankets, and
pulled them up over their naked, sweaty bodies.

They slept, then, peacefully.
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