Fruits Basket Fan Fiction ❯ Force of Destiny ❯ Flames ( Chapter 8 )

Disclaimer: I do not own Fruits Basket, even though I was a really, REALLY good girl last year...*sigh*.

Chapter 8: Flames


With phenomenal effort, I haul my wild thoughts back from the brink, dimly realizing how close I am to attacking her like an animal. Carefully, I rest my forehead against hers, feeling her smooth skin against mine. I concentrate on dragging cool air in and out of my overheated body in an effort to further bank the fires of passion she has unwittingly stoked in me.

In, out. In, out. I finally feel I can open my eyes and look at her without doing something...frighteningly, wildly out of character. However, as soon as my gaze focuses on hers, I am catapulted back into the battle for supremacy over my unruly emotions, for I see my desires reflected back at me, mirrored in her dark eyes.

Gritting my teeth, I manage to hold on to a thin thread of control. Just as I am congratulating myself on my hard-won, if painful, restraint, the tip of her small, pink tongue flicks out to brush over her bottom lip.

The battle is lost.

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Groaning in defeat, I tighten my hands on her arms, pulling her lithe form impossibly closer, striving to brand every long, willowy line of her body into mine. My lips find hers in a bruising kiss, and she squeaks a little in surprise at the intensity. I immediately gentle my assault, running my tongue over her bottom lip in abject apology at my roughness, angling my head so I can rain feather-light kisses over her upturned face. As my lips travel along her jaw and down her throat in a sensuous slide I hear her voice a soft moan. I growl in response and lick and nip at the pulse point located in the cradle of her delicate collarbones. I breath in her scent deeply, and a fresh rush of need claws through me. I am hazily aware things are beginning to get out of hand, and I strive for a kind of control I've never had to practice before.

'Slowly' I reprove myself, 'gently.'

Then, her slender arms lift around my neck to mesh in my hair, pulling me closer. With a small whimper, she fists her hands in my hair and impatiently drags my mouth back to hers. She is the instigator, here, her tongue sweeping against the seam of my lips, delving beyond to tangle roughly with mine. Angling her head to the side, she deepens the exquisite assault, her fingers sifting sensuously through my hair, dancing teasingly down my neck and across my shoulders, finally coming to rest on the tense muscles of my chest. I feel her spread her fingers out across my bare skin, delving under the edges of my yukata, palms flat, and the imprint is burned into me. My flesh leaps in reaction, electricity zinging from those twin points of contact to explode in the pit of my stomach.

Shaking at the violently impassioned reactions of my body, I reluctantly tear my mouth from the sweetness of hers, valiantly ignoring her small moue of protest. I don't want to frighten her with the desperate force of my hunger, though she doesn't appear so. Besides, I'm somewhat frightened, myself--well, perhaps astonished is ore the word. We only just met!

Once again, I lean my forehead against hers, feeling the sheen of perspiration the effort to control my enthusiastic hormones has brought out. As I concentrate on leveling out my breathing, the sound of her equally ragged respiration penetrates my awareness. Her forearms are resting on my shoulders, fingers flirting with the hair at the back of my neck. She sighs heavily and tucks her head under my chin, her flushed cheek resting lightly against the bare skin exposed by the vee of my gaping collar.

Chuckling softly to myself, I revel in the feel of her tucked trustingly against me, content knowing she is not outraged, or worse, disgusted, by my outbreak of passion.

'After all, she gave as good as she got.' Gloats a smug little voice.

I roll my eyes. I've never tolerated macho posturing, especially in myself---never had a reason to--and I didn't intend to start now. But I am unable to suppress just the tiniest thrill of male pride that I was able to wrest such abandoned responses from this radiant beauty.

"What are you laughing at?" her slightly disgruntled voice filters up to me, muffled against my chest.

The movement of her lips against my skin sends a shiver of fresh desire racing down my spine, even as I begin grinning like a fool. While it is disconcerting to experience such an uncharacteristically extreme, and immediate, reaction to a complete stranger, I can't help but feel oddly liberated by it. It seems I've changed more than even I realized. I shy away from the implications.

"Nothing," I reply lightly. I may not have much romantic experience with women, but I am not a fool. Never tell a woman you are laughing at her, even if you are laughing at yourself, as well.

Reaching behind my neck and unwind her arms, I capture her hands in mine. Holding them reverently, I reluctantly draw away from her. Walking backward, so as not to miss a single graceful movement or enchanting expression, I lead her along the verandah to my room.

Miraculously, it doesn't seem so much the prison it was a scant thirty minutes ago, but more like a sanctuary.

Continuing our slow progress, I squeeze her hands gently in deference to her injury, look into her dark eyes, and say, "Let's get your hand cleaned up. Then we can talk," I release one hand to gesture vaguely at the space between us, "and sort all of this out."

Her lips part into a brilliant smile, white teeth flashing in the moonshine, and the corners of her eyes crinkle as the smile reaches them. I suck in a breath, spellbound anew by the flawless radiance of her beauty. A sudden thought, though, has me stumbling to an abrupt halt. She tilts her head to the side, her delicate brows drawn down in a knot of gentle concern, waiting patiently for me to explain my graceless halt.

"Uh..." I feel furious color rush to my cheeks as I shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. I don't know how to say this, so I open my mouth and force it out in a rushed jumble of acutely embarrassed syllables.

"Iforgottoaskyourname." I wait breathlessly for her to process that humiliating admission.

She continues to stare up at me, in consternation now, I think. Long seconds drag by without response, and I am certain she is realizing the impropriety of my behavior. I practically pounced on her without bothering to ask her name first! She will be so outraged at my assault on her that she will rear back in revulsion and slap me.

'I deserve it. You don't kiss a woman without knowing her name!' I think miserably, head dropping, my hair falling over my eyes to shield my pain and shame.

Her sudden peal of laughter snaps my head up, and I stare in disbelief. Her eyes are sparkling merrily as her slender shoulders shake in unsuppressed amusement. Bemused, I watch as she dashes a tear from her eye with the back of her free hand, then reaches out to touch my cheek with it.

"Himiko. Shiroji Himiko. But my closest friends call me Kaji." She says with that gentle smile of hers.

"Kaji," I repeat softly, wonderingly, amazed she has included me in her inner circle of friends with the invitation to use her nickname.

'Fire'. I wonder briefly if she was named that because of her abilities, but, no, a baby wouldn't be able to fling balls of blue fire, would it?

Just then, we reach the door to my room, and I pull her with me, unwilling to break contact with her for even the brief time it would take to cross the width of the room, and flip the light switches on a couple of table lamps. The room fills with a warm glow, and I face her again, impatient to see her delicate features unveiled in the new light. My breath hitches in my chest, and my heart turns over as I gracelessly gape at her paralyzing beauty.

'So, that's why they call her Kaji.'

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*Review, please! (Constructive)criticism is always welcome!*

Tsukitani