Fruits Basket Fan Fiction ❯ Force of Destiny ❯ Heat ( Chapter 17 )

Disclaimer: Oh, I'm tired! Even though I don't own Fruits Basket, the Mabudachi Trio threw me a slumber party I'm not likely to ever forget (just to keep my inspiration up, mind you). Maa, maa! You all have dirty minds, don't you! Well, so does Shi-kun! And who would have guessed Ha-san is so...creative? *sighs dreamily* Thank you, Takaya-sensei, for the loaners! I think I'm going to be needing to borrow them more often *suggestive wink* --all in the name of research for my next fic, mind you...

****LIME/LEMON WARNING****

****JUST FOR THIS CHAPTER, I AM INCREASING THE RATING TO NC-17****

If you want a tamer version of this chapter, or are underage, then go to FanFiction.net. You have been warned!

Chapter 17: Heat

I can tell Hatori has read my expression properly, my resolve to separate myself from the two women who mean so much to me. Sympathy suddenly softens his eyes and he squeezes my shoulder lightly before advising, "Maybe you should clean up and get some rest, as well. It's going to be a long, difficult evening." His hand rests on my shoulder for a moment longer before he hauls himself to his feet, fatigue radiating from him in waves, and pads out of the room.

Alone again, I think heavily, feeling the walls of the room, my prison, closing around me once more. Rising to my feet, I acknowledge that the idea of a bath does sound good. A long, relaxing soak in hot water to ease the aches and pains from my worked-over body. As I open a closet to take out my bathing supplies, I look out of the open shoji that frames a view of the garden. Was it really only a matter of hours ago that my moonlit vision of ethereal beauty first appeared there? Musing silently on how she looked, backed by blooming cherry trees and limned with the pearlescent glow of the moon, I feel a smile tug at the corners of my mouth and my heart doesn't seem quite as leaden as it did a few moments ago. Coming out of my reverie, I turn to the hall door and absently note that the sun is just peeking over the top of the high garden wall. It's the start of a new day.

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Oh, Gods...I can barely hold in the sobs as I make my way as silently as possible to the bathing room. I'm afraid that Akito will appear before me again, whispering those silky, suggestive, cutting words in my ear, sliding his cool, pale fingers over my shivering flesh...I feel lost in a violent maelstrom of tangled emotion, uncertain which way is up, and wondering why in the hell I'm fighting so damn hard. I don't see any way out of this situation I have managed to get myself into. Suddenly, I feel the walls of the hallway begin to close in on my shivering body, stealing the air from my lungs, turning my muscles to a petrified mass of fear and panic and desperation to just get out--escape! But it all seems so impossible, so utterly pointless. The demon will only chase me down again, find me wherever I think I have managed to find a safe haven, just like he did with my temple home, just like he did minutes ago with Yuki.

Yuki. He is the reason for my sudden inability to cope with the aftermath of the torments Akito put me through. Always before, I have been able to separate my voice of reason from the tiny, shaking child inside me, always known that, though the Souma master could touch my body, caress it, wring strangled responses of pain and fear and, yes, to my eternal shame, once even something resembling arousal, he has never been able to touch my heart and soul. Those have always been kept from him--sacrosanct against his demonic torments, his terrible threats, his seductive caresses. Hidden behind the barrier of my mind, completely separate from my weak body, I have been able to hold off the terrible weight of despair and guilt, always known that my only crime was being too trusting. Always known that I am a victim, bound by necessity to endure in order to save my sister. But now...

Now, I am suddenly finding myself plagued by this ghastly feeling of complete and utter uncleanliness. I feel stained, shamed that someone whom I had begun to care so much about was witness to my degradation. He saw my weakness, my complete and utter lack of ability to defend myself. Never mind that the constant, implied threat to my sister hangs over my neck, like the Sword of Damocles, forcing me to silently accept whatever punishment Akito throws at me, no matter how cruel or distasteful. I feel weak, useless, unable to defend myself or those I love. Despite my great power, which I still cannot control with precision, despite my good intentions, I have brought myself and my innocent, cursed sister to this new low. I never felt as if I had been almost raped before, but I do now. All because Yuki was there as witness. Strong, silently suffering Yuki, with his own terrible burdens, his own need for comfort, burdened even further because I would not allow him to aid me. I saw the guilt in his eyes, the fires of fury raging within their violet depths, the irate flare of gold in his aura, as he overcame his ingrained compunction to obey the family head, his God, no matter the circumstances. He was willing to endure the wrathful consequences of any attempt on his part to get the man off of me. I watched his fists clench with barely leashed violence, slender, whipcord muscles trembling with the need to lash out. And he reigned it all in for me, because I asked him to. I am grateful, but I am also perversely angry. I know that I truly did not want him interfering with Akito's game, but the small, battered, weak woman that I truly am is curled up in a ball wailing and sobbing that he did not ignore my wishes and stop the pain. How hypocritical of me! How unfair of me! How can I think this way?! And it only makes me feel even dirtier, even more tarnished, that I would be possessed of such a dichotomy of feeling for the man who held me in his arms, kissed me with awe and tenderness and raw passion, comforted me and gallantly tried to defend me from my own personal hell.

I emerge slightly from my emotional stupor to find that I have somehow gotten to my room, collected my bath things, and am now in the small, elegantly marbled bathing room. A tiny, detached part of me notices that I have already shed my clothing, and I am sitting on a low bathing stool, dipping a coarse-looking loofah into the plastic tub of water at my feet and scrubbing my body harshly...scrubbing, scrubbing...but it won't come off! my mind wails, on the edge of panic. The feeling of being soiled, unclean, defiled--it will not go away! I hear someone whimpering, the sound echoing strangely within the tiled confines of the room, rocketing around the walls in much the same manner my thoughts are rocketing around in my head. Disjointed sobs punctuate the humid stillness of the air, emphasizing and underscoring the chant of, "Not clean, not clean, not clean..." that seems to be flowing out of somebody's mouth. Whoever they are, I wish they would shut the hell up. I'm having a difficult enough time trying to reign in my wayward thoughts--my mind doesn't want to seem to pull itself together--without the maddening thread of sound invading and disrupting my senses. I am possessed of a feeling of discombobulation, like a child's marionette, with someone else pulling the strings. I seem unable to control my own actions, and it suddenly hits me that I am the one chanting the pathetic phrase. I am outside of my own body, not a bad place to be sometimes, watching helplessly as I scrub and scrub with the rough sea sponge, harsh edges digging into my pale skin. There are scratches and flecks of blood rising to the surface, and still I am unable to end the action. It plays in a continuous loop of jerky motion and sound: dip, squeeze, scrub, scrub, scrub, "notcleannotcleannotclean". Over and over with no end in sight. I finally think that I am losing my mind, but find that I don't care. I cannot save my sister or myself, and the support and warmth I so recently found in Yuki has been yanked away by something he cannot control, namely love for another. So why bother?

Just as I am sinking back into the hazy, maddened oblivion of my mind, the door to the outer changing room flies open, banging on its hinges into the wall. The thick, wavy glass that makes up the central panel bucks and shudders, silently protesting the violent treatment. My head lifts slowly to gaze blankly at the intruder, not really interested, but the tiny survival instinct that is still functioning somewhere demands to at least see if it is Akito, so I can prepare to withdraw completely into myself if necessary.

The figure framed in the narrow doorway is indeed in a rage, pale skin flushed, high color staining lean cheekbones, dark eyes flashing. His eyes rake over me, taking in at a glance my hunched form, how I don't even try to hide my wet nudity, and he gasps at the blood that is now oozing freely from a few of the deeper, self-inflicted scrapes I have caused by going over the same spot too many times. The background noise of my mantra to desperation ceases, fading into a thready whisper of sound before dying completely. Yuki. I do not want him here! I feel rage boil up in me, burning through my body from the pit of my stomach into my chest. I feel the blind rush of its virulence crawling up the steep walls of my throat and pushing past my clenched teeth, desperate, wild, ferocious in its need to be released. He is the reason I feel so unclean! He is the reason I despair! Because he witnessed my degradation! Because he had the gall to fall in love with another woman years before we met! Because I cannot hate him, or feel anything but compassion and understanding for him. Because I cannot do anything but love him all the more for his courage in the face of all he has endured. Oh, God! No! No, no, no, no! Not that, no, not that, not love--I just met him! And I cannot have him!

It is this last thought that is the final impetus for the scalding bubble of fiery emotion I have been holding in check, and it spews forth from between my lips as the dam of my tenuous emotional control shatters. But instead of the vitriolic flood of invective I had anticipated unleashing upon him, nothing but gut-wrenching, broken sobs pour forth. Curling in on myself, the forgotten loofah clenched tightly in one fist, I hunch my bruised, beaten, bloodied and tormented body over, trying in vain to compress myself into as tight a space of nothingness as I can. Hoping against hope that the actions of my physical self will be duplicated within my emotional self and I can squeeze all of these terrible feelings into a tiny point of emptiness, like the center of a black hole would compress time itself into non-existence. But, like the even horizon of a black hole, my emotions instead spiral out of control, spreading, fanning out around the negative space that was my heart and quantifying, measuring, outlining the enormity of everything I have lost.

Then, gentle hands are picking me up and settling my rigid body onto a lap. Surrounded by the warmth and quiet strength of Yuki, I find myself relaxing by slow, infinitesimal degrees, though my deep, wracking sobs do not abate. The smooth texture of his yukata, the cool stroke of his lean finger through my wet hair, his scent of ginger and mint wrapping around me, invades my senses as quickly and invisibly as the man himself has invaded my heart. He gently pries my stiff fingers from the dangers of the loofah, and my fists transfer themselves to the fabric of his robe, as if it is imperative I have something to hold on to--an anchor in a world suddenly tilted on its axis. As he cradles me against his chest, a warmth, a delicious lethargy begins to overtake me as muscles and tendons stretched taut and knotted with emotional agony unbend all at once. Limp, exhausted, yet feeling a curious tingling energy beginning to course through my veins, I sigh and let my eyes drop closed. I am enjoying the simple feeling of comfort, of knowing that someone is caring for me, even though he has seen me at my most vulnerable. It is a precious gift, and fresh tears spring to my eyes.

My weeping has lessened, and through my increasing awareness of my surroundings, I feel the slow glide of Yuki's cool hand against the wet skin of my arm, his arm sweeping my back with the steady up and down movement. The tingling inside increases and I shift slightly in his lap, suddenly acutely aware of my state of dress. Or undress. Strangely, though, I am not self-conscious of my nudity. I think that perhaps I am too drained to feel anything but this delicious ebb and flow of relaxation, so I sit quietly and listen to the sound of Yuki's heartbeat. It is steady and strong, the primal rhythm pushing life-giving blood through his veins; pounding, crashing like the waves of the ocean upon the earth. Constant. Steadfast. Eternal. Not mine. Hers. But he is with me now, and I feel a fierce resolve to experience the joyous, soul-lifting passion of an embrace with him one last time before it all ends tonight, at dinner. Before I give Yuki one last gift, I will take this away, tuck it into my heart--a precious memory to take out and examine at my leisure, knowing that it would be all I will ever have of him. But it will be enough. Just this...one...kiss...

Lifting my arms to twine loosely about his neck, heedless of how it exposes my breasts to his gaze, I curl my fingers around the nape of his neck and tug down gently. My eyes are open wide, gazing into his startled amethyst ones, silently communicating with a look all of the gratitude and pain and love overflowing in my heart--and the want and the need overflowing in my body. As soon as our mouths are a breath apart, lips parted in anticipation of that first electric touch, I pause, watching his eyes, waiting for it...There. The flare of desire sparks to life in his lavender depths, darkening the irises to that beautiful shade of indigo, pupils beginning to dilate as his own need takes hold. And yet, he still holds back, not pulling away, not moving forward, and the question surfaces in his expression: Is this what I want? Am I going to regret this later? If it were possible, my heart would take flight. His solicitude for my feelings only proves to me yet again his gentleness. And then I realize: How could I have thought Yuki would use me as a substitute for his beloved Tohru? It is simply not in his nature to use others, not like Akito. I feel a fresh wave of shame at my doubt at how easily I let the demon's sly words slip under my skin to sow the seeds of distrust, but the shame is quickly burned away by the rising tide of passion searing my blood.

Suddenly impatient, I tug Yuki's mouth down that extra millimeter to meet mine in a scorching kiss. I keep my eyes open, trained on his, so he will have no doubt this is what I want. I am certain my passion and love is reflected in my eyes, and it serves to buckle Yuki's last barrier. In a replay of our interrupted kiss, passion and need kindle into a sudden blaze, an inferno of longing and desire. His arms come up, hands leaving my skin and circling around my naked back to delve into my hair, long fingers spearing through the saturated mass to cradle the back of my head in his palms and hold my mouth to his. I follow suit, fisting my hands gently in the thick grey hair just above his ears, as if I fear he will try to pull away and leave me, cold and aching and alone. My nipples pebble in response to the tantalizing brush of lean, sculpted muscle and I strain against the hold he places on my shoulders, keeping me from doing more than grazing the tips of my taut, aching breasts against him in reserved, agonizing skirmishes of sensation.

And then I can't do more than hold my breath and hang on as Yuki slides his lips down the tender column of my throat in a long, wet slide, pushing back on my shoulders as he dips, exposing me to the sensual onslaught of lips and teeth and tongue. I wait breathlessly, relishing every stop he makes along the way to worship and pay homage to the pulse point at the hollow of my throat, at my collarbone, and the rounded curve of my shoulder with little nips and hot, damp kisses. I know where this journey is going, but I am becoming supremely impatient, digging my fingers into his hair again in a futile attempt to pull him closer to where I want him to be. He is immovable, though, and retaliates to my fevered tugs by drifting back up the line of my neck to nuzzle and nip at my sensitive ear, licking a spot and then breathing hotly over it, chuckling at the shivers chasing through me at the action. I groan in frustration, but concede the battle to him. Anything, so long as he resumes his downward trek. And he does, once I relax my arms, letting them dangle limply at my sides in silent sarcasm. 'If that's the way you want to play it...' He is unfazed by my unresponsiveness, no doubt confident he can convince me to relinquish my rag-doll routine and whip me into a frenzy of passionate response. I'm confident he can do so, as well, but he doesn't need to know that. A satisfied smile curves my regrettably unoccupied lips. Not yet, at least.

Yuki shifts position again, his forearms supporting the length of my back, bracing me away from him a semi-reclining posture. I am almost fully exposed to his hungry gaze now, eyes glittering with desire like faceted amethysts. Locking my own passion-glazed gaze on his lean features, taut with leashed ardor, I let him see my own naked desire, then I relax my neck muscles, letting my head fall back into his waiting palms, displaying my skin from the vulnerable line of my throat to my hips. It is a deliberate act on my part, an admission of my need and an invitation to him to show his mastery over my body. Wordlessly, I am tempting him to abandon restraint; silently pleading for his cool touch on my overheated skin. I can't see his face, but I imagine his eyes, heavy-lidded and slumberous, raking my exposed flesh, taking in each detail--from the pink flush of blood rushing to the sensitized surface of my skin to the taut, ruched peaks of my breasts--and cataloguing it like a choice morsel at a feast. Just the image is so arousing I can't suppress the shiver of delighted anticipation that chases down my spine.

As if that tiny, telling reaction triggers something inside of him, Yuki bends his head to me again, but this time does not touch me with anything other than his warm breath. He blows tiny currents over my skin, chasing a pattern over my skin in teasing whorls and eddies of thwarted sensation. I can't stop the moan of pure frustration that escapes me, but as galling as it is that I am showing how I am weakening against his maddening torture game, it seems to be the response he is looking for. No sooner does the sound escape my parted lips than I feel the brush of his tongue sweeping, swirling against my sensitized flesh in long, languorous strokes of wet heat, wringing more involuntary sounds of pleasure from me. The more I mewl, the more he laves--and the closer he gets to that place I want him desperately to be. For now, anyway.

And then he is there, firm lips closing over one aching peak as his tongue swirls around in a soothing motion, contrarily inflaming me even further. One hand abandons my back to drift lazily across my rib cage, down the soft curve of my abdomen to finally, oh-so-lightly delve delicately into the curls at the apex of my thighs. He brushes against some hidden portion and I cry out at the pure ecstacy of feeling. My spine arches, bowing up to meet the sweet onslaught of Yuki's mouth, hips pushing against his hand, wordless bid for more of the attention he is lavishing on me. Completely forgetting that I am supposed to be rag-limp and submissive, I bring my hands up to clutch desperately at him, alternately trying to pull him as close as possible and push him away, the intense feelings he is sending zinging along nerves made raw with passion threatening to overload my system. But he'll have none of my waffling, not giving me a choice in the matter as he moves his attention to the other breast, lavishing the same amount of care and consideration on it as he did on its twin. His questing fingers grow bolder, and I nearly leap off of his lap when he slips one lean, tapered finger into my wet heat. My thighs fall open in instinctive invitation. His thumb continues to rub steady, maddening circles on that mysterious piece of flesh while he strokes the length of his finger into me, adding a second digit. I cry out again at the absolute purity of sensation his intimate caress engenders.

I have never felt anything like it before, never even imagined anything remotely resembling it could exist. And still he continues his delicious onslaught; mouth suckling, teeth nipping and tugging, fingers gliding, rubbing, sliding with slick ease into and out of my femininity. I can feel a tension building in the muscles of my stomach, feel an unfamiliar and maddening clenching in my womb, and I am certain that Yuki is the cause, equally certain he can provide the relief I so desperately crave. But how? I know something is waiting for me, something wonderful, glorious--if only Yuki will continue touching me.

Despite the support Yuki is providing, my back is beginning to ache with the strain of the arch my spine is forced into by pure pleasure, and I can no longer contain or muffle my moans and cries. As I near a breaking point of sensation, I drag my hands from his head, instead, trailing my fingers through the thick, silken mass of his hair to slide across his tense shoulders and down the sculpted planes of his chest.

Though my touch is light and tentatively teasing, I feel a spurt of pleasure when I elicit a groaned response from him. It rumbles through his chest, vibrating against my fingertips and I press a little harder against his skin, reveling in the sudden balancing of power between us. It is not enough, though--I want to shift that balance in my favor, return the boon and make him shudder and gasp. I feel a feline grin stretching my lips at the very thought. This is going to be pleasurable fun, indeed. But to start with, I'm in entirely the wrong position to fully facilitate a detailed exploration of Yuki's body. As much as I don't want Yuki's touch to leave me, I know I will be able to discover what lies beyond that bright horizon of passion-induced fever later. Right now, though...Pulling myself upright, I slide off his lap, instantly regretting as his fingers slip from between my legs, missing the loss of his hard thighs underneath me, but my movements were too easily restricted while perched on him.

Settling onto the cold, hard tile of the floor, I kneel between his parted knees, placing my lips level with his throat. I let my heated gaze travel leisurely down the length of his bare chest, from jaw line to waist. Ummm...Tempting. I lick my lips in anticipation of that first taste of his smooth skin. But temptation of a more seductive nature looms near, as well, I think wryly, dropping my gaze again to the significant bulge rising against his flat stomach, ill-concealed by rumpled, skewed fabric. In fact, I think wistfully, fingertips itching, if I were to simply twitch one panel of the yukata to the side a bit...Biting back a tormented groan at the vivid image that thought puts into my brain, I instead bend my concentration to tamer pursuits. For now. 'A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step', I think with amusement. And my first step will be...

Raising my eyes to Yuki's, making certain he is watching me, intent on every movement and nuance of touch, I lift my index finger to my mouth, sucking the tip between my lips then withdrawing it, to wet the pad. Impossibly, his eyes darken even more, indigo irises almost completely engulfed by the blackness of his dilated pupils, and I see a muscle jump in his clenched jaw. I raise a teasing eyebrow at him. He growls in mock threat, leaning almost imperceptibly closer, daring me to do more than tease. Never let it be said I backed down from a challenge.

Gazes locked in torrid communion, in silent battle, I slowly run my damp finger down his chest and over one firm pectoral muscle. It jumps at the teasing touch and I see an answering heat flare to life in his desire-glazed eyes. Simultaneously, I let my other hand, which was resting innocently on his knee, wander up his thigh, pushing the fabric of his yukata up as I go. He breathes in sharply when I drag my fingernails lightly along his inner thigh, eliciting a shiver from him. In my peripheral vision, I see the ridge of his manhood jump in reaction. At the sight, molten waves of need spread from the pit of my stomach, flowing outward, deliciously slow, encompassing my entire body before turning back on themselves and settling in a pool of urgent need between my thighs. The urge to abandon this game, rise up and straddle his hips--the urge to impale myself, fill my aching emptiness with his rigid demand and simply slake both our wants--is too enticing, too dangerous. Instead, I bend my full concentration to Yuki, learning, memorizing the smooth planes and angles, the sculpted dips and hollows of his exposed torso. My finger circles and then lightly flicks a flat nipple, causing him to tilt his head back slightly. He still watches me, though, from beneath half-lowered eyelids, lashes thick and sooty, concealing all but the blaze of fire in their amethyst depths. Shivers race down my spine at that slumberous look, sending gooseflesh racing across my skin, pebbling my nipples and causing a curious tightening sensation in my burning center.

Leaning in closer to him, inhaling the warm, spicy scent of his skin, I decide to give as good as I got. My tongue flicks out to taste him--slightly salty and wonderfully male. I hum in pleasure, licking and nipping my way across his collarbone and back, then down the center of his chest, barely aware when his hands come up to lightly clasp my arms, long fingers curled around my shoulders, thumbs softly stroking the outer edges of my clavicles. His touch remains weightless, simply steadying me, until I grow bolder and bring my lips to his nipple, circling the hard nub with my mouth as he had done to me, then drawing it in with light suction. I drop both hands down to cup him through the thin cotton of his robe, curiosity and raging desire having gotten the better of my modesty. He hisses in a breath, making a strange, strangled sound somewhere between a hum and a groan, and pulls me tighter to him. Emboldened by his response, I part the edges of his yukata to expose the object of my interest--and temporary obsession.

I let my fingers play lightly up and down his length, marveling at the softness of his skin, and how it loosely sheaths such an impressive, steely length. Yuki is absolutely still, the only movement he makes is the involuntary twitching of the turgid flesh in my hand, reaction to my increasingly adventurous caresses. The small, telling jumps fascinate me, and lead me on to bolder and more intimate experiments. Finally, I cannot contain my inquisitiveness any more. If Yuki's chest tasted so good, what would it be like if...? Without further thought, the only thing driving my movements being the suddenly undeniable need to taste Yuki's very essence, to feel that velvet-soft skin sliding against my tongue, I dip my head and swipe at the drop of liquid gathered on the quivering head of the fascinating organ still clasped loosely between my dancing fingers.

Hips bucking at the contact, body shuddering with need, Yuki reaches down to once again lay claim to my shoulders, groaning with the strain of controlling himself. Gone is the nonchalant, passive lover of moments before. In his place is a man, wild with fervid need, dragging my naked body up his in a sensuous glide of flesh against flesh. He accomplished this by wrapping his hands around my waist and lifting me bodily so I am once again settled in his lap, but am no longer sideways. This fevered stranger, this passion-wild Yuki is not happy until I am fully astride him, legs draped on either side of him. And still it is not enough--not for him, not for me, for, as dangerous, as forbidden as it is, I cannot feel complete in that perilous position until he grasps my hips and pulls me flush against him and bare sex meets bare sex. Ah! I moan in appreciation as the hot, burning vortex of sexual sensation that has suddenly become the center of my universe is seated firmly against the hard ridge that evidences Yuki's raging desire. Such sweet sensation! If I had known this was waiting for me, I would have doubled my efforts to lift my sister's curse. Then I would be free to pursue this pleasurable pose to its logical, and no doubt mind-blowing, conclusion--without fear or regret for cutting my power in half. Alas, though, neither of us is truly free, so I will accept whatever Yuki is willing to share and be glad.

As if tapping into my thoughts of restraint, Yuki makes no effort to guide himself home---though it is without a doubt my fondest desire at the moment---earning my eternal gratitude, and heartfelt regret. Instead, he slides his hands around and under my hips, cupping me firmly. Then he lifts. I moan. He groans. The ecstacy is unreal, and I wiggle a little to let him know I want to do it again. Quickly building up a rhythm, his hardness sliding against my wet folds, we begin a dance as primal and timeless as the earth itself. We are both panting, a fine sheen of perspiration filming out bodies, adding to the slick sliding sounds of naked skin on skin. Mouths clinging, tongues tangling, licking, nipping, murmuring words of encouragement and appreciation, we rock together toward that unknown goal Yuki hinted at when he first slipped a finger inside me. As the waves of pleasure begin building faster and faster, the tightness inside winding down like an over-turned watch spring or ticking, apocalyptic time bomb, I open my eyes to look into Yuki's passion-strained face. What I see takes my breath away. His eyes are endless lavender pools, seemingly bottomless, reflecting in faceted refraction the emotions rocketing through him: pleasure, passion, need--and a tenderness so profound tears gather in my eyes. Oh, gods, I don't think I will be able to do what must be done afterward, gain the necessary separation, if I see any more. I close my eyes tightly and hang on to the thin thread of control that the now almost frantic movements of Yuki's hard body against mine is threatening to snap.

Our dance is an intimate re-enactment, a sinuous, sensual representation of our destiny. Coming together, enjoying the tenderness, heat and friction; brushing, rubbing along with each other for a short time, then parting. Never joining in that final act of passion, of tender togetherness; never joining in love. Too many obstacles lay between us: my need to remain 'pure' to retain my full power as a miko, Yuki's love for another woman, Akito and the Juunishi curse...And so I will content myself with this interlude, this one wordless chance to tell Yuki of my budding love for him, of my heartfelt wish that things could be different for us. Instead, I will have to let him go--I am determined to let him go--for both our well being.

Our mingled breaths are echoing harshly in the small room, heart beats thundering in our ears, all but drowning out the sounds of passion our coming together is wringing from us. And still it's not enough. Yuki leans in to capture my lips with his own, the gentle, languid caress of his tongue against mine a sharp counterpoint to the hurried, impassioned motion of our bodies. He sucks my lower lip into his mouth, teeth nipping the sensitive flesh. I can feel, more than hear, the almost continuous growl of pleasure vibrating through his chest, signaling his own approaching release. Then, Yuki shifts slightly, lifting me just that little bit higher against him, causing extra friction against that sweetly sensitive bundle of nerves. Gasping, white light explodes through me, shattering the tension inside. I jerk with the force, my spine curving back into a taut, perfect bow, breasts thrown forward in wanton declaration of my pleasure. Distantly I hear Yuki groan out his own release, feel his own tension as he holds me tightly in place against his still-twitching sex.

His head falls forward onto my shoulder, thick grey hair brushing against my cheek. I rub against the silky locks and kiss above his ear, unable to do more than collapse bonelessly, thankful for the support his body provides. I feel completely drained, both physically and emotionally. Even when blessed, ecstatic release finally came, bringing relief from the intense pleasure/pain Yuki's body stroked me into, it held an empty, hollow edge--testament to the truth that ours was an incomplete act, forever lacking in finality. It is a depressing realization, especially since I know I will probably never get the chance to fix the error. This is all we will ever have of each other, all we ever can be to each other. It is enough. I will make it enough.

Knowing that if I do not force myself to let him go now I will never be able to--hell, it may already be too late--I lift his head with my hands, palms framing the lean elegance of his features, and kiss him softly, lingeringly. It is a good-bye kiss, and I'm afraid he senses it on some level for his gaze, soft with satiation and something I absolutely refuse to name, sharpens. Spearing me with a questioning look, his slender brows knotted in gentle concern, I distract him with a reassuring smile, slipping off his lap to stand on wobbling legs.

"I think we really need a bath, now," I note wryly, gesturing between our sticky, sweat- and passion-covered bodies. Yuki's yukata is unsalvageable, but I don't think he minds--after all, it probably came from Akito. Just the thought sends a cold shiver down my spine and I cross my arms defensively over my chest. Yuki misinterprets the action, thinking I am suddenly ashamed of what we have done. I feel my heart swell with love for him, that he would be so concerned with my emotions when I imagine many men would be gloating, reaching for a cigarette with one hand and the telephone with the other to boast to friends about recent activities, size, position, frequency...

Standing, none too steadily himself, I note with amused satisfaction, he steps forward to gather my shoulders between his hands for a third time, repeating his earlier action of caressing my clavicles with his thumbs. I don't think I will ever be able to endure a touch to my collarbones without remembering Yuki.

"Hey," he calls softly, fingers squeezing gently to catch my wandering attention, "I want you to know that I don't have a single regret about this," his voice is steady and sure, leaving no room for doubt that he believes in his own sincerity.

"About us," he clarifies, bending his knees a little and dipping his head to make sure he is looking me straight in the eyes as he says this, almost like it's a confession.

My heart turns over in my chest. Oh, Yuki, I think despairingly, battling the urge to hope he means what I want. If you only knew. If I could only believe you choose me of your own free will, not because some monster took away all other options. But, of course, I do not say this. I only smile at him, a rather watery smile, I'm sure, as I can again feel those happy/sad tears pricking my eyelids. Great. Now my nose is going to turn red and drip--not the seductive picture of a sex-tussled, well-loved woman I want to leave Yuki with.

"Neither do I, Yuki," I agree readily, and go on to elucidate, "about any of it. But," I see his shoulders tense, as if preparing himself for a blow, "this is all there can ever be between us. We both risk too much by getting involved any further."

Yuki is visibly stunned, eyes wide in surprise. His hands cease their caresses, fingers instead tightening on my arms in a painful grip, echoing his inner pain upon my flesh. This reaction hauls me up short, as it is unexpected. I anticipated his relief at being released from an unknown woman, a stranger, a pale imitation of his lost beloved. I did not anticipate the clear expression of hurt that chases its way across his face before that cool, encompassing wall of ice rises to protect him. He jerks his hands away from my skin as if burned. Perhaps he has been--and it's all my fault. I am doing the right thing, aren't I? I question myself. But I know the answer: Yes, this is right. If, after tonight, Yuki were to come back to me, then I would devote the rest of my life to making amends for the anguish I just inflicted upon him.

"Kaji, if this is about Tohru--" I place my fingers over his lips to silence him. This is about Tohru, in half, but it is also about so much more that I can't explain right now. We don't have the time. But Yuki is being stubborn and he twists his lips out from under my silencing touch.

"If this is about Tohru," he starts again, "then you have nothing to fear."

What? No! I want to shriek, half in despair, half in elation. But I can't afford to get caught up in this discussion, caught up in false hope that will only create doubts and deadly vulnerabilities. It is essential to my plans that I retain my focus--and if Yuki tells me that he--

"Yes, I love Tohru--I always will love Tohru--but I think that I am also falling in lo--"

"NO!" I clap my hands over my ears, like a little child believing that the action will block out all the things I am too afraid to hear, too weak and terrified to face. But it is too late; my heart has already tacked on those last little words and I am lost; adrift at sea and struggling desperately for the tow line that will guide me back to my plan.

Yuki looks absolutely crushed, lavender eyes huge and bruised with pain that I have caused. My sudden outburst had the effect of a slap in the face. He has all but declared himself to me, and I shoved it back in his face. His heartbroken expression tears at me, rending my resolve to remain firm in the face of all obstacles, and I find myself opening my mouth to do what I swore I would not do: open the door to perilous hope by explaining myself.

"No, Yuki," I continue more gently, pulling my hands from my ears, but still not daring to look him in the eye. If I do, I just know I will throw caution to the winds, jump into his arms and damn the consequences, "please don't say that. It is too dangerous, too tempting." My voice is low, throbbing with the force of my repressed emotions, my desperation for him to let it go.

Again Yuki opens his mouth to speak, to argue with me, to convince me that we can make everything work. Again I silence him, knowing that, were I to allow him to continue, it would be laughably easy for him to sway me. For I would not only be arguing against him, I would be arguing against myself. I simply lack the strength to do that--I want him too much.

"Yuki, please," I beg, finally raising tear-stained eyes to his, letting him see just how important this is to me, how desperate I am to halt this before I cannot let go. I feel as if my heart is being torn out of my chest as I watch him struggle to come to terms with my statements, my supplication. He is balanced on that razor-sharp edge between doubt and capitulation, the war playing out clearly in his beautiful, expressive eyes. I give him that final nudge, for my own sanity's sake, "Just for now, just for tonight." A compromise, a promise I cannot afford to keep.

It is all that he needs to hear, and I let out a sigh of relief and offer up a silent prayer of gratitude and repentance. Yuki's face relaxes, but his gaze still retains a spark of defiance. Oh, well, I didn't anticipate winning any battle against him would be easy; Yuki may be quiet and calm most of the time, but his cool exterior hides a will of steel. Fortunately for me, I am in possession of an equally rigid spine.

Yuki needed to understand how important this is to me, to us. He MUST understand.

He deserves a choice.

And I plan to give him that choice--tonight.