Love Hina Fan Fiction ❯ Blizzard ❯ Slippage ( Chapter 3 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: hawker_748 
Anime/Manga: Love Hina Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 07.05.2006 | Pages: 3 | Words: 4.1K | Visits: 4.3K | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Love Hina Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 07.05.2006 | Pages: 3 | Words: 4.1K | Visits: 4.3K | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: See Chapter One
C+C is welcome at hawker_748@hotmail.com.
“X” Spoken words
‘X’ Thoughts
Lemon Warning: This fic contains strong language and sexual themes. Reader discretion is advised.
Love Hina:
Blizzard
Chapter Three: Slippage
Keitaro opened his eyes and stared balefully at his ceiling, taking minor comfort in its familiarity. His stomach was still hurting, strenuously objecting with what he’d eaten for lunch. The problem wasn’t that Shinobu had made something inedible, as he didn’t believe she could do that, but that his body was resisting his efforts to supply it with nutrition.
It had been two weeks since his second encounter with Yuki. His conscience may not have been able to stop the encounter, but it was quite competent in making him remember it. He could recall everything in exquisite detail, from the taste of the sweat on Yuki’s breasts, to the squeaks the shock absorbers had made when he ravaged Yuki on the hood of some parked car.
‘I shoulda left the guy some money for a car wash,’ Keitaro thought to himself. He snorted in disgust. He’d been regretting a lot of things lately, and not helping some stranger clean his car was low on that list. Unwillingly, Keitaro found himself replaying the aftermath of that encounter; he’d stayed in the alley for about half an hour, feeling completely ashamed of himself, before bolting when a back door had opened. Not knowing if it was the owner of the car or not, and not willing to stick around to find out, he’d scrambled back to the bustling crowds out front.
Before the encounter, he’d let the crowds carry him because he’d had no particular place to be. Now the crowd carried him like driftwood in the current because he truly felt lost. Needing to escape the area, but not wanting to return to Hinata House just yet, he’d wandered aimlessly for over two hours, before listlessly returning home. He’d bathed immediately upon his return, desperately trying to remove the feeling of filth that seemed to coat his very essence. When asked how the doctor’s visit went, he said that the doc had told him to catch up on his rest, and he’d be fine. Accepting his word as gospel, the residents were all relieved, especially Shinobu.
The next morning at breakfast, Keitaro had affected a false cheer, and devoured the meal Shinobu had made. The girls had smiled in relief, feeling that all was as it should be. They couldn’t have known that for Keitaro, eating anything required a strong act of will, or that after he ate, he needed to consume multiple antacids to keep anything down.
Climbing up out of his futon, clad in only a t-shirt and shorts, Keitaro shuffled to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out the only thing he’d had no trouble keeping down. It wasn’t very good scotch, far cheaper than what he’d bought for Kitsune to replace what he’d broken, but Keitaro didn’t care. It was alcohol, it was cheap, and most importantly, it dulled his reality.
Unscrewing the cap, he put the bottle to his lips and took a healthy swig, feeling the liquor burn down his throat, nearly prompting him to cough. Grimacing at its sandpaper like smoothness, he screwed the cap back on, and put the half empty bottle back into its hiding place. Keitaro knew it wasn’t the best hiding place in his room, but it wasn’t the most incriminating object he had stashed away. That title went to the torn pair of Yuki’s panties, which he’d rent asunder during their first brutal coupling. Perhaps the only positive thing about their second time, was that she hadn’t given him any souvenirs.
‘Not like I need something to remind me,’ he though disconsolately. Anytime he wasn’t concentrating on something else, his mind invariably replayed scenes from the encounters, and the regret he felt afterwards. Thinking of the feelings of loathing these recollections inspired almost made him take another swig from the bottle, but he checked himself. ‘No sense giving everyone something else to worry about… Besides, my liver isn’t as resilient as Kitsune’s…’ Time and time again, he wondered how the fox-eyed girl could knock back so much booze and keep coming back for more. ‘Besides, it’s not like I have a problem with booze… do I?’
Scowling at that thought, he slammed the drawer shut, angry at himself for needing an alcoholic crutch. Though it did cause him to look at Kitsune’s behavior in a new light, and he silently promised himself that he’d never again look down on her drinking. ’I wonder if she’s hiding something?’ Keitaro shook his head, trying to clear away the troubling thoughts, but if shaking was all that was necessary to get rid of them, he’d have willingly stuck his head in a paint shaker.
Taking a drink of water to chase away the odor of scotch, he gathered his bathing supplies, took a moment to compose his mask of normalcy, and headed for the bath. He’d been averaging at least two baths a day since this had all started, but fortunately the hot weather gave him a reasonable explanation. No one had any inkling that his frequent ablutions were a subconscious effort to cleanse his soul, as well as remove the faint lingering smell of Yuki, which seemed to be coming from his pores. He smiled at Kitsune when he passed her, giving no inclination of just how hollow he felt inside.
***
“Um, Naru, is something wrong with sempai?”
Naru stopped to consider Shinobu’s hesitant question. “I don’t think so… Why do you ask?”
“He’s eating again, isn’t he?” Kitsune chimed in from her place in the outdoor bath.
“He is…” Shinobu acknowledged. “But, he-he-he isn’t acting like he used to…”
“Oh? How so?” Naru queried.
“He-he doesn’t look at me…”
The other residents shared a knowing look at that. That would be as close as Shinobu would get to admitting her crush for Hinata House’s live-in landlord. Naru moved closer to the blue haired chef, as if she was sharing a great secret and said, “Shinobu, he looks at everyone, even when he shouldn’t…” Naru scowled as she remembered all of the times he’d seen her when he shouldn’t have.
“But not me…” Shinobu replied, faint, but still obvious disappointment in her voice.
“What are you talking about? He eats with us, and he’s always getting in our way…” scoffed Naru.
“That’s right, he interrupted my sword practice yesterday,” added Motoko.
“But when I try to talk to him he leaves!” Shinobu insisted.
“Leaves?” asked Kitsune, one of her eyebrows going up.
“I see him in the hallway, and he ducks into a room, or heads for the stairs… Why’s he mad at me?” Shinobu sniffled.
The sight of Shinobu this upset brought out Naru’s maternal instincts. She walked up to the distraught girl and took her into a comforting embrace, softly stroking her hair and making comforting noises. “He’s not mad at you Shinobu,” Naru reassured her. “No one could ever get mad at you…” The other residents made affirmative comments at that.
“But he’s avoiding me…” Shinobu repeated. “At meals he doesn’t even look at me… Watch at supper tonight.”
“I think you’re worrying for nothing Shinobu, but I’ll keep an eye on him tonight, okay?” Naru asked.
“Thanks Naru, I hope you’re right…”
“Of course I’m right, what reason would Keitaro have to avoid you?” Naru replied lightly. “You’ll see…”
“Okay,” Shinobu answered hopefully.
Naru gave Shinobu a reassuring hug before she returned to her usual spot. ‘Really, Keitaro avoiding Shinobu… That’s about as likely as Kitsune giving up drinking…’
***
Two days later, the residents were reassessing their original thoughts…
While eating, Keitaro did appear to be avoiding Shinobu, as well as everyone else. He was eating more, but he wasn’t engaging in much conversation, and he never initiated it, only responding to questions, and then very briefly. He also wouldn’t stay a second longer than he had to, eating quickly, never asking for seconds, then cleaning his place setting and leaving, sometimes mentioning some task he had to do.
More unusual, they’d realized that Shinobu’s claims weren’t groundless. While he wasn’t that sociable to begin with, he did seem to be avoiding talking to her. He’d only respond to her if she pressed him, and while he’d look at her, he wouldn’t really look at her, not in the eyes.
What Kitsune found to be the most unusual, was that Keitaro didn’t seem to be doing it on purpose. Watching him made her think that Keitaro wasn’t all there; not that he was crazy, but that he was trying to avoid dealing with everyone. It piqued her curiosity, but she had no idea what was causing it, as he wouldn’t answer her questions. Even odder, he nearly panicked the one time she’d pressed herself against him, hoping to fluster him enough to talk. Instead of getting tongue-tied, he’d bolted as if the hounds of hell were after him.
Motoko’s views on Keitaro’s behavior were different from the other residents. She honestly didn’t care if he wasn’t trying to deal with her, in fact she preferred it that way. As long as he didn’t do anything to harm the other residents, especially Shinobu, then he was free to avoid everyone for as long as he wished.
But even Motoko would admit there sometimes Keitaro did serve a purpose. She’d discovered that her floor had developed an annoying squeak when she walked in a certain area, and while it wasn’t very critical, it did serve to break her concentration. While ignoring the problem wouldn’t have taken much effort, fixing thing was part of Keitaro’s job description, so Motoko found herself at his door, knocking firmly to get his attention. Unlike him, she didn’t believe in just walking in without warning.
“Who is it?” came Keitaro’s haggard voice from behind the door.
‘He does sound a bit out of it,’ Motoko noticed. She shrugged; it wasn’t her concern. “It’s me, I’ve got a problem in my room…”
There was a brief silence, and Motoko’s sharp ears picked up what sounded like a drawer being closed, before Keitaro replied, “Come in, it’s open…”
Motoko opened the door, entered, closed it behind her, took a look at Keitaro, and was a little surprised at his appearance. He looked… exhausted, she decided. There were black circles under his eyes, he was moving with a shuffling gait, and his eyes… His eyes had a haunted look to them, like she had never seen in anyone.
“What’s the problem Motoko?” Keitaro asked wearily.
“The floor in my room squeaks.”
“Squeaks?”
“Yes, when I walk on it, it squeaks…” Motoko clarified. ‘He sounds terrible.’
Keitaro considered that for a moment. “Probably some loose floorboards. I’ll have to go into your room to fix it.” He stood up slowly, looking more like an old man than someone in the prime of his life.
“Urashima, is something wrong?” Motoko found herself asking, some concern penetrating her indifference.
“Huh?” Keitaro looked at her blankly.
“You don’t look well at all… Do you have a fever?”
“I’m fine, just tired…”
Ignoring his denial, Motoko stepped close to Keitaro, and placed her hand on his forehead, checking for a temperature. His reaction was not at all what she expected.
The feel of a cool, soft hand on his forehead startled Keitaro, and his experiences with Yuki caused him to lash out blindly. He jerked his head back and harshly slapped her hand away before he even realized what he was doing.
To say that Motoko was astonished was putting it mildly. Her eyes widened in surprise, the blow itself not painful, but she couldn’t believe that Keitaro had the temerity to strike her, or that she hadn’t blocked it. Then her usual reactions came to the forefront. “You bastard! I let myself worry about you, and this is the thanks I get?” She was so flustered that the idea of using her sword never occurred to her, she simply slapped him across the face, not enough to floor him, but enough that he’d notice.
As soon as he’d felt the slap, and he’d realized what he’d done, Keitaro went pale. “I’m sorry Motoko! I’m sorry! I-I don’t know what happened, I apologize, oh god, I’m sorry! Forgive me!”
Motoko, incensed by the fact that Keitaro had dared to strike her, even if it wasn’t intentional, wasn’t in a forgiving mood. “You weak little bastard!” she hissed. “How dare you touch me like that?” She then gave him a shove, just enough to make him take a step back.
Keitaro felt himself start to get angry, as Motoko unknowingly used Yuki’s taunts. “P-please Motoko, I’m sorry! It was an accident!” He had to calm down, let his mind clear, try to work through the effects of the few swigs he‘d had before Motoko had come in. He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Could you please leave, I’m not feeling good right now…”
Motoko wasn’t having any of that. She took another step towards him, pushing on his hands, forcing him to take another step back. “It’ll take more than that to make up for this Urashima…” she growled.
“You have to leave!” Keitaro all but pleaded.
“Are you threatening me, you bastard?” Motoko snarled, misinterpreting his plea as a challenge. A scowl came over her lovely features. “What are you going to do?” she sneered contemptuously.
In a heartbeat, Keitaro was in her personal space, holding her head with both hands, and crushing his lips against Motoko’s. Taken completely by surprise, Motoko froze, the concept of Keitaro actually kissing her even more inconceivable than the notion of him striking her. She stood there in shock, her senses telling her that Keitaro had forced his tongue between her lips, but not being able to react to the intrusion.
‘What-what’s happening?’ Motoko asked herself, having no strategy to deal with such an attack. Her eyes widened even more when she felt Keitaro roughly force her gi open and down her shoulders, effectively pinning her arms at her sides. She jerked her head back, breaking the kiss and growled at him. “Bastard! What are you doing?” not knowing that in his current mindset, this would only spur Keitaro on. Motoko couldn’t stop herself from closing her eyes and gasping when Keitaro leaned forward and bit her on the side of the neck, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough that bruises were possible.
For Keitaro, part of him believed that he was now a dead man. One did not do something like this to Motoko and expect to survive. ‘She’ll make it clear if she wants you to stop,’ his darker half pointed out. ‘Besides, you can’t undo this, and if she’s gonna kill you anyways, why stop?’ His alcohol blurred conscience found this argument abhorrent, but with some truth to it, and since it had been unable to stop him with Yuki, it wasn’t able to stop him with Motoko.
For her part, Motoko’s thoughts were in a disorganized scramble, trying to reconcile the Keitaro she knew and tolerated with the one that was once again forcing his tongue into her mouth and stripping her gi the rest of the way off. ‘He-he’s aggressive, he’s forceful, he-he-he wants… me?’ Never had she considered that Keitaro could act like this, even in her wildest dreams, and her confusion was hampering her ability to decide what to do with him. If she’d been thinking clearly, she could have easily taken care of Keitaro bare-handed, but his actions were making her hesitate.
‘This-this is wrong… isn’t it?’ Motoko wondered, as her eyes widened yet again when Keitaro took hold of her chest bindings and began to unwind them hurriedly. ‘I-I have to fight him off, I-I don’t want this… do I?’ She let out a shuddering breath when Keitaro began to kiss and bite, albeit rather gently, her now exposed breasts. Her hands started to move of their own accord, and she felt them go to the sword at her waist… and lower one end of it to the floor, letting it fall away with a clatter, before they began to undo her hakama pants.
Blissfully unaware of how close Motoko had come to cutting him in half, Keitaro pushed down the hakama pants with a foot, his lips still attached to Motoko’s dark and erect nipples. When the pants reached her ankles, Keitaro forced her to step back out of them, as he pushed Motoko’s white cotton panties down her shapely legs with his thumbs.
‘Why am I doing this’ Motoko pondered. ‘Why do I feel like this? Why am I letting this happen?’ she couldn’t explain why her heart was racing, or the damp, slick feeling between her legs, and mostly, why she didn’t object when Keitaro forced her down to the bare hardwood floor, pushing his own shorts and underwear down with his left hand as he did so.
Motoko’s legs spread almost automatically, allowing Keitaro between them. She glanced down and wasn’t surprised to see his rigid tool, throbbing in time with his pulse. With an ease that Motoko realized could only come with practice, Keitaro eased his cock towards her, gently probing between her lower lips for a few moments, before he slid it into her virgin pussy. Further and further he pushed into her, reaching and puncturing her hymen without hesitation.
Motoko grit her teeth; it had been painful, almost as bad as some of her classmates had talked about, but she’d been hurt worse while training, and she wasn’t going to show Keitaro any weakness. Besides, he did stop once he was completely inside of her, taking her hands in his and holding them to the floor, effectively pinning her down. Motoko knew half a dozen ways to get Keitaro off of her, two of which used lethal force, but she never even thought about it.
Keitaro detached himself from Motoko’s breasts and pushed himself up, keeping his prick deep inside Motoko. The two of them locked eyes, neither of them looking away, as Keitaro slowly eased his hips back before he thrust forward once again. He wasn’t surprised to notice that Motoko was tighter than Yuki, but not by much, and he correctly deduced that she’d been a virgin, much the same way she’d deduced that he wasn’t.
For Motoko, the discomfort was passing, and while she was beginning to enjoy the experience, she worked to keep any indications off of her face, not changing her expression or saying anything in encouragement. She just kept her gaze on Keitaro, all but daring him to look away. Keitaro didn’t look away, and the two of them focused on nothing but the eyes of the other as they were writhing together.
In the back of Motoko’s mind, the sheer absurdity of what was going on struck home; half an hour ago, Keitaro had been nothing more than a landlord and a sense of annoyance, with his clumsiness and tendency to end up where he didn’t belong. Now she was laying on her back, naked except for her booties, on this bare hardwood floor, which would probably give her splinters, getting fucked by him. This wasn’t making love; there was no tenderness or affection here, just a primal hunger that had crept up and completely overwhelmed her.
Keitaro let go of Motoko’s hands, placing his palms on the floor just outside of her shoulders, and increased the tempo and depth of his thrusts. He too said nothing, his body acting only on instinct and memory, only without the savage commentary from Yuki, he felt no urge to hurt his partner, he just wanted to finish the act.
The entire coupling was silent, not a word from either participant, and not because of the need for discretion, for even if they’d been alone, neither would have said anything. The only sounds were their ragged breathing through clenched teeth, and the sounds of slippery friction. Even when Motoko moved her hands to Keitaro’s ass and pulled down as she began to buck her hips up to meet his thrusts, silence reigned supreme.
How long it lasted, neither was sure, or cared, as they moved together in eerie silence, their sweat mixing where they touched, or where it dripped from Keitaro onto Motoko. A mixture of their perspiration and Motoko’s natural lubricant was pooling on the floorboards beneath them, not soaking into the wood, although it would if it wasn’t wiped away.
Eventually though, Motoko’s control began to falter, as a blush came over her face and her eyes closed, her face taking on an expression that could have been mistaken for pain. Keitaro felt himself speeding up again, his eyes losing their focus as Motoko’s pussy gripped him even tighter. When Motoko let out a low groan and arched her back, her head lolling to the side, Keitaro felt his own back arch uncontrollably, as he fired one long jet of his cum deep into Motoko’s warm, wet tunnel.
His locked elbows the only things keeping him from collapsing on top of Motoko, Keitaro’s breathing returned to normal, along with hers. They continued to stare at each other in silence, watching the other regain their control. It was Keitaro who looked away first, pulling himself back and out of Motoko, causing his seed, along with some of her fluids, and some blood, to flow onto the floor.
Wordlessly, Motoko got to her feet and walked over to the box of tissues, using her left hand to prevent any more spillage, and cleaned herself up. When she looked at Keitaro again, he wasn’t able to meet her gaze as she got dressed, slowly binding her breast again, re-tying her gi, making sure her hair wasn’t mussed, and walked out of Keitaro’s room without so much as look back.
Keitaro sat where he was for a few more minutes, before he took some more tissues and cleaned up himself and the mess on the floor. Once done, he got dressed and went to his desk, pulling out his bottle. It was a third full, but he emptied it with four long swallows, before he replaced the now empty bottle and all but collapsed onto his futon. As alcohol induced oblivion claimed him, Keitaro’s last waking thought was that he was losing his mind.
To Be Continued…
This chapter was pre-read by Rx7.
C+C is welcome at hawker_748@hotmail.com.
“X” Spoken words
‘X’ Thoughts
Lemon Warning: This fic contains strong language and sexual themes. Reader discretion is advised.
Love Hina:
Blizzard
Chapter Three: Slippage
Keitaro opened his eyes and stared balefully at his ceiling, taking minor comfort in its familiarity. His stomach was still hurting, strenuously objecting with what he’d eaten for lunch. The problem wasn’t that Shinobu had made something inedible, as he didn’t believe she could do that, but that his body was resisting his efforts to supply it with nutrition.
It had been two weeks since his second encounter with Yuki. His conscience may not have been able to stop the encounter, but it was quite competent in making him remember it. He could recall everything in exquisite detail, from the taste of the sweat on Yuki’s breasts, to the squeaks the shock absorbers had made when he ravaged Yuki on the hood of some parked car.
‘I shoulda left the guy some money for a car wash,’ Keitaro thought to himself. He snorted in disgust. He’d been regretting a lot of things lately, and not helping some stranger clean his car was low on that list. Unwillingly, Keitaro found himself replaying the aftermath of that encounter; he’d stayed in the alley for about half an hour, feeling completely ashamed of himself, before bolting when a back door had opened. Not knowing if it was the owner of the car or not, and not willing to stick around to find out, he’d scrambled back to the bustling crowds out front.
Before the encounter, he’d let the crowds carry him because he’d had no particular place to be. Now the crowd carried him like driftwood in the current because he truly felt lost. Needing to escape the area, but not wanting to return to Hinata House just yet, he’d wandered aimlessly for over two hours, before listlessly returning home. He’d bathed immediately upon his return, desperately trying to remove the feeling of filth that seemed to coat his very essence. When asked how the doctor’s visit went, he said that the doc had told him to catch up on his rest, and he’d be fine. Accepting his word as gospel, the residents were all relieved, especially Shinobu.
The next morning at breakfast, Keitaro had affected a false cheer, and devoured the meal Shinobu had made. The girls had smiled in relief, feeling that all was as it should be. They couldn’t have known that for Keitaro, eating anything required a strong act of will, or that after he ate, he needed to consume multiple antacids to keep anything down.
Climbing up out of his futon, clad in only a t-shirt and shorts, Keitaro shuffled to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out the only thing he’d had no trouble keeping down. It wasn’t very good scotch, far cheaper than what he’d bought for Kitsune to replace what he’d broken, but Keitaro didn’t care. It was alcohol, it was cheap, and most importantly, it dulled his reality.
Unscrewing the cap, he put the bottle to his lips and took a healthy swig, feeling the liquor burn down his throat, nearly prompting him to cough. Grimacing at its sandpaper like smoothness, he screwed the cap back on, and put the half empty bottle back into its hiding place. Keitaro knew it wasn’t the best hiding place in his room, but it wasn’t the most incriminating object he had stashed away. That title went to the torn pair of Yuki’s panties, which he’d rent asunder during their first brutal coupling. Perhaps the only positive thing about their second time, was that she hadn’t given him any souvenirs.
‘Not like I need something to remind me,’ he though disconsolately. Anytime he wasn’t concentrating on something else, his mind invariably replayed scenes from the encounters, and the regret he felt afterwards. Thinking of the feelings of loathing these recollections inspired almost made him take another swig from the bottle, but he checked himself. ‘No sense giving everyone something else to worry about… Besides, my liver isn’t as resilient as Kitsune’s…’ Time and time again, he wondered how the fox-eyed girl could knock back so much booze and keep coming back for more. ‘Besides, it’s not like I have a problem with booze… do I?’
Scowling at that thought, he slammed the drawer shut, angry at himself for needing an alcoholic crutch. Though it did cause him to look at Kitsune’s behavior in a new light, and he silently promised himself that he’d never again look down on her drinking. ’I wonder if she’s hiding something?’ Keitaro shook his head, trying to clear away the troubling thoughts, but if shaking was all that was necessary to get rid of them, he’d have willingly stuck his head in a paint shaker.
Taking a drink of water to chase away the odor of scotch, he gathered his bathing supplies, took a moment to compose his mask of normalcy, and headed for the bath. He’d been averaging at least two baths a day since this had all started, but fortunately the hot weather gave him a reasonable explanation. No one had any inkling that his frequent ablutions were a subconscious effort to cleanse his soul, as well as remove the faint lingering smell of Yuki, which seemed to be coming from his pores. He smiled at Kitsune when he passed her, giving no inclination of just how hollow he felt inside.
***
“Um, Naru, is something wrong with sempai?”
Naru stopped to consider Shinobu’s hesitant question. “I don’t think so… Why do you ask?”
“He’s eating again, isn’t he?” Kitsune chimed in from her place in the outdoor bath.
“He is…” Shinobu acknowledged. “But, he-he-he isn’t acting like he used to…”
“Oh? How so?” Naru queried.
“He-he doesn’t look at me…”
The other residents shared a knowing look at that. That would be as close as Shinobu would get to admitting her crush for Hinata House’s live-in landlord. Naru moved closer to the blue haired chef, as if she was sharing a great secret and said, “Shinobu, he looks at everyone, even when he shouldn’t…” Naru scowled as she remembered all of the times he’d seen her when he shouldn’t have.
“But not me…” Shinobu replied, faint, but still obvious disappointment in her voice.
“What are you talking about? He eats with us, and he’s always getting in our way…” scoffed Naru.
“That’s right, he interrupted my sword practice yesterday,” added Motoko.
“But when I try to talk to him he leaves!” Shinobu insisted.
“Leaves?” asked Kitsune, one of her eyebrows going up.
“I see him in the hallway, and he ducks into a room, or heads for the stairs… Why’s he mad at me?” Shinobu sniffled.
The sight of Shinobu this upset brought out Naru’s maternal instincts. She walked up to the distraught girl and took her into a comforting embrace, softly stroking her hair and making comforting noises. “He’s not mad at you Shinobu,” Naru reassured her. “No one could ever get mad at you…” The other residents made affirmative comments at that.
“But he’s avoiding me…” Shinobu repeated. “At meals he doesn’t even look at me… Watch at supper tonight.”
“I think you’re worrying for nothing Shinobu, but I’ll keep an eye on him tonight, okay?” Naru asked.
“Thanks Naru, I hope you’re right…”
“Of course I’m right, what reason would Keitaro have to avoid you?” Naru replied lightly. “You’ll see…”
“Okay,” Shinobu answered hopefully.
Naru gave Shinobu a reassuring hug before she returned to her usual spot. ‘Really, Keitaro avoiding Shinobu… That’s about as likely as Kitsune giving up drinking…’
***
Two days later, the residents were reassessing their original thoughts…
While eating, Keitaro did appear to be avoiding Shinobu, as well as everyone else. He was eating more, but he wasn’t engaging in much conversation, and he never initiated it, only responding to questions, and then very briefly. He also wouldn’t stay a second longer than he had to, eating quickly, never asking for seconds, then cleaning his place setting and leaving, sometimes mentioning some task he had to do.
More unusual, they’d realized that Shinobu’s claims weren’t groundless. While he wasn’t that sociable to begin with, he did seem to be avoiding talking to her. He’d only respond to her if she pressed him, and while he’d look at her, he wouldn’t really look at her, not in the eyes.
What Kitsune found to be the most unusual, was that Keitaro didn’t seem to be doing it on purpose. Watching him made her think that Keitaro wasn’t all there; not that he was crazy, but that he was trying to avoid dealing with everyone. It piqued her curiosity, but she had no idea what was causing it, as he wouldn’t answer her questions. Even odder, he nearly panicked the one time she’d pressed herself against him, hoping to fluster him enough to talk. Instead of getting tongue-tied, he’d bolted as if the hounds of hell were after him.
Motoko’s views on Keitaro’s behavior were different from the other residents. She honestly didn’t care if he wasn’t trying to deal with her, in fact she preferred it that way. As long as he didn’t do anything to harm the other residents, especially Shinobu, then he was free to avoid everyone for as long as he wished.
But even Motoko would admit there sometimes Keitaro did serve a purpose. She’d discovered that her floor had developed an annoying squeak when she walked in a certain area, and while it wasn’t very critical, it did serve to break her concentration. While ignoring the problem wouldn’t have taken much effort, fixing thing was part of Keitaro’s job description, so Motoko found herself at his door, knocking firmly to get his attention. Unlike him, she didn’t believe in just walking in without warning.
“Who is it?” came Keitaro’s haggard voice from behind the door.
‘He does sound a bit out of it,’ Motoko noticed. She shrugged; it wasn’t her concern. “It’s me, I’ve got a problem in my room…”
There was a brief silence, and Motoko’s sharp ears picked up what sounded like a drawer being closed, before Keitaro replied, “Come in, it’s open…”
Motoko opened the door, entered, closed it behind her, took a look at Keitaro, and was a little surprised at his appearance. He looked… exhausted, she decided. There were black circles under his eyes, he was moving with a shuffling gait, and his eyes… His eyes had a haunted look to them, like she had never seen in anyone.
“What’s the problem Motoko?” Keitaro asked wearily.
“The floor in my room squeaks.”
“Squeaks?”
“Yes, when I walk on it, it squeaks…” Motoko clarified. ‘He sounds terrible.’
Keitaro considered that for a moment. “Probably some loose floorboards. I’ll have to go into your room to fix it.” He stood up slowly, looking more like an old man than someone in the prime of his life.
“Urashima, is something wrong?” Motoko found herself asking, some concern penetrating her indifference.
“Huh?” Keitaro looked at her blankly.
“You don’t look well at all… Do you have a fever?”
“I’m fine, just tired…”
Ignoring his denial, Motoko stepped close to Keitaro, and placed her hand on his forehead, checking for a temperature. His reaction was not at all what she expected.
The feel of a cool, soft hand on his forehead startled Keitaro, and his experiences with Yuki caused him to lash out blindly. He jerked his head back and harshly slapped her hand away before he even realized what he was doing.
To say that Motoko was astonished was putting it mildly. Her eyes widened in surprise, the blow itself not painful, but she couldn’t believe that Keitaro had the temerity to strike her, or that she hadn’t blocked it. Then her usual reactions came to the forefront. “You bastard! I let myself worry about you, and this is the thanks I get?” She was so flustered that the idea of using her sword never occurred to her, she simply slapped him across the face, not enough to floor him, but enough that he’d notice.
As soon as he’d felt the slap, and he’d realized what he’d done, Keitaro went pale. “I’m sorry Motoko! I’m sorry! I-I don’t know what happened, I apologize, oh god, I’m sorry! Forgive me!”
Motoko, incensed by the fact that Keitaro had dared to strike her, even if it wasn’t intentional, wasn’t in a forgiving mood. “You weak little bastard!” she hissed. “How dare you touch me like that?” She then gave him a shove, just enough to make him take a step back.
Keitaro felt himself start to get angry, as Motoko unknowingly used Yuki’s taunts. “P-please Motoko, I’m sorry! It was an accident!” He had to calm down, let his mind clear, try to work through the effects of the few swigs he‘d had before Motoko had come in. He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Could you please leave, I’m not feeling good right now…”
Motoko wasn’t having any of that. She took another step towards him, pushing on his hands, forcing him to take another step back. “It’ll take more than that to make up for this Urashima…” she growled.
“You have to leave!” Keitaro all but pleaded.
“Are you threatening me, you bastard?” Motoko snarled, misinterpreting his plea as a challenge. A scowl came over her lovely features. “What are you going to do?” she sneered contemptuously.
In a heartbeat, Keitaro was in her personal space, holding her head with both hands, and crushing his lips against Motoko’s. Taken completely by surprise, Motoko froze, the concept of Keitaro actually kissing her even more inconceivable than the notion of him striking her. She stood there in shock, her senses telling her that Keitaro had forced his tongue between her lips, but not being able to react to the intrusion.
‘What-what’s happening?’ Motoko asked herself, having no strategy to deal with such an attack. Her eyes widened even more when she felt Keitaro roughly force her gi open and down her shoulders, effectively pinning her arms at her sides. She jerked her head back, breaking the kiss and growled at him. “Bastard! What are you doing?” not knowing that in his current mindset, this would only spur Keitaro on. Motoko couldn’t stop herself from closing her eyes and gasping when Keitaro leaned forward and bit her on the side of the neck, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough that bruises were possible.
For Keitaro, part of him believed that he was now a dead man. One did not do something like this to Motoko and expect to survive. ‘She’ll make it clear if she wants you to stop,’ his darker half pointed out. ‘Besides, you can’t undo this, and if she’s gonna kill you anyways, why stop?’ His alcohol blurred conscience found this argument abhorrent, but with some truth to it, and since it had been unable to stop him with Yuki, it wasn’t able to stop him with Motoko.
For her part, Motoko’s thoughts were in a disorganized scramble, trying to reconcile the Keitaro she knew and tolerated with the one that was once again forcing his tongue into her mouth and stripping her gi the rest of the way off. ‘He-he’s aggressive, he’s forceful, he-he-he wants… me?’ Never had she considered that Keitaro could act like this, even in her wildest dreams, and her confusion was hampering her ability to decide what to do with him. If she’d been thinking clearly, she could have easily taken care of Keitaro bare-handed, but his actions were making her hesitate.
‘This-this is wrong… isn’t it?’ Motoko wondered, as her eyes widened yet again when Keitaro took hold of her chest bindings and began to unwind them hurriedly. ‘I-I have to fight him off, I-I don’t want this… do I?’ She let out a shuddering breath when Keitaro began to kiss and bite, albeit rather gently, her now exposed breasts. Her hands started to move of their own accord, and she felt them go to the sword at her waist… and lower one end of it to the floor, letting it fall away with a clatter, before they began to undo her hakama pants.
Blissfully unaware of how close Motoko had come to cutting him in half, Keitaro pushed down the hakama pants with a foot, his lips still attached to Motoko’s dark and erect nipples. When the pants reached her ankles, Keitaro forced her to step back out of them, as he pushed Motoko’s white cotton panties down her shapely legs with his thumbs.
‘Why am I doing this’ Motoko pondered. ‘Why do I feel like this? Why am I letting this happen?’ she couldn’t explain why her heart was racing, or the damp, slick feeling between her legs, and mostly, why she didn’t object when Keitaro forced her down to the bare hardwood floor, pushing his own shorts and underwear down with his left hand as he did so.
Motoko’s legs spread almost automatically, allowing Keitaro between them. She glanced down and wasn’t surprised to see his rigid tool, throbbing in time with his pulse. With an ease that Motoko realized could only come with practice, Keitaro eased his cock towards her, gently probing between her lower lips for a few moments, before he slid it into her virgin pussy. Further and further he pushed into her, reaching and puncturing her hymen without hesitation.
Motoko grit her teeth; it had been painful, almost as bad as some of her classmates had talked about, but she’d been hurt worse while training, and she wasn’t going to show Keitaro any weakness. Besides, he did stop once he was completely inside of her, taking her hands in his and holding them to the floor, effectively pinning her down. Motoko knew half a dozen ways to get Keitaro off of her, two of which used lethal force, but she never even thought about it.
Keitaro detached himself from Motoko’s breasts and pushed himself up, keeping his prick deep inside Motoko. The two of them locked eyes, neither of them looking away, as Keitaro slowly eased his hips back before he thrust forward once again. He wasn’t surprised to notice that Motoko was tighter than Yuki, but not by much, and he correctly deduced that she’d been a virgin, much the same way she’d deduced that he wasn’t.
For Motoko, the discomfort was passing, and while she was beginning to enjoy the experience, she worked to keep any indications off of her face, not changing her expression or saying anything in encouragement. She just kept her gaze on Keitaro, all but daring him to look away. Keitaro didn’t look away, and the two of them focused on nothing but the eyes of the other as they were writhing together.
In the back of Motoko’s mind, the sheer absurdity of what was going on struck home; half an hour ago, Keitaro had been nothing more than a landlord and a sense of annoyance, with his clumsiness and tendency to end up where he didn’t belong. Now she was laying on her back, naked except for her booties, on this bare hardwood floor, which would probably give her splinters, getting fucked by him. This wasn’t making love; there was no tenderness or affection here, just a primal hunger that had crept up and completely overwhelmed her.
Keitaro let go of Motoko’s hands, placing his palms on the floor just outside of her shoulders, and increased the tempo and depth of his thrusts. He too said nothing, his body acting only on instinct and memory, only without the savage commentary from Yuki, he felt no urge to hurt his partner, he just wanted to finish the act.
The entire coupling was silent, not a word from either participant, and not because of the need for discretion, for even if they’d been alone, neither would have said anything. The only sounds were their ragged breathing through clenched teeth, and the sounds of slippery friction. Even when Motoko moved her hands to Keitaro’s ass and pulled down as she began to buck her hips up to meet his thrusts, silence reigned supreme.
How long it lasted, neither was sure, or cared, as they moved together in eerie silence, their sweat mixing where they touched, or where it dripped from Keitaro onto Motoko. A mixture of their perspiration and Motoko’s natural lubricant was pooling on the floorboards beneath them, not soaking into the wood, although it would if it wasn’t wiped away.
Eventually though, Motoko’s control began to falter, as a blush came over her face and her eyes closed, her face taking on an expression that could have been mistaken for pain. Keitaro felt himself speeding up again, his eyes losing their focus as Motoko’s pussy gripped him even tighter. When Motoko let out a low groan and arched her back, her head lolling to the side, Keitaro felt his own back arch uncontrollably, as he fired one long jet of his cum deep into Motoko’s warm, wet tunnel.
His locked elbows the only things keeping him from collapsing on top of Motoko, Keitaro’s breathing returned to normal, along with hers. They continued to stare at each other in silence, watching the other regain their control. It was Keitaro who looked away first, pulling himself back and out of Motoko, causing his seed, along with some of her fluids, and some blood, to flow onto the floor.
Wordlessly, Motoko got to her feet and walked over to the box of tissues, using her left hand to prevent any more spillage, and cleaned herself up. When she looked at Keitaro again, he wasn’t able to meet her gaze as she got dressed, slowly binding her breast again, re-tying her gi, making sure her hair wasn’t mussed, and walked out of Keitaro’s room without so much as look back.
Keitaro sat where he was for a few more minutes, before he took some more tissues and cleaned up himself and the mess on the floor. Once done, he got dressed and went to his desk, pulling out his bottle. It was a third full, but he emptied it with four long swallows, before he replaced the now empty bottle and all but collapsed onto his futon. As alcohol induced oblivion claimed him, Keitaro’s last waking thought was that he was losing his mind.
To Be Continued…
This chapter was pre-read by Rx7.