Read Or Die Fan Fiction ❯ In The Daydream ❯ Chapter 1
“She never used to daydream about specific people. Over the past couple of years, this has changed.” Pre-OVA, although the timeline doesn’t really matter. Wendy/Joker. Cutesy, smutty fluff.
Anime/Manga: Read Or Die Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 01.05.2005 | Pages: 4 | Words: 4.1K | Visits: 843 | Status: Completed
In the Daydream
---------------------------------------------------------
Summary: (A Read or Die story) "She never used to daydream about specific people. Over the past couple of years, this has changed." Rather cute-n'-fluffy, I thought. Pre-OVA, although the timeline doesn't really matter. Wendy/Joker.
---------------------------------------------------------
Disclaimer: The characters used within this story are not owned by the author, and are used here without permission. This story is not making the author any money, because let's face it; who would pay for something like this? ^_^
---------------------------------------------------------
She never used to daydream about specific people.
The men in her girlish, rose-coloured, rainbowey fantasies would be blurred, never clearly defined but for one specific feature. Sometimes his eyes would stand out sharply in her mind, sometimes his arms, sometimes his mouth, and sometimes his hair.
Over the past couple of years, this has changed.
Now the man is the same each time, always tall, slim, distinguished, and almost delicately handsome, with fine, straight, pale hair and eyes that are beautiful, a pale, icy green, and seem at times to have the ability to look through a person's attempt to hide anything, to see directly into their mind.
Or maybe only into hers.
Since she has realised her sizeable attraction to him - she is not quite ready to label what she feels for him as love - she sees little reason in denying it, and joyously incorporates him into her daydreams, although she knows she would absolutely die of embarrassment if he should ever find out.
It is a good thing, she occasionally reflects with a mischievous smile, that he has no way of finding out, that he can't really see into her mind.
---------------------------------------------------------
Tonight, she has just enough energy when she arrives home from work at a typically late hour, to drag herself through the door of her small apartment and throw on something "comfy" before collapsing exhaustedly onto the deep blue sofa that she has accented with some bright yellow throw pillows and a fluffy yellow afghan.
Though she is tired enough to feel no urge to move, even when her stomach growls in protest at her utterly unacceptable neglect, her mind is racing, as it often does in the evenings when she has time to go back over the events of the day.
It eventually comes, as it always does, to him, as she wonders helplessly what he meant by this cryptic phrase, or that kind, but slightly odd smile.
Today, for example, when she straightened up and turned around quickly after mopping up a spilled pot of tea before it could do irreparable damage to a stack of books in the middle of the floor, she found his eyes on her, intent, a slight smile playing about his mouth.
She recognized that expression almost immediately.
It was the one that he often wore in her daydreams, just before he moved swiftly toward her and began to send her clothes dropping to the floor.
She curls up, buries her face in the arm of the couch and groans softly as the familiar scene begins to play out, once again, in her mind.
--------------------------------------------------------------- -
It always happens in his office. She wonders sometimes if that makes her a little bit sick, that the idea doing that at work, where they could easily be caught, is so inexplicably appealing to her, but maybe, she always thinks, it isn't that she likes it more than anything else. It's just that she only sees him at work, and she can't imagine him into her apartment, or into a massive four-poster bed with velvet covers in a castle by the sea like she did with the blurred, indistinct figures in daydreams long discarded.
Sometimes he is gentle and careful with her, touching her hair and her face lightly and looking deeply into her eyes to make sure that she is ready, that she wants this too, and sometimes he takes her firmly by the shoulders and then kisses her with all the confidence of years of familiarity with each other, as his hands fumble with the buttons on her blouse or the zip at the back of her skirt.
Tonight, it is the latter, and in her mind, she gasps, startled, as he rises from his desk, which is cleared of its customary profusion of clutter in the sort of convenience that can only be found in a steamy fantasy, and starts slowly toward her, eyes never leaving her. She takes a step back, as she sometimes thinks she might, just play the coquette as she sometimes thinks he might like, and he follows swiftly, before wrapping an arm around her and pulling her to him, his other hand already burying itself in her hair, his lips crushing against hers.
The sensation of being pressed closely against him like this, the sharp, clean scent of him surrounding her, is distracting enough that she barely reacts when the backs of her legs bump against the edge of his desk.
She does react, though, when he pulls back. He laughs softly at her vehement protests, and deftly unfastens the row of buttons down her front, and then pushes her vest and her blouse back off her shoulders, before reaching around behind her for the clasp of the slightly frivolous, filmy pink lacy bra she is suddenly very glad she wore today.
Although, he doesn't seem to notice it, except to want it as far from her as possible, as quickly as possible.
He covers one breast gently with his hand, and drags his thumb lightly over her already tightening nipple. She presses closer into the maddeningly light touch, and with another laugh, he rolls the rosy, sensitive bud gently between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes growing slightly darker and glittering strangely as she makes a noise of delight, and she's beginning to grow warm and heavy with desire, but this, just this, is so good that she never wants it to end…
-----------------------------------------------------------
And outside of the dream, she cups her breast in one small, slim hand, and rubs one finger over the tip in frantic circles through the thin fabric of her tee-shirt, and tries to suppress a quiet whimper as the familiar warm glow spreads through her faster, all thoughts of going immediately to sleep gone now…
-----------------------------------------------------------
By now, he is moving away slightly, before reaching around behind her again and tugging at the zip of her skirt. She catches her breath in delighted anticipation as he pushes it, and the thin fabric of her nylons, down her legs, before pushing her down gently until she is lying back on his desk, watching him curiously.
And then she feels her head spinning just a little bit as he climbs on top of her, making sure to brace himself with a hand on either side of her head so that his weight is not resting too heavily on her, and kisses her deeply. There is nothing tentative in it; tonight, in her mind, he assumes compliance rather than asking for it politely, and as his tongue darts out and traces the curve of her mouth, she parts her lips willingly for him with a blissful sigh.
She can never decide from one time to the next if he would kiss his lover there, at the source of the sensation of heat pooling and sending ripples through her body. Tonight, she decides that he might, so in her mind, he climbs off of her after one last long, open-mouthed kiss and a wicked smile, traces patterns over her almost feverishly heated skin with his tongue, leaving wet trails gleaming over her neck, between her breasts, and down over her stomach. In her mind, she can almost feel his warm, slightly uneven breaths against the insides of her thighs, and the feather-light kisses he places there before he eases her filmy pink lace knickers down her legs.
She knows that, if they ever spent time together like this in reality, he would tease her this way, driving her out of her mind with his hands and mouth barely grazing the hot, drenched center of her, so that is what he does in her mind. She twists her hips beneath him, pleading without words.
Soon enough, he complies, and parts her lips with long, slender fingers. His tongue darts out, flutters a few times against the most agonizingly sensitive part of her, and then begins to lick slowly up and down her warm, wet slit while she writhes and keens beneath him.
She tenses in delighted expectation when his tongue dips inside of her, and she involuntarily squeezes her thighs together, meeting resistance as he tightens his grip over them and holds them firmly apart. He laps her in long, sure strokes, and her hands bunch in his hair, pressing him closer. He seems glad to comply, and she is sure that she is going to pass as his tongue explores her more deeply, and then swipes once, twice, over the bundle of nerves buried within her folds. Her grip on his hair tightens with one hand, and she bunches her other hand into a fist and shoves it tightly against her mouth to muffle her scream as she climaxes, sharp and intense, hips bucking and thighs trembling uncontrollably.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Outside the dream, her hand slips under the waistband of her loose cotton shorts, rubbing softly where she has grown hot and wet with need…
---------------------------------------------------------------
She sits up dizzily, and he climbs to his feet and then sits next to her and pulls her close, kissing her forehead softly, slowly, waiting for her to regain her bearings although she can feel his arousal grinding against her abdomen.
Recently, she has added something new to these dreams of him and the time that they will probably never have together like this.
But she only adds it sometimes. Most nights, she thinks that he wouldn't do it, wouldn't take his lover from behind that way.
On other nights, she thinks that maybe, maybe, he shares her slightly ashamed fascination with the idea.
Since tonight is that kind of night, it is only a matter of seconds before the man in her dream takes her by the arm, pulls her gently to her feet, and then turns her around and pushes her back down, so she is facing away from him, breasts crushed almost painfully against the cold, polished wood.
It isn't a bad thing, when it hurts a little. That only makes it better.
--------------------------------------------------------
And outside of her dream, she gasps softly as her hand slips inside her knickers and rubs tentatively across the warm, soft flesh outside her core, coating her fingers in her own arousal.
--------------------------------------------------------
She can feel him leaning in closely behind her, the fabric of his clothes creating delicious friction against over-sensitized skin…his knee pressing against her inner thigh, holding her open completely to him…his hands rubbing her shoulders gently…his mouth raining warm kisses over her spine…one hand sliding down her side, over her hip…
--------------------------------------------------------
With an insistent whimper, she slides her fingers deep into the source of the pulse throbbing desperately between her legs…
--------------------------------------------------------
His hand has made its way down, over her bottom, lingering a bit to squeeze one soft globe and draw a noise of delight from her, and now he strokes her through her slickness, with hard, fast strokes, his fingers brushing exquisitely against the sharply sensitive bundle of nerves the few - the very few - times it takes before she tries in vain to bite back a long, shuddering moan, and presses her cheek tightly against the smooth surface of the desk as her inner walls clench around his fingers.
Through the waves of aching heat rippling through her, she nearly misses it when his hand slides back further, carefully and gently tracing the tight ring of her arse.
Then, as he applies a bit of pressure, just a little, and slips one finger inside the tight passage, she gasps sharply and freezes, feeling the tendrils of heat twisting through her blood again. Because no matter how many times this happens in the dreams she has, her lack of experience in reality makes it new and strange each time she imagines it.
The sensation of need tightens inside her when he pulls away, and seconds later, she hears the rasp of a zipper, then silence, then cloth against skin, and then the soft thud of his clothes dropping to the floor.
--------------------------------------------------
Leaning back against the cushions of the couch, she arches her back as her fingers brush against the slick, swollen bud, circle it lightly twice, three times, and then settle into a rhythm of firm, even strokes.
--------------------------------------------------
And now he is leaning in behind her, raining gentle, reassuring kisses over her shoulders and bracing himself with his hands on either side of her, and she breathes a sigh oddly like relief at the sensation of skin against skin as he urges her legs apart again and settles them either on side of his own. She can hear his quickening breathing, can feel it stirring her hair, as he takes hold of her hips firmly and runs that hard, hot prong of flesh teasingly across her folds, coating himself in the moisture trickling down the tops of her thighs. With a moan of longing, she squirms back against him, begging him to take her. He gives a low laugh, throaty with his own need, and then asks softly against her ear if she's sure, if she's ready. Yes, she assures him impatiently, and he laughs again.
He moves back a little, and she can feel the head of his length pressing gently, very gently, against her from behind. Barely breathing, she shifts, pressing back against him, and they groan together as he slides into her, just a bit, but the sensation is enough to make her breath catch in her throat and make that liquid heat pulsing through her blood almost ignite. Her eyes squeeze shut and her cheek presses against the desk again as she pushes back against him harder, and he grasps her hips more tightly as he slides into her further.
When he is completely inside her, it hurts, she thinks dimly - she always imagines that it will hurt a little, because this is too illicit and deviant and incredibly, incredibly arousing not to hurt a little. But the pain is insignificant alongside the clasp of his hands on her, and the intoxicating scent and heat of him surrounding her, and the sound of his harsh, ragged breathing behind her, and this strange, new pleasure, no less potent for its unfamiliarity, spreading out through her.
His thrusts become faster and less controlled, and she braces herself with her palms flat against the surface of the desk, and grinds her bottom harder against him. She hears and feels his urgent, half-startled groan, feels him swell inside her and then flood her with heat, and then she brings her hand down and bucks against her fingers, and very quickly, climaxes with a scream that is partly a sob.
-----------------------------------------------------------
…and outside of her dream, the strokes of her fingers against that exquisitely sensitive bud of flesh become uneven and she presses harder, uttering a slightly choking cry and arching her back as she shudders emptily, longing for him especially now. Finally, her fingers still and withdraw, and then she collapses against the arm of the couch, head resting on her folded arms, and sighs shakily.
------------------------------------------------------------
In the dreams she has, he never holds her and cuddles her after. Not for long. He places slow, sweet kisses on her forehead, on her temples, on her lips, and on her throat, then smoothes her hair out of her eyes, his own eyes and his smile radiating the love that she cannot quite hear him expressing, and helps her up.
After all, she knows that he wouldn't hold her and cuddle her afterward in reality, wouldn't whisper softly against her forehead that he loves her and has for a long time.
And since what she wants more than anything is him, it would make her daydreams far less enjoyable, because it would make them far less real, to imagine things that he wouldn't do.
---------------------------------------------------------------
This part of her daydream, almost her favourite, when he almost cuddles her for a short while and she is still valuable and desirable to him after his physical desire for her has been fulfilled, is cut short by a peal from the telephone. She gives a startled shriek and, after a disoriented second, scrambles for the receiver.
"Hello?" she says slightly breathlessly, holding it to her ear.
Silence, then she smiles warmly and just a bit mischievously.
"Oh, hello, sir! I was just thinking about you…"
--------------------------------------------------------------- -
End Notes: Whoo! I have finally written something that might qualify for an NC-17 rating instead of a light R rating! This is the proudest day of my life!
Okay, maybe not. ^_^
I might do a second part to this, from his point of view. And then a third part, where they actually hook up. If I feel like it. Ah, capriciousness, thy name is fanfiction author. ^_^