Sailor Moon Fan Fiction ❯ Overcast with a Seventy Percent Chance of White Smoke ❯ Chapter 1

I look out the window, watching the snow outside fall with obvious disdain for gravity. I always have to reference Physics, or Chemistry, or some kind of science, don't I, I think with a smirk.

“...Ami?” Makoto's tone of voice tells me it was the third or fourth try to get my attention.

“Mm?” I responded, sort of, still mesmerized by the precipitation outside.

“If you can tear yourself away from watching us slowly get snowed in,” Makoto joked, “I've finished preparing everything.”

“Thank you.” I take one last look at the white stuff, then turn and walk over to Mako-chan's bed. Ah, the other thing that I love to stare at that laughs at gravity — smoke.

I can't decide whether Makoto is sitting, or lying down. Whatever you called her position, there were bits and pieces all around her. A pile of barren stems piled on her stomach, which she was now moving into a container that had a collection of them; scissors, grinders, and other assorted cutting tools; and finally, what we will be using for most of the night, now that the prep work is done, the pipe and two lighters. I find it's always good to keep a spare, especially since my last one broke down at about ten o'clock one night and our altitude was effectively capped for the evening. Not that we really minded, there were other things we had planned...

“...Ami...”

There I go again. Ami thought as she snapped out of her reverie. I'm not even stoned — yet — but my head's already in the clouds. “Sorry.” I project, and the sudden switch from speech to thought makes her blink.

She doesn't miss a beat, though, and opens her mind up to converse with me wordlessly. “No problem, really. I can wait forever for you, Ami.” She thinks, and her tone of thought indicates that she's dead serious.

It makes me blush. Deeply. Makoto laughs at the effect she can have so easily on me, without even thinking. Well, sort of. “You seem distracted.”

“I think it's just the weather. I always fall into a trance when I get my first chance to see a snowfall.”

“Romantic.” She teases.

“And don't you forget it.” I project triumphantly with a grin. “So who's the sacrificial lamb who gets to take the first hit of the evening? Not that I don't already know the answer.” My grin widens.

“I thought I'd mix it up this time, let me feel what it's like to spark something for once.” She replies unexpectedly.

“I'd hate to see these blankets get ruined when your left lung hits it, though.” I think, paying her back for her earlier barb.

She has her weak spots and I have mine. She sticks out her tongue at me. “Save your energy for when you're going to need it, Zerus.” I think with a grin.

Technically, it's the Zerg's home-world. We've adapted it to stand for the female version of Zeus — if she exists, which I have no doubt would have medium-length auburn hair and brilliant green eyes if she did. “And how do you know that will even happen?”

“Established pattern.” I reference our first time in both smoking up together and making love, in which we had an argument about something neither one of us could remember. What we could remember, vividly, was that I said something about an established pattern, she said something about the Law of Averages and the next thing I know, she's stolen my breath with a kiss. Something about an argument-ender, I remember.

“You're thinking abut our first again, aren't you?” She realizes. “That was so fun, so spontaneous...”

It's always spontaneous, I think, but don't project it. “We've stopped again.”

“So we have. I think your romanticism is mentally contagious.” Makoto comments as she brings the pipe up to her mouth.

Lighting one of the lighters, she moves it over the pot in the pipe until it sizzles, then inhales deeply. The pipe seems to glow for a moment before fading, the smoke no longer forced into the pipe. I take the pipe from Makoto's outstretched hand and start to hit it, and I don't even finish that before Makoto starts to cough. Automatically, I look around for her drink — then realize she doesn't have one. “One second.” I project as I get up from the bed, putting the pipe down on the night-stand as I do.

“Wh-wha-at?” She thinks in the fragmented kind of thought she always ends up having when she coughs, and I almost lose my hit laughing.

“Liquid,” I walk out of the room and down the hall to her kitchen. “Any preference?”

“I thin-ink I've got some to-tonic water there-ere, but if not ging-inger ale. I know I've got that.” Makoto says, sounding kind of like a skipping CD.

“Alright.” I get to her fridge, my lungs starting to burn from lack of oxygen. I get the bottle of tonic water and a ginger ale for myself, and walk back to the bedroom, still able to hold the hit in for a few seconds longer.

“Here.” I hand her the tonic water, and she downs a significant portion of it in one gulp.

“Thanks...” She says as I finally exhale the hit, already beginning to feel the tendrils of sensation wrap themselves around me. “...You didn't just exhale that hit, did you?”

“Yup.” Now that I'm breathing again — rather heavily, I might add — I realize just how long I must have held that hit in. “Wow... and I went and got you a drink, too.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” She asks as a kind of neural static starting to creep into the background.

“Say again, green 42, you're breaking up.” I tell her in an impression of an army squad leader or something of the like, an old joke between us.

“You must have heard me, there's not that much static yet. I only had one hit.”

“You also sparked, but yeah, I heard you. Getting up and going to get something, like getting one's best friend and lover a liquid lozenge for her throat—” This made her giggle. “Will burn more oxygen than, say, sitting here and doing absolutely nothing. Consciously, anyway.”

“You always have to qualify that.” She jokes, something she always says when I refer to the fact that you can't really do Nothing, and shut off your life processes.

“Oh, be quiet or I'll make you do something unpleasant.”

“I'd like to see you try.” She says.

“You remember when I first figured out that I was psychic, and you said it'd be impressive if I raised your right hand instead of my own?”

“Yeah, so?”

I concentrate on Makoto's mind, as it's still open to me. Suddenly, her right arm raises into the air. I start laughing at the look of horror on her face. “How the hell did you do that?!” She exclaims.

“I learned how to do it. It's not a matter of psycho-kinetics.” I let her arm drop back down to the ground. “You know how sometimes when you're about to do something, you think about what you're about to do and kind of visualize it?” She nods. “This is the same kind of thing. It's not that I decide to move my arm and it moves. It's like... it's kind of like entering shell commands instead of having a GUI to deal with.”

Her confused expression evokes a chuckle from me. “I'm deeper into the system than top-level thought.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“Can I try something with you? An experiment?” I project suddenly as a thought occurs to me.

“This is nothing dangerous, is it?”

“No, nothing like that. I just want to see if I can override you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm going to raise your arm again. When I do, I want you to try to put it back down. I'd like to see to see who would have more control over you.”

“Okay, think when ready.”

I raise her arm again, and halfway up it warbles and stands still. A look of concentration is on Makoto's face as the arm slowly begins to lower back down. I will it back up again, and soon we're in a tug-of-war. The muscles in Makoto's arm are all taut, and it's shaking in the air. Then, it flies up again. “Hmm.” I think, releasing my mental grip of the arm and letting it fall back down to the bed, where it hangs limp.

“'Hmm'?” Makoto repeats incredulously. “You just hacked into my system and re-routed my controls over to your own brain, and all you say is `hmm'?!” After a few moments, with a grin on her face, she says “Vulcan,” thinking that she knows what the reaction will be.

I cap my bottle of ginger ale calmly and put it on the table. “You know, there is another little skill I've picked up.”

“And what's that?” She says mischievously.

“You know The Matrix?” I ask suddenly.

“Yeah.”

“You know how people essentially went into a dreamworld where every sense was in their head?”

“...Yeah...” She's beginning to worry about what this skill actually does.

Without answering, I hack into her mind again, and plant the notion that a spider's on her arm. She looks down, and flicks it off. Then flicks it off again. She goes to try a third time before realizing that she's going through the spider. That, and it's the Angel Materiel from Evangelion. “What in the hell?!” She exclaims.

“Neat little trick, ne? And it's not just sight. It could be a sound...”

I plant the song Theories in her head. “Or a taste...”

I convince her she has a strawberry in her mouth. “Or, even...”

Makoto moans aloud as I make her believe I have a hand in her jeans, lightly stroking her. “...Touch.”

“Kami-sama...” She says, and her thoughts are out of breath. “You have no idea how that felt to me...”

“I have some idea. I did need a test-subject.” I grin.

“Now that I've showed you what I can do...” I take over her arms again and start to unbutton her blouse.

Her eyes go wide at what she thinks I'm up to, a guess I'm sure isn't far off.

I finish remotely unbuttoning her blouse, then take it off. I project the feeling of someone in a close embrace with her, kissing her neck. She moves down from her half-lying position to a fully prone one, and her eyes close as a look of quiet bliss envelopes her features.

Now, the interesting part... The mental ghost goes to unclasp Makoto's bra at the front, and Makoto herself does it, though I suspect she believes her phantom lover did so somehow. The two cups slide off her breasts, and the specter moves down to take a nipple in its mouth.

Makoto gasps as this happens, hands automatically moving to rest on the other person's neck and back, if they existed. Instead. her hands end up at her sides as she writhes in pleasure.

Wow, this is having an effect on me just watching it. She's being stimulated, and is enjoying it thoroughly, judging from the noises she's making, but nothing is physically happening to her. I think it's that contradiction that is what makes this so interesting.

After I decide she's been waiting enough, I move the ghost down more, kissing its way down Makoto's stomach. Her back arches slightly. It was always one of her favorite things, and I make sure this part of her gets lots of attention. I plant kisses all around her navel as I (really, she does this, but she thinks otherwise) take her jeans and panties off at the same time. Not wanting to abandon the laws of physics quite yet, I keep the mental shape of the person and it stops kissing her when it can't reach anymore. Makoto groans at the loss as the pants and undergarments finally come off and end up off the side of the bed, leaving her only in her socks. At this point, I'm in the middle of undressing myself, halfway through the buttons on my sun-dress. Soon, they hit the floor, along with my bra, panties and socks.

Makoto's socks come off as well, and the ghost lightly runs its hands around the soles of her feet, making her giggle. Its hands stroke their way up her ankles, and all the way up her legs until they get to the inside of her thighs. Makoto spreads her legs in anticipation, and I waste no further time.

The phantom starts with a tiny peck on her labia, and that alone makes her moan aloud in ecstasy. I quickly escalate this, and the ghost starts running its tongue up and down the lips with only the tip at first. It starts to use its hands again, one playing with Makoto's pubic hair and the other going up and down the inside of her thighs again as the strokes of its tongue become broader and broader. Soon the apparition is licking Makoto with full vigor, focusing a great deal of attention on her clit. I start to stroke myself as I watch Makoto get off from, well, nothing. It's an intoxicating sight.

“My... god... Ami...” Makoto is able to get out. “I can't... I won't... be able to last... much longer...”

Her moans start to gain in frequency and pitch, and I can tell she's close. I decide that the laws of physics have finally gotten to be boring, and hope I don't overload something in her brain by doing what I'm about to do, as I haven't actually tried this before... I make Makoto believe that there are hands all around her, touching her everywhere. Every nerve ending fires, and Makoto comes almost instantly, arching her back and calling my name.

I let the mental projection drop off into nothing, and she falls back to earth, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Her breathing slows quickly, though, and I suspect I did overload something as I realize she's fast asleep. A smile creeps up on me as I go over to Makoto and give her a kiss. I hope you remember what that feels like. I think.

No matter how erotic the sight was, I haven't come yet. I get Makoto and I under the covers, shoving the rest of the clothing off of the bed and getting Makoto's bra out from under her (with quite a bit of effort, I might add), and then work my mental magic on myself. I decide right away to see what that last hallucination felt like, and will myself to believe hands are everywhere on me, running themselves down my stomach, teasing my nipples, along my sides, all around my legs and back, and even inside me and stroking my clit.

It was the longest ten seconds of my life.

That's how long it took. I don't know why it took that long, but it did, and each second was so incredibly full of pleasure it was almost like a continuous orgasm. Until I actually did come, and it was so powerful I can't even describe it.

I don't blame Makoto for blacking out, though — an orgasm that big takes a lot out of you.

I end up semi-conscious, and the last thing I do is wrap myself around Makoto. From my vantage point, I can stare right out the window, where the snow is still falling at its lazy pace, still disobeying gravity. And for the first time I can remember, I wish it was a snow day tomorrow.

 

The End