There’s a moment right before he buries himself inside her where he sees too much, feels too much, there’s just so damn much, he can do nothing as the floodgates inside him batter down. It’s when her gasps go sharp, and her fingers are in his hair, fluttering kisses across his scalp, that she bears her soul open for him.
He doesn’t think she means to, too lost in a symphony of heat and limbs to notice, but it takes his breath away all the same.
She lets out a faint puff of amusement, and he looks at her astride in his lap. There’s an imperceptible rise of her brow, at once questioning and taunting. She’s not quite sure why he’s slowed at this particular moment, with her head tilted back and lips parted, panting, but he sees how she lets him off and goes along with it.
He traces his fingers along her waist and up to her breast in a little apology, outlining the underswell of it with his forefinger. From there, like a practiced musician, his hands play her, caressing her, teasing her, until her hips tremble and she moans, easing herself down onto him. All at once they’re back at that juncture where he sees her soul naked for him, blinding in its longing for his heart.
When he slides home to the heat, to the the exquisite tightness, he hears a harsh exhalation. It leaves his lips the moment she arches against him, and he can do nothing but hold her still and wait as the friction sets off a spark in his whole body. He lifts his eyes. Staring back are the colours of the deepest hurricane clouds. She waits for him, holding on.
Then they move.
He makes it last. He makes it last oh so long. And when they’re breathless, coming down, they don’t so much as shift but wilt into each other, content in letting the cool air stroke their skin.
“Saizo,” she breathes out some time later when he’s packing up the sweetness and light and placing them in the corners of his heart.
“Yes, little lady?“
A pause. “You were different tonight. Is everything all right?”
Her breath tickles, like butterflies against his neck. He invites silence into the dark. It echoes against the walls, a cacophony of uncertainty. He wants to say,
Go to sleep, little lady,
and I’ll tell you some other time,
and I love you fiercely,
and Don’t ever leave me.
But all he manages in that moment is a sweep of her cheeks and a lingering kiss on her forehead, hoping, praying, it conveys everything he means to say but can’t.
“All right,” she chuckles, hand on his heart. “It’s ok. It’s all right.”
And where there was a fluttering before, there is now the sweetest of aches pulling him down and down and down into her warmth, where he sees too much, feels too much, knows too much— where her assurance to him is in every little kiss she plants on his face.
You silly man.
I adore you.
I will never leave you.
He holds her hard against his chest and doesn’t close his eyes— to make it real, and scatter nightmares into the moonlight.
@belxsar: Hello, for your ‘Kisses With Meaning’ prompt drabbles, I’d like to request Mitsuhide with either eyelid, nape, or wrist (you pick because I can’t!) please. Thanks so much! :) Love your writing and your blog! <3
It’s a game she comes up with on the spot to test a few things, meant to last only a heartbeat. But looking at him now, and every moment before and after, she knows she will never be able to help herself, not when he sits there so fraught and tidy, refusing to play. There will be a wrinkle in his sleeve and a wrinkle in his brow, as well as a wrinkle in his words and a wrinkle in his calm, and she will want nothing more than to reach out on every plane and see how much more wrinkled it would get under her touch.
She does enjoy it. She can admit that. But it won’t even be the best part.
She thinks him untouchable, invulnerable, as stalwart as a battle ship heaving out to sea, and it infuriates her, because she can see the wear and tear. From the pier she wonders why he doesn’t.
“May I kiss you?”
So she plays with him, poking and prodding with gentle paws, until it’s a glorious mess: the stillness. The fake tranquility that goes washing over him and seeping out through his pores. His brush stills. His breath stills. His eyes still. And every inch of his control frays under an invisible, indomitable, weight.
Like the cat that got the canary, she bares her teeth at him in—
after 3.5 seasons of waiting, i get this magnificent gem :“’))
For real though, I’m proud of how wonderfully his character developed from Season 1. He is, by no means, the ideal partner, but he damn well tries. Also, I really appreciate the fact that he and MC, of all pairings, decided to break the one-sided "I’ll protect you” trope and chose to stand on equal footing. He’s probably the most “oresama” out of all the Voltage characters, and yet they break out of that trope!! Talk about refreshing.
Additionally, in his POV stories, he never really viewed MC as weak per se; to him, she was just someone he needed to protect because he couldn’t stand the thought of seeing her hurt. But in Season 3, he starts to acknowledge that she can protect both herself AND him. That’s when he begins to respect and admire her, aside from him just cherishing and protecting her.