[Fic] Mononoke/xxxHOLiC pr0n uhuhuhu
nekokoban continues to love me. ♥
They never undress completely. It's not out of dislike or distrust, or lack of attraction. It's just how they are. The nameless medicine-seller comes smiling and polite and Yuuko greets him smiling and polite; they exchange polite little gifts (a necklace of deep jade and tiny dragon-pearls; exotic herbs from a world with no name) before she draws her hand down his arm -- the same outfit every time she sees him, and though she's chided him for it, he only laughs and shakes his head -- and invites him inside.
And his mouth is full of sharp teeth and her skin is cold and tastes of smoke, but they are very old, and they know each other well. She parts her legs easily when he leans into her, and she kisses his forehead while he closes his eyes; and he curls his fingers in her hair and touches his sharp teeth to her throat; and together they have an old steady rhythm that is neither hurried nor awkward, his sleeve and her obi tangled together.
"A convenient arrangement," Yuuko says, on the last day he visits her; she lies half-reclined across artfully-arranged pillows with her hair splayed in a curved fan into the empty spaces around her. She keeps one white hand on her half-bare stomach and strokes the line of his shoulder where it flows into his arm with the other. "At least while it lasts."
He chuckles. It's a low noise that hangs in the air like smoke. In the dimness he is paler than she is, the expanse of exposed skin down his back and where his hair parts at the nape of his neck. She can see the fading red marks her fingers left across his shoulders and traces them one by one.
"It ... will be time, soon," he agrees. He pulls up his jacket until it sits properly across his shoulders. "The person you're waiting for ..."
"He'll come when he will," she agrees. She rolls over till her heavy breasts are pillowed on one arm. With her index finger she traces the eye on his back. "But he will come. And soon."
Briefly he pauses. He tilts his head, his headscarf loose in his hands. "And she--"
"If it's meant to happen, it will," Yuuko says. She presses her fingertips to the eye on his back. "You're that fond of her?"
He shrugs. He resumes tying the scarf into place. "She normally has good instincts," he says. "But ... she cannot help but get involved."
Yuuko laughs. She leans up and runs her fingers along his jaw till he turns towards her.
For the first and last time they kiss, mouth to mouth.
He's the first one to smile and pulls back, and he bows to her, lounging across her pillows like a queen, and gathers up his pack. She waves languidly, and watches him leave. Only when he is completely gone does she sit up and stretch. She's a little bit regretful: he had been very convenient, and there would be no time for any indulgence but alcohol soon enough.
Tomorrow, she thinks; tomorrow, and there will be a boy.
She'd best be waiting.
They never undress completely. It's not out of dislike or distrust, or lack of attraction. It's just how they are. The nameless medicine-seller comes smiling and polite and Yuuko greets him smiling and polite; they exchange polite little gifts (a necklace of deep jade and tiny dragon-pearls; exotic herbs from a world with no name) before she draws her hand down his arm -- the same outfit every time she sees him, and though she's chided him for it, he only laughs and shakes his head -- and invites him inside.
And his mouth is full of sharp teeth and her skin is cold and tastes of smoke, but they are very old, and they know each other well. She parts her legs easily when he leans into her, and she kisses his forehead while he closes his eyes; and he curls his fingers in her hair and touches his sharp teeth to her throat; and together they have an old steady rhythm that is neither hurried nor awkward, his sleeve and her obi tangled together.
"A convenient arrangement," Yuuko says, on the last day he visits her; she lies half-reclined across artfully-arranged pillows with her hair splayed in a curved fan into the empty spaces around her. She keeps one white hand on her half-bare stomach and strokes the line of his shoulder where it flows into his arm with the other. "At least while it lasts."
He chuckles. It's a low noise that hangs in the air like smoke. In the dimness he is paler than she is, the expanse of exposed skin down his back and where his hair parts at the nape of his neck. She can see the fading red marks her fingers left across his shoulders and traces them one by one.
"It ... will be time, soon," he agrees. He pulls up his jacket until it sits properly across his shoulders. "The person you're waiting for ..."
"He'll come when he will," she agrees. She rolls over till her heavy breasts are pillowed on one arm. With her index finger she traces the eye on his back. "But he will come. And soon."
Briefly he pauses. He tilts his head, his headscarf loose in his hands. "And she--"
"If it's meant to happen, it will," Yuuko says. She presses her fingertips to the eye on his back. "You're that fond of her?"
He shrugs. He resumes tying the scarf into place. "She normally has good instincts," he says. "But ... she cannot help but get involved."
Yuuko laughs. She leans up and runs her fingers along his jaw till he turns towards her.
For the first and last time they kiss, mouth to mouth.
He's the first one to smile and pulls back, and he bows to her, lounging across her pillows like a queen, and gathers up his pack. She waves languidly, and watches him leave. Only when he is completely gone does she sit up and stretch. She's a little bit regretful: he had been very convenient, and there would be no time for any indulgence but alcohol soon enough.
Tomorrow, she thinks; tomorrow, and there will be a boy.
She'd best be waiting.