/jp/ - Otaku Culture

>>45125743 (2/4)
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There is no need for words.

His lips on mine are lava, my hands running across his back and feeling each individual sulk; each lump that didn't heal as properly—this is not the back of a fighter, no matter how toned or worked it is, but even so, these scars tell stories. They're sad stories… Yet, my fingers touch them gently, respecting their stories and the man that carries them, whose eyes just found mine, illuminated by dots of gold and pale moonlight, breathing struggling to recompose, back arched outwards, as if afraid to touch, to feel more than the focus of his eyes.

My hands go down, around his lower hips, then up, following the trail of his chest—the same book as his back—and end dearly holding each of his cheeks. I slightly nod to him, a reassurance. The moment he wants to stop, that he doesn't feel comfortable—that's when we stop.

He nods back, a bit uncertain but still here with me, and fondly presses his lips a little lower, following that line of the neck and trailing it down with a multitude of kisses, pinching on the right spots to make my back arch up—biting on the jawbone and pulling ever so slightly. I'm moaning, a jolt coursing through me like the flow of a river and tensing up my tails. The cold of the stone, the nearby pond, and the wind are dispelled as his mouth finally reaches its destination between my breasts.

His lips work, explore, teeth pulls and pushes, his hands following true and holding each of my hips, guiding the laying dance, caresses not lacking, his touch going from inch to inch with a sort of adoration that melts my heart—

—I moan louder, mewling sweet as the tip of his penis touches my entrance, no more than a chaste kiss… Which freezes him like a statue.

Anon's eyes are not of love anymore; they're wide, and behind his shrunk pupils I see fear, anxiety, a weight only those scars painting his body know of, his breathing going from a stream to a tornado, sweat forming in puddles. He trembles like a leaf…

I hold him. He's crying in my arms.

Even though his dick is still close by, poking my thigh, I simply don't care. I don't move forward or try to get more than what he's already giving me…

I wait patiently, drawing circles on his back and whispering truths in his ear—truths of love that blossomed even here, in this accursed place.

It takes a while—I don't mind—but soon, he calms down, the words from before, about the things Reimu and Yukari have done to him ring loudly.

They'll never go away.

Our eyes find each other again, and I'm about to reach his face, say 'It is okay', that we can stop here. I won't be mad.

He holds my wrist, and I watch as a courageous smile cross his face, tears forgotten, and even though some time has passed, the fireflies around us shine brighter, as if challenging the absolute shine born in his eyes. The fireflies lose.

Because each scar tells a story only they know.

… Yet, there's one thing all those scars, so silent and stoic, tell me just by existing: that the man who carries them got up and marched forward after each one, no matter what. Personal strength; strength harvested from the love for his daughter or maybe the hope for his wife… In me, his light… Strength nevertheless.

A man who never let fear chain him down.

I kiss that man, he kisses back, and his hand gently guided inside of me what many considered a simple tool for carnal pleasure—I welcomed it as he welcomes me every excruciating day: with fondness, care, and love.

We moaned to each other, never breaking eye contact, foreheads touching—my ears poking his scalp—the member inside me moving in and out, one of my hands holding his neck and the other having found its way to his free hand subconsciously, our grasp tough as diamonds, love honed just as one, too.

My name escaped his smiling lips, holding my body as if sacred, bushy tails in ecstasy clamping everywhere as if to keep a hold on reality, the growing necessity and the promised satisfaction—exacerbated by being in each other's arms—through the proverbial roof, my legs kicking, trying to get a hold of his waist—his hand goes down, a natural movement, and helps the tense lips to get a proper hold, his thrusting in and out—in and out, in and out—stronger, and I could feel it coming, back curving up, drooling, narrowed eyes, mind clouded, body so very warm it seemed on fire.

His mouth was on mine, and the world went white—

My legs quivered, fluffy tails tense like rods, and I came and, oh… It was like the world had lost its massive weight. He quickly followed suit, as if seeing this orgasmic, derpy-looking woman in his arms was the most beautiful sight in the whole world… The way he held me after finishing, laughing genuinely, eyes wide not with fear, made me think it was possible.

I laughed, too, hand on my full belly, and cried tears of healing with him.

The moments passed in bliss, silence, our personal paradise. Words finally came: "… Wanna go again?" He asked.

"Yes." I answered.