“I didn’t intend for all this to happen” is not the sort of thing I find myself thinking often.

Maybe only two times in my life, when you married her—though that wasn’t something entirely in my control—and when I realized that I would be raising my daughter alone. Aside from those two exceptions, I disciplined the world into fitting my will, and nothing went awry if I intended them not to be.

This time, I had in mind for things to go as they have always gone; according to plan, but I should have learned my lesson long ago, twenty years ago; and that is nothing ever goes right when it involves you. You will always be there to defy me, to surprise me and throw me off while pretending never to realize it.

I should have learned my lesson.

--

The truth is, I’ve long since gotten over hating you, and though I try not to make it obvious, I think you’ve realized that.

Then problem arises when, after vilifying you for so many years in my mind, I find myself having difficulty accepting your many, countless, qualities and appeals. It is a sad day when the enemy is revealed to be… exactly who he appeared to be all along, which in your case is the perfect man whom any woman might fall for, whether their eyes lingered only on the surface or delved beneath to look inside.

At least, that was the rationale I used on myself when I first became aware of my attraction to you almost a year ago, if only as a way to preserve my sanity.

And it was necessary to do so, because you should have been the last man I would ever fall for. It was necessary to remind myself that I was not insane because other women liked to look at you too, to see you run at the race and watch your daughter perform on stage, to have you lead when you invited me to go hiking so as to get a better view of you from behind and wonder what it’d feel like to grab a handful.

In the end it was useless; I was crazy either way. Be it the effects of my age and changing hormones or some faulty gene that makes Kinomoto men irresistible to Amamiya women, I found you increasingly desirable not only as a friend, but as a man.

Things would have been easier if I was simply lonely and desperate after more than a decade of single parenthood, but that was unfortunately not the case; I wanted you, and no one else would do.

But you belonged to her, and respect for her memory prevailed over any need of mine in the present, until that day.

--

It was unusual weather for Tomoeda at the time of the year; heavy fog under gray overcast skies, cold and wet enough for sleet but no snow. So I gave Touya, who’d just come home from winter recess, the keys to my SUV, which he used to take Tomoyo, Sakura, and their friends to a ski lodge for the weekend. Thinking that we’d be better off keeping each other company than dwelling in our empty nests alone, I invited you over for dinner and a swim.

It turned out to be a lovely afternoon as we relaxed and did laps in the pool, white vapor obscuring the surface from the low temperature outside. I was pleased to find that my swimsuit still fit after nearly a year without use, and even more pleased by how well you fit in yours. When you climbed out to towel yourself and steam from trailed your body, I think I stared for a full five seconds, the image stuck in my mind even after we retired to separate bathrooms to shower and change.

As the sun set at five o’clock, the lights came on as we began to cook our own dinner, soon filling the kitchen with the sizzling of the grill, the sound of peppers and onions sautéing in the pan, and the smell of marinate brushing over fillets. Forty-five minutes later we made our way towards the living room with our plates, settling on the large sofa in front of the grand fireplace where a lively flame was already crackling. I poured the wine, we raised our glasses to the health of our families, and we indulged.

At some point far later in the evening, a lull in the conversation set in as we made ourselves comfortable under a pile of quilts and rugs, content to simply gaze at the fire, the entire mansion dark but for the light emanating from the flames and the occasional crackle that would send sparks flying. I lounged half stretched across the sofa, pulling my feet up beneath me as I gently swirled the contents of my glass, enjoying the flickers, the shadows, and the silence.

“This is rather nice, isn’t it?” The words came out themselves on a whim, I wasn’t expecting a response.

“Lovely.” It must have been the wine playing tricks with my mind, because the sight of you reclining against the other half of the couch in slacks and a simple knit sweater almost seemed erotic by design.

The scent of cookies done baking reached me then, and I remembered the batch that we’d placed in the oven for a late snack. Homemade cookies while the kids weren’t around seemed the perfect way to consummate the evening of self indulgence.

“Some dessert?” As it turned out, I underestimated the warm buzz I received from the alcohol, so when I swung my feet down and stepped into a pile of velvet coverings that had pooled below the sofa, I slipped violently sideways, carrying my head towards where your feet were. In retrospect, it wasn’t so surprising that you managed to respond quick enough and break my fall with your body, but at the time all I could do was stare up into those spectacles looking down at me as I lay in your lap from the waist up, putting my face where your bellybutton would’ve been.

That’s when things started to go awry.

I shouldn’t have whispered aloud how nice, and warm, you smelled, because the look those words produced on your face only deepened my excitement further, tempted me to push the line further; the line of our friendship, the line I’d set for Nadesico’s sake, for all of us. I saw your mouth open and close without a word, and when you didn’t panic, didn’t blush, didn’t move out of the way but only kept looking at me with those hazel eyes, my resolve crumbled.

With your hand against my back as support, I wound my fingers behind your neck and pulled myself up to meet you midway, kissing your mouth slowly, sucking your lips gently, savoring the residue bitterness of wine and something else that was intoxicatingly sweet; perhaps the guilt that accompanied the pleasure.

I was hooked.

I didn’t know what you would think of me when I finally released you, couldn’t read that expression of yours, how you might respond to this kiss of mine that could’ve meant many things and nothing; an admittance of desire but not quite a confession of love, a whim that rode the atmosphere too far. It could’ve ended there; we could have chuckled about it, made a joke about the effects of wine like the grownups we are and gone back to being old friends and part-time rivals.

We were kneeling before each other, and I followed your eyes to the patch of amber spreading over the cotton on my right feet; in my clumsiness I’d knocked over a bottle.

“Oh… how careless of me.” I stood up quickly, dusting off the front of my skirt as I sat down and smiled uneasily; pretending things never happened was one way to go.

As I reached down to remove the soiled piece of clothing, you stopped me with a look from your eyes and wrapped your fingers around my ankle, lifting it as if to examine it for injury.

But there was nothing broken, no glass shards littered about, so it was with suspended breath and nervous curiosity that I waited as you examined my bare foot for wounds that couldn’t exist.

Then you kissed my foot.

I shivered.

When you lifted your eyes to meet mine, I couldn’t imagine what sort of face I was making; red, probably, from the rush of blood to the head that nearly made me dizzy. Your ever present smile had vanished, and never had I wished so much to see it again, to have that smile calm the beating against my chest, to reassure my racing heart that it was still the Fujitaka I’d always known, the calm, steadfast rock of restraint and sensibility, who’d never think of…

Sliding his hands upwards, leaving a trail of dry kisses until he reached the soft, sensitive area between the calf and the thigh, fingertips burning, teasing, sensitive skin. Then you stopped, your hands resting on my knees, where going any further would require shifting of clothing.

And you looked up at me, and waited.

I could hear myself panting softly, needing the air, wondering through the haze in my mind why you stopped. Was it courtesy? Asking for permission when those eyes of yours reflected so clearly the desire that must’ve been in my own? Was it gamesmanship, the unwillingness to surrender first when I was the one initiated things first, again?

If admitting defeat would get me what I wanted…

To the side, a smoldering log broke in half, sending sparks rising up towards the chimney and brightening the room momentarily, illuminating your face.

I leaned down, and whispered the words so obvious to us both but so difficult to say.

“I want you.”

We fell back against the sofa, a mess of hot hands and heated breath, the large hands I’d always wondered about sliding up the side of my legs, through the slits of my skirt and then finding the zipper. I slipped my hands beneath your sweater, palming, fingers splayed against the warm skin of your abdomen, nails dipping just beneath the waist until you began to do the same, slipping under my gray turtleneck. All the time we busied ourselves with our mouths, greedily tasting, melding together again and again. It had been far too long since either of us have had this sort of comfort; ever since our respective partners left us, by death or by neglect, and the years of hunger fueled the luxuriating heat in between.

Nadescio was no athlete; frail and sickly, she had not a single bone for sports in her body. I couldn’t imagine that you were the same way with her like you did with me then, when we shared a common pulse as we moved together rapidly, striving and driving and connecting in a fast rhythm that would’ve worn out the average man and woman in minutes. But we are not ordinary; the fruits from our active youth as competitors well preserved and evidenced by the way we fit so closely with each other now. It was better than anything I’d never known; ecstasy.

Long after we began, when the pace had shifted, slowed, to more tender love making, there arose in my mind the sobering thought of the woman who you must have been thinking of the whole time, and the tears that pooled in the corner of my eyes as I held onto you even tighter, heart filled and tugged at the same time as I gave myself to easing your pain, listening to you grunt and whisper her name, again and again in an almost inaudible voice.

“Sonomi…”

Not hers, but my name. My name on your lips as your face twisted in beautiful agony and I followed shortly. My name in your breath as we lay against each other, sheen of perspiration on skin aglow from the reflection of the flames.

It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.

You weren’t supposed to stroke my face when I began sobbing, pull me against your chest and wrap me in those strong arms that made me feel so safe when I didn’t know what to do. You weren’t supposed to smile then and tell me those comforting, soothing words that I couldn’t believe you were telling me.

You weren’t supposed to love me back.

But I’m glad you did.

end

Author's Notes: First time attempting to write a truly M-rated story, originally a story done by request for L-chan, with "fireplace" as the prompt and Touya-Tomoyo as the pairing, but this is how it turned out. I always lied the chemistry between these two, as evidenced by the number of stories I've written for them, and hope to continue doing so in the future, and not just of the Mature type. Hope you enjoyed reading.