"You know whatever it is you're putting on, I'm just going to tear off, right?"

It's been twenty minutes. He's been sitting on the bed for all that time, and it's starting to sink in how stiff and keen his muscles have gotten from waiting. He works at the tension in his joints - arcing his spine and flexing his fists over his knees - while staring at the door. Her voice rings from within the bathroom - "You'd better not tear it!"

Yusuke exhales loudly from his nose and flops onto the mattress with a quiet 'whuff', resigned to staring at the wobbling ceiling fan instead. She's taking a really long time… Practical, no-nonsense Keiko didn't primp or whatever before sex - not when she'll inevitably end up hot and naked, beads of sweat pooling in the hollows of her collar and soft, long hair tangled up in itself. Which worked well enough for Yusuke by the way, because Keiko was hot when she was naked, and patience had never been on his (very short) list of virtues.

Still, even though she was taking forever, his curiosity piqued. What would cause her cheeks to flush pink before they'd even started and approach with the disclaimer: "I have something to put on, but you're not allowed to make comments, okay?" Practical, no-nonsense Keiko also didn't trust sheer, flimsy nighties to survive even ten minutes of sex with an ex-Demon King.

The hair dryer 'whirrs', and what little remains of Yusuke's patience evaporates. Whatever the blower is for… it isn't necessary. He springs off the bed and makes short work of the distance to the bathroom. His hand curls around the silver door knob. "Oy, Kei-"

The handle flies out from his grasp as the door swings open, and she collides solidly with his chest. Startled and teetering backwards, Yusuke's hand closes around her slender wrist instead, righting her balance for her. Keiko attempts to recover, smoothing down her hair self-consciously, and Yusuke's mouth dries up once he sees what she's been working on for nearly half an hour.

Yusuke takes a long step back, mahogany eyes making an obvious pass up and down her body.

As if he weren't already thoroughly, intimately aware, the fit of the blue sailor uniform underscored just how much Keiko had changed since middle school. As always, the outfit was pressed and the yellow scarf tied neatly. However, the blouse fit tightly across her breasts, and it looked several inches too short, revealing a shy sliver of ivory skin; long sleeves didn't quite reach all the way down to her wrists anymore. The pleated skirt had been cut in half - less than half. Keiko's eyelashes look dark and thick, and her lips sparkle with gloss. The color in her cheeks blossoms, advancing across her neck and clavicles.

Keiko squares her shoulders like she's bracing for something rude (not that he blames her), but her gaze is focused downward - long lashes casting elegant shadows across her blush. Her stiff spine and white knuckles are telling as she waits under his appraisal.

Yusuke sees her in many ways at once.

The obvious is first - his crazy, sexy fiancee, dolled up only for him, in a teeny outfit that appeals to a school girl kink he wasn't even aware he had. He considers the way the fabric clings to her breasts and hips, and there's his sexual awakening; the first girl to slip into his dreams in a not-so-platonic way - mostly because she hit puberty sooner and filled out more fantastically than any other in their year (and tried to hide from Yusuke's relentless teasing about it underneath buttoned-up collars and her mother's sweaters).

And then, there was just Keiko; because before Mazoku genes and spirit energy - before Hokushin, Botan, even Kuwabara - there had only been Keiko. Yanking cigarettes from between his teeth, nagging after homework, sharing her lunch on days Atsuko woke up too hungover to pack his, cutting through all his resentment for everything every time she came around. Even at her most straight-laced, she never hesitated to remain by his side, in the face of classmates and teachers insisting he was beneath her, a waste of her time, tarnishing her reputation, and on and on. Little wonder Yusuke loved her so much...

But mostly, he sees the former.

"Nice skirt…" Yusuke breathes through the fog in his head, inviting himself into her personal space. He lifts the hem a little; there was actually a lot of work put into the skirt - it's not just cut in half, but the edges were neatly tailored together, even the white lace of the lining is still intact. The faded blue material feels familiar and nostalgic between his fingers.

Her expression pinches, nose crinkling, but she doesn't swat his hand away like she used to. He tugs, and she shuffles nearer. Hesitantly, she lifts to meet his gaze, and he offers a wolfish grin. Keiko visibly relaxes after that and his old line. Her lips are balanced between a pout and a smile. "I said no comments."

A minute later, Keiko's ensured Yusuke won't say another snide word - not with him kneeling on the floor between her thighs.

She's no less pink than before, but her cinnamon eyes gleam defiantly, and she vibrantly stares him down as he curls his hands around her knees. Back when the uniform still fit, the determined set of her brow telegraphed brewing indignation, an impending lecture, and the need for him to get away - now, it's just hot. Leaning into her, Yusuke glides calloused hands over her exposed thighs, and Keiko sighs contentedly.

He drops a kiss to the inside of her knee, and makes his way up her leg. The lace from the lining tickles his forehead as he inches higher, tongue reaching out to join lips and teeth as he moves toward softer, more tender flesh.

She's not really delicate at all - clever, athletic, and fearless in the face of angry punks or demons twice her size - but her skin is fair and yielding, rosy hickies blooming in his wake. Something primitive and territorial hums in Yusuke's chest and warms his blood, otherworldly genes making him go feral. He knows better than to think he owns her or anything - the pretty human girl with a mean slap who literally brings (at least one) S-class demon down to his knees - but knowing the purple marks left behind after he pinches with his teeth and sucks stubbornly will remain for days sates a different sort of Mazoku hunger.

Keiko quivers when he reaches lacy white panties. What else besides dressing up was she doing in the bathroom, he wonders, because they've barely started and she's so wet. Acutely aware of her arousal, he dips his tongue dangerously close to his prize and a low, near-hurt sound catches in her throat setting the thrill in his blood ablaze.

"You know," he murmurs, directly into her center and her hips really jerk this time. Taking the hint, he hooks into the waist of her underwear and drags them down her legs and off. Hardened hands curve around the swell of her ass, sinking in and pulling until Keiko is sitting at the edge of the mattress. Yusuke glances up and shoots her his best shit-eating grin. "I would have come to school way more often if we were doing this kinda stuff on the roof…" He squeezes tightly to underscore his point.

Keiko rolls her eyes; her dainty eyebrows knit together, the color in her cheeks deepens at the idea, and Yusuke can't remember seeing a more perfect thing in his life. Tired of teasing, she recovers enough to huff and pulls the skirt over top his head, hiding her from view.

"Stop talking. Go."

The fabric blankets around his head, shrouding his very narrow world in relative darkness. Still such a bossy girl. Yusuke snickers against her before working his way up her thigh again, and there's a little shiver when he reaches the place where her legs meet.

Warm, pliant flesh presses against his ears, as Keiko catches his head wedged between her thighs. Finally, finally he kisses her. Yusuke finds her clit and elicits a distant gasp; his tongue draws a circle around it, and she whines, "Yu-uusuke…"

Silken hands find him among the uniform material, nimbly carding into the dark hair, tugging and encouraging him to continue. Over and over, his tongue moves against her; each time the muscles in her stomach spasm and her legs twitch. He latches on and sucks stubbornly and Keiko babbles. It was among Yusuke's favorite things - hearing a normally poised, collected, and articulate Keiko reduced to squealing and gushing nonsense because of his attention. Her fingers fist, and she pulls, utterly ruining his hair (though it's worth it). Damn, her enthusiasm really fires him up, and Yusuke hums - practically growls - his approval against her. His cock begins to strain against his jeans.

Gently, he introduces teeth, and Keiko's hands move from the boy's hair to his shoulders, cutting encouraging half-moons into the muscle there.

Yusuke shifts further down, tasting her slick, molten arousal where it's pooled, before dipping inside. Her fingernails drag. Keiko also has her way of leaving traces of herself on his body; it doesn't hurt, but she's not gentle. In fact, it suits Yusuke just fine; he'll wear the red welted lines proudly, like a badge - an affirmation that he curls her toes and renders her boneless.

Yusuke gets off on the power trips while he can - controlling the arc of her spine, pinning her hips still, making her forget how to breathe - because Keiko's causing his dick to tent uncomfortably in his pants even as she's practically melting around him. Their relationship has always been like that. Give and take, push and pull, maybe sometimes a little too much or too far, but never so much that they couldn't find their way back together again. Hn… together.

The involuntary jerking of her hips comes faster, sharp intakes of air, followed by a high pitched and airy "please, please…". Almost, almost… Yusuke pulls away, surfacing above layers of cotton, and she whines at the departure of his mouth.

Keiko pants. She presses her thighs together and her hips squirm, thoroughly flustered and dissatisfied with the lack of release. She looks equal parts scalded and annoyed, so Yusuke doesn't waste time dragging her toward the pillows and caging her slight body between himself and the mattress. The too-tight uniform blouse is rucked up underneath her; he tugs at the yellow knot, and the collar falls open, freeing a generous line of cleavage and a fresh expanse of unblemished skin to mark.

Keiko pushes her knees against his hips, fits her feet against his calves. She weaves her fingers back through raven hair, drawing Yusuke near, closing the sliver of a gap left between them, and it's just where Yusuke wants to be: tucked between her legs, flush with her warmth, nose pressed into the clean scent of her hair. It doesn't matter which way he sees her because they're all Keiko, and that's all he needs.

"Th- that wasn't nice," Keiko admonishes, snapping his attention back to the present before grinding against the seam of his jeans.

Sensation - deprived and desperate and intimate - overwhelms; a shudder rips through him, and Yusuke retaliates, nearly crushing her against the bed. A lusty sigh escapes her throat, and he nips at the tender line of her pulse, now aroused and foggy and just as needy as she is to continue. There were plenty of other things he'd wanted to try in middle school...


Author's note: I had this idea a million years ago, and here it is a million years later (why is writing so hard -_-). This is really different for me to do - despite reading smut for like, 15 years - but I hope it's alright.

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