He lays beside you now, kind hands holding your head tucked under his chin, your body spooned to his, his legs tangled in yours. Your eyes were shut as the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat lulls you into a dreamy daze state where all you see, hear, feel, smell, and taste is Fuji.
You don't need to see him to be able to remember how incredibly beautiful his pale skin is, his features more refined and graceful than in his teenage years. And as the years you spent together wore on, and as more and more work piled upon you, you needed to only listen for his voice –a soft rich timber- that would play through your mind like tepid water easing into the stress. You would always survive through the day just so you could fall into his warm welcoming embrace, where he would tease and embarrass you with his odd sense of humour. But just that lazy, spicy scent of Fuji would have you smirking back at him, and with one of your mischievous smirks you'd return the favour. You always knew what places to touch him to get those pleasured moans.
And you would do nothing more then devour him, tasting and teasing him with that wicked tongue of yours.
Your love was sweet. Your love was endearing. Your love was beautiful.
Your love was quiet and peaceful. It was a type of love that no one deemed suiting given yours and his personalities.
He may have had an odd sense of humour, but you accepted that along with him. You knew that as long as you were the main target, it just meant that you were that much more to him. His teasing antics were to see the reactions it brought. He always enjoyed watching how people reacted when put under new and amusing circumstances. And if he really liked a given a reaction, he would always strive for a repeat or an even better one.
He never tired of your reactions, he never tired of you. They were never anything that would harm you, he would never allow for that. He just wanted to see and know you in all situations, continuing the repeats with the same enjoyment. You couldn't help but feel fuzzes of confusing warmth accompanying your embarrassed cheeks; you always appearing to be the centre of his world.
Granted, Fuji's characteristics and traits weren't always welcome. He was always protective of you, annoyingly so.
You remember that night you were intoxicated (Eiji's and Momo's doing). Your mind was a dizzy haze of rich cream and cat nip, everything felt erotic to the touch, tingles of pleasure and excitement rolled off you in waves. Even the air you breathed in so heavily were like the quality screwdrivers (heavy on the vodka) they made you down that night, sliding down your throat silky smooth; burning away all coherencies, the subtle kick of the tang pushing you on.
You never got drunk often, being a very flirty drunk was unlike your character, and it embarrassed you thoroughly.
That club moved to a sultry beat, sweat and hormones moshing together, turning all minds, including yours (alcohol weakening resistance) into drones. There was a man about your age there, clad in leather with desire as obvious as your intoxication. He hung all over you, groping and touching. You failed to notice the intent of his actions in your stupor. He had tugged at your arm, trying to get you to leave with him, your coy smirk neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He had taken this opportunity to kiss you, deep and hungry. You had playfully pulled away, a voice telling you to stop tugging at your mind. He pounced again where you dodged playfully, pulling away, silly smirk on your face.
"We shouldn't," you slurred out, voice husky and heated. "It's been fun, but I have to go."
He had frowned at that, tugging at you once more, trying to melt away your will with a kiss. You were going to pull away, pull away from the contact that created tingles over the tingles the alcohol already created. You really were, your mind gripping at you relentlessly. You prepared yourself to say something (slow thought process, effectively taking 10 seconds), only to have him ripped apart from you violently. Fuji stood before you, eyes glowering at the man flung back.
"I believe he said no." Fuji's sweet voice betrayed the unwavering threat promised in his eyes. "You should leave."
You remember feeling the danger signals whirling sharply around Fuji, his eyes hard and glacial, his smile cruel and twisted, his hands clenched tightly. One hand was locked to your wrist, unmoving and clamped so tight your wrist had bruised. The Screwdrivers from earlier numbed the pain, whatever pain left helping you focus your mind (you had noted dully that Fuji was playing your unneeded saviour yet again). The pain felt nice in a way, a warm tingly blanket, hot and moist, arousing stirred sensations at the sign of possession. You'd never have been able to escape even if you wanted to.
He'd never let you go.
The man had stumbled away nursing his luckily intact battered body, Fuji's eyes never leaving until he had disappeared from sight. He then swung his gaze to you, wordlessly gripping your wrist even tighter to pull you away from the crowd, the club, and all the way back to the apartment you share with him. His eyes were unreadable you recall, but that could've just been the alcohol making your head swirl with pretty feelings.
He had directed you to the bed, eyes and hands raking over you. Lips, wet kisses, nibbles, tongue, and bites, heated and full of want. You complied all too easily, wanting to be ravished, the swirling pretty feelings in you becoming unbearable as his lips were everywhere.
He wanted to wash away all the spots you were touched, marking his territory. It was as if your body was his alone to save or destroy, as if he couldn't tolerate you to be blemished by another.
And he couldn't. He couldn't tolerate it one bit.
He took you without remorse, making you scream his name in scattered ecstasy as you came, making you his once again with cruelty.
You never minded the cruelty; it was just another part of him. And it was the harshest he's ever been with you. Always treating you like fragile glass when you were together.
You hated it.
Hated being handled as if you might break
Hated being treated like a weak thing, delicate and dainty.
You never asked him to be rougher with you though. You were precious to him, and like good art, he wanted to admire and love you instead of ravaging and taking you.
You've always been quality art to him. It's how he first became attracted to you. He was taken with your passion, persistence, and beauty. He wanted to capture your glory on film. He kept wanted more of you as time went on. And soon enough, he wanted to capture more than just your image and emotion on film. He wanted to capture all of you in a way that couldn't be seen by anyone.
You always saw him as challenging tennis. You agreed to his photo sessions if it meant more tennis matches with him. As time went on since that agreement started, it was with every click of the camera, and with every point won that he had slowly taken more of you. And when he had finally taken almost all of you with a chaste kiss and a confession, it was at that time you gave him the rest of you with a cocky smirk and returning kiss.
Your relationship wasn't without flaw, but it was one where you worked to keep it together. It was rare for you to care for something this much other than tennis, and there was no way you'd give it up.
Fuji may be annoyingly possessive about you, but you were equally possessive. You'd never forgive him if he left you. It may be childish and selfish, but since it was he to tempt you this greatly into the dark, it was he that had responsibility to hold your hand all the way through.
Your senses have become accustomed to no one but Fuji, missing nothing about him.
You hear his quiet breathing next to you on this dark moonless night. You lie awake in a comfortable daze, body warm and slightly sticky from your earlier tangle. You sigh in comfort and bring your hand up to hold his. Your eyes slide close as you allow yourself to meld into him.
Tomorrow would come in the blink of an eye, and a whole new day will be at your feet to create new memories.