Title: What Keeps You Up At Night

Characters: Shihouin Yoruichi/Soi Fong

Prompt: #1: Beginnings

Rating: R for sexuality involving young Soi

Summary: No matter how Soi tries, the memory of her first time with Yoruichi-- and the feelings associated with it-- refuses to fade.

Author's Notes: 2nd Person perspective, yuri-- if you don't like then don't read. I don't own anything I write about.


You can't forget the first time.

You can't forget because sometimes, when you wake up in the middle of the night, your senses disheveled and the walls you build around yourself are not yet prepared for the coming day, it comes at you out of nowhere, like a splinter in your mind that refuses to heal.

You bury your head under the pillow of your futon, as if darkness can save you, block the memory from you. But even so it comes, unyielding.

You were younger then. Much younger, long before you became the ruler of everything SHE had only a fraction of control over. You still wore the uniform of the Onmitsu Kidoh, still lived to walk by her side, still nurtured your simple dream of living your whole life for her, protecting your Goddess from the shadows until age subdued you or death took you.

Back then you held no illusions that your feelings would be returned. They were yours to keep to yourself, to hide like you would amongst the foliage when the princesses' fancies wandered towards a game of hide-and-seek.

But no matter how well-hid you were, she always found you. She always saw through you.

You remember the very day as clearly as if you were still there. Which is fitting, because in so many ways you're still lying on that bed, under those covers, reaching out for a warm body that's no longer beside yours.

It was a humid day-- unusual for Soul Society-- especially since it was the sort that hangs overhead like an omen, weighing down on all brave enough to venture out of their comfortable homes.

You were by her then as dusk fell, watching her intently as usual, wanting to mention the far-off look in her eye but not daring to offend her with your impertinent questions. You remember the look suddenly disappearing as her attention turned to you, changing inperceptibly into a strange, warm, inviting sort of gaze. Suddenly her hand is skimming the curve of your neck, at the base of your head in a way that you could only describe as 'tender,' though you yourself are not familiar with it. Nor with the sudden explosion of butterflies bumping and flying in your stomach as she leans forward and plants those perfect lips directly on yours, a hand that's moved to the small of your back holding you-- almost possessively-- in place.

But soon you don't care about that. You don't care that she's carrying you, like a prim and proper lady instead of a bodyguard, through the blur of pure white halls and into the dark and mysterious place you only knew 'til now as 'Yoruichi-sama's room." You don't care that it smells just like her-- sandalwood and sweat and the vaguest hints of rosewater-- scent isn't enough to cling to when she's right HERE, in front of you.

You don't care that her touch is a little rushed, her hands shaking slightly, the rending of your concealing uniform to shreds is done with as much effort as a child does to her favorite toy, and yet something that you don't understand fully lies behind it.

And you don't even care that she has you-- you, who believed yourself to be so much stronger than this-- panting and gasping and writhing with joy and clinging and clawing and screaming helplessly into her skin as you bite down on her neck, lust overwhelming your cleverly built illusion of self-control, loving the way she shivers just SLIGHTLY, just enough to let you know that at this moment all the titles and orders and classes in the world aren't worth a thing to her. She wants your touch just as much as you've ached for hers, and it's almost enough to make you break out in tears...if she hadn't increased her pace and made you sing her name like a master of the opera.

You're putty in her hands, even after the room is filled with the sounds of you both struggling to come down, to descend from the cloud you hadn't realized you were on.

Your mistake, you're certain with hindsight, was that you held her even after that, whispering those words you'd only spoken in dreams, to the cold and vacant darkness.

You're certain-- because less than a day later-- she was gone. As if nothing had ever happened, and as if you yourself were less than even that.

It occured to you suddenly how much of a fool you felt like. You were taken in, you assured yourself. She had used you, used your feelings to take advantage of another of her servants, which was of course all you were. Despite everything you were just another face in the sea of Onmitsu Kidoh members, and just as easily ignored. And so you buried away the questions, the feeling of abandonment, the overwhelming desire to run after her and drag her back, if only so you could force the truth from her mouth.

It's these things you take with you to sleep, to assure yourself that tomorrow you'll make her pay for what she's done to Soul Society.

But of course you still wake up in the night, hurting just as much as when the wounds were fresh, because of what she's done to YOU. Like that hot day she hangs over you, haunting your thoughts, and no matter how many lovers you've taken yourself not a single one can erase the ghost of her touch, the memory of that dark skin gliding against your own in an unintelligible tangle of limbs.

The only way you fall asleep anymore, after that rush of longing and loathing, is by telling yourself-- no matter the outcome-- that you will meet again.