A/N: I honestly believe that I am at my best when I write narratives rather than dialogues. That's why I adore my one-shots. They usually are more narrative than dialogue.
This fic is my first M-rated and well… Being novice has it's pitfalls so if you think that my writing isn't good enough, feel free to flame me, seriously. Wahaha..
I'll appreciate any kind of reviews so please bother to leave one after you're done reading. I really want to know what I did wrong or the things I did right in this fic.
About this fic it's the first of a series of fics under the umbrella title Confessions. And like my other FoR fics that are currently posted, this one is ToFuu…
If you can't tolerate ToFuu and are too young or wish not to taint your innocence, you are free to find other fics. Please do mind the rating. Although I did try my best to make this as classy and as artful as I could.
I hope you enjoy.
Warning: I did not proof-read… But it's understandable, I assure you.
Disclaimer: Flame of Recca, its characters and other related trademarks belong to Nobuyuki Anzai-sama. All copyrighted materials mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. I own the plot but am not making profit out of it.
This serves as my official Valentine Special for year 2011…
Confessions of a Valentine Bride by Anne Raven
Getting married on Valentine's Day is so overrated, so commercialized that it practically dissolved the magic of the day allotted for the hearts. But I, the Great Fuuko, will have to eat my own words because I myself was married on that said day. And it was just as magical as Aladdin's lamp or Alice's Wonderland, maybe even more so.
Originally, I had wanted to get married on his birthday, a present in itself, but it was too late in the year for my bridegroom's taste. I dare say he was just too eager to get started with the honeymoon.
The wedding night had been even more charmed. Most couples say that nothing really happens during that night owing to the fatigue caused by the ceremony but the thing is, we're not like most couples.
I had to peek underneath the pristine sheets of this four-poster Prince of Wales-style bed he had so wanted for the master's bedroom of the house we called ours just to make sure that I did not imagine everything that happened up to this very moment which my half-conscious mind is still finding hard to grasp. But in truth, the strong silky arm wound around my waist brushing bare sensitive skin was enough.
I wanted to giggle, to laugh out loud if I could, at the sheer improbability of our situation yet here we were, together as surely as the world was round. And I simply couldn't – laugh out loud, I mean – afraid that I might wake my personal Botticelli angel.
I could, however, study his features for another infinitesimal moment as the early morning rays of the sun filtered through the wide windows. Luckily, the white eyelet lace curtains were let down some time in the night which tempered the brightness, allowing me to observe him but not waking him.
How antithetical that the man I almost hated for his cold indifference, self-bestowed superiority and overt disapproval of me and my closest friends back when we were younger would be the same man whose face I would want to wake up to every single morning for the rest of my life.
The twists and turns of life really are bizarre.
It started with a kiss, an accidental release of pent-up tension, a spur-of-the-moment incident caused by hormones. Oh, but it was the sweetest mistake I ever committed. Up to now, I still wonder how he's able to imbue so much emotion to something as mundane as the contact of his lips to mine.
I remember him telling me that the things he couldn't say to me, he'll just show me or, more aptly, make me feel.
It was at that time when he pulled out a small velvet box with the most beautiful ring I had ever seen. At first, I thought the single stone that adorned the simple silver band was sapphire but he punctually corrected me by saying, "It's a diamond, a rare blue diamond just like the girl it was meant to be given to."
And I shouted yes even though the question was left unspoken.
He took it slow. He said he wanted to savor every second of the first night I finally became his.
"Be patient, Fuuko. We'll get there." He whispered in short ragged breaths during the brief interval our lips were apart.
We had kissed and touched many times before but never had we gone that far for the sole reason that we were saving that special union for this, our wedding night.
It was almost mystic, prophetic in its very nature, that we somehow knew when we admitted to ourselves and each other that our exceptional friendship had blossomed into something more that our story would end, or rather begin anew, in front of the altar.
And truly, it was worth the wait. Although I have to admit, I thoroughly enjoyed testing his indomitable self-control in the years we've been together.
It felt like an eternity before he divested me of the immaculate white satin gown, a beautiful couture that looked like an inverted calla lily with intricate embroidery sewn with baby blue and amethyst Swarovski gems on the strapless bodice. I had wanted something much, much simpler than this. After all, I would wear it only for a single day but he refused to relent saying that the gown was entirely me. And well, I had to agree.
My cheeks tainted hot pink when he stopped trailing moist kisses down my throat and drew back to stare at me. It was silly of me, I know. He had seen me only in my lingerie far too many times and in much less a couple of times for me to be shy. But there I was, blushing wildly and I tried not to think of when I'd be bare naked beside him.
And for Kami's sake, I had barely finished undoing the buttons of his shirt. How unfair is that? I officially hate three-piece suits.
An amused smirk graced his aristocratic face that almost always sent my heart palpitating. Using the rapid drum-like cadence of my heart as a counter, I calmed down enough to reach to him and finish what I was doing. But he grabbed both my wrists firmly but gently as he sat on the bed surveying my near nudity.
"You might want to freshen up before we continue this, mi amor, because once we start, I promise we won't stop until we're both satiated."
I just love it when he speaks in languages to me, specially the various endearments he crooned from all the corners of the world. But God, oh God, why was he procrastinating when…
Dang! Was this the proverbial payback time?
I absentmindedly nodded and he took it as a sign that I would do as he suggested. Well, I did.
I proceeded to the spacious bathroom fitted with beautiful granite countertops and teal colored tiles.
I haven't decided yet if it was a good thing that the man I married was such an obsessive-compulsive perfectionist who reached the pinnacle of his business career without practically batting an eyelash.
Oh well, I love him all the same.
I meant to have a quick shower but the beautifully tiled bathtub which seamlessly connected with the bathroom floor in low curving steps was too enticing.
The strawberry and rose-petal scented oils mixed with warm bath water immediately released the tension in me; add the soothing scent of the lighted vanilla candle and I almost thought I was in cloud nine. I closed my eyes to allow my other senses to take over and various images of the man on the bed on the other side of the bathroom door immediately filled my thoughts.
The pressure of my teeth sinking into my bottom lip was painful to the point that my imagination didn't run amuck but not too much that I still sported a smile.
I grew oblivious of the time that passed and just soaked to my heart's content. That was until I felt a pair of arms cradle me from behind.
"Am I taking too long?" I asked truly apologetic that I kept him waiting.
"For a moment, I thought you fell asleep." And I felt his lips press the back of my head.
I intended to rise but he stopped me by placing his hands on my shoulders and easing me back into the water.
The water rippled when he got in at a distance away from me that could easily be breached. And the waves he caused sent tingling sensations across my skin, a prelude of things to come.
I had to turn away knowing that we were both naked under the water. And the inevitable rush of blood to my face was quite embarrassing aggravated by the deep musical chuckle that came from him.
"Are you scared?" Sometimes, I just hate him for his sarcasm.
"Why are you so sure of yourself?" I retorted vainly buffering the effects of his question.
Was I scared? A little, I guess. But Fuuko Kirisawa is no coward, specially now that I have taken up the surname Mikagami. So I willed myself to look straight into his sky blue irises. Then, all my fears, anxieties and insecurities melted away into the depths of his eyes.
"I'm just as scared as you are but there is nothing I have to hide from you." He sincerely told me.
For someone who had been called names with an allusion to ice or cold more than half his entire life, he certainly had warm hands that blazed trails of fire across my skin. And his kisses were even hotter.
"Hacer me el amor." [Make love to me.] I said after nibbling his earlobe.
Smirking in a way he knew I loved, he held me closer as I straddled him and tilted my head so he could access the crook of my neck which he nipped instantly.
To say it drove me wild was an understatement.
"Mi-chan…" I sighed in supplication.
"¡Bebé! Espera por favor." [Baby! Please wait.] Damn! I hate it when he speaks to me like that. I nearly turn into puddles. I can only pray he doesn't learn French.
He laughed that seductive laugh of his when he heard me sigh deeply. If humans could exist on sound alone, it's his laughter I would like to live in.
Pressing his forehead against mine, he raised an eyebrow with matching lop-sided grin that says, 'I'll make you beg first'.
"How much do you want me?" I knew it.
Scowling, I stuck my tongue out at him. But I jerked back when he playfully attempted to bite it. And the bathroom resonated with the sound of our joined laughter.
"I love you." I breathed against his neck as I wrapped my arms around him.
"I know. I love you too." He kissed my temple while tracing the contours of my spine with his finger and it was all too delicious. He was all too delicious.
He gave me a quick peck on the lips and made a move to rise. He offered his hand when we stepped out of the tub and handed me a terrycloth robe, the female version of what he wore, then he led me to the door by my shoulders as he walked a step behind.
Tokiya was eagerly waiting for me to open the door. I looked back and narrowed my eyes at him. He was definitely up to something.
I grew wary of opening the door but what the heck, it was our bedroom. What could possibly be…
It was the scent that overwhelmed me at first – lavender, cocoa butter, honey lemon, jasmine – mixed with the vanilla from the bathroom. It was highly intoxicating and highly sensual. The lights were turned off but the room was dramatically illuminated by the candles that gave off the various scents that permeated the room.
The bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice with two long-stemmed glasses waited on a silver tray on top of the dressing table. I gaped at the elaborate preparations.
Tokiya walked pass me carrying the vanilla scented candle and placed it on another strategic spot. He pressed the button on a remote and the room was immediately filled with the music of… of my Wedding March.
Tokiya and I decided to forego the traditional pieces like Pachelbel's Canon in favor of something more contemporary and suitable for us. The title of the composition was 'Kiss the Rain' by Yiruma.
As Water would always be his element, so would Air be mine even if the days of madougus and underground tournaments had long ended. And Rain would be our perfect combination.
He stood in front of me and rolled his eyes.
"Mrs. Mikagami, the objective of the game Stop Dance is to move when the music is playing."
I still did not respond to his smart-ass remarks. I was still too overwhelmed. He shook his head and moved closer to me. I was jolted to my senses when he picked me up and carried me bridal-style towards the bed where he gently laid me on top of the sheets that were slightly crumpled from our earlier activities.
He leaned in towards me and lightly brushed his lips on mine, so light it was like a butterfly perched on the petal of a flower. Hence, they call it butterfly kiss.
My hands quickly found their way to his long silver hair and wasted no time in entangling themselves there. The movement of his lips over mine commanded my entire attention. And my breathing hitched when I felt him palm my flesh. The terrycloth robes discarded, lying somewhere haphazardly on the floor.
The sensations he made me feel were nothing short of beautiful. In fact, I could try listing adjectives that would describe what I felt but still be unable to capture the essence of it in words. It was possible that the word for it was not yet invented or so old that it had long been forgotten.
I felt hulled to the core, a mass of raw nerves that both received and gave off pleasure so intense it rivaled the ethereal music produced by the grandest orchestras, more profound than the works of the great Renaissance masters. It was an art by itself. It was divine.
He smiled against my skin whenever he heard me say his name; and no, it was not the nickname I christened him with although I used it profusely throughout our love making.
I would prefer hearing my name pass through his lips than the gospel of my salvation and the accompanying sighs, moans and purrs that seem to be automatic when my hands worked their own magic on him excited me. Everything about him does
From the sheen of perspiration on his well-chiseled body that made him gleam like the ivory statues of forgotten Greek gods to the distinct male scent he unconsciously wore made me want him more than I already did, if it were possible.
Drawing away from the previous attentions his mouth was lavishing on my breast, he propped himself up with one elbow. I smiled when our eyes met. The rapid rise and fall of his chest, similar to my own, was mesmerizing to watch.
He flashed a naughty smirk. It was funny that we understood each other so well, learning how to communicate without the words. His other hand eased its way downward, his deft fingers teasing my feminine folds. And a sudden jolt of pleasure made me cling to him as he brushed that most sensitive spot.
It was time. We both could feel it.
Our union was slow, excruciatingly so but he refused to rush and he remained gentle. He kept whispering sweet assurances to my ear and I clung to him tight, too tight I left bruises on his arm and shoulder but he didn't mind.
"It thrills me that I married a twenty-five year old virgin." I slapped his arm. I was not in the mood to tolerate his teasing but I wanted this despite the pain.
"I'll start moving now. Do you think you can handle it?" His concern was genuine I had to smile at him reassuringly. And I had to admit what he said turned me on.
"We'll never know if we don't try. Go ahead." I said.
For all the pain's worth, there was an undeniable pleasure to it and it wasn't long after, that all of the pain gave way to immense pleasure.
His tongue slipped in between my parted lips, something he often did but the familiarity didn't prevent it from being exhilarating. His hand buried in my hair, the other roamed up and down my arm, the sides of my body, my thighs, and everywhere he could reach. It was such a blending of sensations, of chills running up and down my spine, the movement of his muscles beneath my fingers, the softness of his hair, the beauty of his blue eyes, it was all too sublime.
He stopped and looked at me with eyes that were glazed over yet restrained. I wanted him to lose all his inhibitions. I pulled his head to the side of mine so that we were touching cheek to cheek, so close that I whispered directly to his ear, "Ride me hard."
He propped himself up with both his arms on either side of my head with an initial expression of disbelief on his face. But a slow smile curved his lips. And the next act of the play began.
He drove with the intensity and force that incited and burned me and I was all-too-willing to respond with as much fervor until the mounting heat reached its peak and I surrendered to the rolling sensations that washed up through my whole body.
I was still feeling high when he shuddered and came. I smiled as I cradled him to my bosom while we shared our mutual journey to nirvana.
It happened over and over until we could hardly move and succumbed to exhaustion.
It is that memory that keeps me company this morning while I keep watch over his sleeping from. I snuggled to him.
"Bebé…" I heard him call.
"Good morning Mi-chan. How was your sleep?"
"Muy bien." [Very good.] And he followed his answer with a gentle kiss.
I would never regret marrying Tokiya Mikagami on Valentine's Day. And if he wanted to, I'd gladly marry him again on that special day every single year using the same vows we mutually agreed to conclude by reciting a line by the famous Sir Philip Sidney:
My true love hath my heart and I have his.
A/N: How's that for a lemon? I hope I got my Spanish right. I started only a few months back and well, I can't ask my mom to translate for me given the nature of the fic. She might just throw a fit. Wahaha… But I like this fic and I hope you do too. BTW the sonnet mentioned if entitled 'How do I Love Thee?' Another of my many favorites.