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Jun. 1st, 2009 05:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kat8chaChrome is warm, and squishy, her legs propped up on Chikusa's shoulders while he thrusts between her thighs. Chikusa knows that there's a little blood on the couch, Mukuro's couch, and probably a little blood on his dick. He's coated in Chrome anyway, her juices, her… he's not sure what to call them. Her secretions. Her.
Chikusa pants lightly, softly, his own sounds overpowered by Chrome's. She whines, her breaths coming louder and louder with each thrust Chikusa makes. She squirms, presses back against him, fucks herself on him, and Chikusa feels his face heat. He shouldn't think this way of her…
"Chikusa, Chikusa," Chrome pants, her nails digging into his shoulders through his thin white tank top. He left his socks on too, and his hat. "Chikusa." She squeezes around him, silky sweet heat and slick insides. "Oh, oh!"
Chrome squeaks and shudders, her body squeezing tight around him, her legs clenching and pressing together against his neck, her feet drumming a tattoo on his back.
"Oh…" She sighs, and slumps down on the couch, her breathing evening out from fast and shallow to slower, deeper.
Chikusa pulls out.
"Oh…" Chrome blinks heavy lidded eyes at him, tries to proper herself up and fails, her muscles not under her control, her body tired and loose. "Chikusa."
Chikusa looks down at his hard dick, still hard, shining in the dim light of the room. Sticky to the touch. "I'm going to shower." He tells her, knowing he could continue to fuck her, knowing she might take care of it in some other way that didn't involve sticky insides or the way Chrome looked nothing like Mukuro.
"Chikusa…" Her voice is softer this time, and hazed with the tired need to sleep. Chikusa turns and walks away, heading for the door. "Mukuro-sama…" The last is a whisper, and Chikusa turns around to see, but all he sees is Chrome curled up on the couch, her head bent forward, her shirt unbuttoned, her breasts full and luminous like the moon.
Chikusa turns away, and lets the door swing shut behind him.
Bits of broken tile crunch under Chikusa's feet, dust and grime clinging to the bottom of his socks. He ignores it, continues to walk down the hallway in a white beanie, a white undershirt, and steadily dingier white socks. His erection wilts, falls, his penis dangling between his thighs. There aren't windows in this hallway, and a single solitary light bulb flickers at the end of the hallway, yellow light, darkness, yellow light, darkness.
Chikusa isn't surprised when he passes Ken, the other crouched in the hallway that leads to the bowling alley. Ken lifts his head when Chikusa passes, like a dog catching a scent, Chikusa keeps going.
"You fucked her!" Ken accuses, bounding out of the hallway and catching up with Chikusa. He's wide awake, no doubt having been listening to the entire sordid affair. Ken's hand lands on Chikusa's shoulder, sweaty and too warm.
Chikusa shrugs it off. "She asked for it." Chikusa opens the creaking door to the shower room, steps inside. The room is cleaner than the hallway, Chikusa cleans it as best he can once a week. There is mold growing along the edges though, and the shower room reeks of mildew. Spots where tiles are missing dot the floor, walls, and ceilings, but there are no broken tiles to step on here. Chikusa makes his way towards one of three shower heads that works, picking up his bathing supplies on the way. A bar of soap, a towel, shampoo. Ken shadows him, like a particularly clingy and annoying dog, snuffling.
"Was she good?" Ken asks, his tone a poor attempt at dismissive, and uncurious. Chikusa shrugs, tosses his tank-top into Ken's face. Ken snarls, shreds it and tosses it aside. "Well?"
"She was a woman." Chikusa turns on the shower head, lets the water hit him, pool on the ground and soak his dingy socks. They needed to be washed anyway. "What do you care?"
Ken shuffles, grouses, then reaches out and pulls Chikusa out of the spray. Chikusa looks at Ken impassively, anger beginning to boil. He'd wanted to be clean.
"Just let me taste he-you." Ken says, dropping to his knees. It is unwanted intimacy, as unwanted as the memory of Chrome's tight squeezing insides. Chikusa doesn't say no though, letting Ken take. He drops a hand onto Ken's head, threads his fingers with Ken's unruly hair, and lets Ken lap over his penis, tasting Chrome's blood, and Chrome's fluids, and the aftertaste of Chikusa himself.
And for a second, it is enough.
Chikusa pants lightly, softly, his own sounds overpowered by Chrome's. She whines, her breaths coming louder and louder with each thrust Chikusa makes. She squirms, presses back against him, fucks herself on him, and Chikusa feels his face heat. He shouldn't think this way of her…
"Chikusa, Chikusa," Chrome pants, her nails digging into his shoulders through his thin white tank top. He left his socks on too, and his hat. "Chikusa." She squeezes around him, silky sweet heat and slick insides. "Oh, oh!"
Chrome squeaks and shudders, her body squeezing tight around him, her legs clenching and pressing together against his neck, her feet drumming a tattoo on his back.
"Oh…" She sighs, and slumps down on the couch, her breathing evening out from fast and shallow to slower, deeper.
Chikusa pulls out.
"Oh…" Chrome blinks heavy lidded eyes at him, tries to proper herself up and fails, her muscles not under her control, her body tired and loose. "Chikusa."
Chikusa looks down at his hard dick, still hard, shining in the dim light of the room. Sticky to the touch. "I'm going to shower." He tells her, knowing he could continue to fuck her, knowing she might take care of it in some other way that didn't involve sticky insides or the way Chrome looked nothing like Mukuro.
"Chikusa…" Her voice is softer this time, and hazed with the tired need to sleep. Chikusa turns and walks away, heading for the door. "Mukuro-sama…" The last is a whisper, and Chikusa turns around to see, but all he sees is Chrome curled up on the couch, her head bent forward, her shirt unbuttoned, her breasts full and luminous like the moon.
Chikusa turns away, and lets the door swing shut behind him.
Bits of broken tile crunch under Chikusa's feet, dust and grime clinging to the bottom of his socks. He ignores it, continues to walk down the hallway in a white beanie, a white undershirt, and steadily dingier white socks. His erection wilts, falls, his penis dangling between his thighs. There aren't windows in this hallway, and a single solitary light bulb flickers at the end of the hallway, yellow light, darkness, yellow light, darkness.
Chikusa isn't surprised when he passes Ken, the other crouched in the hallway that leads to the bowling alley. Ken lifts his head when Chikusa passes, like a dog catching a scent, Chikusa keeps going.
"You fucked her!" Ken accuses, bounding out of the hallway and catching up with Chikusa. He's wide awake, no doubt having been listening to the entire sordid affair. Ken's hand lands on Chikusa's shoulder, sweaty and too warm.
Chikusa shrugs it off. "She asked for it." Chikusa opens the creaking door to the shower room, steps inside. The room is cleaner than the hallway, Chikusa cleans it as best he can once a week. There is mold growing along the edges though, and the shower room reeks of mildew. Spots where tiles are missing dot the floor, walls, and ceilings, but there are no broken tiles to step on here. Chikusa makes his way towards one of three shower heads that works, picking up his bathing supplies on the way. A bar of soap, a towel, shampoo. Ken shadows him, like a particularly clingy and annoying dog, snuffling.
"Was she good?" Ken asks, his tone a poor attempt at dismissive, and uncurious. Chikusa shrugs, tosses his tank-top into Ken's face. Ken snarls, shreds it and tosses it aside. "Well?"
"She was a woman." Chikusa turns on the shower head, lets the water hit him, pool on the ground and soak his dingy socks. They needed to be washed anyway. "What do you care?"
Ken shuffles, grouses, then reaches out and pulls Chikusa out of the spray. Chikusa looks at Ken impassively, anger beginning to boil. He'd wanted to be clean.
"Just let me taste he-you." Ken says, dropping to his knees. It is unwanted intimacy, as unwanted as the memory of Chrome's tight squeezing insides. Chikusa doesn't say no though, letting Ken take. He drops a hand onto Ken's head, threads his fingers with Ken's unruly hair, and lets Ken lap over his penis, tasting Chrome's blood, and Chrome's fluids, and the aftertaste of Chikusa himself.
And for a second, it is enough.
