Lately, Youko wonders if she thinks too much about pointless things – or perhaps it’s more that she is afraid that she thinks too much about things which should be pointless to her. She knows that she’s far from one of those powerful, all-knowing kitsune of legend, but she is still a kitsune in heart and soul, and most importantly, in her fundamental being. These fleeting moments that she spends with humans should be nothing more to her than the transient passing of the seasons – something to be enjoyed, but not mourned when they are gone. Next year, spring will come once again; next decade, there will be other humans to amuse herself with.
Therefore, wasting so much thought on a single human seems somehow like it should be underneath her – it is a foreign instinct to care too much for what another thinks, a human worry, and certainly it should not be a concern for youkai. And yet Youko feels like it may be her pride as a kitsune that makes her think too hard about humans, what it means to interact with humans, if doing so can somehow make her more like a human –
“Is there perhaps something on your mind?” Watanabe asks, interrupting Youko’s musings before they begin to snowball in earnest.
“Nothing that matters much,” Youko answers, after a pause. She frowns slightly, flicking an ear before continuing: “Even if there were, we don’t really have the kind of relationship where we would discuss it.”
“We don’t?” Watanabe says, tone thoughtful – but then he shrugs. “If you don’t desire such a relationship from me, then I suppose it can’t be helped.”
Youko isn’t sure if she cares for his phrasing, but she decides to interpret Watanabe’s words at the surface level, if only because it makes things easier to assume that neither of them actively want to share something more than what they already do: a rented room and bed a few times a month, with a mutual desire for the erotic and a willingness to overlook the other’s unusual circumstances. She sighs in a way that approximates measured disdain without fully reaching it and then begins to undress, less sensual and more methodical as she disrobes.
As always, Watanabe seems to observe with interest, though Youko still can’t get a complete read on his true intent even after all the times they’ve done this. At first, she shoves that contemplation to the back of her mind – but then an idea comes to her about how to test the waters.
She wets her lower lip with her tongue before sitting down on the bed demurely, glancing over at Watanabe before looking away and turning her nose up slightly. “I want to try something specific,” she says to the ceiling. “Perhaps I wouldn’t be averse to doing it from behind.”
For a few long moments, there is no response. Youko chances a brief look in Watanabe’s direction – his expression gives nothing away and she goes back to staring idly at the features of the room. Finally, though, he says, “Well, if that’s the case, then I am not averse to giving it to you like that.”
“Alright, then... since we’re on the same page, we should get on with it,” Youko replies.
There’s always something vaguely procedural about foreplay with Watanabe; Youko gets the sense that Watanabe goes through the same motions with all the women that he sleeps with, slightly customized for what Watanabe has gathered that she particularly enjoys. It’s always focused on her pleasure and getting her into the right mood, though, so she doesn’t complain about it out loud – she isn’t one to turn down a thorough pampering. And it helps that Watanabe isn’t shy about touching her ears or tail – even though he’s used the same move on her at least a half dozen times, if not more, Youko can’t help but moan and shudder whenever he massages the base of her tail as he rubs her clit simultaneously, the pleasure going directly up her spine and melting throughout her entire body.
The sensation feels different this time, though, because they usually face each other, carefully observing each other as if to measure and keep a certain level of metaphorical distance between them: today, as promised, Watanabe fingers her from behind instead, while she’s on all fours. Youko’s instincts aren’t quite screaming at her to put herself in a less vulnerable position, but her entire body is taut with the anticipation of needing to react just in case; her senses are more alert than they normally are, amplifying everything she feels.
“You know,” Watanabe suddenly says, pulling his hand away – Youko barely manages to bite back a tiny whine at being deprived of the touch. “I have heard some people call this position doggy style.”
If Youko were fully in her fox form, her fur would’ve bristled; as it is, she settles for flatting her ears. “I find that somewhat vulgar,” she informs him, looking back over her shoulder just in time to catch a glimpse of Watanabe licking his fingers; she promptly looks forward again so fast she almost feels a bit of whiplash as her cheeks heat up.
“Why? Animals have to procreate as well,” Watanabe says. “And it’s an accurate description. Or have you not seen how dogs mate – ”
“That’s enough of that!” Youko cuts in loudly, before Watanabe starts rambling on and on. “You’ll ruin the mood. And suddenly I’m not sure about doing it like this after all.”
Even without looking each other in the face, there’s a palpable tension in the air between them that lingers for a few moments before Watanabe dissipates it with his reply: “I spoke without thinking. I apologize.”
The words are few, but they do not overstay their visit nor do they overreach their purpose. Youko relaxes, letting the tenseness out of her limbs as she exhales – the simple, unadorned admission is more than enough to appease her. “You’ve always had a habit of saying useless things in bed,” she says, “you should really get rid of it.”
“Perhaps,” Watanabe says, which Youko knows to actually mean no , but she didn’t really mean what she said either – she’s already accepted that his overly verbose nature is simple part of his off-key charm – and besides that, his response is a clear signal that he understands that she’s only trying to restore things back to the previous mood, before their stumble. The topic is a tug-of-war that they’ve pulled at time and time before, a familiar back-and-forth that only two people close enough to each other can launch into.
“Whatever,” Youko replies, rolling her eyes even though the expression won’t be seen. “Let’s just get on with it before the mood’s totally gone.”
To that, Watanabe makes a low, thick humming noise, and the noise is sensual to Youko in a raw sort of way. He places a hand low on her back, pressure firm without being overbearing. He dips his head, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the spot where neck meets spine, licking at the skin there before dragging his teeth, just hard enough to send shivers straight down her body. Her thighs buckle slightly; if it weren’t for the fact that her knees are on the bed, she would be worried about losing her balance. When she feels his cock pressing up against her entrance, Youko almost feels like her blood suddenly begins to boil, heating up her entire being as she resists the temptation to turn her head to see what Watanabe is doing – what expression is on his face while he’s doing it – but she stays facing forward steadfastly, because she has a vague sort of inkling that turning to look will destroy the precarious sort of equilibrium that they’ve managed to balance out between them.
“I’ll put it in,” Watanabe says, voice almost a growl with how deep it is from his throat and Youko both loves and hates how viscerally she reacts to it – before she is conscious enough of what she’s doing to stop herself, she makes a noise in turn, a carnal sound that requires no words to be understood by either human or beast even as it belongs to neither.
And before she can think about it, before she can fully register the implications of that one slip – before she can ruin the moment for herself, he enters her and jolts her entire system; it’s rougher than normal, but it doesn’t feel bad, just different . Youko gasps and clutches at the bedsheets with her fingertips, throwing her head back as he begins fucking her in earnest. “Keep going,” she manages to choke out when he reaches to touch the base of her tail – she lifts it up to make it easier for her to reach that spot where her tail meets with the end of her spine, pushing her hips back against him and grinding up on him, anything to get a little closer – to feel a little more intensely – to make the pleasure last longer.
Pleasure pools between her thighs, somewhere snug and low in her abdomen, spreading and climbing and pushing at her limits – time feels like it passes strangely, as if each second is stretched out and yet so transient that she is passing straight through the moment without truly occupying it – she stops thinking when her legs buckle and she can feel an orgasm coming almost in the same way she can always sense an earthquake before it hits, in her flesh and bones. “Are you close?” Watanabe asks, though the words are barely intelligible, strained through their mutual desire.
Don’t ask questions that you already know the answer to! is what she wants to exclaim, but she can’t string together the right syllables in the right order, so all she says is, “ Yes – ” and just a heartbeat after she is claimed by her own climax, washing over her relentlessly like a tsunami. She gasps and her body tenses up, clenching around Watanabe so that she can palpably feel him come, his cock twitching inside of her a few times before he pulls out, leaving her feeling emptied and full all at once, absence and presence mixing within her in a peculiar way as she closes her eyes and rides out the rest of her orgasm, aftershocks going through her in waves that rush through her weaker each time until they finally wash out, bringing her back down to the mortal coil.
When she opens her eyes again, she feels strangely energized – she rolls over to sit down on the bed, leaning back and propping her weight up on her arms, feet dangling over the edge of the bed slightly. Watanabe sits near her, though with his feet firmly planted on the floor. “I apologize,” Watanabe says, “I’ve made a mess of you, I’m afraid.”
Youko hums, kicking her feet up and down a few times, in an almost mischievously precarious sort of way. “Well… it’s fine, I don’t mind. Besides, you’d have to try a lot harder to make a mess of me,” she finally replies, turning her face up and smiling at the ceiling. “Ah, don’t take that as an invitation, though.”
“I knew it wasn’t,” Watanabe says.
“Just making sure,” Youko tells him, although she was well aware there was no need to in the first place. These moments will continue to pass between them, not fully spoken and yet implicitly understood without needing to overthink things – and in the end, she decides, that’s how she likes it best.