Couldn't help it.

[TheHivemind]

Terribly sorry. Profuse apologies and all that.

Forgetting Things

The first (and last) time was something that haunted his every step. When he closed his eyes to sleep, it was there, when he sat in class, it was there, and (most damnably) whenever he tried to muster a proper response to what he was certain was the vast misandrist conspiracy going on around him there it was, waiting for him, taunting him, the one voice of doubt that he couldn't help listening to. Memories of the year before, which he'd tried to push to the back of his mind (there were more important things to deal with, charts to pour over, connections to make, the invisible war wasn't going to fight itself, now was it?) sprang unbidden to the fore.

Even now, sitting in his room with a (stolen) book from the library on cryptography (he had a suspicion that the schedules could be represented as numbers which were in turn codes for the sleeper cells all around him), her smile on that last day floated to his mind and, powerless to resist, he (unwillingly, of course) dove back into the memory.

Some details were hazy—he couldn't remember how long they'd been seeing one another (he considered this a victory in his quest to suppress the whole thing), for example—but he could remember exactly what had happened.

He'd stopped by the café, as was his custom at the time. She bowed to him even though he'd explained to her slowly, patiently, that bowing was a holdover from the old days and little more than a conspiracy to weaken the lower backs of the population to sell more comfortable mattresses and give the chiropractic practices a boost. She'd listened carefully, then smiled and told him that while he was probably right, showing outright resistance would bring Them down on her. Then she'd kissed him, and he'd felt his knees weaken and his brain fogged up and he couldn't think of anything else but her (which, he kept telling himself, was just proof that she was a double agent, trying to throw him off the trail). That particular day he'd had green tea, nothing else, and waited in the corner for her to come off shift, straining to see her across the room through thick glasses.

Once she was free, the two walked outside to where her scooter sat waiting for them, and with a strange look in her eyes that even he notices asks if he'd like to come back to her apartment. Something deep within his brain registers alarm, begins hitting panic buttons. This is bad, terribly bad, something bad is going to happen!

She feels the sudden tensing of his body and immediately begins to have second thoughts. Is she making a mistake, doing this? More tact may be required, but she's lacking in tact—neuroses she has in spades, anxieties about everything and nothing at all, but tact is something that she's always had trouble with. But no—today, she was going to let whatever happened, happen. She loved him, somehow. He was younger than she, yes, but there was an odd sort of maturity to him despite his conspiracy theories. He was smart—almost frighteningly so, if it was something that he could link to a conspiracy of one kind or another. His passion for whatever happened to have caught his interest at the time was an endearing quality (though she realized that the odds of his being distracted from her were equally large, she felt it was worth the risk. Few things were, but he was one of them).

The short walk from her parking spot to her apartment door seemed to take an eternity for him. He had managed to ready himself for whatever was to come, be it the sudden intrusion of government agents or (less likely, he thought) a sudden 'it's not you, it's me' speech, he would be ready for it. Nothing was going to catch him off guard, not now. You had to get up early in the morning to pull one over Seto Kenji, that was for sure.

The door swung open, and she tossed her keys on the counter and, a little too carelessly, asked if he wanted anything to drink. He was wise to her scheme, and accepted the offer, but insisted upon getting it himself. Nobody was going to poison him. He made certain to ask which of the two bottles she wanted, then promptly gave her the other one. She seemed to find it funny, and without further comment he swapped bottles again, hoping that he'd outfoxed her.

The lack of any poison in either drink put him at ease, though even as one drink turned to two and the alcohol relaxed his nerves he remained on alert. He was so intent on keeping aware of what was going on around him that he failed to notice that she'd put down her bottle and was staring at him closely.

“Hey.”

The sound of the word startled him, and he nearly jumped off the sofa. Collecting his thoughts, he peered closely at her face, wondering what her expression meant. Asking a question seemed to be the best course of action, and so he did.

“What is it?”

“Do you love me?” As soon as the words left her lips she regretted having spoken them aloud. It was a terrible question, it was everything a question about this matter should not be. It was blunt and to the point and made her sound needy (she wasn't) and vulnerable (she was) at the same time. She opened her mouth to apologize. “Sorry, that was a silly question. Sorry.”

He'd opened his mouth initially to launch into a discussion about the myth of love and the fact that it was perpetuated by greeting card companies and florists, that if nobody loved then nobody would buy flowers which would be bad for business as well as the honey cartels that would suffer the sudden lack of places to keep their bees, which they were training to attack those who opposed their plans for a shadow government, but instead he heard his voice, strangely choked, reply with a single word. “Yes.” As he said it, he suddenly realized that it was true—and also realized that she would probably kill him now, so that he'd die with betrayal on his face, a fitting end for one who had fought so stridently against...whichever conspiracy she was working with.

Confusion. Was he agreeing that it was a silly question, or was he saying that he loved her? Should she clarify the question, or should she merely escalate the encounter, learn his feelings by observation rather than direct questioning?

The latter won out.

Fear. That was the first emotion he felt. In his defense, it was fear of being stabbed, because at the moment he could not fathom any other reason for her to lunge across the couch toward him. Then their lips met and he thought that at least he'd die happy. The knife did not come, and he became elated, embraced her, and marveled at the feel of her body on his. She was soft and not as heavy as he thought she'd be (or perhaps it was adrenaline that made him stronger, a voice in the back of his head explained shortly before the ability to think of things like adrenaline left him entirely), and the warmth of her seemed to be gradually increasing (a fever, perhaps? Spontaneous human combustion? He was heating up as well, was this part of some plot to kill them both? The ability to care was fast retreating).

The need for air broke them apart and she reached up and gently removed his glasses. The world became blurry (blurrier than usual, anyway), but he was breathing so hard and his head was spinning so much that he probably wouldn't have been seeing clearly anyway. They resumed their former position, only this time her hands began to wander across his body, causing him to shiver. He began to imitate her movements, a feeling that he should return the favor overriding any lingering feelings of nervousness or shame that he might have had at the moment. She was caught off guard by this, and the sudden yelp of enjoyment only served to increase his ardor (and hers as well).

Her hands retreated from his chest and guided his own hands up her back, until they rested on the fastening of her uniform. Hesitation showed in his eyes, which despite their lack of strength remained riveted to her body (or at least the blur that he knew to be her body).

“It's okay. I'll help you.” How she managed to form a coherent sentence was a mystery to him. He managed to breathe her name with a sort of reverence that caught him off guard as the uniform fell away and he was confronted by a blur of a single color.

“Yuuko...”

She smiled, even though he couldn't see it, and guided his hands across the expanse of skin that was now on display. This time he was the one who initiated contact, wrapping his arms around her back and bringing her crashing down to him, even as she frantically worked to remove his own shirt. Skin met skin and both felt their minds freeze in a brief sensory overload for before they were galvanized back into action.

As they continued to embrace, Kenji felt her begin to rock slightly, caught up in her own excitement. He matched her movements, slowly beginning to feel control of his own body slip away. Yuuko too began to lose track of herself, and when she felt his hand travel lower and lower she pulls back and begins to fumble with his belt buckle, feeling drunk on the mere sensation of having his fingers explore her (he's quite good at it, having done research during a brief period where he'd thought sex to be part of a conspiracy involving condom manufacturers) so much so that by the time she actually manages to get his trousers off she can barely think of anything else but how badly she wants this to happen.

He's not her first. That much he knows, from conversations they've had before—so it's not surprising that she produces a prophylactic from somewhere that he can't see (her purse, in fact, that had been left on the floor next to the sofa just in case of such an event) and tosses it to him. By this point she's so close to him that his hands are shaking and with a weak giggle, he confesses that he can't get the package open. She smiles again, and taking the offending package from his trembling grasp takes the opportunity to get a feel for him herself.

The whole event very nearly ends right there, but a brief moment of lucidity breaks through and he is able to regain control somewhat. The brief pause that came while the packaged was being opened had given him a little time to prepare himself for what was about to happen (it didn't help. He was completely unprepared for what was about to happen, and for the first time in his life, he didn't care). His earlier ministrations ensured that at least she was very nearly as ready as he was, and so as she slowly lowered herself upon him, the sudden flood of sensations caused them both to gasp.

He tried very hard to steel himself, but then she began to move, tightening around him, and this time he feels the oncoming wave rushing toward him and does nothing to stop it. For her part, she moves carefully, trying to time things, working into a slow rhythmic rocking that gets harder and harder to maintain the closer she comes to the brink. Hands fumble upwards, cupping her breasts, her own hands finding support on his stomach as she continues to move, closer and closer....

When it comes, he is completely and utterly annihilated. A rush of feelings builds into a crescendo, exploding outward with a rush of air from his lungs and a cry to the heavens. He sits bolt upright and grabs on to her, the movement bringing her over the edge as well, and the two shudder and jolt as every nerve in their bodies experiences a complete overload. She collapses on top of him, still mounted, as they both struggle to catch their breath. Then a final, lingering kiss, and they fall asleep there on the couch.

A snarl escapes his lips as he slams the book down, burying his head in his hands. The memory will not leave, and worst of all the only other aspect of his (too brief, a voice nags inside his head) relationship that he can't remember is why he'd ended it the very next day.

[Suriko]

Approved with the force of a thousand suns.

Good show.

[Aura]

I can't believe it, this is actually plausible. You certainly shine with straight prose the most. Should the last sentence be "the only other thing he can remember" or "the only thing he can't remember?"

[Anonymous22]

how strange

[Nicol Armarfi]

Kenji h-scene, huh. Intriguing...

[Lulz]

he's quite good at it, having done research during a brief period where he'd thought sex to be part of a conspiracy involving condom manufacturers)

Damn I lol'd. Hard. Good show.

[TheHivemind]

I can't believe it, this is actually plausible. You certainly shine with straight prose the most. Should the last sentence be "the only other thing he can remember" or "the only thing he can't remember?"

"the only thing he can't remember" was the thing I was trying to get across, though unfortunately it came across a bit poorly. I went back and tweaked it to make it more apparent.

And of course it's plausible! Kenji says as much in B6, after all. That's where the initial impetus to do the blasted thing came in the first place.

[Aura]

Just because Kenji says something it doesn't mean it's plausible. Prepare your tinfoil hats.

[Silentcook]

Egads, Kenji. Of all people, Kenji.
And what's worse, it made me go 'Awwww'. The raep of my neurons is complete.

[Kagami]

The raep of my neurons is complete.

So harsh.

But seriously, good bit. I quite liked it.

[TheHivemind]

Egads, Kenji. Of all people, Kenji.
And what's worse, it made me go 'Awwww'. The raep of my neurons is complete.

JUST AS PLANNED.

[delta]

You certainly shine with straight prose the most.

straight

hurr hurr hurr

But yeah anyway, zomgwtfawesome and need to be expanded upon in canon.

[Climatic]

But yeah anyway, zomgwtfawesome and need to be expanded upon in canon.

Good luck trying to get 22 to do it.