As things go, sometimes you look back and realize something was wrong with the way you separated things. Well, now that I've had a chance to look at it and read through some monthe later, I realized that this last chapter in act 4 should actually be split in two, with the second half being about two-thirds of the whole.
Thus, where this was part 2 of chapter 38, it's now part 1 of chapter 39.
Confused? Don't be. Nothing really changed.
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Chapter 39 - Departure
My eyes crack open suddenly, as I'm pulled out of sleep by a sudden clattering boom—echoing thunder from a nearby lightning strike—and I find myself staring into a blanket as the window rattles with the reverberations. Finding no warm body next to me, I immediately pull away the covers, sit up, and glance around the room. The television is on, and tuned to the weather station, but the sound is turned off and there's no sign of Hisao. A slight feeling of panic runs over me, but he's probably off to find coffee, or visit the bathroom; he wouldn't just leave me here.
According to his alarm radio, it's after eight o'clock, which means we have just a few hours until he has to leave. The rain pouring against the window—which is now closed—tells me the storm apparently got worse, and that notion is reinforced by the big, swirling mass of red they're showing on the Doppler radar. While I'm somewhat disappointed by my selfish thought, I wonder for a brief moment whether the rain might delay Hisao's departure, if only for a day. However, it looks like the storm should pass over within the next few hours—so much for wish fulfillment.
I think the universe has it out for me...
Although it feels like a rude awakening, I'm glad for the thunderous wake-up call. If I sleep for much longer, I don't think we'll have a chance to see each other off properly, though I wonder where he went. Everything he'll need for the trip is already packed into his little suitcase, which I see is still resting beside the closet, so all we have to do is catch a bus into the city. It isn't a goodbye I'm looking forward to, not at all, but I realize it's a necessary one; his family relationship needs the attention—I'd push him into going if he started questioning it now.
Still, I want to prolong his stay as much as possible, which is why I plan to insist on accompanying him to the station. Even if I'll get to see him in just a week or two, I don't think I'll accept that he's gone unless I watch him board the Shinkansen. Since he's a hopeless romantic, I doubt he'll even put up a modest protest; he'll probably adore having the chance to have a clichéd, tearful goodbye out on the platform like in one of those old, sappy movies. After he's long gone, I'm not sure what I'll do alone in the city, but at least I'll have some peace of mind.
He hasn't left yet, though...
With that thought in mind, I slide off the bed and reach up into a revitalizing yawn, then start my swimming stretch routine. Kicking some wires out of the way—we really made a mess checking out his gaming library—I bend down to touch my toes, then sit down facing the door with my legs spread. Throwing my hands up, I bend to each side, and keep an eye on the television as a mild distraction. The chesty, blond weather-girl is saying something about the forecast, which shows some light, rainy weather over the coming week, but I find myself reaching for the nearby remote to end her perky existence.
I wonder whether he was watching the weather, or her...
It's probably a ridiculous notion, especially considering I was lying right there, but it gives me a twinge of jealousy thinking he could have been leering at her. As if on cue, I hear muted footsteps behind the door, and feel a warm rush run over my body. Deciding to put myself on display, and realizing Hisao's green shirt is chafing anyway, I remove it quickly, then lean back against the side of the bed with an alluring smile. The bright red boxer-briefs I borrowed, which look ridiculous on me in the morning light, are cute enough that I leave them on, figuring he won't need to see me completely naked to understand my intentions.
I'm in the mood for a naked tango...
Like always, he knocks three times and whispers a silly message, “The sparrow tweets for worms!”
“Morning~!” I reply as the door opens, giving my chest a playful shake. As he steps past me, headed for his desk without so much as a smirk at my naked breasts, I fix a confused pout on him and fold my arms in contempt.
I guess he's already bored with them...
“Sorry!” he groans, setting down the two coffee cups, “these are burning my hand!”
Ah, that makes more sense...
“Aww,” I sigh, scooting away from the bed and inviting him to sit behind me with a beckoning hand. “C'mere and let me soothe your hands...”
Smirking at my invitation, he sets the cups down on the desk, then steps over, kneels down with his knees around my hips, and presses close against my rear. Wrapping me in a warm, backwards hug, his hands reach up, and each one finds a breast to squeeze tightly. Apparently he wasn't kidding about the burning hot cups because his hands are almost unbearably warm, but I'm not complaining as the heat spreads down to my toes, and up to the top of my head. Whether he realizes it or not, I awoke feeling amorous, seeing that bimbo made me jealous, and his gentle kneading is positively electrifying.
I really doubt he's unaware of the path he's treading...
Kissing my neck softly, he asks, “Storm wake you?”
While nodding, I rest back against him and smile briefly, then pout. “Yeah, and I didn't have my Swooner holding me through the scary thunder!” I mock, then sigh contentedly and coo, “But, your hands feel great~!”
“So do your boobs,” he replies, giving them another tight squeeze.
“Thanks... Masa and Mune say thanks, too,” I say warmly, giggling as he grunts in confusion. “They'd also like to inform you that you're forgiven as long as you keep kneading...”
While following my command, he inquires in disbelief, “You've named them?”
“Of course~!” I chide, leaning against him playfully and adding, “haven't you named Little Swooner and the boys?”
“Little?” he protests.
Laughing outright, I grab both his knees and take a deep breath, then reply, “
Comparatively, I mean!”
Sounding suspicious, he prompts, “Compared to what?”
“The rest of you,
duh~!” I taunt, wiggling back against him a little tighter. “He's pretty big when he gets excited, though,” I remark, trying to lose the mirth in my voice, “so, I could call him Big Swooner, if you want?”
“No, Little is fine... I guess,” he concedes, cupping his hands under my breasts as he adds, “Why Masa and Mune?”
“Because they're awesome apart, but when combined they're legendary—like the Masamune itself.”
I suddenly hope Mom didn't throw out my Super Famicom...
“You play too many video games,” he sighs, but I nudge him with my elbow playfully.
“You knew it was from a game, so look who's talking~!”
“Point taken,” he admits, chuckling as he continues kneading. After a few moments of quiet bliss, he asks, “What happened to my shirt, anyway?”
With a coy grin, I point toward the bedpost and reply, “I thought you'd enjoy the show when you got back... then you walked right by without even looking!”
“Thanks for that—I'll pay more attention to Masa and Mune in the future,” he replies, giving them a tight squeeze to punctuate his gratitude, “And I was gonna wake you, but I needed a bathroom trip, and then with the coffee-”
“No offense taken, really,” I interrupt, leaning back so I can turn to smile at him directly, “So, you wanna start today with coffee, a shower... or bending me over your desk and thanking me more...
thoroughly?”
“How about all that in reverse order?” he replies, and I nod swiftly.
I like the way he thinks... quick and to the point...
We barely manage to strip before starting the day with some rigorous lovemaking; my suggestion about the desk apparently struck a chord—or several of them. After collapsing onto the bed for a breather, we stagger down the hall, not even bothering to cover ourselves, and find our way into the shower stall to wash each other lovingly. Afterward, we return to his room to find our coffee has gone cold, but I'm thirsty enough not to complain. Now it's almost nine o'clock as we sit here in our underwear, staring at each other from opposite ends of the bed in loving silence, listening to the rain.
Seemingly at random, I decide to ask, “How do you take your coffee, anyway?”
Looking up from his cup, he smiles and shrugs. “Black, two sugars,” he replies, throwing back his last sip before adding, “Thought about trying it with cream after you mentioned it, but it's an automatic process for me—morning routine, like I said...”
“I tried it black with no sugar yesterday,” I mention, practically gagging at the memory, “I thought it was gross, but my mom seems to like it bitter...”
“Maybe that's to counteract her natural sweetness,” he remarks, which makes a strange kind of sense.
I can't bear to imagine her being much sweeter...
As I slowly nod and take another sip, I wrack my brain trying to determine what made me ask about coffee. Obviously I'm curious about everything, especially where Hisao is concerned, but I wasn't even thinking about it until I asked the question. He doesn't think it's strange, and I'm glad to have an answer—knowing how he likes his coffee could be useful—but I think my subconscious might be playing tricks on me again. There's something else that's been on my mind since he first mentioned going home for the break, but I haven't had the courage to ask.
Does he expect to see Iwanako...?
Some small part of me still worries whether she might hold some influence over him. She was his first love, after all, which might not mean much in a few years, but it was only six months ago, and he held onto that crush for a year before her confession. The results were horrible, but I wonder whether she really let him go, or merely had to step back. If that's the case, then burning her letter may not have been my best idea; I only guessed what it contained. Perhaps she sent it to say she still loves him, and will wait for him; she might even meet him at the station, and I'd only have myself to blame.
I'm not sure if that would be irony, or just my own bad luck...
Of course, there were probably other girls who had their eye on him before the attack, and I really couldn't blame them, nor am I delusional enough to think he hadn't considered his options. However, none had the courage to confront him except Iwanako, and, of all the people he once called a friend at his old school, she's the only one to have sent him any letters—rather, one letter. That distinction is what makes me nervous, more than any thought that I could lose him. Even if I'm right and her letter was nothing more than a belated apology, it was probably sent with love, not resentment.
She could still have feelings for him...
Honestly, I doubt he'll even consider seeking her out, but I can't predict the actions of someone I've never met; Iwanako might feel compelled to visit him, if only to offer that apology. She has every right to seek him out after the fact, and I would never deny anyone that chance—I'd give anything to see Dad again. However, even as I trust Hisao has moved on, the uneasy feeling remains, gnawing at my subconscious. Blurting out my jealous questions would either make me seem clingy and childish, or at least make him uncomfortable, which is the last thing I want to have happen.
Maybe I can ask indirectly, though...
“So, are you excited to see anyone besides your parents?” I ask cheerfully, setting my coffee aside as I add, “Cousins, aunts, uncles... friends?”
Ex-girlfriends...?
“Well,” he replies, tilting his head back and squinting. “Now that you mention it, yeah... There's an arcade a few blocks from home—where I used to hang out with some friends. They'll probably be there...” he recounts, nodding slowly and smiling, “And I'll have to use the public pool to keep my exercise regimen going, so I'll probably run into a few more... But, there used to be a gaggle of girls who hung around there...”
If not for the sincerity in his tone, I'd think he were just trying to get a rise out of me, but I still think he's being overly honest intentionally. “Trying to make me jealous?” I chide, crawling across the bed to sit next to him.
“Is it working?” he retorts, and I manage a nervous laugh.
“No," I lie, trying to sound convincingly sincere, "Why would I be jealous?”
Tilting his head at me, he quips, “You're not that hard to read, y'know...”
“Oh, is that so?” I retort suspiciously.
My question leads him to wink dubiously, then shrug and add reassuringly, “But, you have nothing to worry about,” he nudges my shoulder with his index finger, “I know I belong to you.”
“I don't own you,” I protest.
At least not officially... or legally...
“For all intents and purposes, you do!” he retorts, which makes me smile. “We've been together for, what? Two months, basically?” he adds, and I nod somewhat resignedly, “Here, hang on...” With an impish smirk he sidles away and stands up, then walks over to his closet.
“What... are you doing?” I ask, but he just smirks over his shoulder. Watching him rummage through the drawers, I raise an eyebrow and add, “What are you looking for?”
“Kenji had me make a spare,” he replies absently, then exclaims, “Ah!” and turns around to smile at me brightly with both hands behind his back. “Most of the things he suggests make no sense, and sometimes I think he's just making stuff up to sound important,” he rambles, slowly walking back toward the bed, “but, three weeks later... this one finally makes sense.”
“What one?” I ask, scooting down to sit on the bed's edge as he approaches.
When he's standing in front of me, he looks down and smiles broadly. “You're so cute when you're curious,” he mentions, and I try to look scornful, but his idiotic grin just makes me smirk. Pulling his hands out, both clenched in fists, he holds them up in front of me and asks, “Pick one?”
Looking at his eyes instead of his hands, I ask, “What am I picking?”
“I'll show you both after you choose—consider this an experiment in chance.”
Apparently this is just a play, but his dirty grin and thoughtfully squinting eyes tell me I should take a moment to consider the implications. There's something different in each hand, I gather, and evidently Kenji had something to do with one of them—or maybe both of them. The way he worded his absent rambling, especially the mention of a
spare, tells me one of them is probably a key of some sort. That's just conjecture, though, and I have no way of knowing which hand holds that particular item, so, without anything to base my selection on, I resort to an old game.
“Eenie, meenie, miney, moe,” I say rhythmically, tapping his hands individually with each word, “Catch the Swooner by his balls,” I continue, starting to giggle with each word as he rolls his eyes playfully, “If he strays, stab his throat~! Eenie, meenie, miney, moe!”
“The left one—you're sure?” he asks, and I nod gleefully.
“Positive~!”
As he opens the hand slowly, I watch with interest. Finding a key not unlike the one for my room resting in his palm, I furrow my brow. Seeing my trepidation, he explains, “It's a copy of my room key.”
“Yes, but why?”
I can probably guess, but I want him to say it...
“Consider it symbolic as much as functional,” he says, holding out the key for me to take.
Once I've brought my hand up underneath, he drops it into my palm, and I stare at it for a few moments. It's a simple silver key—used to unlock a door, and nothing more—but the symbolic gesture hits me like a train. Levying a thoughtful expression on his smiling eyes, I say, “The key to your room-”
“Is... the key to my heart?” he finishes my statement, smirking and shrugging as he sits down beside me. “I know... it's stupid.”
“No, I like it!” I retort, wrapping my arms around him happily, “I wish I had a copy of mine to give in return.”
I could steal it back from Amaya...
Hugging me back, he sighs and agrees, “That'd be nice... then I could go on a pantie raid...”
The stupid comment just makes me laugh and hug him tighter, though as I ease back, I wonder aloud, “What was in the other hand?”
I bet it was just air...
Once I'm able to look, he holds up his right fist and opens it slowly. In it is a sealed condom package, apparently from a stock hiding in his closet that he hasn't told me about—and I managed not to find yesterday. My first reaction is a lewd smirk, but when I consider the possible symbolism, I frown and ask, “What if I picked that hand?”
“Well, then I'd know you just want me for my body,” he quips, and I almost slap his shoulder, but I can't really blame him for having that thought. “Cosmically, though... you chose the key to my heart over Little Swooner,” he explains, which somehow makes me blush. “So, now that I know chance is on our side—just let me reiterate that I'm all yours... and, I would have given you the key in either case,” he adds with his usual sincerity, then holds up the condom and jokes, “This was just there to show I'm a tool for your enjoyment.”
“I do enjoy your tool,” I remark lewdly, then quickly add, “but, there's a time and a place...”
“Right,” he replies, glancing toward the ceiling with shifty, squinting eyes before clearing his throat to ask, “What were we talking about?”
Somehow I feel like I got the answers I wanted, even if he hasn't been specific. There's still a twinge of jealousy and worry in me, but rolling that little silver key over in my hand helps fight it back. All I really wanted to know is whether I can trust him while he's away, and I probably didn't need the gesture, but I don't think I have to ask him about Iwanako anymore. If he brings it up, I'll be honest about my misgivings, but I feel assured enough to give up on pressing for that answer. Instead, I'd like to hear more about his home life, and I think I know a perfect pretense.
Leaning over to kiss his cheek, I reply, “Well, we were talking about your visit home, but...” I trail off and reach down to pick a
Gamecube controller up off the floor. Before I can lift it very far, the cord gets caught in the tangle of wires, pulling the device out of my hand, and sending it bouncing across the carpet. As I turn an apologetic smirk at him, I see he's already nodding, but I finish my suggestion, “We can do that while I wipe the floor with you in
Melee?”
“A challenge!?” he exclaims agreeably, then nods sternly and stands before adding, “I accept!” As he darts over to reach around behind the television, presumably to adjust his setup, he looks back to request, “You wanna untangle these while I get it ready?”
“Yesth, mi'love,” I reply in bad English with a terrible lisp as I stand to reach for my satchel. “Lemme put this away first...”
“Thanks...! And, remember... you can use that key anytime,” he says as he's digging around for the right wires. “Even while I'm gone,” he adds, peering up over the television, “You can use my room as a hideout, or something—if I had plants, I'd have you water them!”
I do tend to make things grow around Hisao...
The dirty thought fuels a quick step over to slap his behind, which earns me a delighted grunt. “I always thought you needed a bonsai tree,” I remark as I head back to my satchel, “or something like that—though I have a black thumb, so I wouldn't trust me to keep them alive...”
“Maybe I'll get some fish?” he quips, leaning out to smirk at me, “That might be more your speed.”
Glaring at him scornfully, I retort, “You'd dare trap my people in glass cages for your amusement!?”
“Only criminal fish, then?” he concedes, raising his hands in defeat. “There are laws of the sea, right...?”
“Only for outsiders!” I scold mockingly, shaking a fist at him as I add, “And offenders are turned into chum!”
Laughing, he goes back to fighting with the connection wires while I put the key in my bag and set about untangling the mess of controller cords. Once he gets the Gamecube reconnected, we pile his blankets against the bed and sit down to do battle; it turns out he's a lot better at fighting games than I expected. Unlike racing, which he tried really hard at, but couldn't beat me in an even match, he's much more adept at button mashing, and I lose as often as I win. His boyish pride demands that he toss unfounded accusations of cheating my way, but that just makes it more fun.
I imagine he hasn't knowingly played against many girls...
While we're trading punches, kicks and smashes in the game, he tells me a little more about the people he expects to see. Apparently, unlike I suspected, he didn't really have any close friends back home, but rather moved between social circles and mostly kept to himself. Also, according to him, his room at home isn't much less spartan than the one at Yamaku, which tells me he either wasn't passionate about anything, or moved between passions too quickly to collect anything. It's as though he just drifted through life until recently, which makes me feel a little sad.
He blames the city life for that lonely-sounding existence, but I'm not sure I believe that. Tadao grew up in an orphanage near Tokyo, but, apart from his tendency to ignore the world while writing or reading, he's no less sociable than an average teenager. If anyone's environment could have resulted in being a loner, it would be Amaya; she barely had any contact with anyone her age until after moving to Yamaku. Instead it seems like being alone is just part of how Hisao operates, which is fine, especially since he's willing to share that time with me, but I wonder if that will last.
Could he get bored with me sometime soon...?
That disturbing thought costs me our latest match as I go a little limp pondering the possibility. After he makes quick work of my unmanned
Jiggly Puff, he turns a curiously raised eyebrow at me to prompt, “Getting bored?”
It's a reasonable enough conclusion, but the association to my thoughts causes my brow to furrow. “I'm not bored, just... thinking,” I clarify, taking a deep breath and deciding not to hold back. “You talk about how you never really got attached to anything for very long,” I say, shrugging as I let out the breath, “and I wonder if you might get bored with me sometime soon...”
“No way!” he protests, nudging my shoulder playfully, “You're my sexy nerd!”
Casting my eyes downward, I retort, “I'm not the only sexy nerd out there...”
I'm not even the only one at Yamaku, not by a long shot...
“Maybe not, but you're right here,” he says, which I'm not sure I find comforting. “You're with me because I want you here, and you seem to like it here—trust me, I think I'm the lucky one,” he adds, which brings a smile back to my face, “Aiko, if I had them, and didn't think it was creepy, I'd plaster my walls with pictures of you!”
Smirking at the thought, I send a glance around at his mostly-bare walls and remark, “All in compromising positions, and very little clothing, no doubt...”
“Name the time and the place... We can borrow Naoko's camera, and we'll turn my walls into a shrine! Pictures of you, however you like—naked, in jeans, in sweaters, swimsuits, wearing my shirts...” he describes, half-joking, then grasps my hand and calms to a serious tone before adding, “Don't worry about me getting bored with you! You're a lot more interesting than you give yourself credit for being... I still haven't figured you out.”
“Oh, I see, so once you-”
Instead of protesting, he shuts me up with a kiss, and I answer it hungrily. Overcome with sudden lust, I lay back with him over me, and the blankets become a bed. As he hugs me close and we each explore the other's tonsils, I start to forget what I was even worried about. When he finally leans back for a breather, I glance toward the clock and notice it's almost ten-thirty; we have less than two hours before he leaves on a train. That gives us an hour before we need to catch a bus, so as his lips crash against mine again, I decide I'm not going to complain about where this train is going.
All aboard! Next stop: Sexy Town...!
“I love you,” he mumbles, leaning back to assuringly add, “even though I don't think I'll ever figure you out...”
With a fast nod, I reply, “I love you, too, I just-”
“You worry, I know—it's more endearing than you think—adorable, even,” he remarks, reaching up and pressing a finger against my lips to silence my protest. Sending a speculative glance around the floor behind me, he asks, “Where'd that condom go?”
Feeling his eyes move over my body instead of continuing the search, I mumble, “Um...”
Catching his attention by pressing my knee against his thigh, I peer up at the bed and nod toward the mattress. Breaking his stare, he sits up to look, and, after a moment, he reaches out, but his arm stops. As he turns back toward my giddy expression, his brow furrows and he develops a ponderous look, aimed toward the floor. While he's hesitating, I try to encourage him by flitting my eyes toward the mattress, but my effort is in vain as it seems he's making every effort to ignore my advances—apparently he decided to stop.
I shudder to think what could have stopped him like that...
Inspecting him as I sit up, I notice he's aroused no less than myself, but it seems his brain is still active, and he's clearly thinking about something important. Whatever it is, it's apparently enough to halt the interlude he started, and that worries me. There might be good reason for him to stop, even though he hasn't had any problems physically—arrhythmia can be unpredictable. My desires can wait if he isn't feeling up to the exertion, and I'd never expect him to continue if he were having a problem, but I can't help being concerned.
I suddenly regret wishing for that extra week...
Sidling over to sit next to him, I rest my hand on his knee supportively before asking, “Are you okay? You've never stopped in the middle like that... you're scaring me a little...”
“Sorry, it's...” he trails off and turns to smirk at me, then reaches over to cup a hand under my chin. “It's just a stupid thought—I'm fine otherwise,” he explains, pausing and shrugging as I blow out a sigh of relief, then reiterating, “a very stupid thought...”
“You're telling this to the queen of stupid thoughts,” I chide, bumping up against him as I explain, “They spill out of my head faster than water from a faucet—I'm sure it's not that stupid... is it a kinky fantasy? I'm all ears for that~!”
I wonder if he'd like me dyeing my hair pink like Lucca...
He smirks, then pouts, and finally shrugs before saying, “Okay, well, you remember how we started the day, right?”
“How could I forget?” I coo affectionately, recalling our earlier escapade. With assurance that he didn't stop because of a medical issue, I decide to embellish a little and try to arouse him verbally.
I might need the practice for some long-distance fun...
“Your desk, one broken pencil, two shattered jewel-cases, and I came three times~!” I recount, patting his shoulder in gratitude before continuing, “Then you got me all cleaned up, before getting us dirty again in the shower,” I flit my eyebrows lovingly, “then we got cleaned up again... and I can think of no more satisfying way to start the day...!”
Sucking in a breath and shifting uncomfortably as he tries to push his erection down, he replies, “Indeed...”
Reading regret on his face, along with the fierce blush, I wonder aloud, “Something wrong with that?”
“No, definitely not,” he replies, shaking his head sternly, “I agree—it's an awesome wake-up having you here in the morning.” Giving up on pushing Little Swooner down, he crosses his legs and shrugs at my coy grin, then chuckles nervously. Pointing a plaintiff finger at me, he questions, “You're... worried about me straying?”
Shrugging slightly, I admit, “A little, maybe...”
I have no idea where he's going with this...
“I've had similar fears,” he says, then quickly adds, “And don't worry—I know they're probably stupid.”
“
Very,” I declare, then pontificate and nod as I add, “Very stupid.”
Nodding at my declaration, he clears his throat with a cough, then flips his legs around, crossing them the other way—it doesn't really help his situation. “Anyway, instead of... allowing ourselves to get... swept up by hormones?” he says questioningly, and I nod with a raised eyebrow. “Why not leave something... unfinished between us?” he describes, and I'm starting to understand his rambling.
I'm not sure I like where this is going...
“We're both ready to jump on that bed and screw each other senseless,” he remarks, and I blush at how direct he's being, but find myself nodding. “But, if we leave that unresolved, we'll each have reason to long for the other... don't you think?”
I don't think I like this plan... although...
While my body is eager to just do what's natural and ignore his silly idea, my brain is starting to see merit in its simplicity. We both want each other, and right now we're in a perfect situation to pursue mutual sexual gratification—I'm wet, he's hard, we have condoms, and we're alone with an hour to kill. On some level, I don't see why we should bother trying to resist each other, but the lure of what he's proposing sounds intriguing. If we restrain ourselves now, and, as he said, leave something unresolved, we'll each have reason to keep the other in our fantasies—wanting to continue this moment.
I think it sounds like super-extended foreplay...
The thought of holding back makes my body react by getting even warmer, but the rationale is keeping my desires contained. My eyes can't help being drawn down to his crotch, but I close them and turn away, trying to ignore the heat I can feel reddening my cheeks—among other things. There's one major problem with enacting this plan, which is that we're still in a room alone together, and the rain outside has made the air muggy. That makes us both sweat more than usual, and seeing him all sweaty and hot makes me even more aroused—no doubt I look similarly more enticing.
I might have to leave for this to work...
“Okay, so, let me get this straight...” I say, trailing off to give myself a few moments to think. “Your stupid plan is to not give in to the easy situation, and stay abstinent until you leave... even though we're both—and I do mean both—completely ready to hop on that bed and screw each other's brains out until the bus gets here?”
“Yes... basically,” he says with a slight whimper. “You could... try to be less graphic, though...”
“I don't like this plan,” I say, but I make a point of sidling away and finally reopening my eyes to set a narrowed expression on him. “However, that's my body talking—it wants to jump on you faster than you can say
insatiable,” I remark, then take a deep breath and blow it out slowly, trying to calm myself. “My brain, on the other hand, thinks your plan will result in mind-blowing sex the next time we meet... and that's a powerful motivator.”
I can always tend to myself if things get dicey...
“So your body hates the plan, but your brain likes it?” he inquires, sounding a little surprised.
Nodding, I wince and reply, “My brain doesn't trust my body, though,” I rise up and sit on the bed, “and thinks it might try to shut my brain down... in order to jump you anyway...”
Catching on to my reasoning, he replies, “You can borrow my umbrella.” Standing slowly and reaching for the pants he left over his desk chair, he adds, “No masturbation, though!”
There goes Plan B...
“Why not?” I protest, trying not to sound guilty.
“I know you were thinking it,” he says, shattering my sense of secrecy. As he pulls the pants on, he turns toward me and explains, “But, if you bottle up the frustration, let it wind up like an elastic band... then when you come visit-”
“You're sure you're ready to face a sexually frustrated version of me?” I interject.
I might be protesting entirely too much...
Smirking, he reaches down to grab my jeans off the same chair and toss them over. “I'm looking forward to it,” he replies with a stiff nod. “I'll be keeping my hands to myself, too,” he adds, which actually scares me a little, and that shows in my expression as I'm stepping into the jeans. “I have more control than you think,” he says confidently, “do you have any idea how difficult it is to hear and feel you cumming, and not lose myself?”
Shrugging, I reach for the bedpost to grab the green t-shirt I had borrowed overnight. “Sometimes I just want you to lose yourself,” I mention as I pull the shirt on, then flip my hair to extract it from the collar and add, “But, I'll promise not to handle myself while you're away...”
Restraining our mutual lust will probably have extended benefits for us both, and sounds like something Mom might have experience with, so I can probably ask her about it later. However, for now, I'm not about to leave him totally untouched before I make my exit. So, adding an exaggerated sway to my hips, I step over slowly and seductively, reach up and place a hand on his bare shoulder, then run it down to rest it over the scar as I stare deeply into his brown irises. That's all a distraction as my other hand angles down to grab his groin, and he winces as the fierce blush returns to his face.
“Just one last touch,” I coo, standing up on my toes to place a soft kiss over his lips. Leaning away, I add, “For Little Swooner to remember me by.”
In response, he winces as his hands move up to grasp my chest, and he inquires, “Which one is which?”
“My left one is Masa,” I say with a quiet giggle, “the right one is Mune.”
Aiming his eyes down at Masa, he says, “I'll miss you,” then turns to Mune and adds, “both of you.” Once he's done saying goodbye to my breasts, he spins me around and reaches down to run both hands down my hips; undoubtedly to silently repeat his farewell to my behind.
I'll let him have his moment...
As his hands continue tracing downward, threatening to become permanent fixtures, he remarks, “You should go... before my brain turns off,” then gives me a gentle push, as he inquires, “You're still planning on going with me to the station, right?”
“Of course,” I reply, stepping over and slipping my feet into the shoes I left by his door while he sits down in his desk chair, crossing his legs conspicuously. “I'll have to bring back your umbrella, anyway,” I say, my flimsy excuse making him groan. “And, besides, I know you want me to be there out on the platform before you go—like one of those silly movies.”
While I'm reaching into his closet for the umbrella, he sits there nodding, then finally shrugs and replies, “Don't forget to bring your umbrella—I'll probably need mine when I get home.”
“In the meantime, you should clean up this mess,” I advise derisively as I head for the door. “I'm not sure where you got the idea you could just leave clothes, wires, and junk hanging around when you have a lady guest, but this is deplorable~!”
As I step into the doorway, he calls after me, “You realize this is mostly your mess, right?”
“Consider it punishment for rebuffing my advances~!” I taunt, grinning broadly at his mock-anger, then kissing the air and adding, “Honestly, I'll clean up after you leave, if you want...”
“Oh... no,” he says, standing up and taking a look around at the moderate disaster. “I'll need something to keep my mind off you, and what better way than mindless busywork?”
“That's the spirit~!” I exclaim, closing the door behind me as I start walking down the hall.
I'm not sure how I'll get my mind off him, though...
As I'm about to turn the corner, I hear his door open and stop to turn a questioning look over my shoulder. “Changed your mind?” I inquire, but then I notice he's carrying my satchel, and I shrug resignedly. “Oh...”
“You'll probably need this,” he says, holding out the shoulder-strap. “Leaving it behind so you can trick yourself into my room may be delightfully devious, but we agreed-”
“I didn't leave it on purpose!” I protest, pouting apologetically, “I'm just not used to carrying a bag...”
“Ah, well, in any case... you probably need your key,” he says, shaking the bag and making the key bundle jingle inside. “Y'know... so you can get back into your room and not,” he ducks down and reduces his voice to a whisper, “play with yourself?”
Squinting at him accusingly, I take the bag with a thankful nod, and use his trailing grip to pull him toward me, then grab his arm and stand up on my toes to kiss his cheek. While I'm there, I decide to whisper tauntingly, “Don't go touching yourself either, or I'll know,” I pat his cheek and grin devilishly, “And, remember who owns Little Swooner~!”
“Keep Masa and Mune to yourself,” he replies with a careful nod, then adds, “And, keep Little Swooner's water-slide closed... for seasonal maintenance.”
Realizing all this innuendo is placing our plan in jeopardy, I give his cheek another kiss, then step back and giggle. “We should probably-”
“Yeah, go,” he replies, taking a sharp breath and turning away. Throwing a hand up high with a wave, he starts back toward his door and remarks, “Bus gets here at eleven-thirty.”
“I'll be back at twenty-five past,” I reply, turning to walk around the corner, then starting to walk away swiftly.
I hope I find something to distract myself for the next hour...
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