Fushigi Yuugi Fan Fiction ❯ Paramour ❯ Paramour ( One-Shot )

A/N: What to even say…Well, this fic is from the point of view of one of my favorite characters, Keisuke. Yes, Keisuke. Personally, I think he and Tetsuya would be absolutely beyond cute snuggling up together with some beer and a good Chinese book. But this idea has been running around in my head and just won't leave me alone…so here it is. Keisuke x Tamahome. Aside from the obvious absurdity, this combination intrigues me to no end. I just had to do it…

Story Note: This takes place when Tamahome pops up in the real world and the Yuukis are kind enough to put him up. As if they had a choice.

Disclaimer: I am hardly creative enough to come up with such an interesting storyline, much less such drool-worthy characters. Needless to say, Fushigi Yuugi, and all that pertains there to, are not mine.

~Paramour~

Just once, look at me with those eyes.

Touch me like you do her.

Her virgin body. Her skin that tingles at the contact of his fingertips; whispers of affection that say more than what her innocence will not permit him to do could. A touch that I have never felt. Only read about and vicariously leaned into through the pages of text that I can barely even make out.

"Thanks for letting me use your bed, Keisuke. I mean, you really didn't have-"

"Hey, what are you talking about? I couldn't let you sleep on the floor!"

Such a hard surface could not possibly accommodate his gentleness. It is gentleness that is not readily displayed. A tenderness that refuses to let itself be detected in the presence of the others of his kind; she is blessed without request.

They don't see the other side of him. And maybe she doesn't either. They say that love is blind, after all. But as the story is written, the truth is laid out for all to see.

For me to read. For me to adore. I see it all. I love it all.

"Do you need a blanket, Tamahome?"

"That's all right. I'm fi- Oh…thank you."

By this time, I would like to think that I can decipher him pretty well. Can she attest to that? Probably. And I'm probably a fool for letting myself fall victim to his allure. After all, he is just a character in a book. Works of fiction are only what the reader makes them out to be. But that can't be true in his case; such perfection could never be conceived by a reader of any depth, much less myself.

"Keisuke…?"

A fictional character could not grace the folds of my sheets with the heavenly weight of his body, the sinking of the mattress complimented by my own as I slowly lower myself to sit on the edge, teetering perilously on the few inches I allow, only sliding in closer at the beckon of his shy smile.

A smile that may or may not be for me.

I know he loves her, and don't doubt that the favor is deservedly returned. But just once…love me instead.

I long for him to touch my shoulder with the warm hesitance that she has already experienced. Engulf me in his arms as my bare chest makes unintentional contact with his, an electric charge that has shot through her body more times than the book can retell.

Do to me what you cannot do to her. Give to me what you cannot give to her.

"Keisuke…"

Is it my hovering presence that causes the slow motions of his breathing to quicken? Hopefully the unsteady beat of his heart is brought on not by fear, but by love. No. I am not worthy of his love. Only his kindness. And even that…

I search his eyes for a clue, for I would never do anything to hurt him. Tell me that you'll love me…

"Tama…"

That is my blanket that he is nestled in. The cloth that clings to the soft curve of his chest has once been under my arms, over my back. Brought up to my face for warmth, intertwined between my legs in states of frazzled sleep, linking the holders, past and present, through an aura of scent, of touch. Of essence.

Two essences that are now lying on the same bed, one sinking further and further into the mattress and his secret desire, the other still protected by a blanket lent by the first. Woven fabric that links the two together, yet provides a physical blockade…that is, until it slides off the side of the bed in little waves, the link between the two bodies searching for a new way to manifest itself.

He gazes back at me as I half-lie down, head propped up on an unsteady elbow, neither smiling nor frowning. I don't have to inch any closer, because it suddenly becomes within his capacity to do it for me.

Hold me…

And he obliges. He grasps me with his spirit, binds me with his love; not love as a selfish emotion, only to be shared with a single soul, but love as a part of him. A piece of him that he is willing to offer beyond those who deserve it. As I don't.

But I do love you…

He holds me. Literally. Holds me with the soft, warm brush of his lips against my forehead as he sits up to meet the flushed pigment of my skin. Holds my body in his control as he gently draws me down on top of him. Holds my voice in my throat as he seals my lips with his.

I can feel the focus of our body heat, trapped within thin layers of pajamas and blue jeans. They aren't enough to dull the sensation of one man's longing pressed against another. The burning moves freely between us at that focal point of lust, intensifying as the strength of my arms around his neck and his arms around my back pull us even closer. The heat shoots upwards and explodes in my mouth as a tongue delicately works its way in between my lips and through my teeth.

In no passage that I've read were there ever details regarding the aptitude of his romantic capabilities. That's not to say that I haven't imagined the extent…but he should be insulted that the text makes no mention of an obvious natural talent. My kissing does not do his justice.

Fortunately, his mouth spares mine some embarrassment and some air, and continues its journey down my face, trailing the pink tip that protrudes from his mouth down my jawbone with a slowness that would verge on torture if the pleasure weren't there to overpower it.

"Tamahome…"

Wordless encouragement prompts me to slide lower, hands pressed against his shoulders for leverage, and undo the buttons that I have never felt against any body other than my own. The path of undone clothing is peppered with hesitant kisses that grow more sure of themselves by the inch as they graze his warm chest. I can feel a hand run over the back of my head and under the layers of my hair in timed response to my soft lips and occasionally wet tongue. His fingers alone offer too much to me already.

I don't feel I deserve this. His eyes meet mine as I lift my head to offer his gaze the emotion set deep in my own eyes. I don't have to hope he reads it. I know he will.

"I know, Keisuke…"

I lie there, torso between his thighs, cheek pressed against the muscular abdomen that I have only dreamt about being near; and now my own hands are caressing it. I inhale softly. He projects a unique scent that for some reason seems vaguely familiar, as if I could smell it through the book all those times.

I briefly return my attention to the beautiful contours of his chest, but he draws me back up before my tongue can memorize the taste of his skin. He knows I want to taste more.

A silent beckon and I am down on top of him again, hips mirrored in symmetry with his, lips locked again in a passionate frenzy. As if the charge sparked by our oral contact releases some sort of electrical shock throughout my body, there is suddenly a loss of control between me and my pelvis as my groin digs into his, alternating between pressure and space, slowly at first, but gradually increasing with the rising heat of the room and of our bodies.

The ticklish sensation of my periodic thrusts into his growing counter-movements is beyond any feeling I've ever experienced. The friction is echoed in the movement of his tongue against mine, contained within the hot cavern of my mouth.

My mouth is speechless, my mind is speechless. My heart is beyond words.

Mouths are pushed against one another, and even when there is a break in lip connection, it does nothing to suspend the welcome intrusion of his tongue in my mouth. My eyes are closed so tightly in passion and my mind is so hazy with arousal, I don't even notice that one hand has disappeared from the small of my back and traveled south to slowly inch up the hem of my shirt. Hit would appear that he is a natural at more than fighting.

Truly, because I am also not aware of the fact that he has decided to play a little game of turnabout. We lose our spot in the center of the bed as he rolls to the side with such grace that I can't even tell he's doing it until I am suddenly pinned on my back, his deliciously hungry mouth assaulting my neck with relentless urgency. No text that I have read and reread makes any mention of these hidden skills of his. Perhaps it is his gift of battle combined with his strong heart; the grace and stealth of some sort of deity and the love of even greater a being.

Who could not fall in love with you?

I writhe below him, the sharpness of his teeth complimenting the soft heat of his tongue in perfect harmony, causing the invisible hairs on my neck to stand on end and driving me out of my mind. His suckling must halt if he is to move on to other lands; so be it. The temperature in the room is not enough to speed up the evaporation of the stream of stray saliva that glimmers over the curve under my ear but above my shoulder.

His kisses and whatever else will remain for a few days under the constant supervision of a turtleneck; for now, they linger in wet memory as his mouth moves lower over the collar of my ill-planned shirt, no buttons, his hands already devising a way to get around that minor obstacle.

I have read about him in compromising situations. I don't quite understand the seemingly like charge that he and clothing appear to possess; nobody can get rid of someone's clothing like he can, particularly his own. Needless to say, I am shirtless within a matter of seconds, hardly a lapse in his stream of affection as his lips continue their path down my bare chest. It is bliss.

Warm palms slip over my shoulders and down my arms; I do my best to return the favor, sneaking my hands inside his unbuttoned shirt to massage the bare expanse of his back. The top of his pajamas are shrugged off with a light jerk of his shoulder, aided by my insistent hand, eager to let his shirt join mine on the floor.

He glances down at me and smiles. Not a smile of mischief, as one would expect. Just a smile. An unsoiled smile of innocence, though what we are doing is far from innocent. The purity is rooted in our feelings. Feelings that may only exist for tonight…

It's amazing how practically unnoticeable contact can send me into spasms. The brush of his fingertips against my cheek are accomplishing this task. It's as if he has to make sure I'm really here. I think my upwards arch into his lower body tells him the answer.

I should be doubtful of your presence…

Nails drag lightly across my face, down between the center of my collarbone, and down to my naval, pausing to harden a nipple on the way. His hand stays in place, lingering over the tempting area that is the zipper of my pants, but his beautiful mouth retraces the shivering trail of his fingertips, back up my chest, to enclose around a darkened nipple.

He tastes me, tongue gliding over one of the most sensitive points on my body, causing a low moan to escape my throat. The sound must be contagious, as he utters a soft mew himself as his teeth pinch the tip of the hardness. He tastes the identical texture of the neglected nub, drawing it into his mouth, knowing that it will make me crazy. He tastes my passion as I squirm in place, pinned beneath him. I know he wants to taste more.

He returns to my face to briefly renew the vow between our lips, his tongue wasting no time in letting its presence be known. My lips are left slightly parted in memory of the kiss as he laps up the excess fluid that shimmers in the corners of my mouth. Hands slide down my sides again and before I know it, he is straddling my thighs, too low on my body for me to offer him any motions of encouragement. I have to trust that he knows what I want…

He does.

His hand does not shake as mine would as he deftly brushes his fingers over the arousal in my pants, over the zipper that holds it in place. The release of the button from its loop raises the temperature of the blood that has started to boil there long ago. The zipper puts up quite a fight, the bulge in my pants is straining so hard against it. I can hear the tantalizing slowness with which the teeth unlock. Each click brings me closer and closer to insanity if these confining pants don't come off soon.

He knows me so well. It's no surprise that he chooses that moment to grip the sides of my blue jeans and slide them down my thighs. He bends over to trail kisses from my naval to the hemline of my boxers, one hand worming its way under the elastic. With the other, he slides them down over my hips to meet the jeans at my knees, pushing both articles of clothing down into an unwanted pile around my ankles.

I am there before him.

His touch tickles the inside of my thighs as he kneels over them, but the throbbing between my legs will have to wait. He tenderly massages the insides of my legs with one hand, making me even harder with negligence, while the other hand tugs at the elastic around his waist. I sit up to assist; they are my pajamas, after all.

We sit there, him kneeling over my legs, me face to face with the sight allowed by the removal of clothing that my hands now hold down against the mattress.

You are is more beautiful than anything I could have imagined.

It is silent beyond the tremulous pounding of our hearts and the shallow breathing permitted by our lungs; to determine whose body is more active would be impossible.

I don't get the chance to act on any impulse that had been shooting through my brain, as his arms are around me before my hands get any message of what to do. Supple lips crush mine in our most passionate kiss yet, heightened by the thrashing of our legs as we kick off the confining clothing around our knees and ankles that we had not bothered to strip each other of in the extreme heat of the moment.

The binding gone, he works a knee in between my legs, placing one of my own conveniently in between his. It is the first time either of us has touched the other in that *spot*, and it happens in a simultaneous burst of arousal as he lowers his hips onto mine. Grinds his hips into mine.

My body is trapped in a perilously gorgeous position between him and the mattress; his every movement amplified by the fact that it is against me. Hot breath fills my mouth as we kiss hungrily, accompanied by whatever else he is willing to offer. One of my hands is tangled in the back of his hair, soft strands that tumble through my fingers in the exact manner that I had imagined, assuming one was lucky enough to touch it.

My other arm is draped around his shoulder, not in a forceful way that would hold him down against me should he try to get up, but rather in a desperate way, as if just feeling him against my arm gives me life force. It does.

The satin skin over his shoulder receives fervent petting and grasping as I struggle to live up to the standards he has set for his gifts to my body. His hands wander, never content with exploring the same place for too long. They stroke my hair, run over my face, dig into my shoulder blades to release the tension that I am working up inside of him.

It will have to be let out in more ways than that.

Sweat is the only thing accountable for the slickness between our chests as we writhe against one another. The feeling is past all stages of bliss. Anything, at this point, is well past all stages of bliss.

"Keisuke…"

"Tamahome…"

The burning between our thighs is now one unified mass of heat. Pressed against each other in such a way, I can practically feel his pulsing through mine. Feel it until we synchronize.

I long to feel more. And so does he.

His lips leave mine, tongue pulling out of my mouth with a soft sweep across my lower lip, but I do not feel abandoned. Our hold against each other loosens through words that do not need to be spoken, the scorching gap between us compensated for as we reach for the focus of the other's arousal.

Twin breaths of unknown pleasure are taken from the humid atmosphere that he has helped to convert my room into. I can barely summon enough to give his pulsating hardness more than the few light touches I allow. Seeing him react pushes me further. The heavy lids that shade his deep eyes, the beads of sweat, increasing by the second, that adorn his forehead, trickle down his neck, glisten over his abs and between his thighs. The indescribable feeling of his hands over my arousal as he returns the favor that needs no compensation.

We play to each other's touch. Admire the being before us through eyes narrowed in passion as we have never done before. Memorize every curve and sensitive area with our hands and our minds. There is no surrender, only worship.

I open an eye to catch his expression as I lean foreword to kiss him, throbbing in my hands. He doesn't notice my inquiry, for the extent to which his eyelids are squeezed shut does not permit it. My act sets off a reaction of increased activity over the area in which his fingers work. Still caressing the growing hardness that I had thought had reached its maximum long ago, he shifts over me and gently works a knee in to spread my legs apart. I can only oblige.

Hot breath tickles my erection as he leans over to massage the inside of my thighs. I jump at the contact as his tongue runs over it, licking elaborate horizontal and vertical patterns before finally taking me in his mouth. The jolt of excitement is only fleeting, as he releases me within a few seconds. It is still enough to leave me gasping for air. Still enough to leave me longing more than ever for what is sure to come.

There is barely any bodily contact as his positions himself in front of me, my bent knees arching over his thighs, both of us spread apart and breathing heavily in anticipatory lust. His fingers begin a journey back up my sweat-soaked body; trailing over my knees and down the hills of my thighs with such a feathery touch it makes me shiver, curling lovingly over the stiffness that can no longer be contained, dancing over the definition of my hips to flatten over my ribcage, tracing the curve of my jawbone, brushing across my cheek and over slightly parted lips, meeting the wet tip of a tongue as it darts out to greet them.

I take his wrist and guide them deeper into my mouth. His eyes meet mine in half-lidded beauty, the gleam not hidden by lashes that flinch as I suck on three of his fingers. I relinquish them to let him do as he pleases. A translucent string trails after them, breaking as he stretches it all the way down to the my opening.

One finger, wet with my own saliva, pushes its way into the narrow entrance allowed between my legs. He moves in closer, brushing nibbles of reassurance across my neck.

Another finger joins the first; he holds me against him with his other arm, kissing away the tears that begin to form in the corners of my eyes.

The last works its way into the tight passage, awakening my voice as I whimper in discomfort. His lips against mine silence the pain.

He wiggles around and moves all three in and out in gentle thrusts, kissing me tenderly as he removes them to allow for the final intrusion. I grip his shoulders and throw my head back as he presses into me, awakening the ache that craves more attention than it has been getting. A hand at the back of my head runs through my hair, pulling me closer to him, pushing him farther inside.

Tears trickle down my cheeks to meet the sweat glistening on my chest, the backs of his fingers pushing them away before they get there. He holds me tightly in his arms as I am stretched to the limit, filling up every inch of space with his presence. Our hold tightens until I engulf him completely, and sustains as he begins to move against me.

My legs tighten around his back, slipping down with the slickness of passion that it is drenched in. I knead the flesh over his shoulders with agony, digging my fingernails into his skin as his movements send me arching off the bed. The angle of his thrusts suddenly changes as he pushes into me with growing intensity, the degree of pain multiplying into an unbelievable degree of pleasure as he strikes my prostate.

We grab at each other in every way possible; hands exploring the expanses of chests damp with sweat, pressing against each other with desperate motions of affection, his hand snaking between us to relieve the ache that throbs within my groin.

We establish a rhythm, intensifying with every thrust that wracks my body, every lift of my hips that I meet him with, every pump that sends my erection soaring towards release. All I can smell is him. The unique musk that drapes itself over the room. His scent mixed with mine, that creates a powerful aroma of love and passion that perhaps a stranger to the scene could not detect. I can taste it as I bury my head in the crook of his shoulder, pulling him towards me with more strength than I am aware of possessing.

We move as one, whispering each other's name with each thrust, calling out in private desperation with each wave of pleasure that the friction of our bodies create.

Lips bruise already-swollen mouths, tongues dance together in unchoreographed perfection, unmarked territories are staked by suckling-induced patches of red flesh, hands run over hair and each other, teeth graze the too-sensitive tendons of necks with delicate torture, each sensation sending ripples of ecstasy through both bodies. All done in time with the metered rhythm of the connection we share between our thighs.

The pleasure is heightened with every thrust, our bond greater, our grasp tighter. I don't let go as he digs into me with the new-found determination of release. It's building up inside of me as it is him. We pant in time with the rocking of our hips, clutching backs and arms and shoulders, pressing faces into hair and necks. Anything to assure ourselves of the link between us, anything to come at the same time.

The tightest grasp yet comes as he thrusts into me as hard as he can, holding onto my back with one arm with a fierceness that takes both of mine to equal. His final thrust deep inside sends me into spasms of pleasure, spilling onto his chest and crying out his name in the emptiness of my room. My name from out of his lips echoes the cry as multiple jolts trigger his own hot release within me.

There is no feeling of loss as our connection is broken, still only unity. And the identical shallow breathing that fills the room. And the devotion…at least for tonight.

Thank you.

"Thank you."

Thank you…

He draws me into his arms and under the retrieved blanket, slender fingers wandering through the damp strands of my hair as his breath tickles my neck. A night such as this is when the qualities that furthered my interest of his strange tale truly come out. His understanding, his kindness. His capacity for love.

He does not need a book to read me.

The emotions I feel for him are not rooted in jealousy or spite, but love. And he knows this. That is why he is able to bless my body and spirit with his kindness…if only for a night. And his actions do not stem from unfaithfulness or revenge, only compassion. That is all.

For tonight, his heart knows nothing of her, so it cannot be cheating. It offers me his isolated love. Me.

"Tamahome…"

The touch that graces my cheekbone will stop its course around the contours of my face before the moon has disappeared, and the bare arms that echo my desperate hold will loosen before it is bright enough to see his face. And he will once again return to the existence that once was, the forbidden text of an unread chapter tucked away in the back of both our souls; the chapter that stays true to his nature, if not to his behavior. The chapter that will remain embedded in my memory…even after he is gone. It can do nothing to change my stance; I will always be his.

And just once…he is mine.

~fin