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It's at the worst possible time when Eito slips up. A Dignitary of the Satellite had come down demanding additional compensation for the casualties on their side before the war had ended. In response, the Lieutenant General of the Rebellion mirrored his request. The Satellite insisted that only additional territory would make things right; the Rebellion abstained and argued for additional resources.
Takumi opened her mouth to speak, and Eito put a hand on her shoulder, as if telling her to stand down. Eito never acted this way. She knew to let Takumi handle things; she even liked that Takumi had paved their way with the slaughter of countless humans. Eito usually stood behind her silently, the stone-faced Adjutant, the General’s watchdog.
“No,” Eito began. “The Rebellion will not accede your request.” Her laughter filled the silent room.
“She’s laughing.” The Dignitary said. “Why is she laughing?”
Takumi shot Eito a glare out of the corner of her eye. Eito’s smug smile didn’t drop from her face, but she did take a noticeable step back from the table.
The Lieutenant General was about to break, his rage simmering.
Takumi stood. “Draw up the terms of your proposition,” Takumi said, diplomatically. “We’ll meet again to discuss in three days.”
The room clears out. Eito lingers behind her General, anticipating a reaction to what she’s done. She blinks at Takumi, as if expecting praise of all things. She’s not going to get it.
“Come to my room in twenty minutes,” Takumi tells her. She pushes past Eito to get to the door. Eito doesn’t budge.
. . .
As planned, Takumi hears a knock on her door twenty minutes later. She opens the door, and Eito’s standing there, her hair slightly wet. It seems she was in a rush to shower and ran out of time to dry her hair. But she still chose to go to Takumi on time. Good.
Takumi pulls Eito in by the wrist and closes the door behind her. Eito goes easily, wincing slightly at the contact regardless. “You didn’t even attempt to take a shower, Takumi-chan?” she asks. “You smell foul. Ugh, seriously disgusting.”
Takumi never told Eito not to address her informally when they’re alone, but the way she does it now is clearly contrarian. Takumi feels herself grow more irritated still. “Aotsuki,” Takumi says. “What were you thinking?”
“Takumi-chan,” Eito parrots. “What were you thinking? Do you want me to die? I already have to breathe in your trash fumes all day, and now I’m supposed to be around you tonight, too?”
“I don’t want to hear that from you, when you didn’t even bother to dry your hair. Did you think I wanted you here to drip water all over my room?”
“I’m not dripping water anywhere,” Eito protests. “Twenty minutes isn’t long enough for me to shower and dry off, clearly you know this.” She’s pouting, and it’s cute, but this just makes Takumi harden her resolve for what she has to do.
Takumi drops her hold on Eito’s wrist and sits on the armchair in the corner of the room. Eito lags behind, standing at the door where Takumi had left her. “Aotsuki,” Takumi calls. Eito perks up at the attention. “Get me a cigarette.”
Eito walks over to Takumi’s desk and starts to rifle through the drawers. She knows where everything is, and she’s not supposed to. Takumi has tried moving things around, but no matter what she does, Eito is always sure where everything is located. Takumi suspects that Eito goes around tidying her room while she sleeps. Her Adjutant is trusted; it’s fine that she stalks her like this. It’s one of Eito’s relatively harmless traits that lingers after all these years.
Eito is in front of Takumi, leaning over her and lowering a cigarette to her lips. Eito’s long hair spills over her shoulder, strands escaping from her loose ponytail. “Light,” Takumi says. Eito flicks open the lighter and brings the flame to the cigarette until smoke suffuses from the end. Takumi exhales, blowing the smoke in Eito’s face. Eito’s glasses fog up and she coughs.
Takumi grabs her by the wrist and lifts the palm of her hand to face her. Takumi puts out her cigarette against Eito’s skin, digging the burning end deep into her palm. It makes a sizzling noise as it is extinguished.
Eito hardly flinches, but her hand twitches in Takumi’s hold. Takumi can hear her breathing.
“I need another cigarette,” Takumi says. Eito doesn’t move. “Aotsuki?”
“Yes, Takumi-chan.” Sarcasm drips from Eito’s voice. Takumi digs her nails into Eito’s wrist and it makes Eito relax into her hold. Eito struggles to take another cigarette out from the pack with her free hand. She has to take the cigarette between her lips to get it out of the package. She throws the package aside and takes the cigarette to hand it to Takumi. A moment later, the lighter flickers again. Takumi can feel the tension in Eito’s body more than she can see it. Takumi takes a drag from the cigarette, staring at Eito. Every time she tugs the cigarette away from her lips, Eito’s eyes drift down to it – waiting, anticipating another burn.
“Do you want one, too?” Takumi asks.
Eito usually doesn’t smoke or drink. She’s said before, “Who's going to keep our idiot General alive if everyone is drunk out of their minds all the time?” It’s not all the time. It’s not as often as Takumi would like. She longs for a drink, at the thought.
“No,” Eito responds.
Takumi smokes her cigarette past the halfway point. When Eito’s gaze is more focused on her lips than the still burning cigarette, Takumi tightens her grip on Eito’s wrist and extinguishes the flame on her palm a second time.
Eito pulls away instinctively. Takumi tugs her back towards her. Eito follows, but she sighs dramatically. “So our benevolent and mighty General tortures women for kicks. It’s things like this that make people question your authority. Should, say, a hideous, filthy human who abuses her subordinates be trusted with everyone’s lives? What do you think, Takumi-chan?”
“I’m not torturing you. You didn’t even feel that.”
Takumi looks down at the two circle-shaped burns, agitated and red against Eito’s otherwise unblemished skin. She runs a finger across Eito’s palm, the tip of a nail scraping against the burn. Eito is unmoved as ever. She adapts quickly; she stonewalls Takumi out of any earned obedience. “It’s true,” Eito smiles, a sinister, victorious smile. “But it’s okay. I hardly feel anything you do to me.”
Takumi lets go of Eito’s wrist and grabs her by the jaw. She tugs Eito down until she’s on the verge of sitting on her lap, her legs bracketing Takumi in. Eito winces at Takumi’s breath on her face, and she starts to object, “Disgusting, vile, Takumi—” before Takumi crashes her lips against hers. Eito’s lips are soft and smooth. Takumi can feel a cut reopening from where she nearly split her own lip, chewing on it nervously in the time after that disastrous meeting. Takumi kisses Eito roughly, trying to urge her to open her mouth with firm presses of her lips, and when that fails, teeth. Eito still resists her. Takumi used to wish all the time for Eito’s complete obedience; though the thought usually escapes her now, she feels a familiar longing. Eito can’t obey unless she’s broken.
Takumi lowers her hand to Eito’s neck and digs her fingers against her throat. Eito sputters and tries to get away. Takumi pushes her up by the neck and rises too, following Eito until the backs of her legs hit the bed. “I’m not in the mood, Takumi-chan.” With Takumi’s hand around her throat, Eito taunts her with worthless objections she doesn’t even mean. “You’re so ugly, and you smell worse than you look. I can’t believe you think I’d let you fuck me when you haven’t showered in – how long has it been? One day, two? Or is it three days, even?”
“I showered this morning,” Takumi huffs. She lets go of Eito’s neck.
“I couldn’t tell at all.” Eito absentmindedly rubs her neck in the areas Takumi had been digging her fingers into.
“Can you just shut up already?” Takumi feels a headache coming on. “You act innocent now, but you almost started a war, earlier. What was that even about?”
“Nothing.” Eito pauses. “I guess, I just—”
“You know what? It actually doesn’t matter at all, Aotsuki. All that matters is that you questioned my authority, my ability to make decisions in front of all of the others. It’s one thing for you to tease me in private, but dragging everyone else into it when there are so many lives at stake is the sort of irresponsibility I thought you’d gotten over a decade ago.”
“So what?” Eito scoffs. “What’s my punishment, General Sumino?”
Takumi sighs at the sarcasm in Eito’s voice. “I’m going to whip you.”
Eito’s expression falters. A shocked, manic smile tugs at her lips. “A whip, wow! How cruel of you, Takumi-chan. I’m so scared.”
“Enough. Get down on your front. I’ll tie you up if I have to.”
Eito doesn’t move. She just watches Takumi curiously like the whole thing is entertainment for her.
Takumi grabs Eito by the hair and pulls. Eito yelps. Takumi wordlessly uses her leverage on Eito’s hair to lift her up onto her knees on the bed. When Takumi releases her, Eito collapses. Takumi grabs Eito by the waist and flips her over.
Eito seems to panic a bit at the change in position. “Hey— we have to be up at 5 tomorrow, remember? Don’t get carried away, Takumi-chan.”
Eito talks like she’s the one in control and can just demand that Takumi stop. She thinks she can do whatever she wants and get away with it. Takumi will remind her who's in charge, who won them this war.
Seeing Eito panic excites Takumi. Eito tries to get up on her elbows and Takumi just pushes her back down.
“Are you actually scared?” Takumi asks, thrilled.
Eito grits her teeth. “No.”
“Then calm down. You can take it.”
Takumi undresses Eito like she’s a doll, moving her arms and legs as needed. Eito complies but Takumi can feel her shaking. When Eito’s shirt and jacket are gone, she shifts so her long hair covers her back, like she’s shy. Takumi has to lift Eito up by the hips to get her pants off. She tries to tear her panties off, but Eito grabs her by the wrist, blocking the touch. Eito’s panties cover way less skin than usual. There’s a barely visible line of fabric that stretches between her legs to cover her.
“Waiting for me to notice, hmm? You look nice, but I don’t feel like playing with you yet, Aotsuki.”
Eito scoffs but releases her grip. Takumi slides Eito’s panties down around her ankles until she kicks them off. She takes her time undressing Eito, flicking the bra strap against her shoulder before unclasping it. Eito makes a little gasp when the bra strap snaps against her skin and muffles the sound with a hand over her mouth.
Takumi discards Eito’s bra along with everything else in a messy pile on the floor. She gingerly reaches over Eito to take her glasses off and sets them aside. Takumi’s still fully dressed in her uniform, but Eito makes no complaints.
“We’ll be done when you say you’re sorry.”
“Easy. I’m so—”
“When you say you’re sorry, and I’m sure that you actually mean it.”
Takumi gets off the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. Eito stays relatively still. Her breasts are squished between the mattress and her body. Her ass is firm but still slightly plump, her thighs filled out nicely. Takumi wants to just grab Eito by the hips and grind against her until Eito leaves a wet spot on Takumi’s white uniform pants. But she can’t get distracted. When Takumi opens the drawer to pick up the whip, Eito’s head turns at the sound.
“Oh,” Eito flusters. “I thought you were joking.”
“Do you want me to be joking?” Takumi raises an eyebrow.
“No,” Eito mutters under her breath, as much permission as she’s willing to give.
Takumi has spanked Eito with her hand before; it’s not new. Usually, Eito barely struggles. The entire time, she teases, Is that really the best you can do, Takumi-chan? It’s only once bruises have formed, and Takumi brings her hand down on top of stinging skin, that Eito whimpers.
So when Takumi brings the whip down on Eito’s ass, she doesn’t hold back. Eito’s reaction is… different. Immediately, the marks of the whip illuminate her skin, red lines slashing across her body. Eito whines from one hit, and she crawls away.
“Hey,” Takumi scolds. She grabs Eito by the waist to tug her back into place. Without even thinking about it, Takumi whips her a second time. The sound of the impact rings out in the room. Eito makes a choked gasp and struggles again. Takumi holds her by the waist with one hand, otherwise Eito would probably be halfway up the mattress again.
“Is it too much?” Takumi asks.
Eito turns to look at Takumi over her shoulder. Her eyes are red at the edges, like she’s about to cry. “It’s nothing,” she spits.
Of course Eito wouldn’t give in that easily. Takumi drags the whip over the reddened skin, and Eito hisses. She rubs the handle between Eito’s legs and it comes back dripping wet. Takumi has to wipe her hand off her pants. “Sure, if you say so.”
Takumi hits Eito on the back of her thighs. Eito cries out and Takumi doesn’t mock her for it. She can feel Eito flinch with every hit, squirming under the hand on her waist like she’s trying to get free. She doesn’t run away, but Takumi’s sure if she weren’t holding her down to remind her to keep position, Eito would make a break for it.
Eito reaches back to try to cover herself, blocking Takumi’s next hit. Takumi grabs her wrist and holds it down against the bed. Eito mumbles something indistinct in protest, trying to shake out of her grip. Takumi digs her fingers into Eito’s wrist hard enough that she can feel her bone under her fingertips.
Again. Eito’s thighs turn rosy red with painful, inflamed slashes that will make it hard for her to sit properly. Eito buries her face in a pillow, her free hand clenched tightly in the sheets. The noises are muffled, but Takumi thinks that Eito is crying. That’s… new.
Takumi loses track of time. She really needs to stop, but she doesn’t want to. Eito is hardly moving at all anymore. Every time the whip strikes her, Eito whines. It’s a really pathetic sound, even more so because it’s unfamiliar coming from her. It’s too cute for someone so vicious. It just makes Takumi want to hear it more.
When the whip brushes between her legs, Eito recoils. Takumi takes pity on her. “Do you have anything to say to me?”
“No,” Eito’s voice is light and threadbare.
Takumi brings the whip down between Eito’s legs. Eito cries out, a high-pitched keen. She breaks free and squirms away. Then she rises shakily and turns around to sit facing Takumi. She covers her cunt with her hands.
“None of that,” Takumi says. She has to resist the urge to laugh. Eito is making such a wounded expression, like Takumi took something precious away from her. “Come on, Aotsuki. Really?”
Takumi approaches Eito and cups her face. Eito doesn’t complain about her disgusting, slimy, deformed hands on her righteous face. “Move your hands, okay?”
Eito lowers her hands to her sides and digs her fists into the sheets. Takumi starts to trace the whip down Eito’s body, starting from her collarbones down to her chest. Eito is flushed, overwhelmed by it all. Eito twitches a little when the leather straps brush against her inner thighs ever-so-slightly.
When Takumi softly runs the whip between her legs again, Eito’s eyes reflect her pure, transparent fear. Takumi gets a sudden rush of adrenaline from this that she doesn’t have the time to feel guilty about right now.
“Are you sure you don’t want to apologize?” Another flick of her wrist and the whip drifts lower, lower. “Haven’t you done something to be sorry for?”
Takumi knows Eito won’t apologize and beg. Like always, the look of fear on Eito’s face turns to willfulness. “No,” Eito says. “I’m not sorry, General.”
Takumi raises the whip and brings it down on Eito’s cunt without any gentleness. Eito screams. She lurches forward as if to curl up and protect herself, but Takumi keeps her in place. “Say you’re sorry,” Takumi commands.
“Takumi-chan,” Eito looks up at her with those doe eyes filled with nearly-shed tears. “I can say it if you really want, but we both know I wouldn’t mean it. You want me to lie?”
“You should feel bad, you know,” Takumi responds. “Just because we’re in peacetime doesn’t mean your hostility has no impact on the future of the Rebellion.”
“I don’t care about the future of any of those disgusting humans.” After all these years, Eito’s monologue sounds insincere. “I hope they all die, every last one of them. I wouldn’t miss any of them. And that includes you too, Takumi-chan. Ugh, one look at you still makes me want to gouge out my eyes.”
“Aotsuki.” Takumi warns.
“General Sumino,” the teasing lilt to Eito’s voice makes a mockery of her title. Eito smiles, free of the exhaustion and anger she provokes in Takumi.
Takumi almost falls for it. But when she looks at Eito, she can see that she’s done more than enough. Eito is crying shallowly, little hiccupping sobs that she thinks Takumi won’t notice through her vitriol. Tears drip down her face and she struggles to breathe properly. There’s a blush that stretches down to her collarbones, but it’s nothing compared to the burning red scattered across her thighs. Wetness slicks Eito’s thighs, and her clit is painfully swollen, sticking out from the neatly trimmed hair that surrounds it.
“Fine. I’m tired of beating you. You enjoy it too much, anyway.”
Eito’s eyes follow Takumi as she gets off the bed and opens the bedside table again. Takumi shrugs her pants and boxers off and then she’s tightening the straps of the harness over her hips. She fits the strap into the harness easily. It’s slightly bigger than the one Eito usually takes, just an inch or two, but it’s enough to make Eito sweat. Takumi says, “You never let me fuck you anymore, you’re always too tired. I’m done with waiting and asking.”
It's true; even if Eito takes triple the dose of Zofran she’s prescribed, it’s difficult to get her in the mood for anything like this. Usually, the most Takumi gets is Eito’s commentary while she jerks off, and Eito isn’t an enthusiastic participant. Takumi might be developing a thing for degradation out of necessity. It doesn’t make her feel good when Eito calls her disgusting over and over again, but Takumi’s ego swells when she sees that Eito complains but never stops watching her. There’s nothing stopping Eito from getting up and leaving if it disgusts her that much.
The first time Takumi actually fucked her, Eito threw up over the edge of the bed, but she begged Takumi not to stop. Takumi kept going until Eito threw up a second time, and that was it for her. Takumi is determined, but there’s only so many positions that work out in the shower, and the water gets cold. Hiruko made a snide comment about the water bill once, and she looked at Takumi like she knew the reason why. Takumi’s handful of out-of-shower successes are situations like today. The pain gives Eito something to focus on. It works better than anything else. Though every remedy has limits. Takumi’s never hurt Eito as bad as this before.
“How about I fuck you until I’m satisfied?” It’s not Takumi’s best dirty talk. The bluntness makes Eito visibly cringe a little, and Takumi resists the urge to smack herself in the face.
“Sounds like you aren’t asking,” Eito manages to play along.
“That’s right!” Takumi approaches Eito again and sits next to her, running a hand along her arm. Eito leans into the touch despite herself. “Can you get this wet for me, or is that too much work for you?”
“Fine,” Eito huffs. She drops to her knees in front of the bed without being asked. She reaches out with one neatly-manicured hand and wraps her fingers around the strap, tugging it towards her lips.
It’s then that Takumi realizes how exhausted Eito really is. Her face is tear-stained, mascara running down her face. Eito’s lips are chewed to the point of swelling. A thin strand of saliva clings to her chin. She must be out of it if she didn’t notice that. Takumi just wants to ruin her more. For a second, she thinks about punching Eito in the face, so that she gets a nosebleed that coats her lips and chin red, making such a mess that she might cry again. Takumi doesn’t go that far. She’s not a sadist… probably. Eito was asking for it. She’d be a horrible girlfriend if she didn’t attend to Eito’s needs. Besides, Eito seems to finally be obeying her regardless.
Eito looks up at Takumi with lidded eyes, dazed. She sucks on the tip of the strap so devotedly it’s like Takumi can feel it. Takumi’s clit throbs where it brushes against the hard edge of the harness. She bucks her hips, grinding against the leather for pressure, and Eito gasps, swallowing down more of the strap than she anticipated. Two inches isn’t enough to make Eito choke, but her face is strained, caught off guard.
Do you need me to stop? Takumi almost asks. But Eito had told her before, Don’t stop, even if I’m crying, even if I curse you, even if I throw up. They have a safeword, though it looks like there isn’t a single thought in Eito’s brain right now.
Eito is the one who forces herself down further on the strap. She gags, and then swallows, her eyes closed and brows pinched together tightly. It looks like Eito’s fighting the urge to throw up, but she doesn’t pull off. She keeps working her mouth down on Takumi’s strap until she reaches the base. Fuck, she’s so cute. Takumi has to fuck her, or she’ll die.
“That’s good enough.” Takumi’s voice is hoarse. She swallows.
Eito pulls off, but she’s drawn back towards the strap magnetically, attending to the tip with little kitten licks.
“Fuck. Aotsuki.”
Eito kisses the strap and licks along the underside, giving careful attention to every part of it. Takumi’s tempted to take the whole thing off and just drag Eito back between her legs so she can lap at her cunt with the same devotion. Eito is so blissed out, so happy and dumb, kissing Takumi everywhere she can reach. Takumi rests a hand on Eito’s head, tangling her fingers in her hair, and Eito takes the strap in her mouth again, sucking on it, hard.
Takumi has to tear Eito away by gathering her hair in her fist and pulling her head back. “I said, that’s enough. Stop.”
Eito doesn’t say anything. She smiles, smug as ever, but the exultant look in her eyes reduces any harshness. Eito’s pupils are diluted so wide she looks drugged, and she keeps rubbing her thighs together, like she’s trying to get friction on her clit. No, actually… Takumi can’t be sure, but it looks more like Eito is just fidgeting on her knees to press against the bruises on her ass and thighs. “Up,” Takumi orders.
Eito gets up and stumbles onto Takumi’s lap. She stares at Takumi for longer than usual.
“Do you want to look at me?” Takumi asks.
“Sso ugly,” Eito slurs. “Ugly Takumi.”
“Okay.” Takumi nudges Eito off of her, but Eito wraps her arms around Takumi’s shoulders and clings. Takumi tries half-heartedly to get her off. It’s sweet… Takumi is just so horny at this point that she doesn’t care. Eito nuzzles Takumi's neck, and then she kisses her on the jaw. Eito moves back far enough to look at Takumi again, and then she’s leaning in to kiss her of her own free will. Eito kisses Takumi softly, chastely. She presses her lips against Takumi’s slowly, like they have all the time in the world. Takumi makes the most of Eito’s distraction to lower her down onto her back. She spreads Eito’s thighs apart with her legs. When the kiss ends, Eito blinks up at Takumi like she’s confused about how she got in this position. The tip of the strap touches Eito’s cunt. “Oh,” Eito gasps.
It’s too much for her. Takumi reluctantly replaces the strap with her fingers. She pushes inside Eito with two, and there’s hardly any resistance. Eito is so dripping wet that it soaks Takumi’s palm. Her clit is painfully swollen from the earlier impact. Takumi traces a rough circle against Eito’s clit. She keeps touching Eito even as she twitches and writhes, trying to resist Takumi’s affection.
Eito sobs as she comes. Tears run down her cheeks freely, and she keeps gasping, ah, ah. She’s overstimulated, but Takumi isn’t done yet.
Takumi takes away the pressure on Eito’s clit, but she curls her fingers inside of her. Eito starts to squirm underneath her, her hips moving back and forth like she’s not sure whether she wants to resist or chase the touch. “Good?” Takumi asks.
Eito shakes her head frantically, and then she starts nodding. It’s not a very helpful answer. Takumi just ignores her.
Takumi takes her fingers out and adjusts herself to position the strap between Eito’s legs. She thrusts inside, slow but deep. She thought she was being gentle but Eito’s whole body starts shaking, and she’s crying again. Takumi took it too far earlier, she realizes. Still, there’s no turning back now.
Every movement of Takumi’s hips drags against the marks of the whip on Eito’s thighs. Eito’s legs wrap around Takumi’s hips. Her skin is scorching hot around Takumi, driving her forward. Eito watches Takumi vacantly, her gaze unfocused and dizzy, staring like she’s trying to determine what Takumi looks like as she rapidly changes before her. Takumi can see it coming the moment Eito gets nauseous. Takumi pulls out, and Eito gags. “Close your eyes,” Takumi tells her, a small mercy.
Eito swallows and she closes her eyes tightly, like she’s afraid of opening them again by accident. After all these years, Takumi doesn’t take it personally. When Takumi pushes back inside of her, Eito moans softly, making her forget about everything.
Takumi’s hand drifts up to Eito’s chest, cupping one of her breasts. Eito’s brows knit together. Takumi drags her fingertip around Eito’s nipple. Takumi doesn’t get this far often. Most days, Eito will smack Takumi’s hand away if she tries to grab her boob for even a second. Takumi doesn’t really know what to do with all that now that she has the privilege.
Impulsively, Takumi takes Eito’s nipple between her fingers and pinches. Eito’s back arches off the bed, and she pushes herself down further on the strap. Takumi rolls her hips, and she can’t go any further. Without meaning to, Eito took the last inch of the strap, forcing herself to bottom out.
Takumi leans down and kisses Eito underneath the nipple she’s been bullying. Eito moves her hips again, pulling away, and then moving back down onto Takumi. Her eyes are still closed, and she’s shoved her fist up to cover her mouth, biting down on it and suppressing any noises other than her heavy breathing. Takumi wonders if she can keep that up for long.
Takumi gropes Eito with her other hand, squeezing her breast which spills out from Takumi’s palm, too big to be contained. She takes Eito’s nipple into her mouth and sucks on it. Then Takumi starts moving again, rutting her hips against Eito’s with a gentleness that doesn’t seem to do anything other than work Eito up more. Eito gasps a little, and she continues meeting Takumi’s thrusts in a rhythmless, messy movement, placing a hand flat against the bed to have more leverage. Takumi knows that if she points out what Eito’s doing that she’ll stop. So, she doesn’t say anything.
Takumi releases Eito’s nipple with a wet pop. Eito stops biting her fist and absentmindedly lowers her fingers to trace where Takumi had touched her, her nipple still shiny with spit. Eito wriggles her hips a bit more, but it’s ineffective for whatever she’s trying to accomplish. Then Eito does something Takumi’s never seen before. Eito lowers her hand between her own legs and starts slowly stroking her clit. Fuck.
Takumi can’t handle it. She bears her weight down on top of Eito, burying her face in her neck and sinking her teeth in. She fucks Eito harder, all her patience from before gone. Takumi forgets that Eito’s already been pushed too far today and that she doesn’t want to actually break her.
She sucks harder against the forming bruise and nuzzles against her neck until she finds another spot to bite. Eito whines, a long, high-pitched sound. Takumi can feel Eito attempting to move her wrist where it’s trapped between their bodies. She seems frustrated that her movement is restricted, and she can’t fuck herself back onto Takumi’s strap anymore either. She just has to lay there and take it.
Takumi’s ears are ringing. She’s overheating, sweat gathering at her nape and threatening to drip down her back. Aotsuki isn’t even scolding me for it… Takumi loses awareness of where she is and what she’s doing, compelled by the instinctual urge to hold Eito down, to mark her. Her thighs are slick with Eito’s fluids and her own.
“Takumi, Takumi—”
Takumi doesn’t stop until a hand fists in her hair and violently pulls her away from Eito’s neck. “What’s wrong with you.” Eito says, a statement and not a question. Takumi’s still inside of her as deep as she can go, but the animalistic need to keep going has diminished somewhat.
“Are you done?” Takumi replies. It’s not a sexy way to ask.
“Yes,” Eito rolls her eyes. “Obviously! Are you done? Can you get off me? I’m going to be sick.”
Takumi doesn’t want to get off Eito, but the threat is legitimate. “Fine.” As Takumi pulls out of her, Eito winces like it hurts. Takumi feels a jolt of pleasure at the thought. She hopes Eito is sore for a long time after.
Eito stumbles when she stands up. Takumi has to walk Eito over to the bathroom with an arm slung over her shoulders to draw her a bath. Eito sinks into the water without a word and wraps her arms around her knees, holding herself coyly. She stares at Takumi without blinking, like a cat watching a mouse.
Eito calls out to her, “Stay.”
Takumi stays.