Rooftop, Air Gear (Kaito/Yayoi)
Title: Rooftop Author/Artist: shiegra Rating: NC-17 Warnings: consent issues out the wazoo Word count: 1329 Prompt: Air Gear - Kaito/Yayoi - wall sex - looks can be deceiving
She didn’t move when he walked towards her; it took a lot of will and not a little repeating that there was nowhere to go in her head, but she met that lazy, predatory stare without flinching and dug her heels in, refusing to budge.
He swept the rooftop with a brief, calculating glance and then began to walk toward her, wind tugging at his hair. The coat slipped off his shoulders, as usual, and bands rattled in his hair like old bones, ominous. He had the slow, satisfied grin of a reptile and she rubbed her arms sharply and tilted her chin up, gritting her teeth.
“Left you to defend the fort, did they?” He asked when he got close enough. Yayoi took a fast step back and glanced around for the inevitable helicopter, not finding it. He laughed, a smug purr deep in his throat. “They’re occupied with the rest of your fuckhead friends in the south end.”
Not our friends, she thought, relaxing minimally, but decided that the rule of talking with homicidal crazies applied here; do it as little as possible. Emiri probably would have rushed him by now which, interpreted fairly, meant she probably would have committed suicide by now.
"You're not coming through." She told him, for the token defiant thing to say. The gun tapped on his thigh and he swept the rooftop with a glance and returned his attention to her.
"Who says I need to go through you to go kick the shit out of your friends?" He stalked closer and she stumbled an unnerved step back, making the grin turn sardonic and widen.
Yayoi sucked in a breath and found her voice again, a spurt of anger straightening her spine. She was more than a little tired of being the helpless one. "Go to hell." She suggested, voice sharp, and the grin shifted in an instant.
That was all the warning she got.
His hand folded under her jaw, dragging her to her toes as he slammed her against the wall; he moved with the snapped, uncoiling speed of a cobra, long fingers curling around her throat in a lazy touch, not painful but with enough threat there to make her point her toes like a dancer and hiss in air.
"You've got a mouth on you." The muzzle of the gun tapped on her cheek, trailed down over her mouth the slide a warming kiss of steel against her chin and then throat. She flinched when he paused and he laughed, the sound soft and savage. She tried to knee him in the groin.
He shifted out of the way and pulled her further up, thumb pressing against her pulse. It might bruise, and Yayoi thought about going for his eyes with her nails.
The gun tapped her skin thoughtfully once and then dropped, touching the hem of her skirt and dragging up. She froze, eyes widening. "You fight back," he said, smile full of sharp edges. "I'm almost fucking impressed."
She glared. Liar.
He twisted, got a thigh between hers and stepped in so close when she breathed her ribcage lifted against his skin, the gun pointing down and laid against her thigh, hand folding against the back of her neck, fingers curled at her galloping pulse.
"Are you going to shoot me?" Yayoi asked, her breath coming in quick betraying pants of adrenaline and fear.
"Maybe." He said lazily, and lifted his head to watch the sky again. No rattle of helicopter, no betraying shadow. The wind hissed restlessly; they really were alone on the roof.
She opened her mouth to snarl something, then felt the press of the gun against her leg and common sense intruded. He smelled sharply of gunpowder and something like--citrus? Shampoo? Well, with all that hair--
She had to gulp to stifle a stuttering giggle, instead shrinking against the rasp of concrete in an effort to escape the warm, iron cord of his muscle, the high ridge of his upper ribs pressed against her breasts. He really was taller than her--
His attention returned to her with a near-audible snap. "Trying a fucking escape?" He asked, amused.
Yayoi glared at him silently.
"This is fucking boring." He sighed theatrically after a moment.
"Excuse me!" Yayoi said, startled and indignant. "You could always let me down."
He turned his head again and she furiously berated herself mentally for talking to him like a sane person. "Or I could make things fucking interesting." He countered with a shark's manic grin.
The gun slid up the skirt to her hip, and she jumped and arched and he flattened her back against the wall, leaning hard enough that she gasped for breath and made a little startled sound tainted with pain. His leg pressed even closer between hers and she made another surprised noise, then bit her lip and returned to glaring at him.
His smile was slow and cruel, edged with a hint of teeth. "More entertaining by the fucking second." He noted, and lifted the gun to nose it through her hair, lifting it to watch long dark strands slip away.
Then his hand closed over her thigh and he lifted, rocking his weight to pull her up against him. Yayoi gave a brief, startled flail as what balance she had retained went haywire and ended up with handfuls of his coat, dragging his arms slightly down. Then he kissed her, and she nearly swallowed her tongue.
He wasn't kind. If anyone had tried to tell her that Kaito Wanijima was capable of anything like it she would have laughed in their faces. He used his teeth and he demanded, a crude and sharp invasion, and her mouth was slack and open, his gun under her skirt again, the muzzle sliding under her panties. She tried to say something, shuddering as his free hand spread against her thigh and he rocked his hips against her, provoking.
"Show me that goddamn spine again." He snarled, low and self-satisfied, and she tried to bite his tongue off.
He threw his weight into his hips, holding her up just by the wall and the pressure there--her feet thoroughly off the ground by now--and in a flash his fingers were pinching into her jaw, holding her mouth open as he kissed her, almost leisurely, and ground steadily against her.
Yayoi wasn't stupid. She knew a fully sufficient amount about male anatomy, and more dismaying was her own reaction, heat knotting low in her belly, the sound dragged involuntarily out of her chest and thankfully muffled by his mouth.
He bit her lip when he drew back, and then twisted, put pressure, and tore the panties with the gun. Yayoi gave a startled cry and tightened her grip, fingers thoroughly knotting into his coat, and he released her jaw, mouth moving lazily down her throat, to reach between them. His belt clinked.
She stared at the empty sky with huge eyes, reeling. This really couldn't be happening, the girl still clinging to normalcy somewhere deep inside her said frantically, and something else said that he still had a gun pressed against her thigh and then he sucked hard at her neck, teeth hot points of pain, and she grabbed his hair to try and yank his head back, instinctively.
It didn't hurt as much as she thought it would—hardly at all, actually, a hot electric wash of sensation and stretch--but it made her nails sink into his neck as her hand twisted into his hair, body bucking almost convulsively, heels digging into the wall. He made a noise against her skin, a sharply smug animal groan, and she nearly bit through her lip.
Yayoi closed out the clean-washed sky by squeezing her eyes shut and thought, I don't know how I'm going to explain this one to Emiri, gasping out a strangled scream as his hips jerked up against her.