Breathplay emotional issues (Tamaki/Haruhi) part 2/2
Long seconds passed before he murmured, "I don't understand." He shook his head, blond locks falling to shield his eyes. "How could she... She was... She wasn't so unhealthy. This can't have..." His voiced hitched and shuddered. He clutched at his chest as he struggled against tears, again.
"Why?"
She did not know the answer, for if she knew, her own painful questions might be finally put to rest. Tentatively she reached out a hand and rested it on his shoulder, trying to will a bit of wordless peace into him. Immediately he snatched it, drawing it to his mouth to press a kiss there on the knuckles.
"Haruhi." Here he stood, now very close and very warm in front of her. As she looked up she was reminded of how much bigger, how much taller he was, and how this little fact made her heart thump all the louder. His breath tickled her face as he leaned in; his eyes were a dark glimmer of plum in the shadow.
His kisses, she noticed somewhere along the way, were not soft as any of his fangirls might have imagined. They were clumsy and rough and needy, the same way his fingers felt as they crisscrossed her body in random designs. It felt bizarre to be the shier of the two, but this time he gave her no pause, no instance to turn away. Tamaki loomed and guided her to the bed where she accepted her fate and gave in.
Off came the clothes as he knelt before her, hungry with desire. He wasted no time once they were naked, not waiting for her to brace herself. She bit her lip from the pain but did not stop from rocking back against him. And it did feel good, certainly. She didn't doubt there was desire burning just below the surface of her skin, judging by her nails scraping his arms or her breath coming out ragged. Yes, determination would win her this small victory, no matter how utterly wrong the circumstances were.
"Maman," he whispered.
A knot, unsettling and puzzling, formed in her stomach. Haruhi was no expert at French, but was that not...?
"Maman," Tamaki said again, then began rattling off a long string of unknown words. His pace quickened as he streamed along, his voice switching from questioning to demanding to pleading. Waves of quiet French lapped against her body as she lay under him frozen with horrible realization. His hands creeped up over her body as he shook his head, his tone now insistent but fearful.
His eyes, beautiful and wet and wanting, bore into hers when he suddenly grasped her neck and squeezed. Fear flooded her and she started clawing at his grip, which held fast and sure. His fingers curled further, breath and life and willpower seeping away from her; he never stopped rolling his hips against hers. Dark spots dotted her vision as she struggled in vain. She could not look away from his face, lovely, violent, euphoric. She could not break away.
When he finally released her, she came harder than she'd ever had before. Panting, feeling sore and elated and shaken, Tamaki nuzzled her cheek as he murmured foreign words into her ear. She pushed him aside and rolled over, clutching a pillow close to her chest.
At the bottom of her heart, a voice called to her.