Fruits Basket, Akito/Shigure, fragile
He sounded amused, the way he always did when he found her unexpectedly. "Waiting for me?"
She nodded without looking up, felt his hand on the back of her neck, then his lips on her throat. Shigure was never unkind and rarely rough, but there was always a calculation to his first overtures that ran goose bumps down her spine even as his fingertips lazily traced down her back, lingering on the curve of flesh.
"Hatori says you shouldn't allow yourself to get so chilled," he observed, and kissed her throat again, over her pulse. Akito shivered, her head falling back, and made a small helpless sound.
"I'm--ah--fine," she said, voice feeling thick and clumsy, shivered and almost jarred his touch away. "I'm not that weak," she added in a snap, finding some vestige of hardness.
He rose to his feet to close the shoji and turned, his eyes gleaming dimly, an eerie flash of reflected light--still an animal's eyes, which startled her the first time she saw it. "No," he said, still smiling, and returned to her. "You aren't?"
The almost-mocking lilt made it a question, but before she could bristle he was kissing her again, mouth slow and sweet and persuasive, his hands drawing cloth away. He traced the lay of her bones beneath more skin with more care than he habitually showed, fingertips grazing along her shoulders, over the soft swell of her breasts--it still felt strange not to take each measured breath with a weight wrapped her upper chest--and the arch of her ribs.
This was the worship as she received, now, and it was somehow more welcome and more dizzying at once than the silent subservience of silent bowed heads; his head bent to her, mouth trailing over her skin, voracious on her, teeth at fragile sensitive skin as she caught her breath and twisted under his hands, pushing the back of her wrist into her mouth to stifle the noises she was making.
Not god but only a girl in soft mortal skin, and the sheer immediacy of the sensation--none of the unsettling spiritual flush of knowing, only the thick heat of arousal and prickling sensitive skin--and he took her hand away, eyes shining, and kissed her instead, lean body settling over hers.
Not that fragile but he took such care with her, holding her against him with a care that shivered down her skin to pool want at the base of her spine, even as he watched her face like a predator, even as he pinned her there and let her spine bow up into him, even as he slid deep into her body and held her still, eyelids fluttering, smile gone to an unsettling focus.
His hands locked around her wrists, thumb moving over the curve of bone, and he bent and kissed her like a tease with just the faintest promise of teeth. And she didn't mind at all.