Fell !eU97cKEiBQ 2011/12/10 (Sat) 02:26 No. 50265 ▼
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The sound of delight she makes is as though she were committing something scandalously criminal. Which, I note with some irritation, it just about is. That doesn't say anything good about my compliance with it.
It's just... been a while. That's all. Marisa has never been... We're colleagues at best, and collaborators more often, but even though half of Gensokyo is convinced we're an item, nothing could be further from the truth.
...I have heard her tell me, after far, far too many drinks, about what she'd like to do to Reimu, Patchouli, Rinnosuke, and (for some reason) that kappa girl, however. I would be more insulted about not making the list if she didn't do half the things she did.
That is neither here nor there, however; in fact, with a muffled nag and a faintly familiar smell, we stop being there in the library, and instead start being here, in a small bedroom.
It's rather sparse, considering. Seven luminescent fixtures at points around the room brighten the place in a with a comfortable ambiance of sorts. Against one wall is a large bed with red sheets (unsurprising), and a few meters away from that, a black oak writing desk and a chair sit, obviously unused at the moment. Behind us is a door that makes several clicking sounds as she waves a hand at it, causing something to glow.
I don't get to examine much more of the room, because she makes a crazed sort of giggling sound and pushes me onto the bed, skirt already falling from her legs, and vest sailing across the room. And apparently she was also wearing a blue dress somewhere that I didn't notice, because there's one that's settling over the back of the chair even now. It even looks kind of like mine. As do the frilled ribbons on it.
A lot like mine.
I look down to find myself stripped down to my underwear and pantyhose. My outrage at this is suppressed, momentarily, by confusion: the dress is still buttoned. Even the ribbons haven't been undone! I suppose it's a trick of the trade, but how?"
And I don't even know where my boots went.
"You know, Alice," she says, bringing my attention back to the grinning demon girl crawling over to me, on top of me. "You should really consider wearing something a bit more daring, you know?" She leans down, and begins kissing along my neck, and down between my breasts, down to my belly...
Something in me comes to life at her touch, like a spark turning into the smallest flame, and I squirm a little.
"I mean, plain white is fine, and all, but really, it couldn't hurt to live a little." On that last word, she slips a hand under the pantyhose, under the waistband of my underwear, and rubs just right?
"Mmnngh," is the best reply I can give to her, right then. It really, really has been a long time.
That tiny little flame begins to grow as it finds the tinder it was set in.
She looks right at me after she places a kiss at my navel. "Enjoying yourself~?" I give her a glare that says "no," "yes," and "shut up," all at once. It only makes her chuckle, but at least she has the decency to get back to work.
...And then her tail wriggles its way beneath me.
The flame catches, and grows into a blaze.
My hands, clutching the sheets, uncurl and release the crimson silk just as I feel a sudden coolness between my legs, and see my underwear settling on top of the writing table.
Not a moment too soon, it seems.
My legs lift up, and lock around the familiar's shoulders as I push myself up and twist my body to the side, turning us over. She lets out a startled gasp of surprise, and tries to extricate herself.
The blaze, roaring and crackling becomes a furnace. Something, somewhere inside of me enjoys this very much. Not the sexual act, specifically, but ...myself, somehow. It is a low, steady drumbeat of emotions, and I feel the connection between that part of me and the rest of myself joining in the drumbeat as if it were a chorus. Trying to describe it seems to lessen it, to rob the feeling of some integral part of its nature. It feels so right, doing what I am doing, though...
Beneath me, the familiar's cheeks are as red as her hair. Her breasts, covered an elaborately lacy black brassiere, heave up and down as she breathes quickly.
She is ...excited?
I had expected her to try and take control back from me, but... that smile of hers looks hopeful, somehow, and her wide red eyes gaze at me with awe and anticipation.
That deep, thudding drumbeat grows stronger, like war drums.
I remember the drums.
...Well, of course. No wonder I enjoy it. No wonder she did this.
I grin, and her breath catches as I lean down, putting my face near her own. "Little devil, you are more perceptive than I gave you credit for." Her body shudders for several seconds as the voice pours from my lips, feeling like the most natural thing in the world.
"Th-thank you, Alice..." she says, sounding almost shy. It's so unexpected I nearly laugh, but get it under control at the last moment, and turn it into an amused chuckle. I reach down to my hips and focus a fraction of my magic on the miniature threads of Outsider fabric of the pantyhose. They part noiselessly, removing the last barrier between the wetness growing beneath them and the air.
"You may continue," I tell her, pushing my pelvis forward towards her. She licks those soft, lovely lips of hers in eagerness, wriggles down a bit, and then begins to lap, lick, and caress my womanhood with her tongue. I hum appreciatively, and reach back behind me, seizing her tail. There is a muffled squeak from between my thighs, but as I begin to stroke it, her alarm turns into a happy, quiet moan.
My head lolls back slightly as I close my eyes, and enjoy the attentions of the demon girl. And all the while, the steady, deep drumbeats of my legacy pound out their rhythm in my veins, drowning out the lewd sounds echoing in the room.
Nothing, before today, has felt so good, or so indescribably right.
Things wind down around early afternoon, the following day.
The sheets are stained, rumpled, and the entire room smells of lovemaking and, faintly, oleander. My hair, long since freed from its ribbons, is a scattered, uneven mess. My bangs stick to my brow, clinging to the sheen of sweat there. I am hungry for something to eat, and my throat feels a little raw. I feel sore in places I wasn't aware I could feel sore.
I am also immensely satisfied.
The little devil is snuggled up next to me, still occasionally trembling, looking a bit dazed, but smiling happily like a schoolgirl with a crush. Her fingers toy with a lock of blonde hair that hands between us.
She sighs, and I take that as my cue to ask something that popped into my mind somewhere between the ice cubes and when she demonstrated how frighteningly flexible she was. Actually, it had been on my mind since... since the first time, but now I was asking it because I wanted to know, not out of confusion and anger.
"Tell me, little devil..."
"Mmm?" She looks up at me, eyes lidded, but inquisitive.
I'm sure I know the answer, and I all but said as much earlier. But I wanted to hear it from her lips. ...Her, full, delectable, sof? ah, getting carried away.
Closing her eyes, she gives a soft giggle. "You already know, don't you? We're from the same place, after all..."
Good... But just to be absolutely sure: "I wasn't aware there was a family of devils in Bucuresti. You don't even have the acce?"
"Pffft. Are you really trying to feed me that cover story, Alice?" Amused, she shakes her head slightly, causing that blood-red hair to rub softly against my skin. "Does it actually fool anyone?"
I think about that for a moment, feeling my satisfied grin turn into a smaller, more private smile. "Almost everyone, so far."
I run a hand of my own through her hair as I answer her. "Reimu didn't recognize me, and Marisa never knew. Mima hasn't said a word, but she would have used it against me by now if she did know. And Yuuka... I think knows, but doesn't really care. Same with Patchouli." I lift my shoulders in a slight shrug. "To everyone else, I'm just the youkai woman with the dolls."
The familiar giggles. "Not to me~"
"...Oh? And what am I to you, little devil?"
She pulls herself up a little, and we share a slow, sensual kiss before she answers.
"The wonderful taste of home."
In the familiar's bedroom, we doze through the late afternoon.
I dream of that home she spoke of: My home, her home.
I dream of crystal towers.
I dream of purple skies.
I dream of the ever-present smell of the magical miasma
...which upon reflection, bears a similarity to the scent of oleander. She really was homesick, wasn't she?
I dream of red sunlight.
I dream of radiant silver hair and red robes.
I dream of Mother.