dinohouse | [Mushverse: For Genta and Takeru]

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[Mushverse: For Genta and Takeru]

We've done a fair amount of research since Hiromu accidentally ran into the Vaglass agent that looks just like me, and what we've found out has been disconcerting to say the least. Troubling enough, especially where a certain previous Sentai team is concerned, that it's back to undercover for me. I need to make contact with my best bet at finding out what's going on there, and the best way to do that is to place me back into class at Amanogawa, so I have an excuse to go to Genta's sushi cart.

Of course, for the first two days the cart is dark and folded up, unmanned. I worry that something's happened to him, until the day he shows up as usual, welcoming the few customers that have time.

I sidle up to the counter while his attention is focused on a dark haired boy with a cat perched on his shoulders. Well, it takes all kinds.

"Salut, Genta."

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His hand moves carefully down to my chest, to my heartbeat. I know it is foolishness but I feel as if my heart quickens at the touch of his hand.

His lips are on mine, and I allow myself to relax into that, smiling against him, safe and content in his hands as always. Whatever he wishes to do, I will follow his lead.

I can already feel myself twitching in need.

I make small, vaguely needy sounds, most of them lost to his mouth. My hand slides slowly lower and lower, down to his waistband, which I grip, and tug lightly at, and then gently work the closure of it open.

I don't even have to slide my hand inside, my fingertips brush the warm, toned surface of his lower stomach, and I tremble. The intimacy of that touch, where only my hands have ever wandered.

"I want you inside me." I whisper, maybe too low for him to hear, but I can't imagine he doesn't feel what I need.

I need him inside me, over me, finding his pleasure within me. I want to move slowly, not hurried or frantic. I want us both to cry over how strongly we feel for each other.

His hand dips lower, and my breathing becomes more ragged. I am hopeful that we might be intimate. It is hardly the only way to connect, but it is... important, and fulfilling, and my body craves it with him nearly as much as my soul.

"Ah," I say softly. "I would like that, also."

I find his lips with mine.

He kisses me, and i sigh, groan, nearly whimper into that kiss. Arching very slightly closer to him. I don't want to force anything; my body wants what it wants, but it also has needs that are much deeper than simple physical desires.

I ease my hand lower, tracing circles over his skin as it goes. Slowly, nothing hurried. We're relearning each other, in a way, and I want each moment - each touch, each sigh - to be measured and gentle.

I finally dip my hand inside his jeans, and I don't even reach very far before I tremble a little from his heat. I think this may be as far as I am bold enough to go for now. I know my hands, injured as they are, won't be able to do much more.

He will need to guide us further.

He is slow. Gentle.

Reverent.

I must be careful in return, for hurting Genta, emotionally or physically, would be intolerable. His hands are bandaged, and there are limits to what he can do without discomfort.

His hand brushes against my growing erection, and I shudder against him.

"Let me be your hands for a time," I murmur, working at his shirt. I will disrobe us both, then... take care of him.

I suck in a slow, only slightly shaky breath, my eyelids fluttering, nearly closing. His words are so soft and gentle, and sweet, and so very like my Take-chan.

I love him so completely, always have. Always will.

His fingers brush against the bare skin of my chest as he works my shirt open. And each little touch of his fingers makes my breath hitch, sends shivers all through me.

"Take-chan..."

"Genta," I return, leaning down to press my lips against each new area of bare skin exposed by my ministrations.

His shirt is unbuttoned, at last, and I ease it off his shoulders and arms, taking particular care with his hands.

He is ridiculously perfect. Every muscle, every slim line of him. He is Genta-shaped and exactly as he should be.

I sit up slightly, helping him ease my shirt off my shoulders. I almost feel shy, and I've never felt that way with him. Not once in our lives. But this situation is... it's deep, and important, and fragile, and I may tremble a little, just slightly, once my shirt is off.

I reach out for his shirt, but, between the bandages and the subtle shaking of my fingers, I can't get very far. Just tug a little, silently asking him to take it off. So I can look at him. So I can relearn every inch of him.

He shakes again. I do not like this. My Genta. That I should have undone you this far...

I push the guilt down inside. This time must be about Genta. About reaffirming our connection, making him feel appreciated and loved. I am most certainly capable of this.

He gives me such joy, such peace, when I am open to him.

He attempts my shirt, but finds it difficult. I assist, sliding it off over my head swiftly.

I let out a soft breath when he takes his shirt off. It's cliché, and a little silly, to say that he takes my breath away. But he does, especially now, when I thought... when I didn't know if I would ever get him back.

"Take-chan..." I reach out to press one hand against his chest, a little frustrated that I can't feel all the warmth of him beneath my palm because of the bandages. Still, I feel what I can.

I swallow, and lick my lips, and try to catch his gaze. I want him desperately right now, but I also want him to find his pleasure in this. I want him to find himself again, know that he is loved. That I will always love him.

...we have time.

More than enough time. We do not need to rush this, do not need to hasten towards orgasm as if it is a prize.

He is the prize, and he has given me joy so many times over.

If he wishes to feel my heartbeat, slow, strong, his, then so be it. I move around behind him, awkwardly for I do not wish to jar him any further, and nestle him in between my thighs. My legs are on either side of his. I pull him close, gently, with utmost care, so that his back is against my chest and my arms around his shoulders.

I bury my face in the side of his neck and whisper love to him.

I falter a bit when he shifts, but then he's drawing me close, my back against his chest, and I lean into him, feeling mildly overwhelmed for a moment.

I could cry I'm so happy, and yet still sad. Some part of me still wonders if this is his way of saying goodbye. Wonders if after this he will leave me while I sleep, slip away and never be found again.

His face is against my neck, and he's whispering his love to me. A small, almost desperate, little laugh escapes me, and I turn my head so I can nuzzle into him. Into his hair. I breathe him in, deeply. As I have wanted to since I was able to free him. As I have always wanted to do.

"You are my everything. A part of me." I speak softly into his hair, hoping my voice doesn't break. "My Take-chan, I'd be nothing without you. You make me shine."

He quivers, but leans trustingly against me. I... I do not like the frantic nature of that laugh, but of course I understand it. I caused it.

He trusts, but does not trust entirely, and I am heartsore.

I will be patient. I will give him time, as he has given me both time and his unselfish nature, and perhaps one day he will be able to believe that I shall not abandon him.

(Perhaps one day I... no, I cannot even think it.)

He inhales me, my scent, and I hold him closer.

...no. I cannot, his words...

I steady myself. Most certainly, I can. If this is what he needs for now, I can perform any task, support him in anything. Not because I am in debt to him, though I am. Not because I have hurt him, though that weighs on me. This is not a matter of balancing a ledger.

It is a matter of balancing Genta. Genta is in need and that is all that is of import.

I turn my head, and brush my lips against his cheek. My hand goes to his chest, to his heartbeat, steady and strong, and I align myself behind him. His heart beats against my chest; mine against his back. "My heart is yours, my Genta," I say quietly. "You carry many burdens, without complaint, and I would like to ease your heart for a time."

I let my hand drop further, grazing the waistband of his pants. "I would take great delight in giving you pleasure."

I breathe a small sigh, doing my level best not to tremble in his arms. Even as he pulls me closer, as I feel his heartbeat thrumming powerfully against my spine.

Lips against my cheek, words spoken near my ear. His strong hand pressed firmly against my chest.

"T-Take-chan," I can't stop my legs from sliding further apart, my hips from angling toward his hand as his fingers trace my waistband. I grip at the bicep of one of his arms, trying to steady myself, practically clinging to him.

"I want you to find your pleasure in this too..."

His thighs part, and I respond instantly, fingers tracing the outline of his erection under the fabric.

I rumble a soft chuckle in his ear. "I would find it difficult to not gain pleasure from this."

I move down a little, to mouth gently at the soft skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder, then extend my other hand as well to the zipper of his pants. It is time for him to disrobe fully.

My dick twitches from his touch, even with a layer of fabric between us. I yearn for him, ache for him. I've missed him, being intimate with him, for so long.

He is my everything.

His laugh almost makes me groan, the vibration of it through his chest echoing into my back. He kisses along my neck, and I angle my head so he can find more skin, his mouth settling low on my throat, near my shoulder.

I suck in a small breath through my teeth when he drags my zipper down. I wish I could participate in this more with my hands, but the fact that he is guiding this, is seeking to give me pleasure as I am seeking to be his pleasure, means worlds to me.

He's come back to me.

I unfasten him enough to be able to slip a hand inside, with only the thin layer of fabric of his underwear separating his skin from mine.

"My love," I breathe into his shoulder, softly, almost conversationally. "I must regret to inform you that I must disengage from this position in order to pay full attention to you. I seek your permission, and your forgiveness."

I do not wish to move from him. He is warm and safe in my arms, and I am supporting him, a tiny fraction of the support that he has shown me, uncomplainingly, tirelessly, in recent weeks. However, to continue this as I wish, to take him in my mouth and give him pleasure, I must move in front of him.

I am... mostly being playful about this. Of course I shall do it. However, it is quite the conundrum.

I laugh, a bit breathlessly, at his words.

"Always so formal, my Take-chan," I turn my head and nuzzle at his neck, kissing his pulse. "I trust you. Always have. Move me as you feel led."

I pull back just far enough so that I can catch his gaze, looking up at him with all the love and devotion I've always felt for him.

...how can he trust one such as I?

He does not know what a gift he grants me with his words. My resolve hardens. I will prove myself worthy of him. I must.

My breath hitches somewhat as he kisses sensitive skin. He gazes at me, lovingly, and I stroke his hair back from his face, with all the relaxed languour I can muster.

We have time for sweet urgency. Perhaps I should move onto that portion of events at this juncture.

Reluctantly, missing his warmth on my chest, I disengage from him and move next to him on the bed, kneeling. I place a hand behind him, at the nape of his neck, aware of the intimacy of such a simple gesture. I smile, and gently push him backwards with my other hand, holding him safely, easing him down to lie flat on the bed.

I may now work his pants and underwear away from him, which is where they should be at all times, ideally.

I am, however, aware of the impracticality of such a wish.

He treats me with such absolute care that I actually blush, feeling timid and shy in his arms as he guides me to lie back on the bed.

I settle, shifting only a little as I make myself comfortable. I'm not sure what he has planned for me, but as long as it ends with us connected, with him inside me, I am going to enjoy every step on the journey to get there.

Every touch, every kiss. Every sigh and groan, whether they're mine or his or shared between us.

I lift my hips to help him remove the rest of my clothes. I want him unclothed too, naked and vulnerable with me. But I'm not going to ask for that outright.

I'm too interested in what he has planned.

I remove the remainder of his garments, fold them neatly, and place them on a chair by the door. I smile, take a step towards the bed...

Oh.

I remove the remainder of my garments, fold them neatly, and place them underneath his on the same chair.

I return to the bed, and very gently, very carefully, climb up his prone form so that I have my knees on the outside of his hips, and my palms flat on the bed on either side of his head. I smile, and lean down to capture his lips with mine.

I watch him as he undresses. I've seen him naked before, many times before. Each time it excites me, and each time I am always amazed, that he has so many more faint lines of scars than I do.

Amazed, and saddened. He still fights so much harder than the rest of us, even now that he's actually Shiba's head. Now that he properly needs to protect the line.

He returns to me, and all thoughts of battle fade away as he leans over me, his presence taking up my entire worldview, a physical manifestation of my constant emotional state.

He smiles, and that makes me smile, and then he kisses me, and I make a soft sound, a mix between happiness and rushing relief. He loves me, as much, if not more than, he did before he was taken from me.

I kiss him in return, shifting only slightly beneath him so I can get a hand up, and thread my fingers in his hair, holding onto him as we kiss. I draw in small, gasping breaths through my nose, my entire body feeling flushed.

As ever, his expression holds love, but there is much below the surface.

The love is not a lie. It is never a lie. It is, at times, the one matter in this world in which I always trust, although at times I have allowed my guilt and fear to overwhelm me, to make me believe that he and his love are safest far from-

No. I will not allow my thoughts too far down that path. What I have seen today, what I have experienced today, has broken that. I will not have it any other way.

He does not lie with his love. He has never lied with his love. But he is thoughtful, underneath, and wistful, and concerned.

He has too many scars, both physical and emotional.

I must repair what I can, and enable him to trust in me again as he may.

He responds to me easily, willingly, as always giving the entirety of himself. I lean on an elbow over him, turning my face a little into his seeking hand without losing contact with his lips.

So soft.

So gentle.

So utterly steel underneath.

His strength is a revelation every time I encounter it.

I begin to caress his naked form under mine. I cup the side of his face, stroke the line of his jaw, and flick a finger against his nipple.

We kiss, and it's like paradise, Eden and Nirvana, and all those other silly poetic things people spout about love. Only it's real between us, and I want to savor every moment of it. Now, and every time after.

He's not saying goodbye. He's saying hello again.

He's promising to stay.

He touches me reverently, cupping my cheek, trailing his fingertips along my jaw.

His hand slides down my chest, and then I gasp into his mouth when he teases at a nipple, my body jerking, not unpleasantly, at the contact.

He jerks under me, and I smile. "Let us work together," I say playfully. I re-balance myself over him and begin to follow the path of my fingers with my mouth.

The taste of his skin is, as always, an epiphany. I suck, stroke, and lick my way down from his beautiful, distracting neck until I reach the skin over his hip bones.

He is all edges down here, all lean muscle and bone, no softness, no spare flesh. He is perfection.

He is Genta. Were he to have three penises and a green bottom, I anticipate I would still find him perfection, and sexually appealing. It would, however, make certain logistics much more complex.

I am quite grateful that he has but one, as I do not need to fear an imbalance of attention. I lick gently up the front of him, relishing the salty-sweet taste.

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