Pale moonlight crept in through the curtains as the clock neared three, the iridescent beam of light casting shadows across the expanse of tangled sheets and illuminating perfectly defined features lost in sleep. Briefly, eyelashes fluttered as the undisturbed slumber was shattered, lips poised in a quiet mewl as a hand crept sideways instinctively, searching for the companion she’d come to bed with. Cautiously her digits transversed the sheets, probing for something tangible yet coming up short. She stopped then, emeralds opening to witness the empty hollow of a space once filled, her smile swiftly melting into somewhat of a frown.
He wasn’t sleeping again.
Rolling sideways, Ifalna stretched, her toes skimming the foot of the bed as she sighed. Just once she wished she could wake up and find him there beside her, perfectly content. Pushing back the covers, she slipped steadily out of bed, the floor cool beneath her feet as she pulled on a dressing gown, staving away the Winter air once more. She’d never liked this part of their ritual, but the small tug in her chest told her she needed to find him and coax the scientist back to sleep before dawn broke and heralded in a new day.
He was no good to anyone in a sleep-deprived haze of venom.
Fighting back a yawn, off the brunette trod, bouncing curls bobbing against her spine as her footfalls fell lightly and evenly in their venture down the deserted corridor. She half expected him to be in the lab again, hunched over a new slide or an old journal, forever probing at what he considered to be a breakthrough in his research. He wasn’t though, not tonight. On this clear cut, but frosty occasion, Hojo was in his study; if the melodic piano notes dancing through the air were anything to go by. She’d never heard him play and it did beg the question as to what precisely had drawn him from sleep at such an hour that music was the only language of expression he chose.
Not that Ifalna was in any way complaining. It was a nice enough sound to pursue and naturally, a more welcome one than the usual barrage of insults or tenacious barbs. It had her dancing, floating through the vacant space as the melody of Chopin’s Prelude Op.28 No.4 tugged at her heart strings, conjuring with it a contented sort of sadness. She almost didn’t want to intrude when she reached the doorway, her cheek pressing to the frame as she watched the source of her damnation play, his eyes closed behind his spectacles, every collision of his fingers infusing the notes with such conviction.
And then it stopped. The world froze as he felt her eyes on the back of his head, invading the sanctuary he’d so ardently sought. Iffy held her breath, creeping ever closer as she came to rest just at his side.”I never knew you played.” She told him tentatively, her hands smoothing over his shoulders in delicate strokes, trying to soothe away his insomnia and curb his turmoil. No one should ever have to sacrifice sleep for their troubles, not even Hojo. Not when there was so much good still left inside of him, waiting to break free.
“I never play for other people.” He replied honestly, pressing his back further into her touch with an unreserved sigh. Music was personal. It was one of many things the masses knew little about him. Nobody had ever deserved to see that side of him, not even Lucrecia. It was his secret, another facet to his personality that would forever remain private, save for the infernal woman so insistent on coddling him so. Anyone else, he would’ve had no qualms with disposing of, but the Cetra had always been his weakness and his obsession, he would’ve moved heaven and earth for them merely to keep hold of the one that welcomed him so freely.
“Well that…” Ifalna moved between him and the piano, tender digits cupping his face as she watched him thoughtfully. “…is just silly when you play so wonderfully.” Her head inclined forwards, heavy lashes fluttering as she flashed a radiant smile and drew her thumb in a lazy line from his cheekbone to his lips, strumming the flesh with a small exertion of pressure. “Come back to bed, it’s lonely.” She requested quietly, her lips almost forming a pout as she waited for him to acquiesce. They’d had this conversation before so many times, and never once had her insistence ever failed.
Bed. Now there was a foreign concept. He was too alert to sleep, too enthralled by the possibilities his mind conceited in every waking moment. He had science to entertain him, a piano to soothe him, and yet he had no heart to deny the brunette his company either. “Stay here then.” The Professor suggested idly, his hands wandering to either side of her slight hips, holding her gently enough to prove it was without it’s usual sarcasm. Rising from the piano stool, Hojo’s mouth ventured forwards, seeking out lips and a world of new promises, yet the Cetra denied him such luxuries.
Jerking her head back enough to avoid his intrepid mouth, once more her hand found his shoulder, a slight cant of her head granting her access to his scar strewn neck, butterfly kisses fluttering to life along the expanse of already well-known skin. Never kiss on the mouth. She’d heard in a movie once, that it meant a deeper connection with someone, a bond of two hearts all from a simple graze of a tongue. She rarely used it for that very reason, a world of simplicity seemed more preferable to a world of mixed morals and regret. She loved him though, she loved him despite his sins, even if she couldn’t commit to the same romantic platitudes he so sorely deserved on a regular basis.
“Is that a yes you’ll stay then?” Hojo mumbled, his fingers drifting through her robe belt loops, pushing aside the swaddling fabric until only mauve silk remained. One by one his fingers ghosted the curve of her side, hitching Ifalna up until she sat upon his piano, her toes tickling the keys in off-kilter notes, a chromatic mess of mystique and appeal. Peridot gaze met with Mako infused blue, an eyebrow creeping steadily higher as she tried to look stern. This wasn’t what she’d come here for. This was just….torture to the finest degree and he knew it.
“This doesn’t much look like sleeping…” She pointed out with a hint of amusement, mischief twinkling in those startled eyes as she leant forwards, stroking through pitch hued strands and nuzzling into his throat. Bed. That’s what he needed. Not this. At least not here. It can’t have been doing wonders for the poor ivories she kept assaulting with stray limbs. Yet Hojo was a man on a mission, questing for what exactly however, she didn’t quite know. Tugging lightly upon his hair as an exploring hand scrutinised every curvature of flesh from throat to thigh, the Cetra couldn’t help but laugh, light and melodic, yet muffled against his skin.
“Very observant Iffy…I’m surprised you even know the colour of the sky.” He openly mocked, a patronising air lingering behind every syllable as he nudged apart alabaster hued thighs and tugged his romantic combatant to his waist. That’s what this was after all, affectionate warfare in a battle for control, for dominance in whatever semblance of a relationship this was. The Ancient merely frowned, her legs winding around him as she brought her lips to his ear, teeth sinking into the lobe in an accosting tug.
“Be nice.” She told him in a slow reprimand, slender fingers unplucking each button of his shirt one by one, revealing more planes of scar smattered flesh, an entire storyboard of history etched into a single man’s existence. Some were old, others new. Bullet holes, stab wounds, cuts, burns, claw marks, bites…the signs of a tormented past demanding that she fix him, heal him, and perhaps even give him the world in a heartbeat and never take it away. Adjusting her position, Ifalna grazed her touch over a knotted lump of scar tissue, her mouth descending to bless every trace of historic pain in a heartfelt kiss thereafter.
The experience wasn’t wholly unpleasant, he decided, but it wasn’t necessarily comfortable either. How long had it been now, since someone had last looked upon him with any degree of affection? The touch was gentle, serene and without hidden meaning. It was sincere and that alone conflicted the man. She didn’t have to do this, and yet she chose to, simply to comfort him. The woman was insane. She had to be, but that lapse in sanity certainly worked in his favour. Coiling a strand of autumnal brown around his finger, Hojo pushed against her, bearing down over the woman until the soft tinkle of keys sounded again. “I’m always nice.” He purred in an outright lie.
In a heartbeat, fingers laced together, limbs intertwined as the scientist ventured forth in his own experiment. A kiss to a quivering breast, a nudge to a hip, a taste of seductive skin so awash with the scent of lilacs. It was a dizzying prospect, yet one that sent half of his circulating volume plummeting Southwards while the other lingered in his cheeks. How old was he? Far too old to be getting embarrassed by such trivial anatomical reactions, he chastised himself. Eyes closing momentarily, the dark haired man inhaled deeply, revelling in the scent of flowers as his hand dipped beneath his lover’s back, guiding her hips upwards.
The clink of a belt saw another change in position, muted lips gasping into his shoulder, as one by one the sound of isolated notes punctured the silence with a rhythmic sense of disorganisation. Bodies rocked, sweat slicked silk, pulses racing and half-muttered, breathless endearments offset the unconventional soundtrack. Like a composer’s first concerto, the composition held meaning, every untimely cataclysm of sound serenading the act of unplanned intimacy, until finally the Ancient cast aside her original rule and permitted lips to mesh with lips in a sign of impassioned and contented defeat.
{ Crim, I can’t write smutty things. I tried, I really did, but I can’t do it! I giggled and blushed and just…yes. That’s why it ended up arty and casually dismisses the dirty deed. You know what the premise was though, and it was written with love…But I’m casually going to go and run away now, to steadily blush myself to death. Have some hearts. <3 <3 <3 }
