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Hajime has missed her.
It’s an easy word, an even easier admission, but it fails to encapsulate the enormity of her longing, the uncharted depths of her want.
“I missed you,” she had said the moment Tooru had landed, and then again inside the uber on their way to Hajime’s dorms, and later that evening, as they ate their burgers in the greasiest, most outrageously American diner they could find. Hajime had leant in and bit the corner of Tooru’s mouth, her breath hot and heavy, her thigh touching Tooru’s, her voice slow and dangerous when saying: “God I missed you.”
But words aren’t enough.
They are not enough to suffocate the low hum inside Hajime’s body, not enough to communicate the deep contentment, the thick and honey-like thrill of having her here. Of feeling Tooru’s long fingers walking up her nape, sending shivers down Hajime’s back. Of listening to her laughter without the barrier of a screen between them or the distant sounds of a phone call. Of seeing the warmth in her eyes and hearing all the undertones behind her sharply chosen words. Of reencountering Tooru’s scent (sweet, familiar, fresh) and have it hit her unexpectedly when Tooru leans into her space during one of Hajime’s lectures to tell her she has to make a call; her scent surrounding Hajime like a cocoon and making a sudden gush of thick slick wet her underwear.
Words aren’t enough and so it’s no surprise that they turn to something simpler, rawer, and that Hajime quietly gathers her things and slips out the lecture room after her.
They end up fucking in the disused corridor outside LAB 6— a quick fuck that doesn’t really manage to put out the fire under their skin. I fucking missed you, Hajime moans into her mouth. They pant against each other as Hajime presses Tooru’s body against the wall, and then they ride each other’s thighs over their clothes until they come and the only thing they feel is their hard heartbeats and the aching throb between their legs.
(Hajime’s underwear is so drenched in cum that the fabric is still wet and sticky by the time she takes it off at the end of the day, her lips puffy and wet).
But words aren’t enough and so it is no surprise that, two days after that, they lose themselves in the labyrinthine library of the STEM building, desperately chasing any small opportunity they have to be like this, blindly (instinctually) finding the most secluded corner and kissing (biting) into each other’s mouths as Hajime shoves her hand into Tooru’s pants and fingers her until she comes— back arching against the hard shelves and hips rolling down into Hajime’s hand like impetuous waves. Her mouth gasps hotly against Hajime’s, her sharp teeth swallowing Hajime’s words (I missed you so much), her bruising kisses leaving angry purple marks behind.
Still words aren’t enough and it is no surprise that they act the way they act (like barely contained animals, like there’s lava beating in their veins, threatening to consume them every second they spend apart) when they’ve taken every opportunity to be together since the moment they reunited (with Tooru pushing Hajime against the closed door of a bathroom stall –the stink of grease and grilled meat prominent even here– and getting down to her knees, hands closing around Hajime’s hips and rolling her baggy sweatpants down before burying her face between her legs and eating her out until Hajime came in her mouth) and still it isn’t enough.
No.
It isn’t enough.
And so it is no surprise that, the moment Hajime’s roommate packs her things to go back home for the duration of winter break, Hajime decides to skip her last classes of the semester and they lock themselves up in her dorm, finally able to properly kiss, touch, fuck.
“Tooru,” Hajime says against her throat, her lips rolling down the soft path between her breasts.
They undress between open-mouthed kisses, between short nails sliding down tight flesh, between legs slotting together as they rut against each other, bodies arching and undulating over the sheets, making a mess of saliva and sweat and almost-translucent slick.
Hajime can smell her— not the scent clinging to her skin, emanating from her brown hair— no. One more intimate. More secret. More— everything. Heady and musky and thick, already hanging in the air and gathering on her tongue. The one that made her sneak a hand into her pants and quickly get herself off when, just the day before, she had taken Tooru’s panties while Tooru was showering and buried her face in the faint white stain over the fabric, taking her scent in, fingers rubbing over her clit faster and faster until she came just in time to act normal when her roommate came in after her own shower.
It’s a good smell; thick, enticing, almost sweet— one she could recognize between hundreds and that she now chases with closed eyes.
Tooru moans, throwing her head back over the pillow when Hajime laps at her clit, her tongue flat and slow. Her fingers tangle in Hajime’s hair and she moans again— a breathless sound that comes right from the back of her throat.
Hajime licks into her folds once, twice, thrice before going back to her clit and sucking at it. Tooru’s fingers close around the back of her neck and she presses Hajime against her cunt, hips twitching when Hajime’s teeth alternate with her tongue at stimulating her clit. The orgasm grows inside of her like a tidal wave— mounting inside her body until it overflows. Her hips jerk up, thighs tightening and calves burning with the effort it takes to support herself when they rise from the mattress and hover over the bed. She jolts, the last of her orgasm running through her, and Hajime swipes her tongue over her folds, gathering every drop of cum.
“Come here,” she says, voice a little rough, and with the hand around Hajime’s nape she brings her up to her mouth. She moans into the kiss, and Hajime swallows it up.
“You look so hot when you cum,” Hajime tells her against her lips.
“You look so hot when you eat me out,” Tooru replies, voracious. Hajime knows her orgasm has only fuelled the fire inside her, and she’s proven right when Tooru leans up on her elbows and kisses her— a dirty, open-mouthed kiss that leaves them panting. “I’ve something for you,” she says, mouthing at her cheek, her ear, “–something we can finally use.”
Hajime takes her place over the mattress and watches as Tooru stands up and rummages through her things. Her lean, long arm moves gracefully when it emerges from her suitcase, a purple, definitely new dildo in her hand. Anticipation gathers in Hajime’s stomach, a dark, swirling sensation that opens inside her like a black hole.
“Come here,” she says, voice low.
She’s so wet after eating Tooru out that she needs no extra help, and soon Tooru’s fucking her with it— slowly, almost teasingly, dragging it in and out in a way that has Hajime aching for something else, for something more, until Tooru finally takes pity on her and shoves it as far as it can reach, Hajime’s walls closing and pulsing around it.
“Fuck. I missed you,” Hajime says, kissing her jaw, biting the tender flesh of her neck after dragging her teeth over it. Tooru moans, eyes closing, hand firm around the dildo’s base.
Hajime pulls her closer by the back of her nape, biting her lips, sucking her tongue in. With her other hand she grabs Tooru’s boob and squeezes, warm flesh filling her hand and then she brushes her nipple in the way she knows makes Tooru’s insides clench. She’s slowly rutting against her thigh, and the moment Hajime presses the short nail of her thumb into the nipple she feels Tooru’s hips twitch, and a second later an obvious wetness spreads over her thigh. Tooru moans into her mouth, cunt sliding more easily over her flesh now, her own strong thighs closing like vise-grips around Hajime’s leg.
“Hajime,” she whines into her mouth.
They’re sweaty and sticky, the air hot and humid despite the winter cold. Tooru’s nape is wet under Hajime’s hand, her lips swollen where they slide up and down Hajime’s thigh. The whole room smells of them; of sex and desire and slick, and it makes her throb around the dildo, her arousal spiking and making her abs tighten up in a silent spasm.
“Hajime,” Tooru repeats, kissing the corner of her mouth, her lower lip. Her hand closes harder around the dildo, angling it slightly upwards. “I bought this specially for you,” she says, the words like a dirty little secret between the two of them, her lips rolling up Hajime’s cheekbone.
“Yeah?” Hajime asks, eyelids heavy, eyes dark.
“Yeah,” Tooru answers, coming back to her mouth to bite it. Her thumb moves, and the low sound of hard plastic buttons being pressed reaches Hajime’s ears. A moment later the dildo starts moving inside of her— its smooth and rounded head pushing forward before retracting again, the mechanical spring inside it making it hit repeatedly against that sensitive spot inside Hajime that makes pleasure coil and curl inside of her.
“Wh– fuck– ” she pants, throwing her head back over the mattress. Tooru kisses the expanse of her bared throat, and Hajime feels an unbearable heat gather at the back of her neck too, wetting her hair and making her skin burn.
It’s good, it’s so, so good but at the same time it’s not enough— not enough to make her come.
“Fuck– Fuck I need– just– just a little more–” she says, hands closing around Tooru’s thigh, around the wrist she can reach.
“Mh. I think this speed is enough,” Tooru says, licking her lips, her free hand slowly moving up Hajime’s body, sliding over her abs and her sweaty skin and her breasts, the hand Hajime has wrapped around her wrist doing nothing to stop her. “You can cum just with this, hm?” she asks, leaning in and taking Hajime’s nipple into her mouth, teeth leaving clear dents into her skin.
“Fuck,” Hajime swears, hips rolling down onto the dildo. Its head keeps hitting the right spot, pleasure mounting agonizingly slow, orgasm building inside of her little by little, drop by drop, in a way that simultaneously feels like it will take her apart and that will never come.
“Fuck,” she pants again, back arching, body melting.
“I knew you’d love it,” Tooru says, tight against her skin. “The web said it has seven different tempos and three adjustable speeds,” she continues, licking the sweat off Hajime’s cleavage. “Not that I would know. I wanted you to try it first.”
“So generous,” Hajime says, fingers releasing Tooru’s wrist and moving to sink in her hair.
“Mmh I know,” she replies, firm hand keeping the dildo steady as it fucks slowly into her. “I haven’t decided what I wanna do with it after this, though. I could leave it here and imagine you using it, waiting until it’s late at night, hidden under the covers, controlling your breathing, biting down your lip, coming oh-so-quietly so your roommate doesn’t hear– or I could take it back with me– knowing it’s been inside of you when I unpack it, trying to smell you on it, sucking it as if I could taste you, fucking myself with it and thinking how you were trembling around it just the week before, begging me to fuck you harder.”
Hajime lets out a breathless ‘hah’, her lips curling up in a lopsided smile.
“Whatever you choose, you’re gonna have to earn it,” she says, her thumb tracing an invisible path down Tooru’s throat.
Tooru parts her lips in a soundless moan and then she licks her lower lip, saliva shiny over the deep pink.
“You know I will,” she says darkly, voice low, and then, as if proving her words, she presses another button and speeds the dildo up. Hajime tips her head back at the change, panting, pleasure gathering much faster now, and it isn’t long until it finally fills her, her orgasm rippling through her in endless pulses— long, earth-shattering, the pleasure coming from the deepest part of her like a rising riptide. The dildo keeps moving inside of her, stretching the pleasure, pulling wave after wave out of her even when she thinks there can’t be anything left, even when she feels all tender and liquified— cunt throbbing, back arched, her insides sweating rivers of lava.
Her body feels light when she finally collapses onto the mattress; light and sated and with a pleasant tingling sensation that spreads through every lazy nerve, waters coming back to their normal course.
Slowly, with the utmost care, Tooru pulls the dildo out. It’s covered in slick, and Hajime watches as Tooru licks a stripe up before discarding it over the sheets. Hajime can’t help it; she wraps a warm hand around Tooru’s nape, pulling her down, and then kisses her, licking into her mouth and humming when she tastes herself.
“I missed you,” Tooru says against her lips when they pull back, half-lidded eyes meeting Hajime’s dark stare.
“Yeah. I know,” Hajime replies, still languid and liquid, and then she slides her hand between her thigh and Tooru’s cunt and easily slips two fingers inside her.
Tooru sighs soundlessly, her breath a gentle breeze that barely fans over Hajime’s chin. She’s wet and soft, her folds puffy against Hajime’s palm. Hajime watches as she straightens her back, sitting up, closing her eyes, and starts fucking herself into Hajime’s fingers, finding a rhythm that feels right. She brings a hand back, setting it over the mattress for more balance, near Hajime’s knee, and Hajime keeps watching as her body rocks back and forth, sweat glistening over her skin, hard muscles moving as easily as they do on the court, chasing her pleasure as she chases victory— unrelenting, unapologetic, beautiful and unyielding and breathtaking.
Hajime would like to close her mouth around her again— to lap at her folds and suck at her clit and rip the sweetest orgasm out of her, but she knows she’s already close (abs trembling, breath shallow, whole body fucking down on Hajime’s fingers as if wishing for them to reach deeper, to break her faster), and so she knows that dragging her forward and making her sit on her face would only fuck up her pace, making her lose her momentum.
Instead, she pushes her fingers deeper and presses the pad of her thumb against Tooru’s clit, finding it swollen and pulsing, and rubs at it until Tooru’s movements falter, until she groans Hajime’s name, until she comes to a sudden stop and Hajime feels her coming, clenching around her fingers as her orgasm mounts inside of her, breaking through her body in a flash of intense bliss.
“Fuck,” she pants when she stops trembling, head thrown back, body twitching one last time over Hajime’s thigh.
Hajime can relate.
Tooru’s eyes are dark and bottomless when she pulls her head back down and they meet Hajime’s— dark and bottomless and full of love and hunger and slowly twirling things that can’t be put into words, no matter how hard they try.
“I fucking missed you,” she says.
Hajime feels her blood stir.
“Yeah,” she says, thumb pressing again against Tooru’s clit, her hunger resurfacing. She licks her lips. “Me too.”
No.
Words aren’t enough.