To Be Freed [Akigure] (Fruits Basket)

Chapter 1 : Just Pretending

Music for Writing : Suna No Oshiro - Kanon Wakeshima

Chapter 1: Just Pretending

Kureno POV

She was there, in front of me, kneeling on the tatami of her dark room. Once again, she had refused to let the servants open the windows. Despite the darkness, I could make out her slender fingers gripping the blanket, her head bowed forward, and her black strands of hair hiding her eyes. I moved closer to her, aware of her appearance like that of a broken porcelain doll, and I reached out my hand to her cheek. She was so cold, so cold.

"Akito," I murmured softly.

She didn't respond. She remained in her position, curled up, her eyes vacant. Did she know I was there? She didn't seem aware of my presence. I slipped my arms around her waist and pulled her close to me.

Her hands let go of the bedspread, she let out a small cry of surprise and looked up. She finally saw me; she knew I was there.

Kneeling on the floor, I pressed her frail, tender body against mine. She looked so fragile in her yukata. I placed her easily, too easily, on my folded legs. There, her head buried in my neck, her body pressed against mine, I felt her arms wrap around my torso. I kissed her black strands and inhaled the scent of jasmine emanating from her.

She held me so tightly that my heart ached, wounded by her softness.

I felt her warm breath caressing my throat.

My porcelain doll came to life and placed her pale hands on my chest, unbuttoning my shirt slowly, feeling my skin.

I let her, as always, moved by her fragility. Without love, but with tenderness.

The cruel comedy of lovers, which we performed so well together, as she knew I longed for freedom, and I knew she thought of another...

I gently pushed her back, slipping the yukata off her shoulders. My lips savored her small breasts, nibbled the nipples hardened under my tongue. My hands supported her back as she, with her legs spread around me, arched perfectly, her head falling back, cradling my face against her breasts with both hands.

Encouraged by her delicate moans, I laid her down on the floor. My body covering hers, my lips on hers, I kissed her deeply, my tongue caressing hers.

I sat back up, kneeling. I took off my shirt, which fell to the ground. Akito rose in front of me, approaching. With feverish eyes, she observed me. Grabbing the belt still holding her kimono, she discarded the cumbersome fabric that slid down her hips to the floor.

Naked before me, kneeling before her beauty, I watched her smile, innocent, perhaps intimidated by my gaze, by my eyes tracing her delicate curves.

"Is this what you want?" she asked me seductively, her hand gliding over her chest and belly.

I didn't reply. I didn't want her body; I just wanted her to stop crying.

She smiled at my silence and turned her back to return to her futon. She lay down on her back, one leg slightly bent, and gracefully extended her arm toward me in a silent plea, her eyes sparkling.

I shed my trousers, joined her on the mattress, and kissed her, inflamed by the contact of her skin, her hands on my back. I felt her undulate beneath me, writhing, arousing me with the movement of her hips against mine.

I kissed her again. My hands traced her delightful curves. Boldly, I slid my fingers between her legs, discovering the heat of her sex. I caressed her. Akito opened her mouth in a stifled cry as my fingers penetrated her depths. Her body temperature rose. She became moist and warm, offered, for me. Her hips lifted, as if guided by my hand.