nightcenturymountain: (put me together)
[personal profile] nightcenturymountain
When do I write? I write when I'm writing things that just aren't good for you. This one's not that bad, but the finish is a little bit rough. Language and brainpictures.

Man. I'm too tired to be writing these notes. Just...here's the fic. It's called Lolita, it's not that long (a little over 1000 words), and the warnings are about what you'd expect from the name. It's alt-universe Isa & Kairi, if they'd all managed to grow up in Radiant Garden. Yarr. (reaaad it. you know you want to.) Next time I'll post some actual porn, rather than just heavily implied porn. Impetus courtesy [livejournal.com profile] springkink and an "anonymous" poster. Heh. *loves on you*

Lolita

He knew her by sight -- her pink dress short and tempting; her hair fluttering around her shoulders, red and surely silky-fine; her eyes, blue and wide and still innocent, if only just. He'd watched her grow from a scampering little girl, always underfoot, always in the way. Now, she was old enough to consider. Old enough to fill out her dresses in ways he found disquieting. Old enough...barely.

He knew her by scent -- flowers and salt and sweetness, sugar and sweat and the guilty pleasure of ice cream dripping down your fingers while running through the castle halls. It drifted before her when she walked, so he always knew she was near before she appeared; it lingered after her, so she was always there a few moments after she'd gone.

He knew her by sound -- shrieks and trills of laughter echoing along the cliffs and halls and hollows; her voice becoming soft and serious, or bright and cheery depending on who she spoke to; the way her sobs hiccoughed from her throat as she choked on her childish misery.

She flirted with him, to be sure, but she flirted with everyone, her hands tangling behind her back as she leaned forward, fluttering her eyelashes and pursing her lips.

He thought about her when he was alone, when he should have been thinking of other things; his studies or his job or anything, anyone else.

But he could never be certain if she ever thought of him, and it drove him just a little mad.

Slowly, he made her aware.

He would find moments between this and that to engage her in conversation, just a few words, perhaps a touch on her shoulder, brushing her hair with his fingertips. It was worth the teasing that Lea foisted on him to see her cheeks pinken and glow.

("Isn't she a little young still, Isa? I mean, sure, I'd go for it in a couple of years, so I'd never blame you. She's got curves in all the right places, but --"

And then he'd stop listening, not wanting to hear whatever crude whimsy might pour from his best friend's mouth.)

He gave her tiny gifts, nothing special, just things that friends might give each other, but peppered with tidbits of meaning and pauses full of intent. A shell, a flower from Aerith's shop, a wooden doll -- she laughed ("I'm too old for dolls!"), but she kept it, put it in her window where he could see it when he walked by.

One afternoon he rounded a corner to see her standing with Yuffie, both giggling about something; he was sure he'd caught his name in amongst the bird chatter of their gossip. They stopped dead when they saw him, eyes bright and round, and Yuffie yelled (the girl was incapable of modulating her voice most of the time. Some ninja.), "See you 'round, Kairi!" and ran off, leaving them alone. They exchanged a few words and he watched with satisfaction as she fussed with her hair, her bracelets, anything to avoid looking him in the eyes. Her cheeks were so red, her shyness so pronounced -- he wanted to touch her but wouldn't, and in the end, it was she who reached out and grabbed his sleeve, pulling him closer for a fragile hug before fleeing home.

Then he knew that she could be, would be, his.

He moved forward slowly, a matter of months rather than weeks -- her birthday passed, and she allowed him to kiss her gently on the cheek as he gave her his gift. Her skin was smooth and perfect. Smelling her so close was a torment; her perfume was sweet and gently floral, a little more grown-up than she'd worn before. He slept poorly that night, an agony of desire keeping him awake, leaving him to stare at the moon waxing full and bright outside his window.

There was one dark spot in his courtship, and that was Braig. He was Lord Ansem's seneschal, self-titled as far as Isa could determine, his direct superior at the castle, which he would never allow him to forget. He called himself her guardian, and clearly considered Isa to be of inferior quality for -his- little girl. Never mind that she'd been under the care of her grandmother until the old woman had passed away mere months ago, and -she- had approved of Isa, as far as he knew. Never mind that Kairi had her own duties for which she was paid a fair wage (Ansem the Wise was fair to everyone in his demesne, for which Isa was profoundly grateful), and between that and her carefully managed inheritance could afford her own apartment. Never mind that it was clear that the old lecher probably wanted her for himself. Never mind that he was certain that Kairi had already made her choice.

According to the laws, he had to abide by the rules of her legal guardian (technically Ansem, but he was really too busy to attend to every orphan, so it fell to Braig) until she was of age, and she still had another two years to go.

He waited, for a while, as the older man found excuses to keep them apart, extra hours to spend cataloguing or filing or assisting with labwork or guard duties. One awful afternoon he'd planned to ask her to lunch with him, Braig had come upon them talking and sent them off in opposite directions, in Isa's case, to the mountains for a week collecting specimens for Even's studies.

It only heightened his determination, and, eventually, hers. She found more excuses to see him, more reasons to talk to him, until, while they needed a certain amount of secrecy, they needed no more pretenses.

They were in the gardens, on a stone bench in one of the hedge mazes, and she took his hand, examining it for a long moment.

"Isa, do you -- do you love me?"

It was the first time she'd said anything of the sort out loud, and it made his heart leap in jubilation. She went on, not allowing him to answer.

""Cause I'm pretty sure I love you. I know, Braig doesn't approve, but," her brow furrowed slightly, "I. Don't. Care. I think about you a lot, about your hands and your eyes and ...just, you know, /you/. You're kind and gentle and you care about me. My grandmother liked you. She thought you'd be able to take care of me after she died. I, uh...I don't think she meant in a love way, but -I- do."

His mind shut down. Between her words, exactly those he'd waited to hear, and her slender fingers tracing patterns on his hand that he could feel throughout his body, it was too much. He closed his eyes and looked away from her, not wanting her to see the triumphant smile that lit on his lips. She mistook his reaction, released his hand and moved a little away from him.

"I'm sorry. I'm too young. They all say it. I'm just a kid."

"No," and his voice was hoarse with wanting. "No, you're not just a kid. You're old enough to make up your mind about what you want, and old enough to ask for it. I love you. I have for, for quite some time."

He couldn't bring himself to tell her precisely how long, for fear of scaring her.

"You're brave and intelligent and playful and," (i want you so badly i can taste it. your body next to mine, under mine, your lips parted and gasping my name), "beautiful and, how could you be too young, when you've got as much responsibility as you do? You're wise beyond your years, Kairi, and how could I not love you?" (my hands on you, on your hips, my fingers between your legs, pushing in so deeply -- one, two, three, until you cry out) "You mean so much to me. So much." (your mouth wrapped around my cock, your cunt open to me, wet and wanting me as much as i want you)

She looked up at him, all wide-eyed and disbelieving in the way a young girl should be with her first love, then threw herself into his arms. He held her, savoring the moment.

Soon, he would know her by touch and by taste, and then, perhaps, he might be satisfied. For a while.
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March 2010

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