Synopsis: [Obi Akitaru x Scientist Reader] A chance encounter with the charismatic captain of the Eighth Company leaves you more than a little enamoured. Obi Akitaru is nothing less than thorough in his own pursuit of you.
Contents: Romance, smut, humour, fluff, angst.
CW: Explicit sexual content (some rather ... inventive sex positions, inspired by the amazing @radish-breath - see end of fic for some the rejected position names, LOL)
WC: 12347
"Hey Licht, I've got the analysis of those samples you sent through. Call me when you get a chance. We need to talk."
Receiver pinched precariously between shoulder and ear, you adjusted the large box of files on the mahogany table.
It was the sturdiest table you'd been able to find. It needed to be, considering the sheer number of analytics reports that had piled up across its barely visible surface over the past few months.
Sighing, you ended the call which had re-routed for the second time.
Not that you were surprised.
Licht often outsourced analytics to your department here in the biodata sector of the Second Company. The Fifth often operated as an independent research unit, and seldom, if ever, took on such requests from other companies.
While your lab was fitted out for biological analysis, the state of the art chromatographic apparatus, x-ray diffraction, and the scanning and transmission electron microscopes, were often commissioned for other companies, depending on the urgency of the requirement.
The characteristics of Licht's samples definitely fell under the category of 'top priority'. It would have helped if he actually attempted to answer his connecting line once in a while.
Sighing, you collapsed into your swivel chair, head tilted back to give your stiff neck some relief.
The phone dial tone sounded loud in the organised chaos of your office, and you fumbled past the notepad and assorted pens to reach it.
"Licht? Answer the damn phone when I - "
"Oh, hey, can't talk right now. In the middle of something."
"You asked for these results."
"And they're important!"
"So - "
"Our Captain's coming over for a division meeting. He said he'll pick up the documents."
Your fingers tapped out an impatient rhythm on the tabletop.
"Does your Captain have a scientific background?"
"Not in the slightest!" came the cheery reply.
Sighing, you switched the phone over to the other ear.
"Look, those samples from the battle site showed evidence that Doctor Giovanni has been in the Nether. Even if you don't have time now, I expect a proper meeting in the future."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Licht sniffed.
"Okay. We'll have our meeting soon. But I gotta get back to work."
Hanging up, you stared at your phone, frowning. It was almost as if your analytics had provided a result that Licht had already been aware of.
There was a sharp, cursory knock at the office door. Himiko peered in, spotting you behind the stack of papers.
"Captain of the Eighth company's here to see you. Said you had a report for him?"
Well, they worked fast, at the very least.
___________________________________________________________
The conference room was on the ground floor, away from the clinical sterility of the labs. You seldom ventured out here during the day, and the bustle of medical personnel through the corridors took you some time to navigate.
When you eventually reached the large double doors, they were open, a sign that whatever meeting that had transpired between the captains was now over.
A man was standing at the head of the long oval table, eyes trained on the various group photographs and portraits adorning the walls.
You recognised him as Captain Akitaru Obi, from the profile shots and grainy, black and white images on newsprint.
Then he turned, and there was little to no preparation for the way your bowels seemed to grow wings and swoop up into the region of your throat when he tugged at his tie and offered you a friendly lop-sided grin.
"Ahh, these meetings are kinda stuffy, huh? Are you the one Licht told me about?"
He was coming forward, hand outstretched, and you had no choice but to take it, thoroughly overwhelmed by the sight of him.
You'd heard by word of mouth, of course, about how the Captain was the epitome of charisma and strength, in spite of not possessing any ignition ability. Nothing had quite prepared you for this, however.
Now that he was standing directly before you, you could appreciate the sheer width of his shoulders, the way the fabric of his formal coat bunched over the shift of his biceps, his considerable height, all amalgamating to a form that should have been intimidating, but was not quite.
Warm, whiskey-tinted eyes were fixed on yours, putting paid to the idea that this man thrived off authority. He greeted you as a respected equal, even as his large, slightly roughened palm dwarfed your own.
His smile grew a trifle wider and you could have sworn that all the test tubes in your lab upstairs had begun to clink and chime off each other in some form of angel's chorus.
"So what are these reports Licht was going on about?"
You cleared your throat, not trusting that your voice would emerge as readily as you'd like.
"Uh ... ah. Yes. Licht sent me some samples for analysis, from the battle site where one of your men encountered Doctor Giovanni."
Obi's expression grew serious in an instant.
"Oh, yeah, he spent a lot of time at the scene afterwards. I don't know exactly what he was after, but I'm guessing you do?"
You summoned up courage you had no idea you possessed.
"Right. I think it'd be better if we went up to my office? Maybe we could discuss it more ... privately there?"
The conference room certainly wasn't ideal for this kind of talk, and you shoved down the traitorous thought that having him in your office would allow you to spend more time gazing without interruption upon this Adonis of a man.
Obi agreed immediately, and you found yourself leading him to the elevators, and to the office beside the lab that formed your hallowed domain.
You cringed internally at the sight of your desk. If you'd known who your guest would be, you'd have taken more time to clear up here.
Obi, however, looked about in what appeared to be excitement and appreciation.
"Oho, look at all this stuff! Is that a real B54 grenade? I thought they got rid of old stock."
You regarded him for a moment in surprise before nodding vigorously.
“It is! What you’re holding is actually the prototype. Our previous head of research improved on the design afterwards.”
Fortunately, the report for Licht’s analysis had been placed at the top of one of the piles of papers and folders, so you didn’t have to sift for an embarrassingly long time through them in order to find it.
“Please, take a seat.”
You perched yourself on the edge of the chair beside him, opening up the folder.
“Would you like the condensed version?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and you tried to tamp down your hyper-awareness of his breath along your cheek, the brush of his sleeve against yours.
“These samples show a very high concentration of iron, manganese and chromium, in a very specific ratio. The kind you’d expect to find in soil and residue from old subways.”
Obi frowned, taking the analysis sheet from your grasp.
“Subways? Like old train stations?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, there’s only one known sample that matches this ratio exactly.”
“Which is?”
“A sample we’ve obtained from the Nether.”
He sat back, letting out a low whistle. You watched him, allowing him to gather his thoughts. As disarmingly pleasant as he appeared, it was now that you could see the machinations of a true leader take over, the myriad possibilities that were being mapped out in his mind.
Handing over the entire folder, you tugged slightly at the hem of your skirt.
“When I spoke to Licht, he didn’t seem surprised. I suppose he suspected what kind of result this analysis would provide.”
Nodding, Obi pursed his lips before his eyes shifted over to you again.
“Anything else of importance?”
You hesitated, and he waited patiently.
Reaching over to the file in his lap, all while feeling like you were taking a massive liberty, you pulled out one particular set of stapled pages, an analysis you hadn’t been asked to run.
“I … took the liberty of running this heat distortion test. Licht didn’t ask for it, and it was probably unnecessary, but … I wanted to be sure. Some of the metallic fragments showed signs of recent heat deformation in their particle structure.”
He cocked an eyebrow.
“Meaning?”
“Someone’s been down there very recently. Someone who packs some serious firepower. Your team should take care when they … if they head down there.”
He regarded you steadily, and your spine straightened as his gaze wandered over your features, as if searching for something. Whatever it was he was looking for, it seemed something in your countenance had allayed his worries, because he grinned abruptly.
He really shouldn’t make faces like that all of a sudden. It was bad for the heart.
“Well, thanks a lot for the hard work from your side! We’ll put this to good use, for sure. And I’ll make sure Licht gets hold of these.”
He tapped the file against his knee, and you rose hurriedly, not wanting to keep him for too long.
“A pleasure, Captain.”
Obi waved off the formality, standing and glancing appreciatively around your office once more.
“No problem. I’d have looked through your collection of relics, if I had more time on my hands.”
“You’re welcome to. Any time. If you want to. I know how busy it gets.”
The words were out before you could reel them in, punching them down behind the remnants of your self-respect.
Who even says that?
Obi didn’t seem put out, though. He brightened at the prospect, a soft laugh escaping him, in spite of the gravity of your prior conversation.
“Well, over at the Eighth we’re all about forming bonds with those who’ll support our efforts. You didn’t have to use division resources to run the heat distortion test, but you did. That tells me all I need to know.”
He tucked the folder under one arm and shot you a conspiratorial wink that turned everything below your waist molten.
“Look forward to working with you!”
Did he mean that?
Was he simply saying it as a formality, or out of politeness?
You sighed as the door closed, sinking into your chair like a deflating balloon.
It didn’t matter, even if he did.
He was Captain Obi, figurehead of the Eighth company, a standout leader within the Fire Force. There was no earthly possibility of him even remembering your face once he’d stepped out of your office.
________________________________________________________
How very wrong you were.
The next encounter you had with Captain Obi was a chance one.
An annual clearance fair was being held, where a number of public and privately donated items were auctioned or sold off to the public to raise funds for the Fire Force.
Not every Company participated, as some needed to be on standby for emergencies, and others simply didn’t have the resources to spare on such an activity. Like every year, however, the Second was a standard instalment, under the insistence of Captain Huang.
Under regular circumstances, you’d be placed on duty with the second-hand books, but this year, you’d requested a change to music. Your collection of relics had yielded a jackpot, as someone had donated boxes of old CD’s, digital song archives and even LP’s and a record player.
Your excitement at such a haul meant that you’d spent hours of your free time cataloguing and sorting the items. You were sure that there were plenty of collectors like yourself who’d love to get their hands on such memorabilia.
The day of the fair proceeded much as you’d come to expect. It was a great turnout, and you’d spent a merry few hours sharing anecdotes with, and selling CDs to the people who came by your corner of the stall.
Just as you were about to start packing up, a few members of other squads, who’d spent the day on duty, started to pitch up, examining the displays. Among them, you noticed some of the rookies of the Eighth.
Your encounter with Obi had rendered you ultra-aware of the members of his squad, and their activities. Not that you were following their exploits on purpose, or anything.
“Hey, Captain Obi! There’s records on sale over here!”
No, no, no, wait, hold on. You weren’t ready for this.
Straightening and dusting off your jeans, you spied Kusakabe Shinra, the talented new member of the squad, happily surveying the table you’d set earlier. He offered a friendly grin and wave, the sharp teeth a trifle disconcerting.
“Hey, hope you don’t mind. It’s just that our Captain loves these, and he – “
You waved off his concern.
“No, it’s no problem at all!”
“Oi, Shinra, what’ve you got there?”
Good heavens.
You’d recognise that towering form anywhere.
Obi was not wearing a suit today, and looked far more comfortable out of such apparel. The plain black t-shirt, which would not normally invite undue attention, fitted his form like carved cloth on a marble statue, barely concealing the ripple of his abdomen as he moved.
No, you couldn’t be caught staring like this.
Moving your gaze forcefully up to his face, you noted, faintly, that you were in the firm category of ‘lost cause’.
Out of the dim lighting of the station halls, his skin boasted a healthy tan, the wind slightly lifting the dark hair above the soft, bristly undercut he sported at the nape and sides. He dipped his head slightly in order to meet your gaze, an all-encompassing warmth trickling into your limbs like honey as the corner of his mouth curved in recognition.
“Oh, it’s you! Is this all part of your cool collection? Whoa, hey, Shinra, check this out. She’s got the Deep Purple triple LP and the original photographs of their live performances.”
Before you knew it, Obi was elbow-deep in your table of offerings, spouting trivia that would only be known to a true fanatic, while Shinra muttered apologies and attempted to neaten up the piles of items in his Captain’s wake.
You laughed and assured him that it was no issue.
“It’s fine, don’t worry, I’ll sort this out.”
Obi waved a Led Zeppelin album under your nose.
“Huh? No way! Of course we’ll help you with all this.”
One of his large hands dropped onto Shinra’s head, ruffling the youngster’s hair.
“Shinra, we’re gonna make sure that this lady doesn’t lift a finger to pack these boxes ‘cos she’s been on her feet all day, right?”
“Yes sir!”
You could have sworn that before today, you’d never wanted someone to be the father of your hypothetical children.
Coming to a decision, you produced your secret weapon.
No, you hadn’t been saving this one for a rainy day, when Obi might have decided to visit your office again. It was just … buried rather deep.
“This one’s a real treasure, Captain. I don’t think there are many remaining copies of – “
Just like that, Obi was looking over your shoulder, no barrier of musical paraphernalia between you any longer. Distantly, you heard Shinra complaining because he’d moved the table out of the way in his excitement.
“Is … is that Ride the Lightning?”
“It is,” you all but croaked.
He reached around you, and you were subjected to the highly intimate sensation of his bicep curling across your arm, the clean scent of his aftershave.
“You’re right,” he whispered, and you chanced a glance up at him, at the softly reverential look in his eye. “I’ve been searching for this one for … “
“Hey, Captain, don’t get carried away! You gotta pay for all this stuff and you splashed out last week arranging that barbeque, remember?”
Shinra’s oddly responsible reminder broke Obi out of his trance. He looked down at you, breath fanning across your cheeks, and something about the nature of your current pose, so close to each other with his fingers half engulfing yours as you both held onto the precious album, seemed to knock him back to the realm of propriety.
He cleared his throat and retreated a step, leaving you immediately longing for the pleasant heat he brought.
“Ah, you’re … very, very right, Shinra.”
His attempt to match the caution of his young subordinate was terribly endearing.
Obi made his way back to the other side of the table, reminding you strongly of a giant, friendly guard dog that had just been told he would have no access to the frisbee in the neighbouring yard.
Catching his slightly forlorn look at the CD in your hand, you offered him a warm smile.
“Tell you what, why don’t we make it a bundle? You can have this CD for half the price, and these LPs for free, if you help me with packing up. They won’t last long in our damp storerooms, anyway.”
You knew, in that moment, that you’d never grow tired of watching this man’s face light up as it did then.
“You heard her, Shinra!”
“Sir!”
The rest of the afternoon passed in a pleasant haze (at least, for you) as the Captain, with the help of Shinra, sealed away the remaining stock in cardboard boxes and carried them over to the large trolley that would be wheeled back to the storeroom.
As you worked, you found that it was surprisingly easy to chat to him. He had that conversational manner of leaping from one related topic to another, chaining together a series of exchanges that fell into effortless camaraderie.
It was clear now why he was such a popular figure amongst his squad members.
You took the opportunity to quiz him on his music preferences, which of those he hadn’t obtained for his own collection and assured him that if you ever found those artists, you’d be sure to hold onto them for him.
You also tried your best not to show too much interest in the way the sinew stretched and muscle played beneath the tawny skin of his arms when he lifted each heavy box with little apparent effort.
By the time you’d returned to your office, there was an irrepressible smile etched on your face, one that you were quite sure made you look as if you’d been concussed with a CD the size of Amaterasu.
__________________________________________________________
Over the next few weeks, it seemed that the universe was intent on placing Captain Obi in your path in ways most unexpected.
More of Licht’s analyses were being routed to your office, for you to undertake personally. It also seemed that, contrary to your earlier belief, Obi remembered you just fine.
Considering the nature of the Eighth’s work in the field, they were more often than not being patched up at the Second, and with the recent increase in the squad’s number, this was becoming a regular occurrence.
On one of these occasions, Shinra and Arthur had been in the med bay when Obi had arrived unannounced at your lab.
You’d been in the middle of conducting the new batch of genetic tests, this time on the species of insect used by the white clad to carry out the Evangelist’s orders. Over the auto-mechanical hum of the autoclave and centrifuge, you hadn’t heard him enter through the double doors behind you.
He coughed to get your attention, and you spun on your heel, micropipette in one hand, eyes widening.
“Captain Obi!”
Placing aside your equipment, you hurried over to him.
“I didn’t know you would be coming today – “
He shook his head, taking in the laboratory around you.
“Nah, just decided to drop by. Some of the recruits are getting patched up.”
The ease with which he said it caused something heavy and hot to lodge in the region of your chest.
He’d just … dropped by?
Realising that you were standing expectantly before him, he slapped a hand to his forehead.
“Wait, am I supposed to be wearing a lab coat in here?”
None of the experiments you ran here were especially dangerous, and he was wearing his protective gear, but who were you to turn down such an opportunity?
“Well, sure, it adds to the experience of being in a lab, right?”
Grinning, you selected one of the spare coats that you always kept on hand in a cupboard nearby, choosing the largest size available for him. Obi stepped forward as you gestured to him, helping him into the garment.
He grunted slightly as it stretched over his shoulders, his fingers catching and tugging at the sleeves. You moved to the front to ‘assist’ him with buttoning up, but as you pulled the edges together, it was clear that they would never close over his formidable chest.
With some effort, you managed to squeeze one button in through its respective hole.
There was a moment of tense silence before the threads gave way and the tiny, plastic round zinged off into the echoing depths of the lab.
Taking in the now empty space where the button had been, you saw one of Obi’s pectorals pulse with deliberate intent as he stared down at them with regret.
“Ah, sorry about that. Can’t get ‘em to stay still.”
Your mouth twitched.
Obi’s lips drew into a quivering line.
The snort of laughter that escaped you was shortly echoed by one of his own, both of you shaking with repressed merriment.
Wiping away moisture from the corner of your eye, you placed your hands on your hips.
“I think you’ve just outstripped every one of our velocity tests.”
“Just give me a protein bar beforehand, and I’m your man.”
“Your services are that easily bought?”
“For you, maybe.”
Was he … flirting?
Maybe in jest, or as a quick rejoinder, but you were pretty certain you hadn’t misread the intent.
Trying not to stammer out something monumentally stupid, you straightened, glancing away from him. You were well aware of his eyes traveling over your profile, but you were not so sure that you could stand up to direct scrutiny right now.
“Would you … like me to show you around? While you wait, I mean.”
“Sure! Licht keeps his workspace shut down tight, so haven’t spent much time in there.”
You talked him through the basics of some of the instruments and specialised rooms in the lab facility, and he followed along, a rather adorable frown of diligent concentration taking precedence between his brows.
When you reached your current set of experiments though, there was no mistaking the shift in both your moods.
He stooped, eyeing the insect remains in one of the small, sterile sample jars.
“So this is it?”
“Not quite. This is a related species we found in the southern peninsula. They’re highly resistant to fire, so … I suppose I was hoping to find some clue in their genetic make-up as to how they’re being used.”
Nodding, he stepped back.
“Is this related to the experiments Licht is running?”
“There’s no overlap, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m conducting peripheral research while he focuses on the meat of the matter, so to speak. We’ve got the equipment here to enable fast output for larger amounts of data.”
“You’re okay with that? Not knowing what he uses your results for?”
Turning to him, you shook your head ruefully.
“I understand how it probably looks to you, but … I’ve never cut any corners with the analyses I run. If these are the tests requested, then I have to do my part and trust that the other companies will make good use of them.”
He cocked an eyebrow.
“Except for when you run tests you weren’t asked to?”
Your smile grew wider.
“Especially then.”
__________________________________________________________
Captain Obi’s visit to your lab seemed to set the tone for your encounters with him afterwards.
Your respective duties were always top priority, but on the occasions when the Eighth company’s path crossed yours, he’d always made a habit of hailing you and filling you in on the exploits that had filtered through to the rest of the Force.
You’re not quite sure when you started to simply call him ‘Obi’ during your interactions. It was as natural as the way your body seemed to gravitate to his, the way his mannerisms ingrained themselves in your memory, the drift of one loose thread through the air until it tangled hopelessly and inextricably with another.
At some point, you’d registered that this had passed well beyond the well-trod boundary of a harmless crush, at least, on your part. You knew full well that the territory you’d set one tentative foot into was perilous and rife with potential hurt.
It was unlike you to court danger and the crushing weight of another’s feelings (or absence thereof), but there was something about Obi that made you want to take those risks.
It was perhaps, something about the manner by which he never turned away from his own duty, the barefaced rush of sheer determination and gall he displayed in the face of entities possessing far greater power than himself, that never allowed you to shy away from what you felt.
It was almost as if you were determined to prove that you were worthy of even possessing such desires for him. That was personal, something you could process without much in the way of return from him.
Surely this was for the best?
Without the shackles of expectation, there was nothing that could prevent you from talking to him freely, laughing with him, sharing stories and bonding over the latest albums or gadgets you’d managed to unearth.
There was nothing at all to act as a safety net for a free fall you had no desire to be rescued from.
There were times, you’d come to discern, when your spirit of abandon, your reckless freedom of affection, had visible results.
You were, after all, a scientist. Observation was your forte. In this case, however, the results were shelved without any thought for implication.
There were times when you’d catch him staring for longer than propriety would normally allow, or times when he’d slip in some small gesture that seemed oddly familiar and intimate.
For instance, when physical contact between you shifted from a platonic slap or fist to the shoulder, to touch that lingered on your elbow or branded the small of your back with brief, unconscious heat.
There were silences between words that hung heavier in the air between you, especially when you knew where duty might take him next.
The brush of his skin on yours took on new significance when he watched for your reactions, when his teasing took on an edge of gentle magnetism, as if he were helpless to the way he drew you in further with the slow, steady pull of his own orbit.
It was ironic that in a world filled with negative connotations surrounding uncontrolled fire in all its forms, that one of the bastions of your defence had ignited such a flame in you.
___________________________________________________________
Even if you told yourself that you were prepared for it, you weren’t.
You knew full well the risks he took each time he entered the fray. It was surprising, all things considered, just how fragile human existence truly was, even Obi’s larger-than-life presence that had become a near-constant in your life over the past few months.
When you received the news that this time, he’d been badly injured during a mission, you’d all but flung aside your tasks to make your way, helter-skelter, to the med bay.
Obi was lying motionless in the bed assigned to him, some members of his squad in neighbouring beds, some sitting nearby, covered in dirt and stains, but not much worse for wear.
You watched from the neutrality of the doorway for a moment, taking him in, the slow, laboured breathing, the smudges of crimson at the edges of his bandages, the soft fan of his dark hair across the pillow.
You’d known all along that he wasn’t, by any means, indestructible, but here you were, only able to watch him, with your fingernails digging hard into your palms.
It wasn’t your place. You shouldn’t even be here.
Turning on your heel, you started the slow journey back to your office when someone called your name.
A young officer, features deceptively delicate, violet eyed, was standing in the doorway.
Maki.
Her name comes to mind with ease, for all that she’s in another company. His company.
“Did you … want to visit the Captain?”
“Oh, it’s not … I won’t bother you all now. I’m sure he needs his rest.”
She took another step towards you.
“But it’s no trouble at all. He won’t be awake for a while, probably.”
“I really don’t – “
Maki moved aside from the open doorway, gesturing for you to enter with an insistence that was hard to refuse.
“There’re plenty of chairs here. And I’m going out to grab something to eat. Please.”
She leaned into the room and had a hushed conversation, after which two other squad members shuffled out after her, their voices echoing down the corridor.
You gave yourself a brief grace period within which to recoup your dignity, before straightening and marching towards the room with determined steps.
When you took your seat near his bed, you were suddenly aware of the exhaustion that crept, light-footed, into your limbs.
At some point, you must have drifted into a light doze, because when you awoke, pinching the bridge of your nose and inhaling deeply, you noted that Obi’s eyes were open and that he’d been watching you.
The bruising on his face and neck was heavy, one of his eyes almost swelled completely shut, but you didn't miss the fleeting expression of heavy tenderness, hidden too late for someone with as open a countenance as he possessed.
Choosing to put this aside for now, you leaned toward him.
“Obi?”
His voice was hoarse, but no less vital, even its weakened state.
“Shedding tears for a big, strong fireman?”
You sighed dramatically.
“Is this the fate of every woman in a lab coat?”
“At least bring a lace handkerchief.”
“I don’t own anything in lace.”
“I can fix that.”
“Easy, Captain, you can barely stand as is.”
He uttered a short laugh, followed by a heavy wince and you groaned.
“Okay, enough of that. You should be resting.”
“Hey, how are – “
“They’re all fine.” You cracked a small smile. “You’ve really raised a resilient squad.”
“They’ve practically raised themselves.”
You fell into a comfortable silence, the air between you no less electric with unspoken intent.
“A giant infernal?” you eventually query.
“Multiple cores. Took the entire squad to take it out, but they pulled it off.”
He caught the tap of your fingers against your knee and turned further on the pillow to face you.
“Licht’s probably going back to the scene.”
“All right, then this time, I’ll go with him.”
“Keep alert. Whoever created that infernal is still out there.”
“They probably won’t hit the same place twice,” you reassured him.
It’s almost a reflex, the way he reaches for you, less to keep you beside him as much as it is a means to anchor himself.
There is a lurch somewhere inside you, a feeling of being off-balance, for him to show such vulnerability so openly. You know his nature well enough, and yet, it never fails to bring your heart to a momentary halt.
Akitaru.
You want to say his name, the way not many do, but you can’t, not yet. You still haven’t earned the right.
Instead, you take his hand, registering the heaviness of it. You trace over the hardened knuckles with your thumb, allowing the calluses on his palm to catch on your own skin.
This is a hand that knows the weight of taking a life, and in doing so, releases suffering beyond measure.
Without much thought, you tuck your hair behind one ear and stoop, pressing your lips to the top of his fingers. You let the contact linger for as long as the message needs to be conveyed, noting the slight catch in his breathing, and then you’re standing, making your way to the door.
You’re not sure if he calls out to you, but you know that you can’t look back.
You’re nowhere near as brave as he is.
________________________________________________________
Two days later, you were sorting through the mass of analytics to be forwarded to Licht in your office.
You’d been somewhat on edge during the field survey, but following Licht’s lead, you’d rapidly become absorbed in obtaining samples from the battlefield. There was, indeed, a plethora of new data to process.
Stacking another set of gas chromatography results in their respective folder, you stood to stretch your back when you heard a commotion out in the hallway.
The door to your office swung open and hit the wall with a smack.
Obi’s imposing form filled the entryway.
Behind him, Shinra and Arthur, who had also been recuperating in the rooms below, jostled each other as they attempted to look past his elbow.
You raised an eyebrow.
“Should any of you be up?”
“See, I told you that we shouldn’t – “
Shinra hissed, interrupted by Arthur’s shove.
Obi folded his arms and regarded you sternly, the kind of look he’d use for reprimanding a junior officer.
“Why didn’t you come see me when you got back?”
Arthur raised a hand.
“Because she reports to Captain Huang, not – “
This time, Shinra stepped on his foot.
You shoved your hands awkwardly into your coat pockets.
“Uh … caught up in running some samples?”
“That’s not an excuse! When you return from site, you need to report back.”
“Now, hold on – “
“And you just … kissed my hand like a … a fairy prince and hoofed outta there!”
“Holy Sol, lower your voice!”
Arthur looked dumbstruck.
“She … but … chivalry is … “
Your ears were about to undergo their own form of combustion.
“All right, I admit that I could have handled that better.”
Obi’s bandaged hand was now propped on his hip.
“That’s right. At least let a guy know you think he’s hot before you pull a stunt like that.”
“Wha – That’s not – “
Shinra snapped to attention as if he was undergoing inspection.
“With all due respect ma’am, please admit that Captain Obi is the hottest man in the eight divisions!”
“Oho!” Obi slapped his shoulder, “Always a hype man, Shinra.”
What on earth –
No. No, this was a test of your will, and perhaps, your sanity.
Inhaling sharply, you matched Shinra’s posture.
“Captain Obi!”
He raised his eyes to yours, full of that proud, gentle kindling you realised he’d never tried to conceal.
“You’re the hottest man in the eight divisions!”
The grin that split his face could probably have given rise to a new sun faster than the white clad’s machinations.
“You’re pretty hot stuff yourself, Miss Analyst.”
He raised an arm, leaning his elbow on the doorframe, eyelids lowering slightly, and suddenly your breathing felt a trifle laboured.
“Take you out for dinner at six?”
“Ask me again when you can actually hold chopsticks.”
_______________________________________________________
Contrary to the assumptions of many of your colleagues, you did know how to dress for a date.
When you were sure that Obi had fully recovered, and had a day off, almost two weeks had passed since the rather bizarre confrontation in your office.
True to his word, he made sure that he confirmed your meeting.
Logically speaking, you knew that you had no reason to be nervous at all, considering the man you were going to be spending the day with. Obi would be sure to put you at ease almost immediately, and it would, in all probability, be a relaxed and informal outing.
The coil in your abdomen was more the effect of anticipation and excitement. You could hardly believe that this was going to occur.
You’d arranged to meet Obi at the central square not far from the Eighth’s headquarters. By the time you reached there, it was early afternoon and the weather looked perfect for a stroll.
Obi was waiting for you near the fountain, leaning against the low boundary wall, looking relaxed and gut-wrenchingly handsome in fitted jeans and a striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up, unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the white vest beneath.
He brightened immediately upon seeing you, raising a hand to his chin and looking you over with blatant appreciation.
“A lovely lady approaches. Should I ask if she comes here often?”
You adopted a similar thoughtful pose.
“I don’t know. What does the firefighter’s manual say?”
“That I should sling you over my shoulder and haul you away.”
“Like a pile bunker?”
“You’re much prettier than a pile bunker.”
“You like me that much?”
He threw back his head and laughed, eyeing you with honest affection as he gallantly offered the crook of his elbow.
“Let’s get going!”
“Where to, Captain?”
“Oi. None of that Captain stuff. You know what to call me.”
His skin is shockingly warm under your touch, and you try to tamp down the sweet pang of desire that spikes so naturally as you take in the way he’s attempted to neaten his hair, the intoxicating scent of his body, the way he leans toward you so that the considerable curve of his shoulder presses reassuringly against yours.
“Akitaru, then.”
He beams and squeezes your hand gently against his side.
“Now that’s better. There’s a new place I wanted us to try out. It’s got a great view over the water.”
Indeed, it does.
It’s a small café, serving seafood and simple, hearty meals. Obi watches you fondly as you eat with enthusiasm before tucking in to his own spicy stew.
“Good?”
“Delicious!”
You level your chopsticks at him.
“Arthur told me that his favourite meals are the ones you buy him.”
He looks down into his bowl with a soft grunt of amusement, but you can tell that this information pleases him deeply.
“Yeah? Well Arthur told me he’d have nothing but court food, right before he ate enough to clean out my wallet.”
“Are you that easily taken advantage of?”
“By kids and beautiful scientists, apparently.”
“When have I ever taken advantage of you?”
“Hooked me with that CD … “
“You wanted it!”
“And then with your eyes.”
You still couldn’t fathom by what means he made the corniest pick-up lines sound sensual and dreamy.
While waiting for coffee, you watch the pale lines of sea foam ebb across the bay beyond, the silence that stretches between you acknowledged as a space within which a myriad possibilities exist.
When Akitaru’s hand closes around yours, thumb running across your wrist, it’s as if he’s returning a warmth you never knew had been missing. Resting your chin in one palm, you take him in, allowing yourself to revel in his presence.
“I didn’t think you’d want … this. You know. To go on a date,” you offer, in response to his questioning look.
“Why’s that?”
“You’re on the Force. You’re a Captain. I thought you might not have much time for things like this.”
He is silent for a moment, staring out across the placid water. The wind stirs the stray locks of dark hair that are already curling out of their neatened state. He tugs your hand a little closer to him across the varnished surface of the table.
“I mean … you’re right, in a way. I haven’t paid too much attention to relationships. And the job itself is pretty high risk.”
He turns his gaze on you, earnest and searching.
“But you know … I like seeing the people around me safe and happy. What’s the Force safeguarding if it isn’t something like this? Just being able to sit by the sea with someone you care about and have a good meal. It’s worth it, right? I like being alive, and I like that you’re here with me, and that’s enough.”
The simplicity of expression belies the depth of sacrifice and duty you know full well he possesses, down to the core.
In that moment, you want to be closer to him than ever, and from the soft darkening of his gaze, he’s reading you with an ease that you’ll always find breathtaking.
Akitaru brings your hand up slowly, brow furrowing as his eyes drift shut. He traces firm, slightly chapped lips over your fingers, your palm, the inside of your wrist.
Such delicate actions seem, somehow, incongruous coming from someone like him, and are all the more alluring for it.
The feather-light touch, the dizzying caress of his breath and the way he holds you in place to receive his attentions, all brings to mind the suggestion of how he could pin you down in other ways.
You sit with him for a while, not speaking, basking in the way his eyes drink you in.
He doesn’t let go of your hand, even when you leave the café.
The evening air is still and pleasantly warm, and Akitaru shifts his grip from yours to the small of your back. The steady heat of his large, open palm steals into you, steals away coherent thought as he guides you back to the familiarity of your apartment.
In your open doorway, a passage to something heavenly, he pauses and hovers before you, tilting his head down to yours in the way you’ve grown to love.
You know, in that instant, that he won’t come inside, that he wants all the sweet, heavy fullness of romance with you, specifically, before he can indulge any further. You suppose that the joys of living, within the precious confines of drawn-out time, can be found here too.
Your mouth opens like a flower beneath the weighted press of his. Fingers curling around the broad breath of his neck, you lean into it, show him how you’re willing to take him, tugging lightly at his control.
Before the kiss grows messy, he parts from you with a soft, wet sound, breath blowing across your cheeks in a heavy wash. You take some satisfaction at the small break in his voice, the way he licks his lips to retain the taste of you.
“Go out with me again?”
“Do you really have to ask?”
His forehead brushes yours, touch tracing like a shadow up the side of your body and you feel the curve of his smile.
“Doesn’t hurt.”
“Yes, Akitaru, I’d love to go out with you again.”
He taps you gently under the chin before stepping back and away, making his way down to the street, taking with him some loose thread that threatens to unravel and spill you all over your own threshold.
_______________________________________________________
There's no other term to adequately describe it: Akitaru courts you, in what he obviously thinks is the proper way.
He makes you laugh until your sides protest, waxes lyrical about his dreams, loves to talk about his squad, and never fails to make you feel a part of his many-faceted life.
He has decided that you belong, and you've taken the only place you could occupy as far as he's concerned; a partner, a lover, a friend.
The more you learn of him, of what many would perceive as his myriad flaws, the more your desire and deep affection for him grows.
He loves to potter about in a vest and low-slung tracksuit bottoms, singing off-key, occasionally shooting you a dopey glance as he hits some particularly romantic lyrics.
He tries to fix things at his home, or at work, and invariably makes them worse (much to the dismay of his lieutenant), after which he stands back, hands propped self-righteously on hips, and blames the original construction.
His apartment, once you've seen it, is exceptionally neat, a reminder of his formal firefighter training and disciplined lifestyle. It is, however, dotted with mismatched items he'd picked up as memorabilia, a dented helm from his first official mission, the candid photographs of his squad, a battered basketball, miscellaneous workout equipment and, of course, an extensive record collection.
He's a competent cook, not as skilled as Hinawa, from what you'd heard, but able to hold his own with basic ingredients.
It's something he loves to engage in when you're over, giving you what he calls the 'full experience', with brawny arms on display as he chops and tosses, clearly showing off.
The only complaint you had was that he was almost a little too considerate when it came to the physical aspect of your relationship.
You'd certainly progressed beyond the chaste kiss in the doorway on your first date.
When you were curled up on the couch beside him, fingers interlaced as his arm hung over your shoulder and down to your side, there were many occasions when the soft kisses exchanged grew to something more heated.
You could feel it, in the way his breathing grew heavier, the way his torso lifted slightly under your touch, the way he'd groan against your lips when your fingers grazed through the delicious, shorn expanse of his undercut.
It wasn't that he hadn't been sexual with you either.
You remembered clearly the evening when the gentle drag of his teeth against your shoulder, the slide of those roughened palms underneath your shirt and along the length of your sides, had left you clutching at him with almost embarrassing intensity.
He'd brought his hand around to your front, resting on your stomach just above the waistband of your jeans, a wordless request for permission.
You'd traced over his lips, marveling at how the passage of those eyes left you so incredibly sensitized to the light contact.
Of course, you'd nodded.
He'd exhaled, hot against your throat, before his fingers had slid down, down, tracing a line of fire beneath the hem of your underwear, to where you needed him most.
The spasmodic jerk your body had given, your faint gasp, had earned you another nip, this time just below the collarbone.
Then, he'd touched you, parting your soaking folds, finding his way with unerring, steady ease to the glistening pearl at the apex.
Your thighs had tightened, quivering, against the movement of his palm as he'd stroked you, pleasured you, gripped your waist to hold you effortlessly in place as your head fell back against the sofa.
You'd realised then, as one digit breached you and you'd uttered a cry of delight, that if his fingers were any indication of the size of him, then you were certainly going to have your limits tested when the time came.
Right then, you'd been more concerned with the way he'd insisted on maintaining eye contact as he'd spread you, plundered you, running on pure instinct as he'd watched the changes in your expression, switched to different angles to see what response he'd elicit.
As in everything he did, Akitaru was thorough, eager, ceaseless.
When he'd finally tipped you over the edge, into a golden, molten-edged free fall, you'd scrabbled helplessly at his shoulders, mouth opening in a silent scream, the pounding of your pulse loud as a drumbeat.
The kiss he'd snared you in then was searing, teeth knocking against teeth, on the verge of primacy, adoring in spite of that, and yet ... he'd never truly given in.
There was still restraint, cording his neck with effort, escaping his lips in low pants, in the hunger with which he watched the harsh rise and fall of your clothed breasts.
He wanted, but wouldn't allow himself, not yet.
You saw in this a boundary of his own making, a war he wouldn't lose against the same unfettered power of nature that he faced daily in his duty.
Even as much as you'd wanted him to let go, to be with you fully in that moment, the duality of brute strength and tenderness, which defined him in every sense, was even more intoxicating to you.
It served as a constant reminder as to what he held inside himself, your Akitaru, an inferno greater than any your mind could conjure.
_______________________________________________________
It was a rainy evening, and with the final rush of the day over, you made your way back to your apartment.
Akitaru's company had been called out to deal with reports of infernal activity in the Nether.
You told yourself that it was useless to wrap yourself in a mantle of anxiety and ceaseless worry, but logic seldom asserted itself in your mind where he was involved.
The tasks of the day fled from your grasp as quickly as they’d arrived, and before you knew it, the day was done.
There was still no word from the teams sent underground.
You reached your apartment, switched on the lights, dropped your satchel in a corner.
The rookies were down there too, in the dark.
Their faces flashed through the sorting deck of your memory. All so young. Practically kids. You knew exactly why Akitaru cared so deeply for them, for their training and preparation for the field.
He'd do anything for his squad.
The thought was supposed to bring you comfort.
For the rest of the evening, you attempted to regain some measure of a regular routine. It's what he would have expected of you.
You cooked, and watched the food cool on your plate, and the one you'd set out for him, before transferring both portions to containers for storage.
You cleaned the bathroom, ran a load of laundry.
Then came the pacing.
At 2 am, your phone buzzed.
Half asleep, you snatched it from where it sat on the small side table, next to the sofa where you'd temporarily dozed off.
"Akitaru?"
Your greeting was firmer than you'd expected. You took pride in that.
He sounded exhausted, voice rough-edged and hoarse with the kind of emotional vulnerability he wouldn't reveal readily.
"We're back. All safe, but ... Shinra. He's in a critical state. They're doing all they can to save him."
You nodded in the emptiness of your apartment.
"I'll be right there."
He didn't dissuade you.
________________________________________________________
The next few days are a blur.
The expedition into the Nether yielded explosive results, including the revelation that Shinra's younger brother was a top priority rescue target from the white clad.
Shinra had survived a terrible injury, thanks to the efforts of your own division's Captain Huang.
While the samples and data for analysis had rolled into your lab by the bucket load, Akitaru had been occupied with collating all the intelligence into a comprehensive report, to be presented at a meeting of the top brass.
Through your assistance of Licht, you'd managed to summarize the mountain of analytics into a more digestible form, easily discussed and dissected.
You hadn't expected Akitaru to drop by your place on this particular evening, the day of the meeting.
When you answered the door, it took you a moment to process his presence, so unused as you were to seeing him in his Captain's uniform, a navy suit and tie replete with the badges of his station and level of command, as he’d looked when you’d first met.
He remains still for a moment, imposing and professional, before he crosses the threshold and steps into the enfolding circle of your arms.
You hold him as tightly as your strength allows, taking in the scent of him, the crisp shirt that rustles with unfamiliar texture beneath your cheek, his warm, solid form beneath.
Akitaru tips his head downwards, kisses you, and you know that this time is different.
You almost don't register the way he shoves the door shut with his foot before his arms wrap almost convulsively around you, his hat knocking against the top of your head and tumbling off to the floor.
He'd never been this hot, this urgent in his attentions before.
You can barely breathe beneath the force of his lips, and you find that you don't really want to.
When he breaks away for air, you bracket his face between your hands.
"You - "
"Need you. Please."
It's almost as if some wild, ancient spirit has sliced you both open down the middle, flooding both your veins with unadulterated, primal desire.
Your cardigan joins his hat in an untidy pile, followed by his coat. He kicks off his shoes as he backs you further into the room.
The husky plea in his voice, the near desperation in those infinitely warm, amber-shot eyes, the way his fingers dig into your hips, are like a dozen golden arrows that pierce, dripping with molten intent, right through the core of you.
You must have given him some signal, because in an instant, he stoops, grasping you firmly just above the knees, lifting you with an ease that twists your gut in knots of anticipation.
You're now met with the enticing sight of his broad back, rippling under the confines of his shirt, as he carries you in a classic fireman's lift. He ignores your impotent slaps against his shoulder as you protest, breathless with laughter.
Akitaru hones in on the bedroom like an amorous missile, unstoppable in his intent.
In an instant, the world seems to tilt as he tosses you down on the sheets. You prop yourself on your elbows, biting your lip as he surges forward to hover above you.
"What's this Captain? Not even going to give me a show?"
Your coy smile turns to an open-mouthed gasp as he presses you into the mattress under his body, overwhelmingly powerful, gentle at the same time. Something hard, hot and rigid slots right against you, the tip sinking into the gusset of your underwear.
"Aki - "
It's almost embarrassing, how needy he turns you in the space of a few seconds, just by kneading his erection directly over where you're most sensitive.
His mouth is right next to your ear, soft, eager pants and groans easing their way out. You take some pleasure in the idea that he's just as lost in these sensations as you are.
"Oh, God I'm - wanna take you so bad."
Pressing a palm to his cheek, you redirect that lust-hazed glance back to you, drawing on his focus.
"Do it, then. However you want. Akitaru, please - "
Your begging takes on a high edged note as he grinds down into you again, letting you feel the size of him.
The frenzied desire to be bare, to render him so in turn, takes precedence in your mind.
Fingers tug impatiently at buttons and zippers. Your sleep shorts and top join his trousers on the floor beside the bed, his belt still hanging from the loops.
Akitaru's hair grows even more wildly disheveled as you push through it, encouraging him as he impatiently slides down your underwear and flings it somewhere in the region of the pillow.
Surprisingly, you're nowhere near as self-conscious about your nude state as you imagined you'd be.
In spite of your breathless urgency, Akitaru takes a moment to look you over, spread out before him like a feast to dine on.
The look he is wearing is enough to keep you wet for as long as he wants.
It almost feels wrong, for someone with such an open, lovable demeanour to look like this; one corner of his mouth crooked in an inviting smile, the carved planes and dips of his body gleaming in the dull light, the flush of arousal on his face and neck.
Somehow, the sight of him far outshines the image you'd built in your mind. Now, you can see the light scattering of hair across the broad chest, thicker between the pectorals, forming a dark line of heavenly anticipation down the middle of his abdomen.
Scars litter his powerful form, dark and slightly refractive from exposure to intense flame, lighter and raised above the skin where he'd suffered lacerations.
This is a body to be revered by a lover, to be touched, tasted, spanned a hundred times over by teeth, tongue, splayed palms and devouring eyes.
At leisure, you'd trace each and every one of those testaments to his bravery, but right now his hand is already dipping between your legs in a remembered dance.
Placing one of your fingers between your teeth, you bite down to suppress your moans as he spreads you once again.
Akitaru sits back slightly to appreciate the sight of you, neck arched, gripping the eiderdown above your head, legs apart, the gleaming coating that covers his exploring digits.
By the time he adds a third curling, stretching, dipping appendage, you're writhing, begging him, one of your arms snapping down so that you can claw at the smooth curl of his bicep as he works you.
He leans forward, pressing his face to the side of yours, groaning heavily.
"Can't wait any more, beautiful."
"Then don't. Please, inside me, now."
You lift your hips off the bed, wanton and eager, bucking under his touch. Within a matter of seconds, you register that he'd separated himself from you, fingers sliding out with careful consideration, even now.
Breath hitching at the feeling of emptiness, you struggle to even your breathing as he fishes through the pockets of his retrieved trousers for a condom.
Upon finding it, he raises his eyes to you, warm and mischievous.
"Wanna see me get out the hose?"
You clap a hand over your mouth, before shifting it aside, expression growing serious.
"Can you do it double time, Captain?"
He tears the wrapper carefully, pulling down the hem of his briefs.
"You got a fire that needs dousing, ma'am?"
Arching your back, you cup your breasts, fingers fanning over your ribs.
"It's spreading really, really fast, Captain. Need you to plug up the source right now."
His grin is boyish, delectable, even as his cock springs free, jouncing from the motion of his underwear, and he palms the condom over.
"Looks like I'm gonna be putting out fires all night."
He places his hands beneath your knees, drawing you effortlessly across the bed towards him. You squirm and utter a small, breathy laugh as the heftiness of him smacks against your lower abdomen.
He isn't overly long, thankfully, but he is thicker than anything you've seen in your fairly limited experience, broad around the middle, curving slightly towards the head. When you reach down to wrap a hand around him, the heat of his flesh and the sheer weight of him makes your legs fall further open of their own accord.
Akitaru slips a hand beneath the small of your back, raising you before he draws you forward, into his lap.
"Easier if you're on top."
The words are now grated out as you settle on him, bracing your arms on his shoulders. His control is hanging on by a thread, and the sight of him like this, subject to your will, gives you a sense of power that is arousing beyond measure.
You are conscious of how wet you are, inner thighs already slick and frictionless. He can feel it too, as you slide along him, working up the swivel of your hips.
Nose to nose, his adoring scrutiny is almost too much as he watches you, each contortion of your features as he slides between your labia, uttering a soft grunt as he registers your heat.
Then, the tip breaches you, pushing in with a hard, slightly uncomfortable stretch. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders as he works himself in, sweat beading his brow, the tendons of his neck standing out as he whispers soft curses.
You take a moment, breathing heavily, to adjust to his size. After the initial entry, his width makes you feel beautifully full, on the edge of overwhelming, that slight curve allowing him to drag against you in ways that make your calves tighten.
You start the slow undulation of your hips, to help both him and you, walls fluttering and squeezing as you swing in a small circle, taking him further in.
"Fuck, that feels - "
He closes his eyes and hisses, holding onto your waist as if he's attempting to control a runaway train.
Somehow, you know exactly what will draw these reactions from him. There's something about Akitaru, the upstanding, heroic leader, coming apart inside you, that turns you more than a little wild.
Still swaying, holding onto him with everything you have, you widen the circle, you lower back and thighs taking the strain. He slides deeper, almost fully inside, and now you lean back, hands landing firmly above his knees.
The sounds coming from where you are joined are positively sinful as you sway and buck, drawing the kinds of pleasured, pleading moans from him that could fuel your dreams for decades.
Then he grasps you a little tighter, drawing you against him, and at this angle, he hits a place inside you that draws out a loud cry, your body jerking, rhythmic movements cut short.
"You like that?"
Shuddering, your gaze falls to him again, noting the change, the assertiveness now surfacing, even as lust possesses him to this degree.
You nod and he surges into motion beneath you. You're not sure what he intends, but you utter a soft complaint as he pulls out, leaving you with an ache that needs to be remedied immediately.
Then he turns you around, pushing your thighs apart, pulling your back into the solid wall of his chest, and your eyes widen slightly as you take in the new arrangement.
You're facing your bedroom vanity table, the long mirror over the top giving a prime view of the bed and both of you on it.
"Akitaru, what are you - "
"Giving you a show, sweetheart."
Your arm curls upward, over his shoulder as he rubs against you, and your abdomen tightens at the sight, the flushed head of his cock pressing forward, disappearing, and then he's raising you, the breadth of his shoulders so much wider than yours.
Your hand flails in the space between your bodies, before you snare him, guiding him in once again.
A choked gasp escapes you as this time, you're seeing and feeling it all at once.
Eyes glistening, you watch as he splits you open, an explosive groan escaping him as he also takes the sight of you in, labia parting, the slick length of him moving back and forth as he stretches you open again.
You've never done anything like this before in the bedroom, and judging from the misted, drunken look he wears, this is a first for him too, perhaps saved away in the corner of his mind for an occasion like this.
The curve of him catches you at a different angle, all the more excruciating for how slowly he draws the motion out, bringing you back down until you're completely sat over him.
Akitaru leans back, letting the inhuman strength of his abdomen and hips do the work for both of you. The angle between your thighs widening further, the view you gain turns explicit in ways you cannot process.
There, you can see him, the slow rise of his pelvis impaling you, labia pushed apart to accommodate each thrust.
He takes his time in spite of his earlier urgency, dipping, lifting, grinding inside you in small circles, mimicking your earlier movements. The pearly evidence of your arousal is now seeping past the base of his cock and coating his sac.
Your head falls back, but you fight the urge, arousal and mortification warring across your face as you determine to keep your gaze on the magnificent sight he's gifted you with.
It's clear, from his expression, that Akitaru thinks this is possibly the best thing he's done since forming the Eighth Company.
The sensations grow more intense as he increases his pace and depth, spearing into you with devastating precision. You cling to him, keeping the rhythm as best you can, but it's clear that he is taking steady control.
Heat spreads through your lower body, coiling tightly just below the navel, and now the bed beneath you is slowly gaining a sizable patch of damp, spurred on by his reckless, relentless attentions.
Between the delirium he has induced, you note that Akitaru's arm has come up, bracing along the back of your neck. His knees push against yours until you're completely at his mercy, moaning, gasping, swearing at him, begging him to give you everything he has.
"Aki - oh God - please - I - "
"That's it, angel, take it like that - "
"Fuck, I'm - you're so deep - "
"Pussy so wet, so good, I can't - "
"I want it, all of it, fuck me - "
"Gonna give it to you just how you like, my - "
Some vital checkpoint has been reached because the world shifts once again, and you realise that you're being moved forward, off the bed.
"Wait, what - "
He lets out a huff of amusement against your ear.
"Lemme see if I can - "
Your eyes snap open as you feel one of his feet hit the floor.
He couldn't be -
The arm that had been propped across your shoulders now descends, hooking around the back of your knees as he lifts, taking your entire weight.
He is standing, holding you aloft with one arm, cock still buried inside you.
You're taking great sobbing breaths, torn between disbelief, hilarity and gut-wrenching, animalistic arousal as he resumes his punishing pace with no apparent effort.
It isn't rapid, simply a slow, deep rut, each thrust spreading you open to your limits, forcing the air from your lungs.
Your hands clutch fiercely at those rippling shoulders, raking up marks which he takes little to no notice off, your mouth falling open in ecstasy as he takes you for a ride that nothing else will ever compare to.
The wet slap of your flesh against his echoes in the bedroom, compounded by the close, intimate visual he is now providing in the mirror of the plunge of his cock, the way he moves slightly from side to side, churning, earning throaty, near-panicked cries from you.
It's ridiculous, it's driving you to the brink of insanity, it's tearing up every expectation you had of sex with him, and it's Akitaru all over, overthrowing what should be physically possible with the sheer strength he possesses.
Each mounting pulse of pleasure, the pressure against that low, white hot spot that sets you quivering every time he strokes it, the sweet words of encouragement, juxtaposed with how thoroughly he fucks you, is enough to rip you from the confines of building euphoria and hurl you straight into its waiting jaws.
There is a moment where you have no recollection of where you are or how you arrived there, the raw, blinding bliss of an orgasm that faintly registers as a Richter Scale nine across the quaking landscape of your body.
Then another hits you, less sharp, leaving you shuddering helplessly in his hold again. He leaves himself inside, pressing snug against you, locked in the vice of your spasm.
You hear his ragged moans of approval, the hoarse, heated whispers of how good you are, how tight around his cock, so beautiful when you come, easy angel, just like that.
Finally, he lowers you, moving you both towards the bed.
You slump forward, elbows hitting the covers, now aware of the fact that your thighs are completely soaked with the after-effects of your orgasm. Akitaru leans over you, grounding you with the comforting weight of his body.
As he moves to pull out, you realise that he's still hard, almost painfully so, given away additionally by the labored heave of his breath.
Boneless with pleasured exhaustion as you are, you won't let that slide. Your hand shoots out, clasping his bare hip, and he startles before letting out a low sound of amusement, hot breath intimately stirring the hair near the shell of your ear.
"Giving you a break, sweet thing."
It takes you a moment to recall how to speak, throat dry and heavy from the noises he's been dragging out of you.
"Dont need ... a break."
"But you just - oh, fuck."
The last was a drawn out, sensuous hiss and your devious smile is hidden by the blanket beneath you.
While he'd been focused on your voice, you'd managed to keep your balance, bent over the bed, feet bracing on the floor as you cross your ankles. The squeeze you'd exerted had certainly been noted.
Akitaru had best learn not to underestimate you.
Raising yourself again, you arch your back, presenting him with the tantalizing view of your raised rear.
You push back on him, the sensitivity from your orgasm receded to a dull ache during the brief respite he'd so graciously given you.
Shooting a coy glance over your shoulder, you take in his sculpted form, muscles gleaming with a sheen of sweat from his exertions. His hair is plastered to his forehead, peaked nipples rising and falling beneath the telling flush that has spread down, all across his chest.
What a magnificent sight he presents, and you wouldn't miss the grand finale for the world.
He keeps still for a moment, head thrown back, seeming overwhelmed, but then his chin drops and the look he levels at you serves as an immediate reminder of the fact that you're still very much at his mercy.
You're prepared for it, though, and you ride it out once again, lip caught between your teeth as he presses his large palms to the mattress on either side of you, taking what you've given him.
You clutch at his wrists, uttering short, sharp cries as he fills you, pace increasing, the bed rocking beneath the steady pounding he gives you.
Keeping your ankles tightly locked, you urge him on, reaching up to the side of his face, his skin hot and damp under your fingers.
You're not exactly certain about the words that spill from you, an endless stream of praise and desire, that he's so big, so good, to keep fucking you like that, to never let it stop.
His hand shifts beneath you, pressing on your abdomen, tilting you so that he can probe deeper, and your speech devolves into incoherency once more.
Two hard thrusts and Akitaru comes with a stifled roar, teeth gritted, fisting the blankets as his hips still their movement. He lets out an explosive groan before his head drops to your shoulder, chest shuddering with each shaky exhale.
It takes a while for you both to regain some form of movement, which involves him sliding sideways, collapsing on the bed beside you, while you turn to face him.
Another minute passes before the broadest, practically uncontrollable smile curves your lips, and he echoes it with a wide grin of his own.
"Uh ... sorry about - "
You bury your face in the soft covers, shoulders shaking with laughter.
"What the fuck was that?"
"It was - hey, but you enjoyed it, right?"
"You need to give it a name. Right now."
He raises himself on one elbow, cocking an eyebrow.
"You ... wanna do it again?"
"Yes."
Akitaru runs a hand through damp hair, giving it serious thought.
"How about ... "
"It had better be nothing to do with a power cobra."
"But baby - "
"No."
He blows out a petulant breath, eyeing you sideways. You stroke his cheek.
"Come on. Think."
“The Pile Bunker?”
“Isn’t that your weapon of choice?”
“Among others.”
It's not every day that you see a big, strong fireman recoil from the smack you aim at his arm.
He twirls a finger in the air.
"How about ... Captain's Hoist?"
"Hmm. Getting there."
He sits up abruptly, pads naked across the floor to the shelf where he keeps his memorabilia. You watch him curiously, not least because of the highly engaging way his backside flexes as he moves.
Producing one of his LPs with a flourish, Akitaru approaches the bed again. You recognise it as the Led Zeppelin collection you’d sold to him, on the day of the fair.
“Got an idea?”
He points out the list of songs on the jacket, tapping against one in particular.
“Think I got you here?”
You cover your mouth with false modesty.
“Oh my, what would Burns have to say about this?”
His grin takes on a decidedly devilish aspect.
“That I’m a false prophet, sent to tempt you with my juicy pecs and - “
He cuts off with a stifled laugh as you tug him down onto the bed beside you (no easy feat). Your fingers stroll across said pecs before he playfully nips them, drawing you close against his side.
“So, it’s settled then? ‘Stairway to Heaven’ has a nice ring to it, huh?”
“As long as you’re the one helping me ascend, Captain.”
_______________________________________________________
Later, he lies with his head cradled against your chest, one sizable arm draped across your middle.
He is drifting off to sleep, combined exhaustion from the long hours at work, the high-stakes meetings and the mission that the Eighth Company was still recovering from (and the sex), all working hand in hand to transport him to the softer world of dreams.
You card your hand through his hair, now freshly washed, and remember a time when his presence wasn't a constant.
That time seems so distant now, when he's here, heated skin against yours, breath fanning across your throat, the solid, vital weight of him pressed against you.
Even with the state of the country as it was, torn apart by forces yet unknown, with the risks he took every day as part of his job, you know that Akitaru was meant for this, for returning to his squad, and to you, where he was safe, warm, treasured and loved.
For every other uncertainty you faced, this was one scientifically verifiable conclusion that you'd stake your reputation on.
After all, you'd barely scratched the surface of exploring every possibility laid out before you both, like a road fabricated from gold, and the 'Stairway to Heaven' wasn't even the half of it.
_________________________________________________________
Bonus: A list of sex position names that @radish-breath and I brainstormed for this fic:
Obi One
Drill Tower
Heave Hoe
Bambi Bucket
Towering Inferno
Tower of Babble
Core Blaster
Adolla Squirt
Doppelbanger
High Rise invasion
The 9th Pillar
