Dec 6, 2020
Day 7: Loyalty
"For you, I ... refuse my name”
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Italy
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Poland
seen from China
seen from China
Day 7: Loyalty
"For you, I ... refuse my name”
Haha Poor Obi trying to play fair buuuut did get an indirect kiss out of it. So in conclusion, Obi still wins 😂
Obiyukiweek 2020 Day 1 - Fair Play
What if we stopped playing by Zen’s rules?
AnS (c) Akizuki Sorata Art: Me
The last thing you taught me Is that there are types of happiness that don’t come back The dark past I kept hidden and unsaid Would have remained forever dark, if I hadn’t met you I know there’s no possible way I could ever be hurt any more than this - Kenshi Yonezu, Lemon
Announcing: Obiyukiweek 2020
This year’s theme is: Code of Chivalry
Day 1: Fair Play
Never attack an unarmed foe. Never charge an unhorsed opponent. Never attack from behind. Avoid cheating. Avoid torture.
Day 2: Nobility
Exhibit self discipline. Show respect to authority. Obey the law. Administer justice. Protect the innocent. Respect women.
Day 3: Valor
Exhibit courage in word and deed. Avenge the wronged. Defend the weak and innocent. Fight with honor. Never abandon a friend, ally, or noble cause.
Day 4: Free Day
Live one’s life so that it is worthy respect and honor.
Day 5: Honor
Always keep one’s word. Always maintain one’s principles. Never betray a confidence or comrade. Avoid deception. Respect life.
Day 6: Courtesy
Exhibit manners. Be polite and attentive. Be respectful of host, authority, and women.
Day 7: Loyalty
To sovereign, country, and the code of chivalry
Dates: September 20th-26th Tag: #obiyukiweek20
[Guidelines beneath cut]
Guidelines:
All work must be your own
The main pairing is Obi x Shirayuki
Must follow the day’s prompt, however loosely
Must be tagged #obiyukiweek20 within the first five tags
Please label with the day’s number!
All NSFW content must be tagged and under a Read More!
You may submit multiple entries for each day!
Be nice
Play hard
I Should’ve Met You Yesterday, Chapter 8
A/N: Thanks, as always, to @maverae for betaing!
One of these days this vacuum is going to break... or Obi is.
Read more
Rarely Pure & Never Simple, Chapter 7
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
Obiyukiweek 2020, Day 4: Free Day
The air still smells like freesia and vanilla as Shirayuki returns from her shower, scrubbed clean and with the thinnest pajamas she can muster. Even now the heat’s starting to settle on her skin, turning her post-shower dew into regular summer sweat, and oh, she needs to get that fan oscillating stat, before she stews in her own juices like some Shirayuki-flavored pulled pork.
She settles on the bed, flapping out a hand to turn it on and--
Ugh, it’s just...pushing hot air around, at this point. Maybe if she’s sweats through another set of pajamas tonight, she’ll be able to convince Nanna she needs an AC unit in her window.
(Her room-- back when it was her mother’s-- had a unit, but after an unfortunate incident that involved her father, a thwarted clandestine encounter, and a hole in the garage roof, the replacement instead went into the kitchen, where it’s lived every summer until it malfunctioned and froze to the sill. Grandad’s replaced it since, but still-- it’s never returned to her window. Of all the sins of her mother Shirayuki’s had to answer for, this one is hands down the worst.
“Really?” Obi laughs, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt. She sees the barest hint of abdominals and suddenly, the orientation packet isn’t half as engaging as it was before. “Not the whole...’grandparents convinced their first great grandchild will pop out before graduation’ thing?”
“To be fair,” she manages, breath thin as the worn fabric drops back over her current distraction. “The point was pretty much moot until, um...”
Oh, that-- that grin is trouble. “Until you climbed on top of me and made me come hard enough to go blind?”
He really, really doesn’t need to say it like-- like that. “S-something like that.”)
She’s ready to just call it a day at this point-- and nearly does. Rolling up onto her side, she reaches for the cord to her lamp--
Buzz. Buzz.
Shirayuki blinks. That’s...that’s her phone.
She’s tempted to ignore it-- she does not need Kihal speculating about what her and Obi could get up to in the woods “all unsupervised” tomorrow, and Obi should still--
9:12, her phone reads. His shift at the club is over, and by now he’s probably--
Home. Texting her.
Shirayuki nearly drops her phone straight down the crack between her bed and nightstand, and oh jeez, it would be nice if she could just...calm down for once. Be cool.
It buzzes again. She yelps, trying to flick the screen on with a wild shake. She can save being cool for another day. One where she’s seen him more than once in two weeks.
hey, the text reads, nestled in its innocuous gray bubble, we should talk
Shirayuki experiences something that could medically be called an event. Is he upset? Has she done something--?
not a bad talk, he clarifies, just miss you
She rolls onto her back with a smile, thumbs poking at the screen to say, i miss you t--
mebbe a sexy talk tho ;3 i *rlly* miss u
:|
is that for the sexy or the bad grammar
Both.
She catches the call on the first ring, barely having time for a breath before Obi drawls, “You weren’t complaining about sexy things two weeks ago.”
With all the dignity of a mathlete champion, Shirayuki replies, “Hnn?”
(”Eek!” She yanks the controller up, to the side, anywhere that might help move her character away from giant beetle on the screen. “How do I--? Where do I--?”
Obi’s chest makes a hollow thunk when she rams into it. He coughs; it takes her a full, frantic second to realize it’s to cover a laugh.
“You know,” he murmurs, plucking the controller out of her hands, “joycons don’t have motion sensors.”
“I don’t know,” she returns primly, folding her legs back down over the edge of the bed. “And also you told me this game was easy.”
“Rune Factory is easy.” His mouth twitches. “Half the game is farming.”
“And the other half is fighting...whatever those things are.” She waves at the screen, scowling at the RETRY? stamped across it. “Which is hard.”
“It’s not,” He leans back, setting the controller on his nightstand. “You could even say...”
His arm hooks around her waist, dragging her on top of him. “...It’s as easy as I am.”
Her breath rasps out of her, and oh god, she can feel his dick pressing up against her thigh, so hard already. “You’re not making me feel very accomplished.”
“Well,” his fingernails scrape up the back of her legs, “we can fix that.”)
“You were very enthusiastic,” he remarks casually, “from what I remember.”
“Mm, well.” Two could play at this game...maybe. “It was two weeks ago.”
She may not be able to see him, but she can feel his grimace through the wire. Or well, the air? Wifi? Shirayuki wasn’t really up on how phones worked past the Edison era. It’s not like they ask how cell phones work on the SATs.
“Sorry,” he sighs, pillow audibly whumping over the receiver. “I know I warned you, but I really thought we’d have had more time to talk.”
“It’s okay.” She squirms against her sheets, fighting a shrug he can’t see. “I...I missed you, but I know how much the hours mean to you.”
“I missed you too.” His voice is so soft, so vulnerable, so unlike the boy who made her miss auditions a year ago. “I’m glad we’ll see each other tomorrow.”
“Me too,” she breathes, and oh, it doesn’t seem soon enough. Not when she wants to wrap her arms around him, lay her head on his chest and just listen to him breathe. “You could--”
Come over. Her teeth snap down on the offer. Sure, it’d be nothing for him to hop up to the garage roof, for her to leave the window open--
But that’s how she got here, and nope, no. Not happening.
“--come pick me up tomorrow?” she squeaks out instead, cheeks burning. There’s no way he won’t know she meant something else, that she was avoiding--
“What? Don’t want to be smooshed in the backseat of Big Guy’s swagger wagon?” She can hear the smirk on his lips. “I thought you were looking forward to it.”
“I don’t think Mitsuhide would appreciate you calling his minivan that,” she informs him primly, not a laugh in sight. It’s a feat only achieved by the judicious application of her teeth to her cheeks. “And I was! I mean, I am. It’s just...”
“Big Guy gives priority seating based on height?”
Well, that’s definitely part of it. With all five of them, she’s always left in the back seat, alone, and Obi--
“Gotta say, looking forward to all that leg room,” he drawls, “and getting an airbag all to myself. You think he’ll let me at the aux cable?”
“Never.”
“Aww.” Shirayuki knows he’s pouting; a full-on, little kid lip wibble. “You’re my girlfriend, you’re supposed to be on my side.”
“You know what you did.” A two hour meme mix on the way to Laxdo. “Besides, I just thought it would be better if we, um, had some time to ourselves. Before.”
“Oh?” he hums, so curious, and-- oh, it doesn’t usually take him this long to pick up on when she’s trying to, um, tell him something. “I figured you wouldn’t mind since we’d have all day-- oh.” There it is. “You mean alone.”
“W-well, it’s been two weeks,” she hedges nervously. “And I’m not saying I couldn’t, um, behave--”
“Yeah, I’ll pick you up.” The words come out fast, pinched. Maybe she’s being too pushy; Obi likes to tease, but that doesn’t mean he’s always in the mood to-- “I’m definitely not going to be able to keep my hands to myself.”
“O-oh.” Well. That’s hitting different tonight. Maybe because it’s already over ninety, and her temp is climbing with it. Or maybe because she’s only wrapped up in the thinnest, most barely-there clothes she has; the kind he could rip like tissue paper--
Or maybe because it’s been two weeks, and despite going eighteen years without needing any sexual contact, she’s as tragically hard up as a teen comedy protagonist.
“I didn’t know you were...in a bind.” His voice drops to a rumble, and ah, that is not helping the situation. Her thighs slip against each other, trying to dull the ache. “You know I’m always happen to lend a hand when you need it, kid.”
“It not that bad,” she murmurs, but it’s starting to get there the longer he talks. The more she thinks about him showing up tomorrow, just them alone in her house-- “And you didn’t have time to come over.”
“I don’t need to come over.” He’s laughing, but there’s something in it that’s more, that’s almost a purr. “Come on, kid, I gave you those earphones for a reason. Hands free.”
“O-oh.” She’s all too aware of them now, clipped over her ears. Her hand’s only holding the screen out of habit. Hands free.
“I mean, if you’re really hard up,” he hums, “we could do something about it now. Take the edge off.”
She-- she shouldn’t. “Obi! You don’t really mean...?”
“Absolutely. I’d really like to--” his voice cracks,and oh, oh-- “it’s been so long since I made you come, babe.”
(”Well, that’s the last vote for Dreamiest Hair,” Shirayuki sighs, her flyaways dancing at the edge of her vision. “What’s the next category?”
Kihal glances down and grins. “Sexiest Voice.”
She gapes. “Is Mrs Gazalt really going to let us give out an award for that?”
“Mrs Gazalt takes her position of club supervisor very seriously,” Kihal informs her, “and by that I mean, she sits in the corner playing Words with Friends and just lets us do what we want, as long as it isn’t dangerous. Or illegal.”
“Still.” Her mouth pulls tight, a grim line across her face. If the rest of the club could see her now, her Cutest Smile win would be revoked. “That seems, I don’t know...”
“Like it wouldn’t be a contest? I know.” Kihal shrugs. “But that’s what the freshmen picked. I guess they’re just really hoping Obi will growl through his whole acceptance speech.”
“No, I-- wait, Obi?” Her mouth is dry suddenly. She crosses her legs beneath the table. “Why would--? Obi?”
Kihal rolls her eyes. “Oh come on, you’ve heard him over the headset. He’s got that whole like, gravel thing going on. And when he gets heated with someone, like that time with Raj, hoo--” she fans herself-- “I know you have a thing for Zen, but like, I still don’t know how you didn’t jump him.”
Her cheeks burn, painfully. “I-I don’t-- that’s not--”
“Come on, Shirayuki,” she clucks, rolling her eyes. “You have ears. That couldn’t have done nothing for you.”
At the time she’d been so mortified that Raj had not only followed her to the place that was supposed to be her escape, but that he’d brought up what happened, like it didn’t even bother him--
Well, sex had been the last thing on her mind. At least the actual, arousing kind. But now, now--
Listen, I’m sure you have a lot to say but I really can’t-- his voice breaks, and the phantom pressure of his fingers weighs on her lips-- I was supposed to have your back, and I fucked up. I know it doesn’t make up for what happen but I-- his breath rasps from his throat, so raw that hers hurts in sympathy-- I’m sorry.
--she gets it.
“Right, um--” it’s hard to think with her face so hot-- “we should still count the votes anyway.”)
(He wins in a landslide. His acceptance speech at the drama banquet is so suggestive that he ends up with half a dozen panties shoved into his pockets. They tumble out of his jacket when he leans over the console to kiss her, right over the stick shift and onto her lap.
What am I gonna do with a bunch of ladies underwear? he’d murmured against her lips, fingers toying at the strap of her gown, earning her own personal vote. You need any, kid?)
“O-okay.”
“Wha-what?” She winces at the loud bang over the speakers, followed by a softer, more distant “Fuck.”
“Ah, is everything--?”
“Fine,” Obi assures her, sounding like maybe some of his limbs are out of order. “Just...dropped my phone. I didn’t...are you sure?”
Her fingers clench in her sheets. “Yes. I just...don’t really know how to start.”
“Well.” His voice drops playfully low. “Are you in the position?”
“Is the position laying down?” she asks, nervous. “Because I’m laying down.”
He tries to smother it, but she would know his laugh anywhere. “Yeah, great. Good. You’re ready?”
Shirayuki squirms against her pillow, legs rubbing together so hard they should chirp, like some sort of horny cricket. “I guess...”
Obi doesn’t hide his laugh now, just lets it rumble out from his chest in a way that is...not helping. Or maybe it is, considering the whole...situation. “You guess?”
“I just--” am terrified-- “don’t understand.”
He grunts, and by the sound of rustling in her ears, gets comfortable. “What’s holding you up?”
Everything. “It’s better if we just wait isn’t it? I mean to do this, um...”
In person. With someone who knows how to touch her, instead of her fumbling around and showing just how bad at all this sexy stuff she can be.
“This involves sexy talking, doesn’t it?” If distress is a destination, then she’s already laid out a lawn chair and ordered a drink from the cabana. She’s hopeless when her speeches are planned and PG, let alone when she’s trying to improv and it’s about-- about-- “Do I have to talk about penises?”
He makes an ungodly noise. “Kid.”
“I just don’t think I have the experience to talk about them with any sort of authority,” she presses on, brain undaunted by how ridiculous she sounds. “Especially if I’m also supposed to be doing...other things. It’s really--”
“Shirayuki--” he says her name so soft, so fond, and she knows, she knows-- “you should learn how to do it yourself, too.”
--that he’s seen right through her.
“I don’t see why,” she mumbles stubbornly, fidgeting with the hem of her shorts. “You’re going to Lyrias too. Your room is in the building next door, and it’s connected to mine! I don’t really think I need to learn how to-- to--” she whines, the words sticking in her throat-- “this!”
“Kid.” He heaves a sigh, and even though she’s dying from the mortification of Being Known, it sends shivers right through her. “Just because you’re subscribed to Sexy Culinary School Weekly with Obi doesn’t mean you shouldn’t know how to cook on your own.”
“You magazine needs to work on its name.”
“Yeah, let me just go workshop it with Princess Prettymane and Calico Dog.”
“It’s duchess.”
“You know that doesn’t make it better, right?” he deadpans. “Princess Prettymane at least has alliteration. Also,” his voice lilts, playful, “you’re trying to change the subject. Which is cute, and really makes me want to kiss you until you worry that we’re going to ruin another pair of tights, but--”
“I’m not wearing tights right now.”
His jaw snaps shut.
“See,” he manages after a long moment, hoarse, “that is a very distracting thing to say.”
The gravel in his voice scrapes at an itch she didn’t know she had, heat painting a searing line down her spine. She’s already slick from sweat, but this adds another texture to it, one that’s growing more insistent by the second.
“And very confusing.” She doesn’t know what it says that even his complaints are doing it for her. “Since a few seconds ago, you weren’t sure if you could talk sexy, and now you’re telling me all sorts of things.”
“I was just...informing you. Of the situation.” Her nails pluck nervously at her waistband. “It’s summer, so, um, no tights.”
“Oh right,” he breathes, wry, “just setting the scene.”
“You know,” she tries again, too shrill, “I’m really fine with how you do it. I don’t really think-- I mean, is it really necessary that I have to--?”
“Kid, you’re the one that said okay,” he reminds her. “You don’t have to do anything. It’s just better for you if you know what you like. That way if you...”
His breath rasps from his throat. “...You should know what you like, separate from, ah, someone else.”
It’s a nice wrapping job he’s done on this baggage, but even with only a year under her belt, she knows what the tag on this one says. “I’m not going to go to college and suddenly not want you anymore, Obi.”
“I know that,” he says, but he doesn’t, not really. Obi doesn’t really talk much about before, about all the girls he’s snuck into his room or met at a party or whatever, but he thinks that all this, this whole wanting to put Tab A into Slot B thing, is the default. That you meet someone and maybe you talk a little and then bingo-bango-bongo, you know if you want to get on a horizontal surface with them.
He doesn’t get that this, for her, isn’t her normal. If Zen hadn’t been kind to her that first day, if he hadn’t helped Kihal with her Brecker problem, if the rumors surrounding them hadn’t whipped up to a fevered pitch so even she couldn’t ignore them-- well, Shirayuki wouldn’t have even been thinking about romance.
So the fact that she can look at him and feel like she’s walked into the country club’s sauna with her school clothes on-- that different. That’s special. That’s not going to just happen with someone she meets in an 8AM lecture.
If only she were as good with word things as her English grades suggested she should be, she’d be to tell him that.
“This isn’t about...” Obi lets out a disgruntled huff. “Listen, I know I definitely had some inspired ideas about what you would like from...before--”
(She’s still panting as she comes down, tremors zipping up and down her spine, “How did you...?”
Obi smiles, a wide Cheshire Cat grin. Fitting, since she definitely feels like she’s been dragged down the rabbit hole. “How did I what, kid?”
“Know to do that. With my hips,” She smooths her palms over where he’d grabbed them. They ache; it wouldn’t surprise her if she had hand-shaped bruises slapped across them tomorrow.
“Oh, I thought you’d like that.” Obi curls into her side, too pleased. He’s hard against her hip, but-- she likes it. “When I caught you coming off that ladder, you made that little hiccuppy noise, so I figured...pretty sensitive right?”
She stares.
He blinks. “What, did I say something--?”
“Obi” she manages, “that was four months ago.”)
“But if you knew what you liked...” She doesn’t need to see him to know there’s a feral smile stretching across his face. “I could do much better.”
Oh, that sounds...nice. She shifts, and she-- she leaks, thick slick coating the tops of her thighs.
“Besides, if we’re going to bring toys into the equation,” he continues, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of the conversation, “you should know what makes you feel good without any electronic intervention, if you know what I mean.”
Ah, she-- she definitely does.
“Toys?” she squeaks. “I don’t-- I don’t remember any, um, toy talk.”
Obi hums, amused. “Well, I did promise you a good graduation gift.”
“You--you already gave me one!” Her hand skips up to run over the smooth plastic. “I’m using it right now!”
“Mm.” He’s too pleased with himself, like he’s caught her scent on the air from all the way across town. “But you won’t need them much at school. So...”
“I won’t need t-that at school either!” She’s glad she’s got these headphones; her cheeks would be making her phone’s screen go haywire. “I’ll have you, and I’m very, um, happy with your performance. I don’t think we need to add, um, props.”
“As chuffed as I am to have you appreciating my prowess, kid--” oh he’s going to be unlivable after this, she can just tell-- “that’s all the more reason to have something in the wings to mix it up. Especially since we’re waiting t-to--” he stumbles, voice dropping to a murmur-- “I mean, since we both want to, um...”
He’s so tortured trying to talk about it without actually talking about it that she takes pity on him. “Since I’m afraid of penises, but we both like to touch each other.”
“I mean, since we’re waiting to have sex,” he manages, pained. “Or at least, the kind that involves dicks and, ah, going places.”
She’s been around him too long, because without even missing a beat, she claps back, “Oh, I didn’t realize yours was having its own hero journey.”
“It has certainly felt a Call to Adventure,” he mumbles, “and a Woman as a Temptress.”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, a Meeting with the Goddess,” he amends, quick enough that she grins. “And once again, you’re trying to distract me. Though I thought it would more like ‘clothes I am missing’ instead of ‘Campell’s seventeen stages thesis.’“
“I’m sticking to what I know,” she tells him primly. “But I suppose I could tell you that, um, I’m not wearing a bra?”
He grunts, gutted. “Ohh, you are really just trying to make this difficult.” He adds, a little waspish, “All this trouble better be working for you, because it’s definitely working for me.”
“Oh, are you--” she swallows, hoping he can’t hear it-- “did you really want to try that?”
“Ah, I mean...” His breath comes sharp, short. “Yeah. If you would like to.”
Her breath catches. “I haven’t really, um...”
Done this. Ever. It would be so easy to say it, but it’s just-- belaboring the point. He knows. He just...thinks she’s a much better student than she is. At least about things like this.
“Listen, I haven’t...” He hesitates, and she realizes-- he’s embarrassed. “This isn’t something I’ve done with anyone before. You know I’m not really anyone’s...long term option.”
Grandad always says that she shoots from the cuff-- a nice way of saying doesn’t think before talking-- but she doesn’t regret it, not one bit, when she blurts out, “You’re mine.”
Obi’s breath rasps into the speaker. “Y-yeah. I know.” With a swallow, he adds, “And I know you think I have a lot of experience, but there’s a lot out there to try, and I haven’t even brushed the surface of it, you know? And I just thought, knowing you, knowing how curious you are...”
She blinks. “You mean...you’ve never been with someone long enough to, um, explore?”
“Ah, plenty of people would pick up Sexy Culinary Weekly up off the rack, but um--” he huffs out a laugh, soft and self-deprecating-- “you’d be the first to pick up a subscription.”
Shirayuki doesn’t like to pry, but for a good long moment, she considers asking for a list with some names. Just to talk, of course.
She takes a deep breath instead, trying to focus. “So you want to-- to explore with me?”
“If you want to,” he’s quick to say. “I know all of this is...new. I just thought since we won’t be doing a, ah, traditional progression here--”
“Traditional?”
He sighs. “You know, the uh, porn formula. Fingering, hand job, blow job, eating--”
“OKAY,” she yelps, clapping a hand to her face. “I get it!”
“Right, well, there’s a lot between what we’re doing and PIV.” She nearly giggles at how he says it, piv, like it’s a word and not an acronym. It's almost...cute. Like an adorable monster she could get a plushie of, instead of something that involved penises and could make her pregnant.
“And since we’re not doing any of that soon,” he continues, “we could, ah...take the scenic route. And maybe that would be a little less intimidating for you, since we’d both be new at...whatever we’re doing, instead of feeling like you had to catch up.”
Her heart flutters, and the warmth in her gut spreads up to her chest. “I think you’re mixing metaphors.”
“Sorry, I can’t think of cooking puns for everything,” he deadpans. “Think of it as not having to rush to read back issues, I guess.”
She hums. “I think you’re asking me to help with recipe development.”
“Well, if we’re going to embark on culinary adventures together--” he presses, voice bubbling like he’s trying to keep down a laugh. Several, if she’s anything to go by-- “then you should be comfortable with what your body likes before we add any...additional ingredients. You have to learn to do it the right way before we do it the easy way.”
“Oh,” she breathes. Obi was definitely starting to have a point about doing all this now. “Like New Math.”
“Wow, kid,” he deadpans, “really getting right down to the dirty talk.”
She flushes. Good thing he can’t see her. “I-I thought that was your job.”
He laughs, a rumble she feels right down to her bones. “You’re right. What are you wearing?”
She coughs. “Really?”
“I’m trying to set the scene,” he informs her, far too innocent. “This is a delicate shared fantasy we’re making. Wouldn’t want you to get thrown out of it because I mention panties and you’re wearing boyshorts.”
“I’m not wearing underwear,” she blurts out. “Wearing it overnight increasing the chance of yeast infections.”
Ah, there it is: the regret. It would be nice if she could just...not be like this. If she could just think through what she says when she’s nervous, instead of talking about diseased vaginas with her boyfriend while he’s trying to...make love at her, or whatever.
Now she has to contend with this endless silence, wishing that her mortification would at least dampen her desire even a little. Heaven knows they wouldn’t doing any recipe development tonight, after that. “O-obi?”
“Sorry, I just--” his throat makes a hollow thunk that echoes over the line-- “I got distracted.”
She blinks. “By what?”
“Thinking about how much I want to be there,” he admits, “and what I’d do to you if I was.”
“O-oh.” Maybe some culinary adventure wasn’t...so off the table as she thought. “A-and what would that be?”
A strangled groan tears between them. “I want to eat you out so bad.”
That-- that was not what she’d thought he’d say. “Really?”
“Yeah.” His sigh is strained. “You make such good noises.”
“You like it?” Her thighs clench, and oh, she wishes she knew what to do about it. “I figured it would taste...weird.”
Not that she’s ever tried. But she’s tasted blood (too coppery, bad texture), and well, boogers (too salty; thanks, childhood), and she can’t imagine that can taste much better.
“No,” he hums. “You taste just right. Are you touching yourself yet?”
There’s no way to explain she’s just been rating bodily fluids on a scale of most to least appetizing, so she settles with, “N-no.”
Now that he’s mentioned it, now that he’s reminded her that her body isn’t just some inconvenient appendage for her brain, Shirayuki can’t forget that it’s there. And she certainly can’t ignore the heat between her legs, or the way her skin feels as sensitive as flash paper, ready to burn up at a moment’s notice.
“You should do that,” he tells her, just short of a command, and ah, yeah, that’s sounding like a better and better idea every second. “What are you wearing?”
She’s out of cutesy stalling tactics. Or at least, she can’t think of any, not when her vagina seems to have a pulse of its own. “A tank top. And pajama shorts.”
“Sounds cute,” he breathes. “Put your hand down them.”
He doesn’t have to ask twice. Pubic hair crinkles under the tips of her fingers, scratchy against her palm. It’s wet too, tangling when she tries to slide further down so she just..doesn’t. “What now?”
“What do you usually do?”
He’s panting just the barest bit, and the sound of him already so undone is what spurs her to admit, “I, um, usually don’t do anything.”
“But you’ve tried before.” She should have never told him that. “What did you do then?”
“I, um--” she licks her lips, nervous-- “put my fingers inside?”
“Right away?” He laughs, and it’s fond, gentle. “No wonder you’ve never gotten much of anywhere. How about you just cup yourself now.”
She does. Little hairs wrap themselves around her fingers, coming loose, and oh, those always refuse to wash off later, clinging to her with the same tenacity as glitter. It’s comforting to feel weight there, at least, even if it clearly isn’t Obi’s. Still, it’s...vaguely unpleasant.
“I don’t feel much,” she reports, trying not to let her frustration leak through. Maybe she just isn’t cut out for masturbation.
“You wouldn’t,” he confirms, “you need to part your lips first.”
She nearly does, until she thinks better of it. “What does that have to do with--?”
“Not your mouth.” He’s barely covering a laugh. “Your other lips.”
“O-oh.” Of course. That makes...more sense.
Her fingers splay, parting her flesh, and ahh, there is...a lot more of her than she remembers. She’s read about lips blooming like flowers before-- mostly in the books Nanna likes to read-- but nothing had ever...blossomed down there for her before. But it’s definitely all petals and sepals now, if things like that were made out of flesh. She saw something like that once, on one of those Syfy shows her grans liked to watch when she was a kid--
She jolts as something slaps her hard, right on the breast, and oh, she’s-- she’s forgotten she’s still holding the phone. Or at least, she was. Now her hand is boneless, empty, and her screen has belly-flopped right onto her boob.
“Oh, um, wait.” She fumbles with it, one-handed, trying to find some place to put it. “I need to--I need to put down my phone.”
He hums, bemused. “Two hands would help.”
Shirayuki’s definitely struggling with one, that’s for sure. Her bedside table is too far for her headphones to reach without tugging; the bed itself is just asking for her to squirm her way to an End Call. She’s stuck discovering all this with one hand plastered in between her thighs, dipping between her vulva in a way that can only be termed distracting.
By the time she settles it on her pillow, far enough away to avoid any mishap via cheek smooshing, she’s practically panting. Maybe she needs to take up a sport at Lyrias; Mathletes clearly isn’t cutting it.
“Okay,” she sighs, dropping back onto her bed. “Now I’m ready. I am parting my...myself. What’s next?”
“Are you wet?”
Well, if she wasn’t before, she certainly is now. “I, um, think so?”
“All right.” His bed groans, like he’s shifting on it, and oh, how she wishes she knew what he looked like now. “Just start sliding your fingers around. You know where your clit is, right?”
“Yes,” she manages, squirming as she rubs at her folds. “I’ve seen a diagram before.”
He laughs, a low rumbling chuckle that sends a shiver down her spine, and yeah, she can take a real good guess at where her clit might be. “Don’t touch it.”
Her fingers still. “Why not?”
“You’re sensitive,” he tells her, so casual. “You get squirmy when I touch it directly. I mean, feel free to try...maybe you’re a lighter touch than I am. You could like it.”
She’s about to balk-- if it doesn’t feel good when he does it, she’s not going to do any better-- when his voice drops and he adds, “Tell me if you do.”
Well, let it not be said that Shirayuki doesn’t believe in science. Which is the reason she’s doing this. Hypothesis testing. Not because her boyfriend asked in a ridiculously sexy way.
With a steeling breath, she swipes her clit with the pad of her finger and-- y i k e s.
She grits her teeth, nerves still jangling. “Um, yeah, that didn’t feel great.”
“Too bad.”
With a sigh, she stretches her neck, hoping to get that raised-hackles feel out of it and-- oh.
Rum Tum stares down at her with his glassy black eyes, mouth stitched into its permanent smile. That’s really...not helping.
“Um.” Duchess Prettymane is next to him, head tilted in question. Calico Dog is definitely just...judging her. “Give me one second.”
With her free hand, she turns each of her stuffies around, placing them in a line on her window sill. They don’t need to see any of this.
“Okay.” She settles back into her pillows. “So I definitely don’t touch that. I just...touch around it?”
“Yeah,” he huffs out, amused. “But no rubbing! Long strokes, just barely brushing it, both fingers, one on either side.” She can hear his grin when he adds, “You like to be teased.”
She wants to protest that; she nearly does, but--
Her fingers skid over her folds, tracing just around the lip of her slit, stopping just shy of her clit, and-- mm, all right, he, ah, definitely has a point. This feels much better.
Still, she’s so used to Obi’s touch; he lingers in all the right places, calluses catching on her clit in a way that makes her writhe. Her own fingers are too tiny and her movements too awkward. She’s too wet too; as much as it’s definitely helping with the, um, sensations she’s feeling, controlling her fingers makes her feel like a contestants on one of those Japanese game shows. Just when she thinks she’s gotten it, when she’s starting to build to something interesting if not good--
“How is it?”
She nearly nicks herself with a nail. “Better when you do it.”
“Ah, I see,” he hums. “A pillow princess--”
Shirayuki has absolutely no idea what that means, but she knows she’s being teased. “No--!”
A thunk stops her mid-thought. Her hand snaps away from her shorts. “Did you hear that?”
“Kid--”
She eyes the door warily. “Do you think it’s Nanna?”
Obi smothers a chuckle. “I’m pretty sure that was just your phone.”
“No, I put it behind my--” she looks down, and oh yes, there it is, right on the floor.
“Oh,” she breathes, mortified. “Oh. Right. Just, um, give me a minute.”
It’s a tricky proposition trying to fish it off the floor. For one, her bed is high and her arms are short-- oh, she was so committed to the whole fairy bower aesthetic of lofting her bed when she was twelve, but now it’s really inconvenient-- and for another, one hand is contaminated with, um, juices, and though she doesn’t want to smear any of that all over her phone--
Well, wiping it on the sheets is a bad decision. Nanna’s nose is sharp, and if there’s one conversation she doesn’t want to happen, it’s why does you bed smell like sex, Shirayuki? She’s done well not getting grounded so far, despite the number of times Obi’s been caught shirtless in her room, but she knows better than to try to test her grandmother’s patience on it.
Shirayuki drops to her belly, elbow digging into the mattress to ground her. Her finger are just long enough to brush the screen--
“Hey kid,” Obi sighs, “do you actually want to do this?”
She yelps. Only a quickly placed hand keeps her from meeting her carpet face first. She does have her phone though. “What?”
“I thought that this was going to be fun and sexy, but now...” He grunts, uneasy. “It seems like I might forcing you, and that’s really not what I wanted to happen. If you don’t want--”
“NO! I mean,” she manages, throwing herself back on her bed, “you have a point. Even though I prefer you touching me by lot--”
Obi hums, too smug.
“--we can’t always make the time to, um, do that.” It’s be nice if the bed could just swallow her whole right now, put her out of her misery, but-- she wants this. She wants him, and part of that is having terrible conversations that make her feel like a five alarm fire in a fireworks factory. “And if we’re having trouble just a few houses away, I’m sure we’ll find a way to have it when you’re only a few doors down too. Which is fine, it’s not like I have to, um...”
He makes a noise, intrigued, and oh, she really hates how badly she does want to keep this boyfriend. If only she liked him less, then she wouldn’t have to talk about any of this at all.
“I just mean, sometimes I think about you when we can’t be together--”
“Sometimes?”
“You know what I mean,” she snips, annoyed. “Sometimes I think about you in a specific way and I get a little, um, stuck. And that can be frustrating. So it’s probably better that I learn this now, than--
“Wait.” He’s breathless, unfocused. “Are you telling me you’ve been all...stuck lately?”
“N-no!” That is really not what she wants to be talking about right now. “I mean, a-a little? Kind of.”
She can hear the rush of his breath through his nose, his long thoughtful pause--
“Do you need some inspiration?” He’s eager, voice tight and nearly winded. “Purely above the waist, of course.”
It occurs to her that he means pictures; pictures of the adult variety. The yes leaps to her lips, but oh, what if Nanna saw it, and--
“Here, one sec.”
He’s not joking; barely a second later her phone buzzes, snapchat informing her that Obi has a new photo. She frowns, flicking open the app, and -- oh. Yes. That was. Definitely not there a few moments ago.
He’s naked from the waist up, lounging in a pair of gym shorts, his legs spread wide where he sits, and-- “Are you, um...?”
“Hot?” he growls playfully. “For you, yeah.”
“Hard,” she blurts out, since she never misses an opportunity to make a fool of herself. It would be nice if her curiosity could take a vacation for a day or two. Give her skin a break.
“Oh. Um. Yeah,” he grunts. “I mean, I’m trying to get you off, and I’m think about touching you. Sort of...a natural response.”
“But you aren’t touching yourself?”
“We hadn’t really talked about that,” he murmurs shyly. “This is supposed to be about you. I didn’t want to get distracted.”
“Ah...” That place between her legs throbs. She snakes a hand under her waistband, and oh, they’ve barely lost any ground at all. “You should.”
“W-what?”
“Touch yourself,” she tells him, running her fingers over her folds. “I think it would help.”
“Oh.” She might as well have hit him for the way that bursts out of him. “I didn’t--”
“I can give you inspiration too.” She whips off her tank before she can think better of it, struggling when she realizes, no, one hand will definitely not be enough to get the job done--
And then it’s nothing to take a picture, or to send it. A few taps and he’s choking, “Did-- did you mean to send this to me?”
It’s then that it strikes her: she just sent a naked picture to her boyfriend. Well, a half naked picture, but for what he could see she might as well have done the whole thing.
“Oh, is that-- is that okay?” She drags her safe hand over her face, sweat clinging to her palm. “I should have checked--”
“Yes!” he pants, half wild. “Yes, this is okay, Very, very okay. I just...you really want me to use this? For, uh, jacking off?”
“Could you?”
“Haah,” he breathes. “Yes. God, your breasts are so good, babe. And your face...”
“Then yes.” She licks her lips, nervous. “Please.”
“I don’t really need the help,” he warns, “I’m a real pro at this.”
“I want you to.” She doesn’t know how she says it without even a stutter. The thought of him touching himself like that, knowing that he’s thinking of her, just her-- “I want you to touch your-- you--”
“Really, kid, you don’t have to--”
“Cock.”
Just saying it shakes her up like a soda can, ready to burst, and she almost wishes she could take it back, that she could unsay half this conversation-- until he groans; the frantic slide of clothes loud from his end of the phone.
“What do you-- what should I--?”
He sounds so lost, his words hardly above a whine, and that’s the only reason she’s able to say, “I want you to, um, stroke it?”
“Yeah, I am-- I am already there, babe,” he assures her, voice throaty and strained. “You’re touching yourself too, right? You’re wet?”
“Y-yeah.” She slides her hand under the band, and ah, she hadn’t know it was possible to be wetter, that her thighs could be slick nearly to the edge of her shorts, but here she is. “I like hearing you. I-I mean...after graduation, when we went to the field, I--” she licks her lips, mouth so dry-- “I really wanted to hear you come again.”
“Jesus. Fuck.” His mattress creaks, distressed. “That was-- that was two months ago. You could have just--” he hisses, so sensitive-- “god, I would have come for you anytime.”
“Could you?” It comes out coyer than she expects, far too confident to sound like her, and she nearly apologizes, until he-- he--
He whimpers.
“If I asked really nice,” she hums, fingers skating along her folds, clit pulsing with how much she wants this, wants him. “Could you come for me again?”
He groans, pained. “Y-yeah. I could definitely arrange something.”
“Now?”
“Shit. Fuck.” He moans, but it trails off into a laugh. “Definitely won’t take long if you keep this up.”
“Good,” she sighs, pace quickening, her fingers daring to loop ever closer to the crux of her problem. “I want to hear you. It’s been so long...”
She hesitates. Obi is always the one to tease, and her the one that squirms away, the one that needs to be cajoled back into the scene, but now--
Well, the shoe is on the other foot isn’t it. “It’s been so long,” she says again, only this time she lets her voice go breathy, lets it linger on the cusp of whine. “Don’t make me wait, Obi...”
He doesn’t.
“Fuck,” is the only word he manages before he’s groaning, whimpering, making every sexy sound he can at once as he comes hard.
“Haah,” he moans, breath heaving. “That was-- that was definitely not how I expected this call to go.”
Shirayuki stills her fingers, mouth slanting into a smirk. She’d always wondered how Obi could watch her orgasm and not want to do it himself, not need to do it when she’s dying every time, but-- now she gets it. She may not have come, but there’s something supremely satisfying in watching-- no, listening to him fall apart instead.
“Oh?” She still sounds coy. Like Obi does every time she goes half-blind from the force of her own climax.
“You didn’t come, did you?” He’s put out, and she can tell his eyebrows are drawn, that his jaw is set. “I could--”
“No, no, don’t worry about me,” she assures him. “I’m fine. Besides, we have to get up tomorrow.”
“Ah, fuck, right. Senior Day.” He sighs. “All right, fine. But next time--”
“Next time,” she agrees. “Though I really enjoyed this time too.”
He makes a noise that sounds like dying. “Yeah, well, that’s great, but I’m not the one who needs to learn how to get off like a champ. But whatever,” he sighs, “we have all the time in the world for you to get it.”
Her chest warms, and she smiles against her pillow. “Right. I’ll see you tomorrow? Bright an early?”
He groans. “Yeah, yeah. Bright and early. Good night, kid.”
Day 6: Courtesy
“My mother taught me to be polite to dragons.”
reference: Talking to Dragons cover art by the incomparable Trina Schart Hyman