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Didn't Even Make It	By : ArashiLeonhart Category: +. to F > Fate/stay Night Views: 51995 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: TYPE-MOON, Fate/stay night, and all related characters are not mine. I am still a poor starving writer that makes no money on this.

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Didn’t Even Make It (to the Festival)

It was hot.

Really, really hot.

Forecasters had stated it would be an above-average July, one that made even Shirou and Sakura complain. They had opened doors to promote ventilation, they had fans set up in nearly every room to circulate the air, and they all constantly drank plenty of liquid. They avoided the living room when Taiga lounged there; despite the fact that the woman had at least five different fans out to cool herself, her mere presence deemed it the warmest and muggiest room in the house.

For Illya, born and raised in Germany where summers were mild and winters snowy, the weather was entirely too unbearable. “Hoooooooooot,” she whined, for at least the thirty-seventh time that day.

Of course, her complaints fell only upon her own ears. The three that would keep her company were at school, leaving her to bake alone. She tried rolling over to a new place on the floor, only to find it hardly any cooler than her previous position. That, plus the tradeoff in energy expended to do so left her feeling no better than she had begun.

As it was the seventh day of the month, there was a festival going on in town to celebrate Tanabata, and Shirou had promised to take her. Still, it meant waiting all morning and a few hours into the afternoon, plenty of time for the house to warm and little to do but lounge around, critical points in the Illya-can’t-take-it-anymore meter. “Booooooored,” she said, kicking one leg into the air. “And hooooooooooooooooot.”

Something there clicked in her head, and she sat up fast enough that she instantly regretted it, the heat swelling up in her head and making her dizzy. “Bleh.” She had been struggling to keep Shirou’s attention lately, since he too was distracted by the heat on top of his daily school and work routine—the latter of which she wanted to completely break him of, but that would have to wait. In wandering the various things she wanted to explore with him—from movies to watch to locations she wanted to visit to games she wanted to try—she had, of course, looked up what kinds of pornography was common for the Japanese. Using Taiga’s bank cards, she had ordered a few off of pay-per-view services and rented others at a local store after charming the proprietor to think she was a regular adult customer.

Really, they had not given her much to work on, since it seemed to her that pornography was probably the same everywhere, but one in particular had used a role-playing scenario related to costuming…

She thought of the yukata she was going to wear later that day to the festival; it was still in the washroom waiting to be cleaned by Shirou, who did not trust Illya with its preparation. “I’m not like Rin, you know,” Illya had said when he had banned her from the washer.

“No, but you press all the buttons just for giggles,” Shirou had countered.

Glancing down at her current wardrobe—jean shorts and a tank top, one of the few ensembles that actually felt comfortable in this weather—Illya considered her options. Slowly, she pulled herself up, trying to ignore the annoying feeling that she was pushing through Jell-O just by moving through the humid air.

“Hmm.” She still had Taiga’s card—it was a wonder the older woman had not detected it missing yet—and she considered the logistics of getting to that shop she had seen once while wandering around on her own. She also considered the logistics of having to be mobile in the atrocious heat, but decided the end results ought to be worth it.

Time to go shopping.

Two and a half hours later—and an hour before Shirou was due home—Illya made it back to the Emiya estate, one walk in the 95 degree 95% humidity weather later and one bag heavier.

She went for the kitchen, where, after a moment of rummaging, pulled out a pitcher. She filled it with water, carried it back out onto the porch, then unceremoniously dumped it over herself. “Oh no,” she said, in a mock-monotone-itself-mocking-surprise, “now my clothes are all wet. I’m just going to have to change until Shirou has a chance to prepare my dress for later.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, either, since it was so warm even the wet clothes clinging to her now felt lukewarm instead of refreshing. Dripping all about the porch, she meandered toward her room, bringing the new outfit with her.

Shirou managed to return home marginally early despite the uncomfortable heat. He knew he had to get that yukata cleaned and ready for Illya, plus he thought she would appreciate the fact that he had managed to convince Taiga to finish up some paperwork at school instead of hounding them while they were out and about, or haunting the house in their absence. With Sakura with some of the members of the archery club, he could actually give Illya his undivided attention.

“I’m home!” he called out, expertly removing his shoes with minimal effort while fanning himself with his school bag. He slid his shoes into place and darted down to his room, tossing his luggage in without looking and then moving out quickly to the washroom. He hadn’t wanted to run the thing while Illya was here alone, since it only contributed to the humidity, and was antsy about leaving the clothing in too long.

After setting the timer, Shirou pulled off his socks, threw them in the nearby hamper, and then went to look for Illya. The silence that had greeted his return home meant she had either become bored and wandered off—unlikely because of the heat—or she had dozed off and hadn’t even heard him.

“Illya, are you hungry? I was thinking of waiting until we got to the festival to eat, but that may take a bit, so I could make a snack if—”

His voice trailed off as he found the girl lounging on the back porch in an outfit that he immediately decided to always equate in his head with the word sinful. It played on old fashioned t-shirt and bloomers that girls wore to gym class at school back years ago, something Shirou had seen in anime but never in real life.

Of course, what made it worse was the fact that Illya had deemed it necessary to pull the shirt halfway up her body, exposing her smooth belly to the rays of the summer sun.

“Shiiiirooou,” Illya said, sleepily, rubbing her eyes as he approached. “It’s hooooooot,” she complained.

“Er…” he had a hard time prying his eyes away from her skin, from the way the humidity seemed to roll off her body and smooth it down. “I, the…on….what are you wearing?”

Illya looked up at him, upside-down, sleepily waving her arm for emphasis. “I got too hot, so I tried cooling off, but got my clothes wet and sticky, so I changed.”

Shirou nodded, clearly imagining her now in wet clothing, then shook his head fiercely. “Can’t you, like, use magecraft?” He knew that magi usually did not toss their powers around so carelessly in normal situations, but Illya was generally very whimsical with the power she had.

“Silly, using magic makes the body hooooooooot, and I’m hooooooooot already,” she said, stretching out the words in complaint. She would never admit, of course, that she could do such a thing; it was just more fun to tease him like this.

“D-do you want me to get something to drink?”

Illya waved that off too. “No, just sit down. Looking at you upside-down is funny, but I’m getting dizzy.”

He did as instructed, settling down next to the girl as she waved her feet back and forth in the air. Initially, he felt compelled to try and tickle said feet, but the hypnotic way her thighs moved back and forth caught his gaze, and he could not help but stare. The fact that her bloomer-styled shorts had ridden right up to the apex of her legs did not help any.

Their odd relationship, not quite siblings, not quite normal lovers, always made him feel both slightly guilty and slightly amused at the same time. He had explained it somewhat to Rin and Sakura, had hidden it from Taiga, but even just here, now, alone with her, it bent his mind multiple ways.

He felt protective of her like a brother would to a sister, but none of the feelings she pried from him when she teased him like this were familial. Not that he had anything to measure that against, anyway.

“Nnnngggg, mmm, actually, could you get some of that lemonade?” Illya said, smiling up at him. “Maybe I do need some sugar to get my energy back up.”

“You have too much energy most of the time,” Shirou said, though he got up anyway. “You should try being lazy like this more often.”

She pouted, though accepted the drink when he brought it back to her. Sitting up the bare minimum required to safely take a sip, Illya hummed at the sharp and sweet taste.

She also, because of her angle, spilled some right onto herself.

Shirou watched, sweating now himself—though hardly due to the heat—and eyed the mess she had made. He knew by now, of course, what she was doing, but as with much of their earlier interactions, he also knew he was powerless to stop it. “Illya,” he chastised, even if he was going to bend to her will.

“Mmm, so-rry,” she sing-songed, smirking at him. “Help me clean up?”

He sighed, but, knowing he was already lost to her whims, did the only acceptable thing in this situation: he leaned over her belly and proceeded to lick the juice up.

Illya half-giggled, half-moaned as he swirled his tongue around her stomach, the moaning becoming more prevalent as the tongue dipped into her belly button. Her arms came up to curl around his head as he flicked and swished at her skin, until the spilled juice was far gone. “Shirooooou,” she drew out, though no longer a complaint.

With her tiny body at his mercy, he brought his hands up to push her shirt further up, exposing her pink tips to his fingers. He gently pulled at them, eliciting further moaning, then brought his mouth up to one, giving it the same treatment he had given the rest of her skin.

“Mmm, no more juiiice there, silly,” she said, rubbing her thighs together.

At that, he pried her legs apart with his now-free hand, bringing a finger up between them to trace where her bloomers had ridden up, first around the insides of each thigh in turn, then to where they joined. She writhed beneath him in response, torn between pushing her chest further into his mouth or her hips further into his touch.

Now she was hot and certainly didn’t care.

After absently tossing his own shirt off, he reached up to unzip her front, then reached back around and beneath her legs to grab hold of her waistband at the small of her back and pulled, sliding the tight article up until her legs were pointing to the ceiling. He helped her kick her legs free before he hooked her legs around his shoulders and buried his mouth into her.

Illya whimpered, her shoulders now all that met the floor as her hips undulated with Shirou’s flicking tongue. She tried touching herself above where he was attacking, but his hand came up to hold hers away. “Shiiiiirou,” she mewled, “no more teeeeaaasiiiiing.”

She hadn’t quite noticed that he had used the time to undo his own pants until he was leveling her back down to him, slipping his head out from between her legs and tracing a path with his tongue right back up her body. Illya reached out with her own tongue until he was there, capturing her with his lips as his arms hooked around her waist. Unable to voice anything so caught, she could only helplessly gasp into his mouth as he brushed himself against her slowly, then pushed in.

He rocked carefully against her, her tiny body tightly clenching around him as he moved, and he pulled back to regain his breath. Illya laid back out before him, hair spiraling around her head as she shook faintly with each movement, mouth wide open but little sound escaping, mere tiny gasps to his own harsh breath to his ears.

Her legs crept up until they were back to his shoulders, and he leaned into them as he moved until her ankles hung above her head. The tension of her muscles around him was offset as her moans grew louder, her hand having snaked down between them, her arousal overwhelming even the humid air until he could smell her.

“N-n-n-not-t yeeeet,” she whimpered, as if sure he was going to explode at any second. “S-S-Shirou has yet to s-say my naaaame.”

Leaning over her until he was above her, his arms to either side of her head, he pushed up deeper into her and smiled—even as he felt his own tension rising. “Illya,” he whispered, giving her a faint peck on the lips, then leaning even further down until he was to her ear. “Illya,” he said again.

She moaned helplessly, shaking, her fingers forming a v-shape around where they were joined, as if to open herself further for him.

“Come, Illya,” he said, nipping at her ear.

Those words never failed to set her off, and she shuddered, her hips tensing where they were and clenching to hold him in place, her fingers brushing frantically around them until she let out a cry. The moment all of her breath escaped her, she went slack in exhaustion, her free hand clawing at his chest as if to coerce him to her even more.

Watching her go had nearly the same effect on Shirou, and he pulled back and wrapped his hand around himself over her, groaning as she had.

With glazed eyes, Illya brushed her hand up his thigh, along his underside and to his tip. She whimpered, “Come, Shirou, come all over me,” and he complied, helplessly spilling himself onto her stomach and chest.

He fell in place next to her, panting, his breath almost matching hers, and she leaned over to lick lightly at his collar. He shivered at the half-tickling, half-sensual touch of her tongue.

“Mmmm,” she voiced, smirking, “now I’m all sticky again.”

It took two more bouts—including a stint in the bath that required they bathe again—before they actually got dressed and headed to the festival. Because of the distance they had to travel and the lateness of their departure, many of the things including fireworks and some of the earlier games and activities had already passed; many attendees were already milling about outside of the festival grounds, wandering off to play with fireworks themselves or to attend private parties.

Deciding to wander toward the festival anyway, they managed a very slow pace, Illya sporting her yukata and wooden geta that gave her a few more centimeters to height. Of course, the height itself had no interest to her, though she did spend the first five minutes in them merely clomping around the street, amused by the sound of the wooden sandal clicking about pavement.

They happened upon Taiga as they made it to the riverside, who was heading back to the street herself. “You got done early?” Shirou asked, surprised.

“Nah, I just decided to make some of it wait for tomorrow. I got hungry, you see,” Taiga said.

“Figures,” Shirou grumbled.

“Anyway,” Taiga said, looking confused. “I’m glad you’re here; you wouldn’t happen to have some extra money on you, would you?”

Shirou stared at her, an eyebrow raised.

“Well, the thing is, my bank card was just denied at one of the booths,” she said. “I’m apparently overdrawn? I don’t remember using that account so much, though…”

Illya snickered behind the sleeve of her dress. She couldn’t wait until Taiga got the bank statements back and saw some of the locations charges had been made.
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Didn't Even Make It