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Unintended	By : PatoSan Category: Gravitation > General Views: 1937 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Unintended
- 1
Disclaimer: I don’t own Gravitation or the characters portrayed within it. I wrote this for fun. I obtain no economic benefit from it whatsoever.

Summary: Sometimes we want what we can’t have. Sometimes life isn’t fair, but some things are not to be shared, that is, they should be kept to ourselves- if we can help it.

Categories: Angst, smut, song-fic. What a blend!

UNINTENDED

The blond man entering the apartment took his black jacket off after removing his shoes and dropped it on the armrest of one of the sofas as he walked into the lounge. The lights were off, but he knew his way around this stylish flat at the other end of Tokyo city like the back of his hand. He walked towards the liquor cabinet at one end of the room. In the dark he avoided the low glass table in the middle of the lounge and brushed past the other cream, leather sofa on his left. Upon reaching the wooden cabinet, he opened it and poured himself some bourbon in a bottom-heavy whiskey glass. He added a little water to it and traced back his steps to sit down, guiding himself along the sofa by the way it felt against his right calf.

Without having taken a sip from his glass, he set it down on the table with a low “clink”, and he leaned back in the cushions, suddenly feeling all the built up tension on his back and shoulders when he did so. This was the worst part of the day, he thought, when he finally just stopped, and his body took on its accustomed, most annoying habit of reminding him he wasn’t a teenager bursting with energy anymore. Getting old was awfully burdensome, he concluded. He groaned lightly, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath which proved to be quite painful. Still with his eyes closed he stretched his arms and back until he heard his vertebrae click into place. He turned his wrists in small circles and stretched his hand like a cat stretches its paws, and his knuckles, too, cracked. After the short-lived pain left him, he sat limply on the sofa. Now he felt a little more comfortable and a little less sore. He rubbed his eyes with one hand and then massaged his scalp and temples, running his fingers through his hair.

He was dead tired; not only physically, but emotionally. Just as he was starting to doze off in the sofa, he heard a light switch being clicked. The dark atmosphere enveloping him turned a deep shade of brown behind his closed eyelids. Feeling slightly irritated by the attack of artificial light upon his weary senses, he made a little growl with the back of his throat, throwing an arm over his face.

“Sorry,” the person entering the room spoke. “I heard some noise and I wasn’t sure if it was you. I didn’t think you’ll be coming back here tonight.” As he listened, he also noticed the lights being lowered, since the deep shade of brown turned a little darker, and he was glad for such technological devices.

“It’s okay,” replied he, “I’m sorry I woke you up. It was never my intention.” He slipped his arm off his face and dropped it on the sofa, tiredly. He ventured to crack his eyes open, and he asserted the fact that the lights had, indeed, been lowered. He looked at the person approaching him now and taking a seat next to him. “I wasn’t sleeping, silly. I was reading a book in bed. The bed feels really big and lonely when you are not there and I have to read myself to sleep.” There was a little resentment in the tone of the speaker, but a delightful little laughter soon reached his ears. He smiled in return. “I wasn’t expecting you here tonight, but I’m glad you came. I’m really glad.”

He felt a pair of thin lips kiss him in the cheek, almost coyly, and a dainty hand was placed upon his shoulder. The hand started tracing light circles at the juncture between his neck and shoulder. The welcomed touch elicited a sigh of appreciation from him.

“You like that?” the person pampering him asked.

“Mmmh,” he murmured in return.

“Then turn around. I’ll give your shoulders a massage.”

“Okay. He turned on his side, flung his legs over and stretched them as far as the length of the couch allowed him to.

“Rest your weight on me. Here, put your head on top of this cushion. Lift your head. That’s it, comfortable?”

“Very.” He adjusted his body a little and enjoyed the ministrations his achy muscles were receiving. He yawned lengthy and snuggled his head in the cushion against which it was resting.

“So… you came back here. I thought you were going to stay at the other place. It’s a long drive here.”

“I... I changed my mind. No big deal. I don’t really mind driving. Keep doing that, just there.” He shifted his body a little, finding the perfect position to lie in.

“Here?”

“No, a bit higher.” He wiggled his body, showing where he meant. “There, just there.” Suddenly he felt a sharp pain on his back, and he flinched momentarily, then relaxed again.

“Sorry, that’s where you have that knot, isn’t it? Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle. You mean you didn’t get a taxi?” Upon receiving no answer the speaker elaborated some more. “You said you drove here.”

“I don’t have a problem with driving.”

“I see... You work too much. You shouldn’t have driven all the way here. You are going to have an accident one of these days if you keep driving such long distances tired as you are.” An affectionate squeeze on his arm let him know it was concern for his well-being that was being expressed. He placed his hand upon the one on his shoulder and said, “And you worry too much. So, I guess we are both guilty of overdoing things. I’ll be just fine.” He removed his hand and turned on his side to encourage a deeper massage to his left shoulder and further down his back with some luck. The strategy seemed to work well enough. He closed his eyes, trying to relax. He’d been almost asleep a few moments ago, but now he was unpleasantly awake.

“Why didn’t you pick up your mobile phone tonight?”

His breath caught a little in his chest, and after clearing his throat he spoke. “I had to meet someone and I didn’t want to be disturbed. Sorry if it was an inconvenience.”

“A meeting, huh? Akiro-san said you weren’t there, that you’d gone out for dinner. A meeting in a restaurant, maybe?”

Was it just him, or was the massage more painful than pleasant right now? He wondered. “Something like that,” he answered, truthfully. The hands upon his shoulders stopped. He lifted himself up with his elbow and forearm, turning his whole body around to look at his lover. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and then kissed the pouting lips a few centimeters away from him. He parted his mouth slightly and rimmed the tip of his tongue along his partner’s bottom lip, silently pleading for entrance. Permission to delve in was granted, and he kissed passionately and affectionately. Emotions were running high inside him. He could almost feel the tension leaving his body gradually, but only to float around the room, making the atmosphere a tad uncomfortable.

After a short time, he broke the kiss and hugged his lover tightly to him, resting his head upon a clothed chest. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. A shiver overtook his exhausted body. “I don’t deserve you,” he added in a little voice. He clung to his lover tightly and tried to keep the overpowering feeling of guilt at bay. The slender body underneath his own relaxed, and he was hugged back. “It’s one of those nights, isn’t it?” The words were whispered softly in his ear. Without looking up, he nodded, ashamed of his weakness.

“It’s all right. Shh, come here. Let’s go to bed.” He was helped up from the sofa, and dragged by one hand to the bedroom. All the while he kept his gaze fixed on his steps. The wooden floorboards underneath his feet were almost entrancing as they seemed to slide past him, like one of those conveyor belts present in most airports. He should take another trip soon, he thought. Somewhere far away, somewhere he’d never been before. Somewhere… distracting.

He was pushed into a sitting position at the bottom of the king-size bed, and the hard mattress gave a little way under his weight. He was kissed again, and strong hands pulled his hair and run down his back. The touch was firm but tender. Their kiss became deeper and more intense. Then the hand was upon his bear chest - his shirt had been unbuttoned, he realized - and an index finger was now running tantalizingly from the dip in his neck to his navel, venturing lower when he least expected it. It caressed his stomach, tickling him slightly, and then started to un-tuck his shir. He stopped it from going any further. “It’s not fair,” he said, so faintly he didn’t know if he’d been heard. He half hoped he had, while the other half of him prayed for the opposite. The small hand he held tried to break free to continue its pursuit, but he held it firml. He then brought it up to kiss it.

“Let me make it up to you,” he said as he placed little kisses upon the palm of his lover’s hand. The hand cupped his face and he nuzzled his cheek against it before pulling his partner’s body by the wrist to sit on his lap. He massaged a pair of thin arms gently, returning the favor. “I like these pajamas. They are soft,” he stated simply, trying to strike up a little conversation.

“Really? You lie. They are awful.”

“That they aren’t. They are made out of silk, aren’t they? I like silk.”

“I thought you wouldn’t like them. I only wear them when I’m by myself. They are a bit old, but that’s why they are so comfortable. That and they keep me warm when you are not here. They are not very sexy.”

“You are sexy no matter what you wear, darling, but I like these. You can wear them when I’m here, too. I’d like that.” He hushed his words out as if afraid they’d be overheard by somebody - which was actually impossible, for they both knew to be perfectly alone.

“But right now I want them off,” he stated with a small smile. He pulled the top of the pajamas off, over his lover’s head, and placed feather light kisses upon the silky skin just revealed. After allowing his own shirt to be removed he circled his arms around a tiny waist, pulling his partner closer to him in an attempt to warm himself up, to create some body heat between them. His body was running on stored energy, and he felt rather cold. Sliding his hands inside the pajama’s bottom, he grabbed his lover’s buttocks and squeezed them earnestly. A low squeal made him think perhaps he’d been too rough, or his hands were cold. He couldn’t tell which, but the thought of being a little rough actually excited a l a little, and he realized he was half hard already.

He held his partner by the hips, and begun to buck maddeningly slowly against them. Soon enough his lover caught on and they both rubbed against each other, building up their excitement and breathing hotly on each other’s necks. The hot air against his skin made goose bumps spring to life all over his body. He lied down on the bed, dragging his lover with him to rest atop him, and he pushed them up the bed. The weight on his body was pleasant, and it helped keeping a sort of bond between the couple in the dark. This bond was something he desperately needed because recently he felt detached from everything, and it was driving him mad. Here in the unlit bedroom, with the warm body pressed against him, he didn’t feel so detached from the world; but it was still lonely.

They stayed like that for a while, caressing each other and kissing. They didn’t kiss often, but tonight he couldn’t get enough. He was hungry for kisses, starved for affection, although no matter how much they kissed, it didn’t seem to be enough. The heavy feeling that had been weighing on his stomach all day couldn’t be lifted. The anxiety inside him couldn’t be calmed, and despite being perfectly at rest, his chest felt tight, and he was having difficulty breathing. The air was heavy, he thought - heavy and polluted. His body ached, but it wasn’t just from mere fatigue. He had a thirst for something he couldn’t place and their interaction was not quenching it. The caresses grew bolder, and then he was being touched all over - with hands with legs, feet and torso. It did feel nice - that, he couldn’t deny. He wrapped his legs around his lover’s waist and arched off the bed, rolling hips. His arms were looped around his lover’s neck and his head was thrown back. Having his neck kissed and nibbled turned him on beyond belief. He kept rolling his hips against his lover’s, and his breath started to catch.

His cloudy mind registered his belt been removed and he heard the zipper of his trousers go down. His erection was then seized through the boxer shorts, and he leaned into the touch. All the clothes were soon discarded, and he relished in the feeling of their skins touching softly. His face grew warmer until not just his face but his whole body was flushing red. He was still being caressed, and he pushed his head –hard– back onto a thick pillow, taking shallow intakes of breath, even though they felt a little forced. His jugular received a light bite, and he gasped at the same time as another hand tentatively moved to caress the indentation between his buttocks. The quick breaths came entirely naturally now, increasing in tempo. The little bites now fell on his chest and nipples, then on his stomach and hip bone. He guessed the liquid warmth on his abdomen to be his lover’s tongue dipping into his navel and his head rolled to the side, his mouth agasp. He felt the dry fabric of the sheets upon his tongue, so he pulled it back into his mouth and closed it, clenching his teeth together instead.

A thumb was now drawing patterns on his hip bone and something soft run up and down his length, probably his lover’s cheek or lips, while the hand between his buttocks started inching closer towards his entrance. ‘Not there!’ His mind screamed. ‘Oh, please, just… don’t do that,’ his brain complained; but his body told a different tale. He heard himself whimper. His lover knew every corner of his body and was pressing all the right buttons, not teasingly, but at the right pace to make him squirm, to make him shudder and forget everything.

“Mmmmh,” he heard himself say. It was embarrassing in a way, all the more because he knew he shouldn’t enjoy been touched there, but he did. Not only did he enjoy being teased where no man should, but he wanted to be prodded fully, mercilessly, all the way to his prostate. The first time he’d done it to himself had been good beyond his wildest imagination. He could orgasm from the feeling in his prostate alone. It was an electric feeling that turned his veins into high current conductors and made him come without spilling semen. It was incredible, but terribly degrading for a man raised in the way he had.

He lifted his hips and moved his body into his partner’s touch, unconsciously. The finger pressed against him very briefly, and his body tensed reflexively. He fisted the bed covers. “No,” he managed aloud, “please.” He shut his eyes tightly, trying tocalm down. He took a harsh, deep breath and exhaled it just as quickly. He was breathing erratically, he realized, almost panting. “I... I can’t…” he said as way of explanation. His voice came out surprisingly emotionless given his inner turmoil. “I can’t do this,” he finished. They were both quiet for a few seconds, but to him it felt like a long awkward eternity.

His lover broke the silence whispering, “Then take me -” and then licked his ear and rubbed against him, “ - take me now… hard.” The last statement was accompanied by a particularly urgent grind against his penis, and a loud cry was brought to his throat.

“You know you want to. It’s all right, darling. I want it, too.” He shook his head ‘no’, and grabbed his lover by the shoulders, dislodging the thin body from his own and looking into his partner’s eyes. All he could see in the dark was a faint trace of scattered light where the pupils should have been.

“I… I can’t,” he started to roll them over, “help myself, I…” He turned the other body face down on the mattress. “I can’t. Why do you do this? I don’t understand you. I don’t understand you at all,” he mumbled as he pecked his lover’s back, digging his erection in the crook of his lover’s ass, grinding it back and forth and making the skin in his member roll over the sensitive spot where all feeling concentrated. He rested his head between his partner’s shoulder blades, resenting the fact they weren’t wider, and he kept rubbing himself against his lover. He lost contact with his lover’s soft legs when they were pulled up from beneath him. In the dark, he heard the bedside table draw being pulled open. A moment later he was handed a hardly-touched bottle of lube.

“Are you sure?” he asked faintly.

“Positive,” he heard the other say.

He popped the bottle open and squirted some of the cold gel on his fingers. He rubbed them together briefly, trying to warm up the thick fluid a little bit. “You’ll have to forgive me,” he muttered. Then, he pressed two digits against his lover’s back entrance and slid the tips of his fingers in, only a little. “I love you,” he added, almost as an afterthought, but surely meaning every word.

He couldn’t help but feeling like the lowest, like a leech crawling out of a dirty hole to feed hungrily upon his prey’s blood. A moan from his partner made him feel a little better about it, but his fingers still refused to move. He was struggling with himself inwardly. His lover slammed back into him, drawing him all the way to the knuckles.

“There’s nothing to forgive. I love this,” his lover said.

There weren’t enough words in the world to express the gratitude he felt towards that statement, or how badly he wanted to believe it to be true.

He would indulge a little bit in the make-believe world forming in his mind, if only for the briefest of moments. It really wouldn’t last very long, he promised himself; he wouldn’t get carried away. He wanted to go inside there, where his fingers were - that’s where he wanted to be. Not at an airport with black, sliding conveyor belts; not in crazy, polluted New York; not in an exotic city on the other side of the world, nowhere but right there. After a minute of stretching, he withdrew his fingers and went about penetrating his lover slowly. Both of them were resting on their knees upon the bed, his upper body was straight, but that of his lover’s lied horizontally on the bed in a doggy-style position. He slowly made his way in, past the first ring of muscles, feeling them wrap around him, impossibly tightly.

“Ohh...” he moaned. His lungs drew a deep, sharp breath in. The heavy feeling in his chest became a little lighter, as did the air in the room. The two must be connected, he constructed in his thoughts. He pushed himself in and stayed there still. He was close to the edge already. He shuddered, and then started moving slowly.

Doing exactly this, sliding in and out with his balls brushing the tender flesh when he lodged himself all the way to the hilt and stopped there, collecting his wits, and stretching the sensations - this is where he wanted to be, right where he was, doing what he was doing, as wrong as it may be. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that he wanted to be doing it with someone else: someone leaner, someone taller, someone with a different voice to the one moaning now and telling him to keep this charade going; someone with fair skin, and different coloured and textured hair, someone infinitely softer and sexier in his mind.

He shut all but one of his five senses - sound, sight, smell, and taste where dismissed. He slid his hands along his lover’s spine and body, purposefully avoiding the areas that reminded him he was not with the person in his fantasy.

He enjoyed the low rocking pace he’d set. Touch was the only thing he needed right now, and he was careful to make the most of it. His head dropped to his partner’s back. His mouth stood open against it as he took the ever-lighter air into his lungs, in ever-greater gulps of air. The intense knot in his gut turned amazingly pleasant. He dragged his fingernails over hot, tanned skin. His curling toes clawed at the messy bed sheets. It should be prohibited to feel this good, he thought; it was all too addicting, all too overpowering, all too controlling... and he just couldn’t help himself.

His arm flung out without him realizing, out to hold onto something more firm, and he found his partner’s neck. He held onto it, pushing them together at their joint with more ease, riding his lover to death. It was almost impossible not to acknowledge the loud banging of the headboard against the wall and, to go with them, his lover’s panting and moaning. But he didn’t want to hear them, and he shut himself off again, getting lost in Wonderland as he forgot everything for a moment - forgot who he was, who he’d been, and who he’d probably always be. There was something to be said for transitory bliss, fickle as it was. He didn’t want to think, he just wanted to feel.

All day he’d just wanted to feel something other than the tight clasp squeezing his heart and forget about the thoughts that daily run in circles around his brain, in an endless centrifugal cycle. Although a centrifugal cycle was exactly what his thoughts needed, he had decided towards the end of that evening, dirty as they were, tainted beyond salvation. Perhaps he should drink some bleach, killing him as it might. Maybe death was the only way out, the only cleansing solution; but death was selfish and selfish was something he wasn’t. If anything, he was too giving.

He started lowering his hand, caressing down his lover’s stomach, tracing circles and skidding down towards nether regions, intent on producing pleasure capable of climax in the other; but his hand was guided back to the hips he’d been gripping.

“I’ll take care of that, don’t you worry.”

The order was too tempting to disobey. His pace quickened and a tingling feeling started to tickle the sole of his feet. The knot in his stomach tightened until he thought it would collapse onto itself, like a dying star turning into a black hole. Just when he thought all the fibers in his body were being stretched into an infinitely thin conducting cable, soon to be stretched so far it would disappear, the knot exploded and melted away. All the fibers were weaved back together in an instant, and he could feel every single one of them tingling with swarming charges. Wave shocks of the explosion washed through him, and his whole body convulsed as he reached a mind-shattering orgasm. The heat in his groin boiled, it carved up his length and shot out powerfully, in white jets, out into blackness.

~*~*~*~

The blonde had fallen asleep right after his climax, clinging tightly to her, almost in a death grip. He'd left dry streaks of tears in her back, and it now felt sticky and cold, despite the warm puffs of air in her back. They were also in his face and on his chest. He hadn’t even noticed he’d been crying ever since he’d rolled them over - of that she was sure. His sobbing had been mixed with his pleasure whimpering, combining to make a mind unnerving sound, and he hadn’t even known it. He never did, she suspected. How he managed to store so much pain and grief and still act like nothing happened, was still a mystery to her. When his walls collapsed like they had tonight it was alarming, to say the least, and extremely despairing. It made her feel completely powerless. Long ago she had realized that the most frustrating thing in the world was to see the ones you love hurt deeply and know nothing you could say or do could possibly heal their wounds; nothing at all.

She bit on her lower lip, trying to stop it from trembling, trying not to break down herself. She stretched her hand to caress her lover’s sleeping face lovingly, but her hand was shaking. She was afraid of waking him up, so she tore her eyes and hand away. She clutched one hand to her chest and the other quickly covered her mouth, strangling a sob from coming out. She got up and pulled the covers over her lover’s naked form. She picked up the sleeping gown she’d left by the bed when she’d gone to bed earlier that night, and slipping it on, she exited the bedroom.

She went to the lounge, intent on doing some tidying up to keep her mind busy, but she’d already done all the cleaning earlier on in the evening. All that remained to be tidied was a jacket on the sofa and an untouched glass of bourbon on the glass table. A drink sounded very appealing right now, she thought.

She picked up the glass and drunk it all, grimacing at the sharp taste in her tongue and the burning feeling in her throat. Bourbon was a disgusting drink, she concluded; but it warmed up her chest in a nice way after drinking it. She nearly chocked on that last thought. She was tempted to throw the glass against the wall and shatter, not only the silence in the flat, but itself, in many broken, sharp, little pieces. While she was at it, she could also smash the glass table and reduce the wooden cabinet to a pile of scraps, along with more broken glass from all the disgusting bottles inside it. Then, she could feast on the sofas, clawing at their leather upholstery with her fingernails until they shredded like paper being turned into confetti. Next would come all the stupid, ugly art pieces that swamped their flat but meant nothing to her. They’d all be burned to nothing and, perhaps, the whole flat would, too, and along with it, the skyscraper it was contained in. If she was lucky, the whole of Tokyo would be burnt to a smoldering mountain of rubble; and if she really lucky, the world would disappear as well. But she was an ambitious woman, and so she wished for the whole of the solar system to go kaput.

Still with the glass in her hand, she walked towards the other sofa and picked up the black jacket from it, bringing it to her and holding it close. She inhaled the scent it gave off - so clean and pleasant, so uniquely his. She adored his scent. Her hand felt something on the interior pocket of the jacket and she ruffled around, extracting a folded piece of paper from it. She unfolded it and stared at the black ink that formed pretty patterns of calligraphy. On the top of the paper was the logo of his favourite restaurant, the one he reserved for special meetings. She had been right about it after all - he’d been with him tonight, dining.

She read it:

You could be my unintended
Choice to live my life extended
You could be the one I’ll always love
You could be the one who listens to my deepest inquisitions
You could be the one I’ll always love

I’ll be there as soon as I can
But I’m busy mending broken pieces of the life I had before

First there was the one who challenged
All my dreams and all my balance
She could never be as good as you

You could be my unintended
Choice to live my life extended
You should be the one I’ll always love

I’ll be there as soon as I can
But I’m busy mending broken pieces of the life I had before

I’ll be there as soon as I can
But I’m busy mending broken pieces of the life I had before

Before you

They were lyrics [1]. Not something he wrote too often, but not completely unheard off. She briefly wondered if he’d been stood up, since she was certain he hadn’t written them in front of his companion. It was more likely the other had been late, however, as he usually was, while her lover had been early. She could picture him easily: seating at his favourite table, sipping wine, and dragging the evening out as much as he could. She felt pity for him. Unrequited love was certainly one of the worst feelings someone could experience; she should know.

She read over the lyrics again and noticed the change from “could” to “should be the one I’ll always love” in the mirroring paragraph after the first chorus. It was so like him to make things asymmetrical, she thought, while expressing frustration as the song went along. She read a particularly meaningful line, the one that read “she could never be as good as you”.

“Fools,” she said out loud, sighing.

She then fought the urge to crumple the paper clasped in her hands because that would give the fact that she’d read it away. She swallowed hard/ Like a good Uesegi, Mika wouldn’t cry. She had always known why, on nights like these, her husband uttered that name in the brink of orgasm. It was in the title of the lyrics. He didn’t do it to hurt her, or to let her know whom it was he loved most, whom was sharpest in his fantasy as he plunged deep into her. No, that name escaped his lips, rolled out of his tongue from somewhere deep inside him, in the lowest tone imaginable... completely unintended.

That name.

“Eiri...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

[1] Lyrics by Muse, title of song “Unintended”

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Unintended