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Fruit Passion	By : westernink Category: Rurouni Kenshin > General Views: 5439 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Fruit Passion
- 1
Fruit Passion

1 of 1

AN: Don’t look for original here; this
is just a practice thing I wrote.

Disclaimer:
I do not own RK or any part thereof.

          Was
she oblivious?

          Were
they?

          Juice
dribbled from the corners of her mouth and her tongue darted out to catch the
droplets. One escaped, sliding down
her chin.

          He
hurriedly glanced away from the girl.
What if someone thought he was staring?

          What
if someone knew what he was thinking?

          What
if someone noticed that her ‘innocent dining’ was stirring things
in him he’d rather not have to deal with at the dinner table? It was warm enough without her adding to
his discomfort.

          But
his eyes darted back to her a moment later. The fruit was again raised to her
mouth, her lips parted around it, sucking, biting into the skin. She slurped at the liquid that seeped
from the bite in the tender flesh.

          She
moaned softly in delight, oblivious of his gaze upon her, lost in the simple
joy of her favorite seasonal fruit.
No, it wasn’t really a moan it was a delightful humming, but in
his ears, it was a moan.

          When,
he wondered, had eating it become so … sinful?

          Why
hadn’t anyone said anything to … stop her?

          Conversation
about the table continued on as usual.
Glasses clinked and clattered as they were moved about. Chopsticks were raised and lowered and
mouths opened and closed with both speech and food.

Shiro cracked half-amusing jokes and Omasu an Okon dutifully smiled
while Okina laughed, always more amused at the
semi-crude jokes the young man was prone to offering up. Misao seemed
not to be paying them the slightest mind.
She was always less apt to participate in crude humor of any sort and
the others had long since stopped shielding her from some of their more
lascivious comments. Misao seemed to pay them little mind either way.

          Her
mouth opened again as she raised the half eaten fruit to her lips.

          When
she brought it away, one bite smaller, he could see her chin was wet, as were
her fingers. Liquid dripped down
her slender digits to the palm of her hand. He could see one droplet glistening from
her wrist and longed to raise that tiny hand to his mouth and lick it top to
bottom.

The stirring in him grew and his body became more
heated. He tingled below the waist,
his blood churning. He could all
but feel the stickiness around his own mouth. He wanted that stickiness; he wanted to
lick every drop of it from her skin.

          He
looked away again, flustered. He needed to get control of this before he had a
… a…. situation … at the dinner table! How would he stand to
leave with a…. in full view?

          Okina burst into laughter, at what; Aoshi
was baffled and didn’t dare look up to find out.   He was half fearful the old man
had noticed his distress but didn’t dare look to confirm or deny it.   He concentrated upon his bowl
staring at the white grains of rice as though they would reward him with the
meaning of life if he stared long and hard enough.

          Across
from him, Misao slurped once more and he dropped his
head, his eyes sliding closed.

          “Aoshi-sama, are you unwell?”

          It
was not Misao, but Okon who
noticed his misery. He lifted his
head, his eyes darting of their own volition toward Misao
and then quickly to Okon.

          “Minor
headache,” he answered dutifully.
It wasn’t untrue, he’d have one before he left the table, he
was certain of that.

          She
nodded accordingly and offered to fetch him an herbal remedy and some tea after
dinner.   Absently, he
declined, turning his gaze again toward his rice bowl. He wasn’t sure his sanity would
survive until after dinner.

          He
couldn’t even bring himself to eat.
The bowl of rice was half empty and his plate remained the same. His filet of fish was half ingested. Misao had
opted to all but inhale her dinner and then skipped ahead to devouring the tiny
bowl of peaches on the table, hence his current anguish.

          He
looked back to his rice bowl.

          The
delicate pattern of flowers painted in blue beneath the fine glaze on the bowl
caught his eye. It was a lovely pattern,
wasn’t it?   It swirled
and twisted and the leaves were gently delicate.

          He
lifted his eyes, unable to resist, seeing the flesh of the fruit had
disappeared. Her tongue darted from
her mouth to flick along the large rough textured seed in the middle.   He watched her, even as he tried
to look away telling himself he shouldn’t, as she popped the core of the
peach into her mouth. It
disappeared between her lips and she sucked on it happy before popping it back
out and dropping it onto her plate.

          “Really,
Misao, I’m surprised you don’t try to eat
the seed,” Shiro remarked casting her an amused glance.

          “Shut
up! Peach season comes once a
year! Do we have anymore?”
she asked, her eyes bright and innocent.

          Her
teasing was unintentional.

          He
hoped no one else had noticed.

          “In
the kitchen, we just got them today,” Omasu
smiled.

          Misao shifted back and stood. Her bare legs suddenly
seemed long and sensuous and the uniform far too inappropriate for a lady her
age. He vowed to make a
point of it later. He tried to
gather his thoughts and reorient himself.
He tried a few meditation techniques but she returned far too soon and
plopped back down again across from him with two more peaches.

          “Mmmmm, I love these!
Want one, Aoshi-sama?”

          Her
voice was soft and inquiring and… normal. She was not offering more than the
fruit.

          He
declined.

          He
didn’t want more than the fruit; that was wrong. He was being a pervert.

          He
glanced up just in time to see her bite into the fuzzy skin of her newest
acquisition and checked a groan.
His cock twitched.

          Perverted
indeed, he thought. What would his
men think of this infraction?

          No,
he knew what they would think.

          Beshimi and Hyokkoto would
laugh. Shikijou
would tease him mercilessly and try to egg him into acting while Hannya would remain stonily silent. Hannya had
always been a man torn between revulsion and desire, but that was another
problem and a far more complex one.
He would not think of it now.

          He
realized with startling clarity he’d been staring, completely lost in
thought and that not only had Misao
noticed, the others had also.
They were all casting curious glances in his direction and he hurriedly
looked away but the damage was done.

          “Aoshi-sama, you sure you don’t want one?” Misao asked.

          “No,
thank you.”

          He
would never look up from his bowl again he vowed.

          Never.

          He
shifted slightly, suddenly extremely uncomfortable in the room.

          The
delightful twitch and twinge of his erection ceased as his embarrassment
intensified and his desire shrank.

Literally.

          Did
they know?

          What
he was thinking?

          He
prayed not.

          He
sat, lost, staring into his bowl of rice as his dinner turned cold. The others continued to glance at him
quizzically but he didn’t notice.



          “Aoshi-sama?”

          His
head snapped up. From the corners
of his eye he could see the others had gone. He viewed the empty table with
curiousness. Had he truly blocked
it all out?

Apparently so.

“Aoshi-sama?”

He looked toward her once more.

“Yes, Misao?”

“Are you all right? I’m a little worried… you
just… sort of fazed out on us.”

He shook his head absently. “I was distracted; please do not
worry over it.”

          He
stood. His appetite was gone.

“Would you-“

“Of course.” She immediately took over and cleared
his place at the table but not without casting one last inquiring glance at
him.

He didn’t notice.

*        *        *        *

          “You’re
nuts, he was not!” Misao snapped, feeling both
vulnerable and puffed up at Omasu’s poking
comment.

          “Misao… we wouldn’t lie to you about this,
truly,” Okon answered.

          Omasu nodded enthusiastically. “He was staring; you
should’ve seen the look on his face.
He was enthralled.”

          The
kitchen was warm, permeated in the heat of summer, it hung thick over
everything like bulky cotton. The
counters were bare and clean and it smelled of something strongly herbal.

Gingery.

          “So…”
Misao continued.
“He can… well… Why are you telling me this?”

          The
two women exchanged glances and Okon drew an arm out
from behind her back. Cradled in
her palm gently was a ripe, fuzzy peach.

          “Really,
you don’t need to ask, do you?”

          Misao stared at the fruit and then the two women blankly.

          “Is
this some stupid joke you’re going to use at the dinner table in a couple
of days?” Misao asked skeptically.

Okon sighed dramatically and grabbed Misao by the wrist pressing the peach forcefully into her
hand.

          “Take
it. Go upstairs to Aoshi-sama’s room and share it with him!”

          “What?!”

“Misao…” The
two women leaned forward almost conspiratorially. “Don’t make us spell it out
for you. You, him,
fruit, just think of the possibilities.”

Misao stared at her as though
she’d sprouted a second fire-breathing head, but shook her head all the
same and walked away with the fruit.
The last thing she heard was the excited giggling.

*        *        *        *

Aoshi looked up at the faint knocking
upon his door.

“Enter,” he called stoically keeping his voice
even. If this was
Okina to tease him…

The door slid open almost shyly and Misao
peeked her head in.

“Aoshi-sama?”

“Yes?”

“Um…” she stepped in and closed the door
behind her softly. “I just
wanted to make sure you were okay.”

His eyes flickered up to meet hers. “I am well,” he replied.

She looked so uncertain. Why had she come and why were her hands
behind her back that way?

“Are you hiding something?”

She brought her hands around and she cupped her palms
displaying the fruit.

“You didn’t eat very much at dinner so I
… brought you…” she trailed off awkwardly, a faint stain to
her cheeks.

Did she know?

“Thank you, but I do not feel very hungry. Please… help yourself.”

“Er, no, that’s
okay… I’m…”

“They are your favorite, are they not?” he
asked.

          Would
she eat another? Should he tempt
her to? Did he want to indulge in
this petty sin? Should he send her
away? Was he a perverse old man for
thinking in such a way?

“Yeah, they’re my favorite but I ate three
already. I thought I’d save
you one,” she answered softly, looking awkward.

He shook his head and made an open motion, inviting her to
sit. She did so still holding her
offering.

“Is everything okay? Omasu said
that at dinner you were … well…”

“I was what?” he prompted.

“Staring at me?”

She looked soft and inviting and … innocent. He felt nothing deceptive about her
presence. Was it naive curiosity
that had led her here?

“Was I?” he asked.

          What
was her motivation? His eyes
flickered over her briefly. She was
still wearing her standard day attire, her shorts, her
shirt… so few ties…

          Hastily,
he dropped his eyes to the floor.

          Maybe
he should get rid of her?

          She
shrugged. “I don’t know, Omasu and Okon said it.”

          He
looked up. “Did they send you
up here?”

          “Er…” she looked away. “Yes?”

          “Leave.”

          She
blinked. “But… I… I…” she stood. “I’m sorry Aoshi-sama; I didn’t mean to upset you.”

          She
turned and slipped out the door. He
sighed softly in relief.

*        *        *        *

          “What
are you doing back down here so quickly?” Omasu
asked.

          Misao shrugged.
“He told me to leave.”

          “And
you went?! MISAO!”

          “I
don’t understand! What am I
supposed to do with it?”

          The
two older woman came around the counter and stood at
her side. “Misao, listen… he spent all of dinner staring at
you. There was nothing
unintentional about that.”

          “That’s
right,” Okon picked up. “He stared, shifted, and stared
more. When he wasn’t glaring
at his dinner plate, he was staring at your mouth.”

          Misao frowned.

          “Everyone
has something that… interests
them… For Aoshi-sama it seems to be watching
you eat. Think of this as one great
opportunity…” Omasu offered.

          “That’s
right!” Okon
exclaimed, suddenly inspired.
“Aoshi-sama’s
moment of weakness. His
walls are so pitted right now one good shove should you get you right through
and straight into his bed and what better way to prove you’re no longer a
little girl, right?”

          Misao stared at them unconvinced. That didn’t sound like a good idea
to win him over, that sounded like an idea that would get her a year’s
worth of guilty avoidance from him.

          Omasu and Okon’s enthusiasm
dimmed. “You haven’t
had much luck with anything else.
Go back upstairs and try again.
Eat the fruit yourself, get him to eat it, offer
to share it… “

          “Right.
Tell him you’re worried he didn’t eat very much, tell him
you’re upset about something and want his advice, tell him anything, just
get that fruit in your mouth or his and I’m telling you something will happen.”

          Misao stepped away and headed out into the hall and away
from them. Was that really a good
idea?

          Deciding
that she’d never know if it was or not and maybe it was an opportunity
that she could miss… she headed back upstairs.

*        *        *        *

          She
was back.

          He
heard her footsteps outside the door.
Hesitantly, she knocked and he called for her to enter. She faltered in the doorway.

          “Aoshi-sama?”

          He
just stared at her, waiting.

          “Are
you… well… can we talk for a minute?”

          Did
she come to talk? Just to talk to
him?

          “If
you like,” he answered.

          “Um…
I was just thinking about earlier… when I took your dishes to the sink
and… did you eat enough?”

          He
blinked.

          She
was lying, he could tell by the quiver in her voice. What had brought her back to him?

          “Yes,
fine.”

          “Are
you sure? I could bring you some
more-“

          Now
she wanted to leave? He stared at
her in confusion, and then he noticed her eyes dropped to the table where the
peach she’d brought him still sat.

          “No,”
he answered. “I am fine,
thank you.”

          She
nodded quickly and the motion looked awkward, forced. What had brought her here that was
upsetting her?

          “Sit,”
he ordered.

          He’d
find out, he determined. Her eyes
darted to the peach again. Did she
want it? Was it the last peach and
she wasn’t sure how to ask if she could have it? He looked back to her only to see her
staring at the wall behind his head.

          “So…”
she started awkwardly. “Jiya was telling me about a shortage in the market. Something about bugs
damaging the trees.”

          She
did want the peach, didn’t she?

          He
reached for it and held it out to her without a word. She blinked, surprised and slowly
reached for it.

          “Um…”

          “Take
it,” he replied. He wanted
the damn thing gone anyway. He
didn’t want it lingering in his room tempting him to find out how it
would taste on her skin. He
didn’t need that, didn’t need it at all.

          Holding
it up, she stared at it looking at it as though she expected it to move
suddenly or spout foliage. It
didn’t do either and so she looked back up at him. He just stared back.

          After
a moment’s indecision she raised it to her lips and bit into it. The juice dripped down her chin and
dropped down onto her blouse.



          She
wasn’t eating it because she wanted it. She was staring directly at him was
staring at him as though waiting.
He watched her chew, swallow and bite into it again…

          She
was still staring. Their eyes met
and held… his surprise quickly converted into heat that pooled low in his
belly. She was …

          Had
she seen him watching her at dinner?
Had the others sent her back?



          Did
he care?

          It
took only a moment and the fruit was ripped from her fingers and he was
virtually on top of her. His body
was radiating heat and it overwhelmed her.
She heard a dull thud and realized he’d dropped her peach onto the
floor and briefly mourned it before the impact of his chest against hers caused
her to lose her balance and fall straight onto her back. He loomed down over her, his mouth
dropping to lave his tongue along her jaw.

          He
followed the droplets of fruit juice across her jaw, her chin, her lips. She
gasped briefly as his tongue slipped into her open mouth only to quickly
withdraw and slid down her chin and neck.
She felt his fingers dig into the material at her waist and tried to
move away, to shift when she felt the tie at the front of her blouse slid
apart.

          Air
brushed over her bare torso as he pulled open the garment and Misao was lost.
Okon and Omasu were
right! Her wandering mind escaped Aoshi’s hold only briefly. He sat back from her and she saw the
peach was back in his hand. He was
clenching it hard as he stared at her, his eyes dark with intensity, his expression
tight.

          He
licked his lips as he lowered his hand, pressing the gaping wound in the peach
against her breast, rubbing it against her nipple. Astonished, she moaned at the silky,
wet, erotic feel of it.

          Aoshi watched the motion of the fruit on her breast
intensely and then raised it to rub the other breast the same. She squirmed and shifted until he turned
his eyes up to hers. He paused and
then pressed the peach against her neck beneath her chin. He lowered her head so the fruit was
caught there between her chest and her chin.

          “Don’t
drop it, don’t move.”

          She
swallowed, feeling awkward, strained.
He curled his fingers into the waist band of her shorts and slowly
dragged them down her hips. He
lifted her without assistance. He
slid them down her thin thighs and over her slender ankles and let them fall
where he released them.

          Pressing
his palms to her knees, he spread them and she cried out. “Aoshi-sama!”

          Astonishment
or rebuke or embarrassment, he wasn’t sure… he didn’t care,
she didn’t fight it. He slid
his hands inward, running his palms and his sweat against the inner face of her
thighs marveling at the softness.
He leaned down and pressed his cheek to that soft skin, in awe of her.

          The
scent of her sex led him to lift his head and stare. His eyes traced over the folds of her
sex, partially opened. He shifted a
bit higher gently pressing against her skin, opening her to him. She shifted, squirming impatiently and
he lowered his mouth with a groan.

          Misao seemed to explode, the cry from her mouth a shout, a
scream. He laved his tongue against
her. She was hot and moist and
soft… there was so much softness.
He’d never touched a woman this way before, but this was Misao…

She was soft.

She was clean.

She was his.

          There
was no part of her that was dirty to him.

          She
shifted, moving her hips against his mouth. He poked and flicked and lapped his
tongue against her. He took careful
not that she moved away from his mouth if he pressed too hard.

          He
shifted and pressed a kiss to the swollen nub he’d been licking and drew
back from her earning a disapproving groan. Much as he loved the scent and wetness
of her against him, he wanted to see her… wanted to see her pleasure,
wanted to…

          He
snatched the peach from beneath her chin and she dropped her head back to the
floor, relieved to be rid of it and equally tense. He pressed the open flesh against her
skin between her breasts, swirling her nipples once more before going lower.

          Misao fidgeted on the floor, raising his hips. Whimpers and half moaned words escaped
her mouth. When he pressed the
peach to the lips of her sex she thrust against his and his cock twitched hard.

          Never
question, just follow… she was such a good girl, a perfect girl…
how he loved her, he thought brokenly as he massaged the fruit against
her. Up and down, slow gentle movements.

          Up, and in against her firmly and then a slow sinuous slid back
down. He pressed the lips of
her sex open a bit more and pressed it against her once more.

          “Ah…
shi-sama, please… oh!”

          Misao was past the point of coherency but her half gasps were
all he needed. When her body froze
and trembled he slipped a finger further down and plunged it into her
depths. It was a slow, smooth
stroke inward.

          She
contracted around the digit, the heat of her wetness pulsing against his finger
and he withdrew it to insert another.
She stretched tight against him and he dropped the fruit once more,
letting it roll away.

          He
thrust his fingers into her once and then again before withdrawing them. His clothes were too tight, he needed
her now.

          He
pulled at the tie of his yukata, but it was knotted
and he was impatient. Pulling it
open at the seam below the waist he took his cock into his hand. He felt bigger and harder than he ever
had before and he wanted her, needed her,
now.

          Now.

          Immediately.

          He
crawled up her body, still holding his throbbing cock with one hand. Misao
whimpered as he pressed the swollen, bulbous head against her.

          “Mine,
Misao?” he murmured.

          “Yes, Aoshi-sama, always
yours.”

          “Always
mine,” he repeated softly, pressing deeper.

          He
felt the tight skin of her body give way and she gasped and then he seemed to
melt into her slowly. He pressed
slowly, despite the impatient, clawing need to thrust. Beneath him, Misao
lifted her hips; her eyes closed tight, her teeth digging into her bottom
lip. She raised her pelvis to meet
his as though wanting more.

          He
placed his against at her waist and thrust hard, burying as much of himself as
he could inside her. Sweat and
moisture clung to his skin, his back; his thighs… his muscles trembled
and twitched with strain.

          “Does
it hurt?”

          She
didn’t look at him; she turned her head to the side and kept her eyes
closed. Her reply was barely
audible. “Don’t
stop.”

          He
needed nothing else.

          He
withdrew and pushed back in, his slow strokes quickly gaining force. Misao’s
body almost bounced beneath his. He
found the grimace on her face was oddly arousing. His balls felt heavy and full and
relished in the feeling of them slapping against her with every thrust.

          He wanted it to last forever and he
wanted it to end. He was caught
between heaven and hell and absolute paradise. He faltered in his steady thrusting as
his body peaked with pleasure. He
pounded into her, his inward thrusts losing force as his body weakened, awash
with ecstasy.

          He
lowered himself onto her, panting, his chest heaving for hair, his head
empty. His body glowed and
throbbed, his softening cock was still embedded in the sweetest, softest place
he’d ever known.

          But…
she’d gained nothing from that had she? He lifted his heavy head and trailed his
hand down her body trying not to dislodge his cock from inside her. Could he do this for her?

          Would
his fingers be too rough to please her?

          He
pressed gently, probing, stroking softly.
He gently tickled the nub above their joining and he felt her body
respond inside. She contracted
hard, a cry escaping her mouth. He
lowered his head, it felt like her body was sucking against his cock, he
groaned and pulled his oversensitive shaft from within her.

          Later,
he thought.

          He’d
do that to her later when he was hard again and inside her.

          “Aoshi-sama,” she murmured and he realized they
hadn’t spoken at all.

          “Aa?” he questioned, sitting up. He pulled his yukata
together and stood and Misao moved to stand also,
much slower than himself. He turned his back to her and moved to
his futon cabinet, withdrawing his needed things. He threw them to the floor wondering at Misao’s silence.
He could hear the soft rustling of cloth and knew she was redressing herself.

          He
couldn’t make himself turn back and tell her not to. She didn’t move or speak in the
few minutes it took for him to prepare his bed. He knew she was waiting, gathering her
courage to speak.

          “Aoshi-sama?”

          “Yes?”

          He
turned back to see her and she opened her mouth to speak and then abruptly
stopped. He watched as she brought
her legs together and seemed to be holding very still, her eyes wide.

          Was
she…

          He
stepped up toward her and she tried to step back but he caught her by the
shoulder. He pressed the other hand to her belly sliding it down beneath her
shorts, curling his fingers between her legs.

          Wetness
pooled against his fingers, sticky, gooey wetness and he lowered his head
pressing a grin against her ear.

          “Mine,
Misao…”

          He
grabbed the material with his other hand and awkwardly pushed it down.

          “Undress…”
he murmured. “Come to
bed.”

          He
scooped his fingers between the lips of her sex and withdrew them smeared with
his seed.

          He
stepped back grabbing a towel he had left by his table and wiped his
fingers. When he turned back Misao was shyly stepping out of her shorts. He threw the towel to her.

          “Come
to bed,” he repeated.

*        *        *        *

          “Score!
You know Okon, we are so good!” Omasu grinned.

          Okon smirked in reply.
“Right on! Just think, if we hadn’t been watching, Misao
would’ve missed her chance!”

          The
other woman nodded. “Now all
we need to do is hatch a plan for Hiko and I have got
one!”

          “Oh?”

          “If
Aoshi-sama is enamored with the way Misao eats and Hiko-san likes sake,
we could try out a sake perfume!”

          Okon frowned.
“Wouldn’t that just make us smell drunk?”

          They
shared a moment of silence and then laughed.

          “He
might like that…”
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Fruit Passion