Original fic fragment

[maudite_a_deux]

I rarely share my original fiction with others. I'm not really much of a fiction writer, and most of what I write is purely for my own enjoyment. Every once in a while, though, I work up the nerve to share a bit. I really like this particular scene for some reason, so I thought I'd throw it out there. Concrit greatly appreciated; I know what a lot of my bad habits are, but an outside opinion is always helpful.

Classic hurt/comfort scenario. Warnings for buckets of angst and poorly-written hetsex.

Context: The main characters are Special Agent Hannah Everly, of the FBI's organized crime task force, and Tak Kitamura, advisor to a major Yakuza boss. They've been struggling against mutual attraction for some time now. The scene opens in Tak's apartment, where Hannah has taken him after watching him fight his childhood best friend to the death. (I did warn you about the angst, right?)

Inside, he wordlessly led her into a tiny kitchenette and retrieved an impressive first aid kit and a bottle of sake from a cabinet. When he sat down and began to open the bottle, she snatched it away from him.

“Not until I’m sure you’re okay,” she admonished.

He shrugged and let his hands fall to his sides, looking defeated.

“Whatever,” he said. “I don’t know why you’re bothering.”

“Because you need help.”

“But I’m a bad guy,” he said sardonically.

“You still need help.” She turned his face toward her. “Let me see.”

He blinked owlishly at her as she removed his glasses. He looked different without them, younger, less intellectual, and for a moment, she could almost picture the teenaged street kid she'd found it so hard to imagine him as. Were those thin scars around his left eye relics of some long-ago fight?

“Dammit, your eyes are so dark I can’t see your pupils.”

He reached into his pocket and wordlessly produced a tiny flashlight, wincing when she shone it in his eyes. It did, at least, allow her to distinguish his pupils, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good, you’re not concussed.”

“No, now I’m blind,” he observed dryly, reaching for the bottle. She sat back and let him pour himself a drink, but stopped him when he would have poured another for her.

“I need a clear head for this.”

He shrugged and tossed back his drink, immediately pouring another while she wet a kitchen towel at the sink and returned to dab gingerly at his bloodied face. The skin beneath was bruised a deep purple, and the swollen flesh was split along his cheek. She probed at it carefully with her finger.

“Ow!” he protested, grabbing her wrist. She pried his fingers loose with her other hand.

“I’m trying to make sure your cheekbone isn’t broken, you big baby.”

He dropped his hand and submitted, wincing, to her examination. “You’re as bad as --” he said, and broke off abruptly as his eyes darkened.

Her stomach turned over again at the unexpected reminder of what she’d seen that night.

She wasn’t sure whether to feel sympathy or disgust. How could this be the same man she’d seen bringing food to hungry families and telling struggling shopkeepers that the Kumicho would let the rent slide this month? The man who occasionally dropped his careful formality to offer a trenchant comment and a sardonic grin, whose eyes were warm and curious when they met hers?

“It looks okay,” she said, forcing an even tone. “Just let me close this up and get you some ice.”

The eyes in question followed her every movement while she applied two butterfly bandages and filled a clean towel with ice. When she lifted it to his face, he covered her hand with his own and pulled hers away with the other. He searched her face with a slight frown.

“You don’t know what to think of me at all,” he said finally, a statement rather than a question. With his free hand, he filled the second cup with sake and offered it to her.

She hesitated before she took it with a murmured thank you. When he dropped his hand, his shoulders sagged.

“I wish...” he began, hesitating, but apparently thought better of he'd planned to say. He refilled his own cup yet again and tossed back its contents.

“What?”

He shook his head. There was a long, awkward pause before he spoke again.

“Thank you.” His eyes met hers, and she couldn’t make herself look away. Their black depths were mesmerizing. “I know you’re disgusted by what I did today, but now you’re taking care of me. I don’t know why.” He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, looking vaguely puzzled.

She shuddered inwardly when she realized his hand was still crusted with the dried blood of his former friend. She was at a loss. Nothing she could say was remotely adequate to this bizarre situation.

She searched desperately for words, but in the end what came out was only, “His blood is still on your hands.”

He looked down and nodded slowly, his lips curving downward as he knit his brows in consternation.

“I’m sorry. I did not mean for it to touch you."

She wondered whether they were speaking metaphorically, and decided it didn’t matter. The urge to put her arms around him warred with the urge to leave.

“I don’t know what to say to you.”

He nodded again, dropping his head. “I know.”

“I am a cop.”

“You should go.”

“Are you sure?”

“If you don’t, I might kiss you.” He lifted his head and met her eyes with an intensity that sent a powerful shock through her. She was struck speechless once again.

Why does he have this effect on me? she asked herself. Why him, of all people? While she struggled for words, he tore his gaze from hers and turned his face away.

“Go. Please.”

“Tak, I –”

“I don’t want to kiss you with his blood on me!” He rose abruptly to his feet and backed away from where she sat staring at him. He looked unsteady, and when he turned his back to her he caught at the doorframe for support.

“Tak!” She was at his side in an instant, tucking herself under his arm to hold him up. “Where else are you hurt?”

He let out a harsh laugh, wincing.

“Everywhere, I think.” He looked down at her with that ironic smile she’d fallen in love with somewhere along the line.

“Sit down. Take your shirt off.” She tried to push him toward the chair, but he clung to the doorframe and to her, pulling her closer against him.

“That’s not how I expected this to go,” he said wryly. His head began, very slowly, to drop toward hers.

“Wait.”

He dropped his arms as she pulled away, leaning against the doorframe, his smile fading.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and looked away.

“I’m not saying no.” She slipped her arm around his back again. “But let’s do something about the blood first.”

He let her lead him to the bathroom, head tilting until it rested on hers.

“I think I love you,” he murmured, brushing her hair with his lips. She ignored the thrill that sent through her and pushed him toward the shower stall.

“Take a shower.”

He smiled. “So pushy.”

“Shower,” she repeated, and slipped out the door, closing it behind her. A moment later she heard the water go on.

~*~

Twenty minutes later, she knocked on the door, wondering what was taking him so long.

“Tak?” She could hear nothing but running water. She knocked again. “Tak, are you okay?”

Met with silence, she opened the door a crack and tried again.

“Tak?”

When he didn’t answer, concern siezed her. What if he had a concussion after all? What if he’d collapsed? What if –

He wasn’t in the shower. He stood with his back to her, his hands braced against the corners of the open stall, his head lowered so that his hair completely hid his face. He was naked.

And beautiful.

She caught her breath at the sight of his long, lithe body, nearly hairless and perfectly, compactly muscled. His back and all of one arm were completely tattooed with traditional irezumi. The centerpiece was a magnificent samurai, his sword drawn. In the background were Mount Fuji, forest and sky. Birds flew among the clouds and stylized carp swam down his arm. Tendrils of curling ocean waves trailed down his hips into an unfinished outline.

The sudden surge of desire was as sharp as a knife in her belly. She’d never wanted anything as much as she wanted to touch him right now. Nothing mattered but this man, this beautiful, dangerous, exotic creature whose unexpected vulnerability was so very seductive. His composure was shattered, his self-containment cracked and failing, and he needed, really needed her to prop him up, physically and metaphorically. It brought out every protective instinct she had.

“Tak?”

She hesitated to touch him for fear of setting off some long-accustomed combat reflex, but at the sound of her voice he turned his head toward her, though the rest of him remained eerily still. He looked mildly surprised and a bit lost, unconscious of his nakedness. On the arm that wasn’t tattooed, she could see a large bruise and smeared blood extending from shoulder to fingertips.

“Ne?”

“You’ve been in here for almost half an hour,” she said gently.

He blinked.

“Oh.” He slowly turned his blank gaze back to the shower, making no move to get in. He was obviously in shock – if not physical, at least emotional. He didn’t seem to notice when she undressed and ducked under his arm to get into the shower herself.

“Come here,” she said, holding out a hand to him. He lifted his head at that, looked at her for a long, curious moment, and then took it, cautiously stepping into the enclosed space of the stall.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Taking care of you.”

She applied soap to a bath sponge and stroked it gently down his chest, taking with it some of the blood that had soaked through his clothing. The water swirling down the drain beneath their feet turned pink.

“I’m all right,” he said unconvincingly.

“Sure you are.”

She took extra care over his bruised ribs and arm, and traced the colorful patterns on his back with her fingers as falling water rinsed the soap away. He stood silently while she washed the rest of his body, his eyes closed, one white-knuckled hand clutching the top of the shower door.

By the time she finished it was impossible to ignore his erection. When she rose to her feet he looked down at her with those bottomless black eyes and ran his fingers lightly up her arms, trailing them up her throat until both hands cradled her face with infinite care.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he breathed, a moment before his lips met hers.

Electric fire raced through every nerve in her body, raising goosebumps and stealing her breath as her body molded itself to his, her arms winding their way around his neck and clutching him tightly to her. His lips moved slowly against hers, their pressure increasing. His arms tightened around her and she was lifted completely off her feet. He pressed her back against the tiles, shockingly cold against her heated skin, and parted her lips with his tongue, groaning her name.

“Say you want me,” he murmured against her lips.

“Yes,” she breathed, winding her fingers into his hair as the water cascaded down their bodies. “Please. I want you.”

He muttered something in Japanese that she didn’t recognize and lifted her by her hips. She wrapped her legs around his waist and felt him flinch as she came into contact with one of his bruises.

“You’re a mess,” she observed breathlessly.

He laughed softly into her mouth, his lips curving against hers, and he was still smiling when he lowered her down onto his cock.

She moaned and arched against him, letting out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding as he slid home with a contented sigh. He moved against her slowly at first, dizzying her with long, smooth strokes and unexpectedly tender caresses. Her fingers tightened in his hair, tangling in the wet strands.

Gradually he quickened his pace, running his lips impatiently along her jaw and down her neck to bite her shoulder experimentally.

“Hannah-chan,” he murmured against her skin. “Derumo.” Beautiful.

Her world shrank until there was nothing but their two bodies moving fluidly against each other, Tak’s increasingly ragged breaths in her ear, his fingers gripping her hips with exhilarating, bruising strength, her consciousness contracting into a tiny, infinitely dense point until --

“Oh,” she breathed as her orgasm ripped through her, tearing her apart and smashing her back together around him with such force that her head slammed back into shower wall. “Ow!”

He paused and brought one hand up to caress the back of her head, looking down at her with concerned eyes. When she assured him she was all right, he smiled and kissed her again with gratifying thoroughness before he began to move in her again.

When she peaked a second time, it drove him over the edge as well. He gasped as he came, his body convulsing against hers, and then drew in a harsh, painful breath as another injury was jostled. They both laughed this time, and he squeezed her tightly, heedless of his bruises.

“Kimi-ni muchu nanda,” he whispered in her ear, as though it were the most important secret in the world. I’m crazy about you.

She buried her face against his neck, closing her eyes and trying to shut out the question of what they were going to do tomorrow.