Author's Note: More anime-based than manga-based, but could work for either world.

Warning: Contains sex/lemon. Tadashi x Akira, brief vignette.

~BD

Interlude

He finds her in the kitchen after school, alone, washing dishes. Sunset stains the spacious room a deep golden-red; the light flashes off of her cropped hair and catches thousands of water droplets from the faucet, turning the liquid to gold.

He stares at her for a few moments, mesmerized. She places a teacup on the drying rack and picks up a saucer, and he feels a spike of emotion that he usually only gets when he sees a beautiful mountain lake or a rushing river or the nights of a city from a distant vantage point.

It is unexpected – even though he knows he loves her, his feelings suddenly flood him. He usually hides them so well, but sometimes they just overwhelm him.

He walks up behind her slowly, just in case she turns around and gets annoyed with him for entering her sacred domain. As she places the saucer on the drying rack, he wraps his arms around her from behind; he covers her hands with his, twining wet fingers together before she can react. Beneath him, she stiffens as though startled, and he bends and brushes his mouth to her ear.

"Do you need some help?" he murmurs.

She relaxes and exhales softly, sinking into the embrace while the water splashes off of their hands.

"No." Her voice is quiet, like his. "That was the last of them."

He moves one of his hands to turn the faucet off, and the dazzling display of sun and water vanishes. Then he takes a nearby towel and dries her hands for her, noting how she relaxes even more beneath his arms.

Content, he drops the towel on the counter and sighs softly, resting his forehead on her shoulder. She lifts her right hand up and into his hair, threading her fingers into it, and he shivers at the light contact. Little chills erupt down his arms, and he moans faintly, unable to stop himself.

"What's wrong?" she breathes, trying to twist to make certain he is all right.

He tightens his grip around her waist and shakes his head against her shoulder, and muffles, "Nothing." Then, "It just feels really good when you touch me, that's all."

He's forced to lift his head when she twists in his arms and loops her hands behind his neck, and he swallows at the closeness. They're touching all the way up their bodies; her face is inches from his and her eyes are soft.

"Kiss me?" she whispers.

He complies willingly, kissing her gently and slowly at first, feeling lightheaded when she melts into his arms and her fingers slide through his hair again, caressing his scalp. He presses her up against the counter so they are flush together and her fingers tighten; his breath hitches and he kisses her deeper, his jaw moving with hers.

After a long moment, she breaks away, one hand still in his hair and the other gripping his shirt. She gives him a tiny smirk and purrs, "You look hungry."

"Mm." He nods and kisses her again, his hands drifting down her back to just below her waistline, aching to go even lower. When she lifts her leg over his hip for leverage to kiss him more desperately, he simply can't help it – he palms her rear and traces down her thigh, gripping her leg against him.

To his surprise, her head falls back and she moans his name in a soft, aching whine. Her crotch brushes his where the short skirt of her uniform has ridden up and he nearly loses his balance as a rush of blood goes to his head and groin, and his vision blurs slightly on the edges.

"Ak..ira..."

She gives him a small smile, cups his face, and kisses him again, her tongue tracing along his lower lip until he lets her in and she begins to explore, to taste him. He grips her bottom and lifts her onto the counter. The kiss breaks; Akira gasps at the change in position, and he braces his hands beside her hips.

"T-Tadashi?"

"You asked if I was hungry," he reminded her.

She flushes as red as the sun. "Yes, but –"

Without waiting for a response, he flips her skirt up and opens her legs; she squeaks and he ignores her, dipping his head between her thighs and flicking his tongue against the damp knickers inches from his nose. The scent of her arousal is overpowering, like tea that's seeped too long.

He hears her cry out when his tongue pushes beneath the hem and into her wet center. He flicks it in and out, suckling and tasting and growing dizzier from the way she gasps his name and twitches beneath him, clutching at him, sopping wet, needing more. It is easy to push her over the edge – for all she pretends to be a strong, independent woman, Akira needs him like a drug; the same way he needs her.

Her legs wrap about his shoulders and he moans. Unable to stand the lack of contact, he lifts her off the counter and onto the floor. In the red and gold light, she is flushed and disheveled and he knows he must look just as haphazard. She reaches up and yanks his tie off, then frantically starts on his shirt buttons. In a haze of lust, he tugs her shirt open as well, and unfastens her bra, and begins to lap and fondle at her breasts while trying to unbutton his slacks and get her knickers off at the same time.

When she reaches between them and strokes him through his boxers, he nearly comes undone and must push her hand away. He frantically kicks free of his clothing and slides back along her body. There are times, like now, that he simply must have her right then or go insane; he angles and thrusts into the wet heat of her body, and she bucks her hips into his, grinding them together. Her breasts thrust upwards and he captures one nipple between his teeth, tugging as he thrusts into her again. Her legs wrap tightly about his waist, her skirt trapped beneath them and the fabric tickling his abdomen whenever he drives into her, pressing her into the kitchen floor.

Her skin is slick with sweat and his hands can barely keep their grip, his knees slip slightly from lack of friction and he stutters her name in need. Beneath him, Akira stretches her arms above her head, and flexes and rolls her hips against his. He glances between them and catches sight of the dark, sticky nest of curls mixing with his; he can feel his balls slapping into her ass with every deep, hard thrust. She squeezes and he catches himself on his palms, splayed on either side of her bouncing, heaving breasts.

Sex is always thus between them – primal and desperate, and he can't help but feel smug that he's the one that turns her on this way. He's the one that turns her into the person that she would never be around the others.

She twines around him, catching his jaw between her hands and dragging his face to hers so that she can kiss him; so she can push her tongue into his mouth and mimic what their bodies are doing.

He shudders and begins to thrust erratically, and Akira sobs and pushes her chest against his, knowing that he's close. In an instant, the tale-tell freeze comes over him; he drains into her and collapses on her, gasping for breath. She makes him breathless every time – it's like riding his motorcycle at breakneck speed through the curves of the mountains. He feels her twitching beneath him as her orgasm ebbs away, and he presses his face into her damp neck.

"Akira..."

She's stroking his hair, one of her legs still tight about his waist and the other limp on the tiled floor. She whispers, "Sometimes, I just get so lost in you..."

"I know the feeling."

"Still hungry?" Her breath tickles his ear.

He chuckles. "Give me a few moments, huh?"

~FIN~