Smut Rengoku Kyojuro

1: Coffee

A look, the touch of her skin, a kiss, a caress and a coffee.
It all started without beginning. Without a starting pistol.

They simply met because destiny decided it had to be their moment. A special look. The one that unintentionally connected them as if they had always had to be connected. A smile. A coffee. Confessions and many laughs. And so, without looking for it or wanting it, their story began one full moon night.

Their encounters and misencounters were repeated week after week. They knew they couldn't, that they shouldn't, but it was to coincide again and that attraction drove them to break all the promises they had both made to themselves. She, who didn't want to cry again for someone who wasn't brave enough to love her. He, who did not want to feel guilty for the fear he felt when he saw her and imagined what his life could be with the one who loved him and for his work to die one day and leave her alone.

That morning they had agreed to see each other, once again, as always, within those four walls that had become their little world. A world that, day after day, she felt was dwarfing her, that was suffocating her. Therefore, she had proposed to herself that today would be their last meeting because she felt tired of that situation.

But when she opened the door and once again those eyes scrutinized her, everything inside her broke again. All those things she was not supposed to tell him. All those kisses she shouldn't have given him. All the hugs that she should not give him, remained there, on the threshold of that door. Whether out of pride, shame, fear or any other foolishness, they would remain there forever until they hurt.

They looked at each other, both knowing that right there they would have undressed, they would have felt each other, letting that hot, steaming coffee cool down, giving way once again to desire. But they both let a few minutes of restrained phrases and conversations pass. He looked at her with the sweetness of one who only wants to be loved. His cold hands seeking the contact and warmth of hers, of her body ... and already, with that first contact, once again, the kiss arose. An embrace, the touch of their bodies, of those bodies that, feeling each other again, recognized and remembered each other. Letting the impression of the road traveled and the feeling lived between them, do the rest.

He undressed her, eager for the pleasure that only possessing her could give him. Kissing their bodies in skin to skin contact. Their tongues exploring the most hidden corners. Letting desire be reflected in those throbbing lips that opened to receive all that sweetness. The softness of the touch of her skin that bristled when his long fingers ran across it. Letting their bodies melt together, their eyes meeting, their lips feeding on each other. Letting the salty taste of their bodies increase their thirst and all that desire to taste each other, to get all the juice out of each other, to lick each other, led them to simply get drunk on each other. With each other. Feeling inside them an uncontrollable ardor that burned them. That urged them to move. She squeezing her buttocks. Him contracting his body. So that they could both feel each other more. To feel his hardness. To feel her sweetness. To feel her passion. Satiating, now yes, the desire that moments before they had contained.

She moved slowly, slowing down the rhythm little by little, and he let her do it. Letting her be the one who, for a few minutes, set the time and thus, turn that ecstasy that intoxicated them both into the elixir of their passion. He gently ran his fingers across her back as if they were attracted to her skin like magnets. Taking her by the waist with his strong hands and pressing his body against hers with impetus, letting those onslaughts be the ones that allowed them to feel deeper. That sensation that drove them so crazy.

Feeling him with all that strength inside. As stroke by stroke, onslaught by onslaught, everything began to get out of control. As every muscle in his body tensed. As the heat coming from her crotch began to run through her like an electric shock. And in just a few seconds, knowing that he was feeling exactly the same. She was contracting and he was tensing rhythmically. The contractions of their bodies were repeating, letting the pleasure and the sweet taste of orgasm flood their mouths. And then, as a whole, they both let themselves go completely. Him on top of her. Body against body. Kiss after kiss.

And then the magic ends. Her skin cools like that coffee and he ceases to be her tender lover. His gaze changes. Her tenderness remains between those sheets that minutes before had enveloped them. He dresses again in his demon hunter's clothes, the work which separates them because of the fear of dying someday and not being with his beloved. He redresses in his fears and uncertainties. She knows that she does not really know him. That again, she will suffer again from feeling deceived. That in just a few minutes, without hardly saying goodbye, he will leave her there alone. She would tell him so many things, but she simply keeps quiet and lets him go. She closes the door, returns to her bed and asks him why he is no longer there.

She wakes up agitated, why she has once again allowed her dreams to turn into nightmares. Answering him that day by day, piece by piece, with moments like that she hopes to be able to rebuild her armor and that he will come back someday, although that is impossible. Turning the page, closing that book and never reading it again.

But a part of them will never cease to be with each other. Perhaps she, one day at a dinner with friends, between wine and laughter, will lose herself in her own gaze and smile as she remembers the touch of his hands against her skin. And perhaps he, sitting in the restaurant where she met him, one Sunday morning, with a fixed gaze, will remember those eyes that looked at him with such sweetness.

Leaving this time, both of them, the coffee to cool perhaps forever?