|harukami (harukami) wrote,|
@ 2007-03-12 02:07:00
|Entry tags:||digital devil saga|
[fic] Argilla untitled drabbles
[Fic -- Digital Devil Saga 1, not safe for work, untitled]
Sometimes, when Serph holds Argilla she feels whole again. Which is, she thinks, a strange impulse, because it's not as though she normally feels as though she weren't whole. She shivers, wraps her arms around him. His skin is warm against hers, soft and smooth and familiar. Comforting.
Perhaps that's it; Serph is comfortable. Serph is perhaps the only person in the world she has no doubts of, could never have doubts of. Serph is genuine -- which isn't to say that others aren't, but Serph is more here and now than anyone else in the world.
She puts a hand to his cheek. His atma mark flares under his touch and his eyes are on her. "Serph," she says. It comes out almost embarrassed. "I need--"
He nods, once, slides his hands into her loose hair. She's hungry; she thinks desperately. She's hungry. His hands soothe her, cool and confident and she makes a helpless hiccupping sound, rolls with him until he's on top. His weight feels good, she thinks; he feels like he can anchor her.
Her heart's beating fast. They challenge each other -- the game they play is one of dares. "I'll eat that bitch if she pisses me off again," gesturing at an ex-member of the Maribel, and--
"I'll stop you if you try."
-- Which raises way too many questions. Could I and What would he do if I tried and What would I do if I won. She finds herself looking at Heat speculatively; finds him looking back at her the same way.
She licks her lips. "Maybe we should take this outside," she challenges.
"Maybe we should," he growls back.
They go. The stone walls of their new base are smooth and undecorated. She leans against one, crosses her arms, half-wondering if he'll try to fence her in.
One hand on either side of her, Heat leans in. The rain is pouring down over both of them; it's soaked into her hair as always; she can feel rivulets running under her collar as always, soaking her under-suit as always. It gathers on his face, drips from his bangs and eyelashes, nose and lips.
He says, "What was it you said back there?"
She grabs him, drags him down by the wet hair hanging over one eye, presses her mouth to his hard. She can taste blood in his, and meat; she steels herself not to cringe away and gives in instead, chases the taste with her tongue. By the time he pulls back again it's getting difficult to breathe. Her chest is on fire.
She doesn't want to repeat it. He knows what she said. She pulls him down again.
It starts the usual way. She's just shrugging her jacket on over her under-suit and--
"Whoa!" Cielo says. He comes over and peers -- "Is it just me, or are your boobs getting fatter?"
Argilla crosses her arms over her chest immediately. "Wh-- what?!"
"Dey're definitely fatter," Cielo confirms. "I bet it's because you've been eatin' too much!"
"I have not!" Argilla protests. She makes sure of that.
"Boobs put on fat fastest! And if dey're de firstplace dat gets de food--"
"They are not fatter!" she says again. She squeezes them.
"Uh," Cielo says.
"See for yourself," she adds, and grabs one of his hands, shoving it to her chest.
He is silent for a long moment, mouth open, eyes showing the whites around the edges. "Uh," he says again. And then, "-- You know I got no comparison from before--"
"W-well," Argilla says. Her cheeks are a bit red; his fingers are moving slightly, and she can feel the hardness of her nipple against his hand. "--do they feel too fat now?"
"--Hang on," Cielo says, and reaches. "Lemme feel de odder one too."
He hesitated, staring down at her.
Argilla swallowed. She felt heavy, hot, turned-on. Her stomach is almost heaving as she tries to take in enough air. He was just as competent at this as everything else, his hands slow and firm and confident as he'd teased her nipples hard until she squirmed, helped her strip. But now he was just standing there. "Gale?" she said. "What--"
"--Yes?" she asked, confused.
"It does not have a--"
"I apologize," he said. He touched two fingers to the bridge of his nose and made an expression somewhat like :/. "For some reason, I was under the impression it should have a phallus as well. Equipped to it."
"I do not...comprehend that instinct. Too often, it seems, we recall things we should not be able to recall -- no, truly, cannot recall. How could--"
"Gale," she said patiently. "I know you like to talk. But. Can you just put it in already?"
(I'M SORRY LAYLAH I CAN DO A SERIOUS ONE REALLY I CAN.)
Sera's eyes are wide and clear. She touches her fingers to her lips. It looks like she's remembering something, like she's rueful and a little scared and angry--
"I'm sorry," Argilla says. "I don't know what came over me..."
"Oh," Sera says. "That's -- it's all right. You didn't mean anything."
"Well, I meant something," Argilla protests. That's not right either. "I didn't -- I didn't mean to surprise you like that, though. Just -- I like you. It felt right."
"I don't really understand," Sera says. Her eyes have dropped. "You like me?"
"We're comrades, right?"
"Yes," Sera says, softly. She raises her eyes again, troubled. "Heat kissed me once."
"Heat did?" Argilla feels her cheeks flushing. "I'm sorry, I--"
"Is it something about me?" Sera asks, urgently. "Heat does, and you, so I --"
Argilla is about to respond instinctively -- no, it was me -- but stops; Sera's asking it seriously, and of all people, Sera deserves an answer. "It might be," she says. "You're very ... you have so much to offer us."
"I don't have anything--"
Argilla puts a hand over Sera's chest; she can feel her heart beating under that, steady. "You have this," she says. "Don't think that's unimportant."
"O-oh," Sera says, and throws her arms around Argilla.
The expression on his face looks like he wants to apologize. He'd already asked if this was her first time; she'd already said yes. He seems to think he'll hurt her.
She doesn't hurt.
He sinks in deeply and if anything she feels -- too-full, stretched, like if she breathed in too far she'd feel him pressing against her heart. She makes a little noise, stretches out under it. Her eyes are half-lidded, distant, her hair spread on the pillow. She's had stranger changes to her body; this isn't something that could hurt her.
"Argilla," he says. His voice is choked, needy, guilty.
She reaches up slowly, luxuriously, folds her hands firmly around his shoulders.
"Come *here*," she insists, and drags him down against her. It's better like this, her breasts pressed to his chest, the roughness of his breathing in her ear.
He huffs a laugh. "Ah," he says, and it sounds like surrender. "You got me. All right. Let's do it your way."