Teaser: “Each time he came to me in last six months, he always swore up and down that it would be the last time. After over one hundred “one more nights”, my heart felt heavy and empty.”
Inspiration: The Maroon 5 song and a conversation with my dear Valarie made this madness come about. This is actually a side-story for “One-Trick Pony”, but once I started it, it demanded to be finished quickly.
Rating: M, because you can’t spell “Matsumoto” without it.
Setting: AU. Same ‘verse as “One-Trick Pony”. Byakuya is the crown prince, Rukia’s the princess, Hisana was the commoner wife of the prince, who has a strange affection for all of the girls who once worked with her…
POV: Rangiku (first person) clear through.
Summary: He always promised it was just that one last night. After over a hundred “one more nights” that followed their two year affair, how can Rangiku break the cycle?
Additional ANs: Uh, I’m insane. This story is so sad right now, and I want to fix it… but it wouldn’t be “One More Night” unless it ends like this, so bear with the angst, kiddos. P.S. This is my first hetero story in a long while, so be gentle with me, loves. I’m still obsessed with Bleach and strippers… Ah, well, at least Ichigo isn’t a stripper in this ‘verse :P
Universe: “One Trick Pony” universe. Takes place before “One Trick Pony”, itself.
Word Count: 2762 words full of angst and painful love…
Each time he came to me, he had been drinking. I honestly fell in love with the way sake mingled with the scent of him. Each time he came to me, he was especially gentle, like I would shatter into a million pieces at a rough touch. It used to anger me that he treated me this way, but I’ve come to understand he’ll be the only man to treat me this way. Each time he came to me, he called me by her name and made it clear I was only a stand in. Each time he came to me in last six months, he always swore up and down that it would be the last time. After over one hundred “one more nights”, my heart felt heavy and empty.
I’d always known it was a stupid idea to fall for him. When a girl takes off her clothes for a living, she learns pretty quickly that sex is both an easy way to supplement her income and completely meaningless. I was no stranger to such transactions when I met him: I had been conducting them for five years. Yet there had been something so pure, so sweet, so earnest about him that I hadn’t been able to keep myself from being pulled in. Honesty shined in his crystalline blue eyes on almost every occasion. His pale locks contrasted sharply with his sun-kissed skin, but when I met him, he seemed boyish, hopeful, and very naïve. Despite the fact he was a bit shorter than me, when he strode over to talk to me, his gaze always met mine. He had radiated a certain kind of integrity that also made me feel safe near him. That had to be why I deluded myself for that entire first year of our friendship that he could watch me strip and simply remain my friend. Never mind the fact that my childhood best friend had failed at that task. I thought that this man could do it. That had to be why that first night felt like such a betrayal the next morning. I remember the way he smelled, like sake and that warm spicy scent he always carried that made me feel completely safe with him. When his surprisingly large, surprisingly calloused hand reached for my chin and cradled it gently, I knew what was to follow. No rhyme or reason to it: I just knew. It was like in an instant of clarity, I knew that one taste would never be enough for either of us, that no one else in the world would ever be able to play my body like a finely-tuned erhu. But, like a fool, I ignored that moment of clarity, when his lips brushed against mine, I allowed his kiss. If he hadn’t called me “Momo”, I would have just let him have me, the way that all women want to hand themselves over to that one particular someone and stop fighting their desires, their needs, and themselves. But that name was more of a betrayal than the kiss had been, and I couldn’t allow myself to play the fool in this circumstance. So I asked him how much that name meant to him, how much it was worth. When he swallowed hard and named a healthy figure, I relaxed in his grip before I pressed my lips to him, to seal the deal, so to speak. I wish that I could say that the sex had been boring and ordinary. Unfortunately, it was hot and spectacular. I felt like I was flying in his arms, like something in my soul had ignited on contact with him. Where ever he touched me, I burned. I couldn’t get it out of my mind, even when I allowed other men to hold me. All I could remember was the way he touched me, the way he held me, the soft rasp to his voice when I did something he liked, the heat in his voice when he whispered encouragements and endearments. But it was the longing way he’d called her name that made me ache inside. I wouldn’t let him hold me that way again until two whole months had passed. When we came back together again, it was in a rash tangle of limbs and hot needy touches and breathless panting and soul-searing kisses. It was as though we tried to love each other for the interim two months, like we were real lovers. I kissed him each time he tried to call out her name, smothering it out on my lips and my tongue. The ache in my heart eased some, but I couldn’t shake the sensation that I was setting myself up for something particularly disastrous. I didn’t care: I wanted to hold him to me as long as I could, so much so that I gave up all of the other lovers that graced my bed and was only with him. Our affair lasted two full years. The fire never went out between us when we were together –I was surprised we hadn’t scorched the sheets, burnt the mattress, or set fire to the building. The sex was explosively hot, yet the problem was that: it was just sex. Each time I laid with him, the pain in my heart got worse. Each time he called out that name, my heart broke a little more. The lowest point I hit was the night that the instant after he fell asleep, I burst into tears. I was in love with him, but my stubborn insistence on having him no matter what was destroying what was left of my battered heart. The night I called it all off was awful. He looked as though I had slapped him. It seemed that we’d formed some kind of emotional bond that he felt betrayed by me when I broke it. But what kind of emotional attachment were we supposed to have? I was the only fool with my heart involved! He paid me for the release and pleasure I provided. It should have been a simple business transaction, at least on his end of things!
So here we were, six months after the end of it. I could smell the sake on his breath, how it mingled with the ginger and spice scent that he carried with him everywhere. “One more night, Rangiku,” he plead, his voice rough and needy. I wanted to tell him ‘no’, but I’d be damned if my body wasn’t making a fool out of me by saying ‘yes’! I’d always been weak to his scent and the sound of his voice. The tone he used, the way he begged without lowering himself to actual begging… oh, it just made all of that him me all the more. So I kissed his lips, as if to say ‘Yes, of course, Toshiro’, as though he hadn’t plead for ‘one more night’ at least a hundred times before. Besides, I did deserve one last night in those arms, as well. And whether he knew it or not, it would be out last night. I was leaving tomorrow to work somewhere else in the city, as something a little more respectable. Despite the fact I had once considered this man my friend, I hadn’t told him, nor would I tell him. The point of doing this, of moving on, was not so much for the betterment of myself but to break the cycle. If he couldn’t find me, he couldn’t kiss me and plead with those eyes. If he couldn’t kiss me, I wouldn’t be forced to care. If I didn’t care, then we wouldn’t have sex. If we didn’t have sex, he wouldn’t call her name. If he didn’t call her name, my heart would stop hurting. If my heart stopped hurting, I wouldn’t be so vulnerable each time he came around. And so on, in circles. I’d though it all through, weighed the pros and cons of the situation. I would miss him, but my heart would never ache so badly again, and I found myself acknowledging that it would be worth that. So when he kissed me this time, I returned it with every ounce of passion and need and bone-deep longing that I felt for him, until we were both panting breathlessly, only to come back together like two magnets. While his tongue was reminding me that he knew every spot in my mouth, his hands slowly reached yet quickly found the knot in my obi and untied it. The yukata I wore fluttered open like the wings of a butterfly. His warm fingers sought my straining nipples as his mouth inched away from mine. He laid kiss after kiss along my jawline before he moved down to plant a tender kiss on my neck. “So sweet and responsive, Ran,” he murmured against the skin of my neck before he nipped me lightly. I can’t lie and say my heart didn’t race in my chest at his familiar nickname for me. When his mouth traced, touched, caressed the sensitive parts of my neck, I contained my moans and sighs of pleasure, trying to reign myself in. It would do no good to lead him on further, because beyond tonight, I intended to place myself far beyond his reach. Unfortunately for me, I had fallen in love with an incredibly smart man, a man who knew my body better than anyone else. So when he sunk his teeth into the juncture of my shoulder and my neck, actually biting me, he startled a sound out of me that was somewhere between a squeak and a moan. “Don’t hide from me,” he growled out, glaring at me. It was in that instant that I paused to ponder what would happen when he discovered I was gone. Would he prowl the city to look for me? Ask my acquaintances where to find me? Chase me down and make me thoroughly his? Or would he just forget about me and find another woman to be Momo’s stand-in? If only that demand were meant for me and not the woman I take the place of, I thought darkly. Still, I allowed my head to loll back as he brought his attention further down my body to my full and heavy breasts. I loved the way his mouth felt on the straining peaks, the way he’d taunt me with his clever and wicked tongue, the reverent way his hands cupped and cradled the fullness of them. The look of absolute bliss on his face as he trailed warm, moist kisses down the valley between my breasts could have undone me –had undone me, in fact, on more occasions than I would ever care to admit. Gently, I grasped his face with both of my hands and bent down to kiss his lips tenderly, easing him back up as I did. I let my hands slide down his chest, quickly undoing anything that kept his warm flesh from my questing hands. Our kiss went on –long, languid, lazy, sweet– until the instant I took him firmly in my hand. He jerked back so quickly from our kiss that he cut my lip on his teeth. All of the breath rushed out of his lungs in a hiss. I’m certain laughter danced in my eyes as I watched him. When my hand took up a torturously slow and undemanding pace, I watched his eyes widen. “Ran–” he started. “Let me take care of you, Toshiro,” I purred out, forcing my voice to take on the seductive, husky edge he so adored because it would make him stop questioning me. In response to the tone, his hand tangled in my hair and brought my lips back to his. His tongue played across the wound he’d given me, gentle and soothing and something so outrageously like him to do. I drew back a little, not letting him deepen our kiss at all but not allowing him to complain, either, because I kept dropping kisses on his lips each time he tried to speak. Searching my mind, I tried to come up with something to keep him from speaking, from asking questions that I would have to answer or that would make me cry. Finally, I settled on a particularly wicked idea that I knew from experience would rob him of the ability to have thoughts at all. Slowly, I kissed my way down his abdomen to gaze upon his manhood. His cock was stiff, thick, engorged and leaking a pearlescent substance that I knew by sight. I extended my tongue, flicking it out to tease his tips and taste the fluid lightly before I took him in my mouth quickly, pulling him in as deep as I could in one go. The ragged sound he made summoned a feeling that made me think someone had ripped my heart in two, but I kept going, knowing that he’d always preferred my mouth to my hand. I bobbed my head up and down, swallowing around him and applying pressure with my tongue as I went. Do it, I dared him. Call out her name. Give me the reasons to leave all over again. Call out her name! When he didn’t do as I urged him in my mind, I increased the suction and used my hand to stroke and stimulate the length that wasn’t in my mouth and pumped him with my hand, carefully maintaining my position as he came. I had artfully designed this outcome so that we would both recall the same: me, for having fallen in love with a man who used me to fulfill his needs like a common whore, and him, for turning our friendship into nothing but animalistic rutting and this. When I moved away and wiped his semen off of my face soon after, a light of horror hit his turquoise eyes, like he’d just realized what he’d done –moreover, what I had just made him do. “Oh, Ran…” he breathed out, reaching for me. “Ran, I’m so sorry!” I wanted this, I reminded myself sternly as I felt my resolve slipping. I wanted this shame and humiliation. Honestly, I needed it so that I could actually leave him, but I would be damned if how broken up he was about it wasn’t getting to me. I sighed internally and reached for him. I cradled him tightly in my arms, like it would all be okay, like all was forgiven.
When I woke up the next morning, I was wrapped tightly in his strong arms. He held me like he was scared to let me go. I wanted to cry, sob into his shoulder, and just stay. Instead, I steeled myself and pressed kiss after kiss to his lips until he roused from his sleep. He drew my tongue into a lazy, morning-after kiss that seemed to speak of his joy of being with me. I summoned memories of the cold, callous brush-offs he’d used in the beginning of our arrangement. “Morning. Toshi, you have business this morning, don’t you?” I inquired, knowing that he always had business around here: that’s why he could come to me so frequently. He nodded slowly, as it he could sense that I was giving him an out and brushing him off, all at once. He pressed a kiss to my right cheek then to my left before kissing my nose and finally returning to press a warmer, lingering kiss to my lips. It had become a morning ritual for us, and it almost hurt that he was so damn sweet about it every morning. When he crawled out of my bed, it immediately felt empty and I wanted him back in my arms. Instead of reacting to my own desire, I calmed myself and watched him dress wordlessly, knowing that this time, it really would be our last time. He kissed my lips once more. “I’ll see you, Ran.” I nodded noncommittally, thinking to myself, That was our last kiss, as he left my apartment. Once he was gone, the dam broke on my tears. I dragged myself out of my bed, anyway –away from the sheets where the warmth of his body and the scent of his skin still lingered– and started packing up all of my belongings. I had told myself it was our last night. He would get no more opportunities to charm me into one more night with his husky whispers, his warm hands, and his soft lips.