Parallel's Playground

Fic Title: Parallel's Playground

Chapter Title: Aftermath (2/?)

Fic Rating: NC17

Chapter Rating: PG13

Fandom: Cardcaptor Sakura

Pairing: Sakura Kinomoto X Fujitaka Kinomoto (Sakura Avalon X Aiden Avalon)

Word Count: 3,757

Notes: Wh00t second chapter!!! This one was very difficult for me to do! So I hope it turned out okay... spelling might need a little fixing but I gave it a read myself, hope it's not to horrible.

Disclaimer: Don't own, not making any money, just playing with them for fun~


“He did what to you?” Tomoyo’s royal blue eyes took on a deep look of worry, her face draining of color as her lips fell open into a soft coral colored ‘o’.

Sakura peered down at her, hands drawn up nervously to her chest, eyes hidden behind a smooth screen of honey-brown hair.

“He…” but Tomoyo’s cool small hand was suddenly pressed across her mouth, the other clipped onto her shoulder.

“You don’t need to say it again,” her eyes looked swollen against her paling skin, panic written all across her face. Her needle and thread lay forgotten on the lacquered black hardwood floor, glimmering bright as broken glass. The sun flooding through the balcony windows set rings of gold around Tomoyo’s hair as she wound it around her fingers, tugging nervously.

Sakura turned on her heel and sat back, collapsing into the plush leather loveseat. The leather groaned as the ruffles of her half completed dress splayed all over her lap, blue and white with gossamer-gold ribbons here and there. Sakura folded her hands down, starring at her feet, one clad in a polished black rounded shoe, the other in a simple white cotton sock, gold bobbles on her ankles. She swayed her feet, watching the sunlight slide across the lustrous fabrics, keeping her eyes away from Tomoyo.

Frosty black curls tumbled elegantly over Tomoyo’s shoulders as he leaned down, settled on her knees like an aristocrat and scooped up the needle and thread she had dropped in shock. Reaching for Sakura’s right leg, she slid her fingers along the white cotton covering Sakura’s calf.

Sakura’s gaze flickered up, cracks of pain threading through emerald eyes as she noted that Tomoyo was touching her differently now… as if she was made of glass, as if there might be bruises on her skin.

“Tomoyo, he didn’t… hurt me, he didn’t even-”

“It doesn’t matter,” she sharply insisted, eyes snapping up to Sakura as her hands worked almost effortlessly, stitching the golden seam along the left of the knee-high socks.

Sakura’s fingers clutched uncomfortably at the edge of the seat, digging into the unyielding leather. She chewed her bottom lip, a flurry of nervous butterflies whirring inside her stomach.

“Sakura…” Tomoyo began in a calm coaxing tone, as if speaking to a cornered, abused little animal. Sakura’s fingers curled tighter against the seat, her head tilting down brokenly as her toes curled inside her socks. Tomoyo was making it worse then it was, worse then Sakura wanted it to be. It wasn’t that big of a deal… Sakura told herself over and over, feeling the butterflies surge in her stomach, feeling her mouth dry, as the memory played in perfect photograph moments through her thoughts.

“You need to tell someone,” Tomoyo finished in the same tone, looking up at Sakura with a pleading expression. Her small hands curled on Sakura’s knees as she pushed herself up, searching to meet her friend’s eyes. “It was good you told me, but you should tell my mother, or Mizuki sensei, or the police-”

“No!” Sakura said more suddenly, more firmly then she would have liked to. Tomoyo’s hands quivered and she drew them back as if injured, tilting her head. Her wintry ebon curls poured smoothly across her shoulders, her glossy bangs perfectly framing her eyes. Her gaze held mellow hurt and confusion, her fingers tangling uncomfortably before her chest. Sakura fumbled to explain.

“I-I thought it could be a Clow Card,” she began, looking up with a painfully awkward, apologetic smile. Her bangs slid clumsily from her eyes, her cheeks nursing a faint sheepish blush. “You know, because… I haven’t managed to change them all into Sakura cards yet… Kiro did say bad things would start happening if I didn’t manage to change them all fast enough so… maybe something’s gone wrong and a Clow Card is affecting him.”

Tomoyo sat back, smoothing the lustrous fabric of her dress across her knees. Threads of hair swayed across her eyes as he nervously chewed her lip, eyes flicking nervously from Sakura to her own hands.

“Sakura-” she began with disbelief all through voice.

“Stranger thing have happened, Tomoyo. Besides, I don’t think… he didn’t seem…” she trailed off unsurely, sinking back to the unyielding firmness of the loveseat, letting the lace of her dress flare up around her lap. Her bangs skittered across her face and a huge sigh rolled past her lips. “I think he was crying…”

“… Have you at least asked Kiro about it?” Tomoyo questioned, raising from her knees and swaying forward, motion as effortless as a kite gliding on a breeze. Just as naturally her hand graced Sakura’s shoulder, squeezing gently, her eyes soft and sweet, dark and sad.

“Kiro isn’t here; otherwise I would have asked him. He’s gone with Yue, he wouldn’t explain much, but he said it was important…” Sakura held herself very still, not wanting to betray how nervous she was, how her skin itched and how sitting still as she was, felt like an unimaginable torture. She didn’t want to think about it, treat it so seriously. If she went home right now, they would both probably act like it never happened.

“You should call him anyway, doesn’t he still have his phone-”

“Really, Tomoyo, it’s okay, he’s supposed to come back on Thursday anyway, that’s in three days. I don’t think… nothing bad is going to happen before then. Whatever he’s doing is important, and it’s not worth-”

“But it is Sakura, don’t you understand that? This isn’t a little problem!” Tomoyo had taken up a stray golden ribbon, wrapped it so tightly around her own hand that her fingers were going pink. “He molested you! Your father molested you!”

“He didn’t- he-… he’s not going to do anything again…”

“How do you know?” there was a desperate sort of panic in her voice, her eyes begging Sakura to listen, her mouth drawn into a small scared little line.

“I… I just…. I don’t want him to get into any trouble. What if it wasn’t his fault? Besides… he’s leaving tomorrow morning for a whole week, all the way to South America. He’s going to be busy packing and getting ready tonight. If… if Kiro says there’s no chance it’s Clow Card or something when he comes back… then… then I’ll try something else when Dad gets home, okay?”

“… I don’t… see why you want to protect him when he-”

“Because he’s my Dad,” Sakura finished, feeling some of her uncertainty peel away and scatter.

Tomoyo fidgeted nervously, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She drifted from her spot before the loveseat, turning her back to Sakura and floating across the room. Her eyes fell sadly into a beautiful pot of flowers, perched on a table beside the balcony doors. Her pale lithe fingers touched gently to the petals, pink and purple and white, as her eyes darkened, clouded with thought. The sun framed her brilliantly against the glass, painting blond around her edges, and yet as she stood there stroking the flowers, she looked so small and cold.

Sakura felt a confusing colorless touch of guilt.

Tomoyo turned, head tilted, eyes half lidded and colored with worry. Her lips parted as she drew breath to speak, when-

“Sakura-chan,” a voice called from the hall, “your father is on the phone, he say’s its time for you to go home.”

Sakura stood up with little hesitation, scooping her clothes from the small coffee table before the loveseat, being mindful of the spools of thread and assortments of needles scattered across the surface.

“I’ll be okay,” she said with a soft apologetic smile, hugging the folded fabric to her chest. “I’m going to go change…” her eyes sunk down to the outfit Tomoyo had been fitting, all lace and silk, blue and gold and white. Sakura smiled as she awkwardly stumbled out of the single shoe, near tripping over her own foot. A giggle burst awkwardly from her lips. “I really like this one Tomoyo; you did a really nice job.”

The girl lingered by the flowers, opening and closing her mouth, hesitation and worry flickering across her eyes.

“… Thank you,” she finally said, giving a sad smile of defeat. The sun seemed to fold around her edges and blur her as she leaned against the warm glass. Her shadow stretched thin and frail across the black wood of the floor. “Have a nice day Sakura… be careful.”

Sakura only nodded, eyes darting away as she clutched her clothes tighter to her, fighting to ignore the sudden tightness in her chest.

“A-alright,” she stuttered, loathing to agree there was something, someone to be careful of. “I-I’m going to go change now…”

Tomoyo’s head dipped in a placid nod. “Call me tonight, okay?”

Sakura nodded, feeling her shoulders rise up with tension as her head tilted down weakly, tossing shadows across her face.

“I-I will.”

~*~*~*~

The door slid open soundlessly, with the slightest push from Sakura’s fingers. She peeked inside, fingers curling around the frame as she tip-toed through the threshold. Gently she placed down her rollerblades, turning on her heels and sitting on the raised floor next to the stairs, shedding her padding and protective gear piece by piece. Her cheeks were numb and tingling from the rush of the wind, kissed with a faint hint of pink. Her hair was tussled, hanging in curves and curls around her cheeks.

Her heart beat more firmly then usual, not fast but hard against her ribs, a persistent almost panicked throb.

‘Be careful.’

Of what? It’s not like it would happen again… it’s not like it hurt. Sakura shook her head violently, squeezing her eyes shut as an aggravated moan struggled past her lips. Thinking about it wasn’t helping any. Maybe, she began to consider, she should… ask her father about it?

She slid down the hall, socks skimming over the clean hard wood, hands folded meekly behind her back. Perhaps talking about was the right thing to do… she found it difficult to think about something she hardly understood.

Of course she knew what being abused was, but when she thought back on it, on the feel of those tears curving down her cheeks, her heart clenched painfully and her stomach twisted. Maybe he was sorry…

Her mind whirred in useless circles as she lingered near the kitchen, peeking shyly through the door.

Fujitaka sighed softly to himself, sleeves drawn up in bunches around his elbows, bubbles clinging to his wrists. Steam drizzled fog across his glasses and he tilted his head, letting them slide down his nose for a moment he could see, before his bangs came tumbling over his eyes. He sighed, blew a puff of air to clear them away while scrubbing persistently at the dishes looming under the soapy water.

On the other side of the immaculate kitchen, stood the dinning room table, looking newly polished under the soft yellow-white gleam of the kitchen lights. The sound of something sizzling on the stove caught her attention, the buzz of the fan above the burners seeming hushed in the firm quiet blanketing the room. Sweet buttery smells lured her closer, one curious inch at a time, before Sakura could see the huge stacks of pancakes and bottles of various types of syrup.

“I know it’s a little late for breakfast,” Fujitaka’s voice spoke from behind her, kind and soft as it always was, cooled with a touch of apology. “But I thought you might like them.” Sakura turned in time to see her father step carefully up to the table, tilt the frying pan and let one final golden brown cake slide onto the stack. The smell made her mouth water, but more important then that, the familiarity comforted her. Dad always made her pancakes. The simple thought seemed to lift a weight from the pit of her stomach, conceal the constant buzz of the thoughts that kept repeating.

“Thanks,” she chirped, hopping into a chair, snatching up her fork and spearing the freshest pancake. She could feel already it was wonderfully fluffy. Tilting her head up, she gave a clear bright smile, folding her hair behind her ears so it wouldn’t pester her as she ate. “They look really good.”

“Hopefully they taste as good as they look,” her father said with a quiet smile, turning to replace the hot pan on the stove. He carefully slid off his glasses, eyes lowered almost meekly as he cleaned them with the pink fabric of his apron. His eyes flickered up to Sakura, stealing quick nervous glances.

‘Are you okay?’ the words drifted thickly through his mind, but were not the words that came out of his mouth. She was watching him, curiously, and there were less unnerving questions that could make it to his lips much faster.

“Would you like some syrup?” he smiled, sinking against the counter as he replaced his glasses. His smile held but he looked somewhat defeated, deflated, as he tossed the apron aside. It seemed neither of them had the nerve to talk about…

“Yes please,” Sakura had been poking nervously at her pancakes, breath stalled impatiently in her throat while she waited for him to speak. Relief and frustration flurried about her mind at the simple question. Her gaze fell down to her food. She picked up a knife and smeared a generous amount of butter over the alluring looking pancakes.

She wanted him to talk to her about it.

She dreaded what would be said if she started the conversation.

“I thought…because it’s summer, you’d enjoy staying up late and watching a movie?” Fujitaka broke the awkward silence, sitting across the table as he spoke. Easing himself into the chair he placed down a small glass pitcher of syrup, nudging it to Sakura with a hesitant smile. Her eyes drifted up from her plate to her father, and some of the stubborn logic-driven panic was pushed away. Though still was buzzing persistently in the backdrop of her thoughts it was ignorable, for the moment. He looked so sorry, smiling sadly like that, spoiling her with pancakes for dinner and movies.

“Dad…” she began, setting down her fork and sitting straight, looking at him seriously, shyly, trying not to appear as flustered as she felt. ‘I don’t know why you did it, but at least you stopped, and I’m not scared of you or anything, just confused, and I really want to know why you did that, and why you were crying, and why-’

The telephone’s ring startled her out of her racing thoughts. Instantly her thoughts unraveled and she sank back into her chair, losing all her will to speak. Fujitaka seemed not to notice, pushing himself out of the chair and crossing the kitchen in easy steps, scooping up and the phone and cradling it between his shoulder and cheek. He began to chat idly about work, flashing Sakura a brief apologetic smile before turning to gaze absently out the window.

Sakura sighed, feeling suddenly naked under the bright kitchen lights. Strumming her fingers over the table, she listened to their rhythmic yet panicked ticking, before snatching up her fork and finishing her meal.

Fujitaka was still on the phone as she rinsed her plate, dropped it gently into the sink and padded into the living room. The dimness of the room was comfortable, the solitude, the comfort of being able to slip under the blankets and focus on the gentle lull of the television. Sakura let out a breath she hadn’t consciously been holding, curling onto her side with her head propped on the arm rest of the couch. Tugging the worn velvety blanket across her legs, she reached out meekly for the remote, raising the volume a few ticks, drowning out the unreadable hum of her father’s voice from the kitchen.

It was too hard to ask him.

‘I can’t do it…’ she thought to herself, releasing a defeated sigh. She toyed nervously with the remote, jabbing the ‘play’ button and shutting her eyes. She half listened to the movie play, trying to commit herself to one thing or another. She would ask him. She wouldn’t. It was worth it to know. It wasn’t worth making things more awkward. She was in danger.

“Sakura?” a warm hand settled on her shoulder.

She was perfectly safe.

“Hn?” She looked up, blinking into the blue colored dimness. Seeing her own sleepy eyed, bed headed reflection in her father’s glasses, she felt herself relax just slightly, saw her own tense shoulders fall slack. “I think I fell asleep,” she said shyly, pushing herself up, her back against the armrest while her knees where tucked against her chest.

The velvety cushions sunk as Fujitaka sat down, tilting Sakura’s form. She fell so naturally against his side, hands sitting lightly on his ribs, knees pressed awkwardly against his thighs. She watched her own reflection in his glasses, forcing herself to look as calm as she thought she should be.

“I’m sorry about that, did you have something you wanted to tell me?” he asked gently, his hand hovering hesitantly over Sakura’s head. Sakura bit her lip, eyes darting nervously about. Her heart fluttered franticly against her ribs, her stomach twisted into a tight unbearable knot.

“No,” her head fell against his chest, emerald eyes shut in a way that made her look so very tired, her bangs spilling in a tangled mess across her cheeks. “I… don’t remember now.” Sakura breathed in deeply, soothed by the familiar scent of clean laundry and old books, strong coffee and sugary sweets. Real sturdy calm began to dulcify her jagged thoughts.

“… Alright,” Fujitaka sighed deeply, his chest raising and falling steadily under Sakura, his fingers weaving delicately through her hair. He tilted his head down to watch her, eyes colored like dark amber, lips folded into a fine faint little frown. “Sakura… we’ve… got a bit of a problem…” He felt her small body shift nervously, his stomach giving a nervous jump as his arms moved to dip around her sides, hold her steady. ‘No’, he thought, hiding a pained expression, ‘That’s not what I…’

“Huh?” Her fingers coiled about his wrists but she didn’t push him, her hands shivering faintly as if her whole body was suddenly cold.

Almost reluctantly, Fujitaka eased his daughter into his lap, cradling her against his chest. The steady throb of his heart next her ear was soothing, as was the feather-light touch of his fingers on the flat delicate plates of her shoulder blades.

“Touya isn’t going to be here for the next week. His class trip actually starts tomorrow; I thought it was next week, when I would be back from South America, but…”

Sakura’s eyes widened like disks of polished jade. “So… what’s gunna happen?”

“Well… I think… I’m going to have to take you with me,” Fujitaka became completely still, watching Sakura’s face for any flicker of emotion. His hands settled lightly on her small shoulders, holding her as if she was made of glass. “Is that… alright with you?”

“W… when would we be leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Fujitaka raised a hand, affectionately pushing back Sakura’s bangs, letting his thumb trace down her cheek as he drew back. “If you don’t want to…”

“No, it’s okay… I… want to come with you,” she said with less hesitation then she expected from herself. He was giving her a real chance to stay; she knew if she told him she didn’t want to, he would never make her.

He wouldn’t ever make her do anything she didn’t want to do.

Fujitaka smiled, and suddenly Sakura knew, that he wanted to kiss her. She felt her shoulders tense and the restless swirl of her stomach. Her lips felted warmed as if he had just drawn away from her seconds before, as if his lips were just a breath away from hers, pausing between kisses.

Fujitaka’s eyes flickered down, his hands dropping from her shoulders as he pushed Sakura gently from his lap. Laying the blanket tenderly across her legs, his lips curved into a fake, sad sort of smile.

“Well then, I’ll… start packing us up…”

Sakura nodded, muttering a soft apologetic “Thank you…” sinking back into the couch like a skittish wide-eyed kitten.

He wouldn’t look at her as he tenderly stroked her hair. “We’re leaving early, so don’t stay up to much later…”

Sakura nodded stiffly, watching him until he left the room. Her heart still throbbing against her ribs, she sat up gingerly, propping herself against the back of the couch.

‘He wanted to, but he didn’t, because… I got scared’ the thoughts fell slowly through her head, ‘but why does he want too…?’ The words running brokenly across her mind melted to blurry images, sensory memories. His lips had been so soft. She remembered his skimming fingers burning up her skin, making her feel feverish with the lightest touch. His tongue felt warm, big and heavy and incredibly soft inside her mouth.

Her fingers flitted nervously across the skin of her neck, following the path his tongue had gone. Sakura gasped softly, feeling a dull throb of pain, as her fingers skated across the faint pink bite mark her father had left. Her cheeks warmed with blush.

Sakura imagined the sound of his voice, the way it shook, the softest moan, as he pressed their hips together. She had felt so tiny under him, helpless yet protected, terrified yet… thrilled. The blush darkened on her cheeks as she instantly felt ashamed of herself. Was this what Tomoyo was worried about?

‘But nothing will happen… I don’t want him to do it again…’ she reminded herself, glancing to the doorway her father had disappeared through. Being alone with her… would he try-?

‘No, because… even if he wants to… he wont do anything I don’t want… and so it’s safe,’ Sakura shakily concluded, weakly kicking off the blanket, as all at once she felt to hot.

‘He won’t…’ she remembered his tongue on her throat, ‘do that….’ His hands on her thighs, ‘again…’

She breathed out shakily, turning onto her back, curling her toes against the couch.

Her hand’s drifted unsteadily down her thighs. The dull ache between her legs flared into a demanding burn.

Sakura’s eyes cracked open as she starred blankly up at the ceiling, numbly pulling her hands back to her chest, clutching them there in quiet horror.

“No…”


There we go :3 comments?