Something Missing

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter: AnimeBabesGoneWildWithMe, Silent_Aura, SassieLassie11988, Chrono, BlueVixen2071, Chibis, The Digital Dragon, and sterlingwings900. I was a little worried about how that chapter would come off; thanks for assuaging my fears.

Also: Chrono, you brought up a good point. Sorry guys, I didn’t think that last A/N through very well. I knew from the beginning that chapter was going to be “the breakup chapter,” and that’s how I’d come to think of it. It didn’t even occur to me as I wrote it that you guys didn’t know that. I’ve gone back and removed it for future readers. My bad.


Chapter Six: Dysentery Calls

Sora was walking home from the grocery store. It had been a week since she and Yamato broke up, and she was wallowing. The strange thing was, she was depressed because she wasn’t. After the initial good cry, Sora had felt better than she had in months, felt the weight of a burden lift, felt a façade fall from her face. It wasn’t that she was happy she’d broke up with Yamato, it was more relieved. Either way, it wasn’t what she should have been feeling, and that made her feel bad. She was heartbroken over not feeling heartbroken; Yamato deserved more of her. But perhaps he was right; maybe there had been something wrong with their relationship for a long time, maybe she had wanted out for a long time. And maybe she had wanted Taichi for a long time.

Really, the last wasn’t a maybe. She knew she did. She thought of him so much, it was sometimes to the exclusion of everything else. She hadn’t realized the large space he took up in her life until she’d stopped seeing him or taking his calls, and it became a gaping hole. After the first few days, she realized that she simply could not go without seeing him. This led to dressing incognito and going to his soccer practices. She would sit and watch him play and argue and fight, and he never knew. Sometimes it settled the craving; sometimes it merely wetted her appetite. There was no denying that the smell of freshly cut grass and the sight of Taichi in athletic gear got her hot. She would come home and lock herself in her bedroom with her vibrator for a good hour every time. The distance she was putting between them wasn’t cooling her off, it was making her obsessed.

And then of course, after bumping into Hikari, Sora felt like the biggest shit-bag. With the severed contact, so the Monday and Friday play-dates died. Sora thought that this was an understood nuance of her no longer answering the phone when he called. But as Hikari told her, none too warmly, Taichi still dressed for their dates, and waited at least an hour, just in case she showed up.

She was so concerned with sparing Yamato’s feelings that she was hurting Taichi and herself. The stupidity of that tactic was dawning on her and she was at her breaking point. Sora had made up her mind that morning she would go see Taichi today. She would apologize and beg him to give her a chance to make it up to him. But first, there was bake sale she had promised she’d help Mimi prepare for a month ago.

Jyou appeared to have been roped in as well, having spent the night, and was wearing an apron and mixing cookie dough when Sora was sent for more eggs and flour. However, Sora strongly suspected that the reason she had been elected to go was that Mimi and Jyou wanted to take a break.

But when Sora rounded the corner and started down her street she was greeted with an odd and alarming sight. Jyou was pushed out of the door of her apartment wearing only his boxers and socks. Rushing forward, Sora soon heard Mimi’s voice; she was shrieking.

“You want to leave? Go now—I don’t fucking want you anyway!”

There was a pause in which Jyou, who was clearly shell-shocked, was speaking very fast, though Sora couldn’t hear him yet.

“Don’t give me that ‘good cause’ shit. It doesn’t matter anyway—go! Get out of here!” Mimi punctuated each phrase by throwing an article of his clothing at him.

Sora was close enough to hear Jyou now. “It’s just for six months. I-I’m coming back.”

Mimi laughed loudly and falsely. “You think I’d wait for you? You think I’d want you after you’ve had dysentery? Go, nurse sick orphans, you selfish bastard!” She slammed the door in his face. Through the closed door, Sora and Jyou heard, “Reliable. Ha!”

Awkwardly, Jyou became aware of Sora’s presence. Blushing both at what she had overheard and his state of undress, Jyou hurriedly pulled on his pants and threw on his shirt. Sora, bemused, didn’t know what to say.

As Jyou pulled on the last of his clothes, he realized something was missing. Glancing at Sora, showing his nerves, he swallowed visibly and knocked on the door.

Mimi didn’t open it. “Beg all you want, Jyou. You’re not getting back in here.”

“No, it’s not that,” Jyou called through the door. “I-I just need my shoes.”

He ducked the first one, but the second hit him in the stomach.

Picking them up, he put them on as he walked away, stunned and a little shattered.

Sora opened the door and made her way slowly to the kitchen. Mimi looked up as she entered, hope in her eyes dying when she saw her roommate instead of her lover. She was standing over a bowl, wearing her pink silk robe and holding a mixer. Her mascara had run trails down her face.

Mimi sniffed. “You saw that bastard leave me.” Her face twisted to a sneer, “He’s going to Cambodia. He wants to help.”

“I gathered that,” Sora said carefully.

“Six months,” Mimi scoffed. “You know that hopeless idiot—how clumsy he is, his bad luck. He’s going to get sick and die—they’re short on medical supplies as it is. You know, eight volunteers have died already.” Mimi was trying to make her words sound cold, but she ended on a sob.

Sora stepped forward, took the mixer from her friend’s hand, and put her arms around her.

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It was dusk and Taichi was walking to see Sora. He was tired of this—he’d break down the door if he had to. He hadn’t thought that after just a week and a half he would be so desperate to see her, but he was. He was regretting coming to see her on impulse, leaving his soccer practice without showering, but that couldn’t be helped now. He supposed being sweaty and covered in mud and grass stains would ensure she kept her distance, something she seemed to want anyway. He told himself it didn’t matter; he just wanted to talk to her.

He knocked on the door to her dorm, not expecting an answer—he had been ignored every other time he came by the last two weeks. Not only did the door open, but it was Sora standing on the other side.

Taichi’s breath caught, and he stared for a moment. She was so beautiful.

She smiled at him, and stepped back. “Come in, Taichi.”

He hesitated, a little confused by this about-face of behavior, then entered.

Sora walked to the kitchen, “I’m just cleaning up this mess.”

He followed after her, and saw the kitchen in complete disarray. Dirty dishes littered the counters and filled the sink, the fruits of a day’s baking piled on the table.

“Mimi took off and I promised her I’d clean up,” she explained.

Taichi crossed to where she was standing. He put his hand on her wrist which was wiping off a section of counter, halting the movement. “Sora, we have to talk.”

She looked up at him and froze a moment. Then she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. When her eyes opened again, he saw that they had glazed over. “You smell like grass and . . .” she trailed off in a kind of daze.

Abruptly, she pulled his head down to hers and kissed him forcefully, pressing her body into his. Taichi’s body jumped at the contact, but she held herself to him. Was she crazy? Hot and cold—he never knew what to expect, but he had a hard time keeping focused when hot flared. He seemed to remember there was something he wanted to tell her . . . but he couldn’t recall just what that was right about now. Sora was moving against him, frantically trying to press herself closer when she was already plastered to him. Her were breasts rubbing his chest, her pubic bone bumping his. He groaned.

“Wait, Sora,” he rasped. “Stop.” He knew if she just took a step back he would remember what it was he had come here to say.

She stopped. “You’re right,” she said. “Not here, not like this.” She grasped his hand and led him from the kitchen, through the living room, to her bedroom.

“Sora,” he panicked, “there’s something I need to tell you.” He would have no chance of remembering if things progressed any further.

She reached down, gathered the hem of her shirt, and lifted it over her head—tossing her bra aside a second later. “So tell me.”

Taichi didn’t hear her; he didn’t hear anything. He was aware only of the round mounds Sora had just revealed to his eyes, his jaw going slack a bit without his knowing. They weren’t large, but they didn’t need to be; they were Sora’s. She had uncommonly large nipples and they were erect, reaching toward him. Blood pounded down to his erection.

Sora’s breathless words vaguely penetrated his haze. “God, Taichi. I’ve never had a guy look at my chest like that.” Trembling, she reached behind her to unzip her skirt. It fell to the ground and Taichi made a noise somewhere between a whimper and a grunt at the sight of her white cotton panties.

She walked toward him. He wanted to step back, but his body wouldn’t move. He was almost afraid of the amount of pleasure touching her naked body would incur—and he was right to be. When Sora put her arms around him and pulled her body to his, his hips bucked involuntarily and he feared his legs were going to give out on him, boiling blood screaming through his veins and pooling in the hardening rod that was pressed against both their stomachs. Sora made a strangled sound at the contact, too, and met his lips for a kiss.

“Taichi,” she whispered, “this first time, I want you on top. I want to feel your power.”

He didn’t move; he couldn’t. Everything that was happening was simply too erotic for his brain or body to process. Sora was trying to remove his clothing, but he didn’t even raise his arms to help.

She became frustrated, angry almost. “Damn it, Taichi. Where is that guy who humped my brains out like a jackhammer?” She wrenched the shirt so forcefully, the fabric couldn’t hold together. At the sound of the tear, her eyes swung to his.

He, however, was looking down at his now mutilated shirt. It wasn’t a large tear—really it was pitiful. But it was a brutal reality and it pulled him from his shock, from his disbelief, from his awe. It woke him up. He wrenched the shirt from his body and threw it, with no small force, to the floor.

When he looked at her, Sora’s eyes flared wide for a moment, then darkened to a deeper lust. She knew what she had awoken, and it excited her.

He grabbed her arms and pushed her back on the bed. He wasted no time peeling the panties from her body. Vehemently, he pushed a finger into her. She screamed, her nails digging into his arms. He moved it in and out of her fervidly, leaning forward to capture her lips in a kiss just as lewd, mimicking the motion of his finger with his tongue. One finger became two. With a cry, her mouth fell from his and her head lolled back on the bed.

“More,” she whimpered, “more.”

He inserted a third finger and she shook her head, though she seemed to be enjoying it well enough. “No,” she gasped. She looked at the bulge barely contained by his shorts. “I want that.”

Their eyes met.

“Please,” she begged.

He pulled his fingers from her, causing her to moan at the loss. He pulled both the shorts and his underwear off in the same movement, his sizable length breaking free.

Sora had moved to the center of the bed, her eyes never leaving his body. At the sight of his rigid cock, her legs seemed to reflexively spread wider.

She was panting in excitement as he lowered his body over hers. Propped up by his arms, he dragged his erection across her clitoris a few times. A violent scream cracked from her throat, and her nails tore into his arm, leaving tiny, but existent, trails of blood in their wake. He looked from the blood, to her face, to her body which had gone slack. Good hell, he realized, she’d had orgasm—just from that. Shit, he didn’t think it was possible, but she was hornier that he was.

Taichi snapped. Capturing her hands, he raised them over her head and held them there. In one vicious stroke, he entered her with his entire length. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened but no sound came out for the first few strokes. Then she was so loud the neighbors two apartments over could probably hear.

He was pounding, pistoning, in and out of her. There was nothing gentle or tender about his strokes or the way she met them. She kept straining to free her hands, but Taichi would have none of that. He took flesh at the base of her neck and alternately sucked on and gnawed at it. She was his now.

There was no need to urge him to be rougher, to fuck her harder this time, but Sora did anyway, calling for it right in his ear. He did his best to meet her needs, fulfill her expectations, pummeling her hot tunnel.

Sora screamed and bit his earlobe, drawing blood, her innermost muscles going into seizure and milking his penis. He jerked and cried out as well, spilling his hot, viscous cum into her.

Collapsing on her, his hands went slack on her wrists. She pulled her arms free and he felt her wrap them around him. He lay there, face buried in Sora’s neck and hair, a coat of sweat binding his body to hers, coming down from a height of pleasure he hadn’t thought possible, and he was happy.