An Imaginary Toy

DISCLAIMER: Do not own or claim to own Fruits Basket. I make no money from this story. It is for enjoyment purposes only.

Out of nowhere. I don’t care about this “Akito is a female” nonsense. This is my story. It is purely for enjoyment and perhaps some literary experimentation.

An Imaginary Toy

She sat silently. Akito was pleased. He imagined it as he knew it: Tohru was sprawled across the tatami floor of his memory, her button shirt spread wide and her skirt drawn up over her hips in an awkward fashion. Her breasts were free from the girlish white garment that was unclasped but still hanging loosely from her shoulders. Her underwear was patterned with small flowers; her eyes reflected the pale green. Her toes were curled.

Akito clasped his hand into a fist and imagined her innocence there, wrapped around his wrist, like the handle of his great leash. He shook it, but Tohru did not move from her proper position. He imagined dropping the small wriggling fish to the floor. Her lovely flower had been so slippery and unwilling, but was too small to resist the godlike Akito.

Tohru kept her eyes on the floor, but knew Akito was enjoying another one of his private, mental fantasies. His voice was low when he murmured, “You came today,” and there was a silence while she raised her chin to look at him. A tremble traversed Akito’s spine when her eyes locked directly with his; she had grown so bold, he thought, and scowled. She smiled, brightly.

“I knew,” she replied, her voice quiet. Slowly she stood, straightening her long skirt. She stepped and they were inches apart, with noses nearly touching. Akito was stiff. Her fingers lightly brushed along his cheek and paused at his ear, then drew back down towards his neck. His skin was cold.

Akito slapped her hand away and sunk backwards. He clutched his cheek as if he’d been burned; his eyes focused intently on Tohru, but she watched him with the same tender eyes as always; the same tender eyes he had come to know and despise. His gaze was drawn away when she lifted both hands and began to unzip her skirt. His eyes grew wide; her lips were tweaked with mischief now. Akito was intrigued, but carefully wary of her strange new behavior.

Raising her eyes to his once more Tohru took another step towards him. He glanced between her skirt, which she was pulling down her slim hips, and her curious expression. “I knew that you wanted me here, today.” Her voice was nearly a whisper close to his ear. Akito felt violated by her advances.

I have been drifting in and out of reality.

Tohru saw Akito’s eyes glaze over. He had been strong as of late, falling sick less often and requiring little attention from his doctor—but he had become distant, more than anyone who knew him was used to.

When his vision cleared Akito shot the kneeling girl a suspicious, annoyed look and walked across the room to his window seat.

I cannot tell when the real and imagined overlap.

“You came today,” he told her, staring outside. Tohru cleared her throat.

“I knew.”

I am losing hold of time.

Akito’s breath left him in a sharp gust when he felt hands lightly upon his hips. He remained still, watching and waiting, wondering when he would wake up once more. He was unafraid of himself; this girl was the one he imagined, the one he created to fulfill all desires: desires she had created within him, the nasty creature. She was despicable—but he had created her. Tohru’s hands reached into his kimono and he felt her cool fingers, and his whole body shivered.

Akito gripped her hands in his and she made a surprised sound when he stood quickly. They stood like that; “How did you know?” he asked. She smiled.

“I listen.”

Then they were on the floor, naked, and Akito watched with fascinated eyes as she cried. He saw the fish flopping helplessly on the tatami and he was reminded of the first time. Tohru writhed and he slowed, touching her face, and said, “You belong to me.”

“I do, I do.” Her voice was pale. He had needed her, today; he watched her pant, arms spread, and slowly began again.

Now even my imagination is infected with her.

***

Still the Rat and the Cat do not know, Akito mused.

Tohru visited the main house after school, some days after her intense encounter with the volatile Akito. Hatori had invited her; this was the facade that allowed her to come. Immediately she was sent to meet the dark leader in his open room, where he sat on the porch with his birds. Tohru had sat there, motionless, until Akito spoke.

“I asked you here because you say that you care,” he said, but his voice was far away. He had ceased to belong here, Tohru thought. He was being muted by the walls. “But I know that all you say are lies, and I ask you to pity my animals and spare them your black treachery.”

Tohru quietly said, so loud he could hear but so soft she could soothe, “I do not dare lie to Akito-san, so it is truth I speak when I say I want to know you.” The bird ruffled its feathers and its beak clicked once. “I do not lie when I say this, for I wish to know you when you are happy, when you are sad, and when you are angry, for they are all parts of Akito-san.”

He looked at her for the first time. All of him glowed darkly against the late afternoon light. “Show me how far you are willing to go. Then, I may like you.”

So they had stood with one door open upon Akito’s private lawn. It was private, now, for he had told all the servants to abandon the premises until they saw the girl leave. He told her, “Stand very still.” His fingers undid each button of her shirt until it came open, and one saw her creamy breasts, small bra and slim belly. The bra came undone. He drew up her skirt and touched her beneath, but when she squirmed with unusual sensation Akito grew quite angry and threw her, so she lay heaving upon the ground.

“Do you still want to know me? Is this what you are willing to do?” His voice grated angrily.

Tohru watched him with tranquil eyes and a welcoming smile. “Whatever Akito needs.” But he watched and knew that her self was unafraid but her conscious screamed each moment he took away her clothes. Then he had her, and silent tears streamed from her eyes and blood stained his mats, but she made no sound, and when he looked at her to crow in victory that at last she was afraid...

She smiled.

***

One world disappears so slowly.

Akito has her when he pleases, waiting for the day when Tohru becomes the strange woman of his dreams, the ones that he sometimes cannot tell from reality. She writhes so beautifully and pleasures him so deeply that Akito wonders if she isn’t an ethereal creature. Sometimes she is sensual and tries to make her situations better; only when he recognizes her efforts does Akito strike her and plunder her violently. When she succumbs to his pains and tears fall does he slow and let gentle fingers admire her cream skin.

Once, she was lost in him. Tohru had sat in her school clothes with heavy eyes.

“You look tired.”

Tohru nodded slowly, but smiled. Akito stomped one foot and growled, “Well? Why?”

Her eyes were wide. “Ah, I stayed up late studying,” she replied in a voice louder than he was used to. Perhaps her state lowered her inhibitions and her standards for pleasantries, Akito pondered whimsically.

“For math?” he asked in low, sweet tones. Tohru’s head only bobbed. “I see.”

Her manners were fallible but Akito thought he would excuse her, so he knelt down in front of her and took the girl’s attention quite rapidly. She blinked tired eyes and her lips were drawn in apprehension. Wickedly Akito grinned, and cupped her chin in his hand; lightly he kissed those lips, soft and lightly tasting of cherry. Quickly he unwound his kimono and while he distracted Tohru with his lips, his hands freed her entirely from the garments that bound her. Rarely did he engage like such, without any barriers between them. When he drew away from the kiss he traversed her body with his hands, and he thought how amusing it would be to involve her in the thing, to make her a part of his congress. So he pleasured her and watched with fascination, and when she was panting and her skin took on a pretty flush he took her gently.

They rocked like children on a wooden horse: the movement was slow, bodies pressed together, and Akito found himself enjoying the feeling of her breasts against his chest. Tohru went like leaves. She disappeared in a new haze, a strange one, light green or perhaps blue, and soon her head was thrown back and short sounds drifted from her open, swollen lips. Akito felt a deep fondness for this momentary beast.

He has learned slowly that he particularly enjoys this Tohru. He finds her silently sobbing self repulsive and weak; her half-involved, pensive self offensive; and her gilded exterior of pleasure masking an inner revulsion stirs in him a dark anger. Yet, he has also seen, her expression mirrors the way in which he finds her. A sickening realization dawns—to obtain from Tohru that which Akito truly enjoys, he must be slow; he must be calm; he must draw her in and absorb all her fears to leave only sweat and heady groans.

The space between idyllic and realistic grows thin.

Akito erupts today.

He has thrown Tohru against a hard wall. The change has been made, the shift is complete. Now all that makes him a being of reason has poured out through his skin and Akito is taken in and caressed utterly and completely. The staff are in the house today; Hatori is in the house today; yet Tohru’s legs are wrapped around Akito’s slender waist and how his frail body has her pinned against the wall, neither of them know, nor even bother to comprehend: the movement is quick and wet, while both cry in guttural harmony. They have transcended the requirements of slow, gentle, calm; this constraint, this obligation, is no more than a catalyst for this great thing that has caused a most mighty explosion. Akito stills himself, shivering from the near-violence, and at once he sees large eyes watching him in the most intimate way. They fall to the ground like dropped marionettes.

Tohru breathes deeply, though they haven’t yet untangled. A bead of sweat dangles from one of her long lashes. Today, Akito looks up at a clock: it has been nearly two hours. She has fallen asleep on the floor.

I do not care for control, any more.

***

“I fear,” drawls Akito, “that our dear Honda is avoiding me.”

Hatori stands silent with unfeeling eyes. He knows the secret, the doctor always does. Tohru came to him late and asked for his aid, but she had yet to take the next step. She was hanging in limbo and Akito grew irritated; it was, however, deeper—this Hatori knew. Akito felt intense rejection. The last time the girl had come, two weeks ago, Hatori had been forced to evacuate the entire house: exotic sounds came freely from the closed room and the staff were horrified. The music continued long into dinnertime until all at once the house was deadly quiet. Curious though strangely not worried for the small flower’s safety, Hatori had opened the door only so that he could see in with his good eye. He saw the pair naked and half-curled, arms apart but legs all twined together. The doctor knew what went on, but at that moment he could not feel pity for Tohru or anger towards Akito; he only closed the door and walked back the way he had come.

At last the phone rang. Akito sat, watching, eyes narrowed when Hatori answered the phone and after a moment said, “Hello, Tohru-san.” There was a moment of babbling and the doctor replied, “Yes, I will be sure to say. Good bye.” The silence was thick around the light click of the phone disconnecting. The doctor watched his feral patient and held a peace offering: “She must come.”

Akito stared with lowered brows. “How rude, she has become informal, just now,” he murmured, “Quite uncanny, uncanny, indeed.”

“It is urgent, she says,” replied Hatori.

“Then,” said Akito, “All is well, and she will be here soon, yes?”

“In mere minutes.” So they waited, and then the girl was ushered into the room. Akito led her away. After some time Hatori heard noises: some shouting, the breaking of an artwork or two, and then there was a stomping perhaps, or a pounding, the doctor wasn’t sure. He was drained. He listened but knew he could act on nothing.

***

Tohru had looked at Akito quite boldly and without hesitating she said, “I have come to speak with you on important matters, and these matters cannot be ignored, and I must request your attention.” Tohru was beyond Tohru.

I have transcended reality.

Akito nodded. His face was blank.

Tohru straightened her long skirt and her eyes were strange. She held great compassion, but there was no pity there, and she was composed only of sincerity. She said, “I am pregnant,” and her face remained unchanged.

Akito stood normally and walked to where a bird chattered. It jumped to his finger and he played with it, providing small steps with his index fingers. The bird jumped away to sit back on its perch.

“What I do right now is only for the benefit of witnesses,” Akito murmured. Her face was contorted in momentary confusion.

There was a burst of words, some profane, others senseless; he was loud and vicious. Tohru saw at once his power was great, and after some moments of shouting Akito took a nearby ceramic bird-pot and threw it. Tohru jumped when it broke somewhat near her, but the pieces fell shattered, safely, to the floor.

“Quite fascinating, really,” he said, breaking a small vase on the table and leaving it. He wiped his hands together. “I’ll say this, anyway. You will come and live here, and there will be no arguments; you will finish your silly school—it is almost over any way, is it not?—and we will make arrangements, and you will remain here until I no longer need you. I will have it written that we are married, and you will have your child. When I grow tired you both shall leave.”

Tohru could only nod her head.

I have crossed into a plane that in deception appears the same.

Akito kneeled before her and quite suddenly she found that his lips were on hers and his hands roved her thighs. Her skirt was pulled up and he ripped her underwear in his haste. He parted his kimono and then he was inside of her, and Tohru only writhed. When she opened her mouth to cry Akito stifled her with a kiss; he pressed her against the floor and he moved hard. Her body impacted the floor over and over, while they groaned and the world became a primal wasteland.

I am fascinated.
This feeling must be real.

Tohru sits in her chair and sings quietly. Her life here is sad and dark. Yuki sees her sometimes on weekends, away from his summer job. Kyou comes every day. Akito doesn’t see her now at all and remains alone in his room. He has not once grown angry at her; it is puzzling—he does not react to her at all. It is the worst kind of fear. Here, Tohru is alone.

It is an evening when Tohru finds herself hurting the most. She has made some cakes and rice, for Akito has already eaten his dinner. She carries the food into his room without knocking, and is at first alarmed by the darkness; she adapts, however, and finds her way to the table, where she sets down the tray. Akito lies on his side by his open sliding door that looks out onto the lawn.

“There are crickets chirping tonight, the summer has come,” Tohru says. She manages her large belly around the table to sit just behind him on the floor. “I made you those cakes, the ones that I am quite sure that you like.”

Slowly Akito draws himself up so he rests his palms flat. He turns to look at her, and sees that her hair glows in the moonlight. Only his kimono makes noise as he puts thin arms around her shoulders and pulls her against him. Tohru does not resist. “It is all right,” Akito says to her. “You can stay. You will both stay, and when I am tired the rest will see to you, for you belong to me, now.”

I have lost hold of time.

This is merely my imagination.

***

A small girl sat in her room with wide eyes and listened to the sounds coming from the other room: thump, thump, thump.