Something Missing

Title: Something Missing
Author: Rienna Hawkes
Summary: Sora is with Yamato. But then she sees Taichi masturbating and can't seem to stop thinking about it.
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: SoraXTaichi, a little SoraXYamato, MimiXJyou, a little HikariXTakeru
Feedback: Desired.
Characters (in order of appearance): Sora, Takeru, Hikari, Taichi, Jyou, Mimi, Yamato, Jun, Koushirou, Daisuke, Ken. (Miyako and Iori are mentioned, but do not participate in the story.)
Betas: None.
Author's Note: Digimon was my first anime love when I was thirteen. I don’t know what’s behind this fic: nostalgia, homage, or just lunacy. I got the idea in my head and it wouldn’t go away. Let me know what you think. Bear in mind that it’s been years since I last saw Digimon; nail my ass to the wall if you see any big errors.
Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon, nor any of the characters. I am not profiting monetarily or otherwise from this story.


Chapter One: Runaway Miko

Takenouchi Sora really wasn’t in the mood to play tennis. She had been up all night at one of Yamato’s concerts and, truth be told, she was also a little hung over. The Teenage Wolves had drastically declined in popularity over the last few years. One theory was that they were no longer teenagers, hadn’t bothered to change their name, and thus now needed to claim their band name was “artistic” or “symbolic” to cover that laziness. Another answer came straight from Yamato’s mouth: that the band hadn’t written anything that wasn’t “consummate crap” since their early days. Sora didn’t mind the drop in crowds—it just meant fewer groupies to shove past to get to her boyfriend. Of course, she would have preferred success for her love, but that was really out of her control. One thing she had noticed, the dives the Wolves played in now watered down their alcohol much less than the swanky clubs of old. Shit; she’d be lucky if she could hold the damn racket today. But the fact of the matter was, this was her regular play-date with Taichi and she didn’t want to miss it.

When she and her best friend had been accepted to different local colleges, they’d made a point of staying close. They saw each other twice a week—Monday for tennis, Friday for soccer. They played each sport one on one for a few hours and caught up on each other’s lives. It wasn’t that Sora had anything major to tell Taichi today, just that she had cancelled on him last Friday already. Besides, a few minutes of heavy workout combated her morning-after headaches—usually.

A block away from Taichi’s apartment, Sora saw Takeru heading her way. This did not surprise her as Taichi had opted to live at home to save money and Takeru was currently dating Taichi’s younger sister, Hikari.

She smiled as her boyfriend’s younger brother approached. “Hey, Takeru.”

“Hey, Sora. You heading over to hang out with Taichi?”

She nodded. Something caught her eye. “Is that a hickey?”

Reflexively, the teenager’s hand slapped over his throat. “Don’t tell Taichi. I managed to get out of the apartment without him seeing me. He says it’s alright if I kiss his sister just so long as he’s never reminded of it, and I think this would qualify.”

“Your secret’s safe.”

“Be warned,” Takeru told her, “on top of their grandmother dying last week, Hikari just got word Gatomon might not be returning for a while and she’s a little emotional.”

There was currently a large, month-long conference being held in the Digital World for digimon companions. It was held every year and the digimon went home to visit their birth communities, listen to and give lectures and speeches on various aspects of being a companion and a digimon, give awards, and, in between, rest.

“Why not?”

“Well, it looks like Gatomon has been asked to help plan for next year’s conference, but that means she’ll be there an extra month. Hikari’s been missing her like crazy already, so she didn’t take the news well.”

Sora smiled. “It was nice of you to . . . comfort her.”

Takeru’s lips split into a wide, stupid grin. “Well, I like helping.”

Sora rolled her eyes, and began walking again. “I’m sure you do. I’m going to be late; take it easy Takeru.”

“Bye, Sora.”

She was nearly to the apartment building when she spotted Hikari standing on the sidewalk, facing the street’s scarce but steady traffic. When Sora approached, Hikari turned to her and the older girl saw the upset face of her friend’s little sister.

“What’s the matter?” Sora asked, thinking of Gatomon, but she was surprised at Hikari’s answer.

“Miko got out and I can’t catch her,” Hikari said, hopelessly pointing to where Miko had perched herself on a window seal across the street.

Miko was the Yagamis' cat, who was, in Sora’s opinion, getting a little old for this sort of thing. She looked back at Hikari’s face and gave an inner groan; the poor girl looked like she had been stretched every which way emotionally, and the loss of her cat might just make her start balling then and there. Damn it; Sora didn’t even really like that cat.

“Here,” she handed Hikari her racket, “you go inside. I’ll catch Miko.”

Hikari smiled gratefully as Sora glanced both ways, and began crossing the street.

The cat sat, swinging her tail lazily as Sora approached, half-closed purring eyes fixed on her. Miko waited until Sora was raised up on tip-toes and reaching for her before she jumped and darted under a parked car.

After several humiliating minutes of reaching under the car while the cat moved always the minimum distance to be just out of her reach, Sora took a worn broom off a near-by porch and began moving it in violent strokes back and forth beneath the hulk of metal. Miko darted out from under the car and across the street, jumping on top of a mailbox. Well, thought Sora as she replaced the broom, at least the cat was heading in the right direction.

Sora crossed the street again. Miko, seeing her pursuer head her way, hopped down from the mailbox and ran to the alley on the side of the building. Sora followed; when she rounded the corner she saw the cat blinking at her from atop a garbage can.

Not wanting to think about the fact that she was trying to outsmart a cat, Sora moved as casually towards the garbage can as she could, not looking at, or even facing Miko. She was still a yard away when Miko jumped to a neighboring garbage can and vaulted nearly five feet to the fire escape. Sora took back everything she’d thought about this cat being old.

Shit. How was she supposed to get the damned animal now? She could just give up and tell Hikari she’d tried. Then she pictured the tears that would follow.

Miko peered down at Sora, mocking her. No, Sora decided, she would prove she could catch this cat. She climbed atop the garbage can, reached up and, clasping the metal bars, began climbing. Miko could just jump onto the platform and be done with it; Sora had to find a foothold and climb over the railing as well. The foothold she found was weak, but it was all she had, so she had to pretty much hoist herself up with only the strength in her arms and shoulders. All those years of athleticism served her well as soon she found herself hopping the railing.

Miko seemed surprised that Sora had been able to follow her and tensed in preparation for a dash. I swear, Sora thought, if that cat jumps down, I’ll kill it. But Miko did not jump down; she darted up the stairs to the next landing. Sora sighed in relief—she’d caught her. No cat would jump down two stories.

But Miko didn’t stop there. Sora followed the ball of fur as it ran up flight after flight. This couldn’t be normal, could it? Cats were not the stupidest animals; they knew they could only survive so high a fall. So why was Miko going up when her cat brain must know she had nowhere to go? Sora herself was getting nervous. She wasn’t necessarily afraid of heights, but she was now nine stories up and that was hardly safe for her either.

On the tenth story, Miko, instead of heading up the next set of stairs, leaped to a window seal. When Sora reached the top of the stairs, she understood why. Through the window she could see Taichi’s room. Well, it was comforting to know that the cat had run home. This was nice for Sora, too. Instead of going back down, she could just climb through the window, which was cracked open. It was a little rude, she supposed, but considering the circumstances, she didn’t think that would be held against her.

Sora took a few steps forward as Taichi’s bed came into view. Then she stopped cold. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them, just to make sure she was seeing what she was seeing. Taichi was naked, lying on his bed. From the looks of things, he had just had a shower and his hair was wet against his pillow, a damp towel carelessly flung on the floor. Most alarming, however, was the stiff length he was stroking in his hand.

Sora swallowed, knowing she should look away. This was an invasion of privacy—an invasion of her best friend’s privacy. And she had a boyfriend. But she couldn’t seem to move her eyes, and truth be told, she didn’t want to. She had always heard people talk about guys masturbating as though it was depraved and disgusting. This wasn’t disgusting, this was hot.

Why had it never occurred to her that his body would be this beautiful? His thighs and calves were wholly muscular, his stomach flat and hard, pectorals defined, the tissue in his arms bunching as he continued his repetitive motion. She knew where all that muscle had come from; like her he was an athlete, but he was not bulky in any way. He was lean and fast and . . . enthusiastic. She was losing track of her thoughts—they were no longer connecting or making any sense. God, he made Yamato look scrawny. There were droplets dotting his skin. She didn’t know whether they were sweat or water left-over from his shower, and she didn’t really care—either way she wanted to taste them. Heat had exploded between her thighs and was pulsing there wetly.

She could hear him breathing, panting, through the crack in his window, intermittent gasps and strangled noises of gratification thrown in. Almost unconsciously, one hand traveled up her pleated skirt and under the waistband of her panties, the other began to rub her breasts. Her eyes fixed, mesmerized, on his stroking hand and what lay beneath it. It was just so beautiful, so swollen, and so, well—Taichi was a big boy. His penis was never fully visible to her as the hand always covered part, but this just inflamed her more. She imagined that it was her hand doing the revealing and concealing, her mouth moving up and down, her . . . .

Sora slid a finger inside herself and bit her lip to hold back a gasp. She began moving it in and out in time with his strokes of his rigid cock. This took effort; in true Taichi form, he was jerking and pulling his dick in a manner that was both speedy and rough. Imitating it had Sora biting back more than gasps; in a sudden attack of lightning, she found herself on the brink of a violent orgasm. She couldn’t help but marvel at that fact briefly—normally it took a good half hour of foreplay for her to get this hot. But a fraction of a second was all the time that could be spared paying attention to anything besides Taichi naked and his secret act.

Sora slipped in another finger and reveled in superimposing herself in the vision, riding Taichi while he bucked into her. She was getting closer and closer to her peak—God she might even come before him. Then she heard something that made her stop dead.

“Sora,” he grunted, “Oh, shit, Sora.”

Her eyes flew to his, thinking she had been caught peeping, but he was not looking at her. For the first time, she dragged her obsessed eyes from his body to see what he was looking at. It was a snapshot clutched in his left hand. She squinted and wasn’t able to hold back a gasp of surprise. It was her! It was a fucking picture of her in a bikini from a trip to the beach the group had made a few months ago.

Taichi was no longer looking at it, and he was so consumed he hadn’t heard Sora make a sound. His head was thrown back and he was freely making all sorts of strained noises; he was seconds from coming.

Sora felt a hot shiver slither through her; she regained her composure and began, once more to keep up with his pace. When the first shot of semen hit his stomach, she gave an involuntary whimper and felt herself jerk under her hands. Taichi then unintentionally pushed her over the edge by, once more, calling her name. Her body shook and clenched in bliss as her knees nearly gave and a ragged sound escaped her mouth.

Panting as quietly as she could, she opened her eyes to see Miko staring at her curiously. It was an odd thought, that she had just masturbated while a cat watched. Sora went to reach for Miko, but the cat hissed and Sora stepped back again. Then the damn cat did something that just about gave Sora a heart attack: it meowed.

She slammed herself against the concrete wall a few feet down from Taichi’s window, making herself as flat as possible and trying not to breathe. In a few seconds the window opened completely and Sora saw Taichi’s arms reach out for the cat.

“Miko, what are you doing out again?”

Miko meowed in response. Taichi meowed back. These exchanges continued for a few seconds as Sora heard a chest of drawers open. Had the situation been a little different, Sora might have thought all that cute; the image of Taichi meowing back and forth with a cat would have had her smiling. But as it was, Sora’s heart was beating so fast and so loud she was sure Taichi could hear it. She had to get the hell out of here.

She inched to the stairs heading downward, which, thankfully, were in the opposite direction of Taichi’s window. Moving slowly so as to keep the rickety metal from creaking and groaning, she began her descent. She didn’t allow herself to make any noise until she had reached the final landing and had to lower the ladder to get down to the ground.

Once she was, again, standing on concrete, she felt herself begin to panic. Desperate, she entered a little restaurant on the bottom floor of Taichi’s apartment building and rushed to the back to use the bathroom. After she’d straightened her clothes as best she could, washed her hands, and splashed water on her face, she forced herself to think rationally. Her every instinct was telling her to run home, but she had to face that she couldn’t do that. Hikari had taken her racket up into the apartment, and, no doubt, had relayed that Sora was trying to catch what she now thought of as the devil-cat, so Taichi would know she’d been there. She could fake an injury or say she wasn’t feeling well, but then Taichi would insist on walking her home to make sure she made it there safe. No, she would have to go up, she would have to play tennis, and she would have to pretend she didn’t know what he looked like naked.

She took a deep breath to steel herself, closing her eyes. When she opened them, she was planning to reassure herself with something like, “I can do this.” What came out was a groan and an, “Oh shit, I didn’t put on makeup.”

There were many times she met Taichi for their biweekly play-date and didn’t wear make-up, but in light of what had just happened, she felt remarkably self-conscious about her light eyelashes, pale lips, and the bags under her eyes from being out all night—not to mention the bloodshot state of those eyes as a result of her now faint hangover. She looked ugly, and she hadn’t brought so much as a tube of chap stick. She didn’t want to examine the reasons why, but she wanted to look hot when she knocked on his apartment door.

In fact, she admitted as she left the restaurant and began the ascent to the apartment, she didn’t want to think about anything that had just happened. If she did, she might not be able handle seeing him. Sorting out her new feelings would just have to wait for tonight.

When she knocked on the door, he answered. He was ready to go, sweatbands and all, and holding both their rackets. He wore a white undershirt and a pair of long shorts, new sneakers on his feet. She couldn’t help staring; he looked hot.

“Jeeze, Sora,” he said. “You look like hell.”