++++ It's...Gravity [V2] ++++

FANTASY

He had never seen her long, soft hair. He hadn`t seen the curve of her shapely hip, the plane of her flat stomach, the expanse of her long legs, or the swell of her ample breast. He hadn`t needed to.

He had always known they were there.

He had made sure he knew.

Somewhere on his way to becoming obsessed with her, he began to make a mental picture of every part of her body. He would push up against her innocently, pretending he has miscounted his steps, missed with his cane, or been mislead by Katsugan. His hand would brush her large soft breast and a shiver would run down his spine, his groin reacting to the contact. He`d file away the exact shape and size while explaining innocently that it had been a mistake. He`d hug her whenever the excuse was given, his hands on her round hips, reveling in her toned body in his arms, her massive breasts straining painfully against his chest. An innocent, familial hug, she had always thought. He made note that her hips were large and soft, but there was no fat. When she was in a particularly jovial mood, she had this habit of clinging to his arm. Her breasts pushed into his elbow and he would strive to react normally while his pulse raced and all the blood in his body rushed downwards. He would note how her voice sounded so close to his ear. Husky, sometimes. Heady. Intoxicating. He even remembered a number of times when, particularly delighted, she had grabbed him and kissed him firmly, if quickly. The sensation of her full, soft lips burned into his own and lingered for a number of days. He had made note of how her lip gloss was slick and when he had licked his lips later, searching for some trace of her there, he was delighted to find a taste of melon.

There were times when he heard people talking about her good looks. He`d heard men mention her hips and face and hair and breasts -- especially her breasts. He hadn`t needed to hear them to know. He knew about Ryuko`s body.

Setsuna knew everything about Ryuko.

Every inch of her body, he had filed and put away. He knew her flesh like he knew his own. Knew her well enough that it was easy to imagine her, panting, sweating, begging beneath him.

And he frequently did.

He enjoyed lying naked in his own bed when he was alone. He could not experience the night through his eyes, but leaving his window open and letting the cool air flow over his bare skin was the alternative he chose. When he was alone in the house, he would imagine that Ryuko were there with him, wearing no more than he was. He would stroke himself, imagining she was begging him to take her, to have his way with her. In his fantasies, he toyed with her, forcing her to beg more, asking for clarification of what exactly she wanted him to do to her perfect body. In life, he knew he could never have held out so long.

He would even talk to himself. No one was there. If he was crazy (and perhaps he was, because every moment he spent with Ryuko, yet not with her, drove him there) there was no one else there who would ever have to know it. He would talk for himself, then pitch his voice slightly higher and talk for Ryuko. What she would say to him. What he so longed for her to say to him.

"Oh, Slacker, please, please take me. I want to feel you inside of me ... oh, please."

"You`ll have to do better than that if you want to convince me, Ryu-chan."

"Please, Setsuna! Please! I`ve wanted you all this time! Please give it to me!"

He knew that wasn`t right. That wasn`t how their story went at all. Ryuko didn`t love him. She didn`t want him. She saw him as a dear friend. As a cousin. Not a potential lover. Not as the one bright spot in her life. Not as the object of all her desires, affections, and obsessions.

Not the way he saw her.

The solitary nights when he realized that were when his fantasies went from wild to dark.

“Please! Please, Slacker don`t, we`re cousins!”

“Shut up! You did this to me, you`ll have to live with it.”

“No! No! Please! Don`t touch me, please!”

“I told you to shut up!”

On those nights, when his phantom lover screamed and pulled away and cried and begged, he always came faster. Harder. He would usually cry afterwards. He loved Ryuko. Why would he even think of doing that to her? And why – WHY? – did it excite him so much when he did?

He did know, that if he ever had a Ryuko in his arms other than the phantom made of the ethereal presence his associated with moonlight, that would be how he had her. And he knew, oh he knew, that he would not mind having her that way. Not at all.

He even scared himself.

He remembered, once, after he must have been too transparent in his affections, in his casual carresses that could pass as friendly, Eiri had taken him aside.

“Ryuko doesn`t love you, Setsuna. And she won`t. You`re wasting your time.”

“I know, sir.”

He knew. He knew. Oh, how he knew.

By Rosa Aquafire