http://clampfix.fanworks.net/smut/lietome.txt </head><body><pre>*niko* I finally finished it. =P Eriol: URESHIIIIII! Meg: O_<; Eriol: *happily* I had such a good Valentine's day this year. XD Tomoyo: =_<;; A pretty version is available at http://www.fenya.net/fanfics/lietome.html Eriol and Tomoyo belong to Clamp. Etc. Notes at end. I NEEED feedback to survive. ---------------------- "E-ri-o-l," he said against her mouth. "Say it." Tomoyo gasped as he slid his hand down her side to her leg and back up her hip, cupping and kneading her soft flesh through her dress. "Hii-ra..." she began, and moaned helplessly as his mouth down down her to jaw to just before her ear. "Hiirawgizawa-kun..." she gasped. He nipped at the skin of her throat, not hard, but enough to make it sting, and then lapped soothingly at it with his tongue. "Eriol," he said firmly, biting gently at her ear. "It's not so hard, is it? Tomoyo." She nearly said it, but some stubborn part of her mind still functioned under the barrage of sensation pouring through her. It said that to give in on that would open some door within herself and let him in. "Hiiragizawa," she said, her hands clutching at his dark head of their own accord and feeling his hair slide like thick silk through her fingers. He did bite then, not roughly, but enough to make her gasp with surprise. "E-ri-o-l," he whispered into her ear. She could feel his mouth shaping the word agaist it. "Say it, Tomoyo. Name me. I want to hear you say it." His head slid down and ke kissed her throat again. "Hiiragizawa," she insisted, her fingers treading through his hair. It felt so nice. Like rough silk, or satin thread pouring through her hands. She could feel him sigh and then smile against her throat. "How stubborn you are," he said, his voice gone dark and husky. "I'll hear it yet, Tomoyo." Not any time soon, said that small part of her mind. Even if she dissolved under his hands. "But I like your strong will," he said, dropping kisses on her throat as he spoke. "I like you seeing things as they are." "Don't say that," she managed, her hands digging into his shoulders. "Don't..." "Say what?" he whispered in her ear again. "That you have a strong will? Or 'like'?" "You don't," she said. "But I do, he said, looking up at her with eyes gone the color of dark amethyst -- molten amethyst, if there was such a thing in the world. "I like you very much." ---------------------------------- She stared at him with wide eyes -- those beautiful, lavender eyes, confused but still heavy-lidded with the arousal he had brought upon her -- as if she was seeing him for the first time. Eriol found his hands digging into her waist without meaning to. His vision was full of her, of her face and her dark hair spilling down over her white dress and onto him, her scent filling his head and making him dizzy with the desire to make her feel something for him, make her respond, make her want him, make her... But he couldn't do that. He couldn't make her do anything, unless she wanted to do it. If she lay with him, if she kissed him and touched him and melded herself with him, to him, he wanted it to be because she wanted him. Not out of loneliness. Not because she couldn't have the one she desired most. But he ... desired her so much. Was that enough? He wanted her, he wanted not only her body -- that sleek-curved, long-limbed, graceful, soft body that drove him half mad with desire and made him see visions in the fire as he sat alone, seeing her twisting and arching in the flames -- but herself, the gentle side she showed to Sakura, and the dark side that perhaps only he saw, perhaps he was imagining in his desire for someone who understood him, but still saw in the way she watched Sakura or when she sang, when she let herself slip even a little from her own self control and her eyes said things she never allowed her lips to speak. His hands were caressing her waist, roaming restlessly over her back, feeling sleek muscle and satin skin beneath the fabric of her dress, and he wanted her still more. He wanted to possess her, to take her, to own her completely -- but he wouldn't allow himself. It would be so easy to lie to himself. So easy to tell himself that it didn't matter if it she didn't want him, only comfort in a lonely night, that it only mattered that he wanted her and was willing to offer himself, to pretend for a while that she was his. So easy. But he couldn't lie to himself. Couldn't lie to her, that he could touch her and melt into her and know her, and then smile and let her think that it meant nothing to him but a friend's comfort or just a moment gone beyond their control. And all the while he was thinking, all the while, his hands were feeling her, memorising her, he was breathing in her scent and her essence and growing hotter and hotter and his body was begging for her, to know her absolutely. To sink into her and be hers, and make her, if only for a while, his completely. Make yourself stop. Before it's too late. Before you give in. Before you can't stop. But you can't, because there is only her and the confusion and desire in her eyes, her fingers treading restlessly into your shoulders and the sweet scent of lavender and vanilla making your head spin. "You can't like me," said Tomoyo, and Eriol was vaguely surprised to realise that it had only taken a second for all those thoughts to go through his mind. "Not like that." "Why not?" he asked, and gave into the irresistable tempation of the line of her breast. He traced it gently with a fingertip, and she shuddered, her eyes falling shut. He could have her. One kiss, one touch. One lie. "Because," she said, twisting restlessly in his arms, "Because." "'Because' isn't a reason, Tomoyo," he said, closing his own eyes and concentrating on the way her breast curved, so elegant, like someone had modeled it after a Greek statue. But Tomoyo was more lovely than any statue, alive and warm in his arms. Soon, he thought, soon, she'd come to her senses, or he would, and he'd be left alone to stare into the fire with only visions to torment him. Carpe diem, the poet had said, quad minimum credula postero. In this, at least, he could be honest, could touch her and caress her and follow the poet's excellent advice -- Take the present, don't put any faith in the future. He wanted her so very badly. But even more that, he wanted to be wanted by her, wanted to at least have the small, cold comfort of knowing that she desired him, even if she didn't love him. A song, on the radio back in England. Come on and lie to me Come on and lay with me Tell me you love me Say I'm the only one He sucked in a breath that was almost a sob, and wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her close and burying his face in her breast. Her hands shifted again, burying in his hair. "Hiiragizawa-kun...?" she said, sounding confused, but still a little slurred. He heard the desire still in her voice, in the way her voice had dropped from its usual soprano to a slightly deeper tone. He could very nearly smell it in the air, feel it seeping from her skin. "Tomoyo," he said into her breast, "You'd better make up your mind." ----------------------------- Tomoyo looked down at Hiiragizawa-kun. The warm, heavy weight of his dark head buried in her breast was making her feel...odd. Even odder than she was already feeling. It was like sharp points of hot light were radiating out, filling her, attracting her and repelling her at the same time. Was this what it was like, to be a moth and see the flames of a fire? No, moths went mindlessly to the bright light, and she still hesitated. "I don't understand," she said. Her head was so thick, like the blood poounding deep and thick and hot, like a fire, through her body. It was so hard to think, so easy to give into the beat of her blood. Even at that moment, Hiiragizawa-kun managed a wry chuckle, and lifted his head to meet her eyes. Her breast felt cold without the weight of his head on it. "Tomoyo-san," he said, with a fair attempt at severity, "You are a very clever girl. Now let us suppose that by some miracle you had Sakura-san in the same position that I have you -- what would you do?" The mention of Sakura-chan cleared her head a little, made her question what she was doing kneeling on Hiiragizawa, with his arms around her, her hands still clutching his hair. But as she looked at him, she realised suddenly that that was his purpose, to calm her and shock her into thinking again, even as his eyes were dilated with the passion she could feel radiating off him in waves. The far part of her mind observed, calmly, that if it had been given a choice between taking a sleepy tiger for a walk and sticking around him long enough to find out what had brought that molten, sleepy intensity to his eyes, it would take the tiger, and it would probably be a very good idea to get moving. Now. She found that her hand had lifted itself without her concious permission, and settled on Eriol's face, and she wondered vaguely at that, but mostly she was concentrating on the way she could feel his cheekbone under her touch, the faint roughness of closely shaven hair on his cheek, the way his skin felt, surely too fine for a male, but still beautiful. He was all beautiful, she realised suddenly, beautiful as Sakura-chan, in his own way, a beauty of controlled strength and power, controlled feelings now slipping from his grasp, and that was beautiful too, the way his eyes grew glazed and even hotter under her touch. He leaned his head into her caressing hand, and she thought that he was afffectionate, but never got a chance to express that affection. Like her, only more so. At least with Sakura-chan she sometimes had the chance to sit next to her, love her, recieve a quick half-hug from Sakura-chan's affectionate heart. He had asked her a question, she remembered. What would she do, if she had a chance to hold Sakura, to kiss her and embrace her? She would... She would... She would... She didn't know. She didn't know if she would take the opportunity to pretend, if only for a little while, that Sakura-chan was hers, or if she would be -- if she could be -- strong enough to pretend that it didn't matter, that she didn't want to have that little, false happiness. So what was he asking her? To decide, he said, but what decision? "What do you want?" she asked. A brief flicker, of some dark amusement. "I could be noble and say whatever you wanted. I could be poetic, and list things. I could be sarcastic, and ask what you thought I wanted." Tomoyo stroked his cheek absently, and then suddenly realised she was petting him, as if he were a cat. She made to pull her hand away, and he put his own up to capture her hand between his face and his own hand, and rubbed deliberately against her hand. "I like you petting me," he said simply, and so she brought her other hand up, not quite without realising it, and felt the shape of his face, as if she were blind, or as if they were in the dark. The decision, she thought. "What do you want?" she insisted. Touching his face like this, feeling his physcial reality, made her body react again. Her hands slid down to his shoulders and she could feel the muscles there tense and relax against her hands. His shirt, she thought suddenly, was in the way, she wanted to take it off and see and feel and touch beneath it. "An honest lie," said Hiiragiwaza-kun, staring at her. HIs eyes were dragging her in, sucking her under, the intensity of the flame there. Sakura-chan could never -- would never -- give her this. But she had accepted that, hadn't she? How easy, to give in to the demands of her body. "Do you know," he said conversationally, "that I dream of you?" Tomoyo stared at him. That was possibly the last thing in the world she had ever expected to hear out of Hiiragizawa's mouth. Don't think of his mouth, she told herself quickly, you'll start thinking of the way it slid down your throat and sucked and lapped and bit... Her fingers tightened on his shoulders again, and he made an odd sound in the back of his throat, half a hiss, half a purr. "Waking and asleep," he said, his beautiful voice gone even deeper, rougher, "I can look into the fire, and see your face. I can look at the line of a plum branch and see the line of your throat." Tomoyo could feel herself slipping under the spell of that dark voice again. "That's not fair," she said. "Is it not?" He slid his hand back up to her breast, and she shuddered. "I don't feel very fair at present, dear one." He looked into her eyes. "So here's one last fair warning, sweet Tomoyo. Go." ---- Eriol waited. It was one thing to rationally conclude he didn't want her under false pretenses, to make a civilised decision to let her go -- but civilisation was slipping away from him by the second, leaving only the part of him that he kept carefully contained. The uncertainty in her eyes excited him, the way her fingers bit into his shoulders made him want her more. He kept himself absolutely still, knowing that if he moved, if she moved, his control would be lost. "What you want..." said Tomoyo, very slowly, "Is all or nothing. If I ... yield ... you want me to do it of my own will, and with no regrets. But if I think I will have regrets, I should leave now. Because if I did, you'd hate yourself for it." She stopped for a moment and looked into his eyes, as if she could see into his soul. "But you don't know if I can give you that much, so that's what you meant by an honest lie." Eriol remained silent. "But if I yielded, what would you give to me?" Eriol took her hand and entwined it with his own. Kissed it. "Nothing you don't already own," he said. And even though he didn't say the words themselves, some understanding flickered past her eyes, and she sighed a small sigh. "You foolish Eriol," she said, and bent her head to his. But he met her, even as her head lowered, and he crushed her to him, biting at her mouth, ravenous for the taste of her. Words filled his mind, from all the language he had ever spoken, but they wouldn't come out, he could do anything but fill his mouth with her instead of words. She arced back and he bit aat the line of her throat, and then he regained some small bit of sense and somehow managed to get up and she wrapped her legs around him, and he knew that if he thought it over for the next thousand years, he would never remember how they got from that chair to his bed. All he could think of was her, the way her legs wrapped round his waist, so wanton, so beautiful, and the taste of her lips and the scrape of her teeth. And then they tumbled over his wide bed, and her black-ink hair spilt over his white linens, and he had to stop and stare at her for a moment. Raven-wing hair against snowy sheet, ivory limbs stretching forever from the tangles of her dress, and then he bent over her again. Buttons undid themselves, fastenings disappeared, and there she was, sleek and silky in lace and satin. Her hands were busy too, pulling restlessly at the buttons of his shirt, and when he bent his head to the line of her breast, he could feel her warm skin aginst his bare chest, and that inflamed him more. He thought he spoke, but perhaps it was only his thoughts; words of praise, old words from poets long dead, anything, caressing words in all the languages he knew, as his hands and mouth ran restlessly over her. Her skin tasted of lavander and vanilla, sweet, so sweet, spicy. He ran his tongue over her breast, her nipple, sucking and biting until it hardened into a tight bud and her fingers dug into his bare back. And then they tumbled over -- or she did, he didn't know, didn't really care -- and she straddled him, holding his head in her hands and kissing him as if she meant to devour him. His heart was pounding, strong, frantic beats, his blood on fire. He flipped her over again, and somehow the rest of her clothing was gone, and his clothing, too, had disappeared. Perhaps she took them off, perhaps he did, perhaps his power had gone as mad as himself and made them disintergrate. But it didn't matter, all that mattered was the feeling of her body against his, and the way her legs tangled with his own. Her teeth scraped against his throat and he shudddered helplessly. He reared up, and looked down at her. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were nearly all pupil, deep, endless, violet black. "Tomoyo," he said. He didn't know if it was a prayer or a demand. He didn't even know what he was asking, but he needed the answer as much, maybe even more, than he needed her. "Tomoyo." [Just for a minute Make me think there's some truth in it] --- Tomoyo heard his voice, somehow, through the blood and fire rushing through her body. She forced her eyes to focus, and saw him above her, the muscles of his arms sharply drawn from the way he held himself back, his face set in something almost like a snarl in tension. He was so very beautiful, and for this one moment, she realised with sharp clarity, he belonged to her like nobody else had. And she belonged to him too, for this one moment, no matter what happened after. "Tomoyo," he said again. His voice was raw, and there was a note of pleading in it that she had never heard before. He was asking her something. She didn't know what it was, but she did know the answer, and she arched up into him in reply. He let out a sharp breath, almost a sob, and then his mouth crushed hers, and they were so close together, so very close, almost one person -- and then they were, and Eriol sank into her even as she rose to meet him. Tomoyo cried out, as they shattered-- ... And were reborn. OWARI. ----------------------------------------- OMAKE! NI! WA! [especially for Oniisama. *glomp* Wuv! ^_^] "Gochishousama deshitaaaaa," said Tomoyo, looking like a particularly smug cat in a creamery. She licked her lips as if trying out some new but not entirely unpleasant flavor, and then slid a fingertip over him. Eriol moaned. -- "Where are we going now?" asked Tomoyo, lazily. Eriol didn't answer, but carried her into the living room again, and sat down in his chair, and arranged her so she straddled him in the chair, and ran a lazy hand down her hip. "Do you ever get tired?" inquired Tomoyo politely, and pointedly. What she had once heard refered to as 'the evidence of his alertness' was quite clear. Eriol gave this a moment's thought, running light fingers over Tomoyo's thigh -- and a bit above and in. "Don't know," he said cheerfully. "Would you like to find out? In the name of science, of course." Tomoyo chuckled deep in her throat, and devoted herself to science. -------------------------- AUTHOR'S NOTES: I started this one on October 26th, 2000, according to the file, and I probably would have got it done sooner, if not for the moving thing [and also, it's amazing how much fun it is to sloooooooooowly dole out bits of Eriol and Tomoyo getting it on to Evil Imoutos Who Shall Remain Nameless But I Hope They Feel Guilty Now About Not Finishing Turn, Dammit ^_-] -- but I try to get one romantic fic done for every Valentine's day. Last year, I believe, was Gonna Get Married! Bit of a change of pace, yes. ^_^; Anyway. XD The title is from Depeche Mode's song of the same name. Very Eriol-Tomoyo. ^_^ This fic is for Tin -- happy extremely belated birthday O_o;. Eriol: *_* Meg: =_=; Eriol: XD I had a GOOD Valentine's Day this year. XD Meg: *sincerely* You sick little sex fiend. Eriol: *unrepentantly* Yep. And yes, I realise it rather drops you into the Middle of THINGS, but Tomoyo flat refused to explain how Hiiragizawa-kun managed to get her into such a Compromising Situation, and all Eriol would do was leer about Gentlemen Not Kissing And Telling and something about a game of chess gone deeply, deeply H. O_=;;;;;;;;;; -- Meg -- meg@fenya.net --http://www.fenya.net AIM: LazuliSong ICQ: lazulisong D N Angel, Card Captor Sakura, General Evil Things</pre><p><a href="./">Back</a></p><p><a href=http://www.dreamhost.com/donate.cgi?id=216><img border=0 alt="Donate towards our web hosting bill!" src=https://secure.newdream.net/donate1.gif></a></p></body></html>