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"Oh," he says, more a breath than a word, low and reverential, when she's peeled off her jacket and blouse, stripped off the last layer of petticoat so she's left in just a plain white camisole and panties the same color, plain as well, except for the small bow gracing the top.
"Do you mind if," she begins, and blushes. She looks down at her feet (spares a glance at the panties beneath her lashes, and no, she's fine, she's still secure). "I just feel more comfortable wh--"
"You look beautiful," he says, and when she looks up she sees he's blushing too. "Shit," he says, "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt you."
She takes a step toward him, toward the edge of her bed, his eyes clenched as tight as his fists. It's how he always is when he's embarrassed, or mad at himself, and she takes advantage of his shut eyes to move closer. After a moment, she places a trembling hand on his knee. He starts, eyes flying open; she has to duck to avoid being hit by his hair.
"It's ok," she says, and smiles softly behind the flush to her cheeks. "If I'm trying not to be embarrassed, you don't have to be ashamed, either."
"I'm not!" His voice is insistent, for a moment, before he realizes he's almost yelling. He smiles, awkward, and scratches at the back of his neck. "And you got nothin' to be embarrassed about! Nothin'! I said you're beautiful, and I meant it."
He puts a hand over hers where it rests on his knee, long fingers and wide palm covering it altogether. "You think I would lie about something like that?"
She looks down at their hands, and then up again to meet his eyes for the first time since they'd begun undressing. "I don't," she says simply, and leans in to press a soft, quick kiss to his cheek.
The hand that isn't on her reaches up to cup her face, holding her close. "Fujisaki-san," he says. His voice is the rough whisper that means he's just as nervous as she is. "May I --"
Despite herself, despite the serious look on his face, she giggles. "'Fujisaki-san'?" she echoes. "Don't you think that's a bit formal?"
He grins, and this close up it's even more charming than usual. "Chihiro-san," he tries again, and before he can finish she leans in and kisses him again. On the lips, this time.
He's just so tall; she hardly has to duck her head to reach his while she's standing and he's seated. Just the thought of it, the realization, makes her blush again. There's a temptation to pull back, to hide, but the hand on her cheek slides down to gently cup the back of her head and then they're really kissing. It's soft, closed-mouthed, nothing they haven't done before: but this time they're in her room, they're on her bed -- well, he's on her bed, but it's close enough and oh goodness he's on her bed.
He's on her bed and she's in her underwear, he's barefoot in undershirt and trousers, and when he grazes her lower lip with his teeth, she can't help but gasp.
It's a small noise, a startled one rather than sensual; apparently it's enough for him because before she knows it, both his hands are on her waist: pulling, lifting, and then she's on the bed too, a knee on either side of one broad thigh.
She gasps again, a noise that's almost but not quite his name.
The hands on her waist tighten, and he leans in to nuzzle against her neck, breath hot against her. "Chi -- hi -- ro --" he manages, his voice still low and rough but no longer nervous. "I don't -- I want --"
She nods, not trusting herself to speak anymore. He feels so solid between her legs, a hot pressure she's not used to. She rocks down against him without thinking about it, and he mouths at her neck, not quite biting down but just enough pressure for her to feel his teeth. The flat of his tongue swipes against her collarbone. She doesn't know what to do with her hands.
One of his hands slides down to her hip and tightens there, pulling her down against him. The other moves up, and she tenses. Her muscles are taut as his fingers press against her stomach. They swipe across her chest, cup one breast gingerly and before she knows it she's laughing, breathy giggles as she tips her head against his shoulder.
"They're -- breastforms," she says, still giggling. "It's not -- I don't actually --" She looks up and he won't quite meet her eyes.
It's a moment of bravado, but she knows if she doesn't do it now she might never, so she sucks in a quick breath and grabs his hand. Her fingers fold around his and guide them down, under the hem of her camisole and back up.
He hisses quietly, fingers flexing against the flat of her stomach.
"Is -- you sure this is ok?"
"I want to," she says. "I want -- you." She looks up, and smiles when their eyes meet. His are wide, shocked-looking, but after a moment he smiles back.
"Yeah," he says. "I -- me too."