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Himeko clicks her pen–a gift from Welt, her favourite one– She leans against the desk, and tries her hardest to get that certain pain in the back out of her mind, but to no avail. The words she's been trying to write become a bundle of circles drawn out of frustration, so she decides that it might be a bit wiser to sleep than staying up doing fruitless work.
Just as she's putting her pen back on the corner of her desk, she hears a whisper in her ear accompanied with light buzzing, and a light, feather touch of hands on her bare arms.
"Hi-me-ko."
Himeko immediately turns around with the nearest sharpest object in her hand–a knife she keeps on her at all times–, intending to penetrate the invader in the neck. A rush of adrenaline and fury pulses through her upon recognizing the voice.
Kafka is standing in front of her, in the form of a damned hologram. The knife phases through her neck. Himeko almost wishes it didn't.
"My, is that any way to greet an old friend, Himeko?" She walks towards her bed, completely disregarding any privacy Himeko could hope to have in her presence, and leans her chin on her palm. "You missed me?"
Himeko feels a spike of anger and anxiety building up inside her. She wants to laugh at the question, because, not only is it ridiculous, it also implies that Kafka left anything for her to miss. Himeko's baffled that she even had the audacity to ask that to her.
"No." she scoffs. She made the mistake of entertaining Kafka long ago, and she would not dare make it again.
"I see." Kafka's sickening grin grows wider upon her response. "It's just like you to be still hung up on me, you know." She almost sounds mocking.
"Funny you'd say that, considering you're the one invading my privacy and barging into my room without warning." Himeko scoffs. "Leave, Kafka, or I will make you. Don't forget that this is my train."
Kafka just flutters her eyelashes at her like a little girl in response. "But I miss you."
The twist her stomach gets into is deathly embarrassing, even though she knows that Kafka does not mean it in the slightest. "That won't work on me anymore, Kafka."
Kafka stands up and steps towards Himeko, who's still gripping her knife, although without any intention to kill. She knows she can't hurt a hologram, but she doesn't have it in her to hurt Kafka either way, even if she was in front of her in flesh and bones.
Kafka's slender but hollow fingers find their way to Himeko's cheek, and all she can feel is the light buzzing of the hologram. She almost leans into it when Kafka caresses her cheek with what she assumes is gentleness. She almost wants to slap herself for it.
"Let me show you just how much I miss you, my princess." Kafka whispers in her ear, and Himeko holds her breath. She gulps, and tries to appear unbothered by the implications.
Kafka steps back to the bed but this time, as soon as she sits down she takes her jacket off and undoes her shirt, all the while staring at Himeko in the eye. "What are you doing?" Himeko asks, only for Kafka to toss her top somewhere far away from the holograms projector. She's now sitting atop Himeko's bed with nothing but her shorts and her bra. Himeko feels herself getting hot.
"Get off my bed," Himeko finds herself saying despite the undeniable desire pulling at her restraints and irritating her to no end. She feels so unbelievably stupid–of course Kafka is here only for sex, that's the only thing she seeks Himeko out for everytime their paths cross, and that's the only thing Himeko has left to give her. For someone who claims to have pride, she knows that she lets Kafka in her bed way too often, way more than necessary (which should be never, she's aware.) Yet there is something, some thread that keeps pulling Kafka back to her, to her mind, to her embrace, and to her bed.
Kafka's head rests on the soft pillow, and she cups her tits for a few seconds, feeling them up before running her fingers up and down her torso. "I really wish you were here, Himeko..." She rubs circles on her sensitive nipples through the lace, and closes her eyes to relish in the feeling. Himeko is suddenly in need of more air.
Kafka arches her back for a split second to reach the clips on her bra and pulls it off smoothly. Her gaze returns to Himeko, who is stunned speechless both by Kafka's sheer audacity to touch herself on her own bed and by how criminally gorgeous she looks while doing that. Her attitude is exactly what gets Himeko hooked, and Kafka knows that. She knows Himeko so well that it makes her want to act unlike herself, just to deprive Kafka of the satisfaction of having everything her way all the time.
Instead of touching herself immediately, she keeps still, or at least acts like she has some sort of dignity left, when in reality, all she wants is more. She wants to touch Kafka, to be the one between her legs, to crack her high-and-mighty mask, to give Kafka everything she wants and to drain every ounce of composure out of her. Fortunately for Himeko, she's always been a woman that could restrain herself.
"I don't understand how this is an indication of you longing for my company."
Kafka's barely listening to her as she unbuttons the opening on her shorts, and of course, she's not wearing underwear. Himeko visibly gulps a second time.
Her gaze falls back on Himeko, her eyes half-lidded and mouth agape, her hand sneaks between her legs, making sure they're nice and wide for Himeko to see what she's doing. Her fingers brush against her clit, lazily rubbing it in circles. "I miss you doing this to me." She confesses, voice thick with lust. Her free hand gropes her chest, carefully avoiding her nipple.
Himeko on the other hand, can feel herself getting wet, and she squeezes her thighs together to get some friction for herself. She tries to keep it together and not touch herself, because she knows that when it comes to Kafka, everything is a challenge. Everything is a battle with her, and Himeko's not going to lose so early.
Kafka continues to pleasure herself despite Himeko showing little to no reaction, shamelessly groaning with every squeeze of her nipples. "Himeko, please," she begs, spreading the wetness gathering in her entrance to rub her clit better, and a flick of her fingers makes her back arch. "I miss when you wou–ah, when you let me ride your face," Kafka moans, her hands picking up the pace. Himeko feels her own clit pulsating. She grips the chair tighter.
"I miss your hands all over me." She whines loudly, her hips rocking towards the touch. She hears Himeko's breath hitch, and it sends another wave of pleasure through her body. "Mh..ah...so good, Himeko,"
"Kafka–" Himeko begins, but she cant continue; words are lost on her as Kafka's fingers begin thrusting into herself, pulling out more wetness with each pump of her hand, slow and steady, obviously trying to drive Himeko crazy. Her breathing picks up, feeling the heat coiling in her lower body as she whines and whimpers, just how Himeko loves to hear her.
"Ah–Himeko, Gods, I miss your fingers inside of me." Kafka shivers, her fingers brushing on the sensitive spot inside her. Her fingers curl where she knows it will feel incredible. She lets out a cry, her hips lifting on their own for better access, and with that, Himeko loses.
She stands up from the chair and carefully positions herself between Kafka's legs on her bed, making sure her own knees are spread for better access. She reaches down her dress and under her panties where she finds out she's basically soaking, eyes never leaving Kafka.
"What do you want, my Princess?" Kafka asks, her voice low with lust.
"You." Himeko answers, like a dam breaking. "I want you."
Kafka gives her a smile deeply unlike the unsettling expression she usually wears, something only reserved for Himeko, something that will always be for her and her alone. It almost makes Himeko nauseous.
Relief washes over her as her fingers finally, finally make contact with her own clit, using two of them to spread her wetness over it. She curses under her breath, because, fuck, she would do anything to have Kafka lick her fingers clean and to replace hers inside her.
Himeko shuts her eyes for a second as she almost comes from just a few strokes, then she stops altogether, not wanting to finish before Kafka. She wants desperately to see her falling apart in front of her, again and again and again, until she can no longer speak, no longer make a witty remark, until her legs give out and she can no longer walk—away from her, leaving her empty and used.
She's brought back to reality by a faint buzzing—it's Kafka's hand on her face, her thumb phasing through her cheek as she attempts caress it. Then she glances down at Kafka—When did she put her hands around her neck?
As if electrocuted, Himeko retracts her fingers from where they're phasing through, making Kafka look weirdly disappointed. "Himeko," she whispers, almost like a plea. "You look so beautiful with your hands around my neck. Wish you were actually here to do it."
She then raises a hand up to her own neck, fingers splayed and ready to grasp. "Is this good, Princess?"
"No," Himeko lowers her gaze, and tells Kafka exactly what she's waiting to hear. "Nothing you do will ever be good."
Kafka giggles, strange and off-putting in the way that makes Himeko oddly attracted to her, and presses her fingers on her pulse, beginning to move the ones inside her once more. Her face is painted with a frenzied expression as she demands more, more and more, and Himeko gives her exactly what she wants, as she always has, as she always will.
A strangled gasp leaves Kafka's lips as she tightens her grip on her own throat, almost as if she's punishing herself. You're such a disgusting slut, Himeko tells her, You don't deserve anything. Her fingers quicken. Her face pales.
"Enough, Kafka. Let go," Himeko orders, her tone almost threatening.
Kafka does, in fact, not let go, or loosen her grip. She instead goes harder, her rhythm becomes erratic, and she would be panting, if she let herself breathe. Seeing Kafka strangled and breaking apart like this makes Himeko's stomach flutter.
"You will never listen to a word I say, will you?"
Kafka remains unresponsive, then her back arches with a loud moan, and her eyes slam shut as her fingers gush in and out of herself, her grip around her neck finally loosening. She drags her hand down to rub her clit, now dangerously close to orgasming.
"Himeko," she gasps, her name like a mantra in her mouth at this point. "Himeko, can I come?"
Himeko smiles down at her, and is overcome by the desire to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Do you think you deserve it?" She asks. "Do you deserve to feel good, Kafka?"
"No," Kafka replies, desperate and wanting.
"Good." She leans on her elbow and takes in the sight of her in shambles, committing it to memory. "We agree on something, for once. Shall I reward you for it?"
"Please, please, please, oh, Himeko, I'm so close," Her skin looks so soft behind the glitching, her fingers look so delicate as they slide against her clit, her voice so desperate, so hungry. She makes a little sound, similar to a sob.
"Come, and keep your legs open. I want to see you."
Kafka doesn't bother holding back a scream as her entire body shakes with the force of her orgasm, her back arching in a perfect angle, her hips twitching as she rides it out. Her eyes roll back and her knees almost touch, then she forces them back open, making sure Himeko knows she listened this time.
Himeko wishes she could catch her lips in a rough kiss right at this time as Kafka is still in a daze, looking so disheveled, so messy and so vulnerable for Himeko. The clips on her hair are lost somewhere behind her, her make up is ruined, her button-up is crinkled beyond saving and her shorts rode up all the way to her waist without the buttons holding them in place. Her chest rises up and down with her panting, and she smiles weakly at Himeko. It's an appearance that Himeko simply adores.
Himeko follows suit, sliding her finger against her clit. She has been throbbing this entire time, but she knew that if she touched herself, she would have missed the way Kafka's body shivered with each flick of her fingers and with every curling motion against her sensitive spot, the way her lips fell open from the waves of pleasure coursing through her, the way her eyes rolled back and her breasts bounced with every thrust of her fingers.
She gasps as all of it replays in her head, her mind accidentally going way back to when she actually could touch Kafka and have her touch her back with the same eagerness and hunger she did to herself. She remembers the traces Kafka left on her thighs and the warmth of her mouth and the softness of her lips.
She falls back on the bed next to Kafka, who keeps singing meaningless praises to her. She almost misses Kafka's request to look in her eyes, and in a moment of weakness, she does, she makes the grave mistake of meeting her eyes, half-lidded and gorgeous, then her eyes travel down to her chest where her tits are still out and plump for Himeko's viewing pleasure. She feels the heat building up inside her, and bites a finger to keep herself from making a sound.
"None of that, Princess," Kafka reaches towards her, intending to take her finger out of her mouth but failing. "Let me hear you."
Feeling generous, Himeko lets her mouth free. Her gaze returns to Kafka's, feeling the heat coiling up inside her, and soon, her brain goes blissfully blank as she comes with a loud gasp, her body quivering and mouth falling open.
Kafka says her name for the millionth time today.
"What?" She only pretends to be irritated because, fuck, she feels too much like a puddle of water to care.
"You missed me. You have, haven't you?"
Himeko laughs, breathy and devoid of any joy. "The sex? Maybe I have. But you? Never. You may now go away."
Kafka pouts, her expression holding no sign of actual hurt, or maybe she is that excellent of an actress. Himeko can never tell. She's never been able to.
"Of course. Then, I'll see you again. Soon."
Not a threat, not a warning, and not a promise. Only a simple statement that they both know to be true, because no matter how far apart they are, they somehow find each other again, as if the Aeons themselves decided they can never be free of whatever the hell this is.
Himeko doesn't bother giving her a response as the hologram slowly fades out, and the buzzing is completely gone. She will see her soon, anyway.