"What's Left of Kisses? Zoamelgustar" By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu) URL: https://pastebin.com/csAZe5Xg Created on: Sunday 19th of June 2016 12:50:16 AM CDT Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:34:31 AM UTC What's Left of Kisses? Zoamelgustar Summary: Tokaku gives as she's not used to giving, and Haru takes more of what she already has. Notes: (See the end of the work for notes.) Work Text: The scars on this girl are incredible! Isuke’s kind of turned on! The mocking voice spun through Tokaku’s thoughts yet again. Isuke was gone, but the words may as well have been etched into her brain with acid. During the long walk back to her room after the latest attempt on Haru’s life, Tokaku wondered if Isuke had meant them, or if she had spoken solely for the sake of cruelty. Even if it were true, it was all well and good for Isuke to be turned on by the sight. But what excuse did Tokaku have? For a time, Tokaku had suppressed such thoughts. She might have had Haru on her mind, but to do otherwise would be a slip that put her life in jeopardy. And if her mind’s eye sometimes ventured to matters not strictly related to protection, well, surely her feelings were pure. Haru had kissed her after the second attack, and it had felt sweet and right. Just not like it had when she saw the scars. She hadn’t noticed at the time, any abnormal thoughts subsumed by the blasting adrenaline and rage that had carried her through the fight with Isuke. But when the fight-or-flight reflex had subsided, the image of Haru’s body remained, along with an arousal that humiliated her. Haru took care to hide those marks. To look on them with lust was surely a betrayal that branded her no better than the rest of the grinning sadists and psychopaths in the Black Class, half of whom would cheerfully rape their victims while killing them. Banba Shinya, today’s challenger, had definitely given that impression. Her attack had been fast and cruel, but her gleeful swings left no room to protect herself, and she had gone down surprisingly quickly. Nio had smiled as she dragged Shinya out of the club room. What was Nio’s relationship with the academy? Was Shinya alive or dead? When would the next notice come, and from whom? These would be sensible things to have on one’s mind. Obsessing over the sight of Haru’s shirt covered in Shinya’s blood was not. But it was no contest as Tokaku walked, moving slowly to match Haru’s glacial pace. “Do you think Mahiru was part of it?” Haru’s voice was small and sad. “We were having so much fun that I didn’t notice…” she trailed off. Tokaku finished the sentence in her head: when the sun went down. When her eyes changed, and then her face, and it became clear that Haru was never going to finish her game of Go. At least by now Tokaku had realized that sulking jealously whenever Haru agreed to spend time with a classmate all but guaranteed she would be attacked while unprotected. “Who knows?” Tokaku knew she wouldn’t make Haru happy by telling her “I told you so” after each offer of friendship took the same nasty turn. It wasn’t clear to Tokaku just how the two personalities came together, but at least day-time Mahiru had been the one classmate who didn’t need constant monitoring for sharp objects. With her gone, Tokaku was dead sure that the next “friend” would be out for blood. Haru would go along with it, too, whoever it was. The cheerfulness and optimism with which she armored herself would soon return. Knowing that made it worse. By the time they finally reached their room, Tokaku’s heart felt wrenched. She wanted to tell Haru that she didn’t need any friends, she had her, but even she could tell just how awful that sounded. So she said nothing, just sat and stared. Haru dropped onto the edge of her own bed and began fumbling at the buttons of her bloodstained shirt, a distant look on her face. She was getting nowhere -- it was as though she had forgotten how they worked. Watching her, Tokaku felt a surge of feelings that were as muddled as they were powerful. She wanted to comfort her, to possess her, to hurt her. Burning with those disparate and, in part, disturbing feelings, she got up again and walked over, no real idea of what she was going to do. Hugging her was probably right. Instead, she pulled a knife from her waistband and slid it beneath the lowest button of Haru’s shirt. Haru’s eyes lost their vacant look, widened and drilled into Tokaku’s, but she didn’t move. Without breaking eye contact, Tokaku caught the hem of the shirt with her free hand, moved the knife upward and severed the thread attaching the first button. Haru gasped, and Tokaku was painfully aware of her own arousal. Had she turned into Otoya, now? Even with that unpleasant thought in her head, she could not stop. She leaned forward and kissed Haru as hard as she could without unbalancing herself, and even as Haru returned the kiss Tokaku was moving the knife upwards in measured jerks. Haru made an indistinct sound each time a button gave way; Tokaku hoped they indicated pleasure and not terror, or at least a mix of the two. After the last button was gone, Haru broke from the kiss and pulled off the ruined shirt. The scars on her torso arrested Tokaku’s gaze anew; she wanted to look away and spare Haru, but could not. She didn’t understand why they inflamed her so, conjuring unwanted, guiltily arousing thoughts of doing vicious things to Haru. Tokaku felt more uncomfortable with each passing second, desperate to do anything but stare. But now that Haru was shirtless, she could not see a good way to embrace her without touching the scars, and though Tokaku’s face betrayed nothing the awkwardness was palpable. “Do they disgust you?” Even though the words could not be further from the truth, they directly touched the thoughts roiling Tokaku’s secret heart, and threw off her composure badly. “No!” Her reply sounded strangled. “But you didn’t want me to see them…” Haru began to smile cryptically. “Haru can’t have a normal school life if Haru’s normal school friends see them.” Then her voice dropped low, and the childish third person vanished. “I think it’s a bit too late for that, isn’t it?” Tokaku was mute. Never good at speech, she did not have any idea how to respond. Haru chuckled. “It’s all right. But what it is it, then? You’re staring.” It was impossible for Tokaku to say it. Haru leaned back on the bed and let the silence draw out for a while. Then she spoke again. “Won’t say how you feel? Then show me, Tokaku.” Everything had felt somewhat unreal since Tokaku had taken her knife to Haru’s clothes. She reached out, and tentatively brushed the scars on Haru’s sides with her fingers. Then she lost all restraint, dug her fingernails into Haru’s ribs and dropped her head to put her mouth on the enormous scar on the center of Haru’s chest. Her efforts were rewarded with encouraging sounds as she licked from scar to scar with increasing, desperate need. The scar tissue itself could not really feel, she knew, but the strokes of her tongue were broad and messy enough to hit the nerves surrounding them. The scars’ ridged textures fascinated her, and as she licked each one the suggestion of the past injury - mostly knives, it seemed, but some that had to have been more exotic - reverberated in her mind and her body. Tokaku had steadily moved herself lower, shifting further back along the bed until at last she was lying on her stomach with her eyes at the level of the long scars on Haru’s legs, the first that she had ever seen. She licked them more slowly, until her reverie was broken by the feel of Haru’s hand on the top of her head. Haru had sat up to touch her, and Tokaku had to crane her head to see. “You’re so good to me, Tokaku. Can you do one more thing for me?” Tokaku still found it hard to speak, but nodded, and Haru continued, softly, “You see how it is. All these scars, from so many people that hated me enough to kill me. They’ll never go away. I want to be marked by someone who loves me for a change.” “What!?” Tokaku found her voice after all. The words could not possibly mean what she thought they meant. Somehow Haru had Tokaku’s knife. She slowly drew the tip up from her solar plexus toward her bra, very lightly so as not to break the skin. Her eyes never left Tokaku, who did not return the look. She was riveted by the sight of the knife between Haru’s breasts. “Cut me, Tokaku. Anywhere that doesn’t show. It’ll be our secret.” Taking the knife to Haru’s clothes had been surprisingly easy once Tokaku had given in to the urge, but the idea of actually slicing into her body was something else entirely. Haru’s words had magnified her fascination and anxiety tenfold. Tokaku took back the knife, but was still hesitant to shed the blood of the girl she’d vowed to protect. Instead, she held the length of the blade against Haru’s body and lightly scraped down her stomach and up her sides as though it were a razor. Tokaku was far more comfortable with a knife than with her tongue, and was intensely aware of the feeling of Haru’s body through its resistance to the blade. Each time the edge caught against scar tissue, Tokaku could feel it from her fingertips down to her genitals. Haru gasped and shivered, and when she shifted and lay down on her stomach Tokaku obeyed the obvious invitation and explored the larger expanse of her back. Eventually Tokaku drew the tip of the knife down along her spine to the small of her back, pressing slightly harder this time, and Haru arched and cried out so gratifyingly that Tokaku was ready to abandon her last inhibitions. Tokaku nudged Haru, who rolled onto her back obligingly. Tokaku then lay her blade along Haru’s inner thigh, perpendicular to the scar circling her left leg, and asked, very quietly, “Okay?” Haru’s eyes widened, but when she spoke her voice was firmer by far. “Do it.” Tokaku drew the knife down and a couple of inches across, as cleanly and smoothly as she could. She had been careful not to cut too far or too deep, but Haru still gave a strangled, closed-mouthed scream and after a split second the blood sprang to fill the wound and began running down her thigh. Her breathing had become sharp and rapid. “It hurts. God, it hurts. Thank you, Tokaku.” For a moment Tokaku was incapable of sensible thought or action, but when the potential returned she busied herself with finding her first aid kit and selecting an appropriate bandage. As she knelt between Haru’s legs to apply the adhesive, the smell of blood and, she was fairly sure, of Haru’s arousal struck her, and spurred her onward again. Employing the knife one more time, she cut through Haru’s panties at each side and pulled away the cloth to bring her face down to Haru’s sex. The more intensely she licked, the more her clitoris rubbed against her heel, the sensation inconstant but sufficient to tease her to a frantic state. Abruptly Haru closed her legs around Tokaku, who felt with a jolt the blood that had run over Haru’s leg, wet against her own skin. This was the last straw for Tokaku, driving her to awkwardly lift her midsection and push one hand under her skirt to touch herself. She had tried this once or twice before out of detached curiosity, and wondered what all the fuss was about. It was, however, entirely different when desperately aroused. Pleasuring herself and Haru at the same time was difficult, but Haru, running her fingers indulgently through Tokaku’s hair, did not seem to mind her slip in focus. It took Tokaku a very short time to bring herself off, moaning and pushing her tongue into Haru’s sex. As the climax faded, Haru’s hands tightened on the back of Tokaku’s head and firmly brought her mouth up to her clitoris. Guided to the right spot, Tokaku redoubled her efforts as Haru, her breathing ragged, bent her head down toward Tokaku’s to speak. “Good, Tokaku, that’s perfect. Hurt me and make me feel better. So I can’t think about anything else.” She gasped, and paused. “We’ll do it again and again, until I have more scars from you than from them.” As she spoke, Haru’s grip increased and ground Tokaku’s face against her. “I’ll be normal in class, I will, but I need this from you. You’ll do it, right?” There was no way to respond except to keep licking until Haru came, so loudly that Tokaku briefly felt a stab of panic and wondered if an assailant would hear and burst in to incapacitate them while they were compromised. At length Haru quieted. When Tokaku looked up, she was on her back with her eyes closed, a small smile on her face. Could she really be asleep? It seemed hard to believe, even if Tokaku herself suddenly felt dazed and tired. If she wasn’t faking, Tokaku told herself, Haru shouldn’t mind her squeezing into the bed and saving herself the walk to her own side of the room. She threw Haru’s mutilated clothes off the bed, shed her own, and settled in beside her. Finally beginning to wind down, she wondered what the scar would look like, and where the next should go.