Glory to Mankind (Nier Automata) ch 28

+++

Fujikawa leaned back in her chair, eyes fixed on the screen. The civilians were gradually settling into their assigned quarters. None had grounds to complain—each living space was equal in quality, with ample freedom to customize and personalize. Now, the only task left was assembling the mission leads and setting the agenda in motion.

She tapped a key. The screen flicked to one of the private rooms. Her gaze sharpened—then a smirk crept up.

A YoRHa android was bent over a table, legs trembling, voice split into ragged, high-pitched screams. Her sleek black frame shook under the rhythm of a man who, by all appearances, didn't look like anything special.

Oh, it had already begun.

No hesitation. No resistance. Certainly no cold feet.

Was the lottery system even necessary at this point? It was meant to randomize pairings, to maintain a layer of control... but clearly, desire had outrun caution. People weren't waiting. They were devouring.

She closed the feed.

Paused.

Then opened it again.

Fujikawa stared, expression hardening. Something felt off.

Her fingers moved briskly across the keyboard. The YoRHa model on screen was taking it like a machine—but that wasn't the surprise. It was the man. Average build, ordinary by every metric she could recall—yet he was hoisting her, repositioning her like she weighed nothing at all. No signs of strain. No effort.

Her monitor filled with diagnostic data.

One hundred forty-eight kilograms. Being tossed like a blow-up doll.

She didn't even react when the office door opened behind her and Smith walked in, reeking of sweat and something unmistakably musky.

"You smell different," Fujikawa said, voice detached, like observing cloud cover.

Smith gave a long-suffering sigh. "You know exactly what's happening here. Try to keep it professional." He glanced at the screen. "Are you monitoring this?"

"Me? Perish the thought." She adjusted her glasses, tone light, almost flippant. "But... it's happening so often I'm seriously considering scrapping the lottery system entirely."

"You think?" Smith muttered, folding his arms.

Fujikawa ignored the sarcasm. "Anyway. Did anything feel… unusual to you?"

"Unusual?" Smith tilted his head. "Besides the obvious?"

"Commander White," Fujikawa said, leaning forward, her gaze glinting. She tapped onto her keyboard again. She read it aloud. "She weighs approximately one hundred sixty-six kilograms. Yet here you are. Not flattened."

Smith's brow furrowed, calculation flickering behind his eyes. "That's... roughly the weight of an adult lion."

"Mmhmm. And I'm sure she was just as feral," Fujikawa murmured. "But the facts remain—if you were with her, and I mean truly with her, your pelvis should be powder. Yet you're upright."

"She… never sat on my face," Smith muttered, ears reddening. "And my hips are fine. Thank you for your concern."

A beat.

"We have durability," he said softly, eyes drifting down to his hands.

"All signs point to yes," Fujikawa replied, lips curving into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Of course, we need more data. Controlled testing. Full range. Repeated trials."

"How?" Smith asked, not because he doubted, but because he already felt the answer curling behind her words.

"You know exactly how miraculous maso is," she said simply.

"And we've been breathing that stuff since 2035," he echoed. 

Fujikawa glanced down at her hands, a flicker of realization crossing her face. "If that's true, then we're essentially made of magic now."

Magic wasn't exactly new. It had been harnessed to create weapons like the Götterdämmerungs. The Hamelin Organization had soldiers who could be called mages of sorts, and Murasaki—the codename for the National Weapons Research Laboratory—had delved deep into its uses. Fujikawa had been high enough in the chain to know its purpose. By then, though, it hardly seemed to matter anymore.

To think all humanity needed to become a species capable of magic was to breathe Maso for decades, like meat marinating in a strange, invisible sauce.

"I assume you're asking for my permission to test this theory?" Smith said, leveling his gaze at her.

"Indeed," Fujikawa nodded. "With volunteers, of course. I'm not about to start dragging people out of bed in the middle of the night."

Smith exhaled through his nose, then gave a short nod. "See what you can arrange, then." He signed off with a flick of his wrist. "Assuming we are enhanced… what comes next?"

She leaned back in her chair, fingers lacing together on her stomach. "Well, we've already integrated maso into our technology, but utilizing it biologically will be a different matter." A low hum slipped from her lips. "The Twins—they're magic users in the traditional sense. We could request their assistance in developing a training regimen. Possibly even a formal class in magic use."

Smith rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. "At this point, nothing surprises me anymore."

He straightened. "Either way, we need to get this place running."

Fujikawa inclined her head. "Yes, sir."

The following weeks were nothing short of a hive of activity as the humans settled into their new home. Smith slowly allowed his authority to ebb—at least when it came to administration. The bureaucrats they had brought with them remained in charge, but a form of democracy had begun to take root with the election of civilian representatives to voice public concerns. For now, the population was still small enough that the system could handle the strain. But it wouldn't stay that way for long.

Speaking of the future...

Fortunately, many among the civilian population had professions essential for rebuilding society—teachers, doctors, lawyers, farmers. Their expertise was invaluable now, and the androids served as their willing seconds. It was a synergy of talents: the androids offering swift, calculated minds, while their human partners provided the irreplaceable human element. Sure, an android could grow carrots better than any man. But refining them? Preparing them? That still belonged to the human touch.

A bright future was ahead. 

21O typed at her terminal in silence. Her fingers moved with precision, line after line of data blinking across the screen. The room was quiet. Just the soft hum of the systems around her, steady and constant. Familiar.

But every few minutes, her eyes would shift—just for a second—up to the clock in the corner of the screen.

She had never done that before.

Before, her shift began, her shift ended, and that was that. No reason to care about the time. Nothing waiting for her after the last task was done. Just a walk to her quarters. A dim room. The same view of the stars. The same silence.

But not anymore.

Things were different now.

The YoRHa satellite station had been finished two days ago. It wasn't a replacement for the Bunker—just a second location, a backup, a way to move fast when needed. Officially, it didn't change much.

But for her, it had changed everything.

She paused. Her hands stilled over the keys. Her eyes drifted to the right.

A small photo sat just beside the terminal. Glossy, plain, a little off-center.

She remembered the night he took it. Takeo. He'd invited her to dinner, and she'd accepted. No hesitation. That alone would've surprised the old version of her.

He brought a camera. Said it was important to mark the moment.

She wore her uniform. She didn't own civilian clothes. And at the time, it felt wrong. Stiff. Out of place. She looked like a soldier trying to pretend.

But now... it didn't matter. Something had shifted. The clothes were the same. She wasn't.

Her eyes dropped to the clock again.

Five more minutes.

Her voice barely made a sound. "Five more minutes…"

She kept staring.

Not at the data. Not at the screen. At the door.

...

...

...

The sound of heels broke the silence. A sharp, even rhythm on the floor.

"21O," a voice called out from behind. "I am here to re—"

She was already gone.

The door slid shut behind her before the sentence could finish.

The Market Ward throbbed beneath the artificial sunrise—Rows of kiosks flickered to life, light-strips pulsing like artery lines as merchants—android and human alike—prepped wares atop magnetic slabs and printed shelves.

At first, the androids had no use for currency. Was it really necessary when all they knew was war? But necessity had started to teach them the value of it. A method of exchange was necessary. Not everything could be bartered. 

Her heels struck the metal floor in a steady rhythm, she another face in the crowd. Dozens of shops were opening their doors, their holographic signs flickering to life. Vendors called out their wares—augments, pre-Legion relics, handcrafted art, and even food—but she ignored them all. Her focus was singular.

It hadn't always been this way.

The first shop in Market Ward had been a simple military commissary, stocked with generic necessities for survival. But humans, ever resourceful, had transformed it. They brought color to the white, opening stalls and kiosks to sell anything they could imagine: music, paintings, fashion. The economy had been fragile at first, its offerings basic, but the androids noticed. Now, Market Ward was a living entity, thriving with energy and purpose, drawing visitors from the other stations.

She spotted her destination almost instantly. Its facade stood out among the sleek, modern architecture: a traditional Japanese storefront, complete with sliding wooden doors and a modest sign that read Tailor in elegant kanji.

She slid the door open and stepped inside. The shop was small but warm, every surface covered in bolts of fabric, spools of thread, and half-finished garments. Behind the counter, an elderly woman looked up and smiled.

"Ah, 21O-san. Are you here to pick up your order?"

"Yes," she replied simply.

Todo Ozawa had been a tailor long before the wars with the Legion. When the Japanese economy collapsed and the world followed, she had shuttered her shop, her craft seemingly obsolete. But now, as androids embraced individuality, her skills were in demand once more. She had found a new purpose, one stitch at a time.

Todo reached beneath the counter and retrieved a package wrapped in brown paper. "Here." Her smile was warm, her hands steady as she slid it across the counter.

21O took the package with care, slipping it into her bag. The payment transferred with a soft chime, quick and efficient. "Thank you," she said, bowing slightly.

"Of course," Todo replied, her eyes twinkling. "He's one lucky man."

21O froze, her composure slipping for just a moment. Heat threatened to rise to her face, but she stifled it. Graceful ladies do not blush.

They make others blush.

She straightened, nodded once, and walked out.

The next shop was harder to ignore. Its facade was scandalous by any metric, draped in bright lights and provocative holograms that advertised its wares unapologetically. Androids frequented it in droves, their faces impassive but their optics lingering on the displays.

21O passed the merchandise without a glance, heading straight for the counter. A woman stood there, leaning casually against the surface, her lips curling into a knowing smile as 21O approached.

"My order," 21O said, her voice clipped, controlled.

The shopkeeper's grin widened. "Ah, yes. I've made dozens of special orders before, but this…" She placed a sleek box on the counter, her tone almost reverent. "…was my best yet."

21O inhaled sharply, her grip tightening on the edge of the counter. "Not. A. Word."

The shopkeeper chuckled, wagging her eyebrows. "Of course not."

21O snatched the box and turned to leave, her movements sharp and precise.

"Tell me how it goes~!" the shopkeeper called after her, her voice dripping with mischief.

This time, she couldn't stop it. Heat flushed her cheeks, spreading across her pale skin like wildfire.

She stepped into the neon-lit street, her heart beating just a fraction too fast.

Graceful ladies do not blush, she reminded herself. But just this once, she allowed it.

Now, to make that one blush.

​+++

Takeo settled into the couch with a sigh.

It had been a long day. Not particularly grueling, but the kind of day that left him drained nonetheless. He had been back at work for a while now—an office job of sorts, working as a clerk for the United Nations. He didn't need the job. None of them did, really. The androids had made sure of that. Human needs were taken care of, every necessity provided without question.

But there was only so much he could take of sitting in his condo unit, staring at the same walls, day in and day out. Yes, a condo unit. He made a point of thinking of it that way. It wasn't a simple apartment—not anymore. The place he lived in now was worth more than anything he'd ever had before. Before, he had struggled to make ends meet, scraping by with a cramped apartment and barely enough left over for himself and his daughter, Akemi.

Now, he had more than he'd ever dreamed of.

Still, boredom had its way of creeping in, no matter how comfortable life was.

There was a knock at the door.

Takeo's lips curled into a smile.

The first dinner had been… polite. That was the best word for it. A formal affair, one meant to break the ice, to learn about each other in a quiet, distant way. But tonight was different. Tonight, it was just the two of them. Akemi had already gone to bed, tucked in early for school the next morning.

He stood, brushing off the front of his suit, and headed to the door.

When he opened it, his smile froze.

"Ah, 210-san, wel—"

The words caught in his throat.

She was radiant.

She stood in the doorway, her posture perfect, her presence commanding. Her blonde hair, normally tied in a functional ponytail, had been styled with precision into something formal, elegant. She wore a white and black kimono, the fabric shimmering faintly under the soft light of the hallway. The insignia of YoRHa was etched subtly into the design, a reminder of what she was, but it didn't detract from the overall effect.

If anything, it added to it.

She looked like a vision.

Takeo bowed quickly, instinct taking over before his mind could catch up.

"Please, do not bow to me," 210 said, blinking at him. Her voice was calm, as always, but there was the faintest flicker of something in her tone.

He straightened awkwardly, his face already warming. "It's just… your attire…"

Her head tilted slightly, her blue eyes sharp and unreadable. "Is there something wrong with it?"

Her tone wasn't accusatory, but it was enough to make him flinch.

"No! No, nothing's wrong with it!" he said quickly, holding his hands up. "It's just—you look… you look drop-dead gorgeous."

The words tumbled out before he could stop them.

She stared at him, her expression unreadable at first, her gaze unwavering.

Then, slowly, the faintest hint of color crept across her cheeks. It started near her neck, barely perceptible, and rose to her face.

She flushed.

It was subtle, but it was there.

Takeo couldn't help but grin. For all her poise, all her precision, she wasn't quite as unreadable as she thought.

"Please, come in," he said, stepping aside to let her in. His own attire—a plain gray suit with a white shirt—suddenly felt woefully inadequate.

As she stepped past him, he found himself thinking that this dinner might be even more interesting than he had anticipated.

Takeo led 210 into the dining area, trying not to let his nerves show. The soft hum of the city filtered through the windows, faint and distant, as if the world outside knew to keep its voice low for the occasion.

The table was modestly set: two plates, two glasses, and a simple arrangement of flowers in the center. He had prepared the meal himself—nothing extravagant, just a comforting mix of rice, grilled fish, and miso soup. It wasn't much, but it was honest.

"Please, have a seat," he said, gesturing to the chair across from his.

210 moved gracefully, lowering herself into the chair with precision. Her movements were quiet, almost unnervingly so, but there was something about the way she carried herself that felt… deliberate. She smoothed the folds of her kimono as she sat, her posture perfect, her golden eyes scanning the table.

"This looks very… traditional," she said, her tone neutral.

Takeo chuckled as he took his seat. "A bit of a throwback, I know. I figured it'd be something familiar."

She nodded, her gaze lingering on the food. "You prepared this yourself?"

"Yeah. I've been trying to get back into cooking lately. It's something to keep me busy after work." He smiled sheepishly and gestured to the dishes. "It's nothing fancy, but I hope it's good enough."

210 picked up her chopsticks with careful precision, holding them in her slender fingers as if analyzing their weight. She looked at him, her expression unreadable. "Your effort is appreciated."

Takeo blinked, then laughed softly. "High praise. I'll take it."

They began to eat in silence at first. 210 moved with mechanical precision, each bite exact, her posture never faltering. Takeo, on the other hand, was more relaxed, though he couldn't help but glance at her every now and then.

"Is it… okay?" he asked after a moment, breaking the quiet.

"It is." She placed her chopsticks down for a moment, her gaze meeting his. "The fish is prepared well. The seasoning is not overpowering."

"Good, good," he said, nodding. "I was worried I might've overdone it."

She tilted her head slightly. "You lack confidence in your cooking?"

"Well," he shrugged, "it's been a while since I cooked for anyone besides myself and Akemi. I guess I'm still getting used to… this."

"This?"

"Having company," he admitted, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "For a long time, it was just me and her. Her mother, she perished early, a casualty in Shinjuku." 

21O's eyes softened. "I...I am sorry." 

Takeo shook his head. "It is fine. I have had time to get over it. Now… things are better. For both of us."

She nodded, her gaze drifting to the flowers in the center of the table. "Akemi seems… happy."

"She is," he said, his smile growing. "She's been talking about you, you know. She thinks you're some kind of superhero."

210 blinked, clearly caught off guard. "A… superhero?"

"Yeah," he said with a laugh. "She says you're 'cool' and 'strong.' And I'm pretty sure she's already decided you could take down just about anyone in a fight."

For the first time, a small smile tugged at the corners of 210's mouth. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there. She was no battle model but she could absolutely throw down hands, if required. "She is… an observant child."

"I'll take that as a yes," Takeo teased.

They continued eating, the initial awkwardness fading as the conversation flowed more naturally. Takeo told her about his day at work, his coworkers, and the small absurdities of office life. He described Akemi's latest school project—a drawing of androids and humans working together, which he swore could win an art competition.

210 listened intently, occasionally asking questions or offering brief comments. She wasn't one for small talk, but when she did speak, her words carried weight.

As they finished the meal, Takeo leaned back in his chair, letting out a satisfied sigh. "Well, I think that went pretty well. What do you think?"

210 placed her chopsticks down, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "It was… enjoyable."

"Just 'enjoyable?'" he teased.

She met his gaze, her expression calm but with a faint flicker of something more. "It was… very enjoyable."

Takeo grinned. "I'll take it."

He stood, starting to gather the dishes, but 210 reached out, stopping him with a light touch on his arm.

"Allow me to assist."

"You don't have to," he said, surprised.

"I want to," she replied simply.

He hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. Thanks."

Together, they cleared the table, their movements weaving around each other in quiet harmony. It wasn't much, but it felt… right.

As the last dish was placed in the sink, Takeo turned to her, drying his hands on a towel. "Thanks for coming tonight, 210-san. I mean it. This was…" He searched for the right word. "…nice."

"It was," she agreed.

There was a pause.

"Is Akemi asleep?" 210 asked, her voice casual.

"She is," Takeo replied.

"I see," 210 said simply.

They shared a look.

Takeo swallowed as he noticed her lips part slightly.

He stepped closer.

She didn't move away.

Reaching out, his fingers brushed her cheek. She leaned into the touch, her blue eyes half-lidded.

Their lips met.

For a moment, they paused, pulling back slightly to search each other's expressions. Neither hesitated.

The kiss deepened, growing more intense.

Takeo's hands moved instinctively, gripping her hips, sliding lower. She let out a soft sound, her hand brushing against his chest before reaching lower, but then—

"Wait… wait," 210 gasped, pulling back, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath.

"Hm?" Takeo asked, concern flickering in his eyes.

"Not here," she whispered.

+++

He sat on the bed, freshly showered and naked. He was nervous, of course. He hadn't done this since his wife, being far too busy with trying to keep Akemi housed and fed rather than work. His nervousness only increased as clothes fell to the floor.

Then she stepped out.

Takeo sat up straighter on the bed, heart thudding hard in his chest, mouth dry.

She stepped into the room with steady purpose, each footfall quiet, her expression unreadable as always. But the sight of her now, framed in the soft gold of the bedroom light, made every coherent thought scatter.

Her lingerie was midnight black, matte like velvet, soft as death. A bra constructed of spider-thin mesh and reinforced satin cupped her breasts perfectly, neither lifting nor hiding but displaying. It was made for her shape. The lace traced symbols—not flowers or hearts, but angelic code, encrypted strings woven in thread for the wearer alone to understand.

Below that, the panties—if they could be called that—were little more than framing. Two narrow bands around the hips, crossing at her thighs to reveal more than they concealed. Between her legs, a tight diamond of sin.

Takeo's jaw clenched, his hands knotted in the sheets. "210…"

She didn't speak.

She stepped forward, each movement unhurried, her eyes locked on his—not seductive, not coy, just steady. Predatory. Like a targeting reticle narrowing in. Her hand reached up, unclipping the front of her bra with two fingers. The cups peeled away like flower petals under heat, baring her chest—perfect symmetry, nipples already stiffened slightly, caught between cold air and anticipation.

He swallowed again. His cock throbbed against his thigh, twitching upward, already painfully hard. She glanced at it, just briefly. She did not smile in coy victory. She already knew when she won.

Her hands fell to her hips. She stepped out of the panties in one slow glide, and for a moment she stood there—nude but for the stockings and garters, every inch of her flawless, seamless, terrifyingly real. The faintest glisten between her thighs told him she was already wet.

"Lie back," she said.

He did.

She climbed onto the bed, one knee at a time, crawling over him. Her fingertips brushed along his stomach as she straddled him—not seating herself yet, but hovering, thighs parted, her slick folds inches above his shaft.

"Touch me," she said.

Takeo's hands trembled as they reached for her. He cupped her breasts first, thumbing her nipples, rolling them gently. She hissed, a sharp breath through gritted teeth. Not pain—just too much sensation, too fast. He adjusted, palms softer, lips following, mouth closing around one nipple while his other hand slid down to her ass, gripping it, pulling her against him.

She ground down lightly, her pussy sliding along his length, slickening it with every pass. She was so warm. Too warm. Not human warm—android warmth, precisely regulated, slightly higher than average to simulate arousal. It felt designed to melt him.

"Enough," she whispered. "I want it inside."

"Fuck," he breathed. "You're sure—"

"I wouldn't be here otherwise."

He aligned himself, hands on her hips, and as he pressed into her, she gasped—short and ragged.

She hissed as she took him all at once, in one slow, firm drop, and her back arched. Her nails dug into his chest—not deep, but enough to anchor. Her pussy clenched around him, impossibly tight, the texture inside not smooth, but ridged, almost ribbed, like delicate folds sculpted for stimulation. She was built to feel—and to be felt.

She rode him in silence at first, bouncing slowly, movements exact, controlled. Her hair whipped across her back. Her breath hitched, lips parted. She leaned forward, kissing him fiercely, her mouth opening against his, tongue sliding in to taste him. He grunted, hips thrusting upward involuntarily, and she moaned—a broken, digitized sound like it was being filtered through radio static.

Faster now. The rhythm shifted. The mattress creaked under them, her thighs clapping softly against his hips. He gripped her ass, squeezed it, guided her up and down, feeling the wet slap every time she came down hard.

Her hands slid behind his neck, pulling his face to her chest. Her moans grew louder.

"Unnh—mm—mmmh—!"

He sucked at her nipple again, licking, biting, and she shook. Her hips stuttered. The temperature of her skin spiked.

She was close.

Takeo could feel it in the way her walls tightened, the tremble in her thighs, the twitch of her abdomen. He reached down between them, rubbed her clit with two fingers, firm and fast.

That broke her.

She cried out, a sharp cry, "Ahnn...aaAAHH!" and she convulsed around him, her entire body locking tight, grinding hard against the base of his cock as the orgasm rolled through her like a wave of static. Her pussy milked him, spasming, pulling his climax right out of him.

He groaned, teeth bared, and came inside her in heavy, desperate pulses, thick jets flooding her synthetic core, his eyes rolling back as the release overtook him.

They clung to each other, breathless in the glow of their aftermath, sweat mingling, hearts out of sync but harmonizing.

Takeo's hands slid up her back, strong and sure, drawing her tighter against him as they kissed. Her mouth opened under his, soft lips parting, and their tongues met—wet, slow, deliberate. He kissed her deep, tasting her, pulling her breath into his lungs. She moaned faintly into his mouth, shifting against him as if her body was trying to get closer, even though they were already locked together.

He broke the kiss only to speak, his voice rough and low against her ear. "Lie back."

She blinked at him, pupils still wide, lips damp from their kiss. But she obeyed. Without a word, she eased off him, rolling to her back across the sheets, legs slightly parted, her body shining faintly under the bedroom lights.

He moved over her, settling between her thighs. His cock, slick from her, pulsed as he pressed the tip to her again. She reached for him, but he caught her wrists and pinned them lightly above her head, locking eyes with her.

Then he kissed her again—harder this time, his tongue pushing into her mouth, exploring her like he wanted to own every sound she made. She kissed him back with the same urgency, mouths messy, lips dragging, tongues tangling. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in.

He pushed into her with one slow thrust, bottoming out. She gasped against his lips, arching slightly under him. Her pussy gripped him tight, warm and slick, and her thighs clenched around his hips.

He started moving—deep strokes, steady, each thrust driving his cock all the way in. Her breath hitched with every one. Her hands twisted under his grip, not to escape, but to feel more.

He kissed her through it—never stopping. Tongue sliding over hers, lips pressing hard, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth. Every moan she made disappeared into his mouth.

His grip on her wrists loosened, and his hands began to drift—down her arms, over her shoulders, across her sides, finally settling at her ass. He squeezed, spreading her cheeks in his hands as he thrust harder, deeper. His fingers dug in, feeling the way her muscles flexed around him with every push.

Her legs tightened, pulling him deeper still. "Takeo—" she gasped into his mouth. "Keep going—don't stop—"

He didn't.

He kissed her again, greedy and hot, thrusting faster now, fucking her into the mattress with each deep, slick stroke. His hands stayed on her ass, spreading her wider, guiding her hips to meet every drive of his cock.

Their bodies slapped together, wet and loud.

And through it all, their mouths stayed locked—lips raw, tongues tangled, breath shared, like they were trying to consume each other with nothing but heat and hunger.

Their mouths broke for only a moment—panting, hot, lips red and swollen from everything they'd poured into each kiss—then crashed together again with even more hunger, like oxygen wasn't nearly as important as taste. 210 moaned into him, hips grinding up to meet his every thrust, her thighs trembling where they wrapped around his waist, each movement desperate and deliberate.

Takeo's rhythm shifted, deeper now, slower but harder, each stroke punching a breath from her lungs and drawing a grunt from his throat. His hands stayed firm on her ass, spreading her wider, using her body to pull himself in harder. His cock drove into her again and again, the wet slap of their bodies filling the room, mixing with the sharp hiss of her breathing and the occasional broken gasp—

"Takeo-!"

Her voice cracked on his name, and it lit something in him, made him thrust harder, made him kiss her deeper. His tongue pushed into her mouth again, claiming it, sucking on her lips before biting softly, pulling another moan from her. He wanted her breath, her voice, her everything.

One hand slid from her ass and grabbed her thigh, lifting it, pressing her leg back against the bed to open her up even more. He sank into her, grinding deep, feeling her walls clench tight around him. Her hands roamed his back now, nails dragging across sweat-slick skin, legs shaking with the force of each stroke.

"210—you feel so good," he breathed against her lips.

She nodded, couldn't speak, eyes glassy, mouth hanging open as he fucked her slow and relentless, every inch of her body alive with the pressure. Her hands found his face, pulling him down, and their mouths locked again—sloppy now, wet, tongues moving fast, saliva shared freely. Her moans vibrated against his tongue.

She broke the kiss only to gasp again, body arching under him as she squeezed around his cock. "I'm— I'm close—!"

He grunted, kissed her again harder. "Come for me."

His hand slipped back under her, gripping her ass again, lifting her slightly so he could angle deeper. The next thrust made her scream, the one after made her shudder, and then she broke—hips jerking, pussy clenching down on him in fast spasms, her thighs twitching, breath stuttering into his mouth.

Takeo didn't stop—he kept thrusting through it, her orgasm milking him, her heat wrapped around him so tight it bordered on unbearable. His rhythm faltered as her nails bit into his shoulders and she kept gasping into his mouth, barely able to keep kissing him through it.

He pulled back, stared down at her—flushed, legs wide open, chest rising and falling, mouth parted, eyes barely able to stay open. He grabbed both her thighs now, spread her wide, and started pounding into her with hard, fast thrusts.

Wet. Loud. Endless.

She whimpered, couldn't even form words, hands clutching the sheets now.

His breathing turned ragged, groans spilling from his mouth every time he buried himself in her. She felt too good—tight, slick, hot—her walls dragging on his cock like they were pulling every drop out of him.

"21O...I'm going to...!"

"Inside," she gasped. "Inside me."

That was all it took.

He slammed into her one last time and held himself there, deep as he could go, and came—thick pulses, hot, his cock twitching inside her as she moaned again, softer now, almost dazed. He stayed inside her, still grinding his hips slightly, letting her feel every throb of it as he emptied himself into her.

Her arms pulled him down again. Not just to kiss this time. To hold.

And their mouths found each other once more—soft now, slow. Not hunger anymore. Just heat.

Just need.

The room was quiet now, the only sound the soft hum of the air system pushing warm, recycled air across their bodies. Their skin still glistened, slick from sweat and effort, but neither moved to separate. Takeo stayed on top of her a moment longer, breathing against her shoulder, his cock still nestled inside her, twitching gently as the last waves of release faded from his body.

210's arms were wrapped around his back, loose now, no longer clinging. Her fingers trailed up and down the center of his spine, tracing him like she was mapping his structure by touch alone. Her legs slowly untangled from his waist, slipping down to rest beside his, brushing along his calves.

He lifted himself with a soft grunt and pulled out, careful, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. There was none. Her expression was soft now, relaxed, cheeks still faintly pink.

He rolled onto his side, reaching to draw the blanket over them, then extended one arm. She turned toward him, without a word, and laid her head against his chest.

Her body folded into his, smooth and compact, one arm draped across his waist, the other resting over his heart. He wrapped his arm around her back, hand sliding into her hair. He stroked it slowly, letting his fingers sift through the silken strands, pressing a kiss into her forehead.

She didn't speak.

Neither did he.

There was nothing urgent left to say.

Her breathing slowed, warm and steady against his skin. Her body, still faintly flushed, settled against his with weight and trust.

Takeo exhaled deeply, arm tightening around her.

210 shifted slightly, her hand moving up to rest against the side of his neck. She didn't look up. She didn't have to.

"You know..." Takeo whispered. "Akemi needs a mom." 

Mom.

Mother.

"I volunteer," 21O whispered back.

​Takeo planted a kiss on her forehead. "Sold."

She smiled.

+++

A/N: Nice.

Back to the earth after this