Notes: Uh. Meggy-chan wanted me to do her a Gackt/her drabble, and I intended on this being a drabble, too. But, it isn't a drabble. It's... well, it's an entire page, 461 words. XD Written in about ten minutes, whilst Tali's Hakutsu was giving me problems. *Pokes it* So, yeah. I hope Meggy likies it, at least. Heh. And I suppose that now I must write a Meggy/Mica to keep dear Mimichan from killing me for writing this. *LOL* *hides*
Gackt’s fingers danced lightly over her thighs, and she gazed breathlessly at him, noticing the look in his eyes, and realizing that it was very similar to the look that those eyes held while he played the piano. She wondered if only objects of his passion were given such intense concentration, but then, her thoughts took a turn for the worse.
Gackt played the piano with passion, but she often wondered if that passion was one that arose from pure hatred. Did his passion for her arise from that same hatred?
She was just about to voice her thoughts when his fingers slid into her, and he began thrusting them, slow at first, and the faster, mimicking the action that was about to come. Although he was doing a damn good job of distracting her, that one worry still nagged at the back of her mind.
“Gackt,” she whispered, her voice pleading as she grabbed his arm, her nails digging lightly into his skin. “No more teasing, please. I want you, now.”
He smiled, and then, those slender, talented fingers withdrew from her warmth, and he settled himself over her, the head of his length brushing against her entrance. He leaned down, pressing his lips gently to hers, and breathed her name against them. She whimpered softly, one hand reaching up, her fingers threading through his hair.
Why was she worried about such a stupid thing at a time like this? She knew better; she knew that Gackt cared for her. He had never said the words to her, but she could feel it – deep down, she knew it. He couldn’t possibly make love to her if he hated her.
“Please,” she said again, and he thrust his hips forward, hard, burying himself fully inside of her tight heat with that one thrust. She cried out at the feel of him, of his thickness. Her walls clenched around him, just a little, and she felt him throb within her in reply.
She kept her eyes tightly shut as he began to move his hips, slowly at first, but then faster, building a rhythm that she met, thrust for thrust, the pleasure steadily building within her. It was always too good with him, had always been too good, too perfect, because Gackt himself was simply too perfect.
His lips were against her ear, suddenly, and he whispered, “I love you.”
Stupid girl. What the hell was I worried about?
When she came, she was crying – happy tears, not sad – and his name flew from her lips freely, again and again and again. She said something else, too, and although she believed the words had come out somewhat garbled, she was certain that he understood her when she said: “I love you, too.”