ConfusedMultiStan

He'd send you a photo every day, at variable times, of something he'd come across, whether a cute cat, or a new drink in the vending machine, a bandaged foot (not his own), a document that he'd underlined neatly in sparkly purple gel pen to annoy another vice-captain, or a cloud in the shape of a honju (debateable).

Of course, you sent him photos back.

You had a potted plant that looked like an angry moustached man at just the right angle.

He loved that one.

He now asked for updates on "Cadet Mario."

In all honesty, you'd never thought that your connection with Hoshina would progress beyond this. He'd spoken to you, that time on the roof, about the warnings he'd given his own squad on forming such bonds.

You supposed that your job meant that you were less at risk, not being in the direct line of fire, but Hoshina was the kind to think about the impact on others if something were to happen to him.

So you did wonder about the fact that he had let this continue to the extent that it had, that he'd opened up these lines of communication, that he'd let you feel something from his end that couldn't be dismissed as mere friendship.

It was as if he'd left a trail of breadcrumbs for you to follow through winding woods, as was his custom, allowing you to be the one to find a circuitous, but complete, route to the answer.

Speaking of breadcrumbs ...

Your phone buzzed with a new message from him.

Towelling off your hair, you opened it to find a photo of a scene that looked highly familiar. It was the section of roof where you'd taken tea with him before.

Beneath the photo, a single question mark.

He was asking you to join him.

On some level, you hated that you instinctually understood each of these markers he laid down for you, a gleaming series of neon arrows that nobody else seemed privy to.

Of course, you followed.

On the roof, it was always chilly. You found him in the same spot as before, looking quite comfortable in his nook.

He had a blanket draped over his shoulders, the teapot and cups laid out before him, along with a flask of what you presumed to be boiling water.

The flask was sealed. He'd waited for you.

As you approached, he sat up, grinning.

"So, you showed up."

As if he hadn't known that you would.

You seated yourself opposite, gesturing with your chin at the teapot.

"What have you got there?"

"Nothing special this time. But it's good."

He let the tea steep before he poured you a cup. You warmed your fingers against it, taking a sip.

"It's - "

"I know," he interrupted. "Can tell from the way your eyes light up. That's when you really like something."

A tightness seemed to be growing in your throat.

"You notice things like that?"

"I notice everything. Not a single thing escapes me."

"Do you think that's a good thing?"

He didn't answer, but took a drink himself.

He set the cup down.

"What do you do, 'bout a thing you notice that can't be changed?"

You smiled.

"You of all people don't know the answer?"

He was looking at you now, a rare moment of completely serious regard.

"Gotta confess, I'm kinda stumped."

"You adapt."

He laughed, and though he'd done it dozens of times in your presence, you decided that you'd never get tired of hearing it.

"Adapt, huh? Shoulda known. I'm a stubborn bastard. That sort of thing doesn't come easily to me. If it did, I'd have chosen a different weapon ages ago."

The wind gusted between you, catching the ends of his hair.

He held out a hand to you, and for all of his teasing, for all of his charm, for all of the sharp edges that slid beneath the skin, there was something almost vulnerable about the motion, as if he was not quite sure if you'd accept.

This uncertainty was precisely why you didn't hesitate.

You made your way over, crouching to sit beside him. He draped the blanket over your shoulders, one arm tucking securely around your waist as he drew you close.

He didn't speak for a moment, as if processing the sensation of you against him.

Then his breath stirred the hairs curling around your ear, warmer than even the woollen covering around you.

"This is nice."

"It is."

"Better than sparring?"

"If I answer that honestly, will you - "

You cut off at the sensation of his lips against your cheek, softer than your wildest imaginings.

He spoke against your skin.

"Continue."

" ... um, will you be less - "

Another kiss, lower.

"Mhmm."

"... less hard on me than last ti -"

This one was right at the corner of your mouth, hot and wet. 

"Can't make no promises."

There was no denying the huskiness that had crept into his voice, the way his fingers tightened on your waist. His breath washed over your lips as you turned your head to face him.

When his mouth slotted over yours, you suddenly realised why he'd chosen this particular tea.

It was the same one you'd gifted him the first time he'd come over to the control room, brewed in the small kitchenette.

You could taste it as he pried you open, in the tracing of his tongue against your own and the prick of his teeth against your lower lip, silk and steel, hungry and gentle.

Hoshina kissed like a gentleman on the verge of surrendering to rougher urges. Considerate, sweet, courteous even, but you didn't miss the way his breathing quickened, the way his fingers flexed against your hip, the way he delved deeper as if he needed more, more, more of you.

When you parted, your eyes fluttered open, taking in the sight of him watching you.

"Is that good?"

"Very."

This time, you took the initiative, tilting your head, reveling in the hush that seemed to fall when you lost yourself in him.

A series of kisses, the soft touch of your mouth to his, delicate as the opening of one flower to another, before he deepened it again.

This was how you reached for the parts of him that he didn't readily show, a message spelled in the cocoon of intimacy built around the both of you on this rooftop.

You spoke wordless promises to him, as you cradled the side of his face, fingers running up into his hair. It was just as soft as you'd imagined, and you felt a surge of tenderness rise in you at the thought that he was so strong in every other sense, but never infallible. 

He paused to breathe against the side of your neck, brow tense and furrowed with the focus he held on what you made him feel.

His hand settled on the small of your back, asking a question.

"Stay with me a bit longer?"

"Of course."

When your head sank into the space between his shoulder and cheek, you realised that nothing had ever felt this natural.

Neither of you set much store by labels.

Your days continued much the same as always, apart from the dreaded blare of sirens that accompanied a kaiju sighting.

There was, however, a small, delicious warmth you held inside yourself all day, like the heat imparted from a teacup into chilled palms.

Even if you didn't get to see him, he never failed to check in, with either a message or a call, if time allowed for it.

You supposed that most would barely call this a relationship of any kind, but you knew that your bond with him went a little beyond that.

Oh, there were copious amounts of teasing and verbal sparring, all Hoshina's specialties, but there was also a studied consideration, a mindfulness of everything that you were, the prelude to the kind of devotion that you couldn't afford to dwell on too deeply.

You were already in danger, and you knew it.

On this particular evening, considering the fact that there'd been no emergencies, Hoshina was going to drop by your apartment later.

As you were part of the shift work monitoring and research crew, it wasn't necessary for your lodgings to be on site.

Not that you'd gone far. Your apartment was a stone's throw from the base itself, within walking distance.

The weather was growing cooler, and you opened the door to Soshiro in a warm jacket and jeans, a purple scarf wrapped snugly up to his ears.

His cheeks were slightly flushed from the brisk walk he must have taken here, and his snaggle tooth peeked out from within his growing smile.

You waited, with what little patience you possessed, for him to step inside, helping him with the bags he carried, before turning and wrapping your arms around him tightly.

A soft huff of amusement blew through your hair.

"Couldn't wait to see me?"

You shook your head.

If you told him the truth, that he looked positively adorable, and wholly unlike the trained kaiju-killer you knew him to be, you'd probably be subjected to another brutal 'sparring session' as a 'gentle reminder.'

Releasing him reluctantly, you sniffed at the air.

"You brought ... spicy cod stew, braised ribs and grilled mushrooms and ... is that red bean mochi?"

He whistled, fingers forming an 'L' beneath his chin.

"Right, right, right and ... right again. What are you scientists made of?"

"Greed. Pure greed."

"I shoulda known. You're so greedy for my kisses too."

That was your cue.

You ignored it and headed for the bags of food, starting to unpack.

It took a whole thirty seconds.

"I said that you're so greedy for my kisses too."

"You did?"

Two wiry, powerful arms swept you away from the food that had dared to steal your attention.

Laughing breathlessly, you were subjected to a merciless series of pinches and pokes to the lower back before he relented.

"Let this be a lesson, Cadet Smartass."

"Consider it taught, Vice Captain Handsome."

"That ain't gonna fly. Make it up to me. Now."

God, you loved it when he got bossy like this.

You started with light pecks to his nose, still cold from the brisk air outside. Placing your hands on his cheeks, you felt the slow release of tension with each exhale, the set of those lean shoulders gradually growing less rigid beneath the soothing movement of your palms.

Although he didn't look like it, Soshiro carried the weight of his reponsibilities in ways that only those closest to him would know.

He uttered a low murmur of satisfaction, the echoes of which vibrated through his chest.

Nose brushing against yours, he held your gaze, one of those moments when the passage of time seemed to cease around the carefully constructed, fragile haven you both existed in.

Only then did he tilt his head, maintaining eye contact to the very last second.

By now, no other part of him touched you, even though you were this close. It was as if he wanted to centre all of the sensation on this first of many kisses for the evening, right here, where you were connected.

The faint line of separation between your bodies didn't last long.

He was slow, thorough, tasting you as if savouring some hard-won delicacy.

By the time you both came up for air, your chest was rising and falling in uneven rhythm against his, hands tangled in his hair, just the way he liked.

He offered that pleased half-smile, the one that twisted a tight knot in your chest.

"Now that's more like it."

"To your satisfaction, sir?"

"Hmm."

"No?"

He tapped his cheek with a finger.

"Maybe one more. For now."

Smiling, you complied.

You eat at the kotatsu, knees pressed together as he insists on serving up, as he always does.

"Spent the whole afternoon answering emails."

"Let me guess, you hit up the training room right after because you were restless?"

He shifted around on his cushion.

"Maybe."

"I'm waiting for the day when someone's ballsy enough to complain about the amount of time you spend in there."

He raised a cheerful finger of admonishment.

"Nobody's that stupid."

"And how would you handle such a complaint, Vice Captain?"

"I'd - "

"Professionally, I mean. Without violence."

"You're such a moodkiller. Hmm. I'd invite them to use the room with me. Maybe spar a little, to help them along!"

"This is your non-violent solution?"

"Sparring is like friendship."

You choked on your noodles.

"Come again?"

"Many ups and downs, and sometimes, you just need to beat the problems out of the way with your fists."

"I think you're the only person who can say this with a straight face."

You paused, expression growing sly.

"What about our sparring sessions? Is that a form of friendship too?"

You yelped as you received a pinch beneath the table.

"Nah, that's different."

"Different how?"

"You sure you wanna have this conversation while we're eating?"

"Go on."

"Well." He cleared his throat. "I've never been bombarded with dad jokes while sparring before, so that's a first."

"My sparkling sense of humour, is it?"

Soshiro sipped his water before shooting you a look that told you just how close you were skirting to danger.

"I also like it when you're all flushed and sweaty."

"Wait - "

"And begging me to stop with tears in your eyes."

"Soshiro - "

"I like when your voice gets all breathy-like, and your hair falls into your face."

"Ah, okay. You talk big game for such a sweet, considerate - "

He was crawling towards you now, and you backed away, helpless with laughter.

"I'm sweet and considerate? Oh, darlin', let me show you how - "

"The food - "

"Can wait."

When Soshiro wants you, he makes it known in a dozen different ways.

His very presence in your space adds a charge to the air, like the distant rumble before a thunderstorm comes sweeping in.

You can sense it in the lowered pitch of his voice, in the way his touch lingers, soft and inviting, drawing subtle patterns across your skin.

In spite of all of his teasing, intimacy was not something that came easily to him. With all the time he'd spent guarding his heart against further disappointment, against hope, against the pain of losing others, he'd constructed a formidable wall around the sentimental parts of himself.

The forging of your bond with him leaned heavily on how you respected those boundaries, never pushing too hard, allowing him space and the ability to come to you when he needed.

He showed his appreciation for this clearly, in ways that tugged at some deep-seated instinct to treasure him, spoil him, give him all of yourself when you were together.

On one such evening, he'd been lounging on his back not far from where you sat, cushions piled beneath him, one ankle propped high.

Both of you were occupied with your own reading, Soshiro balancing a slim volume on his raised knee.

There was a faint smile playing at his lips as he read, one that invoked a sense of curiosity.

Catching your look, he raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah?"

"What are you reading?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Oh, come on - "

His glance flicked from the book to you, and back.

"Why don't you come over here and see?"

Your eyes narrowed.

"What are you up to?"

He lowered the page he was on, tantalizingly out of reach, offering you a brief glimpse.

"My sweetheart doesn't trust me? That kinda hurts."

"Now you're just playing dirty."

Amusement rising, you shuffled across to him, attempting to ignore the self-satisfied expression he now wore.

"All right, now show me."

"A translation of Piedra de Sol" he drawled in your ear, as you settled beside him, "I picked it up in a second hand book store last week."

He shifted against you, nose brushing yours as he turned his head, the book passing over into your own hands.

"Here. Read for me."

A little confused as to the sudden switch to compliance, you leaned back, starting to read where his pointing finger guided you.

"I travel my way through galleries of sound, I flow among echoing presences ... "

You trailed off as his head fell against your shoulder.

"I've only just started and you're swooning already?"

He remained silent, and you continued, a small smile playing on your lips. Soshiro liked listening to your voice echoing in the cosy silence of the apartment at times.

" ... oh forest of pillars that are enchanted, through arches of light I travel into the corridors of a diaphonous fall ... " 

He let out a sigh, fingers trailing over your midriff.

"... I travel your body, like the world, your belly is a plaza full of sun ... "

Oh. What a honeyed trap.

Was this why he'd been smiling?

" ... your breasts two churches where blood performs its own parallel rites ... "

Your voice faltered slightly and he raised his head, nuzzling the side of your neck.

"Ain't it too early for you to be gettin' all flustered?"

"You chose this one on purpose, didn't you?"

The roughened tips of his fingers tilt your head toward him, and the touch of his lips is brief on yours, no more than a taste.

"Maybe. What's wrong with lettin' you know all ... the places ... I want ... to explore?"

Each of these phrases is puntuated by another small peck. Soshiro's voice has deepened to a low rumble, the kind that serves as a prelude to when he's truly taken by you.

Your head moves forward, chasing another kiss, but he stops you with a finger to the lips.

If you could enshrine this moment in the shimmering haze of memory, it would be no less vivid.

In the dim light, there is a crushing intimacy to the way he looks at you. His natural mischief is amplified to something many-layered, fraught with endless possibility.

You want to place kisses at the corners of his eyes, worship the tracery of veins on those strong, sinewy arms, brush his hair back until his forehead is bared to your adoration.

You know, however, that this time you're surrendering control to him.

Biting your lip, you ask a wordless question with the slight lowering of your eyelids.

Soshiro's smile widens.

"Keep reading."

Now, he descends, and you feel the splay of his hands over your sides, running up beneath the thin material of your sleep shirt.

You utter a short gasp as his head slips beneath, face burying itself between your breasts.

He stills for a minute, and you know what's expected of you.

Raising the book, you resume, voice tight and breathless with anticipation.

" ... my glances cover you like ivy, you are a city the sea assaults ..."

He rucks the shirt upward, the hypnotic depth of his gaze making it hellishly difficult to focus as his mouth comes down around your nipple, surrounding it in intoxicating wet heat.

You inhale sharply, clutching at the cover, unable to help the hitch in your voice as he works sinfully over sensitive flesh.

Releasing you, he exhales hot against your dampened skin.

"Wanna hear more, sweet thing. Come on."

"... a stretch of ramparts ... split by light in two ... halves ... the colour of peaches ... ah!"

A short, sharp cry, uncontrollable, as his canines press into and tug on your other breast, tongue laving with heady abandon over the swell of it.

"... a ... d - domain of ... salt, rocks and birds ... mmm ... under ... the ... rule ...."

Punctuated by soft gasps, your hand flies down from its convulsive hold on the volume, threading through his hair as he growls low with approval.

Your hips are bucking upward of their own accord, as if connected by some puppeteer's invisible string to each lick, each sink of his teeth followed by soft suckling.

"... dressed ... ah ... in the colour ... o - of my desires ... "

The book almost falls from your grasp as he suddenly shifts lower, those large hands cupping your breasts and giving a squeeze as he plants heated kisses down, down, down to your navel.

"Soshi - "

"C'mon, lemme hear you."

"Please, I - "

Your legs fall open as his shoulders push your thighs apart. He pauses, stopping agonizingly short of the softness of your inner thigh.

Breath fans out, hot and shockingly intimate, between your legs, the thin material of your underwear the only barrier between you and him.

When he speaks, you feel the heavy, purposeful intent of each word, almost as if his fingers are already breaching you.

"Wanna stop there, sweetheart? I can smell how much she wants a taste."

You body jerks in response, held down by the immovable circle of his arms around your upper thighs. The corded strain of his biceps press into you.

Arching your back, you plunge headlong into your final refrain.

"I travel your eyes, like the sea ... tigers drink their dreams in those ... "

You cut off, breathing heavily as he tugs down your underwear, leaving you bare under his scrutiny.

He looks positively ravenous now, a slow unspooling of the threads of control, easing the reigns from his hands.

This is your Soshiro, stubborn, proud, lit from within with some unholy hunger for life, for you.

Your voice brings his eyes up to yours, each now hypnotized by the other in equal parts.

"The hummingbird burns in those flames ... "

His gaze never wavers from yours, dark and delightful as he lowers his head, one languid swipe of his tongue parting your folds like petals.

The book really does slip from your grasp now, landing on your stomach with a sharp slap.

Soshiro, spreads you with two fingers, placing his mouth over your clitoris. He exerts a soft suction, agonisingly gentle, not nearly enough.

Ragged, soft moans escaping you, the book is retrieved with shaking fingers.

"I - I travel ... "

The moment you start up again, he pushes his nose forward, inhaling deeply as he laps at you with firm, eager strokes.

Your lower body is held completely open, at his mercy by the strength he now exerts over you.

" ... travel ... your forehead ... like ... ah! ... like the .... moon ... "

Your resilience, even in the face of his relentless onslaught on your most sensitive parts, spurs him on even more.

He groans against you, tongue pushing further, slow, deep thrusts that spear you.

Soshiro is too lost in the feel of you to keep up the torturous, pleasurable game, one hand flicking up to jerk the book from your grasp.

He wants to see you right now, as you come apart under him, no shield of hushed words to obscure his vision.

One of your hands finds its way into his hair, and you bite down on the length of your finger, watching as the muscles of his shoulders ripple, as sweat beads his brow, as the glistening of your own arousal smears over the sides of his mouth.

Here, all the faint remains of his proper self, the public-facing, professional soldier that he is, can be stripped away, the raw heat of him bared to you.

He loves sweet desserts, snowy evenings in, the rustle of pages beneath the turn of his thumb and the muted hum of his blades in his hands.

He also loves to pleasure you, and receive pleasure in return, to lose himself in ways that only a battle can otherwise allow him to, to shrug off the weight of expectation that has dogged his steps for an eternity and simply be whoever he desires to be.

The immensity of this realisation is what drives you to greater lengths to be here when he needs you, to give so freely of yourself, to give everything he deserves, because he always repays it tenfold in the way he burns, just for you.

His head dips lower, and now you finally break the electric eye contact that lances through you like a golden arrow, mouth falling open as he presses the flat of his tongue against your clitoris and pushes, probing, circling.

Your orgasm wrenches out of you, as if you're some primeval crack in the earth, molten and white hot, body quivering in helpless ecstasy as he holds you tightly in place, even now.

It's complete surrender, loud cries of wordless wonder in the rainforest of humid splendour that he brings you to each time, sacrificed and taken apart in the loving, ferocious jaws of a greater, sinuous beast.

You're distantly aware of the rise and fall of your chest, ragged breathing that you recognise as your own, the slick press of his lips against your thighs, soothing you, grounding you.

Lean and lithe, he crawls over you, one thumb sliding down across your cheek. He kisses you, exultant in the return of your essence; a benediction.

If you could find the ability to speak, you'd praise him.

For now, you're content with the way his mouth curves against yours, delicate and knowing.

You're off the hook for now, swimming the deep, thrumming currents of the hazy aftershock, but he's not done with you yet.

Soshiro fucks like he fights, warm, fierce, probing each weak point until you claw at him, taking you apart from the inside.

The futon edges along the floor as he takes you with abandon, with none of the finesse he started with.

You are his opponent, his lover, the dance between your bodies playing out in this shadowed room as raw and primal as any battle he's fought.

You're not even aware of the noises that are escaping your throat, flying up to the empty expanse of the ceiling as he changes his pace, alternating slow, deep thrusts with the rapid, shallow beat of his body against yours.

There is nothing calculated here. Soshiro operates on pure, animalistic instinct, blended with the art of his own supreme physicality.

He knows your body so well, the way to bring you to the brink and then tug you back into a deep well of formless pleasure.

He never takes his eyes from you, as he must record, on some inner spool of memory, the way you look beneath him, tears tracking down into your hair, mouth open, breathless pleas and sharp, agonised cries, the swaying lift of your breasts with each eager push of his hips.

His feet press down into the floor, anchoring you both as he hoists your legs higher around his waist.

You can feel him so deep now, your eyes snapping open, a soft, panicked noise fluttering out of you as he grinds in a slow circle, dragging against your over-sensitized clitoris.

Your second orgasm of the night floods through you in an endless series of waves, each driving the breath from your lungs as your fingers dig into his shoulders, as if the solid heat of him would keep you staked here, at the edge of sanity.

The way he looks now, tensing, tendons standing out in his neck as he comes with a near-bestial snap of his hips, hissing and groaning as, for just a moment, you feel the full, unbridled force of his strength, is nothing short of divine.

You love seeing him like this, your best kept secret.

In the golden light that filters from the neighbouring room, you run your hands over the carved planes of his body, damp with sweat made between the both of you.

He rolls to the side, drawing you close in the crook of his arm, your breath mingling as you both recover.

Soshiro loves like he fights, giving every last inch of himself, even now as he whispers to you, fingers threading through your hair, so many secrets that the world will never hear.

A/N: I just know this man eats pussy like it's his last supper. Hope you enjoyed it! I plan to possibly write more parts because I have so many ideas for Hoshina, lol.

A link to the poem, Piedra de Sol, by Octavio Paz (translated), can be found here. One of my favourites, and one I think Hoshina would appreciate.