She made the ghost of a yelp, a hoarse little cry that was more air than sound. Something measured, responding kindly to the predicate quiet of the large room, and then furious in the limbs that encircled her and dragged her back. Rei did not struggle, so much as she pushed again the discomfort of it. It was that kind of thing that made it hard to believe she wanted him gone. She was just a lost and selfish woman.<br/><br/>Rei coughed, breath muffled in the old mattress and the stale taste of rising dust on her lips and nostrils. “Kitato,” she did say it, but he might not have heard. Rei was not being loud. But then, as if it were only fair to play toward the dramatics of the warm afternoon lighting, the large and swallowing space, and their own microcosmic storm of hormones and emotion, he offered himself as the captor and brought her low by the dirtied cloth he shoved between her teeth. She fed her little gasps to the slick-stained fabric.<br/><br/>He asked her awful questions as he pushed inside of her, driving her rebellious body to pleasure him with flushed skin and a desperation to the way her back arched and her knees dug into the mattress. She was not able to answer him, gagged on her own scarlet letter, and she would have sounded like a liar if she had. Naho was worth it in the way that family must always be worth it, in the way practicality had ruled her decisions, and the way it was unreasonably difficult to part with well-used things. She was not saintly for giving him worth like that, but she wasn’t feeling sorry for him either. Rei was feeling sorry for herself, and the youthful passion she hadn’t known she’d missed, and the requisite guilt that came with finding it now. Rei didn’t know if Kitato would have liked to hear those answers, even if he’d been willing to believe them.<br/><br/>At some point, her elbows buckled and she fell forward, her blouse fighting merrily with the rough mattress fabric. She struggled for a moment, and managed to spit the cloth from her mouth, giving him her frantic panting like it was a gift. “What?” she breathed hard. It was an appalling demand. How could she possibly curse her dutiful Nahoya in that way? How could she wail that name when it was Kitato consuming her? She did not know for whom she’d feel worse, which was a small tragedy in its own right. Naho was too good a man to deserve his name turning into a universal insult. “Mister Aikida,” she mumbled, when she could not think of another way to give him what he asked without breaking her heart.<br/><br/>Even as she said it, she knew it would be insufficient. An insult in its own way. It frightened her, because Kitato held onto her with such beastly intentions. It felt dangerous. In a wholly disrespectful response to that understanding, she felt herself clench hard around his length and shuddered as he drove her toward that shameful precipice. “N-naho,” she blurted, like answered his demand in the way he’d intended would save her from her own trembling or the lewd sounds their friction offered the humid air. It slid from her lips in a thick and honied moan, capturing the aching pleasure building between her hips. “Is that… what you wanted…?” she panted, and bucked against him in that telltale way. “Mister Aikida?” she sounded miserable and enthralled. Had she really heard him? Surely this could not be the last time. Rei felt, with a surging panic, that it mustn’t be. Adrenaline spiking through her veins, she felt her body commit to its most ravenous crimes. “Oh… Fuck. Kit…” she sobbed as he thrust her over the edge, writhing beneath him and taking as much of him as she could maneuver with her eagerly rocking hips.