Loves Me Not

[Notes and Disclaimers]

He loves me.

Hands sought his wrists, gripping them loosely and pressing them above his head.

He loves me not.

Fabric slid around the slender joints, tight enough to bind without hurting, but not loose enough to give him leeway in which to move.

He loves me.

Warm fingers traced the upper edge of the blindfold covering his eyes, whispers of contact that made his breathing accelerate. An equally warm pair of lips was pressed to the corner of his mouth, but removed before he could turn to them.

He loves me not.

Another hand slid down his side, curving over the cage of his ribs before angling across his belly, the tip of a finger pressing against his navel. Another kiss found the line of his jaw, replaced swiftly by the scrape of teeth as the hand at his waist moved instead to press his knees apart.

He loves me.

The warm weight of a body sank between his spread thighs, the display of arousal nudging against his own. Of their own volition, his hips lifted, bringing their swollen erections into closer contact.

He loves me not.

A soft murmur was blurred into unintelligibility against his cheek, and then the weight left him. He heard the unmistakable sound of a foil wrapper being torn, and his mind supplied the images to accompany the rest of the sounds, the rustle as sliver-thin rubber was unrolled, as fingers lingered briefly to stroke hot flesh.

He loves me.

A hand was on his knee again, pressing it out and up, and he complied with its demands without hesitation. No time passed before he was impaled, and despite himself, a moan rose in his throat only to be mercilessly strangled as the initial pain of penetration passed.

He loves me not.

He was fucked without finesse, the relentless thrust and withdrawal exactly as he wanted it as he strained against the scarf binding his wrists. He could feel he sweat beading on his upper lip as his body struggled toward release, urged on by the grunts of effort from over him.

He loves me.

Orgasm blindsided him, searing through him like brushfire as he jerked hard enough at his restraints to make the fabric creak. As he came down, he was dimly aware of the spasming of the flesh within him, the issue contained by the thin shield of rubber. A moment of stillness passed, and then the heat within him was withdrawn.

He loves me not.

His wrists were freed with a sharp jerk, and leave was taken with the customary statement: "I need a cigarette." He waited until the sound of the door being shut reached his ears, then moved slowly to release the knot of his blindfold, pulling it from his eyes. Alone in the dark, Ken Washio twisted the material in his hands and thought of flying.

- fin -

Notes and Disclaimers

Kagaku Ninjatai Gatchaman is © Tatsunoko Productions.

Loves Me Not is a 15-minute-fic that hit me in the midst of writer's block, posted here unedited. It touches upon my perception of the slash version of the Joe/Ken dynamic, which is less about romance and more about release - love doesn't feature into it, and neither wants it. Will it ever be expanded upon? Probably not, but I never know.