The truth is, he’d like to fuck her in every room in the house (it’s a big house). But he can’t just say that to her. When it comes to sex, he has to plan his every move. It doesn’t matter that they’re married now. In fact, marriage means he has to be even more careful. There are so many ways she can pay him back as his wife, and he really doesn’t want to get engaged in one-upmanship when he knows that underneath all that pride, she’s just as eager to scratch that itch. She’s not the senshi of fire for nothing.

There’s an art to it, of course. Too little and she’ll just laugh. Too much and she will explode and other people will be caught up in the blast. He likes to keep that blaze all for himself. Reverse psychology requires a delicate touch; but then, if he didn’t have that, she wouldn’t even give him the time of day, let alone her hand in marriage.

He walks upstairs, to the music room. Everything is warm in this room: the walls are golden, the furniture is rust coloured, the piano is made of rosewood that looks as if there is a fire in the heart of the grain. He sits down and plays their song, the song he would always play for her, old and wistful, the keys rippling underneath his fingers.

Hey, little girl, is your daddy home?
Did he go away and leave you all alone?
I got a bad desire.
Oh, oh, oh, I’m on fire…

She’s in the doorway almost immediately, watching him, listening. He doesn’t look up or acknowledge her presence in any way.

Tell me now, baby, is he good to you?
Does he do to you the things I might do?
I can take you higher.
Oh, oh, oh, I’m on fire…

She walks into the room and sits beside him on the piano stool, letting him feel the heat from her body, from her eyes. He continues to ignore her, though it’s difficult.

Sometimes, it’s like someone took a knife, baby,
Edgy and dull,
And cut a six inch valley through the middle of my soul.

He allows himself a small glance, just to measure her reaction. Her eyes are smouldering, deep purple. She’s biting her bottom lip. Good.

At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet
And a freight train running through the middle of my head
Only you can cool my desire.

He catches her eye and repeats the line softly. “Only you… can cool my desire…”

“Cool it?” she whispers, invisible sparks flying between them. “I don’t cool things down. You, of all people, should know that.”

He smirks and allows his fingers to play around for a moment before the last line of the song comes in, plaintive and lustful at the same time: Oh, oh, oh, I’m on fire…

“If you’re on fire, there’s not much I can do about it, is there?” she says, her voice belying the look in her eyes and the way her hip is pressed up against his.

“Nope, guess not,” he says with a sigh, standing up. “After all, you set it going…”

He doesn’t get any further. Her hands yank up the t-shirt he always wears underneath his uniform and he feels her lips on his stomach while her fingers unbutton his jeans. “I set you going?” she mutters.

Jadeite almost laughs in triumph but victory isn’t completely assured yet. He steps back primly and clears his throat. “Here?” he says. “I really should go and chop some wood for the fire and then there’s the food to prepare for supper…”

“You can talk all you like but your body’s saying something completely different,” she says, following him, grabbing the hem of the t-shirt and pulling him down to her lips. “I thought you were on fire?”

“I wouldn’t want to burn you…” he murmurs, even as they’re both kneeling on the thick rug by the window.

She laughs out loud, throwing her head back, her hair shimmering violet in the evening sunlight. “Burn me? I’d like to see you try!” She pulls down his jeans and pants together, and he kicks them off, pushing up her short, short skirt and sliding a hand between her legs to ascertain that, no, she is not wearing any underwear.

“Naughty,” he whispers, intrigued.

“I’m the one who does the burning,” she retorts, and impales herself on his cock, making him gasp. His hips jerk upward in instinctive reaction; she flings her head back and closes her eyes, relishing the sensation. He runs his hands around the curve of her buttocks and up to her hips.

“How long have you been planning this?” he asks, his voice almost normal except for a certain huskiness.

“Long enough,” she replies, opening her eyes and gazing at him with fierce satisfaction. “I knew it would work if I wore a short skirt.” She places her hands on top of his, then raises her hips and thrusts back down, making him groan. “You never can resist that, can you?”

“Apparently not,” he answers, thinking that they’ve only just started and he’s already getting close to orgasm. He doesn’t know if it’s the knowledge that Rei planned this, or the sight of her sitting above him, outlined in sunlight, her torso so proper in a delicate red shirt, her lower body also red but for a very different reason, the skirt rumpled around her waist as she moves around him. It occurs to him that she is very wet, more than she should be when all he’s done is sing to her. “What have you been doing, little girl?” he asks, voice strained as he thrusts up to meet her and makes her moan a little in return.

“Thinking of you,” she says, voice trembling, her eyes half-closed. “Thinking of this. Why did you take so long?”

“Because… being kept waiting… has a good effect on you,” he pants.

She opens her eyes fully and looks at him, glittering. “So you guessed?”

“About this? No.” He reaches up and unbuttons the shirt, wanting to see her breasts sway above him, wanting to touch her. “This is a complete surprise, my darling… I did not expect this at all. Congratulations.”

She smiles and reaches behind to undo her bra, rewarding him for that word. Her eyes flutter closed as he touches her and he sighs. “Then I might do this again… when you least expect it,” she says, raising her hips and then ramming herself against him. “If you’re a good boy…”

“Aren’t I always a good boy?” he asks, rubbing a thumb across her nipple.

She shivers and moans, soft and high. “Yes,” she says. “But not as good… as you might be…”

He raises himself and gently runs his tongue over her breast, opens his mouth and sucks, closing his eyes, holding her hips to keep himself balanced. He feels her contract around him once, sharply, and she half-sobs, her fingers digging into his scalp. “Jadeite…”

I love you, he thinks, gently moving his hips in a circle. I love you and I love being like this with you, because nobody else has ever had this and nobody else ever will. In this moment, in this place, you’re mine.

Her body shudders and she lets go of his head, pushes him back on the floor. “You stay there,” she says, cheeks flushed, “I can’t trust you otherwise,” and then she begins to move, hard and fast and it is his turn to arch his back and cry out. He puts his hands over her breasts and she presses them against her, moving faster, whispering words that he can’t quite hear but he can feel himself stiffening, thrusting, meeting her again and again, he can hear himself gasping her name and she laughs at the power she has over him and then the laughter stop abruptly and she moans his name and then he’s gone, over the edge, into the flames, crying out blindly. When he comes to, he finds her head on his chest, her hair covering them both. He wraps his arms around her and sighs. “God in heaven, I love you,” he says quietly and she lifts her head and looks at him, her eyes narrow with automatic suspicion.

“Do you mean that?”

“You’re my wife,” he says.

“That means nothing,” she scoffs.

“It means something to me,” he says, touching her cheek, and the scorn dies away. She presses his hand against her face, her eyes sad.

“You only love this.”

“I love every bit of you,” Jadeite says honestly, pushing her hair back. “I love your body, yes, but I love your spirit, too, and your mind, and your heart.”

She closes her eyes and he thinks she’s going to cry, but then she leans forward and kisses him and he sits up, holding her close, kissing her all over her face and neck. She buries her face in his hair and shivers.

“Are you cold?” he asks, stopping immediately.

“Not with you,” she replies, combing his hair back with her fingers. “Never with you. My husband.” She smiles shyly at him and his heart leaps. It’s the first time she’s used that word affectionately.

“Rei…”

“I’m not satisfied,” she says, sounding both surprised and frustrated. “I thought I would be…”

He hides a smile against her skin. “Well, we can take care of that.”

“First, we need to take care of dinner,” she says, pushing herself off him. He draws a sharp breath and she closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, they are soft and vulnerable. Jadeite reaches forward and unzips the skirt so it falls to the ground.

“Jadeite,” she says, trying to sound forbidding.

“I don’t want any food,” he murmurs, leaning forward and kissing her belly.

Rei grabs his head, intending to push him away. “You’ll be singing a different tune when we’re finished,” she warns, but she hugs him to her and her eyes close as he kisses lower and lower, eventually slipping his tongue over that flesh which is still red and wet. She lifts her head, feeling the warmth of the sunlight on her closed lids and the warmth of his tongue curling around her.

“Jadeite…”

He pulls back, slips his arm under her knees and picks her up in his arms. She looks at him and raises an eyebrow, waiting. He doesn’t need psychology to know what to say.

“I’m cooking tonight,” he tells her and carries her to their bedroom.


DISCLAIMER: Jadeite and Rei belong to Naoko Takeuchi, but sometimes they come along and bicker in my head. Oh, and the excellent song I'm On Fire is by Bruce Springsteen and I don't own that, either.