This is frustrating.
This is frustrating.
What is? The fic?
Fifty shades of Dirty Red.
Pun intended.
FGO Supports
PROCEED.
...That pun just left me scarred for life.Originally Posted by eddyak
Two
Illyasviel spent the next morning waiting for something that didn't happen.
There were no strange requests. No more out-of-place intimacy. Only what she'd expected in the first place.
The morning after their contract, Touko had Illya lie down on the surgical bed once more, this time fully clothed. The older woman donned an unfitting lab coat and latex gloves, and spent most of the afternoon simply poking and prodding at various parts of Illya's body, with fingers, pins, and hot or cold substances, often asking Illya to close her eyes beforehand. Occasionally Touko would close her own eyes, look away, and ask Illya herself to do the poking, without saying what item was being used. After each 'test', Touko would make detailed notes on a clipboard that rapidly accumulated paper as the day progressed.
It wasn't painful, just boring.
Lunch was a test as well. Touko had overnight filled the fridge with every kind of food one could get in Japan, and a few you couldn't. She sat down across from Illya at the office table and presented the girl with several dozen tiny plates arranged in rows and columns, each one bearing a different sample of a different meal. They were all marked with a letter and a number.
Illya couldn't contain her curiosity, despite her supposed resolve to be mad. "What's the purpose of this?" she asked.
"Today we're going over your sense of touch and taste," Touko said as she deftly tied a piece of fabric over her eyes, effectively blinding herself. "Smell too." She added a nose clip to the mix. "Go ahead and try whatever you want. After you swallow give me ten seconds to record the results, then tell me the number and letter of the plate you had."
"...is this what the contract was for?"
"Yep!" Touko was almost cheerful, despite sounding like a muppet with a cold. So cheerful, in fact, that without pause she launched into a miniature lecture on exactly what she was doing and why.
"Doctors normally have to ask their patients what they feel to get an idea of their condition, but it's a very imprecise method. Leaving aside how each person has a different definition of what's what, mental state and psychology play big roles in everything from how much you enjoy a meal, to how satiated you feel afterwards. If a food looks appealing, it'll seem better than it would have had it been a pile of mush, despite having identical texture and taste. Even different smells play a large role in how tasty something is; your favourite food would taste disgusting if it smelled like rotten fish. Memories also influence a response. Knowing what you're about to eat will make your mind call up the memory of its taste. The same goes with heat and cold; when you see it coming, your body pre-emptively launches a heightened or weakened nervous signal that distorts the response. If you remove those pre-baked notions from the equation, it's possible to get a much purer understanding of someone's condition. Now that our senses are linked, I can feel everything you feel and taste everything you taste. Hearing is excluded, as is vision; they can be corrected more easily by mundane methods. No need to fix your eyes if I can just prescribe glasses. Actually, you might even look good in them. Remind me to let you try on a pair later... But I digress. Smell, taste, and touch are closely linked to a person's health. As humans grow older, their taste buds become less sensitive and numerous, and their sense of smell fails. That's why you'll see children craving sweets while the elderly over-spice their food; they need so much just to taste anything at all. Even nerves grow old and die out, weakening the sense of touch. These experiments are to give me an idea of how well your senses are functioning at the moment. Exact, unfiltered data is important, which is why I've removed myself from the equation as much as possible. The end goal is to determine whether the reason behind your numbness is physical in nature or if it has to do with the alterations you mentioned undergoing earlier. If it's the former, it would simply be a case of compensating for lessened sensitivity by tuning up your body, but for the latter, we'd have to go for a more esoteric approach."
The room was quiet. Touko tilted her blindfolded head to the side. She scratched at a cheek with one fingernail.
"Um. Do you understand?"
Illya shook her head, before realizing Touko couldn't see it. "No," she admitted. "But it's more convincing than 'kiss me because science'." She picked up something sugary and flaky, and popped it into her mouth.
It was a long lunch. Perhaps Touko herself knew that; afterwards she told Illya to go visit Shirou and take some time for herself, as if the woman somehow regretted the previous day's debacle.
Illya didn't waste any time. She called her brother, who showed up within minutes, panting and gasping for breath, having run the whole way there again. Upon being told that his little princess wanted to explore the city via piggyback, he could only smile and nod.
Hours later, Illya was back in the basement Workshop, taking off her clothes again.
Just when she'd begun to relax.
"This is an extension of the morning's work," had been Touko's no-nonsense excuse. "I need to figure out how well your sense of touch is doing, on every part of your body. That means the ones you normally keep covered, too."
Illya had given her a dirty look.
"Okay," the magus had relented. "I'll turn on the heat this time."
There wasn't really any option but to acquiesce to the request. It was still embarrassing to take her shirt (sans ribbon) and bra off before a complete stranger, but the knowledge that Touko was keeping the blindfold on and her hands to herself tipped the scales on Illya's decision. Somehow she couldn't picture the labcoat-clad magus doing anything racy in such a situation.
"It's d-done," Illya said as she lay her bra across one end of the chair with one hand, the other daintily covering her chest as if anyone could possibly be looking. "What now?"
"Now?" Touko leaned back on a swivelling office chair, spinning slowly with another unlit cigarette in her mouth. She raised her hands and shrugged. "Now you touch yourself."
Of course it couldn't be that simple.
"Y-you mean like you did earlier, right?" Illya squeaked. "With the tools and instruments and..."
"Hands will do," Touko said calmly.
"...you're planning something, aren't you? This is too suspicious."
"Nothing in particular," said the magus. "Though I do have one instrument here that could help the experience, at least for me..." Her hand crept closer to the carved wooden box sitting on one of the desks. "Invented it myself. Very good feedback from the test subjects."
Something in the pit of Illya's stomach told her in no uncertain terms that she couldn't ever let that box open. "I'll do it! Just... don't."
Touko grinned. Her hand retreated. "Follow my lead. Start with the shoulders and work your way down." To demonstrate, she shed her coat and shirt just like the previous day, ignoring Illya's protests. Once more they were both topless, with much less fuss this time around. Touko started with her right hand, cupping her left shoulder.
Illya hesitated, then mirrored the action. It wasn't strange, she told herself, as Touko started moving her fingers, pressing here, lifting there, rubbing or poking or scratching lightly. It was a normal procedure with valid reasons behind it. Everything Touko did, Illya repeated as best she could.
Once one shoulder was finished, Touko patted the right. "Handle this one yourself," she said. "Don't want my own senses muddling the signal. Remember: slow and steady."
Fighting her urge to rush it, Illya obeyed. Nothing felt strange at first; it was just her shoulder, and she was familiar enough with her own body to it was a perfectly functional shoulder, too. But as she scraped across her own skin with the very tip of her nail, a familiar feeling emerged: heat. Not the room-temperature warmth of the basement, but the trails of fire from the previous night, left behind like magical fingerprints wherever she touched.
Experimentally she pressed down harder than usual, to the point where it would normally hurt, and it built to a crescendo until suddenly there was no pain at all, only a buzzing electrical feeling, as if something was humming deep under her skin.
"The arms, now," Touko commanded. "You know the drill. I'll tell you when to stop."
Illya needed no guidance. She hugged her arms close to her chest, remembering the hated cold of German winter. She could feel each individual goosebump on her skin now, and explored it with the tips of her fingers. Thankfully the memory faded quickly as the heat expanded from her shoulders down, and soon Touko called a stop to it.
"Okay. To the chest. Be careful with this one."
Be careful? With what? Illya knew her own body perfectly! There was no reason to-!
Oh.
It was a momentary contact. Just an instant, a brush of skin against skin that sent a bolt of lightning through Illya's body. She'd touched one of her nipples.
"W-what was that?" The sensation was completely foreign to her. Even when washing herself and scrubbing down her body, it had never felt so... sensitive. Just to confirm she pressed down again, but as her fingertip made contact with the tight nub of flesh, Illya couldn't suppress the shiver that almost knocked her from her perch on the bed.
"That's why I said careful," Touko grumbled. "Well, keep going. You'll figure it out soon enough."
Illya bit back a retort. She wanted to stop, but knowing her captor, there would be a long lecture to convince her of this act's importance, and it would happen regardless. In that case...
She reached down again, staring at the two red spots on her pale chest. Her breasts were tragically petite, frozen in the moment before they could grow larger. Even Sella had some amount of womanliness, but Illya had never considered her body something that could be erotic. Now, she was realizing how wrong she'd been. One of her breaths travelled down her chest, inadvertently flowing around the nipple she'd touched, tickling it and bringing forth another shudder.
"I can't." Fear. It was mortifying to admit it, but somehow Illya had become afraid of her own body. The tests, the awareness that there might be something wrong, and now this... all of it had led up to the strange certainty that she was made out of glass, and one wrong move would shatter everything. "It's..." Desperately she searched for an excuse suitable for an Einzbern, one that wouldn't surrender her pride or end their agreement. Though the woman was blindfolded, Illya could feel Touko's stare nonetheless, silently judging her, mocking the weak girl who had endured endless pain for the sake of a Grail, but couldn't even brave the dangers of her own touch to save her life.
But rather than saying something along those lines, Touko simple shrugged. "Okay, okay, I get it. You're not sure if it'll work, right? Maybe you're just too broken."
"Huh?"
"Don't sweat it," Touko waved in some vague direction. "Let's try... this."
Without any sort of warning, the fingers of Touko's right hand closed around her own nipple and squeezed.
"Ow!"
The one to shriek was Illya. With tears in her her eyes, she clapped down on her right breast, massaging away the sudden soreness that had appeared out of nowhere. "What are you-?"
Touko repeated herself, this time with the left. Her face was set in stone, showing nary a reaction.
Again. Again the pain flowed backwards through their connection, spreading deep into Illya's body, rooting itself behind her chest. She could feel her nipples throbbing, too sensitive to take the phantom punishment.
"If your sensations are more powerful than mine," Touko stated. "They'll take priority."
With both hands the woman grabbed and twisted.
Illya let out a strangled cry that died in her throat. It was too much. She wanted to run away or make something explode but instead, she was being subjected to something that shouldn't have hurt nearly as much as it did. Given a way out, she took it without thinking.
As if wiping away a stain, she brought her fingers down and rubbed them against her breasts, focusing on the light friction above all else. The contact brushed away the pain like frost on a cold window, while the cold crept in to replace it, demanding more contact, more heat. She complied, cupping it between index finger and thumb, pushing on all sides against the bundle of nerves that lit up her mind with each movement.
"Mm-!" With one side being lightning instead of fire, Illya hurried to repeat the process. But this one showed less success. Light touches did nothing, and as Touko began to introduce her nails to the mix, the combination of pleasure and pain intensified.
Those two points became Illya's world. Her fingers were instruments, shaping it. Poking, prodding, finally grabbing from desperating and squeezing, flicking it left and right. Her eyes were squeezed shut, to eliminate the image of two swelling nubs in a sea of white. In desperation, faintly recalling an adventurous moment in the bath with her maids, Illya brought a finger up to her mouth, soaked it in the saliva that seemed to be free-flowing, and returned it, coating her nipple in the liquid.
The world was a water planet now. The pain was muted, becoming a strange ticklish sensation that made her want to laugh rather than cry. Still, to make sure it didn't get any worse, Illya kept rubbing, pretending she was licking some imaginary wound. With every passing second the heat within her chest grew, threatening to burst out through those two points, and she had to coax it back in before it was too late. Yet every action only made it worse.
Illya found herself repeating the tactic on the other side, tracing circles around her breast, closing in like a spiral before flicking it up and down, experimenting and seeing which movements brough the most pleasure and least pain. It turned out that pressure was good, up to a point, and friction was absolutely necessary. The wetness dulled the edge, smoothing it out. Even then, it didn't keep the heat in. With every second it grew, pooling and demanding more. Illya shifted in her seat and something between her legs made a wet sound.
"Ahem."
She stopped, suddenly aware of the silence of the room and how it had been so completely broken. She'd been panting, Illya realized, and moaning through closed lips. And, more importantly, Touko hadn't been doing anything for at least ten minutes.
"Sorry to interrupt your little 'me time'," Touko said. She dug a thumb under one side of the blindfold and pulled it up, exposing one eye. "But we have an itinerary to stick to. Besides, if you keep it up you'll rub yourself raw, and I can say from experience; you don't want that happening."
"I don't... I wasn't..."
"Of course you weren't. Please, then: continue."
Were Illya in her right mind, she'd have refused on the spot, spat out a thousand vermillion curses, and probably hit Touko with some diabolical spell conjured from a little girl's malevolent resentment.
But Illya wasn't in her right mind. She was lost in herself, hearing only the pounding of blood through her veins, smelling only her own sweat, seeing nothing but Touko's bare chest, and feeling the heat pool between her thighs, begging for sweet release.
Lower. Her hands travelled lower, sliding down her smooth belly. She couldn't force herself to jump straight to the point, because it'd mean admitting she was prioritizing her own pleasure, but neither was Illya content to wait and continue as if the whole thing was just another experiment. So she rushed, pushing as fast as possible and not lingering for a second.
Touko allowed it.
When Illya's hands reached her skirt, she stopped on reflex. All too keenly aware of Touko's lidded gaze, she couldn't muster the courage to disrobe completely, even as the heat gnawed at her innards.
"It's embarrassing, isn't it?"
"No." Yes.
"I'll help."
No. "Okay..."
The clack of heels on stone. A pair of arms wrapped around the shivering girl and hugged her into a warm chest much softer than her own. It was tender yet cold, an embrace of necessity rather than want. But it would serve.
One of Touko's hands cradled the back of Illya's neck, gently pushing the girl's head into the valley between her breasts, while the other crept lower, tracing over Illya's wrists before reaching the clasp of her skirt.
Breath held taught, Illya wished for the woman to fumble it.
She didn't.
With a snap the garment fell open, leaving Illya clad only in a pair of white panties. Touko didn't need to see them to know they were soaked through. She ran a finger across the surface of the fabric. Illya's hands clutched Touko's wrist but there was no power in them.
"Oho. So it does function, even with this kind of appearance." The rumbling of Touko's musings shook her chest, further disorienting the prisoner being shoved against it.
Illya pulled backward, drawing in a huge breath that did little to calm the inferno within her. She tried vainly to mount another protest, but lost the words the moment she saw clear liquid dripping from Touko's hand, in front of her eyes.
Drip. Drip.
One droplet. Two.
Touko brought together finger and thumb, then drew them apart, leaving a thin line between them. She raised her hand and popped the finger into her mouth.
Belatedly, Illya realized what had happened. The heat wasn't her own; it had been Touko's from the very beginning. She'd just been sharing it.
"Now let's see if all the machinery works right..."
The same finger that had been teasing the surface now hooked onto the edge of Illya's panties and pulled them down, exposing her girlhood to the cool air. She whimpered, all pretense of strength completely gone.
"There, there..." It was a soothing, almost motherly voice, but communicated no love or empathy. "Sit back and let me do all the work."
"Ah-!" The tip of Touko's finger rubbed up against something nestled between the folds Illya could feel but not see. Something smooth and compact, jutting out from its hiding spot. Just that small amount of contact eclipsed all of her previous suffering, and it was only the start.
"This is an important one," continued the magus, rubbing in time with their synchronized heartbeats. "Gotta make sure it's working right."
Right didn't matter. Only the heat, now a full-blown fire. Illya's body revolted. Her toes curled. Her neck was tense. A low moan built up and faded prematurely in her throat as her face was thrust into cleavage once more. She abandoned her attempts below and raised her hands, grasping at the Aozaki's generous breasts without any sort of plan. She pushed and pulled and struggled but nothing could displace the fingers that teased and prodded and rubbed all the wrong places.
Touko had already moved on. Not content with stimulating the outside, she explored each of Illya's dripping folds, lapping up the moisture and using it to further the friction. One finger circled around an opening and darted inside, rubbing at the young girl's virgin walls, looking for a particular spot. All the while her thumb was pressed against the girl's button, driving Illya progressively closer to delirium. Conscious thought was completely gone; the former Grail couldn't have recalled her safe word, let alone spoken it. She'd been reduced to mewling and moaning, begging for release like a child crying out for love and affection.
There was no such affection in Touko's ministrations. She was merciless, systematically hunting down the girl's weak points and exploiting them without hesitation. She scratched away at Illya, chipping at the boundary between them, each second taking them closer. Her own panties were soaked and a stream of blood flowed down her lip from where she'd bit it. Illya squeezed and tugged blindly, abusing her abuser in turn, yet neither could hold back.
Finally, Touko could stand it no longer. She pushed Illya down, splaying the girl across the table. A finger, then two, pumped in and out of the girl's opening, scratching at that perfect spot. Unfocused red eyes met burning brown.
"Come," Touko growled, and silenced Illya's cries with her mouth, thrusting her tongue forward without restraint as she jabbed her fingers deeper than they'd ever been.
It was a soundless noise. An exclamation without beginning or end. Illya bent like an arrow, all muscles tensed, eyes wide, and mind completely blank. The heat wasn't trapped anymore; she was the heat and it was her, existing only to burn, a complete reversal of what it felt like to open her magical circuits.
Instead of a magus, a homunculus, or a grail, in that moment she was a human being.
-------------------------------
Merry Christmas, Beast's Lair.
Touko is absolutely detached. I liked the procedural exposition.
L-lewd.
F/GO SUPPORT
Referencing prior works, are you, Bloble? I'll admit, it made me laugh."Nothing in particular," said the magus. "Though I do have one instrument here that could help the experience, at least for me..." Her hand crept closer to the carved wooden box sitting on one of the desks. "Invented it myself. Very good feedback from the test subjects."
And a frohe weihnachten to you too, Bloble. :V
My Fanfics. Read 'em. Or not.McJon01: We all know that the real reason Archer would lose to Rider is because the events of his own Holy Grail War left him with a particular weakness toward "older sister" types.
Three
Illyasviel von Einzbern had a special relationship with revenge.
For most of her life she'd fixated on the idea of paying back the world for the wrongs her father had inflicted upon her. She'd spent nights fantasizing about the expressions on his face as she arrived to destroy his evil schemes, the worthless apologies he'd utter and the punishments she would force him to endure. Sometimes, even, she'd toyed with the idea of forgiveness, only to shove it in the back of her mind with other useless things.
For a time Shirou himself had been a target of her revenge. She hadn't let him forget it, even after abandoning that misguided goal. Then she'd forgiven him, forgiven the world, and left it behind.
Now the old urges were stirring. As she slept in a guest room, unfamiliar covers wrapped around her sweat-stained body, Illya couldn't help but to imagine. To consider. To plot.
If anyone deserved it, Aozaki Touko was the one. Illya knew fully well that she'd signed up for this treatment, but her pride wouldn't allow the ordeals she'd endured to go unpunished. No, retaliation was necessary. Without it, Illya knew she'd never be able to recover. Without it, her mind would always be overcome by red thoughts of vengeance whenever she looked upon that defiler.
So Illya slept, fitfully, crafting plans, discarding them, and refining what remained with the ruthless determination of a magus who has been wronged.
At some point, deep into the night, her hands wandered downwards to the place Touko had touched. It occurred to Illya that the next morning would likely bring more of the perverted nonsense the Sealing Designate seemed so fond of. If she was going to survive and thrive in such an environment, Illya couldn't allow herself to be beaten by a few strange feelings.
Running her fingers across the geography of her nethers was a stranger feeling than it should've been. She'd lived her whole life with that body; now it felt like a completely new part of her had woken up. Each touch was strange, and that spot was damp with sweat and something more. When she experimentally pressed a fingernail into her own folds, operating solely by touch in the darkness, it hit something that elicited a small squeak before Illya forced herself to be silent.
Those no-longer-foreign sensations… she had to become accustomed to them, lest she be shamefully overwhelmed again. For Shirou. For her pride. For revenge.
Those words became a mantra as Illya descended into the depths of ecstasy that night. As she poked and prodded and properly explored herself for the first time, she told herself it was for a brighter cause. Each moan she breathed into her pillow was one of pain, not pleasure, she insisted. She was dripping wet because of the warmth, not because it felt good.
The first climax had exhausted Illya to the point where she had needed to be carried upstairs. The second was somewhat less extreme. She rode it through silently, biting into her pillow and hoping the sleeping woman a few doors over wouldn't overhear.
Exhausted, Illya drifted off, wishing it'd been as terrible as she'd hoped, dreaming of a third.
On the third day, Illyasviel von Einzbern woke up ready for retribution.
On the third day, nothing at all happened.
At first it was maddening. The morning was spent with more taste tests, but then Touko grew bored of them after the first dozen samples and retreated to her workshop, telling Illya to amuse herself for the day.
She didn't look the gift horse in the mouth. Illya took the chance to call Shirou and go on yet another impromptu shopping trip across Tokyo, dragging him to various places: cafes, boutiques, hardware stores, specialty locations… by the time he dropped her off at the office, Illya was almost buckling under the weight of a backpack that was nearly as heavy as her.
“I don't know what you're planning,” he said. “But please, don't leave me out of it. If it's dangerous...”
“It won't be,” she said, for once serious. “Don't underestimate a magus, Onii-chan.”
He didn't.
Illya spent the rest of the day alternately wandering around Tokyo by herself, or eating hastily prepared food, also on her own. It was immensely boring. Touko didn't emerge from the workshop until the sun had set. She was haggard, bleary-eyed, and ill-mannered, not bothering to greet Illya as she rummaged through the fridge for something edible. “Tomorrow,” was Touko's hoarse command.
“Tomorrow,” agreed Illya.
On the morning of the fourth day, Touko found her test subject sipping on tea in the office, humming a dainty tune. Their eyes met, one pair an honest red and the other tired from lack of sleep.
Touko jerked her head towards where she'd come from. “Workshop.”
Illya all but skipped down the stairs. When Touko flipped on the lights and told her to lie down naked on the surgical bed, she complied without a word. When Touko donned surgical scrubs and a face mask, Illya said nothing. When the magus then wheeled an elaborate contraption riddled with knobs and levers and tubes out of a side room, Illya didn't protest.
But, when Touko slipped a pair of rubber gloves onto her hands and snapped one of them audibly, cutting through the saintly silence, Illya's confidence slipped the slightest bit.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Touko spared the girl a pitiless glance. “Vivisection,” she said. “Today I'll be looking at your insides.”
“...oh.” That word didn't need explanation. Images of animals with their guts hanging out invaded Illya's mind, driving out elaborate revenge fantasies for a moment. Wolves torn to pieces, some still breathing, in pieces, before being smashed to paste by a slab of sword-shaped rock. This was different.
Illya had no way of knowing what kind of face the older woman was making under her mask, but she imagined it to be a smile. “Preferable to getting touchy feely, isn't it? Don't worry; I'll be putting you under this time. You won't feel a thing and you'll wake up in one piece thanks to the wonders of modern magecraft.”
Perhaps Touko had expected resistance. She was given none. Illya just nodded and closed her eyes. “Do whatever you have to,” was her blunt reply.
Touko's shrug went unseen. “If you say so.” She dragged a cord from the machine and plugged it into a wall outlet, then took an attached face mask and placed it on Illya's mouth and nose. “Breathe normally and count backwards from a hundred,” she advised.
Illy didn't need to count, but she pretended to. She began to knead the magical energy that permeated her body, shaping it and preparing to send it rushing through her circuits. Her mind started to float away from her body. The anesthetic was already dulling her senses; her window of opportunity would be tiny.
Touko's table of surgical instruments was sterilized and ready. She gave the girl a minute to fall asleep, then reached towards a scalpel once Illya's breathing steadied.
She missed, her fingers clattering against a pair of forceps. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she tried again with even less success. This time she overshot and slipped against the edge of the table, stumbling forward as she tried to steady herself.
With a crash and a muted cry, Aozaki Touko completely lost her balance, collapsing onto the cold floor, her head swimming and full of fuzz.
Illya opened her eyes, sat up, pried the mask away from her face, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She stepped gingerly onto cold floor and knelt beside Touko, whose face was uncomfortably smashed against the ground, her glasses askew and eyes fuzzy.
“You… little...”
“Not so little anymore,” Illya said, pairing sickly sweet words with a sickly sweet smile.
“How…?” Touko's awareness was slipping away by the moment. She tried to focus, to jam open her circuits and hopefully let the pain delay her sleep, but even that part of her body was numb.
“A preexisting contract makes transfer of consciousness much easier to enact,” Illya explained as she poked and prodded at the immobilized magus, satisfied that there wouldn't be any retaliation. “And much more difficult to resist. The part of my consciousness that's falling asleep right now… please take good care of it.”
There was nothing the older woman could say in response. She was caught between two states, neither asleep nor awake, unable to think clearly yet perfectly capable of processing her surroundings. Her limbs were heavy but her senses had sharpened if anything, rendering each new sensation a surprise. When Illya locked her fingers around one of Touko's forearms and pulled with all her might, the girl's weak grip was like a vise.
It took some time, during which Illya made sure to inhale more and more of Touko's mystery anesthetic. She wasn't sure what the dosage was, and didn't particularly think it important as long as it did its job.
And what a job it was.
Getting a limp adult onto a bed might not have been difficult for a teen, or even an athletic youngester, but Illya's body was much less developed than her mind, and she had to push and prod and lever just to budge her temporary captive. After almost half an hour of humming and hawing Illya's muscles began to voice their complaints, while Touko lay immobilized where her test subject had once been, with the ghost of a smile flitting about her paralyzed lips.
“Don't think I didn't notice that!” Illya protested. “You're gonna get it, I swear!”
Touko's lack of reply managed to be worst then any sort of active rebuttal.
Fuming, Illya rummaged through the nearest desk's drawers. She tossed aside papers and clips and mummified hands until she found her goal: a permanent marker. With the sort of fiendish malice only a child or child-like adult could conjure, she went to town on her captive's face, stopping only when Touko bore a pair of permanent spectacles, fuzzy sideburns, whiskers, and a gorgeous handlebar mustache. That did the trick of wiping away her smug grin.
But Illya wasn't satisfied. Her revenge had been shortsighted, limited to merely one-upping her captor. She hadn't planned on what to actually do once she had the upper hand, and in her feverish frenzy, any long-term thoughts swiftly fled, leaving behind only instant gratification.
So, Illya decided, there was no reason to limit herself to such a small canvas.
The scalpel was plucked from the floor and clumsily used to cut open Touko's shirt. Despite her righteous anger, Illya made sure not to draw blood by accident, for reasons she couldn't quite explain. In a few minutes, she was staring at two fleshy mounds, rising and falling with each one of Aozaki Touko's breaths. Their owner could've been brain-dead if not for her eyes, which followed Illya with none of the sluggishness one could expect from someone being given a heavy dose of anesthetic.
Now that she could examine them closely, Illya discovered a great many differences between their respective chests. For one, hers were smaller. (For now! They'd get bigger one day, even if it was physically impossible!) But even more than that, they were softer, sagging slightly yet just perky enough to stand out. Illya peered closely, examining the contours of a single nipple, her eyes poring over each bump with unbridled fascination that couldn't have been entirely her own.
Without any conscious thought, Illya disrobed herself to match the motionless magus. For comparison, of course. But how could they get close enough?
The chair wasn't stable and didn't reach the table's height. There wasn't anything else in the room to use, and Illya knew their bodies needed to be close enough that she could compare the minutae. So she decided to cut out the middle man. With some exertion she hopped on top of the table, clumsily clambering on top of her captive until she was straddling the woman's waist, staring directly down at the upper half of her body. It brought to mind a similar situation she'd engineered, with someone she liked and hated rather than hated and liked, and who had most certainly not been naked at the time.
It didn't occur to Illya that she was in an altogether divergent situation from her original goal, short-sighted as it had been. But she needed revenge. An unspecified, vague revenge that stemmed more from instinct than complex thought. She needed to pay back those strange emotions Touko had aroused within her body, otherwise her shame would never be erased.
Yes. That's what Illya told herself, as she leaned down and pressed her chest against another, resting her head next to Touko's and closing her eyes.
“I won't lose,” she whispered into Touko's ear.
There was no response. Illya could hear and unvoiced challenge in the air, see it gleaming in the woman's open eyes, following her with clinical interest rather than fear.
She wouldn't lose, Illya repeated to herself as her hands bent into claws.
Illya had rarely ever touched other people. Usually she was one who was touched, rather than playing an active part. Her maids would brush her hair and wash her back, and only now was she forced to clean herself. Once, she'd gotten Shirou to help her bathe, but he'd been so embarrassed at the sight of Illya's naked grin that he'd rushed out of the bathroom and sworn never to do something so stupid again.
So, as her fingers sank into a breast perky and bouncy enough to rival Leysritt's, Illya did as she wished. In this case, her wish was simple.
Squeeze.
Pull.
Twist.
It wasn't an action meant to cause pleasure. Such a thing was far from her mind. Illya merely marveled at the properties of the object before her – no, there were two. Her other hand found its mark and joined the fun. She mirrored her limbs, giggling to herself as she played with a person like a toy.
A faint spark, as her fingers squeezed just a bit too tightly. Of pain, and not her own.
Illya's eyes rose, meeting Touko's own, expecting remorse or even tears.
A flushed face. An unfocused gaze. And breathing slightly to heavy to be normal. The older woman wasn't hurting; she was being turned on.
Illya grabbed a nipple, squeezed it between two fingers on her left hand.
Touko shuddered, but didn't move. Couldn't.
Illya balanced it with her fingernails, short enough to grip, sharp enough to puncture. She pressed them together, pushing into swollen pink flesh but stopping just shy of drawing blood. And then Illya pulled, lifting her arm, watching skin deform as she moved, dangling from one solitary point that was becoming darker by the second.
Now, surely. Right?
Touko's lips curved into a weak grin.
“Is that… all?” she breathed. “Like this, you'll never make me-!”
The retort turned into a miniature moan as Illya jammed the five fingers of her right hand into soft flesh, pressing down and leaning forward and feeling blood gather under her fingernails as she broke and bruised skin.
Something was beating beneath her hand, moving when everything else stood still. She could feel gathered heat, the core of this person's being, inches away, waiting for her to reach deeper.
“Shut up.”
For a moment the girl couldn't recognize her own voice, nor what anger had done to it. It sounded older, rougher, wearier.
Touko, on the other hand, wasn't the least bit perturbed. The rattling breath that escaped her lips must only have been from the pain, yet the way her tongue danced as if to gulp down the air painted a picture of a woman in the throes of pleasure, not agony.
“What's wrong?” Barely louder than a whisper, the slurred words bored into Illya's skull. “Stuck on foreplay?”
“You-!”
Two things occurred simultaneously.
First, Illya's fingernails, carefully balanced to hold up Touko's nipple while not damaging it, met with a muffled click, driving through flesh and blood and delicate anatomy to get there.
Second, Touko's subsequent cry was similarly silenced as Illya forced three bloodstained fingers into the woman's mouth, trapping an errant tongue with much less mercy than before. Touko tasted copper like one would taste caviar.
“You're my toy,” Illya found herself swearing, as her fingers explored the interior of the woman's mouth, where her tongue had once feared to tread. Saliva mixed with blood. A single fingernail scraped along teeth. “I can break you.”
Before you break me, she didn't say.
Illya could have gone further, thrown herself into torture without a second thought like a frolicking child, but she didn't. Instead, leaving her fingers in Touko's mouth, she released the woman's abused and battered nipple, letting her breast find its natural position while Illyasviel felt around and found the gas mask. She pushed it over her face, smearing clear plastic with traces of red, and inhaled, making sure to push the sensation of heaviness and fog elsewhere.
It worked. Touko's clearing eyes fluttered, her body unable to maintain alertness despite the pain.
Illya cast the mask aside, removed her fingers from Touko's mouth, and straightened, surveying her work.
The sight of that line of drool working its way down one cheek, the pristine white throat that stood defenseless before her, and two bleeding sacks of meat that were useful only for showing off… seeing that picture, wrought by her own hand, brought the girl no small amount of satisfaction, along with a tinge of doubt from her better half.
Far more pressing, however, was the sudden sensation that made itself known: a familiar heat pooling between Illya's thighs as the rubbed against each other.
“...tch.”
She couldn't leave it. Not now.
Illya bent over again. She sought out the nipple she had abused, poring over the shape, the tiny dots of blood at the tip, red against pink against white.
Without thinking, she opened her mouth and lapped at it with her tongue.
Warm. Soft. Wet. Sticky.
Another lick.
A tickling on her own chest as their sensations melted together once more.
Thought disappeared, leaving only intent. Illya lowered her head, taking the nipple into her mouth and running her tongue across it, tasting the blood as if it was the milk of a mother she'd never known. She sucked, but nothing would come out, save a low-pitched moan from up above. It hardened beneath her touch until she was sucking on a rigid protrusion and her own nipple was tingling.
The other one.
Illya switched seamlessly. This one wasn't as damaged, at least not in the same way. She soon grew tired of repeating herself and decided to lap up the blood that'd been spilled here as well. She went in circles, licking away traces of blood, occasionally pushing her tongue into the wounds she'd left behind, delighting in hearing a groan from her captive pet as she denied it warmth and pleasure.
And yet, even that failed to satisfy. Blood was interesting, but tasted horrible. Illya had something much sweeter in mind.
“Don't get the wrong idea,” she said as she began to remove down Touko's pants, and her own at the same time. “This isn't for you. You belong to me, so this part is mine, too.”
Her prize was a dark barrier of cloth, covering up the one place Illya had yet to go. She reached out, hooked one blood-encrusted finger over the front edge, feeling stiff red hair tickling her skin, and pulled.
-------------------------------
If you thought it was dead...
If you thought I'd stick to light petting forever...
If you thought Illyasviel von Einzbern would allow herself to be dommed like that without doing something about it...
You couldn't have been more wrong.
Jesus fuck, Illya.
Between going hard or going home, she chose to get hard and take it all the way home.
Last edited by Historia; February 25th, 2016 at 06:59 AM.
The timing to release this couldn't have been better.
My Fanfics. Read 'em. Or not.McJon01: We all know that the real reason Archer would lose to Rider is because the events of his own Holy Grail War left him with a particular weakness toward "older sister" types.
Inspiration hits when it wants to. This time I think it was trying to troll by having me stay up and keep writing at 4 AM on a school night for no good reason at all.
(BTW if anyone thinks my Illya is too ruthless, keep in mind this girl was the cause of most of Fate's bad ends. Six months of good living will mellow you out, but not that much.)
W a t
nlewd(n+2)me
dangit bloble
F/GO SUPPORT
I knew you could do it, Bloble.
just when I thought I was out, they pull me back
This took a turn into (mild) Guro territory all of a sudden. Not sure if like.
Illya can be quite a dom when she wants to be, huh? Well, she is still Illya. As cute and innocent as she looks, she's still the girl who fantasized about "playing" with her brother's decapitated head.
I don't hate you, Bloble.
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