Boredom, Part 2

“Hey, hun?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I’m bored.”

Well, isn’t this a case of deja vu.

You’re pointing out the fact that Sakura just got home, not looking away from the monitor in front of you, fingers tapping away rapidly at your keyboard. “And I thought you were finishing up that hat?”

“I would’ve, but I didn’t get to run by the store for some yarn earlier,” she says, moving to sit down on the bed behind you. “Wanted to change up the last bit of it with a different color.”

“Want me to drive you?” You dying in game gets you the opportunity to pause it, spinning your chair around to face her. “We could stop by somewhere for dinner and–” You pause, breath taken away from what you’re witnessing. “Whoa.”

Sakura plays with a few strands of her hair. “You like?”

You’re blinking, a loss of words and idiotically staring dumbfounded at her. “Like?” you repeat, staring at her twirl pink in her fingers. “I love.” Ignore the fact that what she has on can be considered black lace bra on black lace top damage to your brain, pink hair has never suited her more. “I thought you weren’t gonna redye it?”

“I changed my mind. The color was lightening up–” she explains, leaning back and propping herself up with her hands. “And I think it suits me.” She does this cute head tilt, nerdy smirk combo that gets you internally swooning your heart off seeing it. “Don’t you think?”

“Think the color’s made for you, sweetheart.” The smirk softens to a shy smile.

“You don’t have to flatter me that hard, honey.” A hair tuck in between, eyes turning to crescents with that grin you love gracing her features.

“What, I can’t tell my sweet, adorable girlfriend is beautiful?” you tease, sliding your chair forward and closer towards her. You use the bed as a stopper, and you end up right next to Sakura, your arm reaching out to play with her hair yourself, caressing her locks before squeezing her cheek gently. “My cute, pookie bear of a girlfriend–”

“Stop!” She swats your hand away with a giggle, and yet she inches closer to you, the sweet citrus scent of her perfume invading your sense of smell, a furthering of causation for you to fall all the more deeper into her intoxicating allure. “You’re so–” She shakes her head, finger jabbing you in the rib with a faux sound of exasperation.

“Lovable?” You cup her cheeks with one hand and squish her face.

“Annoying.” She rolls her eyes at you, letting out a smile when you squeeze her cheeks like a cute little stress ball. “Go back to your game, you annoying little shit.”

“And here I thought you were bored,” you tease, raising an eyebrow with yet another squash of her cheeks.

“I am bored,” she answers. “But it’s not like I got anything better to do.”

“You sure?” 

“Yes, doofus.” She pushes you away, hard enough that it sends your chair sliding backward back to your desk. “Go play, I’ll be here.”

You glance back at Sakura, who decides to get comfortable at the bed. “You sure you can see that far?”

She answers with a wave, telling you that the monitor’s big enough for her to watch; cinematic moves, parrying, dying and all when she lets out a laugh after a few minutes of you fighting the boss and losing.

“It can’t be that hard, hun,” she says, the fight restarting from the beginning for the fifth (or was it sixth?) time. “Can’t you dodge instead?”

“Dodging is for pussies.” You take a breath, the screen turning to black as it loads the fight again. 

Sakura giggles, hearing her say that dodging is for the ‘smart people’ as she stares at another sequence of you trying to parry the boss play out. “We might need a tip jar for the amount of times that girl tells you to parry it.”

“I am parrying it, sweetheart.” Cue yet another death screen.

You click on restart. “Not well enough, honey.”

“You try playing it and see what happens,” you retort, doing what you’ve considered the optimal (it wasn’t, and that’s why you kept on dying when you found out) first turn to get the most damage on the boss.

You hear her shuffle around the bed. “I’m good.” Dull, quiet thumps of her feet hitting the carpet follow and Sakura appears right next to you, leaning against your chair to take a closer look at watching you fail to beat this stupidly shitty boss. “Keep going, it’s fun to see you rage.”

Let out a calming sigh, take another whiff of her perfume to recenter yourself, and you lean forward.

That’s the thing with Sakura. She doesn’t need to say or do anything to get you motivated. Her existence alone gets you feeling like you can climb Mount Everest without all the fancy gear from top to bottom in a day. Of course that’s delusion speaking, but man can do many things when the love of his life is cheering him on by his side.

Considerably easily too, when your eyes are being drawn away from the game and into the black hole of a chest that she has. Her fault, you reason, when she decides to do the ever so simple action of leaning into the monitor and having her tits almost shoved into the side of your face (not that you’re complaining, that’s heaven wrapped in lace and Sakura’s embrace) since she wanted a closer look.

More power to her, since you’re getting a closer look at her tits underneath all that black lace. (Have you mentioned how crazily obsessed you are with Sakura’s tits before?)

It throws you off your game completely, the soft, full pair of breasts enclosed under layers of dark fabric luring you in, your attention moving away from the game and onto her chest. Which, can you really blame yourself when it’s right there, a breath’s length away from your mouth.

Causes you to lose again, though the rage is gone, replaced with this hyperfixation on her. The deep pull that her tits are causing irreparable damage to the way you think, and you would love nothing more than to lean in and rest your face, let out a sigh and smile when the cushions of her chest pillow on your face.

Christ, you should start a religion dedicated to them.

That all goes out the window when Sakura asks you something about the game, and you’re stuttering out an answer. Random things about the boss come out of your lips, why you’re fighting it, what’s the whole reason with this party in particular to use against the boss, some other random bullshit fact about the game—and while she leans back against the desk and listens with the soft, lovable look on her face, she’s also seeing through all your words with a follow up:

“You do know I was asking about why you’re using the keyboard and not the controller, right?”

The blank look on your face once the fact that you missed her question entirely registers results in a teasing smile to form on her face, finger tapping your nose; fingers wrapping around your cheeks to squeeze softly. “Distracted again?”

“A girl rubs her tits on a guy’s face, anyone would be,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. Your reply makes her scoff, the smile turning into a grin as a finger hooks on the neckline of her top, giving it a tug.

“What, you wanna play with these again?” She makes an effort to pull it down, exposing the black lace underneath (trust yourself when you say that it’s a completely fucked up thing to do when you’re already so down bad for this woman) and you can’t help yourself from ogling.

Her chest has its own gravitational pull, you swear.

“If you’re offering,” you start, scooting yourself over with the chair to sit in front of her. “I’m not saying no.”

She hums, biting her lip to stop the excitement from bleeding through her features. It doesn’t work, of course, seeing her fingers play with the hem of her top. “What about your game?” She makes this innocent little glance back to your monitor, until her gaze turns back to you with this smoldering heat.

“Sweetheart, do you really want me to keep playing?” Your hands rest on the waistband of her pants.

“Well–” Sakura drags it out, straightening up from the desk. “I am bored.” She takes a few slow steps away from you, hands on her top. Swaying her hips as she plays with the fabric before she pulls them up, that defined line of her back showing bit by bit along with her unworldly waist that your hands are yearning to have a hold of.

Brings it to her chest, up her shoulders, off her body and onto the floor, where her hands come back to that snatched waist, feeling herself up; running them through her skin, going higher to the straps of her bra. Pulling them up, letting a strap fall down her shoulder, head turning to hit you with a look that screamed for you to take her—add to that her hips swinging around and for the love of everything unholy you are going to get on your knees just to beg for her to turn around.

And when she does—fuck, when she did you gained tunnel vision, fixated on the one final layer of lace that would ascend you to Elysium. You’re salivating, surely, at this point, and it’s only adding fuel to her flame, her finger letting the strap snap back in place.

Sakura’s asking you so much with so little done; lips curling into a smirk here, a brow raising there, her arm wrapping around her chest to give it a little push and her chest gets fucking bigger and all you can think of is your need to worship her lips, her skin, her tits—

The straps loosen on her collarbone, and the only thing that’s keeping it on her body is her forearm, and an idea; one that will get you on your knees.