Clarice & Shiro

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Shiro draws a semi-nude portrait of Clarice. The obvious ensues from there. And I'd apologize for the puns in the log, but they make up for my het inexperience.


"And you are certain that you are comfortable with this?" asked Shiro, setting his pad down on his drawing desk and very pointedly not looking up. "Anou, I would not be angry or anything if you changed your mind."

Clarice rolled her eyes, Shiro had asked this eleven times since she agreed, she had been counting. "I wouldn't have agreed if I wasn't comfortable with the idea," she pointed out, neglecting to tell him that part of the reason she had agreed was because she was not comfortable with it. "And I still have on my underwear."

"I know, I just want to make sure." Not that they had not seen each other unclothed before (they have been dating for almost a year, after all), but to Shiro, this was different. More personal, more intimate. And a near-naked Clarice sitting backwards in his desk chair made him want to do things he had no idea how to ask Clarice for. He gulped and picked up a pencil. "Ja. If you are comfortable . . ." He looked up, gulped again, and began sketching the outline of her body.

Resisting the urge to look over his shoulder while he sketched was difficult, but somehow Clarice managed it. "So what are you going to do with this anyways, make some sort of coffee-table book of mostly nude mutants?"

"~Keep it for myself for lonely nights,~" he muttered, not realizing that by now he'd taught Clarice enough Japanese to understand that. "Anou, frame it and hang it next to the other portrait? Or maybe I will make a compilation of pictures of you."

Clarice giggled, pleased he thought of her like that, she'd been beginning to wonder, "A book of me? That's nuts, Shiro!" and kinda weird, "You should so something better with it. Like...I dunno, save it for your nude class next semester."

"Oh, no," he protested, carefully sketching the curves of her breasts. No, too small. "I will have to barricade the front door to prevent my classmates from rushing to see you," he said, erasing and redrawing. There, better.

"I don't know about that..." Clarice blushed at the compliment and tried not to fidget too much, "I mean, they could rush in and I could be elsewhere. With you."

"But then I would have to fight them, and that would end badly for them. And I do not want to clean up the mess." Who said chivalry is dead?

"You wouldn't have to fight them if you were elsewhere with me," Clarice pointed out, pushing a lock of hair behind one ear, "besides, even if you did fight them, we're experts at getting blood out of the carpets."

"I hate the smell of bleach," he said, wrinkling his nose. "I would have, etto, ninja attacking me at every corner, trying to kill me so they could have you." He grinned. "But then you would hand their asses to them."

The idea of horny ninjas attacking the school to get at her made Clarice fall off the chair howling in laughter, "I think if they attacked, they would have a lot more problems than just us! I mean, this is a school of superpowers mutants! We could angst them to death!"

Shiro winced as Clarice fell, but was by her side a second later to help her get back to her feet. "The last thing this place needs is a live reenactment of La Blue Girl," he said, eyes panted firmly on boobies.

La Blue Girl? "Anime?" she guessed, not recalling seeing that one. She wasn't a big anime fan, but she'd seen her fair share with Shiro, in the Japanese of course. She resisted the urge to make him look her in the eye.

"Um, yes. About horny ninja." And other assorted vile topics, but Clarice didn't need to know that. She also didn't need someone staring at her, so Shiro shook his head an forced his gaze upward. "Sorry. We should continue."

"It's okay," she replied quietly, blushing and smiling a little, realizing that it was. Obviously, he didn't make her feel self-conscious when she was wearing clothing, but more than that, he wasn't making her feel it now either.

Shiro, on the other hand, felt like a pervert. Staring, no, leering at Clarice like that was appalling. He took his seat again and picked up his pencil. He drew quietly for a few minutes, until the silence felt uncomfortable to him. "So, has Mr. Summers assigned you your library of reading yet?"

"Ugh, it's endless," that was a reasonably safe topic, "Are you sure he's not a sadist? Or something? I mean, geez!" Clarice paused, not entirely sure how to continue, "I put in two weeks at the station."

"Just wait until you get your first Danger Room scenario," he warned. "Make sure he does not try to Thwomp you. Those things are dangerous." Reaching over, he opened his case of colored pencils, searching for a shade of purple that matched Clarice's skin. "You are quitting? After all the work it required for you to get the job in the first place?"

Clarice shrugged, not wanting to admit how much it galled her to quit, "I can't go to school and be an EMT and train for the X-Men and work in the medlab, I'm not the creepy kid who doesn't sleep, you know? And I never have time, even without the X-Men to make clothes or anything. This time last year, I had half my Christmas presents made, I haven't even started!" she sighed heavily, "I can't do it all."

"Then why did you ask to train for the X-Men?" he asked, and not for the first time. When he'd heard that she was going to join, he'd tried to talk her out of it. He failed, but here was another chance. "With all the work that you have to do, is that not too much? Is it more important than your position as EMT?"


Clarice pursed her lips, here we go again, "Yes, it is more important. You guys go in the field and need more than just Hank in case someone's brain leaks and I can still work in the medlab when there is a crisis and everyone will understand. The station, they don't get it because I can't tell them that oh, by the way, I also work in a secret mutant hospital that spends most of it's time patching up vigilantes and other unsavory types!" this was all going to be hell on her resume.

No, too lavender. He put the pencil down and searched for another. "I just do not wish to see you hurt," he said softly, which was the main complaint he'd repeated dozens of times.

That was sweet and bordering on pathetic, "I don't want you hurt either, but I didn't try to stop you."

Any protest he made to that would likely result in a slap and storming out the room in a huff. "Do you have a codename yet?" he asked, changing the subject. Aah, perfect shade. He began to color in her skin.

That earned him a good natured grumble, "No...I'm really disappointed. I want one damn it! But I guess everyone's been too busy."

"Skittles?" he suggested. "Wisteria Woman? The Polisher?" He grinned, the tease referring to when she'd decided to paint Tommy's toenails.

"Wisteria Woman?! The Polisher?" Clarice spluttered in disbelief at the absurdity of it all, "How about the PMS Avenger while we're at it?!" Skittles was kinda cool.

"Your trainee name is supposed to be dumb," he reminded her. "I'm Kamikaze, remember? Mr. Marko suggested Captain Napalm, and Dayspring thought of Astro Boy. Those are not any better. I cannot wait to just be Sunfire again."

"Where did you get Sunfire from anyways?" she fidgeted again, with the sun going down it was getting cooler in his room, even with the heat on.

The shiver was noticeable, so he hastened the coloring. "My father once called me that, when I had first manifested. I kept it to honor his memory."

"I like it. My mom called the dermatologist," it wasn't quite as lifetime movie inspiring.

"Yes, but we have concluded that your mother is a bitch. So." Some finishing touches, and . . . "Yatta." He brought the pad over to Clarice and showed her the picture. "Ne?"

"Ne," Clarice repeated affirmatively. The picture looked like her. It was more of a rough sketch with purple in it, but there was no mistaking her in it. And the chair was perfect at helping maintain her modesty, at least for the picture. "It's...I'm...that is...wow."

"It could be better," he admitted, his social training telling him to be modest, even if he did think it was an excellent piece. "This shade of purple is good, but not exactly right. And I did not get your eyes right, you see?"

"I think it's perfect," Clarice told him firmly, taking the drawing and taping the edges carefully to the wall. "No fiddling."

"Thank you. Anou do you really want it up there for just anyone to see? It is one thing to battle baseline humans for you, but to face mutants?"

It was kinda kinky to have a nude drawing of your girlfriend on the wall, wasn't it? "Afraid the gossip mill will work overtime?" Clarice leered at Shiro playfully, joining him on his bed.

"Anything that anyone says we do is not any more scandalous than what others here have done. And admitted to," he said with a grin, eyes not on boobies.

"And are still doing, don't forget."

"That too." Okay, almost-naked girlfriend sitting next to him in bed. Shiro had the obvious male response to that, but he was never comfortable being the instigator. He gulped, placing his hand on Clarice's thigh and rubbing it softly with his thumb.

Clarice kissed him gently, glad she had brushed her teeth not too long ago even if her lip gloss had mostly rubbed off. She had noticed his interest, but pretended not to in case he was embarrassed.

Kissing. Kissing was good. That was something Shiro was sure he could do well. But it was beginning to be painfully obvious what he really wanted to do, and oh God why was it so hard?

Clarice trailed one hand lightly down Shiro's back, untucking his shirt and pulling it up, "Okay?" she asked, her breath warm on his cheek. He was entirely overdressed for this occasion.

Shiro shivered, even though the temperature in the room was rising. "Nn," was about all he could reply. His hand moved from Clarice's thigh to her hip, toying with the waistband of her panties and damn they needed to come off.

Taking his muttering as a 'yes', Clarice pulled his shirt off, wrapping herself around him easily and working on the waistband of his pants. Stupid buttons and zippers. It looked so easy in the movies.

"Clarice," he moaned, his shaking hands moving down to her help unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly. Kicking his pants off, he lay down and pulled her on top of him, kissing her deeply and holding her close. Brain functions shutting down.

"You sure?" she asked again, knowing the answer, but wanting to be sure. They had been going out for an awfully long time.

Ah, the warring conscience. On the one hand, a big old YES because they had been together for a while and there was little else he wanted at that moment in time. But on the other hand, to say he was afraid would be an understatement. Would he be good? Would she like it? What if he did the wrong thing?

"I'm sure," he found himself saying, echoing her earlier sentiment.