Minamoto no Raikō

Shirou stepped into the room and halted at sight.

Sight was hardly the word for it—more like the spectacle carved itself into his retinas with diamond scalpels.

It wasn't something he hadn't seen before but no matter how many times he did, Shirou knew it would never fail to seize him by the throat, snuffing out his breath like a hand crushing windpipe.

Minamoto-no-Raikou stood in the center of the chamber, in a classic sailor uniform.

Her blue hair cascaded down her back, her blue eyes gleaming with something somewhere between maternal warmth and the predatory glint of a lioness. Shirou swallowed hard, his fingers twitching involuntarily at his sides.

"Shirou-kun," Raikou purred, the syllables curling like smoke from an incense burner. Her gloved fingers brushed the pleats of her skirt—too deliberately, like a stage actor emphasizing a prop. The uniform strained agains curves that defied both fabric and physics, the top button already surrendered to the inevitable. "You've kept your mother waiting."

His throat clicked dryly.

"I'm sorry, okaasan," Shirou managed, His pulse hammered against his ribs—not from fear, exactly opposite.

His body betrayed him instantly, the fabric of his pants tightening in a way that was impossible to ignore.

Shirou's jeans became a prison, the denim suddenly rough as burlap against hypersensitive skin. His attempt to shift subtly only made it worse, the friction drawing a hissed breath through clenched teeth.

Raikou's gaze dropped—slow, deliberate—and her lips parted just enough to reveal the barest hint of teeth. "Poor thing," she murmured, stepping closer. The scent of her perfume wrapped around him, something floral undercut by musk. "So tense, let mama help." Her gloved hand pressed against his chest, then slid down with agonizing precision, stopping just above his belt buckle.

The click of the metal release sounded obscenely loud in the quiet room. Shirou's breath hitched as her fingers dipped beneath denim, her thumb tracing the outline of him through thin cotton. She exhaled a laugh, warm against his collarbone.

Then she was sinking to her knees, the skirt fanning out around her like a fallen parasol.

Shirou's fingers tangled instinctively in her hair , silk ribbons slipping between his knuckles as she took him into her mouth with the unhurried precision of someone savoring dessert. The heat was obscene—wet velvet swallowing him whole—and when her tongue curled experimentally along the underside, his hips jerked forward before he could stop them. Raikou's hum of approval vibrated through him, her hands sliding up to grip his thighs.

She pulled back just enough to let him see the spit-slick shine on her lips before diving back down, her nose pressing against his abdomen. The uniform's starched collar scraped his inner thighs, the contrast of crisp fabric and molten suction short-circuiting his higher functions.

Raikou's fingers dug into his hips—not restraining, but mapping the tremor of muscles as his body betrayed him further. She hollowed her cheeks with an audible slurp, the sound somehow louder than the blood roaring in Shirou's ears. When her throat fluttered around him, his knees buckled; only her grip kept him upright.

The sailor uniform’s sleeves rode up as she worked, revealing the flex of tendons beneath pale skin. Shirou’s vision fractured—the blue of her hair, the red of her mouth, the white of her fair skin—all blurring into a kaleidoscope of sensation.

Then Raikou pulled away once again with a wet pop, just enough to let him see the way her eyelashes fluttered, the way her breath hitched as his release painted stripes across her cheekbones. It arced in thick ropes, one landing just shy of her parted lips, another streaking the bridge of her nose like war paint. The scent of salt and musk hung between them, heavier than incense.

She didn’t wipe it away. Instead, her tongue darted out to catch a bead slipping toward her chin—slow, experimental—before her eyes locked onto his. "Mm," she murmured, Her thumb smeared what remained on her cheek, then pressed between her lips with a showman’s deliberation. Shirou’s stomach dropped, his spent body betraying him with another twitch of interest.

Raikou’s laugh was a low rumble as she rose, her knees popping softly. The sailor uniform’s hem rode up her thighs, She didn’t adjust it. Instead, she stepped forward, backing him against the wall with the weight of her body.

Shirou’s hands found purchase on her hips—his grip tightened, flipping their positions. The wall shuddered as Raikou’s back connected with it, Her gasp dissolved into a throaty chuckle.

Shirou stared at her—really stared—as if trying to memorize the constellations of saliva drying on her cheeks. Then, abruptly, he turned her face-first toward the wall, her forehead pressing against the plaster, The sailor uniform’s fabric stretched taut over her shoulders, seams protesting as he pinned her wrists above her head with one hand.

His free hand ripped his shirt open with a **** that sent buttons skittering across the floorboards like hail.

The air between them was suddenly thick with the scent of starch and sweat as Shirou stood completely bare with his 'bone' resting against Raikou's back, his bare chest pressing against her uniform, the crisp fabric scratching his skin with every ragged breath.

Raikou's thighs quivering against his, the pleats of her skirt crumpled between them like discarded origami. Her breath fogged the wall in erratic bursts, her usual composure shattered into something raw and gasping.

Shirou dragged his teeth along the damp nape of her neck, tasting salt.

Raikou’s uniform bunched in his fist as he yanked the fabric higher, exposing the dimpled flesh of her thighs, his fingers found the soaked silk between her legs. The wetness there was obscene, smearing across his knuckles as he dragged the fabric aside.

She arched against him with a noise that wasn’t quite a moan, more like the creak of a bridge about to collapse, her body taut as a bowstring. Shirou thrusted his sword impaling her with ease, the wet resistance giving way with a lewd squelch that echoed off the wall. Raikou’s fingers clawed a the plaster, crumbling it like stale cake, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts that fogged the wall in erratic patterns.

He soaked in the familiar but intoxicating experience heat before, his 'bone' sliding out her with ease, before plunging back in. Raikou's body rippled around him, her muscles tightening like a coiled spring then releasing with a shudder.

In and out, in and out—the rhythm wasn't measured, wasn't planned, it was something primal, something feral, something that born of natural instincts rather than finesse.

Her moan fractured into something guttural as his thrusts grew erratic, like the aftermath of a storm. Raikou’s thighs trembled, not from exhaustion but from the effort of keeping upright as Shirou’s ravaged her body with reckless abandon.

Her breath hitched sharply as he buried himself deep, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave bruises. The scent of their sweat mingled with the musk of their coupling, thick enough to taste on the back of Shirou’s tongue.

"You—" Raikou gasped, her voice fractured. "You're going to break me." She laughed, breathless, as plaster dust drifted from her clawed fingers. "Shirou-kun, I love you my sweet boy—"

"I love you too, okaasan," Shirou growled against the shell of her ear, his hips stuttering. He could feel the moment her knees gave out—the way her weight collapsed against him, the way her body clamped down and it dragged a ragged noise from his throat.

Cum spilled into her with a **** that left them both shaking, his fingers digging bruises into her hips as he ground deep. Raikou's moan was muffled against the wall, her shoulders trembling as she pressed back against him, greedy for every drop.

Then—before she could catch her breath—Shirou's hand slid down her thigh, fingers tightening just above the knee. He wrenched her leg upward in one brutal motion, the sudden shift in angle drawing a choked gasp from Raikou's throat as he began his invasion anew.

Raikou's fingers scrabbled for purchase against the wall as Shirou's grip kept her suspended, her body bent like a drawn bow. The angle was obscene—her spine arched, her lifted leg trembling—every thrust now hitting deeper, harder, the slap of skin echoing off the walls.

Her moans fragmented into wordless pleas, syllables dissolving into wet gasps as Shirou's free hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back to expose the flutter of her pulse.

A ragged cry from Raikou's throat that was barely recognizable as his name was the only warning before her pussy clenched around Shiro's cock like a vice, the sudden spasms dragging another orgasm from her body. He gritted his teeth, hips snapping forward instinctively—once, twice—before burying himself to the hilt with a snarl, emptying himself inside her for the second time. The sensation was molten, her inner walls milking him greedily, coaxing out every last drop.