Michiru doesn't pull back. Haruka didn't expect that she would, not after everything -- and yet to have her reciprocate, to actually be kissing Michiru, is surreal enough to make her head spin.
Her lips are softer than anything Haruka'd imagined. She hadn't thought of the tickle of eyelashes against her cheek, either, or the tug at her side where that delicate hand has clenched into a taut fist around the fabric.
It's gorgeous. All of it.
Something ingrained in the back of her head whines that they shouldn't, but it's never sounded so pitifully weak in her life. With Michiru pressed up against her, their breaths interweaving -- so beautifully warm and alive -- not a fiber of Haruka's being could believe that this is wrong.
One of her hands is still idle, and she's quick to make use of it, tracing it to the small of Michiru's back to pull her harder against her. Her fingertips tremble, just slightly, with need -- and it's the same need that has her refusing to break off the kiss for so long as a moment, even as her lungs begin to murmur in protest.
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Her lips are softer than anything Haruka'd imagined. She hadn't thought of the tickle of eyelashes against her cheek, either, or the tug at her side where that delicate hand has clenched into a taut fist around the fabric.
It's gorgeous. All of it.
Something ingrained in the back of her head whines that they shouldn't, but it's never sounded so pitifully weak in her life. With Michiru pressed up against her, their breaths interweaving -- so beautifully warm and alive -- not a fiber of Haruka's being could believe that this is wrong.
One of her hands is still idle, and she's quick to make use of it, tracing it to the small of Michiru's back to pull her harder against her. Her fingertips tremble, just slightly, with need -- and it's the same need that has her refusing to break off the kiss for so long as a moment, even as her lungs begin to murmur in protest.