That hand against the small of her back is all Michiru needs to steady herself. It means Haruka wants her closer, that she's okay with this, and— at this point, her heart is beating so hard that she can't help but feel like it might leave an imprint of itself against her sternum.
Her own hand slides up, just barely, so her fingers can brush through the hair at the nape of Haruka's neck, and then higher, so she can cradle the back of her head in her palm.
Her hair is soft, like her mouth, and the crushed fabric of her shirt between Michiru's fingers.
(Selfishly, she hopes this isn't the only time she'll be able to feel those things.)
It's only once her lungs start to ache that Michiru pulls away, and even then, she doesn't go far; her forehead presses to Haruka's as she inhales, slow and deep.
"You're holding on so tightly," she murmurs, quiet and breathless. There's a light, almost coy, edge to her voice, now.
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Her own hand slides up, just barely, so her fingers can brush through the hair at the nape of Haruka's neck, and then higher, so she can cradle the back of her head in her palm.
Her hair is soft, like her mouth, and the crushed fabric of her shirt between Michiru's fingers.
(Selfishly, she hopes this isn't the only time she'll be able to feel those things.)
It's only once her lungs start to ache that Michiru pulls away, and even then, she doesn't go far; her forehead presses to Haruka's as she inhales, slow and deep.
"You're holding on so tightly," she murmurs, quiet and breathless. There's a light, almost coy, edge to her voice, now.