sexuallyconfuses | (no subject)

(no subject)

Everything's kind of a blur: the battle, the pain ripping through flesh, the grail's blinding glow, and the way back home, after. It all happened at such a dizzying whirlwind-speed, and the two of them could do nothing but be swept along, images and sensations and sounds smeared together to near-incomprehension.

It's only when Haruka steps into their apartment at last, and finds it just the way they'd left it, that her mind can begin to process.

It's only been a day, hasn't it? And it's as though nothing had happened at all. The light of the waxing moon filters in through the window, coating the room in gentle, peaceful silver, with not a single thing out of place. When she looks over to Michiru beside her, her skin is whole and unmarred save, at worst, for a few scraps and light bruises.

It's quiet. A single car sweeps by in the empty street below.

Haruka isn't hurting, either -- the steady pump of adrenaline has kept a solid barrier between her mind and body, but even now, as it begins to wear, the only sensation to seep in is a soreness in her muscles. Her hands ball into fists, as if to reaffirm the realness of it: fingers squeezing against palm, then loosening. Squeezing, and loosening.

Her eyes have yet to leave Michiru's face.

They're both alive. Michiru is alive. Michiru is right here by her side, not pinned to the wall by limp arms and legs, not ambling towards her in a cloud of smoke pouring from dozens and dozens of bullet holes, not crumpled into a broken bloodied heap on the floor, not--

Haruka's chest seizes up, a surge of panic uncoiling where before there was nothing but warm, airy relief. Suddenly she can't remember how to breathe at all -- her head flashes hot, her legs are nailed through to the floor -- and it's a stumbling struggle of half a step forward until her fingers can hook into Michiru's shoulder, pulling her hard against her chest.

Haruka's arms are as rigid as iron poles, and they are trembling.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Even if Haruka isn't reciprocating, Michiru keeps her hand where it is. The clamminess of her palm doesn't bother her, so long as she's allowed to hold on like this.

"I can, if you'll do the same." Her response comes easily enough, even if the look on Haruka's face makes her stomach churn. An expression like that doesn't suit her, and Michiru's free hand curls in on itself.

She wants to brush her fingers against the curve of Haruka's cheek, as if that'd be enough to wipe it away. She settles for holding onto her hand a little tighter.

Haruka opens her mouth to promise. With this, it should be enough, right? If she only agrees to watch out for herself, then Michiru won't have to--

--have to?

Realization flashes across Haruka's face, and her jaw clicks shut. "No."

Her features sharpen, harsh lines marring her brow, the corners of her eyes. Her words, too, have a jagged edge to them. "Those things aren't dependent on each other. Even if I misstep in battle, that's my own responsibility, and my own consequences to bear. Don't make it sound like it's your duty to protect me, and like I can only keep you from sacrificing yourself for my sake by being a good enough soldier."

She pulls her hand away again, straightens and turns, now standing before Michiru in full. Her eyes lock onto hers, inescapable. "If I'm so weak that I would die for it, then I deserve to die."

Michiru's hand curls tighter as Haruka pulls away from her, and her nails bite into her palm. It's what she's saying that makes ice begin to take root in the pit of her stomach, though.

"That's ridiculous!" She's raising her voice, now, and the realization makes her purse her lips. She doesn't want to yell, doesn't like how petulant it makes her sound.

So, she swallows around the lump in her throat and tries again.

"You can't ask me to promise that I won't make decisions on my own, and then say something like that."

That she deserves to die, if she makes a mistake. The thought makes Michiru's mouth twist into a frown.

The piercing crescendo of Michiru's voice makes Haruka's face pinch, before her expression falls slack with surprise. Though the lack of reaction -- any reaction at all -- had been threatening to drive her mad, she's unprepared for when she actually gets it. Even the twisting dark mass of emotion in her stomach is knocked off its hinges, for a moment.

But frustration quickly finds its footing again-- "How is it ridiculous?! It's what we've been doing up until now!"

Then followed, quiet and bitter, by betrayal:

"It's what you had me believe we've been doing up until now."

"I know that!" With her prior outburst out of the way, it's easier for Michiru to keep her voice down. There's an obvious, raw edge to it that she can't quite stamp out, but that will come eventually.

She draws in another shaky breath, and then continues:

"But I would appreciate it, still, if you wouldn't say things like that."

She looks away, toward the now-chipped paint on the wall. She might not have any right to ask for something like that, but— she doesn't want to hear Haruka talk about dying, or think about her being hurt. She had said it so easily that it almost sounded inevitable, and the thought alone is enough to make Michiru feel like someone has a vice grip on her heart.

Out of everything that's happened today, out of everything that's been said between the two of them -- that's the one thing to crack Michiru's armor?

Haruka would laugh, were she in any state to.

"Does the thought of me dying upset you that much?"

"I suppose it does."

It takes her a moment to school her expression back into something neutral, but then she's turning to look at Haruka again; the uncomfortable feeling in her gut still hasn't settled.

Is that even a question worth asking, is what Michiru wants to say, but what comes out instead is:

"Were you under the impression that I wouldn't care if you got yourself killed?"

Surely Haruka, of all people, should know better than that.

Haruka's mouth twists into some odd shadow of a grin, and she shakes her head, taking a single step forward.

"Were you under the impression I won't care if you do?"

Michiru stays put, keeps her eyes trained on Haruka's face. It might be easy to reach out to her now, to take her hand again, but she won't. How many times has Haruka pulled away from her, today?

"I only thought you'd be able to bear it."

Not that she wouldn't care— but that Haruka, who has taken to their mission so well, would be able to handle it if she were given enough time.

"Do you intend to tell me that I was wrong?"

The question has a tangible weight to it, bearing down on Haruka -- a challenge to admit her own weakness. Her shoulders tighten underneath it, as though her very muscles are struggling to resist.

She stands there stiff and still as she wracks her mind for the right answer: one that will neither undermine their duty as soldiers, nor Michiru's worth. (As a soldier, as her partner, as Michiru.)

Haruka's teeth dig into her lower lip, a moment, before she catches herself and lets go.

"The two of us could die any day," she begins, coming out easy through repetition. "I know that. If you were to meet your end in battle, I would carry our mission to term, just as you'd do in my place -- that's the destiny I accepted when I picked up the wand. And I would bear it, because there is no other choice."

"But--" Her hands reach to find hold against Michiru's shoulders again, a steady, calm pressure-- "if you died for my sake, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I couldn't possibly accept a life I've been given in exchange for your own."

Another step closer; her eyes never leave Michiru's. "Can you understand that?"

What Haruka's saying feels significant, even if it's— at first— an idea that she's incredibly familiar with. And then, the feeling of her hands curling over her shoulders makes the tension begin to leave Michiru's body, bit by bit. Her hands feel warm, and her touch feels gentle; it's not like before, when she was harsh and trembling.

She couldn't look away from her if she wanted to, now.

"I do." She lifts both hands, covers Haruka's carefully. The words come out easier than she anticipated, and they ring true, too. "It's the same for me."

If Haruka were killed trying to protect her— she's not sure what she'd do, but the thought makes her throat feel tight. After a moment of hesitation, she takes a small step of her own. If Haruka moves first, that means it's fine, doesn't it? That she can get closer, and that she won't pull away from her like she did earlier.

"Will you accept this, at least?" The second chance they've been given.

Haruka nods her head. It feels, for the first time, like she may have just gotten through to her, and a hint of relief dares to creep into her features.

But it's not enough yet.

"I want you to promise me. No conditions. And keep it, this time."

One thumb brushes the side of Michiru's neck, softly. "We're partners, aren't we?"

It's not the kind of promise Michiru is eager to make, necessarily, but seeing the relief on Haruka's face— slight as it might be— works as an incentive.

Promising that she won't trade her life for Haruka's doesn't mean she has to let her die, anyway, does it? It just means that she'll have to take a different approach, should the situation ever arise.

She takes a breath, and then:

"I'll give you my word." Her head tips toward Haruka's hand, where her thumb had brushed her neck. "And I'll keep it."

She wants to add in a condition, to make Haruka promise her, too, but she won't. Not when trying to compromise had done more harm than good, earlier.

"We're partners, after all," she adds, softer than before. It feels like they're on thin ice, but saying that out loud helps.

Haruka doesn't respond right away, only searches Michiru's face in silence.

"Okay," she accepts at last, and when she inhales it seems to settle in her lungs for the first time that evening. Her voice comes out raspy through the scratchiness of her throat, but it sounds lighter, now. "Good."

That hand at Michiru's neck inches up, cupping the softness of her cheek. The skin there hums warm beneath her palm. It's comforting.

Haruka lingers.

"... Do you want to go to bed?"

When Haruka's hand touches her cheek, whatever leftover tension Michiru might have been carrying falls away.

"I think," she starts, after a moment, "that I'd like to go wherever you go."

Her fingers brush the back of Haruka's hand, and then the inside of her wrist. If she lingers there, she can feel the steady thrum of her pulse; it's a small thing, but it's enough to ease the lump in her throat.

"Or, would you rather be alone?"

Her head tilts again— almost curious, this time— as she watches Haruka's face.

Michiru's touch is ticklish against her wrist, and Haruka's hand curls instinctively, forefinger grazing earlobe for a fleeting half-second.

She doesn't pull back, though. Just quietly exhales through her nose. "I don't want to let go."

Michiru's fingers curl around Haruka's wrist slowly— not to pull her hand away, but to keep it where it is, pressed close to her cheek.

"Oh?" Her other hand moves to settle against Haruka's side, and she hums, quiet and thoughtful. "Then you don't have to."

It's as simple as that, isn't it? Because, right now, she doesn't want to let go, either.

After a moment, she continues, "I might even prefer it if you didn't."

Haruka's eyelashes flutter; the storm inside her has settled, dying down into a quiet, gentle breeze.

She bows her head, touching her forehead to Michiru's. The eye contact is closer than ever now, but she barely so much as blinks.

"Might?"

It's hard not to be aware of how close they are, when Haruka's forehead touches hers. Like this, Michiru can see how fine her features are, and she can smell her cologne; her hands feel warm against her cheek and her shoulder.

This is probably the part where— regardless of what they both might want— she should pull back, but she feels firmly rooted in place. Her eyes are locked onto Haruka's.

"I don't want you to let go." The words leave her mouth without her permission, but the look on her face doesn't waver. "Not right now."

If she says it like that, it isn't needy of her. They're just... indulging, maybe.

Hearing Michiru say it -- honest and clear, for once in their lives -- makes something in Haruka's chest cave in. There are so many things she could say, flashing through her head: how the world stopped in place and her blood turned ice when Michiru collapsed to the ground, how when she looked down at her it felt, if only for a second, that the path they'd taken was wrong all along. None of it is something she could admit aloud, even now. But she can act on it.

Haruka leans down and brings their lips together.

She won't let herself have regrets a second time.

Even with the knowledge that they might have been heading toward this in the back of her mind, Michiru isn't quite prepared for the feeling of Haruka's lips against hers. Her mouth is slack, just for a moment, before she leans into it, kisses her firmly.

How many times has she thought about this over the years, and how close had she come to never being able to experience it? The thought makes her heart jump into her throat all over again, for too many reasons to count, and Michiru's fingers grip tightly at Haruka's side.

It hadn't been a lie, when she said she didn't want her to let go.

She releases Haruka's wrist, slowly but surely, and moves to cup the back of her neck, instead, to draw her closer.

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.

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.

Haruka's lips mourn the contact as soon as it's severed, but with her breath as shallow and quick as it is, she knows better than to reinitiate it so quite so quickly. She placates herself, for now, by kissing around Michiru's mouth: over her cheek, and the line of her jaw. The kisses are half-formed, open-mouthed and breathy -- but she can feel Michiru beneath her lips, and in this moment little else seems to matter.

"I said I won't let go, didn't I?"

Each brush of Haruka's lips borders on being ticklish, and the bridge of Michiru's nose crinkles with it. She doesn't pull back, though; being kissed like this, when the both of them are still breathless, is better than she could've thought.

"You did."

She angles her head to press a kiss to the corner of Haruka's mouth, and then to the gentle curve of her cheek. A part of her wants to bow her head, to bury it against the side of Haruka's neck, but she draws back to look at her, instead.

"I wonder how long you'll hold on for, then."

For the rest of the night? Or is this marking a shift in their partnership? It's hard to to tell, and even harder to ask outright.