sexuallyconfuses | (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.

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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.

Michiru never asks straightforward questions, and Haruka, in turn, never gives straightforward answers. It's how they are. They know each other well enough to discern the meaning from sidelong glances and flippant remarks -- but Haruka doesn't want that right now.

Her eyes lock onto Michiru's, steady and intent. She has to make sure there's no room left for doubt.

"... Michiru." Her fingers curl against the fabric of her shirt, and Haruka runs her tongue over dry lips. Swallows. "I don't want to go back."

Michiru can't bring herself to look away— not when Haruka is being so serious, and so straightforward.

"We don't have to go back." Her hand shifts, folds against Haruka's side instead of gripping at her shirt. She doesn't need the assurance that she won't pull away, now, does she?

Michiru hesitates, just for a moment, before continuing, "I don't want to, either."

It's fine to admit that, since Haruka said it first; she's only meeting her halfway.

Haruka's heart rises in her chest, swirls and settles. It's as simple as that, is it? That's all that needed to be said.

It took almost laughably little, and it leaves Haruka feeling lightheaded. Her breathing shallow still, but even, she leans in again -- bringing lips to lips.

"Michiru," she breathes into her mouth between kisses, for no reason other than to let herself hear it. "Michiru..."

Michiru's heart jumps in her chest all over again when Haruka leans in; it's impossible not to shift closer, when she's faced with something like that.

"Hm?" She keeps each touch of her lips brief but firm, and then pulls back, just enough to speak. Her nose brushes Haruka's lightly. "What is it?"

Her tone is light, bordering on curious. She knows that Haruka probably doesn't need anything more from her right now, but it's satisfying, hearing her voice.

Haruka grumbles in protest, her lips pinching into an unwitting pout. "It isn't anything," she huffs, the tip of her nose pressing into Michiru's own as she angles her head for another kiss, "I just wanted to say it."

"Then, by all means," Michiru's eyes slide shut, and her lips curl, just barely, "feel free to say it as much as you'd like."

She certainly won't complain— not when this side of Haruka is so endearing. She will, however, meet her halfway for the next kiss, slotting their lips together easily.