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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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.