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+1 but I know, I know you take it well
☆☽☆
It was over. The Starlights were going home. After waiting so long, they saw no reason to wait around—two-thirds of them didn’t. The suddenness seemed to Haruka like a dismissal of their lives here, but wouldn’t she hurry, too, if it was her? If it was Earth; if it was Princess Serenity?
Uranus wasn’t one for public displays of affection, so she wasn’t planning to say goodbye until Neptune convinced her. Maybe Michiru’s maternal side needed an outlet now that Hotaru was older again, or maybe she also couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen to her without Haruka.
Not in front of Sailor Moon, though: Uranus had a reputation to maintain. So they met, disguised, in a dingy alleyway.
“She does love you,” Uranus said.
Fighter wrung her hands miserably. “I guess she has a big heart.”
“Size isn’t everything.”
Fighter rolled her eyes. “You would say that.”
Uranus’s gaze lingered on Fighter’s chest. “And you wouldn’t. But I resent your implication. Michiru?”
Instead of backing her up with words, Michiru reached into her purse and pulled out something long and thick and dark ocean blue, which she placed in Uranus’s gloved palm. “Haruka isn’t really one for scissoring.”
☆☽☆
When Fighter led Uranus into the VIP area of her club, somehow the bouncer didn’t even blink at the sight of Seiya Kou of the Three Lights in thigh-high boots and a choker. He stared resolutely ahead with a determined and slightly pained expression.
After he closed the door behind them, Uranus turned to Fighter with her mouth open. “Does he know?”
“I had to transform here, once, and he saw me come out. I told him I have a twin.”
Uranus cackled. Despite their uniforms, Fighter was heartbreakingly naive. She and Sailor Moon were so sweet, but trusting everyone wasn’t always wise. That’s what Uranus was there for. “He thinks you’re a cross-dresser. You should tip him.”
Speaking of smart decisions—although the VIP room was currently empty, that was bold, even for Uranus. “Is there a bathroom?”
Fighter leaned on an unmarked door so it swung open to reveal three cubicles, a small sink, and a full-length mirror. “Here.” It was impossible to tell if her breathless voice was excited or nervous.
Uranus followed her in, tugging off her gloves. She abandoned them on the sink, then felt exposed without them. Maybe Seiya was right, and the outfits did mean something, a veil separating them from their real lives. Haruka’s life was Michiru and cars and a house full of Michiru’s paintings and resonating with Michiru’s music, but this was Uranus, movements incorrigible as a planet, too big to see without getting further away. It glittered.
“You don’t mind cross-dressing for me?” Uranus made her voice teasing so Fighter wouldn’t flit from the seriousness beneath. She was playing by Fighter’s own rules, but they were so different from her own it still felt wrong.
Fighter bumped their hips together, laughing. “I know how you feel about me, Uranus.”
Haruka had very simple tastes, really. Michiru liked complexity and layers of illusion and loyalty and secret codes; Haruka liked beautiful women who scared her a little. “I felt guilty for it, when I realized who you were.”
Fighter worked her neck from side to side, like a wrestler preparing for the ring. “Did it make you hard, when you slapped me?”
Uranus’s mouth opened and closed.
She looked so… so hopeful, so trusting, so thrilled. It was a very human expression. Uranus could remember her handprint on Fighter’s cheek and the way both their bodies trembled, and the way Fighter’s fist had felt in her gut. She hadn’t tried to forget, but she had tried to want to forget.
Fighter’s eyes fluttered shut as she unfurled the seductive poise she’d retired for their last few meetings—colorwheel speeding up until Uranus wasn’t sure she knew anything about her after all. How could Uranus have thought they were the same, when Fighter could twist her face into shapes even Michiru would envy?
Then, fingers sliding over her mouth, she purred, “I jerked off about it.”
Strange little alien.
“I’m not going to slap you.” Uranus frowned. It had felt good—but the fact it felt good had not felt good. She wouldn’t slap her...but Fighter’s lust-narrowed eyes sanctioned the rough edges of her desire.
Fighter swayed on her feet. She reached up on her tiptoes and planted an adorably hesitant kiss on Uranus’ lips.
Laughing, Uranus pushed her back, guiding them both into the stall furthest from the door. “Waste of that pretty mouth.”
Even the muffled click of their shoes on the linoleum prefigured what they were going to do, the click of Uranus’s heels lower-pitched than Fighter’s eye-wateringly high ones. Really, if Uranus ever figured out who designed these outfits, she would remember to petition them on behalf of the Starlights’s ankles.
To lock the door, she had to lean over Fighter, who was shorter than Uranus despite her boots. Though Haruka had been thinking disrespectful thoughts for longer than she cared to admit, the faded scent of men’s cologne clinging to Fighter’s neck made her blush.
Sensing her hesitation, Fighter leaned back against the door. By slumping her shoulders and arching her hips, she lowered herself to look up instead of across at Uranus.
Their bare thighs crowded together. The stall forced them so close, Uranus inhaled air still warm from Fighter’s breath.
Uranus tilted her chin up but didn’t kiss her, just looked. “I’m going to treat you like a girl,” she warned. “It’s all I know how to do.”
Fighter’s eyes smoldered, like when they fought in Michiru’s dressing room. She had such a volatile face, wide blue-black eyes and full lips that exaggerated every emotion. Seiya made good use of it - commercials, music videos, dramas, a film. Haruka was no performer, but she’d finally come to understand that although Seiya was her reflection, he was a backwards reflection. His over-the-top nature extended to his enjoyment of being a girl.
Fighter watched her fumble with the harness, fixing the silicone cock in place. “So that’s what I felt.”
A smile crept across Uranus’s face at the thought of unsettling her so easily, after all. “Don’t you have these on Kinmoku?”
She blushed, lips shaping silent words. It was possible she was shy. It was also possible she wasn’t experienced enough to know.
Haruka would give her one to take with her, just in case. “Shall I teach you how to use it?”
“I’m a hands-on learner.” The polite, feminine pronoun, and the slight hesitation before she said it, was strangely suggestive, though Haruka had never felt that way when Michiru used it.
“You’ll have to put more than your hands on it.”
“Okay, daddy.”
“Fighter, fuck, are you still trying to piss me off?”
She bit her lip. “No, daddy.”
“Get on your knees. I said I’d shut you up if you said disgusting things.”
“Yes, d–”
“Shut up.” Uranus shoved her to her knees.
It wasn’t so different from fighting. The same energy tingled under her skin, only now instead of fizzling out under her shame, it forked endlessly across her body, feeding on Fighter’s anticipation. “For the love of God, shut up. Open your mouth.” She used her hand to push Fighter’s mouth wider, impatient and clumsy, fueled by concern for how much she liked it.
She fussed with the skirt so it wouldn’t block her view. Maybe instead of trying to make reluctant peace with the skirt, she should have tried giving herself a Pavlovian response to it instead: Beyond the skirt was a pretty guardian braving the linoleum on her bare knees, lips parted around Uranus’ fingers, eyes fixed on Uranus’ cock. Her legs stretched behind her, heels peeking out of the stall in an obvious disclosure of what was happening inside.
If anyone came in, they’d think Uranus was a man. And Fighter was a woman...
“Please, daddy,” she whined around the fingers clasping her jaw.
…Especially now.
Compared to the rain-soaked kid who’d trembled on her porch, she had no shame at all in this form. It was difficult to separate her act from her real feelings, but she couldn’t fake this hunger.
Uranus must be growing old and soft already. She felt a rush of warmth imagining Fighter enjoying herself—though not exactly how she expected—before returning home.
Shivering, impatient, she nudged her cock between Fighter’s lips. No time for talking now. This would never happen again. Maybe, if they’d talked instead of hissing like alley cats, it would have happened sooner; Haruka would let Michiru make the plans from the start, next time. Not that she planned to meet any more confused, cross-dressing, gorgeous, lonely refugee aliens anytime soon.
Fighter looked so cute, struggling determinedly to fit it all in her mouth.
She would be fucking perfect for someone, someday, just not Usagi. Usagi wouldn’t know what to do with her. She was pretty and pliable and eager to please and—it quickly became apparent—totally clueless. Luckily Uranus couldn’t actually feel it, or she would have more complaints about the teeth.
“You like sucking cock?” Raising her eyebrows, Uranus watched Fighter struggle to nod with her mouth full.
She really hadn’t done this before. How could a sane person resist experimenting with such a body? Shouldn’t they have started exchanging oral by their third day on Earth, with nothing else to pass the time? The other two must be robots.
“I don’t know how they keep their hands off you. I would be fucking you until you couldn’t walk.”
She moaned.
“Is that what you want?” Uranus laughed, because it was funny to get a rise out of her so easily after everything, and because she loved the sound of a girl moaning around her cock. She lowered her voice. “Is that what you need?”
Fighter tried to pull off to answer, but Uranus held her firm. Maybe they didn’t have rhetorical questions on Kinmoku either. Held to the base, a frantic gurgle rose from the back of her throat as she nodded.
“Okay,” Uranus said. “After you make me come.”
Lashes fluttering, she moaned again.
Uranus ruffled her hair. “Making those sounds... people will think you’re a slut.” She’d been gentle, but moaning like that twice just because she liked sucking cock so much made it hard.
Uranus grabbed her hair. Deeper. She took it as easily as Uranus knew she could, her continuous moan broken up by the cock dragging in and out of her mouth. The way she frantically sucked air through her nose, fighting to swallow as spit pooled in the back of her throat—it was easy to imagine the wet inside of her mouth.
“You are,” Uranus murmured. “You need it. Didn’t you beg them to take care of you?”
She inhaled loudly through her nose, shaky, desperate gulps. It was written all over her face. Need. When stars died they became black holes, and black holes never filled, no matter how much they swallowed. If she could speak, all she’d say was more, more, more. Uranus, kindly, didn’t make her say it.
Uranus stretched over her to unlatch the door. She ignored Fighter’s confused sound and nudged it open with her foot, revealing the full-length mirror on the opposite wall.
Fighter dragged herself off hesitantly, gaze unfocused. Uranus liked the dark color for this, matte-finished, to show where her cock was wet from Fighter’s mouth. Michiru might be cruel for choosing something so big, but she knew Haruka wouldn’t mind.
In the mirror, Uranus held Fighter’s cheek to her thigh. She wiped her cock across Fighter’s face and, to her delight, Fighter tried to chase after it. “See how you need it?”
Fighter blinked rapidly. She was a good accessory; with a cute girl sagged against her long legs, Uranus appeared more Amazonian and less like a schoolgirl. It still wasn’t exactly what she wanted, but it wasn’t without its appeal.
Fighter’s lips were already swollen. Her jaw would ache all day, and there would be red marks on her knees. Anyone who looked closely would know what she’d been doing.
“You want daddy to come down your throat?”
“Can you actually–” The thickness of her voice seemed to surprise her.
“Use your imagination.” Uranus stroked her disheveled hair.
The quirks of her body obscured how limited her imagination was—but she couldn’t even imagine dating a blatantly bisexual girl without a male body. It was going to be hard work for her to catch up.
She glanced up. “Yes, daddy.”
Uranus guided her impatiently back. The door swung shut as she removed her hand, but she didn’t re-lock it. “That’s a good boy.”
It slipped out without thinking, but Fighter let out a long whine and eagerly sucked Uranus to the back of her throat, mouth straining. With one hand, she fed the cock into her mouth, while with the other, she reached down to touch herself.
Uranus fingered the collar. “You like that?”
Fighter lifted her hips, fumbling against herself while Uranus held her up. Seiya didn’t like when his princess called him Fighter, but apparently it didn’t go both ways. Maybe his careful compartmentalization was more artificial than he wanted to acknowledge.
Uranus batted Fighter’s hand away to press deeper, until her wet lips nudged Uranus’s crotch. She could feel it: the warmth of Fighter’s mouth, through the warmth of her lips grazing skin; her clumsy suction, through the soft noises of her mouth; her wetness, through the trail down her chin. When she curled her fingers in Fighter’s hair and dragged her forward, back, forward again, she could feel her throat closing from her desperate gasps for breath.
She clenched her hand in Fighter’s hair, the orgasm spreading through every inch of her skin like she was on fire, hot beneath the leather straps and up into the spit-soaked cock.
She shook silently. Fighter, eyes closed, didn’t stop sucking. Her quiet moans were almost trancelike.
Uranus nudged her with a boot, and the cock slipped out of her mouth with a wet pop. “Hey, Fighter.”
Fighter’s swollen lips twitched like they couldn’t remember how to do anything other than suck. She cocked her head back and smiled. “How’d I do?”
Uranus huffed a laugh. Her technique was three parts enthusiasm and one part distractingly pretty mouth, but it worked in her favor. “Impressive, for your first time.”
She sucked her lip. “I told you, Kinmoku is different. I haven’t done anything like that before.” Her voice was husky and slow, like the way she spoke to Sailor Moon except, well, more like her throat had just been fucked. “Was it that obvious?”
Uranus breathed an internal sigh of relief. She appreciated Fighter’s inexperience an embarrassing amount, but she didn’t want to be her first ever. Not like this. “Yeah. But that’s why it’s hot,” she added quickly. “You knew what scissoring was.”
Fighter turned curiously red.
Uranus’s thoughts were invaded with images of strong thighs interlocked, dark hair butting against light, wet, gasping. Reddened lips, dark eyes, pure desperation. “Oh my god. Which one?”
Redder. “Not with them!” Softer. “Not on Earth.”
She got a faraway look, and Uranus figured she needed to turn the conversation back from whatever space-woman Fighter had been scissoring with before her planet was destroyed. “Your first time here, then, and you didn’t come.”
“I did.”
“What?”
“I did.”
The veil holding Uranus back from Haruka tore. “Shit, now I can’t pretend I’m being altruistic. I want to fuck you.” She scooped a string of drool from the corner of Fighter’s lips. “The fact you came all over yourself from sucking cock really makes me want to fuck you.”
While she redid the bolt, Fighter got to her feet, clumsy as a newborn giraffe, with marks on her knees. She sucked a breath and hopped awkwardly as her dead leg came back to life, but Haruka gave her no time, caging her against the door of the stall.
She fell back, arching her head up so Haruka could bite at her neck. Now her mouth was free, she could sing out each press of Haruka’s teeth to her skin, like she was still trying to summon her princess.
Haruka drew back, shutting her eyes. When she opened them she was herself again, in the jeans and shirt she wore that morning, with no lip-gloss in sight. The transformation into Uranus was a dazzling spectacle—she had to steel herself—but returning was as simple as kicking off outdoor shoes and collapsing on a couch. “I think fucking you in heels is beyond me.”
Fighter studied her anxiously. Color-wheel stuttering: flash of red blazer and necktie.
“Do you want to de-transform too?”
She shook her head, as if waking from a dream. “I don’t… and men can’t…”
“I think…” Haruka touched her throat, unwilling to explain anal sex to her. But she was wrong on more than one count. “...you’re as much a man as I am, Seiya.”
Flutter-flutter-flutter of her eyelashes—her heart beneath Haruka’s palm. Thoughts moving across her face, slow from the attention of Haruka’s fingers and lips, seeking the hidden vaults of soft flesh in that muscled landscape. And, sliding a hand into her bra, the not-so-hidden ones. When Haruka groped her hips, she laughed nervously.
“It’s not about the outfit, little star. Did you seriously think I was like you just because of a magic skirt?”
Fighter slumped against the stall door. A faint tan shaded the contours of her shoulders. “You don’t have to rub it in.”
Haruka took off her shirt and held it out. In her plain sports bra, she was more modest, but it was proof: We’re the same.
Fighter stared at it like it was a weapon.
Patient, Haruka tugged a bra strap, smoothed out the neck-piece where it had gotten folded over.
Fighter took the shirt.
She pulled it over her head, with Haruka’s help. It tapered at her waist, but it was a flattering cut Haruka chose for a reason, emphasizing her shoulders and loose over the chest. Some people liked to be invisible, but Haruka liked when she caught a girl looking at her a little too long, wondering if they were allowed to be attracted to what they saw. She’d never been on the other end of that question before (much to the chagrin of Michiru, who wished Haruka was a little more restrained with her affections) but her brain shot stunted fireworks in every direction at the sight of pale thighs curving from beneath her own shirt.
“Have you ever fucked a girl, Seiya?” She let herself toy with the collar. Back in her regular clothes, she felt more present, safer, and slightly less free. “Want me to teach you how?”
The strap-on bulged from beneath her pants. Fighter did her best—which wasn’t much—not to stare.
Haruka held her chin until she stopped avoiding her gaze.
“I’m not sure about your teaching methods.” His voice was quiet, but his gaze was direct; self-startled, but approaching pleased as he finally caught up to her game, and a lot of previously invisible possibilities occurred to him at short notice.
“Good boy.” A good apprentice. He would make her proud, back home.
Boy dressed up like a girl, girl dressed up like a boy—what was the difference? It was about things being in places they shouldn’t be and looking better there. Like the cock between her legs. Like Seiya on his knees.
She rolled down his pants, spun him around, and pressed him against the door. The shorts fell in a tangle around his boots, a pleasing image of restricted movement. If they’d had more time, she could have left him tied up, for Michiru to play with. Michiru was too sensible to admit she wanted to.
He nodded, shuffling to spread himself for her as best he could in the small space. Wet glistened between his legs. Dark hair blanketed the cleft of his ass—so unexpected that Haruka wondered if the hairlessness everywhere else was part of the transformation magic, or if underneath his suit the idol was waxed (almost) all over, too.
His legs strained from the heels, stuttering forward with an echoing click. Haruka was still turning it over in her head, that Seiya Kou could strut in six-inch heels more confidently than most women. How did Usagi feel when she saw him like this? Haruka liked the symmetry: a handsome, strange girl and a beautiful, strange boy.
“You really need to tip that bouncer.” She tasted the salt of his skin. Nipped the shell of his ear. “Or he might tell all your fans how you like dressing up like a girl. And getting used like one in a bathroom stall.”
He stiffened, electrified, as she neatly connected the two dangling wires of him. Knowing how to choose a moment, she pressed her hand against him to feel his wet heat.
She slid her finger inside. Felt him gasp against her, biting his lip too late to stop the sound. “Are you so delicate as a boy, or do you just shut up as soon as I get inside you?”
“I don’t know what to say,” he whispered.
“Tell me how much you want it.”
“Teach me.” He shuddered.
Haruka was lucky to have a pupil like this. “You should be gentle with her. Use your fingers first, and move them until she makes a sound like–” Seiya whimpered. “–that.” Her other hand carefully roamed his thigh until she brushed a spot where it curved into his ass that made him go soft, sighing. “Don’t be selfish. Even though she feels good for you inside, touch her.”
There was a strange part of her that wanted to hold him tight until the world was ready for him, and more of her that wanted to hit him where he was soft to see if he could take it.
She settled for squeezing his ass, biting the curve of his shoulder so she could feel with her teeth how his body moved for her. He was so quiet while her finger moved inside him, though usually he was the brash one.
“And be patient. Her body will tell you when it’s ready.”
Two fingers. He hissed through his teeth. The wet noise of her fingers echoed from the ceiling tiles. She was momentarily transfixed by the backs of his broad thighs, angled out towards her, stark against the black boots.
“I want it, please. I’m ready.”
Haruka laughed. “Or she might tell you herself. But it can be fun to tease her first.”
“I’ll come before you get it inside,” he threatened.
“And I’ll just keep fucking you.” Haruka scissored her fingers roughly. “The cool thing about fucking a girl is you can do it for as long as you want.”
His heels skittered. “Do it, then.”
It might have been the sheer cuteness of him attempting to threaten her, as though him coming around her fingers would be unwelcome. Or maybe it was the fact he was dripping down her hand. She pressed her clothed bulge into him, not caring that the fabric of her pants was rough where he was bare. “Ask nicely.”
“I did.”
She dragged her crotch lazily against him. “Nicer.”
“Please, daddy,” he begged, pressing the side of his face to the door, looking back at her with humiliation written on every one of his features. “You know I need it. I’m– I’m– I’m a slut.”
She patted his back over the shirt, comradely. “That wasn’t hard, was it?”
He pouted.
“Good boy.” She undid her belt and let it slide to the floor with a clang, unzipped her fly, and pulled her cock back out. “You make me so hard.”
Even through the shirt, she could see how tightly he held himself back.
She sighed. “Don’t hold on, Seiya. It’s okay to come.”
“I can’t unless you touch me… there…” His cheeks heated, suddenly prudish.
Being Fighter, as much as it was a burden, was a shield for him, too. He knew how to be her so perfectly it was polished to unreality, a ballet, and only when he started being Seiya did he discover how messy and terrifying it was to submit to being alive for real. He was like Michiru in this way—and when Haruka saw such a perfect girl, she wanted to dig inside her until she found the hidden feelings.
Haruka lined herself up. Her mouth watered as she watched the head breach him. “That’s not true.”
His face scrunched as he adjusted—from her two fingers to this.
“You’ll come when I fuck you. Like a girl.”
He took a shocked, shaky breath. “I’m not a girl.”
“I know, Seiya.” She groaned, trying to stave off the part of herself that wanted to make him cry, wrapping his ponytail around her fingers. He trusted her. The fact he trusted someone like her either meant he was desperate, or he didn’t mind. “But you feel like one.”
“Haruka…”
“Is it too big?”
“I like it.”
“Good boy.” Haruka strained with the effort of being gentle. The fact she couldn’t actually feel it made it worse, because it was easier to be callous. She could fuck him for hours if she wanted.
She pulled his hair. He let her pull his head back as as far as it would go, and when he was pinned between her body and the stall door, she sank deep, too deep, too fast.
He tried to lift his still-gloved hand to his mouth to muffle his moan, but she grabbed it roughly. She could fit fingers all the way around his slender wrist, and squeeze until he yelped.
“I want to hear your pretty voice.” She dug her nails into his side. “Are you going to tell them how you got these marks?”
“No.” At the mention of his friends, he sulked even with her cock inside him.
“Aw, am I not a catch? Don’t you want to brag?” The stall door rattled as she drove him against it.
“They hate you.”
“What about you?”
“I–Ah, fuck–”
Haruka reached around, fingers slipping through soft skin and neatly trimmed hair for his clit—she was a gentleman, after all. “Ladies first.”
He was so wet she could barely keep her fingers in place.
He swallowed. “Asshole.”
“That’s not what you were calling me a minute ago.” She stilled, reminding him why he shouldn’t insult her.
“You weren’t being an asshole.”
“I was.” Haruka poked a finger into the tight space between the collar and his neck, pulling experimentally until he made a choked noise of protest. “You liked it.”
She didn’t like to be so frenetic with her hands. It smacked of inexperience and a boyish desperation with no concern for a woman’s pleasure. But there was so much she wanted to touch and if she didn’t do it now, she would never know what it felt like.
“Don’t stop,” he pleaded.
She put her palm on his cheek, gently pressing his face against the door for leverage, and ground herself deeper. “I want to feel you come on my cock, and then I want to keep fucking you while you’re sensitive, until you’re begging me to cum in you. And then I want you to go back to wherever you came from with my cum still dripping out of you. Do you understand?”
He groaned as she picked up her pace again. “So rough.”
“You shouldn’t treat a girl like this.” Haruka strained to keep her voice academic while she fucked him harder than she’d dare even think about doing to Michiru. “But you’re not a girl, so you can take it.”
His breath hitched. If he was sensible (which is debatable), he’d already quit trying to figure out what she’d do and just let her do it. The way his gasps followed the movement of her hips fascinated her: She wasn’t much of a musician compared to Michiru, but she could play with him so well.
“Does it hurt?”
“I like it.” He sang out each vowel as he struggled for the next. “I like it when you’re rough, I–”
“Shh.” She ground the heel of her palm into him in time with her hips, which was when he must have realized that the only reason he hadn’t come already was because she hadn’t wanted him to.
He slammed his hand against the door to hold himself against the onslaught, but it was useless—Haruka thrust so forcefully that his sweaty palm squeaked against the door.
When he came, he sounded like Fighter did when she finally slammed landed a punch on Uranus. At the time, Uranus was too distracted by the impending doom of the universe to relish the visceral shrill of her voice and how easy it was to restrain her struggling body with the help of Galaxia’s power. She was enjoying it now. It was a ludicrous sound, that scream, from anyone. He was too much.
“You sound like a girl when you come.”
His bucking turned to trembling. He only managed a tiny splutter, breathing so hard his shoulder blades pressed against her chest with every breath.
Lifting her hand from his face, Haruka slipped out halfway and fucked him through it with small, shallow strokes. He swayed precariously, his legs trembling beneath him, so she had to press close enough to support him. She did that to him. The small wound that remained inside her, from those times he’d humiliated her like no one else had ever been able to, sealed over.
“Is it too much?”
“It’s a lot.” His voice, just after coming, was low and soft like Fighter’s—but not without self-satisfaction.
“You need a lot.”
He nodded. “But my feet hurt.”
Haruka threw back her head as she sank into him again. His feet. Right. “I’ll be fast.”
“Okay, I–” he sucked in air as she moved; time to realize how sensitive he was and regret agreeing. At his wide-eyed look, she pulled out slightly, slowing her hips, but his mouth fell open against the door and he shook his head. Or tried to. “Harder.”
“You–” Heat climbed Haruka’s spine. No matter how hard she pushed it down, it crept through every gap, warming her fingers, ensnaring her hips. Her rhythm faltered.
He had to go home. Even if she held on forever, it wouldn’t change that. And she didn’t want to change it.
He laughed breathlessly. “Even you, Uranus–” he fought against both the way her movements shook his body, and his own shaky breath. “Even you, Haruka, you still have to… sometimes, you have to let go.”
And she nearly laughed too as she came into him, because he didn’t know anything at all: not about Haruka and how she let go; not about how love was more about what you did than what you felt, in the end; not about how letting go was the easy part, with his hot skin searing back at her through her own shirt and all his long limbs twisted against her from the pleasure she gave him.
He would learn. She hoped he would get a chance to learn.
☆☽☆
Leaving Seiya perched on the lid of the toilet to catch his breath, Haruka slipped out of the stall, intending to clean up her toys. She didn’t bother hiding them since, even if Seiya wasn’t still wearing her shirt, if anyone had been nearby there’d be no point trying to pretend.
A shock of blue hair moved by the door.
Haruka’s hands darted behind her with reflexive haste. Even though Michiru was the one who told her to do this, it seemed like the kind of thing a woman would be mad about—especially when all the particular things she’d said rushed back to her in vivid color, without the hazy cast of arousal to soften them.
Michiru swung herself off the wall. “Hi, daddy.”
Haruka squeezed her eyes shut. She hated blushing, and she hated how easy it was for Michiru to make her. “Michiru.”
“You had fun.”
When she opened her eyes, Michiru was closer, her face was transformed by a rare smile that reminded Haruka so forcefully of cradling an injured Neptune in her arms that she touched her chest where it ached.
Michiru glanced over her shoulder.
At the sound of their voices, Seiya had emerged, and all the sated softness that Haruka had worked so hard to put on his face was gone. He’d transformed back, and Haruka’s shirt hung limply from his hand, but what he’d done was obvious from his stumbling step and disheveled hair and the bite-marks on his neck.
“I haven’t been here long.” Michiru held her hands up, her voice softening. “You have. The short one and the tall one were coming to look for you. I didn’t think you’d like it if they found you.”
His mouth worked. (Maybe Haruka was glad he was leaving, so she didn’t have to see the image of him on his knees reflected every time he spoke.) “They have names. They saved your lives.”
Michiru openly studied the bruised skin of his throat. “Names mean a lot to some people.” Her eyes trailed down, lingering on the shirt in his hand. For all Haruka knew, she’d figured out everything just from that. She’d ask when they were alone, if she wanted to know.
Seiya turned away, so Michiru got a good view of how tentatively he picked his steps (where was he even feeling it, now?) and Haruka got a good view of Michiru’s raised eyebrows.
Haruka didn’t blame Seiya for wanting to escape Michiru’s eyes. Her cheeks flushed red as she trailed behind him, her gaze fixed sheepishly on the floor.
Seiya watched Haruka rinse the toy with an expression she couldn’t parse.
She patted his head with her damp hand. “Is it bigger than what you have?”
He sized it up. “I think so.”
“You think so?” Haruka coughed.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Seiya, have you really never seen another dick before?” She made a rough five inches with her fingers.
He looked uncertainly from her fingers to the strap-on, like a kid recalculating an equation and getting the same wrong answer again, not knowing why their professor didn’t look impressed.
Michiru saved him from having to answer. “Haruka thinks everyone is like her. She can’t believe that you three would be more committed to your mission than to fucking each other.”
Seiya flushed. “One time Yaten and I had too much to drink and made out in the bathroom.”
Haruka tried to process the mental image without exposing herself to Michiru, who already had enough ammunition to make fun of her for the next three lifetimes at least. Although Seiya had said Yaten, her mind went straight to the thought of two lithe guardians, leather creaking as they pressed their bodies together, lonely and desperate but trying not to show it. “And???”
He shrugged. “And it made me feel too much like I wanted to be a boy, and Healer hates that, so I stopped.”
Too much of a gentleman to ask whether feeling like you wanted to be a boy was code for getting a (giant, apparently) boner, Haruka snorted. It seemed sad, that he was going home soon and never got to so much as test-drive this body—maybe it was easier that way, so he wouldn’t have as much to miss it by. “Can you still change like this, when you go home?”
“Oh.” He slumped against the sink. “I guess so but then, who’s going to want me like that?”
All the FOMO Haruka had developed about not getting to be born on the lesbian planet vanished. Her chest hurt. She plastered on a smug smile. “If they like getting fucked as much as you do, everyone, probably.” She met his eye in the mirror. “It’ll be like medieval Europeans seeing a pineapple for the first time.”
“Haruka likes you,” Michiru said simply, nauseated as usual by Haruka’s inelegant similes.
“It’s just such a waste,” Haruka sighed. “If I could feel Michiru like that…”
Michiru paid a lot of lip-service to the idea of “not encouraging” Haruka, but Haruka swore she looked pleased, bumping their bodies together. Michiru was incomprehensible at least 70% of the time, but one thing Haruka did understand was that she liked knowing Haruka thought about her when she wasn’t there.
Seiya lifted his head. “I’ll do it and report back.”
Haruka ruffled his hair roughly. “How about next time you set your sights on a girl who doesn’t have a boyfriend, kid?”
“Even one whose boyfriend isn’t preordained for eternity would be an improvement.” Michiru leaned into Haruka’s side. “And if not, come back and visit.”
☆☽☆