twiststheblade | (no subject)

(no subject)

Miho's room is, indeed, much more personal than the last time Mary Anne saw it. It's still stark and white - white walls, white sheets and comforter on the low futon - but now there's also a deep pile rug (also white, of course), on the blonde floorboards, and an enormous and extremely comfortable (white) leather bean bag sofa with a coffee table in front of it.

A book-case at one end of the bean bag has an eclectic collection of books, graphic novels and movies, and there's a small (digital) sound system next to the television. A few half-finished projects are lying on a neat desk. In other words, she looks like she's moved in, not as if she expects to leave at any moment.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She doesn't close her eyes, but keeps her gaze on Mary Anne - but she doesn't move, either.

Her breath does hiss a little between her teeth, but that, and the darkening, even further of her eyes, are the only indications that she feels anything. Quite a challenge to get her to move, really. Especially when she's been told not to.

Especially when she has such a lovely deterrent resting her throat. The pressure of the knife eases, however.

The pressure elsewhere does not.

Let's see just how still she can be.

Still.

Very still.

Until the breath catches in the back of her throat and her eyes flutter.

"Cruel."

It's gasped. But she still hasn't moved.

She grins.

"Only because I care."

She draws the knife away and rests her head on Miho's shoulder, lips brushing her ear.

"You can move, you know. I won't mind."

This may even be true.

She doesn't really move, but she does relax, slightly, and tilts her head to the side. Her eyes catch Mary Annes for a moment, before slipping closed.

"Love you."

She smiles, though Miho can't see it; maybe she can feel the curve of lips against her shoulder.

"Love you too, sweet."

She smiles too, before her breath catches and her head tips back. One hand curls into Mary Anne's hair, the other tangles into the sheet.

"Don't stop."

She nips at the skin beneath Miho's ear.

"Not going to."

"Thank--"

broken by a gasp

"--you."

Her back is arched, now, almost inhumanly far, tendons standing out. The muscles of her legs and belly are taut, corded, and she turns her head that last fraction, pressing her lips to Mary Anne's forehead.

One last gasp, that's almost a cry, before she collapses, suddenly like a doll with it's strings cut. Both hands relax, one lying limp, the other making the smallest of movements to cup the back of Mary Anne's head.

Still again. Shaking, only slightly.

She wraps her arms around Miho, mouthing a tender string of kisses up her throat and along her jaw.

"Shhh. You're welcome."

"Hmm." Humming contentedly, Miho turns sideways into her arms, wrapping around her and trailing lazy patterns up her back and sides.

"Just let me get my breath back."

She grins.

"Take your time, lovely. Wouldn't want to rush a good thing."

Miho laughs quietly into her hair, before slipping down the bed a little to kiss her sweetly. And even though it's barely more than feather light, there's still an underlying ghost of pain, from lips that are bruised and tender.

"Of course not."

"Mhm," is all she says, tongue flicking out to brush aching lips.

One hand strokes idle patterns over Miho's hip, more for the pleasure of touch than any ulterior motive.

Miho smiles, before capturing her bottom lip between sharp white teeth, nipping lightly. Her fingers curve, nails cutting lightly into Mary Anne's back, drawing delicate swirling patterns.

She hisses softly, arching back into the touch.

She kisses Miho in between nips of teeth, a cat and mouse game where she doesn't mind much getting caught.

One last soft laugh, and a rake of her nails from the nape of Mary Anne's neck to the curve of her buttocks, before repeating her earlier move and pushing her onto her back.

(White sheets no longer pristine)

She tooks down at her captive for a moment, before bending to kiss her. Not on the lips this time, though - she seems drawn to the scar on her chest, lettering. She runs her tongue lightly over the scars, as if she can taste the name written there.

This time she stays where she's put; she's had a turn on top, after all.

She shudders at the touch to her scar. The scar is bound up in sex and blood, and the bed smells of both. Her fingers curl subtly into the sheets and she turns her head away. Her eyelids fall half-closed, part of her waiting for pain.

Pain that doesn't come, for the little samurai is, when it really comes down to it, a tease.

She pulls back, smiles, and retrieves her knife from under the pillow. Twirls it between her fingers for a moment, before setting the tip exactly where Mary Anne had held it on her.

Watches her for a moment.

She sees the glint of the knife from the corner of her eye and feels the coolness of it against her skin.

She doesn't move, just watches in turn and waits.

Patience is a virtue.

The blade warms quickly, of course, so that when Miho drags it lightly down, scoring a thin line between her breasts and stopping at her sternum, she feels not cold but the hot sting as it breaks the skin. Miho runs a finger lightly along the cut, smiling.

Then, because really, it's irresistable, the knife flickers rapidly above her hip, quick short scores. Deeper, this time.

A sharp hiss of indrawn breath over teeth and then she's silent while Miho works.

She props herself up on her elbows to get a better look at the mark and smiles.

"Nice choice."

There's a little laugh, before Miho presses a kiss just below the design, lips picking up some of the blood that's begin to trickle across her skin. Choices now, of course, seeing as she's at hip level. To go up, or to go down? She grins, the wolfishness of her expression only enhanced by the blood on her lips.

She goes down.

And Mary Anne falls back on the bed, though not so hard as to jar Miho from her present task.

One hand trails through Miho's hair while the other twists in the sheets.

Miho isn't about to be jarred too far. One hand has a steely grip on Mary Anne's hip, although it is a little slippery with blood. She makes a small contended sound in the back of her throat, and runs the other hand up a smooth inner thigh.