(no subject)

[twiststheblade]

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.

Comments

[song_tra_bong]

"Something like...this."

A quick twist brings them back into their earlier position, only now Mary Anne's hands are free. Free, for example, to retrieve the knife from beneath the pillow.

She taps the point once in the hollow of Miho's throat. "I'd recommend keeping still."

[twiststheblade]

Well, now. That's not quite the same, is it? Still, Miho is certainly not complaining.

She is keeping very stll, dark eyes wide, lips slightly parted.

"Yes, mistress."

She's joking. Mostly.

[song_tra_bong]

She can't help laughing softly.

"No need to be so formal, sweet."

She ducks her head and kisses Miho, the knife resting against her throat.

[twiststheblade]

Miho giggles a little into her mouth, and kisses her back, carefully. Her hands rest on Mary Anne's hips lightly, before slipping to trace light lines across her back. Short nails can still be sharp, althouhg she's not pressing down. Wouldn't want to make her twitch, after all.

[song_tra_bong]

Her hands are steady, always have been. The nails just make her grin. Personally, she's more worried about Miho twitching.

She runs her free hand down Miho's side fingers tracing over her hip. This is much more comfortable now that her pants aren't in the way. She should thank Miho for getting rid of them.

[twiststheblade]

Miho's body control is perfect. She's barely even breathing. Her nails do dig a little harder, though, drawing red lines. After all, she's given fair warning.

Perhaps Mary Anne can think of a good way to say thank you?

[song_tra_bong]

Perhaps she can.

She shifts her weight off of Miho, but keeps the knife where it is.

"Keep--"

Kiss.

"--still."

Bite.

And the hand on her hip slides over and down.

[twiststheblade]

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.

[song_tra_bong]

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.

[twiststheblade]

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.

[song_tra_bong]

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.

[twiststheblade]

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."

[song_tra_bong]

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

"Love you too, sweet."

[twiststheblade]

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."

[song_tra_bong]

She nips at the skin beneath Miho's ear.

"Not going to."

[twiststheblade]

"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.

[song_tra_bong]

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

"Shhh. You're welcome."

[twiststheblade]

"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."

[song_tra_bong]

She grins.

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

[twiststheblade]

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."

[song_tra_bong]

"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.

[twiststheblade]

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.

[song_tra_bong]

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.

[twiststheblade]

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.

[song_tra_bong]

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.