(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

[twiststheblade]

If there is a whimper, it is followed by a smile that surely she'll feel, and a flutter of fingers. And the fact that teeth are sharp isn't neccessarily bad, if you're careful.

Miho is careful.

[song_tra_bong]

Miho is perfect.

She would say so, if she could form words, but now she's wrapped up in remembering how to breathe. Her feet flex, toes curl, trying to twine with the sheets the way her fingers have. Communication is limited to the twitching muscles in her thighs, the subtle arch in her back, the moan working its way up her throat into a whine.

[twiststheblade]

There's a soft brush of fingers against fresh wounds, and a harder curl of fingers on the other hand, and Miho is hummin contentedly to herself. She's tender and vicious and sweet and sharp and she adores the woman beneath her.

[song_tra_bong]

The twisting of her hands becomes a clawing, her knees lock. She opens her mouth--a gasp becmes a vowel that never becomes a word but just a cry, high and wavering.

The sound lingers until she sinks bonelessly back onto the bed, her fingers untangling from the sheets. She reaches down with one hand and runs a faintly trembling hand through Miho's hair.

[twiststheblade]

Gently disengaging, Miho turns her head to kiss Mary Anne's fingers, before slithering bonelessly up to snuggle against her side, black head pillowed on a pale shoulder. She presses her face lightly into Mary Anne's neck, dropping soft kisses onto her jaw.

Her eyes are closed, but she's smiling.

[song_tra_bong]

Her head lolls to the side, the better to kiss Miho's forehead. She hooks an arm gently around her waist.

"Hello, sweet."

[twiststheblade]

She tips her head back a little to meet Mary Anne's eyes with a smile.

"Hey."

She might be feeling a little bad about carving words into her bedmate's skin.

[song_tra_bong]

Her bedmate is rather used to it by this point. And this time it will heal overnight--as much as she'll let it, anyway.

She kisses Miho lightly on the mouth.

"Mind if I stay?"

Becaus it's only polite to ask.

[twiststheblade]

"I should mind if you didn't," she confesses, as she hooks a foot under the comforter that has been pushed down to the bottom of the bed.

"I don't really like to sleep alone. And," pulling it up over them, "some company is infinitely better than others."

[song_tra_bong]

She hums, wrapping the comforter around herself and wrapping herself around Miho.

"I hoped you'd say that," she says, kissing Miho lightly.

"Just thought I'd be polite."

[twiststheblade]

"Hmm." Purring contentedly, Miho buries her face in Mary Anne's shoulder.

"I meant it, you know. I do love you."

[song_tra_bong]

"I know."

Another kiss to Miho's hair.

"Love you, too."

[twiststheblade]

Miho makes another happy sound, and settles into Mary Anne's arms.

She's going to sleep well, she can tell.