Disclaimer, etc.: I do not own Strawberry Panic. Please do not sue, or flame me if you don't like lesbians. Honest and productive feedback, however, is very much appreciated.
Author's Note: this is rated M for a reason. If that kind of thing squicks you out, you wanna hit the back button. Now.
-----------------------
She gently slips the straps of your silk brassiere from your shoulders. Her fingers are cold as they leave a trail of gooseflesh down your arm. You shiver, though whether it's from her fingers or the draft in the room against your full, sensitive breasts, you're not sure. Your bra falls uselessly to the ground and there you stand, all smoothness and curves, just you, her, a pair of matching necklaces suffocating you with their leaden weight, and a bed that was so close, its edge would surely hit the back of your knee if you took a single step backwards.
Your nipples harden under her scrutiny, and a trill of anticipation ricochets down your spine. She steps close, her shadow falling over you, the heat of her skin tantalizing you across scant inches of air and electricity.
You stand your ground and openly admire the delicate contours of her face. She's the prettiest girl in the world, but her touch is too soft, her eyes are too innocent and her hair is too dark. She's matured the same way you have, but there's still a gentle, childlike quality to her that makes you feel illicit, like you're stealing an angel from heaven, even though she'd fallen from God long before you'd ever met her. You saw the way she'd looked at you throughout the evening. You felt her touch on your arm, your thigh, the small of your back, a gesture of familiarity in the presence of polite company, but always lingering for a second longer than necessary. You allow your eyes to trail down to her slightly parted lips, fully aware of the quickening of her breath, the throbbing of a vein in her pale, graceful neck.
You knew this was coming the moment you took her hand.
This is wrong, says a tiny voice inside your head, and you repress the tiniest of urges to break away, make an excuse, pretend to go to the bathroom. Despite the many months of relentless political polishing that marks the life of the Etoile, a part of you still clings to the idea of star-crossed love and fairy tale romance, still resiliently nurses the vestiges of her memory even after one whole year.
Secretly, you'd held out hope up until the last minute. Even as the weight of the ruby necklace first settled about your neck, you watched with bated breath for the tell-tale creaking of the cathedral door; the familiar shimmer of long, platinum hair; the devilish smile across her devastatingly handsome features directed at you and only you, as if you're in on a juicy little secret privy to no one else in the world.
You knew with painful, desperate certainty that she would come for you. You were so full of childish optimism. So pathetically naive.
One step closer and you feel her body-heat pouring onto you in waves. A strand of her silky hair brushes the side of your breast as she loops her arms around your torso and gently pulls you in. Instinctively, you return the embrace, your legs nearly buckling at the feeling of her body pressed flush against your own. Your fingertips graze against the soft skin between her shoulder-blades, feeling her muscles tense and relax under your touch.
"Nagisa-chan..." she sighs beseechingly, millimeters away from your lips. The smell of her perfume mixed with the sweet, distinctive musk of her arousal assaults your senses and you shiver with excitement. For a breathless moment, you bravely meet her half-lidded gaze, and close your eyes as she leans in to kiss you.
Her lips are softer than you could have ever imagined. She tastes of strawberries, and the glass of expensive European wine you shared at the dance. A pleasant warmth settles into your cheeks as you sucuumb to the army of butterflies tugging inside your chest and pull her even closer, your own precious angel.
At the first slippery touch of her tongue against yours, you let out a soft moan.
This is so, so wrong, cries the little fourth-year girl waiting at the cathedral, still yearning to see her face. But even if you close your eyes, you no longer recall the exact shade of her hair, and the timbre of her voice sounds more and more artificial the more you replay it in your head. The memory of loving her, you've come to realize, burns more intensely than the love itself. All that's really left in its place is a splotch of murky fluidity between rememberance and forgetfulness, caring and uncaring. Still, you're very much a creature of habit - or so you'd sometimes like to think.
The kiss intensifies and you're painfully aware of her hands slipping up your sides to cup your breasts, and the mild scratchiness of her well-trimmed pubic hair against your thigh. Your breath hitches as she teases your nipples, and you sink your teeth into her lower lip just hard enough to hurt before gently sucking it into your mouth and flicking your tongue across it, relishing the surprised moan that tears out of her throat, and the brief flash of pain as she's startled into tweaking your nipple a bit too hard. Teasingly, you pull away, a knowing smile tugging at your lips - and that is all she can take.
With a flash of dark blue and a warm rush of air, you find yourself pinned between smooth, linen bedsheets and her soft, perfect body. Her eyes are darkened with desire as she kisses down your jawline and licks and sucks at your pulse-point. You bite your lip in a failed effort to contain the sounds of your pleasure as you arch your head back to give her more access. You trail your fingers down her smooth back as she gently rocks her hips against your leg, coating your thigh with a trail of maddeningly warm arousal, and you feel yourself contract in sympathy.
In a way, you're almost surprised. Oh you'd explored your own anatomy enough to know the basics, and you knew how she felt about you since before you became Etoile, but this is the first time you've ever felt such tangible evidence of someone else's desire.
With a panicking rush of images and previously vague ideas, the truth of what is about to happen strikes you with awful, delectable clarity. You shudder helplessly as she drags her fingertips down your flat, sculpted torso toward that little patch of faint, auburn hair. The world grinds to a stop at the first teasing touch against your folds, and her stormy blue eyes meet yours in a silent question. The sultryness of her gaze melts you from the inside out, but what really takes your breath away is the deep, sense of longing shimmering just beneath it.
And just like that, your mind is made.
"Tamao, please," you beg, before you even realize you've spoken.
She leans over you, her breath hot against your parted lips as she slides in with aching slowness. You whimper with wordless pleasure as she begins to stroke you from within. You capture her lips in a passionate kiss as she makes love to you for the first time.
You feel the slickness of her sex against your leg and gingerly reach down to reciprocate, only to find your hand pinned down by hers. She breaks away from your lips and kisses a hot, wet trail to your ear. "It's okay. Let me do this for you first," she whispers, flicking her tongue against your ear and tugging gently at your earlobe with her teeth as she adds another finger and pumps into you faster.
"Oh god, yes, ohhhh," you groan, meeting her thrusts with your hips, your eyelids fluttering closed as she brings you closer and closer to the edge.
You want this first time to last, but your breathing is coming in ragged, labored gasps, and you're so very, very close -
She lets out a moan and you feel her sex throb against your leg, and that's all it takes to send you hurtling into the abyss with a lusty cry, arching into her as she showers you with kisses.
After you've ridden out the last wave of your climax, she gently extracts her fingers and wraps her arms tenderly around your quivering frame. "I love you," she whispers into your hair, her voice so soft you could barely hear it, "I love you so much."
Your eyes sting with tears as your heart swells with both happiness and pain.
You are no longer the same girl that won the Etoile election a year ago. You no longer smile the way you used to, or wear your heart on your sleeve. You've long been abandoned by your fairy-tale romance - and the experience has left you all the stronger for it.
You are Aoi Nagisa. A friend. An Etoile. A girl in the process of blossoming into a woman. You are not entrapped in a cathedral, and you do not need to be rescued. You will love who you want regardless of what youthful ideals dictate; your life is, after all, you own.
"I love you too, Tamao," you confess with a smile, feeling truly at peace for the first time in a year, "even though it's taken me forever to realize it."
Her body tenses, and you take advantage of her surprise by flipping her over. Her eyes are wide with shock as she fixes you with a desperate, aching gaze. "Nagisa..." she breathes as you straddle her, and trails off with a soft groan as you shift your weight right against her crotch.
You hover right over her and give her a wanton grin. "I guess I should probably make it up to you," you say, and as you descend upon her, all thoughts are abandoned to wordless bliss.