Disclaimers: Sailor Moon and its characters belong to Naoko Takeuchi and the respective studios and publisher.
Bittersweet
In the dark, they lay side by side on the queen-sized bed. They were far apart enough to not touch but close enough to feel the other there. Once the urgent business of extinguishing the roaring fire had been doused, they rolled away from each other too quickly; almost repulsed by themselves and their own actions. Yet they always came back together; two pieces becoming one, forged in heat and sweat and excitement. The perspiration they worked up is long gone leaving behind traces of salt on their skin. Ami gazes up at the ceiling littered with shadows of leaves from the trees outside, wondering for the millionth time, Just what am I doing?
On her left there is a deep sigh, and she wonders once more if the same thought just occurred to the woman. The click of the bedside lamp switch is deafening and it signals to her; in minutes she will be alone again. They rarely speak in the aftermath of these amorous clashes. Like the desperation that brought them together many times before, it is the desperation that urges her to shatter the silence of the bedroom and the distance they automatically retreat to. The woman sits up, her movements causing earthquakes in the mattress that rolls under Ami. The shadow leaves are gone, the darkness now replaced with the soft glow of the lamp floods the room.
She hesitates and the rustle of cloth as it meets the woman's skin and rubs against itself is all she hears. She listens, counting the articles of clothing as they begin to adorn their owner like armor. Protection against the lies this woman will tell to the one waiting at home. The first time they met like this Ami had felt such guilt, her stomach churning into a rapturous nausea even as they held on to each other. She couldn't stop herself even with the shame of the act. The self-reproach had added an extra layer to what was phenomenal sex to begin with.
Nowadays, Ami doesn't feel the guilt. It has taken up residence inside her until she has become numb to its presence, indifferent. She sits up, creating her own earthquakes that the other woman can't feel because she is already gone from the bed and so is her warmth.
"Do you want to take a shower?" She finally speaks, a unspoken request to the woman to stay, just a little bit longer.
The carpet feels unusually soft under her feet when she stands and makes her way to the woman. A thumb caresses her lower lip and it takes Ami great effort to not open her mouth and suck on it. She simply closes her eyes instead and breathes in deeply.
"Not this time, I've been gone too long already." The words, like the thumb rubbing her lip is soft. But the gentle refusal is a barb that embeds itself into Ami's chest nevertheless. One of many barbs whose existence she fiercely ignores. That is, until she is alone and then the uncertainty comes bubbling to the surface. I have to end this.
Her eyes pop open when she feels the thumb replaced by a pair of lips. They close again. This time the kiss is so very gentle and she is frustrated at how easily she falls for the soothing feeling. She wants to scream at the hunger, not give in to it but instead she does. Her lips open eagerly, much to her dismay. Her hands grab the wrists of the woman but her lips are left bereft when the woman is no longer there.
There is a rueful look on the woman's face, "Sorry, I really have to go." Ami doesn't trust herself to speak so she nods in understanding, hoping her expression is not one of loss. She follows the woman out the bedroom door and along the hallway down the stairs. There is no need for her to get dressed because she intends to get in the shower right after. If she doesn't wash the salt from her skin her sleep will be restless. But who is she kidding, really. Even when she changes the sheets the woman's impressions will remain. The faint scent of their consummation will still hang in the air and cling deep in the pillows and mattress.
She opens the door for the woman and even though it is dark Ami stands behind it, just in case there is a late night passerby.
"I'll see you at work tomorrow," the woman's tone is husky in ardor and Ami can feel herself responding to the sound as it enters her ears. Her body feels soft and hard all at once and she bites her lip before responding.
"Goodnight," She breathes.
"Goodnight." The word is final even if the tone isn't. She turns her back to Ami and begins her jog down to the sidewalk. Underneath the shifting white t-shirt the woman's back is broad and firm with lean muscles and Ami can't tear her eyes away. The brunette ponytail sways with every bounce of the tall woman's step. Ami doesn't wait until she becomes a speck down the road. She closes the door, bracing her back against it momentarily using it for support because she does not know much much longer she will be able to stand it. This foolishness.
She rubs a finger over the very lip Makoto caressed mere minutes ago before making her way upstairs.
Here's something really different for Ami. Then again, maybe not so different? What's your take on this, dear reader?