Miyuki likes the way she fits against Tatsuya. She thinks about it sometimes, on those rare occasions when they both have the evening free and stretch out over the couch to watch a television program or to let the low hum of the news wash over them. There's more than enough space for both of them to sit without touching, but Tatsuya never protests when Miyuki slides in to press against his side, and that's enough encouragement for Miyuki to keep doing it at every available opportunity. Sometimes he'll even lift his hand to her head to slide his fingers unthinkingly through her hair while his attention clings to the screen in front of them. Those are Miyuki's favorite times, when she can shut her eyes and tip her head against Tatsuya's shoulder and let the giddy satisfaction of the moment unwind into steady-smooth pleasure in her veins.
That's where they are right now, with night painting the windows to black as thoroughly as if the blinds were drawn and the television's hum long since turned unintelligible by Miyuki's lack of attention to it. Tatsuya is warm against her, a steady wall of comfort at her side; she's spent the last several minutes winding her fingers into the hem of his shirt, toying with the belt loop on his jeans and thinking about fitting her fingers through the weight of it, wondering what he would do if she used the handle to pull him off the couch and towards her bedroom instead of his own. It's a daydream, a brief indulgence in fantasy rather than a serious consideration, but the idea is still flickering in the back of her mind, flushing her cheeks pink and bringing her breathing fast in her chest. She's still thinking about it when Tatsuya shifts, a stretch done small so as to not disturb her, and reaches out for the remote to turn the television off. The screen flicks to black, the remote returns to the table, and Tatsuya leans back into comfort against the couch, his fingers brushing the trailing ends of Miyuki's tied-up hair with more intent, now, than he showed before.
"Miyuki." He's speaking softly, carefully, framing the syllables into a murmur that Miyuki is very sure she could sleep through if she were dreaming. "Are you awake?"
"Yes," she says at normal volume and without opening her eyes. She can feel the shift of Tatsuya's shoulder under the weight of her head. "I'm awake."
"It's late," Tatsuya tells her without any judgment on his tone; it's just a statement of fact, information offered for her consideration to do with as she likes. "Are you ready for bed?"
"Not yet," Miyuki says, and turns her head down to press her forehead against Tatsuya's shoulder. Her hair catches on his when she moves; she wonders if he can feel the warmth of her breathing through his shirt. "Just a little longer."
Tatsuya doesn't complain. Tatsuya never complains, when it's something Miyuki asks of him, and even when there's nothing for him to be watching he seems wholly content to stay right where they are. His fingers are winding through Miyuki's hair, tugging gently at the trailing ends of her ponytail; it's affectionate, tender without quite crossing over into indecent intimacy, his fingers always stopping just shy of contact with the back of her neck. Miyuki knows he won't step over the line, either by accident or intention; he's too good for the latter and too careful for the former. Miyuki can feel the awareness like a pressure sharp in her chest, the warmth of wanting and the ache of denied satisfaction tangling in her blood and trembling adrenaline all through her veins. It's like being taunted, to have Tatsuya so close and so distant at once, like having everything she's ever wanted on just the other side of a sheet of clear glass so she can see it but can't quite touch.
It's the frustration that finally makes her move. The ache just keeps growing, ratcheting tighter in her chest until she can't breathe, a physical pain pressing against all the simple movements of her body until even blinking takes effort for the burn behind her eyes. It tenses in her shoulders, strains against her legs, and when she moves it's as much to break the stranglehold of tension her own adrenaline has on her as to get closer. The action is impulsive, rushed, a lift of her arm and a shift of her hips before she can think through the decision, but then it's done, her weight turned in sideways to press against Tatsuya's side and her arm up and around his shoulders to hold herself flush against him.
Tatsuya freezes. The movement of his hand in her hair stalls, his idle attention shattered by her sudden motion, but Miyuki's the one acting, now, pulling against Tatsuya's shoulder and arching in closer, pressing herself hard against his chest as she fits her mouth to the collar of his shirt and lets the rush of her breathing go hot over the bare skin of his throat. She hesitates for a moment, the gap of distance still left between them going heavy with relevance; and then she leans in and it's no distance at all, as it turns out, it's as easy to cross as an inch of air ever is, and her lips are against Tatsuya's skin and all her body is tingling hot with awareness of this point of contact.
"Miyuki," Tatsuya says, sounding strained, but his hand is still in her hair and not pushing her away and Miyuki doesn't move back. She slides up instead, catching heat against the curve of Tatsuya's throat, and when she presses her lips into the shape of a kiss she can feel the intention of it spark electric through her blood.
"Brother," she says, the sound hot on her lips like it always is, like it always has been. Her lips catch Tatsuya's jawline, her exhale curls heat over his skin, and he's still not moving but he's not stopping her, either, even when she works her way up from jaw to cheek and rests a feather-light kiss against the high curve of Tatsuya's cheekbone. Her balance is shaky, precariously tipped forward against Tatsuya's support, but she's afraid to rock forward to straddle his lap, suspects that would be enough to earn her the full rejection she's skating along right now. "Please."
"Miyuki-"
"Don't you want this?" Miyuki cuts him off, and that wasn't what she had intended to say but Tatsuya sounds like he's about to push her off and she's ready to do anything to keep him right where he is, to keep them both like this, together as they should be. "You want this as much as I do, brother."
"It's not about that," Tatsuya says, but that's not a no, and he's still frozen in place, as still as if Miyuki's magic has crippled his blood to a solid.
"It is," Miyuki says, and she can hear command on her tongue, can feel the certainty of years of dominance making themselves known in response to the desperate fire coursing through her veins. "We're not beholden to anyone else anymore." Another press of her lips to Tatsuya's skin, closer, now; she can feel the way his breathing gusts hot against her skin at the contact. "You can do anything you want."
"I'm meant to protect you," Tatsuya says, and his voice is straining again, edging towards the tension that in him is as good as a shout would be from someone else. "My feelings-"
"Are the same as mine," Miyuki cuts him off again. She draws back, then, just by a handful of inches, enough to blink the heat-haze from her vision so she can see the way Tatsuya is looking at her, can see the softness in his eyes and the strain at his mouth, can read the suggestions of emotion written into the details of his face in a language only she is fluent enough to understand. "Aren't they?"
Tatsuya's eyelashes flutter, dipping into shadow that looks like an apology and feels like a victory. "Miyuki," he says, and his voice is low, a whisper, slipping into quiet as if that will disguise the shudder of intensity over it. "You know they are."
Miyuki takes a breath. Her heart is pounding in her chest, all the blood in her veins humming with intensity, with heat, with anticipation for something too much for her to bear. "I know," she says, as softly as Tatsuya, a secret shared between them for far longer than this whispered confession has given it form. It feels like a weight off her shoulders, to have the words said aloud, as if gravity isn't pinning her as closely to the ground anymore. She shifts her hand in Tatsuya's hair, lets her gaze wander from his shadowed eyes over the curve of his cheekbones, the clean line of his nose, the set of his jaw, down and along to land, finally, at his mouth, where his lips are parted on breathing she can see coming harder even if he's keeping it silent.
"Brother," she says, command in her throat, certainty in her fingers. Her hold on Tatsuya's neck is steady. "I want you to kiss me."
Tatsuya's lashes shift, flutter closed for a moment, the motion like a wave breaking over sand. His hand moves, finally, broken free of its frozen surprise to press against Miyuki's hair, to catch the weight of it on his fingers. Miyuki can hear Tatsuya swallow, can hear the faint whine on the sound, the surrender to a war drawn out far longer than it ever should have been. And then he moves, obedient to her word, pushing up off the couch to turn towards her and meet her more than halfway. Miyuki's eyelashes flutter, her heart skips into anticipation, and then Tatsuya's mouth is on hers, the warm of his lips easing into place against her own, and something she didn't know was aching gives way in her chest, some unseen knot falling undone as easily as if it was never there at all. Miyuki makes a sound - a whimper, a moan, Tatsuya's name, she doesn't know which - and when she moves it's to press herself closer, to pull Tatsuya in by the fit of her fingers against the back of his neck. His hand slides in her hair, his fingers catch friction against her bare skin, and Miyuki goes hot all through her body, happiness so radiant in her she can feel the weight of tears behind her closed eyes.
Usually it's ice that spills from her hands, frustration given the form of rigid crystals to lock the unfair world to stillness. Right now, with Tatsuya curving in towards her and her breathing coming hot from his lips, Miyuki feels like she could turn the whole world radiant with the warmth in her veins.