Yuki&Machi, prompt: 'new kind of intimacy.'
It's not a problem. Definitely not. It's not a problem at all.
She's just not used to it.
She can do hand-holding. Even kissing—it's proof that she's a quick learner. (Who knew that the tongue was so responsive?) Machi adores standing on her toes, and pulling on his shirt, taking the initiative to place her lips on his, and finding the penultimate missing piece to her puzzle. Or the way Yuki smiles before he leans to meet her, soft amethyst eyes the first and last thing Machi sees as she closes her eyes until she pulls away.
But this is different. And Machi can't bring herself to commit. It's still an awkward sensation for her; heart rate faster than a mouse. Warmth flushes through her face and spreads in her chest, tingling as she watches him, their touch electric. Sparks shoot up whenever Yuki's hands rest on her hips, tugging her closer whenever they're about to watch documentaries, tentative but inviting. There's a reason why she likes being the popcorn holder when there's a movie about Mogeta. She'll spill the popcorn if she leans on him too much; and so they usually sit side by side, shoulders touching, and leaving it at that.
Machi clams up whenever he tries. She freezes, and can't tell herself to relax. He places his arms around her, and she is left flailing, free hands not quite sure what to do.
It still feels too intimate to her—despite sharing many kisses with him—to wrap her arms around him and tug him closer, breathe him in, hips and hearts aligning.
Her pulse quickens, blush growing, and this is so embarrassing is the only thing that remains coherent in her mind, when she confesses this one thing, not quite able to face him.
She doesn't see the pink glistening across his cheeks, as he graces a smile.
"It's okay." Touching the corner of her jaw and directing it so he can see her face to face, Machi is relieved to know he isn't mad. Not that she thought he'd be mad. But he probably has a teasing remark waiting to be said. "I'm not used to it either."
Her mouth forms a silent 'o'. And still her heart is beating so fast.
"So, what do we do?"
And there it is—that teasing smile which is only meant for her—Machi is always conscious of it, like the soft pads of Yuki's fingers curling her hair, nerves dancing even then.
"We'll take it slow."
He kisses her, sweetly, gently; just enough to make her sigh as he ends the kiss. "Slow, okay?" Machi nods, and kisses him again, kisses his mumbling lips, aware of the flush crawling up her neck, aware of his long fingers travelling down her arms, continuing at a leisurely pace, slow enough to make Machi step away from him if she wants, slow enough to make Machi anticipate the moment and yearn for him. Yuki distracts her with kisses, and coaxes her to do the same; she has hands, she can explore the contours of his body too, feel the muscles under his shirt. "It's okay." He mumbles, and Machi agrees, breath stolen only by him. "It is. It really is."
Trembling, her hands find the dip of his back, and Machi can't resist the urge to press herself against him, trembling even more when she feels the vibrations in his chest; heat beating louder and louder in her ears, the afterglow of his laughter suddenly soothes her nerves. Her heart's still beating, but she's not afraid any more.
"We did it." It's a delicious shiver that travels up her spine, and she knows that Yuki can feel it.
"Yeah." Meeting his eyes with a smile, the world resting on her cheeks turns ten thousand degrees hotter, and because both of them allow themselves to relax and melt into the hug. "We did."