Notes: I didn't think this would have a Part 2, but lo and behold, here we are, and it seems fairly likely that there will be at least another third part to come. Please note: I'm going for it here with nonbinary Haruka, so if that will cause you feelings, be aware.
Michiru earns high marks in science. She knows intellectually that she's merely a victim of chemistry, her own traitor endocrine system drugging her on adrenaline and dopamine and oxytocin.
But she never thought it would be like this.
To be fair, Michiru had planned on falling in love someday, at some point; had even figured it inevitable, especially as she grew older and began to notice people. That's the pattern, how it's supposed to go: you find someone attractive, you start spending time with them, you fall in love, and that's that.
It had all seemed rote, almost procedural, in her head. Michiru had figured that when the time came for her, she'd be able to do with love exactly what she does for nearly every other emotion in her life: distance it from her body and go about analyzing it. She'd probe and dissect it, examine it from all possible views, turn it around and poke it, and file it safely away, only to be bought out when absolutely necessary.
Michiru's quickly learning that love isn't the sort of emotion from which one can step back. You can't just think Yes, this is it, I'm in love. It comes on suddenly. It blindsides you, wraps you up in a fuzzy blanket to make you constantly dreamy and drowsy, slips a rose-colored haze over your eyes, makes you smile for no reason in particular.
The other day, Michiru got a C on a math test, and it's all because of the stupid beauty of the back of Tenoh Haruka's disheveled blonde head.
Michiru's not sure exactly when this became her normal. Somehow, all of a sudden, she, Kaioh Michiru, loner artist, always on the sidelines, just trying to keep her head down and graduate, she, Michiru, has somehow become one of Those Girls that she's spent the last, oh, almost eighteen years of her life abhorring and sideeying and silently judging with a nonstop scathing inner monologue running through her head with every moment spent at school.
She's become the kind of person who passes the time in class staring at someone's back, and the type who gets irrationally jealous over the flirtations of someone to whom she has no particular claim whatsoever, and somehow she's become the type of girl who loses her virginity by means of a one night stand in a hotel room with the most popular boy in school. Nothing strange about that at all.
Except…
Except that Tenoh Haruka, basketball star and most popular boy in school, is actually a woman, or, well, maybe not particularly a woman, that's not a discussion Michiru's gotten to have yet, but at any rate Michiru may have spent the last two years with a ridiculous hatecrush on Haruka, and now, as far as Michiru knows, she's the only one in the whole city who knows about Haruka's assigned gender besides probably Haruka's parents, whomever and wherever they might be.
Except for the fact that Michiru quite literally cannot get Haruka off her mind, and she's spent the past several days reliving the evening in the hotel room, and pretty much every time Haruka even glances in her general direction leaves her hoping, practically yearning, for Haruka to just come over or say something or just act like something happened.
And the fact that the word 'love' is even an afterthought, much less a constant presence, in Michiru's mind whenever she thinks of Haruka is certainly alarming enough.
She's fairly confident that this, too, shall pass.
It's just that if she's being entirely honest with herself, she really doesn't want it to.
It's several days later before there's another development.
During math, when the class has been given several minutes to work independently on finding the answer to a particularly challenging calculus problem, Haruka gets up to sharpen her pencil. However, she takes an absurdly roundabout way, the route past the window, the path that takes her right past Michiru's back row back corner aisle seat.
Haruka's smooth, there's that. She doesn't break her stride or glance down or do anything to give herself away, but one moment Haruka's walking by and the next moment there's a tiny folded piece of paper deposited on the corner of Michiru's desk.
Michiru can be smooth, too; she takes a second to make sure that the eyes of all of Haruka's fangirls have continued trailing after their idol, double-checks that Sensei's gaze is elsewhere, then plucks to note up and nimbly unfolds it beneath the shield of her desk.
Haruka's handwriting is small and cramped, but crisper than Michiru would have expected: Where do you feel the calmest? Need to talk to you away from school. Meet me by the baseball field at the end of the day.
She's left it unsigned, which is most likely for the best. She also, notably, hasn't included any particular method for Michiru to decline. The presumption is maddening; Michiru hates the idea that she's somehow become predictable. But Haruka's assumptions, anyway, are right: there's no force on Earth that could keep Michiru away from the baseball field after school.
Michiru finds herself rushing through her chores at the end of the day. It's her turn to sweep the classroom, a job she normally finds surprisingly rewarding-something about cleaning away all of the debris on the floor parallels quite nicely with the satisfaction she gets from filling a canvas with paint. But unsurprisingly, all of the methodical calm sweeping in the world can't come close to matching her excitement, and she may or may not leave a few corners undone, may or may sweep a few rather considerable piles into the hallway for the person in charge of that task to handle.
Despite all of the corners cut, though, Haruka beats her to the field.
Mugen's uniform is a fashion disaster on most people, but maroon really is a good color on Haruka, and she's probably the only person in the world who can make plaid pants look passable. There's a slight breeze, but it's only serving to gently tousle Haruka's hair, making her look even more attractive, which is something Michiru doesn't particularly need. She also doesn't particularly need her heart to skip a beat the second that Haruka's dark blue eyes land on her, but it happens anyway.
"Michiru," Haruka says, and Michiru can swear that Haruka looks just a tiny bit devilish as she leaves off an honorific. "You got my note."
"Yes, Haruka," Michiru says, purposefully matching her, "I did. I'm surprised you took the risk in class."
"Worth it," Haruka says, looking way too sincere. "So. Have you been feeling well? I noticed your ranking in our math class fell."
Michiru bristles. "Ill-advised topic of conversation, Haruka," she says, keeping her voice as even as possible so she doesn't do anything equally as ill-advised, like smacking Haruka over the head or yelling at her or throwing herself at her. Maybe to Haruka, that evening wasn't much of anything-for someone like Haruka, who could easily have any girl in the school, Michiru has the nagging doubt that she herself probably wasn't anything close to Haruka's ideal. But it still happened, and it still meant a hell of a lot to Michiru, and she half wonders if Haruka is really that dense or if she's just insensitive and they're going to spend the rest of the school year dancing around the egregious elephant in the room.
Regardless, Haruka still appears unfazed. "Point taken. What did you think about my note?"
"It was very poetic," Michiru replies.
"But did you actually think about it? Is there a place you go whenever you need to feel calm?" Suddenly, Haruka's whole demeanor shifts; the normally charming person in front of Michiru is replaced by a tense, guarded figure. "I really do need to talk to you. And I can't do it, you know, here."
Judging by the cryptic language and Haruka's haunted eyes, Michiru's pretty sure about where this is going. "Ah," she says. Her answer is readily available; for her, it can be nothing else. "Well, I've always particularly loved the sea."
"The sea?" Haruka's eyes soften. "That makes sense."
"Does it?"
"You hair," she says. "It's always reminded me of the ocean on a clear day."
Michiru makes a small exasperated noise and ducks her head, trying to avoid letting Haruka see the quirking of the corner of her mouth she can't quite force down.
Haruka nudges her. "Are you smiling?"
"No. Stop teasing!"
"You are, aren't you?"
"Flirt," Michiru says. "You think that's going to work on me?"
Haruka grins, raises her eyebrows. "Didn't it before?"
Michiru hesitates. It's the first time either of them has bought up what happened before, or even acknowledged that something happened at all, and a surge—just adrenaline, she reminds herself, get a grip, it's just a hormone—rushes through her system. But before Michiru says anything, or rather, incriminates herself, really, Haruka clears her throat. "So the sea," she says. "Would you like to go? With me?" She tacks on the last two words, but it doesn't stop the warmth in Michiru's chest from blooming anyway, like she might actually be going on sort of a date with Haruka, and that's pretty much what she's been wanting, right?
That and a couple other things, a pesky inner voice reminds her, and Michiru has to act fast to peel her mind out of the gutter. "All right, the sea," she says, and can't resist parrying. "I know a quiet spot, by a cliff. It's very secluded."
Haruka raises her eyebrows. "Excellent," she says. "I'll drive."
They cut through the baseball field to the parking lot of an office building near the school, where Haruka says she's left her car. As they walk, Michiru can't resist. "How old are you?" she asks, because she can definitely recall seeing Haruka with a car well before this-yet another thing school staff is apparently willing to overlook.
Haruka shrugs, shoots her a playful smirk. "Same age as you, third year in high school." When Michiru barely blinks, Haruka sighs. "Eighteen at the end of the month." Michiru doesn't know a lot about cars, but as they approach Haruka's—gray, shiny, obviously well cared-for—she has an intuitive sense that this is a very nice vehicle.
Michiru nods. "Eighteen at the end of the month. So how does a seventeen year old go about acquiring a car?"
Haruka raises her eyebrows, rests her hand on the hood. "Do you really want to know how I got this car?"
"You obviously want to tell me," Michiru replies.
Haruka grins, leans in a bit, pitches her voice down. "I race," she says. "Cars, mostly, they're my favorite, but sometimes bikes, basically anything with wheels. If you're good enough, if you're smart enough to keep your head down and shut up, people won't ask the questions you don't want to answer. Anyway, there's this spot under the bridge on weekends. It gets pretty high stakes. And I'm good."
"That sounds highly illegal." And moronic, and dangerous, Michiru adds in her mind. But she forces it down, because technically, as she reminds herself, she has no claim to Haruka whatsoever, Haruka's prerogatives are her own, Haruka can do what she wants. In response, though, Haruka merely shrugs. Trying another route of conversation, Michiru asks, "What will you do if you ever get pulled over by the police?"
"You think the police would be able to keep up with me?" she says jauntily. Michiru, again, doesn't respond immediately, and Haruka blows out a deep breath, her shoulders slumping. "I don't know," she says. "I don't know what I'd do. I just like to go fast. I need to keep moving, or else I…" She stops, abruptly, and clears her throat. "So how do I get to your spot by the sea?" she asks brusquely, all business again.
The mood whiplash is startling, and Michiru's a bit discombobulated. "I...I'll tell you," she says. "It's not far from here…"
Twenty minutes of small talk later, they arrive at Michiru's clearing. It's deserted, as always; Haruka parks, and they set off up the gravel path towards the edge of the cliff. The crashing of the waves and the sharp tang of salt water ground Michiru, returning her to a clean, natural, default state. She closes her eyes for a brief moment, and can almost feel the spray on her skin.
"Beautiful," Haruka murmurs from behind her.
"It is," Michiru replies, pleased that the spot is worthy enough of Haruka's praise.
Haruka clears her throat. "I didn't just mean the ocean."
It's exactly what she wanted, but Michiru is suddenly very aware that she's alone with Haruka in the middle of a remote area, and she struggles to resist blushing. "I've always loved it out here," she says instead.
"What about the ocean do you like?" Haruka asks, sounding genuinely fascinated.
Something about the moment, the situation, and Haruka makes Michiru lower her guard in the slightest. "When I was younger, I used to dream about swimming out into the ocean, until it swallowed me," she says. "I didn't want to die, but I just had this urge to swim and swim forever. Like if I swam enough, the ocean would hold me, and keep me safe." She realizes she's starting to ramble, and possibly also beginning to sound a bit insane. Cutting herself off, she forces a slight laugh. "But that's just the foolish dream of a schoolgirl. Nothing could ever come of it."
"No," Haruka says, kicking a stone, "it's not really foolish. I used to do the same sort of thing, only it was… I was little, okay, so I thought that if I kept running, I could outrun the wind. And if I could do that, I would just disappear. I thought that if I ever did it, then I wouldn't be anything. I wouldn't have to be anything, I wouldn't have to worry about anything. Not my family, or school, or my body-" She stops suddenly, clenches a fist. "Damn it."
"Is that what you wanted to talk about?" Michiru asks slowly, quietly, not wanting to startle Haruka back into herself again.
"No," Haruka growls. A pause stretches for several beats between them. "You haven't told anyone."
"I told you I wouldn't," Michiru says. "Didn't you believe me?"
The glance Haruka shoots her is piercing enough to almost cause Michiru to take a step back. "I really wanted to."
Michiru holds her ground, doesn't look away. "You should. It's none of anybody else's business."
Haruka folds her arms. "Because I don't particularly want to change."
Michiru nods. "Okay."
"Okay." Another long silence lingers.
"Was that it?" Michiru finally asks, hoping, a bit too desperately, that there's a little more coming, something that she can use as an excuse to stay here with Haruka, keep her talking, just get her to stay here with her.
But Haruka shrugs. "Yeah, I guess so. Want to head back?"
Michiru bites her lip. Everything in her wants to say no, to say something, something of importance or at least interest. But she's well aware that to this question, there is no acceptable answer other than "All right."
She at least walks beside Haruka as they begin the trudge back to Haruka's car. "Thank you for letting me come here," Haruka says, obviously attempting to change the subject.
Michiru's well aware of Haruka's motives, but what else can she do? She allows it. "When you asked, there was nowhere else I thought-"
Two things happen at once: Michiru's foot catches on some spare gravel and she finds herself slipping, and Haruka reaches out with lightning-quick reflexes to catch her. Something about the position leaves Michiru with her thigh sliding up between Haruka's legs, and that's the point at which she brushes against something solid.
She's confused for about half a second; then Haruka squeaks, and a realization hits her. "Oh," she breathes, glancing up at Haruka.
Haruka's gone beet red and she lets Michiru go, twisting away to run a hand through her hair. "I can't believe...you shouldn't have…" She trails off. Finally she mumbles, "Let's talk in the car."
Back in the car, Michiru's battling through the sound of her heart pounding in her ears, trying to think of something to say to put Haruka at ease. "Haruka, I-"
"I wear it sometimes, okay?" Haruka mutters, steadfastly avoiding Michiru's eyes. "I just...have days." She hesitates, and Michiru wisely decides to just shut up and listen. "Sometimes," Haruka goes on, voice wavering, "I just...can't go out without it. It feels wrong to be without it." Without any warning, she slams her fist down on the steering wheel. "I've never felt right in dresses or anything like that, okay?" she growls. "It doesn't mean that I want to… I like being seen...the way I'm seen...but it's just never been important to me. If someone's a man, or a woman, why does it really matter? I've never gotten it." Haruka bites her lip, and damned if she doesn't look close to the verge of tears. "God. I'm such…"
"You're fine," Michiru finally says, because she's having a hard time standing it any longer, and because, as far as she's concerned, Haruka is. She is fine, and perhaps she does have a point-maybe it shouldn't really matter. Then, there's the not insignificant fact that Michiru's been doing her own research, been doing a bit of reading, and, well, perhaps she's a little bit too intrigued by what, exactly, Haruka is wearing right now. Michiru's pretty sure that this is an entirely inappropriate reaction, but she's past the point of rational thought when it comes to Haruka.
"Is this why you made me leave?" Haruka finally says.
"When?"
"You know when," she says, looking exhausted, ducking her head. "After the game. At the hotel. It was because you were bothered by me, weren't you? Because I wouldn't let you...I wouldn't let you take my shirt off or anything like that."
"Not because of that," Michiru says slowly. "I was nervous, but it was because of who you were, not because of that. How did you not see that?"
Haruka still doesn't look convinced. "I guess. But did you really-"
"Haruka." Michiru cuts her off, shuts her down cold, because this is getting ridiculous. "You have to know how attractive you are," she says, with a forthrightness that's a bit startling even to her.
"Do you think that anyone would still find me attractive if they knew?" Haruka's still turned away. She's hiding, her eyes obscured beneath her bangs.
"How much does it matter to you what they think?" Michiru asks. "And does it matter to you at all what I think?"
Haruka glances over, wary. "What do you think?"
Michiru doesn't know where it's coming from. She doesn't know how she got here. But she does know that she's in too deep, it's way too late to pull back now. She takes a deep breath. "I can't stop thinking about you," she says, all in a rush, forcing the words out before she can talk herself out of it. "It's ridiculous, but you're nearly all I've thought about for the past week. And it…" Michiru closes her eyes, briefly, steeling herself before moving on. "It doesn't matter at all to me who you are, or what you do. I don't care. I just know that I can't help it. I need to be around you."
Haruka's just staring at her now, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, and Michiru feels herself starting to blush. She's right, it is ridiculous, it absolutely is when she thinks about it-why would Haruka care what she thinks? Why does Haruka need her opinion at all in her life? "I'm sorry," Michiru murmurs, ducking her head, feeling like a massive idiot. "I didn't mean to tell you all that. I know it's not important. If you want to take me home now-"
"No," Haruka says firmly, almost fiercely, and Michiru takes a second look at her. She was wrong-it's not shock and disgust in Haruka's eyes, but something else, something that's suddenly making Michiru fight the urge to shift in her seat and sending her heartbeat up and pounding in her ears. "How do you think I'd be able to let you go home after that?" Haruka murmurs, deep dark blue eyes boring into Michiru's, and all of a sudden the car seems about ten degrees warmer.
"I left the door unlocked for you that night," Michiru says. "Why didn't you come back?"
"I didn't know if you wanted me to," Haruka says.
Michiru half laughs. "I will always want you to," she says. "I can barely be around you anymore."
"What do you mean?"
Michiru swallows hard. "It's very difficult to be so close to you and not get to touch you."
Haruka's eyes flash. "You can," she says.
Michiru's not sure if it's exactly what Haruka means, but her gaze flickers down. "Could...could I…"
Michiru's actually stammering, but she feels like she's a paragon of calm compared to Haruka, who suddenly freezes at the words. "You really want to…"
Michiru reaches out and lightly lands her hand on Haruka's knee. "Really, Haruka, there are stranger things in the world," she murmurs, trying to project her usual image of cool calmness for Haruka's benefit. As far as Michiru's concerned, she's failing considerably at keeping herself together, but she's faking it hard enough to make it work for Haruka.
Haruka blows out a tiny breath and lets herself lean back against the seat, staring straight ahead. "I don't know why you're still here," she mumbles.
"Because I meant every word I said," Michiru replies, tracing several small circle on Haruka's thigh. "I can't stop thinking about you. All day. Every night." She deliberates for a moment, ponders whether it's worth the possibility of getting shot down, and decides to just go for it. "Have you been thinking about me?" she asks, leaving a much more potent strain of vulnerability in her voice than she'd intended.
Haruka gulps. "Of course," she whispers, voice growing ragged.
Michiru's whole body clenches at that. She takes it to the next step: "Did you want to use this with me?" Carefully, deliberately, Michiru ghosts her fingertips across the fabric of Haruka's pants. The plaid pattern is busy, obscuring any hint of a bulge, but Michiru just needs to move up a bit farther, and then she hits it, she brushes against firmness. She's expecting it, but it's still a sudden shock; she inhales quick, letting her fingers linger.
Haruka twitches her hips, clenches her teeth, still staring straight out past the windshield. "Is this okay?" Michiru asks quietly.
She watches Haruka's throat bob as she swallows and dips her head once in a stilted nod. The air around them is stifling and almost too hot, small bursts of electricity crackling and popping and Michiru can't quite get enough air, can't quite take in a deep enough breath.
She drags her thumb across the ridge of the head, down the shaft, all the way down, down Haruka's cock, to where she can feel Haruka's heat. Tentatively, her fingers curl around it the best they can-it's thicker than she'd have guessed, surprisingly thick and solid; she tests with a gentle, experimental squeeze and Haruka jerks suddenly, with a little whine, biting her lip immediately after as if she's attempting to force the sound back in. "Sorry," Haruka rasps.
"Don't be," Michiru murmurs, her own voice thick and low.
Her hand, she realizes, is shaking.
Michiru takes a firmer hold, strokes down its length, pushing the base up and against Haruka. "Still okay?" she whispers.
"Y-yeah," Haruka mumbles.
Any doubt Michiru may have had about how exactly to go about doing this is rapidly disappearing. Her hand fits so well with Haruka, and it's like the most natural thing in the world to find a rhythm, and the words are coming to her, they're just there, she hardly has to think about it. "You're big, you know," she says coyly, because there's probably no universe in existence in which Tenoh Haruka wouldn't be hung.
Haruka's eyelashes flutter. "Michiru," she whimpers.
Still-well-she's still jacking Haruka off as she continues, dredging up every bit of seduction that she can possibly manage. "I know you've thought about being inside of me," she whispers. "You'd have to be careful; I've never taken anything like your size. You'd fill me, you know."
"Fuck," Haruka groans, breathing starting to get shaky, and it's too much for Michiru, she needs to get closer. She nearly throws herself at Haruka, slipping one leg up and around to straddle her and fumbling with Haruka's belt.
She slips Haruka's cock out of her boxers and it's gorgeous, Michiru's by no means an expert on these sorts of things but it's light pink and smooth and nothing less than Michiru had been imagining, and she's all but overcome with a rush of lust.
Keeping one hand firmly wrapped around the base of Haruka's cock, Michiru leans in to focus all of her energy on kissing her. Haruka's already panting and it's a strange sense of satisfaction Michiru gets, cutting Haruka off, listening to her suck in air and whimper as Michiru steals her breath away again and again.
She shifts forward, pressing herself fully up against Haruka, and the way she's holding Haruka's cock allows the blunt tip to slide against her opening and brush, perfectly aligned, with Michiru's clit.
"Oh my god," Michiru moans before she can help herself, bucking her hips up. She's barraged by the exact sort of thoughts she'd just been teasing Haruka with, thoughts about what it would feel like to actually have Haruka inside of her. It's so close but not quite there, and if Haruka's half as good with her cock as she is with her fingers it would probably be amazing. It's true that her cock is thick, much thicker than anything Michiru's ever taken, and she's craving the stretch, craving the fullness, so close to being completely consumed by just how much she wants Haruka right now.
Michiru knows she has to be close to soaked through at this point and for a brief second she worries about Haruka's pants, before she figures that she has much more important things to do.
Haruka's hand finally settles at Michiru's hip, tracing the curve of her waist almost reverently before grabbing onto her, yanking her forward. "Move," Haruka says, "against me. Please…"
Michiru doesn't need to be told twice. She keeps stroking Haruka's cock as she slides herself against it, little pulses of sensation shooting through her body with every move, and she leans forward to whisper in Haruka's ear. "I like the way you said please; you're so polite. Would you be that polite if you were begging me to let you fuck me?"
She slips the profanity in smoothly, suddenly, and judging by the little cry Haruka makes it has exactly the intended effect. Michiru herself is throbbing now, and she's only making it worse as she keeps going. "I'd ride you just like this," she breathes. "We'd barely need anything. You should," she takes a deep breath, "you should feel just how wet I am for you."
Instantly Haruka's free hand slips up Michiru's skirt, tracing across her underwear, slipping beneath her waistband. Michiru knows she's wet, almost unreasonably so, and it's all worth the way Haruka looks at her as she traces her way down Michiru's opening, with her eyes wide and intense. "You'd really let me…"
"Let you? Haruka, I need you to," Michiru says, and she means every word of it. She doubles her speed in jacking Haruka off, and Haruka's whining, bucking her hips up to meet every stroke, a telltale flush starting to spread across her cheekbones. "You're going to come, aren't you?" she murmurs in Haruka's ear. "I can tell you're close."
"Yeah," Haruka gasps, "I…" she trails off, eyes flickering shut.
"Do it," Michiru breathes. "I want to watch you do it. I want you to come for me-"
Right in the middle of her sentence, a strange crunching noise pounds at the back of her consciousness. It takes her a couple of beats to process it through the haze fogging up her brain, but she and Haruka realize nearly at the same time what it is: another car, making its way up the road.
"Oh shit!" Haruka straightens and Michiru all but launches herself off Haruka, against the passenger seat, as Haruka's struggling to shove her cock back in her pants and zip herself up and put herself back in presentable condition. Michiru quickly checks herself in the rearview mirror-she looks fine on the outside, but the sudden space between her and Haruka leaves Michiru cold, longing, missing the feeling of Haruka's body. Still dazed, Michiru blinks, trying to clear out some of the maddening arousal, still absolutely ready for anything with Haruka.
The new arrival to the spot is a family, with two little children: a young boy and a young girl. They're a perfectly nice family, and Michiru shoots them a glare that could freeze lava.
Haruka, meanwhile, is leaning forward, one hand on her forehead, the other whiteknuckling the steering wheel, eyes glazed over as she inhales and exhales with slow, deep breaths, obviously fighting to calm down. It's an incredibly endearing look, but at this point, pretty much everything Haruka does is turning Michiru on, and she casts another extremely uncharitable look down at the new arrivals, who are slowly making their way down to the beach. The young boy has just placed his bucket on his head while his family looks on and applauds. It's overwhelmingly adorable, and Michiru detests them all for ruining the moment.
"Well," Haruka finally says.
Michiru almost laughs. "Well," she agrees.
Haruka gives her a surprisingly shy look from beneath her eyelashes. "That was really…"
Michiru smooths her hair, checks her reflection in the mirror one more time, and turns back to Haruka, eyebrow raised. "Are you convinced yet that I don't have any problems with you?"
Haruka grins. "I think you proved your point." She shakes her head hard, obviously in an attempt to clear it.
"Are you okay to drive?" Michiru says lightly, daring to tease.
"Yes," Haruka says, faux-offended. "You didn't completely shortcircuit me."
"Pity," Michiru sighs, half joking, half entirely meaning it. "That sounds rather like a challenge."
Haruka starts her car and gazes over at Michiru, an almost tangible electric current passing between the two of them. "Only if you're up for it," she says.
"Always, with you," Michiru murmurs.
The drive back to Michiru's house is all too quick, and they're there before she really knows it.
"Thank you for the ride," Michiru says, gathering up her things. Then she reconsiders; before she loses her nerve, Michiru leans over, kisses Haruka's cheek, slips her hand between Haruka's legs, and whispers, "It's so flattering to feel you still so hard for me. I can't wait to continue this later."
With that, in one fluid motion, she scoops up her coat and bag and exits the car.
She doesn't glance back.
Notes (added 4/11): So I see in the reviews that there's been a bit of confusion about what's going on here, and I'd like to clear that up. In this story, yes, Haruka was assigned the female sex at birth, meaning that she was born with visible genitalia that caused doctors to declare her sex as female. However, in this story, for reasons that haven't quite been discussed in their entirety yet, Haruka is passing fulltime as male, meaning that she is, with her clothing and appearance, trying to make people believe at first sight that she is a boy. In this story—and where a lot of the confusion comes from, I think—Haruka is packing, i.e. wearing a strap-on dildo beneath her clothing. There are no flesh and blood penises involved. Michiru is being rather intuitive, though, and has noticed that Haruka's not exactly super comfortable with the parts of her anatomy that are traditionally associated with women; she's also figured out that, because she's packing, Haruka seems to be embracing that particular idea of wearing the dildo. Therefore, Michiru's both trying to put Haruka at ease as well as actually being pretty actively into the situation by saying/thinking things like "Haruka's cock," because it's becoming evident that Haruka thinks of the dildo as an extension of herself.