notes: Yay. The end of this complex. I mean, for the main story at least. But I'll probably write some omakes or bonuses or after stories or something to tie up loose ends, because there are a lot. It's like I slapped this thing together, and in all honesty, this isn't what I had originally planned. I'll leave it at that.
notes2: As stated in the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh segments, bells-mannequin owns the idea of a lost scenes complex, so therefore, I do not take credit for this. I also recommend you read hers, despite whether or not you ship 8086, because it's still just that awesome. Thank you.
CATCHING LIGHTNING
part eight—
rip
('cause i feel,
i can always show my everything to you)
It's like her decency goes up in smoke the instant the bedroom door shuts.
She wants him. On her hips. In her hair. In her mouth. Holding her breasts. She wants him everywhere—her skin's burning for it, heart pushing and pulling at her ribcage, crashing and craving in her chest. She can't get his taste out her mind—she hasn't tasted him in months, long enough for her feminine sensibilities to take a tumble over the edge once she comes face to face with a man. A man hosting a picnic for the Axis and Allies, and a sexually-deprived woman. With Tsunayoshi—with him standing a few inches from her quivering from the same desire that's got her in a chokehold—she thinks she can set her modesty aside for a while.
(A long while.)
Her fingernails reach for the hem of her dress—his auburn eyes widen, lock, tear, rip as she pulls at the lacy—black, how precocious—edges of her panties, glancing up at him with a coy, gentle expression on her face. She knows he'll stutter. She knows he'll watch her drag the fabric of her underwear down her smooth, pearly thighs, toss them aside, reach for the stays at the back of her dress—his fingers look like they want to have a go at the laces holding her dress together, his lips are quivering with want. Need. Lust. Desire. A bunch of other deadly sins all boiled into one.
She thinks she sees gluttony cross his eyes.
He's hungry?
She licks her lips. Tastes her strawberry lollipop. Tastes hunger—such intense hunger, she's been starving for him ever since he left her on the porch steps in the rain. Such a dramatic change of events—this isn't supposed to be in the cards. Making out, maybe. But teasing him this way? No. Just, no. She may be hungry, but that doesn't mean she should start something she'll have no intention of finishing once it gets messy. She's not the type to get her hands dirty, and she knows that—Tsunayoshi knows that.
Haru closes her eyes, and releases her black lace, lifting herself upright. "Thank you for escorting me, Tsuna—"
His lips crash into hers, desperate, white-hot, scorching, bruising—his arms seize her in an iron cage, his fingers threading through her brown hair, pulling at the stays tied at her back, containing her breasts. His lower body collides with hers—holy, hell, does that hurt—pulls her flush against him, keeps her there, parts her mouth with his tongue and charges. He isn't holding anything back, his one hand reaches for the back of her head and tilts her face, pressing deeper and deeper—there's no choice but surrender.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It fucking hurts.
Her core starts combusting as his hands pry each of the stays from their binds—she's too busy kissing and wanting and holding and touching to give a damn about the fact that she's half naked, and he's still fully clothed. His eyes fall to her breasts—she raises her arms to cover them, noticing the shift in his expression, but his hands stop her. They're shaking. Trembling. Quivering. Their hold on her wrists is gentle, and quiet—calm now that he's ripped himself out of his filthy skin, bore his soul to her judgment in their kiss.
There's nothing more to it. He picks up her dress from the floor, hands it to her, and once she's in it, turns her around and starts tying the laces back up. He doesn't speak and neither does she, even though her heart is still pounding hard. Heavy. Damn it, Tsunayoshi. His light touch on her back brings her back to reality once more, and she turns her head, pulling her hair forward over one shoulder—her sienna irises meet his caramel ones. His fingers stop moving, pausing against her milky skin, waiting. Expectant.
Shit.
She doesn't want him to stop.
She doesn't want him to stop touching her.
But he has to, and she knows he does—she whispers breathlessly, "I can tie them, you don't have to do that."
"It's fine," he answers, his fingers moving again. She almost sighs and leans into him as her skin sings against his touch. She's missed him—she misses him. She's a fool, letting him go. Letting him stop. Letting him drift further and further from her. His presence is so close, but so far away—she presses her back into his chest, laying her head back on his shoulder. He doesn't stop her. "Haru."
"Let me do this, at least," she murmurs. His cheek touches her temple, the corner of his eye grazing her hair.
It's a fragile thing, this moment in time, and if she wants to be honest, it feels better under her skin than those heated moments before. She doesn't want him in a tizzy—sometimes, no, most of the time; Tsunayoshi's handsomest when he's flustered—she just wants him close, just wants his hold around her, his touch against her skin, his voice in her ear. She knows that she was only acting out of the hurt inside—her Lightning flames are a testament to that—and by doing so, she hurt him too. But that's not important to her anymore, and neither is all of the kissing, touching, holding in the world. She just wants him to be around her. Not necessarily inside her.
(And you all thought that Haru couldn't pull off a perverted funny—served.)
He sighs, his eyes closing. His arms wrap around her, loose, modest—hesitant. "I missed you."
I missed you.
She smiles. "I missed you, too. My mother did too—I couldn't go a day without being asked where you were, or what you were doing. She loves you, you know. My father does too."
"I," he starts, his eyes half-lidded, "can't. Because if I—"
"—I know," Haru interrupts, reaching back with her hand, burying her fingers in his thick, auburn hair. His eyes flash to her charm bracelet—the Lightning-class ring attached to the center of it. In that instant, she knows that he knows. She doesn't need to tell him—she can light a ring. He doesn't say anything, but she knows he's anxious. His brow is furrowing, his eyes are quivering—she knows that he never wanted this. "And I understand now what you were trying to do. But this… This is my fight too. It's not about my independence or my stupid, petty arguments. These flames can protect people."
"They also destroy," he whispers, his eyes closing. "Why? Why, Haru, when you know how hard I fight so that you won't have to."
"I wanted to prove a point," she answers honestly, laughing bitterly. She raises the charm bracelet to her face, squints at the ring with her eyes. It looks small against the pearly hue of her skin, almost feeble in the light. A weapon. A tool for murder, protection, and bloodshed all in one piece of jewelry. She leans back into Tsunayoshi's embrace just the slightest bit heavier, her other arm rising to hold her dress up to her chest. "A stupid, selfish point. I asked Suzuki-san to teach me how to use them. Kyouko-chan and Hana-chan have rings too, Tsuna-san. We all want to be able to at least protect ourselves."
Tsunayoshi buries his nose into the hair at her neck, tightening his hold on her, taking a deep breath, sighing it back out against her skin. His breath is warm, hot, and for a moment, she breaks out into chills, his touch tickling the underside of her lungs. She makes no move to escape him—her heart aches, even as her head falls back against his shoulder once more, her eyes shutting. Her independence isn't worth losing this—Tsunayoshi. Some point she wants to make.
"I won't fight," she promises, turning her head toward him. He doesn't see her. His breathing quivers along her skin, his arms tightening. She knows he's crying in that silent way he does—it's like he's holding back all of his emotions, refusing his tears, keeping his heart locked behind a glass wall. She can see him hurting. But he won't let anyone in. "And neither will Kyouko-chan and the others. But if someone threatens me, I won't think twice before using these flames to protect myself. Is that fair?"
A few moments of silence.
A few more stuttering breaths into her hair.
Then:
"It will not come to that."
She closes her eyes.
"I promise you, Haru, it will not come to that." His irises are smoldering amber at the edge of her face. There's no hesitation, no trace of a lie boiling in their depths—there're flames, of course, but there's a promise.
He means every word, her heart murmurs, he won't let you go.
She turns, letting her half tied dress slip from her chest as she reaches both hands to Tsunayoshi's face. His arms slip to her waist, his eyes widening—he leans into her touch, her hold, and even though they're not together, that they're still broken-up, but coming closer, he doesn't push her away when she kisses his lips in earnest this time. He doesn't reach up to pull her closer. He doesn't part her mouth against his. He doesn't do anything but let her kiss him herself—he gives Haru her independence, lets her call the shots.
Just like before.
.
end.
notes: I miss Psycho-Pass. Especially Kougami Shinya. Just putting that out there. Please, review?
