Good Morning
In the morning's watered-down light, she seems to glow, this sun-colored creature in Michiru's bed. She stretches, skin tight on muscles and bone, a yawn stretching its way up from deep in her tight belly and jutting hips, up to Haruka's defined sternum, through the corded muscle of her throat, and to the faultless rose 'o' of her lips.
The white blankets make her skin all the more golden, and Michiru watches Haruka indulge in the luxury of slowly coming to her senses, drifting out of pleasant dreams, rather than being jolted up hurriedly to another battle, another draining destined sword-wielding scene.
"Good morning, beautiful," Michiru greets Haruka, who is suddenly very busy with blankets upon realizing she was being watched.
A crimson blush stains her cheeks and she replies, "You're not too hard on the eyes, yourself." And Michiru isn't, propped up against two cushions with her knees drawn up under her chin, aquamarine hair spilling over the edge of a crisp pillow, sleepy thick lashed eyes lit up with sunrise's new possibilities.
"You looked like you were having a nice dream. Were you?"
Haruka grins, and leans up to cup Michiru's chin between two strong square hands, and replies, "It was about this."
