Disclaimer: Love Hina belongs to Ken Akamatsu. Even if I did own it, the amount of work needed to make it would make me keel over dead, so, no. Don't go there.
A/N: This is non-canon. In truth, I have little idea how the God's Cry School is run and I doubt Motoko even knows how to ice skate, but this is an idea that popped into my head and I'm running with it.
Warning: There is heavy imagery used in this chapter. It does not ever get to a horribly graphic extent, but if you are squeamish about flesh touching flesh, you might want to bypass this one.
Blaze of Birthing
Motoko's POV
Her breathing quickens, emitting in ragged gasps as the sensations swell, overwhelming her. Warm flesh glides teasingly over her own, and waves of pleasure emanate in crescendoing waves from various points on her body which her dark haired lover nibbles in a passionate, playful, frenzy.
Abruptly, the ministrations being placed on her body cease. With an unseemly moan escaping from her tenderly bruised lips, she jerks up unsteadily, sweat running in quicksilver rivulets down her toned form.
"Tsuruko? What are you doing?"
Her sister grins, indolent and sensual, lithe body shining pale in the luminous moonlight from a nearby window. In her long slender-fingered grasp she holds a practice bokken. Even Motoko, who is admittedly not the most well-versed in the acts of love, can follow a train of logical thought to what will happen next. Aroused, she can still gasp at the lack of respect for the weapon, however, she has lost all control. Every muscle in her body tenses in anticipation as the bokken and her sister's hand draw ever nearer...
Motoko jerked awake violently, inhaling deeply for oxygen that suddenly seemed too hard to find. She was alone in her sparsely furnished room. Glancing briefly at the clock, she saw that it was only a little after midnight, but the thoughts still roiling about in her troubled mind prevented any attempts at sleep. Disgust with herself filled her until all she could do was berate herself internally. 'What in the kami are you thinking, you crazy baka!? She's your sister! It doesn't matter how beautiful, how courageous, how proud, how perfect she is, she'll never care about you that way! Plus, she's married! You don't even know if she swings that way!' And it was true, Motoko didn't have any idea whether or not her older sister was even attracted to other women, but the thing that screamed the most at Motoko's sensibilities was that Tsuruko was her sister. The young warrior had known of her attraction to other women since Kitsune had asked her if she had "other-teamly tendencies". Since then, her and Kitsune had been involved, but it had never been as deep a feeling as the ones she held for Tsuruko. She felt like a dirty, perverted, lecherous fool. 'Maybe you should spend some more time with Urashima, you're as sick as he is' she told herself. Now Kitsune was a great friend and trusted confidante, nothing more.
'Maybe I'll talk to Kitsune about this tomorrow,' Motoko thought, thinking of her seductive friend's vaunted experience. 'Yes, I think I will. Now go to sleep Motoko, you love sick baka.'
And with that self deprecating thought, Motoko laid back and tried to go back to sleep, failing miserably with the intervention of raven-hued hair, tranquil dark eyes, and perfectly toned pale flesh. 'Gods damn it,' she thought.
Tsuruko's POV
The flickering candle flame gutted and waved wildly as she let loose a great sigh of frustration. The great sheaf of papers rustled softly in her hands as she read through them once again, hoping for some sort of mistake. Still, the characters and numbers on the papers remained unchanged, and the fact that the God's Cry School was in debt for the first time in years remained unchanged.
Of course, she knew, she couldn't be blamed for this failing merely because she was the Head of the Shin Mei Ryuu. Traditionally, the school had always been supported by those who came of that school, for they farmed and harvested their own lands. However, of late there were warriors abandoning the school for lives in cities, and not a great deal of new blood coming in to replace the departing warriors and be trained. With the gradual but inevitable decline in numbers, the symbiotic relationship between the school's maintenance and its members failed, and now there was just not enough income coming in to provide for the maintenance of such an extensive establishment.
Even though the school's debt wasn't something she could have prevented, it was as if a heavy kappa had settled itself upon her back and was now worrying her flesh and pulling her hair. She, in her warrior's pride, would be damned before she would go down in history as the leader who had plunged the Shin Mei Ryuu into debt. Thinking of ideas to raise money, the most obvious one, the way of the sword, was quickly discarded. Long ago, the warriors of her school of fighting had sworn an oath not to harm any human, plus, underneath her icy, austere, exterior, Tsuruko was a woman who enjoyed experimenting above all else. The candlelight began to dim when the idea worked its way into Tsuruko's mind in the form of an unusually vivid memory.
The winter chill nipped at her flesh as the cries of children echoed through the
crisp, sharp air. Absentmindedly, she glided over the ice while looking down
at the smaller hand clutched tightly in hers. What happened next seemed like it
happened in slow motion. One minute she was skating perfectly proficiently on
the ice, the next, her blade had caught in a pitted groove of the ice, and her
balance was thrown off badly. Quickly, she released Motoko's hand and stumb-
led backwards, trying desperately to regain her balance while seeming comp-
osed at the same time, but even more so, to keep from crushing her strong, but
still small sister in her fall. Unable to catch her balance, Tsuruko began to fall.
The slow motion abruptly disappeared, replaced by a pace all too fast. She
braced for impact against the hard ice, but instead of the rough jolt of pain, she
was cushioned, her fall padded by the bundled body of a little girl. Motoko
showed no pain, only great concern for the well-being of her older sister. They
had gone home after that, and no doubt the experience had long since been for-
gotten by Motoko, but Tsuruko had never lost that memory and it always pop-
ped into her mind at unexpected times.
Tsuruko had always been a more than efficient skater, as she always was at most things she tried her hand at, but Motoko was something more, something beyond that, she recalled. What Motoko had, was like a supernatural gift, and watching Motoko skate was like watching fluid poetry in motion. The older Aoyama reminisced, seeing Motoko move gracefully into smooth spins and jumps, like an avatar of beauty. Everyone who had watched her skate knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that she could have made a career and become a legend out of it, but instead, she chose to follow in Tsuruko's footsteps, in the footsteps of all her warrior sister's and indeed, her warrior family. Since her decision, she had never so much as looked at a pair of skates again, but Tsuruko knew that if Motoko ever took the ice again, it would be as if she never left.
'Well, now, she can help preserve our chosen way of living with her kami gifted talent.' Tsuruko decided. With a satisfied sigh, she rose, arranging the sheaf of papers into a neat pile on her desk, snuffed out the candle, and went to bed, already planning an unexpected visit to Hinata Inn on the morrow. The look on Motoko's face would be delicious, to say the least.
