Disclaimer – still do not own any of the characters or battleships and whatnot in this fiction, but hey, I'm not making any money off it so why worry?
Murrue sighed into her warm tea after Mu had left. Perhaps he was right and she had been a bit hard on Ensign Natarle. She stood up and paced restlessly, rubbing her face as she tried to sort things out in her mind. It was a good thing they'd been granted some leave, both officers and crew were showing clear signs of stress. Even she was, otherwise she would never have turned a professional agreement personal. Murrue may have been a laid back Californian gal, but she was still a professional and this time she had stepped over the line. She had to apologise.
Standing up from where she'd angrily thrown herself onto the sofa she shoved her feet into a pair of slippers and took off to do the right thing.
Natarle came and answered her door personally, a novel, quaintly old-fashioned thing to do in an era of automated doors. She was also wearing something Murrue didn't really expect. The forceful, coolly efficient officer was transformed into and elegant quiet beauty thanks to the kimono she wore.
Natarle was tired and had simply thrown on an old yukata when she'd got in, before the door demanded her attention. She hoped that the breath she'd caught in her throat wasn't audible. The captain, the attractive, dominant, respect worthy captain was stood at her door in her underwear, slippers and an oversized white man's shirt. Long legs and a hint of cleavage were revealed as the soft, worn cotton glided effortless over the rest of her shape, concealing it, but hinting at the hidden delights.
Whether it was fortunate or not that both were accidentally wearing outfits that stimulated the other's libido was yet to be discovered, although one suspects that the hentai god of sexual comedies had a hand in that.
Then Natarle blinked and regained herself. 'She wouldn't want me anyway.' She thought to herself as she moved back from the door to let her superior into her quarters. 'What did you need me for, Captain?' She asked as she moved away, somewhat thrown by the generally surreal nature of the situation she found herself in.
'This is wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong hot! She is a professional, my underling, I should not….' Murrue managed to pull herself away from the train of thought Natarle's pink cheeks and flustered behaviour had caused. 'I came for an apology Ensign.' Then before Natarle could say anything Murrue lurched down into a deep and sincere bow, remaining bent over as the computer had stated was appropriate in this situation when dealing with a Japanese person. 'I apologise from my cruel and unprofessional actions earlier today. I stepped over the line and hope you can forgive my impetuosity.'
A pressure around her upper arms eased Murrue back upright and the feels of those firm, surprisingly strong hands on her person had an effect. 'I accept your apology Captain. Things have been very tense of late.' Unconsciously her hands tightened on Murrue's biceps as she remembered some of the things that had caused recent stresses. Murrue could feel the taller woman's breath in the hollow of her neck and found the warm damp air strangely soothing. Clearly Murrue was not thinking straight because she laid her head on Natarle's shoulder and relaxed. She smelt strange, the clinical shipboard soap overlaying the more organic natural scent of the woman and mingling with the faintly floral odour of the paper the traditional robe was laid in.
Natarle was surprised but not repulsed or offended by Murrue's reaction, instead sliding her arms around Murrue, enjoying the way the soft warm fabric slid over smooth skin. She buried her face in that brown hair that had always struck her as excessively feminine and self-indulgent for a woman of rank. She'd never been permitted long hair, too impractical for her military upbringing and she'd never really mourned the loss herself, although it had given her an exotic fascination for women who did have long hair.
Murrue noticed that the almost knee-length sleeves of Natarle's kimono had slipped back to expose toned forearms. The contrast between that expanse of skin and the demure nature of Natarle's costume struck Murrue as highly erotic and far more sophisticated than the vulgar shows of flesh to which she was more accustomed. This had to be explored so she captured Natarle's fragile wrist, then slid up the forearm and under the folds of the warm soft sleeve. Different kinds of soft mingled in her senses as the contrast between warm healthy skin and soft worn fabric which retained body heat assailed her sensitive fingers.
They moved to the sofa and sprawled in silence, Natarle propped up against the backrest and her superior officer sprawled across her lap, head leaning into her chest in a decidedly unprofessional manner. For once Natarle did not mind, actually she rather liked it and decided to be bold. Her heart raced faster than it ever did in battle as she leaned down and tilted Murrue's face towards her for a kiss.
Natarle wore cherry lip balm, Murrue discovered. She also discovered that Natarle was inexperienced to say the least. Given how those crazy Japanese seemed to place a lot of importance on female innocence and first kisses according to those cartoons she'd seen it was not surprising. A plan formed in her mind and it came as some surprise to the Californian that she intended to grab onto this chance before it passed her by. This confusing train of thought did not prevent her from returning the kiss with equal enthusiasm though.