So, IT'S SEPTEMBER AND THIS MEANS IT'S SMUTEMBER! This is my week one piece. Please also check out tumblr! Over the course of smutember, I'll be reblogging everyone's contributions for smutember on my blog (floraone there, too) and also make an e-zine out of all contributions at the end of the month! So, if you want to cheer everyone on, I'd personally be very delighted!
Thank you to my lovely beta Uglygreenjacket, and my wonderful friend Antigone2 for cheering me on with this story! Creativity is hard in pandemic days, and you keep me going!
Anyway, the trope I wrote this to is 'In Public', but it also really fits the following other tropes: Established Relationship, Caught In The Act, Mutual Masturbation, as well as Aroused By Your…[henshin]...
Playing Outside
A Short Story in the Lemon Tree Series
Written for Smutember 2020
Really, the first time it just… kinda happened.
So, it wasn't her fault her boyfriend had only like, the biggest super hero kink. And yes. Yes, she did take advantage of that.
She'd only had to crook her finger this time. He'd left his group behind without a word, barely looked left and right, and followed through the crowd until they were alone.
She'd been passing the time in Ikebukuro. Mamoru was there with Reika and two of Reika's friends, watching some modern take on a classic lit Sōseki play that Usagi had immediately begun mock-retching about when Mamoru had so much as started suggesting she might come along, and so instead they were going to meet up to grab dinner in Ikebukuro when the play was out (she was crossing her fingers they'd agree to go to Kura Sushi with her, because, well, gashapon prizes for every 5 sushi plates c'mon!)
And because her shift at work had ended in an odd kind of in-between-time where it didn't make sense to go back home first but also made her arrive in Ikebukuro way earlier than the play was out, she'd strolled down Otome Road and stocked up on manga and doujinshi, took a detour for Bubble Tea, and then made her way to stroll through PARCO before she was to pass through to the other side of Ikebukuro station to slowly head towards picking up Mamoru from that nerdery he liked to call 'culture' with that haughty look, her pink backpack newly filled with very japanese culture, too, thank you very much.
And so, when the screaming started, it kind of shook her to the bone for just a moment before old instincts took over. She dropped her Bubble Tea - it splashed onto the ground in a bright, mess of a puddle where it had exploded out from her now deformed, ripped plastic cup, droplets flying everywhere as it spread out in moving liquid, and she stepped right in it as she took off running, her mind reacting with immediate, irrational panic for Mamoru.
Because the screams came from the direction of the theater, and her whole mind started tunneling.
It was, of course, muscle memory. Running. Finding a place to transform. Letting the magic envelop her before she could take flight. Even when Galaxia was so long behind them, it was edged into her being. But her heart sped up too fast nonetheless, so out of routine.
Because if anyone so much laid a hand on him again, she was going to forget herself, ok?
They didn't, though. She singled Mamoru out in the crowd immediately. And it immediately made her calm down when she found him first thing, her eyes drawn to him. Skidding to a halt on top of the triangular glass structure that was the entrance to the building, she could overlook the scene.
A glowing, floating, roaring figure hovering over the outdoor stage, a forcefield of energy locking around roughly 300, 400 people, plus a performing ensemble that fled the stage screaming, jumping off the wooden platform and into the panicking crowd.
Mamoru was standing protectively in front of his companions in that fancy grey dress shirt he'd worn for the night, held hostage like everyone else in the crowd by the sparkling, cackling blue energy surrounding the area, his eyes scanning the crowd, no doubt trying to figure out how he could escape to transform.
He wouldn't need to, though. She got this.
Right as the figure floated into the crowd to a round of rising panic, Usagi jumped.
Confidently, Sailor Moon stepped off the building and let herself fall to the ground, softening her landing just a meter above the open-air stage with a powerful flap of her white wings. The monster was glowing, pushing energy out in all directions, lamenting and screaming out her apparent disappointment. She was quite visibly (and audibly) not very amused by the director's new avant garde approach to having a play performed outside the actual theater.
"Hey!" Usagi shouted in her glare-y tone, one hand stemmed into her cocked hip, and didn't falter even when an eerie hush fell over the crowd. Even the ghost-like figure quieted as it stilled and turned to look up at her. "I won't allow you to disturb these people enjoying their dull fancy-pants classic literature!"
Men and women in all kinds of somewhat business dress, some young, some really, really old, tweed vests and hipster totes, shining bald heads and tight grey buns, and all of them looking at her in utter awe.
And suddenly, the crowd roared. She blinked a little, surprised.
But well, she supposed she had looked rather cool. Landing right on the stage like that, spreading out Eternal Sailor Moon's wings like so, her hair fluttering with the wind her momentum created, and landing on the stage with no sound of her footfalls at all, to the sudden hush of a previously frightened crowd.
Well, Tokyo didn't see Sailor Moon much these days, either.
And so, when she'd turned and pressed her forearms one over the other in her signature pose to scold and promise to punish the spirit something fierce in the name of the Moon, complete with her no-nonsense face and her loud and authoritarian-when-she-wanted-to voice, the crowd had howled and cheered at her even harder. Someone from the tech team even trained the friggin spotlight on her!
She started to grin, found Mamoru's intense eyes across the crowd and winked at him.
He was smirking at her, one side of his lips lifted. And he was standing straight again. Relaxed. No longer looking for an exit strategy.
But the… what was it? Monster? Rogue, forgotten daimon egg? Ghost? Whatever it was, it did not seem as enamoured with the play. In fact, it flared, floated towards her with great speed, and howled.
"If only!" It lamented most dramatically, and so very loud and angry. The air shook with it's roar, and Sailor Moon held her arms, elbows out, over her face protectively.
In all honesty, it actually looked kind of stunning. Face painted white in full red and black Kabuki makeup, a kimono so colorful and intricate it was mesmerizing even without fanning out into the fluttery energy that surrounded the whole place like a ghost's veil. It was one of the prettiest monsters she'd ever seen.
"The blasphemy!" It cried in a voice so shrill a few people shrieked and held their ears, others shouted Sailor Moon on, many began to run again.
Its energy shot out like a pulse. Beneath it, the hundreds of plastic benches outside the theatre evaporated into dust, some people who'd been cowering on them or standing on them to see better fell, and the screaming began anew.
"This production," it shrieked, and shot out another blast, and Sailor Moon grabbed her wand and ran at her, "defiles all art! 'I am a cat' is unrecognizable!" it shrieked.
And Sailor Moon nearly fell over her feet. "Wait, what?" Usagi couldn't help an incredulous laugh, found Mamoru's eyes again - he was creeping closer towards them, trying to make his way towards her around the thick mass of people. "This play is about a cat? Really? A cat?!"
Mamoru threw her a look even when she giggled so clearly at his expense.
But that meant she was distracted, and ducked when the next blast rattled the glass of the theatre behind her the .. spirit? Monster? Shouted her rage, all 'blasphemy' and 'what are we doing NEXT to dishonor the great arts', and Mamoru mouthed 'genius loci'.
Ah.
"You know," Usagi told the angry protector of the arts with a shrug as she dodged another wave of energy. "I once went to a poo exhibit at an art museum."
"WHAT?!"
The roar was so loud and came with a wave of energy that made her fringe shake.
Mamoru, closer yet again, looked at her like he wanted to slap his forehead. Or maybe hers. Though he shouldn't be acting so highty-tighty. He was, after all, the one who had taken her there. Only to get super embarrassed when she'd insisted that she, too, wanted to be flushed down the giant Toto loo like all the kids in their poo hats. (They'd let her.)
She still had that poo hat. And loved it dearly, by the way. Because it was amazing, duh.
So well, the genius loci got a little angrier after that, but she'd still got it.
Following it a little further away from the crowd where she could blast at it without being afraid to hit anyone, it was kind of really nothing.
She didn't even break a sweat. A twirl here, dodging a thrown theater prop there or a stage light here, and then she jumped, kicked, landed, and one Starlight Honeymoon Therapy Kiss later she'd sealed the spirit right back where it belonged.
And that was exactly why it had worked him up that much, she supposed, when after months of nothing, Sailor Moon made her first appearance in front one of the biggest crowds she'd ever fought in front of, and she fucking kicked ass, and even kind of had a lot of visible fun while doing it. She hadn't even thought about the possibility to call the girls for backup. She hadn't needed it at all.
The energy barrier dropped as if it had never been there, the sirens outside the area suddenly audible, and the crowd cheered like they would have for the best play in the world. And when she found Mamoru's eyes again, they were super dark.
And well, this time? She didn't even have to talk him into this. She just grinned at him, toothy and wide, cocked her head and crooked her fingers at him, and she had him.
She didn't even look back when she fled inside. She knew he would be behind her.
The good thing about open-air plays? It left the inside completely deserted.
She'd barely slipped into the dim theater room when his hand halted the door behind her.
He kissed her when he reached her. Mamoru's lips on Sailor Moon's, pulling at her face with both hands until she was where he wanted her, his tongue stroking so deep into her mouth like it belonged to him. Hot and deep and full of his low, quiet, guttural moans that she swallowed right down as she sagged against him.
"You were so fucking hot," he exhaled harshly against her puckered lips when she broke for breath and flicked her eyelashes up at him.
At her look, he only groaned and kissed her again, mouth open and wide and wet and deep, her fingers curling into his tight black jeans. She pulled at one of the loops that held his belt, stepped back, and he made that little protesting grunt when his lips disconnected from hers.
His eyes were so fucking dark. And so she grinned, bit her lip slowly in that way that made him focus on her mouth like that, and pulled again.
She flicked her eyes behind her, and back to him, curling her lips up in all the suggestion she was capable of.
She had expected him to roll his eyes, tell her to detransform. To take her hand and take her home. Maybe find the others first. Maybe to even take her to dinner still like they'd planned, on the way to the JR station.
And yet, he did none of these things. Instead, his eyes darkened even further and he simply followed.
Of course, it had taken her quite a while into their mutual sexual activities to actually really notice how very, very hard he got for Sailor Moon.
That he looked at Sailor Moon that way. That he'd always looked at Sailor Moon that way. And it wasn't because she was oblivious, like he tended to say with that weirdly affectionate roll of his eyes. No, it was because he had the poker face of a statue. Those old bronze ones with the icky green stuff on them. Ya know, the stern looking ones.
And when she did finally notice how much slower his eyes were to drag over her in costume, how much deeper his inhales when she was being particularly badass, how much blacker his gaze when she transformed in front of him in determination, some years had passed.
To her credit, it wasn't like she had to transform a lot these days.
And so Mamoru's half-hearted "We'll get caught," got lost somewhere between the creaky bounce of the seat when she pushed him into it and his reverent fingers stroking down the plush feathers of her wings.
He bit his lip, too, and so she bit it for him, and he whimpered so hard she had to grin in a way it kind of hurt her face. And again when his eyes rolled back in his head for just a second when she stroked one gloved hand down the metal fly of his pants, bulged out towards her.
He did fall back even further into the red plush chair nonetheless, absolute putty in her fingers, when she slowly dragged the metal flap down and set his cock free into the dim, dark light of an empty theater.
"We shouldn't," he said, wide-eyed and in that voice that said 'god, please go on', shuddering. His cock jumping, twitching, leaking as she laid it free like a present. And when she dragged one gloved finger slowly up that pulsing vein that ran from base to tip, he closed his eyes and hissed through his teeth, and the back of his head hit the plush red velvet seat as he sunk so far.
"Anyone could come in," he said weakly, his head lolled to the side, his eyes half-lidded and all-black even when he spread his knees far apart beneath her.
It was a recklessness of the kind both of them knew intimately. Both of them knew better. After all, they had memories not much unlike this; from a relationship entirely in secret between two worlds. They'd done things like this before. Many, many times before, even if this was the first time they would do it in this life, and Mamoru was so much more responsible than that.
But there was none of that responsibility left in those punch-drunk eyes of his right now. Only thick, helpless desire.
Thus, when she climbed on top of him, knees spread to either side of him and he arched his whole body off the seat against her, she couldn't keep the smirk in.
"I'll make it worth your while," she whispered at him with her grin too wide and even wider when she dragged a finger against his lip and he bit it with a harsh grunt.
With a tug away from his mouth, her glove came off.
He spit it out somewhere to the side, carelessly, and she grinned even harder.
The grin turned into moan not long after.
She palmed him, and he cupped her. His thumb over the fabric on her clit and pushing, rolling, his knuckles against the little dent below that kept her vagina so neatly covered.
Mamoru grunted hard when she sat down on top of him fully, started to rub herself against his hand, her skirt shifting across his legs, his cock pressed between them in her hand, but he just craned his neck and watched her.
And no, they didn't get caught, and his eyes remained half-lidded and on her the whole time, his mouth both slack and tense all at the same time as he breathed through his mouth, a whisper of a moan through every harsh exhale of breath. Even when she collapsed on top of him, braced herself with her elbow around his neck and on the seat behind him, one hand digging into his glossy, pretty hair and her open mouth against his shoulder, his head was turned to her and he was watching her.
So beautifully practiced, Mamoru knew what he was doing when he pulled at the skin next to her crotch, his thumb and palm pressed deep into the softer skin at the hollow of her thigh. His fingers so deliciously strong and heavy as they wrapped around her leg, the tips of his fingers digging just so at the sensitive skin of her buttcheek, skimming along the hem of her suit both at her ass and where his thumb traced the hem at her crotch.
With one practiced, gentle tug at the skin by her crotch, Mamoru pulled her apart beneath the fabric, cheeks and lips and clenching entrance, like he would when it wasn't the suit but her panties. Pulled her apart in the way that exposed her clit and her cunt just a little more, and it caused her clit to rub right against the fabric, and her entrance to chafe against the friction his fingers created on it.
God.
The suit didn't come off, and so she ground herself against him wantonly, his fingers and his cock alike, and when her fingers around him became messily unrhythmic and stalled, he pried her fingers from him one by one and stroked himself instead.
She tugged at his shirt, buried her fingers in his pants instead, curled around the waistband and the cool little button, her thumb in the fabric, her knuckles in his pubic hair and that pretty little line of hair that trailed up to his navel. And then she just arched, wings unfurling behind her, completely out of her control, as she keened and surrendered to sensation.
And so she just moved. Ground against him, mouth at his throat, pushing her hips against his cock and fist over and over where it made her crazy.
It coiled and built and rushed in her head and she wanted to scream, wanted to rip the fabric away from her crotch and bodice so she could sink onto his cock, as he stroked himself against her with the tip at her entrance and she writhed and writhed.
She was so wet the fabric was damp, so wet it slipped across her oh so easily. Nothing whatsoever dry about this particular hump.
The suit didn't come off, but it was pliant. It was magic meant to move with her, and so she could feel it all so well. He kept one thumb dug deep in the hollow of her thigh, pulling her apart even as he pushed the tip of his cock against the hollow of her crotch over and over, pumping himself against her. Fucking himself against her suit and her right with it, and with every push and every dent, it pulled the fabric taut across her clit.
It was fucking magic.
Snapping, she pulled her fingers from his pants and started to frantically, messily rub against the fabric over her clit.
His laugh was breathy and right against her face, his head moving as he watched her, no doubt.
"Good?" His voice was rough against her cheek.
She barely managed her 'uh-huh'. It was more a grunt into his shoulder, her teeth in the fabric of his grey dress shirt, and it was wet from her saliva. But she felt his smirk against her face.
He pumped himself hard, poking her over and over and she pressed against him as hard as she could, her thighs clamped around him as tense as his jaw when he arched up against her, his cock in his fist, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing against the fabric, brushing her fingers until her legs trembled.
She knew when he couldn't take it anymore. When he stilled completely and pressed himself against her still as a statue, biting his tongue as he held himself in place for her. She rubbed her clit harder through the fabric, breath beginning to stutter at his neck, and when she was almost there, his hands pulled at her face, pulled it off of him.
Because this precious man liked to see her come, and right now he had the chance to see her come on top of him as Sailor Moon.
It was worth the effort just for the look on his face, even when she could barely hold her eyes open, could not close her mouth at all as she came in a silent grunt-sort-of situation. Shuddering and pressing back against his cock and hips and her own hand, he held her face cupped between his hands all the while through as she rode the wave of her orgasm out against him, his eyes heavy and dark and gobbling her up, his face twisted like he was in pain, albeit the exquisite kind.
When she came down from her high, sighing and stretching and rolling herself against him, it was her turn to watch him. And it was a fucking treat.
One hand back around his cock, pumping faster and harder than he'd done before as he chased his own orgasm, his other, tense and twitching hand fighting hard to remain steady on her face, curled around her chin and jaw and his fingertips against her ear and hair and neck as he pulled her closer back down to him. So close their lips almost touched, or their foreheads, but just not quite, and her hand dug into the red velvet on the seat behind his head, her nails scratching the fabric noisily.
He looked so fucking beautiful just before he came. That intense moment where he hovered just at the edge. His jaw sharp and tense, his eyes flashing and so glued to hers in their intensity, black and dark and so easily mistaken for anger if you didn't know him, his jaw clenching and unclenching and clenching as he hissed shuddering breaths through his nose and lips as he licked them and then bit. He was so visibly worked up. So very, very hard. Trying so desperately to last just a little longer because this moment and this sensation was just too fucking good.
He pumped. Moved the skin up his tip over and over with one hand, his tip so very red, so very swollen, so very wet. His fingers so clumsy against her face as he brushed his hand against the crescent moon on her forehead, and it tingled warm against his touch. He breathed out harshly, almost poked her in the eye when his hand pushed into her hair. But he always held her eyes. All the time. Always.
He stopped breathing for a second, held his breath and choked it out in gulps afterwards, when he came against her suit, sticky and white and warm.
It dribbled down his fingers and her thighs.
And then he breathed again, found her eyes again, and all the tension fell off of them, and with it they heard the faint noises of people shouting outside, sirens, and an easy silence in the dark around them without the blood rushing in their veins.
She giggled, and he threw his head back and groaned, and she giggled even more.
Unlike him, she was of course clean when she de-transformed.
And yet, Mamoru smiled at her so super warmly when it was just her in her jean jacket and her pink backpack full of manga and doujinshi.
He was so adorably sheepish, pulling his handkerchief out from his pocket like that- hers really, but of course he'd stolen it so long ago now that it really was his, even when her name was embroidered into it. Cheeks ever so slightly red, he cleaned himself up awkwardly, and they snuck out together.
He still took her to dinner. Stained, untucked shirt and all. Walked home with her with his arm tight around her shoulder and a silly grin on his lips, as she made some more fun of him that his pretentious classic lit 'meiji era satire on the intellectual elites of 1905' was really a story about a cat, silly dork.
However, the whole thing hadn't quite taught them to stop, and Mamoru still kept being very hard for Sailor Moon, and they kind of… never stopped after that.
Turns out the suit did come off - at least if one ripped at it with brute super hero strength in strategic places - and Tuxedo Mask was entranced by the curve of her butt as it peeked out from beneath Sailor Moon's skirt unhindered, and even more so when he'd pulled the boots off her feet and stroked his hands down the whole length of her bare legs. And especially so when this was just after a battle, adrenaline making them so very stupid.
They told themselves over and over they'd stop. (Or at least he did, every time, promising himself afterwards with a mutter under his breath.) But every time was hotter than the last, and well, they didn't have to transform a lot these days, so even when it happened every time they had to come out to fight these days, it still only happened like, three times a year. And, ya know, rare candy and all that.
And so, all conviction fled his eyes once a few months had passed and he watched her transform with that slack and heavy look on his face that took it all in too intently, watched the ribbons form her suit in a way that was too mesmerized and obvious, and she always knew in her bones she'd have no trouble whatsoever convincing him afterwards.
Not that she even really tried not to. Nothing turned her on more than feeling the way he sheerly wanted her like that.
He was a wanton mess for Sailor Moon, and seducing him in costume, at one point, needed barely more these days than a suggestive smile as she led him away from the girls and glanced over at deserted dockside warehouses, their bench by the fountain and the clocktower in the dead of night, or, well, rooftops.
(Rooftops were fucking amazing. The higher the better. There was nothing better than getting bent over the side of a building, or pushed against a rooftop fence, and fucked so good to the view of nighttime Tokyo, or even sometimes its dawn, or even, that one time only, the dangerous bustle of day.)
And well, yes, so, public indecency was actually a felony in Japan as Mamoru liked to point out a lot when his dick went back inside his pants afterwards. But, well…
They were superheroes. Mamoru made a point of being super careful to make sure there was no one there who could immediately see them. And besides, the city kinda owed them that much, she rationalised. And it wasn't like, rooftops and stuff could really be considered 'in public', right?
And so, she'd never gone as pale as when Minako handed Usagi her phone one Wednesday afternoon.
Oh god.
"Fucked," she muttered, wide-eyed. Clutching Minako's glittery golden phone case. "I'm fucked, Mina-P. I'm so, so fucked."
Mamoru was going to kill her.
She heard her own voice moan from the video in the most lewd way she'd ever heard anyone moan, and she wanted to disappear into the floor. Please.
Minako snickered beside her. "Well, I'd say the being fucked part has already happened."
Usagi whipped her head up so hard her hair fluttered, but cringed directly, because Mamoru's video voice did that 'I'm gonna die, this is too hot' breaking thing she really didn't want him to discover to be broadcasted on the fucking internet.
Oh God.
As it went for small mercies, of all the times that paparazzi could have captured them having sex in public, at least they discovered Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Mask. It could have been so much worse. It could have been Mamoru and Sailor Moon so, so easily. It could have been Mamoru in a position where it looked as if he was having hook-up sex with Sailor Moon (and also cheating on Usagi) and having to defend that to his co-eds, professors, future employers, her Papa.
And yet unfortunately, seeing as Mamoru had been adamant they not disclose that Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Mask were a couple to the media previously for reasons, this kind of spread like wildfire even harder.
The tweet that had linked the video had over a million retweets already, and new comments were added to it every second in all kinds of languages.
And to her horror, Minako leaned back over her shoulder.
"Shit damn, Usagi, you have a spectacular butt," she said with a low whistle.
Usagi pressed Minako's phone to her chest in appalment, and received held up hands and a shrug along the lines of 'well don't hold your ass into a camera if you don't want me to comment on it.'
Sailor Moon's use of moaned expletives was muffled against her chest, and Usagi's face was in flames.
And when she eventually looked back at it (Tuxedo Mask's face now between her legs and she thus not at all in view except for her thighs around his head and her gloved hands in his hair, but his pretty butt hung from his loose tuxedo pants all the more so, unfortunately), Minako was back to leaning over her shoulder.
"Dayum," she made. "Where is he hiding those glutes?"
Usagi clapped her hand forcefully over Minako's eyes, and then threw the phone.
The hashtags were almost worse than the video itself, really.
As were the social media discussions about if they were a couple or a booty call. Or the blogs popping up dedicated to various body parts of theirs. Or the amused hashtagged compliments for his apparently so trained use of tongue and how they should do a more instructive video next, please.
Or the trolls who did the opposite. The assholes with the slutshaming comments who could go fuck themselves, thank you very much. Those disgusting ones who wrote long and short explicit and dirty comments about wanting a go too — with either of them, really, but mostly her, which days later on would make Mamoru see red and glare a lot at strangers. Why were men on the internet like that so much. Why?
Then there were the discussions whether the city of Tokyo should press charges or not that made her flinch, and the way less frequent but even more condemning conservative pieces that made her throw her phone a look because really? In the 21st century? Really?
(And then there were the fan artists and fanfic writers who'd shipped Mamoru with someone else than her who she secretly was kind of delighted to see so devastated now.)
But no, an accidental sex tape really wasn't how she'd wanted the world to find out Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Mask were, indeed, a couple. No.
(Though infuriatingly, some were still convinced they weren't. Ugh. What did it take to stake her claim exactly?!)
And yes, even that first day, the number of posts like that she'd found was staggering. The internet was talking about nothing else that day. They were trending on all the big social media sites, almost worldwide.
And so, that first day, she prayed so hard that Mamoru hadn't seen, ducking out from Minako's with her face flaming and her head held very low and avoiding looking anyone in the eye, as if everyone could suddenly see past her and know Sailor Moon was her, and thus that person moaning in the video was her, too. (A strange sensation, really - she knew fairly well after so many years that no one could see past the magic glamour, not even her parents and one of them had pushed her out a birth canal and all and knew what she looked like all over, and yet suddenly, she was nervous about it again.)
(But well, what did she know, maybe the glamour of the transformation wore off when she took the fuku off. And she damn well took at least strategic bits of that fuku off in that video.)
Maybe, due to some miracle or other, maybe Mamoru hadn't seen it? Mamoru didn't use his twitter often. Maybe his co-eds were too prissy to discuss that particular finding in front of him? Maybe? Small miracles, and such?
What were they the miracle romance for anyway, if she couldn't get a miracle when she needed one most? To ensure she'd ever be getting sex again?
And who had even filmed that? This was on the rooftop on top of Crown! Where she'd seduced him. As fucking always.
Mamoru was gonna be so fucking livid.
And so it shocked her to the core when, in a twist of unforeseen events, it was not Mamoru who wanted to murder her.
No, when she eventually dared to go home and ducked her head through the door, Mamoru rushed to greet her. And then stopped before touching her, as if his touching rights had been revoked for all eternity. All tragic martyr puppy eyes and regretful apology as if this was his fault.
"I'm so sorry, Usako. I'm so, so sorry" he said with wide eyes and a begging voice so broken it made Usagi recoil in absolute bewilderment, because this was the opposite of what she'd expected, but maybe she should have known he'd blame himself.
So, no. Mamoru didn't want to kill her.
But Luna did. Very much. Luna wanted to kill both of them, slowly and painfully with words, and she'd already started the torturous process in her absence.
Luna cleared her throat primly, seated on Mamoru's coffee table, addressed her with a glare, and proceeded with her lecture as if Usagi had been there all along. Apparently she'd been scolding Mamoru for over an hour before Usagi arrived.
All holy lunar powers meant to be used for the cause and not for sex, about responsibilty and respect for the powers, and respect for the henshin, and how they'd jeapordized their image, and public indecency and how could they, and steely, disappointed glares. In excruciating detail, Luna pointed out all the things that could happen and could have happened because of their stupidity.
Then Luna called over Artemis and Ami for the rest of her impromptu intervention (because Makoto refused to judge, Minako was too delighted, and no one else cared, she supposed), both of whom seemed more uncomfortable to be there than even Mamoru and Usagi - who both sunk deeper and deeper into Mamoru's ugly beige couch.
But when his palm inched out blindly against her thigh, she threaded her fingers through it, squeezed, and held on tight, and it became kinda bearable.
He didn't let go of her hand the whole time.
He did suffer more about the whole thing.
While she was beginning to shrug about it, secretly proud when someone wrote complimentary things and smiling softly whenever she stumbled about a post by some kind soul trying to convince people to respect Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Mask's privacy and stop sharing that video - all hadn't they done enough for the world to deserve that decency - Mamoru was taking a bit longer to get over it.
(The original had long since been deleted by twitter for, yup, violating their indecency guidelines too, and Ami was working her magic to have all traces of it erased as it is)
Adorably, the worst for him was people discussing her body. He got so livid over that. But other than that, the whole thing made him burn in any sort of way.
Like when they sat in the Fruit Parlor half a week later, iced coffee for Mamoru, giant-ass parfait for her, and Unazuki sat gleefully next to Mamoru, and Motoki next to Usagi, and started to talk about whether they'd noticed that the video was filmed on top of Crown of all places in a way too excited voice.
"Did you see that video?!" she'd howled like her favorite anime had just announced a reboot, no greeting at all as she slid into the booth with them like she owned the place (and well, her family did, and she'd worked there all throughout high school back then, so kinda?), and Mamoru met Usagi's eyes in open horror before warily flicking them back over to Unazuki with his features carefully back in place.
"...Which video?" he stalled like a dumbass.
But Unazuki threw him exactly the kind of look that question deserved. "THAT video," she scoffed. Then made that melting-smile thing usually reserved for puppies and cute boys. "The Sailor Mask Sex Tape!" She puffed up her chest.
"You made that name up," Motoki rolled his eyes, but slid in, too, and Mamoru's brow twitched, as did his fingers around his iced coffee.
"What if we did," he growled at Unazuki darkly, ignoring Motoki's comment, knuckles white. Usagi shot him an apologetic look, slid her dessert spoon through her parfait, and held it out across the table with ice cream and a raspberry on it. He liked the raspberries. He knew she didn't share food. He knew this was a comfort raspberry. An 'I'm sorry'-raspberry.
"Did you?" Unazuki turned to him just as he leaned forward, opened his mouth and accepted Usagi's peace offering. "See it?"
She slipped the spoon back out from his closed mouth and he shot her another look as he moved his lips eating, his shoulders slumped and weary, and Usagi crinkled up her nose in their silent conversation of 'I'm sorry, too' and 'not your fault' and 'are you ok' and 'I guess I'll live'. She slid her spoon back through her parfait and licked it clean.
"...I'm not in the habit of watching other people have sex," Mamoru said prissily once he'd swallowed. "Maybe you shouldn't either."
Usagi held his eyes, quirking one eyebrow over her ice cream, and he shrugged.
Unazuki, however, dramatically rolled her eyes, stemmed her elbows onto the table, and leaned towards Usagi instead. A full on dismissal, and Mamoru's posture changed ever so slightly.
"Did you see the way she could bend, though?" Unazuki hushed gleefully. "Like, man."
Usagi slipped a little further into her seat. Cause, well, she could.
"I mean, they're super heroes," Usagi defended weakly, and dug deep down to the cornflakes part of her parfait.
"Horny super heroes," Unazuki corrected with a grin.
Mamoru's blush was super instant, and she cringed at him again in apology.
"They could be having sex right on top of us again right now and we wouldn't know," Unazuki said as if she was announcing free milkshakes.
No, right now they're actually sitting at this table with you.
Mamoru sighed in a way declaring for all to see that this was torture.
"How many times do you think they're up there, having sex right on top of us?" Motoki asked.
Once. That one time.
She decided Mamoru deserved a kiwi, too, and held out her spoon. He leaned forward and opened wide for her.
"Hm. I bet they have sex all over the place," Unazuki mused.
"With each other?" Motoki asked in that conspiratory tone, leaning forward too, coffee cup and all, and Mamoru's head whipped to him in utter, appalled, disappointment. All 'how could you even think to ask that?!', kiwi and soft ice cream in his mouth and all.
Unazuki grinned. "Are we team hook-up?" she asked. "I'm team hook-up, so…"
This time, Usagi supposed she must have looked even more appalled than Mamoru. At least his 'See?!'-eyes told her so.
"I mean, why would they do it on our crappy roof if they had a comfy bed somewhere to do it in?" Motoki mused.
"Maybe you should stop having conversations like this with your sister. Or anyone," Mamoru threw in under his breath, but was totally ignored.
"Especially our crappy roof," Unazuki grinned, lest anyone forget that important fact.
"Maybe it's just a kink…" Usagi said meekly. Flushing. "Don't kink-shame them."
Mamoru blushed hard, and lifted his iced coffee to his lips.
"Who's kink-shaming?" Minako chimed in gleefully, popping her sunglasses on top of her head, hair swishing as she appeared in front of their table as if out of nowhere, and dragged a chair over from the table opposite. "What's being kink-shamed?"
Mamoru groaned loudly, his head in his hands.
To her credit, Minako, other than Motoki and Unazuki, was actually expected to show up here.
"Oh, oh, oh," she made in final understanding as she sat, smile turning absolutely dirty and absolutely fixed on Mamoru. "We're talking about the MoonTux Sex Video."
Mamoru shot her the dirtiest, most unforgiving look he'd ever thrown her before, and apparently Minako gobbled it up. She chuckled so evilly through her wide grin as she met his icy glare straight on, utterly amused. Usagi scraped the last of her ice-cream from her dessert glass, and let the spoon clink into it noisily.
"Man, that ship name is so much better," Unazuki groused, slumping down.
"But no kink-shaming," Minako ordered with a finger held high, and slung her handbag around the backrest of her chair. "That video was beautiful. Like, show it to everyone."
Mamoru glowered even harder, because yes, Minako HAD shown it to everyone.
"Way better than porn. Look at all that perfect and beautifully physical love and desire. I'm so proud of them." (Usagi sat up straight and beamed, and now Mamoru shot HER that look.) "It oozed. Literally." Minako snickered, and Mamoru's look was back on her, along with a deep, deep sigh.
"Besides," Minako continued, "Sailor Moon's fucking hot, I'd bang her, too. In a second."
Usagi beamed harder, Mamoru was visibly not amused.
But Minako seemed to remember something, ignored them fully, and turned to Unazuki with a tilt of her head. "Wait, you're team shipping?"
"No, she's team hook-up," Usagi grumbled gumpily with her elbows on the table and her cheeks in her fist.
Minako leaned all over Motoki only to pat her knee amusedly, and Mamoru's look grew even more irritated. Usagi swore he was this close to start kicking people under the table.
"Ooooh maybe they don't know each other's identities!" Unazuki cried with way too much excitement.
Usagi blinked. So did Mamoru as he met her gaze once more.
"Ooohhhh," Minako grinned, "Oh, tell me more!" Really, Minako's glee about the whole thing was gonna give Mamoru an aneurysm. And it was very visible glee. Like, in a way she should have been rubbing her hands together.
"Yes," Unazuki cried, "hear me out! What if they're having this super secret partners-with-benefits thing going on, but they can't tell each other who they are, and so they do it all over Tokyo."
Oh shit, that sounded amazing. Usagi couldn't help but look at Mamoru in excitement. He cocked his head to the side, still not amused, and shot her that kinda 'Really, now?'-look.
"You read too much smutty fanfiction," Motoki laughed.
"No, no, but, imagine!" Unazuki gushed. "Tokyo Tower, the blinking lights just as they go out all romantically, tearful eyes gazing at each other deeply. All, 'if only I knew who you are and we could do this in a bed', and all that pining agony between them even as Sailor Moon is bouncing on Tuxedo Mask's—"
Mamoru was about to throw things.
"—Don't forget his ass out again for all to see," Minako interrupted, and grinned right at Mamoru.
He threw some money on the table. "Ok," he said. "We're done."
And then he climbed over the side of the booth in a movement way too agile, fleeing, even as Minako cackled.
So, well. All in all, Usagi was fully expecting to never have sex in public again. All what with Luna's 'I thought you were the responsible one'-lectures to Mamoru (because she knew she would never dissuade Usagi), every last mumbled comment from Minako and Makoto especially, all 'I bet Crystal Tokyo will have like, a collection', and well, the internet.
And yet.
And yet, Tokyo Tower, middle of the night, the blinking lights as they were about to go out, and Tuxedo Mask's heavy breathing as his eyes were burning into her legs.
Because she was kicking off her white boots slowly. In the way that was pretty silly, objectively, but he was a dork and absolutely hooked on her. Pressing the tip of her foot into her heel to slip them off, her lips upturned in challenge.
At first, she'd told them all to leave him alone. At least all those she could openly tell. Had scolded Luna like Luna had scolded him. How he was already insecure as it was. How he'd simply expressed his desires and how that was fucking amazing. They did. Together. Maybe in an unfortunate place. But it was still beautiful, Minako was right. Don't they tell him it's not. He had enough hang-ups, he didn't need this crap.
But then? Then she noticed he'd started to touch her more in costume. Openly. Sure, he did still want to die that one time her Papa started talking about the Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Mask sex tape that was causing such ruckus in the media when they'd invited her parents over for dinner one day, but… After this, he never refrained from touching her in public again… Not only Sailor Moon, even.
"Is this gonna be a thing now?" he asked, his face in deep, pretty shadows under the beam, but he was breathless and his voice was rough with want.
He couldn't fool her, though. And he knew it. Otherwise he wouldn't already be throwing his top hat carelessly over the side of the tower, his mask following and dropping on the beam beneath theirs.
She shrugged. "Let them think what they want," she said with conviction, and with her most suggestive smile, and slowly slipped off her gloves, too.
And then, Tokyo half asleep beneath them, his costume painted in oranges from the light one second, and in deep darkness the next when the lights went out with a start, she pushed him down and straddled him.
And oh, how he let her.
He looked up at her, eyes black and deep and horny again as if that video was either absolutely harmless or had never existed in the first place. Intense and worked up and helplessly turned on.
And so she smirked, slowly, languidly grinding on top of the quickly hardening bulge in his lap, and spread her wings once, one flap. Lest he forget she looked like an angel and all.
"I'm the senshi of purity, remember?" she purred as she rocked against him purposefully, then walked two fingers up his white dress shirt in the rhythm of his shuddering. "So, how bad can this be?"
He groaned, elbows beneath him, and arched against her in full surrender, hands flying around her and digging into her ass to press her down against him harder. Because apparently, he decided it wasn't bad at all, and that yes, this was fucking beautiful.
Anyway, classic lit is lit and I'd love to go to a Sōseki play any day lol, just like I'd happily buy all the manga and doujinshi, just saying.
Also as I was agonizing over a title for this I found a great song that fit this fic quite perfectly: 6LACK: Outside. It's by a black artist singing about wanting to play outside - really the epitome of a 2020 song, and it's amazing! - and it was only when I listened to it that I saw what I had done writing this lol… how I tragically wrote a fic set entirely outside without even noticing, while I am firmly stuck inside in 2020 because that's what responsible people do this year, and no wonder my subconscious wanted to write this so dearly lol. Anyway lol. I hope you have fun with this, and I'd love to hear from you.