-written for Week 3 of Smutember on Tumblr, the week one trope I picked is "Just Tonight"-
Check Moonbeams and Lemon Dreams' chapter 5 for my Week 1 contribution, "Sweet Sweet Fantasy Baby" which is the trope "totally into your alter-ego". It's fluffy and funny and basically the opposite of this angst-fest. You've been warned.
I love my fic consultant FloraOne and my hard working beta lrritable-vowel-types
mwah!
I look through the windows of this love,
Even though we boarded them up
Chandeliers still flicker in here
'Cuz I can't pretend it's okay
when it's not
- Death by A Thousand Cuts, Taylor Swift
Everything was perfect, exactly how Usagi had always imagined it when she was a little girl: a fancy rooftop restaurant, Tokyo lights spilling like fallen stars, the moon heavy in the blue-black sky. And, of course, the devastatingly handsome man kneeling before her, gazing up at her almost reverently.
"Usagi Tsukino, will you be my wife? Will you marry me?"
Everything clicked into high relief: the warm summer night air on her shoulders, the lingering taste of champagne on her tongue, and the bit-back gasps of delight from the circle of friends surrounding them. Usagi was sure they all knew before she did, and probably even helped him pick out the ring - which was perfect: a sparkling, colorful stone - not a diamond. Usagi hated diamonds.
It was like she was floating, watching the scene from above, and the cold metal against her skin as he began to slip the ring on her finger slammed her back down to reality.
She pulled her hand back almost reflexively and the ring slipped from his surprised fingers and landed on the floor with a metallic ting that seemed impossibly loud in the silence.
Indigo blue eyes looked up from the ring and then at her, hurt, shocked and then - after a moment - deeply, deeply sad.
"I can't do this. I thought I could but I just," she managed to say, her voice barely a whisper, "can't. Not anymore."
Movement caught the corner of her eye - one or more of the girls stepping toward her - and for possibly the first time in her life Usagi didn't want her friends.
She didn't want to see the knowing, sympathetic looks in their eyes.
So she ran.
Through the bar area, into the artificial embrace of air conditioning and fluorescent lighting, blindly pushing past couples and friend groups and black-clothed servers, leaving behind her purse, phone, money, keys, Suica card and Seiya Kou, still kneeling before empty air.
Even though she must've been a sight running several city blocks in a gauzy pink party dress, the drunken salarymen and trendily dressed coeds barely glanced at her. It wasn't the craziest Juuban had seen, not by far.
Usagi ran until her lungs burned and her legs ached and tendrils of hair clung to her neck with sweat. She didn't dare think, she didn't dare feel. When she finally stopped, chest heaving and eyes burning, she almost cried out at the cruelty of where her subconscious had led her.
Just like when she was a pining teen obsessing over every time Natsumi touched his arm, just like when he'd disappeared into the Dark Kingdom and she would spend hours looking up at his dark window. Just like when she'd promised and promised and promised to stay away and then ended up outside the glass doors of the building lobby with tears already burning their way up her throat.
Mamoru's apartment building.
Fight or flight was taking over again, and, like her namesake, Usagi chose flight. Or, tried to.
She turned and ran smack into a warm body. A warm, familiar body, strong arms steadying her as she dizzily blinked up at him.
"Usako," Mamoru said, face expressionless but relief flashing for a brief moment in those endless blue eyes, "the girls are looking for you."
And she broke down in tears. Hysterical, hiccuping, hyperventilating sobs, clutching at his shirt, and he put his arm around her, comforting and steady.
"Hey," his voice was gentle, worried, "Usa, it's okay."
She couldn't seem to breathe outside of short, quick gasps, white spots started to appear on the peripherals of her vision, and she would've fallen to the pavement if Mamoru hadn't lifted her into his arms. Usagi scrambled her arms around his shoulders, nails clawing at his shirt, body trembling violently as she gasped for breath against his neck. She was vaguely aware of being carried inside, set down on a chair in the lobby of the building, with Mamoru kneeling in front of her.
"Put your head between your legs," he said, voice soft and calm. "Breathe with me, Usa. Breathe." His hand on her back, and she struggled to take breaths as he did - in, out.
In, out.
In, out.
He took her wrist in his hand, softly pressing two fingers to her wrist. His touch made her break inside, but Dr. Chiba was just taking her pulse.
"I need you to focus on five things you can see," he said and she forced her eyes to the dingy lobby floor, the scuffed, ruined ballet flats on her feet, the shiny black of Mamoru's shoe as he sat before her on one knee, his graceful fingers still curled around her wrist, and the ends of her pigtails falling onto her lap.
"Four things you can hear," he continued, in that same soft, calm voice. Obediently, she focused on her heartbeat in her ears, street noises outside, and continued as he instructed her further, to think of three things she can feel (the warmth of his hand against her back…), two things she can smell (her own sweat, his familiar spicy cologne). "Now," he finished, nodding in approval, "one thing you can taste."
Her brows knit at the absurdity of that last one; what she tasted was her mouth. She said so, and swore amusement flared for a moment in his eyes. "Ok, good," he said softly. His fingers brushed a lock of hair by her ear, before he pulled them back into a fist.
Swallowing hard, Usagi felt calmed enough to shift in the seat, lean back and look at him. It'd been a while since she'd seen him, actually. Once Galaxia was defeated, there was no need for Mamoru to be around as much, and he kept his distance - probably relieved to finally leave his crybaby ex-girlfriend to her own devices.
Glossy black hair feathered into his eyes, he'd gone too long without a haircut again. His eyes were still that striking blue, looking at her with patient concern. Had his shoulders gotten even broader? His cheekbones more defined? How had he gotten even more heartbreakingly beautiful?
He took his hand off her back.
"You had a panic attack," he said, eyes still searching hers. "Does that happen often to you?"
She managed to shake her head.
"What happened?" he was still taking quietly at her, and Usagi sent a watery gaze around the very open, very public lobby.
"Can we…" Her voice surprised her, hoarse and shaky and sounding like it came from someone else.
He led her to the elevator, and they rode up in silence. Although he stayed near her, ready should she start to collapse again, they didn't touch.
Usagi followed Mamoru into his apartment and soon she found herself sitting gingerly on his sofa, hands curled around a mug of hot tea she had no intention of drinking. He sat down next to her, at a respectful distance.
"How… how much did the girls tell you?" She looked at him almost warily.
He shook his head slowly. "Makoto called and said you ran off without your purse and you might be…" He cleared his throat, pulling a hand through his hair. "I might be able to help find you." He offered another small half smile and it made Usagi want to die, then it melted into a look of pure concern. "What happened, Usako?"
That nickname was a cruelty he seemed unable to give up, and one she welcomed, as much as it hurt. The day he called her 'Usagi' would be the day she'd surely break.
"We were all at Seiya's birthday party… thing…." If renting out the entirety of the area's trendiest bar could be considered a mere 'party'. Usagi spoke to her tea, avoiding watching Mamoru's face at the mention of Seiya. He didn't like the pop star much, Usagi knew, although he was cool and polite the few times they met. Usagi figured Mamoru wouldn't read the sort of tabloids that threw her and Seiya's picture all over their covers, although he was aware of their relationship.
It was always awkward for them when a significant other was involved. And Seiya was by far the most significant other in Usagi's dating history. Before him, Usagi had only very casual boyfriends - quickly frightened away by food poisoning, Kenji Tsukino or running tackles in the street. But Seiya… loved her. And in her own way, she loved him. His easy going nature and sense of humor was a balm to her tortured heart. He made her laugh, he made her have fun, he made her feel safe.
But he couldn't make her forget. None of them could.
"I… left him," she said, "for good." She felt rather than heard Mamoru let out a quiet breath.
He was so hard to read. She remembered one night when they were fighting Dr. Tomoe's daimons, she'd accidentally gotten drunk at Edward's mansion and got the phone number of a blonde exchange student (Ted?) whom she'd impressed with her relativity pudding theory. Mamoru had advised against calling.
"He's a player," he'd warned, taking the paper from her like a disapproving dad, rolling his eyes like he couldn't believe her gullibility.
Usagi, still stinging with jealousy after watching him dance with Michiru most of the night, snatched it back with a "Maybe I WANT to play!"
Now she wondered idly if she'd ever told Mamoru she threw out his number as soon as she got home.
Tears were streaming freely down Usagi's cheeks, and Mamoru reached out and gently brushed them away with his thumb. She shut her eyes and leaned into the caress. He let his knuckles brush down her cheek, hesitated, and then lowered his hand.
"Did that little twer-" He cleared his throat. "Did Seiya do something to you?" His voice had an edge to it. "Some celebrity crap like cheat or lie or-"
"He proposed."
Mamoru was struck silent.
"Marriage," Usagi clarified and Mamoru gave her a sarcastic 'no kidding' look. "Well say something!" she said, biting back a hysterical, unhinged laugh, struck suddenly by the sheer absurdity of this situation. Her tea sat on the coffee table, forgotten.
"You said no?" he finally said, eyes dark and inscrutable.
"Of course I did!" She snapped, "As if I'd ever marry anyone besides you!" And then froze. Blinked up at him. Rei always told her words have power, and now the ones that hung in the air between them crackled with it.
Almost pleadingly, she met his eyes - which were now a stormy, intense blue. Her voice broke, as she finally admitted her deepest held truth out loud: "It'll never be anyone but you."
She'd tried. She'd tried so hard to keep the promise they'd made years ago. After finally being made aware of Mamoru's prophetic dreams and the real reason for his breaking up with Usagi, they'd all - the senshi, Luna and Artemis - decided that keeping Usagi safe was all that mattered.
Usagi herself didn't have a say since, as Luna pointed out, if the princess had just listened during the Silver Millennium, shown a little restraint, perhaps two worlds wouldn't have perished. This was a second chance for them to make the responsible choice. "After all," Luna had said, logically, "you two never even liked each other much in this lifetime, anyway."
Mamoru nodding slowly at this was almost more painful for Usagi than dying had been.
But that was only the start.
Because he was more introverted, or perhaps more sensitive to Usagi's feelings than she was to his, Mamoru hadn't really gotten involved with anyone else… until an old high school friend confessed her feelings for him midway through his sophomore year.
That had been a rough time on Usagi. They were in the middle of the whole Dead Moon Circus nightmare, and all of a sudden now she had to deal with Mamoru and Saori: Best Couple. When Mamoru got deathly ill due to the poisoning of the Earth, the brunette had insisted on bringing him chicken soup and researching rare diseases in the university library, while Usagi had seethed silently at her utter cluelessness. When they'd broken up not soon after, Usagi couldn't even feel bad about her relief.
She wondered how Mamoru felt now. And how Seiya was feeling right now. Oh, god, what sort of monster was she?
"I'm the worst," Usagi wailed, fingers digging into her bangs, new tears burning her already salty cheeks. "I left the perfect guy! So funny and kind and adventurous and open… and protective and warm and… and he …. I know what they said, I'm not stupid, I know he looks… he looks like you. And he acts like you, sometimes. Except he doesn't roll his eyes at stuff you find silly and he doesn't avoid uncomfortable topics and his poker face sucks…" Usagi tried to compose herself. "I could never figure out what hurt more," she whispered. "When he reminded me of you or when he didn't."
"Oh, Usako," he sighed, and she hated the sadness in his voice.
Did he pity her? She was pitiful, she thought, a love that had destroyed worlds was now destroying her.
Usagi moaned and dropped her head into her hands. "I know. I'm such a mess."
He reached up to stroke her head, palms large and warm against her scalp, thumb moving slowly down the part in her hair. The tingles on her neck and down her spine could be him using his healing power, or simply her body's reaction to his touch. She couldn't tell anymore.
She lifted her eyes to his - he was so close now, lips falling open slightly, hair still just a bit too long in his eyes. Slowly, he ran his hand down her cheek, running his thumb over her bottom lip.
"This..." she whispered, clutching the fabric of his shirt in her fists, buttons digging into her palms, "can't… can't hurt anything, can it?"
His eyes were like the sky at midnight, searing into hers.
"You," he said, voice tight. "It could hurt you." His eyes were tortured. But he didn't move away.
She shook her head, violently, tugged on his shirt, pulling him closer. "Don't you see?" she cried. "I'm already wrecked."
He squeezed his eyes shut, lowering his forehead to hers, blonde hair mingling with black, his other hand coming up to tangle through the hair at the base of her neck. "So am I."
And just like that, they were kissing. Hard, desperate, feverish kissing with open mouths and mewls and gasps. Usagi's hands went from his shirt to the back of his head, fingernails caressing his scalp as she shifted her body to straddle him on the sofa, lifting herself on her knees so she was slightly above him. His hands were in her hair, on her waist, then grabbing at the layers and layers of tulle skirt that covered her bottom.
Usagi tried to stop to breathe, to get a handle on herself, but her tongue betrayed her, delving again and again into his mouth - guided by his steady hand on the back of her head as he pressed his open lips harder against hers. With a growl deep in his throat, he shifted his body, turning them to press her into the sofa.
He moved his mouth to her skin, searing hot kisses up her neck and swirling his tongue onto her collarbone. She whimpered slightly, entire body sizzling with wanting.
Usagi's voice came from deep in her throat, vibrating against his lips. "Mamo-chan…."
With an intake of breath he lifted himself on his arms and looked down at her, all shocked eyes and mussed hair.
She hadn't called Mamoru that in years.
It wasn't like they had never slipped up like this before. Swept up in post-battle relief and adrenaline, their bodies betrayed themselves, she'd been kissed breathless by Tuxedo Kamen on a rooftop only to awkwardly pretend it had never happened more times than the senshi knew about. There were rare nights out, the whole group of them, the dance floor of the club hiding wandering hands and alcohol breaking down restraint.
Less forbidden but just as painful, there were friendly shoulder squeezes and gentle teasing about her grades, or when she'd been spiraling about not being able to transform when Rei's pure heart was taken, he'd taken her to a shed full of kittens. Heartbreaking reminders of how much she desperately, utterly loved this man.
But this was different. This was her looking into his eyes - dark with arousal and shining with tenderness - and confirming. Agreeing.
"Give me one night," she murmured. "Give us one night."
She didn't have to ask twice.
Because then his lips were back on hers, less frantic but deeper, longer, his tongue moving in deliberate motions along hers- it was like chocolate melting in her mouth, rich and luxurious and there was never, never enough. She arched closer as his body slid along hers - the weight of him simultaneously comforting and arousing - his belt buckle pinching her belly through the thin fabric of her dress as her thighs locked around his hips.
"Usako…" His voice was shuddering, tormented, his hands fisting in the fabric of her skirt. "I… you…"
He had haiku to toss out like candy during a heated, dangerous battle, but at this moment speech seemed to fail him.
Finally giving way to her impatient fumbling, his shirt opened to her greedy, reaching hands, and a gratified sigh escaped her lips as her palms moved along his chest.
Each dip and plane of his muscles, the slim cut of his waist, the hip bones she knew were hiding just beneath his belted, conservative khakis - it had all been memorized by her long ago, burned in her memory from the few times she'd seen him topless - from training sessions, swimming outings and the like - and obsessed over as she lay in bed at night, imagining she was touching him, her teenage eyes watering with heartbreak and need and shame and want.
And now she pushed him up a bit, needing to worship his skin properly, slipping her head down to run her mouth where her hands had just been, salty sweat mingling with her tears, her hands grasping his back under his open shirt, her tongue swirling above his belly button.
Usagi focused on memorizing this: the taste of him, the tautness of skin over muscle, the way he twitched and moaned in response, hands curling into her hair, hips bucking against her, erection straining against his pants.
And that's when the dulcet sounds of Mamoru's cell phone buzzing against the coffee table hit Usagi's ears like the worst thing she'd ever heard.
He sat up to answer it, slipping through her hands and leaving her bereft of his warmth. She leaned up on her elbows, heart pounding with worry, with disappointment, with hope.
"Yeah…" he was saying into the phone, running a hand through his hair, "I did. I'm sorry I forgot to call you back... She's fine."
The voice on the other end of the line - Minako's voice - asked a question, Usagi thought it might be 'where is she now?' and recognized her 'I'm the boss of protecting the princess and don't you forget it' tone.
Mamoru's long silence must've been all the answer she needed, or at least, it better have been, because with a polite, "Have a nice night, Aino," he not only ended the call, but turned the cell off completely.
Usagi realized she'd been holding her breath. When his eyes met hers, she wasn't sure what she read in them. Slowly, she stood up - still in her wrinkled, rumpled dress, and padded silently past him. It was only a few steps until she reached the half-open door to his bedroom, and she walked in without hesitation.
The view was breathtaking. It always was, the rare few times she'd been in his room before (or peeked in). The dingy city light filtered through the large windows, orange and pale, and it was silent but for her breathing and the muffled city sounds from below. An alarm clock glowed on his nightstand. A book was open, his glasses beside it. She ran her hand along the side of his bed - white sheets, black comforter. Taking it all in. The room was so darkly and essentially him. His scent lingered in the air.
A soft footfall behind her made her half turn and, seeing that he followed her, she faced the window again and took the side-zipper of her dress between her thumb and forefinger, pulling it slowly down. When she was unzipped to her waist, the dress fell over her hips and puddled around her feet. She kicked it to the side and took a deep breath, turned around to face him.
In the dim ambient light she stood before him in nothing but lacy pink underwear, bare feet and tangled hair, tear-stained face, and wide, simmering eyes.
He fell to his knees.
Stepping toward him, she held held out her hands and their fingers laced together, him still staring up at her, chin at her belly, eyes soft and worshipful beneath the black fringe of his hair.
"You're so beautiful, Usako," he breathed, and let go of her hands to trail his fingertips up her sides, looking at her in awed wonder. Goosebumps rose on her skin in response to his touch, her nipples tightening as his thumbs skimmed the sensitive skin beneath her breasts. "So much more beautiful than I ever imagined." He pressed his lips to the softness of her belly.
"You… imagined?" She was awestruck. "What, me?"
He looked at her seriously. "Usako, you were all I ever imagined."
Slowly, deliberately, she knelt down and slipped his shirt over his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Then she reached for his belt buckle, causing him to take a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, eyes pinched shut. When she started to undo the button on his pants, he grabbed her hands, stopping her.
"I'm on the pill…" she offered, misreading his hesitancy.
Their eyes met, for a charged moment - eyes wide and lips parted - and then he kissed her hard and deep and full of need, lifting her with his hands slipped under her underwear, grabbing at her bottom, and they fell onto the bed.
He wiggled out of his pants on his own, but it was her impatient hands tugging down his boxers. Usagi wrapped one arm around his shoulders, and wrapped her other hand around his erection, her kiss swallowing his moans as she stroked him - impossibly silky skin over rigidly hard flesh. "You feel amazing," she murmured into his mouth, and he shuddered.
Warm palms covered her breasts, thumb circling her nipple, and then there was his mouth, his tongue, moving over her skin in ways that made her writhe and gasp and beg, and her hands grabbed at his bottom, pushing his hips into hers, so his hard-on pressed into her, with only the thin fabric barrier of her underwear between them.
She was so lost in feeling his body beneath her hands, memorizing every detail of how he felt, his scent, his harsh breathing and soft moaning of her name, that she barely registered him removing her panties and tossing them aside.
Then, at the cusp of guiding himself into her, he stopped and just… looked at her, his eyes almost blue-black - a sultry midnight sky from a long ago night. Besides his chest heaving with each ragged breath, he didn't move, just gazed into her eyes until tears formed on the edges of her lashes.
"Mamo-chan, I-" She ached with tenderness, wanted to protect him, to keep him, to never let him go. "I lo-"
But before she could say it, his mouth was on hers, urgent and firm, and she automatically rolled her hips up as he pushed into her, thick, thick and deep, and her hands could touch him anywhere she wanted and she could feel him everywhere, smell him everywhere and taste his sweat on her tongue and it had never been like this with anyone else could never be like this with anyone else and oh god she might as well take a vow of chastity after this because she'd never be able to come like this again: so hard, so often or be able to open her eyes and see the person she wanted, looking at her the same way.
"Usako…" Her name was like a prayer in his throat, his movements an act of worship, and she allowed herself to cry out the name she had always swallowed down during the heights of every previous orgasm: "Mamo-chan!"
In the afterglow, his mouth was still on her skin, wet and hot and sloppy. Hands still trailing her body. "Stay up with me," she murmured, and he shifted, looking at her tenderly, a hand against her cheek.
"All night," he said, against her lips.
Hours of whispering together in the dark, of his hands and then his tongue bringing her once again to orgasm, of touching and kissing and tangling limbs and clasped hands had left her so emotionally and physically drained that, despite herself, she ended up drifting off to sleep to the feeling of him gently stroking her hair.
The sickening, devastating feeling in Usagi's stomach when she registered the sunlight through her eyelids wasn't wholly unfamiliar. Endymion and Serenity used to dread the dawn, too.
Mamoru offered her a ride home and she refused. He didn't press it. The mutual understanding was there: their night together belonged in the sanctity of his apartment; leaving together would break all their carefully held boundaries like a soap bubble.
Shakily, Usagi pulled the jacket he offered her over yesterday's dress. As if party clothes and tear-stained face on the morning train wasn't a clear enough indicator of a walk of shame, now she had an oversized men's coat across her shoulders. One that smelled like cinnamon and roses. "I… I'll get Ami to return this."
He gave her saddest half-smile she ever saw. Nodded.
Ask me to stay, she begged mentally. Tell me one night wasn't enough, that it would never be enough, that you need me forever and ever to have and to hold and not even death could part us, please, please, please.
He pressed his lips against her forehead, warm and soft and final. Sighed into her hair, his eyes red and bright with unshed tears. His answer so clear, so painful: I can't. We can't.
She admitted to herself she knew that, too. Usagi smiled at him as she stood at the door, hand clutching the doorknob.
"So. I guess. See you later, Mamoru."
The click of the door closing behind her was quiet, but deafening.
I take the long way home,
I ask the traffic lights if it'll be alright, they say
I don't know
-Death by A Thousand Cuts, Taylor Swift