Theme: Three - Image
Genre: Romance
Version: Animanga/AU-ish?
Rating: PG-13

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Blood Rushed Somewhere Silent
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She had been in the bathroom washing the blood out of her hair. Rose water shampoo leaked all over the floor, having been knocked over in her vigor, and Ami almost took a painful tumble as her bare feet slid over the soapy tile. Makoto sat up and wrung her long, dark hair out over the side of the tub. Some strands were still clumping together, faintly dark red and sticky, but it wasn't anything another washing couldn't get out in the morning.

"Are you okay?" asked Makoto, grinning at the shocked expression still lingering on Ami's face. "Sorry. I guess I didn't screw the lid back on."

Ami took a moment to wipe her feet dry on the bathroom rug, and held out a washcloth filled with ice cubes to the brunette. "Here I am bringing you ice, and you try to kill me!" she teased.

Makoto's smile faltered as she pressed the cold compress to her split lip and swelling nose. "Ooch!" she hissed. Slowly, she sunk down to sit on the side of the tub, steadying herself with her long legs, and held out a hand for Ami to take.

It had always been easy for Makoto to manipulate Ami. Her body was smaller, and she was always eager to comply. With one, demanding tug, Ami was straddling her with her feet firmly planted in the bathtub to balance their weight. If Makoto had been less abused, and Ami less responsible, it would have proved an encouraging position, but neither of them were particularly interested in the added pain of exploring the awkwardness of intimacy stuffed in a damp bathtub.

"You should let me put something on that cut," said Ami in a soft voice. Her fingers barely brushed the top of Makoto's hairline, were a long gash still wept slightly.

"I'm fine," Makoto replied, waving her away.

"It'll heal faster," informed Ami.

"Hey," laughed Makoto. "It can heal as fast as it wants. I don't want to be pushy."

"You are pushy, though," Ami teased.

"Maybe," admitted Makoto.

The ice towel was soon forgotten. Makoto found the curve of Ami's neck comforting enough as she trailed soft kisses over the bruised skin. Her broken lip left a red pathway, lingering and smudging on Ami's collarbone until it dotted down onto the swell of her breast, exposed by her oversized sleep shirt that had slipped scandalously over her small shoulder. Ami's fingers had abandoned Makoto's face, and entwined deeply in the damp mass of her dark hair. The gauze wrapping Ami's arms brushed Makoto's ear, making her flinch. It tickled, and reminded her of Mercury's unfortunate trip through a storefront window.

"Let me brush your hair tonight?" Ami suggested. Her voice was low and throaty as Makoto's teeth carefully grazed her skin. Ami's nimble digits had already gone to work at a few nasty tangles, and Makoto moaned as her soft hands eased over her scalp.

"I must really look bad," said Makoto. Her thumb tried to wipe away the dark stain she'd created on Ami's skin, but only succeeded in smudging it more. Now, Ami looked twice as bruised as she had before, and Makoto was sure she was probably a horrible mess herself. "If you're offering to brush my hair. Don't trust me to groom myself? I'm still a girl, you know, even if I do some serious youma ass kickin'."

"No. I know," Ami smiled. "That's not what I mean."

Ami knew the best of anyone how much of a woman Makoto was. Even stepping out of carnage, her face marred with blood and a type of animalistic vengeance burning in those expressive, green eyes, there was something that would always be uniquely feminine about how Makoto's long legs moved and how she wore each cut like a war medal. She was like a great, Amazon warrior, and instead of rose petals in her hair, Makoto wore blood.

Roses could stain, though, and Ami twirled a clumped mass of Makoto's hair thoughtfully in her fingers. She just wanted to remove Makoto's petals before they became a permanent fixture, like a fairy's crown of wildflowers.

"You can brush my hair if you sleep in my room tonight," whispered Makoto huskily, finding her compromise.

Ami could have pointed out that her bedroom in the apartment had long been forgotten, and half her underwear was already stuffed into Makoto's drawers. She could have mentioned the practicality of them looking into one-bedroom apartments, despite how it would look to the other girls.

But she didn't.

"Okay," Ami agreed. Her fingers snagged on some dry blood, and worked their way through.

It broke apart like a flower torn by the wind.