Chapter 3
*********
Hours upon hours spent doing nothing but lovemaking,
and she thinks...no, she knows, that it's time not wasted.
And it's amazing to really consider how much was pent
up inside. Even more than the last time they were here.
No stop and go waiting where there might've been and
was with Kaji. No. Misato marvels over it---what limits,
what constraints there were on a woman's sexuality.
None, it seems, short of utter exhaustion. And how they
kept going and going...
Never seeming like this was enough.
And she doesn't do it on purpose, but it's intuitive; how in
quiet embraces like this, she runs through the details over
and over in her head. Comparing. Only two in her
lifetime. She is ridiculously faithful.
For now, they lie satiated. Tired but happy.
And Misato loves it---the way Ritsuko's fingers are upon
hers, upon each other, languidly intertwining; imitating,
like so, the motion of their bodies' only moment earlier...
In the dim lighting of the bedroom...
Ritsuko's light and comfortable weight atop hers while
she's prone on her stomach. The pillow press against her
cheek...
It's safe here. And in the aftermath, everything is hazy
except for the feeling of those fingers---touching,
touching. Hypersensitive where they pass.
"Did you know," the other woman begins, and Misato
realizes that the only thing she loves more (or just as
much) as sex with Ritsuko is listening to her talk; even if
it was about boring stuff...like science. "There are over
one billion nerves in the human body?"
"Fascinating..."
She answers, groggy; but quietly encourages Ritsuko to
continue.
"And yet...there doesn't seem to be enough." She feels
Ritsuko's lips move as she speak, moving along her
shoulder blade and then to that dip starting at the center of
her back. "And in women..."
"Uh huh..."
"The most concentrated area of nerves...is here..."
"...mmmMMM...wait--stop. No. Too sensitive...I'm too
sensitive right now..."
A soft laugh is heard in return and the hand is mercifully
withdrawn.
Misato sighs. In a few hours, it'll be dawn; and, with the
window cracked open, she can hear it--the sound of
cicadas. A welcomed sound, but only soon...what was it?
No more nightingales, but larks?
"Ne, Ritsuko..."
"Hmmm..." she responds, voice husky.
"Why don't you take today off? Spend it with me?"
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah..." she goes to roll over and Ritsuko shifts to let
her. Then her hands come up to tangle in Ritsuko's
blonde hair, wondering how they'd look if she had left it
undyed. "I'm only here for two weeks."
She thinks back to those days in carefree days in college
and realizes how she didn't just have sex. She'd have
sessions of it. Days spent on end in Kaji's bed....then later
Ritsuko's. And she'd binge like she did on most things--
alcohol for one. But with Ritsuko, how can that be a bad
thing?
And she wonders now, if and how she could
possibly...maybe...convince her to fall into one...another
session...
They've already started. The challenge was getting her to
agree to continue. And that was definitely a challenge.
With Kaji, there would've been no questions ask; even the
tiniest of suggestion would get him going. But with
Ritsuko, like anything else involving her, it required some
level of coyness.
Ritsuko had hang ups.
She can hear her hesitate: "I know..."
"We don't have to just do this," Misato murmurs, parting
Ritsuko's legs so that she can slide one of hers in between;
knees lifting so that their sex came in contact with flesh,
slick to provide friction. A slow, steady contact. "We can
do other stuff...mmm..."
She wants more?
Ritsuko notes this, amused. How insatiable this
appetite was...
But she indulges--for the moment; and leans down to
cover her mouth over Misato's, coaxing a soft moan from
the other woman--still heady even after all this follows.
Ritsuko breaks the kiss to ask, "Such as?"
Such as what...oh...
"You know...what couples do...movies and stuff..."
And Misato lists off a few more things, but it's hard to
concentrate in between kisses like these; that diverting
of attention. The slowing down of thought processes and
the taste of Ritsuko warm on her tongue.
"Besides," she says at last, managing to break free from
Ritsuko; directing a serious look at her. "How many
weekends do you take off?"
"Week...ends?
"Yeah. You're always working. Every time I call it's either
your at work or your in bed about to go to sleep after
work."
Ritsuko flusters. She's never thought about it that way.
And she's expected at the testing facilities at 10 this
morning...damn...
It's slightly embarrassing to realize that Misato has a
point.
Ritsuko still tries to explain it away. "I guess that's
because there's nothing else to do." She sees Misato's
eyebrow raise at the weakness of her argument, but she
continues, trying. "There's reading, but I get easily
distracted. So..."
"So you can think of tomorrow and the next two weeks as
making up time. You're not being lazy. You're just being
fair."
And Ritsuko considers this. "Ah...logic..."
"Yes. Logic." For once, it's on my side.
And Ritsuko seems to give, leaning in now for yet
another kiss. Misato loses count of how many there
have been; but it's okay like this.
If she couldn't appeal to Ritsuko's emotional side, there
was always logic--the brain side, wherein fallacy and
order laid side by side like odd little companions.
***
It's so wordless how it starts. Quiet. Quiet. Quiet,
excepting the thump, thump, thumping of limbs against
the headboard, the shuffling of the bedspread that gets
caught up underneath them and all the little sounds; sighs,
gasps, and short moaning intersperse in the air--nippy
from slight breeze coming through the window.
And underneath that mutual longing, there's a slight struggle
with each woman vying for the upper hand—momentarily
dominance; which abruptly ends when Misato manages to pin
Ritsuko on her back, saying firm: "You. Stay. There.
I'm still mad at you."
"What? For what?"
And she was mad. All night long she's been mad.
There just wasn't any time to express it in between desperate,
hungry bouts.
"For what, indeed," she hisses back. Her eyes narrow as she
looks Ritsuko over; then, in a crude, possessive gesture,
she runs her hand over the other woman's ribcage,
remarking---a little petulant, "No gift."
That was it?!
Misato continues, "I bought you something all the way back
from Germany and you couldn't bother getting me one lousy
anything."
"Misato, that's not fair," Ritsuko counters, protesting,
"What about dinner and letting you have a place to stay?"
"That doesn't count. That was expected." You're my
girlfriend!
And she thinks back to the bouquet of flowers at the
airport---the one in the little girl's arm; all the yellow and
white of the daisies packed tightly together…
And suddenly she's pissed.
Whatever spites, real or imagined, Misato takes it out
now; her hands going rough over Ritsuko's breasts,
handling crudely what was there. Palms cupping over the
darken roundness--the pebbly texture of them and the firmness
there….was from where? The cold?
Maybe…
Probably.
From arousal?
Just as likely.
And even as she pinches the very tips, playing with it
between her forefingers and thumbs, it only seems to get
firmer as if straining for something…
There's a hiss—that sharp and sudden intake of air, and
Misato realizes that Ritsuko has drawn a breath through
clenched teeth. And her eyes, when they open to focus on
Misato, there was something just so beautiful about them;
most luminous when regarding something with a sort of
weary menace, like she was doing to Misato now…
Carefully watching.
And Misato gets caught up in the moment, forgetting why
she had initiated this encounter. To punish Ritsuko…
And it's all too tempting. Ritsuko, hard and wanting
underneath her touch.
So she swallows, hearing the dryness that's collected in
the back of her throat click when she bends down. Click.
Click. She's vaguely aware of that pounding in her ears;
the blood rushing to her head as she draws in that flesh
to suckle; her face flushed with excitement.
While Ritsuko eases onto her back, marveling at the locks
of Misato's hair that she's gathered between her fingers as
she smoothes away at them. And she wonders how odd it
is—being here. Having Misato, purple---the softness of it
spilling all over her chest as Misato held her to her mouth.
And she can't get over how strange it is—what's expected
of a lover; that this is an act of intimacy.
It was strangely maternal…that tenderness that comes
over her while she tugs gently on Misato's ears.
Whatever the case, it doesn't stop that low moan from
emerging…
And just like that, Misato releases her and pauses for a
moment to admire her handiwork: those nipples moist
and rosy from where she worried it with her tongue.
Beautiful, she thinks as she sits up, bringing along one
of Ritsuko's legs—the right one—and placing the heel of
Ritsuko's foot on the curve of her shoulder.
"Rits-chan," she begins, scooting so that she was nearer
to the apex of her partner's legs; and Ritsuko bends her
knee to accommodate that movement. "You have a problem
with this?"
"What?"
"This. From what I gathered in the bath, you don't seem
to like this much, do you?" she asks, drumming her
fingers, playful, on Ritsuko's foot.
Oh that…
"I don't have a problem with feet," she explains a little
awkward. "I just…it's not expected…in that area. That's all."
Misato doesn't believe her—doesn't make an attempt to:
"Uh huh. Sure. Right." Instead, she turns her head over to
kiss Ritsuko's foot—the ankle of it, before sweeping
around to run her tongue down the sole. Ritsuko reacts,
toes wiggling; and Misato looks down at her with a smug
smile. "Are you ticklish?"
Of course Ritsuko didn't laugh outright, but Misato felt her
squirm; and that uncomfortable blush on her face told Misato
all she needed to know. It's fair, Misato thinks, since Ritsuko's
found her—and exploited—where she was ticklish (along the
corner of her sides) a long time ago.
So she goes on to lavish attention now on the toes,
kissing—starting with the pinkie—the tips of each one before
placing the big toe in her mouth, like she's done so many
times with Ritsuko's finger, before swirling her tongue
around it.
"That's disgusting…" she tells her, voice low; but there's that
entire undercurrent of desire that cuts through her words and
it's so obvious—Ritsuko's turned on. Probably aching for her
right now…
And Misato answers to the challenge: "Well, we're just going
to have to recondition you then. You know, like…like…"
Who was that?
"Pavlov's dogs?" Ritsuko finishes for her, then wrinkles her
nose. "You're not going to salivate all over me, are you?"
In response, Misato drops Ritsuko's foot over her shoulder to
lean down, whispering, "I think I already am," before she closed
in on where Ritsuko was most concerned—the crux of her legs,
already open and welcoming. And Ritsuko hugs Misato to her,
inner thighs pressing insistent while she feels that tongue
slip...all along the edges in long, lingering caresses.
And she's quiet.
It's not something that Misato's told her—how she appreciates
how quiet Ritsuko is. Not like other people who fake it or thrash
about all noisy. Here, Misato blushes, thinking then of how she
might be like them. So noisy…
But no.
Not like Ritsuko...who keeps it to herself. Restraint, even with
Misato kneeling between her legs. And it's real then; all of
her responses.
And Misato knows how to read all the subtle signs: the way
Ritsuko's stomach muscles seem to tighten and tense under
Misato's hand that splayed across it. And she can read the
slight changes in her partner's breathing—somewhat shaky
and uneven. And she knows when Ritsuko's close; it's easy to
tell with her tongue placed so intimately inside her.
And she feels her tense, tense. Tense. That gentle up and down
thrusting of her hips. About to go over when…
Misato stops, breaking off all contact to sit back up with Ritsuko's
right leg still slung over her shoulder. And she watches, amused,
at how Ritsuko struggles, biting her bottom lip to keep herself in
check. Misato could almost feel that painful throbbing in Ritsuko's
body, having been so close to the edge and slowly, slowly
retreating; and that delicious flush coloring in pink the whites of
her lower torso, neck, then face. "Misato?! Wha—ah…what?"
And she sees that look on the other woman's face, immediately
realizing: "Why are you teasing me like this?"
"Payback's a bitch, isn't it?"
And somewhere, among all the spinning that's going on in her
head, Ritsuko remembers. "Because I didn't get you a present?"
Misato doesn't huff; doesn't toss her head; doesn't answer; but goes,
instead, to suck lightly on Ritsuko's toes—providing enough visual
stimuli to keep Ritsuko pliant and docile; and one of her hands reaches
out to stroke Ritsuko in a slow, easy rhythm, causing the other woman
to fall back into it—arching her back; her palms pressing into the bed.
And when she's almost there…almost there…
Misato stops---this time earning a soft growl from Ritsuko. But,
again, she just ignores her, going back to busying herself with
Ritsuko's foot.
"Misato…please…"
Her words fall on deaf ears and Misato keeps on repeating that
pattern. At least two more times when Ritsuko feels another one
build only to subside, "Ahhh…ah…you, you!"
"What? I'm what?" Say it…!
"Quit being such a bitch."
Gotcha!
"Right now, Ritsuko, you're my bitch," Misato tells her sharply. She's
barely able to keep the triumph from showing on her face in the form
of a very satisfied grin. "So," she continues, "play nice or I'm going
to make sure it's not going to happen."
"You wouldn't."
It's a dare.
And Misato answers with a raised eyebrow, silently asking,
"Are you sure you want to try me?"
Ritsuko falls back onto her elbows, relenting. "Fine. You want a
gift? What is it? Name it and I'll get it for you."
Ritsuko opens her eyes to look at Misato, who had lowered her head,
looking guilty. "It's too late for that…" And Ritsuko's struck by how
harsh she must've sounded. While it's true she is (very) sorry for
showing up at the airport without a gift—not on purpose; it just never
occurred to her…
She didn't like the fact that Misato was using what essentially
amounted to sexual coercion to wrangle an apology out of her. Still…
This was Misato…
And she couldn't stay mad at her for too long.
"Well, what is it then?" she asks, gentle this time; understanding
there were nuances to being a girlfriend. "I don't want
you to stay mad at me."
Misato is encouraged by the softness in that tone and goes to push
Ritsuko's legs apart, spreading them. And she thinks of how
she should word this so Ritsuko can't say no…
"You could…take the next two weeks off."
Ritsuko sighs. "I can't do that."
"Why not?"
Because… "You know why, Misato." I have obligations…
Misato doesn't hide her hurt. There's so much guilt
there—felt by Ritsuko, when Misato settles, nestle along
her inner leg, kissing and smoothing away the heated skin
there. Love being so obvious a compulsion as she
continues, giving even when Ritsuko isn't able to:
"Tell me…how."
Ritsuko lowers her eyes, considering all the ways…
was there any other way? And her breath is hot when
she answers, "Your mouth."
Use your mouth.
And Misato nods, somewhat gravely, when her hands go to grip
Ritsuko's hip, readying her; and her mouth finds Ritsuko's sex
as she presses against her, feeling the other's fingers come
to wrap, entangle in her hair…
There was no pulling back this time.
So she keeps a hold around Ritsuko's waist while she felt Ritsuko
strive for release; lifting up and down. Her head thrown back to
show off the lovely down white of her throat.
Soft, soft cries of "Oh…oh…" when she does go…
And Misato keeps her in check, pressing even harder to lap
up the excessive wetness produced in the exchange. She knows
how to read all the signs—knows when she makes it good
for her. Knows how if she kept her tongue just so…she'll come
again and again—like all the other times, like she does now.
A shudder that goes through her; face turn into the pillow to
muffle one of the louder cries.
And Misato holds her steady when she does relax; her muscles
going weak, legs drape over Misato's shoulder.
One last kiss---along the top of Ritsuko's foot before she drops it back
down onto the mattress and crawls to join Ritsuko.
"You're so selfish," she tells her, snaking one arm underneath Ritsuko's,
and nuzzling against the crook of Ritsuko's neck that's wet with
perspiration. And her eyes close as she murmurs, "So selfish…"
And all Ritsuko can think about, with one hand laced behind her
head, eyes trained half-lidded on the lighting of the ceiling…
Is how good a cigarette would taste just about now…
To be continued…
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Notes:
Ah, Eros…
You work your wicked magic on me.
Anyways, I've discovered in the course of writing this and
Cat's Paw that I just plain love slashing these two characters
together. Admittedly, this is just another guilty pleasure of mine.
Feedback is always welcome.