Secrets of the Sexy Slippers: Haruka
This story is from a multipart fanfic entitled "Secrets of the Sexy
Slippers". You can find the other (non-shoujoai) parts at:
http://www.moonromance.com/hen/sexs.htm
Ivana B. Anonymous is more than pleased to be working with Lemon Tree and
with such accomplished authors as Sailor Mac, Mark Berger, and Sailor Star
Love. Ivana's one message to them all is as follows: my principles and opinions
are a little different than yours, but never doubt that I respect you all highly as
people and as authors.
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Haruka was feeling dirty.
Really, really dirty.
"Someone tell me why I ever went along with this in the first place," she said to
no one in particular, as Hotaru dragged her down through the swamp with a
persistent little scowl on her face. Her mud-caked hand released Haruka's, and
she went skipping off in front of her, panting with excitement. "Aren't you a
little old for this?" Haruka called after her.
"I was just born a few months ago!" Hotaru called back smartly. Haruka
smirked. The little girl may have looked 16, and even acted it, but there were
some pleasures of childhood she had never experienced before-- either in her
time as a sickly outcast, or during the miraculous second chance that had been
cut short by Neherenia's revival. And chasing a butterfly through a swampy
glen was one of these pleasures, even though it had soaked Haruka's shoes and
splashed her pants, and made them both look like sorry, soggy mountaineers
who'd had a bad tangle with a yeti. And although Hotaru knew far better than
to use the old nicknames for her surrogate parents, Haruka couldn't help but
become Haruka-papa for a short second. "Your mother's going to kill me," she
muttered.
And sure enough, despite Hotaru's triumphant capture, Michiru "mama"
wouldn't let them in the house. "Go out back and hose yourself off," she ordered
in that brisk, maternal manner that their little family loved and hated all at
once. "No one is tracking mud into my house. Honestly! You're both a bunch of
tomboys."
"You sound like an old lady," Haruka teased as Michiru turned on her heel and
went back into the house.
One giggle-laden garden hose shower later, Haruka was clean, but wet.
Dripping slightly on the entrance room floor, she put on the nearest available
pair of house slippers and went inside to dry off. Passing through the master
bedroom into the attached bathroom, she saw Michiru, beautiful and curled up
on the bed. Haruka smiled slightly and shook her head. "What would I do
without you," she said softly as she shut the door.
Haruka, Michiru, Setsuna, and Hotaru had settled in to a strange sitcom-like
lifestyle-- four women under one roof, causing a few high school teachers to
call and wonder what the heck Hotaru meant when she talked about her
mothers at school. But for the most part, it was almost eerily domestic. Michiru
was the mother figure, keeping everyone in the house in line, including the riff-
raff consisting of Hotaru and her blonde partner-in-crime. The day was made
up of guilty grins and the smell of good food, and it felt easy and rich. But not
exciting. Never exciting anymore. No one was rocking the boat.
So maybe it's time I stir things up a little, Haruka thought with a glimmer of
mischievous inspiration not quite like anything she'd felt before. Smirking, she
tiptoed out the door wearing a pair of slippers that she never noticed gleamed a
little brighter than her usual pair.
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Michiru blinked. The sunlight was soft, and she sensed that the tide was
coming in. "This late already?" she murmured. "I slept a little longer than I
meant to." Then the aqua-haired beauty sat up straight. "Oh no, dinner!"
The bustling whirlwind swept into action. "Haruka!" she called. "We have that
black tie affair tonight at the embassy. Get dressed, wherever you are. Setsuna,
can you put dinner on? Oh, dear." She flew like a flutterbudget down the hall.
"Hotaru, Haruka and I are going out tonight, so dinner's macaroni and cheese.
Okay? Setsuna, are you in your room?"
"And how elegant you always are, Sailor Neptune," said Setsuna in a flat voice
from right behind her. Michiru jumped six feet in the air.
The tall woman smiled. Michiru fanned herself and tried desperately to calm
down. "My," Setsuna said in a tone of amusement, "if I could show the Michiru
of two years ago the June Cleaver you've become, what a shock it would be to
her system."
Michiru blushed slightly. "Will you take care of dinner tonight?" she said in a
concerned tone.
Setsuna waved her away. "Of course, of course," she said. "You two go out and
have a nice evening. I'll see you tomorrow."
Looking at her wrist as if to check the time, Michiru frowned slightly. "I don't
think it will run that late," she began. Setsuna just nodded and walked past her
down the hall.
The violinist scowled slightly, feeling a bit like she'd been left out of
something. Then the grandfather clock in the den struck six, and with a jolt she
turned tail and ran back to the bedroom.
Haruka's tuxedo was lying on the bed, waiting to be donned, but the blonde
herself was nowhere to be seen. Still, faint noises from the bathroom betrayed
her presence, and Michiru rapped impatiently on the door. "Haruka, why aren't
you dressed yet?" she said. "We don't have that much time."
"I am dressed," came the teasing voice from inside.
Michiru ruffled like an angry peacock. "It's black tie. Why didn't you put on
your tux?" She retreated to the foot of the bed, preparing to fling the garment in
her partner's face whenever she came through the door.
Haruka's voice echoed off the bathroom tiles. "I'm not wearing that tonight."
Then the bathroom door opened.
Michiru's legs gave way beneath her.
"You are," said Haruka.
The racer was wearing a long, navy dress, satin and gleaming in the faint glow
from the skylight. In her bare feet, Haruka was still tall enough for the skirt to
drag only slightly on the floor. But as she stepped into the pair of slippers just
outside the room, it lifted until the ends of the smooth fabric just barely brushed
the carpet. The dress was slim, form-fitting, low-cut, with bare strands of straps
holding it in place. A sheer navy wrap circled her slim shoulders. And a long
A-line running down one side gave a peek at long athletic legs. She was a
vision.
Michiru breathed shallowly for several seconds. "Why..." she started. Then, the
flush on her cheeks faded, and the usual sly smile crossed her lips. "Well, this
is a change," she said in the demure, teasing voice by which so many knew her.
"What's gotten into you tonight?"
"Who knows?" Haruka answered, though her tone was of one mystified. "I
guess I feel a little... feminine? womanly? I can't quite find the word. But it
doesn't matter," she said with a bewitching smile. "Get dressed. Let's make a
splash tonight."
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Splash!
The waiter blushed beet red and bent down to clean up the mess. The
remaining champagne glasses teetered on his tray. The woman whom he was
serving paid him no mind, though -- like him, she was also staring at the
doorway to the ornate ballroom, agape.
There they were. Tuxedo and dress, decked out like a handsome couple-- even
holding hands as they entered the party. Smiling simply, as if nothing was
amiss. But this time, there was no gender confusion where the famous violinist
and racer pair were concerned. The blonde in the dress was beautiful, no less
feminine for her short-cropped hair and athletic build. And the one in the
tuxedo was most definitely a woman.
The slitted eyes and curls of hair told it all. But Michiru was wearing the
tuxedo with the cuffs folded over several times, betraying the secrets of her
slender arms. And despite the straight lines of the tuxedo, the woman's walk
said "curves" with no room for doubt. Between the two of them, Haruka and
Michiru were drawing the stares of the entire crowd.
Persistent whispers and little coos followed them to their table. Haruka
smiled down at Michiru with an unparalleled joy in her eyes. This was
something truly new. "Well, are you enjoying yourself?" Michiru said with a sly
smile.
"I'm enjoying you even more," answered Haruka.
"Later," Michiru said briefly. Haruka chuckled.
The dinner eventually gave way to a ball, and as people eased their way out into
the open space provided for dancing, Michiru watched Haruka closely. Usually,
she grabbed Michiru's hand and pulled her up for an evening of dancing. But
now she was meaningfully quiet, as if waiting for something. She glanced over
at Michiru and quickly averted her eyes.
Michiru smiled. "Oh, I see," she said. Getting up from her chair, she crossed in
front of Haruka and bowed formally. "My lady," she said, a hint of laughter
shining in her eyes, "may I have this dance?"
Haruka accepted Michiru's hand, and the chair slid out from beneath her as she
was pulled toward the dance floor. Her other arm slid around the violinist's
slender shoulder, and Michiru touched her waist lightly. Music began slowly
but accelerated at a dizzying pace, and soon they were whirling around the
floor, lost and breathless turning circles within circles, as planets spin in place
as they spin around the Sun.
The formal grasp melted away, and they melted into each other as if pulled by
gravity, Haruka's fingers pressed against the base of Michiru's neck, Michiru
grasping Haruka's waist, faces hovering dangerously close, as they danced and
danced and danced. Their eyes were locked, staring into and through each
other, and matching gleeful smiles switched places as they went halfway
around again. Haruka inhaled and pulled even closer.
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Flushed and fanning herself, Haruka stumbled out onto the balcony adjoining
the ballroom, Michiru following her. Away from the crowd, music muted by
swinging glass doors, they leaned on the railing and relaxed in the shadow of
an ancient oak. It was so much cooler, so much dimmer, and the tree seemed to
massage their insane enthusiasm away with the whispers of its wind-tossed
leaves (thought Haruka) and the rumble of the water coming up through its
trunk from hidden underground streams (thought Michiru). They laughed
briefly and looked at each other in the stolen light of distant chandeliers.
The racer wore a serious expression, but Michiru's sly smile was still evident in
the shadows. "You're beautiful," she said.
"That's my line," said Haruka.
"Not tonight," Michiru replied.
Haruka's eyes shone like glass in the stillness. Inside, there was music and
laughter, and champagne glasses that sang as they touched like the glances of
secret lovers. Wind rippled the edges of Haruka's dress and revealed tiny
glimpses of ankle. The heat burning in the base of the ancient tree, and the
jovial warmth of the nearby ball, spiraled up through the stones and surrounded
two young women in a gentle and protective embrace.
"Michiru," Haruka began.
Michiru tilted her head. "Yes?"
"There's something I want to ask you right now..."
"Yes?"
"...but a lady isn't supposed to say such things."
"Maa...*"
Haruka's stare turned almost pleading. "Michiru..."
The violinist shrugged, her eyes laughing. "All right," she said. "Why don't we
go someplace quiet for the evening?"
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* Maa... a kind of teasing "Oh really?" that Michiru's voice actress tends to use
as a kind of trademark line.
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Starched sheets and the smell of pine drifted into the hall as the door opened.
It was hotel-room smell, the halfway sterile, halfway dubious scent that never
seemed quite as exciting as when a lover was there too. And the lovers were
here, laughing and talking happily, and so the room embraced them. Haruka's
cheeks were flushed, and her smiling face belied her locked shoulders and
tensed arms. She felt as though sweeping heat would consume her.
Michiru kicked her heels off, and one soared to the ceiling before ricocheting
back down to earth. Haruka didn't move to take off her shoes then, and this
caught Michiru's attention. "Just whose are those?" she said , looking down as
she sat down on the bed and loosened the tuxedo's collar.
Haruka stared for a moment. "I thought they were yours. Maybe they're
Setsuna's." "I don't think she'd own something like that," Michiru pondered.
"How strange... I know I've never seen them before. But they're nice..."
"Do you want to try them on?" Haruka said. With an almost regretful sigh, she
slipped her feet out of them, and Michiru stepped one foot in. "I know my feet
are big, but maybe they'll fit," Haruka went on.
"No," Michiru mused, "they fit fine. As if they're made for me." She stood up to
put the mate on. As the shoe slipped onto her foot, Michiru quivered. As if
struck by something, she gasped, and her face took on a sudden pink hue.
Slowly she smiled, a long, deliberate grin of realization, and her eyes caught
Haruka's. "Haruka," she said, "whose *are* these?"
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Far in the future, relaxing in a crystal chair, Neo-Queen Serenity let out a
merry peal of laughter.
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Haruka brushed an errant wave of hair off of Michiru's neck, and drew her
finger down the curve of skin. Michiru's eyes narrowed, and she smiled. The
blonde's other hand moved to cover Michiru's, a gentle touch, but a firm one.
At this Michiru let out a quietly humming breath of air through closed lips.
"You're beautiful," Haruka said to her. "You're a beautiful woman."
Michiru giggled. She felt bathed in cool ocean waters and warm sun-lit tide.
They sat together on the big bed, and the happy hum of the radiator was just
enough noise to make them both feel relaxed and content. But there was
another kind of heat in the room, and Michiru and Haruka were keenly aware
of it. The current flowing between the two was so vivid, so much more alive
than she remembered it ever being.
Eyelashes batted softly against pale skin. Haruka watched them flutter, like a
hummingbird's wings, and thought they must be delicious, like fine spices. Her
lips moved forward of their own accord, and she kissed her partner's eyes
closed, breathing in the scent of her hair, of shampoo and soap shaped like little
pastel sea shells. The temptation was so great.
The tip of Haruka's nose darted into the rippling aqua streams, and her lips
began a slow descent down the edge of her face, near her ear, down her jaw,
into the valleys of her neck. Her skin was like silk, and it called out in a million
little whispering voices: kiss me here, kiss me here, oh no, kiss me here!
Haruka acquiesced to their every call. Michiru cooed. Her own slender arms
came forward to hold Haruka's shoulders-- not even gently-- she was holding
her in place, not letting her escape. The grip of a lover caught in the moment is
the strongest vise of all.
The slight salt taste of the sea senshi's skin was like a perfect wine to Haruka.
She felt intoxicated, nibbling lower, wanting more, wanting to dip down into
her shoulders and the sweet swellings beneath. But tough cloth stood in the
way, starched and stiff. Michiru pulled at her collar uncomfortably. But Haruka
shook her head and said, "No, let me do this." Lithe fingers danced briefly at
Michiru's throat, though it felt much longer. The little bowtie flew off like a
startled bird, and Michiru swallowed a sudden hard lump that welled up in her
throat at the direct touch of Haruka's hand on her exposed windpipe. Haruka
bent to kiss her there, just light enough so that it teased without choking her.
Meanwhile, her hand undid Michiru's top button, following it with a little
button of a kiss that fluttered through her skin and made her heart skip
erratically. The next button, the next kiss, deeper, lower, more palpitations.
Mouth followed hands in a swift descent, and then the mouth stopped suddenly
beneath the shadow of two halfway exposed breasts. The hands continued to
plunge, until they had unbuttoned the entire shirt and undone the cuffs of the
sleeves so the fabric flowed light and loose around Michiru's wrists. Haruka
nudged the shirt to the side with a shake of her head, and Michiru cooperated
by shaking it off her shoulders until it fell, crumpled, around her waist. She was
gloriously nude, a Boticelli in the throes of divine passion, as Haruka urgently
sucked and nibbled at her breasts, her aureoles, her nipples, fervently,
desperately, until Michiru tossed her head back and cried out.
Haruka eased her lover to the edge of the bed and knelt before her on the floor.
Oh, gentle Neptune, the rest of the outfit took forever to get off... how many
milliseconds would it be before Haruka would finally arrive at that point
Michiru knew was her goal? The last sock off, the underwear sliding down
ivory legs. And her mouth was approaching in between coming in fast almost
there one more beat a moment and aaa
"...aahh!" It was loud and sudden, and Haruka peered upwards to watch her
delirious face. True beauty was the sweat starting to glisten beneath those far-
off shoulder blades; was the taste of a tiny morsel that she rolled around like a
marble with her lips and tongue, as it hid and re-emerged, warm and
dangerously sensitive; was the dim gripping forest around the edges of her
mouth, was the scent of a secret spring beginning to well up so very close.
These were Haruka's thoughts, but Michiru's thoughts were just ahhhhhhhh...!
Haruka took great care in this process. She licked the sweet little nub directly,
moved it by swishing her lips over the flares of pink skin concealing it,
explored other valleys of soft secrets that shifted slightly and made Michiru cry
out with the subtle indirect stimulation. Her hands reached up to pinch and
twist Michiru's yearning nipples, one aching and soft, one fully attentive, both
provoking moans. Michiru's hands clutched Haruka's hair, then they caressed
her own sides. Then they struggled to hold her upright on the bed. The world
was all licks and sucking pressure and wild wonderful wetness everywhere.
Michiru couldn't help it. She lay back, and moaned and moaned. The heat
unfurled down her thighs and rippled through her kneecaps, then rose up
through her stomach to her shoulders, tensing them, tensing everything, and
somehow it was still getting better, still getting stronger, had it ever gone this
long or felt this strong? Still getting better still still stillstillstill
" Ha ruu KA ! "
The last syllable was free and musical, flying from the tense, anguished
beginning like a wave crashing mightily on the shore. Michiru sat up and then
fell forward, shuddering, clutching her partner tight, shuddering, feeling
wetness spread beneath her in cool pulses, shuddering. "Oh, dear God,
Haruka," she murmured between broken breaths. "Haruka, that was so good."
Haruka hugged Michiru's waist. The weight of her collapsed on the racer's
shoulders was an amazing feeling. She felt Michiru's hair cling to the exposed
back of her dress. It was sweaty. Michiru made a sound above her. Haruka laid
her head on the girl's thigh and smiled.
It was Michiru's turn now to taste the slight wispy strands of her lover's hair,
and to inhale the faint scent rising off her like an enticing whisper. Her arms,
draped across Haruka's shoulders, swung idly back and forth as her fingers
traced lazy letters on the blonde's bare back. She snuck a sudden punctuation
mark beneath the hem of her dress. The blonde winced in surprise. Michiru
smiled and laid a kiss on her ear. Two hearts engaged in a wordless
conversation, reaching out to touch the fingertips of each other's soul, silently,
smilingly.
Michiru kissed Haruka's ear again, her lips brushing like painter's strokes,
reverent and passionate, creating the very thing they adored. Haruka closed her
eyes and leaned to the side, opening up the smooth expanse of her neck and
jaw line. Delicate as a hummingbird, yet urgent, Michiru's kisses diffused into
her skin and left little rows of blossoming orchid desire. "Michiru," she
moaned. The other girl just "shh"ed and whispered unintelligible syllables into
her neck. Coming down to join Haruka on the floor, Michiru broke the chain of
caresses to look her lover in the eye.
"It's your turn now."
Four blisteringly hot words, or so it seemed to Haruka, for she arched her back and sighed as though she'd been touched in some secret, perfect spot instead of just warned of touches to come. Her hands reached out to massage Michiru's flowing, slightly damp hair as the skilled violinist's wrists flicked forward to let loose the clasp of Haruka's dress in one deft movement. The fabric slid down at a slight suggestion of Michiru's hands, and how cool it felt moving over her, despite how hot it made her feel! Haruka made a small strangled sound as she realized her nipples were standing hard and tight from the slight chafing of the fabric. She could feel them burning, and it was all she could do not to reach up and take care of the urge herself. She balled her hands into tight fists on the floor.
Michiru's cool hands now were wandering the hills and valleys of her breasts, and they felt so good, so terribly good and Haruka could no longer keep her eyes open. She rolled her head and concentrated, and willed Michiru's hands to move where she needed them, agonizing when they didn't, realizing just how wonderful it was to be disappointed in this way. And then the cool relief came... Haruka's eyes slitted open to behold Michiru's mouth on one breast, pink tongue sliding out to lick and soothe the aroused little bud, lips hotly claiming the whole area a moment later. Haruka felt hot flashes down to her core. The world seemed to be shaking. She closed her eyes again.
But faster and sooner even than that, Michiru was already elsewhere, weaving latticework kisses down her flat stomach, hands encircling her waist. Haruka watched her, amazed. This vixen was the same woman whom she thought of as the mother of her child. This illusion was the steadfast soldier of sea she depended on so desperately. A keen awareness of who Michiru was passed through Haruka-- a knowledge of her lover in every possible sense, a complete understanding. Her soul sparkled like a crystalline mirror. "I love you," she whispered hotly, touching Michiru's busy and earnest face. "I love you."
Something about the whisper slowed Michiru down. She sat up to face Haruka, turning her around slightly so that she could lean back on the bed frame and sit with ease. She kissed her lips briefly.
There was a silence. Michiru's unmoving fingertips on Haruka's wrist caused gooseflesh to ripple up her arm. Michiru looked down, smiling when she saw she was right where she wanted to be-- only a slight dive downward was left to be taken, and then... Her eyes softened as they probed Haruka's. "Baka*," she said simply. ["*Silly."]
Haruka's eyes widened. "Baka?"
Michiru's smile shone with some enigmatic light, something divine, yet inscrutably human. It was only a moment before her mouth descended and Haruka lost sight of this universe, yet she heard Michiru clear as a bell as the words escaped her lips.
"You," she said to Haruka gently. "You've always been the most beautiful woman of all."
And then, oh...
The pleasure was like agony for Haruka, and she never wanted it to stop. Michiru's ardent mouth, her fingers, her tongue, even tiny nips of teeth that bordered on but never quite crossed over to pain. Haruka's groans were hot and loud and low; sweat poured down her face and stung her eyes; her fingernails dug divits in the carpet as Michiru's hair swished against her lower abdomen. "Oh God," she wailed. "Michiru, oh God!" Heat thundered through her in long, deep charges. She felt something like the sensation of a subway rumbling below a city street. And through it all came this awareness that Michiru was here, Michiru was with her, Michiru was making love to her, this woman that she knew and loved so well, and they would make love so many more nights to come, and they would never stop loving as long as time was time. The keen joy vibrated as a high string on a violin might. It threatened to blow her apart.
And then, not even knowing what she was doing, Haruka lifted Michiru up until they met, face to face, eye to eye, and pulled them both up onto the big bed that had sat so neglected and envious of the carpet. They lay side by side, neither on top, neither playing any gender role, but pressed together everywhere, connecting in every way, two jigsaw pieces in their proper place to complete the puzzle. Their lips met, their hands met, a million secret places and tingling nerves danced joyfully about the pas de deux of their hearts. And when the lightning came, it struck them both with illuminating fluorescent rays. That night, two very beautiful women fell off the end of the universe together.
In the morning, Haruka and Michiru were met at their hotel room door by Setsuna, who smiled and wordlessly handed them an extra pair of shoes.
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