Title: Deep Thoughts
Author's Notes: This is a silly little story based on the characters from the anime, Noir. This has a yuri slant it's definitely OOC (out of character) but it's all in good fun.
It had been a good morning, Kirika reflected thoughtfully as she slowly stirred her tea. The fact that she had missed the whole morning sleeping didn't seem to bother her much. After all, it was highly over-rated anyway. Waking up early, that is. What was there to do? Watch the sunrise? Been there, done that. Bored now. Make breakfast? Not if she wanted burnt toast and scraped off bacon bits. Last time she'd tried her hand at cooking something more complicated than water, she'd been teased mercilessly for the unsuccessful effort. No, she'd leave all that domestic stuff to Mirielle whose inner Martha Stewart had reared up in the last few weeks.
Watering the plants was as far as she had gone. Now that the plants had been shot to hell in that last gunfight, something the landlady had thrown a fit over, she was pretty much free and clear. The mornings were hers to wile away as sluggishly as she felt necessary and she couldn't be happier.
…
*chink*
*chink*
*chink*
…
The sounds of the metal hitting porcelain were almost hypnotic and if Kirika didn't possess a mind like a steel trap, she would have fallen under its spell. As it was, she couldn't stop overanalyzing that last statement.
Could she be happier? Was she satisfied with her life right now? If she were happy, there would be no need asking herself these questions in the first place, right? So was she deluding herself, trying to steep her mind in domesticity like some well used tea bag when at heart, she was essentially nothing but a killer and would never lead a normal life? Did being one necessarily preclude being the other? Why did she have to over think everything? Couldn't she be like other teenagers and rot her brain the old fashioned way -- with TV?
Her head hurt as it inevitably did whenever she thought deep thoughts too soon after waking up. Like always, she masked the mental gymnastics behind a supremely blank expression -- what Mirielle had affectionately termed her Zen master face.
And speaking of Mirielle, an involuntary grin lit up her face thinking of her friend. She'd caught herself doing that more and more often lately. At first, she'd been horrified at the loss of facial control. She was a seasoned assassin, for God's sake. Smiling like a goof at the mere mention of her partner was unacceptable. If she was going to smile, it was going to be on her terms, she'd stubbornly thought.
She'd clung to that little piece of control like a dying man to a life preserver adrift on a sea of insecurity. And, forced metaphors not withstanding, it had literally taken weeks of yet more deep thoughts before she finally raised the white flag and surrendered to the inevitable.
She was in love with Mirielle Bouquet.
She had almost fallen ass first into the commode with that particular revelation, coming as it did in the middle of taking a dump. God must have really felt particularly frisky that day to play such a cruel joke on her.
If it had been up to her, that little eye-opener would have never seen the light of day. Two things kept that from happening:
1)She talked in her sleep.
2)Mirielle just happened to be an insomniac.
Who would have thought an innocently mumbled "I want to run my tongue all over your naked body, Mirielle" would throw such large ripples through the koi pond of her life? And it wasn't even the only thing she'd said in her sleep. She'd apparently held a whole conversation by herself in those wee hours before dawn -- one which her blonde partner had gleefully taped. She didn't know what disconcerted her more, that Mirielle would tape her talking in her sleep or the evil little smile on her face as she'd clicked the 'play' button. Who knew Mirielle had such a sadistic streak in her? Killing targeted people for money was one thing but to take such unadulterated joy in making her squirm was another thing entirely.
Mortified was too light a word for what she felt listening to herself on tape say things she would never ever say if she were conscious. Sure, she'd made a few ambiguous comments here and a couple of vague gestures there but nothing so … so .. blunt
"Yurusanai!" She shouted, fighting the fierce blush on her face. "I won't forgive you!"
It was not wise to taunt someone skilled in twelve forms of martial arts and possessing the ability to kill with everything from a gun to a spork.
She had much more to say. Much, much more. Things that amounted to nothing as it turned out because, just when she was about to open her mouth to voice her displeasure, her lips were captured in a much more enjoyable activity by Mirielle's lips.
Who would have thunk it, she thought, going back to happily stirring her lukewarm tea once again. And again, that irrepressible grin made another appearance as a sleep tousled head popped up above the divider separating the bedroom from the living room.
"Kirika-chan," Mirielle called with a wickedly devious grin on her own face. "Why are you out of bed? I'm not done with you yet."
A lascivious leer accompanying the playful words sent a shiver down Kirika's spine. Was it fear? Was it nervousness? Was it dread?
Hell, no.
It was pure unadulterated lust that made her fingers tingle and her heartbeat double time, not to mention all the delicious sensations happening below her waist. Mirielle wasn't helping matters either as she proceeded to lick her lips suggestively.
Hmmm, I have basically two options here, Kirika thought, her mind already getting muddled as all blood got diverted south. Do I stay here with my warm tea and deep thoughts or do I jump my girlfriend and have hot monkey sex all afternoon? Damn, I wish every decision were that easy.
Kirika needed no further prompting, overturning her chair in her eagerness to get back to bed which was fast becoming her favorite place to be in the last few weeks -- that and Mirielle's arms.
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