She thumbed the handle, pushing the delicate razor out. Its end was sharp and new, never before used to cut a single thing. She threw it, flipping it and catching it by the handle. She felt a rush of adrenaline at the possibility that she might cut herself. 'It was an accident,' she would tell Yamato, when the golden-haired girl would ask about the fading cuts.
But she would know. Yamato always knew. Her cat eyes took in all of Kouya, knew all of the places, could read her mind. Of course, Yamato wasn't telepathic—they may have deadened nerves but the idea of telepathy was absurd—but she so easily plumbed the depths of Kouya's fears and desires that it seemed she were simply reading them on the surface of her skin.
Kouya checked her watch. They were to meet ten minutes ago, which meant that Yamato would stroll up any minute. She retracted the blade and stuck it in her pocket. Its familiar weight lay against her thigh as she moved from her position just inside a tiny alley to the storefront it serviced. The donut shop's red sign flashed, advertising its fresh wares, and as if she were being called by it, Yamato appeared.
Kouya hardly acknowledged her presence, her face stony, but her eyes never left the blonde's frame. Compared to the unimpassioned faces that walked around her, Yamato's cat eyes and feline grace seemed to dance towards Kouya, moving more like a flicker of energy than a mere human on two legs. Peripherally, Kouya knew that people were looking, glancing at the gorgeous girl before moving along. But in Shibuya, they were but two of thousands of schoolgirls, and even the most beautiful and shiniest of objects could only hold attention for a few seconds.
Yamato was now before her, the blonde sporting her usual smile that hinted at knowing everything. "Why do you always look so sullen!" she asked, as was usual routine. "Aren't you happy to see me?" Kouya hummed in her throat, her usual sound of acquiescence. Yamato pursed her lips. The dark haired girl knew she was playing; once, when they were in the middle of a busy mall, Yamato had leaned close to her ear and whispered huskily, "I like your pouting face." She moved in front of Kouya, their faces so close that she had to look over her glasses to see her. The blonde's eyes narrowed in a way that looked dangerously adult and made Kouya blush. "It keeps the boys in check."
Yamato was now smirking. "For that lack of enthusiasm, you are hereby sentenced to buying me a donut." Kouya made no remark in regards to how quickly Yamato's legal system worked, but merely followed after her into the shop.
"Whooooaaaa!" Yamato's voice carried into the trees of the park they had walked into. "Did you see the cashier's bajongas! Her breasts must have been…" Here she trailed off and held the donut in her hand at arm's length. "Three donuts' worth in size!" She gobbled up the sugary confection in four bites, licking her fingers and smacking her lips as if lewdly relishing the idea of tasty breasts.
Kouya felt the need to roll her eyes, though she, as usual, kept her emotions from her face. "Such large breasts are not attractive."
Yamato gasped. "Are you jealous?" She took a hold of both of Kouya's elbows, bringing the girl closer. Kouya didn't bother to feign surprise; she knew that they had both been aware of being alone on this tree-lined path for at least 38 seconds. The blonde wrapped Kouya's arms around her own waist before pulling them to the edge of the path, leaning herself back against a tree. She had pulled so hastily that Kouya's face had fallen into her breasts, and she purred. Kouya regained her balance, moving closer to the blonde. Her arms, wrapped as they were around Yamato's waist, were now lightly pinned between Yamato and the tree, and their position caused her lover's hips to reach out and touch Kouya's front. Yamato slowly ground herself against Kouya until the shorter girl shifted, putting a thigh at the juncture of the blonde's legs, effectively giving pause to Yamato's stimulations.
Kouya could feel the tips of her ears burning at their close proximity, unable to stop any blush that Yamato caused in her. The taller girl leaned in and lightly licked Kouya's bottom lip. The Fighter gazed over her glasses at her Sacrifice, smelling the frosting on her breath and feeling the smoothness of her thighs, and she was filled with such an intense feeling of longing it almost hurt. The closest she ever got to pain was that ache in her heart whenever she was so close to Yamato yet so far: touches that seared, the frustration of being separated by clothes, desperately wishing to rid them of the burden of separate bodies.
She fell onto Yamato's lips, an open-mouthed kiss that both soothed and electrified her. The blonde's hands pulled against her shoulder blades, urging her almost on top before moving up to run through the short hairs on the nape of her neck. Kouya shuddered, pushing harder against Yamato in a move that might be crushing her own hands against the rough bark of the tree, but that feeling didn't exist. There was only that pleasurable ache that threatened to overwhelm her, and a hint of desperation. Nagisa-sensei's cold, calculating gaze, landing on Yamato yesterday for a split second too long, loomed in the back of Kouya's mind.
This may have been why she was alert to the sounds of people walking close. Breathing heavily on Yamato's face, she cocked her head to the side and saw a couple walking their way. She pulled her partner back to fully standing, brushing the dirt of the tree bark from her hair and back. Yamato loudly sighed, obviously annoyed at being interrupted, while Kouya kept her thoughts to herself. They walked down the path, ahead of the couple, who may have found their kissing spot for their own needs.
Yamato gripped her hand, and Kouya watched as her lover pulled her knuckles up to scrutinize in the fading evening light. "Ack, Kouya, you got scratched." She didn't let go as Kouya brought her hand closer, eyeing the mostly superficial, bloodless cuts. She hummed mildly, not really caring. 'These cuts were an accident,' she thought to herself, recognizing the echo.
Humming mockingly at Kouya's impassivity, Yamato brought their joined hands back, lightly kissing the scraped knuckles, taking care to touch each one, eyes closed as if concentrating on some sort of healing energy. She opened her eyes, looking up at Kouya through eyelashes so long they touched Kouya's cheeks when they kissed. "Does that feel better?" she asked softly.
"Yes," Kouya replied, honestly.
Yamato's delicate smile grew into a grin. "Excellent. We have a long night ahead of us, starting with some dinner!" She linked her arm in Kouya's and led them a little faster towards the exit of the park. "How about spaghetti?"
Kouya grasped Yamato's hand and nodded in agreement. The taller girl's hand was cool and delicate, and their hands fit together, perfectly. The razor in her pocket bounced against her thigh, all but forgotten in the presence of her other half.
Kouya wondered often whether the loss of pain made other nerve processes stronger. Kouya couldn't possibly imagine that a normal person could feel so sensitive, that the extremes of pain and pleasure could be so impossibly far apart. How could every person not go crazy when faced with the silkiness of her skin, the brush of her hair that seemed to touch everywhere and inside, or the pant of her hot breath on a cold cheek? Kouya felt driven wild by her warm, yielding flesh, felt every sense focused on minute gasps and echoes of trembles.
Kouya's parents were gone, just left for an overnight stay in Okinawa for business. They were glad Yamato had offered to spend the night, to keep their child from being lonely. Yamato smiled like a golden girl to them, acting charming, yet polite, and well-brought-up. Kouya's parents wondered how such a vivacious girl, especially from another school, came to befriend their dour daughter, but were happy nonetheless. Always, Kouya's mother would have some sweets reserved for Yamato's visits, and the blonde would act appropriately honored and giddy and genki.
Kouya hated that act. It reeked of disengenuity, especially considering Yamato's calculating manner, but she knew her Sacrifice was pretending for her Fighter's sake. Kouya was the greedy one who wanted everything: a family, a lover, a purpose, a future. And Yamato would give her everything, no matter the effort or cost.
Now the house was empty save for two. Immediately, hungrily, almost angrily, Kouya had ripped Yamato's clothes off, dying to get rid of those faker clothes that she knew Yamato had bought just to please her parents. They made her look so innocent. She wanted to slice that Yamato away, revealing the trembling pearl beneath. Yamato only looked slightly disconcerted at Kouya's vehemence, shivering slightly in the sudden cold, rectifying that situation by stepping into Kouya's arms that possessively encircled her. Delicately, the blonde slid off her lover's glasses, laying light kisses on the line where the frame had bent skin.
The ache in her heart had inflamed tremendously, and Kouya was nearly blind with want. She insistently pushed Yamato back to the bed, and the blonde fell across it, legs and hips dangling off the side. Kouya leaned over, trapping her lover to the bed, kissing the corner of Yamato's mouth, knowing it drove her crazy, before torturously sliding the other girl's clothes off. Yamato, gloriously nude, squirmed in her grasp as if trying to escape.
"Kouya," she breathed, gasping with every twitch of her lover's thumb on her breast. "Could you… could you please turn off the light?"
This rare moment of fragility made Kouya shiver. She could see how brave men would risk their lives for a woman like this, for the glory of her golden curls, shapely thighs, the trembling of the skin of her stomach. Kouya did as she asked, getting up and walking across the room to kill the switch. When she turned to Yamato again, her blurred vision could only make out the milky white of her skin in the moonlight, and Kouya followed the sight and the scent of her Sacrifice until she was above her again. She kissed her lips, gathering the honey there before descending down her neck. Amidst the vibrations of Yamato's throat, softly cooing her encouragement, she lay down her mark, low enough to be hidden by her school uniform but in a sensitive enough place for Yamato's fingers to claw at the material of her uniform. Yamato seemed impatient with Kouya's fully clothed state, and started to pull at her shirt, but her hands return to clutching when Kouya quickly moved down to capture her breast, lightly licking at a perky nipple, pressing down on it but only making it rise even higher.
Kouya rose up and eyed her lover, seeing the closed eyes, and head thrown back in surrender. The flesh had been conquered, and she had a sense of claiming a precious gift when her hand slipped down and into Yamato's warm, wet folds.
Yamato threw her hand over her mouth, as if suffering pain, though the strangled sounds escaping from between her fingers were pulled from the depths of her pleasure. Reality had laid siege to their passion for two weeks, and the time apart had primed her. The hand not covering her mouth was at the nape of Kouya's neck, begging.
There was a moment's hesitation while Kouya probed around the opening to her core, testing her weakness. The wet sounds whet her every sense until she felt herself dripping with the essence of Yamato, and only then did she push forward with her strength and penetrated Yamato as far as she could.
She buried her face into Yamato's neck as her lover buried her fingers in her short hair, and she began rocking, impaling her Sacrifice over and over, feeling herself being sucked in further and further. "That feels so good," Yamato whispered harshly into her ear, throwing one leg over Kouya's waist, capturing her and pinning her close. Kouya redoubled her efforts and Yamato was now only panting, and when she thumbed the pearl at the top of her center the blonde choked on her cries.
Suddenly, Yamato tensed, her body bending backwards, stretched deliciously taut, and Kouya didn't stop until Yamato lay still, exhaling long and loud, all the breath gone from her body. Kouya lifted her head and laid butterfly kisses across her chest and past her heart, where she can hear her heartbeat, swift as a tiny bird's. The heat that had been rolling off of her skin in waves was subsiding as if the chill of death was overcoming her. These thoughts, thoughts that rarely left Kouya's mind, haunted her all the more when she recalled, again, how Nagisa-sensei had been acting lately. Through her glasses Kouya had watched the way Sensei's eyes had hardened underneath that cutesy façade when looking at her Sacrifice.
Then Yamato rose, as if from the dead, eyes flashing as she pinned Kouya beneath her. "What are you thinking about?" she asked, voice a harsh whisper, blonde hair a curtain around their faces. Her warm hands drove underneath Kouya's blouse and bra, fondling her breasts. "Because I know you aren't thinking about me." She tweaked a nipple. "Highly inappropriate."