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The first time Ochako invites Himiko to a love hotel, the reformed villain is skeptical.
“What’s your game here?” demands Himiko. Ochako tries to take a steadying breath, but it’s a little difficult with the slender blonde’s arm pinning her throat to a brick alley wall. In retrospect, skeptical seems to be a light word for the situation. Perhaps she should have thought this through a bit more.
But—no, she thought it through plenty. What she failed to take into account is the fact Himiko is barely a month out of the halfway home structured for repentant villains, which on paper sounds nice but in practice isn’t much better than prison. According to what Himiko has told her over the phone over the past several months, oft-times villains are just thrown in there because the shaky system hasn’t figured out what to do with the prisons yet, and the new laws after the War have been hastily slapped onto society in a desperate effort to regain public trust after the original hero system failed them so miserably. Ochako herself—along with several of her other former classmates—is part of trying to spur that change, but hasty bandaids over old wounds only do so much.
She grasps hold of Himiko’s wrist, gently, and urges her to lift it just enough so she can breathe and speak without choking. “No game,” she manages to get out. “I told you: if you’re still willing to talk to me, then I’ll give you my blood for the rest of my life.”
Golden, catlike eyes narrow. Himiko’s teeth flash in an unkind, bitter smile. “So you still pity me.”
“No,” says Ochako fiercely. That earns her Himiko’s arm pressed against her throat again, so she closes her eyes and goes limp in a form of passivity. Tightly, she says, “I’m sorry. It was the only place I could think of where we won’t be interrupted.”
At that, Himiko’s smile fades into something more neutral. Her eyes shimmer for a moment, and then she blinks furiously. Her voice goes tart. “Then I’m paying for half.”
Ochako winces. She knows Himiko barely has the money, but at this point, allowing her to salvage any modicum of dignity is the least she can do.
“Deal,” she whispers.
Himiko studies her for a long moment. Finally, she pulls away, and Ochako can gulp in desperate, sweet breaths.
“Well then, Ochako.” Himiko throws her hoodie back over her hair and secures a paper mask. Even now, she has good reason to want to obscure her appearance. The reality makes Ochako’s heart ache, but for the moment, there’s nothing she can do about it. “Lead the way.”
Still shaking a bit, Ochako steels herself. She nods toward the street, and takes a step. After a moment, Himiko follows suit. They play this cat and mouse game bit by bit, until they’re on the main road.
Late evening casts the city in twinkling lights, drowning out the stars above. Ochako double checks her phone, swallowing. She knows this is what she wants.
But does Himiko?
After ten minutes of silence so thick it drowns out any and everyone else, the two finally approach the building Ochako looked up earlier in the week. She glances at Himiko, but the blonde’s expression is carefully blank, her pursed lips the only indicator of any emotion at all… and even that, Ochako can’t quite discern.
She clears her throat and holds out a hand. “Shall we?”
Himiko eyes her hand, and then brushes past her and through the front doors. Sighing, Ochako smooths hair back from her forehead before hurrying after.
The hotel is standard fair: flashing neon lights, closed reception for some modicum of privacy, and paying up front. The receptionist politely quotes them 5,000 yen per hour, and Ochako pays for one. Once they’re given keycards, the two silently head for the tiny elevator.
The ride to the sixth floor is practically torture in its quiet. Himiko doesn’t look at her, fiddling with the strings of her hoodie. Ochako worries at her lower lip the entire way.
Eventually, the slowest elevator in the world deposits them on floor six. They find the room, Ochako unlocks it, and the two enter. Himiko flicks on the lights and looks around, entirely unimpressed.
Ochako can’t say she blames her. It’s all red-bathed light, a chintzy pink comforter over a queen-sized bed, and mirrors. Mirrors everywhere, along every wall, the bathroom door, the ceiling. It makes the room seem very big and Ochako feel incredibly small. She slips her purse off her shoulder, clutching the strap in her hands.
After scrutinizing the room—checking under the bed, along the walls, probably for cameras or wire taps or something of the like—Himiko huffs and sits on the bed. She swings her legs, so small in unbelievably baggy pants. She hardly looks like the girl Ochako met four years ago. When she pulls her mask off her ears, her smile is cold.
“So,” says Himiko, her voice silk and poison. “You’re really going to let me drink your blood?”
Ochako nods. She slowly makes her way to the bed, taking a seat with some reasonable distance between them. Even then, Himiko tenses.
As much as it stings, Ochako is trying to understand where she’s coming from. “I know it’ll take time for you to trust me,” she says. Himiko scoffs and twirls a hoodie string around her index finger. “But I’ll do this as many times as I need to until we get there together.”
Himiko squints at her. “I could just bite you,” she says, her voice cool and assessing. “Drink your blood until you pass out. Fill vials and keep them to myself, never see you again.”
Her words are crafted to cause pain. Ochako takes another careful, slow breath, and chooses her words delicately. She can do this. She’s not the same brash, irresponsible girl that Himiko had the misfortune to meet the first time. “If that’s what you want, then it’s your choice,” she says steadily. “Whatever you need, Himiko.”
The blonde frowns. Her hands drop into her lap. “Give me your arm. Wrist up.”
Ochako sets her purse aside and rolls up her long sleeve. She holds it out to Himiko, meeting her gaze—or trying to. Himiko won’t quite meet her eyes.
She does, however, grab her arm. Her fingers are slim, bony, and cold. Drawing Ochako’s arm up, she sniffs at the delicate skin of her wrist, nosing over the blue veins running so starkly beneath her skin.
Then she sneers up at Ochako. “You’re trembling.”
Ochako’s jaw tightens. “I’ve tried giving blood, but I have a tendency to pass out. So I’m a little nervous.”
Himiko scowls. “Did you eat a large meal tonight?”
A faint flush overtakes Ochako’s cheeks. “Erm… sort of.” Bigger than usual, at least. She’s not entirely able to break her habit of mochi and water to save money, especially since heroes of her newness and caliber make so little to start out. She’s rooming with Tsuyu and Hagakure, for god’s sake. Money is tight.
Tutting her disapproval, Himiko says, “You need protein. A lot of it.” She releases Ochako’s arm, albeit a bit roughly, so it’s almost a shove. “Or you really will pass out.”
Ochako knows this. She’s done research in preparation for this. But the other problem with tonight in particular was that her stomach was tied in knots all day, anticipating this moment.
Flatly, Himiko says, “Index finger.”
Blinking, Ochako holds it up, matching Himiko’s pose. Himiko touches the pads of their fingers together, then slips her hand so her palm cradles Ochako’s knuckles. She hums faintly and tightens her grip to something painful. Ochako can’t help wincing.
“Hold still,” says Himiko.
“I am.”
“More still.”
Much as Ochako wants to argue, she does her best. It’s hard to hide the fine shaking in her limbs, though.
After a horribly long minute in which Himiko scrutinizes her sole finger (as though it’s somehow poisoned? Ochako would laugh if this wasn’t so nerve-wracking), the blonde abruptly pulls Ochako’s hand forward and bites her finger with one of her insidiously sharp canines.
“Ah!” Ochako flinches. She feels guilty when Himiko gives her an I knew it look, but it helps to calm her shaking a little. As firmly as she can, she says, “Do it.”
Himiko slips Ochako’s finger over one long canine, finally meeting her eyes. She smirks. “You’re a little sick, aren’t you?”
“No,” says Ochako. “I’m fulfilling my promise.”
“Yes, how very noble of you.”
Patience is wearing thin. “Himiko, I’m still here. Are you going to drink my blood or not?”
Something dark flickers across Himiko’s face. After a pause, she shrugs, then digs the canine deeper into the shallow cut. Ochako hisses but holds fast this time. Himiko slips her finger inside her mouth and suckles. Something akin to joy bunches her fine eyebrows together, a fracture in her hardened demeanor. It’s… astonishingly beautiful in its honesty.
Ochako feels her heart throb in funny ways.
(She knew this was coming. But still… it takes her aback how strong the feelings still are.)
Where Himiko’s hands are cold, her mouth is warm. Her tongue laps at the sting in Ochako’s finger, pale blonde lashes resting against the curve of her cheeks. Each little lick pools warmth inside Ochako’s lower belly. She bites her lower lip, praying to keep any noise to herself. If she scares Himiko off… suffice to say, it'll be difficult to live with herself.
Then, suddenly, Himiko yanks her hand out and stands. Throws the hoodie over her head and yanks the mask back up. “I'm leaving.”
Ochako starts. “Now?”
“I've seen all I need to see.”
What does that mean?
Ochako grabs her purse. “Himiko, wait—we have another forty-five minutes—”
“Stop it!” Himiko’s shout startles her to quiet. The other young woman won't look at her, and her voice is rough; pinched. “Stop. I said I've seen enough.”
Ochako fights the sting in her eyes. No. I said I'd accept her choice. So I will.
Himiko strides to the door. Places her hand on it, pauses. Glances over her shoulder and says, sharp and quick, “Next time, I choose the time and place.”
She slams the door behind her. Ochako’s knees buckle and she sits hard on the bed, allowing the anxiety of it all to wash over her.
Next time. There's going to be a next time.
Himiko hasn't completely shut her out yet. There's still a chance.
✻✻✻
The second time Ochako invites Himiko to a love hotel, it's actually their fifth time meeting up like this. The last three times, Himiko chose the location, always late in the night, and it didn't matter if Ochako was on duty or not, asleep or not—she demanded, and Ochako arrived.
In each instance, Himiko chose a wilder hotel, the themes ranging from bizarre to raunchy. First an underwater theme with a mermaid bed and fish painted on the walls, then a room that was entirely black and white like a prison, and finally one clearly meant for BDSM activities. Ochako had the feeling she was being tested, and so kept a stoic face through it all and offered her wrist without question. She learned to splurge on protein and have health bars on hand so that, at the very least, she had something to eat after these impromptu meet-ups. They never meet sooner than seven days apart, and once even go a month in between, which plays hell on Ochako's anxiety.
Still, she comes when called.
Finally, Himiko seemed to grow bored of her little game, and she messaged Ochako, saying, Pick a time and place, I don't care.
So it is that Ochako meets with her at a love hotel again, this time in a room decorated with soft pinks and yellows. Himiko makes a face at the decor, but says nothing about it. They sit on the bed, Himiko bites her wrist, and sucks the blood directly from Ochako's veins. After, she uses a compression bandage to wrap her up, and that's the end of that.
Then, the meetings begin to pick up frequency. Slowly, steadily over the months, until Ochako is meeting her every four days to offer her blood.
The thing is, Himiko doesn't always partake. Sometimes, she just sits in silence until their hour is up. Others, she asks prodding questions that Ochako does her best to answer.
The tide is slowly shifting, and it's a year before it happens.
✻✻✻
“You know,” says Himiko conversationally, which means she's prodding for something but won't be up front about it. She dabs blood from Ochako's wrist and begins to wrap the compression bandage around it. “This is going to damage your blood vessels if you keep it up.”
Ochako is better about not flinching these days. The soreness and pain are familiar now. “I'm trying to make it easier on you.”
“Did I ask you to?” demands Himiko tartly. She secures the bandage and frowns at Ochako. Over the course of nearly a year, they're looking each other in the eye more often. Ochako isn't sure if it's progress. She likes to think so, at least.
Softly, Ochako says, “No, you didn't. I was trying because that's what I wanted to do. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Himiko narrows her eyes. Bright gold and catlike, they seem to have a little more vibrance in them lately. Because of the blood, perhaps? Or maybe because her time in the halfway home is coming to an end in the new year?
Only Himiko knows. She picks and chooses what she tells Ochako, and Ochako never pries past that.
As Ochako flexes her wrist, testing the soreness, she detects movement in her periphery. She looks up to find Himiko leaning close, closer than she has since… well, the War. Ochako can smell the copper of blood on her breath.
“Why are you here?” whispers Himiko.
Ochako swallows. There's a new intensity in her voice that she's never heard before. Quiet but hot, like a white candle flame.
“Because I want to be,” she finally says.
“How nice. Why?”
Ah.
Ochako rubs her face with both hands, taking the moment to regain some semblance of composure. She lowers her palms to her knees, eyes closed, and says, so softly that she barely hears herself, “Because… I can't forget your beautiful smile, and I keep hoping to see it again.”
Gentle, plush, sweet pressure on her lips. Ochako gasps, and suddenly there's a tongue in her mouth, licking past her teeth, transferring remnants of her own blood, metallic and vaguely sweet. She clenches her eyes shut tighter, gripping her knees as she tries to kiss back. Her pulse is thunder in her ears; the need for more so loud that it's deafening and terrifying, yet her soul seems to float up and up and up, no longer tethered to her body.
Then there's nothing. Ochako tumbles back to the bed, touching the tips of her fingers to her lips. She quickly sits up and cries out, “Himiko!”
But there's no one to hear her. Once more, Ochako is left alone in the room of a love hotel, now more afraid and eager than ever.
✻✻✻
A week passes before Himiko returns her texts. Rather than address any of Ochako's concerns (Are you okay? What happened? Where did you go? Himiko, please answer. Talk to me. Please ) it's a very terse, The Pink Violet. 9pm.
Ochako sighs heavily and flops onto her bed. She just got off a grueling eighteen hour shift chasing down a known child abductor, and helped catch him by the skin of the heroes' teeth. It's one of the increasing rare times she feels good about the job she's done, but she's exhausted, and Himiko wants her to meet up in two hours.
She could nap, but then the time to put even a little protein in her body is going to be severely minimal. And if she does fall asleep, what if she doesn't wake up to her alarm after such a long day running around?
Frustration unfurls through her core. She… she does care for Himiko. Very deeply. But she also isn't sure how many more times she can meet up with the mercurial blonde without hitting a wall.
Ochako puffs her cheeks and slaps them loudly. No! That's quitter talk. She swore to give Himiko her blood for the rest of her life. She meant it then, and she means it now.
Her feelings… the kiss… they're secondary. Ochako made a commitment. She will be there.
Decided, she swings out of bed and hops in the single shared shower. Tsuyu is asleep for her midnight shift, and Hagakure is out on a stealth mission. Only Tsuyu is aware of Ochako's goings-on with Himiko… for the time being. It's a small blessing for when she needs a shoulder to cry on, an ear to vent into, but right now, Tsuyu needs her rest.
Ochako scrubs the dirt and grime from her shift and watches it swirl down the drain. Her chest tightens in memory of the kiss, fingers tracing over her lips under the spray of the water.
Will… will they… again…
No. It's not about that. It's what Himiko needs from her.
Ochako rinses off thoroughly and shuts off the water. Carefully dries herself, blow-dries her hair using Hagakure's equipment, and applies the simple face cream Ashido got her for her birthday.
Her clothes are simple; a long-sleeved turtleneck under a sleeveless jumper, stockings, and low heels. A relatively casual outfit, though a bit more skin-tight than usual…
Blushing, Ochako smacks her cheeks again. It's just another night. Another time Himiko needs her.
And yet, as she grabs her things and quietly slips out the door and down four flights of stairs, her heart judders like a jackhammer against her ribs and flushes her with heat.
Right. She needs to stay awake. Ochako stops at a vending machine, chooses a can of hot coffee, and double checks the address of the hotel on her phone. When she clicks on the link to see what it's like inside, she nearly drops the phone entirely.
The Pink Violet doesn't charge by the hour.
They're overnight stays.
✻✻✻
The Pink Violet, Ochako quickly learns, leans heavily into lesbian themes. The pride colors flash in neon from the front, and there's a simple printed sign posted on the opaque front door that reads, WOMEN IDENTITIES ALL WELCOME. It makes a strange feeling curl in Ochako’s stomach, and she can't quite determine if it's good or bad.
All she can do, really, is go inside.
The receptionist either recognizes her or has a detailed description of her, because she only says, “For Himiko, right? Room 207.”
Ochako stammers her thanks and all but bolts to the stairs.
This feels different. She can't help but think that way. The color scheme, the overnight stay, the fact Himiko specifically chose it… Ochako is nervous, hopeful, and terrified.
She finds the door easily. Takes a moment to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, inhales deep, and knocks firmly.
The door ekes open. Himiko stands in the tiny foyer, her slanted, critical eyes sweeping Ochako up and down before she turns on her bare heel and steps inside in a flutter of cloth. Ochako quickly follows and allows the door to fall shut behind her.
The room is… surprisingly tame. Still decked out in pinks, purples, white, and a little bit of orange here and there, but for the most part, there's just a bed, drawers ostensibly full of supplies, and a bathroom with a glass wall allowing full view of the shower and tub. Ochako's breath stutters through her nose. The bed is cute, almost elegant; roughly a queen, with plush pillows, round frame, and gauzy pink curtains draped from the ceiling, imprinted with tiny violets swirling in patterns.
And Himiko… she's cloaked in a white silk robe that covers her modestly from collar to ankle. The stitching of a violet in the breast pocket seems to indicate that it belongs to the hotel. In addition… Ochako isn't entirely sure, but… she suspects that Himiko isn't wearing a bra. With the folds of the thick silk, it's not readily apparent, especially when Himiko keeps her arms folded so tightly.
Even so, she tries to temper her expectations. Sets her purse down on the nightstand and slides between the open curtains to sit. Himiko remains on her feet, staring at a painting of two naked women tangled in ecstasy. Ochako's face feels hot even looking at it, but Himiko doesn't appear at all uneasy.
The silence is getting to her. Ochako clears her throat and begins to roll up her sleeve. “So,” she says, hating how her voice trembles a bit. “What’s the plan today?”
“The plan?”
Ochako stills. Himiko’s voice is deadly soft, like dark velvet rubbed the wrong way. Chewing on her inner lip, Ochako tries to look up. Finds that she can barely bring her eyes to Himiko’s bare feet as she turns to point them her way.
“Yes. The plan,” whispers Ochako.
Himiko steps closer, forcing Ochako's gaze to rise. Tension and heat wrap her lungs in vice grips when those pale golden eyes get close, so close. Himiko smells like lilac and shea butter.
The tips of her slender fingers touch Ochako's chin, ice cold, pale… shaking. With a start, Ochako realizes that Himiko isn't collected at all.
She's scared.
But she's also Himiko, so she's masking the only way she knows how: through coldness, anger, and mocking. Ochako's heart twists and pulls down toward her stomach, ready to burst and feed the butterflies only Himiko can sate.
“The plan,” says Himiko, her eyes flooding with trepidation, “is to confirm the meaning of your words… Uraraka Ochako.”
Which words? Ochako's said so much to her… about her smile? Wanting to see it again? Or about giving her blood to Himiko for the rest of her life?
It's my turn to reach out.
The realization strikes her with startling clarity. Ochako reaches up, hesitating when Himiko flinches—and decides to trust her gut. Pushing past that. Cupping that beautiful, cold face, narrowed since their teen years, but still soft and silky smooth and sweet.
Suddenly, Himiko snaps at her, teeth clacking like an animal. She shoves Ochako down to the bed, one hand at her throat—not squeezing, not crushing, just warning—and the other pinioning her wrist above her head.
“I told you,” Himiko grates out. Her eyes shine and waver with angry, unshed tears. “I don't want your pity.” Before Ochako can respond, Himiko tightens her hand at her throat… against her arteries. Not her windpipe. Ochako can still breathe. “I swear, Ochako, if this is pity—”
Ochako presses her free hand to the back of Himiko's head until their mouths meet. At first chaste, Ochako runs her tongue tentatively over the seam of Himiko's mouth. The gentle move earns her a stunned gasp through Himiko's nose, and her tears spill over, dripping onto Ochako's cheeks.
With a breathless parting, Ochako twists her hand out of Himiko's grasp and cradles her jaw. Fiercely, she says, “I don't pity you. I… I love you.”
Himiko jerks back. “No, you don't!”
“Yes!” Ochako follows her, sitting up, pressing her lips to the furious tears streaking Himiko's cheeks. “I do. I love you, Himiko. My blood is yours for the rest of my life—our lives. Eternity. I don't care!” She's surprised by her own subtle sob and quickly covers it by kissing across Himiko's face. “I've spent all this time trying to understand you—”
“You can't,” shrieks Himiko. She shoves Ochako's face away, but doesn't protest when Ochako just determinedly comes back to keep tracing her lips along the salty, wet trails. “You can't understand me. Not even after eternity!”
“Then I'll spend eternity trying,” Ochako yells back. She closes her hand over Himiko's wrist, the one at her throat, but rather than push her away, she pulls so that the pressure is more. So that her eyeballs ache and her vision swims and her voice rasps. “You h-have my blood. Forever. Please…” She chokes when Himiko tightens her fingers briefly, eyes flashing with hurt. Ochako tries again, coughing out, “P… please… let me show you… how I would love you back.”
For several long, intense seconds, Ochako is certain that Himiko will keep her hand there until she passes out. Then, one finger at a time, Himiko loosens her hold. Ochako sucks in warm air, flooding her burning lungs. Himiko's hand slips down to the upper button of Ochako's jumpsuit, plucking it with chewed nails. It stays fastened, but perhaps that's the point.
“And what if I hate it?” demands Himiko. She's still crying, thought the flood has faded to a trickle. “Our ideas of love… they're not compatible.”
Swallowing over the aches, Ochako whispers hoarsely, “They don't have to be. Think of it as… as another love language. You express yours by drinking blood…” Ochako presses a tentative hand against the silk robe, her palm over Himiko's upper breast, right where her heart pounds. She finishes, “And mine is touch.”
One eternity passes between them, and still Ochako knows it changes nothing. Himiko can have her blood for all eternities. There's no limit to the limitless. The hard part is convincing Himiko of that, after she's been abused of the notion that her love is wrong for her entire life.
“Please,” tries Ochako, one last time. “If… if you hate how I show love… if you want me to stop… just say the word. But it doesn't change anything. As long as you'll talk to me, you can have me.”
Himiko's chest heaves. Conflicting emotions war across her face. She bares her teeth, looks like she wants to rip Ochako's throat out; like she wants to soak herself in blood and scream at the world that this is just who she is, and not even a hero can change it.
But Ochako doesn't want to be a hero who changes it. She wants to be a woman who accepts Toga Himiko, inside and out, head to toe, until there's nothing left for her to give.
At last, in a pained, gravelly, mocking voice, Himiko says, “Show me how you love me, then.”
Ochako doesn't hesitate. She brings Himiko down for a kiss, just gentle, lovely movement of lips, of hands petting down her neck and playing with the tiny hairs at her nape. If her inexperience is a turn-off, Himiko gives no indication. She just watches Ochako with wide, suspicious eyes.
Okay. That's perfectly okay.
For the time being, Ochako keeps it soft like that. Peppering small kisses against Himiko's mouth, at the corners, to the sensitive area just below the curve of her bottom lip. Slowly, carefully pressing in for longer touches, until both women are breathing raggedly through their noses.
Then Ochako eases back, keeping her fingers at Himiko's neck. A little breathless, she asks, “How is it?”
Himiko is quiet for a long, heart-rendering minute. Then she ducks her head and mumbles, “I don't… hate it.”
Ochako's heart flutters in her chest.
A small pout indents Himiko's lower lip, fracturing her mask, giving Ochako a glimpse of the girl she met so long ago. “What else can you show me?”
Letting out a nervous laugh, Ochako admits, “I'm, ah… not… really experienced. At all.”
“You think I am?” asks Himiko scathingly.
Ochako isn't sure how to answer. She finally settles on, “I don’t know what to think. I don't want to assume and… and hurt you.”
Himiko's eyes flicker away for a moment. She inhales deeply, and then looks back at Ochako, her face slowly reddening. “Well… we have the same stuff, so. Whatever happens…”
“We'll figure it out?” It comes out more as a question, less confident than Ochako likes, but for whatever reason, Himiko relaxes a little. She nods, strands of hair falling from her messy twin buns.
“Yes.”
Ochako's nerves are alive, jangling like chimes. She nods as well, unable to find her voice right away. But kissing doesn't require talking, and kissing is, in some ways, easier. It requires less thought, even as it makes her overthink.
One small step at a time. Easy. Easy.
She urges Himiko down, starting with the closed-mouth kisses again. This time, however, she begins to part her lips. Himiko doesn't follow her lead immediately, but when she does, it's with full confidence. Like passing control back and forth, except neither are giving it up nor taking it. A dance, more like. Cautious and new.
Ochako slips the tip of her tongue out. Not into Himiko's mouth, just out of her own, grazing the tender upper lip of the girl above her. Moments later, a hesitant touch of Himiko's tongue is on hers. Not licking, just little prods, swirling the tips together, delicate and a little scared and somehow—Ochako thinks—sweet.
But when she leans back to give Himiko space, strong, slender fingers dig into her hair, around the back of her skull. Pressing Ochako back up, not deepening, just back, like she isn't ready to stop, and Ochako is helpless to it.
Take anything you need, Himiko. I've got you.
Suddenly Himiko scrambles back, arched and wide-eyed like a frightened cat. Like she can't believe what just happened.
Ochako remains flat on her back, chest heaving with each breath. She doesn't move, afraid to startle Himiko, but that only seems to upset her more.
“What's wrong?” spits Himiko, glaring at her. “Scared of me?”
Shaking her head, Ochako says, “No. I'm scared that I'll move too fast and… and you'll leave because of it.”
Himiko crawls back over her, flushed and glowering and… embarrassed? “Well, stop thinking that. Show me what else.”
Okay.
“Okay,” whispers Ochako.
This time, she leans up on her elbow, bringing herself to Himiko. And this time, Himiko clings to her, climbing onto Ochako’s lap and spreading her knees to either side. A delicious warmth spreads from Ochako’s belly to her fingertips, her toes, her crown. She scoots back to allow Himiko more room, and Himiko pulls her up into a seated position, and…
and…
and their tongues brush again, and Himiko wriggles in Ochako’s lap, and Ochako unthinkingly lowers her hand to Himiko’s leg, only for the silk to slip aside, and oh, she makes a noise in the back of her throat, caught between surprise and a moan, to feel the supple flesh along Himiko’s slender thighs, and…
and to smell her
the obvious arousal
and suddenly Ochako forgets to be shy, only finds her thumb inside Himiko’s thigh, a gentle press, where Himiko sighs into her mouth before shaking her head in frustration. Ochako almost yanks her hand back—but no, that’s what upsets Himiko—so she keeps it there, firm, and looks at her with tender concern.
“What’s wrong?” she whispers. “Do you want me to stop?”
“N… no.” Himiko seems to choke on her syllables, her eyebrows knotted in frustration. She bites her lip, piercing it, sucking the blood like it’s an old self-soothing habit. “I… I want…”
Ochako’s stomach twists in knots. Her breaths palpitate the air and she says, “You can.” Pale gold eyes widen in astonishment. To prove herself, Ochako leans forward a little. Takes Himiko’s hand, places her finger on her lower lip, and keeps her gaze. “You can,” she assures her. “However Himiko shows her love… I want it.”
Himiko utters a derisive, somehow sad laugh. “You’re crazy.”
Ochako frowns, but otherwise doesn’t move. “I’m still here. I still come when you tell me.”
“Uh huh. What’s that about?”
Ochako doesn’t answer. Just watches her, allowing herself to be open. To let Himiko see inside, to see her honesty. She’s been trying over and over this past year—longer, really, albeit at a forced distance—and she can only hope that Himiko understands.
Slowly, the self-deprecating humor fades from Himiko’s face. She looks away, her shoulders slumping. “You’re crazy,” she repeats, much softer and more frightened this time.
“Maybe,” admits Ochako. “But I like how I am.”
Himiko lets out a long, quiet sigh. Then her head snaps back to look at Ochako again, eyes gleaming with determination and a spark of her playful self that, oh, Ochako only now realizes how desperately she’s wanted to see it. It’s not her smile, but it’s a glimmer, a glimpse.
Then, for the first time, she kisses Ochako with a sharp bite to her lower lip. It stings, and Ochako jerks a little, but she wraps her arms around Himiko’s neck to keep her there, refusing to allow her instinctive reaction to ruin this. Breathes through her nose so Himiko can focus on her mouth, draw her lip in, suckle the blood until her lip begins to ache so very sweetly.
With that, it’s like Himiko is alive. She presses closer, slips her tongue out, caresses the sore flesh with it, lets out small, pleased noises as her eyes lapse shut. Ochako allows her the control, so she can take what she wants… but she’s hardly idle.
She wants to show Himiko how she feels, too.
With Himiko making such positive noises, Ochako’s trepidations melt away like ice in a fire, dripping into sweet arousal in her groin. She rubs her hand along Himiko’s thigh, savoring the soft feel of her skin. Inches her thumb closer to the crease where thigh meets hip, and—
“Oh,” she gasps, blushing furiously.
Himiko isn’t wearing underwear. At all.
Ochako hesitantly does it again, and yes, there’s that slightly coarse fuzz of hair, supple skin underneath. Himiko rocks against her, bites her lip again. Unable to help a whimper, Ochako leans into it, and Himiko leans into her, and—
“Ah.” This time it’s Himiko, her eyes flying open, clear and bright with pleasure. Encouraged, Ochako slips her fingers along her labia, petting through the dampness, the sweet smell tingling her senses and lighting up some primal part of her brain that she likes to pretend isn’t there, but right now, it’s all she wants to take over. She gently works her fingers through the slit, slick, wet, and shivers when her middle finger finds a little nub. Smaller than her own, but apparently quite sensitive, as Himiko makes a happy little sound and rocks her hips again.
“Ah, u-um,” says Ochako, a bit flustered. “I, um… do you like direct stimulation, or…?”
“Yeah,” whispers Himiko. “More.”
Ochako circles her clit, slow and careful. Himiko makes a bitten noise and kisses her—no sucking or biting this time—and mumbles into her mouth, “Harder.” Ochako complies, delighted when the added pressure draws a throaty groan from the beautiful woman in her lap.
Rubbing Himiko is easy; she’s so wet that the glide is seamless as Ochako tries different things. Up and down, around in circles—Himiko seems to love that, by the moans rattling out of her—and side to side, until she goes back to what Himiko responds strongest to.
“Mm, yes,” sighs Himiko. Her head tips back a little, eyes hazy and half-lidded. “That feels really… really good…”
“I’m glad,” whispers Ochako hoarsely. She presses a chaste kiss to Himiko’s throat and rests her head on her shoulder, glancing down to easier see—and oh, that just makes her own clit throb, the sight of her fingers shiny and wet between Himiko’s legs.
A whisper of silk, and then Himiko’s robe falls to the wayside. Ochako is greeted by a fully nude, very much writhing young woman, her breasts tantalizing and calling to her. With her other hand, Ochako cups one in her palm. It’s soft and heavy, the pale nipple hardening beneath her touch.
Slow, gentle, she bends her head down to kiss the upper swell of Himiko’s breast. When she isn’t discouraged, she gives a little lick, surprised at how much softer the skin feels beneath her tongue. Then down to her nipple, which she draws gently into her mouth and grazes between her teeth. That earns her a sharp gasp. Himiko squirms, grips her head in both hands. It hurts a little, but not nearly enough to dissuade Ochako from continuing. Suckling, then sucking hard, and Himiko pulses against her fingers.
Ochako wants to feel more. The slide is so addictive already. Two fingers slip down, circling around Himiko’s entrance, and Himiko reacts strongly. Leaning back, spreading her legs even wider, and when Ochako slides her fingers inside, she’s amazed at the wet, beautiful heat she finds. Rubs her thumb in circles over Himiko’s clit, but then it’s harder to focus on her fingers—yet Himiko doesn’t seem to mind, her hips taking on stronger motions, like she can drive Ochako in deeper.
She bites her lip, wincing at the soreness. “Himiko, I… it might be easier if you lie down?”
“Don’t wanna,” breathes Himiko, her face colored bright pink. “Feels good like this…”
Despite herself, Ochako can’t help but feel a wave of fondness. Yes, this is good… Himiko deserves to take what she wants. After so long of being told she’s wrong, then yes. If Ochako needs to break her wrist to do it, so be it.
“Okay,” she murmurs. Shifts a little, leaning back so she can reach in a little more, see a little better. Prodding gently inside, rubbing outside, gently squeezing Himiko’s breast with her other hand as she explores the other woman’s body with narrowed focus.
It’s slow. Steady. She finds a slightly different texture deep inside, somewhere around the back end of Himiko’s clitoris, and presses. That garners a loud, enthusiastic reaction, so Ochako tries tapping there. Soft at first, then harder, her palm cupping so Himiko can grind against the heel of her hand. Her mouth drops open in pleasure, sharp teeth exposed, her tongue licking absently over her lips and oh, oh, the sight does such strange and funny things to Ochako.
Then, with a sudden gasp, Himiko begs, “There. More. Right there.”
Ochako’s hand is cramping, tiring, but she powers through. Pressing her palm against the slick-sounding wetness of Himiko’s pussy, her fingers buried inside, pressing and rubbing against that sort of ribbed texture. Himiko rocks and moans and her voice rises higher and higher and then
Then she shudders, moans loudly. Her walls pulse around Ochako’s fingers, tight, shockingly tight. More wetness, a stronger smell of sex, of deep arousal, and Himiko keeps humping her hand through it. Panting. Squirming.
Art.
Ochako doesn’t let up until Himiko starts slowing down. Sweat dampens the blonde’s temples, fine hairs sticking to her face from where they fell from their sloppy place atop her head. Ochako carefully extracts her fingers. She presses a chaste kiss to Himiko’s collar, savoring the little happy sound from her chest. Then, out of curiosity, she licks the slick from her fingers.
It’s… unexplainable. Not sweet, but not not sweet. Ochako’s tasted herself before out of curiosity, but this is a little different. There’s a heady scent in Himiko that makes Ochako dizzy with want. She can still feel her pulse beating at different points in her body.
Shakily, she says, “You taste good, Himiko.”
A quiet, deep inhale answers her.
And then, abruptly, Himiko has her pinned to the bed. Again . Ochako gasps as the determined blonde unbuttons her jumper, and she tries to help slip her arms out. But Himiko wants none of that, pushing Ochako’s shirt up over her breasts, revealing her plain white bra. With only a little difficulty, Himiko unclasps the bra—Ochako can imagine it’s a little strange doing it backward—and pushes it over Ochako’s throat.
Then Himiko is on her. Nipping her tits, squeezing them, eyes wide and hazy as she groans, “Ochako, so firm,” and Ochako moans in response. Himiko laps at her nipples until they harden to little pink buds, massaging her breasts with both hands.
Then Himiko dives lower, yanking her underwear off, and Ochako can barely register it before a hot, pink tongue laps the wetness from her pussy. Ochako cries out, her hips jolting, and Himiko licks again. Working her tongue through, messily moving around, and while she’s not hitting anything particularly good, it still feels… right. Blissful. Ochako throbs from the building pleasure, from the tease, and emits a louder cry when Himiko’s pointed tongue finds her clit.
Normally, Ochako doesn’t like direct pressure, preferring to rub herself on either side with her index and middle fingers, but this is the first time someone’s licked her down there (or, well, done anything, but specifically this), and it feels incredible. Like flames are being stoked in her core, pointed to a sharp V right to her clit, hot and wracking waves over and over again.
“H-Himiko,” gasps Ochako, clenching at the sheets. “Oh… oh, that’s…”
Himiko lifts her head. The sight of her face and chin slick and shiny just makes Ochako’s knees weak. Thank goodness for lying down. “It’s not as good as your blood,” says Himiko, though she sounds reluctant. “But… you still taste…” Her eyebrows knit. “Good.”
Ochako covers her mouth, pressing her head back into the mattress with a moan. Somehow, Himiko sounding perplexed over it just turns her on even more.
Through her fingers, Ochako chokes out, “Please don’t stop.”
Fire lights Himiko’s eyes. She lowers her head again, but goes right back to lapping, teasing, tasting. Ochako finds her legs easing open on instinct and her face burns. Yet she can’t stop. Doesn’t want to.
It just feels… right. Like she’s complete.
A sharp bite to her leg makes her yelp. She blinks through startled tears as Himiko licks a little spot of blood from where one of her canines pierces skin, just enough to draw a drop or two out, and it’s… god. It’s gorgeous. Himiko. She is gorgeous. Watching her take pleasure in the only real way she knows how just softens Ochako’s heart to melted butter.
Himiko sits up, shifts atop Ochako’s lap, just on the upper side of her knees. Her slanted eyes narrow as she says, “I don’t understand. Show me how you come.”
O-oh. That’s…
Ochako nods, both meek and brave. Slides her hand, still a little wet from Himiko, down to her own pussy. She’s just as wet, if not more, than Himiko was when she rubbed her off. Ochako shivers, shudders, spreads her fingers into a tight V and slides her clit between them and begins to rub.
It’s slow, as it often is, but the pressure builds faster and hotter with Himiko watching her with such stark fascination. After a few minutes, the blonde begins to squirm impatiently. She grasps Ochako’s free hand and brings it to her face, still damp from eating her out.
(Oh, god, Himiko ate her out… it gives Ochako goosebumps all over again.)
“Make yourself come,” whispers Himiko in that somehow silky yet hoarse voice. Ochako whimpers, tightening her fingers. The added pressure makes her squirm; it’s just on this side of pleasure rather than actual pain.
Then Himiko bites her thumb, sucks it into her mouth with a sly look down, and Ochako can barely handle it anymore. She rubs herself, fast, tight, arching her hips into her hand as her whimpers and moans become heated, more desperate.
The orgasm hits her in waves. A small one, then a huge crash as she keeps stimulating herself, and it becomes one long, seamless throb of one heightened pleasure after another. Himiko moans against her thumb, and that just makes it even easier for Ochako to embrace it.
Never has touching herself felt so good.
After, the two crawl up further onto the bed. Ochako squirms out of her clothes, while Himiko just curls into a ball, eyes lowered. After a moment’s consideration, Ochako touches her shoulder. Whispers, “May I?”
Himiko gives her a look that’s contradictingly soft and condescending. Surprisingly, her answer is blunt.
“Yes.”
Ochako pulls her in close. Soft and warm. Himiko is slender up and down, her little thatch of hair a light tickle as Ochako shifts her thigh between her legs.
And in the end, the embrace feels just… right. Like this is where she’s meant to be.
But as the sexual urges ebb, leaving her with emotions alone, a worrisome thought occurs to her.
“Himiko,” she whispers, “what happens if you don’t return to the halfway home tonight?”
A sullen, golden gaze peers at her, pillowed by Himiko’s arm. “I’ll get my stay extended by a week.”
Ochako shoots up, panicked. “Himiko!”
“Stop!” Himiko yanks her back down, expression fierce as she clasps Ochako’s face between her hands. “Don’t… don’t ruin this for me. One night, Ochako. It’s not like a week makes that much of a difference in the long run.”
“But—”
“Ochako.” Himiko manages to remain firm, much to Ochako’s frustration and relief. “I want one night.”
Well… okay.
Ochako settles back down, willing her heart to calm. It’s easier when Himiko snuggles back in, pressing her cheek against Ochako’s breasts like they’re pillows. “Okay,” she agrees, stroking the fine blonde hair. “One time. But next time, you stay…” SHe swallows, and blushes. “I mean, if you want… please… just sleep at my place.”
Another silence so long that Ochako nearly chokes on it. But then…
“Okay.” Himiko sounds unusually shy, and she presses her face into Ochako’s boobs. Mumbles into them, “Smother me like this again.”
A startled, giddy laugh escapes Ochako. She hugs Himiko tightly, blinking back tears of relief and joy as she nuzzles her hair.
“It’s a deal.”