heartlines

'Trying to find pictures that rhyme, colors that breathe' Betty Steele

She's beautiful, you think. Not a traditional beauty like Tomoe or a knockout like Miss Megumi, she just is. It's a natural beauty that she doesn't notice, and without trying exudes. If she were to try, you know you'd end up unconscious and bleeding from the fall, it's hard enough reminding yourself to breathe when she smiles at you all blushes and sparkling blue eyes dressed in her training clothes. It's sad, you think, because now in your twenty nine years alive you realize you've never loved anyone the way you love her. And you feel sorry that poor, sad, beautiful Tomoe never had your love. She had your guilt (you killed her, like the cold hearted murderer you know you are) and your affection (the heart in loneliness does attach itself to the closest nurturing being near to it) but not the love you feel for the lovely spitfire. She dominates your every waking moment, and haunts you in your sleep.

Now that you have her in your arms, your heart beats faster as if it wants to burst out of its cavity. She's blushing softly but the color matches your hair, she feels self-conscious but you think it makes her adorable. Your right hand slips into her hair and the other holds her close to your body. Softly, your lips brush her forehead and then slide to her temple, there you linger and you inhale her wonderful perfume of jasmines. You can feel her trembling and a smile of pure fond amusement crosses you lips. Her hands, beautiful, delicate and calloused clutch the back of your gi. Slowly you trail your lips down to her nose, here you nip and try to contain you soft laughter at her yip, then you move to her soft rose cheek and kiss her lightly. By the time you lean back her eyes are closed and her lips are parted, waiting. You sigh in pleasure and lean to kiss her fluttering eyelashes the color of pure ebony. You know it's only a matter of time before your control snaps and you claim her lips as you've wanted to do since you met her, but you hold yourself back until she opens eyes the color of sapphires.

There's a pout on her lips but you need to make sure, she doesn't give you time. Suddenly you find chapped lips pressed unto your own dry ones and happiness bubbles in your soul. The hand that once held her waist travels a path up her kimono cloth covered arm and the one that clutched her hair now forms the shape of her nape, tilting her head for a better angle. The hand that goes down her arm and maps the dip of her elbow finds her hand and tangles their fingers together, and his thumb traces shapes on the palm. She's ticklish, you discover, for she giggles at the slightest brush of your finger. You grin and take advantage of her laughter and inattention and trace her lips with your tongue, when she gasps you want to explore her but you hold back for her permission. When you do nothing more but bite lightly at her lower lip she huffs and playfully licks you upper lip, you're surprised but delightfully so. Slowly and tenderly you suck on the lip you have captured and the moan she makes gives you the opportunity to completely claim her mouth, aside from making you see lights at the soft sounds she makes.

You trace her teeth and with your tongue you explore the roof of her mouth, there you linger because when you finally separate you want her to still be able to taste you. Again she moans but begins to play with your tongue, and as you pull back (you both need air) she whimpers and you feel your gut clench (you know then, she's going to be the death of you, but you don't mind for it'll be the sweetest death imaginable for Battousai). Because you don't want to make her feel empty you give her another short kiss but she takes you off guard when she swipes her tongue against your closed lips and you want to give in but still you both need to breathe and think before things go too far. Nipping her lower lip you reprimand her and she understands because she stops trying to get you to open up again. Now only a few inches separate both of you and both are panting. When you open your eyes she's looking at you and her eyes are as dark as the night and she wears a smile that lights them up, that's when you know that she is peace, and shelter. She's the salvation you have been wandering those many lonely years for, and you're never going to take her for granted anymore. You are hers and she is as fully yours.

It's been a while, hasn't it? I wanted to write something short, sweet and romantic for both of them. So I started listening to Florence and the machine and Betty Steele's Where are you? and got inspired, this is what was born. Hope you like.