Sailor Moon Fic: look at what the shapes write
So yesterday, tosca1390 and I hung out and talked about a number of things, including this particular scene in the manga, where there's the kitchen and there's some private time and I'm really, really tired and it just had to happen. So there.
look at what the shapes write
they have to be selfish about their moments; they were here first.
sailor moon | usagi/mamoru | spoilers for the R arc/manga | 1,214 words, R.
-
There is no real moment when it happens; the motion of his hand just sort of falls into place, first at her legs and then, slowly, as it settles under her uniform skirt. She makes a soft, surprised sound against his mouth, her legs parting as his fingers press into her panties.
They both know that it's not about first times.
Mamoru has her pinned to the kitchen floor. It's cold and soft, a little sticky against her legs. She giggles; her fingers thread through his hair, pulling at the nape of his neck. She bites lightly at his lip.
"I'm not going anywhere," she murmurs, her thumb rubbing against his skin. He makes a sound and she drags a leg up against the back of his, laughing again when he turns them.
She ends up straddling his legs, her dress pushed up against her thighs. It still feels new, the way the fabric seems to rise further and further up and against her skin. Her hair falls wildly against her face. Mamoru's hands fall over her skin and she watches as he stares up at her, his eyes dark and wide. She licks her lips and then leans over him again, her mouth grazing his.
"Stop it, Mamo-chan."
He scoffs, his hand cupping her jaw. "I can't help it."
"Yes, you can," she insists. She turns her head, pressing her mouth against his palm. "You're so silly sometimes," she says too. "You know you can trust me."
"I also know you."
He drags his hand away from her face, moving it back to thread through her hair again. He tugs lightly at the strands and she leans in, bent over him as she kisses him again. Her mouth opens slowly, lazily, her lips relaxing against his mouth. She can feel him sigh, swallow as his tongue slips against her lip, into her mouth and over her own. He rolls it against hers, then her teeth, and then pulls himself up so that she rests flushed against him.
"Somebody's got to worry about you," he mumbles. "You can at least let me do that, worry about you."
He pulls her dress over her head, then her blouse. Her fingers slip into his hair and she tugs at him, just a little, catching a kiss.
"You do enough," she breathes. "You do more than enough," she insists.
He buries his mouth against her neck and her hands fist into his shirt. She pulls a little and then again, peeling it back over his shoulders. She manages to push it off of his arms too. Her lips press against his shoulder.
"Stop it," she says again.
"Make me," he teases.
Her mouth curls against his skin, then moves to press against his neck. She bites at the skin and he hisses softly. His hand draws against her panties, cupping her legs and then the back of her thighs.
"I can hear you thinking," she says. They can never get close enough.
Usagi still blushes when he slides inside of her, his dick thick and hot, his hips jerking forward as her knees sink against the floor and her, her into his lap. His fingers have pulled her hair undone.
The floor is warm against her legs now, even as she curls around him and his lap. Everything seems so soft and white.
"You're so beautiful," he tells her. He's serious, his mouth moving along her jaw. She shifts so that she starts to roll her hips into his, rising and fall as he pushes deeper inside of her. She can feel herself stretch and then his hand slip between her legs, his fingers rubbing against her clit.
"Oh," she breathes. "Oh."
She's not entirely sure how she moves still; it's both clumsy and easy, her hips rising, then falling, then the feel of him sliding further. She thinks he feels too big still and it's overwhelming, how really it's just as simple as him fitting inside of her and just like that.
Her arm swings around his shoulders, her head falling back as his mouth drops against her throat. Her eyes squeeze shut. Part of her remembers too, soft grass, cold grass, the way it was just her dress sliding up her legs and her knees. It was his hand over her breast, his fingers at her nipple, brushing, pinching.
Here they're still learning each other and they like that, she likes that too. It makes them them, it makes this just as new as it should be.
It's his fingers against her back, tracing along her spine, up again and then along the plane of her shoulder. His palm flattens and she gasps when he arches up, into her. She starts to move too, more than just rising and falling and losing herself to the sensation of him sliding in and out of her. Her legs curl around his hips.
"Promise me." He says it again: "Promise me." He drags his teeth against her skin, squeezing a bite - as if to mark her all the same.
But it's really a half-plea, half-order, and she isn't really sure what to do with it. She would give him the world, she thinks. If she could. If she had that kind of power. She wouldn't even think about it.
"Whatever you need," she breathes.
She likes it best when he says her name, his hands over her breasts, his palms settled against her skin as she falls apart. It's easy to give like this.
She isn't sure which one of them hears the door open first. But Mamoru still lets her dress before him, pressing his mouth against her shoulder as she reaches for him too. Her fingers drift over his open shirt, then his trousers, tugging them closed as she leans up to kiss him.
"We should go in there," she says quietly.
He smiles against her mouth. "In a minute," he tells her. They listen to another door shut. His fingers are in her hair again. "I'm sorry," he says.
"Mamo-chan."
"I am," he says. He nuzzles her cheek. "I know - sometimes, I suppose I get to be a certain way. I want you to know that I'm trying. To get better at this part." He flushes and she bites the inside of her cheek, trying not to laugh out loud with delight. "Forgive me?" he asks.
"There's nothing to forgive," she admonishes.
He looks at her strangely and she shrugs, lacing her fingers through his hand. She cups it and brings it to her chest. Her mouth brushes against his knuckles. By all accounts, she thinks, they should go. Their daughter, she reminds herself. There is nothing grown-up about the feeling; she understands that the two of them share that, that they love her all the same, but knowing is such a heavy and frightening part of it all.
It's how she steps back, tugging him with her. Their fingers are still laced and she pulls his arm around her shoulder. He kisses her cheek again.
"You're too good to me," he says softly.
"You're still silly," she says.
It's easy to walk into the room together. Usagi cannot look away when their daughter sees them; her recognition is always strangely comforting.
look at what the shapes write
they have to be selfish about their moments; they were here first.
sailor moon | usagi/mamoru | spoilers for the R arc/manga | 1,214 words, R.
-
There is no real moment when it happens; the motion of his hand just sort of falls into place, first at her legs and then, slowly, as it settles under her uniform skirt. She makes a soft, surprised sound against his mouth, her legs parting as his fingers press into her panties.
They both know that it's not about first times.
Mamoru has her pinned to the kitchen floor. It's cold and soft, a little sticky against her legs. She giggles; her fingers thread through his hair, pulling at the nape of his neck. She bites lightly at his lip.
"I'm not going anywhere," she murmurs, her thumb rubbing against his skin. He makes a sound and she drags a leg up against the back of his, laughing again when he turns them.
She ends up straddling his legs, her dress pushed up against her thighs. It still feels new, the way the fabric seems to rise further and further up and against her skin. Her hair falls wildly against her face. Mamoru's hands fall over her skin and she watches as he stares up at her, his eyes dark and wide. She licks her lips and then leans over him again, her mouth grazing his.
"Stop it, Mamo-chan."
He scoffs, his hand cupping her jaw. "I can't help it."
"Yes, you can," she insists. She turns her head, pressing her mouth against his palm. "You're so silly sometimes," she says too. "You know you can trust me."
"I also know you."
He drags his hand away from her face, moving it back to thread through her hair again. He tugs lightly at the strands and she leans in, bent over him as she kisses him again. Her mouth opens slowly, lazily, her lips relaxing against his mouth. She can feel him sigh, swallow as his tongue slips against her lip, into her mouth and over her own. He rolls it against hers, then her teeth, and then pulls himself up so that she rests flushed against him.
"Somebody's got to worry about you," he mumbles. "You can at least let me do that, worry about you."
He pulls her dress over her head, then her blouse. Her fingers slip into his hair and she tugs at him, just a little, catching a kiss.
"You do enough," she breathes. "You do more than enough," she insists.
He buries his mouth against her neck and her hands fist into his shirt. She pulls a little and then again, peeling it back over his shoulders. She manages to push it off of his arms too. Her lips press against his shoulder.
"Stop it," she says again.
"Make me," he teases.
Her mouth curls against his skin, then moves to press against his neck. She bites at the skin and he hisses softly. His hand draws against her panties, cupping her legs and then the back of her thighs.
"I can hear you thinking," she says. They can never get close enough.
Usagi still blushes when he slides inside of her, his dick thick and hot, his hips jerking forward as her knees sink against the floor and her, her into his lap. His fingers have pulled her hair undone.
The floor is warm against her legs now, even as she curls around him and his lap. Everything seems so soft and white.
"You're so beautiful," he tells her. He's serious, his mouth moving along her jaw. She shifts so that she starts to roll her hips into his, rising and fall as he pushes deeper inside of her. She can feel herself stretch and then his hand slip between her legs, his fingers rubbing against her clit.
"Oh," she breathes. "Oh."
She's not entirely sure how she moves still; it's both clumsy and easy, her hips rising, then falling, then the feel of him sliding further. She thinks he feels too big still and it's overwhelming, how really it's just as simple as him fitting inside of her and just like that.
Her arm swings around his shoulders, her head falling back as his mouth drops against her throat. Her eyes squeeze shut. Part of her remembers too, soft grass, cold grass, the way it was just her dress sliding up her legs and her knees. It was his hand over her breast, his fingers at her nipple, brushing, pinching.
Here they're still learning each other and they like that, she likes that too. It makes them them, it makes this just as new as it should be.
It's his fingers against her back, tracing along her spine, up again and then along the plane of her shoulder. His palm flattens and she gasps when he arches up, into her. She starts to move too, more than just rising and falling and losing herself to the sensation of him sliding in and out of her. Her legs curl around his hips.
"Promise me." He says it again: "Promise me." He drags his teeth against her skin, squeezing a bite - as if to mark her all the same.
But it's really a half-plea, half-order, and she isn't really sure what to do with it. She would give him the world, she thinks. If she could. If she had that kind of power. She wouldn't even think about it.
"Whatever you need," she breathes.
She likes it best when he says her name, his hands over her breasts, his palms settled against her skin as she falls apart. It's easy to give like this.
She isn't sure which one of them hears the door open first. But Mamoru still lets her dress before him, pressing his mouth against her shoulder as she reaches for him too. Her fingers drift over his open shirt, then his trousers, tugging them closed as she leans up to kiss him.
"We should go in there," she says quietly.
He smiles against her mouth. "In a minute," he tells her. They listen to another door shut. His fingers are in her hair again. "I'm sorry," he says.
"Mamo-chan."
"I am," he says. He nuzzles her cheek. "I know - sometimes, I suppose I get to be a certain way. I want you to know that I'm trying. To get better at this part." He flushes and she bites the inside of her cheek, trying not to laugh out loud with delight. "Forgive me?" he asks.
"There's nothing to forgive," she admonishes.
He looks at her strangely and she shrugs, lacing her fingers through his hand. She cups it and brings it to her chest. Her mouth brushes against his knuckles. By all accounts, she thinks, they should go. Their daughter, she reminds herself. There is nothing grown-up about the feeling; she understands that the two of them share that, that they love her all the same, but knowing is such a heavy and frightening part of it all.
It's how she steps back, tugging him with her. Their fingers are still laced and she pulls his arm around her shoulder. He kisses her cheek again.
"You're too good to me," he says softly.
"You're still silly," she says.
It's easy to walk into the room together. Usagi cannot look away when their daughter sees them; her recognition is always strangely comforting.