vocaloid; house calls
TITLE: House Calls
CHARACTERS: Meiko/Megurine Luka
RATING: NC-17
WORD COUNT: 5,400
SUMMARY: The logical part of Meiko's coding tells her to offer Luka something more suited to wear on her feet. The illogical, louder part makes her reach out and take hold of her wrist, as if that's a fully established plan in and of itself.
NOTES: Standalone fic that I'm not going to pretend is anything more than PWP. Inspired by the art in this.
*
Meiko hasn't lived in her new apartment for long. It's been a matter of months, maybe, but there's no use in putting an exact date on it. However long it's been, it feels infinitely shorter to her. In truth, she still isn't used to it; still isn't used to being the only one under a roof, the only one at the breakfast table of a morning. But, as Crypton went to such lengths to remind them, no matter how many duets they record together, when it comes down to it, Vocaloids are rivals. They might work for the same company, but they can't rely on the success of other models to carry them along.
All in all, Meiko doesn't mind it. Before Kaito came along, she'd lived for over a year alone in their old mansion, but with the arrival of Miku and the twins, Meiko had simply forgotten what it was like to have an air of silence all to herself. When the time came to pack up her things and move out (and the mansion was going to be converted into Crypton's new headquarters, they were told, so it wasn't like they'd never visit it again) Meiko could've afforded to buy an entire apartment complex. Instead, she'd picked out a small, modest apartment in a quiet part of town. The sort of place that had a strong sense of community coursing through its veins, made up of people too humble to truly become starstruck.
She likes it. It's calm and collected, unlike the rest of the places she visits; the cities she tours in, and the studios she records in. It's truly her own, and she doesn't have to worry about inconsequential things like Kaito short circuiting himself when rummaging through a freezer with an ice cream leak, or Rin and Len arguing over who gets the last of that one cereal with far too many additives in it.
It's late when the doorbell rings, but Meiko is still composed enough to not even consider checking her reflection in the wall-length mirror as she heads to the front door. She's got black pants on and a simple white, buttoned-up shirt, and the beer on her coffee table has remained untouched, because she's spent the last however long considering pulling herself off the sofa and changing into her pyjamas. She's certainly not expecting any visitors, but she doesn't begrudge the interruption. Nor does she check any one of the twelve cameras she's got rigged up around her apartment, instead opting to see who's there with her own two eyes, rather than through the apartment's security mainframe.
When she opens the door, Meiko forgets whatever quip had been running through her head about it being late and cold, and suddenly wishes that she had glanced in the mirror on her way across the apartment. There's Luka, stood before her, and though Meiko's expression doesn't slip out of neutral, she subconsciously lifts a hand, brushing loose strands of hair into place.
“Luka,” Meiko says, and it isn't much of a greeting at all. “-it's late.”
Luka just shakes her head as if to say that she knows and to apologise all at once, and then takes a step forward. The light from Meiko's apartment pools out onto the pavement, settling as a soft glow over Luka's face. Her cheeks are tinged red by the bitter cold, and there's snow dusted in her hair, across her shoulders. Meiko takes note of the dress she wears, of the way the fabric falls in loose, heavy folds around her, and doesn't think it does much to keep the cold out. Her legs must be freezing, Meiko decides with a quick glance down, even if her boots do reach her knees.
She looks far too nice for this to be an I was just in the neighbourhood sort of visit. It's around then that Meiko realises she's still gripping the doorhandle tightly. Defensively, almost.
“Are you... ?” Luka asks softly, trailing off in a vague sort of way that doesn't leave much up to the imagination. Busy, Meiko expects, and then her mind drifts off to the unopened beer on the table, and the recently delivered pizza it's stood next to.
It seems like an altogether weak reason to say yes, but Meiko has long since been under the impression that there was an unspoken rule between them. They don't make house calls-or at least they didn't, until today. Naturally, Meiko's not felt as if there's a reason to keep her address a secret from Luka, and it's fine when they see each other at one of the others' houses. It's Miku's, usually, because she has the indoor pool and games rooms and far more space than one Vocaloid really requires, and it works for her. Meiko just likes having a place small enough that she doesn't feel lonely in.
They see each other outside of work, outside of the recording studio. They go to movie premières and restaurants together (always as part of a group bigger than three), but there are bars they visit too, sometimes, and it's easier that way. It works.
“I don't know, Luka,” Meiko says after an uncomfortably long silence. She exhales, letting her cold breath linger in the air, and then folds her arms across her chest, leaning against the open door. “You should've called. I would've come out and met you somewhere. You know that.”
Luka's reaction almost doesn't betray her, but then her expression shifts slightly. Her lips twitch and nearly form a frown, and now that Meiko thinks about it, it's been far longer than usual since she's last seen Luka. All of them used to tour together in the past, but recently, Miku's got centre stage and only ever needs the twins and Luka to support her. Meiko wonders if Luka feels guilty about that, and doesn't take more than a second to come to the conclusion that yes, of course she does.
“I see,” Luka says, polite as ever. “I'll leave you to enjoy your evening, in that case. I apologise for wasting your time.”
There's no scorn in what Luka says, but before Meiko gets the chance to reply, she's turned and began heading away from the front door. Meiko immediately hears the sharp clip-clip-clip of her pencil-thin heels piercing the frozen ground, and then frowns. It's not the sort of thing that anyone should be wearing in this weather.
The logical part of Meiko's coding tells her to offer Luka something more suited to wear on her feet. The illogical, louder part makes her reach out and take hold of her wrist, as if that's a fully established plan in and of itself.
“I-I'm sorry?” Luka asks, rightly confused, eyes darting between Meiko's hand and her face.
“You can come in,” Meiko says with a measure of reluctance in her voice, and then reconsiders her words when Luka still seems to be drifting towards escape. “I'd like you to come in, Luka.”
It's not a lie by any stretch of the imagination, but Meiko doesn't know if that comforts her or makes her twice as tense as she previously was. Luka regards her with suspicion, like there might be a trick behind it, and in that moment Meiko realises that Luka never expected to be let in. She wonders, then, why she came, and if there's something troubling her. The thought passes after half a second, and she then devotes her time to wondering how Luka would react if she pinned her against the wall and kissed her without restraint the moment they were both inside.
Luka very quickly and very sharply pulls her hand away. Not out of any discomfort, but because she seems embarrassed by the fact that she opted to walk away from Meiko so very easily.
“Only if you're sure,” Luka says, and her voice is more of a murmur than anything else. “I wouldn't like to trouble you.”
“You've already been enough of a pain, making me come to the door and then trying to leave after a few seconds. I don't know what to make of this sort of suspicious behaviour.”
Before Luka gets the chance to turn away for a second time, Meiko takes a careful step back, so that she's once again inside her apartment, and then bows her head ever so slightly. That's enough for Luka. She bows back in kind, and then takes a step into the apartment, not seeming to mind the fact that Meiko doesn't even consider stepping to the side when she has to squeeze past her to pass the threshold.
And although Meiko knows that Luka hates to seem out of place or improper in any way, she knows that she can't help but glance around, either. Her curiosity must be getting the better of her, because she makes no effort to say anything more to Meiko for a moment, mind drifting off elsewhere. As they make their way from the hallway to the living room, Meiko pretends that the mess her apartment is in doesn't bother her, now that Luka's there, and just kicks any and all unwashed clothing to the side, as if her foot's just so happened to come into contact with the offending fabric.
She doesn't mention why her bed is in the living room, either, doesn't bother to explain the fact that she's converted the only bedroom into a little musical haven on her own.
“It's nice,” Luka says after a moment, stood in the centre of the room, and though the admiration in her voice is quiet, it's genuine, too. It's funny - all it takes from Luka are a few words to make Meiko wonder why she hasn't invited her back there before. It all seems so simple, when it's just the two of them, and they don't have their careers and reputations to worry about. When Meiko can actually stand to let her guard down.
“Thanks,” Meiko mumbles, but honestly does mean it. Back to Luka, she picks up the pizza from the table, and overrides the part of her coding telling her that she's hungry. Heading over to the kitchen with it, Meiko talks with her back to Luka. “It's not much, but make yourself comfortable.”
Returning to the living room, Meiko spots the beer she'd managed to forget about, and picks it up, along with a scrap piece of paper. There's nothing of interest written on it - a short grocery lists and a few scribbled bars of music - but Meiko reads it intently nonetheless. She isn't certain why. Maybe she wants Luka to think that she was doing something important before she arrived, that she wasn't just lounging around in her empty apartment.
The soft sound of fabric crumpling catches her attention, and when Meiko turns to look at Luka, there she is, sat on the edge of the bed. She spends a very brief moment wondering why she hasn't just taken a seat on the sofa, but then remembers that it's currently covered by all manner of open magazines and empty bottles. Luka can be bold when she wants to, Meiko will give her that, but the motion only ever seems to last for a split second or two. Right now, Meiko expects that it's taking every ounce of self-control Luka possesses not to jump to her feet and apologise profusely for taking the liberty of sitting on her bed.
“Listen,” Luka begins, voice quiet in a way that doesn't suggest weakness, “I came all the way here to see you, so maybe you could - put down whatever you're reading and talk to me. That is, if you wouldn't mind.”
Meiko glances back at the document in her hand, having apparently already forgotten that she was holding something, and promptly allows it to fall to the ground with a slight swaying motion. The beer can clips against the edge of the table and almost falls to the floor, but then Meiko blindly moves her hand back, managing to get it to settle. She walks over to Luka, bare feet suddenly cold against the hardwood flooring, and doesn't stop until she's standing in front of her, towering above her.
Luka smiles, coyly, at first, and only at the floor; with Meiko so close, it soon fades away, and, hands pressed flat against the duvet, supporting her as she leans back to properly look up at her, it melts into something warmer. Something that she doesn't let anyone else see. Meiko's first two fingers rest below the line of her jaw, tilting her head back a little more, enjoying the way that Luka seems to beam up at her with pride.
“It wasn't that interesting, anyway,” Meiko eventually says, barely remembering what she's talking about.
“Good,” Luka says, and then takes hold of Meiko's hand in her own. All of the awkwardness she held onto like a security blanket at the door dissipates in favour of appreciating Meiko's closeness, and she presses her nose and lips to the back of her hand, warm breath, coming out soft where she's smiling still, brushing against her skin. Meiko can't help but inhale sharply when Luka's lips graze across her knuckles, hardly causing enough friction for it to be felt.
“God, I've missed you,” Meiko says quietly, but doesn't feel any less confident having admitted it.
And she means it in an honest, raw sort of way that even she didn't realise. Meiko barely even remembers the last time she kissed Luka, the last time the two of them were alone. Back in the mansion, she thinks, when they could steal a moment or two alone in front of the television, or sneak into each other's rooms in the dead of night, without too many suspicions being raised.
Meiko allows herself to fall against the bed, knees resting either side of Luka's hips, and then Luka sinks back against the mattress, like she herself has guided Meiko down. Her cheeks are stained pink by a blush now, not by the weather, and even this close up, with their noses almost touching, Meiko can see the way the last of the snow has melted in Luka's hair.
“You've never said anything like that before,” Luka says, and her voice betrays absolutely everything she's feeling.
“Neither have you,” comes Meiko's reply, and before Luka can retort, she pushes their lips together. Luka gasps softly, wraps one arm around her back, and then the other, slowly, like Meiko might try wrangling free if she moves to hold her too quickly. Meiko, of course, has no intention whatsoever of moving, and feels herself drawn in by the quickly deepening kiss.
It's easy. Meiko almost resents just how easy it is. Almost resents the way she can become so tangled up in Luka, in her voice and her touch and the warmth she brings into a room despite knowing better, despite knowing that they're just supposed to be friends, to be family, and nothing beyond that. Nothing that works this well, and makes every single last insecurity she can ever remember feeling filter out of her thoughts, replaced by an overwhelming sense of knowing there and then just how right it all feels.
When Meiko's tongue pushes past Luka's lips, she lets out a wonderful whimpering noise into her mouth, but then places her fingertips against Meiko's chin. She doesn't so much push her away as she does gently ease their lips apart, and Meiko leans back a little, as if looking down at Luka will help her garner something from her expression.
“That's not true,” Luka eventually begins, fingers soon finding the time to trace the shape of her lips. Meiko gets caught up in the contact, and spends a worrying amount of time trying to work out what isn't true. Her fingers are just so distracting, and it's taking every semblance of restraint she has not to lick and bite at them. “In a sense. I do say kind things to you, you realise. That you're beautiful, and that I like being around you.”
Meiko's silent - stunned, almost - and Luka looks uncomfortable enough to take back what she's just said. Eventually, though, Meiko's face does break into a smile, and she leans back down, hands bundling in the fabric of Luka's dress where it's inadvertently hitched itself up around her hips. Meiko remembers Luka saying those things before, in the dead of the night after they'd both had one too many drinks, or after a show, up against the wall of one of their dressing room, door locked, both of them eager and energised because of the excitement of being on stage, because of the adrenaline it brought.
She takes control of the kiss once more, and though the dress is shaped to fit Luka's frame, it moves up and off with such ease that Meiko's certain Luka put a lot of thought into what she was wearing, and all possible outcomes of the evening. Meiko grins, enjoying the sight of Luka's hair tumbling down over her bare shoulders far more than she did the blacks and reds of the dress, and admires her for being so well prepared.
Luka's boots pose something more of a challenge, if only because Meiko doesn't immediately notice the zips running up the sides, and she then spends more time taking off her bra than she does admiring it. (And her underwear matches too, Meiko notices as she leans back, taking in the whole of Luka. She knew exactly what she was getting herself into.) Luka seems to twist more against the bedsheets under Meiko's gaze than she did under her hands, but Meiko doesn't falter, doesn't look away. Her arms loop tightly around her waist so that she can pull Luka close, and she then rocks back onto her knees. Luka has no choice but to be swept up by the motion, and then there she is, moved up onto her own knees, straddling Meiko's hips.
Meiko doesn't move. Not straight away. She watches the way that Luka moves against her, the way her fingers cling desperately to the sleeves of her shirt even though she's barely even done anything yet, the way that she brushes her skin against the fabric of Meiko's clothing, gasping each and every time the contrast caused by the friction runs through her system. Meiko wishes that it was her own bare skin grazing against Luka's, that Luka's nails were digging into her shoulders rather than her shirt, but there's something so perfect about the way that she's positioned, in the way that she seems to shiver and moan more now that Meiko's not doing anything to her, that makes it impossible for her to move.
Luka doesn't look her in the eye. She doesn't look away from her, either, and her gaze, blue eyes hazy where it seems as if she's had them screwed shut against the light for too long, comes to rest around Meiko's mouth. The corners of her lips quirk into a grin, and if that isn't enough to make Luka look away, then the way that Meiko runs the tip of her tongue over her own lower lip does.
She's nothing short of pleased when Luka's eyes flicker up to meet her own, and the moment eye contact's made, Luka inhales sharply, only to have the words caught on the tip of her tongue come out as a needy little pleading note. Meiko doesn't hold herself back. She doesn't make Luka beg, but she does take her time, one hand moving down her spine, fingertips treading a path, until she reaches the small of her back. Luka instinctively arches further against her, hips lifting in a clean, sharp motion. As if to ensure that there's a balance, Meiko lifts her other hand, and places it palm-down against one of her breasts.
The sound that escapes Luka's throat is nothing short of perfect, and Meiko revels in it, for once not having to remind her to be quiet. Luka's forehead comes to rest against Meiko's shoulder, as if she can no longer properly support herself, and it's such an overstated reaction for such a simple act that Meiko can't help but buckle and give Luka exactly what she wants. She massages her breast gently in her hand, palm working in circles against her nipple.
“Meiko-” Luka whines, clinging to her tighter still, and it's more of a prelude to something than a thoughtless moan. Meiko hums as if to give her the go ahead to speak, and Luka's voice comes out crumpled, like each syllable is a word in itself, and Meiko knows that she can't be blamed for that much, just yet. “I really - ah. Really like you, Meiko.”
Luka jerks in her lap when Meiko moves her palm faster against her, only doing so because she's surprised to hear her admit such a thing out-loud. Meiko had always suspected it, of course, had always known that there was more to it than either of them would admit, but hearing Luka actually say the words makes her feel as if there are sparks running through her own system.
“Yeah?” Meiko asks casually after a moment, taking Luka's nipple between her first two fingers and thumb, “Me too.”
Meiko has no doubt that Luka's surprised to hear that, but any reaction she conjures up is lost when she starts to play with her nipple, rubbing and twisting at it. Luka grinds her hips against her in a huffy show of impatience, wanting more than she's getting precisely because she isn't getting it. When she moans her name this time, Meiko's certain that it's simply something that can't be helped, and lowers her lips to her shoulder. She nuzzles her nose in Luka's ever tangling hair, brushing it to the side so that she can lick the curve of her neck in that one place that she knows makes Luka twist and writhe without fail every single time.
“... should've said so before,” Luka murmurs, voice on the verge of shaking, sentences no longer coming out whole. “Made me worry.”
And for once, Meiko doesn't mind talking about this sort of thing. About relationships, or a lack thereof. Luka might have the upper-hand when it comes to talking about feelings, and all those things that make Meiko feel infinitely uncomfortable, but right now, Meiko knows that she has absolute control over the situation. She works her fingers harder, and Luka jerks her hips for the umpteenth time - only now, she grinds them down at a certain angle, intent clear.
“Sorry,” Meiko says, and leaves it at that. There's a big part of her that's grateful for the distraction of talking in that very moment, because it's the only thing keeping her from pushing Luka flat on her back, pinning her hands at her sides, and sucking mercilessly on her nipples. Despite the urge to do just that, Meiko likes having Luka where she is, likes the way that she clings to her desperately, as if she's the only thing keeping her upright.
She feels Luka nod against her shoulder, as if it's the only way she currently knows to accept an apology, and Meiko decides that Luka's been good and patient for long enough. The hand plastered against the small of her back wanders down, nails raking across the waistband of her underwear, and then, with a disappointed groan from Luka, she moves her hand from her breast. Her palm smooths over the contours of Luka's stomach as the muscles pull taunt, and then, in a rather deliberate, precise action, she hooks her fingers around the side of her underwear, and slides her other hand down the front.
The position isn't quite as comfortable as Meiko had hoped it would be when she pulled Luka into it, and her knees are starting to become sore, back aching where she's supporting the bulk of Luka's weight. Still, the strangled way that Luka moans out her name as she grinds herself with far too much ease against her fingers is enough to strengthen Meiko's resolve to keep her just like that. With the way that things are going, it'll only be a matter of minutes.
Meiko doesn't move her fingers, and instead appreciates the fruits of her newly discovered self-control. She watches and feels and listens as Luka works herself past the point of desperation against her fingers, trying to hit that one spot, despite knowing that Meiko's fingers are angled a degree or two too far away. There's something about the way that Luka moves, about the way that she's only doing so because it's her touching her, that makes Meiko brim with confidence, that convinces her to take her time, despite each and every hard-and-fast scenario that ricochets around the inside of her mind.
“Hey, Luka. Do you want to go out with me?” Meiko asks in a low, playful voice, surprised that she can even get the words out. The way Luka moves against her makes her throat tight and her mouth dry. Luka manages to look up at her for a moment, eyes wide where she's so far from being her usually cool, composed self, and parts her lips to say ahhn?, which Meiko assumes to be her way of asking if she really means it. And she does, really; this isn't her way of playing games with Luka. “We'd have to keep it a secret, of course.”
“Yes-” Luka eventually manages, and then a “Please,” although Meiko isn't a hundred percent certain what she's asking for with that last part.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Meiko pushes a finger inside of her, and then Luka's whole body seems to freeze, like the sensation is too much for her. She's made her wait for too long, Meiko knows, has made herself wait for too long; and so without further prompting, Meiko slides a second finger up inside her, and that finally sets Luka off. Luka's hold on her looses, if only because she wants to, needs to, move more, and after a few moments of grinding her hips up and down during which Meiko does absolutely none of the work, Luka falls back against the bed.
It certainly solves the problem of Meiko's aching back, and she leans forward, perfectly capable of ignoring the sudden jolt of pain when Luka is spread out like that before her, back arched, skin flushed and damp with sweat. She lets Luka set the rhythm with her desperate little begging noises, and she works her fingers inside of her fast, flexing once they're as deep inside her as they'll go, as if to make up for the slow, measured pace of everything that's come before it.
Luka reaches up, attempting to pull Meiko closer, but only succeeds in grabbing the collar of her shirt and pulling so hard that the top two buttons pop off. Flat on her back with Meiko's fingers working inside her and thumb making rough, jerky circles against her, Luka doesn't have the decency to feel embarrassed for damaging Meiko's shirt in such a way. And Meiko can't complain, not really, when Luka's hands are now free to slide under the collar of her shirt and grip her shoulders tightly, nails digging in more and more with the closer she gets.
It doesn't take long. Meiko knew it wouldn't, and she doesn't mind, because they have the whole of the night before them. Luka moans out Meiko's name over and over, like it's the only word left that she knows, and she continues to buck her hips against her hand, even after she's tightened around Meiko's fingers, and is fighting with all her strength to ride it out. With a barely there laugh, Meiko pulls her fingers out of Luka when she eventually shows signs of stilling, and slowly works her underwear off as she pants and gasps and tries to catch her breath.
She looks much better like that, with nothing on at all, Meiko decides, arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. Luka rolls on top of her, face buried in the curve of her neck, and then lets out a sentence made up entirely of words that make no sense.
With a groan, Luka tries again.
“What you said, Meiko,” she begins, hesitant for reasons beyond exhaustion, “Did you really mean it?”
“Sure,” Meiko says, distracting herself by running her fingers through Luka's hair, in a futile attempt to smooth it out.
“You weren't just trying to-?”
“To get you off?” Meiko asks with a grin, deciding to guess at the end of Luka's sentence for her. “I don't think I need any help with that.”
“Meiko!” Luka exclaims and she leans back to look at her, expression somewhere between scandalised and amused, and it's nice to see her like that, Meiko realises. Nice to see that she's comfortable enough to laugh at her, and then playfully thwack her shoulder.
A few seconds pass, and Luka adds, “I'm sorry about your shirt,” though her eyes have come to rest against Meiko's chest, where the fabric's been forced to spill open. Luka's teeth worry down against her lower lip, and Meiko feels her breath grow shallow at the sight alone. It's to be expected that she'd be set off so easily, considering what she's just done to Luka, and it's not her fault that she can't help but arch her back as Luka's fingertips ghost over the buttons of her shirt that are still remaining.
“It's alright. I don't even like it that much,” Meiko murmurs, and then, when Luka gets her shirt open and presses her lips to her stomach, adds through a groan, “I forgive you.”
Still, Meiko comes to learn that Luka is very adamant about apologising. Dawn comes and goes without either of them registering how late it is (or, indeed, caring) and they make three failed attempts at sleeping before anything truly comes of it. Meiko eventually does drift off, with Luka nestled against her, and in her half-dreaming state, the last thing she is coherent enough to wonder is why she ever put up such a show of hostility around Luka in the past.
She was, of course, trying to protect more than her career, but all that now seems ridiculous. In the afterglow, at any rate, and Meiko shuts down with a satisfied hum, allowing just enough consciousness to run through her system to be aware of the fact that Luka's curled up against her.
(And when Luka wakes up the next morning, Meiko isn't by her side. It takes her a moment to realise that she should be, and the initial wave of disappointment and worry that washes through her fades into nothing when she notices the note left by the pillow. She picks it up, moving into a sitting position with a groan where all of her joints are far too sore and seem to protest her every movement, and then spends a good few seconds trying to focus her vision.
Crypton couldn't open the file I sent them, so I've got to run over there and upload it directly. I'll bring back some tuna sushi, the note says, and even though it's so simple, Luka feels that familiar blush return to her cheeks.
“Jeez, Meiko,” Luka mutters, not liking how embarrassed she is, and then falls back down against the mattress, covers pulled up and over her head. Just the fact that Meiko bothered to leave a note says a lot, and maybe, just maybe, what happened last night wasn't just about the sex.)
CHARACTERS: Meiko/Megurine Luka
RATING: NC-17
WORD COUNT: 5,400
SUMMARY: The logical part of Meiko's coding tells her to offer Luka something more suited to wear on her feet. The illogical, louder part makes her reach out and take hold of her wrist, as if that's a fully established plan in and of itself.
NOTES: Standalone fic that I'm not going to pretend is anything more than PWP. Inspired by the art in this.
*
Meiko hasn't lived in her new apartment for long. It's been a matter of months, maybe, but there's no use in putting an exact date on it. However long it's been, it feels infinitely shorter to her. In truth, she still isn't used to it; still isn't used to being the only one under a roof, the only one at the breakfast table of a morning. But, as Crypton went to such lengths to remind them, no matter how many duets they record together, when it comes down to it, Vocaloids are rivals. They might work for the same company, but they can't rely on the success of other models to carry them along.
All in all, Meiko doesn't mind it. Before Kaito came along, she'd lived for over a year alone in their old mansion, but with the arrival of Miku and the twins, Meiko had simply forgotten what it was like to have an air of silence all to herself. When the time came to pack up her things and move out (and the mansion was going to be converted into Crypton's new headquarters, they were told, so it wasn't like they'd never visit it again) Meiko could've afforded to buy an entire apartment complex. Instead, she'd picked out a small, modest apartment in a quiet part of town. The sort of place that had a strong sense of community coursing through its veins, made up of people too humble to truly become starstruck.
She likes it. It's calm and collected, unlike the rest of the places she visits; the cities she tours in, and the studios she records in. It's truly her own, and she doesn't have to worry about inconsequential things like Kaito short circuiting himself when rummaging through a freezer with an ice cream leak, or Rin and Len arguing over who gets the last of that one cereal with far too many additives in it.
It's late when the doorbell rings, but Meiko is still composed enough to not even consider checking her reflection in the wall-length mirror as she heads to the front door. She's got black pants on and a simple white, buttoned-up shirt, and the beer on her coffee table has remained untouched, because she's spent the last however long considering pulling herself off the sofa and changing into her pyjamas. She's certainly not expecting any visitors, but she doesn't begrudge the interruption. Nor does she check any one of the twelve cameras she's got rigged up around her apartment, instead opting to see who's there with her own two eyes, rather than through the apartment's security mainframe.
When she opens the door, Meiko forgets whatever quip had been running through her head about it being late and cold, and suddenly wishes that she had glanced in the mirror on her way across the apartment. There's Luka, stood before her, and though Meiko's expression doesn't slip out of neutral, she subconsciously lifts a hand, brushing loose strands of hair into place.
“Luka,” Meiko says, and it isn't much of a greeting at all. “-it's late.”
Luka just shakes her head as if to say that she knows and to apologise all at once, and then takes a step forward. The light from Meiko's apartment pools out onto the pavement, settling as a soft glow over Luka's face. Her cheeks are tinged red by the bitter cold, and there's snow dusted in her hair, across her shoulders. Meiko takes note of the dress she wears, of the way the fabric falls in loose, heavy folds around her, and doesn't think it does much to keep the cold out. Her legs must be freezing, Meiko decides with a quick glance down, even if her boots do reach her knees.
She looks far too nice for this to be an I was just in the neighbourhood sort of visit. It's around then that Meiko realises she's still gripping the doorhandle tightly. Defensively, almost.
“Are you... ?” Luka asks softly, trailing off in a vague sort of way that doesn't leave much up to the imagination. Busy, Meiko expects, and then her mind drifts off to the unopened beer on the table, and the recently delivered pizza it's stood next to.
It seems like an altogether weak reason to say yes, but Meiko has long since been under the impression that there was an unspoken rule between them. They don't make house calls-or at least they didn't, until today. Naturally, Meiko's not felt as if there's a reason to keep her address a secret from Luka, and it's fine when they see each other at one of the others' houses. It's Miku's, usually, because she has the indoor pool and games rooms and far more space than one Vocaloid really requires, and it works for her. Meiko just likes having a place small enough that she doesn't feel lonely in.
They see each other outside of work, outside of the recording studio. They go to movie premières and restaurants together (always as part of a group bigger than three), but there are bars they visit too, sometimes, and it's easier that way. It works.
“I don't know, Luka,” Meiko says after an uncomfortably long silence. She exhales, letting her cold breath linger in the air, and then folds her arms across her chest, leaning against the open door. “You should've called. I would've come out and met you somewhere. You know that.”
Luka's reaction almost doesn't betray her, but then her expression shifts slightly. Her lips twitch and nearly form a frown, and now that Meiko thinks about it, it's been far longer than usual since she's last seen Luka. All of them used to tour together in the past, but recently, Miku's got centre stage and only ever needs the twins and Luka to support her. Meiko wonders if Luka feels guilty about that, and doesn't take more than a second to come to the conclusion that yes, of course she does.
“I see,” Luka says, polite as ever. “I'll leave you to enjoy your evening, in that case. I apologise for wasting your time.”
There's no scorn in what Luka says, but before Meiko gets the chance to reply, she's turned and began heading away from the front door. Meiko immediately hears the sharp clip-clip-clip of her pencil-thin heels piercing the frozen ground, and then frowns. It's not the sort of thing that anyone should be wearing in this weather.
The logical part of Meiko's coding tells her to offer Luka something more suited to wear on her feet. The illogical, louder part makes her reach out and take hold of her wrist, as if that's a fully established plan in and of itself.
“I-I'm sorry?” Luka asks, rightly confused, eyes darting between Meiko's hand and her face.
“You can come in,” Meiko says with a measure of reluctance in her voice, and then reconsiders her words when Luka still seems to be drifting towards escape. “I'd like you to come in, Luka.”
It's not a lie by any stretch of the imagination, but Meiko doesn't know if that comforts her or makes her twice as tense as she previously was. Luka regards her with suspicion, like there might be a trick behind it, and in that moment Meiko realises that Luka never expected to be let in. She wonders, then, why she came, and if there's something troubling her. The thought passes after half a second, and she then devotes her time to wondering how Luka would react if she pinned her against the wall and kissed her without restraint the moment they were both inside.
Luka very quickly and very sharply pulls her hand away. Not out of any discomfort, but because she seems embarrassed by the fact that she opted to walk away from Meiko so very easily.
“Only if you're sure,” Luka says, and her voice is more of a murmur than anything else. “I wouldn't like to trouble you.”
“You've already been enough of a pain, making me come to the door and then trying to leave after a few seconds. I don't know what to make of this sort of suspicious behaviour.”
Before Luka gets the chance to turn away for a second time, Meiko takes a careful step back, so that she's once again inside her apartment, and then bows her head ever so slightly. That's enough for Luka. She bows back in kind, and then takes a step into the apartment, not seeming to mind the fact that Meiko doesn't even consider stepping to the side when she has to squeeze past her to pass the threshold.
And although Meiko knows that Luka hates to seem out of place or improper in any way, she knows that she can't help but glance around, either. Her curiosity must be getting the better of her, because she makes no effort to say anything more to Meiko for a moment, mind drifting off elsewhere. As they make their way from the hallway to the living room, Meiko pretends that the mess her apartment is in doesn't bother her, now that Luka's there, and just kicks any and all unwashed clothing to the side, as if her foot's just so happened to come into contact with the offending fabric.
She doesn't mention why her bed is in the living room, either, doesn't bother to explain the fact that she's converted the only bedroom into a little musical haven on her own.
“It's nice,” Luka says after a moment, stood in the centre of the room, and though the admiration in her voice is quiet, it's genuine, too. It's funny - all it takes from Luka are a few words to make Meiko wonder why she hasn't invited her back there before. It all seems so simple, when it's just the two of them, and they don't have their careers and reputations to worry about. When Meiko can actually stand to let her guard down.
“Thanks,” Meiko mumbles, but honestly does mean it. Back to Luka, she picks up the pizza from the table, and overrides the part of her coding telling her that she's hungry. Heading over to the kitchen with it, Meiko talks with her back to Luka. “It's not much, but make yourself comfortable.”
Returning to the living room, Meiko spots the beer she'd managed to forget about, and picks it up, along with a scrap piece of paper. There's nothing of interest written on it - a short grocery lists and a few scribbled bars of music - but Meiko reads it intently nonetheless. She isn't certain why. Maybe she wants Luka to think that she was doing something important before she arrived, that she wasn't just lounging around in her empty apartment.
The soft sound of fabric crumpling catches her attention, and when Meiko turns to look at Luka, there she is, sat on the edge of the bed. She spends a very brief moment wondering why she hasn't just taken a seat on the sofa, but then remembers that it's currently covered by all manner of open magazines and empty bottles. Luka can be bold when she wants to, Meiko will give her that, but the motion only ever seems to last for a split second or two. Right now, Meiko expects that it's taking every ounce of self-control Luka possesses not to jump to her feet and apologise profusely for taking the liberty of sitting on her bed.
“Listen,” Luka begins, voice quiet in a way that doesn't suggest weakness, “I came all the way here to see you, so maybe you could - put down whatever you're reading and talk to me. That is, if you wouldn't mind.”
Meiko glances back at the document in her hand, having apparently already forgotten that she was holding something, and promptly allows it to fall to the ground with a slight swaying motion. The beer can clips against the edge of the table and almost falls to the floor, but then Meiko blindly moves her hand back, managing to get it to settle. She walks over to Luka, bare feet suddenly cold against the hardwood flooring, and doesn't stop until she's standing in front of her, towering above her.
Luka smiles, coyly, at first, and only at the floor; with Meiko so close, it soon fades away, and, hands pressed flat against the duvet, supporting her as she leans back to properly look up at her, it melts into something warmer. Something that she doesn't let anyone else see. Meiko's first two fingers rest below the line of her jaw, tilting her head back a little more, enjoying the way that Luka seems to beam up at her with pride.
“It wasn't that interesting, anyway,” Meiko eventually says, barely remembering what she's talking about.
“Good,” Luka says, and then takes hold of Meiko's hand in her own. All of the awkwardness she held onto like a security blanket at the door dissipates in favour of appreciating Meiko's closeness, and she presses her nose and lips to the back of her hand, warm breath, coming out soft where she's smiling still, brushing against her skin. Meiko can't help but inhale sharply when Luka's lips graze across her knuckles, hardly causing enough friction for it to be felt.
“God, I've missed you,” Meiko says quietly, but doesn't feel any less confident having admitted it.
And she means it in an honest, raw sort of way that even she didn't realise. Meiko barely even remembers the last time she kissed Luka, the last time the two of them were alone. Back in the mansion, she thinks, when they could steal a moment or two alone in front of the television, or sneak into each other's rooms in the dead of night, without too many suspicions being raised.
Meiko allows herself to fall against the bed, knees resting either side of Luka's hips, and then Luka sinks back against the mattress, like she herself has guided Meiko down. Her cheeks are stained pink by a blush now, not by the weather, and even this close up, with their noses almost touching, Meiko can see the way the last of the snow has melted in Luka's hair.
“You've never said anything like that before,” Luka says, and her voice betrays absolutely everything she's feeling.
“Neither have you,” comes Meiko's reply, and before Luka can retort, she pushes their lips together. Luka gasps softly, wraps one arm around her back, and then the other, slowly, like Meiko might try wrangling free if she moves to hold her too quickly. Meiko, of course, has no intention whatsoever of moving, and feels herself drawn in by the quickly deepening kiss.
It's easy. Meiko almost resents just how easy it is. Almost resents the way she can become so tangled up in Luka, in her voice and her touch and the warmth she brings into a room despite knowing better, despite knowing that they're just supposed to be friends, to be family, and nothing beyond that. Nothing that works this well, and makes every single last insecurity she can ever remember feeling filter out of her thoughts, replaced by an overwhelming sense of knowing there and then just how right it all feels.
When Meiko's tongue pushes past Luka's lips, she lets out a wonderful whimpering noise into her mouth, but then places her fingertips against Meiko's chin. She doesn't so much push her away as she does gently ease their lips apart, and Meiko leans back a little, as if looking down at Luka will help her garner something from her expression.
“That's not true,” Luka eventually begins, fingers soon finding the time to trace the shape of her lips. Meiko gets caught up in the contact, and spends a worrying amount of time trying to work out what isn't true. Her fingers are just so distracting, and it's taking every semblance of restraint she has not to lick and bite at them. “In a sense. I do say kind things to you, you realise. That you're beautiful, and that I like being around you.”
Meiko's silent - stunned, almost - and Luka looks uncomfortable enough to take back what she's just said. Eventually, though, Meiko's face does break into a smile, and she leans back down, hands bundling in the fabric of Luka's dress where it's inadvertently hitched itself up around her hips. Meiko remembers Luka saying those things before, in the dead of the night after they'd both had one too many drinks, or after a show, up against the wall of one of their dressing room, door locked, both of them eager and energised because of the excitement of being on stage, because of the adrenaline it brought.
She takes control of the kiss once more, and though the dress is shaped to fit Luka's frame, it moves up and off with such ease that Meiko's certain Luka put a lot of thought into what she was wearing, and all possible outcomes of the evening. Meiko grins, enjoying the sight of Luka's hair tumbling down over her bare shoulders far more than she did the blacks and reds of the dress, and admires her for being so well prepared.
Luka's boots pose something more of a challenge, if only because Meiko doesn't immediately notice the zips running up the sides, and she then spends more time taking off her bra than she does admiring it. (And her underwear matches too, Meiko notices as she leans back, taking in the whole of Luka. She knew exactly what she was getting herself into.) Luka seems to twist more against the bedsheets under Meiko's gaze than she did under her hands, but Meiko doesn't falter, doesn't look away. Her arms loop tightly around her waist so that she can pull Luka close, and she then rocks back onto her knees. Luka has no choice but to be swept up by the motion, and then there she is, moved up onto her own knees, straddling Meiko's hips.
Meiko doesn't move. Not straight away. She watches the way that Luka moves against her, the way her fingers cling desperately to the sleeves of her shirt even though she's barely even done anything yet, the way that she brushes her skin against the fabric of Meiko's clothing, gasping each and every time the contrast caused by the friction runs through her system. Meiko wishes that it was her own bare skin grazing against Luka's, that Luka's nails were digging into her shoulders rather than her shirt, but there's something so perfect about the way that she's positioned, in the way that she seems to shiver and moan more now that Meiko's not doing anything to her, that makes it impossible for her to move.
Luka doesn't look her in the eye. She doesn't look away from her, either, and her gaze, blue eyes hazy where it seems as if she's had them screwed shut against the light for too long, comes to rest around Meiko's mouth. The corners of her lips quirk into a grin, and if that isn't enough to make Luka look away, then the way that Meiko runs the tip of her tongue over her own lower lip does.
She's nothing short of pleased when Luka's eyes flicker up to meet her own, and the moment eye contact's made, Luka inhales sharply, only to have the words caught on the tip of her tongue come out as a needy little pleading note. Meiko doesn't hold herself back. She doesn't make Luka beg, but she does take her time, one hand moving down her spine, fingertips treading a path, until she reaches the small of her back. Luka instinctively arches further against her, hips lifting in a clean, sharp motion. As if to ensure that there's a balance, Meiko lifts her other hand, and places it palm-down against one of her breasts.
The sound that escapes Luka's throat is nothing short of perfect, and Meiko revels in it, for once not having to remind her to be quiet. Luka's forehead comes to rest against Meiko's shoulder, as if she can no longer properly support herself, and it's such an overstated reaction for such a simple act that Meiko can't help but buckle and give Luka exactly what she wants. She massages her breast gently in her hand, palm working in circles against her nipple.
“Meiko-” Luka whines, clinging to her tighter still, and it's more of a prelude to something than a thoughtless moan. Meiko hums as if to give her the go ahead to speak, and Luka's voice comes out crumpled, like each syllable is a word in itself, and Meiko knows that she can't be blamed for that much, just yet. “I really - ah. Really like you, Meiko.”
Luka jerks in her lap when Meiko moves her palm faster against her, only doing so because she's surprised to hear her admit such a thing out-loud. Meiko had always suspected it, of course, had always known that there was more to it than either of them would admit, but hearing Luka actually say the words makes her feel as if there are sparks running through her own system.
“Yeah?” Meiko asks casually after a moment, taking Luka's nipple between her first two fingers and thumb, “Me too.”
Meiko has no doubt that Luka's surprised to hear that, but any reaction she conjures up is lost when she starts to play with her nipple, rubbing and twisting at it. Luka grinds her hips against her in a huffy show of impatience, wanting more than she's getting precisely because she isn't getting it. When she moans her name this time, Meiko's certain that it's simply something that can't be helped, and lowers her lips to her shoulder. She nuzzles her nose in Luka's ever tangling hair, brushing it to the side so that she can lick the curve of her neck in that one place that she knows makes Luka twist and writhe without fail every single time.
“... should've said so before,” Luka murmurs, voice on the verge of shaking, sentences no longer coming out whole. “Made me worry.”
And for once, Meiko doesn't mind talking about this sort of thing. About relationships, or a lack thereof. Luka might have the upper-hand when it comes to talking about feelings, and all those things that make Meiko feel infinitely uncomfortable, but right now, Meiko knows that she has absolute control over the situation. She works her fingers harder, and Luka jerks her hips for the umpteenth time - only now, she grinds them down at a certain angle, intent clear.
“Sorry,” Meiko says, and leaves it at that. There's a big part of her that's grateful for the distraction of talking in that very moment, because it's the only thing keeping her from pushing Luka flat on her back, pinning her hands at her sides, and sucking mercilessly on her nipples. Despite the urge to do just that, Meiko likes having Luka where she is, likes the way that she clings to her desperately, as if she's the only thing keeping her upright.
She feels Luka nod against her shoulder, as if it's the only way she currently knows to accept an apology, and Meiko decides that Luka's been good and patient for long enough. The hand plastered against the small of her back wanders down, nails raking across the waistband of her underwear, and then, with a disappointed groan from Luka, she moves her hand from her breast. Her palm smooths over the contours of Luka's stomach as the muscles pull taunt, and then, in a rather deliberate, precise action, she hooks her fingers around the side of her underwear, and slides her other hand down the front.
The position isn't quite as comfortable as Meiko had hoped it would be when she pulled Luka into it, and her knees are starting to become sore, back aching where she's supporting the bulk of Luka's weight. Still, the strangled way that Luka moans out her name as she grinds herself with far too much ease against her fingers is enough to strengthen Meiko's resolve to keep her just like that. With the way that things are going, it'll only be a matter of minutes.
Meiko doesn't move her fingers, and instead appreciates the fruits of her newly discovered self-control. She watches and feels and listens as Luka works herself past the point of desperation against her fingers, trying to hit that one spot, despite knowing that Meiko's fingers are angled a degree or two too far away. There's something about the way that Luka moves, about the way that she's only doing so because it's her touching her, that makes Meiko brim with confidence, that convinces her to take her time, despite each and every hard-and-fast scenario that ricochets around the inside of her mind.
“Hey, Luka. Do you want to go out with me?” Meiko asks in a low, playful voice, surprised that she can even get the words out. The way Luka moves against her makes her throat tight and her mouth dry. Luka manages to look up at her for a moment, eyes wide where she's so far from being her usually cool, composed self, and parts her lips to say ahhn?, which Meiko assumes to be her way of asking if she really means it. And she does, really; this isn't her way of playing games with Luka. “We'd have to keep it a secret, of course.”
“Yes-” Luka eventually manages, and then a “Please,” although Meiko isn't a hundred percent certain what she's asking for with that last part.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Meiko pushes a finger inside of her, and then Luka's whole body seems to freeze, like the sensation is too much for her. She's made her wait for too long, Meiko knows, has made herself wait for too long; and so without further prompting, Meiko slides a second finger up inside her, and that finally sets Luka off. Luka's hold on her looses, if only because she wants to, needs to, move more, and after a few moments of grinding her hips up and down during which Meiko does absolutely none of the work, Luka falls back against the bed.
It certainly solves the problem of Meiko's aching back, and she leans forward, perfectly capable of ignoring the sudden jolt of pain when Luka is spread out like that before her, back arched, skin flushed and damp with sweat. She lets Luka set the rhythm with her desperate little begging noises, and she works her fingers inside of her fast, flexing once they're as deep inside her as they'll go, as if to make up for the slow, measured pace of everything that's come before it.
Luka reaches up, attempting to pull Meiko closer, but only succeeds in grabbing the collar of her shirt and pulling so hard that the top two buttons pop off. Flat on her back with Meiko's fingers working inside her and thumb making rough, jerky circles against her, Luka doesn't have the decency to feel embarrassed for damaging Meiko's shirt in such a way. And Meiko can't complain, not really, when Luka's hands are now free to slide under the collar of her shirt and grip her shoulders tightly, nails digging in more and more with the closer she gets.
It doesn't take long. Meiko knew it wouldn't, and she doesn't mind, because they have the whole of the night before them. Luka moans out Meiko's name over and over, like it's the only word left that she knows, and she continues to buck her hips against her hand, even after she's tightened around Meiko's fingers, and is fighting with all her strength to ride it out. With a barely there laugh, Meiko pulls her fingers out of Luka when she eventually shows signs of stilling, and slowly works her underwear off as she pants and gasps and tries to catch her breath.
She looks much better like that, with nothing on at all, Meiko decides, arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. Luka rolls on top of her, face buried in the curve of her neck, and then lets out a sentence made up entirely of words that make no sense.
With a groan, Luka tries again.
“What you said, Meiko,” she begins, hesitant for reasons beyond exhaustion, “Did you really mean it?”
“Sure,” Meiko says, distracting herself by running her fingers through Luka's hair, in a futile attempt to smooth it out.
“You weren't just trying to-?”
“To get you off?” Meiko asks with a grin, deciding to guess at the end of Luka's sentence for her. “I don't think I need any help with that.”
“Meiko!” Luka exclaims and she leans back to look at her, expression somewhere between scandalised and amused, and it's nice to see her like that, Meiko realises. Nice to see that she's comfortable enough to laugh at her, and then playfully thwack her shoulder.
A few seconds pass, and Luka adds, “I'm sorry about your shirt,” though her eyes have come to rest against Meiko's chest, where the fabric's been forced to spill open. Luka's teeth worry down against her lower lip, and Meiko feels her breath grow shallow at the sight alone. It's to be expected that she'd be set off so easily, considering what she's just done to Luka, and it's not her fault that she can't help but arch her back as Luka's fingertips ghost over the buttons of her shirt that are still remaining.
“It's alright. I don't even like it that much,” Meiko murmurs, and then, when Luka gets her shirt open and presses her lips to her stomach, adds through a groan, “I forgive you.”
Still, Meiko comes to learn that Luka is very adamant about apologising. Dawn comes and goes without either of them registering how late it is (or, indeed, caring) and they make three failed attempts at sleeping before anything truly comes of it. Meiko eventually does drift off, with Luka nestled against her, and in her half-dreaming state, the last thing she is coherent enough to wonder is why she ever put up such a show of hostility around Luka in the past.
She was, of course, trying to protect more than her career, but all that now seems ridiculous. In the afterglow, at any rate, and Meiko shuts down with a satisfied hum, allowing just enough consciousness to run through her system to be aware of the fact that Luka's curled up against her.
(And when Luka wakes up the next morning, Meiko isn't by her side. It takes her a moment to realise that she should be, and the initial wave of disappointment and worry that washes through her fades into nothing when she notices the note left by the pillow. She picks it up, moving into a sitting position with a groan where all of her joints are far too sore and seem to protest her every movement, and then spends a good few seconds trying to focus her vision.
Crypton couldn't open the file I sent them, so I've got to run over there and upload it directly. I'll bring back some tuna sushi, the note says, and even though it's so simple, Luka feels that familiar blush return to her cheeks.
“Jeez, Meiko,” Luka mutters, not liking how embarrassed she is, and then falls back down against the mattress, covers pulled up and over her head. Just the fact that Meiko bothered to leave a note says a lot, and maybe, just maybe, what happened last night wasn't just about the sex.)