Fic: And All She Loved, She Loved Alone; Misa/Naomi; NC-17
This is a gift-fic for misu! I hope you enjoy! (Pretty much all the fics I'm going to be posting over the next few days are gift fics.)
Title: And All She Loved, She Loved Alone
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Amane Misa/Misora Naomi
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,119
Spoilers: Full series spoilers
Author's Notes: This is anime canon and slightly AU. This takes the idea that Naomi respected Raye's wishes and never tried to hunt Kira on her own.
Summary: Naomi knew the pain of being abandoned and left alone. She couldn't stand to imagine the beautiful doll-like girl suffering as she had....
The sleek little Suzuki motorbike pulled into the quiet cemetery, startling birds that had been enjoying the quiet. The red motorcycle cut deftly along the narrow paths between the shrines, the rider hunched low over the handlebars. It was a strange spot of brightness in the dull graveyard - the grass was dead and dusted with snow, the sky was gray and the trees had lost their leaves. The red motorbike was the only hint of color - even its rider was garbed head to toe in gray and black.
Finally the bike came to a stop. Naomi climbed off the small vehicle and left it resting on the side of the path, her helmet dropped casually on to the seat. She missed her Harley - it was back in America, in the garage of a house she’d never been able to move into. She hadn’t been back to the states in years. There were too many memories, and all of them painful. Even now, so many years after.
The cemetery seemed deserted. Naomi walked among the shrines, her black leather boots crunching on the light dusting of snow that covered the ground. Her eyes hardly took in her surroundings as she walked. Noting seemed real at all. But it hadn’t seemed real for so many years…
Nowhere seemed the same anymore. Not America, not Japan… but she had nowhere else to go. She had a small apartment in Tokyo, an empty little place that had never felt like home. She had her motorcycle and her cigarettes and a refrigerator stocked with cans of shochu to help her sleep. But she still felt as though she were going through the motions of a life.
She hadn’t felt alive since she’d lost Raye.
Naomi’s eyes were drawn to the crest of a ridge and a lone figure against the sky. The girl looked like a doll, standing motionless in black and white lace. The wind pulled at her skirt and her golden hair, but she didn’t move. She stood before a shrine, her head bowed. Naomi could see the lace of her ruffled skirts, the buckle of her shoes, the swell of her small breasts beneath her blouse, the whiteness of her skin….
In the cold gray cemetery, she looked painfully beautiful.
Without thinking, Naomi climbed the crest. The snow was beginning to fall. It caught in the falls of lace on the girl’s skirt and in her brilliant golden hair. It brushed the wings of gray at Naomi’s temples and clung to her black leather jacket. She felt as though she were moving through a dream as she climbed, the wind biting at her bare skin. She barely felt it.
It was colder at the top of the crest. The cemetery stretched out below them, silent shrines and monuments resting in the snow and giving tribute to the dead. Raye was down there. He had wanted to be buried in the land of his mother.
The girl didn’t look up as Naomi approached. She truly was beautiful, in a haunting way. Her eyes were rimmed in heavy black liner - they were a brilliant blue, and bright with damp. She had a doll’s face, round and painted and without flaw. Her lips were a cupid’s bow. Naomi’s heart ached to look at her, to stand beside such melancholy beauty.
She looked at the grave. The red stood out to her, kanji splashed like blood against the stone of the monument. Amane Misa. Her eyes were drawn to the name, rather than the name of the deceased.
In the silence of the cemetery, Naomi’s voice sounded painfully loud.
“Your husband?” she asked, not looking at the girl.
“Fiancé. We were going to be married.”
The girl had a beautiful voice. Naomi nodded, and her eyes looked out over the cemetery.
“Mine’s out there,” she said, pointing. She felt a kinship with this girl, this lovely woman-child who had lost the same thing as her. She knew that pain, that emptiness. She knew the sleepless nights and the days without meals and the listless dream that became life.
It wasn’t fair.
“Husband?” The girl looked at her, deep blue eyes wide.
“Fiancé.” Naomi tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear. How did she look, to this beautiful girl? Some tired, black-garbed woman nearing forty and refusing to let go of the leathers of her youth.
“How long?”
“Years.” Naomi felt a sting in her eyes. She had always had difficulty letting things go. She had tried again and again to lay Raye to rest, but how could she? She had loved him - fiercely, passionately. Enough to forgive him his flaws and his accept his old fashioned ways.
“Does anyone else come to pay respects?” The girl was still looking at the grave. Naomi frowned, the question such a strange one.
“Of course,” she said. Her family came, Raye’s friends in Japan, his sister and her family… he was at rest in his mother’s tomb, after all.
“No one else comes for Light-kun. Just Misa.” There was a tremble in her voice, and Naomi found her whole being throbbing to offer comfort. Without thought she reached for the girl - Misa - and took her in her arms. She gathered the beautiful, sad doll in black and white lace to her. She felt as though she’d never held anything so fragile before.
“I’m sorry.”
Misa said nothing. She sank into Naomi, her small hands against Naomi’s chest, her face buried in the soft leather of Naomi’s shoulder. They stood together in the snow before the grave, Naomi’s hand stroking Misa’s soft, vibrant hair. There were no words Naomi could offer. Could she say it would get better? It never had for her. The world had gone to hell, nothing was alright anymore. Certainly not for two grieving women who had been left alone in the dead of winter. All she could do was hold Misa, stroke her hair, let her tremble in her arms.
The snow was falling harder now. It gathered on them, around them. Naomi brushed the snow from Misa’s shoulders, from her hair, and when Misa looked up she brushed it off of the girl’s lashes.
“It’s getting cold,” Naomi said, gently. Misa’s gloves and ruffled skirts didn’t look designed to keep out the chill of winter.
“I don’t care. I’m always cold.”
The cold that crept inside. The cold that never let go. Naomi knew it well. She reached up and brushed at a drop of melting snow on Misa’s cheek. She couldn’t feel her skin through the leather of her glove. She found she wanted to feel that skin, to feel some warmth some living thing beneath her fingers. She was lost in Misa’s eyes, lost in those fathomless depths of blue that mirrored her own pain. She had never before seen eyes she could drown in.
“I’m cold, too,” she said, her voice soft. It was a whisper in the cold, breathless and cautious. Her arm was still around Misa, her hand resting on the small of the girl’s back. Her fingers were against Misa’s cheek.
She held the woman-child like a lover.
The dreamlike state never lifted. Naomi let her fingers move, let them thread through Misa’s hair. She pulled the girl close again, and Misa’s hands remained resting on the front of her jacket - resting on her breasts, hidden beneath layers of heavy fabric. She was lost in Misa’s wide eyes, her ocean eyes, and the delicate parting of her blood-red lips.
There was no coldness in Misa’s lips. Naomi tasted them without thought, catching the girl’s mouth with her own. She had never kissed another girl, but those beautiful lips called out to her and Misa’s haunting, lonely beauty had sparked something within her. She kissed the girl gently at first, a soft brushing of wind-chapped lips against ruby painted ones. But Misa leaned into her, her hands gripping the collar of Naomi’s jacket. Her mouth opened and Naomi allowed herself to be lost in the kiss.
They stood together before the grave, entwined as the snow fell and their sorrows met in a lover’s kiss. Time seemed to stop. Naomi slid her tongue between Misa’s lips, her hands lost in soft hair and the fall of lace.
“Oh!” Misa pulled away, her cheeks flushed and her eyes lowered. “What must you think of me… I don’t even know your name…”
“Naomi. Misora Naomi.” She dropped her hands, allowing Misa to back away and turn from her. She wanted to take the girl in her arms again, to kiss her, to hold her until she burned. It was a strange and frightening feeling, this desire for another woman.
“Naomi-chan.” Misa nodded. “I’m not… Misa isn’t… I love Light-kun.”
“I know.” Naomi nodded. “It’s alright.”
“Oh, and right in front of his grave!” Misa sighed, still turned away from Naomi.
“He loved you, I’m sure he doesn’t mind.”
Misa gave a sharp little laugh that took Naomi by surprise. She looked over her shoulder, a strange hard light in her eyes. “Light-kun never loved me.”
That ache within Naomi intensified ten-fold and she moved forward, her hands going to Misa’s shoulders. She embraced the girl from behind, kissing her temple, holding her delicate body tightly.
“We should get out of the cold,” she said.
***
“Is this Naomi-chan’s apartment? Ugh, it’s so ugly!”
Misa stood in the center of Naomi’s living room, her hands on her hips. Her hair was damp from melted snow.
“I never bothered to decorate it.” Naomi shrugged. She didn’t think it was ugly, just… empty. It had never felt like home, and she had never tried to make it one. She pulled two cans of shochu from the refrigerator and offered one to Misa.
“No wine?”
“I don’t drink wine.”
“Leather, a motorcycle, this ugly apartment, no wine… you’re very masculine, Naomi-chan. Are you sure you aren’t gay?”
“I’m not gay.” Naomi popped the top of the can and took a long drink. After a moment, Misa did the same.
“I think you brought me back here to ravage me.”
Away from the cemetery, Misa’s mood had changed slightly. There was still that sadness in her eyes and her voice, but she seemed more alive. More real. Maybe they were the only two real people left in the world.
“But you came back with me.” Naomi sat down.
“Hn. Maybe I want to be ravaged.” Misa twirled a lock of her hair and began inspecting the apartment. She looked at the bookshelves, out the window, at the computer desk with the old laptop sitting silently on it. “Did you love your fiance?”
“Oh yes.” Naomi nodded. The love she‘d held for Raye was something she couldn‘t even put into words. But she tried, for Misa. “I loved him more than anything. When he died… it felt like life wasn’t worth living anymore. I’d lost everything that was important to me.”
“Yes.” Misa nodded. “He was everything to me. Even though he didn’t love me, I knew he would have. He just….” She snapped her mouth shut and her eyes narrowed and suddenly she threw the can of shachu across the room in a fit. Naomi watched, understanding the anger.
“No man is perfect,” she said. “But we love them anyway.” She could tell there were things Misa wasn’t saying, things she held back. Naomi understood. There were some things that couldn’t be shared. Setting aside her drink, Naomi went to Misa once more. She didn’t know what the girl would do, but she couldn’t stop this desire to hold her and kiss her once more.
Misa didn’t protest. She wrapped her arms around Naomi and returned her kiss. It wasn’t soft and sad as it had been in the graveyard. It was fierce and needy and angry, and Naomi was surprised when Misa’s hands tugged at the hem of her sweater. She had wrongly assumed the girl to be an innocent. The way her hands moved over Naomi’s back and the way her tongue teased Naomi’s lips spoke otherwise.
The snow was falling heavily outside as Misa tugged Naomi’s sweater off. Her lipstick was smeared and her eyeliner was running and her hair was mussed but she was still the most beautiful thing Naomi had ever seen. How old was this girl who was pressing herself against her? Naomi was thirty seven, Misa looked as though she couldn’t be more than twenty! But she was so beautiful, so haunting, so desirable. And Naomi couldn’t stop herself from untying the strings of Misa’s blouse and undoing the buttons that ran along her torso.
The apartment was cold. Naomi’s skin prickled in the chill, standing there in her jeans and her plain white bra. Misa wasn’t wearing a bra. She wore some strange one piece undergarment, all white and ruffled. Naomi could see her nipples through the soft white linen. She wanted to touch her, to feel the soft swells of her breasts. But she reached instead for the heavy ruffled skirt at Misa’s hips, pulling the ties and letting it drop to her feet.
She almost looked a ghost. The white shift clung to Misa’s pale skin, and her hair fell in heavy gold waves on her shoulders. Her eyes were rimmed in smudged black, her lipstick staining her mouth looked like blood. But still, she was beautiful.
“Naomi-chan, it’s rude to stare!” Misa folded her arms but then flung herself at Naomi, kissing her roughly, pressing her small linen covered breasts against Naomi’s. There was a frightening intensity in Misa’s kisses and caresses, and she drove Naomi back into the couch, pushing her down onto it. Misa grabbed Naomi’s hands, bringing them to her breasts.
“Touch me,” she demanded, and Naomi wondered just what had happened between her and her dead lover. But her hands were on Misa’s breasts and they felt so warm and soft in her hands. And Misa was in her lap, her shift riding up to her hips, the warmth of her thighs burning through Naomi’s jeans. Misa was warm.
They fell together onto the couch, shedding clothes and touching and kissing and twining together. Misa’s breasts, Misa’s legs, her smooth soft skin, the heat between her thighs… it was strange and new but oh so real. And the small soft sounds noises Misa made were amazing. She squealed and sighed and cried out and her nails hurt as they dug into Naomi’s back but it was a pleasurable pain.
Naomi had never been with anyone since Raye’s death. She’d never even looked at another man and now she lay on her back with Misa stretched over her and her hand between Misa’s thighs and Misa’s cherry-red lips on her breast. How had this happened? Did it matter? It felt like nothing Naomi had felt in the years since losing Raye.
It felt real.
When Misa arched her back and thrust her breasts forward and cried out in a final shuddering exhalation Naomi found her to be the most erotic thing she’d ever seen.
They lay together on the couch after, Naomi’s hand on Misa’s pale back. Misa rested her head on Naomi’s breasts, breathing shallowly, not speaking. Naomi stroked her back, her head on the armrest. She felt warm still, phantom traces of Misa’s touch still on her skin. The smell of sweat and sex and feminine musk filled the apartment, stronger and more comforting than any perfume.
The snow had piled up outside the window. It was growing dim, the sun sinking low behind the clouds. Naomi’s stomach growled - she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Misa shifted, poking gently at Naomi’s abdomen.
“Hn,” she mumbled, sitting up and glancing at the wall behind Naomi. “My makeup’s a mess.”
“Bathroom’s through there.” Naomi pointed to the door. Her stomach growled again as Misa hopped off of her. Even naked, she looked like a doll. Her limbs were smooth and ivory and without blemish, and she moved with a fluid grace as she bounded off towards that bathroom.
“When you’re done, we’ll get dinner,” Naomi called, stretching and beginning to gather up her clothes.
“Somewhere fancy!” Misa replied from the bathroom. Her voice carried over the running water. Somewhere fancy. Naomi shook her head and moved to the bedroom, pulling out a clean sweater and fresh pair of pants. Misa joined her after a few minutes, dressed in her shift. Her face was scrubbed clean and she looked even younger than Naomi had guessed.
“Where do you want to go to dinner?” Naomi asked, pulling on fresh under things. Misa was going through her closet.
“Ugh, I can’t wear any of these things!” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Don’t you have anything cute?”
“I don’t know.” Naomi opened a drawer. “Here. These should fit you.” The best she could offer to Misa was a black and white striped sweater and a pair of old red leather pants - a relic from her wilder youth. She pulled a cigarette out of the packet on her bedside table and lit up as Misa pulled on the offered clothes. Apparently they were good enough.
“Misa-chan…” There were questions that needed to be asked now. What happened next? It had been so long since Naomi even went on a date, let alone slept with someone. And holding Misa had felt so good….
“After we eat dinner,” Misa said, tying up her hair. “We should find something pretty for your apartment. I can‘t be seen in such a dull place. Misa-chan will decorate it for you!”
Naomi supposed that answered that question. She took a long drag of her cigarette and nodded. Misa’s presence alone brought something to the apartment, a strange sense of warmth that had never been there before. Maybe it was because they’d made love. Maybe it was because Misa shared a pain that was so much a part of Naomi it had nearly become the whole of her being. Or maybe it was simply the fact that Naomi was no longer alone in the empty rooms.
“I still love Light, you know.”
Naomi nodded. “I still love Raye.” And that was alright. She’d always love Raye. He had been her life, her heart and soul. She would never fill the emptiness he’d left within her, never completely. But perhaps, in time, it would fade and the world would cease to be a dream. And perhaps Misa’s pain would fade as well, and in the summer those haunted blue eyes would shine with joy instead of tears and melting snow.
Maybe it was finally time to begin letting go.
Title: And All She Loved, She Loved Alone
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Amane Misa/Misora Naomi
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,119
Spoilers: Full series spoilers
Author's Notes: This is anime canon and slightly AU. This takes the idea that Naomi respected Raye's wishes and never tried to hunt Kira on her own.
Summary: Naomi knew the pain of being abandoned and left alone. She couldn't stand to imagine the beautiful doll-like girl suffering as she had....
The sleek little Suzuki motorbike pulled into the quiet cemetery, startling birds that had been enjoying the quiet. The red motorcycle cut deftly along the narrow paths between the shrines, the rider hunched low over the handlebars. It was a strange spot of brightness in the dull graveyard - the grass was dead and dusted with snow, the sky was gray and the trees had lost their leaves. The red motorbike was the only hint of color - even its rider was garbed head to toe in gray and black.
Finally the bike came to a stop. Naomi climbed off the small vehicle and left it resting on the side of the path, her helmet dropped casually on to the seat. She missed her Harley - it was back in America, in the garage of a house she’d never been able to move into. She hadn’t been back to the states in years. There were too many memories, and all of them painful. Even now, so many years after.
The cemetery seemed deserted. Naomi walked among the shrines, her black leather boots crunching on the light dusting of snow that covered the ground. Her eyes hardly took in her surroundings as she walked. Noting seemed real at all. But it hadn’t seemed real for so many years…
Nowhere seemed the same anymore. Not America, not Japan… but she had nowhere else to go. She had a small apartment in Tokyo, an empty little place that had never felt like home. She had her motorcycle and her cigarettes and a refrigerator stocked with cans of shochu to help her sleep. But she still felt as though she were going through the motions of a life.
She hadn’t felt alive since she’d lost Raye.
Naomi’s eyes were drawn to the crest of a ridge and a lone figure against the sky. The girl looked like a doll, standing motionless in black and white lace. The wind pulled at her skirt and her golden hair, but she didn’t move. She stood before a shrine, her head bowed. Naomi could see the lace of her ruffled skirts, the buckle of her shoes, the swell of her small breasts beneath her blouse, the whiteness of her skin….
In the cold gray cemetery, she looked painfully beautiful.
Without thinking, Naomi climbed the crest. The snow was beginning to fall. It caught in the falls of lace on the girl’s skirt and in her brilliant golden hair. It brushed the wings of gray at Naomi’s temples and clung to her black leather jacket. She felt as though she were moving through a dream as she climbed, the wind biting at her bare skin. She barely felt it.
It was colder at the top of the crest. The cemetery stretched out below them, silent shrines and monuments resting in the snow and giving tribute to the dead. Raye was down there. He had wanted to be buried in the land of his mother.
The girl didn’t look up as Naomi approached. She truly was beautiful, in a haunting way. Her eyes were rimmed in heavy black liner - they were a brilliant blue, and bright with damp. She had a doll’s face, round and painted and without flaw. Her lips were a cupid’s bow. Naomi’s heart ached to look at her, to stand beside such melancholy beauty.
She looked at the grave. The red stood out to her, kanji splashed like blood against the stone of the monument. Amane Misa. Her eyes were drawn to the name, rather than the name of the deceased.
In the silence of the cemetery, Naomi’s voice sounded painfully loud.
“Your husband?” she asked, not looking at the girl.
“Fiancé. We were going to be married.”
The girl had a beautiful voice. Naomi nodded, and her eyes looked out over the cemetery.
“Mine’s out there,” she said, pointing. She felt a kinship with this girl, this lovely woman-child who had lost the same thing as her. She knew that pain, that emptiness. She knew the sleepless nights and the days without meals and the listless dream that became life.
It wasn’t fair.
“Husband?” The girl looked at her, deep blue eyes wide.
“Fiancé.” Naomi tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear. How did she look, to this beautiful girl? Some tired, black-garbed woman nearing forty and refusing to let go of the leathers of her youth.
“How long?”
“Years.” Naomi felt a sting in her eyes. She had always had difficulty letting things go. She had tried again and again to lay Raye to rest, but how could she? She had loved him - fiercely, passionately. Enough to forgive him his flaws and his accept his old fashioned ways.
“Does anyone else come to pay respects?” The girl was still looking at the grave. Naomi frowned, the question such a strange one.
“Of course,” she said. Her family came, Raye’s friends in Japan, his sister and her family… he was at rest in his mother’s tomb, after all.
“No one else comes for Light-kun. Just Misa.” There was a tremble in her voice, and Naomi found her whole being throbbing to offer comfort. Without thought she reached for the girl - Misa - and took her in her arms. She gathered the beautiful, sad doll in black and white lace to her. She felt as though she’d never held anything so fragile before.
“I’m sorry.”
Misa said nothing. She sank into Naomi, her small hands against Naomi’s chest, her face buried in the soft leather of Naomi’s shoulder. They stood together in the snow before the grave, Naomi’s hand stroking Misa’s soft, vibrant hair. There were no words Naomi could offer. Could she say it would get better? It never had for her. The world had gone to hell, nothing was alright anymore. Certainly not for two grieving women who had been left alone in the dead of winter. All she could do was hold Misa, stroke her hair, let her tremble in her arms.
The snow was falling harder now. It gathered on them, around them. Naomi brushed the snow from Misa’s shoulders, from her hair, and when Misa looked up she brushed it off of the girl’s lashes.
“It’s getting cold,” Naomi said, gently. Misa’s gloves and ruffled skirts didn’t look designed to keep out the chill of winter.
“I don’t care. I’m always cold.”
The cold that crept inside. The cold that never let go. Naomi knew it well. She reached up and brushed at a drop of melting snow on Misa’s cheek. She couldn’t feel her skin through the leather of her glove. She found she wanted to feel that skin, to feel some warmth some living thing beneath her fingers. She was lost in Misa’s eyes, lost in those fathomless depths of blue that mirrored her own pain. She had never before seen eyes she could drown in.
“I’m cold, too,” she said, her voice soft. It was a whisper in the cold, breathless and cautious. Her arm was still around Misa, her hand resting on the small of the girl’s back. Her fingers were against Misa’s cheek.
She held the woman-child like a lover.
The dreamlike state never lifted. Naomi let her fingers move, let them thread through Misa’s hair. She pulled the girl close again, and Misa’s hands remained resting on the front of her jacket - resting on her breasts, hidden beneath layers of heavy fabric. She was lost in Misa’s wide eyes, her ocean eyes, and the delicate parting of her blood-red lips.
There was no coldness in Misa’s lips. Naomi tasted them without thought, catching the girl’s mouth with her own. She had never kissed another girl, but those beautiful lips called out to her and Misa’s haunting, lonely beauty had sparked something within her. She kissed the girl gently at first, a soft brushing of wind-chapped lips against ruby painted ones. But Misa leaned into her, her hands gripping the collar of Naomi’s jacket. Her mouth opened and Naomi allowed herself to be lost in the kiss.
They stood together before the grave, entwined as the snow fell and their sorrows met in a lover’s kiss. Time seemed to stop. Naomi slid her tongue between Misa’s lips, her hands lost in soft hair and the fall of lace.
“Oh!” Misa pulled away, her cheeks flushed and her eyes lowered. “What must you think of me… I don’t even know your name…”
“Naomi. Misora Naomi.” She dropped her hands, allowing Misa to back away and turn from her. She wanted to take the girl in her arms again, to kiss her, to hold her until she burned. It was a strange and frightening feeling, this desire for another woman.
“Naomi-chan.” Misa nodded. “I’m not… Misa isn’t… I love Light-kun.”
“I know.” Naomi nodded. “It’s alright.”
“Oh, and right in front of his grave!” Misa sighed, still turned away from Naomi.
“He loved you, I’m sure he doesn’t mind.”
Misa gave a sharp little laugh that took Naomi by surprise. She looked over her shoulder, a strange hard light in her eyes. “Light-kun never loved me.”
That ache within Naomi intensified ten-fold and she moved forward, her hands going to Misa’s shoulders. She embraced the girl from behind, kissing her temple, holding her delicate body tightly.
“We should get out of the cold,” she said.
***
“Is this Naomi-chan’s apartment? Ugh, it’s so ugly!”
Misa stood in the center of Naomi’s living room, her hands on her hips. Her hair was damp from melted snow.
“I never bothered to decorate it.” Naomi shrugged. She didn’t think it was ugly, just… empty. It had never felt like home, and she had never tried to make it one. She pulled two cans of shochu from the refrigerator and offered one to Misa.
“No wine?”
“I don’t drink wine.”
“Leather, a motorcycle, this ugly apartment, no wine… you’re very masculine, Naomi-chan. Are you sure you aren’t gay?”
“I’m not gay.” Naomi popped the top of the can and took a long drink. After a moment, Misa did the same.
“I think you brought me back here to ravage me.”
Away from the cemetery, Misa’s mood had changed slightly. There was still that sadness in her eyes and her voice, but she seemed more alive. More real. Maybe they were the only two real people left in the world.
“But you came back with me.” Naomi sat down.
“Hn. Maybe I want to be ravaged.” Misa twirled a lock of her hair and began inspecting the apartment. She looked at the bookshelves, out the window, at the computer desk with the old laptop sitting silently on it. “Did you love your fiance?”
“Oh yes.” Naomi nodded. The love she‘d held for Raye was something she couldn‘t even put into words. But she tried, for Misa. “I loved him more than anything. When he died… it felt like life wasn’t worth living anymore. I’d lost everything that was important to me.”
“Yes.” Misa nodded. “He was everything to me. Even though he didn’t love me, I knew he would have. He just….” She snapped her mouth shut and her eyes narrowed and suddenly she threw the can of shachu across the room in a fit. Naomi watched, understanding the anger.
“No man is perfect,” she said. “But we love them anyway.” She could tell there were things Misa wasn’t saying, things she held back. Naomi understood. There were some things that couldn’t be shared. Setting aside her drink, Naomi went to Misa once more. She didn’t know what the girl would do, but she couldn’t stop this desire to hold her and kiss her once more.
Misa didn’t protest. She wrapped her arms around Naomi and returned her kiss. It wasn’t soft and sad as it had been in the graveyard. It was fierce and needy and angry, and Naomi was surprised when Misa’s hands tugged at the hem of her sweater. She had wrongly assumed the girl to be an innocent. The way her hands moved over Naomi’s back and the way her tongue teased Naomi’s lips spoke otherwise.
The snow was falling heavily outside as Misa tugged Naomi’s sweater off. Her lipstick was smeared and her eyeliner was running and her hair was mussed but she was still the most beautiful thing Naomi had ever seen. How old was this girl who was pressing herself against her? Naomi was thirty seven, Misa looked as though she couldn’t be more than twenty! But she was so beautiful, so haunting, so desirable. And Naomi couldn’t stop herself from untying the strings of Misa’s blouse and undoing the buttons that ran along her torso.
The apartment was cold. Naomi’s skin prickled in the chill, standing there in her jeans and her plain white bra. Misa wasn’t wearing a bra. She wore some strange one piece undergarment, all white and ruffled. Naomi could see her nipples through the soft white linen. She wanted to touch her, to feel the soft swells of her breasts. But she reached instead for the heavy ruffled skirt at Misa’s hips, pulling the ties and letting it drop to her feet.
She almost looked a ghost. The white shift clung to Misa’s pale skin, and her hair fell in heavy gold waves on her shoulders. Her eyes were rimmed in smudged black, her lipstick staining her mouth looked like blood. But still, she was beautiful.
“Naomi-chan, it’s rude to stare!” Misa folded her arms but then flung herself at Naomi, kissing her roughly, pressing her small linen covered breasts against Naomi’s. There was a frightening intensity in Misa’s kisses and caresses, and she drove Naomi back into the couch, pushing her down onto it. Misa grabbed Naomi’s hands, bringing them to her breasts.
“Touch me,” she demanded, and Naomi wondered just what had happened between her and her dead lover. But her hands were on Misa’s breasts and they felt so warm and soft in her hands. And Misa was in her lap, her shift riding up to her hips, the warmth of her thighs burning through Naomi’s jeans. Misa was warm.
They fell together onto the couch, shedding clothes and touching and kissing and twining together. Misa’s breasts, Misa’s legs, her smooth soft skin, the heat between her thighs… it was strange and new but oh so real. And the small soft sounds noises Misa made were amazing. She squealed and sighed and cried out and her nails hurt as they dug into Naomi’s back but it was a pleasurable pain.
Naomi had never been with anyone since Raye’s death. She’d never even looked at another man and now she lay on her back with Misa stretched over her and her hand between Misa’s thighs and Misa’s cherry-red lips on her breast. How had this happened? Did it matter? It felt like nothing Naomi had felt in the years since losing Raye.
It felt real.
When Misa arched her back and thrust her breasts forward and cried out in a final shuddering exhalation Naomi found her to be the most erotic thing she’d ever seen.
They lay together on the couch after, Naomi’s hand on Misa’s pale back. Misa rested her head on Naomi’s breasts, breathing shallowly, not speaking. Naomi stroked her back, her head on the armrest. She felt warm still, phantom traces of Misa’s touch still on her skin. The smell of sweat and sex and feminine musk filled the apartment, stronger and more comforting than any perfume.
The snow had piled up outside the window. It was growing dim, the sun sinking low behind the clouds. Naomi’s stomach growled - she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Misa shifted, poking gently at Naomi’s abdomen.
“Hn,” she mumbled, sitting up and glancing at the wall behind Naomi. “My makeup’s a mess.”
“Bathroom’s through there.” Naomi pointed to the door. Her stomach growled again as Misa hopped off of her. Even naked, she looked like a doll. Her limbs were smooth and ivory and without blemish, and she moved with a fluid grace as she bounded off towards that bathroom.
“When you’re done, we’ll get dinner,” Naomi called, stretching and beginning to gather up her clothes.
“Somewhere fancy!” Misa replied from the bathroom. Her voice carried over the running water. Somewhere fancy. Naomi shook her head and moved to the bedroom, pulling out a clean sweater and fresh pair of pants. Misa joined her after a few minutes, dressed in her shift. Her face was scrubbed clean and she looked even younger than Naomi had guessed.
“Where do you want to go to dinner?” Naomi asked, pulling on fresh under things. Misa was going through her closet.
“Ugh, I can’t wear any of these things!” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Don’t you have anything cute?”
“I don’t know.” Naomi opened a drawer. “Here. These should fit you.” The best she could offer to Misa was a black and white striped sweater and a pair of old red leather pants - a relic from her wilder youth. She pulled a cigarette out of the packet on her bedside table and lit up as Misa pulled on the offered clothes. Apparently they were good enough.
“Misa-chan…” There were questions that needed to be asked now. What happened next? It had been so long since Naomi even went on a date, let alone slept with someone. And holding Misa had felt so good….
“After we eat dinner,” Misa said, tying up her hair. “We should find something pretty for your apartment. I can‘t be seen in such a dull place. Misa-chan will decorate it for you!”
Naomi supposed that answered that question. She took a long drag of her cigarette and nodded. Misa’s presence alone brought something to the apartment, a strange sense of warmth that had never been there before. Maybe it was because they’d made love. Maybe it was because Misa shared a pain that was so much a part of Naomi it had nearly become the whole of her being. Or maybe it was simply the fact that Naomi was no longer alone in the empty rooms.
“I still love Light, you know.”
Naomi nodded. “I still love Raye.” And that was alright. She’d always love Raye. He had been her life, her heart and soul. She would never fill the emptiness he’d left within her, never completely. But perhaps, in time, it would fade and the world would cease to be a dream. And perhaps Misa’s pain would fade as well, and in the summer those haunted blue eyes would shine with joy instead of tears and melting snow.
Maybe it was finally time to begin letting go.