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“What do you want?”
Truly a fitting greeting for the hand on her shoulder. She refused to relax her already tensed limbs – ignoring the fact how much she yearned for something akin to intimacy. Then again, to crave for such, especially from someone like Kagetora, made her bury her face further onto the pillow. The springs groaned underneath her, signaling that the Lancer had taken a seat on her bed. “Mind your own fucking business,” Jeanne Alter muttered between her clenched teeth.
“I would, but you seemed to have had a nightmare. Let’s chat!” a chirpy voice answered. Kagetora just couldn’t take the hint. Though, the Avenger was not in the mood to shove the girl off, yet.
“Are you just going to massage my shoulder all night, or what?” Truthfully, it did feel nice. Then again, Jeanne Alter preferred that Kagetora’s hand be elsewhere on her body.
“I can’t really do much if you’re hogging the whole bed, you know?” There’s that signature, knowing smirk plastered on Kenshin. As much as outsiders cannot tell the differences between her grins, the Avenger knows all too well what this one means.
“We’re not doing it tonight. I’m dead tired.”
“Awh, don’t you trust me to take a little of the stress away?” There’s an almost sing-song tone in the Lancer’s voice. By now, she has propped a knee onto the bed’s foam, half-straddling the Dragon Witch’s side. Her hand had traversed to the Avenger’s waist, fingers lightly grazing the soft flesh exposed between her shirt and shorts.
“Your hips are twitching as always~” with now ample space, Kagetora invites herself under the sheets, fingers still playing around and leaving trails of goosebumps on the Alter’s pale skin. Jeanne still doesn’t budge, trying to feign indifference, but her reddening cheeks give her away. “You can touch me here too,” Kagetora gives that disgustingly wide smile again – which can only mean that she wanted Jeanne’s hands on her too.
To which, Alter finally caves in – and wraps her arms around the Lancer’s slim body.
“Gods, you smell like a drunk,” the familiar heady scent of alcohol was strangely comforting to the Avenger.
“And you smell like sweat and tears!” Kagetora laughs, looping her free arm in return to Alter’s side.
“Kiss them away, idiot.” Worded as a demand, but the way Avenger stares through red rims can only spell as some plea in the Lancer’s eyes. “I’m not used to taking commands; but it feels kinda different coming from you,” the samurai easily says, still smiling as she obliges.
Jeanne Alter notes how soft her lips are, a stark difference to the calloused hands on her. It’s weird how Kagetora is actually compliant, and even gentle, as she works her way in drying those tears away. She dislikes how there’s now a sickening warmth rising at her chest, which isn’t doing much to silence her quickening heartbeats. Save for that, it was all too perfect for the Alter; and she hated the fact that Kenshin can bring about all these feelings she promised to lock away in her blackened, cold heart.
“Hey, your hair has grown out.”
“What?” Jeanne Alter deadpans. “I cut my bangs short last time.”
“No, I mean here.” Kagetora just grins as she shakes her right hand now wedged between the Alter’s legs.
A blood-curdling scream erupts from the room. The next day, Ritsuka finds six Mana Prisms at her door, and a note underneath the green cubes. “Kenshit got burnt. Please resummon,” was written on the paper – with Jeanne Alter’s illegible chicken scratch of a handwriting.