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It’d started to rain the moment they’d left the cinema in a bout of terrible, unfortunate luck, as Sarutobi had pried open her gigantic mouth out of sheer obstinate incredulity and started yammering all the way to the passenger door of Tsukuyo’s horrendously dull Mitsubishi, continuing her merciless natter even as Tsukuyo struggled to jam the key into the ignition as it slipped between damp fingertips and a bunged up key-hole.
On second thought, Tsukuyo mused to herself, the dull drum of the rain on the metal roof of the car was doing a damn excellent job of drowning out the sounds of Sarutobi’s forlorn caterwauling.
“Oh isn’t this just- isn’t this just great, hmm, Tsukki? Hmm, it’s fantastic, isn’t it? My hair’s wet, did you know I’d just got it done? Just yesterday actually, now it’s wet, it’s wet and everything is terrible and I’m stuck here with you, what a joy! A joy. Truly,” Sarutobi inhales, sucking in a deep, rib-cracking breath that seems to suck all the air out of the car’s interior. “I should sue. But who? Isn’t that the million yen question, hmm? My hairdresser? The weather lady? God?”
Tsukuyo tilts her head to stare as hard as she can at the side of Sarutobi’s head, privately manifesting the ability to bore holes into the thick, black hole level dense bone of the other woman’s skull to maybe, just maybe put her mouth out of action. At least for a little while. It had its uses, occasionally.
“Last time I checked,” Tsukuyo starts, hands trembling as she fishes through the depths of her bag to find her lighter and a half-empty, crinkled packet of cigarettes. “You were the one who bought the tickets. And invited me here. Did you want me to reject you or what? Huh, does this shit turn you on or something? Is that what’s going on here?”
Sarutobi bats a hand in Tsukuyo’s direction, long hair spilling silkily down the prim line of her shoulders as she slaps the unlit cigarette out of Tsukuyo’s mouth and down into the bleakness of the damp, carpeted dregs beneath the brake pedal. There’s a moment where Tsukuyo considers demanding compensation for: a) Her sanity, and then even more so b) Her cigarette, and (Good lord, she thinks, resisting the urge to wipe phantom sweat from her forehead) leading on from that, c) Her poor wallet, because inflation was fucking them all over harder than a sex-crazed tortoise humping his owners shoes, and God forbid she have to dig further into the confines of her dwindling bank account to replace something she’d promised to quit eighty-nine times now and counting. She’d seen Hinowa’s tally. Evidently it wasn’t working.
Sarutobi’s mouth finally snaps shut as they both feel the atmosphere inside of the car settle into a frigid silence, all terse and stretching out between them like a length of washing line, and Tsukuyo wonders momentarily if the other woman had finally pulled her head out of her ass long enough to constitute taking somebody else's, you know, thoughts and feelings into consideration for once, only for Sarutobi to whip her head around and ogle the battered cardboard packet discarded in Tsukuyo’s lap. She snatches it with a hum and a brazen: “Where’s your lighter? I’m dying here, Tsukki.”
“I’m going to kill you.” She means it. There’s only so much bloodlust one can restrain within the span of a couple of hours. The only thing stopping her from wrapping her hands around Sarutobi’s neck and shaking her about like a musical instrument was the knowledge that, knowing the intimate inner workings of Sacchan’s depraved mind, she’d probably start squealing and writhing around like a greased up pig. Or worse, make a terrible mess of Tsukuyo’s passenger seat.
She stifles a shudder as she considers a future consisting of her forking over a chunk of her paycheck to some poor guy working behind the counter of a carwash, and submits herself to folding her arms across her chest.
Tsukuyo huffs a sigh to herself and leans over the handbrake to drop the lighter onto Sarutobi’s lap. Sacchan doesn’t make a move to grab it, instead choosing to shut her eyes and flick her chin in Tsukuyo’s general direction.
“Oh wow,” Tsukuyo’s hair falls in front of her eyes as she leans closer. “You’re so friggin’ demanding. You steal from me and you can’t even be damned to do it yourself?”
Again, Sarutobi hums to herself. “I paid for the tickets didn’t I? You owe me, Tsukki! This is you paying me back.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
She grabs the lighter back with a tut, ignoring the tiny mewl Sacchan lets slip after Tsukuyo digs the tips of her fingers a little too hard into the top of her thighs on impact.
Tsukuyo pauses to slip a cigarette of her own between her lips, lighting it with a click and a small inhale of breath. She rearranges herself slowly, taking time to cross her legs and swivel her torso to the side so she can angle herself better to reach over the handbrake again, the corners of her lips quirking up a little as Sarutobi’s impatience becomes more and more obvious the longer she takes to touch her.
There’s a long, drawn out second where Tsukuyo considers another attempt at wrangling her key into the ignition again and just driving off without a word, considers leaving Sarutobi to whine and mumble to herself for ten or so minutes before dropping her off a road away from her apartment (a wonderful exercise in pissing Sarutobi off, and a foolproof prevention method staving Tsukuyo off from following her inside.) and going back home to bed.
Instead, (She was never going to leave, she reckons- she hated running away from a fight.) she takes Sarutobi’s jaw in hand, pinches it between her index finger and thumb and squeezes, feeling the pliant skin of the other woman’s face against the firm line of her jawbone.
“Hold still,” She murmurs. Tsukuyo presses the lit end of her cigarette to the unlit one sticking out of Sarutobi’s mouth and inhales, and feels Sacchan do the same, her gentle subsequent exhale tickling the stray hairs that’d fallen across Tsukuyo’s face in the process.
They sit there in silence for a minute or so, Tsukuyo having let go of Sarutobi’s face to retreat and settle back into the driver’s seat. Her fingers tap out the same rhythm as the rain pattering against the roof. She watches Sacchan crack her knuckles on one hand with an awkward sort of interest, and points at the glove box once she stops to straighten out the hand in her lap to tell her about the portable ashtray she keeps stashed in there.
“I know,” Sarutobi’s voice cracks a little as she responds, flicking the glove box open and grabbing the little dish from inside. “You don’t think I’ve already gone through your car? Don’t underestimate me, Tsukki.”
“Jesus Christ. You’re insane.”
Sarutobi stubs the end of her cigarette out and places the ashtray down on the dash with a clatter. She pushes her glasses a little further up her nose.
“Would you kiss me? Right now, I mean. I’m bored, I’m getting older, I want you, blah blah blah- I can keep these coming all day, y’know? I can make you a list, if you’d like.”
Normal, blabbering, insufferable Sarutobi Ayame was one thing- Tsukuyo could deal with that, simple, easy, whatever- but awkward, sort of borderline stammering? An intention, a request? Practically unheard of. She’s totally unprepared. Unequipped. Practically naked.
“Phew, you take a woman out on a cinema date, God, you pay for it yourself and everything- in this economy!” Tsukuyo smiles, a taut, frenzied thing. “You sit in my car and you steal from me and you won’t even make the first move.”
“It’s not really the first move anymore, Tsukki.” Sarutobi punctuates herself by counting on her fingers for a moment before quickly giving up. “Maybe I just want to hear it from your mouth. Or for you to do other things with your mouth. Preferably with mine.”
Damn it. Tsukuyo knows then, as she clenches and unclenches her fist woefully, that she’s done for. Something’s twisted, imperceptibly, something ribbon-like and beautiful flutters then twists and tightens within the confines of her ribcage and she blinks, grabbing Sarutobi’s hair in one hand and opposite shoulder in the other, wrenching them both forwards (closer!) to meet in the middle.
She kisses her like she’s dying. Maybe she is- Tsukuyo had stopped breathing the moment Sarutobi had closed her mouth, she can feel herself getting dizzier and dizzier, face flushed and woozy. She breathes in the air from Sacchan’s mouth and groans as their teeth rattle against each other, open mouthed and desperate.
It’s so hot, she thinks as she takes Sarutobi’s bottom lip into her mouth and bites down, running her tongue across the row of indentations she’d given her.
Sarutobi keens and pushes closer, they’re pressed firmly chest to chest now- Tsukuyo swears that amidst the thick, gloopy smog that seems to be smothering her brain and her senses and her everything, really, that she can feel both their heartbeats nestled snugly between her ribs. Sarutobi grabs blindly at her wrists and pulls them up, around where they seem to be joined together, to settle Tsukuyo’s hands loosely around her neck.
“Do whatever,” She mutters lowly, detaching her mouth from Tsukuyo’s to tuck her hair behind her ear and gently mouth at Tsukuyo’s earlobe. Her glasses press uncomfortably into Tsukuyo’s cheek. Sarutobi dips her head further, breathing shakily as Tsukuyo thumbs at the dip of her clavicle, fingers stroking the delicate hairs lying flat where the back of her neck meets the base of her skull. “Do whatever you want to me.”
Tsukuyo pauses. “Not in my car, I won’t.”
Sarutobi rolls her eyes. Moves her hand to Tsukuyo’s breast and squeezes, other hand settling dangerously close to the top of her thigh. “You’re so boring, huh, Tsukki? Where’s your adventure?”
“I’m adventurous. I’m also into not having to deal with heavy-duty cleaning my damn car seats all night long. Get over it.”
She sits back, unwrapping her hands from their loose position around the other woman’s neck and glancing down at the hand kneading her chest. Shit. “Yeah,” She clears her throat with a contained cough. “We- we can continue this later.”
The rain had settled down and her hands were warmed from the heat of Sarutobi’s skin. The key slid into the ignition uninterrupted.
“Mine, or yours?” She asks, feeling Sarutobi’s hand on her leg as the car’s engine comes to life with a splutter.
Sacchan pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose with her other hand. “I’m closer, do what you want.”
“One day you’ll give me a straight answer,” Tsukuyo snorts. “I’ll be waiting.”