#mitouka

There is a wealth of toned muscle to re-map with hands and lips and tongue, and she plans to do so with great relish, verifying her recollection of the scars she spent Touka’s last visit committing to memory. At least today was not a day the Senju kunoichi opted for multiple layers of mail and heavily woven broadcloth topped with leather armor. 

Practicality, Touka always says. 

Slow death by suffocation, Mito always thinks.

“Oh hush, hidden weapons are always good in a pinch, and you well know it. Besides, you have always loved the unveiling. What did you say before? It’s like unwrapping a gift?” Touka smirks, running a finger down the hollow of Mito’s throat and between her breasts, toward a hidden blade. “And you’re hardly one to talk, dear.”

Mito nudges her thighs apart with a knee, running fingers down the twitching muscles of Touka’s defined belly. The Konohan delegate won’t admit to being ticklish, but Mito finds it endearing. There is nothing quite so nice as when a battle-hardened woman loses her composure and dissolves into a fit of giggles. Still, her goal isn’t to make Touka laugh this time.

It’s to make her scream - Mito’s name preferably.

Bright blue eyes meet a half-dazed gaze the color of forest leaves; it’s as if her lover sometimes embodies the very place she represents. The Uzumaki heiress wiggles two dexterous fingers just above Touka’s feminine mound. “Yes, well sometimes I might play the spoiled child - I just want to get to the gift directly.”

Those fingertips slide between dewy lips, spreading wetness up and down. “Can you really blame me, sweetling?”

“Well we all know just how spoil--” Touka’s response is cut short by her soft gasp instead, followed by her chuckle, and finally her moan as Mito begins to play; ever fiendish in the pursuit of carnal delight. 

Her fingers circle, tap, and glide as she dips her head to flick her tongue against the hardened points of her companion’s dusky pink nipples.

“Take off your clothes…” Touka gasps, arching into the heat of Mito’s lips, hips jerking hard.

“No, no, you’re not in a position to make demands. You may see me once I’m satisfied.” Mito grins, biting down gently.

“You’re a devil, Arashi…” Touka groans, calling Mito by the epithet her handmaids and confidantes have given her in private. Tempest.

It certainly fits. Mito is a force of nature - a storm in far more than name.

Two drenched fingers wedge their way deep inside Touka all too easily, and Mito drags them up against the upper wall of her channel, as her thumb presses against swollen, needy flesh. The action seems to steal her lover’s breath and every possible argument fades away in an instant, replacing them with high moans and urgent pleas.

“D-don’t you dare stop!”

“Demanding, aren’t we? I didn’t plan on it. I want to see you fall apart.” Mito bites down on her collarbone, working Touka harder, fingers finding that perfect spot, as evidenced by the curling of her toes and the rigidity of her spine. 

“I always get what I want, don’t I, Touka-chan?”

Just a little more. She’s so very wet that Mito can’t help but add a third finger and use the force of her arm to give Touka the roughness she always seems to crave. Touka grabs Mito’s shoulders, nails digging bloody half-moons in milky skin. Her lover is beyond speech and Mito’s smile grows wider, the heat flaring between her own legs.

“That’s it, sweetling. Let it happen…” she croons.

The first crisis barrels over Touka without warning, clenching her body tightly around Mito’s fingers, her lips parted in a silent yell. Mito laughs, like the bright tinkling of bells, never halting the motion of her hand.

“That was beautiful. And yet we can do better!”

Touka grits her teeth against the moan that immediately wells from her throat. There is simply no way to control the upward climb of pleasure, no way to hold back. Her lover bends to suckle a hardened nipple, and her thighs quiver and shake where they are braced by Mito’s knees. Time stands still as the tension spools tighter and tighter within her, and the sound of her unfettered cry fills the room. Teeth clamp down gently and all control is abandoned; a great rush of hot wetness splashes over the skin of Mito’s hand, her arm.

She stills her movements, watching the splendor of her lover’s pleasure before giving into the urge to kiss her gasping lips. Mito withdraws her fingers gently, pressing them between Touka’s lips once, then kissing her again so that they may both revel in her flavor, in the fruit of their loveplay. 

Until strong hands close around Mito’s wrists, and those hazel eyes have clearly regained their clarity.

“You’ve been satisfied, Arashi. I believe it’s my turn now.”