La Guerrera del tiempo by Starsea

la hora de los amantes

Theme: Secret Meetings

You own the place
Where all my thoughts go hiding;
Right under your clothes
Is where I find them.

Underneath your clothes
There's an endless story,
There's the man I chose,
There's my territory,
And all the things I deserve
For being such a good girl, honey...

- Shakira, Underneath Your Clothes

They always met at the same place, a tea shop near the gingko avenue. Sometimes she would arrive first, and she would watch his slender figure move down the avenue towards her, wrapped in his grey woolen coat during winter or a green linen jacket in summer. He never wore a raincoat, he always carried an umbrella. Setsuna would take in each detail of his face until he walked through the door of the café, green eyes smiling and tender at the sight of her. Or he would arrive first, and then she would be the one making her way to the café, half enjoying the trees, half hurrying towards him; coming through the door, seeing him look up and smile, feeling her own mouth smile in return.

The tea would be sweet and fragrant; they'd eat small pastries, creamy and rich, while savouring each other's presence far more than the food and drink. Then he'd pay for the meal (he insisted on this small thing) and they'd leave, hand in hand. They didn't talk much; they didn't need words. Just the feel of him beside her and his hand holding hers was enough for Setsuna. It was something she'd thought beyond her reach, even in this lifetime.

There were plenty of love hotels open, but they didn't want that. They always went to his flat or her house; his flat was more likely to be empty, since there were only two people living there. She wasn't sure if his flatmate knew about their relationship, she didn't ask. It was enough that they had a relationship. It was enough that when he'd closed the door and they'd taken off their shoes, she could turn and run her hands through the curls of his hair and kiss that warm, clever mouth without any fear. It was enough that he would pick her up in his arms without a word (making her feel small and feminine) and carry her to the bedroom.

The sheets felt cool and welcome beneath her back as she pulled her top over her head, letting his fingers undo her bra and massage her back. Setsuna closed her eyes, letting herself groan with pleasure. His fingers, already flexible from piano playing, seemed to find all the knots under her skin and untangle them, until she was limp and warm and ready for anything. She sat up and felt his hands gently cup her breasts and press her back against him, a mixture of caress and hug; in response, she smiled and tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder, which was bare by this time. His skin smelt of Oceanus, the faint tantalising smell of the sea.

"Happy?" he said.

"Always, with you," she replied, turning in his arms to begin her tattoo of kisses over his body: shoulders, collarbone, sternum, ribcage. Marking him as her own, her secret lover. They wouldn't approve of this relationship: he was too young for her (there was only two years' difference), his past was chequered at best. But she was more concerned with his present, the smooth white skin and the way he gasped as her fingers tweaked his nipples. She dipped her tongue in his navel; he shuddered, because he was ticklish, and she smiled. A hand touched the back of her head, cupping it tenderly, and she looked up in response.

"How long can you stay?" His gaze was steady, strong. He knew the rules and he wasn't afraid to ask for his fair share.

"As long as I want," she murmured, sitting up and undoing his jeans. "I've been a good girl and now I'm going to have some fun."


Title: The Lovers' Hour

DISCLAIMER: Meioh Setsuna belongs to Naoko Takeuchi and the song belongs to Shakira.

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