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Hitoka's mouth is dry, her eyes drawn for the nth time to the smooth strip of skin between Kiyoko's skirt and her thigh highs. It's tantalizing, that skin, and Hitoka ties herself into knots imagining how soft and sensitive it might be. Kiyoko didn't wear thigh highs like that in high school; she wore tights or leggings, and it's a good thing she did or Hitoka wouldn't have made it through her first year. She would have died of a heart attack, or died from walking into a door full force, or just straight up died.
“Would you like tea?” Kiyoko asks, stockinged feet light against the smooth wood floor as she pads over to the kitchen. Hitoka stands awkwardly just past the entryway, her backpack in hand. She feels very plain in a flowery sweater and skinny jeans.
“Yes please!” Her voice is pitched high, her palms sweaty. She's a lot more confident than she was as a first year, but a lot of that confidence is around—well, boys, specifically. Not beauty queen girls she's been crushing on for years, even if said beauty queen had confessed, and kissed her, and asked her to be her girlfriend.
Hitoka's throat had been scratchy around her yes, but she'd meant it with all her heart when she said it. That was four months ago, and they've seen each other three times since then.
This is the fourth time, and Kiyoko is wearing thigh highs.
“You can... drop your bag, Hitoka-chan.” Kiyoko's mouth purses, and a tiny line appears between her brows. “Are you okay? Do you have something to tell me?”
Hitoka imagines replying honestly. She imagines blurting I'm sorry Kiyoko-san but all I can think about is kissing your thighs and you should throw me out right now, but her throat stays closed. "Mm-nn!" she manages, which sounds vaguely like a negative.
Kiyoko's tiny frown deepens, her hands holding the box of tea dropping. “Are you unhappy?”
“No!” Hitoka drops the bag and rushes into the kitchen, sliding a little. This floor is slippery in socks. “I'm not unhappy! I'm never unhappy with you.”
She loves being with Kiyoko, even when they're just doing homework together. Her heart is never quite steady during those times, but it's unsteady in a good way. It feels like she's sitting right where she's supposed to be.
Kiyoko lets out a sigh of relief. “You're not breaking up with me, then.”
Hitoka stares.
“You were so nervous," Kiyoko says. "I thought maybe...”
Hitoka's mouth opens and closes, and she makes an effort to let go of her panic, to draw up her hard-earned confidence as Karasuno's manager, a reliable person training a successor of her own. She looks at Kiyoko steadily.
“Kiyoko-san, I'm sorry, but I was distracted by your clothes and having impure thoughts and I got nervous.”
Kiyoko's cheeks flush. “Impure thoughts?”
“I'm sorry,” Hitoka says seriously.
“Um—Hitoka-chan—what did you...” She sets down the box of tea and looks at her hands on the counter for a while. Finally she meets Hitoka's eyes. “Hi—Hitoka, are you uncomfortable with doing more than kissing? I mean, would you rather not do anything more?”
Hitoka's stomach flutters at the determined way Kiyoko says her name without a suffix. “I want to do more,” she says softly, her shoulders rising. It feels like a terrible secret.
“Then... I'm not sure why you're apologizing.”
“You're not?”
“Your impure thoughts are—um—welcome.” Kiyoko smiles, tucks a strand of her long dark hair behind her ear. The sight makes Hitoka's stomach go all funny.
“They are?”
Kiyoko wipes her hands on her skirt, as if they're sweaty—as if Hitoka has the power to make her nervous. “I saw your doodles and I thought if I dressed like that you might like it.”
Hitoka feels her face burn with embarrassment. She has a habit of doodling in the margins of her notebooks, and they're usually doodles of girls—girls with a remarkable resemblance to Kiyoko, and in clothes like skirts and thigh highs. The thought of Kiyoko seeing those doodles and deciding to act on them—deciding to dress like them—makes Hitoka warm and nervous.
“I like it a lot,” she says.
Kiyoko bites her lip, smiles. “Good.”
Hitoka closes her eyes. She spends so much time with Shouyou; she ought to be able to draw his confidence up like it's her own. She takes a step towards her girlfriend—her girlfriend!—and curls her hands in Kiyoko's sweater.
Kiyoko is so beautiful, Hitoka thinks as she stands a whisper away from her—but she's not just that. She's brave, too, and she has a quiet sense of humor that always takes Hitoka by surprise.
And she loves Hitoka. She said so, the words sticking in her throat before being forced out nonetheless.
Hitoka's eyes are still lowered when she feels a finger against her chin, tipping her face up. Slowly Kiyoko closes the distance between them, her soft lips brushing against Hitoka's once, twice—and then Hitoka feels tongue, and she doesn't wait for Kiyoko to do all the work. She kisses back, fiercely, her hands tight in Kiyoko's sweater and her body pressing in against the gorgeous girl who wore thigh highs for her.
“I want to—” Hitoka starts when they draw back to catch their breaths. “I want to touch.”
“Then do,” Kiyoko says, her voice a touch deeper than usual, and Hitoka lets her hands slide down over Kiyoko's hips, skim over the curve of her butt and then—
And then she's touching that heavenly strip of skin. Kiyoko's breath hitches.
“Should we—bedroom?” she asks, sounding very unsure.
“Yes,” Hitoka says breathlessly. If they're lying down, she can press kisses to Kiyoko's thighs. That would be even better than touching.
Kiyoko grabs her hand and pulls her to her room, with its twin bed and all the tasteful decorations that scream Kiyoko. She pulls Hitoka onto the bed, and Hitoka follows willingly, letting herself be drawn on top of Kiyoko, putting her hands on either side of her and leaning in to kiss her. She lets her thigh rest between Kiyoko's legs, feeling like some horrible monster defouling a maiden but she's not, Kiyoko wants her, loves her, she said so—
Kiyoko makes a small noise, and Hitoka jerks back. Had she just—?
Kiyoko touches a finger to her lip before smiling. “I think you bit me, Hitoka-chan.”
“Not on purpose! I—”
“Shh.” Kiyoko draws her in, hooks a leg around her and just about gives her a heart attack. She's trapped in the softness of Kiyoko's body, her warm lips.
Hitoka's on a mission, though. When her head clears enough for thought—thought, singular, because holding more than one in her head at the moment would be impossible—she starts to disconnect from the kiss, moving instead to trail kisses down Kiyoko's jawline and neck, her clavicles. She kneels and crawls back, and finally she's there, looking at that beautiful skin again.
“Hi—Hitoka-chan?”
Hitoka lets her thumb rest against Kiyoko's bare skin, the tempting skin that peeks out between skirt and thigh highs. She leans down and presses a kiss, then another. Her fingers skim over Kiyoko's thigh, clothed and unclothed, and when she looks up Kiyoko's face is red, not elegant at all—not in the usual way—but so much more precious to Hitoka than the impassive mask she wears in public.
Very slowly, Hitoka leans in for another kiss, her eyes on Kiyoko's.
“We—we're probably going too fast,” Kiyoko says breathlessly.
Hitoka sits up immediately. “It's too fast for you?”
Shit, shit, shit, she was pushing, she shouldn't have pushed—
“No! No, but—you're in high school, and... you...” Kiyoko trails off.
“What were you going to say?”
“I was going to say that you didn't have any experience, but then I realized I don't know that. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be presumptuous, there was that boy last year—”
“No!” Hitoka says, eyes wide. “That's not presumptuous! That was a disaster. I...” She looks down at Kiyoko's floral sheets and feels a lurch in her stomach. “I didn't really like him. I liked you the whole time. Still, I mean.”
Kiyoko sits up, repositioning herself so she's kneeling in front of Hitoka. Her hands come up, and she presses her lips against Hitoka's.
Hitoka presses into the kiss, remembering the disaster of trying to date that boy from her class. He'd tried to kiss her, and every part of her had clenched up in something like disgust. That experience is nothing like this one—like the sweet scent of Kiyoko's perfume mixing with Kiyoko's natural smell, drawing Hitoka in.
“I didn't know,” Kiyoko draws back to say, resting her forehead against Hitoka's. “I... for that long...”
“I know,” Hitoka says, huffing a laugh. “Embarrassing, right?”
“No, I mean, I've liked you for that long too. I just thought it'd be wrong for me to ask when... well.”
Hitoka laughs softly, her chest filled with a bright feeling similar to the one she felt when Kiyoko confessed. “So we're both idiots.”
“Well, you are,” Kiyoko says, and it's so unexpectedly mean that Hitoka draws back a bit, staring. Kiyoko grins. “For thinking I could be anything but in love with you. Really, Hitoka-chan—”
She doesn't get to finish her sentence; Hitoka bowls her over, presses her down into the bed and resumes their kiss with the force from earlier. Hitoka's whole body is impatient with want, but not just wanting to be near this time, or wanting to touch.
She wants to make Kiyoko feel good. Really good.
Her hands slide down Kiyoko's sides again, slip under her sweater to caress her hips. Kiyoko presses up against her in silent encouragement, and Hitoka moves her hands further down to Kiyoko's thighs, then under her skirt at the back.
“Is this okay?” Hitoka asks.
“Yes, but—“
Hitoka doesn't wait for the end of that but; her hands slide up to feel the sides of Kiyoko's underwear, and they feel like lace—lace hiphuggers. Hitoka swallows thickly. How far did Kiyoko go to fit Hitoka's fantasies? There’s a part of Hitoka laughing at the joke of Kiyoko dressing up for her—the joke being that Kiyoko doesn't have to do anything to live up to Hitoka's fantasies; just being Kiyoko is enough. The extra effort is going to give Hitoka a heart attack, or at least embarrass her. She can feel the arousal at her core and knows she's probably already a mess down there. What if Kiyoko finds out?
My impure thoughts are welcome, Hitoka reminds herself determinedly.
“Can I...?” Hitoka asks, wanting to see those panties, wanting to move them aside and—god, she's a pervert, she's a pervert, but it's okay. It's okay, right?
“Can you what?” Kiyoko asks, and her words are breathy. The way she's moving around suggests impatience, and Hitoka can relate; she wants pressure there too, but for the moment the seam of her jeans is enough.
“Godownonyou?” Hitoka blurts in one breath, and she pulls back enough to see Kiyoko's eyes widen in surprise.
“You... want to do that?” Kiyoko asks hesitantly. She doesn't sound disgusted, at least. That's something.
“I really, really want to do that,” Hitoka says. She’s… thought about it. A lot.
“If you’re sure,” Kiyoko says, and her face is flooded with color again, and Hitoka’s stomach feels like it’s full of lightning bugs streaking back and forth but she isn’t nervous, not exactly, even if her trembling legs say otherwise.
She’s very aware of the seam of her jeans against her.
She moves down Kiyoko’s body, pressing kisses through fabric, and when she gets to Kiyoko’s skirt her hands linger for a moment, savoring the moment of suspense. Very slowly, she pushes the skirt up to reveal black lace panties, and she presses her lips together so she won’t do something embarrassing like groan or whine or something.
“You’re staring, Hitoka-chan.” Kiyoko’s voice is very quiet, very soft.
“You’re so—” Hitoka takes a breath. She lets her hand move up and her thumb rest very gently against the spot where she thinks Kiyoko’s clit might be. Her intuition is right; Kiyoko arches back, making a sound Hitoka looks forward to replaying in her head over and over again. She only allows the barest hint of contact, not wanting to overstimulate Kiyoko this early on.
“I really like you, Kiyoko-san.”
“Will you drop the -san, at least?” Kiyoko asks, looking back up at her. It seems like the blush is going to be a permanent fixture for as long as Hitoka is down here, and it’s so cute it makes Hitoka’s chest feel like it’s going to burst.
“Kiyoko,” she says, embarrassed but pleased. “Can you hand me that pillow?”
Kiyoko does, and next Hitoka asks her to raise her hips. She slides the pillow under, and Kiyoko looks at her like she’s a stranger.
“You just know to do that?” she asks.
“I researched,” Hitoka says, and that statement doesn’t seem that embarrassing right now, though it might later. “I told you I—really want to do it.”
“Are you saying you fantasized about it, Hitoka-chan?”
Hitoka blushes. “More than once,” she says in a small voice. More like at least thirty times, probably more.
It seems to set Kiyoko at ease, though, and Hitoka kneels down, breathes over those gorgeous lace panties she can only just see through—lighter over skin and darker over hair. Kiyoko’s breathing is loud.
When Hitoka nuzzles the top of Kiyoko’s panties, she lets her hand slips down between Kiyoko’s legs, still over the fabric, and feels wetness there. Arousal pulses through Hitoka—at the smell, at Kiyoko’s arousal, at the sheer bliss of being allowed to do this, Kiyoko wanting her to do this.
She continues to touch Kiyoko through her panties, gentle but not too gentle, and the moan that escapes Kiyoko when Hitoka settles her mouth over her clit goes straight through her. She wants to be rubbing up against something—wants to stick one of her hands down her pants—but more than that she wants to do this right, inexperienced as she is.
When the panties are well and truly soaked and Kiyoko is clutching at blankets, Hitoka moves them aside. She doesn’t take them off because Kiyoko in black lace panties is a work of art, but she moves them enough to see Kiyoko almost laid bare—her dark hair and her slit, her arousal and Hitoka’s spit coating everything.
Hitoka wonders if it’s possible to come from the sight of something alone. Probably not, given the way her body is crying out for touch, but if it was she’d be at risk of it. Her mouth settles over Kiyoko’s clit once more, and this time there’s a flavor—light, and salty, and not at all unpleasant like some of the commenters online had suggested. She touches her fingers against Kiyoko’s folds and takes Kiyoko lifting her hips towards her as permission.
Two of her fingers slide in with barely any resistance, and Kiyoko lets out a shuddering breath that sounds almost panicked—but when Hitoka draws back a little in concern Kiyoko says, “Don’t stop.”
The needy tone of her voice has Hitoka writhing in her jeans.
“I like you so much,” Hitoka says quickly as her fingers move inside of Kiyoko, starting a steady rhythm; she doesn’t say anything more. Her mouth is busy.
Kiyoko’s sounds become increasingly senseless, and the pitch gets higher. Kiyoko’s mewls are pure torture, but they guide Hitoka as she moves her mouth, her fingers, her free hand cupping Kiyoko’s ass and then—
“Nh!”
The high-pitched noise is accompanied with pressure around Hitoka’s fingers, pressure she’s used to feeling inside of herself. Relief pours through her at having been able to do this, at not having messed up, and she keeps going through Kiyoko’s shuddering orgasm—but has to stop when Kiyoko pulls her up bodily, presses their mouths together with fierce need. They’re both breathing hard, and Hitoka’s still wriggling hopelessly, still wishing for contact.
Kiyoko pulls back from the kiss and sits up. She positions Hitoka carefully, forcing her to spread her legs around her—and finally Kiyoko touches her at the seam of her jeans, and Hitoka lets out an involuntary moan she quickly clamps her lips around.
“You’re amazing,” Kiyoko says. There’s still color in her cheeks but she doesn’t look embarrassed now; she looks flushed with pleasure. “You’re so amazing, Hitoka.”
Hitoka isn’t sure what to say; she’s too caught up in the pressure of Kiyoko’s fingers against her, and she has to keep herself from whining when Kiyoko draws her hand back.
“I’m just undoing your jeans,” Kiyoko says. “You don’t mind, right?”
Hitoka shakes her head a few times fast and flops back on the bed to take off her own jeans. Her panties aren’t sexy at all because she wasn’t expecting this; they’re pink polka-dotted boyshorts she’s had since first year, but Kiyoko still flushes when she sees them.
“Can I?” she asks.
“Yes,” Hitoka says, too needy to care how desperate she sounds. Kiyoko’s lips meet hers at the same time as Kiyoko’s fingers begin to stroke against the outside of her panties, and Hitoka’s a little embarrassed at how wet she is—but not nearly embarrassed enough to want Kiyoko to stop; she lets the kiss distract her from any nervousness at being touched like this.
She can’t quite hold back a mewl of pleasure when Kiyoko’s fingers finally begin to rub instead of stroke, and she lets her head drop back when those fingers slip beneath her underwear. Pressure is building throughout Hitoka’s body, centered between her legs and inside of her, like a coil tightening.
“Kiyoko—”
She feels Kiyoko’s fingers slip inside of her shallowly, being coated in her arousal. It ought to be embarrassing to have Kiyoko touch her like this but it feels too good, and that coil is tightening between the movement of Kiyoko’s fingers and her thumb, everything slick and warm and pushing Hitoka closer to the brink. She’s heard classmates complain about their boyfriends’ useless fingering, that they wish they could slap their hands away and do it themselves, but Hitoka is all surrender; she’s bucking into Kiyoko seeking more, her legs trembling.
Kiyoko gives, and gives, and that coil wound tight reaches a fever pitch and releases, becomes a wave of intense pleasure that spreads through her whole body. Hitoka moans with the release, feeling wanton and like she’s doing something she shouldn’t be but when her eyes open just a little Kiyoko is looking at her like she’s amazed—like Hitoka is amazing—and though Hitoka feels her face heat she doesn’t feel ashamed.
“I—” Hitoka breathes, when the shuddering stops. “Your fingers…”
“What about them?” Kiyoko asks. “Want me to keep going?”
For a moment Hitoka’s tempted—she could go for another round, probably, and it would take even less long this time—but she shakes her head. “I made them dirty.”
Kiyoko’s forehead bumps Hitoka’s as she laughs in response—a wonderful sound.
“Yes,” Kiyoko says. “You did. And I made yours dirty.”
Hitoka’s eyes widen. “You aren’t dirty!”
Kiyoko draws back enough to level her with a stare. “And neither are you.”
The stern look doesn’t last; it breaks into a smile. Kiyoko looks like she can’t stop smiling.
“I really like you, Kiyoko,” Hitoka says.
“Good. Because if you broke up with me after that I think I’d die.”
“You’d die?” Hitoka says, half-smiling at the dramatics; they’re very uncommon from Kiyoko.
“Yes,” Kiyoko says solemnly. “Like being shown a glimpse of heaven only to have it be taken away.”
Hitoka feels a blush rise up to the roots of her hair. “Kiyoko!”
“You’re amazing, Hitoka-chan. And not just… not just here.”
Not just in bed, the silence echoes.
“I’d… take that tea now,” Hitoka says, but she draws in so that Kiyoko can’t move. Her body feels warm and tired and achy, like she’s been working out—and maybe in a way she has.
“Anything,” Kiyoko says, and though Hitoka can’t see her face anymore there’s a smile in her voice. Then, in a more down-to-earth tone: “But I think a change of underwear might be in order first. For both of us.”
Hitoka laughs. This is all new territory—the frankness, even the closeness—but she thinks she could learn to love it. She already likes it a whole lot.
“You might want to change into sweatpants, too,” Hitoka says. “If you, uh. Want me to not need another change of clothes in an hour.”
Kiyoko laughs. “Okay. I’ll change into sweatpants.”
“But not forever!” Hitoka says quickly. “Just for now.”
“Just for now,” Kiyoko agrees, and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Let me get you that tea, Hitoka.”
Hitoka’s chest feels funny at the way her name sounds like a caress on Kiyoko’s tongue, and she shivers. “Okay,” she says.