(I fear this may not be what you wanted, since the prompt makes me think "pining" and maybe you meant one half of the ship pining for the other, and here's me taking a love triangle angle. Hopefully it is enjoyable! M rating is erring on the side of caution for Sexual Tension (tm), it's more of an intense T, probably.)
-
"You should pick something out, too," Nico says, several hangers draped over her arms so that the skirts of the dresses attached to them bounce as she strides through the store.
"Mmm," Maki hums to herself, glancing at the outfits on the mannequins and the cutesy pink-and-white décor coating the entire interior. "I'm not sure if anything here is to my taste."
"Not to your taste?" Nico asks, a disbelieving note creeping into her voice. She turns back around, stopping in her tracks and leveling Maki with a greedy look like she's sizing her up, one of her hands rising to tap its first finger against her chin. "We'll see about that. I bet I can find something you'll look adorable in."
For a moment, a shiver runs down Maki's spine, at being pierced with a gaze as knowing as the one Nico holds her trapped by. Her heart stutters twice in her chest, beating out of tune as Nico's smile spreads to resemble – for a single moment – the canny look of someone else Maki knows too well.
Her cheeks burn, and she turns her face away.
"Adorable isn't really the look I'm going for, Nico-chan," she says.
"I just want to play to your best attributes," Nico says. "You have a very lithe figure, and while what's popular for your type is usually something more stately, sometimes playing with people's expectations pays off better than you could possibly dream. Trust me, I know these things."
Trust me, Maki hears again, in that sly voice that's always holding something else up her sleeve.
She feels her resolve crumbling before she even makes the decision. Her feet carry her after Nico, and she says, "I suppose it wouldn't hurt, to see what you pick out for me."
"Perfect," Nico declares, turning to march through the store with renewed determination.
She strides past each rack with eyes narrowed and brows drawn down, immediately waving off those garments that don't meet her lofty standards for her vision of Maki not yet come to pass. It's that confidence that Maki admires – that makes her want to curl close to Nico and listen to the things she says, rather than brushing off her more aggravating bluster.
Every time Nico declares her trademark "Nico Nico Nii~" and flashes that false, plastic grin, Maki's nerves fray apart a little farther at the seams. But when she says trust me, and I've got this and lets her eyes gleam bright with plans Maki can only guess at, that's when Maki wants to kiss her until her own breath comes short and shallow and her heartbeat thunders heavy in her ears.
"This is exactly what you need," Nico mutters to herself, snatching a garment off one rack, fingering the material of a skirt off another. "And, hmm, let's try this. Maki! We're ready – it's showtime."
Nico grabs her wrist, and Maki allows herself to be towed along into a changing room.
"Put these on," Nico says, shoving the hangers at her and shutting herself in the little cubicle behind Maki.
Ordinarily she would bristle at such a command, but Maki only reaches her hand out, taking the hangers and sliding the first camisole from its hooks. Nico is behind her, leaned against the door and meeting Maki's eyes in the mirror against the wall, and a slow, uncertain part of her brain tells her she should scold Nico and usher her out of the room, insist that Nico give her privacy while she's changing.
But Maki can feel the flush in her cheeks spreading hot down her neck, can feel the weight of Nico's gaze as she waits, with absolute expectation of obedience, for Maki to do as she's asked, and before she thinks better of it her fingers move to her throat and begin to unfasten the buttons of her blouse, one by one. Nico watches her, calm and confident and with her cutesy, babyish stage voice put away, and all Maki can think is that it feels like how Nozomi's gaze tends to feel, so intense that her skin feels on fire.
Her blouse comes off, her skirt comes down, her motions jerky and uncertain and for a rare moment she really feels how Nico is older than her, embarrassed to be so clumsy in front of someone who prides herself on her polish. She pulls on the camisole and the sweater and the light, airy skirt Nico picked out, hands dragging the garments on too fast, too fast, until she's standing in front of the mirror looking at herself and she realizes Nico's back is no longer against the door.
"I told you," Nico says, sounding incredibly proud of herself, so that Maki's blood burns infuriatingly hot at the presumption, before that fire in her veins cools to a slower simmer of appreciation. "I told you I could make you look cute."
"I'm not so sure it suits me," Maki says, each word carefully picked out as she slowly turns away from the mirror.
She feels fragile, like spun glass, new-blown and superheated and ready to fracture apart into pieces, but the grace with which she moves is flawless. Her eyebrows go up, baiting Nico with her casual disbelief.
"Of course it suits you," Nico insists. Her hands come up, plucking at the hem of the sweater, sweeping her hand down Maki's side to her hip. The weight of her hand is almost, almost, as heavy as Maki wants. "What part of this isn't so adorable you could puke?"
Maki doesn't know how to say, touch me more, grab me, hold onto me like a treasure you've made yours, can barely think such things without a cold, nervous shiver running down her spine. But she can grab Nico by her wrist, pulling her smoothly forward and in.
"Wasn't this a date?" she says, with her nose brushing close by Nico's.
"I didn't think you liked stuff like this!" Nico exclaims, too loud, too fast, and Maki can feel the heartbeat caught underneath her fingers wrapped around Nico's wrist.
(She doesn't, she wouldn't she won't, not normally, not in any words she'll ever admit past her lips, only when it's Nozomi, Nozomi who looks at her like a precious treasure, like a curious prize, like something other than herself but not lesser and she swears that she won't—)
"I figure it's fine," Maki whispers, pushing down all the half-formed thoughts crowding at the back of her mind, "once in a while."
She only feels slightly guilty, when she leans forward and brushes her lips against Nico's. She tells herself, she really does like Nico. It's not quite like how she longs for Nozomi with her lofty perfection, as remote and unreachable as a dream, but – she admires Nico for similar reasons, when it comes down to it.
When Nico laughs against her mouth and kisses her back with cheeky eagerness, Maki smiles against the kiss, and thinks, the dream she's made for herself is at least nearly as good.
FILL: TEAM FUKUTOMI JUICHI/KINJOU SHINGO, M
Word Count: 1,177
(I fear this may not be what you wanted, since the prompt makes me think "pining" and maybe you meant one half of the ship pining for the other, and here's me taking a love triangle angle. Hopefully it is enjoyable! M rating is erring on the side of caution for Sexual Tension (tm), it's more of an intense T, probably.)
-
"You should pick something out, too," Nico says, several hangers draped over her arms so that the skirts of the dresses attached to them bounce as she strides through the store.
"Mmm," Maki hums to herself, glancing at the outfits on the mannequins and the cutesy pink-and-white décor coating the entire interior. "I'm not sure if anything here is to my taste."
"Not to your taste?" Nico asks, a disbelieving note creeping into her voice. She turns back around, stopping in her tracks and leveling Maki with a greedy look like she's sizing her up, one of her hands rising to tap its first finger against her chin. "We'll see about that. I bet I can find something you'll look adorable in."
For a moment, a shiver runs down Maki's spine, at being pierced with a gaze as knowing as the one Nico holds her trapped by. Her heart stutters twice in her chest, beating out of tune as Nico's smile spreads to resemble – for a single moment – the canny look of someone else Maki knows too well.
Her cheeks burn, and she turns her face away.
"Adorable isn't really the look I'm going for, Nico-chan," she says.
"I just want to play to your best attributes," Nico says. "You have a very lithe figure, and while what's popular for your type is usually something more stately, sometimes playing with people's expectations pays off better than you could possibly dream. Trust me, I know these things."
Trust me, Maki hears again, in that sly voice that's always holding something else up her sleeve.
She feels her resolve crumbling before she even makes the decision. Her feet carry her after Nico, and she says, "I suppose it wouldn't hurt, to see what you pick out for me."
"Perfect," Nico declares, turning to march through the store with renewed determination.
She strides past each rack with eyes narrowed and brows drawn down, immediately waving off those garments that don't meet her lofty standards for her vision of Maki not yet come to pass. It's that confidence that Maki admires – that makes her want to curl close to Nico and listen to the things she says, rather than brushing off her more aggravating bluster.
Every time Nico declares her trademark "Nico Nico Nii~" and flashes that false, plastic grin, Maki's nerves fray apart a little farther at the seams. But when she says trust me, and I've got this and lets her eyes gleam bright with plans Maki can only guess at, that's when Maki wants to kiss her until her own breath comes short and shallow and her heartbeat thunders heavy in her ears.
"This is exactly what you need," Nico mutters to herself, snatching a garment off one rack, fingering the material of a skirt off another. "And, hmm, let's try this. Maki! We're ready – it's showtime."
Nico grabs her wrist, and Maki allows herself to be towed along into a changing room.
"Put these on," Nico says, shoving the hangers at her and shutting herself in the little cubicle behind Maki.
Ordinarily she would bristle at such a command, but Maki only reaches her hand out, taking the hangers and sliding the first camisole from its hooks. Nico is behind her, leaned against the door and meeting Maki's eyes in the mirror against the wall, and a slow, uncertain part of her brain tells her she should scold Nico and usher her out of the room, insist that Nico give her privacy while she's changing.
But Maki can feel the flush in her cheeks spreading hot down her neck, can feel the weight of Nico's gaze as she waits, with absolute expectation of obedience, for Maki to do as she's asked, and before she thinks better of it her fingers move to her throat and begin to unfasten the buttons of her blouse, one by one. Nico watches her, calm and confident and with her cutesy, babyish stage voice put away, and all Maki can think is that it feels like how Nozomi's gaze tends to feel, so intense that her skin feels on fire.
Her blouse comes off, her skirt comes down, her motions jerky and uncertain and for a rare moment she really feels how Nico is older than her, embarrassed to be so clumsy in front of someone who prides herself on her polish. She pulls on the camisole and the sweater and the light, airy skirt Nico picked out, hands dragging the garments on too fast, too fast, until she's standing in front of the mirror looking at herself and she realizes Nico's back is no longer against the door.
"I told you," Nico says, sounding incredibly proud of herself, so that Maki's blood burns infuriatingly hot at the presumption, before that fire in her veins cools to a slower simmer of appreciation. "I told you I could make you look cute."
"I'm not so sure it suits me," Maki says, each word carefully picked out as she slowly turns away from the mirror.
She feels fragile, like spun glass, new-blown and superheated and ready to fracture apart into pieces, but the grace with which she moves is flawless. Her eyebrows go up, baiting Nico with her casual disbelief.
"Of course it suits you," Nico insists. Her hands come up, plucking at the hem of the sweater, sweeping her hand down Maki's side to her hip. The weight of her hand is almost, almost, as heavy as Maki wants. "What part of this isn't so adorable you could puke?"
Maki doesn't know how to say, touch me more, grab me, hold onto me like a treasure you've made yours, can barely think such things without a cold, nervous shiver running down her spine. But she can grab Nico by her wrist, pulling her smoothly forward and in.
"Wasn't this a date?" she says, with her nose brushing close by Nico's.
"I didn't think you liked stuff like this!" Nico exclaims, too loud, too fast, and Maki can feel the heartbeat caught underneath her fingers wrapped around Nico's wrist.
(She doesn't, she wouldn't she won't, not normally, not in any words she'll ever admit past her lips, only when it's Nozomi, Nozomi who looks at her like a precious treasure, like a curious prize, like something other than herself but not lesser and she swears that she won't—)
"I figure it's fine," Maki whispers, pushing down all the half-formed thoughts crowding at the back of her mind, "once in a while."
She only feels slightly guilty, when she leans forward and brushes her lips against Nico's. She tells herself, she really does like Nico. It's not quite like how she longs for Nozomi with her lofty perfection, as remote and unreachable as a dream, but – she admires Nico for similar reasons, when it comes down to it.
When Nico laughs against her mouth and kisses her back with cheeky eagerness, Maki smiles against the kiss, and thinks, the dream she's made for herself is at least nearly as good.