Gossamer

By The Queen of Blueberry Toast 


At this hour, the perfume of the wet earth is almost unbearable.  The grass is 
shot with dew- so is the air, the eaves of the Sohma house.  If the stars had 
bodies close enough to the earth, they would be soaking too.  Tohru's knees are 
chilly with a few fractured droplets.  Those that have escaped the carnage of her 
form like fireflies linger amongst the nodding towers of the brush.  It's dark, 
and the moon, though bright, has swung low enough for the trees to drag it down 
to the bare earth that hides between them, hides along the path, hides so near 
their feet.

For Tohru is far from alone, swung between midnight and the dawn and the 
voices of a million crickets.  Tohru is with Kagura, and the tiny will-o-the 
wisps of shadow Kagura makes- both with her body, and silhouettes she cuts for 
the doors they two are mending.  Sometimes the frame rumbles under their touch, 
and sometimes the tape skitters.  The beasts and birds around them have all 
grown used to the sound, and left their burrows, their haunts, their houses in 
the suspended branches to wander around the human girls as if they are not there, 
as if they two are part of the elemental music; are part of the forest; the ground 
it has grown from.

From here, one would never know the earth moves.  In the open arms of the 
sleeping house, time spins as if movement never passes, save in they two.  Kagura 
thinks of this, thinks of herself so unaware of her own plummets through the 
points of light where other earths may be, thinks of sinking down with the 
crickets.  It calms her, sews the quiet through her, and it puts a splinter 
through her fingers.

Tohru is not alarmed by the sudden dark slickness that gathers on the slats- she 
simply reaches into their supplies, and finding no bandages, excuses herself.  She 
is not gone long, but the other girl waits with her finger in her mouth, glancing 
about the shadows as if she expects them to rise from their bed among the 
centuries of dead leaves.  

When Tohru returns, it is with Shigure's first aid box.  She unpends it over the 
floor, piece by piece so it stirs little sound.  The graze she nurses as she would 
a scrape on a child's knee- once it is washed, once the glittery band-aid has been 
tied securely around her companion's insubstantial nails, she gives her finger a 
softly smacking kiss.

Kagura seems dazed.  He eyes wander for an instant, and she smiles.  They go back 
to work.  The stray bottles get to watch them.  By now, all thirteen of the 
celestial beasts are scattered through the paper panes, though those panes still 
rattle a little in their wooden bars.  

Tohru shakes them, just to make sure.  It seems she can hear that something isn't 
glued quite right, but the more she thinks of it, the colder her knees grow, and 
the more she casts around, always having to reclaim her hold on the door from 
another angle.

And then, warmth.  She looks down to find Kagura's lips pressed to the wet seams 
of her pajamas.  Without the moon, she seems fuzzy, the other girl; seems 
translucent as the paper they have been fumbling with.  Were it not for the smile 
she offers, Tohru would almost believe she has simply bumped into a dream that sits 
with her as she wakes.

Either way, while the still air grinds through space, she reaches down, lays her 
hand to the other girl's cheek.  It is warm, too warm, and it makes her own pink 
to be reminded she is all that exists in the garden at present; all that could 
have caused this.  She hesitates.  She pulls Kagura up from the shadow of her lap, 
and cradles her in her hands as she brushes their noses together.

For a moment, they giggle.  Neither first enfolds the other in a kiss, in the 
almost-embrace that both blooms and dissolves at its consummation.  Like the night, 
it is soft and wet, but like the fears of living that the silence has brought out 
in Kagura, it pierces.  They are both startle at the first tender touch of their 
tongues, but when each sees that the other has drawn away, their embarrassment 
evaporates, and they melt once more.

For Tohru, the fear has gone.

For Kagura, it crystallizes, transmutes, becomes at last something she can fathom.  
It is her push that sends them both tumbling from the cool slickness of the deck.  
A shower of dew chases them down onto the ground, for the long grass over their 
heads shakes with their fall.  Tohru gasps a little, but as much as the hands like 
breath flittering over her defy her senses, the other girl's smile can be nothing 
but reassuring, and to it, she acquiesces at last.  

There are more kisses, and the slurp of silk cast off by hands impatient.  If this 
is living, even without the voice of the one she loves, then Kagura is still 
unwilling to face what gave rise to the symphony of the night and of their two 
bodies, and what means to reclaim it someday.  For now, she lies above the earth 
with Tohru.  They are both naked now and their hair drenched with water and the 
dying petals of the flowers not yet awake.  She kisses her, tender and yet feverish, 
everywhere from her throat to the ball of her ankle.  She tries to see her, inside 
and out, but it is too dark.

Without light, she tries her fingers, and to every curve of flesh they fall.  Tohru 
holds her, lets her wander over her body, and into the folds of her sex at last.  
Kagura fondles her there for a long time, more curious than gift of intent.  She 
touches herself there, and the likewise warmth.  She touches their nether lips together.

There are no cries, but Tohru bucks beneath her, fights her halfway- rubs, 
shudders, moans.

So she rides her for awhile, clit to clit or as close as they can feel through the 
gossamer that wraps them both.  With Tohru between her and the earth, she fears not, 
wants not.  The quiet seems meaningless, but then again, so does the forest.