Soifon doesn’t pout. Or sulk. Or visibly mourn.
When she’s upset, she gets angry. Anger is the only emotion she’ll allow herself to show. Tatsuki can see it in the way she clenches her jaw. The way she’s intently focused on the punching bag, each blow delivered with neat, hard precision.
She’s so very sexy when she’s angry.
Tatsuki smiles, watching her lover beat the crap out of the punching bag with a flurry of blows from her feet and hands. She wonders who could have caused the fury this time, but then, she really only needs one guess.
There’s only one person who can knock Soifon off her carefully ordered line: Shihouin Yoruichi.
In truth, Soifon’s hurting. It’s hard to go from hero worship to realizing that the affection you carried for so long was undeserved by the party in question.
Yoruichi’s a bitch. Of course, that’s only Tatsuki’s opinion. Soifon would disagree, still does in fact. It’s going to take longer than a few months for Soifon to get over years and decades of infatuation and admiration.
That’s okay. Tatsuki’s patient. And the rewards will be well worth it.
She steps into the training room, trying to keep out of Soifon’s peripheral vision. It’ll do her lover a lot of good to take that frustration out on something other than the workout equipment. Tatsuki’s been training with Soifon a lot. She’s not as good as her lover, but she’s getting there. She can hold her own for long enough.
Tatsuki watches and she waits for the perfect time. There!
Soifon spins into a kick, spins back, and Tatsuki slots neatly in there, catching her foot before it can impact with the punching bag again. It stings, but Tatsuki’s no stranger to a little discomfort. She shakes it off, tossing her lover a bright smile.
“Surprise,” Tatsuki purrs, and watches Soifon’s lovely eyes widen.
Tatsuki acts quickly, shoving upward on Soifon’s leg, throwing her off balance. As Soifon teeters, Tatsuki drops, sweeping Soifon’s other foot out from under her. The Shinigami drops with a hard thud and a whoosh of air. Tatsuki’s on her a moment later, gripping her wrists and pressing them to the mat as she straddles Soifon’s narrow waist.
“Well, hello there, beautiful,” Tatsuki murmurs, feeling the flex and twist of a lithe yet muscled body beneath her. “Come here often?”
Soifon’s stronger than her so the fact that she hasn’t thrown Tatsuki off means she likes her current position, or at least tolerates it. “Arisawa,” Soifon says, in not quite a snarl, but not exactly inviting either. “What the hell are you doing?”
Tatsuki leans closer, until they are nose to nose and she can smell the sharp scent of Soifon’s sweat. Mmm. “You look in need of some stress relief. Thought I’d lend a hand. Or two.”
She shifts her position, straddling Soifon’s left leg instead of her waist, so that her knee can nudge between Soifon’s thighs. Nudging against the apex where heat radiates outward. She applies the lightest of pressures, just enough to indicate her intention, and is rewarded with the faintest flutter of Soifon’s eyelashes.
“Maybe my mouth, too, if you’re interested,” Tatsuki continues, flexing her fingers around Soifon’s wrists. “Right here on the mats. I wouldn’t care who saw either.” She grinds down with her knee again.
Soifon exhales sharply and Tatsuki knows that look, the subtle flush in her cheeks, the way her eyes darken with heat. It’s a victory, even if only a small one.
Tatsuki grins and covers Soifon’s mouth with her own, their tongues eagerly twining. Soifon arches up against her, one leg sliding against Tatsuki’s own. Invitation.