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From her spot, hovering in the large divining device, Kafka watches as Lady Fu rushes away from the Matrix of Prescience, streaks of hair trailing after her in the breeze. The girl with the low twintails and that Welt Yang start scattering in all directions near the edges of the jade abacus to give Stelle some space, but the pink-haired girl—March? June? Kafka can’t remember her name—stays to give Stelle a hug before approaching the other man.
She's fine with this, of course–she won't waste time trying to manipulate them, and she's sure Stelle isn't the least bit interested in her—but what really irks Kafka is how the pink-haired girl keeps throwing Stelle worried glances as she approaches the other Astral Express member and the way Stelle smiles back reassuringly, like how she would react when Kafka fussed over her too much.
Stelle is hers, after all—always has been, always will be—but here she is, always trying to catch Stelle's attention even when the grey-haired girl’s already visibly annoyed with her, like when she 'visited' the Astral Express to send them to the Xianzhou Luofu in the first place. Doesn't she know her place? Who is she to interfere with the time I spend with my little puppy?
Kafka sighs, taking a few calming breaths to steady herself as Stelle approaches her. Can't have my little pup seeing her in this state, can she?
"Hi, Stelle," she smiles as Stelle approaches, trying to ignore the frantic, erratic beating of her pulsating heart in her chest. As she gets closer, she can see how much she's changed in the few months since she's last seen her in person—something that catches Kafka’s eye the most is this world-shattering realization, as she eyes Stelle: her little puppy isn’t ‘little’ anymore, neither is she the soft, touch-loving girl Kafka remembers anymore.
She looks older, fiercer—like a wolf, a predator—and surprisingly, now that she's so close to her, taller than Kafka by a long shot. Her pale grey hair has grown out and now frames her face perfectly, longer locks chaotically spilling down her shoulders. The only thing that hasn’t changed about her is how breathtaking she is, though the singular familiarity only serves to heat Kafka's cheeks and make her suddenly self-conscious of her own disheveled appearance from staying in the same dank, grimy cell for hours on end.
"You haven't changed a bit." she drawls just to break the awkward silence, though her words are certainly in contrast to her thoughts, gazing at Stelle as, finally, her little puppy’s amber eyes meet her own, after so, so long. "I'm sorry you've got to see me in such a sorry state," she continues, and barely opens her mouth to continue when Stelle steps closer to her. Very, very close, so much so she can feel the warmth emanating from her body as Stelle gently lifts a hand to rest on Kafka's cheek.
"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" she murmurs, and the tender, loving tone sounds so much like the Stelle she remembers that it’s almost enough for Kafka to pull her close and kiss her hard, but she restrains herself in time, and smirks at Stelle flirtatiously, pushing her chest just slightly forward the way she remembers Stelle loves—it definitely works, the other woman's eyes inevitably flicking downwards to catch a glimpse as she leans forward, flushing red but meeting her eyes defiantly—something novel, but Kafka likes it, somehow—when Kafka catches her gaze again.
"I didn't talk to you that day on the Astral Express because I knew we'd get the chance to talk alone here. Worth waiting for, don't ya think? Did ya miss me?" she teases, licking her lips seductively, because how can she not know what makes Stelle want her even more? But, she sighs internally, I've still got to finish with all the question-and-answer crap we’ve got going on… so she continues with the rehearsed ‘you seem to have many questions for me’, and with that, those very questions Elio’s foretold about spill out of her love’s lips. Right on the nose as always, Elio… she thinks ruefully, shaking her head fondly, thinking of her fellow slave of Destiny.
Through the next half-hour, Kafka answers all of Stelle’s questions robotically, watching—analyzing—the other woman’s face as the receptacle interrogates her, trying to find out what changed her little puppy from the soft girl she was into this new, beautiful and (Kafka can’t deny it anymore, and the warm slick between her thighs only confirms her feelings.) hot woman in front of her.
It’s nice to see that some things haven’t changed about her though, Kafka notes; her face is as expressive as it could ever be. A dusty pink painting her features as she averts her gaze discreetly to hide her blush at the words ‘we’re here in the Luofu for you’ when Stelle evidently knows Kafka means ‘I came to the Luofu—and got caught!—for you,’ and the narrowing of her gleaming amber-yellow eyes when she asks why Kafka and the Stellaron Hunters are helping her, as well as their almost-comical widening again when she carelessly mentions how Aeons can be killed and the names of all that’ve been annihilated before—she really wished she had a camera like that March kid right then—until Stelle asks her a question that tells Kafka that it’s time: that last question brought about the end of Kafka and her little puppy’s—no, her little wolf, she likes the ring of that—momentary reunion, a harbinger of what’s to come…
The revival of the Ambrosial Arbor.
Though it’s so far away from her, she can still feel the warmth radiating from the rapidly-unfurling tree of large, magnificent boughs bearing gold foliage and blue-green fruit like balls of flame, the heat so stifling it quickly becomes uncomfortable, even without her coat on. She smiles ruefully as Stelle sucks in a breath, head whipping behind her to watch the plant grow larger, its boughs stretching towards the star-speckled sky, the distraction giving Kafka the opportunity to free herself as her shackles fall with a clunk to the ground.
As Stelle notices, rushing forward towards her, Kafka wants to give her one last kiss on the cheek, one last pat on the head, anything, but Blade, punctual as ever, jumps in and blocks her path while Kafka strolls to the edge of the building roof casually.
She was going to punish that insolent man the moment she got the go-ahead to send him to Scalegorge Waterscape.
“Let’s go, Bladie,” she calls, knowing she might be toeing the line with that nickname, but it excites her either way. “Two more places to vi—”
“Wait!” It’s Stelle again, pushing Blade aside (Aeons, her little wolf is strong.) and sprinting towards her, and before Kafka can blink, she’s wrapped her arms around Kafka’s middle, whispering, “If you can, just meet me on the roof of Lady Bailu's pharmacy tomorrow night, alright?” she breathes in Kafka’s ear—she’s warm, and Kafka wants nothing more than to melt in her little wolf’s arms… but she doesn’t call herself a slave of destiny for nothing. She’s got to have enough self-restraint to leave Stelle on Herta’s space station in the first place, right?
Still, she hopes, desperately, that their meeting on said roof will happen, no matter the consequences. As Stelle’s hair whips around her and Kafka in the gusts of scorching wind, she barely hears her whisper her last three words: “I love you.” And, tenderly, she presses her lips to the shell of Kafka’s ear, a light almost-kiss brimming with emotion that the both of them can evidently feel… but before Kafka can properly savour the feeling, Stelle lets go, stepping back just before Blade gets close enough to push her away.
“I can walk on my own,” she hears Stelle snap, a low growl coming from her throat as she shoves Blade in return. “Don’t you have somewhere to go, Bladie?” Her tone is sharp and mocking, and Aeons, Kafka doesn’t think she’s ever fallen so hard for someone before.
Blade shakes his head, sighing, then lets go and turns to Kafka, motioning for her to move. She does as she's told, spinning around to face her little wolf and winking at her as she lets herself fall backwards off the roof. She is a woman, after all. She has to show off a little to her lover, doesn’t she? (Can she really consider Stelle her lover, though? She has to admit, she’s definitely caused quite some problems for her already.)
As she falls, still a long way away from the ground, she feels light, weightless: exhilarated, for the first time in a long while. She’s just escaped from the prison of the Xianzhou Luofu, she’s unleashed the Aeon-blessed plant that provides the one thing this nation’s citizens hate most: immortality. Not to forget the last, most important point: she might even get to see Stelle again, tuck her messy locks of hair behind her ear, kiss her, maybe even—
Kafka knows she shouldn’t be getting her hopes up, but she can only think of how long it’s been since she’s last been touched.
-
Stelle climbs up onto the roof of Bailu’s pharmacy, stretching out and staring at the moon above, thinking of Kafka, as always. That charming wink she gave Stelle as she fell backwards off the building, her purple-pink eyes that gazed, unrelenting, into Stelle’s own as the secrets of the world spilled from her lips… those perfect lips—fuck, did she want to see them parting, feel them against her skin. Most of her memories of the past may have been fuzzy, but she definitely remembers how Kafka’s lips look as she opened her mouth, letting out a moan of lust as she moves her fingers to make the strings around Stelle's neck move, dragging her head forcibly towards Kafka's dripping core...
Stelle shakes her head, internally hitting herself repeatedly on the head. She can’t afford to let Kafka see her as weak as she is right now, or she’ll think Stelle’s still the same soft puppy she was before everything. Actually, that might be fun! she contemplates, a scheming grin gracing her lips. I can pretend to be a soft, cute little puppy, then catch her off guard… give her something in return for those times she’d choke me with those ropes.
Stelle’s positively grinning now, her features painted by the moonlight, and the gleam in her eyes make her figure seem menacing, almost insane as she laughs out loud, the light, carefree noise hiding a darker, menacing undertone.
-
As she lands cleanly on the roof, her heels making not a single sound against the ceramic tiles, she spots Stelle stretched out on the roof, looking like the epitome of relaxed. Something about Stelle seems different, though, but Kafka can’t quite lay her finger on what it is.
She creeps closer, eyes practically drilling into Stelle as she sits upright, the grey-haired woman looking around, almost as if she notices Kafka’s presence. Deciding to surprise her—might as well make use of how she hasn’t noticed the woman behind her—she takes a cautious step, then another, until she’s standing directly behind Stelle. Kafka moves decisively and quickly, pulling Stelle towards her, her arms enveloping the other woman’s waist. “K-Kafka—?” Stelle stutters, sounding so much like the girl she was before everything with the space station’s Stellaron that Kafka pauses to wonder if the fierce, predator-like Stelle she’d seen just the day before was just an act.
“Hey, love,” she murmurs, holding Stelle tightly, her head at just the right spot to kiss a line along her neck, nipping especially hard on the sensitive skin, eliciting a cry from Stelle as she gasps. “A-ah! Kafka, don't—ah!—sneak up on me like that!” Kafka spots a tiny, glistening tear in the corner of the taller woman’s eye and reluctantly lets go, reaching up to caress her cheek. (Since when had it been this hard to reach Stelle’s face? Had Kafka... shrunk without her knowing?) “I just missed you, hon…” she sighs apologetically, though her purple-pink eyes still glint playfully as she lets go.
“I know, I missed you too, Kaf, but we’ve got the entire night to spend together, so you don’t need to hurry,” Stelle pants, rubbing the spot just above her collarbone where Kafka left her mark, in stark contrast with Stelle’s smooth, pale skin.
“Aeons, I’ve missed you so, so much. C’mere.” Kafka breathes, while Stelle does as she’s told. Bracingly, she turns around and gently presses her lips to Kafka’s, feeling them part and give way to Kafka’s tongue as she deepens the kiss, a moan slipping out from the Stellaron Hunter as the women move closer to each other, moving in a frenzy, almost as if dancing to the beat of a fast-paced song. And their bodies…
Their bodies, after an eternity of touch-starved emptiness, are intertwined together in an embrace. And to call it an embrace is an understatement, but Kafka doesn’t have the words to do it justice: all she knows is that the kiss they’re sharing on this roof is one of almost hedonistic longing, delirious love and absolutely unbridled indifference to the world around them, like the feeling of nicotine entering their bloodstreams just after the first pull on a cigarette. Through the long, hard kiss, Kafka continues biting down, again and again, on Stelle’s lips just to hear her breathy gasps, the metallic trace of blood only serving to excite the Stellaron Hunter further.
This kiss, this embrace, this meeting of their souls, it feels… freeing.
Then Stelle pulls away, leaving Kafka with the urge to whine and a violent, panicky gasp for air as she lifts her gaze to look at her love, and something’s changed about Stelle. Her eyes, previously a warm, kind amber, are now laced with traces of red, a manic glint in her eye as she grabs Kafka forcibly, hands tightening to grip around her neck with surprising strength.
Kafka can feel Stelle’s rough, calloused hands around her neck, the pressure arousing her in a way nothing else ever has before. Stelle shoves her body against the vertical part of the roof, pushing a knee up and in between Kafka’s thighs and eliciting a strangled moan from the Stellaron Hunter. She knows Stelle can probably feel the wet warmth of her cunt, but she doesn’t particularly care anymore, trying to gain friction against Stelle’s thigh as the gray-haired woman leans closer, withdrawing her leg and, once again, refusing Kafka the release she wants so desperately.
“Needy, aren’t you?” she breathes hoarsely in Kafka’s ear, letting go of her neck and reaching down with a free hand to undo the button on Kafka’s shorts, letting them fall around her ankles and dragging her to sit down, her legs spreading subconsciously. “Are you?” Stelle repeats threateningly, grabbing Kafka’s chin to face her, none of her previous gentleness in her movements now. Kafka can only nod rapidly, a hand reaching down to touch herself through her tights, but Stelle lowers her head to it and bites down, glancing up playfully at Kafka’s pleading eyes.
She laughs darkly, tightening her grip on Kafka’s wrist. “‘All in due time, Stelle,’ right? Remember what you loved telling me?” “Stelle, please, please! I need you inside me, I can’t—fuck!” Without warning, Stelle bites on the fabric of Kafka’s tights and pulls, tearing a hole in them to see—
Kafka isn’t wearing any underwear, and her cunt is aching, warm and so, so wet. Through the arousal-fueled haze, Kafka can just barely see Stelle, feel her breath on her inner thighs as she noses inside, and Kafka’s vision nearly goes white as she cries out from the sheer pleasure. She can feel Stelle licking at her clit, circular movements slow and torturous, as Kafka feels a single finger enter her, barely moving. Every time she tries to buck her hips in an attempt to push Stelle’s finger further inside her, Stelle just glares at her, tongue stopping its slow motions on Kafka’s clit, forcing her to stop.
“Stelle, please—I’ll do anything! Just—ngh!” Her words are cut off by Stelle’s sudden thrust of her finger into Kafka, reaching her prostate and slamming against it so hard the pleasure is almost eclipsed by the pain. “Use your words, Kafka. Where’s all the composure you had when you snuck up on me, huh?” Kafka’s on the verge of tears, the lack of friction against her lower lips and Stelle’s torturingly gentle smile as she waits for Kafka’s answer, finger still pushing into her dripping hole every time she gathers what’s left of her sex-crazed mind.
“Fuck me, little wolf—” She barely gets the words out before Stelle grins manically, pulling out her index finger just briefly to thrust three whole fingers into her cunt at once, hitting her prostate once, twice, thrice, four times… Kafka moans out loud again, the sound wanting and guttural, more like the cry of an animal than anything else.
She can’t think, can’t move, can’t control what she’s doing anymore, just letting Stelle fuck her as hard as possible as the tears of pleasure gather in her eyes. Stelle keeps teasing her, pushing her finger in and around Kafka’s entrance, and she starts to feel the telltale tingling, her body shuddering as she opens her mouth, the noises coming out of them possibly the most needy she’s ever heard before. “Stelle, I’m—ah! I’m gonna—ngh! I- I’m close—ah, I-I need you—” she whines incoherently, hips snapping forward and towards Stelle’s fingers.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” she asks, taking her fingers out of Kafka’s hole and pressing them against her lower lip, looking at the moaning Kafka expectantly, who begins to lick her slick off Stelle’s digits. “Well, then that concludes our meeting here, Kafka.” She stands up and produces a rope from her coat pocket, deftly tying Kafka’s hands and ankles to a metal rod above her head, still-wet entrance exposed to the world. “Wha—Stelle? Stelle, please, don’t leave-” Kafka pleads desperately, struggling with the rope. All the pleasure she’d been feeling evaporates in an instant, though her cunt and heart still ache for more.
“Why? I always begged with you to come back, not to leave me behind, all those times. Do you even know—” Stelle’s voice breaks as she glares at Kafka with her amber, tear-filled eyes, their warmth and emotion leaving not a trace as she stares at the helpless Stellaron Hunter before her. “Do you even know how much I screamed and cried for you to come back when you left me in that space station with no way of leaving? That was how March and Dan Heng found me in the first place, you know.” She shakes her head. “This is just repaying you for the amount of pain I’ve felt while with you, Kafka—well, it’s not even close, but I have other matters to attend to. So, Kafka—” she smiles at her coldly, blowing her a mock kiss, “We’re even now, aren’t we?” Stelle dusts her hands off, gazing up at the moon above her while Kafka can only sit there limply, inner thighs cold from the night air.
“One more thing, Kafka?” Stelle turns to her again, expression pitying. “I thought you’d last longer.”
Alone, in the night, with a broken heart, an aching cunt almost at its climax and nothing to show for it, Kafka cries.