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For All the Water in the World by Harukami
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The first time they make love she's just out of the shower. He confessed over dinner and she had cried, put her head down and cried and he had sat there in an awkward mess of horror and shame because he had confessed his love and lust to his own sister, to his own twin, and she had cried.

And finally she had lifted her head and smiled at him, a smile that could melt away any and all doubt and had reached her hands out to him, taken one of his between her two soft own and pressed it to her chest, over her heart, her necklace banging against his knuckles as she bent forward over it and whispered "I love you, Gonou, I love you."

"I feel like I'm forcing you--"

She had shaken her head and pressed her lips to his knuckles and let them linger there, whispered words there he could barely make out about things he couldn't wrap his mind around and all he could think is: She's beautiful like this, so beautiful like this. All he could think was how beautiful she looked as he reached out his other hand, tucked some soft hair behind one ear, and murmured her name and leaned in towards her.

And too much time was spent in awkward kissing, a familiar taste, lips and tongue that didn't know what they were doing but that's all right; they are teenagers in love and the heat and softness and wetness of her mouth is a new understanding of love.

And then she pulled away with a, Gonou, let me go shower -- and as she went, she glanced back at him and gave him a smile with soft narrowed eyes and he knew suddenly what would happen that night, knew with elation and a bite of fear and the sense that the world had fallen away from under his feet and wherever he had ended up, it was the best place to be.

The first time they make love, she's just out of the shower and her hair is wet and spatters cooling water on him as she straddles him, cries out, face tight with something like pain as she eases herself down onto him and he reaches up, shaking, shaking, strokes her hips and tries to think of unpleasant things like the orphanage, like the distance, like the look of pain on her face as she tries to get used to it. But even if it hurts, she smiles, and gasps, and finally tells him it's all right, her voice all over sympathy and pain and love, and he squeezes her hips and moves, shakes water loose. Everywhere is skin and heat and pleasure and her breasts swaying with his motions and her hands tight on his shoulders, the crease in her stomach as she bends over him, her lips parted, her eyes squeezed shut, everywhere is Kanan and he thinks he's going to shame himself and he's long past caring and, after, he kisses her, and slides a hand between her legs, and just touches carefully until she is relaxed again, until her eyes have grown heavy lidded, until she has moved past relaxation into tension and gasps and arches and --

Oh.

He's exhausted but he holds her until she falls asleep and then he cries into her hair and cries and cries. And finally he sleeps.

Four years later he will wake up in a one-bedroom apartment with another man on a futon on the floor beside him -- he has the bed -- and will realize it is raining and get up, stepping over the man to get to the bathroom so he can turn the shower on and drown out the rain, tilt his face up to the showerhead and attempt to recall a dream he had, stay in the shower until the water runs cold and his roommate knocks on the door and says in a sympathetic voice, "Hey, man, the coffee's ready" and not say anything about the pause before he calls out a thank you and that morning when he gets out there his roommate has tried to make fried eggs and has burned them, but he tells him they taste delicious anyway and sees cheeks redden as the roommate tells him, "Yeah, but you gotta do the dishes as payment for using up all the hot water."

"Yes, I understand."


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