There are, Asami has discovered, many different ways in which they express their feelings.

The first few times, fumbling but endearing - bumping heads, clicking teeth, forever asking if this or that is okay, giggles and mistakes…the revelation of gasps and pleading words and finally the incandescent glory that they'd struggled towards, together.

They'd long since moved beyond that, but the memories would never fail to bring a smile to her lips.

There were times that they'd come together in quick, needy, clinging moments, when their hormones had synchronized just so and suddenly they couldn't possibly resist another moment. Always within earshot of public places, mouths sealed together to contain their volume as hands slipped and fumbled under clothing that would have taken too long to remove. The threat of discovery only made it better.

There were times when it played out like a symphony in skin, when their bodies were magical things that slid against each other endlessly, when time had no meaning. With the curtains closed against the outside world and the responsibilities therein, they were explorers on the edge of a new world, delving with ardent fascination into every dip and hollow, tasting at every fountain and worshipping at the temples of each other - refreshing their memories lest a single divot or scar lie forgotten. Those times were quiet - infinitely beautiful and supremely precious in their rarity.

Other times, when they'd been training, or fighting, or just separated for too long, it was like a wildfire, loud and hot and desperate, even violent. It destroyed clothes and furniture and left bite marks and bruises and aches where mouths and hands and other devices had been. It deafened them, blinded them, sent their screams echoing down corridors and left their meals untouched as they slaked their thirsts and assuaged their hungers in each other. It possessed them, consumed them in an adrenaline high and then beached them on 'tomorrow,' drained but exhilarated and too proud to care what anyone said.

But her favourite times were never in the night or in the broad light of day - they were in the small hours of the morning, half awake, and they danced past like a flicker of breeze on a warm evening, leaving her heart full. They were made of soft nuzzles, the lightest of kisses to the back of her neck as gentle hands slipped under fabric, under elastic, to touch her like flower petals on the wind. Nearly silent, punctuated only by soft, sleepy sighs as they fell into each other for a few quiet moments in between the endless days, only to pass back into slumber while still connected, pulses beating together, dark skin and light fusing into one being.