Disclaimer: I don't own Shingeki no Kyojin.
A/N: This anime/manga has stolen my heart.

Title: June Bugs
Summary: A summer day spent in grown comfort and old memories.
Pairing(s): Misaka Ackerman/Annie Leonhart
Warning(s): yuri

Xxx

On the first hot day summer, Annie stays in bed. She doesn't like the heat. Heat makes everything slow, lazy, groggy; it brings everything to a slow run that's as fast as molasses sliding over warm bread. So she pretends to sleep while the June sun burns red streaks into her eyes and stirs her from memories laced with mountain-cold. During those strange moments where she's strung between waking and sleeping, Annie pretends that she doesn't miss these memories as they fade into the heavy blackness of her mind.

Mikasa comes in later when the sun is at its highest point and everything's the consistency of melted ice cream and sludge. Annie can smell her sweat, her running lotion that smells like a sterile hospital room, lightly floral shampoo that's reminiscent of fading spring in the woods. She comes into the room, not being obnoxiously loud, but loud enough so that Annie can't return to the sepia-tinted image of her mother's faded face as it disappears into her memory.

She doesn't move when Mikasa sits on the edge of the bed, doesn't acknowledge the hesitant hand on her concealed hip, strong fingers curling around the bone hidden by muscle, sinew and flesh. She doesn't stir when Mikasa leans in, but she sighs when she feels Mikasa hesitantly place her lips on the base of her spine. It's not a kiss, not even the mockery of one, but it makes Annie sigh—her breath tinged with sour morning.

"Wake up," Mikasa's voice, forceful yet not as hard, "you need to train."

"It's too hot," Annie says and her voice slides over Mikasa's skin thick like mud.

"You need to train."

"No, I don't." Annie doesn't whine; Mikasa has never heard Annie whine. Her complaints are blunt observations; dull knife edges designed to inflict pain but are never sharp enough to draw blood. "You know I don't know."

Mikasa sighs but not out of aggravation. She's exhausted—the intensity of the training sucking out her incredible strength as a leech greedily sucks the blood from engorged flesh. Mikasa's a warrior, the best of the squad, but she sometimes forgets that she's human and all humans breakdown.

All humans breakdown.

"You need to train." Mikasa tries one last time, and what little strength she has left escapes her and travels onto Annie's neck in the form of hot, damp breath.

Annie shakes her head, and she rolls over onto her wet back, breasts shiny and naked, unashamed. Her blonde hair sticks to her mouth, and she can taste the oils that cling to the blonde strands. Mikasa's hand tightens on her hip.

Annie touches Mikasa's cheek with a lax hand. "No, I don't."

Mikasa sighs again and leans in to kiss Annie's breath with a hesitant carefulness, takes a nipple into her mouth and suckles like she's relying on long-forgotten memories of her mother's milk and breast. Annie sighs and her fingers tangle in the black threads of Mikasa's hair. She's wet between her legs, but not because of the sweat. One of the many downsides of being a monster: you constantly needed to be fucked like the animal you were. It kept you grounded whenever you felt yourself slipping, and Annie was constantly slipping nowadays—caught between the urges to slit Mikasa's throat and drink her blood or love her like she was supposed to be loved: carefully and without doubt.

"Mikasa," Annie's voice is soft like spring wind through blooming trees, "Mikasa." Over and over again like a prayer mantra, like Mikasa is the holiest of holies with all the answers.

Mikasa hums around Annie's nipple, and Annie moans low in her chest. Blood blossoms beneath the flesh of her breasts and sternum, curls on her cheekbones like a cat curling the sunny corner of a stone step. Annie sighs, each breath tinged with sour dreams that imprint colorless after-images into her retinas. Mikasa lazily pulls and tweaks on her free nipple, residual sweat and oil leaving the coral-pink bud shinning and bright.

Mikasa releases Annie's nipple; Annie makes a small desperate sound that she refuses to acknowledge as whining. Mikasa smiles against her breast and moves to kiss the curving scythe blades of her ribs, the empty spaces that ache and throb like old wounds that never fully healed. Her hand slithers down Annie's belly, traces nonsensical patterns over her groin and then settles over the damp hood of Annie's clit.

Annie makes a pleased noise that sounds like a cross between a sigh and purr. She moves her hips in ovals and circles, back and forth. She's not being submissive; no, she'll never ever say that, but when two alphas fall in love, one has to resign to the lower status every once in a while, and today, it's Annie turn.

Mikasa carefully dips three fingers between Annie's slick folds, and she makes a noise of approval. She smiles into Annie's neck, plants red and purple flowers on her collarbone. Annie can hear how wet she is, hear how Mikasa's sticky fingers slide in and out of her while her thumb uses Annie's throbbing clit to create infinity signs and ovals and circles. Annie moves her hips because it feels right, because during moments like these—heavy, hot and warm—people tend to follow instinct; and despite outward appearances, Annie knows how to move to make pleasure multiply.

Mikasa's maneuvers her free hand under Annie's hand and cradles the back of her neck. Then her fingers, ragged and torn, are biting into the flesh on the back of Annie's neck, cutting open the skin with the sloppy precision of a drunken surgeon; Anne makes a high-pitched noise, clenches tightly around Mikasa's fingers, Mikasa's thumb becoming slick.

When Mikasa pulls her fingers out, Annie feels sated and boneless—like someone carefully removed every means of support her body had. When Mikasa kisses her, Annie can taste summer sun and the remnants of cold water. Annie pants into Mikasa's mouth, infects her with things she only remembers in the late-night hours.

Mikasa strokes her messy hair, kisses each breast like they were rosary beads.

"You need to get in the shower." Mikasa says and Annie shakes her head, slips her hand bend the barrier composed of Mikasa's pants and settles it in the concave between her legs. Annie can feel Mikasa's wetness through the flimsy material of her undergarments.

"We still have a few minutes before anyone comes looking for us." Annie says, and Mikasa gives her a fleeting smile. "Let's make them count.