Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/869481.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Mahou_Shoujo_Madoka_Magika_|_Puella_Magi_Madoka_Magica
  Relationship:
      Akemi_Homura/Kaname_Madoka
  Character:
      Akemi_Homura, Kaname_Madoka
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Masturbation, Sexual_Fantasy, Pining, Hand_Jobs, Community:
      kink_bingo
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-04 Words: 2276
****** Chasing Shadows ******
by FallacyFallacy
Summary
     Homura wants so very many things. Selfish things. Impossible things.
     Written for this_prompt at Kink_Bingo: Homura wishes she could take
     it all the way with the girl she's sworn to protect.
Sometimes, protecting Madoka feels like chasing shadows, running and running
around buildings and between fences and past walls for hours, and even if she
stops time and catches up, she will never find her. The bounce of a pigtail
here, the sound of shoes against the ground there – faint treasures like
rubbish scraps as reward.
It doesn't matter if Madoka is nothing more to her than a reflection in a pool,
shifting and shimmering as the wind blows. She can still stare at her for hours
and be satisfied, hand poised just above the surface.
And then she sees something new – the way a stray piece of metal slices a thin
cut into her arm as it passes, her warm pink body letting out unmistakeable
blood, perhaps, or even something as simple as the look on her face as she
bites into her favourite crepe while out with her friends – and then all of a
sudden Madoka couldn't be more real, more physical, like the only true thing in
this fucked up world Homura has made for herself. Madoka is a person, with arms
and legs and food preferences and little fears and a mother and father and
younger brother and Homura has to take a moment, throat constricting as she
remembers everything that would be wiped out of this world if she would fail.
She tried to befriend her in the beginning. Even after she vowed to rely on no-
one else anymore, now and then the opportunity would arise and she would end up
sitting beside her, smiling like the lost little girl she used to be. But in
the end, it was too painful. Every time she would progress to anything like the
first couple of timelines, in what felt like no time at all it would all be
erased and then there would be Madoka again looking at her like a stranger, the
spring finally returned to its relaxed state. She becomes more and more timid
every time, jumping at Homura's sudden movements like she fears attack, and
Homura tells herself that it's okay, because if Madoka is scared then she won't
do anything rash.
But Homura is weak. It isn't okay.
During the daytimes she has a purpose, mind constantly on alert. But at
nighttime when it's just her, curled up in a ball with her forehead leaning
against the window, listening to the comings and goings of people she doesn't
care about outside, it's like the feelings she put on hold hit her all at once.
Often, she cries. She doesn't think about it – just cries, or doesn't cry, or
gets angry, or doesn't get angry, and soon enough the night is over and she can
go back to protecting Madoka again.
One night some timelines in (she doesn't know how many; a lot?) her knuckle
presses up against her mouth, eyes closed, and she breathes in. She just feels
so frustrated all the time, full of energy even when she's exhausted, and even
when she cries for hours she feels like she's restraining herself. She
swallows, thickly, and her other hand twitches against her thigh.
Madoka is sweet and kind and perfect and pure and Homura doesn't want to do
anything to spoil that. But it wouldn't have to, she thinks. She could make her
happy, give her pleasure, let her know how loved she is and how much she cares
for her and see her look up into Homura's eyes with an expression of utter-
She wants to give everything to her. She's already given her her life.
She dreams about her most nights. Sometimes terrifying dark dreams that cause
her to wake suddenly in a sweat, driven to pathetic tears of things that can't
be helped. Sometimes little silly things like eating lunch with her or
listening to music side by side or hearing her call out to her, arm waving
madly. Sometimes dreams dark in a different way, full of soft skin and short
breaths and Madoka's eyes slowly opening, hair sticking to her skin, pupils
dilated. But then it's morning and Homura gets up immediately to see to her
duties, scenes dancing in her head like a tune she can't shake before fading
into the coldness that is being a magical girl.
She remembers them tonight. They're impossibly vivid, and when she blinks the
world seems to swirl around her for a moment, righting itself. She's used to
silence, being alone with nothing but her thoughts, staring up blank white
hospital ceilings. She's used to losing herself for hours at a time, the days
blurring into one with nothing to look forward to or back on. She's used to
these imaginings. She's not used to this.
Her fingers trace up her inner thigh. Her eyes flutter closed (were they open?)
and she presses one knuckle against her lips, folding around it.
She could make it happen, theoretically. Just once. In the next timeline,
maybe. If would be too much to tell her all at once, but if she tried over and
over, she could learn what it would take to become close to her. She could tell
her everything. Madoka would understand.
She could hold her hand delicately in her own. She could stand close to her,
forehead to forehead, breathing in her scent. Madoka would giggle, maybe –
'Homura-chan, that tickles!' And Homura's heart would clench as it is doing now
and she would kiss her, lips to lips, more intensely than she's ever done
anything in her life.
Half caught in fantasy, half conscious, Homura shuffles over the floor to lean
against the side of the bed, angling her hips forwards. Sight is too much, so
her thoughts are filled with other things – Madoka's little murmur as they
kiss, the sweet scent of her neck, the softness of her waist. Homura's hand
reaches her groin and she jumps.
She doesn't know what to make of this. But her fingers are moving almost of
their own accord now, rubbing the sensitive skin through her underwear, and her
mind cannot help but complete the sentence she started.
Madoka's hands clutch at the front of Homura's sweater, not pulling, but
suggesting nevertheless. Homura guides them forward, feeling Madoka's warmth at
her front, until the back of Madoka's leg hits her bed.
She breaks away, shyly. Blushes.
“Kaname-san,” Homura says, but then corrects herself. There's no need for that
here. “Madoka.”
Madoka breathes in, eyes closing for a moment, and looks at Homura again, eyes
deep. “You called me Madoka.” For all that her eyelashes obscure her pupils,
expression oddly mature for one so sweet, Madoka's tone is like that of a
child's. “I like that.”
Homura almost can't speak. “Madoka,” she forces, because Madoka wants it.
“Madoka. Madoka.”
“Please,” Madoka whispers, lips close once more. “Can we...”
“More than anything.” Homura tries to kiss her but the words, held in so
tightly, are tumbling out of her now. “Please. I want to so so much, you can't
– Madoka, I – I don't know how I can -”
“Then show me,” Madoka says with an odd lilt, like it really is that simple.
Maybe it is.
Madoka climbs onto the bed, lying down with her head on the pillow. Her little
skirt falls about her thighs, pigtails stretched across the fabric like wings.
When Homura follows her, this beautiful, wonderful girl trusting and beneath
her, it takes a moment for her to know what to do.
Homura rubs slowly, delicately, lowering herself into the feeling gradually.
Madoka's hand curls around the back of Homura's neck beneath her hair and again
suggests. Almost nodding, Homura reaches down to kiss her. It's strange. She's
so used to giving orders – don't talk to him, forget about her, care about
yourself – but here she feels quiet and awkward, waiting for Madoka's urging
before she goes any further. Madoka would never give her orders. But if she
did, Homura would obey every one.
Madoka's lips taste nice, so nice, but this isn't enough to please her.
Homura's hand travels down her chest, slowly, questioningly; when Madoka
murmurs a little 'mmhm!' she cups her breast and rolls her hand around it.
She doesn't know what she's doing at all, but Madoka gasps then, just a little,
and that's better encouragement than anything she could imagine.
Hesitantly, she tugs at the bottom of Madoka's sweater; the girl moves away to
sit up a little, knees raised, and pull it and her shirt over her head. She
averts her eyes, cheeks red, but there's an unmistakeable little smile gracing
her lips.
Madoka in only a bra – cute, with little yellow and blue stripes – is
impossibly lovely.
“Homura-chan...” she murmurs with a little giggle and Homura blushes, head
bowing before she kisses her again. Madoka squeaks a little, squirming her thin
arms around Homura's back, and Homura melts.
She isn't familiar with this – doesn't quite know what to do with herself – but
it's feeling good, and better by the moment. She swallows, hand continuing to
work.
Homura reaches her hand to her bra and massages it gently again, head going
almost dizzy as they kiss. But after some minutes Madoka breaks away a little,
expression exasperated and fond and full of desire all at once.
“You're so mean, Homura-chan...”
“Wh-what?”
“You're really going to make me ask, aren't you...”
Homura swallows. Her whole body feels hot, Madoka's breath steaming against her
cheeks.
“Tell me.”
Madoka opens her mouth and then closes it again, lips pursed, almost a cute
little pout. Blushing madly, she takes Homura's hand and draws it down.
“Here...”
Homura can't breathe.
“You really want me to-”
“I love you, Homura-chan.”
Homura stops suddenly, arm going rigid. For a moment she blinks rapidly, throat
threatening to close. But this isn't time for this, and she still yearns to
continue, so with difficulty she pushes the thoughts away.
“I love you, too.”
“Then I want to. For us.”
Homura nods, slowly. Madoka smiles.
She reaches under her skirt first, accidentally brushing against the skin above
her socks. Madoka jumps and Homura's heart beats faster. Slowly, she pushes the
skirt up, looking away. She sees Madoka looking up at her, leaning into the
soft bed, and lies down beside her, face to face.
“Mm,” Madoka says. “Eheh!”
Homura closes her eyes and bites her lip, concentrating as she tentatively
strokes Madoka through her panties.
“Ahh!” Madoka gasps, hand suddenly clutching at Homura's shoulder. Homura
presses again, moving carefully, and listens intently when Madoka lets out a
little moan.
“Y-yes... Homura-chan...”
Giving as much warning as she can, Homura traces her finger up to the top of
her underwear and pulls it down just enough for her to slither her hand inside.
Madoka is so warm here, and when she touches her fingers there again, Madoka is
wet.
She's doing it. She's pleasing Madoka.
Without thinking about it consciously, Homura darts her hand into her
underwear, jumping only slightly at the direct touch.
A shiver runs through Homura's body, down to her very toes. She pants briefly,
immediately biting her lip again to contain her embarrassing response.
But then Madoka's lips are on hers again, sweet and loving.
“Homura-chan...” She lingers on the sounds, enunciating the words perfectly,
mouth moving in exaggerated movements. It's breathy and full of quiet
intensity, almost breaking halfway through, like the word is the most precious
thing in the world to her.
Homura sinks, fingers moving almost of their own accord. “Homura-chan...”
Madoka says again, tracing the sounds with her lips against Homura's.
(Homura's fingers quicken, moving to her lips, her clitoris, and back in turn.)
She can't speak. But it isn't necessary. Madoka kisses her the way she says her
name, drawing out the sensation, shoulder curving up to her cheek. Homura
strokes Madoka as though in a dream, finding the right spots here and there,
tantalisingly bringing Madoka closer and closer.
(Homura bites the side of her hand, head rolling back on the surface of the
bed.)
“H-Homura-chan...!” Madoka says again, with newfound urgency, little fingers
gripping and releasing on Homura's sleeve. Her eyes are closed, tongue darting
out against her lips, cheeks flushed.
Homura kisses her. “Mm,” she murmurs in accession to the unspoken question,
running her thumb down Madoka's clit while her fingers press against the lips.
Madoka squeaks, at first, and Homura's eyes almost close but she cannot miss
any moment of this. And as Madoka sighs, Homura lets out a long, exhaled
“Madoka...” that seems to last forever.
Homura lets out no sound, but her eyes squeeze tightly shut, teeth gritted. She
comes fast, harder than she expected, world exploding in front of her.
Madoka opens one eye. She smiles, maybe coyly, maybe mischievously.
What do I want her to say? Homura wonders, scanning her mind for the proper
words.
But after a moment, all Madoka says is “Homura-chan...”
Homura blinks suddenly, reality appearing like a breaking car in front of her.
Madoka. Madoka. Madoka...
Her head drops.
She draws her legs close to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, and rests
her forehead on her knees.
She doesn't want to cry. She wants so many other things. Selfish things. She
knows what her wish is. She's achieving it. She doesn't need any more than
that.
She wants... She wants...
*
When she sees Madoka the next day, she's going out with Hitomi and Sayaka for
doughnuts after school, chatting and giggling together. The phrase 'Homura-
chan' wouldn't even cross her mind.
But Homura is unusually distracted, and the bushes rustle.
Madoka turns, confused, a question on her lips.
She dismisses the idea immediately, but there it was: the shadowy Homura-chan.
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