“Now, almost kiss… hold it right there.”

Michiru was used to being posed. To her family, she’d been
more doll than daughter, always set to impress at their tea party of a life.
She’d preened for journalists covering the latest Kaioh project, she’d modeled
for art classes when it was her turn. This was no different.

But it was entirely different.

She’d never been posed before her wife. Her wife of only an
hour, in her sharp gray wedding suit and blue tie, the sun in her hair
sparkling like a god’s laurel crown. Haruka’s body was warm and inviting under
her hands. Her breath alighted on Michiru’s face with the ghost of the kiss
they were holding back. And her lips… Michiru fought to stay still for the
photo. She could not say she’d never noticed how sumptuous Haruka’s lips were, she’d
drawn them too often to be anything but intimately familiar, but now her desire
for them all but over took her.

The camera clicked and clicked again. Her lips began to
tremble. They’d kissed, their first kiss and many more after, but Michiru
wanted, needed more. She wanted Haruka’s lips on hers, on her neck, down her
body. She wanted her wife. The reception could wait, surely. She needed her
wife, to feel all that was hers, to seal their promise everyway she knew how,
she needed, she needed—

“Okay, good.”

Michiru could not hold back. She kissed Haruka deeply—briefly,
compared to what she wanted, but deeply. Haruka lingered as she pulled away,
eyes closed.

“God, Michi,” she whispered. “I want you so bad.”

Michiru smiled, glad at least to know she was not suffering
alone. “You have me, love.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do indeed.”

“Here, in front of these flowers,” the photographer called
to them.

Michiru sighed and resigned herself to a very difficult
evening.