Title: Tutti i Fior

Author: L.J. Gormley, clay_gorms@yahoo.co.uk

Series: Maria-Sama ga Miteru

Pairing: Sei/Youko

Desciption: Years from now, Sei looks back at Maria-Sama, lake-side 

dreams and the love and affection she's experienced.

Lemon: Yes. And my first ever lemon (squee! Am a bit embarrassed...)

Completed: Yes. 

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. If I did, I'd be able to afford to buy food. 

No offense intended to the makers of this fine show, or anyone else. And 

seriously, it's a bit lemony. Song lyrics and poetry snippits all have 

owners too, but they're edging into the public domain and shamefully 

pompous ;) What can I say? They gave us an anime with opera singers in 

it! Keep away if underage, you know the story.



**



Tutti i Fior - All the Flowers



**





Sous le dôme épais où le blanc jasmin

A la rose s'assemble

Sur la rive en fleurs riant au matin



Doucement glissons De son flot charmant

Suivons le courant fuyant

Dans l'onde frémissante

D'une main nonchalante

Viens, gagnons le bord,

Où la source dort et 

L'oiseau, l'oiseau chante.



Sous le dôme épais ou le blanc jasmin,

Ah! descendons 

Ensemble!



Debiles



**



“I had the strangest dream the other night,” I mumbled, 

stretched on my back under a wide tree one summer day. 



“Hmm?” Kei asked, mischievous eyes filled with curiosity. I 

looked up at her and grinned a toothy grin.



“Not suitable for minors, Kei,” I said, laughing. She laughed 

and went back to reading her book and I closed my eyes, a small 

grin on my face.



** 



I was kneeling in a lush, green place. Dappled light flitted 

around me and the air was filled with the rustling of leaves and 

the heavy, heady scent of May blossoms. The breeze was warm and 

invigorating in a way that I do not often experience in dreams. 

The ground beneath me was soft and deep with thick moss and 

low-growing shrubs. A slope near me was covered in late blue 

bells and primroses and shy little violets. I reached out a hand 

and touched a blue bell, feeling little drops of few fall into 

my hand. I stood and walked through the trees, barefoot and 

tingling.



Before me was a thick hybrid rhododendron bush, filled with 

delicate bright blue flowers. Its waxy leaves whispered, 

providing the most beautiful accompaniment to the melody 

drifting from in front of the bush. I crept forward, on my knees 

in damp soil again, until I was able to part the foliage.



In from of me lay the most wonderful scene I think I have ever 

seen. I didn't know until that moment that my heart was still 

capable of creating such beautiful things. It was something I 

know no one could ever see with their waking eyes, or even their 

mind's eye; it was straight from the bottom of my heart. It 

welled from the same place that the half-formed desires that 

have plagued me for so long wind their way into my waking mind. 

It was reassuring to know that not all that came from there 

brought pain with it.



There, in and around a pond filled with water lilies and 

green-tipped, half-grown rushes and unfurling ferns were some of 

the people that featured in my life. Some of the people I love. 

Shimako was lying asleep, her head in Yumi-chan's lap, while 

Sachiko smiled on. Noriko was dangling her feet in the cool 

water, humming to herself as Eriko swam lazy laps, her hair 

slicked back off her face. Kei was asleep on a slope near Youko, 

who sat with her legs curled beneath herself, winding flowers 

into a crown. 



My heart pounded at the site in front of me, blood thumping 

through my circulatory system with enough force to rupture 

something essential. They were all clad in simple white slips, 

satin and silk and cotton. Yumi, a small line of roses 

embroidered on the bottom of hers, tangled her fingers in 

Shimako's hair, earning a sleepy smile. Sachiko leaned over and 

kissed her, so poised and elegant that I nearly lost my breath. 



Noriko laughed a delighted laugh and splashed water into the 

air, and I was transfixed by the way they shimmered on their way 

back down to earth. They fell in tiny, gentle droplets on Yumi's 

shoulders and misted in her hair. She was still stroking 

Shimako, still kissing Sachiko. Youko stood and walked to Yumi, 

crowning her with blossoms. Yumi tipped her head backwards, 

granting Sachiko access to her throat and smiled at Youko, her 

gentle eyes filed with joy. 



“She who wears flowers attracts the happy graces; they turn back 

from a bare head,” I muttered to myself. It was so difficult to 

stop watching Yumi.



Youko slipped into the pond, wading in the hip-deep water with 

her arms trailing after her. She caressed the surface of the 

water, her lips raised to the breeze. She dipped beneath the 

water and swam away from me, out into the far verdant reaches of 

the pond. Kei woke and stretched, spotting me and smiling. She 

winked and tipped her head in invitation. I made my way over the 

grass, mimicking Youko's earlier actions and trailing my hands 

in the long stems and letting the seeds tickle me. I sat beside 

Kei and watched the sky shift in the breeze.



Kei spoke to me, and I spoke to her, but I have no idea what I 

said. I was fuzzy and my chest felt heavier than lead. Everyone 

around me was so happy and content, laughter and conversation 

filled the air. Eriko had lifted herself from the water and was 

lounging beside Rei, the pair of them weaving Yoshino's plaits.



So much joy. So innocent and harmless. Such light and hope and 

beauty! I still only remember this dream when I'm alone, when no 

one will disturb me or ask what I'm thinking about. What a 

contrast to my normal life. I've held it so close to my heart 

for so many years now that it's a more tactile memory than most 

of my actual memories. It feels like the most honest part of me, 

the part of me that doesn't worry about expectations or proper 

conduct or other people. It warmed me and gave me hope for my 

future that some of the deepest parts of me were filled with 

such bright, happy things.



How much time passed it's hard to know. Dreams are so transient 

and so brief! The speed of thought, indeed; eyes without feeling 

and feeling without sight, and whatnot. However long I sat 

there, all time and all awareness of its passage slipped from me 

as Youko stood in the pool, drops of water rolling off her body 

in streams like pearl necklaces.  She stole the very essence of 

my being in that moment; robbed me of my senses and stopped my 

heart. 



As she walked up to me and opened her arms, cradling my face 

against her now nude belly, she may well have broken my heart. 

She touched my head and lowered her hands to my shoulders and 

back, touching me so lightly that she could have been mist. I 

wound my arms around the backs of her legs, feeling my forearms 

rest just below the curve of her derrière. I knelt in the soft 

grass before her, humble and awed by her stillness and her 

poise. Her elegance and grace made me bow my head and squeeze my 

eyes shut, and I would have done anything to make sure she never 

stopped those light, tickling, teasing movements of her fingers. 



She was so beautiful and warm as she pulled me down into the 

soft grass, kneeling and laying my head on her folded knees. She 

was so gentle and affectionate; everything I'd ever craved in 

life. I rested my head on her lap and thought about what I'd do 

next. Everything in me screamed for me to turn my face and bury 

it between her legs, because I knew it was a dream. I knew that 

all I did here would have no impact on the waking world.



I knew she had deeper feelings for me than she'd admit, I wasn't 

that much of an idiot. But I was too raw from so many things 

(things that now wear habits) that I dreaded being close to 

someone again. I dreaded falling that deeply again, especially 

with someone like Youko. 



But despite all this, I longed to turn my face, but I was no 

more able to do that than I would have been were I awake. So I 

sighed, and woke up. 



**



Let me say how hard it is to walk around Lillian everyday. Or, 

at least, how hard it used to be. Everywhere I went were the 

sighs and flushed faces of girls in love with each other. The 

system here normalises this and makes it acceptable for the 

brief few years you attend. 



How healthy and how wholesome to have someone older to look 

after you and set a fine example! How noble to take an interest 

in the welfare of a younger student! The odd lingering look or 

perhaps even the occasional little kiss was forgiven as long as 

you don't stray outside the boundaries of sisterly love. As long 

as it's all suitable for the Maria-sama, you could get away with 

it.



Mary, Mary, quite contrary how does your sorrow grow? Surely you 

understood my desperation better than their soft, cloying 

affections? You, Queen of Sorrows, a child bride accused of 

adultery when you were younger than any student of the school. 

You, who required divine intervention to prevent your fiancé 

from leaving you forever. You, who watched her son die on the 

cross. You, who hear the cries of those too woe begone to call 

upon your son. 



Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee, blessed art 

thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. 

Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the 

hour of our death.



Mother of God. Mother of Mercy, Holy Mother, Queen of Grace, Our 

Lady of Lourdes and Holy Queen, The Madonna. Afforded a place in 

heaven that no other human ever would be. Blessed amongst women. 

I wonder if you will be as kind to people like me as all those 

girls assume you are. Are people like me allowed by your son's 

covenant? Are we not called abominations in one of your holy 

books? I'm very glad that I don't really believe in your son and 

the rest of his triumvirate. I can't imagine the guilt that 

would follow. 



I knew then that I wasn't like the rest of these girls and I 

never would be. I was never happy with those lingering looks and 

quickly clasped hands and shy blushes. I always felt the rush of 

desire and the tight coiling of longing in me. I wanted to melt 

away; to reform with another. I wanted to spend all my time with 

that person, my entire life. In fact, it came to the point where 

my entire life was defined around her. 



Not very sisterly at all, at all. But I would have done it 

again, if I had fallen in love. 'But I'll never hide it away 

like I did with her', I told myself. We closed ourselves out 

from the world around us and vanished into each other. It wasn't 

a happy love, and it ended badly. 'If ever I feel that way for 

someone again, I'll shout it from the rooftops. I have to, 

because if I don't it'll destroy me. Just as it did before', I 

wrote in a journal that no one knew I kept.



'So, if I'm to be seen as a pervert in the eyes of Maria-sama 

(as various nuns have guaranteed I will) then I'll at least be 

an honest one. I'll not hide my affection behind guilt; love 

behind social duty. And even though every little rejection 

stings terribly, every little victory makes them worthwhile. For 

every time someone has pushed me away, someone else has pulled 

me in. It still rings a bit hollow, those quick kisses and 

lecherous grins but I dare not stop or else I'll walk the same 

path as I did with Shiori.' I am sometimes inordinately fond and 

diabolically annoyed with my teenage self, as I'm sure everyone 

is.



I'll not remain a perpetual virgin, as you did, Maria-sama. I 

didn't have the grace to be born without sin and I lack the 

tenacity and the inclination to rid myself of it. 



You let your son die, for love. You let a spirit enter you, for 

love. You listen to our prayers, for love. You did it all for 

love. We tick the prayers off each rosary bead for far less 

noble reasons. So, don't mind this one sinner, who only wants to 

live her life happily, honestly, and filled with simple 

affection.



**



Oh, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!

So haggard and so woe-begone?



Keats



**



I picked a pen up off my desk earlier today, and it was covered 

in dust. It was six o'clock in the morning and I'd spent the 

night in a near-stranger's bed a few miles away. We'd met in a 

loud club, doing all our speaking with our eyes. Her taste was 

still in my mouth and her sweat was dry on my skin. I slipped 

into the shower and washed her off me, although my fingers 

smelled like her for hours and hours. I'd sat through lectures 

with my chin on the heel of my hand, catching whiffs of that 

scent and knowing it would be the last part of her I'd ever 

know. 



I was a bit cold all day, and tired. For all my efforts, I'd 

never found the same kind of love again (and I won't mention her 

name, not if I can avoid it). I'd come close a few times, but I 

was always thwarted in my efforts. I'd made damn sure not to 

ever fall too madly in love with Yumi, because there was always 

a danger that I would. My heart had stopped that day she kissed 

me, and I ached because in that second, we could have bulldozed 

our way into a new future together. For that fleeting moment, 

she had been brave and found herself. She needs to do it more 

often. I don't think she'd ever do it with me around twenty-four 

seven, somehow. I love her deeply, and I will admit to being 

quite protective of her in some strange way. But she already has 

someone to love dearly and powerfully and I refuse to come 

between them.



I'm sick of drama and of intrigue; I'm sick of things unsaid and 

worried silences. I want peace and softness, warmth and laughter 

around me. I want to bury my head in the crook of a delicate 

shoulder and feel the comfort of a breast under my chin. I want 

the passion that comes from wrapping myself around another 

woman, from having her wrapped around me. I want it all. I want 

fragrant skin and wet, secret places. I want her, whoever she 

may be, to know that I love her.



My Belle Dame, sans merci. Wherever you are, whoever you are, 

come to me and replace this ghost in my heart. The ghost of 

someone I've yet to meet. 



**



She came to me one day, immaculate in her business suit and 

sensible shoes. She called around to my apartment and we had 

tea. I never imaged that she'd return to this town, once she'd 

earned her qualifications. It was a hot and muggy June day, with 

little wind and no relief from the humidity. I was melting, even 

with the window wide open and me dressed in cut-off shorts and a 

green vest. 



She'd smiled, telling me that the look suited me. She asked 

about my studies, and I told her about my thesis. How 

surprising, that I'd take so well to university life, when high 

school life had troubled me so much, she said. I smiled fondly 

at her and sipped my tea. I didn't tell her how close I'd been 

to accepting an offer for a PhD in America. There was a damn 

good reason why I'd chosen the course I had, but when the time 

came for me to run away I couldn't bring myself to do it.



“So, who do you hear from?” I asked, and discovered that she 

kept in casual contact with far more people than I did. She was 

always better that letters and things. 



We talked about many things, and nothing. When she asked, I told 

her the funny, inconsequential stories and anecdotes one gathers 

from so many years of further education. I didn't tell her about 

the hurtful or horrible things I'd seen and done, and left her 

without a context to juxtapose the humour in my stories and 

expression with the sadness and defeat in my eyes and voice. 

Those things were too fragile to tell her about.



But somehow she knew. Somehow, she was able to see that pain in 

me and it obviously pulled at something in her. That pathos woke 

something in her that had been sleeping for far too long.



“Sei,” she said, scooting nearer to me, “do you ever miss 

Lillian?”



I shrugged. “Sometimes. It was fun there, you know. It was a 

good place to be for those years.”



We left those unsaid things unsaid, because we couldn't get 

bogged down in the details this early into the evening. “Are you 

happy?” she asked, staring into her tepid tea.



I blinked. I knew the answer, but I never would have expected 

Youko to ask the question. “I'm not happy, but I'm content with 

my life. Not content, maybe that's the wrong word, I'm more, 

resigned perhaps. Content without being comfortable or peaceful. 

But that's ok, because I've been happy in the past, and I will 

again. It's not like I'm sad, I've a good life and I enjoy it.” 

I scratched my head. “Do you understand? How you can be happy 

without any positive side effects?”



Her big, deep eyes were wild with emotion at that moment and she 

nodded. “It's a grey life.”



“It is,” I said “but it's mine, and I'll be damned if I let it 

bug me.”



I stared at her eyes and felt my pulse thrum in my ears. She 

knew, she knew exactly what it was like. She reached out a hand 

and I took it, pulling her to me and crushing her into my arms. 

She trembled ever so slightly and sighed a moist sigh into my 

chest.



“Youko,” I said, closing my eyes, “don't be upset, please.”



And she looked up at me, and broke my heart all over again.



**



Non negar a questo straziato mio cor

tregua al suo dolor!

Sperduta l'alma mia si prostra a te,

e pien' di speme si prostra ai tuoi piè, 

t’invoca e attende 

che tu dedia

la pace che solo tu poi donar.

Ave Maria! 



Schubert



**



It turned out that she'd been seeing a nice young fellow for a 

couple of years after school. A course mate, an eminently 

suitable partner. But he'd broken up with her and she'd spent a 

long time feeling guilty about not being too upset. (She'd 

whispered this to me in a small, choked, urgent voice as sunset 

bled into the night outside my open window and turned her hair 

and skin into molten metal). I told her about how so many people 

came and spoke to me about so many different things, and how I'd 

spent more time as an activist for LBGTQ (hmm, will the use of 

this particular acronym date my thoughts too much?) than 

actually having any kind of a proper relationship. I'd become a 

classic Lothario, flitting from casual affair to casual affair 

with a smile and my ever-expanding ego.



“Don't you want something more permanent?” she asked as she both 

stared out the window, leaning against the sill. 



“Nothing's permanent, Youko,” I sighed. “It's not as if I don't 

have friends and people I love.” And, I added silently, it's not 

as if I can't go out and get laid whenever I need it. “All my 

needs are met. Why? Are you after something permanent?”



I looked over at her, but she didn't look up at me. The sun was 

blood red, tingeing the clouds and the sky was nearly green 

above it. The play of light and shadow on her face, her delicate 

profile, made me want to weep. How unfair that she'd only spend 

a few measly decades on this earth!



She closed her eyes and kissed me on the lips. It wasn't 

fleeting or quick, but it sure as hell didn't taste permanent 

either.



**



She was nude before me on my bed, perfect and shining in my 

messy flat. I was nude too, but I bore marks from her 

fingernails. I'd practically given up on them years ago, far too 

much maintenance, if you ask me. She was pale and perfect, her 

dark hair softly falling around her chin seeming to draw 

attention down to her sternum, the curve of her breasts, her 

belly-button, her dark pubic hair. 



I leaned in and she closed her eyes, sitting absolutely 

straight. “Show me what you do, Sei, to those women you being 

home. Make me feel like they do.”



Her legs were folded neatly beneath her, and I leaned in, 

bracing myself on one hand. I hadn't the heart to tell her that 

the only other women who'd ever slept in this bed had been Yumi 

or Kei, on the few occasions when our little parties had lasted 

longer than the buses had (and I'd had a drink or two). And I'd 

never seen them naked, or felt their desire so keenly. 



I leaned in, until our breasts were almost touching and reached 

out to hold her face. She was absolutely still, save for the 

rapid rise and fall of her chest. She tipped her chin up every 

so slightly and her lips fell open. I cocked my head slightly to 

watch her and felt my eyes cross.



“I can't do to you what I do to them, Youko,” I ran a thumb over 

the corner of her mouth. “You're my friend, someone I care 

deeply about. Do you understand?”



Before she opened her eyes or her mouth, I covered her lips with 

my own and kissed her hard. She'd not come here for comfort, or 

for reassurance or to reacquaint herself with an old friend. I 

didn't want to consider why she'd come, not then. Not when I was 

able to lose myself in her softness so quickly. Not when two 

arms wrapped around my shoulders and gripped convulsively as she 

fought against my mouth. 



I pressed her back quickly, and her arms left my neck as she 

propped herself up on her elbows, shooting me a dangerous look. 

I smiled at her and laughed, my face split in a wide grin. It 

was one she recognised and she kissed me again. I began to 

almost feel like my old self again, and my heart have a double 

thump. I took her hands and wove our fingers together above her 

head pressing down against her body from the side. She lay 

straight in the bed, her arms above and her legs below, seeming 

so slight beneath me. I kissed her and drew back, until our 

breasts nearly broke contact. Her nipples were such a delicate 

shade of pink, puckered and wrinkled and jutting proudly from 

her milky skin. They were lighter than mine, even as engorged as 

they were. 



I studied her, taking in her carefully groomed body, smiling 

slightly. “Let me touch you everywhere, Youko,” I whispered, and 

she jerked slightly at her name. I wondered if this was her 

first time, and quashed that thought. “Let me put my mouth on 

you, all over. Please.”



She was nervous, but she was brave, and she nodded, eyes boring 

into mine and dark with desire. “Sei, please,” she said. I 

pressed my body into hers, supporting myself on my elbows and 

she moaned. I spent a moment there, breathing in her breath, my 

eyes as tightly shut as hers, before I shifted and moved. One 

knee on each side of her thighs, my face buried in her breasts, 

sucking and nuzzling as I went. Her eyes snapped open when my 

own breasts dragged over her stomach, and I moaned as well. Her 

head and chest shook with desire and I closed my eyes, slipped 

lower and settling between her knees.



Needing her in my mouth, I lowered my face into the sacred, 

beautiful space between her legs and held her hips to keep her 

from squirming. I gazed at her, in a way I'm sure no one ever 

did, and she moaned at the look of lust on my face. She was 

pulsing and red before me; with tremors in her stomach and jerky 

little movements of her neck. She was as wet as I was, and 

unfolding before me. She was layers and layers of fragrant, 

musky flesh and it was impossible not to think of roses and buds 

and nectar and honey. She was not the sum of badly-named pieces 

of skin and clefts. She was not a cliché nor was she perfect. 

She was dripping wet and filling my senses and making my own 

parts quiver in sympathy. She was another of nature's miracles, 

and my tired heart was mended when I looked from her mons to her 

face and back again. She was red and raw and had more power over 

me than any other woman I've ever met.



“Rosa Chinensis,” I said to her, eyes never lifting from her 

vulva, and she laughed a joyful laugh before I lowered my tongue 

and lips. She threw her head and she trembled, and didn't do 

much coherent talking after that.



**



She slept on my arm, that night, gripping my shoulder and 

resting her face so very close to my own. I was draped around 

her without any hesitation or reluctance. My back was sore, my 

shoulders were scratched and my elbows (and probably knees) were 

red and burned. The morning light resting over us was soft and 

reverential. My vulva was still slick and felt very satisfied. I 

was jelly in her arms, and I think she knew it. Gone was the 

serious, studious look that had dominated her face for the first 

part of the night. A soft smile, a contented softening around 

the eyes had replaced it. 



I began then to doubt that this would be as transient as I'd 

anticipated. There was a spark of knowledge there and then, 

after our very first night together, that this could lead to 

something better than the sum of its constituent parts. Touches 

and kisses aren't permanent, but lying casually draped over 

someone, listening to her heart beat and watching her breathe 

can be. Seeing a live, vital body so close and so personally; 

touching her and shivering under her touch in turn, that held a 

hint of permanence.



I closed my eyes and felt, for the first time in a very long 

time, that all was finally well with the world.



**



She brought me coffee in her apartment, one morning three months 

later, as she often did, but the way she moved had changed. It 

made my heart sing to see the last traces of awkwardness around 

me, around us, leave her completely. She dropped a kiss to my 

lips and went back to reading the paper. Things would change, 

for the better, I thought. I was sure of it. We would be 

permanent. We would be sinners together. We would be strong and 

real and not-at-all sisterly. I was so sure.



The previous night, cradled in her arms after crashing around 

her skilled fingers and mouth, I'd held her and told her I loved 

her. She'd looked at me with calm, deep, aroused eyes and said 

'oh, really?' and I had laughed and said it again and again and 

again until she was screaming it with me. What made the 

difference is that she knew what I meant when I said it, and 

vice versa. 



She finished her coffee and toast, and placed her neatly folded 

newspaper on the table. She moved around to me and sat on my 

lap, her bare backside making me giggle slightly. She adopted as 

stern a look as she could and gripped my lapels.



“Quit your laughing, Satou Sei,” I had to bite my lip. “You have 

to go back to your room before you go to the library, don't 

you?”



I nodded. “I forgot a few books that need returning. I don't 

want to be fined, now, do I?”



“So you have to go all the way over there, and then back past 

here, and then on to the library?”



“Good thing I have the car, isn't it?”



She wrapped her arms around my head and gripped me as tightly as 

she could. “Stay here, with me, all the time. Move in with me.”



I was shocked, and I turned surprised eyes to her. She wasn't 

joking, not at all. I kissed her deeply and gasped that I would. 

About two years later, almost to the day, we got ourselves civil 

union-ed (I still can't say 'got married', since it's legally 

not marriage, no matter how much we campaigned and living with a 

lawyer makes you a little bit pedantic about things like this). 

All our friends were there, in the registry office and later in 

a little place we rented out.



And that night, when I came up behind her and laid my hand over 

hers, marvelling at the two matching silver bands on our 

fingers, it was magical. The familiarity of years was washed 

away in a tide of tumultuous passion, and we were more clumsy 

and more rushed than we had been on our first night together. We 

screamed and laughed and cried and I loved her so deeply that I 

knew all the good in me had melted and been reformed in her 

eyes.



**



And now, as we prepare for our ten year reunion in Lillian, with 

our matching rings and our own little house on a quiet street 

and our own careers and our own love, it all seems to have 

fallen into place so well. 



So maybe there is something to be said for two-thousand year old 

virgins, after all.