Definition of a "good fight":
Nobody dies. Nobody comes so perilously close to dying that they have to spend the rest of the night cuddled around her, shaken and thankful. The action gets all of them involved, forcing just enough moves to get their blood flowing, but doesn't leave anyone too exhausted to do more than tumble into bed afterward. Bonus points if someone is the clear heroine of the day.
Today was a good fight. And Madoka, who pulled off a last-minute save involving three rapid-fire trick shots plus one shoe hurled at just the right moment, is due for some congratulations.
Sayaka and Homura pull her onto the broad mattress, Homura peppering her neck with kisses while Sayaka undoes the zip on her slacks, getting in an energetic grope along the way. Kyouko watches, licking her lips; Mami shakes her head fondly and opens the locked drawer in their bedside table. "Madoka-chan, do you have a request?"
Madoka blushes, cuddled in Homura's arms, her lower half now bare of all but a pair of striped panties. "L-Lemon Meringue."
An outside observer would have been taken aback to realize that prim and proper Mami is the sex-toy connoisseur of the group. These four long ago got used to it. They indulge her habit of naming dildos after desserts, and have even gotten bored of teasing her about her favorite: the largest of all, a polka-dotted black monster of a thing called Charlotte.
"Any interest in Apple Tart?" puts in Kyouko, snagging the item in question from the drawer and twirling it in her hand with a feral grin. It's small and apple-red, with juicy curves and a flared base, and it hums when you push the right button. She's been urging the others to be brave and try it out for ages.
To the surprise of all, though her blush deepens to about the same color as the toy in the process, Madoka stammers, "Okay."
Homura undoes the hair ribbons with delicate care and sets them aside in a neat pile. Sayaka is less attentive with the blouse; between her and Kyouko, they all lose a lot of buttons. Kyouko whisks away the clothes (all of Madoka's plus enough of the others' to leave them in various stages of delectable half-undress) while Mami wipes down the smooth creamy curve of Lemon Meringue and settles herself on the bed at Madoka's feet.
The panties slide easily down her thighs, baring a triangle of pink curls already with a slight sheen of arousal. Homura squeezes her hand. Sayaka kisses the curve of her breast and unclasps her bra.
Under the guidance of Mami's gentle hands, Madoka lets her thighs fall apart. Kyouko's in like a shot, her talented tongue a weapon; this is her favorite act by far, to the delight of everyone on the receiving end. The throb at Madoka's center sends a shudder through her whole frame, tipping back her head and upending her sense of gravity. Homura hums with pleasure and lowers her shoulders to the mattress.
Sayaka bends to kiss the hollow between Madoka's breasts. They've filled out nicely in the years since her childhood crush first made itself known, never as impressive as Mami's but soft and smooth and pert against her lips. Madoka's fingers card through her hair, meaning to guide her, but end up clinging to the back of her neck for support as Kyouko's hands grip Madoka's ass and lift. Her legs flail wildly; Mami catches them, lips brushing the inside of one of her ankles.
Her free hand gropes blindly and lands on Homura's sheer-clad calf. Homura covers it with her own, a secret smile blossoming on her lips in the moment before she claims Madoka's mouth.
They each have their preferences, of course, not that they love the others any less for it. Kyouko's shy about penetration from anyone but Sayaka, though her filthiness reaches its apex with the blue-haired girl in a harness and a strap-on. Mami prefers being eaten out by Kyouko and tied up by Homura. And though Madoka will accept and cherish kisses from any of her girlfriends, Homura drinks in her mouth like water in the desert, like all hope and comfort in the world can be found on the tip of Madoka's tongue.
She's a mess of sensation, nerves on fire, hips thrusting wantonly at every touch. Kyouko's tongue runs along the cleft of her ass before dipping inside her, the sensation unfamiliar and unraveling. Sayaka's traces her nipple, teeth grazing her flesh as she writhes. Homura kisses her until she can hardly breathe, then smooths damp hair out of her face with the fine care of a painter mixing a shade.
Kyouko pushes the vibrator inside her and switches it on, grinning even wider when Madoka cries out and nearly kicks Mami in the face. She doesn't consider it proper sex until they get gentle Madoka undone enough to leave bruises. "All yours, senpai."
They trade places easily, this dance well-choreographed and much-practiced. Madoka's trembling all over, her folds and inner thighs glistening with wetness. The questing of her hips is somewhat steadied by Sayaka's arm slung across her stomach; Mami adds extra pressure with the heel of her hand and slides the dildo home.
Madoka cries out, and again when Mami pulls back and thrusts (it's easy, so easy, she's soaking wet), seeking the exquisite give-and-take that will let her know she's at the right angle. She's about to reach for Madoka's clit when Sayaka's fingers drift downward and handle it. The first touch, and she's upended by her first orgasm of the night, voice cutting off mid-cry as it crashes over her.
The retreat of Sayaka's hand is the only concession to her new sensitivity that Madoka gets. Kyouko's fondling the curve of her calf, considering sucking on her toes but afraid of losing teeth in the process. Mami settles into a rhythm, Lemon Meringue just the right size to fill her to the brim, her inner walls flexing and clenching as it thrusts inside her and strokes there, right there! Homura's hand cups her jaw, thumb dipping between her lips, holding her in place in order to suck on her earlobe. Sayaka's hot mouth and the thrumming of Apple Tart are constants, maddening and magical, keeping her whole body singing.
She feels as much as hears the whisper on Homura's breath (I love you), and it all pulses together to tip her over the edge a second time, moaning around Homura as her hands clench and her hips spasm. Sayaka laughs against the curve of her shoulder, squeezing her breast with a hand damp from her arousal. "You're allowed to say if it's too much, you know."
Madoka shakes her head, though it's hard to tell the motion from the other twitches and shocks still rocking through her. She can take one more, she feels some nights as if she could take ten more, three from each of the loves of her life. Magical stamina or no, she'll be too wiped out after this to return the favor; it's greedy, perhaps, but she knows they're greedy for it too, enjoying her body and only wishing there were more of it to go around.
Through blurred and sparking vision she catches sight of the heave of Mami's lace-cupped breasts in time with the thrusting inside her. Kyouko's sharp teeth graze the taut muscle of her thigh; Homura's hair is a dark, silken shadow, curtaining across her forehead and wrapping around her like another adoring limb. Her eyes press shut, so that she doesn't see whose fingers massage her clit this time, only feels her entire body flush with the wave of it as her back arches and her lungs strain nearly to bursting.
It isn't until the length pulls out from her pulsing center that she feels she can breathe again. Someone switches off the humming and slides the vibrator free; the hands at her mouth and her breast and her clit retreat, letting her settle to the sheets, slick and panting.
A warm, wet towel appears out of nowhere, running softly up the insides of her thighs and down her breasts and belly. She lets herself be pampered for a long, sleepy moment before opening her eyes, languid gaze settling on Homura. The mattress dips beside her where Sayaka, Mami, and Kyouko have gathered, expressions fixed on her with degrees of pleasure that range from gentle to smug, while their hands roam almost unconsciously up each other's legs in a sensual tangle of limbs.
"I love," hums Madoka, hoarse and breathy, "you. All. You're all, all, wonderful."
With limp muscles she raises one arm. Homura catches it, kisses the bone of Madoka's wrist, and cups Madoka's palm against her pale cheek. "Kaname Madoka, we'd be nothing without you."