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“Who iiiis it?”
Beau folds her arms across her chest and leans against the doorframe with a sigh. “It’s me, Jess. Can I come in? I…” Fuck, shit, balls. “I need a bit of a pick-me-up.”
“Oh!”
There’s a bit of scuffling on the other side of the door, some fumbling as the bolt is slid back, and then the door is flung open hard enough to nearly clip Beau in the temple. She jerks back instinctively and winces at the latticework of fire that shoots up her side. “Fucking…”
Her agonized preoccupation falters for a moment at the sight of Jester in the doorway, wide-eyed with concern. She’s baring an awful lot of skin for this hour of the afternoon. And by the looks of it… Beau peers over her diminutive shoulder, but the little attic room they share is empty.
“Uh… Jester?”
“Yeees?”
“What are you… doing in here?” Beau flicks her fingers at her to demonstrate. “Not that you have to, uh, tell me, just—”
“Oh! I am trying on my new clothes! Do you like them?”
Jester hops back into the room and spins around in a circle, giving Beau a somewhat blurry three-sixty view of her body. She’s wearing a very pretty breastband sort of garment, made of white eyelet lace that stands out like bright sunlight against her deep blue skin. It’s not practical at all—the straps are thin, and the laces in the back are made of silky ribbon that looks ready to unravel in a second. Jester is a bit more well-endowed than Beau herself, but even Beau wouldn’t dare wear such a thing in battle for fear it would slide and snap and just end in complete disaster.
“Well?” Jester asks when she’s finished spinning. She smooths down the front of her matching eyelet bloomers and gives a breathless, beaming smile. Beau’s chest tightens strangely, like she’s short of breath. “What do you think?”
“They’re, uh… really pretty.” Beau coughs to clear her throat and starts to turn around. “I can come back later, though, I don’t want to be a—a bother—”
“You’re not a bother!” Jester insists, springing forward to prevent her escape. “Are you injured? Oh, Beau… you don’t look so good.”
“I’m fine,” Beau says automatically, but Jester is already taking her gently by the elbow and leading her over to sit down on the bed. The attic room is small, with a sloping ceiling; it only has the one bed, but it’s not a bother to share, and anyway, Beau always feels a pang of guilt at the thought of leaving Jester to sleep by herself. They’re roommates, now, after all.
“Let me take a look,” Jester declares, businesslike in spite of her… informal attire. Beau drops her gaze to her knees, where her bloody knuckles lay. There comes a gentle tap on her chin. “Up, up. Your eye is all purpley-red!”
Resigned, and maybe a little relieved, Beau shuts her eyes and focuses on her breathing as Jester weaves the weft of healing word into her bruised flesh. Almost immediately, it feels like cool fingers are tracing everywhere Dairon struck. The annoying sting of her split lip fades, the throbbing ache behind her eyes dissipates into a faint soreness. The strain in her shoulder where she landed a little bit wrong untwists; her ribs ease and she gasps, taking a full breath for the first time in nearly an hour. The walk back from the Cobalt Soul had not been a pleasant one.
“I don’t understand why you let her do this to you.”
Jester’s perturbed voice tugs Beau’s eyes open and she looks up, straight into her friend’s cleavage. Beau clears her throat and looks askance as Jester continues to hold Beau’s face in her hands, frowning in concentration. “Does it… help?”
“Help? I…” Beau stops, taken aback. She wasn’t expecting that question. “She’s teaching me, so. Yeah. I guess.”
“I don’t mean help like that.” Jester gives her a keen, knowing sort of look. The kind of look she flashes but rarely, when she isn’t playing the ditz or just generally being her adorable, happy-go-lucky self.
“Oh. Ohhhh.” Beau flushes a little. Her mother may be a famous courtesan, but it’s still strange to think of Jester knowing about… that sort of stuff. The edgier stuff. “I mean. Yeah, it sort of helps. Not like, in a kinky way, because weird, she’s my teacher, and also she’s kind of insufferable. But it does help, uh, focus me? I guess? Is the best word.”
Jester purses her lips and nods, though she hardly seems satisfied with the answer. “Then I won’t tell you not to go. But… come to me after, okay?” For a minute her lower lip wobbles, like she’s preparing to break out the china doll act, but she reins it in at the last minute and just gives Beau a stern look. “I don’t want you going around town beaten and bloody and pretending you’re okay. Okay?”
“Oh… kay.” Beau probes a tooth with her tongue that had been loose five minutes ago. Now it’s firmly rooted in her mouth; she can’t even taste blood. She smiles. “Thanks, Jester.”
“Of course, you’re very welcome.” Beaming, Jester leans down and kisses the top of her head. “Now stay put and I will put some tape on your eyebrow so it doesn’t get all scarred and wrinkly like Fjord.”
“Okay. You, uh. You look very pretty, by the way,” Beau says as Jester waltzes off to root through her medicine kit. “In your… stuff. It’s not practical, but I guess you’re not planning to fight in it.” She zips her mouth shut and cringes. Gods, Fjord is right, I’m the worst at this. For a split second she wishes he was here to coach her, and then immediately changes her mind. Right now she has Jester all to herself, and she wants to keep it that way. For now.
“Thank you!” Jester returns, cheeks round and glowing a faint purple as she places medical tape and a vial of ointment on the mattress. The vial rolls against Beau’s thigh, and she picks it up just to have something to do with her hands. “Hold still,” Jester murmurs. The soft exhale of her breath smells of lavender. Very gently, she tapes the half-closed cut across Beau’s eyebrow, then kneels at her feet to tape up her knuckles. The healing magic was good, but the ribs and the mild concussion were the priority, leaving her a bit banged up around the edges. “I know they’re not practical—I would fly out of this in a second in a fight!” She giggles at the prospect, shouldering her breasts together beneath the thin eyelet lace. It’s practically an invitation to look. Beau lets herself, for a moment. And another. “I just… wanted something pretty. Something for me.”
Beau doesn’t think she’s ever worn something like that. Her parents had tried, by the gods, but as soon as she was old enough to speak her mind—and she’d been doing so almost from the moment she could speak—Beau had refused the long line of frocks and dresses pressed upon her by her longsuffering chain of nannies.
“Just you?” she asks, watching Jester’s blue fingers move against her own dark brown skin. “Not anyone else?”
Jester blinks up at Beau from beneath her lashes, at once coy and innocent. “Who else would it be forrr?” She drags out the r’s with a little trill of her tongue. Beau looks away.
“I dunno. You seem to like Fjord a lot. And uh, I don’t know. You had that… that secret meeting with Caleb to discuss his… package.”
“Eugh!” Jester screws up her face and giggles, horrified. “Beau! Caleb is stinky. And I do not think he is so much into the ladies, if you know what I mean.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
Beau blinks slowly. “Wait, really?”
“I mean… I don’t know for sure, and it’s really none of my business anyway, but like I think, maybe he only likes the gentlemen. As in men, not, like, The Gentleman, you know?”
“Yeah, no, yeah. I got it.” Beau flexes the fingers in one hand, testing the tape Jester has just finished applying. It’s well done—bends with the movement of her hand, but keeps the joints snug and secure without stifling her reach. “Do you think anybody else is… I mean, what do you think of our other companions? Like, their… preferences?”
Jester cocks her head at her and takes her other hand. “Whyyyy do you want to know?”
“I dunno. Just curious. And I’m like, really bad at reading that kind of thing. People. In general.”
“Welllll.” Jester’s tongue curls thoughtfully against her palate. “I’m not really an expert, you know, but I don’t think Molly really cares about what’s in your pants, as long as you’re up for a good time. That one’s easy. Fjord…” and this one she drags out too, pronouncing it like Caleb does, Fee-yoorrd, stretching one syllable into two or three depending on how tired he is and how thick his accent sits in the back of his throat. “I don’t know about him, he’s very hard to read. Very good at just…” She shuffles her shoulders, like shrugging on a coat. “He slides through, you know? Very nice to look at though. Verrrry nice.”
Beau clenches her fist unthinkingly, and earns a gentle tsk and a reminder to be still. “Sorry, sorry. So you’re into Fjord, then?”
“I mean, he is attractive, and so clever with his voices, but…” And for the first time her voice betrays a hint of uncertainty, and her hand slow, drawing thoughtful spirals in the palm of Beau’s hand. “I don’t think he is into me, so much. And anyway, it doesn’t mean anything. It is fun to flirt, that’s all.” She shrugs and perks up again, eyes sparkling, as jovial as ever. “Like it is fun to flirt with Caleb just to make him go all stammery and awkward. Or Yasha!”
Beau coughs discreetly. “Do you think Yasha is…”
“Oh, I think Yasha is Yasha. She is so tall and mysterious! But I have seen her collecting flowers and pressing them into her little book. Maybe she is saving them to give away.” Jester wiggles were eyebrows at Beau, grinning. “Would you like to be receiving flowers from Yasha, Beau?”
“I—I mean, it would be cool, I guess. Uh.” Beau curses herself inwardly for her awkwardness. Why can’t she just brush it off?
“I knewwww it!” Jester singsongs. “I knew you liked her! But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I am very good at keeping secrets. I saw sooo many funny things in the brothel growing up but I never told anyone! Except my mom, but that’s different.” She finishes taping up Beau’s hand and rests them back in her lap with a gentle pat. “Do you think you’ll tell her, ever?” Her voice is softer now, sweeter, the way she sighed over the love story in her smutty book. “How you feel?”
“How I…? Gods, no. No, probably not, no, I… I don’t really go in for all that, you know. Like… mushy shit. Relationships and stuff.”
“Why not?”
Beau opens her mouth to deliver another line of bullshit and closes it again. Jester is staring at her with such bald-faced innocence, a little bit of sadness tucked in the corners like the paper-dry petals tucked into Yasha’s book, that she’s having trouble coming up with something believable. “I just… I mean… I don’t know. I don’t… I’ve never had that sort of thing… happen. To me. Before.”
Jester takes a deep breath and lets it out in a soft, o-shaped exhale. “Ohhhhhhhh. You mean, you have not had a girlfriend before so you are scared of having one, or you are scared of having one because you have never had hrmph hrmph hrmph?”
Beau closes her eyes, hating the blush that crawls up her cheeks at Jester’s blustering. She’s not sure if it would be worse or better if Jester had just said sex. “I don’t see that it matters,” she mumbles. Her fingers turn to fists in the loose fabric of her sash, and she can feel the tough weft straining under the pressure. “Just because I’ve never—ugh.”
“Do you not want to?” Jester inquires, as bright and curious as ever. “It’s okay if you don’t. Lots of people don’t, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Says the daughter of a whore,” Beau snarks.
There’s a moment of quiet. “Well I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Jester says in a small voice. Beau instantly feels terrible.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—fuck. I’m really not good at this.”
“At what?” Jester inquires. She bats her eyelashes a little—Beau is already forgiven. Beau doesn’t deserve her.
“Anything,” Beau says glumly. “You’ve heard Fjord trying to coach me. I don’t know why he bothers. I never learned anything in this life that wasn’t delivered at the end of a fist.”
Jester mulls this over, spinning the yarn between her fingers until it’s an intricate web. It looks like it makes sense to her, but Beau couldn’t find the tail or head of it even if she sat and studied it for a few minutes. “Do you think you’d like to be hit, then?” Jester asks softly. There’s no judgement to her voice, just a little furrow dug into the wide blue field of her brow, like she’s trying to put two and two together and coming up threes. Beau can sympathize.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Beau relinquishes her grip on her sash and rubs the backs of her knuckles instead. They’d been split a few minutes ago, but now the skin has healed over fresh, knitted together under Jester’s care. She watches Jester’s fingers fly, braiding and twisting, and suddenly the cat’s cradle is inverted, becoming another shape entirely. Her brain flits briefly sideways, wondering what Jester could do with some silk rope and a little time, and an ugly hot flush crawls up her cheeks. “I just—I just want someone to tell me what to do,” she bursts out.
Jester looks up at her, finally, caught off guard. “Really?”
Beau fumes inwardly. Idiot. Stupid, idiot child. “It just seems so complicated,” she mumbles. “All this dancing around each other, silent negotiation—you saw Fjord at the bar tonight with the others. He was having this, this silent conversation with Molly over Caleb’s head, I could see it in their eyes, like they were passing a ball back and forth except…”
“Except you couldn’t see the ball,” Jester finishes, now alight with understanding. She curves her wrists in a strange way that almost looks contorted—are tieflings double-jointed?—and pulls the yarn taut.
In an instant, the complicated web devolves, tightening into a long braided strand. The pieces weave in and out of each other, connected and yet separate, and when Jester reaches for her arm, Beau gives it willingly. She watches Jester tie the woven bracelet around her wrist, snug and comfortable above her short leather bracer. Warmth creeps into her cheeks again, softer this time.
“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” Jester says gently. She holds Beau’s hand in hers, stroking the tender inner flesh of her wrist with a blue thumb. Beau can feel the weight of Jester’s gaze on her face and, terrified, stares at that point of contact as if it’s the only thing keeping her afloat in a stormy sea.
“Doesn’t it?” Beau croaks. Gods, she’s hopeless.
“Close your eyes.”
It’s not quite a command, but Jester’s voice is firm and easily obeyed. Beau shuts her eyes. She can hear her own heartbeat in her ears, magnified in the dark; the back of her neck prickles as Jester strokes the back of her hand, the meat of her palm, the sweaty crooks between her fingers where strips of cloth often press, keeping her fists firm and sturdy. Beau’s fingers twitch as Jester lifts her hand and kisses the backs of the knuckles.
“Breathe,” Jester says after a moment, almost laughing.
“Sorry,” Beau mumbles.
Jester tch’s gently. “Nothing to be sorry for.” She waits another moment or two, and by increments Beau’s taut spine unwinds. Jester is calm and unassuming at her side. Very warm where their thighs are pressed together, separated only by a few layers of cloth. At last Beau opens her eyes and sneaks a peek.
Jester isn’t even looking at her. She’s looking toward the open window, a vague smile on her face, lips twitching as if she’s trying not to break into song. A stray wisp of blue hair flutters against her cheek, caught by the breeze.
“You’re so pretty,” Beau sighs, almost on accident. Jester’s violet eyes crinkle up with delight, and their heads knock together easily like they do when they’re winding down after a long day, slumping weight against weight, both refusing to succumb to slumber. It’s a fond, familiar gesture, and Beau feels more of the nerves ease. “Can I kiss you?” she asks—unplanned, again, but she doesn’t take them back.
“Oh, yes please.” Jester turns toward her and closes her eyes.
Her nose is very freckled. Beau knows it, logically, but hasn’t ever taken the time to really appreciate it before. Rather shortsighted on her part, she thinks, as she leans in and presses her lips to Jester’s.
Jester is very kind, and doesn’t laugh at her for how clumsy it is. In fact, she barely gives Beau time enough to draw away, draw a breath to apologize—instantly she’s reaching out to cup Beau’s face in her hands and hold her still, coming close to kiss her again.
Her lips are even softer than Beau imagined they would be. Beau unfreezes slowly; lets her lips move, lets her fists uncurl where they’re fisted against her thighs. After a minute Jester drops one of her hands and lays it on Beau’s, lacing their fingers together. Something curls against Beau’s spine and under the back of her shirt a little—Jester’s tail.
She jerks back, blushing. “Tickles,” she says when Jester makes an inquiring noise.
“What…? Oh, gods, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it.” Jester looks dreadfully upset, forcibly dragging her tail away and sitting on it. “I swear it has a mind of its own—”
“It’s okay,” Beau interrupts, face flaming—but she’s in this far, might as well take another step into the pool. “I didn’t mind. It was… nice.”
“Oh. Ohhhhh.” Jester drags the vowel out long, tongue curling cleverly against her smiling teeth. Then she pops up from the mattress and pats the pillows where they’re piled up against the headboard. “Come sit, come sit. So we don’t have to crane our necks. I don’t want to waste another healing spell on that.”
Beau lets herself be arranged, feeling malleable and strangely lethargic even as new, spritely energy rushes through her veins. The sluggish ache infecting her body after her training session has been entirely flushed away to make room for this new, warm feeling—a feeling that intensifies as Jester climbs into her lap, straddling her thighs, and puts her hands on Beau’s shoulders.
“Is this okay?” Jester asks, eyes intent on Beau’s face. Beau nods rapidly, mouth dry—her tongue feels like a heavy rock in her mouth, and oh god, that’s the least sexy thing she can think of right now. But Jester leans in anyway, and Beau tips her chin up, and fucking fuck, Jester really knows how to kiss. She’s not pushy at all, always testing the waters before committing to something new. When she laps softly at Beau’s lower lip, she waits politely for Beau to return the gesture before licking carefully into her mouth. Beau’s never had someone else’s tongue on her tongue before, and frankly the idea had always seemed vaguely repulsive, but this… this is unexpected.
Gradually, she figures out how to kiss back, and the uncertainty knotted in her spine comes loose like unspooled thread. Beau leans forward into Jester’s warmth, sliding her hands up Jester’s hips to play with the hem of her brassiere. The laces are just pale pink ribbon, taut in front and framed in lace; Jester makes an encouraging sound in her throat and Beau carefully tugs at the bow nestled against Jester’s sternum.
Jester hums, pleased, and wriggles a little bit closer as the laces sag open. Beau’s hands flutter a moment, uncertain. “It’s okay,” Jester murmurs, breaking the kiss long enough to whisper words of encouragement into Beau’s temple. “You can touch.”
Beau flushes. Her lips feel warm and tingly, and strangely wet—when she licks her lips she can taste Jester, and it sparks a stab of heat in her lower gut. Jester nuzzles at her hairline, undemanding, and she takes the moment to breathe and admire the way Jester’s tits look half-spilled from her top, freckled and soft, her nipples peaking the thin fabric. Hesitantly, she cups one in her hand. Jester sighs and wiggles in her lap.
“That’s nice.”
“I—is it? I mean, good.” Fuck. Shut your stupid mouth, Beau, you idiot.
“Here.” Taking pity on her, Jester tugs the laces looser and pulls the whole contraption over her head. Her breasts bounce a little with the motion, and now Beau can see how dark her nipples are, nearly purple, her chest flushed a darker blue from her collarbones to her ribcage. Overwhelmed, Beau kisses her sternum and buries her face there, just breathing her in—lavender and clean soap and warm skin.
“Beau?” Jester whispers, threading her fingers through Beau’s hair. There’s a beat of quiet, and then the wrapping holding Beau’s hair up goes slack, and her high bun spills down into sweat-damp waves around her face. “Are you all right?”
Eyes closed, Beau nods. You’re just, like, really super beautiful and I don’t know how to handle it, she thinks, and hates herself a little for not saying out loud.
“Beauuuu.” Jester tucks a hand under her chin and lifts her face. Her cheeks are flushed violet to match her heavy-lidded eyes, and there’s a secret, playful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Her tail lashes cleverly behind her. She’s a vision, and Beau is hopeless. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, okay?”
“That’s the problem,” Beau groans, frustration leaking out from every pore. “I want to, I just… don’t want to fuck it up.”
Jester shakes her head so rapidly the jewelry dangling from her horns jingles like little bells. “Not possible. Well, maybe a little bit possible. But you tell me if I do something you don’t like, okay? And I’ll do the same, and it will be fine. You’ll see.”
Warily, Beau nods. “All right.”
Jester beams, bright as a sunrise, and puts Beau’s hand straight to her breast. “More of this is always good.”
Beau gets the hang of it, after a little bit. Jester is soft and easy on the hands, and so sweetly vocal it tugs at Beau’s heartstrings. And… other places. It doesn’t take long before Jester is entirely topless, sprawled across Beau’s lap with her hands in Beau’s hair and her tail curled around Beau’s wrist invitingly as she cops a feel. Beau can feel herself breathing harder, blood pounding in her skull and under skin. She cups Jester’s cheek in her hand and smiles when Jester breaks away to sigh her name.
“You are a very quick learner,” Jester whispers, nose to freckled nose. Her pupils are swollen black, turning her lilac eyes dark as midnight. She squirms a little in Beau’s lap and Beau swallows a groan. “Are you doing okay?”
“I’m doing great,” Beau says, tracing a friendly path down the curve of Jester’s spine. Her tail is still curled around Beau’s wrist, and it tightens a little as Beau grabs a handful of ass. “You?”
“Amazing,” Jester purrs. Her accent plucks a soft k at the end of the word, punctuating it with a toothy smile. “Do you want to… keep going?”
Beau licks her lips. She can’t tear her eyes away from Jester’s kiss-plump mouth. “I’m game if you are.”
She doesn’t fumble this time when she reaches for Jester’s tits. They overflow her hands a little, soft-edged, the nipples plucked to hardness beneath her thumbs. Beau leans down and kisses one, suckling the silk-thin skin like candy. Jester sighs above her and laces her fingers through Beau’s loose hair. A gentle tug redirects her to the other side, and Beau smiles as she scrapes with her teeth lightly, oh so lightly, and earns a soft muttered curse in return.
When Beau presses her back, hands on her waist, Jester goes, stretching out willingly across the rumpled bedding. Her tail flicks playfully against the sheets and she casts her arms out wide. A grinning invitation. Beau swallows the last of her trepidation and leans down.
Every inch of Jester is beautiful. Glowing blue, bruised lilac wherever Beau’s mouth leaves its mark. Beau could swear she tastes like fairy floss. She slurps kisses down her belly and lingers at her navel until Jester squirms and laughs, and tugs impatiently at the waistband of her knickers.
“Hey,” Beau says, lifting her head. Her voice is hoarse in her own ears, and she feels a deep flush creep down her face and chest. “Can I take these off?”
“Oh, yes please,” Jester murmurs. One hand curls against her cheek, half-hiding a coy smile. Beau would think it calculated, but the tremor of her lashes and the anxious flick of her tail is all Jester. Familiar mannerisms that put Beau at ease.
She unties the laces of the short bloomers and tugs them down, grunting when Jester refuses, giggling, to lift her hips to assist. Jester’s no lightweight, and the effort required helps settle Beau even further. Maybe she’s never seen another girl’s snatch before, but she knows what to do with her own, and surely they’re not so different?
Jester’s legs fall slack and Beau leans in, bussing her cheek against the silky-soft skin of one inner thigh. “Are tieflings, um… like super different? Down there?”
“Not really,” Jester says. She tucks a loose strand of hair back behind Beau’s ear and bites her lower lip. It’s so fucking hot that Beau doesn’t care if it’s calculated or not. “Would you like a grand tour?”
Beau snorts a laugh. “I mean… I guess? You’re supposed to be teaching me, right?”
“Of course!” Jester beckons her a little closer and Beau wriggles until she’s flat on her stomach between Jester’s thighs. Fuck, she can smell her, hot and salty-sweet. Beau sends a silent prayer to the Knowing Mistress as her mouth begins to water. “I take my teacherly duties very seriously, Beau. So pay attention.” Jester boops her on the nose for good measure and slides two fingers into the dark thatch of blue hair.
The musk of arousal grows stronger in Beau’s nose as Jester drags her fingers up and down a little, demonstrating how wet she is. Despite the aborted movements, Beau can hear the little slick sounds as clear as day, and she digs her fingers into Jester’s fleshy thighs. “Fucking hells,” she mutters.
“Ahhhh,” Jester sighs. “Oh…”
Jester was right—her anatomy isn’t so different from Beau’s. Her hair is dark and curly, damp with moisture, parting around her fingers to expose damp folds that seem more textured than Beau’s. Her clit is round and swollen at the top where it peeks from beneath its hood, eliciting shameless whimpers whenever Jester grazes it with her fingers. Teasing herself. She presses inside herself, mere inches from Beau’s slack face, and lifts her hips to grind against the palm of her hand. Fucking fuck, she’s gorgeous.
“Let me,” Beau rasps. “Please, Jess. Please.”
Wordless, already panting for breath, Jester takes a gentle hold of Beau’s hair and guides her down.
Beau licks right into the center of her, not caring how clumsy she is. Jester tastes like she smells: a little salty, a little tangy. Maybe a little like brimstone, or maybe that’s just her overactive imagination. Jester’s hand falls away to dig into her inner thigh, right above Beau’s desperate grip, and Beau can hear her panting out soft little moans as Beau circles her clit mercilessly with the tip of her tongue. Hair tickles the sides of her face as she sinks lower. Jester is warm and wet and inviting—more than warm, she’s hot, burning hot, like a flame flaring up at the head of a match before rescinding into an insistent coal.
“Fuck, Beau,” Jester blurts, grip tightening against Beau’s scalp. The harsh neediness of it sends electricity shooting through her and Beau moans, licking closer as she shoves her free hand into her own smallclothes. She’s soaked and throbbing, aching to be touched; she rubs in quick, short circles as she sucks at Jester’s clit and flirts with orgasm.
For many long heartbeats, they hover on the edge together. Then Jester gives a loud cry, and another, hips twitching up and quivering. Warm wetness splashes against Beau’s chin and she draws away, terrified of overstimulating her.
Suddenly Jester’s hand is out of her hair and on her shoulder instead, pushing her away. Beau goes, startled, and falls to one side without her right arm to support her.
“Jess…?”
“You’re a quicker learner,” Jester huffs, propping herself up on her elbows. She’s damp with sweat, hair starting to frizz into gentle waves around her face. She’s the most beautiful thing Beau has ever seen. She smirks. “But I think you need a little more… direction.”
“All right.” Beau extracts her hand from her loose trousers and sits back on her heels, still aching. She had been so close. The glint in Jester’s eye is familiar and not, and it kindles something delicious in her chest. A sweet, pulsing ache, a need she can’t quite express. “Um… what do you want me to do?”
Jester curls her finger, smiling. “I think you should take your clothes off. Please.”
Beau gulps for breath and nods. Her top comes off quickly, in spite of her fumbling hands, and she squeezes out of her breastband in a rush. A cool hand on her stomach stops her.
“Easy, Beau. There’s no hurry.” Jester smiles up at her and folds her arms behind her head. Her breasts weigh to either side and her stomach swells pleasantly with every breath. After a moment of shameless staring, Beau pushes off the bed unsteadily and peels off her trousers. “You have very pretty legs,” Jester tells her, pointing one toe off the mattress like a dancer. Beau stands there awkwardly, fingers hooked in the waistband of her smalls.
“Uh… thanks.”
“And boobs. Your boobs are pretty, too. Do you mind?” Jester asks anxiously, mood flipping so quick that Beau can barely keep pace.
“Do I mind?”
“Being called pretty.”
The word does twig something in the back of her mind. Beau blinks, considering it. “I mean, I guess not. I’ve just never really thought of myself as… pretty.”
Jester cocks her head curiously. “What do you think of yourself as?”
Beau finally tugs her smalls down and kicks them out of the way, then stands there, hands on hips, unsure of what she’s supposed to do. “Strong,” she says at last, truthfully. She’s not a beefcake like Jester or a tall, tall motherfucker like Yasha. But she’s tough. She flexes her arms a little bit and grins recklessly at Jester’s heavy-lidded stare. “Functional, I guess?”
“Functional,” Jester snorts. “Pah. You are much more than that. You are…” She breaks off to balance on her knees at the edge of the mattress, reaching for Beau’s hips. Beau steps within reach obligingly, and shivers when Jester laces delicate kisses across her ribcage. Her tits are small, but she can feel her nipples puckering, and she makes an inadvertent sound in her throat when Jester licks the point of one, as delicate as a cat.
“I am what?” Beau murmurs. She cups Jester’s face in her hands, strokes her fingers through the short strands of hair that stick to her freckled cheeks.
“You are beautiful,” Jester says, as serious as a sunrise. She licks a thumb and drags it across Beau’s other nipple, then plucks it like an instrument until Beau has to grit her teeth to keep quiet. “And very strong. Not as strong as me,” she adds quickly. “But fast. You are like a beautiful animal that could tear my head off.”
Beau chokes on laughter. “Um? Thank you?” She’s actually kind of into the comparison, but she doesn’t dare admit it; it feels a little too much like letting her guard down.
Jester squirrels up her face and sits back on her heels, crossing her arms over her chest. Her cleavage soars, and Beau gets closer to admire it. “It sounds better in Infernal,” she insists, pretending not to smile when Beau traces the freckles on her breasts with her fingertips.
“Are you gonna let me eat you out again or what?” Beau asks.
Jester purses her lips thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” she says in a throaty purr, “I rather thought you’d like to sit on my face.”
Beau’s knees lock up. “Uh. Yeah, that would be amazing. Fuck.”
“Maybe next time,” Jester says. “My cock has been floating around in the bag of holding for ages, it could probably do with a wash.” She throws herself back onto the bed with a joyous yelp and pats her boobs invitingly. “C’mere. Have a seat.”
“Cheesy,” Beau mutters, but she comes when she’s called, ears hot at thought of getting fucked on Jester’s cock.
After a bit of adjusting, and a bit of redistribution of the pillows, Jester is satisfied with the arrangement and pulls Beau down forcibly by the hips. Beau concedes and grips the headboard instead of Jester’s horns—it only seems polite.
Jester gives an experimental lick. “Mm, very nice,” she proclaims, and then dives in before Beau can become too embarrassed.
Jester eats her out like she’s starving and Beau is an extravagant feast. Nothing about her is restrained or refined—just pure, unadulterated delight at the task. Beau tries to muffle her noises in the back of her hand, the fingers of the other digging into the wood until she’s sure of getting splinters. But then she remembers that they’re the only ones on the attic level at the moment, so she ruts against Jester’s face and shouts a filthy string of curses when she comes.
Apparently taking this as a sign to redouble her efforts, Jester’s mouth barely slows. Beau gives into the desire to grab her by the horn (Jester had pulled on Beau’s hair, after all) and holds on for dear life as Jester slips a clever finger inside her, then another. Her tongue is broad and soft, rolling in slow waves against her clit; it’s too soft to come again right away, but it’s bone-deep and delightful all the same. Beau tips her head back and rocks her hips into it, groaning loudly.
“Fuck, Jester, this is… you’re…”
Jester’s fingers quirk just so, press deeply enough that Beau sees stars. And comes again—and again, right on the heels of the second, swearing loud enough that someone in the room beneath theirs pounds on the ceiling with a muffled shout.
Finally, finally, Jester relents—she retreats to Beau’s inner thighs instead, kissing and nibbling bright red marks into her skin. Beau sags, tracing the whorls of Jester’s horns. “Jess…”
“Yyyessss?” She pulls back, mouth still slick and smiling. Beau thumbs the curve of her cheek and finds the dimple pressed there like a forget-me-not.
“I kind of want to kiss you, if that’s okay.”
“More than okay,” Jester declares. She lifts Beau up by the hips and rolls her onto the mattress like she weighs practically nothing. Alight with afterglow and admiration, Beau tangles up in her arms and kisses the taste of her own cunt off Jester’s lips. “So,” Jester whispers, teasing a strand of Beau’s hair into a coil around her finger. “Was it okay?”
“It was more than okay.” Beau’s still panting like she ran a race, for crying out loud. She grabs Jester’s hand and presses it to her chest to feel the slam of her heartbeat against her ribs.
“I’m glad.” Jester kisses the tip of her nose playfully. “We can do it again, whenever you like.”
“R-really?” Beau croaks. An image of a pretty blue dildo surfaces in her mind, strapped to Jester's hips with leather, and something hot and hungry snarls awake in the pit of her stomach. Fuck yes.
“Well of course! We barely scratched the surface, you know. There is sooo much more to do and explore.” Jester grins and hooks an arm around Beau’s waist to pull her closer. “So you let me know when you need a little pick-me-up, okay? But we will still be roommates anyway? No matter what?”
“Definitely.” Beau nods so emphatically she nearly clips her brow on one of Jester’s horns. She wriggles down the mattress and tucks her head under Jester’s chin instead. Safer that way. A yawn catches her there unawares, and she endures the tender hair-petting Jester plies her with.
“Go to sleep, Beau. You don’t have to fight anymore today.”
The last tight-wound knot in Beau’s shoulders goes loose at those words, and she yawns again. Sleep is threatening to overtake her, in spite of the mess, in spite of her naked sweaty skin pressed to Jester’s naked sweaty skin—but it’s fine. She’ll just close her eyes for a few minutes.