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“Well, my eyeliner was definitely not supposed to turn out like this, but it looks good anyway, doesn’t it, baby?”
Locking up, Yvie snaps her head into the direction of the sound, the shirt she was studying still in hand, and tries her best not to appear as guilty as she feels as her gaze meets Scarlet’s.
She’s faltering in the doorway of Yvie’s en-suite bathroom, gripping the frame and surveying the scene before her, and Yvie can’t help but gape, her jaw growing noticeably slack. Scarlet looks lovely, in that unplanned, slightly messy way that’s so typical to her and that Yvie now associates solely with her. She’s in a golden dress, the shiny fabric glimmering whenever it catches light, and with the way it’s hugging her figure and revealing her cleavage, it’s probably somewhat inappropriate, but Yvie is not going to do herself the disservice of pointing that out and causing her to change.
The edge of the material digs just a little too deep into her soft breasts, as the necklines of the perpetually slightly-too-tight dresses Scarlet picks have the habit of doing — Scarlet insists confidently they’re all just right, and Yvie’s affectionately come to the conclusion that either she’s a bit delusional about her dress size, or she intentionally buys a size down just to make Yvie stare. When Yvie finally manages to force her eyes back to Scarlet’s face, she finds Scarlet shaking her head at her, her fluffy curls bouncing, the tilt to her lips is undeniably adoring, as it always is when she looks at Yvie, if a little confused. Gripping the clothes hanger more tightly, Yvie sucks in a slow breath, trying to kickstart her brain, looks quickly down at the red blouse she’s spent the past twenty minutes contemplating.
“What happened, baby?” Scarlet asks sweetly as she approaches, one of her hands gently covering Yvie’s. Her touch makes Yvie’s body relax instinctively, her fingers loosening, and Scarlet unwraps them carefully one by one before taking the hanger herself. “I was in there getting ready for awhile, I thought you'd be dressed.”
“I…” Yvie starts, hand flying up to readjust the strap of the plain black bra Scarlet suggested she should probably wear. She doesn’t know how to tell Scarlet what happened is a tight knot of nerves and anxiety and insecurity somewhere deep in her belly, doesn’t know how to say it’s nausea, tides upon tides of it until Yvie feels like she’s drowning, the itch under her skin where she can’t escape it no matter how fast her thoughts and heart race. She doesn’t know how to say I’m unsure, scared, this is stupid, isn’t it? so she swallows and says, “The color, it’s not right. I don’t know if it suits me.”
Scarlet’s eyes soften as she blinks up at Yvie, makeup-free lip pinched delicately between her teeth, understanding, patient worry written all over her features. “Hey, it’s all okay,” she murmurs, and Yvie can’t shake the feeling she knows, somehow, is talking about more than just the garment.
“It’s too bright, isn’t it? It’s all too much and too weird and not right at all,” Yvie is definitely not talking about the blouse anymore, words leaving her frantically, almost desperately.
“Hey,” Scarlet repeats, her tone far firmer now, as if she’s willing Yvie to slow down and listen. “Yvie, baby, we can get you that black one, yeah, with ribbons on the front? But I don’t think this one’s too bright at all, I think it’s gorgeous, baby. You look gorgeous in it.”
“You look gorgeous,” Yvie returns, without even thinking about it, watches the corner of Scarlet’s mouth tug upwards in response.
Scarlet shakes her head lightly again, the smile spreading across her face helplessly, and Yvie tries her hardest to focus all of her attention on the woman in front of her, attempting to manhandle the fear and nerves out of her conscious mind.
“C’mon, baby, just put it on and let me see again?” Scarlet coaxes, reaching for Yvie with her free hand, fingers slipping down the inside of her forearm and then linking with Yvie’s own. “We’ll get another look, decide if it's too much together.”
She sidles closer, a hopeful expression on her face as she regards Yvie through her lashes, and Yvie inhales the spicy notes of vanilla accord and pepper in her freshly applied perfume. The scent is one of the two she uses as her everyday fragrance, and Yvie’s room and sheets have been smelling of the mixture of spices and roses for months now, to the point where sensing them makes her think of home.
There’s a pause, Scarlet pressing against her lightly and Yvie reveling in the fact that she can stay close to her like this, just looking and breathing her in, for as long as she pleases. And then Scarlet wriggles a little, as if she's impatient, and Yvie finally nods her approval and is almost instantaneously rewarded with Scarlet's smiling lips on hers, a gentle peck that Yvie knows the smaller woman must have gone up on her toes to initiate.
The contact is gone just as quickly as it begins, the feeling lingering and burning pleasantly on Yvie’s mouth like salt. Scarlet releases her hand after giving it one last squeeze, removes the blouse from the hanger, shaking it to dispel imaginary wrinkles, and holds it up for Yvie with an expectant tilt of her head.
Yvie wheels around and Scarlet helpfully assists her into the garment, grabbing Yvie’s shoulders as soon as it’s on and spinning her back around to do up the buttons. Yvie chews her lip and stares at the swift movement of her fingers, arms uselessly by her side, the tiny bit too long sleeves grazing her knuckles. She notices that Scarlet’s cropped nails are red, the hue nearly identical to the fabric, wonders absentmindedly who’s matching who — if Scarlet’s painted them to go with Yvie’s outfit, or rather, if Yvie’s shirt was picked out to go with the shade of Scarlet’s favorite nail polish. After a brief consideration, she lets the thought go, realizing she doesn't mind either way, is fond of the idea of matching with her girlfriend like this.
“Top button done or undone, baby?” Scarlet asks as she reaches the bottom one and gives the hem a single sharp tug.
“Done,” Yvie mumbles.
Scarlet hums and does as she’s told, sliding her palms over Yvie’s shoulders and biceps to smoothen the material after that, and then pushing Yvie back a step, head cocked to the side slightly as she examines her handiwork. Yvie twists one of the sleeves in her fingers, weirdly agitated about the verdict, like Scarlet wasn’t the one who coaxed her to wear the outfit. Scarlet lets out a content little noise, as if she’s just come to a satisfying conclusion, and pulls Yvie back in, unceremoniously shoving her hands down Yvie’s slacks to tuck the top in.
“Babe, you should’ve just asked…” Yvie chuckles lowly.
“Ha-ha,” Scarlet rolls her eyes and manages to give Yvie’s ass a pinch right before she brings her hands back to the waistline of the pants to adjust them. “God, weren’t these well-fitted like a month ago? This is what happens when you live off of cigarettes and coffee, young lady. You’re so skinny, you should eat more.”
Yvie lets her eyes dart down very slowly and very deliberately, scanning the hem of Scarlet’s dress and her bare thighs. “I could, you know. Why don’t I do it right now?”
“Ha-ha,” Scarlet drawls out dryly and reaches into the closet, producing a black leather belt the existence of which Yvie was only vaguely aware of. “A pussy eating joke, huh? Aren’t you a classic lesbian?”
“Uh-huh, and painfully aware of my lesbianism right now.” Yvie says solemnly.
Scarlet breathes out another noncommittal hum and swiftly pushes the belt through the loops, making sure it’s not too tight before securing the buckle on the front. It’s silly, how comfortable Yvie is with letting her move her around and dress her up like a puppet with the strings left too loose, but that’s how they are a lot of the time nowadays. It hadn’t taken her long to notice Scarlet is a fusser when they had started hanging out all those months ago, perfectly content being in charge and bossing people around like the important little thing she is. It had caught Yvie off guard first, Scarlet’s blatant and shameless inserting herself into every situation with no regard to whether she was, technically, invited or not, but it had been so very charming and disarming and confident, done in such an easy and unquestionable fashion, and Yvie had found herself enamored before she had even realized what was going on.
Scarlet moves onto Yvie’s sleeves, folding the cuffs up once, and Yvie suspects the way she keeps her arms relaxed and almost boneless is rather unhelpful, but Scarlet doesn’t say anything, just buttons the sleeves up and steps back to inspect the end result, a persistent tiny smile playing on her lips, her eyes twinkling like she’s staring at something precious and not just Yvie, and Yvie has to look at the space right above her head to ignore the lump in her throat.
“Mmm,” Scarlet says happily after a short pause. “Perfect.”
Before Yvie can do anything, Scarlet grips her shoulders and rotates her around, pushing the closet door shut with her ass so that they end up face to face with the floor-length mirror Yvie’s got propped against the wall next to the door. Her hands are warm on Yvie's waist, her chin tucking over Yvie's shoulder to peek at their reflections, and Yvie focuses in on her features, parted lips and wide, sparkling eyes, a lock of her hair trapped between their cheeks. There’s a familiar warmth settling in her own tummy as she stares, fluttering and jittery and yearning, and then Scarlet taps at Yvie’s side with her fingertips, and Yvie blinks, remembers she’s meant to be looking at herself.
Swallowing, she tears her gaze away from Scarlet and takes in her own reflection. The shirt fits her neatly, just a little roomy on her slender frame, exactly how she prefers it, but the color is different, eye-catching, worth remarking on, and Yvie can’t help but fret that drawing attention to herself like this is the wrong choice. She glances back to Scarlet, observing the hopeful expression on her face, and chews on her lower lip, wonders what Scarlet must be seeing in her that she herself can't identify. Scarlet’s lips press warmly against her cheek, as if she knows Yvie's seeking reassurance, and Yvie holds her breath in for a while, then lets it all out at once. Scarlet nudges her nose into Yvie’s jaw affectionately, and Yvie narrows her eyes, ponders the possibility that maybe the red does suit her, just like Scarlet on her arm always does, bright and perfect and enviable against her skin.
“Oh, just look at you, Yves,” Scarlet sighs. “My baby in my color.” Her hands flatten on Yvie's abs, touch unmistakably possessive. “God, you look… you look edible.”
“Damn, babe,” Yvie manages to get out after a moment of fluster, her voice husky and her stomach twisting with arousal. “A pussy eating joke. Aren't you a classic lesbian?”
Scarlet’s only response is delighted laughter, rushing out of her like overflowing water, perfectly paired with the crinkle at the corners of her eyes, her chest vibrating against Yvie’s back as she snuggles closer, winds her arms around Yvie's waist to squeeze her. There’s one, two, three little kisses dropped on Yvie’s neck, leftover giggles tickling her skin and making her chuckle herself, and then Scarlet goes up on her toes, craning her neck and pursing her lips, giving Yvie an expectant look.
A lopsided smile on her face, Yvie turns her head to meet Scarlet in a real kiss, slightly clumsy from amusement but soft and sweet from Scarlet’s blackberry chapstick. It lasts long enough to make Yvie’s neck ache, Scarlet leaning back in and humming for more every time they pause, but Yvie finds herself utterly content with hurting a little in exchange for having Scarlet wrapped around her and stealing kiss after kiss like this, like she can’t get enough, like Yvie is something addictive.
“Ooh, I almost forgot,” Scarlet says eventually and drops back to her feet, escaping Yvie’s reach, and Yvie makes a half-hearted attempt to chase her, knowing full well their unfortunate angle won’t allow her. “Need your help real quick, daddy.”
She gives Yvie’s ass a playful slap before scurrying off, and Yvie scoffs and rolls her eyes, turning around to abandon her now awfully lonely reflection and follow the other woman with her gaze. Scarlet makes her way to the dresser opposite the foot of the bed and occupies herself with a small wooden music box where she keeps her jewelry. The box is only one of the many things that have found their home and place in Yvie’s apartment gradually and almost sneakily, taking up more space parallel to Scarlet doing the exact same in Yvie’s heart and head.
Scarlet carefully runs her fingertips through the contents of the box until there’s a small pleased Uh-huh! formed on her lips, and then she starts back toward Yvie, holding whatever it is she was looking for in her fist. She hands the piece of jewelry to Yvie, spinning around immediately after that and brushing her hair to one side. Yvie glances at the object and there’s something warm and fuzzy and giddying spreading through her when she registers the plain, smooth white gold chain of the necklace Scarlet wants her to do up for her apparently.
It had been Yvie’s gift for Scarlet’s birthday back in February, a simple, clear crystal in the shape of a teardrop on an even more simple chain. Yvie had known it was the one as soon as she had seen it, had been able to imagine it against Scarlet’s perfect, fair skin, the curve of the chain against her collarbone and how the crystal would fall slightly left of the small lonely freckle on Scarlet’s chest. It hadn’t been anything extravagant or expensive, nothing even closely reminiscent of how much Scarlet had come to mean to her by then, definitely nothing compared to what Scarlet means to her now, but the expression on Scarlet’s face when she had opened the black case the thing had come in had been enough to convince Yvie maybe she had done good, had been enough to make her swear to spend the rest of however long they’ve got together working toward getting Scarlet even nicer things.
“You know,” Yvie says, her fingers already working the lock. “You’re not even wearing nails, you could literally do this yourself.”
“I know,” Scarlet responds, grin evident in her voice without looking. “I just like it when you pamper me, daddy.”
I like it, too, Yvie thinks to herself, doesn’t say it, scoffs loudly instead, responds to Scarlet’s brattiness like Scarlet wants her to, with a little bit of resistance, providing Scarlet with the struggle she likes, needs to stay interested. She had told Yvie once when they had been pillow-talking, a mumbled confession in a form of Thank you for being right for me seconds before she had drifted, a notion that she needs to be kept on her tiptoes or she’ll get bored, and Yvie had laid awake, suddenly suffocated by the realization Scarlet could get tired of her and walk away, and hating the way the knowledge made her windpipe and lungs burn.
It hadn’t been until weeks later that it had dawned on Yvie — Scarlet didn’t only like her snark and asshole-y tendencies and biting sarcasm, she craved it, wanted Yvie for who she is and not for what Yvie thought she should pretend to be, and for the first time in her life Yvie had a brand new perspective on the traits she always considered undesirable about herself before.
Yvie steps into Scarlet’s space, lifting the now unlatched necklace carefully and starting to drape it around Scarlet's neck. Gathering her hair into one fist, Scarlet lifts the mess of curls slightly away from her neck, her free hand coming up to catch the pendant, wrapping securely around it as if it’s some unimaginably precious thing, meant to be kept safe next to her heart. The gesture is so simple, so lovely, that it takes Yvie's breath away, and she doesn’t try to inhale again, convinced that this moment is the precious thing, that her stillness will somehow make it last longer.
As she slips her fingers under Scarlet's hair, grabbing the other end of the chain and pulling the ends closed, her eyes follow how the delicate pale metal lays so perfectly across Scarlet's collarbone, just like she had pictured upon the purchase, and her knuckles brush against the back of Scarlet's neck in her distraction. There’s a wave of tension that runs through Scarlet's body in response, and Yvie watches as goosebumps rise on her skin, closes the clasp by feeling, captivated by the visible movement of Scarlet’s throat as she swallows hard.
Scarlet lets go of her hair, leaving the locks draped over her shoulder, but keeps the crystal tucked safely in her fist, pressed against her chest now, almost as if she couldn't release it even if she wanted to. Yvie makes no move to step backwards again, and finds herself leaning in instead, drawn by the intoxicating heat of the woman in front of her, the shaky exhale that leaves her lips as their bodies grow nearer. Folding one hand gently around Scarlet's shoulder, Yvie runs the fingertips of the other lightly over the nape of Scarlet's neck, across the soft hair there and then down to dance over the juncture of her neck and shoulder.
Scarlet’s shoulders tense further, and Yvie feels lightheaded, lowers her head to brush her lips over the exposed side of Scarlet’s throat. Finally daring to breathe again, she chases the source of the peppery fragrance, finding it tucked just beneath her jaw and nuzzling there to let it overwhelm her senses, inhaling until the vanilla undertones are thick and full on her tongue. Scarlet arches her neck, a quiet whine leaving her, her fingers grabbing weakly at Yvie’s hand on her shoulder, bringing Yvie back to her body and making her suddenly aware of how her heartbeat has decisively relocated between her legs.
Scarlet is shifting against her, leaning into Yvie’s chest, and Yvie wishes desperately that she’d left off the bra, that she could wind her arms around Scarlet and pull her close to rub up against her. Yvie exhales the air trapped in her lungs shakily, warm against Scarlet’s skin, her gaze wandering from the corner of Scarlet’s jaw down to her chest, where her hand is pressed still, the swell of her breasts on either side illuminated gold by the lamp on Yvie's night table. She feels Scarlet’s responding shudder all over her body, the movement going straight to her core, and presses her lips to the side of Scarlet’s neck, the contact brief and not nearly enough for either of them.
Yvie runs her hands down Scarlet’s arms and then grips her hips, pulling them back firmly against her own in a sudden motion, rocking forwards instinctively as if the added pressure could somehow relieve the ache in her core. Scarlet lets out a surprised little moan, like the noise has been knocked out of her, and then sighs as the tip of Yvie’s tongue drags over her throat, her head lolling to the side. Yvie places an open-mouthed kiss where her tongue had been, squeezing her eyes shut and searching for the hint of salt she always finds on Scarlet's skin.
“Please,” Scarlet whines, and Yvie stiffens helplessly, grazes Scarlet’s throat lightly with her teeth before sucking on the spot gently, starting to grind in earnest against Scarlet’s ass in a desperate search for friction. She imagines the color the eventual mark under her lips will be, deep and red to match Yvie’s shirt just like Scarlet’s nails do, and the thought makes her barely suppress a growl, fight to keep her motions slow.
Gasping, flustered, Scarlet fumbles for Yvie's wrists like she doesn't know what to do with herself, seeming unsure of whether to try to push Yvie away or pull her closer. She exposes her neck further, a clear invitation to escalate, and Yvie ignores it with effort, her hand creeping down to the hem of Scarlet's skirt and lower to tease at her thighs. The tension of the muscles there is palpable, and Yvie digs her fingers in slowly, feels Scarlet’s legs part, her vision nearly blacking out with the awareness that she could just shove Scarlet’s panties to the side if she wanted, that Scarlet is hers to play with. That she’d find her wet and willing, that she could finger her open right here until Scarlet’s slick dripped everywhere, making a mess of both of them. She nips at Scarlet’s neck, finally giving in and sucking harder, and Scarlet’s thighs tighten again as she groans, trapping Yvie’s fingers between them.
“Baby,” Scarlet’s voice is an octave or two higher now, like it tends to get when Yvie’s rendered her lightheaded, and Yvie’s fingers flex on her thigh, digging harder into the flesh almost unconsciously. “Yves, I… We…”
Yvie feels her move her head as if she’s trying to glance over her shoulder, and detaches her face from Scarlet’s neck, pulling back slightly and capturing Scarlet’s parted, puffy lips with her own instead. Scarlet moans into the contact like she wasn’t expecting it, but there’s hardly any resistance, only pliant surrendering to Yvie’s lead as she opens her mouth wider and invites Yvie to deepen the kiss. Yvie clutches Scarlet’s hipbone tighter, tries to draw her ass even closer despite there being no room between their bodies, hopes her fingertips will leave neat, purplish bruises on the fair skin as she grazes her teeth against Scarlet’s lower lip and slips her tongue in immediately after. Scarlet produces a strangled little noise and sways her hips in a messy attempt to rut against Yvie’s front, her movements weirdly jerky and her concentration clearly all over the place.
“Yvie,” she starts again as soon as Yvie pauses her licking into her mouth momentarily. “We need to…”
Yvie knows, technically, that shutting her up with another kiss is a low blow, but she’s right there, so responsive, so eager, and the taste of her chapstick has faded away a while ago, and it’s just so easy, to press nearer still and distract and distract and stall until there’s nothing else in the world except them. So Yvie smashes their lips together, swallows the rest of the sentence, and lets her fingers climb higher on Scarlet’s inner thigh, placing them against Scarlet’s pussy through her panties.
Scarlet’s riled up, and wet. It’s unmissable with how damp the fabric is and how hot she feels to the touch, almost like she’s just short of overheating, She cries out gorgeously, her knees buckling so prominently that Yvie has to grip her harder in fear she’ll collapse, tug her to her chest and keep her safe and undamaged. As Scarlet seems to grow a little steadier, Yvie begins to slowly massage her cunt, determinedly, as if she’s trying to rub Scarlet’s scent onto her fingertips.
Letting out a whine, Scarlet squirms lightly, and Yvie can feel her neediness, her instability, knows she’s lightheaded from arousal and lack of oxygen. She pulls back just a little, allowing Scarlet to catch her breath, fingers still pressed to her folds and mouth still hovering against hers, so close they’re sharing the air they inhale, practically stealing it from each other’s lungs.
“We need to — need to get going,” Scarlet rushes out as soon as she’s regained her ability to speak.
Yvie surges forward slightly, bumping their noses together and brushing their lips once more. “I’m sure they’ll manage just fine without us, no one’s even gonna notice we’re not there. C’mon, babe,” she coaxes.
Scarlet grabs the wrist of the hand that is still between her legs, squeezing it so hard that Yvie hisses and curses, fingers immediately going limp and losing their precision.
“They’ll notice, Yvie. It’s your damn opening night, and we’re not missing it,” Scarlet says with finality.
Yvie jerks away as if she’s been burned, withdrawing abruptly from Scarlet’s body, hand slipping free of the other woman’s grasp as the very thing she’s been trying not to think of all day is forced to the forefront of her mind. The gallery opening. She stumbles backwards a few paces, wrapping her arms around herself to protect her chest from how much colder it is without Scarlet pressed against her, how much more anxious she is when she’s no longer able to avoid the thing she’s afraid of. It’s been hours, now, of carefully dancing around the reality of the situation, of pointedly ignoring the thought that for the next three days, dozens of acquaintances along with potentially countless strangers will be staring at her raw, newly finished paintings, with no one else’s work to distract them, no anonymity, no mistaking exactly whose brush had marked the canvases scattered around the room. And as if the idea isn’t already anxiety producing enough, tonight, there will be no preventing any of the guests from putting a face to the name, no avoiding glances or ducking out at the last minute.
All of it is exactly what Yvie has been working towards, exactly what she had always hoped to achieve. And, now that the moment has arrived, it’s nothing less than absolutely terrifying.
Looking worried, Scarlet moves towards her, starting to reach for Yvie before biting her lip and stilling once more, wringing her hands in front of herself instead as she seems to think the better of it. Yvie can tell, in the back of her mind, that it’s hard for Scarlet to resist comforting her, but she knows that being touched right now would only make her snap and be hurtful towards someone who only wants to help, and she thinks Scarlet knows that too, has become aware not only of exactly how to calm Yvie’s nerves, but also of the right times to stay back and let Yvie calm them herself.
Frustratingly ashamed of her vulnerability and volatility, Yvie tries to turn away from Scarlet, and catches her reflection in the mirror, feels the nerves swirl in her stomach as she sees the color she’s wearing once more. Quickly, she spins around to face the bed instead, looking for just a moment of solace to collect her thoughts, without having to face herself or her girlfriend. Attempting to reason with herself, she decides that the faceless, nameless visitors who will wander into the gallery over the weekend really don’t matter all that much, reminds herself that she's spent a lifetime building up defenses against those who stare too long and critique out loud, or worse, whisper nastily when her back is turned.
Of course, none of her friends and coworkers have seen her work before, either, and their potential judgements will be harder to deal with, more difficult to not take personally, but she can take it, she reckons, has taken all of it before. She can pretend that none of it bothers her, is perfectly capable of guarding her feelings from outside eyes. And if she cries about it, she’ll do it quietly, long after the fact, in the privacy of her own bed, into the hair of a softly snoring Scarlet.
Behind her, she can hear Scarlet slowly move around the room, most likely to collect her belongings into one of the small clutch bags she likes so much and put on the strappy heels that Yvie saw her leave by the mirror when she arrived from her trip to her own apartment to retrieve her stuff. The unmistakable caution with which Scarlet navigates the space around her, so familiar but probably perceived as hostile right now, makes the cavity of Yvie’s chest ache hollowly, makes her wish she wasn’t like this, was better or at least easier to handle, makes her painfully aware of what Scarlet deserves and how this isn’t it, makes her want to try harder.
She rotates around once more, still hugging herself defensively, and looks at Scarlet. The woman is standing closer to the door, surely enough wearing those high high heels that make her almost Yvie’s height, fisting a golden clutch by her side a little awkwardly. There’s a black cardigan thrown over the dress, and Yvie amusedly thinks back to their very first meeting, how Scarlet had gone out in November in nothing but a flimsy dress, and how ridiculous and perfectly her it was that she’d decide she without a doubt needed a cardigan on a tender, warm April evening.
“I’m sorry,” Yvie rushes out, the back of her throat prickling with something bitter, like fondness mixed with another, unidentified feeling she can’t quite place, perhaps remorse.
“It’s okay,” Scarlet says immediately, and Yvie knows it really is despite her brain trying to tell her otherwise, guilt trip her into apologizing over and over and over, knows Scarlet would never say it if it weren’t okay or if Yvie had hurt her too badly.
Scarlet is looking at her with soft eyes now, and it’s as if she knows exactly what's going on in Yvie’s head, as if she’s imploring Yvie to trust her, waiting sweetly and patiently, if a bit nervously, for Yvie to come out of her shell again. The thought triggers a shadow of panic in Yvie, a distant hint of anxiety so far off it’s more a memory than anything else, one she can't help but recall at the realization that anyone has come to know her and her patterns this well. But there’s no visceral response, no churning of her stomach or urge to run, only a gentle tug towards Scarlet in her chest, more reassuring than anything else.
“Let’s go?” Yvie says, making an effort to move on and tugging on the cuffs of her sleeves nervously.
“Sure thing, baby,” Scarlet agrees easily, a small, tentative smile on her lips as she reaches to open Yvie's bedroom door. “Don’t forget your phone.”
Nodding, Yvie moves over to her dresser, slips her phone into the back pocket of her slacks before bending down to pull on her black boots and begin lacing them up. Something makes her stop in her place, a vague recollection of another item she was supposed to remember, and she narrows her eyes, chewing on her lip as she attempts to get ahold of the thought.
“Oh, I’ve got your new business cards in my clutch, baby,” Scarlet calls from the doorway, immediately recalling what Yvie doesn't, and Yvie murmurs out an Oh in recognition, relaxing a little bit and stepping away from the dresser. “C’mon, I’ll give you half on the way there.”
Scarlet ushers her out of the room, closing the door gently behind them. Yvie spots her leather jacket, laid neatly over the back of the couch, and makes a beeline for it, pulling it on and letting out a quiet, relieved sigh at the comforting weight and warmth. Tucking her phone into one well-worn pocket, she reaches into the other, hand immediately closing around her lighter and starting to fiddle with it, letting the nervous energy out through her fingertips.
“Ready?” Scarlet is near the front door now, and Yvie gives the apartment a once-over, before spotting her spare helmet set atop the coat rack beside her girlfriend.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she mutters, moving towards Scarlet and stretching up to grab the helmet.
“Yves, what are you doing?” Scarlet interrupts her, a quizzical look on her face.
“Uh…making sure you’re safe on my bike?” Yvie says slowly.
“Don't be silly, I called us an Uber,” Scarlet says with a soft, affectionate chuckle. “Your first gallery opening is a special occasion, baby.”
A smile tugs at Yvie’s mouth, and she lets her hand fall back to her side, looking down at her boots for a moment as she reaches for her keys, feeling almost bashful. She can practically feel Scarlet’s adoring, amused gaze on her as she fumbles with the lock, keeping her eyes downcast, and she knows she'd be blushing if she had an ounce less self control. As soon as the door swings inwards, Scarlet’s open hand enters her field of vision, outstretched in an invitation for Yvie to take it, to initiate some sort of connection between them once more, now that she's calmed down. Warmth floods Yvie’s chest at the realization that Scarlet has given her the space she needs so carefully, that even now, she isn’t touching without permission, only offering the simplest sort of contact, without a word spoken about it.
Without even stopping to consider, Yvie takes Scarlet’s hand, their fingers interlocking as naturally and easily as they have since the very first night they spent together.
Yvie closes the door and turns the key one-handed, and then Scarlet is gently tugging her down the hallway, heading towards the entrance to the staircase. Her gaze falling to Scarlet’s far-too-high heels, Yvie shakes her head, not willing to risk it, and tightens her grip on Scarlet's hand to redirect them towards the elevator.
“But — baby, your nerves,” Scarlet protests. “You hate the elevator.”
“Babe, I told you that the last time I carried you on my back on those stairs was the last time,” Yvie reminds her with a chuckle.
“Right,” Scarlet says, letting out a full laugh, lips quirked with amusement, as if she knows exactly how meaningless Yvie's statement really is, how quickly Yvie would cave and carry her regardless. “Well, if you say so, daddy…”
“Uh huh,” Yvie nods, a crooked smile spreading across her face, both at the memory and at how utterly precious Scarlet looks like this. “Elevator.”
Scarlet shrugs, and lets Yvie lead her over, pressing the call button with her knuckle. Shortly, the elevator dings, indicating the door is ready to open, and Yvie ignores the way her stomach drops at the very sight of the metal death box, especially sober like this, with her judgement unclouded by alcohol, weed, or arousal. The ride down is even worse than the anticipation of it, the temporary distraction from her nerves a distant memory now, and Yvie finds herself squeezing Scarlet’s hand tighter and tighter, wanting the reassurance and comfort of her close. Scarlet leans into her, rests her chin on Yvie’s shoulder, and Yvie thinks she would be emotional over Scarlet knowing exactly what she needs, if she could manage to feel anything except the anxiety trying to claw its way out of her body.
Yvie maneuvers a cigarette out of her pocket as soon as they’re out of the building, and lights it despite Scarlet’s little but very unmissable headshake and pointed glancing at her phone screen. She only manages to finish half of it before their car pulls up in front of them, and the wasted half and Scarlet’s self-satisfied humming would almost feel frustrating if the prospect of not having gotten any nicotine to soothe her nerves at all wasn’t much more unpleasant. Thus, she ignores Scarlet’s smug little face and deliberately continues dragging on the smoke as she holds the door open for her and then rounds the vehicle to climb inside on the other side.
Scarlet is already leaning forward, arms wrapped around the passenger seat in front of her, persuading the driver to connect her phone to the audio system and let her play Lana during the ride when Yvie gets in. She pushes herself off the backrest to readjust her jacket and then settles, letting her gaze roam Scarlet’s crossed legs, the delicate curve of her calf and the slight angle of her ankle in her heel, her silky thighs, listens to the low lilt of her voice, not really concentrating on what she’s saying, just allowing the familiar sound comfort her agitated mind.
The driver hands Scarlet the aux cord to connect her phone, and she produces a delighted little sound, like this is something that was going to either make or break her day and she can’t believe her luck. As she plugs in, she shoots Yvie a conspiratorial wink, and Yvie chuckles quietly, notes, mentally, to point out later how this was probably Scarlet’s new personal record achieving this, and tries to pretend her girlfriend’s intricate manipulation of men isn’t riling her up and turning her on.
She shifts her hips a bit and runs her tongue over her teeth, itching for the rest of her cigarette, or for something else equally distracting and nearly as addictive to occupy her fingers and her mouth with. Scarlet flops back against the seat, letting out a small hum and flicking through her Spotify library on her phone. A genuine smile crinkles at the corners of her eyes, and the opening notes of Love settle in the stale air of the car, Scarlet’s pillowy lips starting to silently form the lyrics out of habit the moment they begin. Yvie watches, absentminded and endeared, as Scarlet gives a little nod and then starts arranging herself and her things, phone balanced neatly on her bare thigh, clutch tucked just so between her hip and the door, just like always. She adjusts the strap of her dress and then tugs on a lock of her hair before brushing it needlessly away from her face, and Yvie suppresses an amused grin as it immediately falls back onto her cheek the moment she moves her hand away.
As Scarlet continues making herself comfortable, Yvie’s mind starts to wander back to all the times she’s seen her do this exact thing before, back to the very first time she’d witnessed Scarlet do it, on the night of their meeting. It had been every bit as endearing as it is right now, and Yvie had struggled to stay annoyed, to resist the mere thought of there being any kind of pull besides the raw, hollow sexual attraction. Yvie doesn’t know what she feels more foolish about, her rampant, almost aggressive denial, or the way she’s now basking in openly enjoying it, soft for Scarlet and unwilling to fight it anymore, amazed by how her perception of their first time together had been as far from the reality as was possible and how it doesn’t really even bother her.
She had woken up that morning after with the kind of soreness in her muscles she wasn’t at all used to, the kind that didn’t only indicate she had fucked somebody proper, but the kind that suggested she had herself been taken apart and then immediately put back together by the same careful hands. Scarlet had been gently prying her legs open like she needed it, craved it with her every cell, and Yvie had given in, had let the rest come easy. It was the best head she’s ever gotten, and thinking of it still makes her toes curl and her stomach tense, and her cheeks burn upon remembering how she had cried and pleaded by the end of it.
It had taken her a good while to come to her senses and regain the control of her body after her orgasm, and then she had emerged from her room to come face to face with the dumbfounded arch of Adore’s eyebrow, the unimpressed tilt of Violet’s mouth, and the still unbuttoned flannel barely covering Scarlet’s naked figure. Yvie had ignored the way Adore had alternated between pointing at her and Scarlet with the spatula she was holding and grabbed Scarlet’s arm instead, spinning her around and doing up the buttons with an angry leer and trembling fingers.
Scarlet had changed back into her last night’s dress and left not too long after that, scribbling her phone number on the little whiteboard Adore and Yvie had on their fridge for stupid messages and inappropriate drawings, and chirping a happy Call me if you find my panties, daddy from the hallway right before the door had clicked shut behind her and Adore had erupted into uncontrollable laughter, and Yvie had thought that was the last she’d ever see of Scarlet.
If there is one thing Yvie doesn’t like, it’s not being right about something, yet this time around, she couldn’t be happier about being proven wrong.
Scarlet is singing along to the chorus quietly now, her gaze moving over Yvie, just a trace of concern in her eyes. Swallowing, Yvie follows Scarlet’s line of sight and realizes that she’s started bouncing her leg, the nervous energy that’s filling her up needing some physical outlet. She twists the fabric of her slacks between her fingers and tries not to think about where the car is headed, watching the stiff material rubbing against her knuckles.
When Yvie glances up, Scarlet has apparently reconsidered her seating arrangement, and is scooting closer, her hip coming to press against Yvie's, hand landing gently on Yvie’s leg to still its jerky movement. She hums, rubbing the muscle of Yvie's thigh firmly until Yvie starts to relax under her touch, the other woman's body heat seeping into her little by little, the thick spice of her perfume sharp in Yvie’s palate. Carefully, methodically, her touch dances over Yvie's restlessly working fingers, other hand coming up to loosen them, fold them them between her two palms soothingly.
“Hey,” she says, and Yvie meets her eyes, the blue-gray irises somehow impossibly warm and inviting.
“Hey,” Yvie manages to reply, hating how weak her voice sounds.
If Scarlet notices the raspy faintness of her tone, she doesn’t show it, her expression remaining gentle and affectionate, that beautiful smile still hidden in the creases of her eyes, and Yvie holds her breath as Scarlet leans nearer still. Her lips press softly to the corner of Yvie’s mouth, the touch silky with the chapstick she must have reapplied while Yvie was reminiscing and lingering sweetly on Yvie’s skin, like her scent always does on Yvie’s pillow, like her taste always does on Yvie’s tongue, like her warmth always does, in every fiber of Yvie's being.
Her nose nudges against Yvie’s, smile tucked against her skin, and then she's pulling away, just a little, head dropping to rest her cheek on Yvie’s shoulder, and Yvie lets out a long sigh, all the trapped air leaving her lungs in a rush. Scarlet is playing with Yvie’s fingers, and singing under her breath again, quiet murmurs of don't worry, baby, and just for a moment, Yvie closes her eyes, and doesn’t.
For the rest of the ride, Yvie does everything she can think of not to think. She focuses on unrelated details, Scarlet’s fingertips and her perfume, the array of city sounds underneath the music, the stopping and starting of the car in the typical evening traffic becoming kinesthetic background noise. The song changes, Scarlet releasing a happy sigh as Lust for Life plays, and Yvie turns to nuzzle her forehead briefly. When they arrive, the sudden motion of the car pulling up to the curb makes her stomach lurch, and Scarlet gives her hand a squeeze before letting it go so both of them can get out.
The music cuts off abruptly as Scarlet unplugs the phone and hands the end of the cord back to the driver, thanking him in her sultry little voice. Yvie stays immobilized where she is, suddenly missing the weight and the heat of the body attached to her side, stares across the street at the windows of the gallery, large enough that the artwork displayed inside is easily observable. In this moment, the only thing stopping her from seeing inside is the tint of the glass she’s looking through and the sun reflecting off the windows in just the right angle, and she’s grateful for that.
“Yves,” Scarlet scolds softly, and then she’s reaching past Yvie and pulling on the door handle, throwing it open and nudging Yvie lightly but adamantly.
Reluctantly, Yvie steps out of the car, holding the door open with her hip and offering Scarlet her hand to help her out as well, more to delay than to make a genuine attempt at chivalry. Scarlet takes it delicately nonetheless, looking delighted by the gesture, and follows Yvie onto the blacktop. The light at the intersection behind them is red, the traffic at a standstill, and Scarlet takes the opportunity to cross the street right there, tugging Yvie along behind her as they weave through the stopped cars to the other side.
There’s a lump in Yvie’s throat as she stares up at the building in front of them. The windows are right there, but Yvie keeps her eyes focused on the bits of wall between them, suspecting she'll be able to see in now and wanting to avoid it for as long as possible. Scarlet coos, starting to point at what Yvie can only assume is a painting of hers inside, and Yvie snaps her head away, starting to head towards the door with Scarlet trailing behind her, watching closely as her boots land on the dirty pavement and starting to seriously consider walking right past the door and persuading Scarlet to go for dinner or a drink instead.
“Ready, baby?” Scarlet’s shoulder bumps against hers gently as they come to a stop in front of the door.
Yvie looks up hesitantly, heart stopping as she comes face to face with the sign propped against the wall beside it, announcing the opening of a new exhibition, gODDess, by Yvie Bridges.
“I’m, uh…” Yvie starts, and then clears her throat in an attempt to rid her voice of its quaver, shakes her head a little. “You can go ahead. I'm just gonna have a smoke real quick before I go in.”
“Yvie,” Scarlet states, giving her a look.
“What? You know me, I’m an addict,” Yvie defends, fumbling in her jacket pocket for her pack and letting go of Scarlet's hand to make her way over to the wall beside the door.
She pushes one of the cigarettes halfway out with her thumb and brings the pack up to retrieve it using her mouth. Before she can close the pack and put it away, a hand appears from her left, and Scarlet’s manicured fingertips pinch one of the filters, pulling a cigarette of her own out. Yvie doesn’t comment on her actions, used to her girlfriend poaching her cigarettes and far past minding, instead exchanging the smokes for her lighter and igniting first Scarlet’s and then her own.
“You don’t have to wait,” Yvie mutters after taking a drag, knowing full well that Scarlet’s presence is the only thing keeping her from running away, head down and tail between her legs.
“Sure I do,” Scarlet says easily, her voice thick, shoulder nudging against Yvie’s playfully. “You can’t go to your own party without a pretty girl on your arm, daddy.”
Yvie glances up at her briefly, catching a glimpse of her charming smile, and is hit with another rush of shame for making Scarlet deal with her bad mood. Scarlet leans in a little closer, exhaling smoke against Yvie’s throat, and Yvie waits a moment before her next drag, tilting Scarlet’s chin up with her thumb to place a chaste kiss on her lips first.
“Just the one, though, please?” Scarlet implores her, so close Yvie feels the words more than hears them, and she softens, nods her agreement before she knows what she’s doing.
She regrets her promise to only smoke one soon enough. Scarlet’s always been the slower smoker out of the two of them, and Yvie finishes well before her, fingers immediately twitching for another, thumb pressing between index and middle impulsively to make up for the cavity left after she distractedly flicked the butt away. She fidgets a little, pushes her other hand into the jacket pocket to toy with the lighter, and tries to get a hold of herself and stop the reflexive movements of her fingers, instead outstretching her arm to lightly twist the front of Scarlet’s dress for something to do. Scarlet instantly takes a step closer, one of her own arms crossing under her chest, and tilts her chin up to release the smoke in her lungs somewhere above them.
“Ready?” she repeats as she drops the rest of her cigarette on the pavement and crushes it under her toes.
“No,” Yvie groans, pushing herself off the wall anyway.
Scarlet rolls her eyes affectionately and detaches Yvie’s hand from her dress, linking their fingers instead and turning around with a speed that is probably somewhat hazardous in such high, narrow heels. Yvie lets her drag her to the door, resuming staring at her boots and once again indulging in the elaborate fantasy of completely changing their direction and taking Scarlet to the nearest fancy restaurant if only to buy her a bunch of Cosmopolitans and fuck her in the ladies’.
The sight of her name on the sign enters her line of vision nonetheless, and her stomach jolts again, Scarlet’s grip on her hand forcing her to stay on course. There’s a whoosh as Scarlet pushes the door open, and then they’re stepping into the gallery, the cool stillness of the air almost stifling, the stone tile floor under Yvie’s feet almost too clean, polished and waxed recently enough that she can nearly see her reflection. Scarlet’s fingers tap on her arm urgently, and Yvie can hear her intake of breath as she prepares to speak, but she’s cut short by a shout from across the room.
“Yves!”
It’s Adore, and she’s definitely stoned, maybe a little drunk, and the boisterous ring of her voice is comforting, the sound along with the press of Scarlet’s body beside hers reminiscent of being safely back in her apartment.
“Bitch, finally,” Adore laughs, her voice much closer now, and Yvie manages to tear her gaze away from the floor. Adore is dressed casually as ever, could easily be going to a bar, or a concert. “Was starting to think you weren’t coming at all.”
“The only thing Yves is fine being late to is her own party,” Scarlet teases with a laugh, giving her hand a squeeze and then moving to help Yvie out of her jacket wordlessly. Yvie pushes her hand into the pocket to retrieve her phone, and lets her. “I had to stay on track and get us out the door, can you believe that? Me.”
“I can’t believe my lazy ass was the first one here,” Adore replies with a snort. “I smoked a whole blunt on the other side of the street after the car pulled up and still beat you.”
Yvie laughs too, hollowly, storing her phone in the pocket of her slacks instead and looking for something to distract herself with that isn’t her own artwork on the walls while Scarlet fusses with her jacket and hangs it on the clothing rack not too far from the door. There aren’t many people in attendance yet, the table of hors-d’oeuvres and alcohol provided by the gallery mostly intact, manned only by a single woman, who Yvie can only assume works for the catering company, and a couple who she doesn’t recognize. There are a few strangers scattered around the room, but the friends and colleagues who’ve been invited are all later than Yvie herself, with the exception of Adore, and Yvie is grateful for that, thankful that she’ll get to settle into the space without questions and attention from all sides. It’s a shock that Adore is on time — Yvie had expected Brooke, if anyone, to be the only person there before her — and even more of a shock that she’s alone, and Yvie squints, giving the gallery another once-over in search of her roommate’s usual companion.
“So, where’s Violet?” she asks, turning her attention back to Adore as soon as she’s confirmed her absence.
Adore clears her throat, looking taken aback, and Yvie sees something akin to panic flash through her eyes briefly, before disinterest settles in its place. “Who said she’s coming?”
“Doesn’t she always?” Scarlet puts in innocently as she returns to Yvie’s side.
Despite Scarlet’s obliviousness, Yvie can sense how alarmed Adore is, how very nervous the comment makes her immediately, and she tilts her head, trying to puzzle out Adore’s reaction. It’s not common for Adore to keep any girl around as long as she has Violet, much less to bring a girl as a date instead of picking one up once she’s already there, and yet, over the past few months, Adore has made a habit of doing exactly that, so much so that Scarlet isn’t even aware that it’s out of the ordinary. Yvie has woken up on countless mornings to find that the source of the moaning the previous night was, yet again, none other than Violet, and started to expect her presence, despite rarely commenting on it out loud, started to consider the possibility of Adore actually committing to someone. But now, judging by the uneasiness of Adore’s composure, how she looks like she might bolt at any second, Yvie isn’t so sure.
“She’s late,” Adore mumbles, and the uncharacteristic thickness of her voice makes Yvie furrow. “For all I know she forgot. Who cares.”
Next to Yvie, Scarlet shifts her weight from foot to foot and lets out a light, careless giggle. “I’m sure she didn’t forget your date, Dorey.”
Adore shudders with such force that Yvie sees it, her brows knitting together and her lips thinning as she takes half a step back and crosses her arms on her chest. Yvie isn’t sure if the gesture is more defensive or defiant, but her own body reacts faster than she’s assessed the situation, and she’s pulling Scarlet behind her back and sidestepping in front of her before she knows what she’s doing. Adore’s jaw is visibly tightened, and she tilts her chin up slightly as she leers at Yvie. Squaring her shoulders, Yvie bristles with protective instinct, lips pulling back from her teeth as she stares Adore down harshly, a growl forming in the back of her throat. Adore’s fingers are digging deep into her own arms as she holds the eye contact, and Yvie quirks an eyebrow in challenge, daring Adore to try her, the tightening of Scarlet’s hand around hers only feeding the heat in her chest.
Her nostrils flaring, Adore swallows once, hard, and then shifts her gaze away, letting her arms swing back to her sides stiffly and releasing an uneasy laugh. Allowing herself to relax a little, Yvie manages to catch Adore’s eye, making sure the warning in her own expression is clear — that any form of aggression directed towards Scarlet, even if only the harmless snapping that Adore had been about to do, will have to go through her first.
Adore glances around for an escape. “So, you two wanna go get some drinks?”
“We do,” Scarlet chirps over Yvie’s shoulder, and then tugs on her arm like she’s making sure Yvie doesn’t try to escalate. “Don’t we, Yves?”
“Sure, babe,” Yvie mutters, and attempts to relax her stance. Scarlet’s sensitive, gets hurt easily when someone uses too harsh a tone, snaps at her or says something thoughtless, and Yvie has long ago made peace with the fact she’d rather rip Adore’s head off than watch Scarlet flinch away from her heated, misplaced words even once.
Adore shrugs, wheels around on the heels of her dirty black Converse and starts toward the table with refreshments, seemingly as nonchalant and indifferent as ever. Scarlet moves to Yvie’s side, her heels clicking against the tile, and Yvie shoots her a concerned glance, which she dismisses with a little headshake and a comforting palm on their still clasped hands.
Somehow, Yvie manages to make it all the way there without lifting her gaze for long enough to properly observe the art on the walls. The drink selection is limited, champagne flutes on a tray and bottles of white wine and sparkling water ready to be poured, and Yvie wishes for a proper bar, then for an escape, and then for another cigarette, toying with the buttons on her shirt nervously for something to do with her fingers. Adore downs the champagne she’s grabbed in a few swallows, and grabs another as if she’s desperate to distract herself, the glass so incredibly delicate between her fingers and the drink so entirely unsuited to her that Yvie almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of the image. The server behind the table looks at them expectantly.
“Some wine for both of us, please,” Scarlet says with a wide smile after another beat, Yvie’s hand soothingly pressed between both of hers. She leans forwards a little, pausing, her grin taking on a hint of playfulness. “Unless there’s anything stronger you’re hiding under the tablecloth?”
The server smiles and shakes her head, and Scarlet shrugs, and then laughs, as if she’s charmed herself, delighted with her own efforts despite the lack of results. Yvie chews on her lower lip as she watches her girlfriend, something in her stomach stirring pleasantly, and Scarlet peeks into her clutch, producing a neat stack of freshly printed business cards, handing them to Yvie.
“Everyone seems to love your shit,” Adore announces, breaking Yvie’s focus on Scarlet, and Yvie glances back at her with a sigh. “The guests, I mean, I heard some of ‘em talking. They think it’s cool.”
The fluttering in her tummy turning nervous again, Yvie acknowledges Adore with a nod, finally forcing herself to pay attention to the walls of the gallery. The exhibition doesn’t have a single theme, like Yvie would have preferred, but when the opportunity had presented itself, she had known better than to turn it down. Most of the work had been done in the previous few months, as her muse had returned to her in the form of one perfect, effortlessly lovely woman, and driven her to paint in vivid sweeps of color, reds and browns and creams and pinks and cool blues, the resulting creations messy and flawed and complete, every single one of them depicting something filthy and erotic but just abstract or distorted enough that it wasn’t quite noticeable, unless the viewer knew what to look for. There are older works scattered around, as well, darker and angrier, painstakingly completed after months and months of effort, but Yvie shies away from looking, the paintings still not quite right, quite finished, to her own overly critical eye.
The centerpiece of the gallery is Yvie’s favorite of the erotic, inspired pieces, and the largest and least subtle of them all, a hazily shaped, wanting body wrapped in bright, ardent red, a depiction of Scarlet on the night they’d met. When Scarlet had first seen it, set carefully on the easel, raw and newly finished, she’d lifted her hand as if aching to touch, her fingers hovering an inch above the canvas and drifting over the curves of her own body, mouth shaping inaudible words, eyes glossy and expression wide open. She’d been silent as she looked, other than her unsteady breaths, plainly unable to tear her gaze away, and she hadn’t said a word until she was finally nestled into Yvie’s chest, arms tight around her waist, so small and soft in her flats and her big sweater and clinging so dearly, murmuring a shaky I love it, oh baby, oh, I love it over and over into Yvie’s skin.
That hadn’t been the first painting Yvie had done of Scarlet, or the first one that Scarlet had seen, but it had been the one that made Yvie sure, as she held Scarlet flush against her and breathed in her shampoo instead of the acrid smell of the studio, that she wanted to paint only her, over and over again, until the inspiration ran out and all the colors made her eyes hurt. But that hasn’t happened, and Yvie has started to think that maybe, it never will, that maybe, she’ll get to wake up every single day with Scarlet right there, and new images of her to commit to the canvas spinning through her mind.
Eventually, Yvie tears her gaze away from the centerpiece, something warm dwelling in her chest, making her lungs feel a little bit too full at the sight of the finished work, at the memory of how scary starting with it felt and how all of that insecurity was replaced with something reminiscent of pride when Scarlet had stared at it, all starry-eyed and awestruck, at the thought of how fiercely and effortlessly Scarlet believed in all of her art, like there was no question, no doubt all of it was worth admiring and being confident over. Yvie’s always been stuck somewhere between arrogance and protective defensiveness when it comes to her skill, always balancing on the border of cockiness and fear, both stemming from the knowledge she’s not quite understood, but something about the way Scarlet got it and treated it made Yvie feel like her stuff deserved to be showcased and celebrated more than she was ever able to convince herself.
She turns back to Scarlet, is met with a bright smile and a glass of wine being held out to her. She chews on her lower lip, takes the beverage and then slowly breaks a smile of her own, only barely resists the urge to pull Scarlet in and litter thank you’s in the form of little kisses all over her face and neck. Scarlet’s eyes soften, like she knows, and she playfully clinks her own glass against Yvie’s.
“To the talented artist,” she says, as flirty as ever.
“To the beautiful muse,” Yvie chuckles in response before taking a sip.
Scarlet lets out a jubilant laugh, “Seems like this muse is quite a woman.”
Yvie snorts, her upper lip drawing back a bit to widen her grin, watches Scarlet taste her wine and then absentmindedly swirl the liquid in the glass afterwards out of habit. She wants to tease Scarlet, but can’t find the words to do it, opens her mouth and then closes it again, knowing she would’ve only confirmed Scarlet’s coy comment had she spoken. There’s another giggle from Scarlet, like she’s well aware of what just happened, and then she’s leaning in, plush mouth pressing against Yvie’s in a brief, but sweet kiss, and then another, and another, as if she knows she ought to pull away but can’t bring herself to do it, humming quietly and squeezing Yvie’s hand so tightly that she’s breathless with it.
It’s a commotion from the front of the gallery that finally forces the two of them out of their bubble, the door swinging shut and a loud, raspy voice letting out an exclamation that echoes before Yvie can properly make out the words. She glances over, spotting the new, noisy guest — a petite woman clinging to the arm of a tall blonde, who Yvie quickly identifies as none other than Brooke Hytes, her coworker from the restaurant where she works when she isn’t focused on her art. The pairing is unusual to the eye, and Yvie furrows her brow a little, knowing Brooke’s date must be the girl she’s been hearing about during their smoke breaks for months now, but finding that she’s not at all what Yvie had expected.
“Is that Brooke? Who’s her date?” Scarlet asks in a low voice, narrowing her eyes a little at the couple at the door almost disdainfully.
“Let’s find out,” Yvie replies in the same tone, taking another swallow of wine before catching Brooke’s eye across the room and lifting her glass in salute.
Scarlet hums and then gives an urgent tug on her hand, and Yvie has barely managed to look back at her before their lips are being crushed together once more, Scarlet’s body leaned against hers and her tongue pressing into Yvie’s mouth persuasively, possessively. Yvie melts into the unexpected contact, wishing she wasn’t holding her wine glass and could pull Scarlet in by her waist, prevent the deep, dirty kiss from ending as quickly as it does. When Scarlet draws back, her lips are wet, curling into a satisfied smirk as she looks Yvie up and down.
“Shall we?” she purrs, the picture of the cat that got the cream, and Yvie nods silently, still struggling to catch her breath.
She flattens her spare hand against the small of Scarlet’s back, but before she can pull the other with her, Scarlet twists her upper body and quickly snatches a glass of champagne from the table. Yvie shoots it a quizzical look, notes that Scarlet’s wine isn’t nearly finished, but decides not to ask if she’s really that thirsty, instead heading toward the approaching couple.
Seeing Brooke out of her work uniform and somewhere that isn’t their noisy restaurant kitchen or the back alley behind the establishment where they spend most of their short smoke breaks feels a little surreal, like Yvie’s brain can’t quite connect her with this part of her life. Brooke looks so very different from the version Yvie’s used to, even though Yvie can’t really pinpoint what’s exactly changed. Her long blonde hair is let down, cascading down her shoulders and back, tousled slightly, and it’s a contrast to how she usually pulls it up and back for her shifts. The dress she’s wearing is dark blue and fitted, matte fabric coming down nearly to her knee, the neckline wide and displaying her collarbone but nothing below, and if Yvie didn’t know that Brooke was a struggling artist like herself, she’d think her to be a comfortable businesswoman.
“Hello, welcome to my show, thank you for coming,” Yvie greets as the two pairs meet in the middle of the gallery, teasingly formal, as if she’s greeting someone she’s never met, drawing out the syllables and flashing Brooke a grin.
“Well, thank you for having us,” Brooke says, her tone matching Yvie’s, lips twitching, and Yvie chuckles, feeling Scarlet shift beside her irritably.
“This must be your girl, who I’ve heard so much about?” Yvie inquires, turning her gaze to Brooke’s date.
The woman beside her is bouncing a little on her toes, her smile nearly as bright as her playful yellow sundress, the loose skirt swishing with her every movement. She looks dressed to attend a music festival, the summery garment paired with platform sandals, and she’s already shivering in the air conditioning of the gallery.
“Yes, this is Vanessa,” Brooke says, taking her hand and giving it a short squeeze. “Vanessa, Yvie. Yvie, Vanessa.”
“Nice to meet ya,” Vanessa says, clearing her throat as if the words are awkward on her tongue and giving a nod, her voice cracking a little and growing louder at the end of her sentence, booming through the gallery.
Brooke gives Scarlet a once over, her features remaining neutral, and then looks back at Yvie. “And this must be your latest girl?”
“Girlfriend,” Scarlet corrects sharply, before Yvie can say a word, much less protest Brooke’s phrasing. “We’ve met, actually,” she adds, wearing a smile that doesn’t reach her narrowed, flashing eyes.
“Of course.” Other than a slight upturn to her lips, Brooke’s expression doesn’t change, and she spares Scarlet another glance, her tone even colder than her gaze. “How could I forget.”
Scarlet’s mouth thins, shoulders drawing back to avoid flinching at the backhanded comment, and Yvie feels a surge of protectiveness, grits her teeth and digs her fingers into Scarlet’s waist to ground herself, avoiding the urge to get right up in Brooke’s face and threaten her like she had Adore, aware that the blonde likely wouldn’t back down or take it nearly as well as her roommate had.
Scarlet and Brooke had encountered each other once or twice before, in passing, and each time, it had been explicitly clear that the two did not get along, Brooke continually disdainful and dismissive and Scarlet equal parts infuriated at her attitude and possessive over Yvie. Fortunately, the two rarely meet, and although Yvie’s feelings towards Brooke sour dramatically on every such occasion, the other woman is her only company and ally at the crowded restaurant where they work, and her biting comments and composure, along with their respites in the back alley, are often what keep Yvie from running her mouth around customers and losing her job. Their unusual acquaintance likely has a rapidly nearing expiration date, Yvie realizes, but that’s always been the case — as soon as Brooke gets a steady contract with a dance company, she’ll be out the door. It’s only a matter of whether or not that happens before her attitude towards Scarlet manages to destroy the friendship for good first.
Beside her, Scarlet is tense, her spine a little bit too straight and her body losing its usual softness under Yvie’s touch, but other than that there’s really no telling how much Brooke gets under her skin, not a single fracture in her carefully poised composure . She hums in a noncommittal manner, almost ignoring the obvious condescending shade of Brooke’s tone and acting like she’s taking the comment as a compliment instead, mocking Brooke’s delivery. Shooting Yvie a forced smile, maybe to reassure her she’s okay, or perhaps to communicate she’s got this, Scarlet turns to Vanessa and bats her lashes exaggeratedly.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Vanessa, you look gorgeous, darling,” she meows and then extends the glass she’s been holding Vanessa’s way. “Here, I got you some champagne. I would’ve brought one for your date, too, but, you know, I didn’t have enough hands,” she playfully brings her own wine up and tilts the glass toward Vanessa. “We can’t all be talented waitresses, after all.”
“Girl, even talented waitresses only got two hands,” Vanessa exclaims, and Yvie snorts, the only person to react to Vanessa’s joke. Her grin faltering, Vanessa glances around at the other two, as if observing the tension and awkwardness between them and trying to figure out what to do with it. She shrugs her shoulder, and takes a sip of her champagne, before muttering, “Wish she had a third hand, bitch, maybe then she could handle these cookies.”
The remark is so unexpected and hilariously weird that Yvie can’t fight off the laugh it induces. She hears Scarlet break into giggles too, her body trembling with bright, ringing laughter prominently. Scarlet leans closer, hiding her face in Yvie’s shoulder, and Yvie instinctively slides her palm to rub her back as if to soothe the fit before Scarlet is in hysterics. Vanessa looks like she’s trying to maintain a straight face and conceal her amusement at her own joke, and Brooke presses her fingers to her forehead and closes her eyes with a shake of her head, as if refusing to show how funny she finds her date’s antics. Vanessa elbows her in the ribs, causing Brooke to crack a reluctant smile despite herself, and then grins and nods, downing most of her champagne in a single gulp. Yvie decides, right then, that she likes her.
Brooke is glancing around at the gallery, her expression unreadable as she surveys the art and the patrons. She’s never seen Yvie’s work, just as Yvie has never seen her dance, their relationship never expanding beyond their vague and yet oddly personal conversations during breaks at work, and Yvie is nervous, entirely thrown off balance by the sudden existence of an opportunity for Brooke to judge her and her creations, where there’s never been one before. One of her older, more political works seems to catch Brooke’s eye, a furious distortion of a venus symbol within a female silhouette, colored in black, white, and muted pink, painted in determined protest against the alteration of women’s natural bodies to make them more pleasing to the male gaze.
“So, uh, Yvie,” Vanessa says, clearly uncomfortable without conversation. “Why’d you name the show that?”
“Because it’s like, paintings of women and weirdness,” Yvie replies with a laugh, hears Scarlet hum satisfiedly, the other woman’s fingers hooking through her belt loop to tug her closer. She wraps her hand around Scarlet’s ribs, their hips nudging together in the way they only can when Scarlet’s in heels, the feeling pleasant and distinct and familiar. “That’s what all my shit’s about, honestly. Just, like, women, and the unusual oddities of the world.”
“Well, what else is there worth time and attention?” Scarlet comments rhetorically, lifting her cheek from Yvie’s shoulder to sip her wine. Her other arm winds around Yvie’s waist, squeezing gently, and Yvie meets her gaze, matching the smile she finds on her girlfriend’s face.
“I love it,” Brooke says, finally looking back at Yvie again, her tone not revealing a hint of emotion, giving Yvie no sign of whether or not she actually does. Before Yvie can ask if she means it, she’s started to speak again. “I need a drink, but should we go out for a smoke first, Yvie? I took this one out for dinner before we came, and I didn’t get the chance to take a break.”
“Oh,” Yvie exhales, surprised. Scarlet has stiffened slightly beside her, and Yvie wonders briefly if Brooke needs nicotine, is more on edge and snappy because of it, noticing the incessant tapping of the other woman’s fingers against her thigh. “Yeah, I could use one too. Just gotta grab my jacket.”
She turns her head back to look at Scarlet in order to make sure the other is comfortable with her stepping outside for a bit, but for the second time in a span of about a minute she’s interrupted before she can utter a word. Scarlet catches Yvie’s chin, her grasp firm, forceful even, and surges forward to crush their mouths together. Yvie’s unoccupied hand reflexively flies up to cradle the side of Scarlet’s neck, thumb swiping across her jawline and fingertips digging into the flesh as if to anchor herself, and she moans into the contact surprisedly.
Scarlet’s tongue laps across Yvie’s lower lip filthily, and Yvie knows this isn’t going to be a kiss they should be having in public, can tell by the urgency in Scarlet’s movements, but then that same tongue licks inside her mouth, and Yvie’s train of thought promptly falls off the rails. Scarlet presses nearer still, playfully flicks her tongue against Yvie’s, and then replaces it with her lips, capturing Yvie’s upper one and sucking on it. Yvie’s hips snap forth as if of their own accord, body yearning for more and closer and harder, and she has to consciously stop herself from rutting against Scarlet’s front. Teeth graze over her lip as Scarlet nips lightly before withdrawing just a little, and Yvie sucks air into her lungs, her breath mixing with Scarlet’s in the shallow space between them. Not letting her pull away, Scarlet places a peck on her upper lip, and then a sloppy swipe of her tongue over Yvie’s open mouth, as if cleaning the sweet tang of her chapstick off of where she left it messy on Yvie’s skin, before finally sighing and releasing her chin.
Scarlet is smirking, practically preening, her pupils blown wide and her chest rising and falling visibly, her face still so close to Yvie’s that her perfume swallows up the both of them. Finding that her heartbeat has relocated between her legs, Yvie wets her lips, tastes blackberry hidden in the corners, and very nearly leans in to kiss Scarlet again, harder this time, the impulse to claim her woman nearly irresistible in her gut. She’s about to give in, when she’s disrupted by a low whistle, and suddenly recalls her surroundings.
“Damn, y’all filthy,” Vanessa comments with a click of her tongue, sounding absolutely delighted. Yvie glances over, trying to get a grip, and finds Brooke staring pointedly at some of the art on the opposing wall and Vanessa grinning shamelessly at them.
“Well, baby, why don’t you go out and have your smoke?” Scarlet suggests, almost as if she’s presenting a new idea, reaching to scoop Yvie’s glass out of her hand. “Get rid of those jitters and then come back and get me another drink?”
“Okay,” Yvie says, blinking and shaking her head slightly. “I’ll be back soon, babe.”
“Yes you will.” Scarlet smiles coyly, tilts her chin to press a small kiss to Yvie’s cheek, her hands held aloft to avoid spilling either glass of wine.
Reluctantly, Yvie lets go of her, and Brooke turns back around to face the two of them abruptly. “Is there a back door in this place?”
“Duh,” Yvie says. “To the left of the table, back corner. I’ll get my jacket from the front and meet you out there.”
Brooke pecks Vanessa’s temple and murmurs something inaudible to her, to which Vanessa gives a nod, before departing towards the back. Grabbing Scarlet’s arm, Yvie gives it one more squeeze in farewell, and then turns her back and heads over to the coat rack, the warmth of Scarlet’s smile following her all the way there. Her slacks feel uncomfortably tight, and she has to force herself to ignore the dampness between her legs as she walks, draping the jacket over her arm and making a beeline for the back corner. The promise of a cigarette makes her fingers twitch, and yet the tug low in Yvie’s gut is pulling her towards Scarlet still, and she has to speed up her pace to avoid running right back to her and letting her feed her addiction instead, letting her fingers fill the spaces between Yvie’s, letting her tongue slide back between her lips.
As she pushes out the back door, Yvie’s thoughts dip into less appropriate territory as she ponders what else could occupy her hands, her digits curling instinctively and her jaw tightening, and she feels her cunt pulse, presses her thighs together in a futile attempt to ease the dizzying sensation.
Brooke is already there, leaning against the wall with one foot kicked up against it and her green pall mall balanced between her knuckles, smoke wafting slowly from the cherry into the evening air as she slowly exhales her first drag. Although her outfit is obviously different and her hair tossed over her shoulder rather than pulled back, her position is identical to the one she habitually takes in the alley beside the restaurant, and Yvie smiles unexpectedly.
“You’re wasting it, girl,” she says, shaking her head and pulling her jacket on, the comfortable weight settling on her shoulders pleasantly. “You gotta learn to smoke faster, seriously.”
“That line hasn’t made me change my habit in the past year, Yvette, no matter how much you repeat it,” Brooke says, chuckling. “What makes you think it will now?”
“I keep thinking you’ll come to your senses,” Yvie shoots back.
She shuffles over to rest her back against the outside of the building, mirroring the position Brooke is standing in a few feet away, and maneuvers a cigarette out of her own pack without bothering to withdraw it from her pocket, placing it against her lower lip.
Brooke doesn’t dignify her words with a response, instead passing Yvie her silver lighter before Yvie can make a move to fish out her own, and Yvie takes it out of habit, igniting her smoke quickly before passing it back, the sequence of movements practiced and routine. The two of them fall into companionable silence, the narrow street behind the building empty other than the two of them and quiet other than the slightly ominous metallic creaking of a fire escape suspended from the apartment building facing them and their own off-kilter, distinctive patterns of inhaling and exhaling smoke.
“You’re talented,” Brooke comments. Yvie observes her out of the corner of her eye, the familiar tilt of her chin as she slots the filter between her lips, the upwards direction of her gaze, looking for hints of emotion on her features.
“Thanks,” Yvie says after a moment, and the interaction should feel awkward, but somehow, it never does. “How was your audition last night?”
“Another bust.” Brooke remains straight-faced, as if it doesn’t bother her remotely, and that’s how Yvie knows that it does. “They always are.”
The menthol from Brooke’s cigarette has clouded the air enough now that Yvie can taste it when she pauses her smoking for a breath of oxygen. She hooks her spare thumb into her jacket pocket, and reads the subtext under Brooke’s words, ponders whether the other woman resents her for her success or is simply anxious that she’ll never get a similar break.
“It’s funny,” Yvie begins. “I always thought getting a chance like this would feel so fucking good, but now that I’m here, it’s all way more terrifying.”
“Vulnerability,” Brooke states, almost immediately, and there’s a beat as she contemplates. “Getting to perform for normal people isn’t the same as an audition.”
“No?” Yvie inquires, looking over at her.
“No,” Brooke confirms, meeting her gaze for a moment before looking away. “It’s worse. In auditions, they want you to succeed, and if you fail, you make their life harder. Normal people look for every flaw, and pick it apart.” She takes a long drag, shakes her head. “And we know exactly how it happens, because each of us does it ourselves.”
Her mouth falling open a little, Yvie blinks at Brooke, her cigarette dangling from her fingers. She had always loved getting critiques and opinions from mentors, teachers, and actual critics, but hadn’t bothered to analyze her own reasoning, or question why exactly it was so different from displaying her work in a gallery. And Brooke had, as usual, hit the nail on the head. There’s some core part of Yvie that Brooke just understands, always has, and Yvie assumes that maybe, she understands the other woman in that way, as well. It’s likely their shared artistic side, she thinks, and their introverted, drawn back aspects, the ones that are tucked carefully under their ribs in places hard to reach or see.
“Huh,” she muses after releasing a cloud of smoke she held in longer than strictly necessary, unsure of what else to say, of whether Brooke is looking for conversation or space to just speak.
She twists her wrist and pushes the rest of her hand into the jacket pocket for something to do. It feels unusually empty, and Yvie shuffles through the spare change she always has lying around, locates her pack of gum and L&M’s and Swiss army knife, then leaves her cigarette between her lips and pats over the other pocket. There’s only her chapstick and earphones, and Yvie mentally calculates what’s missing, recognizes it’s her wallet, keys, and refillable lighter, and feels a pang of panic attempt to rise in her chest right before she realizes Scarlet must have taken them out and stored in her purse upon hanging the jacket, and sighs in relief.
There’s something about the care with which Scarlet treats Yvie’s things that’s strikingly touching, especially when Yvie considers how she handles her own possessions, most of them disorganized, shoes always tipped over and the items in her purses and bags kept in random places, with no certainty of where one might be at any given time. But Yvie has always been precise, and somehow, without ever having to be told, Scarlet understands, and makes a concerted effort to take care of Yvie’s things far better than her own. With a small smile, Yvie imagines, in the back of her mind, Scarlet sliding the small wallet into her clutch, and then nestling the old lighter safely beside it, braced between its leather exterior and the satin lining of the bag.
Brooke huffs, noticeably louder than her usual gentle exhales, and Yvie’s thoughts turn to the altercation in the gallery earlier. As she recalls the comments Brooke had made, and considers the ones she could add when they return inside, the bitterness sours her tongue, and she decides that she can’t just wait it out any longer. There’s a dull clanking noise from the fire escape, the structure shuddering before quieting again, and Yvie sucks on her cigarette harder than before.
“I like Vanessa,” she states.
Brooke hums disinterestedly, and Yvie thinks that maybe, she already knows where the conversation is headed.
“I really care about Scarlet,” Yvie says, and it sounds like an entirely separate statement, but both of them are smart enough, she thinks, to figure out that it isn’t.
“I know.”
There’s a pause, and for once, Brooke’s tendency to say little makes Yvie frustrated, rather than bringing her peace of mind.
“She matters,” Yvie grinds out, the words feeling heavy on her tongue. “She matters more than… more than most things. Maybe more than all of them.”
“And I don’t,” Brooke says.
It’s not a challenge, not a prodding question. There’s no hint of passive aggressiveness or frustration in her tone, just cool, almost wistful, acceptance, and Yvie chews on her lip.
“You do.” She looks over to find Brooke staring at her, brow furrowed slightly, cigarette neglected between her fingers but still burning steadily as ever. “You do matter, she just matters more, and she always will.”
She grits her teeth, and returns her gaze to the fire escape, her head knocking back against the brick, taking another hard drag of her cigarette. Brooke is silent, and Yvie doesn't want to see the expression on her face, or lack thereof, when she finishes making her point.
“So get used to it, and get your act together, because I'm super close to choosing a side, permanently,” she says, her voice louder than she means it to be, getting the words out as quickly as she can and hating how they taste. “And it won't be yours.”
Brooke doesn’t reply, doesn’t even make a sound to acknowledge Yvie’s words, and it would almost seem like she didn’t hear them at all if it weren’t for the way they hang in the air, heavy, constricting, clouding the distance between them far more than the smoke from their cigarettes ever could. Yvie doesn’t look up, still unwilling to face the blank expression she knows Brooke’s undoubtedly sporting, doesn’t want to think about the damage her ultimatum, however necessary and inevitable, has most likely caused. She just takes one last drag and lets the stub fall from between her fingers to the ground, pushes herself off the wall, and heads inside without sparing Brooke another glance or word.
The gallery is distinctly more crowded when Yvie enters, the high ceiling of the room creating a hollow echo from all the chatter. Yvie gets stuck at the door, briefly considers slipping back outside and chain-smoking through her pack instead of showing herself, but the idea of encountering Brooke’s icy demeanor is even less tempting, so she takes a deep breath and steels herself.
Letting the door swing shut, she casts her gaze across the clusters of people inside, tongue pressed into her upper lip, hands fidgeting nervously. After a moment, she remembers that keeping her jacket on is likely rude, and slips it off again, cursing under her breath and slinging it over her arm, shifting her shoulders uncomfortably at the sudden feeling of being exposed. Looking around for Scarlet, she worries the zipper between her fingers, the metal digging into her skin and grounding her. She finds Adore before she finds her girlfriend, the other woman laughing loudly at the refreshment table, sipping what’s likely her fourth or fifth glass of champagne and talking up a redhead that Yvie doesn’t recognize and who definitely isn’t Violet.
“Shit,” she mutters, pinching the zipper hard.
Suddenly, Scarlet’s peppery fragrance tickles at her nose, and then Scarlet herself is pressing against Yvie, chest tight against Yvie’s bicep and hands winding around her forearm. Yvie’s shoulders drop, the tension working its way out of her body as Scarlet kisses her cheek gently, and she lets go of the metal that’s cutting into the pad of her thumb, Scarlet’s palm slotting smoothly against hers the moment that she does.
“What is she doing?” Scarlet murmurs lowly.
“Hmm?” Yvie questions and glances at Scarlet
She’s following Yvie’s previous line of vision, one of her delicate eyebrows arched in genuine puzzlement and mouth forming a little confused ‘o’ like she’s having trouble connecting the dots. Yvie turns back to look at Adore and the not-Violet she’s chatting up just in time to witness her roommate planting her palm on the small of the girl’s back and downing the rest of her alcohol. Yvie swallows, hard, watches Adore carelessly deposit the glass back on the table and start guiding her company somewhere.
“She… is being Adore,” Yvie grunts through her teeth.
There’s a naive part of her that wants, for once, to be wrong about what she’s aware is going to happen next, is already happening, a part that tries to convince her she doesn’t actually know Adore as well as she thinks she does, but then Adore opts for the restrooms located on the right of the refreshment table, and Yvie lets out a litany of curses under her breath. She squeezes Scarlet’s hand as if that will somehow change anything, disbelieving that her roommate returning to her old ways of picking up and discarding women like they’re disposable is so shocking to her.
“Oh no,” Scarlet squeaks next to her and Yvie immediately snaps around, everything else forgotten as she hurries to assess the source of her girlfriend’s audible distress.
Scarlet is facing the entrance, her eyes fixed on something intently, and it only takes Yvie a second to find what she’s seeing. Violet is frozen by the door, her arms limply by her sides and expression void of any emotions as she stares at Adore’s distancing frame.
“Oh, no,” Yvie repeats stupidly.
The two of them stare at Violet’s diminutive figure, Yvie observing closely as her lips part for a few moments, and then press together again, a slight wrinkle appearing between her brows. Scarlet winces, sounding almost as if she’s been wounded, and hides her face in Yvie’s shoulder. The crease in Violet’s forehead smoothens out after just a second or two, and then she’s straightening her shoulders, and making her way over to the wall to her right, stopping in front of one of the paintings. Her gaze searches the room briefly, quickly landing on Yvie and catching her in the act of staring. Yvie blinks right back at her, and Violet hesitates for a moment before lifting her hand to wiggle her fingers in greeting, giving a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes at all, doesn’t move past the spread of her lips, her expression remaining utterly and distinctly emotionless. As she faces the canvas, the insubstantial grin evaporates as quickly as it came, like she’s removed a carnival mask.
“What is she doing?” Scarlet repeats, lifting her face from Yvie’s shirt, her voice a faint murmur now.
Unable to come up with a response, Yvie just shakes her head, turns to press her lips softly against Scarlet’s temple. When Scarlet turns to meet her gaze, her eyes are worried, and she’s nibbling on her lower lip, and Yvie struggles to draw breath as she stares at her girlfriend, consumed with the crawling desire to pull her closer, to soothe her with a firm grip and replace Scarlet’s teeth with her own, tug gently on the flesh and swallow the sweet whimpers that spill out of her like giggles.
“Should we — should we go and talk to her, maybe?” Scarlet suggests earnestly, pulling Yvie out of that particular mindset.
Yvie glances back at Violet, the proud set of her shoulders, her stiff fingers curled into her palms. “I think we should give her space, baby.”
Scarlet nods knowingly, and then drops her head to kiss the top of Yvie’s shoulder briefly, the tapping of her index and middle fingers against the inside of Yvie’s wrist revealing the remnants of her nervous energy.
Yvie emptily scans the room without really registering anything substantial, and ends up with her gaze drawn to the entrance to the hallway leading to the restrooms like it’s magnetic, as if she’ll be able to will Adore to reemerge and scoop Violet up into a messy hug with an uproarious laugh like Yvie’s seen her do so many times before if she just stares intently enough. There’s a weird prickling somewhere deep in her throat, one that has no business being there, really, but that she can’t seem to swallow past regardless of how hard she tries. This shouldn’t be surprising in the slightest, not when it’s Adore, not with her resistance to commit and settle, not with her tendency to fuck women out of her system and lose interest immediately after, yet for some reason Yvie feels like she’d been blindsided, punched straight in the gut, and she can only imagine how much worse Violet feels, even if she’s not showing it.
But, no matter how much Yvie leers, there’s no sign of Adore, only Scarlet suddenly perking up next to her.
“Oh my God, when the hell did Pearl get here?” she wonders.
After a moment of searching, Yvie spots her girlfriend’s roommate in the far corner of the room, surveying an abstract depiction of Scarlet’s torso, one hand running through her long blonde hair and the other shoved in the pocket of her jeans.
“I should go say hi,” Scarlet adds after a moment of absentminded staring, as if she’s suddenly realized her manners, and Yvie chuckles, wanting to crush her into her chest for a proper hug, and simply squeezing her hand before releasing it instead.
“Go ahead, babe,” she says, and Scarlet digs her two fingers deep into Yvie’s pulse before reluctantly releasing her arm and starting to move away. “I’ll grab you guys some wine.”
Spinning around and walking backwards now, Scarlet smiles at her, effervescently, presses her palm to her lips to kiss it before holding it out towards Yvie, and the gesture is so endearing, so delicate and lovely that it takes Yvie’s breath away, makes her forget, for a moment, to worry that Scarlet will trip or stumble in her heels. She watches, lower lip clamped between her teeth, as Scarlet meanders over to Pearl, eyes traveling from her silky calves, to her bouncing mane of hair, to the steady, sensuous sway of her hips, the motion lilting and graceful and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.
Scarlet reaches Pearl, taps her shoulder before starting up a conversation, and Yvie looks for awhile longer, before remembering what she’d said to Scarlet, and tearing her gaze away. Her jacket is still draped over her arm, and she registers vaguely that she should hang it up, and moves towards the coat rack again with a purpose, resisting the urge to glance back at the bathroom or to check on Violet as she passes her.
Jacket safely deposited on the rack, Yvie heads back to the refreshment table, crossing the distance in long, rapid strides. She orders two more glasses of wine, and taps at the table rhythmically as she waits, snatches a mini quiche from one of the dishes beside the drinks and finishes it in two unsatisfying bites, wiping the back of her hand across her lips. She considers reaching for another, or going for the cheese and crackers plate, but the wine is being pushed into her hands before she can, and she gives up the idea, shrugging her shoulder and thanking the server shortly. Beginning to make her way over to the painting where Scarlet and Pearl are still standing, she takes a sip from one of the glasses, and then blinks, remembering that they’re meant to be for the other two women. She pauses for a moment, contemplating whether it would be weird to give her girlfriend a glass she’d already drunk from, as if she hadn’t just kissed her thoroughly not that long ago. She quickly dismisses the thought, laughing at its absurdity.
“…And our divided nature as human beings is exactly why the planet is represented twice,” Yvie hears Scarlet say with conviction as soon as she’s within earshot.
Pearl snorts and shifts her gaze from Scarlet to the painting. She tilts her head a little as if she’s observing something vastly fascinating, then looks back at Scarlet.
“Good try, babe, but that’s tits,” she drawls just as Yvie reaches them and stops beside Scarlet.
It is, of course, tits. Scarlet’s, to be precise, rendered in textured swirls of pink and tan and creamy white, the lighter colors filling in the rough outlines that Yvie had etched in charcoal before covering with a darker paint, the shapes meant to indicate the two malleable curves of her breasts and the whole work supposed to elicit a calm, rosy feeling in the viewer. Scarlet knew that, had laid on her back topless, spaced out and touchable and stoned and absolutely luxurious with her arms stretched in various directions for Yvie to fill her drawing pad with sketches, and as such, Yvie is utterly confused by why Scarlet looks taken aback, almost offended, at Pearl’s words. Scarlet opens her mouth, as if to argue, but Yvie clears her throat to get her attention, and then Scarlet is looking at her instead, face softening visibly at the sight of her.
Yvie meets her eyes, for a moment, gets rapidly lost in the liquid blue and the pretty tilt of Scarlet’s nose below, and then shakes herself out of it enough to outstretch the wine glasses towards the two women.
“Hey, Pearl,” she says, flashing her a grin. As Pearl takes her wine, Yvie feels a brief flash of panic, suddenly completely unsure whether the glass she herself had accidentally drunk from is the one in Pearl’s possession or the one Scarlet is already sipping on beside her. Pearl, unaware of Yvie’s inner turmoil, smiles back lazily, and Yvie catches her breath and decides to just go with it. “Super nice that you could make it.”
“Thanks for having me,” Pearl says in her drawn monotone. “Alright?”
“Yeah, good,” Yvie hums, her arm almost automatically finding its way around Scarlet’s waist and pulling her closer ever so slightly. “You?”
Pearl has just brought her glass to her lips to take a drink, so she only nods soundlessly and then lets her eyes slowly dart around the gallery.
“The art looks great,” she comments after gulping the wine down. “Honestly I would be tempted to buy this one, but I’m not sure I want Scarlet’s tits hanging in our living room. I’ve known her too long.”
“I’m not sure I want Scarlet's tits in your living room, either,” Yvie replies with a chuckle, playing the comment off as a joke but tightening her grip on Scarlet nonetheless, tugging her closer as if to remind the both of them of Yvie’s claim on her.
A slight lift of Pearl’s eyebrows is all the response Yvie gets, and then she is moving towards the next canvas, blinking slowly as she surveys it.
“So this one is a little more… complicated,” Scarlet starts, sounding as if she’s about to go off on a tangent, her jaw working a little, but Pearl snorts and pats her arm, cutting in before she can continue.
“Don’t bother,” she says.
Scarlet pouts pointedly, and stares at the painting in silence. After rubbing her side gently with her palm and pressing a light kiss to her cheekbone, Yvie joins her, contemplating what her girlfriend had been attempting to do briefly before giving up on trying to solve that particular mystery for now.
Complicated certainly isn't the word Yvie would use to describe the piece. She’d lean towards filthy, and maybe a bit hard to explain away as anything other than it is, considering it was based on the rather unmistakable sketch of a mouth being nudged open by the tip of a cock, an outline that stands front and center in the final piece, confused and painted over with far darker, fiercer colors than the painting they'd just been looking over. She glances at Scarlet, eyes immediately drawn to her pretty, parted mouth, the same one depicted in the work in front of them, and then to her dilated pupils. Scarlet squirms barely noticeably, and Yvie wets her lips, wonders if Scarlet is remembering one of the instances that had inspired this particular piece, if she’s thinking about replicating it later, and then pulls herself out of that train of thought forcibly before she can spiral any further.
Suddenly Pearl throws her head back and laughs, a languid, relaxed sound that makes the corners of Yvie’s own mouth twitch upwards involuntarily. Pearl crinkles her nose amusedly and gestures between the painting and Scarlet.
“Damn, Scar, girl, you nasty,” she cries out. “Wow, I’m like disturbed and turned on at the same time.”
Scarlet huffs loudly and crosses her arms on her chest, gaping at Pearl with a sneer, but none of that seems to really unhinge Pearl in the slightest, on the contrary, likely just spurs her on. She spins toward Yvie on the heels of her sneakers, a shit-eating grin splitting her face, and it’s painfully obvious she’s figured the piece out. Yvie is simultaneously impressed by Pearl’s artistic eye and amused by Scarlet’s scandalized and Pearl’s sly reactions and their interaction.
“Damn,” Pearl repeats and bro-punches Yvie’s bicep. “You really didn’t hold back on explicit filth, huh, Yvie?”
Yvie sinks her teeth into her lower lip to try and hide the annoying smirk that threatens to spill, and shrugs one shoulder. “What can I say? I’ve had some… real life inspiration. A filthy muse if you will.”
“Oh my God, you two,” Scarlet shrieks and wiggles out of Yvie’s hold, a displeased tilt to both her mouth and brows. She points at Yvie, then at Pearl, and then wags her finger in the air as if warningly. “Big mistake. Huge.”
“Babe, hey,” Yvie starts, chuckling and reaching for her, but Scarlet is shaking her head and slipping out of her grasp, storming off with a pronounced, performative pout that Yvie knows won’t last and isn’t really genuine.
She lets Scarlet go, watching her walk away, and Pearl laughs. “Don’t worry, she’ll get over it,” she drawls.
“I know.” Yvie shakes her head, looking back at the painting once Scarlet has disappeared behind a cluster of guests.
“Oils?” Pearl asks, rhetorically, gesturing at the painting lazily with a finger.
“Yeah.” There’s a small smile on Yvie’s face at Pearl’s quick recognition of her chosen paints. “All of the ones of Scarlet are, actually. Acrylics just didn’t work for the kind of color and texture i needed.”
“Duh.” Pearl’s nodding, her eyes narrowing as she inspects the painting. “Love the brush texture. I don’t use it nearly enough in my own shit. All that extra paint must’ve cost you a ton, though.”
“Thanks, yeah, I really love the three dimensional aspect, I have way too many hard brushes,” Yvie says. Pearl was right — the amount of expensive oil paint that she’d needed to complete this work alone was truly obscene, but she didn’t regret a thing, had needed to be able to paint her way to accomplish the vision of Scarlet that was stuck in her head. “Hey, some things are just worth the money, you know?”
“That’s art,” Pearl agrees with a smile.
It’s been a long time coming, this dynamic between them, the friendly conversation and the ability to relate on an artistic level. When she’d started seeing Scarlet regularly, Yvie had quickly come to realize that Pearl saw Scarlet as her baby sister, poking fun at her and teasing but also fiercely protective and, like Yvie, ready to step in front of her and take the brunt of anything coming her way. Despite never being aggressive or challenging Yvie outright, which wasn’t her style, Pearl had made it blatantly clear through her coldness and her wariness that she was unsure whether Yvie was right for Scarlet, or good enough for her at all. It was the first time anyone had required that Yvie prove herself to be worthy of a girl, the closest experience she’d ever had to meeting a girlfriend’s family, and she hadn’t quite known how to shoulder it, how to let Pearl know that she could be trusted, that she would rather step into oncoming traffic herself than ever let Scarlet get hurt, much less hurt her herself, that she had been waiting her whole life for the chance to keep and take care of one woman and was quickly becoming convinced that she had been built to do just that.
Showing Pearl, as it turned out, was what had finally proven Yvie’s worth and allowed the two of them to develop a rapport. The opportunity had presented itself without Yvie even knowing, just around the time that Scarlet had started coming around to Yvie’s place regularly, when Adore had decided that Yvie needed to get out, rather than just staying, as she had so tactfully phrased it, buried in Scarlet’s pussy for the fourth night this week. Yvie had invited Scarlet, and Scarlet in turn had invited Pearl, and the night had rapidly escalated into Adore and Pearl chatting up random girls like it was a competition, Scarlet drinking way too much way too fast, and Yvie following her around with a hand on her at all times, scaring away anyone who came close to the two of them with bared teeth and lowered brows.
They’d taken Yvie’s bike that night, at Scarlet’s persuasion, but by the time it started to get late, Scarlet could hardly stay upright, much less cling safely to Yvie’s back as they ripped through the streets on a motorcycle. Not willing to risk it, Yvie had left the bike locked up on the street without a second thought and called an Uber instead, practically carrying the other woman out to the car with arms wrapped close around her, murmuring comforts in her ear as an overemotional, dizzy Scarlet whimpered into her shirt. They’d made it back to Yvie’s apartment before her stomach had responded, and after the nausea had diminished, Scarlet had passed out cold in the bed with her arms locked in a vice grip around Yvie’s body, face buried in her chest and snoring softly. She’d been so nervous over Scarlet, so worried that she’d wake up even sicker, that when Adore called and asked if she was coming back for her bike, she’d dismissed the very idea instantly, not willing to leave the small, sleepy figure in her bed for anything. Pearl’s voice had come over the phone shortly after, asking in a cool tone whether Scarlet was okay, and, too preoccupied to be anxious, she had firmly and simply assured Pearl she was taking care of everything and that she’d bring Scarlet home safe in the morning.
Yvie had kept her promise, helping care for Scarlet’s wicked hangover before catching a ride over to the other woman’s apartment, and when they’d gone inside, the door unexpectedly opened by a disheveled Adore, Pearl had been waiting with a faint smile and a freshly rolled blunt for Yvie, a silent peace offering that Yvie had accepted and lit up, pride spreading in her chest until her lungs felt too full with smoke and oxygen and the feeling of finally being good enough.
“Are they all, you know, of Scarlet?” Pearl asks, tone almost endeared in the way Yvie has only heard it get when she’s talking about Scarlet behind her back.
“All of the ones I’ve painted after meeting her,” Yvie shrugs. “There’s some older pieces in the midst, but I’m not really happy with any of them. Wasn’t really… all that inspired for the longest while, y’know?”
Pearl squints at her, jaw working as if she’s chewing her tongue thoughtfully, and then she runs her free hand through her hair and breaks into a mischievous smirk. “I’m gonna try and figure out as many as possible so I can tease her about it for the rest of the year.”
Yvie barks out a laugh and brushes Pearl off. “Knock yourself out, but if your teasing leads into her refusing to pose for me, I’ll use the rest of my paints to set your car on fire.”
There’s a chuckle from Pearl, and she tilts her head back as she takes a long drink of wine, and Yvie’s throat is tight with the knowledge that Pearl likes her enough, now, to laugh at comments like that.
“Well, I guess —”
“Yvette!” Brooke’s voice cuts Pearl off.
Yvie turns, finding her approaching, accompanied by a stout, broad chested woman with inquisitive eyes and a smile so wide it looks almost fake on her friendly face. She’s wearing a simple black dress accented by a vibrant, loose-knit, iridescent magenta shawl and a matching hat, the type that one might’ve worn to church in a time long past, something that might have made Yvie incredibly confused, if she hadn’t lived in New York long enough to become accustomed to the fashion habits well-off middle aged women who were simply too busy enjoying their hobbies and collecting knick-knacks to care what others thought.
“This is Nina,” Brooke says as they come to a stop, gesturing to the woman next to her, and Nina sticks her hand out, the grin still etched across her features. “I wanted to introduce you two, she’s a reporter.”
“Well, you must be the remarkable Yvie Bridges,” Nina jumps in brightly, gripping Yvie’s hand tightly and pumping it up and down with far too much enthusiasm. “I’m Nina, Nina West, writing for the online publication Go West: People, Peacemaking, and Progress.” As she gives the name, Nina outstretches her arms, palms facing Yvie and spreads them apart, staring off into the distance with an almost manic expression on her face, as if she’s imagining the words appearing in thin air, like magic, just from her gesticulation.
Taken aback by her exuberance, Yvie blinks, trying to come up with an appropriate reply, but before she can, Nina is looking her right in the eyes again and launching back into her rapid speech.
“I would absolutely love to interview you on your work and how you feel it can help our progress, both as a society and within the LGBTQ community,” she rattles off, sounding as if she’s made the same formulaic request to a million people, but is still just as excited and proud of it as the very first time. She rustles her shawl, reaching underneath, and then pulls a very expensive looking, portable camera seemingly out of nowhere. “Also, to take a few photographs, not of the art but of you and perhaps the poster out front? Oh, and I’m the photographer for Go West: People, Peacemaking and Progress, I don’t think I mentioned that. Also, the entire web design team, the promoter, and of course, the founder — Go West, Nina West, West, you get it — but bragging isn’t my style.” She lets out a hearty laugh, grinning toothily at Yvie.
Yvie stares at her for a moment, unsure whether to burst into laughter or take her seriously, and turns her gaze to Brooke, hoping her expression properly conveys her emotional state.
“Um, Nina and I are old friends,” Brooke says with a timid smile and a little shrug as soon as she catches Yvie’s glare. Nina immediately draws in a sharp inhale and clutches her chest, looking at Brooke like she mortally wounded her. “Don’t try, Nina, you are old,” Brooke just deadpans without taking her eyes off Yvie. “We were just catching up and it came up that Nina finds your work impactful, and I thought I’d introduce you two. You know, get a word out there and all. All press is good press, right?”
She eyes Yvie almost wistfully, hints of apology in her tone and words, and Yvie smiles and nods, thinks that of all the white flags Brooke is capable of producing and waving this isn’t half bad and definitely not worth losing over pride and stubbornness.
“So!” Nina exclaims, after glancing back and forth between Yvie and Brooke curiously for a moment. “How about that interview, then?” There’s a swooshing of her shawl, and then she’s holding a small tape recorder, seemingly whisked out of thin air, her thumb already hovering over the record button.
“Uh,” Yvie says dumbly, glancing to her left where Pearl is still standing, seemingly observing the situation with the same level of fascination that Yvie’s art warranted from her earlier.
“T’was good catching up, Yv,” she drawls in reply to Yvie’s unvoiced question of whether the interruption bothers her. “I’m gonna go get myself more wine and check out the rest of Scarlet, I mean, the exhibition.”
“Always good seeing you, Liaison,” Yvie chuckles.
Pearl winks at her lazily, giving Yvie’s elbow a gentle squeeze and mouthing Blunts sometime soon? at her. Yvie nods solemnly, feeling something warm spread inside her at the way it seems Pearl’s approval is slowly shaping into friendship instead, and turns back to Brooke and Nina.
As Yvie gives her consent for the interview, Pearl departs, and the tinny click of the recorder as it starts rolling sets Yvie's nerves alight once more. To her surprise, the experience isn’t nearly as harrowing and anxiety producing as she expects, Nina’s questions simple and straightforward, her smiling confidence putting Yvie at ease. There's the small matter of having to be vague about her chosen subject matter, but Yvie finds that she can handle it decently well, by diplomatically stating that she's inspired by the people around her and by her lived-in, personal experience, hinting at the facts and managing to avoid explicitly stating that most of her work is erotic. Brooke stands nearby, fussing with the way her dress folds above her hip and listening quietly, and after a little while, Vanessa appears by her side, hushed by Brooke gripping her arm tightly and whispering something in her ear before her boomy voice can interrupt the interview.
“Well, that’s all I’ve got!” Nina announces, the decisive click of the recorder emphasizing that the interview is finished. The small device vanishes just as quickly and inexplicably as it had appeared, and Nina grabs her hand to shake it vigorously once more. “Thank you so much for your time. Art and self-expression really is the foundation of our community, and it’s so important that voices like yours are amplified.”
“Thank you,” Yvie replies, finally smiling back at her. The line sounds predetermined, as if it’s been used before, but the way Nina meets her eyes and the sincerity in her voice makes her words meaningful regardless, makes Yvie feel heard and understood, truly comfortable for the first time that night.
“I think a photoshoot might feel a little weird and, y’know, formal in this setting,” Nina says, scrunching up her face a little, and Yvie nods in agreement. “If you’d be alright with it, I was hoping could I stay a little longer and take a few candid shots of you around the gallery, instead?”
“Sure,” Yvie agrees. “Sounds great, just make sure you get my good side.” She gestures to one side of her face at random, chuckling at her own joke, and Nina giggles twice as loud, tossing her head back.
“Personally, I left my good side at home today,” she says conspiratorially, wiggling her eyebrows, and Yvie laughs despite herself.
“Personally, I only have good sides so I can’t really relate,” Brooke states with a straight face.
“Bitch, please,” Vanessa deadpans under her breath lowly and throws an exaggerated eye roll Brooke’s way. That sends all of the group into cackles, Vanessa cracking up just a second later than everyone else.
“Phew,” Nina huffs when their laughter dies down a little. “All this talking sure made me thirsty.”
“Oooh, girl, they got that good champagne here,” Vanessa pipes up with a grin, bouncing on her toes.
“Same can’t be said for the mini quiches they’re serving,” Yvie mutters grumpily.
“I think I’ll try them out just to be sure,” Nina nods decisively.
“Shall we, then?” Brooke suggests, placing her palm on Vanessa’s back beneath her shoulder blades. “Give Yvette an opportunity to mingle more.”
“Yes, please, let’s get these vocal cords oiled… Don’t say it, Brooke, I realize that sounds extremely weird,” Nina says.
Shaking her head, Brooke just chuckles, winding her arm around Vanessa’s to lead the two of them towards the refreshment table. Nina turns back, giving Yvie a sheepish shrug and a wave before hurrying to catch up with the couple in front of her.
Yvie watches them leave, letting out a long exhale as she’s finally left alone once more. Having to interact with people in an environment like this is tiring, something she’s quite unused to, and the moment of solitude is a much needed respite, if a brief one. It isn’t that she resents the conversation and people’s interest — as a matter of fact, Nina’s kindness and support had meant the world to her, had been unexpected and surprisingly comforting — it’s simply that she spends nearly every day working mindlessly or painting on her own and then focusing on one single person, Scarlet, during her free time. The thought of Scarlet quickly takes Yvie’s mind over, and before she knows it, she’s glancing around the gallery nervously in search of her girlfriend, suddenly hyperaware of her absence and of the awkwardness of standing here on her own, probably sticking out like a sore thumb with her crimson shirt and her tall frame.
However, before she manages to locate Scarlet, or anyone else familiar, for that matter, the sound of someone giving a small, forced cough nearby demands her attention. Yvie looks, her face falling momentarily at the sight of a man in a suit in front of her before she quickly scolds her expression into something more neutral. The guy looks wealthy, and like he wants people to know it, in his slicked back haircut and perfectly tailored outfit, the kind of man Yvie knows she has exactly zero things in common with, and wouldn’t ever care to change that. She cocks an eyebrow at him, tilting her chin up ever so slightly.
“Ms. Bridges, right?” the guy asks in his posh little voice, seemingly unaware of Yvie’s reaction to him.
“Correct,” Yvie says curtly.
“Great, I’m here to write you a check, for that piece over there,” he says with a nod, gesturing vaguely towards a painting on the opposite wall. “I’ll be buying it. Buckley’s the name, by the way. Jonas Buckley III.”
His chest swells with self importance, as if his name should be immediately recognizable. It isn’t, and Yvie just stares for a moment, glancing over at the canvas and then back at him again, trying to puzzle out his motives for buying an abstract painting of her girlfriend, unsure of whether he knows the subject matter or not, and of which option would be worse.
The piece had been inspired by the image of Scarlet staring out of Yvie’s bedroom window, clad in just Yvie’s old, red flannel, soft, well-worn material grazing the backs of her thighs, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Yvie had laid in bed, still calm and listless from sex, and studied her profile, the cascading of her messy locks down her shoulders, the slight parting of her mouth, the content lassitude of her posture, the way the setting sun had illuminated her and everything else in feebly glowing reds and oranges and yellows. The end product is probably too distorted to be able to tell what it really depicts, broad strokes of those same colors accentuated by just touches of brown and nude and gold, swirling into something unclear but intricately balanced.
“Oh,” Yvie utters, wrestling with the desire to refuse the sale, reminding herself that she’s been through all of it already, alone and with Scarlet, and that they’ve both concluded this isn’t the time or place for possessiveness. “Yeah, okay. That’s cool.”
“Excellent,” says Jonas Buckley III.
He whips out a leather check book and a silver pen that Yvie suspects is engraved, flipping it open and scribbling his signature with a flourish. He passes the booklet, open, to Yvie, who takes it and stares at it for a moment, his name and address on the Upper East Side, the fleur-de-lys symbol between that and his account number along the top. She doesn’t have a pen, doesn’t have anything on her body except her phone and business cards, and the bad taste in her mouth intensifies upon processing that he’s staring at her expectantly, his own pen in hand, as if he’s waiting for her to withdraw her own engraved writing utensil and scribble in her information without delay, right there, with nothing to lean the booklet against other than the wall or perhaps her own leg.
“Uh,” she says, dumbly, glaring at him and making a concerted effort to keep her tone polite. “I don’t have anything to write with?” It’s phrased as a question, despite being a rather neutral observation, and it certainly isn’t a suggestion or a demand, and Yvie hopes that’s the proper etiquette one should use to point out when someone else is being an absolute prick.
“Oh, of course,” Buckley says and rushes to extend his pen Yvie’s way, like the idea didn’t cross his mind until this very moment and was all his own chivalry. “There you are.”
Yvie suppresses the urge to roll her eyes and takes the damn pen, balancing the booklet on her palm and doing the bare minimum to make her handwriting readable as she fills in the blanks in the check.
“It is such an honor to be able to support young aspiring artists such as yourself,” Buckley starts in a serious tone while Yvie scribbles. “The allegory of the piece, I find it, is rather meaningful indeed.”
Confusedly, Yvie lifts her eyes from the check and frowns at him instead, “Huh?”
“The allegory,” he restates knowingly, and Yvie watches his posture shift, his mouth tilting smugly as he begins to explain himself. “The political, real-world message couched in a work of art or fiction. For example, in this particular piece, your subtle depiction of the state of our nation, and the bright red representing how it bleeds from being used — a truly excellent use of an allegory.”
Sensing a wave of raging bewilderment rise in her chest, Yvie blinks at the man blankly, beyond confounded and borderline feeling like she’s tripping on something far stronger than wine. Buckley looks extremely pleased with himself for fitting that many SATs words into one sentence, and Yvie knits her brows together and glances past him, as if searching for an explanation or any sort of idea as to how to reply. Her gaze just so happens to land on Scarlet, who’s staring back at her halfway across the room and flashing her a blinding smile. She catches Yvie’s eyes and wiggles her own brows like the two of them are sharing a secret nobody else is let in on, and it all clicks for Yvie.
“Ah, obviously,” she says, looking back at Buckley briefly before resuming writing. “The allegory, of course.”
She finishes up swiftly and hands the book and the pen back to Buckley, who tears the first copy out and gives it to Yvie immediately. The paper feels expensive pressed between her forefinger and thumb, and seeing the figure written on it is a shock, even though she’s just put it there herself. As hard as she tries, it’s virtually impossible to wrap her brain around the fact that she’s being paid for her art, and surprisingly, even harder to conceptualize that this piece of paper, regardless of what it represents, is somehow a fair exchange for a painting she had poured her heart and soul into, a physical representation of her emotions and impressions on canvas. She feels cheated, almost, and has to shove that particular thought away, reminding herself of the high quality photographs she had taken of each painting before the gallery opened, and trying to adjust to the fact that making art a proper occupation necessitates selling pieces of her soul, that at some point, it will become routine, and stop feeling like a part of her is being torn away. She’s immensely thankful, in that moment, that Scarlet had raised the prices that she initially suggested for the work, leaving her feeling slightly better about the sale than she likely would’ve otherwise.
She thanks Buckley for the transaction through her teeth, informs him of the time period during which the buyers are expected to collect their purchases after the exhibition closes, and reluctantly gives him her card, watches, in exasperation, how he stores it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. After that she’s luckily rid of him, and left examining the paper slip in her hand, the only physical representation of her first ever serious sale, of all her dreams and hard work and ambitions. She tries to feel its significance, feels weirdly empty instead, and folds the check hastily.
Yvie knows she should go find Scarlet, but a part of her needs a moment to process this first, to categorize and rationalize her own conflicting thoughts before she’s ready to answer the inevitable questions, a moment of keeping this just to herself before she’s ready to share it. She compulsively unfolds the check, scans the amount as if to ensure she didn’t invent it, and then immediately folds it right back, struggling to wrap her head around the fact that someone bought something as plain as her art for this, and the fact that she sold something as invaluable as the image of Scarlet for this.
She doubles the paper over once more between her thumb and middle finger and shoves it in the front pocket of her slacks, mentally reminding herself that it would probably be wisest to give it to Scarlet as soon as possible so she can tuck it in Yvie’s wallet in her clutch. There’s a shiver running down Yvie’s spine, an unpleasant ghost of what just happened, and Yvie tries to shake it off in one movement. Pushing her spare hand into the other pocket, she draws her shoulders up defensively, lifts her head, and surveys the gallery.
Scarlet is not too far away from where Yvie saw her last, her back to Yvie. She’s animatedly chatting with someone Yvie can’t see because of their position, and she indulges in just a moment of watching her woman, uninterrupted and unhurried. Scarlet shifts her weight from foot to foot, then, just a beat later, does it again, and then reaches to pinch the back of her panties through her dress and adjust them, shimmying her ass just a little while she’s at it. Yvie can’t help the stupid grin that splits her face at the simple, cute action, doesn’t fight off the chuckle that surfaces, either
She’s going to use the money to get Scarlet something exquisite, she decides in that moment. She doesn’t know what exactly, yet, but she’s sure that if she’s going to be selling the pieces of her soul like they’re something disposable and easily replaceable, the only justifiable reason to do that is so that she’ll be able to treat Scarlet to the things she deserves. She’s been wanting to give Scarlet everything for months now, been craving to ensure she’s taken care of in every way, because she’s utterly, completely in love with her, and this is the first time she has real means to do just that.
Perhaps she’ll buy Scarlet another piece of jewelry, something expensive this time, or one of the designer scarves Yvie knows she wants, even though Scarlet has never explicitly stated so, or maybe a pair of prestigious sunglasses. She’ll take her out for dinner, too, someplace nice, spoil her proper, enjoy the flattered, pleased look on her face as she’s guided to their table and has her pricey wine poured carefully by the server, and —
“Fuck.” Yvie cuts herself off mid thought, hissing the curse through her teeth, as her brain suddenly catches up with her, the words bouncing around and echoing in her head as if she’d shouted them out loud in the boomy room. “Oh, fuck.”
She’s utterly, completely in love with her.
The wind knocked out of her by the sudden realization, Yvie struggles to force her lungs to inflate again, her insides reacting as if she’s been kicked in the gut, butterflies set swirling and dipping, the fluttering equal parts exhilarating and nauseating. She's never been properly in love before and known it, not with a woman who’s actually hers the way Scarlet is, and it's not a feeling that should be familiar — except that it is familiar, unmistakably, achingly so. It’s the twist in her stomach every time Scarlet smiles, it’s the urge to give her everything from a simple pendant to the moon and stars in the sky, it’s Scarlet’s image stuck in her head like a favorite song, it's her own body tensing and then relaxing when Scarlet’s fingers creep down her wrist. It’s the way that the cold blue of Scarlet’s eyes seems to turn warmer and warmer every time Yvie looks into them, and the sound of her laughter, and how impossibly sweet air tastes when it’s shared with her, face to face and chest to chest with fingers entangled and the tears threatening to spill over Yvie’s lashes. Gasping, Yvie blinks rapidly as her eyes fill, the memory of blackberry on her tongue and her bones vibrating with the effort of processing all of those things, distilled into one living, breathing emotion, one that she should've identified long before now but that was simply too big to wrap her fingers around.
She pulls her hands out of her pockets and wraps her arms around herself below her breasts, almost like she needs to support her ribcage so her heart doesn’t make its way out of her chest with how wildly it’s beating. Gnawing on her lower lip, Yvie waits for something, a surge of panic, a feeling of claustrophobia, a desire to run, waits and waits and waits for her body to violently reject the idea, but none of it comes. Instead, there’s something tingly and giddying spreading through her, the butterflies in her stomach catching fire and heating everything up, a sensation that things have finally clicked just right, and maybe, she thinks, it all seems familiar because it is, because deep down, she’s known, for weeks, or perhaps months, or this whole time.
Sucking in a shaky gulp of air, she looks up, and finds herself staring directly at Scarlet, her own lower lip quivering dangerously. She bites it, works it between her teeth, and watches the bounce of Scarlet’s hair and how she teeters just a little in her heels. Scarlet chooses exactly that moment to laugh, a bubbling, vibrant rush of sound, and the responding tug towards her in Yvie's chest is so fierce that the muscles in her thighs tense in response, tightened like coiled springs just aching to release and launch her forwards, towards her woman, the woman she cares about, the woman she loves, and she doesn't resist it, starting to stride across the room, gaze locked on Scarlet and pulse pounding with the need to be close to her.
Yvie’s boots thud hollowly on the marble, and she hardly processes her surroundings, shouldering past multiple people in a way she realizes is probably rude in the back of her mind, but she can’t be bothered to care, not when Scarlet is there at the end of her path, glittery and lovely and perfect and hers. As she nears, she picks out fragments of what Scarlet’s saying, a word here or there, hearing pink and commentary and freedom, Scarlet’s hands gesturing animatedly as she speaks, the way she tends to when she’s telling a story. The spice of her fragrance reaches Yvie’s nose first, then the faint coconut from her shampoo, and then Yvie is coming up behind her just as she finishes whatever she’s saying, finally catching a glimpse of the person in front of her and identifying her as Shuga, Scarlet’s boss.
“Well, that’s a good one,” says Shuga after a beat, with a chuckle. “But you used it to sell a scarf in the shop last week, remember?”
Suspecting Scarlet is already pouting, Yvie hums to announce her presence and rests her hand on Scarlet’s lower back, and the warmth of her seeps into her palm and softens her all the way down to her toes.
“Ladies,” she greets.
Shuga’s face lights up when she registers Yvie, the corners of her eyes crinkling fondly as she spreads her arms and beckons her closer. Yvie lets go of Scarlet’s back and immediately leans toward Shuga, unwilling to deny her wordless request. The older woman grabs her by her biceps and pulls her in, and Yvie laughs in surprise, her own hands flying up to rest on Shuga’s waist to steady them.
“Yvie, baby,” Shuga chirps and reaches to loudly kiss the air next to Yvie’s cheeks. “It’s so good to see you, honey.”
“It’s lovely to see you too, Nana,” Yvie grins, Shuga’s enthusiasm infectious as always, and the other woman scrunches her nose in a pleased expression at Yvie’s use of the nickname. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Miss Yvie,” Shuga chastises, shaking her head, giving Yvie’s arms one last squeeze before releasing her. “As if I would ever miss your big gallery opening. Sure, I was a little bit late, but you know how it is, traffic and window shopping and this and that…”
Yvie steps back, chuckling along with Shuga, and feels Scarlet’s hand slide easily down the inside of her wrist and into her own.
“Hi, baby,” Scarlet murmurs.
“Hey, gorgeous,” Yvie smiles and gently boops the tip of Scarlet’s nose, eliciting a giggle.
“Aww, just look at you two, absolutely precious,” Shuga coos, shaking her head, her teeth practically flashing with how wide she’s smiling. “Scarlet, baby, you really picked a treasure,” she adds, and then turns her gaze to Yvie, her eyes widening playfully as she angles her body forwards, as if she’s about to let Yvie in on a secret. “And such a talented artist, too, I absolutely love your work.” She gestures to the painting on the wall.
Yvie feels her cheeks grow warmer, flustered by Shuga’s words. She isn’t quite sure how to react, so she gratefully clings to the second part of the compliment, for once happy that the attention is on her art, where she’d have it rather than on herself as a girlfriend. “Thank you so much, Nan. The reception has been overwhelmingly positive, I can hardly believe it,” she gushes, comfortable enough in their presence to trust them to share her happiness. “I just made my first sale.”
“Oh my God, did you really, baby?” Scarlet squeaks, tugging on Yvie’s hand excitedly. “That’s fantastic news! Which one?”
“The Outlook,” Yvie says, gesturing in the general direction of the painting in question with a tilt of her head. “Speaking of, do you happen to have any idea as to why the guy buying it seemed dead convinced that a piece depicting my girlfriend in my flannel was, in fact, an allegory for the, what was it again… Oh yeah, the bleeding state of our used nation?”
Shuga bursts into laughter, and Scarlet adopts a comical expression, closely resembling a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“Well, technically…” she trails off slowly.
“Scarlet,” Yvie says warningly.
“Technically,” Scarlet states again, drawing the word out and glancing upwards. “It was the nation, as depicted as the female form, drowned in the blood of the people, after being used on a social, political, and environmental level. I suppose he got it a little wrong, but then again, it is a deeply complex and intricate allegory, and everyone can’t be expected to wrap their mind around it.” She pauses, lips quirking in a smile. “Especially not men so concerned with the inflation of their own oversized egos they can’t be bothered to pay anyone else any mind at all.”
Yvie looks at her, shaking her head just a little. “You do talk some shit, babe,” she drawls, both amused and slightly, strangely aroused by her girlfriend’s antics, just as she is every time Scarlet pulls a stunt like this.
“And she does it better than anyone else in Brooklyn,” Shuga adds with a laugh, eyeing Scarlet delightedly. “You can make a rich bastard believe any load of crap. I should really give you a raise.”
“Spoken contracts in the presence of a witness are just as binding as written ones, Shuga,” Scarlet states immediately. “Let’s say $2 an hour, shall we?”
“You got yourself a deal, honey,” Shuga laughs.
“…And an extra coffee break,” Scarlet tries.
“Scarlet, girl, don’t press it,” Shuga shakes her head firmly but with a good-natured smile.
“Well,” Scarlet shrugs, seemingly not upset at all. “It was worth a shot.”
Glancing between Scarlet’s nonchalant features and Shuga’s twinkling eyes, Yvie chuckles, squeezes her girlfriend’s hand gently and gives it a light tug to coax Scarlet just a little bit closer. Ever responsive, Scarlet’s body is pressing nearer the moment that she does, her shoulder resting against Yvie’s and their clasped palms tucked between their thighs, Scarlet’s knuckles brushing the fabric of her slacks.
“Well, I’ve got plans to go grab drinks with the girls in…” Shuga narrows her eyes, glances at the expensive watch on her wrist. “In only forty minutes! Damn, time really does fly — or maybe I just forget to pay attention. Regardless, I’d better hurry along if I want to see the rest of this gorgeous art.”
“Oh, of course,” Scarlet says before Yvie can, giving a nod, her lips twitching with amusement. “Thank you so much for coming, Nana.”
“It was my pleasure,” Shuga says, and then turns to Yvie. “Miss Yvie, I’m expecting to see you at the shop again real soon. Don’t you keep me waiting, now.”
“I won’t, promise,” Yvie smiles. “Was super nice of you to come, seriously.”
“Oh, don’t say a word about it, honey,” Shuga insists. “I’ll see you both soon. Don’t get into any trouble!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Scarlet says solemnly and leans in to allow Shuga to hug her without letting go of Yvie’s hand. When they’re done, Shuga gives Yvie an expectant look, and Yvie mimics her girlfriend’s actions, taking half a step closer so Shuga can once again peck the air next to her cheeks and then be on her way in a very Shuga-esque fashion.
Yvie follows her with her gaze for just a moment, and then turns back to Scarlet, who’s already staring. As their eyes lock, Scarlet’s expression softens visibly, eyes narrowing into little crescents, smile on her face so tender, almost dreamy, and Yvie feels her heart in her throat, beating right there, in her windpipe, nearly suffocating but not quite. I love you, is all she can think of, I love you, I love you, I love you. She doesn’t say it, doesn’t know how to make sure her heart doesn’t jump out should she open her mouth, just pulls Scarlet in instead and kisses her. It’s sweet, a little bit electrifying, and Yvie wonders if Scarlet can taste it on her tongue, the iron remnants of the confession she swallowed in lieu of letting it spill, if she can tell something’s changed, shifted inside Yvie.
When they break the kiss, Yvie doesn’t pull away, actually steps even farther into Scarlet’s personal space, tugs her closer with a palm on the small of her back. Lips tracing Scarlet’s defined jawline, she takes all of it in, the way her fragrance has stayed on her skin long enough to mix with the scent of her shampoo, body lotion and something that’s neither of those but is still distinctly Scarlet; the uneven pattern of her breathing and how it hitches, the arch of her figure toward Yvie and her hands on Yvie’s biceps, blunt nails digging and digging and clawing like she’s an anchor trying to find ground. Yvie thinks that maybe, just maybe, she can press the words into Scarlet’s bones through her flesh, kiss her with a destination for the first time ever, make her believe them before she’s even mustered the courage to utter them out loud. So she litters open-mouthed pecks up to Scarlet’s ear, places one right on the lobe, stills and lets her own eyes fall shut as she attempts to fill her lungs.
"Starlet,” she whispers.
Scarlet gasps softly, gripping Yvie’s arms for dear life, her body palpably weakening and swaying just a little, as if her knees might buckle at any moment. Hushing her quietly, Yvie nuzzles into the side of her face, parted lips placed against the corner of her jaw, and presses her fingers into Scarlet’s back deeper. The pet name always hits Scarlet harder than anything else, knocks the wind out of her and makes her blush so shy and sweet and pretty every time, and Yvie only uses it rarely, only when she feels the affection so strongly that it swims in her head and fills her insides up with honey, slow and intoxicating and saccharine.
“Yours,” Scarlet breathes, and Yvie melts.
It’s only one word, only a single exhale, but it sounds like a commitment, like a promise, an exaltation or a prayer, leaving Scarlet’s chest in one helpless release, and Yvie has to stay still for a moment, wait for her muscles to unlock and her heart to stop racing like a runaway train. Once she feels she can move again, Yvie pulls back just a little, her palm coming to rest on Scarlet’s hip, her touch still firm, possessive and grounding the both of them. Bringing up her free hand, she tilts Scarlet’s face to make the other woman look at her, and swallows hard at the faint flush still on her cheeks, at the ardent, adoring expression on her face as she stares up at Yvie, as if she’s stumbled upon the most wonderful, miraculous thing, and can’t help blinking at it, wide-eyed and marveling and lovely.
“Thank you,” Yvie says, her voice still quiet, not wanting anyone else to hear. She drops her hand to Scarlet’s shoulder, and then her arm, rubbing the bare skin gently with her fingers.
“Hm?” Scarlet hums absently, her gaze wandering over Yvie’s face, and Yvie can’t tell whether she’s confused or whether she’s too preoccupied to process at all, but is unbelievably endeared either way.
“For being here for me,” Yvie explains. “For supporting me like this, and for — for selling my stuff, and for being patient when I get hard to deal with. For everything, I guess.”
There’s a demure smile playing on Scarlet’s lips, one that she attempts, unsuccessfully, to conceal by biting down on her lower one. She casts her eyes to the floor, as if she’s taken aback by the rawness of Yvie’s words, the sincerity of her tone, left uncharacteristically speechless and bashful for once. Yvie feels like her heart is being squeezed, overwhelmed by the sight, the fact this woman in front of her is hers, and the sensation that her body is too petite and fragile to properly accommodate all this affection.
“Well, baby, people who don’t need anything at all are still the same even when I’m selling something that actually matters,” Scarlet says eventually, flicking her eyes back up. “The only real difference is, you know, that I feel like there’s a meaning to what I’m doing.”
Weakly, Yvie pulls her just a little closer, reaches to press her lips to Scarlet’s temple, hoping how touched and overcome she is will translate through the contact. She opens her mouth, trying to puzzle out how to fit the feelings into a response, but before she can manage it, there’s the intrusive, harsh sound of someone clearing their throat behind her. Irritated by the interruption, Yvie shifts to leave some space between her and Scarlet, hand remaining on her girlfriend’s hip, and turns to look for the source of the noise.
“Excuse us, but we were hoping to make a purchase.” It’s a woman, in a dress Yvie would bet anything is designer, with a man standing behind her, looking disinterested. “You’re Yvie Bridges, yes? Someone pointed us your way.”
“Yes, that’s me,” Yvie says dumbly, startled that someone else is asking about buying so soon. Scarlet steps nearer again, her arm slipping around Yvie to rest a hand in the middle of her back.
“We’re interested in the large canvas, Vermillion,” the woman says, without acknowledging Yvie’s reply, nodding towards the centerpiece, the painting of Scarlet in the red dress that she knows is her girlfriend’s favorite, and is probably hers as well. “I’ll write you a check?”
There’s an irrational, inexplicable flash of fear surging through Yvie as she expects Scarlet to say something, spin another story and do her best to solidify the couple’s decision to buy, and she strains her brain in a futile attempt to stop that from happening. However, Scarlet remains silent, safe for a little wounded hiss that escapes her as her body stiffens in prominent discomfort. Her fingers flex on Yvie’s back, and she shifts, but proceeds to stay quiet.
Yvie glances over her shoulder at the centerpiece. It had been one of those ideas that she’d had such a clear vision for, had been able to imagine exactly how she wanted it to turn out. After months of stagnation, Yvie had finally been inspired again, had felt like she knew what she wanted, felt like there was inspiration and a goal, a purpose, and it had also felt like one of those she dared not start, out of the fear the end result would never live up to the image in her mind, but for the first time in maybe ever, Yvie had thought that not giving it a try would be worse than failing.
And maybe what she ended up with didn’t exactly match her mental image, but after seeing Scarlet admire the finished painting, Yvie decided she liked the real thing better anyway.
It’s a split second call, really, the kind she probably wouldn’t be able to justify logically if she spent any longer thinking about it. Fingers pressing into Scarlet’s side, she turns back to the woman, and says, “Thank you, but unfortunately that one’s not for sale.”
The woman cocks an eyebrow at Yvie, and Yvie stares right back, digging her heel into the ground and crushing her tongue between her teeth, unable to describe the look on her potential patron’s face as anything other than sheer entitlement and not willing to buckle and surrender to it.
“I see,” the woman says finally, clearly distasteful, breaking eye contact and glancing around the gallery. “How about that one?” She’s pointing to a piece in the far corner, one inspired by a view of Scarlet from below Yvie had memorized as she lay on her stomach between her girlfriend’s spread legs, making her wait before finally putting her mouth where Scarlet so desperately wanted it.
“Sure," Yvie says agreeably, suppressing her amusement at the thought of a wealthy couple unknowingly hanging such an explicit work on their wall. The woman elbows her date until he hands her a checkbook.
Reluctantly letting go of Scarlet, Yvie makes short work of filling out the paper, this time presented with a pen without needing to ask. When she hands the booklet back, the man signs it, his face remaining stony as ever, and then her copy is being pressed into her hand and the woman is announcing that they'll be back to pick it up and departing without another word. Yvie inspects the number on the check, identical to the one she'd scribbled earlier with Jonas Buckley III’s engraved pen, and Scarlet tugs it gently from her grip without a word and pops her clutch open, tucking it inside and then wiggling her fingers until Yvie withdraws Buckley’s check from her pocket as well and passes it over.
It’s only once the clutch is closed again and tucked safely under Scarlet's arm that she finally speaks. “Yvie," she says carefully, looking at Yvie’s collarbone rather than her face. “That’s a lot of money you just turned down.”
“I don’t care,” Yvie replies immediately, a bit more sharply than she intends to, and as Scarlet meets her eyes, Yvie hopes that she understands, that she knows why Yvie’s made this decision and why she feels strongly enough to back it up. “That one's going on our wall.”
Scarlet’s gaze moves from Yvie’s brow to her lips, to her nose, to her eyes, as if she's searching for something. She swallows visibly, and then presses forwards, chin tilting up to place a kiss on Yvie’s mouth, the touch lingering and chaste and arrestingly sweet. When she leans back again, her own eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and she’s smiling, softly, lashes fluttering as she blinks quickly as if to compose herself.
“Well, I suppose congratulations are in order,” she says, her voice slightly thicker than usual. “Two sold paintings this soon. Impressive, daddy.”
Yvie rolls her eyes affectionately and Scarlet laughs, grabbing her clutch and spreading her arms to initiate a hug. Yvie instantly pulls her to her chest and wraps her arms around her waist, and Scarlet nuzzles close, hooking her chin on Yvie’s shoulder and pressing a quick peck on the corner of her jaw.
I love you, Yvie thinks, but doesn’t have the courage to say it.
“Oh,” Scarlet breathes out.
“Hm?” Yvie questions absentmindedly.
Scarlet moves away from the embrace, and Yvie registers a surprised expression on her face, the wondering widening of her eyes and the thoughtful pursing of her lips, the quizzical tilt of her head.
“What is it, babe?” Yvie demands.
“Look,” Scarlet tells her simply and gestures with her head.
Yvie wheels around and spots what Scarlet is considering, breathing out an Oh of her own. Pearl has returned to the painting of Scarlet’s tits, only this time, she's not alone, and is more occupied with the dark haired woman standing beside her than she is with the art.
“Violet?” Yvie says, disbelieving, and it's not a question so much as a statement.
Scarlet nods. Looking around the room rapidly, Yvie makes an attempt to find Adore, but comes up empty, and resumes staring at Pearl and Violet instead, pondering almost frantically whether Adore is still in the bathroom or whether she's departed, or even worse, whether she's already taken the redhead she was with home to bed. Violet, she observes, also seems much more concerned with inspecting Pearl than with the canvas in front of them, her body turned towards the other woman and her fingers playing with a lock of her hair.
“Oh, Pearl,” Scarlet sighs.
“Huh?” Yvie asks, shooting her girlfriend a puzzled look before returning her gaze to the two women who seem completely engrossed in each other.
“She’s going to take her home.” Scarlet says slowly. “That’s how she always acts when she’s planning to take someone home.” She sighs again, deeper this time, and Yvie isn’t sure what she’s thinking. “Adore better behave and not cause problems.”
“Adore has never behaved once in her life,” Yvie notes dryly. “But I doubt she’ll start shit.”
She contemplates Violet’s relaxed figure, the way she laughs at something Pearl says loudly, and then covers her mouth with her palm like she’s just remembered her surroundings and company. Pearl eyes her smugly and places her hand on Violet’s arm, and it’s as if Violet melts into the contact, her whole body leaning toward Pearl like the two of them are magnetic. Yvie has seen a lot of Violet, and she means a lot, but she’s rarely seen her quite like this, visibly at ease and unconcerned with upholding her careful composure.
“Yup,” Scarlet says, popping the p. “I’m sleeping at yours tonight, there’s no way in hell I’m voluntarily listening to Violet’s moans in my own home, I hear that at yours plenty.”
Yvie tries to swallow the cackle that threatens to spill, and ends up having a cough attack instead. Shaking her head at her girlfriend playing hard to get, as if an excuse to sleep over is needed, she loops an arm around Scarlet’s waist, watches as Violet nods in response to something Pearl is saying. A moment later, Pearl is placing her hand on Violet’s lower back, and the two of them are moving towards the refreshment table, Pearl’s guiding touch likely completely necessary judging by the way Violet keeps looking at her rather than the path ahead of them, tongue darting out to wet her lips all too frequently.
As Pearl passes a wine glass to Violet at the table, Scarlet starts tapping urgently on Yvie’s arm. “Buyers,” she says, and Yvie looks in the direction she’s pointing towards, spotting the two women she must be talking about standing in front of a nearby canvas, both of them dressed in business professional clothing. “They’re interested. And rich, look at the blonde’s jacket.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Yvie chuckles.
“I’m gonna go nudge them along,” Scarlet says decidedly, leaning over to peck Yvie’s cheek. “Some good feminist commentary should do it.”
Yvie gives her a squeeze, kisses her temple, and then lets her go reluctantly. She intends to observe as Scarlet charms the two of them, but she only has a chance to look on for a few moments before she’s accosted by a handful of guests she vaguely recognizes as fellow artists. Between dodging prodding questions and trying to distinguish between real and backhanded compliments, time passes quickly, and Scarlet has already finished her task when Yvie finally attempts to check in on her again. The women approach Yvie to make their payment, and then depart hand-in-hand with thanks and compliments. In the meantime, Scarlet is heading across the room to yet another potential patron before Yvie can catch up to her again, and Yvie herself is swept up into a conversation with someone else shortly after.
At some point, Yvie spots Adore emerging from the restroom, alone. Yvie watches as she stops at the entrance to the hallway and considers Pearl and Violet, who are too busy flirting to notice anything around them that isn’t the other. Adore’s jaw tightens, but her expression stays stoic otherwise, and she firmly adjusts the collar of her flannel, sparing the pair one last glance before she heads across the room toward the exit.
“What the fuck, Delano?” Yvie snarls as she grabs Adore’s elbow to stop her when she’s passing.
Adore just shakes her arm free, without aggression but with enough fervor to cause Yvie to release her, and swats her away without slowing down.
“Are you just gonna roll over and give up?” Yvie demands, infuriated, following her to avoid raising her voice too loudly and reaching for Adore but only managing to snatch at her sleeve this time. “Or are you gonna go fix your shit?”
“Fuck you, Bridges,” Adore spits out coldly, and Yvie doesn’t mistake her hurt for venom, even though Adore clearly hopes that she will.
She rips free of Yvie’s grip again, and Yvie deflates, lets her go, watches as she wraps her arms around herself and pushes her way past people and out the door without bothering to look behind her. Hands swinging uselessly by her sides, Yvie stares at the gallery entrance, hoping Adore might return and knowing that she won’t. Memories poke at her consciousness, of all the times she’d had her heart bruised and cut up by the women she’d become involved with, how Adore had patched her up unobtrusively, with playful insults and concert tickets and weed and simple companionship. Yvie had always wished that Adore understood, or sometimes, unreasonably and childishly, that it was the other woman getting wounded instead of her, but now that the tables are turned, Yvie doesn’t know how to handle seeing her like this, finds herself hurting sympathetically right along with her.
The rest of the night passes without any incidents. Scarlet sells another painting or two, and Yvie feels lightheaded just adding up the figures on the checks she now possesses, is still rather out of it when a gallery worker shows up to covers the prices of the purchased works with white, bold print tags announcing ‘SOLD’. Pearl and Violet leave together after a while, and Yvie despises the way she feels like she’s caught in crossfire, even though rationally none of this concerns her in the slightest. There’s a constant stream of people approaching Yvie, their compliments and queries and observations making her head spin, and she gives out almost all of her business cards and gets at least half as many in return.
There’s a point when Yvie is pretty sure she sees Scarlet having a civil conversation with Brooke, but by the time she’s free enough to pay attention properly, Scarlet is already elsewhere, charming someone else’s checkbook open.
It’s almost an hour before Scarlet appears by Yvie’s side, cheeks rosy from excitement and all the champagne she’s had and eyes glimmering happily, and Yvie grins at her like a dumbass.
“Heeey, stranger,” Scarlet murmurs seductively. “Wanna get out of here?”
“I mean, my girlfriend’s here somewhere, but I’m definitely tempted,” Yvie smirks at her, and Scarlet slaps her bicep with a pronounced sulk and a whine. “Aw, don’t pout, baby. I’d love to get going.”
“I’ll call us an Uber?” Scarlet makes sure, already reaching into her purse for her phone.
“Hold on,” Yvie says. “Should we go get dinner first, or do you wanna just head home and order takeout?”
Scarlet turns her eyes up from her iPhone screen. and Yvie catches something dark sparking in them momentarily, and it makes her stomach drop. “I’d rather we head home now, daddy.”
“Okay,” Yvie utters, feeling her mouth go dry all of a sudden. “Okay, yeah, okay, let’s go home.”
Scarlet goes back to her phone without another word, a little satisfied smile tugging at her lips. Yvie exhales heavily, crosses her ankles to press her thighs together and shakily runs her hand through her hair, gaze roaming Scarlet’s figure, the soft arch of her breasts and the dip of her cleavage, the hem of her dress that has crept up just the tiniest bit, the way she keeps unconsciously swaying her hips ever so slightly, the motion causing her own, bare thighs to rub together. Scarlet taps away at her screen, seemingly unaware of Yvie undressing and devouring her with her eyes, and after a while she lets out a content noise to signal she’s done.
“Let’s go?” Yvie barks out, her impatience making her sound far snappier than she intended to.
Scarlet just nods and Yvie puts her hand on the small of her back, and then, a second later, slides it lower to rest it on the curve of Scarlet’s bum, completely beyond caring whether the touch isn’t exactly appropriate. Scarlet purrs in response, steps a little closer and starts toward the exit. They stop at the rack, and Yvie helps her into her cardigan, then throws her own jacket on, and leads her out of the gallery.
As soon as they slip outside, Yvie is reaching for her pack of smokes, flicking it open to tug one out with her teeth. Scarlet lets out a sigh that’s more of a plaintive mewl, holding up her phone pointedly to show Yvie how close the Uber is, while still passing Yvie the lighter, and Yvie just shakes her head dismissively, pretending that she’s not near about crawling out of her skin with the need to touch Scarlet, and lights up as quickly as she can, starts sucking on the cigarette urgently.
She can feel Scarlet squirming, her girlfriend’s body pressed close and nudging back into Yvie’s hand, and it takes all of the effort she has to maintain her feigned disinterest, knowing that it’ll make Scarlet want her even more. Digging her fingers into Scarlet’s flesh, she holds the cigarette out to her without even looking her way, hears Scarlet make a quiet noise and glances over to see her lean in, wrap her lips around the filter, and take a drag with Yvie holding it still. As her cheeks hollow, Yvie curses, her core pulsing as if Scarlet’s mouth is there instead, swearing that she can feel the suction.
She resumes smoking rapidly the moment Scarlet is done, like that will somehow assuage her need, and before long Scarlet is pointing at a car in the street urgently, but making no attempt to walk over. Taking initiative, Yvie gives Scarlet’s ass a slap to get her moving, and is rewarded by a breathy squeak and a whimper, the other woman swaying a little before starting to move towards the street on wobbly legs. Smug satisfaction tugging at Yvie’s lips, she follows, guiding her girlfriend over to the sedan and opening the door, keeping her hand possessively on Scarlet until she physically can’t anymore.
Scarlet clambers into the car, collapsing on the upholstery behind the driver at the same time as Yvie sits down herself. She starts to greet the driver, and then cuts herself off as she hears Scarlet gasp, looking over to see her grinding not-so-subtly on the seat, eyes half lidded and lower lip crushed between her teeth as she lets out another low noise that can’t be categorized as anything but a moan. Exhaling a string of expletives, Yvie makes a split second decision, lets go of the seatbelt she’s started to pull around herself and scoots over to sit closer to Scarlet instead, hand landing on her thigh and pressing firmly to stop her movements.
Scarlet snaps her head around to look at Yvie questioningly. From this proximity, Yvie can clearly see how large her pupils are, is able to feel the heat of her ragged breathing on her own skin — Scarlet’s a mess, and Yvie has no idea what got her this worked up, and she teeters on the border of curiosity and feeling her own all-encompassing arousal rearing. She rubs Scarlet’s thigh, her palm ending up higher in the process, and leans in, placing her lips close to Scarlet’s ear.
“Shh, baby, stay still for daddy, will you?” she growls lowly.
Scarlet whimpers, the noise barely drowning under the sound of the car engine being started again as the light they’ve been stood in turns green. She strains against Yvie, her hips jerking and the muscles of her thighs tensing, her whole body responsive to the subtle shades in Yvie’s tone as ever. She cranes her neck a little to face Yvie, their lips just an inch or so apart.
“Daddy.”
It’s an exhale more than it is an actual word, breathed out in such a desperate, needy fashion that it makes Yvie’s skin crawl with lust. She slips her fingers down the inside of Scarlet’s thigh, teasing over the silky skin there, and chuckles under her breath at her quiet responding whine and how her legs press together, trapping Yvie’s hand in place. She grazes the tip of her nose over Scarlet’s cheekbone, sighs warm air into the hollow of her throat.
“Thought I said stay still, baby,” she husks, beginning to drop easily into the rough, dominant role that she’s learned Scarlet so loves her in. She’s started thoroughly enjoying letting her tongue loose, talking dirty like a sailor and calling herself daddy comfortably, like it’s nothing. “Daddy can’t have you squirming and making noise like that, unless you wanna get noticed, hm?”
The gasp Scarlet lets out is far too loud, and Yvie knows it, but her knees fall open so easily, and when Yvie brushes her knuckles up the insides, she finds them sticky, and her jaw goes slack. Mouth watering, she lets her touch wander over the skin, imagines how it must glisten with her wetness and swears she can taste the ghost of Scarlet on her tongue, trying to puzzle out in her dizzy head how Scarlet’s leaked so much already. Scarlet’s inhales are sharp and quick, and she turns her head even farther, as if she wants to hide her face, but Yvie just reaches higher, the gold skirt rolling up at the press of her wrist, and noses closer to suck Scarlet’s earlobe into her mouth.
“Please,” Scarlet implores, half a squeak and half a broken whisper, her hips rocking forwards. Yvie nips at the flesh in her mouth lightly, and Scarlet winces desperately.
“Gotta be quiet, now, baby,” Yvie warns, savoring the way Scarlet shifts and whimpers at her tone. “Spread and let daddy touch you.”
The reaction is instantaneous, Scarlet’s legs parting wider and a genuine, low moan vibrating in her chest, and Yvie is drunk on her, intoxicated by her every movement and scent and sound, by her willingness and the way her tits spill over the neckline of her dress just so, creamy skin just begging to be bitten into. She curses, and finally moves her hand all the way up, cupping Scarlet’s cunt.
As Yvie’s palm comes in contact with the crotch of Scarlet’s panties, she has to bite down a surprised moan of her own. The fabric isn’t just soaked through, it’s absolutely drenched, Scarlet’s wetness sticking to Yvie’s fingertips, dampening them as if she’s touching her directly, without a layer between them. Yvie grunts silently, runs her digits down the length of Scarlet’s pussy, stopping at her entrance where the undergarment is completely ruined, and twists the material.
“Baby! God, just look at the mess you’ve made. What’s got you dripping like this, huh?” she whispers against the shell of Scarlet’s ear.
There’s no coherent response, just bucking of Scarlet’s hips against Yvie’s hand and labored breathing. Scarlet presses her own knuckles to her mouth, and wraps the trembling fingers of her other hand around Yvie’s wrist, like she’s trying to hold her close.
Yvie can’t fathom why Scarlet is so worked up, so filthy wet after seemingly nothing at all, her pussy leaking profoundly still, likely leaving the scent of her lingering on the car upholstery. She grips Scarlet’s core, and squeezes, tight, massaging her folds through the material, and Scarlet thrusts into the impact, her head falling back against the seat, mouth open in a silent cry.
“Greedy,” Yvie comments, hushed and low against Scarlet’s jaw, and Scarlet’s hips shift forward again, even more wetness seeping through the fabric and slicking Yvie’s fingers. “Can’t just be patient, can you, babe?”
She relaxes the pressure, trails her fingertips from the cleft of Scarlet’s lips down to the warmth of her entrance, dipping her middle digit into the soft heat briefly to hear Scarlet gasp before wandering back up to tap deliberately at her clit, noticeably swollen even through her panties. Teeth dug into her lower lip, Yvie starts to rub in lazy circles, and this time, Scarlet can’t quiet the moan that she lets out, her body chasing the motion and her thighs quivering on either side of Yvie’s hand.
Yvie shushes her, keeping her own voice level so to not be heard over the roar of the car engine and the music playing through the speakers. Scarlet presses her lips together tightly, breathing deeply through her nose, and lolls her head to the side on the backrest, her unfocused eyes half-lidded and pleading. Yvie slides two of her fingertips over Scarlet’s clit once more, and Scarlet whimpers in response.
“Baby, I told you you’ve gotta keep quiet,” Yvie scolds with a trace of amusement and amazement at how reactive Scarlet still is, even after all this time. “You’re leaving me no choice but to do this.”
As if realizing what Yvie’s about to do, Scarlet tries to capture her between her thighs, but Yvie is faster, withdrawing her hand and rapidly raising it to push her slick fingers against Scarlet’s lips instead. Scarlet opens her mouth without Yvie having to persuade her, and Yvie edges in, pressing down on Scarlet’s tongue, rubbing Scarlet’s own taste there. Scarlet’s mouth closes around the digits as automatically as it had let them in, and she sucks, tongue lapping up the wetness enthusiastically.
Head swimming with desire, Yvie crosses her legs, feels how damp her own panties have gotten from simply seeing Scarlet eager and willing like this. She clenches her thighs, holds the pressure until she feels her cunt throb, and then relaxes before starting to repeat the action on a loop. Scarlet’s still occupied with Yvie’s fingers, mouth working them like it’ll gain either of them something. Yvie thrusts her wrist lightly, feels Scarlet fight off a gag, and smirks.
“Now that we’ve found some use for that pretty mouth…” she trails off.
She places her spare hand on Scarlet’s knee, and Scarlet’s legs immediately fall open invitingly. Yvie chuckles, runs her fingertips higher on the smooth skin, wasting no time before she starts stroking Scarlet’s pussy again. It’s not long before Scarlet is moving with her, trying to get more friction and more contact, and Yvie flicks her wrist just a little to fuck into her mouth once more, feels her body go slack as she whines in response, muscles weakening and allowing Yvie more room to touch.
“There you go, baby, isn’t that nicer?” Yvie rasps, starting to rub faster now, feeling the fabric catch deliciously on Scarlet’s clit with every pass, and Scarlet groans, muffled by the fingers in her mouth. “Just suck like that and let daddy do the rest.”
Scarlet doesn’t do as she’s told, doesn’t sit still, doesn’t keep quiet, and Yvie adores her for it, her whole body dizzy and hot at how Scarlet squirms and whimpers helplessly as she’s touched. It’s breathtaking, how quickly she’s climbing, and how close she already is to falling over the edge, after just minutes of being toyed with and no foreplay beforehand. As Scarlet’s whines grow increasingly desperate, wetness smearing all over Yvie’s hand and her own thighs whenever she shifts, Yvie spots her building across the street, and makes a split second decision before the driver can start to pull a U-turn.
With one last swipe of Scarlet’s clit, she removes her hand, eliciting a faint, choked cry from Scarlet as she’s left just some pathetic inches from her release, and moves it to rest on her girlfriend’s knee abruptly. “Actually, here’s good, thanks,” she announces, raising her voice to be heard at the front of the car and easing her fingers out of Scarlet’s mouth.
Scarlet slumps against the seat with a huff that sounds both indignant and like she’s struggling to catch her breath and wind down enough to be able to get out of the vehicle. The driver stops at the curb, and Yvie casually dries her fingers on her slacks and leans over Scarlet to crack the door open. Thanking him, she grips Scarlet’s waist firmly and pushes her to her feet, climbing out of the car after her and keeping a hold on her to steady her wobbly stance.
This time Yvie doesn’t stop to consider the fact she hates the elevator as she walks Scarlet into the building and presses the call button, too intoxicated on and distracted by the way Scarlet and her own fingers reek of arousal. Scarlet is rather useless by her side, clinging to Yvie tightly and swaying in her heels, pitiful whimpers leaving her as she shuffles her hips as if in search for friction that isn’t there. Yvie feels her own muscles tremble slightly, excitement and impatience and desire incarnating in the form of pins and needles in her limbs.
The ride up feels far too long, the scent of Scarlet making Yvie dizzy in the enclosed space, and by the time she’s finally leading Scarlet to the apartment, Yvie feels almost animalistic, chewing absentmindedly on her own tongue just to occupy her mouth and keep from drooling. Barely dodging the instinct to pin Scarlet to the door when they arrive, she unlocks it with one shaky hand instead, the other gripping Scarlet’s waist so tightly that she squeaks. She eyes the couch, briefly considering stopping there, and then decides firmly against it, needing to fuck Scarlet properly, have her woman spread and driven mindless with desire before finally pushing into her with long, hard strokes to make sure she’ll ache the next day, when she inevitably wakes Yvie up by grinding her sensitive, sopping cunt against her thigh and teasing Yvie’s pussy with her fingers.
Yvie sheds her jacket, draping it over the backrest of the couch, and ushers Scarlet along. Thankfully, the bedroom isn’t far, and Scarlet’s whimpers pitch upwards as they enter, stumbling around to face Yvie and tugging her shirt out of her pants with rough movements, nails scraping at the fabric desperately. She pulls at the front of the garment uselessly, fumbling with the buttons briefly before giving up with a frustrated whine. Cursing, Yvie starts undoing them herself, quickly and easily, and Scarlet reaches for her, fingers hooking into the cup of her bra.
“Scarlet,” Yvie growls, swatting her away and finishing with her buttons, leaving the shirt hanging open as she unbuckles her belt. “You’ll get to touch later.” Scarlet pouts at her, and Yvie has to catch her wrists to stop her from grabbing again, working on her buckle one-handed. “Later,” she repeats. “Now get on the bed and open up that pretty cunt for daddy. Be ready by the time I am.”
Scarlet produces an unintelligible noise that could be anything from agreeable to mopey to disgruntled, and turns around on unsteady legs, stumbling slightly as she heads for the bed. One hand still fiddling with the button on her slacks, Yvie reaches to slap Scarlet’s ass, eliciting a surprised gasp. She watches as Scarlet flops on the comforter and bends over to undo the straps of her heels, and then opts for the closet herself, throwing the door open, leaving it a divider between herself and the bed.
Suddenly remembering her combat boots, Yvie bends over to dig her fingers into the laces, undoing them as fast as she can and toeing the shoes off. Tugging the fly of her pants open, Yvie hooks her thumbs under the waistband of her panties and pushes both garments down, letting them slide down her legs and stepping out of them and leaving them strewn on the floor without bothering to pick them up. After brief consideration, she unbuttons the cuffs of her sleeves and unhooks her bra behind her back, removing it swiftly without taking the blouse off. She rolls the sleeves to her elbows and pulls the lapels closer together to cover her tits, redundantly, as the shirt falls open immediately and leaves them bare.
The bed creaks like it always does when someone lies down, and Yvie stills, strains her ears to hear. Scarlet hisses, blows out a shuddering breath, and then whimpers, and Yvie bites her lip, swallowing a corresponding growl that forms in her chest. She imagines Scarlet must be settled back against the pillows, naked and breathless and beautiful, breasts rising and falling prominently, nipples hard from how very riled up she is already, hair tangled and wild from her carelessly pulling her dress over her head in her haste to get undressed. Yvie pictures the spread of her legs, how she’s probably caressing her inner thighs, maybe even scraping them with her nails lightly, combing her fingers through the soft, unruly hair framing her pretty pussy before she sinks her fingers between her lips and, ignoring her throbbing clit, starts to open herself up for Yvie’s cock.
Overwhelmed with the sudden need to be inside her, Yvie curses through her teeth and snatches the strap-on off the shelf. The harness still feels new to the touch, the material stiff and less worn and broken in than her old one was, but the cock is hers, same and familiar, the one Scarlet’s cunt took on their first night and has continued to take hungrily so many times Yvie’s lost count.
She’s started to become accustomed to the new harness, the way it fits and works, and as she pulls it on, she lets out a soft sigh as the strap settles between her thighs, the firm, blunt silicone ridge on the inside sitting snugly against her clit. The harness was from Scarlet, a suggestion that became a decision and then a gift before Yvie could interfere or stop it from happening. Scarlet had gotten the idea after she had discovered just how many orgasms Yvie’s body could take purely by accident, when she had once decided to continue on lapping at Yvie’s pussy even though Yvie had already come so hard she saw stars. Yvie had fallen apart again, easily, and the look on Scarlet’s face had been priceless and unexpected, as if getting Yvie off twice in a row was the most incredible thing she’d ever done, as if Yvie’s consecutive climaxes were the eighth wonder of the world.
The next morning had found Scarlet browsing online shops on Yvie’s laptop, without asking first, and telling Yvie completely casually that there are harnesses designed to stimulate your clit, daddy, and maybe we ought to get you one. Yvie had hardly known what to say, but a week later, said harness had arrived, pressed into her hands by her overeager girlfriend, with a sweet smile and a seductive, cheeky request for Yvie to please finally come inside her tonight, and Yvie had lost her whole mind.
As if on cue, Scarlet moans loudly, a long, drawn out noise, and Yvie grits her teeth, wraps her fist around her cock with a hiss. There’s another, quieter moan, and Yvie starts to stroke herself slowly, desperate for pressure, and lets out a low groan herself as her clit finally gets the friction its been craving. The cock has always felt like hers, has grown into an extension of her body, but being able to actually feel as she jerks herself off or fucks Scarlet, get real stimulation while she uses the strap adds a whole new level, makes her pussy so wet she smears everywhere.
Scarlet mewls once more, much louder this time, and then there’s a wet pop that sounds like fingers being slid out of a dripping cunt. Yvie’s abs and thighs tighten, fist compulsively wrapping around the toy harder, and she strokes again, moving her wrist to make the ridge rub up against her clit vertically, the perfect contact causing her knees to buckle. There’s another filthy, sloppy noise, followed by a breathy Oh, oh God, and Yvie knows Scarlet must’ve dipped her fingers back inside herself, imagines the way Scarlet throws her head back and bares her throat, tries to guess whether it’s two or three digits parting and teasing at Scarlet’s spot, and then swiftly decides she’d rather see for herself.
Glancing down so to not trip on her discarded clothes and shoes, Yvie steps away from the closet and gently pushes the door shut, the other hand still occupied with her cock. She absentmindedly swipes her thumb over the shaft, reaches the tip and rests the digit against it, and shakes her head to get a couple of loose, overgrown curls out of her face before looking up.
As her eyes land on the bed, Yvie swears her heart stops for a moment, and then starts hammering, violently. Scarlet’s naked, but she isn’t lying down and leaning against the pillows like Yvie had pictured her doing. Instead, she’s on her knees, ass up in the air and angled towards the rest of the room, and, consequentially, Yvie. Her head is not visible, face clearly buried in the sheets, the comforter pulled off of the bed and left in the messy heap on the floor, and one of her hands is fitted between her slightly parted legs, her cunt swallowing not two, not three, but four of her fingers.
And, as if all of that isn’t ridiculously hot on its own, there’s something delicate between her ass cheeks, glimmering whenever she tries to fuck back against her hand. Yvie stares, mind somewhat blank for some long seconds, and then, belatedly realizes it’s the red rhinestone of Scarlet’s butt plug, and lets out a string of imaginative curses.
As she watches, Scarlet withdraws her digits halfway and then thrusts again, wrist twisting and straining beautifully, and huffs out a pathetic whine, pushing against the intrusion desperately, as if the press and stretch of her four slender fingers isn’t enough, as if she can somehow stuff them deeper inside. Yvie’s eyes flicker from the plug sitting pretty inside her to her entrance and back again, and she swallows roughly as she realizes how achingly full Scarlet must feel already, how strong her need must be to crave even more. Greedy. She can feel the word forming heavy on her tongue, almost spits it out on impulse before deciding against it.
She advances on Scarlet slowly, thumb pressing into the head of her cock so hard that she can feel it all the way down to her clit as she moves. The plug has been in Scarlet all night, Yvie knows it has — a constant downwards tug, an endless teasing sensation adjusting whenever she’s moved or walked, an explanation for her occasional shifting and wiggling. Yvie spots Scarlet’s panties on the floor, the crotch dark and soaked through, and suddenly her profuse, seemingly inexplicable wetness makes sense. Yvie’s own hips rock forward inadvertently in response to the thought, the ridge on her harness sliding harshly between her folds and making her gasp thickly.
Mind wandering back to all the times she’d registered Scarlet squirming or shuffling her hips during the night, Yvie starts jerking her cock again, steadily, the image of Scarlet adjusting her panties through her gold dress earlier gaining new clarity in her head. Her movements growing rougher and more decided, she climbs onto the bed closer to the foot, beside Scarlet, balancing on her knees and ignoring Scarlet’s needy whimper and how her head starts to lift from the bed. Releasing her cock, she grabs Scarlet’s hips, scooping her up and repositioning her easily so the two of them are both facing the head of the bed, chuckling under her breath as Scarlet whines, cunt visibly clenching and leaking around her fingers at Yvie’s manhandling.
Nudging Scarlet’s calves farther apart with her own knee, Yvie settles between them, one of her hands resting on Scarlet’s hip solidly. Scarlet allows Yvie to move her around effortlessly, no resistance at all, just slides her legs open like the overeager thing she is and arches her back to push her ass higher into the air. Yvie studies the stone on the plug, so red and pretty and perfect between Scarlet’s round cheeks, almost brushes her knuckles against it but decides to let it wait, sure that Scarlet’s been dying to show her all night and reveling in the fact she can frustrate Scarlet by not giving a reaction immediately.
She shifts a little, taking a more comfortable position behind Scarlet, and the other seems to take it as a cue, because she starts slowly withdrawing her fingers from her pussy.
“Scarlet,” Yvie says, and Scarlet stills. “What are you doing?”
“You said to be ready by the time you are,” Scarlet whines into the sheets. “Please.”
“I said to be ready, I didn’t say you’re getting fucked. Push them back,” Yvie commands.
Scarlet’s hips buck desperately, and Yvie has to tighten her grip on her to keep her from moving too much. She tenses her free wrist and places a quick, sharp slap on Scarlet’s thigh, and Scarlet complains weakly and turns her head so that her cheek is lying on the mattress instead of her forehead.
“No, nononono, please, daddy,” she begs breathlessly. “Please, I’ve been good, daddy, please fuck me.”
“I said, put your fingers back in,” Yvie growls, knowing full well that Scarlet’s protests are more for show than for anything else, that she not-so-secretly loves the struggle, being denied and ordered and made to beg, something she’s quickly grown into. “Stop talking back and keep that pussy open and ready for me, will you?”
“Please,” Scarlet cries out feebly, but presses her fingers back in with effort, her cunt likely sensitive and the stretch probably burning in a brand new way after a moment of relative emptiness.
“There’s my good girl,” Yvie mocks. “See, isn’t it much easier for everybody when you just listen to what daddy tells you? C’mon, behave yourself and maybe I’ll fuck you eventually. That is, unless your pussy is too open and useless by the time I’m ready to do it.”
Scarlet just sobs in return, nuzzling her face into the sheets and pushing her ass up and toward Yvie, pleading wordlessly. Yvie watches as her knuckles move and her fingers flex, knows she must be curling and twisting them, examines the way her skin glistens with her slick, and then lets her gaze venture higher, to the familiar faint stretch marks on her ass, and then to the plug. Scarlet must clench, because the base twitches slightly, and Yvie hisses, places her index finger against the ruby stone and taps determinedly.
“Now, princess, what have we here? I don’t remember us discussing this, or me giving you permission,” she asks darkly.
There’s a faint whine from Scarlet, her back arching further, fingers starting to slip out of her pussy inadvertently as she forces her ass closer to Yvie. She’s so clearly aching for it, has been helplessly aroused for so long, and Yvie wants badly to give it to her, to push all the way in and fuck her with heavy strokes, to scoop her upright and wrap her arms around her torso, her back pressed to Yvie’s chest, to palm her tits and drop messy kisses to her shoulder and neck as she rocks into her shallowly, holding her so close and murmuring tender things into her ear as she stumbles quickly over the edge and crashes into her climax. And she’ll do all of it, she decides, and soon, but there are times when Scarlet needs to be teased and made to wait, needs Yvie disinterested in her whining and handling her slowly, without indulgence, needs to be kept on her toes and unsure what will come next, so she’ll stay interested and engaged and adoring. This, Yvie knows, is one of those times, and although it gets harder and harder as her feelings grow stronger to keep her restraint and stop herself from just touching and grabbing and thrusting when Scarlet asks for it, she’s capable of reading into what Scarlet wants and working her properly, how she really needs.
Scarlet’s fingers are halfway out, her ass pushed up, and Yvie clicks her tongue. “Uh-uh, baby,” she chastises, her tone low and warning. “What did I say about keeping those fingers in and that cunt spread nice and open for me, huh?”
There’s a thin, almost pained moan, muffled by the sheets, and Scarlet moves her wrist, forcing all four back in with a filthy, wet sound. “Mmm,” Yvie hums, pressing on the gem with her thumb and listening to Scarlet’s responding whine. “Such a greedy little toy, fingering your needy pussy with your ass plugged like that, begging daddy to stuff you full.”
The soft cry that Scarlet lets out is intoxicating, her forearm straining as she starts to thrust laboriously, ass swaying back and forth as if to offer herself up. Yvie grabs it roughly, digging her fingers into Scarlet’s cheeks to still her movement, and spreads them wide, drunk on how the plug twitches, her eye caught by the glistening skin surrounding it, and she curses under her breath, imagining Scarlet’s wetness must’ve dripped down into the crack. Scarlet mewls pathetically, her fingers visibly spreading in her cunt, and Yvie pushes her cheeks back together, watching the skin discolor under the harshness of her grip, the ruby rhinestone still visible and glinting between them.
She releases the flesh, placing a light slap where her left hand had been, more to watch it jiggle and flush just a little than to cause any discomfort, but Scarlet whines like she’s been spanked proper nonetheless, rocking into Yvie’s touch. Yvie rubs her ass, hushing her as she does, and then reaches for the plug, gripping it firmly and starting to twist it, carefully, wanting to tease, not to hurt.
To her surprise, the plug moves without much resistance, turning smoothly, and as Scarlet moans helplessly, it hits Yvie — Scarlet’s skin is shiny not from her own wetness, but from lube, lube that she must’ve reapplied to keep comfortable, likely recently, almost definitely in the bathroom at the gallery while Yvie wasn’t paying attention. Her jaw going slack, Yvie pictures Scarlet with her dress pulled up over her hips and her panties down around her ankles, removing a pack of lube from the front of her dress where it had warmed pressed against her tit and then tugging the plug free to slick it and herself up before pressing it in again, her head snapping back, biting the heel of her palm to suppress a groan.
Scarlet is quivering under her touch, thighs visibly trembling and wetness leaking down the back of her hand as she flexes it to move her fingers inside. “Mmm, you like that, baby?” Yvie asks, wetting her lips as she twists the plug in the opposite direction, Scarlet gasping in response. “Maybe it’s too much for you, huh?” she muses, tugging gently on the plug to elicit a throaty moan. “Wouldn’t want you to get greedy, babe. One hole filled should be enough, even for a desperate little thing like you.”
She tugs again, a bit harder this time, as if she might pull the plug out, and Scarlet clenches around it, hard. “Daddy, no, please, don’t —” she starts to whine desperately, cutting herself off and sighing in relief as Yvie releases it with a chuckle.
“Don’t worry, kitten, I won’t take it out,” she soothes, rubbing the gem with her knuckles, lips tilting in a smirk. “You’ll pull your fingers out instead.”
There’s no protest from Scarlet like Yvie half expected there to be. Instead, she moans obscenely and rushes to obey Yvie’s order, her pussy dripping and producing a sloppy noise as she pulls out, so fast that it must leave her feeling wide open and empty. Yvie gapes at her, momentarily speechless and almost confused by the lack of resistance, but then Scarlet spreads her lips with her index and middle fingers, wiggles her ass a little as if in an invitation, and Yvie gets it. Scarlet’s convinced Yvie’s gonna thrust in, is practically offering her cunt to be filled and used, her arousal rendering her dumb enough to have forgotten what Yvie just said about one hole being enough.
Not about to let this opportunity pass her by, Yvie chuckles roughly and sinks her fingers into Scarlet’s ass harder, pulling her cheeks apart to expose her entrance even more. Scarlet purrs, arches and shifts, the graceful dip of her lower back exceptionally visible in this pose, her body stiffened under Yvie’s firm touch. She scissors her fingers wider, one of them too slippery to stay where she planted it and sliding out of its place, causing her to lose her grip on her lips. Clearly not perturbed by that, Scarlet just parts her lips again.
“C’mon, babe, I’ll need you to concentrate and keep that pussy spread for me properly if you want my cock,” Yvie husks like she’s seriously going to give in and do what Scarlet wants. She isn’t, but it’s much more fun if Scarlet doesn’t know that.
“Daddy, please,” Scarlet whispers brokenly. “Please, fuck me, daddy.”
Yvie groans under her breath and maneuvers her hands so that one of them is resting right below Scarlet’s tailbone, her fingers still prying her cheeks open. She wraps her other one around her cock, strokes a couple times to tease her own clit, and then guides the toy to Scarlet’s pussy, pressing the tip against her entrance.
Scarlet immediately pushes back against the dildo, trying to take it, but Yvie is too familiar with her girlfriend’s antics and acts faster, clutching her hips and shoving slightly to prevent Scarlet from catching the toy.
“Scarlet,” she states firmly, dangerously. “If you want it, you’ll stay still and spread, and let daddy play with your cunt.”
There’s a whimper, Scarlet clenching visibly as she makes another weak attempt to thrust backwards, and Yvie growls, blunt nails digging into Scarlet’s flesh. “Still.”
Scarlet whines weakly, but stops trying to move, much to Yvie’s surprise, evidently ruined enough that she’s lost the will to protest for now. Yvie hums, a low, approving rumble, and dips the head of her cock into the pool of wetness between Scarlet’s soaked folds again, nudging her hips just a tiny bit to tease before withdrawing. Sobbing faintly, Scarlet twists the sheets in her spare hand, her head turning to lay her cheek against the mattress again, neck straining to look back at Yvie, as if that will somehow prompt her to move. With a chuckle, Yvie presses her tongue into the corner of her mouth, and rubs the toy against Scarlet’s entrance, keeping her palm rested heavily on her woman’s hip as she drags her cock down Scarlet’s lips, the copious slick coating it deliciously.
“Such a pretty pussy,” she exhales, the words thick on her tongue, unable to stop herself from praising Scarlet even now, when she’s meant to be controlling herself and appearing disinterested. Pushing forwards a little, she teases the tip of her cock against Scarlet’s clit, swollen and perfect, sucking in a harsh breath at the sight of Scarlet’s brown hair surrounding the black silicone, glistening droplets of wetness caught in the already dampened strands. “Such a gorgeous, gorgeous pussy, baby, throbbing and dripping and flushed so sweet and pink.”
“Yours,” Scarlet chokes out, unprompted, her eyes glassy and spacey, a tremor running through her thighs from the effort of staying still. “Daddy, please —”
“Mine,” Yvie echoes, releasing Scarlet’s hip in favor of brushing her fingers over her folds, rubbing around her fluttering entrance with the flat of her thumb as she continues to push her cock against her clit. “My perfect cunt.”
Scarlet garbles something incomprehensible in response, using the fingers that aren’t occupied with her lips to grab the underside of Yvie’s cock and press it firmer against her slit. Yvie lets out a guttural grunt and winds her hips back, escaping Scarlet’s reach and making her whimper meekly, fingers twitching around nothing now. Yvie slides back on the bed and glances down at her slick, glistening cock, a little lightheaded on how incredibly wet Scarlet is and suddenly aware of her own dripping pussy, of the press of the harness against her clit, and of how painfully she needs more.
She swirls her thumb around Scarlet’s opening, and then hooks it inside, pressing down as if she’s attempting to open Scarlet even wider, ruin her cunt completely. Scarlet reacts by sobbing loudly, and Yvie knows that she must feel the stretch, must ache so perfectly, simultaneously overwhelmed and wanting more.
The wetness dripping down Scarlet’s folds is nearly continual now, her pussy drooling with need as Yvie spreads it, and Yvie curses densely, splaying her fingers on Scarlet’s ass and releasing her cock with her other hand in a jerky motion. Air caught in her throat, she keeps Scarlet pulled open with her thumb and sinks her index finger slowly into her cunt alongside it, as if she’s inspecting the state of her property, getting a feel for her, struggling to keep any semblance of composure as she does, especially when Scarlet gasps breathlessly and tenses. To say that there’s no resistance would be an understatement — her digit slides in achingly easily, the soft heat of Scarlet barely brushing her skin, and she presses her fingertip into Scarlet’s front wall, right where she’s most sensitive, needing to feel the warmth and wetness smother her somehow.
Scarlet lets out a faint, shattering cry, back curving dramatically, hand dropping back to the bed to rip at the sheets, and Yvie exhales in a rush. “Fuck, baby, look at how open you are,” she groans, unable to hide how affected she is. “So ready to take it for daddy, aren’t you, doll?”
She twists her finger, pressing just a little deeper to tap at Scarlet’s spot, one, two, three times, before digging in deeply. Scarlet squeals, head rearing and pussy clenching, and fucks back against the intrusion impulsively, driving Yvie’s thumb deeper into her cunt as she does.
“Uh-uh-uh,” Yvie lilts and clicks her tongue, removing both her hands immediately and putting them back on Scarlet’s hipbones, her wet fingers sticking to Scarlet’s sweaty skin. “I’m tired of repeating myself, baby. Did I not tell you to stay still and wait?”
“Plea— Please,” Scarlet gasps, straining against Yvie’s grip desperately. “Please, I want, I… need.”
“Too bad, Scarlet, because I don’t feel like it.” It’s a blatant lie, told through teeth, but Yvie knows they’re both getting off on it more than they probably should.
Scarlet lets out a high-pitched, long whine, her muscles spasming and trembling, her breathing intermittent, and both the plug and her pussy twitching noticeably as she keeps clenching around nothing. Yvie huffs out a chuckle, drops her hands from Scarlet’s hips to her thighs and digs her fingertips into the flesh. Then, she throws her legs over Scarlet’s one by one and positions them so that Scarlet’s calves are between hers rather than the other way around, and forces Scarlet’s thighs together, trapping her in place with her knees.
Fisting her cock, Yvie gives it a stroke or two, hissing at the pressure on her clit, her other hand remaining on Scarlet in a futile attempt to keep her still. Scarlet, for her part, doesn’t stay put in the slightest, wriggling in Yvie’s hold with whines spilling out of her freely, clearly trying to get some friction herself, and Yvie grips her tighter, watches as her wetness leaks down to where the soft flesh is squished together at the apex of her legs, leaving it visibly sticky and shining. Crushing her lower lip between her teeth, Yvie leans in, letting her gaze flicker up to Scarlet’s tempting pussy and then back down to her intended target, before finally rocking her hips forward and starting to slide her cock into the tight space between the soft insides of Scarlet’s thighs.
Scarlet moans throatily as the toy drags along her sensitive folds, the silicone rubbing against her clit as Yvie thrusts, Scarlet’s slippery wet skin hugging her length and forcing it back against her own pussy. The sensation is delicious, the push of the ridge where Yvie needs it so desperately, and she squeezes Scarlet’s thighs tighter together with her knees, snapping her hips back to fuck between them again, harder this time, groaning under her breath.
“That’s it, keep that ass up for daddy, kitten,” she husks, grabbing a handful of Scarlet’s ass roughly as she continues to rock her hips with purpose. “God, look at what a fucking mess your pussy made for daddy, huh? Dripped so much onto your thighs that I might as well be fucking your cunt right now.”
Scarlet doesn’t manage a verbal response, just struggles against Yvie’s hold and succeeds at pushing Yvie’s knees far enough to grind her pussy down against the strap. Yvie snarls, has to dig her shins into the mattress to stop the slide, and then quickly manhandles Scarlet back into her desired position. Scarlet’s thighs close again with a pronounced slap, the stickiness of her skin making the sound louder than it would’ve normally been, and Yvie thrusts between them with vigor, moaning as she feels the motion as pressure on her clit and as a delicious twisting of her gut.
“Could…Could come just like… like this, you know,” she grunts and snaps her hips again, and then again, and again. “Maybe I… Maybe I should, maybe I’ll use you as my little fucktoy and come all over your thighs, huh, baby? Wouldn’t that be enough— enough for a filthy thing like you, to let daddy jerk her cock using your body until she comes?”
And suspension of disbelief, acting and talking like Yvie can feel her cock has always been one of their biggest turn ons, but now, when they both know that there’s truth to what Yvie’s saying, that every stroke is sensed and she could, in fact, come from just this, it’s all that much hotter, driving them both wild. Of course, Yvie doesn’t mean her words in the slightest, is actually craving to pleasure Scarlet, take her apart more than she could ever worry about her own sexual gratification, but all of this, the denying and prolonging and teasing, it’s a part of the chase for them, the game they’re both playing with matching enthusiasm, and reaching Scarlet’s release will be all the better for both of them after a while of this.
“Please,” Scarlet sobs, her voice breaking, body going limper now, the gorgeous curve of her back growing sharp as she pushes her ass higher still.
“Please what, babe?” Yvie taunts.
“Please,” Scarlet repeats, weakly, almost like a surrender, a whine leaving her as Yvie’s cock rubs against her clit particularly hard. “Use me, daddy, please.”
Stiffening in a mixture of shock and wild arousal, Yvie lets out a string of colorful expletives, squeezing Scarlet’s ass in both hands hard enough to make the woman beneath her cry out. She starts to roll her hips faster, needing the rapid rub against her clit now, her own wetness smearing over the insides of her thighs as she fucks between Scarlet’s. The sight of Scarlet’s folds parting just a little around her cock is intoxicating, and Yvie spreads her cheeks again, thumbs digging in, almost drooling herself as Scarlet’s cunt opens up with a filthy, wet noise, visibly convulsing at the stretch, ruby red plug glittering enticingly above.
Jaw slack, tongue running repeatedly over her lips, Yvie allows herself to get lost in the sensations, grabbing handfuls of Scarlet’s flesh while she fucks her thighs, movements becoming less purposeful and more a means of grinding her clit into the harness as roughly as she possibly can. Her cock is pressing tighter between Scarlet’s lips now, and as she gives short, shallow thrusts of her hips, Scarlet lets out a high pitched whine and forces her hand up to spread her folds wider, crying out at the direct, forceful stimulation right where she so desperately needs it, and suddenly, Yvie feels a flood of warmth in her gut, a sure sign of her climax rapidly approaching, as if triggered by the sound.
With effort, Yvie forces herself to pull back, not wanting to actually come like this, or to make Scarlet orgasm without first giving her the deep fucking she’s been so desperately craving, knowing she likely won’t be as satisfied with this alone. Scarlet whimpers plaintively, moving backwards to chase Yvie’s cock, and Yvie stops her easily, spare hand wrapping around the toy and stroking rapidly to keep herself on edge as she watches her own movements, jutting her lower lip out and huffing air in an attempt to blow back the stray curls that are hanging in her face.
“Not yet, baby,” she pants, gripping Scarlet’s ass to stop the erratic rocking of her hips, shifting her gaze to keep an eye on her fingers that are dangerously close to her throbbing clit. “No coming and no touching either, not till — till you’ve been fucked right.”
Scarlet gasps, hand scrabbling to spread her pussy in anticipation, and Yvie shakes her head, and shuffles back closer again, lining up the tip of her cock with Scarlet’s entrance.
“Daddy’s just gonna… just gonna have to jerk off into your cunt, baby,” Yvie says, breathless, just nudging the fluttering opening with the head of her cock, choking at the sight, barely capable of forming the words she knows will drive Scarlet wild with desire. “And you’ll stay still like a good toy and let daddy come in you, just from her own fist, no greedy pushing back for more.”
Whisking her head to try and keep back the curls that threaten to fall back in her face, she inches her hips forth before Scarlet can react, watches the head of her cock slowly sink into Scarlet, her opening stretching around the toy deliciously, and has to consciously refrain from screwing everything and pushing all the way in, deep enough so they’re skin on skin and her harness rubs against Scarlet’s plug. Scarlet mumbles something unclear, attempts, despite having been told otherwise, to fuck back against the intrusion, and then immediately leans forward instead, as if she’s thought the better of it and has decided to obey. Her hand drops on the bed uselessly, and Yvie observes how her lips hug the silicone as soon as they’re not held, feels her stomach flip and curses.
“Stay— Stay put, just like that, understood?” she rasps gruffly, picking up her previous pace in stroking her cock after a fleeting moment of slowing down.
“Daddy,” Scarlet utters, stopping her hindrance against Yvie’s grip as her body softens. “Please.”
“Fuck, baby, look at that greedy pussy,” Yvie exhales, barely managing to restrain the impulse to force her hips forward, fist moving rapidly on her cock. “You want daddy’s come, baby?”
“Please,” Scarlet repeats, a long, drawn out whine, her cunt clenching noticeably around the crown of Yvie’s cock. “Need — need you in me, daddy —”
Locking her jaw to suppress the groan that threatens to escape her, Yvie rocks her hips just a little, enough to grind her clit against the harness, the combination of her own strokes and the new stimulation forcing her rapidly to the edge. Her fist slides easily on her length, Scarlet’s abundant slick that’s dripped and rubbed onto the toy providing perfect lubrication, making Yvie’s movements frictionless and sleek and fast.
Scarlet hides her face in the sheets, her legs slipping slightly more open and forcing Yvie’s farther apart on the bed, too. She threads her messy fingers through her hair, and then Yvie sees her tugging rhythmically, as if that will help her stay unmoving. Without thinking much, Yvie fits one calf back between Scarlet’s and props herself up on her knees. She continues jerking her cock, starts to roll her hips into the contact, and lets go of Scarlet’s ass to reach over her and grab a fistful of her hair instead, Scarlet’s own grip immediately going slack with that.
Yvie feels the stimulation finally begin to be too much, the muscles on the backs of her thighs and lower stomach tensing painfully like they always do right before she gives in and lets her climax take over. She moans hoarsely, her stroking growing more frantic and erratic with every pass. She’s painfully close, knows she won’t be able to contain herself much longer, so she twists her fist in Scarlet’s hair, yanks with enough vigor to force Scarlet’s upper body off the bed and releases her cock to slam into her in one swift movement.
As Yvie finally slides home in her cunt, a cry rips its way out of Scarlet’s chest, hoarse and raw, the noise making the last of Yvie’s willpower dissolve into nothing. Her hazy brain barely registers the pale arch of Scarlet’s spine before her cock is driving as deep as it can go, and the pressure on her clit is enough to break her in two, the molten warmth in her tummy reaching its peak as her climax surges through her. She’s barely conscious of what she’s doing, can feel herself rutting shallowly into Scarlet’s tight heat, prolonging the painful rush of pleasure that keeps her muscles tense enough to snap, fist still tight in the mess of Scarlet’s hair, vaguely processes Scarlet pushing back against her weakly as if desperate for a proper fucking.
The blood swims back into Yvie’s brain slowly, her body starting to relax and weaken again as she continues moving as if on autopilot, and she blinks back tears, noticing the position she’s holding Scarlet in and how strained her back is, even as she rubs her ass eagerly into Yvie’s harness. Gasping in air as her core clenches and twitches, she forces the arm pulling Scarlet’s hair to loosen, about to let her flop back onto the bed, and then thinks the better of it and leans forward to loop her free limb around Scarlet’s waist, letting her down gently and carefully, hips still rocking erratically into her pussy, the new angle of the strap-on sending her own cunt into another set of dizzying, overwhelming aftershocks.
Scarlet collapses onto the bed bonelessly and buries her face in the sheets, whining like she’s the one who just had an earthshaking orgasm and not Yvie. Her hair is tangled and knotted from Yvie fisting it, locks cascading in disarray, and Yvie pushes her fingers into it carefully, rakes them through it, and then massages Scarlet’s scalp gently, cautious not to hurt her. The thrusting of her hips is slowing down, becoming lazy and aimless, her pussy simultaneously tingly and numb in the way it only feels right after she comes. Scarlet sobs and, with an unexpected amount of strength for such a limp body, rolls her hips against Yvie’s crotch, the movement driving the ridge to swipe against Yvie’s clit harder. Yvie hisses, momentarily too sensitive for such contact, dizzy and completely consumed by all the sensations. Scarlet’s clearly vigilant despite her state, always wired just right to know what Yvie needs, because her reaction is to freeze, avoid shifting until Yvie’s recovered.
Yvie forces her hips to stop jerking into Scarlet, squeezes her eyes shut and lets her head droop a little as she struggles to catch her breath and regain the full control of both her body and the situation. The scent of Scarlet’s cunt is sharp and heavy in the air, and filling her lungs does little to clear Yvie’s head, instead making her mouth water and her pussy clench painfully again. She draws her fingers through Scarlet’s hair once more, and then slides her palm to the back of Scarlet’s neck, to the valley between her shoulder blades, and then down her quivering spine slowly, slowly, a soothing movement intended to quiet the faint whimpering of the woman shuddering with need beneath her, keep her steady and calm until she can finally fuck her like she deserves. Almost impossibly responsive, Scarlet lets out a shaky sigh, her body softening with Yvie’s touch, a weak, drawn out whine leaving her as she rests her cheek against the sheets, her eyes glazed over and her pout prettier than ever.
Hushing her gently, Yvie rubs over her back once more, and then slips both hands down the curve of her waist to rest on her hips, grip heavy and firm. Her cock is still and full in Scarlet, pushed in to the hilt, and she can’t resist digging her thumbs into Scarlet’s ass to spread her cheeks and stare down at how perfectly and hungrily her cunt swallows up her cock, as if it was made to settle inside her like this, or she was made to fit just so around it. Scarlet’s thighs are trembling visibly with the effort of waiting, whines spilling out of her periodically, and even though Yvie wants to indulge her, fuck her slow and deep and long like she’s craving, she’s almost grateful for the respite that her own body requires, knowing that the size of the toy takes some getting used to at first and that this is the perfect way to do just that.
Yvie rubs Scarlet’s ass, taking deep breaths, overly aware of the pulsing of her own pussy, of the tingling sweetness curling below her belly button. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she pushes Scarlet’s cheeks together lazily, and then pulls them back apart, feeling the compulsive clenching of Scarlet’s cunt around her cock more than she sees it, the twitching of the glimmering plug as she does catching Yvie’s eye. Yvie releases her lip with an audible pop, and reaches to tap at red gem, before gripping the plug and twisting it absentmindedly, the toy still sliding just as easily as it had earlier, and Scarlet whines, long and weak and needy, as if the sound is being drawn out of her, hands twisting in the sheets.
“Feel good, kitten?” Yvie intones, her voice raspy, nearly cracking on the pet name. “You like daddy playing with your ass?”
Scarlet’s responding moan sounds almost like a plea, as if she intended to speak but couldn’t make it happen.
“Of course you do, baby. You’re my good toy, aren’t you?” Yvie chuckles wickedly and screws the plug in the other direction, with more purpose this time.
There’s a soft cry, Scarlet’s lower back curving, and then she pushes back reflexively, useless and whimpering, into Yvie’s hand and cock. The pressure makes Yvie wince, the muscles in her thighs twitching, and she digs her blunt nails into Scarlet’s flesh, taking a moment to let the tide of pleasure and faint ache between her legs subside before continuing to toy with the plug. The oversensitive feeling is fading, now, and Yvie can feel her pulse pounding throughout her body, saliva pooling under her tongue every time she breathes in Scarlet’s scent, and as she tugs lightly and turns the gem again, Scarlet’s cunt convulses around her cock, and she squirms, her hips rocking helplessly into the feeling.
Yvie sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth, releases the plug in favor of wrenching Scarlet’s cheeks apart, tilting her chin to get a look at how her hair surrounds the base of her cock, how visibly slick the toy is with her wetness when her wriggling allows it to slide from her pussy just a little, before quickly taking it back in.
“Fuck, daddy, sorry — sorry, God, please,” Scarlet pants, clearly fighting the bucking of her hips and losing miserably. “Please, need you.”
Yvie releases Scarlets ass and slips her hands higher to grip her waist instead, then repositions herself so that her other leg is between Scarlet’s, too. She knocks Scarlet’s knees farther apart on the bed, and tightens her hold on her to stop her next attempt to move against her cock.
“Greedy,” she scolds, and, before Scarlet can begin to blabber her pleas again, rotates her hips.
Scarlet squeaks, clasping one of her hands over Yvie’s on her waist like she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself, how to make herself useful. Yvie doesn’t wait, pulls out as much as she can with their proximity, and then pushes right back in, and Scarlet cries loudly. She lines her fingers up with Yvie’s, then clumsily tries to fit them between, then changes her mind again and scrapes Yvie’s knuckles with her blunt nails, and then shudders and drops her hand between her legs to spread her lips instead.
“Fuck, babe, that’s it, open up for daddy,” Yvie grunts, starting to fuck into her steadily, giving deep, deliberate thrusts, thighs slapping against Scarlet’s as she does. Scarlet keens, plainly too overcome to rock back against the toy, stilling the shifting of her hips in favor of turning her head from side to side and simply letting Yvie take her. “Keep that ass nice and high, just like that — fuck, there’s a good doll.”
The noises Scarlet’s cunt is making are filthy, and Yvie pauses in her rhythm to withdraw almost all the way, nearly choking as she witnesses Scarlet’s fingers struggling to stay put on her slippery folds, holding them apart, her entrance clenching around the tip of the toy. With a curse that comes out more like a moan, Yvie forces her cock back in and continues, the new tightness of Scarlet’s pussy intoxicating, begging to be fucked hard and heavy until she’s barely suppressing screams. Scarlet groans as she’s filled once more, burying her face in the sheets, and then lets out an almost animalistic cry, starting to rut against Yvie’s cock. As soon as she lets out a desperate sob, Yvie knows instinctively that her fingertips have slipped lower, are rubbing against her clit, fumbling and pressing on the sensitive spot, working clumsily to get the stimulation she needs to finally fall over the edge, unable to come from Yvie’s cock alone due to their angle.
There’s a while of them just fucking, fast and hard and messy, desperately chasing Scarlet’s release, and for a moment the room is filled with only Yvie’s labored grunts, Scarlet’s shrill winces, and the wet sounds as Yvie’s cock keeps slipping in and out of Scarlet, as well as their sweaty skins coming in contact audibly on every in. Continuing to hold Scarlet’s waist with one hand, Yvie places her other one close to Scarlet’s shoulder on the bed and leans over her, perching herself up on her arm. Their slightly shifted position makes Scarlet howl into the sheets, her body tensing and shivering below Yvie, and Yvie rolls her hips with more determination, set on helping Scarlet tip off the ledge she’s on the best she can.
“Let go, babe,” she growls next to Scarlet’s ear. “Let go and give daddy what belongs to her.”
Scarlet freezes, the tension practically radiating from her body and seeping all the way into Yvie’s own bones, and then there’s suddenly a strangled cry as her muscles start to spasm and her thighs tremble. Yvie wraps her arm around Scarlet’s middle to prevent her from collapsing, holds her while her climax washes over her, almost feels it herself, in the shudders running down Scarlet’s spine against her front, in the way her pussy grips the toy and makes it impossible to thrust other than very shallowly, in the reaching, whimpering, shattered gasps that wrack her slender frame, held secure and tight against Yvie’s chest.
The shivering and jerking of Scarlet’s form goes on and on, her channel convulsing palpably around Yvie’s cock, and Yvie doesn’t let her go or relax her hold, instead ducking her head to press her lips to Scarlet’s spine, once, twice, three times. The fourth kiss is gentler, a long, open-mouthed benediction placed right in the middle of her back, her heartbeat thrumming under Yvie’s touch, the sweat on her skin salty and addictive on her tongue. She stays right there, nuzzling into the achingly heated skin, murmuring a litany of sweetness that she knows Scarlet can’t understand right now, but that she hopes works its way into the deepest parts of her, a continual recitation of praise and pet names, an endless, subtle expression of adoration, of worship, of need, of love.
“Gorgeous, gorgeous, my baby,” she sighs, giving one last slow nudge into Scarlet, making her wince and buck weakly. She squeezes Scarlet’s middle, and sinks her teeth gently into the skin on her shoulder blade, a gentle bite that lasts only a moment. “Mine.”
Scarlet gasps at the slight ache, and then hums in response, using the last of her strength to press her quivering body back against Yvie before going limp in her arms.
“Fuck, Yvie, I… Fuck,” she utters stupidly, like she can’t knit anything more intelligent together, and Yvie suspects she really can’t, has witnessed how dumb Scarlet gets after her orgasms plenty. Scarlet squirms a little, sending the ridge brushing against Yvie’s slit, and then makes a move to crawl forward on the bed, apparently attempting to let herself slip off Yvie’s cock.
“Baby!” Yvie laughs mockingly and captures Scarlet in place with little to no effort. “That’s cute, but we’re not done, now are we? Daddy didn’t even get to play with your pussy yet.”
Scarlet tenses, an inadvertent moan leaving her, and Yvie can feel her attempting to close her thighs, so she digs her fingers into her waist and plants her knees more firmly between Scarlet’s in response, leans up to make sure Scarlet hears the rumble of her voice. “Nah-uh, babe, you’re not going anywhere. You can be a good girl and take some more for daddy, can’t you?
“Daddy…” Scarlet whines, arching and then curling her back, her hands clawing weakly at the sheets. Yvie rolls her hips, more an effort to rub her cock against Scarlet’s spot than to pump out and back in proper, and then Scarlet is changing her tune and forcing herself backwards again, her cunt trapping Yvie inside with a vice like grip. “Oooooh, please, daddy, more —”
She cuts herself off with a moan as Yvie grits her teeth and forces her hips back, then rocks them forwards again, cock dragging against her sensitive walls. “That’s more like it, kitten. Let daddy have her turn, yeah?”
The reply Yvie gets is incomprehensible, mumbled words merging into each other nonsensically, but her body talks loud and clear. She spreads her legs wider, dips her lower back so that her ass lifts farther toward Yvie, and messily fucks back against the toy. Yvie is forced to shift her position, lean over Scarlet more and cover her with her own frame rather than stay kneeling behind her to maintain the optimal angle, but that allows her to wind her hips backwards easier and consequentially pound into Scarlet deeper. Still holding herself up with one arm, Yvie bites her lower lip to suppress her own groans, shakes her head to try and get her hair out of her face again, and then snakes her free arm around Scarlet to fondle her tits, fingertips digging into the soft, shapeable flesh mercilessly.
Scarlet’s knees keep sliding farther and farther apart on the bed with every one of Yvie’s thrusts, sending her lower and lower, and the realization that she’s fucking her into the mattress makes Yvie’s own cunt pulse harshly. She adjusts her angle on her next in so that the harness ruts against her swollen clit, and curses, too out of it to find the finesse and the concentration to ensure her own stimulation, but deciding that she won’t contain herself should her climax approach.
Scarlet is burning up, her skin flushed, letting out pleading winces and sobs so loud that Yvie can hear them clearly, even with her face hidden. Her cunt is so wet and open that any resistance to Yvie’s cock is a faint memory, and Yvie keeps stroking her deeply, filling Scarlet completely with her length. Scarlet rocks back against her with a cry, and Yvie snarls, bites the same spot on Scarlet’s back that she had earlier, harder this time, and slams her hips forwards to force her the rest of the way down, leaving her unable to do anything but hump the sheets desperately, Yvie’s hand trapped between her chest and the mattress.
“Greedy,” she growls, breathless, lips brushing the new mark on Scarlet’s shoulder, dropping on her elbow and grinding her pussy messily into the ridge on the harness. “Stop bucking and take what… what daddy gives you, babe.”
The immediate response is a long, drawn out mess of pleas and whines, Scarlet unable to stop the rocking of her hips and likely lacking the brainpower to even try. Yvie can hardly think either, can only clamp her teeth around Scarlet’s flesh again, sucking hard on the tender skin and fucking into Scarlet with heavy thrusts, the gorgeous cry Scarlet lets out broken up by Yvie’s pounding.
As Yvie drives the ridge against her own clit with every push into Scarlet, she can feel an orgasm build up in her tummy, a warm, tingly tension begging to spill and drown everything. Scarlet’s close, too, concluding by the tremor of her body and the pitch of her whimpers, so high that it could probably shatter glass. Yvie’s movements are becoming imprecise, untidy, but her pace stays relentless, and she squeezes her hand lower on the sheets under Scarlet. The rolling of her hips loses its depth, turns mostly just nudging inside without withdrawing any, and she blindly locates Scarlet’s clit, pressing her fingertips against it and keeping them still, letting Scarlet grind on her hand rather than the sheets.
Yvie’s the first to come, sent over the edge by Scarlet managing to clench around her cock in a way that forces the harness against Yvie’s pussy harder. Her hips jerk uncontrollably as her orgasm surges through her, and she closes her teeth around the flesh on Scarlet’s shoulder again to conceal the moan that escapes her chest.
She doesn’t allow herself time to recover, too consumed by the desire to make Scarlet come undone for her, and there’s still spasms and aftershocks affecting her body as she pulls out of Scarlet and scrambles to get back on her knees. Yvie screws her arm that’s under Scarlet to lift her off the bed slightly, fingers working her clit like she’s playing a delicate melody. Scarlet whines, a boneless little rag doll in Yvie’s handling, and as Yvie realizes she’s extremely close, she moves her spare hand to pinch the gem of Scarlet’s plug.
“Give it up for daddy, baby,” she coaxes, her voice unsteady, Scarlet’s clit pulsing and twitching under her touch, and then pulls on the toy, hard, turning it just a little as she does.
Scarlet keens, her body going rigid, and the plug pops out, both holes clenching and her pussy fluttering visibly as she collapses into her climax. Yvie tosses it aside in favor of resting her hand on Scarlet’s hip, stopping her from wriggling away or falling as she’s wracked with surges of pleasure, her entrance drooling with slick, clit rubbing frantically against Yvie’s fingers as she bucks and thrashes. She’s a mess of whines and moans, sharp and high and feral, the quickly emerging pain of oversensitivity mixed with the unbearable intensity of her pleasure evident in the urgency of her cries. Yvie holds on, strokes her with her fingertips to draw out her orgasm as long as she can stand it, praising her mindlessly, mesmerized as she watches Scarlet’s cunt convulse, the muscles in her thighs tensing and relaxing over and over.
Yvie removes her hand only once Scarlet flinches forcefully, clearly bordering on discomfort in her oversensitive state. She keeps her arm around Scarlet’s middle, using her other palm to soothe away her shudders with broad, gentle circles all across her back, whispering sweet nothings, aware that Scarlet won’t register or understand her words anyway, but that using a soft, calm tone will lull her nonetheless. Scarlet keeps sobbing into the sheets, and as the contracting of her body dies down gradually, Yvie twists her in her arms carefully and lays her down.
“Hey,” she murmurs as Scarlet meets her eyes.
“Hi, daddy,” Scarlet rasps, staring at her emptily.
I love you, Yvie wants to say, but doesn’t, just smiles in that genuine way that makes the back of her throat feel a little bit too tight and outstretches her arm to tuck some of Scarlet’s hair behind her ear. “How’re you doing?”
“Honestly, I think Washington is the last good president we had, everyone else is trash,” Scarlet states.
Yvie blinks and, just a second later, bursts into laughter. “What?”
“I don’t know,” Scarlet confesses solemnly.
“What about Obama?” Yvie asks and starts unbuckling the harness to take it off.
“I guess he can stay,” Scarlet says nonchalantly. “Michelle’s got nice arms. Hot arms.”
“Oh, is that so?” Yvie says seriously, knowing that her smirk will display her amusement. The straps slipping down her thighs, she shrugs off her shirt and tosses it to the edge of the bed, and then puts one hand on either side of Scarlet’s body and starts to crawl forwards, between Scarlet’s legs, kicking off the harness as she does so.
“Uh huh,” Scarlet agrees, nodding, her eyes staying on Yvie’s face. “Almost as hot as your arms, daddy.”
Yvie chews on her lower lip to suppress the hopelessly smitten, full fledged smile that’s attempting to form on her face. She’s hovering over Scarlet fully now, her girlfriend’s hand cupping the back of her neck to pull her closer, and she leans down to kiss her languidly, forearms now framing Scarlet’s head.
“You should carry me,” Scarlet announces earnestly when Yvie comes up for air, her eyes unfocused and spacey, and Yvie can tell that she’s still completely out of it, grabbing at thoughts at random, no barrier in place to stop her from speaking them aloud.
“Carry you where, baby?” Yvie indulges, swearing that her heart is swelling, straining at her ribcage, as she drops another peck on Scarlet’s lower lip.
“Dunno,” Scarlet mumbles. “Everywhere?” Her hands are wandering over Yvie’s shoulders and biceps lazily. “You could… carry me home?”
“We are home, baby,” Yvie murmurs, without even thinking about it, nuzzling her nose beside Scarlet’s affectionately.
“Ah, okay,” Scarlet smiles, agreeably, and then her arms are winding around Yvie, pulling her down unexpectedly, and Yvie is collapsing on top of her, deciding against pushing herself back up and snuggling her face into Scarlet’s neck instead.
Scarlet’s palms rub over her spine, and she mewls softly with contentment, and as the comfort of being close to her, held by her, washes over Yvie, it occurs to her that maybe, when she’d replied, the home she’d meant wasn’t a building or an apartment or a room at all.
“Is a baby a carry-on? Like, on a plane?” Scarlet ponders, out loud, and Yvie is so utterly caught by surprise that she leans back, meeting Scarlet’s gaze in confusion. “I mean, you carry it on, if you have one, don’t you?”
There’s another few seconds of baffled silence, and then Yvie dissolves into chuckles, successfully figuring out the word association that had led Scarlet to this particular question but not finding it any less absurd as a result.
“I don’t see why you wouldn’t just buy a bag,” Scarlet adds, and the utter sincerity in her tone sends Yvie reeling, her laughter becoming hysterical as she rolls off of Scarlet and onto her side. “Babies are so much work, and besides, I saw the nicest leather carry-on on Fifth Ave the other day, and it’d probably cost like, a fraction of the price that a baby would —”
“Scarlet,” Yvie chokes out between laughs, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. “Stop, I’m gonna pee.”
“Please make sure to use the en-suite,” Scarlet says with a straight face and motions in the general direction of the bathroom before seemingly deciding her arm is tired and letting it flop back on the bed limply.
“Shut up,” Yvie chuckles and pokes Scarlet’s side tenderly.
In all its ridiculousness, this conversation is hardly anything unusual or out of character, and most definitely nothing Yvie hasn’t gotten used to. The first time she had fucked Scarlet’s brains out like this, she had been alarmed, thinking she had broken the woman as Scarlet had blabbered about being able to talk to shrimp, even though they couldn’t, according to her, understand her or reply. Shrimpathy, Scarlet had called it, and Yvie had asked herself if she could honestly say she was proud of the life choices that lead her here. However, as the two grew more familiar, Yvie realized that more often than not the first moments right after sex included talking to the dumbest version of Scarlet, and not too long after that, Yvie admitted to herself that it was sort of very endearing.
“You’re pretty,” Scarlet drawls as she turns to her side to face Yvie and props herself up on her elbow, leaning her head on her palm. “Are you hungry?”
“Scar! You just came,” Yvie gasps jokingly. “Another already?”
“Wow, you’re also not funny at all,” Scarlet says, contradicting her statement with a giggle that leaves her immediately after. “I’m ordering us something,” she adds and blindly reaches behind herself to grab her phone from the bedside table. “Thai?”
Yvie smiles, rolling onto her back instinctively so Scarlet can’t see the softness on her face. “Thai.”
It’s her favorite, and Scarlet always remembers, even when she hasn’t the brainpower to process that one wouldn’t have a baby just to have a carry-on for their plane ride. There’s a rustling of the sheets, and then Scarlet’s lips are pressing to her cheek in a brief kiss, and Yvie’s grin is so big that it hurts.
Scarlet falls onto her back beside Yvie, and Yvie glances over to see her phone held aloft over her head, arms outstretched straight, her eyes squinted with the effort of properly reading the small text on her screen at this distance. Yvie considers, momentarily, snatching the phone to do it herself, or advising Scarlet to hold it closer, and then just shakes her head with a chuckle and decides against it. Narrowing her eyes as well, Yvie watches as she taps on their Thai place in the app, and places their usual orders, right at the top of the list.
“You’re payin’ next time, daddy,” Scarlet teases. The two of them have stopped keeping track long ago, even though they’d originally made an attempt, not wanting to fall into any patterns where only one of them paid.
“Next time,” Yvie states, feigning incredulity. “You’re expecting a next time?”
“Yvie!”
“Who do you think I am, your girlfriend?”
“I’ll slap you.”
Yvie snorts with laughter, and rolls onto her side, wrapping her arm around Scarlet’s waist to squeeze her. “I’ll take you out proper next time,” she says, kissing Scarlet’s earlobe. “A nice dinner and drinks, how bout that?”
“You’d better,” Scarlet comments, her tone mock serious. “I don’t fuck for free.”
Both of them giggle this time, and Scarlet drops her phone carelessly onto the bed, clasps her hand over Yvie’s forearm and snuggles against her. Yvie presses her lips to Scarlet’s temple, and then peppers little pecks down to her cheek, eliciting more laughter out of Scarlet as she kicks her feet in the air and complains that it tickles.
“Soooo,” Scarlet starts when Yvie has buried her face in her neck and is breathing the mixture of her leftover perfume and sweat and sex that lingers on her skin. “Where’s the weed, daddy?”
Yvie groans exaggeratedly and blows air against Scarlet’s throat to make her shriek and giggle more. “Of course you’re here for that,” she grumbles and lets go of Scarlet, flipping over to get her rolling materials from the nightstand drawer.
“Yah, and your dick, daddy,” Scarlet reminds.
“Why, of course,” Yvie snorts and settles back against the pillows with her grinder already in hand and the bag of weed in her lap. “You know, you wouldn’t need to fuck strangers to get high if you learned to roll yourself.”
“And where’s the fun in that?”
Shaking her head, Yvie scoots down so just her head and shoulders are on the pillow, and starts to grind. Scarlet lets out another laugh, and then rotates onto her side and wriggles closer, scooting right up to press her body against Yvie’s, limbs tossed over her frame, and Yvie lifts her own arm almost out of habit to allow Scarlet to slip underneath. With a sigh of satisfaction, Scarlet teases her fingers up the far side of Yvie’s ribs, looping her leg around Yvie’s to brush the underside of her ankle with her toes. Her cheek lays gently against the front of Yvie’s shoulder, and Yvie can hear her practically purring with contentment, soft and close and warm all over. She’s forced to grind rather awkwardly with one hand now, and it makes it all the more difficult and time consuming, but she’s had practice, and the nearness is so very worth it that she doesn’t even stop to consider repositioning them.
“You’re a nuisance, you know that?” Yvie teases lowly, and Scarlet pouts audibly, the noise clearly playful. “You want weed, or cuddles, babe?”
“Both,” Scarlet declares, ever the brat, and Yvie chuckles, ducks to kiss the top of her head.
She grabs for her rolling papers, and does it on her own chest, reaching awkwardly around her girlfriend’s head to accomplish the task. Scarlet, for her part, has relocated her hand to Yvie’s chest, and is stroking the undersides of her tits, seemingly absentminded and likely just hungry to touch, like she always is when she’s close to Yvie. Her fingers start to creep upwards, toying with Yvie’s sensitive nipples before tugging on one lazily, and Yvie pinches the joint she’s rolling reflexively, her breath halting at the unexpected spike of pleasure.
Before she can say anything, Scarlet has already released the nipple and is teasing her nails against the other one, adamantly enough to make it harden. Yvie gulps, momentarily distracted from her task, and Scarlet rubs the pads of her fingers against the nipple prior to enclosing it between her thumb and index and twisting. The pain goes straight between Yvie’s legs, a tug somewhere in her core matching the one Scarlet’s applying to her breast.
“Babe…” she warns.
“Okay, okay,” Scarlet scoffs and lets go, her fingers immediately dropping lower to waltz over Yvie’s ribcage and abs.
Yvie cranes her neck to close the distance between herself and the joint she’s rolling since her position doesn’t allow her to just bring it closer, and licks the paper before expertly folding it and finishing up. She leaves the joint on the bed next to her thigh and grabs another paper, knowing all too well that she always ends up regretting making only one when they’re not quite high enough to feel fully satisfied but too high to roll a second one after smoking. Scarlet’s occupying herself with writing something on Yvie’s abdomen, and Yvie wishes she knew what it is, but her concentration is too scattered to make the letters out.
“So,” she says as she’s distributing the weed evenly along the paper. “Someone was plugged all night, huh?”
Scarlet lets out a throaty giggle, completely unperplexed by Yvie’s words. Her hand has sneaked much lower now, and without looking Yvie knows she’s tracing the ink right above her hipbone. doodling over the tattoo she loves so much and has memorized the exact shape of.
“Why, daddy, did you like having me like that?” she says breathily, intentionally lowering her voice.
Yvie curses internally, biting down on her tongue as Scarlet’s words make her gut twist. “Did I like my girl being a hopeless cheeky little tease, you mean?” It’s work, to keep her tone level, and Scarlet hums with satisfaction.
“That’s right, daddy,” she coos, clearly proud of herself. “Your cheeky lil tease.”
“Mmm, selling erotic paintings of yourself while plugged and ready for me, hm?” Yvie observes playfully, tucking her chin to lick the second joint before sealing it shut. “Dirty.”
“Just…how…you…like me,” Scarlet murmurs, her fingertips walking down another step with each word, finally landing to brush through the coarse, trimmed dark hair on Yvie’s mound. She turns her head to kiss Yvie’s upper chest, and Yvie sets the second blunt beside the first, hisses as Scarlet’s nails scrape across her pubic bone.
“Scarlet,” she exhales.
“What’s that, daddy?” Scarlet curls her leg farther around Yvie’s, pulling her thighs wider apart in a gesture that Yvie can’t pretend isn’t intentional.
“I just rolled — and the food,” Yvie manages, slightly dizzy as Scarlet’s fingers slip down further.
Scarlet shushes her, dropping another peck on Yvie’s skin, digits brushing over Yvie’s outer lips. “The weed can wait,” she soothes. “And the food is at least forty minutes out, baby. We’ve time, and I wanna touch.”
“Oh,” Yvie sighs, meaning to protest more but struck speechless as Scarlet’s fingertips dip into her slit, and run gently through the pool of wetness gathering there.
Scarlet strokes across her clit, and there’s the rush of familiar insecurity, a distant shadow of what it had been when Scarlet had first touched her like this, but still present. Her frame stiffens slightly as she becomes rapidly aware of her vulnerability, how very easy it would be to get hurt like this, to be treated or touched wrong, how utterly devastating it would feel to be laughed at, to be made a fool of, to be abandoned in this state. How much it might sting to be mocked or teased for how unbelievably weak she is, the light kisses and silky touches that she needs. Scarlet has stopped moving, is pressing sweet kisses to her skin, and as Yvie snaps her eyes shut, they both wait, letting it all wash over her and then melt away, every thought recognizable, every neural pathway traced a million times before.
“Ready?” Scarlet asks softly, lips still laid against Yvie’s chest, and Yvie nods soundlessly, trusting that Scarlet will sense the movement without her having to speak.
With a quiet hum, Scarlet nuzzles against her, starting to rub her in smooth, circular motions, erasing the last of the rigidity and uncertainty from Yvie’s body. Yvie knows, from experience, that she won’t do anything sudden or unexpected, won’t move too fast or hard. She won’t look up or lift her head, won’t force Yvie into eye contact that could reignite the surge of fear, and won’t speak a word that might make Yvie feel ridiculed. She’s learned the ins and outs of Yvie’s body, and of every corner of her apprehension, understands what makes her tense, even if she doesn't understand all the reasons why.
It’s taken time, coming to terms with this fragile and vulnerable side of her, admitting that she has it to begin with, and she’s not all the way there yet by any means. However, Scarlet’s been nothing short of wonderful, patient and caring and careful, sure to never cross any lines but gently nudging Yvie forward nonetheless, and somewhere along the route Yvie’s come to realize that maybe letting go of control every now and again isn’t all that terrifying when she knows she’ll be caught by trustworthy hands. And somehow, without saying it, Scarlet has managed to convince Yvie that the softness and tenderness she requires is nothing to be ashamed of, simply by consistently showing her and treating her exactly like that, no questions asked or comments made.
Scarlet’s face is hidden in Yvie’s neck, and she’s working Yvie’s clit with two of her fingers now, pressing down rhythmically one at a time, and Yvie feels herself melt, like she’s butter in Scarlet’s hands. She can hear the unevenness in her own breathing, can feel how her thighs are already starting to tremble, and Scarlet keeps on steadily, lips pressing to the hollow of Yvie’s throat warmly, spare digits gliding over the softness of her folds, reverently caressing the whole of her core. Yvie doesn’t moan, isn’t far gone enough yet to, keeping the hum of pleasure tucked away in her chest, and she can feel Scarlet’s smile against her skin, in the soft, open-mouthed pecks that she places all over the expanse between Yvie’s chin and her collarbone.
When Scarlet rubs more firmly at her clit, Yvie finally lets out a needy whimper, and Scarlet immediately eases up on the pressure before reapplying it, more decisively this time.
“Shh, baby, lemme take care,” she murmurs softly, her nose nudging at Yvie’s chin, one fingertip slipping down to tease at her entrance. “I know what’s good for you, daddy.”
“Scarlet…” Yvie exhales, and the begging undertones in her voice couldn’t be more obvious even if she had actually pleaded.
Scarlet produces a noise, something between soothing and acknowledging, and drags her fingertip around the edge of Yvie’s opening, unhurriedly, almost torturously. Yvie’s hips buck, and she bites down on her lower lip to suppress desperate winces forming at the back of her throat. Scarlet just swirls her finger another round, and then finally presses in, her pace still as leisurely as ever. Squeezing her eyes shut, Yvie throws her head back and releases a shattering sigh, her clit pulsing and her stomach dropping in anticipation and excitement.
The length of Scarlet’s slender finger strokes delicately at Yvie’s walls, almost like she’s trying to coax out a reaction, and Yvie gives it to her, helplessly, a weak whine leaving her as Scarlet curls just so inside.
“God, you feel so good,” Scarlet whispers, sounding almost choked up, and Yvie rocks into her touch, dragging her pussy against Scarlet’s palm as she does.
Scarlet withdraws, and Yvie barely has time to gasp in protest before she’s pushing in once more, kissing at the underside of Yvie’s jaw, her wrist angled so the pad of her middle finger digs directly into Yvie’s spot, not so sensitive as Scarlet’s own always is but still desperate for contact after being neglected for so long. The moan is on the tip of Yvie’s tongue now, so close to spilling out, and as Scarlet starts to pump the digit in and out, unhurried and curling on every backstroke, Yvie can feel her concentration starting to slip, the warmth twisting in her gut, deep surges of pleasure threatening to overcome her completely.
As Yvie’s need steadily grows stronger, Scarlet’s slow handling quickly becomes too little. It’s how they always do it; Scarlet is a tiny bit too careful, too patient, not to make Yvie beg, but to make sure she’s comfortable and ready for more, and Yvie has learned to ask for it without feeling inadequate.
“Scarlet…” she repeats, her voice thin on lust and wanting.
“Gorgeous,” Scarlet purrs immediately, her lips pressing to the side of Yvie’s neck and her finger slipping out completely.
Lightheaded, Yvie gasps as her pussy is left clenching around a ghost of a sensation and angles her hips up slightly as if to offer herself to the woman glued so tightly to her side. Scarlet smiles audibly, and then her finger is brushing along Yvie’s slit, dragging up wetness and then circling her clit as if to smear slick everywhere. Yvie groans, quietly, and rocks into the contact, the perfect ache in her core dizzying and disarming in the way she’s begun to find addictive.
Scarlet adds another finger, parts them slightly as she starts to rub so that Yvie’s clit is between them and not getting direct stimulation, a desperate tease as always. Her open mouth is placed just above Yvie’s clavicle now, her tongue lapping gently over the skin as she strokes up and down Yvie’s cunt, the contact constant but so far from being enough, her clit throbbing for attention and her hole clenching every time Scarlet brushes past it.
She opens her mouth, about to implore Scarlet for more, but before she can, Scarlet nuzzles closer and halts her teasing, two fingers pressing at Yvie’s entrance instead. She pauses, just for a moment, and then Yvie fumbles for her wrist desperately, tugging it downwards, and Scarlet sinks inside, moving through the slight resistance smoothly until Yvie’s cunt has swallowed up every inch of her digits.
Yvie tightens around them unconsciously, rocking up into the intrusion, her jaw going slack, limbs unknotting at the perfect feeling of Scarlet tapping insistently against her spot.
As Scarlet starts to work her, building up a curling, dipping rhythm, time slips out of Yvie’s grasp, her mind too distracted with sensations to process anything intangible. The weight of Scarlet’s body is grounding and solid, fingers exploring inside Yvie’s cunt as her mouth works gently at her neck, halting her kisses every so often to murmur praise, or to voice her own adoration, calling Yvie lovely and daddy and mine, stumbling over her attempts to express how very hungry she is to touch and just huffing and renewing her efforts between Yvie’s thighs, eliciting a wince from Yvie every time as she suppresses the louder noises begging to escape.
Scarlet gulps in air sharply, and thrusts even deeper, twisting her wrist and rubbing roughly over Yvie’s front wall, and there’s the moan, finally, loud and full, forced out of her chest with the push and pull of Scarlet’s touch.
“Oh there you go, baby,” Scarlet sighs thickly, her fingers swirling in Yvie’s heat. “God, I love having you like this so much, so much.”
Yvie’s throat is suddenly tight, and she clings to Scarlet’s words with the last of her brainpower, grasping at the idea of being Scarlet’s baby, being deserving of the emotion written into her tone, being loved by her.
Suddenly overwhelmed by a surge of feelings that has nothing to do with the pleasure consuming her and that has everything to do with the woman beside her, Yvie thinks she might explode if she doesn’t move to let all of it out. She wraps the arm that is already around Scarlet tighter and reaches to plant her other hand on her waist, and then, pushing herself off the bed with her abs, she whips the two of them over without thinking further into it.
As the impact forces Scarlet to, rather gracefully, flip around and lay down on her back, she lets out a startled hiccup, but her fingers never lose their intricate concentration against Yvie’s walls, still buried as deep inside as is humanly possible. Yvie’s body follows Scarlet’s closely, almost like they’re magnetic and can’t really break apart without actual effort, and she rolls on top of her, catching herself with her forearm before she collapses on top of and crushes the woman below her.
Scarlet’s eyes widen for just a second, and then she’s hooking her fingers inside, nudging her wrist to fuck up into Yvie, and simultaneously tucking her face against Yvie’s chest, licking reassuring, adoring whispers into the skin right there, between Yvie’s tits. The cautiousness with which she respects Yvie’s blurred boundaries, how she makes sure to not initiate eye contact and to let Yvie know there’s no pressure, no expectations even when Yvie shifts their position causes Yvie’s skin to itch and crawl, and so does the way Scarlet handles her, just like all Yvie’s possessions and belongings, far more carefully than the rest of the world around her, including Scarlet herself and her own stuff, and Yvie loves her for every bit of it. There’s faint beginnings of the desire to put her walls right back up, close off again rising somewhere in the back of Yvie’s mind, but just as she almost panics, Scarlet murmurs So fucking perfect and repeatedly taps her fingertips against Yvie’s spot, and everything else evaporates, ceases to matter.
Throwing one leg over Scarlet’s to provide her with better access to her pussy, Yvie gently rubs the side of her foot against Scarlet’s ankle and pushes herself higher up on her arms. She watches as Scarlet’s lids flutter shut and her chin lowers, and rotates her hips to get more of whatever Scarlet is willing to give. Scarlet’s response is instantaneous, fingers slipping out to the first knuckle, parting teasingly at the entrance, and then being worked right back in, with an additional third one this time, and Yvie moans hoarsely, enjoying the stretch and the new wave of pressure on her rim.
“Babe,” she chokes out, her throat too tight for the thickness of her voice, the sharp edges of her labored inhales leaving the flesh raw and irritated. “Fuck, babe, fuck — Scarlet.”
There’s a tint of undeniable urgency in Yvie’s tone, and Scarlet’s mouth opens slightly, tongue peeking out to run over her upper lip, and then she sighs, only barely, her wrist straining, her fingertips merciless against Yvie’s spot now, her hips aspiring off the bed, as if she needs to be nearer, needs to close the distance between their bodies.
“Babe, baby, fuck,” Yvie rasps. “Come — come on, look at me.”
Scarlet’s clever fingers falter for just a second, their finesse momentarily gone, and then she stills completely. Yvie looks down at her, a little frozen herself, unsure of what she’s doing, hoping to achieve here. Scarlet wets her lips again and then blinks, cracks her eyes open and stays staring at Yvie’s chest right in front of her, still immobilized.
“Please,” Yvie utters. “Starlet.”
With an unhurried exhale, Scarlet slowly flicks her eyes up, finally meeting Yvie’s. Yvie stares back, studies the makeup that has smudged and run with tears and sweat, how Scarlet’s lashes are sticking together just the tiniest bit. She notices how blown Scarlet’s pupils are, almost wide enough to cover the icy blue of the irises, still so very affected. She searches for emotions, wishing she would maybe be able to read some of them, and finds surprise and affection and desire and love, so much love, and she knows that she needs to say it more than she’ll ever be terrified of it.
“I love you,” she rushes out, not because she’s doing it before she can think the better of it, but because it’s long overdue, probably.
There’s a gentle gasp, Scarlet’s mouth opening as if to catch the the words tumbling from between Yvie’s teeth, her cheeks flushing darker and her chest rising beautifully, gaze flickering around Yvie’s face as if she’s seeking something. Yvie’s lower lip trembles, a betrayal of the flood of feeling that threatens to sweep her away, and Scarlet softens immediately, her features sweetening like melting honey, spare hand wandering up Yvie’s side to cup her jaw, thumb brushing warmly over her cheek.
“Baby,” she says, and her voice is shaky even as her eyes smile, and Yvie watches as they glisten, filled with unshed tears that she wants to kiss away before they have a chance to spill. “Oh, my baby… I love you, too.” All the air rushes into Yvie’s lungs at once, her ribs expanding as if they’ve been collapsed, tight and caved in for so long that the feeling of being whole inside is a stretch, a tug on her heart that makes her want to arch and sob and never let go of the woman below her again. Scarlet grips her face, urgently, and Yvie lets out a helpless whimper and starts to lean nearer as she finds her place again, in the reassurance and adoration clearly etched into every one of Scarlet’s features.
“God, I love you,” Scarlet repeats gruffly, her hand moving to hold the back of Yvie’s neck, starting to tug her downwards, continuing to exhale the words as she does, until they’re close enough that Yvie can feel her speak them just as much as she hears them. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love —”
Yvie swallows the rest of her litany, Scarlet’s jaw going slack and her lips parting easily, a whine leaving her as Yvie’s tongue drags across hers. The kiss is deep and messy, like they mean it, and Yvie knows that she’s crying, can feel the tears on her cheeks, and Scarlet is letting out gorgeous, whimpering purrs, and just when Yvie thinks that she’ll dissolve into wanting, loving, needing, Scarlet’s fingers flex inside her, and she moans, swearing she can see stars behind her eyelids as pleasure surges all the way down to her toes.
Rutting her hips downwards, Yvie drops back onto her elbows, requiring Scarlet closer, and Scarlet’s fingertips curl into her spot, starting to move again in earnest, stroking inside rapidly. It’s too much and not enough, and Yvie can’t muster the ability to kiss her like she deserves, her movements clumsy, and Scarlet digs her blunt nails into Yvie’s skin, tilts her chin up to take charge, pressing her lips repeatedly to every inch of Yvie’s mouth.
Yvie’s shallow breaths start teetering on the border of desperate, her lust and eagerness becoming overbearing, and it’s as if Scarlet knows, just like always. Her fingers still moving inside, she drives her thumb between Yvie’s lips, drags the flat of her nail up the slit, and then unhooks the digit to press the pad against the clit. The contact causes Yvie to shudder, chills running down her spine, and she grinds against Scarlet’s hand, hungry for more.
Making a small, soothing noise, Scarlet kisses Yvie’s upper lip and then sucks it into her mouth, keeping the flat of her thumb laid against Yvie’s clit as she rubs desperately into the touch. Scarlet’s fucking Yvie’s cunt smoothly now, quicker than before, spreading and twisting her fingers and driving them expertly right where they’re most needed, never too rough but giving exactly enough to make Yvie drip into her palm, so hopelessly that she knows Scarlet’s thigh beneath her will likely be slippery by the time they’re done. The thought drives her wild, and she can’t help imagining crawling down to lap it up, lave her skin with broad strokes of her tongue, leave it shiny with her saliva rather than her slick. Scarlet nips lightly at her lip before releasing it, and Yvie groans, her pussy clenching tighter around Scarlet’s digits, hips bucking unconsciously in response.
“Fuck,” Yvie grunts, her thighs trembling and tensing with every brush of Scarlet’s thumb over her clit. “Oh, fuck — close, I’m —”
She doesn’t manage to finish the sentence, Scarlet whimpering and capturing her mouth again in a messy kiss before she can, fingers plunging as deep in as possible and working single-mindedly to make Yvie’s eyes roll back in her head.
“Baby, baby, Yvie, I’ve got you,” Scarlet murmurs breathlessly against her lips, holding onto the back of her neck so tightly. “I’ve — I’ve got you, my love.”
She’s hitting Yvie’s spot hastily now, just fast and unrhythmic to help Yvie tip over, and her thumb is pressing hard against Yvie’s clit, stroking messily. Their movements don’t really match, collide more than anything, but it’s all the more overwhelming, their clashing tempos providing almost continuous stimulation as they chase Yvie’s relief. There’s not enough concentration for kissing any longer, just despaired panting into each other’s mouths, and Yvie rests her forehead against Scarlet’s, cradling her girlfriend’s face between her hands gently, her own thumbs brushing over her cheekbones.
This time, as Yvie’s climax builds up, the locking of her sore and tired muscles aches indescribably, and she can’t help the wincing moans that she lets out, Scarlet whispering and sighing words that she can’t make out in her current state, her fingers moving faster and faster even as Yvie tightens and flutters around them. Desire is caught in her throat, raw and full and alive, and as the pressure reaches its peak, she scrunches her face up helplessly, vertigo hitting her in full force as she collapses into her orgasm.
There’s a couple drawn out moments of everything just tensing and clenching — her pussy, her thighs, her lower back and stomach, all of it knotting deliciously and then coming undone as she releases. She cries out, toes curling and hips still rocking impulsively, and Scarlet stops thrusting her wrist, Yvie’s convulsing cunt most likely trapping and crushing her fingers. She lifts her chin once more, capturing Yvie’s lips with her own, their noses bumping together lightly as she does, and coaxes the rest of Yvie’s mewls out of her with her tongue.
Every aftershock shooting through Yvie hurts, in a pleasant way, and she feels her pussy leak more slick onto Scarlet’s palm, knows she’s made a mess and can’t muster the energy to care. Scarlet just keeps pecking her plump, swollen lips, lazily now, like there’s no rush anymore, and really, there isn’t. Carefully, she makes a move to pull her fingers out of Yvie, and Yvie feels her whole core twitch and pulse, gripping Scarlet harder, her body seemingly not ready for the ensuing emptiness just yet.
“Fuck!” she huffs. “Aw, fuck, I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” Scarlet murmurs immediately. “I’ve got you, Yvie.”
Yvie sighs and nods, and then slowly wills her muscles to relax, imagining that every breath she draws loosens the tightness just a little bit more. Scarlet stays put, always cautious to not hurt Yvie or cause her discomfort, aware that her vulnerability extends to the moments after her orgasm, too, and handling her with the care she needs and hasn’t had to ask for. Eventually, Yvie gives her a little encouraging noise, and she removes her fingers, slowly and tenderly.
The digits slip out with a wet noise, gliding over Yvie’s pussy, and the momentary open softness left inside her in Scarlet’s absence is dizzying as ever, spilled wine and crushed velvet between her legs. Scarlet brushes past her clit, and her body reacts violently, abs flexing, cunt clenching hard around nothing with a dull red ache. She exhales a curse, and Scarlet shushes her, leans up to kiss her softly, stroking her fingertips lovingly through the coarse, damp hair surrounding Yvie’s folds.
By the time they part, Yvie’s muscles have turned soft and weak, trembling painfully with the effort of holding herself up, and she pecks Scarlet’s lips sweetly once more and rolls off of her before her arms can give out.
She falls onto the bed with a puff and stares up at the ceiling, too worn out and listless to even move her limbs, let alone turn to face Scarlet. Her skin is way too overheated, a sheer layer of sweat still sticky and not cooling down, and prickling, too sensitive for her to seek contact with Scarlet just yet. Scarlet knows that, mirrors Yvie’s position beside her and only initiates as much as she’s aware Yvie can take, placing her palm against Yvie’s forearm and then sliding it down to join their hands, her smaller one complimenting Yvie’s flawlessly.
Yvie empties her lungs in one big exhale, and then greedily takes a huge gulp of air, the action sending a lonely shiver through her body. She threads her fingers through her curls, pushing them out of her face and fruitlessly fights off a yawn. Next to her, she can hear Scarlet yawning too, and for some reason it makes her giggle dumbly. Scarlet follows suit just a heartbeat later, and then it’s just them chuckling at nothing in particular for a while.
After their laughter dies down, everything gets tranquil, all the thrill gone from the air, replaced by the heavy smell of fucking. Yvie’s head stops spinning, her body gradually starting to feel like hers again, and then she’s shuffling through her memories, slowly puzzling out what happened while she was swept up in emotions and sensations, every single one of her senses too full of Scarlet for anything else.
The panic is instant, but the reason for it isn’t immediately clear, and Yvie has to search for it, relatively sure her confidence in her feelings was never fleeting. When it dawns on her, her sweat rapidly turns cold. She shuts her eyes and tries not to swear out loud, fear taking up what feels like a permanent residency in the pit of her stomach now, burning acid that corrodes her insides.
“Scarlet?” she calls feebly.
There’s a squeeze of Yvie’s hand, and an index finger stroking the side of Yvie’s. “Yeah, baby?”
“I —” Yvie begins, but the words get stuck in her throat and she has to clear it before attempting again, speaking at the ceiling rather than at Scarlet. “I, um. The thing I said… You know, the thing.” She doesn’t stop to let Scarlet reply, trusting that she’s onboard. “I — I know it kinda, the timing, but like. Um, it wasn’t like a sex haze thing or, you know. I, yeah, I meant the thing, and I know you said it back, but if you didn’t mean it like that, that’s okay and I’ll —”
“Yvie,” Scarlet cuts her off.
“What?”
Instead of answering, Scarlet rolls on top of Yvie elegantly and easily, and Yvie automatically opens her legs to accommodate her and bends her knees to cage her. Scarlet crosses her fingers on Yvie’s chest and puts her chin on them, blinking up at Yvie. Biting her lip, Yvie moves her arm behind her head to allow herself a more comfortable angle to look back at Scarlet, her heart pounding in her windpipe.
“Yvangeline Rebecca Bridges,” Scarlet says seriously, and Yvie snorts at the contortion of her name despite herself. “I’ve meant everything I’ve ever said to you, except that one time I got mad at you and said your strap-on game isn’t that strong. I didn’t mean that. But everything else I have, and I meant it when I said I love you. I love you, Yves. I love you. I’m in love with you.”
Yvie has the urge to laugh, but the noise is stuck in her throat, right where her pulse is, and she feels her eyes filling again, internally curses her post-coital vulnerability and blinks rapidly, trying to wrap her head around this new reality, trying to wrap her heart around the idea of being loved and being in love.
“I’m in love with you, too,” she murmurs, and she means it more than she’s ever meant anything else in her life, hopes that the conviction is evident in her tone, in the tilt of her lips and in the crease between her brows.
Scarlet stares at her earnestly, trustingly, for a moment, and then breaks into a grin, that arrestingly lovely smile spreading across her face. Yvie lifts her free hand to stroke her knuckles affectionately across Scarlet’s cheek, and then across her mouth, and Scarlet puckers her lips as she does, pecking Yvie’s fingers.
“Okie, daddy,” she chirps, wriggling up Yvie’s body and reaching for her cheek, holding her still as she captures her lips in a languid kiss.
When they separate, Scarlet cranes her neck to kiss the tip of Yvie’s nose quickly, and Yvie grins lackadaisically in response. Scarlet smiles back innocently and drops another peck on Yvie’s lips before settling back lower on Yvie’s chest. Yvie sighs, content and peaceful, and outstretches her arm to trace her fingers up and down Scarlet’s spine.
“You wanna smoke, babe?” she asks.
“Uh-huh,” Scarlet hums and readjusts her position to make herself more comfortable, clearly set on staying on top of Yvie.
Yvie doesn’t really mind. She reluctantly lets go of her girlfriend and reaches to grab the ashtray and one of her cheap lighters she’s got lying around from the nightstand. Putting them on the sheets next to them, she lifts the joints and tucks one of them behind her ear to wait while she places Scarlet’s between her pursed lips and lights it up.
Scarlet leans a little closer as Yvie holds the lighter up, and Yvie has to flick it a couple times and give it a little shake before she gets the flame. Scarlet immediately sucks, her cheeks hollowing temptingly, and Yvie stares at her for a while, studies the concentrated furrowing of her brow and how it smoothens, the way she closes her eyes as the smoke fills her lungs, and how it almost looks like a halo when she finally releases it in a thin cloud.
As Scarlet takes another drag, she opens her eyes and wiggles her eyebrows at Yvie, and Yvie wants to laugh, but doesn’t, snatches her own joint instead and surges forward slightly with it securely between her lips. Scarlet doesn’t take long to realize what it is Yvie’s after, and she steadies her blunt between her fingers, letting Yvie ignite using her cherry. Her first inhale is heady and warm, and she settles back against the pillow again, feeling relaxation spread through her frame.
“Soooooo,” Scarlet coos. “That was some fantastic sex, daddy.”
“Mmm,” Yvie hums, grinning around the blunt. “You’re some fantastic sex,” she replies dumbly, amused at her own idiocy.
“Silly,” Scarlet snorts, swatting at Yvie’s arm playfully. “God, I came so hard I think my soul left my body. I don’t even remember what I said after.”
Yvie continues laughing as she remembers, shaking her head and sucking on her joint.
“Wait, did I come twice?” Scarlet lifts her head, and Yvie tucks her chin to look into her wide eyes, nodding. “Oh.” Her pouty mouth curls in a pleased smile. “Daddy fucked me good, huh?”
Yvie nods again, smirking lazily, and Scarlet kisses beneath her collarbone affectionately before putting her blunt back between her lips.
“We both came twice, then,” Scarlet observes along with her exhale of smoke, snuggling her cheek into Yvie’s chest. “I knew getting you that harness was a fantastic idea.”
“I came thrice, actually,” Yvie corrects after a moment, still all too aware of her cunt and the ache there.
Giggling, Scarlet digs her chin playfully into Yvie’s skin. “I thought thrice wasn’t a word?” she announces, her tone lightly mocking.
“Shut up,” Yvie replies harmlessly, with a low chuckle. “I already admitted I was wrong.”
Scarlet just grins, cuddling closer as she continues smoking slowly, making satisfied, quiet little noises as she settles and softens against Yvie’s chest. Yvie’s cheeks hurt from smiling, and for a short while, she doesn’t say a word, doesn’t try to make conversation, doesn’t comment on how much she loves being with Scarlet like this, just enjoying the way her brain slows slightly from the weed and the contact and the weight of her girlfriend’s body so close.
“You’re gonna fall asleep if you get all comfy like that,” she finally mumbles, after Scarlet reaches to put out her unfinished blunt in the ashtray and repositions herself a little, slipping one of her legs between Yvie’s with a sigh.
“No ‘m not,” Scarlet insists adorably, and Yvie can feel her lips moving against her skin, hums in a noncommittal manner and doesn’t argue.
Scarlet will, of course, fall asleep, only some short minutes after she claims otherwise, no less, and Yvie will roll her eyes fondly, her lungs suddenly too full, and not with the smoke she’s holding in. She’ll shift just the tiniest bit, to provide Scarlet with a more comfortable surface to lie on, and finish her blunt to the soft sound of Scarlet snoring, and then she’ll reach for Scarlet’s phone disposed somewhere among the sheets to keep an eye on the progress of their food order.
She’ll have to gently nudge Scarlet awake some ten minutes later to go receive the delivery, and Scarlet will whine and make meek grabby hands in Yvie’s general direction while Yvie will throw on the first shirt she manages to find and promise that I’ll be right back, baby. When she returns to the room with the bag full of containers, Scarlet will be sitting on the bed, cross-legged, her hair a mess, blinking at Yvie in sleepy befuddlement, and Yvie will swear her heart expands two sizes in her chest.
When they finally lay down again, the plastic bag discarded on the floor to take care of later, Yvie will pull Scarlet close to her chest like the precious thing that she is, place gentle kisses on the side of her neck as the smaller woman drifts off to sleep. She’ll tug the covers over them, close her eyes with the scent of Scarlet filling her senses, and think almost absentmindedly about how she could do this every night, for the rest of their lives, how she wants nothing more than to do just that, and right before she falls into unconsciousness, she’ll realize that the idea doesn’t scare her, or make her want to run, and perhaps, she’ll whisper I love you in Scarlet’s ear, one more time.
And in the morning, she’ll wake up with the woman she loves still cuddled close, and she’ll think that maybe, just maybe, she’ll get to do that every day.
But for now, she’ll only wait, let herself bask in success and in the gentle warmth curling in her tummy, stroke Scarlet’s back and finish her joint with the love of her life dozing off on top of her, reveling in the feeling of life pulsing through her veins and how she lusts for it, in the feeling that there’s a future waiting for her, one that she can’t wait to explore with Scarlet by her side, and for a while, she’s completely, simply happy.