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In retrospect, it was all probably a bad idea.
Although, that’s almost a given at this point. One bad thought into another, one danger into the next. Ava hopes that somehow the universe will find it in itself to grant her some grace and, mercifully, let this one slide. Just once, she’d like to not be smacked in the face by her own stupidity.
Or at least, you know, given the chance to dodge it.
Speaking of dodging, she’s done a lot of it in the past few weeks. She figures it’s in the job description, on account of being the Warrior Nun and all. Dodging, punching, kicking, the whole nine yards. There’s even a gigantic, Lincoln-shaped bruise on her ass to prove it.
Not the point.
The point is that Ava has become pretty awesome lately, and she considers herself to be sort of a catch. She’s pretty (minus the presidential bruise), a top tier fighter (except for when Lilith and Mary decide to gang up on her, which, rude), and the freaking Warrior Nun. That should count for something, right?
So why, given all of her stellar qualities, does Beatrice refuse to give her the time of day?
It isn’t as if Ava hasn’t tried to be friendly, because she has. Extensively. She’s tried to smile and strike up a conversation with the other woman multiple times, only to be met with a brief response or a short nod of acknowledgment, always followed by a hasty goodbye. It would be different, maybe, if Beatrice waited around long enough for Ava to say something idiotic before fleeing, but she’s barely even given her the opportunity to open her mouth.
That means that it’s something besides the base level stupidity that’s propelling Beatrice away from her, something deeper. If she’s honest, it kind of hurts her feelings. The others might have not offered her the warmest greeting, but at least they had given her a glance or two.
Beatrice is giving her nothing. Zero. She swears that she’s seen more of that woman’s back than she has her face. And, god, can she even really complain about that? Beatrice looks as if she’s spent everyday of her life training, and she damn well might have. Ava herself may not know Beatrice well, but her eyes have already mapped the strong set of her shoulders, the pattern of muscle down her back, and that little freckle that sits just above the dip in her waist.
Sure, she should probably be putting her eyes to better or more important use, but she’s young. She thinks she’s owed a little leeway, all things considered. Besides, she still spends the majority of her day focused on training, so it’s not as if she’s completely slacking off. She always makes sure to stop thinking about Beatrice before it goes too far, like into what those muscles might feel like under her hands, straining beneath her fingertips.
She barely gives it thought.
Barely.
In fact, the entire thing would most likely blow over if she waited it out. She’s no stranger to waiting. She could manage. Though, the real problem isn’t waiting, it’s that split second where she catches Beatrice’s eye, and a string between them pulls taut, tugging deep in the pit of her stomach. Jesus, she’s only nineteen, she could be jumping from party to party or throwing back beer with college kids right now, but instead she’s nursing a crush on someone who looks like they’d rather stab themselves than let their hair down. It’s pathetic and hopeless and not at all worth passing up—not when something as simple as a glance makes her feel alive.
So. A plan is hatched.
Step one: find some way to corner Beatrice and ask her to teach her how to be a badass.
Step two: stand there and… hope she says yes.
It takes a few days, but eventually she catches Beatrice alone on the mats one afternoon after everyone else has cleared out to prepare for dinner. Beatrice doesn’t hear her approach, focused on doing something complicated-looking with a staff.
”Hi.” Ava taps her on the shoulder.
Only for the staff to come at her with full force, the swing stopping just short of her cheek. Beatrice has the courtesy to look guilty, if a little bashful, but all Ava does is whisper an awed woah.
”Cool.” She reaches out, touching her finger to a sharpened edge. “Did you do this yourself? Nice handiwork.”
Beatrice lowers the weapon, peering behind Ava semi-subtly, maybe wishing for someone else to appear.
Ava makes the executive decision to just keep on talking. “You should show me how to use it.”
”This?” Beatrice’s expression shifts to one of very mild amusement, which would be perfect, if that amusement wasn’t being directed at her. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
Ava scoffs.
Okay, she gets it, she’s not the perfect candidate for a Warrior Nun, on account of the fact that she’s neither 1) a nun and 2) a warrior, but she’s still capable. She can handle herself.
”What? Come on, I’ve got this.” Ava plucks the staff out of Beatrice’s hands, walking backwards as she twirls it. It’s not that hard. Not really. No one’s going to lose an eye, at least. “I’ve got to become a badass somehow.”
She can feel Beatrice’s eyes following her, maybe not for the reasons she wants, but doing it nonetheless. She’ll just have to start flinging dangerous objects around more often, then.
”Ava.” Beatrice sighs, watching Ava twirl circles around her. “Give it here.”
”No.” Ava shakes her head. “I think I’m really getting the hang of it.”
(She’s not.)
Beatrice huffs, a small, exasperated sound, nothing like the annoyed little bursts of air that come out of Mary’s mouth whenever Ava goofs off too much. She makes no move to steal the staff back either, despite the fact that they both know she could at any point.
So, Ava continues, enjoying the attention. The only issue with spinning a pointy stick around is that it takes all of her concentration, which means she can’t check the look on Beatrice’s face to see if it’s charmed or not. Is this how you flirt with girls? By wooing them with your weaponry skills and general badass-ery? That’s certainly how Beatrice had won her over.
“Okay, that’s enough.” Viper-quick, Beatrice whips the staff out of her hands. One second it’s there, the next it’s not. She’s so goddamn cool. “I refuse to be responsible for your injuries.”
”That makes one of you.” Ava remarks. She rests her hands on her hips while Beatrice moves to put the staff away. “The others have no problem letting me endanger myself.”
Beatrice says nothing for a second, then for too many seconds, and suddenly it seems as if she may let their conversation die right there.
Panic lurches up Ava’s throat at that thought. “Why don’t you endanger me more?”
(Not the only thing to lurch up her throat. Stupid word vomit.)
Beatrice looks at her, perplexed. “What?”
”I just mean…” Ava searches for a way to say this without sounding needy. “You don’t train me as much as the others. Or, like, at all.”
Beatrice stiffens, almost imperceptibly.
Ava continues, already guessing Beatrice won’t fill in the gap. “Seems odd. You’re the most badass one here.”
”That’s…” Beatrice’s mouth ticks. “That’s very kind, but I’m sure Mary and Lilith are proficient teachers.”
”Yeah, but I’ve seen you do all the—“ She mimes kicking and punching in the air, causing Beatrice’s eyes to widen slightly. “—stuff.”
Beatrice raises her brows. “I’ve seen their fighting. It’s more than efficient.”
”Yeah, but—“
”Ava.” Another sigh.
“I want you.” Ava blurts without thinking, her mouth straying far from her brain. The look Beatrice gives her causes her body to swell with heat. It’s almost too much, not just to be looked at but to be seen. “As a teacher. Mentor. I want you as a mentor.”
Beatrice doesn’t respond for what is possibly the longest moment of Ava’s life, but Ava’s a patient woman, and she’s also got killer puppy dog eyes.
”Fine.” Beatrice says finally. Relief floods Ava for only a second before she realizes Beatrice is speaking again. “But we begin at five, sharp.”
In the blink of an eye, Beatrice is gone, moving on stealthy, near-silent feet.
Ava grins, big and wide and too pleased for her own good.
Then, she frowns.
”Wait. Beatrice?” She calls, to no avail. “You meant five in the afternoon, right?”
As it turns out, Beatrice did not mean five in the afternoon. They’re up before the sun, running laps (which Ava doesn’t entirely mind, enjoying the use of her legs), doing push-ups and sit-ups (which is decidedly less enjoyable), and balance work (which takes the cake for worst exercise in the world).
It’s boring and useless.
”I thought you were going to teach me how to use weapons.” Ava complains from her position up on a tree stub, one leg lifted high. “This ranks a very small step above yoga.”
”Balance is your center. Your power flows from your center. Therefore, without balance you have no power.”
Beatrice stands a few feet away from her, arms crossed, looking unfairly good for someone who clearly doesn’t follow a reasonable sleep schedule. She’s barely broken a sweat, only a few drops sticking to her collarbone.
”I thought my power came from the halo.” Ava argues. She has serious regrets about asking for this… and about letting herself crush on someone who unironically starts sentences with ‘therefore’.
”If your only power comes from the halo,” Beatrice replies, stepping close enough that Ava catches the glint of muscle in her forearms. “Then you are unworthy of possessing it.”
Ava swallows, jaw tightening. She’s heard those same words maybe a hundred times now, but somehow it stings more coming from Beatrice.
She pulls her muscles taut, straightening her posture. She’s capable. She can do this. All of it.
”Good, Ava.” Beatrice praises, her soft voice caressing Ava’s ears. Her hand follows suit, resting lightly on the small of Ava’s back. “Remember, deep breaths.”
Her finger taps a short, rhythmic movement along Ava’s spine, reminding her to inhale and exhale. Ava does one of those things successfully, sucking in a breath that goes up too sharp and too quick, like a punch to the back of her throat. She chokes, coughs, thinks she’s got a handle on it for a split second, and then promptly falls to the ground.
This, she decides on the way down, is the exact opposite of being capable.
Distantly, she registers approaching footsteps, but she doesn’t move, deciding to simmer in her own embarrassment until it kills her.
”Ava?”
Slowly, Ava finds the courage to crack open both of her eyes, finding Beatrice standing over her. A second ago, Beatrice had been half-smiling at her, but now her features are arranged into what looks mortifyingly like pity. She leans down and tilts her head to the side, holding her chin just so the rising sunlight burns around her silhouette.
Ava swallows. Her mouth suddenly feels very, very dry.
”Are you okay?” Beatrice asks. She holds out her hand, which Ava takes numbly, moving on autopilot. “That was quite a fall.”
Ava clears her throat and fumbles helplessly with Beatrice’s fingers, distracted by the feel of them.
(She’s so screwed.)
She can see now that the expression on Beatrice’s face wasn’t one of pity, but of genuine concern. There’s something about that unflinching kindness that makes her want to lean into it, to never let go.
“Ah, yeah.” Ava coughs, feeling undeniably lame. “Are we surprised I’m a klutz?”
”Surprise wasn’t my main reaction.”
It takes Ava a second to catch up, but: “Hey, that was an insult. You’re insulting me.”
Beatrice just smiles, a soft, tentative thing that Ava wants to nurse into full force, like a damp fire. “Perhaps.”
”Perhaps.” Ava whispers to herself as Beatrice finally backs away from her. Her insides feel fuzzy. She lets the word sit in her mind, sizing it up until Beatrice distracts her with the next instruction.
It’s only later, as she lies in bed and stares holes into the blank, white ceiling the nuns provided for her, that she dissects the conversation enough to see it for what it really was: flirting.
In the following days, Ava begins to convince herself that she doesn’t actually know what flirting looks like. Sure, she’s had a bit of experience, but not so much with girls. It seems so different, so foreign, and so impossible to navigate.
For instance, just yesterday there was the Thorn Incident, in which Ava bribed Beatrice into carrying her home after she was viciously attacked by a rose bush. Besides the eye rolling, Beatrice was a saint about it, acting almost too kind, allowing Ava to cling to her neck for the duration of the walk. The entire memory feels caked in intimacy, but she knows this isn’t uncommon—she’s seen girls hold hands with their friends, give them piggyback rides, even kiss them on the cheek. So why would this be any different?
It makes her want to tear her hair out. It makes her want to scream. It makes her want to give up on the idea altogether.
She comes close a couple of times—to doing the right, sensible thing and dropping it—but then there are these moments.
Little ones, at first. Shared smiles, fleeting glances, a foot bumping hers beneath the table, a shoulder to nudge as they walk. Beatrice looks at her longer, stays longer, waits around after training to chat idly with her, where she would normally flee. A sort of familiarity unfolds between them with all the ease of breathing, simpler than anything Ava has ever felt in her life. Well. It would be, if not for the deep seeds of want that nestle their way into every interaction, coiled and waiting to bloom.
She comes to know this feeling the same way she knows the halo in her back, as a part of her. Irremovable.
In short, she’s in deep shit.
The training is going well, though, all things considered. There’s a lot less glaring involved now that Beatrice has started mentoring her, and a hell of a lot more cardio, but it’s good. It leaves her sluggish and spent at the end of the day, lacking the energy to do much more than drag herself to bed. Exhaustion is the only thing keeping her from doing something vaguely sacrilegious, like touching herself in a house full of nuns. She’s pretty sure that would break some sort of rule.
There’s a big chance that her feelings are not only unrequited, but ruining the integrity of the whole house.
”Ava?” Beatrice nudges her. “Are you listening?”
Their latest outing is into the woods behind the property, far enough out that no random passersby will stumble upon Ava teleporting through a tree.
Beatrice looks uncharacteristically casual in her outfit of choice, a black pair pants and a matching, tattered sweater that bunches up in massive rolls around her elbows. Her hair is still pulled into that same tight, pristine bun, but the little flyaway hairs at the back of her neck are exposed now, curling delicately against her nape.
No, Ava is not listening at all.
”Sorry.” Ava offers an apologetic smile. She means it. “Say it again?”
Beatrice, for her part, doesn’t seem all that mad at her. “Pay attention. It’s important.”
”Yes, ma’am.” Ava gives her a thumbs up.
Beatrice stares at her for an extended second, lips tilted in such a way that it could be fondness or simple exasperation painting her expression, but Ava thinks maybe it’s both. She doesn’t get the chance to find out, however, as they’re back on the move almost as soon as they stopped. Her footsteps, next to Beatrice’s ever quiet ones, sound like thunder against the forest floor.
”Can you teach me that?” Ava asks.
”Teach you what?” Beatrice glances back at her, confused, and Ava worries she’s missed another essential part of their conversation, but in fact, Beatrice hadn’t said much of anything at all.
“How to walk like that.” She points at their feet. “All stealthy.”
”Maybe someday.” After a moment of puppy dog eyes, Beatrice relents. “Maybe tomorrow. But only for a short time, as it’s not a priority of our training.”
”Being stealthy isn’t part of my training? Doesn’t the Warrior Nun need to, you know, sneak up on people before she kicks ass?”
”I’d rather focus on other forms of transportation for you.”
Oh. Ava can do that! She gears herself up, steeling her muscles as she targets a nearby tree and runs straight for it. There’s the sticky feeling of its matter pulling at her skin, like molasses, and then a popping sensation as she emerges on the other side, unharmed.
”Ta-da.” Ava announces smugly, beaming with pride. She’s good at that part.
Beatrice indulges her, just a bit. “Very good, Ava, but you’ll need to learn to pass through wider objects eventually.”
Somewhere inside of Beatrice’s head, there are gears churning to do the math on that. Ava can just see them.
”Come on.” Ava steps closer, still grinning, holding her fist out for Beatrice to bump. She shakes it, even as Beatrice stares at her incredulously. “That was pretty cool, you can admit it.”
Beatrice doesn’t admit it, but she does eventually knock their fists together, somewhat awkwardly.
When her arm lifts, it’s slower than usual, moving in a way that Ava first takes for reluctance, but then realizes is discomfort. She’s holding it differently, letting it dangle limply instead of keeping it ramrod straight.
”Are you good?” Ava takes the two remaining steps necessary to close the distance between them, prodding incessantly (but gently, so gently) at Beatrice’s shoulder. “You look hurt.”
”I’m fine.” Beatrice says, and Ava snorts, because she knows what the voice of a liar sounds like.
”You’re not.”
”It’s just an ache. Happens to the best of us.”
”Let me see.” Ava continues, despite her protests. She gets the sense that Beatrice is the ‘suck it up and shut up’ type, which is not going to fly. “I’ll work out that kink for you.”
Beatrice blinks at her. “You have masseuse training?”
”What? No, dude.” She makes a spinning motion with her finger. “Turn around.”
Hesitantly, Beatrice complies, turning so her back is facing Ava. The sliver of skin exposed by her collar is discolored slightly, yellow-green with the traces of a fading bruise. Ava takes great care to avoid it, instead digging her palms into the planes of Beatrice’s upper back until Beatrice releases a sharp, startled breath.
”There?” Ava asks, although she doesn’t need to, already feeling the stiffened muscle. Her thumb rubs slow, deliberate circles into the spot, loosening it up as best she can. She hasn’t given many massages before, but she understands the basic premise. She thinks she’s good at it, actually, but she can’t be sure. Beatrice’s body runs in confusing intervals, going slack every few seconds, only to snap back into place, as if by command.
(She’s pretty sure Beatrice is holding her breath, keeping herself composed, for some reason.)
She doesn’t realize that her massage has transitioned from legitimate to straight-up petting until there’s a soft strand tickling her finger. Beatrice doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even seem to mind, so Ava continues, tracing the span of dewy skin on her nape. She goes from collar to crown, careful not to disturb the bruise waiting beneath her sweater.
It’s not the only color there, she notices. There’s a flush of red that’s working its way up the back of Beatrice’s neck and to the tips of her ears.
Finally, Beatrice exhales, a warm rumble of a sound. Ava wants to bottle it, but she can’t. Her brain lags, caught on the heaviness of the noise. She thinks Beatrice might say something, suggest getting a move on or tell her to stop, but instead Beatrice leans into it, letting Ava take the weight of her.
Only to pull away a moment later.
”We should go.” Beatrice steps away, words clipped. The distance between them suddenly seems gigantic. “And split up. I want to see if you memorized those paths I showed you.”
”Uh, yeah.” Ava responds slowly, her tongue feeling too large for her mouth. “Okay.”
Ava does remember the paths (she had spent all of last night memorizing them, wanting to impress Beatrice). Sort of. They’re there in her memory, she knows, but in this very moment they hide behind a thick fog, out of reach. She decides to head left and hope for the best.
She walks for what feels like a very long time, but could also be a very short time. Her body seems to have disconnected from her head at some point, walking mindlessly while she floats above, watching herself. She wonders if this is what she looks like to the sky, lost and confused and needy, desperate to link up again with her pair. Maybe the sky is actually laughing at her, along with the universe, cracking jokes about how she doesn’t really have a pair after all. Stupid universe, and stupid, pretty Beatrice, for having the nerve to exist near her at all. She half-wishes this thing that had burrowed inside of her had never come alive. Things would be a lot simpler, then.
Her footsteps slow to a stop, not of her own accord. She’s promptly drawn out of her thoughts and looks down, noticing that the ground she’s stepped on has a strange, malleable quality to it. She can feel herself sinking. It’s almost as if it’s… swallowing her. It is swallowing her, she realizes with a start, as her left foot submerges fully beneath the pulling soil.
”Shit, shit, shit.” Ava mutters, attempting to grasp a loose root from a nearby tree and coming just short of it. Fuck. Quicksand. It was on the map, not that that’s much help now. There are many options she could use to try and get out of this—the root again, her own strength, her newfound ability to teleport, and the literal magical halo implemented inside of her, but all of those seem to flee her mind the second that she realizes that she can’t move. Her heart jumps into her throat, and panic claws wildly at her chest. All she can think to do is scream. “Beatrice!”
Ava calls her name again and again, until it’s no longer a word but an animal sound, a sob that scrapes desperately at her throat.
Abruptly, a hand grabs her wrist and ties her back down to Earth.
”Easy, easy, Ava, you’re okay.” Beatrice’s voice is at once urgent and steady, firm. She braces her feet on the surrounding dirt, preparing to pull, but Ava’s hand slips. “You have to relax.”
”Relax?” Ava cries.
”Attempt to, it’ll be easier that way.” Their fingers reconnect, lacing together in the mess of it all. “I’m not going to let you get hurt. You need to breathe, Ava. Deep breaths.”
Deep breaths. Ava inhales as much as she can and exhales against the immense pressure on her chest, loosening up incrementally. Beatrice braces her feet on the surrounding ground, grasps Ava somewhere around her forearm, and begins to pull with all of her strength.
”Just hold on.” One last pull, and Ava’s body is being launched forward, her nose nuzzling into the curve of Beatrice’s stomach.
Ava’s on another planet, arms strangling Beatrice’s waist as her breaths even out, so she manages to miss the overwhelming flush of relief on Beatrice’s face. However, she does catch it when that expression very clearly transitions into one of mild annoyance.
”Five minutes.” Beatrice exhales. Her heartbeat still trembles in her chest, loud enough for Ava to hear it. “I left you alone for five minutes.”
Ava lifts her head. “You’re blaming me for this? You let me wander through a quicksand-infested forest.”
“I walked twenty feet away.”
“Oh.” Ava’s voice shrinks a smidge. “I guess I wasn’t thinking.”
Ava would need a dictionary to decipher the myriad of emotions that play across Beatrice’s face: relief, exasperation, irritation, and something softer that seems like a mystery, but she thinks it has something to do with the hand Beatrice still has tangled in her hair.
“You never think.” Beatrice murmurs. Her touch is almost reverent, so mismatched with her words, brushing loose strands out of Ava’s eyes.
Ava doesn’t know whether to be apologetic or grateful. At this point, she thinks she’ll just have to sit on her feelings until she dies.
”Come on.” Beatrice wriggles out from beneath her with minimal effort. “The day has only just begun.”
Ava stares up at her sulkily. She’s still shaken and soaked up to her chest in mud.
Beatrice prods her with the tip of her shoe, smiling. “Up.”
After a few more hours of training, in which Beatrice sticks very close to Ava, they start to head back together.
It’s a much quieter walk than before. The sun has risen now, and it’s nice, splaying warmth along their faces. It would be great, if it weren’t for the air that sits around them, not quite claustrophobic, but heavy and expectant. Ava wishes she could say she’s used to the odd, charged energy that often grows between them, but honestly it still unnerves her.
She just needs to come up with something smart to say to combat it. Something smooth.
”So, where’d you go, anyway?” Is what comes out of her mouth, because she’s an idiot. Beatrice looks confused. “Twenty feet away, I mean.”
If Beatrice is thrown by the new conversation topic, she doesn’t show it. “Down the correct path.”
”Very funny.” She doesn’t have it in her to be mad, not after Beatrice saved her. She bites the inside of her cheek, staring at her feet. “It’s just odd. You had to have known I would find my way into some trouble.”
“Not… necessarily.” Beatrice says, maybe trying to be kind, but it’s more likely that she’s deflecting.
”Come on, it’s me.” Ava jokes and hopes her smile reaches her eyes when she adds, “It sort of seemed as if you were trying to get away from me.”
Ava quietly prays that Beatrice will smile back, say something witty, and this’ll be chalked up to Ava’s overthinking, but the ensuing silence tells her that she’s right on the money.
She can feel Beatrice’s reluctance. “It’s not you I’m trying to avoid. It’s my… it’s me.”
”What? Why would you want to get away from you?” Ava frowns. Their shoulders are pressed close, jostling against each other with every step. “You’re awesome.”
“You barely know me.”
”Well, yeah, but I feel like I do.” She suddenly finds it very hard to hold eye contact. “What’s that thing you guys say? In this life or the next? Maybe we’re not meeting for the first time, just reuniting.”
Ava gets a few steps ahead before she notices the absence of Beatrice beside her. She stops, turns, and finds a vulnerability on Beatrice’s face that’s so raw it reaches down to her bones.
It wouldn’t be so bad, she thinks, to meet Beatrice over and over, again and again.
Beatrice comes closer, and Ava’s body instinctively tenses up in preparation for whatever follows, but Beatrice just continues on past her.
”You have a leaf in your hair.” Is all she says.
Ava watches her go in disbelief, bewildered and utterly disappointed. She knows she should take the rejection or, at least, accept the fact that Beatrice plans on shutting her out until the end of time.
But that’s not what she does.
Instead, she launches herself at Beatrice in a moment of bright, mischievous clarity and tackles her from behind, sending them both tumbling to the ground.
”Ava.” Beatrice huffs, but she doesn’t do much other than grumble as she wriggles around below her, maneuvering onto her back. Ava refuses to let herself be dislodged, so she holds tight and flexes her thighs around Beatrice’s waist. It’s sort of like taking a ride on the world’s sexiest mechanical bull. “We have no time for games.”
Beatrice’s voice is a little pitched, just enough that Ava has that feeling again, like Beatrice is hastily attempting to put another wall up.
Ava won’t have it.
”This is important.” She promises. “Serious, Warrior Nun business.”
”Really?”
Okay, so Ava’s not the best at thinking things through. “Yeah, I wanted to, um, learn how to fight on the ground.”
”You mean jiu-jitsu?” Beatrice still sounds skeptical, but Ava nods.
”Yes. That.”
”Very well.” Beatrice replies shortly, which is all the warning Ava gets before she’s being flipped onto her back, nothing but Beatrice and the full weight of her bad decisions on top of her.
Beatrice moves so that her thighs are bracketing her hips and her hands rest on either side of Ava’s head, effectively locking her in. Ava shifts barely half an inch to test the position and shivers in a way that she really, really wishes wasn’t so obvious, upon realizing Beatrice has got her pinned.
Ava is going to die here.
There are a lot of words being said—mostly by Beatrice, who prattles on about the logistics and basic rules of jiu-jitsu for longer than Ava’s attention span can take—but all of them might as well come from underwater, because all Ava can think about now is how jittery Beatrice seems up close. From here, it’s easy to spot her clenched jaw and restless eyes.
It’s so strange. It’s not like Beatrice to be so worked up about things. It’s almost as if… and all of a sudden, Ava is grinning, a broad, diabolical grin.
”That’s why it’s imperative that you…” Beatrice stops, her gaze flickering down, then up. “Do you want to learn or not?”
”Not.”
And then she’s shooting up onto her elbows to press a kiss to Beatrice’s mouth. Their lips clack together, too messy, too eager, made clumsy by Ava’s relative inexperience and Beatrice’s general surprise, but when they slide together it’s just right. It seems the most natural thing in the world to cup Beatrice’s jaw, to pry and lick into her mouth, to anchor her down on top of her.
There’s a bit of a wet pop when they dislodge from each other, and Beatrice’s face flushes red at the obscenity of it.
Ava just beams at her.
”So.” Beatrice whispers. “I take it you aren’t actually interested in jiu-jitsu, then?”