Work Text:
“Agatha? Oh my goodness, is that you?”
Agatha immediately slides down in her seat at the sound of the all too familiar grating voice. God, the last thing she needs is to be recognized and forced to make conversation. Here, of all places.
Tragically, the voice does not go away, and in a matter of seconds, the short and annoying form of Sharon Davis appears in front of Agatha’s seat, forcing Agatha into the truly hellish position of having to talk to an acquaintance in public.
“I thought that was you,” Sharon says, wearing a hideous cardigan and a far too bright smile. “Good to see you out here supporting the local kids.”
Agatha turns to her, painting on a gross approximation of a smile.
“Oh, you know me, Share,” she says through her teeth. “I just love spending two hours on a Saturday night watching children try to hit a high C. It’s the best use of my time.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet!” Sharon says. Then, completely uninvited, she moves to sit in the empty seat next to Agatha.
Involuntarily, Agatha jerks out her hand to cover the seat.
“It’s assigned seating,” she snaps.
“Ooh, waiting for someone special?” Sharon asks with a wink.
“No,” Agatha says, a little too quickly. “I just happen to know that someone has that ticket and that someone is not you.”
“This someone wouldn’t happen to be that sharp dressed lady who is always knocking on your door?”
“That’s my tax agent, Sharon,” Agatha says, like Sharon is an idiot. Sharon is an idiot. She’s also right, but that’s really not the point.
The point is that Agatha is only at this high school production of Dear Evan Hansen because Billy is very annoying and would be even worse if she didn’t come to watch him sing these dumb songs tonight. The point is that the seat next to Agatha belongs to someone else who Billy coerced into going to this show, who happens to be Agatha’s tax agent. Who also happens to have left a bruise with her mouth on the inside of Agatha’s thigh last week, when she was on her knees for Agatha, nails digging into her skin and deep brown eyes boring into Agatha’s. And sure, Agatha can’t stop thinking about it every time she presses her own fingers to that spot on her thigh. It’s also true that minutes before said bruise was sucked into Agatha’s skin, Agatha was very pleasantly threatened with jail time by this very same person who is supposed to be sitting next to her at this high school production of Dear Evan Hansen. So it’s actually a lot more nuanced than Sharon fucking Davis thinks.
“Oh, I see,” Sharon says. “There’s a seat number on my ticket. Ha! I’m way back in row R.”
“Congratulations,” Agatha deadpans, “you cracked the code.”
“I sure did,” Sharon says with a genuine smile. “Well, I better settle in before the show starts.” Then, egregiously, she taps the empty seat. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”
Agatha doesn’t even have time to glare at Sharon before she’s walking away up the aisle of the auditorium.
For what it’s worth, Agatha does not care if Rio will be here soon. She doesn't actually give a shit if the bad boy of the IRS herself shows up to this high school auditorium with a ticket that she paid for with her own money.
(Agatha, for the record, didn’t spend a cent on this show; Billy’s Venmo request is happily sitting in her notifications, where it will stay for several years. When Billy told Agatha that Rio completed her Venmo request within five minutes, Agatha found it so lame and dumb that she couldn’t stop smiling.)
Agatha turns in her seat to check the entrance. It has nothing to do with Rio; she just doesn’t want any other annoying acquaintances catching her by surprise. She also checks her phone, definitely not to see if there’s a text or call from Rio, but to see how much time is left before she’s subjected to teenagers attempting vibrato. It’s 6:57. Three more minutes before her ears are assaulted.
The thing is, if Rio were to show up, it would be on time. Rio is timely to a fault. A few weeks ago, she refused to give Agatha head because it meant she was going to be less than two hours early to the airport. And Rio loves giving Agatha head.
If Rio doesn’t show up—which, again, Agatha doesn’t care either way—it’s because of three potential reasons. One: Rio respects herself too much to go to a high school production of Dear Evan Hansen. Two: there was some sort of tax emergency. Agatha isn't quite sure if there is such a thing as a tax emergency that isn’t her, but it’s within the realm of possibility.
The third, final, and almost inconceivable reason that Rio might skip Dear Evan Hansen is that she doesn't want to see Agatha. Which is basically impossible. Rio always wants to see Agatha. Agatha’s a fucking delight and Rio is obsessed with her.
Even if, when they parted last—just a few hours after the bruise on thigh incident—Rio was a tad frustrated with Agatha. They were having such a lovely time too, until Rio got a phone call, and then her face pinched up in that angry hot way she got sometimes.
“You hired a lawyer?” Rio asked after she hung up the phone, aggressively putting her suit back on. “A real lawyer, like to take legal action?”
“I don’t get what the big deal is,” Agatha said, distinctly not putting her own clothes back on. “You keep trying to take my money, so I’m just exploring every possible avenue to keep it.”
“You get a lawyer,” Rio said, “and this shit gets real, Agatha. You’re the one breaking the law here, you could do actual prison time for this. And a lawyer is going to dig up anything they can on me—”
“Oh baby, I know you’re squeaky clean.”
“Agatha,” Rio said, fully clothed by this point, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’re sleeping together.”
“Not at this exact moment,” Agatha said with a pout.
“Jesus Christ,” Rio said, not laughing. She normally at least chuckled. “We’re sleeping together, and if that comes out in any legal proceeding, there goes my entire fucking career.”
“I won’t tell you if you don’t,” Agatha said, shifting a little on the bed so she was in a classic paint me like one of your French girls pose.
“Be serious for once,” Rio said. “Shit like this comes out when lawyers get involved. I don’t want to lose my job and you don’t want to go to prison. So maybe you could just pay what you owe and we can move the fuck on.”
It was a version of what Rio had been saying for the month and change she’d known Agatha, but it landed differently this time. It landed like Rio actually wanted to move the fuck on, like Rio didn’t love this as much as Agatha did, like she didn’t love the chase just as much as the kill, like she didn’t love pinning Agatha down on the bed mere minutes after threatening her. This was what they did.
At the time, Agatha didn’t respond with any of that, didn’t respond with that hint of betrayal deep in her gut that Rio might not want this anymore.
Instead she said, “don’t worry, baby, I’m sure they’ll let you have conjugal visits.”
Rio looked at her blankly and then slowly shook her head, before leaving Agatha’s bedroom and her house and her town without another word.
That was a week ago. Now, Agatha is sitting next to an empty seat at Westview High’s Dear Evan Hansen at 6:59pm on a Saturday night and she is most likely stood up. Which is probably the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to anyone ever.
The lights flash on and off at seven on the dot and a horrible nasally voice comes over the speakers. “Dear ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between, please take your seats. We will be starting in just a few minutes, so you don’t have For Forever to settle down. Please turn off all cell phones. If your phone rings during this show, You Will Be Found. Enjoy the show. Sincerely, the cast and crew.”
“What the fuck did half of that even mean?” A familiar voice asks, low and amused.
Agatha almost cricks her neck in her haste to turn around to see Agent Rio Vidal herself sliding into the seat next to Agatha.
She’s not dressed for work, which is a first. Agatha has only seen Rio in a crisp black suit, donning Agatha’s own clothes, or, Agatha’s personal favorite, nothing at all. But now, her hair is down and loose and she’s wearing a simple black sweater vest and army green chinos that have no right looking so good on her. Agatha has half a mind to ask Rio to stand up, just so she can see how these pants fall on her ass.
Instead she says, “you’re late, Agent Vidal.”
“I don’t know if you heard,” Rio says with her familiar easy deadpan. “but the show is actually just about to start.” She shifts a little in her seat. “Plus the train had a delay in Philly and then my Uber driver made, like, twelve wrong turns.”
Agatha smiles to herself. Of course there was something as banal as a transit issue. Of course Rio still wants to see her.
“No rental car?” Agatha asks, smirking a little.
“Work’s not paying for this one,” Rio says, a little too casually. “Just came up here to see the kid sing.”
“Sure,” Agatha says. She has to school her face to not burst into a childish grin. Rio barely even likes Billy, and they both know it. “Well, I’m sure the kid will be just thrilled you made it.”
“Yeah,” Rio says. She’s eyeing Agatha in that knowing way that makes Agatha’s skin crawl. “The kid.”
Rio breaks eye contact to flip through the program. “Wait, he’s not even the lead?”
The lights go down and Agatha cackles. “Strap in, Vidal.”
From the first moments the show starts, Agatha knows it’s going to be bad. The lead kid is cute, or at least Billy thinks so, for how much he fucking gushes about him, but he’s fighting a losing battle. The student orchestra wouldn’t know rhythm from a hole in the ground, the set is mostly poorly photoshopped projections, and a 15-year-old with braces is playing the mom. Agatha’s expectations were already extremely low, but Christ, this is dire.
During the first song, Rio leans over into Agatha’s space to whisper in her ear, “what is this show even about?”
The feel of Rio’s breath hot and close on Agatha’s neck makes Agatha shiver, her body reacting to a week of absence like it was months. Agatha tries not to let it show. She turns to Rio, reversing their positions so her lips are close enough to brush Rio’s earlobe when she whispers, “mental health.”
Rio laughs a little, a breathy sound that may or may not be influenced by the proximity of Agatha’s mouth.
“You’re telling me I’m at a high school musical about mental health?” Rio asks. “Kill me.”
Agatha barks out a laugh. The woman in front of them turns around to shush her. Which makes Rio laugh, and then get shushed in turn.
They’re both giggling by the time Billy comes on stage and then they both cheer for him, which garners another shush.
“We are going to be kicked out,” Rio hisses through her grin.
“Oh no,” Agatha whispers, pouting, “we’ll miss the rest of the show.”
Rio puts a hand up to cover her laugh. Then she tries and fails to school her expression into something serious. “We at least need to see him sing.”
“You’re just afraid of breaking the rules,” Agatha says. But she sits back in her seat. It would be dumb to come here and not see Billy sing.
About 15 minutes into the show, Billy’s character dies.
“Come on,” Rio mutters. “He dies before he even sings?”
“He has songs,” Agatha assures her, trying not to laugh. “At least he better, I can hear him belting them from next door.”
Sure enough, Billy comes back as a figment of Evan's imagination in a song that concludes with both of them assuring the audience that they’re not gay.
A loud abrupt laugh comes out of Rio at that one. Even in the dim lights, Agatha can see her eyes shining with it, her tongue poking the inside of her cheek, a classic Rio tic that has no right being so attractive. Rio turns, catching Agatha watching, and grins even wider.
Agatha leans over, whispers in her ear again. “Both of those boys are even gayer than your little outfit today.”
Rio chuckles, leans over to Agatha, lips grazing her ear. “So you like it?”
The low timbre of Rio’s voice sparks something hot and urgent in Agatha’s belly. She leans over towards Rio’s ear.
“I’d like it better off of you,” she says simply.
Rio pulls back, grins at her, before whispering, “too bad we still have 90 minutes left of this show.”
Then she places a hand on Agatha’s thigh, thumb swiping over the remnants of the bruise she left there. Her eyes hold on Agatha’s for a few long purposeful seconds before looking back to the stage. Rio’s thumb presses on the bruise then, hard, and Agatha has to bite her lip to keep from audibly reacting, the sensation shooting right in between her legs.
Agatha, gun to her head, couldn’t say what happens after that in the show, all she knows is Rio’s hand on her leg and Rio’s mouth on her ear to whisper occasional commentary and the way Rio’s eyes light up when she laughs and how a simple black sweater vest leaves her arms exposed. Agatha has to keep forcing herself to look at the stage. What is wrong with her? It’s like being in a physical high school is making her behave like a teenager.
Rio’s hand stays on Agatha’s thigh, a firm and pleasant warmth, until near the end of act one, when Agatha’s cell phone loudly rings from her pocket in the middle of a romantic ballad.
“Oh my god,” Rio says, moving her hand from Agatha’s thigh to cover her own face, sliding down in her seat.
The people surrounding them have all turned to glare, which is a little dramatic. Agatha glares back, before checking her phone. It’s just her lawyer. Agatha quickly declines the call; making sure Rio does not see who is calling. They’re having such a lovely night so far, she doesn't want Rio getting all pissy again at the mere mention of lawyers.
Rio seems to be pissy anyway, still looking mortified to be sitting next to Agatha.
“I can’t believe you had your phone at full volume in a theater,” she hisses. “So fucking Gen X.”
“Oh calm down,” Agatha says, “I’m only ten years older than you.”
“Eleven,” Rio corrects, like an asshole.
“Fuck off,” Agatha says.
“I’m not the one about to get us kicked out of Dear Evan Hansen!”
“What, like that would be so bad?”
“Shut up,” the woman in front of them hisses, turning around in her seat. “Both of you.”
They both shut up. Rio looks actually chastened, but Agatha is fighting back a laugh. She waits until the woman in front of them settles back into her seat before leaning over and whispering in Rio’s ear, “what a cunt.”
This time, Rio is the one who has to fight back a laugh.
When act one finally—finally—concludes, Agatha stands up and stretches. The bitch in the row in front of her glares daggers at her, but doesn’t try to instigate a fight, which is kind of a let down. Agatha could have taken her.
“So was the first act worth the trip up?” Agatha asks Rio.
She twists to crack her back, causing her shirt—which is already unbuttoned one more button than usual—to show an extra bit of her chest. Rio’s eyes follow the exposed skin like a cat following a laser beam.
”Hmm?” Rio says.
“The show?” Agatha asks, grinning. “Worth the train ride?”
Rio looks up then, meets Agatha’s eyes.
“Yeah, it was,” she says, alarmingly genuine. Then, like a switch, her familiar deadpan comes back. “I actually love hearing children sing about suicide, it’s so fun.”
Agatha laughs, relieved and unsettled all at once. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s go see if they serve booze here.”
They sadly don’t serve booze at the high school function, so Agatha gets a Diet Coke for something to put her hands around that’s not Rio’s ass. (She was right, those pants do wonders for it.)
”Wow,” Rio says, as Agatha gives a dollar to the child manning the concession booth. “This is the first time I’ve seen you willingly part with money.”
“So funny, Agent Vidal,” Agatha says.
Rio rolls her eyes at the use of her title, but there’s a smile in the corner of her mouth. Agatha wonders what changed since last weekend, this Rio back here flirting with her and laughing at her jokes and touching her leg like she didn’t storm out of Agatha’s house in a rage just a week ago.
“Agatha!” Agatha hears from across the makeshift lobby. Oh god.
“Oh, do you have friends here?” Rio asks with a bratty grin. “Or is that the angry mob coming for you for leaving your ringer on?”
“Ha ha,” Agatha says in a monotone, before suddenly, like a nightmare, Sharon Davis materializes in front of them.
“Oh she came!” Sharon says, loudly, gesturing to Rio. “Agatha was waiting for you.”
Agatha would not be upset if Sharon got run over by a car tomorrow.
“Was she?” Rio says, smile growing wider. She puts a hand on the small of Agatha’s back. “Agatha, sweetheart, that’s so nice of you.”
Agatha would not be upset if Rio got run over by a car tomorrow. Well, maybe a little.
Sharon sticks out a hand. “Sharon Davis. I’m Agatha’s neighbor.”
“Mrs. Davis?” Rio says, eyes sparkling with recognition as she shakes her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you. You make a wonderful lasagna.”
Sharon almost blushes. She’s straight and married (Agatha thinks? The husband may be dead?), but apparently still not immune to the Rio Vidal charm.
“Oh, you’re too kind,” Sharon says, still clutching onto Rio’s hand. “And you are?”
“Rio Vidal,” Rio says cheerily. “I’m auditing Agatha. Maybe you’ll see us both in court soon.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Agatha says quickly. She takes Rio’s hand that isn’t in Sharon’s clutches and tugs her away.
“Good to see you!” Sharon calls after them, a little confused and still far too friendly.
Agatha ignores her, taking Rio away from prying neighbors and groups of teens mingling, until they are down the halls of Westview High, away from the noise of the crowd.
“Are you going to shove me in a locker?” Rio teases. Her hand is still warm in Agatha’s.
“You wish,” Agatha says.
Rio laughs. Then, a muffled announcement sounds from the direction they came. Agatha purposefully tunes it out.
“Act two is about to start,” Rio says, gesturing toward the sound.
“Is it?” Agatha asks. She drops Rio’s hand to poke her head into a classroom. Then she fixes Rio with a grin. “Wanna play hooky?”
Rio laughs. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Are you telling me you want to sit through another hour of that shit? That bitch in front of us might stab me.”
“I’d go back just for that,” Rio says, chuckling. She casts a glance back down the hallway, then back to where Agatha is now holding open the door to the classroom.
“Let’s see,” Agatha says, tapping her chin, “another hour of kids singing off key, or a gorgeous woman alone in a”—Agatha looks into the classroom again—“math classroom.”
“Well, math always was my best subject,” Rio says, grinning.
“Nerd,” Agatha says, hating the way her voice involuntarily softens over the insult like it’s a term of endearment.
Rio smiles at her, then rolls her eyes and surrenders, pushing her way into the classroom.
“Good choice, Vidal,” Agatha says.
“Well, I have to see what textbooks they have,” Rio says. “The University of Chicago curriculum is the gold standard.”
“God, I can’t believe I’m attracted to you,” Agatha says.
This just makes Rio grin at her. Her eyes shift to look around the classroom, which is pristine, all smart boards and shiny new textbooks, large prints of graphs and formulas on the walls.
“This place is nice,” Rio says. “Your tax dollars hard at work. Well, not your tax dollars, that’s for sure.” Then she laughs at her own joke. Loser.
“Give it a rest, Vidal,” Agatha says. She kicks off her shoes and then perches on a desk, feet on the attached chair, sipping on her soda as she watches Rio look around the room. It is nice. “I moved here for the school district, you know.”
Agatha doesn’t know why she said that, why the occasional urge to open up has been coming over her around this woman. It’s something in Rio’s big brown eyes, like she’s a deer that refuses to step out of the road when a speeding car is coming toward her, like she will welcome the crash.
As if on cue, Rio’s eyes come up to meet Agatha’s face.
“Oh?” she says, not pressing or prying, simply asking.
Agatha shrugs, like any of this is casual. “This area is ranked high on all those lists of school districts compared to the relative cost of living, so it made sense to move here.”
Rio chuckles a little. “Yeah, it’s crazy how the cost of living is so low if you somehow con your way into not including property taxes on your mortgage payments.”
“Sounds like a very smart thing to do when you’re buying a house,” Agatha says with a grin. “Plus the price goes way down if you’re pregnant to the point where men are uncomfortable seeing you exist. They’ll do anything just to not have to look at you.”
Rio looks down, shakes her head, unsuccessfully hiding her smile. She perches on the desk next to Agatha, mirrors her position, feet on the chair, facing Agatha.
“I would have liked to have seen you like that, you know.”
“Pregnant?” Agatha says, raising an eyebrow. “You’re more of a freak every day, Vidal.”
“I didn’t mean pregnant,” Rio says, laughing a little. “I meant—” She looks down for a second, hands fiddling with the edges of her pants. Then those big doe eyes are back on Agatha’s. “I meant as a mom. I would have liked to have known you as a mother.”
She says it simply, like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t crack open something in Agatha’s chest; the simple tragedy that Rio never will know that part of her, and the horrifying reality that Agatha wants Rio to know that part of her.
Rio wasn’t supposed to know any of her. When they first met, every personal detail Agatha shared with her was a calculated, precise move to garner sympathy, to make Rio uncomfortable, to force her hand. Yet somehow, Rio is still here, sitting across from her in a math classroom at a high school that Agatha will never get to send her son to, and some long dormant part of Agatha wants to unlock herself, wants to take her organs, her guts, the nastiest parts of herself, and present them for Rio to feast upon.
Agatha clears her throat, brushes some hair out of her eyes.
“Well,” she says, trying to approximate any measure of nonchalance. “I was a huge fucking bitch as a mother.”
“No,” Rio says, smiling wide. “You?”
“I got one of Nicky’s preschool teachers suspended because she yelled at him during naptime.”
“I’m sure she had it coming.”
“She did,” Agatha agrees, unable to stop herself from grinning at the memory.
Rio grins back. “I would have liked to see that.”
“You couldn’t handle me then.”
“I’m not sure if I can handle you now,” Rio says. There’s still a tease in her mouth, but there’s something else too, an honesty in her words that once again catches Agatha off guard.
“Well, I was even worse back then,” Agatha, says clearing her throat. “I mean, I wasn’t quite as much of a bitch as my own mother, but she set the bar really fucking high.”
Rio raises her eyebrows. “Oh?”
Agatha narrows her eyes. She is not falling for another one of Rio Vidal’s unassuming “oh?”s tonight. Especially not to talk about her mother.
“You know, Agent Vidal,” Agatha drawls, “you’re awfully curious for someone who has researched me extensively.”
Rio chuckles. “I know only what your paper trail tells me.”
“Which is?” Agatha prompts.
Rio shakes her head a little, then leans forward, elbows on her knees.
“Agatha Harkness. Born in Danvers, Massachusetts in 1973. Only child to a single mother. Who, according to a new source, was a huge bitch.”
Agatha laughs, charmed in spite of herself.
Rio grins as she continues. “First job was scaring people at one of those haunted houses in Salem. Got paid under the table. Believe it or not, has worked an alarming amount of under the table jobs for someone who has no legal barriers to employment. Moved to Boston in the early 90s, where she continued to somehow not get taxes deducted from her paycheck as she worked as a vague ‘consultant’ for about a decade. No fucking clue what she was consulting on and I’m kind of scared to find out. Moved to Westview in 2006, bought a property which she didn’t pay taxes on, did more consulting work that she didn’t pay taxes on. Fifty years old, never married, 5’5”, brown hair, blue eyes that turn grey in the right light, size eight shoe, I wanna say….” Rio’s eyes drop down to Agatha’s chest. “32C?”
Agatha lets out a long laugh. She’s impressed. She hates that she’s impressed, but she is. Rio has a self-satisfied smirk on her face, like she’s about to get an A+ for being a fucking stalker.
“You’re obsessed with me, Vidal,” Agatha says.
“I’m just good at my job.”
Agatha raises her eyebrows. “32C?”
“I’m good at a lot of things,” Rio says, grinning widely.
Agatha shakes her head, still laughing a little.
“You want a gold star?” She asks, mocking. She looks around the classroom. “Bet you were a straight A student, weren’t you? One of those freaks who loved going to class.”
“I did alright,” Rio says. Agatha keeps looking at her, until Rio laughs and admits, “I was honor roll and graduated with a 4.2 GPA.”
“Such a loser,” Agatha says, shaking her head. Again, the insult comes out annoyingly fond. “So were you a classic nerd? Big glasses? Social anxiety? Virgin?”
“Fuck off,” Rio says, which is essentially a yes. “I wasn’t Evan fucking Hansen. I had friends. I was on the basketball team.”
“Oh, look at you, on the basketball team,” Agatha mocks. “I’m sure you were very good.”
Rio narrows her eyes. Then without warning, she snatches Agatha’s Diet Coke from her hands, chugs the rest of it, then tosses the can toward the trash can in the corner. It bounces off the rim and loudly crashes to the ground.
Agatha laughs and laughs, unable to help herself. Rio glares at Agatha and then surrenders, laughing too.
“That would have been really impressive if you made it,” Agatha says. “With those moves, I’m sure you were drowning in pussy in high school.”
Rio narrows her eyes. “I’ll have you know that I fingered Becky Marshall on grad night.”
“Wow, getting it in under the wire,” Agatha drawls. “Becky Marshall, huh? Should I be worried?”
“Becky was an asshole,” Rio says, smirking at Agatha. “Guess I have a type.”
Agatha puts a hand to her chest, feigns offense. “You wound me.”
Rio rolls her eyes. “Becky Marshall got valedictorian even though I did better than her in every single class. But her dad was on the school board, so guess who got to wear the sash? Until I tore it off of her on grad night.” Rio’s eyes grow a little too fond.
“Alright, that’s enough reminiscing,” Agatha says.
“Jealous?”
“No,” Agatha says, too quickly. “From some bitch in high school, please. Where is she now anyway?”
“She married some guy right out of college. Moved to the suburbs, popped out a baby, the classic boring life.”
Agatha raises an eyebrow. “I moved to the suburbs and popped out a baby, if you recall. Am I boring?”
Rio smiles at her, far too softly. “You couldn't be if you tried.”
Sometimes she says things like this, a jolt of earnestness amidst the joking and flirting, that makes Agatha warm and flustered.
“Besides,” Rio says, tone light again, “you would rather die than be some guy’s wife.”
Agatha laughs, relieved. “Shoot me in the fucking head if that ever happens.”
“Gladly,” Rio says. She leans forward again, eyes glinting. “So, ‘some guy’ aside, there was really nobody who ever even tried to pop the question?”
“You know it wasn’t legal back then, don’t you, sweetheart?”
Rio rolls her eyes. “I’m only ten years younger than you.”
“Eleven,” Agatha corrects with a grin.
“Whatever,” Rio says, “I still remember when gay marriage wasn’t a thing. But come on, no civil ceremonies? No domestic partners?”
“Still so curious,” Agatha says. She stretches out her leg so the edge of her foot can gently rub against Rio’s knee. “Are you working up the nerve to ask me?”
Agatha’s joking. Of course she is. But she watches with glee as Rio’s knee twitches just a little at the contact, her tongue poking into her cheek again, like she’s biting back a smile. Like she’s not entirely opposed to the idea.
“Please,” Rio says, “I could never marry into that much tax debt.”
Agatha laughs again. She moves her foot up to graze Rio’s thigh.
“I don’t know,” she says, “could be kind of perfect. We split assets, open a joint account, you write that check to the government you get so wet for, then I’m debt free, baby.”
Rio shakes her head, eyes glinting. “And what do I get out of it?”
“A hot wife.”
Rio laughs, throwing her head back with it, hair cascading like she’s in a fucking shampoo commerical. It’s almost frustrating how gorgeous she is. What’s worse is Agatha fucking likes her. Agatha hasn’t liked a woman she’s sleeping with since the late ‘90s. But then there’s Rio, with her big earnest eyes and her wide gap-toothed smile and the way she experiences both anger and pleasure to the fullest degree. Sometimes Agatha wants to bolt all the doors to her house shut and keep Rio trapped inside, so Agatha can explore her from the inside out, so she can see what goes on in her brain, so she can touch every part of her body, so she can claim the coveted honor that she, Agatha Harkness, knows Rio Vidal more than anyone else. That she belongs to Agatha.
Fuck, it’s embarrassing to want like this. Especially a woman Agatha has known for less than six weeks. Who works for the government.
Agatha’s foot is still absently stroking Rio’s thigh. Rio, looking straight into Agatha’s eyes, takes Agatha’s ankle in her hand. Her fingers stroke the exposed skin between Agatha’s pants and her sock. The touch makes Agatha involuntarily close her eyes for a second.
“A hot wife, huh?” Rio says, thumb teasing around Agatha’s ankle bone.
“You should be so lucky,” Agatha says. Rio trails her fingers up Agatha’s calf.
Rio chuckles. “You should be so lucky.”
“Hmm,” Agatha says, noncommittally, as Rio’s nails graze the soft skin on the inside of Agatha’s knee. She sighs a little.
“Come on,” Rio says, voice low. “I know you missed me this week.”
Rio’s eyes bore into her, a teasing smile on her mouth. She knows she has the upper hand right now, quite literally, with the way she’s touching Agatha’s leg, the way she can feel Agatha reacting.
“Has it been a week?” Agatha asks innocently. “I wasn’t keeping track.”
Rio chuckles. “Sure you weren’t.”
She moves her hand up, so she can stroke above Agatha’s knee. Thank god for the trend of wide leg pants, allowing Rio’s hand to creep further and further up her leg. Agatha tries to keep her breathing in check as Rio’s nails gently scratch the soft skin of Agatha’s inner thigh. She wonders how this must look from the outside, two adult women sitting on desks in a classroom, Agatha’s leg outstretched onto Rio’s lap, her pant leg pushed up so Rio’s hand can crawl up it. It’s not an unpleasant picture.
Then Rio, the fucking asshole that she is, moves her hand just enough so that two of her fingers press hard into the bruise on Agatha’s thigh.
“Oh, fuck,” Agatha gasps out, the sensation shooting right to her core, putting a fine point on the want that’s been building all evening.
Rio grins at her. “Give it up, Agatha, you’ve been waiting for this all week.”
Agatha narrows her eyes, not relenting even though her breath is now coming quickly, her body begging for more.
“I’m not the one who spent my own money to come to New Jersey,” she says.
Rio presses the bruise again and Agatha lets out a low moan, which kind of takes the bite out of her words.
“Unlike you,” Rio says, “parting with money is not a huge deal for me.”
Agatha laughs, still breathless. “So you just really wanted to support terrible teen theater?”
Rio pushes her hand further up, so she’s teasing the softness of Agatha’s upper thigh, just a few inches from the edge of Agatha’s underwear. The anticipation spreads inside across Agatha’s skin so she’s almost bursting with it.
“I’m a patron of the arts,” Rio says.
“You want me,” Agatha says, cutting to the chase.
Rio lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh, shaking her head, like there’s some joke Agatha isn't in on.
“Of course I want you,” Rio says simply, another moment of earnestness catching Agatha off guard.
Then, quickly and purposefully, Rio slides her hand out of Agatha’s pant leg and stands up. She moves Agatha’s legs so they’re dangling off the desk, then steps between them. Agatha feels her breath coming harder as Rio reaches out a hand to cup her neck, tilting her face up so she’s looking right into Rio’s big doe eyes.
Agatha knows her heart is beating hard right where Rio is touching her neck, knows Rio can feel it.
“I want you,” Rio repeats and Agatha aches with it. “And I’m adult enough to fucking admit it.”
Agatha, unable to help herself, surges forward and kisses Rio hard on the mouth. She needs to taste her. She needs to bite her. Needs to feel the want that Rio is so open with spilling into her mouth.
Rio, as she always does, gives Agatha exactly what she needs. One hand stays on Agatha’s neck while the other wraps around her waist, holding her close as she licks deep into Agatha’s mouth. God, Agatha missed this, missed her, missed the way Rio touches her with a possession that makes Agatha almost feral. Rio kisses the slope of Agatha’s neck, wet and biting, hand moving to tug Agatha’s hair. Agatha moans with it, unable to help herself from crying out when Rio’s teeth press into the side of her neck.
Rio pulls back, which makes Agatha let out a petulant whine. Rio laughs, then puts a finger to Agatha’s lips.
“You have to be quiet,” Rio says. “This is a fucking school.”
Agatha rolls her eyes. She doesn’t give a shit if Rio makes her scream so loud that her vocals overpower act two of Dear Evan Hansen.
“Aw, you just love the rules, don’t you, baby?” Agatha says, forming her lips into a pout.
Rio glares at her, which isn’t quite effective, given that Rio’s eyes are dark with desire and her lips are wet with Agatha’s spit. But it’s cute.
“I’m about to fuck you in a public high school, Agatha, I think that’s breaking quite a few rules.”
Agatha grins. “Well, when you put it like that.”
Rio almost laughs. “Now, I need you to be quiet, can you do that for me, baby?”
Sometimes—and Agatha would never say this out loud—in the moments Rio calls her baby, Agatha would give her anything, would surrender herself to her, lay herself open and bare for Rio to call her baby and take whatever she wants from her.
Instead of admitting any of that, Agatha just nods.
“I’ll be quiet.”
”Really?” Rio says. She takes a hand and presses it to Agatha’s chest, where her shirt is unbuttoned. “You, Agatha Harkness, can be quiet during sex?”
Agatha nods. Rio raises an eyebrow, moves her hand so it’s under the fabric of Agatha’s shirt, sliding her fingers under Agatha’s bra.
“32C?” She says, like an asshole, before her fingers brush over Agatha’s nipple and Agatha lets out a ragged gasp.
“Shh,” Rio says, then very purposefully squeezes Agatha’s nipple between her thumb and index finger.
Agatha bites down on her own lip, closes her eyes, a groan fighting its way up her throat, but she doesn't let it come out. Her clothes feel too tight, her body focusing in at this point of touch, but she will not make a sound. She will not prove Rio right.
She snaps her eyes open only to see Rio’s eyes, dark and impressed as Rio keeps playing with her nipple.
“Good girl,” Rio says.
“Fuck you,” Agatha says, and then she kisses her.
Rio’s mouth is so wet and eager for her that it takes everything in Agatha’s power not to moan with it, but she doesn’t, she bites down on Rio’s lip instead, pulls at her hair, wraps her legs around Rio’s hips, anything to get closer to her.
Rio’s hands are more frantic now, pulling Agatha’s shirt out of her pants, pressing on any bare skin she can, nails scratching. Agatha leans up into it. She loves the way Rio gets desperate for her, loves how she doesn’t hide it, her want spilling from her hands and mouth, her need clear as day as her hands scramble for the button on Agatha’s pants.
They stop kissing only for Rio to gracelessly pull off Agatha’s pants and push them down her legs, underwear along with them, leaving Agatha bare on a school desk. Rio pushes Agatha’s thighs open, looks down at the state of her with such pride and desire that Agatha’s breath catches. She focuses on her breathing, in and out and in and out so she doesn’t vocalize her anticipation. She spreads her legs wider, shamelessly inviting Rio to touch what she just unveiled.
Rio doesn’t immediately go in for the kill. She just keeps looking, her own breath heavy. She swallows, then slides into the seat attached to the desk.
Agatha laughs, a harsh breathy thing. “Look at straight A student Rio Vidal, seated and ready to learn,” she teases, low.
“Top of my class,” Rio says with a grin. Then her hands are back on Agatha’s thighs, maneuvering her legs so that they are on either side of Rio’s head.
Agatha breathes a shaky breath in as Rio presses her mouth to the crease of Agatha’s knee, a relatively soft kiss compared to what they had been doing earlier, but it’s still enough to light Agatha up, to make her lift her hips off the desk, eager for more.
Rio’s hands press Agatha’s hips back down, kissing further up her thigh. She’s taking her time, which normally would drive Agatha crazy, but she finds herself enjoying watching Rio from this angle. From here, Agatha can see the flush of Rio’s cheeks, the way they hollow out when Rio sucks on Agatha’s skin. She can see the way Rio’s eyes involuntarily close when she tastes Agatha’s sweat, then can see her eyes open back up, big pupils against deep brown, a deer practically begging to be hit with a car.
Agatha runs a hand through Rio’s hair, and Rio looks up at her, grinning in that self-satisfied way she gets when she’s about to thoroughly wreck Agatha.
It makes an absurd wave of fondness wash over Agatha, mixing with her arousal just enough for her to say something idiotic like, “my beautiful Rio.”
Rio looks up at the words, clearly surprised by the tenderness in them. Agatha is also fucking surprised by the tenderness in them. Jesus Christ, when did she become such a sap? Just because a gorgeous woman is about to go down on her? Plenty of gorgeous women have gone down on her, and Agatha hasn’t ever said stupid shit like this.
Rio is still looking at her, eyes a little too knowing. She could easily turn this moment on Agatha, could laugh at her, could say I knew you missed me, baby and Agatha wouldn’t be able to deny it. But Rio doesn’t do any of that. Instead, she just smiles, wide and bright, and then presses her mouth to the bruise on Agatha’s thigh, sucking a new mark right next to the old one. Her teeth bite into the already sensitive skin and Agatha can’t help it.
“Rio,” she moans, loud and overcome.
Rio’s head shoots up. “Agatha,” she says, harsh and demanding. “Quiet.”
It’s such a shift from her previous demeanor that Agatha has to swallow back another moan. Her hips shift on the desk again and she nods frantically, covering her own mouth.
“Good,” Rio says, with a self satisfied little smirk, “because I know you’re going to want to scream my name in about five seconds.”
Then she leans down again and her mouth is finally right where Agatha needs it. At the first touch of Rio’s tongue to her cunt, Agatha bites down on her own fingers, breathing harshly around them. It doesn’t help that Rio isn’t being very quiet, letting out a groan at Agatha’s taste, hands drawing her closer, like nothing gives her more pleasure than this act. Agatha pushes her hips further into Rio’s face, eyes almost rolling back in her head with how good it feels to have Rio devour her like this, for Rio’s tongue to trace the path it has made so many times over this last month, having memorized the most intimate parts of Agatha seamlessly. She uses this knowledge to tease tonight, choosing to press her tongue everywhere except where Agatha craves it the most. Agatha whines around her own hand, shifts her hips up, pulls Rio’s hair, begging with her whole body for Rio to do what she does best. She can feel Rio grin with it, overjoyed that she's driving Agatha crazy.
Finally, when she can’t take it anymore, Agatha moves her hand from her own mouth to whisper hoarsely, “please, Rio.”
Rio leans her mouth up. The sight of her alone makes Agatha nearly come on the spot, mouth wet and red from pleasuring Agatha, eyes hungry and wild.
“Say you missed me,” Rio says, low and hard.
Agatha bites back another moan. She loves it when Rio gets like this, bossy and needy at the same time, so desperate for Agatha’s affection that she forces Agatha to give it. Sometimes Agatha waits as long as she can to satisfy Rio, holding out until Rio’s frustration reaches a breaking point.
But tonight, Agatha doesn’t push back. The week apart has made her soft and pliant and wanting. She’s already so close, swollen and wet and eager, needing Rio’s mouth more than she needs to prove her wrong.
“I missed you,” Agatha breathes. “God, Rio, I missed you so—”
And then Rio’s mouth is back, sucking hard on her clit, and the relief and pleasure of it cascades through Agatha, her body leaning up into it, her hands tugging Rio’s hair, her mouth falling open to let out a long needy moan.
Then Rio’s mouth is gone.
“What did I say?” she asks, voice all hard again.
“Sorry, baby,” Agatha says, chest heaving, needing Rio’s fucking mouth back, but also needing Rio to keep talking to her like that. “You’re just so good at that.”
Rio smiles a self-satisfied grin.“And you’re so bad at staying quiet.”
Then she unceremoniously shoves Agatha’s legs to the side and stands up.
“Are you kidding me?” Agatha says, but then she shuts right up, because Rio steps between her legs again, hands roughly gripping her thighs. Agatha bites back another moan, her need compounding, spilling onto the desk.
“It seems that I have to do everything myself,” Rio says, before lifting up one hand to cover Agatha’s mouth, palm warm. Agatha opens her mouth and licks the taste of Rio’s sweat off her skin.
Rio’s eyes flutter closed for just a moment, but then they snap open, dark and intense on Agatha’s. She maintains eye contact while her other hand slides surely between Agatha’s legs, fingers pressing exactly where Agatha is aching for her.
The contact jolts Agatha to life, spine straightening, hips jerking forward, arms going to clutch Rio’s back. It’s a good thing Rio is covering her mouth because the feeling of Rio’s fingers make her lungs contract and expand and let out what would be a scream, but is instead a muffled whine against Rio’s palm.
“That’s right,” Rio says into her ear. “You want me so bad you can’t even keep quiet.”
Two of her fingers press deep inside of her and Agatha grunts into Rio’s palm, overcome.
”God,” Rio continues, mouth falling open, eyes boring into Agatha’s. “God, baby, you feel so good, you’re so wet for me, fuck, Agatha, I missed you so much, I couldn’t stop thinking about this.”
If Agatha wasn’t on the verge of coming so hard she will certainly ruin Rio’s chinos, she would take a moment to laugh at the fact that even when Rio has Agatha on the edge, mouth covered, fucking her thoroughly, she can’t even fully keep the upper hand. She’s babbling, losing control, letting it slide just how much Agatha haunts her waking hours.
But in this state, all of Rio’s words hit her just the same, her voice uneven and low and desperate as she presses harder over Agatha’s mouth and her fingers curl inside of her. Rio is anchoring her and holding her and fucking her and telling her how good she feels and it’s all so much that Agatha can’t hold it in anymore. She releases her pleasure with a muffled scream against Rio’s palm, biting on Rio’s fingers, clawing Rio’s back, pushing her hips wildly into Rio’s hand, and essentially ruining some poor student’s desk.
Rio is steady through it all, holding Agatha up, fingers slowing inside of her. Eventually, she removes her hand from Agatha’s mouth to stroke her hair out of her face. Agatha makes the mistake of looking into Rio’s eyes at that moment, and the affection painted in them nearly bowls her over. You aren’t supposed to look at someone you just fucked bare ass on a high school desk like that. You aren’t supposed to look at someone you’ve only known for a month and a change like that. You aren’t supposed to look at a speeding car that’s about to kill you like that. But Rio does, shamelessly.
“You’re a very fucking loud person, Agatha Harkness,” Rio says, removing her fingers from Agatha, and the moment breaks, thank god.
Agatha huffs out a laugh. “Well, it’s not every day you get fingered by someone who had a 4.2 GPA in a math classroom.”
Rio laughs too, cheeks flushed and shining. Agatha is once again overcome by the urge to lock her away so no one else can ever have her.
Suddenly a loud ringing blares from where Agatha’s pants are pooled on the floor.
“Oh my god, again?” Rio says, bursting out laughing. “I can’t believe I just fucked someone who keeps their ringer that loud.”
“You loved it,” Agatha says, bending down for her phone. It’s her fucking lawyer again. God, what is it with people who are obsessed with their jobs?
Speaking of, Rio is now comfortably sitting at the desk, grinning widely. Her chin is still wet.
Agatha ends the call. She can call her lawyer back tomorrow; she simply can’t have Rio storming out and getting all huffy again, not when Agatha has to take her home and ruin her.
“Who was that?” Rio asks.
“Spam,” Agatha says. “Come on, I bet we can still catch curtain call.”
They do manage to catch curtain call, sneaking into the back of the theater and cheering too loudly when Billy takes his bow. Rio puts two fingers in her mouth to let out a loud whistle, which is the second most impressive thing she’s done with her fingers and mouth tonight.
Rio ducks into the bathroom after the show “to wash my fucking face, Jesus,” which leaves Agatha alone in the lobby. It’s a cacophony of too loud parents and students, laughing and talking and humming the music.
Agatha hovers on the edges of the crowd, waiting for Rio to hurry to fuck up. Which is where Billy finds her, sweating and grinning and still in costume.
“Agatha,” he says, out of breath, like he ran here from backstage, “you came!”
The theater looks good on him, making him bright and buoyant. Agatha still remembers when he was a shy little thing, hiding behind his parents’ legs, only coaxed out when Nicky offered to show him his room, communicating in the way that only children can with one another.
She shrugs. “I mean, I bought a ticket, didn’t want it to go to waste.”
“I bought your ticket,” Billy corrects, smiling even wider. “So did your situationship make it up?”
Agatha rolls her eyes. “Jesus Christ, I’m an adult, I don’t have a situationship.”
“So she’s your girlfriend?” Billy teases.
Agatha crosses her arms, sneers. “Is little Evan Hansen up there your boyfriend?”
The distraction works; Billy blushes so hard that Agatha can see it through his stage makeup.
Rio chooses that moment to come out of the bathroom, sidling up to Agatha and putting a hand to the small of her back again.
“Hey, kid,” she says to Billy. “Good job being a singing corpse.”
“Thanks,” he says, eyes distinctly going to where Rio is touching Agatha. “It was so sweet of you to come all the way up here just for this show. You’ve been coming up here a lot, haven’t you?”
Agatha could throttle the kid. Rio just levels a blank look at him.
“I travel a lot for work. So did you have Evan Hansen’s babies yet or what?”
Billy blushes again. “You guys are the worst,” he says. “Eddie and I are just…”
“A situationship?” Agatha asks.
“Shut up,” Billy says.
“Speak of the devil,” Rio says, looking behind Billy’s shoulder.
There’s Dear Evan Hansen himself, looking at Billy like the sun shines out of his ass. Agatha rolls her eyes.
“Oh my god,” he says, approaching them. “Is this her?”
Billy quickly stares daggers at Agatha and Rio before turning to his not-boyfriend with a sweet smile.
“In the flesh,” he says. “Eddie, this is Agatha Harkness herself.”
Eddie holds out a hand, the one that doesn’t have his costume cast on it. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Miss Harkness,” he practically gushes. “Billy literally won’t shut up about you.”
Agatha raises her eyebrows at Billy. “Billy won’t shut up about me, huh?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Billy says quickly, “I just sometimes mention you.”
“Come on,” Eddie says, squeezing Billy’s arm, before looking back at Agatha. “He’s always telling stories about his cool lesbian neighbor. And oh my god? All this new drama with the hot tax woman? Iconic.”
Rio raises an eyebrow. “Hot tax woman?”
“Holy shit, are you her?” Eddie enthuses. “You’re a legend, for real.”
Rio nudges Agatha with her elbow. “I’m a legend,” she whispers. Agatha rolls her eyes.
Just then, like a compounding nightmare she can’t wake up from, Agatha sees Sharon Davis from across the hallway, coming toward them, a hand outstretched in a wave.
”Billy! Agatha!” She calls.
“Alright,” Agatha says. “This has been a fucking blast. Good job with the singing, kids. Wear a condom. We gotta leave.”
“Aww,” Rio says, “but I was having so much fun.”
“I think you’ll have much more fun back at my place,” Agatha says.
“More fun than the math classroom?”
“We can always try.”
“What the hell did you guys do in the math classroom?” Billy asks. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
“Good show, boys,” Rio says, with a mock little salute. “Billy, make sure to ask Agatha for her favorite parts of act two when you see her next.”
“Fuck off, Vidal,” Agatha says, before grabbing Rio’s hand and leaving this dreadful place before Sharon can catch them.
Rio is laughing as they leave, loud into the warm spring night. Agatha wonders if Rio laughs that much in front of other people. If her coworkers or her family or her stupid rec basketball league get to see Rio Vidal like this, cracked open and flushed with amusement. Agatha hopes they don’t.
When they get to Agatha’s place, Agatha doesn’t even bother turning on a light before taking Rio upstairs, stripping her down and laying her out on the bed, beautiful and naked in the moonlight streaming through Agatha’s curtains. Agatha just looks at her for a minute, the mole under her left breast, the sharp jut of her hip bones, the flush on her neck.
“Please,” Rio says, unprompted, a deer in headlights begging to be crushed to death, “please, baby.”
And, well, Agatha has never been one to show much mercy.
Agatha is woken up the next morning up by the doorbell ringing again and again, interspersed with a harsh pounding on her door.
She turns, blinking her eyes open to see that Rio is still asleep beside her in bed, tangled in the sheets, mouth a little open. Agatha’s brain is still waking up, but something doesn’t quite add up. Rio is the only person who is allowed to be knocking on Agatha’s door like that.
The doorbell rings again. Agatha groans, pulls herself out of bed, knees popping, probably from when they were spread over Rio’s face last night.
Rio stirs, blearily cracking an eye open. “What’s going on?” She asks, words slurred a little from sleep.
“Someone’s at the door,” Agatha says, pulling on a robe. “And they won’t leave.”
Rio sits up a little, eyebrows furrowed. “But that’s my job.”
“I know it is, sweetheart,” Agatha says, patting her cheek. She’s not sure if she’s saying it genuinely or not, which is something for her to figure out after she stops the racket downstairs.
Agatha ties the robe and heads down the stairs, opening the door to see some guy standing there, wearing a backpack and looking like an idiot.
“Yes?” She says, crossing her arms.
“Uh, are you Agatha Harkness?”
“Who’s asking?”
“Just for a delivery,” he says, “need your name to confirm.”
“Fine, sure,” Agatha says, wanting this man off her porch more than she cares about what’s being delivered. Rio is naked in her bed after all. “Yes, I’m Agatha Harkness.”
The guy smiles. He pulls a large manila envelope from his backpack.
“Good morning, Miss Harkness, you’ve just been served by the Internal Revenue Service. Have a great rest of your day.”
Then he shoves the envelope in her hands and leaves.
Agatha just stares, dumbfounded, watching this nothing of a man walk down her driveway. She turns back inside in a trance, shutting the door behind her.
“Who was that, baby?”
Agatha looks to the top of the stairs, where Rio, hair messy from sleep and sex, is pulling one of Agatha’s robes around herself. She slowly walks down the stairs and with each step, Agatha can see the grin on her face grow wider, the spark in her eyes more intense.
Once, when Agatha was 17, she stole her mother’s car and was driving it down the winding and poorly lit roads of rural Massachusetts when a deer came out of nowhere and slammed into the car, nearly pushing Agatha off the road. Agatha’s ears were ringing and the car was ruined and she had blood in her mouth, all while the deer just pranced off unscathed into the night.
Rio’s big brown eyes look at her now, bright with amusement as she stands in Agatha’s foyer. She pokes her tongue into her cheek.
”So what’s in the envelope?”
“Oh, fuck you, Vidal,” Agatha sneers.
Rio laughs, leaning on the door, Agatha’s own fucking robe sliding off her shoulder. Just like yesterday, when Rio was fucking her, the sensation builds slowly and then all at once, only now it’s a hot burning anger crawling its way up Agatha’s throat, spreading under her skin.
“Get out,” Agatha says hoarsely. “Get out of my fucking house.”
“Aw, don’t be like that, baby,” Rio says.
“Don’t baby me,” Agatha sneers. She throws the envelope to the ground and turns away from Rio, quickly climbing the stairs. “You’re fucking suing me.”
“I’m not suing you,” Rio says, following Agatha. “The IRS is suing you.”
Agatha ignores her, grabs Rio’s stupid sweater vest and stupid chinos from her bedroom floor.
“This is fucking rich, coming from you,” Agatha says, voice rising, “after you got so pissy when I even mentioned a lawyer. Well, look at you now. Agent Vidal.”
She turns around and Rio is right there, still smiling smugly, still wearing Agatha’s robe, still in Agatha’s goddamn house. Agatha shoves the clothes into her chest.
“You’re the one who brought lawyers into this, Agatha,” Rio says calmly, taking her clothes. “By the way, I think they tried to call you last night. Twice.”
“Don’t talk to me about last night,” Agatha snaps. “Did you just come up here to shove this in my face?”
“I had a ticket to the show,” Rio says. “The timing just also worked out for this.”
Agatha scoffs. “For you to sue me?”
“The IRS is suing you,” Rio clarifies again. “I’m not doing anything. I just followed procedure and communicated to my superiors that you have enough outstanding payments to warrant a lawsuit. Which is what I should have done the very first time your check bounced.”
“Hmm, and why didn’t you?” Agatha asks, cocking her head.
Rio swallows a little. It’s almost nothing, but it’s enough. A crack in her veneer. Good.
“Because it seems to me, Agent Vidal,” Agatha spits out, “for someone who loves the rules, who loves her job, who gets off on collecting pennies for the fucking United States government, you really strayed from the proper procedures this time.”
She presses two fingers into Rio’s chest. The clothes slip from Rio’s hands.
“Do you think,” Agatha says in a low voice, “that the IRS would like to know that their pride and joy, their bad boy agent, spent a whole month playing house with a tax evader instead of suing her?”
Rio’s eyes narrow. She’s breathing heavily, either from anger or from Agatha’s fingers on her chest.
“This isn’t about me, Agatha,” Rio says. “This is about you not paying your fucking taxes.”
“Bullshit.” Agatha says. “Don’t pretend this is about anything except you and me.”
“Then why did you hire a lawyer?” Rio asks. “If it’s between you and me?”
“Aw,” Agatha says, mocking. “Did it hurt your feelings when I sought legal help? Did you think you were that special? That you would into this house with your little suit and your little briefcase and you would rock my fucking world so much that I would just give in? I’ve been living this way my whole life, Agent Vidal. I’ve known you for barely over a month. Don’t flatter yourself.”
Rio just looks at her. She breathes out a shaky breath.
“Fuck you, Agatha,” she says, hard.
“Aw baby, you did that already last night.”
Agatha reaches out to stroke Rio’s check. Rio swats her hand away.
“You know what?” Rio snarls. “You can yell at me all you want, you can manipulate me, you can do it all, but there’s actually a really simple way out of all this. You could pay your fucking taxes.”
Agatha scoffs. “Back on this shit, again?”
“It’s my job,” Rio says. “It’s my literal job to get you to pay your taxes. It’s not my job to make you feel better or to go to high school musicals with you or to fuck you.”
“But you keep doing all those things.” Agatha says, voice lilting. “How interesting.”
“Of course I do!” Rio practically yells. “I want to do all those things, Agatha, but I’m not going to stop doing my job because I’m in love with you!”
Agatha stares at her in shock, ears ringing. The deer slams into her car again. Rio stares back at her, eyes cautious, like she’s expecting Agatha to have another biting comeback.
Instead, Agatha shoves Rio against the wall, hands on her shoulders, pushing her body against Rio’s. Rio’s chest is heaving, eyes staring at Agatha's mouth.
“Don’t say shit like that,” Agatha hisses at her.
“What, that I’m doing my job?” Rio asks.
“That you’re in love with me.”
Rio swallows, a flush spreading down her neck, like she’s just now figuring out what she said. Then her eyes sharpen, lips forming into a hard line. She pushes Agatha off of her, then stands to her whole height, crossing her arms. She takes in a long, steady breath.
“Well, I am,” she says, like it’s simple. “Somehow, even though you are the most insufferable person I’ve ever met and you are actively ruining my career, I fucking fell in love with you, so you just have to deal with it.”
Agatha feels hot all over, Rio’s eyes boring into her. She can’t let Rio get to her like this, can’t let this newest round of bullshit distract her. People don’t just fall in love with Agatha. Especially someone like Rio. Agatha clears her throat, scoffs.
“So you’re in love with me and you’re suing me?”
“The IRS is suing you!” Rio yells in frustration.
“Shut the fuck up about the IRS.”
“Gladly,” Rio says. “I’ll never mention the IRS again if you just pay your—”
Agatha cuts her off by kissing her, hard, tugging her hair, tasting her mouth. Rio moans into it, loud and unburdened, hands coming up to cup Agatha’s face. Agatha swats them away, pulls back.
Rio looks at her, mouth wet, eyes wild. Her lips turn up into a slow smile.
“Even with all that, you still can’t keep your hands off me, can you?”
Agatha growls, pushes her against the wall again.
“You’re just proving my point,” Rio says, with a breath of laughter.
Agatha kisses her again, with teeth. Rio moans into it, molding into Agatha’s touch. Agatha tears at her robe, kissing her neck, sucking a bruise onto the side of it, reveling in Rio’s hands fisting in her hair, Rio’s hips thrusting up, desperate and needy.
This is good. This is where she likes Rio, weak for her, leaning up into her, desire painted in every pore.
“Agatha,” Rio moans, as Agatha roughly cups Rio’s breast, pinching her nipple. “Agatha, fuck, I—”
“Love me?” Agatha says, a tease into her ear. Somehow, like this, it’s almost believable. “I know, you mentioned that.”
“Fuck off,” Rio manages to say, even as she pushes her chest into Agatha’s hand, mouth falling open.
Agatha licks into Rio’s open mouth, bites on her lip, pulls her hair. Rio reacts to all of it like it’s the first time Agatha is touching her, like she lives only for these moments. Like she’s in love with her.
It’s infuriating.
Agatha slides a hand between Rio’s legs, not bothering to even tease as she spreads Rio open, feels Rio’s want spilling onto her fingertips.
Rio moans her name again, clutches onto her.
“So wet for me, baby,” Agatha purrs in her ear. “So desperate for me.”
She dips her fingers into the blissful and familiar feeling of Rio, pressing right where she knows Rio likes it.
“Fuck,” Rio groans, “god, baby, that’s so good.”
She’s pathetic like this, clutching onto Agatha, coating her fingers, being in love with her.
“You like that?” Agatha asks.
Rio nods frantically.
“Good,” Agatha says. “Drop the lawsuit.”
Rio breathes out something between a moan and a laugh.
“I can’t,” she says, breath short. “You know that.”
“I thought you loved me,” Agatha coos. She presses her fingers in harder.
“I do,” Rio says, “God, Agatha, you’re all I fucking think about.”
The words sit warm and electric in Agatha’s chest. She’ll deal with them later.
For now, she leans her mouth to Rio’s ear and whispers, “then drop the suit.”
”I can’t.”
”Hmm,” Agatha says. “Pity.”
Then she presses a quick kiss to Rio’s cheek, removes her hand from Rio’s cunt, and steps back, wiping her hand on her robe. Rio lets out heavy shallow breaths, glaring at Agatha.
“I was really going to enjoy that,” Agatha says, pouting. “But I can’t fuck someone to completion who’s suing me. It’s just not right.”
Rio practically growls at her. It sends a shiver up Agatha’s spine. She was already electrified beyond belief from being inside Rio, but seeing this pure anger coming off of her, mixing with her arousal, it makes Agatha want so much it hurts.
“God, you’re evil,” Rio says, still out of breath.
Agatha grins at her. “But you love me.”
She picks Rio’s clothes up from the floor and throws them to her. Rio shakes her head before angrily dressing herself, almost tripping over her own feet as she pulls on her pants.
“This isn't over,” Rio says, clearly trying to be threatening, but she’s still so obviously turned on, her words don’t quite have the desired effect.
“Good,” Agatha says.
If she has it her way, this will never be over. She can see the flush on Rio’s cheeks, smell Rio’s want, can feel the waves of Rio’s anger. Agatha is electrified from within at the power of having this woman at her fingertips—she would be a fool to ever want it to be over. She shoots Rio one last biting grin.
“My lawyers will be in touch.”