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Fang had loved living in Philly. She’d loved buying the best soft pretzels in the world on her way to work, kayaking up and down the Schuylkill with hookups of various persuasions and, when work or dating was especially frustrating, cheering herself up by visiting The Gates of Hell at the Rodin Museum. Most of all, she’d loved the gritty little studio in Northern Liberties with both ballet and modern dance classes, and the abundance of English and Scottish country dancing in the Greater Philadelphia area.
But the COVID-19 pandemic had shut down many things, including the studio, and shunted others to onscreen and socially distanced workarounds, so when a company in her hometown offered her a fantastic software development position, she accepted it, moving in with her older sister, Heidi.
The idea of doing so would have been preposterous to her younger self. During grade school, the pressure to emulate her sister in all things had been unrelenting, and Fang had rebelled by striving to be as unlike Heidi as possible—cultivating short, spiky hair and a sneer instead of Heidi’s pageant-queen waves and smile; playing snare drums and other unladylike instruments instead of flute; and turning her back on debate team and student council in favor of less socially prestigious activities such as hackathons, puzzle construction, and fantasy baseball. They had helped her win the scholarships that let her escape her sister’s shadow and, despite a well-deserved reputation for bossiness, Heidi had never herself insisted that Fang be more feminine or less of a numbers nerd.
They got on very well as housemates, in part because they already knew how to read each other’s moods, and they were wholly in sync about paying bills and divvying up chores. As bars, cafes, and other venues reopened, Fang began to cultivate new friendships in person, including some with benefits—necessitating some slightly uncomfortable conversations at home. Even though she’d previously negotiated and navigated sexytimes logistics with roommates in student housing and Philly lofts—when and how often overnight guests could be accommodated, and boundaries to be respected—it felt weird to admit to her big sister that she was happy with fucking around and had zero interest in anyone putting a ring, collar, or any other marker of possession on her. It was weirder still to realize that, of the two of them, her supremely polished, charismatic sister was the disaster bisexual: everyone in their circles had expected Heidi to be permanently partnered by now, and Heidi wanted that for herself, but—to her credit, in Fang’s naturally biased opinion—she wasn’t willing to tone down her personality to keep a relationship going, and she somehow kept starting relationships with people who ended up exhausted by the intensity that initially attracted them.
Fang didn’t blame them, per se—her own tendency to be too extra was definitely part of why she refused to consider pairing up with anyone permanently—but she was still gonna harbor grudges on her sister’s behalf where those people were concerned, and she made a point of scowling at several of Heidi’s exes at the after-party for the Playford Ball, their hometown’s fanciest English country dance event of the year.
“Stop that,” Heidi said.
“Not doing nothin’,” Fang said, completely insincerely.
“I mean it,” Heidi said, in her “why do I have to be the adult” tone. “We’re all on good terms, and even if we weren’t, I can take care of myself.”
“Aw, she’s cute when she wants to bite heads off,” their old friend Jay said, earning glares from both siblings.
“Don’t encourage her!” Heidi said.
“How dare you call me cute!” Fang said, at the same time.
“You always have been,” Jay said, smirking, “even in your pouty baby gothling phase.”
“Oh my God, that does sound adorable.” Fang shut her eyes, mortified: that comment had come from Cora, the sharp-eyed butch whom, until that very moment, Fang had been actively considering hitting on. She’d admired the fine figure Cora had cut all evening, in a black tailcoat and trousers, with a blood-red cravat around her neck and garnet studs in her ears. Every time Fang had glanced at her during the ball, she’d been moving with exceptional grace and decisiveness, and in the two dances they’d paired up for, they had been exquisitely in sync from first notes to final chords. That was often a good portent for further fun in private—a physically aware, attentive partner was the dream, especially for no-strings flings.
But being cooed at—ugh. When Fang reopened her eyes, Cora was regarding her quizzically.
“Did I hit a sore spot? I feel like I put my foot in it just now,” Cora said, her grim tone hinting at scars from past missteps.
“Not quite,” Fang said. “It’s not your fault I should’ve stayed in Philadelphia.”
“Oh, come on,” Jay said, handing Fang a fresh bottle of beer but still emanating the intent to continue teasing. “Are you telling me you had them all fooled into thinking you weren’t a brat?”
“The Philly dancers I’ve met are terribly no-nonsense,” Heidi said, with a quelling look at Jay—a very Philly look, in fact, Fang thought, half-hysterically—“but they’ll tolerate the kind of fooling around that leads to dances like ‘Now o Now.’”
“Wait, that’s by you?” Cora said to Fang, her eyes sparkling. “I love ‘Now o Now.’ The choreography’s absolutely brilliant.”
“She also wrote ‘Saint Melangell’s Warren,’” Heidi added, grinning.
“That super-tricky piece from this afternoon?” Cora asked. At Heidi’s nod, she said, beaming, “That was so awesome. I wish we could do hard dances like that more often.”
“That really is a good one, kiddo,” Jay said. “I wish you’d let people applaud you for it, but you do you.”
“So that’s why I didn’t know you’d written it, or ‘Now o Now,’” Cora said, realization dawning on her face. “The callers don’t say your name when they introduce your dances.”
She didn’t follow with the usual “Why is that?,” however, and Fang felt perversely inclined to offer an explanation. “They’re published under my American name.”
“I keep telling her,” Jay said, “that she needs to play the long game, and roll out a dozen vampire-themed reels that people can add to Halloween masquerades. I can think of at least three callers who would totally love to riff on how a feisty young lady named Fang is producing such toothsome work.”
Heidi rolled her eyes, not without affection. “What you mean is that you keep telling me about your vision, which I’m going to keep refusing to bother my baby sister with, because all her life she’s been stuck with how my parents didn’t know any better. At least Heidi is a sweet book. The problem with ‘Fanny,’ when you’re a kid…” Heidi spread her hands wide, as if to indicate something large.
“So many stupid butt jokes,” Fang said, sourly. “And old-fashioned, too. And ‘Fang Ling’ is also a grandma name in Chinese. So I decided, fuck it, I’ll go with just ‘Fang,’ because then it’s not really my Chinese name, and I won’t keep getting mad about the rest of the world getting the vowels and tones wrong.”
“As opposed to the eighteen hundred other things you’re still mad at the world about,” Jay said.
“Which is absolutely valid of her,” Heidi countered.
“Of course,” Jay said agreeably. “You’re actually the same, but more smiley about it, and that scares me more, for real.”
Heidi leveled at him an exaggerated smile, baring her teeth, and he pretended to recoil from it. Fang put her head in her hands.
“Old friends, they know too much,” Heidi said to Cora, with a sigh. “I hope we’re not scaring you off with how extra we are.”
“Not at all,” Cora said, with genuine good cheer. “Although I do need to call it a night soon. I don’t want to be brain-dead for tomorrow’s dance.” She darted a cautious glance at Fang as she added, “I don’t want to miss a single beat when there might be new Fanny Jung moves to learn.”
“Oh God,” Fang said, muffled by her hands.
“Sorry, I’m making it weird, but your dances are so good!” Cora sounded slightly embarrassed and very earnest. “They’re so gorgeously well-thought-out. I love how much sense they make—every move feels so natural and inevitable, but I’ve tried to write dances myself, and I never would’ve come up with those figures, or fit them to the music so perfectly.”
“That’s right! That’s my sis!” Heidi beamed. “Total puzzle-solving genius porcupine.”
“Oh Christ,” Fang moaned, still hiding behind her hands.
“I don’t think I saw your name on the home hospitality request lists,” Heidi said to Cora. “Where are you staying?”
“I had hotel points to spend,” Cora said, “and I like being able to shower at any hour of the night, which I don’t feel comfortable doing in other people’s homes.”
“Do you need a ride? Not that we’re trying to get rid of you, but Fang can give you a lift, if you want.”
“Um.” Hearing Cora’s hesitation, Fang dropped her hands and said, “What my bossy big sister is actually saying is, I am as usual done with all these maniacs by now, and you’ll be doing me a favor if you let me give you a ride. We can geek out about duple minors together instead of amusing these terrible people with will-we or won’t-we.”
“Oh!” Cora’s lips curved up. “Does this—no, wait. We can talk about it in the car.”
The corners of Fang’s mouth and eyes twitched up as well, even as she pointedly ignored Heidi’s and Jay’s chuckling and swept toward the room where everyone’s coats and bags were piled.
Cora was quiet during the first part of the drive, allowing Fang to concentrate on steering the beat-up Focus to the freeway. When the map app indicated that the exit was three miles away, Cora took a deep breath and said, “I’m not sleepy yet, but we don’t have to talk about choreography, unless you’re actually in the mood. I mean, I’m not in your league, and it’s been a long day, so you’re not going to get incisive critiques from me at this hour, and—”
“Stop babbling, it doesn’t suit you,” Fang said, and then, wishing she could hide behind her hands again, hurriedly added, “I don’t mean that in a mean way, sorry! I mean, you don’t have to be nervous or careful with me just because you like my dances! You’re a great, confident dancer, and I loved that!”
In her peripheral vision, she could see Cora slumping in relief against the passenger side of the car. After a moment, Cora said, “That’s another reason you don’t use your name with your dances, isn’t it—you don’t want people being ‘oh no, I gotta be perfect around the choreographer’ with you.”
Fang laughed at that. “The locals totally don’t act that way, but they also all know me as Heidi’s little sister. I actually considered staying away from ECD when I moved back here, ’cause I knew that would happen. But I couldn’t stop myself from thinking up new dances, and there’s really no substitute for getting a dance right other than trying it on real dancers, and you need at least five couples to test out every aspect of a duple minor.”
“That would’ve been such a shame, if you’d stopped.”
They were already at the last traffic signal before the entrance to the hotel’s parking lot. As they waited for the light to change, Fang said, “Speaking of stopping, or not, what do you actually want? I can just drop you off if you’re serious about wanting a full night’s sleep, or I could come in with you and we could sit at the bar, or take drinks up to your room and talk some more.”
“Since you like me being direct, let me ask,” Cora said, earlier nervousness shed, “how would you feel about coming up and not just talking?”
“Oh thank fucking God,” Fang said, pulling into a space and yanking up the parking brake.
They did in fact stop at the bar to order a bottle of sparkling wine, and Cora went down the hall to fill the ice bucket after letting Fang into her room. Fang busied herself first with washing her hands and face and then filling the two champagne flutes the bar had supplied.
Re-entering the room, Cora said, “Excellent,” and handed the bucket to Fang, hanging up her coat and unwinding her cravat while Fang worked the base of the bottle into the mound of ice cubes. Pretty neck now exposed, Cora licked her lips as she and Fang both moved toward their drinks.
“Well. Here’s to your multitudes, and all they contain,” Cora said, raising her glass.
“Here’s to you being here,” Fang replied. “And maybe to breaking containment?”
Cora took a healthy sip of the wine, and then leaned in, speaking against Fang’s ear. “If you break my skin when you bite, I won’t mind,” she said.
“I don’t know you well enough to taste your blood,” Fang said, “but it sounds like you’re down for bruises.” Without waiting for a reaction, Fang slid her mouth down to the side of Cora’s neck and sank her teeth in. Cora hissed in shocked pleasure but—as Fang had gambled on—nonetheless still had the presence of mind to set down her drink without spilling it.
Snaking an arm around Cora’s waist, Fang held on to her own champagne flute, leaning back for a second sip and tipping a few drops between Cora’s parted lips. She peered at the pink indents she’d just made on Cora’s skin, allowing herself a fleeting grin of satisfaction before planting a second bite on top of the first.
“Yes!” Cora’s hands clutched at Fang as Fang imprinted a chain of overlapping bites across the top of Cora’s shoulder, undoing Cora’s waistcoat and tugging off her shirt after the second set of marks. “It’s just like when I start to write a dance,” Fang told her, affecting a methodical tone but feeling giddy about how much she liked having Cora in her clasp. “There’s so many things that could be so much fun. I could mouth at your throat for a while,” Fang said, placing a single hot kiss under Cora’s chin. “I could make your left shoulder match the right,” but she limited herself to a single bite just outside of Cora’s armpit. “Your arms. Your tits. Your belly. God, it’s so much.”
“For fuck’s sake, stop admiring and mark me up some more,” Cora ordered, reaching into Fang’s hair and pushing her head toward the last bite-marks.
“Oh, yeah, I like you,” Fang said, using her teeth to inflict more bruises over the meaty part of Cora’s upper arm. Pulling away, she said, “I loved how on the dance floor we were so in tune that neither you nor I were leader or follower. That’s how I knew I wanted this with you.”
Cora snorted. “Try telling that to the goat who was giving that couple next to us what-for for not going ‘improper’ when the dance called for it.”
“Serves them right for being costumed in the gender assigned to them,” Fang said, voice far drier than the wine.
Cora stared at Fang, momentarily aghast before clocking the sarcasm, and then doubled over laughing. Fang took advantage of the distraction to step back and shed all her garb—gown, petticoats, panties, bra, and jewelry—before giving Cora a friendly shove toward the king-sized bed.
“Get on there so I can get all this off,” she said, gesturing at Cora’s trousers, stockings, and shoes. Still laughing, Cora obediently flopped onto the bed, letting Fang impatiently undo buckles and buttons and peel off the rest of her coverings.
Once Cora was completely naked, however, Fang paused, arrested by the play of light and shadow across Cora’s skin from the room’s lamps, none of them aimed directly at the bed.
“I said, stop admiring,” Cora mock-complained. “Are you always so resistant to doing what’s expected?”
“You were complimenting me on how my brain worked less than an hour ago,” Fang cheekily pointed out. “Was that just empty flattery, then?”
Cora deliberately stretched out her arms and windshield-wipered her legs to the left, showing off the outer curve of her right thigh to greater effect. “You calling this an empty offering?”
“I’m going to be so mad at you if this is just your nerdy version of star-fucking,” Fang said, folding her arms.
“I’m told the kids call it ‘competence kink’ these days, but I promise you it isn’t only that.” Cora swung her legs in the other direction, showing off her equally luscious left thigh. “And even if it were, don’t you like what you see?”
“Damn right I do,” Fang said, turning back to where they’d toasted each other. She picked up the nearer champagne flute and collected the blood-red cravat from the carpet, draping it over her own shoulders as she strolled up to the bed. Bending over Cora’s face, she very slowly drizzled some of the wine over the fingers of her free hand, which she held just above Cora’s open mouth. Cora swallowed the wine as it dripped off Fang’s skin, and then sucked as if she were still thirsty when Fang pushed her fingers in.
“Good,” Fang said, dropping a kiss on Cora’s forehead. Withdrawing her fingers, she brought together Cora’s wrists and knotted the cravat around them. She then rolled down onto Cora, enjoying the other woman’s groan of satisfaction as Fang finally granted them the thrill of full-body contact. The groan escalated into a scream and then high-pitched gasps as Fang resumed exploring Cora’s body, taunting it not only with her teeth but also rough squeezing and tugging, with Cora bucking wildly as Fang pinched her nipples and bit the undersides of her breasts while pinning her down her lower half with her own naked weight. Fang was so turned on that her pussy was making Cora’s legs messy, just as she could feel her belly getting slippery from its proximity to Cora’s cunt.
Fang needed to breathe, and she wanted to see, so she pushed herself up into a sort of plank pose, in order to look down at the glistening streaks on Cora’s skin and hers.
“What the fuck,” Cora said, incredulous. “A yoga break, right now?”
“It could be,” Fang replied, amused. “The rests are as important as the notes, you know.”
“Silly me, I should’ve guessed. Choreographers love making people wait for the next move.”
“You could say that, but you should also trust me to make it worth your while.” Dropping back onto her haunches, Fang traced one of the widest streaks with her fingers, slicking them up. She made a show of rubbing them against her tongue, and then swirling a tablespoon’s worth of wine around her mouth like a connoisseur.
“A winning combination,” she intoned.
“You don’t know me well enough to make me bleed, and yet, this,” Cora said, sounding both flattered and apprehensive.
“I know,” Fang said, acknowledging the lapse in observing precautions. “What can I say—you’re not the only one on fire here.”
“Then fucking get on with getting us off!” Cora yelled, banging her tied-up wrists against the mattress.
“You don’t think that’s what I’ve been doing?” Fang grinned. “You don’t think I can’t tell how much you’re in control the rest of the time?” She caressed Cora’s ribs and hips and cupped her breasts, dropping a flurry of fluttery kisses on them before draping herself completely over Cora once more. “You don’t think I know how pacing works? You aren’t going to think of this the next time you dance one of my dances?”
“You want me to? Wouldn’t that make me a bad partner to whomever I’m with, if I’m thinking of you instead of them?”
“Oh, I guess,” Fang said, feigning disappointment. But she was in fact in agreement, and entirely pleased that Cora was all about staying focused on whom she was with. “I guess that means I’d better do my best with you right now,” she said, rolling to her side and plunging two fingers into Cora on the word best.
Cora yelped on the first thrust, screamed on the second, and bit her own arm to muzzle herself on the third, her ass arching off the mattress every single time. Fang latched her mouth to the side of Cora’s breast and hung on, pistoning her fingers faster and faster until Cora’s climax reached its peak, punctuated by a shriek as Cora abruptly ceased smothering herself, the need for air overriding the urge to keep quiet. With Cora prone beneath her, dazed and breathing hard, Fang ground against her hip while mashing her face against Cora’s neck, letting her tongue taste the skin her teeth had bruised as she chased her own orgasm. She allowed herself a long, low moan and shudder, her skin feeling simultaneously sweaty, slick, and shimmery as it rocked through her.
She’d meant to untie Cora promptly, but she must have been way more tired than she realized, because the blood-red silk was still around Cora’s wrists when Fang became conscious of having dozed off. From the hazy look in Cora’s eyes, she too had succumbed to a nap before the racket of people entering the room next door had jolted them awake.
Fang caught Cora’s eyes, and they both shook quietly with laughter as they overheard Cora’s neighbors drunkenly failing to be quiet as they started pawing at one another.
As Fang belatedly freed Cora from the cravat, she said, “I guess this means we both can take 2 a.m. showers without bugging them.”
Lovely eyebrows lifting, Cora said. “We didn’t leave the after-party that late. It’s not 2 a.m. yet.”
“I know,” Fang said, “but we still have half a bottle of very good wine to share.”
“So we do.” Cora smoothed out the cravat between her hands, and then deliberately trailed one of its ends down to Fang’s ankle. “So we do.”