Chapter Text
The bubbling water did nothing to soothe Heather's irritation. It was supposed to be just them. A girls’ night, a power soak, a reassertion of the natural fucking order. But Heather Duke, with her anxious need to be the center of attention, had told Ram. And now the hot tub was a frat house tableau.
Kurt and Ram’s laughter grated against the tiled walls. While McNamara’s giggle was a high, tinny bell. And Duke, soaking beside her so-called boyfriend, kept shooting her these little glances; apologetic, smug, a mess of contradictions. It made Heather's skin burn.
“Do you need something, Heather?” she said, her voice cutting through the steam. “Or are you just addicted to making sure someone’s paying attention to you at all times?”
Duke stiffened, then smiled anyway. That thin, stubborn smile she wore when she felt cornered. “Sorry,” she said lightly. “Didn’t realize looking was a crime.”
“It is when it’s desperate,” Heather shot back. Her eyes flicked to Ram’s arm around Duke. “I get it. You finally found someone who’ll keep his hand on you longer than five minutes and you want us to see it too, right? So you're sure it's not just some huge joke like the rest of your life?”
Kurt snorted.
Heather's grip tightened around Ram’s arm. “Funny,” she said, a little sharper now. “You sound jealous.”
A hot, sharp spike drove straight into Chandler’s gut. The audacity. The fucking nerve. Ram just chuckled, dumb and oblivious, his arm slung around Duke’s shoulder.
Heather let the silence stretch, let the jets fill it with their false comfort. Then she turned her head, a slow, predatory pivot, and looked right at Ram. “Ram,” she said, his name a threat. “Come here.”
He didn’t hesitate. A stupid, panting thing, he slid through the water, displacing it around his bulk. Duke’s smirk faltered. Heather made sure to keep her eyes on Heather.
“Heather! It was just a joke–” Duke’s voice was a brittle snap.
Chandler ignored her. She closed her eyes with the distance, capturing Ram’s mouth with hers. It wasn’t a kiss; it was a show of power. He responded instantly, hungrily, his large hands finding her hips under the churning water, gripping with a clumsiness that was almost endearing in its predictability. He fumbled, squeezing, trying to pull her closer. She let him, for a moment, arching against him, letting him groan into her mouth. She treated it like a performance, letting her hands rake through his wet hair, controlling the angle, thinking of him as a simple, horny machine. Useful. Disposable.
She broke the kiss, turning her face just enough to look past Ram’s shoulder at Heather. She looked positively flustered.
“What?” Heather echoed, her voice a low, smoky taunt. “Just a joke, right?”
“Okay!” Heather chirped, voice strained with panic. “You know what? I’m starving. Kurt, Ram, let’s go see if there’s pizza. Or anything–” She was already hoisting herself out, water sluicing off her. Kurt followed, confused but compliant. Ram looked torn, his gaze darting between Heather and the retreating figures.
“Go on, puppy,” Heather said, biting her lip and giving his chest a light, dismissive push. “You deserve a treat.”
He went, leaving a wake of awkward silence. The sliding door to the house clicked shut. It was just the two of them now.
Heather was the first to break, of course. “Was that necessary? God, you’re such a bitch.”
Heather moved almost immediately. Her hand shot out, tangling in the dark, wet strands of Heather's hair, fisting tight at the roots. She pulled, enough to hurt, enough to control, enough to yank Heather forward through the water until their faces were a breath apart.
Heather gasped. It was a sharp, shocked intake of air that melted, at the tail end, into a low, unmistakable moan. The sound went straight to Heather's core.
Duke’s eyes were wide, pupils blown, her lips parted. She was breathing harder now, her chest rising and falling against Heather's.
God. She liked it.
How pathetic.
“You talk too much,” Chandler murmured, her voice a rough scrape. She used her grip to maneuver Heather, backing her against the tiled bench. She pushed Duke down onto it, the water lapping at their chests. Then she wedged a knee between Duke’s thighs, spreading them, pinning her in place.
“What are you doing?” Duke breathed, but she made no move to resist. Her hands came up, hovering, then settled on Heather's shoulders, fingers digging in.
“Shutting you up.” Heather brought her free hand down, sliding it over Duke’s stomach, through the fabric of her bikini bottom, and then beneath it. She was soaked. I mean, of course she was, they were in the fucking hot tub for God’s sake, but Heather could tell she was wet from how hot it was between her thighs. A wild, triumphant thrill surged through her. Her fingers found the swollen heat, the already-slick cleft.
Heather didn’t tease. She pressed her forehead against Duke’s, their noses brushing, and pushed one finger inside. Duke was tight, clenching around her, so hot it was almost a shock. A ragged gasp tore from her throat, warm against Chandler’s cheek.
“Fuck,” Duke whispered, her head falling back against the tile.
Chandler watched her, mesmerized by the flutter of her pulse in her throat, by the way her eyelashes stuck together in wet points. She began to move, a slow, deep, punishing rhythm. In. Out. Curling just so. Duke’s hips began to rock, meeting each thrust.
“You bite,” Heather said, her own breath coming shorter. “You always have to bite back.”
“You make it so… fucking… easy,” Duke panted, but the defiance was crumbling, her words breaking on each inward stroke.
Heather leaned in, capturing her mouth again. This kiss was different. It was all possession and salt and shared air. Heather kissed back fiercely, her teeth nipping at Heather's lower lip, sucking it into her mouth. When Chandler pulled back, Duke’s teeth held on for a delicious, stinging second before releasing.
A groan rumbled in Heather's chest. She ducked her head, her lips trailing down the column of Duke’s throat. She tasted chlorine and perfume. She laved over her frantic pulse, then bit down, not hard, but enough. Heather cried out, her back arching off the bench.
“Still easy?” The blonde growled against her skin. She added a second finger, stretching her, the glide now effortless. Her pace increased, a relentless, driving cadence. The water churned around their moving bodies, sloshing against the tub walls.
Heather was coming apart. Her moans were soft, desperate little sounds she tried to stifle against Heather's shoulder. Her fingers were claws on her back. “Please…”
“Please what?” Chandler breathed into her ear, her own need an aching spring between her own legs. She twisted her wrist, rubbed the heel of her hand against Heather's clit.
“Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.”
“Good girl,” Chandler purred, the words leaving her lips before she could think them. They felt right. They felt true. Heather shuddered at the praise, a fresh wave of heat coating Chandler’s fingers.
She could feel it building, the tension winding tighter and tighter in Heather. Her inner muscles began to flutter, a frantic, rhythmic pulse. Heather fastened her mouth back on Duke’s neck, sucking a dark mark into the pale skin as she fucked her with hard, precise thrusts.
Duke's climax hit her silently at first, a tensing so profound it seemed to stop her breath. Then a broken, sobbing gasp escaped, and she shook, her hips bucking, her cunt tightening around Chandler’s fingers in wave after wave of fierce, pulsing tremble. Heather held her through it, her own body thrumming with vicarious pleasure, with the sheer, intoxicating power of it all.
As the tremors subsided, Heather went boneless against the tile, her eyes closed, lips swollen. Heather slowly withdrew her fingers, glistening in the dim underwater light. She looked at Duke’s bliss-slackened face, then brought her hand up. She pressed her wet fingers against Duke’s parted lips.
“Open,” she ordered, her voice husky.
Dazed, obedient, Heather's tongue flicked out, tasting both herself and the salt in the water on Heather’s fingers. Then she took the fingers into her mouth, her eyes fluttering open to lock with Heather's as she sucked them clean.
The sound of the patio door sliding open was a rude intrusion. Footsteps. Laughter.
Heather didn’t move away. She left her fingers in Duke’s mouth for a heartbeat longer, then slowly pulled them free with a soft, wet pop. She shifted back just enough to put a few inches of bubbling water between them, a cool, casual mask settling over her features, Heather's face still stuck with that dazed expression.
Ram’s voice boomed. “You guys sorted out your shit?”
Heather looked over at the approaching boys, a slow, victorious smirk spreading across her face. She leaned close to Duke's ear, her whisper a jab wrapped in velvet.
“See?.. Five minutes.”