Chapter Text
“Sweet, suffering Jesus, you weren’t kidding. How many more of those do you have?”
Madeline tilts the large suitcase into an upright position and slots the handle back into its holder. She squints against the winter sun that bisects the two sides of her face into light and shadow, grinning sheepishly. “Would you feel better if I said there’s no more?”
Helen peers into the rapidly diminishing space in the back of the Prius. “We’ve already loaded three in there. When did you even have time to pack all this?”
“I… couldn’t really sleep last night, even when you were totally dead to the world. The adrenaline took forever to wear off, and I was just so excited. Honestly, I think I’m still buzzing from everything.”
And, upon closer inspection, Madeline is trembling slightly, whether from cold or agitation or just a tad too much coffee, Helen isn’t sure. But whatever it is unlocks a fierce desire to protect her that comes springing up from within, sprouting like a fresh sapling that instinct commands her to nurture. “Oh, Mad.” She leans forward and gives her a quick peck on the lips. “Well, let’s hurry and get this all sorted, then. The quicker we’re done, the quicker we can rest.”
Madeline gasps, scandalised. “Rest?! It’s our first official Valentine’s Day, Hel. We will not be resting. I’m going to need a full, detailed replay of everything that happened last night, and then some.”
Last night… Helen’s mind swims in giddy delirium as the memories resurface. The separate drives back to Madeline’s place had been torturous; they’d barely even made it back before their hands were all over each other, Helen finally daring to be as bold as she wanted to be back at the school as she pinned Madeline to the wall of the stairwell and sucked three or four dark bruises down the side of her throat in a garish half-necklace. The wide, empty acoustics carried Madeline’s whimpers up towards the top floor as Helen’s lips travelled down her decolletage. But Madeline, ever eager to one-up Helen even at their current relationship status, managed to slide her hand somewhere she definitely shouldn’t have in a public place, the thrilling threat of being caught pressing into them from all sides and goading them further still.
But neither of them found it possible to care as they trampled and giggled and squealed like schoolgirls up the stairs to the fourth floor, grabbing at each other in increasingly inappropriate places. And then Madeline had finally put her mouth and fingers to proper use, bringing her to the edge three times within the sanctity of the apartment she’d soon be saying goodbye to, Helen returning the favour twice before sleep overcame her prematurely. “I suppose I owe you an orgasm.”
“Just one?” Madeline attempts a pout, but a smile tugs her plush lips into a wide, thin line, a dimple carving itself into her cheek. She dips her head and takes both of Helen’s hands in her own. “I’m so happy right now, I could scream.”
Helen squeezes her hands. “Me too, darling. But I fear a noise complaint may be imminent already, so let’s not tempt fate.”
Madeline leans in this time, closing the gap between their lips in a longer, slower kiss that quickly deepens. Helen’s tongue is just about to demand entrance when a thud jolts them apart. They whip around with racing hearts to locate the source of the noise; Madeline’s overstuffed suitcase has tipped over and is lying face down on the ground. Madeline looks down at the suitcase, then back up at Helen, and bursts out laughing. “So, perhaps I overfilled it a little.”
“Perhaps.” Madeline moves to pick it back up, but Helen's faster, managing to grab it and slide it into the remaining space in the back of the car before Madeline can even get a word in. “I’m worried you’ll collapse too if you do any more heavy lifting.”
“Oh, please.”
The last of the crates has been brought up from Helen’s car, where it’s placed atop a neat stack of Madeline’s belongings in the tiny spare bedroom. Helen’s muscles twinge with a dull yet pleasant ache, evidence of a hard but fruitful day of manual labour etching itself into the fibres of her anatomy. She ambles through to the kitchen, where Madeline is already making a start on dinner - she’d insisted on making something from scratch, forcing Helen to make a quick stop at the grocery store on their final trip back from her place to pick up fresh ingredients. “Only the best for you, my love,” she’d practically purred as she opened the door to exit the car, leaving Helen in a veritable puddle of desire until she returned for a brief yet intense make-out session under the cover of dark in the far corner of the parking lot.
The whole scene is so domestic that it makes her ache. Madeline slices some red chillies with a deft precision that suggests years of practice, humming a gentle tune under her breath while some diced onion begins to sizzle in a frying pan on the stove. On hearing footsteps, she looks up from her task, face breaking into a grin that Helen thinks could make the world tilt off its axis. “Hey!”
Helen comes up behind her and cradles Madeline’s hips between her hands, craning her neck forward to plant a kiss on her cheek over her shoulder. “Hey. Need any help?”
Madeline twists her neck so she can kiss Helen properly on the lips. “You can peel and chop up the garlic if you want to make yourself useful,” she offers when they finally pull away.
“Sure.” Helen reluctantly pries herself away from Madeline’s body to find another knife and the garlic. But it quickly becomes apparent that she’s far less adept in the kitchen than Madeline; the knife skitters off the curved sides of the bulbous vegetable haphazardly, the peel coming off in messy, uneven fragments. She flushes with embarrassment. “I promise this isn’t weaponised incompetence, I am just genuinely useless when it comes to cooking.”
“Of course. I suppose the maid did it all for you when you were younger?” Madeline’s eyes flash gleefully at the opportunity to punch up at her more economically fortunate girlfriend - old habits die hard - but her expression quickly softens into sympathy when she sees that Helen isn’t smiling. “I’m sorry, that was mean. Here, let me show you how to do it.”
She places her hand over Helen’s and guides the knife into behaving as it should. “Like this. It’s all about applying even, firm pressure and holding the handle closer to the blade so you have more control. See?” The garlic is now stripped of its peel, ivory skin shining under the kitchen lights. “Okay, now you can chop it.”
Helen blanches. If she were to be honest, she’d say that she’s never done this before in her life, usually opting for the pre-minced stuff that comes in a jar if she ever cooks from scratch, which is rare in itself. But she’d like Madeline to think she at least knows how to do this, so she gets to work.
The garlic is soon transformed into a juicy, pulpy splatter on the chopping board, which Madeline regards with mild horror as she scrubs her hands clean of the chilli remnants. “Are you trying to repel vampires?! We don’t need the flavour to be that strong, Hel. Just a mild, sweet undertone.” She pauses. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”
“Not really, no. I normally just get the little jars from Trader Joe’s.” She hangs her head in shame, feeling two feet tall. “It’s embarrassing, really, not even knowing the basics at my Jurassic age.”
“It’s not embarrassing, baby,” Madeline soothes, picking up her own knife. “You can’t help it if you were never taught how to do something. It took years and a lot of guesswork for me to get to where I am now. That and pure audacity, I think.” She cups Helen’s jaw with her free hand, bringing her into a kiss. “I can teach you.” Another kiss. “And you’re not Jurassic, by the way. Don’t you know fifty is the new thirty?” Helen laughs at that.
They pluck a few new cloves from the garlic bulb, and together they chop them into tiny chunks, Madeline patiently explaining how preparing it in different ways would produce stronger or weaker flavours because of the level of damage to the cells. Helen listens in silence, utterly rapt at this new side of Madeline she’s never had the privilege of seeing before. She’s always known that Madeline is smart, but her knowledge extends further and wider than she could’ve possibly predicted. And it’s unbelievably hot; all she can do is stare at the joints in Madeline’s hands flexing as she scrapes the minced garlic into the pan, rendered useless by her own intoxication.
She’s so flustered she hardly hears Madeline asking her to turn the heat down on the stove. “Helen? Hello? The onions are burning, and my hands are full.” Helen snaps out of it and jumps into action, hurriedly turning it almost all the way off. Madeline eyes her in amusement as she cranks open a can of tomatoes. “You’re cute.”
Once the tomatoes have been added to the pan along with the chillies, some salt and pepper, and dried Italian herbs, Madeline sets some penne to boil in a separate pan. While the food simmers and bubbles, she takes ample advantage of the pause in responsibility to corner Helen against the counter and suck deep purple marks all over her collarbones - thank goodness for turtlenecks, Helen muses fleetingly between whimpers. She watches Madeline’s blonde head dip lower to bury her nose in the crevice of her cleavage, stopping to inhale. “You smell divine, is that a new perfume?”
“It’s the same one I’ve worn since the day we met,” Helen says, resisting a shiver as Madeline resumes her previous activity on the tops of her breasts.
“Well, it smells extra good today.” Madeline peers up at her, eyes swimming with love. “I can’t wait to learn every little detail about you.” Her lips press against Helen’s insistently as her wrists interlock behind her neck. “I used to imagine all of it when we weren’t speaking,” she begins amidst kisses. “What you’d wear to bed. What your go-to comfort movie might be when you’re feeling sick or down. Even how you’d organise your cupboards when I was especially wistful.”
Helen waves her hand around the room non-committally, overcome by everything Madeline had just poured out to her. “Feel free to have a look.” She kisses her again. “I love you. And I can’t wait to learn everything about you, too.”
“I love you, Hel.” Helen follows Madeline’s gaze as it travels back down past her sternum. “And I love you even more,” she purrs.
Helen cackles, swatting at her shoulder. “Mad! Don’t be vulgar.”
“You love it,” Madeline replies, lips against Helen’s skin.
“I really, really do.”
A soft, satiated silence fills the room. After a delectable meal of arrabiata pasta paired with a delicate Pinot Grigio, during which Madeline could hardly keep her hands to herself - “you know what you’re doing to me by making those sounds, Hel,” she’d warned lowly as Helen moaned in delight through every mouthful - they’d retired to the living room for a movie they know they’ll pay attention to the first ten minutes of at best. But they had quickly become distracted by each other’s lips instead, making out hot and heavy as they sank further into the cushions of the couch in oblivious bliss.
They only pause when the side cushion begins to slip out from under them and onto the floor, almost pulling Madeline with it. She clings to Helen for dear life as if engaged in a game of ‘the floor is lava.’ “Don’t let me fall!” she squeals, gripping Helen’s forearms with surprising strength. No, she shouldn’t be surprised; she’s seen Madeline in her gym gear many, many times (and had committed each and every instance to memory for… personal use).
“You’re a foot off the ground, drama queen, you’ll live!” But Helen hoists her back up anyway, flipping them over and encouraging Madeline to settle across her prone form, head resting on her chest while the rest of her curls up between her parted legs. Her warm, solid weight presses down into her, grounding her, bringing their new reality into sweet, sharp focus. “Are we still watching a movie?” Helen asks after a couple of minutes.
There’s a small delay before Madeline answers, lifting her head just slightly in an effort that seems gargantuan for the clearly exhausted woman. “Hmm? Oh, yeah. What do you want to watch?” Her words slur together, the combination of no sleep, alcohol, and overexertion a powerful sedative.
“I’m not sure you’re going to be doing much watching, Mad.” Madeline draws in a breath as if to defend herself, but Helen shushes her. “It’s okay, rest. I’ll put on something light - Bridesmaids okay?”
Madeline hums her assent, and Helen quickly finds the movie on a streaming service - she’s not one to purchase each and every modern gadget on the market, but she sends her praises to whoever invented on-demand television and movies so she doesn’t have to upend her sleepy girlfriend to put a DVD in the player.
They’re barely past the rather awkward opening sequence and Annie’s unfortunate escape from Ted’s mansion when a soft snore puffs out of Madeline. Helen melts inwardly, combing her fingers lightly through blonde waves as Madeline drifts further into the depths of sleep. Perhaps it’s a blessing that Madeline will sleep through the part where Annie makes fun of fellow bridesmaid Helen, name curling mockingly from her lips in cruel imitation of her clipped, affected tone - she’d never hear the end of that one.
The sleeping woman finally rouses at the climax of the movie, though Helen only knows this because of her quiet yet scathing commentary on the plot that comes out of nowhere. “She and Helen should’ve just fucked it out, and all of this could’ve been avoided,” she mumbles drowsily.
Helen giggles. “I think you’re just projecting.”
“Everyone should fuck a Helen at least once in their lifetime, I’d highly recommend it. Not mine, though, of course.” Madeline is more alert now, pushing herself up to turn and make eye contact with Helen. “Did I miss much?”
“Oh, you know. Only three-quarters of it. Nothing major.” She can’t help the way her lip twists upward as she teases Madeline. “Feel better?”
“I think I’d feel a lot better if you kissed me again,” Madeline offers, eyes wide and pleading despite her prior state.
“That can be arranged.” Helen shifts Madeline upward to meet her lips. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mad.”
“Here’s to many more.”