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The drive had been straightforward, except for the sports car that had driven so close behind Rumi that it was practically bumper to bumper with her for ten miles, and the snow that had grown steadily heavier the further north she went. She normally liked a long drive, but she'd stopped being able to enjoy the untarnished swooping white of the scenery several hours ago, increasingly anxious that the weather conditions would close the one road that cut through the mountains. She had to keep consciously lifting her foot from the accelerator, her ankle aching with the tension between her need to get there in time and the safe speed she was forcing herself to maintain.
The bubblegum pop she was humming along to was the only thing keeping her sane and concentrated on the road ahead as the sun dipped low, at that angle that lit the snow up in beautiful gold and pinks but was glaring bright in her eyes. She was tired when she got to the pass, and she knew her night had gone sideways just from the cones, letting out a whispered, drawn-out curse before she even got close enough to see the words 'Road Closed.'
This road was always a gamble. God knows why it was still the sole road available to get to the ski town, but the warning sign was an unfortunately familiar sight as Rumi pulled over, behind a car that looked like it had seen better days — perhaps back in the decade this Britney song came out — to mouth some colourful swear words at the snow that was gathered in her way. She flexed her fingers on the steering wheel, sighing, leaning her head back against the headrest and closing her eyes, trying to breathe past the disappointment. If she'd only managed to leave that last call earlier, or decided to take it in the car, or if the weather had just cooperated for once.
The nearest town was five hours behind her, the ski resort 30 minutes ahead of her. But a quick glance at the estimated snowfall this evening said that this pass wasn’t going to be able to reopen before it hit midnight — which in Rumi’s (far too frequent) experience meant it probably wouldn’t open again until 6.30 tomorrow morning.
She glanced behind her at the height of the boxes and suitcases of stuff Celine had asked her to grab from her house ‘just in case I need it’ and her (semi-battered, she should probably go on a thrift store hunt while she was here) ski equipment, the back of her seat already pressed against the mess of it, so tightly that her knees had been uncomfortable the entire drive.
This was not going to be conducive to sleep. Even if she did have a mountain of clothing and bedding (Celine had said the words ‘I miss memory foam’ in a tone that was reminiscent of something both long lost and desperately required to sustain life), there was no way Rumi could sleep in this cramped little toybox of a car. Not to mention that sleeping on the side of the road would be incredibly unsa—
The sound of rapid knocking at her window made Rumi startle so badly she hit her knees on the bottom of her steering wheel, her hip somehow knocking into the gearshift and her wrist banging against the door. She hissed in pain, hearing a muffled “Oh, god, sorry!” and winding down the window.
Instead of the serial killer she’d been at least partially anticipating, the rolling of the window exposed wide, apologetic eyes, a bright brown with little golden flecks of warmth in the irises, and black hair rolled up into a messy bun. “Hey, hi, so sorry, didn’t mean to scare you — just, any idea how long — god, it’s cold—” the woman shivered bodily, large, soft shapeless snow falling in clumps and sticking to her hair and, for some ungodly reason, bare arms “—the road closure will take? My radio doesn’t work and looks like we’re in a 5G wasteland.”
“Why are you not wearing a sweater?” was the first thing that came out of Rumi’s mouth, which wasn’t the answer to the woman’s question that she was pretty sure she did actually know — somewhere deep down in her brain that wasn’t stuck on the outrageous statement on her t-shirt or the pretty bow of her lips.
“Oh — uh, yeah, very good question, apparently I forgot my suitcase?”
“Apparently?”
“Uhuh. Bad move on my part, really.” She shrugged like it didn’t actually matter, but her arms were practically all goosebump.
“Do you… want to borrow a sweater?”
“Oh, no, don’t worry — I’m hot-blooded,” she said, nodding fast, and for some perplexing reason flexing her arm, as if that would show Rumi the temperature of her blood and not just completely obliterate any chance of Rumi remembering she’d asked a question.
“That’s a… nice bicep?” Rumi said, getting a flash of a grin that could actively melt all of the snow in this mountain pass. Point this woman towards it, they’d be through in a second — oh, right, yes, the road closure timings. “Oh, right, yes — snow warning is in place ‘til after midnight, but it should ease off then. They’ll probably come open it about 6.30, their shift starts at 6, and it takes half an hour to get here.”
“Six thirty,” the woman said, looking up at the sky and chewing at her lip. “Unlikely to get hypothermia before then. Guess I’m sleeping here.”
Rumi grimaced in sympathy. “I’m heading back to the last town, I think, my car is…” Rumi trailed off, and the woman looked at the sheer amount of ski equipment and luggage in her car and made a face.
“Oh boy, I thought I had no space. That’s hella cramped, no wonder you’re not chancing the sleepover. Zoey,” she said, shoving an incredibly icy hand through the window and shaking Rumi’s outstretched fingers.
“Rumi.”
“Thanks for letting me know, Angel of Roadside Support. You’re my new favourite person. Enjoy your hotel. I’ll go try not to freeze to death.” It was such a light joke that Rumi didn’t hear the meaning until the woman was walking away, with a wave over the back of her head.
Rumi frowned at the car that looked so old it had to be drafty, not sure why she felt so hesitant. What was she going to do, go shove a sweater through the window, and—
She was out of the car and rummaging through the bags in the back of her car before she could question it.
Zoey hadn't even managed to close her car door, her breath misting with a surprised little ‘oh’ as Rumi knocked on her window. "Oh, no,” Zoey said, eyes falling on the hoodie in her hands. “I can’t take your clothing.”
“Take it, please,” Rumi said, bundling it onto her lap before she could protest again, “or I’ll spend all night scouring the news to see if someone died by the roadside for lack of appropriate winter clothing.”
“Oh, well, uhm,” Zoey said, tentatively reaching for the hoodie. “Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yes,” Rumi said definitely. “It’s just Uniqlo — I’ve got the same one in five different colours.”
“Do you want me to post it back to you? Or we can — uhm.” She bit her lip again, looking up at Rumi through her lashes in a way that hit her so hard in the chest that she had to steady herself against the side of the car. “We can meet up and I can give it back, if you’re going to be heading back here tomorrow for the skiing?”
“Oh, well, that’s—” Rumi said. “I guess I can— I’ll be back tomorrow, yes. I guess we could — I guess?”
“Not if that’s weird,” Zoey said, her words tripping over each other, the flirt of her eyes dropping away in something close to panic. “That’s weird isn’t it. I just — don’t want to take something from you, and—”
Rumi got her phone out, turning it Zoey’s way. “If you insist,” she said, letting herself take in the slope of her cheeks, the melting snow on her brow, the way she had to roll the sleeve of Rumi’s hoodie up to be able to take her phone. There was a glimmer of a smile as Zoey caught her looking that felt like permission, and Rumi didn't drop her gaze.
“I’ll be in town for a while,” Zoey said casually, but her eyes were intent. “So just — I’ll message you, let me know where you’re at and when you’re free? Just give me a day or so to wash it.”
“And buy more clothes, hopefully.”
“Hm, yeah, that too, I guess,” she said with a sigh, passing Rumi’s phone back to her. “I’ll see you?”
“Be safe,” Rumi said, patting the side of her car. “Lock your doors. Truckers normally tie a seatbelt in the handle so strangers can’t get in, maybe you should — do that.”
Zoey was looking at her like she was slightly weird for trying to give her roadside safety advice, and Rumi backed away with a wave before she could accidentally do anything else to dim that smile. “Sure. Jam my doors,” Zoey said, eyeing her door doubtfully. Rumi followed her gaze and winced — that door didn’t look like it could stop the wind, much less a person. “Stop any more beautiful strangers from helping me. Sounds like a plan.”
“R— what?” Rumi said, staring at her, getting a laugh that rocketed warmth straight up to her cheeks, the sound of it pulling her own lips upwards helplessly.
“Thank you, guardian angel,” Zoey said, giving her a wave and a grin, and Rumi waved back dumbly as the door shut on her.
She was busy thinking about those eyes on her — the gratitude in them, and something just as warm but more intense, like curiosity, or a question — for so long that she almost forgot about the call she needed to make, shaking her head at herself and dialling.
“Rumi, hi, are you nearly here?” Her aunt’s voice was as polished as always, and it was only because Rumi knew her well that she could hear the strain of exhaustion at the edges of her words.
“How are you? Almost ready for the season to open tomorrow?” Rumi asked.
“We’re missing a few staff still,” Celine said, “And I expect management and I will have a late night putting out the inevitable fires that I haven’t even heard about yet — but yes, I believe so.”
“If your staff are driving and haven’t made it yet…” Rumi said uncertainly, and Celine let out a sigh so hard she could hear it crackle in her car speakers.
“The road’s closed? Already? Tell me you made it through in time.”
Rumi winced, the tone of Celine’s voice lancing through her with the sharp, layered guilt of years of similar disappointments — on both sides. She tapped a quick triple beat against the steering wheel, bracing herself and saying, “Unfortunately not.”
Celine made a short, real noise — a small, wounded sound — but she cleared her throat, and her voice was even as she said, “I see. Alright, Rumi. I suppose I’ll see you the day after tomorrow then? Don’t worry, I can find a replacement ski instructor for tomorrow.”
As if that was all Rumi was coming for — as if she wasn’t coming to support Celine in the flurry of activity that was always the first day of ski season, in the opening of the new restaurant, in the management of staff that seemed to grow younger and more problematic every year. The resort had been passed from her mother to Celine on her death, and Rumi knew she’d broken Celine’s heart when she’d said she didn’t want to take on the ownership of the place. But the thing Celine had never understood was that just because she didn’t want it to be her whole life didn’t mean it could ever be anything but home to her. Didn’t mean that Celine could ever be anything but home, even if there was always a low level of guilt in Rumi's stomach that she never called enough, or visited enough. She’d had to miss the whole season last year after her work had needed her to travel back and forth to China, but this year she'd been determined, blocking the month out with so much notice they had no choice but to let her take it.
“I can still make it back for the restaurant opening tomorrow,” Rumi said.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You have too much driving ahead of you — you’ll need your rest. I can’t have you driving tired and having an accident on the way. You’ll come the day after tomorrow, and we’ll go to the restaurant then.” It was almost worse that she was covering up the disappointment, her voice even and sincere in its concern for her, and Rumi winced, her foot lifting from the accelerator just slightly.
She glanced back at the seat behind her. She had blankets and pillows. She could shove a pillow up against a window and put another one over the gearshift and curl up maybe. It wouldn’t be the best sleep of her life, but if she took some time while she still had 5G to YouTube how to make a car more safe on the side of the road, it was doable.
“Actually, you know what? I’ll figure something else out,” Rumi said. “I can’t miss the restaurant re-opening, it’s all you’ve been talking about for months.”
“What? Rumi, no, what do you mean you’ll—”
“I’ll work something out — bye!” Rumi said, hanging up on her before she could ask any further questions, and taking the next U-Turn.
Her phone pinged with a call she ignored, and a series of messages almost immediately afterwards that her car read out to her robotically, ‘Rumi please tell me you’re not planning to sleep in your car.’
‘One day is not worth dying to frostbite or a serial killer Rumi’
‘At least lock your doors and keep your engine running. Call me if anything happens, I’ll run straight through those cones to get to you.’
Rumi was going to take that as solid permission for today’s Rumi to give tomorrow’s Rumi a backache.
*
When she drew back to the side of the road, there was another car between her and Zoey — a huge four wheel drive, and Rumi could feel her mouth twitch into a pout that she had to consciously remove from her face. So what if some dudebro had parked in between her and the cute stranger, it wasn’t like she—
Okay, not a dudebro. Rumi was out of her car and walking towards the raised voices, too quickly, as if she didn’t have to have thoughts anymore before her body just auto-completed actions for her. A tall woman was looming over Zoey, her hair so pink it assaulted Rumi's eyes. Her arms were spread wide as she gesticulated wildly, the sound of raised voices thin in the incoming chill of night.
“Is everything okay here?” Rumi asked, pitching her voice pleasant and frosty in the way that she knew had earnt her the reputation of someone to be feared instead of liked throughout her office.
“Oh, hey Rumi! This is my friend Rumi. She gave me this sweater,” Zoey said, looking down to tug at the hem of it, her hair swinging to reveal the curve of one small ear, dotted with gold. The other woman was so close that Zoey’s breath misted into her face, but Zoey seemed unbothered by the intimidating angle of their body.
“Hi, Zoey’s friend,” the woman said, without looking at her, the repetition of the word — so thoughtlessly given — jumping uncertain warmth in Rumi’s stomach. “Get in my car, you lunatic.”
“I’m fine.”
The familiarity in the woman’s voice and the irritation in Zoey’s response stopped Rumi half a metre away from the two of them.
“You — maybe you can help,” the woman said, turning on Rumi with an intensity that almost made her step back. “The heater in Zo’s past-its-expiration-date wreck of a car is broken, and she’s refusing to get in mine. You’re gonna freeze to death out here, you maniac.”
“You were going to sleep in your car, with no heating, in a t-shirt?” Rumi asked.
Zoey made a small, bruised noise of betrayal as the woman slowly turned back to Zoey, with an incredulous arch of two perfect brows. “She gave you this sweater when, exactly?”
Zoey was sputtering out some kind of defence, and the adrenaline eased from Rumi’s veins as she realised they must know each other, that the anger was only concern. The fading light of day cast the lines of the woman’s face in sharp relief; sharper for their presence near the dimpled softness of Zoey. In the glow of the lamppost, the two beautiful strangers who had both used the word friend so casually felt unreal: the snow was no longer quite settling, melting in the air around them, and it seemed as though she had encountered something that could only be illusionary — two beautiful phantoms along a darkened, empty road.
“Like, maybe half an hour ago when I met her for the first time — she came up the road and gave me information and warmth like a guardian angel of the mountains, I swear. I thought you weren’t planning to stay?” Zoey asked her.
“I have a commitment tomorrow that I decided was too important to miss,” Rumi said.
“Ugh, same. Mira and I need to get to work tomorrow — though at least my shift doesn’t start til 9. Mira’s is supposed to start at 5. Guess we’re all stuck here.”
“You’re shivering,” Mira said to Zoey, casting a look back at Rumi. Her eyes were as sharp as her cheekbones, cuttingly assessing as she swept that gaze across her as well. “You too. Can we please at least argue about where we’re sleeping in my car? I’m not arguing with you out in this snow.”
“I’ve got, like, three cases of wine in my trunk, I’ll just put a wine jacket on, I’ll be fine,” Zoey said.
“And I’ve got space and heating — seriously, Zoey, if I put the backseats down it’ll be bigger than a king-size bed in there.”
Zoey’s eyes cut towards Mira, a flicker of something nervous and anticipatory in the glance.
Rumi took a step backwards, meaning to say that she’d leave them to it now it was clear they knew each other — but Zoey crossed her arms over her ribs, a stubborn kind of motion that barely covered a full body shiver, and instead, what fell out of Rumi’s mouth was, “I’ve got spare blankets and pillows if you’d like to borrow some.”
“Okay, fairy godmother of the road,” Mira said, her voice flat and sardonic. “Next you’ll tell me you’ve got snacks.”
“Oh, well, actually,” Rumi said, because of course she did, as if she would go on a long, remote drive without enough food and water to keep her alive for three days. “If I share them with you both, will you sleep somewhere with heating, Zoey?”
“I mean — sure, if you join us for snack dinner in the backseat of Mira’s car. And maybe some wine?”
Bafflingly quickly, Rumi found herself putting together a carefully curated nest of blankets and pillows in the back of an obnoxiously large, obnoxiously well-heated Range Rover. She was interrupted from fluffing the third pillow as Mira’s frustration cut through the night, making Rumi turn so sharply that she almost hit her head on the trunk door. “What the fuck are you doing now?”
“Don’t mind her, Rumi,” Zoey said easily. “She gets snarky when she hasn’t eaten, but she’s harmless. Mostly,” she added, as Mira bared her teeth at her.
“I’ll go get that…” Rumi said, trailing off as she saw Zoey, wine bottle in hand, standing in the snow next to a tree, hopping on one foot as she undid the laces of one of her shoes. “Wait, what are you doing?”
“Thank you,” Mira said, throwing her hands in the air. The movement was dramatic, but oddly sharp, and her hands fell back to her sides with precise grace — like she positioned every part of her body purposefully in the space around her.
“Unless either one of you has a corkscrew, I’m opening this wine,” Zoey said, shoving the bottom of the wine in the heel of her shoe and turning to the tree with a determined expression, one socked foot resting on her calf.
“This seems mildly dangerous,” Rumi murmured.
“It’s like working with a drunk, deranged ferret,” Mira said, but her head had tipped to the side and she sounded almost admiring, and Rumi laughed as she glanced over at her.
“How long have you worked together?”
“Just last ski season — four months.” Mira’s hands were shoved into her pockets, and she winced as Zoey started tapping the bottle against the tree. “Why do I feel like this is the start of a frantic five-hour drive to the nearest hospital.”
“It would be faster to call emergency services — they could get through the road closure in an emergency,” Rumi said, and Mira looked at her sideways.
“You’re very practical.”
“I like to be prepared in case things go wrong,” Rumi said, over the sound of Zoey’s woop of excitement, the open wine bottle held high in her hands in victory.
“Well, my very empty stomach thanks you,” Mira said, her face softening in the face of Zoey’s enthusiasm, giving her a thumbs up as Rumi went to grab her stash of food.
The back of Mira’s car may have looked spacious, but it wasn’t built for three people and this many blankets. Rumi’s knee was pressed against one of Zoey’s legs, and Mira had looked like she was trying to make herself small enough not to have to touch either of them — which was not possible, her legs were insanely long. For some reason, she seemed more comfortable touching Rumi than Zoey, ending up with her socked feet tucked under Rumi’s thigh as they defrosted.
“This is a picnic,” Zoey said, actually clapping her hands together as she surveyed the food laid out in front of them, an awestruck expression on her face. “I’m not going to question a good thing, but, like, this is way more food than one car trip requires, surely.”
“I guess I don’t really go anywhere without contingency planning,” Rumi said, which was probably a little too honest if the wide-eyed look of concern Zoey shot her way said anything.
“Thanks, Rumi,” Mira said, one granola bar wrapper already tied into a tidy knot and put back into Rumi’s food bag, taking a sandwich out and sitting back with a happy sigh as she bit into it. “I thought Zoey was exaggerating when she said you were our guardian angel, but now I believe it.”
“Do you just go through life expecting everything to go wrong?”
Rumi tipped her head to the side, considering the roof of Mira’s car as she stuffed what was probably an unsightly amount of chips in her mouth at once. “Kind of? I did think you might be a serial killer when you first knocked on my window.”
“What convinced you I wasn’t?” Zoey asked, her cheeks chimpunk-cute as she went straight for a bag of candy instead of any of the savoury options. You’re too adorable to be a serial killer was so loud in Rumi’s brain that she couldn’t think of anything else to say in response to the question, feeling a flustered kind of blush hit her.
“Who says she’s convinced?” Mira drawled, reaching for the wine bottle between Zoey’s legs and taking a long sip of it, offering it to Rumi.
“Oh, uh— no thanks, that’s okay,” Rumi said, eyeing the top of the bottle where Mira’s lips had just pressed against the glass.
“Sorry, no cups,” Mira said, with an apologetic shrug, correctly guessing the source of Rumi’s concern.
“Sorry,” Rumi said, “I would, but — germs.”
“Oh, if that’s your issue — we’ve got plenty wine, let me just get you your own bottle,” Zoey said, scrambling over Rumi as she started to try and protest. Zoey’s hands were on her thighs, and then her body was pressed against her, and Rumi’s hands lifted to try and help, then abruptly flew into the air as she realised where they were about to land, trying to put them anywhere not on Zoey’s person, choking on an intake of air that felt as suddenly hot as her face.
“Oh my god, Zo, don’t molest her,” Mira said, wrapping her hands protectively around the bottle of wine as she edged back from the chaos of Zoey’s attempted escape.
“I’m not — sorry!” Zo squeaked, her face too close as she turned to look at her. “I— hi,” she said, eyes dipping down to her lips and back up again, fast, like she was trying not to get caught looking. Her eyes brightened, crinkling at the corners as she took in whatever Rumi’s face was doing right now. “One way to warm myself up.” She grinned at her, then did a shimmy that could only have been deliberate as she pushed the trunk open. The cold air gusting in made Rumi shiver — that, and that alone — but she caught the edge of Zoey’s grin underneath the duck of her head, something secret and playful, and her butt was… wiggling in Rumi’s face, for one thing, but it was also an alarmingly good butt, and Rumi’s traitorous mind drifted back to the phrase she’d seen on Zoey’s t-shirt as she tried to look anywhere but directly in front of her. Her eyes landed on the mischief in Zoey’s face as she finally managed to crawl out of the car, standing and grinning at her, head half cocked. There was an interested kind of question in her eyes, but a soft kind of uncertainty in the moment, like she was waiting to see how Rumi reacted, ready to apologise and shrink herself back into something a little more respectable if Rumi wanted her to.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had such an attractive woman’s butt in my face,” Rumi said dryly, warmth spreading through her at Zoey's laugh of pure delight, despite the gust of icy wind that lifted Zoey’s hair away from her face.
“I knew we were friends for a reason,” Zoey said, giving her a broad, completely over-the-top wink and closing the door back over them.
Mira was looking at Rumi with something far too knowing, a curve of one side of her lips that drifted into a weighted kind of assessment as Rumi stuffed the rest of the bag of chips in her face so she didn’t have to try and defend herself. “She and I had a thing, last winter,” Mira said finally.
“Oh my — I’m so — I didn’t mean to—” Rumi stuttered.
“It’s fine,” Mira said dismissively, waving a hand. “We’re not… anything. Or, I don’t know if we are, so I assume we aren’t, you know?"
“Yeah,” Rumi said, thinking of her last not-quite-relationship-not-quite-not and giving Mira a small smile. “I know what you mean.”
“We live pretty far apart from each other, so — and anytime I tried to ask, she just — changed the subject until I took the hint. I mean, I guess I’m kind of hoping that we’ll… But, you know. I don’t know what she wants. She’s…” there was a level of frank honesty to her that had nothing to do with the two sips of wine she’d drunk, her eyes direct on Rumi like this was just the only way Mira knew how to communicate, and Rumi could almost feel a layer of the walls she’d worked hard to erect crumble in the illumination of her regard. “I don’t know, she’s special. I think I really like her. But she hasn’t really let me tell her that yet, and I’m not sure if she wants me like that anymore, so if things feel a bit strained between us tonight, that’s why.”
“Mira, I don’t mean to make this entire evening any weirder than it already is — but if she doesn’t want you, she’s blind. You’re— I mean, you both are incredibly beautiful.”
Mira laughed, then shrugged, disparaging but not denying, like she knew it was true but didn’t think it was relevant. “Please don’t stop flirting on my account,” she said. “If I can’t, at least let me live vicariously through you.”
“Maybe if I flirt with you instead, it’ll make her jealous?” Rumi asked, and Mira’s head tipped back against the side of the car with how hard she laughed.
“I don’t think she knows what jealousy even means,” Mira said, a faint blush on her cheeks that Rumi was almost as proud to have earnt as that gorgeous laugh. “But feel free to try, I won’t say no to being flirted with by one of the prettiest people I’ve ever met.”
“Oh my god,” Rumi murmured, grabbing for a sandwich to stop herself from saying anything that would make this situation any more confusingly embarrassing, and from having to keep looking at the quiet, warm intensity of sincerity in Mira’s eyes.
Mira hummed, drinking from her bottle, and Rumi was genuinely relieved when the trunk door popped back open — somehow the person whose butt had been directly in her face felt less problematic for her composure.
“Hey, Zo,” Mira said, and Rumi could see it now, under the studied nonchalance, the careful way that Mira put her own bottle between her legs and took the other two bottles from Zoey without Zoey needing to ask, the way Mira’s eyes lit up as soon as they fell on Zoey’s face.
“I come bearing wine!” Zoey announced, entering the car with much more careful placement of her limbs, now there were three open bottles in close vicinity. “Don’t ask me what kind, I’m not working until tomorrow.”
The question ‘waitress?’ was on the tip of Rumi’s tongue, but as Zoey closed the door on the night, it suddenly felt unimportant. Work was an outside problem; something about the way Mira had spoken made it feel like conversation inside this car was reserved only for things that mattered.
They settled back into the same position as before, Mira still maintaining a careful sliver of distance between her own body and Zoey’s. Zoey glanced at the space between their legs, then busied herself with making sure they all had a bottle of wine in their hands, and Rumi’s eyes drifted to Mira, giving her a quick smile.
Wing-womaning two people who both clearly liked each other had not been her intended activity for tonight, but she could stretch her legs out in the warmth of this car, and for that and the wine — a surprisingly delicious red — Rumi would do a lot more than a little bit of underhanded gay orchestration.
“So how long has it been?” Zoey asked, and when Rumi frowned at her, not understanding the question, she continued, “You know, since you had an attractive woman’s butt in your—”
“Zoey,” Mira said, throwing a chocolate wrapper at her, but the laugh she let out as Rumi choked on a sip of wine undercut her attempted outrage completely.
Still, though she hadn’t been expecting the question, there was something about Zoey’s way of grinning at her that made it almost impossible not to feel comfortable answering anything that came out of those lips. “Too long,” Rumi admitted. “Probably a bit over a year?”
“Oh my god, how aren’t you dead?”
“Uhm?” Rumi said. “As far as I know, you can’t die from lack of sex, Zoey. Particularly not when you have had sex with a man in the meantime.”
“Ohh-h,” Zoey said, sounding as satisfied as Mira looked disgruntled at the idea, her nose wrinkling up. “That’s alright then.”
“Why, how long has it been for you?”
“Oh, I went out like… two weeks ago?” Zoey shrugged, her eyes following Rumi’s to Mira after a hesitation so slight Rumi would have missed it if she weren’t watching so closely.
Mira’s body tightened against the car wall, shrinking back against it, a dull flush creeping up her neck. “What?”
“How long has it been for you?” Rumi repeated patiently. Mira’s eyes widened at her, giving her a meaningful glare that Rumi only smiled at.
Mira took a sip of her wine, not answering, just waving a hand that was almost but not quite pointed in Zoey’s general direction.
“Wait. No. What?” Zoey asked. “No.”
“I’ve been busy,” Mira said quietly. “I work strange hours. It makes it hard to—”
“Mira, what? No,” Zoey said, with something like panic in her voice. “That’s — a year?”
“It’s not that weird.”
“I’m not saying it’s weird!” Zoey said, desperately backtracking, waving her hands horizontally in front of herself frantically. “I’m just — I’ve got friendly concerns. For your vagina. And its dehydration.” She stopped, eyes widening at herself, looking like she wanted to bolt from the car.
“Dehydration,” Mira repeated, blinking over at Rumi.
“Vaginal dehydration, yes. I’ve heard that can be a very dangerous condition,” Rumi agreed seriously.
“Don’t join in with this, she doesn’t need support.”
“I think I need a lot of help actually,” Zoey said faintly. “Please ignore everything I just said. Your sex life is totally your own responsibility. Which I have nothing to do with. And would never judge, oh my god why am I still talking.”
“Zo,” Mira said, leaning to nudge at her shoulder with a fond affection, that same half-smile on her face as she looked down at the top of her head, Zoey’s eyes firmly on the bottle of wine she had a death grip on. “You’re fine. Shut up.” Her arm snuck around Zoey’s back, pulling her into a side-hug.
“Shutting up,” Zoey agreed, sinking into her shoulder, taking a very long sip of her wine that made Mira snort out a laugh. Mira’s eyes met Rumi’s as Zoey sighed out the last of the tension in her body, melting completely into Mira’s side, and Rumi congratulated herself on potentially the quickest wing-womaning effort of her life.
“Thank you for the wine,” Rumi said, starting to excuse herself, leaving the mostly undrunk bottle propped up against the passenger seat and putting a hand to the ground to scoot herself backwards. “But I should really get some—”
“Where are you going?” Mira asked, and Rumi tilted her head, blinking at her and glancing with a pointed precision at the way Zoey was pressed into Mira’s side like she never wanted to leave. Her job was done here, surely Mira should know that.
“My car?” Rumi said. “I do actually have heating, so…”
“But we’ve taken all your pillows and blankets,” Mira said.
“And we still have wine.”
“You can give them back, don’t worry,” Rumi said. “Zoey has my number.”
“Does she now?” Mira said, her voice curling around the words with a lilt of smoke.
"Uhm,” Rumi said, stopping with her fingers wrapped around the handle on the trunk door. “Well. That was before I knew—” she made a motion that was vaguely directed at the two of them, together.
“I borrowed her sweater,” Zoey said, with a sly grin shot towards Mira that Rumi didn't even know how to begin to interpret. “Can’t be stealing from pretty girls on the highway.”
“Don’t you want time alone?” Rumi asked, giving up on subtlety.
Zoey looked up at Mira, and a slow grin spread over both of their faces as they looked at each other, as if they didn’t need words to come to some kind of silent agreement, looking back to Rumi as one. “Nope,” Mira said.
“We’ve got like, a whole ski season together. Only one night with our guardian angel.”
“You really need to stop calling me that,” Rumi said, using the hand that had been at the door to tuck a strand of hair back behind her ear.
“Do we? You’ve literally fed and clothed us. Her car was super cramped with stuff, too,” Zoey told Mira, the glimmer of humour dropping back into sincerity for a moment. “You should really stay here with us, there’s plenty of room, we can all actually be horizontal.”
“I don’t know about sleeping,” Rumi said. “But I can stay and talk for a while longer.”
“Stay a bit, have some more wine with us, see how you feel in an hour or so?” Mira asked. “It’s really no problem. Just let us know if we’re making you uncomfortable.”
They weren’t doing anything but a very mild bit of cuddling, and Rumi raised an eyebrow at them. “You’re not,” she said, settling back, stretching her legs back out, her ankle propped against Mira’s thigh. “But I’ll let you know if you do.”
"Good,” Mira said, giving her a serious nod like she’d made a promise that was important to her, and Rumi tucked the words away in a place she’d remember to be careful about in her mind.
“Bottle cheers?” Zoey asked, holding up her bottle, and Rumi laughed, knocking the bottom of her bottle against theirs.
The snacks ran out, and the bag of trash was unceremoniously shoved on top of their coats and shoes on Mira’s passenger seat before their wine was even half gone. Zoey was telling a story about the first woman she’d dated in high school — an ex who sounded categorically insane, even if Rumi was at least 50% sure (or, at least hopeful) that Zoey was exaggerating the story for comic effect. Rumi’s legs had somehow ended up slung across theirs, the warmth of them slipping a comfortable intimacy through her veins. She’d missed this, Rumi realised — this indefinable lifting of the weight of a loneliness that didn’t always ease from her shoulders in the moments it should: talking to friends and feeling like she was barely present in the conversation, distracted by thoughts of tomorrow’s to do lists or activities that she’d rather be doing; meeting people and feeling a flash of connection that was broken when the disappointment inevitably came, when they breathed too loudly, or disparaged something Rumi liked, or touched her in a way that made her want to shift away instead of into them; talking to Celine and feeling the disappointment before the love she knew was there, buried beneath everything else that had risen between them over the years.
She wiggled her toes, and Mira felt it and looked up at her, giving her a glint of a smile, the air between them brightening with her simple acknowledgement of Rumi’s movement, of Rumi’s presence, here, with them, in a moment that felt light and deep, all at once.
Rumi squinted at her bottle, finding it almost half empty. Yes. That felt about right. It was an effort to make herself say it, but her eyes felt heavy, and if she stayed here she was definitely going to fall asleep, in the warmth and comfort they'd made of the backseat of this car. “I should—”
“Please, don’t,” Mira said, taking hold of her toes and squeezing them, as Zoey groaned a long, affectation of a “Noooooo.”
Rumi snorted softly, wriggling her toes in Mira’s grasp and feeling her fingers around her socks, trapping her gentle and firm. “I’m going to fall asleep here,” she warned.
“Great. I’ll try really hard not to cuddle you,” Zoey said.
“I guess I’ll have to get in the middle to protect you from her, then,” Mira said, and it was the absolute guilelessness of it that made Rumi have to bite back a laugh, glancing at Zoey and seeing her eyebrows raise into her hair, an instant smirk on her lips.
“Mhm, Mira in the middle, sounds great, sounds perfect,” Zoey said through laughter.
“What?” Mira asked, and Rumi couldn’t stop her laughter — especially when Mira actually tried to glare at her for it. “Oh, you— dirty-minded little— reprobates.”
“Reprobates!” Zoey said, sliding down Mira’s side and grabbing for her arm, laughing so hard her whole body shook with it. Zoey had the kind of laugh that was impossible not to join in with, wild and unrestrained. “Reprobates,” Rumi repeated, gasping for air, Mira’s grumbled protests only making her laugh harder.
“That’s it, you’re staying the night,” Mira said, as if it were some kind of punishment for laughing at her, and Rumi couldn’t even find the words to protest the utter lack of logic in it, her smile wide and stupid.
"If you insist,” Rumi said, getting a fast nod from Zoey and a slower, more serious one from Mira, like she really would insist if Rumi tried to pop the warm safety of this bubble they were in by trying to leave.
“What’s your terrible ex story, then, c’mon Rumi, cough up,” Zoey said, and Rumi had to skip over at least two exes who were far too emotionally charged for the light laughter of this moment before she found a story that felt like it fit the night. Mira’s hand stayed on the instep of her foot throughout the story, giving her small, encouraging smiles as she told them about her first boyfriend: how at sixteen he’d cried as she left for her annual month-long ski holiday and how she'd been awful enough to have felt nothing but embarrassment for him. Rumi could feel herself half falling in love with the way that Zoey listened, with her whole body, her expressions so open and spirited — laughing and wincing with everything she had, like Rumi’s words were tangibly impacting her.
She was wrapping up the story when her sentence stuttered to an abrupt close. Mira’s wine had dripped a little as she took a sip from it, and her tongue darted out, a quick lick of pink pressing flat against the bottle for a moment that was as long as the space between Rumi’s heartbeats.
“Jesus, Mira,” Zoey said, sounding choked, and Rumi said, “Yeah, wow,” before she could censor herself.
Mira had been smirking back at Zoey, but at that, she turned that smirk on Rumi instead, and Rumi blinked at her, feeling a little bit dazed with warmth and wine and the force of both of their eyes on her.
“Look at how smug she is. Get her in the middle, Rumi,” Zoey said casually, and Rumi couldn’t think of a reason to deny something that made Mira’s jaw hang loose, made a fast blush heat her cheeks and the smirk slide into an incredulous surprise instead. Rumi clumsily — the bottle deposited in Zoey’s hands for the safety of her favourite blanket first — made her way to the other side of the car, settling into Mira’s left-hand side. She felt Mira’s hand hover for a moment before it wound its way around her back, careful not to put too much pressure against her. Mira’s body was warm, and Rumi hid the flush in her cheek against her shoulder, looking at Zoey to check in and finding her just watching them both with a small, pleased smile on her lips.
“You’re like — a little beautiful rainbow of perfection together,” Zoey told them, a hand curling into the pink of Mira’s hair and tugging so that Rumi could feel its softness against her cheek. Zoey’s fingers skimmed tingles along her skin as she took up a section of hair that had escaped from the top of Rumi’s braid, and she twisted their hair together in her grip. It was only in noticing that Mira had stopped breathing that she realised she was holding her own breath, and Rumi let it out with purpose, her whole attention on the fingers of Zoey’s hand and the two shades of colour held between her fingers. “You should make out. Oh, what,” she said at Mira’s sputtering and the noise Rumi made herself — something high and squawked that she couldn’t remember ever having made before — rolling her eyes, though her cheeks were flushed and her voice was slightly breathless. “As if I’m not just saying what we’re all thinking.”
“Zoey, you can’t just — don’t listen to her, just—” Mira said, her words dying as Rumi looked up at her and caught her eyes. They were dark, an unmistakable nervous kind of interest in them. Objectively, this was insane, and unsafe, and impractical — letting herself sleep in the same space as two ostensible strangers was bad enough, and she couldn't even think about how much weirder this would be after she’d kissed one of them, but—
Zoey was watching with her teeth pressed so hard into her lip that Rumi could see more white than pink, with that same kind of interested patience she'd had when she’d left to get more wine — the look that said Rumi could make this into a joke and the conversation would flow on and Zoey would protect the safe, warm comfort of this night whatever she decided.
Mira’s eyes were on her, and her hand drifted up to her cheek tentatively, not shifting towards her any further, not even touching her, just an open display of her own preference for Rumi’s next move, and if she had wanted to be safe this evening she wouldn’t be pressed under Mira’s arm, she wouldn’t have Zoey’s knuckles against her cheek, she wouldn’t have said she’d stay the night, she wouldn’t be in this car, she wouldn’t have taken Zoey’s wine, Mira’s space; given Mira food, and Zoey that sweater.
She leant in, and she kissed her, the soft pink of her lips giving way to something open-mouthed and darker with an immediate encouragement, and she heard Zoey suck in an awestruck breath, “Fuck, the rainbow’s actually making out.”
Rumi huffed a breath of a laugh into Mira's lips, and she could taste Mira's own fond amusement, but Mira's hand slid down her cheek so her fingertips were grazing her throat, and the humour was replaced entirely by a rapidly building heat. Mira was kissing her with lazy intent, like time had stopped the moment they got in this car together, and all of the commitments of tomorrow had been melted by the temperature of the night. Rumi threaded her fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck, pulling them closer together so she could feel the press of her breasts against her chest. Mira kissed like she talked, no pretense or tricks and not at all for show, not even for Zoey, just an open honesty of feeling, and it was almost embarrassing how wet she was already just from this: Mira's mouth, hot and firmly pressed into hers, Mira's tongue lighting a slow ache, like everywhere it touched was directly connected to her cunt, the burn of Zoey's eyes on them and her shaky, quickening breath.
Mira gave a moan so filthy that Rumi could practically feel the noise vibrate through her body to her clit, and when she managed to pull away, it was to find Zoey's hands high inside Mira’s shirt and her lips lifting from Mira's neck.
“Sorry, didn't mean to distract,” Zoey said, completely unrepentant.
“You're the actual embodiment of an escalation,” Mira said, the rough timbre of her voice shooting a thrill of I did that pride through Rumi.
“Thank you,” Zoey said, leaning to nudge Rumi aside with her cheek so that she could take her place, her face so close that their lips grazed on the way.
Watching them kiss was almost as good as kissing them herself. Mira was flushed, clutching at the front of Zoey's hoodie with a possessive urgency, but Rumi couldn't possibly feel left out when Mira's hand had dropped to her thigh to steady herself, the weight of it warm even through her jeans, and Zoey's whole body was leaning against hers. “Hi,” Zoey murmured, and Mira’s eyes blinked open, dark and intent on Zoey for a moment before she looked over at Rumi. Zoey’s head followed Mira’s gaze to turn towards her, her lips full and already slightly reddened, and Rumi was still taking in a breath to try and calm whatever her heart was currently doing when Zoey leant towards her.
Zoey pressed her back into the side of the door with the force of her enthusiasm, one hand already sneaking under Rumi’s shirt to feel skin that quivered under the insistence of her fingers. The kiss was bruisingly hot, her mouth wanting and shamelessly needy. Mira’s hands were both on her ribs, and it felt like her stability was all that was keeping her from drowning in the live wire of Zoey’s presence.
“Okay, okay, uhm,” Rumi said, pulling back to give herself a moment.
Zoey’s fingers stalled on her skin. “We can just go to sleep, if you want,” Zoey offered, her face going somewhere alarmed and guilty, like Rumi was trying to put a stop to this instead of just trying to press pause. Rumi slipped her hands over Zoey’s, holding them in place as they started to lift from her ribs.
“No— that’s just, that was some very nice kissing,” Rumi said, which was supposed to be a compliment, but it didn’t seem to be taking the look from Zoey’s face. “But you said you wanted to make out, and— if either of you keep kissing me like this, I’m going to want to do something about it, and— I mean, we’re in a car.”
Mira’s smirk was back, and Rumi really wanted to kiss it off her face again. “I want you to do something about it,” she said, her voice so low and threaded with promise that Rumi’s breath got tangled in her want.
“We want you to do something about it,” Zoey said, nodding so rapidly that Rumi couldn’t do anything but believe their sincerity, despite the tension between them that probably needed to be talked through before they decided to have a threesome in a car with a stranger.
“Are you sure?” Rumi asked, mostly to Mira, and one of Zoey’s eyebrows lifted, looking towards Mira questioningly. “I don’t want to get in the middle of something I don’t belong in.”
“You’re not,” Mira said. “Zoey and I have plenty of time to sort our shit out.”
“What shit?” Zoey asked.
“That ‘what are we doing’ conversation you’ve been avoiding having with me for like, a year.” Zoey froze, and Mira tilted her head, her smirk softening into something gentler. “If you want to. We can also just sleep together again. That’s also fine.”
“I—” Zoey said, and that panic was back in her eyes that made Rumi want to offer her any amount of hoodies or comfort or promises to reduce it, and she rubbed her thumbs over the soft skin of her hands to try and lift it from her.
Mira leant forward, interrupting her with a kiss that was so affectionate that Rumi felt the care in it as if it was a physical thing, and the tight press of Zoey’s fingers against her skin relaxed. “Later. Right now, I just want you to touch me. Both of you.”
“I missed you,” Zoey said quietly, her eyes flickering across Mira’s face as if measuring it, then checking back at Rumi like she wanted to make sure she was safe before she asked, “Are you mad at me?”
“I’m just happy to see you again, promise,” Mira said. “I’ll be mad at myself if I’ve stopped what was shaping up to be the best thing to ever happen in this car.”
Zoey was still worrying at her lip hesitantly, looking like she very much wanted to not be talking and to be kissing the words and life out of them both again instead, and Rumi squeezed her hands. “Only in this car?”
“It looks brand new,” Zoey said, and this time when she looked at Rumi, it was with something much less tentative. “Should we be offended?”
“I think so,” Rumi said seriously. “Maybe she doesn’t want us to rehydrate her.”
“Oh, my god,” Mira said, laughing only after she heard the bright, loose laughter from Zoey. "Why are you acting like it’s a crime not to have sex every…” her words stuttered to a stop as Zoey shifted her hands away from Rumi — with a light squeeze of her fingers that felt like a thank you and an apology, neither of which were warranted — putting them on Mira’s hips instead, fingers at the edge of her waistband.
“Do you still want us to do something about it?” Zoey asked.
“Uhm,” Mira said, looking at Rumi. Her lashes fluttered as Zoey’s hands shifted, her lips parting just slightly, and if Zoey’s light touch on her was all it took for her to react this beautifully, Rumi really wanted to see what happened if…
Her hand moved, feeling Mira’s cheek and down her throat, resting light on her collar, feeling the fluttering pulse of her heart under the pads of her fingers. Mira took a careful breath, and Rumi’s fingers moved with her chest. Mira’s hands were hovering, not quite touching either of them, and Rumi pressed down with gentle pressure, until Mira was leaning back into the pillow, doubled up at the side of the car. “I would like to do something about it,” Rumi said, because it seemed like Mira needed the assurance. “If you would like that, too.”
“Mira, she’s got abs. Our guardian angel is stacked,” Zoey said, as if that was going to sell Mira on the idea or something, but the instant way that Mira’s hands lifted Rumi’s shirt to see them for herself made Rumi think Zoey had maybe actually been onto something.
“Please,” Mira said emphatically, staring for a second before her gaze flicked back to Rumi’s face. “You’ve already done plenty about it, to be honest, but…”
“Not nearly enough,” Zoey said, and Rumi’s head nodded her agreement on its way to taste the dip in Mira’s collar.
“Oh,” Mira breathed, as Rumi’s lips hit her skin, shivering when her tongue flicked against her throat. “God,” she said, at something Rumi hadn’t done, and when Rumi looked over at Zoey, it was to find her baring Mira’s skin to the both of them, using Rumi’s distraction to pull the shirt over Mira’s head. Her bra looked almost expensive enough to deserve to exist near her body — which was so horrendously attractive that Rumi’s mouth felt too dry to kiss any part of it — but Zoey threw it to the other side of the car cavalierly, lowering her head to kiss along her chest.
"Rumi,” Mira said, one hand tangling in Zoey’s hair, the other held out to her.
“You’re too pretty to do this in a car,” Rumi told her, letting herself get tugged closer, hearing Mira’s skin soften the sound of Zoey laughing at her.
“Says you,” Mira said, cupping her jaw with both hands so that her face felt completely taken by her, bringing her towards her lips. The fingers on her cheeks were rougher than Zoey's, the touch of them firm instead of teasing. She fell into the kiss, her hands on either side of Mira, trying not to crush Zoey’s head, which was now somewhere close enough to Mira’s waistband for just the sight of it to splash warmth through her insides. She slid down beside her, not letting the heat of Mira’s lips go, her hands dipping down to feel across the curve of her breast, her fingers catching around the hard pucker of a nipple and drawing a long, drawn-out groan from Mira’s throat.
“Up, up, god, off,” Zoey said impatiently, dragging at Mira’s jeans.
“Wait, wait, I want—” Mira said, her eyes slightly unfocused as she tugged at Rumi’s shirt, the back of her hand lined with a small, pink scar that Rumi brought to her mouth to kiss. “I’m not gonna be the only one naked and uncomfortable in this car.”
“You’re not comfortable?” Rumi asked, assessing the curved metal of the car door behind Mira’s back and the pillows barely covering the lumps of the handles. Her fingers grazed Mira’s as she followed the tug of request and stripped off her own shirt, then settled back against the pillows jammed up against the car door. She interrupted the immediate and incredibly flattering pop of wide eyes by dragging Mira towards her by the shoulders, until Mira’s back was pressed against her, a long expanse of skin on skin, her body between her legs. “Better?”
Mira shifted slightly down, fitting their bodies more tightly together, her head tilting and kissing her in answer.
“You are completely redefining the term pillow princess right now,” Zoey said, and Rumi’s laugh stuttered as Mira’s lips kissed down the hinge of her jaw.
Rumi’s fingers trailed up Mira’s ribs, and she sighed into her kiss. She could only follow what Zoey was doing in the pitch and speed and stutter of the air between their lips, until Mira’s head lowered into the crook of Rumi’s throat, her skin vibrating with the force of her groan. Rumi’s fingers dug into her skin accidentally at the sight that was exposed to her between pink strands of hair: Mira’s knees parted and open, Zoey’s eyes concentrated between them, the tip of her tongue showing between her teeth, two fingers so deep inside her that all Rumi could see was palm.
“Can I-?” Rumi asked, feeling Mira nod against her before she’d even asked the question, her fingers dipping slowly towards Zoey’s hand, the wet glimmer shining on Zoey’s fingers with every slow thrust that was punching Mira’s breath out of her.
Zoey’s eyes raised, almost black, the warm yellow lights in the car reflecting in them like stars. “You want to help me fuck her?” she asked, which was a weird question, of course she wanted— but the reason she’d asked became almost immediately clear when Mira’s hands landed bruisingly on Rumi’s thighs, something high and helpless muffled in Rumi’s collar. Oh. Mira liked a bit of dirty talk. That, Rumi could do.
“I want,” Rumi said, lowering her fingers to graze curls, seeing Mira’s hips jerk in reaction and Zoey’s mouth tilt in a conspiratorial grin. “To feel her fall apart when she’s practically in my lap. I want to hear the noises she makes when she has your fingers inside her and my fingers on her clit. I want to see her come all over your hand.”
“Oh, fuck,” Zoey said, looking completely delighted, the pink hue of her cheeks deepening to a pretty crimson. “Mira, she’s got a mouth on her. What have we unleashed?”
As Zoey spoke, Rumi’s fingers were lowering to dip into wet heat, and Mira made a sound like she was trying to respond, but the word cracked down the middle before it could make its way out of her mouth. Her mouth was almost as hot and wet in the crook of her neck as the feel of her under the pads of her fingers, panting into her, the twitching of her hips landing her ass back against Rumi in a way that was starting to get difficult not to grind herself against in response. Mira's back was shifting against her bra, a pleasurable too-much kind of feeling shivering down her at every press of the material against hardened nipples.
“Zoey,” Mira moaned, and Zoey’s eyes hit Rumi’s like she was taking that as some kind of incredibly premature victory.
That would not do. Rumi ghosted her fingers around her clit, moving away from the force of Zoey’s fingers and the searching tilt of Mira’s hips, wanting her to feel her, but not wanting the panting against her and the bruising hold of Mira’s hands on her thighs to end too soon.
The curse Mira let out when Rumi slowly circled low enough to press across her clit properly made Rumi jerk helplessly up into Mira’s ass, the pressure of the seam of her jeans tearing a small whine out from her throat that made Mira press back into her again with an intention that shuddered through her. She might even be wet enough that Mira could feel it even through her jeans right now, the slick of it pooling, the slide of her jeans as Mira shifted against her distracting her, her eyes fluttering closed.
“You okay, there, Rumi?” Zoey asked, her voice a heated amusement that Rumi refused to open her eyes to face.
“She’s — fuck — rutting on my ass,” Mira said, which Rumi was absolutely definitively not doing, and Mira was playing with fire by saying something like that when Rumi had her this desperate in her lap.
“Am I?” Rumi breathed in her ear, licking a stripe just behind it that made Mira shudder, scraping her teeth along her lobe and swiping across her clit with a sudden hard pressure that earnt her a loud, fractured cry.
“Fuck, Rumi,” Mira said, her voice higher, and Rumi opened her eyes just to make sure Zoey was watching her when she mouthed, “One one”, seeing Zoey’s eyes sparkle brightly with a laugh that she muffled by dipping her head to bite at Mira’s skin. God, the curve of her smile on Mira’s thigh, the perfect pink of her lips, the edge of teeth and the dimple in Mira’s skin and the mark she left behind, the pure focused intent on Zoey’s face as they took Mira apart together. This night felt like a dream that she already knew would repeat in her bed, long after it had ended, long after they’d left her to treasure the memories of this, alone.
“God, you’re both so beautiful,” Rumi said. “I’m so fucking wet for you right now. Your body against mine is—”
“Want more,” Mira interrupted, and Rumi nipped at her earlobe, keeping her fingers light and aimless.
“No. I don’t want this to end too soon.”
“Meant your — Zoey, fuck, your fingers are so good — bra. Off.”
Zoey lifted two fingers with a grin of triumph at the sound of her name, and Rumi laughed at her, humming, lifting the hand that had been keeping Mira against her, trying to undo her bra with her left hand, badly, eventually giving up and removing her fingers from Mira — getting a whine of disapproval that was entirely uncalled for when all she was doing was trying to give her what she’d asked for.
When she settled Mira back against her, it was skin on skin with nothing between them, the slide of heated sweat feeling so good that Rumi’s head dropped to Mira’s shoulder, her lips finding the bruised red that Zoey had left behind there and sucking hard over it, making it theirs.
“You know she can’t come just from this,” Zoey said, punctuating the sentence with a fast push of her fingers into Mira’s body. It moved Mira against her with a glorious pressure, and Rumi had to swallow a feeling that rose too high in her throat, Zoey’s eyes watching her instead of Mira, sparkling dangerously as she did it again, harder.
“I’m getting there, actually,” Mira managed, her teeth scraping over the bone of Rumi’s collar. Mira’s want and the press of her body against her shivered down her, the muscles of Rumi's thighs twitching with the ragged end of her restraint.
"She’s very easy to edge,” Zoey said casually.
“Don’t you — fuuucking — dare,” Mira said, but the demand in it was completely undercut by the high whine of the curse, and Rumi placed a thoughtful, open-mouthed kiss at her neck, eyes on Zoey, on the flush on her face and the way her left hand was hovering at the edge of her own cargo pants.
“Are you?” Rumi asked, pressing her hand down so her palm was flush against Mira’s cunt, her fingers finding Zoey’s and holding them still. Zoey’s eyes had been drifting down Mira’s body with a hungry kind of intensity, but at that, they flew to Rumi’s, widening, those lips — the ones that Rumi could not stop imagining biting — parting with a sharp inhalation. “Easy to edge?” Rumi asked, pushing the point so there could be no misunderstanding. Mira pressed herself back into Zoey’s fingers as Rumi held Zoey still, held Zoey’s eyes, let Mira fuck herself down again and again as she panted needy exertion into her neck, grinding herself down against the heel of Rumi’s hand. Zoey’s eyes skimmed down Mira’s body, the thighs split over Rumi’s legs that were trembling with effort and growing pleasure.
“Maybe. Yes,” Zoey said finally, a quiet whisper into heated air, the tip of her tongue flicking to lick her lips. Rumi tilted her hand away from Mira's clit before she could come, feeling the sticky wet of her clinging to her palm as she reached to circle Zoey’s wrist. Mira let out a long, whimpered protest, fingers flexing hard against Rumi’s legs as her hips jerked, searching for the lost contact, a guttural moan coming from her as Rumi moved Zoey’s wrist, hard, pressing it back into Mira so Mira's body shifted solidly against her, letting her own groan free at the sudden slide of friction where she wanted it.
“Then do it,” Rumi said, eyes flicking down to Zoey’s other hand, continuing to pull Zoey’s hand into Mira and Mira back into herself. It was frustratingly far from perfect, but she was pretty sure that if Zoey kept looking at her like she was the best thing she’d ever seen and Mira kept mouthing at her neck like she wanted to eat her whole that she could come from any amount of pressure.
“Oh, fuck, Rumi,” Zoey said, shoving her hand into her own pants, and she was so wet that Rumi could hear it.
“Two all,” Rumi said, in a voice that was a little less steady than she’d meant it to be, and Zoey threw her head back as she laughed.
“You cheat.” The sound of Zoey’s voice was wound tight and short as her fingers moved inside her pants, her other hand relaxed, letting Rumi set the pace and angle that Mira was fucked back into her.
Rumi had to stop embarrassingly quickly, shaking with the effort of holding back the desparate clenching of her cunt, holding Mira tight against her and concentrating on breathing, seeing Zoey’s hand fly back out of her pants barely a moment later, her lower body twitching to follow her hand, her head still tilted back as she sighed out something more breath than voice, her throat long and unblemished and begging to be touched.
Zoey’s head came back down slowly, her eyes drifting from the pressure of Rumi’s hold against her wrist, the view of Mira’s cunt — and Rumi could only imagine how this soaked heat would look splayed out around Zoey’s fingers — lingering on Mira’s breasts on the way to Rumi’s face, biting at her lip at whatever she saw in it. “Again?” she asked.
“Again,” Rumi agreed.
“What are you — fuck, Rumi,“ Mira said, shuddering as Rumi freed Zoey’s wrist to circle Mira’s clit, relentless now, a firm swipe of pressure over her, feeling Zoey move with purpose into Mira with short, sharp movements that were blessedly careful not to move Mira’s body against her. “Zoey,” Mira whined, before Rumi could even try and update their score out loud.
“Feeling you,” Rumi answered her, into her ear because it kept making her shiver deliciously. “Making you feel us.” It was so fucking lovely how easy it was to build her back up, how easy it was to feel her escalating desire: the flutter of dark lashes Rumi could just see in profile, the clenching pressure around her fingers, the way she pressed back into her, her head rolling to the side, her mouth open and seeking Rumi’s skin, mouthing helpless need into it, the shivering of her body.
“Stop, stop,” Zoey said, her hand stilling, and it was only that that made Rumi remember what she was trying to do, tearing her hand and eyes away from the intoxication of seeing Mira’s body crest towards something she was starting to want almost as badly as Mira looked to need it.
“No, what, don’t stop, don’t stop,” Mira gasped, and Rumi had to take both of Mira’s hands in hers to stop her from moving them to masturbate herself into finishing before they were ready for her to.
“You got her?” Zoey asked, and Rumi nodded, kissing across Mira’s forehead as she swore violently at both of them. “We’ve got you, Mir. Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna fuck you so good,” Zoey said, her fingers starting again, slow, ripping something loud and ungodly from Mira’s throat that Rumi felt first vibrating through her front. “Like this?” Zoey asked, her eyes on Rumi, pushing Mira hard into her, and Rumi shuddered bodily, nodding rapidly instead of trying to find the words to answer, watching the movement of Zoey’s hands as one slipped out of sight to circle herself again, slower, much slower than she had last time, like she couldn’t bear more than a light and gentle pressure.
Rumi’s breath was leaving her in uneven gasps with every press of Mira against her, the drag of it delicious, and her head tilted back against the metal of the car — Mira had been right, this was uncomfortable, but Rumi did not care right now — her hands tightening on Mira’s more to have something to grab than because she was trying to keep Mira away from herself now.
“Zoey, Zoey, fuck, my clit, please, on my clit. Rumi, please,” Mira said, and if this was how Rumi lost this game, with Mira begging like that, with both of their names on her tongue like she didn’t care which one of them heard her as long as she was given what she needed, with her hands gripping at her like she was trying to hold herself together, then god, god, Rumi could for maybe the first time in her life not mind coming last in something.
“Z—” Rumi cut herself off before she could give Zoey the pleasure of saying her name, but Zoey somehow managed to start fucking Mira even faster against her, so every slide was quick and hard, and the position of it stopped mattering. She tried shifting herself away, but it only seemed to give Zoey more leverage, and Rumi gasped out, “I’m going to—” not able to stop the inevitable ripple of feeling in her gut, from the too easy glide of jeans and underwear over her clit, from the firm pressure of Mira’s body, from every concentrated push of Zoey’s fingers inside Mira’s body. “Zoey,” Rumi warned urgently, but then Mira’s head was tilting to look at her, fixating on her, something dark and potent in her eyes as one hand lifted from Rumi’s thigh to grab the back of her head, pulling her with gentle certainty closer into her, rolling her body back against her, crashing their lips together and Rumi couldn’t do anything but moan her name into her mouth, push back into her ass as she came, shuddering, into the seam of her jeans, feeling herself soak them until it was impossible for Mira not to be able to feel it. Mira was still kissing her, her hand curled under her chin, knuckles grazing her skin. The shivery aftershocks of feeling slowed, the pressure against her easing, and Rumi broke away from Mira to attempt to glare over at Zoey.
“Oops,” Zoey said, with a gleaming shamelessness. The hand inside her pants was moving slower than the one inside Mira, and as Zoey saw her eyes drop, she grinned. “You gonna help finish what we started or just gonna sit there looking all cute and fucked?”
“When I get my hands on you…” Rumi threatened, feeling her own smile, the brightness of it startling her, her laugh completely involuntary.
Mira’s hand spread out across Rumi’s face, cupping her jaw, tapping at her cheek in a bid for attention, and Rumi slid a hand up her thigh. “Yes, Mira?” Rumi whispered, kissing the side of her lips and down to her neck.
“I want — Rumi, fucksake, please, more,” Mira said, her voice hoarse, and Rumi could feel the sweating tremble of concentration in her as she fought to find an orgasm with just Zoey’s fingers.
“Is this not enough for you?” Zoey asked innocently. “Or do you… need another finger?”
“Oh, god, oh god,” Mira said, her face scrunching, falling back into the crook of Rumi’s neck, and Rumi watched Zoey take her fingers out and curl her pinkie into them, starting to press it against Mira, a long and muffled whine coming from her.
“I think she can take it,” Zoey said, testing the movement again. “I think she wants to.”
“You wanted more, you said,” Rumi said, feeling the tremble in Mira’s hand against her cheek, tilting her head to kiss the tip of every one of her fingers. “Take it and we’ll let you come, beautiful. We’ll make you come all over both of our hands. We’ll touch you just how you want. Can you do that for us? Can you let us make you feel good?”
“Please, god, give—” Mira said, her body leaning back with force, her mouth opening in a silent cry as Zoey’s hand shifted, a slow, determined movement. When she inhaled, it was with a noise that was close to a sob, her hand dropping from Rumi’s face to go back to their bruising hold on her thighs.
“We’ve got you,” Zoey said, her voice achingly gentle. “You’re so gorgeous like this, Mira. You make me want to hold you on this edge until you cry.”
Mira didn’t even look like she was trying to respond anymore, just breathlessly shifting, making a low, continuous noise against her that thrummed in Rumi’s chest.
“She’s clenching around me so hard, Rumi,” Zoey said, her voice so incredibly awed that Rumi felt suddenly that being allowed to see this was a privilege she didn’t know what she’d done to deserve. “Just a little more, Mira — there, fuck, god, you’re so lovely.”
“Want my fingers back, beautiful?” Rumi said, which was a valiant last attempt to try and get one more point even if Rumi did say so herself, but Mira could only nod, the movement shaky, and let it not be said that Rumi ever reneged on her promises.
She wanted Zoey to feel this too, but she looked too focused on the slow movement of her hand inside Mira to be thinking about herself, and Rumi trailed one hand across Mira’s lower stomach, the other dropping between her legs. Mira’s body tensed at the first light touch against her, shuddering, and she could feel Mira start to move with a purposeful, languorous roll of her hips, and Zoey nodded like she’d been asked a question and wanted to answer her with everything she had. Zoey wasn’t trying to push Mira into her anymore, but Rumi was so wet she wasn’t sure there would be any friction to be found even if she’d tried, and Rumi was completely absorbed by the soft little gasps of air that she could feel more than hear, the adorable little pucker of a concentrated frown between two dark brows, the obscenity of the stretch of Mira around Zoey’s fingers and the sound of them being wetly swallowed, the slick satin under her fingers.
“Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” Mira said, her hips moving faster, the twitching in her thighs giving her away, and when Zoey’s eyes hit Rumi’s, she knew she was thinking it too.
“Again?” Zoey drawled.
“No, fuck, no, please, please, don’t, please fuck me, please let me come,” Mira said, her words slipping somewhere into something insensibly frantic, their names falling half-spoken from her lips in a rush of pleading that coiled a surge of satisfaction so heady through Rumi that it was almost better than her orgasm, feeling almost dizzy from it and the way she was being pushed back into the car door with every one of Zoey’s thrusts, so hard that it felt like the whole car was rocking around them. Mira was using her legs as leverage, Rumi realised, her ass in the air, fucking herself into Zoey’s hand, and when Rumi managed to tear her eyes away from the muscles shifting in her thighs, it was to find Zoey’s mouth open, her eyes flicking between Rumi’s fingers — circling her fast and mercilessly now — and their faces, something so reverent in her eyes that it shouldn't have been possible to include her. Still, the wonder in it was somehow expansive enough that Rumi knew it was for both of them, for this, for what they’d done to Mira together, for what they’d created of the time and space in this night.
Mira cried out, her whole body shuddering with the force of the orgasm that ripped through her, falling back into Rumi, quivering and messy and damp with sweat, gasping for air. Rumi slowed, but didn’t lift her hand from pressing into her until Mira groaned, her knee shifting to close over their hands, and Rumi watched Zoey slowly extricate herself, her fingers pruned and glossy.
“I lost count somewhere in there,” Rumi said, slightly dazed, lifting the long hair that had fallen into Mira’s eyes and tucking it back safely behind her ear, kissing the exposed curve of her brow.
“I’m gonna call it a draw,” Zoey said.
“For now,” Rumi agreed, and Zoey’s eyes shot up to her in something between pleased and nervous. “Hey Mira. Wanna help me get her back for, like… all of that?”
“Yes,” Mira said, her voice a thick rasp, her lips dropping to Rumi’s upper arm, lingering against her skin. “In two to five working days. Currently closed for business.”
“Hm,” Rumi said, her arms loose around Mira’s body now, just holding her, her jeans uncomfortable, her head sore from where she had knocked out a few brain cells against some kind of plastic protrusion. “Guess that’s that then. I’ll just go back to—” Mira’s hands came to hold her still, Zoey’s eyes widening in alarm.
“Two to five hours,” Mira bargained.
“Pretty sure the roads will be open by then,” Rumi said, loving the way that Zoey’s head was just ping-ponging as she looked between them, her breath still visibly short.
“Fine, two to five minutes then, that’s my final offer,” Mira said, tipping her chin to grin at Rumi and give her a kiss that shouldn’t have been able to pack that much filth into only a seconds-long press of her tongue in her mouth.
Mira shifted herself until Rumi was suddenly reminded of their height difference, her head tilting, and Rumi followed her eyes to find Zoey staying very still, her tongue darting out to taste her lips. “Uhm. Guys?” Zoey asked, moving backwards slightly, her back against the other side of the car.
“I’d lie down if I were you,” Mira said. “That door is not going to be comfortable when I fuck you against it.”
“Oh,” Zoey said, swallowing hard as Mira tipped forwards, up onto her knees. Mira still looked a little shaky, which was enough to make Rumi smirk, and Zoey looked like a very happy deer in headlights.
Mira’s hands came out, pushing Zoey until she let gravity take her back into blankets.
“There’s something you should know about me,” Rumi said, as Mira started to take Zoey’s clothes from her, lifting her hoodie over her head.
“What…?” Zoey said, stopping as Mira let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Oh, no, don’t—” Zoey said, going suddenly crimson, her hands flying to the bottom of her own shirt to try and tug it over her head, stopped by hands flattening over her abs.
“What is this?” Mira said, smoothing the fabric out until she could read the shirt that had so stunned Rumi when she first met her, the image of a Squirtle and the Pokémon font inscribing above it ‘I’m a Squirter’.
“Oh, god, you weren’t supposed to — don’t judge meee,” Zoey said plaintively, both hands wrapping around Mira’s and trying to use brute force to tug them and her shirt upwards.
“You were going to rock up to work wearing this?”
“I didn’t have a choice! I was only gonna drive up in it, I was planning to get changed, but then I didn’t have anything to change into.”
“Zoey, what.” Mira looked torn between amused and perplexed, her fingers running over the text as if she was hoping she’d misread it.
“I left my suitcase at home,” Zoey said, her head tipping back with her groan, her hair loose from her buns and in a messy halo, the smattering of freckles stark against her blush.
“You didn’t turn back for it?” Mira asked.
“Well, no, I didn’t realise until— can we stop talking about my clothes and take them off instead?” Zoey tried.
“I like that plan,” Rumi agreed. “You can borrow some more of mine if you need to. But, I mean— are you?”
Zoey just groaned, long and pained, and Mira turned, giving Rumi a grin that said she should probably be worried about her blankets.
Zoey was tugging her own pants off before Mira could help her out of her shirt, and then Zoey was lying bare before them, her skin shivering just from the touch of their eyes.
“What, uhm — you said we should know something about you,” Zoey said, as Rumi trailed the back of her fingers up her calf, feeling the warm give of her skin.
“Oh, that,” Rumi said. “Yes. I really don’t like losing.”
“Right,” Zoey said, her eyes on Rumi’s fingers as they lingered at the edge of her panties — thankfully nothing more outrageous about them than the shade, a bright neon pink, because Rumi did not want to spend further time discussing clothing choices tonight. She hadn’t looked at her watch, and didn’t want to have to look away from Zoey to look at the time now, but she had a sneaking suspicion that the road was substantially closer to reopening than she'd like it to be when she wasn’t yet asleep.
Still, watching Mira kiss up Zoey’s chest and Zoey arch into her lips was not something Rumi wanted to rush. “Going to have to hear my name from you before I—” Rumi said, skimming her fingers over cotton so soaked she could feel it dampen her fingers.
“Mm,” Zoey said, her hands threading through Mira’s hair with an aching gentleness, her eyelashes fluttering as she looked up through them at her. “You should know something about me,” Zoey said, her voice already thready. “I have, like, no patience.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m incredibly easy,” Zoey said, pressing down into her fingers, her eyes heady on her, her voice a low simmer that tightened the breath in Rumi’s chest and cramped low in her gut. “Please touch me, Rumi?”
Rumi’s blankets were bundled into Zoey’s car the next morning, ready to be washed along with her hoodie.
*
Rumi was not going to survive this meal. It was an actual miracle she had managed to stay awake for it. She’d napped almost as soon as she got to the resort, after listening to a short, concerned ‘I told you so’ speech from Celine about the dangers of sleeping in one's car, accompanied by a tight, grateful hug, because Celine had always said more of what she meant in her actions than in her words.
She was muffling a yawn that Celine really didn't deserve for her conversation — which was really very interesting, an insightful takedown of a movie that Rumi hadn’t been able to articulate anywhere near as clearly why she hadn't liked — when there was a muffled noise of some kind of accident from the restaurant behind her. Celine's eyes raised over her head, giving someone a glare, and Rumi laughed into her water glass.
“You could stand to be slightly friendlier to your staff.”
“They're children, Rumi,” Celine groaned. “Very talented children, obviously, or I wouldn't have hired them. But you have thoroughly spoiled me for everyone else in your generation. They're always so much more calm when you're here."
“I'm sure they're not that bad.”
“My front desk manager very nearly broke my best bartender’s arm last night because they drunkenly decided to see who could make the longest ski ramps out of beer pallets and ice.”
Rumi was pretty sure she'd taken part in much worse shenanigans in this resort, but she was better at estimating Celine's movements than most. Clearly, they’d missed her incredibly useful influence.
The amuse-bouche was brought out — a pumpkin and bottarga bite with a yuzu and pink peppercorn drizzle that made Rumi’s eyes widen with how much flavour was packed into such a small mouthful.
“I told you,” Celine said, and Rumi wasn't even annoyed that it was approximately the fourth time she'd heard those words from her today when she was this right.
“God, that's good,” Rumi said. It was good enough to wake her back to alertness, the yuzu still tingling at the back of her palate when she heard a light, familiar voice say from her side, “I'll give your compliments to the chef.”
Her head whipped round, seeing the brilliance of her smile first, the carefully styled hair falling over her turtleneck blazer combination second. Zoey introduced herself as their sommelier and started talking about the terroir of the champagne she was pouring for them, her voice quivering with barely restrained feeling, eyes flicking over to Rumi like she couldn't help herself, a secret, delighted grin in the crinkled corners of them.
There was a first course being explained by Mystery — a waiter with hair so long it basically covered his eyes, who Rumi had taught to ski at least five years ago now — but Rumi was definitely going to have to reread the menu to find out what she'd be eating. Her attention was completely caught by the dark gloss on Zoey's lips, the glint sparkling under her hair of the ear cuff that Rumi had been tonguing practically five seconds ago.
“I’ll leave you to your meals,” Zoey said. “If you enjoy this as well, perhaps you can come deliver your compliments to the chef directly?”
“Mm?” Rumi asked, dragging her eyes away from the discolouration peeking from beneath the turtleneck, desperately hoping Celine saw nothing and asked no questions.
“I think you'll like her,” Zoey said, lifting the champagne bottle, and giving Rumi a blatant flirt of a wink before she left the table.
Rumi watched her leave, watched the trousers that were at least one size too small for her shift with the sway of her hips, swallowing no less than three times before she could look back at her plate and lift her fork, unseeing and untasting.
“What on earth was that?” Celine asked, and when Rumi finally braved looking at her, it was to find her, of all the terrifying eventualities she had not expected, smiling at her.
Rumi was not going to survive this meal.