It’s the hottest day of the year, and Ellie and Dina are lying out on the quad on a floral bedsheet (Dina’s), sweating, pretending to study. Well, Dina might actually be studying. 

Ellie, instead, is watching the rugby captain across the quad under a cherry blossom. She’s lying on her stomach, frowning at the tiny book in her hands. (The book isn’t actually that tiny, just one of those mass market paperbacks, but the size of her hands makes it comically small). It would be sort of a breathtaking view, if not for the boyfriend beside her. 

Lounging lazily in a tank top and basketball shorts. 

Owen. 

He slides up next to her, brushing her long characteristic braid over her shoulder. Abby shrugs him off, eyes never leaving the page. 

“Let me guess.” Dina pokes her foot into Ellie’s ribs. “You’re picturing her on the floor of our dorm room in nothing but her jersey.”

“Gross. Shut up.” Ellie rolls onto her side, evading the attack. 

“You’re not very good at hiding it, Els.” 

Ellie just lets out a low groan, head sliding into the corner of her elbow, unable to think about anything but the heat—in more than one way. 

“She has a boyfriend.” A boyfriend she clearly hates, Ellie thinks. 

“And that’s such a big issue for you, right? Last semester—”

“Let’s not revisit that, please.” 

“I’m just saying,” Dina says, shrugging, “you’ve been a little bit of a nightmare lately. And—” she holds up a hand to stop Ellie’s argument—”I just think you might need to work some of that shit out. And obviously, we both have eyes. She’s hot.” Her eyebrows quirk upwards, and Ellie groans. 

Dina’s not wrong. She’s absolutely not wrong. It’s been months since Ellie last brought someone home. She’s been in a drought of massive proportions, bed-rotting and smoking in the dorm instead of going out, and Abby could definitely, definitely fuck her out of it.

If it weren’t for Owen. 

Abby’s gaze drifts from her book for just a moment. She glances around the quad, and her eyes dart just briefly toward Ellie and Dina. But definitely toward Ellie. And then she looks decisively away, burying her face in whatever she’s reading. Not exactly the look of someone who doesn’t care if they’re caught looking.

Ellie feels a stupid, hopeful heat race through her stomach. 

“There’s one other problem,” Ellie says. 

“Mhm?” Dina’s not really listening at this point, highlighting something in her textbook. 

“She actually hates my guts.”

“Yeah, well,” she doesn’t look up, “you’re very hateable.”

——

Abby hates Ellie for a good reason. She’ll admit that. Last semester they’d been paired up for a philosophy presentation, which Ellie forgot about pretty much immediately after getting the assignment. It wasn’t her fault; she’d lost her planner down a sewer grate by complete accident. 

She kept getting texts from this unknown phone number.

“Where R U???”

“Answer my text.”

“ELLIE WILLIAMS!!!”

Probably spam. Probably nothing important. 

Later, she blew smoke out of her dorm room window while swiping through Tinder. Mostly for entertainment, since she rarely actually met up with anyone from there. Mostly just to get a lay of the land.

And there she was. Mirror selfie in a sports bra, braid brushed over one shoulder, definitely flexing. Half-smiling. The second photo featured her with a dog. The third was a group photo. She looked just a little bit awkward in a skin-tight silver gown and heels, a full foot taller than everyone else. 

What the hell was Abby Anderson doing on lesbian Tinder?

Why did she look so fucking hot?

Ellie swiped right. They wouldn’t match, obviously. 

Before she could drop her phone, the notification pinged. One new match! She stared at it in disbelief, a thick dread coiling in her stomach. That wasn’t supposed to happen. That really wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Her fingers moved faster than her brain—a tactic she’d pretty much mastered over the years—typing out a message. Because this was impossible, and a little bit terrifying, and she was not going to miss out on this opportunity.

“Wyd tonight?” Slick, forward, nonchalant. 

Abby replied almost immediately. 

“Our philosophy assignment.” 

Her heart sank. Then the second message came through.

“Come over. Right now.”

She couldn’t exactly ignore it at this point. Still high and half-dazed, Ellie put on a clean pair of jeans and grabbed her backpack, and headed for Abby Anderson’s dorm.

If she’d expected anything besides a near-silent, brutally awkward study session, her hopes were quickly squashed. Abby did not mention the Tinder match. The next day, she was blocked anyway. The next week, Abby was dating Owen. The rest was history. 

—-

But Abby had been on lesbian Tinder. She had matched with Ellie. Whether that was a near-sociopathic ploy to get her to follow through on her end of the assignment, or some kind of genuine interest, Ellie isn’t sure. She does have her suspicions. 

She’s definitely not stalking Abby, she explains to Dina. She just happens to run into her kind of all over the place. Ellie’s rarely at the gym, but sometimes she’s skating outside while Abby is lifting. She’s sometimes holed up in the library—a place she would usually never find herself—while Abby studies. Sometimes she happens to be smoking at the bus stop when Owen picks Abby up from her dorm.

Owen. 

Abby’s not into him. She can tell. Some people aren’t into PDA, but Abby really doesn’t like it when he goes for her hand on the way to class, or kisses her outside of the dorms. Most of the time she seems genuinely annoyed with him. Then again, Abby seems to be annoyed with pretty much everyone. 

Except Dina. Because Dina is friendly with everyone, and now that she’s caught on about how Ellie is definitely not stalking her, definitely not pining in an uncharacteristically-Ellie way, she’s determined to grease the wheels. And now she has an invite to an off-campus rugby party that Abby will definitely be at, and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t drag Ellie with her.

“I’m not going,” Ellie complains. “That’s not my crowd.”

“Who exactly is your crowd, then?” Dina asks, applying a tasteful amount of lip gloss. She doesn’t really need it. “The stoners?”

“Well, you, for one,” Ellie says, crossing her arms. She’s wearing a flannel over her tank top, and jeans that Dina says are torn in all the right places. “And the stoners.”

“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of weed there, dumbass,” Dina says. She grabs Ellie’s hand tightly and drags her out the door. 

——

The frat house is filled with smoke and sweaty bodies, and Ellie is four shots (and a couple of bong rips) deep. She lost Dina to the dance floor almost immediately. Despite Dina’s best efforts to yank her out of the safe periphery, Ellie hangs back against the precarious china cabinet in the dining room. She hasn’t even seen Abby once, and is pretty certain this whole thing is a bust. 

“Ellie, get out here!” She can make Dina out, just barely, poking her head in from the garage at the end of the hall. “Beer pong!”

“I’m good!” Ellie calls back, aware of the kitchen-dwellers turning to look at her. She gives an awkward nod. 

“What? I can’t hear you. Just come out here!” 

She groans. At least she'll be doing something with her hands. And she is, shockingly, very good at beer pong. 

She pushes down the hall—”sorry”—colliding with sweaty jock bodies, feeling more than a little off balance in the dim light. Someone turns around unexpectedly and she wheels, catching herself against a door. 

The door opens. 

The person on the other side of the door catches her. Throws her backward. Kind of hard. She hits the wall.

She can’t speak, partly because of the air that’s just been punched out of her lungs, and partly because she’s staring at Abby Anderson in a diabolically-tight t-shirt that’s riding up her hips. And her hair is down.

“Jesus,” Abby winces, recoiling. 

Her hair is down. Panic button! Ellie has never seen her with her hair down, and she thinks she probably never will again, because she’ll probably die right here on the spot. 

“Why are you fucking everywhere?” Abby says through clenched teeth.

Guilt wells up, a rotten feeling in her gut. “Dina invited me,” she says, stupidly.

Abby squeezes her eyes shut, combing a hand through her hair. “Shit. That’s… not what I meant.” Her face is flushed, and she looks incredibly, incredibly hot right now. 

Then Owen squeezes through the door. Fucking Owen. 

He maneuvers around Abby with a hand at her hip, which she draws away from. He looks between her and Ellie. He shrugs. “Okay, well, I’ll be around.” 

Suddenly the disheveled hair and the pushed-up shirt make a lot more sense. They’re also a lot less hot. Ellie feels that sticky, wrenching sensation she felt when her first real crush confessed to her that she’d kissed a boy, expecting Ellie to be happy for her. That delusional belief that she would be chosen, shattered. 

She hates the way it clings to her. She has to shrug it off. So when Owen’s gone, she decides to twist the knife—just a little. “Sheesh. Bad time?”

Abby squints at her. She looks like she’s trying to melt Ellie with her mind. 

Her silence forces a nervous laugh from Ellie. “I mean, that’s freshly-fucked hair if I’ve ever seen it.”

Abby pinches her temples. “God. I need another drink.”

She pushes past Ellie, and Ellie expects it to end there. But when Abby reaches the end of the hall, she looks back. She jerks her head toward the kitchen, and Ellie can’t really make out the emotion on her face. The meaning, though, is clear. Come on. 

So Ellie follows her. Lets Abby fill her red solo cup, and then her own. And then she’s following her outside into the dark backyard. 

She sits on damp grass. It’s much quieter, the sounds of the party muffled behind them. Abby drains her cup like she’s afraid it’ll run away from her. 

“You good?” Ellie asks. What an awful lead-in. Clearly, she’s not. But Ellie doesn’t know where she stands. Doesn’t know if she’s even supposed to be asking. 

Abby just stares ahead, apparently fascinated by the broken trampoline that’s tipped against the garage. “I wasn’t fucking him.”

Ellie chokes on her drink. 

Before she can come up with a smooth rebuttal—and really, what can you say to that?—Abby turns to look at her, eyes wild and dark in the moonlight. “Are you aware that you’re ruining my life?”

Ellie just stares, the words not registering. The idea that she is on Abby’s mind in any capacity—aside from the hate your guts variety—slaps her across the face. It tilts her off balance. 

“Abby, what?” It’s the first time she’s said Abby’s name to her face. It just slips. And then she’s laughing, laughing way too hard, because Abby’s expression is so genuine and hurt and confused. “What are you talking about? Because of the… philosophy thing?”

“Not because of that. Idiot.” It’s cutting, but there’s a shred of warmth there under the surface. Something else that Ellie can’t quite recognize, but that grabs her in the stomach and starts to twist. 

Ellie realizes how close they’re sitting together. She puts a hand out against Abby’s thigh, mostly to steady herself, mostly to get some distance, but it definitely does not have that effect. 

Because she feels Abby’s muscles tighten. She looks down at the hand and back up. Ellie’s pretty sure she couldn’t drag herself away if she tried. 

“Um—” Ellie’s voice catches in her throat. 

Abby kisses her.

Or maybe she kisses Abby. She’s not sure, and it doesn’t matter. It’s soft and awkward and tentative, like neither of them can fully believe that it’s happening. 

Fuck it.

Ellie slips a hand around the back of Abby’s neck, fingers rushing through long hair, pulling her closer. Kisses her harder. Kisses her like she wants to keep her there. Abby’s lips part and she lets out a soft sound, somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

They break apart. Magnets facing the wrong way. Ellie waits for her to recoil, waits for all the explaining—she’s heard it all before. I don’t really like girls, actually. I’m sorry, this was a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking.

Instead, Abby stands up. She’s not looking at Ellie. “I think I need to leave.” 

Ellie slowly pries herself off the ground, her skin racing with static. “Yeah, okay.” 

“Gonna get an Uber,” Abby mutters, taking out her phone. It’s dead. “Fuck. Give me yours.”

Ellie doesn’t really think about it. She doesn’t try to make sense of it. Because Abby is booking a ride from her phone, and she is apparently coming with her. 

They sit on the curb in silence. Ellie tries to think of the least inflammatory thing to say. “So, Owen—”

“Please don’t talk to me about Owen right now.”

“Mm. Got it.” Ellie’s trying really hard not to smile. She shouldn’t feel happy that Abby is having a full on crisis right now. The same Abby that just kissed her and doesn’t want to talk about her boyfriend. The same Abby she’s riding back to campus with. She’s trying and failing. “I just wanna make sure I’m not being, like, a homewrecker or something.”

Abby looks at her hard, almost glaring. “Do you think I’m going to sleep with you?”

“I mean—”

“That’s presumptuous.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re thinking it.”

She can’t really deny that. 

“I know you’re the… ‘hit it and quit it’ type,” Abby says. 

Ellie laughs, a little hurt. “I’m sorry, who told you that?”

Abby shrugs. “It’s known.”

“Fuck you.” Ellie leans into her, just briefly, a playful nudge. She feels Abby shiver against her. “For the record, I wasn’t really expecting anything.” Half lie and half truth. “I am down, though.”

Abby barks a little laugh. “You’re down?”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “Okay, just, check where the Uber is.” 

——-

The ride back is just long enough for Ellie to start to panic. Abby is absolutely silent beside her, thigh flush with Ellie’s thigh, until they reach campus and she starts to give the driver directions to her dorm. 

Her dorm.

Oh, fuck. 

Abby doesn’t want to sleep with her. She’s made that pretty clear.

So why the fuck is she here? 

They get out, and Ellie’s feeling way too sober. It’s quiet on campus after 2 a.m. Abby thanks the driver and swings the door shut. 

Abby’s dorm looks pretty much the way she expected. Books stacked in organized heaps, a weight set next to her bed, family photos. Clothes strewn around, though nowhere near as bad as Ellie’s side of her room with Dina. A cork board with vacation photos, pictures of friends, surfing, pictures of dogs. Ellie looks for too long. 

Abby settles heavily onto her bed, just sits there quietly. 

Ellie paces, trying to release some nervous energy. In reality, she’d like to be jogging. She’d like to be full sprint away from this place, and she’d also rather be throwing herself at Abby on the bed, but she does neither. She picks up a rugby trophy that’s sitting on Abby’s desk. It’s heavier than she expects.

“Huh. Cool.”

“Sit down.”

Ellie sits beside her on the bed, legs swinging. She doesn’t dare look at the athlete beside her when she asks: “Abby, why am I here?”

The question hangs between them. Abby sucks in a breath, then resituates herself—legs crossed, facing Ellie on the bed. Ellie, reluctantly, turns to face her.

She’s not sure what she’s afraid of. Abby is the one who kissed her. Who confessed some deeply-repressed interest that Ellie genuinely had no clue about. But now this all feels very real, and the warmth twisting in Ellie’s gut isn’t just arousal. It’s something much more dangerous. 

Abby looks at her, eyes are wide and a little bit wet—but clear. “Kiss me again.” 

She says it half asking, half demanding. And Ellie doesn’t need to be told twice. 

This time there's heat. Urgency. Ellie grabbing at anything she can reach, yanking Abby closer. She’s aware of the desperate sounds that slip out of her, and the more grunting, wounded sounds Abby returns. 

Abby isn’t hesitant anymore. This time, she means it. 

They both tip backwards, and Abby’s head connects with the headboard with a heavy thunk. 

“Shit,” she winces, and Ellie thinks she looks insanely cute with her eyes scrunched up and her lip between her teeth. 

They’re both giggling, some of the tension diffused. Both still panting and close, but actually looking at each other now. Actually seeing. 

Abby, with her defenses down. That’s the most terrifying thing Ellie has seen tonight. 

Abby’s hands slip under the hem of Ellie’s t-shirt, just barely, and rest on her hips. She looks at her searchingly, and Ellie waits, gives her the chance for the thought to work its way to the surface. 

“Take this off. Please,” she says, flushing at her own request. 

Look at her, asking for what she wants. Ellie can’t help but grin. She also can’t help but notice the hungry way Abby eyes her as she pulls her shirt over her head. She’s wearing a black sports bra underneath—nothing fancy—but Abby looks like she could eat her. 

Because she’s feeling a little bit cocky, Ellie scoots back on the bed and slips off her jeans too. Tosses them somewhere on the floor. She sits there, all long legs and taut muscles that can’t compare to Abby’s. 

Abby’s eyes make meticulous work of every inch of skin, like she’s afraid it’s the last time she’ll see it. They settle between her thighs, on Ellie’s black panties. 

“Those too.”

“Seriously?” Ellie scoffs, but she’s already up off the bed. “Are you asking me to strip for you, Anderson? I think that’s a little bit unfair.”

Abby rolls her eyes. “Fine.” She reaches over her shoulder and yanks at the collar of her t-shirt, peeling it off in one easy movement. All Ellie can do is stare. And salivate. And try not to look like a rabid animal.

She’s wearing a tan bra, a little bit worn and not at all sexy, which wouldn’t work on anyone but Abigail Anderson. It barely registers, because Ellie is too busy taking in the freckled curves of her muscles—the rise and fall of her collarbones with each shallow breath, the cruel definition of her abs, and worst of all—the thin trail of blonde hair that starts at Abby’s belly button and disappears below her waistband. 

Now that is truly unfair. 

Ellie strips off her bra and panties without much fanfare. She lets Abby look at her, but not long enough that she feels like some kind of specimen. Long enough, though, that as Ellie crawls back onto the bed, she knows Abby makes out the sheen of wetness between her thighs. 

Ellie nudges Abby to sit against the headboard—then settles into her lap. Abby makes a low, involuntary sound as Ellie’s wet cunt makes contact with the seam of her pants. She looks startled, wild, all of her taking on a pinkish tone. 

“I’ve never done this. I don’t know—” 

“M-don’t care.” Ellie pulls her into a deeper kiss. This one is selfish. This time taking from Abby exactly what she needs. More tongue. More need. She pulls a low moan from Abby’s throat. 

Abby’s hands find her waist, and her fingers sink in, hard enough to bruise. As she grinds down, Abby pulls her closer. Rocks her hips against Ellie’s.

It makes her lose her breath. Like missing the last step. Like falling headfirst without seeing the bottom.

They move like this, near silent aside from quiet gasps, the warmth of Abby’s tongue on her throat, until Ellie needs more from her. She works one of Abby’s hands free—with some difficulty—and guides it up to her breast.

Abby squeezes, palm wide and hot. Her breath comes quicker against Ellie’s neck. She runs her thumb over Ellie’s nipple, and Ellie jolts with arousal. 

“Need you to…” she shifts her hips, offering better access, and guides Abby’s hand downward.

Abby looks at her, almost pleading, and Ellie nods. Yes, there. 

Eyes wide and fluttering, her fingers dip with a tentative clumsiness. When they slip through Ellie’s heat, her face hardens with concentration—watching herself like she’s studying some kind of mathematical diagram. 

“Abby, look at me.” 

“Mhm.”

“Don’t think so hard.” She smiles, and the smile is quickly wiped away when Abby’s fingers find her clit, smoothing it between them.

Ellie collapses, open mouth on Abby’s shoulder. “Fuck. Yeah, like that.”

Slowly, Abby finds her pace—sliding down to her entrance, almost pressing inside, then withdrawing. Two fingers press even circles into her clit. She’s listening for Ellie’s breaths, finding the rhythm that makes her stiffen and whimper. 

“That's fucking— that's really good, Abs.” 

The praise sends a shudder through her, pressing up against Ellie's body, her fingers slipping carelessly. 

Oh. 

Ellie rolls her hips into Abby, hard. Her hand finds Abby’s neck, her jaw, pinning her back against the headboard. She can feel the heavy thud of Abby’s pulse against her fingertips, and she squeezes, just there, just enough. 

“You’re so fucking good for me, Abby.” 

Abby is flushed, sweat-slicked, lips slack. The moan that escapes her brings Ellie right to the edge. 

“Gonna make me—” She’s doing the work now, and she doesn’t care, her pace frantic, her wetness slicking Abby’s palm and wrist. 

Abby moans like she’s the one getting fucked. She moans just watching Ellie come apart, feeling her twitch and clench, feeling her start to shake and slow. 

They breathe into each other, quiet, for several minutes. Ellie’s thighs start to ache from straddling Abby’s wide hips, and she rolls herself off, collapsing to one side. She just looks up at her, head tipped back, lips swollen, fingers stroking her neck where Ellie’s had been.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Hurt—? No.” And then she’s laughing, even though she’s still catching her breath. “Did you think you were hurting me?”

Ellie’s just a little bit offended. “Not, like, very much.”

Abby just shakes her head. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

Maybe she will. She’s tired but not satisfied, because Abby’s still half-dressed, and she would torture herself for all eternity if she wasted this one opportunity to see Abby naked. That, and she guesses that Abby is far less composed than she looks under those tight canvas pants. 

Once she works them off of her and settles between Abby’s thighs, Ellie’s breath comes short.

“Holy fuck, Abby. This is what you've been hiding from me?” It's not like she’s never seen a pussy before. Nothing could surprise her anymore. Except, maybe, this. Tight blonde curls that Ellie could bury herself in frame thick lips, already shining and parted. The pink tip of her swollen clit peeking out. It twitches under her breath, and Ellie just about cums on the spot. 

She can tell Abby’s nervous being observed like this—watching Ellie carefully, lip pinched between her teeth. Trying hard not to move. “Are you just gonna look, or are you going to do something?” 

“Impatient,” Ellie teases. She runs her hands over Abby’s inner thighs, making her flex and sigh. “You need to relax.” 

She can’t take her eyes off that pulsing bead. She does something she’s never done before, more out of impulse than any real need, because Abby is soaked already—she lets a carefully-placed droplet of spit fall from her lips onto Abby’s clit. 

Abby’s hips lift from the mattress, and she actually growls. “Ellie.”

“I know.” Her voice is thick with awe. Admiration. She could do this for fucking hours. Just look. Just watch her whine and plead. 

But instead of extending her torture, Ellie runs her thumb through Abby’s wetness, settling just below her clit. Withholding for a second too long. Abby is already falling apart, and it fills Ellie with a dangerous kind of warmth. 

Then, so gently, her thumb circles over Abby’s clit. 

Abby’s head shoots up from the bed, eyes wide, fingers taut in the bedsheets. “Fuck, Ellie—!”

“Yeah,” Ellie chuckles lightly, lowering herself until she feels Abby’s warmth against her skin, “I know.” 

She loses any commitment she had to teasing the moment her tongue is on Abby’s cunt, because she’s fucking drunk with it. The way she tastes, the way new waves of arousal keep spilling into Ellie’s mouth. The way her clit twitches against Ellie’s nose as she buries herself deeper. The way Abby’s hips fuck into her, spreading slick all over her lips and chin. 

Abby’s fingers tangle in her hair, pulling hard. She’s making loud, desperate noises that will absolutely wake up anyone sleeping next door. Ellie consumes her with sloppy, messy need. 

The moment Ellie sinks two fingers into her, she feels Abby start to clamp down. Those rhythmic pulses squeezing her fingers can only mean one thing. 

Her grip tightens on Ellie’s hair until her scalp aches. Her thighs tense at Ellie’s ears, and for a moment, she’s actually convinced Abby might choke her to death. Not the worst way to go out, all things considered. 

“Oh, fuck!” Her head slams back hard against the mattress, muscled torso arching into the air. 

Ellie doesn’t want to slow down. She can’t. She fucks her until Abby is trembling and squirming and begging her to stop.

It takes several minutes before Abby can speak. Then, it all seems to hit her at once. She gives Ellie a horrified look and covers her face in her hands. “That’s never happened to me before.”

Ellie wipes her chin along Abby’s hip, then rests there. “You’ve never had an orgasm before?”

Abby peeks between fingers. “That’s not— you know what? Shut the fuck up.” 

“Oh, I know what you mean.” Ellie runs a hand up her abdomen—more for her own pleasure than Abby’s—feeling those muscles ripple and twitch at her touch. “You mean nobody’s made you cum in five seconds flat.” 

“I hate you.” She says it flatly, without meaning it. There’s not enough fight left in her to mean it. 

“It seems like you like me a lot, actually.”

Slowly, with Ellie settling at her side, Abby starts to go slack. Too tired to keep herself taut. Ellie runs gentle fingers over her bicep and down her forearm, meeting Abby’s big hands—exploring their creases, their lines.

Her own voice sounds hoarse when she finds it. “Was that okay?”

Abby turns to look at her. The redness of activity has started to fade, and she still looks fucking beautiful. Ellie resists the urge to kiss her again. 

“Ellie, I don’t know what to say.” 

She could tease her a little longer. Abby Anderson, finally speechless? Must’ve rocked her world. Must’ve launched her into outer space. Ellie wouldn’t mind a little ego-stroking.

But she doesn’t, and neither of them speaks. They lie there quietly, Abby’s warmth wrapped around her, Ellie always in motion, always touching, until she drifts to sleep. 

——

Ellie’s phone is buzzing when she wakes up. She squints and tries to locate it, arm dangling blindly over the edge of the bed. 

Abby’s bed. 

She’ll unpack that later.

Her phone lights up with seven missed calls and a barrage of texts from Dina. 

“ELLIE”

“DID YOU DIE?”

“TEXT ME IF UR ALIVE xo”

“did you fuck abby anderson”

“CALL ME!!!”

She smiles, allows herself one moment of self-satisfaction, and sends a quick reply: “alive. will tell u about it later”

And then Abby is stirring, mumbling as she comes out of sleep, and Ellie feels it all come rushing again. The dizzying, off-balance lurch of everything that happened last night. 

She wants to make sure Abby is still alive. Gently, she runs a hand over Abby’s cheek, half expecting her to flinch away. She doesn’t.

“You good?” Again, stupid. 

“Yeah,” she says quietly.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Abby contemplates the ceiling, massaging slow circles into her temple. “Well, you're still ruining my life.” 

Ellie can’t keep herself still, not when she’s curled up so close to Abby. Not when she can make out every ridge of muscle on her chest, her stomach. Her hand dips lower, meeting soft curls. “Can I keep ruining it?” 

Abby answers by parting her legs, lifting her hips a little. Inviting her with a sigh. 

Ellie’s content to return to this fucking bliss, when Abby goes completely stiff. She stops. 

“What time is it?”

She tries to remember what her phone screen looked like. “Like, after eight.”

“Eight?! Fuck Ellie, I have practice.”

“It's a weekend.” 

“Yeah, and I still have practice.” But Abby hasn't made a move to shove her off and get out of bed, which she could definitely do. 

“Maybe you should quit.”

Abby’s laugh turns into a whimper as Ellie sucks Abby’s nipple into her mouth, her back arching into the touch. “Jesus Christ.”

“You want me to stop?”

“Just…” She grabs a handful of Ellie’s hair. “Hurry up.” 

Abby Anderson has just had lesbian sex for the first time in her life and is already bossing her around. Ellie's sort of proud. 

“Yes, Captain.” 

——

While Abby gets dressed, she lets Ellie watch her from the bed. Ellie doesn't ever, ever want to get up.

Abby tightens her braid in the mirror. Suddenly she's back to rugby captain Anderson, hard and invulnerable. But then she gives Ellie a softer look. “You're going to have to get out of my room before Nora gets back.”

Right. Abby’s mysteriously absent roommate. 

“I like it here.”

The other thing is, once she leaves, this will be over. Whatever this is. And Ellie knows how this story goes. Abby goes back to Owen. Ellie gets stoned and finds some other girl to fuck. Neither of them talk about it. 

“I usually grab lunch after practice. You can come, if you don’t have class or something.”

She does have class. She’s already planning to skip. 

“Are you asking me on a date?”

Abby inhales sharply. “No.” 

“Okay, then. Lunch, but not a date.” She rolls onto her back, soaking up the feeling of Abby’s mattress a little longer—the warm spot she’s left behind. “I can do that.”

“Please don’t be weird about this, okay?”

“I don’t know if you’ve met me, Abby, but I’ve never been weird a day in my life.”

“Okay, idiot.” Abby finishes lacing up her sneakers, then tosses Ellie’s wrinkled clothes onto the bed. “I have to go. Just… don’t touch anything while I’m gone.”

She gives Ellie a final once-over. A final what-the-fuck-have-I-just-done? And Ellie lets her, knowing it won’t be the last time.

-------------

Taglist: @smellslike-updyke @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @cinnamonstrr @elliemulate @gardengnosticator @arabellyn @abbysreal-wife @winestainedwhiskers @thenameissnix @enmauchimaki @rareanduselessbird (reply to be added or removed!)

ellie was never one to believe in god, no. but whatever god Joel spoke of, she could imagine the rules.

in order to survive, you must first be ready to damn yourself to an eternal hell.

you must be prepared for your name to be swallowed by the mouth of Peter at the heavenly gates. just as Joel did, in his final moments. to acknowledge the sins you had no choice but to make in the playground of your hands.

but do you believe in punishment, ellie? if not by god, then by nature? an eye for an eye. a heart for a heart. a sister for a brother. a father for a daughter?

no, yes, i understand.

perhaps there is no father named God. no mother named Nature. no fickle gods who delight in mortal suffering.

but when she looks at Joel — when she looked — she sometimes thought that maybe there could be. that maybe she could swallow some sort of true faith in a bitter sip of Joel’s untouched coffee.

but her prize for her sacrifice was her penance in saltwater, nowhere near holy, with some distant god watching from the horizon.

is that what he damned himself for? is that what he said he’d damn himself for again, given a first pass of mercy by god?

would dressing herself a second time in the blood of enemies slain — mothers, fathers — give herself worth? whose soul did she save?

she wondered if she had taken the rowboat, whether she could ferry herself, like charon, to the other side of the endless, moonlit wallow. toward the skyline, where her silent, deist god sat, beckoning the girl to her purgatory.

where Joel —

The words ran from your mouth in a long breath; you were unsure whether the confession was intentional or by accident, but the words hung in the air now. She heard it. And you wrung your hands a bit, trying your best to bluff, still uncertain of what game she sought to play. 

She wouldn’t let you catch her eyes, and whether that choice of hers was sheepish or cocky, you couldn’t tell.

It would be too brave of you, too bold, to express what you’d really thought. Right? Wasn’t it? 

A swirling nostalgia settled in your stomach, and you played with the idea of drinking its temptation in full. Among the inside jokes stashed in between the couch cushions you sat on, you could probably still find one or two popcorn kernels lodged in there, too.

Could you maybe eat like a normal person? The movie’s not that scary, El.

Ha. Pshhh, I’m not scared. I’m just saving those for later. Obviously.

This was just a friendly, strictly-platonic get-together for two, just as you had done so many times before. You and your best friend had always been tightly knit – sewn, if you were being honest – until seams all but unraveled just a few months ago. You both found new ways to occupy your time, new hands to hold, new lips to kiss. More time to make for someone else.

And yet, that corny envelope and handwritten note still somehow slipped underneath your door earlier that day. Come over for some drinks? If you want. Definitely don’t have to if you don’t want to. Dina’s at Jesse’s for the night, if that means anything.

If that means anything.

“It’s okay that you’re with her, by the way." 

Attempting to save both you and herself from the silence, Ellie’s heart had spoken through gritted teeth, although her lips made sure the words rang polite. A small sigh of relief escaped her lips when she realized she wouldn’t have to hear you backtrack.

She peeled the coaster out from beneath her drink and leaned over to grab your third drink, watching the condensation pool beneath the empty glass of ice. You swallowed the words as hard as you tried to untangle them. And the thought of Dina caught and hung itself like an anchor in your stomach. 

Dina was good for Ellie. And to save face, you’ve mustered the courage to say that your new lover was good for you, too. No matter the words exchanged in quiet – those were lovers’ quarrels and you always made up. The nights spent alone meant nothing, that was just how she coped. And forget the comments, they were funny! Even you laughed. Right? This was good. Why wouldn’t it be okay? Of course, it was okay. You and Ellie had only ever been friends. Or something like that.

“Whew!” You sarcastically pretended to wipe away sweat above your brow. After pressing your lips together in an attempt to conceal a smirk, you continued, “Fuck, I’m so relieved I have the Ellie stamp-of-approval. God, what would I have done without it?”

“Oh, shut up," Ellie laughed and rolled her hazel-green eyes at you, lips parting to reveal a crooked smile. Just a playful nudge at your arm with her freckled nose all wrinkled, and a flame ripped across your chest and crept toward your neck. "I was just being nice."

You broke the ice – the way you wanted it to be broken. Lighthearted, good-natured, casual. Maybe there was a twinge of something else – and of course there was, there’d always been something else  –  something sweet and tender and so poorly developed and fragile that maybe it was best that it never touched the surface. Although, maybe now, buzzed and lacking inhibition, it didn’t seem so bad to let it breathe.

“Okay, and? So was I.” You nudged her back, the nostalgia feeling bittersweet and overdue. “I can still kick your ass, y’know.”

“You wanna bet?” Ellie’s eyebrows perked up at you as she jokingly raised her fists, cartoonishly winding up a punch. Frequently, you used to find yourself at the receiving end of Ellie’s goofy shadowboxing. Few others have had the privilege of being her victim. “Put ‘em up.”

“Careful, nerd. Might hurt yourself,” you replied, feigning a lack of amusement. 

You slapped her lazy fist downward and something reeled inside Ellie’s gut. A knot formed in her stomach, being reminded of how long it’s been since you’ve touched her hands. But the inner corners of her mouth creased into a bashful smile anyway. She had finally let you catch her eyes. And for a moment, you forgot the circumstances. It seemed as though Ellie did, too.

“Do you ever miss this?”

Ellie’s gaze lingered. Maybe just a bit too long. Heat tore across your ears, and you tried your best to ignore the burn.

  “Miss what? Being challenged to kick your ass?” you defused. This was supposed to be lighthearted, casual… harmless. It was harmless. 

“Ha-haaa. Very funny.” You caught an eye-roll from the Savage Starlight card collector. “Y’know what I meant.”

“Being friends?”

“I mean, yeah, sure. Something like that,” Ellie uttered, unsure but settling for what left her lips. She shrugged, shy eyes downcast toward her fingers.

“I do miss it, yeah,” you admitted. Ellie struggled to contain her buzz at your confession. You returned a shrug, swallowing the urge to place blame. It had never been anyone’s fault. You had simply grown apart – friends do that sometimes, don’t they? 

“Don’t know why it’s been so long. Just… busy I guess,” Ellie muttered, almost embarrassedly. She was the one who stopped calling, she’s sure. Patrols were just…coincidentally reassigned, too. To make things less awkward between you both, obviously.

And busy had a name. You didn’t feel like your Busy was worth mentioning. But for Ellie, it was always Dina. 

Her name hung in your mouth and Ellie's eyes softened, a quiet understanding passing between the two of you.

“So…” you sighed, debating on continuing. “How are things with Dina?”

“It’s been… really great. She’s great.” Ellie compulsively finished the rest of her drink to avoid elaborating further. It had been proving difficult trying to remind herself that when it’s good, it’s great with Dina – and that it was something worth waiting it out for. And mind often wandered so far as to ask whether it had to be this way at all.

Relationships don’t always need sex for it to survive, right? What are the odds of sex life flatlining shortly after making it official? Was it just her libido? Perhaps lesbian bed-death, or something. People grow out of it, the freezing-out thaws, and all that, she guessed. But the guilt in Ellie’s chest burned up the words that never left her mouth. She hoped that with each breath thereafter, smoke wouldn’t curl out from between her lips.

“But… she doesn’t find your corny puns funny either?”

“Well, I know it breaks your heart, but she does, in fact, find my puns funny,” Ellie lectured in between laughter, with arms crossed and her warm buzz to blame for the half-lidded gaze.

“She’s still in the honeymoon phase, huh?” The sarcasm threaded your motion, slowly nodding at Ellie, hoping to win another laugh from her.

“I dunno. It’s just not the same y’know?” 

You tensed. You brought your hands down to your lap when you began biting the inside of your cheek. Of course you knew.

“It’s not the same as what?” 

You attempted to jump ship anyway. Lest you reveal something you didn’t want Ellie to know.

“Like how we used to be.”

“As friends?” 

Or something like that, right?

“I mean, friends don’t really kiss friends.”

Right.

The urge to bristle at the comment was hard to fight. You weren’t the one to have kissed her first; she started it back then. But the guilt slithered into your gut and gnawed at you, knowing that you always wished you had kissed her first, anyway.

“Sometimes they do. And maybe it’s that simple,” you said a little too defensively, knowing how Dina and Ellie got together. You didn’t mean for it to come out so brash, but you blamed it on the alcohol crippling your self-awareness and its accompanying filter.

“I mean – c’mon – don’t you wanna talk about it?” Ellie quibbled. “Or would you rather keep pretending that nothing ever happened?”

“Nothing did happen, Ellie.”

You prayed that the next words out of Ellie’s mouth wouldn’t be “Friends don’t fuck friends, either.” Because if they had been, you’d have to spend the next few minutes waiting for the hungry ache between your legs to subside; you know that your nameless Busy could never fuck you the way Ellie did.

“We both know that’s not true,” Ellie teased and leaned in toward you, holding back a scoff. You would’ve called it a laugh if you had been sober.

“Hooking up never meant anything, El. We were just friends, and you’re with Dina now. Don’t fuck this up for yourself,” you chided.

There was still time to leave. To walk away from whatever hot, tempting mess was awaiting you on Ellie’s couch. It was an old dance, a familiar one, whose steps had been memorized by your soles. 

It started with something harmless. Innocent touches. Friendly ones. Then, a peck. Something like kisses littered along a collarbone. Until, eventually, legs were hoisted over shoulders, faces buried in between thighs and hands with a mean grip on hair. 

It was inconsequential fun back then. It was forbidden now. And for some reason, the thought of getting fucked into a bed by Ellie, who didn’t belong to you, made your cunt slick.

“Did you know why I kissed you back then?” Ellie’s voice was soft, quiet. But there was a challenge there. Her words dripped with a dare.

“Cause you had a big, fat crush?” You leaned in the way she did, taunting her with a drunken smirk. Your faces were only inches from each other’s now, the vodka on her breath strong and the mutual desperation stronger.

“What if I said that I still do?” 

Ellie’s eyes flicked between your lips and your eyes, clearly distracted by a twinge between her thighs. When was the last time your mouths have been so close? She swore that her fingertips could recall the hills and valleys of your figure. Maybe she could try tracing them along your skin again, just to test herself. Just to say she could. C’mon. Maybe.

“I would say that you’re drunk. And fucking insane,” you quipped, unable to help the laugh that escaped your lips – low and breathless. 

“Nothing else?” 

Every time she spoke, all the clear, hard lines that kept you two apart suddenly looked softer, blurrier – like someone had been rubbing out the edges. They looked wobbly, jagged, faded, as if someone drew them with a hand that couldn’t quite steady itself. Everything felt a little more fluid, a little more bendable, a little less… consequential.

God, the stakes were high and the rewards even better. One wrong breath and you could win her or lose her. You were always good at bluffing but had a bad habit of throwing out your cards. What then? What’s next? Fold, right? It’s always been a fold, baby. You never wanted the pot that bad anyway, did you?

“And that you’re a nerd.” “Oucchhhh.” 

Ellie feigned anguish with a cocky smile, whilst pretending to drive a dagger through her heart. 

Your conscience held itself in silence as soon as you watched her eyebrows pinch at the center. It’s almost exactly the way you remembered. When she’d look down at you, face between her legs. When you used to glide your tongue through her folds, making slow, soft circles around her clit.

There had suddenly been just too much fucking saliva in your mouth while looking at her like that. You began to believe that the spit in your mouth could be used for far more useful things than moistening your mouth. Both of you exchanged a fleeting look. A knowing one. A thirsty one.

You slowly leaned in to kiss her gently, pulling away to scan her face for any sign of regret, resentment – or satisfaction.

She didn’t wear surprise on her features. Her eyes had darkened, something hypnotic and fucking carnal behind pupils blown. The small victory set your body alight. And a discreet, sin-free, mouth-watering desire had been fulfilled. It was a peck. Just to test the waters. An innocent thing. 

The tug just below Ellie’s happy-trail disagreed. 

You both moved to brazenly close the distance, rushing to get up and get your hands on each other – to clumsily and carelessly make your way toward the bed that you missed so much. Your hands held the side of her face as her lips continued to crash into yours. She brought a hand to the side of your neck, a thumb grazing your cheek, the exact way she used to make you melt. It was sweet, it was missed, it was never supposed to be innocent. It was born of desperation. 

And it was fucking sloppy.

Miraculously, you two had found the bed – which, to be honest, is no miracle since this felt like ritual – and she pinned you down onto it. You slid up further into the sheets, your body buzzing at the way Ellie groped you. You clawed at her shirt, pathetically pulling her closer. A soft whine crept from your throat when her lips left yours, a string of saliva stretching between your mouths. Gravity broke the string; the warm spit dribbled down your chin.

You laid there, looking up at Ellie, whose hands have already undone a bra, while she feasted her eyes upon your neck like it was her next meal. Ellie had always been one to admire you, but there simply was no time to fuckin’ waste. 

Her right hand found your neck, nimble fingers closing around your throat and squeezing a breathy yelp from you. Her left hand found a handful of your soft tits, her palm skimming over your hard nipples and fighting the urge to grab any harder than she was. But before she could decide to rough you up any further, her lips and tongue met the skin on your neck, leaving a trail of painful and wet kisses.

It was so quick, born of something so pent-up, secret, uncontrollable. You loved that she didn’t give you a moment to think. The moans that involuntarily escaped your lips were half-formed, broken, breathy. Your thoughts weren’t that much different.

“Shit,” you managed to croak out, realizing that she had been leaving love bites. “C’mon, El. I don’t… don’t have a way to fuckin’ cover them.”

“Good,” Ellie huffed between half-kisses, before decisively bringing her teeth down hard on your neck, purposely ignorant to your wishes. A sharp inhale through your teeth settled into a helpless moan in your mouth. “Means I get to keep you. Right, baby?”

Baby. She called you baby. Something in your chest tightened, like heartstrings suddenly tangled. You’d question whether she meant that if you were sober. But the buzzing in your body from the gin denied the need for proof. Your proof was right there. Ellie’s tongue on your neck softened anxiety’s edges for you and your nerves remained partially blunted to the panic of being called her baby. 

“Mhm,” you sighed, nodding a bit sporadically, clearly melting. You searched for her hands with yours and dragged them down toward that deliciously painful ache in your pussy. “Fuck, please touch me, El, please.”

Ellie’s fingers dug into the hems of your shirt and her hands scrambled to pull it up and over your head. She brought her soft, pink lips to your chest, leaving kisses, sneaking bites and trailing her tongue down to your hard nipples. Ellie drew a plea from your lips, and she was about to do it again. All while her hands had worked themselves to the button and zipper of your jeans. And once she got those down – her own.

Your eyes lavished the sight of Ellie’s pretty thighs. Pretty, soft, flecked with freckles. The perfect place to put your head between. Goosebumps had strewn themselves across your skin. And your pretty friend’s warm hand over your cunt didn’t help.

“So you must’ve really missed me, huh,” she teased, running a finger over an obnoxiously wet spot of your underwear. You flushed at the soft brush of her finger, your blood red-hot underneath your skin. Afraid that she’d draw away her hand to tease you further, you gripped her forearm and pressed it against the heat between your legs. Your eyes locked.

“Gotta check to make sure, right?” You tilted your hips toward her, your words edging on a dare. And you had always known Ellie to be far too stubborn to turn one down. 

In silent agreement, her left hand peels your panties toward the side, her right middle and ring finger slipping easily into your dripping cunt and thumb gently landing on your throbbing clit. 

“Sh-Shit,” you moaned, licking your lips shortly after. With eyelids low, you reached for your tits, as if something feral stirred in your gut at the feeling of being filled by Ellie’s fingers. You fervently imagined what her tongue would feel like filling up your pussy; it had been too long ago to recall.

Your eyes followed her movement in hungry anticipation. She lowered her face to your middle, fingers sliding out to spread the lips of your cunt. What a fuckin’ tease.

She ran her tongue through your folds, eager to earn another pretty sound from you. And she did. Bottom to top, the tip of her tongue caught and spread the slick over your clit, and you couldn’t help but groan in greed. More. You wanted more. 

Ellie delivered — with a warm, wet tongue that slid into your pussy. 

“Goddd, fuck, El. Feels so, f-fuckin’ — good,” you whimpered pathetically. “S-so fuckin’ deep in my cunt.”  Like second nature, your fingers clawed for a grip on Ellie’s rusty brown hair.

“So — fuckin’… pretty, baby,” she moaned into you, between tongue-deep licks of your pussy. The sound of Ellie’s tongue messily lapping against and into your gushing cunt made a slippery mess out of her own underwear. But she didn’t need to tell you that for you to know.

Her fingers found themselves in your messy pussy again, her tongue at your clit, making steady swirls, occasionally closing her lips around your bud to gently suck. Like clockwork, a familiar hunger gently tore at you from your core.

“Shit, yessss, baby. Mhm, like that. Like thatttt. Gimme, El, p-please. I’m —” 

Just like that, Ellie had to do the opposite of what you so desperately begged for. Her tongue abandoned your clit, and her fingers left your pussy, sticky, beaded strings of slick adorning the space between them. An exasperated whimper left with an exhale. Ellie sat back onto her heels, self-satisfied smirk on her face.

“Sorry — were you not done?”

“Fuckin’ Christ, El. You’re so annoying.”

She watched you compose yourself from the brink of the delicious chase of your orgasm, pulling something out from inside a bin from underneath the bed. Something she hadn’t used since she had seen you last. 

She calmly wrestled it on, made sure it was secure. And you ignored the blatant watering of your mouth.

“Aww, c’mon.” She screwed up her chin into a sarcastic pout. Her features sat gentle on her face, but her movements were a bit rough. Her hands pulled your legs to the right, leaving you on your side. Without giving you time to react, she rolled you onto your front, and pulled your ass up by your hips. You comfortably laid there, on your knees. “You love it.”

Her hazel eyes drank you up, admired your ass, and locked on the pretty, glistening wet lips between your legs.

“What are yo—”, you started, unable to finish. Ellie’s fingers spread your pussy lips, the tip of the strap gliding just-barely in. “H-holy shhhit.” 

The sultry whine slipped from your mouth. And, poor you. You couldn’t help but arch your back. Stars swam in your eyes as her slips slowly rocked into you, the length of her strap filling your wet cunt. 

“Slipped in sooo easy, baby,” Ellie hummed, hypnotized by the view, the way your ass moved with every stroke. Her palms spread on your ass, fingers digging in, likely to leave light fingertip bruises afterward. Her strokes got quicker and harder, her strap running over that delicious sweet spot in your pussy.

“Ellie! Fuck! Goddd, fuck me plea— right there, rightthere, baby,” you groaned, barely coherent, face-deep into her pillow, hands clawing at the sheets that smelled so much like her.

A series of whimpers had been leaving Ellie’s lips as she fucked you, the base of the strap rubbing comfortably — conveniently — against her clit. Something feral crawled up into Ellie’s abdomen with each stroke.

Unsatisfied with her grip on you, she reached over, laid a hand across your throat, forcing you to look up and stifling your moaning. 

“You make such — pretty fuckin’… noises for me — fuck,” Ellie said. Maybe sighed. Although, to you it felt like a pant.

You turned your head just a bit to catch a blurry sideways glimpse of Ellie. There was a cool glow that illuminated the side of her face, freckles clear and bright, eyes closed and chasing that familiar tug in your core as she fucked into you. It was probably the moonlight trickling in from behind Ellie’s closed curtains. 

And it was safe to say you fucking hated those curtains as they were.

Writhing under the pressure and friction of Ellie’s body behind yours, you secretly wished those curtains were never closed to prying eyes. You desperately wanted someone to look in. Someone to watch Ellie fuck you silly while you were wide-eyed, hypnotized, and hungry. The way she used to. Face down, ass up and fucked into a pillow. The way it was supposed to be.

And you’ve never looked more fucking gorgeous to her. 

“God fuck, so clo—”  Ellie’s breathy groans grew more intense, her sounds became all whiny, fussy, insatiable. You had her wrapped around your finger — and you’d be insane to make it all so easy for her. Her breathing quickened, catching itself on that warm knot in her stomach nearly unraveling. 

You pulled forward and away from Ellie. The strap slid out of your pussy, to both your dismay and delight. A smirk snuck its way onto your lips as you turned around, rolling onto your back — missionary.

Her freckled chest was heaving a hard, unsteady breath. A bewildered expression on her features bordered on defeat.

“The fuck was that?” She asked, chest and cheeks alight, flush and rosy. You daydreamed about leaving purplish love bites around her neck, like a collar. You had always been holding the leash, haven't you? 

This was your proof.

“I think that makes us even,” you answered, brandishing your self-satisfaction.

“Asshole,” Ellie exhaled with half a laugh, still catching her breath. Her hand tapped your thigh in a light smack — Ellie’s version of playful chastisement.

“Yeah?” you challenged, eyes flicking between the harness and the endearing lines forming at the corner of Ellie’s smirk.

You sat up, hands at the harness which sat around her hips and ass, managing to wrangle it off. Your eyes struggled to leave the pretty, sloppy mess she made underneath it.

Often you wondered if there was some secret language that only you two speak telepathically. Because she grabbed your legs, forcing you on your back again, and hoisting your right leg over her right shoulder — doing exactly as you desired. 

Ellie positioned herself so that her middle met your own, and when it did, the feeling of her warm, sticky cunt made the ache of your clit border on painful. The slightest movement made the most delicious and obnoxious sound of your desperately wet pussies up against each other. 

“So fuckin’ wet for me, baby,” Ellie huffed, watching the way your hands grasp at your own chest in lust. “Is that all for me, pretty girl?”

Strings of drool stretched between your cunts every time she pulled away and returned back to you, hips rocking like something carnally possessed. Your clits passed over each other, throbbing hard and sensitive from the pressure and slippery, effortless lack of friction between your gushing pussies.

“Mhm, yes, fuck… yes—,” your pathetic, lovedrunk mouth ran. “All fuckin’ yours.”

You admired the tiny beads of sweat on her,  like a mist that fell over Ellie’s neck and chest. You couldn’t help but bite your lip at the sight of glistening slick adorning both of your thighs. The air was a mess of both your whimpers, whines, nearly animalistic breathing.

“Uh-huh, just like that — All mine, baby,” Ellie groaned, leaning just a bit forward to grab one of your tits with her free hand. 

All hers. Sure, you were both drunk. But Ellie did nothing but confirm all of which you held to be true in secret. You’ve always belonged to each other – whether the world knew it or not.

“Keep going, please— yes… shitttt. El, plea— please fuck me,” you pleaded, eyeing Ellie’s tits bounce as she rubbed herself against you.

You clawed at each other; fingernails dug into Ellie’s forearm, and Ellie returned the favor with fingertips pressed hard into her grip on your thigh. The incessant and pathetic desire to get closer than you were plagued you both, as if you hadn’t been close enough. You could've shared skin – and surely even that wouldn't be enough. 

A mouthwatering daydream of watching Ellie’s eyebrows draw together exactly the way they did earlier, became reality. Lust burned circles around your clit and the deep tug behind your belly button served as a warning.

You could gather the same from Ellie, her eyes pinched closed, movements a bit more erratic, a bit more involuntary.

“Gonna make me cum with you, baby? Make me fucking cu—,” Ellie said, words sloppy and frantic, breathing ragged. “Shitshitshit, holy fuck, fuck!”

As warmth crept from Ellie’s cunt overs – you writhed underneath it. The thought of Ellie’s squirt drenching your pussy did nothing put you over the frenzied edge.

“Mhm, please, so fuckin’ close, El. Please, so close, I can’t fucki— shit! I’mcumming I’mcumming, fuckin’ god—” A tide rolled itself in your gut – you held your breath, just to feel it a bit longer, the euphoric tension and release. Heat ripped from your cunt to your chest, pussy clenching, clit throbbing, Ellie unrelenting. The relief in your clit grew sharp, a bit painful, overwhelming. Your hand rose to her abdomen, preventing her from rocking against you further. “Jesus christ.”

Ellie’s half-lidded gaze favored the way you squirmed under her; you were just so effortlessly beautiful, at the brink of cumming, at the sleepy aftermath – even with sweat beaded upon your brow from the desperate chase.

She adjusted her legs, fixed in order to collapse next you, although close enough to nearly be on top of you. You tangled legs with hers, finding soft, cool spots on her skin to rest on. Ellie lays half-way on her side, one arm folder and underneath a pillow and the other tracing the outline of your jaw. You both take a moment to catch your breaths.

“But friends don’t fuck friends right?” Ellie quipped sarcastically, waiting for a laugh from you.

“Oh, shut up, El,” you replied, a bit of a spirited defeat in your voice. Fighting the sleepiness, the exhaustion, the self-satisfaction –  you relented, wanting to enjoy the moment as it was. For now, she was yours and you were hers. You shared a bed. The sheets smelled of you. She called you her baby.