our town's fallen quiet you see

--

Clove has a new regular.

Not one she's paid much mind to, frankly.

Face made of angles, but none of them quite as severe as her expression. Glossy black hair done up neat and proper. Make up so flawless it looks fake. So beautiful it borders on uncanny, and always in business formal. Sharp as a tack. Sharp in every sense. Sharp if sharp were a person.

Clove wrote her off as boring on first glance. Didn't even bother introducing herself. Too done up, too put together, too mean. Business woman, probably. Gets up every day at the same time. Does her fucking hair. Sits at bars by herself drinking fucking wine.

The woman has been coming in for two weeks, during which they've exchanged only compulsory pleasantries as Clove pours her wine, and the arrangement has suited Clove just fine.

Tonight, though, the woman flags her down.

Or more accurately, she taps her index finger on the bar until Clove looks up to find the noise, then curls it twice in a beckoning motion. Every cell in Clove's body balks at the gesture, but she was summoned by a fucking customer, so she drags her feet on the way over. Comes to an unwilling stop. Waits in obstinate silence.

"You seem to enjoy flirting with a lot of your customers," the woman comments finally, sounding almost bored, but her eyes are the sharpest part of her and so dark they're smoldering.

Have they always been so intense? Has Clove just not noticed? What kind of fucking conversation starter is that?

Clove crosses her arms. Steels herself against those fucking eyes. Makes no reply, because the comment definitely wasn't worth one.

"Yet with me, you are remarkably quiet."

"Mm."

The woman begins to tap her finger again with clear impatience. "Can I know why?"

"I flirt with people I think will be fun to flirt with, or people I think will tip well."

"And I'm neither of those?"

Clove shrugs. "Not my type, and people in suits never tip well."

"Have I tipped you poorly?"

"Dunno. Haven't really paid attention."

A pin prick, sure, but it draws blood. The woman's eyes go impossibly darker for a moment, then cool.

"Well, do give me a chance, then. I'm Shiv."

Clove laughs before she can think better of it. "Shiv?"

Against all odds, Shiv laughs too. Prim and pretty, like everything else about her.

"People do like to inform me I suit a name that suggests sharp things."

"Yeah, fuck. Was that on purpose? Did you come out of the womb looking like that?"

"Rather personal question for someone who has yet to tell me their name."

Clove wants to scoff, but doesn't.

"Clove."

"Clove," Shiv repeats, clean and crisp and slow.

A chill runs down Clove's spine. "Why'd you wanna know so bad?" she prods anyway. "Are you really that hurt I haven't flirted with you?"

Shiv shrugs one shoulder, and takes a sip of wine. "Simply curious."

"That wasn't a very 'simply curious' way of getting my name."

It almost looks like Shiv wants to smile. "I felt slighted, and you don't seem to mind people being direct, from what I've observed."

"You've been observing, huh?"

"You're rather difficult to ignore."

"You know, if you want someone to flirt with you, sometimes it helps to be nice."

"I just wanted to introduce myself."

Clove snorts. Shiv's eyes narrow.

"Thank you for gracing me with your presence. It's been a pleasure."

Her tone announces both her derision and that the conversation is over, and fuck if Clove is going to stick around trying to continue it. The eyes on her back as she walks away are practically tangible, and her name is fucking Shiv. Of course it is.

–

Clove is giving Shiv her chance.

Not that Shiv necessarily earned it. Clove wouldn't exactly describe their introduction as pleasant, nor Shiv as particularly charming, but the interaction did for some reason feel interesting to the point of being mildly thrilling, so Clove keeps coming back just to see where it goes.

Shiv is, somewhat predictably, prickly. Clove feels like whatever conversation they're having is always a few feet to the left of what they actually mean to say. Everything is a game, and very little is real, but it's not so bad, really. Clove has thick enough skin for Shiv. Maybe that's why Shiv kind of seems to like her. On some level.

Clove kind of likes her too. Sometimes.

"You don't know fuck all about the drinks I make, because you don't drink drinks. You drink wine."

"And you pour it passably."

"Stay at home and pour it yourself, then."

Shiv spins the ring on her index finger idly. Raises her eyebrows a fraction of an inch. "Telling your customers to drink at home seems like bad business."

"That's assuming I care about the business, which I don't."

"I'm aware. If you cared, you wouldn't make your drinks the way you do."

"Bar barely pays me anything. Definitely not enough to care."

"So you admit you over-pour."

"God, you're fucking annoying."

"Observant."

Clove rolls her eyes and walks away. Less than two minutes later, she hears Shiv's fucking finger tapping on the bar, and seethes. Comes as called. Crosses her arms in obstinate silence.

"Can I order a Manhattan?"

"Fuck no."

Whether from surprise or amusement, Shiv laughs. Really laughs. Hiccups halfway through, probably from the wine, and looks appropriately sheepish about it.

So Clove makes her a Manhattan.

"How long have you been a bartender?" Shiv asks, watching intently.

"Six years."

"Do you enjoy it?"

"Yeah."

"And you consider yourself competent."

"Yep."

Clove slides the drink across the bar.

Shiv traces the rim of the glass with her pinky, and tilts her head.

"You didn't over-pour this one."

"Figured since you're so particular about it."

Shiv's mouth twitches. "You'd lose out on a better tip and allow the bar its due out of spite?"

"Nah, baby. That's on the house."

Clove walks away before she can hear whatever smug opinion Shiv has on the drink. Won't affect her tip anyway. Shiv tips twenty percent rounded down; the day that changes is probably the day the world fucking ends.

It's funny, though. If Shiv didn't tip the way she does, Clove would almost think she worked as a bartender at some point.

–

Shiv asks questions like she already owns the answer, and simply wants it back.

It is easily Clove's least favorite thing about talking to her. The entitlement. The clear belief that she deserves to know, and worst of all, the fact that it works. All Clove's bluster and assertiveness, all her staunch refusal to share her life with her customers, all her walls brought down by one woman with a commanding presence and a sharp tone and a very specific type of confidence Clove definitely does not have.

Shiv knows a good deal about Clove by now. Anything she has cared to know, really. Hobbies, living situation, every job she's ever had, the reasoning behind both the hoodies and the green hair.

Clove, on the other hand, knows next to nothing. Permanently losing the game they're permanently playing. The only thing she has going for her in any given conversation is that Shiv is very obviously attracted to her. Clove would call it the reason Shiv has endeavored to get to know her so well, but something tells her that has roots somewhere deeper, and the lust is surface level. Easy to see and easy to manipulate, and Clove wants… something. Anything. Anything beyond all the angles and the makeup.

Can't have given it all away for fucking free.

Besides, Shiv is on a rare third glass of wine tonight. A touch less prim and proper. A little more prone to distraction.

"Did you flirt with your customers when you were a bartender?"

"You've decided I worked as a bartender, have you?"

"I mean, I think you could have. It would have worked."

"But in this hypothetical you've created for your own entertainment, you don't believe that I did."

"Nah. I think you were just mean, and people were too terrified to stiff you."

"You don't think you scare people?"

"I can. Flirting is just more fun."

Shiv hesitates. "I noticed you even deigned to flirt with someone in a suit earlier."

"Yeah, seemed like he might be a good time."

"And was he?"

Clove leans forward onto the bar and into unexplored territory. Shiv's eyes narrow slightly.

"Why do you care?"

Shiv pauses. "Do you go home with any of the customers you flirt with?"

"No."

"Hm."

"You pay so much attention; I figured you had that worked out by now."

"I don't stay until close."

"But now you're considering it, because I might fuck someone in a suit, and that's something you need to know about."

Shiv's eyes darken, which Clove has learned could mean anger, desire, or both. Clove likes her odds enough to lean forward another couple inches, and discovers in doing so that Shiv wears perfume. Of course she does. Citrus, maybe. Some type of wood. Who fucking knows. Too rich for Clove's nose. Too elegant for someone staring at her lips after very inelegantly asking who she plans to fuck tonight.

Clove smells like men's deodorant and the vodka she spilled on the sleeve of her hoodie earlier. Nothing to hide behind. Nothing to lose by playing this twisted little game they've invented.

Hell, tonight she might even win.

"There's no need for me to stay so late," Shiv demurs, a satisfying amount of her usual crispness lost to Clove's proximity.

"Why? You believe me?"

"Something like that."

Clove rolls her eyes and walks away to flirt with a man in a suit who really isn't very fun at all. In her periphery, Shiv turns her head to watch. Taps, but only intermittently, like she doesn't realize she's doing it. Leans forward a little bit, and suddenly, spontaneously, whatever connection they've been threading needles to form catches on fire. Burns all the way across the bar between them. Burns all the way down to the floorboards. Clove wants to touch this man's arm just to see if it'll fan the flames.

Then Shiv leaves. Quick and quiet, enough cash on the bar to cover her three glasses of wine and her perfectly average tip, and Clove is left in the dust with a very boring man in a suit and no idea whether she won or lost.

–

Clove is recovering some ground.

Shiv has three fish tanks housing a total of twenty six fish and three sea urchins, and dreads the day she moves out of her current home because she firmly believes they will all die from stress the second she walks them out the front door. Every single one. Instantaneously. This makes Clove laugh so hard she has to walk away.

Shiv does not, in fact, exclusively wear suits, but has been repeatedly informed by trusted sources that her casual wear does not by any stretch of the imagination qualify as casual. Hates heels but wears them anyway. Enjoys leather jackets. Clove would have flirted with a Shiv in a leather jacket right off the bat, but then Shiv probably wouldn't have been so interested.

Shiv's hair goes all the way down her back, and gives her headaches.

Shiv is a goddamn private investigator.

"You're a fucking cop?"

"Did you not hear the private part?"

"Yeah, sorry. Private cop."

"Investigator. An unarmed one, at that."

Clove pauses for a moment.

"Are you investigating me?"

Shiv rolls her eyes. "No."

"I mean, it would explain some shit."

"It wouldn't."

"So this is just how you are when you want to fuck someone, then."

"And how is that?"

This is probably Clove's favorite thing about talking to Shiv. Always playing a game, but playing it fearlessly.

"Nosy as hell."

"I like getting to know people."

"No, you like information. You like knowing things. You're, like, building a fucking file on me in your head."

"Is there a difference?"

Clove pauses, chewing the inside of her cheek.

"Yeah, I think one requires… giving something back," she says slowly. "I know, like, three things about you. And it took me two months."

"I was given the impression at the beginning you weren't particularly interested."

"Christ, you've really held onto that."

"Would you look at that," Shiv says dryly. "You've learned something about me."

Clove hesitates, struck by a thought that sends a familiar chill running down her spine.

"What about me flirting with everyone but you? Is that something you've held onto?"

"Yes."

Clove leans in, and Shiv mirrors her. For the first time, meeting in the middle.

"And if I ever decide you're the one customer I want to go home with, you'll remember it then, too."

"Yes."

"Then why bother?"

"I may remember slights, but I still enjoy getting what I want."

"And what's that?"

Clove was just goading her, but Shiv pauses like she's contemplating something.

"I don't ask so many questions because I'm building a file on you," Shiv says finally, voice so soft it's jarring. "I ask them with genuine curiosity, but you were right that I do like knowing. More specifically, I like knowing what your other customers don't. I like that you come when I call. I like that most nights these days you flirt with me more than anyone else, and I like that the preference is made more visible by your tendency to come closer to me."

"Weird way of saying you like that I like you."

"That's not what I'm trying to express," Shiv says impatiently.

"Okay, weird way of saying you like that I want fuck you."

Shiv sighs, fully exasperated despite having clarified nothing. Forms every word carefully.

"I like… having you."

Clove is flooded by a type of heat she's never felt before. A burning that intoxicates, clouds her thoughts, obscures their surroundings. Blood scorching her veins that screams both stop and more.

And Shiv smells like fucking oranges.

"All to yourself," Clove whispers.

Shiv comes an inch closer, less like she meant to and more like she fell in that direction. It's so close to a kiss Clove's breath catches in her chest. Million reasons why they shouldn't right now, really shouldn't, bordering on can't, but for a brief and dizzy moment Clove would, and then Shiv sits back. Tucks a stray bit of hair behind her ear like she's never done something without meaning to in her fucking life. Everything has to be a ploy, but Clove saw right through that one.

"Too bad I don't fuck customers, huh?"

Shiv smiles, crooked and small. "I had the same policy, actually."

"Did you follow it?"

"Stringently."

Clove believes her.

Or something like that.

—

If Shiv likes having Clove, then Clove reckons that by still participating in this stupid fucking game, she is being had. And some days, it really does feel like she is.

Who Clove flirts with and for how long and what she tells them and how often she comes when called and how much time she spends with her attention monopolized entirely by Shiv and all her fucking needling. It all matters to Shiv, in forms that vary by the day. It's all a game, but for all they skirt the truth of it, this feels fucking real sometimes.

Not that Clove has really done much to fight it. Still mostly just thinks it's fun, but there are moments when it grates. The way Shiv thinks of her. The way Shiv wants her. The way Shiv has so many fucking walls up while Clove is allowed none. Which isn't to say she doesn't have agency, because she could always just fucking walk away; she just never does for very long.

And when it really counts, she only ever spurs it on.

Shiv has company at the bar tonight. A little drunk. Extremely obnoxious. Definitely uninvited. Clove is letting it be, because God knows Shiv could scare him off if she wanted to, and for the moment, she seems a little amused by him. It's nice to see, actually. Shiv takes everything too fucking seriously. This man talking loud enough for the whole bar to hear about the process of building a wooden chest is just making himself extraordinarily difficult to take seriously, and Clove is a little bit grateful to him for that.

Depressurizes the air, which at times has felt oppressively thick lately. Gives Clove time to breathe easy.

When Shiv eventually taps on the bar, Clove almost doesn't hear it over his voice, and then she is unusually and uncomfortably unsure of what Shiv wants from her. Approaches slowly. Says nothing.

Shiv raises her eyebrows expectantly. Clove raises her eyebrows back, and Shiv taps on the bar with clear impatience. The man is still talking about something. Hasn't even noticed Clove's presence.

"Hey," Clove interrupts. "Go away."

The man blinks stupidly for what feels like an eternity. "What?"

Clove makes a shooing motion. "Go."

"Go where?"

"Don't care."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

The man turns beet red, seems to consider arguing for a fraction of a second before thinking the better of it, and leaves.

Clove glares at Shiv. "Could you really not have done that yourself?"

"It seemed like it ought to come from you."

"Because you were hoping it would be dramatic."

"Because you're in a position of authority as staff, and I am not."

"Yeah, and that guy very obviously wouldn't have listened to anyone but the person of highest authority in this shitty little bar. Christ, dude."

Shiv tilts her head. Looks very nearly amused by Clove, now.

"I didn't know the request would exasperate you."

"Sure. Yeah."

It feels childish. Both the reply, and walking away afterwards.

Shiv doesn't even have to tap to bring her back.

"Wanting me to do it didn't piss me off that much. You bullshitting the reason for it did."

Shiv takes a sip of wine. Plays with her rings. "I was hoping it would be dramatic," she parrots, mocking.

Clove grinds her teeth together, and walks away again.

Shiv has to tap this time, and even then, Clove drags her feet about it.

"I think the answer you're looking for is so simple you won't accept it."

"Fine. Whatever."

The indifference throws Shiv for a full five seconds, and then her eyes darken. "I wanted you to do it for me."

"Why?"

"I just did."

Clove hates herself for it a little bit, but her blood heats, and she smirks. "Yeah, you're not so complicated, are you? Want me to come on command and bark for you."

Shiv rolls her eyes. Makes a shooing motion.

"It's actually kind of cute."

"Go."

—

Shiv is absent tonight, which is odd. Not that she comes in every day, but she always comes in on the same days. Three days a week. Monday, Thursday, Friday. Shiv seems to be made up of strict routines and unbreakable habits, and now Shiv is absent on a Friday. Which is fine. Odd, but fine.

When Shiv does finally show up at the bar twenty minutes before close, however, it is no longer fine.

For one thing, Shiv is in what Clove can only assume is what Shiv and Shiv alone considers casual wear. Leather jacket, blue blouse tucked into a pencil skirt that comes to just above her knees, tights, heeled boots. Hair still done up but a few more strands out of place than usual. Makeup a little smudged. It renders her both softer and sharper. Less unnerving but more terrifying. Clove almost wants to laugh. Shiv is a fucking knockout; Shiv just also does everything possible to make herself appear unapproachable, and holy fuck, did it ever work on Clove. She would have broken her rule night one for Shiv in her ridiculous fucking casual wear. She'd break it now, but Shiv is drunk.

Clove is actually not certain that Shiv is just drunk. Shiv seems fucked up in a way that doesn't strike Clove as the result of alcohol alone. Shiv looks like she might throw up, and Shiv looks miserable, and Shiv orders a glass of water so quietly Clove almost can't make out what she said.

So Clove leaves her be. Still has a bar to close, after all. The customers filter out, and Shiv stays. Clove locks the doors. Does the dishes. Cleans. Stocks. By the time she's done, Shiv has drank three glasses of water and not made a sound. Clove leans down on the bar in front of her.

"Hey."

Shiv traces the rim of her glass with her pinky, and says nothing.

"Are you high?"

A sharp breath. Sharp as the rest of her, and threatening to break her apart. "I do not… react well to it."

"To what? What are you on?"

"Just pot."

"Makes you feel like you're dying?"

"Yes. Always has."

"But you still smoke it."

"When offered to me. Not often. If I'm having a difficult day, there is appeal in…"

"Doing stupid shit. Yeah, I get that."

This very clearly irritates her, but for once, Shiv has no response.

"And you're drunk, too."

"Yes."

"Really went all out."

"Yes, thank you for your observations," Shiv snipes, but it loses most of its bite when the latter half comes out slurred.

"Do you want to tell me about your day?"

"No."

"Well, what did you come here hoping I'd do about it, then?"

"I don't know."

It's a much more effective snap. Crystal clear. Clove rolls her eyes.

"If it makes you feel any better, you give off, like, the total opposite of stoner vibes, so it's actually really reassuring to me that this is not a regular thing for you. I'd think you were an absolute freak of nature if it was."

Shiv closes her eyes, rubs her temples, and lets out a slow breath. "You are not helping."

"I am helping. I'm pissing you off. That's, like, most of the reason you keep showing up here, I think."

"It is not."

"Okay, then why are you here right now?"

No reply.

Clove doesn't really want to discuss it either. Clove has had a rather long night herself. Clove abruptly does not have the patience for this.

"Look, you're the one that showed up at my bar cross-faded and expected me to fix it for you. I'm not the one doing stupid shit, and I'm not your fucking therapist. I'm just your bartender, and the bar's closed. So you can tell me how to help you, or I can order you a ride home."

Shiv's eyes snap open. A little red around the edges but black in the middle.

"If the bar is closed, you're not my bartender."

Clove clenches her fists, straightens, and walks away. No other customers to distract herself with. Nothing else to do. Just can't fucking do this right now.

The tapping is nearly immediate.

Clove stops but doesn't turn, nails digging into her palm, blood on fucking fire. "If I'm not your bartender, then you're not my customer."

"And?"

"I'm not being paid to come when you call."

"You could just come because you want to."

"I could tell you to get the fuck out."

"Clove."

Clove turns slowly. Jaw clenched. Fists cramping.

Shiv taps on the bar stool next to her.

Clove exhales slowly. "You should go home."

"Distract me," Shiv says, a little hoarse.

"How?"

"Sit."

"I'm not that fucking stupid."

"Please."

Shiv's been saving that one. Shiv likes to want what she can't have, and she likes to win.

So Clove comes. Sits. Waits in obstinate silence. Allows her stool to be swiveled to the left. Studies the hand that lands on her knee, but doesn't react to it. A ring on every slender finger except the pinky. Nails immaculately painted. Shaking at the wrist while inching up her thigh. Shiv is crossed. Shiv has had a bad day. Shiv feels like she's dying, and she doesn't have a friend here to comfort her, a bartender to humor her, a lover to hold her, but she has Clove. Who is, apparently, whatever Shiv wants her to be.

The hand reaches the waistband of her jeans. Three fingers slip beneath two layers of clothing to brush against a few inches of bare skin along her waist. Clove shivers against her will, and Shiv sucks in a breath.

"Did you flirt with anyone tonight?"

"Are you serious?"

"Did you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

The fingers withdraw. A whole hand splays flat across her stomach over her hoodie, then sweeps upwards and comes to rest upright and firm against her sternum. Clove feels like something is about to boil over—in her, in Shiv, between them—but that's been a feeling she's had since they met, so it's hard to say.

"Wasn't in the mood."

"That's unusual for you."

"Christ, just—fuck off."

Shiv gropes her hard, fingers digging in through all the fabric, pressing the wire of Clove's bra into her ribs. It would almost feel punishing, if not for the little noise that escapes the back of Shiv's throat, and the way she leans forward far enough to let Clove smell the smoke and booze on her breath, and the second hand that lands somewhat frantically on Clove's knee for balance. Because Shiv is crossed.

Clove should tell Shiv to go home and mean it. Get off this stool. Stop playing this fucking game, because the way it heats her blood is starting to feel dangerous.

Shiv releases her with a jolt, and pushes off her knee. Leans back. Tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Touches her own cheek briefly with the back of her hand like she's worried she's blushing.

"Fuck," Shiv mutters.

"What? Was that all an accident?"

Shiv sways slightly. "I should go home."

Clove leans forward, and rests a hand on Shiv's knee. "Because you just came here to make sure I didn't flirt with anyone while you were out getting crossed somewhere else, and touch me however you want to make yourself feel better, and you got everything you wanted."

Shiv's eyes flicker to the hand on her knee. "You knew what I meant, and you sat."

"Did it help?"

"It made me dizzy."

Clove slides her hand a couple inches up the inside of Shiv's leg. "I won't let you fall."

Shiv's breathing is growing ragged, eyelids trying to drift shut, leg trembling beneath Clove's hand. "But you'd keep me here."

"You can leave whenever you want, baby."

Shiv hesitates a moment too long, and Clove pushes up past her skirt. Reaches a little over halfway up and kneads harshly at her thigh. Shiv loses the fight with her eyelids, and tips forward. Clove catches her around the waist with one arm, and guides Shiv's head down to her shoulder with the other. Closest they'll ever get to a trust fall, probably, albeit a fucked one.

Shiv is… small. Clove had never really thought about her size before tonight. Mostly sees her from the chest up, and the suits make her seem so intimidating, but Shiv is 5'5 at absolute best and built like a feather. Clove can balance her on one shoulder and pull Shiv's stool closer to hers with the same arm.

Clove is close enough to smell her jacket now, her hair, her sweat. Close enough to feel her whole body shaking; slip a hand beneath the jacket and trace her spine; push farther up her skirt, all the way to the crease of her inner thigh, and drag a finger along her damp tights. Shiv whimpers her name, and Clove is on fire in all sorts of new ways, molten, overflowing. Never should have given up her name in the first place. Not to hear it said like that. Not while Shiv is crossed, and Clove is doing this.

"Fuck, I…" Shiv squirms. "I'm going to fall."

Clove hikes Shiv's skirt up to her hips, then nudges her knees apart so she can pull their stools together until they're touching. "Put your legs over mine."

Shiv clings to her side fiercely, but obeys. Drags in a deep but uneven breath.

"Look, you're practically in my lap. Not going anywhere," Clove murmurs, watching her own fingers trace the outline of Shiv's underwear through her tights. "God, and you're a fucking mess."

Shiv tries to lift her head, but only makes it to Clove's jaw. Noses her way along it. Down to her chin and back to her ear. Whines.

"You know, I actually fucking like you. You did a good job with that part. I would have been happy just talking to you about fish, but you'd rather have this, wouldn't you?"

Shiv finally makes it upright. Sways. Squints to focus her eyes. Brings a hand to Clove's face and traces her lips with a trembling thumb. "I'd rather you talk less."

The way Shiv kisses is just as sharp as everything else, characteristically confident and invasive, which makes Clove wonder how she kisses sober. Also makes her wonder if Shiv prefers kissing people she knows will fight back, because that seems to be what spurs her on, makes her moan, curls her hands into fists in Clove's hair. Maybe sobriety just makes the preference less obvious.

Clove pushes the jacket back off her shoulders and onto the floor, yanks her blouse out from her skirt, and rakes a hand up her sweaty back to unclasp her bra. It allows her a much better feel than Shiv got, two hands and much more skin to work with, and Shiv shudders so hard the kiss stalls. Clove's hands wander downwards from her chest, then hesitate at her waist, thumbs hooked under the hem of her tights.

Only thing getting in the way, but Shiv's legs are too far apart to pull them down over her thighs, and the skirt would have to go with them, and the skirt is rather nice where it is. Clove drags her palm from Shiv's belly button down to her core and lets her grind against it for a few seconds, then bunches the tights in her fist.

Shiv bites her lip, as if to say do it, but a choked sound escapes her as Clove tears them.

"Fuck. Fuck. My head is—it's… too much. I'm so dizzy."

"Your head can swim, that's alright," Clove soothes, nudging Shiv's underwear out of the way and dragging a finger up through her folds. "Feeling like you're gonna fall is better than feeling like you're dying, isn't it? All the blood just went somewhere else, and you can feel it. You can feel how much you want this, can't you?"

Clove can tell Shiv is trying very hard to focus on her face as one finger lazily circles her entrance. Trying to stay present. Trying to stay annoyed with all the talking, despite the fact that she very much needs it.

"You can feel how wet you are, your cunt aching, all the heat. So turned on the head rush is making the room spin, but you still want more. You want it to be all you can think about, and you're almost there, baby."

Shiv lets her head fall back with a moan as Clove sinks a finger inside her. Back arched, neck exposed, all her confidence to not fall backwards stored in the palm pressing into the small of her back; Clove kisses her throat for it.

"Yeah, there you go," Clove sighs, working her finger as deep as she can, thumb finally settling where Shiv wants it. "Just let it feel good. Keep breathing. Already let me make a fucking mess out of you anyway. Might as well get what you came here for."

Shiv lifts her head, and shuffles closer to her. Tips their foreheads together as her eyes slip closed, leaving her space to breathe and Clove free to talk. Shiv is trying to listen to her. Shiv has less and less to hide behind, and underneath it all, she just wants to feel better.

Clove pulls her fully into her lap, still murmuring encouragement, and sinks a second finger into her. Shiv's gasp comes with a strangled little squeak that lands somewhere strange in Clove's gut, and the way her throat grows tight watching Shiv's face is stranger still. Eyes shut, mouth open, forehead scrunched, make up fucked and still so fucking pretty, floating on Clove's thighs and finally focused on something other than falling.

Both of Shiv's shaky hands find their way to Clove's hot skin beneath her hoodie. Two trembling legs wrap around her waist. Make yourself feel good, Clove murmurs endlessly, and Shiv does. Lives from one roll of her hips to the next. Feels better and better by the second until finally she's gasping, writhing, hiding behind nothing. Talking in sobs and whimpers with her eyes still closed. Clove wonders if she can even hear herself. If she'd be horrified to learn what is coming out of her own mouth as she sits in Clove's lap, drunk, high, disheveled, desperate to come and abruptly terrified to.

Clove thinks, for neither the first or last time, that she should have told Shiv to go home and meant it.

"It'll be okay," Clove whispers, urgent and breathless. "You'll be right here on the other side of it, and your head will be quiet for a bit. It'll feel so fucking good. It'll be so nice."

"It'll be too much."

"It won't. Kiss me."

Shiv's nails drag down her sides. "Don't let me fall."

"Shiv, come here."

Right at the tipping point, Clove moans for her. Half genuine, because Shiv's cunt is burning hot and dripping and starting to pulse, and half just to see what Shiv does about it.

Should have moaned for her sooner; Shiv chases it the whole way through. Gives it all she has left. Grounds herself in it while the orgasm climbs slowly all the way up her spine. Comes down safely on the other side, ghosts her lips over Clove's jaw on the way down to her shoulder, and goes limp.

Clove keeps her fucking mouth shut. Just breathes, and even that feels too loud.

After a long while and a few signs of life from Shiv, Clove fixes her as best she can. Gets her bra clasped again and reconfigured. Tugs her skirt back down her thighs. Straightens her blouse. Tries to tuck it back in but gives up. And then Clove can sincerely think of nothing better to do with Shiv than scoop her up and set her on the floor.

"Sorry, it's just… won't fall," she mumbles stupidly as she moves a stool out of the way so Shiv can lean against the bar. Shiv rests her head back and closes her eyes without complaint. Clove sits down next to her, stares down at her hands, and wonders what the fuck she's meant to be doing right now. A little nauseous. Desperately horny. Wants Shiv to leave and wants her to stay. Doesn't really know if the game is over, or if it is when exactly they stopped playing it.

"I should go home," Shiv says eventually.

Clove lets her head thud back against the bar. Closes her eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, you should."

Shiv orders a ride, fusses with her clothes for a few minutes, and leaves without a word.

Clove slumps a few inches further down the bar, props her knees up against two bar stools as she unzips her pants, and sighs as she slips a hand down them. It feels a bit pathetic, which is probably for the best. Shiv's slick has dried but is still on her fingers. Clove sniffed them; she smells nice. Shiv has, by luck and determination, sat on one of two stools every night since the start, which are now both defiled and just far enough apart to spread Clove's legs the perfect distance.

It's rather nice down here on the floor, actually. Clove tugs her jeans down a bit farther so she can slip a finger inside herself. Moans a little, for absolutely no one. Tries not to think too hard about any specific memory, because she wants it to last a little bit.

It's all fucked now, and it's been pretty fucked from the beginning, but Clove still has a distinct feeling she'll remember this guilty and delirious moment on the floor for the rest of her life. One of those flash frames that just stick.

It's absurd, really. Back arching away from the bar, legs shaking, fully panting. Clove is on the fucking floor, and that just makes it better. In her workplace but on the wrong side of the counter. Far too early in the morning. Lights half on and half off. Fridges humming. Slumped against the bar between two stools with a crumpled napkin a few inches from her elbow and a hand shoved down her pants, stone cold sober and somehow drunk, moaning obscenely just to make it more pathetic, more turned on than she's ever been in her life, and nobody will ever fucking know about it.

Clove thinks of Shiv whimpering her name for two seconds, and knocks a stool over as she comes. Makes a racket. Comes down as slowly as she pleases. Giggles to herself a little bit.

So fucked.

-

To Gale's immense satisfaction, Clove is noticeably distracted for nearly her entire shift—which is how long Gale sits at her bar. A somewhat nauseating mix of emotions bubbling away in his gut, but his mind is very made up. Tonight. The second and final night. He gets her until sunrise.

Clove has to do her job to some degree, but mostly, she pays attention to Gale. Even when she can't look at him, her fingers twitch in his direction. When only her hands are busy elsewhere, her eyes are flicker to him constantly. Gale wonders, as he finally makes his way to his room, how long they can make one night feel, if they focus as hard as Clove did for almost her entire shift.

Clove said she'd follow him in a few minutes. Gale orders room service, immediately grows worried it will seem romantic in all the wrong ways, considers cancelling it, and then there's a knock at his door.

Clove has a mountain of blankets in her arms, and sidles right past Gale to dump them all on the bed with a satisfied huff.

"Stole 'em," she announces proudly.

"Yes, I… see. Are we building a fort?"

"Nah. Hey, could you get room service? Is that cool with your company provided hotel room or whatever?"

Gale blushes. "I already ordered it."

"Wait, really?"

"Yes, well, I—"

Clove crosses to him in one step, winds an arm around his waist, and pulls him into a searing kiss. Gale staggers, but comes alive to her in an instant. Takes one more step back and bumps into the desk, and Clove keeps on coming.

Gale winds up half on the desk with Clove between his legs, immense and everywhere, fucking his mouth with her tongue while palming his erection over his pants, and he begins to wonder if he perhaps shouldn't have ordered room service quite yet.

Clove gets a small fistful of hair at the base of his skull and tugs, and Gale drops his head back obediently. Leans back on his hands to give her easier access as her lips roam up and down his neck, dipping to his collarbone where his button up allows it.

"Oh, fuck, Clove…"

"Did my shift last fucking forever, baby?"

"Yes, I—"

A knock at the door. Both their heads pop up.

Clove glances down at his tented pants, and smirks. "You better get that. Hotel staff and all that."

"Thanks so much," Gale mutters, hopping down off the desk.

Clove smacks his ass as he walks away, and Gale whirls.

"One moment!" he shouts over his shoulder, then drags Clove back into a kiss, unzips her pants and shoves a hand down them all in one quick flurry. Clove makes a low noise in the back of her throat, and grinds down into his hand. Gale angles his arm to slip two fingers inside her, pulling her pants a couple inches down in the process. After a too brief moment inside her, Gale withdraws his hand, steals one more filthy kiss, and brushes her jaw with his thumb.

"Do try to look respectable," he murmurs, then leaves her.

Thankfully, a tray is delivered to him over the threshold, and Clove doesn't have to resort to hiding. Sandwiches, fruit, champagne. Hopefully, it'll suit.

"Perfect," Clove declares.

"So, ah, what are we doing?"

Clove digs a key out of her pocket, and points at the ceiling with it. "Picnic."

"The roof?"

"Yeah. It's not, like, open to guests. But we can sneak up there."

"Where did you get the key?"

"Someone gave it to me."

"Who?"

Clove rolls her eyes. "The guy who had it. Come on. We might need to make two trips. We need the blankets from your bed, too."

"I have a feeling nothing about this will be stealthy."

"Just act like you're doing something normal."

It does take two trips, in which Clove acts normal and Gale follows behind with his head ducked, arms stacked past their chins with bedding and food. Clove's idea was a good one, of course. Roof empty and quiet, sky just clear enough to see stars, night air cool but not cold, excellent view between the bars of the railing a few feet away. Between the roughly eight blankets and six pillows, it's quite cozy. Gale can feel the concrete a little bit, but not nearly enough to care.

There's a timer, though.

It's why Clove jumped him so quickly before. It's why they eat in fits and starts. It's why Clove sips champagne from a bottle while sat in his lap, and Gale tugs at her impatiently. I'm right here, lover, she keeps whispering, but she knows why it's not enough, will never be enough, can't be enough.

Clove undresses them completely, nothing but stars above them and a whole city below them. It's not Gale's first time inside her; they woke up together last night entangled on their sides, and agreed wordlessly on how desperately they needed to be closer and how to best achieve it. Somewhere in a half-awake and sweaty stupor, they came together, Gale inside her and Clove around him, plastered together from forehead to toe; then both drifted back to sleep, still entangled, a little closer and much stickier. There was a timer then, too, but it didn't tick quite so loudly. It was so quiet, the first time, and it's so loud, now. The ticking. The breathing. The soft moans on this empty and quiet roof. Gale needs to not come in order to stay inside her, and Clove is clearly on the same page.

Clove's hips move lazily, almost thoughtlessly, as Clove invents other things for them to focus on. Clove is trying to touch him everywhere. Trailing her fingertips lightly over every single inch of him, or as much of him as she can reach, which is quite a lot. When he shivers—his armpits, the bottoms of his feet, the lower curve of his belly—Clove kisses him. Better yet, as one hand explores him, her other hand explores herself. Touching herself in all sorts of practiced ways that make her shiver along with him. Gale keeps both hands resting loosely on her hips, and sinks into every second as deep as he can. Tries to absorb the feeling all the way into his bones.

The exploration finally ends with one hand cupping Gale's jaw, and the other on her clit. Hips lazy as ever, Clove comes just from touching herself to the shape of his body beneath her; maybe that's how she gets the memory of him all the way into her bones.

Gale whines. Probably only two quick thrusts away from coming. A firmer hold on her hips. A little surprised gasp from her lips. But Gale can't. Not yet, so he stays perfectly still. Lets her come back down to him and ground herself with a kiss.

"Fuck," she whispers.

"Clove, I want to touch you too, but I'm worried, if I—"

"It's okay if you do. We have all night. I'm not letting you sleep, lover."

"I know, but…"

Clove pauses, studying him. "Take a deep breath for me."

Gale obeys, and as he does so Clove slowly but decisively lifts herself off him. The sudden cold makes the remaining air in his lungs leave him in a little huff.

"Sorry," she murmurs, smiling. "How do you want me, lover? Do you want to be under a blanket with me?"

Gale nods. Nudges her off him and onto her back, crawls on top of her, and pulls the one blanket they left for on top of them up to his shoulders. Gale gives her one parting kiss on the lips, then slips beneath the blanket entirely to explore her with his mouth, his tongue, his nose. As he works, he discovers he can more or less use his whole face. Rubbing his cheek along the damp underside of her breast, or dragging his forehead down the inner curve of his armpit. It's warm and humid beneath the blanket, and Gale can smell their sweat, his breath, her arousal. Could bury his face in her forever and be happy. By the time he reaches her navel, his legs are half out of the blanket, and Clove is squirming beneath him, and above him he can hear her giving her whimpers to the night air, pleading directly to the stars.

Gale is still hard. Could still probably come if his cock brushed her leg a little too firmly. Clove can still come as much as she wants. He licks once into her folds, nudges her clit with his nose, then nips the inside of her thigh. Clove swears at the sky. More distantly, Gale hears what must be the rattle of her gripping the railing.

It's odd, having everything muted by the blanket. Like he's underwater. Timer ticking a little further away. Everything dampened and damp and musky. Gale licks again into her folds, and Clove hooks a leg over his shoulder so she can dig her heel into his back. Three fingers drive into her, and she cries out. Gale does need to be inside her again, after all, and Clove is soaking, pulsing, squeezing, so ready for him. Gale seals his lips around her clit, but doesn't suck. Holding her there works only briefly. The moment Clove decides she has had enough, she fucks up into both his fingers and his mouth, movements frantic and uneven, until she tips herself over the edge again with a strangled whine.

Gale is fully lightheaded. So warm. Cock throbbing. Swimming through scents made thick by the humidity. Clove is tugging him upwards, and he more or less stumbles his way back up to her on his elbows. Emerges from the blanket, gasps a breath of fresh air, and stares down at her dazedly.

"You alright?" Clove asks, genuinely and endearingly alarmed.

Gale nods. "Just… warm."

"You're so red," she whispers, giggling a little.

Before Gale can reply, a hand wraps around his cock, and he slams his eyes shut with a sharp groan. "Clove, fuck. I'm still—"

"Still hard for me," she croons. The hand squeezes the base of his shaft, but doesn't move. "Still close?"

"Yes."

"Look at me."

Gale opens his eyes, and exhales slowly.

"You are so fucking hot."

"So are you," he whispers.

"You can come whenever you want, but it has to be inside me."

Gale nods. "I want to just—just be still for a bit, inside you. Just kiss you. I know we have all night, but I…"

"I know. Come here."

Clove wraps her legs around his hips as Gale sinks into her, slow as he can bear. Finally buried deep, he leans down to her, and she nuzzles his cheek in greeting. Hips perfectly still, their lips meet and don't part. Tongues tangled then languid, pressure soft then hard, teeth then no teeth. They would happily cycle through the options forever, but even with their hips still, the heat builds. Clove eventually throws the blanket off, then immediately begins to shiver beneath him. Her body constricts slightly with the tensing of her muscles, and Gale feels it everywhere.

"Fuck, Clove," Gale gasps.

Clove nips his bottom lip with a whimper. Gale hears a familiar rattle, looks up, and sees both her hands gripping the lowest bar of the railing with white knuckles. His mind whites out for a moment. So close to the edge of a building, on top of it, whole fucking city below them, and Clove, his Clove, Clove.

"Clove, could you, do you think—"

"Anything."

Gale swallows. Tries to find any reservations in her eyes, and can't. "Can you turn around?"

Clove nods vigorously. Seems to, without any further communication, understand his vision better than he does. Plants her knees on a pillow, and leans forward to grab the third rung of the railing. Gale instinctively grabs her hips, pulling back slightly.

"Oh my God, Clove, if—"

"Don't be shy now, lover. Fuck me."

"Clove, this is—"

"Fuck me."

Gale kneads the flesh of her ass, feels her press back into him, and groans. The timer ticks down, and every second he spends dithering counts. Gale lines himself up, adjusts her hips slightly, and fucks into her in one sharp thrust.

Clove moans, directed to the whole city and cut off sharply by his next thrust. The sound picks up where it left off, then continues, stuttered and growing steadily louder. The railing seems sturdy enough, and Gale doesn't have it in him anymore to hold back.

It seems like it should take twenty strokes, at best. A brief and breathless minute. But Gale is just as close as he's been all night, maybe closer, and he's not coming yet. Suspended precariously at the peak of pleasure, in the dizzying moments right before it boils over, seemingly—somehow—endlessly. The timer ticks, ominous and dooming, but it also keeps him here. Clove is crying out over the edge of a building with every thrust, and Gale can't give it up until he knows for a fucking fact he'll remember how this feels forever.

Gale suddenly realizes through the haze of pleasure that Clove is telling him something—no, begging him for something. It takes an embarrassingly long moment to bring her words into focus, but then—oh. He'll remember. It's alright. He couldn't forget. Not when she sounds like that. Utterly wrecked. By him. With him. Gale winds a hand around her with apologetic speed, finds her clit, gives everything has to the last few strokes, and the orgasm feels like it both blows him apart and puts him back together.

Gale heaves them backwards, and they collapse on an unorganized heap of pillows and blankets, side by side on their backs, naked under the night sky, sweaty and panting and absolutely idiotic.

"Gale."

"Yes?"

"I think I need to quit my job."

Call him drunk, but Gale laughs. "You think?"

Clove kicks him in the shin.

"Where do you want to work, my love?"

The name slips out, and goes uncommented on.

"Somewhere less pretentious. With less people in suits."

"Mm."

"Gale," she says again, but there's weight behind it, now. Urgency. Desperation, of some sort.

A pit forms in Gale's stomach.

"Yes?"

"You're going to give me your phone number, and your email address, and your address just in case, and we will… figure it out. Because I—I can't just say goodbye to you now and, and—"

"I know," Gale says quickly, throat tight with relief, finding her hand between them and squeezing until it hurts. "Me neither. We will. I know we will, Clove. It'll be alright."

Clove sniffles. "Okay. Good. I'm still going to drive you to the airport tomorrow and cry the whole time."

"That sounds somewhat unsafe."

"Like you fucking care."

Gale sighs. "Does this new plan of ours mean I can sleep tonight?"

-

Clove is never up this early. Strives very hard to never have a reason to be, actually, but of course Gale's car is getting its radiator replaced over the one day he needs to go into work early, and of course when he offered to procure a ride some other way Clove insisted she'd drive him. She glares at herself in the mirror, eyes crusted with sleep and hair a mess and toothbrush dangling out of her mouth uselessly because she needed a break from brushing. This as much effort as she was willing to put in for this trip, and it's already too much. The sweatpants are staying.

Gale wanders into the bathroom, fully dressed and clearly in search of the glasses he left on the counter.

"Shirt's crooked," Clove mumbles.

Gale slides his glasses on, examines himself in the mirror, then his eyes flicker to Clove as he adjusts his shirt. A smile tugs at his lips. "Have you given up?"

Clove glares at him, and resumes brushing.

Gale steps behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, ignoring her limp growl. "I could still order a ride."

Clove retorts something that sounds vaguely like you don't have time.

"I have plenty of time," Gale murmurs, turning to plant a kiss on her neck. Clove growls again. "And I've discovered you're rather charming early in the morning."

Clove leans over to spit, and Gale shuffles conspicuously closer to her. The look she shoots him in the mirror as she rinses is soundly ignored, just like all the rest of her warnings. Before she's barely upright, Gale has two fingers on her right cheek and is dragging her face to the left, claiming her lips just as she parts them to object.

Licking into her mouth gives him far more pleasure than it should when she can't possibly taste of anything but toothpaste. The water that was still on her face is soaking into his beard. Before she's had time to fully process whatever type of mood has him kissing her like this at seven in the morning, Gale has two fingers hooked under the waistband of her sweatpants.

"Gale."

"Yes?"

Gale tugs once, and then Clove spins, catches his hand, and rotates them both until he is pressed to the counter instead.

"Can I fucking help you?"

"Oh, definitely."

"It's seven in the morning, Gale. I am half dead."

Clove is so tired she forgot Gale has two hands. The second slips down the front of her sweatpants before she can fully register its existence, and two fingers make themselves at home rubbing slow little circles over her underwear. Clove opens her mouth, and Gale kisses it shut again.

"Let me wake you up," he whispers against her lips. "You don't have to take anything off, or come, or do anything at all. Just let me make your morning a little better. Let me be late for you."

Clove kisses him lazily, and sighs. "Of course you're horny in the morning."

"And you're never awake."

"Is this really all you're gonna do with the opportunity? Just get me a little riled up and then go to work?"

"Yes, I think that sounds nice. I'll be thinking of you at work, and you'll be thinking of me from bed."

Clove sinks her weight into his fingers, and lets the jolt of heat arch her back a little bit. "Yeah, that does sound nice. Maybe I'll text you."

"Well, I, ah—"

A kiss shuts him up, and her tongue makes him moan, and Clove thinks probably she can get away with distracting him at work as much as she chooses. Just like Gale can get away with ignoring all her empty threats and slipping a hand down her pants at seven in the fucking morning.

Clove rolls her hips, shudders once, then Gale withdraws his hand.

"Are you more awake now?"

"No, I think I need to go back to bed."

"Come on, then," Gale says fondly. "Give me a ride first."

Clove keeps him pinned to the counter for another moment. "I am going to text you."

"I know. But I did make your morning better, did I not?"

"Yes."

"Then the texts are an acceptable price to pay."

Clove rolls her eyes, ruffles his hair, and frees him. "You're going to regret calling them that."

The position is suddenly, jarringly, devastatingly intimate.

Gale is taller than her like this, face tilted down to her from a couple inches above, and it forces Clove to look up at him in a way that feels novelly adoring, nearly reverent. She is struck by the odd thought as she gazes up at him that this can't be far from what it would be like if they danced together. Gale seems to have forgotten his fear of falling entirely, but Clove keeps two palms flat and firm on his back anyway; and there's space between their bodies in places, but she still thinks this might be the closest they've ever been.

"Oh, Clove, I…"

"I know. Can you move?"

Gale lifts himself a couple inches, and captures her bottom lip between his teeth as he sinks back down with a groan.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, Clove. This is—why is this…"

"Because you're taller than me," Clove whispers, landing a peck on the corner of his mouth just before he laughs.

"I am," he whispers back, eyes glassy, nose bumping hers by accident. "You're so beautiful, and I'm…"

Clove slides one hand down over his ass and squeezes, encouraging him to keep moving. Gale obliges, then moans.

"You're what, lover?"