⚡︎ grey areas
{summary: newly broken up, kiara goes looking for an easy rebound. that’s how she ends up running into sofia who’s going through her own problems. the two are quick to fight but even quicker to make up…}
{a/n: this was born from the whole rafia vs riara debate because why are we fighting over a man? he’s not good for either of these two! let’s get that straight! anywhooo hope you like it! had a lot of fun getting into kie’s head and viewing rafe and sofia‘a relationship from an outsider perspective!}
{warnings: nsfw, drug use, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex, infidelity}
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Kiara needed to get some.
Her and JJ had broken up after a fleeting year of sex, blunts and awkward pillow talk. It was a welcomed relief to both of them— he could go back to his frequent string of late night hookups…
And she could go back to this.
Parties thick with the air of expensive alcohol and suffuse with strobe lights and bass notes. Lingering in between the sweetness and sweat, was the possibility of her own conquest. One that didn’t smell like damp clothes and that undeniable boyish musk.
Soft, pillowy thighs. Perfumed hair. The taste of salt and honey…
It was meant to be her, Sarah and Cleo, a much needed girls night amidst a sea of testosterone fuelled hang outs. But they had ditched her—something about feeling too tried. Traitors. She knew they just wanted to get back home to their boyfriends.
So Kiara wandered the party alone, feeling like she was back in high school, meandering through the Figure 8 ragers looking for a pretty girl to befriend (or to kiss, but what was the difference?)
She’d made her rounds and still found no one. Maybe she should call Harper? She was always game for some down low making out in the back of her Lexus. And if Kiara played her cards right, a lot more than just making out.
So she headed to the bathroom to fix up her hair before she drove over to Harper’s place. The line to the downstairs one was too long, so she snuck upstairs, making sure Kyle didn’t spot her. He already hated her guts. Apparently guys didn’t like it when their girl was hooking up with another girl behind their back. Kiara didn’t feel too bad— Kyle was an asshole. And besides, it was ancient history.
Kiara reached the first floor landing and pushed past the bathroom door, her heart dropping slightly at the sight.
A girl was sat crumpled on the ivory tiles, her back pressed against the tub, glass bottle loosely held in one hand.
“Oh shit— sorry I didn’t think anyone else was in here.” Kiara stepped back, but stopped when the girl looked up, her eyes wet with the sticky residue from tears and glittery eyeshadow, smeared all over her pretty face. She didn’t say anything. She just waited for Kiara to leave, not bothering to correct her lamentable position.
There was something off about the whole picture. Where were her friends? Kook girls always moved in herds, whether they were laughing or crying. Kiara learned that the hard way when they’d always single her out.
But here she was alone, much like Kiara was during her tragic year at the Kook Academy. The sight was pitiful. So she stepped back into the bathroom and shut the door behind her with a soft sigh.
The girl sniffed, mouth twisting in a disgusted frown, “what are you doing?”
Her voice was soft and low. Guarded and raw. Like she’d been crying for a while.
“Seeing if you’re okay?”
That’s when the girl pulled herself up, stumbling slightly, bottle of tequila still in clutch.
“Hey, hey take it easy girl.” Kiara approached but was shooed away as she stumbled to the countertop.
“I’m fine.”
Kiara scoffed, muttering under her breath, “sure you are.”
She watched as the girl tried to hoist herself up on to the bathroom counter, her apricot dress that grazed her mid thigh swishing with each shaky step. Kiara let herself stare at the way the diaphanous fabric ghosted the curve of her ass. She was cute. Not exactly her type— she preferred bitchy blondes if she was going to be picky. But still, she was pretty with enough curves to make Kiara look twice.
“Need a little help there?” Kiara teased, stepping closer so she was tailing her.
The girl snapped her head back, dark curls bouncing on her head like organza ribbons. “I said I was fine, didn’t I?” Kiara smirked to herself. Well, at least she was bitchy.
Eventually she managed to bypass her thin heels that slipped all over the glossy tiles, and hopped onto the countertop like a straggler kitten, all the while holding onto that half empty bottle. She took a swig of it, like it was her reward for not falling straight onto her ass, and Kiara just watched keenly with a hungry glint in her eye, the back of Harper’s Lexus wholly forgotten about.
“Why are you still here…Kiara?” The girl slurred, words thick with a sarcastic drawl.
How the fuck did she know her name— and more importantly, was she…making fun of her?
Kiara’s eyes narrowed “you know me?”
“Everyone knows you— intrepid treasure hunters. Finders of El Dorado. You’re like island royalty.”
Kiara rolled her eyes. She was making fun of her.
“What? You not a fan?”
The girl laughed. Bubbly and sweet. You’d think it was almost kind. “Must be nice to find a whole city of gold. That surely buys you out of this island. Gets you some sorta freedom.”
Kiara thought back to her parents. She still didn’t feel free. A small scoff escaped her throat, “you’d think so, wouldn’t you?”
The girl blinked like she was confused, but didn’t let anything else up. She just put the glass bottle down with a soft clink, leaning back against the cold marble.
Kiara was close enough now so she could see the tears streaking her face, dragging down the glitter so it looked like she’d been weeping stardust. Her face coruscated in the dim bathroom light— she’d been crying a lot.
Pretty kook girl like her? It must be some shitty boyfriend— it almost always was.
“Hey, are you okay?” Kiara’s tone softened, trying to hold on to eye contact with her. But she constantly evaded her efforts, looking down, her head bowed as if she was in prayer.
Well, if she wanted to be alone…Kiara turned to leave.
“Hey— wait!” Kiara felt a small warm hand wrap around her bare arm.
The girl began rooting through her purse and eventually pulled out a neatly rolled joint, “smoke with me.” She smiled impishly at her, lips in between her teeth.
Kiara could tell she was trying to remain cool, but beneath the wobbling smile and cocky slant of her head, she sensed the pervasive clinginess in her gesture. The need for attention.
Kiara didn’t call her out on her bluff. Didn’t pick at her armour. She knew how it felt to force your lips into a smile and hold your breath, begging not to be torn to shreds. So all she did was mirror the girl’s glee. Who was she to turn down free weed?
Kiara grabbed the joint from the girl and lifted it up to her pouty lips. Her eyes lingered over the girl’s pink, bitten skin, wet with saliva and remnants of tequila, her mouth opening slightly. The girl reflected her action, allowing Kiara to slip the joint in between her teeth.
Her trusty lighter, decorated with a peeling Bob Marley sticker was quickly fished from the back pocket of her jean shorts, lighting the joint in one effortless attempt.
Smoke billowed between them, their faces mere inches from each other. Kiara’s stomach brewed with a nervous restlessness. She missed this. The uncertainty. The newness.
“What’s your name?” Kiara asked, her voice soft, dripping over them like crushed velvet.
The girl passed over the joint, “Sofia.”
It fit her perfectly. Pretty. Melodious. Melancholic.
Kiara smiled, feeling some sort of victory at the concession. “Sofia,” she parroted, taking a long drag.
She looked down at the joint, withholding her cough. “Where’d you get this?” It was good. Better than the shit she got when she was waiting for her own to dry out.
Sofia snatched the paper back, “Barry.”
Goosebumps raised on Kiara’s neck, remembering the man who’d corralled them with a shot gun, beating them up in the boat hangar. Rafe’s left hand man who’d nearly knocked out JJ with just his fists. How the fuck did Sofia know him? Didn’t kook girls get their stash from Stoner Steve? Unless she wasn’t a kook. And with the way she smoked— slowly, holding the smoke like she was savouring it… the boys would do that. A habit from when they were low on reefer money and had to make every joint and every blunt count.
Was Sofia a pogue? But what pogue was dressed in some glitzy dress that was probably worth a couple hundred, crying in a bathroom of some measly party at Kyle’s house. If it was a Thornton party or some rager at Tannyhill, Kiara would understand. Tons of pogues would sneak into those just to float some beer and steal some shit. But this? This was some irrelevant house party on a random Tuesday.
Kiara just nodded her head, hiding her suspicions. “Barry? How’d you get to know him?”
Sofia rolled her eyes, “oh y’know, a friend of a…friend.” The last word got swallowed up on her tongue like a bad taste. Bitter and pungent. She handed back the joint.
They didn’t say anything else, just passed the joint back and forth, listening to the music seep up from the floor, letting the weed drip into their bloodstreams.
With Sofia sitting on the counter and Kiara standing up, their eye-lines were level. Each puff of smoke greatened the traction between them, tension swelling like a wave rolling closer and closer to the coastline, ready to crash and fragment into sea and foam.
Kiara felt butterflies travel downward, right to the pit of her stomach, when she noticed Sofia’s golden eyes glaze over. She took her in shamelessly, like she was simply admiring her clothes. But Kiara only wore a thin tank top that cut above her navel and just about scooped her tits up, leaving little to the imagination. Whatever admiration Sofia was feeling, bled beneath the fabric— every inch of skin available licked up by her curious gaze.
“You’re pretty,” Sofia murmured, her finger raising up to graze Kiara’s stomach. Her touch was soft and ticklish and made her breath lurch. She trailed a snaking pattern until her finger hooked around her belt loop and pulled her in with one, insistent tug.
Fuck. Kiara really missed this.
“So are you.” Kiara did the same, her gaze disappearing into the extensive dip of her dress. She could see the lace of her bra peek between the tanned plush of her tits— a bright red lattice of swirling flowers, that surfaced with every other breath.
“I look like a mess,” Sofia joked, making Kiara laugh. She put out the stub on the basin.
“A hot mess.”
Sofia giggled again. This time decisively not bitchy, like that hyena caterwaul of the kook girl herd. This time it was comfortable.
Her thighs parted, inviting Kiara in. Her dress rode up with the movement. She wanted to rip the material with her teeth, just so she could see some more.
Sucking in a quivering breath, Sofia let out a nervous giggle. “Thanks for staying. Sometimes I feel so…invisible at these parties…so thank you…for noticing me.”
The way she said it. It was so small. She was so small. Kiara felt a fiery guilt eat at her. Her eyes quickly snapped away from the delicate flesh of her thighs and met her big round irises.
She should ask what was wrong. Try and help her— not fuck her in some bathroom at a party.
But maybe that could help. And with the way Sofia was looking at her right now, it seemed like she was thinking the same thing.
Their lips neared, Kiara’s nose brushing against her cheek. She could now smell the jasmine in her perfume and the fruit in her hair. Looking at her, you’d think she’d smell like candy— something gourmand and rich. Like vanilla cheesecake or dripping praline. But she smelled warm and floral and woody. Something bitter amidst the sweet.
The kiss started off silken. Experimental. Kiara always preferred kissing girls. Their lips were always bigger. Plumper. Wetter. She could tell this was somewhat new for Sofia with how tentative she was being. Or maybe that was just her? She tried to imagine her with a guy. Would she be sweet and submissive, doting and innocent. All wide shiny eyes and murmured pleas under a heaving mass of skin?
It didn’t take long for things to devolve into a messy overlap of tongues and saliva, the earthy taste of the weed still on their lips. Sofia became more tenacious: teeth sinking into flesh, tongue lapping harder and deeper. Kiara broke away for a breath and saw her previously light and honeyed eyes darken and muddy.
Or would she be like this? Unremitting and desperate, dominating and hungry. Breathless moans and writhing body, pushing against bulk and bulges to steal her own pleasure.
Sofia’s hands roamed up and down Kiara’s back, following the curve of her hip. Her fingers brushed past the line of her shorts, grazing the band of her underwear, borderline kneading her ass. Her palms were hot and pulsing, sending tremors straight down her legs, making it a task to stand up straight. Fuck, she could just collapse on top of her right now and lap at her dried tears.
Kiara decided to take it a step further, after gauging just how much Sofia was enjoying this.
So she let her hand travel from the back of her head, sliding through bunched up curls. Her touch descended the slope of her breasts and onto the sequins of her dress, fingertips drawing a firm line down her body until it reached her lower abdomen.
She broke apart, breathless, “can I?”
Sofia nodded at her request. A little too quickly and a little too eagerly, “please.”
And Kiara was happy to comply, hand disappearing under the gauzy pleats of fabric.
Sofia’s mouth opened, forming a pert little circle, as Kiara brushed past lace. She thought back to how Sofia held the smoke in her mouth, on the precipice of inhalation. Exhalation. Bordering the high hitting her. Here she was holding self-gratification in between her thighs, Kiara having to work apart her cunt with her long slender fingers to get to it.
She didn’t even mind how Sofia’s hands dropped completely from her body, clutching at the counter. If it was someone else Kiara would’ve thought them greedy. But whatever this was, it looked like Sofia needed it. A moment where should could hone in on her own pleasure.
She eventually seemed to realise she was leaving Kiara out, because she hooked her lips with hers again, her hands coming up the her shoulders, traipsing all the way to her chest. Kiara melted into her touch, feeling electric as these new hands explored her, warm fingers slipping past her neckline.
They stayed like that for a while, Kiara’s movements getting faster and sharper with each flick of the wrist and Sofia’s grip tightening, her gasps muffled against Kiara’s pursed lips.
That was until her phone began to vibrate in her purse.
Sofia broke away, her makeup smeared all across her face, “shit.”
Kiara stepped back to give her some space, as she fished her phone out, scrambling to answer.
“Is everything okay?” She asked, catching her breath.
Sofia nodded, “everything is fine.”
She’d seemed to slip back into that deflective armour, cold and covered up, as if she wasn’t squirming on Kiara’s fingers seconds earlier.
The phone continued to ring.
Sofia jumped off the counter, her legs wobbling slightly. Kiara bit back a smirk, as she walked across the bathroom, watching Sofia’s knees try not buckle. It looked like she still got it.
She tried not to look too pleased with herself, as Sofia answered the call.
Kiara attempted to snoop, but couldn’t hear anything on the other line. So she jumped up on to the counter where Sofia was just sitting, watching her intently, the taste of her mango lip balm still coating her mouth.
“It’s okay. I’m okay.”
Kiara raised an eyebrow at how quickly her tone nosedived into consoling and sweet.
Sofia listened more than she talked, gnawing at her bottom lip as her free hand played with her hooped earrings, rubbing and twisting and tugging. That provoked another quirked up brow from Kiara. How did her whole demeanour just change…? Kiara could never fathom that level of shapeshifting. She was never good at playing pretend, her true feelings and emotions always threatening to push through. Concrete binaries of black and white, right and wrong, real and fake, were always so clear in her mind. There was never any grey. There was never right and wrong.
“Baby don’t worry about it. Let’s just go home yeah?”
“Okay I’ll meet you downstairs.”
And with that, she ended the call.
Sofia glanced up to see Kiara watch her, her cheeks flushed and hair moussed. She tucked a strand behind her ear, as if that was going to fix how debauched she looked. “Sorry I couldn’t uh…return the favour.”
Kiara just shook her head, “it’s all good. Maybe we could… y’know…continue this another time? Or…do you have someone waiting for you?”
Sofia’s face flashed in embarrassment, her eyes fixating on the tiles.
“I’m sorry.”
Kiara scoffed, grabbing the discarded tequila bottle on the counter.
Sofia’s eyebrows furrowed, shame giving way to insecurity, seeing Kiara annoyed at her. “What?”
But Kiara again just shook her head, taking a quick sip before answering, “you were just crying on the floor of this bathroom and now everything is okay?”
“I— I— I don’t see how that’s any of your concern?” After stumbling through her attempt at being assertive, Sofia’s mouth trembled into a frown.
“If he’s making you cry like that, anyone would be concerned, Sofia.”
“You don’t understand— he’s going through a hard time. He didn’t mean it.”
“Mean what?”
“The things he says— he— they’re not true. When he’s sad he gets angry. Not at me. But…I get pushed to the side. That’s all.”
“That’s all?”
“I don’t expect you to understand okay?” She suddenly snapped, angry and exasperated.
Kiara scoffed again, settling easily into self-righteousness that felt like a second skin. “I think I understand just fine.”
“No you don’t. You have it easy. You’ve won, Kiara. He’s my chance out of here okay? And he’s nice. He treats me good. He’s not perfect but no one is. I’m definitely not. I wasn’t crying because of something he did— I was crying because I messed it up!”
Kiara was stunned to silence.
Sofia’s eyes began to tear up again, but this time she wiped them away with the back of her hand in one harsh swipe, like some sort of forceful declaration. But that self-advocacy was short lived; Sofia quickly resigned herself to sniffles and regulatory breaths.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout,” she rasped, bowing her head so her curls shrouded her face.
Kiara wondered what she’d done? What elicited this level of guilt? How did she mess it up?
“It’s fine.” The words felt large and uncomfortable in her mouth. Not exactly a lie, but not the truth either. It wasn’t fine. But she didn’t know what else to say. What else could she say? Maybe there was a grey area. And Sofia fit right into it.
Sofia calmed herself, levelling her raggedy breaths. Her hands smoothed down her hair and tried their best to wipe away the amalgam of glitter and tears, before she flattened her palms at her sides, “bye Kiara.”
Kiara nodded her head, feeling an immense sadness eat at her for the girl, that same pity she felt walking into the room, returning tenfold. “Bye Sofia.”
And with that she left the bathroom.
Kiara waited a moment, drinking some more of her discarded tequila, recalling the phantom feel of her fingers sheathed in her warm cunt, wondering what grievous crimes Sofia had committed, before she finally followed suit, descending back down into the party.
Kiara was going to mingle a bit longer but decided against it, wanting nothing more than to go back home to her friends and forget about the strange girl she’d found in the bathroom.
So she left the house, and breathed in the cool night air, palming for her car keys. She thought about what Cleo and Sarah were up to. Maybe they’d go catch a movie with her— there was a midnight screening of some new horror movie in town.
As her mind endeavoured to forget Sofia, that’s when she spotted the familiar flicker of orange fabric and head of dark curls, standing between a grove of trees and bushes that lined the street.
Her eyes followed to see who she was attached to, her arms tangled up with a tall figure, stark against the streetlight.
No way. No fucking way.
Sofia stood looking up at Rafe Cameron, who was stooped down low, cradling her by the forearms.
In the soft halo of the fluorescent glow, he seemed almost…warm.
Not cold and calculating and hateful. His hands were nurturing, not mangled up into fists and chokeholds. His eyes were kind, not closed off into two subzero slits.
And the subject of his affection? The girl Kiara just fucked in the bathroom.
A million notions and questions hurtled through her head.
Instinctive thoughts that implicated Rafe.
Darker thoughts that interrogated Sofia.
Sofia.
The way she looked at him…caught between capitulation and restlessness. Between genuine sentiment and some murky duplicity. Oscillating between fixed points…thriving in a grey area. She mirrored her back and forth between self-flagellating misery and full blown pleasure— going from crying alone, tequila as her only companion, to squeezing her thighs between Kiara’s hips, arching into her body heat…
Kiara shuddered.
She reached into her pocket, ready to call Harper.
She’d forgotten how messy girls were. How fucked up and pernicious. Like pretty fruits rotting from the inside out.
Yet Kiara always wanted taste more, getting enveloped in their moreish skin. Or was it just Sofia? She couldn’t remember feeling quite like this before.
Rafe leaned down to kiss Sofia, cushioning her cheeks with soft, tender fingers.
Kiara felt sick. Finally tasting the rot. She had the urge to run out from her cover in the bushes and pull Sofia to her side. Take her away. Help her escape this island. That’s what she said, didn’t she? She wanted out.
But all Kiara did was leave them, as their kiss grew more heated— his hands travelling down to cup her ass and her arms clasping firm around his neck, both dragging and pulling at each other in the dark, until they became one shifting entity, fused together by flesh.
Kiara drove away.
The saccharine taste of mango lingered on her lips, and her fingers thrummed with the echo of lace and velvet.
She itched to scrub and forget, pressing down on the gas.
