💕

“Do you have a kissing fixation?“ Oriana asks. Jackie huffs against her mouth, pouting like the question is offensive. With her seated half-naked on Oriana’s lap any semblance of a complaint does seem rude. "Not that I don’t enjoy it.”

Jackie leans back to examine Oriana and Oriana examines her in turn. Dark curls pour down her shoulders like rivulets of ink. A strap of her bra droops, allowing her breasts to spill from the cups. Jackie often dresses suggestively, tight fabric paired with dangerously low necklines, but her current state of dress is not a suggestion. It's a promise.

"What did you expect me to do?" She asks. Her teasing tone is familiar, if not laced with something more sultry than usual. "Unless your plan was to bend me over and be done with it."

Oriana flushes. The ceiling is suddenly very interesting. "That is not what I meant."

"Ah, I see. You wanted me to do the bending." Oriana chokes on her own spit. The image claims her mind before she can restrain herself—Jackie's honeyed voice handing out praise as Oriana laid pliant beneath her. Jackie cups her jaw, lowering Oriana's gaze back to what's in front of her. "Sorry, sorry. I forget you're new to this."

Her next words are half-mumbled into Jackie's palm, "I'm not completely inexperienced."

Oriana has had sex. Oriana has had flings. Oriana has also been married, and despite its faults that too was somewhat passionate, if not downright adventurous. And yet, all of these things—all of these experiences—have been with men. She's asked Jackie to adjust her expectations accordingly, but even if she hadn't Jackie herself has surely seen everything Oriana is not.

Jackie tilts her head. "You're just not used to kissing?"

What an odd question. The answer should be clear and still…

Oriana thinks back to high school. She thinks of short kisses behind the bleachers. Of curious, hesitant lips placed on hers in between fourth and fifth period. Oriana thinks back to her old dorm mate. She thinks of stolen kisses behind closed doors. Of aimless petting abandoned at the first sound of footsteps. She thinks back to the cashier at the corner store of her first apartment. She thinks of sloppy kisses behind racks of candies and chips. Of the one time she asked the cashier on a date, and the sound of her laughter when she said no.

Oriana specifically thinks back to the month after her divorce. She thinks of demanding, hungry kisses slotted between the sink and soap dispenser of a bar bathroom. She thinks of a woman with a sheer dress and dark, fiery eyes who bought her a drink. Oriana remembers being…confused, but enticed. Like whatever the woman saw in her, she wanted to see too.

And yet when their lips locked, she had no clue where to put her hands. It wasn't long before someone walked in and cackled at them, causing Oriana to break away.

"What's wrong?" Jackie asks.

"Nothing…" Oriana tries to clear the fog in her brain. "I'm…I don't know where to go from here."

"That's okay," she says, soft and firm. Like it's a fact, instead of a conciliation. "We can go slow."

Oriana nods, letting herself fall into Jackie's mouth once more. The pace is exploratory, like the bleachers, and eager, like the corner store. Jackie, however, is her own rhythm and it's a rhythm Oriana learns gradually. She likes a steady, solid pressure and when she parts for air she always leaves a peck, panting for a only second before chasing Oriana's lips again.

Jackie guides Oriana's hand to her breast. She squeezes tenderly, head spinning as Jackie's moan is muffled into her mouth. It's pathetic how horny Oriana feels, roughly palming at her client's chest, unable to escape the way she wants more and more and more of her.

The clasp of Jackie's bra clicks and the garment falls into their shared lap. Oriana wastes no time before latching onto the exposed skin, sucking bruises around Jackie's nipple.

"Oriana." Never has her name sounded so sweet. Jackie wipes the sweaty fringe from Oriana's face and the gesture is so affectionate it's almost hurts. Oriana can't pinpoint why, but she instantly feels the urge to hide. It fills her lungs until there's no where left for it to go.

Jackie unbuttons Oriana's blouse and she shivers as the air hits her exposed neck. Goosebumps raise across her arms.

Every noise Oriana draws from Jackie is like a prize, but when she giggles Oriana can't help but flinch. The noise reminds her too much of the cashier.

"Cold?" Jackie's face is one of pure fondness and it's in that moment Oriana is hit with a rush of embarrassment. It's inexplicable, it's childish, and it's deserved.

What the hell is she doing here?

Oriana slides Jackie off her lap. "I can't…"

Jackie frowns immediately, but her concern only makes Oriana nauseous with guilt. "Are you okay? Oriana?"

Oriana hurriedly attempts to fix her buttons. Everything feels wrong from her hands to her kiss-swollen lips. She disentangles herself from the sheets of Jackie's bed, looking around the room for her discarded keys and phone. "This was a mistake."

Jackie's expression shatters. She clutches her bra to her chest, her voice laced with cracks. "What?"

"I apologize for propositioning you as I did. It was unfair of me to impose my needs upon you. Inappropriate even."

"Oriana you don't have to—"

"I do," she says resolutely. How far could this have gone anyways? A handful of stolen trysts ending in Oriana longing for something she cannot have? Despite her conviction, her gaze stays pinned to the floor. "This shouldn't have happened. I shouldn't have let myself…"

"I don't understand." Jackie sounds like she's crying. "Was it me?"

"No, I…goodnight, Jacqueline."

Oriana leaves without a second glance, letting the door shut with a quiet click. She's halfway down the hallway, before her brain can think of anything other than stupid, stupid, stupid. And the switch is good, because at the end of the day Oriana Quinn is not stupid, not really.

She's just a coward.

.

Ivanna hated the bus the moment the band stepped into it, and as the weeks of the competition went by, her feelings about it didn’t change. If at first that dislike came from the fact that she was forced to share space with people who physically attacked her friends, later on, it came from a much simpler place. Bunk beds of the bus weren’t made for people as tall as Iva was, plain and simple. She had to pull her legs up, her knees pressing into the side of the bus, while she tried to convince herself that the pose was comfortable. Most times, she didn’t sleep between the stops, hoping to catch up on sleep in the hotel where they’d stay, and it meant that she was spending her night in the common area, where she could at least stretch her legs over the couch, while listening to music or writing a new song. But it was silly of her to hope she’d be left alone even in the middle of the night. 

Iva didn’t have to look closely into the darkness of the bus to see just who was walking toward her, about to ruin this moment of peace. 

“Don’t,” Iva said in a warning, something that never helped when she was dealing with this particular kind of annoyance. 

“Don’t what?” Blake asked in the most innocent tone, knowing full well how much it irritated Iva. “Don’t come to the common area of the bus we share? It defeats its purpose then, don’t you think?” 

Blake stepped closer to the couch, pointedly looking at Iva’s long legs that took over all of the seats. She wasn’t going to move, she wasn’t going to act polite. It was the middle of the sleepless night for her, and the last thing Iva planned was having a pleasant conversation with Blake. 

“I think it’s rude of you to hog the only normal bed on this bus and not use it.”

In the light coming through the bus’s window, Iva could see a mocking smile on Blake’s face, one that was asking, begging to be erased with a slap. 

Before she could say anything in protest, Blake lifted Iva’s legs off the seat to give her just enough space to slide under them and leave Iva with a dilemma – either act squeamish and move her legs away so they wouldn’t touch, or act stubborn and let her legs rest over Blake’s lap. Iva stayed put, just to show Blake that she didn’t care. She didn’t care even more when she felt palms resting against her calves. 

“Trouble in paradise?” Blake sounded as smug as always. “Didn’t I tell you that the power of friendship won’t keep this band together for long enough to win the competition?”

“Oh, so you do believe we will win! That’s good to know,” Iva tried hard to hide the irritation that was about to take over her with a new force. “And I would appreciate it if you stop listening in on our conversations. Don’t you have your own band to worry about?” 

Ivanna was tempted to move again when she felt a warm hand moving up to her knee, squeezing lightly. She should’ve worn something else, not the shorts that only went to the middle of her thigh. Not that a thin barrier of fabric would’ve stopped Blake on her way. It didn’t before, but Iva wasn’t about to think about those times, because those moments made her feel both embarrassed and guilty. 

“I can multitask. Besides, if I won’t take care of my favorite competitor, who will?” 

Iva let out a laugh, because what other reaction could she give to this statement? She wanted to be taken seriously, she wanted the band to take the competition seriously, but at times it felt as if she was fighting against the tide. Were they too much of a friends to ever be professional? Or was she just overly pessimistic? Iva didn’t know, but she knew that raising her voice the way she did hours before wasn’t an answer. And it made her feel humiliated that Blake heard it, that she knew Iva was vulnerable. Would she use this knowledge against her in next week’s competition? Yes, surely. Blake wants her band out, she wanted it from the start and didn’t make a secret out of it. She wanted them out even when…

“But seriously, are you okay?”

There was something in Blake’s tone Iva rarely ever heard, something soft she couldn’t fully grasp. Her usual light, mocking tone was gone, and for some reason, it only made Iva feel worse. It was much easier when they followed a script – Blake would annoy her, Iva would annoy her right back, they’d get too close for comfort, and it would end with their lips locked and their hands greedily exploring the skin under each other’s clothes. Yes, as abnormal as it sounded, this was their normal course of action, one that always left Iva feeling guilty yet relieved. Part of her needed this dirty little secret to keep her sane. She was giving up so much of herself to the band, so much to making sure they’d succeed, but this was just for her. 

A tense pause stretched in the air, as if both of them knew that it shouldn’t have been happening. Blake went off-script, and Iva wasn’t prepared for it, not at all.

“Can we skip this part and go to making out?” she sighed. For a moment, Iva felt Blake’s finger squeeze her tighter around her knee, but only for a moment. 

“I guess I am just a piece of meat to you,” Iva didn’t even have to see Blake’s face to know that she was smirking again. It was good, it was how Iva wanted it. Simple and easy.

“Isn’t it the same for you?” she asked, not waiting for a response. 

When Iva went to sit up on the couch and they moved to meet each other in a way that felt far too familiar, she didn’t think about anything else. The competition, the band, the constant pressure on her - all of it was gone, drowned in a heated kiss that shouldn’t have been happening. 

The danger of the situation they were in was somewhat freeing. Iva could feel adrenaline rushing through her veins, making the sensation of Blake’s tongue running against hers that much sharper. In this moment, she was a criminal, a traitor, doing something everyone would’ve judged her for. They should’ve stopped the first time it happened, she should’ve known better. But Iva was falling onto Blake’s lips, into her arms, like one would fall into a bad habit, repeating a pattern, making it worse every time the cycle repeated. She didn’t want to think about how far it would go. Iva could allow herself one thing, one weakness to take the edge off, and it was Blake. 

It felt like a fever under her skin, the heat that won’t go away. Blake’s hands were running over her sides, making Iva shudder, and then their bodies slotted against each other just right, and she felt a knee between her legs. 

“No way,” Iva pulled away. There was still too little space between them, not a chance for her to catch her breath. “We’re not fucking in the middle of the bus.” 

“Gotten shy all of a sudden?” Blake teased, her hand slipping under the fabric to cup Iva’s breast. She would’ve loved not to react, but her body leaned into the touch. “You didn’t have a problem when we did it in the club’s restroom. Or when you were so brave and followed me to my room after a party. Why stop now?”

Iva had a lot to say, she always did, but she had to admit the light caress of Blake’s thumb against her nipple was distracting. 

“You know why,” Iva might’ve said it, but she wasn’t pulling away, she wasn’t even breathing, allowing Blake to continue touching her. “My band is right there. I’m not ruining my career, my friendship over you.” 

The caress stopped. The light coming through the bus’s window wasn’t enough for Iva to see Blake’s face well enough, but she could hear a sharp intake of breath next to her. 

“Fine.”

It was the only word Blake said before she pulled away completely, leaving Iva missing her touch and, as she realized with annoyance, her presence. Iva could briefly see a frown on Blake’s face as she stood up, ready to leave. 

“Oh, don’t tell me I hurt your feelings,” Iva rolled her eyes. It was childish, she wasn’t going to entertain that. “You wouldn’t be caught dead with me! Let’s not pretend this is something it’s not.” 

“And just what is this, Williams?” Iva wanted to laugh at the way Blake used the same way to distance herself as Seven did. “Let me guess - I should be readily available when you need it, when you want it, but once the moment is over, you couldn’t care less? Is that how you see this?” 

Was it wrong if she did? It’s not as if Iva and Blake set up any rules when this situation started. They just went with the flow, and Iva saw no problem in coming to Blake when she needed her, when she had to use some way to stop the pressure she put on herself from crushing her bones.  

“Yes,” Iva said sharply, crossing her arms on her chest, while still feeling the ghost of a touch on her body. It was annoying, and she could still feel the heat on her skin, begging to be satiated, but she wasn’t going to give in to it. “What else can this be?” 

“You’re right, nothing else,” Blake let out with a laugh. “This can’t be anything else.”

Iva didn’t know what had happened, and she didn’t want to think about it. Why would she? She felt nothing when Blake left her eyesight, returning to bed, and Iva was finally left alone, just like she wanted it. It was good for her, healthy. She wasn’t strong enough to end this affair on her own, and she was grateful that Blake did. There was nothing to grieve, nothing to feel sorry for. She had a good time, and now it has ended. All good times did. 

Iva was fine. 

She twisted a napkin in her hands tighter, the food on her plate untouched. She looked at the table, and she looked forward. She didn’t look across the room at where Blake was sitting, not affected by the conversation they had the other night or by anything else. Whatever. 

“Are you fine?” Rowan asked. Iva sharply turned to him, and by his reaction, she could tell that her expression must have been full of anger. She wasn’t angry, she was calm and collected.

“Yes, why did you ask?” she tried to make her shoulders relax, make her expression change into something more neutral. Maybe, she succeeded. 

“You look… I don’t know, pissed off? Did something happen?” 

Iva pulled at the napkin in her hands with such force that it tore. 

“No, nothing happened,” Rowan looked unconvinced by her words. “I mean it. Just thinking about the challenge, nothing else.”

If only there were a great way for her to release stress. Iva told herself not to look, but she did look, and for the briefest moment her eyes locked with Blake’s. She instantly turned away. 

“Okay, if you say so,” still unconvinced, Rowan gave her an unsure smile and went back to enjoying his breakfast. 

Whatever. She had to focus on the competition anyway. Nothing else mattered. 

As the week went by, Iva might’ve started to feel it. Discomfort somewhere in her body, an ache in the back of her skull, a rock in her shoe she couldn’t get rid of no matter how many times she tried to shake it out. And Blake was always there, of course. She had to be, it was the damn point - to put them all together and see how they were going to fight for the spotlight, fight each other. Usually, Iva would hold back, try to stay professional, make sure the cameras only got the best of her, but this irritation, this annoyance, was too grand for her to resist. 

“I’m not worried about this week’s challenge at all,” she said, making sure everyone around could hear, the cameras pointed right at Iva’s face. “If Blake is still here, it’s clear they haven’t gotten rid of all weak competitors.” 

And everyone did hear her say it, just like Iva wanted. 

“If this competition was set up fairly, your little band wouldn’t have gotten in at all,” Blake happily answered, taking a lot of pleasure in looking at Iva’s face and noticing her expression. To her surprise, what Iva felt was a slight relief. As if that itch she felt since the start of the week was scratched. She didn’t want to think about why she felt this way. 

But Iva still felt it, growing deeper and deeper into her, making her angry, making her lose focus. 

“No, this won’t work,” she said in frustration, their rehearsal turning into a disaster. “Are you guys even trying?”

Iva shouldn’t have let her frustration out on her friends. They had nothing to do with the way she felt, but she couldn’t deal with it on her own. She needed something, someone to be there, to use that fire against, to bite and bruise and feel them fight back. 

“Maybe you could tell us what happened? Because something clearly happened this week,” Rowan started, trying to calm the situation, but his even tone only made Iva groan in frustration. 

“Nothing happened! I just want this to work! And I want us to win a challenge. Is it so hard to understand?”

Iva’s voice was loud enough to make Rowan wince. Even in her anger, she felt guilty. Her friend didn’t deserve this, he had nothing to do with the way she felt. But maybe she had to do something about it. Admitting that she had a problem was the first step to solving it, right? The second step was much scarier, even in theory. 

Stupid. 

Iva didn’t have to stalk Blak to know which room she stayed in. Some cosmic irony always put them next to each other. It used to be convenient, but later it became a point of irritation. 

This is so fucking stupid.

How hard was it to knock? Especially when Iva knew that standing at the door and doing nothing looked far more suspicious. 

How much worse could it get?

She had to do it. Not for herself, and definitely not for Blake, but because she wanted to win. Nothing was more important than her win. And if she had to… no, she wasn’t going to apologize, it was going too far. 

Before Iva could change her mind, she knocked. This was going to go great, she could already tell. 

Blake was annoyed even before she opened the door, but the moment she looked at Iva, her frown deepened. 

“What are you doing here? Didn’t get the memo? We’re done,” her words were sharp, cutting, and the worst part about it was that Iva absolutely loved it. 

“I did,” Iva pushed back, and there it was, relief. With Blake, she could be as angry as she wanted. There was no need to choose the right words, to hold back. They matched each other in this fucked up way Iva hasn’t experienced with anyone else, and it both thrilled her and scared her. “And I don’t accept it.”

Blake raised her eyebrows in disbelief. 

“It’s not an option. There’s nothing you can do with the fact that I don’t want this,” Blake motioned between them. 

“I think you do want this,” Iva said with confidence, taking a step forward. She was expecting Blake to stand her ground, to tell her to fuck off. Instead, she took a step back, inviting Iva in. “I think you want it almost as much as I want this.”

And there it was, familiar smirk, one that always infuriated Iva so much, always invited unwanted thoughts into her mind. The door closed behind her with a loud sound, leaving them alone. 

“At least you’re admitting it now. That’s progress.” 

Iva knew that she wasn’t good with saying things out loud, with admitting things, especially the ones of an important kind. What she felt in that moment was too complicated for words anyway. So she took a step forward. 

Iva expected Blake to stop her, to push her away, but the moment she pulled her into a kiss, it turned into something she couldn’t expect. She knew angry, passionate, hungry kisses from Blake, the ones that always had an intention to bruise behind them, but what she felt was gentle, unsure, hurt. Iva didn’t try to push harder, she was taking it all, trying to understand. And she did. 

Iva pulled away to see Blake looking lost. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” it sounded childish, wrong, and not enough. “That night, I know I fucked up.”

To Iva’s surprise, the grip Blake had on her hips only tightened. 

“You suck at apologies. That was horrible,” she deadpanned, almost making Iva wish to take it all back, but she didn’t. She messed it up once, she didn’t plan to do it again. 

“I might’ve missed you. Maybe,” Iva couldn’t give more, it felt too big and scary, but expression on Blake’s face told her that she given enough. “No one makes me angry like you do. No one fights me like you do. I… appreciate it.”

Blake looked over Iva’s face closely, as if trying to measure just how sincere she was. 

“Oh, do you have a ring on you? With how many emotions you’re putting out there, it must be a proposal.”

Iva lightly slapped Blake’s shoulders, but that only made her laugh and pull Iva closer. 

“I missed pissing you off, too,” Blake confessed. “You look so much hotter when you’re angry.”