Tus labios, mis dientes

God if there was one drop of soup spilled on her nice rug, Giulia would have been lost to the fury, good thinking Antonia.

“I’m indulging myself.” Okay so maybe she’s not completely done being thorny, “I have no pets or extra pillows lying around, and you are heated.” No need to plug her in, “You also come when I say to.” Audience laugh track.

She loves flowers like her in their natural state. Only cowards will dethorn a rose. Thorny, splintered, prickly and tender, however she arrives is how she will receive her. She isn’t afraid of bleeding for her love. That being said, Antonia is afraid of rodents, so, I mean, well - okay - she has her limits, she’s human, is the point,

Oh? It’s not? Why couldn’t it be?

“Ay.” She hates this because she’s right, Giulia wishes to be coddled and to bury her face into Antonia’s breasts and maybe sleep for a thousand years. “I stopped listening to men centuries ago, it was the best decision I ever made.” Truly! No regrets, she just wishes she did it sooner. When her fathers were still alive so she could tell them to fuck off.

And–indignities of all indignities–Giulia reaches out with both her arms to Antonia (TRUE vulnerability), and makes gimme gestures. “Come.”

Thank god she put the soup down because lord knows she would have dropped it instantaneously to go fill the her-shaped void in Giulia’s arms. It is as natural as breathing, to accept this invitation, but perhaps even more necessary and twice as fulfilling.

She takes great care to not tangle either of their hair into her earrings (we are not repeating the same mistake twice...in a week), brushing it back behind her ear so that she can press her cheek to Giulia’s. Who needs kittens? She is softer, cuddlier, and her claws...are also retractable. Perfect for making biscuits especially with such supple dough available.

She pauses–because, fuck, that sentence…Every time she’s had to fix up her make up after a cry, every time she’s had to check in the mirror to make sure she’s presentable before going back outside. Male fantasies have ruined her sadness. Her rage.

“Fuck.” Giulia is very eloquent tonight, “I’ll drink to that.”

“Cincin,” she murmurs back in response, putting her head on Giulia’s shoulder and knocking her knuckles into hers. That’s enough of a cheers, but now she wants an actual drink. She doesn’t want to move, though, only moving to wrap her fingers around Giulia’s during a moment of silence.

“Me? Sick?” Ha! “You must have heard wrong, I’m not sick.” Not physically. Maybe. She’s just a little…highly depressed…You know how it is, “Of course, I’m hardly going to let you waste perfectly good soup, come come–”

If she were to have said ‘come’ one more time she would have to strip, unable to not obey direct orders three times from her señora, but alas, this is not that sort of literature. Her invitation she will gladly accept, trotting in with her warm smile and her warm skin and her warm soup (okay, maybe lukewarm by now).

“Well, you know what they say,” she chirps, more than happy to find a happy home on a counter for the lovingly jarred soup, “‘don’t listen to men, everything they say is wrong.’ I knew you would take it anyhow, but I...”

Antonia’s acts of love frequently make little sense to Giulia. But the sharing of food is familiar. It’s good. A ritual she’s familiar with. Intimate and sacred. “Oh? I’m honored.” She chuckles, rubbing her temples, “On the side is fine. Maybe some extra.” Giulia does not love her for it, but despite it. On what planet is ham the same as prosciutto? Lord in heaven, “Are you ordering drinks too?”

“I was just about to ask you that question. Why are you always on the tip of my tongue?” She grins at her cochinada, tongue held between her teeth as she chuckles, scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling. The answer is obviously because she’s sweet as mead and equally as intoxicating. Also, bees love her...

Giulia’s half sure her spine is spliced with that of a cat’s to be able to bend that way. Gatuchina.

“You want the works.” Giulia sighs, rubbing the side of her head, not once doubting that Antonia considers food a better lover than any other she’s had–At least on the men side of things, “Yeah yeah, I had breakfast.” It was two macchiatos and half a cigarette, “I’ll just take a salad, maybe some soup.” They both know she’s going to end up eating more than that, though, “My wallet’s in my purse, order at your leisure."

Food was there when she hadn’t received a letter back and it had been a whole week. :( Granted back then it took at least two weeks. But still...

“Save your money, you.” This is her act of love. Ordering food for them and making sure that it is a big soup, just in case she would like some as well. “That man has run off again to be sad in some corner of his world, so I have more than enough right now to buy you a salad.”