1. Irritatingly Perfect

Gabby had played basketball in a lot of places. Different countries. Different teams. Different locker rooms filled with different languages and different personalities.

She had learned how to adapt quickly. How to walk into a room full of strangers and make herself comfortable. How to smile through awkward introductions. How to crack jokes and mold herself into the environment that surrounded her.

She was good at it. Usually.

The French national team was different. Not because they weren’t welcoming. Actually, that was the problem. Everyone was welcoming.

Everyone already knew each other. Everyone had years of inside jokes and stories and memories that Gabby wasn’t a part of yet. She was there on a last second chance. Conversations moved quickly around her, half in French and half in laughter, and she found herself constantly trying to catch up, her grandmothers french getting her through it.

Then Marine Johannes assigned herself to help her settle in. Which was either the best thing that could have happened. Or the worst.

Gabby figured that out somewhere between the first smile Marine gave her and the first time she heard her say her name.

Marine was impossible not to notice. Bright blonde hair. Bright blue eyes. Cheek bones built to cut glass. A smile that looked sweet until you realized there was always something teasing hiding behind it.

She had the kind of confidence that didn’t need attention because attention naturally found her anyway, no matter how shy she acted. Gabby noticed that immediately.

Unfortunately.

“Tu me suis.” “Follow me,” Marine hooked a thumb over her shoulder and started walking before Gabby could answer. Gabby blinked. Then laughed quietly to herself.

Of course she did.

No hesitation. No waiting. Just complete certainty that Gabby would follow.

And the annoying part?

She did.

“Je vais te montrer où tout est.” “I’ll show you where everything is,” she added.

Gabby followed beside her, looking around the facility while Marine pointed things out. The gym. The recovery room. The meeting spaces.

The places where everyone left their bags and the corners where the water bottles sat.

Marine explained everything with the patience of someone who had done this before, but there was something different about the way she spoke to Gabby.

Not rushed, not overly careful, just like she already expected Gabby to fit in. Like she already belonged.

Which was dangerous, because Gabby liked that.

A lot.

The first thing Marine learned about Gabby was that her French was technically understandable. Technically.

The second thing Marine learned was that Gabby hated being corrected. Which, naturally, made Marine correct her constantly.

Gabby attempted another phrase during their walk. She immediately knew from Marine’s expression that something had gone wrong.

Not horribly wrong.

But wrong enough, wrong enough that a native speaker would catch it.

“What?” Gabby said incredulously. Marine was trying not to smile, which somehow made it worse.

“Rien.” “Nothing.”

Gabby narrowed her eyes, “No, you’re trying not to laugh.”

Marine let out a strange sounding guffaw, like she was trying to choke it down.

Marine shook her head, stepping closer. Not close enough to be strange, but enough that Gabby noticed.

“Dis-le encore.” “Say it again.”

Gabby repeated herself, Marine listened carefully.

Then her smile softened, “Ton accent est mignon.” “Your accent is cute.”

Gabby stopped walking, actually stopped.

“Excuse me?” She raised her eyebrows, turning to look at the far too bold blonde.

Marine’s smile widened, “J’ai dit que ton accent est mignon.” “I said your accent is cute.”

Gabby stared at her. Because she was expecting teasing. She was expecting Marine to laugh, poke fun at her, mimic her American English.

Instead, Marine just looked completely serious.

Which somehow made it ten times worse.

“Don’t start,” Gabby said, beginning her walk again, trying to hide the light blush that dotted her cheeks.

“Commencer quoi?” Marine simply responded.

“Start what?”

“This,” Gabby gestured vaguely between them.

Marine tilted her head.

“I’m just saying the truth,” Marine replied in English, holding Gabby’s eyes.

The confidence of that answer made Gabby look away. Because suddenly she was very aware of the fact that Marine had blue eyes that seemed brighter when she was amused, and that was information Gabby did not need.

At all.

By lunch, Gabby had already learned three things.

First, Marine knew everyone. Not in a casual way. In a way where every person who walked past stopped to say hello.

Coaches. Players. Staff. Everyone.

Second, everyone loved Marine. Again. Not surprising. Annoying. But understandable. She was fucking perfect.

Third—

Marine flirted like it was a competitive sport.

The problem wasn’t that she flirted with everyone. Because she did. Marine was naturally warm, naturally playful, naturally charming, and attempted to remain away from the cameras, she was ‘shy’. The problem was the moments where Gabby wasn’t sure if it was just Marine being Marine. The extra second of eye contact, the way Marine’s voice softened when she switched into English, just for Gabby. The way she always seemed to end up sitting near Gabby. The way she remembered tiny details Gabby had mentioned once and never brought up again.

Maybe she was just friendly, maybe Gabby was reading too much into it, ‘I’m definitely reading into this too much,’ the American thought.

Unfortunately, the “maybe” became harder to believe every day. Because Gabby started noticing things. Small things. Ridiculous things. Things she absolutely should not have been paying attention to.

Like how Marine pushed loose strands of blonde hair behind her ear when she was thinking. Like how she smiled before making a joke because she already knew it would work. Like how her French sounded different when she was tired.

Softer.

Lower.

More relaxed.

Gabby hated that she noticed, mostly because she couldn’t stop.

The locker room was mostly empty after practice, everyone else had filtered out. Some to showers, some to recovery, some already halfway home.

Gabby sat on the bench, unlacing her shoes slowly. She was exhausted. The kind of exhausted where every muscle felt heavy. She hit the ground running, and the jet lag from the states was finally catching up with her practice schedule.

Across the room, Marine was searching through her bag. Gabby looked up, because she heard the zipper.

That was all, completely innocent. Except Marine was still in her practice clothes. Well, some of them. Her basketball shorts were untied and hung low, a second waistband of underwear or spandex peeking out. A clean lined sports bra, hair pulled back in a messy bun, pieces streaming out to halo her face as she bent down. Her skin still warm from training, little beads of exertion showing on her exposed muscles.

And Gabby looked for just a second too long, not enough to be obvious of course. At least, she hoped not.

Then Marine looked up. Directly at her. Gabby immediately looked back down.

Her shoelaces became the most fascinating thing in the world. She was pretty sure one wasn’t even tied. She did not care.

Silence stretched.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Then—

“Tu sais, Gabby…” “You know, Gabby…”

Gabby looked up. Their eyes met for the first time since they entered the locker room, and Marine stood there with a small smile. Not mocking, not mean, just amused, like she caught a kid sneaking around.

“What?” Gabby said, trying to force it to sound casual, tired even.

Marine tilted her head.

“Si tu veux regarder, tu peux simplement regarder.” “If you want to look, you can simply look.”

Gabby’s face heated instantly.

“Oh my God.” She said with an eye roll.

Marine laughed, a real laugh. The kind that made her shoulders shake, and her cover her mouth by the egregious noises escaping. And somehow that was worse than the teasing, because Marine looked genuinely happy that she’d made Gabby flustered.

“You’re impossible.” Gabby said, turning her attention back to her shoes, fully taking them off this time.

“Merci,” she said with an eyebrow raise, teasing. “Thank you”

“That was not a compliment.” Gabby said, refusing to lift her head and meet Marine’s eyes again.

“Je crois que si.” “I think it was.”

Gabby rolled her eyes once more. Marine only smiled more.

And that was the moment Gabby realized something incredibly inconvenient. Marine Johannes was going to be a problem. A very pretty problem.

And training camp had only just started.

2. Drink.

By the second month of training camp, Gabby had learned something else about Marine.

Marine was affectionate. But she was selective. That was the difference.

People assumed she was naturally close with everyone because she was warm and funny and somehow knew exactly what to say to make a room lighter. And she was.

But Gabby noticed the little things. Marine hugged certain people longer than others, she sat beside certain people at meals. She borrowed things from certain people, and shared things with exclusive people.

The last one was what caught Gabby’s attention, because Marine Johannes did not share drinks. Gabby had watched teammates ask before.

A joke.

A laugh.

A simple no.

Not rude.

Just firm.

The sidelines were often chaotic, paper Gatorade cups and bottles getting tossed around and traded like players, but not Marine. Marine had her drink, and her spot to put it.

So when Gabby walked into the gym after practice looking for her own Owala, and found Marine sitting on the bleachers, drinking from it, her brain completely stopped for a second.

The gym was almost empty. The fluorescent lights above them hummed softly. The court still held the warmth from practice, echos of sneaker squeaks remained like ghosts.

Everyone was tired, everyone was drained, and yet Marine looked completely comfortable.

Like she belonged there, cradling something of Gabby’s.

Gabby walked closer. “That’s mine.” She said, almost laughing at herself for how plain she sounded, her tiredness lowering her wittiness.

Marine looked down at the bottle, then back up.

“Oui,” the blonde said plainly.

“Yes.”

Gabby waited, but Marine continued drinking. A slow smile appeared on her face.

“You’re kidding.” Gabby said while looking down at Marine, who had her legs spread just enough for it to be called a man spread, her arms resting casually on the seat above her, framing her like wings as she held the blue bottle.

“Non.”

No.

Gabby laughed once. A tired, disbelieving sound.

“Tu es impossible.” “You’re impossible.”

Marine lowered the bottle from her mouth, the clinking of ice inside it reverberating between them.

“Tu le dis souvent.” “You say that often.”

“Parce que c’est vrai.” “Because it’s true.”

Marine shrugged, “Peut-être.” “Maybe.”

There was something unfair about how easily Marine smiled, like she never had to try to command the conversation, it just happened around her.

Gabby held out her hand.

“Give it,” she said sternly in English, like that would help her cause. Marine just looked at her tattooed hand, inspecting it. Then at her, then moved the bottle slightly away.

“No.”

Gabby stared.

“Marine,” Gabby said, losing her patience.

“Drink.”

Marine stood to her full height, eye level with the brown eyed girl in front of her.

The word came quieter.

Not teasing.

Not exactly.

Gabby’s expression shifted.

Because suddenly Marine wasn’t joking.

She was just looking at her.

Waiting.

Holding Gabby’s own water bottle outstretched in front of her, like it was a weapon.

The change was subtle, but Gabby noticed everything about Marine now. The way her voice dropped when she was serious, the way her eyes stayed steady, the way she seemed completely comfortable holding someone’s attention, entirely unlike how she was for the media, even for their other teammates.

It was unfair.

Gabby was confident, she knew that. She was not shy. She had spent years on courts full of thousands of people watching her.

But Marine looking at her like that? That was different.

“Seriously?”

Marine smiled, “Oui.” “Yes.”

Gabby rolled her eyes but leaned forward. Marine held the bottle for her, tilting it back to wash the cold water into Gabby’s awaiting mouth, her eyes holding Marines.

Gabby drank. When she pulled back, Marine’s thumb brushed away the small drop of water near the corner of her mouth.

Neither of them moved, you could hear Gabby swallow and breathe in air after, Marine tracing the movement of her neck and chest with her eyes.

For a second, the entire gym felt silent.

Then—

“Marine!” An assistant coach’s voice echoed from across the court.

The moment broke. Marine stepped back, smiling, “À demain, Gabby.”

“See you tomorrow, Gabby.”

She walked away, then glanced back when she was halfway across the court, “Et garde ta bouteille cette fois.” “And keep track of your bottle next time.”

Gabby watched her leave, completely exhausted, completely confused.

And completely certain that Marine knew exactly what she was doing.

3. Find it,

The call came late.

Late enough that Gabby was already in bed. The room was dark, quiet, a book perched in her lap and glasses on her nose, the lights down to a glowing warmth. It was peaceful.

Until Marine’s name appeared on her screen. Gabby smiled before she could stop herself, that was becoming a problem.

“Hello?” She instinctually said in her native tongue.

For a moment, all she heard was wind.

Then Marine’s voice.

Soft.

A little tired.

“Salut.” “Hi.”

Gabby smiled softly, “Hey.”

“Je suis dehors,” is what Marine started with.

“I’m outside.”

“Everything okay?” Gabby asked.

She got a small laugh in response.

“Oui.”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“Le dîner familial était beaucoup,” Marine relented with a released breath.

“The family dinner was a lot.”

Gabby laughed, “Je peux imaginer.” “I can imagine.”

“Tu n’imagines pas.” “You cannot imagine.”

Marine sounded amused, Gabby pictured it immediately.

Marine stepping away from a crowded room, standing outside in the cold. Blonde hair moving in the wind, blue eyes looking somewhere far away.

The thought made something in Gabby’s chest soften.

They talked about nothing, and somehow everything; practice, the team, things they missed, things they were looking forward to, then Marine got quiet.

Not uncomfortable, just thoughtful.

“Tu te souviens de ce que le coach a dit avant le match?” “Do you remember what coach said before the game?”

Gabby knew immediately.

“Pensez à la chose qui vous stabilise,” “Think of the thing that steadies you,” She whispered.

“Oui.” “Yes.”

The silence after was different.

Heavy.

Meaningful.

Then Marine spoke.

“My family can be a lot. They’re so very French, somewhat traditional, but just,” she paused, “Terrible, I suppose, when they’re all together.”

Gabby could hear the chatter coming from inside the house, the wind brushing the speaker of the phone and tickling her face. She pictured Marine like this, rosy cheeked and needing an escape.

“They ask every question,” she started again, “they fly by with questions and assumptions and statements, things about America, about my job, my love life, all of it. And the whole dinner, this whole night has felt like I’m defending myself the whole time, they’re worse than media.” Marine let out a breathless laugh.

“Then I thought of what coach had said, just the other day, about getting away from the noise, find your reason, your steady.” She added.

“J’ai pensé à toi.” “I thought of you.”

Gabby stopped moving.

Completely still.

Because Marine said things like they were simple. Like they weren’t capable of rearranging Gabby’s entire brain.

“Me?”

“Oui.” “Yes.”

Marine’s voice softened, a smile apparent in the way she spoke, "J'ai pensé à toi, le miracle Americano- Français. Tu parles avec un accent terrible et tu as de l'encre dans la peau, tu es terriblement belle. Tu es partout sur le terrain, partout dans les vestiaires, à parler dix milles mots par minute, à rencontrer tout le monde, et pourtant, tu fais tout paraître moins bruyant." “I thought of you, this American-French wonder. You speak with a terrible accent and have ink on your skin, you’re terribly beautiful. You’re all over the court, all over the locker rooms, talking a mile a minute, meeting everyone, and yet. You make everything feel less loud.”

Gabby’s eyes had closed, letting Marines saccharine words spill over her, the warmth in her chest spreading slowly.

“Tu sais que tu dis des choses comme ça et que tu fais semblant d'être surpris quand je suis tranquille?” “You know you say things like that and then act surprised when I’m quiet?”

Marine laughed, “Tu es rarement silencieuse.” “You are rarely quiet.”

“Exactement.” “Exactly”

Another laugh.

Then Marine whispered, “J’aime tes yeux.” “I like your eyes.”

Gabby smiled.

“Mes yeux?” “My eyes?”

“Oui.” “Yes.”

“C’est drôle venant de toi.” Gabby chuckled out.

“That’s funny coming from you.”

“Pourquoi?” Marine whispered in response.

“Why?”

“Parce que les vôtres sont terrifiants,”

“Because yours are terrifying.”

Marine gasped dramatically, “Terrifiant?”

“Terrifying?”

“Bleu vif. Comme le bleu de dessin animé. Je suis presque sûr que vous avez besoin de contacts colorés.” “Bright blue. Like cartoon blue. I’m pretty sure you need colored contacts.” Gabby whispered, a breathy laugh between her words.

A pause.

Then:

“Tu ne veux pas vraiment ça,” “You don’t really want that.” Marine verbally tiptoed, her voice deepening into something more dangerous, something raw.

You don’t really want that.

Gabby smiled.

“No,” her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Je sais.”

“I know.”

And somehow that was the best answer Marine could have given.

4. Trace ‘em

Gabby knew the exact moment Marine became curious, because Marine was not subtle when she was interested in something. They were stretching after practice when Marine looked at one of Gabby’s tattoos.

Not quickly, not casually. Actually looked. Gabby noticed, of course she did.

“You’re staring.”

Marine looked up.

“I’m thinking,” the blonde said, smirking slightly.

“That’s usually dangerous.”

Marine smiled.

Then glanced back at the tattoo along the soft part of Gabby’s bicep.

“Je ne sais pas combien tu en as.” “I don’t know how many you have.”

Gabby shrugged, “A lot.”

“Je ne sais même pas où ils vont.” “I don’t even know where they go.”

The way she said it made Gabby laugh, “You make it sound like a mystery.”

“It is.”

Marine leaned back slightly.

“Je devrais les redessiner moi-même pour tout connaître.” “I should trace them myself to know everything.”

The words hung there, just a little too long.

Gabby looked at her.

Marine looked back.

Gabby understood the double meaning behind Marines words, nerves flooded her system as heat rose to her cheeks.

Everyone around them was talking, laughing, moving, getting ready for the grueling practice ahead. But somehow it felt like they were alone.

“I’d let you,” she said softly, warm eyes looking over to the woman staring her down.

The answer came before Gabby could overthink it.

Marine blinked, then smiled slowly, that dangerous, teasing smile.

And Gabby immediately regretted how much this conversation affected her. Thoughts of Marines wicked tongue dancing over her ink, letting her add more just to feel Marines veiny hands on Gabby’s skin. God, she was royally fucked.

Later, walking back to Gabby’s apartment, Marine brought it up again.

“So, your tattoos.”

Gabby looked over, instantly recalling their previous conversation, and the nuance to it, attempting to play it cool, “What about them?”

“I’m curious,” Marine teases. “When are you not,” Gabby replies.

Marine turns to look at Gabby in the eye as they slow outside her door, “I want to see them.”

“You can see most-“ Gabby rotates her arms, as if to show them off, but is cut off by Marine with a hand on her bicep. “I want to see them all,” she says, voice lowering to just above a whisper, not at all shy.

“Oh,” is all Gabby can manage to get out, mentally slapping herself at her stupidity. She walks herself and Marine backwards into her apartment, with no other words exchanged until Marine begins to corner her against the entryway wall. “Can I? I want to see them all, they’re less common here,” Marine said, fingers dancing over the sliver of stomach exposed by Gabby’s shirt.

Slightly panicked, begging her brain to do something instead of stand there and be gay, Gabby pushes Marine back, reaching for the hem of her shirt. Before she chickens out, she pulls her team France shirt up and over her head, exposing inches of warm, tanned skin to the bright blue eyes inspecting her.

The air is charged, Marines eyes never leave Gabby’s skin, her hands settling back to her waist, her head beginning to duck into Gabby’s neck.

Marine slowly runs the edge of her nose and lips along the tendons of Gabby’s neck, down to the junction where her shoulder meets it, simply breathing in the woman in her hands.

The barely there movement send shivers all over Gabby’s heated skin, causing her to tip her head back against the wall, allowing Marine more real estate. A gentle whisper of a kiss is placed on her tan shoulder as Marine’s hands travel to her hips. Gabby feels melted when Marine places more kisses down her shoulder and collar bones.

She feels gone when she sinks to her knees in front of her.

Another kiss is placed dead center on her lower sternum, a few inches below her black sports bra. Her hands come to gently rest on Marines neck and shoulder, not wanting to spook her away, not wanting the moment to end.

Marines nose traces down her abs, finding small ink lines peeking out of her shorts. Another kiss is placed there, over the tattoos. Marine looks like she’s marveling at artwork, at a marble statue, not anime references over muscle. Her thumbs come to trace Gabby’s sides and ribs, finding more black ink decorating her skin.

Marine sinks lower, hands gliding down her sides, almost tickling. Gabby has no time to react before Marines fingertips skim the sides of her thighs, her face now level with the waistband of her shorts as she’s fully settled on her knees in front of Gabby. It is only then that she lifts her head to the sun that is the woman in front of her.

She finds her Gabby, her Gabrielle, eyes closed, breathing focused, lips slightly parted, “open your eyes,” the blonde says. Gabby feels Marine’s eyes boring into her eyelids, but she can’t bring herself to do it. If she sees Marine, on her knees, in front of her, she’ll never want anything else.

Another breath, then, “ow!” A gasp escapes Gabby, “did you just bite me?”

Marine smiles, a beginning of a laugh in her heady voice, “it was a tiny nip, don’t be dramatique.” She leans forward to kiss it better, holding Gabby’s eyes as she does. The first kiss, an apology, the second, an ask, the third, and fourth, and fifth, well those were demands.

Marine left featherlight kisses along tanned thighs, leading higher and higher, until she looks back up at Gabby, and licks a long, thin stripe up an empty spot on her thigh with the tip of her tongue, black ink surrounding it.

This is it, this is how I die, Gabby thought.

“Why is this blank?” Marine asks, fingertips and clipped nails tracing up and down Gabby’s thighs and waist, a constant distraction to the already swirling situation.

“What?” Is all Gabby can get out, confused as to what she is referring to. “This spot, right here, why is it blank, you have nothing here,” Marine says matter of factly, far too cool and collected for someone on their knees worshipping thighs.

“I don’t know, I guess I just haven’t found something to put there,” she says, trying to shake the fog from her head and give a coherent response.

There’s a beat of silence as Marine studies the smooth skin.

“Can I put something there? A tattoo?” She asks, looking back up at Gabby.

‘Anything you ever want,’ is what Gabby wants to say, but instead, “I’d let you, after the Olympics.”

Marine doesn’t seem fully satisfied with this answer, “and until then?” Gabby breathes, ‘what the fuck do you mean until then’ she spirals mentally.

“You can fill it-“ with pen or something is what she would’ve said if the woman on her knees hadn’t already bit down on the skin, sending a shockwave through her body. She began to suck gently and nip again and again and again. It hurt, in the way hickeys always hurt. Marine was marking her, leaving a proxy tattoo. Marking her territory.

God did she like it.

5. where are your hands?

Gabby knew immediately something was wrong when Marine called after midnight. Not because Marine sounded upset. Because she sounded nervous, wired, on edge.

She had heard Marine nervous, that’s not new. Practically every time she saw a camera, had to do press, when her english was tested, nerves would flood her system, and she’d look to Gabby for help. This was not that. Gabby answered, annoyed at the time glaring down at her from her phone.

“Are you aware what time it is?”

A small laugh came through from the other end.

“Oui.” “Yes.”

“Why did you call then?” A pause, a breath, Gabby goes to hang up, “I was thinking about your tattoos,” Marine said.

Gabby stared into the darkness, a mix of annoyance and confusion. “You called me in the middle of the night for that?” She goes to hang up again, moving the phone away from her ear.

Silence.

Then quickly, “Wait,” a heavy breath, “please,” Marine sounded panicked almost, desperate.

Gabby stopped.

Because Marine sounded worried, rushed, like she actually thought Gabby would leave.

“What?” Gabby said.

A breath, like Marine was contemplating jumping off a bridge, then, “I can’t stop thinking about them.”

Gabby’s annoyance thawed slightly, “What about them?” Silence from the other end, long enough that Gabby could hear Marine breathing, could hear her moving.

“Marine.”

Her name changed everything, Marine went quiet, still.

It came through the darkness like a prayer, “I’m thinking about you.”

Gabby closed her eyes. There it was; the confidence, the honesty, only there was a quiver underneath it all, like she had nerves within.

Marine never hid when she wanted something, she asked, she was direct, she got what she wanted in the end. The perks of her charisma. Especially when it came to Gabby. Every time she wanted something, expensive pastry or an extra 20 minutes of sleep on a bus ride, Gabby did everything she could to make it happen.

Marine had come to learn she could ask, and Gabby would make it happen. So why was she so hesitant right now? Why had she called.

“Why did you call, Marine,” hearing Gabby say her name always did something. The way her accent formed it into a perfect confession, the way it was whispered carefully over the phone.

Confidence this time, “I can’t get you off my mind, you’re a scourge in my head,” her voice was heady, warm, and something else, something Gabby hadn’t heard before. Forcing Marines hand, despite the warmth blooming down her heated skin, “Marine, I-“

“I just want you to talk, I want to hear you-“ she cut herself off, taking a steadying breath, “I want to hear things from you I shouldn’t want to hear,” she whispered through a breath, and finished, “Gabrielle.”

Gabby swears her heart stops entirely. She feels Marines words sink into her bones. The images of her lips, of her tongue, tracing Gabby’s skin and tattoos, of Marine on her knees. Other situations of Marine on her knees, things that haven’t happened yet, with her hands tangled in blonde hair, sweet noises and impulses spreading through her. Gabby allows herself to indulge, allows the desire to consume her too. She doesn’t realize how silent she is until, “Gabby, don’t say you fell asleep,” Marine attempted to joke, forcing a cool breath of air into her lungs.

“No, no I didn’t, you’re just, god you-“ Gabby’s breath is shaky as her left hand wanders down her chest and stomach, replaying Marines path over and over, eyes closed, “you can’t just say things like that, you don’t know what that does to me-“

“I do, of course I do.” She interjects firmly, confirming Gabby’s greatest fears and biggest wants, that she’s not crazy, that she wants this almost as badly as herself does. “You’re so pretty you know, so easy to watch,” Marine breathes out, treading lightly, “I like your tattoos but, I like all of you, your arms, your soft eyes, every line of your body I want to know.”

Gabby’s dead, that’s it. She lays there in her bed, nothing in response but a small, “mhm.”

Marine breathes a laugh, continuing her push of Gabby to madness, “I think about all of you, it’s what keeps me up at night, especially on nights like this,” her voice is different, tilting up at the edges, but Gabby can’t find any words to respond.

“Do you ever think about me, Gabrielle?” Marine asks boldly, clearly wanting words out of the other girl on the phone. Gabby takes a steadying breath, focusing on the feeling of the sheets benesth her instead of the warmth growing between her thighs.

“I do,” she admits, only because she doesn’t have to look Marine in the eyes. Marine on the other end of the phone, is sat against her headboard, smiling at the small response she heard from her woman. The dark side of her wants to get it all out of her, squeeze Gabby until she pops and tells her every perverted and dark thought she’s ever had, wants to consume her whole. The somewhat logical part is telling her she has to practice with her tomorrow and act normal, but the throb she couldn’t solve between her legs is louder.

“What do you think about, I told you.” The incessant need to hear her girls voice, to soothe the ache grows louder.

Gabby on the other hand? God she’s fucked, if she lets any of her thoughts go, their relationship can’t come back from this, there’s only one path forward. “Promise me you won’t laugh,” it’s not what Marine expected to hear, but it’s what Gabby says quietly, vulnerable.

“promesse,” it comes out lowly like a hiss from Marines French tongue.

She forces herself to breathe, reminding herself just 20 minutes before she was ready for bed, and now, “your hands, more than anything, then your lips, you always bite them,” Gabby confesses.

It’s exactly what Marine wanted to hear. “My hands, chérie?”

“Mhm,” it comes out quiet, almost needy, ‘god kill me now’ she thought.

Marine is reveling in Gabby’s torture, needing the outspoken American to confess it all to her, let her crawl inside her head and make a corner for herself.

The crazy part is, Gabby would let her.

“Will you just, can you keep talking?” Gabby asked, feeling deliciously small. Her head swam and Marine started back up again, she tried to keep up with her French, but as Marine got more wanton and bold, her voice became thick, heavy, choppy. Gabby’s hands followed the path Marines toungue had left just the other day, up, up, up her thighs until.

A small gasp, she thought she could get away with it, could sneak by the heavy words coming through the phone and let them drown her.

“Gabby,” Marine pauses, “are you alright?” A teasing question.

“Mhm,” Gabby says, still tracing gentle circles over her underwear. Marine can hear her breathing change, she listens for the slightest movement, and smiles knowingly. She continues talking to Gabby, about what she admires, what she wants, what she wants to do to her. “Chérie,” she breathes, not knowing if she truly wants to know the answer to her next question, or if she just wants to hear Gabby sweat, “have you ever been with a woman?”

Gabby pauses, almost laughs, “where does that come from? You think because I’m American I’ve never fucked a girl?”

Silence. The image of her Gabrielle with someone else, melting for someone else, pleasing, someone else fills her brain. It makes Marine feel a strange way. It was before they had even met, Marine had been with her own past lovers for god sake. The worst part of it all, this new information made her want to be the last.

“Tell me about them.” Not a question, a demand from Marine.

Gabby froze, if that’s her way of dirty talk then Marine needs to work on it, “Marine what-“

“I said tell me about them,” she needed to know.

Gabby sighed, pausing her gentle movements on herself, annoyed. “There’s a girl from high school, a few random ones in college, I don’t know I dated without preference.” She says.

“What did you do with them, how did you sleep with her.” Marine says. Gabby is losing it, one second she’s essentially talking her through it, the next she’s asking about past hook ups??

She takes a deep breath, understanding what Marine wants, “I liked kissing, a lot, I liked it when they kissed my neck, my thighs,” she paused, stressing about what to say next, trying to hold back that she liked Marines kisses the most, “most of the time they were fast, fingers slipping and hands over mouths, you know?”

No response from the blonde on the other end.

Trying to boil her blood just a touch more, “there was once, in college, when I uhm, when she,” Gabby tried to get through the vulgarity of it, with no help from Marine.

“The first time I got ate out, it was in a hotel. I liked it, it was good. The problem with that was I felt like I always wanted more. Or different, I guess. Not like sex was ever bad, just that it was rushed, not perfect, like my partners couldn’t keep up, or slow down, even when I dated men.” She confessed.

Marines mind raced, she wanted to tell, no, show Gabby how she should be treated. She wanted to set the record straight. She wanted to be better than all the rest, prove it. Maybe she had a competitive problem, maybe she was losing it.

“I can be better than them.” It cut through the dark like a deep red knife, desire laid bare, possessiveness or competition on display, insanity more like.

“Can you now? What makes you say that.” Gabby whispers, almost delicately. Her hands began to shake slightly, the weight of the conversation settling into her head like a delicious death sentence.

“I wouldn’t stop, Gabby, god I want to know all of you, to taste all of you. I’ll stay on my knees for hours I won’t stop. You have no idea the fun I’d have,” she let her darker thoughts through, reigning in what she could. Marine was afraid to touch herself, afraid she’d say the wrong thing and expose that she wants more than sex, she wants it all, all of Gabby. Her mornings her late nights her coffee order memorized and her hand to hold in the cold.

“Marine,” Gabby whispered thickly, “exactly why, did you call me.”

Marine took a deep breath, no hiding it now, “I couldn’t finish,” she admitted, “I couldn’t get you off my mind and I couldn’t sleep, but then I couldn’t finish, it wasn’t enough. I wanted,” she paused, afraid, “I wanted you, I, I want you Gabby.”

Gabby on the other hand, couldn’t breathe, she was so far gone for Marine. Her face was warm and flushed, her eyes closed tight as she imagined Marine like that, flushed and frustrated, reaching for her phone, for Gabby, slick still on her fingers.

She had no response, nothing other than pure need coursing through her. Marine starts again, “Where are your hands,” she asks.

“Holding the phone, the others on my hip.” The brunette responds.

“Trace your thighs for me.” The dangerous question from Marine hangs in the air. And yet, without hesitation, Gabby immediately does as she’s told, following the ink patterns that adorn her hips and thighs, the cut of her plain cotton panties allowing her to do so.

“Did you like when I kissed you there?” Marine probes. Gabby almost laughs, of course she did.

“Yes, you have no idea,” she confessed instead. Marine liked that answer, she imagined Gabby all flushed on the other end of the phone, she wondered what she was wearing, wondered how she’d take it off.

“Is it still there?” She asks quietly, referring to the now purple bruise she sucked into Gabby’s inner thigh. “Mhm,” she says, tracing the border of it, drawing circles around it like she could feel Marine on the other end. She remembered the feeling of her lips, of her nails as she gently scratched her sides and thighs. The feeling of helplessness as Marine had sunk to her knees before her, bent down as if she was in prayer.

Gabby couldn’t take it anymore, she eased her fingers past the hem of her underwear, reveling in the soaked warmth that awaited her. “Marine,” she nearly moaned, “how do you,” she breathes in, “how do you touch yourself, what did you think about me,” she prompts.

The blonde on the other end is already creeping her fingers back to her waistband, “I thought about the noises you’d make, you always talk so pretty I thought, maybe you’d sound half as good.”

“I thought about how it’d feel to touch you, to touch you after winning, to taste you on my fingers, on my tongue,” she whispered in thick French.

“I thought about getting you like this, work you up, see if you’d break, if I could get you to touch yourself for me. Did I?”

Gabby was blissed out, taking all of Marines heady words and running with them, her fingers circling her wet clit, imagining they were someone else’s pale veiny ones instead. “Yes, yes Marine, I think I’d, I’d pretty much do anything you ask,” she gasps out, laughing at herself.

“I bet you’re pretty,” Marine starts, trying to kill Gabby again, “I bet you taste so good.”

Gabby isn’t going to last much longer, she dips a single finger into her heat, pumping it slowly until Marine starts talking again, telling her to add another. Marine only hears light gasps and held back moans, so faint she wouldn’t hear them if her phone wasn’t pressed tightly to her ear. Her own pleasure isn’t far behind, her head keeps falling backwards as she tries not to be too loud on the phone, tries not to sound desperate (even though she is).

“Gabby, fuck, I love hearing you, I wanted this so bad, I wanted you, I want you.”

Gabby’s small moans and gasps turned into whimpers and Marines name, over, and over, and over again, turning into a mess of syllabus and accents, her French going out the window as Marine whispered dirtier and dirtier things.

Her fingers could only work so fast at this angle, she wished Marine was here.

Marine was salivating at the thought of tasting Gabby, making her forget all her past hook ups, ruining her for anyone else. Her fingers never dared to enter her own hole, just messily slid up and down her clit, gathering more and more slick.

“Marine, Marine, Marine, Marine-“ gasps between each name filled Marine’s ears, she could tell her Gabby was close, herself barely able to hold back from cumming. This was her deepest fantasy earlier in the night, wanting nothing more than to hear her woman on the phone, to have her let Marine kidnap her night for selfish reasons.

Gabby’s chants had turn to a mess of sound, completely placid for Marine, fingers pumping at a rapid rate, seconds from finishing. “You sound so pretty, such a pretty doll, I needed this, needed to hear you, so pretty so so pretty-“

That was all it took for Gabby to spill all over herself, her fingers continuing their pace until she couldn’t take it anymore, pressed up against that spot deep inside of her, thumb continuing its circles on her tired clit until her hand cramped. Gabby’s whole body seized up, her abs covered in a light sheen of sweat and tensing.

The sound of her Gabrielle finishing sent her over the edge. Marines eyes rolled back as she pictured Gabby finishing on her abs, grinding out her orgasm, or her strong, decorated thighs squeezing her head as she came all on her tongue. Groans and swears filtered through the phone and onto Gabby, coming down from her own high.

Marine had managed to make her feel so good, so feverish and desperate, just from talking to her over the phone. The thought of what she could do to her, how bad she wanted more than just sex, how she wanted it all with Marine. It was like cold water over her sizzling skin.

She was so fucked.

+1. The One Time Gabby Finally Got Her Back

The bronze medal sat on the table. Neither of them looked at it.

They had wanted gold, everyone knew that. The room was quiet in the way only acceptance could create. They fought well, silver was just out of reach, and gold just a hair width away.

Marine sat on the edge of the bed. Usually, she filled silence, usually, she did the comforting, usually, she was the shoulder Gabby could cry on. She would tease Gabby and watch her reaction, or vice versa like they always did.

Not tonight. Gabby watched her for a long moment, and realized something. Time was moving. It was running faster and faster away from her and Marine. Away from her time with Marine.

None of it was guaranteed, not at all.

So Gabby stopped waiting, she crossed the room almost startlingly fast.

Marine looked up, taking in the sudden movements. “Pourquoi tu me regardes comme ça?” “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Gabby smiled slightly, her eyes wide, full of determination, hope.

“Because I’m tired.” She announced, sounding very much not tired, looking fucking insane.

Marine frowned, confused, “Of what? The game?”

“Of you thinking you’re the only one allowed to make someone nervous, that you’re the only one who knows what’s going on.”

For once—

Actually for once—

Marine had no answer. Confusion and bewilderment were evident on her face.

Gabby laughed.

Then straddled the confused woman in front of her. Suddenly Marine wasn’t so confused, her hands settling on Gabby’s hips.

“Tu sais que tu m’as eue depuis le début?” “You know you had me from the beginning?”

Marine’s expression softened.

“Gabby…”

“No.”

Gabby smiled.

“Let me have this.”

Marine went quiet, complacent to whatever Gabby wants.

So Gabby continued, holding Marines jaw gently, her thumbs placed in the hollow of her sharp cheek bones.

“Je te veux dans ma vie,” Gabby whispered, eyes boring into Marines.

“I want you in my life”

Marine just looked at her, really looked, and Gabby saw it.

The same reaction Marine had caused in her for months. The surprise, the flush, the inability to hide it.

Finally.

Finally.

That’s what makes her freeze? The corny shit, the confession, not all the other things whispered to each other late at night when inhibitions are low?

Marine Johannes didn’t know what to say.

Gabby considered that a victory, a very deserved victory. For a breath, the two just stared at each other, letting the whispered confession linger in the air. Marine licked her lips, blinked, trying to clear her mind from wedding bells and squishy babies.

“I want you in mine. I want you, Gabby, I want you to be my life,” Marine whispered, overcoming the fear that her words sent through her. The two mixed breaths for only a beat more, Gabby’s eyes darting between the blue ones staring back at her. A mild panic, skipped heartbeats, desire, and weeks of build up made the air metallic and thick.

Their noses, brushing, a whisper of a touch before Gabby surged forward, waiting not a second longer to feel Marines lips on her own. Marine had kissed her neck, her thighs, her chest, her stomach, just about every part of her, except for her lips.

She just about died feeling them finally. They were soft, and warm, and spit bitten, and they were her Marines.

They’d have the ‘what are we’ talk another day. They’d work the logistics of the WNBA out another day, they’d talk, some other time.

Now? Right now Gabby was focused on the warmth radiating off of Marine, on the feeling of her lips sliding against hers, of her tongue tracing the edge of her teeth, of her hands guiding her hips ever so slightly. She was focused on the now, even if she could feel time moving.