m☆ri

His hand brushing yours in lecture halls like it is accidental, like it happens every time without fail purely by coincidence. The way he leans in too close when he talks, voice low and warm and meant only for you, even when there is a whole room full of people. The way he always ends up next to you at parties, shoulder pressed against yours, like gravity works differently when it comes to him.

It is harder to believe when he is not. Tonight falls firmly into the second category.

You had not planned on coming out. The week has been long and your energy has been thin, stretched across deadlines and early mornings and the quiet, gnawing confusion that seems to follow Joaquin wherever he goes in your life. Still, your friends insisted, dragging you along with promises of cheap drinks and loud music and something resembling fun.

You agreed mostly because you knew he would be there.

That thought alone makes something twist in your stomach now as you stand in the middle of a crowded living room, music vibrating through the floor, someone laughing too loudly somewhere behind you. You have been here for nearly an hour. You have not seen him once.

It should not matter this much.

Your drink is warm in your hand, half finished and forgotten, condensation slick against your fingers. Someone is talking to you, you think, or at least standing close enough that it looks like they are. You nod along at the right moments, offering small smiles that feel just convincing enough to pass.

You catch yourself scanning the room again.

It is automatic at this point, the way your eyes move without permission, searching for a familiar face you pretend does not hold any more weight than anyone else’s. You tell yourself you are just looking for a friend. You tell yourself it is normal.

You tell yourself a lot of things.

“Hey.”

The voice is new, unfamiliar, and it pulls you back into the moment. You turn your head, finally focusing properly on the person in front of you. They are smiling, relaxed, clearly more present than you have been for the last ten minutes.

You apologise, something soft and quick, and they laugh it off easily.

Conversation comes easier than you expect after that. They are funny in a quiet way, the kind that sneaks up on you and makes you laugh before you realise it is happening. There is no pressure to be anything other than what you are in that moment, which feels like a relief you did not realise you needed.

You lean into it.

It feels good to be seen without the weight of uncertainty attached. It feels good to exist in a space where you are not constantly trying to read between the lines of someone else’s actions, trying to decipher meaning from things that should be simple.

You do not notice Joaquin at first.

That is what you will tell yourself later, at least. That you were distracted, that you were caught up in the conversation, that you had no idea he had arrived.

The truth is more complicated. You feel him before you see him.

There is a shift in the air, subtle but unmistakable, like something has tilted just slightly off balance. Your shoulders tense without your permission, your attention pulling in a direction you have not consciously chosen.

You look up. Joaquin is standing across the room, just past the doorway, eyes already on you. It is not a soft look.

There is something sharper in it, something you cannot quite place at first. His expression is unreadable in a way that feels deliberate, like he has put effort into keeping it that way. His jaw is set, shoulders tight beneath his jacket.

He looks like he is trying not to react. Your stomach drops.

You should look away. You know that. It would be the easiest thing to do, to pretend you have not noticed, to keep your focus on the person in front of you and let the moment pass without consequence.

You do not.

Something stubborn rises in your chest, something tired of pretending that none of this affects you. You hold his gaze for a second longer than necessary, just long enough to feel the tension snap tight between you.

Then you turn back to your conversation. It is a small act of defiance. It feels bigger.

You laugh at something that is said, letting it come a little louder than it might have otherwise. Your body angles slightly, subconsciously or not, closing the space between you and the person you are speaking to. You let yourself be present in the moment, even as you can feel his attention lingering like a weight on the back of your neck.

You wonder if Joaquin will come over. Part of you hopes he will not. That part is quieter, buried beneath everything else.

He does. Of course he does.

You do not hear him approach, but you feel it again, that same shift in the air, the same sense of something changing. The person in front of you glances past your shoulder for a fraction of a second, their expression flickering with something like recognition.

Then Joaquin is there.

He does not interrupt immediately. He stands close enough that you can feel the heat of him at your side, close enough that it would be impossible to pretend he is not there. His presence is overwhelming in a way it has no right to be.

“Hey,” he says, finally, voice casual in a way that feels forced.

You turn your head slowly, like you have all the time in the world.

“Hi.” It comes out softer than you intend.

His eyes flick between you and the person you have been talking to, something unreadable settling there again. He offers a brief nod in their direction, polite but distant.

“Didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

You shrug, trying for nonchalance and not entirely succeeding. “Last minute thing.”

“Right.”

There is a pause.

It stretches longer than it should, filled with things neither of you are saying. You can feel the other person’s awareness of it, the way they shift slightly, uncertain whether to stay or excuse themselves.

Joaquin does not look at you when he speaks again.

“You busy?”

The question is simple. The tone is not.

You feel something twist in your chest, sharp and sudden. It would be easy to say no. It would be easier to fall back into the pattern you have built with him, to let everything else fade into the background the way it always seems to when he is involved.

You think about the way he looked at you from across the room. You think about the months of uncertainty, of almosts and maybes and things left unsaid.

You think about how tired you are of it.

“A bit,” you say, gesturing lightly towards the person beside you.

It is not a rejection. It feels like one anyway.

His reaction is immediate, even if he tries to hide it. His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing just slightly before he looks away, like he cannot quite stand to keep looking at you.

“Cool,” he says, too quickly. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You want to laugh.

It bubbles up unexpectedly, caught somewhere between fondness and disbelief. There is something almost endearing about the way he is handling this, the way his usual confidence seems to have slipped just enough to reveal something softer underneath.

Something human.

You had not expected him to care.

That realisation settles quietly, but it changes everything.

He lingers for a second like he expects you to stop him.

It is almost painfully obvious, the way his weight shifts from one foot to the other, the way his hands hover like he does not quite know what to do with them. Joaquin has never been particularly subtle, but this feels different. There is an edge to it now, something uncertain threading through his usual ease.

You do not stop him.

It is not out of cruelty. It is not even intentional, not really. You just stay where you are, rooted in the space you have carved out for yourself tonight, refusing to bend immediately like you always seem to when it comes to him.

He nods once, sharp and short, like he has come to a decision you were not part of.

Then he leaves.

You watch him go.

That is your first mistake.

Your attention drifts after him without permission, catching on the way he pushes through the crowd with more force than necessary, the way his shoulders stay tense like he is bracing himself for something that has not happened yet. He disappears into the kitchen, swallowed up by a group of people you vaguely recognise.

The conversation beside you continues.

You try to follow it. You really do. You nod in the right places, laugh when it feels appropriate, respond with enough coherence that it should count as participation. It feels like you are slightly out of sync with everything, like there is a delay between what is happening and the way you are processing it.

Your chest feels too tight. It annoys you more than anything else.

You had been fine. You had been doing well, enjoying yourself in a way that did not revolve around him, and then he had walked in and shifted something fundamental without even trying. The worst part is that he does not even seem to realise he is doing it.

Or maybe he does.

That thought lingers longer than you would like.

“Do you want to get some air?”

The question pulls you back again. You look at the person in front of you properly for what feels like the first time since Joaquin walked away. Their expression is open, easy, like they are offering you something simple and uncomplicated.

You hesitate.

It would be easy to say no. To stay exactly where you are, to keep one eye on the doorway to the kitchen without making it obvious, to let yourself exist in this strange in-between space where you are not fully present but not entirely removed either.

You do not want to do that.

“Yeah,” you say, before you can overthink it. “That sounds nice.”

The air outside is colder than you expect.

It hits your skin sharply, cutting through the warmth that had settled over you inside. You inhale deeply, letting it ground you, letting it pull you back into your body in a way that feels almost necessary. It helps.

Conversation comes easier out here. There is less noise, less pressure, less of that overwhelming sense of everything happening all at once. You find yourself relaxing into it, shoulders loosening, thoughts settling into something more manageable.

You almost forget about him. Almost.

The door opens behind you with a force that makes you flinch slightly. You do not need to turn around to know it is him.

There is something unmistakable about the way Joaquin moves, even when he is trying to be casual about it. Tonight, he is not doing a very good job of that.

“Didn’t know this was where the party moved,” he says, voice carrying that same forced lightness from earlier.

You close your eyes briefly. Pathetic. The word slips into your mind without warning, but it is not as harsh as it should be. If anything, there is something almost fond about it, something softening the edges.

You turn to face him. He looks worse up close.

Not in any physical sense. He still looks like himself, still carries that easy confidence in the way he stands, the way he holds himself. It is the details that give him away. The tension in his jaw, the way his eyes keep flicking between you and the person beside you, the slight crease between his brows that suggests he is thinking too much about something he does not want to name.

“You following me now?” you ask lightly.

It is meant to be teasing. It comes out closer to the truth than you intend. His expression shifts immediately, something defensive snapping into place.

“Came out for air,” he says. “Not everything’s about you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sure.”

The person beside you glances between the two of you, clearly aware that something is happening here that they are not entirely part of. They take a small step back, giving you space without making a show of it.

You appreciate that more than you can say.

Joaquin notices. Of course he does.

His gaze sharpens, something like irritation flashing across his face before he can hide it. He crosses his arms, leaning back slightly like he is trying to appear more relaxed than he actually is.

“Who’s your friend?”

The question is casual on the surface. The undertone is not. You tilt your head slightly, considering him.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes,” he says, too quickly. Then, after a beat, “No. I mean, just asking.”

You almost laugh again.

There is something undeniably ridiculous about this, about the way he is trying so hard to act like he does not care while making it painfully obvious that he does. It is new, seeing him like this. You are used to being the one off balance, the one trying to read into things that may or may not be there. The shift is interesting.

You give him a name. He repeats it under his breath like he is committing it to memory, like it means something more than it should.

“Cool,” he says again.

He has said that word too many times tonight.

Silence settles over the three of you, awkward and heavy in a way that feels almost intentional. Joaquin shifts his weight again, gaze flicking towards you before darting away like he has been caught doing something he should not.

You decide to push. “You okay?” you ask.

It is a simple question. It lands harder than you expect.

He looks at you properly then, really looks, and for a second something real breaks through the carefully constructed indifference he has been trying to maintain. It is gone almost as quickly as it appears, replaced by something more guarded.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

You shrug, watching him closely.

“No reason. You just seem a bit…” You trail off deliberately.

“A bit what?”

“Off.”

The word hangs between you. He scoffs, shaking his head slightly like he cannot believe you have said it out loud.

“I’m not off.”

“Right.”

“You’re the one who’s acting weird.”

You blink at him. “I’m acting weird?”

“Yeah,” he says, gesturing vaguely in your direction. “You’re out here with—” he cuts himself off, jaw tightening again. “Just. Not how you usually are.”

There it is. Not quite a confession, but close enough to feel like one.

You take a step closer before you can think better of it, closing some of the distance he had so carefully put between you. His breath catches slightly, barely noticeable unless you are paying attention. You are.

“How am I usually?” you ask softly.

Joaquin hesitates. That is new too.

His eyes flick down to your mouth for a fraction of a second before he forces them back up, like he has realised what he is doing and is trying to correct it. His shoulders tense again, hands clenching slightly at his sides.

“With me,” he says finally.

The words settle into your chest, heavier than they should be.

There is a beat of silence where neither of you moves, neither of you speaks. The world feels like it has narrowed down to this one moment, this one conversation that has been building for longer than either of you have been willing to admit.

You should say something. You should probably be kind about it. Instead, you smile. It is small, soft, and entirely unhelpful.

“You’re being a bit pathetic, you know that?”

It is not meant to be cruel. If anything, it comes out almost fond, the edges of it softened by something warmer than you are willing to name just yet. His reaction is immediate.

“I’m not—” he stops himself, exhaling sharply. “I’m not pathetic.”

“You kind of are.”

“Wow.”

You shrug, still watching him. “It’s cute.”

That catches him off guard completely.

He stares at you for a second like he has misheard you, like he is trying to piece together how he has gone from whatever this is to being called cute in the span of a few seconds.

“You think this is cute?”

“Yeah,” you say simply. “I do.”

He runs a hand through his hair, clearly at a loss for what to do with that. “Unbelievable.”

There is no real bite to it.

Something shifts again, softer this time. The tension does not disappear entirely, but it changes, morphing into something less sharp, less defensive. He steps a little closer without seeming to realise he is doing it, drawn in despite himself.

The person beside you clears their throat quietly. Right. You had almost forgotten they were there. Guilt flickers briefly, quick and sharp. You turn to them, offering an apologetic smile, something small and sincere.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright,” they interrupt gently. “I think I’m going to head back in anyway.”

They glance at Joaquin briefly, something like understanding passing through their expression before they look back at you.

“It was nice talking to you.”

“You too.”

They leave you with a soft smile, slipping back inside and closing the door behind them.

You are alone with him now. The air feels different because of it.

He watches the door for a second after it closes, something unreadable crossing his face. Then he looks back at you, and whatever he sees there seems to settle something in him.

“Cute, huh?” he says.

You hum lightly. “Very.”

He shakes his head again, but there is a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth now, something reluctant but real.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“So you’ve said.”

There is a pause.

It is not as heavy as the ones from earlier. It feels more like a breath being held, like something is about to shift in a way neither of you can quite predict.

He takes another step closer.

You do not move away.

He stops just short of you, like there is still some invisible line he is unsure about crossing.

It would be easy to close the distance yourself. You think about it for a second, about stepping forward, about making this simple in a way it has never been before. Your body does not move. Something in you wants to see what he will do when there is no ambiguity left to hide behind.

His gaze flicks over your face, searching in a way that feels new. Joaquin has always looked at you like he already knew what he would find, like there was no need to question it. This is different. There is hesitation here, and something quieter underneath it that you cannot quite name without it feeling too real.

“You were laughing with them,” he says, like he is picking up a conversation that never properly ended.

You raise an eyebrow slightly. “I laugh with people all the time.”

“Not like that.”

The insistence in his voice makes something warm curl low in your chest.

“Like what?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, clearly frustrated with himself more than anything else.

“Just,” he gestures vaguely, words slipping out of reach. “You seemed… I don’t know. Into it.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “And that’s a problem?”

“Yes,” he says, and then immediately looks like he regrets it. “No. Not a problem. Just—”

“Just what, Joaquin?”

You say his name softly, and it does something to him.

You can see it in the way his shoulders drop slightly, in the way the fight seems to leave him all at once. Whatever he has been holding onto all night loosens its grip, leaving something more honest in its place.

“I didn’t like it,” he admits.

There it is.

It lands between you, heavier than anything else he has said tonight. He does not dress it up, does not try to soften it or pretend it means something less than it does. For once, he lets it be simple.

Your chest tightens.

“You don’t get to not like it,” you say, quieter now. “Not when you won’t even—”

You stop yourself.

The words hang there anyway, unfinished but understood. You hate how familiar this feels, how many times you have come close to saying something like this only to swallow it back down before it can cause any real damage.

He notices.

“Won’t even what?” His voice is careful, like he already knows the answer and is not sure he wants to hear it out loud.

You let out a slow breath, trying to steady yourself.

“This,” you say, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Whatever this is. You don’t get to act like it matters when you won’t even call it anything.”

The honesty feels sharp on your tongue. You watch it hit him. He looks away first, which is new.

His jaw tightens again, but this time it is not defensive. It looks more like he is thinking, like he is trying to sort through something he has been avoiding for longer than he would like to admit.

“I didn’t think you cared,” he says eventually.

The words are quiet, almost uncertain. You blink at him.

“What?”

“I thought you were fine with it,” he continues, glancing back at you. “With things staying how they are. You never said anything.”

Something in your chest twists hard enough to hurt.

“You never asked.”

“I didn’t think I had to.”

The frustration bubbles up before you can stop it.

“Right, because that’s how this works,” you say, voice tightening despite your best efforts. “You just decide how things are and I’m supposed to go along with it.”

“That’s not what I—”

“It kind of is.”

Silence falls again, but it feels different now. It is not heavy in the same suffocating way as before. It feels like something has been cracked open, like the air between you has shifted into something more honest, even if it is not entirely comfortable.

He runs a hand over the back of his neck, a nervous habit you have seen a hundred times but never quite like this.

“I messed up,” he says.

It is simple. It is enough. You do not respond immediately. Your emotions feel too close to the surface, too tangled to sort through in the space of a few seconds. There is relief there, sharp and sudden, mixed in with the lingering frustration of everything that led up to this moment.

“You think?” you say eventually, softer than before.

A small, self-deprecating smile pulls at his mouth.

“Yeah. I think.”

You huff out something that is almost a laugh. The tension eases, just slightly.

Joaquin takes another step closer, and this time there is no hesitation in it. The space between you shrinks until it feels almost insignificant, until you can feel the warmth of him again, steady and grounding in a way that makes your thoughts scatter.

“I didn’t like seeing you with someone else,” he says, more certain now. “It felt…” he pauses, searching for the right word. “Wrong.”

Your breath catches. “That’s pathetic,” you say, even though your voice lacks any real bite.

“I know.”

He does not argue with you. He does not try to justify it. He just stands there, letting the truth of it exist without trying to twist it into something more acceptable. It makes it harder to push him away.

“You could have said something,” you mumble.

“I am saying something now.”

You look at him properly then. There is no deflection in his expression this time, no easy charm to hide behind. He looks nervous in a way you have never seen before, like this matters enough to shake him a little. It does something to you.

“What are you saying?” you ask quietly.

He hesitates for half a second. Then, like he has made a decision he cannot take back, he reaches for your hand.

Joaquin’s fingers are warm where they wrap around yours, steady despite everything else about him suggesting he is anything but. The contact sends a familiar jolt through you, something you have tried very hard not to think too much about over the past few months.

“I like you,” he says. Simple again.

Your heart stutters. “You’ve always known that,” you reply automatically, because it feels safer to treat it like something obvious, something that does not change anything.

He shakes his head. “Not like this.”

The words settle differently. You swallow, suddenly very aware of how close he is, of how easy it would be to close the last bit of distance between you.

“Then what?” you ask.

“Then I don’t want this to be nothing,” he says. “I don’t want to pretend I’m okay with you being with other people when I’m clearly not. I don’t want to keep…” he exhales, frustration flickering briefly. “I don’t want to keep acting like this isn’t something real.”

Your chest aches. It is everything you have wanted him to say, wrapped up in words you had almost convinced yourself you did not need.

“You’re a bit late,” you murmur, even though there is no real weight behind it.

“I know.”

“You’ve been doing a terrible job of hiding whatever this is tonight.”

A faint smile tugs at his mouth. “Yeah, you made that pretty clear.”

“It was embarrassing,” you add, unable to stop yourself.

“For you or for me?”

“For you,” you say immediately. “Obviously.”

He laughs then, properly this time, the sound warm and familiar and enough to ease some of the tension still lingering between you.

“Good to know.”

Silence settles again, softer now.

You look down at your joined hands for a moment, at the way his thumb is tracing absent patterns against your skin like he does not even realise he is doing it. It feels different now, heavier in a way that is not entirely uncomfortable.

“You’re still a bit pathetic,” you say, glancing back up at him.

“Wow,” he says, but there is no offence in it. “I just confessed to you.”

“And I’m still right.”

He rolls his eyes, but there is a softness to it.

“Unbelievable.”

“You like it.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh. “Yeah,” he admits. “I do.”

Something warm settles in your chest.

It is not perfect. None of this is. There are still things to figure out, conversations to have, edges to smooth out where you have both been a little too comfortable with uncertainty for too long.

For the first time, it feels like something you might actually be able to figure out. You squeeze his hand lightly.

“Alright,” you say. “We can try.”

His expression shifts immediately, relief flickering across his face so quickly you almost miss it.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He exhales, like he has been holding his breath all night. “Okay. Good.”

You smile, small and real. “Good.”

He lingers there for a second, like he is not entirely sure what comes next. Then, a little more confident now, he steps closer and nudges your shoulder with his.

“You’re still not off the hook for calling me pathetic.”

You glance at him. “You’re still not off the hook for acting like it.”

He grins, something easy and familiar settling back into place now that everything else has been laid out.

You lean into him slightly without thinking about it, the contact feeling natural in a way that it never quite has before. He does not hesitate this time, his arm coming up to rest loosely around your shoulders, pulling you in just enough to make the space between you disappear completely.

It feels different. Better.

Inside, the music swells again as the door opens briefly, laughter spilling out into the night before it closes once more. The world continues on around you, loud and messy and full of things that do not concern you right now.

For once, you do not feel like you are standing on the edge of something uncertain. For once, it feels like you are exactly where you are supposed to be.

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Realising it was you, Parker relaxes and dumps her bag next to yours and kicks off her shoes before climbs into the bed behind you, her arm sliding over your waist so she can spoon you.

Your relationship with each other was both complicated yet not. You two had slept together a few times but it hadn't really made your friendship or working together awkward. Your dynamic existed in the space between; good platonic friends, friends with benefits and real legitimate feelings between you but not acting on it. 

You were as close to dating without actually dating. You spent time with each other off shift, going to lunch, art exhibitions, sports games, along with spending time around each other's apartments almost everyday, plus the occasional hook up but neither of you had taken the step that was so desperately needed. There was a betting pool going on that had initially started as a 'when will they finally confess their true feelings for each other' but had slowly converted to 'how long have they been secretly dating' as the years trickled by.

You jolt awake at the movement behind you, eyes snapping open as your body flinches, your brain desperately trying to connect the dots of what was happening.

"What the–"

"It's just me," Parker whispers, "It's me, Parker."

You let out a tired huff at the words, body slumping back into her hold, humming as her arm tightens around you once again. You rest one of your hands over hers, whilst you tuck the other underneath your head and close your eyes but you stay awake.

"What time is it?" You ask, not willing to check your phone for the time.

"Like one-ish," Parker whispers as she hooks her chin over your shoulder.

You frown at her words but you're not curious enough to open your eyes to look back at her, "Why are you here so early?"

"My deposition," Parker reminds you, "It's at one thirty. I'm also picking up an extra shift anyway."

"You're not nervous are you? Because you did nothing wrong." 

Parker sighs, twisting your hand around so she can link fingers with you, "I'm not but all of this could have been prevented if the parents brought him in earlier.  Instead they neglected to and the poor younger sister had to call for help. You'd think after all this the parents would realise what they've done."

"It's how they cope when they've realised what they have caused but they don't want to acknowledge it. It's easier to blame someone else rather than yourself." You hum, "You might have to share that advice with Dr King."

"We're not allowed to discuss it."

"Then monologue it or whatever. Give a spiel then go on with your day," You sigh, "There's no rules against that is there?"

Parker lets out an amused huff, "Okay, smartass."

"We're talking so much you can forget about your catnap," You hum, "Kind of silly to try to nap only thirty minutes before your deposition anyway."

"I was prepping for my sixteen-hour shift, which is bad enough but we're getting Westbridge diversions down there."

"Oh fuck me" You groan, finally opening your eyes and shifting around so you could be face to face with Parker, "Seriously? Since when?"

"A couple of hours, something about a cyber attack." Parker shrugs before remembering that you're here very early too, "Wait, why are you here early?"

"I've been here since seven. My landlord decided to completely redo the kitchen and bathroom a couple of days ago which means I can't go back after shift because they're ripping shit apart in there, so I've been crashing here. And when I reminded that asshole that I work nights and I need to sleep during the day and if he had given me even a tiny bit of a heads up then it would have given me time to sort shit out, he goes, 'that's life'. Asshole." You grumble, "I'm also doing an extra shift. The more money I get, the quicker I can leave my place."

"Why don't you stay at mine?" Parker suggests. Your relationship, if you could call it that, didn't follow the usual way but unconventionality may be what kick starts everything properly.

You raise an eyebrow at her, picking up the particular suggestive tone in her voice, "Until they finish at my apartment or…?"

"Orrrr, maybe a bit longer, maybe move in completely…"

"You know, people usually go on a date before they move in with each other," You laugh, "And no, before you start, hooking up with each other doesn't count as a date."

"It's not like we're strangers," Parker argues, "We've known each other for years."

You pause for a minute, looking at her sincere expression on her face, "Are you serious? Like one hundred percent?"

Parker nods, "Like one hundred percent. I'm serious."

An alarm blares from Parker's phone, reminding her that her deposition was going to start soon and breaking the moment. Parker sighs as she shifts to turn off the alarm, exiting the bed as she did so, putting her shoes back on and collecting her backpack, and you watch her silence, still stuck on the proposition she had given you.

Parker returns to you before she leaves, kneeling on the bed so that she is hovering over you, "I'm not going to push you for a yes but just think about it, please."

You nod in agreement and Parker smiles before she leans down and presses a soft kiss against your lips.

"Thank you," 

You shutter, barely feeling her thumb against your clit. She was always such a tease. "She?" Your head was foggy. Your critical thinking went out the window with your third orgasm.

"I think you know what I meant by that, Love." But just to help you, her hand cupped itself before coming down to give your puffy cunt a little spank. Watching you clench around nothing. "Oh, I think she likes it, don't you think?" She kept her hand against your glossy skin, rubbing side to side, giving you a little stimulation to the bundle of nerves.

"F-fuck. Ells, I like it" your hip jerked. Letting out a sigh of relief as her hand rubbed over the stingy area up and down your slit, her warm palm smoothing the slick covered folds.

Parker gently pinched your clit for the mistake. "Baby," Her voice carried a knowing tone as one of her eyebrows raised.

"She…she likes it." You nod your head eagerly as your hips rolled against her hand.

"That's right, honey." Her hand traveled down and over your thigh. "You think she's got one more for her?"

"Yes baby. One more. She's got one more for you." You reached down to her chin, guiding her to get closer. "Kiss?"

She smiled, "You don't have to ask me twice." She closed the distance. Her lips connected with yours. You could taste yourself still on her tongue. "You taste that? My favorite fucking taste." Her lips were mere inches away from yours, her breath fanning over yours.

"You wouldn't believe what mine is?" You say, teasingly, rolling your hip against hers. Wishing she was as naked as you were right now. To feel her skin against yours more.

She let out a dry laugh. "I think I got an idea."

She started her kisses slow and light, her lips starting with your jaw, then your neck. Her mouth stopped at your exposed chest. She could spend hours giving them the attention they need. She started with the right one, her tongue flicking out to the pebbled nipple.

Lips quickly wrapped around the bud, pulling back slightly, tugging lightly.

You let out the sweetest little moan, almost made her want to skip all the teasing and bring her tongue where she really wanted. Instead, she took her right hand up to your knee, rubbing the skin before moving her hand farther up. Her fingers dancing over your inner thigh watching your softened muscles clench under her fingertips.

"So responsive today. You missed me as much as I missed you?" Her lips unlatched from your nipple as she spoke, leaving the skin glistening from the light from the lamp on the side table near the couch. Not moving that far away as she kissed the other neglected one.

"Of course, I missed you," your voice was airy, hips grinding against her hand. "Thought about you the whole time I was gone." Your hand came up to her hair again. Tightening your grip once her lips your other nipple to fend against the cool air of the room. ’T-those pictures didn't help."

"Like them? Which one did you like the most?" Her kisses trailed down your stomach until she got to your mound. Clearly waiting for a response before continuing.

"I think…shit" Her fingers clearly didn't get the memo as two fingers pushed past your folds, being welcomed by your tight walls.

"Keep going. I'm listening, baby." Her voice was low and calm.

"The gym one," you stated slowly. "I like the way your back muscles looked in the first one." Your voice trailed off as your head tilted to the side. Eyes closed, trying to focus on your response to Parker. "Umm" as you try to think back on the other pictures, Parker's voice cut through.

"Eyes, baby. I want to see your eyes."

You turned your head back to face forward. Looking down to see her eyes were indeed already on you. Because she looked so fucking good on her knees like that, the way the light made her glow.

You took a breath like she taught you. "I like the little smirk that you had in the second one…where you were flexing your biceps. Even though I thought that day was legs…your voice started to get quiet as this feeling at the back of your throat started to build up.

You gasped, her lips finally embracing your clip again after all that teasing, but this time, with the company of two fingers curling inside you, which made your brain want to stop working, but of course, your girlfriend wouldn't be so nice.

"Keep going, I remember sending you a couple more. What do you like about them?" In all honesty, she just wanted to hear you talk. The way you try and fight to keep your voice even and not let those sounds shine through always fails. She learned to read you like a book. But always excited to read what's on the next page.

"I—I don't remember…"

"I think you do. Or would that voice message you sent me jog your memory?" Her voice carried a tone that came off as teasing.

You shuttered the night you sent it. You remember it was late, you were running all over the place, barely able to check your phone if it wasn't a call or email. You had just settled in the bed of the hotel you were staying at.

You and Parker were sending voice messages all day, not having time to type. You had just listened to her final voice message which mentioned some pictures to help you relax.

You thought it was going to be something cute and sweet like the others from earlier that day. Your eyes widen. Did she? Your fingers moved fast to your photos to see if any photos were added to a folder that you two shared together. Yup, there it was three things were added.

Two pictures and one video. The hottest thing you have ever seen and the best thing you need at the moment.

Your hands moved before your brain could talk yourself out of it. You dropped your phone to besides you were fumbling with your button down. Hands quickly going to your pants, stripping yourself down to your underwear. Using one hand to hold your phone, click on the first picture.

She just had to get out of the shower. The picture was cut off, so nothing over the chin showed, her in a towel that was barely high enough to cover her chest. Water droplets still clinging to her body. Her hair was down, she probably washed her hair too.

You thumb swiped to the next picture as your free hand teased your nipples through your bra. Your eyes scanning the second picture. She was lying in bed now, she was in one of your shirts from years ago. She didn't have a bra on. Fucking you felt like such a perv for noticing the way her nipples were strained against the fabric. Her chain lying so pretty against her neck.

Then your thumb swiped to the video. You played it, eyes studying the video like it was some type of game film. You felt your breath hitch hearing her smooth voice admitting from the speaker of your phone. Which was just high enough you could hear. 'Did she make a video of her talking me through it while she…'

You were taken out of your thoughts by Parker. By the look on her face, it wasn't the first time she had called your name.

"Hey, hey. Where are you going?" Her fingers slowed down until they came to a complete stop and were removed from your greedy cunt who didn't want to let her go. She wanted to get a sense of where her head was at.

You shook your head. "Just thinking about the pictures… and video." Pushing the few locks that fell on her face, smiling as you got to see her face better. "It really helped me unwind, I appreciate it."

"You know I'm always going to be there for you. Come on, put your legs over my shoulders, Sweetheart." Her hands moved to take both of yours into hers. Resting all your hands against your hip area, keeping you in place.

"Want me to keep going? Go ahead, tell me what you want." Her voice was velvety, keeping her tone even just how she knew she liked it.

Nodding your head eagerly, you pulled at her hair, gently urging her to go exactly where she knows you want her.

"Mhm," she hummed before she continued, "That's it, take what you need, Love." Your hips grinding against her mouth, the sounds of both of you mixed together. Parker could tell you were close when your hips faltered from the pace too often, or the way you tried to pull away.

Parker kept his hands in hers, her face following your hips, her tongue lapping all your sweet, tangy juice that was practically leaking from your entrance. "You going to cum? Go ahead. Be my good girl"

That was the last thing you needed, your back arching off the couch, your thighs trembling around her head as your hand squeezed Parker's tight, letting out a moan.

"That's right, Honey. Just ride it out for me."

Your legs finally relaxed around her head. The only thing that filled the air at first was your heavy breaths and the faint sounds of Ellis's lips against your warm skin.

After a couple of of moments, you were able to catch your breath. Head picking up to look down at her girlfriend. Your thumbs rubbing against the back of her hands. "All this because I was gone for a couple of days?" You let out a breathless laugh. Your hands tighten its hold with hers.

"What can I say? I missed my girl." She smiled, looking up at you, placing a kiss on your inner thigh.