#anamercy

A single word rouses Ana from her sleep—or, rather, she is not woken by the word itself, but by the buzzing of her comm unit, where it sits on the dresser near her bed.  Because of the time, and because it is not the emergency tone, she knows immediately who and what is the message is: Angela, begging again.  

At first, she debates ignoring it; they had an agreement, after all, a challenge, a wager.  If Angela wants to back out of their agreement, she can at least have the decency to wait until an hour at which Ana would normally be awake.

But then her comm unit buzzes again, twice in quick succession, and Ana forces herself to open her eye and sit up, thinking for a moment that there might, actually, be something important going on.

There is not.

[03:17, 05/06/2077] a_ziegler: Please…

[03:22, 05/06/2077] a_ziegler: Ana, I’m dying.

[03:23, 05/06/2077] a_ziegler: Or I would be, if this could kill.

Ana rolls her one good eye, and takes a deep breath to compose herself before responding, fighting back her annoyance.

[03:25, 05/06/2076] a_amari: you’re fine.  and too dramatic

[03:25, 05/06/2077] a_ziegler: And you’re heartless.

[03:25, 05/06/2077] a_ziegler: I’m suffering.

[03:26, 05/06/2077] a_ziegler: Have you no mercy?

[03:27, 05/06/2077] a_amari: that’s your job.  now go to sleep

[03:27, 05/06/2077] a_ziegler: I was asleep.

A pause, then, as if Angela is considering something, and for a moment Ana contemplates silencing her comm unit and going back to bed, but her lover messages again just as she is about to shut the unit off.

[03:29, 05/06/2077] a_ziegler: I dreamt of you, of the time they sent us both to Cape Town.  There was a terribly boring award ceremony, and you had talked me into wearing that vibrator—do you remember?  I was so desperate for you to touch me, by the time we got back to the suite, and I made you take me right there against the door, and we tore my dress.

[03:30, 05/06/2077] a_ziegler: I dreamt of that, and when I woke up, I couldn’t even do anything about it.

[03:30, 05/06/2077] a_ziegler: You’re killing me.

[03:31, 05/06/2077] a_ziegler: This is cruel.

Ana wants to turn her down flatly—to remind Angela that she lost their bet, and this is the price she agreed to pay—but Angela knows her too well, by now, knows exactly what to say to her in order to pique her attention.  Now she, too, is aroused, remembering well the night to which Angela is alluding, how her lover had passed off her flushed face as the effect of too much champagne, had tried to hide her squirming by accepting far more dances than she might usually, how she had tried multiple times to coax Ana with her into the bathroom, onto a balcony, into a tucked away corner, saying they could make it quick, that at this point she would not last terribly long, if only Ana would please let her come.

Tonight, the situation is not so different—but they have an agreement.

[03:32, 05/06/2077] a_amari: we had a bet, angela.  you lost

[03:32, 05/06/2077] a_ziegler: I know.

[03:32, 05/06/2077] a_ziegler: But I can’t do this for three more days.

[03:33, 05/06/2077] a_ziegler: Ana, please…

For a woman so very levelheaded when she needs to be, in the operating room and on the battlefield, and so resolute when it comes to her morals, Angela can be so very needy in the bedroom, weak-willed and begging.

(If Ana said she did not enjoy that, it would be a lie.  One of the things that first endeared Angela to her was how very stubborn she can be, professionally, how self-assured and determined; to see that break down, like this, for her—it is intoxicating. Were it to change Angela’s behavior towards her outside of their bedroom, she would not feel the same, for she cares for, perhaps loves, Angela for the woman she is already, but here? Here, it suits her perfectly.)

Although she has already made up her mind, Ana’s reply is thus:

[03:34, 05/06/2077] a_amari: you’ve already made it two weeks, angela. what’s a few more days?

[03:34, 05/06/2077] a_ziegler: Torture.

[03:34, 05/06/2077] a_ziegler: I can’t, Ana.

[03:34, 05/06/2077] a_ziegler: Please.

Ana smiles to herself, then.  The response being precisely what she expected.

[03:35, 05/06/2077] a_amari: call me.  you can try to convince me otherwise

There is hardly time to set her communicator down before Athena informs her of an incoming call.

“Two and a half weeks,” says she, in lieu of a greeting.  “That was our agreement.  How many days has it been?”

“Fourteen,” Angela answers, and then without pausing at all, begins, “But Ana I—”

“I’m not done,” Ana tells her, “We agreed that if you couldn’t learn to control yourself while I was there, then you would have to wait until I got back to come, isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” this time, Angela sounds much more chastened.

“What percentage of the time frame have you made it through?”

“Including hours?” Angela asks the question in earnest, and impressed as Ana is by the thought that Angela could do the math in her head quickly whilst so obviously preoccupied, she also really, truly does not care that much.

“Just days, Angela.”

“82.4%” Angela answers without hesitation.

“82.4%?  Would you consider that acceptable performance in any other area of your life?”

(The answer, as they both already know, is no. Furthermore, neither would Ana accept such poor performance from anyone.  They are, both of them, exacting women, who hold themselves and others to high standards, which is precisely what makes this so fun.  She never expected Angela to last even this long, and there is something about the two of them failing—Angela failing to meet the goal set for her, and Ana failing to hold her to it—which is freeing.  When they are together, failure is acceptable, if only under these circumstances, is not shameful or dangerous or any number of other, similar terrible things.  Instead, it can be fun for the both of them.)

“No,” Angela answers, just like Ana expected her to. “But Ana—”

“But what?” she asks, “What could possibly be so important that you think that, suddenly, 82.4% is acceptable?”

“Well,” Angela begins, “You know I dreamt…” and Ana, of course, does know what Angela is going to say, and knows also that she will enjoy hearing it, “I dreamt,” Angela starts again, after a pause, “About that night in Cape Town, about how you teased me for so long—how I was so on edge. When I was accepting that award, and I saw you off to the side, and you knew I’d seen you, and turned the vibration up, it was so hard to keep my composure.  So, so hard not to give myself away in front of everyone, and then when you kept changing the settings when I was talking to the ambassador, I nearly did.  It was almost too much, and I would have let you have me in front of everyone, if that was what you wanted, by the time the night ended—and in my dream, you did.”

“Did I now?” As she asks, she moves one hand under the waistband of her sleep pants—not touching herself, not quite yet, but running softly over the sensitive skin just above where her pubic hair begins—and delights in the knowledge that Angela, whose voice is far breathier and less steady than her own, cannot do the same.

“You were about to,” Angela says, “You had propped me on the piano and pulled my dress up—it tore, again—and your hand was almost at my clit when I woke up.”

Ana hums and then decides to tell her, “I’m almost touching my own clit right now.  Should I?”

Rustling of sheets from the other end, accompanied by a frustrated whine from Angela, “That’s cruel, Ana, please.”

“Perhaps I can wait, it hasn’t been two weeks for me, after all,” she does allow her hand to dip slightly lower, playing with her folds, running her finger lightly over them and always stopping just short of her clit.

A sound almost like a sob from Angela, and then, “Please, Ana, I’ll be good next time, I promise.  Please just tell me where the key is.  I can’t—I was so close Ana, and then I woke up, and I went to touch myself and I couldn’t.  Please.”

“Will you be good?” Ana asks, and her voice is still steady, but after hearing that from Angela she is unable to resist touching herself in earnest, rubbing a finger on either side of her clit for a moment, just to relieve some of the pressure.  “Making promises you couldn’t keep is what got you into this situation, you know.”

(It might be stretching things, just a bit, to claim that Angela made a promise, but they agreed, the two of them, that Angela would not come too much sooner than her, and Angela had said she would be good, would be able to hold off long enough for Ana to come, and that Ana did not have to go easy on her.  Suffice to say that Ana did not go easy, and that Angela had overestimated herself, and a promise having been made, they found themselves in need of a punishment—and to Ana’s mind, a chastity device seemed fitting, just for a short while, until the trip she is now on came to an end.  Of course, she never actually expected Angela to last this long, expected her to back down before Ana ever left, or in the day or two afterward.  Her lover’s stubbornness is greater than she anticipated.)

“I—” Angela starts, then stops, “How close are you? I don’t know if I can—”

“Not terribly,” Ana admits, and the long whine Angela releases in response to that has her rethinking her answer.  If Angela keeps making noises like that, then, “But I suppose I can let you off the hook. Just this once.  The key is taped to the back of the headboard.”

“Thank you,” says Angela, barely audible over the sound of the mattress as she scrambles to grab the key and free herself from the hardlight device, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Just,” Ana’s breath hitches a bit as she says it, “Just keep talking.”

“Shit,” Angela hisses, “I’ll try it’s just—it’s so much.  I don’t know how long I’m going to—”

“I know,” she says soothingly, or as near to it as she can, worked up as she herself is, “I know but just try to last a little longer.”

(She might sound a little more convincing if she were not herself so aroused at this point, but Angela’s begging, her little whimpers and gasps of pleasure, hearing how on edge she is and how quickly—Ana is wet enough, now, that she does not have to reach for the lubricant she has by her bedside, need only slip the tip of wo fingers inside of herself for a moment to gather all the wetness she needs to continue rubbing circles on her clit. So Angela will have to make do with shaky reassurances, for the time being.)

From Angela, no answer is forthcoming, but Ana can picture, from what she hears, just what is happening on the other end of the line.  Her lover is nude, of course—that is how Angela always sleeps, unless she is not afforded the privacy to do so—and will have kicked her comforter down to her ankles by now.  From the rustling she noticed earlier, Ana knows that Angela must have once again put sheets on her bed, likely in anticipation of her own return, and she will have her right fist wrapped in them, or around the headboard; she always grabs at something when she is close to coming, and does not let go.  

Ana does her best to mirror the position that Angela is in, trying to match her as best she can, screwing her own eyes shut when she hears the groan that means Angela has done the same, burying her face in her pillow as she often does.

If she were there, Ana would coax her, tell her Look at me, but she is not, and it is not so bad to picture, anyway, the long column of Angela’s throat exposed to her.  Even though she knows it is not currently the case, she pictures Angela’s throat marked, her own lipstick smeared across it and down towards her breasts.  By this point, of course, Angela will be flushed down to them—and Ana knows that although her own skin does not betray her arousal so easily, she, too, is flushed now.

“Please,” Angela says again over the line, “Please, I’m so close, I need to—” Her words are closer to a sob at this point, and a choked noise cuts her off.

Ana can feel the tension growing in herself, back beginning to arch and toes to curl, and she decides to go easy on Angela, knowing that Angela’s own orgasm will likely help her to finish herself off, “It’s alright,” says she, “Go ahead,” and normally she might say something more, but her own breathing is labored, too.

There is a moment of near silence from Angela’s end, and Ana can hear for the first time the telltale slick noises of Angela’s fingers frantically rubbing herself, before it is suddenly covered by the sound of the mattress groaning as Angela’s hips jerk, and her own name repeated over and over, a litany, “Ana, Ana, thank you, thank you, Ana.”

The sound of Angela’s orgasm itself is not enough to tip Ana over the edge, and she hovers there for a moment, feeling her tensed muscles begin to shake as she hovers there, and then, at the same time as she presses down particularly hard against herself, she hears a little contented hum from Angela, the same sleepy one she often makes when an orgasm brings her very close to drifting off, and the quietest “I do so love you,” from the other end of the line, likely not meant to be heard.

Fortunately, Ana is a quiet woman—or, rather, she is during sex—for she would never admit to Angela that such a thing was what tipped her over the edge, is still not entirely certain how to address the fact that the two of them have now danced around admitting, after so many years, to loving one another.

(Even a recently as a year ago, mere months before her return, she did not think of herself as being worthy of being loved by anyone, or capable of reciprocating such feelings.  It is difficult to discuss such a drastic change within oneself, difficult to find the vocabulary for that.)

In the moment, she does not worry about it, is too busy being consumed by the sensation, is only even dimly aware of Angela saying something to her on the other end of the line.

When she is done, Angela is still talking—this time about her plans for when Ana comes back, what she wants to do to Ana, in the privacy of her bedroom.

Ana only laughs in response, “You think you’ll be getting off that easily?”

“I got off very easily just now,” Angela purrs.

“Enjoy yourself for the next three days,” Ana tells her, smug as she can be whilst still slightly winded, “You still owe me seventeen.”

On the other end of the line, Angela begins to protest, but Ana has allowed herself to be kept from sleep for far too long already, and after her orgasm is feeling even more tired than before.  “Goodnight, Angela,” she says, and hangs up before her lover can say anything further.