#billie:thread

its a petty thing to do, revoke his access to her bedroom over an argument but the witching was feeling petty. she felt like making him pay. "next time you shouldn't try and make me jealous--" she's naked against her sheets, her legs parted-- showing off how slick her pretty little cunt is, and just how much she wants the man currently growling at her from the doorway. heavy, full breasts strain against her palms as she teases her own nipples. she whimpers softly, her hips bucking. she was always so sensitive. "baby--" she's breaking the rules, and she knows it. she's going to pay, the moment she drops the spell but she doesn't care-- for now. her left hand drifts, sliding down until it's brushing against her swollen clit. she's so wet-- she's already making a mess of herself, one she knows the vampire can practically taste from where he is. "oh---god--avi--i'm dripping."

she can feel the jealousy coursing through her veins at the sight of another girls arm in theirs. they look good-- and it’s enough to make her reach for her drink. it’s too much. the sight of them-- after 3 years-- happy in ways she wasn’t sure she knew how to be anymore. but maybe she’d been the only one who’d gotten in deep. somehow she doubted that. the singer squares her shoulders and puts on a bright smile when they finally, meet her gaze. she greets them and their.... date with a soft kiss to each cheek. “lovely to see you -- it’s been an age.” her  smile is a little tight in the corners but she prays they don’t notice--no matter how well they’d known how to read her. “i... wasn’t expecting to see you tonight. still. you look... well.” she clutches her glass a little tighter. “good to see you.” she’s normally more put together but it’s clear they have her rattled. she gives a small smile before stepping out of the din of the party, into a garden for some much needed air.

billie’s drunk. at least that’s what she tells herself, like the amount of wine in her blood stream can explain the way her stomach lights up at the sight of them caught in a passionate embrace. she spends all her free time with them--both of them really-- she knows they’re together but she just seems to slide in and find herself tangled in the bubble they’ve created.  they get her, and her off beat humour-- seem to understand the ways she builds her walls and slip right past them. it’s startling, but she tells herself that it’s a platonic tangle. very platonic. she repeats the same phrase in her mind, despite the way her stomach tightens when one of them, cups the others cheek. she needs to stop imagining herself in the middle of them. “ah-- well-- guess it’s time for me to go home then--” she chuckles softly and moves to slip on her shoes. desperate to put a little distance between herself and the confusing tangle of feelings in the pit of her stomach. it’s the wine. it’s definitely the wine.

"honey, i know i've got a lovely pair of assets-- but my face is up here? i don't know what barn you were raised in but where I'm from you at least pretend not to stare."

she’s normally careful with her words.  rarely ever uses them like the weapon they are-- is rarely reckless when she’s angry, but they-- fray the edges of her good sense. she doesn’t know why they get under her skin-- why they fling words at her that she volleys back, until they’re screaming at each other. she watches them from accross the kitchen, anger low in her stomach. they haven’t said a word to each other since their last fight--it’s been 12 hours and 3 long walks and the silence is holding. she drags her spoon through coffee and tries not to let the silence get to her. but then-- “you said you wished i would vanish. do you really want me to leave?” her voice is uncharacteristically vulnerable. “is that what that fight was about?”

she hates industry parties, hates the posturing, the way every ego needed to jostle for position. every one wanted to be centre of attention. atheletes, musicians, actors-- too many egos for one roof. she’s too sober to pretend-- and the moment she steps through the door she’s contemplating exit routes, waiting for his signal, to make their way to some other part of the house. she’s standing-- talking casually, but she can feel his gaze on her skin, watching her as she navigates the room. as if he can see underneath the skin tight red number she’s in tonight, as if he’d like to take it off her right now if he could. it makes her smile a smidge brighter, makes her heart stutter. they’ve been trying to keep this a secret-- after all it was supposed to be casual. no need to do anything to alert tmz-- when all she’d been after is a little release. but now? her touches linger, and his gaze follows her accross rooms--and it doesn’t quite feel as casual, as they’d intended. she sees him exit, stepping out into the garden and disappearing into it. after a few seconds she follows, despite the complaining squeak of her shoes on damp grass. she goes down a path--explores a little until she spots his broad back. “you know-- i’m not too sure we’re doing as good a job of hiding this as you think--” she laughs softly. “if fact i’m fairly sure half the party knows-- from the way you’ve been watching me all night.” she doesn’t say it-- but she liked it.

they’re the only ones in the studio--- not that she minds. but she can feel them watching her as she adjusts the levels on the board. their eyes follow her between the board and the corner where she’d set up camp, surrounded by candles and a seemingly never ending supply of camomile tea. she scribbles down a few more lyrics--and pretends she can’t feel the burn of their eyes on her skin. and maybe it’s a little childish to be so cold-- but it’s the only way she knows. they’d crossed so many lines the night before--she isn’t sure how to take it back, but she needs to. “you’re staring, and it’s interrupting my process.” she glances up. “what--? do i have loser stamped on my forehead or--?”