#claireve

“Don’t say that!”

Without thinking, Claire covers Eve’s mouth with one hand, cutting her off mid-sentence.  She stares over her shoulder at the donors, who are gratefully distracted with something else, and slowly guides Eve down one of the hallways off of the main room, back behind two of the swinging steel doors where the waiters will, eventually pass them.  But these are waiters from The Scratching Post; they’re used to odd shenanigans such as these, although usually by the owner of the restaurant and her lovely spouse.

Claire guides Eve far enough down the hallway that they can turn into another one where they can’t be seen even when the doors swing open again.  She might have gone even further if Eve didn’t suddenly lick her hand.  Her brows furrow, and she keeps her hand over Eve’s mouth.  “What did we say about licking me?”

Eve’s answer comes muffled against Claire’s palm.

But Claire has gotten used to making out what Claire’s saying through other gags, making it much simpler to understand her speaking against her palm. “That’s right.  Licking me in public is off-limits unless—”

Eve says something else, interrupting her.

Claire’s brow furrows.  “Just because we’re not in public now doesn’t mean—”

Eve raises her brows and crosses her arms.

“Fine, fine.”  Claire lowers her hand.  “You win.”  She shakes her hand as though annoyed with the saliva covering her palm, and then she leans forward and bites gently on Claire’s shoulder, its flesh soft between her teeth.  When Eve brushes a hand through Claire’s far too fine hair, stroking it the same way she might a pet dog’s, Claire adjusts, bites her a little harder, growls.

“Precious baby,” Eve murmurs soothingly.  “Just needed a break from her donors to let off some steam.  Is that right?”

Claire slowly unhooks her teeth from Eve’s skin and presses a kiss over the marks she’s left behind.  “Yes.  Thank you.”

Eve strokes a hand through Claire’s hair again.  “Do you need to bite me again?”

When Claire starts to say no, she notices how Eve has tilted her head ever so slightly to one side, exposing the length of her neck.  She hums and skims the tip of her nose along Eve’s skin before setting her teeth gentle on either side.  The first bite is nothing, the second moved up a little harsher, the third Claire opens her mouth as wide as she can and chomps on the sensitive skin where Eve’s neck meets her jaw.

A soft sound creeps through Eve’s lips as she tilts her head back, the sound vibrating against Claire’s tongue, and she cups a hand on the back of Claire’s head and holds her closer to her.  When Claire shifts her teeth, she feels Eve’s breath hitch, and she kisses her skin again when she pulls back.  “Thank you, my love,” she murmurs, pressing another kiss to the edge of her jaw.  “Would you like anything from me before we go back into proper society?”

“Mmm,” Eve hums, turning her head just enough to just brush her nose against Claire’s.  “Why don’t you play with me out there?”

The first time Claire Valentine laid eyes on Eve Mackie, she knew she was in love.

Of course, the first time Claire saw Eve, she was all of six years old, a tiny little scrap of a thing in a body that didn’t feel quite so uncomfortable yet, in skin that didn’t feel quite so stretched thin.  She wasn’t even Claire yet; sometimes she took her mother’s name out and tried it on the same way that you or I might pull out fine china for special occasions (or our most favorite hoodie on rainy days when we just want to crawl back into bed and cover our head), but it never fit just right.  When she heard Eve’s name, she tried it on immediately – considered herself a Mackie instead of a Valentine – and then remembered that, if they ever were married, Eve would take her name and become Eve Valentine, and then her initials would be EV, so her initials would be the same as her name!  She’d snickered at that, at her own private little joke, and then noticed Eve flushing a bright scarlet, tears pooling in her eyes.

“I didn’t mean it,” Claire had said because she didn’t know how to explain her joke.  She bit her lower lip.  “You’re really cute.”

Eve glanced up, and her eyes had been very big and very blue.  Like the sky!  “Mama says that…that boys tease girls when they like them.”  She struggled to make the words and spoke so softly that Claire had to strain to hear her.  “You’re teasing me,” she continued, brow furrowing, “so that means you have to like me?” Up to that moment, she’d been so firm in what she was saying, but at the end, uncertainty crept into her tone, twisting it into a doubtful question.  Still, she met Claire’s eyes, hopeful.

More hopeful that Claire only bullied her because she liked her and less hopeful that Claire liked her, but they were six and didn’t quite know what that meant just yet.

Claire smiled her biggest, most toothiest grin.  She’d pulled one of her two front teeth a few days before, and if she tried really hard, she could whistle through it.  She already wanted to show Eve later because she wanted them to be the best of friends.  “Your eyes are really pretty.”

At Claire’s words, Eve beamed, splitting her face with the most prettiest smile that Claire thought she could have ever seen.  Her face lit up inside like a Christmas tree light!  Amazing!  Then Eve reached out and grabbed Claire’s hand.  “You’re my new best friend,” she whispered confidentially.  She gave her a tug.  “Let’s go play on the monkey bars!”

They kissed once, three months later, the way that children do, just mimicking their parents, while playing house.  Then Eve promised that she would be Mrs. Valentine, and her little neighbor friend married them.  Claire’s parents caught them mid-ceremony and threw the whole thing off.  It was horrible.  It was wonderful.

Then Claire’s parents decided that their little boy didn’t deserve to go to school with the rest of the riff-raff and paid exorbitant amounts of money to settle him into Haddington’s singular private school.  Eve continued at Haddington Elementary.  They saw each other at church every now and again, but Claire’s father would drag her away immediately after.  “You make friends at your new school,” he would say.  “That girl is not worth your time.”

Over the years, Claire expected that Eve forgot about her.  Forgot that they’d almost been married, forgot that she’d promised to be Mrs. Valentine.  She tried to forget about her, too, just like she tried to be anyone other than Claire, to fit into the skin that her father sketched out for her. But the more she tried, the thinner it grew, until she felt like she was splitting.