Winter

Just her name. But it's like music.

Abby exhales slowly, heart already tight in her chest. She clears her throat, trying to sound casual. Like she hasn’t been trying not to think about Mel for months now. “Hey, Mel. What’s up?”

"I just…" There’s a pause as she seems to consider her next words. "I need to be somewhere else tonight."

And Abby already knows. She knows what that means before Mel even finishes her sentence. Knows she about to hear about—

“Owen and I got into a fight, and it’s stupid,” Mel continues, voice tightening with frustration or shame, Abby can’t tell which. “I just want to be somewhere else.”

With someone else, of course. The part she doesn’t say.

Abby bites down on the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting. Her jaw aches with the effort not to feel too much, not to let the familiar cocktail of guilt and longing settle too deeply into her gut.

She should say no. She should tell Mel to turn the car around, to go back home and figure her shit out, to stop dragging Abby into the middle of something they both know can’t be clean. But instead, she finds herself asking something bitter and a little childish, her voice low.

“No offense, but why didn’t you call Nora? Or, hell, Manny?”

She’s not really asking. She already knows the answer. She just wants to hear Mel say it. She wants her to be the one to break it open, to name the thing they’ve both been dancing around since that night six months ago when Mel had shown up at her doorstep in tears, and they'd both made the worst mistake of their lives. Or maybe not a mistake. Maybe the problem is that she can't decide which.

Mel’s sigh on the other end of the line is deep and weary. “Don’t make me say it, Abby.”

And maybe it’s cruel, but Abby kind of wants to. Wants to make Mel say she wants her, that this isn’t just about escaping Owen or some kind of one-off accident. She wants her to admit that she chooses Abby. Not by accident. Not by default. But because she can’t help it.

But Abby’s never been good at being cruel. Not to Mel. So instead, she swallows everything she wants to scream and asks the only thing that matters now. “Do you need me to pick you up?”

“No,” Mel says simply. “I’m already in the car.”

Of course she is. Of course she knew Abby would answer. Of course she knew Abby would say yes, even before the phone rang. That’s always been the problem, hasn’t it? Mel knows exactly how much of Abby is still hers. How much she’s never been able to take back.

“I’ll see you soon.”

Abby swipes her palm over her face, suddenly too warm, too aware of how alone she is in this apartment that used to feel like a safe place. Now it’s just a waiting room.

“Drive safe.“

Abby doesn’t bother turning on the overhead lights when she hears the knock, just pads barefoot to the door and opens it into the low hum of night and the soft splash of streetlight across Mel’s face. She looks small under the weight of her coat, hair mussed, cheeks blotchy with the telltale pink of someone who’s cried recently and tried not to let it show.

Her eyes are ringed in red, lashes clumped together from tears that had dried in the car, and Abby wants to reach out and cup her face, thumb away the damage, make her promise to stop letting Owen make her feel like this.

She doesn’t. She just steps aside.

“Come in.”

Mel brushes past her with a quiet, almost imperceptible nod of thanks, the scent of rain and her familiar perfume trailing behind her. She closes the door slowly, the soft click of the latch feeling louder than it should. When she turns, Mel is already unwinding her scarf, her hands trembling just slightly with the effort to seem composed.

Abby takes the coat from her without a word. Their fingers brush, warm skin meeting cold fingertips, and it's such a stupid, fleeting contact—but it makes Abby’s chest ache.

“I was gonna make tea,” she lies, motioning toward the kitchen. “But I get the feeling you could use a drink?”

“Wow,” Mel says, voice still scratchy, but lighter. “Generous. You wouldn't happen to be talking about that wine you always buy for seven dollars at the gas station across from the gym?”

“Excuse you,” Abby deadpans as she leads the way, “it was ten dollars. It has a fake cork and everything.”

“Classy.” Mel slips onto one of the stools by the kitchen island, chin propped in her hand as Abby pulls the wine from a low cabinet and uncorks it with practiced ease. “You’re really living large these days.”

“Some of us don’t get doctor salaries.”

“Only one of us did all the hard work for it,” Mel says, and Abby catches the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “And you’re still deflecting from the fact that you're about to poison me.”

“I drink it fast so I don’t notice.”

Mel huffs a soft, warm laugh. And for a second, just a second, it feels normal. Like they could be the two friends they once were.

Abby hands her a glass and leans back against the counter. “So,” she says quietly, “you wanna tell me what really happened, or do I have to guess?”

Mel doesn’t answer at first. She swirls the wine in her glass like she’s trying to decide if it’s worth drinking, then downs a long sip anyway. Her eyes stay on the deep red liquid, but her voice finds its strength.

“We were fighting about you.”

Abby lets out a groan, head thunking back against the cabinet behind her. “Jesus, again? You would think we're in a fucking polycule the way I keep getting brought up.”

Mel doesn’t laugh, but her mouth quirks like she almost wants to. She shrugs, eyes flicking up toward Abby’s. “I wasn’t accusing him of anything, I swear. I just…I saw he was texting you. A lot. I asked why. He got defensive.”

Abby’s brow lifts. “That tracks. But Mel—kinda hypocritical, no?”

The room stills. That lands heavier than she expects, and for a second Mel’s eyes go hard, lips pressing together like she might snap. But then she just breathes out slowly, nodding once.

“Fair.”

And something in Abby sinks. Because she hadn’t meant to say that out loud, not like that. But now it’s in the air between them, all the things they haven’t been saying for months.

She takes another drink. “He said I was being unreasonable. That I was jealous.”

Abby arches a brow and smiles around the rim of her glass. “You are jealous. And very unreasonable. I think it's cute, for what it's worth.”

Mel rolls her eyes, but there’s no heat in it. Only now, she lets herself smile fully and her eyes crinkle at the edges a little with it. “You’re such a dick.”

“I missed that smile,” Abby says before she can stop herself.

Mel goes still, glass held loosely in her hand, eyes steady on Abby’s. And for a moment, neither of them says anything.

Abby sets her glass down with a quiet clink and steps forward. Mel doesn’t move. Just watches her, wary but open, lips slightly parted, like she knows exactly where this is going and she isn’t sure she wants to stop it. Abby places one hand on the counter beside Mel’s hip and closes the rest of the distance, caging her in.

She’s so close now. Close enough to smell the cheap wine on Mel’s breath, close enough to see the ghost of that smile still lingering, close enough that all she has to do is dip her head just a little and—

Mel presses a hand to her chest.

Not hard enough to be pushing her away.

Abby freezes. The heat between them cracks like a fault line.

Mel’s looking up at her, those big brown eyes catching every single part of her that’s ever been weak, ever been selfish, ever wanted something she shouldn’t. Abby’s heart slams against her ribs beneath Mel’s hand, betraying her. She can’t look away.

"Abby," Mel whispers, and it's clear in that moment that she's not about to say no. Her hand falls from Abby’s chest with a certain finality. A surrender of sorts.

Abby doesn’t ask again. She closes the last inch between them, and the second her body presses against Mel’s, she nearly shudders. That first contact sends a shock up her spine. A rush of heat that has her whole body greedy for just a little more.

"Mel," she murmurs, and her lips brush the shell of her ear as she speaks, low and unsteady. The sound of it makes Mel inhale sharply, and Abby feels the tremble of it bloom between them. She leans into it almost shamelessly.

"You gonna tell me this isn’t what you came here for?"

Mel’s answer comes slow, caught between breath and doubt. "We shouldn’t," she says. And it’s not conviction. It’s not even reluctance. It’s the kind of weak protest people offer when they want to be convinced otherwise.

Which is exactly what Abby does.

She kisses under Mel’s ear, soft and deliberate, dragging her lips along the delicate skin there and letting herself breathe in that warm, familiar scent, so specific it makes Abby ache in places she thought she’d numbed. She presses another kiss lower, beneath her jaw, then pulls back just far enough to speak.

"Tell me to stop," she murmurs, eyes flicking down to Mel’s lips, “and I'll stop.”

She kisses the underside of Mel’s jaw, then the corner of her mouth, lingering there like she’s offering one last out.

“Say it,” Abby whispers. “Tell me you don't want this, Mel.”

But Mel doesn’t say a thing. She just turns into the space between them and kisses Abby full on the mouth, hard enough to hurt. Her hands come up fast, palms cupping Abby’s face like she’s been starving for this.

The kiss is messy from the start. Open-mouthed and urgent, all teeth and tongue and want. Mel kisses like she’s trying to take something back from Abby, something she never should have given in the first place.

Abby groans into her mouth, fingers fisting in the back of Mel’s shirt, her knuckles grazing warm skin as she pulls her closer, closer, closer. She drinks in every little gasp Mel gives her, commits them to memory, lets them echo in her chest like absolution.

Mel pulls back just long enough to catch her breath, lips kiss-bruised and wet. “That didn’t sound like stop,” Abby says, voice low and hoarse.

“You’re being shitty,” Mel mutters, but there’s no real bite in it. Her lips are already chasing Abby’s again.

And Abby could say a hundred things to that. Could say you’re engaged, or you're the one who showed up, or this isn’t fair to anyone, but none of those things have ever stopped them before.

Instead, she just grins and leans down, strong arms sliding beneath Mel’s thighs.

“What—Abby, what are you—” Mel’s protest cuts off in a startled, indignant little squeak as Abby lifts her with ease, hands firm beneath her legs. Her arms instinctively wrap around Abby’s neck, and her legs curl tight around her waist.

Abby takes a slow breath, steadying her hold and letting herself feel the weight of Mel pressed against her. She revels in it. God, she missed this. The way Mel fits against her. The way her chest rises and falls, breath warm against Abby’s throat.

The bedroom is dark, save for the thin spill of hallway light that follows them in. Abby is careful as she carries Mel to her bed, like she'll spill right through her fingers if she isn't.

She lays her down slowly. Mel’s fingers slide from Abby’s shoulders to her jaw, then down her chest, never quite breaking contact as she goes.

For a moment, they just lie there.

Just breathing the same air, lips brushing as they exhale. Skin hot through their clothes. Abby’s hand resting at Mel’s waist, fingers flexing as if she’s reminding herself this is real. That Mel is really here. That she said yes in every way that matters.

She kisses her again—softer now, slower. They have time, even if they don’t. Mel kisses back with something desperate caught under her tongue, her hands threading through Abby’s hair, keeping her anchored there.

Abby breaks the kiss just long enough to press her forehead to Mel’s, to breathe her in. She lets her palm slip under the hem of Mel’s shirt, feeling the warmth of her stomach, the soft curve of her ribs. Her fingers move slowly, reverent in the path they trace.

When she starts to lift Mel’s shirt, Mel lets her. She lifts her arms and lets Abby peel it away inch by inch until it’s gone, until her chest is bare and goosebumped in the cool air. Abby’s eyes drag over her, throat tight with too many feelings she doesn’t want to name.

She follows with kisses. Light at first, just across her collarbone, then lower, over the swell of her breasts. Her hand comes up to cradle one, thumb brushing over a nipple. Mel sighs, her back arching subtly.

They undress each other like it hurts to be apart even for the seconds it takes to pull a shirt over a head or slide a pair of pants down over hips. Mel’s hands are careful, and Abby can feel how much they remember. The perfect pressure to apply, the soft sigh that can be pulled from her with a squeeze to her hip, the way she shivers when fingers graze the small of her spine.

Every piece of clothing that falls to the floor leaves them a little more exposed, a little more honest.

Abby kisses her way back up, hands cradling Mel’s chest again, slow and sure. She mouths over a nipple, groaning softly at the way Mel gasps and tangles a hand in her hair. She drags her lips along her sternum, up her neck, and lingers there, tongue and teeth grazing soft skin.

She wants to mark her. She wants something to stay behind when this night is over, something that proves it happened, that Mel came here and gave in.

But Mel’s hand comes up fast, fingers curling against the nape of Abby’s neck. Not harsh, but firm. “Not there,” she says, breath hitching, voice a rasp.

Abby pauses, looking up. Her lips are swollen, her face flushed, but she nods. She understands. Even if she hates it.

Mel doesn’t leave her hanging. Instead, she guides her down, one gentle push at a time—fingers threading through Abby’s hair as she moves her down her body. Abby follows willingly, kisses painting a trail as she descends.

Her mouth finds the slope of Mel’s stomach, her hands stroke up her thighs. She can feel Mel shaking beneath her, the muscles twitching in anticipation.

“There,” Mel says softly, settling back against the mattress. Her legs fall open, bent at the knee. Her voice is low and steady now, with just the barest edge of something needy. “Just where I can see.”

Abby blinks, and for a second she thinks she’s heard her wrong. But no. Mel’s gaze is locked on her, pupils wide, mouth parted. She wants this. Wants tangible proof of what they're about to do. Wants to remember.

The thought makes Abby’s head swim, her throat tighten. She swallows it all down and obeys.

She kisses the inside of one thigh first, right above the knee. Then the other. Soft, barely-there kisses that gradually get bolder, closer. She sucks a mark into the tender skin, then another, and another right where no one else will see.

Her teeth scrape and nip, and her tongue soothes after, and every time she does it, Mel’s thighs twitch closer around her.

Abby’s hands roam greedily. She drags her nails lightly down the length of Mel’s thighs, just enough to raise goosebumps, to watch her hips lift off the mattress slightly in response. Her thumbs press into the soft skin where thigh meets hip, holding her steady.

She hopes that leaves marks, too.

Abby looks up once more, just to be sure. Mel’s gaze is already on her, jaw slack, eyes burning. Her hand rests loosely in Abby’s hair, not guiding anymore—just wanting her there.

And Abby wants to give her everything.

Abby kisses her way to Mel's pussy, hands placed on her thighs to keep them spread open. Her tongue lingers in lazy strokes, and her lips follow with open-mouthed kisses that have Mel already squirming, already tense.

Abby isn’t in a rush. She wants to savor it. Wants to memorize the way Mel feels against her tongue, how her scent curls into Abby’s brain like smoke and settles deep in her bones. This is the only thing she wants right now. The only thing that matters.

She licks up slowly, just once, and the taste of her has Abby groaning into the skin of her thigh.

Mel gasps, then grits her teeth to keep from making a sound. Her fingers thread through Abby's hair, tugging hard once. “You’re being such a fucking tease,” she breathes, breath catching on the last word.

Abby smiles against her. “I can tell you haven't been fucked right if you think this is teasing.”

Mel huffs out a shaky breath and tips her head back into the pillow, lips parted, jaw clenched. But her legs stay wide open, her hips rolling just slightly as if to meet Abby’s mouth.

"You talk too much."

Abby gets back to work. Her tongue moves with purpose now. A slow, precise pressure that draws a low, desperate moan from Mel's throat. She circles her clit with practiced ease, never too fast, never too light. Just right. She knows Mel’s body. Knows exactly how to touch her to get her to unravel, to fall apart in layers.

Mel’s breath stutters. Her arm comes up to cover her face, muffling the sounds slipping out of her mouth. But Abby hears them anyway. Every sharp inhale, every whimper. It fuels her, lights her up from the inside out. She grips Mel’s hips tighter, tongue flicking faster now, lips sealing around her clit to suck gently, then with firmer pressure when Mel arches.

“H-harder,” Mel pants into her arm. “Abby, come on. Harder.”

And Abby obeys without hesitation, groaning as she seals her mouth over her again. Her tongue works harder, faster, and Mel feels it. Her body jerks, thighs tightening slightly around Abby’s shoulders.

“God! Fuck, faster,” she gasps, breathless now. Her voice is breaking, unraveling around the edges. She’s fighting to stay composed, to keep some sliver of control, but Abby doesn’t let up. She doubles down.

Her hands slide beneath Mel’s ass to pull her closer, to hold her right against her mouth, and she works her tongue like she’s starving. Every slick stroke, every flick and swirl, every suck of her lips is designed to ruin her.

And it’s working. Mel’s hips are grinding now, her moans coming harder, sharper. The arm covering her face has fallen away, and her hand is fisting the sheets instead.

Abby doesn't stop to catch her breath. She doesn't pause to gloat. She just keeps going.

Because this is her high:

Mel, flushed and breathless and losing it completely under her mouth. Mel, falling apart so hard she can’t think. Mel, who came here after a fight with someone who doesn't matter right now and is now spread open and soaked for her.

Abby feels that possessive streak surge up like heat in her chest. No one else can touch her like this. No one else knows her like this. No one can give her this.

Mel’s not even trying to hold it back anymore. She’s moaning openly now, biting her lip between every desperate sound, her thighs twitching, her body taut like a live wire.

“Fuck, Abby,” she gasps, voice shaking. “I’m—don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop—”

Abby groans into her, nods the best she can with her mouth still working, and adds just a little pressure with her tongue, just the way Mel likes it. And that’s all it takes.

Her thighs clamp around Abby’s head, shaking as the orgasm crashes through her. Her hips buck, her voice stutters on a broken cry of Abby’s name, and Abby holds her there, mouth still working her through it. Slower now, but not stopping. She wants to feel every aftershock. Wants to make sure Mel remembers this for days. Weeks. Forever.

Mel’s legs twitch around her head again, and she lets out a helpless, whimpering sound as her hand lands shakily in Abby’s hair. “Alright, tiger. Ease up.”

Abby finally pulls back, panting, face flushed and wet and glowing with satisfaction. She presses one last kiss to Mel’s inner thigh, and lets herself rest there, cheek on soft skin, arms curled under her.

Mel's still catching her breath, chest rising and falling fast, her skin flushed and glowing in the low light. Her hand drifts through Abby’s hair in lazy, shaky strokes, and Abby closes her eyes and lets herself believe, for just a moment, that this isn’t a mistake.

Abby pulls back with a soft pant, face slick, flushed, and hungry. Mel’s still catching her breath, but that doesn’t stop Abby from pushing her legs open again, firm but tender, gaze heavy with reverence.

“Not done,” Abby murmurs, as Mel seems to catch her bearings. “Not yet.”

She slots herself between Mel’s thighs, pulling one of her legs up to rest against her shoulder as she presses them together. That first drag slick against slick has them both gasping from the way their clits slide against one another.

“Fuck,” Mel breathes out, low and rough.

Abby rolls her hips with slow, deep intent, each grind purposeful. “Feels good?”

Mel lets out a shaky moan, her fingers sliding up Abby’s ribs, then further to cup her breasts. She brushes her thumbs over Abby’s nipples until they’re pebble-hard and Abby is shuddering.

“You know it does,” Mel mutters, voice half a growl. She squeezes gently, just the way she knows Abby likes. Abby’s rhythm falters for a second, just a second, her eyes fluttering closed as she gasps against Mel’s cheek.

“You’re so mean,” Abby breathes, nearly laughing, voice thick with affection and arousal. “You know what that does to me.”

Mel’s hands don’t stop moving. “Gotta focus, Abs. Keep going.”

Abby listens. She grinds harder, faster now, both of them so wet and flushed and loud. Every movement makes Mel’s head tip back just a little further, and Abby is drunk on the sound of her.

Abby’s breathing stutters, her hips jerking. “Tell me you love me,” she pants, almost desperate. “Just say it. I won’t hold you to it.”

Mel lifts herself enough to brush her fingers along Abby's jaw. Her eyes are blown wide and dark, but soft. “I love you.”

It’s quiet, but it doesn’t feel like a lie.

Abby gasps—whether from the words or the pleasure, she’s not sure—and surges forward to kiss her. “I love you too,” she breathes, right against Mel’s lips, before they’re kissing again.

They come like that: clinging, grinding, everything hot and helpless and perfect. Mel arches up into Abby and Abby ruts down into her like she can’t help it, both of them trembling, gasping, crying out in tandem.

And then Abby collapses onto her with a breathless laugh, face buried in Mel’s neck, heart racing.

Neither of them speaks at first. There’s only the sound of their breathing, the way their limbs slowly untangle, and Abby’s quiet whisper, almost lost in the silence:

“…I meant it.”

Mel’s fingers tangle in her hair, and she presses a kiss to her temple, but she doesn’t say anything back for a beat. Then, "Abby, I can't. I can't spend the rest of my life cheating on Owen."

"So, leave Owen." She knows she sounds like a big fucking baby, but she can't help it. Doesn't want to even try.

"I…I don't know how."

And Abby doesn't want to start a fight. She doesn't want to watch Mel retreat into herself and dress in a hurry and leave her behind again. Instead, she just nods.

"You gonna stay the night?"

when abby feels her warmth, it moves through her whole body--shuddering, unkind. just need and want and knowing she doesn’t deserve to have it satisfied. instead, her fingers glide through wetness, just petting, waiting for dina to gasp, waiting for dina to welcome her in.

she does, and dina’s grip tightens on her hair. “more. please.”

and abby knows being asked of her. she lifts the dress and sinks under it, warmth against her cheek. swallows and reminds herself not to rush, to be gentle with her too-big hands when she lifts dina’s thighs around her, when she kisses up them slowly, feeling every tremble, every twitch.

dina doesn’t need words, and when abby’s tongue is on her clit and her fingers stroking inside her, the sounds she makes are more than enough. breathy whines, little jerks of her hips for more contact with abby’s mouth. abby holds her steady, gives slowly, deliberately, despite her own need growing more urgent, harder to ignore. 

she wants this to last. wants dina as long as dina will let her. wants to believe the taste of dina on her tongue, the release spilling onto her chin will bind them somehow, so that they won’t fall into coldness and distance like they always do. 

when it’s over, dina doesn’t kiss her. she has her eyes shut tight, eyebrows pinched in the light through the trees like she’s concentrating. but she does let abby curl into her side, fingers tracing the lines on her arm, staying quiet until the air starts to cool.

-

it's not what I planned but i hope you like it anyway

hello taglist babes im late but in case you didn't get this one