#Ah yes. The lyric reworking that started it all. A fitting midway point for my Femslash February installments.

[quarterfromcanon]

Rough Draft

Heather & Valencia - Femslash February - Day 14 - Love Letters [2,625 words]

The waking disorientation lasted for a shorter span of minutes with each new day Valencia spent in a bed that was not her own. She got used to the way the early sunlight fell through the window at an odd slant as the rays passed above wall outside; she grew accustomed to the layout of the room in the wan illumination and the cool slide of satin across her hips. 

What did not decrease in novelty was the sight of Heather sleeping beside her.

Valencia’s air kept getting lost somewhere inside her lungs, caught between the inhale and exhale, hitching just long enough to leave a sting before she remembered to release it again. That morning was no exception. Sixty hours in each other’s company, fifty-seven of which were in varying states of undress, and they’d reached the level of comfort where both fell asleep nude the previous night. The curve of Heather’s spine in the warm glow of dawn called to Valencia’s fingers like a persistent itch. Her slow, even breathing made the sheets crumple in a pool around her waist. The tattoo on Heather’s right arm smiled at Valencia with its crooked robot mouth. 

Good morning, Wilbur, she thought. Valencia traced its outline and reflected on the first occasion when she heard the story of her friend’s prominent body art, and just how much had happened since that afternoon on a different bed belonging to Heather. It felt equal parts inexplicable and inevitable, a course of events neither of them predicted but which seemed like the only logical conclusion once they were here.

Yet, despite their increasing intimate knowledge of one another, there was so much Valencia still wanted to say. Half an hour ticked by in which she wrestled with declarations and curiosities, so close to shaking Heather awake to share it all, but uncertainty stilled her hand. 

Valencia climbed off the mattress and searched for clothes. She found Heather’s before her own and allowed herself the indulgence of slipping the loose, comfortable fabric onto her frame. Her fists balled up the camisole under her nose and she inhaled deeply. Cedar, citrus, and sea salt - no one product produced the co-mingling aromas but they all embedded into anything that pressed against Heather’s skin. Valencia wondered if perhaps she was adopting the distinct scent now, too. The thought pleased her more than she chose to admit.

She opened the bedroom door and padded around the corner into the living room. The yoga mat she borrowed from Heather’s car waited beside the couch, left in place on the floor after multiple uses. Valencia went through her sun salutation but the state of undisturbed serenity kept receiving interference from the brush of Heather’s madras shorts against her legs. They were comfortable to move in, but a relentless distraction woven with memories of how they wound up by the closet for her to wear in the first place. 

When her morning routine was complete, Valencia went back to the open doorway. She leaned against the frame and gazed down at Heather for a few minutes, curls in her face and calves overlapped beneath the blanket. The terrible need to divulge the contents of her whirring mind rose once more. Valencia’s mouth opened as if to let some of those emotions escape, but she closed it before any sound from her might disturb Heather’s peaceful slumber.

She shivered and pulled the crochet duster cardigan off Heather’s chair for extra coverage. Her arms folded over her stomach while she contemplated how she might broach the subject of where they stood after the recent developments between the two of them. No introductory premise held much potential. She was sure to get tripped up in the delivery, and the embarrassment of wanting to talk at all burned from the imagined exchange alone. Maybe the reliance on speech was not the best call to begin with, and the written word could prove easier to control. 

Valencia fetched her purse from the corner and rummaged until she found her portable bullet journal and a pen. She curled up in the chair and flipped to a blank page. Just as with her practiced conversation, the question of where to start was the most daunting. There were so many options - a joke, an anecdote, an admission - but the ideal beginning existed somewhere in the middle. She touched pen to paper and tested a few lighthearted sentences in precise, steady-stroke cursive.

You’ve had me crying out this entire weekend (not just in literal tears). I mean sexually you’ve had me crying out. What if the whole neighborhood hears? But as I’m heaving my chest, struggling to catch my breath, there’s something I’ve got to bite my tongue not to confess: I’m so scared. I think I like you. I want to hide I think I like you. It’s reckless, but you make me weak in the knees, and it’s not just your mouth that’s got me begging please...

She gave a disgruntled sigh and tore the draft free. Valencia crumpled the first attempt and tossed it into the trash can beside Heather’s nightstand. A fresh set of empty lines stretched underneath, ready to be filled, but Valencia put off a second trial in favor of leaving a note to herself. Her pen dug into each letter with unnecessary force.

Remember: NO NO NO This is just about sex. NO NO NO Keep this longing in check!

Valencia flipped deeper into the journal and looped her contemplation across unused parchment in a stream-of-consciousness, which she partially edited upon review.

I see you in nothing but that old blouse with the doughnut stain, and just like that, all I’m thinking again is holy crap, I think I like you. Don’t hate me. I think I like you. Why can’t I get lost in bumping and grinding like your face disappears inside my thighs? ’Cause as I’m returning the favor and you’re on your back, I want to see myself through your eyes. Then you curl your finger, beckon me to the brink, and suddenly it’s like way down deep I think I like you. Secretly, I think I like you. Can’t help falling harder every day. You’ve got me knotted up... not in a foreplaying way.

“Whatcha workin’ on, buddy?” Heather inquired.

Valencia jumped so hard that her notebook nearly went airborne. She shut it with a snap and tucked it under the cushion of the chair. “Oh, just finding things to do until you woke up,” she answered in a casual tone that directly contradicted her unusual behavior. 

Heather, much to Valencia’s relief, was too disoriented to detect anything suspicious.

“Thanks for letting me sleep in.” Heather tilted her phone, checked the clock, and rubbed her eyelids. “They don’t even need me at Home Base until ten, but I’d better go ahead and shower, though. What about you? Any plans for today?”

Valencia shrugged. “I’m wide open.”

A mischievous smirk formed at the corner of Heather’s lips. “Good to know.”

Valencia blushed and smiled in return. “Is it okay if I stay here while you’re gone?”

“Sure, of course. Mi casa and all that. You’ve got some of your stuff here to begin with, and anything else that comes up, you can just borrow mine --” Her gaze scanned Valencia’s outfit. “-- which I see you’re already doing. Are those all my clothes?”

Valencia self-consciously rubbed her kneecaps. “Yeah, they are. I got a little cold.”

“Shoulda never left the bed. I could’ve warmed you up.” Heather held out her hand. “C’mere.”

Valencia fell into the embrace and blanketed Heather’s body with her own. She hummed appreciatively and trailed her hands down Heather’s front. “How are you so much toastier than me when I’m in layers and you’re still naked?”

Heather nosed the cardigan aside and scraped one of her cuspids along Valencia’s shoulder. “There’s actually a scientific reason for that, but it’s way too nerdy and un-sexy to explain while you’re playing with my nipples.”

Valencia snorted and cradled Heather close. “I don’t know about that. I think the way your mind works is pretty hot.”

“Dude, careful. I’ve got like a decade’s worth of Gen. Ed. crap up there. You don’t wanna sit through all that.”

“Depends where I’m sitting.” Valencia caught Heather’s lower lip between her teeth and tugged.

Heather groaned. “Your wordplay game has seriously leveled up now that you’re all out-and-proud. I’m gonna have to sharpen my skills.”

She wriggled one hand under the back of Valencia’s waistband while the other inched up the cami. “Did you put on my underwear, too?” she asked just before her touch advanced far enough to reveal there was no sign of them. Valencia shook her head to answer regardless. Heather’s nails scratched with deliberate pressure over the expanse until Valencia shuddered and arched. “You even wear my clothes the same way I do,” Heather remarked. “Commando’s out of the norm for you. I appreciate your commitment to accurate imitation.”

“It’s the sincerest form of flattery.” 

“Mm, and the most helpful.” 

The madras was midway up Heather’s forearm by the time her fingers reached their target. Valencia rolled her hips. She gripped both sides of Heather’s face and kissed her until they both swayed dizzily. They worked together to discard the duster and Heather coaxed Valencia flat against the pillows.

Time unfurled outside of their awareness, the passage of an hour they were both happy to lose, and when Heather finally returned to her side of the bed, the purloined ensemble was scattered around the room where it began. 

“Okay,” Heather panted. “Now, for real, I have to shower.”

Valencia pressed one last kiss to Heather’s arm before she departed for the bathroom. What little oxygen Valencia had to spare left her in a dazed chuckle as she finger-combed her matted hair. She hugged her knees and rested her chin on them. The numbers on the cell phone screen blinked and changed several times before she retrieved the notebook and jotted down a third paragraph, but the fuzzy giddiness of her brain produced admittedly ridiculous results. 

Are there dental dams to block out this keening? Is there a strap-on long enough to thrust some space between my crotch and heart? Take out the batteries before I vibrate into ecstasy fantasizing an apartment, and maybe a pet, and then we get to ride on a Pride float...

Valencia held the journal away from herself with a grimace. “Oh my God!”

I think I like you. Her hand trembled, but she resisted the urge to cross out the truth. What to do? I think I like you.

She turned back to the old page, doodled her lover’s name, and retraced the reminder.

~*~ Heather ~*~

NO NO NO

NO NO NO

NO NO NO

NO NO NO

Valencia grumbled and ripped away the lot. She dropped them into the trash can and restored the journal to her purse.

Her own clothes turned out to be beneath the bed in a pile. Valencia put them on and went to the kitchen to rummage through the fridge. She was scrutinizing the expiry dates on some of Rebecca’s choices when Heather reemerged from the bathroom. 

“I’m making something to eat real quick before I head out. I can add enough for two servings, if you want in on it,” Heather offered. “Let me just dry my hair and then... ah crap. This happens every time.”

“What’s wrong?” Valencia called from where she now sat beside the island.

“Nothing major. I went to unplug my phone and knocked it into the trash. I’ve seriously done that like five times already. I’ve really gotta move this thing.”

The blood drained from Valencia’s face. She dropped off the stool and raced toward the bedroom. Her ribs collided with the door as she skidded to halt. 

Too late.

“There’s a whole stack of paper scraps in here,” Heather said, hands full of tattered sheets. “This is your handwriting, isn’t it?” 

She glanced at the uppermost piece and her eyebrows lifted. Valencia froze. 

“You made my name look really pretty.” Heather held up the rest of the pages. “Was this gonna be for me?”

“Please don’t read any more,” Valencia pleaded.

“Okay.” Heather gently restored the discarded musings to their place. “That’s the only thing I really saw, so, whatever you don’t want me to know is safe.”

She plugged in her hairdryer and sat on the bed. Valencia could feel the shift in the air between them. While Heather guided the gusts of heat in systematic lines from scalp to end, Valencia perched at the foot of the mattress. She clasped her hands atop her legs and fought off the tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Heather glanced her way for a fraction of a second when she paused to press the snowflake button in the middle of the dryer, but her stare was inscrutable and she said nothing. Valencia’s throat ached and her fingers twitched with the desire to reach out and hold Heather’s hand in her own.

Heather slid the plastic bar to ‘off,’ unplugged, and rolled up the cord. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes,” Valencia permitted in a quavering voice. “Anything.”

“The secret... which, by the way, suckiest hiding place ever... is it a good thing or a bad thing?” Heather busied herself with reluctantly putting on a bra and briefs to go beneath her work outfit.

“Good. I think. I hope.” Valencia hugged herself and crossed her ankles. “I just don’t know if it’s something you want to hear.”

The tension left Heather’s body as if she’d been holding her breath. “All right. Well, I respect your privacy so, I mean, I’m not gonna pry. Just know you can always talk to me, if you want to.” She buttoned up a blouse and stepped into a pair of slacks. “I won’t judge you or anything. Scout’s honor although, to be fair, that doesn’t count for as much as it could because I only went to like two meetings during cookie season.”

Valencia laughed, and a relieved smile brightened Heather’s face. She leaned down and brushed a soft kiss across Valencia’s cheek. Their eyes met when Heather pulled away. The revelation flew from Valencia’s mouth before she could stop it.

“I like you.”

“Good. It’d put a different spin on the last few days if you told me we were hatefucking this whole time.”

Heather gave Valencia’s shoulder a little shove and then walked out of the room. Valencia followed so quickly that it startled Heather when she turned around and found her standing there. 

“I don’t think you understand.” Valencia’s features were gravely serious. “I like you.”

“I like you, too. Do you want pancakes?”

“No, I mean I like like you,” Valencia clarified with wide eyes.

“As opposed to unlike liking me?” Heather prepped the skillet and set the temperature for the burner.

“Heathe...” Valencia’s expression was a unique blend of reprimanding scowl and petulant frown as she popped onto her earlier seat. 

Heather laughed but, upon seeing Valencia’s continued genuine distress, she relented. “I get it, V. Don’t worry. I just like teasing you. Y’know, to be flirty.”

“Would it be so hard to make this easy on me?” 

Heather pulled Valencia nearer, counter stool and all. She cupped Valencia’s face in her hands and kissed her. “Like that?” she joked. Heather leaned in until their noses and foreheads touched. “Was that easier?”

Valencia tried to look sullen but the facade wouldn’t stay in place. She locked her legs against Heather’s back pockets, draped both arms around her neck, and found Heather’s lips again with hers. “It’s not a bad start.”