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lambilegs · 2 days ago

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does it happen in a season? (part four: SUMMER - ii)

in her senior year of university, lee is ready for nothing more but yet another monotonous cycle of meeting her new roommate, adjusting, then living in separate spheres for the rest of the year. the last thing she's prepared for is: curiosity.

last chapter: (SUMMER i) | next chapter: (SUMMER iii)

soundtrack: seasons - wave to earth; lover - taylor swift; 20201203 - mac demarco; I know you know - CHSKA; video games - lana del rey

(contains: 19K words (tumblr did not let me upload the entire 40K part two of summer, so expect a third part soon), college!au lee harker, set in the nineties, discussions of trauma, depictions of anxiety and hoarding, internalized homophobia, homophobia, intoxicated sex (specifically, having sex when high) without prior discussion, joke made about reader taking advantage of lee when they're high, graphic sexual content w/ reader's body referred to with the following terms: "pussy," "cunt," "tits," "breasts," "clit," reader receiving fingering, reader being called a "good girl," kinks include: spitting, dirty talk, spanking, slight humiliation)

important note about sexual content: the start of sexual content will be marked by ✩ (bolded green-coloured star) and the end of it will be marked by ✩ (bolded red-coloured star). minors, and anyone who doesn't desire to read nsfw content, please use these markers in order to skip nsfw content.

----

SUMMER. SOMETIME IN THE 1990s.

lee’s holding a plate of food in each hand when you come scurrying into the kitchen, fresh and acutely awake after your morning shower. the news is softly playing on the radio, filling the apartment. as you dash past her, she leans her head in your direction and you give her a small peck before rushing to the couch and flopping onto it.

you curl your feet underneath you as you scramble for the remote with a giddy smile biting at your face.

she sets the food down on the coffee table. “you know, grabbing the remote first doesn’t make it your turn.”

“I know,” you respond haughtily. “what makes it my turn is that the last movie was a tape you picked out.”

“yes, but then, you had us watch an episode of a show that you like two days later.”

you roll your eyes. how did she even manage to remember the exact date that was? “yes, but that’s a show. it’s only half an hour long!”

“yeah, but doesn’t it make sense to determine who chose what we watched last based on the actual act of choosing – not runtime?”

you bristle at her pristine logic. “fine, I chose last. but, it doesn’t count – it was a half hour show!”

lee’s lips creep up. you can tell she’s enjoying the little argument, and you’d be inclined to tease her for it if it weren’t a deeply hypocritical thing to do. “but, again, our turns are based on choice. not runtime.”

your bottom lip juts out, staring longingly at the tapes on your coffee table. “c’mon, please.”

she sighs at you, lips pressing in together. after a moment, she gets up, picking up the tape of Age of Innocence.

you clap your hands excitedly, cheeks aching with how hard you beam. “you are my favourite girlfriend, you know that?”

“mm, yeah.” she pops the tape in, eyebrows drawn in slightly. “I remember last night.”

your shoulders twist at the shiver that creeps up your body, mind flashing with the mental images of lee between your legs, and the taste of her on your tongue, the latter of which has already faded, leaving you with a craving for more.

when you say nothing, lee turns to you wordlessly, the corner of her lip just barely tucked upwards. “what’s wrong?”

“I never said anything was wrong,” you shoot back, sinking further into the couch, praying you look casual.

apparently not, for lee’s grin widens as she stands up, grabbing the remote and pointing it to the television to switch it on. “well, you know, you just got a bit quiet.”

“says the queen of the monosyllabic response.”

she seats herself on the couch, the bottom edge of her boxer shorts rising up her thighs. the sight makes you want to both lay your head on her thigh or get in her lap and continue off from last night.

your thoughts snap when she turns to you. “I’m using more than one syllable now.”

“ah, a changed woman indeed.”

“so, what was the matter? when you weren’t talking.”

you roll your eyes, which is, frankly, partially an excuse to avoid eye contact. she really wants to know, doesn’t she? it feels silly, to be this shy after how wantonly you behaved the night before. but, the sobering light of morning does wonders for your self-consciousness. “I don’t know. I just got… shy thinking of last night.”

“yeah?” her fingers skim over where your hand rests, tracing over the veins on the back of it. her voice is lightened with something – teasing and what seems to be a bit of hope.

“yeah.” you glance down at your hands. “are you trying to seduce me?”

she slides hers away with a smile. “no.”

you can’t help the wide grin that splits over your face as the film starts. as you watch Countess Olenska approaching Newland with her soft smirk and red dress, weaving her way through the crowd, you feel like you can sink into this couch, toast half eaten on your place, for years.

there’s something newly intimate about watching a romance film with lee. sure, it felt intimate when you guys first did it back in winter. but to do it now, as an actual couple, feels personal. those are two people in love on the screen, and you and lee are also two people in love, and finally, both of you know it.

you flinch at the thought. in love? okay, yeah, you need to get a reign in on your feelings. you don’t even know for sure if you’re there yet, and even if you are, a singular day into dating feels a bit too soon to be making any love confessions. but, even so, it isn’t really that soon, is it? it’s been ten months in the making. friendship surely can’t be that much of a preventative measure in arousing and moving forward the process of falling in love.

you’re yanked from your thoughts when lee reaches over to grab for your plate, stacking it on hers then walking over to the sink silently.

“oh, lee,” you start, hitting the pause button, “you don’t have to–”

“it’s okay,” she quietly replies, eyes lowered as she slips on the yellow gloves and gets to work. “just keep it on pause.”

“oh?” you drawl, standing to your feet and sauntering to her. “does that mean it’s fair to imply you actually like Age of Innocence?”

she shrugs. “I haven’t seen enough of it to determine that. but, um, I want to watch it for you.”

you stop behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist and leaning your face against her shoulder, which is bare from her tank top. you can hear the hesitation in her voice from saying something so affectionate, and you squeeze gently. “you’re sweet.”

she hums, continuing her task. you can feel her stomach’s muscles tightening and tensing, before a long breath is drawn from her that sends her body softening. you kiss her shoulder, and laugh when a cup goes clattering against the side of the sink.

“shut up,” she mutters, her previous confidence swept back into her usual reservations. it’s sweet how she can switch like this. it makes you wonder if her confidence is rooted in your own timid bashfulness – if it gives her a boost, knowing her effect on you. after all, you’ve certainly experienced that vice versa.

when she’s finished, you, very reluctantly, let go of her and circle the counter, sitting at the other side of it, as she so often does when studying. you don’t know why she does – the stool isn’t particularly comfortable, and the surface of the counter is cool to the touch (and therefore, probably freezing during winter). plus, her desk is but a few paces away.

when you inquire as such, her eyes curiously raise to yours as she grabs a knife and an orange from the pantry. carefully placing the fruit on the freshly washed cutting board, she says, “I read that it helps with focus to change the locations where you study during a session.”

“really? it doesn’t distract you at all?” it makes sense in light of lee’s habits – she’s never been one to consistently study at her desk, moving from there to the counter to the library.

she cuts the orange into neat slices. “no. sometimes, it helps because I don’t get too comfortable in one spot.”

“that makes sense.” it’s also very studious of her, as well as dilligent. you can’t help but admire her.

after moving the slices to a plate, she slides them over to the center of the counter. you smile at the silent gesture, feeling something in you swell at how quietly she cares. it’s almost like she doesn’t want to be noticed or recognized for the things she does for other people. like she’s content to offer these pieces of kindness so long as the receiver of them gets to reap their benefits. there’s nothing in it, at least intentionally, for her.

✩

your eyes, fondly resting on her, trail down. her thumbs pinch into the ends of the slice, bending it down so that the pieces of it spread and widen into small triangles. you don’t know why, but the soft strength she uses in the gesture makes you shift in your seat. especially with how the veins protrude along the back of her hands, like winding rivers just begging to be drunk. she lifts the fruit to her mouth and her soft lips hug and tighten around a piece, slowly sucking and drawing it in. a wet, squelching noise rasps out, tiny squeaks produced from the moisture of the slice as she presses her lips in harder, fluidly moving them in and out, like some sort of a dance. the juice of it leaks from the corner of her lips, and you can see the pads of her finger shine with the stickiness of it. you breathe heavily, mouth feeling impossibly dry when faced with the idea of taking those fingers in your mouth and sucking them clean of the sour liquid.

you practically gasp when, after her mouth takes some twists and turns, jaw tightening and tongue rolling against the inside of her cheek, she suddenly spits a seed into her palm. as she turns her hand into the plate, dropping it, you feel your thighs tighten on instinct. the gesture is so dirty, so primal, done on pure instinct by her. it causes your mind to flood with the sticky, sweet memories of how she spat down on your folds the night before, not a moment of hesitation holding her back, riding off the pure desire to get you even wetter and ready for her mouth. did she like how shiny you looked with her saliva? did she like watching you drip with both arousal and something belonging to her? did she want to mark you up? each possibility carries a heated appeal to it.

she was so passionate and tender last night, but those moments of dominance are also seared into your brain. when she’d tease you, take her time with you, taunt you and seem to take pleasure in your shock and helplessness to her words. you don’t know if that’s all the roughness she has to offer, or if there’s more she’s holding back on, but you want to. especially when this little unintentional display of hers has the mental image of her spitting replaying without cease in your mind. you need to do something regarding sex right now. jumping her bones, talking about it, you don’t care – just anything that’ll sate some of this desire and curiosity in you.

“lee?”

she looks up, her sharp gaze making you feel reborn, revived to the very bone. “mm?”

“I can’t remember if you answered clearly, since I passed out and all, but do you remember me asking about, um, you know, kink?”

she freezes, eyes pierced on the surface of the counter. “yes.”

you can immediately sense the discomfort aroused by the question and slowly reach your hand over to hers. “it’s okay, alright? I just thought we could talk about it, see if we’re on board for certain things.”

“okay.” her voice is tentative.

you click your tongue in your mouth, an awkward pause hanging between you two. “okay, um…”

“I’ll go first,” she quietly offers. when you blink back in surprise, she mutters, “you always take these steps first. I want to do that for you too.”

you swallow hard, nearly driven to emotions by the words. “I… okay.”

“I, um…” she braces her palms on the counter, head ducked down. “I enjoy, um… I don’t know, power play, I guess.”

“mm,” you hum, abdomen stirring at the confession. “I thought as much.”

her eyes dart up to you. “wha– how?”

you shrug, propping your chin on your fist. “well, you just had moments of it last night.”

she sighs, nostrils flaring. “sorry. I didn’t mean to do it without asking. it just happened.”

“it’s okay. I liked it,” you mumble, mouth breaking into a smile from the nerves sparked in your body.

“you did?”

you nod. now it’s your turn to avoid her gaze, yours pinpointed on the plate of fruit. “I like power play too.”

“that’s, um– okay.”

after another quiet moment lapses, you force yourself to ask, “what else do you like?”

her fingertips skitter along the surface of the counter, jaw clenched and lips pinched in concentration and deep thought. “well, I sometimes enjoy, um, talking explicitly. as well as touch that’s a bit, well, harder.”

despite your own shyness, you break into a fit of giggles at her vague alluding. “so, dirty talk and spanking, basically?”

the corner of her mouth twitches, blinking rapidly as she keeps her gaze downcast. “pretty much.”

you press your thighs together. fuck. images flash through your mind of lee bending you over her lap, those large hands delivering swift smacks to your ass. you can picture the way your skin would burn under her sharp touches, pussy leaking and aching until she finally plugs you with two fingers. or maybe even her strap.

the last of those thoughts jolt you out of your perverted daydreams, and you realize you ought to confess the sighting of her toy. you wouldn’t want to undergo the ruse and lie of pretending you know nothing about it, especially when, or if, she reveals it to you. “I also have a small thing to admit.”

her eyes slowly rise to you, eyebrows slightly furrowed. god, you want to kiss the crease in her forehead. “what is it?”

“I’ve, well…” you suddenly laugh, anxiety flipping in your stomach like a pancake. what if she gets mad? what if she doesn’t believe you and she thinks you were snooping? it seems too late to backtrack convincingly, though, so you push yourself on. “I’ve seen your toy. and harness.”

her head visibly flinches, reeling back in surprise, eyes wide and lips parted. “how?”

“I wasn’t snooping!” you nearly cry out, hands raised in defense. “I accidentally opened your drawer because I was rushing to get your clothes. you know, on that day where it was raining and we both got wet – um, yeah, wet.” you nearly choke on your words, and internally curse. “it was an accident, I promise, I–”

“I know,” she cuts in softly. “don’t worry. I know it was an accident.” despite the pink dust on her cheek, she watches you earnestly, gaze intense.

your words melt into a shaky sigh. “I…”

she leans over the counter, and you make a muffled noise of surprise when her lips land on yours. the kiss is tender and smooth, as though your lips are a fragile work of glass, moments away from shattering. when she parts from you, she whispers, “I know, okay? I know you.”

you gulp at the words. maybe you will shatter any moment now, for the weight of being known with such certainty bears down on you heavily. “thank you.”

her forehead leans on yours. “you don’t have to thank me.”

she leans back to her side of the counter, and your skin immediately crawls with the sheer want for her to be back on you, close again. “so…”

“did it make you uncomfortable?”

you immediately understand the meaning of her question. she means to ask if you judge her, or think her immoral, for possessing such a toy. if you think she’s less of a feminist, less of a lesbian. “no, I don’t.” for the sake of both honesty and extra assurance, you add, “I’d like to try it.”

a small noise bursts from the back of her throat, and you force your mouth to remain stiff. “are you sure?”

“yeah. only if you want to, you know – I get it might be for, you know…” you pause, face burning. “personal use.”

“it is, sometimes,” she mutters, voice so low you could’ve easily lost it if not for the silence of the room. “but, I, um…” her fingers roll into a tight fist on the counter. “have used it on others. and have had it used on myself.”

you chew on your lip, a spark of irritation flickering in you. “hm. I see.”

she eyes you warily. “what are you thinking?”

you sigh, knowing if you don’t tell her, she probably won’t be able to piece together your quiet, petty signals on her own. “I’m jealous, okay?”

her lips press together, faintly raising at the corners, those lovely laugh lines deepening in her cheeks. “last night and now this. have you always been this possessive?”

you bristle, rolling your eyes at the dig. “no.”

“no?” she reaches over, fingertips skimming along your jaw. “so, our relationship just brings it out in you?”

you scoff at the slightly cocky undertone of her voice. “no.”

she rubs a piece of hair between her thumb and index finger. when you look up, you nearly whimper at the sight of her dark eyes resting on you intently. “also, to answer your question from before, I do want to use it with you.” hesitation makes her voice slightly waver, but for the most part, she manages to speak the blunt sentiment steadily. the surety of it makes you nearly squirm. she really does want you, doesn’t she?

you clear your throat, still trying to maintain your composure. it’s easier said than done, considering your mind is racing with thoughts of lee burying her strap in you, pumping in the thick length of it inside and spreading your hole loose and open. you nearly whine without realizing it. “okay. good.”

she slowly stalks over to your side of the counter. “why exactly is it good?”

“lee, I swear to God, I– ah.” your words crumble into a moan when she leans down, pressing hot, open-mouth kisses down your neck.

“mm, don’t be blasphemous,” she mumbles, her words deep with a gentle, playful scolding.

with the amount of words she has you spewing for the rest of the morning, blasphemy is the last thing on your mind. all you can do is lose yourself to her mouth and touch, letting yourself spin in a whirlwind of pleasure until you’re tired and worn.

✩

–

lee walks out of the exam room and feels like she’s floating – the heavy weight of it being her final exam is lifted from her shoulders, and she feels far from reality at knowing she is officially, truly done with her semester. her last semester. she swallows hard, an onslaught of anxiety thrusted at her as she processes that piece of information. she sucks in deep, even breaths. it’ll be okay. she has time to digest all of this, and let herself truly process it, before job-searching.

a job. soon, she’ll no longer be working in the library, with its repetitive structure so ingrained in her head that she can do it half-asleep. she’ll have to get an actual job. one in law enforcement, one that encapsulates all she’s been working towards. it’s an exciting thought, one that sends a surge of energy through her. but, it’s also one that makes her crack a bit, too. just a bit. this life, this routine, the dream she’s devoted four years of her life to – it’s all slipping between her fingertips and all she can do is continue stepping away from it and watch it fade away. she remembers your words. an abyss.

she barely knows what she’ll even do in these next few weeks. and something about that feels unsettling, like she’s hanging off a thread that’s about to snap. she likes having her plans set and in motion, written on her calendar and followed through without falter. but, right now, her vague plans only consist of: fix up her resume, look for work, continue working at the library until she finds something sufficient, and go to the pride march with you.

she’s aware of how out of place the last of those is, having only agreed to it because you had asked her so tenderly to go, eyes wide and imploring. both of you had never gone to a pride march before, your university’s city holding only its second one this year. it definitely isn’t her thing, and she only felt just-barely-comfortable with the idea because you promised to stay on the edge of the crowd with her. but, the truth is, as soon as the question had left your mouth, her answer was yes. she’d probably go anywhere, so long as you were there.

but, after the march, how the rest of her weeks will look is a blur, nothing marked by the timelines that usually stabilize her. and that’s something she doesn’t like.

it’s not like this reaction is surprising. she knows herself well enough to have anticipated the anxiety that’d be triggered from having her routine and structure taken from her.

what she didn’t expect, however, is the sadness. a deep ache weighs down on her stomach. she’s relieved, but as she walks down the halls, she just wants to transport back to some time months before. when things were secure, and had a sameness to it that was reliable and comfortable. now, she’s faced with what feels like thousands of new paths to go down on. she only has one she’s interested in, but it feels like even that branches off in so many different directions regarding how she’ll approach getting her first real job. not to mention what to do about her home – it’s only a matter of time until you and her are faced with the choice of extending the lease or leaving. how will you two handle it?

so much for that bout of relief. she sighs, tugging the door to her class’s building open, freezing two steps down when she catches sight of you.

you’re beaming, eyes crinkled, fingers wrapped around a small bouquet of flowers. her eyes scan your face down to the yellow petals, feeling her breath hitch. are they for her? it feels presumptuous to ask, despite the burning, embarrassing want for the gift to be hers.

she finishes walking down the steps, slowly approaching you, eyes flicking to the flowers. “what’s going on?”

your arm jolts out, thrusting the flowers at her. on instinct, she catches it, her pinky brushing against your finger. she doesn’t speak on the twitch she feels in your hand, but silently takes pleasure in it.

“they’re for you.”

her lips part in surprise. she can’t remember the last time someone got her flowers. in fact, she doesn’t think she’s ever gotten flowers before. a tender sort of gratitude spills into her, dripping and dripping until she’s filled to the brim with a shy pleasure. is this what it feels like to get spoiled?

she grips onto the flowers tightly, feeling irrationally attached to and protective over them. “what for?”

“a congratulations gift for being done.” with a soft smile, you rise on your toes, kissing her cheek.

lee’s eyes dart around your surroundings. she’s not used to such unbridled public affection. just like the day of the fire hydrant, she doesn’t know what to think, what to do. she wants to return these touches, but she’s not accustomed to it, and when she’s on the edge of doing so, she can’t help but feel fear and self-consciousness spring upon her. both for herself and the people surrounding you two.

you don’t seem to notice her alarm, pulling back and hooking your arm through hers. “come on.”

she tries to shake off her thoughts. just for a few hours, she wants to forget and toss away all the fears and anxieties, and just enjoy the afternoon with you. she smells the flowers, trying to point all her senses to the sweet scent. the last thing she wants is to have another attack in front of you, or ruin your gift.

she tenses as you two weave through the crowd filling the street in front of campus. today is the last day of exams, and as per usual, that comes with blaring music, live entertainment and stalls of homemade gifts and trinkets. her eyes drift over them as you tug her through. she’d like to get you something. maybe she should return tomorrow.

someone slams into her with a hard thump. well, only if she has it in her to.

as you two walk past a stall that is identified from an upright chalkboard with twisting letters reading out, “Psychic,” you pull gently on her arm, nodding to it. she glances at it, then raises an eyebrow to you, unsure of what your meaning is.

“do you believe in them?” you ask.

she hesitates, carefully pondering over her answer. she’s not someone who would depend on a psychic so much so that she’d visit them consistently – she can’t see herself doing that with any spiritual practice. and she wouldn’t place enough faith in what a psychic says to the point of re-adjusting her life because of their words. but, there’s a little part of her brain, maybe a remnant of her upbringing, that’s always tickling with the possibility of something existing beyond the scope of real life. something supernatural, spiritual, or otherworldly. it lingers at the back of her head, and comes out of the shadows when she’s faced with something and left with no evidence to explain it away. then, it itches at her – the curiosity of something more, something even she can’t grasp. it’s probably another reason why she wouldn’t go to a psychic. she’s too afraid of the possibility of it all being true. so, she must believe in it at least a little.

“I guess I do – a little bit. I usually rationalize it, but I think part of me does.”

“I see. so, if you’re all for rationalizing, I’m guessing you’re not religious?”

she ducks her head down, eyes following her feet. the question, simple as it is, shouldn’t cause tension to roll down her spine. but, it does. all of it flashes through her. the years of devout worship and strict regime, the pressure she put on herself to appear perfect, be perfect. the way her mom added to it, bit by bit, like a recipe of destruction, letting her paranoia manifest in constant questioning and warning. the way those teachings, both within her household and small town, had casted her into years of deep shame and hiding.

“not anymore.”

“but, you were once?”

she nods. “yeah.” from your inquiring gaze, she can tell you want more. if she wholly didn’t want to give it, she wouldn’t. but, part of her does. she wants to share this pain with you, have you maybe help her carry some of it. she had already managed for so long on her own. not about everything, but at least this. “well, my mom was pretty religious, so she raised me as such. but, the older I got, the more I started feeling stifled by it. that was the first thing that drove me away.” she glances at you, feeling almost guilty to admit her stray from faith. “when I realized I was a lesbian, and started seeing how the people in the church and town treated gay people, I only felt more isolated. then, I did research. and in addition to feeling less inclined for organized religion, I started questioning its foundations.”

she hates that she still feels a sense of shame washing over her at the admission. her eyes tentatively raise to you. a part of her mind, a part she knows is irrational, wonders if you’re judging her.

but, then you squeeze her hand. and in a voice so soft she nearly loses it in the crowd’s mumblings, you say, “that must’ve been hard, yeah? I’m proud of you for not brushing your doubt or discomfort away. for letting yourself question things so that you can eventually feel comfortable.”

she clears her throat. she never thought it was an experience to take pride in. “why are you proud?”

you squeeze her arm. “because it might’ve been easier to just set aside your doubts and discomfort. and, you know, pretend to be religious for the sake of peace. but, instead, you chose to question things, and research them, and take your discomfort seriously enough to not force yourself to believe in it.”

lee supposes she understands that. it probably would’ve been easier to have just let her doubts remain in the sidelines, and avoid them in her thoughts. instead, she had lingered on it, confronted it, and sought other resources.

there is one thing wrong with your words, though. she does pretend.

“when, um, my mom asks me if I’m saying my prayers, I lie. I tell her I do.”

“why?”

she sighs. “we’re already… less close than when I was a child. revealing how far gone I am from religion might make things worse.” she doesn’t want that. the thought terrifies her. because distant and strained as she is from her mom, she doesn’t want to become even more removed from her life. she doesn’t want to widen the bridge between them. or disappoint her.

“I understand that. it makes sense, she’s your mom. and you guys still have some closeness there. you don’t want to just, you know, lose that.”

you’re right. she doesn’t.

“I noticed you have a bible in your room. what is it there for? if you’re not religious.”

she starts in surprise. once again, just as you’ve been doing so since autumn, you’ve caught her off guard with your observations. she finds herself slightly impressed. “it’s one I had at my house back in oregon. it would’ve looked odd to have not brought it when I moved out.” she pauses, mouth twisting at what she’s about to say. it feels stupid, and it’s something she’d usually keep hidden. but, no secrets. that’s what she had asked for from you. “and sometimes, I read it. I don’t know why. there’s just, I don’t know, a familiarity to it.”

“because of your mom?”

she tightly nods. “and my childhood.” it’s nonsensical, really. she spent so long wanting out of that life and hoping to escape it. now, she has, and still, there exists an invisible string connecting her to it. sometimes, it tightens and pains, and she lets herself give way to nostalgia. even if she knows her longing doesn’t account for even half of the discomfort of actually being back there.

“I understand.”

you always do. and lee feels an indescribable amount of gratitude. but, telling you this much has already taken a toll, and she’s not ready for more. and so, she glances back to where the psychic’s stall was, asking, “and you? do you believe in them?”

“it’s hard to say. in my psych class, we were taught about tacts used in that kind of stuff that can make a reading feel more believable. but, at the same time, I’ve heard people recall times where their reading included some really specific stuff that actually happened.”

she’s heard both kinds of accounts, as well. it only adds to her confusion about the whole thing, which seems similar to your own stance. her eyes scan you. you had seemed so curious about the stall.

“do you want to go back to it?”

“no, no, I’m too hungry. you?”

she shrugs. “no, I’m not really interested.”

“awe, c’mon, she might’ve had something interesting to say.” you lean close, pressing your chest into her arm, and she sucks in a tiny breath at the contact. “maybe that your roommate is an amazing girlfriend who you should spend the rest of your life with.”

“I don’t need a psychic to know that.” the words escape her mouth before she can even process them. she blinks hard. jesus, if she needed a reason to keep her mouth shut for the rest of the day, this is it. she angles her head away from you, looking down, for her fear outweighs her curiosity.

“wow, you like me,” you drawl out, words thick with the tease.

she sighs, rolling her eyes. she does, desperately so, but she doesn’t need to satisfy you even more than you already are.

“where are we going?” she asks as you two turn the corner, out of the crowd and along a sidewalk. without saying anything, she slips her arm from your grasp before placing it on your back, guiding you to the inner side of the pavement.

you falter in your words, and she bites back a grin at the sight of your eyes skittering between the two of you, your body shifting slightly under her palm. she’s not accustomed to having this effect on someone after years of singlehood – and if she had possessed it during those years, she hadn’t noticed. regardless, she knows you well enough to know what some of your little physical reactions mean. and to know she’s making you shy or thrown off course, even momentarily, makes her more smug than she’d ever admit.

you clear your throat. “um… well, I uh–”

she tilts her head at you, feeling amusement rise in her. “yes?”

“I got us a reservation at this restaurant.” before she can respond, you smile and say, “don’t worry, I checked and it’s not a crowded one.”

her shoulders loosen at your words, gratitude rolling through her. how nice it is to have someone know her so well, so well that prompting is unnecessary before doing something like that.

“thanks,” she mutters. she doesn’t want the gesture gone unnoticed – both for the sake of wanting you to know she appreciates these things, but also because part of her is so unaccustomed to receiving them that she wants to do anything she can to make it last. she knows you wouldn’t stop giving this, she knows it, but a part of her itches in fear that if she doesn’t proceed correctly, you’ll stop helping her in these quiet ways.

“of course, babe.”

she jerks a bit at the term. the automatic reaction sends a wave of embarrassment through her. she feels like an awkward child, bashful and disjointed from your smooth, effortless words of endearment. you notice the little movement too, eyes scanning her body.

you don’t mention it until you two are in the outdoor seating area of the restaurant. you were right – it’s not overcrowded, and is small and quaint, flowers lining along the gate separating the tables from the street. as her eyes rove along curiously, exploring the architecture of the building, you speak.

“are you okay with them? the nicknames?”

she uses the bouquet as an excuse to not look at you, carefully setting them on her lap. the truth is, she’s more than okay with them. to be called something that only belongs to the two of you carries an intimacy she more than welcomes. the only thing that acts as a barrier is how foreign it is, how unaccustomed she is to someone other than her mom using those soft words with her. as well as how she isn’t used to seeing herself as, let alone being, the receiver of affection. it’s not something she let herself think of much through the course of her life, nor something she ever felt would be easy for a person to give her. but, you do it as naturally as breathing. it’s frightening at times.

“I am. I’m just not used to it. and I,” she adds lowly, bracing herself for the vulnerability of the next words, “I don’t really – I mean, I’m not used to thinking of myself as someone who people can be affectionate with.”

“why?”

lee’s mouth twists at how gently you ask it. “I don’t know. I’m not used to receiving it.”

“but, amaya and maria…”

“I mean, yeah, I’ve had them these past four years. but, for most of my life…” she shrugs, eyes cast down from the humiliation coiling in her. “I’ve either isolated myself, or had no choice in the matter. it might not make sense, but I feel like I’m still used to it being that way.”

you blink slowly at her, and she tries to not let her gaze linger on you and your bright eyes, your hair, the slope of your nose, or the tiny blackheads scattered around it. your eyebrows are relaxed, lips pursed – you don’t look like you’re judging her. rather, just perceiving her. maybe with thoughtfulness, with sympathy, she isn’t sure.

“remember when you told me, a few weeks back, that we, I don’t know, regress to our child selves with parents?”

her eyebrows scrunch, perplexed at the change of topic. “yeah.”

“well, I feel like we do that kind of stuff with a lot of our relationships. like, how we were treated in our core, developmental years kind of frames our sense of worth sometimes, and we sort of just… linger in it.”

she nods, slightly feeling like she’s being psychologically assessed.

“but, that’s okay, you know? it happens, and it makes sense to still carry it with you. and, you know, it also doesn’t make it true. you are loveable, lee.”

she nearly winces at such a tender sentiment, feeling her jaw ache with how hard it tightens. a jerk racks her body when she feels the back of your fingers brush her knuckles.

“anyone who has rejected or isolated you had no idea what they were missing out on. you’re really easy to… um, care for. trust me, it’s one of the easiest things I know.”

part of her wants you to stop. it’s too much, all the praise and compliments. she didn’t mean for the conversation to go this way, to land her in even more of a vulnerable position. it was one thing to confess her insecurities, but being comforted feels like a whole other ordeal. confessing is at least active, and in her control in some kind of way, whereas receiving your words of adoration renders her passive, an open cup to be filled and filled with your praise, at nothing but your will.

you make it sound like caring for her and showing this affection is so easy. and it probably is to you. a conclusion she arrives at not because she thinks she’s easy to love. but, because you conduct the ordeal of it with such a lack of hestiation. at least, that’s how it appears to her. maybe it’s a lot harder for you than she realizes. maybe it’s just the feelings of care that are easy for you, but the action takes a lot of work. as much work as it takes for her.

with that thought in mind, she forces her eyes to move up to your face. her fingers uncurl from their fist, and she lightly traces your fingers with hers. “um, thanks. for everything.”

your thumb rubs along a nail on her finger, neatly trimmed from when she cut it last night. “of course.”

“it’s not…” she pauses, rolling the words in her mind before speaking. “easy for me. to do these sort of things.”

“really? you’ve been so touchy, though.”

she clears her throat. “yes. but, I mean, well, verbally. I’m trying, but, it’s hard for me.”

“it’s unfamiliar?”

“mm,” she hums. “it’s just been a while. and it’s always been hard to… make that transition. from not doing it to getting used to it.”

“I mean, are you forcing yourself to? does it not feel natural?”

she doesn’t exactly know what “natural” means in this context. the feelings come to her without persuasion or calling for it. but, the execution is intentional. “I do want it. I want to say those things. but, then, I’ll start thinking hard about it and I won't do it.”

“hm.” you cross your arms on the table, and her mouth twitches at your pondering. “well, maybe it’ll just take practice. like, the first few times will feel foreign, but you’ll adjust.”

she tries to think of something other than how attractive your problem-solving is. “probably.”

“did you use them with your other girlfriends?”

she hesitates, hoping she doesn’t make you jealous with her next words. “not with my first. but, with the one from my first year, yeah.” she picks at the napkin on the table. “it was an adjustment then, too.”

you nod slowly, eyes downcast. she shifts in her seat, feeling a twinge of worry at your silence. but, she lets it linger – it’s not uncomfortable, per say. it never really is with you.

“was it about consciously doing it first and just letting it become natural?”

“yeah, pretty much.”

“okay, then, I guess we’ll just do that, right?”

it’s the sensical choice, she knows, but still she feels a flicker of disappointment for herself. “I know. I just wish it would come easier to me.” her jaw flexes. “I wanna be where you are.”

“you are.” you twine your fingers together, and her wrist goes slack under your touch. “struggling with this doesn’t mean you aren’t. it just takes… practice. then, I’m sure it’ll get easier.”

“yeah. I know.” she sighs softly, eyes lingering on the yellow petals of the flowers.

“‘I know’...?”

her eyebrows draw in together, confusion rumbling through. “what?”

“isn’t there a word you’re missing?” you drawl out, tone so husky she’d almost mistaken it as flirtatious. actually, maybe you are being flirtatious. “one right at the end? one pretty romantic?”

her mouth twitches. how did she manage to see you as a friend for so long, when you’re this endearing, this cute? “are you fishing for affection right now?”

“okay, well, ‘fishing’ is quite a negative term to use for your girlfriend.” you roll your eyes. “this is me, from the good of my heart, helping you use terms of endearment.”

she scoffs. “thanks for the support.”

“you’re welcome. now, c’mon, I’m waiting.”

lee sighs, pursing her lips together. the first time she was gonna say it would’ve been cringe-inducing no matter what, so maybe it’s better that you’re anticipating it and can brace yourself. it probably would wound her ego less to say it when you’re expecting it and less likely to be caught off guard and unable to mask a wince at her delivery. though, she supposes it’d be good to know if you are internally cringing. then, she can know how to adjust her tone next time.

she lifts your locked fingers to her face. “okay, um… baby.” she pushes her face against the back of your intertwined hands, your nails gliding along her forehead as she hides away. she’s aware, painfully so, of how pathetic she must look right now, but the word tastes foreign and she’s convinced she’s doing it all wrong, and maintaining eye contact is too much.

but, then she looks up. and your face looks like it’s milliseconds away from shattering with how wide your grin is.

she gulps. “was that, um, okay?”

“‘okay’ feels like too meek a word to cover it.”

she hums deeper into your skin, pressing a quick kiss before she can even take a moment to remember where the two of you are.

–

“c’mon, just answer it,” you whine, gently kicking a foot to lee’s behind, which, as much as she covers it, is pretty nice and firm.

the movement has her head bumping lightly against the rim of the drying machine. “okay, don’t do that right now.”

you giggle, totally absolved of any guilt. “sorry.”

she continues peeling the clothes from the hollow machine, dropping them into the basket. your eyes linger on it, something whirring in your chest at the sight of your underwear mixed with hers. how intimate it is, to have the dried fluids and stains on both your clothes mixing and flowing in the same stream of water as the soap cleans it out.

when she’s done, she looks up at you from where she’s crouched down while you sit perched on the machine opposite to her. “fine. if I had to, I’d rather fight the ogre.”

“but, it has blades for fingers!”

she sighs. “yes. but, the cricket is less noticeable and faster, therefore less easy to detect and anticipate. at least you can maintain some long-range attacks with the ogre.”

“wow, someone did their homework.”

she picks up the basket, standing up, and you try not to think with your pussy. which is hard, considering how as she grips it, the faint outlines of her muscles flex, and the veins on the back of her hand stick out. and all the while, that white tank top deliciously clings to her body from the weather. it’s an impossibly irritating day with all the suffocating heat and sticky sweat. but, with lee’s body, for once, barely hidden in shape, her peachy skin glistening like washed fruit, it’s all worth it. you try to focus as she shoots you a blank, but marginally incredulous, look. “it’s just common sense.”

you hop off the machine. “I see – well, now, you’ll make a great fbi agent.”

“or a very scared one. something tells me these hypotheticals won’t accurately measure up to the reality of the job.”

you chuckle as she braces her back against the door, still managing to get it open for you despite her arms being full. “thanks. and, well, you know, that’s the duality of man. you can be both a scared agent and a really badass one.”

the afternoon is searing with moist heat, the thick humidity fanning your face, and the pavement golden with the afternoon sun. as you watch lee carry the basket, something in you softens. you love the life you two have shared this past year. and with an evident lack of post-graduation plans on your end, it’s tempting to just remain here, and continue working at the grocery store, so that you can take time to ponder over your future. not the most secure plan, you know, but it’s the only one that doesn’t send you tossing and turning into an ocean of panic at the prospect of.

but, what if lee wants to leave? she knows what she wants to do, the path she wants to tread upon. now that you two have graduated, she may want to try something different, and be situated elsewhere. but, you’re not sure if you’re ready for that. it would be a huge move for someone who is already unsure about the rest of their life.

it’d be different if it were a year or two from now, when lee goes to virginia. hopefully, by then, you’d have more of your goals aligned, as well as a firm idea as to what it is you want in a career. but, to move now, when you’re still floating, barely tied town, tossing and turning over what you want – it feels like too much change. even if you do badly want to remain with her, and practically ache to your fingertips with the sheer intensity of that wish.

that is, if lee even wants you to come with her if she decides to leave. you know how solitary she is, for it shows even in your current living conditions. you sigh at the thought. you don’t mind it, how she enjoys her time alone, but what if it’s a sign that she’d prefer to live by herself once the lease is up? what if she decides to leave? the notion leaves you with a sting to your chest. you know if she decided to leave, it wouldn’t be personal, but rather just a testament to her preferences. but, it causes a wave of anxiety to roll into your stomach. if she decides she’d rather live alone, even if she stays in this city, is it a sign you guys will never live together again? what will happen years from now, if you guys reach an age where it becomes more reasonable to live together? will she only do it under obligation, but never really want it? what if she doesn’t really want it now, and just reconciles with it?

besides, god, you’d miss her. you’d miss her so much. even if you two end up living apart because you want to stay here and she wants to leave, even if the space was just temporary, you’d be devastated.

“I’m not so sure those co-exist with ease.”

your eyes shoot back to her, trying to anchor yourself back into the conversation. the two of you can talk about all the living stuff later, maybe when the lease is up and you’re forced to. for now, you want to enjoy this while it still lasts.

and so, you reign yourself back in and bump her shoulder. “well, then, you’ll be the exception.”

the corner of her lip curls up. “you’re that confident?”

“I am.” you ensure the words are said earnestly, paired with a direct gaze to her. because it’s true. with lee’s natural tendency for what’s right, as well as her chivalry, gentleness and efforts to help, you’re more than sure of her capability. not to mention how sharp she is – she’s beaten your ass at more card games than you can count.

eyes downcast, she nods. “thank you.”

“of course.”

back at home, the laundry long forgotten next to the shoe rack, you and lee share a joint, the scent of the weed quickly swarming through the apartment. after a few hits, the world seems to soften, your awareness tinged with a lovely sort of drowsiness. lee seems to be affected by it, too, her smiles a bit easier and the usual stiffness she sits with melted into a relaxed sag against the couch’s cushions.

her thigh touches yours, and your skin burns from the sensation.

“you know, maybe we should put summer decorations on it,” you muse, tilting your head in the direction of the christmas tree.

lee doesn’t even turn to what you’re gesturing to, yet still manages an, “I don’t know why we still have it up.” you wonder how she does that.

“it’s festive.”

“it’s summer.”

“and?”

“do I need to explain the connotations of that?”

you roll your eyes, suddenly tingling with the urge to laugh. “no. but, you should explain why we need to follow such arbitrary rules.”

“‘arbitrary’?” joint dangling from between her fingers, she slowly lifts it to her lips, and just like that night in fall, you feel practically needy at the sight. even her side profile is something to behold – cheekbones pronounced and shiny with sweat, eyebrows soft and dark, lashes curling so prettily. her slim shoulders lift gently as she takes the puff, easing as she releases the stream of smoke.

“mhm. arbitrary.” in the state of your high, you need a moment to rack your brain to come up with an argument, even if the topic is playful. “like, it’s just a tree with decorations. but, culturally, we attach these ideas and meanings to it, and use them to limit ourselves. but, in the most literal sense, it’s just… a tree.”

she shakes her head. “please, save me from the marijuana-induced philosophy.”

“hey, you can learn something from it!”

“such as what qualifies as a tree?” she hands you the joint, and you drown in the feeling of brushing against the dry skin of her fingers. “I think I’m already sufficiently aware.”

“okay, you’re definitely not as high as you should be if you’re using words like ‘sufficiently.”

a small smile brushes her face. “and why exactly are you trying to get me more high?”

“think of it as a celebratory gesture for finishing uni.”

“does ‘celebratory’ mean lowering my inhibitions and getting me to confess my secrets?”

“wow, and the trust issues rear their head!” you bellow, laughing loudly.

she snickers before murmuring, “I do trust you.”

you smile. “I know.” it feels good to know it. “maybe, I don’t know, maybe I’m trying to lure you into complacency.” you draw out the last syllable with a teasing stroke to her cheek, which sends her jerking back in surprise.

✩

the corner of her eyes crinkle, eyes still hooked onto the opposite wall. “so, you can take advantage of me?”

“maybe.” it’s a joke, but still, it has you fidgeting. especially when she lifts the edge of her tank top to wipe it along her gleaming face. the flash of her toned stomach, paired with the shadow of her breasts, makes you hiss sharply.

she gently grips the wrist of the hand near her head. “you don’t need to.” something in her voice shifts, and you nearly tremble when she mutters, “you know I’d give anything to you.”

god, that’s hot. but, you feel a twinge of resistance. “but, you know, I only want you doing what you want to do as well. don’t just do something solely because I want it.”

she plants a kiss to your wrist, and you feel the warmth of her lips combine with the damp sweat lining her upper lip. “I know. I do want these things with you.”

you make a small noise in the back of your throat. “yeah?”

“yeah.” a thin layer of saliva begins shining on the inside of your forearm as her open mouth kisses turn into long, slippery licks of her tongue. your breathing grows heavy as the tip of it curls at the sweaty inner crease near your elbow.

“lee, I…”

she pulls back to take another hit, the musky scent of the weed making you feel nearly delirious as it wraps around you both. eagerly, you crawl across the couch and into her lap, thighs on either side of hers. as she takes in another deep breath of it, her head turns to the side as she releases the smoke. you nearly whimper at the sight of it. her smooth pink lips hugging the tip, the way they round into a small O as she blows, how her jaw tenses and flexes through it all. you want to taste the smoke that she’s breathed in, swallow down the air that’s been trapped in her mouth.

you press your nose into her cheek, breathing in her tangy sweat. “kiss me when you do that.”

she hums, one of her hands snaking under your t-shirt, rubbing the hairs on your back. wordlessly, she sucks in another puff from the joint, then finally turns to you, dark eyes entrancing and focused as her hand reaches up to cup your face, thumb stroking a patch of dry skin near your lips. she leans in, kissing you, with a small, wet squelch signifying the meeting. you suck in deep breath, moaning lowly when lee opens her mouth, tongue sliding against your bottom lip as the warm cloud flows from her mouth to yours. god, it tastes so much better from her, to get dizzy from both the weed and her insistent mouth, prodding and pushing against yours.

your hips buck, pressing down against her thigh. her short nails dig into your ass, one hand clutching and groping as the other continues to curl around the joint. your hands run along the firm grooves of her arms, gripping hard at her shoulders as your tongue continues to flick along hers, slippery and uncoordinated. the heady smoke continues to get swapped between your mouths, paired with spit and the salty taste of sweat. you need more.

you part from her with a gasp, pulling your t-shirt off and tossing it to the side of the couch. lee’s eyes immediately dart to your chest and without a moment’s hesitation, she ducks down, taking a perked nipple into her mouth, eyes fluttering shut as she slowly sucks on it, lips pressing around it to draw out a slow build of pressure. you make a pathetically whiny noise, taking a long moment to process why her hand is raising up before spotting the joint in between her fingers. you grab it, smoking as she uses both hands to hold your tits, switching between them as she pops your nipples in and out of her mouth, tongue sliding out to lap at them, the cool feeling of her saliva making your hand tremble as you smoke from the joint.

a long sigh is drawn from your lips when one hand skims under your loose shorts, travelling to your underwear, which is heavy with arousal.

“so needy,” she whispers against your lips, her fingertips tantalizingly light as they stroke your folds over the fabric.

you clench at her words. you two had agreed to try out more of your guys’... unorthodox desires, and a desperate part of you hopes today will be that day. wanting to urge her on, you play into the game. “I’m not,” you breathe against her lips.

“mm, I’m sure of it.” her fingers dip under the fabric and you gulp as they skim along your pussy’s lips, gathering the wetness seeping from your opening and spreading it. “you’re just this wet, because..?”

“the, um, weed has me more… susceptible,” you whisper against her lips, pressing in another long, hard kiss.

she pulls away, rolling up the ends of her tank top and pulling it off. you bite your lip, desire shooting through your abdomen. it’s the first time you’ve seen her like this. her tits are round and perfect, heavier than you had expected. her nipples, a dark pink-brown colour, are stiff, just like they’ve always been under her shirts whenever you snuck a glance in.

she leans further back into the couch, fingers continuing to massage your pussy as she sits comfortably, staring up at you. you brace your palms along her stomach, fingers sliding along the shape of her ribs. tracing the shape of a part of her, hidden beneath skin and flesh, makes you wanton in the intimacy of it. when you reach the sweaty underside of her breasts, you look up to her for permission.

when she nods, her tight expression melts away moments later into a contortion of pleasure as your fingers begin to stroke her nipple, thumb and index fingers rolling the stiff bud. as you watch their swelling in fascination, her thumb begins to languidly stroke and rub at your clit, using your juices to easily glide over it. the firm press of her finger sends you losing yourself for a second, accidentally toying with her nipples too hard, inciting a small cry from her. you immediately pause from your ministrations, though you can feel your hole squeeze at the noise.

“are you okay?”

eyes still screwed shut, she nods. “yeah. you can, um, do that again.”

oh? you smile at the revelation, excitement bubbling up in your stomach. carefully, you tweak her nipples again, the sharp touch sending her lovely body arching up again, quietly calling out your name. your breaths grow heavier, body jerking when her fingers begin to move again, rubbing against your entrance, tantalizingly close to the rim of your hole.

she sits up, wrapping her arms around your waist, mouthing slowly at your neck, her index finger beginning to push through your entrance. you whine at the tight fit of it, hips unconsciously bouncing on their own, your pussy so much more attuned to touch from the high you’re in. she gnaws and licks with an almost animalistic want, sharp teeth sinking into your skin and making you toss your head back, lost in the sensations of her fingers and mouth.

after sucking in what feels like her fourth hickey into your neck, she pulls back, lips hanging open.

your clit throbs at the sight. “what is it?”

“the joint.”

“oh.” you laugh shyly. even with a finger deep inside you, the tip achingly close to your g-spot, you still feel yourself cower under the weight of her gaze as you lift the joint to her lips, a giddy feeling flapping through your stomach as she draws it into her mouth, inhales deeply, then keeps it dangling from her mouth until you pluck it from her mouth again. when you do, she blows the stream of smoke in your face, the heat of it soaking through the sweat on your face and making you feel even more moist and sticky. when the last of it is almost gone, she kisses you hard, shoving her tongue into your mouth and forcing you to breathe in the smoke. the rough gesture has you whining against her, your hole tightening up on her finger. when she pulls back, you laugh against her lips, “I thought you wanted me to spit in your mouth or something.”

surprisingly enough, she seems unfazed by your comment, nuzzling against your neck. “you can.”

you freeze at the proposition. memories of lee spitting on your pussy wander into your mind. so sloppy, so dirty. you want to do that, too. want to give her something that’s a part of you, that’s been in your body.

you tug her from your neck, eager and beginning to rock against her finger. the entire motion is broken at the edges, soft and melting into every action before and after, intoxication clouding every one of your senses but adding to your sensitivity all at once. “open up.”

a corner of her lip quirks up, and she follows your demand, silently opening it. you hover your mouth over hers, hesitating before pushing a gush of saliva from your mouth, a long, thick drop of it falling to her bottom lip while the rest slides down your chin. you laugh in embarrassment, especially when a small chuckle leaves lee’s mouth. but, any embers of humiliation are washed away with the cold awareness of arousal when she licks up the white bubbles of your spit, swallowing it down, then follows suit with your chin, the soft texture of her tongue roving around it as she licks up the mess you’ve made.

“you’re so clumsy,” she murmurs between kisses. “sloppy.”

“shut u–”

she shushes you, cutting you off with a small kiss. “no backtalk.”

the small show of dominance has you clutching onto her tighter, your tits rubbing against hers, sweat making your bodies hot and sticky as the drops on her chest soak into your skin. it’s so wet, so messy, and the floaty state your body is in has you mindlessly moving against her, grinding on her thigh and whimpering for more. “fuck, I need you.” you lick your lips and swallow, mouth dry and scratchy.

lee murmurs, “thirsty?”

“mhm,” you softly whine.

“open.”

your movements faltering slightly, your lower lip hangs down, patiently awaiting her.

the sound of her spit is loud and clear as a wad of it splatters into your mouth. the sudden burst of wetness has you moaning and jerking on her lap, quietly whimpering for more. lee’s longer fingers grip your jaw hard, and she easily does it again, sharp and precise, her warm saliva spilling onto your tongue just right.

her fingers on your jaw loosen. “is this okay? being… rough?”

“yes,” you gasp. “I want more.” lost in your desire for it, you begin babbling. “you can be rougher. you know, like, the talking, the, um, spanking.” you swallow hard, sprinkling kisses on her face to avoid eye contact.

her next words are shaky, muddled with a quiet moan. “come, get up.”

you tighten your arms around her neck in protest. “why?”

in a mere few minutes later, lee has your back pressed against the cold tiles of the shower’s walls, one hand cupping your thigh, encouraging you to keep your foot propped on one of the shelves. with this angle, her fingers are able to pump in and out of you with ease, your pussy making soaked noises from your wetness and the shower’s water, the latter of which coats you and lee in cool droplets, immensely relieving. lee’s mouth is latched onto your neck, kissing and sucking as she plays with your g-spot, pressing it lightly in, while her palm curves just right against your stiff clit.

from your encouragement, and perhaps the tight, moist space of the shower, she’s gotten bolder. against your skin, she murmurs, “such a good girl. getting so loose and open. so easy, mm?”

you cry out at her lewd words. as embarrassed as it makes you to match the dirty nature of them, you can’t resist. you want more of this from her, and something about her pushing you to admit your most lustful desires out loud is irresistible. “fuck, can’t help it, you’re so hard on me.”

she huffs a quiet laugh, and the mocking edge to it has you writhing against her. “you think this is hard?”

your pussy aches as she begins jamming her fingers into you harder and faster, brutally pressing against that sensitive spot in you, spreading you open to accommodate her.

“this is hard,” she mutters, voice absent of feeling lest for the heavy breaths coating it. “how you’re gonna come is going to be hard.”

“I– you don’t know that. maybe–”

a sharp gasp cuts into your words when she smacks your thigh, the noise of it loud and wet from the shower. her fingers immediately skim along the burning spot, which is sizzling with sensitivity. “okay?”

you nod. fuck, ‘okay’ didn’t even cover it.

she nods back. “now, what were you saying before?”

you’re at a loss of words, and take several long seconds before responding. “I said that, um, you don’t kno–”

she delivers another swift swat to your ass, and your body arches against her, nails digging into her strong back. she hisses at the feeling of it, pulling you plush to her body before grabbing the spot she just hit, kneading it before slapping it again. they’re not harsh smacks, per say, but have enough of an impact to send your butt stinging delightfully.

she makes you come just like that, one hand stroking and spanking your ass, while the other is buried in you, massaging your g-spot and coaxing whines, whimpers, and eventually, your orgasm out of you. it hits you hard, your slightly dizzy mind whirling into nothing but a focus on the sensations, the tension within your tummy snapping and sending a thick flood of warmth and tingles through you, from your guts to your toes.

after one more orgasm is pulled out of you with the pressure of the shower head directed to your swollen clit, you’re back in lee’s room, impossibly comforted by the scent of her sheets pressed against your nose as you lie on your side, lee applying a thin layer of aloe vera to your aching skin.

“you know, I’m not sure I wanna know exactly how you know to do this,” you giggle.

“I’m not sure you do either.” her fingers make massaging circles, slippery from the substance.

you scoff, curiosity prickling at you. “you do realize that’s only going to make me more curious, right?”

she snickers, and you crane your neck to find her wearing an impish grin. “I know. that’s why I said it.”

you grunt. “asshole.”

“minutes ago, you were just singing me praises.”

you can’t help but laugh, feeling an itch of embarrassment dig at your stomach from the memory of how explicit you were earlier. “well, the shower sobered me up.” after a moment, you ask, “your ex from first year?”

“mhm.”

you roll your eyes, amusement, tinged with slight jealousy, whirling in you.

she runs a thumb over your warm skin. “was it too much, though?”

“what?” your head whips to her, concern squeezing your chest when you see her eyes fixed on a wrinkle in the bed, brows drawn in. “baby, no! it was perfect. really, it was. it felt, like, so good.”

her lips purse together. “okay.”

you try to lie on your back, but wince at the feeling of the itchy sheets on your ass, which sends lee’s eyes darting up to you, wide and alert. her palm rests on the small of your back, gently pushing you back to your side.

you tug on her wrist. “okay, well, sit closer to me so I can see you.”

she obliges, standing from the chair she was plopped on, and sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. eyes downcast, she absent-mindedly strokes you. her torso is still bare, skin warm and flushed under the light streaming from her window. you’ve noticed she’s quite comfortable with how she looks. shy and awkward when it comes to the vulnerability of being seen, that much is clear, but it doesn’t seem like those emotions are fused with any sort of self-consciousness. look at her now – a few weeks of having sex, and she’s completely open and at ease at being half-nude in front of you.

it’s not so easy for you to do the same. your relationship with your body has been non-linear, to say the least, and while you thought some of that would change upon being wanted by the girl who you’ve pined over for months, there are still bouts of self-doubt that plague you every now and then. sometimes, it comes during sex – a flood of anxiety-inducing thoughts about how you smell, taste, look at this angle or that angle. other times, it comes when she touches you, and you wonder if she likes what she feels. sometimes, just a glance from her is enough to trigger it. you know you shouldn’t care so much about her opinion, even if she’s the one you hold in your heart. but, you can’t help it. you want her to like you, you want her to be so attracted to you that it doesn’t fade to a full stop in the future.

the future. it’s still stomach-turning to think of sometimes. while things feel a lot more comfortable than they had weeks ago, there’s still a flicker of anxiety that burns brighter at moments where you least want it to show up. like now.

you try to ignore the thoughts, grasping her hand gently. “it was amazing. did you enjoy it?”

“I did.” her eyes raise tentatively to you. “a lot.”

“yeah, you got really into it.”

she rolls her eyes, her mouth twitching. “I wouldn’t say… really into it.”

you guffaw, eyes squeezing through your laughter. “the state of my ass would say otherwise.”

“I see. I’m not yet well-versed enough with it to know its language.”

“something tells me you soon will be.”

she snorts, ducking her head away. “maybe.” after a small pause, still not meeting your gaze, she lowers herself to press a kiss to your back. “you did really good, too. thank you for all of this. it was really good.”

satisfaction carries a comforting weight in your stomach and you smile. “of course.”

✩

–

lee had been correct in her assumption. pride, like every other march, really is overwhelming. which she had anticipated, of course, having had requested a few hours alone in the morning just to mentally prepare, which you had been glad to give her, leaving her to stay in her room as you watched television and prepared dinner for later that evening.

it’s overwhelming in a myriad ways, some expected and others as a surprise. for one, it’s suffocating. people crowding in everywhere, hot, sweaty bodies pounding into her even when the two of you remain on the sidelines of the crowd. there’s music blasting on some speakers, her eyes feel like they can barely capture just how many textures and colours exist amongst all the clothes, and some of which she can confidently claim she hasn’t even seen before. bodies are so exposed that they have her immediately averting her eyes, pointed at the ground in embarrassment as seeing such intimate parts revealed. there’s loud chanting wrapped around her, screams and shouts of all octaves, while signs of different organizations are thrusted into the air, creating a layer of coloured blocks running through the top of the crowd. she knows it’s all for a good cause, and she’s glad to offer her own dose of support. but, visually, auditorily, she’s a mess.

so, it’s suffocating, yes. but, she also feels like for the first time, she can breathe. there’s no sense of the discomfort she once possessed at being a girl in her high school who didn’t want to wear a skirt and who didn’t look at boys. there’s no tightness in her chest from sitting in a church. there’s no fear at your touch. she knows that here, the rules she spent her entire life keenly aware of are bent, loosened, and maybe even completely dissipated. there are no boundaries of everyday life, and while rules and standards usually help to offer her a semblance of structure in a world she still doesn’t know how to navigate, and she usually is glad to use them as a guidepost, she doesn’t always agree with them. and here, in this hot, searing afternoon, they’re banished. it makes her feel both lost and like for the first time, every action of hers is ripped from obligation and the awareness of others’ eyes on her. it feels wrong, and off, but more freeing than she’s ever known.

but, it all shatters. in just a singular moment. the march moves past a church, and she’s so weak that that’s all it takes. just a few church-goers standing on the steps, watching the crowd like prey. just the sight of one woman whose grey hair is like her mom’s.

her mom, whose eyes had widened in shock when she had caught lee lying with her girlfriend in her cramped up bed back in high school. her mom, who had never mentioned it again and acted like it didn’t even happen. her mom, whose feelings on the situation lee didn’t even know, but paired with her mother’s faith, the cross she wore on her chest, the reminders of sinning and praying, lee had felt casted to shame. her mom, whose evasion in the situation, just like with everything else, made lee never bring it up again. she almost preferred the unknowingness of the silence, rather than the confirmation of her mother’s disgust. maybe that’s presumptuous of her to assume, considering her mother’s silence may have just been stemmed from shock, or wanting to give lee privacy. but, lee doesn’t know and she isn’t ready to find out. not when just a flash of grey is enough to make her panic.

like it’s an instinct that’s stuck with her through all of evolution, something to tap into without a second thought, she lets go of your hand.

when you jolt in surprise next to her, her body immediately floods with a sea of shame. her fingers twitch and ache for you to return, but she knows you won’t. not when she let go first. not when your own mind must be clouded with the confusion over what she just did. what is wrong with her? how did she ruin this so fast?

the frustration and embarrassment begins to wring out the bits and pieces of ease she felt just moments before, the crowd feeling hotter and more stifling than before. irrationally, her eyes burn, jaw clenched together as her mind becomes drowned in a whirlwind of thoughts, all of which are anxiously appointed to her, her mistake and how you must be feeling.

“can we, um…” she mumbles into your ear, voice trembling. “can we please move from the march for a second?”

your eyes widen, and she thinks you look concerned. she swallows hard. she doesn’t deserve your concern right now.

but, you give it nonetheless, nodding to a park and saying, “come on.”

you leave lee for a few minutes to head to the convenience store, your hands clutching water bottles and popsicles when you return.

as lee sucks on hers, red and bloody, she can’t help but thrum her fingers along her pants. she feels like a child, lost and needing to be consoled even though she’s the one who made an error. “thank you.”

“yeah, of course.”

of course. it’s always that. your care for her is an automatic, an unasked for response that’s drained of doubt or hesitation. it makes her feel all the more self-conscious of what just happened. you care for her so easily, and she couldn’t even manage to hold your hand for a full hour.

“I’m sorry. for letting go.”

“lee, babe–”

“I don’t know what happened,” she speaks, voice low. “I just saw the church, the people. and it felt like an instinct to hide.”

“that’s understandable, though,” you insist to her dismay. “you grew up hearing all sorts of stuff from the church.”

“I know, but I don’t want to hide now.” the words unravel on her tongue before she can think twice. the longer the silence passes after she says them, the more she realizes how true they are. she spent so long hiding away, reserving her love, her attraction, to shame-filled shadows and dirty corners. these past few weeks, she hasn’t known for certain if she wants you to touch her in public. but, for the first time, she’s realized that to limit your touches, and reserve them to privacy only, is to succumb to what she was before. it means going back to hiding herself through restricted grazes and the same four walls always encapsulating her and a lover. up until now, she hadn’t thought of it that way. how asking you to only touch her at home is going to drag her right back to the shame-filled secrecy she inhabited throughout most of her life. the secrecy that was so stifling, so overbearing, that she partially went to another city just to escape from.

it all feels tragically wrong now, to think of hiding you away. to having you two resemble the life she led back in oregon. she doesn’t want you, another person she feels so strongly for, to become the shame she carries. “listen, I… I don’t know if I’d be able to hold your hand in, I don’t know, my hometown.” she sighs, the noise heavy. “but, I’d like to do it here. I’d like to do it more.”

you peel her hair behind her ear. “I know. it scares me too, you know? to touch publicly, be open. but, I try. to make it easier for others, to make it easier for us.”

“some people would say it’d make it harder for us.”

you frown, and she purses her lips together. she wishes she hadn’t said that. “if we know a place would be dangerous for us, we don’t have to. but, if we’re not in danger, I’d rather have the temporary discomfort than long term shame.”

temporary discomfort rather than long term shame. that’s really what it is, isn’t it?

“I do, too.” she keeps her eyes locked onto the ground, mulling for a few moments before speaking again. she’d prefer to move past this, but she knows you deserve more than that. “I think what happened just now made me realize how much I… don’t miss the shame. and it made me realize how it’d feel to re-enter it. I can’t go back to it. and I don’t want you to ever feel that way either.” she hesitates, then raises her eyes to yours, forcing herself to hold your gaze. “if we’re safe, then I don’t want to hide. I don’t want to go back to how it felt before.”

you lean in, kissing the corner of her mouth. the safety the touch brings, the comfort – this feels like a touch that cleanses her of sin, that plunges her into water and runs through her until her body is whole.

maybe one day, she’ll be brave enough to be like this with you even if it isn’t safe. maybe one day, she’ll have the courage to bring you to her hometown and kiss you at the gas station, on the street leading up to the church. maybe the courage will outweigh the ridicule, the punishment she could face. but, even then, she doesn’t want to see you go through that. she doesn’t want to see you punished.

“thank you,” she murmurs into the fabric of your shirt a half hour later. you smell like her detergent, and she inhales how it mixes with your scent over and over again.

the two of you have slowly become surrounded by more couples and friends, splayed on their backs or hunched over each other. the chatter is still too loud for her liking, but the longer you two remain there, the more it melts into a faded noise. the only things at the forefront of her senses are the cherry taste of the popsicle and the solid weight of your body.

“what for?” you mutter. you’re on your back, hand stroking the strings of grass near her head. it takes her a moment to absorb your question, a tad distracted by how your eyes search hers.

“for suggesting we come.” the march has been pretty draining on her, yeah, but it’s unlike anything she’s ever seen before. such an unadulterated sense of freedom, boundless expression. her whole life, she’s felt like an outsider, the feeling only expanded with each unorthodox decision she’s made. the aversion to femininity, the abandonment of religion, the entrance into law enforcement. but, here, it feels like any decision she makes is out of the shackles of expectations.

it makes it easier to lean down, her lips hovering just over yours. her chest is tense, for this kind of affection, kissing and more intimate touches, is something she prefers keeping private. but, who knows if she’ll ever get the chance to kiss you without the fear of others again?

and so, she plants her lips on yours, swallowing down the little huff of air that escapes your lips. one hand fists into the grass, while the other holds herself up, lips coaxing for you to open so that she can slip her tongue in.

when your sigh gets pushed into her mouth, she swallows it down and leans over you further, shoulders loosening as she loses focus on the rest of the world for once.

yeah, she doesn’t want to lose this feeling

“when are you going back home?” you mumble into her neck a few long kisses later.

“our home?”

you laugh against her neck. “no, I mean, your home in oregon.” you push away, eyelashes fluttering up at her. “you call our place ‘home’?”

lee blinks down at you. she supposes she does. it happened so gradually that she completely missed it. but, somewhere amongst the tree that out-stayed its welcome, the movie nights, the blood stain she left on your bedsheets three weeks ago, the one you told her you’d be honoured to sleep next to, what was once just the apartment became home. “yeah.” she clears her throat, uncomfortable with being caught unexpectedly in such an exposing moment. “I do.”

“have you called any of your past places a home?”

“other than my house in oregon, no.” and even that she only continues to consider a home because she grew up there and her mom still remains. those two factors, embedded in her for what she presumes will be forever, form an unbreakable, metallic bond to her old town and rotting house.

lee sighs, glancing down to you, and she nearly flinches when she sees the moisture in your eyes. “what… are you okay?” her stomach squeezes in anxiety. what did she do wrong? she mentally reviews the last hour. was the church thing affecting you now?

“yeah.” you sniffle, pressing your face into the sweaty skin of her neck. “I’m just happy you see our place in that way.”

lee’s mouth twitches. this is what you’re crying over? she’s not even sure what to say. “okay. are you okay?”

you nod against her, your hair tickling right under her chin. “I just – I… I really like you.”

her arm tightens around your shoulders, the confession making her feel completely thrown off her guard, unbalanced and toppling. it doesn’t make sense, but your outright declaration of your feelings, leaving nothing to the imagination, and your confidence in the words, make her overwhelmed. how can someone like her so much? how can it be so easy?

“thanks,” she responds feebly.

you gently thwack her stomach with a chuckle. “‘thanks’? that’s all I get?”

“I’ve already made my feelings… known. remember, five weeks ago, your bedroom, you had purple socks in your hands.” lee could practically recite the details of the moment like scripture, ingrained into her memory from her repetition of it during the week it occurred.

“how do you remember my purple socks?”

“I don’t know, I just do.” if it were up to lee, she’d be able to remember anything and everything that happened since last september. sear it into her mind until she can open it up like a book whenever she wants to look back on anything that’s happened. she wishes she was powerful enough to secure all the details. but, she still manages a satisfactory amount. she remembers the top you wore when you two first met, the rough patch of skin that had remained on your skin for weeks during winter, the nervous laughter you gave during your presentation during finals season, the sight of your hand next to hers when you touched the tapes during your first visit to the video shop, the crackle of your voice when you first spoke on the phone before you had even met. somehow, almost as though her body had anticipated what would happen before her conscious mind did, you had been leaving imprints on her since the beginning. small flecks of you, your mannerisms, what you shared – they all remain collected in her mind. not all, unfortunately. but, enough to sate her. “you were fiddling with them.”

“was I really?”

“mhm.” it was cute. it made her feel a bit reassured, for you were evidently just as nervous as her.

“you’re sweet for noticing it.”

she turns away from you, stroking her fingers over your top. “do you feel better?”

“much.” you peck her cheek. “now, back to before, when are you going back to your mom’s?”

“second week of august.”

“for how long?”

her lips fold in. she’s been trying not to think of it much. “three weeks. maybe a month if she needs me.”

you hum. “I’ll miss you.”

she silently presses a kiss to your head. it makes her feel slightly hollow to think of the weeks she’ll be away from you, your guys’ home, even that little christmas tree that has a plastic little umbrella hanging from it, courtesy of the restaurant you two had eaten at after her exam. unexpected as it is, what you guys have is now a home. it’s comfortable.

“thank you,” she pushes herself to say.

“again? what for?”

her eyes latch onto a drifting cloud, tinged with gold at the edges. “for… making the apartment a home.”

you fiddle with the material of her button-up. “you did that too, you know.”

lee isn’t really certain how. you got the tree, you spoke to her first, you were kind to her when all she really wanted was amicable silence. “not really.”

“yes, really. you wash my dishes, you make me coffee regularly, you’re a lot cleaner than I am so half of the time, the place is only standing because of you. you schedule in our movie nights and never miss them, you surprise me with tapes I mention. you’re just so sweet.” you kiss her neck. “really sweet.” another kiss, and lee’s hissing, face hot from the words and your affection.

“stop,” she whispers. “we’re still in public.”

“says the girl who just made out with me.”

“I had momentum.”

you press another wet kiss to her neck, and lee has to resist letting her hips flinch when you slowly suck on the spot. “so do I.” you let go of her neck with a pop. “but, before I get ahead of myself, thank you. for saying I helped make the apartment a home.”

lee needs a moment to digest and dim the pleasure aroused by your attention. “it’s just the truth.” she takes a moment mulling over what she wants to say next. it feels heavy on her tongue, but she lets the weight of it roll off. “I didn’t really think I’d get to have that. unless I lived alone.”

you face creases, lips tightening. she thinks you look upset. “why?” your tone is soft, soothing, as though you’re consoling a child.

“I don’t know.” she can’t meet your eyes, not like this. “I don’t think I’m easy to understand. not as in I’m special, but I just don’t fit… socially. not in the right way.”

“well, what even is the right way?”

she knows you’re trying to challenge her not to argue, but to prove to her that there’s nothing wrong with her. and while the effort is appreciated, lee knows it’s not viable. she’s spent enough years analyzing other people, taking careful observations of them so she could learn the right and wrong ways to proceed socially, to know that how she functions isn’t what’s natural for most. and it sets her apart, it makes her stick out when socializing is demanded of her. “I don’t know. but, it’s not me. I know it isn’t.” she sucks in a deep breath, forcing herself to keep going. she’d prefer not to, but she wants to try for you. “I keep waiting to finally reach a moment when I feel comfortable in the world, with people. but, it keeps not coming.” just as she had once told you on the subway, she’s lost – in this world, in trying to navigate it. though, at that time, there had been numerous ways she felt lost lingering on her mind when she said that.

“I’m sorry you feel uncomfortable. but, there’s nothing wrong with you, you know? sure, there are certain standards, but just because a standard is popular, it doesn’t mean it’s the right way to be. you’re a good person, and kind. and just because you don’t naturally model certain standards, standards that are arbitrary, anyways, doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you, lee.”

lee’s breath trembles as she digests your words. she knows, logically, all of that is true. she’s repeated similar notions to herself on more than one occasion. but, no matter the logic and objectivity behind it, you both still can’t change the fact that those standards do shape the world. and so long as she exists in this world, there’ll always be part of her that clashes with it. “I know. but, still, those standards mean something to a lot of people.”

“I know.” you lean on her shoulder, eyes light under the sun, carefully exploring her face. it makes lee’s stomach tighten in pressure. “but, just know there’s nothing wrong with you, okay? it’s fucked up if people make you feel anything different just because you don’t follow a certain standard. good people, right people, would never judge you for that. and with time, you’ll find more and more of those people. I’m sure of it. because you’re wonderful.”

she gulps down hard, shoulders shifting. the praise makes her feel like a blinding spotlight is pointed right on her, and it doesn’t feel easy to hear it. and while your words are comforting, she can’t say she minds the amount of people she already has in her life. amaya, maria, you. she’s always been pretty content with leading a solitary life, lest for the occasional moments of wishing for more companionship. so, three people is more than enough. she just wishes she didn’t struggle so much to navigate outside of those three people. not because she wants to interact, but rather because she simply wishes she could feel less uneasy when forced to do so.

“thank you. I just feel that I’ll always be uncomfortable in certain situations.” she pushes herself to look at you. “it’s okay.”

“yeah.” your voice is quiet, and she hopes she hasn’t deflated the hope you had approached the conversation with. “but, I’m here to talk when those moments occur, okay?”

she blinks at the lack of surprise your words ignite in her. her trust in you is that steady within her – your kindness not even surprising her anymore.

when she visits her friends that night, they’re stunned at the revelation of where she’s been.

“I gotta admit it, I never thought I’d see the day,” amaya chuckles, dicing the mushrooms for the pasta she’s making.

“but, you weren’t pushed to go to it, right?” maria asks wryly, her eyes sliding to lee.

lee pauses in her peeling of the potatoes, her sigh short and tempered. “I wasn’t.”

maria’s face immediately flattens. “that wasn’t meant to be judgy.”

“it sounded like it.”

maria sighs, the creases on her forehead smoothing out. “it’s not, okay? ever since you told me how the whole ‘girlfriend’ situation was handled, I feel better about things. you got an apology and proper, honest communication. that’s good.”

lee uses her task to give herself some time to think. she’s glad to know that maria has warmed up somewhat, but she can’t help but be bitten by doubt over if her approval is truly secured. “but, you still don’t approve?”

“no, I do,” maria says, placing her fingers on lee’s wrist. “I’ve seen you both, and from what you’ve told me, things seem good. I just– I can’t help but still have a bit of a hawk eye sometimes.”

“why, though?” lee doesn’t enjoy being under the microscope of anyone’s scrutiny, especially from her friend and especially regarding her own relationship. even if she’s relieved maria approves, she doesn’t want these tidbits of doubt casted onto her.

“because you’re my friend.” maria’s hand tightens, and lee’s twitches in response. “I’m just protective, and I want to make sure things are okay.”

“things are okay,” lee presses. “and even if they ever get… not okay, trust that I will take care of it.”

maria purses her lips, and lee knows her well enough to know it’s a sign of some internal resistance. but, finally, she nods, eyes boring into hers. “okay, yeah, you’re right. I trust you.”

it’s three words, but lee knows maria wouldn’t say anything she doesn’t mean. and so, with a sigh, she pats maria’s hand and lets go. she wishes maria’s reluctance wasn’t there, and she knows it doesn’t deserve to be there, but all she can do is hope that maria will change soon enough.

it’s what you deserve.

–

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

seven words, and it’s enough to send you into a panic.

it all started when you and lee had gone to amaya, maria, and amaya’s sister, thuraya’s, apartment earlier that evening. you guys had been doing that a lot lately, since lee had relayed to you that amaya was planning to travel with her boyfriend for the next six months after graduation. you know how heartbroken lee is, even if she doesn’t admit it herself. her eyes keep wandering down whenever you mention amaya, and when leaving their apartment today, lee lingered in amaya’s hug for many long moments, holding onto her tight.

you were touched by the moment, you really were, but something kept gnawing at your mind, lurking in a corner and ticking you with a bothersome finger.

you, amaya, maria and lee had been seated on the floor in their living room, legs crossed and folded as you guys dipped and shared out of the bowls on the table. the conversation had strayed to lee’s approaching visit to her mom’s, and maria had said, “it’s not gonna be stifling there, right?”

your eyes had immediately darted to lee. you know she doesn’t have a good relationship with her mom, and your stomach turned in worry.

lee’s mouth pinched together. “I mean, it will be. but, I should still go. it’s what’s right.”

“has it gotten worse?” amaya asked, dark eyebrows drawn sympathetically as her hand went to lee’s knee.

“yeah. it does everytime.”

“she doesn’t touch your room, though, right?”

lee nodded.

and all you could do was sit there, feeling utterly drained of knowledge. you had thought lee’s previously mentioned unwellness of her mom was what amaya was speculating about. but, then, what did lee’s room have to do with it?

“I don’t know how you do it,” maria mumbled, dipping another corn chip into the salsa. “I’d go crazy there.”

“okay, let’s maybe try positive thinking,” amaya said, flashing maria a tight, mocking smile. “at least you get to see your mom, lee. she deals with so much.”

you swallowed hard. you had come to that same conclusion based on what lee has said, weeks ago, but it sounded like maria and amaya knew exactly what lee’s mom dealt with, whereas the details are lost on you. all lee had said was that she was unwell, but you knew none of the nuances or events laced into that.

it only stung more when amaya’s eyes flicked to you, clearly catching sight of your scrunched eyebrows and wide eyes. her glance shifted to lee, who was still staring down at her knees, then turned back to you with an awkward chuckle. “oh, um, sorry.”

lee’s head sharply raised at that, but as soon as you looked at her, she ducked her head to the side. that only made your stomach sink further.

back at home, you sat on lee’s bed, trying to bite back the stinging jealousy at not knowing as much about lee as her friends, fused with burning curiosity and a slight desperation. but, it was no use. your mind was whirling with questions, flashing through the tidbits of information lee has left scattered through the past year, trying to see if you can make anything of them. some pieces were lodged into place – lee doesn’t have a good relationship with her mom, there’s something up with her mom, it seems to have been just the two of them growing up. they’re from oregon. you sigh. it’s not enough, you need to know more. all the information you have seems to be just on the surface, without reason, without explanation.

and so, you ask, “lee?”

“hm?” she hums, tugging her shirt off, revealing her plain pink bra. you try not to go silent for too long, eyes unable to resist wandering along her freckled chest, then the dip of her cleavage. something feels so secretive, so mischievous, about seeing your girlfriend undressed and revealing the slopes and crevices of skin she usually keeps hidden. you want to worship her body, show her how much you cherish her trusting you like this.

but, maybe for another time. “um,” you start, trying to shake yourself out of the distracted lull. “I wanted to ask, lee, what’s going on with your mom?”

she freezes, shirt hanging from her wrist as she slowly slides it free. “this is about what amaya said?”

you gulp, suddenly seized with guilt. it makes you feel small, to know these questions have only been aroused by someone else knowing her better than you. you’ve always been curious to learn of her, of course you’ve been, but it’s like that conversation with amaya and maria slapped in your face just how little you know. before then, what with how slowly lee opened up, you were content with the pieces of herself she had gifted you. and you were under the impression that these were all the tidbits she could manage. but, now, knowing other people know more than you do makes you feel like it’s no longer enough, and that there’s more she ought to share. if she was able to confide in other people about more of this situation, why were you still left in the dark? you're curious to know more, and now that you know she very much can share it, you want to be part of that.

“I guess. but, I guess I didn’t realize just how little I know until I had to compare it to someone else. before, I felt like I knew a lot more, and now, it’s like I’m realizing I don’t.”

she sighs through her nostrils, a small puff of air exiting as she folds her shirt. “you do know a lot.”

a flicker of annoyance burns in you. “well, clearly not that much. and I’d like to know more. it’s an important part of you.”

her dresser makes a piercing screech as she drags it open, and you wince. “it’s not that big of a deal.”

“lee, you practically recoil whenever I bring it up! it’s clearly a big thing for you, and I want to know.”

“for my sake, or your own?”

you flinch, a stab of hurt digging through your skin. “what does that mean?”

“you’re asking because my friends know more,” she plainly states, her nude back turned to you as she unhooks her bra.

you splutter, indignant anger running through you, hot and boiling. “that’s not fair, lee. I’ve always cared, I’ve always asked. I’m just asking this now because hearing amaya made me realize I actually know a lot less than I thought I did. sure, there might be some jealousy involved, but like, it’s also about wanting to know more about my girlfriend now that I know she’s capable of sharing it with others.”

“well, I’ve known them longer than you.” her tone is flat, even, and too calm for your liking, especially when compared to the way yours quivered moments before. “you don’t need to be jealous, it’s to be expected that they know more and that I’ve shared more.”

“yeah, well, trust shouldn’t be measured by time, it’s just trust.”

“I do trust you,” she firmly says, placing her folded shirt into an open drawer. “but, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“ever?” the idea makes you feel a wretched sort of nausea. god, what does it mean if she never shares this with you? what does it mean that she’s hesitating at all? did you do something? have you been a bad girlfriend? is this because of your doubts from the night you guys got together? you’re her girlfriend, that should carry at least some weight, some level of unwavering trust. right? when you guys were friends, it was okay, it was normal for these things to take time. but, being romantically involved usually changes that. and the fact that it’s not changing makes you feel jolted, dizzy with fear and spinning thoughts.

“not never. just not tonight.” her voice is quiet, but it’s steady and clear in her desires.

“but, why? do you not trust me?”

“I said I did.”

“then, why don’t you want to tell me?”

her fingers curl onto the edge of the dresser, her grip tight. “it’s just… a lot. for me. I’m not ready to explain it all yet.”

you pause, the edges of your irritation softening. to hear her make such a vulnerable confession, and absolve your responsibility in it, makes you feel both relieved and sympathetic for her. you want to touch her, press your mouth to her back, which is still naked. but, the back and forth from moments before, the first one you two have ever seriously had, makes you feel silted and awkward. anxiety pulses through you at the thought of her being mad at you.

“I’m just…”

she grabs a flimsy t-shirt from her drawer, tossing it on, the motion musing her ponytail. “you should trust me, too, to go at my own pace.”

“I do! but, it’s hard to feel comfortable with you keeping this to yourself, and like, downplaying it when that’s clearly not the case. and, you know, bringing up how you’ve known your friends longer. it makes me feel, then, like it’s a me-thing.”

“it’s not.” her fingers rasp on her thigh. “but, I can’t keep assuring you of that. not when you’re pushing me this much.”

“I’m not–”

“I need some time alone.” her head tilts in your direction, sharp jaw clenched, eyes still avoiding you. “please.”

your eyes begin to sizzle with tears, humiliation gnawing at your stomach. she’s never pushed you away like this, so this is new territory, painfully unfamiliar. she’s asked you for time alone before, yes, and you’ve been happy to give it to her. but, not in a moment fresh with pain. you want to latch onto her, press your face into her shoulder and cry, beg her to stay. because you need her in this raw, wounded moment. because in this moment, the question prodding at your mind despairingly is: is this a sign she’s tired of you?

but, you don’t want to hold on too tight. you don’t want to tire her even more if that’s what’s happening.

“I… okay.”

you weep into your pillow immediately upon entering, the yellow colour of it becoming soaked in your tears. you wish you were better than this, to not be reduced to tears just because she asked for space. it’s not like it’s even a ton of space, considering she’s right down the hall. and you know it’s fair for her to ask for that space, to need it. but, for the first time, you’re restricted from her room, her presence. and maybe it’s because it’s the first time such a thing has happened, but it’s stifling. the reminder of what happened seizes you with a death grip, forcing you down a trail of ugly thoughts about if she wants you a little less now.

it tumbles into flashes and recollections of past experiences. moments where time with past romantic partners, or well, whatevers, winded in mistreatment, distance, pushes away – anything that ended up making you wonder what exactly you had done to deserve this. lee isn’t being cruel, the rational part of you knows that. but, in the extremity of your emotions, you can’t help but get thrown down the rabbit hole, plagued with the thoughts that maybe she’s tired of you and wants time away from you because of that. that maybe you’ll lose her just like everyone else. or she’ll come to see you as a bit less worthy of good treatment now.

beneath it all, is guilt. you flip the argument in your mind over and over again, and with time, you begin to wince at all the times you pressed, even after lee made it clear your insecurities weren't why she was evading telling you. you don't know what she's been through, nor how pressured your pushes might've been making her. maybe you should've been more gentle about it.

you fall asleep early that night, eyes blotchy and swollen, head tense, and body wound up with the need to pee, but too drained to move.

at midnight, a soft knock comes to your door, and you stir lightly.

lee doesn’t wait before entering your room, her bare feet softly hitting the floor as she slowly moves to your bed. your room is pitch black with the lack of a window, and you can just barely make out her face until she crouches next to you. you meekly watch her, soft blanket curled to your chin.

“hey,” she quietly whispers. her eyes aren’t on you.

and that, pathetically, lovingly, breaks you even more in that moment. you sniffle, a tear not hesitating to escape the confines of your eye.

lee’s eyes flicker up and widen at the sight. “hey, hey.” she leans in closer, pressing her chin to the fold of your blanket, her breaths brushing your skin. her eyebrows, so dark you can catch sight of them even without light, are wrinkled in concentration, her shining eyes watching you intently. “baby, I…”

“sorry,” you choke out, pressing your face into the pillow.

“no, no, don’t.” she leans in, fingers ghosting your forehead, her head shaking.

but, you can't stop, each hard blink releasing a new stream of tears, small sobs bubbling in your throat. “are you sick of me?”

she draws in a loud, harsh breath, head tilting. after a moment of silence, she mutters, “can I come into your bed?”

after all the nights you two have shared in it, you’ve forgotten that it’s technically just yours to begin with. and god, did you miss her tonight, even if it was just three hours. you shuffle to where the bed is braced against the wall, and lee slides in and arranges her pillow so easily, as though you guys have vowed to sleep in this bed every night.

you gulp when she immediately presses the front of her body to yours, her hand cupping your cheek, forehead nudged against yours. “I won’t ever be sick of you.”

“you don’t kno–”

“I do.” her breaths are shuddering now, shaking at the edges. “I’m sure of it.”

you continue crying, small noises bursting from your mouth as your body shakes. lee leans in, her lips capturing every tear as she murmurs, “I’m here.”

“how do you know you’ll never get sick of me?”

“because I… I just won’t. I know I won’t. I know it’s hard, but trust me. I won’t.”

the word trust reignites a flood of memories of the argument, and you cough on the dryness of your throat, embarrassment crawling through you as you say, “I’m sorry. for pushing before. I do trust you to go at your own pace, and I want you to. I just got scared. that you not wanting to talk about it meant you didn’t trust me. or that we’d never reach a place of you telling me.”

she smoothes a palm over your hip, remaining in silence for a few moments, clearly absorbing your words. after a few moments, she speaks, voice quiet and hushed. “I do trust you. and we will talk about it soon.”

“soon?”

“yeah, soon. I didn’t want to talk about it because it’s… hard for me. but, I do want to share it. and you should know.”

“I don’t want it to just be done out of obligation.”

“it won’t. it’s… a lot for me. but, I don’t want you to feel… I don’t know, like something is missing.”

you sigh. while the thought process definitely considers you, and is sweet in nature, you want her to share because of reasons not so focused on you. “but, I want you to tell me because you want to. not because you just don’t want me to feel bad.”

she nods. “I know.” the stroke of her thumb slows to a stop. “but, it’s not only about wanting to help you feel like you understand me. I also… like being understood by you. and I don’t want things unspoken between us. that never works.”

your emotions feel even more heightened at her words. lee wants you to understand her, and she wants to be specifically understood by you. that feels like an honour. “but, you want to tell me even if you don’t want to talk about it?”

“if it was easy for me to talk about, I would.” she sounds so timid, her voice small in the gentle confession. “I avoid it because it’s…”

“painful?”

her face flinches. “amongst other things.”

tears slowly subsiding, your eyes explore her face. she looks like she’s shrunk from talking about this, shoulders hunched and body curled like a child. it makes your stomach whirl into a knot and tighten in equal parts sympathy and worry as to what she went through.

“just… only do it when you’re ready,” you whisper, the back of your hand lifting to graze her cheek.

she catches your wrist and bows her head down to your fingers. a trembling kiss meets your knuckles, and she says against them, “I’m sorry. if I hurt you before.”

and the tears rush back, the reminder of her hard tone making you want to bury your face against her.

lee’s bottom lip gets caught beneath her small teeth, and she quietly watches you cry. “I… I shouldn’t have said you only wanted to know because my friends knew. it was a wrongful misjudgement. I thought at the time it was right, but it isn’t.”

“yeah.” the word comes out croaky and dry. you feel like the amount of tears you’ve shed has drained your body of all its replenishing water.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. or thought it. not when you’ve always been so… curious.” after a pause, she quickly adds, “not in a bad way.”

“are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

her acknowledgement of the stinging words helps to relax some of the unease in your stomach. but, there’s still one more thing you need to bring up. “it, um, it hurt me when you told me that you can’t assure me anymore.”

“why did that hurt you?”

you wince. “what do you mean?”

“I tried assuring you, but you didn’t accept it, so I said I wouldn’t anymore. I don’t understand why it’s hurtful.”

the only thing stopping you from feeling completely crestfallen is the fact that it doesn’t sound like she’s criticizing you, but is rather genuinely trying to figure out what you’re feeling.

“it made me feel like, I don’t know, like there’s a limit to the assurance you’d give me. which, like, yeah, I get if there is with extreme amounts. but, in that moment, it was just hard for me to feel like you trust me with the stuff you said. so, it scared me, and I needed you.”

“but, I had already told you I trusted you. I didn’t understand the point of repeating myself.”

“because I was still worried, lee. I mean, you know, that sort of anxiety doesn’t always make sense, it doesn’t always just… go away. sometimes it stays even after reassurance, and in that moment, it was staying. especially because I was still worried over stuff you had said before.” your voice lowers towards the end, praying she doesn’t feel attacked by you saying these things.

when she says nothing, you inadvertently squirm in discomfort, hoping your requirements weren’t too much.

lee’s arm around you tightens, and she mutters, “you’re right. I’m sorry.”

you stare at her, a touch of surprise rippling through. “really?”

she nods. “yeah. you felt anxious, and I should’ve been there.”

“I mean, you were.”

“yeah, but completely. without conditions or a limit.” her face is tight in frustration. “I shouldn’t have said I won’t give you assurance. I…” she sighs, gulping hard. “I need to be better.”

“but, you’re already great, lee.”

she sighs, and without a word, leans in to kiss you. the salty drops of your tears drip and curl around your lips, giving the kiss a sour taste. but, it’s so sweet in the tenderness, so sweet in the way lee pours affection into it.

when she parts from you, breaths heavy, she whispers, “even if you feel that way, still, I’ll do better.”

“so will I,” you say, the promise surprisingly weightless on your tongue.

for it’s easy, really, to want to do better for her.

----

a/n: so, as I mentioned before, tumblr was being a little bitch and not letting me post the whole of summer's part two, meaning I had to divide the summer chap yet again, making it now three parts (which is why this one ends so abruptly ;-;). so, this post is the second part, and honestly, I might just post the third part super soon bc I've made you guys wait long enough as is KDJSKDJ (in 2-3 days most likely, if you want to be tagged lmk through comments or asks <33)

please please pleaseeee let me know what you think, whether it be through comments or anons, since it does really boost my motivation + confidence ahhh, and truly, I'm always so curious and eager to hear what you guys think when I post something <33 I hope you all enjoyed this chap mwah mwah

#does it happen in a season?#s.writing #lee harker x reader #lee harker fanfiction #lee harker #longlegs fanfiction #longlegs 2024

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