Chapter Text
Despite the regular org*sms from a sexy top who lives in the woods, she does have some gripes about Climax, Minnesota.
The first is that there’s no actual establishment where she can get a wax and a manicure in one morning. Apparently, Ivan only works seasonally and it isn’t summery enough for his delicate ass yet. (Do people not wax in this town, Fatin had asked Dot one evening at the grocery store. Ivan just needs more clientele to stay open. You could single-handedly keep him afloat this summer, Dot had mused – holding a store brand of chicken broth in one hand and a brand name in the other. Fatin always makes her choose the brand name – despite the price difference.)
The second issue is that Martha’s grandmother is always trying to get Fatin to drop by on Tuesday afternoons so that she can do her nails. Martha told her that Granny M hadn’t passed an eye test in years and should really have her driver's license revoked at this rate – Fatin continued to decline politely and sprint in the opposite direction when she spotted Granny M with her gaggle of ancient friends at the only coffee shop in town which happens to be a Dunkin’ Donuts and she loses a thread of her credibility every time she sets foot in there for a sorry excuse of a latte.
(Leah has a gorgeous Nespresso machine with an integrated milk solution that Fatin gravitates to every evening and every morning when she’s there…which is a few times a week.)
The third issue – Dot has placed a limit on her online shopping. Well, not a financial limit perse, but she will only drive to the post office twice a week. (Apparently, they don’t do delivery in this third-world town and the post office lady is a Grade-A asshole who thinks she’s taking advantage of Dot and refuses to provide her with the mail. Fatin told Dot she had to use her powers as mayor to put Carol in her place – Dot refused, this isn’t some Tulsa King sh*t, Fatin. These are real people with real feelings and maybe you should just be kinder to Carol and she’d hand over your hundred-dollar shampoo and sex toys.
Fatin’s jaw dropped, looking over at Leah as she held the phone. Excuse you, my shampoo is over two hundred dollars and my conditioner is just that if not more – thirdly –
Baby, come back to bed, Leah murmured, her eyes sparkling as she ran her hand down her naked back. Fatin pouted, ending the call and tossing her phone somewhere on the mattress. Leah’s fingertips traced the length of her back, swirling in soothing circles and she couldn’t remember why she was so pissed off to begin with – oh, right.
Carol is holding your strap hostage, Fatin grumbled, her chin tucked on Leah’s bare shoulder. We should file a hate crime.
I have one, I still don’t understand why –
Because this one is yours and mine.
I clean my toys, Fatin.
It vibrates.
Oh f*ck.
Yeah, cutie.
Which leads to the fourth issue.)
Leah Rilke is a hot f*cking commodity in Climax, Minnesota.
She doesn’t think Leah notices the way girls who pretend they’re straight stare at her when she walks into a room. She especially doesn’t notice gay girls staring at her when she’s twisting the cap of her beer off or wearing tank tops and leather pants – she’s just so oblivious to it all.
It helps that Leah almost always has an arm around the back of her chair or across the booth when they go to The Wilds or the dinner on Main Street. But it certainly doesn’t help when Leah goes to order her a drink and they just f*cking flock to her – like those blood-sucking leeches that Martha has in her lake behind her house (she stayed on dry land that day, not even Leah in a bikini could tempt her to test those waters).
It's moments when they stumble upon people (which is every f*cking day in this population of 267 people) that Leah has clearly f*cked before that quite possibly qualify her for a stay at an asylum.
Like Becky f*cking Cann.
Fatin knows her name is Becky Cann because her name is plastered on the stupid name tag, just above the stupid title of ‘Manager’. Fatin scoffs, not hiding her disdain for the way Becky leans over the table (tit* out) to ‘help’ Leah read a menu she’s innately familiar with considering she’s brought her to the dinner twice so far and Leah always orders the same thing – a stack French toast with syrup and a fresh bowl of fruit. Or, if it’s the evening, she’s ordering the steak medium rare and sweet potato fries.
Her point is, that Becky f*cking knows what Leah wants so there’s no need to stick her tit* in her face and call her honey in that stupid tone. Fatin especially hates it when Leah takes the bill (because she’s hot like that and always insists on paying for their meals), and Becky feels the need to place her hand over Leah’s to hand her the complimentary mints. Fatin would rather Becky choke on one of those mints.
“You’re quiet,” Leah remarks, the outline of the mint pressing against her cheek. Leah holds up the candy, “Mint?”
Fatin shakes her head, crossing her arms and sinking into the retro booth. Leah watches her with amusem*nt, tucking the mint away in the pocket of her jacket – she rolls her eyes, letting her gaze carry out the storefront to the street. She’s watching a local try to tempt his purse dog to do a trick on the bench for his special lady friend when Leah nudges her foot beneath the table.
“You can just say you’re jealous.”
“I am not jealous,” Fatin fires back, narrowing her gaze.
“You never tip her or Hannah when she’s bartending.”
“Because they do a sh*t job,” Fatin shrugs, her lip curling at the thought of Hannah. She’s going to need a good f*ck from Leah to make this up.
“Minimum wage is a crime here,” Leah toys with the receipt, rolling the paper between her fingertips. “You always leave a five-dollar tip when we stop for ice cream.”
“That’s good service babe, she always gives me extra sprinkles.”
“And the difference here?” Leah asks, lifting a brow – that stupid sexy smirk on her face like she knows she’s caught her up.
“They want to f*ck you,” Fatin says, looking to the countertop to her right where Becky is conveniently fiddling with something on her apron. She lifts her brow at Leah, tilting her head toward the manager. “They’ve had a piece of the pie and they want more.”
Leah flushes, her cheeks turning a pretty pink as she lifts a hand to scratch at her neck. She can’t believe just how oblivious Leah is to it all – she can’t believe she doesn’t pick up on the lingering touches and the longing gazes.
“It was a long time ago,” Leah murmurs, casting a glance at Becky who is suspiciously straightening up her posture and pushing her chest forward –
“You aren’t even a tit* girl,” Fatin cuts in, glaring at Becky. “Like why is she even trying?”
“I like your tit*,” Leah offers, nodding to her chest.
“I know baby, but the girls are swirling like piranhas – it’s like an episode of The Bachelorette.”
“You watch that show?”
“Only when I’m drunk – why the f*ck is she undoing another button? This is a family-friendly restaurant.”
Leah chuckles, bumping the toe of her boot along her foot and it pulls her attention back to Leah. “What we did last week wasn’t exactly family-friendly.”
“That was different,” Fatin protests, hooking her heel around Leah’s boot. “I was helping you clean off that syrup.”
“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it,” Leah grins. She feels another boot press on the opposite side of her leg – she reaches for Leah’s hand fiddling with the debit machine receipt. She runs her index finger across Leah’s knuckles, swooping down to her wrist and back up. “Or was it because Becky gave me an extra slice of French toast and whipped cream?”
“I told you that was a f*cking metaphor,” Fatin pokes at the back of her hand. Leah hums in amusem*nt, turning her hand over until their fingers brush.
“And the girl at the ice cream shop who always gives you extra sprinkles?” Leah scratches her nails across her palm, and she feels the goosebumps raise over her arms – travelling all the way up to her jaw.
“That’s different,” Fatin presses her fingers into Leah’s palm. “I’ve never f*cked the ice cream girl before and left her deliriously needy.”
“But she wants to,” Leah lifts a shoulder, her brows lifting playfully. “And the extra sprinkles prove it.”
“I take it we aren’t stopping for ice cream on the way home?”
“No.”
“f*ck,” She gasps, moving her hips to match Leah’s fingers. The drag of Leah’s lips against her throat, hot and incessant – her fingers tease, alternating between strong, curling thrusts and a light feathering along her folds.
“Leah,” She pleads, threading her fingers through Leah’s hair. She feels the curve of Leah’s lips against her neck, feels her teeth next and her body turns to mush – the wall at her back and Leah the only things holding her back from sinking to the floor.
“Yeah, baby?” Leah croons, just as her fingers rub over her cl*t and another rush of wetness trickles from her.
“Don’t tease,” she inhales sharply, tugging at the strands of her hair. Leah hums, moving her fingers to collect her wetness and draw it up and around her cl*t.
“I love how jealousy makes you wet,” Leah kisses her pulse, pressing her thumb against her cl*t and pushing two fingers inside her – she moans, her body arching off the wall and her free hand scrambles for purchase on the wall. “Always so ready for me.”
“You – ah, f*ck, right there, baby,” she whines, moving her hips to keep the angle of her fingers. Her hand flies to Leah’s arm, gripping her forearm tightly – urging her deeper. Leah hums against her jaw, sliding her hand around her cushion her head and it’s the f*cking tenderness from Leah while they’re f*cking that drives her insane.
How she’s always careful with her head – her back, even when she’s pressed against her workbench or laid out on the kitchen counter with Leah’s tongue between her legs.
She forgets what she was going to refute because Leah drives into her with three fingers this time and then she cries out, a mess of Leah’s name and she’s shuddering and clamping down on the strong fingers between her legs as the pleasure eeks from every inch of her.
She’s barely able to catch her breath before Leah’s mouth slots over hers, her tongue sweeping across her front teeth and Fatin thinks she’s breathing life into her because her hips keep moving, rocking down against Leah’s fingers.
“Got another one for me, pretty girl?” Leah pants against her lips. She whimpers and pushes her hips against Leah’s fingers, taking her impossibly deeper. Leah sucks on her tongue, her thumb rolling in tight circles on her cl*t – she hikes her leg over Leah’s hip, the smooth leather sticking to her sweaty skin.
Her skirt is tight and bites into her skin – Leah could hardly wait when they got back to hers though. Pushing her up against the wall and moving the fabric up with heated hands – her underwear might be in tatters somewhere on the floor.
“Bet you could take four,” Leah says, with that raspy timber to her voice that sends an electric current right to her c*nt. Another shudder wrecks her body and she can feel it – the heat surging into her from the tips of Leah’s fingers to the tongue in her mouth and Leah is everywhere. She feels weightless and centred all at once, panting roughly against Leah’s lips – she flies off the wall again, Leah’s fingers pressing against the back of her head, her mouth dropping in a silent cry as she floods the hand between her thighs.
Leah kisses her cheek, her jaw, her chin – skimming over her face, even the tip of her nose and giving it a soft nip that has them both chuckling breathlessly. Her legs finally go boneless and Leah pulls her fingers away slowly, murmuring words of encouragement that has her sinking down the wall.
“Got you, baby,” Leah’s warm tone washes over her and she feels strong hands beneath her thighs, pulling her upward and she summons the last of her strength to wrap her arms around Leah’s shoulders.
She’s carried through the house, Leah’s smooth strides covering the cozy cottage until she’s laid out against the mattress. She sighs at the weight of Leah’s body, tangling their legs together on the sheets – the moonlight shines through the skylight, illuminating them at the centre of the bed.
“That was better than ice cream,” she tells Leah, scratching at her hairline. Leah kisses her jaw, humming her agreement – she shifts her foot against the bed, the duvet tangling in the heel. She makes a noise of annoyance, attempting to shove her shoes off.
“I’ve got you,” Leah kisses her cheek before leaning up on her arm and reaching for her shoes. Fatin tugs the zipper on the side of her skirt, breathing out a sigh of relief when the pressure is eased. Leah bends to kiss her hip, replacing her fingers and pulling the fabric down her legs.
She crosses her arms over her stomach, pulling off the hot pink tank top and flopping back against the mattress. Leah’s thumbs swirl against her hips, digging into the muscle there.
“Mm,” She murmurs, pushing her hips into Leah’s hands. Her eyes flutter shut and her head lolls on the pillow, her hips lift into Leah’s touch.
“You should really go see Rachel about your back,” Leah digs her fingers in, her lips pressing against her bent knee. “She could help you.”
“This is better,” she sighs, pushing her hips into Leah’s wonderful fingers. Leah pinches her said and her eyes flash open in a warning – Leah smiles at her and bends to nip at her knee.
“Turn over,” Leah pulls at her hip gently.
“Wanna f*ck me into the pillows, baby?” Fatin masks a yawn, twisting her fingers in the pillows to pull herself onto her stomach – Leah’s sheets always smell like laundry detergent and a hint of vanilla.
“Let’s start with a back message first and see where that takes us.”
“You know I’m a bitch for foreplay.”
“You’ll fall asleep,” Leah brushes her palms over her back, digging her fingers into the muscles of her lower back deliciously.
“I won’t.”
“Okay, baby.”
She falls asleep – sleeps the entire night at Leah’s which is a first for a weekday. Leah had kissed her on the cheek in the morning, walking her warm fingers up her spine to rouse her from dreamland momentarily.
“I have to get to work,” Leah murmurs, nosing at her shoulder. “But you can stay as long as you like – there’s almond milk in the fridge and a fresh set of clothes in the bathroom.”
She nods against the pillow, curling her hand around Leah’s jaw to pull her in for a kiss. Leah returns her kiss – she tastes of coffee and toothpaste and her morning routine.
She flips on her back to watch Leah dress – shrugging into a plain white button-up and a pair of jeans. She sits at the edge of the bed to lace up her boots, twisting back for the leather jacket – she catches Leah’s gaze, smiling at her when Leah’s face heats and her gaze drops to her chest.
She pushes the duvet down further, a smirk forming on her lips when Leah’s fist tightens in her jacket. Her foot shifts beneath the duvet, peaking out of the blanket and resting against Leah’s warm thigh. She flexes her foot against the fabric – Leah shakes her head, lip pulled between her teeth.
“You could stay,” Fatin grins, curling her toes. “I’m sure the local newspaper could do without their caped crusader.”
“I don’t work for the newspaper,” Leah huffs, circling her foot with her hand. “I’m a teacher.”
“Like a Sunday school teacher? Because that’s hot.”
“It’s Wednesday,” Leah lifts her foot, kissing her instep.
“And according to Shelby the ‘Lord’ is with us every day – be careful, this might awaken something in me.”
“A foot fetish or a religious fetish?”
“Maybe both if you aren’t careful.”
Leah laughs, shaking her head and pushing up from the bed. Fatin watches her loop around the bed – she smiles, throwing her arm up as Leah approaches her – a roll of her eyes but she bends to kiss her anyway.
“Have a great day, Mrs. Rilke,” Fatin says between kisses, taking Leah’s bottom lip between her teeth and tugging.
Leah makes that sexy noise again – something between a groan and a growl and she’s pressed into the mattress.
(Leah is late for work and Fatin has a new fetish.)
The waiting room of Rachel’s practice is surprisingly pleasant – her eyes catch the motivational posters, similar to the prints Leah has at her place. There is an array of framed medals on the walls – a photo of Rachel mid-dive, another with her sister and parents holding a trophy.
She sips her latte, humming under her breath at the almond milk – she’s going to reward Leah for stocking up on her favourites when she gets off work tonight. Her phone buzzes on her lap – she turns the screen over to open it.
Cortez
I hope summer is treating you well. Thoughts on leading the opening motif for the Fall concert series?
She sighs, navigating out of her music director’s message thread – she replies to her mother and brothers instead. She hasn’t spoken to her slu*tbag of a father in years – since she found out he was cheating and she had to dry her mother’s tears. The divorce went pretty smoothly all things considered – he didn’t put up a custody fight and as it turned out, her mother was far wealthier than he was with his stupid watch auctioning as if that’s a profession.
(Fatin stole one of his watches, a silver Rolex with a dash of yellow gold along the band. It goes for nearly twenty grand now on the market, something she hides in her socket drawer in Manhattan for a rainy day.)
“Fatin?” The secretary calls, nodding to the door to her left. “She’s ready to see you now.”
She makes her way through the door and finds Rachel sitting on a stool next to a massage bed.
“Finally,” Rachel says, the scent of hand sanitizer filling the room. “I was beginning to think your posture was just going to be f*cked out of your own volition.”
Fatin rolls her eyes, taking off her purse and tossing it onto a chair. “Your bedside manner could use some work, babe.”
“My bedside manner is legendary, thank you very much,” Rachel says, easy and full of confidence. “Come on, let’s see what we’re working with.”
She groans, exhaling when a shot of pain flashes up from the base of her spine to her neck. She reaches for her neck, rubbing the tender muscles – Leah appears next to her, an ice pack wrapped around a towel.
“I thought she was supposed to be good at her job,” Fatin grimaces, staring at flames in the fireplace. She felt great when she left Rachel’s office and went to Dot’s to pack a bag and check if her online shopping order had come yet.
Rachel warned her that some tension would return and she should ice her muscles and lay down with a pillow beneath her knees and one beneath her head – she may have forgotten the last bit because Dot did get the mail yesterday and she’s got a cute new dress and set of lingerie for Leah to examine.
Instead, she’s unable to move without a flash of pain and her legs feel heavy. She had plans too – she was going to call Leah Mrs. Rilke and ask for extra help with her homework.
“She is good at her job. Did you follow her instructions for aftercare?” Leah lifts her legs gently on the couch, placing a pillow beneath them. Fatin holds the icepack to her lower back, throwing a wink in Leah’s direction.
“You know I take aftercare very seriously, cutie.”
Leah snorts, sitting on the couch behind her – her long legs pressing on either side of her and Fatin sighs, leaning back into her chest. Leah adjusts the icepack a little higher, pressing a kiss to her cheek before speaking.
“You got distracted, didn’t you?” Leah swirls her fingers around her collarbone, tapping against the side of her neck before running down the length of her shoulder again. Her eyes flutter shut, sinking heavily into Leah at her touch.
“Maybe,” she murmurs, lifting her arm to cover Leah’s free hand resting on her stomach. She fiddles with the silvery rings adorning Leah’s fingers today. “I had a really cute dress to try on and a sexy pair of underwear with you in mind.”
Leah exhales shakily, her grip tightening on her stomach momentarily and Fatin grins, turning her head to brush her lips along the underside of Leah’s jaw. She smells like cologne today - it suits the oversized button-down and light wash of her jeans.
“You smell good,” Fatin murmurs, the icepack on her lower back doing very little to stop the heat blooming from her toes to the tips of her fingers. “Did you put that on for me?”
Leah’s breath is hot against her ear, and her palm flexes across her stomach to dip into the waistband of her joggers – Leah’s sweats that she hasn’t brought back from the first night they met. She loops her fingers around Leah’s wrist, pushing her south and Leah’s breath catches in her ear when her fingers brush the new purchase.
“When does Dot get home?” Leah asks, her breathing already laboured and her heart does summersaults in her chest at the effect she has on Leah.
“She’s staying at Mateo’s tonight,” she traces her finger over Leah’s forearm, sweeping up around her bicep and back down. “She did say no sex on the couch though.”
Leah chuckles, dark and warm in her ear as her fingers brush the little bow on her thong. “I wouldn’t do that to your back.”
“And they said chivalry was dead.”
“You booked a follow-up with Rachel, right?” Leah asks, brushing her fingertips over her inner thighs and Fatin spreads her legs a little further to encourage the touch. She nods against Leah’s shoulder, spreading her hand over Leah’s on her thigh – she pulls Leah’s hand to where she wants it most, her hips jerking when Leah squeezes and cups her.
“God,” Leah whispers, pushing the lace away to dip her fingers between her folds. “You drive me insane.”
Her hips jerk again and her back explodes in a twinge of pain – she flinches and Leah pulls her hand away, splaying it over her stomach as she murmurs apologetic words.
“Sorry, baby.”
“S’okay,” Fatin swallows, exhaling and squeezing Leah’s hand. Leah kisses her cheek and then her jaw, suckling softly at the skin as her fingers trace soothing circles over her stomach.
“Bed?” Leah asks, her cologne encompassing all her senses. She nods, shifting her body until Leah can wiggle free – the ice pack is pressing into her hands and Leah kneels on the couch, wrapping her arms around her waist gingerly and Fatin closes her legs over Leah’s hips.
The strength makes her drip as Leah carries her through the house, Fatin offers her directions when Leah takes a couple of wrong turns and they both laugh as Leah carries her through the threshold to her room, kicking the door shut behind them.
She is set on the mattress gently, Leah leaning over her for another pillow to place beneath her knees. The lamp on her nightstand flicks on, Leah’s lop-sided smile greeting her and Fatin lifts her hand, curling it around Leah’s neck to pull her down for a kiss.
Leah’s hands are heavy on her hips, keeping her pressed to the mattress with just the right amount of weight to keep her back from spasming and to keep her relaxed.
They pant heavily when they part, Leah’s mouth tearing down her neck with sharp nips of her teeth that leave her boneless and needy. Leah’s fingers work the string of her joggers, peeling the fabric down gently with reassuring words – telling her when to lift and when she’s almost done.
“f*ck,” Leah breathes, her blue eyes glimmering with intense focus on her underwear. She feels Leah’s fingers brush over her hip bones, slipping beneath the fabric and rubbing it between the pads of her fingers.
Fatin gulps, a flush overtaking her body and she’s dripping on the mattress now – at the expression on Leah’s face, the way her mouth hangs open slightly and her eyes flick over every inch of her.
“So pretty, baby girl,” Leah says breathlessly, tracing the tiny bow just below her navel. “I love these,” Leah murmurs, her voice deep and scratchy against her skin – when her mouth closes over her hip and sucks at the skin there – thong and all.
She threads her fingers through Leah’s hair, scratching at her scalp in a move that has Leah groaning softly against her skin. Her nose nudges the fabric higher over her hip, making the fabric catch and drag against her cl*t and she gasps, fisting her other hand in the sheets.
Leah’s mouth leaves her skin with a pop, her heart thumps into her chest and she can just see Leah looking up at her through hooded eyes.
“I want to eat you out – can I do that?”
“Please,” She nods, gripping Leah’s hand and pushing her down.
“Easy, baby,” Leah murmurs, nipping at her hip before shuffling up on her knees. Fatin watches her reach for another pillow, sliding a palm beneath her back and pulling gently. “I’ll do all the work, you just – f*ck, yeah, you just lay there and be a good girl.”
She shudders and another rush of anticipation flows from her – she tries to arch off the bed but Leah holds her waist firmly.
“I’ve got you. Promise.” Leah slides another pillow beneath her spine and takes the pillow beneath her knees to lay it under her ass. “Feel okay?” Leah asks, knelt between her legs as she toys with the lace on her hip.
“Yeah,” Fatin throws an arm across her face, closing her eyes because she just might burst from the care Leah is exuding.
Leah hums and shifts down on the mattress. She feels her legs being pulled over Leah’s shoulders gingerly – the oxford shirt scratching against her bare skin. Leah’s arm loops across her waist, the pressure is perfect and then she’s nosing at the fabric of her underwear, passing her tongue along her heated folds and the lacey fabric.
“Leah,” She gasps, curling her fingers into the pillow and renewing her purchase on Leah’s head.
“I know, baby,” Leah murmurs between her legs, giving her a long – exploratory lick along a fold that has her panting and Leah hasn’t even touched her properly yet. Blue eyes meet hers, fiery but grounding all at once and her eyes roll back into her head when Leah pushes her tongue inside.
Four follow-up appointments later, when Rachel is massaging the muscles they had spent an hour and fifteen minutes working – Rachel tells her that Nora is looking for a substitute music teacher to finish out the remaining three weeks of the school year.
“I’m flattered, Rachel, but we both know I’m too hot to be a teacher,” Fatin said, staring at the floor beneath the headrest. Rachel snorts from somewhere around her shoulders, passing her fingers over the muscles expertly.
“And what about Leah? Shelby? Toni?”
“Leah’s the hottest one there, by far – the hottest person in this entire town, no, the county.”
“Alright Romeo,” Rachel taps the back of her head in a non-professional manner. “You’re done for today. But seriously, it would take a load off Nora if you could help her out. Besides, music is like the chillest subject nobody expects anything from you.”
Fatin’s mouth drops in indignation, sliding off the message table to collect her belongings. She’s sliding into her heels when Rachel drops a pair of sneakers in front of her.
“You need orthopedic shoes. Wear these for now until I can get your order in.”
Fatin gasps, holding the warn pair of black Reeboks between her fingers in disgust.
“No wonder Leah calls you a princess,” Rachel says with amusem*nt.
“Babe, there is like – no life to these things,” Fatin holds a shoe between her palms. “They look like they’ve been in your closet since your last year in PE class.”
“You need the soles, Fatin, it’s the best way for your back to heal right now.”
She pouts, twisting the shoe over in her hands. “I can’t be seen in public with these, Rachel. We need to come to some sort of truth.”
“Fine, you can take the soles out and put them in your own sneakers – but they need to be running shoes, not those luxury sneakers your rich ass wears.”
“I’m never coming back,” Fatin says, shoving the shoes into her tote purse and hooking the bag over her shoulder.
“See you next week – don’t forget to do your exercises!”
She’s hunched over the bar top, swirling her straw around her vodka soda with lime when Leah arrives. She feels a hand brush over her back in greeting, followed by a kiss to her cheek and Fatin pushes the beer to Leah, letting her gaze roam over the muscles on display from her tank top – no bra either, her favourite.
“We just got here,” Leah chuckles, pressing a leather-clad knee against her thigh. “Don’t give me those eyes.”
“What eyes?” She asks innocently, batting her lashes.
“Your f*ck-me-in-the-bathroom eyes,” Leah says pointedly, taking a swing of her beer.
“You haven’t in over two weeks – what is a girl supposed to think?”
Leah snorts, sliding her hand across her lap to rest it on her thigh. “It’s not good for your back.”
“Is that why you’ve been insisting on missionary? God – I thought it was just to argue with me.”
“That too,” Leah laughs, brushing her thumb over her skin in soothing circles. “I don’t like seeing you in pain.”
“Well, Rachel sure does,” Fatin huffs, settling back in her chair to cover Leah’s hand on her thigh and toy with the rings on her fingers. “She’s a sad*st, I swear.”
“She’s the top Osteo in the State, Fatin.”
“Her bedside manner is sh*t.”
“Maybe her patient is unruly.”
Fatin grins, thinking of the way Leah ordered her hands to stay wrapped around the bedpost two nights ago. “Maybe she just doesn’t have the right touch.”
Leah’s hand squeezes at her thigh, her gaze darkening in the low lighting. She catches Hannah approaching them from the corner of her eye and she lifts her hand to curl it around Leah’s neck and pull her in for a lung-crushing kiss.
“I like you jealous,” Leah says after they part, breathless and swirling with thoughts of Leah’s fingers between her things.
“Shut up,” Fatin grumbles, taking Leah’s mouth in another kiss that has far too much tongue for how very public they are right now. Leah’s hand sneaks up her thigh, brushing the edges of her shorts and she’s about to suggest a quickie in the bathroom when a throat clears behind them.
“So nice to see you’ve shoved your tongue down Leah’s throat already this evening,” Dot crosses her arm, looking between them with a blank expression. Leah laughs, a flush heating her cheeks and Fatin rolls her eyes at the intrusion, slotting her fingers between Leah’s when the brunette tries to pull away.
“Is there a reason you interrupted us, Dorothy?” Fatin lifts her brows.
“I wanted to say your cello arrived at the post office today and Carol suddenly loves you and she very kindly ‘found’ your lost packages.”
“Don’t tell me Carol is secretly a band freak – maybe Nora could ask her to teach the music class.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Dot shakes her head. “There’s like five boxes in your room and I put your cello next to the bed.”
“Thanks, Dorothy,” Fatin reaches out to squeeze her shoulder. “I’ve always wanted a housewife.”
“I’m leaving,” Dot says gruffly, shrugging off her hand.
“Love you bitch!”
Dot answers her with a middle finger thrust into the air.
She laughs and takes her purse off the back of her chair, sliding into the leather jacket. She takes one last sip of her drink, meeting Leah’s curious gaze. She slides off the chair, standing between Leah’s spread legs – she slides her arms over Leah’s shoulders, linking her fingers loosely.
“Your strap is in, gorgeous.”
“Oh,” Leah coughs, her face turning bright red. “We should, uh, we should go make sure your boxes are in the right spot.”
“Yeah,” Fatin nods, a smirk lifting her lips and she can’t help but kiss Leah’s pink lips. “Make sure it measures up, you know?”
“F-Fatin,” Leah chokes down a sound, her hands hot and tight on her hips. “I want you.”
“I know, cutie,” Fatin tucks a wild strand behind Leah’s ear, trailing her fingertips down over her neck to rest them against her thumping pulse. “Take me home.”
She tightens her arms around her waist, squeezing her legs against the outside of Leah’s. The motorcycle rumbles beneath them, powerful and sure of itself and Leah is hot and tension-riddled against her body. She fiddles with Leah’s belt buckle when they stop at a red light, grinning when Leah’s hand clamps over hers – she slides beneath Leah’s tank top instead, scratching her nails over the hard ridges of her abdomen. Leah drives faster than she ever has when Fatin rides with her – the machine rumbles and the corners are taken quickly, pressing herself into Leah.
Leah has a firm hold on her hand when they get off the motorcycle, her long strides are purposeful and powerful as she leads them up the walkway. Digging for her key proves difficult, especially when Leah’s lips are ravaging her neck and her hand has already unbuttoned her shorts to rub her cl*t.
“Baby,” Fatin breathes, a little breathless as she rolls her hips into Leah’s hand. Eventually the key slots into the door and they’re stumbling through and Leah kicks the door shut, reaching for the backs of her thighs in a familiar move.
“f*ck, I love that,” Fatin kisses her brow, tangling her fingers in Leah’s hair as she’s carried down the hallway. She feels the door against her back momentarily before Leah reaches for the knob and the door shuts behind them, the soft mattress on her back.
“Which box?” Leah breathes, her pupils blown and her hair wild. Fatin scoots up onto her elbows, scanning the boxes around her room. She points to the medium-sized box – Leah picks it up and tears into it, packing peanuts littering her floor – a grunt of annoyance across the room. She points to a different smaller box, watching Leah rip it open and shake the contents out on the desk – more packing peanuts and oh, well that’s for Leah too, just not right now –
“Is this Italian leather?” Leah asks, running her fingers over the leather gloves.
“Yeah – with cashmere lining, you always complain about your hands getting cold in the mornings and how you like them – “
“Warm,” Leah finishes for her.
Fatin swallows, watching Leah glance back down to the leather and fit her hand inside it – f*ck, this is definitely awakening something in her. She brushes her legs together, a tension-ridden silence encompassing them – Leah lays the gloves on the desk carefully, placing them back in the packaging as if they’ll break and she picks up a larger box.
Her heart leaps into her throat when Leah pulls the package from the box, ripping off the plastic cover – Leah has her lip pulled between her teeth, glancing up to meet her gaze.
“Blue?” Leah asks softly, almost so quiet she doesn’t hear it.
“Yeah – like your eyes,” Fatin says shakily, curling her fingers in the duvet. She remembers swiping through various colours – red, purple, a variety of blues until she settled on the colour closest to Leah’s cerulean eyes.
“f*ck,” Leah inhales sharply and then she’s striding across the room and kissing all the air out of her lungs. “I’m gonna make you feel so good tonight,” Leah pants into her mouth, sweeping her tongue everywhere. “Just – f*ck, just get comfortable, okay? I’m gonna clean this.”
She kicks the duvet down, hearing the water run in the guest bathroom – she peels off her clothes, fixing her hair up in a messy bun and she’s in the middle of the bed when Leah steps from the bathroom. The toy strapped deliciously to her hips and she swallows, taking in the ripple of her abs and the heat of her gaze.
Leah is on top of her in mere seconds, running her hot hands down her sides and around her thighs. She gasps at the first drag of the toy against her cl*t, tilting her hips into the touch. Leah kisses her – hard and consuming with a firm grind of her hips.
She whimpers, raking her nails along Leah’s muscular back – Leah groans into her mouth and her hips snap forward. She was already so worked up – so ready and dripping for Leah that the grinding sent her over the edge in a rush – the org*sm sneaking up on her.
She doesn’t have any room to be embarrassed because Leah groans, “f*ck that’s so hot,” and her fingers reach between them to collect her slickness.
“Baby,” she breathes, reaching for Leah’s ass and squeezing. “Inside me – get inside me.”
Leah chokes on a noise, her mouth spreading across her shoulders and back up her neck as she adjusts the strap to her entrance.
Leah slides inside her slowly, her brows drawn in concentration as she watches her face – looking for any sign of discomfort or pleasure. Her eyes flutter shut when Leah pulls back to the tip again to push forward – this time with more pressure and her jaw slacks, her mouth opening in a silent cry when Leah finally sits inside her.
“You’re beautiful,” Leah whispers, her lips everywhere from her neck to her chest. “So beautiful.”
Leah’s voice reaches her ears, settling into her bloodstream and all she can hear, taste, touch, and feel is Leah.
“Love being inside you.”
She feels Leah’s hard nipples drag against hers with every thrust.
“Want you to feel good, baby.”
She can hear Leah’s grunts and the slap of the headboard against the wall.
“Turn over, pretty girl.”
She tastes the bitter cotton between her teeth, the force of Leah’s thrusts and the perfect way the strap hits that spot inside her has her moaning – her hands curled tightly into the pillows above her head as Leah’s skin slaps against hers.
Leah’s skilled fingers reach for her cl*t and she arches off the bed – her body going taught and Leah drives into her one last time, with a particular grind of her hips at has her screaming into the sheets and withering against Leah.
“Don’t even think about it,” she reaches for Leah’s ass, squeezing it until Leah settles back on top of her with a huff. Leah’s tongue licks the sweat off her back, her thumb brushing the back of her hand from where she’s holding it on the pillow above them.
“Your back – “
“Is fine, Leah. I waited for an entire month for your strap – you aren’t going anywhere.”
Leah makes a strangled noise against her spine, nipping the skin there and grinding into her. She hums, moving her hips back into the heavy grinds of Leah’s hips – she fumbles around the harness – a gasp leaving her when she hits the button and Leah jerks her hips so selfishly – just like she wants Leah to behave.
“Fatin,” Leah’s voice is strained and her hips jump, chasing the vibration and her own pleasure. “‘m close. Baby, please, mm – “
She pushes her hips back against Leah, hearing the faint hum of the vibration and feeling it when Leah sinks into her. Leah comes with a broken cry, her heavy body pressing her into the mattress deliciously and she brings their joined hands to her lips.
She fumbles for the switch on the harness again, shutting it off and Leah collapses on her back – cheeks flushed and eyes closed as she sucks in deep breaths. Fatin kisses her shoulder and goes about undoing the harness, tossing it on the floor somewhere – Leah wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her on top for a lazy kiss.
She frames Leah’s face between her palms, brushing the damp strands off her face as their lips meet and twist in a drawn-out moment of post-org*sm bliss.
“Worth the wait,” Leah says, her voice scratchy and hoarse. “So f*cking worth it.”
Her lips twist into a grin as she trails her fingers down Leah’s neck, over the dark marks that Fatin left there. She presses her lips against Leah’s jaw in a series of kisses, swooping her fingers over the strong line of her collarbone and back across. Leah sighs beneath her, wrapping both arms around her back and she settles her head on Leah’s chest, the strong thump of her heart beneath her ear.
“Are you going to take the job?” Leah asks sometime later when the crickets outside overpower Leah’s heartbeat.
“The music thing?” Fatin hums, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. Leah traces aimless patterns on her back and her eyes flutter shut. “How would you feel about it?”
“I think you should consider it,” Leah kisses her forehead, resting her nose against the top of her head.
“You just want to feel me up in a janitor’s closet.”
“True,” Leah laughs softly, tapping her hip to an invisible beat.
“I’ve always wanted to be the hot teacher – you know the one that everybody talks about?” She tilts her chin on Leah’s shoulder, inhaling the deep vanilla musk from her skin.
“Of course you do,” Leah sighs, pinching her side lightly.
“You can’t wear those sexy vests though – the pinstripe ones with the pockets? I can’t function when you get dressed in the morning.”
“I’ll tone done my sex appeal.”
“Thanks, cutie. I can’t promise I won’t jump your bones in an empty classroom though.”
It turns out, being the hot teacher is actually quite easy – despite Rachel’s ban on her high heels right now, she makes the fits work with her pink Nike Air Force Ones (you can run in them, she had said to Rachel. Who just shook her head and banished her from the office). She has a classroom full of students who want to spend their lunch break asking about her various visits around the world with the symphony and her fashion taste. She overhears a teenager saying “She’s so hot, man” and she proudly tells Leah she has levelled up.
She spends more time at Leah’s now, mostly out of convenience since they can carpool in her car or on Leah’s bike if the weather cooperates. She discovers that Leah is terrible at putting clothes away, and would rather leave them strung out all over the place – Fatin spends a Sunday afternoon hanging her clothing in her walk-in closet and Leah thanks her with a toe-curling org*sm against the wall.
Leah keeps a jug of almond milk and fresh bananas on the counter for her – she hates it when they get spotted and brown, but that’s when Leah likes to eat them the most so it works out for them. She also discovers that Leah Rilke wears glasses – especially when it’s stormy outside. That realization led to a very slow f*ck on Leah’s couch – where she rode Leah’s fingers until her wetness stained the joggers that Leah had on.
She’s packing up her tote bag at the end of the day when her phone buzzes on the desk. A text message from Leah – she smiles.
Climax’s Finest Top 😍
Hey, I wasn’t feeling well so I went home at lunch. Nora said she can drive you home.
Fatin
Need anything?
Climax’s Finest Top 😍
No I’m good but ty
She doesn’t think about it until much later – a month later, but Nora drops her off at Dot’s and she picks up her car keys and goes to Leah after a stop at the grocery store. She closes the door quietly behind her, she can hear the TV playing as she walks through the hallway. She places the grocery bag on the counter and steps through the cottage to find Leah lying on the couch in one of her old Julliard sweaters and an arm thrown across her face.
“Hey, cutie,” she says gently just above the sound of the TV. She rounds the couch to kneel down beside her. Leah moves her arm; her blue eyes resemble something of a storm and Fatin spots the tear tracks on her cheeks.
Leah’s brows furrow and her lips part but no sound comes out. She reaches up to cup her face, brushing her thumb over her cheeks.
“Rough day?” she murmurs, pushing up slightly to kiss Leah’s cheek. Leah nods against her, turning her head on the cushion to rest their foreheads together. “Have you eaten today?” Leah shakes her head, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “I brought you some food. I’ll make you something.”
“Thanks,” Leah croaks out, her fingers twisted into her blouse. “Sorry, I’m –
“Don’t apologize,” Fatin shakes her head, kissing her nose. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”
“Okay,” Leah sniffles.
She cooks a seafood alfredo that she picked up from a restaurant on the coast of France a few years back. The grocery store didn’t stock any fresh seafood, so she settled for frozen shrimp and scallops with all the ingredients for a homemade alfredo sauce.
Leah joined her in the kitchen, sitting on one of the island stools as she told Leah about her day at work. She told Leah about the kid that said he could outrun Toni and Toni demolished him without an ounce of empathy. She tells Leah about her student, Clara, who is a natural musician and with the right guidance – she could end up at Julliard too.
“So I’m writing her this letter of reference to the Tanglewood Institute this summer – I think she’ll get in,” Fatin nods to herself as she stirs the scallops in the pan, swirling the butter around them. “Nora said the school can cover her travel costs to Boston so her family doesn’t have to worry about that.”
Leah doesn’t say anything for a moment and she twists to look over her shoulder, eyeing the wide smile on her face – it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but it’s a start.
“That’s so sweet of you, Fatin,” Leah says and Fatin blushes, turning back to the stovetop to stir her sauce. She hears the stool squeak against the floor and then Leah is pressed to her back, her arms wrapped firmly around her waist. Fatin hums, stroking her thumb over Leah’s hand as she turns off the burners.
“What is it, baby?”
“Just – just a bad day,” Leah says, tucking her face into her neck. “Glad you’re here.”
She puts Leah to bed later that night, freshly showered and dressed in warm pyjamas. She scratches at Leah’s scalp until Leah’s head lolls to the side and her soft snores fill the house. She moves from the bed then, tiptoeing to the bathroom and turning on the sink.
Tears run down her cheeks – at her rage for Leah, at her sadness.
Leah told her about him with her head in her lap while they were watching an episode of Jeopardy!. Fatin nearly exploded with rage – ready to drive back to New York and put her hands on Jeffrey Galanis until there was nothing left of him. But Leah stayed there, in her lap, with a hand curled around her knee and her gaze on the TV as she recounted the time she almost killed herself in the twelfth grade.
She thinks of Leah now – strong and steady beyond her years. She thinks of Leah’s hand on her back when they’re out with their friends or on a date – she thinks of Leah shying away when Fatin offers to touch her after she’s made her come three times in a row. She thinks of the way Leah needs control sometimes – something she’s always happy to give because Leah makes her feel so safe and cared for.
She splashes the water on her face, bringing the hand towel up to dry it. She thinks of Leah stocking the fridge with almond milk and those tiny grocery store cupcakes that Fatin goes a little crazy for. She thinks about the way Leah always takes care of her – always puts her first.
She screams into the hand towel.
Cortez
We need a strong cellist. We need you. Call me when you’re free.
“Baby, it’s a twenty-two-hour drive. I’m not doing that again for two days in New York,” Fatin huffs, balancing the laptop on her lap. Monday is a school administrative day, when Leah says they are supposed to show up to work but Fatin sees it as an opportunity for a long weekend.
It helps that Nora gave her approval.
She clicks on the airline website, selecting the closest flight to the small town. Leah leans up on her shoulder, peppering her jaw with kisses. “You’re trying to distract me.”
“Is it working?” Leah asks hopefully, just below her ear.
“I take plane tickets very seriously. We’re flying first class.”
“We?” Leah pulls back, her brow lifting.
“Yes, we are going to New York. I need to check on my condo and bring you shopping.”
“I’m paying for my –
“Nope,” Fatin cuts in, shaking her head. “You literally pay for everything and if it weren’t so hot of you, I would disallow it.”
“You buy sex toys.”
“Because I have excellent taste, we’ve been over this. Do you want aisle or window?”
“Aisle,” Leah huffs, tucking her face against her shoulder. “No, no adds on. I’m packing one bag.”
“Baby, that’s why I’m adding a carry-on. That’s the whole point of a carry-on.”
“It says one personal item,” Leah taps the screen. “My backpack fits those dimensions.”
“You’re like a geriatric man sometimes. Live a little, pack two bags.”
“No,” Leah says firmly and Fatin rolls her eyes, deleting the carry-on from Leah’s ticket. “I’m paying for meals though.”
“Oh honey,” Fatin turns her head to kiss her firmly. “I know it.”
She treats Leah to first class with a stay in the ‘rich people’ lounge, as her small-town top eloquently put it. Leah is hilariously uncomfortable, eyeing the business suits and designer clothes that come and go through the lounge doors. She shows Leah what a real co*cktail is in the meantime, and orders herself a pisco sour and a sazerac for Leah.
The plane ride is short, only a couple of hours in the air until they’re off the plane and hailing a taxi. Leah has never been to New York, so Fatin shows her a few important landmarks and her favourite places to dine. The smell of New York is so different from Climax – New York is always busy, always bustling – there’s always a horn or somebody laughing. Climax is just so quiet – the only noise on Main Street is a shop door opening or a quick hello from a local. New York never stops, never sleeps.
She loops her hand through Leah’s arm, tipping the cab driver a few bills before leading Leah to her building. Leah hikes her backpack over her shoulder, her free hand on the handle of her suitcase that she insists on carrying everywhere like the gentlewoman she is.
She nods to her doorman when they walk into the building, Leah letting out a low whistle at the sleek walls and shiny floors. She pulls her keycard out of her wallet; the key reader beeps and the elevator doors whoosh open.
“Holy f*ck,” Leah glances around the elevator, at the wraparound of black and white pictures depicting New York’s coastline. “You neglected to mention you have a doorman. I feel like I’m climbing your tower to kiss your feet and earn a paycheque.”
Fatin lifts a brow, bumping her hip into the woman next to her. “There’s an idea, cutie.”
Leah huffs and the elevator dings, reaching the thirtieth floor. Leah whistles again, stepping forward to take in her condo – the floor-length panoramic windows illuminate her carefully crafted interior. Leah dumps her bag on the sleek marble counter, stepping to the panoramic windows to throw the curtains open.
They order in because Fatin doesn’t dare open her fridge and Leah is nothing short of obsessed with her view of the city’s east side. She sits between Leah’s legs on the kick out of her couch, with Leah’s chin tucked over her shoulder – they pay no attention to the TV above her electric fireplace. Instead, Leah asks her about New York in the different seasons – how the skyline changes and how her windows fog up on early rainy mornings.
They fall asleep there, with Leah wrapped around her and she doesn’t remember the last time she did this – let somebody stay overnight and wake up wrapped around her. Her rule of thumb is to never let someone stay past sunrise – because she has to deal with breakfast and goodbyes that isn’t something she wants.
She can’t imagine saying goodbye to Leah.
Leah’s palm flexes over her stomach, her legs shifting beneath the thin blanket she threw over them the night before. Leah’s nose nudges into her hair and her arm flexes, tugging her back into the warm cocoon of Leah’s embrace.
“G’Morning,” Leah murmurs, kissing her shoulder.
She sighs, nestling further into Leah’s warmth. She reaches for the remote on the armrest, hitting the button for the automatic pull of her curtains.
“Fancy,” Leah says, tapping the end of her remote. “What else does this thing do?”
“Speakers, TV, lights.”
“I’m surprised it doesn’t vibrate.”
“Oh babe, that will be the day. When my TV remote can double as my vibrator.”
Leah laughs into her shoulder, stroking her thumb across her hipbone. “Do you have a gym in this mansion?”
Fatin pouts, flipping over on her back and twisting her fingers into Leah’s tank top. “Don’t go there and get all sweaty – just get sweaty with me, baby.”
“I have a routine,” Leah huffs, dipping down to kiss her anyway. “And in case you forgot, I didn’t get to work out yesterday either – because somebody kept me up all night.”
Fatin gasps, her mouth dropping open.
“Are you two-timing me, Mrs. Rilke?”
“Shut up,” Leah grumbles, leaning down for another kiss.
“You know how jealous I get,” Fatin says when they part, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Leah’s air.
“She’s super hot,” Leah says, a grin on her face. “A city girl. A little stuck-up but once you get to know her, she’s very kind and funny.”
“Kind and funny? I liked it better when you called me hot.”
Leah rolls her eyes, sliding into the cradle of her hips and Fatin knows she’s won – Leah’s going to get sweaty with her instead.
“She’s stunning, one of the most beautiful women I have ever met,” Leah’s gaze is soft and her thumb brushes along her jaw. “Like something out of a book but it’s all non-fiction, lucky for me.”
“Okay, sh*t,” Fatin swallows roughly, wrapping her legs around Leah’s waist. “Don’t go to the gym – make out with me.”
“I think I want to f*ck you against those windows and watch the sunrise properly.”
“Or that – yeah, baby, let’s do that.”
Fatin nods, wrapping her arms around Leah’s shoulders as she’s pulled from the couch.
New York is hot – too hot for Leah’s leather jacket but perfect for cropped t-shirts and tank tops. Leah’s muscles gleam under the sun and Fatin is all too happy to wrap her hand around Leah’s bicep as they walk through the streets. She takes Leah to the Highline and her favourite food truck. They shop and Leah has her arm full of bags – her bags, that Leah insists on carrying and Fatin flat out tells her this furthers her pillow princess dilemma and Leah gives her two bags to carry as a truce.
She takes Leah to Ralph Lauren (because, duh) – she nearly faints at the prices but Fatin makes her try on a rack of clothing. I just don’t get it, Leah had said, tilting her head at her reflection in the mirror. Fatin tucked her phone back into her lap, pushing another hanger of clothes toward her. I can buy the same thing at Target. (Fatin nearly spilled her drink all over the dressing room floor). They walk out with two more bags and a sheepish Leah at her side.
“Baby, you might just be the hottest teacher on Tuesday,” Fatin hums, swinging their hands as they walk. She thinks of the crisp white oxford shirts, the tweed vest, the knit cashmere cardigan, and a tan wool turtleneck sweater filling the contents of the bag.
“What time is our flight tomorrow?” Leah asks her at a crosswalk.
“Eleven twenty,” Fatin says. “Two days in New York feels like a lifetime now.”
“Are you missing Climax, dearest?”
“I think so,” Fatin chews her lip, staring at the streetlight. “God, what is happening to me? I loved it here.”
“I loved it in the Bay,” Leah shrugs, squeezing her hand. “Until I needed something else. I didn’t know it was French toast on Sundays and teaching English at one of the smallest schools in the country until it just kinda hit me in the gut.”
Fatin swallows, thankful that the sidewalk light changed to green and they crossed the street with the crowd. She thinks of nights out with Dot and her friends, the easy way she meshes with them and how she looks forward to seeing them every Wednesday and Saturday night. Hell, she even got an invitation to Shoni’s wedding later this summer.
Her back doesn’t ache as much anymore – she sleeps better and her heels can stay on longer at night, a win-win scenario for her. Rachel is talented and despite her annoyance, she pushes Fatin when she needs to be pushed and kicks her ass when she doesn’t do her exercises. They’ve upgraded to live demos now when Fatin plays her cello in Rachel’s office and Rachel takes notes and provides feedback on how to improve her posture without sacrificing anything with her cello.
(She still hates wearing those orthopedic soles but Leah suspiciously suggests a walk in the evenings after work. And Fatin really likes it when Leah suggests they shower together afterwards too.)
A motorcycle zips by them on the street – the sound more concentrated and high-pitched, it’s a sports model. Not something like Leah’s.
“Do you miss your bike?” Fatin asks, looking back over her shoulder at the neon-green bike zipping down the street.
“Mm, a little,” Leah lifts a shoulder, stroking her thumb over the back of her hand. “But there’s no freedom to ride here – not like home.”
“Yeah,” Fatin says, glancing up at the skyscrapers that fill the sky above them and the traffic that moves an inch every two minutes. She thinks of her arms wrapped around Leah’s waist as they ride along the mountains or the riverbank – the road wide open before them. “I get that.”
They’re at her favourite sushi place later that night when the walls start to close in on her. Leah’s knee is pressed into her thigh, hand over her knee like it always is when they’re seated somewhere. She sips from her wine and shows Leah how to hold a pair of chopsticks – Leah fails, and her cheeks heat with a cute pink. Fatin scoops a piece of her chicken teriyaki roll between her sticks and holds it up to Leah’s mouth.
“There you go,” Fatin murmurs, reaching up to dab at the corner of Leah’s lips with her napkin. “What do you think?”
Leah works her jaw, her head nodding. She scroops up another roll, holding it toward Leah’s lips – she smiles when Leah takes another bite.
“Is it a crime to use my fork?” Leah picks up the utensil. “Or will we be thrown out of here?”
“No baby, use your fork,” Fatin pushes their shared platter toward Leah. “Like a small-town girl.”
“You know, I’ve only lived in Climax for four years – I’m not small town like Dot.”
“You cringe when you see an out-of-town license plate, baby.”
“Tourists drive so damn slow and buy all the land for their stupid summer cottages and complain about a lack of amenities all summer.”
“Spoken like a true local,” Fatin snorts, leaning her cheek against her palm to watch Leah. “But you have to agree that a spa with a full-wax service is a necessity in every town.”
“Your legs are perfect. I don’t know why you torture yourself with those online wax kits.”
“It’s not just for my legs,” Fatin hums, running her fingers over Leah’s knuckles over her knee. “I’m smooth as a baby’s bottom – it’s better when you lick my –
“Do not finish that sentence,” Leah slaps a hand across her mouth.
She kisses Leah’s palm, holding her hand up in surrender. Leah drops her hand, reaching for another California roll with her fork. She takes the stem of her wine glass between her fingers, swirling the fine white before taking a sip – she’s about to ask Leah about her ideal spa treatment when a familiar voice calls to her a few tables away.
“Fatin!”
She twists in her seat, taking Cortez’s frayed hair – sticking out everywhere like a mad scientist (he’s a conductor so, same vibe). He still wears his suit two sizes too big and his bow-tie is always crooked – she’s thankful that someone from hair and makeup checks over him before a performance.
“It’s lovely to see you,” Cortez says, his eyes dancing between the two of them as if there’s a note he’s missing. “Are you in New York for the summer series? It would be great to prepare you for the Fall lineup.”
“Um, well I haven’t actually decided – about the Fall, I mean. This summer no, I’ve been playing but not practicing.”
Cortez hums, nodding his head. “Everybody needs a break from their craft but I’m happy to hear you haven’t abandoned it in a corner somewhere – not that your natural abilities would go to waste.”
Leah clears her throat politely, offering Cortez a slight smile. Her hand is warm on her knee as she brushes her thumb over her skin methodically.
“And this must be your…” Cortez trails off, waiting for someone to correct him.
Her heart thumps in her chest – in Climax, they just are. There’s no label on them but everybody knows they’re dating – f*ck, she’s practically moved into Leah’s place these past few weeks.
“She’s my – um, she’s…” She glances at Leah quickly, chewing her lip and Leah’s lips quirked into a polite smile, squeezing her knee.
“Her friend. Just visiting for the weekend. We’re heading back tomorrow.”
“Well then, I won’t keep you,” Cortez says, reaching over to squeeze her arm before backing toward the exit. “See you at rehearsals next month.”
“Next month?” Leah asks, a frown set on her features. “I thought you weren’t going back until the Fall.”
“Rehearsals for the Fall series start two months before the first concert date,” Fatin explains, her tongue feels heavy and her throat feels dry. She has another sip of wine. “We’re supposed to tour the West Coast in the Fall.”
Leah nods but doesn’t say anything, her fork pushing at the sushi with disinterest and Fatin gets the sense that she’s disappointed in her answer. Truthfully, she hasn’t figured anything out yet – typically she would be booking house cleaners and renting apartments in her touring cities but she hasn’t done any of that because she isn’t sure she wants to leave all this behind.
Could they even do it long-distance? The time zones, the erratic schedules, and Leah being at the bar in her small town with Hannah and Becky lurking in the shadows.
When the waiter stops by a few minutes later to ask if they need anything else, Leah shakes her head and asks for the bill. She holds the takeout container between her hands as they walk down the sidewalk – it’s only a ten-minute walk to her condo but it feels like an eternity because Leah hasn’t said anything since the restaurant.
“How often do you rehearse?” Leah asks her in the elevator. “Before a concert series.”
“Five days a week. Usually four – they want me to solo in the fall, so an extra day for that,” She glances at Leah nervously, playing the edges of the takeout container. “I’m sorry. For being unclear about it, I – “
“Don’t worry about it,” Leah shakes her head. “I knew you would have to go back eventually.”
“Right,” Fatin swallows, glancing down at her feet. Leah was already planning on her leaving – this just shortened the departure window.
The elevator dings and she steps through her condo, tucking the leftovers away in her fridge before continuing down to the cupboards where she stores her liquor. She pulls out a bottle of pinot noir that her mother got her a couple of years ago after a solo at the Kennedy Center. She takes a glass from the cupboard, looking over her shoulder to Leah, who is leaning against the counter with an unreadable expression.
“Would you like some?” She asks, earning a nod from Leah. She pours two glasses, corking the wine again before walking over to Leah and handing her a glass.
It’s awkward.
Which is horrible because they don’t do awkward. There’s always a joke, or one of Leah’s interesting facts, or a debate about the benefits of hanging clothing as opposed to folding.
“When are you supposed to be back here?” Leah gestures to her condo, holding her glass to her cheek.
“July fifteenth.”
Leah’s brows furrow and she leans her right to read the calendar on the fridge. “That’s – that’s like a month from now.”
“I know. It’s not what I wanted.”
“What do you mean?”
“To leave so soon,” Fatin breathes, pinching the stem of her wine glass.
Leah swallows visibly, putting her glass down on the counter. “Do you want to stay?”
Give me one reason to stay here.
She nods and then Leah is crashing into her – her wine-drenched lips and tongue meshing with hers. Leah takes her glass, putting it somewhere on the counter beside them and then her hands grip the backs of her thighs and lift her onto the counter.
She closes her legs around Leah, gripping the sides of her face to keep her there – kissing her so deeply that she’s hopefully imprinted there.
It’s later when they are tangled up in her bed and Fatin is still wide awake. Leah squeezes her hip in her sleep as if she can sense the wild thoughts and what-ifs running through her brain. She moves her fingers through Leah’s hair, scratching along her hairline until Leah’s hand relaxes again.
She asks the question into the dark, in a whisper.
“How am I supposed to leave you?”
“Baby, have you seen my blue shirt?” Leah calls to her from the washroom, undoubtedly emptying the laundry hamper for the second time that evening.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Fatin answers, her voice raised as she bends to secure the strap of her heel. “You have ten – and they’re all similar.”
“The blue one,” Leah explains helplessly, exiting the washroom – she stops dead in her tracks and Fatin smirks, descending the steps of the platform. She sways her hips as she approaches Leah – who still hasn’t closed her mouth and Fatin puts her palms on Leah’s bare shoulders, brushing her bra strap.
“You’re beautiful – seriously, the prettiest – I swear, there’s nobody like you.”
The heat rushes to her cheeks and she sways a little in Leah’s embrace. “Save the dirty talk for the bar, cutie.”
Leah swallows, her hands warm and firm on her hips. “We don’t need to go –
“Leah. It’s Dot’s birthday and the end-of-school bash for faculty. We have to go but I’m flattered you would rather do me than that.”
“Right,” Leah says after a minute, her gaze dark and focused.
“But you can’t go in your bra and underwear – I don’t share.”
“Right,” Leah repeats, fingers brushing along the exposed V of her dress on her back.
“Baby,” Fatin sighs, leaning up to kiss her.
“Hm?” Leah chases her for another kiss.
“I’ll dress you.”
“f*ck. Okay. Yeah.”
“Does that turn you on?”
“Everything about you turns me on.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, darling.”
She dresses Leah in a graphic white tee, a little loose on her bulky frame and leather pants with her black boots. Leah almost short-circuited in the washroom when she reached for the dark vanilla perfume she likes so much and dabbed some on her neck – she dropped the bottle into Leah’s dumbfounded hands on her way by.
She loops her hand through Leah’s arm as they enter the bar, squeezing at the leather jacket when Hannah winks at Leah and gives her a slu*tty wave. It’s satisfying though, when Leah doesn’t see any of it because she’s too busy looking at her and helping her out of the leather jacket that now has its own place in her wardrobe.
Leah’s hand is warm on her back as she’s guided to the huge corner booth – the only seating that accommodates the size of their group. She leans into Leah’s side when they settle into the both, playing with the material of her pants as Martha recounts a heroic vet call that ends with Toni and Shelby adopting a pig.
“Her name is Spamala Panderson,” Toni grins, swiping her finger across her phone to show everyone another picture of the muddy little thing.
“It’s cute now,” Rachel crinkles her nose, shaking her head. “But I don’t want to see it six months from now.”
“Agreed,” Fatin says. “That thing better not be in the wedding.”
“Oh Lord have mercy, no! We just finalized the flowers and food last week – the wedding planner will kill me if we change something else.”
“So, pig roast for the big meal?” Leah asks, her brows wiggling playfully and Shelby squeaks, clutching a hand to her chest.
“That is my baby!” Shelby exclaims, pointing to Toni’s phone. “Spamala is going to live a very long and fruitful life.”
“Definitely fruity,” Fatin nods, reaching up to toy with Leah’s fingers that brush her arm. “You need to get a friend for it – you know somebody to – “
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Rachel says, throwing a napkin at her. Leah swats the napkin aside, returning her arm over her shoulder and the tangle of their fingers. “God, you two make me want to vomit. Are you next on the marriage carousel?”
“Leah doesn’t believe in marriage,” Nora answers. She’s thankful for the interjection because she needs to get her heart and puss* under control at the thought of marrying Leah. “She says it’s just a patriarchal example of property – more of a business deal than something romantic.”
“Okay, Nora,” Rachel snorts, pointing to her sister. “Thank you for that deep dive into Leah’s values and inner thoughts.”
“That was a few years ago,” Leah says quietly, brushing her index finger along the back of her ring finger. “And I was jaded about my professor getting married.”
“She was hot,” Toni nods, scrolling through her phone. “A little too bookish for me though.”
“Yeah – that’s what it was, Toni,” Shelby snorts, leaning in to kiss her fiancé’s cheek.
“Were you f*cking your professor in college?” Fatin asks her in a whisper once the conversation shifts back to ‘The Wedding of the Summer’, as Martha put it. “That’s very hot of you, cutie.”
“It was more of a one-sided crush – my specialty, back in the day,” Leah huffs, her cheeks heating. Fatin watches her sip from her beer and slides her hand a little farther up her leg. “I’ve changed since then.”
Fatin hums, eyeing the glance Leah flicks down to her lap and back to her. She sips from her beer again and Fatin flexes her hand – she hates (loves) the way Leah holds her beer because it reminds her of how she holds her strap and that –
“Easy there,” Leah murmurs, leaning down to brush her lips against her ear. “I don’t like to share either.”
Okay. Yeah. She’s five seconds away from throwing caution to the wind and mounting Leah in this booth –
“Dottie!” Shelby shouts, her arms thrust into the air as she dances in her seat between Toni and Nora. “Happy Birthday!”
A chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ rings around the table and Leah declares that the first round is on her. She’s happily tipsy on some of Leah’s beer and a couple of co*cktails. She has danced with Dot and Martha – line danced with Shelby in a borrowed Stetson from the school’s VP that had Leah immediately pressed against her once the dance ended and another country song played through the jukebox.
They got separated when Rachel challenged her to a game of pool – the loser had to buy the next round and Fatin has never bowed down from a challenge. She loses, but she finds Leah staring at her when she bends to line up the shot and leans back against her when Rachel is shooting – Leah’s hands wander dangerously low on her hips. She buys the next round but did she really lose?
No.
She shucks another peanut from its shell, wiping the crumbs off the counter as she waits for the next round. This being Dot’s birthday (who, Fatin still argues is the real mayor of this town), and the school staff party to celebrate the end of the school year – mean it’s busier than most Friday nights. Both bartenders are working tonight – she rolls her eyes when Hannah approaches, a tray of drinks balanced on her left hand.
Fatin is ready to receive them politely, even say thank you and leave a five but Hannah leaves the drinks just short of the bar top, fiddling with an uncut lemon. She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.
“So, it’s Fatin, right?” Hannah’s jaw works, a large swab of bubble gum moving around and Fatin cringes. Hannah continues, not caring for an answer. “I see you and Leah together. That was fast – heard you even moved in with her.”
“Is there a point to this conversation?” Fatin asks, pointing to the drinks.
“You know, we were on and off again for about a year. Just before you showed up,” Hannah narrowed her eyes, rolling the lemon between her palms.
“And what does this have to do with me?”
“I’m just saying – she likes it drawn out, you know?” Hannah grins like she knows something Fatin doesn’t. “And city folk like you never stay. I’ll be there for her, don’t worry.”
“What makes you think I’m leaving, sweet cheeks?”
She’s very intoxicated and very into Leah – confronting one of Leah’s jealous exes is something she’s wanted since Becky first shoved her tit* in Leah’s face a month ago – she thrives on this.
“I know you are. People like you never stay.”
“Maybe I’m the exception.”
“She’s going to get bored of you.”
“Oh please,” Fatin rolls her eyes, snapping another peanut shell between her fingers. “Babe, projection is just not it.”
Hannah huffs, her jaw set firmly.
“Can I have my drinks now?”
“f*ck you.”
“That’s Leah’s job, sweetie,” Fatin winks at her and reaches over the bar top from the tray, lifting it and walking away with an extra swing to her hips.
She pulls Leah into a deep kiss, a few songs later, when Leah’s hands reach for her ass.
“Mm, hi,” Leah murmurs, linking her arms around her waist. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you tonight.”
“I’ve been dancing and playing pool, and drinking,” She adds, looking over Leah’s shoulder to the empty glasses on the table. “Where have you been?”
“Watching you,” Leah kisses her again, sucking the breath right out of her lungs. She slides her fingers into Leah’s hair, scratching at her hairline and Leah shudders against her – enveloping her in a hot embrace.
“My axe-murderer-bisexual-top,” Fatin sighs into her mouth, shifting her hips against a leather thigh. “Flung out of the sky.”
She’s definitely drunk. Perhaps sloshed.
“All yours, baby,” Leah hums, her thumb brushing the base of her spine, where the V of her dress ends.
“Good,” Fatin breathes, digging her nails into Leah’s neck a little harder and Leah groans, the fabric of her dress bunching up. She’s grateful there’s a swath of people around them and the lighting is so poor because they would probably get a glimpse of her ass.
“Bathroom,” Leah pants, sweeping her tongue across her bottom lip. “Wanna f*ck you.”
“Better idea,” Fatin chases her lips, speaking between kisses. “On your bike.”
“f*ck,” Leah stumbles and her momentum carries them into another couple. Fatin chuckles twisting to offer an apology but Leah’s hand is firm around hers and she’s dragged from the bar. When she looks over her shoulder at the door, Hannah is staring daggers at her so Fatin just winks and blows her a kiss.
The parking lot is full of vehicles, Leah’s bike parked between Dot’s gigantic truck and Martha’s vet van facing the woods. Leah straddles the bike first, facing her and Fatin shivers, but not from the cold. She does Leah a favour and pulls the tight material of her dress up her hips – she can barely see Leah, just shades of her in the moonlight and it almost makes it all better.
“Baby,” Leah pants, taking hold of her thighs when she straddles the bike – pulling them over the leather pants. “You’re so beautiful.”
“Touch me,” Fatin whispers, fisting Leah’s shirt at the collar and pulling her into a kiss that’s all tongue. Leah grips her hips – pulling her ass across the leather seat and she moans into Leah’s mouth.
She feels the urgency behind Leah’s kisses and her touches, feels the way she’s trying desperately to keep it all together. Fatin wants her wild – wants her to be a little rough.
“It’s okay, baby,” She pants, taking hold of Leah’s face and resting their foreheads together. “You can do whatever you want.”
Leah groans, her breath catching sharply and Fatin strokes her jaw.
“I want you to – be a little rough, I’m all yours,” Fatin whispers and Leah jerks against her, that strangled half-growl, half-groan roaring from her chest and strong fingers are between her legs. The fabric of her underwear tears and Leah gasps as her fingers soak up the wetness.
“You drive me crazy,” Leah pants, fluttering her fingers along her folds. “I wanted to bend you over that pool table and have my way with you – f*ck you until you couldn’t remember anything but my name.”
She whines, high-pitched and needy as Leah’s fingers draw rough circles around her cl*t and her hips jerk on the bike.
“You smell like me,” Leah says, her voice scratchy and ridden with desire. “I love it – love touching you,” Leah murmurs and pushes two fingers inside her, her head drops back with a whimper – the stars swirling above her.
Leah’s lips drag along her neck – the vigorous pace between her legs has her moaning and her hips tilt up. Leah finally slides her fingers to the knuckle, curling on the slow withdraw and her nails dig into strong shoulders.
Her hips rock and the bike shifts beneath her but she trusts Leah, trusts her when she whispers, “I’ve got you, baby girl. I’ll take care of you.”
“Leah,” She whines, her voice caught on a moan when a thumb brushes her cl*t and her hips jump. “Please.”
“Yeah, pretty girl. I know, you want to come,” Leah pants against her ear, her fingers sliding in deliciously and Fatin can hear when Leah pushes into her. “All over my fingers – all over my bike.”
Her body seizes and her eyes roll back into her head – she thrusts her hips to meet Leah’s next thrust.
But it’s her voice that pushes her over the edge.
“Because you’re mine.”
