Chapter Text
The Great Big Thorn was a little slice of heaven shoved between two much larger boring stores, so narrow the entrance you would miss it unless you knew where you were going. Jemilla always knew where she was going. As soon as Emberly had announced the opening date of her newly launching indie coffee shop in town, Jemilla had marked down the location to make it a new hangout as soon as its doors would open. She could not have imagined how lovely the end result and it took her some time before passing the order, so enthralled she was looking around the place.
Grunt had painted the old wooden walls himself, though Tiblyn had better taste and had covered the less delicate parts of the fresco with various old timey frames and photographs. Battered old leather armchairs in all colors of the rainbow, reclaimed wooden cases as stools and tables, the place was hipster to no end, but the scent of freshly roasted coffee was a gift from God above and finally, Jemilla beamed and grabbed the large jar of latte with an extra floof of whipped cream Emberly had prepared for her. All drinks had names more obscure than the next and she was afraid to offend by using the usual, so she had only asked for the head barista’s recommendation. This was more risk than necessary but friendship with Emberly came at a cost and that cost was often as not a risk of mild poisoning. Jemilla was fine with that. Anything to support a friend.
Thrifted mismatched tables were also scattered around the long and narrow room, but Jemilla noted at once that only the larger table at the back had a power outlet nearby. She had brought work and, if the coffee tasted as good as the promise of its smell, she would be staying here for the rest of the day. Possibly many other days, too. With a little wave of thanks at Emberly, she went and sat comfortably. Messenger bag neatly tucked behind her back, laptop out, tablet out for quick notes, wireless earbuds on, she was all set for a great day of work. Jemilla loved to work.
"Oh, thank fuck, there’s still a seat," a woman said before dropping her ass on the chair next to Jemilla’s at the same table.
Jemilla gave her a polite smile and a nod, which went unnoticed as the woman started unpacking a whole array of tech items not unlike Jemilla’s. A cheaper laptop, a more complicated tangle of cables and external devices, and the drink might as well have been half a gallon of pure black coffee, by the look of it. Jemilla took a sip of her sweeter treat and went back to her own screen.
“Excuse me,” the woman interrupted and tapped Jemilla’s shoulder with undue insistence for a first ever contact. “Excuse me, your cables are in the way.”
Jemilla tried not to frown. Her set-up had been tidy and practical and she had thought to sit here so comfortably the rest of the day with the hope of being undisturbed. She looked down at the power outlet between their chairs on the wall. Two slots, which she had taken both. The woman showed off a handful of cables in her fist, gesturing her to free half of the occupancy. Jemilla did as asked, though the courtesy was never thanked. Immediately, the other woman only started on her own work after loudly slurping a large gulp of coffee.
“You’re welcome,” Jemilla muttered, a little annoyed.
Her half of the table was now well past invaded as her new neighbor had made herself right at home, a small backpack initially bulky with being stuffed full and every device under the sun scattered around her. At least she was pretty, a fluffy blob of a tight ponytail and warm dark eyes, but a cute face didn’t make up much for loss of comfort. And all that on Emberly’s coffee shop’s opening day. But the coffee really was nice and the decor was so lovely...
“Mmh?” The woman said.
The reaction had come with a serious lag and it took another few seconds for her head to perk up as well. She sat there staring at Jemilla, who suddenly found herself also at a loss for a reply and it took her a couple of heartbeats to catch herself.
“I’m just saying, your shit’s in my way too,” she said with a little more mood than she was feeling.
She had not been upset, not really, at worst a little annoyed, but being ignored in such a blatant and likely inadvertent manner was hitting all the wrong buttons on her. There was little Jemilla disliked more than unnecessary rudeness. Always, she strived to make all her relationships sail smoothly and any obstacle on the other person’s part was a source of frustration. Getting along, she thought, was supposed to take much less effort than fighting, so why was there disharmony in the world? Down to the specific of this coffee shop table.
Her newly met invader glanced down at the spread of her possessions. With a swooping arm, she pushed them all to her side of the table in an unruly heap that nearly knocked over her magnum jar of coffee if she didn’t save it so preciously. She traced an invisible line right down the middle of the table with her finger, which ended in a fingergun she cocked at Jemilla with a snap.
"Whatever happened to simple human connection, huh?" She said and shoved her massive headphones over her ears.
Jemilla could hear the music right through them, so loud it went. She upped the volume of her own music, but there was only so loud a lo-fi beats video could be tolerated before it became a distraction to her work. Jemilla never liked to be distracted from her work. For a few years, she had been employed by the same website focusing on green minimalism of which she had recently become the lead editor and coordinator. A passion project between friends at first, ’More or Less’ had become a major hub and her main source of income. The one tradeoff had been that the larger part of her work now entailed more management and revising than any creative writing anymore, but Jemilla thrived better at organization anyways. Propping up her friends’ insightful ideas was the best and only way she could have hoped to make a living.
The best part of the job was that it could be done from anywhere. Often, she hung around the studio with the rest of the team but she could work from home and, her preference, from coffee shops. Owning less meant more money for the simple stuff of daily life, a nice sweet spice latte in a mason jar, maybe a cookie or two. Of course, she saved money, she gave some to charity, but Jemilla had a knack for the right way to treat herself in the simple joys of a mundane everyday otherwise.
Not that today was being mundane. The woman at her side was a whole circus of distraction on her own. Her name was Zazzalil, Jemilla learned after an exceedingly loud impromptu Whatsapp call from a friend Zazzalil took right there without even stepping a little further away for the sake of not distracting someone ostensibly working. Zazzalil was working too, it seemed, though the value of what she produced was evidently mediocre and less. She was editing video clips together in an order that made no sense to Jemilla from the brief glances she threw at the screen. The sound effects she could hear through the headphones were largely vulgar, farts or burps for the most part, and no two clips pertained to the same thing. She saw some videos that seemed to be Zazzalil herself mid dangerous parkour, some workout videos, meals shoved down her mouth, and in any case none of them of much interest to her. In the midst of it, Zazzalil chugged down coffee like it was water, rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand, sat idly browsing her phone. Much less work was done by her than by Jemilla by the end of the day.
Jemilla went home more exhausted than she had ever expected from a chill coffee shop work session. She had enjoyed the coffee, at least. You really could always trust Emberly to find the top shelf of anything, beans and milk and whatever else had gone into the several different excellent drinks Jemilla had sipped throughout the day. The decor had also been marvelous, to no small thanks to Grunt. Tiblyn had had the pick of music, of atmosphere, and every time Jemilla had taken off her earbuds to order something or to take a short break, she had been delighted by the ambiance so deftly crafted. The three of them were dear friends and she loved to support a small independent business all the more when she enjoyed the patronage so much.
That Zazzalil, though.
Jemilla loved a good challenge and that woman was a challenge and a half in fun-sized bites. All day they had sat next beside each other and not one moment had Jemilla been allowed to forget it. Zazzalil was loud, bordering on rudely so, for she was always hectic and split between jotting down frantic ideas on any device she owned (Jemilla wondered all day if there was a logic to it) and lazy utter lethargy, both of which seemed to require commentary. She was unpleasant at times, cared nothing for basic courtesy and Jemilla hoped never to see her again.
She saw her again the next day. Jemilla cursed herself for not having arrived sooner, though she was at the doors mere minutes after opening. Briefly, she wondered if Zazzalil had snuck in before the doors even opened, but there she was nursing a jug of black coffee she had just bought, the receipt bunched up on the table along with more devices than any one person would need. Jemilla doubted that Zazzalil had ever adopted even the basics of minimal living. She didn’t look up at Jemilla when she sat at her side in the same seat as yesterday. In fact, she hardly seemed awake at all, her fingers ghosting over her keyboard as she blinked repeatedly but not yet typing.
"Well, you’re looking fresh," Jemilla noted as she set up her own work station.
She glanced at her goals for the day which she had planned out the previous Sunday during her weekly review. Fourteen articles to edit and schedule. Update the landing page accordingly, fix a few images that didn’t snap as they should. Check on her writers for progress and support. All that in a day’s time was more than feasible if she paced herself steady and consistent. Jemilla always did.
"And you’re looking like a beige blob so, business as usual, lady," Zazzalil retorted. She groaned and clutched her forehead in her palm, roughly massaging it. "Fuck, I’m so hungover…"
Jemilla chose not to dwell on the lethargic presence at her side, though a simple sniff told her that Zazzalil had likely not showered since the day before. She had changed clothes, at least. Another hoodie, this time the hood pulled up tight around her face to let pass only the faintest light. Camo shorts, no socks, hairy legs, purple flip-flops. Whatever videos Zazzalil had been editing the day before, they couldn’t have been fashion forward.
The day went on a little more smoothly than the day before, perhaps thanks to Zazzalil’s entire lack of awareness for the larger part of the morning. Jemilla had finished editing six articles by the time Zazzalil opened up her video editing software and a seventh one by the time she actually set out to work on it. Not that Jemilla was looking too closely, of course. They were merely customers of the same business and that was all there was to the situation. They would never be friends, at best annoyed acquaintances. Yet whenever she spoke to the woman, she couldn’t contain herself.
"That’s my drink!" Jemilla cried out when Zazzalil reached and grabbed the wrong jar.
Zazzalil’s tired eyes slowly looked and calculated her mistake at record slow speeds. Two jars next to each other, though Jemilla always used a coaster and Zazzalil, if her observations were accurate, never did, or at least had not in two days and a dozen drinks. One filled with the new drink Jemilla had tried out, a vanilla matcha latte, the other with Zazzalil’s usual pitch black coffee, no cream, no sugar. If Jemilla had made the mistake, she would have been horrified and and would have offered to replace the drink. That was the only polite thing to do. Zazzalil had another idea. Snickering, she took another sip of Jemilla’s drink and gurgled it in her throat.
"Come and get it," she joked, her voice distorted by the liquid in her mouth.
Jemilla stared in disgust and abruptly stood to get another drink. If she had been so inclined, she would have tattled to Emberly on the misdeeds of another customer. Jemilla didn’t believe in involving retail workers in any drama that wasn’t their doing, though, and remained silent, but from that moment forward, the battle was on. And Jemilla was not going to be cowed.
The pranks were harmless, she supposed. Zazzalil didn’t have it in her to put more work into them than the spark of rebellious inspiration in the given moment. Her inspiration though, Jemilla soon found out, was sharp and relentless.
Their presence around each other became a daily threat. She learned that she was a friend of Emberly and Tiblyn’s, though she disliked Grunt, and that she was a lifestyle vlogger. Jemilla could hardly imagine anyone being inspired by Zazzalil’s lifestyle, which seemed a blend between anthropomorphized sloth and reckless parkour addict who ought to be put behind bars for her own safety as well as the public’s. Every day she spent working at the Great Big Thorn brought with it the pain in the ass that was Zazzalil sharing her table. She was insufferably invasive, yet unbothered and asocial at the same time. Zazzalil had no respect for courtesies, for other people, for the very notion of doing things right.
"You can’t fucking do that, Zazz," Jemilla told her about twelve times a day and twelve times a day, she was utterly ignored or boldly disobeyed.
She was a rude customer too, Jemilla thought. Once, she went so far as to leave her seat unattended for a moment as she left the place entirely and Jemilla almost thought she should bring her array of tech to Grunt currently behind the counter to register them for lost and found. Zazzalil made her comeback with a steaming hot burger from a food truck a little way down the street.
"You can’t bring food from another business here," Jemilla cried out in shock at Zazzalil’s audacity, but Zazzalil ignored her. "That’s fucking rude!"
She turned to Grunt to try and involve him, to make him scold her, throw her out, but Grunt only shrugged and went back to the order he had been making for another customer. Zazzalil always got her way. Her bratty, rude way. Jemilla’s many attempts at taming her had no effect whatsoever. She still kept trying. She would not stop until she had her way.
One day, Jemilla arranged for Schwoopsie to meet her at the Great Big Thorn and catch up on what had been going on in each other’s lives since they had last seen each other. It was particular of her, she supposed, to keep close relations with all her exes. In the case of Schwoopsie, the two of them had parted in high school over a decade prior and they had remained in pleasant terms ever since. She thought of her more as a friend, a close acquaintance than an ex − or at least, she had other exes that toyed the line a lot more.
"What are you having?" She asked her as they queued up in line − the shop was having more customers every day, business booming as word of mouth spread of the quality coffee to be had here.
Schwoopsie had barely announced that she’d be having a plain latte with a large chocolate chip cookie that Zazzalil seemed to materialize out of thin air and cut them in line.
"Hey," she told Emberly with a grin. "Black coffee and whatever you’ve got left of chocolate chip cookies."
Jemilla’s mouth dropped open before she caught herself but she refused to involve Emberly in the fight that she had nothing to do with, much less to appear petty in front of Schwoopsie, so she closed it again and clenched her fists instead. Her fingernails dug so deep she almost cut herself and her hands were shaking by the time she was next in line. Zazzalil took her sweet, sweet time walking back to their table at the back with what seemed like a basket full of cookies.
"… and I’ve had another gig at that basement bar I was telling you about. Three people showed up, which was pretty great…"
Schwoopsie was as animated as ever, too engrossed in giving Jemilla all the news of a few months’ time since their last meetup she didn’t seem to notice the glances between Jemilla and Zazzalil. She was fucking impossible. Her eyes were supposedly on her screen but Jemilla knew she wasn’t working, not even a little bit. She had cut up a few cookies in half and was dipping them in black coffee between shoving them in her mouth in the most uncouth way and, every time she picked up another one, she winked at Jemilla, who was fuming more and more with every gross open-mouthed bite. She clenched the handle of her mason jar mug and tried to focus on the woman in front of her instead, the woman she had actually been looking forward to seeing today.
"… the ceiling never really held in place but we’re working on a stronger beam system and I think this time, it won’t collapse on us because…"
She should have never taken Schwoopsie here on the battlefield she shared with Zazzalil. In fact, she never should have accepted the war between them in the first place but then, as she had reflected every day since she had first met Zazzalil a couple of weeks ago, leaving the field free for reaping would be admitting defeat. Jemilla never lost. She never even conceded the possibility.
"… but that’s life, huh? You ever felt like that, Jemilla?"
The jar dropped from Jemilla’s tight grasp as Zazzalil shoved three cookie halves in her mouth at the same time and it splattered across the floor.
"Oh, you’ve made a schwoopsie!" Schwoopsie exclaimed.
She was in a hurry to get everything cleaned up, asking Emberly for a broom and a mop, who was all too happy to provide rather than doing it herself. The accident was quickly unnoticeable, forgotten if it weren’t for Jemilla’s resentment. Zazzalil hadn’t stopped smirking and the basket that had been so full was diminishing in supply at a rapid gluttonous pace. Schwoopsie, who lived more in her thoughts than out of them, was oblivious to the battle of glares that took place again. When she had to leave, Jemilla hugged her close, thinking just how much she would have preferred for Schwoopsie to be her daily coffee shop companion rather than the gargoyle at her side.
"Are you proud of yourself?" She hissed.
Zazzalil popped a piece of cookie in her mouth, which crumbled around her lips and Jemilla fought the urge to wipe her mouth fiercely with a napkin. The next bit of cookie was offered to her but she refused it with disgust.
"What, that you failed to impress your date?" Zazzalil taunted as if this was the most excellent joke she had ever uttered.
Jemilla glared at her. She switched on her tablet and her computer, ignoring the woman at her side if not in words, then in deeds.
"We broke up a long time ago, that ship has sailed," she said coldly eventually. "You were rude to my friend, though."
For the first time, Zazzalil was silenced. Jemilla did not dare to take another glance, fearful to lose the upper hand she was finally having over her. It wasn’t easy to win over someone who cheated the rules, not when you wanted to keep your own righteousness. Jemilla noted with satisfaction that, if nothing else, she had one thing over Zazzalil. Or rather, she had people. She had exes. As many of them as it would take.
"Oh, Jay, it’s been so long!" Claire cooed with the same affection as if they were still roommates and girlfriends like several years ago. "I missed you so much."
"Hey, baby," Jemilla said, slinging an arm around her waist to kiss her cheek. "I missed you too, how’re the kids?"
They sat at the table under Zazzalil’s curious gaze. Claire told her of the progress of her toddlers at preschool, how her family was doing, what she had been doing recently, her work at home, how wealthy and happy her and her wives were. Several times, Jemilla mentioned with fondness the old days of dating each other. They had parted on very loving terms, simply realizing that they were each seeking something different from life at that exact moment, but there had always lingered a sense of unachievement she wasn’t sure would ever be fulfilled. A forever won’t-they. She held Claire’s hand across the table, gave her smiles and compliments just as readily as Claire had always handed them out herself.
"Who was that?!" Zazzalil grunted as soon as Claire had left.
Jemilla hummed to herself merrily. So Zazzalil’s attention could be grabbed after all.
"Just someone I dated in college," she said. "Is that a problem?"
Zazzalil grumbled something under her breath, her eyes piercing through her screen as if it held all the secrets of the universe and as if it was vastly more interesting than anything Jemilla could ever say.
"As if I could care about some rando housewife you missed your chance with…"
Jemilla stared. Almost there. She realized she had a better card to play than Schwoopsie, even than Claire. Glancing down at her phone on the table, she seized it and sent a text.
"You look more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you," Clark promised and Jemilla might have shivered with pleasure if she didn’t have a greater purpose in meeting him here.
"Oh, Clark, you’re only trying to flatter me," she said, softly poking his side.
He was just done with a run, she was noticing, nothing on him but a tight tank top and a pair of sweatpants, yet there wasn’t a drop of sweat to be seen. Clark was impeccable in this way, like a new fancier model of humankind that the rest of the world hadn’t produced yet.
"Never, Jay, I would never lie to you." He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against it. "I’m too devoted."
She knew from the moment Zazzalil laid her eyes on him that she had won this round for good. Her mouth half-opened, she was staring at him with even greater interest than she had Claire. Jemilla grinned to herself, but especially to Clark, who had eyes only for her. Some part of her was feeling guilty to bring him into the fight between Zazzalil and herself. Another large part was all fuzzy and excited at seeing him again, though she knew from experience that too much of his sweetness lulled her and that they would never date again for fear she would hurt his feelings on the long run. And the far greater part of herself was thrilled to observe the absolute enamored face of Zazzalil as she forgot all work on any of her many screens and rested her face on an elbow to look at him with heart-shaped eyes. Then, Jemilla started to flirt back with him.
She didn’t know why it mattered to her that Zazzalil should be jealous. If she saw what company Jemilla could keep if she wanted, then surely she might wise up and align herself with those standards. Or maybe this was another trick of Jemilla’s complacent mind, though she preferred not to consider that option. The afternoon passed regardless in the blink of an eye. She saw Clark out and gave him many, many farewells filled with adoration and fondness, all the tender passion that had always existed between them long after she had broken up with him. Out of smugness, she wanted to kiss him, but she thought she had better not drag out his own feelings into this competition he had no part in. Still, promises were made to see each other again good and plenty and she came back to the table at the far end of the shop with a satisfied smug grin.
"Hey, did you see that?"
Zazzalil had a grin of her own to give back. This was always suspicious.
"What the fuck have you done this time?" Jemilla asked, sighing. She checked her seat, her bag, the minimal tech arrangement on her half of the table. Nothing seemed out of order, no whoopee cushion in view, nothing smelled funny. "What is it?"
"Work on your trust issues on your own time, J-Mills," Zazzalil retorted. "I’m too busy to be distracted."
She ostensibly pretended to go back to work, though Jemilla knew better. She always knew better. Narrowing her eyes on Zazzalil, she sat again and took a sip of her latte. She realized at once her mistake.
"For fuck’s…"
She couldn’t finish her words, for the heat was burning her throat, up and down all at once and some of the drink was spat out through her nostrils like a burst of flames. What she managed to swallow was fiery and repulsive and she realized she had stained her pants and would need to walk the rest of the day like she had had an accident of a whole other kind than spat out chai latte. Rushing to her feet, she ran to the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.
She hated Zazzalil, she hated her. A dozen times, she rinsed out her mouth with clean water but the taste of hot sauce − if that was even what Zazzalil had injected her with − would not go away and she remembered too late that water supposedly made it worse. Milk, she thought she remembered, though her latte had been half milk and none of it had been any soothing. She was about to go ask Emberly about it when Zazzalil entered the bathroom and barred her way out. She was laughing.
"Dude, are you alright?"
Jemilla’s nose and throat and possibly her digestive system later today were a furnace. Her makeup was ruined from having washed her face, her pants were stained and wet. Her soul was all wrath. And Zazzalil was laughing.
"Shut," Jemilla hissed, grabbing Zazzalil by the collar of her hoodie and pinning her to the wall, "the fuck up."
Zazzalil’s eyes widened, likely not having expected an outburst of violence − as if Jemilla wasn’t in her right to riposte for once in their fucking lives. She stared at Jemilla, mouth half-opened, and the breaths came out of her heavy and visible. Dark brown eyes, a flicker of fire in them, that stared intensely. Her hands slowly reached up to cover Jemilla’s at her collarbones. Jemilla breathed in slowly, deeply. She told herself that this might be Zazzalil’s last victory, that she would abandon the coffee shop for good if the answer she was craving came.
"Can I kiss you?" She muttered furiously.
"Sure," Zazzalil muttered back.
The answer was unenthusiastic, but nothing about Zazzalil was lukewarm from the moment their lips met. They poured into the kiss all the times they had hated each other, annoyed each other for weeks. Jemilla felt Zazzalil growl under her and her hands were now clutching Jemilla’s waist to keep her close. She pressed her leg between Zazzalil’s, took at her lips all the horny passion Zazzalil was bursting of. She cupped her face into her palms and there was something too fierce about the kiss, dangerously hot.
"Stall," Zazzalil panted.
"Not an exhibitionist, huh?"
Zazzalil pushed Jemilla off of her only enough as to push open one of the stalls and shoving her into it. Jemilla noted with relief and satisfaction the full door from ceiling to floor − though she wondered if that would have stopped her otherwise.
"Not about to ruin my reputation and good name," Zazzalil retorted.
Her efforts to keep her voice low were only neutered by the moan she gave when Jemilla trapped her against the door again and unbuttoned her denim shorts.
"You have neither," Jemilla said, smirking.
She kissed her. Zazzalil’s lips were chapped, likely from biting them and not bothering with balm. Zazzalil didn’t know how to care for herself. Jemilla, though in this instant she was shameful of it, did. She was finding with horror that she wanted nothing more than to care for Zazzalil in a particular way. Zazzalil tugged down her shorts, parting her legs to wordlessly beg for Jemilla’s touch. Jemilla wasn’t a selfish prick, she wasn’t Zazzalil.
"I didn’t mean fucking in the bathroom, I meant being found here with y… Oh, fuuuuuuck…"
Jemilla twisted her fingers inside of her, rocking her hand to try and match the way Zazzalil’s hips pressed into the touch. She was soaked and Jemilla wondered just how long this had been something Zazzalil had anticipated. Perhaps longer than her, or perhaps Zazzalil lived solely in the moment and got herself ready for anything as it came up.
"You’re hot," Jemilla whispered. She kissed her and Zazzalil bit down on her lip as if to avenge herself for something − or many, many things that had been items of conflict before. "You’re fierce."
"Shut up and fuck me," Zazzalil replied. Her arm wrapped around Jemilla’s shoulders to encourage.
Jemilla could do that just fine. In fact, she prided herself, more than just fine. Her palm pressed heavy against Zazzalil’s clit and she felt her panting at her lips, trying to create more friction with every desperate buck of her hips. Zazzalil always wanted more than she was owed. Jemilla always gave more than others deserved.
"You’re wet," Jemilla added in a voice yet a little lower. Zazzalil whimpered against her neck where her excited breath made a hot patch. "If I’d known this gets you to shut up…"
"It doesn’t," Zazzalil said with bite. "I won’t. You haven’t won."
Jemilla kissed her ear, nibbled on it. Their legs were trapped together and as she fingered Zazz so deliciously, Zazzalil’s thigh was rubbing between hers in a stubborn and exquisite motion too. Almost like defiance, if pleasure could be disobedience here. If this wasn’t what they both wanted in this instant.
"Not yet," she whispered.
She deepened the touch, angled it better and she knew she had, if not the war, then won this battle, for Zazzalil gasped into the crook of her neck and bit down on it just as soon. Jemilla wondered if this was playing dirty, but then, two were playing at that game and there wasn’t any less desire in the way Zazzalil took her caresses than in the way she handed them out. Jemilla had always been eager to please − she now found that Zazzalil could receive her attentions after all, if in an unexpected way.
"That’s it," she said encouragingly. A hand pushed up Zazzalil’s hoodie and, pulling a breast out of her brassiere, she pressed her mouth to it, caught the nipple between her lips and felt it harden. "You see, you can be good."
"What a gross thing to say," Zazzalil retorted. "I’m always good."
"You’re really not."
But Zazzalil was getting close and less in the mood to bite back by the second. Jemilla adored the anticipation, that brief moment just past the point of no return but seconds before the orgasm hit. On Zazzalil, this short snippet of time was as lovely as anything. Jemilla gave the best of herself, which was excellent, everything her fingers and her mouth and her confidence could give Zazz.
"Fuck…"
She had always thought Zazzalil was pretty, but nothing could have prepared her for the stunning sight of her climax. It was goofy, too, some silly grimace twisting her face. It was the most beautiful thing Jemilla had ever seen. Zazzalil’s hips thrusted wildly into hers, seizing every last bit of pleasure she could. Jemilla felt the tight clamp of her around her fingers and her breath almost came up short, so fascinated she was by it as very slowly it ran its course and Zazzalil was all limp again in her arms. She whimpered weakly. Her legs were shaking badly and when she sank to her knees, Jemilla half believed she had fallen there. All doubt was erased when her hands clutched Jemilla’s thighs, no hesitation in the kisses that climbed up over the fabric. Jemilla let out a sharp breath when she unbuckled her belt and pulled down her pants and underwear. Zazzalil’s breath was hot against her skin and Jemilla felt her fingers take hold of her own. For a moment, she was about to tease the needless and unwanted schmaltz but she very soon found out Zazzalil had a very different idea as she clasped Jemilla’s hand in her ponytail to make her lock her in place between her legs.
"Fuck, that’s hot," Jemilla muttered.
She held Zazzalil’s face firmly there, though Zazz herself showed little sign of reluctance anyways. She groaned as she began to kiss − and to lick and to suck and even, if Jemilla wasn’t dreaming it, to bite a little. She was a hurricane unfurling on her and had none of the technique, but perhaps all the creativity and the passion to do her right anyways. Her tongue lapped at her clit, her fingers pressed inside, first two then quickly adding a third, so hurried and bold. Jemilla moaned. She tugged at Zazzalil’s ponytail at first accidentally, but when Zazzalil’s face popped to look up at her and she saw the way her chin was glistening wetly, the veiled and leisurely way her eyes smiled up at her, she tugged a lot more decidedly. Zazzalil moaned and she dove back between her legs again even more eager than before.
"Do it quick," Jemilla said, more like an order than a wish. Her leg wrapped over Zazzalil’s shoulder, a heel digging at her back. "I don’t want to be caught here."
"Oh, like you have a reputation and a half to maintain," Zazzalil snorted. She was so entranced in the action her voice came out a slur and her lips were so close to Jemilla she felt every word against her skin. "I’ll be as quick as I want."
But as in all things, Zazzalil wanted the smug pride of victory and Jemilla groaned at her renewed efforts to pleasure her, the thick slide of her fingers in and out, the insistent caress around her clit, not enough yet way too much at the same time. Zazzalil never really knew what she was doing, not in the details, yet for the first time Jemilla was finding out that a burst of impulsivity wasn’t bad at all. She pushed herself into Zazzalil’s mouth, took what was so freely given.
"Mmh, that was nice," she said and perhaps to taunt her, Zazzalil switched the touch she had been giving her instantly − but everything she did was good, every horny idea exactly right. "You’re so good today, Zazz."
"Don’t get used to it," Zazzalil retorted, though there was a smirk at her lips before they met with Jemilla’s again between her legs.
Jemilla was in a hazy little cloud of pleasure and no longer to be teased. With her hand, she directed Zazzalil’s mouth the way she liked it and, perhaps because she did want to make it quick after all, Zazzalil followed along obediently. Their eyes were solely on each other’s when Jemilla came with a moan she didn’t even try to muffle anymore. Zazzalil kept at it, pushing her way past over the edge, trapping her there, something wicked in her glance, like their pleasure was just another way to get revenge at each other. Jemilla’s fingers slowly loosened from her hair.
"So, this was…"
But Jemilla had no idea how to finish her thought, if she could even articulate it to herself. She loosened her leg from around Zazzalil, who slouched to the ground, squeezing her eyes tight and leaning back against the wall, sighing. Then she was in full motion all of a sudden, rubbing her mouth clean and jumping to her feet. She scrambled to buckle her shorts again, to put more order into her appearance than she ever did. Before Jemilla could utter a word, she was dashing out of the stall, nearly running away.
"Zazz…"
Zazzalil was in a hurry to unplug all her devices and, without any caution or order, shove everything she owned into her backpack. She chugged down the last of her drink in one dangerously long gulp.
"Zazzalil, can we just…"
But Zazzalil left without so much as a glance, a brisk pace to the door that was so close to a trot it was near comical. Jemilla wasn’t amused. She didn’t know what she was, though. She sat back on her half of the table, which seemed desperately empty all of a sudden. She had never thought that before. The rest of the day went on in a blur. Briefly, she considered calling back Clark, but she decided against it. She went home in the evening and numbed her mind with Netflix till she was too tired to keep watching. Then she went to sleep.
The night brought her the resolve that what they had done had likely been an oddity. She did not particularly expect Zazzalil to talk to her again or even to show her face to the Great Big Thorn, yet in the morning, she was there once again, a miraculous vision passing the front door. She ordered her usual black coffee, sat on the left side of the table, scattered all of her possessions across the surface she allotted herself as she always did. Didn’t glance at Jemilla once while she did so. Jemilla couldn’t tear her eyes from her, observing as Zazzalil, more alert than ever, set herself to work with a rare application and focus. Was this their new reality? Perhaps a mutual avoidance was the best for both of them, too far once and for all. Jemilla was about to get back to her own work when Zazzalil grabbed a napkin and scribbled something on it. She slid it across the table.
It was an address. The handwriting was messy cursive and the ball pen had scratched the fragile layer of tissue paper, but Jemilla could read the words crystal clear. An exact address down to the details to the threshold, second floor, fifth door on the right. At the bottom, ’6pm tonight?’ and two checkboxes. Jemilla glanced at Zazzalil, who was sipping her coffee and checking her emails. She smirked and checked the "yes" box before sliding the napkin back across the table. Opening her calendar, she logged in the location and time of the rendezvous and Zazzalil broke the silence first, having spied on her.
"I can’t fucking stand how prep you are," she blurted out. "Dessert at Zazzalil’s, are you serious?"
Jemilla kept her eyes on her screen, switching back to her work page, but the smirk was burning her up and she sipped her tea.
"Don’t be bitter, babe," she said, "And I’ll treat you really sweet tonight, too."
Zazzalil grumbled, but she grabbed the napkin back and tore it into pieces. They carefully avoided each other all day long and if Jemilla hadn’t know any better, she would have found Zazzalil a very conciliant and reserved table neighbor indeed.
Zazzalil lived in a large building that looked just as anonymous as any other on a block littered with similar edifices. Though not particularly shady, there was an impersonal quality to the identical yellow-ish halls Jemilla threaded before reaching the right door. Zazzalil Jaeger, the copper sign said. She knocked. The door opened almost at the same time and she wondered if Zazzalil had been waiting behind it or if this was coincidental.
"H…"
But Zazzalil gave her no time for greetings, pulling her by the collar inside the apartment and, the door slamming behind her, she pushed her against it and cut her words with a wild and feral kiss Jemilla smiled into. It was as though all the clashing frustration that had been brewing between them was merging into a different sort of passion in this instant, yet it only took one glance at the room for Jemilla to remember everything that annoyed her about the woman presently latched at her neck.
"This place is nasty."
Zazzalil’s teeth nibbled at her lip and made her groan. She pushed her off gently but, rather than reversing their positions, walked her backwards to the nearest surface she could find, which turned out to be the couch. Much like the rest of the room, it was cluttered with clothes, some dirty and some not, with all sorts of trinkets and papers and phones and cameras and even the occasional workout equipment. It ruined the pretty picture of an otherwise completely fine view, a large window in the corner bathing the apartment in bright sunlight, old furniture she must have thrifted, mismatched as it was. In this instant, all her frustration at the messy, dirty apartment merged once more into lust and her hand slipped between Zazzalil’s legs to caress over the fabric of her shorts crudely.
"You’re nasty," Zazzalil retorted with a smug grin Jemilla kissed away.
The fire burned hot and fierce all evening. As ardently as their demeanors opposed one another, their desires matched so perfectly Jemilla wondered if she had ever fucked anybody this well, this willingly. Zazzalil was demanding, as lazy as she was generous from one moment to the next, she took and begged for Jemilla’s touch almost as relentlessly as Jemilla was willing to hand it to her. Jemilla had always preferred to lead the way in life as well as in bed, yet she was finding that she obliged to Zazzalil’s whims so easily she wondered if this was their second time or their thousandth together. When finally Zazzalil had had her fill and given it back with as much passion, they decided they couldn’t move an inch anymore and sank into the mattress they had moved to at some point during the night.
"Okay," Zazzalil said hesitantly. "Okay, so I’d say we can get along on some level."
Jemilla nodded, a little tired. She sat up to pull her underwear and her blouse back on. Her body was aching and she stretched her arms in all her length. She’d have to leave at some point, she knew, but perhaps not before having ticked one more item from her mental list.
"On that level, I suppose we can," she said. "Zazz, we have to lay some ground rules."
Zazzalil grunted in response and rolled flat on her back to take up the space Jemilla had just vacated. She made no reply otherwise and Jemilla went on.
"I was thinking the usual friends with benefits agreement…"
Zazzalil chuckled meanly.
"We’re not friends."
Jemilla knew better than to meet that with a reply and ignored the remark.
"No strings attached, we don’t tell anyone about this and we don’t catch feelings. Is that alright with you?"
This was the standard conditions she had asked of her former partners of a similar nature and they had always been met with approval. Occasionally, the feelings clause of the agreement had been the reason of the relation ending, but that had been part of the game, too. Jemilla liked to know where she stood.
"Gee, J-Mills, I don’t fucking care, sure. Whatever."
She frowned. Zazzalil was sprawled across the bed in an X, staring at the ceiling. Her hair was a fuzzy circle around her head, all messed up from having been clasped and held onto. Jemilla rinsed her eye on the pretty sight unashamed, though her annoyance was quickly rising back to previous levels preceding yesterday.
"I do," she retorted.
"Yeah, well, you care about many boring things and I just don’t," Zazzalil sighed. "There’s no risk here, I promise. If anything, that’s why you and I will never date."
Jemilla thought about it and frowned deeper at the realization that, on this point, she and Zazzalil were in perfect agreement.