Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Leaving her religious life was quieter than Beatrice expected. It did not bring any lightning strikes or divine reprimands. Instead, she simply traded her habit for thrifted sweaters and her psalms for spreadsheets at a nondescript accounting job. Adjusting to the world was not any new kind of revelation, just repetition, a lot of repetition. She memorized the exact weight of a pound of apples at the market, the way the subway shakes beneath her feet at 8:15 a.m. It is all so ordinary, so secular, that sometimes she catches herself waiting for the guilt to rise. It never does.

Instead, she only realizes she has to figure out how to navigate tax forms and dating apps. And there is the matter of people. Normal, messy, chaotic people who do not live by vows of silence or obedience. People who say exactly what they mean, sometimes with far too many words or way too loudly. People laugh loud and touch each other casually. People like, unfortunately, and maybe also fortunately, Ava Silva.

Beatrice met her by accident. She had wandered into a bar near the street of her flat on a particularly bad day. She had only intended to have a drink and leave quietly. Instead, she found Ava.

She was the bartender that night; Beatrice remembers feeling impressed at how she leaned over the counter like she owned the place. She had handed Beatrice her drink with a smile that was far too warm and said something entirely inappropriate about her posture. Beatrice had intended to be annoyed. She was not.

And suddenly, against her better judgement, she found herself coming back. Once. Then twice. Then often enough that Ava started calling her by name, or simply Bea, and then pouring her drink before she even ordered it. Somewhere along this line, they became friends; friends who chatted and talked about their lives and went to yoga class together. It was a strange sort of friendship; Ava is chaos in human form, and Beatrice still clings to her composure. Ava talks too much, and Beatrice pretends she minds. Ava flirts with anyone who breathes, and Beatrice pretends she does not notice when it is directed at her.

She should have noticed when it stopped being pretend.

Beatrice did not mean to bring it up. She never does, really. These things, personal things, tend to spill out around Ava in ways they simply do not with anyone else. Perhaps it was the drinks, or the sounds of conversation surrounding them in the bar, or how the light is reflecting on Ava’s cheekbone while she grins at something Beatrice just said. Whatever it is, it loosens her tongue.

“I don’t really date.” She says. “Or… Not often.”

Ava raises her eyebrow, and then takes a sip from her drink. “Why not?” She asks, as if it is the simplest thing to answer in the world. “You’re hot, intimidating in a hot way, and frankly, pretty qualified for the lesbian scene in this city.”

Beatrice sighs, not letting her mind really process the amount of times Ava has just called her hot. “It’s not…” It is a bit hard to explain. “I’m not…” She exhales. “I simply lack practical experience in that area.”

Ava smiles. Way too wide. “You mean… Sex?”

Beatrice groans a bit. “Could you not say that so loudly?”

“Oh, come on. No one’s listening.”

“They will be if you keep shouting it.”

Beatrice thinks this will put them in an awkward silence, but it does not. She should have learnt by now that, around Ava, there really is not much space for any type of silence.

“Bea.” Ava leans in, resting her elbows on the table then. “You know that’s not weird, right? You were a nun. You’ve got a pretty fucking good excuse for not, you know, getting around.”

Beatrice gives her a bit of an exasperated look. She feels a bit hypocritical, in a way; she knows it is normal to be inexperienced, and she also knows her own circumstances of inexperience are logical and fair. When it came to anyone else, she would not think much about it. However, when it comes to herself… There is no space for her to… Not know.

"I just... I just don't want to be bad at it." She feels a bit silly admitting it out loud.

Ava sighs. And then she leans back and crosses her arms. “Huh.”

“What?”

She clicks her tongue. “Well. I could help.”

Beatrice blinks a couple of times. “Help…?”

“You know.” She grins. “Help.”

It takes Beatrice a full two seconds; it should not be such a surprise that Ava is offering something like that, but, still, it catches her off guard. “Ava. Please lower your voice.”

Ava laughs, but she obeys: when she speaks again, her volume is lower. “I’m being serious! Think about it. I’m good at sex, if I say so myself. You trust me. I’m super hot…”

Beatrice cannot do anything but to stare. “Ava.”

“...and…” Ava continues, unbothered. “There is no pressure, no stakes. Just... practice. For your real first time.”

Beatrice drops her hands to her lap. “That makes no sense. If we… Did that, then that would be my first time.”

Ava tilts her head and grins like she is a cat who just cornered something skittish and adorable. Beatrice realizes for a second that her Catholic upbringing definitely makes her see this whole ordeal completely differently from Ava. “Not really. Virginity’s a social construct. You decide when your first time is. This would be... like a test drive.”

“That is… ridiculous.”

“Is it, though?” Ava’s smile gets softer. She is no longer teasing, Beatrice realizes. “It’s just sex, Bea. You learn what you like, how things feel, get more comfortable with the whole thing before... you know. Doing it with someone where the stakes feel higher.”

Beatrice tries her best to come up with words to say no. She should say no, logically. Because the truth, the truth that is a bit uncomfortable in her chest, is that she already likes Ava a bit too much. She likes her laugh, her wild hands, her grin and how Ava always knows how to make her exhale all types of tension she did not even realize she had been carrying. Mixing… this… into their friendship is a terrible idea.

And… Yet…

Ava’s eyes still hold hers. “Look, no pressure. If it’s weird, we don’t do it. If you wanna, we do.”

Beatrice fiddles with the rim of her glass. “And it wouldn’t… Complicate anything? Our friendship?

“I don’t think so. We’re both adults. No feelings. Just helping a friend out.”

The casualness in her tone was reassuring. A little too reassuring, perhaps. But it worked. Beatrice felt her shoulders relax. “...And… where… would this… Happen?”

“What about my place? Tomorrow night.”

God, Beatrice is confused. She does not want to say yes, not because she does not want Ava, quite the contrary. She already likes her, and that makes things dangerous. Now, she really does not want to mess things up.

However, maybe… Maybe trusting Ava not to expect perfection from her was worth the risk.

Beatrice does not even believe her own mouth when she takes a deep breath and speaks. “Fine.”

Ava raises her eyebrows . “Really?”

Beatrice nods, quite stiffly. “Yes. If you promise not to make a big deal out of it.”

“I would never!” Ava says dramatically, and then places a hand over her heart.

Beatrice gives her a look. However, when she sees Ava smiling, she cannot help but to smile a bit back. It is a date, then.

Chapter Text

Ava scrubbed her kitchen counter like it had personally wronged her; then she swept and mopped the floor, and picked up the pillows from below her couch. After all of that, she steps back, hands on her hips, and looks around.

Okay. It is clean. Suspiciously clean. Weirdly clean. Too fucking clean.

She groans, dragging both hands down her face. “Jesus Christ.”

She knows she was not supposed to make a big deal out of it; Beatrice had been very clear about that. No jokes, no teasing, no making it weird. Just a normal, casual favor between friends. Her own idea; in the moment, it had felt fair. Ava has had sex with friends before. This was not supposed to be any different.

Ava sighs and heads to her bedroom. Okay. Clothes. Cool, chill, casual sex clothes.

She opens her dresser drawer, and almost as a message from God (okay, maybe from the universe - God would probably not endorse the fact that she is about to have casual, premarital sex with her former nun female friend), the first thing she sees is the black lace set. Strappy. Semi-sheer. Hot as hell. Probably too much.

…Or is it?

I mean, technically, it is still functional clothing, she reasons to no one. It is not like she will see it and be like, “Oh no, Ava, that’s lingerie, now I can’t possibly have sex with you”...

She pauses her thoughts for a second… Wait. Actually, she might. She might literally say that.

Ava groans again and throws herself onto her bed. God, why does this feel like such a big deal? She has had casual sex before. Plenty of times. She has hooked up with strangers with worse apartments and definitely worse music taste than hers.

But this is Bea.

Bea, who keeps a serious face when Ava winks at her. Bea, who used to sit at the bar kind of stiffly, and then learnt to soften a little more every time they talked (Ava could not stop herself from noticing how comfortable she began getting when it comes to sharing her thoughts, her feelings. Ava loved being someone she felt comfortable with). Bea, who had trusted her to be her first, even if it does not necessarily count.

It is supposed to be no feelings. Just helping a friend out. Like helping a friend move. Except instead of lifting boxes, she is going to be lifting thighs. Just sex.

Still… it does not feel like nothing.

...Oh, god.

Ava rolls over with a grunt and shoves the fancy lingerie back into the drawer. Instead, she grabs something else. A simple black bra and matching underwear. Soft cotton. Comfy. Still matching, though, because she is a functional adult with standards (and because matching underwear is sexy in an I didn’t try but I totally did kind of way).

She puts on a simple pair of shorts and a t-shirt over it; it is a bit cold outside, but if everything works out right, she will not be wearing any of this pretty soon. And then, she checks herself in the mirror. Okay. Yeah. She looks cute, not intimidating.

Ava runs her hands through her hair; she is trying to turn it into something artfully messy when she hears a knock on the door. Fuck! Of course Beatrice got there early.

After the second knock, Ava smooths her hands down her shorts; she inhales, and then, finally, opens the door.

Beatrice stands the other way in jeans and a blue sweater. Her face is a bit flushed, as if she had just come out of the shower, and her hair looks slightly mussed from the wind. Ava thinks she looks quite pre- professional. It is a pretty windy day outside, yes.

“Hey.” Ava speaks first, doing her best to smile like this is nothing out of the ordinary. Just two gal pals about to engage in some friendly genital related trust exercises.

“Hello.” Beatrice replies. She looks past Ava’s shoulder, and seems to be scanning the apartment like she is about to enter enemy territory. “Your place looks… clean.”

“Oh, thanks. Yeah. Totally always looks like this.” Ava grins and steps aside, trying not to be too mad at herself for not doing a good job at not making things… Awkward. Beatrice had already seen her apartment before. She is well aware this is not what it usually looks like. “Come in. Make yourself at home.”

Beatrice hesitates before finally stepping inside. Her posture is weirdly formal; Ava catches herself thinking that it looks as if she accidentally walked into a job interview instead of, you know, a casual sex appointment.

They stay there for a second. Staring. Both obviously remembering that, yeah, they are about to have sex. With each other. On purpose.

Ava claps her hands together. “Okay. This is weird. Let’s stop being weird.”

“You’re the one being weird.”

“Oh, I’m the one being weird? You are the one standing like you’re about to sing the national anthem.”

Beatrice does a thing. A twitchy thing Ava has learnt to recognize. Halfway between a frown and an almost smile. And then, for the love of god, she lets out a breath and softens. “Fair point.”

Ava smiles and nudges her shoulder lightly. When she suggested having sex with Beatrice, Ava was thinking it would be practical. Beatrice deserves to shed all of the weight of expectation, and to stop treating intimacy like a test she is forced to excel on but has not studied for. It is just a body, Ava had reasoned. Bodies are easy. But now, that she is watching Beatrice hover in the doorway, Ava realizes she forgot a very important detail. This is not just … a body. This is Beatrice’s body. Beatrice, who once blushed when Ava joked about vibrators. Beatrice, who had once confessed to her after a couple of drinks that she has never even kissed someone she actually liked.

And, sure, Ava could have let her figure it out someday, somehow, with some random person from Tinder. But the thought of Beatrice sitting across from a stranger and worrying about being perfect, about only how the other person would feel… it feels so wrong. No. If Beatrice is going to open herself up like that, it should be somewhere safe. With someone who could show her in a comfortable way that sex simply is meant to be messy sometimes and that is okay. And that it should feel good for her as well.

(It has nothing to do with the way Beatrice’s laugh sounds different when it is just the two of them. They do not get many of these moments - most of their hanging out takes place during Ava’s shifts or the yoga class they take together every Wednesday, and yet, Ava is always excited for them).

It makes everything easier, the fact that Ava already likes touching Beatrice so much. Not in a weird way, and Beatrice clearly likes it as well. It became a habit for them, to intertwine their arms, to walk back from yoga class holding hands. What can Ava do? She likes warmth (and she always pretends to be too tired and weak to walk by herself after yoga; she is not naive, she knows Beatrice knows it is a stupid excuse for them to be close). So it is easy, yes, to lead Beatrice to the couch and sit beside her as well.

“Alright.” Had this been one of her usual hookups, Ava would at least ask if Beatrice wanted something to drink, water, wine, something. However, she is focused on not making this a big deal. “Before we get naked and all that… We need to talk.”

“Talk?”

“Yeah.” Beatrice asked cautiously, probably expecting a joke, so Ava realizes she needs to be serious for now. “About boundaries, preferences. Stuff you like. Stuff you don’t.”

Beatrice blinks. It takes a bit of time for her to speak. “I… don’t know.”

These past two days are really being the time for Ava to hear Beatrice saying things she did not believe would ever come out of her mouth, yes. Her voice is so weak when she speaks it, so unlike her usual self. And Ava understands it, of course. Beatrice is not really into… Not knowing.

“Totally fair. Makes sense. You’ve never… yeah.” Wow, Ava, reply of the year award for you.

“Correct.”

Ava forces herself to focus.

“You don’t need to know what you like yet.” She says, because it is not like she knew what she liked in her first time as well, and because she knows Beatrice is probably overthinking this whole interaction, perhaps feeling bad for not having a list of things she enjoys and dislikes during sex, as if she would know. Ava wonders if she should ask Beatrice if she has ever masturbated (are nuns allowed to do that? Probably not), if she has ever figured out preferences from that, but she is afraid of scaring her off. “That’s kind of the point. We’re figuring that out. No pressure. If something doesn’t feel good, just tell me. If you want to try something, just say so. We go slow. We stop if anything feels weird. I’ll check in a bunch.” A pause. “Are you okay with that?”

Beatrice nods. “Yes. That makes sense.”

“Cool. Uuh… Just so you know…” Ava is not entirely sure of how to introduce the subject, but since they are on the topic, she has to speak it. “I like… During sex, I like both giving and receiving.” Ava pauses and scratches the back of her neck. She has never really had to explain this before, really; but she wants to make things clear for Beatrice. “That does vary, you know, it depends on whom I’m with, or the vibe, or…” She shakes her head. “Anyway. I also really, really like going down on girls.”

Ava looks at Beatrice, and for a second, she blushes with the implication of what has just been said. Again, Ava is not really used to seeing her like this.

“I see.”

“Cool. And just so we’re clear… this isn’t a one way street. If you want to try… you know, reciprocating? It’s okay. But only if you want to. Zero expectations.”

Beatrice’s brow furrows. “Reciprocating… as in…?”

“Touching me. Kissing me.” Ava is not sure of it, but it seems that when she says kissing, Beatrice widens her eyes a bit. “Whatever feels natural.” She forces herself to shrug. “Or don’t! Seriously. This is about you figuring out what you like. I’m just… the guide.”

Beatrice nods again. Ava wishes she could see more thoroughly what is going on in that head of hers; besides the unusual reactions like blushing, Beatrice is keeping her expression completely straight. “And... if there’s something you don’t like?”

“Then I’ll tell you.” Ava says easily. “But honestly? I doubt that’s gonna be a problem. You could probably look me dead in the eyes and say, ‘Ava, I want to fold you in half,’ and I’d be like, ‘Cool, sounds fun, do you need rope or...?’”

That earns her a sharp look. “That’s not… Ava.”

Ava laughs. “Okay, okay. Kidding. Sort of. Point is, you don’t need to stress about whether I’m having a good time. I will tell you. Loudly. And enthusiastically.” Ava decides to continue, since they are having this conversation now. “I like touchy stuff, kissing, praise, light teasing. Not super into, like, pain or degradation, not that I expected our night to go any near that, I think we’ll keep things simple for now. And I fucking hate socks. On. In bed. On me. On you. Just… No.”

Beatrice looks down briefly at her own feet, which are, in fact, still socked.

“Oh no!” Ava says, hoping to lighten the mood. “We can never be together now.”

Beatrice finally changes her face to the start of a smile. Ava notices she is relaxing, finally.

“Alright.” She says after a while. “That all sounds… Manageable.”

Ava blinks a couple of times before answering. Okay. It is time, then.

After taking off her shoes, Beatrice is not quite sure how to hold her hands. On her lap? At her sides? Folded? None of these seem quite right; every option feels stiff. Too stiff. This entire situation is… absurd, entirely absurd.

Some time ago, when Beatrice first realized that she was getting way too distracted by Ava’s beautiful eyes, or that she was hoping Ava would make the first move to take her hand on their way to yoga class like two children, or that she could not stop looking at Ava when she was wearing that one specific black tank top; or, more importantly, when she realized she felt more comfortable with Ava than with anyone else: comfortable to laugh, to try new things (like going to her first party, having her first drink that was not the wine from her First Communion), to talk about things she could not bring herself to talk to anyone else about, she made a deal with herself.

She would not let these feelings get in the way of their friendship.

Ava’s presence has brought so much to her life. After a huge crisis of faith and such drastic life changes, she expected things to be chaotic and scary. And in a way, they were. But they were also… Boring. It was a confusing dichotomy, she could tell. And Ava, somehow, offered a solution for both problems. Her joy to live and to bring Beatrice along solved a bit of her boredom, and her confidence and excitement made the new things a little bit less intimidating.

She could not lose this; could not lose her.

And yet, Beatrice is here. About to… Have sex with her. And, yes, she will do her part so that this remains as clinical as possible, as detached as possible. She is just learning. Of course. For when… Needed.

She is in so much trouble.

Ava shifts next to her on the couch so that one of her knees is up and she is facing her fully. She is smiling, and Beatrice has to stop her mind from thinking too much about how beautiful she looks. No feelings no feelings no feelings.

“So.” Ava starts. “How do you want to start?”

Beatrice opens her mouth, but then closes it again. She should have expected a question like that, and yet, no answer comes. “I…” God, this is embarrassing. How can she be so unprepared?

Ava catches it. “Do you want me to take the lead?”

Beatrice exhales. Generally speaking, Beatrice prefers to be leading, to be in control. A part of her cannot manage to accept that she is about to give it away. But at least it is with Ava; that is the whole point, after all. “Yes. If you don’t mind.”

“Never mind.” Ava says as she shifts forward. “Come here.”

Beatrice had not… She truly had not expected Ava to kiss her.

She should have; it is a perfectly natural escalation of the situation, and yet, she had prepared herself for something more clinical. Perhaps they would move to the bed and discuss the logistics of it all. Instead…

Beatrice does not have that much time to think when she realizes Ava is pulling closer, then letting her hand slide gently along her jw. Her thumb brushes the line beneath Beatrice’s ear, and then her lips press to hers.

It is soft. Softer than she expected, for what this is supposed to be. Beatrice inhales sharply through her nose, and she has to fight her first instinct, that would be to pull back and recalibrate. Because, differently from what she expected, this feels so… Romantic. This was not what she had agreed to. And yet…

Ava kisses her so easily, the easiest thing in the world. Slow and certain. There is no awkwardness on her end; she traces a line over Beatrice’s cheekbone with her thumb, inviting her, not demanding. And Beatrice forces her hands to move, finally. First, she sets one of them on Ava’s knee. It feels foreign, her hand feels detached from her own body. Then, the other one lands a bit awkwardly on Ava’s waist.

In that second, Ava smiles into the kiss. Beatrice feels it. She also feels it when Ava deepens it, just slightly, tilting her head and parting her mouth. Beatrice follows along, even though she was startled at first.

And then it hits her. How juvenile she feels; a teenager fumbling her way through something that everyone else has already mastered. Her heart pounds, both out of a bit of embarrassment, but also out of the recognition that she is… Kissing Ava. Her heart accelerates and for a horrible second, she wants to pull back entirely. Call the whole thing off. It is foolish. She is foolish.

This is not supposed to mean anything, she reminds herself. It is an exercise. A lesson. Ava is being kind. That is all.

But then, Ava’s hand slides from her cheek to the back of her neck; her fingertips brush through her hair. And Beatrice’s mind, at least for a second, quiets when the kiss grows bolder; Ava licks gently into her mouth, perhaps testing how far Beatrice would follow.

And Beatrice follows. Hesitant at first, yes, but then firmer. She grips Ava’s waist tighter, letting her fingers sink into the fabric of her t-shirt. And her head feels light, her skin warm. She had not expected, God, she had not allowed herself to expect that kissing Ava would feel like this. Like being unravelled and embroidered again, thread by thread.

And then Ava shifts against her. Her hand moves from the back of Beatrice’s neck down to her shoulder. Beatrice barely has any time to process the change in weight, the drag of fabric against fabric, before Ava braces a hand on the couch arm, plants one foot firmly on the floor, and swings her other leg over Beatrice’s lap. She straddles Beatrice… Just… just does it. Smooth, again, the most natural thing she has ever done.

Beatrice goes stiff beneath her for a moment. Her hands, still curled awkwardly at Ava’s waist, shake because she is not entirely sure what the protocol is here. Her brain is screaming something about proximity, about the simple, undeniable fact that Ava’s thighs are now snug around her hips. Ava’s weight settles onto her lap, and it feels... dangerously good. Too much. Too close.

Her breath stops for a second. And then Ava moves her hands to brace the sides of her jaw, before letting one slip down to cup her neck again. She uses her thumb to brush under her ear like she had before, and it is such a soothing, peaceful movement, that it helps Beatrice calm a bit down. Ava’s eyes flicker down to Beatrice’s mouth for half a second, and then she leans back in.

The next kiss is a bit different. Less careful, although still soft. Ava’s mouth parts against Beatrice’s again, and her tongue teases her lips until Beatrice lets her in. Ava kisses her like she knows exactly what she is doing, which, Beatrice realizes, she certainly does.

Beatrice, on the other hand… God, she is trying to keep up. Her hands finally figure themselves out and she tightens closer to Ava’s waist. And her head is a bit overwhelmed with all of the places they are touching: Ava’s hand is in her hair, Ava’s chest is pressing close enough to her that she can feel her breaths, Ava’s thighs are squeezing slightly at her hips whenever the kiss deepens.

Ava is a very good kisser, Beatrice will give her that, but something tells her that she would not be enjoying this all nearly as much with someone else. Instead, now, she feels overwhelmed, and intoxicated, and…

Ava breaks the kiss, but she only draws back a bit. Her mouth is still brushing against Beatrice’s, and her thumb strokes her jaw again. Her voice is lower now. A little hoarse.

“Bea...” A soft inhale. “Can I...?” Her fingers trail from Beatrice’s jaw down her throat. “Can I start... touching you more?”

Beatrice forgets words for a second. She thinks she nods, however, the motion is so small, she realizes, since Ava is still, waiting.

So she forces herself to speak. “Yes. You… can.”

Ava smiles, and then her hand slides from Beatrice’s neck down her shoulder, then along her side. And then… lower.

Ava’s hands are warm.

Beatrice has never thought precisely about this detail before, the temperature of someone else’s palm, the way they spread over her waist. And then they go back to kissing, and that in itself continues to feel strange, strange because of how not strange it is that things are escalating so quickly. Beatrice’s lips move against Ava’s less hesitantly now. And then Ava shifts closer, and her fingers start touching Beatrice’s hips in circles.

Ava deepens the kiss briefly, then pulls back just to breathe again against her lips. “This okay?”

Beatrice manages to nod. “Yes.” Wow. Very okay; and then, a very very loud voice in her head screams that she wants to touch Ava as well.

And, for a moment, when Ava has not gone back to touching her yet, a memory comes back to her mind; she tries to stop her brain from playing it entirely. She knew, of course, where this was going to go the exact second Ava suggested it. And, yet, knowing it did not prepare her at all. In that second, Beatrice feels so guilty. Ava has no idea.

No idea that Beatrice has thought about this before. Has done things before. Quiet, shameful things. Alone in her apartment. In the dark. Hand between her legs, biting her own lip to stay quiet, because even in privacy, even without anyone to witness it, it had felt like a sin. Not because of the body, or the act. No. Because it was Ava. Always Ava.

Beatrice still remembers so vividly how Ava looked that night; it was Saturday, and she had given her shift up to take Beatrice to a beach party. Her damp hair was curling around her face, and the way she was laughing, smiling like she was made of joy herself… Beatrice went home that night with her heart pounding and a knot in her stomach. And she tried to shake the thought off, to focus on what their relationship was and could only be, but her hands strayed (those trembling, traitorous hands…) and by the time she came, gasping into her pillow, her mind was full of Ava’s smile. Ava’s voice. Ava’s hips and thighs and mouth and… hands.

Ava’s hands, that now are actually on her.

This is not fair; not fair to Ava. Because Ava trusts her and thinks this is safe. She thinks that they are on the same page: just friends, she is just helping Beatrice. It is physical, and perhaps a bit friendly, but nothing more.

Ava does not know., and Ava cannot know that we have done this thousands of times in my mind…

Because if she did… If she did, she might stop. And Beatrice thinks she would not be able to deal with this. Not when she has already gotten so close to having what she wanted for so long, even if it is not real, even if it is not hers.

Ava’s voice cuts through her thoughts.

“Yeah?” She grins. “Good.” And then her hands slide up slowly. From Beatrice’s waist, along her side, brushing against the line where her ribs curved beneath her sweater.

That startles something in Beatrice, because, suddenly, her body feels so so hypersensitive. Her sweater feels both too thick and too thin all at once. Ava’s mouth does not stray far from her - she kisses the corner of Beatrice’s lips, then her jaw, then her ear. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“I… will.”

Ava shifts her weight back, settling fully onto Beatrice’s thighs, before her fingers hook beneath the hem of her sweater. “Can I…?”

Beatrice is still having a hard time believing this is actually happening. However, she nods anyway. “Yes.”

Ava grins again, the kind of grin Beatrice just realized should be categorized as dangerous. And then her hands slip beneath the fabric; warm skin to skin now. The sensation is so jarring. And her fingers follow Beatrice’s ribs, before her palms slide up, to the point where her fingertips are grazing the underswell of her breasts.

Beatrice is not wearing a bra, she figured it would not be practical for their intended purpose anyway. And Ava does not seem to be surprised by it. Instead, she kisses Beatrice again, and finally, to Beatrice’s relief… Ava’s hands move to cup her breasts.

Her thumbs start to brush outward in slow circles, and Beatrice gasps, surprised by the warmth of her fingers against her own skin. When Ava’s fingertips graze her nipples, Beatrice cannot help herself from gasping again, and it makes Ava pause, letting her lips hover just a few millimetres away.

“Okay?” Their breaths are mingling when Ava asks.

Beatrice nods, because, suddenly, words are impossible. More than okay, she wants to say, but her voice has gotten lost in the heat pooling low in her stomach and in her pulse getting faster and faster. Ava’s thumbs circle her nipples again, with more purpose this time, and the pressure is enough to make Beatrice’s back arch slightly. Her hips shift forward without her even realizing, and she feels the slick ache between her legs sharpen. It feels so foreign; she has only indulged in such pulls in secret, by herself.

However now, it feels completely different, with Ava’s mouth returning to hers, swallowing Beatrice’s shaky exhale as she rolls her thumbs over her nipples. Slower this time, teasing perhaps. Beatrice’s sweater, made of a soft cotton, bunches around Ava’s wrist, and it catches each time her hands move, which creates a delicious drag against her sensible skin. And Beatrice has to bring her fingers to tighten even more around Ava’s waist, her grip almost bruising, because has to hold onto something after every brush of Ava’s tongue against hers, or every flick of her thumbs.

Without warning, Ava pinches her nipples lightly, and Beatrice moans against her lips. Her hips move upward again, desperate for contact, and Ava laughs softly. She does not say anything, though, thank God. Beatrice does not know what she would do if Ava acknowledged how desperate and needy she is sounding.

Instead, Ava deepens the kiss, letting her tongue sweep possessively into Beatrice’s mouth and hands resume their rhythm. She alternates between gentle, soothing tugs and slow, maddening circles. It is overwhelming. Beatrice is overwhelmed by sensation, and it makes her earlier hesitation dissolve. Tied with the ache building and burning inside of her, she slides her own hand beneath Ava’s shirt. Her fingers skim over her stomach, then she moves them to her spine. And Ava shudders, breaking the kiss to exhale a ragged “fuck…” against Beatrice’s cheek. Her voice is raw in need, and it ignites something primal in Beatrice. She kisses Ava harder now, nipping at her lower lip. And then… She takes her hands to the hem of Ava’s shirt.

They are trembling a bit when she grips at the fabric, but Beatrice forces herself to calm down and tug it upward, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over Ava’s head. And then her fingers move to Ava’s back, until she finds the underwire of her bra. Ava pulls back just enough to smirk. And Beatrice is almost going insane when she sees how huge her pupils look.

Ava opens her mouth to say something, but Beatrice is still pretty overwhelmed by sensation, so she silences her with another kiss. Her fingers fumble to open the clasp of Ava’s bra, and her breath hitches when the straps are finally pushed down Ava’s shoulders. For a second, they both pause. Ava’s hands are still beneath Beatrice’s sweater, and Beatrice’s palms are still flat against Ava’s bare back. Until… Ava laughs.

“Someone’s eager.”

Beatrice cannot bring herself to reply. First of all, she is a bit taken aback by the sight of Ava. But not only sight; also the feel, the feel of her skin under her hands. Smooth, fever hot. And the way her own body was pulsing in response, wet and aching and desperate. Her earlier guilt is still at the edges of her mind (she doesn’t know she doesn’t know she doesn’t know), but it gets drowned out by the present: by Ava’s nails scraping down her ribs, by Ava’s hips grounding against hers, answering the plea of Beatrice’s own.

Ava’s mouth leaves hers to trail kisses along her jaw, and Beatrice stops to gasp. “Ava…” Her voice breaks. She does not know exactly what she is asking for, only that she needs more, she needs to close the gap between the fantasy and the woman in her arms, needs to…

Ava stops kissing her face for a second to murmur, “Can I take this off you?”

Beatrice needs no clarification. She feels her heart almost jumping out of her chest, but still, she nods. “Yes.”

And she tries, God knows she tries, to justify it in her head with Well, Ava is shirtless as well. I need to reciprocate it. Instead of admitting to herself that she desperately wants Ava to undress her entirely. No feelings no feelings no feelings no feeli

Ava pulls back and grasps Beatrice’s sweater, sitting upright on her thighs to create space. She moves slowly, giving her time to object, which Beatrice does not, and then lifts it over her head.

Beatrice has to resist the urge to fold her arms across her bare chest. She had treated her own body with so much disregard, with so little attention, during her years as a nun; it is almost an impulse to feel shame.

But Ava exhales. “Damn. I mean… Sorry. You’re just… really… wow.” “That’s very articulate of you.” Beatrice says quite quickly, perhaps a little too fast. She is used to Ava saying things like that, both to her and to other people. So she forces herself not to let it get to her head. It means nothing, probably.

“I’d come up with poetry, but I’m a little busy being speechless.”

Beatrice rolls her eyes, but it does nothing to stop her heart from accelerating. Especially not with Ava’s eyes still moving across her collarbones, chest, waist.

Ava moves forward, letting their bare skin touch as she kisses Beatrice again. Deeper, slower, until Ava’s fingers move to the waistband of her trousers.

She hesitates for a second. “Can I?”

Beatrice still cannot really believe this is happening. “Yes.”

Ava starts unfastening the button, and her touch light, but every small motion sends a tremor down Beatrice’s spine. She lets Ava work the fabric loose, and her fingers graze across her hips as she helps push them down.

Beatrice is left in only her underwear now; Ava still has her shorts. At least for a few seconds - she pushes them down her legs pretty quickly and throws them away mindlessly, and although Beatrice is busy looking at Ava’s beautiful body, she is also a bit disappointed that she was not the one who got to undress her.

Ava looks back at Beatrice, and she knows it is her mind playing tricks, showing her what she wants to see, but Beatrice thinks it looks as if Ava is pretty captivated.

They stay in silence for a second.

And then Ava leans forward to press a kiss to Beatrice’s shoulder before looking towards the hallway. “Hey.” She sounds… Careful. “Do you wanna move this to the bed?”

Beatrice hesitates. She is not fearful, per se, but the couch felt like the limit. The idea of the bed is way more serious and intimate.

Ava notices the hesitation. “It’s just more comfortable. We don’t have to if you’re not ready.”

Beatrice looks at Ava. Her hair is a bit messy now, and her hands are still resting at Beatrice’s hips.

“Alright.” She says, finally. ‘The bed.”

Ava smiles and stands, and then, she offers her hand. Beatrice takes it, and her mind indulges in the fantasy that this could be her taking Ava to dance, or holding her hand on a way to a date.

Jesus, this crush thing is making her so sappy.

She lets Ava lead her down the hallway, and their mouths do not part. Ava pulls Beatrice up with her, and Beatrice stumbles once her socked feet slip on the floor. But Ava catches her waist and laughs into the kiss. And it is a bit dizzying, how natural this all feels, how Ava navigates them backwards down the hallway without breaking contact at any point.

The bedroom door frame bumps against Ava’s shoulder, and Beatrice murmurs “careful” against her lips. The light from the hallway illuminates the bed, and Beatrice’s mind suddenly gets filled with this is real, this is happening.

Ava, still kissing her, leads Beatrice to sit on the bed. And before they can do anything else, Beatrice breaks the kiss. Ava seems a bit confused, but there is something she has to do first.

Beatrice reaches down and takes off her socks.

Chapter Text

Ava flops onto the bed, breathless and still smiling. She props herself up on an elbow to watch Beatrice taking off her socks, and the sight is weirdly intimate: her bare shoulders are tense, her hair is a bit messy, almost like a dark curtain hiding half of her face. Ava’s eyes follow the curve of her spine down to her waist. Shit, she is beautiful. Not that Ava had not recognized that before (Ava spent more time than she was willing to give thought about simply looking at Beatrice), however, now, looking at her unguarded and flushed, Ava wants to… She wants to press her mouth to her neck; to trace all freckles with her lips; wants to hear her careful, composed voice fracture. Just like it had a few minutes ago.

Ava clears her throat, moves her eyes up, and mentally bonks herself on the head. Okay. Right. Focus. This night is about Beatrice, about letting her figure herself out. Her night, her choices. Shut up, brain.

Still in this attempt to get her brain to shut up (fucking impossible task, she is well aware), Ava looks back at Beatrice, and there is a bit of disappointment when she realizes that memorizing her body like this, that her desire to remember everything will be kind of useless in the future. There will be no later; this is a one-time tutorial after all. Just a favor.

She shakes the thoughts off, right as Beatrice lets the socks fall to the floor and finally looks up. Ava tries to hide the breath she takes when she realizes how wide her pupils have gotten. “Ava?”

Ava is quick to go back straight to kissing, and Beatrice cannot really complain about it. Her mind is still starting to catch up on the fact that they are actually kissing, in a bed in fact, and it feels all so new once she comes to terms with it no longer being a possibility. Now, it is another inevitable fact. The sky is blue. Water is wet. Beatrice’s lips belong to Ava’s.

Lord, she cannot let herself think like this. How will kissing anyone else ever compare to this? How can she be okay with Ava kissing anyone else later? Beatrice has to force herself to stop thinking about it. She feels and sounds so immature. No feelings no feelings no feelings no…

Her thoughts quiet a bit once they move a bit around the bed until her back presses against the headboard. She moves her fingers to thread into Ava’s hair, and it feels so soft (and a bit messy) beneath her hands from how frantically they had tumbled onto the bed. Beatrice knows her mouth is less hesitant now, but no less hungry.

And Ava is still letting her set the pace, while her pulse is fluttering wildly in her chest: every time Ava tilts her head, every time her teeth scrape at Beatrice’s bottom lip, every time she moves her hands, bracing against Beatrice’s hip and then moving to touch her breasts as well. Beatrice feels herself unraveling slowly, by parts, in ways she is not sure of how to stop.

She really does not want to stop it.

Ava moves closer, but breaks the kiss. Her expressive brown eyes are wide, and Beatrice has to stop her mind from hoping this means anything. Ava then lets her lips drag against Beatrice’s jaw. Her voice is low, a little breathless and very careful. “Lie back, Bea.”

And Beatrice lets her. Or, perhaps, let is not the right word. She follows. Ava’s hands slide from her hips to her waist, to move her forward until her back leaves the headboard. Then further, the same pressure guides her down until she feels the mattress against her shoulders and back.

Her heart is now about to jump out of her chest. Not from nerves. Well, perhaps, partially nerves. But also from the way Ava’s eyes soften when she looks at her. From how her palms linger against Beatrice’s body, how her thumb brushes her ribcage.

Ava hovers over her and does not take long to lean down to steal another kiss. Open mouthed, deep, pulling a sound out of Beatrice’s throat that she barely recognizes. And then, Beatrice moves her hand to Ava’s hip. It feels strange. No, not strange. Intentional. To touch without hesitation. To want, and to act on that wanting.

The weight of Ava above her, though… Or, more simply, her presence, presses into every single one of Beatrice’s thoughts. Her hands move to trace the shape of Ava’s spine again, and it is a bit overwhelming, to touch and be touched, to kiss and be kissed, all at the same time.

They get lost in this not exactly frantic but not slow kiss either for… God knows how much time. Beatrice is so consumed with the feeling of Ava’s lips, on her lips as well but also on her jaw, her ear and everywhere Ava can kiss within reach, that she does not even realize that Ava might be waiting for her to take the next step, to move things forward.

And suddenly, the thought finally materializes in her head: she can touch Ava. More than this. If she wants to.

She does want.

So she takes a breath, while Ava is still taking her time now kissing her neck, and lets her hands move lower. Her fingers find the waistband of Ava’s underwear, the only pieces of clothing still left between them. For half a second, she pauses, but not out of uncertainty. Only long enough to meet Ava’s eyes. To ask, even if quietly.

Ava raises her head. God, she looks so beautiful. And then she blinks. “Oh.” She seems a bit surprised, her voice is a pitch higher. Beatrice finds it endearing. “Yeah. Shit, if you… yeah.”

So Beatrice does. And it is careful and methodical, but not hesitant. She pushes the fabric down Ava’s hips, then further, and Ava moves to help her, kicking it off one ankle with a little wiggle that is not very graceful and makes her laugh. Bright and breathless; and it bubbles against Beatrice’s throat as she brings her mouth to her skin again.

Ava brings her palm to cup Beatrice’s cheek, to let her thumb brush the corner of her mouth. “Still good?”

“Yes.” The answer comes easily. Way more easily than she expected.

And then it also feels easy when Beatrice reaches for her own underwear, when she pushes it down in the same gesture. She can feel Ava’s breath hitching above her, can hear it, the small, shaky exhale Ava tries and fails to swallow. Or is she imagining things?

Beatrice is not sure if it is some sort of newfound bravery or one of those inevitable facts again, but her hands move back to Ava’s hips. What she is sure of is that nothing in her wants to stop. Not now.

Ava looks at her. Looks at her with a quiet admiration, an eagerness. Beatrice really cannot look away. She is, in fact, so lost in Ava’s eyes that she barely notices Ava’s shifting, letting one of her thighs slide between Beatrice’s legs and finally pressing against the growing heat there.

Beatrice gasps at the contact and feels her hips lifting almost like an instinct. Ava moves her face to whisper in her ear. “Yeah, Bea.”

And that is enough to make Beatrice rock against the muscle of Ava’s thigh. A groan escapes her as the friction makes her nerves spark. The slickness of her own arousal makes the movement effortless, and it feels so instinctive, so primal to follow it. This is happening. This is really… Oh.

Then Ava’s mouth leaves her ear, to trail wet open mouthed kisses down her throat, down her collarbone, and down her breasts. Beatrice’s breath gets even quicker, especially when Ava’s lips finally close over one of her nipples. The gasp that leaves her mouth echoes in the otherwise quiet room.

And it is not just the press of Ava’s leg and the heat of her mouth, although that alone is enough to make Beatrice arch off the bed. It is the way she sucks too, firm, deliberate, swirling her tongue in slow circles, always circles. The sensation takes over Beatrice’s entire body, and that along with the pressure of Ava’s thigh between her legs… Beatrice has never felt so much, simply so much, all at the same time. Too much, not enough, more more more.

And her mind drifts back to the moments in silence where she would imagine herself in the same position, and although her rational mind is aware that she should feel bad about it, the only thing going through her thoughts is that her fantasies could not ever come close to what Ava actually feels like. And now her hips move more desperately, and Ava hums in approval against her skin, and Beatrice remembers how a couple of weeks ago she had sat in this same bed to watch a movie with Ava on their movie night and now the bed is actually getting a bit squeaky and Beatrice realizes she has definitely fallen from grace now.

She had never felt so full of sensation before, so consumed by a single point of focus that was expanding so fast, tightening low in her belly. A familiar feeling begins taking over her, although now way stronger than usual, such tight pressure that seems to only be getting tighter. I’m… I’m going to…

“Ava…” The name escapes her mouth, sounding less like a name and more like a completely fractured mewl. Especially when Ava’s teeth graze her nipples. The sting makes Beatrice jerk, and she cries out, before Ava soothes it with another wet pull of her mouth. The sensation, both the sharp edge and the heat, sends another jolt to her, something else to build the pressure even further, perhaps impossibly so. She is shaking so much now, her legs are more frantic and her fingers move to Ava’s shoulder. The world seems to be simply the desperate rhythm of her hips, Ava’s mouth moving from one breast to another, the building pleasure within her. It’s coming. It’s so close… Please, please…

But then Ava notices. She lifts her head from Beatrice’s breast, and her eyes, dark and impossibly deep, lock onto Beatrice’s. They are dilated, intense, and then move a bit to watch the frantic rise and fall of Beatrice’s chest, the way her entire body is trembling. Ava’s eyes then travel down her body, staying where her thigh is pressing against Beatrice, slick with arousal. And Beatrice herself is feeling a bit too delirious, both at the overwhelming sensation and at the realization that Ava is staring at her with something that looks like deep desire.

In this state, she barely notices the shift at first. Not until the absence is enough to make her whine. Ava is moving, withdrawing the thigh that Beatrice had been grinding against, and it leaves her hips chasing nothing but air. Her breath stumbles, because the loss feels sharp, so unfair. And before a full protest leaves her lips, Ava’s mouth now moves to press wet kisses just below her breasts, as her hands move over her hips.

It takes Beatrice a bit of an embarrassing time to realize Ava’s intention. Her hands move against Ava’s shoulders, and she is confused if the movement was meant to hold her there or pull her closer, but it makes the kisses grow slower as Ava moves lower. She drags her lips over the skin of Beatrice's rib cage, just above her stomach. Giving her time to process, probably, to either stop her or beg her for more. And God, Beatrice is sure she is not capable of doing the first. Her body is still shaking, but more than anything, more than wanting to release all the pressure, she wants to feel Ava against her skin again.

Ava pauses then. She lifts her head, and Beatrice finds herself staring down at her. Her expression. Oh. Ava’s pupils are blown, her lips are wet, and there is something in her eyes; something that, differently from what she would have expected, looks so unbearably gentle it feels like it might split Beatrice apart more than anything Ava’s mouth could possibly do.

Ava moves her thumb to circle softly over her hipbone as she asks. “Bea, can I?” Her eyes flicker down, and there is no misunderstanding of what she means. “Can I go down on you?”

For a second, it feels like all air has been taken from the room. Her first instinct is to break completely, to fracture apart under the weight of how much she wants this and how much she wants Ava, wants Ava in ways she could never even say out loud. And she is so close, so close it feels dangerous.

However, even through the haze, through the shaking in her thighs, the desperate pulsing heat between her legs, what she feels the most is the way Ava looks at her. Again, it just might be her own mind, letting her see what she wants to see. But it does not seem casual or detached; quite the contrary. Beatrice has never felt like she matters so much.

Beatrice lips part, and then her voice shakes, but the answer is immediate. “Yes. Please.”

Ava kind of forgets how to breathe for a second. Beatrice says please, and it comes out sounding like it cracked somewhere on the way out of her throat, and Ava… yeah, okay, her whole brain simply blue screens. A polite, pleading Beatrice is absolutely not something she had mentally prepared for. There should have been a warning label. A fucking divine trumpet or something.

It is funny, she can admit, and a bit confusing, that something like this is making her feel… So much. This is what she should have expected from the night, after all. And still, it was moving… Something. Inside of her.

“Okay.” Ava says. “Okay, Bea.” Her thumb moves her hipbone one last time before she lowers her head to follow the path her kisses had started. The skin of Beatrice’s ribs feels like flushed, warm silk beneath her lips. And she takes a second to feel her skin, to hear her gasps and just marvel a bit on what she is about to do. Because Ava does not think she has ever wanted anything more than to hear what sounds Beatrice makes when she forgets to be careful.

Her lips move lower to Beatrice’s stomach. She feels her muscles jump and quiver under her mouth and hears the ragged inhales above her. So, Ava nuzzles the skin just below Beatrice’s navel, pressing a kiss there. She is trying to be gentle, and to be fair, this is her favorite part anyway, so she wants to take her time. Ava wants, no, she needs, to remember every second. And it hits her, suddenly, that no one has ever seen Beatrice like this. No one has ever touched her like this. Beatrice gave this to her. Trusted her.

She feels it swell inside her, a rush of affection so huge it is nearing terrifying. It is gratitude; it is awe; it is… a little bit of sheer, delighted smugness, if she is being honest. Yeah, okay, sure, Beatrice has a better moral compass, better posture, probably better credit. But who gets to do this? Who gets to make her fall apart like this? Me. It’s me. I win forever. No takesies backsies.

Her excitement gets interrupted by Beatrice’s voice, though. “Ava.”

It is just her name. And yet, Ava understands exactly what it means. Beatrice sounds… Desperate.

So, she decides not to tease. Instead, she hooks her hands gently under the back of Beatrice’s knees to ease them wider. Beatrice gasps, it is a high and thin sound, but her thighs open. And Ava is, more than she usually is, so consumed by the sight. Bea is drenched, and Ava is more than excited to finally lean in and press a first soft, open mouthed kiss directly against her soaked, swollen flesh.

And the first thing Ava hears is Bea gasping. She keeps her mouth soft and broad, at first applying gentle and persistent pressure, because for now she wants Bea to feel enveloped and held; she wants it to feel good and caring. She licks slowly, a stripe from her entrance all the way up to her clit. And Ava loves this so much, not just because she just generally loves it so much (although she does), but because it tastes like Beatrice, and her hands feel Beatrice’s skin, and her ears listen to Beatrice’s little whimpers, and there is a part of her that she had never realized was there before screaming that she wants to drown in all of it. She wants to drown in Beatrice.

Beatrice’s hands move to Ava’s hair; Ava also loves this part, generally, to feel her hair getting pulled and her head moved according to the need. But, differently from the usual, Beatrice does not push or pull. She simply fists the strands, now panting more. And Ava forces herself to concentrate. Don’t fuck this up don’t fuck this up don’t fuck thi…

She circles Beatrice’s clit with her tongue, now in circles, trying to mimic the rhythm Beatrice had set against her thigh earlier. She keeps it steady, relentless, and Beatrice’s back arches so beautifully. Her head falls against the pillow, and although Ava can tell she is clearly trying to hold back, she can also see the heavenly way (shit, she is even getting poetic about it) she is slowly unravelling: closing her eyes when she gets overwhelmed, moving her hips faster against Ava. It is simply… So beautiful.

Every time Beatrice gasps or whimpers, Ava feels it like a jolt straight to her core. And she cannot talk now, obviously. Her mouth is very busy. But if she could, she would probably be saying something dumb like holy shit or is this what dying happy feels like? or thank you, sweet merciful gay Jesus.

However, Ava suddenly wants to give Beatrice everything, every amount of pleasure that is within her reach. She closes her lips around Beatrice’s clit and sucks it, just enough so the pressure makes her cry out again, and her thighs tighten and clamp down instinctively on Ava’s shoulders. Ava holds her there, sucking steadily, swirling the tip of her tongue over the hypersensitive peak between her lips.

She slides one of her hands from under Beatrice’s knees, letting her fingers move down through the slickness on her inner thigh. She rests two fingertips lightly against her entrance, thinking about stopping her mouth for a bit just to question, but Beatrice’s hips surge down against her fingers almost instantly. And so Ava presses just the very tips inside, feeling the heat and the clenching tightness, while her mouth never stops its work on her clit. Sucking, flicking, the same relentless circles.

Ava lifts her eyes again, more than happy to watch Beatrice losing herself completely in sensation again. It is a beautiful view, yes, but it also so fucking hot. Ava feels herself getting wetter between her legs as well, but she puts it in the box of things that she will ignore, because tonight is!! Not!! About!! Her!!

Instead, it is Beatrice moving her hands to grip at the sheets, Beatrice with her head thrown back, Beatrice with her mouth parted, now producing all kinds of whimpers and moans and cries. Her face is so open, so raw with sensation, even if she is stilçholding a bit back.

God, Ava loves this. The taste of her, the way Beatrice’s body is responding, all instinct and heat. And she likes this in a general sense, she is sure.

But this?

This is…

More.

There is this weird feeling unfolding in her chest, low and slow and unfamiliar. Like something molten warming the space behind her ribs. It is not just that Beatrice feels amazing. Or that she is beautiful, or responsive, or very hot, although she is all of those things. It is that she is letting Ava in; not just physically, though, yes, clearly that too (i.e.: Ava’s fingers are inside of her just now); but emotionally. Beatrice, who builds walls out of logic and manners, is letting Ava see her fall apart. She is giving her this, offering every shudder, every moan, every “please”.

And Ava… Fuck, she wants to be worthy of it.

“Ava…” Beatrice manages to say. And Ava remembers the last time she heard her name like this, when Beatrice was so close. She wishes she could draw back, to tell Bea that she can let go, that she can trust her with this, but she also wants to keep the pace of her tongue and fingers. And Beatrice, thankfully, in the most beautiful way… Finally shatters.

Her body arches off the bed and thighs tense even more around Ava’s shoulders. Her mouth opens in one last cry, and her hips jerk against Ava’s mouth helplessly as her thighs tremble. Each contraction of pleasure pulls out a gasp from her lungs, and her eyes shut close, her face undone, so vulnerable, so completely herself.

Ava starts slowing down once Beatrice’s body starts relaxing. Her hand is starting to cramp, so she removes her fingers, drying them in her sheets (it will be a laundry day anyway) and her jaw is a bit sore, but she has no time to think about it. Because, seeing Bea like this…

That is when it hits her.

Oh.

Oh.

It slams into Ava like a wave. She looks up at Beatrice again, who is still shaking, still gasping for breath, and she feels something that is so sharp and beautiful piercing straight through her.

Ava is in love with her.

This whole thing, she suddenly realizes, was never just for fun or curiosity. Or helping a friend learn about her body like it was some kind of sexy science project.

No. No, Ava is so fucking stupid. And she wants to laugh. Or cry. Or maybe both. Because, really, how did it take her until right this second, with her head between Beatrice’s thighs, her mouth still slick with her, her hand cramping from making her come, to figure it out?

And the worst part… Is that it is not like Beatrice feels the same. She is under the pretense this is all practice, that Ava was just meant to help her feel safe and teach her pleasure, so that she can take ownership of this part of herself. Ava had been so proud to be the person Bea trusted with it. So stupidly proud.

But now? Now it feels like Ava walked herself straight into an emotional bear trap.

Ava presses her forehead to Beatrice’s thigh for a second, breathing hard, trying not to spiral. Don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid, don’t be stu…. but no, it is too late. She is stupid.

Her brain starts spinning up plans. Terrible, objectively garbage plans. Should she sneak out? Should she pretend this was chill and normal and totally not life ruining for her? Should she join a convent herself? Is there a support group for idiots who fall in love with their best friend-slash-gorgeous-ex-nun?

But Beatrice shifts, and a soft little sound escapes her, it sounds so content and wrecked and so trusting. Ava looks up, and… Jesus. Beatrice’s face is flushed, her hair is a mess, and her lips are parted as she tries to catch her breath. She looks so beautiful.

No matter what emotional circus is going on in her brain, Beatrice deserves the full Ava Experience. Start to finish. Beatrice’s first time does not end with Ava having a panic attack about her own feelings. No, Beatrice deserves better than that. Future Ava can deal with that existential crisis. Present Ava has a very important job: making sure Beatrice feels like the most adored, worshipped, radiant human being alive.

She rises herself up, and then moves to lay beside Bea. “Hey. Are you okay?”

Beatrice’s eyes open, and for this second, she looks completely dazed. And then she smiles. It is such a small, shy smile. But happy as well. And Ava feels it crack her open all over again.

“I… Yes. I think.” Bea’s voice is hoarse. “I… that was…” She trails off.

Ava grins. Of course she grins, it is the last defense she has now. “Yeah?” She says, a bit cocky, she can admit, because if she does not lean into the bravado now, she will start crying that is not hot and will ruin the mood completely. “Did you like it?” This was about Beatrice finding out what she likes, after all. “I told you I’m good at this.”

Ava expected Beatrice to get too withdrawn to answer, but she actually smiles.”You… You are. Oh my God, Ava, you…”

Ava moves to hover her, so that she can push Bea’s sweaty hair back from her forehead. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to make full sentences right now. I fried your brain a little. It’s fine.”

And Beatrice laughs again, smaller, but so fond. Her eyes track Ava’s face. And Ava wants to die. Or kiss her until the sun explodes.

Beatrice is still trying to make sense of everything. A part of her brain is being reasonable, saying this should never have happened in the first place. How is she supposed to sit across from Ava at the bar now, pretending her skin will not be forever marked where Ava’s mouth had been? How will she be able to go back to her boring accounting job or her routine of buying groceries and taking trains when the memory of Ava whispering “Yeah, Bea” will now be stuck to her brain forever? She feels like a huge hypocrite, fallen from grace indeed. And there is the shame.

Yet, beneath the shame, there is something else. Something so bright: Ava’s hands guiding her down; Ava’s mouth kissing her entirely; Ava’s eyes, beautiful and so full of something Beatrice has not been able to recognize yet. And she realizes now that this all was what she had craved in those lonely, shameful fantasies. Not just the pleasure, but Ava. Only Ava.

She becomes very aware of Ava’s body beside her then. She moves her head to see Ava watching her, with a grin on her face. But there is something like… A frantic energy beneath the surface. A tension in the way she is brushing Beatrice’s temple. It is all so tender, but Ava’s smile is too wide, her voice too bright when she speaks. “I told you I’m good at this.”

Beatrice cannot help herself but to think. Does Ava regret it? Did she see how pathetically desperate she was? How she completely… Loved it? Loved her. Wow. Love. It had been a while since it was not just attraction anymore, right? Beatrice loves Ava’s chaotic laugh, her jokes and puns, and the way she makes the ordinary world feel so vibrant. She loves her care, or the way Ava saw her when no one else did. She loved her, and she just let Ava Silva reduce her to a shaking, pleading mess in her bed.

Ava’s eyes hold hers, but her smile changes a bit. Beatrice feels so foolish and exposed for a second, as if every secret feeling or forbidden tremor of pleasure is now written all across her skin for Ava to read. There is a part of her that wants to curl away, to hide the nakedness of her body and her mind. She also wants to reach out, though. To trace the line of Ava’s jaw, to whisper thank you, to ask… What does this mean? What am I to you now?

Jesus, what has she done?

Ava shifts to prop herself on an elbow. Beatrice looks at her, trying to understand where this is going. It is a bit embarrassing, but she hoped Ava would stay around her for a little longer; she wanted to stay in the afterglow for a bit longer. But then, Ava moves and reaches towards her nightstand.

“So. I have something we can try… If you want.”

Beatrice turns her head and watches as Ava pulls a harness and dildo from the drawer. She is not shy about it, but now showy either. It is just casual. She has done this before, evidently.

Beatrice, however, sits up slowly, and her eyes fix on the object with what she hopes is an unreadable expression.

Ava looks at her. “No pressure.” She says, quickly. “I can use it on you if you’re into that. Or we can skip it entirely.”

Beatrice swallows once. And then she looks away. Her mind is certainly getting filled with a lot… Interesting thoughts. “I’d like to try it.”

Ava smiles. “Okay. Lie back then…”

“No.” Beatrice’s voice is quiet, but certain. She is still a bit overwhelmed from everything from before; besides, she tells herself it will be good for practice (and certainly not because Ava told her she is allowed to reciprocate if she wants to). “I want to use it. On you.”

Ava blinks. “Oh.”

Beatrice’s eyes move around. She is a bit nervous that her suggestion is… Too much. “Is that okay?”

There is a pause before Ava grins slowly, wicked and delighted. “Yeah. That’s actually pretty fucking okay.” Beatrice does not even have the time to move before Ava speaks again, this time with a way gentler tone. “Do you want help putting it on?”

Beatrice nods, a bit uncertain. But then Ava kneels beside her, and then she guides her through the straps and the buckles, and adjusts the harness so it sits snug on Beatrice’s hips. During the process, her hands brush against Beatrice’s bare thighs, and suddenly the air feels different. Beatrice feels it, the anticipation. The… Something else, heavier, beneath it all.

Once it is on, Beatrice looks down at herself, a bit awkwardly. “It feels... strange.”

Ava laughs, but not unkindly. “Yeah, it does at first. But you’ll get used to it.”

And Beatrice forces herself to calm down, and Ava sits back on her heels to study her. “You look…”

Ridiculous, Beatrice thinks to herself.

“... so fucking hot.” It is funny, how Ava has called her hot so many times, most of them not meaning anything, and this time it somehow… Feels different.

Ava lays down, and Beatrice has to stop herself from indulging in the heat that crawls beneath her skin every time Ava looks at her like this. So open, trusting, not bothered by her inexperience.

Ava shifts, spreading her thighs a little, then gestures lazily to her own body. “So. Do you wanna start slow? I can guide you through it.”

Beatrice nods. “Yes. Please.”

“Alright.” Ava bites her bottom lip. “Come here. Come closer.”

Ava’s fingers move slowly down her own stomach as she watches Beatrice shuffle forward on her knee.

“First thing…” Ava says. “We should probably use some lube.”

She reaches casually over to the nightstand again and grabs a small bottle, popping the cap open with one hand. Ava tilts it over the silicone to let a generous amount drip down.

“Here.” She whispers then, offering the bottle to Beatrice. “Help me out.”

Beatrice swallows and nods. Her fingers are a bit shaky, embarrassingly so, but Ava catches her hands and brings them forward, guiding them. The lube is cold in her palms as she wraps them around the toy, smoothing it down from base to tip. It feels... strange. Intimate, but mechanical in a way that is different from anything else they have done so far.

Ava hums in approval as she watches her. Then she shifts, spreading her legs a little wider, propping herself on her elbows, and gestures between her thighs. “And, uh… while you’re at it… Can you touch me? Just get me a bit wetter before we start.”

Beatrice blinks. “Oh.” Her stomach flips. “Yes. Yes, okay.”

Beatrice’s hands are still a little shaky when they slide down. Her fingers hover for a second before she parts Ava carefully to find her clit. And it is funny, because Ava is already very wet. Beatrice does not say that, though. Instead, she draws her fingers in a slow, careful circle over Ava’s clit. And Ava sighs. She is melting, perhaps. Her head tips back just a little, and her eyes close.

“Mmm... yeah. Like that.” Ava murmurs. “Not too hard. Just… gentle for now.”

Beatrice watches her, and she is stunned by how responsive Ava is. By how easy it seems to be to make her shiver, how Ava’s thighs twitch when she adjusts pressure, how her lips part on a breathy little sound that does something dangerous to Beatrice’s chest. It is maddening, the sensation of bringing Ava pleasure, of feeling how warm she is, and Beatrice wants to watch all of her reactions to make sure she feels nothing but this pleasure.

“You can…” Ava opens her eyes to meet hers again. “Press a little harder now.”

Beatrice obeys, letting her fingers stroke in firmer circles. And she can feel the growing slickness under her fingertips. Ava was already wet before, yes, but now she is more, somehow, and there is more heat as well.

Ava takes a deep breath as Beatrice continues. And then she grins. “Alright... that’s probably enough for now, unless you plan to make me come just like this.”

Beatrice’s face flushes. “No… I mean, unless you…” She shakes her head. Okay, Beatrice, concentrate. And then she kneels between Ava’s thighs, but does not move yet. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. I’ll tell you everything. I like talking, remember?”

“Yes. You do.” Beatrice stops for a second. Once again, she feels so foolish. These are the things the entire world has figured out except for how; it seems. But then she remembers that this is Ava, and putting her romantic feelings aside, Beatrice also sees how Ava has made her feel nothing but comfortable and good today. So she leans over her. Her heart is pounding. “Tell me what to do.”

“When you’re ready…” Ava looks at her in the eye. “Go slow. Just line it up. You won’t really feel it, so let your eyes do the work. Watch how I react. I’ll tell you if anything’s off.”

Beatrice shifts again, this time bracing herself with one hand next to Ava’s hip, and she uses the other one to adjust, trying to figure out the angle. It feels all too mechanical and robotic, at the same time her entire body feels made of electricity.

“Here.” Ava reaches between them, taking Beatrice’s hand to help her guide the silicone into place. “Like this.”

Beatrice looks at her hand, and then to Ava’s beautiful face, and then to the ceiling, and then… She is still struggling to understand how exactly this is happening. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” Ava exhales. “Come on, baby.”

The baby catches Beatrice completely off guard. She forces herself to ignore it for now, though, and finally pushes in. Slowly, carefully, and Ava gasps. It is not a pained gasp, just sharp, and her legs tighten around Beatrice’s hips.

“Yeah.” Ava’s head falls back. “Fuck, Bea.”

Beatrice sucks in a breath. The sensation is surreal. There is no physical stimulation from the strap itself, but the visual, the weight, the knowledge that she is inside of Ava now… It is all so overwhelming. And she moves her hands to tighten at Ava’s hips, steadying the both of them.

“Start slow.” Ava’s voice has gone a bit hazy around its edges.

Once again, Beatrice obeys. She thrusts shallowly, just to see and feel how Ava’s body reacts. Ava meets her rhythm easily; her hips lift to meet hers, and she moans. And it is… All-consuming, intoxicating. Not just the act itself, but every one of Ava’s reactions. The way her hands move to Beatrice’s shoulders, the way her mouth falls open when Beatrice gets the angle right. The sight is too much, and Beatrice feels like her heart is going to explode.

“Fuck, Bea…” Ava gasps, and she drags her nails down Beatrice’s back, and Beatrice might be losing her entire mind.

“Do you like it better like this?” Beatrice asks, as she deepens the angle.

“Yes… Fuck… yes.”

And Beatrice likes the instructions, the encouragement.

“More.” Ava says, grasping at her shoulders. “Harder, please, Bea… Fuck me… Just…”

And Beatrice finds the rhythm, which unlocks something inside of her. She watches Ava come undone beneath her, takes in the flushed skin, the bitten lip, the tremble in her thighs. And it strikes her, not for the first time, how absurdly beautiful Ava is like this. So open, so real, alive. And more than that… Beatrice is the one making her feel that way. A power that terrifies and exhilarates her in equal measure.

Beatrice tightens her grip on Ava’s shoulders and leans down to kiss her collaborne. She thought she would have a harder time controlling her thrusts and kissing at the same time, but it suddenly feels so natural. And Ava’s back arches off the mattress. So Beatrice moves lower, finally letting her tongue brush over Ava’s nipple. Ava cries out; she has been so vocal so far after all, and Beatrice moves her tongue from one nipple to the other.

Ava’s arms move to tighten around her, to pull her face to the curve of her ribs. It is so intoxicating, how Ava tastes there, all the soft moans leaving Ava’s mouth after every thrust or touch, how everything feels too… too…

Careful not to lose the rhythm, Beatrice moves her hand down Ava’s stomach, then lower, and she continues to suck her nipples as muchas she can. She slows her thrusts to give Ava full attention: it is a bit overwhelming, but she manages to move upwards and kiss her forehead, then the bridge of her nose, while her hands move to touch her now damp breasts. She gathers each gasp and whimpers as she worships Ava with mouth and hands together.

And Ava is shaking now, not just from Beatrice’s fingers or the steady thrusts, but from something deeper, tightening inside of her. Her hips jerk forward, chasing every bit of friction, every touch.

“Bea… Bea, don’t stop…” Her voice breaks into something between a gasp and a cry. Her hands fist in Beatrice’s hair, then slip down her back, frantic, trying to decide whether to hold on or pull her closer or both. Beatrice tries to focus on keeping Ava covered under her mouth, under her body, under the weight of all of it: the toy, the rhythm, her own shaky breath against Ava’s flushed skin.

Ava arches again, and her thighs are tightening around Beatrice’s hips. “I’m…” Her hands move against Beatrice’s shoulder, her back, her nails bite without her meaning too, but Beatrice is so obsessed with the sting. “Fuck, Bea, I’m…” The rest dissolves into a wordless, shattered moan. Her muscles seize as it crashes over her in waves.

And Beatrice does not stop. She is whispering something; something Ava probably can barely hear over everything else. It feels way too sentimental and sweet for the moment. “That’s it… God, Ava… I’ve got you… I’ve got you...” She has continues thrusting until Ava’s hips jerk one last time, overstimulated, and she has to gasp out, “S-stop, fuck, I… too much…”

And Beatrice lets go instantly, and pulls out instantly as well. However, she keeps her body close. She presses kisses over Ava’s ribs, her chest, her shoulder, and Ava collapses against the mattress, with her breath ragged, blinking up at the ceiling.

And for a long time, there is silence between them. Warm, save from the sound of Ava’s (and Beatrice’s too - she is pretty exhausted, after all) breathing slowing down, and Beatrice removing the harness to let it fall on the bed as well (clearly, it will be a laundry night for Ava). After a while, Ava drapes an arm over her eyes, and a laugh leaves her mouth as she tries to collect herself.

“Jesus. Remind me to never underestimate you again.”

Beatrice laughs under her breath, but it comes out a bit shaky. Her body feels boneless, but her mind has not stopped. Running, spiraling, really, with everything that has just happened. The way Ava looked at her, let her touch her, the way Ava had touched her. And the way Ava had called her baby...

Ava turns to look at Beatrice, and she looks so radiant with that lazy grin. “So? How was that for practice?”

And it is a normal question considering the context of everything, but Beatrice feels like she has just been splashed with a bucket of cold water. Right, this is all a practicing exercise, something Ava is teaching her. Beatrice cannot really answer now. If she does, she knows she will come closer to admitting something she cannot afford to admit. That she wants to consider this… Her actual first time. That it felt really good, both to feel and to arouse, to kiss and be kissed, to touch and be touched. To be loved by Ava. They have been in this room for a considerable time, and yet, it feels so short. What was this time in the grand scheme of Beatrice’s life? Is it too dramatic to think she does not want it to feel unimportant? That she wants it to be a big deal, now?

Ava realizes Beatrice has not answered yet. “You okay?”

Beatrice nods, while her eyes stay on the ceiling. “Yeah. Just… processing.”

“Same.” Ava stretches out with a pleased little sound, her knuckles. “But… maybe we should, uh. Get up. Clean up. Before we stay like this and everything sticks to everything.”

Beatrice startles at that. Because yes, that is very practical. Logical. And the logical thing would be to get up. Clean up. Return to… whatever they are now. But then Ava turns to her, her grin widening in that Ava way.

“Or…” Ava says, nudging Beatrice’s shoulder playfully. “You could just, you know… sleep with me tonight.”

Beatrice blinks and half sits up. “Wasn’t… wasn’t that what we just did?”

Ava laughs, but it does not sound mean. “No. I mean, actually sleep. With me. In the bed. Like… unconscious. Horizontal. Snoring. Blanket sharing. That kind of sleep.”

And Beatrice wants to laugh as well, but she cannot bring herself to do so. As much as Ava makes it a joke, the suggestion hits her in somewhere vulnerable and terrifying. The truth is… Beatrice wants that. She wants to stay; to feel Ava’s warmth through the night, to suggest they have something to eat and maybe watch a movie because it is still a bit too early. And it feels selfish, horribly selfish, to accept it. Because Beatrice knows what this is for her: everything. And to Ava, it is just… Back to friendship mode.

Beatrice bites the inside of her cheek. She feels like a coward. And still, her eyes drift to Ava, who is watching her carefully, a little softer now. There is a bit of hesitation in Ava’s smile. Perhaps she is preparing herself for rejection.

So Beatrice lets out a slow breath. “Yeah.” She says. “I… I’d like to. Stay.”

Ava looks so relieved. “Cool. Yeah. Cool.” And then there is a pause. “Bea, was there anything else you wanted to try that we didn’t get to do yet? Just asking before we clean everything up and…” and it is no longer time for us to be having sex, but going back just to friends.

No sexual acts come to Beatrice’s mind, which she hates herself for, because she wants this suspended moment where there is something more between them to last for as long as possible. Instead, she thinks of how much she wants to kiss Ava again, or how much she wants to take her on a date. It is all so… Juvenile.

“No, I don’t think so.” What leaves her mouth later shocks even her. “If I think of anything, I’ll let you know and we can do this again.”

And Ava, who had been smiling normally up until then, widens her eyes. “HA HA HA.” It is such a fake laugh, it startles Beatrice. “Wow. Bea. You’re so funny. Yeah. Totally.” And then Ava seems to be cringing at herself, and Beatrice is very confused and very embarrassed for what she just implicated. But seriously. We do need to clean up. Like. This is... gonna get gross.”

And Beatrice nods. But she wishes they did not have to break the moment.

Chapter Text

If there is something Ava really does not want to do, is to get up from her bed.

This is not a common sentiment at all. Ever since she recovered her mobility after being paralysed for years, staying still is not really her thing. Especially on a bed, the place she was tied to for such a long time.

But now, it is not just… her bed. It is her bed, with Beatrice on it. A naked, heavy breathing, Beatrice. And Ava is still trying her fucking best to be normal about this. They had sex, check. Beatrice has figured out what she likes and now she can go on to do it with someone else. Which is fair. It is fair, yes, of course. But it does not stop Ava from feeling conflicted.

The thing is... Ava has exactly three brain cells left, and they are all holding hands, screaming and sobbing about Beatrice. It seems wild to her that she is there, lying in her bed, while there are people somewhere in the world doing taxes or… like… fucking washing their dishes. That the world is moving the same way for everyone else while Ava, on the other hand, has rolled over to look at her best friend, ex nun best friend!, and ignore how much she wants to move forward to kiss her again, instead telling her they should go clean up.

Ava is pretty good at acting on her impulses. And if this was anyone else, perhaps she would try to move things forward again. Perhaps she would actually go back to kissing. But this is Bea, and Ava respects her way too much to even think of making her uncomfortable. Like this all probably would, because, even though Ava has just realized that she is very much in love, Bea certainly is not.

“I think we should probably go clean up.” Ava says again.

And Beatrice nods, pushing herself up with more grace than Ava feels capable of in this entire century, probably. “Yes. That would be… Prudent.” Her voice is a bit hoarse, and tied to her accent… It sends another spark down Ava’s spine. Prudent? Who says prudent after that?

Ava basically then jumps off the bed. She needs distance before she does something incredibly fucking stupid, like pushing Beatrice back onto the mattress and confessing she would happily let the world burn if it means that they could get to stay right there for a bit longer. “You take the bathroom first?” She asks, and then points to the hallway. “I need to… uh… hydrate.”

Shit, Ava. Get it together.

Beatrice just gives her a small, unreadable look. Ava wants to decode it so badly, but she is also a bit terrified of the actual answer.

“I…” Beatrice starts. And then she clears her throat. “My clothes…” She stops to look beyond the door, and Ava remembers they left their stuff in the living room. And she feels this childish, a bit selfish sense that she does not want Beatrice to put them back on. Putting them on means that they would have to navigate things outside of the bedroom. It means the world.

“Hey.” Ava steps closer to her bed, although her inside voice is telling herself to keep the distance. “You know what? Screw those clothes." Ava forces a lightness that feels a bit too artificial. “You can borrow something of mine. If you want?" She gestures towards her dresser.

Beatrice seems genuinely surprised. Her eyes move from Ava to the dresser and then back. “Borrow yours?” She asks again. And Ava thinks it is because, maybe, the concept of sharing such an intimate and personal item had not really occurred to her in this context. (And it should not have. Ava should be keeping distance. And yet… She is here.)

“Yeah!” Ava moves quickly to the dresser before she can second guess. She shoves aside tank tops and sleep shorts to find a well worn, a little bit faded, white t-shirt. She pulls it out and holds it; it is oversized to her own frame, so maybe it will be a bit oversized to Beatrice as well, like she tends to prefer her shirts.

“This one’s really soft. It should be…” Ava’s words trail off, because Beatrice gets up from the bed, letting the sheet fall away, and oh my fucking god she looks so hot and concentrate Ava concentrate…

Under the warm lights from her bedroom, Beatrice looks so beautiful. And Ava had just seen, touched and tasted every inch of hers. But this feels a bit different. Beatrice is standing in front of her, completely bare, and it is no longer practice or the heat of passion, no. But the… Aftermath.

And Beatrice is looking at herself, or more accurately, at the floor. Her cheeks are getting flushed, and her arms are not exactly crossed defensively, but her hands seem a bit awkward. Ava sees her self consciousness, but she makes an effort not to show it. Especially because she realizes this might be the first time Bea has allowed herself to be looked at naked outside from their previous sexually charged moment.

Ava extends her hand to hand her the shirt. "Here. It'll probably fit you ok.”

Beatrice reaches for it. “Thank you.” The way she says it, it is almost a whisper, and it makes the word sound almost… Intimate. Ava feels her own cheeks heat. Stop it. Hydrate, remember? Brain cells are drowning here.

“No problem.”

Then Ava’s eyes move to the rest of their clothes on the floor beside the bed. Beatrice’s socks, and both of their… underwear. Her brain, very helpfully, decides to use it as a trigger to replay Beatrice taking the final pieces of fabric off them both. And then she remembers Beatrice’s gasps, her eyes when… Ava shakes her head. Water. Focus on water.

She bends down to pick up Beatrice’s underwear; her plain dark blue briefs. And then she gets up, holding them out. “Bea, here’s yo…”

She stops mid-sentence as she sees the faint, but still present, damp patch darkening the cotton crotch. Oh. It is nothing unexpected, evidently. But it still surprises her, for some reason. That this dampness came from the anticipation, from the friction through fabric, of Ava kissing her, of Ava making her arch into her hands and…

Ava’s eyes now move to Beatrice. Beatrice, who is holding her t-shirt in front of her own body. For a second, her gaze locks into the underwear in Ava’s hand. And Ava sees it, a small flinch, the way her cheeks go from already kind of pink to pretty red in a second, the almost imperceptible way her jaw tightens as she looks away. It is not disgust, exactly, but it seems like embarrassment, piercing through Beatrice’s usually restrained expressions.

Shit. Ava’s own surprise turns into… Protectiveness. Beatrice just let herself be vulnerable in a way Ava knew was terrifying for her. The last thing she needs is to feel exposed over a completely natural, human reaction.

Acting on her instinct (because Ava is still not totally thinking properly), she drops her eyes as if she is very fascinated by the carpet pattern. "Actually, you know what?" She says, trying to sound casual and light. "These probably need a wash after, the, uh… Floor grime.” She hates herself for the lie, as she had scrubbed these floors thoroughly that same day and they absolutely fucking diid not have any floor grime. “Definitely floor grime." She turns around to pick up a pair of her own clean underwear, the most simple looking one. “Here. Fresh pair. Less… floor-y."

Beatrice does not answer, and her movements are so stiff when her fingers brush Ava’s as she takes the underwear.

“Thank you.” She says again. “That is… Thoughtful.”

"Anytime. And… No need to rush in there. I’m gonna drink a lot of water now." Ava turns, to give Beatrice a bit of privacy as she enters the bathroom. “The towels are under the sink!”

Once she hears the door close, Ava does not drink any water. She is still very naked, pacing a bit around her apartment. She knows she should use this time to wash the strap-on and take her sheets off her bed, but instead, her mind is doing its best job at keeping her busy. What is Beatrice doing in the bathroom? Washing off her? Thinking about the strap-on? Plotting to join a convent again? Stop it! Ava needs a distraction. Cold water. Lots of… cold water.

It does not take long for the bathroom door to open, though. Beatrice leaves, and Ava has to control herself when she sees Bea in her t-shirt. Ava blinks a couple of times at the sight, at her flushed skin from the heat and her damp hair, but Beatrice avoids the eye contact. “All yours.”

“Great! Awesome!” Ava basically runs past her and then shuts the door. The bathroom is still steamy, and Ava leans her forehead against the cold tile.

She then forces herself to walk to the shower, and finally turn it on. The water is cold at first, which is a good contrast to the warmth of her own body, but as it warms up as well, the steam quickly refills the room. And Ava closes her eyes, letting the water fall over her, trying to wash away the lingering feel of Beatrice, the feeling of the weight of her hips, the memory…

Fuck, it is all hopeless. The images still flood back: Bea gasping against her lips, her eyes wider and dark and trusting. The way her thighs were shaking when Ava… The breathy “Ava”... The heat between Bea’s legs under her tongue…. God. All of the memories spark a new fresh of heat low in Ava’s own belly, unrelated to the shower.

She should not. It is a disrespect to Beatrice. It is…

Okay, fine. Maybe… Maybe just a little. Just to take the edge off. Her hand slides down her stomach, and her thoughts are filled by pure, unfiltered Beatrice. The taste of her skin, the way she moved her hands to Ava’s hair. Fuck yes. Ava braces her other hand against the tile, and her legs tremble as she chases the tension accumulating. Closer. Just… there… yes…

She pictures Beatrice above her this time, using the strap, the way her face was made of both concentration and need. The feel of Bea’s lips on her throat, the way her hips had moved, the way she had found a rhythm that made Ava feel so good…

Yeah, Bea… Fuck me… Just… her own voice echoes in her memory, so desperate. And then she… Remembers. The accidental word that had escaped her mouth without her permission.

Baby.

Ava’s eyes immediately open. The pleasure that was building turns into instant, mortifying cringe. Oh god, oh god, oh god. And it snaps her back into reality, that she is thinking about Beatrice at all. Beatrice, her best friend, who does not like her like that.

She stops it all together and forces her mind to organize. Okay, after the shower, she will cook something for Beatrice, they will have dinner like the normal friends they are, they will sleep in the same bed like friends do, and then the sun will rise and the new day will bring normalcy back to their interactions. Beatrice will be able to go pursue her own romantic relationships, and maybe she will even invite her hypothetical future girlfriend to their yoga classes.

The thought is not reassuring at all. And while she is lost in it, with a sound like a dying gargle, the shower stops. Just… stops. The water is cut mid stream and it leaves just a drip drip drip of the shower head and Ava standing alone, naked, and wallowing in cringe in the sudden silence.

“What the fuck…?” Ava bangs the faucet handle. Nothing. She jiggles it. Nothing again. The water knob feels loose and weird. She looks up, and it seems like the connection point near the ceiling looks… Damp? But it is all too high for her to reach without a ladder. Which she does not have, because who needs ladders when you have no room maintenance skills?

For a second, she is in panic. She is soaped up, dripping wet, kind of horny thanks to her stupid thoughts about Beatrice and her even stupider mouth. And the shower is broken.

Ava considers her options. She could stand there and hope that the water would magically return. Or… she could do the only other practical, but also kind of horrifying thing.

She screams for Beatrice.

“Bea!”

No response.

“BEA?” She tries again.

This time, Beatrice knocks on the bathroom door.

“Ava? Everything alright?”

Ava squeezes her eye shut. “So… funny story. The shower… It kind of… Broke? And I can’t reach the thingy. The pipe bit? Is leaking? And I’m still… Kind of soapy?”

“I see.” Beatrice is quiet for a second. Her voice seems neutral. “You need… Assistance?”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“No, of course not.” Ava takes a breath at the answer. But then… “Ava, can I come in?”

Oh, yeah. Ava is naked in the shower. And Beatrice is about to enter.

“Sure. But…” Best way would be to warn her. “I’m still… Naked.”

Beatrice does not answer to that; instead, she opens the door, and then walks to the shower box. And it is Ava’s turn to open the door now. She has never felt uncomfortable with her own nudity, not really, but she hopes Beatrice will not feel intimidated.

And of course her plans of going back to acting normal vanish as soon as she looks at Beatrice. Wearing her t-shirt, a bit wide eyed. Shit. Ava is in trouble.

Beatrice was trying to put her mind into place when she heard Ava’s voice.

She had just sat down on the edge of Ava’s bed, freshly dressed in her very soft, very worn t-shirt, and was trying to pretend her entire body was not still tingling from earlier. Ava’s bed was so messy: the sheets were ruffled, the pillows had fallen. The strap-on was now on the nightstand; Ava probably put it there while Beatrice showered. And the air still smells like… Sweat, skin, and well, Ava herself.

Beatrice ran a hand through her damp hair and tried to suppress the whiplash of her thoughts. She told herself (promised herself) that this was just a lesson. A practical exercise. It is important for her to understand her own body, her own desires, and she trusts Ava. Trusts her with… everything. Maybe too much.

And yet.

The sounds Ava made, the accidental soft “baby” whispered against Beatrice’s skin… God, she tried not to think about it. Tried not to see any meaning in it. But her brain kept dragging her back there. And now, sitting alone in Ava’s room, clothed in her scent, her voice echoing in her head, Beatrice is beginning to suspect that something inside her changed completely. She is trying not to look directly at that fact; it seems too grand, too scary, like it might blind her.

She was contemplating all of that when the call came.

“BEA?”

Beatrice stands up before she even processes the situation. She walks to the bathroom door. “Ava?”

There is a brief silence, and then Ava’s voice comes again, this time a bit more sheepishly. “So… funny story. The shower… It kind of… broke? And I can’t reach the thingy. The pipe bit? Is leaking? And I’m still… kind of soapy?”

Beatrice blinks. Ava’s voice is a bit muffled, but she is pretty sure she has heard correctly. “I see.” She inhales. “You need… assistance?”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

Beatrice thinks for a brief, dramatic second that there is no way she would ever mind helping Ava. “No, of course not.” She pauses. And then, with all of her restraint, or at least with what is left of her restraint, she asks. “Ava, can I come in?”

“Sure. But…” Why is Ava hesitating? “I’m still… naked.”

Beatrice takes a breath. She is not entirely sure of what Ava expected her to do with that information. Turn around and call a plumber? But she appreciates it. She can prepare mentally.

And then, she opens the door.

The steam is the first thing she feels. Thick and warm; everything feels so humid. Ava is showering with the lights off, Beatrice can only see around because of a single small lamp above the mirror and the city lights outside of the window. For some reason, it makes things look so… Outworldly.

And then, Ava opens the shower door, and everything stops.

She stands there, flushed skin, dripping curves. Beatrice thinks she is about to pass out. Ava has a towl in one hand, clutched against the edge of the shower door like it could shield her modesty, but otherwise… Beatrice could see her entirely, so beautiful. And she is looking at Beatrice with a funny expression; perhaps trying to decide whether to smirk or to apologize.

Beatrice stares. She does not mean to, and she tries not to. But Ava’s hair is wet and curling at her shoulders, and her lips are still a bit swollen from where Beatrice kissed them earlier (It does not feel real that she had actually kissed her…) and there is a drip of water sliding down her chest and…

“The thing is up there…” Ava points at the ceiling, and Beatrice feels her cheek warming when she takes her eyes off her body to look at the shower head. “It’s leaking weird and the handle’s loose and I think I broke it…”

Beatrice takes a step forward and has to hold back the instinct she has to look anywhere but at the water pipe. “Let me see.”

It is indeed very high; Beatrice is not that dramatically taller than Ava, but standing on her tiptoes, she is able to twist the loose shower head. It takes one quick turn, and the water is back. It blasts in a sputter.

Right onto her.

Ava screams. “No!”

Too late. The water splashes directly onto Beatrice’s face and chest and shoulder, soaking Ava's t-shirt completely in a matter of seconds. And Beatrice looks down to see the t-shirt clinging to her, transparent now.

She freezes.

The shirt plasters to her skin, and the water trickles down the front of her thighs, which soaks her (Ava’s?) underwear as well. Beatrice is not entirely sure why this makes her suddenly so… Unusually flustered. They had seen each other naked only half an hour ago at this point, and she sees herself as above this type of childish feelings. And still….

Ava stares at her.

Her eyes are suddenly wide and dark amidst the steamy mist (and the water, now falling). They fall over Beatrice’s soaked body, and linger on the now sheer fabric plastered to her chest, then trace the path of water running down her shirt and dampening the underwear as well. Ava parts her lips slightly to gasp.

Desire.

Raw and unmistakable; it is desire shining in Ava’s eyes.

Beatrice shakes her head; she must be misinterpreting the shadows, the steam. Ava cannot possibly be looking at her like that, not like Beatrice herself looked at her moments ago, seeing her bare beauty in the low light. Ava was the one who came up with this whole situation, the practice, then her need for Beatrice’s help with the shower. There is no way she sees it as anything else.

Ava steps closer. They are in such proximity in the confined space, her movement is small and hesitant. “Oh, shit, Bea.” Every second of silence feels a bit tortuous. “You’re… you’re soaked.”

Beatrice cannot move. Cannot speak. Ava stands in front of her; the water slicking her skin looks almost like it is making her glow. Drops follow a path from her temple, down to her jaw, then over her collarbone, and disappear between her breasts. Beatrice’s eyes follow the stream sliding down Ava’s stomach, the dip of her navel, …lower.

And it is impossible for her memory not to go to Ava’s touch, to Ava’s taste. The accidental “baby”, the arching of spines, the gasps.

Ava breaks the haze of Beatrice’s thoughts by raising her hand. She reaches out towards Beatrice’s face; her fingertips are warm when she brushes a lock of wet hair glued to Beatrice’s temple, and then tucks it behind her ear. It feels electric; there is no other way to describe it, really. Soothing and incendiary. Ava’s gaze holds hers. Her eyes are so intense, they are searching Beatrice’s face. And there is a question lingering there, one that Beatrice is really struggling to understand.

She shakes, and then tries to clench her fists tighter. Beatrice has already moved from where the water is falling, and she is trying to stop any kind of reaction. Stop the feeling. Stop this pull, drawing her towards Ava, standing so close she can almost feel the humid heat radiating from her skin.

But it does not stop. It moves to her shoulders; her breath gets shallower. And she just feels this overwhelming need to do something, to do anything to shatter this tension before it shatters her.

Ava sees it. She moves her hand from Beatrice’s temple to her cheek, and her brow furrows in concern. “Bea? Are you cold?” She sounds worried. “Let me help…”

But Beatrice is no longer hearing words. Her mind holds no space for any reason, or pretense. It holds space only for Ava, it turns out. Ava’s brown eyes, her now wet hair, her… Lips. Beatrice’s eyes cannot leave her lips.

And so it should not be shocking for her, although it still is, that Ava suddenly stops speaking. Instead of perhaps moving away, or turning off the shower, or God knows what she could do, Ava… Leans in and kisses her.

It is so sudden. Ava steps forward and drops the towel, and suddenly her lips are on Beatrice’s, and there is nothing but heat between them. For a second, one that feels longer than that, Beatrice does not move. Not because she does not want it; of course not. But because her brain (and body) are still trying to comprehend what is happening.

Ava pulls back slightly and whispers, “Shit… sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

But Beatrice does not let her finish. Her hands reach out before her mind can intervene: she brings Ava closer, and this time, kisses her. Desperately. And Ava kisses back, and she moves her hands to touch Beatrice’s shoulders, and Beatrice is now naturally letting her own hands move, one to Ava’s waist, the other to her neck. There is no moment she wants to draw back, and no moment her mind thinks about anything else other than the fact that they are kissing, that Ava is parting her lips, their tongues are touching, Ava is sighing, and her body is pressing closer to Beatrice’s, against the soaked t-shirt.

Ava slows down the kiss suddenly, changing from the desperation to tender pecks on Beatrice’s lips. She pulls back enough just to break contact, and her hands, that were previously on Beatrice’s back, move to cradle her face. Her thumbs brush over the water droplets on her cheekbones.

Beatrice opens her eyes, and she is a bit dizzy with the shift from so much intensity to this quiet moment. It feels so abrupt.

“Bea.” Ava whispers. Her other hand moves to the soaked t-shirt. “Can I take this off you?”

Her fingertips brush the neckline of the t-shirt, right where it clung to Beatrice’s collarbone. Her eyes search Beatrice’s. And Beatrice knows Ava is usually so impatient, so eager to take what she wants. The fact that she is being so careful around her…

It hits Beatrice, suddenly, that this is no longer about the shirt, but about continuing. They are about to cross a line that Ava drew herself, the pretense of practice. And there is this question between them now - that Ava is asking for permission for more, for something different, something Beatrice started but Ava wants to deepen on entirely new terms. And she is not assuming anything, she is just asking Beatrice to choose, fully conscious, right now.

Beatrice looks at her eyes. She wants to say Yes. Her mind is having a hard time believing what is happening once again; there is no way Ava is actually moving things in a different direction. She does not speak at first. Instead, she nods. Once.

And then the words finally leave her mouth. “Yes.” Ava’s eyes widen. “Ava, yes.” The permission, the acknowledgment… It unleashes something in Ava. Her hands slide from Beatrice’s face to trace her shoulders, then move to the hem of the soaked t-shirt, and then finally to touch beneath the wet fabric, finding the skin of her stomach.

Beatrice gasps. And Ava starts lifting the shirt slowly, peeling the fabric upwards, guiding over Beatrice’s damp skin. The wet fabric resists a bit, but Ava works slowly (Beatrice is impressed at how slowly she is taking things), easing it up. Her knuckles brush Beatrice’s breasts as she draws the shirt higer. Finally, she gathers the messy, soaked, t-shirt at Beatrice’s shoulders and collarbones and slides it off completely. It falls to the floor, but Beatrice has no means to pay attention to it.

Because now, Ava is staring at her again with so much appreciation. She steps closer again, eliminating any sort of distance, and the feeling of her bare skin sliding against Beatrice’s, breast to breast, stomach to stomach… Ava’s hands settle on Beatrice’s hips.

“Okay?” She asks, then lets her forehead rest against Beatrice’s.

“Yes.” Her voice is so quiet.

And so her palms drift slower, and her thumbs hook into the elastic waistband of Beatrice’s borrowed underwear. She eases the wet fabric down Beatrice’s thighs, kneeling quickly to push them past her knees and off. And then she gets up quickly.

Beatrice blinks once, twice, three times. And she is about to overthink, about whether this all really means what she wants it to mean, about her own bareness and exposition, but of course Ava does not let her do it.

Instead, Ava kisses her again, deeply, and moves her hands down Beatrice’s back. She guides Beatrice gently backwards, still kissing her, until her shoulder blades meet the wet tiles. And this kiss is not as desperate, it is slow; Ava’s tongue traces Beatrice’s lower lip before slipping inside. And slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, Ava’s hands move. One is on her hip, but the other one skims the skin of her inner thigh. It sends shivers up Beatrice’s spine. And her fingers do not rush; she takes her time, until her knuckles brush the now damp, dark curls between Beatrice’s thighs. Beatrice gasps against Ava’s mouth, and Ava’s fingers slide slower, parting her so easily. She is slick with her own arousal and from the shower. And it is a relief, a relief like no other, once Ava’s finger finds Beatrice’s clit.

“Fuck…” She blurts out without realizing. Ava looks at her with so much wonder, and Beatrice realizes this is the first time she has ever cursed in front of Ava; perhaps the first time in a really long time as well. But anything else she could have said in the moment is torn from her throat when Ava starts pressing and circling her swollen clit, with just the right amount of pressure. Beatrice’s hips move forward almost instantly, seeking more, just more, and Ava welcomes the movement.

And the feeling is overwhelming, Ava’s fingers applying just enough, focused pressure, turning into pleasure that radiates down her inner thighs and then coils low in her stomach. Beatrice is consumed by sensation, and it feels like one of her dreams again: Ava being so close to her, so near and so beautiful, leaning into her, touching her skin. With purpose. Beatrice cannot let herself think too much about this, because she is afraid the illusion will break and this will mean nothing.

And she hears herself gasp, feels her hips bucking forward, grinding against Ava’s hand. She wants more contact, more friction, and when she moves her eyes to Ava… The look alone, the sheer intensity of Ava’s focus on her, on the effect she is having, is almost enough to unravel Beatrice completely.

“Fuck, Bea.” Ava’s thumb circles slowly. Pressure. Release. Pressure again. “You are so…” She does not finish the sentence. Instead, she takes her other hand to cup Beatrice's lower back, to pull her even closer. There is so much contrast between the cold from the shower tiles and the heat coming from Ava’s touch, and it only helps Beatrice to get more and more overwhelmed.

She feels her legs trembling, and although so much of it is already being responded to, Beatrice just feels so much need. All the time. There is so much need. Every other second, her mind gets filled with doubts, but all of the sensation makes it impossible for her to think about anything else other than the now, than Ava.

It is pure instinct when Beatrice lets her forehead drop against the wet skin of where Ava’s neck meets her shoulder. She is gasping and moaning now, and it all gets lost against Ava’s skin.

Ava softens her strokes for a second, as her other hand moves from Beatrice’s back to her neck, guiding her head down more firmly, cradling it against her. And Beatrice lets one of her arms wrap around Ava’s waist, because she needs something to hold onto; her entire body is shaking, in a way that Ava can definitely tell. Her gasps, her whimpers.

Ava understands.

The pleasure is relentless. It builds higher in every circle. It builds behind Beatrice’s closed eyelids; it is a bright, consuming heat, so intense and yet not enough. She clings tighter, and her mouth opens against Ava’s neck. The tension is almost unbearable now, and her hips roll uncontrollably, seeking, begging for a different kind of pressure, a different fulfillment. She needs… more.

She finally asks, then. The words leave out from her mouth before she can stop them.

“Inside. Ava…”

She has no time to feel embarrassed for having asked something like this, because Ava follows her request almost instantly. Beatrice has her eyes closed, so she notices the change only when Ava’s fingers finally move down. She presses gently at first with two fingers, and a hot flush tears through Beatrice with the sensation.

And then Ava pushes in. Beatrice feels the stretch, the thick, burning pressure. Her inner muscles clnech, and she gasps. Her head falls back before she buries it again on Ava’s neck, right as she moans. It is a lot. Not painful (Ava is going pretty slow), but intense, filling.

“Too much?” Ava asks, whispering to her ear.

Of course Beatrice shakes her head immediately. “No. Don’t… Don’t stop.”

"Okay." Ava nuzzles her cheek against Beatrice’s wet hair. It feels so sweet, in comparison to everything else happening. “Tell me. Anything. Always.”

She presses deeper, and then starts moving. Slowly: Ava withdraws her fingers almost completely each time, to let Beatrice feel the emptiness for a second before sliding back in, deeper. And it all sends so much warmth all over Beatrice’s body, sparks over her entire being. Ava pays attention to what movements Beatrice seems to enjoy more and establishes the rhythm: slow, deep thrusts. Her hand stays cradling Beatrice’s head.

And Beatrice clings more to Ava, now to her waist. Every nerve in her body feels alight; and it is so overwhelming, Ava’s touch, the cold shower tiles, the water cascading over them. There is no place for Beatrice’s mind to wander, and no way of stopping every little reaction - moan, whimper, gasp.

Ava adjusts the angle a bit, and curls her fingers on the next thrust. She presses against a spot deep inside that makes Beatrice cry out. She thinks she is seeing stars now. And she knows Ava can tell how much pleasure this brought her, with the way her back arched, the way she began breathing way more desperately.

All of the pressure in the low of Beatrice’s stomach is tightening impossibly, especially as Ava focuses on pressing against that spot continuously now. She is so close to the edge now, and when she finally comes, it feels almost without a warning. It is a wave so powerful, pleasure that radiates outwards from her core in these white, warm waves. Her back bows once more, and she feels her inner muscles clenching and fluttering around Ava’s fingers in such fast, involuntary pulses. Her legs are shaking so much now she is almost afraid she will fall, but she holds onto Ava’s waist. Wave after wave continues to crash over her, leaving her gasping, shuddering.

And of course Ava holds her through it. Her free hand strokes Beatrice’s hair. And as the intense pulses start changing into gentle aftershocks, Ava withdraws her fingers. Beatrice feels the loss, but she has no other reaction than to slump against Ava, with her forehead resting on her shoulder once more. Her breaths are so ragged, and the roar of the water and her own pulse in her ears begins to fade, being now replaced by the sound of their mingled breaths.

It is a long moment that they stay there. Beatrice normally would be surprised that Ava is taking so long to speak, but her mind feels so peaceful now. So quiet. Her entire body feels relaxed. And Ava moves a bit to wrap her arms around her. Beatrice melts into the embrace, and it seems as if all the frantic energy from before, all the need, has melted away into simply… Warmth.

There is still water falling over them. Mostly over Ava; Beatrice had moved away from it, after all. And yet, Ava keeps on holding her in silence for a little longer. No words are needed now, after the practice, the accidental shower, the break of the pretense. It has all led up to here; Beatrice, undone and safe in Ava’s arms, and Ava, holding her best friend.

It all feels so different… Perhaps to the point of no return.

Ava, once again, has absolutely no fucking idea how they got here.

Not here as in “shower sex that left her weak in the knees and full of possibly dangerous emotions”, although, yes, also that. But here as in: the two of them standing under a (finally fixed) stream of water, Ava trying to help Beatrice wash her hair like this was something they did. Like, casually. Like they had done it before and would do it again.

She did not even say anything stupid. Well, nothing too stupid. Just something like: “You have a very pretty neck”, which made Beatrice laugh, so… success?

Then, they dry off, throw on whatever clean clothes they can find (Ava freaks out at the sight of Beatrice in another one of her t-shirts), and end up in the living room, ordering pizza. Ava insisted, no, she fought, for pineapple on her half.

And then they do not talk about the whole… Sex in the shower thing. Not really. Not directly; and maybe that should have worried Ava. But it does not, because Beatrice did not pull away. Instead, she sits close to Ava in the couch. Close, like really close. Thighs touching. She lets Ava pick the movie, and Ava picks The Mummy, because of course she does. Beatrice rolls her eyes when Ava says Brendan Fraser’s arms are hot, but she does not flinch when Ava’s fingers brush hers under the blanket, and she does not move when Ava’s head falls onto her shoulder.

Eventually, they both fall asleep. There are still a few pieces of pizza left, and Ava’s dreams are weird and involve camels and ancient treasures and Beatrice holding a sword, but honestly, that part might have just been wishful thinking.

And the thing with this whole situation is: Ava is not even panicking. And she knows it is insane, because she should be panicking, right? This is not what they said it would be. It was no longer a lesson or training session, not even a horny mistake with plausible deniability. It was Ava kissing the top of Beatrice’s damp head while they watched a movie; this was Beatrice letting her. This was Ava seeing the curve of her sleepy smile and thinking, Oh no, I’m so far gone…

And even though they do not talk about anything, there is something about the way Beatrice gets them both water before sitting down, or the way she says “you’re the messiest eater I’ve ever seen” and then wipes pizza sauce off Ava’s chin with a thumb, that made Ava feel like they had skipped five steps and landed somewhere weirdly domestic. Intimate. Married-couple-ish. Like they had just fast forwarded into something real without saying it out loud.

Which, okay, cool. No need to freak out. Just because everything felt too good and too easy and too stupidly natural, it does not mean Ava had to spiral into some existential crisis about feelings or commitment or holy shit is this what being in love feels like?

Nope. That is what denial was for.

She wakes up the next morning with the sun coming through the window, shining right on her face. Her neck is stiff from sleeping sideways on the couch, and the tv is still on. The blanket covers her entire body. She is warm. Content.

And alone.

Beatrice is not there.

Ava blinks against the sunlight. She is trying to figure out what she is supposed to be feeling, because, of course Bea is gone. Of course she is, that tracks. It makes sense - she probably woke up early, needed air, needed to think… Needed space. And Ava, Ava can give her that. She will. She will text her in a bit. Something normal. Chill. Not a big deal.

She reaches for her phone, rehearsing ten different versions of “hey :)” in her head. It all feels so fucking artificial. And Ava feels so selfish, in that second, when she realizes that she should respect Bea’s need for space, but that she is also… Definitely panicking now. Are things ruined now?

Chapter Text

In a general sense, Beatrice found peace with the clank of weights and the sound of her feet against the treadmill. Today, though, these sounds only served to amplify all the loud thoughts in her head. She was at the gym since dawn, still punishing her muscles that were already tender and spent. Squat. Breathe. Don’t think.

But she is thinking. God help her, she cannot stop.

Her phone buzzes on the bench beside her water bottle. The screen lights up, and Beatrice tries to not look at it. She feels so foolish, having such a strong reaction, but the simple prospect of the text being from Ava gets her a bit breathless. And it is impossible, at the end of the day, not to look.

Ava (8:03 AM):

hey. :)

morning. You left without waking me 😢

hope ur ok?

Beatrice’s hands are trembling, probably from exhaustion, when she picks up her phone. She can feel drops of sweat sliding down her face. Ava is awake. She is probably thinking about me… Stop it. Another text:

Ava (8:06 AM):

last night was a lot? Maybe? But it was good? For me at least. Hope it was for u too

don’t ghost me bea my ego is too fragile 😢😢😢

Beatrice almost smiles at the last message. Fragile? Ava, who is loud enough that her voice could crack concrete, whose hands apparently knew exactly how to break Beatrice apart and build her back up? STOP IT. She grabs a towel and buries her face in the fabric, and it is not comforting at all. It feels nothing like Ava’s sheets. Nothing like Ava’s skin…

Beatrice takes a deep breath. There is a part of her feeling guilty for leaving Ava like this, for running away. But confronting it feels much scarier. The truth is, yesterday was not just about sex. The sex part did feel intimate; way beyond their “practice” facade. And perhaps that in itself would have been enough to make her feel overwhelmed, yes. But what came after… That is what Beatrice is struggling to make sense of.

The shower. Ava had… Kissed her. Not just kissed her. It felt like a scene straight out of her most secret dreams and fantasies. And then they sat together, eating pineapple pizza under a shared blanket. And Ava fell asleep with her head on Beatrice’s shoulder. She could hear Ava’s breath syncing with hers as she drifted off; her hand was over Ava’s thigh beneath the blanket. And they had been in similar situations before, as friends. However, now, it all felt too personal.

Beatrice has spent the last couple of months keeping her feelings for her best friend hidden. She has spent this time trying to flirt with other women in the bar, to redirect her attention to work. It obviously did not work. However, somehow, things seemed to fall into place. And now, Ava might like her back. And Beatrice…

Beatrice cannot bring herself to confront it all.

God, she feels so foolish. Like a coward.

She spent years building a life on order, routine and sacrifice. Detachment was important, to an extent. And then, Ava, grinning with pineapple juice on her lip, offered to her an intimacy so casual it felt monumental. A belonging so seamless it stripped away every defense Beatrice had ever constructed.

That is what made her run at dawn while Ava was sleeping. Not just the memory of Ava’s mouth on her body, not even the broken shower, her own pleading desperation amidst the steam. It was the memory of lying tangled on the couch, of feeling Ava fit against her, so perfectly. Like they were two matching pieces of a puzzle.

Another buzz.

Ava (8:15 AM):

seriously bea, did i mess up? Did i push?

pls just tell me youre not at a nunnery

Ava is worried; Ava cares. This knowledge, that the suspicion Beatrice carried almost like a secret ever since Ava first slid her thigh between hers might be true. The way Ava’s eyes followed Beatrice’s, the carefulness of her touch afterwards, washing her hair so softly with her cheap shampoo. The way she had kissed her in the falling water.

Ava did not just help her; Beatrice realized that morning that Ava wanted her as well.

Her fingers hover over the phone screen. She needs to answer. At first she starts typing, Ava, I’m sorry. I think we need to talk…. But something stops her from actually sending it; it all feels too real. Beatrice has never had the chance to learn how to act in situations like this. When she wants, and is… Possibly… Wanted back.

Beatrice (8:18 AM):

Yes, fine

Sorry. Work

Before clicking on send, Beatrice has a moment of enlightenment and realizes that she is acting so immature. She is a grown woman. She has done way scarier things than… Actually, no. Perhaps nothing is scarier than sharing her feelings.

Besides, the truth is too vast, and definitely too fragile for a text.

Suddenly, what she feels is… Frustration. She slams her fist against the padded bench. Damn it; She is here, hiding among the barbells, sweating out the scent of Ava’s shampoo and their pizza, when what she wants so deeply, with such a visceral ache, is to be back on Ava’s couch. To feel the warmth of Ava pressed against her side. To hear her laughing over something dumb on the TV. To know that everything that happened between them yesterday was not an illusion or a misstep, not another one of her fantasies.

She is running away from exactly what she wants. That is the true blasphemy, after all. Her own fall from grace, worse than leaving the Church. The way she is denying her own feelings and own fragile hopes so deliberately and so cowardly.

Ava (8:22 AM):

please bea

i just want to make sure i didnt ruin us. That’s all i care about

Beatrice stares at the words. I didn’t ruin us. As if their friendship is the fragile thing, as if what is happening could ever be contained within the boundaries of something so simple like a friendship anymore. She has no idea of what to respond. She was the one who ruined them, after all.

Beatrice blinks a couple of times and realizes she is being so dramatic. There is no need to be so terrified; she will live her life for the next couple of days. Then it will be Wednesday, they will go to yoga class together, and everything will be back to normal. To what it always was.

For some reason, this thought does not comfort her. So she closes her eyes, and lets the image of Ava’s face last night, lit by the glow of the tv, smiling and yapping about whatever it was that they were watching (Bea was not watching the movie; she was only watching Ava) wash over her.

What do you want from me, Ava?

The only answer she gets is the sound of her own breaths.

Ava flops onto the couch for maybe the fourth time in the last twenty minutes, then groans into a pillow. It does feel weirdly soothing, but it is not enough to calm her down.

What the fuck did she do?

No, really. What the fuck did she do?

What stupid part of her brain thought it would be a good idea to kiss Beatrice, in the shower, of all places? And then proceed to have sex with her right after? What part of her thought this would be simple under their agreement?

Did Bea feel pressured to continue things with her? Did she think it was all still practice and then freaked out when she realized it probably meant more to Ava?

Ava definitely broke the damn rules.

1. They’re just friends.

2. They’re just practicing.

3. No catching feelings.

4. Seriously, no catching feelings. Ava, don’t be a dumbass.

Now here she is. Dumbassed.

And then Beatrice left; she disappeared into the dawn like a very disciplined gay vampire (was this not the plot of that old French sapphic vampire movie Beatrice made her watch that one time?). And Ava did not even have the chance to know if everything was alright between them. One minute she was asleep. And the next, she was alone, texting way too many emojis like a panicked middle schooler.

She turns on the tv, simply to have some other type of sound to drown her thoughts. A newscaster is speaking; his voice cuts through her thoughts. "...and residents should prepare for a significant shift in weather. Tomorrow evening, with strong thunderstorms moving in..."

Ava lifts her head and squints at the screen, but the words do not process in her head. Because, the thing is…

Ava has watched enough romcoms to know what is going on.

And she can admit, during those romcoms, she tends to find the leads quite immature for not just… You know, talking to each other.

Now, in a similar position, but in real life… Ava suddenly realizes that, when it comes to Beatrice, her Bea, with her brown eyes and her freckles and her everything else, it all seems so much more difficult. Ava does not want to make her uncomfortable. She wants to give her space, to let her process everything and come to her when she is a bit more calm.

But also?

She wants to scream.

She wants to shake her. Wants to say, Hey, I know I’m a mess, and I joke too much, and I maybe kissed you in a way that made everything weird, but I’m not even sure if I should be sorry. It seemed like you wanted it, too.

Jesus, they really are not two mature adults as Ava had originally thought.

Ava picks up her phone, and there are no new messages. She scrolls through her previous texts to Bea, rereading them and cringing. She left so many sad emojis… She sounds needy and desperate. Real stable and chill, Ava. Good job.

But she does not regret saying she cares. Because she does. And now she is stuck in this uncertainty. Maybe Beatrice is thinking about her now; maybe she is regretting everything. Maybe she is staring at a wall somewhere wishing they could go back.

Or maybe… Bea is waiting for Ava to be the brave one. Again.

Okay. Cool. Cool. Cool. Cool.

Okay, so nothing is cool. A few days have passed and Ava is in hell. And not the fun kind of hell either, not like, “oops, you accidentally summoned a sexy demon” hell. No. It is a very sad, lonely kind. She is soaking both in existential dread and literal rainwater, because turns out the weather forecast was not wrong and the world is being flooded again like in Genesis (Jesus, hanging out with an ex-nun made Ava weirdly knowledgeable on Bible stuff).

So… Yeah, Bea has not answered her texts.

And, sure, okay, Ava has been trying to play it cool. But in reality, she has read Bea’s last “Yes, fine. Sorry. Work” message so many times it has burned into her corneas. She has analyzed the phrasing and checked the “read” timestamp at least 74 times (she stopped counting after these). Bea is alive; Bea has seen the texts. But Bea is not responding.

So, naturally, she decides to do something quite mature as well. She texts again.

Ava (3:56 PM):

hi again

i miss you

It is short, and honest. And she even skipped the emojis, which is at least a bit of growth.

But at least twenty minutes have passed and she has not answered back. Ava stares at her phone; she stares at the ceiling. She paces. She contemplates legally changing her name and moving to a cave in Ireland. Nothing feels quite right.

Which is how she comes to her last decision. It feels a bit too much, but romantic if you squint hard enough. She is going to Beatrice’s apartment. And they will have a conversation and everything will go back to normal.

The universe, though, must be laughing at her. Because her umbrella breaks as soon as she steps on the street; she is soaked now. She does not let it stop her, though. Ava has had enough, and so, she marches to the bus stop, even though her hair is sticking to her face and her socks are completely dry. Her heart is a dramatic little organ pounding against her ribs like go faster go faster go faster. Maybe if she gets to Bea fast enough, none of this will hurt so much.

She finally steps under the bus shelter and wraps her arms around herself, feeling the rainwater dripping off her nose. What an absolutely great time to still not have gotten her driver’s license. A bus stops at that exact second, and only one person leaves it, wearing a completely soaked sweater over a professional shirt.

And then Ava blinks.

Because there is no… No fucking way.

It is Bea.

Beatrice.

BEATRICE.

Standing under the same bus shelter.

Ava makes this pathetical and small noise; she is possibly crying, possibly laughing,who knows. She is so shocked she almost slips on the wet concrete.

And then Bea turns toward the noise.

And… Oh.

Well, she looks wet as well. And tense. And shocked. And a bit awkward. Obviously, she probably did not expect to find her ex-fake-sexual-practice-partner-gay-panic-best-friend dripping in front of her like a soggy feral cat.

Their eyes meet, and for a very long moment no one says anything.

But then, Ava brings herself to talk.

“Hi.” What a great start. “I was, uh… Gonna come find you. But like, not in a stalker way. I just…”

Beatrice blinks. “You are soaked.”

Why did she say this? Now Ava’s mind is directly transporting to her a couple of days ago, telling Beatrice the same thing, right before they…

She forces herself to concentrate. “Yeah. So are you.”

And Ava lets her pride win for the first time in a while and decides not to say anything. What is Beatrice doing there, exactly?

They stay in silence for a few seconds. And then, Beatrice exhales and her eyes seem to soften. She seems more… relaxed. And she reaches into her bag and pulls out a familiar piece of cloth. Ava stares at it.

“...Is that my shirt?”

Beatrice seems a bit gawky for a second. “I came to return it.”

“In the rain?”

Beatrice stares at the spreadsheet in front of her, but she has officially given up on trying to work. With the corner of her eye, she sees her phone’s screen lighting up. And she tells herself she will not look. However, it is impossible not to do it. Just a glance.

Ava (3:56 PM):

hi again

i miss you

And that is it, the whole text. No emojis or no more explanation. Just these… Honest words. They gut her.

Beatrice closes her eyes and leans back in her chair. And then she picks up her phone once more and reads the text once, twice, thrice, four times. It is a bit like torture; everytime she reads it, it hurts more.

She misses me.

Of course she does. Because I left.

And it is not just that she left physically. She left Ava hanging emotionally, dangling in this space between “we are just friends” and “we had sex in a broken shower and then ate pineapple pizza under a blanket.” Beatrice had no idea how to live in that space, so she opted out. And it was so foolish of her, so cruel.

She tries to focus on her computer again. She types a number into a cell, then deletes it, then types it again. When she realizes she has been writing the same numbers in the same table again and again, she decides to turn off her monitor. And when she does, Beatrice sees her reflection on the screen.

God, she is so pathetic.

And she cannot stop picturing Ava’s face. Ava was not hiding, she was not deflecting. She was scared too, sure, but she still reached out. She tried; again and again. And all Beatrice has done is sit here in silence, pretending it did not happen, pretending the shirt in her bag is not hers.

Oh. The shirt.

Beatrice opens her bag and pulls it out. Ava’s old t-shirt, now washed, the one she wore when she slept over (not the original one that got completely soaked in the broken shower, the one Ava gave her after they washed each other’s hairs). Beatrice has had it since that night; she kept it meaning to return it. That is the excuse, at least. Everyday she tells herself that she might walk it over, maybe catch Ava at home, maybe find a reason to speak without really having to speak.

But she never did. She was waiting for… Something. Bravery, perhaps.

And now she realizes that Ava was the brave one all along. She was the one who risked everything. And Beatrice? She has been, not only a coward, but so cruel.

Ava did not ruin anything. Beatrice did.

She glances out the window. It is pouring. She no longer cares, though. She stands, shoves the shirt into her bag, and tells her nearest co-worker that she is going to have lunch (nevermind it is already past 4 pm).

She does not even bother with a proper umbrella. Just pulls up her hood and walks.

The bus is empty when Beatrice enters. It makes sense; people must be still at work. Besides, who is leaving their house under all this rain?

Beatrice wonders if she should draft a speech to tell Ava, but there are no spreadsheets to map this out. What she does know is that she has to say something. I am sorry seems like a good place to start.

She gets off at the usual stop. The rain has soaked her entirely, and going back to it is not fun. Still, she moves forward. She walks to the bus shelter, just for a second, just to catch her breath, and nearly runs into someone.

A someone who gasps and takes a step back.

Beatrice freezes.

It is Ava.

Her Ava, soaked to the bone, with water dripping down her face and shirt now clinging to her skin.

Beatrice’s mind is trying to catch up. She cannot believe the coincidence, but perhaps this is a sign from God, telling her no more delays. And of course that makes her nervous.

Ava blinks with her eyes wide. Then she makes a sound, a funny one. Not exactly a laugh, but not exactly crying either. “Hi.” She says. “I was, uh… Gonna come find you. But like, not in a stalker way. I just…”

Beatrice interrupts. “You are soaked.”

Of course that is what comes out of her mouth. Not I missed you too, not I’m sorry. Simply an obvious weather observation.

Ava raises her eyebrow. “Yeah. So are you.”

They are in silence for a second. Beatrice can hear the rain tapping against the shelter roof. And then she exhales, for the first time in days. Her shoulders soften. This is Ava. And she is going to make things right. So she reaches into her bag, a little sheepish now, and pulls out the shirt. “I came to return it.”

Ava stares at her. “...In the rain?”

Beatrice looks down at the shirt. It is a bit damp where she touched it, a little crumpled. She would like to think it still smells like Ava, however, it is more likely that her brain is making that up. She looks back at Ava, and her voice is quieter now. “It’s been in my bag all week.”

They are standing under the smallest roof in the city, probably, both dripping and yet it feels like a moment suspended in time. Is this happening?

And perhaps it is because she was so concentrated in Ava’s face, in trying to figure out how to approach this situation, that Beatrice did not even realize people had started arriving.

At first, it is just an older woman with a grocery bag and a floral umbrella. Then a teenager with headphones, and then two more, office workers, probably, carrying their briefcases. Beatrice does not realize it is getting crowded until she and Ava are suddenly standing shoulder to shoulder, with their toes almost touching the yellow line at the edge of the sidewalk. Someone brushes past her complaining about space, and Beatrice steps back… Into the rain.

Ava hesitates, but follows her. They are both outside shelter now, and the rain is so cold. Ava opens her mouth, but she says nothing. And Beatrice feels her heart accelerating, because this is not how she imagined how things would go. Standing in puddles, completely soaked.

Perhaps this is the only way this could have happened. No barriers. No cover. No hiding.

She forces herself to speak, finally. “I wasn’t planning on finding you here. But I’m glad I did. I… was coming to apologize.”

Ava looks at Beatrice; she seems torn between saying It’s okay and Go on, then.

Beatrice’s voice is pretty steady, considering how anxious she actually is. “Ava, I'm so sorry. I'm so incredibly sorry." Her voice breaks in the last sorry; especially when she sees Ava’s reaction, her eyes widening, her lips parting. "Running away… those texts… leaving you wondering… It was unforgivable. Cruel."

“Bea…” Oh my God. Ava’s voice is breaking as well. Oh no. Beatrice made Ava cry. Oh no.

She forces herself to move forward. They are very close now, and there are raindrops falling on her eyes. It is annoying, more than anything, and she feels her jaw trembling. “I have to be honest with you, Ava. I lied to you. When I agreed to…” Is she about to overshare something like this around so many people? “To practice with you, I… I already had feelings for you. I… I used the premise. Because I was terrified, terrified of admitting it, terrified of wanting you like that, terrified you didn't… couldn't…” She breaks off. Beatrice has never spoken to anyone this way, so honestly and so apologetic.

And Ava blinks, she blinks for a long time. She shakes her feet, trying to get the water out of her shoes. And Beatrice is dying a bit, because she just made the scariest confession of her life and there is still no response. But she decides to continue. Ava needs to understand it.

“And then… That night… Afterwards, in the shower. I thought… I saw something in your eyes. But Ava, when I kissed you back… God, when I let you touch me like that again… I was so lost in it. But afterwards… waking up…" Words are simply falling out of her mouth now. She needs to make things clear. "I was terrified you only touched me back because you felt obligated. Because we had crossed a line I blurred. That you were just… indulging me."

Ava tries opening her mouth to speak again, but Beatrice is not done.

“And then I realized that that was such rubbish, because you kissed me, and then…” Obviously, she is not going to say, you fingered me against a shower wall in the middle of the street, “But still… I think I was just too afraid. I’m such a coward.”

She moves even closer now. Ava has probably realized Bea is not done, because she is still quiet. However, Beatrice notices how wet her cheeks are. She hopes it is only the rain. The only thing separating her and Ava is in fact the rain, a bit of which has gotten to her mouth.

“Ava, I left God for truth.” There is a thunder; Ava seems a bit startled by the sound, but Beatrice finds it fitting. “And… I found truth in you. In your laugh, in your puns, in your spirit. In the way you always know how to make me comfortable, and open, and…” Now Beatrice is the one getting emotional. She realizes Ava is about to be the first person in years to see her cry. “I found truth in your body.” She cuts herself from listing all the times she thought she was having a religious experience while simply having sex with Ava. None of the people at the bus stop deserved that melodrama and also… It was a bit private.

“That was why I ran. Not because it was just practice. Not because you pushed me, or hurt me. No. Not because it meant nothing. But because it meant absolutely everything to me. Because feeling your truth, your body, your joy… It all terrifies me so much more than God ever did.”

When she finishes speaking, Beatrice feels one single tear leaving her left eye. She is surprised she was able to hold it for so long, and she hopes to hold the other ones. Because she has to accept whatever Ava is about to say. Whether she will be upset, which Beatrice deserved, or if she will be angry. All valid reactions. Beatrice has to steady herself.

And the seconds between her confession and when Ava starts talking feel like hours, days, decades.

“Beatrice.” She blinks. “We are so fucking… Stupid.”

Beatrice can only stare at her and blink as well. What is she trying to say?

“You’re kidding me.”

“Excuse me?”

Ava throws her hands up. “I’ve been losing my mind thinking I screwed everything up, walking on eggshells because I caught feelings and thought you didn’t, and you’re the one in love with me?”

Beatrice thinks for a second. “Ava, might I remember that I kissed you back in the shower?” Again, she is also not about to mention that they also had sex in said shower.

Ava laughs. “God, we’re both such idiots. What is wrong with us?”

Beatrice has to stop herself from mentioning that the only person in the wrong was her, not Ava. Nothing wrong with us. But there is something she has to make sure of first. “You love me too?”

Ava shakes her feet again. Her shoes really must be soaked. “Yeah, I do.”

And Beatrice can only feel her head spinning, because so far, she has never gone beyond this point. She expected that navigating these feelings with Ava would be hard, and scary. But such as every new experience Ava has taken her on, she realizes in that second that she is not scared, no longer, at least. No. She is relieved; her mind has a hard time even accepting that someone like Ava loves her back, and that she has not ruined everything.

“Can I kiss you now?” She asks.

And Ava smiles wide. “Fin…”

She has no time to answer, as Beatrice stops her from speaking with a kiss. Their first real one.

And it is so much more than she could have expected. Ava’s mouth meets her with a desperate sound, and there is nothing uncertain or tentative about everything. It is open, and hungry, and wet. Ava tilts her head and the angle changes, and Beatrice feels herself gasping against her mouth. She is so overwhelmed and caught up in the moment that she does not even realize her hands have moved to Ava’s jaw, and the way Ava’s wet skin from the rain feels under her fingers is intoxicating. Ava is so close, her body heat seeping through the layers of damp clothing, and Beatrice wants to be closer, closer, and closer.

And Ava presses forward, to her relief. Beatrice feels it in her chest, in her ribs, in the way Ava’s fingers move down her back and then slide underneath her sweater. She parts her lips more, allows herself to taste, to want, and Ava gives it all back. And Beatrice is no longer sure if she is hearing things properly, but she thinks Ava just moaned against her mouth, and she feels her stomach tightening and so much warmth blooming low in her spine.

At some point, Beatrice moves her head, trying to pull even closer, and their noses bump. It is awkward, and human, and it makes everything so much better. It makes Beatrice forget that they are both standing in a puddle, soaked to their bones. Ava’s hand slides down to her waist, and Beatrice exhales, and Ava makes another sound. And Beatrice is getting a bit delirious, and she wants to hear more of these sounds, she wants to melt more and more into Ava and…

Ava breaks the kiss. Beatrice is surprised at herself because of how disappointed she is. But she understands it, of course. They are in the middle of the sidewalk.

Their mouths pull apart with a soft, wet sound, and Beatrice gasps as if she has been holding her breath underwater. She blinks, and there is rain dripping from her lashes. Ava's eyes are wide, pupils blown, lips red and kiss swollen. Her breath is ragged as well.

Up until then, Beatrice has not had the time to feel embarrassed about what they just did in public. The rain seems to be putting them in their own little world; besides, she needed to be honest with Ava. She needed to fix things, to make her feel better.

So, it should not be, but it still is deeply embarrassing to hear it.

Applause.

Ava and Beatrice both turn to see the gathered crowd beneath the bus shelter clapping. Some people are chuckling. The old lady is clapping as well; Beatrice thinks she hears someone screaming “Finally!”.

Beatrice’s eyes wide, and she feels her cheeks flushing. This might be the most embarrassing thing she has ever experienced in her entire life.

Ava, on the other hand, is smiling and laughing. Wet from the rain, she looks so beautiful. So much like she did in the shower…

Beatrice is glad to know at least one of them liked their little show, but she is completely humiliated. She wants the pavement to split open and swallow her whole. Her hand moves to her hair, which is of course plastered to her face. Her entire face is burning.

“I think…” She starts, very dryly and dignified and humiliated. “We should go somewhere less public.”

Ava grins at her. “You mean less applause-worthy?”

Beatrice simply looks at her. “I mean somewhere dry, Ava.”

Ava offers her hand.

Beatrice takes it.

Ava hears her shoes squelching because of how soaked they are, which would be a total mood killer if she was not making out with Beatrice again by the time they hit the sidewalk. She accidentally bumps Beatrice into a streetlamp and gasps into her mouth, laughing.

“Oops.” She bites Beatrice’s bottom lip.

And Beatrice is already kissing her back. Ava is pretty shocked at how she seems okay with being like this in public; so of course it does not last long. Beatrice leads her until they reach the glass door of some anonymous office building (Ava has no idea whose, no one cares), and they are basically trying to crawl inside each other’s mouths (Ava at least very much is). Ava’s palms are on Beatrice’s hips, and she briefly wonders if this is trespassing, but again, who cares?

Beatrice breaks the kiss just enough to look at the building; “Here.”

Ava blinks. She is not opposed to any of this, she is simply surprised to see it coming from Beatrice. “Do you work here? Are we… Are we about to fuck in an office building?”

“No.” Beatrice replies. “Would you like to announce this louder?”

Ava smiles. Still the same old Bea, after all.

“It’s just… I know this place. There’s a stairwell.”

“A stairwell?! Beatrice, you absolute menace. You’re gonna ruin staircases for me forever.”

Ava knows she is pushing; she likes to do that. But Beatrice does not seem that bothered, which is, again, surprising.

Ava is no longer sure which of them slams the door shut behind them, but the glass rattles, and after Beatrice looks around and sees no one around other than the receptionist taking a nap on her desk, they go back to kissing. And it is nice to kiss like this, with no cold water freezing her to her bones.

Beatrice breaks the kiss and points towards a red lit EXIT sign above the stairwell door. She immediately starts walking towards it, and Ava follows.

“You know…” She starts saying, still panting from the kisses, moving her hand to Beatrice’s lower back. “Most people wait at least until date two before dry humping in public infrastructure.”

Beatrice’s hand wraps around the stairwell door handle and she pauses. Ava cannot believe her ears when she speaks. “We are already wet.”

Ava really loves this new side of Bea she is getting to know. She loves all sides of Bea, actually. And they are by themselves, and Ava can hear their breaths, their laughter. It is such an absurd situation they are in. It is nice that Beatrice no longer seems scared by it.

Quite the contrary; she quickly pushes Ava up against the cement wall and kisses her again.

And it is another hungry kiss, warmer. Nice, without all of the rain, although that only heightens to Ava the annoying sensation of being so wet. And Bea’s hands move everywhere, in her wet hair, sliding down her back, gripping her hips. Ava moves her hands as well, of course. She loves getting to touch Bea, and she loves moaning into her mouth. She tries to move her hands to Bea’s sweater, to try to take it off, but Bea stops her.

She breaks the kiss, and her eyes are so dark and intense. Her hands slide down Ava’s sides, over hips, then hook into the waistband of her soaked jeans. And there is a question in the action, in her eyes, a bit of her hesitation. But it gets drowned, because Ava knows her eyes must be showing her own raw need.

Beatrice works the button and the zipper of Ava’s jeans pretty quickly. “These need to come off.”

Ava grins. “Bossy Bea. I like it.” She helps to bring the denim down her legs (a fucking annoying task considering how heavy it feels from the rain), and kicks them off along with her ruined sneakers. And then she laughs a bit at the situation, although Ava herself is not scandalized by it. She thought Bea herself would be.

The air in the stairwell is cool, which makes her entire body shiver (especially her bare legs), but the heat radiating from Beatrice is more than enough compensation. Especially when she kneels before her. And Ava’s breath stops for a second. Holy shit. She’s really doing this.

Beatrice looks up at her. She is wide eyed; Ava wonders if it is curiosity, fear. Her hands settle on Ava’s hips, and they seem to be shaking a bit. Is it the cold from being so wet from the rain? Something else?

“Bea…” Ava touched Bea’s damp forehead, brushes a bit of her hair. “You don’t have to…”

“I want to.” Beatrice interrupts, cutting through Ava’s attempt at giving her an out. Her eyes drop, and she looks between Ava’s legs. Ava is wearing her simple cotton underwear, nothing like the lingerie she thought about wearing those nights ago. Beatrice hooks her thumbs into the waistband. “Can I?”

Ava nods. “Yeah.” Her own fingers move to the wall behind her for support as Beatrice peels the wet fabric down her thighs. She tries taking it off completely, but Ava does not raise her feet, letting it pool on her feet. She does not want to throw her underwear to these questionable stairwell floors and therefore increase her chances of getting a yeast infection.

And then Beatrice pauses, and Ava feels so exposed, but also so fucking turned on. Beatrice’s eyes trace her body, and though Ava is focused on looking only at her, she can imagine what Bea is seeing. The dark curls, her folds very slick with arousal. A soft sigh escapes Beatrice.

“Alright.” She says. And then she leans forward slowly, and her breath is warm against Ava’s inner thigh. She is drowning in anticipation.

The first touch is not Beatrice’s mouth, but her nose, nuzzling the crease of Ava’s thigh. She gasps, and her hips jerk forward. Every sensation, everything feels so heightened. “Fuck, Bea…”

Then, slowly, lightly, Beatrice presses her lips to the very top of Ava’s slit, just below the mound. She gives it a soft, closed mouth kiss, and Ava whimpers. It is such an embarrassingly loud sound in the stairwell. Beatrice repeats the kiss, a bit firmer, but lower this time.

“Beatrice…” Ava’s head falls back against the concrete. “Higher. A little higher, baby.” The baby comes out of her mouth naturally, easily now.

And Beatrice obeys instantly. Ava is so turned on, so excited. Both because of what she is about to experience, but also because Bea is about to do this for the first time as well. Ava herself likes eating girls out a lot. She hopes Bea will get the hype about it too.

Bea shifts her head, and her lips find the skin just a bit above where Ava wants her to be. Another soft kiss, then the tip of her tongue flicks out to trace a hesitant line upwards. It grazes the very base of Ava’s clit.

Ava cries out, and her knees buckle slightly. “Yeah, there!”

And now that she is encouraged, Beatrice repeats the motion. She is less hesitant to flick her tongue again, landing more squarely on the underside of Ava’s clit. Ava’s hips roll forward, seeking more pressure. Beatrice makes a small, needy sound against her skin and presses closer; her tongue flattens and licks a broader, firmer stripe upwards over the hood and the swollen nub beneath.

Ava gasps. She wants to move her hand to Bea’s head, to guide her perhaps, but she is afraid of scaring her off.

And Bea is a fast learner anyway, so she finds a rhythm. Upward strokes with the flat of her tongue, focused on Ava’s clit. It is good, so good… The heat and wetness of her mouth is such a huge contrast to the cool air, and the focused pressure is exactly where Ava craves it. But Beatrice is still learning everything. And her movements are earnest and intense, but a little… broad.

“Okay, okay.” Ava pants. “That’s really good, Bea. Just… Try.. Smaller… Tighter circles…”

Beatrice stops, and Ava is worried she is overthinking about not doing things perfectly. But that is not what Ava wanted. She does not mind that Bea is not 100% the best at this, even though she is enjoying it a lot. It matters because it is Bea, it is Bea eating her out in a fucking stairwell of a public office building.

But she resumes her work; Ava feels the tip of Bea’s tongue, pointed and precise, swirling in a tight and focused circle directly on her clit. And… Oh… The pressure is perfect. Ava is not really bothered by hiding her sounds, and she leaves out a moan. Now, being involved by pleasure, and more than anything, by the sight of Bea doing this to her, Ava is no longer thinking coherently; perhaps in a different situation she would be hoping the receptionist is still asleep, that the elevator is working and none of the workers in that building are afraid of elevators.

Instead, her mind is going a bit like this: God God God SO GOOD rightthere rightthere DON'TSTOP HOLYSHIT thattongue howisshe sogoodatthis firsttime HOW vibrationfeelslikelightning vibratingmeliterallyinside FUCK thatmoan shesMOANING ohmygodohmygodohmygod SOAKED shehastafeelhowfuckingwetIam drippingforher JESUS theSUCTION pullingmein deepernononoYESYES deeper GOD Ican't breathe can'tthink legsareJELLO ohFUCK shechangedangle slightly higher now RIGHT ON THE TIP JESUS CHRIST YESSSS squeezemythighs harderYES holdmethere don'tletmefall NONONO DON'T CHANGE IT STAY RIGHT THERE RIGHTTHERE THATSPOT THAT EXACT SPOT FUCK BEABEABEA!

Beatrice’s hands, gripping Ava’s thighs just above her knees, squeeze tighter; she holds her hips exactly where she wants them. And Ava’s hands are still scrabbling against the wall behind her, before she lets her fingers finally move to Beatrice’s hair. She does not push, but she likes feeling it.

The tight circles are now faster, more insistent. Beatrice seems so concentrated. And Ava feels the flutter deep inside, her muscles clenching involuntary, signaling that the wave is cresting, so close. Too much too fast too intense shesgoingtoomake mecome rightFUCKINGnow I'mgonnacome I'm gonnabreak GOD thepressure IS TOOMUCH NONONO YES PLEASE MORE I NEED IT FALLING I'M FALLING…

“Bea… Fuck… I’m…” Ava’s body seizes before she can finish. Her back arches off the concrete wall, her thighs clamp around Bea’s head. And pure, white light explodes behind her eyes. She feels like she is vibrating out of her own skin, dissolving into pure sensation centered entirely on Beatrice’s mouth still close to her clit, still swirling, sucking, drawing out her climax.

For a while, Ava cannot breathe, or think. She can only feel the pressure of Bea’s tongue and lips working her, extending the peak until it blurs into a continuous, blinding current.

Slowly, the tremors turn into gentler aftershocks (thank God; Ava’s legs were about to give out), and Beatrice gentles her ministrations. She changes her tight circles to broader laps, and the suction turns into kisses against Ava’s oversensitive flesh.

Ava slumps against the wall. Her legs tremble so much more, but she forces herself to hold her weight. And Beatrice draws back, resting her forehead against Ava’s still trembling thigh, breathing heavily. Ava gazes down, a bit dazed, at Beatrice’s head. Her lips are glistening, her chin is damp. Not from the rain.

When Beatrice lifts her head, her eyes are so hazy, so dark. She seems pretty… Satisfied. And she looks so… Fucking hot.

“Okay?” She whispers. Her voice is wrecked and raspy.

And Ava manages to laugh weakly. She lifts one of her hands to cup Bea’s damp cheek, to let her thumb trace her wet lower lip. She drags the thumb slowly, to gather the wetness, and then waits for Bea to open her mouth. When she does, Ava slides her thumb, and Bea lips close around it without hesitation. Her eyes are locked on Ava’s as she sucks it.

“Okay?” Ava asks back. She takes the thumb off of Bea’s mouth and sucks it herself. “Bea, that was really good. And I am ruined for anyone else, forever.” She laughs again. If anyone had told her she would have been eaten out by Beatrice in an office building a week ago, she would have told them to go to therapy. But no, that is the real world. That is actually happening.

And then Beatrice rises, and Ava takes no time to kiss her on the lips. After breaking the kiss, she has to ask. “So, what did you think?”

Bea seems a bit taken aback by the question. But Ava is genuinely curious. “It was good. And… I think I need to practice that more. A lot more."

Ava smiles wide. “Oh, Bea. We will have plenty of time to practice.”

Just like getting used to her life after leaving religion, Beatrice finds her adaptation time to living with Ava to be quite quiet. She moves in after only one month of dating, and they have no issues with being around each other all the time. And Beatrice still has so much to learn about dating, about being in a relationship. Lucky for her, Ava is always so understanding.

And she is also so eager to try all new things. They have been learning a lot together, certainly.

Beatrice is looking at her work spreadsheets when she sees the warning on her phone: 4:30 - Yoga with Ava.

Across the table, Ava’s phone buzzes with the same reminder. She picks it up, looks at the screen, and then gets up. Beatrice thinks she is going to go change for the class, but no; instead, she sits on Beatrice’s lap. And Beatrice lets her, indulges in this. She loves to have Ava like this.

“I love your morning hair…” She says.

Beatrice kisses her cheek. “It is four in the afternoon.”

Ava kisses her back. Her mouth at first, but then her neck. And her hands move to the waistband of Beatrice’s trousers.

Beatrice smiles against her lips. “We’ll be late for yoga…”

Ava smiles too. “So make it quick.”