Archive of Our Own ^beta

A profound silence, weighted with expectation, pressed down on the lecture hall. Bonita "Bo" sat rigid, her gaze fixed on the mahogany grain of her desk. ​Across the aisle, Mint gave her an encouraging, if slightly manic, thumbs-up. Bo offered a thin smile in return. ​Professor Prang finally rose from behind the intimidating podium. The movement, though minimal, was a release.
​“The results are officially available,” the professor announced, his voice dry and devoid of ceremony. “You may check the online portal now. Any questions or concerns, please email me.” He paused, scanning the expectant faces. “Dismissed.”
​The moment the word left his lips, the room erupted in a collective gasp of relief and a clamor of shifting bags.
​Mint was instantly by Bo’s side, linking arms as they joined the flowing current of students exiting the hall.
​“Are you nervous, Bo?” Mint’s tone was bright, a stark contrast to the oppressive quiet they’d just endured.
​“No, I studied hard,” Bo admitted, her voice low. “But I wish I had more time.”

​Mint pulled back slightly, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean? We had weeks to study.”
​The look of confusion dissolved into sudden, insightful comprehension. Mint’s eyes twinkled as she considered the known intensity of Bo’s new relationship. “Ah. I see. You are juggling a new… vigorous love.”
​Bo’s cheeks instantly warmed, a vibrant crimson rising to meet her hairline. “Mint,” she hissed, embarrassed but unable to completely hide the pleasure in the acknowledgment.
​Mint grinned, radiating genuine happiness for her friend. “Hey, you have a strong partner—demanding, yes, but you still managed to get her to wait while you nailed the material. Taming a wolf surely is a harder task than acing this exam.”
​A genuine smile, free of anxiety, finally curved Bo’s lips at the image.
​They paused near the sun-drenched hallway windows. They pulled their phones from their bags simultaneously, a shared ritual of fate. Bo’s screen flashed the low battery icon—3%. She ignored the urgent warning, her fingers flying to access the student portal.

​The screen refreshed. A single letter dominated the display.
​A.
​Perfect.
​Bo looked up, meeting Mint’s wide, anxious eyes. A mirrored smile blossomed on both their faces, the shared tension breaking in a silent wave of triumph.
​“I passed!” Bo exclaimed, her voice thick with relief.
​“Me too!” Mint echoed, throwing her free arm up in a victory sign. “Let’s go celebrate!” Mint was already pulling Bo toward the main entrance.
​Bo grabbed her arm, halting them before the double doors that led to the cavernous, echoing lobby. “Wait, I need to call her. She usually has a small pocket of free time this afternoon.”
​She pulled up the contact, the name "Queen" appearing boldly on her screen. She pressed the call button. The line rang once—a crisp, hopeful trill—before the entire screen went instantly, violently black.
​Bo stared down at the inert device. A frustrated sigh escaped her, quickly followed by a guttural "Ugh," the sound laced with absolute annoyance. The perfect grade felt instantly overshadowed by this minor catastrophe.
​“What’s wrong?” Mint asked, noticing the way the triumph had instantly drained from Bo’s features.
​“Ugh, my phone just died,” Bo grumbled, shaking the dead phone like a useless brick. “And I really wanted to tell Queen the good news myself.”
​Mint waved the concern away with a practical gesture. “It’s okay. My girlfriend, Maya, will be here any minute to pick me up. We can drop you off on the way.”
​Bo’s shoulders immediately relaxed. “You’re a lifesaver, Mint. Thank you.”
​They stepped out into the broad, high-ceilinged lobby, the afternoon sun streaming through the arched windows, bathing the marble floor in warmth. They settled onto a bench near the entrance to wait.
It was long at all before Mint’s girlfriend, Maya, pulled her, black sedan up to the curb. The short drive had been easy, filled with Mint recounting the stress of the morning while Bo watched the familiar, exclusive neighborhoods flash by.
​“Text me as soon as you talk to her, okay?” Mint leaned over the center console, squeezing Bo's arm.
​“I will. Thanks again.” Bo said, gathering her bag.

​The massive, modern building that housed Bo and Queen’s shared space seemed to shimmer in the afternoon light. Bo ascended the steps, inserted the keycard, and pushed through the heavy glass doors into the cool, silent air of their luxurious condo.
​She dropped her heavy canvas bag onto the plush cream couch, dismissing the exam and the ride instantly, her attention turned to Queen.
​Bo climbed the wide black stairs. The hallway wall upstairs—a vast, previously blank expanse—was now dominated by a newly hung piece: a large, abstract portrait of herself that Queen had painted. It was all fierce, deep blues and passionate reds, capturing not just her likeness, but her energy. Bo paused, running her fingers lightly over the textured canvas before continuing.
​She headed straight for their bedroom, a sun-drenched sanctuary from the late afternoon sun. She found her phone charger immediately, snagged the cord, and plugged the dead device into the nearest outlet. She waited a careful minute, giving the battery a small burst of life, before hitting the power button.
​As the screen bloomed to life, a flurry of missed texts and notifications appeared, but Bo ignored them all. She navigated directly to her contacts and pressed the button for Queen. She needed to hear her voice; she knew the silence would have been taxing, and she wanted to ease Queen’s mind before the anticipation could turn into worry.

The line connected on the second ring, not with the customary "hello," but with an immediate, demanding intensity that Bo recognized as pure Queen.
​“Babe, where are you?” Queen’s voice was low, carrying a faint, dangerous rasp, the tone of tightly controlled anxiety.
​“I’m home,” Bo said quickly, settling onto the edge of the bed. “I just got here.”
“ What happened earlier?”
​“Nothing. I’m okay, the battery died right when I called you back. I saw your single ring and then… silence.” Bo heard a deep, audible sigh of relief on the other end, followed by a decision. “I will bring you another phone.”
​Bo raised an eyebrow. “Why? This one is fine.”
​“You need a line just for me. One that you can always answer. One that I know isn’t going to fail when I need to confirm you are safe.” The demand was softened by the possessive need underlying it.
​“Were you worried?” Bo asked, her tone shifting into a slight, deliberate tease. She enjoyed the tiny fissures she could occasionally pry into Queen’s formidable composure.
​“Babe, I’m already on the way home.” The statement is an undeniable confirmation.
​A soft, delighted laugh escaped Bo. “Ohh, you were worried.”
​The rasp in Queen’s voice deepened, a definite warning. “Are you trying to provoke me?”
​Bo smiled widely, a silent acknowledgement of the challenge.
“Why can’t you just admit what we both already know?” Queen’s voice was a low, velvet command, bypassing logic for immediate truth. “I’ll be home shortly.”
​“Okay,” Bo replied, her tone deliberately nonchalant, a final, playful push.
​The line went dead with a decisive click.

​Bo smiled, a deep, satisfied curl of her lips. She knew her Queen, Kiraphat, very well now. She knew that Queen’s greatest admission of vulnerability was always action, not words. The spare phone line was proof enough.
​She headed downstairs, the anticipation already making her movements fluid and purposeful. She needed to prepare an offering, a domestic anchor for the whirlwind that was Queen’s return. She moved efficiently into the professional-grade kitchen, the aroma of spices quickly filling the air as she began cooking one of Queen’s favored meals: Spicy Shrimp and Fried Basil Rice.
​Just as she plated the vibrant dish, the specific, heavy thud of the front door closing signaled Queen’s arrival. The sound, always an intrinsic part of their home’s rhythm, was instantly warming. Bonita placed the food on the dining room table and turned, meeting Kiraphat there.
​“I made you one of your favorites,” Bo announced softly.
​Queen’s gaze dismissed the culinary effort entirely and locked onto Bo. Every step Kiraphat took was an effortless display of coiled, internal power, the kind that drew attention without demanding it. She closed the distance between them, reached out, and cupped Bo’s face in her palms, her thumbs resting just beneath the sharp angles of Bo’s jaw.
​Queen looked down, and in that intense scrutiny, Bo could see the delicate shift beneath the surface—the concern and the profound relief warring beneath Queen’s disciplined composure.
​Bo placed her hand over Queen’s, a gesture of calming reassurance. “I’m okay.”
​Kiraphat sighed, the sound escaping as a quiet expulsion of built-up pressure, and removed her hand. Then, she seemed to deflate momentarily, a flicker of disappointment crossing her eyes before she turned and made her way toward the stairs.
​“P’ Queen, will you eat?” Bo called after her, using the honorific out of respect and affection.
​“Yes,” Kiraphat responded without breaking her powerful stride.

​Bo understood. Queen was worried and had admitted it in the only way she knew how. As Bo began to prepare a soothing pot of tea, she heard the firm, rapid pace of Queen’s return downstairs.
​Bo met her at the dining room table, already lifting the porcelain teapot. “I’m making tea now… do you want a cup?”
​“Babe, stop talking.”
​The soft command hung in the air for only a second before Queen closed the remaining distance, her hands gently resting on Bo’s waist, possessive but tender. Leaning down, Queen rested her forehead against the younger woman’s.

“I’m sor—”
​Queen cut the apology short, her lips crashing onto Bo’s hard, urgent, and consuming. This kiss was raw expression: she didn't want to hear an apology, and she couldn't articulate the sheer, blinding frustration that she couldn't reach the one thing she prized and worried about most—Bonita. This physical takeover was the only language that conveyed the depth of that need.
​Queen deepened the kiss passionately, a primal hunger causing a low, breathy moan to escape Bo’s throat. Queen needed more, urgently. With a swift movement, she lifted Bo, seating her on the cool, hard surface of the dining room table.
​The kisses shifted, trailing down Bo’s jawline. Queen moved to her neck, sucking and biting with possessive intimacy. Bo arched back, breathing heavily, arousal surging through her, even as she felt the hardness of the small toy under Queen's dress pants.
​“Right here?” Bo managed to whisper, breathlessly.
​“You’re mine, Babe. I’ll take you wherever I want.”
​Queen kissed her again, fiercely, ensuring Bo felt the weight of her claim while simultaneously unbuttoning Bo’s shirt. She trailed kisses lower, a brief, agonizing tease as she didn’t hesitate to bring a rosy nipple into her mouth, a sudden, sharp pleasure. Bo leaned back, surrendering completely to the sensation. She had only ever been with Queen, and she was more satisfied than she ever thought she could be.
​Queen bunched Bo’s skirt up over her hips, the anticipation building to an unbearable pitch for both of them. She slid her hands underneath the fabric to remove the restrictive panties, and Bo assisted, her hands meeting Queen’s to pull the silk away.
Bo’s chest was rising rapidly, her shirt undone and spread wide, a bare, intensely vulnerable, and compelling sight. The light from the dining room chandelier seemed to polish the skin Queen was now devouring with her eyes. Queen didn't pause; she cupped Bo's most sensitive spot, the sudden, perfect pressure causing Bo to exhale a long, shuddering breath. Bo was completely drenched, fully ready for her.
​With careful precision, two fingers slid slowly inside.
​A loud, deeply satisfying moan filled the room, only to be instantly muffled as Queen kissed her again, silencing the sound while maximizing the sensation. Queen began working her fingers deep and slow, never breaking the contact of the kiss, never letting Bo look away from the possessive fire in her eyes. The rhythm was hypnotic, bringing Bo swiftly to the very edge.
​When Queen finally lifted her head, breaking the kiss with a soft smack of release, Bo was lightly shivering, leaning back, lost in the fading aftershocks of the deep stimulation.

​But Queen was already moving on. She slid her fingers out—a slick, abrupt departure—and stood back just enough to create a tantalizing gap. Her eyes dropped to the dark leather encircling her own hips.
​“Unbuckle the belt,” Queen ordered, the words quiet, but absolute.
​Bo stared for a moment, the command cutting through the haze of arousal. This was the transition; the ultimate surrender of control. With trembling hands, she reached for the buckle, her fingers working the heavy metal.
Bo did not break eye contact. Her gaze was locked onto Queen's as she reached out, her fingers clumsy with anticipation, and slowly worked the heavy buckle free. The sound of the clasp releasing was deafeningly intimate in the silent dining room.
​A ghost of a smile, pleased and utterly dominant, touched Queen’s lips. She stepped closer, moving with the hypnotizing grace of someone utterly certain of her welcome. As Queen unbuttoned her dress pants, Bo reached out, pulling at the strong, familiar lines of Queen’s shoulders.
​Queen obliged, crashing her lips onto Bo's again, this kiss harder and more immediate than the last—a pure, driving hunger that accepted no refusal.
Queen lubricated her entrance, using the rich wetness she had already coaxed from Bo. Bo’s hips instinctively began to rock, reacting without conscious command. Queen began her slow, deliberate entry. Bo’s arms instantly locked around Kiraphat’s neck. Queen felt the familiar, delicious tightness and savored the resistance, slowing her descent. She sank into Bonita, slow and deep, filling her completely.
​“Fuck, Queen!” The curse was a prayer, an immediate submission.

​Queen moved slowly for a beat, then surged, bottoming out and repeatedly slamming back in, the violent force offset only by the deep pleasure. The sounds forced out of Bonita were velvet to Queen’s ears. She gripped Bo’s hips, anchoring herself in the frantic rhythm.
​“Mmm, you always take it well,” Queen murmured, breath hot against Bo’s ear. She pressed the question that always defined their most intimate moments: “Who do you belong to?”
​“YOU… ONLY YOU.”
​Queen’s eyes furrowed, the hard tension of her impending climax consuming her.
​“I can’t, Queen, I can’t take it,” Bo cried, eyes squeezed shut, near the breaking point.
​“Look at me,” Queen demanded, her voice a raw rasp of possession.
​Bo obeyed, snapping her eyes open, locking onto Queen through the blinding haze of her climax. “I’m coming!”
​The words, moaned out loud and directed entirely at her, broke Queen's climax, shattering her control into an immediate, euphoric orgasm. They were both vocal in their release, the sounds echoing the abrupt, intense end of their hunger.

​The After Glow

​Bo’s head rested on Queen’s chest, which rose and fell with the deep, settling breaths of the aftermath. Queen took Bo’s chin in her hand, tilting it up toward her, her gaze soft and clear.
​“I …..worried.”
Bo smiled,” I love you… and thank you.”
​“For what?” Queen asked, already knowing the answer.
​“For… working on just telling me that.”
​Queen rolled her eyes with an audible puff of air, though the action was laced with affection. “ P’ Queen,” Bo chided gently. Queen looked back into Bo’s eyes, captivated by the vulnerability and strength she saw there, choosing to say nothing but kissed her instead. She held onto Bo possessively, her arm banded tightly around her waist.
​“You know, my final exam was today,” Bo said, her tone deliberately casual. The subject seemed to snap Queen out of their intimacy haze.
​“I know you passed.” The confidence was absolute.
​“Do you know I did very well?”
​“You did very well because I kept myself in work instead of in you.” The admission was so starkly Queen.
​Bonita couldn’t help but tease, smiling. “That day I was in a crop top. I knew you were too patient.”
​Queen struggled, but could barely fight the warm, magnetic smile that sprang onto her face. Bonita hugged her tightly, burying her face in her shoulder.
​“I’ll draw a bath for us,” Queen murmured.
​“Hmm, no. Let me get it. I was the naughty one, remember?” her tone sarcastic.
​Bo placed a light, grateful peck on Queen’s lips and slipped off the table, heading upstairs. Queen watched her go. The warm, magnetic feeling she only ever got from Babe settled deep in her chest.