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Chapter Text

     Viv rarely says no to Beth.

    Practically the entirety of her being is dedicated to Beth’s happiness. If that means yielding to being in the occasional silly TicTok or accompanying her girl out more than Viv’s antisocial tendencies would typically like, well, it’s all worth it to see Beth smile.

     That’s why Viv had only mounted a token defense when Beth started bringing up the topic of them adopting a puppy. She’d known she would give in eventually, how could she not when Beth was looking at her with such hope and anticipation in her beautiful blue eyes?

     The fact that Viv is totally and completely whipped doesn’t allow her to act completely contrary to her nature, however. They’ll get a puppy, but Viv makes sure they will be suitably prepared. She insists on doing lots of research on how to train a dog, not having as much experience as Beth. She also dog proofs their house and has lined up caregivers (AKA their teammates) for all their upcoming trips far before their future puppy is old enough to leave her mom.

     Viv also makes sure to lay down a few ground rules. Most of them are strictly practical, aimed at keeping their puppy safe. Some of them, however, are more personal preference.

     They’re debating prospective names, with Viv ruling out as many silly ones as possible, she is not calling her dog Ferguson just because her girlfriend has bad taste in EPL teams, when they stumble into a potential argument.

     “Fergy is a cute name!” Beth states.

    “No it’s not,” Viv replies, rolling her eyes. “We’re not naming the dog after United’s former manager. Actually, no football references at all I think.”

     Pouting, Beth says, “you’re no fun.”

     She nudges Viv with a sock covered foot, making the Dutchwoman pretend to squirm away in protest at her personal space being invaded by feet. Viv doesn’t keep up the act long and soon she’s got both of Beth’s feet propped in her lap as she gently rubs the winger’s insole.

     After a moment of companionable silence, Beth sighs wistfully and says, “I don’t even care what we call her at this point, I just want to bring her home. I’m so excited to do all the little things. Take her on her first walk for instance or see her and Calvin go mad with each other. I even can’t wait to take naps with her. Napping with dogs is the best.”

     Even though she shares at least some of Beth’s excitement about bringing home their puppy, Viv focuses on the last part of Beth’s statement, saying, “I still don’t think we should let her on the couch. She’ll get hair on it. And dirt.”

     Now it’s Beth’s turn to roll her eyes as the Englishwoman replies, “that’s why they invented blankets. And vacuums. Besides, who said anything about sticking to just the couch?”

     “No!” Viv exclaims, swiftly catching on to what Beth is implying.

     “What?” Beth asks, confused by Viv’s vehemence.

     “No dogs in our bed!”

     “Well, maybe not at first. We’ll have to work on training and get her use to a crate, but once she’s old enough…”

     “She is not sleeping in the bed with us.” Viv declares resolutely.

     “Why not?”

     “Because! She’s a dog. Dogs don’t belong in our bed. Besides, I’ve already got you laying all over me and making me overheat every night.”

     Beth only laughs at Viv’s indignation. “Don’t even start. You love when I cuddle you and you’re normally complaining you're cold and asking for more of the blankets!”

     “Only because you steal them!”

     “Do not,” Beth says, sticking out her tongue.

     Even though they’ve descended into an almost childlike squabble, Viv can’t help replying, “do so.”

     Beth laughs and the sound causes Viv to feel all kinds of butterflies. It always does. Who knew being teased by her girlfriend like this could make her so happy?

     “Don’t worry Vivi, there’ll still be room for Flip in our bed even once we get our baby.”

     “She’s a puppy, not our baby,” Viv protests, knowing it’s likely already a lost cause.

     The fact that they have been looking over lists of baby names to try and pick one out for their future fur baby probably isn’t helping.

     Grumbling, Viv repeats, “they’ll be no dogs in our bed.”

     “Whatever you say love,” Beth agrees lightly, smiling in a way that spells trouble.

     One month later they’re lying in bed together with their lights off, trying to sleep but both wide awake as they listen to plaintive puppy cries.

     “Beth, I think we should check on her,” Viv says worriedly.

     Groaning, Beth says, “Vivi, she’s fine. We talked about this; she’s had dinner and been outside. She's got to get use to settling herself. We’ll just re-enforce the crying if we give in when she does it.”

     “But Beth, it’s her first night. Myle’s never been away from her mum and sibs before. She’s probably scared and it’s a new environment so…”

     “I promise she’ll be alright. The first few nights are going to be the hardest, but she’ll live,” Beth says, interrupting Viv’s worried ramblings. “You read about this, remember?”

     “I know it’s just…” Viv trails off, biting her lip.

     Beth sits up in bed and switches on the lamp causing Viv to blink owlishly at the change in illumination. 

     “Tell me?” Beth encourages gently.

     Not quite meeting Beth’s eyes Viv admits, “I just was thinking about my first night away from home. When I went to Bayern. And how alone I felt.”

     “Oh Vivianne,” Beth breathes softly.

     “I know it’s silly and she’s just a dog but…”

     “Come on then,” Beth says, climbing out of bed.

     “Where are you goin’?” Viv asks.

     “We’re going to keep Myle company,” Beth says simply.

     “I didn’t mean for you to…”

     Beth comes around the end of the bed and kisses Viv softly.

     “Are you going to get any sleep if we leave her alone down there?” Beth asks tenderly.

     “Probably not,” Viv admits.

     “Then we’ll stay with her.”

     “I love you,” Viv blurts, ineloquent but truthful.

     “I know you do silly goose. I love you too. And I wish I could have been with you then. When you first left home. I would have made sure you never felt alone,” Beth says, her words a solemn vow.

     Viv swallows down her emotions and takes Beth’s hand, letting herself be dragged out of bed. She brings their comforter with her, wrapping it around her shoulders as she follows her girlfriend downstairs to their living room.

     Myle’s cries increase in volume when they enter her sightline, and the noises are so pathetic it almost breaks Viv’s heart.

     Beth ignores the puppy at first, waiting until Myle quiets down and simply sits staring at them before she unlatches the kennel and releases the little furball.

     Myle trundles out on her tiny little legs, immediately crossing to Viv and grabbing a mouthful of her pajama pant leg. Viv’s heart swells with fondness even as Beth redirects their baby to chew on one of her plentiful toys instead.

     “I’m gonna run her outside quick,” Beth says. “Will you set up the couch for us?”

      Viv nods in agreement, though she’s too captivated watching Beth pick up and cradle Myle to actually get started until the pair are out of the room. Once she’s broken out of her trance, she gathers more blankets and pillows, making a nest for them on the couch.

     Beth’s back a few minutes later and the three of them settle on the couch. Viv naturally ends up cradled in Beth’s arms. She’s probably napped on her girlfriend like this a hundred times, and she wants to do it a million more. Having Myle passed out in her lap snoring softly just makes it even better.

     Gently playing with the baby hairs at Viv’s nape, Beth says, “this would probably be more comfortable if we took it back to bed.”

     Warm, content, and already half asleep, Viv still musters the energy to murmur, “no dogs in our bed.”

     “Whatever you say Vivi” Beth whispers. “I love you.”

              Viv wants to return the sentiment, but sleep overwhelms her defenses.

     By Myle’s third night, Beth and Viv have managed to go back to sleeping in their own bed. By her third week, the puppy has the hang of being housetrained and voluntarily chooses to hang out in her crate. She’s still a little menace about half of the time and has already destroyed an impressive amount of their belongings, but overall, Viv can’t help but think their puppy is the best dog in the world.

     Viv hadn’t planned to become one of those pet parents who thinks their dog can do no wrong but honestly, apart from the path of destruction and an occasional propensity to not listen, Myle is pretty perfect. Already Viv’s photo library has gone from being Beth, random landscapes, the odd picture of her brother, and more Beth, to entire albums of Myle. She documents everything their puppy does and can’t get enough time with her.

     After a hard session at Arsenal’s gym her and Beth head straight home. Beth had suggested stopping and getting something for lunch, but Viv hadn’t wanted to delay their return, too eager to get back to Myle.

     “I’m starting to think I’ve made a mistake suggesting we get a puppy,” Beth jokes. “I didn’t know she’d end up stealing you from me!”

     Viv, who is currently sat on the ground in their garden and letting Myle climb all over her lap, says drolly, “well look at how cute she is. She’s clearly better looking…”

     She dodges the expected playful slap and adds, “it’s just that I get to see you every day at work and Myle has to stay home. Actually, do you think we could bring her along?”

     Chuckling, Beth scoops Myle up and gives her a cuddle as she says, “I don’t think we’d get much done. The girls would be far too distracted by our baby to do anything productive. Besides, Myle is still working on her routine, aren’t you girl,” Beth adds, the last bit directed at the puppy who is in a state of total bliss from having her ears tousled. “Speaking of, we should probably take this one back inside, she looks ready for a nap.”

     “Her and me both, I’m knackered,” Viv complains.

     She stands up with a groan as her sore muscles protest. Maybe sitting on the cold ground hadn’t been the smartest of decisions.

     “All I want to do is sleep,” Viv adds as she stretches.

     Giving a sympathetic smile, Beth suggests, “why don’t you go lay down? I’ll make something to eat and wake you up in a bit.”

     Viv frowns, not totally satisfied with the plan.

     “I’d rather nap with you,” Viv says, feeling a bit silly admitting it but knowing Beth won’t judge her.

     “I guess food can wait. I’m never going to turn down the chance to snuggle with you Vivi, you know that.”

      “Why don’t we just order sushi when we wake up?”

     “I knew I loved you for a reason!” Beth says, kissing Viv’s cheek as she heads inside. “Let me just settle Myle in her crate and I’ll be up in a second.”

      “But…” Viv pauses, feeling conflicted.

     “Come on love, you’ll rest so much better in our nice comfy bed than on the couch. I know your back is sore.”

     “We just got home though. And I’ve barely gotten to spend any time with Myle,” Viv complains. “What if she forgets about me because we’re neglecting her?”

     “We just ran her about the garden for half an hour and we’ll take her on a proper walk after dinner just like always,” Beth points out logically. “And she’s not going to forget you!”

     “But I miss her… Can’t she just nap with us? She’ll be good. Probably.”

     Raising her eyebrows, Beth says, “are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting? I thought you said no dogs in our bed? Actually, I distinctly remember you being rather firm on that topic.”

     Viv had said that.

     “Just this once,” Viv hedges.

     Laughing, Beth says, “come on Myle, lets go! Your mum is a massive softie and you just got a new bed upgrade!”

     “Hang on, I’m not!” Viv complains knowing it’s pointless. “And I mean it, just this one time!”

     Beth ignores her, busy talking to their puppy as she climbs the stairs.

     Viv can only follow, resigned to the fact that she’s now going to end up with a dog in her bed every night. She’s not that bothered though, she can handle a bit of dog hair on her sheets. Besides, life with Beth and Myle is better than Viv could’ve ever dreamt. She wouldn’t change a thing.

Chapter Text

     Hempo has always been something of an enigma.

     Leah has known the young City star through the Lioness set up of course, but she doesn’t really know her. Honestly, she’s not sure that anybody does. Hempo is unique in a way that routinely defies normal expectations. She seems to move through life to the beat of her own drum, slightly out of pace with the currents and eddies that influence the rest of the world.

     Leah admires her for it really, how carefree she seems. Lauren’s not bothered by the things that keep Leah up at night worrying. Even during major tournaments or periods of high stress, she’s totally unflappable, smiling away happily. Or at least, that’s how it seems.   

     That’s not to say that Hempo doesn’t get the mick taken out of her about her oddities from time to time. Everybody in the squad is prone to poke fun of the slightly spacey Lauren. There are always jokes about Hempo not having pieces of her kit or wandering off because she saw a butterfly or something. The girls generally don’t take it too far and Lauren’s never complained. Not that she complains about anything really.

     As captain, Leah feels a sense of responsibility towards every member of the squad. She’s objectively aware that she’s not going to be as close to some of them as she is to say, Keira, but she still wants to know them well enough that she can fulfill her role. She spends ages stressing about how she can provide the right kind of support when everybody obviously needs different things. For instance, Lucy would likely shut the door in her face if Leah tried to give her a hug after a bad training session while Alessia would like nothing better.

     Therefore, she feels like it’s important that she understands her fellow lionesses at least to a degree. Some of them just make it harder than others.

     Hempo in particular is a hard nut to crack. Leah almost takes her at face value. She almost makes the mistake of assuming that Lauren really is as carefree and almost ditsy as she seems. Then something happens that helps her peek behind the curtain as it were and gain a little more understanding of who Lauren Hemp is.

     It starts when they end up rooming together for an away camp. Leah had requested the assignment, wanting the chance to get to know Lauren a little bit more. Sarina trusts her and has no reason to veto the pairing, so Leah packs her bags and heads to the airport already making plans to spend time one-on-one with Lauren.

     A bit of a wrench is thrown into the works when Lauren doesn’t show up.

     Admittedly, she shows up eventually, but only long after Leah has gone to bed. The young forward was supposed to arrive with the rest of the Manchester City girls, but she’d apparently forgotten her passport at home and missed her flight. By the time she gets in, Leah’s dead to the world, despite her trying her hardest to stay up to greet her temporary roommate.

     The first time Leah is aware of Lauren’s arrival is when she stumbles out of bed half asleep and trips over something on the way to the loo. On her return journey when she is a little more aware, Leah’s able to make out even in the dark room that the object that almost sent her sprawling is a massive box of Legos. If that didn’t guarantee the identity of the person still sleeping in the other bed, Leah doesn’t know what would. Some of the other players may have dabbled with Lego from time to time, but by all accounts, Hempo is obsessed.

     Leah has secretly always considered the hobby a bit childish. But then, Lauren is very young. Plus, she acts even younger a lot of the time. Forgetting her passport yesterday is just another in a long list of examples that come to mind.

     Leah tries to keep it down as she rummages through her luggage to find clothing for the day. Despite her best efforts, Lauren stirs almost immediately, rolling over in bed to face Leah and blinking blearily at her.

     “Sorry,” Leah whispers. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be out of here in a min.”

     Yawning, Lauren replies, “’t’s all right. I wasn’t really sleeping.”

     Leah frowns, concerned. A glance at her phone shows it’s only a quarter past six and she knows for a fact that Lauren hadn’t arrived until sometime after eleven. That’s hardly enough sleep considering they’ve got a fitness assessment planned for later in the day. Leah says as much.

     “You should try to sleep. You’ll need rest for later.”

     “What for?” Hempo asks, sitting up in bed.

     Concealing an eyeroll at another classic Hempo forgetful moment, Leah explains, “we’re doing the bleep test today, remember?”

     “Oh. Well, that’s alright then,” Lauren replies, rubbing at her eyes.

     The forward seems totally unbothered by the prospect of tackling one of the most dreaded fitness tests out there and doing it on a short night of sleep. Of course, Hempo is famous for her fitness levels too, so maybe the grueling test isn’t as daunting to her. Leah’s certainly not looking forward to the experience.

     “If you don’t want to sleep more, do you want to come down with me for breakfast? I was going to try and beat the rush.”

     “Yeah all right. Give me a minute to get ready?”

     Leah agrees easily, getting dressed while Lauren takes a turn in the en suite and then sitting on her bed patiently while the younger woman proceeds to spend 15 minutes digging through her luggage. Leah tries not to be nosey, but she can’t help noticing that the contents of Lauren’s suitcase look a bit like they’ve been through a hurricane, and that’s before Hempo starts digging through it.

     “Leah, do you think I could borrow some socks?” Lauren asks after a minute. “I’ve forgotten to pack any.”

     Leah, who makes lists of what she wants to bring to camp weeks in advance is a bit horrified by the oversight. How on earth do you manage to forget something as important as socks?

    “Of course you can,” she agrees easily, going to her own belongings to fetch Lauren a pair.

     “Thanks Leah. I was gonna pack them but then I realized I hadn’t picked out what Lego sets I wanted to bring. So I had to go get that sorted. But then I thought that I should make room on my shelves for the new sets to go once they’re built and I started rearranging things. I guess I got distracted,” Lauren explains a bit bashfully.

     “That’s alright. Is that how you forgot your passport too,” Leah asks, curious and slightly amused by Lauren’s miniature ramble.

     “Oh no. That was completely different. I put it on my kitchen counter, so I’d see it going out the door and grab it. But then I thought I hadn’t locked the back door so decided to go out that way to make sure I locked up and missed it. Didn’t realize until Es asked about it at the airport.”

     “I’m sure that was stressful,” Leah observes, absently watching as Lauren rhythmically clenches and unclenches her now socked toes instead of putting on her shoes.

     “I guess? I didn’t really stop and think about it you know?”

     Leah doesn’t really know. If she had forgotten her passport and missed her flight because of it, her anxiety would have been off the charts.

     “Are you going to put your shoes on?” She asks instead.

     “Right, sorry,” Lauren says smiling sheepishly, jamming her feet into her shoes without bothering to untie the laces first. “I’m ready now.”

     Leah can’t help smiling. Hempo is just so… something.

     Before she leaves, Leah makes sure she has the essentials. Phone, room key, wallet even though she probably won’t need it, hat, and sunglasses. She debates sunscreen but decides she can always come back to the room if she needs to.

     She’s surprised to see Lauren already waiting for her out in the hall. More so when she sees Hempo’s phone and key card sitting on the bedside table.

     Grabbing the keycard at least she asks, “Don’t you want your phone?”

     Shrugging, Lauren says, “it’s dead.”

     Leah internally sighs. Shaking her head she pauses long enough to fetch one of her own chargers and plug in Lauren’s phone. This way it’ll at least be charged later.

     “Cheers Leah,” Hemp says easily, fiddling with the drawstrings of her hoody.

     “It’s nothing,” Leah replies, handing over the keycard.

     They walk down the hotel hall in silence out of respect for the early hour. In the elevator, Leah can’t help watching Lauren out of the corner of her eye. The younger woman seems to be staring off into space, which, considering they’re in a fairly small elevator, is rather impressive.

     Eventually unable to resist, Leah asks, “what are you thinking about?”

     “How mirrors work. And if they work in the dark.”

     That is… very much not the answer that Leah expected to get. The front wall of the elevator has a mirror finish, so it makes a degree of sense, but still.

     “Why?”

     “Well because if there is no light to reflect, it’s not really a mirror, is it? It’s a bit like if a tree falls in the forest and nobody is there to hear it, does it make a noise? But with light waves instead of sound waves.”

     Chuckling, Leah explains, “I can honestly say I’ve never thought about it but what I meant was, why are you thinking about that?”

     “Why not?” Lauren replies with a shrug.

     Why not indeed. Leaving Hempo to her musings, Leah mentally re-evaluates Lauren. She’s been roommates with the younger woman for less than a day and it’s already clear that she’s probably made incorrect assumptions about her teammate. She resolves to try and have fewer preconceived notions about Lauren.

     Leah’s dead tired later that evening when she all but stumbles back to their room. She’d done alright at the blasted bleep test. She’d not gotten anywhere near Lauren of course, but then, nobody had. Hempo is the fastest on the team by a country mile and one of the fittest overall. Leah might be able to outmuscle her due to size, but in any sort of footrace, Lauren is bound to win.

     Since breakfast, Leah hasn’t really interacted with her roommate. Lauren had split off to join some of the younger girls on the bus and Leah had ended up with Keira and Georgia as usual. Then they’d both been busy with the various fitness tests. Leah had considered tracking down Lauren for lunch, but the forward had apparently wandered off somewhere and nobody seemed entirely sure where. Before Leah could figure it out, they’d been herded off to do the bleep test and then bused back to their hotel.

     Most of the team had the evening blissfully free, but as captain, Leah had been pulled into a series of meetings that had gone right through dinner. She’d picked at some plain gnocchi while listening to the detailed plan for the next two calendar years, holding her fork in her left hand so she could jot notes with her right.  

     Her brain feeling like mush, Leah keys open the door and kicks off her trainers. Her legs hurt so much she’s barely able to muster the energy to cross the small space towards her bed. She’s just rounding the corner of her mattress when she steps on what feels like a nail. Yelping in surprise and pain she hops on one foot, looking at the carpeted floor to identify the source of her agony.

     It’s not a nail. It’s a Lego. One of many in fact.

     Lauren Hemp is stretched out on her stomach on the carpeted floor between the hotel bed. The space all around her is strewn with a multitude of brightly colored bricks. One of which has apparently just tried to embed itself into Leah’s poor sole. Groaning, Leah sits on the side of the bed, rubbing the pain out of her foot.

     “Leah! Are you alright?” Hempo asks sitting up and glancing at Leah guiltily.  

     Gritting her teeth, Leah murmurs, “I’ll live. What are you doing then?”

     Holding up what appears to be an instruction packet as thick as a novel, Lauren says, “Lego.”

     “I see that. Why here though?”

     “That way I won’t lose any pieces by dropping them on the floor.”

     Frankly that doesn’t make any sense to Leah, but she lets it go, asking what Lauren is building instead.

     “It’s going to be Notre-Dame,” Lauren says nonchalantly. “I got it during qualifying. I thought it would be fun to take to Paris with us.”

     Leah’s gut churns. She hates that they missed out on the Olympics and even more she hates that her fucking knee had kept her from helping the team in that crucial time.

     “Why do you like doing that so much anyways?” she asks, trying to change the topic as she watches Lauren carefully assemble a series of tiny pieces.

     “Dunno really,” Lauren says. “It’s relaxing. Therapeutic even. Calms me down.”

     “How so?”

     Lauren shrugs and for a moment, Leah thinks she’s not going to answer. The pause is filled only by the sound of bricks being clicked together, but eventually, Lauren breaks it.

     “I don’t have to think really. Just follow the instructions and it’ll turn out all right,” Lauren explains. “That helps a lot, when everything gets to be a bit much.”

     “Does that that happen a lot? Things being too much I mean,” Leah presses, concerned.

     “Of course. Doesn’t all this get to you too? All the pressure? How could that not be stressful.”

     Trying to tread carefully, Leah says, “I didn’t think it bothered you much honestly. You seem very… relaxed. Generally.”

     Lauren doesn’t answer immediately and when she does, all she says is, “we all have ways to cope. It’s music for you, right? And your sudoku?”

     “Yeah, I suppose it is,” Leah agrees.

     “Do you know their slogan?” Lauren asks, the non sequitur causing Leah to once again be totally lost.

     “Pardon?”

     “Lego. Their slogan back in the day. It’s ‘only the best is good enough’. That’s us in a nutshell, isn’t it? Our lives? Everyone expecting us to always be the best?”

     Leah feels the weight of all those expectations on her almost every minute of every day. She just hadn’t known the carefree seeming Hempo felt it too.

     “I… yeah I suppose so. It’s all a bit hard to live up to really.”

     Lauren nods, finally setting down the instruction book and looking at Leah fully.

     “Ya know what else Lego does that I like?” Lauren asks.

     Before Leah can answer, she continues, “the little pieces, the ones that are easiest to lose? They always include extras of them. It’s because of how they do automated packaging really, the small pieces are harder to differentiate by weight. But those are also the ones that always get lost. And Lego gives you some extras. So even if it gets a bit messed up, by them or you, you can still make something brilliant. I think about that a lot. How little mistakes don’t have to be the end of the world.”

     By now Leah’s totally floored. She’d never expected this sort of wisdom from Lauren. Especially not spoken through the lens of what is essentially a children’s toy. And yet Leah gets what Lauren is saying. She lives under the same pressure, where a single wrong touch on the pitch could ruin the dreams of an entire country.

     “When did you get so wise Hempo?” Leah asks, trying to lighten the mood.

     Lauren’s head drops and she goes back to sorting through piles of pieces.

     “I’m not stupid. I know I’m not the best at some things but…”

     “Oh Lauren no. That’s not what I meant at all! I’m sorry I just…”

     “It’s okay,” Lauren interrupts. “I know how people see me. It’s always been like that. It’s good I’m fast and pretty talented at football otherwise I wouldn’t be much use at anything. I’m not clever like you and Lucy. Or as likeable as Lessi and Es. I’m just me, head in the clouds. Would forget my own head if it wasn’t attached.”

     Not sure what to say or do, Leah sinks off the bed and sits on the floor beside Lauren. She leans in close, pressing their sides together and putting her arm around the forward in a half hug.

     “That’s our fault. My fault.” Leah corrects. “I didn’t see you clearly. And I didn’t bother to get to know you. I’d like to fix that, if you’d give me the chance.”

     Shrewdly, Lauren says, “you don’t have to feel obligated just because you’re our captain.”

     Feeling called out and even more guilty, Leah replies, “I’m not so sure if that’s true. But I also don’t want you to think it’s all about me being captain either. Maybe it started like that but… oh hell.”

     Leah’s words grind to a halt as she’s unable to properly explain. She grabs a handful of Lego, turning over the pieces in her fingers just for something to do.

     “I need five of those,” Hempo says after a second, indicating a piece in Leah’s hands. “The long yellowy ones with five studs? Studs are those little bumps on top.”

     Wordlessly, Leah starts to sort, picking out pieces to match. She tries to get her thoughts in order at the same time. Once that task is accomplished, Lauren gives her another one. They work side by side in silence, Lauren doing the actual building and Leah providing the parts. The building has barely begun to take shape, right now it could be anything. It could end up as a monumental work of architecture or nothing at all.

     “Can we start over?” Leah blurts. Taking a deep breath, she adds, “can I get to know you properly? Not because of football or expectations but just because I think you’re pretty interesting?”

     “Is that a nice way of saying I’m weird?” Lauren asks, smiling softly.

     “What? No of course not I…”

     “Leah, relax, I was kidding.” Lauren says, her smile growing wider. “We can try and be friends. If that’s what you want.”

     “It is.”

     The tension breaks somehow with Lauren’s joking. Things between them aren’t exactly perfect, but Leah no longer feels like they’re unrepairable either. They just need a little time and care.

     Eventually Leah grows bored of going through the tiny pieces and switches over to doing sudoku on her phone instead. She stays on the ground with Hempo though, reclining on the rug with her leg pressed up against Lauren’s thigh. The rustling of Lego bricks becoming a kind of background music to the start of their newly developing friendship.

     Leah focuses on present, letting go of the past. Her little mistakes won’t define them.

Chapter Text

     Leah’s not sure who she expected to be knocking on her door at half past eleven on the second to worst day of her life. Maybe her Mum disregarding Leah’s strict orders that she be left alone or Kim stopping by in her capacity as Captain.

     Leah certainly wouldn’t have predicted it would be Lia standing there, dressed casually in a simple white tee tucked into wide leg light wash jeans. The Swiss woman is resting one hand on the handle of a rather large suitcase. 

     “What have you got there?” Leah asks instead of directly addressing the obvious question of why Lia is here in the first place. She doesn’t feel quite up to the task of tackling that topic yet.

     “Luggage?” Lia replies, raising one of her elegantly curved eyebrows.

     “Right, I can see that. I mean what’s in it? Hopefully not a dead body. I’m afraid I’m not going to be much help grave digging for the next few months. Dodgy knee and all that,” Leah tries to joke.

     Her voice is too broken to hold more than a smidge of humor. Her fucking knee. Even standing with it immobilized in a stiff brace, Leah can feel the wrongness of it. The trainers had said most of that was from the swelling, but she’s not so sure. Leah’s fairly certain she can feel every fiber of her torn ligament each time she so much as shifts her weight. Even without the scans that are planned for later in the week, Leah knows what’s what. 

     Lia snorts and asks, “who exactly do you think I’ve murdered?”

     “Dunno really, Jonas maybe. I haven’t given it much thought. My brains a bit…” Leah trails off, converting to a vague gesture instead to try and explain her current mental state.

     Giving Leah a sympathetic smile that she both loves and hates simultaneously, Lia adds, “are you going to let me in or not?”

     “You never explained what’s with the luggage? Are you planning on moving in?” Leah jokes.

     “Yes.”

     “Wait, what?”

     Shrugging like it’s no big deal, Lia explains, “I decided you need a friend right now.”

     Leah’s stomach lurches. God does she ever need a friend. Her shattered dreams of a World Cup hurt even more than her fucking knee. All she really wants, besides being able to turn back time, is to have somebody be here for her. She’s not sure how Lia figured out that’s what she needs and she’s also equally uncertain if she’s comfortable asking this of her friend.

     “You didn’t need to come over here and coddle me. I’m alright,” Leah argues.

     Looking totally un-swayed, Lia states, “no you aren’t.”

     Leah’s eyes start to well over. She’d thought she’d run out of tears sometime during the long sleepless night but apparently not.  Lia being here, Lia being kind, it’s uncovering a previously untapped well of sorrow. Or maybe it’s an ocean.  

     “Fuck, sorry,” Leah mumbles, trying to subtly wipe away her tears. “Maybe I’m not my best, but I’ll live. You don’t need to…”

     “Leah, stop,” the midfielder interrupts. “I want to be here. Are you going to let me in?”

     Leah doesn’t offer a verbal reply, instead only taking a few hobbling steps back to clear the doorway.

     Stepping inside, Lia asks, “when did you eat last?”

     Leah pauses, trying to wrack her brain. They’d given her something after the match yesterday evening, hadn’t they? The training staff had insisted she eat, all but forcing a protein bar of some sort into her mouth before handing over a bottle of double strength ibuprofen.

     When her response is too slow for Lia’s liking, she says, “never mind. I’ll just make something for us then,” even as she is already making her way towards Leah’s kitchen.

     “I’m not a total invalid, I can cook,” Leah tries to argue.

     “Leah, I love you, but you really can’t. Your idea of cooking is buttered pasta. Or plain toast.”

     “I’m not that bad,” Leah mutters, slightly miffed even though she’s also still riding some of the fuzzy feelings just from having Lia here.

     “In any case, I came prepared,” Lia says, setting her massive piece of luggage down flat on the floor and starting to unzip it.

     Leah watches in amazement as an entire cooler is extracted followed by a pot, ladle, and thermos.

     “Who are you, Marry Poppins?”

     “Who?”

     Slightly aghast by her friend’s lack of comprehension, Leah exclaims, “don’t tell me you’ve not seen Marry Poppins? Dancing chimney sweeps? Outing into chalk art? Talking penguins?”  

     “Talking what now? You mean the birds, yes?”

     “It’s a classic!”

     “Then after you eat, maybe you can show it to me?” Lia suggests mildly.

     During the brief course of their conversation Lia’s got the pot on Leah’s stove and emptied the contents of the thermos into it. Already the smell of something good is starting to cause Leah’s empty stomach to start to grumble. Maybe she is hungry after all.

     Walking awkwardly to Lia’s side so she can see into the pot, Leah asks, “what is it?”

     “Chicken and rice soup. I thought you’d want something simple and easy on the stomach. I know pain meds don’t always agree with me. Speaking of, when did you take your last dose?”

     Leah doesn’t know the answer to that question either and now that Lia has pointed it out, she notices that the throbbing emanating from her knee is approaching unbearable again. As a result, she only puts up a token fight when Lia leads her into the other room and nudges her down on the sofa. Wally is quick to return with a large ice pack and the pill bottle she must have gotten from Leah’s bedroom.  Leah feels a pang of embarrassment as she realizes that Lia must therefore have seen the wreckage of her room. Leah’s pretty sure most her bedding had been kicked to the floor and is intermixed with at least half a box of used tissues. She’s truly pathetic.

     “Stop thinking,” Lia orders, interrupting Leah’s train of thought.

     “Find your silly pigeon movie,” Lia adds more gently, carefully positioning Leah’s braced leg so that it’s elevated and resting the ice pack on it.

      “Penguins, not pigeons,” Leah corrects. “Though there are pigeons in it too come to think about it.”

     “Find your silly bird movie.”

     Lia’s hand briefly rests on Leah’s thigh. She rubs the muscle softly, a comforting gesture, before rising and heading back to the kitchen.

     As soon as she’s gone, Leah feels cold. She tells herself it’s just the ice and not the fact that she’s missing Lia and the warmth of her touch.

     The pair end up watching Mary Poppins and then following it up with the Lion King when Lia confesses that she hasn’t seen that classic either. Even though her medications cause her to drift in and out of sleep, Leah still cries multiple times. The Swiss woman is clearly concerned, despite Leah trying to reassure her that she always cries during these heart wrenching films. She's always been the sensitive sort, she’s liable to start crying if she sees a particularly beautiful sunset and her friends know that. Still, Lia is unwilling to let Leah sob quietly to herself.

     The first time Leah starts to sniffle, when Mr. Banks rips up his children’s adorable advertisement, Lia abandons her position in a nearby armchair and invades Leah’s space. Only it’s hardly an invasion when Leah is eagerly trying to shift over to make room.

     “Careful Leah! Your knee!” Lia warms.

     “Fuck my knee,” Leah mutters, though she relents and allows Lia to do most of the repositioning.

     Her mood can’t plummet too far though when Wally ends up sitting with Leah’s head pillowed in her lap. Even better, Lia seems to understand the defender's desperate need for physical contact, and she takes to running her hand distractedly through Leah’s hair and massaging her head. Leah practically groans at how good it feels and almost cries (again) when Lia briefly forces her to sit up and eat the now warm food. Luckily, as soon as Leah’s consumed two bowlfuls of the frankly delicious soup, Wally eases Leah’s head back down onto her lap and resumes her tender ministrations.

     When other emotional cinematic moments cause Leah to tear up, Lia is there, literally wiping away Leah’s tears.

     At some point, embarrassed by her emotional outpouring, Leah tries to hide her face as she says, “bloody hell, you must think I’m off my rocker. I swear I’m not normally like this I just…”

     “It’s okay,” Lia interjects lightly. “You’re allowed to feel however you need to feel Leah. I’m not here to judge you.”

     “Still, you must think I’m such a baby.”

     “No. I don’t. I think you’re wonderful and strong,” Lia states firmly. “And I think you’re hurting.”

     “I don’t want to talk about my knee.”

     “Then we won’t,” Lia reassures. “But I’ll be here either way.”

     Hating herself for her weakness, Leah still feels forced to ask, “yeah?”

     “I’ll be here as long as you need me,” Lia swears.

     “Just like Mary Poppins,” Leah observes, aiming to keep things light.

     Even though internally her mind is asking, ‘what if I need you forever? What if I want you here forever?’

     Eventually the midfielder rouses Leah enough that she can clamber laboriously to her feet and crutch her way to her bedroom. Lia stays close, poised at the defender’s elbow in case she should slip. Before the last two days, Leah would have protested being coddled like this, but right now, she’s mostly just grateful that Lia is still hanging around.

     Her gratitude doesn’t completely erase her pride though and Leah refuses to let Lia help her in the bathroom. She can wash her face and brush her teeth while propped up on her crutches and she manages the toilet somehow. She absolutely will not allow Lia to witness this level of humiliating weakness.

     She’s feeling almost proud of her meager accomplishments until she hobbles back into her bedroom and discovers Lia just finishing making her bed.

     “I thought you’d like some fresh sheets,” Lia says simply.

     Leah’s cheeks burn as she notes that the Kleenex has also been disposed of.

     “You didn’t have to…”

     Lia interrupts, laying a hand on Leah’s face and saying, “let’s go to bed.”

     “You’ll stay with me?” Leah asks, surprised but also desperate for more physical affection.

     It’s only when she catches Lia’s own shocked expression that she realizes that she’s misread the situation. Obviously, Lia hadn’t been planning on sharing her bed for the night. It’s only Leah’s drug addled brain and wishful thinking that led to her incorrect conclusion.

     Lia, bless her, only murmurs, “of course. In you go,” as she turns down Leah’s comforter.

     Leah struggles into bed, easing her braced leg up onto the mattress carefully. Lia helps her position it, then tucks in the blankets around her. She gives Leah’s hand a squeeze and then turns away.

     Leah’s entire being rebels at the thought of being alone. Without her permission, her fingers find and clutch the hem of Lia’s shirt. She’d been flying solo before the Swiss woman arrived on her doorstep and she’d been surviving, but now the prospect of being without Lia brings a pain sharper than that radiating from her knee.

     Lia must see something in Leah’s expression because she brushes some hair away from Leah’s forehead and places a feather light kiss there.

     “I’m just going to make sure everything is locked up and get you another icepack. I promise I’ll be back in five minutes.”

     What Lia’s saying is totally logical but Leah still doesn’t like it.

     “Close your eyes Leah and try and sleep,” Lia suggests. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

     Leah’s eyes stay wide open, and her gaze remains fixed on Lia’s retreating back until the other woman disappears through her bedroom door. As soon as Wally is gone, Leah starts to struggle. Her chest feels tight, constricted. She tries to breathe, tries to draw air into her lungs, but they’ll barely expand. Her eyes stay locked on the door even as her vision starts to grow a bit gray at the edges.

     Just when she thinks she can’t stand it for even a second longer, the door swings inward.

     Lia steps in and immediately clocks that something is wrong. The icepack hits the floor with a loud thump and Lia is already on the bed beside Leah.

     “Leah breathe,” Lia instructs, pushing the covers she’d recently tucked around Leah down and helping the defender sit up. “Deep breaths.”

     “Can’t,” Leah gasps.

     “Shhh, don’t try and talk just breathe. Like this,” Lia says slipping behind Leah in the bed and cradling the taller woman to her chest. She sets a pattern of respiration, deep inhales followed by big exhales, nice and slow. Lia’s hands stroke up and down Leah’s sides in the same way.

      Leah’s panic is starting to grow because it’s not working, and she is still not getting air. Then she turns her head and a gasping inhale through her nose brings with it the smell of Lia. It’s familiar and safe. Suddenly Leah can feel the warmth of Lia’s touch. The heat burns away the icy fear and Leah’s body starts to listen to her commands again. She sucks in a deeper breath.

     “Good Lee, again.” Lia encourages.

    Leah’s face is wet, and she guesses she started crying at some point. Probably for about the tenth time tonight. Her nose is also a snotty mess and that makes the whole breathing thing harder. Everything is hard. Except Lia of course. Her friend is soft and kind and wonderful. Lia stays wrapped around Leah’s trembling frame, providing a cadence of praise and support that eventually banishes the panic back to the recesses of Leah’s mind.

     Once it’s gone only exhaustion remains. Exhaustion and embarrassment. Ultimately the exhaustion wins, even though having Lia hold a Kleenex to her nose and tell her to blow should probably be the most humiliating moment of her life. Leah makes a concious decision to postpone her embarrassment until she has the energy for something beyond filling her lungs with air.

     After another ten minutes or so, Lia shifts from behind Leah.

     The movement causes Leah to go stiff and she has to force her hands to form fists instead of clinging to Lia like she wants.

     “I’m not going anywhere, I swear. I’m just going to take of my trousers quick, okay? So we can go to bed?” Lia explains.

     Having Lia stop holding her even for a second causes the panic to start to rise again, but Leah forces it down. She keeps her focus locked on Lia, forgoing looking away as propriety would demand in favor of her sanity. It’s not like she hasn’t seen Lia changing before. It shouldn’t matter that Lia’s jeans are pooling at her ankles or that the Swiss woman’s legs are a masterpiece of muscle and grace.

     Before Leah can get lost in the maelstrom of her emotional upheaval again, Lia is sliding under the covers. She doesn’t dance around the point, instead immediately plastering herself against Leah’s side.

     Leah tries to turn into her, searching out Lia’s comfort like a heat seeking missile only to have Lia’s hand on her abdomen stall her movement.

     Before Leah can try and apologize, Lia explains, “you should stay on your back because of your knee. So we can get it elevated.”

     It’s logical, and she allows Wally to shove a plump pillow under her bad leg, but Leah’s still teetering on the edge of more primal emotions. It turns out she's not in a logical place.

     Luckily Lia comes to her rescue (again), adding, “I can hold you like this though. I’ll still be right here.”

     She matches action to her words, pressing even closer and throwing one leg over Leah’s good leg. Her arm rests heavily against Leah’s torso and somehow the weight of it eases the weight on Leah’s heart and soul.

     “Thanks,” Leah mutters, her voice dry gravel.

     Rubbing her palm over Leah’s stomach soothingly, Lia murmurs, “don’t thank me. I should be thanking you.”

     The absurdity of that statement startles a choked laugh out of Leah and allows words to come a little easier.

     “Why on earth would you thank me when all I’ve done is cry on you and then have a bloody panic attack when I was alone for two seconds?”

     Moving her head forward until it is inches from the side of Leah’s face, Lia whispers, “thank you for letting me be here. Thank you for letting me care for you. And most of all, thank you for being you.”

     Leah snorts, turning her head so they’re abruptly eye to eye. She can see Lia’s long lashes and the warm chocolate brown of her irises.

     “I don’t feel much like me right now,” Leah admits.

     Lia presses their foreheads together, “you’re still you even if you’re a bit banged up. And you’ll heal and get through this. Give it time.”

     Leah wants to protest, but the combination of pain meds, emotional upheaval, and her lack of sleep the night before conspires against her. She’s forced to fight off a yawn. Not quite ready to surrender to sleep, she whispers the question that has been burning at her since she felt her knee snap.

     “What if I’m never the same?”

     “Then you’ll figure out how to be even better,” Lia replies like it’s simple.

     “I don’t know how to do that,” Leah admits.

      “I’ll help you. Like I said before, I’ll be here, no matter what.”

     Even though Leah still has no right to ask this of her friend, not when Lia’s already done so much, she can’t bite back the hopeful, “you promise?”

     Lia kisses her cheek softly and murmurs, “I promise. However, you need me, I’ll be here. At least until you’re back on your feet.”

     Leah allows herself to close her eyes. Forever is too much to ask for. It’s too much for her to even dream about. But this? Lia holding her close and soothing her hurts, Leah will allow herself to accept this. At least for the moment. As for the future? Well, Leah will worry about that if they ever make it there. For now, she’s just going to take it one day, hell even one hour, at a time.

     Knowing that she’s safe and won’t be judged for her weakness in this moment, she whispers, “love you Wally,” so softly it’s barely audible.  

     “I love you too Leah,” comes the immediate response. “Sleep now, we’ll deal with everything else when you wake up.”  

     Sighing in what feels far nearer to contentment than she would have thought possible considering her knee, Leah tucks herself even closer to Lia’s. 

     Tomorrow is a new day. And they’ll deal with it. Together.

Chapter Text

     Alessia is just starting to feel settled at Arsenal when everything suddenly changes.

     It’s Lotte who breaks the news, arriving at Alessia’s house with an uncharacteristically serious expression and a case of imported American beer. It’s not the good stuff either, just the same crappy Miller Light that they’d drunk together during university. Back then they’d both been bemused by having to sneak around just to have a bottle of piss poor beer. Now Lotte has gone to actual effort to get the stuff. It’s a sure sign that this isn’t a purely social visit. Even though Alessia knows that something’s going on, she doesn’t push Lotte, realizing that the defender will get to the point when she’s good and ready.

     Lotte’s apparently ready when they’re both letting a beer settle by munching on some popcorn.

     “It’s the January transfer window,” Lotte points out, totally out of the blue.

     “It is,” Alessia observes, not yet understanding why her friend has brought it up so randomly. “Don’t even try to joke about you leaving Arsenal, I wouldn’t buy it for a second.”

     “No, it’s nothing like that. Nobody is leaving. Well, nobody other than Noelle. But we’ve known about that for a while,” Lotte adds, slowly peeling at the edge of the label of her bottle.

     Sitting up on the couch now, Alessia orders, “out with it Lotta. What’s going on?”

     “It’s Emily.”

     Trying to hide her ingrained reaction to the name, Alessia asks, “which Emily?”

     Looking mildly disapproving in classic Lotte fashion, the center-back scolds, “Lessi.”

     “What about her?” Alessia questions, not having fully connected the dots quite yet.

     “She’s coming to Arsenal.”

     Alessia’s at a total loss. She doesn’t know what she feels, let alone how best to reply. No wonder Lotte is here, drinking beer on Alessia’s still not fully broken in couch on a random Monday afternoon. It’s because Lotte had been there then. She’s the only person besides Alessia who knows what happened. 

     The only person other than Emily Fox that is.

     “Fuck,” Alessia says at last, the expletive coming out almost emotionless even though she’s overwhelmed with them at the moment.

      “Yeah,” Lotte agrees solemnly.

     Without another word, Alessia reaches out, snagging another bottle of beer. She pops off the cap and takes a long swig, suddenly much less bothered by the quality of the alcohol. She’s gotten drunk on it before and right now, the haziness that comes with booze is all she wants. 

     Lotte, eying Alessia like she’s some sort of bomb that might go off at any second, asks cautiously, “have you talked to her since…”

     “No,” Alessia interjects, voice short.

     “You’re going to have to talk to her now,” Lotte observes neutrally. 

     Alessia sighs. Lotte is right and she knows it. That doesn’t make the prospect of having Emily Fox crash back into her life any easier to handle. 

     “Do you want to talk about it?” Lotte asks gently. 

     “What’s there to discuss? We kissed. Once. Years ago,” Alessia clips out.

     “Emily meant more to you than that,” Lotte observes. 

     Groaning, Alessia debates throwing her bottle against the wall. She won’t, such a pointless show of emotions won’t help her any, but she wants to. 

     “So what if she did?” Alessia asks. “I didn’t mean anything to her.” 

     Frowning, Lotte replies, “that’s not true Lessi. You know that she cared about you.”

     Alessia doesn’t answer. Lotte may know about the kiss and how much things fell apart in the aftermath, but she doesn’t know everything. 

     She doesn’t know that Alessia had fancied herself in love with Emily. Or that the striker, buoyed by being young and in love, had confessed her feelings. She’d kissed Emily in a moment of madness and then made things exponentially worse by telling the American she was in love with her. 

     Alessia had been shot down. Hard.

     Emily had been awkward about it, her hazel eyes widening as she’d stuttered through a reply. Even though Emily hadn’t been the most eloquent, Alessia had gotten the picture easily enough. Emily wasn’t interested in her. It was as simple as that. The particulars shouldn’t really matter.

     Nursing wounded feelings, Alessia had withdrawn from their friends. Not from Lotte, never from Lotte who’s basically her sister, but she’d spent more time away from the group. She’d also studiously avoided Emily at all costs. It had been for the best. 

     Then she’d run back to the safety of England, trying to leave her feelings for Emily Fox behind her. 

     “What am I going to do Lotte?” Alessia wonders, not truly expecting an answer. 

     Her ever-wise friend has one anyways. 

     “Talk to Emily? I know what happened might make things awkward, but you’re a professional. Besides, you were friends with Emily for a reason. Maybe you can be friends with her again?” Lotte suggests. 

     “Some professional I am, drinking beer midseason and complaining about a top player joining my club,” Alessia says.

     Ignoring Alessia’s self-deprecation, Lotte asks, “a top player? Have you been watching Emily’s matches?”

     “Maybe,” Alessia admits. “Not obsessively or anything. I’ve just caught a few here and there.” 

     Tilting her head to the side, Lotte asks, “is there anything you want to tell me Less?”

     Alessia chews on the inside of her cheek, wavering. Part of her wants to come clean and fill Lotte in on what had happened between her and Emily. At the same time, it seems wrong to dredge up ancient history. Especially when it might affect how Emily is able to fit in at Arsenal. 

     “No,” Alessia says at last. “Nothing.”

     “Well, I’m all ears if you ever change your mind,” Lotte offers. 

     “Thank Wubbs,” Alessia says. 

     Groaning, Lotte complains, “please don’t call me that around the other girls. If they find out about that nickname, they’ll never let me live it down.”

     Distracting herself from the problem of Emily Fox with her teasing, Alessia says, “I don’t know what you mean Wubbs.” 

     “You’re the worst,” Lotte says, clearly not meaning it. 

     The tension from the conversation dissipates and Alessia focuses on enjoying the moment. Emily coming to Arsenal isn’t something she can change. She’ll just have to figure out how to cope.

     Arsenal makes a trip down to Portugal for their warm weather training. It’s a nice change from rainy London, especially in January when the ever-present damp is coupled with biting cold. They’re meant to work off some of the rust the holidays may have caused. It’s also the time for them to adjust to the inevitable changes to their roster the January transfer window brings.  

     The biggest change for both Arsenal and Alessia is the arrival of Emily. 

     It hasn’t been formally announced yet, but all the papers have been signed so it’s only a matter of days. Because the team is keeping things on the down low, there is a little bit of subterfuge. Emily is brought to their temporary facilities at the end of the day in a car with heavily tinted windows.

     Alessia hadn’t intended to be there when the American first arrived. In fact, she’d meant to avoid the potentially awkward moment by making herself scarce. But by pure chance she’s enjoying the last vestiges of sunset when the car pulls up and Emily climbs out of the vehicle. As the defender shades her eyes, peering into the shadows to assess her surroundings, Alessia quickly steps back. She retreats into the doorway so that she can’t be seen, trusting the mounting darkness to hide her. She doesn’t go inside though, staying to watch Emily. 

     Even though she hasn’t seen the wingback in person for years, some things clearly haven’t changed. Emily is polite, helping the driver unload her things and pausing to chat with him for a few minutes. That said, not all is as it once was. Emily has clearly grown in confidence, handling herself with more poise than Alessia remembers. 

     Alessia can’t help but admire the way age has also refined Emily’s physical experience. She’s a touch leaner with her face a bit more angular, missing the last bit of baby fat that they’d both carried back during their university days. Her dark hair is pulled up in a bun, tighter and neater than the kind she sports for matches. Alessia remembers the few times Emily had let her hair down, the way she’d done when the team went out. 

     Shaking her head at her own folly, Alessia turns her back on Emily, going inside and to her own room instead of staying to say hello. She’s only delaying the inevitable, but Alessia isn’t ready to face Emily yet.

     Alessia’s not feeling any more prepared when she comes down to breakfast the next morning.

     She’d slept restlessly, tossing and turning while her mind tormented her with thoughts of a certain American. By five am she’d all but given up on actual sleep, but she’d stayed in bed anyways. She’d occupied herself by scrolling through Emily’s socials. They’re still IG friends and Alessia spends the predawn hours scrutinizing pictures to try to get an idea of what Emily’s life has been like. Without meaning to, she pages further back, ending up looking at the pictures of their days at North Carolina together.

     230 weeks ago. That’s when Emily had posted a photo of her, Alessia, and two of their other teammates. Alessia had her arm around the American and their heads were close together as they looked at the camera. The photo itself was fairly innocent. What’s more damning is the comment Alessia had left at the time. The ‘Love you’ followed by multiple pink hearts had felt daring back then. Like she was taking a risk and flirting with the girl she fancied. Now it just seems pathetic.

     Other than liking the comment, Emily hadn’t responded. It was only a few months later that Alessia had ruined everything by telling Emily about her feelings. Since then, Alessia hasn’t interacted with the American’s posts or Emily with hers. She wishes she could erase the comment from the universe. Or even better, pretend like her whole embarrassing confession had never happened. But, three years later almost to the day, Alessia’s past is coming back to haunt her.

     Even though she has been awake and wallowing for hours, Alessia dallies before going to breakfast. She’s not sure when Emily will show up, if the American will have had a chance to adjust to local time or not, and the last thing Alessia wants is to accidentally end up alone with her new teammate. So she waits, knowing that by nine, most of the team should be down at breakfast and therefore be around to provide a buffer.

     Alessia’s plan partially backfires. A bunch of the other girls are in the breakfast room as expected. However, she’s not able to slip quietly into the room and disappear into the background like she’d hoped. Because she’s preoccupied trying to catch sight of Emily even as she enters the room, Alessia isn’t watching where she’s walking. Consequently, she trips over the threshold, almost faceplanting before she catches herself. The fairly large group of players eating breakfast all immediately focus on her.

     Alessia’s face heats as she endures the resulting teasing. It’s to be expected really. Whenever Katie and Beth are together nobody is safe. And Alessia, as clumsy as she often is, makes an easy target.

     Keeping her head down, Alessia makes for the buffet.

     “Careful Less,” Katie calls. “There might be more specs of dust for you to trip over.”

     “Can you at least limit falling over to after you score?” Beth adds. “It would still happen a ton, but at least the pitch is generally softer.”

     Knowing that responding in anyway will only lead to additional teasing, Alessia keeps her mouth shut and serves herself some breakfast. Once her plate is filled with eggs, fruit, and beans on toast, Alessia faces the hurdle of where to sit. She’d normally find a spot with Lotte or, now that they’re back with the team, Beth and Viv. This morning that seems like a terrible idea because a certain newcomer is sitting at a table with Lotte, Viv, and a still laughing Beth and Katie.

     Trying not to make it obvious that she’s avoiding Emily, Alessia sets out for an empty table in the corner of the room.

     She only makes it a few paces before Beth calls out, “come sit with us Alessia! Fox was just going to tell us about all the embarrassing things you and Lotte did during University.”

     Alessia freezes, not knowing how to get out of the current situation. She doesn’t want to come across as rude but sitting with Emily sounds like a recipe for disaster. Conversely, the idea of Emily telling tales about the past is also terrifying and Alessia probably needs to be present to make sure that nothing of the sort happens.

     Before she can decide, Emily herself speaks up and says, “hi Alessia. Long time no see.”

     The defender pairs the greeting with a tiny smile and Alessia’s own lips mirror the expression. It happens entirely without her consent. She’d spent years smiling with Emily and apparently some habits are long lasting.

     “Alessia?” Beth prompts. “Are you coming or what?” 

     “Right, yeah,” Alessia mumbles, feeling awkward.

     Balancing her food, she treks the short distance to the mostly full table. It’s just her luck that the one open seat is directly across from Emily. Setting down her dishes, Alessia pulls out the chair and sits, trying to make herself small and insignificant even as she keeps peeking over at Emily.

     Emily who is openly watching her.

     Burying her face in her mug of tea, Alessia tries not to panic.

     “You okay there Russo,” Viv asks, picking up on some of the younger striker’s tension.

     “I hope you didn’t actually hurt yourself tripping over your own feet,” Beth adds. “I seriously don’t know how you manage to be so clumsy.”

     “Alessia’s always had two left feet,” Emily says quietly. “When she’s not playing soccer that is.”

     “Football,” Alessia corrects instantly.

     It’s only when she catches the American’s smile that she realizes she’s blundered into a trap. Emily had used the stupid name intentionally, knowing that Alessia would correct her. How many times had the same interaction played out over the years of their friendship. Alessia’s hit by a wave of longing for what they once had.

     “Did she always used to take a tumble after she scored too?” Beth asks, clearly missing the way Emily and Alessia are looking at each other.

     There is a lull where neither Alessia or Emily answer, too distracted by their stare down.

     Eventually Lotte interjects, “pretty much. At least here we don’t have to play on astroturf. She used to have turf burn like you wouldn’t believe.”

     Snapping back to attention and focusing on the group at large, Alessia shoots back, “you’re one to talk. With all the slide tackling you did; I’m surprised you’ve got any skin left.”

     Everybody at the table winces, all of them intimately familiar with that particular pain.

     Alessia moves food around on her plate, not really feeling up to eating or taking part in the conversation that has continued around her. Her teammates have moved on to discussing their differing experiences at the youth level and the generally lacking quality of those pitches. Alessia nods along but otherwise doesn’t engage much. She notes that Emily is also pretty quiet, only occasionally offering a brief comment on what things were like for her in America.

     Alessia isn’t overly surprised by Emily’s reserve. The right back had always been a bit shy in new environments. It’s why they had gotten to know each other in the first place. Alessia may be physically clumsy, but she is pretty nimble when it comes to social interactions. When they had been freshman together, it had been Alessia who handled most of the talking in those first few intimidation filled days. She’d happily acted as a social buffer while Emily found her footing, especially since it meant that helped pave the way for their friendship.

     Lost in her musings about the past, Alessia is surprised when Beth and Katie leave their table, taking a still sleepy looking Viv with them. It leaves the three former UNC players alone together. Alessia is just debating making an excuse so she can leave as well when Emily speaks to her directly.

     “Maybe we can catch up after breakfast?”

     The offer is vague and might be intended to include Lotte too. Alessia’s not sure she’s that lucky though, because Emily seems to be looking in her direction.

     Lotte must think the same thing, or maybe she’s just trying to give them a chance to clear the air before they have to start training together. In any case, she says, “I’ve got a session with Alice, she’s the team masseuse Emily, in ten. I’d better head to that. But maybe we can all hang out later?”

     “Yeah of course. That’d be great,” Emily agrees.

     After a very slight pause she adds, “how about you Lessi?”

     Lessi. Emily’s not the only person to call her that, not by a long shot, but hearing the familiar nickname from the American’s lips after all these years is still jarring.

     “Alright,” Alessia murmurs, not able to come up with an excuse to get out of it on the fly.

     “Do you want to go up to one of our rooms? We’d have a bit of privacy that way,” Emily offers.

     Being alone with Emily sounds like a terrible idea but Alessia is equally unexcited by the prospect of airing out their sordid past in a room full of their teammates. Nodding her ascent, she follows Emily’s lead, standing and busing her dishes before trailing the American out of the dining area.

     Waiting in a hotel lobby for a lift standing side by side with Emily Fox after not having any contact with her former friend for three years is one of the strangest experiences of Alessia’s life. She is torn between wanting to ask Emily what all has happened in the intervening years and running away from her. Part of Alessia also just really wants to grab Emily in a tight hug. They used to do that all the time, hugging hello and goodbye of course, but also just occupying each other’s personal space for no particular reason.

    All of that is hard to deal with but it’s not the worst of it. The most terrifying bit is that a tiny, miniscule corner of Alessia’s being is still very attracted to Emily. Even though things had gone so horribly wrong in the past, Alessia is unable to resist sneaking glances at Emily, and more specifically, at her lips.  

     The wait is silent and endless. Alessia refuses to break it with mindless chatter, and she doesn’t know how to broach anything deeper than that. Emily isn’t helping either. She’s quiet too, but unlike Alessia, she doesn’t keep her eyes to herself or steal furtive glances. The American stares openly, as if daring Alessia to look back.

     Alessia doesn’t take the dare, keeping her eyes mostly fixed on the mat in front of the elevator. It’s embossed with the logo of the hotel and warn by the passages of thousands of feet. She toes at it, a nervous fidget that she can’t contain.

     “What?” She asks at last when she can’t stand the weight of Emily’s staring anymore.

     “What what?” Emily replies sounding so American that Alessia can hardly stand it.

     Slightly peeved, Alessia exclaims, “what are you staring at me for?”

     “I’m not staring. Just looking. You look… different.”

     “It’s been a long time,” Alessia points out, refusing to allow herself to ask what Emily thinks of the change in her appearance. She shouldn’t care if her one time friend likes the way she looks these days or not.

     “Too long,” Emily observes mildly.

     “Or not long enough,” Alessia spits back.

     In her anger, she’s given up her observation of the mundane surroundings to glare daggers at Emily. It means she sees the way the American rocks back as if physically struck by her words.

     “Do you really mean that?” Emily asks, her voice intense with an emotion that Alessia can’t quite name.

     Alessia bites her lip, refusing to give the quick and easy answer that her lingering anger wants her to. Before she can compose herself enough to answer, the lift dings and the doors slide open. A small herd of kids comes pouring out with all the usual ruckus of youth. It’s only when she jumps aside to make room for them to pass that Alessia realizes she’d been standing pretty close to Emily.

     Neither of them says anything as the noise of the children slowly recedes behind them. It’s only when the doors start to slide closed that the odd trance that’s fallen over them is broken. Alessia shoots out a hand, preventing the lift from shutting. She awkwardly steps to the side, holding the door and gesturing for Emily to proceed her in.

     Emily enters, giving Alessia a small smile in thanks as she passes just a handbreadth in front of the striker. She takes up a position standing near the back of the lift, sticking her hands into the pockets of her Arsenal zip up.

     Alessia stiffly takes her own place, ignoring the way doing something as simple as holding a lift for Emily and getting a smile makes her feel. She goes back to trying to ignore the American. It’s hard though, trapped as they are in the confined space. Luckily it is a mercifully short ride up to the fifth floor where Arsenal’s suite of rooms is located.

     “My place or yours?” Emily asks when they exit the lift.

     “Yours,” Alessia suggests, wanting to be able to flee to the safety of her own room should the necessity arise.

     She’s unhappy to discover that the newest member of the Arsenal is being roomed right next to her. In fact, Alessia is pretty sure that their rooms have an adjoining door. A door that will remain firmly locked.

     She watches on as Emily uses a keycard to open her door and then follows the defender inside. Emily’s room is the mirror of her own, which means it’s plenty spacious. It would be nice if that meant she could keep her distance from the American, but the lack of seating sort of limits her options. Alessia eyes the uncomfortable looking desk chair, trying to decide if she should take it or remain standing, when Emily flops down onto the bed dramatically. She sits gingerly in the chair.

     “I’m exhausted,” Emily complains.

     “Jet lag?” Alessia asks sympathetically.

     “It’s the worst,” Emily confirms. “I know Australia for the World Cup was a bigger change, but then I had a whole bunch of people making sure I was able to adjust.”

     “Not that Arsenal hasn’t been amazing!” Emily rushes to add, sitting back up and looking at Alessia with wide eyes. “They’ve been so helpful it’s just…”

     “Relax Em, I know what you mean,” Alessia says laughing.

Emily’s eyes widen, and Alessia realize she may have just messed up.

     “Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you that. Old habit I guess.”

     “No that’s fine. I don’t mind that at all. It’s just… I forgot how much I love your laugh.”

     Alessia suddenly doesn’t feel at all like laughing.

     “We should talk,” she says seriously.

     “That would probably be smart,” Emily agrees, then she pauses, tilting her head to the side and looking at Alessia.

     Alessia holds her tongue, not wanting to be the one to start things off. Emily is the one who invited her up here, it stands to reason that Emily should be the one to speak her mind first. Besides, Alessia has already made the mistake of putting her feelings out there. Once bitten, twice shy, and all that.

     Eventually, when it dawns on Emily that Alessia isn’t going to speak up, the American sags back down onto the bed. Half laying on it and staring at the white textured ceiling, the defender mumbles, “why is this so hard?”

     Uncertain if that was rhetorical or not, Alessia remains silent.

     Still reclining, Emily tilts her head so she can look at Alessia’s face as she asks, “is me being here going to be a problem?”

     Alessia shrugs and says blandly, “does it matter?”

     Propping herself up on her elbows, Emily frowns and says, “yes of course.”

     “It’s not like what I think on your transfer will change anything.”

     Emily’s frown deepens.

     “I wasn’t sure how to talk to you first. A text felt too impersonal, and I didn’t think you’d pick up if I called. And Lotte said…”

     “You talked to Lotte?” Alessia interjects, miffed.

     “Not about… not in detail. Just about the fact that Arsenal was interested in the move. And that I was too. I… I did ask her if she thought you'd hated it.”

     “What’d she say?” Alessia asks, curious despite herself.

     “It’s Lotte so nothing straightforward. Something about how you’d probably have strong feelings about it.”

     Alessia doesn’t answer, mentally berating Lotte for even saying that much. She’ll be having words with her friend at a later date.

     “Do you?”

     “Do I what?” Alessia repeats, stalling for time.

     “Have strong feelings about me?”

     Alessia’s ears catch the change in phrasing immediately. It’s got to mean something, hasn’t it? Emily is fishing for something.

     “Arsenal is lucky to have you,” Alessia replies tactfully.

     “Lessi…” Emily complains, making a face at the obvious evasion.

     “What do you want from me Em? I’ll be professional, I’m not going to make things difficult for you here. I suppose I can even try and be friends with you again if that’s what you want but…”

     “What if I don’t want us to just be friends?”

     “What exactly are you saying Emily?”

     Jumping to her feet in agitation, Emily paces around the hotel room like a caged animal. After a few laps she comes and kneels next to where Alessia is sitting. Emily reaches out, like she’s going to take Alessia’s hand, but when Alessia jerks back, the defender lets her hand fall to her lap instead.

     “You… you loved me once,” Emily starts haltingly. Shaking her head at herself she adds, “or you said you did. And you, that is, we, kissed.”

     “Ancient history,” Alessia whispers uncertainly. Her heart is pounding away in her chest. Not to mention she feels like she’s underwater.

     “I fucked up,” Emily murmurs, trying to catch Alessia’s eyes. “I fucked up so bad Lessi.”

     Trying to be diplomatic, Alessia says, “it’s not your fault that you didn’t feel the way I did.”

     “But I did.”

     Alessia’s entire world shifts on its axis. It feels like known facts, things she’s known as certainly as she knows water is wet, are now in doubt.

     Her dumbstruck expression compels Emily to keep talking.

     “I was so scared then Lessi. We were so close, and I cared about you so much. I can’t even explain how much. But it was North Carolina! Not to mention I’m from Virginia and my family... I know being gay might have been okay to some of the girls on the team, but it wasn’t to me. Not then.”

     “You… you’re…” Alessia’s unable to put her questions into words. Her mind is still spinning too fast for her to be able to make things like language work.

     “I’m bisexual,” Emily clarifies, voice just a touch unsteady. “I sort of knew that then, but I wasn’t okay with it.”

     “I’m… I guess I’m glad that you’re comfortable with your sexuality now, but why are you telling me this?”

     “Because I’ve hated myself for what I did to you, to us, for years. And I need you to understand why I did it. Even if you can never forgive me for it, I need you to know.”

     Before Alessia can say anything, Emily continues, “you kissed me, and everything clicked into place. All these big, wonderful, terrifying feelings I had for you, they suddenly made sense. I knew I loved you, but until that moment, I didn’t realize that I was in love with you.”

     “You were?” Alessia asks, her voice half wistful and half surprised.

     Emily nods, reaching out again and this time taking Alessia’s hand. She holds it in her own, rubbing her thumb over Alessia’s palm.

     “I was. And it terrified me. The way I felt uh, physically, when we kissed, that was scary enough. But how I felt emotionally? How deeply I loved you? It was too much. I didn’t know what to think or do. And then you said all these wonderful things.”

     “But you shot me down!” Alessia protests. “You told me you didn’t feel anything like that for me!”

     “I know what I said,” Emily murmurs, squeezing Alessia’s hand. “I lied. And I’m so very sorry. If it means anything at all, I regretted it immediately. More than I’d ever regretted anything in my life Lessi.”

     Alessia tries to harden her heart. Just because Emily is back in her life, literally down on her knees and telling Alessia everything a younger her spent years desperate to hear, doesn’t make things magically okay now.

     Some of her thoughts must spill through her expression because Emily adds, “it doesn’t make what I did okay, I know that. But I swear, it’s true. And I did try to be better. I started seeing a psychiatrist, did you know that?”  

     Alessia shakes her head. She hadn’t. She’d withdrawn as much as humanly possible to lick her wounds, only really interacting with Lotte in the months after her confession.

     “I was trying to be better. Trying to get myself to a place where I could love myself. So that I would feel worthy of returning your love. I was going to try and talk to you, once I’d figured things out. I was working on an apology, even planning this big grand gesture to try and win you back.”

     “You were?”

     “Yes,” Emily confirms, chuckling a bit weakly. “I wanted to ask you to homecoming. I know that’s cheesy, but I thought you would’ve liked the chance to get all dressed up. And I wanted to show you and the world that I was in love with you.”

     Alessia can almost picture it. She can almost imagine an alternate universe where Emily came to her and apologized. Where they worked things out and started dating, maybe not publicly, but proudly.  

     “Then why…?”

     “Why did I never come apologize? I wasn’t ready. It’s a shit excuse, but it’s the truth. I was struggling to work through my hang ups. And I was hurting too. Losing your friendship, I was basically just going through the motions. And seeing you hurting, God Alessia, it was my fault, and I could barely stand it.”

     “I was so close though! I was almost ready. I came out to my parents when I went home for spring break. I didn’t tell them who, but I told them there was this incredible girl that I loved more than anything. It was hard, and ugly, but I did it! And as soon as I got back to campus, I was going to track you down. I was going to tell you everything. But then… Covid happened.”

     “We went online and then, next thing I know you were signing with United and flying back to England. I missed my chance.” Emily shrugs, looking at their still intertwined hands.

     “I watched all your matches. Even when you were hurt and not playing… I was so proud of you, plus it was the only thing that let me feel close to you. I must have started texting you a million times,” Emily admits. “It didn’t help that I was so jealous.”

     “Jealous? Of what? You were drafted number one in the NWSL!” Realizing what she’s just revealed, Alessia adds, “I was watching you too.”

     Smiling slightly, Emily corrects, “not of what, of who.”

     “Who?”

     “Ella Toone,” Emily explains.

     “Tooney? Why?”

     “Because it’s obvious how close you two are! I was on the other side of the Atlantic and you hated me. Meanwhile Toone got to play with you every day. Even during lockdown, it was clear you two were inseparable. And well, I don’t know it any of it is true, but there was a lot of speculation that you are more than friends.”

     “We aren’t!” Alessia splutters. “Tooney is straight! And engaged!”

     “I know. Or at least, I mostly do. I figured you’d have never left her at United if you were in love with her like that. That’s just… not something you would do. But jealousy isn’t exactly rational.”

     “I can’t believe you were jealous of Tooney,” Alessia remarks, still struggling with the idea.

     “It’s not exactly something I’m proud of. And it’s not just Toone. If I’m completely honest, I was a bit worried about Leah too, once you transferred.”

     “Whatever for?”

     “She’s very attractive,” Emily says, shrugging.

     “She is but… she’s not really my type,” Alessia admits. “Not to mention, well...”

     “Not to mention what?”

     Indecisiveness prevents Alessia from fessing up to the full truth of it. Instead, she hedges, “let’s just say I wasn’t looking for anything romantic.”

     “Why not?” Emily presses.

     Alessia huffs out a breath.

     “It turns out being in love with your straight friend makes it hard to date.”

     A pause hangs heavy between them.

     “I thought you said you weren’t in love with Toone?” Emily asks at last.

     “I’m not!”

     “Lotte then? Because…”

     “I’m not bloody well in love with Lotte! She’s practically my sister!”

     “Then who?”

     “Seriously Em? Are you going to make me be the one to say it first again?”

     Alessia watches as her words register. She watches hope spread across Emily’s face.

     “Lessi, do you… Do I still have a chance?”

     “Why did you come to Arsenal?” Alessia asks instead of providing a direct answer.

     “Because I wanted you back in my life,” Emily replies immediately. “If that means we’re just friends again, I’ll still be so incredibly happy. But if you could find it in your heart to forgive me, if you could give me the chance to do things right…”

     Alessia uses their still connected hands to pull Emily up from where she’s been kneeling on the floor. She tugs the defender into her lap, the cheaply made hotel chair rocking ominously under their combined weights.

     Emily looks so adorably surprised that Alessia doesn’t pause to think. She leans in and kisses Emily briefly, keeping her touch light and then pulling back to see how the American will react.

     Emily’s smile is massive, and she chases Alessia’s retreating lips, initiating another kiss.

     Alessia practically melts in happiness, barely able to maintain enough cognitive function to kiss Emily back properly. It’s as natural as breathing to wrap her free hand around Emily’s waist, pulling the other woman even closer too her. She lets herself be lost in the moment, cherishing what she thought she would never be able to have.

     Eventually, worried about taking things too far too fast and messing everything up again, Alessia forces herself to break the kiss.

     “I think I can forgive you,” she says, her lips still tingling pleasantly. “Just… don’t hurt me again Em. I won’t survive it.”

     “I won’t, I swear,” Emily says immediately. “I promise I’ll do everything in my power to show you how much I lo…”

     Emily's words stumble to a halt, and she looks at Alessia with wide eyes before correcting too, “how much I care about you.”

     “I care about you too Em.” Alessia replies, helping the American relax.

     “When we’re back in London, will you go on a date with me?” Emily asks.

    Mind absolutely blown by the fact that Emily Fox is back in her life, sitting on her lap having just kissed her, and is now actually asking her out, Alessia can only agree. She’s thrilled at the prospect of doing things properly with Emily but…

     “I’ve waited a long time to kiss you again,” Alessia observes. “Do I have to wait until after our date now?”

     Laughing, Emily replies, “not if you don’t want to.”

     “Good,” Alessia says, guiding Emily’s face down so that she can kiss the woman she’s never been able to forget.

     Maybe that connecting door will come in handy after all.

Chapter Text

     Lucy hadn’t thought much about Ona’s offhand comment about getting her hair braided. Obviously how she wore her hair was Ona’s decision. They were dating, but Lucy fully respected the younger woman’s bodily autonomy. If she’d considered it at all, it would have only been to briefly morn the loss of one of her favorite post-match rituals; watching Ona untangle her thick braid and twist her sweaty hair up into a bun. Still, compared to worrying about Euro’s qualifications and the fact that Ona nearly got her face kicked in, the hairstyle Ona sported was fairly low on her list of worries.

     Things change a bit when Lucy gets to see the new look in person.

     Ona had been cagey about it, refusing to share any photos of the process or even the final product. Lucy gets her first look when Ona arrives home only 50 minutes before they need to leave for Mariona and Sanda’s goodbye ceremony.

     Ona had walked in the door, calling a cheerful greeting and Lucy had been totally struck dumb.

     Ona always looked good, that was a known fact. Lucy’s seen Ona in just about every possible situation, dressed up, in her kit, sporting oversized pjs, and even her two personal favorites: in Lucy’s clothes and sans clothes entirely. She’s seen Ona happy and occasionally sad. She’s watched her smiles, and laugh, and love.

     What Lucy hadn’t seen before today, was Ona with braids.

     One braid, sure. But this? With her hair twisted tight to her head and forming four graceful curves, Lucy’s never seen her look quite like this. Or quite so tempting.

     Lucy’s not sure what exactly is so appealing about it. Maybe the way it shows off all of Ona’s sharp jawline or her adorable ears. Or perhaps how it means Ona’s beautiful face is visible from every angle. Either way, Lucy can’t get enough.

     Lucy had come to welcome home her girlfriend, but she pauses in the doorway, murmuring, “look at you,” instead of a more typical greeting.

     “Hola Lucy,” Ona replies, smiling and briefly going up on her tiptoes to kiss Lucy’s cheeks. “Do you like?”

     Lucy likes. Lucy likes a lot.

     Swallowing, Lucy says, “yeah. You look good babe.”

     “You really think so? Is it not too much? Salma said it would be a good style for me but…”

     Lucy interrupts Ona’s rambling explanation with a kiss. She’d meant it to be a gentle reassurance and a celebration of their reunion. Instead, it turns into something hungry. Lucy angles her head, gathering Ona closer to her with a hand curved around the back of her neck. She kisses Ona eagerly, her fingers reaching out to explore the unfamiliar braids and…

     Ona abruptly pulls away, playfully swatting Lucy’s hand away.

     “Lucy! You can’t touch them.”

     “Why not?” Lucy grouses, pouting about the sudden end to what had been a pretty fucking good kiss.

     “Because you’ll mess up the braids. And they took a long time. Besides, we have to leave soon, don’t we?”

     Lucy checks her watch. 45 minutes. Surely that’s plenty of time.

     “We’ve got time,” she reassures, looping arms around Ona’s waist and leaning into trail kisses along the smaller woman’s jaw.

     She gently takes Ona’s earlobe between her teeth and applies the faintest pressure, feeling the way the younger woman shivers.

     Keeping her mouth right near Ona’s ear, Lucy whispers, “you never take long for me. I bet I could get you off at least twice before we need to go. Want me to try?”

     “Lucy…” Ona groans, sounding conflicted. “The ceremony…”

     Lucy hums in agreement but doesn’t stop, moving downwards to kiss a line along Ona’s neck. She’s wearing a silver chain that’s disappearing almost tauntingly under the plain collar of her white tee.  Lucy loops a finger in the chain, withdrawing the slack from under Ona’s shirt and using it to pull her forward.

     Ona comes, leaning forward, her body already eagerly listening to Lucy’s non-verbal instructions. She sways, her long lashes fluttering slightly.

     Lucy grins knowing she’s won. Winning always feels good, but it’s particularly satisfying when the prize is getting to spend some quality time with Ona. She always feels lighter when she’s with her girlfriend and those moments have been too few in recent days. Even with a somewhat constricting time restraint now, Lucy’s still thrilled with the direction they’re heading.

     Unable to help herself, the hand not tangled in Ona’s chain comes up to explore the end of one of those damn braids. She can’t wait to experience what they’ll feel like brushing against her skin. She is already imagining taking Ona from behind and pulling her girl back against her using a hand in those braids. Ona will arch beautifully and make such dirty noises that Lucy’s toes will curl when…

     “Lucy, what did I just say Cariña?”

     “Wha’?” Lucy murmurs, not understanding why Ona is pulling away.

     Ona gently frees herself from Lucy, unhooking the Englishwoman’s fingers from her chain and the end of one of her braids.

     “No touching!” Ona scolds lightly, smiling so that Lucy knows she’s not truly angry.

     “But…”

     Ona stops Lucy’s protests with a soft kiss. She keeps it going just long enough for Lucy to get really invested and start to look for more again before she pulls back.

     Lightly tapping Lucy’s face in her typically tactile way, Ona explains, “you have to keep your hands to yourself. You can look though, if you want.”

     Ona grins then, her expression a combination of coy and teasing that would have sent Lucy’s blood pounding if it hadn’t been already.

     “I want,” Lucy says, her voice sounding husky to her own ears.

     “Bien. Come, you have to get ready, yes?”

     “I’d rather be getting you ready,” Lucy grumbles, not able to let go of the mood just yet.

     “Be patient!” Ona instructs. “We’ll go celebrate our friends and look pretty for the cameras. And then…”

     “And then?” Lucy repeats, fixating on the teasing promise hiding in Ona’s words.

     “Then we’ll come home,” Ona says, shrugging.

     She’s acting like she’s not being a tease, but the sparking amusement in her brown eyes and the slight curl at the corners of her lips gives her away.

     “I’m gonna get you back for this later,” Lucy vows, already plotting.

     “Si? Lo promotes?” Ona asks, adjusting Lucy’s shirt collar at the same time.

     “Yeah, I promise.”

     Lucy’s plan is to keep her hands to herself to show off her excellent restraint, bring Ona home as soon as humanly possible, and then ravish her until neither of them can remember their own names.

     The problem with Lucy’s plan is that keeping her hands off of Ona right now is proving to be… trying. By the time they actually make it out of the house, Lucy has slipped up no less than four times. Her most serious lapse in control results in her pressing Ona up against their front door and kissing her hungerly. Ona has added small gold hoops to her ears and is now sporting shorts that leave a lot of her legs exposed. Lucy is overcome with a need to touch and before she can reign herself in, she has Ona pinned to the door and is encouraging her to wrap her legs around Lucy’s waist.

     Ona, laughing, hooks her legs over Lucy’s hips and locks her ankles behind the older defender’s back.

     “Lucy, we’ll be late!” Ona complains between kisses.

     “Just a few more minutes,” Lucy replies distractedly, busy losing herself in Ona. She can feel the heat of her girlfriend’s core against her stomach even through the fabric of Ona’s shorts and her own shirt. Knowing that Ona wants this, wants her, only fuels Lucy’s desire.

     It’s a bit awkward, but by angling her hips just right she’s able to squeeze her hand between their bodies and slip it under Ona’s shorts. There’s practically no space to work, but that’s okay. Lucy has always been good at working with what she’s given. Her fingers find Ona’s clit through the thin layer of wet cotton of her pants, and she rubs. Lucy knows what Ona likes, she knows her girl is eager for pressure, so she provides it, rocking her hips firmly and letting her fingers translate the motion to Ona’s clit.

     Ona moans. It’s such a pretty sound and Lucy captures it with a kiss. 

     Ona’s head falls back slightly, thumping into the door. It elongates the line of her neck, making her look even more attractive if that’s possible. Lucy wants more, she always wants more. She takes Ona by the nape, her fingers closing over braids and tugging Ona’s head back even further.

     Ona’s lips part slightly as she gasps, the noise an almost whine that leaves Lucy lightheaded. She flexes her hand, fighting back the cramp in her wrist. Just a few more minutes and Ona will be moaning Lucy’s name as she cums. She’s always so wonderfully vocal and…

     A hand on Lucy’s chest and a soft, “Lucy espera.”

     Lucy freezes. She doesn’t withdraw, but she waits. She might call the shots when they’re intimate nine times out of ten, but that doesn’t mean she’s not going to listen to Ona.

     Without speaking, Ona pulls Lucy’s hand out of her clothing. She lets out a soft sigh as the contact between Lucy’s fingers and her clit is broken, but she continues her withdrawal, sliding her legs off Lucy’s hips and standing under her own power again.

     “Time to go,” Ona explains, pushing Lucy gently back a step and straightening her clothing. 

     “But don’t you want… ya know,” Lucy asks.

     Her fingers are still wet with Ona and she can faintly smell the younger woman’s arousal in the air between them.

     “Yes. I want. But I’ll wait. And so will you.”

     Lucy grumbles. She doesn’t want to wait. Now that she’s not totally focused on Ona, she’s aware of her own pants. She’s wet and aching to be touched. Her clit is throbbing in time with her pulse and Lucy is far more interested in dragging Ona to her knees by those braids and having Ona’s mouth on her then she is going to some social event.

     The worst part is, Ona clearly knows where Lucy’s mind and body are at. She smiles teasingly and intertwines their fingers before bringing Lucy’s to her lips. She kisses Lucy’s digits, smirking and licking lightly at skin that is still slightly damp with her own arousal.

     Groaning, Lucy complains, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

     Still smiling, Ona says, “don’t be a baby. A little teasing won’t kill you.”

     She nudges Lucy out of the way and, after collecting her keyring off the hook, opens the door. Tossing the keys to Lucy, she adds, “you can drive. It’ll help you keep your hands to yourself.”

     “You weren’t complaining about me keeping my hands to myself a minute ago,” Lucy says, catching the keys and following Ona out into the Spanish sunshine.

     “And I won’t complain later tonight when your fingers are inside me,” Ona replies easily. “It’s all, how do you say, place and time?”

     A bit mollified now that her hormones are starting to cool, Lucy snorts. “Time and place you mean, and yeah, I guess. You just want my fingers though? Nothing else?”

     Ona smiles coyly, “we’ll see.” She walks to the passenger side of the car, tapping Lucy’s rear as she passes.

     “Tease,” Lucy complains.

     “You love it,” Ona replies.

     “I love you,” Lucy corrects.

     There are people all around them and a camera in the corner and Lucy doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about any of that because she needs to be close to Ona.

     Luckily the younger woman seems to feel much the same. Her hands have found Lucy almost as often as Lucy’s have found her. They don’t sit together, knowing from experience that if they do, they’ll be totally unable to focus on what they’re supposed to. Instead, Ona takes a seat in the row behind Lucy.

     That proves both good and bad. Good because it forces Lucy to mostly keep her hands to herself. Bad because it enables Ona to continue to tease. Every few minutes she leans forward to whisper in Lucy’s ear. It is largely totally innocent observations about the ceremony, but the feel of her breath against the sensitive skin of Lucy’s neck after the day she’s already had is enough to keep her wanting.

     Her agony is made worse when Ona starts playing with her hair. The Spaniard toys with strands of it, wrapping it in her fingers and tugging lightly. Lucy hangs onto the remnants of her restraint by a thread. If they weren’t in public, Ona would probably already be under her. Or on her knees in front of her. Or straddling her face. But they are in public, so Lucy very much shouldn’t be thinking about such things. 

     After the brief ceremony they’re expected to mingle a bit. Spending time with the rest of the girls is tolerable but everybody else proves to be a trial. Each question they politely answer or hand they shake grates on Lucy’s nerves. Normally she doesn’t mind doing this sort of thing. She has perfected her polite social media mask and is able to handle these sort of interactions in her sleep. Right now, though, she simply doesn’t have the patience for it. They take their leave as soon as possible without being seen as rude.

     When they make their escape, it’s something of a mad rush to the car.

     “I’ll drive,” Ona says, her fingers sneaking into Lucy’s trouser pocket to claim the key.

     Lucy’s so worked up that even that brief touch almost has her moaning.

     “Drive fast,” Lucy asks, begs.

     Ona does. She navigates the streets of Barcelona easily, only erring once when Lucy’s wandering hands once again start to play with one of her new braids.

     “You’re bad,” Ona scolds.

     “You like it,” Lucy points out. “Besides, I’ve been good for long enough.”

     Glancing over from the street at Lucy, Ona says, “three minutes. Then we’ll be home.”

     “Three minutes, then I’m going to fuck you whether we’re home or not,” Lucy warns.

     They make it home before her arbitrary time limit. Barely.

     They crash their way into their flat. Ona tosses her keys in the direction of the little dish they normally live in but misses badly because Lucy’s lips are already on her neck. The keys clatter to the floor and that noise is drowned out by her moan as Lucy starts to suck.

     Lucy doesn’t bother being gentle. They’re past gentleness at this point. She takes a handful of Ona’s braids in one hand and tugs, forcing the younger woman’s head back. Ona’s mouth falls open, probably to protest Lucy risking messing up her hair again, but Lucy doesn’t give her the chance to speak. She slams her lips over Ona’s, taking her mouth in a claiming kiss.

     Ona meets her passion, returning the kiss with equal fervor.

     Needing to be closer, to have more skin contact, Lucy blindly propels them into the room. She refuses to break the kiss for even an instant so it’s an awkward stumble, Ona backing up as Lucy presses her forward. By some stroke of good fortune, they collide with the arm of the couch. It catches Ona in the back of the knees, and she falls onto the cushions. Lucy goes with her, catching the back of the couch to soften her fall.

     It’s the work of a few seconds to get their limbs repositioned but soon Lucy’s pressing Ona down onto the sofa, her thigh firmly wedged between Ona’s legs. Knowing what she’s about, Lucy tenses her muscles, giving Ona’s hips something to rock up against. Her mouth is back on Ona’s throat, this time fixated on her fluttering pulse point. She lets her hands slip under Ona’s shirt to wrap around her girlfriend’s slim waist. Lucy directs the smaller woman’s movement, encouraging Ona to chase her own pleasure.

     “Cariña, por favor,” Ona moans between kisses.

     “What luv?” Lucy asks, pretending innocence.

     “More,” Ona begs.

     Pulling away far enough that she can regard Ona with a smirk, Lucy says, “I dunno pretty girl. You’ve made me be patient for such a long time. It might be my turn to make you wait.”

     Ona pouts and Lucy’s resistance almost instantly crumples. She was never really going to be able to deny the woman she loves pleasure, but that doesn’t mean she can’t tease a little. Or a lot.

     “Lucy, please?”

     Lucy’s remaining resolve fractures. It’s the way Ona’s accent colors the English plea that does it. She slides her hand down Ona’s belly and into her shorts. Ona’s pants are soaked. Lucy can feel the wet heat of her as if the fabric wasn’t even there. It’s easy to find Ona’s clit. She rubs it slowly, teasingly.

     “You’re even wetter,” Lucy observes.

     Ona squirms, either in embarrassment over Lucy’s rather crude statement or arousal.

    “Te deseo,” Ona murmurs, moving restlessly against Lucy’s hand.

     “You’ve got me.”

     “No… I want you,” Ona repeats, switching to English like she thinks Lucy’s not able to understand.

     Laughing, Lucy nips at Ona’s jaw as she replies, “I gathered that love. The fact that you’re soaked kinda gave that away. Care to be more specific?’

     Ona’s face is already flushed with arousal, but she blushes even more as she adds, “I want your fingers. Inside.”

     “Ah,” Lucy says nonchalantly, continuing to gently circle Ona’s clit.

     “Lucy…”

     Lucy kisses Ona's protest quiet at the same time she gives her what she’s asking for. Her hand finds its way under Ona’s pants and her fingers ease their way between slick folds. They groan as one as Lucy’s fingertips slip further down and dips inside.

     Normally Lucy would start with one but today she doesn’t bother. With how turned on Ona is, there is no need for Lucy to gradually work her girl open. She still goes slow, but based on her reaction, two fingers are exactly what Ona needs.

     Crying out, Ona’s hips jerk up, trying to grind into Lucy’s palm and fuck herself on her fingers all at once.

     Lucy helps, changing the shape of her hand so that she can provide the sort of touch Ona needs. She puts her hips behind the movement too, letting more of her weight settle onto the smaller woman so that Ona can really feel her.

     Now far enough gone that she’s lost any bashful reserve, Ona continuously murmurs a stream of praise and pleas. She reverts almost entirely into Spanish, only occasionally intermixed with ‘please’ and ‘more’.

     Lucy loves Ona like this. Ona uninhibited and wanton. It makes her want to draw things out as long as possible. To keep Ona poised right on the precipice. In the end though, Lucy wants to see Ona fall apart more. They’ll be other times to make Ona wait. Times when Lucy herself isn’t half mad with desire.

     “Come on love, let go for me,” Lucy urges, putting just a touch more force behind her fingers.

     Ona tenses, going still for half a second before she falls apart.

     Lucy grins triumphantly as Ona’s body starts to jerk and tremble. She can feel the strength of her girlfriend’s orgasm around her fingers even as she fucks her through it. Her own desire takes a backseat to an overwhelming combination of love, fondness, and pride. Of all the things that she’s achieved in her life, nothing feels as wonderful as giving the woman she loves this sort of pleasure.

     Ona is slow to recover, and Lucy doesn’t rush her. She keeps her hand moving, knowing how best to help Ona through her orgasm after lots of experience. Her fingers stay inside even as Ona’s body slowly goes soft and boneless under her.

     As Ona recovers, Lucy occupies herself by kissing every inch of Ona’s face that she can reach. She pays particular attention to her dimples, the tip of her nose, and the crown of her head. The texture of Ona’s new braids under her lips is novel so Lucy explores them further, placing countless kisses to the point that Ona eventually laughs.

     “If I’d known you’d like my hair this way this much, I would have done this sooner.”

     Smiling happily, Lucy says, “I like you this much.”

     Ona’s dimples deepen with her smile, “I love you.”

     “And I you.”

     Lucy slightly ruins the moment by pulling her fingers out of Ona. Her girlfriend’s whine as she loses the feeling of being filled only makes Lucy’s grin grow though. She sucks her fingers clean, relishing the way Ona tastes.

     Ona wrinkles her nose, which leads to Lucy pretending to take a bite out of said nose as she murmurs, “what? You taste good.”

     “That doesn’t mean you should eat me!” Ona protests.

     “No?” Lucy says with a playful leer. “You don’t want my mouth on you?”

     “I… I didn’t say that.” Ona quickly corrects.

     “Don’t you want me to…” Ona trails off, moving her hands down Lucy’s body in an obviously telling well.

     “Later,” Lucy murmurs, already distracted by trying to get Ona out of her clothing.

     “Lucia,” Ona half protests even as she helps Lucy strip off her shirt.

     “What? I’m not near done with you yet.” Lucy replies, then pauses. “Unless you’re done?”

     “I’m not… but…”

     “None of that.” Sliding off Ona and onto the floor, Lucy orders, “shorts off and spread your legs for me.”

     Lifting her hips, Ona obliges. Soon she is naked on the couch, kicking the last article of clothing off somewhere to be forgotten.

     Lucy pauses, stripping off her own shirt and bra, feeling too warm already. She rolls her shoulders briefly and takes the time to redo her bun to make sure it stays out of her face. In the short seconds it takes her to accomplish those tasks, Ona’s snuck a hand between her own legs. Lucy licks her lips as she watches her girlfriend touch herself.

     “Maybe you don’t need me,” she observes, her voice rough.

     “I do,” Ona corrects immediately, using the hand not rubbing her clit to beckon Lucy closer.

     Lucy lightly grabs Ona’s hips, tugging the smaller woman forward until she’s sitting right on the edge of the couch. Ona makes room for Lucy, spreading her legs further. Lucy rests her head against the inside of Ona’s thigh, watching the Spaniard touch herself from close range.

     “You sure? Because if you’ve got things handled…”

     Licking her lips, Ona admits, “I want your mouth. Por favor? Please?”

     Lucy’s more than happy to oblige, but she takes her time, turning her head and kissing the inside of Ona’s leg. She moves her way along Ona’s muscular thigh, inching slowly closer to where Ona wants her. She sucks some marks along her way, leaving evidence of her presence on Ona’s skin.

     Ona’s fingers pause in their motion in response to the light suction and Lucy uses that as an opportunity to take over for her girlfriend. She gently nudges Ona’s hand out of the way so that she can get her mouth onto Ona’s clit. Ona jerks when her tongue first makes contact, so Lucy softens her touch, sticking to the lightest of licks. She knows that she’s on the right track when she’s rewarded with Ona tossing her head back and letting out a soft sigh of pleasure.

     Pressing even closer, Lucy explores Ona more fully, savoring the act like it’s the first time she’s done this. It’s not of course, she gets her mouth on Ona as often as she can, but each time is still an occasion to be treasured. The advantage of her experience is that Lucy knows exactly what Ona wants and needs. It allows her to anticipate how hard and fast she can move her tongue to maximize Ona’s pleasure. When she finds she doesn’t have as much access as she wants, Lucy pushes on Ona’s legs, encouraging her to spread them even wider.

     Ona does so with a groan, pulling up one foot to rest on the edge of the couch so she’s wonderfully exposed to Lucy’s mouth.

     “Thanks pretty girl,” Lucy murmurs, not pausing in her worship.

     Ona shivers, either due to the vibration on her clit or Lucy’s words. She starts having trouble staying still, moving her hips minutely to try and chase Lucy’s mouth. When it becomes too frustrating, her hand rests on the back of Lucy’s head, trying to pull the Englishwoman even closer.

     Lucy doesn’t resist, happy to have Ona guide her. She keeps her tongue moving as fast as she’s able, ignoring the faint ache in her jaw or the fact that her face is a total mess by now. If Ona is directing her, she knows the younger woman must be close.

     She’s right. It’s only another few minutes before Ona’s moaning her way through her second orgasm. Lucy stays with her, pinning the smaller woman’s hips down so she can keep her mouth right where it is needed even as Ona’s rocked by pleasure. She only lets up when Ona pushes her away with a groan

     “Enough Lucia. You’ll kill me if you don’t let me recover,” Ona says weakly.

     “I suppose recovery is important,” Lucy agrees, sitting back on her haunches.

     Seeing Ona wrung out like this is a pleasure in and of itself. The smaller woman is naked, slouching back against the couch, the apex of her thighs still shining wetly with arousal.

     It’s a very satisfied and slightly smug Lucy who eventually gets to her feet with a groan. She pauses to stretch out her back and flexing slightly, testing her limbs for aches and pains. Even though she’s really too old to spend so long kneeling on the floor, Lucy feels good. Loose. There is something to be said for the power of endorphins.

     “Come on luv, lets move this to bed.”

     Ona doesn’t rise, only holds out her hand and looks at Lucy with puppy dog eyes.

    Rolling her eyes, Lucy bends over and picks Ona up with a groan.

     “You’re too heavy for this,” Lucy complains, pretending to be more put out than she is by Ona wanting to be carried.

    “Eres fuerte,” Ona replies, wrapping an arm around Lucy’s neck.

    “Muy fuerte,” Lucy corrects, smirking.

     Ona rolls her eyes, “and you’re, how do you say, full of it?”

     “No making fun of me or maybe I’ll drop you,” Lucy threatens, knowing it’s a total lie.

     “No you won’t,” Ona says confidently.

     By now Lucy’s carried her previous cargo all the way to their bedroom. With a mischievous smile, she promptly drops Ona onto the mattress.

     Ona lands with a little bounce and promptly sticks her tongue out at Lucy.

     Lucy only laughs. She’d been careful, making sure that there was no chance that Ona could be hurt by her actions. Ona and her both know it.

     Propping herself up on both elbows and observing Lucy, Ona asks, “why are you not naked?”

     “Dunno,” Lucy says, shrugging.

     “Get naked then,” Ona demands.

     “Pushy girl,” Lucy says mildly, already working to shed her remaining clothing.

     She joins Ona on the bed once she’s done, crawling over and collapsing half onto her girlfriend. Ona meets her kiss eagerly, her hands snaking around Lucy and cupping her ass.

     “Much better,” Ona murmurs between kisses. “You should be naked more.”

     Chuckling, Lucy points out, “you were the one who made us go to the ceremony. We could’ve been naked together so much sooner.”

     Nipping Lucy’s lower lip, Ona replies, “we had to go. It’s not my fault that we have responsibilities.”

     “Responsibilities suck. I can’t wait until we wrap up the season and have a bit of a vacation. I’m exhausted and could use a good break.”

    “Mi pobre bebé,” Ona says teasingly. “Are you too tired for me to…”

     Instead of spelling out what she means, Ona’s fingers tease along the crease of Lucy’s hip.

     “I’m never too tired for that,” Lucy says, trying to hide the way her voice has gone a bit raspy.

     “Good. Roll over for me?”

     Lucy rolls over with an exagerated sigh. Before she can miss sharing body contact with Ona, the smaller woman is climbing on top of her. Lucy allows herself to go limp, letting Ona position them as she sees fit. Apparently what Ona wants is Lucy on her back with her legs around Ona’s hips. It feels good, having Ona’s weight between her legs even though there is a slight burn in her quads.

     “Want me to get the strap?” Ona asks softly, her hands tracing the muscles of Lucy’s shoulders and sides.

     Lucy shakes her head. She doesn’t like the idea of Ona moving from where she’s currently at, even just for the time it would take to get into a harness. She’ll let Ona take her like that some other time, for now…

     “I just want you,” Lucy admits, trying to pretend like she’s not blushing.

     There is nothing innately embarrassing about the confession. It’s more the fact that Ona is looking at her so intently and tenderly.

     Pressing her head into Ona’s neck, Lucy adds, “it’s probably not gonna take much.”   

     Ona hums thoughtfully. Lucy can feel it more than hear it.

     “Like this then,” Ona says.

     She shifts slightly so she can work one hand between their lower bodies. At the same time she takes one of Lucy’s hands and brings it to her head.

     “Now you can touch,” Ona offers.

     Lucy’s fingers immediately tangle in those damn braids. It’s what she’s been wanting to do all day and it gives her something to hold onto as Ona starts to rub her clit. She moans against Ona’s neck, realizing that this may be over even sooner than she’d thought.

     “Ona,” Lucy gasps, pleading with that one word.

     “I know,” Ona replies, easing back on the pressure to ensure Lucy can hold on for more than a few seconds.

     Lucy whines at the loss even though she’s also a bit grateful. Before Lucy can decide for sure how she feels, Ona’s finger is teasing at her entrance.

     Nudging Lucy’s head away from her neck so that she can look into her eyes, Ona asks, “yes?”

     “Fuck yes,” Lucy says, desperate for it.

     Ona’s finger slides inside immediately, curving perfectly to drive Lucy mad. Lucy’s moan is caught with a kiss. She can’t focus on kissing Ona back, but she keeps her lips soft, letting Ona do what she wants with her. Ona’s teeth and tongue tease at Lucy’s, adding another overwhelming layer of sensation. Lucy shouldn’t be able to cum like this. Not without any direct stimulation to her clit. And yet she’s almost there anywhere. She tugs at Ona’s braids, half a warning and half a plea.

     Ona flexes her lower body, using the move to rock their hips together firmly. It drives Ona’s finger deeper, increasing the pressure. It also means her palm is pressed against Lucy’s clit. It’s so imprecise that Lucy almost wants to cry in frustration but then Ona does it again, moving their lower bodies together repeatedly. Ona sets up a fast rhythm, driving into Lucy in a way that can only lead to one outcome.

     Lucy’s orgasm hits her so hard that she’s temporarily left breathless. It feels incredible. Phenomenal. Waves of pleasure so great that she can only clutch Ona close as she rides it out.

     When she returns to earth, Ona is peppering her face with soft kisses.

     Ona, apparently realizing that Lucy is still a bit out of it, asks, “are you okay mi vida?”

     “Yep,” Lucy manages. “Better than okay.”

     She shudders as Ona withdraws her hand. She watches the younger woman wipe her fingers on their sheets. Normally she’d be bothered but right now she can’t give a fuck. As her orgasm recedes, all the energy she’d had left seems to drain out of her. She wants a cuddle and a nap in the worst way. Realizing she’s still got a handful of Ona’s braids, she makes a concious effort to unclench her fingers.

     Ona rolls off Lucy, landing on the bed in a dramatic sprawl taking up most of the mattress.

     Lucy turns her head, regarding her fondly. Ona is and will always be the most beautiful sight in the world.

     “What?” Ona asks. “Did you ruin my braids already or something? Do I look funny?”

     She self consciously starts to feel them, smoothing them back against her neck and checking to make sure none are coming undone.

     Chuckling, Lucy says, “no, nothing like that. They’re fine and you look perfect.”

     “Then why are you staring at me like that?”

     “I just really love you,” Lucy states.

     It truly is that simple.

     “Did I break your brain?” Ona asks, teasingly.

     “Shut up and say it back already,” Lucy orders.

     “Wait now I’m confused. Do you want me to shut up or talk?”

     “Ona!” Lucy complains in fond exasperation.

     “I love you too Cariña. Very very much.”

     “Today was a good day,” Lucy states after a second of them smiling at each other like the lovesick idiots they are.

     “It was,” Ona agrees.

     “You know what would make it better?” Lucy asks.

     “More sex?”

     “Ona! You can’t be seriously ready to go again already, can you?”

     Grinning, Ona admits, “no, not really. I’ll need a bit longer to trap a second wind. What would make today better Lucia?”

     “Catch a second wind,” Lucy corrects distractedly. “And a nap would make things better.”

     Nodding sagely, Ona says, “you’re right. A nap now, more sex later.”

     She rolls onto her side, closes her eyes, and slings an arm around Lucy’s waist.

     Lucy laughs, “you’re insatiable.”

     “Shhh, stop talking, I’m sleeping.”

     “No, you’re not,” Lucy murmurs, rearranging herself so that she can hold Ona more comfortably.

     Ona doesn’t reply verbally, but she sticks her tongue out at Lucy again.

     Lucy shakes her head fondly at the woman beside her. She’s not sure how she got so lucky as to end up with Ona in her life, but she’s determined to cherish every moment big and small. Lucy smooths a hand over Ona’s braided head a few more times before finally letting her own eyelids fall closed.

     It really was a good day. 

Chapter Text

     Korbin is beyond drunk.

     Not like, black out drunk. No, she’s gone past being drunk and is back to the harsh reality of sobriety. She feels like crap. Her head aches fiercely and she hurts all over.

     And she’s alone.

     It’s a combination of things catching up to her. Too many matches in too few days are part of it. Hayes’ insistence on suffering through pain instead of making changes also contributes. Then there is the dehydration from the game that’s exacerbated by hours spent drinking Champaign and beer instead of water.

     It’s the being along bit that’s getting to her the most though.

     The rest of the team, literally every other player and staff member, is surrounded by friends and family. Not Korbin.

     Her family, her parents and all five of her older siblings, they’d made the trip for the final. They’d even made a brief appearance at the after party. They’d been clearly uncomfortable though and tried to convince Korbin to leave with them only half an hour after the event started.

     Korbin hadn’t wanted to go. This was supposed to be the best night of her life. She was meant to enjoy the team celebration, take part in all the craziness that she’s only seen through social media from previous USWNT teams after big wins.

     She was so determined to have the full experience she’d even spoke up to her parents. It was one of the few times she’d intentionally gone against their wishes instead of just giving in. Korbin’s always hated conflict. She despised being the cause of strife. But for tonight, she’d forced herself to do it. She’d ignored the displeasure in her father’s eyes and the disapproval in her mother’s frown even though it made her stomach sink

     This is her night. They’re meant to be proud of her, not disappointed.

     Why couldn’t they be proud of her? It was such a little thing, staying to celebrate with her teammates. Even if her parents hated some of what current and former players stood for, couldn’t they understand why Korbin would want to be with them tonight?

     Her family had left, and Korbin had tried to keep her head up. The heavy weight of a gold medal on her neck was suddenly almost too much to bear. She’d attempted to distract herself with the party only to be confronted with the reality of her situation.

     Nobody really wanted her there.

     They played with her because they had to. Because winning gold was the priority. Because they’d been given the chance to represent their country at an Olympic Games and none of them wanted to risk messing that up by refusing to work with her. Korbin was accepted at training and not treated any differently when they were on the field.

     Now though, when the gold was won and they were truly relaxing for the first time in months, nobody wanted anything to do with Korbin.

     And it’s her own damn fault.

     Korbin takes another drink from the bottle, Champaign gone warm and flat almost tasteless in her mouth. She’s trying to recapture the feeling of being blissfully drunk. Trying to forget about why she’s leaning against a wall in a corner, hiding behind sunglasses as she watches people around her have the time of their lives. They’re dancing and laughing, hugging each other close and speaking loudly into each other’s ears to be understood over the music.

     Bile burns at the back of her throat. Korbin sets the mostly empty bottle down on the floor and darts for the door, running away from the happiness she’s excluded from.

     Paris smells. Or at least the part of the city that’s been taken over by too many athletes celebrating too hard does. Stuffing her sunglasses into her pocket, Korbin ducks down the first alley she sees, desperate to escape the light and joviality spilling out of the club and onto the street. The narrow alley is dark and grimy, much more suited to her current mood. She leans her head against the side of a building, feeling miserable and alone.

     Nobody cares about her enough to come after her. Nobody follows her to check and make sure she’s safe.

     Korbin shivers, pressing her forehead harder against the cement until the roughness of it digs into her skin. She wants to scream that it’s not fair, that it’s not her fault. That would be a lie though, so she bites her tongue, closes her eyes, and loses herself to the pain.

     “Albert?”

     Korbin jerks, head coming up as she looks in the direction of the person who called her name. She’s temporarily blinded as a car drives by on the street, backlighting the figure standing in the mouth of the alley. It doesn’t matter though; she could recognize that low and slightly husky voice anywhere. Just like she could pick out Sonnett just from her messy bun.

     Sonnett. Everybody on the team calls her that. Sonnett, or Sonn, or Sonny. It’s affectionate though, a sign of friendship and comradery. Not like when they call her Albert.

     “What?” Korbin snaps, lashing out because that’s the only response left to her.

     She needs Sonnett to go away. She can’t be around the older player, especially not now when everything is hitting her too hard. She should be left alone, even though that’s the last thing she wants.

     Sonnett puts up her hands in classic don’t shoot fashion. She’s holding two water bottles in one hand and a can of beer in the other. It makes the placating gesture seem comical more than anything else. Korbin would laugh if she didn’t think it would end up in her throwing up.

     “Just making sure you’re alive,” Sonnett says succinctly.

     “Why do you care?”

     Sonnett shrugs, her broad shoulders lifting slightly.

     “I don’t really.”

     The dagger in Korbin’s chest twists. She tries to hide her wince, to disguise her pain.

     She must do a poor job of it because Sonnett sighs and mutters, “sorry.”

     “Don’t be. I don’t blame you. I get it you know, why you hate me.”

     Korbin doesn’t mean to be honest. She doesn’t mean to let her thoughts escape her brain.

     Sonnett takes a step down the alley, frowning now, tiny wrinkles forming on her face.

     Korbin backs up in response.

     Seeing it, Sonnett stops immediately, clenching her jaw. “I don’t hate you.”

     Even over the noise from the club and the sounds of the city Korbin can clearly hear Sonnett’s words.

     “You should. I deserve it,” Korbin whispers.

     Then because she’s tired of everything she adds, “it’s okay though, no matter what, I’ll always hate myself more.”

     Sonnett’s frown deepens and she observes, “that doesn’t seem healthy.”

     Now it’s Korbin’s turn to shrug. She feels pathetic, especially as tears start to form. Her eyes burn, sore from when she’d cried happy tears when they’d won. Now she hopes the darkness of their environment will keep Sonnett from noticing.

     Sonnett stares at her. Korbin is torn. Half of her is mentally screaming for Sonnett to leave. She’s embarrassed and ashamed and the last thing she needs is an audience. The lonelier part of her though, the part that has felt isolated and left out for weeks, is begging for Sonnett, somebody, anybody, to stay. To care.

     Sonnett ambles down the alley. Small pieces of broken glass crunch under foot. Once she’s next to Korbin, she leans casually against the wall.

     Using the inside of her elbow to wipe her eyes, Korbin asks weakly, “what are you doing?”

     Sonnett wordlessly holds out one of the water bottles.

     “Thanks,” Korbin manages to murmur.

     Taking the water and uncapping it with clumsy fingers, she takes a few swigs. Then she waits, making a close observation of the bottle. It’s a French brand of course. Korbin translates the label, focusing on that as opposed to the woman standing next to her.

     “I know something about hating yourself,” Sonnett says softly. “It’s hard to stop.”

     “You don’t understand. I’m not like you,” Korbin argues harshly.

     “Relax, I don’t mean it like that I’m not implying anything…”

     Korbin’s not drunk but she’s tired. Tired of fighting and tired of hiding. She was alone, but now she’s not, and even if she doesn’t understand why Sonnett is here, the fact that she is feels like a lifeline.

     Korbin is desperate, she’s lost and drowning.

     She doesn’t think, she reaches out and grabs onto the defender. She’d intended to hug her maybe, but that’s not what happens. Her fingers catch in Sonnett’s lose fitting t-shirt and they’re about the same height. It’s easy to recklessly lean in and kiss Sonnett.

     The instant Korbin realizes what she’s done she freezes. Her mouth is still on Sonnett’s and she feels hot and cold all over. She needs to pull away and apologize but she can’t. Her lips part slightly, and Sonn’s are a thin and a little chapped and oh God what had she done? What is she doing?

     Sonnett is still against her, not moving away but not responding either.

     Korbin stumbles back.

     “Sorry, I’m, fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”

     “Relax Korbin, it’s no big deal,” Sonnett interrupts.

     Relax? How can she relax? How is it no big deal? Korbin had done it. She’d kissed a woman. Even though it’s supposed to be wrong, even though it means she’ll go to hell, she’d done it anyways. Finally.

     “Oh my God,” Korbin gasps, the magnitude of what she’d done slowly dawning on her.

     “I take it that was your first time kissing a woman?”

     Sonnett’s words are calm, casual even. But the implication behind them is mind blowing. It’s not that Sonnett has guessed that it’s the first time that Korbin has kissed a woman. No, it’s much bigger than that, and far more terrifying.  

     “You… you knew?”

     Just when Korbin doesn’t think her day can get any more lifechanging, this happens. She feels exposed. Like a bug in the hands of a toddler, no chance of escape and very likely to be crushed.

     “No, I didn’t know. And I still don’t. Not unless you ever get to a point where you’re comfortable with telling me,” Sonnett’s voice is gentle, kind. “But it’s like I said, I understand about hating yourself.”

     Korbin remembers the tattoo. The cross on the nape of Sonnett’s neck that she’s stared at far too often. That she’s always wanted to know the details of, but never felt comfortable asking about. The tattoo that points to something deeper, a physical marker of growing up in the south and being surrounded by religion.

     “I didn’t mean it,” Korbin confesses, looking not for forgiveness but for guidance.

     “Didn’t mean what,” Sonnett asks, tilting to her side.

     “The things on social media. The things I liked and, those things, what I posted. I didn’t want… I couldn’t…”

     Sonnett sighs. It’s an exhausted sound.  

     “Why’d you do it then?”

     That’s the question that’s been plaguing Korbin’s every waking moment for months. Why? Why had she spread hate? Why had she allowed herself to be that sort of person? Small and little and mean.

     Brokenly, Korbin whispers, “I don’t know. Some of my friends from school, some of my family, they said things. Implied things. About me. And I… I was scared. I’m really scared Sonn and…”

     Korbin is starting to hyperventilate but she can’t stop. She’s still clutching Sonnett’s shirt, fingers now clenched so tightly her bones creak.

     “That doesn’t make what you did okay,” Sonnett says, her voice stern.

     Korbin wants to die. She wants Sonnett to kill her. She deserves it.

     “I know.”

     Arms close around Korbin’s shoulders. At first, she thinks it’s Sonnett pushing her away. It turns out it’s the opposite.

     Sonnett hugs her.

     Korbin tries to resist the comfort that is being offered at first. She holds her body erect, not letting herself accept the embrace. The older woman is patient, waiting until Korbin slowly relaxes into it. Only when it’s clear that Korbin’s not going to pull away, Sonn holds her closer, rubbing big circles into her back. It’s a really nice hug.

     Korbin’s trying not to look at Sonnett, she’s trying to hide her crying, so she rests her forehead against the defender’s broad shoulder.

     Even though she doesn’t deserve it, Sonnett murmurs soothing words and keeps holding Korbin.

     “You don’t have to be the person who did that stuff,” Sonn whispers.

     Korbin tenses, expecting harsher criticism.

     “You can learn to stop hating yourself. You can become somebody you’re proud of,” Sonnett adds.

     “I don’t know how,” Korbin admits brokenly. “And now everybody hates me. And they’re all watching, expecting me to be the worst version of myself.”

     Sonnet doesn’t respond immediately. She doesn’t say everything will magically be okay or lie and tell Korbin people don’t hate her. Or that it’s not her fault that they do.

     “I can try to help,” Sonn offers at last.

     “How? No offense, but what can you possibly do that will change the mess I’ve made?”

     “I can be your friend.”

     Korbin’s breath catches. She picks her head up off Sonnett’s shoulder so she can stare at the older woman’s face. She doesn’t have friends on the team, not really.

     “Why would you do that?”

     “Because you seem like you could use a friend. Besides, I had people who helped me when I was lost. Pay it forward and all that,” Sonnett adds lightly, finally ending the hug.

     Korbin feels cold without Sonnett’s arms around her. Even though the older blonde is still standing close enough that she can faintly feel her body heat.  

    “I don’t want your pity,” Korbin argues, her pride refusing to let her accept the gift the older woman is trying to give her.

     “Korbin, it’s not pity. It’s a second chance, okay?”

     “Oh.”

     “Yeah. Don’t think I’m going to put up with bullshit though. If you really mean it, if you want to try and be more accepting…”

     “I do! I promise,” Korbin interrupts.

     “Okay then. We can be friends. Though you should think about what that means before you agree,” Sonnett suggests

     Korbin knows immediately what she is implying. Sonnett’s not exactly screaming it from the rafters like some people, but it’s pretty obvious that… that she’s…

     Korbin hates that she can’t even think it, let alone say it out loud. It’s another sign of how messed up she is.

     “I know what it means,” Korbin manages to say. “If you, if you’ll really be my friend, I don’t care about what people think. Or say.”

     It’s a lie and they both know it. She does care, that’s the problem. But Korbin cares far more about the idea of having somebody in her life who’s her friend. Who knows and is still on her side.

     “Okay then, friend,” Sonnett drawls, a touch of a Southern accent peaking out. “What do you want to do now?”

     Korbin blinks, not sure what she wants, or even what the options are.

     “We could go back to the club if you’d like, do some more celebrating? We just won a gold medal after all. Or if you’re tired, we could go back to the hotel.”

     “Won’t they miss you?”

     Korbin doesn’t bother specifying who. Everybody loves Sonnett, they’ll all notice her absence and miss her. She’s the opposite of Korbin that way.

     “It’s not the end of the world if they do,” Sonnett says easily. “What do you want to do?”

     “We did just win gold,” Korbin murmurs.

     “We did. And you were a big part of that,” Sonn adds.

     For the first time, Korbin allows herself to feel a bit of pride.

     “Can we go back? At least for a bit?”

     “Of course.”

      They make their way back into the club, but only after Sonnett makes Korbin drink the rest of the water and pulls some Kleenex out of a pocket that she also hands over.

     “I like to be prepared,” Sonnett says, shrugging.

     Korbin’s not really surprised. Sonnett does like to be prepared. For soccer, but more than that, she likes to be prepared to take care of her people. Korbin’s been on the outside of that looking in enough that she’s pretty sure that taking care of those she loves is one of Sonnett’s core values. Korbin just had never imagined she might get to be one of those people.

     “Sonnett,” Korbin says when the defender starts to lead them out of the alley. “Thank you. And I’m sorry about, you know… kissing you.”

     Sonnett laughs. It’s not a mean sound though, she’s not making fun of Korbin. She’s just… laughing.

     “Don’t worry about it, I know I’m pretty irresistible,” Sonnett boasts teasingly.

     Sonnett being silly about what should be an embarrassing situation makes Korbin smile.

     “You can call me Sonn you know. Or Sonny even. That’s what my friends call me,” Sonnett offers.

     “Not Em?” Korbin asks, mostly kidding but also a bit curious because Rose calls Sonnett that sometimes.

     “Not unless I let you get to at least second base someday,” Sonnett says lightly.

     Sonn’s tone might be light, but Korbin realizes that she’s being let in on something. Something about Sonnett and Rose that she’d guessed, but would have never dared say anything about. Not until tonight anyways.

     “You and Rose?” Korbin asks tentatively.

     “Me and Rose,” Emily confirms.

     “You’re… um, dating or…”

     Korbin tries to find the words. She wants to show that she’s not going to be a dick, that she’s supportive of Sonnett’s relationship.

     “She’s my person,” Emily says simply. “Rose doesn’t love the term girlfriend. And she says that we’re not 70-year-olds doing business together, so partner is a hard no. I’m hoping for wife someday, but keep that on the downlow, okay? I haven’t popped the question yet. We had the Olympics to win and such”

     “I won’t say anything,” Korbin promises immediately.

     Then she suddenly realizes something else, stopping at the door of the club and staring at Sonnett with horrified eyes.

     “I kissed you. Rose is going to murder me!”

     Sonnett laughs brightly.

     “Don’t worry about it, when I tell her what happened, she’ll understand. Rosie is good like that. But I won’t say anything at all about tonight until you’re ready,” Sonn says.

     “You won’t?”

     Shaking her head, Sonnett says, “of course not. Friends don’t do that.”

     “What if I’m never ready?”

     “That’s okay too.”

     Korbin’s not entirely sure how she’s stumbled into this situation. Maybe it’s a divine gift for winning a medal. Only if that’s the case, does that mean God is okay with… things? With her? Korbin puts religious quandaries to the back of her mind for now. Maybe Sonnett will share some of her own insights at some point.

     “Come on, lets go find Rose,” Sonnett says, tugging Korbin by the arm back into the crowded club.

     “I thought you said you weren’t going to say anything?”

     “I’m not, but Rose’ll make me sleep on the couch for sure if I don’t go pay attention to her soon,” Sonnett says, her voice fond.

     Korbin remembers Sonnett’s offer to go back to the hotel. The defender was willing to risk her hopefully soon-to-be fiancé’s wrath to pander to Korbin’s needs. It tracks with Sonnett’s personality, her caring, but still.

     While Korbin has been lost in thought they’ve managed to locate Rose among the mass of dancing people.  

     Rose, seeing Sonnett coming, starts to smile. The redhead’s smile turns into a frown when she notices who is with Sonnett.

     “What’s she doing here,” Rose asks, skeptically.

     Before Rose adds anything more biting, Sonn leans in and says something in her ear.

     Korbin can’t hear what’s said. She tries to trust Sonnett, but internally she’s panicking, fearing the worst. What if Sonnett tells? Or what if Rose hates her no matter what?

     After another second, Rose dramatically rolls her eyes and mutters, “fine.”

     Sonnett grins and that, apparently, is the end of that.

     “You two are both from the land of ice and snow. You should be friends because of that,” Sonnett suggests cheerfully.

     Korbin is too nervous to respond, but Rose only roles her eyes again and says, “the Midwest is not ‘the land of ice and snow.’ We’re not from the arctic.”

     “Yeah, but it’s pretty close. I don’t know why anybody would voluntarily live somewhere you’re snowed in six months out of the year,” Sonny adds.

     “You’re just a baby Em. It’s not six months of the year, right Albert?” Rose says, including Korbin in the conversation.

     “Right. Chicago is only really cold for a couple of months. And even then, it’s not that bad,” Korbin manages to speak up without stuttering.

     “You’re both crazy,” Sonnett says. “Wanna get more drinks and try to convince Trinity to prank Soph?”

     “Always,” Rose says, smirking.

     The pair make for the bar and Korbin stays where she’s left, feeling like her feet are cemented to the floor. Once again alone in the crowd and…

     “Are you coming Korbin?” Sonnett calls, beckoning with a hand and a warm smile.

     And suddenly Korbin realizes she’s maybe not as alone as she thought.

Chapter Text

      It’s clear that the girls experience a wide range of different emotions following the final whistle of their match against Zambia. They vary from elation to exhaustion and everywhere in between. They’d done it, somehow securing the win, completing probably the craziest Olympic Football comeback of all time. It means they still have everything to play for in their third match, the window to advancing out of their group is still open.

     It’s why most expressions are happy ones as they try and collect their breath, shake hands with their opponents, and wave at their families in the stands. The Matilda’s share smiles as they then gather up for a post-match debrief before making for the tunnel.  They’re playful in the changing room, though too tired and focused on preparing for their next match to do much celebrating.

     Throughout it, Caitlin’s face remains pinched.  

     It’s great that the team managed the win, phenomenal in fact, but her own performance had been abysmal. They’d scored six goals as a team, and she’d contributed to exactly zero of them. It’s why the very idea of reveling in the victory grates on her nerves. Cait puts on her headphones and hangs a towel over her face, trying to shut out the world around her. She mentally relives the chances she’d had. The opportunities she’d failed to convert.

     She’s in the middle of remembering a shot she’d sent directly into the keeper when a touch to her shoulder has her jerking back to alertness. Pulling the towel off her head Cait realizes it’s Steph who’s just infringed on her sulk.

     “What?” Caitlin asks, watching her hands play with towel instead of meeting her Captain’s eyes.

     “You okay Cait?” Steph asks, her voice low enough it’s unlikely to draw notice to their conversation.

     Or at least not more notice than their captain checking in on the team failure is already bound to do.

     “All good,” Caitlin mutters. “Tired.”

     “I’ll bet. You had quite the match,” Steph observes sympathetically.

     Caitlin flinches away from the offhanded remark. Logically she knows that Steph isn’t implying anything negative. She’s likely just noting that Caitlin has reason to be exhausted. Caitlin’s inner demons are particularly loud following her lackluster performance. It’s hard not to take everything as a criticism.

     “Yeah. Sorry.”

      Steph must realize something is off about Caitlin’s response because she frowns and tilts her head to the side, asking, “you’re sure you’re alright?”

     Caitlin twists the towel as tight as she can, fighting down her emotions as she mutely nods.

     “If you’re certain,” Steph says, pausing as if she’s waiting for Caitlin to speak up.

     When she doesn’t, Steph adds, “we’re meant to head to the bus in ten minutes. I thought you might want to change at least.”

     Standing stiffly, Caitlin nods and starts to go through the motions of getting out some street clothes to change into. She doesn’t have the time, or the energy, to shower.

     Still watching Caitlin, Steph adds, “you know I’m all ears if you ever want to talk Caits?” 

     “I know. Thanks Steph. I think I just need a nap is all.”

     Steph looks unconvinced, but she lets the topic drop, patting Caitlin’s shoulder comfortingly before moving towards the other side of the room to stop Kyra from literally climbing the wall.

     The sight of Steph working with Mini to curb the younger woman’s antics is amusing enough that Caitlin’s lips quirk up into a slight smile. It makes her realize that she’d been frowning fiercely before that. Mentally rebuking herself to pull her shit together, Caitlin gets changed. Just because she’s in a personal funk doesn’t mean she should pull down the rest of the team. They’d won after all. She’s got to remember that.

     The bus ride to the hotel is mercifully short even though the traffic is terrible. Caitlin keeps her headphones on and her head down, keeping her own council. Despite her attempts to stay positive, she keeps slipping back into unhappy thoughts about her performance. And how terrible she’d been. With Sam missing because of her knee, Caitlin’s meant to be stepping up. She’s supposed to be providing goals or at least assists. How are they meant to make a run in the tournament if she keeps fucking up?

     Caitlin shuffles off the bus when they arrive, collecting her bag and heading quickly into the hotel. There are fans lined up behind a barrier and normally Caitlin would stop and sign some shirts or take pictures. She knows how much interactions like that mean to the people who sometime travel around the world to see them play. She can’t stomach it tonight. She doesn’t feel like she deserves their support, nor does she think she’ll be able to plaster a smile on her face and make nice.

     Instead, Caitlin slips past her teammates who have paused, and ducks into their hotel. Because it’s already evening in France there is food set out in the dining area. They’re expected to eat some meals together as a team, but after a match, they get a little more leniency. Unlike for the World Cup, they’re not allowed to go out with their families, the turnaround is just too tight. Still, nobody bats an eye at Caitlin piling the first food she comes across into a to-go container and retreating to her room. 

     She allows the door to swing shut behind her and sighs heavily. She drops her bag to the floor and leaves the food on the desk, then she flops onto the bed face down. What a day. What a match. It’s not often you play in a match that ends 6-5, let alone at an Olympics. Caitlin should really be happier; she knows she should.

     We won. Caitlin repeats that over and over again in her head. When that doesn’t prove sufficient, she whispers, “we won.”

     Is that true though? The Matilda’s won, but can Caitlin really include herself in that ‘we’ after playing so poorly?

     Groaning, Caitlin tries to clear her mind. She’s exhausted, body and soul. Dwelling on something she can’t change isn’t going to help. She should focus on recovery. It’s all she can do at the moment. Dragging herself off the bed, Caitlin eyes the food. Deciding she doesn’t really feel up to eating, she bypasses it for now making for the bathroom instead.

     The hotel they’re staying in is nice, no dorm rooms with cardboard beds for them since they don’t get to stay in the village. It means Caitlin has privacy and a decently large shower to enjoy. She keeps the water as hot as she can tolerate, risking scalding her skin in favor of using the heat to try to relax. She’d feel guilty about using all the hot water on a different night, but not now.

     As the minutes pass, the shower starts to help take the edge off her tension. Caitlin's mask of unhappiness cracks slightly when she pours shampoo into her palm and her nose is filled with a familiar scent.

     Katie.

     Caitlin had thought she’d been sneaky about how much she loved the way her girlfriend smelled. She would frequently bury her nose in Katie’s hair and surround herself in the comforting scent that had come to mean home, but only when she didn’t think the Irishwoman would notice. Or she would ‘accidentally’ confuse their Arsenal gear at the end of the day, ignoring Katie’s protests about wearing sweaty clothing.

     She apparently hadn’t been nearly as subtle as she’d thought because, when she’d been packing for the Olympics, Katie had slipped travel bottles of her products into Caitlin’s bags and pressed one of her hoodies into Cait’s arms. Caitlin hadn’t acknowledged it at the time, a little embarrassed by what it meant, but she’d appreciated the thoughtfulness of the action. And what it said about where her and Katie are at.

     Even now, weeks later surrounded by humid air that smells painfully familiar, Caitlin feels warm when she thinks about it. She feels loved.

     Then she remembers that even though Katie is here, in France, Caitlin won’t get to see her. They’d stolen a few minutes after Australia’s loss to Germany but nothing since then. Until today. Caitlin knows Katie was at the match earlier and…

     Caitlin’s brain catches on to that absentminded thought and fixates on it. Katie came all the way to France to support her, forgoing a vacation and asking to report to Arsenal late to be here. And how had Caitlin repaid her girlfriend? By playing terribly. For two matches in a row.

     Caitlin lets her forehead drop onto the tiled shower wall in front of her, feeling even worse. Now she regrets that she didn’t help her team, misses her girlfriend fiercely, and feels like she’s let the people she loves down all at once. 

     It’s an emotionally dejected Caitlin that eventually forces herself to shut off the water. Her fingers have pruned and she’s starting to get a bit lightheaded. Probably dehydration from the match in the French heat. And from the crying that she’s been indulging in, letting the spray of the shower wash her tears down the drain.

     Wrapping a towel around her body, Caitlin uses a wet hand to wipe some of the steam off the mirror. She stares at her reflection, hardly recognizing her bloodshot eyes and red face. Blindly reaching out, Caitlin hits the light switch, hiding herself and the bathroom in darkness. She runs cold water in the sink faucet, cupping it in her hands and using it to cool her hot face.

     Water still dripping down her neck, Caitlin exits the bathroom, planning on finding her bed and trying to sleep away her feelings.

     She freezes in shock when she discovers her bed isn’t empty.

     Katie is sitting on her bedspread, leaning against the headboard with her legs crossed in front of her. Caitlin would almost believe her girlfriend is as calmly casual as she looks except for the fact that Katie is fingering her bracelet and that her smile is a little dim.

     “’lo Cait,” Katie greets.

     “How?” Caitlin blurts, not believing her eyes.

     “Steph phoned me. Said you might need a friendly face.”

     “You’re not supposed to be here,” Caitlin murmurs, still processing. “There are rules”

     Katie shrugs, “if you need me, the rules can hang.”

     Caitlin doesn’t know how to respond. Her sense of responsibility wars with her desire for comfort.

     When Katie pats the bed next to her in invitation and says, “I’m already here. May as well make the most of it right?” Caitlin’s limited resolve crumples.

     She crashes onto the bed, immediately curling her body into Katie’s. The Irishwoman welcomes her, immediately looping an arm around Caitlin’s shoulders and snuggling her closer.

     Caitlin’s head finds that perfect spot behind Katie’s ear and she almost starts crying again at how right it feels. She’d thought the smell of Katie’s shampoo was comforting, but this, having Katie’s unique scent in her nose and being held, is so much better. So very much better.

     “Missed you KitKat,” Caitlin admits.

     “I missed you too sweet girl,” Katie replies, rubbing Caitlin’s back.

     Feeling guilty for taking comfort she doesn’t really deserve, Caitlin pulls back and says, “I’m sorry.”

     “What for?” Katie asks, sounding honestly confused.

     “The match.”

     “The match that you just won?” When Caitlin nods forlornly, Katie adds, “why on earth are you apologizing for that?”

     Biting her lower lip, Caitlin explains, “I was shit.”

     “What d’ya mean? You played the full ninety and terrorized their defense!” Katie exclaims.

     “I didn’t score. Or assist.”

     Waving her hand, Katie replies, “scoring ‘s not everything. How often have you told me that? Besides, you won a pen! That was huge! That’s basically the same as an assist. Plus, you played a massive part in some of the other goals.”

     “But…”

     “No Cait, listen to me. You remember what you told me at the World Cup? Your value isn’t defined by the box score. Or the result. Hell, it’s not even about football really.”

     Caitlin tries to process what her girlfriend is saying. She knows there is some truth to it and she’d certainly argued the same thing when Katie was being hypercritical of herself last summer but…

     “I still think I played terrible.”

     “You’re wrong,” Katie states simply. “Besides, are you forgetting the fact that you lot pulled off something miraculous? What a comeback!”

     “It was pretty amazing,” Caitlin admits slowly, thinking about the match as a whole instead of just her failure to score.

     “I’m proud of you ya know,” Katie adds.

     It’s nice to hear, especially from Katie, but Caitlin hasn’t had enough distance from the match to accept everything her girlfriend is saying.

     Instead of responding directly to Katie’s praise, Caitlin says, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

     “No where else I’d rather be.”

     “How long can you stay?” Caitlin asks, wanting to know how limited this stolen reprieve will be.

     “Steph is covering for us. You’ve got me for the night, if you want me,” Katie offers.

     “I want you,” Caitlin says instantly.

     It’s only when Katie smirks that she realizes how her words sound taken out of context. She swats at Katie’s shoulder and adds, “not like that!”

     “No? You haven’t been missing me?”

     “Of course I’ve missed you, don’t be an idiot.”

     “You haven’t missed this,” Katie says suggestively, fingers toying with the edge of Caitlin’s towel. The towel that’s the only thing she’s currently wearing.

     Swallowing, Caitlin admits, “maybe a little bit.”

     “What do you think love? What do you want?”

     “I wouldn’t mind forgetting about today.”

     “And how can I help take your mind off things,” Katie presses.

     “You know how,” Caitlin murmurs, unwilling to come right out and say it.

     Katie’s fingers inch a little further under the towel, repeating her question nonverbally.

     Caitlin nods, begging with her eyes for Katie to just touch her already.

    Katie obliges, running her hand up the outside of Caitlin’s thigh. When the Irishwoman reaches Cait’s hip she moves inward, mapping a path over the jut of bone covered by muscle. Caitlin spreads her legs slightly, wordlessly asking for more. They don’t speak, but they watch each other as Katie’s fingers trace their way back down, this time on the inside of Caitlin’s thigh.

     “Towel off?” Katie asks when she reaches Caitlin’s knee, holding the edges of the fabric together until she gets consent.

     Caitlin shifts, untucking the towel and dropping it into a pile by the side of the bed. It’ll likely leave a damp spot on the hotel carpet, but right now she doesn’t care. Not when Katie has taken advantage of her movement to slip between her legs. Caitlin makes room for her girlfriend, wincing as sore muscles complain.

     “You okay?” Katie asks, looking concerned.  

     “Just tired and sore,” Caitlin explains.

     Katie rubs sympathetically at Caitlin’s hamstrings, her touch half a message and half intended to arouse.

     “You sure this is what you want? I wouldn’t mind just holden ya for the night?”

     “I’m sure. Just don’t judge me if I’m not as active a participant as normal,” Caitlin requests.

     “No problem my girl. You just lay back and let me take care of everything. Tell me if you need something different.”

     Caitlin bites her lip as she nods. It’s hardly the first time she’s had Katie between her legs like this. Still, it’s been a while since they’ve shared any physical intimacy and having her girlfriend grin brightly at her from between her legs will never get old. Nor will the way Katie enthusiastically uses her tongue. Gasping in pleasure, Caitlin fights the urge to clamp her knees around Katie’s shoulders as the Irishwoman licks through her folds in one slow movement.

     “You taste so good,” Katie murmurs, following up with additional smaller licks.

     Caitlin doesn’t reply, instead urging Katie to stop talking and keep going by cradling the back of her head. Katie laughs, apparently amused by Caitlin’s eagerness. On a different day, Caitlin might have allowed Katie to tease her and draw out her pleasure as long as she likes. Tonight, she’s exhausted and still a bit emotional. She wants the comfort of a quick release followed by some cuddles. She tries to communicate her needs to Katie, pulling her mouth to her clit.

      Voice muffled against Caitlin’s core, Katie says, “no teasing, huh?”

     Caitlin shakes her head, only to gasp as she feels Katie’s fingers suddenly poised at her entrance.

     “Don’t need it,” Caitlin says, slightly embarrassed by how breathless she sounds.

     “You’re already so wet, so ready,” Katie observes, interspersing her words with wet kisses to the insides of Caitlin’s thighs.

     Caitlin’s nails dig slightly into the back of Katie’s scalp and her toes start to curl as Katie’s fingers ease inside her. Two fingers are enough that there is just a hint of resistance. No pain, but instead the beautiful edge of discomfort they both know drives Caitlin mad.

     “Take your shirt off,” Caitlin demands, reaching down to tug at the collar of Katie’s shirt.

     Katie hurries to obey, pulling out of Caitlin just long enough to get partially undressed. She doesn’t take the time to remove her bra and Caitlin would argue about it, but then Katie’s fingers are pressing back inside her at the same time as a hot tongue finds the underside of her clit. She forgets about trying to get Katie more naked and instead focuses on how everything feels.

     For the most part, things feel fabulous. Her tiredness and achiness have receded, forced backwards by the abundant pleasure that Katie is providing. It helps that it’s been so long, and that Katie knows what she likes so well. It means that Caitlin is hurdling towards the edge in mere moments.

     Not quite ready for it to be over despite what she’d told Katie earlier about teasing, Caitlin guides Katie’s face lower. Her girlfriend goes easily, trailing her tongue down until it’s licking around where her fingers are disappearing inside. Caitlin moans as Katie firms her tongue, the tip of it pressing in along with her fingers. She squirms, trying to decide if she wants more penetration. She spares the briefest thought for their strap, the one sitting uselessly at home in England, before Katie thoroughly distracts her by flexing her fingers.

     “Katie,” Caitlin whines, her back arching off the bed.

     Katie, correctly interpreting the reaction as positive, repeats it, finding and pressing on the exact spot to make Caitlin see stars. She repeats the action over and over, keeping her touch firm and steady.

     Caitlin’s heals dig into the mattress as she uses them to leverage herself harder against Katie’s mouth. She’s no longer able to think clearly, can’t communicate what she needs as pleasure courses through her. Luckily, Katie already knows, and she returns her mouth to Caitlin’s clit, providing a combination of suction and licks.

     Caitlin shakes with pleasure, her fingernails biting hard into Katie’s scalp as her body starts to fall apart. She goes tense, her muscles tightening almost painfully as she rides the very edge of pleasure. Just when she can’t take it anymore, when her overtaxed system is about to rebel, Katie finishes her off.

     With practiced ease, Katie’s tongue circles her clit a hair faster as a third finger presses inside.

     Caitlin half-screams her release, twitching and clenching as her mind goes white. Katie’s fingers are held in place, Caitlin’s body unwilling to release them as she rhythmically clenches around them.

     “Fuck,” she swears, her voice scratchy.

     Katie hums in reply, causing Caitlin to jerk since her mouth is still closed around Caitlin’s clit.

     “Enough,” Caitlin says after she catches her breath slightly.

     Lifting her head, Katie asks, “you sure?”

     Caitlin isn’t sure, not really, especially since Katie had paired her questions with a subtle movement of her fingers that had sent another wave of pleasure crashing through her body. Despite how good it feels though, Caitlin decides she is done for the moment. Even with Katie still slowly fucking her, as her heartrate slows after her orgasm, exhaustion starts to creep back in.   

     “Sorry,” Caitlin mumbles, stroking the side of Katie’s face with a thumb.

     Her girlfriend’s lips and chin are shiny and wet, coated in Caitlin’s arousal. She looks beautiful and soft, a side of Katie that only Caitlin generally gets to see.

     “Don’t be sorry,” Katie replies, slowly easing her fingers out. “You were perfect.”

     Caitlin groans, partly at the feeling of emptiness and partly at how the praise makes something in her stomach clench. If she wasn’t so tired…

     “Come here?” Caitlin asks, gesturing for Katie to come hug her.

     Katie crawls up her, pausing to kiss a few places along the way. She collapses on top of Caitlin, pressing their bodies together fully.

     Caitlin groans contentedly, loving the weight of Katie on top of her. It’s an intimacy somehow beyond what they’d just shared, a celebration of togetherness just to lie together as one.

     “I missed you,” Caitlin says, she can’t say it enough really. She’s missed Katie so desperately.

     “Missed you too.”

     “Kiss?” Caitlin asks, hopefully tilting her head up.  

     Laughing, Katie kisses her making sure to do a thorough job of it.

     “Want me to return the favor?” Caitlin asks when they break apart for air.

     “You’d fall asleep halfway through,” Katie replies lightly.

     “Would not,” Caitlin protests petulantly, trying and failing to stifle a yawn.

     When Katie smirks, Caitlin adds, “shut up you.”

     Katie’s smile only grows, transforming from impish to fond as Caitlin hugs her tighter.

     “I love you Kitkat,” Caitlin murmurs, already starting to lose the battle with sleep.

     “I love you too Cait. Sleep now my Olympian.”

     Caitlin can only obey.  

Chapter Text

     It’s only a preseason friendly against Juventus so the stakes are extremely low. Really, it’s just a chance for Bayern to work on tactical things and for some new players to get minutes. The result doesn’t matter at all.

     Of course, it’s useless trying to tell Pernille that. She’s far too competitive to take any game lightly. The second she has a ball at her feet, she wants to win. Friendly or Cup Final, it doesn’t matter, she’s going to try her hardest every second she’s on that pitch.

     Normally her competitive nature is a good thing. It’s helped propel her career forward for both club and country. However, it does mean that she’s often pushing her luck with the refs. Officials don’t take kindly to her occasional tendency to foul when she’s fired up. And they really don’t appreciate it when she gets in their faces when she disagrees with their call.

     Generally, Pernille is pretty good at keeping her cool. She’d talked herself into a few stupid yellows when she was younger, but she knows better now. Mostly.

     For whatever reason, today has not been a good day. She is frustrated with the performance, both her own personal play and the teams. They should be beating Juventus, and they know it. Despite their best efforts, despite Pernille’s best efforts, they haven’t been able to find the back of the net.

     Pernille does what she always does in such situations, she tries harder. She makes more runs and tracks back further on defense. She makes quicker passes and goes into tackles harder.

     It’s the harder tackling that gets her in trouble.

     It’s such a stupid thing. The ball Georgia sends her is off target and ends up being claimed by a Juventus defender. Pernille is annoyed, mostly because if she had correctly guessed where Georgia was going to play that ball, she could have changed her run. She could have been in on goal, breaking the endless 0-0 deadlock. Instead, it’s yet another frustrating turnover.

     Pernille doesn’t think, she just acts. She goes to ground, planning on slide tackling the ball off the defender.

     She gets her timing perfect, sliding in just in front of her opponent so she only makes contact with the football instead of the leg. The ball pops free and the defender’s momentum sends her sprawling over Pernille’s body and onto the pitch. Pernille ignores her, focusing on jumping back to her feet and chasing down the ball. She’s closing in on it, about to take the touch that will bring her into the box, when the whistle blows.

     Pernille whirls around, instantly irate.

     She’d been in! She could almost feel the shot that would’ve rocketed off her foot and into the back of the net! The stoppage in play is ridiculous. Absurd!

     Pernille checks the linesman first, wondering if Georgia’s initial ball had somehow been offside. Instead of having his flag up, the linesman is waving for a freekick. A freekick! It had been a clean tackle, Pernille knows it!

     Before she thinks, Pernille is up in his face, rightfully giving him a piece of her mind. She’s just about to start in on insulting his eyesight when the center ref interrupts them. She switches targets, turning to vent her anger on him instead. The center ref is the one who blew his whistle after all.

     She is in the middle of gesticulating sharply, illustrating her point clearly, when something penetrates the fog of anger.  

     “Pernille. Pernille! Enough. Come away.”

     It’s Magda and based on her tone, she’s not pleased.

     Pernille stops almost at once. Glaring at the refs she breaks away, jogging back into position to defend the freekick. Because she’s on the near sideline, she can hear the way some of the girls on the bench are trying, poorly, to contain their laughter.

     She should know better than to try and argue with the refs. It never ends well, it’s not like they’d ever change their mind. She’d just been so frustrated, so angry. Now that she’s able to think more clearly, her anger is rapidly being replaced by embarrassment. Pernille feels her face burn.

     She knows Magda was in the right, but it still doesn’t feel great to have her girlfriend be the one to tell her to knock it off. It had been one thing when they’d been at Chelsea and Magda was the captain. It was her job to keep everybody in line. Now though, Magda isn’t wearing the armband and she’s still correcting Pernille’s behavior.

     Keeping her head down, Pernille tries to go back to focusing on the match. Luckily the rest of her involvement in it is uneventful. She’s withdrawn before long. It happens sooner than she would like but she wisely keeps her mouth shut. She watches the rest of the 0-0 draw from the sideline.

     Pernille tries to pay attention to the attacking players, knowing it’s important that she develop good chemistry with them. Despite her good intentions, her eyes end up following Magda more often than not. Some of it is her normal tendency, she’ll always want to watch Magda play. Today’s a bit different than the norm though and Pernille spends some of the time spent staring at her fiancé trying to determine if Magda is mad at her or not.

     They occasionally fight, every couple does, but those occasions are few and far between. When it does happen, it’s mostly about little things, Pernille forgetting to remake their bed after doing the laundry or Magda accidentally using the last of the milk for her coffee and leaving none for Pernille’s oatmeal. Things like that. They rarely clash about work. In fact, they try hard not to let their work life affect their personal lives and vice versa.

     But Magda had just been forced to calm Pernille. Sure, it hadn’t taken much to snap Pernille out of it, but Magda had still used their personal connection, their relationship, while they were at work. Pernille doesn’t know how she feels about it besides the lingering embarrassment that it had even been necessary. Maybe unsettled is the best word for it.

     When the final whistle blows, Pernille is almost relieved. She’s still a bit irritated they hadn’t gotten the win, but that was a lesser annoyance. She’s more frustrated with her own play. And that she’d lost her temper.

     She and Magda don’t really interact during the post-match handshakes and team talk. As a rule, they try not to. Sometimes they’ll bend their rule slightly when it’s a big win or something else causes their emotions to run high, but for the most part they abstain. They aren’t fiancés at work. Or they’re not supposed to be.

     They’re also quiet on the ride home. It’s a short trip, and it’s not unusual for them to use the journey to collect their thoughts. Pernille wouldn’t have given the silence a second thought if not for what had happened earlier. She keeps sneaking peaks at Magda out of the corner of her eye, trying to determine what her Swede is thinking.

     Magda’s frowning, but that’s not too surprising. If anybody is as competitive as Pernille, it’s Magda. Neither of them is particularly graceful in defeat, though Magda probably takes the prize for sorest loser. Not that they lost today, but drawing a game they dominated still feels pretty bad.

     They collect their respective gear and shuffle inside as soon as they get home. Without discussion they fall into their normal post-match routine, Pernille starting a load of laundry and Magda going to sort out dinner. It’s when they sit down to eat that Pernille finally brings up what’s been on her mind since the match.

     “Sorry about losing my head,” Pernille says softly, moving some food around on her plate instead of looking in Magda’s direction.

     “What?” Magda says, confused.

     “During the match? When I yelled at the ref?”

     “Oh that, you don’t need to apologize,” Magda says easily.

     “I don’t?”

     “Of course not. It’s not a big deal, it was just a friendly after all. Besides, I can hardly judge, you know I like to yell at the refs from time to time.”

     Pernille does know. Magda is particularly irate when one of her teammates gets fouled and she will make sure the refs feel her wrath.

     “I thought that you might be angry.”

     “Why would you think that?”

     “Because you told me off when it happened,” Pernille explains.

     Eyebrows raising, Magda asks, “I did?”

     “Yes! You called my name and told me to stop.”

     “Oh. I didn’t even realize. I’m sorry I yelled?”

     Pernille already feels so much better. She’s realizing that she’s blown things up in her mind, reading more into the situation than there ever was. She’s still not quite ready to leave the topic behind though.

     “You’re not the captain anymore,” Pernille points out.

     Magda smirks a little and says, “no? I’m pretty sure I’m always your captain.”

     Pernille squirms in her seat, partly because Magda’s stupidly attractive when she gets like this and partly because Pernille is remembering some of the times Magda has taken control as it were.

     Expression softening, Magda adds, “I’m really sorry if I upset you P. I didn’t mean to overstep or anything. I just knew you’d listen to me, even when you were mad.”

     “It’s okay, I forgive you,” Pernille says immediately. “Just… This doesn’t change anything, does it?”

     “Change anything? What do you mean.”

     “Between us? You’ll still, you still want to marry me, right?”

     Voice full of love, Magda says, “Pernille, my silly girl, of course I do. Why on earth would you ever think otherwise?”

     “Because I’m a hothead?”

     Snorting, Magda replies, “that’s nothing new! I’ve known that about you for over a decade! Since before we even started dating. Besides, it’s really only when we’re playing football. Or if I’m beating you at Fifa.”

     “You never beat me at Fifa!”

     “That’s true. So you see, it’s not even an issue,” Magda teases.

     “You really don’t mind?”

      “P, I love you. I love you more than I thought it was possible for me to ever love another person. You know I never thought I’d get married. I never pictured it or dreamed about it.”

     “We don’t have to get married if you don’t want,” Pernille rushes to say. “I’m perfectly happy continuing as we have. A piece of paper won’t change anything if…”

      Magda leans around the corner of the table and kisses Pernille softly.

     Pulling away just an inch, Magda says, “you’re thinking too much. I wasn’t done.”

     Pernille stays quiet, half hoping that Magda will just go back to kissing her.

      “I never realized it was something I really wanted, until you asked me to marry you. It’s like I hadn’t let myself imagine it before or something. Maybe I just never thought I could be so lucky as to have somebody as wonderful as you want me like that. I can still hardly believe it actually.”

     “Magdalena,” Pernille murmurs, half wishing she could go back in time just to propose to Magda all over again.

     “I love you P, even if you like to yell at refs.”

     “I’m sure I have worst faults,” Pernille says, only partially joking.

     “And I love you anyways,” Magda reassures, her smile bright.

     “I’m glad,” Pernille says and this time it’s her who leans in and kisses Magda. “I love you too.”

     “Even though I shouted at you?” Magda asks.

     “It’s like you said, I’ve never minded you telling me what to do,” Pernille says, sending Magda a smirk of her own.

     “Good,” Magda murmurs. “Because I like when you do what I say.”

     Biting her lip, Pernille asks, “anything in particular you’re wanting me to do?”

     “Marry me?”

     Pernille laughs. “That was already the plan! Or did you forget about the ring I got you,” she takes Magda’s hand, rubbing her thumb over the band in question.

     “I didn’t forget, but you told me to ask for what I wanted. I want to marry you,” Magda says simply, squeezing Pernille’s hand.

     “You’re a softie,” Pernille teases.

     “Your softie,” Magda returns.

     “Yeah that’s true,” Pernille agrees happily. “Besides marrying you, which is going to take a bit of planning unless you want both our moms to come after us, is there something else you want me to do?”  

     “Come to bed with me?” Magda asks hopefully.

     “And what do you want me to do once we get there?”

Magda kisses the side of Pernille’s mouth and whispers, “don’t worry Pernille, I promise I’ll tell you just want I want you to do. And I know you’ll do exactly as I say.”

     Magda stands and heads for the door, leaving a stunned Pernille in her wake.

    “Pernille? Are you coming?”

     Pernille rushes to obey.

Chapter Text

     They go on a preseason tour in America. They’re to play two friendlies, first against NWSL side Gotham and then later Arsenal.

     Erin had been so excited about making the trip to the States. She blew up the various WhatsApp groups for weeks about what they’ll do and the things they’ll see. Then she’d been such a pest on the plane over, bothering Guro every five minutes.

     Guro hadn’t really minded of course. She enjoyed listening to Erin rant about the Statue of Liberty and Time Square. Not to mention that she’s secretly pleased Erin had decided to sit next to her. Erin makes friends easily; she’s well-liked by everyone at Chelsea. She could have sat next to any number of players for the long flight, but she’d chosen Guro.

     Guro had told herself not to read anything into it, they were friends after all, mates, as the Scot might say. Erin sitting next to her doesn’t mean the smaller woman thinks Guro is special. It doesn’t mean that she likes her.

     Not the way Guro likes Erin.

     Guro knows she’s an idiot for feeling the things she feels for her teammate, but she can’t stop herself either. Football, she has to focus on her football. That’s what this trip is about.   

     The first match, the one against Gotham, starts well. When it happens, they’re already up 2-0 after the first quarter of an hour. They’re controlling the play comfortably and honestly it looks more likely that they’ll add a third than that the NWSL side will score.

     It starts after a throw in of all things. Erin goes to try and win the ball in the midfield, something she’s done a million times before. Only this time, it goes wrong. Erin moves in for the tackle and then she’s falling.

     Guro sees it unfold as if in slow motion. She’s right there, out on the left wing. Worse, she’s involved in the incident. She had been lunging for the same ball, determined to retake possession. As Erin goes down, Guro’s unable to stop her momentum. She falls over Erin’s prone body, landing partly on top of the smaller woman. The cry Erin lets out rings loud in her ears.

     Erin’s tough. Everybody on the squad knows it.

     Guro knows it too, she does. But somehow how tough Erin is only makes her worry more. It means when Erin goes down, something is probably seriously wrong. The fact that Erin stays down, that she’s reaching for her knee, only makes it more terrible.

     Guro stands, hands on her hips, trying to catch her breath as she watches the physio work with Erin. She stares as they flex and rotate her right knee. Everybody knows the steps of an on-field ACL assessment. If they haven’t had it performed on them personally, they’ve seen it done to a teammate. The injury is so prevalent in the woman’s game it’s unescapable.

     Erin’s crying too.

     Guro can see the way her friend is trying to hide it, the way she’s trying to grimace through the pain. Her red eyes give her away though.

     Guro pats Erin’s back as the Scot limps off. It’s a pathetic consolation, one that Guro knows won’t make the least bit of different. As Erin is led off, it’s all Guro can do though.

     Erin will be okay. It just looks worse than it is. It’s not her fault.

     As the match resumes, Guro repeats this mantra over and over, trying to convince herself it’s the truth. She forces herself to focus on the game, refusing to let her eyes be drawn to the sideline to try and see if Erin is there or not. Erin won’t be happy if they lose this match. Guro reminds herself of that too.

     At half, Erin’s nowhere to be seen. They’re playing in some poorly designed American stadium so who knows where the training staff have Erin squirreled away. Guro desperately wants to go check on Erin. She’s not the only one, most of the team want to go looking for their favorite fiery Scot. They’ve got a new manager though, so they hesitate. Instead of wandering off, they stay where they’re supposed to, pretending to listen to Sonia’s half-time talk.

     All too soon it’s time for them to go back out for the second half. Guro’s practically the last one out of the tunnel, she hangs back to the final second, hoping for at least a glimpse of Erin. She’s unsuccessful.

     They end up winning 3-1. The only goal they concede is scored by Jess. Guro doesn’t mind that too much, especially since it’s only preseason.

     Once they’re back in the changing room, a brief announcement is made that Erin’s okay, but that she’s been taken back to their hotel. There is no news about her knee, she’ll need scans to confirm what’s happened one way or another. They all exchange nervous looks; they’ve heard that before. Very rarely do scans come back with good news.

     Guro checks her phone right away, just in case Erin has messaged her. She hasn’t, but Guro keeps her phone in her hand anyway so that she’ll know immediately if that changes. She hurries through her post-match routine, forgoing the shower that she probably needs.

     If this was a normal tournament or league match, they’d be expected to all travel together as a team. Because it’s a friendly, there is more leeway. Guro splits, only pausing long enough to tell a few people her plans. She’s a bit nervous, being alone in New Jersey, but she knows it’s nothing she can’t handle. She’s only got one stop simple to make before she beelines back to the hotel after all.

     One stop balloons into four, and Guro’s frustration mounts with each additional delay. Finally, she finds what she was looking for and she catches an Uber to the hotel, bags in hand.

     Guro makes another short detour once she’s arrived, stopping by Millie’s room. She needs the most current intel. 

     “How is she,” Guro asks as soon as the Englishwoman opens her door.

     “Why don’t you come in Guro,” Millie suggests.

     “I’m going to go see Erin,” Guro says, gesturing over her shoulder towards the lift.

     “She hasn’t been letting anybody in,” Millie reports. “I’ve tried. So have half the other girls. She wouldn’t even open the door for Sophie.”

     “You didn’t try hard enough. She’ll let me in,” Guro replies, pretending to be more confident than she actually is.

     “If she does, try to get her to ice. According to the staff, she’s meant to wear a brace and stay off it until she gets scanned. Hang on,” Millie adds, vanishing briefly before reappearing with an orange bottle. “Pain meds. She can take one every 8 hours, but she’s got to eat with them. If you wait, I’ll help you round up some food too.”

     “I’ve got it covered,” Guro says, holding up one of the bags.

     She takes the bottle from Millie, saying a brief thank you as she departs.

     “Let us know how she is,” Millie calls after her. “And if there is anything we can do.”

     Guro considers taking the lift up to Erin’s floor, but the idea of waiting for it is impossible. She locates and takes the stairs instead, jogging up the three flights with bags banging against her legs. Two right turns later and she’s standing in front of Erin’s room.

     They’d hung out there the night before, Guro sipping a coffee and laughing as Erin sang along (poorly) to Noah Kahan songs. It had been late, after they really should have gone to bed, but neither of them had suggested ending the fun. It was only once Erin passed out on the hotel bed that Guro had departed for her own room. Only after she made sure Erin was snuggly tucked under the covers of course.

     What a difference less than 24 hours can make.

     Guro knocks on the door. There is no answer from within, so she knocks again.

    “Get tae,” a voice calls from inside the room.

     After taking a second to mentally translate, she replies, “Erin it’s me, Guro.”

     She kicks herself for adding her name, of course Erin would recognize her voice.

     “Lea me alane Guro,” Erin says.

     It’s a bad sign, how heavy Erin’s accent is. The Scotswoman is barely comprehensible, even to Guro who’s known her for years. Normally she only gets this hard to decipher when she’s spent time in Scotland or with her family. Otherwise, the only reason Guro knows of for Erin’s accent to be this thick is that she’s very upset.

     “No, I’m not leaving,” Guro says firmly. “Are you going to open the door, or do I need to use the key Millie gave me?”

     There is a long pause and then the door slowly swings inwards.

     Erin, standing there in oversized tracksuit that Guro is pretty sure belongs to her, says, “I canny believe she gave ye a key.”

     Putting a foot in the door so Erin can’t shut it, Guro replies, “she didn’t”

     “Whit? You lied?”

     Erin sounds a bit miffed, but she hasn’t tried to close the door in Guro’s face so the Norwegian takes that as a win. Pushing inside, she drops the bags out of the way, closes the door, and gives Erin a massive hug.

     Erin goes stiff in her arms at first, something that is totally out of the norm for the usually very affectionate woman. Guro doesn’t back off however, continuing to hold Erin close until the Scot gradually goes limp. Soon Guro is practically holding Erin up, something that is easily manageable because Erin is so tiny.

     “Whit ye doing?”

     “Giving you a hug,” Guro says simply. More lightly she adds, “demonstrating that we Scandies aren’t cold.”

     Erin rests her head against Guro’s shoulder, “I didn’t think ye were.”

     “No? I’m pretty sure you’ve told people that before. Several times,” Guro replies.

     Erin already sounds a bit more like her normal self, so Guro keeps the relatively safe topic of conversation going.

     “I haven’! Maby I’ve said you’re not a fan of PDA.”

     “We’re not in public, are we? Besides, I don’t mind so much if it’s you,” Guro says.

     She’s probably giving away too much, but Erin is holding onto her in return now, making it impossible to be anything but honest.

     “Noted,” Erin murmurs, squeezing Guro a bit tighter, like she’s afraid the winger will disappear if she lets go.

     Swallowing hard, Guro says, “I brought you something.”

     “Why’d you do that for?”

     “What do you mean, why’d I do that? Because I’m a nice person. Because you’re my friend,” Guro scolds, playing up how offended she is.

     “Sorry, sorry,” Erin says, backtracking rapidly.

     “Now do you want what I brought you or not?” Guro asks.

     “’course,” Erin murmurs.

     “Alright then go sit on your bed and ice first,” Guro instructs firmly.

     “Seriously?”

     “Yes seriously! You’re supposed to be doing that anyways. Actually, hold on, are you wearing the brace?”

     “Yes?” Erin mutters, clearly lying.

     Snorting, Guro bends down and very carefully picks Erin up. She’d spent much of her vacation hitting the gym and she’s grateful for it now. Erin’s not big, but she’s densely muscled which makes her surprisingly heavy for her height. Guro still manages to carry her comfortably to the bed.

     “Put me down,” Erin complains, though she stays perfectly still in Guro’s arms.

     “Sorry,” Guro says unapologetically, gently placing Erin on the bed.

     “I could’ve walked,” Erin adds.

     “Well maybe I wanted to carry you,” Guro retorts. “Now, where is your ice?”

     When it turns out that Erin’s only bag of ice is a melted bag of water sitting on the bathroom floor, Guro goes to get more. She leaves Erin with strict instructions to stay put and leaves the safety lock extended so she can get back in without a card. When she returns with an overfull bucket of ice, it’s to find Erin right where Guro left her.

     “Thank you,” Guro says, filling and tying off a bag of ice which she hands over.

     “It’s not a big thing,” Erin mumbles, sloppily placing the ice in the area of her knee.

     Guro frowns, saying, “what good is that going to do? You have to put it on properly.”

     Grumbling, Erin retorts, “you do it then.”

     “You’re lucky you’re so cute,” Guro replies, moving to the bed to get Erin sorted.

     She grabs the waistband of Erin’s trackies, preparing to pull them down. Erin’s hand darts out, covering her own and stalling her movement.

     “What are ye doing?” Erin asks, her voice cracking.

     “You can’t ice your knee through all this fabric,” Guro explains, pinching the material of the tracksuit bottoms in demonstration.

     “I’ve only got pants on under them,” Erin says.

     Pretending to be calmer than she actually is, Guro says, “so? We’ve been sharing changing rooms for years. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

     “I suppose that’s true,” Erin says slowly.

     “May I?” Guro asks, making sure to get consent this time before proceeding.

     Erin withdraws her hands, lifting her hips with a slight groan of pain to help. Guro tries to act clinically as she pulls down the trackies. Erin’s muscular thighs aren’t a novel sight, but they’re still a very impressive one. Guro keeps her eyes locked on Erin’s knees, trying to ignore the brief glimpse of Erin’s plain gray pants she got before the Scot pulled down the edge of her jumper to cover herself.

     Guro discovers that she was wrong. This is nothing like sharing a changing room. Being alone together in a hotel room, with Erin only half dressed and when Guro’s already been struggling with her feelings, well that’s far more intimate. And nerve wracking.

     Clearing her throat, she asks, “do I want to know where your brace is?”

     Looking grumpy, Erin admits, “I may have chucked it against a wall?”

     Despite everything, Guro can’t help laughing.

     “You think that’s funny?”

     “Sorry it’s just… your face.”

     “What’s wrong with me face?” Erin asks, scrunching up her nose dramatically.

     “Nothing elskling, you’re perfect.”

     Temporarily pacified, Erin stays quiet while Guro carefully adjusts the ice over her knee. When the Scot sucks in a sharp inhale at the cold, Guro murmurs a soft ‘sorry’, and rubs Erin’s thigh in comfort. It’s only when she notices Erin staring at her with an expression she can’t place that Guro realizes that rubbing her friend’s bare leg is maybe a bit much. She blushes, hoping that her summer tan helps hide it.

     “You need to eat something so you can take meds,” Guro says, trying to move past her faux pas.

     “Not hungry,” Erin says.

     “Not even for the special treat I brought you?”

     “What is it?”

     Retrieving the plastic bags she’d abandoned by the door, Guro starts extracting items like a magician pulling a rabbit out of their hat.

     “I’ve got Shortbread, Soor Plooms, Johnny’s Onion Rings, and… Irn-Bru.”

     “Where on earth did you get all this?”

     “At a store of course,” Guro says simply, tearing open the onion rings and passing the bag to Erin.

     “What store here has this? I can’t find half of this in London”

     Waving off Erin’s question, Guro says, “that doesn’t matter. Eat.”

     Erin eats, grudgingly at first but then with more eagerness once she gets going. Taking the top off a bottle of Irn-Bru, Guro hands that off as well. When the small Scot takes the initial sip, she smiles for the first time since she went down. 

     Pleased, Guro asks, “good?”

     “Yeah. Hits the spot. I guess I was thirsty,” Erin admits. “You want some?”

     “No thank you. I still don’t know how you drink that. It tastes like orange bubble-gum,” Guro says, making a disgusted face. “Maybe even like orange bubble-gum somebody’s scraped off the bottom of their shoe.”

     “You take that back! Irn-Bru is the ambrosia of the gods!”

     Rolling her eyes fondly, Guro says, “you silly Scot. It's really not. And Coffee is obviously superior

     “I like coffee fine, but Irn-Bru is way better,” Erin declares. “Besides, if I drank coffee this late, I’d be up all night. Not all of us are crazy caffeine addicts like you.”

     Because she knows it will make Erin smile, Guro says, “actually, now that you mentioned it, I could use some more coffee. I think I’ve only had the ten cups today.”

     “Guro!” Erin protests, dragging out the pronunciation of Guro’s name in a very familiar way.

     “What? You drink your sugar and eat your snacks. Oh and here, take your pain med too,” Guro adds, tossing the bottle to Erin. “I’m going to have coffee.”

     Guro, who’d been seated next to Erin on the bed, gets up.   

     Erin pauses for a second, then says, “do you have to go now?”

     “Go? I’m not going anywhere.”

     “But I thought you said you wanted coffee?” Erin asks, sounding confused.

     Crossing to the desk, Guro gestures at the tiny plastic coffee pot and paper cup.

     “This’ll do.”

     “Guro, you hate hotel coffee,” Erin says. “You’ve complained about it at least a million times.”

     “It’s fine,” Guro says, starting to make a cup of what can barely be called coffee.

     “I… thank you,” Erin says awkwardly. “For getting me all this stuff and staying with me. And for drinking crap coffee because I don’t wanta be alone.”

     “It’s nothing,” Guro says, meaning it.

     She’s with Erin and getting to take care of her at least a little. That means she’s exactly where she wants to be.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

     Viv have been together long enough that they’ve tried all sorts of different things in bed.

    They don’t experiment with new things every time they sleep together of course. Mostly they stick to what they know and love. However, they both enjoy testing out new things from time to time. Some of the things they explore are more for a laugh than anything else. Others are just them dipping their toes in uncertain waters to see if anything resonates with them. Occasionally it turns out something they thought they would like doesn’t really do it for one or the other of them. And then sometimes the opposite happens, and they discover that something they didn’t really think would work pushes all the right buttons.

     Their ability to explore things in the bedroom stems from the strength of their relationship. Beth never would have even brought up half of what they’ve ended up trying if not for the fact that she’s so certain Viv will be totally honest with her. She trusts her partner to a degree she’s never trusted another human before in her life. It means she’s able to ask for things without worrying about how Viv will respond. She knows she’s not going to be judged just like she knows she could never judge her girlfriend. Likewise, Beth knows that if something might cross one of Viv’s limits, she’d speak up. And Beth would do the same.

     It's why Beth only blushes a little when Viv brings up something in her typically blunt way.

     “Why does everybody always think I wear the trousers in our relationship? You probably fuck me more often than I fuck you.”

      Beth blinks and says, “I don’t typically keep track if I’m being honest?”

     “Neither do I, but that’s not the point. Why do people make that assumption?” Viv presses.

     “I dunno really. Probably because you can come across a little… demanding maybe?” Beth suggests. “Not in a bad way, just, you always have really high expectations for yourself and others.”

     Viv frowns, saying, “in football maybe. But why would that have anything to do with our relationship?”

     “I’m honestly not sure love. They don’t actually know what they’re on about.  It’s probably also partly a reflection of me.”

     “Of you?” Viv asks, her brow still creased.

     “Oh, you know, they think I’m good-natured Beth. Always up for a laugh, never cross, a real people pleaser. It’s probably not a surprise they think I’m the more submissive one.”

     “You’re not though.” Viv states.

     “No?”

     Viv shakes her head firmly. “I like when you’re more in control, or dominant or whatever.”

     Beth processes that statement for a second, fighting down her initial response (a spike of pleasure that hits her low in the gut) so she can think rationally.

     “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that,” Beth says cautiously, worried that she’s stumbled into turbulent waters.

     Viv washes away her worry with a wave of her hand and a distracted, “of course not. I’m not bothered by being more submissive. I just don’t know why nobody else sees it.”

      “Sees what?” Beth says, more relaxed now that it’s clear Viv’s not feeling insecure or anything of the like.

     “How… I don’t know how to explain it right. How they don’t see the energy you have. How you can be so… daddy.”

     If Beth had blushed before, it’s nothing compared to how bright red she turns when that particular title crosses Viv’s lips. She tries to act cool and collected, not letting on how much one little word gets to her. Does things to her.

     “Beth?” Viv says slowly, clearly picking up something from her expression.

     “It’s nothing,” Beth says lightly. “Just didn’t expect you to call me that is all.”

     Viv tilts her head to the side, assessing Beth like she’s trying to unravel the complex mysteries of life itself.

     “Do you like that?” Viv eventually asks.

     “Do I like what?” Beth says, trying to stall the inevitable.

     Viv’s not to be deterred and she bluntly asks, “do you like me calling you daddy?”

     “I… I don’t not like it?” Beth admits grudgingly.

      Viv snorts, shooting Beth a disbelieving look.

     “What?”

     “You know I’m not going to judge you or kink shame you or anything,” Viv explains.

     “I know just… promise it really doesn’t bother you?”

     “I promise,” Viv agrees easily. “If anything, now you’ve got me curious.”

     “How do you mean?” Beth asks, still feeling a bit nervous about the topic of conversation.

     Shrugging, Viv says, “right now I’m wondering how much it’ll wind you up if I call you that in bed.”

     Beth swallows, now unable to avoid thinking about that very thing. Unable to prevent her brain from providing the mental image of Viv falling apart under her mouth. And considering how it would sound if Viv called her that while she was cuming around Beth’s fingers.

     “Beth?” Viv says when the Englishwoman doesn’t respond.

     “Would you… would you maybe mind trying it?” Beth asks haltingly.

     “Sure,” Viv agrees readily. “You know I’ll try anything with you at least once. Or almost anything anyways.”

     “Are you certain? It’s fine if it’s not your thing or…”

     “Beth, calm down. I don’t know that it turns me on the way it does you, but I’m not opposed to it or anything. Besides, I generally like things that make you blush this much.”

     “Okay, good,” Beth says, relieved.

     “Shall we?” Viv says, getting up from the sofa where they’d been cuddling and holding out a hand to Beth.

     “Shall we what?”

     “Try it?”

     “What, now?” Beth blurts, surprised.

     Viv shrugs, “why not now?”

     Beth is trying to come up with some reasonable excuse when Viv completely derails her ability to think.

     “Come on daddy… I thought you liked making me feel good?” Viv says it lightly, a familiar glint in her eye.

     The fact that her girlfriend is teasing some doesn’t change the way Viv’s statement hits Beth like a sledgehammer to the gut. She sucks in a breath, feeling blood start to rush south. She’s still not totally swayed, however.

     “It’s the middle of the day,” Beth points out. “Not to mention, what about Myle?”

     Shrugging, Viv replies, “time doesn’t really matter, it’s not like we have plans. As for Myle, she’s still tuckered out from running around with Calvin this morning. Why don’t you take her out quick and she’ll be fine napping. I’ll go get ready for you.”

     Essentially out of excuses and realizing she’s being a bit silly in any event, Beth finally asks, “you’re really sure?”

     Kissing her briefly with just a hint of heat, Viv murmurs, “don’t make me wait long.” Then she’s gone, tapping Beth on the rear as she passes.

     Beth’s left sitting on their sofa, pondering how vastly her expectations for the day have changed. She looks at Myle who has been passed out in her massively oversized bed in the corner this entire time.

     “You’re Mummy’s trouble, do you know that?”

     “Myle wags her tail without shifting beyond that, more in response to the singsong voice Beth’s used than the words.

     “Come on then, up you get,” Beth prods, getting up herself and going to pet Myle into wakefulness. “I don’t think I should leave Viv waiting, even if I’m the one who’s going to call the shots for a bit.”

     Even speaking only to Myle, Beth doesn’t acknowledge the fact that Viv’s not the only one feeling a bit impatient. Now that they’ve decided to do this, Beth’s more than a bit eager. The few minutes it takes to escort Myle out to their back garden only build her anticipation. By the time the pup is back inside and happily gnawing on a frozen toy filled with peanut butter, Beth’s downright antsy. She takes the stairs two at a time and only pauses for half a second outside their bedroom door to give her shirt a cursory straightening before she’s shouldering inside. Of course, once she crosses the threshold, Beth’s left frozen at the sight that greets her.

     Viv knows how to push all of Beth’s buttons and today she’s pulled out all the stops. She’s sitting cross-legged on their bed wearing one of Beth’s shirts. The top is a bit baggy on her, leaving the spot on her shoulder that Beth loves to tease peaking out from the collar. The way the hem is draped over Viv’s lap leaves whether she’s wearing any pants a mystery, but the way Viv’s nipples are visible through the thin material means she’s definitely without a bra.

     Best of all, at least in Beth’s mind, is how happy and soft Viv looks. Her hair is down, falling in lazy waves to frame her face. Her eyes are an especially blue gray and the normally present little frown line between her eyebrows has been replaced by smile lines and a self-satisfied grin.

    “Hello Vivianne,” Beth greets, forgetting her trepidation almost entirely. This is just Viv. Her Vivie who she loves more than anything.

     Viv ducks her head in either real or affected shyness and, looking up from under partially lowered lids, murmurs, “hi daddy.”

     Beth sucks in a breath through her teeth, feeling like she just got sucker punched with arousal again. She tries to maintain at least of façade of calm control.

     “Is this what you meant by getting ready for me love?” Beth asks, gesturing at Viv’s half undressed state.

     Nodding, Viv says, “I thought you might want to do the rest yourself.”

     Swallowing, Beth sits on the side of the bed and praises, “you did well. You know I love seeing you in my clothing.”

     “I wasn’t that good,” Viv admits, biting her lower lip. “I… I may have been a little naughty.”

     “How’s that?” Beth says, trying to sound stern when really she’s about two seconds away from ending their little play by jumping Viv’s bones.

     “I got impatient. I wanted to feel good, and you were taking so long,” Viv says, shifting around on the bed and not meeting Beth’s eyes.

     “Look at me when you’re talking to me,” Beth orders. “What did you do Vivianne?”

     Viv stills immediately, her back straightening and her head coming up. She meets Beth’s eyes squarely, but her face is flushed.

     Beth’s momentarily worried she’s miss-stepped, until she notices how quickly Viv is breathing and how large her pupils are. If she’s any judge, her partner is aroused and maybe a little embarrassed, not angry.

     “I touched myself,” Viv whispers.

     “Speak up Vivianne, I couldn’t hear you,” Beth commands.

     “I touched myself,” Viv repeats slightly louder.

     “Come on love, you can do better that that.”

     Looking flustered, Viv shifts her weight on the bed before saying, “I said, I touched myself daddy.”

     “Did you now? And are you supposed to touch yourself without daddy’s permission?”

     Beth feels a bit awkward referring to herself with that title but her general state of arousal helps. As does the fact that Viv seems to be just as into their little game as she is by now. Obviously, they don’t have any sort of rules about masturbation, but that’s inconsequential in the face of the dynamic they’re building.

     “No…” Viv says, sounding guilty and petulant.

     “I’m disappointed Vivianne,” Beth states. “And I was going to be so nice to you. I was planning on using my mouth on you until you were screaming for me.”

     “Beth, please,” Viv says, apparently forgetting herself for an instant.

     Beth pounces forward, knocking Viv carefully back onto the bed and holding herself poised over her as she says, “I’m sorry, I think I misheard you again.”

     “Daddy, sorry, I meant daddy,” Viv corrects hurriedly, her back arching to try to press her hips into Beth’s.

     “What am I going to do with you,” Beth muses out loud, gathering Viv’s hands together and pressing them above her head.

     Viv complies immediately, leaving her hands where Beth positions them without complaint.

     “Be nice to me?” Viv asks, her voice gone a bit breathy.

     “When you’ve been such a bad girl?”

     Laying on top of Viv like this, Beth can feel the way her girlfriend shudders in response to her question.

     “I’ll be good now,” Viv suggests. “I’ll make it up to you.”

     “You will huh?”

     Viv nods eagerly before tilting her chin up, silently requesting a kiss.

     Beth gives her one, kissing her demandingly until Viv’s mouth is soft and pliant under hers.

     “You’ll be a good girl for daddy?” Beth asks between kisses.

     She feels as well as hears the soft moan Viv makes.

     And she sees the way Viv’s throat moves when she swallows hard before saying, “I’ll be a good girl for you daddy.”

     Now it’s Beth’s turn to swallow, her throat as dry as the Sahara Desert considering all the moisture in her body seems to have been relocated between her legs. Viv is perhaps the most perfect woman in the world. For this and many, many, many other reasons.

     Unable to help herself, Beth breaks character slightly to say, “I love you so much Vivie.”

     “I love you too,” Viv returns immediately, smiling and staring into Beth’s eyes with complete conviction.

     “I want to make you feel good now,” Beth says, she rocks back slightly so she’s on her knees over Viv instead of laying on her.

      “Yes please,” Viv murmurs, parting her legs slightly in invitation, though she’s still covered by the oversize tee.

     “Pull up your shirt baby,” Beth orders.

     Viv obeys, tugging the hem up so that her bare lower half is on display.

     Tsking in exaggerated disapproval, Beth says, “seems like you’ve forgotten your pants Vivianne. And look at what a mess you’ve made of yourself.”

     Viv shifts again, squirming under Beth’s gaze. She stays silent though her red face speaks volumes. She’s obviously both embarrassed and turned on by Beth’s assessment.

     “I guess we’ll have to do something about it,” Beth decides, sliding her hand up the inside of Viv’s leg from her knee all the way to her groin. She allows her thumb to tease the crease of Viv’s inner thigh, earning a shiver from the Dutchwoman.

     “Please,” Viv whispers, allowing her knees to fall even further open. “Touch me.”

     “Now you want me to touch you? I thought you were perfectly happy touching yourself?”

     “Daddy,” Viv whines. “You’re being mean.”

     “That’s right,” Beth agrees. “I am being a little mean. But you know what? Naughty girls who touch themselves without permission don’t deserve nice things, do they?”

     “No…” Viv says sadly.

     Beth draws out the moment, letting Viv struggle with disappointment for a time.

     “You’re lucky you’re so cute,” she says at last.

     Viv brightens immediately, clearly thinking that Beth is going to give in and touch her. Her excitement is a little bit premature however as Beth isn’t done with her yet.

     “Since I’m so nice, I’ll let you finish what you started earlier,” Beth declares.

     “What?”

     “You wanted to touch yourself, well go on. Now you have permission.”

     “I… But I wanted you to touch me.”

     “That’s too bad,” Beth says without sympathy. “Maybe you’ll think about this the next time you decide to break the rules. Go on now, I’m waiting.”

     Viv shivers and asks tentatively, “you’re going to watch?”

     Grinning, Beth says, “of course.”

     Viv awkwardly brings a hand down from above her head and trails it down her belly. When she reaches the neat patch of hair between her legs she pauses, looking at Beth uncertainly.

     “Go on, touch yourself. I’ll let you know when you can cum.”

     Inhaling sharply, Viv lowers her hand the last few inches. She cups her sex slowly, as if waiting for Beth to stop her.

     “Do you need daddy to tell you how to fuck yourself?”

     It’s easier now, calling herself that. If helps that Viv bites back another moan and nods vigorously.

     “Start slowly,” Beth orders. “I don’t want this to be over too soon and I bet you’re already close, aren’t you?”

     “Yes,” Viv admits, her fingers sliding between her folds.

      “I’m not surprised. You’re always so ready. I’m amazed you didn’t get yourself off earlier. Unless you forgot to mention that part.”

     “I didn’t,” Viv stutters, chest rising up and down in slow motion. “Get myself off I mean. I’d never… not without asking.”

     “Good. Your orgasms belong to me baby. If you’d cum without permission, I think you’d be over my knee right about now.”

    Viv keens, her hips jerk up into her hand, most likely pressing her clit into her palm.

     “Would you like that?” Beth asks, trying to wind Viv up but also genuinely curious. “Is that what we need to try next? Me spanking you?”

     “I don’t… I’m not… Beth, fuck, I mean daddy, I…”

     Beth magnanimously ignores Viv’s misstep, correctly realizing that she’s half out of her mind with pleasure. Unable to resist touching Viv more now, Beth allows herself to push her girlfriend’s shirt up even further so she can fondle her breasts.

     “We’ll talk about it more some other time hmm?” She says, squeezing Viv’s nipples firmly. “I’m certainly not opposed.”

     “Daddy, please, I’m gonna…”

     “Stop,” Beth demands sharply.

     Viv’s hand comes to a jerky stop though her chest continues to rise and fall rapidly. She’s almost panting with need, clearly caught right on the brink.

     “Good girl,” Beth soothes, rubbing up and down Viv’s breastbone. “You’re going to wait a few minutes until you can calm down. Then we’ll try again.”

     Viv whines wordlessly though she clearly knows better than to protest.

     Beth bides her time, tracing her fingers all over Viv’s torso. She plays with the lines of Viv’s ab muscles she can feel just beneath her skin and teases the soft skin of her breasts. Only when Viv’s breathing has settled back down to something more reasonable for a professional athlete laying in bed, does Beth rekindle things.

     “Okay, inside now love. I want you to fuck yourself for me.”

     Viv obliges, pressing one of her fingers inside hastily, shutting her eyes at the dirty sound.

     “None of that,” Beth instructs, tapping the underside of her chin. “Eyes on me.”

     Viv’s eyes slide back open, and she forces herself to maintain eye contact despite obvious embarrassment as she fingers herself.  

     “Well done,” Beth praises. “I know it’s hard. You’re doing so well for me.”

     Viv shivers and pleads with her eyes.

     Grinning, Beth asks, “already?”

     Jerkily nodding, Viv pleads, “can I?”

     “Stop,” Beth orders again, laughing outright at how disgruntled Viv looks.

     Grabbing Viv’s hand by the wrist, she guides it to the Dutchwoman’s face and orders, “taste.”

     Viv takes her own fingers into her mouth, licking off the abundant slick. She frowns a bit, clearly unhappy, and the classic grumpy Viv expression has Beth unable to resist. It’s a bit of a mess, but Beth gets Viv’s hand out of the way so she can kiss Viv. Her girlfriend tastes divine and before she knows it Beth’s collapsed down to rest her full weight on Viv so she can kiss her properly. She distractedly slots her leg between Viv’s, not thinking anything of it until she feels Viv’s hips start to stutter against her thigh.

     It snaps Beth out of it, and she pulls back, scolding, “Viv!”

     “’m sorry!” Viv gasps. “Please, please, please. I can’t… please I have to…”

     Beth’s uncertain if she’s ever heard her girlfriend plead this brokenly before. It’s almost shocking, seeing the normally so tightly laced Viv come this undone.

     “It’s okay,” Beth murmurs. “You’re okay.”

     “Please,” Viv repeats the word over and over, beyond consolable.

     “How do you want it love?”

     “Your mouth. I want your mouth daddy,” Viv cries instantly.

     “Fuck, yeah, let’s do that,” Beth agrees, forgetting entirely about her plan to make Viv get herself off while she watched. That can wait for another day when Viv is a little less out of control and Beth’s a lot less desperate to have her face between her girlfriend’s legs.

     She’s finishing repositioning between Viv’s muscular thighs almost before she’d agreed to Viv’s request. Abruptly thinking becomes a lot less important because all five of her senses are overwhelmed. All she knows is Viv and Viv is all she’s ever wanted. Beth doesn’t play around. She seals her lips over Viv’s clit and sucks, pausing only the half second it takes for her to work two fingers inside of Viv.

     Her girlfriend is writhing under her, and any spare attention Beth isn’t using trying to get Viv off is spent trying not to get bucked off. She fucks Viv in time with her mouth on her clit, pressing up with her fingers hard enough that her partner is probably going to be just the tiniest bit sore in the morning. She uses her tongue just right, knowing exactly what will strip Viv of all control.

     As the seconds tick by, Beth regains just enough composure to be amazed that Viv hasn’t cum yet. With how much teasing the younger woman had endured already, Beth would’ve thought she would orgasm almost instantly under Beth’s mouth. It’s only when Beth presses Viv’s legs a little wider so she can have a better angle that she realizes what Viv’s hold up is. Without her hearing being muffled by Viv’s thighs, she can hear the way Viv is babbling a continuous stream of pleading frequently interspersed with her new favorite title.

     “Daddy, please, I can’t wait, oh god, please daddy…”

     It goes on and on and Beth is abruptly made aware that Viv is desperately trying to wait for her permission. As soon as she catches on, Beth feels a spike of guilt. She’d never actually intended to push Viv this far. Tease? Yes. Edge to the point of insanity? No.

      Pulling her mouth away, Beth replaces it with a thumb pressing hard and fast on Viv’s clit. Her fingers keep fucking in and out in perfect rhythm. Mouth now free, Beth wastes no time putting Viv out of her misery.

     “Cum Viv,” Beth orders bluntly. “Let go for me now.”

     Viv stills for half a second, her body taught and poised. Then, with a broken cry of relief she succumbs, orgasming so hard that her whole body shakes with it. Her hips jerk and her back bows before everything crashes to a halt. Viv goes limp, every muscle going lax except for the ones still clenching down rhythmically around Beth’s fingers.

     Smiling at the raw beauty of Viv undone, Beth fucks her through it. She lessens the pressure of her thumb on Viv’s clit but keeps touching her, keeps fucking her, until she is certain that her girlfriend is well and truly spent. Even then Beth keeps going, decreasing her pace and depth until she’s barely moving. When Viv’s breathing has returned to almost normal, Beth ducks her head again, using her tongue to gently replace her thumb.

     Viv makes a wordless noise, half question and half protest.

     Beth hushes her gently, coos at her tenderly, and keeps her tongue and fingers moving. Soon Viv is restless under her again. Too spent to actively participate she just lays back, shifting occasionally as Beth tempts her body back to the edge of arousal.

     Viv’s second orgasm is almost the antithesis of her first. It’s a gradual uninterrupted climb followed by a soft fluttering fall. Her release is quiet, though the silent sigh that escapes her lips is still heavenly music to Beth’s ears.

     After, when Viv’s oversensitive enough to finally push Beth away, they curl around each other on their sweat damp bedspread.

     Viv, moving languidly in a post orgasmic haze, makes to reach down Beth’s body. Beth catches her hand and guides it back up, pinning it against her heart instead.

     “What about you?” Viv murmurs, splaying her fingers over Beth’s chest as if she can’t quite manage to touch Beth enough.

     “Some other time,” Beth says gently, encouraging Viv to roll half on top of her.

     “This was meant to be something for you,” Viv protests even as she nuzzles against the side of Beth’s neck.

     “It was,” Beth says simply. “And it was perfect.”

     Brow furrowing just that tiny bit like it so often does, Viv points out, “but you didn’t get off.”

     “And?”

     Gesturing vaguely with one hand, Viv adds, “isn’t that I don’t know, inequitable?”

     Laughing, Beth says, “that’s not how this works and you know it. But if it was, I’d still say I won.”

     “Okay,” Viv says with a yawn. “I’m too tired to argue about who won. If you’re good, I’m good.”

     Beth makes a show of laying a palm against Viv’s forehead as she asks, “are you feeling okay? I could’ve sworn that you, Vivianne Miedema, the most competitive person on the planet, just accepted defeat gracefully.”  

     “Oh, stuff it,” Viv says, sounding half cross and half fond.

     Pulling Beth’s hand off her forehead, Viv presses a kiss into Beth’s palm and murmurs, “thank you, daddy.”

     “Viv!” Beth yelps, scandalized.

      “What?”

     “You just… you can’t call me that !”

     “Why not? I’ve been calling you that for the last hour. I’m pretty sure you just had me screaming it actually.”

     “That’s different. That was before. When we were, you know…” Beth hides her face in Viv’s hair.

     “Having sex?” Viv asks bluntly.

     “Yes,” Beth admits, peaking out.

     Deciding to get over her embarrassment in favor of blissful contentment, Beth adds, “Ik houd van je.”

     “Your pronunciation is still terrible,” Viv critiques.

     “Viv,” Beth complains, poking Viv in the ribs.

     “Ik hound ook van jou… daddy ,” Viv replies, smirking.

     “Viv!”