Archive of Our Own ^beta

With Nicholas at college, her friends too caught up in their divorces and affairs to get coffee, her coworkers still acting like sensitive little babies over her latest Amway recruitment drive - it’s not a pyramid scheme, guys, it’s an opportunity - a total unwillingness to settle down and dedicate the rest of her life to learning bridge; Agatha Harkness was running out of ways to distract herself from the hot, heavy throes of perimenopause.

She wouldn’t hit up her ex-wives anyway, even if she weren’t blocked on every conceivable platform. They were losers. They didn’t know how to handle This Much Woman. They were gonna talk about gay shit like feelings and spend three weepy hours verbally processing one hour of mouth stuff.

No, Agatha Harkness was hip to the youth. She redownloaded Tinder, chose her five MILFiest photos - little black dress, lululemon with the pantyline, paint and sip from several years ago, little black dress again (same event, different angle), obviously face-tuned selfie - and set her bio to ‘MY HUSBAND IS DEAD. I don't want to remarry. I only want SEX!’

Then slid down the couch, neck bent at a weird angle, and scrolled listlessly - maybe, maybe, sure, eh, no, unless…?, sure, maybe - until she hit Rio, 26; stop asking me to top it doesnt work anymore

She was very pretty. Probably too pretty to swipe right on Agatha. She had dark, wavy hair down to her shoulders and a pleasantly goofy half-smile, like she had, in that moment, remembered a joke she told and was trying really hard not to laugh. A blurry candid outside a bar. Pointing, deadpan, at the tangled cables of an audio mixer. Too many selfies outdoors - urgh, what was with lesbians and hiking?

Not that it mattered. She wouldn’t go hiking. This wasn’t about hiking. Or dates. This was about bypassing all the complicated before and after stuff and jumping right into swapping spit with a hot stranger.

Agatha thought Rio was very attractive and made the terrible mistake of hoping that, perhaps, Rio would find her attractive in kind.

So she swiped right and immediately locked her phone. Placed it face down on the counter and opened a bottle of tempranillo to congratulate herself on putting herself out there, absolutely not to sooth the inevitable disappointment of missing out jumping the bones of the hot-26-year-old.

It was fine. Her purview was more, fellow middle aged mothers. Sexually frustrated PTA members. Restless wives with husbands on work trips. Yknow. Stuff that definitely had an end date for the sake of propriety. So she didn’t have to be someone’s education on the post-partum body. It was for the better that Rio wouldn’t be into -

Her phone dinged.

Rio sent you a message.

Agatha’s eyes widened. She downed her glass.

(Agatha knew a deliberately nonchalant ‘lol’ when she saw one. She was sort of an expert in the art of a deliberately nonchalant ‘lol.’)

***

Nicholas Harkness-Spark had, if you asked him, five parents. Agatha conceived him at 27 with ex-wife-the-first. They sourced a donation from a gay couple and agreed to co-parent. Agatha showed him how to change a tire and to fight, Steve made sure he had a thorough cultural education. It all felt terribly modern. Like they had solved gender.

As a teacher, Agatha made less money than ex-wife-the-first. It was assumed she would stay home. ‘Assumed’ irritated Agatha more ‘staying home’. She loved teaching. She loved Nicky more. Begrudgingly she became a housewife. Begrudgingly she fell into the domestic sphere.

When Agatha started dating ex-wife-the-second - Agatha asked ex-wife-the-first to consider working part time. She wanted to start teaching again. Ex-wife-the-first said it’s not fair to ask me to sacrifice my career like this, and Agatha laughed in her face - Nicky (age 5) whispered whoa. Three moms… like he had calculated how many presents to expect from the five dramatic gays who loved him very much.

When Nick was in high school, after ex-wife-the-second had moved on to greener pastures (she had an affair with her coworker. They were both having affairs with their coworkers, but Agatha’s was reciprocal), Agatha let him have parties. She let him drink sometimes. The other parents didn’t approve but they were losers. They didn’t get it. At that age she went to grimy punk gigs and let the bouncer mark her hand with a black letter X - indicating to the bartender she was underage - and immediately scrubbed it off in the bathroom. Got into all sorts of trouble. Couldn’t tell anyone. Teenagers do dumb shit like that. Better a nice, clean, safe house, with Mom on speed-dial.

She was there for Nick’s first word and his first steps and his first hangover. She threw open his curtains, turned on all the lights, and blasted music while they cleaned up. Nick turned a brilliant shade of green and, once he finished vomiting at each and every strong smell, had learned to drink in moderation.

Only through the grace of some higher power, Nicholas Harkness-Spark was not a complete emotional terrorist. He was still an occasional emotional terrorist. Best case scenario for a Harkness. He was in love with a new girl every time he called home. He was a gossip. He said ‘I’m just being honest,’ and ‘oh, but that’s just what I heard,’ a little too often. He was, unfortunately, entirely too handsome and clever for his own good.

Agatha - who was a little too weird and gay to fit in with the the girls at school; a little too weird and girl to fit in with the boys at school; hadn’t spoken to her own mom for roughly three decades - thought there were worse things for a child too many friends to keep up with, too many girls to text, too many parents who loved him.

So it was unfair, frankly, that just as Agatha felt like she was getting a handle on mothering and her body post-partum, her son had left the nest and her body was changing again. She was different now, so it was different now. 45; waking up drenched in sweat. 27; peed a little when she sneezed. 13; bled through her jeans in math class - mom sneered, said careful, you can get pregnant now - 10; her breasts started to develop. The boys refused to roughhouse with her anymore. We can't. You’re a girl.

She kept changing. The rules kept changing. One of the two.

***

They agreed to eat first. Agatha wanted to check Rio wasn’t one of those clingy types before she invited her home. She had learned that the hard way. Egged windows. Keyed cars. Agatha was kind of a bitch, she knew this to be true, but her aloof attitude and flexible, indomitable tongue tended to attract the worst sorts. She had a technique for getting her rocks off with a stranger without making it weird; Lower their expectations. Minimal kissing. Minimal cuddling. Mostly clothed. Get them out ASAP.

Rio had skateboarded to the burger place. One knee on the sidewalk, one knee poking out of a black midi-skirt, ratty converses with the laces threatening to spill out and catch on something. She was re-tightening her laces when Agatha approached. She stiffened and glanced over when Agatha’s shadow brushed her shoulder.

“You must be Agatha!” Rio wriggled the tension out of her shoulders. She stood up and clipped a strap around the trucks of her skateboard, slung it over her back.

She held out a hand as Agatha went to greet her with a polite hug. Rio batted Agatha’s tit with the back of her hand and froze.

“Well,” she said, unclipping her skateboard. “This has been lovely. I’m going to go home and scream.”

“That bad?” teased Agatha. “Absolutely not. Burgers, then I want a second opinion on my breasts.”

So they ordered burgers. Rio got a milkshake and Agatha a diet coke ice cream float. Some may say that possibly defeated the purpose of the diet coke, but who gave a shit. Agatha liked the flavor of aspartame. Fuck you.

“It’s mostly weddings and business events,” Rio said. Agatha had asked about her job, she was a sound engineer. “Obviously gigs are my favourite. And I play drums in a cover band sometimes, but Golden Oldies isn’t really my passion.”

“Really?” Drummer! Hot. “What is your passion?”

“I was in a metal band. So I love, like-“ Rio played air drums and poorly beat-boxed a drum fill. “Loud but technical.”

“Loud and technical is good-“ Agatha leaned forward. “-but I prefer loud and bad.”

“Great news. Loud and bad is actually-“ Rio’s mouth was already wriggling, “- how I’d describe myself in bed.”

“Oh?” Agatha smiled, despite herself. Rio’s grin was infectious. “I can’t wait.”

“Been to any gigs recently?” Rio seemed delighted, even pleasantly surprised, by how easy the conversation flowed. Similar interests, check. A taste for offputting jokes, check. Easy.

Agatha shook her head. “I haven’t been to a gig since the Bush administration.”

Coming back from grimy mosh pits covered in blood and spit and bruises was what she lived for. It was a lifetime ago, before she had Nicky and two ex-wives and a hip that froze when the weather changed.

“Oh, because of the-“ Rio squinted in concentration, “-Fuck, I don’t know, global financial crisis?”

Agatha laughed and admitted, “No! I had a kid,” Regretted it. That was way too intimate. “He’s at college, he’s not- I live alone - In case you’re worried about loud and bad.”

Whew, good save! That could have sounded pathetic.

“What’s he like?”

“Trouble,” she grumbled. She turned her phone towards Rio. Nicky at his high school graduation. She loved that boy so much she immediately buckled. “That’s him.”

“Oh? That’s crazy.” Rio looked startled, “He kind of looks like… no, actually, forget it...”

“Who?” said Agatha. “Who, Rio? Spit it out.”

“…me,” Rio mumbled into her milkshake. “Before I transitioned.”

“What? Give me that,” Agatha snatched her phone back and held it beside Rio’s head. She looked at Nicky. She looked at Rio. She looked at Nicky. Back at Rio. “I don’t see it.”

“Good. Good!” Rio looked like she wanted to die. “Let’s pretend this never happened.”

This was a great idea. To everyone’s chagrin, Agatha was never one to let sleeping dogs lie.

“…is this a…” Agatha curled her lip. She drew a line in the air connecting the two, “…mommy issues thing? Few would describe me as nurturing.”

Rio snort laughed.

“I’m just asking,” Agatha shrugged, “we won’t see each other again so, if that gets you going…”

“I have a really good relationship with my parents. So, no.” Rio leaned forward conspiratorially. "Are you sure you’re not into that?”

“Urgh, no,” Agatha rolled her eyes. “I’m like a guy. I’m going to get you off, then I’m going to grunt, come, and immediately fall asleep. Kick you out in the morning.”

“Urgh. Been there, done that.” Rio shook her head in disgust but it wasn’t long before her smile creeped back. “However; I can make a pretty good omelette. If you don’t immediately kick me out.”

Agatha pursed her lips. Stroked an imaginary goatee. “I’ll consider it.”

She glanced out the window and saw a bird - a raven, surely, it was too big for a crow - trying to get inside a trash can. It cawed in frustration and flew off. She turned to Rio.

“So… How did you know?”

The corner of Rio’s lip twitched. Record scratch; freeze frame. Whoops! You big dumb idiot. And it was going so well!

“Know what?” Rio raised her eyebrows. For the first time that night her smile dropped completely. She seemed guarded. Disappointed.

“No,” Agatha grimaced and slurped the dregs of her milkshake. Maybe it wasn’t too late to back off. She tried to wave it away. “it’s none of my business.”

“No, say it.” Rio folded her arms and leant back. “Commit.”

“…That-” Agatha wanted the ground to open up and swallow her, lol, “-you’re a woman?”

“How do you know you’re a woman?”

“Stubbornness,” she picked at her chips. “Spite. one of the two.”

Rio squinted. Furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

Agatha shook her head. “No, it’s weird.”

“Good,” said Rio. She raised an eyebrow. “Tell me.”

Agatha sucked her teeth. Fair enough. Tit for tat. Invasive question for an invasive question.

“Well, I wouldn’t answer to Agatha as a kid. Only Andy. I watched movies and wanted to be the prince. I wanted to be the husband when my friends played house. Taught myself how to pee standing up. I still can, by the way.”

Rio’s stony expression crumbled slightly. She paused. She leant forward and said, sotto voce, “Do you want me to call you Andy? I can do that.”

Agatha waved her hand. “No, I kind of… I don’t want to say I grew out of it but for me it was more… Boys got to do stuff. Prince saves the princess. Husband has a wife. I think I was just a lesbian that hated skirts. I don’t know. I told you it was weird.”

“Huh,” said Rio. Her tongue ran over the back of her teeth. “So, dialling back to spite?”

“Urgh, I get a lot of - I’m not ladylike, I’m a bad mother, I’m a bad wife, I’m a bad homemaker, I’m a failure of a woman - how about this; you’re a fucking loser. You know nothing about me.”

Rio sighed and looked away. She clicked her tongue in irritation.

“I’m not…”Agatha grimaced. She tended not to talk about this for a reason. At best; weird. At worse; ammunition for nasty weirdos, “…trying to suggest anything-”

“No, I appreciate you sharing,” Rio shook her head, “I just… didn’t expect an actual answer. I was hoping for an easy slam-dunk.”

“Okay,” Agatha fished ice cream out of her glass with a straw. “What should I have said?”

“Normally they say, Oh I just am one, and then I say, Exactly. I just am one.”

“Easy peasy.” Agatha said. “Oh, I just am one.”

“Exactly. I just am one.” Rio’s goofy smile returned. She picked at the lettuce left on her plate. “Very generous of you.”

“I’m a real giver,” Agatha winked.

Rio blushed and looked away. Bashful.

Agatha heard a small clank outside and celebratory caw cawing. The raven had returned with a friend. The pair had successfully disposed of the trash can lid and feasted on all the yummy garbage.

She flicked her eyes over and caught Rio staring at her in the reflection. She turned back with her eyebrows raised. Rio smiled and shrugged. Yawned and stretched her arms over her head. Agatha saw a little sliver of black ink peak out from her sleeves. Once Rio had her arms back on the table, Agatha snatched her left wrist with one hand and ran fingertips where the sleeve met skin with the other. Rio’s skin was soft. Silky. Rio shivered. Her ears went bright red.

“May I see?”

Rio nodded. Agatha rolled the sleeve back to her elbow. It was largely black traditional work. Agatha traced the back of her nail along the knife that decorated most of Rio’s inner forearm.

“I like this,” she purred. “Very nice.”

“Do you have any tattoos?” Rio squeaked.

“Yes, but,” she smiled. “None that I can show in public.”

Rio’s eyes widened, she swallowed, put way too much effort into nodding casually. Agatha smacked her lips and glanced around the diner. Fairly empty. Waitress scrolling tiktok. Agatha wanted to see how much more she could fluster Rio. She smiled easily, laughed easily, blushed easily; Agatha found it intoxicating. She wanted to drink from that chalice as many times she could tonight.

She quirked her eyebrows and unbuttoned her shirt a little. A little more. Rio looked like she was going to pass out. Agatha unbuttoned her shirt to expose the underwire of her bra and stood up a little, leaned forward to grab the salt from Rio’s end of the table. Maybe unconsciously, maybe not, Rio leant forward. Agatha felt Rio’s hot, shallow breath against her cleavage. Heard Rio clear her throat nervously.

Satisfied, she sat back and began to button her shirt up again. “Nice, right?”

“Yes. Yes, but,” Rio pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. She looked feverish, “I didn’t see the tattoo?”

“Oh,” said Agatha. She pointed to her collarbone. “That one’s a dolphin. I’ll show you it at my place.”

***

The drive home was quiet. Agatha hummed along to the trash bro-country on the radio. She was to host, naturally. Rio had roommates and, besides, Agatha had spent way too much money on her mattress to sleep in someone else's bed. Big fan of waking up with her vertebrae aligned. A traffic light turned amber. She’d probably make it if she floored it. She didn’t. She resisted the urge to be risky and came to a smooth stop. The light turned red.

“Have you ever slept with…?” Rio trailed off. Agatha could hear the soft rustle as she ran her fingers along her skirt.

Agatha glanced over. “I’ve slept with a lot of women, yeah.”

“…You know what I mean.”

Agatha hesitated. “No. Is that an issue?”

“Doesn’t have to be.” Rio hummed. Shrugged. “Only women?”

“A couple men.” Agatha pursed her lips. “I was young. I was trying to feel normal. Didn’t work.”

“Same,” Rio looked over. She watched Agatha. She turned back to her window. Her face glowed red in the stoplight. “Yeah, same.”

Eventually she turned into the driveway. The motion sensor flicked on. The garage clunked open and Agatha parked neatly beside some old junk - beds Nicky had grown out of, the belongings of people she couldn’t stand to see but couldn’t bear to throw out, a tv that didn’t work. Rio’s hand hovered over the buckle of her seatbelt. She chewed the inside of her cheek.

“What is it?” Agatha unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to face Rio.

“I’m…” Rio scrunched her face up in embarrassment. Not the cute embarrassment from when she accidentally felt Agatha’s tit. The sort of greasy shame that left an oily residue, no matter how hard you tried to scrub it out. “I’m worried since you've slept with men, you’ll have… expectations of me.”

Agatha furrowed her brow and watched Rio closely. “Sorry, are you disappointed I’m not a gold-star lesbian?”

“No, shit, not like that - God knows how many stupid men I fooled around with when I was trying to be a guy - it’s dumb. Forget it. I’m in my head.” Rio found an errant thread and tugged at it. She made no move to unbuckle her seatbelt. Mumbled, “Whatever happens, happens.”

The motion light switched off. The bulb plinked the two into darkness. The door leading inside the house was slightly ajar - Agatha, too excited, mustn’t have closed it properly on her way out - threw a long, warm slice of light from the passageway to the car.

Neither woman moved.

Not for the first, nor the last time in her life, Agatha wished people would just say what they meant in plain English. As the silence became unbearable she suspected Rio wouldn’t, maybe couldn’t, until she did.

So she finally broke the silence with a blunt, “What do you mean by expectations?”

Another pause. Rio furled and unfurled her hands like she was trying to pluck thoughts out of the aether. She sighed and pulled her knees to her chest.

“I have a dick. People want me to fuck them with it,” said Rio. “I can’t and - some trans girls don’t mind, I know this, but - it makes me feel dysphoric. Like a man. I don’t want to feel like a man again.”

“Well,” said Agatha. “Great news. I hated sleeping with men. I’d prefer to never sleep with a man again. They’re too… coarse. It’s not sexy. You’re not coarse.”

She sighed. Pinched the bridge of her nose. Oh my God, she was never getting laid again. You’re not coarse. Good one. Girls loved to be told that weird shit.

She looked over. She half expected Rio’s face to be contorted in stifled laughter, like, take a look at this fucking guy.

Rio watched her with curiosity. She blinked slowly. “Elaborate.”

“I like… you’ve got soft hands.” Jesus Christ, soft hands, was there anything more humiliating than trying to verbalize your horny monkey brain, anything more humiliating than trying to explain to a beautiful woman how badly you still wanted her, even though you both hurt each other’s feelings, “I want them all over me.”

Rio twisted in her seatbelt towards Agatha. Her knee pressed against the console. “What else?” she whispered. It came out all in one breath.

Agatha leant forward to look at Rio. It was too dark and her eyes were getting too old to make anything out otherwise. Rio leant forward in kind. Agatha was close enough to smell the bodyheat as it escaped her shirt collar. Rio smelt good. Agatha wanted to bury her nose in the hollow of her throat and breathe her in. She meant it. Rio’s wrist was soft when she touched it, pliant against her calloused finger. Maybe it was a weird thing to register, but it did. Rio’s skin felt nice to her hand. She wanted to see how it felt to her mouth and teeth and tongue.

She reached out. Rio’s eyes flit to Agatha’s palm, to Agatha’s lips. Agatha’s hand continued forward to cradle Rio’s jaw.

Rio sighed and leant into Agatha’s touch. Like she was scared it’d escape if she didn’t capture it right then. Eyes briefly fluttered shut. Back open.

She stared at Agatha with big eyes. She didn’t blink. Her mouth parted softly. Agatha felt a tremor in Rio’s jaw. She ran a thumb over Rio's bottom lip and made a soft shush.

“Soft skin,” she murmured. “Soft lips. I want to put my mouth all over you.”

Rio failed to choke back a keening sound. She pushed her cheek harder against Agatha’s hand.

Agatha leant forward until their noses brushed. Could almost taste the burger and milkshake. Rio’s hands ghosted the hem of Agatha's shirt and Agatha arched into her.

“I told you, put them all over me,” Agatha murmured, and kissed her.

***

Agatha shucked her jeans, kept the shirt, and pushed Rio onto the bed, who offered little resistance. She giggled in delight as Agatha pressed her shoulders into the mattress. Agatha knelt beside Rio, brushed hair the out of her eyes. “Where can I… are there certain places I shouldn’t touch you?

“Anywhere. Please touch me,” Rio gasped. “No one touches me anymore.”

Agatha tried not to look too sad when Rio said that.

No one really touched Agatha growing up, especially not after someone spread a rumor - was it really a rumor if it was true? - that she was gay. Evanora never really hugged her. She asked why, once, and Evanora said she wasn’t ever really hugged, they weren’t that kind of family. Ex-boyfriends called her frigid; no shit, Sherlock. Ex-girlfriends, too; unfair, she always put out. When Nicky was born, and he lay against her breastbone, and his tiny fingers curled around her finger, she thought oh my God. I want to hold you forever. How could I not? and cried like a bitch. For some reason.

Which is to say,

“Sounds good,” she said, and pressed her teeth into Rio’s collarbone.

Rio was starving. She arched against Agatha’s touch, wriggled when Agatha’s fingers slipped under the hem of her long-sleeve tee-shirt and whined when Agatha unclamped her jaw - to pull the shirt over Rio’s head no less, ungrateful!

She was covered in tattoos, and some of them were even good.

“I like this,” Agatha said. She trailed her fingers over the large moth that spanned Rio’s breastbone. She poked the side of Rio’s ribs. “I have questions about this.”

Four, very shaky, blurry boxes. Vertical line. Two staggered vertical lines. Two even vertical lines. Vertical line, horizontal line.

Rio craned her head and laughed. “Um, so you know what loss.jpg is?”

“I’m familiar- oh no, Rio, don’t tell me you paid for that?”

“No! My friend bought a tattoo gun. He gave me a tramp stamp, too-” Rio rolled onto her side and pulled her skirt past her hip. SKATE FAST, EAT ASS, in chicken-scratch.

“Marginally better than mine,” Agatha mused. Tribal love heart. 17, fake ID.

“Whoa, let me see-“ Rio lifted herself up on her elbows. Flicked the waistband of Agatha’s boxers. Agatha pushed her back down and she giggled.

“A reward,” Agatha said. She drummed her fingers along a spiderweb nestled under Rio’s breast, walked her fingers down the long thread of silk to the waistband of Rio’s skirt, “for good behaviour.”

Rio rolled her eyes. She tucked her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt and said, like it physically pained her to ask for permission, “may I take this off, then?”

Agatha felt herself grow warm and nodded. Rio shimmied out of her skirt at a glacial pace. Agatha felt her mouth water, felt her neck burn as Rio watched her watching. Inch by inch the rest of the piece was revealed; a spider just above her hipbone. Rio, pleased with her little performance, carefully slipped the rest of her skirt off. She folded it, and leant over to place the folded garment beside the bed. She resumed her supine position.

She laced her fingers under her sternum. Her dick peeked out of the top of her panties.

“Oh, it’s cute…” Agatha sighed, and pulled them down.

“Cute?” Rio’s eyes widened and she burst out laughing. Her whole body shook with giggles. Agatha folded her arms and pursed her lips. Rio eventually stopped hyperventilating and wiped her eyes.

“What should I say?,” Agatha said. “it’s just… cute. It’s a nice color.”

“Cringe and useless,” Rio offered helpfully.

“I’m not calling your dick cringe.”

“Oh, you’re too woke to call my dick cringe?”

“Is this… your ironic self depreciation again?”

“My self depreciation is completely sincere.” Rio’s smile was mischievous. Didn’t reach her eyes.

Agatha looked at her. Tried, again, to keep the worry out of her face. Tried to care less. That was a sad statement, poorly wearing a joke’s clothes. She was somewhat of an expert in dressing her sad statements in a joke’s clothes.

Before she could say anything, Rio added, “Sorry. You're being very nice to me and I don’t know what to do.”

Dear God. Rio was young. She looked small, and young, and sad, and nervous. Agatha wondered if she was ever that small and young and sad and nervous.

She felt too warm. She needed to feel Rio writhe and moan under her like she needed oxygen. She needed hot, soft skin under her palms. She needed to leave pulse points bruised with hickies, nail marks in tender places, hair matted at the back, thoroughly bedraggled.

She wanted to kiss Rio gently and smooth the tension out of her face. They hadn’t discussed this, had they? Agatha had fucked up and skipped that step. They’d already kissed without drawing lines between the things that were and weren’t too intimate for casual sex with a stranger - even a stranger who knew too much, who kept making her stomach ache.

It was the perimenopause, possibly. She’d get her hormones checked. Later. It still felt too much like an admission.

Agatha shook her head. “When you say stuff like that I want to swaddle you. I cannot rail you if I want to swaddle you.”

Rio bolted up. Agatha pushed her back down with a thwump.

“I can’t believe you accused me of mommy issues.” Rio covered her face in anguish. Failed to suppress a giggle. “I knew you wanted to mother me. I look too much like your-“

Agatha unhooked Rio’s panties and shoved them in her mouth. To her credit, Rio opened her mouth beautifully. Accepted the balled up garment with grace. Turned a brilliant shade of deep red. Sighed a little. Allowed Agatha to wipe the string of spit on her chin.

“Absolutely not,” said Agatha.

She grazed her teeth over the tattooed moth. Kissed down the sternum, dragged a fingernail over one of Rio’s puffy nipples. Rio shuddered and inhaled sharply through her nose. Agatha laughed.

“Sensitive, are we?” Agatha crooned. “My fault. I forgot how much it hurts when they develop.”

During a middle-school school soccer match an opponent shoulder checked her, right in the chest, and was so apoplectic with pain she tackled the girl to the ground right there. Wah wah. No hands allowed. Benched for the rest of the season.

She sucked a nipple into her mouth and hummed. Rio placed careful, needly hands to Agatha’s hair and when Agatha flitted her eyes up and winked in approval, wove her fingers into the thick curls.

Agatha carefully examined all of Rio’s frontward tattoos, even the bad ones. She appreciated the branches following the curve of a breast, the bouquet of roses on the ribcage, a dogshit stick-and-poke of an alien smoking a bong with her tongue. She chuckled against the blurry outline of bigfoot along Rio’s flank - BIGFOOT IS REAL AND HE SUCKED ME OFF in the same chicken scratch.

Muscle memory lead her hands to wander south, bellow Rio’s belly and - Rio was wet. There was no better way to describe it. She glanced down. Rio had leaked clear, watery come over herself. She dragged a curious finger around Rio’s navel and sucked it into her mouth. Little tangy; salty; sweet. Fascinating. She knew she tasted different depending on her cycle - different still, as her cycle slowed to a crawl - it stood to reason Rio would, compared to. Yknow.

She’d begrudgingly sucked a bit of dick in her time - maybe this time I’ll like it - but there was an acridity she couldn’t stomach. Like swilling gasoline. Though sleazy dive bars didn’t tend to attract hydrated guys who ate well. Who knew? Also, crucial detail, maybe the most important one, wasn't attracted to men.

She locked eyes with Rio. Pulled her finger out with a pop. Moaned a little. Rio’s fists tightened and Agatha’s eyes fluttered at the pain.

Rio’s hands withdrew so Agatha raised her eyebrows. Rio turned her head and allowed her spit-soaked panties to unfurl from her mouth and leave a dark spot on Agatha’s sheets. “I like when-“ she wet her lips. “- I mean, may I touch myself?”

Agatha was surprised Rio had asked and felt herself grow warm and sticky in delight. She must really want to see that tattoo. With feigned nonchalance, she shrugged. “Yes. You may.”

She rolled onto her side for a clearer view. Rio’s hand slithered between them. She flipped her dick back so the head pointed to her belly. Agatha thought, oh I kind of do that, because it reminded her of the way she pulled back her clit hood when playing whack-a-mole.

“I like being eaten out like this,” Rio said simply. Shyly. She ducked her eyes from Agatha’s gaze.

Agatha couldn’t help it. Rio was so cute and pathetic, like a soggy cat. Rules about what was and wasn’t too intimate with a stranger be damned - if Agatha cared she would have remembered to mention it, if Rio cared she would have mentioned it, what Rio had mentioned was please; nobody touches me anymore - so she held Rio’s face and kissed her again.

Rio melted under her. Her hands drifted down Agatha’s back and pulled her in. Agatha brushed her tongue against Rio’s top lip and Rio gasped, and Agatha pounced, she licked the back of Rio’s teeth like a dog.

Embarrassed, trying to spare Rio the shame of doing something equally gay and pathetic and needy, she pulled away and buried her nose in Rio’s neck. She sucked, hard, and hoped it would leave a mark. Rio’d have to wear a turtleneck tomorrow. She hoped Rio wouldn’t. Not that. Not that she’d know. One time thing. One time. Just once. Cmon, girl. Keep it together.

Rio shuddered and whined and pulled at Agatha’s shirt. Agatha bit her way back down between Rio’s thighs, a coffin on one, a skeleton on the other.

Agatha resisted the urge to coo again at Rio’s tiny sack, but she did find it cute. Sensible, even. She hooked Rio’s legs around her shoulder and licked a long strip up the length - the short, hahahaha - of the shaft. Rio jerked and dug her nails into Agatha’s scalp. Agatha quickly found a rhythm and was quite pleased with the way Rio bucked and writhed under her.

She did, sort of, maybe, kind of, uhh, have another question though. She paused a moment.

Rio noticed, unfortunately. “Are you…” she panted, face red, “is this good for you?”

Agatha kissed Rio’s tip and giggled at the resulting shudder. “I am. Uh, is this good for you?”

“It is. It is, thank you.” Rio slid her fingers through the wetness on her belly and sucked them into her mouth. Agatha shivered.

“Okay, cool, I was just wondering, because….”

“I don’t like being loud, I lied,” Rio admitted. “I get embarrassed about my voice. I promise I’m having a good time.”

“No, I think it’s cute-” Agatha kissed the inside of Rio’s thigh. God, it was almost velvety. What the hell. “-it’s more… you’re flaccid?”

“I can’t get hard,” Rio repeated. “I- I’ve definitely told you. I’m on testosterone blockers.”

Ohhhh, thought Agatha.

“Ohhhh,” said Agatha. “Physically can’t. I assumed you meant, I don’t know, ideologically. Okay. Huh. Okay. That makes more sense. ”

Rio burst out laughing. Again. Rio had laughed at her twice, during coitus, within the space of an hour. Agatha felt she should be furious, but Rio just seemed to laugh for the sheer joy of it. She raised herself enough to avoid being swatted by Rio’s dick. Rio’s stomach convulsed for a full minute, calmed down, and then she looked down at Agatha and got the giggles. “Well,” she said, through tears. “I could take Cialis, but I don’t want to. I guess it’s a little ideological.”

Rio reached down and brushed her thumb across Agatha’s cheek. Her eyes were kind. Agatha realised she herself must be making some sort of face. Must be blushing in - who fucking knows. Lust. Rage. Embarrassment. One of the three - and nodded. Keen to get back to what she did best, she pressed an experimental finger to Rio’s perineum.

“And is this good for you?”

“Oh- oh, yes,” Rio sighed. “Please.”

Agatha pushed harder still. Rio bucked her hips. Harder again, two fingers, bowling ball style. Rio’s limp dick twitched and leaked all over her tummy. Oh fuck yeah, Agatha thought. Now we’re cooking with gas.

“You like this?” she grunted, “You like when I fuck you like this, pretty girl?”

Rio nodded. Rio nodded, and panted, and her eyes rolled back, and her hips jogged to meet Agatha’s thrusts.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Agatha snarled. “God, look how you’re dripping for me.”

Rio moaned, loudly, and that was all the encouragement Agatha needed. She bent her head down to press her tongue flat against Rio’s tip. Lapped at her wetness. Drew haphazard stripes with her tongue, fucking into Rio as hard as she could. Rio thrashed and her fingers knit into Agatha’s hair, pulled her closer.

Rio came with a sharp gasp and her hips jolted again, and again, and again, and she went limp. More dripped out of her. Agatha, nothing if not a gentleman, cleaned her up. She lapped at Rio’s inner thighs. Her hips. Her tummy. Her dick. She crawled beside Rio and kissed her again. Urgh. She was getting greedy. This was a Stage Five Clinger waiting to happen. The haze would settle once her clit stopped throbbing, and then she’d mitigate the inevitable disaster.

Rio nestled herself in Agatha’s neck. Brushed fingers along the back of her shirt. Wove their legs together. It was cute, really. Maybe sad. Even some stellar head - Agatha was not one for false modesty - didn’t stave off her touch hunger.

Well. Unless…

Lips brushed against her throat. Agatha wasn’t sure it was deliberate. Then an open mouth, then teeth, then a long wet stripe of a tongue. She moaned and dug her fingers into Rio’s back.

“Can I see the tattoo now?” Rio murmured. Agatha could feel her eyelashes fluttering. Her fingers toyed with the shirt buttons. “I’ve been so good.”

The heat at the back of Agatha’s neck seeped downward. She clenched her thighs. Rio noticed this, her own thigh sandwiched between them, and exhaled through her nose. Agatha’s skin felt too tight for her body. She felt and vulnerable, for no good reason.

“I don’t… usually take my clothes off,” her voice faltered. “I had a kid and, uh, I started getting used to those changes, and now it’s… all happening again.”

She felt Rio pull back and cursed herself. She had disclosed way too much. Why did she even care? One time thing. Didn’t matter what Rio thought if they’d never see each other again. She didn’t care in the diner, she didn’t care when Rio was writhing under her, it shouldn’t matter now. But it did. It mattered so much.

Rio looked across at her with a sad, strange sort of recognition. Karma, she thought. Doesn’t feel so good when I’m the concern-object, does it?

“That’s okay. Been there,” Rio murmured. She blinked slowly. Smiled slightly. “Can I touch you over your clothes?”

“Please.” Agatha swallowed whatever-the-fuck-that-was down and nodded. She was always sort of difficult. She knew this of herself. She was a colicky baby and an irresponsible mother and a bad wife. She liked to fail people on tests they weren’t aware of. She didn’t really know what to do with okay, that’s fine instead of a urgh, have it your way.

I’d like that, she thought.

“I’d like that,” she said. “Thank you.”

Rio placed her hands on Agatha’s waist. She leant in for a kiss and when Agatha made to close the distance, chuckled and pulled away. She did it a second time. Agatha thought about murdering her.

“You make a funny face when you’re mad,” Rio giggled. Her voice was breathy. The air between them was warm and sticky.

“I make a funnier face when I orgasm,” Agatha hissed.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Rio sighed and drew close again.

Agatha was feeling desperate. Entirely too self serious to let herself be tricked a third time. She combed her fingers through Rio’s hair and held the back of Rio’s head. Tilted her own mouth to meet the other woman’s - Rio licked her chin and, while Agaha was stunned into silence by the audacity, rolled her onto her back.

“Sorry. I’m done now,” Rio said, and cut off any angry retort Agatha could muster with a kiss. Rio kissed like she had all the time in the world. Which she didn’t. She didn’t, okay!! This had a very clear finish line! Agatha wanted to unhinge her jaw and devour her, but she tried to match her rhythm. Tried to match the intensity of each gentle touch of her tongue. Rio sighed and moaned and wriggled and it was driving Agatha insane. Agatha’s hands wandered down Rio’s back and, ticklish, Rio squeaked. She jolted. The smooth length of her thigh pressed against Agatha’s core. Ah, fuck.

Agatha moaned and canted her hips, desperate for that sweet friction. Rio looked down and, face flushed, breathless, flexed her thigh again.

“Like that?” she panted. “You like this?”

Agatha nodded, eyes heavy. Her fingers pushed into the fat of Rio’s waist, guided a sticky Rio to straddle her own bare thigh. Thin, clear droplets of arousal beaded and smeared along Agatha’s leg as Rio adjusted herself.

“Yeah,” Agatha breathed. She rutted her hips against Rio’s leg. “I do.”

Rio rocked against Agatha slowly. Experimentally. Agatha lost patience and humped Rio’s leg like a dog, and only then did Rio seem to register how turned on Agatha was, how wound up and desperate she was, and finally, oh my God finally, rolled her hips to match Agatha’s pace. She bent down and mouthed Agatha’s nipples through her shirt. She licked a long stripe up Agatha’s throat. She held Agatha’s face and watched carefully, like it was enough to just watch her, enough to just bare witness to Agatha coming undone against her thigh. Heat radiated from Agatha’s core, and her muscles tensed, and her felt herself clench and pulse, and finally she came with a grunt.

She didn’t fall asleep but she pretended to. Rio laughed quietly and crawled off her. Leant over to turn the bedside light off and pulled the covers over. Kissed her forehead - which was a fucking rookie move, Rio, you big soft idiot. She felt Rio wrap an arm around her waist. It was nice, while it lasted. It was really nice. Agatha tried to memorise it; warmth of Rio’s body, the warmth of her breath on Agatha’s neck, Rio’s fingers tracing circles on her ribs.

“My girlfriend used to practice make-up on me,” Rio murmured. “She’d always sigh and say, look how pretty you are, and I remember looking in the mirror and thinking, this feels right. This feels like me. I wanted it so badly, but I was scared to figure out what it was, so I freaked out. Tried to be a man’s-man.”

“Yeah?” Agatha gave up on her act. She was nosy. Interested. Whatever.

“Yeah. I had a beard and everything. Then I tried to convince myself I was just a feminine gay man, and that was worse. Eventually I just woke up and I was like - what the fuck am I doing? I don’t want to die a man. I can just be a woman. I can just date women.”

Agatha absentmindedly wove her fingers in Rio’s. “I used to… let the girls in the class do my make-up. They all, urgh, wanted their Breakfast Club moment. Hated it. Hated how it felt. Hated how it looked. But I wanted to be touched. I wanted - I wanted to be part of the group.”

She sighed. “And then someone spread a rumor I was gay, so that was the end of that.”

“Wait, are you gay?”

Agatha tried to reach back to swat Rio but found it far, far too difficult in this hypnagogic, orgasmic condition. “Ha ha,” she yawned. “You’re a funny one.”

Rio hummed and pressed her mouth to the base of Agatha’s neck. Agatha felt her body grow heavy and her breath slow. She felt relaxed for the first time in a long time.

“I have a gig tomorrow,” Rio mumbled. “You can come if you want. It’s just covers. I think… I just think you should go to a gig. We don’t even have to hang out.”

Agatha didn’t have the heart to entertain the thought. “Nah, those days are over. I’ll be the oldest one there.”

“It’s a bowls club,” Rio half laughed, half whispered, “so probably not.”

Agatha felt herself go fuzzy and limp. Felt her vision start to swim with patterns, shapes, faces, just in front of her eyelids. Just out of reach. “I’ll think about it,” she mumbled. “Ask me in the morning.”

She felt herself fall asleep and wondered, vaguely, when she had last looked forward to maybe seeing someone in the morning. Figuring out ways to kick them out was more her speed. Later, she thought. I’ll kick her out eventually. She fell into a deep, restful sleep.