Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Serena sighed contentedly as the soft bubbles caressed her upper back, allowing her body to relax deeper into the warm pool. The underwater jets were strong, and she could feel her muscles tenderising as she held herself against the side of the pool, keeping herself from drifting away into the calmer water near the central fountain. Seeing nobody else in the room, she allowed herself to be carried away with the bliss of the moment, audibly moaning as she felt the pressure of warm water untying the knots in her shoulders. The air tinkled lightly with a strangely soothing cover of Elton John's "Can you feel the love tonight," played at half speed on some kind of harp. Luckily, the spa had been quite empty this morning, and Serena had been largely undisturbed so far.

Making a mental note to thank Jason for suggesting she take up a membership, Serena reluctantly extracted herself from the gently pummelling water. She wrapped herself in her towelled robe and slipped on her flip-flops, then pattered away in search of a good cup of coffee.

Unnoticed by Serena, she had in fact not been alone in the spacious hydrotherapy pool. Quietly enjoying the peace on the other side of the great central fountain statue, a slender blonde woman was aroused from the cusp of sleep by a series of gentle moans emanating from the distant edge of the pool. Tilting her head to peek around the fountain with mild interest, she felt an unexpected flutter in her chest as she became witness to the origin of the happy sound still reaching her ears over the spray of water.

A woman: short, brown hair simultaneously sticking up and plastered down with the effects of the water, with her head arched back against the side of the pool. Bernie's eyes traced a drip of water as it ran enticingly down the woman's jawline, past an elongated, glistening neck, then took the path of least resistance into the valley between two beautiful, bountiful breasts; finally disappearing underneath the fabric of a deep burgundy swimming costume. Bernie coughed quietly, looked away, but found her gaze drawn back again and again to the sparkling skin of her unwitting pool companion.
"Get a grip, Wolfe," she reprimanded herself, plunging her head under the water for as long as she could hold her breath, then re-emerging and shaking like a wet dog, clearing her head.

When she inevitably looked back over, the woman had gone...

***

Bernie did not plan to run into the woman again. She knew from experience that attractive women in spas were usually straight and always taken. So, it was entirely by chance that thirty minutes later in the sparsely populated steam room, she found herself once again having palpitations at the unexpected sight of the same woman, this time adorned in beads of sweat and condensation and staring right back at her. Fighting back the urge to turn back around and leave, she quietly closed the door, avoided the woman's eye and sat on the bench in front and slightly to the side of the brunette. This way, she thought, there would be no chance to stare and she could attempt to pretend to herself that the woman was, in fact, not there at all. Gritting her teeth and gripping the seat with both hands, Bernie fought her every impulse and base desire in a silent battle of her own wills. Something about this woman was so magnetic, she could hardly keep herself from turning and reaching for her, holding her close. At the same time, her internalised shame at even thinking this way about another woman made her so frightened to be near her at all. Bernie had been in a relationship with a woman before, during her time in the army, but it was a courtship of secrecy and silent passion: a recipe for shame even if her stiff military parents hadn't knocked it into her from an early age. She sat, staring straight ahead, and mentally calculated how long she could rationally be expected to remain in the steam room before making a reasonable exit.

While Bernie stewed in internal angst, Serena was having no such difficulties. She openly stared as the gangly blonde stumbled into the steam room, spluttered slightly, then sat right there in her eyeline, twitching slightly as if to stop her own head from turning of its own accord. There was something disarmingly breathtaking about the woman, and Serena did not even attempt to avert her eyes as the moisture of the steam room began to glisten and highlight the muscular contours of the woman's skin.

A mother and daughter, who had been the only other two occupants of the misty room, quietly picked themselves up and exited, whispering so as not to break the peace of the almost silent enclosure. As soon as the door closed noiselessly behind them, Serena felt as though an electric fuse had been diffused in the warm, scented air. Her skin was tingling, her ears pricked, her eyes still trained on the blonde woman's toned back. Once again, the woman seemed to be having trouble keeping her head still; it kept jerking as if to turn, then subtly drifting back around to face the steamed glass door. After what felt like ten minutes, but could easily have been ten seconds, the blonde let out a tentative cough, as if in experiment. Serena paused, then cleared her throat slightly and sighed. The other woman visibly tensed, then stood suddenly like a picked up puppet, and nearly ran from the room without looking back. Serena, alone in the mist, raised a solitary eyebrow, waited a thoughtful moment, then followed.

***

Bernie dropped herself deep into the icy water of the plunge pool. Her entire body shuddered in protest, but she held herself down, attempting once again to hold her breath until the building sexual tension had diffused. Surely, she should be able to sit in the same room as a beautiful woman without having a public meltdown or physically ravaging the poor unsuspecting lady, who was probably doing her best to relax and mind her own business.

All of a sudden, Bernie became aware of a second body descending into the small plunge pool from the opposite ladder. Abiding by the usual rules of politeness, she avoided eye contact as she resurfaced, wiping the freezing water from her face.

"Gosh, I was starting to think you'd require mouth-to-mouth!"

Bernie started to hear the woman's shivery voice, noticing with a skipped heartbeat that this was the same woman she had been ogling all morning.

"Um... what?" she managed to reply, staring wildly around for an exit.

"You were underwater for so long," the woman explained, still visibly and audibly shivering. "I was considering whether there would be a need to administer first aid."

Embarrassed, Bernie averted her gaze from the deep brown, searching eyes of the other woman. She wondered doubtfully whether the brunette was aware of the effect she was having; whether she was teasing Bernie on purpose.

"Yeah, oh, that - I was just-" she began.

"Serena Campbell by the way, lovely to meet you," the woman interrupted. "I'm here all alone and was wondering if you'd take pity and join me for lunch?"

Startled and bemused, Bernie could only nod her acceptance, hesitantly shaking the proffered hand.

"Bernie Wolfe. We should probably get out of the water now though, or we'll both get hypothermia and end up on adjacent hospital beds."

At this, Serena laughed, and finally broke contact from the handshake, which had definitely gone on for longer than what was normal. Both women turned away and climbed the opposite ladders of the small, icy pool, padding over to separate pegs to retrieve their respective towelling robes and flip-flops.

"Shall we?" Serena prompted, gesturing for Bernie to lead the way to the spa restaurant.

"I suppose we shall," the blonde responded politely, internally kicking herself in anticipation of the torturous meal awaiting her.

Chapter Text

"Table for two?" The young man at the door to the restaurant ushered Bernie and Serena inside without waiting for an answer, indicating a table near the side of the room.
"A waiter will be over shortly to take your orders," he assured them, handing Serena two copies of the menu and smiling at them both, before returning to his post. Both women sat down, and Bernie gratefully accepted her menu from Serena, welcoming the opportunity to hide her face. Unfortunately, her new dining companion seemed keen to revive some form of conversation. Bernie attempted desperately to focus on the words in front of her, and not on the entrancing cadence of Serena's voice, or the image of her piercing chestnut eyes.
"What is it you do, then?" Serena was asking, "assuming you're a member of the gainfully employed masses, that is?"
Her raised eyebrows reminded Bernie to utilise her vocal cords in response.
"I'm a trauma surgeon, sort of. Just left the RAMC. This -" she gestured limply around at the spa in general, "is supposed to be some form of rehab therapy meets spousal avoidance strategy."
If Serena was affected by Bernie's complicated marital status, her face showed no evidence. Her features did, however, light up at the career reference.
"Trauma surgeon, eh? I'm vascular - Holby City Hospital. If you're sticking around we could use somebody with that sort of expertise on AAU..."

As Serena launched into a detailed pitch for a new trauma centre at Holby, Bernie allowed herself to once agin observe her companion, attempting to be objective and demystify the stranger. She considered it prudent at this point to relinquish her feelings of attraction at this point, in case they were soon to become co-workers. It would not do to be this distracted on a ward.

Serena had a dimple in the centre of her chin. Her eyes twinkled like... No. Her eyes were brown, like her hair. When she smiled, they lit up and... This was difficult.

Serena had high, strong cheekbones. Her eyebrows were more expressive than most people's entire faces. Her two front teeth faced slightly inwards towards each other. The way she licked her lips just then...

"Are you ready to order, ladies?" The waiter's voice broke Bernie's ailing focus and she chose at random from the menu, which she still held tightly in both hands.
"I'll have, er, the butternut squash... thing," she ventured weakly.
"Sounds lovely, same for me," Serena smiled, not looking away from Bernie as the waiter cleared their menus. "So... tell me about army medicine, what was that like?"

Bernie seemed a lot more confident talking about something she knew so well, and Serena was only required to prompt her a few more times until the army medic was in full flow. She wondered to herself why she felt the need to engage this woman in conversation; why she had all but offered her a job; why she had even approached her in the first place and invited her to lunch. Sure, she had admired Bernie's physique and been endeared by her nervous energy, but that didn't entirely explain this. Serena had never really had many female friends of her own age, except Sian, who she had seen only rarely since they had left university. Could this be her subconscious telling her to get a life? A part of her wondered sarcastically whether Jason was becoming a living embodiment of her subconscious, sending her here in the first place. She must remember to thank him again for that.

Bernie was telling an amusing anecdote about an Australian mechanic she had known in Iraq - something about a broken cactus? Serena managed to laugh in the right places, anyway, trying not to become hysterical when Bernie showcased a honking rasp of a laugh which caused several other diners to turn their heads in alarm. Bernie hid her mouth behind her hands to stifle the sound, but her dark eyes sparkled with mirth and Serena had a sudden strong urge to lunge across the table and kiss her. There was something so captivating in this woman of contradictions, and it shocked Serena to feel so intensely connected to somebody she had only just met. This shy army veteran who looked like a supermodel but stumbled on a flat surface; with a deep, sultry voice but who laughed like a goose - she just couldn't wrap her head around her.

More to the point, Serena thought to herself as Bernie continued with her story, what was she doing wanting to kiss her? Serena had never been more than friends with a woman before, never considered herself as the kind of person who would - but now she thought about it she had never had a problem with flirting with women. She had even found women attractive - Edward had always said that was one of the coolest things about her - although unlike him she had never even considered acting on it. She liked men, had no problem being with men; there had never been any reason to question or to pursue anything different. Now, however...

Serena's breath hitched as Bernie swept a stray golden curl behind her ear, exposing her neck. She seemed to have run out of things to say, and was now retreating back into herself, suddenly conscious of how much she had been talking. Luckily, at this point their food arrived and nobody had to think about anybody else's eyes or lips or voice any more... which is not to say that they didn't.

They both ate more-or-less in silence, paid for their own meals with their membership cards, then politely went their separate ways. Bernie had expressed a wish to use the swimming treadmill, with the strong suspicion that Serena would be ill inclined to accompany her. She said goodbye to her dining companion outside the Tepidarium and sighed a breath of relief which she hadn't realised she'd been holding in. She had been finding it increasingly difficult to keep an emotional distance from Serena. Not only was the woman incredibly attractive, she was also friendly, passionate, and very good at making Bernie feel like she was the most interesting person in the whole room. She must have talked about the army for about ten minutes - Serena's little encouragements, prompting questions and eliciting head-tilts were almost completely irresistible. But at some point, her eyes had seemed to glaze over and Bernie had realised that this was all a form of friendly politeness. Serena didn't actually care about her army stories, why would she? Bernie had stopped talking, eaten her lunch, and made a (hopefully) graceful exit. She didn't have the emotional strength to fall in love with an enchanting straight woman who had only wanted a casual acquaintance to alleviate the loneliness of eating alone. It was easier to walk away now.

Serena spent the next few hours in the Tepidarium: a warm, quiet room with heated stone recliners and low lighting. She attempted to read a book for a while, but found herself unable to concentrate. Her mind kept wandering to images of golden hair; dark eyes; long, slender fingers. She remembered Bernie's ridiculous laugh and had to cough in order to conceal the giggle that rose unceremoniously in her chest. She found herself wishing that she had been recording their entire conversation so that she could rewind and watch it all over again; hear Bernie's soft, deep voice as she recited stories from Iraq, Afghanistan: tales from the edge of life and death. Serena dozed off with her mind full of the clumsy blonde goddess who had only just entered her life, and who, she could tell even now, would probably never leave it.

When she awoke, the Tepidarium had become busy with evening visitors who had come to the spa after work. She slid her legs off the stone bed and traipsed back to the members' changing room, ready to change and head home to make Jason's dinner. As she approached her locker, who should be collecting their shoes from the very next one along, but Bernie Wolfe. The blonde jumped as she noticed Serena standing behind her. She had already dressed and was wearing a thick jumper over an extremely flattering pair of black skinny jeans. Serena suddenly felt very exposed in only her swimming costume and towelling robe. Nevertheless, she felt herself drawn ever closer to the army medic, who had apparently frozen mid-way through emptying her locker. After all, Serena had never been a shy woman, and she had an experiment to conduct.

Bernie was just piecing together a coherent thought, with the eventual aim of translating it into something resembling speech, when she felt Serena's warm body pressed closely against her front. The vascular surgeon was reaching for the locker next to hers, but apparently without any interest in the concept of personal space. Bernie felt her chest contract, heard her own breath become fast and laboured. She could feel her own heart beating against the gentle contact with Serena's left arm. Should she move? Could she move? Her feet seemed to have frozen to the ground the moment Serena had so unexpectedly appeared. It was really rather late - Bernie had imagined, hoped, she would have gone home by now. Just as she managed to react, standing up straight and taking an instantly regretted step backwards, Serena re-emerged from her own locker holding only a matching pair of black, lacy underwear in one hand; a bag presumably containing the rest of her clothes in the other.
"Goodness, these appear to have fallen out of my bag!" the brunette exclaimed quietly, her voice carnally thick and her pupils wide as her eyes caught Bernie's and refused to let go.
"Right, well... yes. Um, thanks then! I'd better just-" Bernie stammered, backing away then turning and nearly sprinting for the exit. It was only once she reached the cool pavement outside that she realised she had completely forgotten to pick up her shoes.

Chapter Text

Back in the changing room, Serena eyed the abandoned white trainers with a mixed expression of amusement and satisfaction. She had seen quite clearly the effect her flirting had had on Bernie, but this was the first time she had inspired such panic as to cause a bare-foot retreat.
"Nice to know you can still turn a head," she muttered smugly to herself, picking up the shoes and slipping them into her own bag. Now all she needed to do was find a way to contact Bernie, in order to give her shoes back.

In the end, it was Jac Naylor who was the unlikely source of Bernie Wolfe's contact details. Serena had gone first to Henrik Hanssen on the off-chance that her name had crossed his desk, and he had directed her towards Darwin ward. Apparently Bernie's trauma expertise had been very usefully dispensed through video link to Afghanistan during a cardiothoracic trauma procedure a number of years ago. Jac had been so impressed with the army medic that she had kept in contact, occasionally exchanging emails seeking the latest updates in cardiac-trauma innovation.
"If you're thinking of hiring her, Ms Campbell, it had better be on AAU. She's much better suited there, and I won't have her taking over Darwin." Jac's fierce glare demanded a response, but Serena had nothing to hide.
"Lower your hackles, Ms Naylor, your job is safe. This is a social contact, not professional."
Reluctantly, and with not a little suspicion, Jac handed over the slip of paper containing Bernie's email address.
"I don't suppose you're going to elaborate on that, Ms Campbell?"
Serena winked conspiratorially by way of response, then made her way back down to AAU.

It took her the rest of the day to actually formulate her email. She toyed with the idea of inviting Bernie explicitly on a date, then reconsidered; drafted an entire paragraph outlining her revised proposal for a trauma unit on AAU, then settled on a suggestion that they time their next spa visits to coincide, for the primary purpose of returning Bernie's trainers. Anything else could be said in person.

Bernie didn't have a lot of friends. As a result, her personal email inbox usually resembled a professional one: details about conferences; correspondence with fellow surgeons from various hospitals around the world, usually asking her advice on one case or another; the occasional membership update from the gym, the spa... So it was with considerable surprise that Bernie opened her emails that evening to find an email containing the subject line:
"What do you call a woman who can make shoes disappear?... The great Shoe-dini!"
Unable to suppress a snort at the terrible joke, she took a moment to realise its significance. Taking a look at the email address, her suspicions were confirmed. Bernie took a deep breath, and opened the email.

"Hi Bernie,
Jac Naylor gave me this email address - I hope that's OK? You left your shoes behind at the spa last week and I've been looking after them for you. I thought we could make sure our next visits coincide so I can give them back? Let me know what days you're free and I'll clear my schedule. It'll be wonderful to see you again...
Serena x"

Bernie read the email twice, three times. She started analysing Serena's punctuation, trying to read for tone. In person, Serena's voice was thick with layers of meaning; Bernie could almost see a twinkle in her eye as she read Serena's words - but it was impossible to tell in this format. Her heart skipped over "wonderful," ached to understand the implications of the final ellipsis, and she dared not even look at the "x" after Serena's name. Ignoring the impulse to keep away, to buy new shoes, Bernie typed a minimalistic response.

"I'm free on the 12th or the 14th. Thanks for holding on to my shoes.
-Bernie"

Before she was able to stop herself or spend hours editing and over-analysing, Bernie felt her finger click the 'SEND' button. She closed her emails and tried very hard not to think about it.

Having organised what she was trying very hard not to call a second date with Bernie, Serena found herself in a slight state of panic. What if things escalated - would she know what to do? Were there manuals for these things? Could she consult an expert?
She found herself perusing the Gay and Lesbian section on Netflix for inspiration. She had considered looking at porn, but concluded that, as the majority of porn was created for a male viewer, this wouldn't get her very far. Unfortunately, Netflix didn't seem much better until she stumbled upon a show called Orange is the New Black. Serena remembered Elinor raving about "this new show about lesbians in prison" a few years ago, and decided to give it a go. Thirteen hours and five cups of coffee later, Serena was sold. She was Piper Chapman, and Bernie was her Alex Vause. Except, with less drug smuggling and more saunas.

Meanwhile, Bernie was having a crisis. She had been trying on bikinis, trunks, one-pieces and even frilly-skirted costumes for about three hours and the shop staff were beginning to get impatient. She wasn't even entirely sure why she was there - her current costume was absolutely fine, and only a few months old. She pulled off yet another hideous 70s-patterned monstrosity and glared at the collection amassed on the hanger on the wall. Groaning audibly to herself, she discarded them onto the seat one by one until she settled on one of the first she had tried on; a simple black bikini with cut-outs in the sides - on the hips and under the arms. After changing back into her own clothes, Bernie carried the heap of rejections guiltily back to the girl outside the changing rooms, and lined up to pay for the £60 for her new swimming costume.
"You are such a bloody goose, Berenice," she grumbled to herself as she extracted her wallet from her jeans pocket.
"Sorry, madam?" asked the concerned looking employee across the till.
"No- nothing. Sorry," Bernie blushed, realising that she had been talking aloud. "Just this, thanks."
The embarrassment for the entire shopping experience followed her all the way home.

At 9am on the 14th, Serena walked into the cafe outside the changing rooms at the spa, searching all around for a tell-tale mop of unruly blonde hair. She located it - and Bernie - in an armchair across the room, and approached holding the lost trainers aloft in front of her.
"Ah! My shoes. Thank you," Bernie greeted her warmly. "I've ordered us coffees already; black, no sugar. Is that alright?"
"Strong and hot is all I care about, on a day like today," Serena responded brightly, taking the seat opposite. They didn't have much time to make small talk before the coffees arrived, at which point both became wholly focussed on their drinks. Serena was beginning to realise that she hadn't thought this through very thoroughly. A day at the spa together meant hours in each other's company, in minimal clothing, in a public place. She wasn't entirely sure she could handle it.
Bernie had had the exact same thought, and was trying extremely hard to stop wishing the spa would be as empty as last time, and especially to stop attempting to remember the most private areas of the complex. She downed the last dregs of her still scorching coffee, coughed to compensate for the burning in her throat, then followed as Serena led the way into the open plan changing room. Was it her, or was it suddenly really, really hot in here?

Chapter Text

There were in fact two empty private cubicles in the women’s changing room when Bernie and Serena entered, but by some strange oversight neither seemed to notice. Instead, they awkwardly perched their bags side-by-side on a bench and proceeded to remove their outer clothing; both averting their eyes yet becoming fast experts in the use of their peripheral vision. Bernie thrust her t-shirt over her head three times faster than usual, forgetting her self-consciousness in her hurry to unblock her view. Meanwhile, Serena hopped on one foot at a time to take her trousers off, rather than ducking and stepping out as she normally would have, for exactly the same reason. As a result, neither woman was treated to any form of skilled strip-tease, and both were down to the swimming costumes under their clothes in next to no time.

Serena turned to Bernie once she had finished stuffing her clothes into her bag, ready to lock it up and get out into the spa itself. Contrary to this intention, she found herself incapable of movement or speech for an inordinate length of time, as she was struck by the full vision of Bernie, modelling her clearly brand new bikini. Her eyes wandered on an almost criminally long journey up Bernie’s legs, to her slim hips bound in ribbons of black elasticated nylon. She tried not to imagine herself licking the distance between this and the matching bikini top, winding her fingers through the tantalising gaps in the design. Skipping past the sharpest collarbones she had ever beheld, out of concern that she might audibly moan if allowed to focus her attention there, she found Bernie’s eyes with her own. They were not looking directly back, but appeared to be taking a riveting journey across Serena’s own figure. The expression was an intense mixture of fear and hunger, which sent a shudder of pleasure down Serena’s spine. She took the opportunity to turn on the spot and select a locker on the lowest row. Bending over to open it, she heard a barely contained gasp from her observing companion. Serena locked her belongings away and turned back to face Bernie, whose expression only just rearranged itself in time.
“Ready to go?” she asked innocently.
“Yes,” Bernie replied, slightly too quickly. “I mean – I’ve just got to…” She gestured to her own bag and hurried to deposit it in the locker above Serena’s.
“OK. Ready,” she concluded finally. “Lead the way.”
“Just you watch me,” Serena teased smugly, noticing Bernie’s face slightly colouring, then making her way out into the Spa.

By unspoken agreement they began the day in the main swimming pool. It tended to become busier later on in the day, but at the moment the room was empty except for a pair of elderly ladies napping on adjacent sun loungers. Bernie, by force of habit, jumped straight in, while Serena walked somewhat more gracefully down the steps to join her, laughing at the careless abandon of this 51-year-old child.
“You know it says ‘no diving,’ right?” she chided.
“I didn’t dive,” Bernie retorted. “Diving is a skilled sport. I splashed. No signs about splashing around here.”
Serena smirked, glanced at the sleeping women across the room.
“How about we persuade them to change that rule?” she whispered, eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint; one eyebrow lifted challengingly. Bernie had no time to formulate a question in response before her face was submerged in a tide of erupting water. Serena’s laugh rang through the air, and two minutes later two disgruntled 80-year-old retirees shuffled out of the room to complain to reception about the disruptive influence of splashing in the communal pools.
Bernie’s honking laugh followed them out of the room, echoing even as the door slammed shut behind them.
“You’re a bad influence, Serena Campbell,” she snickered.
“I like to think so,” Serena grinned, reaching up more calmly this time, to move a curl of dripping blonde hair out of Bernie’s eyes.

All of a sudden, they were close – impossibly close. Only inches of water separated them, and Bernie could almost feel Serena’s body moving, in the ripples caressing her own.
She tried to take a step back, tried not to think how the small amount of water separating them felt more vulnerable than air. Her body was slower in the water, heavy, and all of a sudden, she lost balance. She only slipped under the water for a second but it was enough to get a gargling mouthful of chlorinated water. The cough that followed was enough for Serena to finally close the distance, her hands coming up to help support Bernie’s weight.
“I’m starting to think you’re still angling for that first aid attention I offered when we first met.” Serena’s tone was joking but her eyes were darting between Bernie’s, concerned, searching as if to make sure that she was actually OK.
Bernie flushed with the memory of Serena’s first quip about mouth to mouth and realised with a jolt that maybe, maybe, Serena had been flirting with her from the start. That maybe her feelings of discombobulation around Serena were because she had sort of known, all along.
“Ha.” she heard herself respond, and, at a loss as to what else she should do, closed the gap between them. Kissed, softly, the corner of Serena’s mouth and didn’t pull back enough to be deemed appropriate when she whispered,
“Thank you for catching me.”
They stood there, for a moment, lips barely brushing while the sound of the pool water echoed off the high ceiling. It felt like a perfectly sealed moment, the atmosphere still and the water warming with their combined proximity.

Serena had no patience for perfect moments. She lifted a hand from where she had been resting it to help Bernie regain her footing, and wound it through Bernie’s now wet and matted hair to bring their lips back into contact, but this time hard. There was no mistaking this kiss; no polite brush of thanks, not with the way Serena was moaning, and Bernie was opening her mouth enough to bite down and then suck on Serena’s bottom lip.
They were both going to lose their footing on the smooth pool floor, so, in a reluctant but necessary effort to keep them from drowning, Bernie pulled back slightly.
“Sorry,” Serena whispered, unable to stop the grin from spreading across her face. “But I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”
She could feel the waves of happiness radiating from every pore of her skin, and from the look of shy satisfaction on Bernie’s face, it was evidently visible.
“Only be sorry if you’re not going to do that again,” came the reply.
Serena’s quirked an eyebrow and curled her lips into an indecent smirk, daring Bernie’s nerve. She was not disappointed - Bernie took the opportunity to capture Serena into her arms, and half swim, half spin her against the edge of the pool. She anchored herself steady, hands grasping the tiled edge, pushing Serena flush against the wall and in turn, herself.
Serena let her hands play across the collarbones which she’d lusted after earlier, before letting them softly stroke upwards in a slow sweep, curling gently under Bernie’s jaw, fingers interlacing lightly behind her neck, thumbs drawing lazy lines under her ears. She felt a reactionary sigh burst into her own mouth and chuckled softly in response, drew her hands down across Bernie’s back, attempting to canvas as much of her velvet skin as she could reach, pull her impossibly closer as she felt the pressure of a masterfully positioned thigh between her own--

“That’s them - such a racket you wouldn’t believe, I- oh!”
“Ladies would you mind breaking apart? This is a public area! I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to leave - excuse me?!”
Serena groaned and extracted herself, laughing inwardly as she noticed that Bernie had yet to open her eyes, and was still pouting slightly, as though expecting Serena’s lips to return to their rightful position.
“I’m sorry gentlemen, is there a problem?” Serena asked in an uncharacteristically high and almost musical tone.
“It would seem so, ma’am. If you don’t mind, I’m going to have to ask you and your… friend, to exit the premises.” The man refused to make eye-contact, as though afraid that Serena’s direct gaze would somehow compromise his ability to appear to be in charge. Luckily for him, Serena was quite happy to follow his instructions, if only because she had plans for Bernie which really couldn’t be executed in a public pool without getting both of them arrested.
She turned to Bernie, who appeared to have just about regained the use of her brain, and captured her mouth once again in a piercing, mind-numbing kiss.
“Come along then darling,” she deadpanned as she broke away, once again leaving Bernie wanting more. She clutched her hand and led the way back through the spa, to the changing rooms, where they did in fact notice the two free cubicles this time, but only really needed the use of one.