Chapter Text
Francesca jerks awake suddenly to the unrelenting sound of knocking on her bedroom door.
“Fran! Are you well?” Hyacinth continues to knock, “you never sleep in! If you’re well, Mum wants you at brunch…like now.”
“Please stop knocking, Hyacinth.” Francesca throws back the blankets and sits up in the bed, “I am well and I will be down shortly.”
There’s no response, but, the knocking does end; thankfully.
Francesca rushes to get ready, not wanting to draw anymore attention to her late wake up than has already been drawn.
The sun is already streaming through the window and Francesca has no plans of leaving the pool side, or doing anything but reading—and acting normal.
No plans at all about bringing up the kiss.
Francesca changes into a plain black swimsuit—two piece but modest—and tries not to second guess the choice as she brushes her hair, opting to leave it down in loose waves.
A once over is done in the mirror before Francesca slips into a white button down swimsuit cover and sandals. On her way out the door she tosses her book into her bag and slings the bag over her shoulder; ready for a day lazing poolside.
And it will be fine, well, it will hopefully be fine—it will probably be fine as long as she can continue to not think about the kiss.
Or about the feel of Michaela’s fingers tangled in her hair.
Or the taste of Michaela’s lips, and Michaela’s mouth, and Michaela’s tongue.
So, maybe it’s not going to be fine.
When Francesca enters the kitchen it’s quiet. The large island is filled with an assortment of foods. Conversation and laughter floats in from the outside where everyone is gathered at the patio. Francesca quickly fixes herself a plate and heads out.
It’s Benedict who spots her first, “Francesca!” He claps his hands together loudly, “so happy you could join us.”
The concern on Violet’s face is easy to see, “are you feeling alright, darling?”
“Yep.” Francesca sits down into an open seat beside Gregory, “I feel fine.”
“But you slept so late.” Hyacinth mumbles around a mouthful of bagel, “like, so, so late.”
Michaela is trying very hard not to smile, “and I was very much looking forward to my incessant piano wake up call—alas it never came.”
Almost everyone laughs and then continues on with their conversations about plans for the day—but Francesca doesn’t laugh.There’s absolutely no way she can laugh when her eyes meet Michaela’s across the table.
They’re dark brown, wide, and shining, and Michaela has just enough of an arch to her brow to let Francesca know she remembers—and when the pink of Michaela’s tongue peeks out to swipe at some whipping cream on her finger, eyes still leveling Francesca with a heavy stare, Francesca knows it’s intentional—knows that Michaela is making damn sure she remembers too.
“Earth to Francesca!” Gregory waves his hand in front of his sister’s face, “you haven’t heard a thing we’ve asked you.”
Francesca ducks her head quickly, pretending to inspect her plate, “what is it that was asked?”
“Who will you be joining for the day?” Gregory questions.
Eloise groans at the confusion written on Francesca’s face, “Hyacinth and Mum are hitting the shops, Benedict and Gregory are dropping Soph, Michaela, and I off at the book store, and then are off to do whatever it is brothers do when they hang out together.”
“Oh, well, I had planned to spend the day by the pool.” Francesca pushes around some of the fruit on her plate with a fork, “reading, and relaxing.”
“But we were all going to hang by the pool later in the afternoon.” Eloise points out, “pre dinner drinks courtesy of Anthony and prepared by Michaela.”
“Perfect.” Francesca’s voice is even, “I’ll already be ready when you guys all return.”
Violet makes a small huff of disagreement, “are you sure you don’t want to accompany us?”
“You’d rather stay here alone?” Hyacinth asks, “with your nose in a book? Are you turning into Eloise?”
Eloise gives Hyacinth’s shoulder a shove, “you say that as if it is not a compliment.”
“I’ll stay with you, Francesca.” Michaela’s smile is teasing, her voice bright, “I’d much prefer the poolside to the bookstore.”
Eloise scoffs, which makes Sophie hide a laugh, which has Benedict staring quizzically at his wife.
Violet senses something happening that she’s probably better off not knowing—as are Hyacinth and Gregory—so, she smiles and stands with her empty plate in her hand, “that’s very kind of you, Michaela.” Violet looks first at Hyacinth and then at Gregory, “you two will join me upstairs to get ready for the outings.” The youngest two stand, empty dishes in hand, with little fuss, and follow Violet back inside.
“You prefer the poolside or you prefer the company at the poolside?” Eloise’s voice is laced in sarcasm as she stares at her friend, “offense will be taken—right Sophie?”
Sophie shakes her head, “absolutely not.” The way Francesca’s cheeks are currently flushing a soft pink, Sophie can’t help but add to the embarrassment, “it’s Francesca in a bikini—it’s the right choice.”
Michaela leans over that table a little, arm outstretched, and palm offering up a high five which Sophie happily accepts, “thank you for understanding.”
“Oh gross.” Eloise grumbles, “the both of you—Francesca are you perfectly fine with them objectifying you like this?”
Francesca feels like her skin is on fire despite being in the shade, she pours herself a glass of water, “uh, well, I’m not opposed to it.”
Benedict’s laugh is loud and his smile is boyish as he stares at Francesca, and then Michaela, “oh, this is absolutely lovely—and during pride month too!” He slaps his hands down on the table nodding at Sophie and Eloise, “I know a place, and I know a guy, and I know of a party…let me plan something.”
The women all look at each other before Sophie nods at him in agreement, “we’ll allow it.”
Benedict’s laugh is giddy, “you will not regret it.”
“Doubtful.” Eloise deadpans as she pushes away from the table and stands up, “well, since Michaela has ditched us and Gregory will be the first one ready, we should hurry Sophie, so we don’t have to listen to him complain.”
Sophie stands and smiles at Francesca and Michaela knowingly, “enjoy your afternoon ladies.”
Benedict follows suit, “yes, we hope you have a grand time at the poolside.”
“Oh, we definitely intend to.” Michaela’s gaze is dark when her eyes land on Francesca, “don’t we Francesca.”
Francesca nods, “yes, absolutely.”
Francesca is reclined in a lounge chair, the sun warm and shining down brightly, as she reads her book and waits for Michaela to join her.
With every minute that passes by Francesca can concentrate a little less, her body wholly unable to decide whether to be nervous or excited, and by the time Michaela does arrive Francesca has abandoned comprehension of the book completely.
“This is utterly extravagant.” Michaela remarks looking towards the outdoor bar as she shrugs out of her swimsuit cover, “I cannot wait to mix you a proper drink.”
Francesca’s grasp on her book loosens—it slips completely from her hands and drops onto her bent thighs—when she sees Michaela.
Good fucking god.
Francesca feels a little out of control with the way her body responds so eagerly—yearning desperately for something she’s only imagined—at the sight of Michaela Stirling in a red bikini.
Not just a red bikini, but a red string bikini.
The way Francesca’s eyes greedily take in every detail—the triangular cut of the top clinging to the curve of Michaela’s breasts, the contrast of the vibrant red material of the swimsuit against the warm brown hue of Michaela’s slightly glistening skin, the way the ties of the bottom’s rest tauntingly against the swell of Michaela’s hips—well, it borders on feral.
“Would you like to take a picture?” Michaela teases as she strikes a pose at Francesca, “I wouldn’t want you to have nothing to look at while I’m fixing you a drink.”
“I wasn’t staring.” Francesca tosses her fallen book into her bag and sits up quickly, “I mean, I was staring but—respectfully.”
Michaela tilts her head, “really?”
“Uhm.” Francesca fights a smile, “perhaps appreciatively is a more apt adverb.”
“Or…thirstily?” Michaela watches as the embarrassment only adds to the pink on Francesca’s cheekbones, “speaking of, are you…thirsty.”
Francesca is fucking parched.
“For a beverage.” Michaela tosses over her shoulder as she saunters to the bar, Francesca is watching her walk, “obviously.”
“Mhm.” Francesca stands, lets her swimsuit cover slip down onto the lounger, and follows Michaela to the bar—which is very much a product of Anthony from the sleek granite countertops, to the matching stools, to the shelves lined with fancy bottles of liquor, to the fully stocked under the counter fridge, to the pizza oven he insisted upon, “what are you going to make?”
“Well, that depends on your—” Michaela spins around to face Francesca and has to bite down on the inside of her cheek to stop the sound that’s bubbling up at the sight of Francesca, “abs.”
Francesca’s nose scrunches up in confusion, “pardon?”
“Christ, Francesca!” Michaela all but growls as she stares at the woman before her. Michaela is almost positive that Francesca’s black two piece is meant to be modest but her body won’t allow it, “warn a girl.”
Francesca worries her bottom lip between her teeth as Michaela continues to watch her, “about what.”
Michaela’s laugh is a little strained, as she waves her hand towards Francesca’s body, “just, everything you have going on.” When Francesca just looks at her with disbelief all Michaela can think about is proving it to her, “unbelievable—okay, pink or blue?”
“Blue.” Francesca steps closer to the bar, “why?”
Michaela doesn’t answer, just asks, “vodka or tequila?”
“I don’t have a preference.” Which is technically true, “what’s your favorite.”
"Tequila.” When Francesca nods, Michaela smirks and gets to work mixing two blue margarita cocktails; with flourish.
It’s a sight to behold. Francesca finds herself transfixed by Michaela’s hands as she uses the paring knife to wedge a lime. Michaela moves with a confidence Francesca is in awe of while grabbing the cocktail shaker and all the ingredients she needs. Michaela measures with a steady hand before pouring, and by the time Michaela starts to actually shake the drinks Francesca is staring shamelessly.
Michaela clocks it immediately—can practically feel Francesca’s heavy gaze on her chest—desire settles hot and low between her thighs, “enjoying the show?”
Francesca blinks slowly, and feels as if she’s coming out of a trance, her skin prickling warmly, “I was just, well, uhm…admiring your technique.”
“Mhm.” Michaela hums as she sets down the shaker, using one of the lime wedges to rub the rims of both glasses, “your admiration is distracting.”
Francesca inhales sharply, watching as Michaela pours the drinks, “it is?”
“Very.” Michaela slides the drink across to Francesca, “try it.”
Francesca does—and it’s good. Tart and sweet, “it’s delicious.”
Michaela just watches—stares at Francesca’s long fingers wrapping around the glass, stares at the way Francesca’s nose scrunches slightly after the first sip, and stares at the way Francesca licks her bottom lip with every sip after that—until it becomes too much.
Or not quite enough.
Michaela takes a heavy pull from her drink, eyes still on Francesca, before she sets it down, “do you want to pretend the kiss didn’t happen?”
Francesca splutters, eyes going wide, “sorry, what—no, uhm, why?”
Michaela abandons her drink and walks around the bar to hop up on the stool Francesca is standing beside, “because I am finding it nearly impossible to think about anything other than kissing you again.”
Francesca feels unhinged in Michaela’s presence, more so now that they’re almost touching and the heat radiating from Michaela’s bare skin onto her own is maddening, “oh.”
“It’s becoming very troublesome.” Michaela turns just enough atop the stool that her knee grazes against Francesca’s thigh, “and needs to be addressed.” When Francesca bites into her lower lip, dark eyelashes fluttering, Michaela reaches out to place a warm palm against the curve of Francesca’s hip, “don’t you agree, Fran?”
Francesca does agree; wholly—her body answering for her as she steps towards Michaela, intent to fit herself into the space between her parted knees, but Michaela snaps them shut with a smirk.
Michaela’s empty palm comes up to grasp onto Francesca’s other hip, applying enough pressure to keep Francesca right where she is, “that’s not an answer.”
Words seem to constantly fail Francesca when in Michaela’s vicinity and when she does find her voice it sounds breathless and needy even to her own ears, “Michaela, please.”
“Still not an answer, Francesca.” Michaela smirks as her fingers press more firmly into Francesca’s hips, “do you agree that we need—” Michaela rubs her thumbs in a slow circle against Francesca’s hip bones and the way Francesca’s hips jerk into the touch has Michaela swallowing down a groan, “to address this?”
“Yes.” Francesca nods, “yes, please—we need to.”
Michaela parts her legs slightly but does not allow Francesca to step in between them, instead Michaela guides Francesca to straddle one of her thighs, “good, just like that.”
Francesca licks her lip, unsure of what to do next, but when Michaela smooths her hands up from Francesca’s hips, along the defined muscles of her stomach, Francesca’s body decides for her as her hips roll down against Michaela’s thigh, “oh, fuck, Michaela.”
“Do you want to kiss me again, Fran?” Michaela’s voice is rough, her hands beginning to guide Francesca’s hips in a pull and push drag against her thigh, “have you thought about kissing me again?”
Francesca’s hands grasp at Michaela’s shoulders, her lower body being easily led by the pressure of Michaela’s hands, and it’s never felt this good before, “I can’t think at all, fuck, Michaela.”
“No?” Michaela whispers jokingly, “so, you haven’t thought about licking into my mouth again?” Francesca whines and her hips stutter in their rhythm, so Michaela squeezes them in warning, “don’t stop, when I let go of your hips I want you to keep grinding against my thigh, okay?”
Francesca’s fingers dig sharply into the skin of Michaela’s shoulders, “I’ve never, oh god, Michaela—okay, I will, yes.”
“Yes?” Michaela’s hands leave Francesca’s hips, palms flat against the warm skin of her abdomen as she slides them up slowly, her breath fanning out warmly against Francesca’s mouth as she leans in closer, “yes, you’ll what?”
“Yes, I’ll keep—” even just the thought of saying the words makes Francesca’s whole body flush hotly, and her voice comes out thick as her lips brush against the shell of Michaela’s ear “I’ll keep grinding against your thigh.”
Michaela teases Francesca’s peaked nipples over the fabric of her swimsuit top—drags her thumbs up and down; once, and then twice, until Francesca lets out a small gasp— Michaela’s impatient though, and moves quickly to tangle one hand in the back of Francesca’s hair as the other one cradles the back of Francesca’s neck, “fuck, Fran, you’re doing such a good job.”
Francesca’s eyes go wide, becoming impossibly darker, at the praise, “I want—” Francesca’s hips speed up, she’s never gotten this close to coming so quickly, “it feels so good, I want—can I—” Francesca is unraveling and can’t seem to slow it down.
Michaela tightens her grip on Francesca's hair—it’s gentle, barely anything—but Francesca responds with this keening sound, “what do you want?”
Francesca wants everything, tries to find the words to ask for anything, and when she can’t— she leans forward and takes something instead.
This kiss is ravenous from the moment their lips collide—hot, opened mouthed, building in intensity.
Michaela feels like she’s being devoured and can’t quite hold back the groan in her chest when she thinks of what Francesca’s mouth would be capable of between her thighs, “fuck, you’re driving me mad, Francesca.”
Francesca sucks on Michaela’s full bottom lip, letting her teeth graze it slightly when she pulls back, “I don’t…I…I’ve never—” Francesca’s not even sure what she’s trying to say, something along the lines of she doesn’t know what to do next but that she doesn’t want to stop, “I’ve never been this wet.”
Michaela growls, “Francesca.”
“It’s the truth—I’ve never been this—” Francesca watches the way Michaela’s eyes zero in on the exact spot on her thigh that Francesca is currently grinding into, “wet.”
“Can you come just like this?” Michaela trails the tip of her pointer finger along the cut of the black material that lays against Francesca’s hip, “all over my thigh.”
Francesca licks at Michaela’s lips, licks into her mouth as her hips speed up, “I don’t…I’ve never, fuck Michaela, I think I’m close.”
Michaela tucks her fingers underneath the fabric of Francesca’s bikini bottoms, right at the curve of her inner thigh, and pulls—just enough that the material bunches and bares Francesca for the next slow grind down against her thigh, “oh my god, babygirl.”
Francesca’s thighs tremble, the sensation of rubbing against Michaela’s bare skin—marking her with a slick trail—makes Francesca throb in the most delicious way.
“Fuck, Francesca, no wonder you’ve only had sex that’s fine.” Michaela pulls the fabric more roughly, exposing as much of Francesca as she can, “those boys probably had no idea how messy you like it? Did they?”
“Michaela.” Francesca hears how thick and pleading her voice sounds, and she knows Michaela can feel just how aroused this kind of talk is making her, the evidence shining against her thigh, “please.”
“Please what?” Michaela brushes her thumb through Francesca’s wetness on the next roll of Francesca’s hip, “you want to come all over my thigh?”
Francesca nods, “yes.”
“You want to make a mess all over my thigh before everyone gets home?” Michaela’s voice is getting lower, the pressure of her thumb rubbing against Francesca clit with every desperate grind is getting stronger, the moans leaving Francesca’s mouth— which is pressing into the skin just under Michaela’s ear—are getting breathier, “I’m going to leave it there Fran.”
Francesca’s core clenches at the statement, her hips chasing release, as her mouth sucks a mark into the side of Michaela’s neck.
“Fuck, you like it too, don’t you?” Michaela presses her fingers roughly into the curve of Francesca’s hip, hard enough that there’s going to be a mark, “it’s going to make you come—just thinking about it.”
Francesca’s thighs begin to tremble, the thrusts of her hips become more erratic, Michaela is absolutely consuming her, “yes, yes, yes.”
“Fuck, Fran—you’re all I can smell.” Michaela doesn’t lift her eyes at all from where Francesca’s pussy is sliding slick and wet against her thigh, “I need you naked in a bed where I can take my time and taste you thoroughly.”
Francesca whines needily and bites down into the soft flesh of Michaela’s neck, the surprising sting of it rocks Michaela’s body forwards, and her hand slides forwards too—thumb pressing firmly into Francesca’s clit.
The strangled sound that leaves Francesca’s mouth vibrates against Michaela’s jaw, her tongue licking frantically at the sweat slicked skin of Michaela’s neck, her whole body tensing as she grinds down fully against Michaela’s thigh.
And then Francesca is coming, and it feels like melting—it’s slick, and wet, and messy…and so fucking good.
“That’s it Fran.” Michaela’s voice softens as she helps Francesca ride out her orgasm, “you’ve done so well for me.”
Francesca buries her face into Michaela’s neck as the aftershocks slowly fade away, her body buzzing from the smell of her own arousal, their mixed sweat, and Michaela’s lotion. Francesca’s lips part against the sensitive skin where she can feel Michaela’s pulse thundering, “teach me.”
Michaela gently releases the fabric of Francesca’s swimsuit and smirks at the hiss that leaves Francesca’s mouth as it snaps back into place. Michaela slips her fingers into Francesca’s hair and tugs softly until she can see Francesca’s flushed face, “teach you what?”
Francesca’s hazel eyes are practically black when she meets Michaela’s stare, her fingers tremble slightly as they circle around Michaela’s wrist to guide her hand up between their faces. Francesca looks with an interest that borders on hunger—at her own wetness coating Michaela’s fingers. It’s as if her body bypasses her brain and her tongue darts out to lick against the pad of Michaela’s thumb, “teach me how to make you a mess.”
Michaela gasps, “fuck, Francesca, I’ll teach you—”
The sliding door opens and Hyacinth’s voice pierces the air, “Michaela! you have to check out my haul!”
Francesca stumbles back on weak legs, until she bumps into another stool and sits, trying her best to compose herself.
Hyacinth gets to the bar in record time, plopping her bags down between the two women, as she eyes her sister, “why do you look like that?”
Francesca takes a slow sip of her drink, trying to avoid Hyacinth’s suspicious eyes, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Your face is all red.” Hyacinth points out, and it makes Michaela cover a laugh, “and your hair is all—” Hyacinth waves her hand dramatically at the state of Francesca’s hair, “tangled.”
“I think you’re right, Hyacinth.” Michaela agrees with a smirk, looking over Hyacinth’s shoulder to Francesca, “it almost looks like you’ve been pulling at it, Fran.”
Francesca chokes on her drink and is coughing embarrassingly when she catches Michaela’s gaze. Francesca tries to look away, but she can’t, and she definitely tries not to look down at Michaela’s thigh—where Michaela’s fingers are sliding through the shiny evidence of Francesca’s arousal—but that proves even more impossible; and only serves to drive Francesca a little more wild, “I assure you, I have not been pulling at it—Hyacinth, please, just show us what you’ve bought.”