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One of Trixie’s favourite things about getting used to her new place is learning the routine of the street they’re on. She wakes early, spends the first few hours of the morning lost in deciding what to bake today, measuring and mixing and baking and then starting all over again until it’s time to open for the day, and within a few weeks she’s on first name terms with most of the regulars who come in during those first few hours, recognises the people who pass by the window on the way to work, wonders which of them might be tempted some time to stop in and try something from the new little bakery that’s just opened on their route to work. Pearl normally stumbles down the stairs from their apartment some time in the midmorning, bleary eyed and ready to take over counter duties just as the worst of the morning rush is over. They trade insults all morning while Pearl makes coffees and serves out cupcakes and cookies and fetches customers their special orders, birthday cakes or bulk orders Trixie had spent her evenings slaving over. She likes watching their reactions, coming out to lean against the doorway and take in the looks of awe on people’s faces, bright grins that would spread across their faces. Trixie grins too, ducks quietly back into the kitchen and cranks up the speakers where she’s plugged in her favourite playlist, full of Dolly and Joni and Emmylou, tightens her pink apron around her waist and dusts the worst of the flour away from it before she gets back to work.
The bakery is Trixie’s pride and joy, her baby, her life’s ambitions brought to fruition in the form of a little business to call her own. Well, half her own. Sometimes she forgets that Pearl owns half of it, she never acts like does, which suits Trixie. Pearl’s been one of her best friends ever since she moved to Chicago just after she graduated from high school, ready to live in a new city and save up for college, she’d go in a year or two once she got things figured out, she just needed to find her feet and then the rest of her life could begin. Trixie and Kim hadn’t been able to afford a place by themselves but they’d stumbled across Pearl and Shea looking for roommates and the rest had been history. Kim found a job working at the mall doing makeup, Shea was in school and working part time in her university’s theatre department helping with their costumes, and Pearl was working in a club and trying to make it as a model. Trixie, unsure of what she was going to do with herself to save up for school, had stumbled across a little bakery tucked down a side street one day not long after they’d moved in, a real mom and pop kinda place that reminded her of the weekends she’d spent with her mom and grandmother when she was small, baking cookies and cakes and listening to their favourite country girls, getting twirled around a flour covered kitchen by a hand held high so that the skirts of her dress spun and spun until she was giggling so hard they had to let up.
Trixie had always been pretty good at baking even if she hadn’t done it as much as she got older, once her mom was sick and then there was no one left to laugh with as they messed up the batter proportions and devised new recipes on the fly to make up for it. So she’d hesitated outside the little bakery in Chicago for a long while, but then the door had opened and the warm smell of freshly baked goods hit her and it felt like home. It was only ever supposed to be a short term solution to her long term plan, work there for a year or so until she had enough saved to go to college, maybe she’d stay and work part time if she ended up at school in the city, but college was expensive and Trixie liked it at the bakery, liked getting to know the routine and the regulars and being on her feet all day doing something she liked. The year she’d planned to stay there had turned into two, then three, college felt further and further away, less and less important, Kim was already halfway through cosmetology school and Shea had graduated, Pearl was spending half of her time in New York doing fashion shows and shoots and making more money than the rest of them combined, not that she ever gave up her little room in their apartment. And Trixie was still at the bakery, letting time run away with her while she pushed her plans for the future further and further towards the back of her mind, happy to continue with the life she’d let piece together around her while she wasn’t thinking about it.
Things had started to change all at once. Shea had decided to move out to live with her girlfriend now that she had a steady job and a long term relationship, they wanted to get a dog together and Trixie had been happy for her, she loved Sasha and loved how happy she made Shea. And then Kim had started talking about moving out, too, getting a place of her own since her career was picking up and she could afford it now, and if she had somewhere more central in the city she could go to more clients. Trixie had pushed down her dismay, let her best friend leave her with words of love and encouragement and promises that she wouldn’t let Kim go longer than a few days without seeing her, anyway, things wouldn’t have to change completely. And then it had just been Trixie and Pearl left in their apartment. Pearl had been settling back into living in Chicago full time, the peak of her modelling career petering out and some kind of idea about becoming a professional DJ hazy on the horizon. Trixie had been uncertain about how long their new situation could last, started looking at finding new roommates to take the spare spots left in their apartment in the hope that Pearl wouldn’t want to leave her, too.
That had been when Shea had called her to tell her about the little bakery in Sasha’s hometown out in the suburbs that was looking for new owners. It had felt like fate until Trixie was spending her evenings crying over rejection letters from all of the banks she’d applied to for loans, certain that there was no way she’d ever be able to make it work. That was how Pearl had found her one night, halfway through a bottle of wine to herself as she filled out the last form she had, trying not to think of all the wonderful plans she’d let herself indulge in when she’d thought she’d really had a chance to start something of her own.
It turned out that Pearl had a lot more money squirreled away than Trixie had realised – apparently not spending money on much of anything besides weed and sometimes shots at the club had left her with a pretty hefty bank balance. Trixie had tried to resist her offers to help her fund the bakery, but once Pearl had promised her that she had less than zero interest in the bakery itself, was going to use it as an investment, really, and would kick Trixie’s ass if it didn’t work out, she hadn’t been able to decline. So they’d taken Trixie’s savings that were always supposed to go towards college and Pearl’s much larger contribution to their funds and moved the half hour out of the city into the little two bedroom apartment above the bakery.
It hadn’t been perfect. The previous owners didn’t appear to have decorated in decades and Trixie, not wanting to spend a fortune on hiring anybody in, had spent weeks and weeks redecorating everything herself and complaining until Pearl had told her to suck it up or find herself a wife to do all the heavy lifting for her. It took Trixie longer than she’d expected to get it all finished but it fell into place eventually, and even though Pearl had told her over and over again that under no circumstances would she actually help out with anything at the bakery itself it had somehow come about that Pearl started taking charge of the counter most days while Trixie busied herself in the kitchen. They managed to find an easy routine that didn’t come down to anything more complicated than Pearl working whatever hours she wanted to around her gigs and her general lack of interest in dealing with people, and Trixie would fill in the gaps when Pearl wasn’t around.
Trixie’s always working now that she’s got her own place to run, up early in the morning to get ready for opening and spending her evenings tidying and planning and jotting down new ideas for recipes. She doesn’t have time for much else in her life and most of the time she doesn’t mind, she loves her work and loves that she can be proud of what she’s built up for herself, but sometimes the loneliness starts to creep in as she climbs into bed alone. Sometimes, when Violet’s come out from the city to stay with Pearl for a few nights and they’re all over each other in their tiny kitchen while Trixie’s organising her life on the couch just a few feet away, Trixie feels a little prickle of jealousy and wonders how that kind of connection has somehow passed her by. She lies in the dark at night when she can’t sleep even though she has to be up in just a few hours, kept awake by some vaguely hollow feeling deep in her chest, lets herself think about how nice it would be to have someone to share this little life with. It would be nice, she thinks, to have someone to take care of her, try to persuade her to clock off early when she's tired or skip a day in the bakery all together when she's been working too much, too hard. Maybe she wouldn't let them if they tried, but it would feel good to have someone care enough to fight her over it, to want to put her first and try to persuade her to do the same for herself when she needs it. But things are good. They are. She’s happy with where she is; she still has time for everything else to fall into place. She just has to trust that it will.
***
Pearl’s banned her from playing Dolly in the bakery for an entire week. It’s ridiculous, really, she’s definitely overreacting. The week before Trixie had discovered that her set from Glastonbury a few years back had gone up on Spotify and she’d let it loop through their crappy little speakers in the bakery for three days; it’s not her fault that some of the customers don’t share her great taste in music. Still, there’s no use fighting with Pearl when she puts her foot down, and besides, she’s hidden Trixie’s iPod somewhere and she’s given up on trying to find it. So she lets Pearl’s playlist filter through the bakery, it’s full of mellow acoustic numbers and folksy songs that were just made to be played in a place like theirs and Trixie wants to hate it but there are a few good tracks she doesn’t mind, maybe. Not that she would ever tell Pearl that, she doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of thinking she might be even a little bit right about something as important as music.
When they’d first signed the lease for the building and started decorating, Trixie had fought Pearl to put the little old-fashioned bell above the door. Pearl thought it was stupid but Trixie liked it, it was cute and besides, it was handy when she was in the back and couldn’t see when someone came in. Now she just about hears it over the music coming through the speakers, she’s crouched down in front of the oven and it’s fine, Pearl can deal with whoever it is, Trixie’s cupcakes need to come out of the oven now or they’ll burn. But she doesn’t hear Pearl’s voice and when she leans back enough to see the through the doorway through to the front of the store she can’t see her, Trixie realises she must have gone upstairs for something or ducked out into the alley behind the building for a cigarette.
“Hold on, I’m coming!” she calls out, rushing to lift the cupcakes out of the oven and knocking her hand against the inside of the oven door. “Fuck!” she yelps before she can contain herself, fumbling not to drop the tray and managing to set it on the countertop before she sticks her finger into her mouth. She keeps it between her lips, sucking a little to try to ease the stinging burn on its side as she navigates through the busy kitchen to get to the front; if it’s kids ready to stare at the baked good laid out behind the glass of the counter without any intention of buying anything, she might lose it. There’s an unfamiliar song playing from Pearl’s iPod, a woman singing about magazines in a coffee shop, Trixie doesn’t think she’s ever heard it before but she likes it, she’d turned the volume on the speakers up after the first few bars when it started playing. Now it’s probably too loud as she walks through the doorway to the front of the bakery.
It’s not kids. It’s not any of their regular customers, either, not the moms who stop by to pick up a box of cookies at the end of the week or the cute guy from the bookstore down the block who stops in some evenings after he’s closed up to choose a different cupcake or cookie for his boyfriend. It’s a woman standing by the counter and watching Trixie intently with pale blue eyes, a hint of a smile pulling at full red lips. Trixie swears for a moment that she knows her, she feels like she could recognise those eyes anywhere, the sharp line of her cheekbones, and then the woman’s gaze drops to Trixie’s mouth and she realises she still has her finger in her mouth where she was trying to soothe her burn and she feels herself flush, lets her hand drop back to her side.
“Having fun back there?” the woman asks and Trixie’s cheeks are burning with heat as she realises she must have heard her crashing about and cursing, and god she’s so hot with her little pointed nose and perfectly curved eyebrows and muscular arms exposed in a tight tank top tucked into tiny shorts, round thighs that look like they’re all firm muscle, light blonde curls that are almost silver in the store lighting pulled back into a little ponytail.
“Sorry,” Trixie says, fumbling to find her words as she goes to stand behind the register, her palms are a little damp as she straightens out her apron and wishes she’d had a chance to check her hair in a mirror before she’d come out. “I don’t know where…anyway. Welcome to Honey, Oh Honey. Can I get you anything?” she asks, trying to slip back into her calm Customer Service patter and hoping that her voice didn’t come out as high-pitched as it seemed to her own ears. Their eyes meet and the woman grins, big and bright and bold and the music is still playing through Pearl’s speakers in the corner, trumpets blare into the song all of a sudden as Trixie’s stomach swoops at the surge of want that rushes through her. The change in the music is enough to startle her into action, though, and she hurries over to turn the volume down, heart beating fast in her chest.
“It’s a cute name,” the woman says instead of answering her properly, leans forward against the counter so that her forearms are resting on its top. Trixie can see where a few short curls have escaped her ponytail to hang around her cheeks, it’s held back by a stupid white scrunchie so she’s not surprised it’s not holding up well.
“Right? It’s memorable,” she agrees, bites a little on her lip at the blinding grin she gets in response. “Can I get you something?” she asks again, and the woman gives her a considering look, tucks a stray curl behind her ear. Trixie wants to lean over and do it for her.
“What would you recommend?” she asks and Trixie swallows hard at the suggestive tone to her words.
“I have cookies that came out of the oven about ten minutes ago,” Trixie offers. “Any allergies?” The woman shakes her head and Trixie spins on her heel, glad for the chance to catch her breath in the safety of the kitchen for a moment. She stops in front of the big stainless steel fridge and uses the blurry reflection to make sure her hair is neat, straightens the neckline of her dress and dabs slightly at the outline of her lipstick, makes sure it’s perfect. When she returns with a still warm cookie placed neatly on a small plate she finds the woman turned away, looking at the various prints hung on the walls, mostly done by Pearl or Sasha or their friends and all carefully chosen by Trixie to match the décor of the bakery.
“Here,” she says, carefully putting the plate on the countertop. The woman slides a bill towards her and Trixie produces her change, but she doesn’t touch it.
“Thank you. You haven’t been open here long, have you?” she says, carefully breaking off a piece of the cookie and popping it between her bright red lips. Trixie stares for a moment and the woman grins, Trixie feels overheated.
“A couple of months now. Do you live near here?”
“I work down the street,” she says, Trixie looks over her outfit again and puts two and two together.
“The gymnastics place on the corner?” she asks, sometimes she gets parents bringing their kids into the bakery for treats after their classes. The woman nods.
“Katya,” she says, her tongue curls a little around the word, and she extends a hand over the counter. She seems calm and collected but her palm’s a little sweaty against Trixie’s, and it’s all kinds of endearing.
“Trixie,” she replies, gets another smile as Katya holds her hand for a second longer than necessary before she retracts it.
“I came in last week. Your…colleague? She made me a wonderful iced latte, I don’t know what she put it in but it was very good.”
“My partner. Business partner!” Trixie says, tripping over her words to correct herself and feeling her stomach tighten at the little grin Katya gives her. “That’s good, I’m glad you liked it.”
“I did. I mean, I ordered a black coffee, but that’s neither here nor there,” she says and Trixie groans, Katya laughs and it comes out as a low wheeze that sounds like music to Trixie’s ears.
“I’m sorry about her. She’s the most stupid bitch, I swear,” she says, forgets for a moment that she’s talking to a complete stranger who has no idea of the dynamic she shares with Pearl, how far back they go and their weird friendship based almost solely on insults. But Katya just laughs again, balling up the napkin Trixie had given her and tossing it into the trash in the corner without even really looking where she’s throwing it. Trixie swallows thickly.
“Maybe I’ll see if she can get it right next time,” she suggests.
“Maybe,” Trixie agrees, heart thumping heavy in her chest. “Or – Or I can do it for you, instead, maybe. If you’re worried about her getting it wrong again, that is.”
“Maybe,” Katya repeats, and a grin spreads across her face. The word barely sounds real to Trixie anymore. “I’ll see you soon,” Katya says, pushes the plate she used across the counter towards Trixie and then she’s gone, the bell above the door jingling as Trixie tries to bring herself back down to earth.
***
They have plenty of regulars at the bakery, but Katya becomes Trixie’s favourite almost immediately, stopping in several times a week and always lingering for a while to talk to Trixie. Even after they settle into a routine, Katya coming in some days before her after school classes or before her Saturday morning ones, Trixie’s breath always catches in her chest when the bell rings and Katya appears, shutting the door carefully behind her and giving Trixie a dazzling smile every single time their eyes meet. Trixie’s started spending more time out front, determined not to miss one single visit even as they get more and more frequent, she wants to make the most of every moment she gets to spend trying to make Katya laugh or tempting her with her new creations, enjoying the afternoons when Katya will linger around the counter until she realises the time and dashes off to teach a class, leaving Trixie to collect herself and try to get her heart rate back to normal.
One day a few weeks after Trixie first meets her, Katya marches in close to closing time one evening and drops her wallet on the counter, fixes Trixie with an intense stare that makes her a little weak at the knees.
“Good evening. Is everything okay?” she asks. Katya blinks and then grins at her, lets out a long breath upwards that puffs up the wispy white blonde tendrils around her temples.
“Yes! Well, no. Good evening! I need you to help me,” she says, words a little jumbled and Trixie can’t help but giggle, she’s so cute.
“What do you need me to do? You made me promise not to give you coffee after six,” Trixie reminds her. Katya’s got her fingertips resting on the edge of the counter, nails clicking against the glass as she twitches her fingers.
“I promised small children birthday cupcakes,” Katya says as if it’s the most grave error she’s ever made.
“Okay. You want me to make them for you?” Trixie clarifies, there’s a little swell of pride in her chest.
“Yes, but I forgot to ask you! I need them for tomorrow. Is it too late? You’re closing soon,” Katya says, tapping her nails against the glass a little more insistently. Trixie wants to cover her hands with her own, slide her fingers between Katya’s and still their twitching movements with a little squeeze.
“It’s no problem. I always do those kinds of orders the night before, once I’ve closed up,” Trixie says instead, waves a hand dismissively.
“So when do you finish?” Katya asks, brow furrowed.
“It’s not too bad,” Trixie says, shrugging. Katya’s brow doesn’t shift; it’s no wonder she’s starting to get little wrinkles creasing her forehead already.
“You’re always working,” she says, like she’s just realising it.
“I like working,” Trixie replies easily. Katya makes a little disgruntled noise and Trixie looks down to hide her smile. She’s so cute. “Tell me how many you need and I’ll have them ready for you tomorrow. Okay?” Katya looks at her for a long moment, like she’s considering her response, but then she starts counting to herself. She mutters names under her breath and counts them up on her fingers, Trixie watches her and jots down the number she reaches even though she’s sure she won’t forget, lets Katya decide that she’ll leave it up to Trixie what kind of cupcakes she should make for her.
“Don’t stay up too late,” Katya warns as she turns to leave, pointing at Trixie with one finger. Something sparks in Trixie’s lower belly and she’s glad she’s behind the counter, Katya can’t see the way her thighs clench at the tone to her voice.
“I won’t,” she promises, sees Katya off with a little wave before picking up her pen again to start planning her evening’s work.
***
“How many cups have you had today?”
“Hm?” Trixie swirls her mug around in her hands, watching the dregs of her coffee meld together before she downs the last mouthful.
“That’s three cups I’ve seen today. How many have you had since you got up?” Pearl asks, eyeing Trixie from her spot at one of the kitchen tables.
“Three,” Trixie lies, eyeing the pink box sat waiting on the counter. She made three batches of cupcakes last night, picked out the best from each, then dragged herself out of bed early this morning to make sure she had time to bake some more if she wasn’t happy with any of them, spent the extra time painstakingly piping out happy birthday into the box around the cakes.
“Liar.”
“Bitch.”
“Whatever,” Pearl says, waving a hand lazily at her. The bell above the door jingles and Trixie’s head snaps up, Pearl huffs out a laugh at the pathetically hopeful expression Trixie’s sure is on her face. Katya’s all smiles as she walks inside, she looks at the box in front of Trixie and then back up at her, grin getting impossibly bigger.
“You made them!” she says, claps her hands together in excitement.
“Of course I did,” Trixie says, Katya looks positively gleeful as she reaches for the box and carefully flips the lid open. She gasps like she’s never seen a damn cupcake before, looking down at the selection for a long moment before looking back at Trixie.
“I’m not sure I want to share these. What if the kids don’t appreciate them enough?” she says seriously.
“I can’t condone you withholding birthday cupcakes from small children,” Trixie replies just as seriously.
“I can, if you give me one,” Pearl says from her spot on the other side of the room. Trixie realises she’s slowly been leaning in towards Katya across the counter; her stomach flips when she realises Katya’s leaned in a little, too.
“You work in a bakery!” Katya says to Pearl, straightening up again to look at her; Trixie straightens up too, reluctantly.
“Please. You think she lets me eat anything she makes?” Pearl says, twirling her lighter between her fingers.
“I’ve seen you eat two cookies today alone,” Trixie says, raising an eyebrow at her.
“You were going to throw them out!”
“And so I let you eat them!”
Pearl opens her mouth to respond and then there’s a thump against the glass front to the store. Katya practically jumps a foot in the air, hand going to her chest right over her heart. Trixie looks over to the window to see what could’ve made such a loud noise, way too loud to be a bird or anything, and sees a small girl in front of the store, hands splayed against the glass and nose pressed against it too, breath fogging it up.
“Katya!” she screeches, voice a little muffled through the glass, she has a huge grin on her face. Pearl has leaned back in her chair to get as far away from her as possible even though they’re separated by the thick layer of glass, looking repulsed; Katya’s grinning, she crosses the floor to pull the door open and goes down onto one knee until she’s almost the same height as the girl.
“Good afternoon, Margot. Are you on your way to class?” she asks, her voice is warm and a little softer than Trixie’s used to and Trixie’s about ready to melt through the floor, she knew she was fucked before but now she knows it double.
“Are you gettin’ the birthday cupcakes? You promised!” Margot says instead of answering her, rocking on the balls of her feet to look up at the counter, eyeing the box sat waiting there.
“I suppose you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?” Katya says, she sounds so patient.
“I don’t wanna! It’s so far away!” Margot huffs, she’s got pudgy hands wrapped around the straps of her leotard, twisting them around pulling the fabric of her suit away from her chubby stomach.
“It’s only ten minutes until class,” Katya says soothingly, reaches to detach her hands from her costume in such a practiced way that Trixie would guess she has to do it a lot. She realises she’s sunk down to a slouch, elbows propped on the counter and chin in her hands; a glance sideways lets her see Pearl’s smug grin where she’s watching her. She rolls her eyes and shoots her a glare, looks back at Katya to see Margot’s being ushered away from the door and along the sidewalk by a harassed looking woman who’s just caught up with her.
“Bye bye, K-Zam! See you soon!” Margot yells, waving excitedly with both hands, and Katya’s chuckling as she straightens up again. It takes Trixie a moment to take in what she’s just heard, and then realisation floods through her, she knows exactly where that sense of familiarity she’s always felt around Katya comes from.
“I probably shouldn’t be giving them this much sugar. Maybe I’ll give them out at the end of class,” Katya says, picking up the box. Trixie just nods, dumbstruck, and when Katya realises she’s not going to get any kind of substantial answer she steps back. “Thank you for these! I’ll tell you how well they go down soon,” she promises, tucking the box carefully under one arm as she reaches for the door handle.
“Are you okay? Did your ovaries explode?” Pearl asks when the door’s shut behind Katya and she’s out of sight.
“I’ve just realised who she is,” Trixie says, leans back against the wall. She still feels a little dazed.
“Who? Katya? You know who she is, you’ve been flirting with her forever,” Pearl says, opens up the door to the counter and takes out a cupcake. Trixie doesn’t even care enough right now to make sure she’s taking one of the oldest ones.
“Katya Zamo. Zamolodchikova,” Trixie says.
“Who?” Pearl says, frowning at her complicated surname. Trixie knows her pronunciation’s perfect, she used to whisper it to herself when she was sat in front of the tv watching every interview she could find ten times over.
“She was a gymnast. Still, is, I guess, if she’s running that studio. Fuck, Pearl, she…I remember watching her at the Olympics on the tv,” Trixie says. She can’t believe she’s never put the pieces together before, it seems so obvious now. Everything’s coming back to her now, and she wonders how she let herself forget it in the first place.
“Shit, that’s cool. I bet you wanna bang her even more now, huh?” Pearl says. She takes her phone out of the pocket of her apron, taps at the screen. “What did you say her name is? Zamo?”
“Zamolodchikova. Z a m o l o d c h i k o v a,” Trixie spells out easily, Pearl looks up at her and gives her that goofy smile that Trixie knows means she thinks Trixie’s being ridiculous. To be fair, she’s not wrong, so Trixie just shrugs, turns away from her to start clearing the tables while Pearl puts Katya's name into her phone browser.
“I probably should have seen this coming with your ridiculously high standards, but still, Trix, damn. She’s impressive,” Pearl says. Trixie sits down on one of the chairs, puts her head in her hands.
“I know,” she says, the words are muffled against her palms but she’s sure Pearl gets the idea.
“You’ve got it bad,” she says, and Trixie nods, lets her head fall back and groans.
“I’m fucked,” she says.
“Yeah,” Pearl agrees.
“Thanks for your support.”
“Any time. You good here?” Pearl gestures to the messy tables and two trays of goods Trixie’s got to put out, she’s already got her cigarettes out.
“No, actually, I need to get the next batch out of the oven and—”
“Great! See you in a minute,” Pearl says before she can finish, the bell above the door tinkling as she heads out into the street and leaves Trixie alone. She watches her go, she should be annoyed but it’s just how Pearl is, there’s no point. She stands up, heaves out a big breath and tries hard not to think of Katya, think of her years ago when Trixie would see her on tv in her fancy little sparkly leotards doing her clever routines, think of her now surrounded by tiny children, patiently teaching them the most basic moves with the same warmth and kindness she just displayed right in front of her. She doesn’t know which is a hotter image.
“Fucking fuck,” she mutters to herself, stacks two plates on top of each other too heavily and one cracks right through the middle with the force of it, because of course it does.
***
“I was looking on your Wikipedia page last night.” Trixie snaps her gaze up to Pearl, eyes wide and horrified. Katya’s been there for a half hour, maybe, Trixie came out from the back when she heard her voice and she’s been rearranging the displays inside the counter ever since, it’s something she’s needed to do for a while and she knows Pearl will never think to do it. It doesn’t have anything to do with spending time out in the front while Katya’s here; that’s just a nice added bonus, really.
“What?” Katya looks up from her phone, blinks at Pearl in surprise. She only has a coffee in front of her today; when Trixie had asked what she wanted, she’d laughed and slapped a hand against her flat stomach, joked that she was going to end up fat if she kept on eating cakes and cookies every day. She’s wearing a threadbare sweater today with sleeves that dangle over her hands, almost covering her fingers, she keeps pushing them up to her elbows and Trixie gets to watch the muscles in her forearms flex, but Trixie knows that if she pulled it up at the hem she’d see toned abs that don’t seem to have an ounce of fat on them. She’d have to touch to know for sure.
“Your Wikipedia page! I didn’t know who you were until Trixie told me,” Pearl says blithely. Katya looks surprised and then a little uncomfortable; Trixie stands up and puts her palms flat on the counter top, closes her eyes for a moment, tries not to panic and focuses instead on plotting a slow, painful death she can inflict on Pearl.
“Oh. It was a long time ago, really,” Katya says a little awkwardly, pushes her coffee mug between her palms for a moment. Her phone buzzes on the countertop and she looks grateful for the distraction as she picks it up.
Pearl crouches down behind the counter, looking remarkably unconcerned by the fact that she’s just flipped the entire dynamic in the room and thrown Trixie under the bus in the same instant, starts rearranging things in the little cupboard where she keeps the drinks supplies, Katya’s looking down at her phone and so Trixie plasters on a big smile, turns to look down at Pearl.
“I wish you were a dead fucking corpse in a fucking ditch,” she says, her voice is sweet and calm and quiet and Pearl looks up at her with a smirk on her face.
“Then who would do all the work around here?” she says, standing up and reaching into the little drawer just under the countertop for her cigarettes, grabs her phone, too and goes out the back way through the kitchen. Trixie huffs out an exhale and then takes a few more slow breaths to try and calm the nerves in her stomach. She straightens up properly and turns towards Katya, finds that she’s crossing the room to leave already. A cold fist clenches around Trixie’s heart, she’s fucked things up (Pearl’s fucked things up, Trixie’s going to fucking kill her); she has to try to fix it.
“Katya,” Trixie says, sees Katya hesitate with her hand on the door handle, faint blue veins that sneak up the inside of her forearm standing out against pale skin. She wants to set her teeth against them, follow the path of them with the flat of her tongue until she figured out where they went next, feel Katya's pulse under her tongue when she licks up her wrist. Instead she gathers her courage and says, “K-Zam. Right? Zamo? Isn’t that what they used to call you? They could never pronounce your name right.”
There’s a moment where Katya doesn’t move and Trixie wonders if she’s fucked everything up, if maybe she shouldn’t have said anything at all, but then she lets go of the door handle and turns to face her again.
"Did you know who I was this whole time?" Katya asks, she looks the closest thing to unsure Trixie's seen on her, she's twisting her nails a little between her fingertips.
"Not the whole time...I mean, you look different. Your hair grew," Trixie says, gesturing lamely to her thick, stubby ponytail, always tied up in that same stupid white scrunchie. Katya's eyebrow lifts, her lips start to quirk into a smile. Trixie can kind of understand her uncertainty; she hadn't gone out of her way to tell them who she is, what she used to do, and it can't have been a nice thought to suddenly wonder if they'd been whispering about her celebrity status behind her back all this time. Hopefully, though, she's willing to give Trixie the benefit of the doubt.
"Hair tends to do that." Her tone is completely serious but her eyes are dancing with amusement, and Trixie feels her cheeks heat up as she relaxes slightly, starts to let herself hope that Katya trusts that she's telling the truth. "I'm surprised you remember me. I thought all you Americans were too patriotic to take in the Russian teams," she says as if she hasn't lived over here for years, lost most of her accent, even.
"I remember you," Trixie says, and Katya leans forward, there’s something like mischief glinting in her eyes now as she lets her forearms rest on the countertop and Trixie can see the firm muscles in them popping. She wants to trace the length of them in her arm from her elbow to her wrist, feel Katya’s fingers wrap around her hand, her jaw, she can imagine how strong her grip would be.
“Oh?” Katya says, all curious, and Trixie swallows hard.
Trixie remembers her, of course she does. Remembers her too well, probably. She remembers being ten years old and fascinated by the pretty girl from the Russian gymnastics team, with her shiny blonde hair and big smile, how she seemed to be laughing at least half the time she was on screen and the way she could contort her body so cleverly that Trixie wanted to watch her over and over again, even when she didn’t win anything. She remembers being fourteen and insisting that they needed to watch every single second of coverage of the women’s gymnastics on their old, shitty tv when she realised it was coming up, sitting close to the set and watching with lips parted the first time Katya appeared on the screen again, no longer the round faced girl with a long ponytail she remembered from four years before but a Woman with cropped hair and bangs across her forehead, more confident and sure in herself. Trixie remembers the way she’d leaned forward automatically when she saw her, taking in features that were sharper than she’d remembered, all high cheekbones and big biceps and thick, firm thighs, and her mom had been sat behind her on the couch with a knowing smile on her face.
Trixie remembers finding interviews with Katya in her mom’s newspapers and magazines and tearing the pages out, reading them with a flashlight under the covers of her bed late at night, heart beating fast in her chest at Katya’s bright white grin and short hair, toned body on display in her fancy gymnastics outfits or hidden beneath tracksuits so hideous Trixie had to stifle laughter, wondering what went on in that brilliant brain that made her choose such wonderfully eccentric outfits, she’d even shown up on that dumb Fashion Photo Ruview show that used to air, they’d shown a picture of her in that brown tracksuit and then they’d booted her and Trixie had never watched the show again, spent the rest of the day in a rage she couldn’t quite explain. She remembers watching the fateful interview not long after Katya’s wins at her second Olympics when she’d just moved to the States and some blustering reporter had asked if her move had been anything to do with the rumours about her sexuality, the way Katya had grinned so big and commented on the abundance of wonderful American pussy in her rolling accent and reduced everyone involved to nervous wrecks as they tried to figure out how to react to her, Trixie had been watching with her mom and her mom had laughed and laughed and Trixie had done her best to hide the way her thighs snapped together, stomach tight and palms sweaty. She remembers waking from a dream that night where she’d somehow come across Katya on the street and ended up being tugged into a back alley and pinned against a wall and kissed senseless, waking up sweating and panting and realising oh, okay, maybe that was where the obsession came from. At it had been kind of an obsession, almost; Trixie had watched every interview she could find over and over again until she knew them word for word, kept them all recorded on their old VHS tapes and her mom had teased her fondly about her first crush. But then her mom had gotten sick and everything had been forgotten, for a while. A long while, really. Trixie had forgotten how much she used to think about her, the first girl to make her realise who she was, the first girl whose face she couldn’t get out of her head for months and months.
"You were my lesbian awakening." Trixie doesn’t realise what she’s saying until the words are out in the air between them, brain hazy with the memories of her teenage realisation, and she doesn’t quite take in the repercussions of what she’s said until Katya’s eyes start to widen, her mouth drops open slightly. Trixie smacks her hands to her mouth, she can't believe she just said that, she said that out loud and she's ready to die now, please. But there’s a beat of quiet and then Katya’s lips are stretching in a slow, cheshire cat grin, her gaze is intense as she looks at Trixie's red face.
"Well," she says after a long, long moment, tapping her neat, short nails on the counter in front of her, "I'm glad I could be of service." She gives Trixie a little mock salute, Trixie has to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation even though she still kind of wants to sink through the floor, or sell up shop and move across the country. Katya glances at her watch, it’s a horrible chunky thing that stands out on her wrist and Trixie kind of loves it. “Fuck! I have class in five, I need to go,” she says, sounds apologetic as she goes to the door again.
“See you tomorrow?” Trixie asks, can’t even bring herself to hide the hope in her voice; Katya looks back at her and grins. Trixie’s insides squirm pleasantly even through the throbbing embarrassment that's clouding her brain.
“See you tomorrow,” she repeats like a promise, Trixie knows her well enough to think that it is, and then she’s gone. Trixie watches her as she walks quickly down the street and out of sight, is quiet for a moment, and then drops her forehead down onto the glass and groans.
***
The next day is Friday and it’s still pretty early in the morning as Trixie passes time tidying up the small seating area in the front of the bakery. Pearl hasn’t emerged yet but the worst of the morning rush has passed; Trixie would normally be in the kitchen again by now, relying on the sound of bell above the door to draw her out to the counter if anyone stops by, but today she hadn’t been able to help staying out front in the hopes that Katya would stop in. Thankfully, she doesn’t disappoint. The bell jingles and Trixie turns to the door, there’s no way Katya can miss the hopeful expression she knows is on her face as she walks in.
“Good morning,” she says, today her hair is pulled back into a tiny bun at the back of her head that’s already unravelling and it makes Trixie want to fix it for her. She’s never seen Katya with her hair down, she realises. She wants to.
“Good morning,” she says, turns to hit the button on the coffee maker. Katya doesn’t come in this early all that often, but when she does she always asks for a coffee as strong as they’ll make it for her.
“What have you got for me this morning?” she asks.
“How do you feel about hazelnut?” Trixie asks, tries to sound casual like she didn’t have this very moment in mind when she was planning what to make when she woke up this morning. She finishes the coffee for her and slides a mug onto one of the small tables set off to the side, the one closest to the counter. Katya drops into one of the chairs beside it, draws her knees up and sets the toes of her white sneakers on the edge of the seat; Trixie’s gaze drops to them and lifts back to Katya’s face, she’s grinning – she knows Trixie would never let anyone else get away with it.
“Very good,” Katya says, picks up the mug with one hand and wraps the other around her shins. Trixie nods, manages to tear her eyes away from Katya and fetch her one of the filled croissants she made a half hour ago in the hopes that she might stop by. They’re quiet while Trixie drops one onto a plate, Katya murmurs a ‘thank you’ when she brings it over but then it’s peaceful as Katya checks her phone and Trixie ducks in and out of the kitchen to put out everything that’s just come out of the oven. Katya hasn’t brought up what Trixie said yesterday and Trixie’s certainly not going to be the one to do it; apparently they’re just going to carry on as normal, as if Trixie didn’t inadvertently admit to Katya that she was her first crush. Trixie isn’t sure what to make of that.
“I need to order cookies!” Katya says out of nowhere, dropping her phone onto the table and banging her palm against its edge.
“Another birthday?” Trixie asks. Katya shakes her head.
“I was late to class yesterday afternoon. This is what it took to get Margot to forgive me, and if I give them to her class then I can’t go ignoring the next two, either. I’ll start a riot,” she says solemnly.
“I hope you weren’t late because of me,” Trixie can’t help but say, even though that has to have been why when Katya went dashing out of the door just before her first after school class.
“Don’t pretend to be sorry,” Katya says, grinning. Trixie blushes, wonders if this is the closest they're going to get to acknowledging that the phrase 'lesbian awakening' came out of Trixie's mouth yesterday, and turns to clean the coffee machine just so she can face away from her. There’s stomping footsteps on the stairs coming from their apartment, the door swings open just inside the kitchen doorway and Pearl emerges, looking sleep-rumpled still. She looks between Trixie and Katya and a grin spreads across her face.
“Look who’s here,” she says, nudging Trixie aside with a bump of her hip so she can make coffee. Trixie goes to grab Katya’s mug and sets its beside Pearl’s for a refill; Katya’s smile is huge when she looks back at her.
“Good morning,” Katya says to Pearl, who just nods and slides Katya’s mug along the surface of the counter when she’s filled it again. Trixie grabs it before it can skid off the edge onto the floor, passes it over to Katya. Katya reaches for it and their fingertips brush; Trixie absolutely does not get goose bumps from the tiny touch.
“You know, you could probably make the cookies for the kids yourself. It’s not like they’ll want anything fancy; if it’s just chocolate chip or something simple, you could do it easily,” Trixie says. She’s not sure why she’s saying it, it’s not like she wants Katya to stop coming in so frequently, which she might if she doesn’t want to order anything from her.
“I don’t know how,” Katya says, shrugging.
“No, I mean the really basic kinda cookies. You know, throw butter and flour and sugar and eggs into a bowl and you’re practically done, that kind of basic,” Trixie says.
“I don’t know how,” Katya repeats, her cheeks are tinged a little pink. Trixie knows she’s gawking now, but she can’t help it.
“You don’t know how to make cookies?” she asks, dumbfounded at the idea.
“No. No one ever taught me,” Katya says, shrugging.
“Not even your mom?” Trixie asks. Katya pulls a face.
“She wasn’t really the warm and fuzzy kind of mom,” she says. Right, Trixie thinks, Russia. Duh.
“I could teach you,” she offers before she can let herself chicken out of it. Pearl snorts with laughter behind her and Trixie elbows her in the ribs out of instinct, watches Katya’s face as a smile pulls at her lips.
“You could?” she asks. Trixie nods.
“We could make the ones for your classes together. Tonight? If you’re free, I mean,” she says. Katya’s smile is as big as ever, but it looks a little different. Softer, maybe even a little shy.
“I’m free,” she says, tucks a loose curl behind her ear where it’s escaped from her stupid white scrunchie. “I’d like that.”
“So would I,” Trixie says, pushing down the rush of butterflies in her stomach. “Pearl, you’re going to the city tonight, aren’t you? And staying at Violet’s?” she says, looks Pearl dead in the eye with an expression that dares her to disagree; she knows Pearl had no such plans. They hold eye contact for a moment, locked in a silent battle, and then Pearl huffs.
“Yeah, that’s right. Going to the city. Woo,” she says, not an ounce of enthusiasm in her voice. Trixie rolls her eyes, she knows Pearl must be thinking of some way to make her life hell for this already but she doesn’t care, she’s going to have the apartment to herself and Katya’s going to come over, she feels practically giddy at the thought. She looks over at Katya again, she can feel how stupidly big her grin is, but it matches the one on Katya’s face and the evening can’t come quickly enough.
***
Trixie leaves Pearl in charge of the bakery all afternoon, making her promise on pain of death that she won’t let the place go up in flames for a few hours so that Trixie can get ready. She takes a long, indulgent shower, exfoliates her whole body and shaves her legs, rubs moisturisers all over and stands in front of her closet in her favourite matching pink underwear as she considers what to wear. She tries on half a dozen outfits and discards them all before settling on one of her favourite dresses, pink and fairly loose with frills at the sleeves and neck, she likes the way it hangs off her body. They’d agreed Katya would come over around eight, once the bakery would be closed and Katya’s finished with her classes for the evening, so at seven forty Trixie goes downstairs to the store, gives Pearl an approving nod when she sees she’s actually stood behind the counter, and takes up a spot beside her.
“You’d better get fucking laid tonight if I’m being exiled,” Pearl says, crossing her arms across her chest and turning to face Trixie properly. She looks her up and down, then lets out a low little whistle. “Damn, you really like her. Poor Katya.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Trixie grumbles, looking down at her phone. She’d given Katya her number before she left earlier, it felt weird to realise they’d never exchanged numbers until now, and she doesn’t actually want Katya to have texted her now because it’ll probably mean something’s come up. She’s never been so relieved to have no new messages.
“Whatever. I’m going out for a cigarette,” Pearl says. Trixie busies herself emptying out the cash register while Pearl’s outside, she still has at least fifteen minutes until Katya arrives and that’s only if she shows up at eight sharp, they’d said sometime after eight and that could mean anything, really, not that Trixie’s going to overthink it. She decides to empty the register to keep herself occupied, since they so rarely get any customers this late in the day. She carries their takings through to the little safe in the kitchen when she's counted out the bills they've taken, kneels in front of it to organise everything neatly. The bell jingles and Trixie calls out to Pearl, “Can you start throwing stuff out? I’ll come help in a minute.” Pearl doesn’t reply but that’s not unusual so Trixie doesn’t worry until she hears the click of heels against the floor, Pearl never wears heels and then she looks up to see Katya standing in the doorway.
“Sorry, I know I’m a little early,” she says. Trixie’s mouth is totally dry, she’s not sure she can even swallow. Katya’s hair is loose, finally, curling around her ears and hanging almost down to her shoulders, it looks even closer to grey like this and Trixie wants to run her fingers through it. She looks so different in a dark dress covered in swirling patterns of blue and red and purple, she’s wearing black heels that make her legs look longer and even more shapely than usual . Trixie realises she’s staring at her and pushes the safe door shut, spins the lock quickly and stands up.
“It’s fine,” she says, smiling and stepping closer to her as the bell sounds again out in the front.
“Trixie, I think I saw Katya on her way, I – oh, hey,” Pearl says, a smirk crossing her face when she spots them.
“Hey. Aren’t you leaving now? Like, right now?” Trixie says pointedly, stepping back out into the storefront, Katya follows her.
“I’m going, I’m going,” Pearl says, rolling her eyes and untying her apron, haphazardly hanging it on one of the hooks on the back wall. It drops almost immediately and Trixie gives her a Look until she sighs and picks it up, hangs it properly. Trixie can see in the corner of her eye that Katya’s struggling to keep a straight face, one elbow leaning against the glass countertop as she watches them.
“Do you want your iPod?” Trixie asks. “It’s plugged into the speakers upstairs.”
“No, I don’t need it,” Pearl says.
“Are you sure? What if you get a gig, how are you going to DJ if you can’t put it on shuffle in the club?” Trixie asks sweetly and Katya wheezes out a laugh that makes butterflies erupt in her stomach.
“I’m gonna kick your ass,” Pearl replies, doesn’t miss a beat.
“Ah, true friendship. This is wonderful,” Katya says, her chin is in cupped in her hand and she’s watching them in delight.
“Friendship? I hate her,” Trixie deadpans, Pearl swings her bag out towards her when she lifts it up onto her shoulder.
“I’ll see you in a few days,” she says, going to the door.
“Stay away as long as you like!” Trixie says cheerfully, happily returns the gesture when Pearl holds up her middle finger. The door swings shut behind her and then it’s just Trixie and Katya in the quiet of the bakery.
“You two love each other a lot, don’t you?” Katya says, looking amused.
“That fucking bitch is one of my best friends in the whole world,” Trixie agrees, nodding. “Come upstairs, I set everything out for us already.”
“Upstairs? To your apartment?” Katya sounds surprised and Trixie doubts herself for a second.
“Is that okay?”
“Yes!” Katya says quickly, and Trixie can’t help but grin at her obvious enthusiasm. They climb the narrow staircase up to the apartment, Pearl’s iPod is still playing through the kitchen, Trixie will pretend Pearl left it on if anyone ever asks but some of the songs have grown on her now, she likes their vibes and the playlist seemed like a good fit to have playing in the background while they bake.
“I didn’t realise baking was so complicated,” Katya says, eyeing the bowls and scales and spoons and sieves and trays Trixie’s set out for them.
“It’s really not, once you get the hang of it. Besides, pot, kettle? You teach kids how to tie themselves in knots for a living.” Katya wheezes a laugh, her hand reaches out to grip Trixie’s arm and she feels like electricity sizzles between them at the touch.
“I think this looks harder,” she says, shaking her head.
“Who knows, maybe you’ll be a natural,” Trixie says, grinning at her.
Katya is not a natural. She’s impatient when they’re measuring the ingredients, insistent that a few grams of sugar either way won’t make a different and dumping the flour into the scales so forcefully that they both end up covered in it. Trixie makes her do all the mixing, half to teach her how best to do it and half so she can watch the way her biceps pop, visible even through the material of her dress, but she whines about the lumps that won’t be beaten out. She tries to lay out uneven sized balls of dough on the baking trays Trixie set out for them, huffing and puffing when Trixie insists on rolling them out again to make them more even.
It’s the most fun Trixie’s had in a long time. She thinks she might be in love, or something.
“Now I put it in the fridge for five minutes,” she explains, picking up the tray of cookie dough and crossing the small kitchen to open the fridge door.
“What? Why? Why can’t we just bake them?” Katya asks, cocking her head. It’s so fucking endearing, Trixie wants to pet her hair. Maybe Katya would let her, if she tried.
“It’s what my mom always did,” she says instead, shrugging. “I think it helps. It’s good to keep up the traditions.” She pushes the door to the fridge shut and finds that Katya’s moved closer to her, there’s only a couple of paces between them and Trixie could close the gap so easily, if she wanted to, dared to.
“Baking is hard,” Katya says, leaning against the side of the counter beside Trixie. There’s a smudge of flour across her cheek and Trixie can’t help but reach out to smooth it away, touching her skin carefully. She swears she can see the way Katya’s breath hitches in response; her jaw twitches under her fingertips. Trixie lets her hand linger there for a long moment, it feels like Katya leans into her a little in response, pale blue eyes fixed on Trixie’s.
“You’re so beautiful,” Trixie says, she can’t help herself, she feels like she’s been holding it in since the moment they met. She watches the blush spread across Katya’s cheeks, white, even teeth nibbling at her lip. Her hand comes up to touch Trixie's wrist, she gets a moment of fleeting pressure of her fingertips against the thrum of her pulse under thin skin. The timer on Trixie’s phone dings and vibrates, sending her phone wriggling across the counter. Trixie pulls away from her reluctantly, turns back to the fridge and takes the cookie dough out to move it to the oven with blood rushing around her body, thrumming hot in her ears and behind her eyes and through her brain, making her feel slow and sluggish and so hot she’s half convinced she’s burning up. She manages to get the cookies into the oven, somehow, closes its door and straightens up again, turns to find Katya so close to her she can feel her breath against the side of her mouth.
Somewhere through the buzzing in her ears Trixie realises the music’s still playing from the corner of the room, it's the same song from that first day Katya walked into the bakery and flipped Trixie's world on its head with her blue, blue eyes and big smile, Trixie's listened to it a hundred time over, knows all the words and she feels them pass through her like static energy as her breathing falls into a counter rhythm with Katya's, they're almost close enough to touch but not quite and Trixie wants her to be the one to make the move, she's rooted to the spot, it’s hard to say if they’re happy, but they don’t seem much to mind. The trumpets pick up through the tinny speakers and Katya crowds in against her, finally finally closing the gap and kissing her and kissing her and Trixie has to grab onto her biceps to stop her knees from giving out. She can feel them rippling as strong arms bracket around her, pushing her back, Trixie lets Katya push her until her ass hits the side of the counter, there’s probably flour on the back of her dress now and she doesn’t care, not one tiny bit. Her knees are still weak but she can’t fall now, Katya has her pressed in so tight that she can feel every angular inch of her body against her, small breasts against her own, the sharpness of her hip against Trixie’s stomach. It’s all Trixie can do to move one hand up over the round curve of her shoulder, fingertips searching over soft skin when they meet the neck of her dress and then her hand is in Katya’s hair, pushing through tangled curls until she’s got a grip, holding Katya’s lips to hers.
Katya has her pinned against the edge of the counter, her hands are everywhere, on her hips, her sides, sliding down over her thigh and around to dig her fingers into her ass, settling on the inside of her elbow. Her mouth is hot hot hot against Trixie’s, her lips surprisingly soft even as she kisses her hard and heavy and full of intent and Trixie whines into her mouth, how can she not?
“I’m going to take care of you,” Katya breathes into her ear, a little deeper than usual so that it vibrates right down to Trixie’s core and her breath catches for a moment. “You never stop, do you? Always running around, keeping everything going, but who’s looking after you? Do you ever even stop to think apart from to yell at Pearl?” Trixie tries to laugh at that but it comes out as a moan as Katya’s fingers dig into the underside of her ass, holding her close.
“Something tells me you’re going to stop me thinking anything at all,” she manages to say, half stuttering over the words as her eyes roll back into her head with Katya’s clever mouth on her neck, teeth set against the curve of her collarbone.
“Yes,” Katya says, and the total certainty in her voice makes Trixie’s knees weak, they give a little and she’s glad she’s still holding onto Katya’s arms. For a moment she swears she feels Katya take all of her weight on those strong forearms where her hands are hooked around Trixie’s elbows, she turns them and shifts Trixie back a pace or two across the carpet, Trixie manages to stutter out the right direction to her bedroom when she realises Katya's paused in the hallway and then Katya's walking her all the way there until the backs of her legs hit the side of her bed and her knees finally buckle. Katya doesn’t let her fall back, though, guides her down steady until her ass hits the covers and then Katya’s perched over her lap, tugging her dress over her head with her knees pinching the sides of Trixie’s thighs. All Trixie can do is lift her arms up to help her, watch in disbelief as Katya actually pauses to fold her dress in half, lets it drop neatly to the floor so it won't crease too badly. Trixie opens her mouth to make a comment but then Katya’s mouth is on hers again, kissing her hungry like she’s going to devour her. Trixie wants her to.
“Katya…Katya, please,” she moans into her mouth, fumbling with the zipper on the back of her dress. It comes down after a moment of struggling and Katya wiggles out of it, stands to step out of it and kick off her heels and then she’s kneeling over Trixie on the bed again, she stops to unhook Trixie's bra with a practiced flick of her fingers and tosses it aside and then she's pushing her back by the shoulders. She's hovering over her, drinking her in with eyes dark, pupils blown, her hands skim over the soft skin of Trixie's full breasts, pads of her thumbs passing over hard nipples and making Trixie gasp a little, her eyes squeeze shut. She feels Katya shift backwards away from her, hears the bed covers move and then Katya's face presses against Trixie’s stomach as Trixie’s brain catches up and she pushes her fingers into Katya’s messy curls, her pointy nose digs into her soft skin and then she’s got her fingers hooked into the sides of Trixie’s panties, she taps the side of Trixie’s thigh until she gets the idea and arches her back so that Katya can peel her panties away from her and let them pool on the floor. Trixie opens her eyes, lifts her head and Katya's kneeling on the floor in front of the bed, head ducked slightly like she's praying at the alter of Trixie's body, asking to worship her, her breath is hot against the insides of her thighs as she pushes them apart. Trixie’s so wet and Katya doesn’t even try to tease her and Trixie’s so thankful, she’s not sure she could survive it, and she feels like she could fly as she watches her bury her head between her thighs like she's been desperate to do this for a long time, maybe she has, Trixie thinks, it's a wild, heady thought, her fingers are still grasping at Katya's light curls. Her hot tongue is so clever against Trixie’s clit and she’s rubbing one fingertip against her entrance, pressing light circles around it. Trixie’s panting hard, she can’t help but tug on Katya’s hair and the groan Katya lets out against her folds vibrates through her whole body. She pushes a finger into her and then two, curling them just the way Trixie needs her to and her tongue is massaging her clit and Trixie’s head falls back against the covers as she comes, Katya’s name falls from her lips and her thighs tremble with the force of it.
“Come here,” she pants when she can speak again, releases her grip on Katya’s hair and her fingers scrabble against her firm shoulders in an attempt to pull her up towards her. Katya’s lips press against the inside of her thigh for a moment and then she pushes herself up onto her feet, crawls over Trixie on the bed and Trixie pulls her down against her, kissing her hot and messy and helps her shed her underwear with clumsy hands, Katya straddles one of her thighs and rocks against her. Trixie’s hand is running down over her hip when her phone starts blaring in the kitchen, annoying generic ringtone playing obnoxiously loudly.
“How long until they burn?” Katya gasps against her lips, Trixie pushes her hand between her thighs and rubs at her clit, pushes a finger into her slow and smooth.
“We’ve got time,” she says as Katya keens into her mouth, rocks up into her touch. “They won’t burn.”
***
The cookies burn. Trixie doesn’t care. She lets Katya feed her bites that crumble to bitter ash on her tongue, laughs at the face Katya pulls when she tries one for herself, draws her in against her to kiss the taste off her lips.
"These are terrible,” Katya says when they break apart, laughing and showing off her white, white teeth, grin so big.
“It’s not my fault I got distracted,” Trixie points out, and she’s grinning too. Katya giggles, crumbling one of the cookies until she finds a piece that doesn’t look too burnt, holds it out to Trixie’s lips. She bites into it, watches in quiet awe as Katya pops the rest of it into her own mouth, hip set against the low cupboard door next to the oven in Trixie’s kitchen. She borrowed one of Trixie’s shirts, an old soft one she only wears to sleep in or maybe if she’s spending the day inside, working out new recipes on one of the few days of the year she isn’t working. It’s too big for her, hangs off of one smooth shoulder and exposes little clusters of light freckles, Trixie wants to pull it down further and kiss the sharp line of her collarbone, run her tongue along it. So she does. She feels the humming noise Katya makes in response against her skin, through her chest and down into the pit of her stomach hot, her fingers grasp at Trixie’s hair and pull her up for a slow, almost lazy kiss. By the time they break apart Trixie can feel how warm her face is, can only imagine the ridiculous blush to her cheeks, maybe she should be embarrassed but Katya’s smiling at her with something like affection, her hand is cupping Trixie’s cheek and her thumb is swiping light over the line of her jaw, calloused fingerprint against her skin making her knees weak.
“We can try again another time,” Katya says, and it takes Trixie a second or two to realise that she means the cookies. She nods, doing her best to keep composed. It’s not working, she knows it’s not from the smug look on Katya’s face. “Though,” Katya says thoughtfully, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell the kids tomorrow when I don’t have any cookies to share with them.”
“You can tell them you were too impatient to keep your hands to yourself until they were finished baking,” Trixie says, can’t help the little huff of laughter she lets out as Katya wheezes in amusement.
“I didn’t hear you complaining,” she says, moving her thumb to Trixie’s lower lip. Trixie can’t help herself, lets her lips part to suck it into her mouth, swirling her tongue slowly around it and feeling heat start to coil slow in her belly again at the way Katya’s eyes seem to darken. They stay still for a moment, Katya’s eyes locked on hers while she sucks on her thumb, and then she pulls her hand back and uses it to tug Trixie close and close the gap between them, kiss her hot and filthy and slow until she's whining against her lips.
“Tomorrow,” Trixie says when she pulls back, breathing heavy.
“What?” Katya says, her hands are steady on Trixie’s hips, pushing her shirt up while her thumb rubs little circles into the soft fat over her hipbone.
“The cookies. Tomorrow morning, before your class,” Trixie says. She can tell Katya knows exactly what she means, what she’s asking, will you still be here in the morning? If she says yes then Trixie will let her kiss her again, let her take her back into her bedroom and fuck her slow and steady or quick and hard or both, she knows Katya has it in her. If she says no then Trixie will be glad to know now before she lets herself fall any further.
Katya doesn’t seem to take any more than a fraction of a second to consider her question. She leans in again and Trixie can feel her breath against her mouth, feel the way her lips turn up into a smile. “Yes,” she says, and Trixie puts her hands on her shoulders, slides them down over her biceps and squeezes lightly.
“In the morning?” she says, Katya’s lips brush against hers and her breath hitches.
“In the morning,” Katya agrees, and Trixie lets her kiss her again.