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Beau thinks about finding a room for the night. There’s a town a bit out of their way that would definitely have an inn of dubious quality where no one would blink at their blood-and-travel-stained clothes, or the impressive set of scrapes and bruises down the side of Yasha’s face.
She thinks about it, but Yasha doesn’t suggest it, so neither does Beau. If Yasha wants to sleep outdoors tonight, Beau isn’t going to look like a wuss by comparison. It’s a nice evening, anyway - the air is still warm enough, and it doesn’t look like it’ll rain or anything.
They find a decent wooded copse, thick enough to provide cover if they need it, but not so big as to be likely to contain anything that might want to make them its midnight snack.
And when they’ve made a small fire, laid their bedrolls out side by side, scrubbed off the worst of the day’s dirt in a nearby stream, and eaten some dinner, Yasha reaches over and pulls Beau half into her lap and kisses her soundly.
Beau melts.
Watching Yasha in battle, her wings unfurled and her eyes black and her sword flying with all the strength of a hurricane, Beau thinks, sometimes, about this. About Yasha’s mouth on hers, Yasha’s arms warm and solid around her. About the exact way Yasha’s breath catches when Beau’s hands tangle in her hair, just like that. Beau thinks about it when Yasha cleaves an enemy in two, all bared teeth and blood spatter and endless, roaring, ferocious rage.
Usually Beau then gets hit by something and has to snap back to herself pretty damn fast so she doesn’t get killed in turn. She’s gotten pretty good at that part too.
Here in the calm of the twilit woods, Beau leans into Yasha’s embrace and into her kiss, with an involuntary noise in the back of her throat that makes Yasha tighten her arms about her. There’s no rush to Yasha’s movements, not now, not here, not this time. The kiss is long and languorous and deepens almost imperceptibly - a leisurely, honeyed pace that Beau knows from experience can’t be hurried even if she wanted it.
By the time Yasha pulls back, Beau’s breathing has quickened to match her racing heart. She reaches for Yasha again, desperate to sink back into the place where nothing matters but the heat of Yasha’s mouth and the way her hand tangles in the stray hairs at the base of Beau’s neck.
A familiar voice, ringing in her head, stops her in her tracks.
“Hi Beau! It’s me, Jester!”
Like she wouldn’t know. Beau grins to herself and holds up a quelling hand to Yasha while she listens to Jester’s sending, but Yasha has seen the distant look in her eyes and figured it out already.
“You probably knew it was me, huh? We’re all good here. Everyone says hello. Wait, Nott says she doesn’t but…” Jester’s voice cuts off abruptly as her spell runs out.
Beau stifles her laughter enough to reply. “Me and Yasha are good too. We should be home, uh,” she thinks for a moment. “Day after tomorrow. Tell Nott she’s a dick.”
There’s a pause, and then there’s Jester again. “Nott says she misses you too. Shhh, Nott. See you both soon! Hey Beau, tell Yasha about what we did last week, ok? Promise me.”
Beau feels heat rising in her cheeks. “Uh, sure. Ok. I will. I promise. Love you, Jes.”
She gives it a moment, but nothing further is forthcoming, so she turns her attention back to Yasha, shimmies a bit to secure her place on Yasha’s lap. “Where were we?”
One side of Yasha’s mouth quirks upwards and she raises an eyebrow. “Is everyone all right?”
Beau can’t resist kissing her before replying, just quickly, landing at the corner of her lips. “Yeah, they’re all fine. Jester was just checking in.”
Yasha nods and then catches her full on the mouth again for another delicious, slow kiss that starts to turn Beau’s world upside down, but then she stops, pulls away, leaving Beau momentarily bereft.
“What did you promise to do?” Yasha asks her, in her deceptively soft tone that brooks no argument.
Beau blinks. “Huh?”
“Just now, to Jester. What did you promise to do for her?”
Beau tries. She really does. She opens her mouth and no words come out and she will not blush like an idiot. She won’t. She tries to say it, but the words freeze on her tongue and instead she leans forward and kisses Yasha hard, like her life depends on it.
For a surprised second, Yasha’s lips are awkward under hers, but then Yasha yields, the shape of her mouth moulding to Beau’s in a kiss they must have practiced a hundred times by now, a thousand maybe.
With Yasha’s help, Beau wriggles out of her shirt and discards it, the evening air cool and then Yasha’s hands warm on her bare skin. Yasha’s mouth follows her hands, and she circles Beau’s nipple with her tongue, and Beau locks her hands in Yasha’s hair and moans. She wants to move, to fully face Yasha in her lap and gain some purchase for herself, but she also doesn’t want Yasha to stop what she’s doing, so she holds off and contents herself for the moment with sitting side on, the warm solidity of Yasha under her ass.
Yasha stops anyway, and Beau lets out a huff of breath at the sudden lack. She realises Yasha’s smiling. Shit.
“Do you want me to continue, Beau?”
The noise Beau makes is maybe kind of a whine, if she’s honest, and she clenches her fists, knotting strands of Yasha’s hair around her fingers. Yasha does not give, not a single inch. Her eyes are amused but steely, a look Beau knows well, a look that seeps down into her very core and draws her out, centres her there in Yash’s presence. Held in those eyes, Beau gives in to Yasha without another thought. Without giving herself time to second guess it, without a moment for the heat to rise in her cheeks again or her tongue to trip over itself.
“Jester wants me to tell you what we did,” she tell Yasha. “When you weren’t there. What, uh, what she did to me.”
Yasha nods, and tugs Beau in closer. “I thought it might be something like that.”
Beau takes advantage of the moment to swing her leg over and straddle Yasha’s broad thighs before she continues, and she doesn’t miss Yasha’s little grunt of approval, nor the way Yasha’s hands slide down to cup her ass.
Leaning up and in, her mouth grazing the corner of Yasha’s in passing, Beau continues, low into Yasha’s ear. “Yeah, she wants you to know that she fucked me outdoors. Just like you’re gonna do.” She notices a little shudder run through Yasha, and grins. Maybe she can find her stride with this after all.
As though she can hear Beau’s thoughts, Yasha rewards her with a bite of a kiss, carefully placed where the curve of Beau’s neck meets her shoulder, and Beau squirms, losing her words again just for a moment.
She gathers herself as best she can, unwinding one hand from Yasha’s hair just long enough to brush her own away from where it’s fallen into her eyes. “It was early,” she continues, a little breathless. “No one was awake but us. We went… oh…” Yasha’s mouth finds its way from Beau’s shoulder to each dip of her collarbone.
“Keep talking,” Yasha murmurs against her skin, follows it with a drag of teeth that feels so goddamn good Beau can hardly stand it.
“We went to the orchard. You know, where there’s that real good tree for…” Beau gasps as Yasha reaches her breasts again, leaving a trail of livid red marks in her wake. “For shit like this.”
“I know that tree.” Yasha’s hands are moving now. One traces a path from Beau’s ass, over her hip, under the waistband of her pants, and the other finds the small of her back and rests there, keeping her balanced. “What did Jester do to you there?”
Beau’s breath hitches and she tilts her hips forward, chasing Yasha’s movement. “Jester, uh, she…”
Yasha locks eyes with Beau, holding her in her gaze. “Was it something like this, perhaps?”
And she slides her hand down, in between Beau’s legs, through curls and heat, and Beau knows how wet Yasha finds her, but she relishes Yasha’s sharp indrawn breath, the way her eyes widen and Beau wants to lose herself in them entirely.
“Yeah,” Beau manages to say. She rocks her hips, grinding down against Yasha’s hand as best she can. “Yeah, something like, like that.”
Yasha’s hand, in response, pauses, and Beau groans pure frustration.
“Anything else?”
“Fuck, Yasha, come on…”
Yasha is implacable. Beau sees the laughter behind her control but she can’t find her way through to it. Fuck. Fuck. She just needs Yasha to…
She shifts again, and it’s good but it’s not enough, not nearly enough, and Yasha’s grip on her back tightens, stills her.
“Beauregard.”
Beau whimpers and something wound tight at her core gives way. Everything feels heightened, like she might break. Like she wants to break. It’s nothing new, these things Beau is saying. It’s nothing Jester hasn’t done to her before, nothing Yasha hasn’t done, nothing they haven’t done with each other, or all three of them, together. Saying it though, here and now, to Yasha, because Jester told her to, is different. “She, uh, she used her fingers… oh fuck… she... fucked me...”
Yasha’s own fingers are moving again. Two fingertips either side of Beau’s clit, and Beau closes her eyes, and if she’d just keep doing that, just keep going, right there...
Merciless, Yasha’s fingers move away, though not far. She slides one inside Beau, gentle, tentative, like she’s not sure but Beau knows she is.
“How many fingers did Jester use?” Yasha asks, her voice steadier and lighter than it has any damn right be be.
Beau’s eyes snap open and she’s looking right into Yasha’s, finding dark lust warring with the gleam of mischief there. “Two,” Beau tells her, and it comes out half a groan. “Two fingers.”
Yasha adds a second finger in response. “Two?”
Beau can only gasp and nod as Yasha moves inside her, two fingers that are too much and also not enough. And Yasha leans in, close as she can get, and says, “You’ll have to tell Jester about this, when we get home.”
And she pushes another finger into Beau, three now. Yasha’s fingers are bigger than Jester’s, and Beau’s hips buck involuntarily and she can feel Yasha moving inside her, and she finds herself lightheaded with it all, held there for an endless moment, with Yasha’s other hand still strong and warm on her back.
Then Yasha’s thumb finds her clit, and rubs firm circles there, and Beau has never been so grateful to be known, because Yasha hits the pace she needs almost immediately. Beau can feel her muscles begin to tense, feels herself bear down on Yasha’s fingers, and the lightheaded sensation of a moment ago pulls her higher and closer and more…
She collapses against Yasha as she comes, and her head spins with the intensity of it, with the gorgeous rush of pleasure, her hips jerking entirely out of her control. She buries her face in Yasha’s shoulder, her hands tangling in the fabric of Yasha’s tunic, and pants for breath.
I love you, she thinks, as she begins to return to herself, in the aftermath, with Yasha’s fingers still in place. I fucking love you, Yasha.
She’ll say that too, as soon as she regains the ability to speak. She’ll say it the way she managed to say everything else already today. She’s brave enough to say it, and to know she’ll hear it back.
***
When they get home, in a day and a bit, Jester is at the door to meet them. She kisses Yasha first, long and slow and sweet, before turning to Beau.
“Did you tell her?” she asks, then looks up at Yasha again. “Did she tell you?”
And Yasha nods, with a fond grin, and Beau is laughing when Jester kisses her, tasting of sugar and joy.
“Tell me about it later, ok?” Jester says, not waiting for a response before taking each of their hands and dragging them inside to greet everyone else.
Beau smiles wide at all of their friends, and wider still when she thinks about the things she’ll tell Jester, later, in the privacy of their room, with Yasha there as well, to listen. To watch.
Yes, Beau is going to enjoy this.