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"You are not trying to bribe me, are you?" said the woman, whose name escaped Siv at the moment. Her nerves had been so frazzled since morning she could barely remember the difference between an alkane and an alkyne. Those cold pale eyes staring her and Taru down did not help.
"No, not at all," said Taru, somehow collected even under that scrutiny. "We merely wanted to thank you, for your help and guidance." She offered up the bottle of blueberry wine again.
At this hour, the office was quiet. There were no more visitors in the waiting room. The windows had been dark, many shuttered, as Siv and Taru had stolen back in just before closing time. "It's not going to work," Siv had said. "It's going to work," Taru had countered with a wink. "Trust me."
It did not look as if it was going to work.
"Hmh," said the lady. (Ms. Somethingsdottir. That wasn't helpful. Einarsdottir?) She took the bottle by the neck and inspected it grudgingly in the spare light slanting through the window. "I shouldn't accept this."
"Why not?" said Taru smoothly. "It isn't as if you alone can grant us more money. As you said, we were lucky to get as much as we did."
"Blueberry wine happens to be my favourite. How did you know that? And don't say 'lucky guess'. This isn't the first time I've had my boots licked."
"I may have noticed your choice of wine at the Daffodil Club the other night."
Siv risked a glance at Taru. The strategist had never filled her in on that bit of recon.
"I see. I do hope you're not thinking of blackmail?" Her voice could have cracked ice. Siv shrunk back and into Taru's side.
"Oh, no," said Taru, looking aghast. "Just thought I'd let you know we have something in common." She reached out and pulled Siv tighter against her side, and it was then Siv knew—without ever having heard of the place, purely on the basis of inductive reasoning—what kind of clientele the Daffodil Club served.
Of course Taru hadn't filled her in. Siv never could keep a straight face. A deep blush started somewhere around her neck and spread in splotches on her cheeks and neck. At least the room's dim light hid her colouring.
It had been a long time ago since she and Taru... It had been a very long time, and things had changed, and when you're seeing someone and then stop seeing them like that, but still keep seeing each other as colleagues and friends, there are all kinds of lines you have to step around. Would she take this gesture the wrong way? Does she still think about it? Is the attraction still there, even if the romance fizzled out a long time ago? Is it awkward to talk about your new dates? What if she doesn't like your husband?
Taru had trampled all over several lines, all for this desperate attempt to collect more cash. But they did need more, at least enough to supply their team with a real tank instead of a glorified camper van. Siv forced a weak grin.
"You too, huh?" Ms. Oh-Let's-Just-Call-Her-Einarsdottir regarded them coolly. "Weren't you married to that dry pasty deer-in-the-headlights?"
"Hey!" said Siv.
"Torbjörn has been very understanding," Taru said, nuzzling Siv's ear. "Hasn't he, darling?"
Ms. Einarsdottir snorted. "Men. Think the world revolves around their dicks. Well, whatever works for you three, I guess." She regarded the bottle with a thoughtful expression, clicking a nail against the neck. "I suppose I could make a little personal donation to your budget, in return for a cut on any returns you make selling the Silent World objects collected by your expedition crew."
"What returns?" Siv asked, feigning innocence. Taru pinched her side.
"Of course. Two percent?"
"I was thinking more like ten."
"Five?"
The councilwoman pursed her lips. "Are you two even into each other?"
"Of course we are."
"Prove it."
Siv could feel her smile slipping, and that damn heat in her neck wasn't going away. She didn't like to talk about how very, very gay she had been in her early university days. It was embarrassing now that she'd ended up with a nice guy and three kids instead. Why had people ever invented sexual categories? Couldn't you just be into people? Twenty-year-old Siv had thought it very important to be a lesbian. In her late thirties, she now felt like whatever she said or did, she was a fraud.
Taru had never had any problem being a fraud.
She turned to Siv now with that little smile Siv remembered from college, and her heart picked up speed as she realized Taru was coming in for a kiss, and oh word, oh shit, what was it Torbjörn had said about 'any means necessary'? It had been so long. Did she want this? Did she not want it? But then Ms. Einarsdottir's voice cut in. "No, no. The Swede kisses you."
"What?" That was Taru. Siv was still trying to collect her heart from her throat.
"You I wouldn't trust if you claimed the sea is wet. But if she is into you, I'll know." That cold (sexy) bitch leaned her hips on the desk and crossed her fingers in front of her. "Go on. Kiss your girlfriend."
This was all wrong. Siv should be mad at Taru for putting her in this position, and perhaps she would be, later on, but right now something clicked in her mind. "Your girlfriend." That quiet, cool authority that had been doing things to Siv's bits since the initial meeting. Torbjörn's jovial disregard of all her crushes on women.
She did want this, tank or no tank. She turned to Taru with a predatory look that startled the older woman, and then mashed their mouths together.
Oh, stars above, to be kissing someone without a moustache again. (Well, maybe a little moustache. Age gets to us all in the end.) Taru grabbed the back of Siv's neck and Siv's knees melted. Taru had always had that effect on her in the early days, the way she was always a little too rough, and always a little too bossy, even when she was trying to be nice. Siv cupped her face and her hair brushed the backs of Siv's hands as she held her. Torbjörn's hair was always so short.
She held Taru's face, begging without words for Taru to keep this going at least for a little while longer. This might be the only chance Siv got. She flicked her tongue out, and Taru matched the motion, moving together in a dance Siv remembered down in her bones. Siv's foot edged up off the floor, seeking to entwine behind Taru's ankle. Taru caught her waist, but they still wobbled awkwardly for a moment. It should have ruined the moment; it did not. Taru was still here, and so was her tongue, and her hands, inching up under Siv's blazer.
"Okay, I… Hmm. Okay, I was convinced at first, but… Okay, guys, stop it. Stop!"
Siv reluctantly peeled herself off Taru's face, dazed with desire. The councilwoman was squeezing the edge of the desk with both hands. Her brows knit. "That was either real or a very bad acting job."
"Is this necessary?" Taru asked, though she had not let go of Siv's waist, and her fingers were pressed intimately against the thin fabric of Siv's shirt, just above the swell of her hip. Siv buried her face in Taru's neck. "Those returns could be considerable…"
"More likely never to materialize." A smile ghosted over the woman's lips. "Let's try again. What was your name again? Västerström?"
"Siv," Siv said, hearing her husband's name. She lifted her face from Taru's neck.
"Siv. Lovely. Why don't you show me something that really turns this woman on?"
Siv smiled a little naughty smile, and raised her head to mouth at Taru's ear. "Ooh, ahh, Siv—darling, I don't—Oh, not so w—ooh." Siv clung on harder, and Taru folded against her. "Damn you."
"Well, this is nice," Ms. Einarsdottir purred. "Show me more."
Siv needed no more encouragement. She pushed her hand up to Taru's breast, palmed the weight of it. This did nothing for Taru, she knew, through some genetic or sexual quirk—but Siv's own nipples were hotwires to her sex, and feeling Taru's large, hard ones under her thumb turned her on almost as much. She kept her mouth on that earlobe and Taru's breathing grew faster and heavier. "Siv, goddamn."
Taru got her revenge when she reciprocated Siv's touch on her breast. A single press of hand, with first and second fingers bracketing her nipple through the soft bra, sent Siv moaning. She wanted a mouth on that breast, soft and supple and relentless. She could lose her mind like that, a tease like on a slow morning at her old dorm, forgetting all about the coming exams as someone beautiful worked her way down her body.
"Good, you're getting there," said Ms. Einarsdottir, that clear, cultured Icelandic reminding Siv that they had an audience. That didn't diminish the throbbing between her legs.
"Gods, you want me to do her right here? While you watch?" said Taru, her eyes narrow and voice husky.
"Oh, goodness me, no," said the woman. Her eyes held a wicked glint, and a heat behind it that went straight to Siv's belly. "I want her to do you."
"Don't you think that's a little—" Taru's objection was cut off by Siv's fingers on the button of her trousers.
"You don't mind, do you?" She grinned up in Taru's face. That flush was still pinking up her skin, and she pulled the button loose, but waited for Taru to tell her to stop or continue. It wouldn't be the first time they'd had an audience, though it would be the first time the third woman was still fully dressed—and held their future in her hands.
"Are you drunk?" Taru whispered, and Siv shook her head slightly, hiding it behind the fall of her hair. It was impulsive and mad and it could all go pear-shaped in a dozen different ways, but she knew what she wanted.
"Eat her out for me?" Ms. Einarsdottir suggested, and Siv nodded, sinking down to her knees.
Siv couldn't see Taru agree as well, but her fingers tangled in Siv's hair as Siv pulled her trousers down over her hips. Taru had worn her best blazer and pearls for the meeting, but her underwear was military standard grey as always, and that, too, was a shortcut to memory. Siv pressed her nose against the cloth to smell Taru's warm wetness through it.
Taru cursed in Finnish under her breath, a quick lilting line of dirty words like a chant. Siv pressed her tongue against the fabric, probing for the slit and nub underneath. Taru's hips bucked against the touch, and Siv pressed her hands on Taru's thighs, spreading her folds with her thumbs.
The underwear was wet with her saliva and Taru's moisture by now, as she pushed and pressed with her tongue. She was sure she heard Taru whisper "För fan." It was sweet in a way… She was speaking to Siv in her own language, even if what she was saying was filthy. She dug her fingers under the waistband of her underwear and tugged them down, plunging her nose into the soft hair on Taru's mound.
She kept her tongue soft to lick and tease, tasting her salt. The smell alone was driving her crazy. There was a short, sharp, voiced gasp from Ms. Einarsdottir's direction. Siv stole a glance and saw the councilwoman had a hand under her own waistband now, supporting her hips on the desk. Her lip was caught between her teeth. Siv wondered how sharp that was, if the bite hurt, if she could get those teeth to nip at her own mouth.
She pulled Taru's trousers down lower, closed her eyes and bent her neck to shove her face and tongue at Taru, lapping between her folds now. She wanted her nose and chin as wet as she was getting between her legs.
"Finger her." Ms. Einarsdottir voice was rougher now, with an edge of need behind it. Taru took a handful of Siv's hair in her hand and pulled her off her gently to kick her trousers down and off her ankles. Though they caught in her shoes, it only took a moment until Siv had her taste on her tongue again, and also one of Taru's legs thrown over her shoulder.
Her fingers went in easy, two at first try. "You're soaked," she told Taru between laps, adoring the sensation of her two fingers coming out thickly coated and fragrant. She pushed them back in, slow and luxurious like testing bread dough. Taru pushed her hips down over them. "Goddammit, Siv. That feels so fucking good." Siv grinned up at her with her messy face and wetted her thumb, the better to put teasing pressure on Taru's clit with every upward jab.
Taru made woo-ooh-ahh noises, her hips rocking against Siv's hand with more force. "Want me to come?" she asked, her breath laboured and voice rough. She was talking to the councilwoman. "Is that what you want?"
Siv looked expectantly up for instructions, but the woman shrugged. Siv took that as permission to replace her thumb with her tongue. She kept it hard now, fast, and within what felt like seconds Taru's fingers on her scalp grew hard and sharp, the motions of her hips relentless, and then there was a gush of warmth down Siv's chin.
No-one had even touched Siv yet, and she felt like she was floating among stars.
-
"So, did it work, your idea?" Torbjörn asked. His open, eager face should have made Siv feel sorry, but she didn't. Not one bit. And he had said it would be okay, over and over, if Siv ever wanted to be with a woman again. She was beginning to think her own moral objection to stepping out had been rather petty. She resolved (not for the first time) to worry a little less and live a little more.
"It worked!" Taru beamed. "I knew she just needed a little persuasion."
"We've got a tank?"
"We've got a tank!" Taru waved the check in Torbjörn's face.
"You're a mage in disguise." Torbjörn wiped his forehead on his sleeve. "I won't even ask how you did it."
"Aww, it was nothing… Siv helped."
"Well done, darling," said Torbjörn, and wrapped an arm around Siv's shoulder even as she shot Taru a hurt glance. 'Helped', indeed. "This calls for a little celebration. That wine you smuggled from Finland, maybe?"
"Ah, about that."
"You've got a little smudge there," Torbjörn said, pointing at a stain on the collar of Siv's blazer.
"I'll tell you about it later," said Siv, snuggling against his side. "Let's go splurge on some juice."