Archive of Our Own

LaF says that printers can smell fear, which you think is mostly true, because it’s twenty to nine on a Thursday morning and you need to leave in five minutes but your printer stubbornly refuses to print your Dickens paper. You go back to the document, sighing, wondering if Professor Newlan will let you print off the paper after class... but Professor Newlan eats freshman for breakfast, so you doubt it. You scan the screen quickly, before noticing where you’ve sent your document to. It reads: HP M1120 Karnstein.

Oh...shoot.

You’ve sent your essay to Carmilla Karnstein, next door neighbour from hell’s printer. Did you say shoot already?

You and Carmilla hadn’t exactly got off to a harmonious start, you’d been paired together for icebreakers at Perry’s ‘absolutely mandatory’ floor meeting and all you had managed to get out of Carmilla was that she was 21 and had a distinct hatred for Paramore. Since then she’d regularly woken you up by coming in at all hours of the night (which wouldn’t be a problem if the dorm walls weren’t paper thin), by playing music of the thrashy metal persuasion (at least it was always female fronted, which you can get behind) and having very loud sex with Elsie from your anthropology class.

Carmilla’s other next door neighbour, Jesse, had smiled at you in the breakfast queue that morning in sympathy, commenting that ‘did you hear Carmilla having sex last night, I would have complained but it feels wrong to get in the way of two chicks, you know, cos lesbians are totally hot’ and you think Carmilla must have gotten wind of it because the next time you and he see her in the corridor he winces and almost falls over himself to get back in his room. Yikes.

Perhaps the worst thing about it is that Carmilla is hot. And she knows it, if the sultry gazes and smug smiles she gives the girls Laura sees her with are any indication. You’re not falling for it though, you just appreciate that no-one should look that good in leather trousers.

Now the big question, do you brave your scary neighbour (who probably isn't even awake yet) or do you risk the wrath of Newlan? Neither is a particularly enticing prospect. But, against your better judgement you find yourself outside Carmilla’s room and you’ve knocked before you can talk yourself out of it.

“Yes?” comes the irritated shout from behind the door.

“It’s Laura? I think I sent my paper to your printer?”

The door flings open to reveal Carmilla in a London Calling t-shirt and thigh highs, hair mussed from sleep or other things you are resolutely not thinking about. Holy crap.

Carmilla makes a ‘Wait here’ sign with her hand and all but snatches the paper up from her printer before returning to where you’re waiting nervously. Carmilla stops for a moment, as if she’s seeing you for the first time and looks you up and down assessingly. Making an elaborate gesture with her hand, Carmilla holds out the paper for you to take.

Momentary silence follows. You shuffle your feet awkwardly. “Thanks, I’m sorry if I woke you, it won’t happen again… I can give you money for the ink if you want?”

Carmilla doesn’t reply, just raises one exquisitely manicured eyebrow and stalks back to her bed. You thank her again but since Carmilla doesn’t even look up you consider yourself dismissed and turn to leave. And maybe if you weren’t so sorry about accidentally sending your work to the wrong printer, you would definitely think Carmilla was a massive a-hole.

***

Your computer must have a mind of its own, because you swear you sent your powerpoint to the communal printer in the recreation room, but no, the words HP M1120 Karnstein are on the screen and you want to scream. Every bone in your body is begging you to just leave it, Carmilla will throw the paper out and you can go round and apologise and maybe pay for the ink this time and everything will be fine. Something is nagging at your brain though, because wouldn’t leaving it be awkward? You should go over there now and apologise, scary neighbour be damned, and perhaps get your essay while you’re at it.

Girl the hell up, you remind yourself, you’re scared of a philosophy junior who doesn't even know how to wash her own clothes if the water trails from the laundrette are any indication.

Carmilla’s door is already open when you get into the corridor.

“It won't happen again, right creampuff?” says Carmilla, seeing you lurking in her doorway.

You feel yourself going red. “I know, I’m sorry, it turns out I can’t work a computer, but I’ll totally pay for the ink this time and I’ll find a way to delete your printer from my wireless or something-”

“As much as I enjoy listening to you ramble cupcake, I’m trying to have a nap and could do without being woken up by my idiot neighbour using my printer to print her substandard Rossetti essay.”

Any trace of remorse has gone, and you glare, your hands clenching and unclenching automatically. “...Substandard?!”

“You make the link of sexuality as a theme, and yet you don’t follow it through.” Carmilla pauses and takes a step towards you, and you can’t help but openly glare. “Why is that, Hollis? I would say no-one could be that naive, but the way you let that giantess of a redhead traipse around after you I’m starting to believe you really are that provincial.”

“Danny says my points are very well-developed,” you manage to say before instantly regretting it.

The smirk on Carmilla’s face says it all. “I’m sure she does, then again she'd say anything to get in those high-waisted jeans of yours.”

You feel your face scrunch up. “Danny isn't likethat, she’s respectful.”

This gets a chuckle from Carmilla. “Is that meant to be slight against me or something? From the way Clifford hangs around you, your essay themes aren’t the only thing you have trouble following through with.”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business! Just because you flaunt yours under everyone’s noses doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t have some standards.” You wince at that because that sounds nothing like Perry’s start of year speech about respect, no matter how true you think your statement was.

Carmilla looks at you with that distinctly unimpressed expression.

“Look. Carmilla,” you pause, shuffling from foot to foot, “I’m sorry, that was a disrespectful thing to say, you’re free to make whatever life choices you want.”

“Oh well, it’s sonice for you to say so, I was just waiting for your approval.” Carmilla sneers. “Here’s your essay, I’m sure you’re just dying to go give it to darling Danny.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat.

“Yeah, yeah cupcake, do me a favour and go be sanctimonious about someone else you don’t know, yeah?” Carmilla’s back is already to you.

Your essay comes back a week later covered with the professor’s illegible scrawl, ‘good analysis, Laura, but your themes could be more developed’. You scowl all the way home.

***

It’s fair to say things are a bit tense after that. Carmilla seems to have an endless parade of girls in her room whose late night activities mean a string of sleepless nights for you. If Carmilla was doing this on purpose you wouldn't blame her, but it doesn’t stop even after Perry has ‘a civilised word’ and you end up spending two nights in her and LaF’s extra-large double before your midterm.

Sometime in the following week you have an all-out argument with Danny and spend that Tuesday night crying onto LaF’s shoulder on the pretence of being upset about Ten/Rose as you watch Doomsday on their laptop. It’s all made considerably worse by Carmilla coming out of her room just as you're dragging yourself to class the next morning, sans make-up with your only clean clothes thrown on in a befuddled daze.

“Well don’t you look like shit, cupcake?”

“Go away, Carmilla,” you mumble, but there’s no venom in it, you feel too numb to care.

Carmilla’s smirk falters, her expression becomes unreadable. “Good riddance, right?”

You turn to leave. “Right.”

***

Friday night finds you at the journalism department’s ‘professor and student wine & cheese’ and not at Perry’s floor showing of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Unfortunately. The event is supposed to encourage student/professor interaction, but is actually the academic version of a high school dance, where the two parties face each other off from either sides of the room. Professor Cochrane comes and says hello to you just as the wine is handed out, and you manage to hold your end of a conversation about blog culture, even earning an impressed nod as she glides away to greet a colleague. You’ve just gone back to the buffet for seconds when you see Carmilla near one of the pillars. What, wait, Carmilla? What would a philosophy major be doing at a journalism wine & cheese, which you were pretty sure you had to be invited to? But then you see Alona, your journalism T.A. with her. They look very cosy, conspiratorially laughing together as Carmilla lounges against one of the room’s pillars. You’ve never looked at your T.A in that way before but she’s pretty, you guess, her dreadlocks tied up in a ponytail, wearing a form-fitting maroon dress that hugs her curves. And you know she’s intelligent. They look good together, your mind supplies. In her black lace top and leather pants Carmilla makes a distracting plus one.

Even when you are engaged in conversation with one of the senior professors and three people from your study group you still find yourself glancing at Carmilla. You see her swipe two more wine glasses off a passing tray and hand one over to her companion with a smile that makes you stomach do something you’re resolutely not thinking about.

As hard as you try to keep track of what your classmates are saying, your eyes are drawn back to Carmilla and Alona. You notice you’re not the only one, they’re drawing the eyes of a blond girl you think you've seen in class before whose pining isn’t exactly subtle. Carmilla really gets through them, you think absentmindedly. You try your hardest to focus back in on the conversation.‘The worst thing to happen to the reputation of journalists is journalists’ one of your classmates is saying, which your professor chances on immediately in that terrifying way but you tune it out because Carmilla is taking Alona by one outstretched hand and pulling her through the crowd of students. You watch as two walk hand in hand to a small alcove right of the three-piece string ensemble, Carmilla pulling a chair close for the other girl and finding one for herself. They’re out of sight now, you can see the half of Carmilla’s head that isn’t hidden by the pillar and none of Alona, not that you want to.

“And you Laura? What is your project on this semester?” Your professor is looking at you expectantly and you take a breath, smile, and tell her about your latest video series for Newlan and the problems you’ve been having with your camera. It’s ok, you’ve got this.

Carmilla is alone when you next look over and by the time you finish your conversation she’s gone.

“Well don’t you look like a virgin sacrifice,” says a voice from behind you.

You whirl round and see Carmilla lounging by the refreshments table.

“You think it’s too much?” You look down at your cream tea dress and can feel your eyebrows furrowing. Betty from next door... your other next door, had helped you pick it out and to be honest you still weren’t sure.

“You scrub up well Cupcake,” Carmilla says, and you’re not watching her give you the once over.

Carmilla’s lips curve up at one corner and geez, how is she that hot and why does it look so effortless?

“Where’s Alona?” You manage to ask.

“She went home already, something about a big summer society event tomorrow?”

Ah, you think, the Adonis festival, the Silas event of the year. Isn’t Danny... You shut yourself down before you even start to think about the summer society Vice President. That way lies disaster. If only your self-control extended to Carmilla.

Carmilla clears her throat. “Why, you two friends or something?”

“She’s my T.A,” you tell her, “I thought you might have known that, since you two are... obviously good friends.”

“She’s cool,” Carmilla says in that offhand way that you can never decipher. “Spends a lot of time complaining about the freshmen in her class, something about them being tiny and annoying?”

Your face falls.

Carmilla smirks with that a somewhat wicked glint in her eyes. “You’re so easy to tease cupcake”.

“You’re an asshole,” you say sulkily.

Carmilla leans back against the table. “Guilty as charged.”

You’re almost too busy thinking about how you respond to that that you don’t see Professor Newlan with a paper plate of hors d’oeuvres perched daintily in her hand looking straight at you.

“Nice to see you again Laura” she says in that way that could mean ‘I know everything you’ve done wrong since you were twelve and I’m filing a report’ but could also mean ‘I could crush you under my expensive footwear if you displease me’.

“Hello professor,” you reply, feeling remarkably calm despite being in front of your professor with an empty wine glass in hand, but you’re technically all adults here, however much you don’t feel like it.

“I’m very much looking forward to watching your latest video blog, you have the accompanying report all planned out I presume?”

“Yes professor, I think I’m going to write about the integrity of audience/vlogger relationships.”

“It sounds very promising, I look forward to reading it.” Coming from Newlan that’s like seeing a gold star stuck at the bottom of your page and you take the praise happily and aren’t the slightest bit annoyed when another student cuts you off in their haste to curry favour with your favourite scary professor.

“You know the whole integrity thing is futile right?” A voice drawls from behind you.

“What?”

“Your precious vlogger’s integrity, your main argument of your paper is going to be that you with your ~little camera setup are able to build a consistent and extended relationship to your viewers right? That they get the inside scoop into whatever devastatingly exciting things you get up to besides using all of my printer ink?”

You think about arguing, but the truth is that is the main argument of your paper, and you’d been bookmarking youtubers to use as examples for weeks.

“Truth is, cupcake, you can’t maintain your precious vlogger’s identity without ultimately becoming a soulless media brand and thus this whole enterprise is doomed.”

“And the flawless logic behind this is?”

Carmilla crosses her arms over her chest. “Well, the audience have to believe you’re showing them the real you right? Which is impossible, since you control and edit what they see… You’re only gonna get support for ‘Laura Hollis the Media Brand’ and your integrity is actually non-existent.”

“And the alternative?” You almost snap. “Leave the camera on 24/7? This is vlogging, not 1984.”

“Because being the blog version of Nick Carraway is better?” Carmilla smirks and waits for a reply.

You’re not about to get into a lengthy discussion with Carmilla about unreliable narrators, you’ve had enough of that in English Lit. And you didn’t even like Gatsby.

“But I’m sure your viewers will see how well-intentioned you are…” she continues and you guess the high pitched voice she affects while saying ‘well-intentioned’ is supposed to be you.

You hate that the silence makes Carmilla think she’s won.

“Well maybe I trust my viewers to believe that I’m not lying to them, that not everyone in the media is out to feed them a media image, I mean there has to be a reason why vlogging is so popular and maybe I want to believe that’s because people want to connect with other people on this basic empathic human level and if you weren’t so negative you’d see that!” You realise you’ve just released a tirade in a crowded room, but no-one is staring, which can only be a good thing. Except for Carmilla, who is looking at you with something like surprise and something other, something indistinguishable: like the cogs deep in her brain are whirring and her face is slack to compensate.

But quickly, the disdainful expression is back. “You do realise you just made an entire speech about the advantages of voyeuristic curiosity right? I didn’t peg you as being so kinky, cupca-“

And holy shit you’re leaning in, well up, actually, to kiss her before you can even process what the hell you are doing. Carmilla’s lips are soft and her perfume that you hadn’t really smelled before smells good now you’re in such close proximity. A hand settles on your lower back and pulls you closer with insistent pressure, not that you need coaxing because you lean in willingly. The kiss had started out frantic, borne out of a split second decision, but somehow had grown slow and controlled in the intervening seconds while your mind had apparently taken a temporary vacation from your senses. You’re the first to pull back, feeling dazed, but there is a smug feeling blooming in your chest when Carmilla stays silent, breathing heavily.

“Remind me never to debate with an argumentative philosophy major.”

Carmilla’s mouth twists into a haughty smirk which is betrayed by the fact her eyes are still smiling. She’s still a little out of breath. “Maybe I just like to piss people off, cupcake.”

“Well you’re certainly good at it.”

“Or maybe it’s just you’re cute when you’re angry.” Carmilla’s eyes are still smiling over the rim of her wine glass. She was flirting, that was definitely flirting.

Carmilla puts her wine glass down and puts her hand over the top of your glass too, wresting it from your grip easily and placing it on the table beside hers.

“Where were we,” says Carmilla, stepping back towards you again and you laugh because oh god is that a bad line, but you’re kind of oddly charmed anyway.

Carmilla’s eyebrow arches. “You’re laughing at me now?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, that line was bad, even from you.”

Carmilla’s mock offended act is very convincing, but soon cracks. “I was going to do this,” Carmilla teases, her lips ghosting over yours, “but then someone started laughing at me.”

You giggle again but manage to get yourself under control, but apparently you don’t because you’re still giggling when Carmilla really does kiss you, slow like before, her thumb coming to rest on your cheek. Sometime before Carmilla pulls away you realise you’re kissing at a faculty event and it’s embarrassing enough to make you step back from Carmilla because A) that is so unprofessional, B) what if one of your professors is watching and C) you don’t really fancy all the questions you’d get from nosy classmates on Monday if you continued kissing Carmilla right by the refreshment table. You look around, the room is surprisingly empty, just a few clusters of students remain deep in conversation with each other, but none of them are looking at you.

“Something wrong, Laura?” asks Carmilla.

“No, no,” you smile, “have you noticed we’re kinda in public?”

Carmilla freezes, watching you silently for a moment and then that smirk is on her face like nothing happened, “we could always take this somewhere more private.”

You feel warm at this, but your stomach is also beginning to roil and you can feel your blood rushing to your head. Oh God, she really means it.

The thing is, you want to do this. It’s surprising but simultaneously not, you’ve just been kissed by a pretty girl and there’s no reason not to, and there’s a little part of your brain that’s reminding you of some promises you made to yourself when you came to college. Still, you can’t help but feel a little out of your depth. Maybe you’re overthinking it, trust you to overthink, Carmilla is probably thinking what a naïve idiot you are. Girl the hell up, you remind yourself, this is college- it’s not like she just asked you to prom.

“Sure,” you say breezily, ignoring Carmilla’s sceptical look. You take her hand, rubbing her thumb idly with yours, smiling at her in a way you hope is mildly seductive as you exit the hall together. She stops, just outside the building and turns to you, taking the other hand you're not holding.

“You’re sure about this?” She asks.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you smile, leaning in for a quick peck on the cheek before your heart beats out of your chest.

The walk across campus has never seemed so short, or so warm.

You're used to trudging about the place in your woollen peacoat with a scarf, yet today you’re wearing that tiny tea dress with your coat slung across one arm and Carmilla’s hand in yours.

The other girl’s hand is warm, and you could attribute the hot feeling to that, but you know that isn't the only reason. Your corridor comes into view and you go to tug Carmilla onwards but you meet resistance.

She pulls you by your linked hands, and you stumble off to the side with no finesse, not that you have any time to process this, because you’re being backed up against the wall just by Jesse’s door.

"Don't you think Jesse's gonna notice?" You ask, in between kisses.

"Jesse the asshole?" Carmilla smirks, leaning in for a long kiss that wipes any remaining questions from your mind.

“Carmilla… maybe not in the corridor?” You’ve not let go of her hand yet, so you use it to drag her towards your room, even managing to get your door unlocked in one move.

“No need to ask my room or yours,” Carmilla laughs.

You get inside and a second later drop Carmilla’s hand, planning on spinning round and kissing Carmilla some more.

She’s lingering in the door though, and that’s when you realise it’s the first time she’s been in your room. You look round the four walls with renewed interest, wondering what Carmilla can glean about you by looking around as she is.

You’re well enough versed in Carmilla-language by now to know she’s about to say something snarky, and to be honest, you’re still smarting from your ~debate earlier and have had enough of Carmilla’s smart mouth.

Unless it’s on yours, andwhy aren’t you kissing?

You step into her space, surrounded by your things, and press your lips to hers and neither of you seem to want to come up for air any time soon.

Her hand snakes into your hair and the other comes to rest where your back meets your ass, her thumb resting in the hollow there with a firm pressure that is still somehow different from the roughness you would have associated with her. It’s not that Carmilla isn’t playing you like a harp though, she’s already discovered that sensitive bit on your collarbones that has you making something embarrassingly like a squeak. Her thumb is circling your back now, your skin feeling like it’s on fire but before you can respond Carmilla is leaning back slightly, her thumb no longer moving. You’re not going to beg her to change that, not yet anyway.

“Are you alright? Do you want to continue?” she asks, scrutinising your face.

“You think I wanna stop now?” It comes out sounding as incredulous as you feel.

She laughs, but steps back father and her hand leaves your hair. She’s still watching you closely.

“Yes I want to continue.” You’re surprised you sound so sure, because it’s true, but your mind is racing a mile a minute and you feel a little shocked at your recklessness... but also a little thrilled by it.

There’s only a split second between you finishing your sentence and Carmilla stepping closer again, hands resuming their place in your hair, pulling you to her in the cramped confines of your dorm room. Which is seeing surprisingly more action than you thought it would. Go you!

You stop thinking for a few seconds after that because her lips are at your throat and it’s pretty much all you can do not to have your legs collapse from under you.

There’s definitely a part of you that can’t believe Carmilla Karnstein is in your room and kissing you like the world would end if she stopped, and you can definitely see why she has no shortage of study buddies. The thought is sobering, if you’ve only got one chance at this you can’t get distracted, you’ll think about after… you know, after.

It’s your hand that graze her sides this time, skimming down her torso to her hips and moulding your hands to the bone. The bone feels hard under your hands, but you also feel the warmth of her skin though your t-shirt when you pull her close. Not surprisingly, working at the buttons on Carmilla’s shirt is hard when you’re in such close proximity but neither of you make the move to step away. You’re still kissing when you get it undone all the way, and it hangs off her shoulders revealing only tantalising glimpses of a black lace fringed bra. She seems to get the hint though, because she shrugs out of it with practiced ease and leaves the wispy lace to pool on the floor soundlessly while her hands are already reaching down to your thigh to skirt the hem of your dress.

It doesn’t surprise you that she’s a tease.

Two fingers and a thumb are wound in the bottom of your dress, inching it upwards so slowly and all you can do is whine against her mouth in response. It’s with no amount of relief on your part when she starts to finally drags the garment up with a slowness that borders on torture and you know her knuckles brushing your thighs is entirely on purpose. Getting it over your head is less straightforward, but she makes it seem so effortless dangling the dress from three curled fingers while you watch, letting it fall slowly to the floor. Determined to show Carmilla a similar amount of finesse you reach for the button of her pants and manage to get it undone one handed and can’t help mimic her solitary eyebrow raise as she smirks back.

“Trying to outdo me now?”

You can’t exactly think of a witty reply because you’re too busy looking at her panties and how they match her bra and Holy God the fine mesh at the back makes them partially see-through, so you need to just… take a moment. Not a very fast moment because who needs to look when you can pull this stunning girl to you and put both of your hands on her ass. Where they belong.

Carmilla is looking at you with a smile that shows no small amount of confidence. “As nice as this is,” she runs one finger under your bra strap and takes it down your shoulder, “it’s just going to have to come off.”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” she drawls, just as as slowly as she is taking your other bra strap down and moving her hand to unclasp the back. You have to quash any instinct to cover yourself with your hands because Carmilla is staring.

Her mouth is close to your cheek when she tells you “you’re so pretty like this”, her breath tickling the shell of your ear. The words make you blush and you don’t doubt their sincerity, and who could when she’s moved on to kissing you like that but you also don’t doubt how many other girls have heard them, when given their fifteen minutes in the sun.

It’s a thought you need to shove to one side.

You pray to whoever is listening that you manage to to remove Carmilla’s bra off without embarrassing yourself. The prayer goes unneeded because you remember how to take a girl’s bra off without causing anyone undue injury.

It’s okay, you reassure yourself, it’s not like you haven’t ever done this before (not with a girl you’ve only known a month, your mind supplies) so you make up for the anxiety wreaking havoc in your belly by cupping Carmilla’s breast and lowering your mouth to the top of the other. Carmilla’s shaky exhale is perfect in your ear and it’s with mounting confidence that you walk you the both of you a step back in the direction of the bed.

You’ve given up any pretence of going slow, you close the gap between Carmilla’s back and the bed, pushing her down by her hips, grinning when Carmilla’s legs fall open just so and you settle yourself between them. You don’t leave any time for Carmilla to respond, sucking bruises into the pale skin of Carmilla’s neck while she whimpers. The rush of power is heady and slightly dizzying, it’s affecting your ability to think because there’s this woman beneath you, who usually has beautiful women swooning at twenty paces and yet Carmilla’s whining, arching up so you can touch her more, and it’s completely desperate and perfect.

When you finally decide to move down her chest her hand tangles in your hair, and it just spurs you on. You get reaction enough when you lave at her nipples, but it isn’t the loss of control you crave to see, so you test sucking and smile against her when her panting gets louder. It’s still not enough. You bite down softly, just at the underside and bingo, that was the reaction you wanted, Carmilla’s hips jerk and your name is on her lips immediately.

“Yeah?” you ask breathlessly, “You like that?”

Carmilla’s eyes are wide.

It’s with no small amount of reluctance that you leave Carmilla’s breasts but there’s miles of toned stomach laid bare, so you really can’t complain. Carmilla thrashes when you ever so lightly run your fingers up and down her sides, moving to trail your index and middle finger along where the hem of her black bikini briefs meets flesh. She must have recomposed herself somewhat in the intervening thirty seconds if she feels up to smirking at you, propping herself up so she’s resting on her forearms.

“Are you just gonna tease me all evening, creampuff?” You can tell she doesn’t mean it, because her eyes are smiling and her lips curl up more when you huff slightly. Apparently Carmilla even likes fishing for a reaction when half-naked and under you, which you should probably see as Carmilla being her usual self, but feels a lot like a challenge.

You keep steady eye contact but drag two fingers over the blossoming wet patch on Carmilla’s underwear, watching intently as Carmilla exhales shakily, her head lolling back. You press forward, keeping your fingers teasingly light, sucking kisses into the base of her throat. She sinks backward to the bed, and you follow, still glued to her neck. Shifting upwards is a bit awkward, because this is all happening pretty fast but you manage not to elbow or crush Carmilla which is definitely an achievement. You may not be the most experienced person ever, but you’re very much the one in control right now and elbowing Carmilla in the face would definitely ruin the frantic, desperate thing you have going at the moment.

Carmilla seems to not notice your nerves, because when you kiss her she responds hungrily. Her hands fly to your hips, stroking the skin under your shirt before jamming a leg in between your thighs and pulling you down hard, and it’s your turn to pant because the friction is all sorts of perfect. It’s only a momentary distraction though, you’re pretty sure you could out-stubborn just about anything and so you quicken the speed of your fingers over Carmilla’s clit to the sound of her throaty whine. You take delight in inching Carmilla’s underwear down just a little, waiting for her to fall for your teasing.

She mewls your name, just as predicted, and people pleaser as you are, you give in, hooking your fingers into Carmilla’s briefs and tugging until they’re in an awkward bunch around her kneecaps. Carmilla’s reactions are addictive, spurring you on to move back down and pick up one leg and give Carmilla a taste-of-her-own-medicine smirk. Pressing your lips lightly to Carmilla’s ankle you slide one hand down her calf, following with your mouth until you reach her panties before finally sliding them down over her feet.

“Finally,” and there is the familiar smirk.

“Don’t push it, you,” you laugh, but you’re cut off by Carmilla moving quickly and wrapping one of those long legs around your hips, sliding the smooth skin of one calf along your side until the skin there tingles. You fall forwards with little grace as her leg pulls you in tighter and all the air is knocked out of your lungs. You’re kissing once more, and it makes the heat low in your gut that had slowed to a simmer flare into life again.

But you have a job to do here, and you’re nothing but dedicated.

Carmilla reaches up to cup her own breast and you place your own over it in response before taking hold of one dainty wrist and moving it to your floral bedspread. You hold her hand there in limbo and return obediently to lick at one nipple and biting down softly again, exploiting the knowledge that it gets her so riled up. Carmilla’s responding moan is as low as her speaking voice and you feel it against your cheek. Disjointedly, you see her lips part and sound must be coming out of them but you’re too busy taking in the scene and feeling her throat hum to care. It’s hard to wriggle your hand down between your bodies when the balls of Carmilla’s feet are pressing into your ass and keeping you close but you somehow manage it, and her reaction when you brush your fingers over her clit is more than worth it. You watch for her wince when you add the slightest bit more pressure so you keep your fingers light and you would try to kiss her but the arm keeping you up is threatening to give out already and you have to last just this bit longer.

There are words tumbling out of Carmilla’s mouth but you can’t catch them between her heavy breaths, but you think one may beoh and another please and she’s all kinds of beautiful with her hair half over her face and half strewn on your pillow, a flush creeping across usually pale skin. You inch your hand downwards, collecting her wetness with two fingers before sweeping upwards again in one smooth motion which is greeted not by a moan, but a huff. One of those eloquent eyebrows crinkles and her hips jerk upwards, pushing themselves into yours where Carmilla is squeezing you tight with her legs. You hear her huff again, and you should have known she’d be impatient but the smooth roll of her hips is doing nothing for your concentration. Dipping your hand down, you finally slide one finger inside. The angle is sufficiently uncomfortable and your left arm is faintly buzzing with something like pins and needles but you don’t stop, not when her back is arching upwards. Carmilla’s legs fall to the bed. You find yourself craving to hear that moan again, the one Carmilla had made when you had bitten down on her breast earlier, when you had left the mark you’re looking at now. It spurs you on, and where your rhythm was shallow before it’s now fast, another finger curling beside the other to Carmilla’s wrecked moaning.

Carmilla’s eyes flick open suddenly, and you’re looking into dark eyes for what seems like a long moment before your eyes are drawn to her slightly open mouth huffing fast breaths. Of course, she catches you looking.

She opens her mouth to speak again but you cut her off swiftly to kiss her smugness away, and being down on your elbows is definitely more comfortable and less conducive to your arm falling off. She kisses you hard, and it just feels too good, you suppose this is where Carmilla's practice pays off because her tongue is driving you crazy. You can feel Carmilla smiling against your mouth when the kiss finally breaks but you can’t let your (relative) inexperience get the better of you, so you shift just the required amount to stroke over Carmilla’s clit with your thumb.

“God, Laura, Laura-” you hear the unspoken plea and feel powerless against it, powerful because of it, and it doesn’t take much to speed up the thrusting of your fingers and the winding circles of your thumb until Carmilla’s breath hitches and she’s coming undone beneath you. The feeling is a little something like adrenaline, ok, a lot like adrenaline, mixed in with a little pride and something else, something that makes you press happy kisses against the side of Carmilla’s face as you watch her float down.

You stop though, because the face kisses are probably not good post-hookup etiquette and you don’t want it to be something Carmilla teases about later, when she realises what a colossal mistake she’s made letting a naïve provincial girl into her bed.

You don’t have time to follow this line of thought through because Carmilla has her hands on your ass and your brain promptly shirt circuits. So much so that your back meets the mattress with a thwump before you can process. Surprisingly the kiss that follows is sweet, deep, slow and you’re reluctant to let it go when Carmilla starts pulling away.

She lifts herself up on her hands, bracketing your sides and looks at you for a long moment with something you dimly recognise as concern. “Are you still alright?”

“Are you?”

Her sudden smile is beautiful as you look up at her, and you don’t expect the soft “...yeah” when it comes accompanied by one of those drowning kisses.

The change in pressure is strange, Carmilla in control and pressing down, coaxing a response out of you that you’re all too willing to give.

“I can’t believe you’re still wearing these,” Carmilla announces. She’s straddling your upper thighs now and staring down at your underwear, trailing her fingertips over the front of the cotton. You squirm upwards to try and get her fingers where you so desperately want, no need them, but normal Carmilla is back in form, all knowing smiles and teasing eyes.

“Not yet cutie, I want to take my time with you.”

The sound that comes out of your mouth is strangled and far-away sounding. Carmilla’s hands slide kneecaps to thighs, under your panties, feeling the course of your legs and down again before your underwear is coming completely off in a single fluid motion not even staying around your legs for a moment before they are slid off you completely.

“There you are, beautiful,” Carmilla says like she’s never seen you before, a little like the first time you turned up on her doorstep a month ago.

You’re a little torn, you want to kiss her words into nothing, kiss away those other girls who had gotten to see her like this but you’re also desperate as all hell, and if you don’t come soon, you are pretty sure you are going to explode. You don’t tell Carmilla that though, you’re sure her ego doesn’t need it.

It’s possible that Carmilla has mind-reading powers and it’s also possible that she is a massive tease because she crawls up your body, taking one of your hands and moving it above your head. Her fingers are warm in yours and she takes great care in kissing down your arm, nosing your check and following with warm lips. Every inch of your face and shoulders is liberally dusted with kisses and despite a valiant effort on your part you can’t even roll your hips to get Carmilla to get a move on because she’s sitting on your stomach. The bi–-bad person.

“Carmmmm,” you mewl, and this time you nearly unseat her with a hard roll of your hips.

You hear her laugh and feel her hot breath on your nipple. It’s nice, but it’s also something akin to torture. Craning your head, you watch as Carmilla lowers her kiss-stained lips and sucks hard, and god it’s all too much. The hand not pressing yours into the mattress comes up to massage your other breast while her mouth is sucking a dark bruise into your skin. You think you’re moaning, your hand is definitely gripping Carmilla’s tightly where your fingers are interlaced.

Carmilla sits up and surveys you with an almost imperious air, eyes travelling down your body.

Your cheek receives another kiss, the valley in between your breasts, your abs, and you think you can hear Carmilla say something and you can feel her mouth move against your flushed skin of your chest.

“I can’t hear you.”

Carmilla raises herself back up, mouth poised over yours, grin wicked.

“Curious Laura chose to linger,” she drawls lowly, kissing her way back down your chest and gliding her hands down your upper thighs, pulling them apart.

“What?” You ask in a daze, because just a second ago her hands were heading very much in the right direction, but now they’re skirting round your hip bones sweeping down incrementally slowly.

“It’s from Goblin Market, I printed your essay remember…” She keeps her gaze steady but it's then that you feel pressure over your clit, light at first but not enough. Your hips make that clear enough because they jump into Carmilla’s hand. You’re kissed lingeringly, her breath in your ear and her hand making maddening circles with just enough pressure.

“I remember,” you tell her, or at least try to in between pants, “but I think you’ve seen I have no problem developing the theme.”

“No, creampuff, you really don’t,” she replies and before you can take your time to be smug about it Carmilla is gone from your ear and is sucking marks into your right hip, moving lower.

The sight and feel of her crouched between your legs is sensory overload, tendrils of her hair whispering against your stomach while she stares up at you, smirking, just like you had expected her to. But you refuse to think about hypothetical Carmilla when the real thing is in front of you and currently teasing you by running her fingers up and down where you are wet and waiting and wanting.

You’re not expecting her to announce it or anything, but the flat stroke across your clit is a surprise, and you can feel the tug in your belly start to tighten. She keeps her tongue broad, and it’s not that it isn’t good, you can hear your quick, shallow breaths in your ears telling you so, but you want ~more but you couldn’t explain it because you’re certain that if you tried to speak now it would come out in a garbled mess.

“Please,” you breathe, and apparently you can speak, but it’s limited to one word at a time.

She stops, and you mentally kick yourself. “What is it Laura, tell me what you want.”

You’d be damned if you could tell her. You’re not thinking much of anything at the moment.

“You want this?” two fingers are dipping inside, just barely and you squirm closer but Carmilla stays your hip. “What was that?”

You say please again, but it comes out in a long drawn out whine you should perhaps be embarrassed by, but Carmilla takes the hint, and you watch, rapt, eager, as she lowers her head again and you feel her tongue once more- your head meets the pillow.

She’s certainly not waiting anymore, the twin sensations of her fingers curling inside you fast and the rhythmic sucking at your clit are too much. You can feel the orgasm simmering beneath the surface, a pulsing sensation you are helpless to ignore but it’s when Carmilla teases your clit with a tiny flick of her tongue that you’re gone, convulsing up off the bed, garbling nonsense with your eyes squeezed shut. The world comes back to you slowly, yet not so slowly that you yearn for the fullness of her fingers inside of you the moment she slides them out.

“Never thought I’d hear you swear like that, cutie, you’d make a sailor blush with that mouth.”

You don’t even remember swearing, but you can believe her because she just made you come harder than you have in a long time. Carmilla flops on her side next to you and on impulse you kiss her, as languidly as you’re feeling. Her mouth manages to attach itself to the join of your neck and shoulder, sucking softly until you’re gasping again and when her hand sneaks down to rubs circles on your clit again you don’t stop her.

“Carmilla?” you look into her face and see only quiet determination there, and her smile is small and slightly shy.

“Didn’t think we’d stop there when you can clearly go for round two, cupcake.”

And she does.

***

Saturday morning is already over when you wake up. Your eyes bug out when you see the time on your phone screen because you had things to do today… and that’s when you remember the previous night. You can’t really not, with Carmilla fast asleep beside you with noticeable nail marks down one shoulder blade, splayed out on her front with her hair a tangled mess on your pillow. Your lack of regret feels slightly alien to you, you’d never really thought of yourself as a person who could do...this before, but Carmilla is in a category all of her own and you couldn’t refuse, not when she kissed you at the party, and not when she pushed you down into the bed after the third time, whispering more sweet nothings into your ear. It just sucks that it had to end.

But this is how Carmilla is, your five minutes is up and now Carmilla will move onto the next girl.

Rinse, repeat.

You sigh, and part of you wants to keep her all day just to hold on a little longer, but this is much like a band-aid, you think, and the sooner she’s gone the sooner you can concentrate on. Not. Thinking. About. Her. Or the frankly amazing sex you had last night.

You go through the motions of a day with Carmilla still sleeping in your bed. You shower, change, tidy up your room (bedsheets excepting) and settle down to the journalism reading you have to do for Monday, casting occasional glances back to the sleeping woman. You’re lost in the history of the broadsheet newspaper when you hear a yawn from behind you.

“Mornin’.”

“It’s almost three in the afternoon,” you snap. You didn’t mean to sound so cold.

Carmilla doesn’t look surprised that it’s so late, but what did you expect from a girl who’s been known to play obscure metal bands in her room ‘til 3am with no concern for dorm noise restrictions? Her eyes land on the pile of clothes you’d tidied and put on top of your bean bag and her mouth curves into an amused smile.

“What’s got you out of bed so early on a Saturday?” She asks, sitting back on her elbows.

This draws your attention to her breasts of course and she catches you staring.

“Journalism reading,” you say, holding up the photocopied pages.

“How dedicated.” She gets out of bed infuriatingly slowly, one long leg after another and stands to stretch, arms flung above her head. You stare, unashamedly. You watch her shirt and pants go back on, but her panties are still hanging off her finger. Oh dear God.

She stalks over to you, her hand slipping under your chin. When she pulls back it’s so slow, you open your eyes to see her unwavering gaze and you almost reconsider letting her go. “I’ll see you sometime soon then, cupcake?”

You take it as a platitude, something to cushion the blow, and watch her cross your dorm room.

“Bye cutie,” she says.

And then she is gone.

***

To your surprise, life reverts back to normal pretty instantly. 

You kind of think you have ‘I had a one night stand with Carmilla Karnstein’ written on your forehead somewhere but you don’t because no-one looks at you funny and you mostly just noodle on the way you had been before. High school is definitely over. The first time you see Carmilla, you know, after, is the following Tuesday, after your dreaded history class.

“Hey, Laura!”

You turn around and there she is, in her customary leather pants and an old Pantera t-shirt that is worn in several places. The leather pants are somehow more appealing now you’ve seen her out of them, and they hug every curve and the butt you spent a lot of time touching- stop, Hollis, this line of thought is not helpful.

“Hi!” you say with a perkiness you don’t feel. You don’t really want to deal with this now, not after two hours of ‘the Political Consequences of the Paris Commune’ with Buchard. Who you still hate.

“Hey, I’m sorry I haven’t been around much lately, I have this project on ‘Free Will and Moral Responsibility’ and who knew, it requires me actually turning up to group sessions, so I’ve been busier than I thought…” she trails off, ducks her head down before bringing it back up, smiling this little smile you can’t really work out, “so I haven’t had a chance to hang out with you like I wanted to”.

It feels a little like a slap in the face, that she thinks your ego is so fragile she needs to pretend you’ll hang out again in order to little provincial Laura down easily. You’re irritated, and you don’t care if she knows it. “Well, I’m late for my next class already, so.” and you leave her standing there in the corridor and you don’t see the look on her face when you round the corner.

***

Your friendship, no, acquaintance, with Carmilla is a bit strange. You don’t exactly know the protocol for sleeping with your next door neighbour but you smile at Carmilla in the corridor, and sometimes, just sometimes Carmilla’s lips turn up a little. Or maybe you’re just imagining it. For Christmas, your dad gets you a printer. It’s a little clunky and ink is like way expensive, but you’re very grateful to your dad- you’re especially grateful that he set it up, because you have no idea how this wireless thing works. The gratefulness only lasts two weeks. It’s paper printing time, and yet the damn thing isn't playing ball. In fact, it refuses to acknowledge that you’ve sent 10 zillion print jobs. The rec room printer gave up the ghost and still has ‘do not touch’ on a thousand sticky notes in Perry’s careful handwriting and the nearest I.T room is across the quad, and it’s still snowing steadily.

“Work you stupid machine!” You exclaim, adding a solid thwack on the printer in question for emphasis.

“Having trouble there cutie?”

Of course Carmilla is in your open doorway. She’s wearing a black sheer top with a black skirt with cute in-built suspenders and looks far too put together for a Sunday night.

“Going anywhere nice?” you ask, gesturing at Carmilla’s outfit. Carmilla looks down, and then her lips curl into a smirk when she catches you still looking.

“...I went on a date.” Carmilla says at last, perfectly level tone not giving you any indication how said date went. It’s matter-of-fact, perfunctory.

“Oh?” you reply, your voice comes out higher than you intended, an awkward kind of squeak.  This a perfectly normal conversation,  you remind yourself, a perfectly normal conversation to be having with someone you’d slept with who just happens to be Carmilla Karnstein with her Serial Study-Buddies, who apparently just went on a date.

Carmilla comes into the room proper. “It was atrocious, we ran out of conversation topics after about 20 minutes and then I had to endure her attempts at small talk, and I’m not exactly good with pleasantries.”

“Well, you don't need to tell me that.” Well done, you think, you've gone and insulted her again.

Carmilla throws her head back and laughs, a real laugh that echoes in the small room. When silence settles something has changed, the mood in the room feels warm to you, comfortable, almost. So you go and make it awkward again by making eye contact for too long until Carmilla’s smile falls off her face. Smooth, Hollis.

Carmilla runs a hand through her hair. “Yeah, well, the things I do to please Will.” She sounds like she’s talking more to herself than to you.

The printer is all but forgotten now. “Will?”

Carmilla smiles tentatively, not an action you would have associated with her, but there it is. “My brother, he’s a freshman, like you. I think he’s friends with that Zeta I saw you with that one time.”

You don’t bring up the fact that Carmilla remembers seeing you with Kirsch, filing it away instead. “Will Eisen is your brother?”

Carmilla takes in your look of confusion. “We’re both adopted, so different last names.”

You nod in understanding. “And he set you up on a blind date? And you went?”

“Well only because he was annoying about it, the little brat has had years practice in how to wind me up.” Carmilla prickles, but you see the fondness that lies beneath it. You can’t help smiling at the sweetness of it all. The sweetness of the Carmilla that goes on dates. Did you say dates already?

“Anyway,” says Carmilla quickly, “What were you cursing about when I got here?”

“My printer won’t work.”

“You can use mine if you want?” Carmilla says.

You have to work quickly to hide your astonishment and then very quickly try and find excuses to refuse, you can’t and you need this essay. “That’s nice of you, please let me pay this time though”.

“It’s ok, creampuff, especially if it stops you abusing your poor printer over there, when I walked in I almost thought you were going to swear.”

“I swear!” you reply quickly.

Carmilla doesn't deign this with a response, just arches one eyebrow, smirk fixed firmly back in place.

You follow Carmilla into her room after sending the file to print, stepping over the threshold for the first time. It’s messy and if Perry saw it not even LaF’s exploding test-tube magic tricks could keep her from cleaning it. There is an impressive floordrobe, ranging from plaid shirts to pairs of pants and...is that a thong you can see? You dread to think.

Carmilla sees you looking and at least has the decency to look ashamed. “..Sorry about the mess or whatever” she says, and you have to laugh, because there is no sincerity behind it whatsoever. Carmilla pulls out her desk chair, and gestures for you to take a seat. “Make yourself comfortable.”

You spin once, perfunctorily. The chair spins easier than yours and is surprisingly more cushiony. Huh. Carmilla looks over and chuckles, a brief amused sound that you find yourself getting used to. “Trying out my desk chair now?”

It’s your turn to look sheepish. Carmilla’s bedshelf/cabinet thingy is strewn with stuff, including many tomes of what looks like old editions of philosophy books and travel guides and coins strewn over most of the surfaces which are probably the exploded contents of one of the empty purses on the floor. There is very little decoration to speak of, bar a few posters, including two of obscure rock bands you haven’t heard of and some framed art prints around where Carmilla’s pristine Mac stands.

“Woah, nice computer.” you say appreciatively.

Carmilla colours slightly, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “It was a gift, from my mom.”

You nod, let it drop, and the comfortable silence stretches on in the small dorm room. The sound of the printer whirring makes you both jump.

“Here it is, ‘The ethics of journalism: A critique of celebrity child culture’ ” Carmila reads. “Not lit this time then?”

“No, I haven't taken any literature modules since…” you trail off.

Carmilla makes an ‘ah’ sound and nodding, hands over the essay. “In future you can just...come and ask to use the printer, if you can’t fix yours.”

Your eyebrows knit together. You’d thought that since the wine & cheese Carmilla would be the first one to cut contact after she’d breezed out of your room but no, apparently her sense of neighbourliness extends to letting you use her printer. Or maybe her sense of appreciation for really good sex, you think, and then chuckle at the ridiculousness of your own inner monologue. Carmilla looks at you like you’ve grown an extra head.

“Are you sure?” You reply at last, “I wouldn't want to be any trouble-”

“Cupcake, it wouldn’t be any trouble, I don’t use the thing anyway, philosophy lecturers aren’t exactly with the times, they still let me hand in handwritten papers.”

You shuffle back to your own room, replaying the many ways in which that could have gone smoother.  You think about Carmilla in the next room over and wonder what she’s doing. Either you need to find your cool, you resolve, or you need to start avoiding Carmilla.

***

Suddenly, just after you’ve decided you absolutely not allowed to lose your chillaround your loud, messy neighbour, she’s everywhere. Before this, you’d thought that Carmilla was one of the ‘gets high marks but doesn’t ever turn up for class’ strain of college students, but no, you see her in the Robespierre building coming out of a class and you smile but don't stop to talk. Two days later she’s in the library, hefting ‘The Collected Works of Rousseau’ while chatting animatedly to an admittedly cute-as-hell librarian wheeling a trolley.

“Hey Laura,”Carmilla says as she breezes past and you stop because she just called you Laura like she uses it every day and this Carmilla takes you back a bit, because she’s smiling at you like it’s no big deal in a way you could even describe as affable. Huh.

In the next few weeks Carmilla saves your life several times. Well, her printer saves your G.P.A, but you feel this is tantamount sometimes. Your history requirement thoroughly kicks your ass and you’ve never had this many assignments in your life and you can’t say you don't value Carmilla’s help as she proofreads your disastrous Bonaparte essay at half three in the morning the day before it’s due.

“I think this rhetorical triumph deserves a drink” Carmilla announces as the printer falls silent again. A science documentary is playing on her computer screen. You watch her go over to the fridge and pull out a screw-top bottle of champagne and gather two (clean-ish?) glasses from her overflowing dish rack. She makes pouring the two glasses of fizzy liquid look like an art form, where did she learn that? You think before Carmilla gives you the larger of the two flutes.

“‘The truest wisdom is a resolute determination’,” announces Carmilla, clinking your glasses together, “and to writing papers at 3am.”

You must look confused because she sighs and gives you that eyebrow. “It’s Napoleon? Really cutie, are you learning anything in that class or is your freshman experience as useless as mine was?”

You laugh at that, because you hate this class with a passion and have no qualms telling Carmilla that. The first glass of champagne is gone before you can really register, and Carmilla beckons you over from your seat on the desk chair by holding the bottle up questioningly. “Refill?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

“Maybe make this your last one though cupcake, I wouldn’t want you facing the devilish Mr Buchard still drunk”.

This makes you laugh, because really, Mr Buchard is a rather large jackass and it both amuses and terrifies you to imagine yourself turning up to one of his lectures drunk.

You press your lips together in a tight line. “I can hold my alcohol though, I mean I have drunk before, this isn't my first time.”

“But you do the provincial girl act so well, sweetheart.”

You ignore the comment for a second and go to sit on Carmilla’s desk chair (no, not the bed) and something inside you bristles, you pretend to be watching the astronomy documentary playing on Carmilla’s laptop screen.

“Geeee, thanks” you say finally and take a swig from the champagne glass. You’ll show her provincial. You’ve been much better at not putting your foot in it around Carmilla lately.

Carmilla chuckles and it just makes you bristle more. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, it’s not like I know enough about you to know whether that particular accusation is true or not”.

“It’s… not untrue.” you relent. In your tipsy fog you realise she's completely right, she doesn’t know you, it’s not like you’ve  been big with the chit-chat.  You list the things you know about her: Carmilla is a frankly disruptive neighbour, she’s adopted, she has a younger brother, she’s gay (but you shouldn’t assume that either) she has a printer and is into philosophy and rock music and is great in bed.

  You mull the thought over in your head for a few moments. “I’m from a small-ish town, my dad’s the chief of police, everyone pretty much knows everyone, I’m sure you can fill in the rest of the picture.”

She chuckles quietly. “First time out of the hamster cage then?”

“Yes, I mean I used to spend the summer with my grandma in England, my father’s family are fr-you don’t wanna hear this, I’m just rambling…” you trail off.

“No, I’m interested, carry on” Carmilla says, and she sits right on the bed nearest her chair and your legs are within touching distance. She’s looking right at you and the right side of her mouth is turned up slightly like it does when she sees you in the hall or in the library.

“I’m talking over your documentary anyway,” you say, hoping Carmilla will take the hint.

“You’re sat right in front of the screen, sweetheart, I can’t see a damn thing with you in the way.”

You mumble an apology and get up. The only other seat is the bed. “Come on cutie, you’re not gonna get anything from sitting on my bed.” Carmilla sounds jovial but you think you can detect an undercurrent of hurt.

Carmilla’s eyes stare pointedly at the space beside her and then flit back up to you, so you move to sit next to her, your feet just dangling over the bed where the both of you are sat sideways. You feel the heat of her shoulder on your bare arms and you shiver.

“You cold, cupcake?”

“Yes?” You answer, because that wasn’t the reason why you shivered.

Carmilla stares at you with a mostly confused expression. “I have a jacket you can borrow?”

“It’s ok,” you say far too brightly, “I’ll just go get the blanket from my room.”

You speed out of the door and into the safety of your own room, grabbing your grandma’s blanket off of the bed. You stop just before your door, and take a deep breath, you can do this, it’s just hanging out with Carmilla at 3am in her bedroom, no big. It’s not like she’s in it for a repeat performance. On purpose, you measure your strides back into Carmilla’s room, walking as purposely as you can in a way that belies your nerves.

“That is hideous, creampuff,” Carmilla says when she spots the blanket.

“Don’t be cruel, my grandmother made this for me!”

Carmilla giggles, properly giggles in a way you’ve never heard before. “The English one?”

“Yes,” you say grumpily, sitting down and arranging the blanket so it only covers your legs. “The English one.”

“I’m sorry,” Carmilla says between giggles, like she can’t help herself. She sees how you’ve arranged the blanket and mock pouts. “I don’t get any blanket after I made fun of it, is that it?”

“Yes,” you say determinedly, daring yourself to look at Carmilla’s pouting face and stay stoic.

“Fine,” Carmilla replies slowly, this time raising an eyebrow. Oh damn.

You can feel yourself relenting. “Oh go on then,” and you spread the blanket across Carmilla’s legs as well.

On the screen, some guy is standing on a mountain against a backdrop of stars. “The conditions would become hotter and hotter and denser and denser until, down there in the heart of the star is the core and its in there that all the ingredients of life are made.” says the man, with a look of awe.

“It’s comforting, to think how small we are in comparison...” Carmilla pauses as if she’s going to continue, but stops and hones back in on the screen.

“You are definitely a philosophy major” you say, noting how Carmilla’s gaze has a faraway quality to it. You don’t want to pry. To be honest, you have a very hard time keeping up with what the man on tv is saying. Carmilla is intently focused on the screen, completely absorbed, but to you, he’s talking another language. You don’t care though, you enjoy the quiet lull of the room and Carmilla’s solid presence beside you. The alcohol is making your stomach feel warm and hazy and it’s not too long before Carmilla’s side is the only thing keeping you upright. When you wake up, the screen is black and silent. You can still feel Carmilla beside you but the blanket has been tucked tight to your chin and it itches your cheek.

“I see someone’s awake,” says Carmilla’s disembodied voice from above you. You open your eyes to see her staring down at you, a Kierkegaard book held open in the one hand that isn’t trapped by your body.

Sitting up, you smile at her sheepishly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s ok cutie, I’m not unfamiliar with the post essay crash and it looked like you needed the sleep.”

Carmilla’s miniature Carriage clock (which you’ve teased her about, of course) chimes five and you yawn in response.

“I think someone is definitely tired,” says Carmilla smugly.

You roll your eyes at her but manage to yawn at the same time which is really not doing your argument any good. “Are you throwing me out? How rude.”

“I think you will find I’m an impeccable host.” she gestures to the champagne. “But you also have class in five hours.”

She’s right. Ughhh.

Carmilla opens her door with a flourish. “I can trust you’re a big girl and can get to your own room. You glare at her good-naturedly before shuffling out into the hallway between your rooms. “Thank you for looking over my paper.”

Carmilla is leaning against her door with one foot on the ground and the other against the wood of the door, watching you unlock your own door. Something in the pit of your stomach feels very warm by her gaze, which doesn’t feel the least bit intrusive.

You look up again when your door is unlocked. “Goodnight Carm.” Carm? Where did that come from?

“Sleep well, Laura.” You hear but you don’t see her say it because you’re already inside your room.

You nod and thank her for the paper and then shuffle back to your own room, mourning your lack of cool which seems to fly out of the window whenever you’re with Carmilla.  You think about Carmilla in the next room over and wonder what she’s doing. Oh no you Hollis, you are not allowed to have any sorts of feelings about that girl. Just because you had sex that one time does not mean you can get a crush on stupid Carmilla Karnstein with her leather pants and her working printer. Godammit.You fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.

 ***  

You’re in the Douglass building, the shiny new communications block, printing yet another essay, when you hear a voice from behind you.

“Are you cheating on my HP with that fancy double-sided model?”

You whip round to see Carmilla, in leather pants and a t-shirt with no midriff leaning against the end of the printer table.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” you reply.

Carmilla smirks and steps closer. Your heart starts to thud.

“I think I can keep a secret.” Oh god is she going to kiss you again? Are you going to kiss her? Part of you thinks go for it, but this is Carmilla you’re talking about, flirting with girls seems to come as easy to her as breathing, you should know. It wouldn’t surprise you if she was getting a kick out of you being so flustered. The thought takes root with a sickening sinking feeling. She’s just playing with you. She’s probably laughing at how easily you respond to her, and how easy it would be for her to get you back into her bed. You need her to leave.

“So.” You ask abruptly when Carmilla stops, very much in your space but leaning against the countertop. “What are you doing here?”

Carmilla looks around, as if caught off guard. You see her shoulders relax again a second later. “Just catching a talk on” she rolls her eyes and makes air quotes, ‘the Legacy of Existentialism in Modern Media,’ why, wanna join me?”

“Nope, just here, printing my essay… which you see me do a lot so I’m just gonna…”

You think you’ve probably embarrassed yourself enough in this two minute interaction, after all she’s in your space and the first thing you could think of was to ask an inane question in your need to get her to go away. She’s looking at you though, looking or staring-you’re not sure and you think you catch her eyes flick up from your lips. Were her eyelashes always that long? Her expression is unreadable. It’s not possible for her to be any closer to you without standing on top of you and she’s so close you could count every eyelash, in the back of your head a voice is yelling ‘she’s leaning in, she’s going to kiss you’ when the printer sputters, heralding the finished print job.

You curse yourself for letting her affect you so easily. You’re putty in her hands and she knows it. Your insides clench and your hand finds its way into one of your pockets where you grip the fabric of your pants in order to hide your frustration.

Carmilla starts, leaning away again. She reaches around you, and you think her knuckles graze your hip, picking up your document and handing it to you.

“I’m gonna be late for that talk, I better go, but I’ll see you round yeah cupcake?”

“Sure,” you say in the most even voice you can manage. Your teeth grind together.

Carmilla has partially turned away, but she turns back and suddenly her long delicate fingers are stroking your hair.

“I really like your hair like this,” she moves her hand up to the two French braids that make the ‘half up’ half of your hair.

She’s only turned away for half a second when you finally snap. “You can’t just do that.”

“Do what?”

“You can’t just get in my space and expect I’ll… fawn over you! I may be an,” you repeat her air quotes gesture, “easy target, but don’t expect me to roll over for you every time you give me attention!”

“...What?”

“That’s what you’ve been doing, right? With your late night study sessions and your stupid space documentaries.” It sounds so… so petty out loud.

“That’s what you think’s been going on? Creampuff, I…”

“No, Carmilla, you don’t get to call me that when you’re only interested in getting in my pants again.”

Carmilla draws herself up. Was she always that tall? “You know what, I’m late to my lecture, and when you’re done judging me, for frankly I’m not sure what, you can come find me.”

She stalks off and you watch her retreating back. You’re still as angry as hell, but the twinge of uncertainty wasn’t planned and you end up dwelling on it all the way back to your dorm room.

 ***

LaF arrives five seconds after you text them, with two pastry twists and a share size bottle of Grape soda. “So what’s up?”

“I was hoping you could fix my printer, it’s doing that thing where it ignores print jobs, like I told you yesterday?” you gesture to the printer sitting forlornly on your desk, looking as forlorn as you feel.

LaF raises an eyebrow at you, their look clearly tells you to not even try it. “I mean what’s going on with you and Carmilla, I thought you were printer buddies?”

It’s the first time and perhaps the last time you’ve ever heard the words ‘printer buddies’ sound dirty, and that and the corresponding nudge make you burst into (stunned) laughter. (You’ve had your fair share of well-meaning ribbing over the years, the subjects variously being your height, your ferocity on the soccer field in relation to your height and the various trainwrecks of crushes you’ve had over the years.) La Fontaine definitely sees your smile fade and does not comment upon it, for which you’re grateful, and goes over to your printer to start doing whatever they do that always makes temperamental technology work.

They work in silence for a few minutes, you eat your pastry on your bed and try not to disturb their genius. You’ve learnt your lesson from once trying to get too involved in one of LaF’s cooking experiments which Perry wasn’t there to supervise. Surprisingly, it’s LaF who speaks first.

“You’re ok though, Laur?”

You look up from your pastry. Are you ok? Mostly you feel a bit numb, the same way you felt about Danny months ago, but this is made all the deeper by the fact Carmilla is your stupid neighbour and you have to see her all the time. Hopefully not anymore, your working printer saving you from having to go into the rec room, trudge across campus or from worst case scenario, using Carmilla’s.

One of your favourite things about LaFontaine is that they don’t pry, you always get to confide in them on your own terms and it’s the kind of ever present support that you wish you had in high school when years of  being painfully self-conscious had made you doubt the genuineness of other people’s presence in your life. This doesn’t mean they can’t pull secrets out of you like a string of scarves from a magician’s hat though.

“It’s a mess.” you say at last.

“The printer?”

You must give them a look, because they smile sympathetically and come and sit next to you on your bed, so close that your legs touch. You wait for a moment, maintaining eye contact and when they continue to smile at you you lean sideways, tucking yourself into their side while their arm loops around you.

“What’s wrong?”

You sigh, “I slept with Carmilla after the journalism wine and cheese.”

There’s no judgement in LaF’s expression, only the merest trace of concern.

You duck your head before you do something silly like cry.

“It was really that bad huh?”

“No, actually that part was kinda awesome” you say, more of an aside to yourself than anything else.

LaFontaine’s knowing smile makes you laugh. “So what’s the problem then Frosh?”

“Well, we slept together-”

LaF cuts in, “-and she gave you the brush off?”

“She did the whole ‘let the little frosh down easy’ routine, you know, we’ll hang out soon, blah blah blah…”

LaFontaine’s answer comes muffled where their head is pressed against your hair. “And you know it’s just a routine because?”

“Because she’s Carmilla! That’s what she does... I know you’ve heard Perry’s rants about her… nocturnal activities” you say with exasperation.

This elicits a fond chuckle from LaF. “Of course,” they smile, “but just because Carmilla has slept with some people doesn’t mean she doesn’t mean what she says, who else do you see her sharing her stuff with.”

You think about that for a moment, but that obstinate part of you is still protesting on your behalf. Time for a change of subject. “Can we try my printer now?”

They smile and exhale and you’re grateful they don’t comment. Turning back to your computer screen you find the printer and test run the document. Nothing happens.

LaF comes over, lifts the top of the dread machine and scowls. “Sorry Laur, turns out not even I can fix this.”

“It’s okay.” you say, and the empty feeling in your stomach can only really be half attributed to the printer. “You really think Carmilla was hanging out with me to… hang out with me?”

Where did that come from? So much for avoiding the topic.

LaF gives you a look that clearly says why not, as if they’re waiting to see a lightbulb above your head.

“But… when do you ever see Carmilla with anyone she’s not sleeping with- it’s not like she has any friends.” You hear scuffling outside door. LaF’s eyebrows ascend into their hair and they go to open the door.

“Laura I think someone dropped somethi-”

They stop suddenly, and you see they have something in your hand. It’s not half a second before you realise it’s the printer test page. Shit. Shitshitshit- You sent the printer test page to Carmilla, while you were bad mouthing her, while you were saying she had no…

Oh shit.

LaF is cringing. You feel you should be.

You wipe your hand down your face. “How am I gonna fix this?”

“Apologise, maybe?”

Why is LaF always right? “...Why are you always right?”

“Because I spend too much time with Perry,” they say and smile a comforting smile which you know you don’t deserve. They come back to tinker with your computer some more, maybe thinking it’d make you feel better and not like there’s a massive Carmilla-shaped elephant in the room, clicking down from where it says ‘HP M1120 Karnstein’. Your printer starts to whirr.

But apparently you have no brain/mouth filter because you ignore LaF’s attempt at changing the subject and letting you think about it later by saying the first thing that circles in your head for more than a few seconds. “The worst thing about this whole…” you make a vague hand gesture,  “is that I kind of miss her.”

LaF’s eyebrow raises in confusion.

“When we were hanging out… it was… fun? You know, before I thought she was using me.”

LaF gives you a truly put upon look. “Apart from the fact that she’s incapable of not flirting with people, what gave you the impression she was using you?”

Your silence is all the answer LaF needs.

“All I’m saying is that I don’t think Carmilla willingly spends a lot of time with anyone, and yet you two have been thick as thieves…”

You roll your eyes, it’s not like Carmilla is in want of study buddies, and she has half the female student population eating out of the palm of her hand… but would you call you and Carm’s friendship study buddies? You’d thought… before, you’d thought… could she? No, right?

Now LaF is smirking at you. What is it with the residents of this floor and smirking? Did Perry give a seminar and you missed it?

Surprisingly LaF leaves after only minor prodding and with only a few… dozen knowing looks. They do meaningfully repeat that you should write an apology, which you know is sound advice. If only apologies were your strong point. They’re not. You settle into bed that night with a heavy heart and with earphones on from the angry music Carmilla has been playing for the last hour. It takes a long time for you to get to sleep.

***

Guilt has this awful way of lingering, you guess that’s part of what makes it guilt. Carmilla’s music, some loud female-fronted rock serves of as an ever present reminder of how you messed up and so the feeling gnaws at your stomach. Not even cookies can settle it, and trust me, you’ve tried.

That’s when you get a brainwave.

Your fingers are only shaking slightly when you pull up a word document and begin to type. The words come easily but all wrong, so you hit the delete button angrily a few times and erase entire sentences, but finally the words make sense and you hope it makes sense to Carmilla too. Maybe she’ll forgive you.

You spend the hours of 10-5 with your finger hovering over the ‘HP M1120 Karnstein’ by the print button. You nearly click it a few times but end up in a hole of cute animal videos on Youtube and you manage to get all of your homework for the next week done. You should clearly be consumed in an endless pit of guilt more often if it’s going to make you this productive. You take a sip of your cocoa, exhale once and press send. Through the paper thin walls of your dorm you can hear Carmilla’s printer and the sound of bass guitar strings thrumming.

There’s nothing left to do but wait.

She must have got it by now, but you’re not going to push, even when you watch Doctor Who from the foot of your bed facing toward the door instead of at the head.

You’re just about to go to bed when your unlocked door swings open.

“I’m still pissed off at you.” Carmilla says. And geez, this time it’s her that looks like shit. You don’t understand why, it’s you that messed up.

“Carmilla, I really am sorry.” You know you should leave it at that but your mouth is always getting you into trouble. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I am sorry for being so judgemental.”

“I’ve heard that before cupcake.” Carmilla spits. “You told me I was free to make my own choices, remember,  I have no reason to believe you now.”

“No, you don’t.” You agree. “But for what it’s worth,” your voice gets low and crackly, “I really did like hanging out with you, and I’m sorry that I misjudged you.”

“What I don’t get,” she grounds out, “is that you thought I thought I was only hanging out with you so I could sleep with you!”

“You weren’t?!”

Carmilla huffs, but the expression on her face is mostly exasperation. “No, Laura… I was…” Carmilla’s shoes suddenly become very interesting to her. “God this conversation could not get more embarrassing.”

“Oh...” you’re smiling because Carmilla likes you, had been trying to find excuses to spend time with you and it's surprisingly, pretty much everything you want to hear. But it doesn’t fix this mess. “It’s just I didn’t think that you… did relationships.”

“Because someone who has casual sex is incapable of having relationships? Or choosing to have different kinds of relationships at different times?”

“I’m sorry I assumed.” And it doesn’t sound any better for repeating it.

Carmilla’s mouth, which had been set in a hard line softens momentarily.“I guess I’m sorry for not asking you out properly when I had the chance.”

“Why didn’t you?” you ask.

Carmilla blushes. Actually blushes. “I kept chickening out.”

“Carmilla Karnstein chickened out of asking me out?”

“Yeah yeah,” Carmilla grumbles. “Laugh all you want, cupcake.”

“Look,” you steel your nerves. “I know you don’t have to believe I’m sorry, but I am, and I’d really like to hang out with you more, if you want. If you don’t that’s fine, but if there’s any hope of a second chance for us to be friends…”

“I think I’d like that very much,” Carmilla says, soft and thoughtful, hair obscuring the expression on her face as she looks down slightly. “But I’d hold you to what you said in this,” she holds up your letter and you keep eye contact for a long, searching second.

You smile even though guilt is still churning your insides. You imagine many more conversations like this with Carmilla, before you can regain your footing around her and show her you’re worth her time. “And we’ll… see how it goes?”

Carmilla comes in from the doorway and takes a seat on your bed. She looks across at you, and you smile tentatively back at her. Her hand covers yours on the blanket. “And we’ll see how we go.”