Chapter Text
Stelle breathes in and observes the world around her. Loud, messy, sad. Some would say that it’s a terrible night to drink, but the person sitting two tables away from her has decided that tequila is a good option for her today, and honestly – who is she to say no?
She smiles at the absolutely gorgeous lady from across the room, who does a little salute back in her direction. It’s not often she gets drinks from strangers like this – and she rarely ever accepts. But today she does - maybe because she felt like she really needed it today.
As she gulps down the shot in front of her, ignoring the burning aftertaste – she almost misses the woman making her way towards her. She almost feels like running away, because actually talking to someone else right now would be too much, but some invisible force binds her to her seat.
It’s fate.
Probably.
“Drinking all alone?” The woman asks, an innocent smile on her face. Her hair is purple – in a shade Stelle hasn’t seen anyone ever look good in. But somehow, this woman manages to look beyond attractive with it. And her lipstick, oh – Stelle almost wants to reach out and taste it for herself – it probably tastes like cherries, with how red it is.
But of course. She does none of that, and instead does the normal thing, which is to giggle really loudly.
“Hehe, I didn’t come here to drink.”
Luckily, the woman doesn’t seem to mind her behaviour.
“But… you’re at a bar. Did you come here for the food? I could recommend you a million places with better food than here.”
Stelle isn’t tipsy or drunk. No way. It’s just been one shot, and she knows her limits. She has outdrunk the Sampo Koski himself, so this should be nothing.
She just feels a little dizzy. Maybe from the drink, or maybe from the attention.
“I came here for the people,” She replies, still smiling. Technically, she’s not lying. This bar usually has the exact right amount of people – not crowded enough to overwhelm her, and not little enough to make her question her entire existence.
The woman takes the bar seat next to her and rests her elbow on the table. The way she looks at Stelle… it’s so aggressive. Like her attention is solely focused on her. Not that Stelle minds it, of course.
“I’m here for the same reason, but…” She swirls Stelle’s drink slightly. “Not for people. Just for one person.”
“Are you here for me, by any chance?”
The woman fake gasps. “How did you guess?”
Stelle giggles, again. “‘M just smart like that. You’re very pretty.”
“Why, thank you. I’m Kafka, by the way. You are…?”
“Stelle.”
“That’s a beautiful name, Stelle.”
“I picked it myself.”
Stelle quickly downs the second shot before her mouth gets to taste it, and it positively burns through her entire being. She doesn’t understand why anyone would drink this, ever, but she does like the feeling that comes with it. A feeling that lets her feel more like how she used to be. Free, open, fun .
“You don’t have to drink it so fast. Savour the taste, Stelle. It’s one of the last good things left in the world.”
“The taste of tequila? You can’t tell me you actually like it?”
“It’s a flavour that’s unforgettable, in my opinion. It’s like something that doesn’t exist yet, but you’re the one who gets to taste it for the first time.”
Kafka gets closer to her as she says this, and Stelle almost doesn’t have the heart to disagree. Who else says things like this about kind-of spicy alcohol?
“Poetic, but I don’t get it. I guess I just drink for the sake of getting high, you know? To feel better.”
“Is that why you’re letting me buy you these shots? Do you have something bothering you?”
Is there something bothering her… Hm. Not quite? Everything is fine. She works and goes home and she sleeps and she eats and she goes back to work. Life is doing as life always does. She’s made peace with it.
Before Stelle can respond, Kafka raises her hand to call one of the servers.
“I don’t think either of us are drunk enough for this. Two shots for both of us!” She exclaims, before moving the previous glasses away from Stelle. It almost feels like she knows something Stelle doesn’t.
“No, I’m alright. I guess I was just tired today.” Stelle thinks before adding: “And you’re pretty. Like, really pretty.”
“Stelle, have you seen yourself? You look… outworldly beautiful.” Kafka brushes a strand of Stelle’s hair behind her ear, catching her off guard. “I can’t have such a beautiful girl sit all by herself now, can I?”
Stelle rests her cheek on Kafka’s hand, slightly flustered. This still feels unreal.
“Oh – and look! Our drinksare here. Perfect timing, thank you…” Kafka takes the tiny shot glass and brings it to Stelle’s lips, eyes motioning to open her mouth and drink it all in.
Stelle almost forgets to breathe as she swallows it all, at the way Kafka is so… in control of both of their movements. It makes her feel like a dog – the hand on her cheek, the command to open her mouth, the way Kafka looks at her, like she just wants to eat her up.
Kafka follows suit as she downs two more drinks. Stelle almost whines when her attention moves from her to the glasses, but it comes back just as quick – Kafka’s hand on her cheek, and her thumb tracing Stelle’s bottom lip. Just aching to go in and explore her mouth.
“You’re so cold, but your lips are so warm,” Kafka states, eyeing her mouth. It makes Stelle so much more impatient – it’s like she knows exactly what she wants but refuses to give it to her.
Well, Stelle doesn’t take it lying down. She never claimed to be a good dog, anyway – so she takes Kafka’s thumb in her mouth, suddenly feeling smug. She makes direct eye contact with the woman in front of her, as if to say Now what? Not knowing that this was Kafka’s plan all along – to test her limits. Kafka carefully removes her thumb from Stelle’s mouth (She almost has the urge to bite it so she doesn’t take it back but stops herself because that would be weird, right?) and tightly grabs her jaw instead, to pull her into a firm kiss.
Contrary to what Stelle previously assumed, Kafka’s lipstick does not taste like cherries. Or maybe it does – but it has been completely overpowered by the taste of tequila and lemon, a match made in the most lustful part of Hell. Kafka bites Stelle’s lower lip and the sensation of pain rings through her entire body. She shifts in her seat to cover the middle of her jeans better, but Kafka somehow reads her mind and leans in further towards her chair, almost forcing her to spread her legs. Not that she does anything about the very obvious hardness. It’s as if it’s her life’s purpose to edge Stelle until she gives in and just takes what she wants – and right now? Stelle’s patience is wearing thin.
When their lips part, Stelle gasps at the line of saliva connecting them – another manifestation of fate, another way for Kafka to signify her hold on her. It feels almost insane that this is the first time they’ve met – the way they just fit into each other feels like they’d probably known each other for centuries.
Kafka grips her jaw again and licks up her cheek, before whispering in her ear: “Meet me in the washroom, fifth stall.”, and Stelle doesn’t know if she’s just really horny or what, but her words send a shiver down her spine, and catch her so off-guard that she doesn’t even notice Kafka walking away.
Stelle takes a deep breath to bring her back to reality. She notices the bartender who is doing their best to not make eye contact with her, and two untouched shots in front of her. They bring that giddy feeling back, that feeling of loneliness finally being satiated, when her thirst felt slightly quenched when Kafka ran her fingers across her lips–
She downs the last two drinks and makes her way to the washroom, as discussed – slightly stumbling.