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They have an agreement. Friends with benefits. Fuck buddies. However you want to call it. Started after Ava moved in to help with rewriting her set, just two friends blowing off steam, a quick way to get their heads out of the gutter and focus on the material they're creating together. Deborah won't say no to a good lay. Even when she was furious about that damned email, she still couldn't resist when Ava looked at her like she wanted to devour her.
It's always hurried, quick, discreet. No one can know. Hotels after shows, green rooms between sets, one of her houses, LA or Vegas, when they have time. Quick, efficient, then they separate.
They don't talk about it, not before, not after, and no sentimental talk allowed while they're fucking. Because this is what it is, two friends fucking. Not a boss and an employee or anything that would make this complicated. They're just friends who like to fuck each other.
Like last week in the hotel, Deborah pushed Ava against the door the second it closed, hand down her pants, made her come in under three minutes, licked her fingers clean and then went to take a shower alone.
Two nights ago after teaching her how to float, Ava dropped to her knees and ate Deborah out by the pool, then walked out wiping her mouth with a smile. Deborah moaned so loud in that echoey place that she's afraid they're banned from that 4 Seasons Hotel.
But Ava breaks the rule one night on the bus, after Deborah bombs at a shitty venue. The kind of bomb where the silence is louder than any booing.
She goes straight to her bedroom when they get on the bus. Doesn't look at anyone, doesn't make jokes. Just closes the door and sits on the edge of the bed, still in her stage clothes and takes a deep breath. She's going to get ready for bed and try to forget this horrible evening.
She's already removed her jacket, wig and makeup when there's a soft knock.
"Go away."
"It's me." Ava's voice, quiet.
Deborah doesn't answer, but she doesn't tell her to leave either. The door opens. Ava slips inside, already in her sleeping clothes, locks it behind her, and sits down next to Deborah on the bed.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine." Deborah still doesn't look at her. "Just tired."
"Liar." Ava's hand finds hers on the bedspread. "That crowd was dead before you even went on."
"Doesn't matter." Deborah's voice is flat. "I still couldn't find the rhythm. Couldn't make any of the material work."
They sit in silence for a moment. Ava's thumb traces small circles on the back of her hand.
"Maybe you'll feel better after some rest," The redhead says, but she doesn't move to leave.
Deborah should tell her to go. Should crack a joke, deflect, make her sleep on the bus couch. But she's so tired and Ava's hand is warm and steady and she can't quite make herself pull away, so she kisses her. Maybe a good orgasm will make her sleep well.
"You were incredible tonight." Ava says between kisses, and her voice is fierce. "That crowd was dead and you still gave them everything. You didn't give up. You're brilliant, Deborah."
Deborah's throat tightens. "Ava, don't, we don't do this."
"I know." Ava reaches up slowly and cups her face with both hands. "I know we don't. But I need you to hear it anyway. Because tonight wasn't your fault, you were in your element, they didn't deserve you."
Deborah should stop this. Should turn this back into what they usually do: quick and physical and safe. But Ava's looking at her like she hung the moon and she can't quite make herself pull away.
"You're amazing," Ava whispers, leaning in until their foreheads touch. "You. Are. Everything. Let me show you. Please."
Deborah opens her mouth to say some joke about Ava being dramatic, some way to make this lighter, but the words die in her throat when she sees Ava's raw expression.
Deborah knows what she's asking. Not their usual quick fuck. She should say no.
Instead she just nods, barely, and Ava's hands are still cradling her face like she's the most precious thing on Earth.
Ava stands slowly, pulling Deborah up with her until they're both standing in the small space between the bed and the wall. She reaches for the buttons of Deborah's stage shirt, fingers working them open one by one, and the older woman just watches her face, watches the concentration there, the tenderness.
When the shirt falls open, Ava slides it off her shoulders and lets it drop to the floor. Her hands skim down Deborah's sides, tracing her ribs through the thin white tank top underneath, and Deborah's breath catches.
"This too?" Ava asks softly, fingers at the hem.
Deborah nods, and Ava pulls it up and over her head. Deborah's standing there in her lacy bra and stage pants now, and Ava's looking at her like she's seeing her for the first time.
"Your turn," Deborah says, her voice rough in anticipation.
Ava pulls back and reaches for the hem of her own oversized shirt. She peels it off in one smooth motion, and Deborah's eyes go to her breasts immediately, the soft curves, the way they move. She never gets tired of seeing them, feeling them.
Ava's hands come up to cup Deborah's face again, and god, Deborah loves her hands, long fingers, soft palms, the way they're always so gentle with her even when Ava's taking control.
"Come here," Ava whispers, and she reaches for the blonde's pants, undoing the button, sliding the zipper down. Deborah steps out of them when they fall, and Ava does the same with her own sleep pants until they're both standing there in their underwear, close enough to touch, close enough to feel each other's heat.
Deborah's hand moves toward Ava's breast, ready to grab, to rush this along the way they usually do, but Ava catches her wrist gently. "Let me," Ava whispers, bringing Deborah's hand to her lips and kissing her palm. "Let me take care of you tonight."
Ava reaches around and unclasps Deborah's bra, slides the straps down her arms, and tosses it aside. Then she hooks her fingers in Deborah's underwear, questioning, waiting.
"Yeah," Deborah breathes softly, and Ava slides them down, kneeling as she does, and Deborah steps out of them.
When Ava stands back up, she takes off her own underwear, and they're both naked now, facing each other in the warm light of the small bedroom.
She guides Deborah back onto the bed, laying her down gently in the middle, and then she's hovering over her, looking down at her with such intensity that Deborah has to close her eyes for a second.
"Look at me, please," Ava whispers.
Deborah almost can't. Almost keeps her eyes shut, almost retreats into the safety of darkness. But the girl's voice is so gentle, so sure, and Deborah finds herself opening her eyes despite every instinct telling her not to.
Ava starts kissing her with such care and dare she say, love. She kisses her lips, slow and deep, then each side of her face with such tenderness that Deborah feels her whole body tremble. She kisses her temple while running her fingers through Deborah's short hair, and Deborah can smell that hotel shampoo mixed with something that is just Ava, making her dizzy.
"You're amazing," Ava whispers when she reaches the lobe of her ear, because they can't make noise, Marcus and Damien are just beyond these thin bus walls. Deborah's breath quickens and she digs her fingers into the sheets, trying to anchor herself to something that isn't Ava's mouth, Ava's hands, Ava's words that feel too much for this small room.
Ava continues and goes to the other ear, giving it a little nip on the lobe before whispering, "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you," and the next kiss lands on the sunspot Deborah knows is there.
"Yeah? And how's that?" the blonde whispers so low she doesn't know if Ava heard it, but then the girl's green eyes meet hers again and she needs to focus not to look away from what she sees in them. Ava looks at her with so many emotions intertwined and Deborah doesn't know what to do with that, doesn't know what to tell her without breaking whatever this moment is.
"Like the most beautiful, classy, smart and funny woman in the world." She says it between light kisses, and Deborah's chest tightens, warmth flooding through her. She wants to say something back, wants to tell Ava she's wrong, or that she can't say things like that, or maybe, something true, say to the girl what she thinks about her too, how Ava bring the best in her, like her laugh after a good joke is the most rewarding thing Deborah ever heard, but she can't. Her throat closes up and her pulse hammers in her neck, in her chest, and mostly between her legs. So she does what she knows how to do: she pulls her into a fierce kiss, their tongues meeting, making space for each other, and she kisses her hard enough that maybe Ava will forget what she just said, forget that she's trying to turn this into something it just can't be.
Ava pulls back, her lips swollen and wet, and they just look at each other for a moment, breathing hard. Deborah's hands find Ava's breasts, finally allowed to touch, and she cups them, thumbs brushing over hardening nipples, watching Ava's face as she does.
"God, Deborah," Ava breathes, and then she's shifting, moving down Deborah's body. "I need to, let me touch you."
"Yeah," Deborah says, because she knows what Ava needs, what they both need. "Yeah."
Ava's voice drops lower and she doesn't let Deborah think about anything, doesn't give her time to deflect. She slides to the foot of the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight, and she's kissing her way up the blonde's body.
She starts with her calves, taking her time on each leg, and Deborah feels every press of lips against skin like a brand. Ava leaves a kiss on the scar at her left knee, the one from when she was defending her sister from a bully, and Deborah wants to tell her to hurry up but she can't make her mouth work. She's panting, trying not to make a sound, and she can hear Ava's breathing too, slightly labored, like this is affecting her just as much.
Ava gently parts her legs wider and Deborah lets her, powerless to do anything else. She kisses her left inner thigh and massages the other, and Deborah's hips twitch involuntarily, seeking more contact. Ava adjusts herself, sitting back on her knees, and a mischievous smile appears on her pretty face.
Uh oh, that look always means trouble.
She leans down and presses her mouth directly against her pussy, open and wet, and Deborah nearly bucks off the bed. God, she wants her, she needs her. Her hands fly to Ava's hair, trying to guide her, trying to take back some control, but Ava just hums against her and pulls back.
"Later, I promise." Ava's eyes flick up to meet hers and there's something in them that makes Deborah's stomach flip. Something that looks like it might last longer than tonight.
Deborah needs to hold back a whimper and she bites down on her own lip hard enough to bruise.
Ava is climbing up her body again and Deborah is on fire, her skin already hypersensitive, every nerve ending lit up. She can feel the heat of Ava's body before they even touch. God, she wants to scream.
It feels like Ava is taking her time worshiping every single piece of skin, and that's the problem, isn't it? This isn't just fucking and Deborah knows it. This is something else entirely.
Ava leaves wet kisses on every scar and mark she finds on Deborah's stomach, her tongue tracing old stretch marks, a kiss on a small mole near her hip bone. Deborah didn't know it could be so sexy to be so exposed to someone, didn't know she could feel this seen and still want more. She puts her hands on Ava's waist, torn between pushing her away and pulling her closer, and settles for just holding on, encouraging her to continue.
When Ava reaches Deborah's breasts, she pauses, looks up at her face like she's checking in. Deborah feelss wrecked already, flushed and trembling, and Ava's expression softens into something unbearably tender before she lowers her mouth.
She takes Deborah's breast in her mouth with such enthusiasm that Deborah's back arches clean off the bed, a gasp caught in her throat. Ava's tongue circles her hard nipple while her hand kneads the other breast and Deborah feels her body getting hotter and hotter, all of her chest red from pure pleasure and the effort of staying quiet. It's too much, the wet heat of Ava's mouth, the way she's paying attention to every reaction, adjusting her pressure and speed based on how Deborah's breathing changes.
When Ava pulls away to give the other one the same treatment, she shifts her weight and slides her knee between Deborah's legs, pressing up right where she needs it most. The contact is sudden and perfect and Deborah can't help the moan that rips out of her.
Both women freeze.
The sound seems to echo in the small space, too loud, too revealing. Someone might have heard. Marcus, Damien, they're just beyond these walls, and Deborah's just moaned like she's in a goddamn porno.
Ava faces her, eyes wide for just a second, and then she's stealing a kiss, swallowing whatever apology or excuse Deborah might make.
"I need you to be quiet so I can make you feel good, D." Ava's voice is a rough whisper against her lips and god, this girl will be the death of her. She doesn't say this nickname often while they fuck, usually it's just her name, and hearing it now does something to her. "Can you do that for me?" Ava says it with fake innocence, like she's not the one making it impossible, like she doesn't know exactly what she's doing.
Deborah can feel herself getting wetter, tries to adjust her hips to get more friction. When she doesn't respond, can't respond, Ava presses her knee again, harder this time, a deliberate roll of pressure that makes Deborah see stars.
"Yeah." She throws her head back and doesn't even care how desperate she looks anymore. She just wants Ava to make her come, wants this ache to resolve into something she can handle. "Just... fuck, Ava, please."
It's the first time she's said her name tonight and it comes out like a prayer.
Ava kisses her neck, trailing back down where she was interrupted, and this time there's more urgency in it, like Deborah's plea unlocked something in the girl's mind. She leaves a trail of spit between her breasts and collects it with her tongue on her way back up while looking directly at Deborah's eyes, tasting her skin. She shivers, her whole body tight, and her hips rock against Ava's knee again, seeking anything. The bed creaks slightly with the movement and they both still for a heartbeat, listening, but there's no sound from beyond the door. Just their breathing, harsh and quick in the warm light while they drive the night away.
The redhead kisses her way back down, and this time with purpose in it, urgency mixed with care. She settles between Deborah's legs, spreading them wider, and Deborah feels so exposed she might actually die from it. But then Ava's mouth is on her and nothing else matters.
She starts slow, a long stroke of her tongue that makes Deborah's thighs shake. She's deliberate, focused, like she's trying to map every inch of her. When she finally reaches her clit and circles it gently, Deborah's hand flies to her own mouth, pressing hard against her lips because she knows, she knows she needs to stay quiet through this.
Ava works her steadily, tongue going inside her, building the pressure. Ava's mouth is so wet, the soft sounds of her tongue working mixing with Deborah's muffled breathing. Deborah can feel it coiling tight in her belly, can feel herself getting close embarrassingly fast. She's still wound up from the show, from bombing, from feeling like shit about herself, and now Ava's between her legs looking up at her like she's something worth worshiping and it's too much, all of it is too much.
A sound escapes despite her hand, a whimper that's too loud in the quiet bus, and Ava pulls back. She crawls up Deborah's body just enough, taking Deborah's hand away from her mouth and replacing it with her own fingers, pressing two of them gently against Deborah's lips.
"Open," she whispers, and Deborah does, and then Ava's sliding back down, settling between her legs again, her tongue finding Deborah's clit while her arm stretches up to keep her fingers in place.
Deborah closes her lips around them instinctively and Ava groans against her, the vibration making her hips buck. The whole thing is driving her insane, Ava's fingers in her mouth while her tongue works between her legs, and Deborah sucks on them without meaning to, just needing something to ground her while everything else spirals out.
Ava's rhythm changes, more focused, and she slides her free hand up to press against Deborah's lower belly, holding her in place while she sucks lightlyon her clit. The pressure is perfect, too perfect, and Deborah is gone. She comes hard, her whole body going rigid, a muffled cry caught against Ava's fingers. The orgasm rolls through her in waves, each one pulling apart something she's been holding tight since she walked off that stage tonight..
When she finally stops shaking, Ava pulls back and removes her fingers from Deborah's mouth. They're slick with saliva and she watches, dazed and wrung out, as Ava sits back on her knees and slides those same fingers between her own legs.
She's already worked up, Deborah can tell by how her breath hitches immediately, by the flush across her chest and the wet sounds coming from her. But before Ava can get far, something shifts in Deborah. She's spent, but she wants to give this back. She needs to show Ava how much she means to her just like she's just felt.. She sits up and catches Ava's wrist.
"Come here," she says, her voice rough and low.
Ava's eyes widen slightly, questioning, but she lets Deborah guide her. Deborah shifts, sits back against the headboard, and pulls Ava over her until the younger woman is straddling her hips.
"Up," Deborah says, and Ava understands immediately. She shifts higher, her knees on either side of Deborah's hips, and Deborah slides her hand between Ava's legs, feeling how wet she is. "Fuck, Ava."
"Yeah," Ava breathes, and then Deborah is sliding two fingers inside her and Ava's mouth drops open in a silent gasp.
"Ride me," Deborah tells her, and then, before Ava can move, she adds, "And you need to be quiet too, okay?"
Ava nods, biting her lip, and starts rolling her hips in a slow rhythm that makes her breasts sway right in front of Deborah's face. She's so wet. Deborah can feel it coating her fingers with each roll of Ava's hips, can hear the slick sounds between them, quiet but unmistakable. It's perfect, exactly what Deborah needs, to feel like she has some control again, to make Ava feel so good, wanted.
Deborah's free hand slides around to grab Ava's ass, squeezing hard, pulling her into each roll of her hips. God, she loves her ass, the perfect handful of it, the way it fits in her palm. She wants to smack it, leave a print of her palm on each cheeck, but that would be loud. She grips it possessively instead, guiding Ava's rhythm, and Ava has to press her own hand over her mouth to muffle a moan.
Deborah leans up and takes the girl's breast in her mouth, sucking hard, and Ava's rhythm falters. Deborah works her steadily, curling her fingers just right, and she can feel Ava getting wetter, can feel her tensing and releasing with each roll of her hips.
When she pulls back from Ava's breast, there's a red mark already blooming on the pale skin. They don't leave marks, don't leave evidence that this is anything more than quick and forgettable. But god, she wants to. Wants everyone to know. Wants Ava to look in the mirror tomorrow and see proof that Deborah was here, that this mattered. That Deborah wants her. She leans in again and sucks another mark right next to it, watching it darken, and something hot and possessive coils in her chest.
Mine.
The thought comes unbidden and she should push it away, should stop this, but instead she sucks another mark on the underside of Ava's breast, harder this time. Ava whimpers behind her hand and Deborah feels feral with it, with the need to mark her, to make sure everyone knows.
"Deb," Ava gasps against her palm, and her other hand comes down to grip Deborah's shoulder, holding on.
"I got you," Deborah murmurs against her skin, and she does. She adds a third finger and Ava's eyes go wide, a choked sound escaping despite her hand. Deborah squeezes her ass again, harder this time, and uses the grip to pull Ava down onto her fingers deeper. "Shh, baby, quiet."
The endearment slips out without permission but it feels right. She moves her free hand from Ava's ass to wrap around her back instead, holding her close, steadying her. Ava's hips are moving faster now, chasing it, and Deborah keeps her secure with that arm around her back while she leaves another mark on her collarbone. Every movement and every mark sends a pleasant sensation to her own core and Deborah thinks she could do this all day.
Mine. She'll see these tomorrow, the day after. She'll see them and remember.
Another mark on the curve of her breast, and Deborah is drunk on it, on the way Ava lets her, on the way she's not stopping her. On the way Ava is hers right now, riding her fingers, covered in her marks, falling apart above her.
Mine, mine, mine.
Ava is close, Deborah can tell by the way she's clenching around her fingers, by the desperate little sounds she's making behind her hand, by the way her thighs are shaking. Everything is wet heat and desperate movement, the quiet sounds of their bodies together filling the small space. Deborah's thumb finds her clit and she crooks her fingers to find that spot inside her.
"Come for me," Deborah whispers, and Ava does. She comes hard, her hips stuttering and her head falling forward, and the older woman holds her through it with that arm wrapped tight around her back, keeping her close while she works her through it, gentle now, letting her ride out every aftershock. Ava's hand falls away from her mouth and she buries her face in Deborah's neck instead, muffling the sounds against her skin.
When Ava finally stills, trembling and breathing hard, Deborah carefully slides her fingers out. Ava collapses forward against her chest, boneless and spent, and Deborah wraps both arms around her, holding her close.
She can feel Ava's heartbeat against her own chest, still racing, gradually slowing. Deborah's dry hand comes up to run through Ava's hair, gentle and soothing.
After a moment, Deborah eases them both down, sliding lower against the pillows until they're lying flat, Ava still draped across her chest. Ava makes a small sound of protest at the movement but settles immediately, her full weight warm and grounding. Her face is buried in Deborah's neck, her breath soft against skin, one leg thrown over Deborah's thigh.
They're both flushed and sticky, hair damp with sweat, and the air smells like sex mixing with something uniquely them.
Ava reaches blindly for the covers and pulls them over both of them, then tucks herself in closer, wrapping both arms around Deborah like she's something to hold onto.
Deborah lets her.
She doesn't have the energy to fight it, doesn't have the willpower to crack a joke or get up and put her clothes back on. She just lies there with Ava's weight pressing her into the mattress, and lets herself enjoy it.
Her mind is still spinning from the show. The way the crowd barely laughed, the timing that felt off all night. She's been doing this for decades and tonight she felt like an amateur. What if this is it? What if she's peaked and it's just decline from here?
The thought makes her chest tight all over again, makes her want to pull away from Ava and pace the small space and DO something, but Ava's arms tighten around her like she can sense it.
"Hey," Ava whispers into her hair. "I can hear you thinking."
Deborah almost laughs. Almost.
"Hard not to think about how badly I ate it tonight."
"One bad show doesn't mean anything." Ava's voice is soft but firm. "You've had a million good ones. We talked about this."
"Yeah, well. Tonight wasn't one of them." Deborah closes her eyes. "Maybe this mountain is too high to climb."
"Stop." Ava pulls back just enough to look at her, and her expression is serious. "I meant what I said earlier. You're incredible, Deborah. One bad night doesn't change that."
Deborah wants to argue, wants to list all the reasons Ava is wrong, but she's so tired. Tired from the show, from holding herself together all the time. Instead she just nods slightly and lets Ava pull her back in this bubble.
They lie there in silence for a while, Ava's fingers tracing lazy patterns on Deborah's ribs, and slowly, the blonde feels herself start to drift. Her body is heavy and warm, Ava's weight grounding her, and for once she's not thinking about what this means or what they'll say to each other in the morning.
"Thank you," she whispers, so quiet she's not sure Ava hears it.
But Ava's arms tighten around her again, just for a second, and that's answer enough.
Deborah's almost asleep when she feels Ava start to lift her head off her chest.
"I should-" Ava starts, her voice barely a whisper, and Deborah knows what comes next. Ava will move to her side of the bed. They'll sleep separately, the way they always do.
Deborah's hand in Ava's hair tightens, gently pressing her head back down against her chest. "Stay."
It comes out rough, almost a command, but there's something underneath it that sounds too much like please.
Ava goes still. "Yeah?"
"Stay," Deborah says again, softer this time. She doesn't open her eyes, can't look at Ava while she says it. "Like this. Just… for a few more minutes."
For a moment, nothing. Then the girl settles back down, her face finding that space in Deborah's neck again, her full weight sinking into Deborah like she belongs there.
"Okay," Ava whispers, and presses a kiss to Deborah's collarbone, right over her heartbeat. "I can do that."
They fall asleep like that, Deborah holding onto Ava like she's something precious, choosing this, choosing her, breaking every rule they ever made and not caring at all.