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Technically, Orm knew the day was coming. It was the when and the what that she couldn't pry out of Lingling, no matter how much she pestered her. Her girlfriend wouldn't budge—not even to give her an exclusive peek at a single raw file from the Calvin Klein campaign she’d shot the previous month. Orm had been allowed on the studio premises, of course, but she had been relegated to the general break room like a stranger until the closed-set shoot was finished.
That lingering mystery was why, when they touched down in Bangkok that day, Orm found herself blindsided by the fans' behavior. Usually, their supporters were intense, but today they were vibrating with a different kind of energy, tracking every minor interaction she had with Lingling with a newfound, hungry scrutiny.
“That was weird,” Orm commented, the car door clicking shut and finally sealing them away from the chaos of the terminal.
“What was?” Lingling asked, already halfway into a bag of snacks, seemingly unfazed by the gauntlet they’d just run.
“The fans. I don’t know, it was just... weird,” Orm said, her mind racing through possibilities that could earn that kind of conduct. “Do you think we were caught? Maybe our relationship leaked?”
“I doubt it,” Lingling replied through a mouthful of crackers. “If that were the case, our phones would be blowing up by now.”
The mention of their phones acted as a trigger. “I still have mine on airplane mode,” Orm muttered, already losing the thread of the conversation as she reached into her bag.
“Maybe it’s the ad,” Lingling said casually, as if she were commenting on the weather rather than a career-defining campaign.
“What ad?” Orm asked distractedly. She was busy skimming through a flood of texts, the majority of which were logistics regarding their schedule to start filming their third series in a few days.
“Calvin Klein. I forgot it dropped today,” Lingling said, brushing crumbs off her lap. “Good thing our team has access to our Instagram accounts, or I wouldn't have even known to post it.”
Orm’s world narrowed down to those two words: Calvin Klein. Her brain kicked into overdrive, and her thumb froze, hovering precariously over the ‘X’ app icon. She stayed like that, paralysed by the sudden realisation of what was waiting for her behind that click.
She wasn’t sure how long she remained in that digital limbo, but the next thing she knew, Lingling was gently shaking her shoulder. The car had come to a stop in the underground garage of the older woman’s building.
“Come on, we’re here,” Lingling said softly. She looked at Orm with a concerned, tender expression, likely attributing the younger girl's thousand-yard stare to simple travel exhaustion.
On any other day, she would have been right. But as they gathered their things and made their way up to the penthouse in silence, Orm’s heart was hammering against her ribs, her phone still gripped tightly in her hand.
Once inside, Ling convinced Orm to take over the shower first, while her girlfriend unpacked their luggages. She was also deprived of the opportunity to check out her phone while in the bathroom by that same girlfriend, yanking it out of her grip before she was—practically—shoved inside.
Once they were inside the penthouse, Lingling immediately took charge. She insisted Orm take the first shower, claiming she would handle the task of unpacking their luggage in the meantime.
Orm had intended to use those private minutes in the bathroom to finally scroll through the internet, but Lingling was one step ahead. Before Orm could retreat with her device, her girlfriend deftly yanked the phone right out of her grip. With a playful yet firm nudge, Lingling practically shoved her into the bathroom, leaving Orm deprived of her digital lifeline just as she was about to face the truth.
Orm didn’t think she had ever showered so fast in her entire life. Usually, she was the type to linger, letting the steam fill the room as the hot water worked its magic to wash away the bone-deep tension of travel. But today, she didn't have the patience for luxury. She didn't even wait for the water to heat up properly; the spray only reached a comfortable temperature when she was already rinsing off the last of the soap.
Moving with frantic efficiency, she blow-dried her hair as fast as her hands would allow, the dryer humming a loud, impatient rhythm. She bypassed her usual routine, throwing on a pair of sleeping shorts and a tank top from her new Victoria's Secret collection—the soft silk a stark contrast to her racing heart. She stepped out of the bathroom with a singular, driving mission: finding her phone.
She barely registered her girlfriend as they crossed paths in the hallway. Lingling brushed past her to claim her turn in the bathroom, but Orm was too deep in her own head to notice the bag Lingling was carrying with her. Her focus was entirely elsewhere.
The next half hour was a blur of increasingly frantic searching. She checked the nightstands, dug through her purse, and even felt between the sofa cushions, but the phone was nowhere to be found. As the air conditioning began to bite at her skin, Orm pulled on a light night robe, tying the belt with a sharp, impatient tug.
Realising she wasn't going to find it on her own, she decided it was time for a confrontation. She marched into the kitchen and perched on a stool, fixing her gaze on the bedroom door, waiting for Lingling to emerge and finally hand over the digital gatekeeper to her sanity.
Suddenly, Lingling’s voice drifted out from the other side of the bedroom door, cutting through the silence of the penthouse.
“Orm, could you please come in?”
“What is it?” Orm asked, her irritation instantly evaporating. The hunt for her phone was forgotten, replaced by a sharp flicker of worry for her girlfriend's wellbeing. She stood up from the stool, her heart rate spiking for an entirely different reason as she hurried toward the door. “Are you…?”
But her sentence was cut short by the view that greeted her.
Lingling wasn't hurt; she was an exhibition. She was reclined across the centre of the bed in a pose that mirrored the high-fashion intensity of the campaign Orm had been so desperate to see. She was propped up on her elbows against the pillows, her back arched slightly to highlight the toned, athletic lines of her physique.
She wore a set that Orm suspected was from the ad: a heather-gray Calvin Klein bralette with the iconic white logo band hugging her ribs, and matching undies peeking out from a pair of dark, denim jeans. A black leather jacket was draped loosely off her shoulders, framing her skin against the dark fabric. Her hair was damp and swept back, giving her an effortless, raw edge that made Orm’s breath hitch.
The soft glow of the bedside lamp hit the slight definition of her muscles—the subtle curve of her abs and the strength in her arms—making her look even more commanding than she did on screen. Lingling didn’t say a word; she just leaned back, one hand resting casually on her thigh, thumb hooked in the loop of her jeans, and leveled Orm with a gaze that was equal parts playful and devastating.
“Wha—how—” Orm couldn’t, for the life of her, form a coherent sentence. Her mouth opened and closed more times than she could count, her brain short-circuiting at the sheer physicality of the woman in front of her. “That’s why you took my phone?”
“Yeah, sorry,” Lingling said, shrugging her shoulders. The slow, lopsided grin spreading across her face made it clear she wasn’t sorry at all. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“Uh-huh,” Orm managed to choke out. her eyes were moving at the speed of light, scanning every inch of the view Lingling was providing—the way the gray fabric of the bralette contrasted with her skin, the sharp line of her jaw, and the effortless strength in her pose.
“And, you know,” Lingling continued, her voice dropping into a lower, more intimate register. Orm heard the sound, but the actual words were barely registering against the static in her head. “I think that I’m finally ready for what we talked about during our trip last year. I wanted to make it special for you.”
The weight of those words finally broke through Orm's trance. The air in the room suddenly felt much thicker than the chill of the AC outside.
“Do you mean—?” Orm couldn’t even finish the question. Her gaze dropped, following the line of Lingling’s arm to where her hand rested firmly against her thigh. Her fingers gripping what Orm could only think—only hope—was the outline of a strap-on through the fabric of her jeans.
“Yeah,” Lingling said. The bravado of her pose wavered just a fraction, a sudden flash of vulnerability crossing her features. She hadn't planned the script this far ahead, and for a moment, the silence in the room was heavy with everything they hadn't yet put into words.
“Do you still want that?” Lingling asked softly, the question hanging in the air, thick with the weight of her vulnerability.
“Fuck yes,” Orm breathed, the words out of her mouth before she could even think to filter them.
She didn't wait for another second of hesitation. Orm launched herself toward the bed, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. She was onto the mattress and over her girlfriend—a literal five-course meal—before Lingling could even react. Orm’s hands instinctively flew to the lapels of the leather jacket, her fingers curling tightly into the cool material. She wasn't entirely sure if she was trying to rip the garment off or if she simply needed the physical support to keep herself upright as she straddled Lingling’s lap.
The sudden contact of their mouth collapsing in an earth-shattering kiss sent a jolt through both of them, the quiet of the penthouse shattered by the heat of their proximity.
It was a collision of pent-up anticipation and sudden, frantic release. Orm’s hands shifted from the jacket to Lingling’s face, her thumbs tracing the line of that perfect jaw as she pulled her closer, as if trying to bridge every last millimetre of space between them. Lingling let out a low, muffled sound against Orm’s lips—a mix of surprise and a deep, grounding hunger—as her own hands found Orm’s waist, her grip firm and sure, anchoring them both to the centre of the bed.
The kiss was desperate, a messy release of all the tension that had been building since that first day at the studio. Orm’s fingers tangled into the damp strands of Lingling’s hair, pulling her head back just enough to deepen the connection, while Lingling’s hands moved with a newfound purpose.
One of Lingling's hands slid from Orm's waist to the small of her back, pressing her closer until there was no space left between the silk of Orm's tank top and the cool, ribbed cotton of her bralette. The leather jacket began to slide further down Lingling’s toned shoulders, the heavy material pooling on the mattress as Orm’s weight shifted, her knees digging into the soft duvet on either side of Lingling’s hips.
A low moan escaped Orm as she felt the hard, steady pressure of the strap-on pressing against her clothed centre through the rough denim of the jeans. The sensation was the final catalyst she needed.
Driven by a sudden, sharp impatience, Orm’s hands abandoned the leather jacket and dove for Lingling’s waist. Her fingers worked with a frantic, focused energy, making quick work of the button and the zipper. The metallic slide of the fly sounded loud in the quiet of the penthouse, finally clearing the path for the contact they both had been waiting for since the moment the door opened.
One thing about Orm was that her patience was practically nonexistent. Lingling had always known that about her; in fact, it was one of the traits she adored most. It was a testament to their bond that Orm, who usually moved through life like a whirlwind, always seemed to possess an infinite well of patience when it came to Lingling’s needs and boundaries.
But when it came to the act itself, that patience evaporated. If anything, the younger woman grew even more impatient when they were behind closed doors. Now that the barriers were literally coming down, Orm’s focus was singular.
As the denim finally gave way, Orm pushed the heavy fabric down Lingling’s toned legs, her eyes finally confirming what her body had already felt. The sleek, functional harness of the strap-on was nestled securely against the iconic white waistband of the Calvin Klein undies, a bold contrast against Lingling’s skin.
The sight was enough to make Orm’s head spin. She didn't waste a second, her hands moving to the hem of her own silk tank top, desperate to feel Lingling’s skin—and everything else—without a single layer of fabric in the way.
Orm yanked her silk tank top over her head and tossed it blindly into the shadows of the room, her skin finally meeting the cool air of the penthouse before she pressed herself back down against Lingling.
The soft, giving curves of Orm’s chest flattened against the firm, athletic planes of Lingling’s torso, separated only by the thin material of her bralette. It was a study in contrasts: the heat radiating from Orm’s skin against the slightly damp, post-shower coolness of Lingling’s body.
Lingling let out a ragged breath as she felt the full weight of Orm settling over her, her hands travelling up from Orm’s waist to splay across her bare back. Her palms were warm, her grip possessive as she pulled Orm down for another kiss.
With the heavy denim pushed aside, Orm could feel every muscle in Lingling's thighs twitching beneath her. The friction of skin on skin, the scent of Lingling’s citrus body wash mixed with the faint, musky scent of leather from the discarded jacket, turned the bedroom into a sensory blur. Orm leaned back just enough to look Lingling in the eye, her hands resting on the older woman's shoulders.
Her shorts came next, only pushing it down enough so she could—finally—sink herself into the harness of the toy. But Lingling’s hands caught her with a firm, steadying strength, and Orm couldn't help the soft, involuntary whimper that fluttered past her lips.
“I know,” Lingling murmured, her voice barely rising above a whisper. She swallowed hard, her pulse visible at her throat as she fought to maintain a shred of her usual composure. “Let me do this first.”
Before Orm could ask what she meant, Lingling produced a bottle of lube—appearing so suddenly from the bedside table that Orm hadn't even noticed her reach for it.
“Hurry,” Orm pleaded, her voice strained as she watched with wide, attentive eyes.
Lingling didn't rush, despite the desperation in Orm's tone. She moved with a focused, deliberate grace, her strong fingers slicking the silicone with lube. The sight of her girlfriend working so diligently to prepare for them was almost too much for Orm to bear.
Lingling looked up, her gaze dark and heavy with a promise that made Orm’s toes curl into the mattress. "Patience," she chided softly, though the slight tremor in her own breath betrayed her. "I want this to be perfect for you."
She set the bottle aside and moved her hands to Orm’s waist, moving her to slowly enter the toy. Inch by excruciating inch, Lingling was the one to set the pace, not letting her girlfriend to rush into it. Once Lingling was fully settled inside, Orm rested her forehead on hers, letting out little whimpers as she got used to the new stretch.
Lingling started kissing her face, on the apple of her cheeks, nose, mouth and chin. She murmured little words of encouragement against her skin, her fingers drawing random patterns on the damp skin of her lower back, as she waited patiently for her. Then Orm started to move, slowly at first as if she needed to get to movement right. But, once she figured it out, she started to ride her with renewed energy, her whimpers and moans getting louder and louder.
“More,” Orm managed to say through ragged breaths, her nails biting the skin of Lingling’s nape as she used her shoulders as leverage. “Please, I’m close.”
With one hand still on her waist, Lingling lowered the other enough to press the pad of her thumb on her clit the way she knew Orm liked.
“Are you coming for me?” Lingling asked, in that smug way of hers that usually made her eyes roll but that now got Orm closer to her release.
“Yes! Oh my God, yes!” Orm exclaimed as she sinked herself one last time before she reached the peak of her pleasure.
Lingling drew circles along the hole expanse of her back, letting her come down kissing any patch of skin exposed that she could reach. When her girlfriend finally started to lift herself, she gently guided her, getting rid of the harness and rest of her clothes to lay besides Orm.
“Are you okay?”
The question was made so softly that almost made Orm cry, but she just nodded her head as she started to kiss Lingling again, slower that their ones they had all evening but not less passionate.
“Yes, but I’ll be better once I return the favour,” Orm said before making her descend through her girlfriend’s tone body, making sure to leave marks on her abs.
Afterwards, they both lay tangled in the sheets, breathless and glowing with a thin layer of sweat. The high-tension energy of the penthouse had softened into a warm, heavy silence.
“That was—” Lingling started, her voice raspy and trailing off, letting the sheer weight of the experience fill the rest of the sentence.
“Yeah,” Orm replied with a soft, airy laugh, the kind that only comes from total exhaustion and complete satisfaction. She reached out, her fingers tracing the lingering dampness on Lingling’s arm.
“Well, I’ll go set some water,” Lingling said, finally pushing herself up into a sitting position. The movement was slow, her muscles now felt pleasantly heavy. Her stomach let out a loud, traitorous growl just a second later, breaking the romantic mood. “And clearly, I need to find us something to eat.”
With a final, lingering kiss on Orm’s forehead, Lingling pulled on a pair of shorts and a muscle tee from her Keep Silent collection, disappearing into the hallway toward the kitchen.
Finally left to her own devices, Orm didn't waste a second. She reached for the phone Lingling had likely left on the nightstand and felt a familiar thrill as the screen lit up. Her mission was clear. Opening her social media apps, she began a systematic "like" spree, hitting the heart icon on every official page that had uploaded the Calvin Klein campaign photos.
Once the professional obligations were out of the way, she dived into the deep end: the fan edits. She scrolled through a flood of posts, watching as her timeline exploded with screenshots and slowed-down clips of Lingling’s shoot. Seeing the fans' reactions—ranging from pure shock to absolute adoration—brought a smug, private smile to Orm’s lips. They were all swooning over the image of the woman who was currently in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a muscle tee and a pair of shorts while she was preparing her something to eat.
“What are they saying?” Lingling asked as she returned to the room, carrying a tray with Orm’s favourite fruit-flavored water and a few slices of cake.
“Mainly thirsting over you,” Orm said, accepting the opened bottle from her girlfriend. “But some are congratulating whoever’s bouncing on it.”
Lingling didn't even blink. "Well, you kind of did."
“Lingling Kwong!” Orm gasped in mock shock, nearly choking on her water. “You did not just say that.”
“I’m not lying, though,” Lingling countered with a playful shrug, casually taking a bite of cake.
Orm hummed, looking back at a particularly spicy comment on her screen. “Should I thank them?”
“Only if you want your mother to have a heart attack,” Lingling deadpanned.
“You’re right, not the time.”
With a soft chuckle, Orm finally set the phone face-down on the nightstand. The digital world could wait; the real version of the woman in the photos was right here, looking soft and relaxed in the lamplight. She settled back against the pillows, letting out a contented sigh as she allowed her girlfriend to feed her, savoring the sweetness of the cake and the quiet intimacy of the moment.