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God, she’s fucking gorgeous.
Angela sits quietly at the back of the studio, eyes trained on the beautiful brunette at the center of the table, doing her best not to be noticed. Amanda is a vision. Black tank top. Denim jacket. Hair falling over her shoulders in long, perfect waves.
She isn’t sure if Amanda has ever looked as good as she does right now, in this light, after two months apart.
She’d almost forgotten how Amanda’s olive skin glows in the studio spotlights, how her hair looks as it cascades over her broad shoulders, the warm timber of her low velvety voice as it meets her eardrum. Not that she hasn’t spent the last two months staring at photos on her phone, watching old videos, anything she could do to quell the deep longing that pulled at her bones while Amanda was gone.
She hates that they've been separated for so long. A part of her hates Amanda for taking the job thousands of miles away and abandoning her here, leaving her behind. But only a small part. Only a part big enough to niggle at the back of her mind while the rest of her just wants to rush the table, wrap Amanda in a hug, kiss her like she's the last source of sustenance in a dying world.
When she hears Amanda ask Shayne if he missed her, her heart twists in her chest so hard that she feels like she may bleed out. She's never missed anyone as much as she missed Amanda. She's never missed someone so much that she felt like she may stop breathing without them.
Amanda’s back. Thank god Amanda’s back.
Then Amanda says something that makes her laugh. It slips from her lips before she has a chance to catch it, before she can swallow it down.
She sees the recognition in the older woman's face. The way that Amanda’s eyes crinkle and the subtle smile that pulls at the corner of her mouth. The look in Amanda’s eyes as she scans the darkness behind the cameras.
Their eyes meet. Finally.
She sees the glint in the Amanda's dark eyes as the lock onto her. Amanda sees her.
For the first time in months, they’re in the same room and Amanda sees her.
Angela holds her gaze. Stands. Nods. And then quietly slips from the room as quickly as she’d arrived.
“You’re back.” Angela stands with her hip leaning into the table, arms crossed, watching as Amanda scrolls through her phone. The room is empty now, cameras powered down, just the two of them in the soft glow of a single overhead bulb.
She can smell Amanda’s perfume. Burberry. The same scent that she'd bought after Amanda left. The scent that she still sprays on her pillows just to be able to sleep at night. Her heart thumps faster now that she’s this close, beating out an awkward rhythm that calls Amanda’s name.
“I’m back.” Amanda doesn’t even look up as she speaks, her long hair falling over her shoulder. Angela can see that she’s trying to hide a smirk, trying her best to not to show how happy she is to see her, too. Amanda's been waiting for her. Knew she’d come.
“You didn’t tell me that you were coming back today.” Angela turns one of the chairs, straddling it and sitting with her chest flush against the back. She tries to bite back the nerves that are showing themselves in her voice. Her hands sweat like they did the first time she ever spoke to Amanda. She rubs them on the knees of her jeans, just like she had the first time. “I had to find out from Courtney.”
“You didn’t ask.” Amanda slowly lifts her eyes from her screen and lets them lock onto Angela’s gaze. The smirk melts from her face, replaced by something else. Something darker. Something sinful. Angela can feel the atmosphere shift, that strange charged feeling hanging over them like right before lightning strikes. “I haven't heard from you in weeks. Just because I had to go back to Boston for a while doesn’t mean that you get to go radio silent. It was just a pilot. You knew that I was coming back.”
“You act like I don’t follow your Instagram, Amanda. Like I didn't see how cozy you were getting with your co-star?” Angela leans forward with her elbows on the table, voice dropped into a lower register. “It looked an awful lot to me like you replaced me.”
“Oh my god, Angela. You know how promotion works, right? You know how PR teams ask actors to push the narrative, build fan engagement.” Amanda shoots back, placing her hands flat on the table and pushing herself up to stand. She’s more intimidating like this, hunched over the table, staring daggers across the wood. “I tried writing to you. I tried calling.”
She can feel it, crackling in the air between them. The desperation. The want. The need for each other that neither of them has the words for. White hot electricity that both of them are doing their best to hold at bay.
“I missed you too much to act like everything was okay, Amanda. It wasn’t. I wasn’t.” Angela retorts, eyes dropping to the table, breaking her stern façade. “And then I see those photos? His hand on your back? Your arm around his waist?”
“No one can replace you, pretty boy.” Amanda pushes back from the table, stepping squarely into Angela’s space and leaning down. A shiver rolls down her spine when the taller woman’s lips graze her ear. “You sit here and try to act tough but I knew that you’d come right back to me. I knew it. Because you’re mine. Your heart. Your body. They belong to me.”
Angela feels like she might melt into a puddle right here. Right at Amanda’s feet. Because Amanda is right. Angela had never been anything else other than wholly, truly hers.
Amanda cups Angela’s face in her hands and pulls the younger woman up to stand in front of her. Dropping her voice, the older woman leans in, pecking a chaste kiss to the tip of Angela’s nose, condescension thick in her words. “Didn’t my baby miss me at all?”
Angela’s resolve breaks instantly, shattering under Amanda’s heel, precisely where it’s meant to be. Tears prickle at the back of her eyelids. She’s missed Amanda so much that some mornings she thought she might actually die without her. Amanda is her everything and she left her for months.
She wants to stay angry. She knows that she should. But when Amanda talks to her like this, touches her like this, all of her resilience goes straight out the window.
Her eyes drop to the other woman’s mouth, lingering there for a moment before she finds Amanda's gaze again.
Unhurried, Amanda leans in, until their lips almost touch, close enough that Angela can smell the other woman's moisturizer. Close enough that she can see the fire that burns in the older woman’s eyes, even in the low light. “Tell me how much you missed me, pretty boy.”
Angela’s breath stutters. She freezes. She’s dreamt of this moment, for them to fall right back into what they’d been before Amanda left. It seems too good to be true.
She pushes forward, against Amanda’s hands, closing the distance and finally bringing their lips together. The kiss is messy, frenzied, with all the desire and longing that Angela has been holding in for the last two months crashing down Amanda's throat.
She wraps her arms around the back of Amanda’s neck and practically climbs the taller woman, pulling herself up, or perhaps pulling Amanda down, whimpering into the kiss. Staring straight into Amanda’s blown obsidian eyes, Angela forces her tongue into the older woman’s mouth, tangling them together in a ball of wanton need.
Amanda pushes her away, rests her forehead against Angela’s, panting while she holds the younger woman’s face in her hands. “I said, tell me, pretty boy. I want to hear it. Use your words.”
Angela buries her face in Amanda’s cleavage, inhaling deeply, breathing her in. She can feel Amanda trembling, vibrating, fighting her own urge to let her walls crumble.
“I missed you so much, mommy. I miss the way you smell, like Burberry and mint." Each word punches its way from Angela’s lungs, thick with desire. " I missed the way that your scent makes my knees go weak and my panties wet.”
Next, her fingers wrap around Amanda’s wrist and pull her hand down to her breast. “I missed the way that you mark me like I belong to you. The way that you get so possessive and leave proof that I can see in the mirror when we're not together. The way that you make sure that everyone knows that I’m owned.”
Amanda’s eyes go dark. She squeezes Angela’s breast until the younger woman winces, both knowing that there will be half moon bruises there by evening. Amanda leans down and bites into Angela's shoulder, smiling into the skin when the younger woman gasps.
Pushing Amanda’s already thinly-veiled restraint, Angela takes it further, guiding the older woman’s hand down to cup her over her jeans. She rolls her hips against Amanda’s hand and hears the other woman’s voice hitch in her throat, trying her best to maintain some semblance of control. “I miss the way that you touch me. The way that you make me forget my own name when you’re inside me.”
Leaning in, close enough that their noses touch and she can feel Amanda’s heartbeat behind her breast, she speaks again, her voice nothing but a whisper. “I miss the way you taste on my tongue. And the way that I know that you’re soaked right now just from hearing my voice.”
Angela watches the little hairs on Amanda’s neck as they stand on end, watches the blanket of goosebumps that begin to bloom across the older woman’s skin. “And I miss playing with you, just. like. this.”
“You’re trouble. You’ve always been trouble." Amanda’s voice is deep, lust thick on her tongue. The kind of lust that comes from months of build up with no release. "And now you’re making me wonder how I'm going to get through the day without pulling you into a closet and making you scream my fucking name.”
Amanda hasn’t replaced her. Amanda needs this as badly as she does. Amanda feels like she may vibrate right out of her skin.
“But we both know how this goes, little girl. No matter how hard you try to make this happen on your timetable, mama’s in charge.” Amanda threads her fingers into Angela’s hair and tugs hard at the root. She pulls the shorter woman’s lips to hers, breathing into her open mouth as she speaks. “God I fucking missed how weak you are for me. How your brain shuts off the moment I touch you. My little pretty boy and her empty fucking head.”
Nodding lazily, Angela can’t find words for how she feels at this moment. All she knows is now. All she wants is this. Amanda touching her. Amanda telling her what to do. Amanda letting her turn the world off and just be.
Amanda’s back. Thank god Amanda’s back.
“I’m not going to fuck you at work, no matter how much you try to goad me.” Amanda brushes her cheek across Angela’s temple with the lightest of touches, hot breath across her ear, enough to cause a cascade of tremors down the younger woman’s spine.
“Please, mommy. Please, I fucking need you.” Angela whimpers, desperate for Amanda to take it further. She leans her body flush against the older woman, pleading for more, rolling her hips against Amanda’s hand once more.
“I. Said. No.” Amanda pulls back, eyes as dark as a moonless night. “Not now. Not here. I just got back, the last thing I need is for someone to find us because you don’t know how to be quiet.”
Amanda takes a step back and picks up her phone. A slow smile crests her lips as she looks down at her screen.
“Tonight. Chanse invited everyone to the bar for my homecoming. Be there. And wear that little black thing that you know I like. No bra. No panties.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
The atmosphere in Happy’s is as good as it can get on a rainy July Wednesday. The bar smells of stale house ale, lemon floor polish, and too many perfumes all trying to exist in the same space. All of their closest friends and castmates are milling around the bar, laughing over drinks and gyrating to something R&B-esque from the 90’s playing too loudly over shitty jukebox speakers.
Angela is leaning into the pool table at the far end of the room with a lanky brunette man wrapped around her waist, trying to ‘teach’ her how to line up a shot. But the only thing she’s learning is how quickly a man will take the opportunity to rub his stiffened cock against her ass through the distressed denim of his jeans.
She knows exactly why Amanda hasn’t made her presence known yet. Knows exactly why Amanda told her to wear this dress.
The hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She can feel the older woman's eyes on her, undressing her from across the room. She can feel it as well as she’d feel it if Amanda were touching her. She refuses to look. She refuses to meet Amanda’s gaze, instead choosing to press her ass back into the stranger.
This always makes the game better, making Amanda jealous. She likes it when Amanda gets jealous. It’s more fun when Amanda gets jealous.
Amanda doesn't like to share her things.
Angela takes it a step further. She turns to the man and hooks one arm over the back of his neck, pressing her chest flush against his side. She throws her head back and laughs at something stupid that he says. She lets him wrap his arm around her waist like he wants to take her home.
She plays her siren song.
The melody that she knows will draw Amanda out from wherever she is hiding.
Goosebumps spread up her arms. Amanda is coming.
Less than a minute later, a strong hand wraps around her wrist. A flash of brunette and lavender pulls her from the stranger's gasp and across the dance floor, aimed straight for the restrooms at the back of the bar.
Amanda doesn't say anything, doesn’t look back, doesn't need to. Angela can read her like her favorite novel. She can see the tension in the other woman’s shoulders from her place behind her, and can hear the ragged breaths that are spilling from Amanda’s lungs.
They keep moving, marching toward the only place where they can have a miniscule amount of privacy on this unusually packed Wednesday evening. Angela’s nerves buzz under her skin with anticipation of what's to come once they're behind the flimsy bathroom door.
Before they even make it to the door, Amanda flips her around, wrapping her in strong arms and walking her backwards through the bathroom door. Angela’s heart beats wildly in her chest at finally having Amanda’s hands on her. Finally being possessed once again. Her head feels light.
Amanda doesn’t even look at the stranger standing at the sink before shooing them away with a single word, “out.”
Amanda walks Angela backwards until she’s flush with the opposite wall, shoulders pressed back into the cold white tile. Not a word is shared before Amanda lunges forward and pushes her tongue into Angela’s mouth, an explorer that already knows the map by heart. Angela melts at the taste of her, spearmint and rum mingling on her tongue.
A moan breaks free from somewhere deep inside Angela’s chest, a moan that she’s been holding since this afternoon. She feels the older woman’s hands low on her thighs, working their way north, and smiles into the kiss. Amanda’s touch is possessive, needy, like she’s been waiting months for this. Angela can tell from the way that Amanda growls against her neck that she has.
God she missed this. Missed the beautiful freedom that she feels when Amanda is wrapped around her. When she doesn’t have to do anything other than be exactly what Amanda needs her to be. Mindless. Helpless. Wholly and completely hers.
Amanda expertly hooks her hands just under Angela’s ass and picks her up, taking her feet right off the floor and dropping her hard onto the cold stone counter. Her back stiffens at the sensation and she throws her head back, allowing Amanda’s mouth to find the column of her neck. Amanda immediately presses her teeth into the soft flesh and leaves a dark, blooming mark. A fresh wave of wet heat adds to the slick between her thighs, spreading against the cold stone beneath her.
“You took it too far, pretty boy.” Amanda huffs directly into Angela’s neck. “Practically letting that guy dry hump you for all to see.”
“Mhmm,” Angela moans, relishing the feeling of the things that Amanda does when she's jealous, too wrapped up in the ecstasy of Amanda’s hands on her to care about anything else. “N- needed mommy to come and s- save me from the big bad.”
Amanda shoves her hand into the front of Angela's dress, ripping the neckline down and revealing her breasts. The older woman’s teeth find the sensitive skin around her nipple and bite down. Amanda finds the other breast with her hand, kneading roughly, the skin going stark white under her touch. Angela arches into the delicious pain, a ragged sob ripping from her lungs.
She doesn't care who hears them. She doesn’t care if anyone knows what they’re doing. All that matters at this moment is Amanda’s hands, Amanda's mouth.
All that matters is Amanda.
“Playing the game is one thing, pretty boy,” Amanda says, between the marks that she’s actively sucking into the skin along Angela’s throat. “But nobody gets that close to your pussy but me.”
Angela reaches for the button of Amanda’s shirt, only to have her hands smacked away forcefully. “No. I told you. You took it too far. Baby doesn't get to play.”
She only gets mere seconds to pout before Amanda's hand finds its way under the hem of her dress and dives straight into wet, pooling heat. Angela’s back arches into the cold tile behind her, her thighs already trembling. Amanda latches teeth onto her collarbone as she lets her fingers slide between needy folds, biting down at the exact moment that she plunges into the little brunette on the counter in front of her.
Angela screams at the mixture of searing pain and profound pleasure ripping through her. When Amanda pulls back and looks at her, she can see the pink tint that stains Amanda's perfectly white smile and she knows that there is blood running down her chest.
“You see what you make me do?” The words pour from Amanda’s mouth as she finds a brutal rhythm, the sound of slick skin on skin ricocheting off the walls around them. Angela leans forward and presses her forehead into Amanda’s shoulder, each thrust of the older woman’s hand punching a pitiful sound from her throat.
“God, you drive me fucking wild, pretty boy.” Amanda wraps her free hand in Angela’s hair, twisting at the root and ripping another, louder moan from her lungs. Amanda pulls Angela's hair, dragging her ear flush against the older woman’s lips. “You knew exactly what that was going to get you, didn’t you? I haven’t touched anyone in two months! I waited for you. And you went and basically dry fucked some fucking man in front of me. You just had to poke mama bear.”
Angela nods mindlessly, eyes rolled back as pleasure like she’s never felt before rolls through her. Amanda’s voice caught in her ear with force, “speak. Now.”
“You wou- wouldn't touch me before. Nee- ungh- needed mommy to touch me. To fuck me.” Angela answers, wrapping her legs around Amanda’s waist in an attempt to pull the taller woman closer. She snakes her arms around Amanda's back and pulls her into a searing kiss, letting out a quiet squeal when Amanda bites down on her lower lip.
Amanda pushes back, throwing Angela’s legs off her waist and pulling the shorter woman off the counter onto her feet. In one smooth, fluid motion, Amanda spins her and pushes her down, chest flush on the cold stone counter. One of the tall brunette’s hands wrap tightly in her hair again as the other fucks into her from behind.
Amanda uses her hips to pump in deeper still, punching sound after sound out of Angela’s chest with every forceful thrust. The feeling of hot breath meets Angela's ear when Amanda leans down over her, pressing her chest into the stone. “Only I get to fuck you from behind. Tell me you fucking understand me, pretty boy.”
“Tell me and I’ll let you come.”
Angela feels the salty streaks that wet her cheeks, tears borne from a mixture of absolute pleasure and the total, all consuming relief that she feels from knowing that Amanda is back and that she wants only her. The coil in her gut is twisted so tightly that she feels like she might melt if she doesn't come. Right now. Right this very second.
“You- yours. Only yours. Fuck Amanda, you’re the only one I want.”
Angela hears the wet sound of Amanda smiling against her ear, followed by the feeling of a hot tongue licking a flat stripe up the underside of her ear. “Good fucking girl.”
A shiver racks down her spine and sends her careening over the edge, fingers white with tension around the edge of the counter. She can feel herself pulsating around the fingers inside her and she can’t stop the tremors in her thighs from pushing her back, harder against Amanda's pelvis, harder onto the digits that still curl against that spongy spot that makes her see stars.
A long, slender hand wraps around the front of her throat and pulls her to stand, back tightly pressed into Amanda’s chest. The taller brunette pulls fingers from inside her slowly, making her whimper at the loss. Angela stares into the reflection as Amanda moans around the taste of her while she sucks them clean.
The taller woman turns her, pulling her into a passionate kiss. Slower now. Reverent. A kiss borne of two months of intense, agonizing longing. Amanda stares into her face, as if trying to memorize the features that she’s been too long without. They lean into each other, foreheads pressed together, when Amanda finally breaks the silence. “God, I fucking missed you.”
“I missed you, too, Mandy. So much.” Angela replies, tapping a light kiss to the tip of Amanda’s nose. “Don’t leave me again, ‘kay?”
Amanda closes her eyes and smiles warmly. “Never.”