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For some strange, unknowable, okay-fine-maybe-a-little-knowable reason, the first thing that Ava thinks when Monica kisses her is Deborah is going to be so mad at me. Not the absolute finest woman I’ve seen in a long time wants to have sex with me, not her mouth tastes like strawberries and oh my god what does her pussy taste like, not even holy shit I’m about to get laid. No, the first thing Ava thinks, with Monica’s tongue in her mouth and Monica’s fingers in her hair, is that Deborah is going to be so mad at her.
It’s not the first time Ava has considered this with another woman’s mouth on hers, it likely won’t be the last, but it is the first time she’s considering it while there’s actually a reason to do so. Outside of this weekend, the prospect of Deborah being mad at her for kissing someone else has been more of a lingering fear than anything else, like how she still watches porn on mute with the brightness turned all the way down in case her mom comes into her bedroom and she needs plausible deniability. She’s upgraded now, from whatever she could find when she searched for naked girls kissing on her second-hand iPod touch to the ethical stuff, videos she buys directly from marginalized queer creators so they don’t have to lose twenty percent to OnlyFans and so she can be sure they aren’t being exploited in order to let her get her rocks off, and now she’s lost the plot and Monica is still kissing her and she opens her mouth and decides to stop considering anything besides the fact that Monica is kissing her.
She finds herself cradled between Monica’s thighs, hands running far too eagerly down her sides (even though she’s sort of worried the edge of her cast is going to catch on the extremely expensive-looking silk of Monica’s pyjamas) and teeth clacking far too greedily against hers, but she likes it, Ava thinks, or at least doesn’t find it off-putting enough to stop kissing her. A win is a win and right now she’s definitely winning, because Monica’s ankles are hooked just beneath her ass and she’s making soft breathy noises and her nails are raking over her scalp in a way that makes Ava want to start fucking purring and, unbidden, she starts thinking about Deb again.
She doesn’t want to be thinking about Deborah again. She wants to be thinking about the fact that Monica wants her. She wants to be thinking about the quickest, most seductive way to slip her hand into Monica’s little pyjama shorts. But she’s thinking about Deb again! Because Deb will be mad at her if she gets caught, even though they’re not technically dating and so it shouldn’t matter if she does fuck Monica because Deb has no claim to fidelity because they aren’t dating, but here she is, thinking about her. She’s always thinking about her.
“You know,” Monica whispers against her mouth, their noses nearly touching, drawing Ava back to herself. “Kelly likes to watch.”
Ava pops a boner. Metaphorically. Though, honestly, at this point it might be physical. She’d have to look down to confirm, and right now she’s too busy staring at Monica with the sort of slack-jawed expression that would make Deborah say close your mouth honey, you’ll catch flies and wow, she needs to stop thinking about Deborah right now. She really, really needs to. Monica smiles at her, a sort of lazy-cat smile that makes Ava’s allegorical dick even harder, and gives her mouth another brief kiss. “Would you like it if she watched?”
She nods so quickly that Monica’s smile turns into a laugh and she catches that laugh with her lips, resting her unencumbered hand on Monica’s waist and moving in closer still until she can feel the heat of Monica’s body against her own through several layers of fabric and she’s sure Monica can hear the way her heart is beating she’s probably about to have some sort of episode or other. She’s the youngest person here by at least fifteen years (likely more. She doesn’t know how old Monica is, owing to the fantastic work she’s had done even though on an objective level she doesn’t think women should be getting work done at all and should embrace the natural aging process) and she’s the one who’s going to stroke out and die.
“Do you think Deborah would want to watch?” Monica asks when they break apart a second time, and Ava remembers she’s supposed to be dating Deb. Shit. Motherfucking shit. Now would be a great time to come clean, except they still haven’t gotten that stupid jumpsuit and she knows Deb isn’t going to leave here without it, and, well, it’s not like they’ve never doubled down on a stupid scheme before.
“Yeah,” Ava says, nodding again, a little less enthusiastically. “I’ll go get her.”
“Great,” Monica beams. “Our bedroom is the last door down that hallway there. Don’t keep us waiting, sweetie.”
“Did that car knock something loose in your head? No. Absolutely not. I won’t do it.”
“Deborah,” Ava whines, knowing she’s whining, knowing Deborah doesn’t like it when she whines. “Please, please, please. You won’t even have to do anything! You just have to sit there!”
“Yeah, sit there and watch you bump purses with that nympho trophy wife!”
“Bump purses? Um, if you’re going to become a lesbian, you’re going to need to work on your lesbian sex metaphors, because right now you sound extremely homophobic.”
“Well, if I have to watch you with her, I’m going to become a lot more phobic.”
“Please.” Ava wonders if she needs to get on her knees and start begging. She wouldn’t exactly mind that, it’s not like she’s never degraded herself for Deborah before, but she’s a bit worried her knees are going to take a beating tonight anyways and she’d rather save them for something a little more interesting. “I never ask you for anything! Just this one thing, please, please, please.”
“You ask me for things all the time!”
“Name one thing I’ve asked you for recently.”
“I gave you a thousand dollars this morning!”
Shit. “Deb, please! I’ll never ask you for anything ever again. Not ever for the rest of my life.”
“Can I get that in writing?”
“So you’ll do it?”
“No!” Deborah yells, glaring at Ava with the sort of vitriol she usually reserves for waiters and gender-neutral pronouns. “I don’t need Kelly thinking I’m some sort of lesbian sex pervert.”
“Okay, the word sex is sort of redundant there, I think pervert inherently implies sex unless you’re talking about—” another glare, this one worse than the last. Ava decides to change her tactic. “She already does! We just spent, like, all of dinner talking about rope play! This is tame in comparison!”
“No, you spent all of dinner talking about rope play. I spent all of dinner trying to get Kelly to lend me the jumpsuit!”
Time for Plan C. “I think she’d probably be more open to giving you the jumpsuit if we do this, you know. I mean, did you see the way she was looking at us?”
“So now I have to pimp myself out for a new outfit? What am I, every twenty-year-old in Los Angeles?”
“No! I told you, you don’t have to do anything. Just sit there without, like, making a face or throwing-up noises.”
“Oh, so I’d be pimping you out, then. Like that’s better.”
“You were trying to pimp me out two weeks ago!”
“That was different.”
“How?”
Deborah stands up from the edge of the bed and crosses her arms over her chest the way she does when she’s trying to buy herself an extra ten seconds to think of something to say. Ava glances at the clock on the bedside table. Oh, they’re already going to be late. If they’re there past midnight does the offer expire? Like voyeuristic Cinderella?
“It’s different because they think we’re dating. I’m not pimping out my girlfriend.”
“I’m not your girlfriend!” Ava waves her cast around, punctuating her words with the swish of plaster through the air. “Deborah. Please. You need that jumpsuit. If she won’t give it to you after, we can use this as, like, blackmail material or something. Then we get it either way.”
“Oh, great. So now I’m a politician.”
“Oh my god.”
“If I do this—” Deborah holds up a single finger just as Ava opens her mouth to let out an extremely emasculating squeal of glee. “We will never talk about it again. You don’t tell anyone. Anyone. I know you don’t have friends, but you keep that trap shut about this for the rest of your life. I’ll sue you again if I have to.”
Ava, who’s popped a second figurative boner and is practically vibrating with delight, elects to ignore the comment about her having no friends because Deborah is right and even if she wasn’t, she’s not going to get nitpicky right now. “I won’t. Do you want me to sign an NDA?”
“Don’t be a smartass,” Deborah says, wrapping her top tighter around her shoulders. “If she pulls out a fake penis I’m leaving.”
“Okay,” Ava nods, even though the idea of Monica strapping her in front of Deborah and Kelly is enough to make her eyes roll back into her head with sheer joy. She feels like she’s going to black out. Like a dog that’s getting a hamburger and a trip to the beach before it’s put down. “Understood. Aye, aye, captain.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Deborah rubs a hand over her face and points to the door. “Let’s get this over with, then. And don’t skip!”
Ava, who was, in fact, practically clicking her heels on the way out of their bedroom, does as she’s told.
“Hi,” Monica says when she opens the door, her eyes flitting from Ava to Deb and back again as that same feline smile curls across her mouth. “We thought maybe you got lost.”
“Nope. Just had to talk,” Ava tells her, taking Deborah’s hand because she knows Deb can’t exactly shake her loose right now. She’s held Deborah’s hand plenty of times before, usually just when Deborah doesn’t want her wandering away and getting lost in large crowds, but right now Deb’s palm is sweaty and her nails dig into Ava’s skin so hard that she has to screw a smile on so she doesn’t wince. Is she… nervous? No way. Deborah Vance doesn’t get nervous. She pops a Klonopin and gets on with it and doesn’t share her benzos no matter how often Ava asks her for at least a half. But here she is, squeezing Ava’s good hand like she’s trying to rip it off before it can get inside Monica, which feels kinda rude.
“Communication is so important,” Monica is saying, nodding thoughtfully in that wide-eyed way that Ava finds unbearably sexy, and behind her Kelly is sitting in an armchair in a blue striped pyjama set with a cigarette and a glass of something brown and Ava’s dick is going to explode. Again. “Right, honey?”
“Absolutely,” Kelly agrees, not standing up. “Lack of communication can be such a barrier to intimacy.”
“We feel the same way,” Ava says before Deborah can chime in with something rude and disparaging, squeezing her hand back. There’s a second armchair not too far from Kelly’s, kitty-corner from the bed so Deborah will have an unobstructed view of the big mattress covered in dark sheets. Probably this is going to irritate Deborah, who Ava bets was banking on a bedpost or maybe a curtain to block her view, but Monica has sat down on the mattress and is sliding back against the sheets, propped up on her elbows with one leg drawn up to her chest, so Ava kind of stops giving a fuck and releases Deborah’s hand to fling herself onto the bed with so much enthusiasm she nearly bounces right off of it. Monica laughs, kind of condescending but in a sexy way, and winds her arms around Ava’s neck to pull her down.
Kelly says something to Deborah, something Ava should probably be monitoring to make sure she doesn’t blow their cover, but honestly, there’s no blood left in her brain and Monica is grabbing her ass and sliding her hands up her back under her t-shirt and Deb is just going to need to get it together for the duration. She can ruin their scheme later. Right now Monica is pulling her shirt up and Ava is helping her do it and it occurs to her, exactly the moment that the fabric gets caught on her cast and she has to briefly pause to untangle it, that Deb is going to see her naked.
And, like, duh. Duh. Of course she is. Deborah has seen her naked before, in fact, making it even less of a big deal, making it really no big deal at all in the grand scheme of things. Ava is very into body positivity. Just maybe not positivity about her body. Certainly not positivity about her body and Deb’s eyes in this particular context, even though it shouldn’t matter at all, even though Deb’s seen her do a lot worse and is about to see her do a lot worse.
But, when Monica finally gets her shirt off and reaches up to roll one of her nipples between thumb and forefinger, Ava’s gaze flits over to the armchair where Deborah’s sat down and accepted the booze Kelly has offered her. Their eyes meet and Deborah doesn’t make a face, doesn’t roll her eyes or scowl or do anything Ava expected her to do. No, Deb just jerks her chin, so slightly it’s almost imperceptible, not for Kelly’s benefit or for Monica’s but for Ava’s. Go on.
Ava does. She starts fumbling with the buttons of Monica’s pyjama shirt one-handed, harder to do than it looks, and is silently relieved when Monica smiles and leans up to kiss her and tugs her top off herself, tossing it in the vague direction of Ava’s own discarded shirt before flipping them over and leaning down to catch her mouth in another wet, hungry kiss.
Once she gets into it, it’s surprisingly easy to forget Deborah is even there. Kelly too, even though she’s making the room smell like smoke, because Monica is kissing her and touching her and murmuring exactly what she wants to hear in her ear as she bites down on the lobe. Her hands are soft, manicured and lotioned and strong from her beekeeping (?) and she smells so ridiculously good that Ava would stop to ask what body wash she uses if she wasn’t so preoccupied by her mouth moving down to the crook of her neck, the hollow of her throat, the hard peak of her nipple. She makes a humiliating noise when Monica’s teeth scrape sensitive pink skin, like she’s been kicked in the gut, and makes another when Monica bites down hard enough to send a ripple of pleasure down her spine, a third when Monica’s nails dig into her other nipple and twist so hard that her back arches off the bed.
“Oh!” Monica says against her chest, eyes practically twinkling as she looks up at Ava, then over at the pair of armchairs. “You like a little bit of pain with your pleasure, sweetie? Deb, you didn’t say.”
Keenly aware that her cheeks are as red as her hair, Ava screws her own eyes shut and doesn’t say a word. Jesus, Deb didn’t need to know that about her. She doesn’t want to know what expression Deborah is wearing right now, really doesn’t want to see the disgusted or horrified or mocking look, wants to maybe get back to Monica biting her til she’s seeing stars. It’s not exactly her fault. She doesn’t like to give Freud too much credit, the bastard, but she read a book he wrote in college about masochism as inherent to female sexuality and as a way to satisfy an unconscious sense of guilt. And yeah, okay, she didn’t finish the book, mostly because she was kind of hoping it would be titillating and instead it mostly just talked about how dreams work instead of about how it’s normal to want to have sex with women older than your mom, but she’s pretty sure he said it was fine to want to be slapped around a bit in the sack. Feminist, even. Maybe.
“Who doesn’t?” Deborah says finally, which opens up such a vast and beautiful world in Ava’s brain that she has to make a mental note to deal with all that later, and Monica hums her agreement as she gives Ava’s nipple another sharp pinch.
Ava actually whimpers at that, an embarrassing little whine like a dog being kicked, and wonders if she should kill herself. When they’re finished, of course. She can’t kill herself now. But when they’re done and she has to make eye contact with Deborah knowing Deborah has heard her mewling like a little bitch while Monica uses her tits as chew toys; well, maybe then she’ll think about killing herself.
She buries her free hand in Monica’s hair, the fingers of the other flexing helplessly against the covers as Monica kisses and licks and bites at her tits. Mostly bites. She seems intent on leaving Ava’s chest covered in the prints of her teeth, like she wants Deb to see them every time she takes Ava’s shirt off, and it is, unfortunately, extremely hot even though the only people who ever see her tits these days are either herself in the mirror or Josefina when she doesn’t knock before coming into her bedroom. Whatever. Not the point. The point is the constant pressure of Monica’s teeth and the way it’s making her legs shake and heat pool between her legs and the fact that Monica doesn’t seem interested in moving down and actually getting the party started, apparently content to work Ava up into a fucking state just by playing with her tits and leaving them covered in bright red welts.
“She can be such a tease,” Kelly says, probably to Deborah, when a particularly sharp bite makes Ava yelp out of sheer pleasure, her hips curving off the mattress and up towards Monica’s in an attempt to get any sort of friction. “Monica, baby, you’re torturing the poor little thing.”
“Oh, she likes it.” Monica lifts her head, flashing Ava a toothy grin. “Don’t you, sweetie?”
Ava searches for a word, any word, but her nipples are so swollen and red that she’s going to have to skip bras for a week and there are bruises already starting to form across the pale flesh of her tits and she thinks the only thing that would fall out of her mouth right now is the word mommy and really it’s bad enough Deborah has heard her whimpering, she doesn’t need to hear this too, unless she wants to, which Ava seriously doubts even though she wishes that were not the case, in fact maybe doesn’t wish that were not the case at all, and now she’s just confusing herself with double negatives and there are three sets of eyes on her waiting for an answer and all she can manage to do is whine again and buck her hips up off the bed.
“Shh, shh,” croons Monica, slightly patronizing, extremely hot, pressing a kiss to each of Ava’s abused nipples as if in apology. “I know, sweetie, I know. I know what you need.”
One of Monica’s hands moves down her stomach, fingers trailing over her skin, and she pauses at the waistband of Ava’s basketball shorts, scraping gently at the flesh of her navel with her nails. She leaves little pink lines in her wake, stark against pale skin, and Ava watches her do it with her heart in her throat and the knowledge that if she was a dude she would’ve come in her pants already. Several times over, in fact. Boxers full of jizz. Well, not really, and also ew, but as Monica hooks her fingers in the waistband of Ava’s shorts and starts to pull them down, Ava cuts her eyes at Deborah again, just before she’s fully naked. Just to see. Just to make sure Deborah’s not making a face, she tells herself, knowing it’s a lie, because she doesn’t care if Deb is making a face or not, not when Monica is dragging her shorts down and taking her boxers down with them, and maybe Deb is holding back a remark about her wearing boxers at all, something about her dressing like a teenage boy or about how she’s so scared of seeing women’s underwear that she won’t even buy any for herself, but when she meets Deborah’s eyes, she finds that Deb is sitting a little forward in her chair and watching them with a bizarre and startling and quite frankly arousing intensity. It startles her, startles her so much that she can only look at Deborah for a moment before she’s forced to turn away, unwilling and unable to confront anything that’s being revealed by Deborah’s gaze.
“So it is natural,” Kelly speaks for maybe the first time since they sat down, peering at Ava and Monica on the bed over her glasses. For a second Ava doesn’t know what she’s talking about and then Monica laughs and Deborah laughs (a moment too late, like she’s forcing herself to do it), and Monica cups her pussy in one soft hand and she realises they’re talking about her bush. Three hot older women watching her naked in a room, talking about the generally-unkempt state of her bush. She’s had dreams like this. Maybe she should’ve finished that goddamn book.
Deborah says something, something Ava can’t actually hear over the blood rushing in her ears, which she doesn’t really like because she doesn’t like not being able to hear Deb because the chances of her saying something offensive are always pretty high, but then Monica’s thumb rolls over her clit and she jerks like she’s been electrocuted and it stops mattering.
“Oh, wow,” Monica says, partially to Ava and partially to the room, dragging her index finger up the seam of Ava’s pussy and pulling it away shiny and slick. “Aren’t you a lucky lady, Deb. I haven’t been this wet since I was in my twenties.”
Monica and Kelly both look over at Deb as if they’re expecting an answer. Ava does not, mostly because she thinks she might actually burst into flames any second now, but Deb doesn’t give them one for a moment, just stares at Ava on the bed and Monica kneeling above her without a word. Deborah isn’t speechless often. Ava can’t remember the last time she saw her actually speechless. She’d have to think about it, and she’s not sure she can think about anything, not when Monica is crawling off the bed and walking over to Kelly and sticking her finger in Kelly’s mouth for a fucking taste. Jesus fucking Christ.
While the two of them do that, whatever that is, except really hot and definitely something out of Ava’s extremely wet dreams, Ava props herself up on her uninjured elbow and mouths You good? at Deborah, who glares at her and mouths Lie back down in response. Well, she tried. Ava flops back down on the bed, fully naked, feeling quite pathetic and also maybe the horniest she’s ever been in her life besides that time she asked Ruby to slap her in the face as hard as she could while they were having sex and Ruby actually did, and wonders if Monica would be annoyed if she started touching herself. Probably not. Does she have the nerve to start touching herself in front of Deborah is the better question, and a brief glance at Deborah from her vantage point sprawled across the mattress is enough of an answer.
Kelly whispers something in Monica’s ear, something that makes Monica’s eyes light up, and Ava starts to feel a little bit like a bear caught in a trap as Monica makes her way back to the bed. Like, a sexy bear, though. A bear in a sexy way. The sexiest bear to ever have her foot caught in a trap.
“Turn over for me, sweetheart,” Monica orders, in a way where it sounds more like a suggestion even though Ava is scrambling to obey. She rolls over onto her stomach, barely getting a moment to luxuriate in the expensive sheets before Monica is straddling the back of her thighs and leaning over her and pressing her bare tits into her spine and the world is suddenly reduced to nothing but the fact that Monica’s nipples are hard against her back. She presses a kiss to Ava’s shoulder, smoothing hair off her nape so she can kiss her there too, her breath hot and sweet and sending a shiver down Ava’s spine as her tongue flicks out and catches a bead of sweat that’s formed at her scruff.
Monica kisses down the length of her back; wet, open-mouthed kisses, the kind of kisses that make Ava want to grind down into the mattress just for a little bit of friction, hands running down her sides and along her thighs, down and down until Monica’s teeth sink into the curve of her ass and she nearly jumps out of her skin. Not in a bad way. In a good way. In a really, really good way. In a way so good she presses her face into the bed to stifle another whimper and arches her hips up into Monica’s mouth and is rewarded with Monica’s thumbs spreading her open, the air against her pussy enough to make her want to start wriggling like a fish on a hook.
Ava actually yelps when Monica’s tongue finds her clit, yelps as if she’s a goddamn cartoon dog, a noise that earns a chuckle from Kelly and dead silence from Deb, and yelps again when Monica licks a broad stripe up her pussy to her ass. Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. It’s one thing for Deb to watch her have sex with Monica, entirely another for Deb to watch her get her fucking ass eaten by Monica. She’s not sure why, exactly, there’s a difference, but there is! There is and it’s a very distinct difference and Monica licks her again, slow and thorough, and Ava bites down on the comforter so she doesn’t groan out loud again.
“Let us hear you, sweetheart,” Kelly says, watching Ava over her glasses. “Nothing we haven’t heard before, right, Deb?”
To Deborah’s immense credit, she doesn’t say anything rude. No, no, she’s just looking at Ava, staring not at the headboard behind them or the fluffy pillows at the top of the bed the way Ava had figured she would, but at Ava’s face as Monica works her over with her tongue. Staring at her so intently that Ava has to jerk her chin a little and play it off as a reaction to Monica’s mouth (which is not hard, given that Monica is working the tip of her tongue into Ava’s ass and teasing her clit with her thumb at the same time and it feels unbelievably good) to get her to answer.
“Come on, honey,” urges Deborah, a bit quieter than before, no glibness in her voice, nothing sharp or cruel. Nothing that betrays how she really feels and nothing that would make Ava recoil or flinch or brush her off. A sort of sincerity that makes Ava’s skin crawl in a way that she can’t stand and can’t get enough of. “Let us hear.”
Well, she can’t exactly say no to that. She extracts her teeth from the comforter and the next time Monica’s tongue delves into her ass she lets out a moan so loud and long and pornographic that Deborah blinks hard like she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. Good to know she still has the capacity to be shocked. Monica laughs behind her, breath warm against Ava’s pussy, and keeps going, letting spit run down and catch in the sopping thatch of curls between her legs, making such a mess that Ava wonders if there’ll be a puddle beneath her when she moves and then remembers that she doesn’t really care because she won’t have to sleep in it. In the constructed fantasy of her and Deborah as a couple, she thinks she’d be the one relegated to sleeping in the wet spot. She thinks if they were a real couple she wouldn’t mind that, not really, because it would mean a job well done. Her job or Deborah’s, doesn’t matter which, she wouldn’t care either way. She moans again, louder this time, and throws herself whole-heartedly into being fucked: writhes and pants and sighs, tries to keep her weight off her cast as she arches her back, wonders what Deb thinks even though she really should be lost in a haze of pleasure that a woman not named Deborah is giving her.
Except, of course, for the fact that Deborah is watching her the whole time, staring at her, listening to the obscene wet noise of Monica eating her ass and watching the way she squirms as Monica does, and every time Ava opens her eyes she finds Deborah’s on hers. Kelly’s too, of course, but Kelly’s don’t quite unnerve her the same way. Kelly is actually a dyke. Monica is too, which she knew but is becoming quite familiar with based solely on every flick of her tongue, but Deborah isn’t and so in theory this should be doing nothing for her. (Maybe not nothing. Ava used to watch a lot of gay porn when she thought she was a lesbian. It might be the same for Deborah, but she seriously doubts that for more reasons than she currently has the brainpower to count.)
She can’t worry about it right now, not when Monica is using the blunt edge of her nail to work her clit, not when every nerve in her body feels like it’s been hooked up to a live wire, not when she’s close and she knows she’s close and Monica knows she’s close and is doing everything in power to send her over the edge. Ava comes with a cry, sagging into the mattress, legs shaking and pulse pounding in her ears, trying so hard not to think about the fact that Deborah now knows what she looks like when she comes that it’s kind of all she can think about. She doesn’t want to be thinking about it, but she often thinks about things that she doesn’t want to be thinking about, so she rides the rest of her orgasm out against Monica’s mouth and thumb and lets her mind wander as her body spasms and jerks and twitches.
“No wonder you like that so much,” Monica says, rubbing one palm along the curve of Ava’s ass and stroking the mark of her teeth with her thumb. She’s talking to Deborah and so Ava doesn’t bother listening to whatever else they’re saying. Apparently Deb can handle herself in this department. Ava sure can’t, not right now, and by the time she turns over onto her back to peer up at Monica, the three of them are laughing again, doubtlessly at her expense. Whatever. She came. She came and now Monica is resting on her knees beside her, letting her laughter trail off into that same catlike smile as she tucks a bit of Ava’s hair behind her ear. “Are you still with us, sweetie?”
“Mm-hmm.” Ava nods, taking one last deep breath, and Monica beams down at her.
“Good, good.” Monica’s gaze wanders from Ava’s face to the cast on her wrist, the one Deborah refused to sign no matter how many times Ava asked her to, and rubs her thumb along Ava’s bottom lip thoughtfully. “Shame that hand is out of commission, hm? But I think I’ve got a better idea.”
For one brief, beautiful second, Ava thinks Monica is about to sit on her face. It’s the stuff of dreams, really, died-and-gone-to-Heaven-even-though-she-doesn’t-really-believe-in-Heaven stuff, watching Monica slide out of her pyjama shorts and toss them aside, staring at the fine blonde hair between her legs, the hint of slick pink skin, and then Monica is leaning down over her and kissing her again and covering Ava’s body with her own and prying Ava’s thighs apart to settle between them.
“You’ve done this before, right?” Monica asks, their noses bumping together as she lifts one of Ava’s legs and arranges it around her waist. Ava has not, in fact, done this before— she’s had girlfriends who wanted to try and she always dismissed it as a hyper-sexualized idea of intimacy between two women, a man’s idea of how two women would have sex instead of anything rooted in actual queer desires— but she nods anyways, hitching her thigh up a little higher.
“Yeah, totally,” Ava tells her, lying through her teeth. “One of my favourites. Positions, I mean. Our favourites, actually, I should say. This one can’t get enough.”
“Huh.” Monica glances up at Deborah and Ava does too, wondering if Deborah is going to reach out and smack her. Maybe. She nods instead, thankfully, lifting one shoulder in a shrug as if to say sue me, and Monica gives Kelly a look before returning her eyes to Deb. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Deb. I’m impressed.”
Ava opens her mouth to chime in again, apparently emboldened by the orgasm, but Monica cuts her off with another kiss and grinds down against the cradle of her thighs and she forgets what she was talking about. Shocker. Hard not to, though, when Monica’s pussy is sliding against her own and Monica’s mouth is on hers and one of Monica’s hands is coming up to grab at her tits again. She’s already hot and bothered and oversentive from coming once, slick and wet from Monica’s mouth, and she can feel every single ridge and curve of Monica’s cunt against hers, the hard press of her clit and the sticky warmth of her, and she gasps into Monica’s mouth at the feeling and grabs her ass with her uninjured hand to urge her to keep going.
Monica moans too, a low sound at the back of her throat that Ava wants to devour, and rolls her hips, thrusting shallowly against Ava’s pussy and pinching her nipples in a steady rhythm that only serves to make Ava’s entire body feel blotchy and hot. The hair between Ava’s legs is coarser than Monica’s, thicker and darker and denser against thin blonde wisps that are clearly neatly trimmed as their hips meet over and over again, something that would ordinarily bother Ava (the patriarchy, she thinks, pedophilic beauty standards or maybe her own internalized self-loathing) but right now doesn’t trouble her one bit, maybe because it’s hot or maybe because Deborah is staring at them. Shit! Fuck! Kelly is in the room too and Ava isn’t thinking about her nearly this much!
She can just… not think about her. Surely that won’t be too hard. One of the sexiest women she’s ever seen in her life is on top of her, grinding their clits together, hot and slippery and wet, biting and sucking her bottom lip, twisting her nipples exactly the way she likes. She can focus on that. She is focusing on that: digging her nails into Monica’s ass, arching her tits up into her hands, lifting her leg up higher to get more friction against her cunt, panting against her mouth and letting out desperate little whines that are getting higher in pitch the closer she gets to coming again, and then Kelly says something to Deborah and Deborah barks a laugh and Ava starts fucking thinking about her again.
“Well, I can’t quite get my leg up that high,” Deborah says, all jokes again, and Ava tips her head back to look at her upside-down. She’s relaxed a little, settled into her chair, and she avoids Ava’s eye as she continues. “It’s why she does all the work. I’ve earned a bit of a break.”
Ava shudders at her words, actually shudders, some strange and unfamiliar pleasure rippling through her body at the idea of servicing Deb like that (or at the idea of Kelly and Monica thinking she does, which is basically the same thing) and Monica smiles against her mouth, thrusting harder against her pussy as her breathing speeds up. It really is a crying shame they’re never going to do this again, because she’s willing to bet Monica is capable of ridiculous things with a strap-on based solely on the way her hips are working against Ava’s own.
“That’s it, sweetie,” Monica breathes, her nails digging into Ava’s tit and squeezing so hard it would hurt if Ava hadn’t previously established her Fruedian impulses and the need to soothe her unconscious guilt (for being a woman? For having sexual desire? She really should’ve finished that fucking book). “Almost there, there we go.”
Ava is almost there, she can feel it in her gut, and she screws her eyes shut and tries to tune everything out except the slippy-wet slide of Monica’s pussy against her own, She forgets Deborah, forgets Kelly, forgets the jumpsuit and the TV pilot and the MSG show, forgets what she should be doing and focuses on sensation and rakes her nails down Monica’s back as she comes, hard and hot and liquid and good. Monica isn’t far behind her and Ava can feel the clench of her pussy as she goes over the edge and wow. Maybe this is why some women actually do this, because the feeling of Monica’s orgasm against her own clit is maybe one of the best things she’s ever felt in her life and it’s enough to make her want to come all over again.
Monica rolls off of her with a sigh, turning onto her stomach and resting her chin in her hands as she looks briefly at Ava and then over at Kelly with bright, adoring eyes. Her cheeks are pink and her hair is tousled and she has long scratches down her back from Ava’s fingernails yet here she is, gazing at Kelly as if she’s the only woman in the world, and Kelly is looking at her in the exact same way. What must that feel like? Ava doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at her that way, not really, not with that same absolute adoration. Her fake girlfriend won’t even look at her that way.
Her fake girlfriend is, in fact, looking at her with an entirely different expression, one Ava’s not sure she can parse right now. Maybe on a savvier day she’d be able to understand Deb properly, unpack what the look in her eyes actually means, figure out if she’s irritated or bored or tired or having a sexual awakening in her seventies or hungry, but right now all she can manage to do is sit up and wonder what she’s supposed to do next. She’s practiced a lot of scenarios in therapy but this is certainly not one of them.
“That was fun!” Monica says brightly, saving Ava from having to speak first, pushing herself up onto her elbows and smiling toothily at both Ava and Deb. “You’re a lucky lady, Deb. Don’t let this one out of your sight.”
“Oh, trust me, I don’t. She gets lost in crowds,” Deborah says, making Ava’s already-pink cheeks go a little pinker. One time! Deb had to page her in a department store one time! She’d defend herself, but Kelly and Monica are already laughing, and Kelly is standing up from her chair and Deborah is doing the same and Ava knows she doesn’t want to overstay her welcome so she gets up too, fishing her discarded pyjamas up off the floor and sliding back into them.
It feels unceremonious, but Ava’s not exactly sure how ceremonious she expected it to be, and so she lets Kelly slap her on the back and lets Monica give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek and finds herself out in the hallway with Deborah at her side, shirt on backwards and her boxers uncomfortably sticky.
They pad back to their bedroom in silence. Ava doesn’t dare glance over at Deb, unsure what she’ll find written all over her face, just stares at her feet and tries not to skip. What a fucking night! Damien isn’t going to believe this. Damien probably isn’t going to want to hear about it, but Ava doesn’t really have many friends, so he’s going to have to shut up and listen to her for at least a little bit. She’s heard about enough of his parties (orgies) that he can listen to her recount a slightly-embellished orgy of her own. Not that this was actually an orgy. She thinks. Technically she only had sex with Monica, even though Monica did give Kelly a taste of her pussy and Deborah was… there. A foursome? A peep show? She’ll have to Google it later. Surely someone on Reddit had this issue twelve years ago.
“Most women don’t do that, you know,” Ava says once their bedroom door is shut, still not looking Deborah in the eyes. “I know your exposure to lesbian sex is pretty limited, so I just wanted to let you know that’s not representative of the average queer woman’s sexual practice.”
“Trust me, honey, I’ve had enough exposure to lesbian sex for the rest of my life.” Deborah rolls her eyes, sitting down on the edge of the bed and rubbing a hand over her face.
This statement disappoints Ava for several reasons, none of which she can name, and so she just stands there, finally looking at Deb, rocking back a little on her heels anxiously. She’s not sure why she’s anxious. The time to be anxious was— she checks the time on the digital clock on the nightstand— ninety minutes ago? God, poor Deb. Sex with men does not last that long. She was probably counting the seconds waiting for them to be done. Ava clears her throat. “Well, I’m just saying. That was a one-off. It’s not something most queer women regularly do, so don’t add it to your act or start recounting it as an anecdote or anything.”
“You seriously think I’d ever put this in my act?” Deborah stares at her. “Oh, yeah, what a great bit. I watched my writer go at it with Kelly Kilpatrick’s wife in exchange for a jumpsuit?”
“You think I was good enough to get the jumpsuit?”
“Don’t get cocky.”
“I certainly wasn’t.” Ava gives her an exaggerated wink and Deborah rolls her eyes halfway out of her skull, rubbing at her temples again. Well, at least she isn’t fired. Things could always be worse. Ava rounds the bed and pulls the covers back on her side, starting to crawl beneath the sheets, already yawning, and is stopped in her tracks by a click of Deborah’s tongue.
“Ah-ah. Tub.”
“Tub? Come on. I just got you that jumpsuit!”
“Yeah, because that was such a hardship.” Deborah snaps her fingers and points in the direction of the bathroom. “Go on. I’ve seen enough of you for one night.”
"That should bring us closer together!"
"Go!"
“I bet Monica doesn’t have to sleep in the bathtub.” Ava grumbles, collecting her pillow and a blanket from the bed. She bets Monica doesn't. She bets right now Monica is kissing Kelly and maybe grinding on Kelly and neither of them are in the wet spot and certainly neither of them are being banished to the fucking bathtub.
“Honey, if you had Wonder Bread money, I'd never make you sleep in the tub again."