It’s another one of those unbearably long events. Too many tables, too many people, too many speeches, not enough substance, not nearly enough alcohol. Jaime pushes her chair out from her table (back of the room, too, she’d bitch about it if she wasn’t so relieved), slinks out through a side door. The lobby seems full of people too, meandering about absentmindedly, trying to forget where they are, and waiting for the ever so slow hands of the clock to turn enough that it’s acceptable to leave. Jaime nods to a few familiar faces, but keeps pushing through the crowd until she finds a servers entrance, and on the other side of the nondescript wooden door she finds herself in a private courtyard, where she is blessedly alone. The photographers can’t make it this far into the building’s structure, and the rest of the guests are apparently unwilling to brave the watery mist that lies like a heavy blanket over London this evening. She sidles along the wall, pulls her jacket tighter across her chest, and finds a small alcove where she is shielded from most of the almost-rain. Digging through her purse (how can it be so hard to find something in such a small purse?) for her cigarettes and lighter, finally finding them, and relaxing back against the wall, the uneven bricks digging into her shoulder blades, with a palpable sense of relief as she draws deeply on the cigarette.
She’s halfway through her second when the door opens again, and a woman stumbles into the courtyard, shuddering against the chilly mist. Jaime watches as the woman draws a few deep breaths and looks around, and then the woman sees her. She comes closer, wobbling on the cobblestones in her high heels, but it seems from more than just the uneven ground. Bitch. Jaime hasn’t found alcohol that strong anywhere in the building, all bubbles and diluted coloured flavouring.
As the woman draws closer Jaime vaguely recognizes her, but can’t put a name to her.
“Got an extra?” She gestures to the cigarette in Jaime’s fingers.
“Sure.” Jaime hands her the pack, then lights her cigarette for her, and for a while they just smoke together in silence.
Finally the woman draws a deep breath. “Thanks. I needed that.”
Jaime rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that’s why I’m out here.”
The woman pulls a flask from her purse, and dammit, why didn’t Jaime think of that? She puts it to her mouth, and Jaime watches her throat as she swallows. Then she hands it over.
“Thanks.” Jaime takes it, fills her mouth before she’s even tasted and then her eyes start watering. She swallows in one take, coughs afterward. “Fuck, so that's why you can't stand up straight.”
The woman grins, entirely too satisfactorily, takes back her bottle for another sip. Jaime wants to kiss that grin off her face. So she does. She’s only had the alcohol in her body for 20 seconds, so she knows that logically she can’t blame it (yet), but there’s something about standing in the chilly mist with a smug (gorgeous) woman, after a night like tonight. So she kisses her, pushes her back against the bricks. The woman doesn’t exactly protest, dropping her cigarette to the ground to wind her fingers in Jaime’s hair and pull her closer.
The kiss would be laughable if it wasn’t so hot. Jaime realizes they look like desperate teenagers, pawing at each other, clashing teeth together and smearing lipstick, but damn if the woman’s tongue in her mouth doesn’t make her want to fuck her right here. She bites down on her bottom lip, runs a hand down to cup the woman’s bra-less breast through the silk of her dress, tugging on the nipple and the woman groans. Jaime moves her lips along the line of her jaw, nibbles the skin of her throat. And then she feels a hand running down her back and without hesitating cupping her ass with the tips of her fingers resting against her cunt. Jaime’s hips are jerking against the other woman’s thigh before she even realizes.
And suddenly the game has changed again. In a second their purses are on the ground, and Jaime works her hand under the other woman’s dress, pushing aside damp flimsy underwear and the woman shudders against her at the first touch of Jaime’s fingers between her lips. Jaime teases her for a few moments, dipping inside only to pull out, swirling her fingers around her clit, back inside again, and then the woman somehow manages to get underneath her own dress. The angle has to be awkward, but fuck it feels good, and Jaime gets to business pushing her fingers inside like she means it and sliding the base of her hand against her clit. Much too soon they’re shaking against each other and then Jaime is coming as cold fingers rub quickly quickly against her clit.
In silence at first they attempt to straighten their clothes and clean themselves up, but soon the other woman starts giggling.
“God, I didn’t even know I needed that.”
Jaime laughs, in vain trying to wipe lipstick from around her mouth with a tissue. “Me neither.”
“You come to a lot of these things?”
The other woman looks disgustingly presentable already and smiles again, that too-smug smile that makes Jaime itch. “Fantastic. I’m Lena. Hopefully I’ll run into you again.” She brushes a kiss over the back of Jaime’s hand, and disappears back into the mist that seems to have thickened. A moment later Jaime hears the dull thud of the door closing.