Deborah isn’t up to talking.
Not after she dismisses Ava, or fires her, or whatever. Not after she watches Ava’s heart break right in front of her eyes, beat by beat, until she can no longer pretend she’s holding it together and has to walk away.
She finds the bar, makes pleasantries with all the right people for another hour or so before asking Marcus and Damien to handle any questions about her whereabouts. She needs some air, she needs to be alone, she needs, she needs, she needs. She doesn’t know what she needs. She just knows that it hurts, and that whatever is going on up on that rooftop will do nothing to make that feeling go away.
She makes it down to the lobby, can see her car waiting through the glass doors ahead, is almost home free, when someone calls her name. She turns tentatively, already preparing an excuse that will allow her a speedy escape, only the person in question surprises her too much for her to act.
“Janet? What are you doing here?”
Janet motions with one hand as she strides forward in a dress that shows off both her legs and cleavage, and Deborah has to give her credit; no one that looks that fuckable should also be that terrifying, it’s too much power for one person.
“You invited me.”
“Yeah, as a joke. I never thought you’d actually come.”
“Well, I saw it as more of a dare than anything else and I don’t back down from dares,” Janet says, looking Deborah over. “Congratulations, by the way. You killed. But that’s not surprising.”
Deborah licks her lips.
“I’m still not leaving Jimmy.”
“Yeah, I’ve made my peace with that. Just here as a fan.”
“Sure. What are you actually doing here?”
“Honestly? I just wanted Jimmy to see me. Thought maybe if he felt threatened it might fuck with his night a little bit.”
Janet laughs, like saying ‘well, what are you gonna do?’ and Deborah can’t help it, she’s amused by that. Sees a little bit of herself in that. It makes her forget a little bit of the pain.
“Are you leaving your own party already?”
“Yeah,” Deborah says, nodding. “Too many people.”
“You feel like a drink?”
“Yes,” she says slowly. “With me.”
And it’s too tempting to deny, Deborah figures. If anything, it’ll be a distraction.
Janet takes her to some bar downtown Deborah’s pretty sure was a gym at some point. It’s some hip new lounge with a guest list Janet is not on, and yet they don’t have a problem getting in. Deborah hates that she’s impressed by this. She hates how much she loves the annoyed look on people’s faces when Janet takes her by the hand and leads them right past the line that wraps around the block and straight through the front door. Inside, Janet stops to briefly speak with the bartender before guiding Deborah to a booth in the back.
“You always walk into rooms like you’re Don Corleone?”
“Yeah,” Janet says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and it makes Deborah laugh. “You don’t walk into places like you’ve got the biggest dick in the room, men won’t take you seriously. But you know that better than anyone.”
A waiter arrives soon thereafter and Deborah is about to ask for a drink, when a martini is placed in front of her, Janet’s own drink quickly follows.
“Enjoy,” Says the bartender before leaving.
Deborah turns with a raised eyebrow.
“You trying to impress me or something?”
“Whether or not it’s working.”
Deborah raises her glass, takes a sip and is visibly surprised.
“Holy shit. That’s good.”
“I do my homework.”
“Okay, fine. I’m somewhat impressed.”
Janet toasts her.
They finish the first round, and they get halfway through the second before Janet strikes again.
“Not for anything, but you and I would make an insane team.”
“But you’re loyal, I get it. I respect that. For the record, I think you’re too hot for Jimmy to handle on his own.”
Deborah sets her glass down, eyes narrowed as she fully takes in Janet’s tone, and the way she’s looking at her.
“Are you flirting with me?”
Janet smacks her lips, posts a very big swig of what Deborah can now see is scotch, and nods.
Deborah exhales a disbelieving laugh and narrows her eyes in suspicion at her. If there’s one thing she’s learned in her decades of experience in this business, is never trust an agent with a grudge.
“I told you,” Janet replies easily. “You’re fucking lava.”
Janet looks Deborah up and down, slower this time, making sure Deborah knows that it’s happening, and it’s downright lascivious.
Deborah is kind of really into it.
“Where do you live?”
Janet lives, it turns out, in a beautiful, chic house in the hills. One of those pretty houses on stilts with a lot of land and not much of a yard. Deborah might have an on-call dog walker but the dog-mom in her is always thinking, where would my dogs shit?
“Beautiful house,” Deborah notes, pausing to admire the view out the glass doors. From up here, she can see actual stars, and she forgot that you can see those sometimes in LA.
“Thank you,” Janet replies, coming to stand beside Deborah. “Just moved in a few months ago.”
She mentions something about a house she’d been trying to sell in The Oaks, and Deborah snorts.
“I’m on the same boat–been trying to get rid of my LA house for years.”
“What’s the hold up? Mold?”
“No. Used to be a treehouse blocking the view, but now it’s just music I can’t turn off.”
“It’s just one song over and over. It’s like Anita Baker is haunting my house.”
They share a smile and there’s a spark there. Deborah can feel it now. Something she was keeping locked up was pried open that night on the ship with Ava and she’s found herself more receptive to this kind of thing with women. It’s been freeing. Maybe sometime in the future she’ll tell her about it.
“Would you like a drink?” Janet asks.
Deborah looks at her, gives her an appreciative onceover of her own and takes a step toward her.
It’s rhetorical. Obviously it’s rhetorical, and Deborah is grateful for that. She’s tired of talking tonight, of thinking, of feeling. And Janet doesn’t strike Deborah as the type to want to talk about feelings. In fact, it’s confirmed when she takes her by the hand and leads her into her bedroom. A chic as fuck bedroom with almost too many windows and not enough walls.
Janet kisses Deborah like she knows what she’s doing. And well, she’s not the first woman Deborah’s ever kissed, but she sure as hell going to be the first woman to fuck her and Deborah doesn’t want to think too hard about what it means that Ava’s face is there, in her mind, for the briefest of moments. She does not want to give that any weight. Not now. So she slants her mouth and pulls Janet closer by the waist, lets her lick into her mouth, arches into the hand feeling her up. It distracts her enough that she doesn’t notice when the zipper in the back of her dress has been pulled down until the swiftest of breezes licks her bare back.
It makes her shiver and Deborah lets Janet undress her, toes off her heels and then takes a seat at the edge of the bed, legs crossed and leaning back on her hands. Janet undresses for her a smirk on her face, her eyes lined up to Deborah’s gaze as she unzips her own dress and lets it fall in a pool at her feet. She has a beautiful body and Deborah feels it now, she knows and can confirm that it is in fact desire. She feels it in the tips of her fingers, the urge to touch, and she presses her hands harder into the bedding. She feels it between her legs and presses her knees together.
“Come here,” she says, with a single wave of her right hand as she sits up.
Her voice sounds so low, so thick. It surprises her, and she notices now the way her breath has become more deliberate. She bites her lip as Janet approaches, braces herself for what’s coming and then places her left hand on Janet’s hip while her right traces the lace pattern of her underwear, just idly drawing along the fabric.
Deborah leans forward to press her lips to her stomach and quickly decides maybe that’s too intimate so she looks up instead and drags a hand up Janet’s inner thigh instead, tracing those same patterns from earlier along her slit through the crotch of her underwear. And, sure, it all feels very natural and everything, but she’s also keenly aware that she’s never done this before and the realization that she actually has to do something now makes her panic. Luckily, Janet doesn’t seem to be the type to wait, and Deborah is grateful when she’s instructed to scoot back.
Janet climbs into bed, crawls over and astride Deborah’s body, slowly like a predator and Deborah inhales through her nose, slow and deliberate as her heart begins to race.
“Hi,” Janet husks, her hair a curtain around both their faces as she looms over Deborah.
“Hey,” Deborah replies, and moans into Janet's lips when she kisses her, slowly, thoroughly. She lets Janet part her knees so she can settle easily between her legs and takes the liberty of doing what she wants, which is touch every inch of heated skin that she can reach; Janet’s arms, her shoulders, her breasts. Deborah trails her fingers down her spine, smoothes her palms over the swell of her ass and groans when this causes Janet to grind her hips down.
Deborah can’t help but make some comparisons to the last person that took her to bed. Janet smells better, that much she has gathered. She’s softer, and if she’s being honest a better kisser, too. Her fram is smaller, molds differently onto Deborah, fits differently between her legs, but she’s definitely not fragile, or the virginal little flower Deborah herself has often pretended to be for the sake of one partner or another. Janet isn’t afraid to pin Deborah down. Janet holds her wrists together above her head and smiles as she watches Deborah wiggle. She trails a hand down the side of Deborah’s neck, cups her jaw and then traces Deborah’s chin with her thumb. Deborah waits as the pad of the digit traces the swell of her bottom lip before slipping into her mouth and she doesn’t even think about it. She lets her tongue dance along the ridges of the knuckle, sucks on it–she moans at the way this makes Janet smile above her, the way her breath hitches when Deborah’s teeth graze her teasingly and then it’s gone and Janet kisses her again.
This kiss is deeper, a little more demanding, with more teeth, which is a welcome sensation. The jarring pinch of it keeps Deborah in the moment, far away from all the feelings related to Ava and doing the right thing, and a ton of other ones jumbled up inside her. This is the perfect distraction.
Apparently, Janet’s plenty distracted herself because Deborah takes a chance on tugging a wrist free and succeeds. Before Janet can react, Deborah pushes, and then rolls her onto her back.
Janet exhales a laugh, and Deborah, sitting astride her, sits up and takes a second to appreciate just what a stunning woman she is.
Deborah watches Janet brush her hair out of her face; her pupils are blown and her flushed chest heaves with every breath she takes, and it stuns Deborah, to be desired that way. The ache between her legs becomes almost overwhelming and she melts right into the heated embrace when Janet sits up and meets her in quite frankly the sluttiest kiss Deborah’s ever had.
“Open your mouth,” Janet husks, and Deborah does. She lets Janet lead, lets her lick and bite, lets her pull her flush against her so that Deborah has to tilt her head down to kiss her, even as her hips grind and gyrate leisurely, letting out a whining moan when she finds a sweet spot against Janet’s pelvic bone that makes her shiver.
Deborah hisses as teeth mark her clavicle, sighs when her bra is suddenly off and Janet’s all hands and lips and Deborah’s got her hand in her hair without even thinking about it. She tugs hard, and Janet smiles when she says, “I’m sure you get this all the time, but your tits are incredible.”
Deborah laughs into another kiss and lets Janet push her back onto the mattress. She closes her eyes as Janet trails open mouthed kisses down the side of her neck, her chest and over her breasts before licking her way further south to hike a leg over her shoulder and then Deborah’s gasping, and then moaning as Janet proceeds to lap at her slowly.
And there’s a moment, right as she’s starting to forget herself, just as her body is succumbing to the rhythm Janet’s tongue is setting, when Deborah hears the moment play out all over again like a ghostly echo in a goddamn cathedral.
I want to be wherever you are
She screws her eyes shut, brings her hands up and presses the heels into the sockets. From somewhere inside the filing cabinet of what she once considered mundane moments, she selects others less painful. Like some lucid dream, she strolls through them; all the meals they’ve had together, all the casual touches, the prickly little ways only a person you really love can hurt you, the laughter. In the end, it all comes down to the laughter, and that does it. She isn't proud to use this now, with someone else, but she’d rather have this than the other stuff and she chases that sensation–the one that makes her giddy. The one that makes her feel like she’ll live forever. And then Janet’s done something particularly wonderful that makes Deborah grab at the sheets, and she’s back, all of it melting into one wave after another.
Deborah comes with a choked sob and rolling little shocks that drip and slither deliciously like hot lava, and that reminds her of another moment altogether and Deborah smiles through the aftershocks.
You’re fucking lava
Deborah hums and sighs as she catches her breath and Janet crawls back over her, settling beside her. When Deborah opens her eyes and Janet is looking at her, still looking at her like that , it makes her think maybe she is hot fucking lava.
“How do you feel about strapons?”
“I don’t know. Pro, I think?”
Janet smiles, bites her lip as she gives Deborah’s chest a swift glance and then gets up.
“Be right back.”
Deborah watches Janet disappear, and while she’s alone, she looks around the bedroom. No pictures with clients, or awards, or any of the usual bullshit people in the entertainment industry like to keep around to remind themselves they’re important. All Deborah sees is tasteful art pieces, and fresh flowers; peonies. It’s the bedroom of a confident, self assured woman who isn’t afraid to come off looking like a venomous vindictive snake. Deborah wishes she were more like that. She wishes she cared less.
“Water-based lube okay?”
Deborah holds back a cackle at the question, gives into a brief stretch of her spine before replying, loud enough for Janet to hear wherever she is, “Sure!”
“I only use water-based,” Janet says, returning, and it’s said with the same tone one would use to talk about a preferred moisturizer or something.
Deborah finds it especially endearing, considering that when Janet is back and standing bedside, she’s got a blue dildo strapped to her hips and she’s stroking it with what Deborah assumes is the aforementioned lube. It glistens in her hands and it’s distracting–in a good way.
Deborah pushes herself up onto her elbows as she raises an eyebrow and notes that Janet is definitely, finally, naked.
“Is it better than oil based?” She asks.
“Oh yeah,” Janet says, nodding. “It’s just more natural. Less messy. Safer for sensitive skin. You know?”
“How thoughtful of you.”
“Well,” Janet says as she crawls back over Deborah, slots herself between her legs. “I’m nothing if not a good hostess.”
Deborah laughs against her mouth as they kiss, raising her knees automatically before hooking one leg over Janet’s hip. And it’s easier than she thought–seamless really. She used to think that, if she ever did give women a try, it would be clumsy to say the least. She thought she would be nervous, that she wouldn’t know what to do. Though she supposes that she hasn’t done much, not really. Not yet. She’s thinking this when she feels a smidge of a vibration and she breaks their kiss to glance down.
“What is that?”
“Just a little bullet,” Janet answers. “For me. Kind of a hers and hers situation.”
It turns out that Janet fucks the way she does business. Very, very well. Deborah won’t lie, the vibrator is definitely a hers and hers situation. Or maybe it’s the slow, deliberate strokes–maybe a little bit of both. At any rate, Janet has Deborah arching her neck and moaning, and cursing through her second orgasm of the night in no time. And it’s good. It’s really good. It wraps around her spine and seeps through, curls her toes, makes her feel greedy.
Deborah fists her hand in Janet’s hair and pulls through the tailend of her release, forcing Janet’s mouth off her bare shoulder so their faces are leveled.
“Can you come like this?” She pants, and Janet nods. “Good, stay right here.”
Realistically, Deborah isn’t anywhere near another orgasm, she shouldn’t be. But there’s something about the newness of everything. Every sensation feels heightened once she tunes in and becomes fully aware. It’s Janet's breasts brushing her own–it’s the sound they make every time Janet thrusts into her, the glazed look in Janet’s eyes, and the way she groans when Deborah gives her hair a tug. It all brings back those early signs of it and Deborah raises her knees a little higher, moaning when the shift confirms she is in fact on her way there again.
“Harder,” Deborah moans and Janet grunts, slamming her hips into Deborah, making her cry out and now Deborah has to reach one hand above her head, searching aimlessly for purchase, finally settling for the edge of the bed.
“Touch yourself,” Janet rasps, rolling and then jutting her hips.
Deborah lets go of Janet’s hair then in favor of slipping her hand between their bodies to find her clit. She gasps as she chases the build-up, circling in rapid circles against the slickness there, crying out when Janet shifts for better leverage.
“Fuck,” Deborah groans, her hand moving between her legs, and then she’s gasping and keening while Janet fucks her, tells her she’s good, she’s so good , and then Janet’s muffling moans into Deborah’s shoulder, and then Deborah’s falling, falling. Somewhere beyond the fog of it she can hear Janet, can feel her falling into a similar pattern as their bodies rock together before the inevitable release. And, well. Fuck.
Tangled up in Janet Stone, sweaty and sore in all the best possible ways, and still tingly all over, is the last place Dbeorah thought she’d end up tonight.
Janet rolls off her and Deborah hears her catch her breath beside her as she attempts the same. After a moment she hears Janet sigh.
“That was fun.”
Deborah hums, looks over and smiles.
“It was.” She says. “I should go.”
“Sure. Or you could stay,” Janet says, leering suggestively. “I know a game we could play if you’re feeling competitive.”
“Yeah? What kind of a game?”
“Hang tight,” Janet replies before rolling out of bed and then says with a wink, “I’ll walk you through the first round, but first I’ll make you a martini. I make a mean martini.”
And then she’s gone, and Deborah rolls onto her stomach as she catches her breath, and, well there are worse places she could spend the night walling her sorrows. Some other night, she’ll have to brave the consequences alone, but not tonight.