Probably, it’s all about ducks.
That’s how it seems the first time they have sex, anyway.
Vi’s bedroom, late, a weekend. Giggling with the lights off.
“You’re supposed to be being quiet,” Vi fake-whispers, and jostles Caitlyn—shaking, hand clamped over her mouth—where she sits on her legs.
Powder's down the hall, asleep, or pretending to be, and Vi's not interested in an awkward conversation over breakfast.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Caitlyn whispers back, through her fingers, other hand resting on Vi’s hip for balance. “I just—I did not expect these boxers.”
“You don’t like my duckies?”
“It’s—My gosh, they’re just—”
“Watch it, Kiramman. These are my favourite.”
“How long have you had these?”
“I’m withholding all further information for somebody who actually appreciates my choice in underwear.”
Caitlyn smacks her, light, on the leg.
“You can’t tell me you wouldn’t tease me if I were wearing anything similar.”
“I’d just think you look super cute.”
Her eyes dart up, to meet Vi’s.
Even in the dim beams of moon and stars and streetlight filtering through the gap in the curtains, Vi can tell she’s blushing.
“Well,” she starts, voice softer, “I think you look adorable.”
Vi grins. Curls her fingers around Caitlyn’s ear to tuck her hair behind it. She wore it out tonight. Vi loves it when she wears it out.
Caitlyn smiles—something small, something intimate—fingers skimming down Vi’s bare stomach.
She’s laid out in her sports bra and her boxers and honestly, if things didn’t progress much further than all of this, Vi wouldn’t complain in the morning. She’s comfortable. She’s very, very comfortable.
Caitlyn Kiramman has that effect.
“Alas,” she adds, trailing her hands over Vi’s skin, fingers light, “I think the ducklings are going to have to go.”
Vi huffs, half a laugh and half to do with tingling everywhere Caitlyn’s touch finds her.
Caitlyn Kiramman has that effect, too.
“Darn,” Vi says. “Think you’re right.”
Then Caitlyn’s hands are on the waistband of her boxers—the red boxers with the yellow cartoon ducks on them which really are her favourite—and her fingers curl under the elastic and… and Vi holds her breath.
She’s gonna take them off.
And the air’s gonna hit her, where she’s… exposed.
She’s going to lie here with this amazing, pretty girl she doesn’t know all that well yet but would like to, and it’s going to feel like the most nerve-wracking thing that ever happened to anyone.
Caitlyn’s going to touch her, and it’s going to feel like… nothing.
And that is going to feel wrong.
“Um,” Vi starts, shifting under her hands—as if she has more to say.
Which she doesn’t. But the uncertainty has to go somewhere.
Caitlyn stops. Looks up. Waits.
“Sorry,” Vi says, finally. “S’nothing.”
Vi nods, immediate.
“Yeah,” she says. “No, totally. Sorry.”
She’s being an idiot.
Everything’s better with Cait.
Until her hands move again, and Vi realises she’s gonna have to lift her hips so Caitlyn can slide the boxers over her butt and out from under her.
Caitlyn does. Lets go of Vi’s underwear altogether and rests her hands on her sides.
“We don’t have to-”
“No! No, no, I, uh—It’s—I just, um…”
I don’t know if I want you to see me.
What a thing to say at a time like this.
This girl’s gonna bolt out the door so damn fast and that’ll be that before it hardly began.
“Vi,” says Caitlyn, hands rubbing at her sides to get her attention. Or to soothe. “Hey. Everything’s alright. Okay?”
Vi just nods, keen on saying something coherent next time she opens her mouth and not so sure she’s there yet.
It’s not like they haven’t made out for an hour straight on the backseat of Vi’s truck.
Or she hasn’t gone to her shift at Jericho’s with a hickey the size of her thumb on her neck.
Or Caitlyn hasn’t encouraged their pelvises rubbing together, squeezed all kinds of places and whispered curses and called for a stop before things got out of hand.
Now here they are, everything very much in hand, a not unnatural progression for two people with a growing attraction for one another, and what’s Vi doing?
Screwing it right up.
“Sorry,” she says again.
“It’s alright. We can stop, if you want to.”
Vi doesn’t have to spend long thinking about that.
Her first thought aligns with her gut reaction, and she shakes her head.
“No,” she says, propping herself on her elbows. “No, I—I’m really excited to do this. I was… We were having fun, until I...”
“It’s still fun,” Caitlyn says, gentle. “I’m still having fun, darling.”
She’s started calling Vi that recently.
Makes her sound important.
Makes her sound important to Caitlyn.
Which makes her feel important, in a way nothing else ever has.
“Me, too,” says Vi, meaning it. “Heaps. I, um… I like being with you.”
Caitlyn’s smile comes back, and this time her eyes join in.
“I like being with you, too.”
“But,” she adds, “I’m not interested in doing anything you don’t want to do.”
Guilt simmers in Vi’s periphery, and she shoves it back.
Caitlyn hasn’t left.
Vi is starting to wonder if Caitlyn will never leave.
Wouldn’t that be something?
“It’s—It’s not that I don’t want to,” Vi says. “I guess I just… don’t want to take them off. My boxers. Sometimes.”
Here it comes.
Can’t have sex with your clothes on.
What did you think we were here to do, exactly?
Or she’ll say nothing, and get up and get gone.
Happened before, with other women.
Might not even hurt this time.
Caitlyn’s hands shift upward, and so does her body. Situating herself over Vi’s thighs, to straddle her. Hands sliding up her neck to toy with the back of her hair.
Vi’s hands settle on her hips, an instinct.
She tries to keep her touch light.
Caitlyn’s not gonna want this, in another few seconds.
“Sometimes?” she says. “Like now, maybe?”
“I guess. Yeah.”
Caitlyn hums. One of her hands comes round to rest in the middle of Vi’s chest, heavy, grounding.
“Well then,” she says, her mouth close to Vi’s, “we’d better leave them on, don’t you think?”
Vi’s hands dig into skin. Her fleshy softness.
Feels the permission building between them both, and can’t ignore it.
Doesn’t want to.
“You—You don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind.”
“Okay,” Vi says, quiet, not convinced.
“Really,” Caitlyn says, convincing. She kisses the corner of her mouth. “Do you still want us to have sex tonight?”
“Good. So do I. Who says anybody has to be naked for that?”
“Lots of people.”
“Those people lack imagination, darling,” she says, kissing Vi’s neck. “If it’s all the same to you, I can think of many things we can do together, regardless of who’s wearing what.”
All the blood in Vi’s veins halts, and travels in whatever direction it doesn’t normally.
Caitlyn’s hands are in Vi’s hair again. Holding. Her knees squeeze Vi’s waist.
“How’s that sound?” she asks.
“G—Good,” Vi stammers. Mouth dry. “Sounds good.”
She can’t remember the last time she was this hot or this lightheaded.
She wants to flip them and press her tongue between Caitlyn’s thighs over and over and over.
“Alright, then,” Caitlyn says, mouth back near hers. “So shut the duck up, and kiss me.”
There’s gonna be a moment—several, really—in the months and years to come, when Vi is reminded of that night in a way that makes it fresh and amazing and real again.
Doing laundry, getting dressed, tidying the bedroom.
Finding the boxers nobody’s thrown away, no matter how thin the fabric gets.
Feeling cared for.
And choosing to keep them again.
The first time they use a strap-on together is the first time Vi’s used one at all.
She approaches the whole thing with dubious curiosity.
“I’m gonna look stupid,” she says, examining the harness Caitlyn’s put in her hands. “I know it’s called a strap-on, but does there really have to be this many straps?”
Caitlyn sticks her head out of her bathroom doorway. Rolls her eyes.
Knows Vi is genuinely keen and interested in giving it a try, and is only witnessing last-minute nerves.
She’s… really got Vi’s number, these days.
“You’ll be thankful for it in a minute,” she says, disappearing again. Cleaning the toy she’s chosen before they use it. “There’s a surprising amount of coordination involved, until you get used to it. The straps are for stabilising.”
“The straps are for nm-mn-y-nm-y,” Vi mimics, to herself, doubling down on her scepticism. “This is the least-sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m going to remember you said that.”
Caitlyn flicks the bathroom light off and comes back in with the dildo in her hands, ready. A deep purple colour, slightly curved. Thicker at the base. Kinda on the long side. Vi hasn’t got much of a frame of reference.
Just never got one, she’d said, when Caitlyn had brought it up a few weeks ago, brave and embarrassed and interested. I looked, a while back, but, there’s a lot to choose from and they’re expensive and, I dunno.
Well, Caitlyn had said, I have one.
“I, um—I have one other, but I like this one.”
Caitlyn nods, blushing now. Standing right in front of her with it. Waiting for Vi to take it. To use it with her. To use it on her.
Vi’s face starts to heat.
Interest sparks in Caitlyn’s eyes. She gets on the bed, the dildo beside her. Vi doesn’t miss the way her legs twitch, parting, when Vi kneels beside her to pick it up.
It’s smooth. Firm.
She could shift Caitlyn’s underwear aside and run the tip through her folds, right now.
“Tell me what you like about it.”
“Oh. Well. It’s, um… a good size.”
“Not too big?”
Vi places her hand on Caitlyn’s knee. She’s wearing denim cut-offs and she must have shaved recently. Her skin is silky, and soft. At Vi’s touch, her legs drift apart some more.
“Tell me something else,” Vi says, her hand running higher.
Can see how flushed she’s getting, so soon.
How much she wants this.
Vi turns it over in her hand, her other tucking her fingers under the hem of Caitlyn’s shorts. Fingertips finding hair.
“Doesn’t feel heavy to me.”
“I mean it—feels good. Inside me. Feels... full.”
A thrill shoots up Vi’s arm, across her chest, down to her belly.
Vi already knows.
How Caitlyn likes to be filled, sometimes, to be stretched, to be taken.
Has felt her unravel around her fingers or her tongue, the clenching wet heat of her.
Still, Vi’s stomach tightens, when Caitlyn talks about being filled now.
Filled by her—a part of her, strapped to her body, an extension, a missing piece.
Okay. She gets it now.
Vi stands, pulls the harness on, takes the toy, fits it in place.
Caitlyn mirrors her sudden movements, pulls her top and her shorts off, shooting instructions her way. Lies in her underwear—the cute set with the blueberries on them—while Vi makes some adjustments.
Moves her hips, testing.
Figures it’s going to feel odd, having this thing hanging between her legs that’s never been there before.
That if it doesn’t feel odd, it’ll look even odder.
In either case.
“Oh,” Caitlyn says. “You…”
Vi looks up to find her staring.
Eyebrows up, eyes wide.
She preens, aware of the weight of a look like that.
“Cat got your tongue, cupcake?”
“Honestly, I was prepared for it to look a little stupid.”
“And?” Vi asks, a knee on the bed to crawl to her. The new addition sways between her legs. She doesn’t mind it. Doesn’t mind it at all. “How’s it look?”
“S—Suits you,” she breathes, trying to keep her cool. “A lot.”
Neither of them were prepared to like this this much, it seems.
“Think it’ll fill you up the way you like, then?”
Caitlyn nods, glancing between her face and the toy between her legs. Must catch Vi’s ego inflating to the size of a small planet. Gathers herself, a fraction. Takes back her edge.
“Yes,” she says, hooking a leg around one of Vi’s. “I think you are going to fill me very, very nicely.”
Vi’s hips drop forward, drawn in by the woman under her.
“Fuck,” she chokes. “What’re we waiting for, then?”
Caitlyn reaches for the lube and Vi lets her, worried she won’t do it right without help, like she’s never seen a lube bottle before.
Maybe she’s just too absorbed in what’s going on below her waist.
Sitting on her haunches with this object stuck out between the two of them and waiting for Caitlyn to squirt a glob of lube into her palm, which she does.
Then turns back to wrap her hand around the dildo, and give one quick, functional stroke along the length of it. Kind of like she would when she’s putting moisturiser on. Lathering. Happens every morning.
Except this makes Vi gasp.
“What? What is it?”
I felt it.
You touched it and I felt it.
Like you were touching me.
Can’t be right.
Not really her.
Just a thing she’s wearing.
Some weird eyes-mind-brain connection. That’s all.
Caitlyn’s hand stays on her.
On the toy, that is.
She’s watching Vi’s face, closely, and Vi’s looking down, at her girlfriend’s hand on—on—doing that.
“Do that again,” Vi whispers.
Not a request.
Caitlyn’s hand shifts. Wraps.
Vi’s eyes bug, and lightning zips from her groin to her stomach to her racing heart.
Her hips jump.
The motion isn’t even moving towards her. Isn’t pushing the base of it against her.
Drawing it away, if anything.
Pulling. Pulling on her.
A trick of the senses.
Vi swallows. Shakes her head to clear it. Opens her mouth to say something.
And Caitlyn moves her hand back down, the lube squelching between her fingers.
“Uh,” Vi groans, shuddering, watching and hearing and feeling it happen.
Hell of a fucking trick.
“Do you like that?” Caitlyn asks, because she’s an asshole.
Vi trembles on her knees and grasps at her arms for balance while her hand works her over and over.
“I—Shit. Yes. Yeah. Fuck.”
“Good,” Caitlyn says, her hand moving moving moving. “I thought you might.”
Caitlyn was right.
She often is.
But mostly about the coordination thing.
Turns out, there’s a lot involved.
Coordination, and strength and stamina and talking and checking and thrusting.
Lots and… lots of thrusting.
They lie next to each other after Caitlyn’s second orgasm and Vi’s muscles burn from the new ways her body’s moved. Curled around her. Over her. Into her. Her hands free to roam, hold, grip, caress. The motion of her pelvis and the way it made Caitlyn gasp, moan, beg. The power in it. The ease.
A new feeling, which means she hasn’t felt it before.
Or she did, but not this much of it. It’d be sad, if she weren’t so tied up being deliriously happy about it.
In her body, and in what she did with it.
“See?” Caitlyn pants, dazed. Her hand rests on Vi’s forearm, a loose grip, like a tether she needs to avoid floating off. “You’re… You’re a natural.”
Vi grins over at her.
Pretty sure she’s never existed so hard in her entire fucking life.
There’s a night when Vi’s alone, and has spent the day that way.
Caitlyn worked, and Vi tended to chores, to keeping their apartment in order, happily and quietly. Watering succulents, folding laundry, folding up the blanket on the couch they’d dozed under together the night before.
Caitlyn worked, and Vi has felt her with her anyway.
Which is how she likes it.
Hell, it’s why she’s here, within six months of their first meeting, having all but entirely moved herself out of the house she grew up in to be here, at Caitlyn’s, basically all the time.
And it’s why, when night arrives and she’s in bed, has responded to Caitlyn’s having a drink with Mel, but don’t wait for me. i love you x text, that it feels like Caitlyn still is.
Here, and all.
And Vi can’t sleep.
Not with the gentle hum of her pulse and her nerves.
Not with flopping onto her stomach to try and get comfortable, and rubbing against the mattress, on accident.
Not with the low, pleasant burn in her belly and the rushing of blood to her groin—a hardening, a readying.
The gentle pull of arousal, enjoyable and frustrating and exciting.
Vi huffs into her pillow, already too foggy with shapeless need to be untangling any kind of uncertainty.
She has options.
She could stuff her hand down there, palm at herself a minute and be done, probably.
Get a pillow and rock into it.
Or let it simmer, and see how Caitlyn herself feels when she gets home, tipsy but not drunk, smelling of the perfume she put on that morning and the cheeky cigarette she always has when drinking gin. Vi will kiss her hello and good evening and I love you, pull her onto the bed and slip her cardigan and her shirt over her head and suck on her nipples and dip a finger between her legs, and another, until she’s full, until she’s filled her. And Caitlyn, pink and panting, will invite her to do it again, to get the strap, to make it count, to make it hurt, almost, and Vi will ready herself and push into her and work her hips endlessly and come with one hand gripping her waist and her dick pushed into the warm, wet cradle of her.
That would be nice. Very nice.
Tonight Vi wants something else.
She gets up, closes the door, fetches her harness and her dildo—it’s hers now, all but decided. Puts it on, puts it together. Squirts lube into her palm.
Wonders, dimly, if this might feel even better if it weren’t a process.
If she could have rolled over five minutes ago and fished her dick out of her boxers and stroked and stroked until she’d come over her stomach and made a mess and told herself to get a sock or a towel next time.
She gets under the covers, half-aware she’s not sure when Caitlyn will be back or how she’d feel about being caught.
She’s allowed to want privacy.
Vi pulls the blanket up to her waist, and the sight of her tenting the covers with the toy between her legs is… something.
Looks like she has a boner.
The embers, little coals ready to roar to life in her stomach, glow and sputter at the thought.
Her legs shift, to alleviate some of the pressure.
Vi sticks her hand, covered in lube, under the blanket to find herself—or, no, her—the dick. Toy. Plastic toy.
Fake. Fake fake fake.
Her fingers slip around the shaft, smooth and hard. She grips by the base, pushes down against her swollen anatomy. Her own hardness.
The fire blazes, fanned.
She does it again, with a grunt. So close to the edge already. Total inferno.
Then slides her hand up, up, all the way, a smooth, slick journey.
Sighs, with nothing other than sheer relief.
“Yeah,” she breathes out, before she even realises the word’s in her mouth. “Fuck.”
She strokes again, and again.
Revels in the movement of her hand, her arm, her motions, the wet sound of lube.
Falls into it, happily. Inferno building to a point that might set the damn bed on fire.
“Huh,” she moans, her pelvis twitching into her hand. “Shit…”
It’s never been like this, ever. Masturbating.
Maybe for everybody else, but not her.
The slipperiness, the hair, the wrinkled skin—made her fingers tingle, nails on chalkboard. The few times she’d got a finger inside, it didn’t help, and after, it felt, to use the technical term, yuck.
She’d been wanting to try the strap like this since the day she first put it on.
Couldn’t imagine the connection would get any less visceral if Caitlyn weren’t around to join in. Even if it felt a little suss, to have a go at this without her.
Vi’s hesitation passes fast.
Pleasure radiates down her thighs, makes her breathing heavy and her heart pound.
She jerks herself under the blanket, swears she can feel the fabric sticking to the head where it leaks beads of precum while she twists at her dick over and over and over and can’t remember the last time it felt this good, this right, this normal to touch herself.
“Fuck,” she grunts, into the empty room. “Fuck.”
The muscles low in her stomach are clenching, her shoulders lifting off the bed. Her arm aches. Burns. Her legs bend. Her eyes close.
Real real real.
Vi hums all over, hot and alive with sensation that builds, builds and builds and builds-
She shouts, and her hand flies. Pulling it all out.
A reflex she didn’t know she had.
A lot of things, apparently, she didn’t know she had.
And when she’s huffing in air, glowing and buzzing, limp on the bed with her skin tacky and her stomach heaving and a grin she can’t wipe off her face, the tent in the blanket is still there.
The feeling, too.
It’s all still there.
Even on nights she does this without the strap, palming at herself over her boxers, pressing with her knuckles, hard and dripping and convinced.
Real things have a way of staying put, don’t they?
Staying put, and waiting for us to notice them.
Vi works at the gym.
Trains clients, of all kinds. Fitness fanatics, older folks, bodybuilders. Has a thing for boxing, usually, but got bored when she narrowed her focus to teaching the classes and nothing else, so she branched out.
But boxing… it’s her first love.
In the mornings before her shift starts, she’ll put her earpods in and find a loud playlist and spend an hour doing her own circuit. Stretch, jump rope, weights, take hits at the bag.
Sweat will drop into her eyes and her lungs will burn and the satisfaction of achieving something will keep her going for the rest of the day.
Likes the strength in it. The feeling of being strong.
The ache, after, and how grounding it is. Tangible.
The feeling of her muscled body moving underneath her clothing doesn’t hurt, either.
In her sweats with her hoodie pulled up or a cap on backwards to keep her hair out the way, some people—the newbies, or the infrequent visitors—mistake her for a guy.
She doesn’t mind it, and never wastes a lot of time on the why.
Just corrects them, pushing through the awkwardness.
Or doesn’t say anything at all.
Sometimes after sex, it’s quiet.
Vi will stay where she is, her dick pressed in deep while Caitlyn grips at her shoulders or her hips and they catch their breath.
Will plant kisses on warm, tacky skin while Caitlyn’s chest rises and falls and rises again. Then she’ll dip lower, to kiss her breasts, lick her nipples, nose into her little hairs.
Big fan of this part.
The aftermath of their togetherness, the shared closeness.
And, if Vi’s honest, the sense of accomplishment.
“Good, pretty girl?”
Caitlyn’s mouth is open, hair mussed, cheeks flushed.
“Huh,” is her only response—that, and her hips tilting into Vi’s, and the arms slipped under Vi’s, the fingers digging into Vi’s shoulder blades, pulling, like she’s trying to swallow more of her. Which isn’t possible, but fuck, the motion. The want.
“Okay, beautiful,” Vi whispers, mouthing at her ear, adjusting her knees. Giving her what she wants. Always, always. “Have all of me.”
Like she doesn’t already.
Seconds make minutes. Minutes collect one another.
Cait’s grip loosens, fingers drifting down Vi’s back.
“Here,” Vi whispers, a promise and a reassurance.
Her hands grab weakly at Vi’s head, her hair. Tangle and tug her mouth over for a messy, deep kiss.
“Thank you,” she whispers, when that’s done.
Always amuses Vi, this gratitude.
Always there, and always unnecessary.
“Thank you,” Vi says, same as ever.
When she’s signalled she’s ready, Vi will pull out, careful, flop onto her back and groan. The scent of their fucking hovers all round.
“Shit,” Vi mutters—because of the ache, the sweat.
Her hand goes to the strap-on. Wraps round the firmness, the sticky slick. Pulls her fist up the length to collect the mess like it’s her own. Like she made it, when she came.
Her head falls back and her eyes close. She squeezes her tip. Slides a loose fist down and feels the base of the dick press into her hardness, her… other dick.
“Can I do anything to help?”
Vi’s eyes snap open.
“Oh.” She clears her throat, wipes her hand on the sheet. “I was just—Sorry.”
Caitlyn raises an eyebrow, still pink-cheeked and sated, lying on her side. She’s pulled her tank top back down over her chest.
“For what?” she challenges. “Playing with yourself?”
Vi huffs, her face heating up.
“Rather play with you.”
She rolls to face her, shifts their bodies closer. Caitlyn accepts it, drapes a leg over Vi’s hip. Rests their foreheads together, kissing her sweetly.
“You know if there’s anything you’d like to try,” she says, “anything you might like to do, together or not, you only have to ask, and we can talk about it.”
Already tried it, Vi thinks. Already like it.
Hasn’t figured out how to share that info, yet.
“What I want… is for you to go pee.”
Caitlyn rolls her eyes, pulling herself out of Vi’s arms.
“Of course you do.”
“Hey, if you get a UTI, we both lose.”
“I’m caring about your health and wellbeing. Want me to stop?”
Caitlyn rests her hand on Vi’s chest, her eyes searching. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk. But I really am here, if you do.”
Feels the weight of her love, over any other feeling. The comfort of it.
“I know,” she whispers. Clears her throat again to get her voice back.
“Open invitation,” Caitlyn says, dropping a kiss on her nose as she wriggles away. Can tell, presumably, it’s better to shelve the topic for now. “Get up and come pee with me.”
There are times when things look different, and feel exactly the same.
In bed, one of the lamps still on.
Caitlyn breathing heavier and heavier, with a redness creeping up her neck into her cheeks.
A low buzzing sound, muffled by the sheets and the comforter.
Vi watches, happily. Keeps to her side of the bed with her hands tucked under her pillow.
“Good, pretty girl?”
Caitlyn moans, quiet. Eyes closed. Concentrating.
“Yes,” she says. “V-Very nice.”
Vi’s blood pumps heavy in her veins at the sight before her. The knowledge of what’s happening two feet away, even if she can’t actually see.
Her imagination can fill in the blanks.
Imagination, and memory.
“Good, then,” Vi says. “Take your time, princess.”
Caitlyn’s legs shift under the covers. There’s a lump in the blankets over her pelvis where her hands are.
She’d been tense all night, Vi’d noticed. Got in early, which was a red flag, and asked if they could order dinner, which she never does outside of weekends, so intent on nutrition and budgets and good habits.
Had admitted, finally, right before lights out, that she kind of wanted to get off.
Or try to.
I had a crappy day at work and I ate far too much cheese at lunch and I’m getting my period in—in 12 hours, it feels like, and I should’ve just gone for a run before dinner but I didn’t and I kind of want to play with a vibrator now because I’m all wound up and it might make me feel better or at least help me sleep, was what she’d actually said.
Then clarified, quietly and delicately, she didn’t feel like being touched.
Vi had held her hand, and made a point of not doing anything more.
I just want you to feel good, she’d told her. You know I don’t care how you do that.
Then wasted ten minutes convincing her she didn’t need to hide in the bathroom.
Getting under the covers together was the compromise.
“Need a hand?” Vi checks.
She can see Cait’s legs getting restless, can feel the bed moving. Knows her signs pretty well, and isn’t seeing any of them yet.
The urge to contribute eats at her.
She really is fucking honoured to be here, even if it’s dawning on her how stupid it might be they’ve never shared this kind of thing with one another, and why this should feel like a particularly scary thing to do together, after all the rest of it.
“No,” Cait says, shaking her head against the pillow. “No, I’m-I’m okay, I think.”
“I, um… I just…”
"I promise, I won't laugh.”
“Maybe—Could you keep talking to me?”
“I just…” The buzzing stops. Her eyes open. “I can’t help thinking about work.” She chuckles, a little darkly. “If anything should get my mind off that, you’d think it’d be…”
Vi smiles, affection rising.
“I know you like your job, but I can see how that’d be a total buzzkill.”
“Get it, though? Buzz-kill? Because the—the vibrator?”
Caitlyn narrows her eyes, but her lip quirks.
“I’m in torment here. Don’t joke about my torment.”
Vi raises a hand, placating. “Sorry. Got it. Very serious.”
“Can I move closer?”
Vi gets close enough to be almost pressed against her and not crowd her. Kisses her cheek, guessing that doesn’t count so much as a touch.
“Hey, you,” she whispers.
“Hello,” Caitlyn says back, dry. “I feel very silly.”
“You’re not. Just—focus on what you’re feeling, right? It’s supposed to just be about pleasure and everything. Like you tell me.”
“I suppose so.”
“What—What do you want me to be saying?”
Caitlyn shrugs, her hands still stuffed in her underwear. Her skin is scarlet, everywhere Vi can see.
“Just, nice things?”
Vi smirks so hard it’s almost laughter. Fills her voice with it, on accident.
“As opposed to a bunch of horrible things?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Super-duper serious. Sorry.”
She sighs, and Vi rests her chin on the corner of her shoulder, nudging gently. Keeps her hands tucked in her armpits, arms folded.
“What kind of nice things?”
“Maybe you could… tell me what to do?”
Vi stares at her, blood rushing to her head. And other places.
Caitlyn winces, misunderstanding her silence. “You don’t-”
“I want to. Shit. That’s really fucking hot.”
Caitlyn chews on her lip, like she’s waiting for Vi to say jokes, not interested, goodnight.
Vi waits her out.
Tries to think of all the ways Caitlyn makes her feel good with the words she chooses.
“Close your eyes?”
Vi gives her a second to get settled. And herself, if she’s honest.
Normally, when they talk to each other during sex, it’s more… heat of the moment.
For all her excitement, this is a moment they’re both conscious of, in a way Vi’s not used to.
She shakes off the feeling she’s narrating a biology textbook and focuses on the task at hand. The comfort zone.
Make her feel good.
“Okay,” Vi starts.
Vi thinks of her own hands. Of what she’d do, if she were a more physical participant in this.
“Keep your vibe off for a bit,” she says. “Just use your fingers. Feel yourself. Your—Your lips. Up and down.”
The blankets move, just enough for Vi to notice.
She’s doing it.
Another surge of—of something washes over Vi. She wriggles in her place, caught in the thrill.
“Okay. Not enough.”
“Part yourself. Hold yourself open for me and—and put your finger between your labia. Don’t go inside yet, just… focus on the feeling.”
Caitlyn breathes in deep, and out.
“I bet you’re all puffy, aren’t you?”
“Slow. Go slow, Cait.”
“If you—If you try to tease me, I’ll punch you and then I’ll ignore you.”
Vi smiles, pressing it into her shoulder. “Trust me.”
Caitlyn breathes out, and her movements shift. Slowing.
Vi’s heart clenches at the implication. She blinks, hard, through the next wave of emotion.
Power. Affection. Powerful affection.
God, she is so in love with this woman.
Vi leaves her be a minute, deciding where the line is between helping and getting in the way. Caitlyn’s eyes are still closed, and her hands are barely moving, and her head’s pressed back into her pillow. Vi imagines lazy, gentle swipes through swollen perfection and thick, damp curls.
She’s getting hard just thinking about it.
She wriggles in place again.
“You look so pretty, playing with yourself, baby. So fucking pretty. Love seeing you enjoy yourself.”
“Feels nice,” Caitlyn says, breathy. “Want more.”
“Can you tell me how you feel?”
“What do you—I just-”
“No, sorry, how—how you feel? What you’re feeling, with your fingers.”
Her eyebrows crinkle a moment, and her leg shifts.
“Wet. I’m getting wet.”
“You’re doing so well, Cait. So well.”
“It’s smooth. Slick.”
Vi closes her eyes, imagining. Has started to hear it, too, the sound of her fingers working through the creamy fluid between her legs. A dark patch on the sheet underneath.
They keep going like that.
Easing into it, and Vi talking less, the more comfortable Caitlyn gets.
She has a finger inside herself when Vi tells her to turn the vibrator back on. Her free hand pats around the mattress to find it, turns it on.
“Hold it on your clit,” Vi says. “Go for it, baby.”
A sharp inhale. Her body freezes, knees bent enough to pull the bedcovers down. Vi can see her chest, her nipples hard under her pyjama top.
Caitlyn moans, quiet. Her legs unlock, loll further open. Her shoulders lift when she stretches, trying to reach herself.
“How many fingers have you got in there now?”
“Want one more?”
“No, I just—I’m—hmm-”
Vi sighs with her, relieved.
Caitlyn is not thinking about work anymore.
“Good. So good, Cait. So fucking pretty.”
Her hips lift off the bed, drop back down. She’s panting.
“Just what, baby?”
Her hips tilt again, one hand working furiously between her thighs while her feet slide over the sheets, seeking purchase. Her eyes are squeezed shut.
Vi catches it—the frustration. Not the teased-and-trembling kind. Not the so-hot-I’m-gonna-burst kind. The other kind.
“What? What do you need?”
“I just—I don’t think I’m going to come. I thought I was but I—I don’t know.”
“I was so close.”
“Baby, it’s okay.”
Vi shifts to prop herself on her forearm. Takes a chance on her touch being welcome enough somewhere above Caitlyn’s waist.
Her hand finds the crease of her elbow, feels it moving—she thinks she’s holding the vibrator on this side—and strokes with her thumb.
“It’s okay,” she says, again. “This was… great. You can stop whenever you’re ready to stop.”
“As if you don’t hate not making me come,” Caitlyn mutters, glancing down her body. Still trying to find it.
“I hate you being hard on yourself. This was fun, right? Doing this together?”
“Then that’s all that matters, isn’t it? Like you’re always saying? Just—having a good time?”
Caitlyn’s quiet a second, her movement and her features less desperate.
“That’s a low blow. Using my own words against me.”
“What can I say?” Vi says, kissing her shoulder through her sleep shirt. “I’m an asshole.”
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, but she’s still shitty, in a petulant way Vi kind of enjoys. She looks like she does when she can’t get the new jar of salsa open.
“Massive,” Caitlyn tells her. “A massive arsehole.”
“How about you close your eyes one more time, and stop thinking about coming or whatever, and just enjoy yourself.”
Vi thinks she might call it, then and there.
Which she can, if she wants.
“Maybe another minute…”
“That’s my girl.”
Her legs spread far enough that her foot keeps bumping Vi’s, and her breath hitches, off and on.
Sometimes her fingers will find a particularly sensitive spot, and she’ll tremble, and it will travel all the way up into Vi’s shoulder.
It goes on longer than a minute. Much longer.
Her movements slow, and Vi didn’t even have to tell her to do it.
Her cheeks are pinker than pink, and her breaths heavy and deep, and one of her feet has hooked around Vi’s ankle, keeping her close.
Whispering a curse, her slick hand under her shirt while the vibrator stays in place, so she can squeeze at her tits, pinch her nipples, tweak and twist.
Or trace a patten only she knows, over the skin of her stomach, exposed where her top’s ridden up, while her neck flushes ever darker and her tacky skin shines.
Beautiful, Vi whispers. You’re so beautiful.
She switches her vibrator off, eventually. Lets it thud softly onto the carpet, no longer needed.
Sighs, deep and loud. Content.
Vi trails a finger down her arm, touch light. She trembles again. Overstimulated. Humming, if Vi had to guess. One entire exposed nerve.
“Like I’m—floating,” she murmurs, eyes drifting closed. She rests a hand over her eyes and lets out a long, unsteady breath. “Would you—hold me, please?”
Vi gathers her up. Their bodies slot together, face to face. Caitlyn’s knee tucked between Vi’s thighs, her face in her neck, her arms around her body.
Vi rubs circles into her back with a flat palm. Gentle and slow.
She doesn’t think she came, and she doesn’t think it matters.
“Thank you,” Caitlyn sighs, sounding half-asleep already.
“Thank you,” Vi says back, ready to join her there.
“Really,” she says, running her hand down Vi’s side. “You always… You make me feel normal. Like everything’s allowed.”
Vi feels her breath on her neck, and the precious, sleepy weight of her in her arms, against her body.
She kisses her forehead.
“That’s because it is.”
Caitlyn gets in after midnight.
Turns her key in the lock, slow, nudges the door open two-handed, so it won’t creak, tip-toes over the threshold with the heels she wore to the office some 17 hours ago dangling from her fingers.
Vi hears it all, and decides to spare her.
A mumble, wrapped in a sleepy groan.
Caitlyn’s body sags, a tall silhouette in the doorway.
Vi can see her thought process.
I told her not to wait up.
“I told you not to wait up,” she says.
Yep—equal parts irritation and affection, that.
Vi gets it.
A peculiar kind of love, to be gently ignored.
Caitlyn does it to her all the time.
Vi groans, set up on the couch with a cushion under her head. Stretches, and pretends she doesn’t have to wipe drool off the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.
“M’fine,” she says. “Not even that late.”
She fumbles for her glass on the coffee table, spots the TV remote on the floor where it probably slid off her stomach.
Caitlyn puts her handbag and her keys down on the two-person dining table pushed against the wall, tucks her shoes under it.
“There’s a bowl in the fridge.”
“Thank you, love. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s just Lo Mein. Don’t get excited.”
Caitlyn moans, loud and exasperated, and goes to fetch it immediately.
Vi watches, smug.
Another kind of love, isn’t it.
To be catered for.
Caitlyn pads over to the couch a few minutes later. Places her water glass next to Vi’s and brushes a hand up her arm, over her shoulder, a silent signal.
Vi sits up to let her remove the cushion and replace it with her body, situating herself so Vi can lie on her side with her head in her lap. She tucks an arm between Caitlyn and the couch like she’s hugging an oversized teddy bear, knees bent.
This is so worth waiting for.
“Miss me, did you?”
Caitlyn balances her bowl on the armrest to eat one-handed, her other hand petting absently at Vi’s hair.
Like she wasn’t mush already, curled up in her girlfriend’s lap.
Caitlyn’s fingers card through, graze over, rest, hold, and Vi gives in to the faint goosebumps rising along her neck, all the way down her arms.
She knows what this does to her, and Vi’s long given up pretending otherwise.
“You really didn’t have to wait for me, darling,” she says. “Aren’t you going with Powder to her appointment in the morning?”
Vi stays very still and hopes Caitlyn won’t stop doing what she’s doing if she doesn’t have to shift her head to get her mouth open.
Mumbling’s fine, whatever.
“She’s stayin’ with Lux tonight. She’s gonna do it.”
“Aw, cute. Taking your girlfriend to therapy. What a milestone.”
Vi smirks into the fabric of her skirt.
She can hear Powder shrieking at the thought.
“Don’t think they’ve said the G-word yet, cupcake.”
“Well that’s absurd.”
“Hm. Took us a while, too.”
“Yes,” says Caitlyn, chewing—Vi can hear the fork scrape against the bowl. “I suppose it did, didn’t it.”
Months, if Vi remembers right.
Months and months, until Caitlyn started dropping hints, and Vi pretended not to notice, and eventually sprung it on her in the middle of the afternoon when they were on their way out to get groceries.
Wanna be my girlfriend?
Caitlyn had blushed, and Vi had called her out on it, and Caitlyn had hit her in the arm.
Wow, you have a huge crush on me, don’t you?
A distant memory, now.
And a nice one.
Caitlyn keeps eating her Lo Mein, keeps playing with Vi’s hair. There’s an old sitcom on the television, a laugh track dipping in and out.
Vi’s not sure what it is.
She had a good day, working with a couple of new clients at the gym. An older lady recovering from hip surgery and a young guy embarrassed he can’t do pull-ups.
She ate two bowls of Lo Mein before she put one aside for Cait, and it’s the best batch she’s ever made, she’s sure of it.
She’s here now, with Caitlyn.
Who is warm, and soft, and only pretended to be annoyed that she’d cooked for her and stayed up late when she’d told her not to.
Vi breathes her in, happily engulfed.
A question comes to mind, something she knows is gonna sound weird and she shouldn’t bother and why can’t she just go to sleep… and she can’t think of a good reason to not ask it.
It’s Caitlyn, probably.
It’s probably Caitlyn.
“Can I be your boyfriend?”
The hand in her hair goes still.
Without it, reality sets in.
She’s not dreaming, not floating on a blissed-out cloud with an angel’s hands stroking over her scalp.
She’s on the couch with her girlfriend and she just said something… really weird.
Yeah that’s—that’s it.
She’s got her mouth open to do it, and then Caitlyn’s hand keeps moving.
Moving while she thinks.
Moving while she listens.
Vi remembers what she’s always known. What she learned early, even if it’s so damn hard to believe sometimes.
She’s not going anywhere.
“What do you mean?” Caitlyn asks.
Vi can hear the lightness in it. The desire to clarify, understand.
“Just… that. You said girlfriend, and…”
“When I think girlfriend, I think of you. And people like you.”
“People like me, how?”
“I dunno. Girls.”
Vi sighs, rolls onto her back. Looks up at her. Pale skin, blue eyes, hair falling from her ponytail, framing her face. Cheekbones and a vaguely worried expression that softens when their eyes meet.
“Do you not… feel like a girl?”
Vi looks into her eyes, and away.
“I don’t know.”
It comes out choked, and her brow furrows.
“Sorry,” she adds, hearing herself. “I don’t—Sorry.”
And a hand, under her chin. Guiding, gently.
“Hey. Look at me.”
Eyes filling with more emotions than she has names for.
Lately, she’s been feeling like she’s approaching some sheer, terrifying cliff face.
She’s not sure she likes it, but she can’t stop peering over the edge.
Has this sense the view might be… kinda magnificent, if she’s brave enough to look.
Vi forces herself to focus on the here, the now. The woman looking down at her, so much certainty in her eyes Vi can almost feel it, too.
“You,” says Caitlyn, “would make an incredible boyfriend.”
Vi breathes out a long breath through her mouth.
Takes a second.
“You don’t… think it’s strange, that I said that?”
“I think it surprised me, for a moment. And then it didn’t, actually. Do you think that’s strange?”
Vi knows this one.
Shakes her head.
Is becoming an expert on surprising, until it isn’t.
“No,” she says. “I just can’t believe you…”
“That I what?”
Jesus, why is she feeling literally all of the things all at once?
“That you’re fucking real, sometimes,” she settles on, with a weak laugh. “God, cupcake.”
“Wait—let me do this right.”
Vi does, wary. Wipes at her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie. “What is it?”
Caitlyn pulls her round to face her. Takes both her hands and clears her throat.
Looks her in the eye.
Mischief and mirth.
“Vi Anderson… wanna be my boyfriend?”
Vi rolls her eyes, which makes something fall out of one of them.
She wipes at her cheek.
“Is that a yes?”
“It was my idea.”
“You can take the credit, don’t worry.”
She’s already leaning in, and Vi fills the rest of the space. Kisses her.
Tension unwinds between them, mouths moving together, and when they break apart Vi’s hand has slid up Caitlyn’s thigh, tucked under the hem of her skirt, and Caitlyn’s hand is splayed across Vi’s chest.
“See?” she puffs, squeezing Vi’s arm. “You’re already fulfilling some very important boyfriend duties, boyfriend.”
The warmth becomes a glow, pulsing under Caitlyn’s hands like she’s planted it there herself.
Which she has.
Vi beams, and it feels like cliff-diving.
“You really don’t mind calling me that?” she asks, only in the hope of hearing her say it again.
Caitlyn beams back, like she’s solved something.
Which… she’s done that, too, hasn’t she.
“I don’t care what I call you,” she says, her lips so close to Vi’s again. “As long as I still get to call you mine.”
Sometimes after sex, it’s not quiet at all.
It’s panting and swearing and giggling and someone getting whacked for being cheeky and a hey and the rustling of bedcovers when one rolls onto the other to tickle and tease and so much laughter it makes them float.
Vi flops onto her back, wipes at her mouth.
Can taste Caitlyn… everywhere.
“You’re getting very good at that,” she says, lying on her stomach, watching her catch her breath.
Her eyes are between Vi’s legs, the harness she once criticised for being too strappy, the dildo shining after its time buried between Caitlyn’s legs.
“Why thank you,” Vi says, because how’s a person respond to that? “I try.”
Caitlyn chuckles, shifting closer to drape herself over Vi’s side. She took her sports bra off this time—does that more often, when she uses the strap—and she can feel Caitlyn’s breath on her chest.
“Other people try,” she says. “You move like you were born with it.”
The room goes quiet.
Vi draws circles on Caitlyn’s hip with her fingers, and thinks, and speaks.
“Feels like I was. Sometimes.”
It comes out small.
But she manages.
Caitlyn’s dozing. Missed it.
Vi can let it go, and it won’t matter.
“The strap,” she says, instead. “When we… When we use it, I… it doesn’t feel like a strap to me.”
Caitlyn props her chin by Vi’s armpit, head tilted. Eyes open. Listening.
“What does it feel like?”
“Mine. Part of me.”
Caitlyn doesn’t answer, but she does rub Vi’s stomach. She does kiss the skin of her side, and her chest. She does look her in the eyes, some soft look Vi’s never seen before in her eyes.
Which is impossible.
Vi knows all of Caitlyn’s looks.
Has to break the eye contact or it’ll drive her nuts.
“Stupid, huh?” she says, to the ceiling. “I know it’s stupid.”
“Darling, no. It isn’t stupid at all.”
“It’s not a part of me, though. Like, that’s a fact. It just isn’t.”
“We’re not talking about facts. We’re talking about feelings.”
“Yeah, but—feelings are just… feelings. They’re not real.”
“Oh, I see. So you don’t love me.”
“Love’s a feeling. Good to know it doesn’t count, in your mind, though.”
Vi gapes at her.
“That is not the same thing!”
“Of course it isn’t!”
Caitlyn’s eyes dart down Vi’s body, and back. And… back.
Frowning at Vi’s dick.
“Alright,” she says, sighing dramatically. “If you say so.”
“I do say so.”
No idea why she’s digging her heels in so hard.
Something kinda mortifying about Caitlyn having a better handle on this than she does.
Can’t let her win.
Unfortunately, Caitlyn Kiramman hates losing.
“Just to be clear…” she says, hand shifting towards Vi’s junk. Tracing a fingertip down the faint line of a vein. “You can’t really feel this, then?”
Vi’s thighs twitch.
“Not a thing.”
“Right… Or this?”
Caitlyn slips her hand around her shaft, wrapping. Stroking. Up.
Vi sighs. Forgets to answer.
This fucking girl.
“Anything?” Caitlyn prompts.
Her hand twists on the downstroke.
Vi’s fingers dig into the sheets.
“It just really seemed like you could feel it last time we did this, but—perhaps it’s defective or something.”
“Hm,” Vi hums, sweating. “Look—Looks that way.”
“A defective dildo. Well, I never.”
This beautiful fucking menace.
“One moment, let me just…”
Caitlyn straddles her legs. Looks at her, like she’s establishing a baseline.
Her other hand joins her first.
Grips her head—her head which Vi is absolutely certain is leaking onto her fingers—and drags down the length, leaning over her. A little grunt of exertion.
“Oh, go to hell.”
Caitlyn smiles, all teeth.
“Don’t what? I’m just trying to get my facts straight here.”
“You—It—What d’you want from me?”
Caitlyn slides her hand over her dick.
“I want you to tell me how you feel,” she says. “And I want you to know I will be so happy to hear whatever you want to share.”
Never stood a chance against her.
Happiest loser on the planet.
“Good,” Vi tells her, through gritted teeth. “It feels really fucking good, okay?”
Caitlyn clambers up her body to kiss her. Hard.
“Yes,” she says. “Very, very okay.”
Vi kisses her just as hard, and then she’s back between her legs before she can blink.
“What—What are you doing?”
“Thought I’d try to make you come,” she says, matter of fact. "Since we're here."
Jerking Vi’s dick again in a very distracting way.
“Is that alright with you?”
“Yes, yeah, just—fuck, Cait, oh my god-”
Holding her dick.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re not going to last five seconds?”
Comes out more like a delirious squeal, but what-the-fuck-ever at this point, honestly.
“Because I’m not.”
“Good, then,” says Caitlyn, clearly delighted at the lack of staying power. “I must be doing something right.”
The word rolls around in her mind even when she’s propped up in the pillows with Caitlyn in her lap a few minutes later. Getting kissed, getting her dick stroked. Getting drunk on all of it.
Her head thunks back against the headboard.
Her eyes keep rolling back into her head and she keeps trying to stop them so she can watch what’s happening.
There’s no wrong here.
“Fuck,” she pants, one arm splayed out to the side, gripping at a pillow. Hips lifting into the attentive hand holding the most vulnerable part of her. “Ah, shit, your hand feels amazing.”
“It does, does it?”
“Yes, shit, God-”
“What would you like? Will you tell me?”
“Nothing, nothing, just—keep—keep stroking my dick, please-”
“Feels good, love?”
“Feels so good-”
Caitlyn kisses her, and she’s panting, too.
Christ, is she enjoying this almost as much as she is?
“Good,” she says, sweeping through her hair and nipping at her neck. “Good boy.”
Squeezes the shit out of the pillow, and Caitlyn’s hip.
The words are wildfire, lava, headrush, vertigo.
Or a mirror, reflecting some part of herself she’d never seen before but always felt.
The more you know.
“Yes,” Vi gasps, bucking into her hand. “Yes, I—I want-”
“What do you want, darling?”
“Wanna be your good boy, want—want that-”
Caitlyn kisses him, quick, lips and teeth, and the pressure around his junk changes, halts, comes back different-
Vi’s eyes pop open to find her drawing him into her mouth.
“Oh, shit, Ca-”
She lifts off, red-faced already. Red everything.
“Okay? You—Can I?”
“Do you really want to?”
“I really want to have you in my mouth. Do you really want me to have you in my mouth?”
And if there’s ever a time to not bother with being coy about something, surely it’s when a pretty girl you’re very much in love with is giving you head.
“Yes,” Vi says, too into it to be embarrassed. “Please.”
And a smirk.
Vi shudders again, melting with his—with her dick in Caitlyn’s mouth.
She sucks him, and he-
She sucks her, and he-
Vi huffs, hand resting on her head while it bobs over his boner and his hips rise into the sensation of being sucked.
Shit, he’s going out of his mind.
[No wrong at all, remember.]
“So responsive, love,” Caitlyn says, dropping a kiss right on his head. Suckling there a moment, like she can taste him. “God, this might be my new favourite thing ever.”
You and me both.
How many times has he jerked off, imagining this?
Plenty of practice, with all the enthusiasm of a horny teenager, too exhilarated at discovering this whole new way his body works to judge himself for it.
Stroking, and thinking of Caitlyn.
Now here he is, with his head tipped back and his knees parted and one hand gripping the bedcovers and the other reaching down to tuck into Caitlyn’s hair, losing himself.
If it’s possible to be lost when you’ve never felt so found.
When you know exactly, finally, where you belong.
And who you belong there with.
“Your mouth feels so good,” he says—needs her to know. “Suck me so good, Cait, holy shit, your—your mouth-”
Caitlyn pulls off to catch her breath, her hand moving faster than her mouth can.
“Do you think you can come like this? Or you need something more?”
What more could there possibly be?
“Think m’gonna,” Vi grunts, shifting into her fist, toes curling in thin air. “Think ‘m—shit.”
Caitlyn grins. The cat that got the goddamn cream.
“So that’s a yes, then?”
“So we’ve established you do like it when I play with your dick, have we?”
“Because you tried to tell me you couldn’t feel anything here a little bit ago.”
“Here’s what we’re going to do…” She sits up, her grip still gently working at his stiffness. Vi’s hand has slipped from her head to her neck and Caitlyn moves it back. “You’re going to keep this here, and I’m going to suck on you until you come in my mouth.”
Vi grips her hair.
Damn near pops right there.
“And,” she adds, “you’re going to feel me swallow when you do.”
An obscenely short amount of time later, that’s exactly what happens.
Caitlyn’s head bobs, spit and sweat and lube and whatever, and the pressure piling in his groin releases into her mouth and his shoulders come off the bed and he grips at her head with both hands, legs shaking.
She keeps sucking.
Rests her hands on his thighs, palms trailing all over, gentle. Squeezes at his ass and pulls off to leave one last parting kiss on his tip.
His grip loosens in her hair, and he cackles.
Almost falls off the bed.
Caitlyn stares at him, amused, confused, concerned.
“What?” she asks. “What?”
Vi keeps cackling, low on oxygen.
Oh, nothing. You just gave me a blowjob so good it changed my pronouns.
He keeps it to himself, until he can draw more than half a breath in at a time.
Can’t wait to see her face.
Even though he lost whatever the hell that game was—total trash fire, crash and burn—it sure does not feel like it.
Which is what matters, apparently.
“How did you know I’d like all that?”
Caitlyn glances at him. Making coffee in her bra and her skirt and her stockings at 7am. Hands him a cup, first, and the sugar jar and a teaspoon, so he can live his worst life.
“Like what, darling?”
He’d told her about his pronouns a few days ago, and her response had been so perfect it'd made him cry.
Which made her cry.
And now he keeps… thinking.
“All of the… with the dick stuff,” he says.
Caitlyn smiles into her coffee mug, steam rising. Lifts a shoulder.
Go to hell.
Things move quickly, after that.
Sometimes all we really need is to give ourselves permission.
And if we can’t, we might be lucky to have someone to do it for us.
There’s a night when he tries something new.
Caitlyn works late, dinner with Mel, tipsy but not drunk, perfume and a cigarette.
He greets her at the door.
Pushes her against it, a second after it’s locked.
“Hello,” she says, smiling, hands rising to cup his jaw and catch him leaning in.
Their kiss deepens quick, and same for the pace of her hands sliding from his face to his neck round to his ass.
She pulls him into her. Great minds.
Vi braces, gentle with his nudging.
Caitlyn looks between them, at the slight bulge in his jeans. Back up, her eyes widening. Something like cautious optimism written there.
“Is that… what I think it is?”
He nods, grinning. Has heard enough. Seen enough. Already.
She wants this. Maybe as much as he does.
He kisses her again, and one of her legs lifts to wrap around him. Her pelvis tilts.
“Aren’t—Aren’t you going to ask me how my day was?” she asks, when he’s mouthing down her neck and his hips have already started to jerk and he hadn’t even meant to.
Her hips tilt again, letting him.
Fuck, maybe they’ll do this right against the door.
“How was your day?”
“How’d your meeting go?”
“New assistant settling in?”
“Can I stop asking you about your day now?”
Her nails scratch at the back of his head where her hand fists in his hair.
“You fucking better.”
It’s not the door but it’s not the bed, either.
Caitlyn drags him to the couch, goes for his belt while he pulls his old hoodie off.
“You’re okay, right?” he checks, before she can tug his jeans down. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Vi,” she says, exasperated in a way he finds genuinely hot, “I promise I haven’t drunk so much that I can’t consent, but what I have done is drunk just enough that I won’t feel any embarrassment at all when I tell my boyfriend I want him to fuck me very hard and deep into this couch, right now, and if he doesn’t do what I want him to do with that information I will never let him forget it.”
Tucks his hands round the backs of her thighs to tip her back onto the couch, every intention of doing precisely what they both want with his jeans around his knees because who’s got time for nakedness in times like these?
But with his hands on his waistband, he pauses.
And darts off to the bedroom.
“Swear to God, Vi!”
“I’m getting lube!”
“I suppose I’ll allow it,” she mutters, when he returns to kneel with her on the couch, bottle in hand.
Her work shirt and bra are down with his belt.
She uncaps the bottle and he tucks his head under her forearms to get at her breasts. Nips at the pale flesh, licks her nipples.
He nudges her sternum with his forehead, hands under her knees to scoot her pelvis his way.
Once she’s laying flat, he has to stop and admire her a second.
Skirt rucked up, stockings rumpled.
“Here,” he says, taking the hem of one stocking, high up on her thigh, then the other. Sliding them down her long, lovely legs, and off her feet, careful so they won’t tear.
He holds her foot like it’s made of glass.
Glass or porcelain.
Something divined from fire and care, crafted by time and a desire for it to be so.
He kisses her toes, and her ankle.
“You’re my favourite, Cait,” he tells her.
Caitlyn presses her heels against his back when he moves forward, legs open to welcome him.
“You’re mine,” she whispers back, running a hand over his shoulders. “You’re very much mine, too.”
Soon, she has a glob of lube in her palm and he’s pushing his jeans down, back on task, too excited to be nervous.
Caitlyn’s eyebrows raise. The cautious optimism is back.
Different colour, different shape. Bendable. And a pair of briefs it sits in.
Straps, be gone!
Vi smiles. Holds her eye, settled on his knees in front of her. Reaches down.
Strokes himself, the once.
Most normal thing in the world.
Caitlyn watches his hand move.
A sunburst blooms under his sternum, makes his chest and neck and arms tingle and simmer. Awash with pride and perfection and home.
There is really nothing quite like having all of Caitlyn Kiramman’s attention.
She recovers quick, to her credit. Meets his gaze a moment later, eyes narrowed in a challenge. And some pre-emptive smugness, if he isn’t mistaken.
Which he sure hopes he is not.
The slow grin pulling at her mouth gives her away a split second before her actions do.
Caitlyn reaches to slip her hand under his, at the base. Presses down.
Vi’s own hand falls away, hips jerking to meet her. White heat zaps down his thighs, makes his breath catch.
“Do you like?” she asks, and draws her hand back toward herself in a slow, firm stroke.
Vi honest-to-God grunts.
Feels like she’s tugging his soul out of him right here on their couch with her beautiful, gentle fist and her beautiful, gentle fingers. Easing, teasing, stealing. Hook, line and sinker.
And honestly, he’s pretty goddamn thrilled to be had.
“You do,” she tells him, voice low. “I can feel you, so heavy. Leaking all over…”
She works him with her hand, and Vi doesn’t bother with a façade. Pitches forward over her, so weak for this already. One hand sunk into the back of the couch and the other gripping her side.
“Look at you. So hard. My sweet boy.”
And that is—that is uncalled for.
Vi’s hips churn at the pet name Caitlyn’s tried out before, on special occasions, and Caitlyn giggles, mad with power.
Her fingers slide up and down the length of him, and he’s torn between wanting to watch and wanting to close his eyes and feel and wanting to knock her hand away and fit himself into her and do whatever comes next until they’re both about to pass out.
“This was supposed to—to be your surprise.”
“It is,” she tells him, way too calm. “And here I am, enjoying my surprise.”
Before he knows it, her mouth’s on him.
She sucks on his tip, and he brushes her hair aside, partly to watch and partly to help. Holds it out of the way in a loose fist on top of her head, which bobs under his hand.
Can feel her jaw working to take him.
Can see her spit make a line between him and her mouth whenever she lifts off.
“Shit, Caitlyn,” he groans. “You’re just—You’re incredible.”
When she experiments with taking him deeper, she gags, briefly.
He stifles the reflex to check on her.
I don’t mind it, she’d said once, to his disbelief. Wish I could swallow you whole.
“S’fine,” she says, pre-empting him. “You’re just—God.”
“You think I’m a god?”
She smacks at his side. “Hush and be good, would you?”
He gives himself to her easily, like he has so many times now.
Lays his head back with one hand roaming the length of his torso, or lacing their fingers together while he’s in her mouth.
He can feel her kiss his balls, at one point. Nuzzling underneath his dick to lick at him through the fabric of his briefs.
The firm lapping of her tongue melting into the sensation of her hand twisting up and down, bumping his swollen junk with the base of it on every pass.
He spreads his knees as best he can, nudges at her head with the hand resting there. Feels her mouth move more deliberately in the wake of his encouragement.
It sets off another flare in his chest, that she would wait for his signal—is aware he didn't used to like much attention on this part of him, despite nerve endings and all kinds of reasons he knows he’s allowed it, no matter how he presents or identifies.
But this is the thing about getting comfortable in your skin.
Sometimes, you’re finally comfortable in all of it.
Vi tilts backwards, wanting her mouth precisely where it is.
Caitlyn shifts out the way so he can rearrange his legs, tug his crumpled jeans off his ankles and toss them, lie as flat as their couch—shit, do they need a bigger one of these—can allow. Drape a leg up over the back of it and look to her.
Her mussed dark hair, that lush shade of deep blue.
Her skin, creased and flushed and dimpled from all the ways she’s working now to meet him where he is.
Forgetting the fact it doesn’t take much work.
They know how to find each other.
Vi wants to suck on the gap between her teeth.
In a brief moment of blazing self-awareness, Vi allows himself a grin.
Here he is, on their couch, his girlfriend’s hand around his dick, jerking him off and having about as much fun with it as he is.
What a fucking life.
“You are… stunning.”
“And you’re very sweet,” she says, the pace of her jerking increasing again. “And very ready to come, I think.”
He makes a little umph sound. Can’t help thrusting his hips into her hand to meet her strokes.
That’s all Caitlyn needs.
She moves over him, and something in her eyes tells him what’s next. Her dark, loving eyes. As taken with him as he is with her.
The scent of her fills him to the brim, vanilla and berries and perspiration and the fluid pooling between her thighs.
Vi opens his mouth, and Caitlyn licks into it. Deep. Deliberate.
And he receives her.
Lets her lap and push the way she’d gone at his balls.
Vi lifts his tongue to meet hers, to caress without challenging. Eager to let it be. To leave her in control of this moment.
To be devoured, more than he cares to do the devouring.
His body loosens under her tongue, body, hands. The potential for orgasm blunts, or merely disperses, into something that makes every nerve ending he’s got tingle and flicker and thrum.
A warm blanket, made of every easy emotion on the planet.
Made just for him.
He sighs around her gentle claiming. Takes all of her weight, and all else she gives. Breathes hot air into her mouth.
Her lips suction against his a second, and again, when she presses down before pulling away.
“My boy,” she whispers, breathless too, with delicate pecks at his cheeks. “God, you’re perfect, do you know that? You’re so fucking perfect, love.”
She’s back in his mouth before he can answer.
His tongue rises to meet hers this time. Hands limp on her shoulder, at her waist, palming at the flesh there, muscle and skin and intention. Her spare hand—her other is still holding his stiffness between their stomachs, fingers rolling, toying with the head, knuckles bumping low on his ribs—trails from the dip of his throat, around his neck, and up, into his hair. Fingers splayed.
Until her nails dig, the same moment her tongue draws out. She kisses his lips. A gentle goodbye.
Caitlyn’s fingers tighten in his hair. Tug.
He gets the message. Lets his head fall back.
Opens for her, wide. Knowing. Wanting.
Slides a hand from his dick to his belly to his neck.
Grips his jaw.
Spits into his mouth.
Vi shudders. Moans.
Body limp, hands clutching.
Not even sure what he’s touching.
“Good,” she whispers, kissing his neck, his throat. “Perfect boy.”
He closes his mouth. Collects what’s hers with what’s his—salivating, drooling—and swallows.
And opens again, just in case.
Caitlyn noses at his cheek, hair falling against his eyes. Makes him blink.
Hadn’t realised they were still open.
“Now,” she says, her grip secure again in his hair and around his dick. “Tell me where you want to come.”
Vi swallows again.
Tries to find his words, his wits, his whatever he fucking needs to survive her when she’s like this.
When she wants something from him that somehow manages to be nothing, weightless, easier than breathing, and he gets to let her, safe in the knowledge of who she is, and who he is, and who they are together.
“In—In you,” he moans. “Wanna come in—inside you.”
Sounds kind of far away, for a voice clearly a lot closer.
Caitlyn loosens her hold on his head. Drops a parting kiss to his mouth, then lower, mouth at his throat. Teeth.
She nips at his skin, and husks below his hear, “Then you’d better get inside me, hadn’t you?”
She kisses where she’d bitten, soothes over the sore skin.
He flinches, twitches, tingles.
Kind of wants her in his mouth again.
This is great.
She can keep doing what she’s doing and he’ll come on himself and the next one can be in her, on her, wherever.
Perfectly happy, right here, under his blanket.
Can taste her.
Can smell her.
Can feel her.
Caitlyn’s teeth graze his neck again and he shivers, gulps, adjusts his hands, like he can hide it, pass it off as voluntary, like he needs to, like it matters.
More teeth at his neck. Many.
Didn’t she tell him to do something?
“Still with me, love?”
She’s above him again, steel made molten, affection seeping through. She brushes at his hair with her fingers, trails over his forehead. The little scar on his eyebrow.
Vi does close his eyes, now. Takes a breath.
Caitlyn plays with his hair, patient.
He keeps tasting. Smelling. Feeling.
Something other than his pulse pounding in his ears, bottomless and near-brutal.
“Yes,” he says, eventually. The words making shapes in his mouth now, tangible. The window’s open. Traffic outside. “Yeah, I’m—I’m here.”
“Good, sweetheart. I’m here, too.”
He opens his eyes.
Would you look at that.
“Hey,” he says, trying to be cool.
His leg’s still slung on the back of the couch, and everything.
Caitlyn kisses the tip of his nose. “Hello.”
He’s not sure when, but she’s let him go, and when he barely does more than consider handling her more deliberately—tightens his grip, if that—his dick shifts, folded between them, sticky with lube, precum, sweat.
Need claws at him.
“Can I flip us?”
She nods, already moving.
He gets to touch her not twenty seconds later.
Hers becomes the leg draped over the back of the couch, the fingers of one hand spreading herself even further.
“There you are,” he whispers, hand on the crease of her thigh.
Runs his thumb from her dark hair into her slick and out while she holds herself open.
Vi’s never not in awe of this—of her. How pink and red and lovely. How her labia crease and fold when they’re parted for him, vaguely different sizes on each side. How he can see her muscles contract and relax under the attention. Watch her pucker, waiting, ready—anticipating.
Good to know he’s not the only one who’s eager.
Vi kisses her thighs. All over.
Works his way across her hips, the delicate lines of her stretch marks, her thigh and ass and hip all making pale, pillowed handfuls for him, her dimpled skin and that tiny mole by her belly button.
Rubs his face into her stomach, dropping the occasional kiss there, too.
She holds his head, fingers in his hair, the best kind of role reversal. Her legs shift, and her hips tilt up to him.
He wonders how long he could get away with tonguing at her nipples.
“Darling,” Caitlyn says, breathy, “this is very nice, but I’m going to want a little more.”
Still got it.
Vi settles between her thighs, hooking her leg over his shoulder. Her heel thumps into his lower back and her hips tilt.
“Incoming,” he declares, dipping to kiss her centre at the exact moment she bursts into a laugh over his stupid word choice—which was the idea.
Her body shakes, and he glances up to see her tits shifting with the movement, enjoying the way her other leg’s dropped down to hitch on his shoulder, too, her thighs are bracketing him.
Vi smirks into her wetness, kisses her again. Licks, too, a bold line up to where he knows her clit is, flicks at it with the tip of his tongue, tries to draw it out.
Her laughter cuts into a moan. The hands in his hair grip harder.
The rich, full scent of her arousal takes him over.
He noses at her, uncaring where her cum ends up if it means she’s a panting, boneless, satisfied mess of his own making sooner rather than later.
Vi licks through her folds, drinking her in. Gathers her up and suckles on her loose, warm skin.
“Vi,” she moans, his hair twisted between her fingers. “Oh, Vi…”
More fluid trickles out of her, thin and hot. Feels it on his chin and the dampness of her coarse hairs.
Vi grinds into the couch, seeking friction. Licks harder.
“You’re—You’re so good to me, Vi, so—oh, darling. So good. My good boy. Such—Such a good boy.”
Caitlyn’s hands card through his hair while he works, brush over his shoulders, run the length of his tattoos down his arms, and her feet press against his shoulder blades.
He settles at her clit, the swollen little nub revealed when he holds the edges of her apart with his thumbs. Maybe it’s his imagination, but fucked if he can’t see her pulse there, through semi-transparent, red red red skin.
Vi rests his mouth over her and sucks.
No point wasting time.
“Fuck,” she hisses, jolting, and he eases off. “Ah, Vi, ah—ah-”
He shifts back, wiping at his mouth with his palm.
Yeah. He’s a mess.
“Good fuck, or bad fuck?”
“Good,” she says, somewhere between amused and dazed, catching her breath with her head on the armrest and a hand over her eyes. “Very good, just—God, I’m—I’m so sensitive—We’ve been—It’s been—I might be too sensitive now.”
He runs his hand down the inside of her thigh, and back towards himself, hoping to soothe. “Then we’ll stop.”
“Sorry, I just—Shit.”
“All worked up, huh, cupcake?”
“I think—I think I—just need you inside me.”
“Yes. Maybe—Maybe slowly.”
“You got it, princess.”
They set to kissing, first. A reconnection built on smiles and whispers.
You're very sweaty.
So are you.
It’s gentle, until he remembers he has her all over his mouth, and so does Caitlyn, and her arm wraps tight around his waist, her tongue cleaning him up like she wants to scoop out everything he swallowed, too.
“Spread your legs,” he whispers, patting her thigh, and looks at the coffee table, the floor, behind her, behind him. “Where’d the fucking lube go?”
“Christ, Vi, I don’t give a shit about the lube, this is going to last four seconds-”
“Are you not extremely turned on right now? Because I’m extremely turned on right now.”
“Yeah, but I was thinking six, at least.”
She grabs at the front of his t-shirt, steers him into place, legs parting again. “You’ll get three, tough guy, if you’re lucky.”
He huffs, trying not to laugh and failing, guiding himself to where she wants him. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
He lines himself up and has barely the presence of mind to grab the couch and her hip to stop from falling into her in one heavy stroke.
They haven’t used this dick together before, was part of the point of things, ten decades ago when she got home from work and they started all this. Doesn’t want their shared enthusiasm to end up hurting her.
And Caitlyn does halt him, briefly, for a beat, on his way in. Breathes. Adjusts.
Then her grip on his ass draw him closer, until there’s nowhere else to go.
“Yes,” she sighs, legs wrapped around him. “God, you feel good, it’s—so good, Vi, so good.”
“Yeah?” Vi rocks his hips, a quick experiment. “Like having my dick inside you, baby?”
Her head drops. She squeezes at him, everywhere. “You—know I do, hm-”
Vi’s knees dig into the couch and he clutches her waist.
His boner is sticking out of his briefs and tucked into her, and now he can fuck her the way his body wants, the way he knows how, the way that feels good and right and real.
“Vi I want it,” she tells him, eyes closed—must think he’s teasing her one last time. “I want it, want you so deep, want to be sore tomorrow, want-”
He pulls back with his hips, mindful of his length.
She would tear his head off his shoulders if he slipped out.
“Nice and deep, huh?” he asks, careful thrusts, easing into her. “Like this, pretty girl?”
He bottoms out, and she moans, and his junk pulses and electricity crackles through his groin and out in waves.
“Tell me—Tell me if you want me to stop-”
“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare-”
He draws back and pushes in again—moanpulsecrackle—and repeats repeats repeats.
Holds her thighs to keep her legs apart and hammers into her quicker and quicker while her moans get louder and louder.
The couch rocks, grating on the floorboards.
Caitlyn is cursing, squeezing his ass where his muscles are tensing with the thrusting like she wants nothing more in this life or the next than for him to be fucking her like he’s fucking her and it’s powerful, she’s making him so powerful, and the thought flows out of him like the sweat and the cum and the oxygen-
“Take it, take it baby, fuck, taking me so well-”
“Take me so good-”
He drops his face into her chest, mouths at her skin, sucks on her nipples while he rocks into her, tucks his arms under her, hefts her up and onto him.
Caitlyn lets him, gripping his biceps, nails scratching.
Their bodies slap together.
His thrusting gets more desperate, needs more effort, despite all the slick and single-minded focus he has on pumping into her.
“Ah,” she moans, “f-fuck.”
Caitlyn’s hands scratch at his waist for his next thrust, then fumble at her clit, fingers rubbing tight circles.
Her legs have let him go, tensing either side of him. Her eyes are closed.
“Close, baby? Gonna come?”
She nods, hand damn near blurring between them.
“Yes, yes yes, I’m-I’m come-I’m-”
And he can feel her, too, clutching his dick, her muscles starting to convulse, setting off a chain reaction low low low in his belly, ready to spill and spurt and burst, and he’s rambling now, babbling, blinded.
“Come for me, Cait,” he pants, laying her back down, flopping over her to grip the armrest either side of her head and thrusting, hard. “Come around my dick and I’ll fill—I’ll fill you so good-”
Christ, but he needs to be deeper.
“Gonna fill you so full, so full, baby-”
Caitlyn tenses, her wrist bumping his belly, hand speeding up.
Arches, mouth stuck open.
“Yes, baby, there, that’s—Yes, Cait, fuck, yes.”
Her hand stutters between them, rhythm lost. She exhales, right in his ear.
She’s coming and he did that.
Or they did it together, but goddamn if the feeling of her massaging him while his thrusting continues isn’t a whole other level of heavenly experiences.
“Baby,” he whispers, a quiet reverence, working her through her orgasm with some slower, more careful thrusts. “God, Caitlyn.”
Caitlyn gasps in air, arms around his back, and Vi waits her out. Rolls his hips and soaks up the sensation of her unravelling under him.
Fuel to the fire, really.
Soon, he can’t take it anymore.
He pushes up to rest on his hands, still not—still not fucking—deep enough-
“Ah,” he groans, every muscle he’s got burning, chasing something he can’t quite reach.
Caitlyn strokes at the back of his neck, making him shiver. Drawing his attention.
Her breasts bounce with every one of his thrust, nipples brushing his chest.
“Hey,” she says. “What happened to coming inside me, tough guy?”
He huffs, gulps.
Feels like yelling I am fuckin’ trying to.
“Go on, love. Come in me. Come inside.” She bites at his ear lobe, and her hands are back on his ass cheeks, squeezing. “I know you have so much to give and I want all of it.”
Thrusts and thrusts and thrusts.
Listens to her tell him what she wants.
That she wants him, and his dick and his cum and and and-
And all the things he wasn’t born with but he still gets to have.
That Caitlyn’s given him, and he’s given himself.
Least he can do is give back.
I want all of it.
The pressure in his belly roils and wavers.
He’s pressing her into the couch with the force of his thrusts, desperate.
“Gonna—fuck, m’close, so close Cait shit m’gonna come so hard-”
He chokes off with a whine, drops his head into her shoulder, forehead squashing against the muscle there while his hips work and work and work-
“Good boy, keep going—Keep going until you’re empty, I want every drop-”
One of Caitlyn’s hands drifts across his ass, stops above the dip there. Presses.
His next thrust is so jerky he’s not sure it counts.
“Do you want it?” she whispers.
Her hand tucks under his waistband, index finger slipping between his ass cheeks to find the tight ring there, dip straight in to her first knuckle.
Just when he didn’t think there were any untapped, every other nerve ending leftover comes to life, a struck match, a lit stick of dynamite, a literal goddamn supernova.
Vi jerks back into her hand.
Gives her everything he’s got, clutching at her sides, and everything he didn’t know he had.
Convinced, in the very back of his mind, it isn’t enough. Not even close.
Not to repay all she’s done, and all she does, and all she’ll keep doing.
But it’s a start.
And there’s always tomorrow.
In the bathroom after they’ve showered, Caitlyn has a question.
Comes up behind him to rub moisturiser on his shoulders while he brushes his teeth. Starts gazing at him in the mirror.
“Wha?” he asks, mouth full of toothpaste foam.
“Was that… what you wanted? When you… Did tonight turn out well, for you?”
He spits in the sink. Rinses.
“Cait. You are not asking me if I enjoyed myself.”
“Only because—well, I… did some things I don’t normally do.”
“You mean when you spat in my mouth?”
She drops her forehead to rest on his back with a groan.
“Or,” he says, turning, “the part where you stuck your finger in my butt?”
"Because we actually have done that before, and you know how I feel about it. Or, shit, maybe that was this other girl..."
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“I—I took charge, a little,” she manages, letting him keep her in place with his hands on her hips when she clearly wants to flee.
She’s naked, and it’s lovely.
“Yeah, you did,” he says. “It was hot.”
“You normally take the lead.”
“Cupcake, I normally let us both pretend you aren’t secretly dictating everything we do within our own various comfort zones. And I’m on top. Normally. That’s not the same thing as taking the lead.”
Vi can’t resist a quiet laugh, watching her forehead wrinkle like it does when she’s trying to predict the ending of whatever crime show she’s obsessed with that week.
“Did you seriously not notice that?”
“I suppose not. Not in those words.”
“What did you think was happening?”
“I thought I was… helping you. Helping you feel comfortable, I mean. By giving you something to do, being specific. You… you like to help, to be needed. And to do things right. Which is very normal—very human—and I know you get nervous, or you used to, sometimes, when we’re, uh, intimate, and—I thought it helped. When I… nudge things a certain way. Show you it’s okay to want whatever you want.”
Now he feels bad for laughing at her.
Vi kisses her, because what else is there to do.
“Thank you,” he says.
For letting me be me.
For making me feel like myself.
For wanting every version of that.
Doesn’t say it.
This is what Caitlyn does. Sees through things.
And all the way out the other side.
“Thank you,” she says, stroking his cheek. “For letting me see you.”
She kisses him, and goes to trail away.
“Hey,” he says, stopping her, because she deserves this much. “Seriously. Thank you, for… for looking.”
“Of course, darling. Always.”
She rubs at his chest and leaves him to his pre-bed rituals, and after he’s finished flossing he finds her in the bedroom, dressed for sleep.
Takes his breath away, it does.
“You’re… wearing my boxers.”
The red ones.
With the ducks.
“Sure,” Caitlyn says. “Or did you want to? Sorry. I… didn’t ask.”
“No, you don’t… You don’t have to.”
“Good. Well. Come to bed, then.”
And he tries.
Really, he does.
But it’s overwhelming, realising you have everything you didn’t know you wanted.
And got scared to ask.
So, probably, that’s what tips him over.
Probably, it’s all about ducks.
His body’s given him away, like usual.
His giant, melting heart, and the bubbling of it up into his mouth.
Caitlyn frowns, equal parts endeared and bemused.
“Hey,” she says, reaching for him. “Are you…”
He palms at his eyes, sniffs.
“M’fine, shit. Just… Yeah.”
She reaches for him, and he steps to her. Twists his fingers in her top and rest his face in her neck. She strokes the back of his head, rubs between his shoulders.
“It’s okay,” she tells him, swaying them side to side. “Hey, you’re okay.”
And he believes her.
Vi lets out a shaky breath, pulling back to wipe at his face.
“Yeah,” he says. “No, totally. Very.”
Caitlyn holds his face, checking him over. Her thumb rubs over his cheek. Over the tattoo he got there when he was younger, on a dare.
Like she’s reminding him who he is.
“Happy tears, then?” she checks.
He kisses her, light.
“Yeah, cupcake.” He smiles against her mouth, feeling every syllable. “The happiest.”