When it finally happened, it was nothing like she had imagined during those late, feverish nights with a hand between her legs and the carefully catalogued images of Helena flashing behind closed eyelids. When it happened, she couldn't have thought less about the finely chiselled curves of Helena's cheekbones, the way the first weak light of morning somehow managed to play beautifully in her hair, or the way her precise tone curled around the only word she had uttered since unexpectedly pulling open the door without knocking.
"Myka."
When it happened, she didn't think much at all but felt so completely and achingly that all the words she had ever read or uttered fled from memory, leaving only what other ways she had to communicate. She didn't demand to know where Helena had been, why she had returned unannounced during the night and not bothered to knock. It didn't seem to matter to her wordless brain.
But Helena's presence did.
Where before Helena had existed in the details, the wonderful, excruciating details of a smirk, a hand gesture or black hair falling neatly into place moments after being disturbed by the elements, here was everything at once, close enough for Myka to hear the shallow breathing and rustling of clothes. And yet it felt as if the woman who's entire being smiled hesitantly, uncertain about where she stood and what they were, existed farther away from her than when she had been gone.
When it happened, Myka closed the greatest distance she had ever covered. The floorboards creaked as she moved closer, close enough that she could have reached out and pulled Helena inside the room. But instead she stopped, let her eyes come to rest in pools of brown (and oh how she wanted to stay in those depths indefinitely), and quietly said,
"Come inside."
Helena nodded, tense and sharp and full of doubt. She turned away, shrugged off her coat, took a deep breath and faced Myka again.
When it happened, Myka's senses were full of the subtle scent of Helena and the way miniscule drops of water sparkled on her hair and face. She closed the final gap between past and present, the floorboards quietening as Myka unwillingly let out a small sob into Helena's mouth and clutched roughly at the fabric of her shirt.
When it finally happened it was a mess of clashing teeth, escaping tears, and losing of balance. It was tumbling to the bed and pulling at clothes that refused to come off quickly enough. It was the dawning realisation that they were together, in one piece and impossibly full of hope. It was the sharp cry as a lip was unintentionally bitten, the burning gaze that pinned Helena to the bed without the need for Myka's hands to hold her wrists in place. And it was struggling to remove the last scraps of restrictive fabric, the unsteady gasps for air as naked bodies met for the first time, the instinctive rhythm and spinning heads from deep kisses and the loss of oxygen.
When it happened, it wasn't perfect. It was finding the right spots and listening to breathing and moans and learning and mapping and marvelling.
It was surprising and being surprised.
It was Myka's fingers moving steadily inside of Helena and her own wetness soaking a trembling thigh, an image much more like the ones Myka had so vividly conjured while bucking against her own hand. But Helena's moans sounded nothing like they had done in her head, and the heat radiating from her body and the way her chest flushed scarlet was new and wonderful and absolutely real.
And that was perfect.
As was their locked gaze when Myka added another finger and the way she didn't seem to notice that she also moved faster and more forcefully against Helena's thigh with each thrust. When it happened, waves of pleasure took Helena by surprise, nails sinking into Myka's back as her body shook and arched upwards, closer to the one person whom she had allowed closer than anyone else.
And so it happened that Helena found herself in a place and time so unlikely that it could only be true. To be where she was in this moment, by the circumstances that brought her here, was practically improbable, and yet it was. When Helena asked Myka to turn around, it was in a deep and rough voice neither of them was prepared for. And when she watched Myka lay on her stomach with lips speaking unsteady breaths into the sheets, hips moving of their own accord and cheeks flushed with desire, her vision blurred. As she kissed, licked, and bit her way down Myka's back, her tears mixed with the salty taste of skin and every little mark and scar filled in the blanks on the map of Myka that Helena kept in her head.
As time ticked away in its usual mysterious fashion, Helena motioned for Myka to turn around again and mapped her parted lips, the pulse of her neck and those fascinating vibrations in her throat as she moaned, the rapidly rising and falling chest and the sharp contrast of soft breasts and hard nipples below. She let her tongue trace the birthmarks and tense muscle on Myka's stomach, but her journey was cut short by a firm downward push on her head that she couldn't possibly disobey.
When it happened, Helena closed her eyes in reverence of the first taste of Myka on her tongue as she traced a lazy path through impossibly soft wetness. This moment was Myka's loud gasp and the way she bit her lip, closed her eyes and frowned into the sensation only she could feel. It was the way her hips moved in time with Helena's tongue, bringing her closer and increasing the pressure, and the way Myka's hands both grabbed hold of the pillow under her head as if it would keep her tethered to this wonderful reality.
It was the way Myka came undone by tongue and fingers, one hand tangled in Helena's hair and her head turned into the pillow to muffle her scream.
When it happened, their limbs entwined into one being as Helena came to rest on top of Myka's relaxed body and slowly kissed her. Hair got caught in mouths and Helena's hipbone cut painfully into Myka's own and yet they pulled each other closer and kissed harder and lost themselves and started the rhythm all over again.
When it happened, it left bruises and marks and imprints on their hearts. It was nothing like they had imagined and yet, after it happened and the room fell quiet into the sharp light of morning, Helena couldn't think of a single reason to leave and Myka couldn't remember what they had waited for.
It was the tousled sheets at the bottom of the bed and the way their legs stuck together in places. It was Myka's levelled breathing and Helena's half-closed eyes as she watched the woman beside her succumb to sleep, and only then allowed herself to follow.
It was Myka waking up to the sun high in the sky and a warm body next to her own, full of the wonder of knowing it had happened.
It was Helena waking up to marvel at the possibility of it happening again.
(And they knew it would.)