(See end for A/N.)
...
"fuck me! fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!" saffy cried out, keeping to only a half-volume, in case anyone might hear her. stomach-down on the bed, she buried her face into her pillow and yelled pure energy into its depths, brow knotted, eyes shut.
she kicked her foot against the bed's surface, a panted sigh leaving her mouth. it made a soft, descending thud that only fueled her on.
down, down her hands went; fingers clawed, short, sensible nails bent against the top covers, clawing their way as they scratched over its length; stopping at her hips to travel upward, repeat their climb, one up, one further up, another lower, grasping, wrenching handfuls of fabric in her fists. and then, a moment of stillness arrived. saffy released a quiet breath, lifting her eyes to the headboard. she stared at it, desperate and tired. more than she had a right to be, she thought. she nonetheless could not help but feel beside herself.
"please," she whispered.
the clock on the bedside table ticked, indifferent. a quiet itch within the wide stillness of the room, the house. saffy was, of course, alone.
her situation felt maddeningly useless.
and there she was, or could have been, saffy's imagination creating the perfect scenario. patsy, at the door, perfect for her imperfection; for her out-of-place; for her who would've guessed? — the knowledge of their actual relationship, the social truth, there behind the private feeling, that remained even as she had become accustomed to this wanting. there she'd be, standing in the doorway, watching; waiting for the moment to make the right comment, to roll, always, like fire off her tongue as it left.
or like battery acid. or like cheap reality television and clumsy, stupid hangover-morning humor. or like sex. saffy's thoughts paused as she reached this ideal, grasped at its rightness. god, please, this time, like sex. she had arrived.
and how to place patsy? visions optioned themselves for split-seconds in her daydream before turning for the next thing in her mind, like running your hands across fabrics in the closet until you touch the one you've known you were looking for. arrived how? standing at the door, in a long coat and nothing else? the image was comically over-the-top. not right. filed away. leather? pleather, more like. they passed through and left, her mind empty. nervous, nothing seemed to fit.
the image of patsy returned. her as she'd always been, no dressings, no-nothing more. just the cigarette like she always had, the blazer, and the bite of her.
"'fuck me,' huh?" patsy would grin, then, crudely, yet not off-putting. her eyebrows raised and she cocked her chin back, indicating lower, staring higher. "you, ah, looking for a little help with that?"
it was so unrealistic. saffy couldn't stay in it, but she couldn't leave it — she had to — she couldn't get it off her mind. and she was alone. alone in the house. that benefit, yes, there was that. benefit and a curse!
well, you might not want me, but I want you — what's new? she thought, and rolled. with an instant, travelled back, to where the world moved faster, beyond, any which way.
"oh, god," a thought in her mind, or a whisper from her mouth?
and then, in a flash of thought, letting herself move ahead past preventing details, there, there patsy would be — at her back, at the side of the bed, leaning over, and at her neck. before diving in, she took herself back to the start, to immerse.
it would be night, and the others would be out at some party, or hosting downstairs, occupied, blissfully ignoring anything beyond their pointless social sphere. nothing had a point but for the point which patsy reached as she ascended the stairs, to leave the bustle of the party below, standing on the landing.
she walked past the doors, making her way, and appeared practically aimless. was she there out of boredom, or to deliberately search saffy out? both, seeking respite. it felt good to be desired.
saffy smiled without realizing it, allowing herself this, there, with eyes shut.
patsy would reach her bedroom, finally, her doorway, and stand there. and find saffy how, but in this same state? these same words whispered furiously to herself, oh, thinking she was alone. the room, dimly lit, in soft orange and black color; patsy, in black, only to the thigh, thin straps, blazer slung over the shoulders.
this time she used no words, posed no greeting, only stared. caught saffy's eye, holding her gaze a second. a question and a self-invitation. saffy turned away, her face to the bedsheets once again.
patsy came to stand above her bed. she was pressed to the edge, alongside. saffy could feel the dress drift along her own lower leg. she remained recumbent, not even opening her eyes to look at patsy.
a hand placed itself by saffy's face, onto the mattress. breath almost at her ear, hovering apart but not touching. she sighed slightly without meaning to show it.
patsy laughed under her breath. teased. traced a finger alongside saffy's hand that grasped the blanket. here, in this world, saffy didn't have to suffer the preliminaries, social niceties-or-nots, demand the "what are you doing here"s or the "why are you doing this," but just — give in.
she opened her eyes and stared at the hand, then reached for it.
another soft laugh from patsy as she pulled the hand away, dipping further into her neck at the same time. she would know what saffy wanted, know how she would be anticipated, and wouldn't even have to ask.
patsy grabbed at saffy's still-outreached hand on the sheet and pinned it down. she climbed up on the bed with one knee, then the other, first flush against her left side, and then gripping saffy's legs between her own.
and then, an unexpectedly gentle feeling met her. patsy alighted her fingertips across the side of saffy's face, slowly. down her neck, drawing gooseflesh. she savored in the touch, and shivered. and patsy smiled, in the way that only patsy could.
how can you do that without being terrible, disgusting — be vulgar and not-too-vulgar at the same time? saffy thought, outside and inside these dreams.
but patsy had had enough with games, and this moment was moved for another.
her fingers lingered upon saffy's neck; but with her body she sank; her other hand, patsy slid beneath her waist. touching her overtop her trousers.
saffy inhaled in anticipation, but held back, refusing to give her the sounds she wanted just yet, so easily.
with another move, the button and fly were hastily unzipped, and patsy reached further. she ground her hips down into saffy's arse with some weight, and saffy ground back. her fingers pulsed around saffy, her vulva, and reached inward, at the same time soothing but pushing deeper —
crash. bang. footsteps, heels, doors (open, closed, open, running out to the car, running back in, closed); furniture bumped against, chatter raised. voices, muffled and complaining, ever-familiar, roaming from room to room, breaking her privacy and the moment. bolli, stoli, and entrance, stage right.
saffy crashed her face into the pillow again. her exasperation, held just inches at bay before by the fantasy, returned in stronger force this time, and she could only lay, breathing hard.
the house was not empty anymore, but still, she was.
...
Written early 2017. Desire was written several years ago, and my style may have changed; at any rate, this is at least a further and slightly more explicit development towards the direction these two are headed in.
This was inspired by the positive comments left (here and elsewhere) by people who I was surprised to see had read the original drabbles/oneshot, and enjoy this ship, too. (And one who even wrote their own!) Thanks for your encouragement! Here's another piece of the pie.
Whether or not I'll finally end up getting these two into a canon relationship or encounter of some sort is yet to be seen, between real life and writer's block, but I feel like this couple and their differences from each other naturally make for a slow build as it is.
Though in oneshot format as well, and set in an indeterminate timeframe, this follows and goes hand in hand with Desire, interpretable as a second chapter or at least installment of the same series.
The series is named Tigerlily, after the song by (wonderfully androgynous and herself hinted-at-being bi/gay singer) La Roux. It works as a soundtrack to Anticipation, since it was part-inspiration for writing. Definitely recommend you give it a listen and check her other work out. (She's currently in the studio working on new stuff as well!)