I'm not dead. So, you know. Have some cracky pairing with serious fic.
WARNING: GIRL ON GIRL LIMEY STUFF. Run now or forever hold your peace.
Ming-Ming craned her neck to try and see whether there was anyone approaching the cafe door. Seeing no one, she groaned and brushed futilely at the creases in her short blue skirt. This, she grumbled to herself, was what happened if she was stupid enough to actually believe Ray's promise that he would iron her outfit if she would take this magazine interview instead of him. She should have known better than to trust a man with domestic duties, even a hair-obsessed pansexual man like Ray. Now she had a crinkled skirt and blouse and heaven only knew where her socks were hidden. Her bare feet were already starting to feel disgustingly slippery against the leather sole of her sandals.
No, this was not a good day, and the interview hadn't even started yet. Stupid woman was late.
Eventually, the revolving cafe door spat out a spiky-haired women who looked only a few years older than Ming-Ming. She looked around, a harassed expression on her flushed face. Ming-Ming waited just a fraction too long (hey, someone else needed to have a bad day today as well) before half-standing and waving her arms like a crazy pendulum until she caught the journalist's attention.
"So sorry I'm late!" the woman called, hurrying over. She held out her hand. "I'm Sachiko, pleased to meet you."
"Pleased to meet you too," Ming-Ming replied and took the offered hand. A flash of surprise crossed the journalist's narrow face and Ming-Ming hid a smile. People were always amazed by the strength of her handshake. Kai had made a disparaging comment about it one day early on in their relationship (before the expansion, even) and she had decided never to let him have the chance to do it again. She gestured to the chair opposite her (oh, the dirty looks she'd been given for keeping that extra seat!) and Sachiko smiled gratefully. Once sat down, she reached into her patched handbag and pulled out a dictaphone.
"Shall we start straight away?" she asked cheerfully. Ming-Ming forced the sharpness out of her laugh as she replied,
"I was hoping for a cup of coffee first, but by all means." Under the table, her hands curled tensely. Sachiko flinched and said worriedly,
"Well, if that's what you want, then that's fine-"
"No, we can start. Honestly." Ming-Ming gave her the painted stage smile. Relieved, the journalist turned on the voice recorder and put it between them on the table.
The questions began. Nothing unusual: Ming-Ming's meteoritic rise from fast-food worker to pop superstar and world championship beyblader; the PR disaster that went by the names of Boris and BEGA and everything therein; favourite colour, food, drink, current television show ... then, expected but still jarring, surprisingly tasteful questions on her unconventional relationship.
Relationship or relationships? She doubted she'd ever know the answer to that.
Sachiko leaned forwards intently and asked the question she had clearly been building up to all along,
"How do you identify yourselves? The four of you?"
Ming-Ming tugged fretfully at her skirt and pondered. It was an intelligent question and suggested that the tone of this article would be less "LOOK AT THE FREAKISH SUPERSTARS" and more "Alternative lifestyles of the rich and famous", so she tried to give as best an answer as she could. By best, of course, she meant mildly scandalous (enough to titillate but no more) and honest without being revealing.
Sachiko was looking at her expectantly.
"Well, Kai's Kai," she began, "he never really says anything, more makes yes/no noises, so I'd be speculating there. Mariah's in denial and likes to think that we're just two straight couples that fancied experimenting and liked it too much to stop. She wasn't that keen on me at first, but," Ming-Ming curved her tongue over her upper lip provocatively, "I managed to persuade her. Ray thinks that we're all sexually liberal and fond of orgies."
"What do you think?"
Ming-Ming smiled wickedly.
"Me? I just think Kai's got a Chinese fetish. Spicy, sweet and sour."
"Who's who?"
"What do you think?"
Oh, that one would set the public buzzing, Ming-Ming noted proudly. The next question threw her right off her comfy perch;
"Have you ever been jealous?"
Her media-trained brain kicked in and stopped her answering truthfully just in time.
"No, not really. It wouldn't really work if we were jealous types, would it? Oh, everyone has the odd moment of being left out but then someone gives them a hug and all's good again."
---
Half an hour later, she walked through their front door and headed straight for the kitchen, dying for a large glass of water followed by insomnia-inducing amounts of caffeine.
"Oh, hi, Mimi," Ray said indistinctly. Kai looked around with a look of utter surprise and grunted a greeting. Ming-Ming looked at them, struggling to keep smiling. Ray had Kai pressed against the fridge and what their messy clothes didn't tell her, Kai's undone fly did.
No, not really, she had said.
She exchanged a few mundane words with them about the interview and how it had gone (and how much Ray was never pulling that trick on her ever again!) then walked out with exquisite poise and delicacy. No door slamming here.
She found Mariah stretched out on the sofa, staring at some trashy afternoon television with a distant gaze. She was wearing loose cotton trousers and a floaty green blouse, and nearly fell off the sofa in shock when Ming-Ming came up to her, hugged her and then unashamedly pushed aside the pretty top to reveal something prettier underneath.
"What?!" Her outrage and disbelief were entirely convincing, but Ming-Ming felt her absurdly, wonderfully soft nipples harden like beads under her fingers and knew better. She knelt in front of her, giving her modesty back for the time being, head full of jagged edges that hurt and spun.
"You know what," she replied in a voice so low and sensuous that it was almost a hiss. "You know exactly what. Or, should I say who?"
Now Mariah was angry, her bright eyes molten as she said scornfully, "Oh, Ming-Ming, you're not still like that, are you? Wasn't it you who preached acceptance to me?"
"I don't practise what I preach."
Mariah ran both hands over Ming-Ming's wind-bedraggled hair and cupped her face in her hands.
"How do you think I feel too, seeing them?" she whispered. Then the gap between their lips closed and their hands roamed, and Mariah's jealousy-green top was entirely discarded for a game of frustration and jealousy and pain with the only other person in the world who understood.
Hope you liked. ^_^
All opinons welcome,
xIlbx