An American in Paris
Disclaimer: I don't own Pan Am
Just a little drabble-ish short, inspired by Pan Am episode 1x03.
Kate had never intended to do it.
When she and Colette had fucked the first time, they had been in Mexico. Cheap tequila had been drunk in excess, and that combined with the heady warmth of the evening resulted in Colette's mouth lingering on hers, when Colette had insisted on giving everyone 'a French goodbye'.
Maggie and Bridget hadn't noticed – or perhaps Bridget had and hadn't cared, or had been too preoccupied with other matters to care.
When they retired to their twin room, Colette had smiled at her in that predatory way she had seen Colette smile at countless men through the months they had been assigned together.
Murmuring how Kate shouldn't be such a 'damn Ah-mer-ee-can' about the whole thing, Colette had kissed her neck, starting at the spot that Kate dabbed her perfume, and working downwards until Kate realised she was undoing buttons, running fingers along the outline of her chemise, and tugging her skirt upwards until Kate was entirely undone in front of her.
Later, when Colette's fingers were done twisting inside her and Kate had reciprocated in kind, they had lay tangled together and Kate had tried to memorise the moment, because she was sure it would never happen again.
Of course it did; Colette delighted in surprising people. Not often, but often enough that Kate wondered did she enjoy these snatched moments in London, Paris, LA, Tokyo more than she did the time she had with the few boyfriends she acquire during the interim.
So she waited, watching Colette flirt with married men and pilots, and sometimes do more than flirting, for the moments she would appear at Kate's hotel door.