Disclaimer: If Guiding Light/the girls were mine the show would air on HBO or Showtime and they'd be the only two characters.
A/N: Written solely for the International Day of Femslash!
It started with a joke. An absolutely horrid joke that made them giggle over their glasses of wine and fall against one another amongst a sea of bureaucratic hypocrites at one of the many charity functions that they held at The Beacon every year.
This time it was different, though. Neither of them noticed the men, not so subtly, drooling over them. Or caught their wives intrusive stares as they gossiped in small groups scattered around the ballroom.
The two friends simply kept drinking and laughing, enjoying themselves well into the night.
It was only when Natalia insisted on walking her back up to her suite that Olivia realized something had changed.
She was standing too close. A small hand having taken up residence at the small of her back, looking at her with those big, brown eyes. It made her breath catch and her insides melt.
That was most definitely different.
Later, she'd blame it on all of the alcohol they'd drank. Because if they'd been sober, there's no way that Natalia would have pinned Olivia to her door and kissed her until she couldn't think straight.
Right?
All she remembers is a blur of lips and tongues and wandering hands in indecent places, and how she'd woken up the next morning half naked, with a hell of a hangover and a few hickeys to boot.
And the worst part about all of this? It's not finding out that she has a thing for her best friend, or realizing that after nearly two and a half decades of dating men she might not be as straight as she thought she was.
It's the fact that Natalia didn't remember a damn thing.
Fuck her life.
End.