Passions Prologue
By Dana Keylits

A/N: Disclaimer: Y'all know these characters aren't mine, right? Kate belongs to Andrew W. Marlowe and Bette belongs to Ilene Chaiken. I'm just taking them out for a little spin! Hope you have as much fun with them as I've had! Enjoy.

Wicked thanks to Kristy, who, long ago helped me get my mojo back. I wouldn't be doing this today, if I hadn't had her help back then. So, thanks! You're an awesome chick!

Chapter One: We meet.

I walked down the street, unafraid, not worried about muggers or rats or rapists or wayward drunken drivers. I walked down the street, my thoughts on you, my body still humming and pulsing, the apparition of your touch still sending shockwaves down my spine.

I walked down the street, my fingers touching my lips, remembering your kiss, remembering the way your silky skin felt against my tentative mouth. I walked down the street, not even paying attention to where I was going, not even caring, my body still chasing your erotic, sensual touch, your commanding measure and rise against me. Your flesh on my mouth, your nipple hardening on my tongue, the way you slid your fingers inside of me, explored me, puppeteered me.

I walked down the street, and then I was home. Or, at least, my temporary home, and I had no memory of getting there because my head was still swimming with thoughts of you.

I floated up the stairs to my dorm room; thanking the universe I had a single room, not wanting to explain to anyone where I was or with whom. Not that I was ashamed of you, or us, or what we'd done. But, who in their right mind would ever believe that Kate Beckett, straight-A student, hell, straight student, would have a one-night stand with a stranger? And, not just any stranger. A stranger who was older? Who was a professor?

Who was a woman?

But, it felt like more than a one-night stand to me, and as I undressed in those wee hours of morning, slipping between the cool sheets of my bed, inspired to touch myself in places where I could still feel the ghost of you, I was hoping against hope that it felt that way to you, too.

Day One

I awoke with a start, my eyes squinting against the bright California sun as it streamed through my window like a spotlight on an otherwise darkened stage, and I had to think a minute, my mind a bit fuzzy, my body a bit numb. I lifted the blanket, my unfocused eyes taking in what I already knew to be true.

I was naked.

And, then I remembered, I remembered what had happened last night, and a slow smile curved my lips.

Bette.

Bette Porter happened.

And, as I recalled her curves, and whispers, her touch, her naked trembling body against mine, I smiled like I'd just been kissed for the very first time.

Which, as I skimmed my forefinger along the gentle curve of my lips, remembering what it felt like to have her mouth on mine, her tongue coaxing and merging, teasing and teaching mine, I guess I was.

I swung my legs out of bed, sitting up, my mouth feeling like it was filled with cotton, my head a bit light, a bit hazy, but in a good way, in an exciting way. I threw on a t-shirt, underwear and a pair of shorts, and crossed to the small wooden desk in the corner of my room to fire up my computer. Wondering if maybe, possibly, Bette had already emailed me. As I waited for the lumbering PC to boot up, I made a pot of coffee using the miniature four-cup pot my parents had bought me before I'd left for school.

Coaxing the paper filter into the basket, my mind wandered to them, to what they would think of this, of her.

My parents had been rather tolerant of me during my wild-child phase, which I'd finally abandoned by the beginning of my senior year in High School, but how tolerant would they be of this? They were hardly closed-minded, and had always spoken of their support for LGBT civil rights, but how would they feel about their seemingly straight daughter having an affair with a woman?

But, as I thought about it, I had to ask myself the same question.

What did this mean about who I was? And, how did I feel about that? Was I a lesbian? Was I bisexual? I didn't really know. And, as I watched the scalding stream of mocha liquid fill the tiny pot, walls of steam fogging up the glass, I realized that I didn't much care. I didn't need a label, at least not today.

My hands nestled around the warm mug of coffee, I settled into the hard-backed wooden chair, sitting on one leg while the other was planted firmly on the floor. I plopped my elbow on the desk, resting my chin in my hand as I connected to the Internet, the series of beeps and long sounds of static telling me the dial-up was connecting.

"You've got mail," the little man in my computer warned me.

"Thank you," I mumbled. Clicking on the mail icon, holding my breath as I searched for her name among the emails of my inbox.

And then I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand. Seeing it but not believing it, and my stomach flopped over. "Holy shit," I mumbled again, clicking on her email.

Dear Kate,

You just left my apartment. The sun is barely peeking over the horizon and you've left. I'm not sure why, maybe I freaked you out? I hope not.

I like you.

And, I'd like to see you again, if you want?

I think we could have a lot of fun together. :-)

Call me.

Bette.

I leaned back in my chair, sipping from my mug, the warm liquid oozing down my throat, calming my nerves, even as scores of butterflies took flight in my stomach.

Should I call her?

Did I want to see her again?

If the exciting sensation radiating from between my legs was any indication, the answer was an unequivocal, yes.

I quickly retrieved the pants I'd been wearing last night from the heap of clothing in my laundry basket, digging through the pockets for the scrap of paper where she'd hastily written her phone number. Snatching it with one hand, I picked up my cell phone with the other, and punched in her number.

Crossing my fingers, standing in the middle of my room, my eyes fixed on a spot against the wooden door, I counted the rings. One…two…three. I was growing disappointed.

And, then.

"Hello?"

I took a breath. "Bette?"

"Yes,"

"It's Kate. Kate Beckett."

I could hear a sigh, a sweet, long, slow, delicious sigh and then, "Kate. I'm so glad you called."