When Cassie blinks through a haze of fog and claws her way back to consciousness, she stares uncomprehendingly at the arm that's nestling against her chest. Then she gets a whiff of strawberry shampoo and fabric conditioner, and if she was capable of moving without seeing stars, she'd be high-tailing it out of here. She must have been roofied last night, because that's the only feasible explanation as to why Schwimmer's in her house, let alone her bed. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. She was supposed to be distancing herself from Schwimmer and all of these pesky feelings. She was supposed to be making a clean break and reclaiming her sanity, because public displays of affection that involve her behaving like some kind of loved-up schmuck in a Rom-Com are not good for her street cred. Or her heart.
Then, the events of last night come flooding back to her, and it's like being hit over the head with a sledgehammer. She remembers sobbing inconsolably into Rachel's shoulder, letting Schwimmer baby her while she acted like some kind of basket case, and revealing a whole lot more of herself than she intended to – both figuratively and literally. Now, the acute sting of embarrassment is even more painful than her pounding headache.
She needs to get her shit together. She needs to find a new job, stop obsessing over a schoolgirl, and remove herself from this clusterfuck of a situation. But first, she has to shake off this excruciating hangover, which isn't going to be easy, because Schwimmer's cosying up to her like a hot water bottle, and it's making Cassie want to snuggle into her warmth and go straight back to sleep again.
"Ugggghhh. Stop drooling on me," she grouses, fumbling in the darkness until her hand collides with the ornate lamp on her bedside table. She flicks it on, but even the muted glow is too much for her to bear. She squints at the clock – it's only 6.37am – and then promptly covers her eyes with her hand, trying to extricate herself from Schwimmer's embrace without making any sudden movements.
Rachel murmurs something unintelligible in her sleep, hooking her leg over Cassie's hip, and Cassie feels like she's getting intimately acquainted with a boa constrictor. Her eyebrows hike up when the hand that's resting in the valley of her breasts re-locates to the surrounding countryside, and for a moment, she stops feeling as sick as a dog.
"Do you make a habit of molesting people while they sleep, Schwimmer?" she demands, as loudly as she can stand to, and she bites back a smile when she hears a sleepy yawn and then a strangled gasp. Schwimmer's hand freezes against her chest, and Cassie wraps her fingers around Rachel's wrist, returning her arm to its rightful owner.
"Keep your hands to yourself, Gropey."
Schwimmer's ears turn pink, but her mortification seems to be short-lived. She props herself up on her elbow, rubbing her eyes, and Cassie avoids meeting her gaze at first, because she can't stand the thought of Schwimmer looking at her like she has "handle with care" stamped on her forehead; like she's going to snap at the slightest provocation. Still, when she finally works up the courage to make eye contact, she doesn't see fear, or pity. In fact, Schwimmer's staring at her adoringly, like her colossal meltdown never even happened.
"Good morning," she says shyly, and her drowsy smile may be the cutest damn thing that Cassie's ever seen.
"No, it's not," she grumbles, curling into a ball and clutching her stomach, "It's the morning from hell."
Schwimmer's smile promptly fades, and it takes Cassie a moment to figure out why.
"Not because you're here," she mumbles, and she doesn't even know why she feels the need to reassure her, "I just..."
She whimpers pathetically, because it's impossible to articulate how crappy she's feeling right now.
"Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you downed a vat-load of vodka," Rachel counters, and Cassie can't tell whether she sounds sympathetic, or judgemental.
"I'm the teacher around here, Schwimmer. I get to do the lecturing," she reminds her, but then she realises that's not really true any more, and the pain seems to get even worse. "Actually, you're right," she concedes, "Next time I'll just shoot myself in the head."
"That's not funny," Rachel informs her sombrely, "You really... you need to stop drinking so much, Cassandra. If you could have seen yourself last night..."
"Look, I didn't ask you to come here and play nursemaid," Cassie points out, "And I sure as hell don't need you telling me how to live my life."
"OK, OK!" Rachel protests, holding up her hands in submission, "I'm just... I'm worried about you, that's all."
"Well, don't be. I'm a big girl. I know my limits," Cassie retorts, and Rachel regards her in incredulous amusement.
"I'm sorry, was there something you wanted to say?" Cassie demands, but when Rachel opens her mouth to respond, she holds up a finger to stall her.
"Actually, no, forget it. Don't say anything. In fact, just... stop talking altogether. Please," Cassie beseeches, and Rachel bites her lip, ostensibly holding back her laughter.
Cassie knows she should pull away when Schwimmer reaches for her hand, but she doesn't, and she tells herself it's because she's too damn lethargic to move.
"Go back to sleep," Rachel urges, running her thumb back and forth over Cassie's knuckles, and Cassie makes the mistake of trying to shake her head.
"Ow! Fuck me..." she whines, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in the pillow as a shooting pain lances through her temples. She stays perfectly still, hoping to ride out the wave of nausea, and groans when Schwimmer brushes her hair to one side, straddling her lower back.
"What the hell are you doing?" Cassie protests, but her eyelids flutter shut when Schwimmer begins gently massaging her neck. Her fingers move in soothing circles, kneading Cassie's scalp with just the right amount of pressure, and Cassie finally experiences a fleeting moment of respite. She can't withhold a contented sigh, and when Schwimmer starts dexterously working out the kinks in her shoulders, she isn't shy about vocalising her approval. For some reason, Schwimmer's thighs tense against her hips and her hands grind to a halt, and Cassie's gratified moan turns into a grunt of displeasure.
"Don't stop," she begs, before she can check herself, and she can only imagine the shit-eating grin on Schwimmer's face right now. Still, Rachel does as she's told, and soon Cassie feels so relaxed, it's an effort to keep her eyes open.
"Go back to sleep," Rachel whispers again, and her touch is softer now. She's combing her fingers through Cassie's hair and gently stroking her back, and Cassie tries to resist the pull, she really does, but it isn't long before she's dead to the world.
When Cassie wakes up again, the bed's empty and she feels chilled to the bone. She heaves herself into an upright position and cocks her head to the side, but all she can hear is the house settling around her. She can't really blame Schwimmer for bailing on her – she probably looks like road-kill and smells like a distillery, and her attitude this morning obviously didn't give Rachel much of an incentive to stick around. It's not like she could even ply her with sex; not when the slightest movement made her want to toss her cookies. Cassie knows she's too fucked up to date a fresh-faced kid; that she has nothing to offer Schwimmer outside of the classroom, and it looks like Rachel's finally figured out that she's lusting after a lost cause, too.
Cassie squares her shoulders, forcing herself to swallow the disappointment – because why should she care, really? - and then she gingerly kicks back the covers. It takes a moment for the room to stop spinning, and she stays rooted to the spot, waiting for the nausea to subside. It doesn't, and she barely makes it to the bathroom before she's heaving her guts up, retching violently into the toilet. Eventually, there's nothing left to regurgitate, and she scrunches her nose up, hastily flushing the chain. It's a monumental effort to haul her sorry ass into the shower, but she slumps against the tiles, letting the spray go some way towards revitalising her. She stays there for a long time, feeling empty and exhausted, until it occurs to her that she should probably start saving on her electric, because she only has a couple of month's living allowance left in her bank account. She hastily soaps herself up, shampooing her hair and splashing some cold water on her face, and then she brushes her teeth until her gums start to scream in protest.
Her hand hovers over the thermostat as she walks slowly back to her room, but she opts not to turn the heating on, bundling herself into a fleece and some pyjama pants instead. Then she makes her way towards the kitchen, and her mouth falls open when she sees a stack of freshly washed dishes on her draining board. Her counter-tops are gleaming, there's no sign of the empty bottles from last night, and her washing machine's in the middle of a rinse cycle. It's almost like Schwimmer's trying to make some kind of comment about her slovenly tendencies.
Cassie's gaze falls on the note that's been taped to the breakfast bar, and she warily picks it up.
"Went to buy some groceries & pick up a change of clothes. I'll be back soon. Drink lots of water. Rachel xoxoxo"
Cassie rolls her eyes, but her heart starts thudding with relief, and she gladly takes Rachel's advice, quenching her thirst with a glass of water and throwing a couple of painkillers into the mix. Then she turns around, and realises the cabinet that's become her designated mini-bar - the one that houses her emergency stash, not to mention the wine she pulls out on the rare occasions she has someone over - is completely empty. She gapes at the barren shelves in disbelief, and momentarily forgets that she's an ailing woman. She runs to the window to check out her recycling can and, sure enough, it's chock-full of empty bottles.
"That little cunt," she curses, but then she starts laughing because, really, only Schwimmer would have the gumption to raid her cabinets, throw away hundreds of dollars worth of booze, and then run off with her house key.
Muttering under her breath, Cassie traipses back to her room and blow-dries her hair. She glances in the mirror, wincing at her sickly pallor, and then dabs on some moisturiser, hoping that it'll rehydrate her drawn skin. She coats her chapped lips with cocoa butter, relieved to see that they're quickly starting to heal – not that it really matters, because she doesn't plan on kissing that sanctimonious little shit anytime soon. Then she burrows back under the covers, and waits.
She's just starting to doze off again when she hears the front door clicking open, and her mouth sets in a grim line as she inches off the bed. She storms towards the hallway, just in time to see Schwimmer walking through her door laden with groceries and what looks suspiciously like an overnight bag. If Cassie had a chivalrous bone in her body, she'd offer to help her, but right now, she's content to just watch her struggle... even if Schwimmer does look kind of hot in her scandalously short mini-skirt, which Cassie's pretty sure she wasn't wearing last night.
"Hold it right there, Mary Poppins," Cassie proclaims, trying her best to look intimidating, even though she still feels like the living dead, "You've got some nerve, kid, I'll give you that."
"Please don't be mad at me," Rachel pleads, and she turns doe eyes in Cassie's direction, laying down the bags and handing her a plastic cup. "I bought you a smoothie."
"Oh, well, in that case, all is forgiven," Cassie says, sarcastically. She snatches the cup out of Schwimmer's hands, pulling off the lid and sniffing it experimentally. It smells OK, so she takes a tentative sip, and she has to admit, it doesn't taste bad, either. She just hopes she can hold it down.
"I did it for your own good," Rachel informs her earnestly, and Cassie snorts with laughter.
"What are you now, my mother?" she snaps, and Rachel's eyes dart towards the picture on her hallway wall - an enlarged snapshot of Cassie and her Mom after she'd nailed her opening night performance in NYADA's production of 'Sweet Charity.' She'd played Charity, of course, and her Mom had travelled all that way to see her, even though she was terrified of flying. It's the last time Cassie can remember being truly happy, and the camera had caught them in an unguarded moment of affection, beaming at each other.
"She was beautiful. You look just like her," Rachel says softly, and Cassie's too fragile for this right now, so she decides to lash out instead of acknowledging the compliment.
"Oh, so you've been nosying around here, too? Well, that's just great," she snipes acerbically. "Are you sure you don't want me to give you the guided tour, so you can check out all the skeletons in my closet? Maybe rifle through my underwear drawer while you're at it?"
"Look, I'm sorry, OK? But you were asleep and I was just... trying to make myself useful, that's all. I wasn't snooping around," Rachel says, a little defensively. "And I know you're annoyed about me throwing all of your alcohol away, but really you should be thanking me, because I'm just trying to spare you another morning like this."
Schwimmer juts out her chin in defiance, but Cassie can see that she's upset, and she heaves a heartfelt sigh.
"OK, OK, don't get your panties in a wad," she eventually capitulates, and she bends down, helping Rachel to lift the brown paper bags onto the counter, even though it only exacerbates the throbbing in her head. They lapse into a strained silence, until it eventually becomes too much for Cassie to bear.
"Schwimmer, it's the weekend. Don't you have homework to do, or something?" she asks wryly, and Rachel shakes her head.
"No, I'm all up to date. I don't believe in leaving things until the last minute."
Of course she doesn't. She's a regular Goody-Two-Shoes. A Goody-Two-Shoes with two left feet.
"Then you should be out having fun with your friends, not running around my loft with a feather-duster. I can clean up my own mess," Cassie informs her, quietly. "I was just... having a bad day yesterday, that's all."
"I know," Rachel assures her, and Cassie glances down at the hand that comes to rest against her wrist, "But I don't mind."
Cassie vows to try and be a little nicer to Schwimmer, seems as though she's spent the past twelve hours catering to her every whim.
"What's in the bag?" Cassie enquires, laying a hand on Schwimmer's hip as she peers over her shoulder.
"I'm going to make you soup," Rachel announces, and Cassie's heart melts as she watches her unpack a myriad of fresh vegetables.
"You don't have to do that," she protests, but Rachel just throws her a look that says, "try and stop me."
"OK, fine," Cassie concedes, "Then how much do I owe you?"
"What?" Rachel looks genuinely befuddled by the question.
"I might be out of a job, Schwimmer, but I'm not a charity case, and I'm pretty sure you're more broke than I am. So how much do I owe you for all of this stuff?"
"Oh my God. Will you please just let me take care of you?" Rachel explodes, in a sudden fit of temper, and Cassie tries not to laugh when she finds herself on the receiving end of a stubborn glare.
She holds up her hands, backing away. "OK, fine. I'll just go and park my ass on the couch, shall I?"
"Yes, you do that," Rachel says primly, but she's smiling now. "Cassie?" she ventures hesitantly, gesturing towards the stereo system, "Would it be OK if I put on some music? I'll keep the volume down."
"Knock yourself out," Cassie acquiesces, because how can she say 'no' when Schwimmer's intent on becoming her house slave? "The CDs are in that storage unit over there. But then again, you probably know that already," she teases, and Rachel narrows her eyes.
"Oh, and Schwimmer? No singing along, OK? My head's pounding enough as it is."
Grinning, Cassie makes her way towards the living room, but then she doubles back on herself, flicking on the thermostat. She doesn't want Schwimmer shivering like an over-excitable puppy that's just been reunited with its owner.
She collapses onto the sofa, curling into a ball, and tries to adjust to the sounds of someone pottering around her kitchen. Schwimmer might be in the other room, but Cassie's still hyper-aware of her presence, and it's... it's not as claustrophobic as she was expecting it to be. Even last night, when Rachel was snuggled into her side, she didn't feel smothered, she felt... well, she doesn't want to think about how she felt, because then she'd have to acknowledge that Schwimmer isn't invading her space, she's filling a void.
Cassie retrieves her laptop from the coffee table, opening her browser in the hopes of discovering that Julliard, Tisch or AMDA are miraculously in the market for a new dance instructor. But really, who is she kidding? Her reputation precedes her, and not in a good way. Even if Carmen can find it in her heart to give her a good reference, Cassie knows that she'll be lucky to find a prestigious Arts College willing to take a chance on her... which means she's destined to end up in a high school drama department, fending off the advances of acne-ridden, horny teenage boys. She'd rather jump off Brooklyn Bridge than spend her life humouring kids with barely an iota of her talent.
"Cassandra?"
"What?" Cassie asks distractedly, but then she sees Schwimmer standing in the door frame, sporting an insufferably smug smile. Cassie squints at her suspiciously, wondering what Rachel's hiding behind her back.
"Look what I found."
Cassie's cheeks flush when Rachel gleefully thrusts a copy of Britney Spears' Greatest Hits: My Prerogative in her face. Damn it to hell. She should have known better than to give Schwimmer free rein over her music collection.
"What was it you said about my performance of 'Oops'?" Rachel asks her, and her eyes are sparkling mischievously. "That my song choice was garbage?"
"Look, I bought that CD when I was too young to know any better, OK?" Cassandra protests, "And I haven't listened to it in years," she hastens to add. Not since your little peep show, anyway.
"Really? Because it was right on top of the pile," Rachel counters, and Cassie bites back a grin.
"Are you calling me a liar, Schwimmer?" she ventures, with a dangerous lilt to her tone.
"Yes," Rachel retorts, and then she turns on her heel, practically skipping out of the room. "Oh, and I saw your Backstreet Boys compilation, too," she calls over her shoulder – once she's at a safe distance, of course - and Cassie can't hold back her smile anymore.
A couple of minutes later, the opening strains of 'My Prerogative' waft into the room, and Cassie rolls her eyes, resisting the temptation to sing along. She can hear Schwimmer making quick work of dicing the vegetables, and for a whole five minutes, Rachel manages to stay true to her word, keeping the volume at a reasonable level. Then, apparently, the compulsion just gets too much for her to bear, and Cassie jumps a mile when she belts out:
"I'm addicted to you, don't you know that you're toxic?"
"Are you trying to tell me something, Schwimmer?" she yells, wincing as a searing pain shoots through her skull. Still, it's almost worth it when Rachel's giggles echo around the loft, and Cassie wonders when hearing Schwimmer laugh became more appealing than making her cry.
Eventually, curiosity gets the better of her, and she creeps towards the kitchen. The enticing aroma coming from the stove doesn't make her want to hurl, which she takes as a good sign, and she's feeling steadier on her feet this time around. Her heart starts beating a little harder when she sees Schwimmer dancing around the room, exaggeratedly lip-syncing to 'I'm a Slave 4 U' while she pours some stock into a large saucepan.
She's clearly under the impression that nobody's watching her, because she's dancing with an uninhibited enthusiasm that Cassie's never seen from her before. Cassie's first instinct is to laugh, but her brain won't comply, because Schwimmer doesn't look comical, she looks hot. Watching Rachel writhe suggestively against her kitchen counter is doing a lot more for her woes than the painkillers she swallowed this morning, and Schwimmer's skirt isn't leaving anything to the imagination. For a moment, Cassie's hypnotised by the rhythmic cadence of her ass as she gyrates to the beat, but when Rachel flips her hair back and arches against the counter, looking like she's straining towards something unattainable, Cassie can't take it anymore. She clears her throat, and Schwimmer's shoulders promptly stiffen. She looks mortified for a moment, but she must see the desire in Cassie's gaze, because her expression seems to shift, and Cassie looks on in amusement as Schwimmer resumes her impromptu performance, only this time, she's actually singing out loud.
"What's practical is logical, what the hell, who cares? All I know is I'm so happy when you're dancing there," she proclaims, beckoning for Cassie to come closer.
"I'm a slave for you. I cannot hold it, I cannot control it. I'm a slave for you. I won't deny it, I'm not trying to hide it," she sings, and her tone is like liquid sex as it meshes with the pounding bass.
"Schwimmer, as much as I appreciate the sentiment, it's kind of wasted on me right now. I'm not a well woman," Cassie reminds her, but Rachel seems undeterred, continuing to wave temptation in her face until, yes, Cassie really wants to dance upon her.
"Are you done with that?" Cassie demands, gesturing to the soup, and Rachel nods.
"It just needs to simmer for a while and then – mmmm."
The wooden spoon that Rachel's holding clatters to the floor as she wraps her arms around Cassie's neck and leans into the kiss. Even though Cassie instigates the embrace, Schwimmer kisses her back like she's been aching to jump her all day, and she must have healing hands, because Cassie isn't feeling the effects of her hangover anymore.
"You really need to stop with this 'I'm not a girl, not yet a woman' crap, Schwimmer," Cassie informs her between breathless kisses, before their lips reunite in another tantalising game of give and take. The music's still playing in the background, and Cassie decides to take a leaf out of Schwimmer's book, using Britney's salacious vocals to further her cause. She re-visits her lesson from the other morning, edging her thigh between Schwimmer's legs and rolling her hips in time with the pulsating beat. It's different this time, though, because they're facing each other, and Cassie's breathing gets a little shallow when Schwimmer starts to tentatively grind against her. Rachel's still too reticent, though; too self-aware, so Cassie edges her hands beneath Schwimmer's skirt, cupping her ass through the fabric of her tights and drawing her impossibly closer. She guides her movements until they find an agreeable rhythm, and Schwimmer finally stops acting like a kid in a candy store who's been told that she can look, but not touch.
Their eyes lock, and they rock into each other until they're practically scissoring standing up. It's like a battle of wills to see who will crack first, and Cassie purses her lips, trying not to be distracted by the intimate trajectory of Schwimmer's hands, or the rapt look on her face. She presses closer, trailing her fingers over Rachel's thighs, mapping the curve of her hips, letting her fingers glide over the smooth planes of her back. Schwimmer gasps and squeezes her eyes shut, looking like she's poised to come apart already, and Cassie draws her into a sultry kiss, rolling her hips in perfect tandem with the teasing motion of her tongue. Rachel shudders against her, but Cassie isn't letting her off the hook that easily. She steps back, and tries not to laugh at the disappointed expression on Schwimmer's face.
"I think someone's a little over-stimulated," she teases, kissing a molten pathway along Rachel's neck, "At least make me work for it, Schwimmer."
"Are you sure you're up to the challenge, Miss July?" Rachel retorts, "Because you're looking a little peaky."
Cassie narrows her eyes in a Medusa-like glare – the one that never fails to make her students piss their pants - and realises how much trouble she's in when Rachel just laughs at her.
"You're going to rue the day you questioned my sexual prowess," Cassie warns her, and Rachel doesn't waste any time in calling her bluff.
Schwimmer's kisses are more assertive now, more demanding, and her new-found confidence is sending Cassie's libido into overdrive. Schwimmer's whimpering into her mouth, and what she's doing with her tongue is so damn erotic, Cassie has to fight the urge to forgo the pleasantries and throw her up against the counter. Instead, she embraces Rachel from behind, edging up the fabric of her sweater until she's touching bare skin. It's easier than looking at Schwimmer's face and watching the parade of unchecked emotions, and it's easier to control her reaction to them, too. She runs her hands over Schwimmer's stomach and gradually ventures higher, brushing the underside of her breasts until her nipples are begging for attention. Rachel's clothing isn't giving her much room to manoeuvre, though, and Cassie sighs in frustration, burying her face in the crook of Rachel's neck.
"You want to seduce me, Schwimmer?" she murmurs, brushing her lips against Rachel's pulse point. "Then how about you take off your clothes? All of them. Now."
"Here?" Rachel squeaks, "But I..."
"Take them off, or I'll do it for you," Cassie commands, tugging impatiently on Rachel's sweater, "And I can't guarantee that you'll get them back in one piece."
Rachel's eyes widen, and all of her bravado seems to disappear. She moves to lift off her sweater, but Cassie can see that her hands are shaking.
"Whoah, wait a second," she says, grasping Rachel's elbow and gently turning her around. "You have had sex before, right?" she ventures, and she can't resist poking fun of her, even though she's anxious to hear her response, "With someone other than yourself, I mean?"
Rachel regards her in faintly-veiled outrage, and her cheeks flush in indignation.
"Of course I have."
"Well, then, what's the problem? Because you got one hell of an eyeful last night," Cassie reminds her, "And you know what they say. Tit for tat."
Cassie bluntly drags her fingernails over the length of Schwimmer's spine, and then deftly unfastens her bra. She drops to her knees, peppering Schwimmer's stomach with open-mouthed kisses as she lifts up her sweater. She lets the fabric drag over Rachel's sensitized skin as she painstakingly peels it off, and she can feel Schwimmer's muscles fluttering and contracting in her wake, but when she divests Rachel of her bra, Schwimmer self-consciously hugs her hands to her chest, and Cassie realises that she's not anywhere near as confident as she pretends to be.
"Come on, Schwimmer," she coaxes, giving Rachel a gentle nudge, "A week ago you were all set to eschew Hello Kitty for me."
"That was before I saw you naked," Rachel blurts out, and then she ducks her head in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, it's just... you're so beautiful, Cassandra, and you have the most amazing body. I'm not... I don't..."
"Rachel, stop," Cassie interjects, lightly stroking Schwimmer's shoulder until her skin erupts in goose-bumps. "This isn't a compare and contrast exercise, OK?"
"But you called me Shrek!" Rachel reminds her, and Cassie has to turn away so Rachel won't see how desperately hard she's trying not to laugh.
"Well, then, let me make it up to you," she suggests, lowering her voice seductively, but apparently Schwimmer isn't that easily sold.
"OK, that's it," Cassie huffs, and she lifts Rachel's chin with the crook of her finger, forcing her to maintain eye contact. "Give me your hand," she commands. It takes a couple of seconds, but Schwimmer finally obliges, and Cassie doesn't waste any time in thrusting Rachel's hand into her underwear.
"Oh my God," Rachel breathes, and she's looking at Cassie like she's just discovered the eighth wonder of the world.
"You feel that, right?" Cassie asks, and her eyelids flutter shut as she encourages Rachel to delve a little deeper, "That's how much you turn me on, Schwimmer, so how about you quit being such a prude, OK? "
"OK," Rachel readily agrees, and Cassie bites back a moan when she continues her exploration unaided, and - by some cruel miracle - manages to stumble upon her clit.
"Oh no, you don't," she chastises, tugging insistently on Rachel's wrist until Schwimmer reluctantly stops fumbling her way towards ecstasy. "I get to go first."
She presses a kiss against the back of Rachel's hand and then sucks lightly on her finger, and Cassie's pretty sure that she's never seen anyone look quite so turned on before. She drops her head to Rachel's breasts – which are perfect, and maybe she'll consider telling her that at some point - and sucks lightly on her nipples, swirling her tongue back and forth until Schwimmer throws her head back and lets out a keening cry. Cassie winces when Schwimmer's hands fist around her hair – apparently, she hasn't completely shaken off her headache, after all – but she's so consumed with lust, she doesn't even care.
"Cassie, please..." Rachel begs, and Cassie looks up at her through lowered lashes.
"Please, what?" she asks innocently, laughing when Rachel levels her with a look that's half-pout, and half-glare.
"Touch me," she implores, and Cassie smiles against Rachel's sternum, pulling down her skirt and tights in one fell swoop. Schwimmer's strangled gasp evolves into a wanton moan as Cassie moves to stand behind her, stroking her through the fabric of her underwear. Schwimmer's soaked to the skin, and Cassie has to take a moment to compose herself when the heady scent of her arousal washes over her, like some kind of potent aphrodisiac.
She wraps an arm around Schwimmer's waist to support her quivering frame, and then slowly increases the pressure of her hand, until Schwimmer's bucking against her erratically.
"Cassandra, oh my God, I... Cassie," she pants, and when Cassie reaches up to thumb her nipples in time with the rhythm of her hand, Schwimmer's knees buckle and she goes completely limp. Cassie catches her before she can keel over, cradling her close, and crosses orgasm number one off her list.
"It's OK, I've got you," she murmurs, and she picks Rachel up, praying her nausea doesn't rear its ugly head again as she carries Schwimmer back to the bedroom. She deposits her gently on the bed, and Rachel caresses the back of her neck, drawing her into a lingering kiss.
"That was unbelievable," she enthuses, looking up at her in starry-eyed awe, and Cassie can't help but laugh at her.
"Oh sweetie, I'm just getting started," she teases, and Schwimmer bites her lip, kicking off her tights, which are still hanging precariously around her ankles. Rachel has the kind of legs that Elle MacPherson would envy, and Cassie just stares at them for a while, running her hands over Schwimmer's enticingly smooth skin.
"Do you want me to take these off?" Cassie asks, gesturing towards her pyjamas, "Because I wouldn't want to blind you with my hotness or give you a complex or anything."
Rachel slaps her lightly on the arm, and then reaches out to unzip her fleece, and Cassie knows she'll never get tired of seeing Schwimmer's reverent reaction to her physique – in fact, it's almost enough to make the years of gruelling workouts worth it. She strips off completely, and Schwimmer bashfully follows suit, shying away from Cassie's appreciative gaze.
"Rachel..." Cassie ventures, clearing her throat, "If I ever made you feel self-conscious about your body, then I'm sorry. Because you're stunning. Really."
Rachel's chin trembles a little, but she smiles into Cassie's tender kiss, and it isn't long before they're picking up where they left off. It's all going swimmingly, until Cassie slides down the length of Schwimmer's body, brushing her nose against Rachel's stomach as she licks and nuzzles her way towards third base. She plants a delicate kiss against Rachel's inner thighs, blowing softly against her skin, and Schwimmer's legs promptly clamp shut. She might as well be wearing a chastity belt, and Cassie regards her with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.
"What's wrong?" she asks, laying a soothing hand on Rachel's thigh, "Let me guess, your selfish prick of an ex-boyfriend wasn't a big fan of eating out?"
Rachel blushes, shaking her head vehemently. "We never did anything like this," she confesses, and if it was anyone else, Cassie would carry on regardless, because vanilla's always been way too sweet for her, and she doesn't make a habit of sleeping with women who act like blushing brides on their wedding night. Still, there's something about Schwimmer's apprehension that makes her heart ache and, before she knows what she's doing, she's reaching for Rachel's trembling hand, threading their fingers together.
"You want me to stop?" she ventures softly, re-situating herself until they're laying side-by-side. She's never cared enough to ask before.
Schwimmer hesitates, and Cassie can see a million insecurities racing through her mind. Then she shakes her head, almost imperceptibly.
Cassie presses a kiss against Rachel's forehead, which is already damp with perspiration, and then moves to her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips. She can't resist intensifying the contact, and Schwimmer encourages her to deepen the kiss, pulling her downwards until Cassie's virtually lying on top of her. They're skin-on-skin; silk on satin, and the sensation of Schwimmer's breasts rubbing against her own is almost enough to make Cassie forget what she was setting out to do in the first place. Almost, but not quite.
"You're sure?" she clarifies, and Rachel takes a deep breath, looking like she's bracing herself to be hit by a freight train.
"I'm sure."
"Then I'm going to need you to unclench your legs, Schwimmer," Cassie says wryly, and Rachel tentatively obliges. She's still a little tense, though, and Cassie heaves a long-suffering sigh.
"Rachel, look at me," she compels, tenderly stroking Schwimmer's cheek, "Just relax, OK?"
And then Schwimmer's gazing up at her with blind faith and unwavering trust, and Cassie wonders what the hell she did to warrant it, because Rachel knows how cruel and callous she can be. A part of her wants to teach Schwimmer a lesson, to punish her for her naivety, to shatter her innocence, but she can't bring herself to say the scathing words that are on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she drops her head to Rachel's breasts and eases two fingers inside of her, curling into liquid heat. She isn't sure if the ensuing moan comes from her own lips, or Schwimmer's, but she lets Rachel adjust to the sensation before she experimentally picks up the pace, stroking deep inside of her. It's obvious that she's hitting all the right spots, because Schwimmer goes from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye, and there's a point where Cassie thinks she's going to set the Guinness World Record for the quickest orgasm since the dawn of time. Rachel clings to her convulsively, arching off the bed and chanting her name, and there's a moment where she opens her eyes and desperately seeks out Cassie's attentive gaze. Cassie's heart lurches when she sees the doting look on Schwimmer's face, the love that's shining in her eyes, and she has to look away, because this feels way too intense. It doesn't stop her from squeezing her thighs together and groaning when she feels Schwimmer clench and spasm around her fingers, though.
She barely gives Rachel the chance to recover before she buries her face between Schwimmer's quivering thighs, intent on showing her what she's been missing out on. She wants Rachel to fantasize about this for years to come, to forget why she ever had any reservations in the first place, and - judging from the way Schwimmer's whimpering and writhing beneath her - she's succeeding. Cassie smiles when Schwimmer forsakes her modesty altogether, cupping the back of her head and grinding wantonly against her mouth. She tastes like ambrosia, and Cassie's entire body is thrumming as she puts her mouth to good use, tonguing Schwimmer towards the brink of oblivion.
Rachel unravels with a stuttering gasp, and Cassie glances up at her in amusement when she slumps bonelessly against the bed. She looks completely spent, and Cassie rolls her eyes, because the chances of Schwimmer repaying her in kind are looking bleak.
"Rachel?" she ventures tentatively, poking her lightly in the ribs, "I didn't break you, did I?"
Rachel shakes her head, looking dazed and deliriously happy. Then she seems to realise that she's grinning like an idiot, and covers her face with her hands.
"So, it was that good, huh?" Cassie teases, dropping a kiss against Schwimmer's shoulder. She frowns when she hears a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob, because she thought people crying after sex was just some urban myth perpetuated by sexually frustrated housewives who spend too much time reading trashy romance novels.
Words cannot describe her relief when Rachel turns to face her, because she's still lit up like a Roman candle (and if she's a little misty-eyed, Cassie pretends not to notice). At least now, she doesn't have to make some lame excuse about checking on the soup to escape from Schwimmer's feelings parade.
Then she remembers that Rachel's only nineteen, and when she thinks back to the night she lost her virginity, to some asshole who couldn't get out of there quickly enough once she'd given him what he came for, Cassie's suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to pull Schwimmer into her lap. She bundles them both up in the comforter, and cradles her close.
Rachel sighs contentedly, snuggling into her embrace, and Cassie presses a kiss against her forehead, absent-mindedly stroking her hair. They stay ensconced in each other's warmth until Cassie starts feeling a little sleepy, and if this is the next best thing to Schwimmer screwing her brains out, then she'll take it. Eventually, her eyelids flutter shut, and she feels Schwimmer softly caressing her cheek.
"Awww..." Rachel teases, and there's a spark of mischief in her eyes, "Did I wear you out?"
"I'm just pacing myself. We've got the whole weekend," Cassie reminds her, nuzzling into Rachel's neck, "And when Monday morning rolls around, you won't be able to walk straight," she concludes, pointedly grazing her hand over Schwimmer's thigh.
"You're such a romantic," Rachel says sarcastically, but she's laughing. Then she turns hopeful eyes in Cassie's direction. "So..." she ventures, hesitantly, "Does that mean I can stay?"
Cassie wavers as she considers her response, and then she kisses Schwimmer softly on the mouth. "I think I could stand to keep you around for a while," she admits, begrudgingly.
She didn't think it was possible, but Rachel's smile actually gets wider.