Lightning stood still under the hot water as it cascaded down her head and shoulders. She wrested the shampoo bottle off the shelf and choked the bottle into her palm. Gel spurted out and dripped down the sides of her hand.
Who did Fang think she was, strutting around the damn house after a wakeup call like that?
The bottle crashed back on the shelf and she lathered her hair with vigor, wincing when she dug into the fresh cut on her forehead. Soapsuds whirled at her feet and disappeared down the drain. Her head pounded; her patience lay in tatters.
She closed her eyes and could feel the wisp of a phantom hand unbuttoning her shorts. Slithering past her navel. Inch by inch. Fang's mouth on her neck, biting, claiming. Exquisite pain.
What the hell is her problem?
She grazed the bandage on her forehead, some of her ire dissipating when she remembered Fang's tender ministrations. A cut on the head was laughable, like a snag on her nail, but Fang had to make everything unaccountably worse.
As Fang knelt on the floor, looking up at her, cleaning the damn thing with who the hell knows what, with her face all screwed up in concern, and her eyes—she loved Fang's eyes—and her lips, pursed together into a small frown.
To kiss or kill?
Similar to the way the cartoonish floats pitched and bobbed at the annual parade downtown, visions of either pummeling Fang or throwing her on the bed jaunted through Lightning's mind.
She rinsed her hair and snatched the conditioner off the shelf. She flipped it open, turned it upside down and jerked it against her palm—empty.
The conditioner landed against the far side of the shower. Out of conditioner. Could her morning get any better?
Damn it.
She stood in the shower and rested her palms against the wall, dipping her head under the spraying waterfall. She loved hot showers. Showers cleaned grime and dirt; it soothed aching muscles and weary bones. She always stepped out of a hot shower with a spring in her step. Except, things were different today. All she could feel were the pinpricks of the hot water, grating against her sensitive skin. She didn't linger.
She shut the water off and tore the curtain back, waving away the steam as if it were a horde of pesky flies.
She needed to calm down. Again. Her blood pressure had to be through the roof.
Fang's fault.
She snatched the towel off the rack and the loud echo resonated against the walls. She scraped it against her skin and stared in the mirror, glaring at the bandage on her forehead. She looked like an idiot, all because she'd walked into an open door like some kind of klutz.
Fang's fault.
Her robe hung on a hook that was mounted to the bathroom door. She yanked the robe with her hand and the hook snapped with a loud pop, falling to her feet. She picked it up and threw it on the counter, muttering under her breath. She jerked the robe around her body, tying the belt snugly around her waist.
They needed to talk.
Now.
They needed to set boundaries. Big and clear boundaries.
The doorknob rattled under her grip and she yanked it open, startled when the very source of her upheaval stood only a foot away, watching her with sheepish concern.
"Oh." She worked her jaw off the ground, the shock of coming face to face with Fang stymieing her infuriation. Fang stepped back, her fist raised in the air, mid knock.
Etro, Fang. What the hell are you wearing? Are those my shorts?
Fang did borrow some clothes, but perhaps she should have picked the clothes out for her. Fang's sari was completely off, leaving only the black tank top that seemed more like a glorified sports bra than anything else.
She pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. "What is it?" She tried to keep her eyes at a respectable level, but it was near futile. A long expanse of toned, tanned skin beckoned her.
"Some ruckus in there. Wanted to make sure you were okay." Fang folded her arms and leaned against the doorway.
Had she really made that much noise? She nodded distractedly, asking the question that burned on her tongue. "What are you wearing?"
Fang glanced down and flicked the gray shorts with her hand. "I borrowed some shorts. More comfortable this way. You said I could."
They were tiny. Too short. She remembered the old rules back in school: if the shorts came down to the tips of a student's fingers, they were too short.
Her shorts on Fang's longer legs? Much too short.
She sighed and adjusted her robe. Fang looked...delectable. There was nowhere safe to look; the Oerban was all skin, muscle, endless legs, casual confidence, and woefully clueless. "I know what I said. Do you always dress like this?"
It was a petty question and she didn't care.
Fang's fault, again.
Fang cocked her head to the side, baffled by her behavior. "What's wrong with you?"
"You are what's wrong. Can you please go downstairs, so I can get dressed."
"Ever the sparkling ray of Sunshine, aren't we?"
She toweled her hair, ignoring the sting of the cut. "Right. You had your hand down my pants and I fell off the bed. My head hurts because I walked into a door." She stormed into the hallway, nearly toppling the brunette. Their bodies brushed together as she squeezed through the doorway and she bit back a gasp. "The perfect way to start a perfect day." She walked down the hallway. Bare feet padded right after her, following her into the bedroom. She groaned. "What are you doing?"
"If you've got a problem, then just come out with it." Fang stood there with a hand on her hip. "I said I was sorry about…" She trailed off and shrugged. "I'm sorry. What's the big deal? It was an accident."
"What's the big deal?" She jerked the closet doors open. "I'm sick and tired of you throwing yourself at me!" She winced as soon as the words came out. She glanced over her shoulder, flinching at the expression of outrage on Fang's face.
"I wasn't throwing myself at you." Fang spoke calmly, but her words carried an undercurrent of bitterness. "I said I was sorry. And the only reason I was even in the damn bed was because you asked me to stay."
She felt a few inches shorter at the harsh tone and tossed a pair of jeans onto the bed. "I did not."
"Yes you did! After haulin' your ass all the way up here from the car, you asked me to stay with you." Fang's loud, angry voice rang in her ears. No wonder Kobi always sank his ears when she yelled at him. She'd probably be doing the same right now, if she could. Fang's tirade continued: "Some thanks I get for all my trouble. I'm startin' to wonder if it's worth it." Fang took a deep breath, as if she had more to say, but the air came out with a whoosh, and she turned and left.
Lightning chewed on the inside of her cheek and stared at the ground, listening as the front door open and close. She sighed and plodded out of the room and down the stairs. Foam from one of the couch cushions lay strewn across the living room floor. Kobi looked up from his toy and wagged his tail, unthreatened by her presence.
She thought about yelling but couldn't bring herself to reprimand the poor pup. She'd caused enough trouble today.
She picked him up and carried him to his playpen, scratching his chin. "You're lucky I have bigger problems, today." The smell of fresh coffee wafted through the house, and she glanced at his food bowl—he'd been fed. She felt about ten times worse.
And you let her go.
She plopped down on the couch, burying her head in her hands. Her stomach twisted. Fang left. She'd pushed the Oerban away, again. How much more would Fang take?
Another disturbing thought occurred to her:
Fang went out wearing that...outfit?
Outside? Where people could see her?
She thought of chasing after Fang with a big, white sheet and draping it over her.
An older couple lives next door, Fang. Don't give the old man a heart attack.
Fang would probably rip the blanket in half and mosey on down the sidewalk, just to spite her. Then she'd have no choice but to run back into the house, get her gunblade and march down the sidewalk with her gun halfcocked.
The fleeting daydream made her smile.
The front door opened and closed and she jumped, startled by the noise. Fang stormed back into the house in all her angry glory. Her heart leapt to her throat, the relief so strong she almost clutched her chest. Maybe she could fix everything, and yes, Fang was still wearing that tiny outfit.
"Seein' as how I took ya home in your car, you're my ride." Fang punctuated each word and leaned against the wall of the foyer. She snatched the keys off the small table by the door and jiggled them in her hand.
Oh. She bit back a grin. How long did Fang stand outside on the driveway before she relented and came back inside?
Wait.
Did anyone see?
"I have shirts you could wear." She just had to say something. Idiot! She wore her best poker face and opted for a neutral tone. "A longer shirt. You'd be more comfortable."
Before you leave the house, before the old man has a heart attack, before I start gouging everyone's eyes.
Fang's jaw dropped in disbelief. So much for feigning casual indifference. "You're joking. Havin' a go at me, right? Because of all the stupid things—"
"—I'm sorry for snapping at you." She jumped off the couch and rushed through her words. "Thank you for taking care of me last night." She hastily snatched the car keys.
Fang rolled her eyes and moved past her without a word and into the living room, her hips swaying side to side. The tiny shorts hugged her backside, and Lightning lost her train of thought.
She took a second to avert her gaze and then clued back in. "Right. And thanks for making coffee and feeding Kobi. Thank you, Fang." She rambled a bit while running down the mental checklist. Her concentration was like a trickling hourglass that was on its last grain. "Am I missing anything?"
Fang gave her a pointed look and took a seat on the couch. She turned the television on and began to surf through the tv guide.
She tried again. "How about some breakfast before I drop you off?" Fang looked at her after she said it. She cracked a small grin. "You dreamt about food, you must be hungry."
"Ha ha." Fang turned the tv off, grabbed a magazine off the coffee table and began to flip through the pages, not sparing her a second glance.
She stood awkwardly in the living room and then sighed. "Okay. I'll take that as a yes."
She walked into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. She glanced up once in awhile to look past the breakfast bar at into the living room. Fang continued to flip through the magazine; she looked unbelievably bored. And still markedly pissed.
She cooked up a simple breakfast of eggs, toast, and juice and brought it out to the living room. She handed the plate to the Oerban and sat down on the couch next to her, unsure of what to say or do.
Fang poked at the food with her fork, slowly eating a bite at a time, focusing on an article about the tourist attractions of Gran Pulse.
She'd read it; it wasn't that interesting. Fang and Vanille could probably write their own book about Gran Pulse. No. There were no scintillating articles in the magazine; Fang was just ignoring her. She'd tolerate it for now, because it gave her an opportunity to absorb and map every fine detail of the specimen that sat next to her.
She stared at the piece of toast as it made its way into Fang's mouth. Her heart fluttered when the Oerban's pink tongue swept across her lips to pick up loose crumbs. Fang cut into the egg with a fork, and she watched the tendons flex in her hand at the simple motion—long fingers, slender. Raw strength. Fang could kill with her bare hands, probably had, but they were tender and gentle, too. The cut on her forehead throbbed at the thought. Her eyes raked up and down Fang's lithe body. How did Fang manage to lounge on the couch, in her glorified bra and too short shorts, and still keep a regal air about her?
You have absolutely no self-control.
Fang looked up from the magazine and fixed her with a blank stare. "Somethin' on my face?"
She flushed. "No."
Fang seemed satisfied with the answer and turned her attention back to the magazine. She flipped a page and folded it behind the cover, crossing her endless legs to rest the magazine on her knee while she worked on her breakfast.
This is getting a little ridiculous. Stop drooling.
She licked her lips and palmed her cheeks. Her skin felt hot. She felt a little silly, ogling Fang while she ate breakfast, but she didn't care. It was Fang. They'd done much worse together.
"So, I asked you to spend the night?"
Fang held the toast halfway to her mouth at the question and then bit into it. "Mmmhmm." She flipped another page in the magazine.
Dismissed again.
She shifted on the couch so she could face the stubborn brunette, resting her arm against the back of it. The silence was finally getting to her. She could only look so long without touching. Though she'd probably regret it, she wished Fang would just start yelling.
"You've never given me the silent treatment before." She let some of her irritation seep into her voice.
Fang's eyes narrowed and she bit into a piece of toast again, shrugging her shoulders, glaring at the article in the magazine. She flipped another page and returned the magazine to her knee.
She fidgeted some more and pulled out the big guns: "Can we please discuss this like adults and not five year olds?"
Fang's expression darkened into a scowl and she placed the plate on the coffee table, rubbing her hands together over the plate to dust away the crumbs. She was the epitome of carefully controlled anger.
There you are.
"Okay." Fang tossed the magazine on the coffee table and pivoted her body so that they faced each other. "Since you're the kid, stompin' tantrums and all, why don't you start?"
She ignored the vexed tone and racked her brain for something to say, something meaningful. Anything. She hadn't thought that far ahead. Fang's posturing didn't make any of it easier. It felt like they were miles apart.
"Nothin' huh? I'm not surprised." Fang snatched the magazine off the table and began to flip through it again.
"I said I was sorry."
"That's just not gonna cut it anymore." Fang raised her eyes from the magazine. "You're not really makin' this very interesting for me. Ready to take me home?"
"No. We're not finished. I know you don't throw yourself at me. That was out of line." She drummed her fingers along the back of the couch.
Fang breathed out, the way one does when doing something incredibly tedious. Then, she flipped another page in the magazine.
She huffed in annoyance. "Fang…" The Oerban didn't answer. It was driving her insane. The crinkling sound of paper was no better than nails on a chalkboard. She snatched the magazine out of the Oerban's hands and flung it behind the couch. It landed on the floor, lonely and forgotten. "There. Now you can stop pretending to read."
Fang stared at her, clearly shocked by her behavior—she was too, if she were to be honest. Fang looked down at her lap, where the magazine had been, and then in the direction she had tossed it. "Adults or five year olds?"
She waved it off. "Typically when adults speak, they make eye contact."
"Uh huh." Fang arched an elegant eyebrow, staring at her until she began to squirm under the scrutiny. Suddenly, Fang started to chuckle, low and hearty.
Her cheeks colored. "Is something funny?"
"Oh yeah. You."
"What about me amuses you?"
"All of it. All you do is dance around me, like a puppet." Fang looked thoughtful. "I can't believe I didn't see it before."
Ooh. There went her blood pressure again. She clenched and unclenched her fists. "See what?"
"I'm sittin' nice and pretty under that skin of yours." Fang leaned forward. "How does it feel?" Her stomach plummeted at the words and Fang continued to speak. "All this time, all these months and it was right smack in front of me. The whole time. Wasn't it?"
She frowned as a million different arguments came to mind, though her tongue lay limp and heavy in her mouth. "Do you just like pushing my buttons?"
"Apparently so." Fang leaned closer; they were nose to nose. She stared into bright, green eyes and searched for answers; the beauty mark under Fang's eye caught her attention. She wanted to trace her thumb across it. Fang spoke again, softer. "If you could see yourself... scrambling about so you don't fall."
Fall?
"You don't have to play games with me." Fang's eyes darkened to a dangerous glint. "You wanted to have a discussion? This is the discussion I wanna have."
Her throat ran dry at the words. Her thoughts hiccupped like a broken record. "Fang..." She licked her dry lips. Her mind drew a blank. She was more than platitudes. She wasn't inarticulate but the perfect words dangled just out of reach. All that time she spent pondering and ruminating and now Fang was here.
And all she could do was stare stupidly.
Say something.
Fang sighed and her breath blew across her face like a faint summer breeze. "I told you that you weren't ready for this, for me. Why don't you admit why you were really pissed off this morning?" Fang's fingers threaded through her hair, and she closed her eyes, letting Fang's voice, like honey and bourbon, pour across her senses. "You think I don't know what goes on in that pretty, little head of yours? Admit it...you're as sick with me, as I am with you."
Sick with each other?
That sounded like a dysfunction.
Fang was waiting for her answer. The seconds ticked. Disappointment laced across her beautiful features, and they all loosened at once. With a final glance, she pushed off the couch to stand up. "Forget it, Light."
Say something!
Her hand shot out and locked on the Oerban's forearm and she yanked down. Fang fought her all the way, sinking back into the couch, furious words, trying to pry her fingers off, but she wasn't listening. Fang pushed her away and she held on, knowing that this was it.
Now or never.
She panicked because the words weren't there, but there was a different way.
There always was.
"It's not a sickness." She grasped the back of Fang's neck and crashed their lips together.
It stung. Fang's hand jerked against her shoulder, fighting her with renewed gusto. Maker, she's strong. She pried Fang's hand off her shoulder and pinned it to the cushion, pushing her weight on it while keeping her right hand firmly entrenched on the nape of Fang's neck. If she was anyone else, she was sure she'd be on the floor with a bloody nose and the wind knocked out. Maybe Fang's brand of Lady Luck was on her side today.
Her lips didn't move; she breathed through her nose, and waited for the storm to pass.
And it did.
It wasn't the best plan, but in a pinch, it had the right effect.
Fang relaxed against her; she could feel the tension lift from the Oerban's body. She pulled back and Fang looked utterly confused. She offered a small smile as a way of explanation.
She gave in to temptation and trailed her thumb underneath Fang's eye, ghosting over the beauty mark. "You're remarkable." The unbidden compliment surprised them both, and she was pleased to give voice to her feelings. She pulled further back, getting her thoughts in order.
"You're right. Everything you said is true." She pushed through her nerves. That's what it was. She was nervous. "I can't keep pretending that we're just good pals with a quirky history."
"What do you want then?" Fang watched her with guarded apprehension. "A quick roll in the sack to get yourself sorted?"
The callous question staggered her momentum. She lifted her hand to her throat and swallowed. Ouch. "That's not what I said at all." She coiled a strand of Fang's dark locks around her fingers. Vibrant. Lush. The stony, green eyes that watched her took on a softer quality, perhaps a bit of regret. She didn't know. She sagged into the cushions, filled with an overwhelming sense of sadness. "Why do you always do that?"
Fang ripped her gaze away to focus on something else. "I'm sorry," she said. "I can never be too careful around you, Light."
"So you just assume the worst?"
Fang shrugged and leaned back against the cushions, running her hands through her dark hair. "Old habits die hard, I guess."
"I know I deserve your caution." She sat straighter. "That's why I'm asking you for a second chance to do it right. We don't have to rush anything. It's more than that." She grasped the Oerban's hand. "Please look at me." Fang's heavy sigh filled the room and she turned her head. "You asked me to think about this, about us. That's all I've been doing. Thinking, obsessing."
Fang looked unconvinced. "Why did you ask me to spend the night?"
"I told you. I don't' remember asking you."
"That shouldn't matter. Why'd you ask? Were ya lonely? Need a warm body? What?"
"I don't know, Fang." She looked away, uncomfortable with the prodding. "I miss you? I can't stop thinking about you? I can't sleep?" She scoffed. "What do you want me to say? Everything makes sense when you're around." They locked eyes and she shrugged. "That's probably why I asked."
Fang searched her eyes and a slow smile beamed upon her lips. "Was that so hard? Great opener, that one. If you started with it, maybe we'd be doin' more interesting things right now. "
She let out a breath and found her own smile. That was Fang's way of saying 'yes'. She'd take it, run with it. Finally. She relaxed into the familiar banter. "I didn't exactly have a routine morning."
"Threw off your game, huh?"
"My game?" She smirked. "Sure. Please refrain from doing it again."
"I'll think about it." Fang grazed the bandage on her forehead with her thumb. "How's the noggin'?"
She closed her eyes at the soft touch. "I have a headache."
"I am sorry, y'know."
"It's not your fault."
"It kinda is."
"You're right. That damn dream started all this." She narrowed her eyes, rubbing her thumb against the soft skin of Fang's collarbone. "What were you dreaming about?"
"Well…That's a fine question." Fang chuckled and leaned into the couch cushions, tilting her head back and staring at the ceiling. "Strawberries."
She waited, expecting more. "That's it? Just...strawberries?" She leveled her gaze. "I hit my head because of strawberries?"
Fang favored her with a playful glare and sighed dramatically. "You shoulda seen them. Her. It?" Her brow furrowed. "Not sure to be honest."
"I don't think I'm following this at all. Was this some kind of sex dream involving strawberries?"
"No. Not sex. I just wanted a strawberry."
She stroked the Oerban's cheek, tapping it teasingly. "You went into my pants because you wanted a strawberry?"
Fang's laugh was musical. Infectious and lilting. "When ya say it like that, it doesn't sound strange at all."
She rubbed her forehead to hide her blush. "Good thing you weren't dreaming about sex."
"You wouldn't have stood a chance."
She flushed at the confident and suggestive tone. "I...You're right." She considered their position. Dangerous. "Is this okay?"
Fang sat up and tucked her leg under her butt, mirroring her position so they faced each other. "Can't say. Are you gonna fly off the couch if we start up? Maybe knock your head against that lamp over there?"
"If we start up?" She swallowed at the sultry gaze and found her voice. "No. I don't think so. We are awake, right?" She made a show of looking around the empty living room. "We're not dreaming, are we?"
Fang's face lit up into a thousand watt smile. "Nope. All real."
She hummed and inched closer until there were mere inches apart. "Good. It's been awhile since I've kissed you."
"Like riding a bike." Fang's amused grin did nothing to settle her heartrate.
She grasped Fang's chin, lifting it. Green eyes darkened and washed over her, darting to her lips, all across her face, but back to her lips, always back to her lips. Her heart rate spiked, and the leather of the couch creaked as she moved closer. "Are you sure?" Her whisper tickled their lips, and Fang's wild scent filled her lungs, heady. She missed it.
Fang didn't answer and instead tugged on the lapel of her robe, breaking the distance, pulling her. She pitched forward and their lips brushed together. She had just enough sense to notice how soft Fang's lips were. She'd known that all along. It wasn't a first kiss, but in a way, it felt like it was.
Fang's hand settled on her waist, squeezing the thin material of her robe. Her own hand rested against Fang's cheek, the other found her shoulder. Slender fingers massaged the back of her neck, deepening the kiss.
She swiped her tongue across Fang's plump, bottom lip, taking lead and entering her mouth. Their tongues met, unhurried and languorous. Delicious tingles worked up and down her spine. She was delirious with sensation.
She broke away for air; they were both breathing heavy. She squirmed, all too aware that the front of her robe had loosened.
Fang watched her with hawk-like intensity, her lips puffy and red from their kissing.
Oh yeah.
She remembered that look.
And suddenly, Fang was on her, covering the distance between them with a pounce. Her back landed against the arm of the couch. She grunted from the impact, distracted from pain by the lips that were on her, kissing her hard, fast, demanding. She'd forgotten how quickly the Oerban surrendered to passion.
She ran her fingers through Fang's dark tresses and down her back, clutching her hips, delighting in the feel of Fang on top of her. She decided that she loved the glorified bra; everywhere she touched…bare, hot skin. Fang's insistent fingers trailed up and down her leg, teasing, but never moving too far up her thigh. She sighed when Fang dipped down to kiss her neck.
"Things are looking up."
Fang's breathy chuckle against her ear made her shiver. "You just wait."
She wanted to ask what that meant, but Fang's lips were on hers again, chasing away thoughts of conversation.
And that was just fine.
It's about friggin' time, I say.
As always, feedback is appreciated. Thank you to those that take the time to review. It means a lot.
TBC.