They're on the same flight, so Rusty drops them off at the airport before school. Brenda sits in the backseat this time, silent and brooding. She and Rusty still haven't talked about him finding her in his mama's bed. She knows it was innocent enough considering what could've happened, the sort of things they've done that he could've stumbled upon, but still. Has he talked to Sharon about it? She doesn't know. She'd crept out the moment she'd heard his bedroom door close, gathering her coat and shoes and bag and locking the door behind her, walking home in the middle of the night, her hands balled into her pockets, her mind in the gutter.

At the curb, while Brenda hauls their bags out of the trunk, Sharon stands with her arms around Rusty, murmuring into his ear. It's early, their plane leaves at 7:05 and Rusty looks like he's not retaining anything that Sharon is saying to him, but he is boneless in her arms, accepting the love she drapes over him. She pushes his hair out of his eyes and Brenda just catches her saying, "Listen to Andy, okay? No giving him the slip."

"I promise," Rusty says.

"I left you some cash," Sharon says. "Groceries not take-out."

"It's three nights," Rusty says. "Please go so I can go back to bed."

Brenda pulls up the handle on Sharon's black suitcase, expensive and indestructible. Brenda has learned that carrying a bag instead of a hard suitcase with wheels is more work in the short term but when overhead bins start getting full, she can usually manage to find a space to stuff it in and not have to check anything. She sets her bag on top of Sharon's suitcase.

"Have fun," Rusty says to Brenda, and she gives him a quick hug too, patting his back.

"Be good, kiddo," she says. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Sharon scoffs. "Be better than that."

"Rude," Brenda says. Rusty rolls his eyes, gets back in the car.

"Text me when you get there," he calls. "So I know you're safe." And he drives away.

"Okay," Sharon says to herself. "He'll be okay."

"He's gonna be fine," Brenda says, grabbing the handle and rolling both their bags toward the automatic doors leading into the terminal. "He's going to sleep in and eat junk, but he'll be perfectly safe."

"Well I put his security detail back on while we're gone, so let's hope so," Sharon says.

Brenda doesn't comment on this. It seems wildly overprotective but also, she's not a mother. She doesn't know that fierce, blinding love like Sharon does. And she does know what Stroh is capable of, no matter where he's hiding out. If Sharon wants to err overwhelmingly on the side of caution, she's not going to shame her for it.

"I can take my bag," Sharon offers.

"I have it," Brenda says. They'd checked in the night before so they already have boarding passes. They bypass the check-in stations and head right for security.

"Look, there she is," Sharon says.

"There's who?" Brenda asks.

"Commander McGinnis," Sharon says. "She's the other person Chief Pope is sending. She's on our flight."

"What?" Brenda says. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought I did," Sharon says. "Sorry."

"Sorry?" she demands, but it's too late anyway. Commander McGinnis has seen them - her face shifts into a bland smile and when Sharon walks up to her, they shake hands.

"Captain," she says.

"Commander," Sharon replies. Protocol, after all, even in a space so liminal as an airport terminal. "Have you met Chief Investigator Brenda Leigh Johnson?"

"How do you do," she says, shaking Brenda's hand as well. It's a good shake, warm, not timid. "Your reputation precedes you."

"Well you do work for my ex-husband, so I imagine it would," Brenda says. The Commander's expression falters into uncertainty.

"That's not quite what I meant," she says.

"Oh," Brenda manages.

"Brenda has foot-in-mouth syndrome so early in the morning," Sharon says, glancing at her and shaking her head slightly.

"If we can get through security, there's a Starbucks on the other side," Commander McGinnis says.

Already this trip is slipping away from her. It's Brenda's orchestrations that have Sharon coming at all, but now it feels like she's tagging along with the LAPD and not the most politically powerful career woman of the three. McGinnis gets into line first and then Sharon who looks over her shoulder at Brenda with her eyebrows practically to her hairline. Brenda just shakes her head. Why did she say that? She has no idea.

McGinnis is kind enough to let it pass and be the least awkward of them all. They get through security, find their gate. Brenda offers to go on a coffee run, waves off all offers of money. She knows what Sharon wants without asking - McGinnis looks supremely uncomfortable accepting anything but finally relents and asks for a black tea. Brenda works hard not to frown. She doesn't trust people who don't drink coffee, especially cops. The line at the Starbucks is ridiculously long, but she doesn't mind. Better than small talk, better than sitting next to Sharon and remembering not to touch her or stare at her.

Brenda orders their drinks - a skinny vanilla latte for Sharon and a mocha with extra whipped cream for herself. The tea for the Commander and then a blueberry muffin, a croissant, and a piece of banana bread. They can argue over snacks later. Sharon probably already ate. Was probably up at 4 in the morning to put on makeup and fix herself a healthy, fibrous breakfast. She has to get one of those cardboard trays to carry the drinks and shoves the pastries on there too, walking carefully. When she approaches their seats, Sharon hops up to help her, easing the tea out to hand off to McGinnis and peeking in each little pink bag before handing them out. Sharon leaves the sweet muffin for Brenda, gives the croissant to McGinnis who looks at it for a few beats before reaching out and murmuring her thanks.

Brenda can recognize someone who is unfamiliar with friendship all too well.

Brenda does feel better with coffee and sugar in her, feels awake enough to just shut up and let Sharon make small talk. She busies herself on her phone, replying to an email from the office and then replying to one from Charlie who'd sent her a paper to edit for one of her classes. At the bottom of Charlie's email, she asks after Sharon and tells Brenda to tell "her pretty mom friend hello" so Brenda elbows Sharon gently and shows her the screen.

"From Charlie," she says.

"Hmm," Sharon says, though she smiles. "Mom friend."

"Pretty mom friend," Brenda says. "Pretty."

"Is Charlie your son?" McGinnis asks.

"My niece," Brenda says. "Charlene."

"I met her at Christmas," Sharon says. "So we're all old friends now."

"You two really are friends, aren't you?" McGinnis asks. "Office gossip had you at each other's throats when you were a Deputy Chief."

"That's all true," Sharon says.

"That was a long time ago now," Brenda says. "People change."

"Do they?" asks McGinnis, sipping her tea.

"I have to believe they do," Brenda says.

Sharon smiles at her, her eyes crinkling up in the corners.

It takes forever to board the plane but because of Sharon's compulsive need to check-in to the flight the exact moment they were able to, they're in the first boarding group. McGinnis is in the third.

"Want us to save you a seat, Commander?" Brenda asks and McGinnis and she shifts a little.

"Sure," she says. "If it's no bother."

"Of course not," Sharon says.

"You can call me Ann," she offers. "You too, Captain."

"By the end of this trip, I'm sure a first name basis will feel natural," Brenda offers. "See you in a few minutes, Ann."

"Why is it," Sharon asks, once they're on the jet bridge, shuffling slowly toward the airplane, "that when it's just you and me, you're smart and funny and sweet but when literally any other person is with us, you turn into a persnickety, awkward blabber mouth?"

"You think I'm funny and sweet?" she asks.

Sharon frowns at her.

"I mean, I already know I'm smart," Brenda says.

"Never mind."

"Hey you just called me a blabber mouth and awkward and that other word!"

"Persnickety," Sharon says.

"Yeah," Brenda grins. "I just like hearin' you say it."

"I don't want to sit next to you," Sharon says.

"Too bad," Brenda grins. "I am sorry though. I think I'm just a little jumpy when it comes to Fritz."

"Understandable," Sharon says. "You know, he never talks about you. And you barely talk about him. There's no need to be nervous."

"Anxious, then," she says. They're nearing the door of the plane now. "It's like… I don't know, retroactive, or something. I know I got out but I still feel trapped when I think about him. And he really didn't do anything wrong? I shouldn't feel it at all."

"Don't you think it's a good sign that you feel anything about it?" Sharon offers, stepping delicately over the threshold into the plane. Brenda's in a soft cotton dress and kitten heels, Sharon opted for black slacks and ballet flats, a blazer and a pretty lavender scarf. Her beauty, as always, is so effortless that it's daunting. Conversation is hard and Brenda files after Sharon toward the middle of the plane where there are still rows of seats. It'd be easier, maybe, if they were assigned instead of this free for all, but then probably they'd be scattered. Brenda thinks this is better - she's willing to sit with Ann if it means she can sit with Sharon.

They settle in - Brenda with the shortest legs in the window seat. Sharon graciously leaves the aisle seat for Ann even though Sharon is all leg and Ann isn't much taller than Brenda.

"You think it's good I feel like crap?" Brenda asks. She keeps her eye on the moving line of people, watching for Ann's pale blonde head.

"Brenda when we first started seeing each other again, you were so out of it and numb that half the time I was mean to you just to make sure you would react," Sharon says. Brenda knows she's just sitting there gaping at Sharon but she'd thought… she'd thought honestly that no one had noticed that. Or could have noticed that. She'd still gone to work and fed herself and went shopping and paid her bills. She'd worked really hard to do all the normal things adults did.

"What about the other half of the time?" she manages.

Sharon rolls her eyes and they don't talk about it anymore because she says, "Here's Ann."

So Brenda gets to stew about this on a cross country flight. Wonderful.

Brenda must get fidgety because when they level out in the air and the seatbelt lights come off, Sharon reaches into her bag and pulls out a paperback book and hands it to Brenda who takes it with a furrowed brow. She looks at the cover. It's a mystery, obviously used and well read. It has a little green sticker on it that marks the price as fifty cents.

"What's this?" Brenda asks.

"I thought you might get bored and the library was having a used book sale. I picked up a stack for you." Sharon shrugs. "Do you not want it?"

"It's in Russian," Brenda says.

"You speak Russian very well," Sharon says. "Books always lose something in translation, don't you think?"

It's not that Brenda can't read the book, it's not even that Brenda doesn't prefer to read them in Russian, it's just… the fact that Sharon knows. The fact that she could anticipate this about Brenda. Had thought ahead, had planned a kind act.

"Thank you," Brenda says.

"I have a German one too, but it looks kind of trashy. It was hard to tell from the cover." Sharon pulls it out and Brenda can see immediately that it's a romance novel. And not the classy kind.

"I will be taking that one as well, thank you," Brenda says, snatching it out of Sharon's hand. On the other side of Sharon, Ann laughs a little.

"You two are funny," she says.

"What else you got in there, snacks?" Brenda asks, peering down into the bag at Sharon's feet.

"I have some stuff in case of emergency," Sharon says.

"Chocolate?" Brenda asks, leaning over even further. She can see something in there, a little glint of silver. She gasps. "A Ding Dong!"

"That is for an emergency!" Sharon says. "You can't have it now."

"Who gets to decide what an emergency is?" Brenda asks philosophically. "Some might say that being trapped in this metal bird for the next five hours constitutes an emergency."

"If you eat it now, you're going to wish you had it later," Sharon says.

"Yeah, but I bet you have an extra secret one in there too," Brenda says.

Sharon stares at her through narrowed eyes. "You can't have that one yet either."

Brenda pumps her fist in victory and leans back in her seat, content simply knowing it's there. Sharon looks at her and then drags her gaze up to Brenda's eyes and whispers, "Read your book, Brenda Leigh."

"Yes, ma'am," Brenda says.

oooo

Ann's sister picks her up at the terminal and it's a surprise to them both.

"I'm not staying at the hotel," she says apologetically. "But I'll see you in the morning?"

"Of course," Sharon says, ever gracious. "Have a good time."

Ann's sister is a darker version of Ann herself - more of a dishwater blonde. She doesn't get out of the car, Ann just tosses her bag into the back of her sister's four door sedan and gets in the front seat.

"I think the hotel has a shuttle, but what if we just took a cab?" Brenda says.

"Fine by me. I've had enough of being crammed in with people." Sharon does look a little weary, tired and short tempered. Maybe she's worried about Rusty, maybe she doesn't care for air travel. Maybe it was weird having a third party to watch them together. It was for Brenda, who kept having to sit on her hands to keep them off Sharon's elbow, her knee, out of her hair. And now comes the daunting part - two nights alone in a hotel room.

"We're at the Marriott," she says as they get in the taxi line. "There's some pre-conference stuff tonight but what do you say we just get some dinner and take it easy."

"Whatever you want," Sharon says. "I'm not exactly emotionally invested in the conference."

"And yet here you are," Brenda says.

"And yet," Sharon agrees.

It's a short ride, easy enough to check into the hotel. Brenda asks for two card keys and stands tiredly while the woman behind the counter goes through her spiel - walking distance to the Mall, close to the White House, perfect hotel for tourists.

"We're here for a conference," Brenda says. "But if we have any questions, I know where to ask."

Brenda turns to find Sharon, standing in the lobby, chin up shoulders back, her hand resting on the handle of her suitcase. She always looks regal, intimidating, like she belongs. And Brenda knows that she's tired and hungry and short tempered but still. But still. She's so beautiful.

Sharon catches her staring, smiles at the dopey expression on Brenda's face.

"Ready?" she asks. Brenda nods, hands over the paper envelope that has their key cards. It's her room, but Sharon always feels like the one in charge to Brenda and it's almost a relief, handing over control. If only of a little thing. Sharon takes it, leads them to the long bank of elevators. They wait only a few moments before doors part and two men in suits exit, smiling at them, saying, "Good afternoon, ladies."

"Thank you," Sharon says, always gracious.

They're alone in the elevator as they ascend. Brenda shifts a little, the bag on her shoulder heavy and Sharon takes it for her, sets it on top of her rolling suitcase. Brenda murmurs her thanks. Their room is a ways down the hall and when Sharon pushes the door open, it reveals a room that at best could be described as cozy. There are two beds, however, something that Brenda had called and asked for. Not that she doesn't relish the idea of sharing a bed with Sharon for an entire night - or more - but she didn't want to force the issue when Sharon seems skittish about contact. She didn't want to walk into the room and have it feel like a badly written sitcom where one of them offers to sleep in the bathtub.

"Snug," Sharon says. "But the view is lovely."

Brenda lets the door close behind her.

"Well," Brenda says. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

"I could eat," Sharon says, sitting on the edge of the bed, the one closest to the window. "You used to live here, I'm happy to follow your lead."

"There's plenty of stuff in walking distance," she says. "Care to take a stroll with me, Captain?"

The weather is perfect. It's cool but sunny, enough of a breeze that they don't get overly warm if they're not standing in the shade. When Brenda lived in the area, she would've walked away from the monuments and touristy places, but she walks toward the mayhem instead. Sharon gushes over the architecture, the marble buildings, the awnings over small cafes, the zooming traffic, the green trees and patches of grass in the midst of such a large city. It's still the afternoon, not quite four, which means they've gotten out just before everyone gets off work and things get crazy.

"How about here?" Brenda says. They're outside a little Italian place. Sharon shrugs and nods.

"Okay."

It's mostly empty inside because of the off hour, but there are a few people at the bar in the back. The bartender tells them, hollering across the empty room, to sit anywhere, so they find a little table by the wall and seat themselves. Once they're seated, Brenda feels the day catch up with her and is tired, slouching and resting her chin on her hand.

"Did you tell Rusty we got here in once piece?" Brenda asks.

"I sent him a text message when the plane touched down," Sharon says.

They get waters, a basket of bread between. Sharon orders a salad, Brenda gets pasta. It's a quiet, companionable meal because they're both a little tired and out of sorts from travel. Brenda wishes this was a vacation, that they had the days to stretch out before them. Museums and cafes and monuments and posing for pictures or whatever else people do on vacations. But instead they'll have to get up early, make small talk, network, attend panels. Brenda hates conferences, hates that she has to spend all this time and energy for very little payoff. She might hear about something interesting, might take one or two good ideas or contacts home, but mostly she's here so that the D.A.'s office can say that she was.

Sharon reaches across with her for and spears some of Brenda's pasta, pops it into her mouth. Brenda doesn't even mind.

"You want to order dessert?" Sharon asks but Brenda shakes her head.

On the way back to the hotel, they stop at the Ronald Reagan building, where the conference is being held. There's not much happening yet, a few people milling around, but there is a table set up to check-in. The first sessions begin tomorrow at eight am so at least checking in now buys them a little more sleep in the morning. They get plastic name badges that hang around their necks with stretchy elastic. Brenda Leigh Johnson, Bureau of Investigation Chief, Los Angeles District Attorney, Los Angeles California. It's a mouthful all written out like that.

Captain Sharon Raydor, Los Angeles Police Department, Los Angeles, California.

"Mine is not… quite as impressive," Sharon says, comparing the name badges with a frown.

"I find you impressive, Captain," Brenda says.

"It's not fair to you, but I forget how high you are up on the organizational chart sometimes. Not because you're not capable or deserving, I just know you so well now."

"Hard to reconcile my professional life with the steaming pile of crap that is my personal one?" she asks, tucking her badge and the folder that had come with it into her purse.

"Exactly," Sharon smirks.

Outside, they pause and Brenda says, "What next?"

"I'd like a nap, frankly," Sharon says.

"Oh good," Brenda says, relieved.

But it's like they're two sets of people. Sometimes they're friends, peers, two women out to lunch or attending a conference and sometimes they're the other thing. Linked fingers, kisses in dark cars. Fingers on skin. And Brenda is never exactly sure when the switch is going to take place, it's hard to anticipate. They've been alone with each other all afternoon and it's been pleasant, though distant, but the moment they step into the hotel elevator to go back to their shared room, Brenda knows she's not standing next to Captain Raydor anymore. Sharon stands close enough to her that their arms brush.

In the room, Brenda sets her bag down and says, "Look, this doesn't have to be weird."

"I didn't think it was," Sharon says unwinding the scarf from her neck, taking off her coat.

"I just know we're in this uncertain place and I don't want you to feel… pressure about anything," she says.

"I wouldn't have come if I didn't want to," Sharon reassures her. "Are you okay with it?"

"Rusty saw us," Brenda says. She wasn't going to say anything about that, but she realizes now that she's said it, it has been weighing on her.

"I know, he told me," Sharon says.

"He did?" Brenda asks. "What did you say?"

"That we fell asleep watching TV," Sharon says. "Which, incidentally, is the truth."

"Yeah, but…" She shakes her head. "He wasn't suspicious?"

Sharon laughs. "Of what, Brenda? He knows we're friends. We weren't caught in the act of anything other than being tired at the same time and in the same place."

"He didn't seem surprised," Brenda says.

"We're together a lot these days," Sharon says. "I'm not… I'm not embarrassed of you. You know that right? You're not something I'd try to hide from my son, no matter what our… situation is."

Brenda nods but she can't pretend it's not gratifying to hear, even if she can't believe it one hundred percent.

"I just worry, that's all," Brenda says, crossing her arms. "And I didn't want you to think I was lyin' to you."

"Is that why you've been weird all day?" Sharon asks. "Because Rusty saw us?"

"I'm just tired," Brenda says. "Just out of sorts."

"We'll sleep for a little while," Sharon says, her voice low and soothing. "No pressure."

"Okay," she says.

Sharon locks herself in the bathroom and Brenda kicks off her shoes and pulls off dress so when she crawls into the bed, she's just in her underwear and her black tank top. The bed is pretty comfortable. It should be for how much she's paying for this hotel. Her office will reimburse up to a certain amount, but she'd opted for convenience over thrift. She'd been living most of the year under the impression that the majority of her paycheck would be going to her ex-husband and now that it's not… she realizes this is the most financially stable she's ever been. She's paid off her car and she's been thinking seriously about trying to give Fritz all the money back that he'd spent trying to protect her from Gavin. It had been his inheritance, after all. They're not in a real good place right now, so she's got to think about how to go about it. Sending him a check for his birthday probably isn't going to cut it.

Buying a house is probably the next step she should take.

She presses her face into the pillow and sighs. Why does her brain always want to think about things like this right before she goes to sleep? On the other side of the wall she hears the toilet flush and then the sink running. When Sharon comes out, she looks at Brenda and hesitates.

"Would you prefer…?"

"With me," Brenda says. "That's what I'd prefer."

Sharon nods once, turns to her suitcase and unzips it, digs around for a moment and pulls out a pair of pajama pants. Brenda almost tells her not to bother, but while Brenda is comfortable with Sharon seeing her in a towel or in her underwear or any manner of ratty old t-shirts and shorts, she realizes that the most casual thing that she's ever seen Sharon in is her bathing suit. So it doesn't surprise her when Sharon changes in the bathroom, comes back out with her outfit folded and she lays it carefully on top of the suitcase before turning to Brenda and pulling off her glasses.

"Should we set an alarm?" Sharon asks. "Try to do something a little later so we don't wake up at three in the morning?"

"Just get in the bed Sharon, for crying out loud, only you could over think a nap."

Sharon scowls at her but walks around to the other side of the bed and slips under the covers, rolling to face Brenda.

"You're grouchy when you're tired," she whispers.

Brenda closes her eyes and says, "Shut up."

She can't see it, but somehow she can feel Sharon's smile anyway.

oooo

It's dark when Brenda wakes up and she has no idea if that means it's eight thirty or if it's two in the morning. She slips out of the bed. Sharon is still asleep, breathing heavy and warm beside her. She glances at the clock and the red numbers say that it's a quarter past ten. Late, but not so late that they couldn't go down to the bar and get a drink or something. She closes the door to the bathroom before she turns on the light, the fan whirring. She pees, rubbing her face and then stands in front of the sink, washing her hands. When she looks up at herself in the mirror, she hears her mother's voice.

What if you do this and you decide you don't like it?

"Mama," she whispers. "Please don't do this."

I don't want you to ruin your friendship is all.

"You don't want two gay kids," Brenda says to her own reflection and saying it out loud makes her flinch. "Or whatever I am."

I love all my kids no matter what! her mother says, obviously offended.

"Then love me no matter what happens next," Brenda says. She shuts off the light and opens the door softly, padding back out into the bedroom. Sharon has moved just a little, rolling toward the spot where Brenda had been. She finds her phone in her purse, the charger too, and is grateful there's a plug built right into the lamp that sits on the nightstand between the two beds so she doesn't have to fumble around for one in the dark. She sets an alarm for 6:30 and plugs the phone in. It chirps as it connects to the power source and Sharon shifts again. She sets the phone on the nightstand and gets back into the bed, rolling until she comes up against Sharon, her arm slipping over her waist, their feet tangling. Maybe Sharon isn't a cuddler, but Brenda is going to turn that tide or die trying.

"What time is it?" Sharon murmurs without opening her eyes.

"We got plenty of time," Brenda says. Sharon stretches, laughs.

"That's not what I asked."

"Shh," Brenda shushes. Sharon seems happy enough to comply, holding Brenda as she wishes to be held. Brenda smooths her hand over Sharon's hair, pushing it out of her face and then rubbing her thumb over her forehead, her eyebrow, down the slope of her nose to her bottom lip. Sharon's lips part and the tip of her tongue touches Brenda's thumb. "Oh, I see how it is," Brenda says.

"If you want it to be," Sharon murmurs. Brenda leans in, replaces her thumb with her mouth. Sharon is warm and sleepy, slow to respond but Brenda is fine with going slow. Slow, easy kisses and the material of Sharon's t-shirt between Brenda's fingers. After a while, Sharon seems to wake up a little more because her kisses become less about the soft drag of their lips and more aggressive, more insistent. Brenda is very aware of their limbs, of how one of Sharon's legs has wormed between her bare ones, how their hips seem to shift into alignment. Sharon slips her hands into Brenda's hair; Brenda gets her hand up under Sharon's shirt. She's hesitant and slow, gives her plenty of time to call it off but Sharon just throws her shoulders back and so Brenda cups the weight of one breast, squeezing gently and feeling a hard nipple under the soft cup of her bra.

"Okay?" Brenda asks.

"Yeah," Sharon says. "Yes."

She's so enraptured with this new sensation, the foreign yet strangely familiar feeling of a breast against her hand that she almost misses Sharon's mouth sliding off of hers and over to her ear to catch her earlobe between her teeth. Sharon's breath is hot and heavy and it makes her shudder and tense up. She's so wet already that she's a little concerned that she ought to be embarrassed and Sharon panting into her ear only sets another shiver of arousal running through her. When her thighs clench together instinctively, they're blocked by Sharon's knee.

"Wait, wait," Brenda pants, dragging her hand down to Sharon's ribs. "Wait."

"What?" Sharon asks pulling back just enough to try to see Brenda in the darkness. She squints and Brenda wonders how well she can see without her glasses.

"If we're gonna stop, we should stop now," Brenda says. "I can't… you're so…"

"We don't have to stop," Sharon says. "Unless you want to."

"Nope," Brenda says and captures her mouth again. Sharon smiles against her, she can feel it, and it seems like her hands are everywhere - her back, her arms, her hips, her thighs.

"How long have you not been wearing pants?" Sharon manages to ask when she encounters the bare skin of Brenda's leg.

"Whole time," Brenda says against Sharon's neck. Sharon groans and rolls so she's on her back and Brenda tumbles on top of her. Brenda's not exactly sure what to do next, but Sharon presses her thigh up between Brenda's leg and Brenda whimpers at the contact and grinds down against it, desperate for the pressure.

"Good," Sharon murmurs. "Just like that."

Brenda would do anything that low voice told her to do, raspy and a little breathless. And it is good, but it isn't quite enough. Pleasurable but muted and Brenda longs for skin against skin. She sits up, making sure her knees are on either side of Sharon and reaches down, crosses her arms and tugs her shirt over her head. Sharon's hands go right to the newly discovered country, sliding warmly across her stomach, up to where the lace covers her breasts. They slip around her, fumble for just a moment at the clasp that sits just under her shoulder blades and she feels the give when the bra comes apart and slips down her arms. Sharon plucks it away, tosses it to the side and leans forward.

Hot and so good and sharp and warm and wet. Sharon worries a nipple with her teeth lightly and then soothes it with her tongue - kisses just underneath it where the skin is soft and sensitive. Presses her nose between Brenda's breasts and breathes deep, nips at the inside of the other breast.

"You too," Brenda says. She's not sure how she's down to just her panties and Sharon is still in all of her clothes but it doesn't seem right and when she props herself on her elbows, Brenda tugs at her shirt and gets it over her head. Sharon's hair spreads out against the pillow when she lies back again like a dark halo, like blood, like garden vines creeping up a wall.

"Are we really doin' this?" Brenda asks.

"I think so," Sharon says. And then she smiles, sweet and soft. Reaches up behind herself and undoes her own bra, tosses it away and reaches for Brenda. She tucks her face into Sharon's neck and groans. So much softness, so much skin. It's a relief to be pressed together and some of the ferocity of the moment settles. Brenda noses into her hairline where Sharon smells most like herself. Sharon rubs her hand up and down her spine and murmurs, "We're okay."

Brenda kisses her, the little dip of her top lip, the fullness of the bottom. Runs her tongue along the front of Sharon's teeth until they part. They kiss and kiss, Brenda could just go on forever, partially stalling for time because she feels uncertain about the next practical step but also because it feels so good and warm and right. But then Sharon turns her head to the side, frees her mouth and utters a deep, "Please."

Maybe that's what Brenda had been waiting for anyway. Permission or motivation or something. Because as soon as Sharon says it, a lilt of desperation in her voice, Brenda feels confident enough to slip her fingers beneath the waist of Sharon's pants and her underwear and give a hard tug. Sharon cants her hips up, moves her body with Brenda to get the clothes off and onto the floor. Her beautiful legs are bare and smooth, pale in the small amount of light that comes in through the window and Brenda is grateful neither of them bothered to draw either the sheer curtains or the heavy drapes.

Brenda kisses her knee, slides her hands up her thighs and is surprised to find that the bareness continues.

"Jesus," Brenda says, her breath hitching with desire. "Jesus."

"Is it okay?" Sharon asks, sitting up a little, looking down her body to see what Brenda is seeing.

"It's beautiful," Brenda says.

"Well, you know," Sharon says. "I have a full service salon."

Brenda snorts back laughter and then tilts her head. "Can I…?"

"Please," Sharon says. "Please touch me."

Brenda reaches out as Sharon's legs fall apart and cups her in the palm of her hand. The heat is incredible, but the softness of all that bare skin is what really gets Brenda. Sharon presses into her and she feels the first smear of moisture and it makes everything feel like velvet when skin slides against skin.

Brenda knows what she's doing only biologically. She knows the anatomy that she shares, but it's like looking at something in a mirror, kind of. This is not the angle she's used to. But she's not scared anymore, not with the way Sharon is writhing beneath her. She drags one finger up, spreading the moisture and Sharon bares her teeth, her eyes closed tight. Her finger slips inside before Brenda can think much about it, that's how wet and ready, how swollen Sharon is. Sharon huffs out a breath and clenches hard around Brenda's finger.

"More," she says. So Brenda pulls her finger slowly, dragging it out and then pushes two back in. Out and in. She speeds up a little and Sharon hums, arches her back. With her thumb, Brenda feels out for Sharon's swollen bundle of nerves and when she finds it, Sharon pistons up with a ragged cry.

"Show me," Brenda says. "Show me how you like it."

Sharon is hesitant before reaching down and touching herself. Maybe she's embarrassed or maybe she's distracted by the way Brenda hooks her fingers, trying to reach deeper inside Sharon, trying to feel more but finally her fingers make contact and Brenda watches closely and then, after a few moments, pushes Sharon's fingers out of the way and replaces them with her own, working Sharon with two hands and replicating the small, tight circles.

Sharon's arms fly up to cover her face she moans into the skin of her arms.

"God," she pants. "God. God. Brenda, I can't."

"You can," Brenda says. "You are."

Because isn't sure that she can be inventive or acrobatic right now. She's not sure what the correct procedure is for two previously straight women having sex but she thinks, with some confidence, that if nothing else, she can get Sharon off at the very least. And Brenda knows how to be relentless. She keeps at it, increasing the pressure and then pace while Sharon twists and pants and moans. Brenda knows she's right there, right at the edge.

Brenda has been thinking about sex a lot lately, a lot and specifically about sex with Sharon Raydor and every time she's let her mind wander this far, she's come to the conclusion that she is probably not comfortable with the more oral aspect of lesbian sex. She doesn't love doing it with men and women are so much more wet, more messy. The idea simply has never appealed to her. So it's a surprise now when Brenda moves one hand and replaces it with her mouth. She does it without thinking, she does it because she wants more than anything to see Sharon come apart.

"Oh!" Sharon manages and it's all she needs. Brenda can feel the spasms, the gush of moisture against her fingers and her chin. And the things she thought would bother her about this just don't. It's just the overwhelming smell of Sharon that she loves, the taste a non-issue and she feels flushed with power at having brought her to this point. Brenda keeps thrusting, keeps moving her tongue until Sharon touches her head, pushing her away. "Enough," she says breathlessly. "Enough."

Brenda sits up, pulls her fingers away gently. Wipes them on the bedsheets and allows Sharon to wrap her up in her arms, breathe heavily into her hair while she rides out her pleasure. Brenda is happy to hold her back, feeling her twitch and shudder.

"I was going to go first," Sharon says, after a while. "I had a plan."

"I like my plans better," Brenda says and Sharon laughs and it sounds like honey, sticky sweet and slow moving. Sharon kisses her, doesn't complain about the taste, doesn't shy away or act any differently. Brenda is profoundly relieved. She always has the small fear that her feelings are one sided, that Sharon is tolerating her. What if she'd gotten what she wanted and closed herself off? But she seems more open than ever, languid and not shy. Sharon kisses down her neck, palms her breast, nudges her legs apart with her knee.

Brenda is still nervous, closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Sharon had seemed to let go so easily, to part her thighs and give Brenda all the access she wanted. Brenda wants to do that for Sharon, too, she does.

"Relax," Sharon says. "It's just me."

"Just," Brenda chuckles. "Just a beauty queen."

"I think you're so beautiful," Sharon says earnestly. "Your hair, your mouth. You're so… so hot." Sharon kisses her again. "So fucking hot." Sharon's mouth latches on to skin on her neck and sucks hard. Pain blossoms just like pleasure, blood rushing up, nerves on fire, body pulsing. She pushes down her own underpants, relieved to be free of the wet, clingy fabric. Sharon doesn't waste time, slips her hand between Brenda's legs.

"Like this," Sharon says. "Get on top of me."

Brenda complies, in no position to do anything other than trust her. Sharon lies on her back and Brenda perches on her hips like she's done with so many lovers before. When Brenda sinks down, it's onto fingers and she finds that Sharon's palm grinds into her just right when she thrusts her hips. She's jerky, at first, unsure and overly excited and Sharon puts her other hand on her hip and guides her. "Find your rhythm," she murmurs. "Just like this." Sharon pushes her hips up, driving her fingers home and Brenda moves down and it's so good, better than chocolate, better than the most expensive wine, better than catching a liar in the act, better than it all.

She pushes her hand through her hair, holding it up and out of her face and looks down at Sharon who is watching her with her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"Good girl," Sharon says. "So good."

Oh God. She moves her hips faster, feels the muscles in her thighs and abdomen begin to strain. Sharon keeps up her counter thrust, and Brenda feels as full as any man has ever made her feel. She looks at Sharon, her kind eyes looking glassy and fevered, her dark hair, the hard peak of each breast, the flush that spreads across her chest and shoulders, deep enough that Brenda can see it even in the dark.

There's a moment where she hangs, right there on the edge, and then she tips, clenching tight, shuddering and gushing and it doesn't matter that she's only a handful of days away from fifty years old, it doesn't matter that she's got two ex-husbands, it doesn't matter that she has pubic hair where Sharon has none, it doesn't matter that her hair is wild and curly and she can hear herself whining high and desperate. The only things that matter are the orgasm, blinding and jagged, and the woman who catches her when it comes to an inevitable end.

Sharon smooths a hand down her sweaty spine and whispers soothing and low, "I've got you. I've got you, Brenda Leigh. I've got you."

Brenda finds Sharon's hand, sticky and warm, and threads their fingers together. Holds on tight.

oooo

Brenda maintains a low level of anxiety until the alarm goes off, afraid it will be different in the light of day, and in a way, it is. It's a pleasant surprise, though. Instead of things being awkward or stilted or tense, Sharon is surprisingly quiet and tender. They move around the tiny hotel room in a tired haze. Sharon showers while Brenda picks up the clothes scattered around the room and drops them on the floor of the little closet. Sharon leaves the shower on for Brenda and they trade, Sharon wrapped in a white towel, Brenda letting the hot water flatten her hair and beat against the sore muscles in her back.

She'd been worried that it wouldn't feel the same, sex with a woman. That she'd come away feeling unfinished, but her thigh muscles feel like jelly and she's got that pleasant, satisfied burn of penetration that she's used to, the thing she always counts on as a physical reminder of a night well spent. Sharon's fingers had been just as satisfying as any man and more dexterous to boot. No matter what the task, Brenda keeps finding Sharon to be better.

She washes her hair with Sharon's shampoo and conditioner, the bottles she'd left on the edge of the tub and soaps up with the little bar that smells like citrus. When she shuts the water off and pulls open the plastic curtain, Sharon is there with a towel around her hair in her underwear. Brenda feels a little shy and drags the towel off the rod, holding it in front of her. Sharon smiles at her, leans in to steal a wet kiss. Her mouth tastes minty and warm.

Brenda dresses while Sharon dries her hair in the bathroom and when Sharon comes out, her hair gleaming and perfect, Brenda is horrified to feel her eyes well up. She just feels so emotional about the whole situation and is out of practice. She turns her face away, clears her throat. When she feels like she can look at Sharon without weeping, she stands up, smooths her skirt and buttons her blazer.

"Did you bring anything with a higher neckline?" Sharon asks. Brenda furrows her brow, turns to look at her reflection in the mirror over the chest of drawers. A splotchy purple love bite at the base of her neck, where the line gives way to her collarbone. Brenda remembers receiving that well enough, though it's been a long time since someone has marked her. She feels a flush of heat.

"Come with me," Sharon says when Brenda doesn't reply except to reach up and touch the mark with her fingers. She follows Sharon into the bathroom and sits on the closed toilet. Sharon rummages around her her make up for a tube of concealer and a yellow bristled brush. She squirts a little of the ivory liquid on the brush - too pale for Brenda's skin, but close enough, maybe. Brenda tilts her head to expose her neck and pushes her hair out of the way. Sharon dabs the brush against the mark and whispers, "Sorry."

"I'm not," Brenda says. Sharon is still in her underwear, nude briefs and a matching, full cupped bra. Brenda reaches out to touch the lace at her hip, hooks a finger in the elastic waistband and gives a little tug so it snaps against her skin. Sharon hums, just an echo of the kind of noises that had driven Brenda crazy only a few hours ago.

"Better," Sharon says, tossing the brush onto the counter. She touches Brenda's chin and tilts her head up, kisses her again. It's so tempting to fall into it, to open her mouth, to grab her by the hips, to…

Sharon straightens up, says warmly, "Your hair is gonna dry like that."

"Oh, shoot," Brenda says, hopping up. She spends some time wetting it back down again and scrunching product into it, but it's already started to curl so she just uses the hair dryer to blow out the front and pins the rest of it back up. By the time she's got just the basic makeup on, Sharon is ready. Armani suit, her glasses, her purse on her shoulder, her red lips. She looks like a cop but one from television - beautiful and deadly and in charge. She's got her badge clipped to her pants just to the side - Brenda can see it peek out from beneath her jacket only when she moves a certain way.

Brenda powders her face and then the spot on her neck. If someone gets right up close, they'll be able to see the coverage but from a distance, it's not real noticeable and anyway, who cares? So what if someone figures out that Brenda is desirable?

She drags on some lipstick and throws a few things into her purse - her phone, the room key, the conference schedule.

"Okay, okay, ready," Brenda says. Sharon holds up her coat for her so she can slip into it. When she turns around to face Sharon, Sharon puts her arms around her and Brenda is startled by the hug. She hugs her back tight, smiling fondly at her.

"You know what?" Brenda says.

"What?"

"I think we're okay," she says.

"We're definitely okay," Sharon says.

"Good," Brenda says. "Now I need a mocha in the absolute worst way." She's starving, too. She realizes they ate dinner so early and never left the hotel room again.

"We have half an hour before the first session starts," Sharon says. She pulls open the door and holds it open for Brenda and they emerge into the hall. Brenda can see the change happen in Sharon as soon as the door shuts behind them - she straightens up a little and then, in a flash, she's back to Captain Raydor again. It's terrifying and fascinating all at once and Brenda worries her lip, knowing that outside the room they have to be professional and not much more than friends but she also knows she's going to spend the entire day thinking endlessly about Sharon in her bed. As Sharon walks ahead of her down the hall toward the elevators, Brenda realizes exactly what is doing it for her in this moment.

It's authority. Sharon has it in spades. Brenda may have a fancier job, more responsibility, make way better money but Sharon is in charge here and Brenda gets off on that hard.

Sharon pushes the button to call for the elevator and throws a glance over her shoulder.

"You coming?" she asks.

Brenda nods. "Right here with you, Captain."

Sharon smirks. "Good girl."

The elevator doors open.