As it turns out, Blake does think about Sun the next morning, and afternoon, and evening. She's consumed with guilt, about the way they broke up, about the way she was literally dripping in her pants for someone else not even two days later. She wants to know how he is doing, but wouldn't dare to ask him directly, and she's pacing restlessly in the living room when Weiss, trying to work at the dinner table, finally gives up. She grumbles, angrily sends a few texts, waits for the answers, gets up and shoves her phone in Blake's face.
"There. Neptune said Sun is alright. Eating properly. Taking care of himself. He had trouble sleeping for the past two nights, but nothing alarming. He's alright, Blake. It's a breakup. It happens all the time, and yours wasn't as ugly as you think it was. Sun is a nice, cheerful, pretty boy. He'll get over it and find a sweet girl to fall in love with. And if he doesn't, it's because he and Neptune finally admitted they're crazy for each other."
Blake can't help but laugh, can't help but hug her best friend and thank her for being there.
"I told you you'll get through this and you will. Speaking of… Would you please care to explain what the hell happened last night?"
"What are you talking about?" Blake plays dumb.
"I am talking about how obviously lust-struck you were for Yang. Did you forget she was a girl? Did your eyes and ears not work?"
Blake sighs, falls on the couch and bites her lip. One moment, she considers not telling Weiss anything. Keeping her private thoughts private, in a place she'd only share with fantasy Yang. But then she feels the icy glare of her roommate weighing on her and she surrenders.
"I'm so screwed, Weiss. She's so… so… But she's a girl! I've never been so… for a girl!"
"Speak with actual words, please?"
"She's so hot and I can't stop thinking about her fucking me."
Weiss snorts. "That's more like it. And why is that a problem exactly? Considering the way she was stripping you with her eyes last night, I'm pretty sure the feeling is mutual."
"I told her I was straight."
"An understandable mistake."
"No, not a mistake. I mean I know I'm crazy attracted to her so I might have to reconsider my whole sexuality, but I said it to… not be easy? She seems like the type who could get any girl—or boy—she wants and I don't like being just anyone."
"Oh, you're playing hard to get! I like that, Blake. But then again, I don't see where the problem is."
"What if she grows tired of me? What if after two days of flirty attempts she just gives up and looks for someone easier?"
"Dear lord, you sound like a maiden in love," Weiss mocks.
"It's purely physical." Blake takes her face in her hands and groans. "I should text her," and her voice is muffled. "Yeah, I should text her. Ask her out or something. Fuck her once and get rid of… whatever this is."
"It's a wonder how someone can be so insecure and so confident at the same time," Weiss teases. "And no, I don't think it's a good idea, thank you for asking. Look, you're right. She's dripping sex-appeal and she can probably date whoever she wants. But—for a reason beyond my comprehension—she seems to want you. And she wants you even if you're playing hard to get. Or maybe because of it. So, my advice is: keep teasing her, but don't give her what she wants. Not yet. She'll be so hooked by the time you finally offer yourself to her she'll probably play along with every fucked up sexual fantasy you have, for as long as you want."
"Maybe you're right."
"I'm always right, Blake."
And as she turns around and sits back at the dinner table, Weiss adds nonchalantly, "Oh and… Don't text her first today. Let her come to you. Show her you're the one in control."
And so she does. Blake spends her Sunday fighting urges to text, call, send nudes to Yang, and Yang doesn't message her either. When she goes to sleep, she thinks about how terrible Weiss's advice was, and she tries not to panic about the idea that Yang might never contact her again, that she was never interested in the first place.
Today is Monday, and so begins a new week. Blake rarely gets the weekend off, usually on duty from Friday to Sunday night, and the past one was a welcome exception in her stressful work life. She had planned to fully enjoy it, celebrating with Sun, lazing in the mornings, maybe meet a few friends and, well, she did do all of that. Except it was nothing like she anticipated, and now she feels exhausted and restless all at once.
She's on patrol duty the whole day with Pyrrha, and it goes quietly aside from a minor altercation with two men fighting in the street.
Her job is stressful, even in the calmest moments. There's always a possibility of danger, and they can't drop their guard, never. Fortunately, Pyrrha is the best partner anyone could ask for. Strong, smart, positive, calm and kindhearted. She helps Blake remain steady. They both help each other remain steady.
The day passes in the blink of an eye, and it's only when she's changing out of her uniform that Blake finally notices the three new messages on her phone.
Weiss [3:56] – Did you steal my binder?
Why on earth would Blake steal a file full of confusing financial data?
Weiss [4:02] – Found it, never mind.
She rolls her eyes. Typical Schnee. The last text is from Yang. Asking if she wants to grab lunch together tomorrow. So, Weiss's advice did work, to Blake's delight. She responds quickly.
Blake [7:37] – Meet me at 12:30 at The Atlas. I usually have lunch there during my break.
Yang [7:38] – i'll be there
Yang [7:38] – will i finally find out about that mysterious job of yours?
Blake [7:38] – Who knows?
Blake [7:39] – Don't be late.
Yang [7:39] – bossy. i like it.
Blake doesn't answer, but she doesn't bother to hide her smile either. Tomorrow cannot come fast enough.
As she gets out of the police station for her lunch break, Blake tries to smother her nervousness. She's faced criminals, murderers even, without breaking a sweat, but now that she's about to see Yang, she can't keep her shit together? Come on, Blake. She checks her uniform one last time. Her midnight blue pants and long-sleeved shirt buttoned to the neck, her shiny badge high on her chest, her black necktie, her heavy belt carrying her gun, ammunition, radio, handcuffs, baton, knife, mace, flashlight and taser. She remembers complaining about the weight—nearly twenty pounds—when she entered the force. Now, she feels naked when she walks without it. She runs her hand through her hair, carefully tied in a bun, and takes a deep breath. She's hot. She knows it. Should Yang have the tiniest uniform fetish, Blake's sure to score some points. But that doesn't keep her from fearing she won't be hot enough for the kickboxer. Because what else is there? She won't charm her with her personality; all of this is physical. Strictly, painfully physical.
She walks a few blocks and her train of thought nearly crashes when she spots Yang waiting in front of The Atlas. She's leaning on a flashy yellow sports bike, aviator sunglasses on her nose, leather jacket open and revealing a white V-neck, jeans so skin-tight it should be illegal, and Blake almost has a heart-attack, has to stop for a while, to collect her breath and chase away her flush. Be cool.
She counts to ten, puts a bewitching smile on her face, crosses the street and walks straight towards Yang. And, oh, she should have recorded this.
Yang raises her head from her phone and takes her sunglasses off, her gaze spearing Blake to the core. And then she looks down, down, down, taking in the uniform, lips parting more and more, cheeks crimsoning more and more, eyes burning so furiously lilac almost turns red.
"Blake." Her voice is hoarse. "You… You're… Fuck."
Yang is quick to straighten herself and recover her composure, but not quick enough. Blake saw her expression and the way her whole body stiffened, she heard her voice, her words, her short breaths, and she's thrilled. This time around, she has control, she holds the power, and it's so satisfying her grin almost turns cruel.
"You're a police officer," Yang murmurs.
"Your reaction is priceless."
Yang's composure wavers again.
"Well, I… I wasn't expecting that. God, you're… you're…"
Yang swallows heavily, and Blake almost hears her thoughts. Ridiculously attractive.
"A police officer," Blake completes with a smirk.
Who knew torturing pretty girls could be so fulfilling?
"Shall we?" she offers while extending a graceful hand towards the restaurant. Yang just nods, eyes literally devouring Blake, all of her, from head to toes. They find a secluded table in a corner and sit face to face.
"I actually don't have much time," Blake apologizes. "Around one hour."
"That's okay," Yang smiles. "You're busy saving the world after all!"
"It only happened once or twice."
Yang laughs before looking at her intently, a new kind of shimmer in her eyes that Blake can only define as a spark of surprise and wonder. As if she found a gold nugget without even looking for one. A waiter comes along, takes their order—tuna for Blake, one of her favorites, and a burger for Yang—and goes back to the kitchen. Blake looks around. She likes this place. It's cozy, the food is good and cheap, and it's far enough from the police station that she won't risk bumping into one of her coworkers.
"So…" Yang leans slightly over the table, a (devilish) smile lingering on her (luscious) lips. "If I ever am in trouble, can I call you to the rescue, officer?"
Blake chuckles.
"After seeing you fight from up close, I highly doubt you would need my help."
"Aw, that's too bad. I wanted to see you in action."
"I hope you never will."
Blake doesn't mean to sound cold. She's just honest. Her job is too important, too real to forget. It's more about catching the bad guys than saving the good ones, even if she tries too. Try, not succeed. Not always.
"I'm sorry," Yang whispers. "I didn't mean to…"
"No, it's okay. I'm the one who's sorry. I love my job, but sometimes it's… consuming, you know? Usually I can laugh about it, but sometimes I just... I can't."
"That's understandable."
Blake looks at Yang, and all she sees are two purple oceans of concern and understanding. Suddenly, the woman facing her is more than a beautiful face and a sultry body. She's a lake of emotions and empathy and openness and it's like diving into the water after being burnt by the sun for too long.
"Alright!" Yang claps her hands. "New topic. Why did you break up with your boyfriend?"
Blake is so taken aback she laughs. "Do you really want to talk about my ex right now?"
"Why not? This—" she waves a hand between the two of them, "—is not a date. Because of the straight thing, remember?"
The straight thing. Blake laughs once more, bites her lip and nods.
"Yeah. It's not a date."
"Which means I'm here as a friend, and friends ask about this kind of stuff, right?"
"Irrefutable logic." Blake mocks, but she complies. "Alright, I'll grant you this one."
"You're too kind."
"Not always."
Yang's eyes flicker, and suddenly everything's back: the danger, the want, the tension.
"Innocent until proven guilty," she suggests tentatively and Blake snickers.
"Do you really want me to prove that I can be unkind to you?"
"Hmm… Maybe another time, then. I presume it'll take more than forty-five minutes."
Oh, it would take hours to prove to her how cruel Blake can be, how she can tie her wrists and ankles and leave her bare and imploring, how she can spark desire and never satisfy it. Blake swallows and only then notices Yang's proud smirk. Yang knows what's playing inside her mind, and she'll pay for that. But not today.
The waiter comes back with their plates, and they both take some time to savor the first bite before resuming the conversation.
"So. Your ex?"
Blake sighs. "My ex." And so, she tells Yang everything, right from the start, right from Adam. How he became dangerously jealous and possessive, how he threatened her for weeks after they broke up, how depressed and somewhat scared she was, even with a gun in her safe, or maybe because of the gun in her safe. She tells her about her encounter with Sun, his everlasting joy, his loyalty, the way he comforted her while Weiss was away, how he asked her out and she couldn't refuse, because it made sense, because she needed him. How they dated for six months, always caring, always fond of each other, but without passion, without electricity in their sexual life, or even in their romantic one. How it took her so long to realize that, right from the start, she needed him as a friend and not as a lover. And how she broke up with him on their six-month anniversary, merely hours after she finally understood that their only future together was one of friendship and nothing else.
Yang is a good listener. She's a good listener because she cares and she shows it, through her soft-hearted looks, through the gentleness of her voice when she asks questions, through the little twitch of her fingers when she hears about Adam and his abusive tendencies. Yang is a good listener and it slowly sets something in motion in Blake's stomach, a growing and unstoppable force that will—one day, she knows—conquer her chest, her throat, her mind, her heart.
When they get out of the restaurant, Blake feels light-headed, in a strange and good way.
"So," Yang murmurs, a hand on her bike's seat, gaze languidly flowing from Blake's eyes to her lips, before trailing back up. "This was fun."
"Really? Because I only talked about me."
"Yes, and I liked it. We should do it again."
"Maybe next time you'll tell me all about your exes."
Yang laughs, and Blake can't tear her gaze from her newly exposed throat. Yang catches her eyes, and there is that dark smile again, wicked, certain, a promise of all the damages she could do, of everything she could capture and ravish if Blake let her guard down for more than a second. She takes a step forward, just like in the locker room the night they met, and suddenly all Blake can see, hear, smell is her. Yang raises a hand, brushes Blake's necktie with her fingertips, tilts her head, and Blake might as well collapse from anticipation. Yang slowly, excruciatingly slowly, grabs her necktie and pulls, dragging her towards her.
Dear lord.
They're inches apart. Yang's breath is moist and warm and sweet and fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Kiss me. But she doesn't. Instead, she straightens Blake's necktie and smiles coyly.
"It was starting to get loose."
Yang steps back, leaving Blake cold and confused, straddles her bike and puts her helmet on.
"See you soon, gorgeous."
The bike roars and suddenly Blake is alone, heart throbbing, panties ruined, and she knows she spectacularly lost this round.
Thursday night is game night. It's a tradition Weiss and Blake established the moment they moved in together, and they organize one every time their busy schedules allow it. There's safeness in all of this, in sharing an evening with close friends, cheap pizzas, fancy wine, and Blake adores it. Tonight is a little different, though, because it will be the first time she'll see Sun since their breakup. Weiss didn't even ask if she should invite him; it was obvious. Blake wants him here. She wants to chat and tease and laugh with him, she wants him in her life. And in the long run, she hopes Sun will want her in his life too.
So when the doorbell rings, she's suddenly anxious. Everybody already arrived: Pyrrha, Nora, Jaune and Neptune. Everybody but Sun. Blake gestures Weiss to sit back down and walks to the door. She doesn't know how to greet him. Should she hug him? Should she smile? Gosh, breakups are a pain. She takes a deep breath and finally opens the door.
For a second there, she thinks she actually blacks out. Ruby, Ren and Yang are smiling at her, and Blake stands silently for way, way too long, mouth slightly open, until Ruby laughs and invites herself in her home with high-pitched exclamations. Ren follows, faintly inclining his head as a salute, and disappears in the living room.
"Weiss didn't tell you we were coming, did she?" Yang notes, amused.
"She did not."
Weiss is so dead. No more free pass for the Schnee heiress, this war is on.
"You don't seem that happy to see us," Yang points out, very much less amused.
"It's not that."
Blake glances at the front-yard, dreading to spot Sun's car in the shadows of the street.
"My ex will be here too," she finally confesses.
"So?" Yang smirks. "What does it have to do with us? We're friends, right?"
Blake's heart skips a beat and she curses herself for the slip-up.
"Yes, we're friends. Especially tonight." She gives her a warning glare and gently pushes her in before closing the door. Yang contemplates the large corridor, raises an eyebrow at the three abstract paintings displayed on the wall, peeks through the right door to glance at the luxurious kitchen and progresses towards the living room. Her shoulders slump at the sight. It's gigantic, modern, all comfy couches, designer furniture and green plants. Yang turns to Blake, awe widening her eyes.
"I mean… The house looked big from the outside but…"
"It's Weiss's. I'm just a longtime freeloader."
"God, where do I sign?"
Blake laughs. She guides her to the cheery group of people already arguing over what kind of music they should play in the background and Yang sits next to her sister.
"Weiss? A word?" Blake's tone leaves no room for refusal. Weiss complies, eyes already narrowing, and they retreat into the kitchen.
"Before you say anything," Weiss argues while raising her hands, "it wasn't exactly my idea."
"And whose was it?"
"Nora's. And Jaune's."
"And why on earth did you agree?"
"Oh, yeah, my bad. I should have told them I can't invite Yang here because you're so horny you might jump her right in front of Sun!"
Blake rolls her eyes, Weiss rolls her eyes back, and they both sigh heavily.
"Look," Weiss mumbles, "I actually think it's a good thing that they're here. I like them. Ren, Ruby and Yang. It's good for us, to meet new people. And you know I've been looking for new friends ever since I got stuck between Nora and Jaune in the car when we went to the Amity Colosseum."
Blake actually smiles, even though she was dead set on sulking so hard Weiss would have to apologize.
"Still, you could have warned me."
"And hear about your endless complaints all day long? I don't think so."
Before Blake can think of a smart comeback to shut her roommate's insolent mouth, the doorbell rings again.
"Go to him," Weiss encourages. "You should be the one welcoming him here. And as for Yang, don't stare at her too much while Sun is here and you'll be fine."
As Blake moves towards the front door, she hears Yang's laugh traveling from the living room, and she knows it will be a long, long night.
Sun always has been, and always will be, one of the kindest people Blake knows. Not only did he give her a long, warm and gentle hug, he also told her he understood her decision, that it was the right one, and that he needed a bit of time to get there but he would definitely, absolutely, irrevocably be her friend again.
Now they're all sitting in the living room around the coffee table, comfy on the couches and on the huge pillows scattered on the floor. They haven't even started a game yet. They just chat and get to know each other, and it's so very pleasant and drama-free Blake can't quite believe it. She catches Yang glancing at Sun once or twice, but nothing obvious. Sun seems to enjoy his night, genuinely laughing with Neptune and Ruby, and Blake thinks that maybe, maybe, everything will be okay.
They already knocked back two bottles of wine—except for Yang who's sticking to water—and so the officer gets up and heads to the kitchen to get a few more bottles from the electric cellar. Weiss stores quite the expensive collection and is always more than happy to share with her friends, and Blake actually blames her for ruining cheap wine for her and overall giving her luxurious tastes for trivial things.
"Need a hand?"
The sensual voice caresses her neck, rolls on her chest, teases her stomach, and Blake bites her lip so hard it pains her. She doesn't turn around. She can't face Yang right now, not when they're both alone, not when she sounds so, so erotic.
"I'm good, thanks."
"Weiss sends me, actually."
Of course she sent her.
"Something about bringing more wine glasses if you're switching to white because, and I quote, 'mixing red wine and white wine is a crime that should be punishable by death'."
Blake giggles, finally swirls, meets Yang's eyes and fuck. She is devastating. So damn sexy, leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, arms crossed over her orange shirt unbuttoned just enough that it reveals a hint of black lace. She wears that confident smile, curled in one corner of her lips, so heated it matches the ember glowing in her purple eyes.
Blake swallows hard, puts two bottles on the counter and opens a closet above her head to retrieve a few glasses.
"Here, let me help," Yang purrs, and she stands right behind her, stretches her arm above Blake's shoulder and grabs a glass. Her chest brushes her back, her breath grazes her ear, her warmth drowns her whole body, and it's all so much Blake shudders violently and accidentally smashes a glass on the counter.
"Shit!"
She snaps her hand up and already blood is sliding between her fingers.
"Oh fuck," Yang gasps. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Sorry."
"Why are you apologizing?" Yang laughs, but it's tainted with care and worry.
They're interrupted by Weiss barging in, a concerned look on her face growing to stupor when she takes in the scattered glass on the floor and the blood dripping on her roommate's wrist.
"Oh my—What happened? Let me take care of this mess, go patch yourself up."
"Sorry Weiss."
"Go!"
"I feel responsible," Yang confesses, and Blake already knows what comes next. "I'll go with her."
Yang gets out of the kitchen first, and as Blake walks past Weiss, her friend shoots her eyebrows up and silently articulates, "Do. Not. Fuck. In. The. Bathroom."
"I swear to God, Weiss…" Blake mumbles, but she hurries so that Weiss wouldn't notice her burning cheeks.
Already waiting in the corridor, Yang lets her take the lead. Blake guides her to the end of the hallway and soon they enter a spacious bathroom whose main center piece is a gigantic bathtub sinking into the floor.
"Is Weiss a multimillionaire or something?" Yang marvels.
"Well, she is Weiss Schnee after all."
"Schnee? As in the Schnee Company?"
"Yup!"
"Oh."
"Yup."
Blake barely notices Yang closing the door as she rummages through the medicine cabinet, snatches some disinfectant and a gauze, and leans over the sink to clean her wound with cold water.
"Does it hurt?" Yang asks while getting closer.
"A little. But I've been through worse."
She shakes her wet hand and takes the disinfectant, but Yang gently grabs her wrist and she freezes.
"Wait," Yang murmurs.
Her thumb strokes her skin and Blake can suddenly feel her own pulse throbbing in her wounded fingertip. Yang slowly raises her hand, inspects it, soft and careful, and keeps raising it until it's barely an inch from her mouth.
"What are you doing?" Blake whispers as panic shortens her breath.
"Did you know saliva has healing properties?"
Her lips skim the officer's finger and, just like in the kitchen, Blake shudders. Except this time she can't count on a broken glass to get her out of trouble.
"I did… not??"
She almost shrieks her last word as Yang unhurriedly licks Blake's cut, her tongue pink and wet.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
But Yang isn't done yet. Of course she's not. She pierces Blake with her burning gaze and, slowly, she starts sucking her injured finger, wrapping her lips, tongue, mouth around it until it's three knuckles deep. And it's so moist and warm and libidinous that a groan escapes Blake's throat. Yang's pupils dilate, her tongue swirls around her finger as she sucks harder, and all of this is so sexual Blake might as well stop pretending to be straight because she has to be the worst actress that has ever existed in this world. She's dripping, so fucking hard she can smell her own arousal, and that thought drenches her even more.
But then, Yang smirks. Proud. Winning yet another round. Blake rips her hand out of her mouth and shoots a tempestuous glare at her.
"That was not a very friendly move."
"And that was not a very straight reaction."
And oh, how Blake wants to bite those pretty lips until all Yang can articulate are moans and curses. But she can't, not when someone knocks on the door and asks, "Blake, are you okay? Weiss told me you cut yourself."
She recognizes Jaune's voice, gives one last threatening look to Yang, whose smile only stretches, and opens the door.
"I'm fine, don't worry."
But Jaune is already taking her hand and examining her finger with expert eyes.
"We meticulously cleaned the wound," Yang informs in a mischievous voice, and her gaze is blazing with amusement and provocation. Blake rolls her eyes but bites her bottom lip to hide her smile.
"It's deep, but I don't think it will need stitches. Here, let me take care of it."
He works so fast and so precisely Yang drops the act for a second and throws a questioning glare at Blake.
"Jaune is a paramedic," she says with a soft smile.
"Oh! That's awesome, dude. Did you two meet on duty?"
Blake and Jaune share a look, and he's the one answering while carefully fastening the gauze around his friend's finger.
"Yes, actually. I got a call two years ago for a shooting incident, with a few minor injuries, a few serious ones… It was a mess. Blake was there when I arrived."
He leaves it at that, as always when people ask about how they met. The rest is Blake's to share, and she doesn't feel like it right now. It's not that she doesn't want to tell Yang, because she does. She trusts her, for an inexplicable reason. But she'd rather have that discussion when they're both alone, lying naked together under a dim light, thoughtlessly stroking each other's hair while recovering their breath and dear God what is she even thinking about?
"All done!" Jaune smiles, completely oblivious to her sudden agitation.
"Thank you."
"No problem. Now let's go back. I left Nora and Ren alone on the couch and I'm pretty sure she'll scare him away if we don't do a bit of damage control."
The three of them laugh, because it's obvious Nora is crushing hard on the guy and he's a little less enthusiastic than her about it all. As they get out of the bathroom, Blake actually convinces herself this time was a draw; Yang did unsettle her, crushing her barriers one by one and almost reaching her I-don't-give-a-shit-anymore-let's-fuck button, but she managed to retreat at the last second and to save what little pride she had left.
As if she's reading her mind, Yang leans from behind and whispers in her ear, low enough that Jaune wouldn't hear her, "Too bad we got interrupted. I have a feeling the rest of our conversation would have been... intense."
Blake unconsciously slows down, jaw tightening so hard her teeth hurt. Yang walks past her, laughing lightly, and Blake closes her eyes and pinches her lips as she internally admits that, no, this was definitely not a draw, but another grade A victory for Yang.
It's barely 10 pm when Yang, Ruby and Ren take their leave. Yang has another kickboxing match tomorrow night at the Colosseum and she wants to be well-rested.
"It's been a rough week," she confides in Blake when the officer sees them to their car, Ren and Ruby dawdling behind them while chatting with Jaune, Nora and Pyrrha. "I had my fight last Saturday, then three days of shooting with some pretty intense stunts, all while practicing like crazy for tomorrow's match. I swear, after that I'm going to sleep for a decade."
Blake chuckles.
"Do you want to come?" Yang asks softly.
Well. Yeah. Blake did since the moment she first saw her.
"Tomorrow," the blond goddess clarifies.
"I wish I could." She really, really did. "But I'm on duty tomorrow evening."
"Maybe next time, then."
"Didn't you say you'd sleep for a decade after tomorrow?" Blake teases.
Yang smiles, lowers her voice, and her husky murmur sends a shiver down the Blake's spine.
"Oh, I'm pretty certain you could keep me up for a decade."
How can she answer that? She can barely maintain a straight face as it is (in every sense of the word). She suddenly remembers how Yang sucked her finger in the bathroom, with eyes so provoking she might as well have undressed and spread her bare legs for Blake, and her whole body tightens with a burst of arousal. It doesn't go unnoticed by Yang, whose grin turns so arrogant the officer burns to arrest her right here, right now.
Ruby and Ren finally join them, and Yang winks before opening the driver's door and sitting behind the wheel.
When the car disappears down the street, Blake is still standing in the front yard, mouth dry, heart pounding, pride crushed. Yang is toying with her. Yang thinks Blake will soon be one of her "pretty girls". Yang knows she'd just have to crook a finger to have the officer crawling towards her. Well, not anymore. It's time Blake started getting the upper hand.
It's time she fought back.
And sure enough, the opportunity arises the following day. It's 5 pm. Blake just ended her patrol and has a one-hour break before starting her night shift, and she's almost dozing on the sofa of the station's lounge when her phone vibrates in her pocket.
Yang [5:03] – blake, help
Yang [5:03] – i need you
Well, she's fully awake now.
Blake [5:03] – What is it?
Yang [5:03] – you're used to nerve-racking situations, right?
Yang [5:03] – being a police officer and all
Blake [5:03] – I suppose I am. Why?
Yang [5:04] – my fight is in 3 hours and i'm nervous as fuck
Yang [5:04] – i'm literally shaking
Blake doesn't know her since that long, but even though this anxiousness seems quite out of character.
Blake [5:04] – How come?
Blake [5:04] – You were so confident when I saw you fight last Saturday.
Yang [5:04] – that's because I wasn't facing emerald
Yang [5:05] – i swear this girl is a freaking ninja
Yang [5:05] – i fought her two years ago and she beat the crap out of me
Blake [5:05] – I'm sure you improved since then. You have all your chances.
Yang [5:05] – i know! but it won't do shit if i'm this nervous mess.
Yang [5:05] – i tried taking a bath
Yang [5:06] – never did something so ineffective in my life
Blake snorts. How can someone be this grumpy and endearing at the same time?
Yang [5:06] – i know it's nothing like what you go through on the field, but I could use some badass policewoman's advice
Yang [5:06] – how do you deal with it? the wait. the stress.
Blake ponders for a while. This, right there, is the perfect opportunity to teach Yang a lesson. She nips her lip, checks the time, fidgets on the couch. She's already up and getting out of the lounge by the time she sends her message.
Blake [5:07] – Text me your address.
She doesn't bring all of her gear with her, only keeps her taser and her handcuffs. She's technically off duty for an hour, after all.
Right before buzzing the intercom of the nicely situated building where Yang lives, Blake unties her hair—she always wears it in a tight bun on duty—loosens her necktie and undoes the top button of her officer shirt. Yang won't even know what hit her. Finally, she calls through the intercom.
"Yes?" Yang's voice crackles from the metal box.
"It's Blake."
"I live on the fourth floor."
The main door unlocks and Blake enters the hall. She unhurriedly climbs the stairs, a strong resolve steadying her pace and her heart rate. She knows where she is going. She knows why she's here. Yang won all the previous rounds. She won the night they met. She won at the restaurant three days ago. She won in the bathroom yesterday.
She'll win no more.
Blake will make her regret toying with her. She will give her a taste and make her beg for more. She will take control.
She knocks twice, crooks her thumbs around her belt and waits. A moment later, Yang opens the door, offering her a wide smile that slowly fades as her eyes slide from Blake's dangerous stare to her exposed pale throat, her loose tie and the police uniform fitting her perfectly. It takes her a second too long before snapping her eyes back up.
"You really came," Yang says, voice hoarse.
"Well, you asked for my help." Blake replies. She enters the apartment, briefly notices the hard wood floor, the windows open and the transparent curtains floating under a light breeze. She turns around just in time to see Yang closing the door, eyes still hooked on Blake. She's barefoot, wearing a simple white tank and black shorts, and she's more gorgeous than ever.
"Is Ruby here?" Blake asks; Yang told her they live together.
"No, she's meeting me at the Colosseum tonight. But more importantly, are you finally going to share your secret police technique to help me get rid of this stupid nervousness?"
"Oh, it is not a secret, even though most people tend to forget it. And it definitely is not a police technique."
Blake takes a step forward and Yang freezes almost imperceptibly. She thinks about yesterday. About Yang's tongue on her skin. About the lust devouring her eyes as she sucked her finger. About the cocky smile on her face when she realized how turned on Blake was. She takes another step forward. Yang is so close she can hear her sharp breath. And Blake feels so powerful she smiles. Cruelly. Wickedly.
"Did you know orgasms have excellent stress relief properties?"
Yang's lips part slightly from shock, and before she can say anything Blake presses her hands on the fighter's hips, pushes her against the wall, and Yang gasps, fingers instinctively gripping the other woman's wrists.
"Do not fight me, Yang," Blake threatens, voice low and dark. "I am a trained police officer and I won't hesitate to fight back."
Yang loosens her grip and exhales a sobbing breath, pupils so blown there's no purple left, only darkness so violently bright it could be a sun, a fiery black sun.
"You like that, uh?" Blake whispers in her ear. "Being pinned against a wall. Being restrained."
She slides her knee between Yang's legs and almost gasps at the sensation. Even with their clothes on, it's so warm, so different, so inviting. But Blake remains unflappable. She's in charge. She's in charge, Yang is now panting and shivering and fuck fuck fuck. It's so much better than anything she could have imagined, so exciting and intoxicating, and she wants more.
She wants Yang.
Blake removes her hands, clutches Yang's wrists and presses them on the wall while pushing her leg harder against the her crotch. Yang huffs, eyes wild and hungry.
"Answer me, Yang."
"I… I…"
Blake leans down and bites her neck, hard enough it would hurt a little.
"Oh God," Yang moans. "Fuck, Blake, yes. I like it. I love it."
"Good girl," Blake purrs. "You're getting a reward."
She falls on her knees, dexterously unbuttons Yang's shorts and rips them off.
"Fuck," Yang curses again and Blake raises her eyes to meet hers.
She's outrageously erotic, her pretty face twisted with want and arousal, her golden curls cascading on her chest, her eyes begging her to keep going. Blake trails her gaze back down, back to Yang's simple black underwear. She can smell her. And fuck, it smells good, sweet and sour, addicting. She moves her face closer, drawn by the scent and the promise of everything it suggests, and finally, finally, she kisses Yang.
Or rather, she kisses her soaked panties.
Yang arches against her mouth and immediately grabs the officer's hair into her fists. Blake can taste her through the fabric, and she wants more, she wants more, she wants more. She almost tears Yang's underwear, forcefully shoving it at her feet and throwing it away, and draws a shuddering breath at the sight of blond curls darkened and drenched with arousal.
Only now does Blake realize she actually has no idea what she's doing. She's never been with a girl. She's straight, as she likes to remind the half-naked goddess panting over her. But even if she doesn't know anything about sapphic sex, she doesn't care. She's not doing this to please Yang. She's doing this to please herself.
So, selfishly, unhesitatingly, she buries herself between Yang's legs and licks her in one long, intent swipe that draws a broken moan from Yang's lips. And it's so fucking delicious Blake shivers, unconsciously grabs the other girl's ass as she rests her forehead on her pubis and breathes, "God, you taste so good." She dives back in, her tongue sliding along Yang's slit a few times before circling around her clit in a slow and regular motion. Yang convulses, starts rocking her hip to increase the pressure, pants, moans, clenches her fists on Blake's hair and pushes her face harder against her crotch, and it's so fucking hot and primal Blake lets out a guttural groan.
She starts sucking Yang's clit, looks up, and the sight of the woman half bent over her almost makes her come on the spot. Yang looks ravished. Cool demeanor destroyed. Her arrogance died with her self-control and her pride, and all that remains are loud moans and eyes hypnotized by the sight of Blake eating her out in her police uniform. Fuck. Blake wants her to come. There, in her mouth, while staring at her and screaming her name.
So she sucks harder. And because Yang literally whimpers and tightens her grip on her hair, Blake knows she likes it. And fuck, she's not doing this to please herself anymore. She wants, she needs Yang to feel so good she'll never forget her, so good she'll come begging for more, every day for the rest of her life.
"Fuck, Blake, keep going, keep going, keep going."
Blake obeys, relishing the taste, the sounds, her name on Yang's tongue, her tongue on Yang's sex, and she moans when Yang's hips grind roughly on her mouth one last time, when Yang slams the wall with her hand and unleashes a bestial shout, when she orgasms so hard a flow of thick fluid gushes on Blake's chin.
They stay still for a while, both panting, Yang absentmindedly caressing Blake's hair, Blake absentmindedly kissing Yang's inner thigh.
Finally, she rises on her feet, and they're so close the world stops existing for a second. Yang looks at her, awe growing in her eyes. She carefully grabs Blake's necktie and, softly, she pulls her towards her. And as she leans in for a kiss, a real one, their first one, Blake presses a gentle hand on her chest to stop her.
"No," she whispers.
Yang slightly frowns and Blake summons all of her will to take a step back. She has yet to teach her a lesson.
"This," she vaguely gestures between them, "was me helping you as a friend."
"You're kidding, right?" Yang stares at her with an incredulous expression.
Blake adjusts her uniform, wipes her chin with the back of her hand and glances at her watch.
"My shift starts in 20 minutes. I have to go."
She walks towards the front door and Yang is so stunned she doesn't say anything until Blake grabs the knob.
"Wait. Blake. No way."
She finally leans away from the wall but doesn't move further.
"You drove here so that you could fuck me for ten minutes and then leave?"
Blake looks her up and down, takes in the sight of her bare legs and her bare crotch, of her wet arousal shimmering between her thighs.
"Yes. Do you have a problem with that?"
Yang opens her lips, closes them, swallows.
"I… I don't."
Blake smirks, opens the door.
"Good luck tonight," she says lightly.
"Uh? Oh, yeah, my fight. Thanks," Yang mutters.
And as Blake closes the door and walks down the stairs, she feels both extremely satisfied and horribly frustrated.
Later that night, her phone vibrates on her desk. She puts down the robbery report she was filing and checks her messages.
Yang [11:44] – i won the match.
Blake bites her bottom lip, proud of Yang, of herself, and when she responds she feels like she's the one who won a fight today.
Blake [11:44] – Good girl.