"Did you know Ruby wants to become a cook?"
Blake puts her book on her chest and looks at Weiss, nonchalantly sipping her wine while sitting on the armchair.
"How do you even know that?"
"She told me. We text sometimes."
Blake lifts an eyebrow, a mocking smirk stretching her lips.
"Never in a million years would I have guessed you and Ruby would become friends."
"I'm pretty sure you thought exactly the same thing about you and me, and yet here you are, enjoying my comfy couch under my fancy roof."
"Touché."
Silence falls again in the living room. Blake resumes her reading, and not even ten seconds later she sits up straight and shoots an annoyed glare at Weiss, who's still nursing her white wine with false innocence.
"Okay, why did you tell me that?"
"I don't know, I thought you might appreciate having some information about your girlfriend's sister."
Blake groans and falls back on the couch. "She's not my girlfriend, god. You're impossible."
"No, you dunce. I'm realistic."
"You've never heard the expression 'casual sex' before?"
"Not coming from you, no." Weiss puts her glass on the coffee table, a challenging spark in her eyes. "So you're telling me you don't have any feelings for her?"
"I don't."
"Even though you almost risked being late for your shift so that you could—and I quote—'eat her out in order to help her relax for her fight'? I mean, what kind of excuse is that!"
"Just facts," Blake mumbles.
She doesn't want to talk about it. She's unnerved, even, to talk about it. Not because she's ashamed or afraid of Yang's inevitable retaliation, but because she wants more. She wants to go back there and take her, again and again, and that unexpected addiction shakes her to her core. She thought it would go away. She thought once they'd fucked, she would have gotten it out of her system and she would have been able to move on. But no. They didn't even properly have sex yet, and already Blake craves to do Yang again, in the exact same way and in a million different ways. Their encounter last Friday detonated her hunger, for Yang, for her body, her skin, her taste, her voice, her moans, her cries. Blake is hungry for a greed she can't comprehend, and she's terrified she'll never feel satiated again.
So, no. She doesn't have feelings for Yang, because Blake has loved before and it was certain, steady and strong. This, whatever it may be, is nothing like love. This is unstable, always morphing into new shapes and colors, always burning brighter. This is a carnal desire consuming her every thought, and never in her life has she lusted after someone that much.
"You do remember that she'll be here tonight for game night, right?" Weiss asks innocently, and oh, isn't she being a little prick right now.
"Of course I remember, Weiss. Okay, what is it that you really want?" Blake grumbles because she knows her roommate is up to something.
"No sex in the common areas. No, scratch that, no sex while we have guests."
"Dammit, Weiss, who do you think I am? I can keep it in my pants!"
Well. She can try. She hasn't seen Yang since their little… relaxation session, and she's not sure how her body will react when they are in the same room again.
"You know," Weiss mutters when she notices the dangerous sparkle in Blake's eyes, "I'm starting to miss Sun. You two were so boring in bed I never had to worry about bumping into your naked ass in the living room or on the kitchen counter."
Alright, that's it. First chance she gets tonight, Blake is going to fuck Yang in Weiss's bedroom.
They've been playing a strategy board game for about fifteen minutes now and, unsurprisingly, Blake is the first eliminated. It's not that she's bad at it, it's just that the others are way, way too invested. She graciously accepts the fatal blow, delivered by a raging Ruby apparently determined to conquer them all, and leans against her chair. The next ten minutes are chaotic, to say the least, with Yang constantly nagging her sister and ultimately incurring Ruby's wrath. The red-haired girl goes all in, spends nearly all her resources on her military, deploys her armies and annihilates Yang in two shakes.
"There! Serves you right, you unworthy sister! No one defies Ruby the Huntress and stays alive long enough to tell the tale!"
Yang laughs and ruffles her sister's hair. "Yeah, yeah kiddo, you're the best."
Afterwards, she silently watches the game for two more minutes before glancing at Blake, the shadow of a suspicious smile coloring her lips.
"Now that I think about it, Blake, you never gave me the tour. Wanna show me around the house?"
Blake's eyes widen before she pulls herself together and puts back on a neutral expression.
"Sure."
She stands up, Yang too, and all of this goes unnoticed by everyone except, predictably, by Weiss; she stares at her roommate so hard it gives Blake a headache. As they both leave the living room, Blake hears Sun's victorious shout, followed by Nora's exaggerated laments, but soon enough all of her friends' racket fades away, her brain solely focusing on Yang's presence right behind her. For two full seconds, she thinks about her earlier resolve and almost drags her into Weiss's bedroom, but she eventually chases that idea away. As much as she'd love to get back at her roommate (and best friend, she should recall), she also wants to protect Sun. She can't hurt him, not more than she already has.
"So…" Yang whispers in her ear. "Where are you taking me first?" Well, shit. Her voice is too sultry, too calculated, too confident, and the double entendre too obvious. Yang wants revenge, and she wants it now. "Or," she murmurs while getting closer, her breasts pressing on Blake's back, "I could take you here. I don't mind. But you'll have to keep your voice down."
"My room," Blake blurts out.
She's already walking towards the stairs, ears burning red, throat dry and heart beating way too fast. She did a pretty good job behaving herself so far, only glancing at Yang a few times tonight (the fighter looks disturbingly sexy in her skimpy jean shorts and black off-the-shoulder sweater, and Blake should win a fucking award for not ogling her all night long), but she can't be expected to keep her stoic mask on now that they're alone and, most of all, now that Yang is explicitly talking about screwing her. She climbs to the second floor, enters her room, and turns around to throw an accusing stare at Yang.
"You lost on purpose, didn't you?"
Yang smiles evilly.
"Ruby is so sensitive, it was almost too easy to make her focus on me."
"You wanted to be alone with me that badly?"
Yang laughs and, dear lord, isn't she the most beautiful thing Blake has ever laid her eyes on.
"There's a saying, you know? 'A debt paid is a friend kept.' I want to keep you as my friend, so…"
"You don't owe me anything."
"I beg to differ," she counters, voice deep and powerful. "I owe you a kickboxing victory. And some vivid memories I definitely did not use to touch myself every night since it happened."
Jesus, the things she says. Yang isn't smiling. She's standing in the doorway, commanding, magnificent, olympian. All gleaming blonde hair, strong body, and confident pose. Her eyes are dark, resolute. Last time, Blake caught her off guard. Today, Yang seems determined to wreak revenge on her. Today, she'll win the fight, and Blake already knows there's nothing she could do to prevent it.
Yang grabs the doorknob, her steely gaze never leaving Blake's.
"Don't," Blake breathes, warmth already spreading between her legs. "Don't close the door."
It's her last defense, her last chance to delay the inevitable, even if she secretly and deeply hopes it won't hold. Because how could she deny Yang, when she looks at her like that, like she's about to crush her, possess her, consume her? How could she deny Yang, fiery, burning Yang, when her hands and mouth and body are the only things in this world that could cool Blake's skin, ease her pain, soothe her torments?
Yang releases the doorknob, leaves the door open.
"You want to play with fire?" she purrs. "Fine."
She walks towards Blake, one unhurried step after the other, her dangerous aura thickening each passing second, and she halts inches away from her. Blake remembers Yang's flavor clearly, as if she just went down on her. She wonders how Yang's lips taste. Like a blend of flowers and steel, maybe. Something soft and sharp at the same time. Comforting and unsafe.
Slowly, Yang starts undoing Blake's belt, and the officer stops breathing.
"I'm…"
"Straight, I know." Yang interrupts. "I finally understood that the moment you dropped on your knees to lick me to orgasm."
She yanks the leather from the buckle and Blake gasps. Downstairs, their friends burst out laughing. She hears someone, maybe Neptune, yelling something from the kitchen. She knows it's a matter of minutes before they finish the game and come looking for them. She knows she has to stop Yang.
The fighter unbuttons her pants, drags the zipper down, revealing the red lace underwear Blake might have put on in anticipation of a situation very much like this one. She takes a second to admire the view, dark eyes flashing with satisfaction, and slides two long, steady fingers under the fabric.
Blake snatches her wrist, stops her from diving deeper.
"If you don't want to do this, we won't. You can say no anytime." Yang murmurs, and there's no judgement nor disappointment in her tone, just a trembling desire she's trying to hide to reassure Blake.
And because of that, because suddenly Yang has turned consent into the sexiest thing in the world, Blake locks eyes with her, squeezes her wrist and pushes her hand deeper in her underwear. They both part their lips as Yang's fingers caress the trimmed hairs on her mound, the bulge of her clit, the thick wetness of her folds. It feels so right Blake almost forgets about the eight people still battling downstairs.
Yang doesn't take her eyes off hers, not for one second. Her breath quickens, her movements too. Her fingers brush, rush, push. They dip into Blake and Blake grabs her arms, so soft and strong under the fabric of her shirt, to hold steady. She almost moans. Almost cries. Because it's too much and not enough at the same time, because she can't take it and she wants more, more, more. She wants Yang's whole fingers, their full length inside her, but Yang's hand is trapped in her tight pants and she can't plunge lower.
Blake's fingers slide higher, explore Yang's shoulders, her neck, her ears, her jaw. Her lips. She'd die to kiss them. But now is not the time.
They're still looking intensely at each other, greed consuming their gaze. Yang speeds up, two fingers diving one knuckle deep before retreating and slamming back in, and Blake chokes on a moan. More. More. More. She wants so much more.
"Close the door," she whispers.
Yang slows down, stops, withdraws her hand. She takes a few steps back, eyes never leaving Blake, like a hawk hunting her prey. When she reaches the doorway, she smiles, and it's so ruthless Blake's heart sinks into her stomach.
Yang sucks her wet fingers, one by one, before suggesting, "We should go back to your guests."
When she turns around and disappears in the corridor, Blake feels so frustrated and enraged she might cry.
When they leave, Yang gives her a hug. It's not much. Just a quick embrace, a feathery brush of lips on her cheek, ghosts of fingers lingering on her lower back. It's not much, and yet it holds an unprecedented intimacy, a different warmth, softer, deeper, scarier. It promises more. And it numbs Blake, to the point her heart rate slows, to the point she briefly closes her eyes and relaxes in Yang's arms. It frightens her. It comforts her.
She comforts her.
Yang leans back, lips skimming Blake's ear, breath cold as she whispers, "I can't wait to fuck you senseless."
Blake's legs almost give out.
When she goes to bed, thoughts of Yang obsess her. Yang's words. Yang's embrace. Yang's lips, Yang's fingers, Yang's smile. It's all Yang, Yang, Yang, and the more she thinks about her, the more frustrated she becomes. She's already flat on her stomach, a hand roaming between her thighs and teeth biting her pillow when her phone lights up the dark room. Before she even looks at the screen, she knows Yang texted her. She keeps her hand under her, snatches the device with the other one, unlocks it and holy shit.
It's a picture; Yang is wearing black lingerie, panties lowered just enough for blonde hairs to peek out of the lace, bra way, way too revealing, a provocative smile half-bitten by white teeth.
Yang [0:43] – in case you need help to finish yourself
Does she have a fucking wanking radar or something? Not that Blake complains. This will definitely help her. But first, she needs to set things straight.
Blake [0:44] – I am not masturbating over you, Yang.
Yang [0:44] – you should
Yang [0:44] – i can't stop thinking about you
Yang [0:44] – about the face you made when I touched you
Yang [0:44] – god
Yang [0:44] – i can't wait to hear you moan
Yang [0:45] – to really feel what it's like to be inside you
Yang [0:45] – do you want me to stop? if you don't like it i will.
She should tell her to stop. She really should. But she's too far gone to care.
Blake [0:46] – Don't stop.
Yang [0:46] – so you really are touching yourself
She is. So hard her hand hurts.
Yang [0:46] – god you must be so sexy
Yang [0:46] – imagine i'm the one touching you
Yang [0:46] – my fingers inside you, going back and forth
Yang [0:46] – faster
Yang [0:47] – harder
Yang [0:47] – as fast and hard as you can take
Yang [0:47] – fuck
Yang [0:47] – just thinking about you makes me crazy
Yang [0:48] – i'll take you so hard you'll forget who you are
Yang [0:48] – jesus, blake. i never wanted someone as badly as i want you right now.
And maybe it's Yang's picture still incredibly fresh in her memory, maybe it's the way she's using her body weight to press harder on her clit, maybe it's that last text; everything in Blake snaps. Waves of pleasure crash into her and she arches against the mattress, curls her toes and moans loudly into her pillow. It takes her a few seconds to get back to her phone.
Yang [0:48] – i can't even pretend anymore
Yang [0:49] – i'd do anything to fuck you
Blake is panting heavily, mind blurry from her orgasm, and the only thing she can really feel is how frustrated she still is. It wasn't enough. Nothing will ever be enough, nothing but Yang.
Blake [0:49] – Interesting.
Blake [0:49] – I'll have to think about that.
Blake [0:49] – But for now, I need to go to sleep. Early shift tomorrow.
Yang [0:50] – of course. sorry i kept you awake
Blake [0:50] – It's okay.
Blake bites her bottom lip, thinks about how Yang made her come just by being her sexy, honest self, and decides to drop the act for a second.
Blake [0:50] – It was worth it.
Yang [0:50] – yeah?
Blake [0:50] – Yeah.
Blake [0:50] – Really worth it.
Blake [0:51] – Good night Yang.
Yang [0:51] – good night gorgeous
Saturday nights are always busier nights. They've already arrested two drunk drivers even though their shift began not one hour ago, and they have five more hours to go. They're patrolling downtown, not far away from Yang's neighborhood, and while she drives Blake can't help but think about her. Yang is probably training, as usual when she's not on set or defeating her opponents in boxing matches.
"Blake?"
"Hm?"
She doesn't look at Pyrrha, focusing on the road instead, but she hears the smile on her partner's lips.
"Did something good happen lately?"
"What do you mean?"
"You've been smiling a lot nowadays. Not that you never smile but…"
Blake laughs quietly, stops at a red light. She likes Pyrrha, a lot. Always soft and empathetic, always cautious not to hurt anyone's feelings when she speaks. She likes her, and so she goes with the truth.
"I met someone. Sort of."
"Really? Oh, I'm so happy for you!"
Her sincerity warms Blake's heart.
"Do I know him?" Pyrrha asks, and Blake struggles to remain impassive. "Wait, what do you mean sort of?"
"It's complicated. I don't really know what we are but… It's nice. It feels right, somehow."
She ignores Pyrrha's first question but her partner doesn't care. She values her privacy just as much as Blake values hers.
"That's the only thing that matters," Pyrrha smiles. She presses a gentle hand on her friend's shoulder before continuing, "I'm glad you're moving on. Sun is great, but he wasn't right for you."
Did everyone but her know that?
"Units 15 and 24, we have a 10–70 on 46 Vale Street. Please secure the perimeter."
"Back on duty," Blake sighs and Pyrrha chuckles.
"Aren't we always?"
They're three minutes away from the scene—a fire, according to the ten-code—and as she turns on the siren and speeds there a dreadful feeling twists Blake's stomach. They're in Yang's neighborhood. They're in Yang's street.
She parks in the middle of the road, literally jumps out of the car, heart oppressed, eyes wide with panic. She only went there once, but she recognizes it. Yang's and Ruby's building is on fire, wild flames roaring from one floor to another. Half of the structure is already burning, windows exploding under the heat, thick smoke crawling to the night sky. Yang and Ruby are nowhere to be seen.
Two firetrucks are on scene, firemen setting their sprinklers and yelling commands at each other. Behind her, Pyrrha is already redirecting cars. Blake runs towards a firefighter, eyes glued to the blaze.
"What's the situation?" she yells to cover the crackles, the roars, the blasts.
"We're not sure. We have five civilians trapped in the building, possibly more. Two other trucks are coming, we need you to clear the traffic and secure their access."
She radios unit 15, whose car is now parked on the other side of the street, runs back to Pyrrha, evacuates a few pedestrians. She takes her phone out, feverishly dials Yang. Pick up, pick up, pick up. She doesn't. So Blake calls Ruby. She doesn't pick up either. Shit.
People are gathering nearby, filming with their phones, gasping when glass shatters. Blake focuses on her task. Keeping the civilians safe. Keeping the road cleared for the firetrucks. She can't think about the five people trapped inside. She can't think about Yang and Ruby. She can't think about losing them.
She can't.
Four firefighters rush inside the building, while two others set a ladder in order to climb to the fourth floor, to Yang's floor, already overrun by flames. On the other side of the street, wearing pajamas or comfy clothes, people cry, shout, rage. They're losing their homes, their belongings. Possibly their loved ones.
The other trucks arrive quickly, and a dozen rescuers jump out of the vehicles, carry a second ladder, drag the hoses and open the valves.
Blake watches them work. She feels dizzy. She wants to throw up. She thinks about Yang and Ruby.
They're okay. They're okay. They're okay. They have to be.
A sudden blast rips through the fourth floor. People scream. One of the ladders is thrown away by the force of the explosion, and the fireman climbing it falls on the sidewalk. Blake dashes towards him, ignores the heat, helps him get back up.
"Are you okay?" she yells as they walk away from the blaze.
He gives her a thumb up, even though he's limping, and Blake holds him while he sits on the back of one of the trucks.
Two ambulances are now joining the scene. Dancing colors paint the road, the nearby buildings, the crowd: blue of sirens, amber of flames, grey of ashes. Shadows swirl on the ground and on the walls, fire reflects on people's grave eyes, and it's all too cruelly beautiful.
One firefighter runs outside of the burning building, urging two coughing civilians in front of him, and paramedics are already sprinting to help them and check for injuries. People are being saved. People are being saved, and it's as if air finally slides into Blake's strangled lungs, as if she can smell hope among charred wood, molten metal, and scorching ashes.
That's when she hears it. A loud "Fuck!" she would recognize anytime, anywhere, and her eyes snap to the lonely silhouette standing out from the crowd.
Yang.
Yang, in her sports clothes, her duffle bag dropped on the ground, her face illuminated by the flames, by shock, by incomprehension.
At this point, Blake has no control over her body. She rushes towards her and Yang barely has time to notice her before Blake throws herself into her arms.
"Oh my god, Yang! You're alright." Blake chokes on a sob, leans back, panics. "Where is Ruby?"
"She's with some friends downtown." Yang murmurs, still staring at the fire, at her home burnt to ashes. "I just saw her. She's alright."
Yang's gaze drops to Blake. Her blonde hair, pale skin and dark lips are glowing. Her purple eyes brightened by the inferno destroying everything she possesses. Yet she stands, strong, untamed, and right now Yang is truly, undeniably, the most beautiful woman on earth. She gently grabs Blake's cheeks between two shaky hands and smiles. It's forced, but it's there.
"We're alright, Blake. We're alright."
How is it that Yang is the one consoling her right now? Blake shakes her head, takes a step back.
"I have to go, help the firemen. I'll call Weiss. You and Ruby are staying at our place tonight."
Yang just nods and Blake squeezes her hand before getting back to Pyrrha. For one second, she looks back. The sight of Yang all alone in the ardent darkness breaks her heart.
Blake gets home at 3 am. Her shift was supposed to end two hours ago and she's exhausted. She spent seven hours on scene, evacuating nearby buildings, helping the firemen the best she could, and taking witnesses' statements. She expects the house to be pitch black when she arrives, but a dim light casts shadows in the corridor. It comes from one of the guest rooms.
She doesn't even put her bag down, just walks towards the room, and finds Yang and Ruby curled up together in bed, both silent, both staring at the ceiling with tired faces. They're wearing Weiss's pajamas, too big on Ruby and too short on Yang, and that tiny detail makes them look even more vulnerable.
"Hey guys," Blake says softly.
"Hey Blake," Yang whispers as Ruby waves at her. "You're back late."
"Yeah. It wasn't an easy shift. But the firemen managed to extinguish the fire and to rescue everyone. How are you two feeling?"
Ruby shrugs while Yang strokes her red hair. For the first time since she met her, Blake sees the big sister in her. Reliable, putting on a brave face so that she could carry some of Ruby's burden.
"Well, you know," Yang breathes. "It's tough. But we're both unharmed and that's what matters."
"Do you need anything?"
"Weiss took good care of us, don't worry."
"We have another guest room if you'd like."
"No, it's okay. We want to be together."
Blake nods, awkwardly shifts from one foot to the other. She feels powerless.
"I'll leave you be then," she murmurs. "Good night."
She's turning around when Yang calls her.
"Blake?"
They lock eyes and Blake can't stand the loneliness she discerns in Yang's deep gaze. If only she could do something. Take her pain away. Embrace her. Kiss her. Tell her it'll be okay, because she's there, because she'll take care of her, protect her, give her everything she needs and more.
"Thank you," Yang whispers, and it's broken and sincere and it strangles Blake's throat.
The officer smiles timidly.
"If you need anything, you know where my room is."
When she finally crawls into bed after showering, her skin is warm and her heart is cold.
As Blake finds out the next morning, the sisters never let tragedy break their spirit. When she wakes up and gets downstairs, Yang is already on the phone with her insurance, meanwhile Ruby is listing everything they lost in the fire. They're both buzzing in the living room like two bees in a hive, helping each other out, even laughing sometimes, although it's half-hearted. They support each other, feeding, growing on the other's energy, and right now Blake can only describe them as unstoppable.
Weiss is enjoying her coffee on the couch, the flicker in her icy eyes revealing how genuinely impressed she is by Yang's and Ruby's resilience. When they finally take a break, sprawling in their chair, Blake sits in front of Yang while Weiss leaves the sofa and pats the sisters' shoulders.
"How about we go shopping this afternoon? You need clothes, toothbrushes and all the essentials. I'll pay for it."
"Weiss, no," Yang interrupts. "We'll pay for our own expenses. You're already too kind—both of you—to let us stay here last night."
Blake frowns and puts down the toast she was conscientiously buttering. "Yang, Ruby, I hope you know you're welcome to stay here as long as you need."
"And there's no way you're paying for anything while you're under our roof," Weiss adds.
Ruby doesn't speak, staring at her sister with what seems to be an anxious look on her face, as if she's expecting her to burst any second now.
"We're fine," Yang hisses. "We can take care of ourselves."
She gnashes her teeth, hands slowly tightening, but Weiss doesn't seem to notice.
"Nonsense!" she singsongs as she walks around the table and sits next to her roommate. "Let me at least take care of the financial part. It's nothing, really."
Yang slams her fist on the table, shouts, "I don't want your pity, Weiss!" and silence falls in the room, almost deafening. She rendered Weiss speechless, which is quite the accomplishment, and Blake gazes at her with uncertainty. Under Yang's nonchalant behavior, rage churns. It burns like the fire devouring her home, and it's so bitter her eyes sparkle with a dangerous and scalding red tint. Blake can't stand to see her like that. Desperate. Broken by anger and powerlessness.
She slides a hand across the table, brushes Yang's white knuckles with her fingertips, catches her trembling glare.
"You know," Blake breathes, the ghost of a smile shadowing her lips, "if it were Weiss in your shoes, having lost everything she owned, she would have already bought a new house."
Beside her, Weiss nods vigorously.
"Plus," the officer continues, "she's a spoiled rich brat who doesn't understand the value of money."
"Hey!"
Weiss slaps her forearm but everyone can see her repressed smile.
"So don't mind her," Blake grins and, emboldened by the softness gradually nuancing Yang's eyes, she moves her arm forward and takes Yang's fist in her hand. She strokes her smooth skin with her thumb, heart beating faster than it should, and suddenly she's scared by how much she's feeling right now. She clears her throat.
"Weiss means well. And I've lived with her long enough to know she won't stop pestering you until you let her buy you at least a few clothes. For her, it's like offering you a cup of tea."
"True," Weiss approves. "I'm loaded, Yang. Buying you a bunch of pants won't ruin me."
"Alright, fine," Yang finally laughs, and that sight alone chases away the anxiety Blake didn't even know she had. "You'll come with us, Blake?"
"Sadly, I can't. My first shift starts at 2 pm and I won't come home before midnight."
"That's tough," Ruby comments. "When is your next day off?"
"Tomorrow."
"Ugh, I have to go back to class tomorrow. Cooking school is so hard!"
She drops her head on the table, apparently more concerned with her studies than with her burnt home, and Blake laughs softly before glancing at Yang.
Yang is staring at her, her gaze flooded with hunger, and everything in Blake stiffens. Only now does she realize she's still holding Yang's loosened fist, and she hastily removes her hand, a deep blush creeping on her cheeks.
"Alright!" Ruby exclaims while straightening in her chair, completely oblivious of the sudden tension flaring between Blake and her sister. "I don't have much to pay you back, but I can at least make lunch. Plus, Weiss has crazy fancy tastes, so it'll be good practice for me."
Weiss rolls her eyes with an amused smile.
"Fine. I'll show you where everything is."
She and Ruby stand up, move to the kitchen, chat idly, and it would all feel so natural, so easy, if Yang wasn't still spearing Blake with a devastating gaze.
"I… I'll go to my room," Blake stutters.
And as she takes her plate and gets up, Yang never stops staring at her.
Yang and Ruby will stay with them at least a few weeks, until they find a new place. That's what Weiss tells Blake the following day over breakfast. The sisters already left, one for school, the other to buy some of the sports equipment that got destroyed in the fire, and the two roommates are alone in the house, sipping their tea on the kitchen counter.
"Also, I gave Yang the guest room upstairs. The one next to yours."
"I assume it was a completely random choice?"
Weiss snorts.
"All of the bedrooms are soundproofed but I'm not taking any chances. I swear to god, Blake, if I hear the tiniest moan I'll…"
"Alright, alright!"
Blake grumbles and bites her toast. Even if Weiss seems convinced they'll have sex anywhere, anytime, she isn't sure they'll do it at all. Somehow, everything changed. What was a fun, casual—and quite frankly weird—relationship is now caught in a storm of bad luck, and Blake doesn't know where she stands. More than whatever they were, Yang needs a friend right now. And friends don't fuck each other, or, at least, not in Blake's book.
Sex can mess things up, sex can complicate everything and Yang needs stability and trust. She needs to feel safe.
"Well, I'm off to work," Weiss announces after putting her cup in the dishwasher. "I won't be back until late, I have a board meeting tonight."
"Good luck."
"Call me if you need to get something for the girls."
"Yes darling, I won't buy the kids anything without your approval."
Weiss scoffs but still kisses her on the cheek before leaving the kitchen. A few moments later, the front door closes and Blake knows she's alone in the house.
It's strangely peaceful and a bit lonely. So quiet she can hear her own thoughts too well, and they're all about Yang. But the thing is, Blake doesn't want to think about Yang, because if she does, she'll also think about how soft her skin is, how long her fingers are, how freakishly good she seems to be in bed and dammit. There. That's exactly what Blake wanted to avoid.
Yang needs a friend. Not a horny teenager.
So Blake does what she does best when it comes to her personal life; she deeply buries whatever feelings she may have and keeps her mind off things by reading and reading and reading again. Which is also a very welcome break after the weekend she had.
As a result, when she hears the front door open two hours later and catches a glimpse of blonde hair in the corridor, she feels calm and controlled. Yang needs a friend, and so she'll be one.
Yang hurtles into the living room, carrying so many bags and boxes they hide her face. She's in such a hurry she stumbles and half of her stuff drops on the floor in a loud clatter. She freezes, looks at Blake with sheepish eyes and goddammit. Who is she kidding? Yang is too cute, too genuine, too pretty, too everything for Blake to fight her. Warmth spreads, drapes her thighs, her stomach, her chest, and all she manages to do is smile tenderly at the gorgeous woman embarrassingly glancing at her. And that, her own tenderness, throws her off. Because, hell, wasn't this supposed to be just physical?
Rather than face it, Blake chooses to conceal her confusion under a mask of sarcasm.
"Did you rob a store?"
"You could help, you know? Rather than sass me."
"Fine," she complies with fake reluctance, and soon enough she's on her knees, gathering bags of sports clothes and accessories beside Yang.
They're close. Real close. In an empty room, in an empty house. Last time this happened, Blake also dropped on her knees, and the memory makes her wet her pants with a very unwelcome arousal.
Their hands skim past each other and she jumps on her feet, startled.
"Wow, it's okay kitty-cat," Yang laughs, and Blake severely flushes.
"I… I forgot something in my room," she falters before ungraciously running off, leaving Yang alone and baffled.
She doesn't come back. She just paces in her room for what feels like hours, restless, mortified, wondering what the hell happened. Where did her composure go? Not even ten days ago, she pushed Yang against a wall and fucking went down on her, even though she never even kissed a girl before. Now, a brush of Yang's hand and she can't look at her in the eyes anymore? What is she, twelve?
And so, Blake circles endlessly on the hardwood floor, until her stomach growls and she has to face the truth: she won't be able to hide forever. Plus, Yang needs a friend, and she's being a pretty bad one so far.
Blake finally leaves her bedroom, goes downstairs, reaches the living room. She spots Yang through the patio door, practicing in the garden, all smooth skin and hard abs and shiny sweat. God, she's hot. She's hot, and dangerous, and Blake's wild, controlling, angry desire comes back so strongly she shakes. All she wants is to get out there, rip her shorts and sports bra to shreds and take her among the flowers, in the pool, under the oak, again, again, again. She wants all of that, and yet she can't, because it's not what Yang needs right now. So Blake goes back to her room, closes the door and tries really hard—without any success—to suppress her devouring lust.
Around 6:30 pm, someone knocks on the door. It's light and fast, and she already knows Yang is waiting on the other side. When Blake opens the door, a perfectly indifferent expression on her face, Yang nonchalantly leans against the frame and crosses her arms, a knowing smile stretching her breathtaking lips.
"Ruby is back from school and dead set on making us a feast tonight. I'm banned from the kitchen."
"So you come here instead?"
Blake's tongue clicks, too sharp, too cold, but Yang doesn't seem to care. Her smile grows, reveals white teeth and a confidence the officer knows oh too well.
"You've been avoiding me all day, Blake."
And the way she says her name, with that hint of threat, sends a pleasant shiver down her spine.
"And I know why," she continues, smile less amused as she sighs, "I just want things to go back to normal."
"And what's that exactly?" Blake teases, even though she definitely shouldn't.
"You desperately trying to prove you're straight, and me effortlessly proving you're not."
Ah, there it is. That smugness so irritating it leaves Blake with nothing but a violent desire to shut the fighter up.
"You want to go back to normal? Fine."
She straightens up, a steely coldness flooding her gaze as she raises her chin, to gain control, to gain power.
"Let's talk about how you told me you'd do anything to fuck me."
Yang bites her bottom lip, and she's so sexy Blake almost impulsively kisses her. Almost.
"Was it true, Yang?"
A wicked spark enlightens the fighter's pupils as they abruptly dilate.
"It was. It is."
"Then prove it."
Blake isn't scared anymore. Yang wants to go back to normal; she can do that. She wants to. She craves their "normality", their sexual tension, their fight for lust and power, she craves for Yang to yield, for Yang to make her yield. She takes a step back. Grants Yang permission to her room.
"Get inside."
Yang complies, her arrogant smirk still lingering, assured, daring. Blake slams the door behind them and the brutal sound draws a sharp breath from Yang. Oh, she likes it when Blake takes command. It shows in her heavy breath, in the subtle blush on her cleavage, her cheeks, the tip of her ears. Blake likes it too.
"Take off your clothes."
And so Yang does. She even puts on a show, slowly unbuttoning her shirt, outrageously biting her lip, almost dancing as she slides her pants down with so much grace and provocation Blake has to swallow hard. When she stands before her in nothing but her yellow bra and black boy shorts, Blake slightly clenches her fists. Yang is so fucking hot. So, so fucking hot, body carved in marble, muscles defined under flawless skin, all soft curves everywhere, from her neck to her breasts, her waist, her thighs. She's gorgeous. She's perfect. And the worst part of it all? She knows she is. And right now, Blake isn't the one who has leverage. But she doesn't falter. She won't surrender. She'll keep fighting until Yang submits to her or makes Blake bite the floor. She shudders at the thought. She'd like that. To crawl on all four at Yang's feet. But not today.
"I said, take off your clothes," she growls, and the tone of her voice, so animal, jars Yang's breath.
Yang's hands disappear behind her back and the bra falls on the floor, soon joined by the boy shorts. Blake almost sinks on her knees. How could she never notice? How magnificent a woman's body is, how much love, care and tease it deserves?
Yang is resplendent, with a beauty so intimidating it renders Blake speechless.
"What now, officer?" Yang purrs, and god isn't she enjoying herself right now, crushing Blake with only the sight of her naked body.
"Get into bed."
She obeys, lies on her back, eyes defying the policewoman.
"Under no circumstances are you allowed to touch yourself."
Yang smirks, and then Blake unbuttons her shorts, takes them and her panties off and steps towards the bed.
"And under no circumstances," she adds, voice low and dangerous, "are you allowed to touch me."
Yang's arrogance wavers. And when Blake crawls into bed, straddles her and positions herself just above her face, her arrogance shatters. Her now erratic breath scrapes Blake's folds and the officer grasps the headboard with one hand to steady herself as she feels arousal dripping outside her, as she feels Yang's strangled moan escape her throat, as she feels desire burning the fighter's skin.
"Blake," Yang blurts out, half choke, half whine. "You can't… You can't do that."
"Watch me."
It's Blake's turn to put on a show. She slides her fingers over her tank top, brushes her nipples, feels how hard they are under the fabric, bites her lip at the thought of how aroused she is right now. So exposed. And yet in control. Her hand dives down, on her stomach, on her pubis, before settling on her clit. She lets out a shuddering breath, clenches the headboard, looks down.
Yang is wrecked. She lost, she so completely lost. Torture, plea, surrender shape her expression, and she seems close to lose her mind.
"Blake," she repeats, and there's pain in her tone. "Fuck, Blake. Blake. Blake."
And the more she says it, the faster Blake rubs her clit. A moan breaks free, and Yang moans back, so completely overwhelmed by desire.
"Your fingers," she barely manages to slur, face inches away from Blake's sex. "Put them inside."
Blake obeys. Pushes two fingers deep into her, in one thrust, and cries out another moan.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Yang gasps. "Again."
She slides them out, shoves them back in, whimpers, her whole body now shaking. She can see Yang clutching the sheets, twitching under her, eyes wide with lust and need and awe.
"Again."
Each time Yang tells her to, she slams her fingers as deep as she can, and she feels her orgasm build one rough push after the other, and there's violence in her pleasure, there's frenzy, there's unknown. She's not just masturbating above Yang. Yang is guiding her, electrifying her with every word, both a supplication and a command, looking into her eyes as if Blake holds all the answers of the universe, and they're having sex. They're fucking having sex.
And it's so fucking lewd it's too much for Blake to bear; her body surrenders to pleasure, and she comes, hard, fast, like a sudden and dry explosion that tears her apart, drags a hoarse moan from her mouth, tenses her every muscle and causes uncontrollable spasms through her whole body. She collapses on the headboard, and then on Yang.
Blake snuggles down a little, rests her forehead on Yang's, breathes heavily, still shuddering in the aftermath, and she feels good. So fucking good. Better than she ever felt in a long, long time.
"Can I touch you?" Yang whispers, a hint of worship in her voice.
Blake just nods. Yang can do whatever she wants. She can't fight her anymore. She doesn't want to.
Yang raises timid fingers, brushes her cheek, her neck, her back over the fabric. It's soft. Almost fearful. It soothes Blake and at the same time it sets ablaze her undying desire, and she wishes she could kiss her. Because Yang is right there. Her hot breath blows on her own lips. Their noses are grazing. They're connected. They should kiss. But Blake can't, because now it would feel like admitting something else, way deeper, way scarier, and she's not ready. And Yang, gosh, Yang. Maybe Yang will never be ready.
"Dammit, Blake," she murmurs while sliding her hands down and gently grabbing her ass. "You're perfect."
Blake bites her lip to hide her smile, starts to get out of bed.
"Don't go," Yang begs, and there's no false pretend there, no mask, no power play.
"We have to. Your little sister is cooking for us, remember? She'll come and get us any minute now."
Yang mumbles but finally relents, an adorable pout on her lips. And as Blake puts her underwear and shorts back on, she can't help but think that this, whatever it is, is definitely not just physical anymore.