They don't see each other for a while. Blake is doing one late shift after the other and Yang is back on set for a few days, with crazy hours of her own. They bump into each other in the common areas from time to time, manage to exchange heated glances and soft smiles, but that's it.
Blake's schedule becomes more and more erratic as one of her colleagues falls sick and she has to cover for him. She leaves early, gets back late, and she's so exhausted she barely eats, just collapses on her mattress as soon as she's home.
One day, she comes back around 3 am. She and Pyrrha spent the evening on a crime scene, and it was all too tough, too raw, too much. All Blake wants right now is to sleep for the next twelve hours and forget about the anxiety weighing on her chest. The house is pitch black when she opens the front door. She lights up the corridor, immediately notices the note on the floor.
go to the kitchen
She smiles. Such a Yang move. She picks the paper up and complies, walks into the kitchen, finds another message on the counter.
chicken soup in the fridge.
She opens the refrigerator and discovers yet another note on a huge bowl filled with broth.
heat me. eat me. you need me.
She snorts. Does she, now? Her stomach growls. Well, maybe she does need that chicken soup. She puts it in the microwave, waits two minutes while yawning ungracefully and sets the food on the counter. It smells amazing. She can picture Ruby cooking and singing her heart out, Yang playfully beating time with two wooden spatulas while Weiss covers her ears and whines. Yeah, it smells amazing. It smells like home.
She eats, and she honestly cannot remember the last time she had a proper meal. It's good. Delicious, even. As she wolfs her soup down, she realizes how hungry she actually was. She puts her bowl and spoon in the dishwasher, goes upstairs; another note decorates her closed door. She takes it.
bathroom, now.
She chuckles. Yang can be so bossy, even on paper. Still, she obeys. Amusement is slowly winning over exhaustion, and the chicken soup gave her some strength. Her pajamas are neatly folded near the bathtub. A message sticks on top of her black underwear.
shower or bath, which will you choose?
Blake giggles, ponders, decides on a long shower. Fifteen minutes later, she steps out of the hot water feeling less tense, less anxious, content, even. She dresses up, gets into her room, smiles when she spots the note on a book carefully placed on her pillow.
read me. at least 15 minutes, okay?
Again, she smiles. She picks the paper up and cautiously sets it on her nightstand—with the five others she collected on the way—before grabbing the book and lying on her bed. On the hard cover, she reads "Ninjas of love", written in flashy pink letters that make her laugh. The illustration is quite explicit and she already anticipates a very poorly written erotic novel.
"God, Yang," she whispers, and she couldn't be more delighted.
She opens it to find her last note, folded between the first two pages.
please take care of yourself
— y
Her smile fades as her heart suddenly tightens. Somehow, it feels like a punch in her guts. She should take better care of herself. She knows that. But sometimes, her work is so important, so much to handle that she forgets. She bites her lip. Did her fatigue show those last few days? She can't quite believe Yang did all that for her. She even bought a ridiculous book to cheer her up. Warmth spreads in Blake's chest. Her heart tightens again, but it's gentle, tinted with uncertainty and anticipation.
Yang cares.
She shouldn't be surprised; Yang is a considerate person. Blake understood that as she watched her interacting with her friends, with Ruby, with Weiss this past week, the few times they were all able to be in the same room for more than a few seconds. Yang is a considerate person, but this… This is more than simple consideration. Isn't it?
Blake can't help the tiny smile emerging on her lips. She starts reading, and laughs, and laughs again, because hell this is a terrible book and she knows Yang chose it because of how bad it is. So Blake keeps reading. The fifteen minutes turn into an hour, and when she finally switches off the light, she feels relaxed and happy.
All thanks to Yang.
The next day, as she's opening the front door to leave the house, she sees Yang going down the stairs. Their eyes meet. Yang smiles and Blake smiles back. She doesn't stop smiling until she reaches the police station.
She comes home early for the first time in two weeks. Her coworker is finally back to work and her schedule is starting to look manageable again. Her sergeant even granted her two days off by the end of the week, and she can't wait to finally take a break.
Weiss is still at the Schnee company, Ruby is checking apartments on her laptop, in the living room, and Yang is exercising outside. Blake disappears in her room, takes some time to change out of her uniform and clean herself a bit before going back down and heading for the garden. Yang is practicing kendo under the late afternoon gentle sunbeams. As it turns out, she isn't only a kickboxing master. She's also perfecting her skills in several martial arts for her stunts. She often stands in for actresses in fight scenes, and Blake wondered a few times if there were anything she couldn't do.
"Hey gorgeous," Yang welcomes her with a bright smile. "You're home early!"
"Yeah. Things are finally getting better at work."
Yang lifts her shinai—the bamboo sword she always uses to practice kendo—high above her head and cuts through the air with a sharp precision.
"Good," she says, breath steady, eyes focused on the horizon. "Because I've been missing you." She swings her weapon one more time, shoots a glance towards Blake and bursts out laughing. "Why do you look so surprised?"
Blake's mouth goes dry. How can Yang say stuff like that and still look so unfazed, so confident? How can she not feel vulnerable right now? Blake sure does. Because she missed her too, she missed whatever they have, and admitting it out loud would make her feel bare, body and soul.
"I…" Blake clears her throat, voice hoarse. "I don't know. It seems serious."
"I am serious."
Yang swirls, her shinai whipping the air, and she's stunning. All floating blonde curls and shiny arms. All focus, strength, beauty and honesty. Blake thinks about how she listened to her as she told her about Adam, how she cared and felt for her. She thinks about the awe in her eyes after Blake went down on her for the first time. She thinks about their hug after game night, how it felt good, tender, loving. About the softness chasing the anger in Yang's gaze, the day she snapped at Weiss, after the fire. About how Yang told her she was perfect, right after Blake masturbated over her. About the notes, the book, the concern for her well-being.
Somehow, in the back of her mind, she always thought the blonde was just playing around. Blake obviously isn't her first girl, and she won't be her last. But is she the only girl right now? The idea sounds strange; Yang seems like the type to never be satisfied. But then again, she also sends her so many confusing signals.
"Are you seeing anyone?" Blake asks, voice confident and detached, as detached as she can manage.
Yang lowers her sword, surprise flickering in her eyes, and a devilish smile curls her dark lips.
"Are you asking me out, Blake Belladonna?"
"I am not," Blake scoffs. "I was just curious."
"You're the only one on my radar."
"I am?"
It's Blake's turn to look surprised.
"Who do you think I am?" Yang laughs, planting her shinai in the grass and resting her forearms on the pommel. "I don't have a whole harem waiting for me, you know? Just you."
She winks at her and Blake melts a bit.
"We never talked about your, well, love life, or sexual life, or whatever," Blake grumbles. "We met because you were picking up some random girl, if you do remember. And you came on to me not even a day later. It's kind of hard not to picture you as a player after that."
"Fair enough," Yang smiles. She sits on the ground, pats the grass next to her and waits for Blake to settle down. "There's not much to tell, really. I dated a boy in high school, that's how I realized I was gay. After that, I had five or six girlfriends, something like that. It never lasted more than three months. I'm not a player, Blake, not that it'd be wrong if I was. I'm just not good at relationships, I guess."
"How come?"
"I'm a lot to handle." Bitterness breaks in her tone. "I have a temper. And every time I got angry—not with my girlfriends, just at some shitty stuff happening in my life—they'd always make it worst somehow. Trying to calm me down or comfort me, but always in the… I don't know, the wrong way? I felt like they never got it, you know? Like they never got me." Yang sighs, shifts a little, and their knees brush past each other. "That's why I tried to date Cinder—the girl I was supposed to meet the night we first texted. She seemed hot-tempered too. And I thought that, somehow, we could match. But no, she was just a royal asshole." Yang laughs in disbelief and shakes her head. "I'm glad she was, though." Her hand skims Blake's thigh, and it's intentional, inviting. "I probably wouldn't be talking with you right now if I dated her for real."
Blake swallows. Her heart beats in her throat. Her palms are sweaty. She's entirely too self-conscious of how close Yang is, how her fingers still caress her leg, how she's intensely looking at her right now.
"I'm glad too," she finally confesses in a breath, and time stops for a second. But, of course, that's when Weiss chooses to show up in the garden, still wearing her light blue suit and her professional face—which is slightly sterner than her regular cold face.
"I'm sorry to interrupt your lovey-dovey moment but the delivery man dropped this for you, Blake."
Annoyed, Blake glares at her, takes the box her roommate is handing her and sets it on her lap.
"That's weird," she mumbles, "I don't remember ordering anything."
Weiss crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow, making it obvious she won't leave until she finds out what hides in this mysterious box. Beside Blake, Yang fidgets suspiciously, but the officer focuses on the package instead, opening it with curious fingers. She finally removes the lid and starts at the sight.
"Oh my g—Is that a dildo?!" Weiss shrieks.
"I didn't order that, I swear!" Blake blurts, eyes wide with shock, cheeks heated with a fierce blush.
"You two are impossible, god!" Weiss throws both arms in the air and angrily stomps towards the house. "Keep it in your rooms, for fuck's sake!"
The second she disappears inside, Yang bursts out laughing.
"Really, Yang?" Blake shoots a flaming glare at her. "You ordered a strap-on and had it delivered under my name?"
"I just thought it would be fun!" she exclaims, wiping her tears away. "It went way better than I expected!"
Blake snorts. Looks at her. Shakes her head.
"You do know Weiss has every right to kick both of us out of her house, right?"
"Nah, she won't. She's such a sweetheart deep inside." Yang shifts a bit and a wicked smile stretches her lips as she pats the box still resting on Blake's lap. "So, do you want to try this bad boy?"
Blake scoffs, rolls her eyes, ignores the sudden pulse between her thighs.
"You'll have to woo me first." She stands up, tucks the package under her arm and looks down on Yang, sitting at her feet. "Properly."
"What does that even mean?" Yang teases, voice sparkling with amusement, but Blake is already turning away.
"Surprise me!" she commands and, as she gets inside the house, she can feel Yang's gaze burning her nape.
"Wait, what's that?" Yang is standing at the end of the hallway, staring at a wooden door just across Weiss's room. "Was this door always here?"
Blake laughs. She remembers her first weeks living in the house, how she stumbled across new rooms every now and then and freaked out at the actual size of the mansion. Even now, she sometimes wonders if she actually explored the whole house yet.
They are alone. Ruby took Weiss out on a whim, and they planned to meet with Nora and Ren in a bar afterwards. Blake just wants to fully rest during her day off, and Yang pretexted she had more training to do, even though it's already late in the afternoon and she did nothing but laze around in the living room and glance at Blake reading on the couch.
"What's inside?" Yang asks, and she looks like a little girl right now, all excited and curious and restless. "Can I go in?"
"Of course, why couldn't you?"
"It could be Weiss's sex dungeon."
Blake laughs. "You know what," she says with an amused smile, "I can actually picture her in a sex dungeon."
"Right?" Yang laughs before opening the door. Her jaw drops. "Oh my effing god, why am I discovering this just now?!"
She walks into the room, awestruck, and Blake watches her as she takes in the sight of the wide hearth flanked by colossal shelves bursting with books of all sizes and colors, as she slides a delicate hand on the billiard table sitting in the center of the lounge, as she carefully opens the wooden bar, whistles and takes out one of the dozen bottles of fine whiskies and liquors Weiss collects.
"It's Weiss's sacred place," Blake explains before ensconcing herself on the black sofa. "I like to read here sometimes."
"I didn't know Weiss played pool."
"She doesn't," Blake snorts. "She just thinks it looks fancy."
"That's too bad. What about you?"
"I've never learned, actually."
"Would you like to?"
There's a hint of mischievousness shimmering in Yang's voice, and a slow fire ignites in Blake's lower stomach.
"I might."
And once again, they challenge each other. Yang smirks, grabs two cues from the table and hands one to Blake.
"I'll teach you, then."
"Oh, this is going to be fun."
Blake's sarcasm doesn't completely veil her excitement. She leaves the couch, takes the stick and runs a finger on the soft cloth of the pool table, one eyebrow slightly raised, fake contempt curling her lips down. Yang isn't easily duped, her grin growing bolder as she places a few balls on the table without tearing her eyes away from Blake. She takes a piece of chalk and rubs it on the tip of her cue, and her confidence swells, straightening her back, setting her purple eyes on fire.
"First, try to hit the green ball with the white one."
Blake places herself by the table, awkwardly slides her cue between her fingers and aims. At least she hits the ball, even if there's no strength and a total lack of direction. Yang doesn't laugh. Her eyes flicker with something, not mockery, just a hint of thirst Blake is starting to know well.
"Your position is all wrong. Here, let me show you." She puts her own stick against the wall and settles herself behind Blake. "You need to firmly grab the cue with your right hand, there." She slides a gentle hand on Blake's fist and places it higher on the stick. "And you need to put the tip on your thumb and use the other fingers to steady yourself and change the direction."
Yang takes a step closer, suddenly pushing her body against hers, and Blake can feel everything. She shudders when Yang glides her other hand on her arm, wrist, fingers. The gesture burns her skin, too slow, too light, too deliberate. She needs to fight back or she'll lose this round before it even begins.
"Really, Yang?" Blake manages to scoff. "You're going for something that cliché?"
"It might be cliché, but it's efficient," Yang counters while adjusting Blake's left hand.
"It's not."
Blake can't see it, but she hears Yang's smile. And she knows. It's predaceous. Mocking. So fucking presumptuous. Yang presses harder against her back, and Blake swallows a gasp, heart rocketing in her chest.
"Your position is still wrong," Yang sensually whispers in her ear, and shit. Shit. Shit. "You're too straight."
"Fuck," she breathes, and she doesn't care if the boxer heard.
It's too much. All too much. Yang's breasts against her back, her sighs on her neck, her suggestive fingers sliding on her arms, her hips against her ass. And then, then she releases her left hand and puts strong fingers on Blake's lower back, crawls them up between her shoulder blades, and pushes.
"Bend over."
Blake gasps. But she obeys. Of course she obeys. She yields to the pressure on her back, to the command, to the sexual tension oozing from Yang's body and demeanor. She's curved on the table, clenching her cue like a lifeline, Yang standing mightily behind her, her hand still pressing her down.
"Perfect," Yang purrs, and Blake's mouth goes dry as her crotch goes wet.
Yang firmly settles her hands on Blake's waist. Fuck. She presses her hips against her butt. Fuck. Blake drops the cue on the table. Clasps its edges. Bites her lip.
"I knew you'd like that," Yang murmurs. She slowly starts grinding against her ass and Blake chokes on a moan. "I knew you'd like to be bent over and taken from behind." She pushes harder, jostling her against the table, and Blake can't handle it.
"Yang—" she pants, voice strangled. She's on the verge of throwing her dignity away and pulling her pants down for Yang to fuck her right here, right now.
"What do you think, Blake?" Yang hums, leisurely rocking against her, and oh how Blake wishes they were both naked. "Am I properly wooing you?"
"Jesus, you're so cocky, I—"
A sudden spank turns her words into an undignified squeal.
"Am I good enough for you, Blake?" Yang growls.
Another hard slap and Blake's whole body is set ablaze, her vision blurred with lust and need, and there it is. That fucking loss of control she was craving when she was with Sun, that I-don't-give-a-fuck-anymore state of mind she always wished to surrender to. So, she abdicates. Turns around. Locks eyes with Yang.
They've been playing this game for too long. She can't count the number of times she touched herself in the shower, on her bed, on the couch, even, while thinking about Yang ravishing her. She wants her. She's wanted her since she first saw her.
"You win," she finally breathes, and a bright darkness floods Yang's eyes. Blake hastily unbuttons her own jeans, pulls them down along with her underwear and tosses them away. She grips Yang by her shirt, tugs her close, and it's violent, reckless, so freaking instinctive and out of control.
"Fuck me, Yang Xiao Long."
Yang's smile vanishes and everything in her darkens. Her irises, her lips, her whole aura. She grabs Blake's naked thighs, lifts her up on the pool table, and Blake immediately wraps her legs around her waist. Yang removes Blake's top, eager, craving. She unclasps her black bra and draws a sharp breath at the sight of her bare breasts and erected nipples.
"God, Blake."
It's everything Blake ever wanted, and more. To feel so fucking desired, to know the devastating effect she has on her partner.
On Yang.
Yang glides a finger on her collarbones, sketches a straight line from the base of her throat to her navel, lingers a moment on the scar just above her left hip. She doesn't ask. Her gaze trails back up, collides with Blake's, and there's so much intensity swirling in her blown pupils it dazes Blake.
Yang leans forward. Slowly. Irrepressibly. She leans forward and their faces almost touch, their breaths tangle, their lips skim past each other. It's not a kiss. Not yet. But it's electric. And it leaves Blake consumed with desire and need.
She groans, hooks her hand around Yang's nape, presses their foreheads together.
"Fuck me."
Yang bites her own lip, kisses her jaw, her ear, her neck, and Blake pants, grumbles, squirms on the billiard table.
"I'm ready, Yang," she slurs. "You can make me wait and torture me later. I need you now."
"As you wish," Yang rumbles, and thunder rolls in her voice.
She slides a hand on Blake's inner thigh, meets the wetness between her legs, growls at the sensation. She sinks one finger inside her, in a slow and steady push that draws a choked moan out of her. Finally. Finally, Blake feels her deep within. And yet, it's still not enough.
She clasps her hands behind Yang's back, whispers "More" in a pleading voice, moans when Yang pulls her finger out, cries when she slides back two digits. Yang pushes deep, as deep as she can, and it feels so. fucking. good.
Yang starts thrusting her hand in and out, and each time she does, heat grows in Blake's lower stomach, gradually conquering her whole body, flooding her lungs, blurring her mind, burning her heart.
"Faster," she blurts, and she doesn't care about how needy she sounds, about letting Yang render her so vulnerable, about letting her wield all the power. She has no pride left.
"Shit, Blake," Yang murmurs. "You're so hot when you beg."
Blake whimpers. Yang caresses her cheek with her free hand, never ending her hard shoves, never breaking eye contact. Her fingers brush Blake's jaw, dive down, clench around her neck.
"Fuck," Blake mutters, tongue heavy with arousal.
Yang slightly squeezes her hand around her throat. It's controlled. So freaking kinky.
"Is that okay?" she whispers, and Blake nods, incapable of vocalizing how okay all of this is.
Yang gets it. From the lust in her eyes, from the pleasure in her strangled moans, from the spasms of her inner walls clutching her fingers, down there. She gets it. So she tightens her grip around Blake's neck, thrusts harder inside her, harder, harder, harder, until Blake sobs, scratches her back, convulses on the table, until Blake loses control, her mind and herself, until Blake comes so violently she holds Yang fiercely against her and shouts a deep, long and broken cry. But Yang doesn't stop. Yang keeps pushing, driving her orgasm longer, higher, greater, and it's not waves but tsunamis of pleasure crashing into Blake over and over again, washing every thought away until all goes black and silent.
Blake doesn't know how long it takes for her to get back to full consciousness. She's still clinging to Yang, panting in her neck, not sure she'll ever be able to let her go. Yang slid her fingers out, now resting them on her leg, and Blake misses her warmth, her strength, her presence. It takes her a tremendous effort to lean back, just enough so that she can see the other girl's face. She absentmindedly brushes Yang's cheek with the back of her hand, wondering how someone's eyes could be so dark and bright, so expressive and mysterious at the same time, and so incredibly beautiful too. Purple might be her new favorite color.
"Yang, that was…" she begins, voice hoarse, and she can't find the words to finish her sentence. Because what was that? If not the best orgasm of her life, but also so much more? It was complete surrender, complete trust, with her body, her reactions, her desires, and she never, ever let herself appear so naked in front of someone else.
"I know," Yang whispers, and she kisses her.
Yang kisses her.
A real kiss. A gentle, warm, electrifying kiss. Delicate lips on her own. Exploratory tongue on her own. It's tender. It's sexy. It's right. It's so right, and it takes her breath away.
Blake kisses her back. Again, and again, and again. She slides off the pool table, pushes Yang away, but never breaks their kiss, never parts their lips. Step by step, she guides her towards the couch, until Yang's legs bump into the sofa and she falls on it. Blake straddles her, still kissing her, always kissing her, because this is the best thing that ever happened to her and she needs to kiss Yang just as much as she needs to breathe.
"Take off your pants," she groans against her lips.
Yang complies, and it's messy and frantic. Their legs and arms tangle, they fall on their side and giggle on each other's mouth but never, not for one second, do they tear their lips apart. Finally, Yang throws her pants and underwear behind the couch and Blake reluctantly breaks their kiss long enough for Yang to take her shirt and bra off. The second she's done, Blake smashes their lips again, hungry for her taste, her softness, her everything. Their naked bodies melt together, and they fit. They fit perfectly. Blake's hands roam Yang's curves, greedy, and she wants her, she wants her, she wants her so fucking much.
"How do you need me?" she whispers before kissing her again.
"Your mouth," Yang breathes, and Blake's tongue muffles her voice. "Your fingers."
Blake licks her lips, her neck, her collarbones, the tip of her breasts—and God, those breasts, she could stare at them all day—the crease between her visible abs. She smells her and curses soundlessly. She remembers how Yang came in her mouth, weeks ago. So strong. So violent. So beautiful. She wants it all over again. And she can have it. She can fucking have it. She doesn't have to wait anymore, to fight, to pretend. Their masks fell and left them bare. Exposed. And Blake should feel vulnerable, but she feels powerful instead. Because whatever she says and does, Yang accepts it. Yang enjoys it.
"I want you, Yang," Blake confesses, voice gravelly, nails digging in the blonde's skin as she tries to restrain herself. Because if she doesn't, she'll go wild. "I want you so much."
"Then do me."
Yang grabs Blake's hair and pushes her down, heaving, squirming, needing.
"Fuck, Blake. Do me."
Blake takes one more second to marvel at Yang's body, at her generous breasts rising up and down at each ample breath, at the wet sight between her open legs, and finally she dives in. It tastes as she remembers. Fucking. Great. So great she groans in unison with Yang and loses track of time for a while, licking, sucking, rocking her mouth against her clit, dipping her tongue into her folds, thoroughly enjoying her wetness, moans, curses.
It's perfect. And yet again, it's not enough.
Blake wants to feel her entirely, to ravish her, to possess her. So she leans back, locks eyes with Yang, and slowly pushes two fingers inside her. It's warm. It's soft. It's tight and flexible. It's too much.
"Fuck," Blake swears.
Yang's lips part, her breath grows erratic, her eyes gleam with excitement. Blake starts moving with slow, deep thrusts that drag moans out of Yang every single time.
"Holy shit, Yang." You feel so good. You're so hot. You're so perfect.
"My clit," Yang chokes. "Suck my clit."
God, how can someone be this sexy? Blake complies, because there isn't an alternate universe where she could actually resist this, and she plunges between Yang's gorgeous legs. She wraps her lips around her clit, keeps shoving her fingers into her, each time more hastily, more roughly, each time making Yang moan louder until she lets out a stream of incoherent swears.
"Fuck, fuck, oh my god, Blake, fuck—" Yang spills curse after curse, hips swinging so ferociously Blake has to press her against the couch with her free hand, her mouth still attached to her clit, her chin drenched with Yang's arousal. "Shit. Shit. Don't stop. Fuck. Blake. Blake!"
Yang comes while saying her name. And it's the most satisfying thing that ever happened to Blake. She had no idea. She had no idea she could feel that much pleasure just by giving. She had no idea someone could be so sultry, and fierce, and open, and endearing. She had no idea sex could be so raw. So good. She had no idea she could connect so deeply with someone.
Blake snuggles her way back up and smiles at Yang, still recovering from her orgasm, gaze blurry and breath shuddering. She's beautiful. So beautiful. It's the first thing Blake noticed about her. Because there was—there is—something else in her beauty, an openness, a defiance, a sincerity that struck the brunette right through the heart the first time she saw her, and every time she looked at her after that.
She gently kisses Yang's forehead, her nose, her cheeks, and the kickboxer giggles. She looks so blissed Blake's heart tightens.
"You're so beautiful," Blake whispers, a finger playing with golden hair.
Yang blushes, caresses Blake's jaw with a hesitant thumb, but soon enough her usual cocky smirk stretches her lips.
"Who's wooing who now?" she teases, obviously too proud of herself, and Blake chuckles.
She can't believe she's falling in love with such an idiot.
"What happened?"
They're still lying on the couch, naked, lazy, enjoying a long cuddle after their wild ride. Yang is carefully brushing Blake's scar with her fingertips and Blake nestles in her arms, face lost in a waterfall of golden curls.
"You don't have to answer," Yang murmurs.
But Blake wants to. And, truth be told, it doesn't seem as difficult when she's bathing in Yang's comforting warmth.
"I got shot," she reveals, and Yang hugs her tighter. "Two years ago. A bank robbery went wrong. Pyrrha and I were the first one on scene. They took hostages to escape, but one of the robbers panicked, and before we could even understand what was going on there were gunshots everywhere."
"I'm so sorry." Yang's fingers trace the contours of Blake's scar and it feels nice, as if she's gently blowing away her painful memories. "Do you still think about it sometimes?"
"Yeah. But it's not really the gunshot that comes to mind. It was awful and I stayed in the hospital for weeks, but I got better and I'm lucky enough I don't have any aftereffect. No, it's… It's the hostages I think about. And Pyrrha. And the passersby. I wasn't the only one who got shot. Innocent people randomly got injured, and I couldn't do anything for them."
"Did they survive?"
Yang's voice is deep, calming.
"They did. Nobody died that day. I was the most seriously injured." Blake shifts a bit, enough that she can look into Yang's eyes, and once again she's struck by how empathic they are. She smiles softly, for Yang and because of her, before resuming, "That's actually how I met Jaune. He was the one who kept me alive in the ambulance."
"Oh, wow."
"Yeah. He's such a wonderful guy. He visited me once a week after that, to see how I was recovering, to help me pass time. We've been friends ever since."
"What a crazy way to meet someone," Yang smiles.
She caresses Blake's curves, from her shoulder to her behind, and Blake relishes the sensation.
"It's not as crazy as how I met Weiss," she chuckles. "When she took over the Schnee empire, she received so many death threats she had to be placed under police protection. I had to shadow her for a whole week, and let me tell you, she didn't want my company and she made sure I knew it."
"Typical Schnee," Yang laughs.
"Typical. But eventually, she softened. And I got to see her for who she really was. A lonely, scared and incredibly brave girl trying to redeem her family's name. We stayed in touch, met every now and then for lunch or dinner, and one day she just texted me We should be roommates! And that's how I ended up living here."
"I still can't figure out why she'd need a roommate," Yang giggles, and every time she laughs Blake marvels at the sound. "She can afford a nice place on her own."
"She likes the company. She likes having a family that would actually have her back. And, you know, she's really happy to have you guys with us."
"What about you?"
Yang grins coyly and Blake snorts.
"You are so full of yourself, you know that?"
"That's not an answer!"
Blake laughs again, shakes her head, sits on the couch. She can feel Yang's eyes wandering on her body, appreciative of the view, and she pinches her lips to hide her pleased smile.
"Actually," Yang sighs after a while, "Ruby and I will start visiting some places next week. We can't stay here forever."
"Oh." Yang's words froze Blake like an icy shower and she barely manages to reply, "Sure. You need to get your life back on track."
"Exactly."
Blake doesn't know why, but she hoped, deep down, that Yang and Ruby would stay with them. It would be a terrible idea, especially after today. But it's a terrible idea that feels right, and she can't ignore the hint of disappointment clutching her throat when she realizes she was the only one feeling that way.
Yang gets up from the sofa, grabs her clothes and smirks.
"This was fun. But alas, I have some training to do."
She gets dressed, leans in and kisses her, and it's so natural Blake actually blushes. Yang walks out of the lounge with an endearing smile, leaving her alone, flustered and sad.
She really, really doesn't want Yang to move out.
When Weiss knocks at her door, way later that night, Blake is reading in her bed, comfortably buried under layers of blankets, a mug of warm herbal tea on her nightstand.
"Blake? Can I speak with you?"
"Sure. What's up?"
Blake puts her book down, stares at her roommate as she closes the door behind her and sits on the edge of the bed.
"So," Weiss begins, and her voice is unusually hesitant, "I just spent the afternoon and the evening with Ruby."
"How was it?"
"Honestly, she's a hazard to my health." Blake chortles. Weiss's expression softens, and the uncertainty comes back, so singular for her, the Schnee heiress who has always radiated conviction and determination. "But I like her." She sighs. "She told me she and Yang will start looking for a new place to live in next week."
Blake's heart slows, as if it was trapped in mud, and she just nods.
"Okay, so, here's the thing," Weiss says, voice tensed. "I like them. I really like them. And we work, you know? The four of us. We have completely different lives and personalities, but somehow, we match. And I'm considering asking them to move in with us, officially. Permanently. But you come first, Blake, you'll always come first for me, and if you think it's not a good idea I'll—"
"It's a great idea."
Weiss's eyes widen and a small smile curls up her lips.
"Really?"
Blake takes her friend's hand and squeezes it.
"Really, Weiss. I'd love for them to stay."
She would. She really, really would. The idea of Yang and Ruby moving out—of Yang moving out—has weighed on her all night long, slowly digging a hole in her chest, and for the first time since Yang left her in the lounge earlier, she feels hopeful. She wasn't the only one thinking the four of them made sense together. Maybe Yang and Ruby would think that too. Maybe they will stay. Maybe Yang will stay.
"Are you sure?" Weiss asks softly. "It might get complicated, with Yang. I know you two still haven't had sex, but it's still a messy relationship."
"Yeah, about that…"
"Blake, no. Did you—"
"Yup."
"Oh my g—Half a day! We left you alone for half a day!"
"Sorry."
Blake is not sorry. Not one bit. She smirks, even, remembering how hard she came on the pool table, how hard Yang came on her mouth.
"Ew, Blake, gross! Stop smiling!"
Her roommate slaps her shoulder and it's painless, because Weiss would never hurt her and, behind her disgusted face, she's actually happy for her.
"It was amazing," Blake whispers; she can't hold it in any longer.
Weiss sighs, pinches her nose and shakes her head.
"So, if they agree to move in with us, I have to expect two horny lesbians doing it like rabbits in my house all the time?"
Blake laughs.
"We'll be discreet."
"Wonderful," Weiss replies, tone heavy with sarcasm. She gets up, opens the bedroom door and raises an eyebrow at her friend. "What are you waiting for? Let's ask them together!"
Blake almost jumps out of bed to follow her.
It's half past 1 am and Blake can't sleep. She should be exhausted, after the emotional day she had, but she feels relentless instead. She keeps thinking about Yang. About the way they fucked. The way they cuddled. The way they talked.
The way they fit.
She thinks about the look Yang gave her, when Weiss offered the two sisters to move in with them. How she stared at Blake as if she was the only person left in the world, as if nothing else mattered.
How she and Ruby said yes.
She thinks about how Yang pushed her against the wall the second they were alone in the living room and kissed her so ferociously it left Blake trembling and drenched.
Nobody has ever kissed her like that. But then again, nobody has ever fucked her, teased her, made her feel like that. Dizzy. Insatiable. Happy.
So, she can't sleep. Her life changed the moment she first laid her eyes on Yang, and now the blonde is moving in with her. And Blake isn't scared. She knows it will be chaotic, but the more she spends time with Yang, the more addicted to chaos she becomes.
And she can't sleep. She can't fucking sleep. Because Yang is right there, behind that wall, in the bedroom next to her, and Blake wants her with every cell of her body. She knows Yang isn't asleep. She saw her light on when she went to the bathroom not ten minutes ago. She could knock at her door. She could go to her. Kiss her. Touch her. Take her, if Yang let her, and Blake knows she would. She could do it all. She can. She will.
But first, she needs to get ready.
Blake knocks and Yang's muffled voice invites her in. She opens the door to find the kickboxer stretching on the floor, legs bare, hair wet from her shower. Yang raises her eyes and lets out a strangled gasp when she sees her.
"Blake, what—what's—"
Blake slowly closes the door behind her, gaze never leaving her prey.
"Didn't you want to try this bad boy?" she purrs, and Yang swallows hard, her now bulging eyes fastened on the strap-on Blake is smugly wearing on her otherwise fully naked body.
"I—I meant on you," she chokes, and never in her life has Blake wanted to ravish someone this much.
"Up," she orders.
Yang hastily obeys, cheeks flushed, eyes burning, breath already quivering with arousal.
"Get into bed."
As Yang eagerly lies on the mattress, Blake crawls on top of her, takes off Yang's night shirt and panties, kisses her lightly on the lips, bites her neck, licks the contours of her gorgeous breasts, sucks a nipple, shudders when Yang groans and digs her fingers into her back. She loves the sensations, every single one of them; their skins melting together; the nipple hardening under her tongue; the smell of shampoo wafting through the air. She loves how Yang twists under her, so eager, craving more, craving her. How she pants and flushes, eyes flashing with such a voracious hunger they turn red. How she begs. Please. Please. Blake, please.
But, for once, Blake doesn't comply. She takes her time, lips lingering on Yang's perfect skin, breath teasing her chest, ribs, hips and thighs, hands pressing her delicate flesh, and she's gentle, always gentle, careful not to bruise, not to pinch, not to scratch—like the calm before the storm. Like a promise of how hard she'll take Yang. It's a torture, for both of them, but one she savors wholly, even more each time Yang implores her to stop teasing, to fuck her already.
"Please, Blake. Fuck, I—I want you so much. Please take me. Please."
And each time she begs, Blake loses a bit of control. She wants her. She wants her so much. And the scariest part is that it's not just sexual. She wants all of Yang. Her warmth before falling asleep. Her laugh when she wakes up. Her kisses when she goes to work. She aches to be the first Yang comes to when she's happy or sad, she aches to be the one to comfort her, to calm her down when anger overwhelms her. She thought she didn't want to be one of her pretty girls, and now it's all she can think about. Blake wants to be her pretty girl.
"Blake," Yang pleads. She takes her chin between her thumb and her index, forces her to look at her. Need and desire and pain consume her gaze, and she's almost threatening when she slowly articulates, "Fuck me."
Blake can't fight back anymore. She gets on her knees, grabs the base of the dildo and positions herself at Yang's entrance. She locks eyes with her, silently asking for a permission she already has, and when Yang eagerly nods, she pushes in.
A strangled cry escapes Yang's mouth as she shuts her eyes and fiercely grips Blake's wrists. Blake dives deeper, all the way in, until her hips bump into the blonde, and she stays there for a few seconds, heart beating so violently she can hear her own pulse. She has no idea what she's doing. And yet, it's amazing. She slowly starts rocking back and forth, awestruck by Yang's expression, by the way her pleasure leaves her exposed and so freaking gorgeous. She pushes in and out, faster, harder, because Yang loves it and the more she expresses it, moans, groans, clenches the sheets, the more Blake loses control.
She grabs her by the waist, keeps pounding her, keeps staring at the stunning woman crying out under her.
"Fuck, Yang. Fuck."
"I—I'm gonna—"
Yang's words turn into a guttural moan and she shakes, burrows her nails into Blake's arms, scratches her so hard it hurts. Blake groans, from pain and pleasure, and keeps swinging in and out, slowly, dragging out Yang's orgasm until the fighter repeatedly taps her leg to make her stop. She gradually slides out, and they're both breathless, skin glimmering with sweat, eyes hazy with the afterglow.
After a few seconds, Yang covers her face with her hands, still heaving, still shuddering with pleasure.
"Dammit, Blake. What was that?"
Blake smiles.
That was her way of telling Yang "Be mine."
It's their first game night since Ruby and Yang officially moved in with them. Nothing has changed. They drink fancy wine, eat cheap pizzas, share life stories and laugh over stupid games. Nothing has changed, except when Yang absentmindedly kisses Blake while she hands her a glass of wine and the whole group falls into a shocked silence. Then, chaos erupts. Ruby shrieks, Nora jumps on the couch, Jaune laughs, Pyrrha beams wholeheartedly, Weiss sighs, Ren nods his approval, Neptune stares at Sun, and Sun remains silent, eyes wide, mouth open, face pale. But then, he smiles. He smiles at Blake, and it's so sincere, so kind that tears spring into her eyes.
Weirdly enough, Sun's approval was the only one she really needed.
Later that night, they're both lying naked in Yang's ruffled sheets, Blake still recovering from her last orgasm, mind fuzzy and body quivering with pleasure. It feels so freaking good. They should have done it sooner, way sooner. They should have fucked the night they met. Blake thinks about their first meeting, how Yang instantly came at her not even five minutes after seeing her for the first time, and she giggles.
"What?" Yang smiles, fingers brushing her dark hair.
"I have a confession to make," Blake murmurs before burying her face in the other girl's neck.
"What is it?"
"I might not be straight after all."
Yang laughs, and it's so cute Blake's heart skips a beat.
"Really?" she teases, a hint of smugness in her voice. "What was your first clue?"
"I don't know. The way I fell in love with you at first sight?"
Yang freezes for a second, before hugging her tightly against her. She kisses her hair, her temple, her cheek, her mouth. It's gentle and passionate, and Blake knows she'll never get tired of it.
"I love you too," Yang whispers before kissing her again. It's heated, sensual, breathtaking. She parts their lips just enough to look into Blake's eyes, slides a provocative hand down Blake's stomach and smiles cockily.
"Ready for round two?"