On the TV screen, giant robots were destroying a poorly CGI'd city. Meeka lay back on the couch, and from the kitchen came the sounds of Izzy pottering around, and the sudden, heavenly smell of cherry pie. Shortly, Izzy came back into the living room with one plate, one fork, and one slice of sweet, flaky, runny goodness. She sat down cross-legged on the chair by Meeka's head and began to eat.
Meeka gave her big puppy-dog eyes. "No pie for me?"
"What's the magic word?" said Izzy.
"Pleeeease?" Meeka did the eyes even bigger and rounder, until Izzy laughed. Then she scooped up a forkful of pie and held it out a couple of inches from Meeka's face.
Meeka wasn't proud, not where pie was concerned. She lifted her head and ate the pie off the end of the fork. "Mmm," she said, and flopped back onto the couch. She felt a little stupid and unaccountably warm, not just from the pie, even if it was fresh out of the oven and delicious. From here she had an excellent view of Izzy's legs. There was a nick in the back of one knee where she'd probably cut herself shaving, and her toenails were painted purple. She was watching the movie, where a scientist was now explaining his plan to destroy the robots. The science was ridiculous, and Izzy's laugh had a snort in it; it dimpled her cheeks and lifted her chin, making an elegant line of her neck.
Another forkful of pie was hovering in front Meeka's face, Izzy holding the fork almost absently, like it was an afterthought to her movie-watching experience. Meeka ate it. Izzy was still facing the movie, but she was watching Meeka from the corner of her eye, and Meeka was sure that Izzy saw her blush and the curl of her toes, even if she didn't say anything.
Meeka tried to watch the movie. That didn't work very well.
If Izzy had been looking at her, Meeka probably would have gotten embarrassed—well, more embarrassed—and stopped. But as it was, she ate and stared at Izzy and tried to pretend she wasn't feeling the way she was feeling. Izzy was her friend, and not into girls as far as Meeka knew, and besides—
"Hey," said Meeka, "where are you going?"
Not like she was complaining, exactly; Izzy's skirt rode low around her hips and she had a very nice ass. There was a swing to it even when she was doing an ordinary thing like walking to the kitchen.
Izzy waved her fork vaguely in Meeka's direction. "I'm getting some more pie. Someone ate all of mine."
"You're weird," Meeka called after her.
Izzy came back with a second slice, sat down on her chair, and everything was right with Meeka's world again. She thought about doing the big eyes and asking for that piece of pie too, but couldn't quite work up the nerve. Izzy started eating.
The giant robots were now rampaging on a beach. One of them picked up a girl wearing a tiny black bikini, who started to squirm and shriek. Izzy would look great in that bikini, but her personality reminded Meeka more of the giant robot.
"I may be weird," said Izzy between bites, "but you're the one who ate all the pie I gave you. You could have gotten your own."
Meeka shrugged. "And get up from the couch? No, thank you." She flipped onto her belly, rested her chin on crossed arms, and grinned up at Izzy. "I've got everything I want right here."
*~*~*
"He's a jerk," said Meeka.
Izzy looked up from her phone. She'd kind of been trying to set it on fire with her mind and had forgotten Meeka was there.
"I mean, really, what, can he tie knots with his tongue?" Meeka went on. "Has he got a dick like a porn star on Viagra? What's he got that makes it worth putting up with this shit?"
"You don't understand about men," said Izzy.
"Damn right," said Meeka.
The phone was still stubbornly not on fire, so Izzy slid it back into her pocket. Meeka was a good friend to come here just to listen to Izzy bitch, but Izzy still suddenly had nothing to do with her evening but piss it away in a bar with mismatched barstools and patrons who were actually drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon. She was horny and furious in about equal measure. The douchebag with the thick glasses leering at them from the next table was really not helping.
"Hey, Meeka," said Izzy, "undo your jacket."
"Huh?" But Meeka's fingers had automatically gone for the top button before she said it. If only Jake were more like that, ha.
"Just... indulge me, all right?"
Meeka shrugged, an impressive sight even with the jacket closed. Izzy liked men, herself—except for when she'd rather take a meat cleaver to the entire gender—but Meeka's breasts didn't let a little thing like sexual orientation stop them. They were a force of nature. Izzy could practically measure the rise in the douchebag's temperature for every inch of ribbed red sweater that Meeka exposed.
Meeka was blushing, too, and absently biting her lip the way she did when she was nervous or concentrating on something, but she didn't seem to notice the douchebag's scrutiny. She looked at Izzy, sidelong, like she was... waiting for something?
Izzy nodded, and Meeka lowered her eyes, went as red as her sweater, and grinned, dimples breaking out in both cheeks.
"Take the jacket off," said Izzy, "slowly." She had to suppress the urge to start squirming on her own barstool. It was frustration at the cancellation of tonight's plans, it must be, but the way Meeka did just as she was told was a rush like... well, like sex. Which made no sense because they hadn't touched or anything, and yeah, Meeka looked great in that sweater, but Izzy had seen her in it a dozen times and it hadn't made her feel like this before. Girls didn't really do it for her.
But the way conversation stopped two tables away as Meeka peeled out of the jacket was definitely doing something for Izzy.
Meeka wasn't looking at Izzy now, or anywhere but the scratched surface of the bar, but her smile hadn't entirely faded, and her toes were doing a little tap dance in the air. It was super cute, and Izzy didn't know what to do about that, so she tried to break the spell by saying, "Hey. Are you with me?"
Meeka gave a shaky little laugh and looked up. "Sorry."
"Did you know every guy in here is staring at you?" said Izzy.
Meeka shrugged. Izzy was pretty sure she heard shattering glass from the other end of the bar. "Yeah, it happens," said Meeka.
Since Meeka had no interest in men as such— "Does it bother you?" said Izzy, suddenly contrite.
"Well..." Meeka's toes did the shuffle again. "Sometimes? I mean, it can feel a little, um, not-safe." Then she turned the full force of her big brown eyes and dimpled smile on Izzy. "But I'm with you, right?"
"Right," Izzy agreed. A smile started to spread on her own face. It felt... predatory. She directed it around at the gaping bar patrons, her reservations forgotten for the moment, an incredible feeling of power in their place. She's with me.
"Here, you haven't touched your... thing." Izzy slid the pastel confection in the Martini glass towards Meeka. "Drink up."
Izzy rested her chin in her hand and waited until Meeka had tilted the glass up and taken a mouthful, but not swallowed. "Good girl," she said.
Meeka sputtered. The drink dribbled down her front. Next time Izzy would get her to wear a white T-shirt. "My God, Izzy."
"What?" said Izzy innocently.
Meeka looked down, gnawing at her lower lip like she was about to bite through it, wiggling her butt on her barstool in a way that was likely to give someone a heart attack. She didn't say anything.
"Sorry." Izzy flashed a not-sorry smile that was wasted on Meeka, who still wasn't looking at it. "Go ahead and finish your drink. I won't interrupt you this time."
Meeka's hand was shaking when she lifted her glass. She threw her head back and chugged rather than sipped; it would have been a waste of a whatever-it-was-tini if that weren't a contradiction in terms. She set the empty glass down, face and neck flushed, eyes shining, lips wet and stretched out in a cockeyed grin. Izzy felt the room lurch and sway like she was the one who'd had more to drink, more quickly than she was used to. "Look at me," said Izzy, and Meeka's chin came up, with no hesitation this time, just a dreamy intensity. "Shoes off." And they hit the floor, one after another. Meeka's stockinged toes wiggled. "Hands in your lap. Back straight. Spread your knees, just a little... there."
Meeka wasn't flashing the whole bar the way she was sitting—although Izzy was forced to consider the possibility that she would, just as promptly, if Izzy told her to right now. Then Izzy had to have a steadying sip of her screwdriver. It wasn't as steadying as she'd hoped, and she passed the glass over to Meeka. "Finish this for me too. I don't think I need it. You can take one hand out of your lap," she added as Meeka started to bend toward the glass with a look of bright inquiry. That bend showed off a lovely little bit of cleavage and Izzy could see a slice of pale thigh inside Meeka's skirt. Not that she was looking or anything.
Izzy watched Meeka drink until she was licking the last drops from the rim of the glass and swaying slightly on her bar stool. Well, Jake wasn't going to come by for a night of quick and dirty sex and takeout pizza, and it looked like there wasn't going to be an evening of hanging out with Meeka and bitching about boys and movies either. But something had happened, even if Izzy couldn't say quite what it was. "C'mon," she said, sliding down from her own barstool. "Let's get you home."
"'Kay," said Meeka. She had to steady herself with one hand on the bar, and it took her longer to get back into her shoes than it really should have. Meeka stiffened at first when Izzy started to help her into her jacket, but then snuggled up close enough that it was hard to get the jacket on. Izzy didn't mind. Meeka was soft all over and smelled like orange juice, vodka, and some sort of herbal shampoo.
Meeka leaned heavily on Izzy for the whole three-block walk back to her apartment. Izzy put an arm around her waist to help hold her up. It felt nice.
"Well, here you are," said Izzy when they got to the door of Meeka's building.
"Keys're in my front pocket," Meeka mumbled without making any move to retrieve them. If that was an invitation, Izzy didn't have to be asked twice. She reached over with the hand that wasn't holding Meeka up, and rummaged in her pocket while Meeka clutched tighter and muffled her giggles in Izzy's shoulder. Apparently she was ticklish.
Izzy got Meeka in the building, up the stairs, and into her apartment without incident. Her roommate was out, which was good because Izzy didn't feel like explaining. Not that Meeka coming home a bit tipsy on a Friday evening after going out with a friend needed explaining. Did it?
She steered Meeka into her bedroom, where she toed off her shoes and climbed into bed. Izzy tucked up the covers around her chin. Meeka yawned and said, "G'night," and Izzy stifled a crazy urge to kiss her on the forehead.
Setting the keys down softly on Meeka's bureau, Izzy let herself out into the hallway, illuminated by the faint spill of a nightlight in the bathroom. Meeka probably wouldn't be getting up and her roommate probably wouldn't be getting back for another few minutes. And if they did, there wasn't anything strange about Izzy using the bathroom.
She locked the door and leaned back against it for good measure, fumbling with her button and zipper and yanking her pants down around her knees, followed by her underpants, which were a sticky mess. It smelled like Meeka's shampoo in here too, and Izzy closed her eyes and remembered the nervous wiggle of Meeka's butt on the barstool, the lust-dark, envious eyes of the douchebag at the next table. She drove two fingers into her cunt, slick, warm, and effortless, then out again to grind against her clit, and she heard Meeka's shoes hitting the floor, saw her toes dancing in the air, the way she'd smiled and said, "I'm with you, right?" Izzy slid to the floor, shoved the back of her other hand against her mouth to muffle the sounds she was making, and came until she was sore and breathless. Against her calf, where her front pants pocket had ended up, she felt her phone start to vibrate. She sat on the bathroom floor in a daze and ignored it.
*~*~*
It seemed like Izzy would never answer her phone, and Meeka never knew what to say to voicemail messages. Especially not now. Face it, Izzy was probably avoiding her, and Meeka didn't know whether to wish she could remember what for or be glad she couldn't. She was standing in front of the freezer, contemplating the pros and cons of butter-pecan ice cream, when her phone rang. It was Izzy. Meeka nearly dropped it.
"Oh, hey, it looks like I missed a bunch of calls from you," said Izzy with a self-deprecating laugh. "I left my phone in my pants, and I couldn't hear it ring in the laundry pile. Sorry."
"It's, um, it's all right." Meeka let the freezer door swing closed and winced at the glare of late-morning light it let suddenly into her eyes. She was half annoyed at Izzy for being so cheerful and blasé about it all, when Meeka had been fretting herself sick and had a filthy headache to boot, and half annoyed at herself for being so cheerful just because Izzy wasn't mad at her after all.
"What's up?"
"Um." Meeka bit her lip and found it as sore as if she'd had a marathon kissing session the night before. She'd have remembered that, wouldn't she? "Last night—I didn't, like, start doing a striptease at the bar?"
Izzy's giggle-snorts came through the tinny speakers at full volume, and Meeka had to hold the phone away from her ear. Usually Izzy's laugh gave Meeka squirmy feelings in the pit of her stomach, but right now those were joined by a good dose of nausea. Was that a no laugh or a yes laugh?
"No, no, nothing like that," Izzy assured her as soon as she could talk. "I mean, you took off your jacket and shoes, but that's it."
"My shoes?" That sparked a sudden, vivid memory of Izzy's voice, honey-thick and sexy, with a matter-of-fact, clipped-off edge to it that made Meeka's toes curl again now. "Didn't you...?" Meeka felt herself go very red and didn't finish the thought aloud. She had already been drunk by that point; Izzy couldn't have meant what it had felt like she'd meant. Meeka didn't even know what that was.
"Hey." All the teasing had gone out of Izzy's voice. "You were fine, right? You didn't do anything embarrassing. You were really, really... fine."
Meeka nodded, knowing Izzy couldn't see it but unable for a moment to speak. She didn't ask, Did I come on to you? She knew better by now than to come on to straight friends. Respected herself more than that. "God, I need to get laid," she said aloud.
There was silence from the other end of the phone for a few seconds. "Right," said Izzy decisively. "All right. We are going to get you laid."
"What?" Meeka squeaked.
"If you have any plans for today, cancel them. I will be over in..." There was a short, humming pause. "Twenty minutes. I may be bringing hair dye."
"Oh." Meeka laughed, meaning to tell Izzy she didn't need a makeover—that wasn't the problem—when she stopped and thought again. Izzy dressing her up like a doll—Put this on, Meeka. Take that off, Meeka. Izzy giving her that short, approving nod. Good girl. Izzy looking at her like she was pretty. Yeah, Meeka could make time in her schedule for that. "Oh, okay," she said.
Izzy hung up without so much as good-bye, and Meeka stood for several more seconds staring at the phone with hearts in her eyes. A nagging little voice at the back of her head told her to get a hold on herself and act like an adult, but that wasn't the sort of voice Meeka usually listened to, and she wasn't about to start now. She went back to her bedroom and flung open her closet. What did you wear to a makeover?
That was how Izzy found her, twenty minutes later on the nose, shopping bags dangling from both arms. Meeka had taken a few things out of the closet and flung them onto the bed, but she hadn't changed in the end from the same skirt and sweater she'd worn to the bar the night before. And gone to sleep in, apparently, along with her jacket and stockings. Those, at least, she'd managed to get out of before Izzy came in.
"Starting the party without me, I see," said Izzy, dumping the bags on the bed on top of the scattered clothes. She picked up a pair of pink yoga pants and frowned at them accusingly. "Hm."
Meeka shrugged self-consciously, stealing a glance at Izzy through lowered eyelashes while she did. And Izzy was looking at her chest. Meeka didn't know what to make of it, but Izzy was definitely looking.
Izzy made a scrubbing motion on the front of her own shirt. "You've still got—some stuff on your sweater. That'll have to come off."
This was what Meeka had signed up for. There was no point in hesitating. She pulled the sweater over her head, grateful for the few seconds it hid her face, wishing things could be as easy as the night before. No thinking, just listening. Then she tossed the shirt on the bed beside her, and Izzy's face was shining with wicked glee. It was worth it to do this sober. Meeka wanted to remember it.
"The skirt, too. Let's see what we've got to work with."
Meeka started wiggling out of her skirt—and damn it, she was biting her lip again. Was that how it had gotten so sore? With a deliberate effort, she composed her face and stood up in her bra and underpants. Granny panties, plain and functional, but they were clean and they didn't have holes. At least Meeka thought not. She tried to look over her shoulder and unobtrusively examine the waistband, when the absurdity of it all struck her and she sat down hard on the bed, her hair falling forward over her face as she collapsed in a fit of helpless giggles.
"Something you want to share with the class?" Izzy was standing over her, combing her hair back with her fingers. "No hiding behind your hair if you want to keep it."
"Sorry," Meeka gasped. "Sorry, it's just—I don't even know. Are you really...?" She twined a lock of hair around her fingers, and her voice came out smaller than she'd meant it to. "Are you really going to get rid of my hair?"
Izzy scooted up behind Meeka on the bed and got a brush out of one of the bags. She had a surprisingly gentle way with a hairbrush, maybe because her own hair was so curly and she'd learned to be careful of it. All Meeka knew was that it only took a couple of strokes before her eyelids got heavy and she was practically purring.
"Mm," said Izzy, running Meeka's hair through her fingers thoughtfully. "We do want to open up your face a little more, you know? You've got good cheekbones and cute little ears; it'd be a shame not to let them show. Maybe bangs. I'd leave it a little longer here, but not too long." Izzy's nails grazed the side of Meeka's face: temple, cheek, jaw. Meeka tried not to laugh, or snuggle back against Izzy too obviously.
"Jo let me in on her way out; do you know when you're expecting her back?" Meeka, dazed, tried to remember who her roommate was or why Izzy should be asking about her. "She's not gonna be walking in on us, is she?" Izzy went on, her voice a low buzz by Meeka's ear.
"Oh! Um, she has a shift... at the bookshop... so, no?" Walking in on us doing what?
"Good!" Izzy scooped up a couple of her bags and started for the bathroom. Meeka trailed after her. "I'm not going to cut your hair on your bed!" Izzy called over her shoulder.
It took a little trial and error to find the right position—and Meeka fell into giggles again at the way she'd phrased the thought—but finally Izzy had Meeka perch on the side of the tub in front of the mirror while she plied her shiny, sharp scissors. Meeka looked at herself in the mirror, at Izzy hovering at her shoulder or her back, at the snips of hair falling away. It was uncomfortable. And hot. Meeka saw as well as felt the blush starting to creep up her neck and tried to turn away in embarrassment, but Izzy took hold of her chin and said, "Hold still."
Meeka gripped the edge of the tub tightly, and made a noise she didn't know she could make—a sort of whine deep in her chest. Izzy kept cutting.
When that was done, Izzy got out gloves and bleach and the promised hair dye and put in some turquoise streaks, saying something about accents and the shape of Meeka's face or whatever. Meeka sat until her butt was sore, rinsed and dried her hair and put on the clothes Izzy had in her bags. The skirt was tight enough that she nearly balked, but all her other clothes were in her bedroom, and Izzy was standing between her and it with a determined look in her eye. The shirt was loose and flowy and decorated with pretty floral embroidery. It was only when Meeka glanced at the mirror again that she saw how sheer the fabric was, and how low the neckline plunged.
"Nice," said Izzy, coming up behind her with a brush again. She did Meeka's hair in two neat braids that just brushed her shoulder blades. "There," she added with a final tug on one of the braids. "Now you've got nowhere to hide."
Meeka ducked her head experimentally. The longer bangs towards the sides of her face fell forwards, but they didn't have the weight she was used to, and they did nothing to obscure the sight of Izzy grinning back at her beyond the strands of brown and blue.
The front door of the apartment slammed. Was that Jo back already? How long had they been at this? "I think we'd better vacate the bathroom," said Izzy.
"Oh, um," said Meeka, tugging at the hem of her skirt.
Izzy laughed. "Don't worry, you look great. Ask Jo if you don't believe me. Or I will if you're too shy."
"Wait—" said Meeka, but Izzy had already flung open the bathroom door, leaned out, and shouted, "Hey, Jo!"
She heard the sound of Jo's bag thumping down on the coffee table. "Hey, Izzy. I'm not deaf. Or I wasn't. What's up?"
Meeka pressed up against the bathroom tiles and tried to meld into them by sheer force of will. Unfortunately, willpower wasn't Meeka's strong point, as the last couple of days had demonstrated pretty well. She was obviously visible when Izzy came back in a second later, with Jo right behind her. Damn it, Jo was looking at Meeka's breasts, too. Jo never looked at anything; sometimes she absentmindedly walked into door frames.
"Pretty good, huh?" said Izzy.
"Wow," said Jo.
"It'd be better if she wasn't all scrunched up in the corner like that, though. Come on, Meeka, show her."
Meeka had given up pulling at her skirt and had her arms crossed, equally ineffectually, across her belly. "Izzy," she said through her teeth, "I am going to—"
"Yes?" said Izzy. Unruffled, comfortable in jeans and a plain black top, gorgeous.
Without thinking, Meeka stepped away from the wall, her arms held slightly out to the sides. It felt like diving, or flying. She did a slow turn and heard Jo's breath catch in appreciation.
"Lovely," murmured Izzy. "I think we're ready to go dancing."
*~*~*
At least one of them was going to get laid this weekend. That was the idea, right? Izzy had promised Meeka, and besides, she felt—it was dumb, probably, the same feeling that had made her tuck Meeka into bed last night.
And hell, it wasn't like it was going to be that difficult. In the back of Meeka's closet, Izzy had found a pair of knee-high boots with three-inch heels, probably the most Meeka could manage while dancing. At least, without—and Izzy smiled at the mental image—without more practice. Lots of practice, in higher heels, Meeka stumbling at first, but then getting better, giving Izzy that little glance from beneath her bangs, waiting for her approval.
Here and now, Meeka was steady enough on her boots, and the occasional wobble when she set a foot down wrong or hit a slick patch of sidewalk was very appealing, even if her body language was closed-in, self-conscious, and not at all ready to grab on to Izzy for support. But she'd agreed to go out in the new clothes—now covered up by a wool coat, alas—and the new hairstyle. Not that she'd have had too much trouble getting laid with the old clothes and the old hairstyle, but now she was going to have to fight the girls off with a stick.
And if Izzy wasn't going to solve her own problem at a no-boys-allowed dance club, at least she'd have the satisfaction of being a good wing-woman and of seeing the rest of the world's reaction to her work. Also, Izzy reluctantly admitted to herself, she wanted to test her own reactions. She wasn't some sort of repressed virgin, or a bible-study groupie afraid of gay cooties, and she'd thought she'd known as much about her sexuality as there was to know. But nothing about what had happened last night or today added up, unless Izzy considered the possibility that she wanted to fuck Meeka's brains out.
They ducked under the awning of the club, and Izzy tested her hypothesis by surreptitiously checking out the woman who waved them in. Tall, with short blonde hair, a halter top showing off the clean lines of her back. She was attractive enough in an angular way, but she wasn't doing anything for Izzy. Was Meeka looking, her eye caught by the bright stud in the woman's belly button? Meeka could never resist shiny things. But ogling the bouncer wasn't going to get them any closer to their goal, so Izzy grabbed Meeka's hand and pulled her into the coatroom.
They almost collided with a couple of girls making out just inside the door. It was dark, so Izzy couldn't really continue her investigations into how cute she now found girls, and in any case they seemed pretty taken with each other. One of them had the other pressed up against the wall, hands tangled in her hair—okay, that was a little hot. But the way Meeka looked at them and then looked away, with her eyes downcast and shoulders pulled inwards in embarrassment—that was hotter than hell.
Izzy hung up her jacket, then turned back to coax Meeka's coat off her shoulders, chivalrous-boyfriend style. Plus, left to her own devices Meeka might have stood dithering there for hours with the coat half-off. Izzy squeezed her shoulder encouragingly and Meeka gave a little jump. "Come on," said Izzy. "It's time to knock them dead."
Meeka laughed, seeming self-conscious but pleased. "Really?"
"Absolutely," Izzy assured her.
As they got closer to the dance floor, and the music got louder, Meeka forgot her shyness. Her arms started to swing and her strides got longer, heels clicking on the floor in time with the beat, the streaks in her hair glowing under the ultraviolet lights. Izzy did her best to fade into the background and watched as a girl in a purple corset, motorcycle boots, and way too much black eyeliner came over and tried to get Meeka to dance.
If angular girls weren't Izzy's type, maybe curvy girls were? Eyeliner Girl had a chest almost as nice as Meeka's, and the corset cinched her waist neatly. But mostly it made Izzy think of how incredible Meeka would look in a corset like that, and how she'd make entertaining squeaky noises when Izzy laced her into it.
Eyeliner Girl said something that made Meeka giggle and duck her head and followed it up with an arm around her waist, steering her onto the dance floor. Her braids swung out behind her and the sheer shirt clung and shifted with every bounce of her breasts—Izzy didn't have to track Eyeliner Girl's eye movements to know that was a successful fashion choice. She did anyway, with mixed feelings. She was proud of Meeka, and smugly proud of her own work, but it had been much nicer to watch Meeka be admired when she'd been sitting untouchable on the bar stool next to Izzy's. I'm with you, right? Not tonight, she wasn't.
Jealous? Or only envious because Meeka was getting laid tonight and she wasn't? Izzy's phone buzzed, and she took it out of her pocket, looked at it, and impatiently thumbed the call away. She didn't want to talk to Jake. She didn't want to miss this.
Where had Meeka learned to move her shoulders like that? It was absolutely hypnotic; Izzy didn't know if Eyeliner Girl was a naturally crap dancer or if she was just as entranced as Izzy was, too dumbstruck to move her feet. But she recovered enough to hold on when Meeka pressed up against her, to keep up with the frantic electronic pace of the music. There was a sheen of sweat on Meeka's neck, and a breathless grin on her face. Eyeliner Girl was clearly lacking in the presence-of-mind department because she wasn't grabbing Meeka's ass even though it was right there. Then other dancers shimmied and swayed their way between Meeka and Izzy's line of view, and she had a choice between standing around looking stupid, dancing herself, or going to the bar and getting a drink.
She'd barely started on her screwdriver when Meeka came up to the bar too, trailing Eyeliner Girl. Meeka was looking flushed and happy; Eyeliner Girl was looking—well, Izzy would rather look at Meeka any day.
"What are you drinking?" said Eyeliner Girl.
"Just a Coke," Meeka told the bartender, then over her shoulder to Eyeliner Girl, "I'll get it, really. And, um, this is my friend, Izzy."
Eyeliner Girl had apparently not noticed there was anyone else at the bar, nor was she pleased to have her attention drawn to this fact.
"Hi, there," said Izzy, with a carefully neutral wave. She wasn't sure why Meeka had brought Eyeliner Girl here. Just to let Izzy know not to wait up? Or was she still looking for Izzy's approval?
Izzy stifled a smirk. Only if I get to watch would probably not go over well with Eyeliner Girl.
"Hey," said Eyeliner Girl, a beat too late. "I'm Laura."
"Nice to meet you," said Izzy. Nice, nice. Let Laura be nasty; Izzy would be nice. Meeka leaned against the bar, rattled the ice in her Coke, and looked warily between them.
"Bloody Maria," said Laura to the bartender, and Izzy winced. Tomato juice and tequila were their own punishment. "Anyway." Laura turned back to Meeka, pointedly ignoring Izzy. "Like I was saying, you really have to see it at night, it's a completely different experience..." She sidled closer to Meeka and tried to put an arm around her. Meeka sidled away. Laura looked at her arm with a briefly puzzled frown as if something hadn't gone the way she'd expected but she wasn't quite sure what or how. Izzy wondered if this was her first Bloody Maria.
"Mmhm," Meeka mumbled into her Coke, not very encouragingly, but Laura was apparently the sort of girl who didn't need much encouragement.
"Great!" said Laura. She scooted over again, and so did Meeka. Izzy stayed where she was. If this went on, Meeka was going to end up plastered against her, which seemed like a fine plan to Izzy. "So let's go, I'm parked right at the corner; it'll be fantastic."
"I really don't think that's a great idea." Meeka backed up a little more so that she really did bump into Izzy, and she looked over her shoulder like she was startled, but the message she was telegraphing with her face was something different: Get rid of her, damn it.
Izzy grinned and put an arm around Meeka's waist; instead of pulling away, Meeka snuggled up closer. Meeka's butt settled against her belly, her back pressed up against Izzy's breasts, and the end of one of her braids tickled Izzy's collarbone. It was enough to make Izzy's mind go blank for a moment, and to forget exactly why they were entangled this way, and where they were, and quite possibly her own name. The look on Laura's face suggested that she was feeling equally gobsmacked, but she still didn't go away. Clearly, stronger measures were required.
"Hey, Laura," said Izzy, "how many goths does it take to change a light bulb?"
Laura's face seemed to remember how to have expressions and rearranged itself in a sneer. "I don't remember talking to—"
"Two. One to not change the light bulb because 'I like the dark'," Izzy said in a spooky vampire voice, "and the other one to fuck off."
Meeka rested her head in the crook of Izzy's neck. "Thanks for the dance," she said. "It was nice meeting you."
Laura wasn't entirely impervious to the clue-bat. After another minute of angrily drinking her Bloody Maria, she seemed to decide that she'd rather find someone else to pester than continue to spite Izzy and Meeka with her presence and wandered off.
"So, um, Izzy," said Meeka. "If you wanted to, you could let go now."
Izzy nearly opened her arms and started to brush off the whole thing with a joke, but—there had been that if you wanted to. And, Izzy decided, she didn't want to. She squeezed tighter instead. "Don't feel like it."
There was a little hitch in Meeka's breath when she said, "Okay." Izzy stroked down Meeka's hip, gave her ass a little squeeze, and felt her breath quicken where her ribs touched Izzy's chest, but she didn't object to that either; after stiffening for a startled second, she went very relaxed. The slice of smile that Izzy could see on the side of Meeka's face was lazy and blissful.
"Hey," whispered Meeka. "What do you think my chances of getting laid tonight are?"
Izzy squeezed Meeka's ass harder. "Don't get smart with me, young lady, or I'll take you over my knee when we get back to my place."
There was no mistaking the wriggle that Meeka's bottom did at the suggestion, especially as it was resting right up against Izzy's crotch. Izzy's mood went from pleasantly turned on to urgent so fast it made her stomach twist. "Promise?" said Meeka.
Izzy grabbed her arm and started dragging her unceremoniously towards the coatroom. "We'll see," she said.
*~*~*
The only trouble Meeka was having now was keeping her hands—and other parts—off Izzy long enough for them to get to Izzy's place. It wasn't as if they would have been the only ones to make out in the coatroom, as Meeka would have pointed out if her mouth hadn't been busy on Izzy's neck, starting right below the ear and sucking and licking her way down. She hadn't gotten very far when she felt her head being jerked backwards.
"Handles," said Izzy, a braid in each fist, holding Meeka's face tantalizingly close to her own. "I like these." She rocked her hips forward, making Meeka's already-short skirt ruck up as she pressed up against Meeka's leg. "You behave until we get home, or I don't think we're going to make it there." Izzy let go of Meeka's braids and stroked her cheek with the backs of her fingers. Meeka tried very hard to stay still. "And on the whole I think that would be a shame. Don't you?"
"Uh-huh," Meeka managed to say, though it was less of a word and more of a strangled whimper. Izzy was right, of course; there was so much more they could do with a bed, and privacy, and time. Imagining herself laid naked across Izzy's lap, her ass in the air still stinging from a slap and tensed in anticipation of the next one, was very appealing. But that was exactly the problem. Meeka bit her lip and fidgeted while Izzy looked for their coats, and when Izzy's shirt pulled up and showed a bit of skin at the small of her back, Meeka reached out for her before her brain could come up with any stupid objections.
"You just can't control yourself, can you?" said Izzy over her shoulder. "Here, I think I can help with that." She turned back to Meeka, holding her scarf stretched between her hands and an alarming grin on her face. "Turn around."
Meeka turned her back, wondering what Izzy meant to do. Would she tie the scarf around Meeka's eyes on the theory that she couldn't grope what she couldn't see? But it went around her left elbow instead, then Izzy reached for her right hand. Meeka relaxed, letting Izzy guide her, and soon the scarf was wrapped around her arms, tying her wrists to the opposite elbows. Izzy stepped back, and Meeka gave her bonds an experimental tug. They felt... secure. She could probably get out of them if she really wanted to, but she didn't.
Izzy draped Meeka's jacket over her shoulders with her bound-up arms hidden beneath it. Then she walked around to inspect her work from the front. "Perfect. Controlled and discreet." She tilted Meeka's chin up with one finger and kissed her lightly on the lips; Meeka tried to lean into the kiss and wobbled dizzily, finding herself unable to use her hands for balance.
"Steady there," laughed Izzy, putting a hand under Meeka's elbow and setting her firmly upright again. "Let's go."
Meeka didn't know how they made it the seven blocks back to Izzy's apartment. If it had been up to her, they probably wouldn't have, but it wasn't. She'd made sure not to have anything stronger than a Coke at the club. It didn't seem to have made any difference. She still felt giddy, cut loose from the world, just like she had the night before. Izzy had her arm around Meeka's waist again, and it was all Meeka could do to follow where she led, through the streets and up four flights of stairs, past the scuffed and dented door of Izzy's place.
It was a tiny studio in a crappy building with no elevator, where the hot plate and toaster oven took up most of the counter space and you had to squeeze past the closet and the single chair to get to the bed. But it was Izzy's, and only Izzy's; she didn't need to check if anyone was home or set up a warning system for returning roommates. As soon as they were in the door—and Izzy kept Meeka from falling one more time when she caught her heel on the edge of the carpet—the jacket slid off Meeka's shoulders as Izzy pushed her up against the wall, with her hands still cold from the outside underneath Meeka's shirt and her mouth hot on Meeka's. Meeka twitched at the scarf tying her hands again. She wanted to pull Izzy closer, to grab her ass and check if she was ticklish under her arms and a dozen things she'd thought about before and never done. And still couldn't do. There didn't seem to be any reason why that should be even hotter than if she could. She thrust her hips forward, and met nothing; Izzy was standing just out of reach.
Meeka moaned her frustration against Izzy's mouth, and Izzy laughed, still without breaking the kiss. She gave Meeka's right breast a squeeze through her bra, then, apparently finding the experience less satisfying than she'd hoped, scooted forward and got her arms around Meeka to try and deal with the fastening.
It was awkward to do with Meeka's arms tied the way they were, and Izzy had to take her face away from Meeka's—but she'd also moved close enough for Meeka to rub up against her. It sent an alarming flash of heat through her belly, even if it was not quite enough, not quite in the right spot, further down.
"You know," muttered Izzy conversationally, "I always used to laugh at guys when they complained about bra hooks. I mean, I do mine behind my back every morning, how hard can it be...? Turn around."
Meeka let out a whimper as Izzy stepped back, but she turned around without complaint. Her fingers twitched—maybe Izzy would untie her hands; it would make getting the bra off simpler, anyway—but when she got the fastening loose at last, she only pushed the bra straps down to Meeka's elbows. It left the cups to hang loose and empty, the underwires grazing her navel, and her breasts to fall free as well. Izzy caught them up, her hands warmer now but still sending shivers through Meeka as she rolled her nipples gently between thumbs and forefingers. Her breath was hot against the back of Meeka's neck, and Meeka's cheek was pressed against the wall. She could see every bump and scratch in the cheap white paint, and she was probably leaving darker spots with lipstick and general wetness. She licked her lower lip, where the skin was broken and sore from being nibbled too much.
Then Izzy let Meeka's shirt fall back into place, the filmy fabric against her sensitized nipples nearly as electric as a touch. Izzy braced herself against the wall with one hand and yanked Meeka's skirt up with the other, making her totter and gasp.
"All right there?" said Izzy, close by Meeka's ear.
It took Meeka a couple of tries before she could make words go. "... Yes," she finally managed. "Very yes?"
"Ah," said Izzy, halfway between a laugh and a satisfied sigh. "Damn, you're hot like this. I mean, you're hot anyway, don't get me wrong, but—" she walked her fingers along the curve of Meeka's belly, working her way inward from the hip, then slid her hand into the waistband of Meeka's underpants. Meeka nearly melted into the wall. "I mean—" Izzy wiggled her fingers further into Meeka's underpants, down the front of her pussy. "You're so sticky, I bet it wouldn't take ten seconds to get you off like this, with my hand, up against the wall, still mostly dressed, I bet you'd like that—"
Izzy's voice was low and frantic, saying all the right things, but her hand wasn't quite doing them. "Higher up," Meeka panted. "Harder."
"Magic word," said Izzy.
"Please." The word came from Meeka's mouth with a jolt, like the first crest of an orgasm. "Oh. Izzy, oh please Izzy—"
Izzy's breath against Meeka's neck was fast and harsh, and Meeka could feel the rise and fall of Izzy's chest where it pressed against her back. And Izzy's fingers, hot and slick now, found Meeka's clit at last, rubbing her off with firm, sure strokes.
It didn't take ten seconds. It didn't take five seconds before Meeka's vision swarmed with brightness and she was moaning her pleasure into the cheap paint. In the end her legs went wobbly and refused to hold her up any more, and she wound up on her knees, huddled on the floor with the ends of her braids brushing the carpet. Izzy crouched over her, petting the back of her neck. Meeka licked her lips with a tongue gone too dry to do it properly. "I want..." she said, "I want another one."
"Do you, you sweet thing," said Izzy. "I think this time you're going to have to earn it."
Meeka settled herself into a sitting position and looked up hopefully. "I could eat you out? I'm really good at eating girls out, ask anybody."
Izzy laughed. "Anybody? You have been busy."
Meeka shrugged, or tried to. The motion pulled at her bound-up arms and brought her attention to the fact—which she hadn't noticed till just then—that her shoulders were beginning to ache. "Well, I mean, I've had a few—" she started to say, at the same time as Izzy was saying, "Not that I'm objecting, or something, I mean Jesus, I've got no grounds to—"
They both started giggling, just like they were sitting on Meeka's couch and watching a bad movie, instead of on Izzy's floor in the middle (Meeka certainly hoped it was the middle) of having sex. "It's a joke, son," said Izzy.
Meeka made a face. "Son? I think I liked 'sweet thing' better." She shifted uncomfortably. "So, um... what about you? Is this the first time you've been with a girl?"
"Yeah," said Izzy, with a little shrug.
It was the first time that Izzy had looked less than a hundred percent confident that day. Confident Izzy was sexy as hell, but this tugged a fond smile at the corners of Meeka's mouth. "Good," she said.
"Why good?" said Izzy. "Would you be jealous?"
"Not exactly, but—I mean, if you've known you were into girls and this whole time—" Izzy had just tied Meeka up and jerked her off against a wall, there was no way saying this should be so embarrassing, but Meeka lowered her eyes anyway. "This whole time I've been crushing on you, and you never told me—I guess I'd be a little mad."
"I'm still not sure that I'm into girls," said Izzy, "but I'm definitely into you."
"Okay." Meeka wiggled happily, which made her shoulders twinge again. "Oh, um. Now that we're at your place and all. Do you think you could untie me?" She looked up and did the big eyes. "Please?"
Izzy's grinned as she scooted over and loosened the scarf. "Hot and a quick learner," she said. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."
*~*~*
Izzy bent over Meeka, working at the knots in her scarf. The loop around her left wrist had come loose enough that Izzy was surprised Meeka hadn't just slipped her hand out, once she'd decided she wanted it free. The knot at her right elbow, on the other hand, had pulled tighter with time and movement. Izzy picked at it with her nails, thought she felt it give, then decided she was wrong, contemplated scissors, and finally got it off by untying Meeka's wrists and then easing the whole thing slowly off her arms. There was still a knot in the scarf. Izzy would deal with that later, though hopefully not with scissors; she liked that scarf.
Meeka sat still, and quiet with only the occasional squeak when Izzy's nails hit a sensitive spot on the inside of her arm, until Izzy slipped the last bit of scarf past her fingers. Then she straightened her back, swung her arms out in front of her, laced her fingers together, and stretched.
Flyaway strands of hair had come loose of Meeka's braids, and a few were stuck to her forehead with sweat. Her shirt was pulled all askew, the bra underneath making it lumpy. Her bottom lip was bitten redder than the lipstick she'd had on, and which had mostly come off. Izzy captured her right hand and traced the red bumps on the inside of her elbow where the scarf had left its cable-knitted marks. They stood out luridly against Meeka's pale skin and made Izzy want to tie Meeka up some more, just to make more marks like that.
Meeka settled against Izzy with a happy sigh when she bent her head to the inside of Meeka's elbow. She kissed the scarf marks, then licked, and then, experimentally, bit.
"Ah!" said Meeka. But she didn't flinch or pull away, not even as a moment's reflex—her reflexes seemed to have been reset, so that all she did was snuggle closer to Izzy as her eyes got heavier-lidded, nearly closing. Izzy bit harder. Meeka groaned.
"I hear," said Izzy, "you're really good at eating girls out."
"Yeah," Meeka breathed. Izzy kept nibbling her way up Meeka's arm, shifting over a bit for a better angle when she got to the shoulder, and Meeka let out a whimper. "Oh, don't stop, please—"
"Keep talking, then," said Izzy, and brought her teeth down hard where Meeka's shoulder met her neck, and throwing one knee over to straddle her lap.
"Oh! Um, I'd—I'd really like to—to eat you out, I mean—I, mm, if you've only had guys do it before you don't know what—Oh God—what you're missing, and I could totally, ah! If you just, you know, got your pants—mmmph!"
Izzy cut off Meeka's stream of babble, adorable as it was, because her mouth was looking especially kissable. Her thoroughly-bitten lower lip tasted faintly of blood, and she opened her mouth to Izzy's kiss eagerly, panting and squirming beneath her like—well. It would be fun to make Meeka beg some more. But Izzy wanted to take her up on her offer now.
Meeka tried to prolong the kiss when Izzy broke it, sucking at her tongue and licking at her lips as she took her face away. "Lie down," Izzy said, fumbling with the button of her pants, and Meeka nodded.
Her eyes were wide and bright as she lay back, her braids making turquoise curlicues against the dark red of the carpet. Izzy pushed her pants and underpants down around her knees, and shuffled closer to Meeka's face. Meeka reached up, grabbed Izzy by the hips, pulled her closer. The lightest flick of her tongue, as hot on Izzy's clit as it had been in her mouth, was enough to drive away whatever control of the situation Izzy had left. She fell forward onto her hands for balance and ground herself against Meeka's mouth.
In between licks and gasps, Meeka was making eager little whimpering noises. Her hands loosened and closed fitfully on Izzy's ass; Izzy thought she might be leaving marks of her own, but it didn't hurt; it only sent thrills along her spine in a confusing mix with what Meeka was already doing with her mouth on Izzy's pussy. Despite Meeka's earlier boast, Izzy couldn't honestly say if it was a more technically skilled mouth than any belonging to any of the guys Izzy had fucked. It didn't really matter. Izzy was too turned on by that point to care, and it was Meeka's eager cries and wiggling beneath her that filled her mind when she came, and came some more, balanced on the knife-edge between want more and too much longer than she'd thought she could.
She swung her leg off Meeka's face afterwards and sat against the wall, totally wrung-out. Meeka scooted over and snuggled up next to Izzy's still-naked hip. "I did good?"
"Yeah, you did good." Meeka's chin was glistening with a combination of drool, and other stuff, probably. Izzy wiped it off absently with the heel of her hand.
"Soooo..." said Meeka.
Izzy laughed and gave Meeka's nearest braid a tug. Not a hard one. She didn't have enough energy for that; she hadn't been this relaxed since she didn't remember when. Longer ago than she'd last had sex, anyway. "Still angling for another orgasm, eh?"
"Yes, please," said Meeka.
And right there, that was a difference between Meeka and all Izzy's old boyfriends. Not the please—she had managed to train one or two of them to be polite—but—
Izzy loved getting guys off. It was her favorite thing about sex, better than coming herself, even. The way they came apart in her hands—or mouth, or cunt, or whatever—the sounds and the stupid faces they made. It was a letting-go, helplessness, an ultimate trust in her—a power trip, Izzy supposed, just like cutting Meeka's hair. Which meant that Izzy was most turned on just about the time her boyfriends were ready to fall asleep or maybe raid the fridge and play some video games, and no amount of foreplay or letting Izzy come first was really a satisfactory solution.
Meeka, though—not only was she hotter than hell collapsed on Izzy's floor in a well-fucked puddle of girl, but she was just as hot for Izzy as before. And now Izzy was feeling deliciously tired out and satisfied, and Meeka was still begging for it—which was enough to rouse a twinge of renewed interest in Izzy as well. She wondered how lesbians ever got anything done, instead of spending all their time fucking.
"All right." Izzy stood, did up her pants, stretched. They were going to make it as far as the bed this time, at least. She sat on the edge of the bed, toed off her shoes, swung her feet up, and settled back against the pillows by the headboard. "First of all, get your clothes off."
Meeka hesitated for a moment with her hand on the waistband of her skirt—like maybe she was thinking of making a striptease out of it—but in the end she shucked it without ceremony, along with her shirt and disarranged underwear. Then she sat back down on the floor to deal with her boots, her face screwed up in an unselfconscious frown of concentration as she wriggled them off. She looked adorable.
"You look adorable," said Izzy.
Meeka ducked her head and smiled, pink and pleased. That was another thing about Meeka: she had no dignity to affront.
"There's a dildo and some lube in the drawer of the bedside table there. Get them out, then come over here."
Meeka looked good bent over and rummaging through the contents of Izzy's bedside table, too, with her ass in the air and her nipples almost within pinching distance. But Izzy was too lazy to move, and Meeka would be here soon enough.
"Thanks," said Izzy when Meeka handed her the things. "Now get up onto the bed—no, the other way, put your head there—now lie down—perfect." Meeka was settled across Izzy's lap, heavier and more snuggly than a blanket. Izzy stroked her ass. It had gone all tense and broken out in goosebumps. "Cold?"
"A little," mumbled Meeka, with a shrug that moved her whole body. Izzy shifted happily underneath her and kept stroking, feeling Meeka's muscles relax bit by bit.
"Nervous?"
Another shrug. "Maybe a little."
"Well, I did promise you a spanking. You still up for it?"
Izzy was already drawing back her hand when Meeka said, "Yeah." The blow landed a moment later, stinging Izzy's hand and setting Meeka's flesh jiggling. She flinched, and her "Please," came out on a gasp, but the flinch ended in an unmistakable roll and upward tilt of her hips, presenting her ass for another swat.
Izzy hit her again, and Meeka let out a little squeak, her hands clenching and loosening on the sheet by her head. This was even more fun than Izzy had been imagining. She settled into a steady rhythm of whacking, until Meeka's squeals deepened into moans, and her skin started to turn a lovely shade of pink, and Izzy's palm began to itch. Next time, maybe she should get a belt or something, but in the meantime when Meeka tensed for the next hit, Izzy reached back instead and ran a finger along her pussy, which was just as slick and hot as before. She gasped and tried to grind against Izzy's hand, but Izzy wasn't having any of that; she kept her touch light and hit with her left hand this time. The blow was awkward, weak and glancing, but it made Meeka jump satisfyingly anyway.
Izzy kept up the teasing, not letting Meeka know now when a slap was coming, or whether it would be a short, hard pinch on her clit, or a couple of fingers pushed into her trembling cunt while Izzy let her rock back against the heel of her hand for a few seconds before taking it away. Then Meeka squirmed in helpless frustration because Izzy was doing nothing at all to her, just watching and groping on the bed next to her for the dildo and lube.
Not that Izzy probably needed the lube, but she'd rather be on the safe side—she was new at this, after all, and a toy failing to go in smoothly was not the sort of awkward discomfort that struck her as particularly sexy. Besides, it was a nice, tingly lube—she used it herself sometimes just for that—so she slathered a generous amount on the dildo before nudging it up against Meeka's cunt.
Meeka made a small surprised sound—even though she'd gotten the dildo out of the drawer herself and she could have guessed what Izzy was going to do with it—and clenched her hands, glancing over her shoulder. Izzy doubted she could see much. She pushed Meeka's head back onto the mattress anyway, turning the motion into a reassuring pat, which made Meeka sigh and close her eyes, still thrusting hard, but slower.
"Easy there," said Izzy. "It's all right."
"Mmm," said Meeka.
Izzy took her hand away from Meeka's cheek, and used it to help ease the dildo in instead, pushing with her right hand and getting Meeka's pussy lips out of the way when they wanted to cling. There were a couple of times when Meeka's belly tensed up with a huff of discomfort, and Izzy had to slow down and pet her until she relaxed again, but soon she had the dildo buried up to the end in Meeka. A slap on her ass with the left hand, a push on the dildo with the heel of the right, fingers teasing Meeka's clit the whole time, picking up the pace while Meeka humped frantically and her whimpers got increasingly high-pitched.
When Meeka said, "Please," it was nearly a scream, and too late for Izzy to say no. They would have to work on that. Izzy wasn't sure when her experiment with Meeka—or whatever it had started as—had become plans stretching out into the indefinite future, but for now she was happy to watch Meeka thrashing around on the bed as she spent herself on Izzy's fingers, her gasps turning back into whimpers and her movements becoming feeble twitches when she finally wound down.
"C'mere," said Izzy, sliding down to lie back on the pillows and moving her arm to make a space for Meeka by her side. Meeka turned herself around lazily and spooned up against Izzy, her bare ass next to Izzy's hip. Izzy touched the pink marks that were nearly, but not entirely, faded, and Meeka winced. "Still a bit tender there?"
"Mmm. Yeah, I guess," said Meeka. "But it feels good."
"Good." Izzy turned on her side and put an arm around Meeka, who burrowed closer. The idea of going for a second round herself was... not tempting enough to overcome her desire not to move, not when she was so tired and this was so nice. She pulled the blanket over both of them instead, and kissed Meeka on the back of the neck. "Good night."
Meeka mumbled something that might have been night, but it was hard to be sure. Still in the clothes she'd worn to go clubbing, and with an armful of her naked and very satisfied best friend, Izzy fell asleep.
*~*~*
Meeka had to use the toilet. That was her first thought, and her second was that she didn't want to get out of bed because it was warm here under the blankets and she was naked. And then she looked across the bed and thought oh God I finally got to fuck Izzy and now I've stolen her blankets. Her next thought was Izzy's never going to want to sleep with me again and then maybe she'll have to punish me, and that got her warm enough to throw the blankets over Izzy and make a mad dash to the bathroom.
Cheer up, she told herself. At least this time when you wake up in some girl's bed after going clubbing, you know where everything is in the bathroom. And seeing as how she did, a shower probably wouldn't be a bad idea. At minimum, it would put off any awkward conversations with Izzy. On the other hand, it might put off more great sex with Izzy, but... Meeka was still having trouble believing that had actually happened. It was just too much to wrap her head around at once.
Meeka stepped into the shower, sliding the scrunchies from her braids onto her wrist and combing her hair out with her fingers. There was less of it than there'd been the day before, and the turquoise streaks shone green in the yellow bathroom light. It was tangible proof that yesterday's events were real, a way that Izzy had changed her all around just because she'd wanted to. Meeka fiddled with the knob until the spray was needle-hot, grabbed the soap, and started washing. She lingered with the soap in the crook of her elbow. The marks of Izzy's scarf were gone now, but she remembered walking home with her arms bound up under her coat, not even thinking about who might notice, or about anything but Izzy walking next to her. She started washing further down, her soapy fingers drifting towards her clit almost on their own, when Izzy poked her head around the shower curtain.
"Getting the party started without me?" she said.
"Eep!" said Meeka, jumping, slipping, and barely catching herself on the soap dish in time to prevent a fall.
Izzy laughed. "You're super cute when you're startled. You bounce. Gimme half a minute. I'll join you in there—think you can hold it together that long?"
"Uh... yeah." And if Meeka was lobster-red, it was because the shower was hot. Definitely the shower.
Izzy stood on one foot and then the other to take off her socks, then pulled her shirt over her head. That was really interesting to watch, even through the small gap between the shower curtain and the wall. Had she really been going braless last night? And had Meeka really not noticed?—and no fair, there was no way Meeka could have gotten away with that. Izzy's breasts were on the small side, but they were really nicely shaped, with large dark areolas just starting to pucker up in the chilly air of the bathroom. Then Meeka forgot about washing entirely when Izzy started shimmying out of her pants. They were tight, so a lot of shimmying was required. Izzy had a trim waist and generous hips, and yeah, this part she'd seen already last night, but it was still mesmerizing.
Finally, Izzy shed the last of her clothes, pulled the curtain to one side—spraying everything in the bathroom in the process—and stepped into the shower with Meeka. "Damn, woman, that's hot!" she howled, and wrenched the knob over to the right.
"Ahh! Cold!" Meeka complained. Izzy got an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, maybe just to stop her from adjusting the water temperature, but Meeka melted into it anyway.
"Aw, poor baby," said Izzy. Still with an arm around Meeka's waist to stop her from getting away, she twisted one of Meeka's nipples—not enough to hurt much, but enough to make her squirm. "Not just happy to see me, then?"
"That, too," Meeka admitted.
"Mmm." Izzy licked Meeka's neck from the hollow of her throat up to her ear, then let go. "Here, I'll do your back. Put your hands against the wall; I don't want to see you fiddling with those dials."
"No fair," said Meeka, but did it. Now she was standing mostly outside the shower's spray. She started shivering. Then Izzy's hands were on her back, slick and soapy, kneading slow circles along her shoulder blades and spine. Meeka gasped, and not from the cold; she kept shivering, but the shivers were warmer. By the time Izzy took the showerhead off its hook and rinsed Meeka's back and legs, she had no complaints about the water temperature.
"Now," said Izzy, "I think you owe me an orgasm. You had two last night and I only had one—I ask you, is that fair?"
Meeka shrugged. "They were nice, though."
"You say the sweetest things." Izzy kissed her shoulder. "Now kneel and start licking."
Izzy also said—maybe not sweet things as such, but definitely things that made Meeka's belly tense and heat up, made Meeka want to do whatever she said. Finding enough room in the narrow tub to kneel, and positioning herself without slipping, was a bit of a challenge. Meeka braced her knees against the sides of the tub, keeping herself upright by holding onto Izzy's legs, and buried her face in Izzy's pussy.
The angle was awkward, and it tasted at least as much of water as of Izzy. Water kept getting up Meeka's nose, too, and she had to pull away every so often to get a proper breath. It was still really, really nice to be kneeling at Izzy's feet and licking her out, hearing Izzy's rapid breaths and feeling Izzy's hands clench on her shoulders, with the shower like hundreds of warm fingers playing on her back. And then one of Izzy's hands came off Meeka's shoulder, and the other one pushed down harder as Izzy leaned forward, and suddenly the water was cold, really cold this time, freezing. Meeka flinched, but there was no way to escape the cold except by burrowing further into Izzy. Even that didn't help much, but Izzy was warm and tasted really good, and maybe if Meeka did a good job she'd be bored of tormenting her for a while afterwards.
Luckily, it seemed that Izzy wasn't interested in prolonging things. She rocked her pussy hard against Meeka's mouth, meeting every lick with a thrust, her nails digging into Meeka's shoulders when she came. Then she slumped back against the wall, shaking, grinning, radiant.
"All right," said Izzy, "I'm going to actually shower, you grab a towel and go back to bed."
Meeka was out of the tub like a shot, banging her knee on the toilet in her rush to wrap herself up in a towel.
Izzy poked her head out from behind the shower curtain. "And don't hog the blankets this time!"
Meeka dried off, threw the towel over the back of the chair, and dived under the blankets. It was deliciously warm, and smelled like Izzy here, too. She meant to stay awake—Izzy wouldn't be long, and Meeka was looking forward to whatever was going to happen next—but she was so comfortable she drifted off. She only woke up when the sliding whistle of Izzy's phone let her know she had a text.
The phone was on Izzy's bedside table, within easy reach, and Meeka had never had much impulse control. The text was from Jake, the douchebag who'd stood Izzy up on Friday night.
change of plans
u want to go out tonight?
or stay in? ;)
Meeka's thumb hovered over the delete icon. On the one hand, that would be a kind of shitty way to thank him for the very nice thing he'd done for her. On the other hand, he was a kind of shitty guy. And over her shoulder... was Izzy's smirking face.
"Sorry," said Meeka, quickly handing over the phone.
Izzy sat down on the bed beside her. "Can't untie you for a minute, I swear." Meeka, blushing, tried to hide her face in the pillow, but Izzy said, "No, I want you to see this."
sorry
washing my hair tonight
and by washing my hair I mean making my hot lesbian friend wash my hair
also thats every night
Meeka shook her head. "You dumped your boyfriend via text. Damn, and I thought that shower was cold."
Izzy punched her in the thigh. "No, sleeping without blankets is cold, blanket hog. Anyway, Jake was never my boyfriend, just a friend with benefits. Except for the part where we weren't friends."
"And it looks like he just lost his benefits," said Meeka.
"What're you going to do." Izzy shrugged. "It's a tough economy all over."
Meeka grinned up at her. "And I'm your hot lesbian friend?"
"You know it," said Izzy.
Fin