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Roaming around Paris with Adrienne the first spring after they graduate, Lafayette feels like they’re falling in love again, like they’re becoming whole. They’re glad to be out of school, if they’re honest. Now they can read for leisure; wake up on a Saturday without the obligation of homework and pack a picnic lunch for a trip to a park, or declare they’re going out for brunch if they’re feeling particularly lazy; take the time to reacquaint themself with their city and carve out little corners of it for just them and Adri. And it’s a little new, at least, to navigate shops and clubs and protests with less muscle behind their words.
They feel new and it can be hard but it’s not always difficult, not with Adrienne frequently running her hands over the changing curves of Laf’s hips and thighs, looking at them with a kind of wonder that’s so sweet and open they’re not bitter about having to replace large chunks of their wardrobe. This is how they end up, tipsy after brunch and a visit to the Musée du quai Branly, convinced to go shopping for absolutely nothing of necessity.
And Adri had convinced them, too, to make a stop on the way home for a glass of wine and then it turned into two; Adrienne had been struck by some long-forgotten memory and started laughing about their teenage delinquencies, breaking and entering and getting far too drunk off cheap berry vodka.
So they’d raised one arm to hail a cab and gently eased her into it, sliding in next to her and letting her rest her head on their shoulder until they reach their flat. (Their flat. Laf doesn’t think they’ll ever get tired of those words.) Adri fumbles around in her purse for the fare and lets herself be helped out and up the narrow set of stairs that lead to their door.
The rooms are all sun-warm and smell of cut grass because one of them forgot to close the windows. Leaning against the wall for balance, Adri watches as Lafayette unceremoniously dumps their shopping bag of maxidresses and flowy tops onto the loveseat, then crosses the room to turn the cranks of the windows until they’re shut. Without their neighbors, people passing by on the street, Lafayette would just as soon leave the windows open, but. Decency and privacy and all that.
They pour Adri a glass of water and then one for themself, holding it to her lips until she starts to drink.
“Good,” they murmur, ice clinking in their own glass when they take a sip. Either her energy is waning or she’s just tipsy, it’s not clear, but then Adrienne finishes her water and presses herself against Lafayette, lips cold as she drops a kiss onto their bare arm. Reaching up to hook her fingers in the straps of their sundress: “Let’s lie down.”
Suddenly Lafayette wants nothing more, all plans of cobbling together a makeshift dinner for movie night forgotten. They ignore the loud clatter of their glass dropping into the sink and scoop Adri up into their arms. It’s a short walk to their bedroom but she clutches onto their dress more tightly anyway, delighting in her thrilled squeal. They mean to set her down but she pulls them along with her, letting her legs come up so they rest against Lafayette’s hips.
It’s the right angle for them to kiss her now, one hand smoothing over her box braids and settling at the back of her head, the other planted beside them as they hold themself above her. Adri’s forehead bumps theirs as she arches up against them, fingers on their hip while her insistent tongue finds their own.
She lets out a little pleased hum that buzzes over Lafayette’s mouth, so good they have to pull back from the heat of her lips to look at her. “You’re sublime.” No matter how much they say, there’ll never be true enough words to describe how they much they love their Adrienne. Her hair’s messy on the pillow now, little strands of purple threaded through black braids, swirling around her shoulders; she’s gotten a flush over the bridge of her nose where her freckles are. Her teeth sink into her full lower lip when they nip at her pulse point, and then her eyes open and meet theirs and maybe it’s the sun but they’re impossibly green and bright.
“Fuck, Adri. God—” they moan without meaning to, helpless at how perfect she is. When she grins back at them Lafayette doesn’t even notice that she’s pushing them off her and onto their back.
And this is just as good, if not better, because Adri’s dress hitches up when she swings a leg over their lap and they can slowly, slowly trace their hands up her thighs, moving even slower to tease her when her breathing catches.
“You’re tickling me,” she says, not exactly a complaint, so they don’t stop.
“Good,” they say again, more teasing this time, fingertips feather-light as they skim across the insides of her round thighs, up over the muscles under her soft stomach. Adri’s laugh is like a bell ringing, clear and beautiful as it dissolves into, “Laf, please.”
“Que?” They have to stop to sit up and to catch the fabric of Adri’s dress at the waist, pull it off over her head. Dieu, they’d forgotten she’d put it on this morning—her bralette is this lacy scrap of a thing that unfastens so easily. For a minute they stay with their face tucked into the slope of her shoulder, breathing in the earthiness of her patchouli oil, a hint of citrus. Then they splay their fingers to cup her breasts, can’t help but take a nipple into their mouth and suck.
She curses and pleads again, bites at their shoulder like she wants to draw blood. “I love you,” they say, laughing as Adri unsuccessfully tries to pull their dress off without climbing out of their lap. They nudge her off for a second and keep still, letting her fumble with its buttons, the tricky front clasp of their bra, before lighting up once she’s finally gotten them off and out of the way.
“You too,” Adrienne responds. She kisses across their collarbone, palms fitting over their small breasts. “Love you too, Laf, you’re gorgeous.” Her firm squeeze sends a spark of heat straight down to their cock and it jerks against her thigh, leaving a wet smear there. It’d be so easy to come just like that, rubbing against her, if they could move a little more without dislodging her but it could be so much better, too. “Go down on me.” Voice soft, she threads her hand into their curls and locks in at the back of their head, a gentle pressure.
“Yes.” Her words make their mouth go dry; they wish they’d brought some water with them. “Lie down.”
“You lie down,” is her counter-offer, and it’s more of an order. They’re happy to obey, let their body sink back until their head hits the pillows. Taking firm hold of their wrist, Adri spreads her legs wider and places their hand between them. At this point in their relationship, conversations like these don’t really need to be spoken aloud, but they like to hear her orders. Meaning, to say the least, they can predict the moment where Adri would whine and say come on, so they choose that one to press two fingers into her cunt, warm and slick and she lets out another kind of whine anyway.
Once she rolls her hips into it they stretch her open a little, brush over her clit to make her rhythm falter. Yesterday morning they’d left dusty pink fingerprint bruises scattered over her thighs; they press at them and a pained sort of laugh slips out of her.
Adrienne says, “Still waiting,” collected and almost icy-cold even as she squeezes around the curl of Lafayette’s fingers. Patience was never something she learned well; naturally Lafayette took it upon themself to draw things out whenever possible. Ever so gradually, they push their ring finger in alongside their first two, which are now deep enough to elicit a gasp. Adri’s a small girl but over the years they’ve worn down the hard edges of each others’ bodies into rounded curves that fit together. There’s still a stretch that they push further until she jerks back with a little ah!
Her fingers squeeze tight around their chin. “Didn’t you hear me?” She wants an answer but they can’t move their mouth, don’t let their eyes acknowledge her and then she lands a slap across their cheek, the sound hanging loudly in the air. The pain radiates hotly over their skin, making them smile up at her, a little strained. The blow to their opposite cheek is lighter, and Lafayette thinks they might float away if it weren’t for Adrienne’s thighs anchoring them to their bed.
“Are you going to do what I ask?” Drawing back, her hand looks ready to swing again and there’s no problem, exactly, except they want to be so good for her, do what she wants. Their curls fall over their eyes when they nod. “Breathe,” she says, and their eyebrows twist in confusion until she edges her way up over them to their mouth. Then she wraps her fingers around the top of the headboard as Lafayette reaches up to support some of her weight, and she’s pressing against their mouth.
Now, Lafayette doesn’t hesitate, licking up into her like she’d told them to and seeking out her clit without making her wait any longer. They take another deep breath and let their tongue move steadily over her, work its way inside while they use their free hand to rub her clit. When she says more they follow, increasing their pace a bit. Faintly, the creaking of the bed seeps into their ears, and when they manage to look up her knuckles have gone white with strain. They want to shh her, make her relax.
She’s all tense even as she coos, “Ma bichette,” down at them, taking hold of their hair like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. Their face is wet with her and this angle’s putting a crick into their neck, but Adri’s pushing down harder and saying more, please, so they don’t even think about slowing down. When they breathe it’s quick gasps stolen in between mouthing at her, and they barely realize how hard their cock is, how they’ve been pushing their hips up to meet nothing but air.
“Laf, you’re so good, you’re, fuck,” Adrienne chokes, and they go all shivery with pride. Even so, she holds one of Lafayette’s wrists immobile at the headboard and touches herself with her other hand. The message is clear even though Lafayette still has one hand free, hasn’t been specifically ordered not to touch themself. She means for them to wait; they wouldn’t come at all if that’s what she wanted.
When she grabs their hair again it’s painfully tight, pushing her cunt against their face as she breathes oh oh God and comes all over Lafayette’s mouth, body coiling tight like a wound-up spring. They don’t stop moving their tongue until she moves away with a shudder that betrays her exhaustion. She eases off them and tucks into their side, fitting perfectly, down to the slight tickle of her braids on their chest. Now it’s Adri’s turn to make Lafayette wait a bit longer, not that her moan when she tastes herself on their lips is anything less than a gift.
It feels like ages later when Adri finally says, “Okay,” with this delicious smirk that Lafayette realizes, somewhat sheepishly, that they’d been rubbing their cock over her hip. “What do you want?” a playful tease.
“Anything, Adri, please,” Lafayette slurs, “merde, I don’t care, just let me come.”
Her hand around Lafayette’s cock is firm to compensate for the size of her fingers and it’s thrilling in its familiarity, how she’s mastered their body and made it her own. Every touch is planned in advance of a specific reaction Adri wants to provoke, and they’re still caught off-guard by the slow circle of her thumb over the head of their cock. It’s nearly too much to handle when she pulls back from a kiss to duck her head down, take their nipple into her mouth and—fuck, they’re so close—uses her teeth against the ring.
Lafayette cries out, just wordless vowels in a tone that’s past begging. When they finally tip over the edge, it’s so satisfying it feels like a champagne headache, pleasurable bubbles that come before an achingly sharp head rush. They’re shivering when Adrienne finally slows her hand, cooling the sweat on their skin.
She says, “That’s my girl,” and they are, just her girl and no one else’s. If they could form words, they’d babble compliments back at her but she’s thoroughly exhausted them so that talking seems an impossible feat. With her head on their chest, they wonder if the quickfire beat of their heart is thundering in her ear. As her fingers brush over Lafayette’s hair, their face, she says, “You did so well for me, Laf; I felt incredible. Thank you.” She showers their face with kisses, adds, “Wait here,” like they could walk on their boneless legs.
It seems that she’s only gone a minute before she returns, but their eyes slip closed despite their best efforts so they can’t be sure. Adrienne’s draped a soft, fuzzy blanket over them, helps them sit up enough to drink orange juice through a straw. Once they take the glass from her hands and cup it between their own, she stands again and methodically stretches.
Over the years, Lafayette has watched her do this hundreds of times, back when she still danced and more recently to keep her pain at bay. Her head and neck move up and down and then roll in a circle; her arms reach above her head and they hear, slowly, the vertebrae in her back cracking. With a wince she tries to hide, Adri digs her fingertips into her neck and upper back, pushes at the knots, shifts her weight from one leg to the other. It reminds them—they’d meant to look into aquatic therapy for her and again they’re struck by the beauty of the soft curved lines of her shape.
She picks a silk robe from her dreser and knots it around her waist, ruffles through the contents of her nightstand drawers until she finds what she’s looking for. A joint she’d rolled at some earlier point.
Adri gives the outside a quick sealing with her lighter—she’s so much better at it than Lafayette—and then lets the flame take one end, smoke billowing up toward the ceiling in the light as she pulls in. One of her hands cups Lafayette’s face, pulling them in to shotgun the hit from her. In turn, they seal their mouth over hers to return the smoke when they take their own drag off the joint, and within minutes their head is pleasantly light. The weed makes them feel less physically present in their body, and the juice is cool and sweet against their hoarse throat.
“Do you want to sleep?” Adrienne asks while refluffing the pillows.
A yawn escapes in the middle of Lafayette protesting, “I was going to make dinner.” Clearly they’re not getting up to do so; Adri is so warm and the blankets are a comfortable weight that discourages them from moving.
“I can manage,” she offers, “or just make some crêpes or something.”
“Mmm,” Lafayette hums when she spoons them, one leg draping over theirs, and they drift off to sleep before they can answer.