Archive of Our Own ^beta

She’s barely done a thing in the last 11 months.

Which is to say, she’s learned three new languages, racked up hundreds of credits in completed uni courses, become intermediate in Krav Maga, learned another two languages, and nearly perished in a fire.

Ava finds the last entry on Beatrice’s list of happenings hilarious.

“Oh my god…okay, so, you-fuck, wait sorry..”

Ava is dissolving into giggles before she can say anything that will humiliate Beatrice further, which is perhaps the only saving grace Beatrice has been afforded in this entire day.

“I lived in a convent for most of my teenage years and my entire adult life thus far,” Beatrice says over Ava’s laughter. “No one thought it necessary to provide lessons on microwave safety.”

Ava slaps a hand against her own knee in amusement, which in turn amuses Beatrice, because who does that aside from Charlie Chaplin and a select few mimes?

“Shit, that was amazing,” Ava pants out, wiping tears from her eyes.

Beatrice deliberately avoids looking at her, red-faced and out of breath, because that would simply be too overwhelming of a sight right now, with the two of them alone in Beatrice’s flat, having just strolled back from a lovely dinner overlooking the Thames. Beatrice considers herself an expert in self-control, but there’s will power and then there’s Ava Silva pulling her hand from her own knee and pointing out the reddish mark imprinted on her skin. As if Beatrice has somehow missed it. As if anyone could.

(For what it’s worth, Beatrice has spent the last two minutes yearning for a world in which she could lick a soothing stripe up the length of Ava’s calf, and press an open-mouthed kiss over a pinkened handprint lovingly branded to any expanse of Ava’s soft, supple skin.)

It occurs to Beatrice that maybe she should take it easy on the wine.

“Do you need ice for that?” she asks Ava.

Beatrice employs her trademark sarcasm similarly to how she’d once wielded a litany of daggers. As a means of protection in violent situations. Ava’s dark lipstick has left a perfect stain on the rim of the empty wine glass, which qualifies this an undoubtedly violent situation.

“Shut up, I just forget my own strength sometimes.” Ava rolls her eyes, flashing that toothy grin that Beatrice has missed so very much. “It’s not like Reya’s realm was abiding by the laws of physics. I’m pretty sure I could ruin, like, at least twelve scientific theorems if I could sneak my phone back in there.”

Ava’s eyes glint dangerously. “That would probably do numbers on TikTok, actually-”

“Enough of that,” Beatrice interrupts, because she is not feeling particularly optimistic about where that train of thought is going. “Let’s do something else tonight.”

Ava immediately perks up at that, shifting her position on the sofa from tangled pretzel of limbs to a more spinally appropriate crossed-legs maneuver. Beatrice never fails to be blown away by Ava’s sheer level of flexibility, especially as someone who’s spent significantly more years lying down in a prone position than she has been able to move her arms and legs autonomously.

In fact, not only does Beatrice, as someone with remarkably tight hamstrings, find Ava’s casual stretching admirable, she also finds it distinctly distracting, especially when Ava is wearing a short, slinky dress and spreading her legs in all sorts of directions, like she had been at dinner earlier. Every time Ava sat down somewhere new, Beatrice was forced to duck and dodge full frontal views of her crotch from every angle imaginable. Ava had even mentioned something earlier about panty lines and thin fabric and then Beatrice had tuned out the rest for the sake of her own sanity, but she’d gotten a good enough idea of what sort of underwear she’d be looking at if she lost track of whatever new, weird way Ava was sitting.

“Sooo…what are we gonna do?” asks Ava, planting her elbows in her lap and leaning forward excitedly.

She’s now wearing borrowed sweatpants and shorts. She looks adorable. So much so that Beatrice miscalculates and accidentally stares directly into her brightness for more than three seconds. The resulting seismic activity within her rib cage feels as wildly jubilant as it does medically concerning.

“Watch a movie?” offers Beatrice.

Ava’s smile stutters, and then Beatrice blinks and it’s back again, even shinier this time. The speed at which she schooled her face is almost enough for Beatrice to convince herself she’d made it up.

Beatrice adds that to the ongoing mental list that is Ways Ava is Different After Returning From An Otherworldly Realm. New bullet point: Better at lying.

“Sure, what kinda movie? Something scary? I bet you get freaked out by ghosts.”

“I resent that, Ava. Nuns are impervious to ghosts.”

“Seriously? Wait, what about ex-nuns?”

Beatrice grabs her laptop (surreptitiously glances at her browser history because she’s nothing if not paranoid, luckily there’s nothing damning) and sits on the sofa next to Ava. Although, next to is maybe a stretch, because she leaves a deliberate few inches of space between them.

“Hey, why’re you sitting so far away?” Ava points accusingly at the couch cushion Beatrice is currently occupying.

“I’m not.” Beatrice replies. She is.

“Come closer, I won’t be able to see the screen like this.” Ava complains.

Beatrice glances over at her, weighing her options. It doesn’t seem like there’s a way out of this that won’t involve Ava feeling snubbed. She acquiesces with a sigh, and shifts over until their thighs are touching.

“That’s better.” Ava says.

Is her voice a little lower than usual, or is Beatrice losing her mind? Maybe both? Definitely both.

In a haze, Beatrix navigates to Netflix and begins the search for a suitably distracting movie. Ideally, it would be one that doesn’t fall too far on any extremes in terms of genre. Something well-paced, not too long, popular enough to have a moderate amount of reviews that Beatrice can quickly peruse to verify its suitability.

“Let’s watch this one.”

LESBIAN SLASHER RENAISSANCE

Oh.

“...shall we check the rating?”

“Nah, where’s the fun in that? Besides, if it sucks, we can just talk over it.” Ava replies.

No, Beatrice wants to scream, anything but this.

The split second of trailer she glimpsed before Ava paused it is enough for Beatrice to know, on a molecular level, that this is not the correct movie choice. It was maybe five seconds and there were shots of at least three different naked women, all covered in varying degrees of fake blood.

The last frame Beatrice witnessed was a close up of several female zombies engaging in what looked like incredibly unsafe bondage play. She won’t stand for this, can’t stand for this, not only because of how awkward it will be to sit next to Ava and watch it, but also because she refuses to indulge in filmography that plays so fast and loose with the intricacies of shibari.

For what it’s worth, Beatrice is familiar with the term only because of a Google search gone awry when she was in the market for some new exercise bands. Luckily, that Google search has been safely deleted. Along with the multitude of informational BDSM websites that Beatrice happened to glance at, purely for educational purposes.

“Ava, I don’t know…”

Beatrice is about to launch into a diatribe on her disapproval of ill-researched rigging, but it occurs to her that maybe Ava will take it the wrong way and assume that Beatrice is actually into that.

Which wouldn’t be totally wrong, let’s be honest, but also isn’t relevant.

As it turns out she doesn’t have to worry about figuring out some convoluted way of rejecting Ava’s suggestion, because Ava shoots her a pleading look on par with a starving animal, and then, as if possessed, Beatrice’s fingers click on the movie and she sets the computer on the coffee table in front of them. It isn’t until Ava gets up to turn off the lights that Beatrice even realizes what happened.

The room darkens and Ava pads back over, flopping back onto the sofa next to Beatrice. She has no qualms about sitting as close to Beatrice as possible. Then again, it almost feels more like sitting on top of someone, with how closely Ava squashes them together. Beatrice’s left thigh is trapped underneath Ava’s right, and Ava is practically breathing into her ear.

Beatrice sucks in a shaky inhale. This evening is not shaping out to be the calming viewing experience she’d had in mind. But that’s okay. Because Beatrice is someone who can handle things like this. She’s capable of, and has successfully carried out, much more difficult feats than sitting through an R-rated horror movie for an hour and a half.

Beatrice truly believes that, up until about ten minutes in, when the first sex scene strikes.

It starts off innocently enough; two women, ex college roommates, meeting up for drinks on the fifth anniversary of their graduation. The conversation flows nicely, the characters seem likeable. Beatrice even finds herself lowering her guard enough to appreciate the tasteful classical score.

Then, just as the character of Rachel hesitates about divulging news of her divorce to a sympathetic Christine, a monstrous creature smashes through the glass window of the restaurant, knocking over a table, which in turn unbalances a candle, and soon enough the entire place is up in flames.

“Too bad that didn’t happen at dinner tonight,” Ava whispers, and Beatrice even chuckles.

The heroines somehow escape the inferno, but upon running out into the street, it soon becomes clear that a massive zombie outbreak has occurred. Goopy creatures lumber along the sidewalk, gnawing on discarded brains that are strangely readily available. Car alarms screech and screams echo out from all sides.

“What’s so hard about this? Just don’t get bitten.” Beatrice mutters.

“Honestly? You’re not wrong.” agrees Ava solemnly.

Rachel and Christine escape on a stolen motorcycle and swerve down city streets, narrowly avoiding hordes of ravenous monsters. They repurpose a flipped over sedan into a ramp and soar over the gnashing jaws of a zombified college football team. Incidentally, it’s the very same school that they’re alumni from, which rattles the two characters deeply enough that they decide to veer into a dark alleyway and take shelter next to a crowded dumpster.

Beatrice finds herself enraptured in the story, as Rachel finally tells the truth of her failed marriage with Thom, and Christine, in turn, confesses she’d been sleeping with him, and then proceeds to profess her undying love for Rachel. The two women stare into each other's eyes amidst a cacophony of blood curdling screams, and then, suddenly, they’re kissing.

As soon as the actors’ lips meet, Beatrice’s eyes dart to Ava’s face. She expects Ava to crack a joke, or laugh, or do something, but she says nothing, watching the screen intently as if deeply invested in the story. Beatrice then redirects her gaze to the computer, ignoring the pang of disappointment stinging in her chest, and immediately freezes.

“Holy shit, Bea, are you seeing this?” comes Ava’s thrilled voice.

Beatrice just nods.

What else is she supposed to do?

Rachel and Christine seem to have forgotten where exactly they are, and have gone from kissing to what Beatrice can only describe as frantic back-alley breast groping.

It’s a lot.

“This is kinda wild, huh? Aren’t they worried a zombie’s gonna jump out of the dumpster or something?” murmurs Ava.

Beatrice opens her mouth to say something, anything, and then onscreen Rachel shoves a hand down Brenda’s cargo shorts and Beatrice promptly snaps her mouth shut. An itchy, unforgiving heat crawls up from her neck, spreads out to her cheeks and the tips of her ears. Her mouth is extremely dry.

And somehow Ava seems even closer than before? She’s pressed against Beatrice’s side, arm snaking around the back of the sofa, and Beatrice is sweating so, so much.

“Would you ever do that?” Ava asks.

Her breath brushes against Beatrice’s flushed cheek, hot and sticky and delicious, and Beatrice’s thighs clamp together without her permission.

“Do what?” Beatrice replies.

She tries valiantly to refocus on the movie, only to immediately regret her decision when she’s once more confronted by a…well, a sex scene. If it wasn’t categorized as one before, it sure is now. Beatrice dares not to even mentally identify the going ons, as frazzled as she is.

And really, she doesn’t need to, because Ava is helpfully providing a running commentary.

“Would you go down on a girl during a zombie apocalypse?”

“Um.” Beatrice is losing her mind. “That doesn’t seem like a very applicable scenario to my life.”

“I mean, sure, but we’ve both done some crazy shit. Like, I was playing Uno with an omniscient deity three weeks ago. Anything’s possible.” Ava says, voice going distant as it always does when she recalls her time in the other realm.

“Where did you get the cards?”

Ava hasn’t shared much since the first day she got back and gave everyone the whole run-down. She’d neglected to mention this particular tidbit, which makes sense considering its relative lack of importance, but Beatrice is so curious about what happened out there it almost hurts. In fact, it’s practically enough for her to tune out the graphic noises loudly emanating from the computer speaker.

“I just asked for them.” Ava replies simply. “Anyway, would you? Zombies and all?”

Beatrice shakes off a faint feeling of jiltedness. It’s not personal, she reminds herself. It’s not even an important detail. And there’s no need for Ava to divulge any more information than she feels comfortable.

“I suppose it depends on who I’m with,” answers Beatrice absent-mindedly, still hung up on Ava’s bare bones explanation.

She startles as Ava’s body stiffens next to her in response. Beatrice glances down, tries to catch a glimpse of Ava’s expression, but suddenly Ava’s face is practically buried in Beatrice’s flannel-covered shoulder.

“Are there…a lot of people you’d do that with?” asks Ava, her words muffled by thick fabric.

“What? No!” Beatrice blurts out. Ava’s tone is scaring her, even through the voice modifier that is her shirt. “I mean, you were just asking a hypothetical question, right? So I was just answering in the same way. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Oh. Okay,” says Ava.

But she still sounds off, like the emotion’s been sucked out of her words. Beatrice tries again to look at her, but it’s no use, Ava’s really jamming her face into the flannel. Beatrice really, really hopes she smells good. Like, not just fine, but good. Good enough for Ava to notice and remark on to herself later.

Wow, Beatrice smelled great earlier. It reminded me of how much I want to kiss her. Something like that.

“This is an interesting movie.” Beatrice says stiltedly, when five minutes go by and Ava hasn’t made any comments.

Onscreen, Christine and Rachel have thankfully finished their prior activities, and are now bashing zombie heads in with bats. Beatrice isn’t totally sure where they got the bats, just that they’re here now, and there’s a whole lot of bludgeoning occurring.

“Yeah, it’s pretty stupid,” Ava replies. “I don’t even know why I chose it.”

She sounds so defeated, and Beatrice is totally, utterly lost. Why is Ava so down all of a sudden? Did something happen? Did Beatrice say something weird?

Maybe the dinner was a bust, earlier? Beatrice had spent a while planning it out, made the reservations the day Ava came back, in an optimistic frenzy, but when it came to actually going out, Beatrice hadn’t been able to shake off her nerves, and she’d ended up relying on Ava to lead the conversation for the most part. It wasn’t like she didn’t have anything to say, in fact, Beatrice has too much to say, and she’s been trying to say it for three weeks now, ever since the words got stuck in her throat when she finally laid her eyes on Ava again, gaunt and exhausted and miraculously returned from another dimension.

But that’s not really an excuse, she should have worked harder on creating the right atmosphere, or planned out what to say ahead of time.

Then again, she’d tried both of those things, and neither worked. She’s starting to wonder if it’s a sign from God, telling her not to bother. Beatrice may have revoked her vows, but she still believes in God, still prayed every night when Ava was gone that she would return safely, even months after retiring her habit. And now, Ava is back, and Beatrice is with her, watching this awful movie, but something’s gone wrong and Beatrice has no clue how to make it right, or even what needs righting.

Christine and Rachel are fighting a sort of advanced murder zombie now. He’s incredibly tall and seems to be controlling some sort of army of ghoulish gremlins.

“I actually appreciate you choosing this movie, Ava. I wouldn’t have picked it myself, but I’m learning a lot about how to approach a situation like this, should it ever happen.” Beatrice says.

“Thanks, Bea.”

Ava stands up abruptly and clicks the space button, pausing the movie on a genuinely terrifying still of the aforementioned gremlins’ stomach lining.

“Wait, are we not watching anymore?” Beatrice protests.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m actually kind of tired. You can totally finish it without me, though!” Ava assures her in that same hollow tone, although this time it’s even worse because she’s trying and failing to sound upbeat. Maybe her lying hasn’t improved much after all.

“Ava…”

Beatrice gets up and places a wary hand on Ava’s elbow, covered in the oversized sweatshirt she stole out of Beatrice’s closet. Ava suddenly turns around to face her and Beatrice takes a half step back in surprise, jostling her pants pocket in the process.

A small, hard box slips out of its hiding place and clatters to the hardwood floor.

“Oh,” Beatrice’s life flashes before her eyes. 

Before she can grab it, Ava is striding over to the wall to turn the lights back on, and then marching back at top speed, snatching the box off the floor in one fluid motion. Now that the room is fully lit, and Ava is no longer hiding in a shirt, Beatrice blinks heavily in an effort to adjust to the brightness, and hones in on Ava, who is…angry? Her jaw is set tight, and her brows are furrowed, but the skin around her eyes is also strangely pink, and the eyes themselves seem to glisten-

“Ava, are you crying?” Beatrice asks in abject horror.

“What is this, Bea?” Ava ignores her question entirely and brandishes the box, the contents rattling around inside.

“It’s, uh, just…”

It’s a present for you, Ava. Because you’re amazing. Because life without you was hell. Because I need you to know how important you are to me.

Beatrice hangs her head. “It’s nothing.”

Because I love you.

Ava just watches her, disbelievingly. Then, she looks down at the box in her hands.

“If it’s nothing, then I can open it, right?”

“Oh, wait, Ava-”

It’s too late. It was too late the second Beatrice dropped it. Her heart sinks as Ava undoes the clasp and swings open the top, peering at the velvety fabric inside. She nudges aside some tissue paper and uncovers a small, gold pendant.

“Huh,” says Ava, impassive.

Beatrice has absolutely no clue what to do. Everything about this night has gone impossibly wrong, she’s humiliated that she’s messed this up so badly, and it would be nice if Ava could just set down the box and leave, because Beatrice would really like to take out that fucking necklace and throw it off her fifth floor balcony right now.

Instead, Ava brings her thumb and forefinger together to pick it up by its thin gold chain, holding the necklace up to the light. The pendant, a smooth, gold circle with a hole in the middle, exterior embedded with tiny pearls, sways ever so gently back and forth.

“Bea?”

“Yes, Ava?”

Beatrice keeps her eyes trained miserably on the floor. She should probably vacuum tomorrow. That will do nicely as a distraction from how much of a failure she is.

“Is this for me?”

“Yes, Ava.”

Beatrice clenches her jaw, steels herself for rejection, but Ava just slowly releases a breath, and then she’s walking closer, coming to a stop in front of Beatrice, and in seconds she’s taking Beatrice’s face in her hands, softly tilting her head upwards so they’re facing each other.

“Bea,” Ava says, face breaking out into a wobbly, relieved smile. “Why the fuck did you not give me this at dinner?”

“I…I got nervous,” Beatrice whimpers.

Honest to God whimpers. She’s in free fall. She’s lost all sense of dignity.

Ava just looks at her, and Beatrice is left speechless by the sight. Tears are sparkling in Ava’s eyes, she’s grinning, her nose and cheeks are flushed, and it’s all just too much. She tilts her head to examine the necklace closer, but Beatrice reaches out, fingers landing on Ava’s cheekbone, imploring her to stay, to wait, to watch. Ava presses into Beatrice’s palm like a warm, happy cat, and Beatrice feels her heart swell.

“It’s supposed to look like the halo, huh?” Ava sniffles, then laughs, a little bitterly. “Even though I fucking broke it.”

“You didn't break it. You just need to rest, Ava, recharge your strength.” Beatrice says, stroking a thumb along the curve of Ava’s jaw.

Ava’s referring to the news she delivered exactly three weeks ago to the day, when she had returned from Reya’s world with a laundry list of preparations needing to be made for the oncoming holy war. She had explained then that the power she’d expended returning to this dimension had effectively drained the last dregs of the halo’s energy. Apparently, the halo’s power had been waning the entire time she spent in the other realm (which Jillian estimated to be around four years based off of Ava’s physicality, although Ava herself alternated between describing it as mere hours and multiple decades). Reya had supposedly been ‘weirded out’ by the halo’s dwindling energy, to which Ava had suggested she return home in the hopes that the OCS would have some clue on how to reinvigorate it.

It was strange–Beatrice had spent 11 months practically torn in two with the sheer need to see Ava again, to hold her close and return the words Ava had murmured just before Beatrice nudged her into the portal back in Adriel’s cathedral. But when the time came, when Beatrice finally stumbled her way into the lab, she found that all she could do was stare.

Instead of the multitude of overly romantic gestures she’d spent months considering the logistics of, Beatrice just stood and drank in the sight of Ava again, who was complaining about how the surgical gown Jillian provided didn’t cover her ass, eyes glinting with mirth even as her face was etched in deep exhaustion. Then, when Ava looked up and caught her eye, her expression shifted so beautifully into pure, relieved exuberance, and Beatrice’s stomach plummeted about ten stories.

In a haze of adrenaline, she had burst into the room and gathered Ava up in her arms, held her for a glorious five seconds, and then someone had coughed, and Beatrice turned around, and it seemed she’d completely overlooked the presence of Mother Superion, Jillian and Camila, who were all standing uncomfortably to the side, though Camila was shooting her a proud little grin. Beatrice had then promptly scooted away, mortified, though not before Ava had squeezed her hand and whispered a promise–we’ll talk later, to which Beatrice could only give a horribly dorky thumbs-up, one that Ava immediately laughed at.

It turned out that Ava’s aside about the two of them talking later was a bit of an understatement, because after that first meeting, Ava spent the ensuing 21 days holed up in Jillian’s lab undergoing rigorous testing, and Beatrice found herself relegated to the the convent archives, poring over manuscripts in search of some long-buried technique to get the halo up and running again.

Beatrice visited her daily, and it was wonderful to speak to Ava again, to marvel at her existence, her beauty only honed with the time she’d spent away, but she was only allowed short check-ins as Ava recovered her strength, and not once were they allowed a moment alone together. That’s how it went for the weeks that followed–scraps of conversations in a room full of people, Beatrice unable to speak about anything other than work, supernatural entities or surface level small talk.It was only yesterday that Ava was given a full bill of health. Beatrice had leapt at the opportunity and invited Ava out for dinner, and, absurdly, today is the first time they’ve been alone together.

To put it lightly, Beatrice has been panicking this entire time.

Everything she planned on saying, all the sweeping, dramatic scenarios, they’d all fallen by the wayside the second Beatrice had the chance to act on them. And, in a dramatic turn of events, her secret romanticisms have been foiled (hopefully in a good way, because Ava seems pleased) but Beatrice finds herself regretting the necklace’s halo motif. Of course Ava is worried about its capabilities right now, but Beatrice hadn’t known that it would stop working when she bought the necklace in Switzerland all those millenia ago.

“You think I need to recharge my strength? That’s pretty fucking funny coming from the girl who worked me to the bone climbing the fucking Alps every day,” Ava teases.

“I’ve since learned the value of moderation.” Beatrice replies.

In actuality, she’d been forced into easing up on work after collapsing a few weeks after Ava left. Camila had found her face-down in a dusty tome and assumed she was dead. As a result, Beatrice spent the following months forced into a great deal of mandatory leisurely time, hence the many hobby undertakings.

“I bet you just didn’t sleep for three days and passed out from exhaustion.” Ava says.

“That might have happened too.”

Beatrice swipes her thumb up from Ava’s jaw, slides it over her cheek, and brings it to rest just below her right eye, catching any stray tears that may have escaped. Ava obediently stays still as Beatrice repeats the action on the other side of her face, and then, when she goes to reluctantly pull back her hand, Ava catches her wrist in protest.

“Put it on me?” Ava asks, and Beatrice’s breath catches in her throat.

She nods, takes it from Ava’s warm palm, and Ava turns around so Beatrice is facing her back.
“Can you…hold your hair up?”

Ava’s hair has grown longer in the time she spent in the other realm. It reaches past her sternum, and Beatrice thinks it’s beautiful. She thought it was beautiful before, too, but that hardly matters. In whatever form she takes, Ava is beautiful. As she ducks her head, holding her cascading hair back with one hand, Beatrice’s chest squeezes in anticipation, or maybe fear, or probably sheer, unadulterated adoration.

“I’m going to put it on you now.” It feels necessary to issue a verbal warning.

Beatrice holds one end of the necklace’s chain, winds an arm around Ava’s front, and drags the other end past the side of her neck. The small hairs curling out from Ava’s nape tickle at Beatrice’s fingers as she fumbles with the small clasp. Fumbles a little more. Nearly drops it.

This is becoming distinctly humiliating.

“You doing okay back there?” Ava asks, amused.

“Hush. Let me focus.” Beatrice replies, fiddling a little more until finally she lets the necklace drop, safely secured, against the back of Ava’s neck.

“There. Done.”

Ava straightens up and turns back around, and Beatrice nearly swoons on the spot. Ava’s half-swallowed up in Beatrice’s hoodie, her face is still flushed from crying, there’s a few new scars dancing up her throat that weren’t there when she left. She looks radiant.

“I love it,” Ava says, happily thumbing the pendant. “When’d you get it?”

“A day or so after you returned.” Beatrice lies.

She bought it with her bar manager salary right before they left that sleepy little Swiss village that had taught Beatrice so much, but Ava doesn’t need to know that right now.

“Thank you, Bea.” Ava says.

Beatrice has half a mind to interpret her smile as shy, even though that goes against everything that Ava Silva stands for. It thrills her, the idea that Ava is showing her an expression like this, one Beatrice has never seen before.

“I’m glad you like it. I…I’ve been trying to tell you something, since you came back, but, well…” Beatrice laughs self-deprecatingly. “As you can see, things haven’t turned out quite how I planned.”

“When does anything ever go how we planned?” Ava asks, taking a step forward so their socked toes brush together. “It’s not like I was all packed for a trip to Reya’s freaky alternate dimension. Shit happens. It’s okay. Just…tell me now.”

Beatrice’s heart is pounding so loudly between her ears that she has to focus hard to hear the words. Ava’s voice sounds small, frail even, like she’s worried if she speaks any louder the moment will be ruined, and Beatrice feels something deep within her snap at the thought that Ava thinks there’s anything fragile about Beatrice’s feelings for her.

She takes a deep breath and plants her hands on Ava’s shoulders, staring into her eyes, willing the universe, God, hell, she’ll take anyone, to let this happen, to keep these seconds whole.

“I’m…I’m terrified of this, Ava,” Beatrice starts, and then, when Ava looks at her with such intense, tangible empathy, she nearly loses the plot entirely.

But Ava brings up her own hands to pull Beatrice’s arms down from her shoulders and interlaces their fingers. Beatrice feels the warmth between them radiate out from their connected palms and settle between her rib cage. She continues.

“The entire time you’ve been gone, I’ve been thinking about you. Whether I was awake or asleep, I was missing you. And I would plan out exactly what I’d say the second you came back. I thought about that moment so hard it ached,” Beatrice takes a shuddering breath. “But when it finally came, I…I lost my nerve. The way I felt when I laid eyes on you again, it scared me.”
“How did you feel?” Ava asks, voice raspy.

“Like I could hardly stand. Like I’d spent the last eleven months suspended in time, and finally, the clock started ticking again.”

“What’s so scary about that?” murmurs Ava. “That’s exactly how I felt. I wanted to throw up the second I saw you. But, like, in a good way.”

“And it didn’t scare you?”

“Why would it?” Ava says matter-of-factly. “I’m pretty sure that’s what it’s supposed to be like when you’re in love with someone.”

Beatrice just watches in stunned silence as Ava’s perfect, pink lips form words, and feels like she’s been electrocuted.

“Why do you look so surprised? I already told you, remember?” Ava says cheekily.

“I…I remember.”

“Good. I was worried you’d forgotten, when I came back and you didn’t say anything about it.”

“Oh, Ava…”

“Then I thought maybe you did remember, but I’m just a really bad kisser, and I totally blew it,” Ava continues, her voice trembling ever so slightly. “But if that’s true, I feel like you would’ve just compiled a bunch of documents about kissing etiquette and made me memorize them all.”

Beatrice doesn’t disagree with her, but is astounded to hear Ava expressing insecurity in her kissing skills. If the one they shared was her in bad form, Beatrice would combust as soon as Ava tried any more professional techniques.

“So, I started thinking maybe you did remember, but you just didn’t like it, and now it’s way too awkward to say anything. Or maybe, you liked it at the time, but now you have someone else you want to kiss. Like, I don’t know, Bea, I was gone for a while. I’d understand if you had another person now…I mean, I’d fucking hate it, but I’d understand.

“I don’t,” Beatrice breathes, squeezing Ava’s hands. “There’s only you. It’s only ever been you.”

Ava’s lower lip wobbles. “Really?”

It’s the way she says it like a question, like she truly doesn’t know Beatrice is completely, irreversibly, head over heels in love with her. That’s what finally does it. A wave of conviction hits Beatrice like a freight train. Before she even realizes what she’s doing, she yanks Ava forward, pulling her close, their fronts pressed flush against each other. Ava looks bewildered and excited all in one.

“I love you, Ava.”

Ava’s jaw drops open just a bit, like a door swinging ajar. It’s an objectively hilarious expression, and Beatrice is overwhelmed with how excited she is to tease Ava about it later. But for now, Beatrice just leans in and kisses her, and the world starts spinning again.

Ava responds immediately, kissing back like she’s starving for it, and Beatrice’s hands migrate to her hips, holding firm, grounding them both to this spot. Ava lets out a tiny, beautiful groan that Beatrice is instantly enamored with. She is burning up, sweat rolling down her forehead, and when Ava’s tongue licks into her mouth, she’s unable to hold back a full-body shudder.

Beatrice has never kissed like this before, and it’s dirty and wet and delightful all in one. It’s just as filthy as her parents and teachers and peers had once promised, but they’d been so, so wrong to fear it. Beatrice has never felt so glad to be alive, if only to touch Ava like this.

After some indeterminate amount of time–Beatrice thinks it could’ve been seconds, or maybe hours–they pull back from each other in a bid for oxygen.

A string of saliva stretches out from their mouths until it snaps like the fraying twine holding the last of Beatrice’s sanity together. Beatrice could write poetry about that thread of spit hanging between her and Ava. It’s a little disgusting and her core throbs at the remnants of it, the tiny wet spot on the hardwood floor, the slick shine to Ava’s soft pink lips.

“Wow. That was…just, wow,” Ava says. Her face is flushed red and she’s panting hot against Beatrice’s cheek.

“Did you like it?” Beatrice asks, and her voice comes out much lower than usual.

“Uh, yeah. It was fucking amazing,” Ava replies, grinning.

Her pupils are extremely dilated. Beatrice had always wondered if that’s a real thing that happens, rather than a superficial detail that often crops up in the fictional erotica she pretends not to read, but no, it’s real. She’s so grateful to learn the answer to this long-standing, embarrassing question via making out with the woman she loves, that she momentarily loses her filter.

“You are…so hot,” Beatrice murmurs.

Then resolves never to say it again, but it’s too late. The damage has been done. Ava’s eyebrows lift, the corners of her mouth curl upwards, and Beatrice resigns herself to the fate that awaits her.

“Sorry, could you say that one more time? I didn’t quite catch it.”

“Oh my god. Ava…”

“Oh, so you take the lord’s name in vain now? That’s kinda sexy.”

“I’m not even a nun anymore, and also, what?”

Ava just laughs and drops her head forward slightly, enough for their foreheads to gently bump together. Beatrice sighs into the touch, lets her eyes fall closed, and her hands come to rest on Ava’s hips.

“I’m so happy right now,” Ava whispers. “I thought…I don’t know.”

“You thought my feelings for you had faded? Clearly you underestimate me. I’m rather obsessed with you, Ava.”

Beatrice, emboldened, punctuates the confession with a quick peck, but before she can pull away, Ava’s chasing her lips almost desperately, eyes shut and whining a little. The least Beatrice can do is remedy her mistake; slotting their mouths together once more and then they’re off again, licking and tasting and groaning, on Ava’s part at least.

God, the sounds she’s making—Beatrice has fantasized about this moment an embarrassing amount of times, but always stopped after she and Ava’s imaginary selves exchanged a few chaste kisses, because thinking about it in any more detail was just…too much.

Even if she had spent more time fleshing out the scene, it’s not like Beatrice could have known exactly how vocal Ava is, it’s not like she could have predicted those little bitten off whines and gasps, and adequately prepared herself for the sensory onslaught. It’s all she can do to hold her remaining shreds of sanity taut amidst the auditory bliss.

Beatrice is in the middle of tracing Ava’s gums with the meat of her tongue when Ava suddenly shifts a little, her arms sliding down from the back of Beatrice’s head to her shoulders.

“Hmm?” Beatrice murmurs breathlessly.

A twinge of panic descends upon her at the seemingly unprovoked look of deep musing on Ava’s face. Ava thinking this hard about something is almost never a good omen.

Then again, Beatrice has been a pretty big supporter of her ideas tonight.

“Just…let me—“

Ava tightens her grip and starts confidently walking Beatrice backward. Beatrice’s eyes widen but she’s helpless to do anything other than trust Ava’s hands on hers, and hope upon hope that they don’t trip on anything underfoot.

“There.” Ava says, satisfied, right before Beatrice’s back hits the wall with a little more force than either of them had been expecting. “Oh fuck, oh my god, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” assures Beatrice fervently. Her vertebrae ache a little and she’s giddy with the knowledge that she might be sore tomorrow.

“You sure?”

Ava’s sucking her bottom lip between her teeth hard enough for the bruised pink skin to pale. Beatrice silently watches, enamored, holding her breath, until Ava’s canine sinks down hard enough to draw out a perfect, ruby red bead of blood.

A rush of heat shoots through Beatrice at the sight, centered deep in her core. She’s been aware of her own arousal simmering on high heat this whole time, of course—it would be difficult to ignore it, considering the wetness sticking to her inner thighs-but this flash of desire is more concentrated than anything she’s felt thus far. It’s so intense that her knees nearly buckle, which would’ve been beyond humiliating, but Beatrice manages to dart out a hand to grip at the collar of Ava’s sweatshirt and hold herself upright.

She breathes out a sigh of relief before raising her gaze to Ava’s face and oh, oh no. Ava’s smirking. This is so bad. (This is so good.)

“What was that, Bea?” Ava asks, smooth and steady. It’s sexy enough to possibly even warrant being described as a purr.

“What-um, what was what?”

Beatrice usually prides herself on her ability to remain composed in high stress situations, but this is really an unprecedented degree of tension, so she cuts herself some slack when the words stumble over each other.

“I don’t know…” Ava grins deviously. “It just looked like you were feeling pretty good.”

“Did it?” Beatrice’s voice comes out high pitched and choked.

“Yup.” Ava pops the p obnoxiously and Beatrice throbs in response.

Ava glances down at the sliver of space between their bodies and Beatrice follows her lead, throat tightening when she catches sight of Ava adjusting her center of gravity, one leg sliding forward a little. If Ava moved any closer, her knee would land firmly between Beatrice’s legs. The realization is enough to have Beatrice make some weird throaty noise and then immediately speak up so as to distract Ava from whatever that sound was.

“Ava—are you….” Beatrice cuts herself off to take a trembling breath before continuing. “Should we stop? Is this too much?”

Ava meets her eyes so intently that Beatrice is rendered incapable of continuing her rambling.

“Do you want to?” Ava tosses the question back, looking at Beatrice searchingly.

“I asked first.” Beatrice protests weakly.

“I asked second.”

“Wh—Ava, that’s not even—“

“I love you, Bea. And, I mean, yeah, I want to touch you. But I never want you to feel like you have to do anything. We only just kissed for, like, the second time ever. I totally get it if this is already a lot to process. So, like, I don’t want to stop, but if you do want to, then I do too. You know?” Ava’s face scrunches adorably as she searches for the right words. Beatrice is so in love with her. “I’d be just as happy spending the rest of the night finishing that shitty movie and falling asleep with you on the couch.”

The heat in Beatrice’s gut abates a little to make room for an onslaught of warm, sappy affection.

“I…I think I’d like to continue,” Beatrice says slowly, trying in vain to ignore the intense flush spreading across her cheeks at the admission. “But I don’t know if I want to, um, take my clothes off? Tonight, I mean. But…”

Ava nods encouragingly, smiling sweet and genuine, and Beatrice forgets her embarrassment for a second and smiles back.

“I think…what you were going to do with your leg. I’d like to try that.”

And the mortification returns full force, flaring even brighter when Ava’s face slackens in surprise for a moment. Beatrice is stricken with regret for exactly three milliseconds before Ava is beaming, which dually relaxes Beatrice and jumpstarts her heart rate through the roof.

“Oh?” Ava sounds suave and self assured, but Beatrice can hear the minute, nervous tremble in her voice.

“Only if you want to.” Beatrice says firmly. “I’m also happy to watch the rest of the movie. The plot is….somewhat riveting.”

“I want to!” Ava says quickly, and then blushes prettily, presumably at her own eagerness. “I just, I’m a little…I don’t really know what I’m doing, Bea.”

She admits it with a little frown, and Beatrice’s heart aches in empathy. Beatrice takes her hands and interlaces their fingers.

“Ava. I don’t know what I’m doing either. We can figure it out together. Like we always do.”

Ava’s eyes glimmer and that familiar faux cocky smirk slides back on her face.

“Okay,” she murmurs. Shifts forward a bit, gives Beatrice’s hands one last squeeze before releasing them to brace an elbow against the wall, and cup Beatrice’s jaw with her other. “Let’s figure it out.”

Beatrice does her absolute best to shoot her a gentle, encouraging look, but Ava takes one glance at her face and snorts, before sliding closer, stroking her fingers down the length of Beatrice’s jaw.

“You’re so cute, all desperate like this.” Ava whispers throatily.

It’s the sort of line Beatrice has rolled her eyes over hundreds of times in her own recreational reading. Too cliche, too cheesy, too much. But of course Ava makes it work. How could she not?

“Oh my God.” Beatrice says.

It comes out a little mangled because Ava’s coming closer, tilting her head, and Beatrice is doing the same, and their lips are connecting and—fuck. Ava’s leg neatly slides between the apex of Beatrice’s thigh, pressed up so perfectly.

Ava drops her hand from Beatrice’s face to hold steady on her hip, squeezing a little, encouraging and Beatrice is too far gone to spend time questioning the motion, she’s running on pure intuition, and maybe it’s just wishful thinking but it seems like Ava is telling her to sink further down against her thigh. Beatrice huffs out a quick breath and does just that, and when she feels Ava smile into the kiss, she knows it’s what Ava meant.

The feeling of Ava’s muscled thigh sliding against her sends sparks of delicious pleasure flying up Beatrice’s spine, then pooling between her legs, syrupy and sweet. The kiss turns sloppier, needier, the two of them panting into each other’s mouths, and on a particularly well-timed thrust of Ava’s thigh, Beatrice cries out, chasing the movement, grinding her wet heat into Ava’s warm, hard thigh.

“Yeah,” Ava croons, eyes half-lidded, staring down between them. “Just like that, Bea.”

She sounds so pleased, and with that Beatrice suddenly realizes that Ava’s marveling at the feel of them rutting against each other just as much as she is. The thought rakes embers over the fire of her arousal, stoking it into an inferno. Beatrice squeezes her eyes shut, allowing herself to feel, to burn, as Ava ducks her head down to suck marks into Beatrice’s neck. The sharp pinch of her teeth builds until Beatrice is groaning, sure that Ava’s broken the skin.

“I—Ava, I—fuck!” Beatrice practically growls the words, hips bucking against Ava’s tensed thigh.

“Yeah? You gonna cum?” Ava whispers in her ear. Beatrice’s legs tremble.

“I’m gonna…I think…” Beatrice’s head tilts back against the wall without her permission, sparks of pleasure flying up her spine.

“Let me see.”

“Oh,” Beatrice gasps. “Oh!”

“Fuck,” Ava sounds just as breathless. “Let go for me, Bea. Please.”

Beatrice pants out a stuttered exhale, she’s pulsing wildly around nothing, pushing her core against Ava’s thigh punishingly hard, and she just needs one last thing, one last push…

“Beautiful,” Ava mumbles, and it sounds like she’s talking to herself, like she can’t help but say it. “God, I love you so much.”

With that, the throbbing crest of arousal crashes against the shore of Beatrice’s body. She seizes up, thighs locking on to hold Ava’s knee against her, hips jerking desperately. Beatrice hardly even registers that her mouth is open, much less that she’s speaking, but distantly she hears a lot of fucks and I love yous and Avas which must belong to her, even though the voice saying them sounds wrecked in a way Beatrice has never heard herself before. She’s groaning as the waves continue their journey through her, fluttering from deep within, and Ava holds her through it, mouthing wetly at her collarbone, releasing a series of strangled little moans herself.

It’s the hardest Beatrice has ever orgasmed in her life, though the joyless masturbation sessions of her past feel almost comical in comparison to this. She shakes through the aftershocks for what feels like forever, twitching in Ava’s arms, until finally they begin to die down, ebbing into less overwhelming surges, then gentle pulses. After one final, delicious thrust against Ava’s thigh, Beatrice manages to claw her way out of the reverberating pleasure, and lets one last keening cry fall from her lips.

“Wow.” Beatrice says, dazed, and it comes out throaty and low.

“Ungh.” Ava grunts.

Beatrice notices through a fog of satisfaction that Ava’s toned arms are trembling, and she’s pressing herself up against Beatrice’s left hip, moving in sharp little thrusts, and oh. Oh. Beatrice clenches her jaw as understanding dawns, accompanied by an all new rush of want. Beatrice has never been more glad for her shirt to have ridden up in her life; she can actually feel Ava’s wetness soaking through the fabric of her sweatpants as she cums.

“Shit!” gasps Ava after a few more wobbly jerks.

Beatrice’s hands fly to her waist, steadying, as Ava sucks in a sharp inhale, face still pressed into the crook Beatrice’s neck. She practically melts in the embrace, nestling herself closer, and Beatrice squeezes tighter in encouragement.

“Are you alright?” she asks softly, once Ava’s breathing has steadies. Then, when there’s no response: “...Ava?”

A sound floats up from Beatrice’s collarbone, though this time it’s decidedly less pleasurable. In fact, it reminds Beatrice of the time Ava accidentally walked into a glass door and spent the following thirty minutes mumbling wordless expressions of humiliation.

“That was beautiful,” Beatrice says, honest and soothing. “Look at me?”

Ava does, withdrawing herself from Beatrice’s collarbone, though the snug grip on her hips keep her from straying too far. Beatrice studies her, unable to hide a smile. Ava’s face is flushed to the roots, her chest is still heaving, and she’s wearing a sheepish look, half embarrassed, half pleased.

“Well, fuck.” Ava says.

“Are you okay?” Beatrice implores, bringing up a hand to brush some hair out of her face.

“I’m.…yeah. I….” Ava trails off, cheeks somehow growing redder, until suddenly she’s laughing, a little unbelievingly. “I didn’t mean to do that. Oh my god. I really didn’t mean to do that! What the fuck, Bea? What just happened?”

“Well,” Beatrice says, leaning in to nuzzle her nose against Ava’s. “You were wonderful.”

“Mmm. Was I?” Ava presses her face closer in response, voice a little teasing, a little nervous.

“You were,” Beatrice promises. “And, for the record, I’m honored.”

“...you sure? I didn’t, like, weird you out?”

“Ava,” Beatrice presses a soft kiss against her lips, then pulls back to look her in the eyes. “You could never. It was, um, very attractive. Seeing you.”

“Aw. You’re the only one who could make that sound cute.” Ava teases. The last note of rigidness dissolves from her form as she gazes back at Beatrice, soft and trusting.

“Thank you for that,” Beatrice whispers. “And I love you.”

“I love you too, even though you made me wait way too long to hear you say it.” Ava replies, grinning.

“If I gave you everything you wanted as soon as you asked for it, you’d end up far too spoiled.” says Beatrice.

Then, because she can, she drops her hands to cup Ava’s ass and squeezes. Sue her. She’s been waiting ages for this.

Ava laughs gleefully, eyes twinkling, and glances over her shoulders to the open computer sitting patiently on the coffee table, before turning back with a conspiratorial look.

“Okay, so hear me out: we should totally finish the movie because those sex scenes are inspired, to say the least” she pauses, before adding. “Also, I need to borrow some new underwear.”

Beatrice’s face burns at the reminder, and Ava leans in, pressing her lips to Beatrice’s right cheek, then left, then her mouth, before pulling back and swinging her arms back and forth at her sides, excited.

“You picked this film on purpose, didn’t you? To rile me up?” asks Beatrice.

It’s meant to be accusing, but it mostly just sounds horny, which Ava immediately picks up on.

“Ooh, are you going to punish me for it?”

“I will,” Beatrice says, dropping a kiss on Ava’s forehead as she heads to her bedroom to grab a change of clothes for them both. “But not yet. Patience is a virtue, Ava.”

“Aw, weak. You know I suck at virtues.” Ava whines.

“I’d say you’re quite adept in them, actually.”

“What, are you trying to butter me up or something? ‘Cause it’s working.” Ava winks as she walks over to the couch. “Come back quick or I’ll start it without you!”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Beatrice retorts, heart soaring at the sight of her, hopping over the back of the couch and snuggling into the cushion.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Ava replies with an affectionate sigh. “I wouldn’t.”