Chapter Text
In the months since they had begun hiding out in Switzerland, Ava had come to hate Beatrice with a bubbling, seething passion.
It roiled in her even now, as she wiped down a glass, watching from her spot behind the bar as Bea worked diligently at her corner table, scribbling in her flawlessly mechanical script across the inventory charts that were the subject of her focus today.
It was incessant—an unending fire that boiled and burned inside. Ava couldn’t stand the fucking sight of her. The way her eyes flicked across her paperwork, the way her fingers, strong and lean and perfectly groomed, curled around her drink as she lifted it to her mouth. The way her throat flexed against the well-fitted collar of her shirt as she drank, the way her tongue darted out to lick up the bit of beer that still remained on her lips.
The way her gaze flicked up to catch Ava’s every time someone stepped up to the bar. The way the corners of her eyes would rise ever so slightly when Ava threw a grin her way, and the edge of her mouth would curl—a tight, small smile that, despite its restraint, felt like bathing in sunlight.
The way a single strand of her otherwise utterly immaculately arranged hair would always, always pop out, hanging over the front of her face, despite all her attempts to keep it in line.
Like now. Beatrice let out an irritated little puff of air as the strand fell over her eye, before reaching up and tucking it back behind her ear.
It’d come loose again in no time.
Everything about her, everything she did, everything she said, it was all just—just so fucking rage inducing. Ava could barely focus on her own job, so preoccupied was she with the coiling fury in her gut.
“Can I get a stout?”
Ava nearly jumped at the sudden intrusion before she caught herself. She was at work, after all. Her eyes landed on the woman speaking to her, an olive-skinned girl with long, black hair. It reminded her of Beatrice’s, when she let it down. Dark and flowing, though Bea’s was a rich brown rather than the woman’s straight black—a deeper, warmer color, rather like very, very dark chocolate. Ava wanted to run her fingers through it, to feel those silken waves dance against her skin.
She flashed a practiced friendly smile in the woman’s direction, a sparkle lighting up in her eyes as she slid smoothly into her role as the upbeat barkeep.
“Of course,” she said, her voice breezy and cheerful and without a hint of the horrible nest of want that was incessantly swirling about in her head.
She’d gotten good at this whole bartending thing. People liked her. She liked it. She liked the attention, frankly. She liked the compliments, she liked the tips she got for being friendly and flirty and hot, since those things came ever so naturally to her.
She slipped a glass from the rack, dipping it under the tap and letting it fill with the dark bubbling brown of the beer, stopping right as the cap of foam reached the lip.
She’d gotten very good at that, very quickly.
She slid the glass forward across the counter, grabbing the cash the woman had already set down on the bar.
“Thanks!” The woman was already pulling away from the bar, fading from Ava’s attention as her eyes landed back on Beatrice, and her hatred returned to the fore of her mind.
It was all a lie, of course. The reality was, obviously, just the opposite.
The reality was simply that Ava wanted to be the subject of Bea’s attention. She wanted it constantly.
She wanted those eyes to be fixed on her, always. Wanted those hands, those fingers, to be on her, around her… in her. Wanted lips and teeth and tongue across her body in ways she was still inexperienced in imagining, limited first-hand knowledge that she had, but that she knew, intuitively, were what she desired, what she needed.
She’d known for some time, at this point. Maybe she’d known somewhere even before they’d retreated to hiding in this little mountain town, but it had been here that she’d realized, properly, what Beatrice meant to her.
It was the most horribly wonderful realization of Ava’s life.
Wonderful, because how could it not be—she was in love, that much she was certain of at this point. Hopelessly, desperately lovesick, more than she thought was possible. It felt… god, it felt incredible. Every time Bea looked at her, it was like stepping into a sunbeam, and her touch was like lightning on Ava’s skin. Every time they trained, when Bea would grab her and pin her to the ground—things would get very awkward very quickly if Beatrice knew how much she got off on it.
Horrible because… well, it was Beatrice. Even if she felt the same—and at this point, Ava was honestly pretty sure she did—she staunchly refused to respond in kind. She had her shame, her guilt, her vows, everything that would keep her from holding Ava like she desperately wanted. Every time they shared a too-long glance, every time Bea’s touch lingered on her, every time Beatrice watched her, traced the curve of Ava’s body with her eyes when she thought Ava didn’t notice, only for her gaze to dart away when she’d thought she was caught—it was like Ava was living with a needle jammed into her heart.
She wished she’d realized earlier. Or later. Just not now. Anytime but now. Now, when there was nothing for them to do. Now, when their mission was to hide. When their objective was to lay low, to avoid activity and action and anything that could possibly distract Ava from the Beatrice-sized hole in her brain that was steadily turning her into a desperate, miserable, horny-beyond-belief disaster of a human being.
Now, when the mission called for her to live with the person she wanted most in all the world, to sleep in the same bed as her, and somehow pretend that she didn’t want to break it in half riding Beatrice into the floor, to pretend that she did not dream every night of Beatrice’s lips on hers, of strong arms holding her tight, holding her close, as they lounged about in this little alpine paradise.
So here she was, doomed to stew endlessly in her need, in her horrible, gut-wrenchingly distracting desire for the most beautiful creature she’d ever laid eyes on.
She could not have possibly had this realization at a worse time. Hell was real, and this was it. The rat fuck of an angel they were hiding from couldn’t have conjured a worse torment for her if he’d tried.
Here she was, and there Bea was, seemingly content to do the same, desiring Ava from afar, despite—well, there was no way Beatrice hadn’t realized how Ava looked at her, and what exactly Ava was doing. She was many things, but subtle was not one of them. Ava had lost count of the number of times she had all but shoved her tits in the nun’s face while wearing a low-cut top—bending too low when bringing Bea a drink at work, purposefully knocking into her doing chores around their apartment, crowding just too close during training—only to have to storm off in failure when Bea simply blushed and got back to whatever she was doing.
At first, Ava had loved doing it. Making Bea get all flustered was incredible fun—watching her face get all red, her eyes wagging around in their sockets trying to find something besides Ava’s body to pretend she was looking at.
But it had lost its luster so, so quickly. Yes, it was fun to poke at Bea’s boundaries, to see how much of a reaction she could get out of her repressed-to-all-hell partner in crime, but the joy of seeing Beatrice blush and make adorable excuses to get out of the situation quickly became subsumed by the resentment of knowing that unless she did something drastic, a blush and an awkward stammer were all she was ever going to get.
Teasing Bea had only made her desire grow, and it had long since ballooned far beyond the point of being able to be satisfied by anything that could be spoken aloud in polite company.
Still, she kept doing it, because it was all she had.
Ava sighed, leaning forward on her elbows, holding her head in her hands as she stared longingly in Beatrice’s direction. It was nearing sundown, and the rays were coming through the front windows at just the right angle.
Outside, the clouds shifted, and a ray of light struck right across Beatrice’s eyes. They fluttered shut, and her head tilted back as her nostrils flared, inhaling in light surprise. Rather than ducking out of the sun’s rays though, she turned her head towards it. Her eyes still closed, Ava could see her sigh, relaxing for just a moment in the warmth of the light.
Like that, eyes shut, face turned to the sun, skin glowing like pale bronze—Beatrice might have scolded her for the sacrilege of the comparison, but she looked like a goddess.
Their circumstances weren’t ideal, to be sure—they were in hiding, and Ava was progressively going more and more mad with want—but Ava still couldn’t help but wonder: How the hell did she end up lucky enough to go from being dead to running off to live in the mountains with the most gorgeous woman in the whole of the world?
Beatrice took hold of her glass, those beautiful fingers of hers curling around it and lifting it again to her lips, draining the rest of her drink.
God, I want those in me, Ava thought. She shifted on her feet, her thighs rubbing against each other as her pussy fucking ached between her legs. She bit her lip and clenched her thighs, trying to tamp down on the lust that boiled in her every time she looked Bea’s way, and stood to leave her post.
In the earlier weeks of their employment here, and when business was slow, Ava would on occasion leave the bar unattended to wander over to wherever Beatrice was working and try to start up a conversation. It rarely worked, because of course, Beatrice was much more responsible and focused than her, obviously, and so it usually resulted in a scolding for leaving her workstation empty—which was its own kind of reward, for Ava at least—but she’d stopped doing that as she slid more fully into her role.
Still, she always took every excuse she could to get Bea’s attention as the day went. It was practically what she lived for, after all.
Ava slipped out from behind the bar and sauntered over to Beatrice’s table, biting her lip as she approached. Bea, absorbed utterly in her work, hadn’t noticed her yet. Her eyes slid across the sheet she held in her right hand as her left worked diligently, copying down her notes without even looking. No doubt, it was the neatest script anyone would ever read.
It was incredible that she could do that. Ava had no idea how. She’d tried, multiple times, but her handwriting was already awful, and looking away as she did it practically transformed her words into a lost form of hieroglyphics.
She stopped across the table from Beatrice, dragging her finger along the smooth varnish of the wood as she gazed down at her. Beatrice’s lips parted just slightly, a breath of air escaping as she huffed frustratedl at whatever she was doing.
“You want another, stranger?”
Bea looked up from her work, her lips rising in a small smile. Ava grinned in return, lacing her fingers behind her back as she stared down at Beatrice.
“Oh.” she said, with a quiet, delighted surprise that made Ava’s heart flutter. “Um, no. Thank you, Ava, I’m alright.” Her tongue darted out to dab at her lips, and Ava’s eyes traced along the curve of its movement, imagining it in all sorts of places—down her throat, on her chest, between her legs torturing her so fucking perfectly until she was so broken on bliss that she couldn’t even breathe—
Ava sometimes wondered if Bea shared her fantasies at all. If right now, as she was staring at Beatrice, her cunt throbbing to the thought of being bent over this table and fucked stupid in front of all their customers, Beatrice was imagining doing something similar to her. If she was thinking about the taste of Ava’s lips, if she was wondering how wet Ava was under her shorts, how tight Ava would be around her fingers. Surely, she was, right?
She’s so repressed, maybe not. Maybe it hasn’t even occurred to her. Maybe she’s just oblivious. She wasn’t sure if that would be worse, or better. If she found it more tortuous for Beatrice to know she wanted Ava just as much as Ava wanted her and was deliberately avoiding her own desire, or for her to be repressing herself all the way into total blissful ignorance, so that only Ava languished in this hell of unmet want.
But then, aren’t repressed religious people supposed to be the biggest freaks of all? Ava knew Beatrice liked her boobs—no doubt her fantasies, if they existed, involved pinning Ava to the wall and wrapping her lips around Ava’s breasts—god, that sounds fucking perfect, she thought. Her eyes traced the line of Beatrice’s lips, imagining how soft and warm and wonderful they would feel against her skin.
Rather than wait for Bea to hand her the glass, or step around the table so she could reach it better, she leaned forward, as far forward as she could—it wasn’t that much, the table wasn’t exactly enormous, but given the tank top she was wearing, it was enough that she could give Beatrice a delightful view right down the middle of her tits.
“I’ll get this out of your way then,” she said, her voice light and airy, her face the picture of innocence. If she wasn’t imagining anything before, she will be now, she thought with a silent giggle.
Bea blushed, looking back to her paperwork to try and avoid staring right down the barrel of Ava’s cleavage, and Ava grinned at the adorable reaction. Because it was adorable, and if it wasn’t all she was getting, she would have loved to simply bask in it, in Beatrice’s polite discretion, in how she never wanted to make Ava feel uncomfortable, in how she hopelessly tried to hide how much she liked staring at Ava’s ‘assets.’
But Bea never brought it up. No matter how annoying Ava tried to be about it, no matter how much she teased, Beatrice never raised it in conversation. There were none of her typical stern talks about how Ava lacked focus, or how she wasn’t taking her training seriously. Of course not. How could she? That would be awkward. It would be uncomfortable. It wouldn’t be proper. It would be a violation of protocol to address the fact that they both very obviously wanted to pin the other to a mattress and fuck their brains out.
She had to keep herself from scoffing aloud as she pouted her way back to the bar, grumbling as she went to clean the glass, dipping it under the warm water of the sink,
“Excuse me?”
Oh, shit.
“Hi, sorry, yes—what can I get you?”
There was a guy leaning against the bar, an expectant look on his face. Right. Yes. She did work at a bar. She did have to serve people, not just pine over Beatrice. Ava set the glass aside to dry, stepping back over towards the guy.
“Ah, not sure, actually,” he said, flashing Ava a more-than-friendly smile. “I was hoping maybe you could put me onto something?” He leaned in slightly, and the way his body moved and the look on his face made it exceptionally clear what was going on.
Oh, great, she thought. Another guy thinks he’s got a shot with the bartender.
As much as she found it gratifying when people flirted with her, and as much as she enjoyed the bigger tips it often led to, there were times when Ava was simply not in the mood. Times like now, when really, all she wanted to do was hurry through this exchange so she could get back to quietly pouting about the woman sitting across the room and the lack of intimate attention Ava was getting from her.
Ava’s eyes flickered from the guy in front of her to where Beatrice was sitting. Her eyes were still focused on the work in front of her, paying no mind to anything going on beyond her table.
Actually…
“Well,” she said, letting her eyes flicker up to the ceiling, as if she were thinking about what he might like. “What sort of something are you feeling?” She let her eyes take on a playful glint, meeting his gaze and letting her hands wander across the countertop. “Gotta give me something to work with.”
She glanced over, and—and yep, Beatrice had already paused her work, eyes glaring daggers at the man standing at the bar. God, you’re predictable, Ava thought, resisting the urge to smile at the way Beatrice seethed in her seat.
Well, that was quick, Ava thought with a grin. Beatrice’s ‘Ava’s being naughty’ radar must have pinged almost immediately. She could almost feel the malice radiating from Bea, roiling jealousy rolling off of her in waves as her eyes dug like lasers into the back of the dude’s skull.
But, hey, if she was going to ignore Ava’s advances, then why should Ava pay attention to Beatrice?
“Tell me about yourself,” She said with a smile. “I’ll… recommend something.”
Ava drifted through the conversation almost mindlessly. The guy was nice. Turned out his name was Jonas, from Belgium—Ghent, to be precise—but he seemed kind of dull. Not that it would have mattered, in the end. He was a touch too tall, his hair too light, and he spoke with the wrong accent. A losing battle, to be sure.
They chatted about… whatever, this and that, and she found out he was just visiting with some friends who were from here, so he didn’t know much about the area, but he had managed to get out to the upper lake, despite the difficult hike, and Ava let her eyes widen slightly with feigned awe as she pretended that she didn’t climb that trail every week, letting him puff and preen as he bragged of his prowess as a climber.
She got him a drink that she said she thought fit him, after learning more about him, which was in fact just a random beer that most people seemed to like, and of course he liked it too, and she nodded and grinned as if she’d gotten it right.
She had to physically stop herself from rolling her eyes when he brought up Adriel—God, it seemed like half the talk that happened now was about the fucker, and it was really starting to grate. Even here, at what sometimes felt like the top of the world, he was still finding ways to fuck with her.
She couldn't wait for a rematch with that shit. Couldn’t wait to give him his just desserts, for forcing them into hiding, for Mary. Couldn’t wait to put her sword through his chest, to wrap her fingers around his head and just squeeze until he popped like a fucking egg—
Wow, she really had become quite violent, hadn’t she? These crazy nuns must have been rubbing off on her.
“Ava, can I speak to you?” Speak of the devil.
Ava’s heart nearly jumped as her eyes flicked away from mister mediocre to Beatrice, who had stood from her seat and come over to the bar, and was staring at her with a delightful tinge of annoyance in her eyes, gaze flicking ever so subtly to the guy she’d been talking to.
“Hm?” Ava batted her eyes innocently, leaning forward onto the bar, feeling her chest graze against the varnished wood of the counter. “Yeah boss, what’s up?’
Beatrice’s lips pursed. So briefly as to be near imperceptible, her eyes darted downward. Clearly, she hadn’t exactly gotten over the personal viewing Ava’d given her just before.
Perv, Ava thought. You wanna grab ‘em. If only she would. God, she wished Bea would just push her up against the wall and maul her tits like an animal.
Bea gave a polite, strained smile, her eyes holding steady with Ava’s. “Privately, if you would.”
Ava threw an apologetic smile towards Jonas, pushing off the counter. “Sorry, duty calls,” she said, spinning to face the door before he could get a word out. “Enjoy your drink!”
Beatrice fell in behind her as she passed through into the storeroom, shutting the door behind them. Ava spun in place, her fingers lacing together behind her as she pretended at cluelessness.
“What’s up, Bea?” She grinned cheekily, swaying forward, rocking playfully on her heels.
Beatrice didn’t speak just yet. She breathed in, breathed out, her eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before fixing themselves on Ava’s own. Oooh, she’s really annoyed this time, isn’t she? Her expression was totally calm, utterly controlled, but Ava knew her too well at this point.
She glanced down towards Bea’s hands, which were laced together and were flexing and clenching around each other as she tried to work out the frustration of watching Ava flirt with someone—with a man, no less—without letting it show.
I wouldn’t have to if you’d just—
“Ava, I’ve asked you before to stop flirting with customers.”
Ava rolled her eyes, flipping her hair as she took the moment to revel in Beatrice’s barely-hidden jealousy. She folded her arms across her chest, not-so-subtly squeezing upwards to emphasize her cleavage.
Beatrice’s eyes didn’t quite wander, but they widened just enough that Ava knew Bea had noticed it in the bottom of her vision and was now deliberately avoiding glancing at Ava’s tits.
Good, she thought. Let her feel it. You know you want them.
“We’re supposed to by laying low,” Bea said tersely, pointedly ignoring the obvious tease.
“Why are we having this conversation again? I’m a bartender,” Ava groaned. “I’m getting attention regardless. And anyways, it’s good for business!”
“The business isn’t the point, Ava.” Bea reached out to take hold of her hand, gently cradling her by the wrist, her thumb gliding across the back of Ava’s hand with horrible intimacy. “We need to be safe.”
No, it wasn’t the point. And neither was the cover. Or safety.
The strain in her voice was barely contained. God, she was so fucking jealous. So possessive. Possessive over something she wouldn’t even lay claim to.
She could see it in Beatrice’s eyes, in the way she stood, leaning in as close as she could without it being intimate, in the way her fingers curled around Ava’s wrist. She had to stop herself from grinning in satisfaction at the way Bea was acting. They’d had this talk three other times this month alone. It was delicious. She fucking loved the daggers Beatrice would stare at anyone Ava got a bit too friendly with.
But it was also fucking infuriating.
If you wanna act like I belong to you, you should buck the fuck up and make me yours, she thought, nearly letting her eyes flutter shut at the feeling of Beatrice’s fingers on her skin. So soft, yet so firm. God, she was perfect. Please, make me yours. Ava almost swooned at the thought.
She snatched her hand out of Bea’s wrist with a scoff, ignoring the look she was getting.
“Right,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m supposed to be a shitty bartender if it keeps attention off us. Like that’s fair to Hans. Or Luca.” The same excuses she used the last few times, and the same look of light irritation from Beatrice as every other time she used them.
“Luca will survive his business performing sub-optimally for a few months, and I very much doubt Hans’s job is in peril. We are at risk of much more if we’re discovered, Ava,” Bea huffed, her jaw tensing in frustration. “You know this.”
She was right, which was horribly annoying. It was a bad idea to deliberately draw in more attention than she naturally got, which wasn’t insubstantial. She was a hot girl that worked the bar at a place that was doing well for itself. People noticed her, even if she wasn’t trying.
“Fine,” Ava said, rolling her eyes. Again. “I’ll stop.”
Of course, she’d said that before. She’d probably say it again. She’d keep saying it, and it would keep being a lie, until Beatrice stopped torturing her. Which was never going to happen, clearly. Not of her own accord, at least.
Beatrice waited a moment. “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft and warm and comforting. Ava closed her eyes, imagining them abed together, imagining Beatrice speaking to her like that with her arm around her, as Ava tucked her head into the crook of Beatrice’s neck.
And then she opened her eyes again, and it was gone, and she was standing in the storeroom, and Beatrice was pulling away.
“Come on, back to work,” she said, glancing back to where Ava was glued to the spot, her hand still outstretched, still reaching for Beatrice’s touch.
“I had to get something from back here anyways,” Ava lied, letting her arm fall limply to her side. “I’ll be right out.”
“Alright,” Beatrice said. She reached back out, brushing her fingers along Ava’s arm. Ava shivered at the touch, her insides buzzing with delight, that painful need coiling in her gut. Her eyes fixed on Bea’s fingers, strong and lean and—and so wonderfully dexterous. “I know you mean well, Ava,” Beatrice said, her voice slipping into soft, quiet register. “Just… try to be more careful, yeah?”
God, why’d she have to be so nice about it? She knew Ava was deliberately fucking with her. She had to, at this point. She’d been doing it far too much for Bea to think it was anything else.
Or maybe Bea just thought she was a slut that liked the attention. Which, you know, wouldn't be completely off base, it was just that there was only one person whose attention really mattered, at the end of the day.
She nodded, resisting the urge to bite down on her lip.
“Yeah, ok.”
Beatrice smiled, and Ava wanted to punch her in the face. All she could read from it was I know I’m torturing you, but that’s just how it’s going to be, because I have my priorities and the mission is higher than love or happiness, yours or mine.
The mission. The mission. The mission that was to sit around and wait, to do nothing for god knows how long while Beatrice beat her heart bloody with constant, silent rejection.
That wasn’t charitable. Pretty mean read, actually. But after months of living with it, it was all Ava could glean from her anymore.
As Beatrice turned and walked away, Ava backed further into the storeroom. She slipped between one of the aisles, heading to where the shelves met the wall, out of sight of the door, out of sight of the windows, shuttered though they were.
She needed privacy, and this was going to be as good as it got without going home. A nice, quiet, dark room to vent her troubles in.
She all but tore open the front of her shorts as she fell back against the wall, shoving her hand under the waistband of her underwear, letting out a quiet cry of desperation as her fingers reached her aching, needy sex.
It was so fucking loud these days, always crying, always desperate, always begging for attention. Aching and throbbing and hurting. The days when she wasn’t so fucking horned up that she could go without getting herself off at least once, if not more, they were few and far between.
God, it was horrible.
Ava wasn’t sure exactly when she had become a sex-crazed maniac, but she knew why. The reason was obvious, and she was waiting in the other room.
“Mmf~”
Her free hand rose to clamp against her mouth, muffling the whorish noises that were slipping out of her throat as her thumb circled her clit. She felt her chest flutter as she pressed into herself, bucking her hips lightly against her fingers.
Her ‘upbringing’ likely had something to do with her current state too, she supposed. Being cut off from everything for more than a decade, save for the still, stale air of that convent on her face, with only a small child and a cadre of miserable, hateful nuns for company—no wonder she was so starved for sensation.
“Ah—”
A gasp slipped through her fingers, floating out into the empty storeroom. Thank god Hans wasn’t working today, so there was no chance of him walking in on her.
To go from that, from nothing, to constantly being around someone like—like Beatrice? She couldn’t imagine a more perfect torture for her.
Constantly tormented by something she could see, but never touch. Imagine, but never have.
God, she could hear it in her mind. She could hear Bea whispering to her as she pinned her to the bed. She’d wrap her fingers around Ava’s throat and hiss into her ear, demeaning her for her lack of focus, of discipline, for how much of a fucking slut she was.
She was a total freak, Ava just knew it. So fucking repressed—
Her finger dipped into her pussy, sinking in right to the second knuckle, and she let out a breathy moan, letting her head rock back into the wall behind her.
“Fuuck—”
She could imagine it so—so fucking perfectly. She spun around, pressing her chest into the wall, arching her back and pushing her ass out. She could feel Bea’s grip on her waist as if it were real, fingers digging into her like talons. Ava’s hand rose to pin itself against the wall beside her head, as though Bea’s own was pressing it into the woodwork, trapping her in place.
“I told you to stop flirting. Do I need to keep repeating myself?” God, she was such a fucking jealous bitch, it was so hot. “Or are you just too much of an attention whore to do what I say?”
“Mm-hm,” she moaned softly, her forehead grinding into the wall as she rolled her hips, riding her fingers, swirling around, hearing the quiet shlick-shlick-shlick of her hand. “‘tention whore, yeah, I am—”
God, she was talking to herself while she jacked off at work.
“Look at yourself.” Ava moaned. Beatrice’s voice was so smooth, so steady. It circled in her mind like a steady current, washing over her, filling her, consuming her thoughts. And it wasn’t even real. “You’re supposed to be a warrior. You can’t even focus on anything but your own pleasure.” God, she wished it were real. Her accent was so—so gorgeous, the way her mouth shaped her words, so proper and clean and Ava wanted to hear it say the most horrible things, the filthiest shit she could think of, she wanted so badly to hear it from Beatrice’s lips.
“Your fault,” she murmured. “Your fucking fault, you—you do this to me, you won’t—”
“Can’t even take responsibility for your own behavior.” Ava whimpered in response to her own thought. “You’re not fit to do this. You can barely work a bar without shoving your hand down your pants and begging to be used.”
“N-no, I can—” Ava broke for a moment, a quiet cry escaping her throat as she bucked against her fingers. “I can—”
“Can you? Are you sure?” Only of this. She was only sure of this, only of her. God, it was—it was fucking horrible. Why are you doing this to me? Ava wailed silently, her mouth open against the cold wood of the wall as her hand worked furiously between her thighs. Why couldn’t she just— “You think you can stop being such a hopeless slut for long enough to do your job? Can you do that?”
“I—I—” Not if you keep doing this to me, she thought. Not if you—if you don’t stop torturing me, you stubborn fucking bitch. God, please—
“I didn’t think so.” Her thumb grazed across her clit again, her eyes bugging back and forth as her fingers worked furiously. “We’ll just have to keep working. Eventually, you’ll learn to follow instructions.” She bucked against her hand, eagerly trying to get more, more— “I’ll teach you to be good for me. Nice and obedient. Do you think you can manage that? Hm?”
Yes, please, god, please, she begged, her mouth hanging open in a silent cry as her thoughts ran a thousand miles a minute and her fingers screamed against her aching cunt. I’ll be good, I’ll be—I’ll do whatever you want, whatever you say, I’ll—I’d do anything for you, anything, if only you would just fucking say it, if only you would just fucking touch me, please, god, just touch me, touch me, touch me—
Ava’s body shuddered as she came, her legs shaking and nearly buckling beneath her as she panted against the wall, swallowing her cries as best she could.
It was moments like these that she was thankful she wasn’t terribly messy when she finished. It wouldn’t have been great to walk out from the storeroom after a scolding with the evidence of her desperation leaking down her legs. Or, maybe that would have been good. Bea certainly couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened like she did with everything else.
She panted, collecting herself as she hugged tightly to the wall, struggling to keep herself upright as her knees shook and her thighs quivered with her orgasm, her chest heaving with effort. Despite how little she’d actually strained herself, she was gasping for air like she’d run a marathon. Take my breath away, why don’t you, she thought, Bea’s face in her mind, as it always was.
She groaned softly, which turned into a low laugh. God, this really was the peak of embarrassment for her. Talking to herself while jerking off at work to the thought of her boss/partner/roommate/best friend/desperate crush punishing her for disobedience. She was… she was fucking gone. So far gone.
And then she choked on her own breath as the laughs turned into sobs and her eyes welled up with tears, and suddenly she was crying, crying in the storeroom with her hand still down her shorts, crying over a girl that wanted her so fucking badly that she snapped like a guard dog at anyone that drew near but wouldn’t do Ava the simple courtesy of fucking kissing her.
How can she fucking live like this, Ava wondered as she sobbed, her thoughts turning bitter. It’s fucking humiliating. Just—just horny, and angry, and sad, unbearably sad, as though she was fucking grieving, even though she’d lost nothing, even though she woke up next to Beatrice every fucking day.
But that only made it worse, to be truthful. She was grieving a love she’d never even had, a love she didn’t get the chance to lose, that she might never get to.
It was ever-present, a constant current of fucking hurt that threatened to drag her under, to drown her in anguish and fury and bitterness, and every day she hated Beatrice a little bit more, and wanted her just a little bit more badly.
I can’t do it. I can’t keep living this way. Ava heaved as she choked down the last of her tears, finally pulling her hand out of her shorts and straightening up. She stared at the glistening, desperate want staining her fingers.
A glint of light caught her eye, and she glanced up to find herself staring into her own reflection from the side of a bottle, a different kind of want staining her cheeks.
Even in the dark glass of the bottle, she could see how utterly undone she looked. Her eyes were red, wet streams running from the corners, carrying with them the little makeup she’d used that morning.
She lifted her clean hand to her face, wiping away the tears, wiping away the eyeliner they had carried with them down the skin of her cheeks. She grabbed her shirt, pulling up one of the ends to dab at her eyes, doing her best to clean herself up, to hide the proof of what had just happened.
Ava grabbed a bottle of scotch from one of the shelves as she left, taking care to use her other hand. Thankfully, they were actually out of it at the bar, so she had some kind of an excuse for her time spent in the storeroom. The bottle was cool against her palm—not chilled, but the storeroom was generally colder than the rest of the building, so the things they kept back here were always a bit cool, just a bit lower than room temperature.
She pressed it against her face, which was still ever so slightly heated from her activities, humming softly as she felt the cold of the bottle bleed into her skin. Hopefully, her face wouldn’t be as red when she went back to the bar, and it wouldn’t be as obvious what she had been doing—the masturbating or the crying.
As she walked back out, Bea’s eyes rose to meet hers for a brief moment before returning to her work.
Ava wondered, in that instant as their eyes connected, if Beatrice could tell. If she knew, at all, what Ava had been doing. She knew how Ava felt—she must have, she wasn’t stupid—and she knew Ava well enough, well enough to predict how she might act. Well enough, perhaps, to think that she had lingered in the storeroom doing something other than merely looking for a bottle of liquor.
If she knew anything, if she suspected anything, she showed no sign. As usual.
The guy from earlier flashed a smile her way as she stepped behind the bar, which she ignored, his name already forgotten.
The ache was already back. In her heart, in her head, between her legs. Every part of her that could ached for Beatrice, an unceasing thrum that beat at her again and again, every moment of her waking hours, and deep into her sleep.
It was agony. An agony she’d thought she’d grown accustomed to, but now—
The same thought from before echoed through her mind. I can’t keep living like this.
Ava slid the bottle into its place on the rack, immediately turning to put her hand under the water of the sink to wash away the evidence of her little session. She cranked the handle all the way, letting the water flow fast and hot over her skin, feeling the pain spread over her hand as it grew redder and redder, as the water got hotter and hotter until it was almost steaming.
It hurt, of course. Unfortunately for Ava, despite giving her the ability to endure a truly comical degree of injury, the halo did nothing to blunt any sort of pain—but she had come to appreciate that. She adored sensation, of all kinds, even the bad ones. She liked feeling things, even if they were horrible.
And nothing was permanent on her, anyways, so it never really mattered in the long run.
But this was permanent. The ache she felt would not disappear as her burns did, her bright red skin cooling to its normal color almost the instant she pulled her hand from the water as the halo went to work, patching her up as though nothing had happened at all. Nothing would fix this, nothing would make it go away.
Well, one thing would.
Ava glanced over at Beatrice again. Back to work, of course. Diligently scratching away at her notes, her stone-faced expression the picture of focus. Ava felt her face twist into an angry scowl as she stared, her fingers curling until her nails bit into the skin of her palm.
I can’t keep living like this.
Fuck Bea’s vows. Fuck her guilt, fuck her shame. Ava didn’t care. Ava wasn’t bound by any of it, and she wanted Beatrice more than she had ever wanted anything, and she knew Beatrice wanted her too. It was horrible of her, and there was a chance that Bea would never forgive her for it, but—but she couldn’t fucking take it any longer, not for another moment.
She wanted Beatrice, and she was going to have her. She just had to get Bea to actually respond more than just chastising her and then going back to her work.
She could… well, she could just say to Beatrice’s face that she wanted her, that she wanted to be with her, that she didn’t care about her vows and her hangups, that Ava wanted her more than words could express and get down on her hands and knees and plead for reciprocation.
But that was no fun. Even if it would be amusing to see Bea’s face during such a confrontation, that was such a… a boring way to do it. Too plain. Too simple. And even if it got her attention in the moment, there was no way Ava could be sure that Beatrice’s remarkable ability to pretend there was nothing going on between them wouldn’t take over her brain like the parasite it was and have her acting like Ava hadn’t poured her heart out to Bea’s face mere days afterward.
No, Ava had a much better idea.
She was going to pull something. She needed a stunt that was so blunt, so forward, so outrageous that it would break Beatrice’s brain, give her no choice but to stop pretending she could look at anything but Ava’s tits and just fucking touch her already.
And she had just the perfect idea. They had been doing knotwork of late, after all.
When Beatrice walked in on the image Ava was conjuring, there was no possible way she could go back to pretending. She would have to snap, she would have to let herself go,
Well, that, or she would never talk to Ava again. But that possibility got quickly filed away.
She loved Beatrice. She needed her. And she knew, in her heart of hearts, that it was mutual. She just had to get Beatrice to stop ignoring what she needed. To reach out and take it.
I’m going to fuck her before the month is out, or I’m gonna die trying.