Parvati would never have taken Pansy for a cuddler. Pansy had always come across as hard, even when they were children; it was one of the things that attracted Parvati in the first place. And after she came out Parvati had discovered her own inner hardness, which she honed during her years as a model. She wasn’t even all that touchy-feely herself, though she had hugs for friends and family. Parvati and Dean had sometimes sat entwined on couches or she in his lap, but that was more about finding room for two pairs of long legs.
But Pansy seemed so cool and self-contained that her little habit of touching was a surprise. Pansy always had a hand at the small of Parvati’s back or around her waist; when they sat she moved to wrap her arm around Parvati’s shoulders or drape a hand across Parvati’s thigh. It wasn’t possessive, nor particularly suggestive, but instead casual, even loving. At home, Pansy liked brushing shoulders in the kitchen and bathroom, or a bit of foot rubbing under the dining room table. In bed they didn’t spoon so much as gently entwine a limb or two. Pansy loved it when Parvati laid her head in Pansy’s lap; they’d sit and read, Pansy softly sliding her fingers through Parvati’s long hair.
On this fall day, though, they weren’t reading, but just lying together on the chaise. When they were decorating their little townhouse and Pansy took a liking to it, Parvati had said they’d just keep fighting over who got to sit in it. Pansy had looked at it and said, “No, there’s room for two.” And so there was; at this point sitting in it by herself felt too empty. Parvati had a stew simmering in the kitchen and with the fire it all felt so homey, another thing she hadn’t expected when she threw in her lot with Pansy, something she hadn’t even known she wanted until they achieved it.
They’d been drinking wine earlier, but now the empty glasses sat just out of reach on the table, next to their wands. Parvati lay on her back, arms wrapped around Pansy, who had her head tucked under Parvati’s chin. Parvati could feel the swell of Pansy’s breasts and the narrow of her waist, both usually obscured by the tailored suits Pansy wore. Pansy’s hidden softness—both in her body and in her personality—was like a secret treasure that few discovered, and Parvati felt honored that Pansy showed it to her.
Pansy hummed and snuggled closer, snaking an arm across Parvati’s waist. Their legs were entwined and Pansy had kicked off her shoes so she could rub her perfectly pedicured toes along Parvati’s bare calf. Parvati felt lazy but not drowsy; she didn’t want to sleep a bit, but to lay there and just feel the rise and fall of Pansy’s chest, soft against her own.
In the fire a bit of branch fell down into the embers and sparks shot upward with a loud crackle. The room was slowly darkening, shadows lengthening as the sun set.
“We should turn a light on or something,” Pansy said.
“We should,” Parvati said, and didn’t move.