Warm ups are starting and Tobin is late-ish— she can still hear Sonnett rummaging around in her bag beside her— but she’s definitely on her way to being late because Tobin cannot, for the life of her, tear her eyes away from her phone.
We’re just friends. We’re just friends. We. Are. Just. Friends.
It’s a picture — technically a selfie — of Christen. It’s captioned; Reppin’ all the way from Gothenburg.
Christen is all wildly curling hair, long bare legs, and a big bright smile. Shes standing in front of a full length mirror and she’s got one hand holding her phone and the other one is tightly fisted in the red fabric of a slightly oversized Portland Thorns Jersey.
In the fabric of Tobin’s Portland Thorns jersey. The white of the numbers reflecting in the window behind her. Christen is wearing her jersey, Christen is only wearing her jersey. “Oh fuck me.” Tobin mutters as she lets her head fall back against the frame of her cubby.
We’re just friends. We’re just friends...but damn those legs.
“Who you drooling over Heath?” Emily questions as she sidles up next to Tobin.
“I’m not drooling.”
“My bad, my bad, in your defense there is a lack of drool and more a gaping mouth quality to this whole look.” Emily laughs as she tries and fails to sneak a look at Tobin’s phone. “Who is it?”
“Who it is happens to be none of your business Sonnett.”
“Ouch you really know how to wound a girl.” Emily teases as she dramatically grabs at her heart.
Tobin laughs but only for a second before her eyes go wide as Emily plucks the phone out of her hand, glancing down at the photo that has Tobin all slack jawed and flushing cheeks.
Tobin snatches the phone back, locking the screen and tossing it into her cubby, but the damage is done.
“Tobin!?!” Emily has the stupidest smile on her face, which is saying a lot, cause that girl is the queen of shit eating grins. “So you’re just?....”
“Friends.” Tobin states, a crease forming between her brows.
Emily smiles. “Friends?”
Tobin doesn’t hesitate, “yes.”
“So just, like, friends plus a little extra...” Emily says tilting her head towards Tobin’s phone.
“We are just friends.” Tobin says it slowly, can taste the lie on her tongue —because maybe, just maybe, lately Tobin has been having a lot of decidedly unfriendly feelings— but maybe if she says it enough her body will start to believe it. “No extra.”
But god does she want the extra.
Emily laughs, ponytail swinging as she throws her arm around Tobin’s shoulder, both of them walking out to warm ups, “just friends, plus a little extra and you loooooove her.”
Tobin gives Emily a solid shove, speeding up her stride to get a few steps ahead of her and her stupid sing song voice.
“Tobin,—“ Emily doesn’t expect her to turn around, “Christen looks really good in your jersey, super hot, like totally...”
“Fuck you Sonnett,” Tobin yells as she literally sprints out the door.
Portland defeats Seattle 3-2. It’s a rough game but they celebrate the win. Three drinks later and Tobin is at home, in bed, cellphone in hand.
It’s a nine hour time difference, but Tobin is dialing before she even does the math, and Christen answers on the third ring.
“Good game.” Christen’s voice is thick with sleep, deeper than Tobin’s ever heard it.
“I got a yellow card.”
“But you got the win.” Tobin swears she can hear Christen smile. Wishes she was there to see it.
Tobin burrows deeper under the covers, pulling them up and over her head until she’s completely burritoed. She’s nervous but she can’t stop the words from falling out of her mouth, “Chris?”
“Mhmmmm” the sound sits heavy in Tobin’s stomach.
“Are you still wearing it?” It’s just above a whisper but Tobin hears Christen’s sharp inhale and knows she can hear her, knows she knows exactly what she’s asking her.
Tobin sighs, edging on a whimper, “Chris?” It’s a plea. Tobin knows it is. She needs Christen to stop this cause she sure as hell can’t.
“Did you like it?” Christen’s voice is soft but sure.
“Did I like it? Did I like you wearing my jersey— fuck Christen— it made me want to...” Tobin stops, squeezing her eyes shut, they’re fast approaching this line —actually they’ve been getting tripped up in it since the day they met— Tobin’s pretty sure they’re far enough over it that they can’t go back.
Tobin can hear Christen breathing and tries to find comfort in it, but damn it, she’s all short little breathy exhales that have Tobin’s heart beating faster than she’s ever felt it.
“It made you want to what Tobin?”
“Chris?” Tobin’s giving her an out.
“Tobin, what do you want to do to me?” Christen’s voice is thick, the words tumbling out slow and hot, hitting Tobin in all the right places.
“Fuck.” Tobin’s gripping her phone with one hand while the other toys with the waist band of her shorts. “You really want to know that all I could think about while I was looking at that picture was dropping to my knees and having your fingers tangled in my hair?” Tobin questions.
Christen inhales sharply and Tobin swears she can hear the rustling of sheets, her mind instantly supplying an image of Christen splayed out in bed, jersey on, fingers dipping beneath her panties.
“Tobin what else?” It’s whispered between these tiny little whimpers.
“Are you wet?” Tobin doesn’t even recognize her own voice at this point, low and gravelly, traveling thousands of miles to land hotly in Christen’s ear.
Tobin groans at that, needy and unrestrained, her fingers dipping below her underwear to slide through the wetness there.
“Tobin please, I’m close, I need—“
Tobin clenches, hot and wet around her finger, at the statement. She knows how close she is, knows that just listening to Christen will send her over the edge.
“I need you to keep—“ it’s a low throaty moan breaking Christen off mid request, and it makes Tobin’s fingers work faster against her clit. “Keep talking Tobin, please.”
“Fuck Chris, I want to taste you. Right against the wall with you watching in that mirror, my hands running up the backs of your thighs, fuck, your fingers tangled in my hair pulling me closer....”
Christen’s voice gets higher, feminine and breathy, and Tobin wonders instantly if it’d sound the same with Christen’s lips pressed against her ear instead of a phone—knows it would be better, so much better.
“I’d try and go slow Chris,” Tobin’s fingers are getting rougher at the thought of her tongue between Christen’s thighs, “but fuck—“
“You can go fast,” Christen exhales, teeth catching her lip as she tries to hold back a moan as her fingers do just that. “I like it fast.”
“Fuck Christen.” Tobin’s close, so close to that edge, she tries to slow her fingers but the sounds Christen is making have them going faster. She tries to concentrate, focus on exactly what she wants to be doing to Christen, “I need to be tasting you, my fingers digging into your hips, fuck, holding you still so I can—“
“I’m— Tobin, oh fuck...” Christen’s voice is husky, rasping across the line and Tobin was right, just listening to Christen has her tumbling off the edge, thighs squeezing together as her fingers still.
It’s soft and quiet, shuttering breaths and the sound of limbs being adjusted travel across the line.
“So that was —“ Tobin’s not too sure where she wants to go with this, her mind is muddled and she’s having such a hard time finding any words let alone the right ones.
“Perfect. That was perfect Tobin. I miss you.” Christen’s voice is so sincere, always so precise.
“I miss you.” Tobin tries to hide the yawn that follows but knows by Christen’s soft laughter that she’s failed.
“Go to sleep Tobin.”
Tobin glances quickly at her phone, noting the time and cringing. “Oh my...shit Chris, I didn’t realize...you missed morning yoga.”
Christen laughs throatily at Tobin’s concern. “Mhmmmm...definitely worth it though. Good night Tobin.”
“Good morning Chris.”
Tobin falls asleep with a smile....and wakes up to a text.
Actually it’s another selfie. It’s Christen, she’s dressed head to toe in black this time and there’s a little gold crown sitting on her head and the caption reads ‘guess who the newest Royal is?”