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Beau fucking hates feeling any kind of indebted to Thoreau Lionett, but even she can cave to his "throwing money at my shit relationship with my daughter until I feel better" attitude when it involves an all expenses paid trip to Port Damali with the rest of the Nein. Especially if it means she gets to spend time with her absolutely ripped girlfriend in front of her father, and watch the face journeys roll past.
(Yeah, yeah, spending time with TJ is pretty fuckin' great too. And her mom, when she's able to not be around her dad.)
Figuring out the wall to her and Yasha's room backs up to the suite the Lionett family is in seems like a message sent from the gods themselves. She plays it tame for the first night -- in all honesty traveling and meeting up with everyone again left them absolutely fucking exhausted, so Beau barely musters up an involved make out session with Yasha up against the door to their room before the exhaustion hits like a wave, nearly sending her knees buckling. If her extremely buff girlfriend just so happens to sweep her up into gloriously strong arms to carry her inside, Beau certainly isn't complaining.
Day two, however, all bets are off, no holds barred. Beau makes it her mission to flaunt her relationship in front of her father every chance she gets. Climbing into Yasha's lap at the breakfast table, a mid-afternoon lotion application turned massage session by the pool, and an incident involving a papaya over lunch that has even Jester blushing. (If Beau conveniently forgets the Lionett's suite balcony just so happens to be directly above their chosen tanning spot while Thoreau is stuck on an important call with a vendor, who's to say?)
Yasha seems content to enjoy the vacation time, and never complains about spending time with Beau. The twinkle in her heterochromatic eyes after lunch gives indication that she's clearly caught on to Beau's plans, but she doesn't realize until dinner that the mischievous sparkle also means other things.
It starts with a warm palm on her knee as they're getting seated in the resort's outdoor gazebo. Seemingly innocent, a casual touch that barely registers through the undercurrent that's been simmering all day under Beau's skin. They're both well acquainted with managing food with a hand down, often sitting tangled together for meals back home. Yasha waits, engaging pleasant conversation between Cad, Molly, and Veth, until they're done with the appetizers and the main courses are brought out.
Beau slices into her steak with a pleased hum, savoring the seasoned char from the grill as she chews, when she feels it. Yasha's palm shifts, sliding from her kneecap to the edge of the cropped boardshorts Beau wears, her fingers a warm, heavy presence against the bare skin of her inner thigh. She coughs as she swallows her bite of steak, reaching out for the wineglass on the table. Yasha continues eating one-handed by her side, still engaged in a discussion with Cad as Molly and Veth argue on the other side of the table. Her expression is inscrutable, giving no indication of the direction of her thoughts or the reason for the position shift. Beau shrugs, spearing another bite on her fork.
"How's the steak, Beauregard?" Thoreau glances over at her, clearly trying to extend an olive branch if the expression on his face is anything to go by.
"'s good," Beau sips her wine, her hand moving to set it down on the table when the hand on her thigh moves again. She fumbles the glass, nearly spilling, as Yasha's hand skims over the printed fabric of her boardshorts (fuckin' dinosaurs, cool as shit) to settle right at the crease where her thigh meets pelvis. Another glance finds her girlfriend still talking with Caduceus, deftly feeding herself one-handed. Beau swallows around a rising wave of arousal, ducking her gaze back to her plate for a moment as she tries to get herself under control. "Um, pairs really well with the new wine."
"Oh, yes, this is the first of that blackberry vintage Beau suggested last year, right dear?" Clara turns from making sure TJ isn't completely making a mess of himself to chime in, glancing between her husband and daughter with a proud smile on her face.
Thoreau nods. "Ah, yes, this is the first round from that batch. I wasn't sure if we should leave it to age in the barrels longer, so we split the crop in half. This one is just under a year."
"Oh. I didn't, uh, realize you were listening to me when I mentioned that." Beau shrugs. "That's cool."
She falls into a sense of complacency for the next few bites, almost forgetting about the warm hand against her leg. Yasha's next move has her choking on a bite of meat -- Two fingers tracing from entrance to clit, pressing the seam of her shorts against skin. What had been more of an ambivalent low thrum of arousal roars back full force as Beau realizes her girlfriend is not even remotely teasing anymore.
"Beauregard? Are you alright?" Thoreau says, eyebrows furrowed.
"Y--yeah, just, uh, too big of a piece. Went down the wrong way." Beau absolutely can't look over at Yasha, clearing her throat as she hopes desperately that the angle of their seating is enough to hide Yasha's arm. "It's fine, I'm good. Just, uh, got really excited about the steak. Too much too fast."
"Be careful, my dear. You don't want to make yourself sick," Clara cautions, absentmindedly stopping TJ from flinging a glob of potato across the table.
The next stroke has her abs clenching against the urge to grind, and Beau thanks every god she can think of that she'd not worn one of her usual crop-tops to dinner. Out of the corner of her eye, Yasha's face is still calm and collected, giving absolutely nothing away. She clears her throat again, forcing a cheerful smile across the table. "Yeah, sure thing mom. I'll, uh, make sure to cut it smaller next time."
With her answer apparently satisfying her parents into returning to whatever fucking conversation they'd been having, Beau nearly bites through her tongue as Yasha's fingers press again with purpose. Her boxers are already fucking soaked, the wet press of fabric doing absolutely nothing to dull the sensation as Yasha's hand settles in to a familiar pattern, designed to warm her up in almost no time. Beau manages another bite, fingers whiteknuckled around her fork as she leans closer.
"What are you doing?" It's taking everything Beau has to not rock into the slow roll of Yasha's hand over her cunt, and she barely maintains the presence of mind to keep her voice low.
Yasha hums around a bite of her own steak, fingers never letting up the tantalizing pressure against the seam of her shorts. "I don't know what you're talking about," She murmurs, circling sharply over Beau's clit in a way that almost sends her knee jerking into the underside of the table. A sip of wine barely covers the tremble of her hand, and Fjord gives her an odd look from across the table.
It's fucking insane but Beau doesn't want to stop, even with the risk of being discovered with all of their friends and her family here. Yasha glances at her long enough to read the acceptance in her silence, and the circling of her hand resumes.
Beau spends the next minutes in delicious agony, managing haphazard bites of her food around tamping down the urge to grind into what Yasha's doing to her beneath the table.
She gives up on the steak as a bad job when the next press sends her fork screeching against the plate. "Sorry! Sorry, hand slipped."
Thoreau frowns at her, eyebrows furrowed. "Are you certain you're alright, Beauregard? You look awfully flushed."
"Did you get too much sun earlier?" Clara's attention is pulled from a conversation with Jester and Essek. "You do look flushed."
Beau swallows jerkily, ever-so-aware now that all the eyes at the table are focused on her. Yasha's fingers still and then drift away, Beau biting back a plaintive whine as she throws on a shaky smile. "Y'know, actually I'm not feeling so hot. Maybe I should go lie down."
"Of course, dear. Perhaps you should see if the concierge can get you some after sun lotion," Clara frets, her gaze darting over to the silent asimaar seated next to her eldest. "Yasha, dear, are you feeling alright?"
Yasha shrugs. "Oh, I feel fine -- Beau was very diligent in making sure I reapplied, but she must have neglected herself."
"Always thinking of others. Why don't you head on upstairs, I'll have the concierge stop by to bring you something for the sun exposure," Her mother says, nudging Thoreau into raising a hand to signal the waiter. "Even with our darker skin you do still need to be careful with the sun, Beau."
"Y--yeah, mom, sure." Beau fights down the urge to unstick her boxers from her center, sure that even the slightest change in pressure will result in a very embarrassing reveal, and gingerly clambers to her feet. The walk back to the lobby seems to stretch forever, and she hears the rapid pad of footsteps just before she reaches the sweeping staircase leading up to the residential levels of the resort.
A warm hand settles low against her tailbone, Yasha's pinky barely flirting with the edge of the waistband of her shorts. "I told your mother we already had after-sun in the room."
"Oh?"
Yasha leans in, hot breath washing over the nape of Beau's neck. "And I told them we would check in tomorrow morning once you were feeling better. So I have you to myself. All. Night. Long."
"Is that how we're playing this?" She's proud of the way her voice remains steady by contrast to the veritable flood Yasha's words elicit below the waist.
Yasha chuckles. "You have been playing at this all day. I am simply finishing what you started, no?"
Beau swallows around a quiet moan, swiping their keycard at the elevators. "Sure hope something is finishing tonight."
The wait for an available car drags like the slow sweep of Yasha's thumb against the curve of her hip, time seeming to lengthen and spiral along in swirls of sensation. In deference to the blinking camera mounted in the corner Yasha seems content with her hand placement, although Beau has a momentary fit of madness imagining if she dragged Yasha's hand below the waistband of her shorts right there in the elevator. She bolts for the door to their room as soon as the doors slide open, palming the keycard against the lock with an almost frantic edge. Yasha crowds up behind her just as the door fucking finally unlocks, and with no preamble Beau finds herself inside the room and pressed flat against the door, shorts and boxers yanked down to mid-thigh.
She keens as Yasha's fingers dip into the space between her legs, drawing slick and moisture from her entrance to circle her clit.
"All of this, just from dinner?"
"Fuck, Yasha, please."
Yasha brings her fingers up to clean them off, smirking at the drawn out whine. "I could have gotten you off at the table, couldn't I?"
"Fuck, Yash, I don't know." The rest of the lie is silenced by the press of Yasha's fingers, still wet, into her open mouth. Beau shudders, diligently working to clean the taste of herself off of her fingers.
"Liar." Spit-slick fingers turn her head enough to meet a blistering kiss, Yasha's tongue licking into her mouth, chasing the taste of her wetness. Beau moans.
She tries to worm a hand down in between her hips and the door, intent on getting herself off if Yasha's content to be a fucking tease, but an iron grip stops first one, then both of her wrists, pinning her palms flat against the door near her head. Yasha clicks her tongue disapprovingly, shaking her head. "Ah-ah, none of that. You wanted to wind all of this up all day. You can wait until I am ready for you to come."
Yasha's particular brand of casual dominance sends a lightning bolt of pleasure to her clit, and Beau jerks against the door with a whine. "Please, Yasha, please, I'm fucking dying here."
Sudden and silent, the smooth stretch of one then two of Yasha's fingers slide into her cunt, and Beau nearly collapses before she firms her knees, moaning loud.
She loves Yasha's hands, could write fucking soliloquies about how wonderful Yasha's hands are, how they feel, but for now Beau is content if Yasha's hands just keep fucking her. The door is cold against her cheek, blunt fingernails scrabbling against the varnished wood as Beau desperately tries to keep her hands where Yasha had pinned them, only vaguely aware of how loud her cries are. Suddenly the fingers withdraw, leaving her clenching on nothing, drawing a hitching whine from deep in her chest.
"Sssssh, we wouldn't want anyone to hear, hm? What if your mother comes to check on you? Can you be quiet?" Yasha punctuates her teasing questions with the abrupt return of her hand, three fingers providing the perfect stretch, Beau biting into the side of her palm with a strained whimper. The fucking resumes with renewed intensity, and Beau absently wonders about the relative structural integrity of swanky resort doors when compared against the strength Yasha's putting behind each of her thrusts. A pinch against her clit draws a muffled yelp, and Beau opens her eyes to see Yasha raising an eyebrow, clearly noticing her wandering thoughts.
Beau rolls her hips into the next thrust, trying to speed up the pace, and whines low and loud when Yasha immediately stills, leaving her fingers half buried in the desperate clutch of Beau's cunt. Any attempts to fuck herself back on the remaining stretch stop when Yasha drops her hips, pinning Beau flat against the door as she pulls her fingers away again. The groan Beau releases is garbled around several choice words, hips grinding desperately against nothing.
"I warned you, we need to be quiet." Yasha seems to be considering something, leaning back abruptly to spin Beau around, hobbled by the shorts and boxers trapped around her knees. "But first…"
Beau leans weak-limbed against the door as Yasha kneels and strips her bottom half with brutal efficiency, leaving a teasing kiss against her clit almost as an afterthought. The boardshorts disappear over Yasha's shoulder to somewhere in the room, but she considers the by now thoroughly soaked boxers in her hand with a curious expression on her face. Yasha smirks, rising slowly from her knees to press in against her half-clothed girlfriend. She draws her into a deep, searching kiss, only pulling away when Beau's hips begin to rock fruitlessly against her hands, struggling for any kind of angle to grind.
A pinch and twist against Beau's clit pulls another yelp, quickly muffled by the press of damp fabric into her open mouth. Beau huffs breaths through her nose, eyes wide and pupils blown, meeting Yasha's questioning gaze with a decisive nod.
The makeshift gag really only serves to make her words unintelligible rather than truly muffling anything, as evidenced by the low moan bleeding through as Yasha kneels again, urging first one then both legs up over her shoulders. Beau yelps and nearly spits out the gag when Yasha then proceeds to stand up with Beau on her shoulders, hands scrabbling for purchase against braided white hair. Yasha chuckles, bracing them between the door and a small closet, hands cupped under Beau's ass. Her heels thump uselessly against the broad plane of Yasha's back, her head dropping back as Yasha settles in with tongue and suction and just the faintest edge of teeth, just like she likes.
By the third orgasm Beau is near twitching with overstimulation, slumping forward against Yasha's head in a move that nearly unbalances them, and she only dimly registers the change in height as Yasha settles them back down on level ground. She barely remembers the gag until gentle fingers coax her jaw into relaxing, the fabric coming out soaked in drool and the leftover taste of her wetness, leaving her shuddering around a reflexive clench at the thought.
"...Fuck, that was hot."
"I'm sure you know me well enough to know we're not done," Yasha calls from the bedroom, poking her head back around the doorway with a victorious smirk. Beau shivers through the renewed rush of arousal, absentmindedly stripping her forgotten sports bra and Hawaiian shirt from her torso as she pads through to the bedroom.
"Might need a few minu--oh, fuck me…" She breathes, stopped short in the doorway as she stares at the absolute fucking masterpiece her girlfriend presents, seated on the end of the bed with an intimately familiar strapless dildo resting near her hip, and gloriously nude.
Yasha's smirk widens. "Mmm, later. You need to get me ready, first."
Beau swallows, jerking back into motion with such speed that she nearly gives herself rug burn on the carpeted floor of the hotel room in her haste to drop to her knees in between Yasha's spread legs.
The warm palm that comes up to cradle the side of her head draws a visceral shiver, Yasha's fingers scratching against the fresh fade of her undercut before settling around her topknot with a loose fist. Beau follows the guiding tug after a brief spark of pleasure-pain, bringing her gaze up to meet Yasha's half-lidded eyes.
Yasha's fingers firm their grasp in her hair, and Beau lets herself be drawn forward. She loves it, every time Yasha lets her go down on her. Her responses, moans and pleas and praise called out in that sex roughened voice? They hit Beau on such a fundamental, visceral level that she's half tempted to just go for a night and eat Yasha out until her jaw aches, just to see if she can come from Yasha's words and praise alone.
"Come on, get me ready for it. I'm not letting you come again until I've had mine."
Beau whines, leaning into the firmer tug just for that same flash of pleasure-pain, hands clenched in fists on her thighs because Yasha didn't say she could use her hands. It's simpler, like this. Tongue and lips and suction, the press of strong thighs around her ears, the sharp tug of fingers threaded through her hair, the way tension builds and then releases in Yasha's core -- if it were socially acceptable, Beau would spend every available moment she had in her day just to be down here. Worship in it's purest form.
"Fucking...there, gods, right there," Yasha groans, her free hand pressing in on the back of Beau's head to direct her exactly into the position she wants, hips grinding desperately before stuttering to a stop. "Gods, your mouth, so good."
With a shiver and a high pitched cry, Yasha grinds out her orgasm against the firm press of Beau's tongue, finally releasing the death grip she had on her hair. Beau leans against the inside of her knee, panting for breath with blown pupils, a dazed grin on her face.
"So good." Yasha smirks at the predictable shiver of sensation her praise draws, reaching for the sensation-transmitting strap on the bed next to her. Beau shivers again when Yasha holds it just in front of her cunt, raising an eyebrow.
"You think I'm ready for it?"
"Uh huh."
"Go on then," Yasha says with a grin, leaning back on her palms to watch. Dextrous hands bring the smaller bulb end of the strap against warm wet of her cunt, drawing gentle patterns through to gather slick before Beau glances up at her, receiving a nod. Yasha moans, clenching reflexively as the bulb presses then pops through, her hips rising into the motion as Beau makes sure the sensation-transmitting patch is nestled securely against her clit.
She grins. "Are you ready?"
Beau's eyes close on a shudder and moan, nodding frantically.
"You sure?"
Her eyes pop open, thin rings of blue against the black of her pupils, dilating even further in arousal. She takes in the strap -- a newer model, with a bit more girth, picked on their last excursion to the sex shop in Nicodranas. Beau tilts her head, swallowing. "I…"
"Maybe you should get it wet, make sure you're truly ready." Yasha bares her teeth in a dangerous grin. "I don't think I am feeling very gentle, tonight."
Beau sits up on her knees to get a better angle, one hand reaching for her before Yasha clicks her tongue.
"Ah, no. Get it wet with yourself, first. Then you can suck me."
With an audible swallow, Beau drops the reaching hand to her own cunt, eyes falling closed and mouth dropping open as she curls two fingers inside.
"That's it, get them good and wet, there's a good girl." Yasha catalogues the quiet whine, the absent rock of her hips that starts up. "Stop. That's enough."
Beau forces her eyes open, hips fighting the reflexive urge to chase and thrust as she draws her hand away, fingers and palm wet with her own slick.
"Good. Get me nice and wet, then you can suck me until I decide you're ready for me."
She watches as Beau strokes up the length of the cock, spreading her own slick with careful jacks of her hand and wrist, before sitting up on her knees again to lave over the tip with her tongue. Yasha sighs in pleasure, reaching with one hand to tangle in the wreck she's made of Beau's topknot.
The sensation transmitting plate gives Yasha the warm and wet of Beau's mouth, translates the sensation of her callused palm and the calculated slide of her tongue, feeds it back through her clit as pleasure. Yasha settles in with an absentminded rock of her hips, controlling the depth and speed of Beau's work "wetting" her cock for a few blissful moments before her desires get the best of her. She tugs at the hair clenched in her fingers, waiting as Beau surfaces from her newest attempt at deepthroating the strap with spit slick lips, panting for breath.
Yasha stands to shift closer to the head of the bed, settling in against a comfortable pile of pillows before patting her lap. "Come on, climb on. I want to watch you ride."
Beau scrambles onto the bed, straddling her legs on shaky knees, the insides of her own thighs shining with wetness. She's almost not tall enough to settle the cock into place at her entrance, craning up on her knees and shins with help from the guiding hands at her hips. Yasha stops before she can sink down, the head of the strap just barely catching on her entrance.
"You don't come until I say you can."
Beau nods frantically, releasing a sob of pleasure when Yasha's hands at her hips push down, her eyes fixed on watching as Beau takes the entire thing in one go. Her grip tightens enough to stop her from rising again, leaning in for a demanding kiss. "Say it."
"I don't come until you say, fuck, please!" Beau babbles, hands scrambling for purchase until Yasha gathers both in one hand, bringing them to her own shoulders.
"Leave them here, or I'll make you stop." Her free hand guides Beau's hips into a solid rhythm, rising and falling with the strength of her core and thighs, with a purposeful grind on the end of each stroke. Just as Beau establishes a rhythm, Yasha plants her feet and thrusts up, drawing a sharp wail and the abrupt slam of the headboard against the wall.
They both freeze, Beau's ride slowed by the firm clamp of Yasha's hand over her hip. Yasha cranes her neck back to look at the headboard, a wicked twinkle entering her gaze. Beau nearly collapses with relief when the hand on her hip encourages movement again, rising and falling over Yasha's lap with increasing desperation. The headboard keeps a steady metronome to Beau's rhythm, a solid thunk following the beat of her grinding.
Yasha watches her intently, cataloguing the increased tension, desperate cries, as Beau rides her lap with reckless abandon. Just as the clutch of Beau's cunt around the magic strap reaches a breaking point, Yasha stills her ride with a firm grasp, enjoying the plaintive whine that punches out from deep in Beau's chest. "That is enough -- I said you would come when I want you to."
With a guiding tap, Beau rises from the strap with a shudder and a moan, the insides of her thighs absolutely smeared with her own wetness. Firm hands grasp her hips, tugging and rearranging until Beau is on her hands and knees facing the headboard, with Yasha knelt behind her. Yasha takes her hands, placing them firmly against the wall.
"Don't move, or I stop." Yasha waits for the smooth glide of her strap through Beau to give her last instruction. "You come when I say you can come."
"Fuck, Yash -- please," Beau cries, nearly sobbing in relief when Yasha grips her hips, slots the strap into place with efficient movements, and uses her hips as leverage to pull her back on the cock. Their renewed motion starts up a rhythmic thump against the wall in concert with the cries and pleading Beau has lost the ability to restrain.
"Oh gods -- fuck, Yash, don't stop!" The headboard has to be damaging the wall at this point, Beau barely keeping herself from faceplanting against the wall with the force of Yasha's thrusts behind her. Everything in her body winds tighter and tighter, coils of sensation and pleasure all centering on where her body stretches around the girth of Yasha's cock. "Fuck, please--"
The grip on her hips tightens, pinpoints of pain Beau knows will be fingertip bruises tomorrow, as Yasha tilts her hips for a better angle -- the slick sounds of their joining just about all that Beau can hear over the drumbeat of her heart. She garbles something unintelligible when Yasha's next thrust glides against that perfect spot in her front wall, losing the ability to keep her torso upright and dropping to her elbows. The following thrust draws a reedy wail from somewhere in her chest, sending sparks skipping down her spine.
Yasha curls one big arm around her hips, hauling her back into a more easily leveraged position with an ease that is absolutely doing it for Beau. She sinks her teeth into the inside of her forearm rather than release the scream the next thrust punches out of her, babbling incoherent pleas against skin and sheets. Firm hands grasp both of her wrists, tugging arms behind her back to secure with a big hand just above her ass, and Beau lets the next wail of pleasure slip free without obstruction.
"That's it, I want to hear you."
Beau can barely balance her weight on her shoulders, head turned to the side so her moans and cries spill freely, her hands grasping at nothing against Yasha's iron grip. Her body is a feedback loop of blind sensation -- the slick sound of Yasha's hips thrusting into her cunt, the glorious stretch produced at this angle, the pulsing beat of her neglected clit. She wonders absently if she can come like this, without a touch to her clit, and jackknifes with a wail when Yasha kicks into another gear altogether, barely withdrawing before thrusting back in -- short and fast, drilling at the spot on her front wall with uncanny precision.
"YASHA!" She's absolutely going to come at this point, no doubt about it with the tension building in her gut. "Please, please, I--"
Yasha growls, her hips almost bruising in the intensity of her thrusts against Beau's ass. "That's it, fucking come for me, do it now. Come, Beauregard!"
With a hitching wail, Beau comes, arching back as much as she's able with Yasha's body pinning her against the mattress. In the background there's a splintering sound and a crash, but she barely registers it over the clench and pulse of her cunt, Yasha's thighs and abdomen becoming soaked with her release.
She comes back to herself by degrees -- her arms freed and settled gently at her sides, the weak pulse of aftershocks as Yasha gently pulls out, her body carefully being rolled over to move out of the wet spot. For all of her power and domination earlier, Yasha's hands are infinitely gentle wiping her down, long fingers tracing over the marks littered across Beau's body before granting each a gentle kiss.
Beau blinks back to something resembling coherence when the warm radiant glow of Yasha's magic soothes the handprint bruising around her wrists. She blinks, registering the strange tilt to their positioning. "'s goin'...Did we break the bed?"
Yasha chuckles, carefully pulling Beau up to lean against her torso before holding a cup of water to her mouth. "Ah, yes. We definitely broke the bed."
"Fuckin' dope." Beau giggles, still a little fuck-drunk.
"I mean we were certainly fucking."
"We're awesome," Beau slurs, struggling against the lethargy of a truly epic fuck to peer up at her girlfriend. "D'you need-- we didn't...I can...fuck." Her limbs still don't want to follow basic commands, her arm flopping uselessly across her stomach.
"I am good," Yasha says with a laugh, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "Besides, I'm not sure you're capable of anything at the moment."
Beau pouts. "Tongue works."
"Raincheck, baby." Yasha pats her abs, a movement that would normally feel absolutely fucking patronizing but just feels good coming from her, and shifts them both to sit up. "So. Bath, I think, to get cleaned up, and I'll set up the couch."
She considers, mind going through a fuzzy catalogue of bodily functions and how to make movement happen. She yelps when the world whirls around her as Yasha simply stands up with Beau cradled in her arms. "No fair. I think you pudding'd my legs, they won't work."
"Chauffeur service is free, this time."
Over Yasha's shoulder, Beau peers at the cracked ruin of the headboard and the crazy tilt to the bed itself, huffing out a laugh. "We're fucking awesome, we literally broke the bed fucking."
Yasha smirks. "Dibs on not telling your parents."
"...Oh, fuck."