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When they’re finally alone, in a random corridor amongst the empty backrooms of the stadium, Jordan pushes her up against the cold, concrete wall, crowding into her personal space and capturing her lips. It’s so soon after the game’s conclusion that Leah still has Sweet Caroline ringing in her ears, and the tackiness of the game’s sweat still drying on her skin.
Leah opens up her mouth immediately, because of course she does: she’s always been easy for Jordan, and she hopes that never changes. The push-pull between them is so strong, both of them trying to pour every ounce of godforsaken emotion they’re both feeling into the kiss, that neither of them can tell who’s doing what.
All the defender knows is that she’d promised herself before this tournament that any emotion she feels - good, bad, or ugly - she wouldn’t hide from. Instead, she would embrace them for what they are, and carry them with her…and this is how she’s dealing with them tonight.
Leah’s also hyper-aware that this is borrowed time: they have a maximum of five minutes left of Keira and Lucy covering for them before people - namely Sarina, who has strict rules about distractions during this tournament - will start asking questions.
Jordan bites gently on her bottom lip - the taller woman does a full-body shiver - and then pulls back momentarily, breathing hard into Leah’s parted mouth, their faces inches apart, and eyes searching deep into each other’s. Pretty green eyes, Leah thinks.
“I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, y’know?” Jordan asks after a beat, her hands squeezing Leah’s hips where they’ve been resting. “So fuckin’ proud.”
Pursing her lips and trying hard to keep her facial expressions under control, Leah gives a tiny nod: she’s always found praise difficult to accept - always inclined to be harsh on herself - but she won’t brush it off when it’s from Jordan. She knows how much her girlfriend hates that, knows it would be a slap in the face not to accept it from Jordan when it’s so difficult for Jordan to say things like that in the first place, after the amount of hopes and dreams Jordan’s had snatched out from under her feet time and time again. And, even though she knows her next words won’t go down well, she still can’t stop herself from saying, “Jord, I wish-”
“Stop it.” Jordan cuts in, an edge to her voice, head jerking away and taking an abrupt step back from Leah - which, no, that’s exactly what Leah didn’t want, and she’s already missing the comforting weight of her girlfriend leaning into her tummy.
Jordan, whose demeanour had gone all stiff, softens slightly when she registers the stricken look in the defender’s eyes. “Look,” her voice comes out soothing in a way that it isn’t often - in the way she uses when she knows Leah is overwhelmed with feeling far too many of her feelings at once, and needs to be carefully coaxed back into reality. “We both wish lots of things, but that’s football. You know that, and I know that, ’n I’m really trying hard to accept that, and not think about the stuff I can’t change.”
She was staring hard at the wall over Leah’s shoulder while she spoke, but now the smaller woman looks back up into her girlfriend’s eyes, and Leah’s stomach twists at the vulnerability and anguish she sees in them. Fuck. How could she even come close to saying something referencing Jordan’s injury in the first place? How fucking selfish can she get?
Leah forcibly swallows down the lump in her throat, trying to choose her next words with more care: “I’m sorry, baby. I’ve just been so caught up in all of this, and it’s incredible and I’m having the time of my life, but the pressure is also fuckin’ insane, y’know?”
“It’s okay - I know,” her girlfriend says quietly.
But the thing is, Leah thinks, is that Jordan doesn’t know. Leah and Jordan both know full well that Jordan doesn’t know, and Leah knows this is the kind of admission that Jordan has only ever voiced aloud once or twice - late, late at night, enclosed in the safety of Leah’s arms and the darkness of their bedroom - but it’s Jordan’s biggest fear that she never will know.
When the midfielder’s voice breaks several times during her next sentence, Leah pretends not to notice, for both of their sakes: “What matters right now is bein’ ready for next season, and getting to cheer on my incredible girlfriend while she’s captaining our country in a home Euros that we’re gonna win .”
Leah looks down at the floor for a moment. Gathering her thoughts and trying to pull herself together, overwhelmed with the fierce love and urge to protect she feels for the smaller woman in front of her, her eyes catch sight of the stark white where Jordan’s got Beth’s hat-trick shirt tucked into the waistband of her denim shorts. Leah’s eyebrows knit together in a frown, looking back up to reestablish eye contact with her girlfriend.
“Don’t you want mine, baby?” she implores, somewhat cheekily but with a hint of insecurity. She reaches down to thumb the smooth material resting on Jordan’s hipbone, really as an excuse to then brush inwards and dig her thumb into the woman’s hip flexor.
Jordan draws in a sharp breath and swallows hard - either at the term of endearment, or Leah’s touch in an area Leah knows is one of Jordan’s most sensitive…or both. “D’you want me to have it?”
Leah nods simply. Who else, but Jordan?
“Well, give me yours, then.”
Leah quickly pulls off her match shirt, natural as anything, and proffers it to her girlfriend. Only problem is that Jordan is paying no attention to her outstretched hand: she’s fixated down on Leah’s chest, and blood rushes to Leah’s cheeks when she realises. It’s not like her sports bra reveals anything, but it hardly matters, because Jordan knows exactly what she looks like without it. It’s been two weeks since they’ve been intimate with one another, and that is suddenly becoming painstakingly obvious.
“Oi! Eyes up here, love.” Leah tries to laugh, to ease the sudden tension thick in the air, but it’s too late: they both watch as Leah’s nipples stiffen beneath the white, Nike-branded fabric, her body unfairly outing her as being affected by her girlfriend’s gaze.
“Fuck,” Jordan breathes, “So hot. I’ve missed your boobs.”
Leah’s barely registered the new huskiness in her voice when Jordan grabs her waist on either side, holding her in place, leans down to swipe her tongue across one of her hard nipples, quick as anything, and then bites down gently.
As her girlfriend tongues her nipple, Leah moans loudly, hands automatically reaching up to thread her fingers through her hair and hold her closer to her breast. After a second or two, though, the taller woman remembers where they are, and pushes Jordan’s head away like she’s been burned.
“Jord!” she admonishes, “Why start something y’know you can’t finish?”
Jordan smirks, all angst from earlier long-forgotten and not apologetic in the slightest. “‘cause I can.”
The cockiness is out of character, but it’s a good look on her. Leah likes it a lot, and so does her body, apparently, if the rush of heat between her legs that makes her clit twitch is anything to go by.
“Let me call you later, when I’m done with the press shit. I wanna finish this off,” Leah mumbles. She’s regained a little composure now, biting her lip and raising her eyebrows hopefully.
But Jordan’s face falls, the cockiness replaced with guilt. “I’m sorry, baby - I can’t. Me ‘n’ the girls are going to a bar before the drive home. We won’t be back ‘til really late.”
Leah groans, dropping her chin to rest on top of Jordan’s soft head of hair and taking a deep inhale of the coconut scent of her shampoo to ground herself. She can’t be truly annoyed: she’s happy her love is going to go have fun with their friends, after what must have been an incredibly difficult night for her. And, to her girlfriend’s credit, Jordan does look genuinely gutted…however, that, unfortunately, won’t fix the ache of her clit or the growing wetness between her legs.
After a moment of feeling sorry for herself, she pulls back to look at the midfielder, and lays another quick kiss on her lips. “At least go get me a new top, then. I’m not fuckin’ goin’ back out there like this,” she says playfully, referencing the wet patch on her sports bra which now discolours the otherwise pure white.
When Jordan nods solemnly and turns, Leah can’t help but slap her on the bum, earning herself a little squeak from the smaller woman.
*
The longer Leah spends on this bus, the more worked up she’s getting herself. Keira and a couple of the others had taken the piss out of her flushed cheeks and kiss-bitten lips when she’d first returned to them, but they’d stopped when they’d seen how upset she looked.
Seeing Jordan in the stands of the Norway game had been one of the most bittersweet experiences of her footballing career thus far. She’d tried to hide her anguish during what should have been one of the best nights of her life with humour, gesturing to Jordan how she couldn’t find her in the crowd due to her short stature, throwing her hands in the air and trying to act frustrated. But when Jordan had grinned right back at her, that grin she reserves just for Leah, that stretches ear-to-ear and makes her green eyes all sparkly…Leah was suddenly blinking back the tears she could feel prickling at her eyes.
So even though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t shy away from any emotions, perhaps she’s a hypocrite - because, right now, instead of spiralling yet again into how life is unfair and football is so cruel sometimes, especially to the person she loves most in the world…right now she’s focussing only on the wetness between her legs. And tonight, when she’s finally alone in her hotel room, she will continue to focus on only that, lest she cry herself to sleep yet again, like she’s already done too many times this tournament. Frankly, she’s fucking fed up of doing that.
There’s still at least half an hour left of this bus journey, and she’s incredibly keyed up after the rollercoaster of the pre-match nerves, the eight-nil win, and then her little reunion with her girlfriend. As she thinks about what she’ll do as soon as she can lock her hotel room door behind her (will she tease herself, or go hard right from the start? Is she in the mood for fingers inside, and how many can she take?), she contemplates when the last time she had a wank was.
Regretfully, she realises she’s only indulged once during the tournament so far, at St. George’s Park. It’s not been a major absence in her life - she’s been extremely stressed and exhausted recently, and hardly had any time to think at all. But now she’s thinking about it. And for a professional athlete with a pretty high sex drive, whose girlfriend is also a professional athlete with a pretty high sex drive, who are used to very regular sex with each other…suffice to say she’s horny as fuck.
Leah has no qualms about getting herself off if she needs it when she’s away from Jordan, and she’s not ashamed of that: she's an adult woman who enjoys sex, both with her partner and with herself. She also finds that masturbation, in particular, helps her keep in tune with her body, and maintain a healthy relationship with it, even when it might be frustrating her by not producing the results she wants from it in football.
She usually sends Jordan little photos or videos during or after such occasions, anyway, just to remind her girlfriend she’s still thinking of her. And she knows Jordan is grateful for that, if the photos and videos she often receives in response are anything to go by.
*
By the time Leah gets back into her hotel room, she’s well and truly ready for a release.
She makes quick work of her clothes, tossing her grey England tracksuit over the back of the desk chair to deal with in the morning. After chucking away a couple of the ridiculous amount of pillows from the bed, she finally climbs in and lets her aching muscles sink back into the plush, cream-coloured sheets…and then she can’t possibly get her hands on herself fast enough.
With her eyes squeezed shut and her left hand alternating between tugging her nipple and kneading her breast, she reaches her right hand down, her breath catching at the wetness she feels gathered on her lower lips. She gently glides her fingers up and down her velvety opening, denying herself for only a few more seconds.
When she finally gets a finger inside herself - sweet, sweet relief - she whines, and involuntarily clenches so hard around it she can’t move for a second. She’s struck by how molten hot she feels: like that short interaction with Jordan, when she'd had to push the midfielder away like she'd been burning her, really has literally set her on fire from the inside out.
She can faintly smell Jordan’s perfume in her own hair, picked up from when they snogged earlier, and she mentally chases the familiar sweetness.
When her body allows, she pulls out the finger and thrusts back in with two, begins steadily pumping them in the rhythm she knows works for her: not too quick or sloppy, just strong and consistent strokes, allowing her to really feel and enjoy the strokes of her fingers against the soft ridges of her walls.
If she tries really hard, she can still just about taste Jordan on her lips when she licks over them.
Left hand reaching down, she finds her clit swollen and wanting, peeking out from under its hood and begging for attention. It makes it so easy for her to brush over gently, teasing herself with the barely-there touch making fireworks shoot up her spine, and it then doesn’t take long for her to start circling with the pad of her thumb, applying pressure now - she’s been waiting too long for this to deny herself further.
Now she has a steady rhythm going with both hands, she lets her mind wander a little. She thinks about the night before she’d left for the pre-Euros camp: she’d fucked her girlfriend with their strap, reminding her who she belonged to, until Jordan had squirted so hard some of it had somehow ended up in Leah’s hair. Jordan had called her Captain the entire time, and the two of them had ended the night with matching bruises high in the creases of their inner thighs, high enough that their football shorts would still cover them - a technique they’d perfected years ago. They had both got so delightfully messy that night, just so caught up in the emotions of it all - the pain and excitement and anxiety - both uncaring about how loud they were being or how ruined their expensive sheets were getting.
Leah moans and shifts on the bed as she feels herself get even wetter, mostly catching the release of fluid in the palm of her hand for her to press right back up against her centre, and she begins bucking her hips up into the pressure. That delicious ache is starting to coil in the pit of her stomach, spurring her on.
She thinks about what they could’ve done at the stadium tonight if they’d had more time: imagines pushing Jordan down onto her knees on the hard concrete, yanking her own shorts down and grinding against her girlfriend’s face to orgasm.
Thrusting her fingers faster and rubbing her clit harder, she imagines Jordan’s here with her right now, kneeling between her legs on the hotel sheets: being able to look down at Jordan’s dirty blonde head of hair bobbing up and down between her legs and tangle her fingers in the soft strands; thinks about Jordan looking up and making eye contact with her while her tongue continues working magic; freckled, tanned face covered in Leah’s arousal; calling her Captain-
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Leah whines as orgasm suddenly overtakes her. She arches her back and bears down on her fingers as hard as she can as she continues to thrust them in and out of her cunt, her thumb still circling her clit, both hands working to prolong the bliss she’s feeling for as long as possible…
…and then it’s over. Letting her sweaty muscles relax back into bed, she gives herself a few moments to catch her breath, eyes still closed and smiling in the post-orgasmic glow as endorphins wash over her. As she extracts her fingers, she clenches at the stroke over her sensitive walls, and then at how empty she is, and the slick she can feel leaking from her hole onto the sheets.
As she always likes to do after she’s fingered herself, she lifts her hand to her face and inspects the wetness on her index and middle fingers. Admiring how shiny strands of cum stretch out as she scissors her fingers in front of her, she’s struck with an idea, and grins widely to herself…if her darling girlfriend wants to play dirty, she can play dirty, too.
With urgency, before her fingers can grow tacky, Leah wipes her still-trembling left hand on the sheets and grabs her phone off her bedside table, awkwardly swipes open the camera app, and takes a photo of the two long, slender fingers held out before her. She makes sure to use the flash to pick up how the translucent strands of her release glisten, and angles the shot so that the rest of her naked body is on show: her abs and her pussy are out of focus but unmistakable beyond her wet digits.
Appraising the photo, she can’t help but clench down on nothing again, seeing the flash of rosy pink between her legs from her engorged cunt. If its flushed colour and open lips don’t already make it obvious that she’s just cum, she can just about make out the wet patch on the sheets between her legs, too.
Then, Leah decides to really up the ante: she flips the camera around so it’s front-facing, presses the 'record' button, and, making sure to hold eye contact with the camera lens the entire time, she lifts her two wet fingers to her lips, hollows her cheeks around them, and sucks. She makes sure to overdo the wet noises, fluttering her eyelashes, and then closes her eyes and moans around her fingers before she releases them with a pop.
“Mmm, Jord,” she sighs out her love’s name, knowing full well how much hearing that will turn her girlfriend on. Opening her eyes, “I fucked myself so good, baby. It was so good. I love you, baby.”
Jordan put her in this situation in the first place, so she’ll have to face the consequences of her actions: receiving Leah’s messages while sitting in the back of the car with the Arsenal girls on the drive home, and not being able to do a damn thing about it.
Opening their iMessage thread, she attaches the photo and video, types out a simple text, and presses ‘send’.
Missing you already, baby x
*
Leah has her best night’s sleep of the tournament so far.
When her alarm sounds the next morning, the first thing she sees in her notifications is a 2-minute-46-second long video from Jordan, sent at 3:09am. The thumbnail is just a blur, but the visible colours look suspiciously similar to the white and gold of Jordan’s favourite rabbit vibrator. Going from blearily blinking back sleep to wide awake in three seconds flat, Leah feels blood rush to her cheeks, and presses her legs together in anticipation.
When she presses ‘play’, her mouth drops open at what she sees and hears: Jordan has angled the camera down and right between her spread legs, so that, bar the slight shakiness of the camera, she is treated to an up-close-and-personal view of her girlfriend’s gorgeous pussy.
Leah licks her dry lips as she watches how the shorter part of the rabbit vibrator massages her girlfriend’s clit and the longer end pulses in her opening, her pussy lips stretched around it, making the filthiest wet sounds over the soft, steady buzz as Jordan thrusts it in and out.
The sight of Jordan’s swollen, pink clit makes Leah’s mouth water, wishing more than anything to be with her in that moment, to suck it between her lips and swirl her tongue around it. She wants to be the one directly making her moan her name, instead of some stupid piece of silicon doing it.
Jordan is gasping out an endless stream of “Leah” and “please”, and “baby”, and “fuck”. Leah’s tried this vibrator herself, many times, so she intimately knows how deliciously it strokes along your walls, and how deeply it can fill you. Truthfully, Jordan sounds like she’s in such deep pleasure right now that Leah can’t tell whether she’s more jealous of the vibrator or of her girlfriend.
Too soon, Jordan’s words turn into whines, which get higher and higher in pitch and closer and closer together, in time with the shakiness of the hand holding the camera, and the frantic thrusting of the hand holding the vibrator, until, with one last whimper, Jordan reaches her climax, squirting a little onto the sheets beneath her.
When the video cuts off, Leah’s heart is pounding, her nipples are hard, and her own clit is pulsing. With a long-suffering sigh, she reaches her hand down between her legs for the second time in ten hours.
It would be a long month.