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Santa Monica, Los Angeles.
They’re finally here, in all of its sandy, hot glory.
Well, really, they’ve been here for nearly three weeks, but Rachel can’t stop marvelling that they even made it in the first place. She was picked up before either of her parents had woken up, stealing the birthday cake in the fridge for the trip, and didn’t look back until the sun on the horizon glistened against the sandy beach and the rustle of palm trees replaced the dry shuffle of pines.
And here with her, further than she’s ever been from home, is Chloe fucking Price. A pot of boiling pasta sits in front of her on the old gas stove that came with their one-bedroom apartment, the occasional bubble bursting up to be met with a couple of stirs from a wooden spoon they picked up at the corner store. Everything had been prepared for their arrival, and Chloe had made sure the things that weren’t had been taken care of before the bliss of this realised dream could wear thin.
She’s already picked up groceries for this week, even though the fridge isn’t fully stocked—it’s still more than enough for her to enjoy the meals Chloe’s made for dinner. She’s been hooked up with at least a month’s worth of estrogen and clean needles while they’re both between jobs and insurance, and even though lodgings aren’t quite what she was expecting, Chloe — fucking Chloe — made sure that they would at least arrive here with somewhere to live. Somewhere stable. Somewhere that’s theirs.
Rachel can’t help but chafe at the word as Chloe idly tends to dinner. Theirs . As if they’re anything more than a couple of best friends in a new city right now, and of course, the only person she has to blame for that is herself. Chloe’s shown countless times just how much she’s willing to do for Rachel, how much she’s willing to take on and equally how much she’s willing to drop, just to see a smile grace her lips.
And she knows she’s got good lips; otherwise, Chloe wouldn’t keep coming back for more every time she puts the chance out there. She’s familiar with the not-so subtle shift in her expression when Rachel’s hands get a little too curious, and she knows all the different ways Chloe’s breath can taste — beer, weed, cigs, sometimes all at once. Like clockwork, she knows how to wrap Chloe around her finger for what she wants, knows exactly how long she can let herself pretend it’s not as complicated as it really is, knows precisely which words to use that hurt Chloe the least when she pulls back seconds away from Chloe’s tongue exploring more than just the inside of her mouth.
Chloe once told her a fun fact about how fire is hottest at its blue base. She remembers being nestled close to her, tucked against her collarbone on an old bench in the middle of American Rust. A campfire they’d made was roaring into new life after a fresh batch of logs, and a half-finished beer sat forgotten at her feet as she stared into the flame, mesmerised.
Fire used to inspire Rachel, invite her to dream as colourfully as she could and stir her to dance along with its crackling flickers, but it’s never been the same to her since Chloe told her that. She can’t bear to gaze into fire when the look in Chloe’s eyes whenever she left her to shack up with someone far less complicated singed her all the same.
Fortunately for both of them, Chloe’s eyes wear a much brighter shade of blue as she pores over her work, flipping a dish towel over her shoulder with unexpected finesse as she turns from the stove to start grating some cheese. Rachel catches her gaze as it drags past her and a painfully earnest smile spreads across her face, which she mirrors expertly but less earnestly. It’s not that Chloe doesn’t make her happy — far from it, unfortunately.
She just wishes being happy didn’t come prepackaged with so many complications.
“Just five more minutes,” Chloe informs her, seemingly unaware of the hollowness of her expression. “You wanna set the table?”
Rachel smirks. “You mean do I want to get yesterday’s laundry off the couch and rinse off the cutlery?”
“Yeah, exactly!”
“Chloe Price, you’re something else,” Rachel says through a laugh that extends to Chloe in seconds. She looks proud of herself, and Rachel can’t deny that she doesn’t suit this kind of bullish confidence better than anyone she’s ever known.
Rachel sets to work clearing their eating space, tossing aside jeans and tanks and — yes — Chloe’s weed boxers. She swears Justin only got them for her as a joke, but Rachel would be willing to bet all her hush money that they’re her favourite pair, even if she’s the only person who knows that she wears them.
It’s not every day Rachel gets to see Chloe in her underwear, of course, and maybe that’s for the better. Beneath ratty, paint-splattered jeans she’s wearing now are a knockout pair of legs, and Rachel’s more than happy most days that Chloe refuses to wear anything shorter than her boots are tall.
The rare occasions she has sported less attire, however…
Rachel bites her lip at both memories and her own imagination, a warmth rising to her cheeks before she blinks it all away. At least while Chloe’s around, she can’t get caught up in any more fantasies.
She sinks down onto the thrift store sofa Chloe had picked out the day after they arrived, picking at stray bits of stiff lint that come away from the cushions with a tug until Chloe emerges from the kitchen, two plates of green spaghetti in-hand. Her mouth is tilted into a proud smile as she sets their dinners down on the coffee table in front of her; it’s not so rare that Chloe beams so preciously, but Rachel’s learned not to call her cute to her face, lest Chloe use that against her anytime she wants something.
(Rachel’s also learned not to call Chloe a brat for that, but for far less wholesome reasons.)
“Madame,” Chloe says (and Rachel still delights at the word), standing back up and tilting her shoulders back, embodying an exaggeratedly haughty air, “your dish for tonight is spaghetti à la pesto .”
Rachel mirrors the energy, rolling her shoulder back and jutting her chest as she purses her lips. “ À la pesto, you say? Well, my compliments to the chef.”
“And what compliments am I passing along, madame?”
An anxious something bubbles in her throat — the same kind of something that’ll plague her all night, tugging her in the direction of her heart while battling the affliction of her fear — before she swallows it back and reaches for her plate.
“This pasta is most verdant,” she settles for, hoping immediately that the bit is strong enough to withstand how utterly deflated a response it is, “and green just so happens to be my second favourite colour.”
Chloe smiles in earnest and bows. “Next time, the chef will see about making blue pasta.”
She takes her seat beside Rachel and reaches for her own meal as Rachel spins the noodles around her fork, dipping forward to take a bite; she immediately notes a surprisingly strong kick of salt taste, nearly distracting her from the rich pesto sauce.
“Mm!” Her muffled surprise draws Chloe’s attention, and when she speaks it’s through unchewed noodles. “Chloe, why’s this pasta so salty?”
Chloe holds her own fork above her plate, pausing before her own bite. “What do you mean?”
“This is hella salty. Did you cook this in ocean water?”
“I salted the water, like the recipe said to do!” Chloe quirks an eyebrow at her. “Are you questioning the chef?”
“No,” Rachel responds after swallowing, “no, I’ve just never had salty pasta.”
Chloe’s jovial expression begins to sink. “Well, I’m still, like, new at this.” She pauses, twirls her fork through her noodles, and then speaks in a softer tone, “Is it…bad? I can order pizza or something–”
“No!” Rachel blurts; her hand brushes along the cushion and comes to rest against Chloe’s thigh, inviting that damn blush back to her cheeks.
If Chloe hadn’t done such a good job of riling her up earlier, the contact would hardly be a worry. Her hands have found plenty more intimate spots on Chloe’s body before, and none of them had led to the outcome Chloe keeps trying not to chase and Rachel hates to avoid.
Her fingers dig into thick denim as she gives her thigh what she hopes comes off as a friendly squeeze, no other strings attached. “No, it’s great, Chloe. Really. And the pesto is excellent.”
Chloe hesitates, looking down at Rachel’s hand in her lap before a lifeless smile pulls across her lips. “You’re bullshitting me, yeah?”
With her other hand, Rachel sets her fork down and draws an X across her chest. “I promise I’m not. I’m just…used to something different.”
Chloe’s eyes flit towards her for a moment, and Rachel immediately looks away, singed by a sincerity she’s burned them with before. Her heart yawns with affection when she thinks of all Chloe has done for her, how much she’s doing for them , and yet she still can’t bring herself to meet that cyan gaze.
Rachel’s already burned, immolated, set her skin ablaze and returned seeking new flames. How much of herself can she set aflame again? How the hell can she come back from one last fire?
How can she make sure Chloe doesn’t burn, too?
Rachel guides the hand on Chloe’s thigh towards her knee, where Chloe’s loosely dangling her own fork between her finger and thumb. “This kind of different is good,” she tries in assurance, curling her fingers over Chloe’s knuckles. “I mean, look at where we are! Where we’ve been for the last three weeks! I think now is the perfect time for different.”
Chloe nods and looks back down at her untouched dinner, and Rachel bristles at her own gratitude that she’s no longer the subject of Chloe’s attention. “You know, I was actually thinking of, I don’t know…taking a cooking class or something?”
“Really?”
Chloe nods fervently, returning to spinning her spaghetti around her forks as Rachel withdraws. “Really.”
“Chloe Price, actively seeking out education,” Rachel taunts with a smirk, earning her a sidelong glance and a quick elbow to her shoulder.
“Fuck you, I love learning! Besides, we can’t keep ordering takeout every night.” Her attention, though briefly returned to her pasta, seems broken by a sudden thought. “Oh, and I’m not trusting you in the kitchen again.”
Rachel plays up her mock offence, knowing all too well last week’s breakfast incident was strike three in her recent history of kitchen fuck-ups. “So you’re saying I have to trust you instead?”
“It’s gotten you this far,” is Chloe’s nonchalant response, paired with a fine shrug and a knowing pout that Rachel has to pretend doesn’t look just as appetizing.
Rachel returns the shrug, prodding at her dish. “I guess I’ll be expecting nothing but the finest of dining from here on out, then.”
The air settles between them, the two of them picking at their meals. An otherwise soothing silence is buffeted by the crackling of fire in her chest, a warmth that spreads alongside thoughts of what she even meant by her previous words.
Santa Monica has offered them sanctuary from so many of Arcadia’s torments in the short time they’ve been here, save one. Rachel feels bare, naked so close to Chloe, and now there’s nowhere to run—not that she’d think of running, of course. There’s nothing to veil the sparks that light in her eyes at Chloe’s affection, nowhere to go to douse the fire that sets when she thinks about them and us and Chloe .
And now they’re domestic, to top it all off, and Rachel’s heart swells in every instance of mundane care offered to her, adding more kindling to a blaze Rachel’s sure will consume them both imminently.
How the hell is she supposed to not burn beneath Chloe’s gaze? How the hell is she supposed to keep from setting her own flames and burning that one final trouble to ash?
How the hell can she give Chloe the love she deserves when Rachel isn’t even sure it’ll last?
Eventually, Chloe sets her plate down and leans back with a sigh, her shirt riding up her belly; Rachel manages a small peek, catching orange sunset washing across her fair skin and eyeing the trail of strawberry blonde hairs leading to her waistband, knowing she’s only adding to the blaze.
“This all still feels like a dream to me,” Chloe remarks with a contented hum.
Rachel tears her eyes away, her gaze landing on her wistful expression. “Really? You must have hella mundane dreams then, Chlo.”
Chloe laughs softly and turns to meet Rachel’s gaze. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“No, I don’t.” She sets her plate down and lounges against the back of the sofa, her palm digging into her cheek. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, like…” Chloe locks her eyes on Rachel, darting between her own eyes as she seems to search for the right words. “Rachel, we’ve been talking about all this for years . Dreaming about the beach, and the sun, and all the amazing opportunities. We’ve both been so excited for this new life, but…”
“But what?”
“But it is our life now. And it’s awesome and exciting, but it’s also real, now. It’s not just a dream.”
Rachel feels Chloe’s hand cross the back of the sofa and come to rest against her bicep, her thumb idly brushing the scar Rachel earned years ago in their first home; she doesn’t take her eyes off of Chloe as she watches her expression sink. There’s something working behind Chloe’s eyes, something that Rachel tries to track beyond their pleading shine. Chloe’s always thinking, after all, and she’s reasonably sure she knows the question Chloe all but asks. Her glassy eyes and the soft tracing of an old scar, however, warn Rachel against considering her answer.
“I guess I’ve just been thinking about what kind of life I wanna live here, and…” She takes a steadying breath, her circuit just barely faltering, “…I dunno, have you given that any thought?”
Something flickers to life in Rachel’s chest and her brow sets as her breaths become short. “I mean, you’ve seen me. I’m going out there for auditions, getting my headshots done–”
“Not like that. This is your home now. Our home.” Chloe’s voice soothes the defensive heat crackling behind her ribs, and Rachel takes in a deep breath to calm herself back down. “What does life here in Cali look like, long-term? How are you going to take care of yourself?” Then, her voice takes on a smaller air. “Is this place only temporary?”
“Chloe—”
“I’m just…trying to be realistic.” Chloe pulls her closer, and it makes Rachel want to fall against her, let herself be enveloped just to see how long it’ll take to snuff the heat of her reaction. “I don’t want you to give up on dreaming, but I wanna make sure you’re taken care of, too. I don’t want your dream to become a nightmare.”
Rachel knows how acutely familiar with nightmares Chloe is, both those in her dreams and those she wakes to. She’s shared the ones she sees in her sleep with her before: images of her father, charred and rotting, while nature’s reapers mock her from the treeline. Sometimes, she wakes up crying, and Rachel has grown to understand how best to comfort her when she does. She doesn’t think anyone else has gotten to see Chloe crying the way she has. Maybe that comfort is what lets Chloe be vulnerable.
But Rachel’s nightmares aren’t the same, and neither are her comforts. When Rachel’s mind finds infernal scenes to jolt her awake, she slinks away to solitude and lets herself burn and burn until she’s hollowed out and able to return to herself, revivified until the next explosive blaze.
And when she can’t find comfort in her own solitude, she finds them in Chloe’s hands, Chloe’s lips, Chloe’s big blue eyes that warn her of what she’s doing and sear her when she dares to go further.
Chloe’s bound to explode herself sometime soon. Rachel’s seen it happen, been drawn to how spectacularly she erupts and how colourfully she feels. Until then, however, Rachel sinks into the calmer blue of her gaze, feels the gentle touch of her hand, nurtures the warmth she has yet to immolate.
“You’ve already done so much for me, Chloe, and I’m grateful for all of it,” Rachel confesses, and it’s in earnest; no veil of verbosity nor ulterior desires colour the notes of her admission. “You got me here, you made sure we had someplace to stay, you’ve cooked and cleaned and you help with my shots and…is this the life you want?”
Chloe shuffles in her seat, peeling her gaze away. “I dunno.” It takes her a moment before she finally says, “Kinda, yeah.”
Rachel smiles faintly and drags herself closer, anchoring herself in the crook of Chloe’s arm. “I’m really lucky to have you, Chloe. I…still don’t really know what that’s going to look like for me. I wanna ride this high until there’s nothing left to ride, and then…”
And then could be so much, but Rachel knows what it wants to be. She wants it to taste of beer and weed, she wants it to smell like grease and old cologne, she wants it brilliant blue with dazzling laughter.
And she wants it to last, if it can.
That’s the real challenge.
“I don’t know,” Rachel admits with a sigh, “maybe I’ll figure it out then. But I’ll have you, Chloe, and I know you won’t let me fall.”
The look Chloe offers her stings of both fierce determination and desperate loyalty, and Rachel has to blink not to catch that fire. “Never,” she promises, then lets her gaze fall. “I might not be around forever, though. You might meet some cute Cali guy who cooks better pesto.”
Rachel laughs bitterly; it’s unfair to find Chloe’s attempts at giving Rachel the out she always clamours for cute. It should be sad, but Chloe has never made Rachel sad.
The same obviously can’t be said for herself.
“Or a Cali girl,” Rachel adds with her own playful bite, which does manage to upturn the frown pulling at Chloe’s lips. “We are unforgettable.”
The remark earns her a menacing sneer from Chloe. “Did you just make a Katy Perry joke?”
“What?” Rachel hums nonchalantly, slowly retreating to her side of the couch.
“A pop music joke? In my presence?” Now Chloe’s expression sours, though playfully, and she begins to crawl forward with a dangerous glint in her eyes.
Rachel begins to giggle despite herself, knowing what comes next. “No, I’m innocent!”
“Innocent my ass!” And Chloe’s fingers find that spot that makes Rachel shriek before tumbling into a fit of unbridled laughter, writhing beneath her touch as Chloe tickles her. Shrill protest fills the dwindling space between them, alongside light brushes of her knee to Chloe’s abdomen that grant her no mercy.
It doesn’t take much for Rachel to pull the gloves off, however, and she tangles her fingers into Chloe’s blue fringe, tugging it to the side and eliciting a stifled moan. Rachel tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, her best attempt at a stony glare of intimidation wracked by small giggles.
Regardless, she twines Chloe’s hair between her fingers. “I’ll do it again, brat.”
Chloe immediately reddens, stills, and retreats from Rachel, burying her hand against the back of her head sheepishly. Rachel has certainly earned the smugness she wears when she tells Chloe “good girl.”
Just as much as she earns a gruff “fuck you” from Chloe, whose cheeks take on a noticeably darker blush. Rachel hears the sparks in her voice, however, and feels that yawning heat in her chest spread elsewhere, so she delivers a quick, precocious smile before sliding back to her side of the couch and resuming her dinner.
They’ve been silent together for a minute before Chloe finally says, “I don’t think I could ever forget you.”
“Good,” Rachel says through the last forkful of dinner. “You’d better not.”
Rachel’s thigh sizzles beneath the gentle brush of fingers, dragging up along smooth skin to where she’s already hard. She watches the rise and fall of her chest quicken as the anticipation of touch taunts her, torments her, sets her skin ablaze with a crackling want.
A choked breath fights its way out of her throat when those fingers found the base of her shaft, stilling as she twitches at the sensation. It’s nothing entirely new, but she’s more sensitive now than with anyone else, an intimate heat washing over her as she catches sight of brilliant blue through half-lidded eyes.
“Fuck,” she whimpers, biting down on her lip to try and keep herself quiet. If Chloe could hear that all that stood between her and Rachel’s pleasure was a single door, she might never live that shame down.
She’d wrestled with inviting Chloe to join her before her pants had even come off, the sight of golden sunset washing across her bare abs and a trail of hair leading to what had always piqued her curiosity a new dream to pursue. Her finger had been idly grazing the rise of her nipple and her mind had sorted through dreams and fantasies of a life far less complicated as she’d settled against the mattress, and soon her fears had become dreams, dancing in the flickering blaze of her mind.
This is the same conflict she’s fucked herself over countless times before.
They’d already been here for three weeks and this was all Rachel had to show for her sex life: nights alone past midnight picturing the one woman she could never seek this from fucking her, because of course imaginary Chloe who said everything right and did everything passionately had the benefit of vanishing when Rachel was finished and left alone wondering if she should stop seeing her altogether.
She stretches her fingers out at the base of her cock before ringing them around the length, pumping slowly to set a pace. Her hips buck with the first motion, and she lets out a small gasp at the second. Soon, her rhythm is picking up as she writhes against the mattress, pleasure settling over her. Her free hand reaches up to tangle into her hair, and she imagines how Chloe would pull it, scrape her nail across her scalp, play rough with her as she jerks her off.
“God, Chloe,” she gasps for an audience of none, a perfect delivery unheard by who should be hearing it. She imagines the brush of fingers far more calloused than her own grazing her tip, winces in pleasure at the thought of pierced lips following suit, arches her back at the image of blazing blue between her legs.
She reaches up with one hand, the other remaining at the base of her cock, and draws her tongue across the stretch of skin between her finger and thumb before setting it back in its place, moaning at the new, wet gliding of her hand up her shaft.
It’s all her own work, of course, and Rachel’s never shied away from her own proficiencies in bed, but her skin sings for Chloe, the rhythm of her name ghosting her voice as it hammers in her chest. She wants to give it all to her, let her be the reason behind this ecstasy; it’s easy enough to conjure her voice, husky whispers from between her thighs dispersed by muffled hums and wet smacks.
“Chloe, Chloe,” she rasps again, the word leaping up her throat and leaving heat in its wake. Her voice is richer than she knows it to be during sex, this performance entirely different from the half-hearted moans and whines others have had the chance to hear.
She’s close, and she wants to grab for hair that isn’t there to twist and tug, to stoke the burning in her throat and chest as an entirely different rapture builds beneath her touch.
It doesn’t take her long to come, feeling the warmth of her orgasm in surges throughout her tensing muscles and sending her eyes rolling back. Her voice catches once more on the name, this time barely above a weak whisper, as her strokes become slower, calmer, her release glazing the crook of her palm.
The blaze eventually settles, and the name falls to ash on her tongue.
The first breath Rachel catches when she’s able to is a withering sigh, leading her head to fall heavily against her pillow and her knees to buckle to either side of the bed. The world is still around her, quiet in the night despite the heat that it had just seen moments ago. She feels cold, almost, but doesn’t move to cover herself just yet.
Rachel blinks away the remnants of blue heat her mind had conjured for tonight, rendering them harmless once again as she once knew the hue to be. Thinking of Chloe is dangerous, she knows this; where normally she’d toss her encounters away like a used rubber, she can’t even begin to fathom getting rid of the images of Chloe in these clandestine moments she’s seared into her imagination. The best she can do is to temper them and hope they don’t set a new fire in their wake.
Eventually, she sobers up long enough to feel the chill run through her legs and slick cum pooling below her belly button. She quickly reaches her hand to her mouth to clean the evidence of her orgasm before pulling her panties back up her legs and pulling her night shirt down her thighs; she’s still a bit hard, and the last thing she wants is for Chloe to see her walking around their place at half-mast, so she grabs Mr. Sharkie — the only housewarming gift Chloe was able to offer when they walked through the doors to their home — and pulls him in front of her as she slides off the bed and waddles to the door, hoping to clean herself up without waking Chloe.
Thankfully, that doesn’t seem to be an issue.
Damningly, it’s because Chloe’s already awake.
Humiliatingly, she’s standing beside her door, a rich blush gracing her cheeks even in the low light of their apartment.
Rachel had never suspected she could feel any more hollow than after finishing, but here she is now, staring wide-eyed at the same brilliant blue she’d both reached for and feared touching in Chloe’s gaze—and this time, it burns .
“Chloe,” she remarks dryly. “Hey.”
Chloe looks her up and down, her brow and jaw set as her fingers curl into her palms. Finally, her eyes settle on Rachel’s crotch, or rather the large, toothy maw covering it.
Rachel pulls the toy closer. Chloe’s eyes dart back up to hers. “Why is Mr. Sharkie giving you a blowjob?”
“He’s insatiable.” Reaching for a quip is clearly not her best instinct, but caught in this moment the best she can hope for is appealing to Chloe’s sense of humour.
Obviously, the joke doesn’t land.
Rachel sighs and lets her arms hang loosely, her shoulders slouching in equal measure. “How long have you been standing there?”
It takes Chloe a moment of not looking at her before she speaks, and when she does her voice is a thin, shameful whisper. “Since you called out for me the first time.” She shuffles back and rests her weight on one hip, still not catching Rachel’s eye. “I thought, maybe, you needed something, but…”
Rachel sinks further. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
Rachel grinds the ash of Chloe’s name across the back of her teeth. A dead air curdles her chilled blood. Any number of words could set them both ablaze right now and it would still be better than the cold that blankets her right now. Chloe’s eyes already warn of sparks, of tears, of agony, and it’s all Rachel can do not to feed that pain any further.
“Chloe, I–”
“It’s cool, really.” Her voice is cutting, enough so that Rachel takes a step back. “I mean, we all jerk off to the thought of our best friends, right?”
“Chloe, it’s not like that,” Rachel warns with a crackling heat in her cheeks. She moves to follow, letting Mr. Sharkie fall at her feet, but Chloe turns to meet her intensely.
“Then what the fuck is it?” she growls. Her teeth clamp together, clipping the sentence into a sharp sizzle, and Rachel can see the beginnings of wildfire in the desperate eyes she fixes on her. “Tell me, Rachel.”
Excuses and defences lance up her throat, each of them dammed behind sealed lips. She’s spent so long scorching the words she’s come up with to ascribe to how she feels about Chloe, and now all she has left are lies that will only burn more. Everything she’s ever wanted is right here in front of her, and every inferno she’s ever feared is already being stoked by her silence.
Chloe’s expression finally sinks. “You know what? Fuck it. I’m going back to bed.” As she turns back towards her couch, she adds the final spark to light the imminent blaze: “Always figured your right hand would be a better lay than me.”
“The fuck?” Rachel mutters, brow raised as she takes a simmering step forward. “You did not just say that to me.”
Chloe stops and turns. “Actually, I think I did.”
Rachel takes another step forward, the scene all coming into view. Her vision flits to the unwashed dishes on the kitchen counter, the bowl they keep beside the front door for their keys, the amount to which she has Chloe at her beck and call.
It all snaps into place at once, voiced before she’s even thought it through. “All this…the cooking, the apartment. Was all this just to get in my pants or something? To have a chance with me?”
“The fuck gave you that idea?” Chloe, for her part, looks genuinely mortified.
Of course, this doesn’t stop Rachel, who finally closes the cold distance between them, bringing all of her smoke and fire with her. “None of this entitles you to my body!”
“Oh, but you’re entitled to mine , huh?” Chloe erupts in passionate colour, the vitriol of her words lashing Rachel’s skin. ”Stringing me along when you know how I feel and then dropping me because you don’t give a shit about how I feel? Do Cali girls have a name for that that isn’t taking advantage of me?”
“I am not taking advantage of you!”
“Bullshit!” Chloe roars, powerful and terrifying in its injury. Rachel stands back and watches the fire she set burn bright blue, and it stings and sizzles and scores. Now she remembers why Chloe made blue flames so sad.
“Rachel, I–I fucking care about you! A whole lot,” Chloe confesses in a wilting tone. “All of this is because of that. I’ve kept my mouth shut all these years because of that! And I don’t give a shit if you want to go and shack up with whatever easy lay you can find out there–hell, I don’t care if you wanna keep thinking about…about me whenever you’re doing this. But you don’t get to keep playing with me and my heart like this and expect me not to hurt! And you definitely don’t get to be pissed at me when I do.”
Rachel stares, stunned, for a moment too long, captivated by the destruction she’s wrought. It shouldn’t send her heart spiralling to see Chloe so raw, so vulnerable, so desperate to love and so terrified to lose, but the heat of their argument burrows into her skin. Fire used to inspire her, and now more than ever does Rachel feel a spark of inspiration flicker in her chest.
“Seriously,” Chloe sighs, and she sounds just as hollow as Rachel had moments before the blaze. “Fuck you, Rachel.”
Rachel glances at Chloe’s lips, a familiar escape calling to her. “Fuck me? Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Then fuck me.”
Chloe startles with wide eyes and a tilt to her lips; Rachel meets the first with a roll of her own eyes — “For fuck’s sake, Chlo,” she mutters hotly — and meets the second with a zealous, reckless kiss.
Passion alights between them in the moment her lips meet Chloe’s, her fingers scraping the fair skin of Chloe’s neck while a tight grip takes hold of her waist. For all the times Rachel’s kissed Chloe, it’s never felt so angry, so violent, so real , and it makes her skin burn for more, more, more .
“Fuck you, Rachel,” Chloe grumbles against her lips when Rachel pulls away for breath before she returns to their kiss. Somehow, it only serves to turn her on even more.
It isn’t long before Chloe’s hands are riding up the hem of her nightshirt and groping her ass, and Rachel takes the hint and surges up, letting herself be held as her thighs hook around Chloe’s hips. It doesn’t surprise her that Chloe’s able to keep her up with so much ease, but it does urge her to take in more of her, sinking even further against her lips and running her tongue along her teeth.
Almost involuntarily, Rachel twines her fingers into Chloe’s bedraggled blue hair and tugs her closer, eliciting a familiar moan that she swallows hungrily. Something — that unbearably hot something — crackles in her chest before settling between her thighs, feeling herself grow hard again against Chloe’s abdomen.
Chloe flexes against her, the small bit of friction enough to earn a small hiccup of a whine from Rachel, before she pulls away with a dark, hooded gaze set on her lips.
The pause gives Rachel a moment to wonder if she’s simply dousing that fire with all that she has right now, or whether she’s just setting up another inferno she’ll have to fuck her way out of.
Whatever it is, though, it’s fucking hot , and just this once Rachel loves how it burns.
“Take me to bed,” Rachel whispers against Chloe’s lips, her voice sizzling.
“Yeah,” is Chloe’s clipped response before she’s kissing her again, leading her the few steps it takes to get them to Rachel’s bed.
It dawns briefly on Rachel that this is the first time they’ll be sharing a bed since they arrived in Santa Monica. Chloe had insisted on taking the couch on account of her clearly unreciprocated feelings, and for three weeks Rachel had toiled with the idea of inviting her in, at least for the comfort (and in no small part for her own selfish desires).
She’s laid surprisingly gently against the mattress, one hand still anchoring herself to Chloe as the other clears the duvet aside. Chloe mounts her, both knees sinking into the mattress on either side of Rachel’s waist, and lowers herself down to take her lips once again. Rachel’s own arousal becomes more and more apparent, the raised hem of her nightshirt offering no cover for her as she feels herself get even harder.
She flexes and writhes, trying to stifle the ache building between her legs, which catches Chloe’s attention. She looks back with parted lips, a dark blush prickling beneath her eyes, and she settles herself against Rachel’s crotch, earning her another moan from behind her teeth.
“How do you want me?” Chloe asks, an earnest question veiled by the husky rasp of her voice.
She gently grinds against Rachel as she awaits her answer, causing Rachel to dig her nails deeper into the back of Chloe’s neck, surely leaving molten white crescents in their wake.
“Mmf,” Rachel moans, pulling Chloe closer. Her fingers dance along the waistband of Chloe’s boxers, feeling the ribbed tresses of rumbled cotton beneath her touch, before she hooks them beneath to settle against flushed skin. “Ride me.”
Chloe’s quick to comply, leaning close to steal another heated kiss before she hastily reaches to pull her pants down. Any other time, Rachel might be urged to comment on the haphazard undressing or the neediness of her actions; instead, she watches as Chloe kicks her boxers off, both admiring and craving her. Her eyes trail the line of strawberry blonde down between her thighs before settling on her sex, a wet glisten already plastered to her thighs.
When Chloe settles against her, she feels warm, slick, and it makes Rachel twitch. She’s fucked people before, so the sensation isn’t new, but she’s felt bare since day one in Santa Monica, only now it’s real and tangible.
She starts a slow grind against Chloe’s entrance, wetting her shaft and setting a rhythm for Chloe to match. Chloe’s eyes flutter and a wavering breath passes her lips; Rachel’s almost taken by the shape of her mouth and the tilt of her eyebrows, her expression settling into an enraptured bliss.
Once Chloe’s settled into her rhythm, she moves her hand to brush the length of Rachel’s cock and position the tip against her entrance. She lowers herself down, slow at first, before she pumps again with the rhythm they set. Rachel’s eyes roll back as Chloe fucks her, savouring the tight pressure around her cock and the searing grip of Chloe’s fingers against her abdomen.
Ripples of pleasure surge through her as she rakes at Chloe’s neck and down the ink on her shoulder, leaving molten white lines in her wake. Chloe jolts at the sensation, pressing her further down along her shaft as a choked gasp tears from her mouth. The sound makes Rachel burn hotter, makes her breaths turn short, makes her muscles tense and her back arch. Everything she’s ever wanted is right here on top of her, and the fire it stokes is hotter than she could ever set on her own.
“Fuck,” Rachel rasps, sinking her nails into the flushed skin of Chloe’s shoulder to pull her closer again, “fuck, Chloe.”
Fuck, it feels so nice to have an audience for that.
There’s a moment where Chloe almost seems to falter, her rhythm just barely slowing, before she pitches down and takes Rachel’s lips against hers, her breath hot and stilted as she fucks her with renewed vigour. Rachel almost hides the gasp it earns behind her teeth again, but allows herself to let it through ahead of a heady moan against Chloe’s open mouth.
The repeated staccato of Chloe’s name inches her closer and closer to her climax, and when she feels it building in her crotch she pulls out from inside Chloe and opens her eyes.
“Say my name,” she demands, her voice faltering.
“Rachel,” Chloe obliges reverently, and Rachel whines as she comes, her head rolling back against the pillow, hands gripping Chloe’s wiry back ardently as her body surges with blazing ecstasy and crackles with relief.
Her vision sizzles with colour as she comes down from the release, the sensation in her body slowly making its way back to her extremities as her breathing evens out. She feels her release pooling above her crotch and spilling onto the mattress below her, and for once it almost embarrasses her that this isn’t a private affair anymore.
Almost , of course, being the key word. Whatever hang-ups or worries she might have temper when the heat wracking her body cools into a surprisingly soothing warmth. Where even ten minutes ago her climax had brought her to a dead silent chill, now she feels relaxed and sated beneath Chloe.
Chloe.
Right.
Chloe Price just fucked her.
She just had sex with Chloe Price, and the world isn’t being consumed by fire.
The look with which Chloe regards her holds none of the hurt that had met her before, nor does it hold any of the tepid worries she might expect of herself. Instead, it’s a tender blue that colours her expression so beautifully, paints the faint blush she wears in a more intimate light.
Rachel cards a tender hand along a frazzled lock of blue that dangles between them, catching the way Chloe leans into the touch. Her stomach flutters in an endeared torrent as she imagines how much more could end up being between them, how many more times she can let herself fall into that brilliant gaze and not imagine inferno. The heat it gave her moments ago was one she could fall into and trust not to incinerate her, and the warmth of what comes after?
It’s like nothing she’s ever experienced before, and she wants it again with Chloe Price.
She wants it for however many agains they get.
“Hey,” Chloe’s voice, timid, calls her back from her thoughts.
Rachel smiles up at her. “Hi.”
Chloe’s tongue darts across her bottom lip as she begins to pull back, her eyes dipping away as her expression sinks into shame. “Sorry I said fuck you. Y’know, I can…go back to bed, if you want.”
Rachel’s hand freezes against Chloe’s bangs, and all she can see is the lines of white scratches left by her nails and the fizzling remnants of her blush across her collar and cheeks. She’s so bare before Chloe, and Chloe – her want, her devotion, her fear – is equally on display for her. Rachel was so scared to burn Chloe with her own mistakes, but here she is, seeing the same sparks that had threatened her happiness before setting now in Chloe’s sad gaze.
Just how much has she already burned her?
Chloe moves to slide off the bed, but Rachel stops her with a quick hand against her shoulder and a gentle nudge back down.
“Stay,” she murmurs against her skin, fixing their gazes. It’s a genuine plea, and the first she hopes of many.
For as long as she’s known Chloe, her demands have been to leave with her, and so the novelty of the request isn’t lost on her when she whispers more delicately, “Stay, Chloe.”
Chloe’s stare is long and pensive before a small smile crooks her lips. Rachel pitches up to kiss her, this time pouring every ounce of assurance and affection she can muster into it. Chloe falls back against Rachel as she returns the kiss passionately and that warmth in her chest grows again into this new fire they’ve set together.
When Rachel wakes the next morning, it’s to the idle tracing of Chloe’s finger along the pale rise of her scar, a faint air of peace gracing her features in the morning amber sun streaming through her window.
She slips her arm across Chloe’s chest, the dark welts left by her mouth brushing under her forearm, and settles against her collar. Wings of white marks still grace the tanned expanse of her back, the scorched sensation Chloe’s nails had left in their wake still buzzing faintly.
“Morning, hot stuff,” Rachel slurs, then laughs at her own lethargy.
Chloe offers her a small huff of a laugh before delivering a gentle, feather-light kiss to her forehead. “Morning, Rach,” she murmurs against her brow.
Rachel nuzzles closer and breathes in the wash of aromas on Chloe’s collar: weed, smoke, cheap deodorant, and…
“You smell nice,” Rachel remarks, melting further against Chloe’s chest and relishing in the musk of the morning after. Tracing the welts of purple dappling her skin, Rachel adds in a gentle, sober tone, “We did pretty good for our first time.”
“Oh please,” Chloe says with a roll of her eyes, “you’ve been practicing.”
“You think so?”
Chloe snickers. “What do you call ‘jerking off to the thought of your best friend’ if not practicing?”
Rachel’s heart gives a stinging pang, one that flies in the face of the ecstasy they chased all through last night (in several different ways and different positions) into this morning. To call what they did together last night anything short of bliss would be blasphemy, yet it wouldn’t have happened had Chloe’s touch not singed her so often before, nor would it have happened had she not taken that heat as warning of destruction instead of hinting towards pleasure.
She’d been so terrified of this moment, of putting to words how she’s felt all these years and then having to immolate those words when they lost their meaning. Chloe’s cherished her since day one, taking fall after fall for her, ensuring that she could be loved for more than just a dazzling personality and an in-progress body shrouded in rumour and apprehension.
But now, every hesitant gaze Chloe’s fixed upon her that’s been cause for heated alarm warms her cheeks and douses the crackling in her chest.
“I want this,” Rachel confesses, small but determined. “I want us, Chloe.”
“Us?”
Rachel leans up to be level with Chloe, her duvet sliding down her back. Chloe’s eyes dart quickly to her chest, which at the very least helps affirm Rachel in her decision.
“Us. Chloe and Rachel.” Then, with a dangerous smirk and a tilted glance, “And all of its associated benefits.”
Chloe gulps and stares ahead at Rachel, a rich blush decorating her face. “So, uh…I should probably get on the pill then, yeah?”
“Chloe!” Rachel bursts into laughter and falls against Chloe’s chest again, curling her hands behind her neck. “That can’t be the first thing you’re thinking of!”
“Can’t blame a girl for being prepared,” Chloe declares, resting one hand against the small of Rachel’s back and dragging slow circles into her skin. “I definitely want more of this, too. The sex, obviously, but…”
She trails her other hand along Rachel’s pulse, cupping the corner of her jaw before slowly pulling towards her chin. Rachel lets her tilt her chin up to catch her gaze, content with the calm, brilliant blue she’s met with.
“I want us, too,” Chloe says, words Rachel knows she’s been longing to say for the same time Rachel’s feared hearing them.
But she doesn’t fear them anymore. Whatever blaze Rachel is capable of setting hardly holds a candle to the warmth that settles in her heart at Chloe’s unbridled bliss, and it invites a new, hot spark between her legs that Rachel knows won’t leave her cold and hollow.
Awash in the orange din of a gentle morning after, Rachel decides with an ardent kiss what she wants her life here to look like, and the inspiration comes with a bright blue heat.