“I’ve been drunk once, but I don’t drink now,” Ruby said on one of their dates. They had been very solemn about it. In that moment, Sapphire knew the story had to be deliciously entertaining. Probably embarrassing, too—but hopefully not so embarrassing that Ruby couldn’t narrate it with the humor of hindsight.
…What would Ruby be like while under the influence? Sapphire couldn’t decide if she thought long, emotional rants about photography or a complete and utter lack of filter sounded more like them.
Honestly, she was surprised by Ruby’s lack of interest in alcohol. You’d think that someone with such verve for life would want to sample all parts of it.
Maybe they would be more comfortable drinking, if not for this experience.
“Oh?” Sapphire had said, leaning her elbow on the table and lilting her voice up just enough that she didn’t have to say “Do tell” aloud. She offered a smile, tilted her chin down, and lowered her lashes at them. She ‘inadvertently’ scooped some of her hair away from the slope of her neck. Sapphire knew what poses looked best on her, and she was not above using them on her date in hopes that the pseudo-photoshoot of her body language would distract them into divulging their embarrassing drunk-story voluntarily.
Unfortunately, “Yeah. It’s just not for me” is all Ruby said before changing the subject.
Sapphire had been stunned, to put it kindly. She had done everything short of flashing cleavage, and Ruby was just—brushing it all off?
Maybe the cleavage had been necessary after all?
Or maybe the story was just that good.
Either way, Sapphire wanted to know, now more than ever. Ruby’s evasiveness—quite blithe, honestly; who would have thought the endearingly flustered photographer was capable of it?—had well and truly backfired.
Sapphire never really forgets the topic after that date, but she does go quiet about it for a while. She knows she has to be strategic about bringing up Ruby’s drunken experience. She needs to catch them off guard. She needs the perfect moment.
It occurs to Sapphire, briefly, that her preoccupation with the concept of a drunken Ruby is giving the hidden reality of their one-time inebriation far too much hype. It probably isn’t as exciting and juicy a story as she’s making it out to be in her head. When she hears it—and at this point Sapphire is bound and determined to have Ruby tell her this tale—she is probably going to be disappointed when all of her expectations simply are not met.
Sapphire can’t help it, though. Ruby is so open about everything else, there has to be something truly unique about this. A part of her also prickles at the thought of them not being honest with her about something—but only a little. They’re casually dating, for chrissakes; it’s not like she actually has any claim to Ruby.
Still, she wants to know, and the very fact that Ruby won’t tell her only makes her want to know more.
It isn’t until they both formally ‘wake up’ after sleeping together for the first time that Sapphire starts to put the pieces together.
It starts with Ruby’s flannel. It’s not fully buttoned, and it’s not actually big enough to be a dress or a nightshirt either (why a flannel, of all things, Sapphire will never know). She doesn’t really mind, though. The red plaid looks good against the brown of Ruby’s skin. Sapphire must admit, whatever their reasons for this particular shirt, she’s enjoying the sight of them wandering around in nothing but. Ruby is puttering about in the studio’s tiny kitchen (it’s nothing more than an electric range and a square foot of counterspace, but they don’t seem to feel cramped), making coffee and bagels for the two of them. They have such a beautifully round, perky ass. There is nothing about it that is saggy or unshapely. Sapphire, who still hasn’t left the warm nest of blankets that is Ruby’s bed, doesn’t really make a secret of the way she’s watching the draping hem of the flannel shifting over—
Wait a second.
“Is that… a tattoo?” Sapphire squints and leans forward, but the flannel is just in the way so she can’t be sure. “Do you have a tattoo on your ass?”
Ruby startles so hard they almost drop the coffee mug they’re holding. The way they tug their shirt down over their rump with their free hand is only too telling. “No I don’t!”
“Oh my god, you do! I can’t believe I didn’t notice last night. What is it? I want to see!”
The coffee cup is plunked onto the counter—presumably, to keep it safe. Ruby backs away and mumbles something that Sapphire doesn’t quite catch, but she thinks she hears the word “ridiculous.”
What’s ridiculous, the tattoo or this situation? Sapphire isn’t certain, but she sure is motivated to find out. Without a second thought, Sapphire is launching herself out of bed and towards Ruby.
For someone who makes their living taking pictures, they are surprisingly strong. Ruby puts up a good fight, dodging and blocking her, gripping onto her arms and keeping her facing them. However, Sapphire is quick and light on her feet from dancing so much in her spare time, and she manages to dart around their snagging grasp and yank the flannel up.
“…Is that the Instagram camera? Inside a little red heart?”
“It’s a OneStep polaroid—the first camera I ever had!” wails Ruby. This is obviously not the first time they’ve had this conversation with someone. “I was drunk, and Greg—who got me drunk—had this brilliant idea to get tattoos as a bonding exercise—“
Ruby’s explanation about whoever Greg is instantly cuts off when Sapphire gives an affectionate pat to the tattoo on their left ass cheek. Instead of continuing to rant, Ruby lets out the most interesting noise. They seem to stop breathing completely when Sapphire spins them around and, with both hands on their rear and under the plaid that has since fallen back into place, tugs them in until their torsos are pressed flush.
She’s still naked, so this is a little more suggestive than it sounds. Sapphire thinks she might like the feel of her breasts brushing against flannel.
Sapphire feels Ruby start to breathe again when she kisses them. It ends up much softer than she intends, so much more tongue than playful lips. Still, she grins when they pull apart. “I think your drunk-tattoo is adorable, Ruby,” she says with a grin, giving it a gratuitous squeeze.
Ruby’s cheeks are flushed—so help her, it’s endearing as all get out—and their voice is gruff as they reply, “It’s a reminder to never, ever drink again.”
Their hands, warm and broad, still touch her sides. The humidity from their palms as they encircle her natural waist is sort of intoxicating. Suddenly, Sapphire wants to feel that everywhere.
“Well,” Sapphire says. She grips their rear and leans in to kiss them again. It’s a kind of reassurance, she thinks; she wants Ruby to feel comfortable letting her see their silly Instagram tattoo. She also just doesn’t feel like having breakfast quite yet. “You don’t have to drink anything to come back to bed with me, right?”
At first Ruby seems confused, but then a slow growing grin takes over their face—and Sapphire has to admit, she really likes the sight. They hum low in their throat, and just like that: their hold upon her has solidified. “No, I suppose I don’t.”