Work Text:
Fearne sauntered back to their table from the bar, hips swaying, an honest-to-god sachay, and dropped into the seat next to Imogen, sparkling and smug. She had not brought the drinks she promised. “Thank you for the offer, ladies, but I’ll no longer be needing your spare bed tonight.” She glanced back towards the bar, towards the woman staring at her, rapt and disbelieving. Fearne lifted her hand and gave a coy wave.
“I’ve stopped changing the sheets when you ask to stay,” Imogen smiled. “Never once have you used it.”
“Imogen, I can’t help it if I’m irresistible,” Fearne teased, batting her eyes. “I just have an aura .”
“You’re a goddamn menace is what you are.” Fearne opened her mouth in mock outage. Imogen was inordinately pleased by Laudna’s trilling laughter.
Their girls' nights always ended this way, with Fearne making a new friend and ditching them at the end of the night. Sometimes it was for a hookup, sometimes a new club, one time to chain herself to a railing in protest of a new gondola line to the Lucent Spire, a cause she had heard about for the first time ten minutes before and had never mentioned since. They ended with Imogen and Laudna going home just the two of them. Imogen loved Fearne dearly but she wasn’t exactly complaining.
The spare bed was technically hers, not that she used it. It felt wrong to sleep without Laudna curled up next to her, without a cold arm tucked around her waist; they’d spent so long in close quarters before they could afford a house at all, let alone something stable with more than one bed.
Laudna had been encouraging and enthusiastic when she’d nervously voiced her worries. She had said that she slept better with Imogen there too, her human hot water bottle. Their friends teased her mercilessly but Imogen was the one who got to fall asleep with Laudna’s head on her chest. Fearne had claimed the spare as her own despite never crossing the threshold.
“She’s very pretty, Fearne,” Laudna offered, nursing her wine.
“Yes, she is. Lots of cute freckles. Freckles are a plus,” she said, winking at Imogen, who rolled her eyes fondly. “Oh, I love this part,” she added, winding a lock of hair around her finger, airy and dreamy. “There’s a very specific way a woman looks at you when she wants you to fuck her. And that rush you get from a new person, from a hot stranger across a room? Of knowing you’ve found someone exciting, someone different, of touching someone new and learning what they like? There’s nothing like it,” she enthused, flushing in excitement, glancing at Imogen before laughing. “Not really preaching to the choir.”
“No, no,” she smiled, waving the objection away, “good for you. It sounds great for you! I’m just not wired that way.”
“You’re a romantic,” Fearne teased with an endeared pout.
“I mean, yeah? That’s not really it though,” Imogen said, shrugging. “I just need more. I need trust, I need— not love, exactly, but connection. You can’t get that with a stranger across a bar; it takes time. The idea of a one night stand is awful ,” she laughed, shaking her head. “It sounds fantastic for you though, go and get it. I don’t need to be attracted to her to know that she’s attractive.”
Imogen was never going to understand how Fearne felt and she didn’t care to. She’d always thought that she just wasn’t all that interested in sex with another person. Her early fumblings had been nothing to write home about, anxiety inducing rather than fun, nothing like the passion she’d read about in the books hidden under her mattress. It wasn’t like opportunities had been thick on the ground anyway. She had been cripplingly lonely, but not because of a lack of sex. She enjoyed her own company. She read a lot of books. She learned quickly what she liked.
Then she’d met Laudna and had a best friend for the first time in her life, had her loneliness smoothed away by kind words and a soft touch, by unwavering support and adoration. She had fallen head over heels in love with her and finally understood what it was that those books had been talking about, what it felt like to desire someone, for their hand against hers to make her feel like she was on fire, for the thought of kissing them to make her breathless, for the thought of touching them, of being touched by them, of being teased and fucked by them, to make her ache.
Knowing what she liked evolved into knowing what she wanted Laudna to do to her, and what she wanted to do with Laudna. Her own company became so saturated with Laudna’s presence that Imogen could almost taste her. Imogen desperately wanted to taste her.
Not that Laudna knew about any of it. Imogen had become very adept at locking those feelings away, at keeping her desires to herself.
“That’s what I said, Imogen: you’re a romantic. I’m going to have a very, very fun night with a very pretty girl. I’m going to kiss every freckle on her face. I’m pretty sure I’m going to rock her world,” Fearne said, sly and confident, tossing her hair.
“I hope you do. I mean, the idea of an orgasm that isn’t self induced is definitely appealing, I’m not going to lie.” Maybe she shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine. Fearne laughed at her, not her first time hearing the protestation; she had only just stopped offering herself up in response.
Laudna was quiet. “What about you?” Fearne asked her with a smile, gentler than she knew she could be with Imogen, a tentative overture.
“Hmm?”
“Well, I’ve met someone, Imogen isn’t interested in meeting someone, and my friend at the bar has a friend of her own. I could introduce you?” Imogen tried to swallow down the jealousy, tried to soften the clenching of her jaw. She must have done a poor job of it as Fearne put her hand on Imogen’s knee under the table, apologetic and soothing.
“Oh,” Laudna said softly, putting her glass on the table. Her hands started to tug involuntarily at the ends of her hair. “No thank you, I think?”
“Laudna,” Fearne said, eyes wide in performative offence, “you don’t want to double date with me?”
“That does sound fun,” she smiled, small and unsure. “I don’t know. I haven’t accessed that part of my brain for a very long time.”
“But it exists right?”
“It exists,” she confirmed nervously. Imogen knew this, knew that Laudna wasn’t averse to the idea of love, of romance. If Fearne thought that Imogen was a romantic then she didn’t even know if there was a word for how Laudna felt. “It's not relevant, I don’t think,” she added with a self effacing twist to her mouth.
“It’s relevant if you want it to be, honey,” Imogen said, gentle and kind. Laudna deserved only good things, deserved the world; Imogen was willing to give up not-insignificant parts of herself to make her happy.
“Thank you, Imogen, but there aren’t exactly people lining up. I think your friend-of-a-friend would probably run in the other direction.” She dropped her voice, widened her eyes in the way that lots of people found off putting, built a wall to protect herself. It just made Imogen want to kiss her.
“Well she’d be an idiot,” Fearne said, unaffected and matter-of-fact. “But say she did come over here, tried to impress you, tried to put the moves on? Listened to you gush about that rat-house Chetney is teaching you to carve? Is that enough for you to dust off the cobwebs?”
Laudna seemed to be floundering somewhat, perplexed as to how she’d ended up in this conversation. “The idea of an proposition just seems so outlandish,” she said with a slight frown, surrendering to Fearne’s questioning.
“Alright, Laudna, let’s embrace the power dynamics.” She bit her lip, narrowed her gaze. “Close your eyes.”
“What?” Laudna laughed uncertainly, throwing a confused look towards Imogen. Fearne with an agenda was an unstoppable force; it was best to just let yourself be carried along by her whimsy. Imogen shrugged and rolled her eyes in solidarity.
Fearne reached out and held Laudna’s hands. “Close your eyes.” Laudna shook her head in bewilderment and capitulated, closing her eyes. “You’re here, in the Spire by Fire, all by yourself. You’re hot, you’re horny, you’ve come here for one reason and one reason only.” Fearne’s voice was teasing but there was an edge to it, a sharpness. Laudna gave a short laugh, indulgent, but Imogen had just been fed an image of Laudna in charge, Laudna prowling, and had to press her thighs together.
“At the bar is the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen,” Fearne continued, voice low. “She’s looking straight at you, can’t take her eyes off you.” Imogen watched Laudna as Fearne spoke, watched the way the dim bar lighting highlighted her sharp cheekbones, illuminated the white streak in her dark hair.
Laudna wasn’t smiling anymore. Imogen didn’t know what she was thinking about, what Laudna would imagine when told to think of something beautiful. It was pathetic how much she wanted Laudna to think about her.
“You’re just as drawn to her, can’t stop yourself from approaching her. When you talk to her, the butterflies are overwhelming. You make her laugh and she touches your hand, warm and soft. You want to talk to her forever but when she looks at you her eyes are burning. She whispers in your ear that she wants you to take her home. She wants you to kiss her, to touch her. She just wants you to take care of her, Laudna.” Fearne leaned back, squeezed Laudna’s hands, broke her spell. “Would that do it?” she asked, and Laudna opened her eyes.
“That would probably do it,” Laudna agreed, her voice rough. She lifted her glass and finished her wine, draining a third of the glass.
“Not so many cobwebs after all,” Fearne winked, smug. Imogen couldn’t take her eyes from Laudna, from the dark of her eyes, the slight pinking of her cheeks. Laudna glanced at her and quickly looked away. Imogen supposed this wasn’t the kind of conversation they usually had.
“Well,” Laudna said, frantically dragging herself to firmer ground, “not a scenario we have to deal with today, at any rate.” Thank god for that, because if Imogen had to sit here and watch Laudna pick up a woman at a bar she didn’t know what she’d do, whether she’d smile and encourage her, whether she’d burst into tears, whether she’d start smashing glasses.
“Good, because I wouldn’t want to miss it, and I think it’s time for me to go,” Fearne said, looking over the top of their heads towards the bar, where her new friend was making deeply pointed eye contact. She stood, knocking back the rest of her drink. “Thank you for a lovely night, as always.” She leaned down and kissed Imogen smackingly on the cheek, then did the same to Laudna. “Get home safely, my beautiful girls.”
“Shall we head home?” Imogen asked when it was just them.
Laudna tilted her head to look at her, then smiled. “Sure. Let’s go home.”
Imogen was settling into bed, combing out the braided section of her hair with her fingers when Laudna said, “You trust me.” It didn’t sound like a question, sounded like it was the end of a conversation Launda was having with herself. She was standing by her side of the bed, wringing her hands.
“Uh, yeah?” Imogen said, confused. “Of course I trust you, what do you mean?” Laudna didn’t answer, just stared down at her, shifting on the balls of her feet. “Laudna?” Imogen reached out and took her hand, pulled her gently onto the bed, pulled the duvet over her legs.
“You trust me,” she said again, less certain. “Earlier, you said— You implied that you needed something more than what you had now, that you wanted something more than— more than yourself?” Imogen felt a tightness in her stomach, a tension that could have been fear or could have been nervous premonition, it was hard to tell through the shock of Laudna sitting in their bed, talking about Imogen implying that touching herself wasn’t quite cutting it, that she wanted someone to fuck her. “I don’t want you to ever feel like— like your needs aren’t being met,” she continued. Imogen could do nothing more than stare at her, frozen, but Laudna wasn’t meeting her eye, was plucking at the quilt with anxious hands. “I know that you can’t do what Fearne does, can’t have that with someone you don’t trust, that you don’t care for. But you trust me, and I know you care for me, and obviously I care about you an immense deal.”
“Laudna,” she said, confused and excited despite herself, “what are you suggesting here?”
“Just—“ she stopped, glancing up at Imogen before averting her eyes. “I just want you to be as happy as you can be. I just want to make you happy.”
“Laudna, I’m very happy, alright? You make me happy.” There was a low thrumming between her hips that she knew was going to get away from her.
“Alright. That’s good, then.” Her hands were still fidgeting, still nervously twitching. “I’m sorry if I overstepped.”
“Honey, no,” Imogen reached over and took her hand, stilled her skittishness. “You’re so good to me. You haven’t done anything wrong, ok?”
“Well, if you change your mind— Whatever you want, Imogen.” What Imogen wanted was her. What she wanted was to tell her that she was in love with her, that Laudna suggesting they have sex, if that was what was happening here, if she wasn’t having a very vivid hallucination, had ignited something inside of her that she didn’t know if she could douse.
“I’ll think about it,” she said, forcing her voice to steady. As if she hadn’t been thinking about it for three years. Laudna nodded, resolute that she had achieved her intent, rolled over, and turned off the lamp.
Imogen lay in the darkness, moonlight shining through the curtains. She didn’t understand what had happened, didn’t understand what had led to this conversation, to Laudna offering herself up as— What? An alternative to masterbation? It wasn’t like Laudna was confessing an undying love for her, a reciprocity of Imogen’s romantic devotion, of her lust. Laudna was doing what she always did and putting Imogen’s wants first. Imogen desperately hoped it wasn’t at the expense of her own; she so often did that too.
She couldn’t stop thinking about what Fearne had said, couldn’t stop picturing Laudna knowing what she wanted, taking what she wanted. What if that hypothetical woman at the bar had been Imogen? What would it feel like for Laudna to want her like that, to approach her knowing that it would end up with them in bed together? Imogen imagined what it would feel like to lean in, to whisper her desires in Laudna’s ear, to ask her to take her home and fuck her.
She couldn’t help the tightening between her legs, the racing of her heart. She was doing it again, lying in bed next to Laudna, growing wetter and wetter thinking about Laudna touching her, about Laudna fucking her. It was a bad habit that she hadn’t managed to break no matter how ashamed she was. The guilt was a bitter, alive thing, cloying in her throat.
Imogen reached over Laudna and turned the lamp on again. She looked down at Laudna beneath her, her dark eyes wide, her body held still in repose. Imogen’s hair fell like a curtain around them. “Just to be absolutely clear, are you suggesting that we have sex?”
Laudna swallowed deeply then nodded, her eyes apprehensive. “If that’s something you think you’d want, something that would help you.”
“Ok. I just wanted to check.” She turned the light off and lay back down. All she could do was stare at the ceiling.
It would be a monumentally stupid thing to do. It would probably be the worst decision she’d ever made in a life full of poor decisions. You couldn’t have sex with someone you were in love with just to take the edge off. It would be selfish and ruinous and cruel. It wouldn’t be fair to Laudna.
Her hands were clenching, trying to grasp at the sheets. It was taking all of her willpower not to squirm to gain any sort of purchase on the pressure between her legs.
“Imogen?” Laudna whispered into the space between them. “Are you thinking about it?” What the hell kind of question was that? How could she possibly be thinking about anything else?
“Yes,” she whispered back. “Are you?”
“Yes.” Oh fuck, she wasn’t strong enough for this. “What do you want, Imogen?”
Imogen turned her head to look at her. She didn’t know what Laudna saw in her eyes in the dim light but it prompted a sharp inhalation, a small, enticing gasp. Imogen nodded her head before she could stop herself, before the sensible part of herself that was shouting at her to stop could catch up.
Laudna reached out towards her, tentatively running her fingertips down Imogen’s arm. Her touch was light, soft, and Imogen realised that it was too late for her to stop this from happening, that she’d made the decision as soon as Laudna offered.
Laudna curled towards her, closing the gap between them, and rested her head against Imogen’s, her mouth next to her ear. “Just— Tell me what you like, alright? I just want to make you feel good, Imogen,” she whispered. Her low voice, nervous but committed, saying things Imogen had never thought she would hear sent a spike of desire through her, potent and overwhelming.
“Just keep touching me, ok?” she said, more breathless than she expected. Laudna nodded slightly and moved her light touch to the bare skin of Imogen’s thigh. “Oh, fuck. Ok,” she hissed shakily to herself, shifting against Laudna’s hand.
“Is this ok?” Laudna asked, stilling her fingers on the inside of her thigh. Imogen wanted to grab her hand and slide it into her shorts.
“Yeah, yeah it’s good. It feels real nice,” she said, inanely. Nice wasn’t really what she was feeling, which was disbelief and anticipation and so painfully turned on that if Laudna didn’t touch her soon she was going to do something desperate. “Just keep doing that, ok?”
Laudna started moving her hand again, running it slowly up and down her thigh. Imogen’s pyjama shorts were loose and scant; Laudna could slide her hand in easily if she wanted to but she didn’t, her fingers skimming higher and closer every time. Imogen couldn’t tell if she was being purposefully teased or not. Something about the uncertainty twisted pleasantly between her legs.
Imogen reached up and slid her hand around the back of Laudna’s neck, tangling her fingers in her hair and pulling her closer. Laudna made a breathy noise against her ear, not quite a moan, more an involuntary noise of surprise. “Imogen,” she said, and the sound of her name in Laudna’s rasping voice next to her ear made her squirm, “show me what you want.”
Imogen took Laudna by the wrist and waited for any protest. When nothing was forthcoming other than a hitched breath in her ear, she slid Laudna’s hand under her waistband and settled it between her legs, resting her own on top. Imogen could feel how wet she was on the tip of her fingers, felt Laudna’s hand slide from underneath hers before she could guide her.
Laudna moved her fingers lower, slowly and delicately ran them over her, through the wetness. It was the most erotic thing she had ever felt, Laudna’s chilled fingers sliding over her, covered in her. Imogen bit out an unrestrained curse and a helpless groan, pressing herself into Laudna’s hand.
“Fuck,” Laudna moaned in her ear, rougher than any of her previous controlled whispers. “Imogen, you’re so wet.” She kept running her fingers up and down, spreading the slick of her from her entrance to her clit, achingly, tauntingly light.
“Laudna—“ she whined, closer to begging than she thought was reasonable this quickly. “Laudna, please.”
Laudna exhaled shakily against her ear and slowed the progression of her fingers, drew the wetness up as she began to circle her clit. Imogen didn’t know how they had gotten here, but it was the best thing she had ever felt. She had pictured it so many times, touched herself whilst pretending that her hands were Laudna’s, imagined those long, spindly fingers sliding against her, sliding inside her. Nothing compared to the reality, to the restrained whimper in her ear as Laudna felt how turned on she was, as she realised that Imogen wasn’t going to last very long.
“Don’t stop, ok?” Imogen managed to say, breathless and desperate. She wanted this feeling to last forever. Laudna adjusted her fingers, steady against the writhing of Imogen’s hips, and increased her pressure. “Please don’t stop.”
“I won’t, I promise,” she whispered back, placing a closed mouth kiss behind Imogen’s ear. Laudna kept her word, kept her fingers moving in tight circles against her as Imogen shifted, as she grew closer and closer. She lost all sense of time, of place, couldn’t think about anything but making this last as long as she could.
She thought about how right this felt, about asking Laudna to hold her down, about asking Laudna to deny her. With a rush of anticipation she thought about all of the things she wanted to do to Laudna to reciprocate and came before she could stop herself, Laudna’s name on her lips.
Laudna coaxed her through, gentled her movements but didn’t stop as Imogen clutched at her hair and pushed into her hand. When she couldn’t take it anymore, when the pressure of Laudna’s hand slid into oversensitivity, Imogen slowed and slackened against the bed, trying to catch her breath.
Laudna withdrew her hand and wrapped it around Imogen’s waist. She pulled her in close and nuzzled into her neck with a quiet hum. Imogen was still trying to gather herself when Laudna briefly kissed the underside of her jaw and said, “Goodnight, darling.”
Goodnight? What— Oh. Oh, right. The excited hammering of her heart stuttered to a stop when she realised that this hadn’t been an prelude to something bigger. That it had been Laudna doing exactly as she suggested, and helping Imogen with something she said she needed.
Imogen swallowed the protestations past the sudden tightness in her throat and rested her head against Laudna’s. “Night, Laudna,” she managed to whisper and was shocked that she was able to mask her disappointment.
The next morning, Laudna made her coffee as she always did. She chided her fondly when she was going to be late for work as she always did. She called out what she was going to make for dinner as Imogen rushed to the door as she always did, before padding into her office-workshop-craft room on soft slippered feet.
Imogen swam upstream in the flood of normality, carried away by Laudna’s nonchalance even as she felt the pieces of herself struggle to fit themselves together, felt the jigsaw of her foundation rearrange and realign into forced conformity, felt the snapping of her emotional interjambs.
Imogen called back her goodbye as she always did and left for work a confused, frustrated mess.
An unfair, guilt inducing thought, but one that forced itself to the forefront nevertheless: was that it?
Of all the things she’d expected to feel if she and Laudna ever had sex, disappointment hadn’t been one of them. Not that she thought they would ever have sex; that was a longed for, unrealistic, hidden fantasy that she only let herself indulge in on the rare occasion that she was alone.
It wasn’t that what had actually happened had been bad. On the contrary. Imogen now knew what it felt like to have Laudna’s hand between her legs, what it felt like to be touched as Laudna failed to bite back enticing, rapturous noises, what it felt like for Laudna to be overwhelmed by how wet she made her. There was no going back from that. She kept thinking about Laudna moaning her name and had to stop herself locking the stationary cupboard at work to do something about it.
Imogen hadn’t gotten to touch her, hadn’t gotten to taste her. She hadn’t gotten to show her how beautiful she was, how even the thought of being with her made Imogen believe that she was capable of worship after all.
Imogen hadn’t kissed her. Imogen had missed her only chance to kiss her. She was untrustworthy, and a liar, and had burned Laudna’s good grace in the fire of her selfishness but the grief still knotted in her chest, the certainty that she had lost her only opportunity to kiss the woman she loved.
It was probably for the best. If Imogen had kissed her then Laudna might have found the marker that she had pressed into Imogen’s heart and there would no longer be any normality to mimic.
Three days later, on a contented, quiet evening, Laudna turned off the television, tucked her crochet away in its bag, and turned to her with the determination of an overture long deferred. “I think we should do it again,” she said, voice sure but eyes apprehensive.
There was a very distinctive ringing in her ears that probably meant she was about to have a stroke. “Wait, what?” Imogen blurted, calm evaporating like a startled morning mist.
“I mean, if you— I think we should do it again.” There was no way to misinterpret her suggestion, not when she was running the points of her nails down her cheek, was stretching out her hand so frantically. Imogen opened her mouth but nothing was forthcoming, eager affirmations and baffled clarifications and self-preserving refutations all dammed together behind her surprise.
“I’m not suggesting that we—“ Laudna continued stutteringly, eyes wide, “I understand that our relationship isn’t romantic, close and wonderful and special as it is, and I’m not suggesting that we change that!” she entreated as a little part of Imogen was blighted, a bastion of her chimerical hope. “I know that those feelings don’t— That you don’t— That I’m—“
“Laudna,” she managed to say against the lock snapping closed around her heart. “What are you saying?”
“I just—“ Laudna took a long, deep breath. “I just thought it was nice?” she said quietly, eyes darting up to meet Imogen’s before falling back to her own lap. “When we— I thought it was nice, and you know I don’t have a lot of experience with this kind of thing, but—“
“Me either,” Imogen said quietly, understandingly.
“I thought that, because I trust you so completely, and you’re so wonderful, Imogen, truly, I just— If I’m going to have that kind of intimacy with anyone, and I think that maybe I hadn't realised it was something I could have, something I wanted to have— I think you’re the only person I could trust with this.“
Imogen looked at her, at her freneticism bookending a declaration of absolute trust, at the bravery Laudna had shown in asking, a courage that Imogen would never be able to muster if their roles were reversed. “Alright,” Imogen said with the trace of a smile, proud and nervous, and Laudna pulled her gaze up slowly, hesitantly. “Yeah, alright, if you want that, Laudna.”
“Only if you do too,” she said, imploring but firm.
“I do,” Imogen admitted against her better judgement. “Last time was…” she trailed off, unable to articulate her muddied point.
“Oh god, was it bad?” Laudna’s hands jumped to the ends of her hair, starting tugging and tangling. Imogen reached out and pulled them free, held them down gently in her lap.
“No, honey, it wasn’t bad,” she said, smoothing her thumb over the back of Laudna’s hand.
“But?”
“But,” she sighed, the upset in Laudna’s eyes persuading her that she should continue, “it was a little one sided?”
“One— oh!” she said, as if the idea of reciprocity had never crossed her mind.
“I don’t want to make any assumptions here, and there’s no pressure, or— If that’s not something you want I’d hate for you to—“
“No,” Laudna interrupted with a squeeze of her hands, “no, I just didn’t think that you’d— If we did it again, you’d…?”
“Want to touch you?” Imogen said, trying to restrain herself. “Yeah, Laudna. If we had sex again and you wanted that, I’d really, really like to touch you.” Potentially both an understatement and a level of enthusiasm she should have hidden, but Laudna was looking at her as if she’d said something miraculous. It lent her the bravery she needed to continue. “And,” she swallowed, preparing to ask for the thing she wanted most of all, “can I kiss you? I can’t tell if that would be alright or not.”
Laudna looked at her intently, consideringly, and Imogen was stripped bare under her attention. Laudna’s eyes dropped to her lips and lingered. Imogen felt her stare like a brand, like a humming susurration down her spine. “Alright,” Laudna said quietly, then repeated herself with conviction, “alright.”
Laudna lifted her hands from Imogen’s loose grasp and placed them gently on either side of her face, cupping her jaw. All breath left her body as Launda leaned in and kissed her, pressed their lips together softly, cradling her face as if she was something precious. Imogen parted her lips slightly and Laudna followed, tentative and gentle. It was delicate, and overwhelming, and made Imogen want to confess before anything escalated. It was the kind of kiss that made Imogen think that maybe Laudna could love her back some day, that maybe if she kept doing it right, Laudna would see that she meant everything to her.
Laudna hummed against her and parted Imogen’s lips further with her own; she swiped her tongue glancingly against Imogen’s bottom lip before sucking it lightly into her mouth; she slid one hand into Imogen’s hair as she bit down slightly. Any delicacy was lost in the urgency with which Imogen pressed back into her as she deepened their kiss to something indecent.
Laudna made an endearing, startled noise and kissed back just as hard, sliding the hand not in her hair down to grasp at her waist, to pull Imogen closer. Imogen took it as permission and pulled herself up and over to straddle her lap, to spread her legs wide over Laudna’s hips and press her into the back of the sofa.
Imogen didn’t know what to do with her hands; she wanted them everywhere at once, in her hair and around her shoulders and on her chest and under her shirt. She placed one over Laudna’s heart to hold her in place and the other on the back of the sofa to hold herself up. Laudna’s hands found Imogen’s hips, pulling her ever closer, and when Imogen’s centre pressed against her through their clothes Imogen gasped into her mouth.
She couldn’t stop herself from rocking against Laudna, from chasing the contact, the friction. It was glancing, and light, and deliciously frustrating, all aided by Laudna splaying her long fingers wide over her hips and rolling up into her as Imogen ground down.
“Imogen,” she groaned, breaking their kiss. Laudna’s voice was broken, and ragged, her hands searing where they held her. Imogen had been a fool to think she could resist this, that she could ever have said no to her, even at the cost of her heart. She wanted to take Laudna’s faith in her and earn it, wanted to make Laudna feel as euphoric as she did. Imogen kissed her again, slow and deep, and tried to push every beautiful, rough, yearned for intention into her. Laudna pulled back, breathless and anticipatory, and pressed sharp, biting kisses along the length of her jaw.
Imogen reached down and pulled her shirt over her head, revealing herself as a gesture of trust, of goodwill, hoping desperately that if she did Laudna would let Imogen undress her. Laudna drew back only far enough to take her in, to run her eyes over the exposed planes of her stomach and chest, over her breasts, over the copious waves of lavender hair falling in a dishevelled mass around her shoulders.
“Laudna,” Imogen said shakily, biting on her lip, “tell me what you want.” There was a hitch to Laudna’s breathing but she didn’t respond, just kept darting her eyes over her. She ran her hands up and rested them lightly on Imogen’s waist, her cool fingers soothing against Imogen’s burning skin.
Imogen knew that there was no turning back, knew that if she was going to risk everything she needed to show Laudna what she wanted, needed to follow her exemplar of bravery. “I can be good, Laudna,” she whispered, rolling her hips just once, whether in confirmation or defiance of her words she didn’t know. Laudna’s hands tightened on her waist. “I can be a good girl for you.”
Laudna’s intense stare was unreadable as she looked up into Imogen’s eyes. The hands on her waist pushed her back, pushed her away, forced her to standing. For a moment Imogen thought that she’d ruined it, had shown Laudna what she desired and had been found wanting, before Laudna stood, took Imogen’s hand in a blisteringly tight grip, and all but dragged her up the stairs to their bedroom.
Imogen slammed the door in her haste to kiss her again but Laudna held her back, hands pushed to her hip bones. “This is what you want?” she asked, confident but clarifying. Her surety, rarified and strived for, tightened something anticipatory between Imogen’s legs.
“I want whatever you want, Laudna,” she said honestly, reaching out for the buttons of her shirt. When no refusal was forthcoming she undid the top button, then the next, her movements slow and tense. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do.” She leaned in and kissed her pulse point, trailed her lips down the elegant length of her neck as she kept undoing the buttons. “I want you to take charge. I want you to make me beg. I want you to fuck me.” Laudna failed to bite back a moan at the last and hearing it made Imogen even wetter than she already was. Any restraint she had left fled and was replaced by an unyielding desire for Laudna to know this last part of her, to see the facets of her that Imogen had hidden away, that she’d never shown to anyone before. She wanted Laudna to take the hungry, unwieldy fragments of her and consume them, to take the core of Imogen and make it hers.
She ran her tongue up Laudna’s neck until she could whisper in her ear. “You can do whatever you want, Laudna. You can tease me, you can reprimand me, you can tie me up or hold me down. You can punish me or praise me, be rough with me or so gentle that I can’t take it. You can make me come all over your fingers or your tongue or your strap. You can never let me come at all and I will say thank you and get on my knees.”
“Imogen,” she said with an overcome waver. Imogen slid the undone shirt from her shoulders.
“I want to fuck you, Laudna,” Imogen said, undoing the clasp of her skirt and letting it fall to the floor. “However you want to be fucked. I want to make you feel as good as I did when you touched me. I want to be good for you.” Imogen took in the sight of Laudna standing before her in her underwear, her pale skin and narrow waist, her lanky limbs and protruding bones; she was always rangy and underfed, spindly and sickly no matter how hard she tried to rectify it. Imogen loved her endlessly. “Does that answer your question?”
Laudna pressed a blistering kiss against her lips and pulled Imogen towards the bed. She turned them so Imogen’s legs hit the mattress first and pushed her down onto her back with a palm to the chest. She grasped the waistband of Imogen’s trousers and slid them down her legs, leaving her fully exposed. Laudna unclipped and threw her own bra to the side, followed by her underwear, and clambered onto the bed after her, eager and excited. She guided Imogen’s head to the pillow and lifted herself on top, sliding her skinny thigh between Imogen’s legs.
Imogen moaned shakily when Laudna pressed against her, when she gave freely the pressure that Imogen had been denied. Imogen rolled her hips and heard Laudna hiss into her ear when she felt how wet she was, when Imogen coated her thigh in her arousal.
Laudna let her negligible weight press fully into Imogen. She took her hand and entwined their fingers before raising their clasped hands above Imogen’s head and holding her firmly against the bed. Imogen knew she could easily overpower her but she let Laudna hold her down and revelled in even the hint of submission. With her other hand Laudna clutched at Imogen’s hip, trying to guide her slow, agonising grinding.
Helpless under the delight of the leg between hers, Imogen lifted her free hand and used it to gently turn Laudna’s head towards her. She kissed her hungrily and slid her tongue into Laudna’s mouth, dirty and goading. The rhythm of Laudna’s shifting thigh stuttered and staggered at the distraction and she dug her nails into the skin of Imogen’s hip in censure. “This is you being good?” she said breathlessly, pulling back to arch an eyebrow.
Imogen provokingly bit her own lip at the reprimand and abruptly rolled them over so that Laudna was pressed beneath her. “I guess you’ll find out.”
With the greatest willpower she had ever exerted, Imogen lifted herself from Laudna’s thigh. She nudged her legs further apart with her hips and settled herself between them. Imogen kissed her deeply again before kissing down her jaw, biting down her neck, running her tongue over the hollow dip above her collar bone.
Imogen kissed down her chest to her small breasts and sucked a nipple into her mouth. Laudna moaned, low and rough, and Imogen chased the sound with her teeth, biting down gently as she palmed her other breast, catching the nipple between the webbing of her fingers and squeezing. Laudna hissed out her name, arching into her mouth and threading her hand into Imogen’s hair to pull her in closer. It was overwhelming and delectable and Imogen wanted her to close her fist and pull.
She lowered herself, kissing down Laudna’s ribs, the dip of her stomach. Imogen clamped her mouth around her jutting hipbone and sucked as hard as she could, dragged her teeth over the pinking skin. “Fuck,” Laudna cursed, squirming underneath her. “Do it again,” she demanded, her voice authoritative enough that Imogen felt it pulse between her legs. There was a slight upturn at the end, an indication that she hadn't asked nicely because Imogen had said she wanted to be commanded, that Laudna had reframed the request for her benefit. Imogen showed her gratitude by sucking long and hard enough to bruise. She didn’t know what she would do tomorrow knowing that mark was there.
She kissed lower still, settling herself on the bed and pulling Laudna’s legs over her shoulders. She looked up at her, at the trail of bitten kisses down her chest and torso, at her dark eyes, wide with excitement and a dash of apprehension, and waited for permission. Laudna nodded slightly and wound her hand further into Imogen’s hair. Imogen kissed up the inside of one thigh, then down the other. She dragged her tongue back up, tasting herself on Laudna’s leg with a groan.
Laudna was pulling lightly at her hair in encouragement and Imogen couldn’t wait any longer. She ran the flat of her tongue along the wetness between Laudna’s legs and moaned obscenely at the taste of her, at the stark realisation that she would now always know what Laudna tasted like. She opened her lips against her clit and sucked gently, darting her tongue out to circle against her.
“Imogen,” Laudna moaned quietly and tugged on her hair. Imogen couldn’t stop her gasp at the sharp sensation, so far from pain but with the potential of it dancing along her awareness. Laudna misunderstood, tried to retract her hand but Imogen grasped her firmly by the wrist and held her firmly in place. She wished she could communicate with her without removing her mouth, which she was utterly unwilling to do, but when she tightened her grip Laudna seemed to understand; Laudna pulled harder and cursed at the vibration against her when Imogen gave a gutteral moan.
She didn’t want to stop, didn’t want the taste of Laudna on her tongue to ever abate. Imogen slid her tongue inside her and felt Laudna coat her chin, felt her legs start to tremble around her head. Imogen could live for another sixty years and nothing would ever compare to this, to Laudna laid out before her, Laudna’s hand tight in her hair, the promise of Laudna coming against her tongue.
Imogen pulled her in closer, arms tucked under Laudna’s thighs. She slid her tongue out and used it to draw wide, firm circles around her clit. She walked her hand up slightly to rest over the purpling bruise on Laudna’s hip, selfish and possessive; Laudna used her free hand to push Imogen’s harshly against it and hissed at the sharpness. Imogen had never been more turned on in her life.
Laudna’s thighs were starting to shake in earnest, her grip on Imogen’s hair jerking and taut. She was getting close, Imogen could tell from the rush of wetness on her chin, the constant stream of hissed curses. Laudna took her hand and entwined their fingers, holding on for dear life. Imogen sucked hard against her clit, pressed against her with the flat of her tongue and Laudna came apart underneath her, her thighs clamped tight against Imogen’s head, the hand in her hair pulling her closer.
Imogen didn’t stop her ministrations, coaxing her through until Laudna pushed her head away, spent and sensitive. Imogen wiped her face on the inside of her thigh and followed the summons given to her, Laudna pulling on their joined hands, guiding her back up. Imogen lay on her side next to her and watched as Laudna tried to catch her breath, tried to gather herself. There was a flush to her pale chest, a glow that Imogen had never seen before. When Laudna rolled over to look at Imogen her eyes were wide, her pupils blown, her bottom lip swollen from where she had been biting down as Imogen fucked her. She had never looked more beautiful.
Laudna grinned, sated and shy. She leaned in to kiss Imogen, whimpering quietly when she tasted herself on her lips. “Thank you,” she said softly, smoothing Imogen’s hair where she had buried her hand.
“Don’t thank me,” Imogen replied with a gentle laugh. “That was…” she trailed off with an astounded smile, unsure how to finish. Amazing? Unforgettable? Exalting? Yes, all of the above and more.
Laudna hummed in agreement, kissing her again, running her fingertips over the sensitive skin of Imogen’s ribs. She skimmed the underside of Imogen’s breast with a thumb before dragging her fingers lightly down her arm. This was how she had started last time, Imogen remembered, a light teasing touch until Imogen couldn’t resist her. Maybe this time Laudna would know not to give in to her begging.
Something sparked in her dark eyes as she touched Imogen, as she danced her nails over her skin so lightly that Imogen had to focus to feel it, something excited and intent and powerful. Laudna kissed her, kept kissing her, did nothing but kiss her and touch her thighs maddeningly lightly until Imogen was almost shaking against her.
“Laudna,” she whined, pushing her hips towards her thigh. “Laudna, please.”
“Please what?” Laudna replied, with a taunting tone that made Imogen clench.
“Please touch me.” Laudna ran her fingers between her hipbones, teasingly low. “Please.”
“Do you think you deserve it?” she murmured in Imogen’s ear. Imogen spread her legs and Laudna slipped her own between them, low down where Imogen couldn’t grind against it.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Laudna, haven’t I been good? Didn’t I make you feel good?”
“You did. You made me feel amazing,” she said, a sliver of reverence shining through before she quashed it. “I want to see if you can be patient.”
“I can be patient,” Imogen lied and Laudna laughed shortly at her. She abruptly dug the points of her nails into the skin of Imogen’s thigh in reprimand.
“Don’t lie to me, Imogen.” She resumed her achingly light exploration of Imogen’s body, who bucked and squirmed in frustration.
“I’m sorry,” she capitulated, kissing her lack of regret into Laudna’s mouth.
“If you do it again, I’ll be disappointed in you,” she said sternly. Imogen tried to bite back her excited, thrilled smile and didn’t quite manage it. There was a matching twist to Laudna’s mouth, a failure to hide her enthusiasm for giving Imogen what she wanted. She faltered ever so slightly and whispered under her breath, “Is this what you want?”
“Yeah,” Imogen said just as quietly, terrified of ruining the moment. “Yeah, this is amazing, keep going, please?” Laudna nodded slightly and kissed her, hard and fast. “Laudna, did you like touching me? Last time?”
“Did I like having you held against me, wet and moaning my name?” Imogen exhaled shakily at her condescending tone and rested her forehead on Laudna’s shoulder. “You’re a smart girl, Imogen, you know the answer.”
“Tell me anyway?” she begged as Laudna ran her fingers up her inner thigh slowly. This time she knew for certain she was being teased. Laudna stopped. “Please?” Imogen whispered and she resumed.
“I couldn’t think about anything else,” Laudna said softly in her ear, inching her hand higher agonisingly slowly. “I thought about how sexy you sounded when you came with my name on your lips. I thought about how you would taste, how I wished I’d cleaned you from my fingers with my tongue.” Imogen was too far gone to hear this, knew that as soon as Laudna touched her she’d never know peace again. “The next day, when you were at work, I thought about how wet you were for me and made myself come so hard that it hurt.”
“Fuck,” Imogen hissed, wanton and raw. She was never going to be able to cope with knowing that Laudna had touched herself whilst thinking about her, that Laudna had made herself come thinking about how much she turned Imogen on. Any delusion she was still harbouring that she and Laudna could have sex and still have their normal life together shattered with the last of her willpower. “Laudna, please,” she raised her head and kissed her, slid her hands over Laudna’s shoulders and clung to her. “Please, I lied, I lied, I can't be patient, I’m sorry. Please touch me, please I’ll be so good. Please, I’ll be a good girl and come for you. I’m even wetter this time, Laudna, you’ve made me so wet for you.”
Laudna ran her fingers over her and Imogen almost sobbed with relief, was reduced to a babbling mess of please and Laudna as deft fingers circled her clit. “I need to feel you,” Laudna said against her mouth and Imogen whined her agreement, would have agreed to anything, would have sold her soul for this. “I need to feel you come, Imogen. I’m not patient either, I need to feel it again.”
She gasped into Laudna’s mouth as Laudna touched her relentlessly, as she pressed hard against her. Imogen was so turned on, so close already. She wanted this to last forever but if she didn’t come soon she didn’t know how she’d be able to function.
Her grasp on Laudna grew tighter and tighter, her kisses wilder. Laudna shifted the angle of her fingers, pressed ever so slightly lower and Imogen came against her hand, loud and sharp and utterly overcome.
When she could breathe again, when the idea of doing anything but grinding down against Laudna’s fingers cleared, Imogen rolled onto her back, dragging Laudna with her. Laudna’s leg was thrown over hers, her arm around Imogen’s waist, her head resting on Imogen’s shoulder.
“Much less one sided,” Laudna murmured softly, prompting a low laugh from Imogen.
“Definitely more equitable.” She nuzzled into Laudna’s hair, kissed the top of her head. “I never want to move,” she sighed.
“Me either,” Laudna said quietly, sincere in a way that sent Imogen’s heart tumbling. Laudna was stroking her thumb over the soft skin at the dip of her waist. Imogen couldn’t concentrate on anything else.
Their breathing slowed in harmony and Imogen felt her eyes begin to drift close, felt herself float gently towards the edge of sleep. “Oh, fuck,” Laudna hissed, an exclamation of annoyance rather than pleasure.
“What?” Imogen jolted, pulled from peace like a violent hypnic jerk, yanked back to awareness.
“I didn’t turn on the dishwasher,” she growled, murderous. Imogen barked a laugh she didn’t know was coming, absurdity and domesticity popping her satiated bubble.
“We haven’t brushed our teeth,” she added, “or set our alarm, or fed Pâté. I have no idea where my phone is.”
“Fuck,” Laudna cursed again, rolling away to glare at the ceiling. “Next time, we’ll be better about organisation.”
Imogen’s breath caught, a stuttering of relief and anticipation and creeping, incipient dread swirling in her chest. “Next time,” she agreed enthusiastically, and realised just how badly she’d fucked up.
Twice became thrice, became a pattern, became a habit.
Every few days, Laudna would run her fingers over the back of Imogen’s hand at dinner, or look at her from under her lashes with a specific glint in her eye, or smile at her with a very slight edge, and Imogen would know. With great restraint, she let Laudna initiate, aware that her own motivations were somewhat more selfish and should be significantly restricted.
Well, most of the time. The night she watched Laudna dance unrestrainedly with Fearne, girls’ night come around again, free and overjoyed and unencumbered as she was rarely allowed to be, Imogen locked the front door behind them, wrapped Laudna’s arms around her shoulders, and carried her to bed.
And the time they had been cuddled up in the evening, as platonic as Imogen was able to manage, Laudna’s fingers drawing lazy, comforting circles on the inside of her forearm. Imogen was so enamoured, so contented, that she’d pulled Laudna into her lap, had kissed her neck, her chest, had slid two fingers inside of her and watched, rapturous and adoring, as Laudna rode her hand until she couldn’t take it anymore. Imogen had looked up at her, head thrown back, cursing and groaning, secure in the knowledge that she couldn’t love her more than she already did. Laudna had smiled down at her, flushed in the afterglow, and Imogen realised that she’d been mistaken.
Once, near the start, when the morning light through the kitchen window caught the black of her hair and made it shine with the iridescence of a starling, Imogen leaned over and kissed her. She hadn’t meant anything by it, had been struck by how desperately she wanted to add her admiration and her love to the conflagration that started and ended with Laudna’s smile. She had forgotten that a kiss wasn’t just a kiss. She wasn’t complaining when she ended up on her knees on the kitchen floor, but it hadn’t been her intention.
Neither of them had much experience but both had a hale imagination and the ability to scale a steep learning curve when sufficiently motivated. Laudna in particular had a wealth of ideas gathered from a lifetime of vicarious romantic striving; it seemed that once she had unlocked this part of her brain it was too late to stop it consuming them. The only thing left in her Pandora’s box of sexual repression appeared to be the ability to recognise that Imogen was in love with her.
What they did learn they learned together. She learned that Laudna always wanted her as close as possible when Imogen was touching her, always wanted to be holding her, and pressed against her, and when Imogen was going down on her she always, always held her hand. She learned that Laudna preferred to be touched slowly, and deeply, that she could come from hard and fast but it would never be her first choice. She learned the sound Laudna made when she needed more pressure and the cant of her hips when Imogen was so-close-but-not-quite where she wanted her and the very specific catch of her breath when Laudna knew she was about to come.
She learned that Laudna liked to dominate her, liked to make her beg, that it turned her on endlessly not because of any great desire on her part to wield that power but because of how much Imogen wanted to supplicate herself, that what Laudna got off on was giving Imogen what she wanted. Laudna was very, very good at giving Imogen what she wanted.
There had been the occasional thread of friction. When Imogen had begged Laudna to tie her up, when she had pulled and pulled and pulled on the restraints tight around her wrists as Laudna had fucked her with her tongue, wanting them to bite, wanting them to hurt, Laudna had looked at the bruised, raw skin afterwards and been furious at herself. Imogen had pushed back, had held Laudna’s hand between her legs so she could feel how wet it had made her, had tried to explain how it felt, why she liked it so much, had asked Laudna to trust her. She didn’t know how effective she had been, as Laudna frowned at the bruises until they faded and didn’t touch her again until they were gone, but she learned to trust that Imogen knew what she wanted, trusted that Imogen would tell her to stop.
That trust went a long way. That trust meant that Laudna was rough with her when she asked, was sharp with her when she asked, that making her ask was part of the fun. That trust meant that Imogen leapt at the opportunity to show her gratitude in kind, that she showed Laudna how much she appreciated her, showed her how beautiful she was, how special. That trust meant that Laudna denied her sometimes, punished her sometimes, edged her until she sobbed in relief and kissed away her tears afterwards.
They hadn’t discussed the consequences of what they were doing, or not doing, not in so many words. There had been no rules established, which Imogen knew was unwise but didn’t dare broach in case further confirmation of Laudna’s lack of romantic interest was forthcoming. There was a tacit acknowledgment that it was only for them, that it stayed inside the walls of their house. Whilst Imogen baulked at the idea that anything they were doing was wrong or needed to be hidden, and fretted somewhat that Laudna was either ashamed of her (which even on her darkest days she considered unlikely) or ashamed of herself on Imogen’s behalf (which was abhorrent and diametric but more in keeping with Laudna’s typical vein of insecurity), a small part of her was relieved.
She didn't want their friends to know the true depths to which she had sunk, didn’t want to show them the selfishness that she had failed to restrain. She didn’t want Orym to smile sadly at her as he tried to convey sympathy and unwittingly threaded it with pity. She didn’t want to see Fearne’s big doe eyes as she tried to take part of Imogen’s hurt onto herself, as she tried to convince her that there was still a chance. She didn’t want to endure Ashton’s bitter mockery or worse, a quiet, heavy hand on her shoulder accompanied only by a grimace.
Two months into their new normal, Laudna had kissed her as she left for work with no expectation of any follow through. Imogen had turned it over and over in her head and achieved very little but a confused, lovelorn ouroboros. Laudna began to do it every morning, a kiss as they parted, began to kiss her goodnight even on the nights when they didn’t have sex, began to kiss her when Imogen was upset, when she was overjoyed, when she woke up shaking in the middle of the night after dreaming of the red storm.
She was aware that this wasn’t a tenable situation, that even from a distance no one with two brain cells to rub together would call it even remotely casual. To try and call it friends with benefits was risible. Imogen was playing house, was pretending when Laudna kissed her, when Laudna touched her, when Laudna came with Imogen inside her, that it meant more than it did, that it meant maybe Laudna might love her too. There was very little to distinguish it from the romantic relationship that she craved, to the detriment of both her willpower and her sanity.
Imogen knew that this was going to break her heart, as surely as she knew she would never forget the feel of Laudna’s lips against hers. Three months passed in a delirious haze of happiness, of soft kisses behind closed doors, of love given easily and freely, of a different love locked away lest everything shatter around her.
Outside, life continued unchanged. The annual harvest firework display fell on the anniversary of the death of Orym’s husband. He normally went back to Zephrah to spend it with his family, to grieve and celebrate the lives of those lost together. This year he wasn’t able to go home.
He said he was fine, but there was an air of fractiousness around him, a sense that he wasn’t fulfilling his obligations. Fearne had rallied them. “We’re his family, too,” she’d said, loyal and stubborn. Imogen had helped her corral them into the Vertical Gardens, had gotten the permit for the fire that Fearne had deemed an affront, had convinced Laudna that a mourning veil probably wasn’t required.
They’d feasted and drank and surrounded Orym with so much warmth and support that she thought he was probably overwhelmed by it. Imogen watched Chetney sit down next to him from across the fire, watched him talk to Orym in a low voice as he handed him a small carved figurine. Chetney moved on, and Imogen saw Orym close his fist around the totem and hold it to his chest.
She watched him even though it felt like an intrusion, an invasion. Imogen thought she was pretty adept at hiding her feelings, at making people think she was alright when she wasn’t, but she thought that Orym must be a master. She could almost see it in his silhouette, the frisson of the grief that he buried beneath duty, the unravelling of the steadfastness that he was constantly trying to pull back. He was very far from fine, though she was still shocked at his functionality. If she was in his position she’d probably be nothing more than a hollow shell.
Orym met her eye across the fire and smiled. It was soft, and genuine, but the sadness in his eyes never really went away. “Thank you,” he mouthed.
“Love you,” she mouthed back.
The fire was burning low in the dim light of the park when the first rockets crested into the night sky. Fearne and Dorian closed ranks around Orym, turning to watch the fireworks, the rest of their friends following suit. Imogen, unwatched at the back of the group, cuddled closer into Laudna and rested her head on a bony shoulder. Laudna lifted her arm and wrapped it around her.
Imogen didn’t know what she’d do if she lost Laudna the way Orym had lost Will. She hoped that he would forgive her the comparison; Laudna wasn’t her wife, but she was everything to Imogen.
Laudna had found her when she was lost, when she was drowning. Laudna had held out her hand and brought her back to life. Laudna had shown her what it was to be loved unconditionally, to be treated like she was precious, like she was special rather than different. She had soothed the wounds left by an abandoning mother and a floundering, heartbroken father and a judgemental town. Laudna had saved her, body and soul. A life without Laudna didn’t bear thinking about.
As the fireworks painted the sky, Imogen looked up at her, admired her sharp cheekbones and sharper smile, her dark eyes reflecting the lights dancing above them. There was nowhere in the world she felt safer than beside Laudna, nowhere she would rather be than tucked into her side.
Laudna looked down at her and met what she knew was an unabashedly enraptured gaze. There was a slight quirk to the side of her mouth, not enough to be considered a smile, threaded with sincerity and earnestness, melancholy at the occasion.
Whatever Laudna saw in her adoring face prompted her to lean down and press their lips together. It was far from a chaste kiss, open mouthed and heartfelt, and to anyone looking it was clear it wasn’t their first. Laudna lifted her hand and gently cradled the side of Imogen’s jaw. Her fingers were cold from the early evening chill.
When Laudna pulled back she kept her eyes closed, a small, beatific smile lighting her entire face. Imogen almost said it then, almost told her how deeply in love with her she was, how loving her was the best thing that had ever happened to her, how kissing her made everything inside her feel calm and safe, like her world had found its alignment.
There was a sharp whistle, a rumble in the air, and Imogen’s resolve fractured as she remembered where she was, as she remembered all the reasons that she hadn’t already told Laudna everything. She turned back towards the fireworks and startled when she saw Fearne watching them, her eyes dancing in delighted surprise, her grin elated. Imogen widened her eyes in warning and shook her head minutely at Fearne’s inquisition.
Her smile dropped as she watched Imogen curl back into Laudna’s shoulder, frowning as Laudna rested her head on the top of Imogen’s and opened her eyes. Imogen silently begged her not to say anything, not to draw attention to them. Fearne granted her wish with a sad, understanding twist to her mouth, and turned away.
When the display ended, the echo of the fireworks ringing in her ears, a cloud of smoke fogging the air, when their friends started to gather their things, Imogen lifted her head. “Laudna,” she whispered in her ear. “Take me home.”
Laudna led her home by the hand, fingers entwined. She locked the front door behind them. She slipped off her shoes and removed her coat, held a hand out for Imogen’s jacket and hung them up side by side. She led her to the kitchen on soft, socked feet. She did all of it in silence. Imogen couldn’t tell if it was charged or if it was only her feeling the frisson humming under the surface.
When Laudna crossed to the sink to fill a glass of water, Imogen stepped behind her and placed her hands on her hips, rested her forehead between her shoulder blades. Laudna stopped what she was doing, slowed to stillness beneath her. The only thing Imogen could hear was her own measured breathing.
Imogen swept Laudna’s hair to the side, kissed along the exposed skin at the base of her neck as she moved one arm forward to encircle her waist. Laudna tilted her head to give her greater access and lay her arm across Imogen’s, clasping their hands together. Her grip was light but assured, holding Imogen steadfast against her. Laudna leaned forward so her hip bones were pressing against the counter, pulling Imogen with her to weigh her down. Imogen slowly kissed up her neck and sucked gently behind her ear.
Neither of them said anything, neither of them made a sound; they just held on to each other tighter as Imogen revelled in the feel of Laudna’s skin beneath her lips, the smell of smoke from the campfire in her hair. Laudna turned her head and Imogen stretched onto her tiptoes to kiss her over her shoulder, slow and indulgent.
When she pulled back and took her in, Laudna’s eyes were burning. She turned to face Imogen, pulled her in to cage herself against the counter, hard enough that she must have wanted the bite against her lower back. Maybe she was seeking the grounding that Imogen needed too. Laudna kissed her again and it felt different than any of the other kisses they had shared, more wrought, more zealous. Laudna took her by the hand and led her to their bedroom in unbroken silence.
Inside, Laudna walked her to the edge of the bed. She pulled Imogen’s jumper over her head. She slowly, carefully unbuttoned her shirt and slid her hands inside, over the bare, tingling skin of her shoulders. She lifted the shirt from inside, guiding it down Imogen’s arms as her fingers trailed in its wake. She undid the button of her jeans, then the zip, and slid them slowly down her legs. As Imogen stepped out of them, moving as little as she could, Laudna hooked her socks off too.
When she was almost undressed, Laudna kissed her again, running her tongue over Imogen’s bottom lip as she unclasped her bra and let it fall, as she hooked her thumbs into the sides of her underwear and pulled them down. When there was nothing left to remove, Laudna stepped back to look at her, serious and attentive. She gave a small sigh that Imogen couldn’t parse and reached out to brush the hair from her face. Imogen had never felt more beautiful in her whole life than under Laudna’s unending attention.
Laudna started to undress with much less care than she had shown Imogen, who reached out to steady her and assist; Laudna caught her hand instead and gave a small shake of her head before kissing Imogen’s fingertips. Imogen held herself back, but was pleased when Laudna gentled her self-ministrations.
When there was nothing left between them, Laudna directed her to get on the bed with a soft touch. Imogen did as she was bid and pulled the covers up over them both as they lay facing one another.
Laudna kissed her again and did not stop, lingering and unhurried, as if nothing existed outside of the two of them in this bed. Imogen pulled her in gently and interlocked their thighs for no reason but to be closer to her, to relish the feel of Laudna’s body pressed fully against hers. Imogen wrapped her arms around Laudna’s shoulders and embraced her as closely as she could without breaking the kiss.
Imogen lost track of time, couldn’t focus on anything but Laudna’s lips against hers, Laudna’s tongue in her mouth, Laudna’s chilled body warming from the heat of hers. Neither of them had spoken but Laudna had begun to whimper quietly against her, given the smallest of moans when Imogen nibbled on her lip or surprised her with a swipe of her tongue. Imogen felt those sounds directly between her legs, knew that Laudna could feel how wet she was against her thigh; Imogen could certainly feel Laudna against hers, warm and slick.
Her hips started to rock of their own accord, started to grind lightly against Laudna as the kissing grew deeper, as softness gave way to urgency. Laudna untangled her hand from Imogen’s hair and grasped firmly at the very top of her thigh, helping Imogen meet the movement of her leg, considerate to the last. Imogen could feel her wetness as she moved, grew wetter thinking about painting Laudna in herself, chased the pressure of Laudna’s smooth thigh pressing against her clit.
Her kisses grew careless as she pressed down harder, as she tilted her hips and pulled Laudna in. Laudna smiled against Imogen’s mouth and slipped her hand from her hip to between her legs. Imogen stuttered to a stop as Laudna drew her leg back, as she slid her fingers over her and felt how wet Imogen was, as she spread the slick of her around. She never wanted to move again, wanted to live the rest of her life in this moment, of Laudna’s delicate fingers teasing between her legs.
Laudna kissed her suddenly, passionate and permissive. She circled Imogen’s clit once, twice, thrice, then slowly slid two fingers deep inside her. “Fuck,” Imogen moaned, clutching at her back. “Fuck, Laudna.”
They didn’t move, just held on to each other, lips pressed together. Laudna’s breath ghosted against her as Imogen tried to catch her breath, tried to prepare herself for what was coming. Laudna started to move her hand achingly slowly, started to slide her fingers out and press back in. There was nothing hurried, nothing frantic, just a precise, deliberate exaltation. The heel of her hand dragged lightly over Imogen’s clit, gave her the touch she needed as Laudna unmade her. Laudna swallowed the awed moan Imogen pushed into her mouth.
It was the most intense experience of her life, the most intimate thing she’d ever felt; Laudna’s long, slender fingers inside her, Laudna’s tongue deep in her mouth. Imogen held onto her as tightly as she could, let Laudna build her up slowly. Imogen was so in love with her, was utterly consumed by her. Her tether, her anchor, her heart.
When she was getting close, when she couldn’t help but push down onto her fingers, when her breathing was a staccato, gasping mess, Imogen was forced to reluctantly break their kiss. The desperate sounds that had been muffled by Laudna’s mouth hummed between them, interspersed with the whispered pleading of her name spilling from Imogen in supplication, in gratitude, in love.
Laudna pressed her temple to Imogen’s, her enthralled breath brushing against her ear. Imogen knew she was about to come, could feel herself starting to clench around Laudna’s fingers, knew that the edge she was rushing towards would rewrite her. “Please, Laudna,” she murmured, unable to say anything more.
Laudna brushed her lips against the rise of her cheekbone as she curled her fingers gently and pressed lightly against her clit. “I love you, Imogen,” she whispered against her ear, and Imogen fell apart.
It was overwhelming, and rapturous, and felt like Laudna had unravelled every selfish, knotted part of her and remade her as something worthy of her attention. Imogen clung to her as she rode it out, wanted Laudna to envelop her and devastate her, wanted Launda to hold her as she broke.
Laudna held her close and slowed her hand, her movements gentle and protracted as she drew it out as long as she could, as she prolonged her comedown with a kiss against her cheek. She slid her fingers out slowly.
As Imogen came back to herself, as she tried to regulate her breathing and steady the shaking of her hands, she understood what had happened, what Laudna had said.
The sword that had been hanging over her head for the past three months had fallen and missed, had found her heart instead. She wondered if a heart broke more irrevocably when it was racing; it certainly felt like hers had shattered.
A sickening dread twisted inside her when she understood that Laudna knew, that she knew all of the ways that Imogen loved her, that she knew Imogen desired her and coveted her, that Imogen had encouraged them to start a sexual relationship for her own selfish gratification and had used her to reach it.
Laudna had figured out what Imogen wanted, what she truly wanted, and had given it to her as she always did, selfless and caring. She’d seen Imogen’s deepest, most shameful desire and had wanted to make her happy, the same thing she had been doing from the start, the same as when Imogen wanted to be punished, when Imogen wanted to be praised, when Imogen wanted anything that Laudna was able to give her. Imogen thought she might be sick.
Laudna’s head was resting against hers but Imogen couldn’t open her eyes, didn’t want to see the understanding, the sympathy. She thought she might die if it was pity instead. “Imogen?” Laudna asked softly, worriedly, and it was all Imogen could do to shake her head, one sharp jerk to silence her.
What did she do now? What did she do now that this wasn’t a secret, now that Laudna could see it? Nothing inside her knew how to deal with it. She’d been worried, of course, especially when they’d started this kind of intimacy, but it had always felt like a worry that could be dealt with tomorrow. What did she do now that tomorrow was here?
She hadn’t realised her eyes were wet under the lids until Laudna gently kissed them. The heartbroken sob that tried to claw its way from her throat emerged as a scratching, awful whine as she failed to fully bite it back.
“Imogen,” Laudna said again, this time with thinly veiled panic. “Imogen, I’m sorry—“
“Don’t,” she rasped. “Please don’t apologise, Laudna. Please. You’re so wonderful, so kind—“
“I shouldn’t have—“
“I don’t think we should do this anymore,” Imogen said. The words had come before she knew she was going to say them. It was the right choice. It was the only thing she could do going forward that would protect Laudna, that would let Imogen treat her the way she deserved. It didn’t matter that the suggestion made her hollow, that the thought of never kissing Laudna again gathered up the shards of her broken heart and ground them to dust.
“Oh,” Laudna whispered, and Imogen was glad her eyes were still closed because if a single exhalation could contain so much hurt and surprise and regret then looking into her eyes would devastate her. “Alright,” she added shakily, her voice wet.
“I think we might have been playing with fire,” Imogen said around the lump in her throat. “Laudna, I love you too much to risk what we have.”
Laudna didn’t respond, but Imogen could hear her swallow something back, could feel her eyes raking over her. “Laudna, please,” she begged, and heard her breath catch, “please, I can’t lose you.”
She took a deep breath and Imogen felt the slow, centring exhalation against her lips. She was never going to be this close again. “You’re not going to lose me, Imogen,” Laudna said, her voice steadier than Imogen could even hope to be. She opened her eyes.
Laudna was looking at Imogen with familiar fondness, undercut with an intensity, a fear, that she was clearly trying to hold back. She wasn’t crying but her eyes were red; there was a smudge of mascara that followed a trail down her cheek, hastily wiped away. “You’ll never lose me, alright? It doesn’t matter what happens, what we do or what we feel. I’ll always be here for you, for as long as you want me.”
“Always,” Imogen echoed, her voice wretched.
“Then it’s you and me, always, no matter what it looks like.” At her calm assurances, the tears finally fell from Imogen’s eyes. Laudna brushed them away tenderly with her thumb. “Let’s get some sleep, alright?” she said softly and Imogen nodded.
She didn’t move, didn’t reach for Laudna the way she wanted. She hadn’t slept next to her without some connection between them for three years but it would be unkind to touch her now. Laudna didn’t hold her, only shuffled back a little; Imogen’s leg had still been pressed between hers and it was mortifying to have to pull it back now, agonising to feel Laudna’s wetness drying on her thigh. Imogen closed her eyes again. Laudna tentatively took her hand and Imogen clung to her like she was drowning.
In the middle of the night, when they were both pretending to sleep, Laudna slipped from the bed. Imogen let her go.
She thought about ignoring it when something heavy smashed against the wall downstairs. Laudna deserved her anger, her hurt and frustration, but Imogen knew enough to understand that it wouldn’t be directed where it was deserved, that she would have turned it inwards.
Imogen stood from the bed and realised she was still naked. With a pang, she rummaged for her pyjamas and tugged them on.
She descended the stairs and walked to Laudna’s craft room, where soft light was spilling under the door. She knew what she would see on the other side.
She opened the door and found Laudna sitting on the floor, braced against her desk, knees drawn to her chest. Scattered around her were the shattered remains of the rat-house she had been making for Pâté. She had been working on it for four months.
“Careful,” Laudna said, voice low and rough. “Splinters.”
Imogen tiptoed through the wreckage to crouch in front of her. “Come back to bed, Laudna,” she said, softly. Laudna raised her head slowly to look at her. Her cheeks were wet with tears. Imogen ached to know that it was all because of her. She held out her hand to Laudna.
“I have to clean up,” she said, unmoving.
“I’ll do it in the morning,” Imogen reassured her. “Please, honey.” Laudna flinched but Imogen didn’t retract her offered hand. After an interminable hesitation, Laudna took her hand and allowed Imogen to pull her to standing.
Imogen led her through the wreckage and switched off the light before shepherding her back upstairs. Imogen wanted to tuck her into bed, wanted to wrap her up and whisper how sorry she was, how she should never have let herself risk the love that was between them.
Instead, Laudna pulled away, hovering by her side of the bed as Imogen climbed back in. She was just in her dressing gown, Imogen realised; if she took it off she’d be as naked as she had been when everything had broken. It seemed cruel to expect Laudna to show Imogen anything of her body.
Imogen leaned over to the chest of drawers, pulled out a spare pair of her pyjamas and handed them to her. Laudna hesitated before taking them, and Imogen belatedly realised that she should have gotten Laudna her own clothes. “Thank you,” she whispered, rasping and unsure. Imogen turned away as she dressed herself and slid into bed. Laudna didn’t take her hand.
Laudna made her coffee in the morning as she always did before retreating to her office, swept clean by Imogen in the early hours of the morning. There was no kiss at the door. Imogen’s sob was held back only by her guilt.
She made it to lunchtime before she begged off sick. Her boss took one look at her wan, pale face and didn’t fight her. She couldn’t go home without making things harder for them both, so she went to the only other place she could think of.
Fearne opened the door with a sly smirk, ready to tease her. Her smile dropped at the first glimpse of Imogen heartbroken on her doorstep. Without words, Fearne reached out, clasped her hand, and pulled her inside.
She led her to the sofa and Imogen fell into it as if she’d lost the ability to stand, boneless and weary. She was practically swallowed by the cushions as she looked up at Fearne, hovering and concerned. “Sorry for just showing up without calling, that was rude,” she said, falling back on the manners that had served as her armour for so many years.
“Imogen, we’re family,” Fearne replied, relieved to have Imogen give her a script. “You can come by whenever, it’s why you have a key.” She did, but it was supposed to be for emergencies. Though this felt more and more like an emergency by the minute.
Fearne sat down next to her in a flourish of skirts. She let Imogen sit in silence, in the comfort of her presence. She didn’t ask why Imogen had shown up in the middle of the day on the verge of tears when yesterday she had watched Laudna kiss her like a lover. Imogen appreciated her more in that moment than any other friend she’d ever had.
Apart from Laudna. Laudna was the exception to everything.
Fearne made her a cup of herbal tea, bitter and biting, and never let empty it past the halfway mark; she upended a truly upsetting number of biscuits onto a plate; she brought her a scone left over from their gathering yesterday, one of FCGs contributions. Imogen warmed at the unpracticed effort. They sat in silence for long enough that it should have been unbearable.
When Imogen reached out for her, Fearne was already there. She took Imogen’s hands in her own, soft and far too hot, and encouraged Imogen to curl against her chest. “You can talk to me, if you want,” she said softly as Imogen clung to her. Imogen shook her head. “Or not. Do you just want to cuddle? My hugs are famous.”
“Yes, please,” Imogen whispered, embarrassed and uncomfortably grateful.
“Here,” Fearne said, and filled her hand with biscuits from the plate. “I won’t even complain if you get crumbs in my boobs. You’re welcome to go searching for them, though.”
Fearne switched on the television. “This always makes me feel better on a bad day, though it’s not a patch on the real thing,” she said against the top of Imogen’s head. She spent an inordinate amount of time scrolling through nature documentaries to find one about horses. Imogen held onto her tighter, even managed to crack a smile at the anodyne result. Fearne didn’t make a fuss when Imogen’s tears dampened her blouse, just made a halfhearted joke about Imogen wanting her shirt to be transparent. “So, you can see the crumbs, right?”
Imogen jumped when her phone buzzed against the table multiple hours into her overstayed welcome. She lifted it gingerly, knowing it would be Laudna. Imogen should have been home by now. Are you coming home for dinner? Laudna had messaged. Then, I made risotto.
Imogen didn’t know what to respond. Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You told me I was the only one you could trust with this intimacy and I betrayed you. Can you ever forgive me? Every option seemed simultaneously trite and overwrought.
She typed and deleted in a vicious cycle she knew Laudna would be watching from the other side. In the end she said nothing, just stared at the messages with her hands hovering over the keyboard.
Can you let me know if you’re ok, please? Laudna messaged into the silence.
Sufficiently shamed, Imogen texted, Yeah I’m alright. I’m at Fearne’s. Then, before she could chicken out, Are you ok?
I’m ok, she replied, though Imogen didn’t believe her.
In response to her renewed tension, Fearne regaled her with a deeply unlikely tale about Ashton taking her to an illegal rave deep in the centre of the spire. Imogen admired her commitment to talking for the sake of it, talking to distract her. Fearne kept going until her own phone rang. “Be right back,” she said, and slipped into her bedroom. Fearne had no concept of privacy but she did occasionally exhibit tact, and that meant the call was from Laudna. Imogen slumped further into the sofa, hoping to vanish from sight.
What did she do if Laudna couldn’t cope with the entirety of her love? She didn’t know how to extricate the pieces of it, the love of their friendship and Imogen’s romantic dreams and the sex, all the different intimacies they shared all woven intricately together. If she pulled on one thread the whole thing would unravel. There was no romantic love without their friendship. There was no friendship that wasn’t laced with her desires.
Imogen didn’t think she could stand resolute before her if Laudna retracted even her most platonic of touches, if she asked Imogen to move to the bed that had never really been hers. She didn’t know what to do if Laudna shied from her, and second guessed her, if Laudna pulled away in an effort to protect them both. She didn’t know what she’d do if Laudna never said I love you again for fear of being misunderstood.
What if Laudna was angry at her? Laudna’s anger was a cold thing, slithering under the surface. Imogen had as much affection for it as she had for every other part of her, but it had never been pointed at her before, not truly. Imogen didn’t know how to deal with a Laudna who was cold.
When Fearne came back it was with a sad smile, apologetic as she collapsed next to her. “Is she alright?” Imogen asked despite herself.
“About the same as you,” Fearne answered honestly, still not asking for any details.
Her phone buzzed again. Please come home, Imogen. So Imogen went home.
At the door, Fearne held her tightly and ducked down to place a swooping kiss on her forehead. “It’s just Laudna,” she said. At Imogen’s frown, she clarified, “I know it feels like the world is ending, but it’s just Laudna. That means it’ll all be ok, because it’s you and Laudna.”
Imogen didn’t know if she believed her, if she would ever be able to rebuild the trust that she’d broken, but Fearne’s conviction calmed some of the roiling in her chest. It was just Laudna, and Laudna was gracious. It was just Laudna, and Laudna loved her. It was Laudna, all of Laudna, never just anything, and Imogen would do whatever she asked.
The house was quiet when she got home. It was well past dinner time; she knew there would be a plate covered for her in the kitchen, though the idea of eating anything was nauseating.
Laudna was curled up on the sofa in the living room, lamps turned down low. When she looked up at Imogen her eyes were fathomless in the dim light. Imogen didn’t think Laudna had been crying as much as she had, and cursed herself for not checking a mirror before coming in.
“Hi,” Imogen said, voice rasping from an afternoon of tears and disuse.
“Hi,” Laudna echoed with a whisper.
“Sorry I’m so late, I—“ she stopped herself before the lie fell from her lips. She wasn’t going to lie to Laudna any more. “Sorry, I should have called.” Laudna nodded shallowly and Imogen tentatively sat down next to her.
She was going to do it. She was going to ask to talk about it. Not talking about it is what had gotten them into this mess in the first place.
“I’m sorry,” Laudna said softly before Imogen had the chance, her voice breaking.
“No,” Imogen rushed to say, stopping herself from reaching for her. “Laudna, no, you haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You didn’t ask for any of this, Imogen,” she said, pained. “I’m the one who started it, and I just feel so awful that—”
“Honey, no. It was both of us, alright?” She should have known that she wouldn’t be facing Laudna’s anger, that it would be self recrimination. “It’s my fault. You didn’t know when we started this. We should have talked about it more. I guess I was just too scared.”
“I think I did,” she whispered, eyes locked on the floor. “I think I did know. Some part of me, at least.” Imogen felt the tangled knot of guilt and shame and panic catch in her chest, felt her breath refuse to leave her, felt a low thrumming as the dread made her pulse race. Dread, and maybe the tiniest thread of hope that this was salvageable, because Laudna had known. Laudna had known and she’d wanted to touch her anyway.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Laudna continued. “I asked you to trust me and then I— Imogen, I promise, I promise I’ll be better. It was just so wonderful,” she said, voice hushed and begging. Imogen had expected to be the one explaining herself and was struggling to keep up, struggling to reconcile the angry condemnation she had convinced herself was coming with the pleading upset before her. “It was wonderful and I just kept thinking about it, and kept pretending. I know that I was pretending, that it wasn’t real; I know that. I promise, I won’t do it again, I promise I can stop.
“And I promise, that when you do find someone, when you get a real girlfriend, I promise I’ll be happy for you. Imogen, I swear it. I mean,” she said with a twist to her mouth, a bitter mockery of a smile that Imogen never wanted to see again, “I’ll be heartbroken, but I swear it.” Something seemed to fracture in her gaze, her awful smile faltering, her eyes widening. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry that’s not fair to you, you never promised me—“
“Laudna, what are you talking about?” Imogen wrestled with her comprehension, her lack of understanding making her stumble. Laudna words seeped through the cracks of her surety, inverted her axis. Laudna has said it was wonderful, Laudna had said she was pretending. Laudna had said the idea of Imogen with someone else would break her heart.
“Please don’t make me say it again, please don’t,” Laudna closed her eyes and shook her head. Imogen could see the tears gathering at the sides of her eyes.
“Laudna,” Imogen said, trying desperately to ground herself in her name. What she was implying was inconceivable. If Imogen had misunderstood, if Laudna had confessed something beautiful and wondrous and Imogen had responded by pushing her away, it was unforgivable. “Laudna, did you mean it?”
Laudna didn’t open her eyes, but that twist returned, bled into her gentle scoff. “Did I mean it when I told you I was in love with you and you broke up with me?” Imogen would have thought it derision had Laudna not opened her eyes to reveal despondency and so much sadness that Imogen caught her breath. In love. Laudna was in love. Imogen’s heart knit itself back together piece by awestruck piece as her dread turned to elation, turned to a desperate hope that she could fix this. “Well,” Laudna continued with what sounded like significant difficulty, “not that you could break up with me, because we weren’t—“
“I love you,” Imogen said and Laudna trailed into silence. “I love you.”
“Imogen,” she sighed sadly, “you don’t have to—“
“I’m sorry,” she carried on, trying to match Laudna’s honesty, trying to show her the mended pieces of her heart. “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand. I thought—“ Oh god, how did she say it in a way that made sense, that didn’t sound like the worst mistake of her life.
“Thought what?” Laudna asked tentatively, tiling her head like a wary, inquisitive bird.
“I thought that you were saying what I wanted to hear,” she said, hoarse and apologetic. “I thought you’d realised that I was in love with you and said it to make me happy, to give me what I wanted.”
“What?” Laudna whispered, laced with hurt. “Do you think I would be that cruel?”
“No!” she exclaimed, reaching for Laudna’s hands. Laudna let her take them. “No, no, I thought that you were doing what you always do, Laudna, that you were looking after me.” Now that she was saying it out loud she realised how nonsensical it was. At the time she’d thought it an act of devotion, but with a level of clarity she understood how it might sound like cruelty. “I thought you were trying to make me happy, because you make me so happy, Laudna. I didn’t think it was cruel. I thought it might have been the kindest thing anyone had ever done for me.”
Laudna looked from Imogen’s eyes to her hands, clasped tight around hers. “Say it again,” Laudna implored.
“I love you,” Imogen obeyed, a small smile pulling at her mouth despite Laudna’s frown. “I love you. I was pretending too, Laudna. Pretending that when you kissed me it wasn’t just for fun, that it meant more to you. Pretending that when you held me it was because you didn’t want to let me go. Pretending that maybe you loved me the way that I love you.”
Laudna stole the words from her along with her breath, her kiss soft and gentle. Imogen swallowed down a sob at the press of Laudna’s lips against hers; she never thought she’d get to kiss her again, thought that this most perfect thing was lost to her. Laudna didn’t linger, instead pulled back to look at her. “Maybe neither of us were pretending,” she said roughly. “Maybe we just were.” Imogen nodded frantically in agreement.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not finished with her amends. “I’m sorry for hurting you last night and I’m sorry for running away. I’m sorry that I was selfish when I agreed we should have sex even though I was in love with you, and I’m sorry that my selfishness blinded me to your heart, and I’m sorry that you told me something miraculous and I didn’t understand—”
“Shh, Imogen,” Laudna said, lifting a palm to cradle her cheek. “You’re not selfish, darling. Sometimes you just get lost inside your head. You need to be kinder to yourself. I love you. I love you. This wasn’t selfishness, sweetheart.”
Imogen didn’t think that she agreed, but she recognised it as the forgiveness it was and twisted her head to kiss the inside of Laudna’s hand. “I never thought you’d want me, Laudna. I was just so scared you’d find out and look at me differently,” she admitted, the core of her denials and recriminations, the false certainty that had almost ruined everything.
“Imogen, you loving me could only ever be a revelation.” Imogen kissed her again, ardent and overcome, tried to show her all of the love that she had seeded and blossomed in Imogen’s heart.
“I love you,” she said again, would say again, would say for the rest of her life.
“Do you want to know why I asked to touch you that first night?” Laudna asked, and Imogen nodded as Laudna tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Fearne asked me to think about the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, asked me to think about an inexplicable connection, and all I could think about was you.”
“I wanted you to be thinking about me,” she confessed, biting the edge of her lip.
“Imogen, once I started I couldn’t think about anything else,” she smiled, knowing and sly.
“Laudna, I don’t want to pretend anymore,” she said in a rush as that smirk pulled at her, as she realised where this would end. “I want it to be real, ok? All of it.”
“It was always real for me,” she said, leaning in.
“Me too, baby,” Imogen agreed, brushing a lock of dark hair back from her face. “I love you, I want you, I want to be with you in every way you’ll have me.”
“Everything, Imogen. I want to give you everything.” Laudna sounded enamoured, rapturous, as if Imogen’s love was something to be earned. As if every part of her wasn’t already Laudna’s.
“You’re my everything, Laudna,” Imogen whispered, then couldn’t say anything else.