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When Emilia shows up at her door sometime past 1 a.m., Leota tries not to question it. They’re no longer just “the only girls on the team,” they’re friends. Maybe. She’s sure Emilia wouldn’t actually call them that; they’re not even on a real first-name basis. But Leota considers them friends, more than just the 11th Street Kids. More than just two parts of a whole group. When you save the world from a bunch of aliens with someone, it’s hard not to think of them as more than a colleague.
So, a late-night drop-by shouldn’t be cause for concern. Friends do that. Emilia Harcourt doesn’t really seem like the person to do that, but again, Leota isn’t questioning it.
“Hey,” she says when she opens the door. Her eyes are almost crusted shut in exhaustion, and her dry throat catches on the words, but she would be a bad colleague and a worse friend if she didn’t open the door. Sleep can wait. She has every other night to sleep.
“Hey,” Emilia replies, casual and quiet.
She’s dressed in her usual sleek amalgamation of black, as if she left her place with a vague purpose, just a compulsion to move, to leave.
Leota lets her in. Emilia surveys her motel room as if it were a crime scene, her eyes sweeping the floor like she’s doing this out of obligation rather than her own desire.
She slides the door shut, clearing her throat. “Sorry, I wasn’t exactly expecting company.”
“It’s fine.” Emilia hovers around the middle of the living room, shifting on her feet in what Leota assumes is unease.
“And, speaking of, uh, y’know, company. What are you doing here?”
Emilia chews at her bottom lip, her eyes skittering off in some corner. Her hands are firmly planted into the leather jacket she’s wearing.
“It’s funny. The ARGUS therapist told me that I suffered from an acute case of Toxic Masculinity.” One hand emerges, she rubs it absently at her jaw. “And after hearing that…I went and got into a bar fight.”
Leota snorts, accepting the conversation shift easily, but lingering warily by the front door. “What, to prove him right?”
That hand massaging at her jaw moves to her nape. “I mean. I don’t know, I guess.” She sighs, heavy like a house settling. “After getting my assed kicked and talking to Chris about it, I came to the…late conclusion that it was the wrong way to deal with whatever’s going on—” she gestures vaguely to her head, “—up here.”
Leota raises a skeptical eyebrow. “No offense, Em—Harcourt—but like, what’s that got to do with me?”
Emilia closes her eyes briefly, her eyebrows gathering tensely.
“Well. You know how your wife just left you?”
That takes Leota back; she almost jumps at the words, like someone slapped her. “What the hell, Harcourt?”
“It’s just…you have that and I have this.” Her mouth flexes. “Thought I’d test my luck and see if you wanted to do something about it.”
“Do something about it?” She parrots, giving Emilia a once-over when she starts slinking cautiously up to Leota.
“Like...Fuck about it?”
Leota reels back, her eyes growing wide and her hands shooting up like she’s surrendering. “Whoa, Harcourt! Are you serious?”
Emilia shrugs, like that’s a normal thing to suggest.
“And—and why even come to me for…for something like that? Why not Chris?”
“Oh, come on,” Emilia levels Leota with a look. “You know why I can’t. It’d be a whole thing.”
“And this wouldn’t be?” She can feel sweat building at the knobs in her spine just from a few words. This is probably the last thing she expected to wake up to.
“No, could just be sex.” Emilia crosses her arms and shrugs again, adjusting her shoulders afterward, setting herself straight.
Leota just blinks; it’s all she can think to do. It’s the middle of the night, and she’s standing here in some silly pyjamas she threw on unconsciously, being propositioned by Emilia Harcourt of all people. For a long, endless second, she wonders if she’s dreaming.
After a minute and a deep breath, she interrupts the heavy silence that had settled between them, “So what? You’re supposed to be my rebound, and I’m gonna…fuck the toxic masculinity out of you?”
Emilia hangs her head for a second, a weird, thin-lipped smile on her face. Like maybe she’s realizing how stupid the concept is, the concept of them.
“I mean, yeah. Yep.” She drags out the ‘p’, her eyes drifting somewhere besides Leota.
Those eyes feel dense, weighty when they finally settle on Leota. Leota can’t read the emotion swirling behind them, whether it’s warm and hopeful or cold and detached. It makes her nervous, her skin bubbling with goosebumps.
And well. For transparency’s sake, it’s not like Leota hasn’t thought about it once or twice or…a couple of times. It’s always been in passing, when they had late nights together in the office, or the many times Emilia would be ragged and covered in blood after a mission, or just, whenever. It’s not Leota’s fault, Emilia’s pretty. She’s tough and confident, and she’s toned beyond belief.
There had been a moment, a specific moment after their fight with Judomaster. Leota had been patching her up, patting away at the cuts in her face, and Emilia had looked up, gazing under those long eyelashes, her eyes like ice—such a beautiful shade of blue. An impulse had tickled at Leota’s brain in that moment, to lean in, to wrap a hand in that blonde crop of hair, put the two of them together like puzzle pieces. She hadn’t, of course, it was a meaningless idea that had come from being sequestered away from her wife, even if their time apart had been so short.
But. It’s Emilia. It’s Harcourt. The Harcourt that Chris, her best friend, is in love with, the Harcourt that punches and bleeds her way through problems. The Harcourt that’s Leota’s colleague. Friend.
And she has—or well, had—a wife! There’s barely been any time for her to ruminate over the fact that her relationship, her very long relationship, has come to its definitive end. While that hasn’t been legal yet, it’s still a lot for her to stress about on top of all the additional stress of employment and motherly judgment that she’s been victim of.
But on the other hand…
She’s almost forgotten what it’s like to be a person outside of Keeya and her mother, to exist by herself. To exist as herself. She doesn’t remember what other people smell like, what they taste like. And maybe that’s what she needs right now. Forget about Keeya, about her mother, about her sad employment status. Emilia is offering her a way to do that.
She’s about hardcore shit now. Emilia is hardcore. Harcourt is hardcore.
She runs her hands down her face, scrubbing away the lingering exhaustion and apprehension.
“Okay. Whatever. Let’s do it,” She says, a facade of conviction. Something instead of the million and one thoughts that want to spill out of her mouth instead.
If Emilia is surprised, she doesn’t let it show. She just nods.
—
Emilia kisses like she’s trying to eat Leota alive, more with teeth than lips. Leota feels like a well-loved chew toy stuck between the maws of a rabid dog. It’s not bad by any means, just different. She had gotten so used to the domestic passion between her and Keeya that something else felt alien. It didn’t even feel like kissing; it felt like fighting.
She’s surprised kissing is on the table at all. She thought Emilia would be one of those “Kissing makes it too personal” types.
Emilia pulls back after a moment, rubbing her lips together like she just put on chapstick. “You’re so soft,” she mumbles, like an afterthought, something she didn’t actually mean to say.
Leota just hums, distracted by how gorgeous Emilia looks with kiss-swollen lips.
“Sorry.” Emilia shakes her head. “It’s been a while since I’ve been with, uhm, with a woman.”
Leota shrugs that off. “It’s been a while since I’ve been with another person in general.”
A smirk threatens to cross Emilia’s lips when she leans in again. Leota kisses it, their lips locking seamlessly.
One of her hands skitters into Emilia’s hair, the other slipping under her jacket and settling across her back. Emilia’s hands grasp her shoulders, her fingers flexing in Leota’s pyjama shirt.
They find their way to Leota’s room eventually, their feet dancing and tripping as they go, their hands roving over one another’s bodies.
Emilia sinks her teeth into Leota’s bottom lip and shoves a tongue in her mouth when she gasps. She does not take responsibility for the embarrassing noise she lets out in response. Emilia smiles again, but says nothing.
They stumble against the edge of the bed. Leota toys with Emilia’s jacket, tugging it off her broad shoulders. It struggles down her biceps but eventually makes its way to the floor. Her hands trail under Emilia’s tank top, her nails sweeping over the span of abs offered to her.
Emilia hums into the kiss, only breaks it off again to slip her top off.
Leota gulps at how much skin is swimming in her vision now, but she barely hesitates before she takes advantage. She kisses and suckles down Emilia’s neck, along the paint strokes of bruises, across the prominent bump of her clavicle, and the splatter of freckles there, down and down until she’s on her knees and mouthing below the band of her bra, careful with the still-healing injury.
Emilia unbuttons her jeans, unzips them, and tugs them down till they’re sat mid-thigh.
Leota noses at the tufts of dark hair peaking above her black panties. She tugs at the material with one of her canines, a hand comes up and slips between the warm crevice of those pale thighs, palming against Emilia’s cunt.
A groan erupts from the depths of Emilia’s throat; she leans her head back, baring her neck.
Both of Leota’s hands find their way to the bony divots in Emilia’s hips, grappling with her underwear and jerking it down.
“Fuck. C’mon, Adebayo,” Emilia encourages, her hand tugging impatiently at Leota’s hair.
Leota feels more desperate than she thought she was. It feels like a buzzing, like electricity under her skin, in her veins and tendons. When she fits a thumb above Emilia’s underwear, slips it between her lips, and kneads at her clit, it’s almost a relief—the warmth, the touch, and the moan that slithers its way out of Emilia. It’s gratifying.
She circles Emilia’s clit, her pressure light and her movements small, but purposeful. She thumbs at the space under her hood, continues to be tender there when Emilia’s breath hitches.
“Do I have to beg?” Emilia asks between small gasps.
Leota bites down a smile. “It wouldn’t hurt,” She mumbles from where her head rests against Emilia’s thigh, the skin like a furnace against her cheek.
Emilia’s body shivers. She hangs her head, her eyes—dark and hungry—latching onto Leota’s. “Please.” The way she annunciates every vowel and consonant makes it feel less like a plea and more like a demand.
And if Leota is anything, it’s giving.
She drags that thumb down until it’s hesitating at Emilia’s entrance. She’s slow to push it in, to thrust into that heat, but Emilia takes it like it’s nothing; her mouth falling open, her eyes dipping shut.
Leota fits it all the way in. Her mouth skids over Emilia’s inner thigh, draws around her clit in place of her thumb. She mouths at her clit, her tongue peaking between her lips and lapping generously at the bud. Emilia curses above her and involuntarily jerks her hips forward, her thighs becoming flush to Leota’s head. Leota is pliant as Emilia grinds against her tongue, trying to thrust into her mouth.
“God, Ads,” she groans like a prayer.
The hand that’s not working at Emilia’s cunt tugs her jeans and panties down the rest of the way, until Emilia is able to kick them off. With the restraints gone, Leota gently relaxes Emilia onto the bed until she’s flat on her back, her legs caging in Leota’s head.
Leota slips her thumb out, swipes the slick on it carelessly against the shitty duvet, and presses her mouth against the expanse of Emilia’s heat.
Emilia arches under Leota’s tongue, her thighs flex and quake like she’s trying to pop Leota’s head open.
Leota moves and adjusts to every noise, sucking with whatever pressure gets Emilia groaning the loudest, and licking wherever makes her body shake the strongest.
She laps, and sucks, and savors every bit of Emilia that she’s able to. Until Emilia is patting her head hurriedly. “Hey—Fuck—Ads, I’m gonna…” She warns, her voice shaky and breathy.
Leota would continue if it weren’t for the hand tugging relentlessly at her hair. She goes reluctantly, her mouth pulling away, the lower half of her face wet and sticky.
Emilia gets up on her elbows, looking down at Leota as red as brick, her chest rattling with each heave. Leota tries not to think about how pretty she looks right now, flushed and needy, the moon spilling in through the window and kissing her skin like it loves her.
This is just sex.
Emilia clears her throat and sits up. She takes both of her index fingers and puts them at a decent distance from one another, like she’s eyeballing a measurement. “Do you have a…?”
A toothy smile forces itself onto Leota’s face. “A strap? Yeah, I gotta strap if you have a damn condom.”
Emilia flops back down onto the bed with a quiet umphf. “Right front pocket of my jeans.”
“Came prepared, huh?” Leota laughs as she wanders over to one of her bags, digging through it for her in case Keeya takes me back, and we have make-up sex about it strap.
It’s relatively generic. 7 inches, girthy, bumpy along the base. She’s never been the one to wield it before; in fact, she hasn’t been the one to give in a long time. But when you have a very naked and aroused Emilia Harcourt in your dingy motel bed, you don’t contemplate performance issues. Or maybe that’s exactly when you should do that. But Leota Adebayo will never be bogged down by negativity.
Emilia speaks up from behind her, “Well. If you weren’t gonna fuck me, someone was going to.”
Leota just snorts at that.
She goes to loosen the straps and put it on, but Emilia makes an abrupt noise behind her. She turns around bealtedly.
“C’mere, I want to help you put it on.” Her tone leaves little room for argument, and Leota doesn’t care to argue anyway, so she carries the thing and a bottle of lube with her as she meanders back over to the bed.
Emilia is quick to tug off Leota’s pyjama bottoms, dragging them to her ankles and leaving her in nothing but her boxers. Keeya’s boxers her brain supplies unhelpfully.
They get the strap on her; Emilia is unfairly sensual with the whole thing. Her lithe fingers drag against Leota’s skin, tease at her thighs. She can feel the calluses in her strong hands as she tightens the strap around Leota’s hips and positions the base of the dildo where Leota’s clit would be under her boxers.
She gives an experimental stroke of the cock, tightening her grip purposefully at the base, watching Leota’s face scrunch up when it pushes against her clit.
Leota’s throat makes a weird noise. “Uh. Condom?”
Emilia smiles, nodding along. “Yeah, yeah.”
She rips the packaging and pulls out the condom, rolling it onto the strap messily.
Leota squirts a generous amount of lube onto her hand and lathers the length of the dildo with it. She watches idly as Emilia takes off her bra, tosses it aimlessly, and then rolls over onto her elbows and knees, her back arched tantalizingly.
“Is this supposed to make it less personal?” It's not a jab or anything like that, just something to fill in the quiet around them, something other than the sound of sheets rustling.
Emilia doesn't respond for a moment, seemingly occupied with getting comfortably splayed out, but eventually she says, “No. This is just what I need right now. Sometimes…I don't like being looked at.”
It isn't said as sad as it might seem. It just sounds honest, which Leota wasn't expecting, not from Emilia of all people and not right now. She has nothing to offer in reply; instead, she settles behind Emilia, one hand at the base of her spine, the other dragging between her lips.
She's able to fit two fingers in relatively easily. She stretches and scissors them, methodically curls them when she feels a splotch of bumpy membrane. Emilia shivers under her, letting out gasps periodically.
“You ready for me?” Leota asks, her voice low, almost a whisper.
Emilia stuffs her face into the blanket and arches more obviously.
“Yeah.”
Leota lines the cock head up with Emilia’s entrance, and that fleeting anxiety about her performance saunters its way back into her brain. Words start to come out of her mouth before she can think to stop them, “Y’know, usually me and Keeya let these sit in boiling water before we use them, so it’s not as…cold. This might be really cold.”
Emilia smacks the roof of her mouth. “I don’t care about the temperature, Ads.”
“Are you sure?”
A loud groan comes from where her face is smashed into the blanket. “Adebayo, put that fucking thing in me.”
Leota relents. “Alright, alright…”
She moves leisurely as she pushes the head into Emilia’s hole, watching attentively as Emilia stretches around it.
When she’s about halfway in, she sits there and lets Emilia get accustomed to the length.
It’s a sight that Leota thought she’d never be privy to seeing: Harcourt in a puddle under her, the clefts and lines of her back muscles straining and fluttering, sweat running down her thighs, her cunt squeezing seductively. The blood in Leota’s body is stuck deciding between going to her face or to her clit.
Once she’s decided that Emilia has had enough time, she thrusts the rest of the way in, her thighs smacking loudly against the back of Emilia’s.
Emilia makes a strangled noise, her hips push back against Leota, a silent request. Leota obliges.
She gives small, shallow thrusts for a moment, her hips gyrating gently. After a few agonizing seconds, she pulls out till just the tip lingers inside, and then slams back into the awaiting heat.
A curse gets caught in Emilia’s gullet, warbled and gurgling words. Her fingers stiffen and contract uselessly against the bed, attempting to find purchase that Leota does not offer her.
Leota sets a pace and a pressure, the plunge of her hips trying to find a good balance between force and speed. Emilia seems to enjoy what she’s been given. She’s buried her face into the bed, her moans and groans muffled.
Leota’s hands grip the small of her waist just shy of bruising.
The only sounds filling the room are the wet smack of skin, Leota’s huffs and puffs, and Emilia’s choked-out noises.
“Fuck—” Emilia cuts herself off with a groan, “Harder, Ads.”
And Leota indulges her. She keeps her speed the same but puts more force behind her movements, slamming and slamming into Emilia, hunching over her in creeping exhaustion from the strength she’s using.
It doesn’t take long for her legs to feel like they’re going to give out; that’s how she ends up with her chest and stomach flush against Emilia’s back, Emilia practically becoming one with the bed.
Leota’s hips and waist don’t stop their hard work, ramming into Emilia and ignoring the strain.
Her mouth finds its way to the fissure between Emilia’s neck and shoulder, where those bruises mar her skin. She bites down on her. Emilia makes a very loud, indistinguishable noise in return.
Her hands are planted on either side of Emilia’s head, tangled in the blankets. Emilia’s own hands grapple onto them, gripping Leota like her life depends on it.
There are a few more moments of Leota fucking Emilia into the mattress before Emilia pulls taut, her body strung in tension. Then she trembles and convulses under Leota. Leota can feel her legs sliding, kicking along the bed. Her fingers dig into Leota’s skin. She makes a deep, guttural sound like a dying animal, and stays incredibly rigid—besides a few quick jitters—for a prolonged breath, then goes pliant like liquid, pooling across the bed. Leota helps her ride it out, milking the orgasm out of her, only coming to a stop when Emilia taps at her hand.
They stay there for a second. No words or movements, just the two of them breathing heavily. Leota can suddenly feel the gross stick of sweat between them; she wonders idly if they fused together.
“Okay. Get off of me,” Emilia grumbles eventually, her face still plastered against the bed.
Leota rolls off her, plants herself on her back to the right.
“I think that gave me abs,” she whispers breathlessly, her heart beating like it might shoot from her chest.
Emilia doesn’t respond; instead, she crawls quietly over to Leota.
She still looks pretty, even if her hair has melded to her skin, which itself is a solid hue of peach.
Emilia lowers her forehead to Leota’s. It feels tender in a way Leota is afraid to voice.
“Want me to finish you off?” She asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
Leota hums. “You don’t have to.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Emilia replies, her lips dragging against Leota’s cheekbone with each word.
Emilia snakes a hand down Leota’s boxers, touches and pries and all of those other wonderful things.
It doesn’t take long to bring Leota to the edge, her body having been buzzing with needy arousal.
When she finishes, gasping and shaking, Emilia smirks slyly against her, like a fox.
They eventually clean themselves up, after much groaning and complaining about it. Leota asks if the toxic masculinity has been vanquished, and Emilia only gives her a tired shrug in return.
Some time later, after Emilia begrudgingly agreed to stay the night, they are wrapped up in bed together, curled around one another like lovers. They talk and whisper and touch one another with too much affection for what will end up being just a one-night stand.
When they finally fall asleep, it’s the most relaxed Leota has felt in ages.