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There was comfort in the darkness.
It wasn't the sort that bathed the world in suffocating shadow— devoid of all light, threatening to smother the barest flicker of anything that would pierce the veil it made of itself; this was softer, bathed in moonlight— an invitation made of twinkling stars and the cool glow that had become so much a part of her she sometimes saw its light reflected behind her closed eyes. Familiarity made a mockery of her fear; comfort made a home between her ribs, beneath the pads of her paws, in the rich loam smell she enjoyed most when it had been recently scattered with rain.
The faintest whisper in the back of her mind propelled her forward— a smooth loping stride that ate up the distance until her body was loose-limbed and warm, until the only thing occupying her thoughts was the pull of instinct.
The shift was seamless now, chaos traded for clarity that experience had drawn from her body with guiding hands— gentle plucks at gears and springs, subtle shifts of blood and sinew. The shift was the most familiar thing in the world to her, something primal and otherworldly— something that soothed the beast beneath her skin until the all consuming roar of it became little more than a soft, grumbling thing.
A wildness tamed with the utmost adoration.
Zoey had always loved the shift.
It hadn't come to her easily when she was a child— when her thoughts refused to settle, when her emotions ran so high she shattered bones more than she embraced the Wolf she sometimes imagined shared her skin. It had always been easier to consider it both a part of her and something separate— a creature with its own motivations, its own hunger, its own drive.
She'd stopped being frightened of it when she was twelve.
Her thoughts had never quite settled but she had tried to embrace them for what they were; she'd tried to meet the Wolf with the utmost respect, with a genuine eagerness that seemed to endear her to the creature.
Zoey had always loved the shift for the ways it made her feel connected. To her life, to her pack, to the world at large.
There was something remarkably freeing about it, a tacit acknowledgement that the wildness she carried in her soul was a shared one— a point of brilliance that would grow and spread like a spider's web until it shaped her every breath.
Zoey had grown to love the shift more when she could remember it.
There wasn't much to remember since she'd moved to Seoul but that hardly mattered.
Moonlight bathed the trees in shades of silver as she trotted through the undergrowth, nose pressed to the ground until her mind felt fuzzy— overwhelmed by the myriad scents and the surety she felt in her bones, like something had suddenly slotted into place when she hadn't known it was crooked in the first place. A flash of fur in her peripheral vision made her raise her head, an inquisitive noise catching in her throat in the split second before a powerful form crashed into her.
She tumbled, head over hind legs, until she lost her momentum and found herself staring up at the clear sky— awareness of all things outside of the Wolf returning for one brief: what the fuck?
A soft chuff near her head made Zoey huff out a hard breath, rolling onto her side to find a tiger watching her with amused golden eyes.
Rumi always seemed to be more playful when there was no pretense to be had. When they shouldered no burdens, when they could exist together in a way that was almost intimate, when there was nothing to worry about beyond the freedom the shift brought with it.
She nuzzled her nose against the underside of Rumi's chin, earning another happy chuff that made Zoey's tail thump softly against the fallen leaves they'd made an impromptu bed of. She was almost tempted to wile away the remaining hours right where they were, curled together as though they were making a punctuation mark of their limbs— content and warm.
Zoey rested her head in the open space between Rumi's front legs and huffed out a long sigh when Rumi curled against her and her eyes fluttered closed.
The blaring, insistent sound of her alarm is enough to make Zoey want to legitimately eat her phone but there's no fucking telling what that would do to her stomach and she settles for blinking blearily in response to the sound. Goosebumps trail along her skin as she shakes the rest of her dream away, rises from where she'd been curled up on the floor and tries to ignore the way something in her aches to fall right back into her dreams. She still feels half unconscious when she wiggles into her underwear and only slightly less disoriented when she tugs on a t-shirt that brushes softly against her upper thighs as she shuffles out of her room.
Zoey's dreams feature her best friend more and more often lately but if she reads into that for more than three seconds she's going to have a fucking stroke. And so Zoey shoves down the lingering images of the dreams the shift so often drags her through these days and hopes she'll be able to make eye contact with Rumi without anything more than deeply platonic affection clawing at her chest.
"Mornin'," Zoey mumbles.
Her eyes aren't quite open yet and she's absently scratching at her stomach, pushing her t-shirt higher up on her torso than is probably appropriate. She's vaguely aware that Rumi's probably giving her that look again— the one that lingers between amused and flustered; the one that Zoey finds super fucking cute, actually— she doesn't mention that often, of course, considering the fact that Rumi had turned a distinctly unhealthy shade of red the last time Zoey had done it.
Granted, she turns the same color whenever Zoey calls her 'unnie' and they've known each other for like, six years; she's fairly convinced Rumi would blush if she smiled at her just right at any given moment. Her metrics are definitely skewed.
She scrubs at her eyes with one hand and yawns widely, blinking sluggishly to find that Rumi is watching her over the rims of her glasses— the cute ones with the dark wire frames she wears when she's grading papers and getting up to whatever the fuck PhD students are supposed to spend their time doing. She listens with rapt attention whenever Rumi explains it but there's only so many times Rumi can frown and wave her hand and mumble something about the program being 'mostly self-directed' before Zoey just assumes that's all there is to say.
"Long night?" Rumi asks softly. "I made coffee."
"You're my favorite," Zoey chirps.
Rumi huffs out a breath and looks down to the stack of papers arranged neatly in her lap; the soft flush rising in her cheeks makes Zoey grin broadly but she spins on her heels in search of coffee so Rumi doesn't catch her staring again.
It still seems to surprise Rumi when anyone spares her more than a passing glance in the first place, though Zoey's pretty positive that has more to do with the fact that Rumi pays so little attention to things like that that someone would have to bop her on the nose to get her to register it in the first place. Or maybe it's the fact that Zoey has always been a single-minded sort of person and she throws herself bodily into everything she does… admiring the prettiest girl she's ever met in her life included, apparently.
Quiet mornings in their apartment aren't rare so much as Zoey is remarkably gifted at making them anything but quiet. It's never intentional and Rumi's always been patient about it but Zoey is functionally incapable of not becoming a storm in their home; it's the only place outside of her studio that she feels safe enough to be as bright and loud as she pleases with little to no consequences. Though consequences aren't something she cares much about to begin with these days, unless Rumi more or less scruffs her like a kitten to get her to pay attention to all of the ways something could go wrong.
She snorts out a soft laugh at the thought.
"What's so funny?" Rumi asks, arching an eyebrow.
Zoey glances over her shoulder and grins, finally registering that Rumi isn't bothering to glamour anything at all— she tends not to when they're at home— and the sight of her adorably fluffy tail resting daintily beside her thigh is enough to make Zoey giggle that much harder.
"Nothing, unnie," she says brightly, sing-song and mischievous in the same breath.
Rumi watches her silently for a few moments longer and Zoey resists the urge to bat her eyes at the other woman, though she does settle for wiggling her fingers in a cheeky little wave before Rumi rolls her eyes fondly and directs another smile towards her grading. Zoey hops onto the kitchen counter and lingers there, heels bouncing lightly against the cabinets as she swings her legs and sips at her coffee. The morning washes over them slowly— the warm light creeping through the curtains blending with the faint floral smell that seems to cling to everything in their home courtesy of Rumi's many, many plant children.
It's cozy and something that feels more like peace than anything Zoey's ever been able to find settles warm and sweet on the back of her tongue, honeyed and vibrant. She taps out a soft beat against the ceramic of her coffee mug, mentally shuffling through her calendar for the day with a soft frown until a flash of color in her peripheral vision makes her glance up.
Rumi smiles down at her and Zoey feels a familiar ache in her chest when the look on her best friend's face wrenches her ribs apart to make room for an affection so overwhelming that Zoey has never once known what she's meant to do with it.
"Hi," Zoey murmurs. "Was I humming too loud again?"
Rumi snorts. "When have I ever been upset about your humming? It's nice," she replies easily. "You just looked like you were trying to do advanced calculus in your head again and I wanted to check on you."
There's a note of teasing in her voice that makes Zoey's lips twitch, the beginnings of a smile that morphs into a pout the moment her thoughts slow down enough to register Rumi's teasing properly.
"I was just going over my appointments for the day," she says with a shrug. "It's not like, super exciting in my head at all times."
Rumi makes a soft noise and shakes her head. "I find that hard to believe," she says, a frown marring her features for a split second. "Do we have to have the 'I like all of your thoughts because they're yours' conversation again?"
Zoey giggles and leans in enough to rest her forehead against Rumi's shoulder, shaking her head as she feels the vibration of Rumi's laughter catch in her own chest and spark a warmth that she feels down to her toes.
"Nah. It's super cute when we do but I'm seriously just, you know, doing logistical gymnastics or whatever. I'll figure it all out," Zoey says with a dismissive wave. She pulls back enough to look at Rumi properly. "Did you need help with your injection today?"
Color creeps along the edges of Rumi's ears and Zoey waits quietly as the older woman seems to weigh the question before she shrugs.
"You don't have to help me with it. It's not like I don't know how it all works at this point," Rumi mumbles.
"I know I don't have to, silly," Zoey says with a snort. "I know it's not always true with other shit but like, I'm offering because I want to. I know sometimes the needles freak you out."
The color in Rumi's ears spreads to the high points of her cheeks and Zoey wrestles down the urge to kiss her cheek and murmur assurances in her ear until the obvious tension in her shoulders eases. A frown tugs at her lips as she watches the faint shimmer that accompanies magic of all sorts being drawn from or returned to the Honmoon— the veil that keeps them safe— flicker around Rumi.
"Hey," Zoey says gently. "We're at home. You don't need to hide from me."
Rumi pouts. "I'm not. I'm just thinking about the last time you helped me with it— you touched my thigh and I knocked half the stuff on the counter over because my tail twitched."
There's no helping the laughter that escapes her and Zoey presses the sound against Rumi's hoodie, greedy for the heat she can feel from Rumi's skin even through the fabric. She refuses to read into that, refuses to name something she's had the words for as long as she can remember— some days it's all she can do to keep the feeling bottled up but it's better if she does. Safer. Rumi's been her best friend for years now— wanting anything more than that would be greedy and Zoey, for as hungry a person as she knows herself to be, wants to let this one thing remain just the way it is.
She's not very good at it, admittedly.
She nuzzles her nose against the fabric for a moment before she pulls away and hops off the counter, flashing Rumi a dimpled grin as she crooks a finger in her direction.
"C'mon, pretty girl," she says brightly. "Let me take care of you."
Rumi makes a squeaky noise behind her and Zoey forces herself not to look back; there's only so much cuteness aggression one woman can handle in a day, she thinks, and Rumi always has that meter threatening to kick into overdrive.
"Do you have to say it like that every time?" Rumi whines.
Zoey's laughter comes easily and she glances over her shoulder just long enough to wink at the older woman, her lips curling into a satisfied smirk when Rumi shakes her head with a pout. The urge to grab her by the collar of her hoodie and smash their mouths together, to lay a measure of claim to the other woman, charges through her with all of the ferocity of a forest fire that's finally, finally been able to catch. She wrestles down the urge to sigh as she spends the short trek to the master bathroom pretending that she isn't half a second from ruining the best friendship she's ever had.
It's a far more common occurrence than she wants to admit and some part of her hates it; she's always tried to be honest, always tried to be upfront about how she's feeling— but this? Zoey thinks cowardice is a small price to pay not to rock the boat; she doesn't know what she'd do if she lost Rumi, knows less what she'd do if it was her fault to begin with and so she trudges on— relishes in what their relationship is, in the way they fit together now and not the ways she wishes they could.
Greedy, greedy, greedy.
Zoey blinks the thought away as she steps into the bathroom with Rumi close behind her, goosebumps trailing along her legs as her bare feet brush against cold tile. She shivers and fights a deeply inappropriate noise when Rumi's hand finds her hip and she glances behind her to find the other woman watching her with a crease between her eyebrows and a poorly disguised frown on her lips.
"I'm good!" Zoey assures her with a giggle. "It's just a little chill, Ru, I'm not about to drop dead."
Rumi rolls her eyes fondly and steps around Zoey to hop up onto the end of the bathroom counter.
"My injection kit is—"
"— on the top shelf of the cabinet over here, I remember." Zoey finishes Rumi's sentence with a crooked smile, a pleasant rush of warmth like flint sparking against her bones rising when Rumi smiles shyly at her in turn.
Even under the fluorescent light in the bathroom Rumi looks gorgeous and Zoey's tempted to mention it now; to watch the way Rumi flushes and ducks her head and bites her lip around a smile that dimples her cheeks. It's a familiar dance for them and one Zoey loves— she's always been an affectionate person, always held more love in her than she's known what to do with; she'd given it to the wrong people more times than she could count but that's never been Rumi.
It's as easy as breathing to offer the older woman her affection. A quiet part of her wonders if that's something she wants to do for all the days that remain to them but she knows she'll outlive more people in her life than she won't and that sort of feels like a big ask.
She wonders if Rumi feels the same.
Her hands are steady as she prepares Rumi's injection, muscle memory and hours spent bent over people with a tattoo gun in hand have sort of decimated any degree of nerves she's ever possessed where needles are concerned. Rumi watches her in silence for a moment before Zoey steps into the open space between her legs and she smiles warmly.
The sight of it wedges something behind Zoey's ribs, another token of affection that she would claw from her chest in an instant if only Rumi asked her too.
Jesus, Zoey thinks, it's getting a little pathetic at this point.
"I should tattoo a bullseye here so I don't worry about screwing these up so much," Zoey drawls, her eyes wrinkling at the edges as she grins.
Her thumb brushes over the point on Rumi's thigh the injection will go and she takes a moment to admire the way her newest tattoo has healed, the way the ink blooms along her knee and creeps onto her thigh like a flower greeting spring— it's a bit egotistical considering she'd been the one to do it but it's beautiful all the same. All the more beautiful because it's Rumi, she imagines.
Rumi giggles, the sound low and breathy in the same measure. Zoey preens a little the moment she hears it, the delight at making Rumi laugh as familiar a companion as anything else she's ever felt in her life.
"That's a little dramatic, don't you think?" Rumi replies. "Didn't you tell me last time that you memorized the spot?"
"Duh." Zoey says flatly. "It's for the fun of it all, y'know? What's life without a little fun, Rums?"
"I guess I'll never find out," she replies thoughtfully. "I have you."
Zoey almost jabs herself with the needle in her hand and takes a steadying breath as she wipes the injection site carefully with an alcohol swab. The smell of it makes her nose wrinkle but the entire injection process is over in a second; she squeezes Rumi's knee lightly in encouragement as she places a Band-Aid over it and steps back with a smile.
"All done!"
"Hello Kitty this time, huh?"
Zoey glances down at the Band-Aid and back to Rumi with a pout. "Not a fan?"
Rumi chuckles. "It's perfect, Zo. Thank you."
"My pleasure, bear!" Zoey chirps. "It's in the BFF contract, I'm pretty sure. 'Check yes if you're down to help your super amazing bestie with her hormones. Otherwise you're a loser'."
"Zoey."
The way Rumi's laughter wraps around her name makes Zoey feel moderately lightheaded but she smiles just the same, stepping back to dispose of the syringe and patting the side of Rumi's knee affectionately.
"Do you wanna go out tonight?"
Rumi makes a strangled noise and Zoey coughs hard to smother the laugh that builds in her chest.
"To a club! Sorry— Jesus, the look on your face," she sputters, laughter brightening the edges of her words.
"There's no look on my face!" Rumi protests.
The faint hint of a whine in her voice almost makes Zoey lose her composure again and she arches an eyebrow— there's no helping the smile on her face but she knows Rumi won't take offense to it; Zoey's certain there's never been a single point in the time they've known one another where she's laughed at Rumi's expense— she sure as shit isn't going to start now.
"Well?" Zoey tilts her head curiously. "Do you want to?"
Rumi frowns thoughtfully for a long moment before she nods. "If I said no you'd probably drag me out of the apartment anyway, huh?"
"I mean," Zoey drawls. "Not without a healthy dose of begging first! But you're like, exceptionally bad at saying no to me so I would've won."
The look on Rumi's face makes her grin and she rocks up onto her tiptoes for a moment to lean in and press a loud kiss to Rumi's cheek, giggling maniacally when Rumi smacks her lightly on the arm the second before she pulls away.
"I'm gonna go get ready for work. I have a ten o'clock and the dude is like, up my ass about it if I'm even thirty seconds late. Wish me luck?"
"Wish you luck getting ready?" Rumi teases. "Are you planning on hitting traffic on the way to your room?"
Zoey's mouth drops open with surprise and her laughter bounces off the walls of the bathroom with a faint echo.
"Oh, now you wanna be a brat?"
"Takes one to know one, doesn't it?"
"I'm gonna remember this, bear." Zoey grumbles as she leaves the bathroom. "I'm adding it to the list!"
"Uh-huh. You're very intimidating, gangaji!" Rumi calls back as Zoey rounds the corner.
Her cheeks burn faintly in response to the nickname and she's grateful that Rumi can't see her face; she doesn't need to give her best friend any ammunition whatsoever when it comes to teasing her— she isn't as relentless about it as Zoey can be but the artist isn't about to take any chances if she doesn't have to.
It's still enough to make something grow roots in her chest— the way Rumi's always done, the way she's done with such tenacity that one of Zoey's favorite tattoos features vines creeping along her ribs— some nights she imagines those vines have been coaxed to life under Rumi's hands.
She's certain they'll grow flowers between her ribs; that one day her love for Ryu Rumi will coax something beautiful from the scaffolding of her bones.
Zoey shakes the thought away and hops up and down as she wiggles into her jeans.
It's just another day.
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Yeoubi is scrawled above the club's entrance in pretty, elegant script.
It gives Zoey something to focus on other than the way Rumi's ass looks criminally good in her dark jeans, or the fact that her smooth skin is on full display, tattoos included, in the way Rumi ordinarily leans into when she's feeling especially confident. The full moon of the previous evening still has them both the slightest bit on edge, with the beasts hovering just beneath their skin that much more in control of their basic instincts and desires than they are as the moon waxes and wanes around them.
Zoey wants something she won't give voice to and Rumi seems to desire something similar enough that it makes heat creep along the back of Zoey's neck as she considers it.
If they're lucky, she thinks in the same moment they cross the threshold and enter the club, they'll find people to take home and press their remaining energy into soft skin and softer moans. If not, she'll go home and sleep for the next sixteen hours and feel marginally more like a person when all is said and done.
"Do you want a drink?" Zoey says softly, leaning into Rumi's space to speak directly into her ear.
The music isn't unbearably loud by any means but it's certainly enough to drown out most private conversation; Zoey assumes that must be a pointed choice considering the host of supernatural creatures she's already seen with and without their glamours in the last handful of minutes.
"Mm," Rumi hums thoughtfully. "Maybe later? I'm guessing they'd make the ones that actually do something, you know?"
Zoey snorts softly under her breath and nods, splaying her palm along Rumi's hip and squeezing lightly before she steps away in search of a private booth and tugs Rumi along behind her with one finger hooked in the older woman's belt loop. Rumi follows without resistance and it's all Zoey can do not to grin with a kind of misplaced pride in response; there's something particularly lovely about the trust Rumi has in her and she isn't about to squander it on less than pure thoughts surrounding the subject.
"Did you want to dance?" Rumi murmurs, the feeling of her breath against Zoey's ear enough to make goosebumps erupt along the back of the werewolf's neck.
Stupid hormones.
Stupid feelings.
Stupid senses that are so in tune with Rumi it may as well be laughable.
"Should I be jealous about all of the people who are gonna stare at you while we do?" Zoey asks with a lazy smile.
She wants to strangle herself. Rumi isn't hers; has never been hers, in spite of what her heart seems to want so desperately it's borderline torture to continue ignoring it. The way Rumi's lips twist into an amused, playful smile makes her want to fall to her knees and when the older woman wraps an arm around Zoey waist so firmly she can feel the heat radiating off of her like a brand— she forces herself to bite back the frankly embarrassing noise that wants to drag itself kicking and screaming from her chest.
"Who says they'll be looking at me?" Rumi retorts.
Zoey huffs out a laugh; the butterflies fluttering in her belly increase tenfold and she ignores that too— tries to focus on how much she enjoys Rumi's company rather than how criminally good she looks right now and how desperately she wants to shove her up against the nearest wall and ruin their friendship utterly.
The pulse of the bass in her chest as they find their own corner of the dance floor to occupy makes her feel like her bones are vibrating outright; there's something so beautiful about it, something so warm and sweet that she wants to sink into it until there's nothing left but the press of bodies and the scent of unabashed joy and the press of Rumi's body against hers.
They move together like they've done it for lifetimes— years upon years of knowing one another as well as two people possibly can translating itself to an ease Zoey never wants to recover from. Every roll of her hips is half guided by Rumi's warm hands and Zoey wishes, certainly not for the first time, that she was brave enough to do something about it.
That the urge to lean up on her toes and kiss Rumi was one she was willing to chase, that the affection she wants to press into the other woman's skin could mean anything at all.
Instead she loses herself in the smell of Rumi's perfume and the smell of magic so thick in the air she can almost taste it. She lets go in every way she can and trusts that Rumi will be there when she settles her feet on the ground once more.
When they step off the dance floor for a break, Zoey's dress is sticking to her skin even more than it already was— the fabric clinging to every curve of her body, every dip and line almost exaggerated in the thoughtful lighting in the club. She feels beautiful and the amount of times she's been aware of eyes on her throughout the night certainly seems to encourage that feeling.
"I think you have an admirer," Rumi observes, a hint of amusement threading itself through her words.
Zoey turns her head just enough to look at the other woman over her shoulder and arches an eyebrow curiously. Her gaze shifts to scan the club and settles, inexorably, on one of the most beautiful women she's ever seen in her life staring right at them with a cool expression that betrays almost nothing. Zoey might even be willing to think she wasn't interested at all if not for the smoldering quality of the look in her dark eyes and when the woman moves towards them, they move to meet her— as if being pulled along by an unseen force.
"Holy shit," Zoey breathes out.
Rumi chuckles. "Come on, Casanova, let's go introduce ourselves."
Zoey nods dumbly and fights not to allow her jaw to drop in an embarrassing show of her attraction to the stranger.
Her long pink hair is drawn into a messy bun secured with a dark hair stick. A strappy black top that leaves her pale stomach on full display, a dark skirt accentuated by a heart shaped belt buckle and dark fishnet tights that leave about as little to the imagination as humanly possible. Dark combat boots complete the look and by the time they reach her, Zoey's managed to gather her composure and her confidence in equal measure as she directs a bright smile towards the other woman.
"Can I buy you both a drink?" The stranger asks.
Zoey nearly swoons outright at the rich timbre of her voice and hardly trusts herself to speak without little more than a strangled syllable escaping her when she hears Rumi's voice behind her.
"Do we get your name first?" Rumi asks. "Or is that a surprise?"
The other woman chuckles and smiles slyly. "For beautiful women? My name becomes a lot more accessible," she drawls. "I'm Mira."
It's only then that Zoey registers a scent beneath the honeyed sweetness of Mira's perfume— the sharp tang of iron mixing with the earthy scent of petrichor and the zing of ozone so sharp it makes itself known without trying.
A gumiho.
Zoey spares a thought to wonder if Mira owns this club, given its rather cheeky name if that's the case, but that thought is scattered utterly when she finds her voice again and grins.
"I'm Zoey! This is Rumi. It's super nice to meet you, Mira," she chirps.
"The pleasure is all mine, little wolf," Mira says smoothly, her lips twisted into an almost mischievous smirk.
Zoey's going to pass the fuck out but surely there are worse ways to go. She's only met another gumiho once or twice in her life but they've always been stunning— always alluring in a way that feels remarkable to Zoey and judging by the soft hitch of breath she hears behind her, she imagines Rumi is feeling similarly.
It's not often that one of the most powerful supernatural creatures she's categorically ever met shows an interest in her and a not insignificant part of Zoey is eager to impress her, to keep that interest alive as long as she can manage it.
Time seems to slip away from them with a sinuous quality; she loses herself in the sound of Mira's voice, in the sharpness of her smile, in the way her undivided attention feels like a drug Zoey can't possibly get enough of. She watches Rumi lean in to every word, her soft brown eyes bright with focus and genuine delight in a way that always makes Zoey smile; she thinks she could stay right there for an eternity and never grow tired, between the woman she loves without reservation and a woman who seems to hold her own gravitational pull that Zoey has no hope of escaping.
Not that any part of her really wants to.
The barest hint of a buzz from the alcohol is enough to loosen her tongue and by the time she finds herself pressed between the two of them with enough promise lingering in the air to make her feel lightheaded— she sort of wants to explode.
In a very, very good way, of course.
In a completely normal and not at all painfully horny way.
Zoey's always been a remarkably bad liar in her own mind.
"So," Mira hums, resting her chin in her hand as her eyes sweep over both of them. "Did you two still want to stay here? Or can I finally admit that I'd like to take you both home?"
Zoey feels very much like her brain is going to blue screen as Rumi huffs out a soft, shy laugh and ducks her head in the way she so often does when she's flustered about anything at all. She wants Rumi to agree— wants one night where she can selfishly give into the feelings thundering through her and demonstrate just how desperately she wants the one thing she's never allowed herself to have.
Instead, she smothers her disappointment beneath a smile when Rumi shakes her head.
"I think I'd like to head home, actually," Rumi says with an embarrassed smile. "It's not that I don't want to, I just— maybe another time?"
Zoey notices the way she chews at her lip, the way the lingering exhaustion of the last handful of days shows itself for what it is and she moves to stand as Rumi does before her best friend drapes a hand over her shoulder and pushes with enough strength that Zoey falls back to sit beside Mira with little more than a strangled noise of protest.
Rumi leans in and, in spite of the fact that they both know Mira can hear every word, begins to speak.
"Stay. You should enjoy the rest of the night, huh? I'm just tired, Zo. I promise."
Zoey makes a soft noise and fights the way her mouth twists with a pout. "Are you sure? I can walk you home."
Rumi chuckles and presses a soft kiss to her cheek. Zoey watches silently as she leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of Mira's mouth and murmurs something Zoey can't quite hear to the other woman before she pulls back and waves at them both.
"I'll see you at home, okay?"
"Okay," Zoey says breathlessly.
She feels Mira's resounding chuckle against her arm as the pair of them watch Rumi leave and the ache in Zoey's stomach throbs insistently. It's smothered almost immediately by the way Mira captures her attention again in an instant and Zoey smiles, crooked and more than a little eager as she leans into Mira's personal space.
It's just another night to chase what she wants.
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Zoey feels remarkably hungry.
Her hands are searching, fingers dragging beneath the hems of Mira's clothes as she pushes the other woman against the nearest wall in her penthouse; her nails dig into Mira's hips, her ribs, the covered slopes of her breasts. She wants to devour her— to watch her fall apart beneath her hands, her mouth, her attention. It's a heady thought, one that makes Zoey groan softly against Mira's mouth as Mira pants into her mouth— the soft, airy noises Zoey's pulling from her already making her head swim as her lips trail from Mira's mouth to her jaw, greedily seeking more, more, more.
"Bedroom," Zoey murmurs against Mira's throat. "Where?"
Mira's low chuckle makes the warmth in her belly deepen considerably in the same moment it makes the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Mira's so pliant under her hands that Zoey feels powerful— there's a ferocity to the depth of her desire that she so rarely gives in to, a gnawing ache that catches behind her ribs and creeps through her like teasing fingers.
When Mira doesn't answer, Zoey sinks her teeth into the soft skin at her throat and bites down hard. Mira's resulting whimper makes Zoey throb and she can't help but grind down against Mira's thigh where it's pressed between her legs, the friction making her pant hotly against Mira's neck.
The skin beneath her mouth is already bruising— angry red bleeding into deep purple; a thrill rips through her and Zoey imagines leaving a galaxy of marks against Mira's skin, imagines the vicious pride that'll surge through her and presses a breathy chuckle against Mira's collarbone in the split second before she sucks a mark there too.
When Mira's hips jerk hard against her, her laughter deepens— creeps through the air like spilled honey, sweet and slow.
"I asked you a question, baby," she murmurs, pulling away and resting her hand lightly against Mira's throat. "Where's your room?"
Her fingers don't press hard but she feels the vibration of Mira's hum against her palm as the other woman offers her a lazy smirk.
"Someone's demanding," Mira says lightly, dark eyes glinting in the dim neon light creeping through the windows. "Is this the part where I start calling you 'daddy' or something?"
Zoey's breath hitches for a fraction of a second before her grip on Mira's throat tightens— her fingers digging into the vulnerable skin; she preens when Mira allows it though her expression remains unchanged.
"Fucking brat," Zoey breathes out.
She's mildly relieved that her voice remains steady given the sticky warmth she can feel against the inside of her thighs, the lingering smell of arousal muddying the edges of her thoughts— shutting out everything that isn't Mira, Mira, Mira.
Her mouth finds Mira's and the feeling of Mira moaning into the kiss makes the throbbing between her legs increase tenfold; for as much as Mira seems willing to challenge her, Zoey can smell her need— can practically taste it on the back of her tongue— hot and sweet and all for her. She isn't often predisposed to possessiveness but the thought of claiming Mira in any concrete way makes her feel undone— makes her feel like she's going to vibrate out of her own skin as her tongue brushes Mira's bottom lip and eagerly explores the wet heat awaiting her when Mira's lips part obligingly.
"For someone who's so insistent on being a brat," Zoey murmurs, pushing Mira's panties aside to drag two fingers through the slick heat between her thighs. "You sure seem to be enjoying yourself."
The moan Mira presses into Zoey's neck when her head falls forward makes Zoey grin, an edge of something fierce in her expression as she collects more of Mira's slick on her fingers— circling them teasingly around her clit before she pulls her hand away and holds her sticky fingers to Mira's lips.
"Open," she says softly.
Mira's lips part in an instant and Zoey huffs a laugh through her nose as she slides her fingers, slick with the wetness trailing along the back of her hand, into Mira's mouth. Something in Mira's gaze goes the slightest bit fuzzy as she sucks on Zoey's fingers like she's been given a treat to savor. Zoey's blood thunders in her ears as she pulls back and wraps her hands around Mira's thighs, lifting the other woman until Mira's legs settle around her waist. Mira makes a noise that's closer to a startled squeak than anything else and the sound is so fundamentally opposed to every perception Zoey has of her to this point that it makes something in her chest crack— she presses a silly, lopsided smile to the curve of Mira's collarbone and begins to walk in the direction she guesses Mira's room must be.
Zoey squeezes the skin beneath her palms lightly as she moves, eager to offer a moment of softness after she's been riding the urge to take so hard it's making her feel dizzy. The bedroom door is cracked open and Zoey's eyes, long since adjusted to the low light, find it quickly— crossing the threshold with sure strides in spite of the fact that Mira is pressing lazy kisses along her neck and jaw, grazing her fangs against Zoey's pulse point in a gesture that feels like it's half promise, half threat.
It makes Zoey shiver.
Goosebumps trail along Rumi's bare arms as she steps into her apartment building and she breathes deeply through the shiver that follows. Her thoughts feel sluggish, fuzzy in a way that usually makes her feel unsteady and frustrated; she imagines that might have continued to hold true if it weren't for the fact that all she's been thinking about on the walk home is the way Zoey looked when she'd rocked up on her toes to kiss Mira.
The way Mira's hands had curved along the slope of Zoey's back like she was relinquishing something she desperately wanted to share.
The way Zoey's mouth took and took and took.
It makes her shiver again and Rumi rubs at the tension in the back of her neck, heat creeping into her cheeks as her thoughts wander; as they place her between the two of them in spite of her better judgment, as they slot her into a space she isn't certain she can take. She's not even certain she wants to.
The lie feels particularly weak as she shuffles to her bedroom with her thoughts full of dark eyes and murmured praise and all of the ways she wants Mira and Zoey to take her apart and stitch her back together with coaxing voices and whispered promises.
Rumi wants.
Desperately, madly, fiercely. In an aching way that makes her pulse pound so hard the only thing she can process aside from her racing thoughts is the sound of blood whooshing in her ears and the throbbing between her legs as she slips her jeans off and folds them neatly.
She drags a palm along her face with a heavy sigh as her cock twitches insistently and the hiss of breath through her teeth as she palms it through her underwear is enough to make her ears burn. Her thoughts drift again as she shimmies out of her bra— catching on soft lips brushing along her shoulders, Zoey's nimble fingers toying with the waistband of her panties before she tugs at them gently.
"Can we take these off, pretty girl?" Zoey murmurs.
Rumi chokes back a soft whine as Mira steps into her space, long fingers plucking deftly at her nipples before the taller woman leans down and takes one into her mouth— sucking so slowly and so sweetly that Rumi feels her knees wobble.
"Yes," she gasps with a frantic nod.
Zoey's laughter vibrates against her back before she feels the younger woman guide her underwear down her legs; Rumi whimpers as the fabric drags against the weeping tip of her cock and bites her lip hard, begging for clarity of any kind as she feels Mira tug her towards the bed.
She feels dizzy when her back hits the mattress, pliant as she follows obediently when Mira tugs her closer. The other woman's arms slip around her waist and the feeling of her cool skin pressed against her and the brush of Mira's nipples against her back makes Rumi moan. Loudly. Zoey smirks as she kneels between Rumi's legs and holds Rumi's face in her hands with a surprising amount of gentleness given the circumstances. Rumi's eyes flutter closed as Zoey's thumbs trail along her cheekbones with something that feels almost like reverence. It makes her breath stall in her chest and the sensation feels altogether overwhelming when Mira's hands find her breasts again and squeeze them greedily.
"Aren't you just the prettiest thing?" Mira says lightly, her teeth grazing the shell of Rumi's ear.
Another whine, another throbbing pulse between her legs, another dribble of wetness that slides down her cock and makes Rumi clench her eyes shut as her face burns.
Zoey clicks her tongue softly. "You're making a mess," she says with a chuckle. "Is that all for us?"
Rumi nods, frantic. Zoey holds Rumi's chin between her fingers and presses down hard enough that Rumi's eyes flutter open, an airy moan already falling from her lips as she meets Zoey's gaze. Zoey's eyes are darker than she's ever seen them— the warm honey brown eclipsed almost entirely by her pupils; the visual confirmation that she's enjoying herself, that she wants as much as Rumi does, is enough to make Rumi's hips jerk uselessly against the open air.
She sucks a sharp breath through her teeth as Mira's mouth finds a particularly sensitive spot along her neck and sucks the skin between her teeth mercilessly, leaving a throbbing mark that earns another breathless, bitten off noise from Rumi.
She feels like she's going to shatter and they haven't even done anything yet.
"Yes," Rumi breathes out. "I— fuck, Mira!"
Her voice cracks as Mira's fangs dig into the skin just below her jaw, latching onto her as Mira does her best to mark Rumi in a place she can't possibly cover up outside of wearing turtlenecks for the next two weeks. If she could string any coherent thoughts together she knows she'd be cursing the fact that she's always bruised easily; instead, she reaches back blindly to tangle her fingers in Mira's hair, tugging at the strands in encouragement as Mira, presumably, sets out to make an abstract art piece from the marks she's leaving behind.
The possessive quality of it makes Rumi want to beg, though she isn't certain she can articulate what she wants to beg for— to be theirs? To fall apart under their hands as many times as they want? To be used so thoroughly she won't be able to move an inch without thinking of them?
The thoughts alone are enough to make a soft, hiccuping cry settle in her chest and Zoey presses a soft kiss to her lips as her hands trail along Rumi's upper thighs.
"Oh, baby," she teases. "We're just getting started and you're already this worked up? What are we gonna do with you?"
"Anything," Rumi blurts out. "Please. Anything you want— god, Zoey, please—"
Whatever she's prepared to beg for leaves her mind the second Zoey's thumb swipes over the slit of her cock and Rumi's hips jump so hard that Mira tightens her grip, the arm around her waist stalling any further movement before Rumi can even start. Her breath hitches hard and escapes her in a low, strangled whine— the slick slide of her own hand around her cock is making her feel lightheaded and the vivid imagery her thoughts have latched themselves onto is enough to make her feel marginally insane.
"Keep going, pretty girl," Zoey urges, a note of mirth in her voice. "I wanna hear more of those pretty noises."
Mira whines and the sound of it, low and breathy and so needy it makes Zoey throb, is enough to make her grin against Mira's neck, nipping at the skin beneath her lips playfully— pressing her appreciation for the woman on top of her into every brush of her lips, every soft noise she makes against Mira's skin, every mark she leaves in her wake.
The drag of Mira's panties against her thigh is intoxicating and Zoey's certain she looks a mess— hair tangled from Mira dragging her fingers through it, lipstick smudged from the frantic press of Mira's mouth against hers, dress rucked up on her hips with her bare thighs fully on display.
Mira's grip on her back tightens, nails digging in so hard that the jolt of pain runs directly from the point of pain to Zoey's clit. Mira's so wet that Zoey can hear it— something borderline obscene in the way Mira paints her own wetness along Zoey's freckled skin, something primal and utterly consuming about the way it makes Zoey's blood sing.
Her teeth ache to claim, to bite and mark and take; she settles for tightening her grip on Mira's hips— guiding her with sure hands as Mira's hips roll desperately, chasing an orgasm that Zoey is still deciding whether or not to allow.
How can she say no?
Mira looks ethereal in the soft light creeping through the windows and Zoey has no trouble imagining all of the ways she's drawn people in over the years.
Who has it in them to resist such a pull?
Zoey sinks her teeth into the delicate skin at the base of Mira's throat, laughing softly when Mira's hips jerk hard and her head falls back with a strangled cry.
"Zoey— hngh— fuck, I'm gonna—"
"What are you gonna do?" Zoey murmurs as she laves her tongue against Mira's throat greedily. "I'm not hearing a question."
Mira's hips stutter and Zoey reaches down to pull her panties to one side, groaning so deeply she feels it resonate in her bones as Mira's slick paints along her thigh. She flexes hard enough to give Mira more to grind against and delights in the broken animal noise that drags itself from her lips. Mira looks so beautiful it makes something sharp settle between her ribs— the savage urge to ruin the other woman in the most tangible way she can manage flooding through her until she has to make a concerted effort to ignore it.
"You're so beautiful, Mir," she whispers.
She wonders if anyone offering supplications to a higher power has ever sounded half as breathless, wonders if anyone has ever prayed before the altar of someone's body with half so much devotion. Zoey thinks she could stay right where she is forever— caught in the heat of Mira's skin, the smell of her arousal, the beautiful way she offers her vulnerability with the sure hands of someone who makes that choice with the utmost precision.
Zoey feels desired in a way that makes her head spin and when Mira claims her mouth in a messy kiss alongside the next desperate roll of her hips, Zoey feels like she could fly away on the power of the delight nesting in the spaces between her bones.
"You're being so good for me," Zoey continues, her voice airy. "Do you wanna keep being good for me? Hm?"
Mira buries her face in Zoey's neck and nods, sharp and quick. Zoey's laughter finds a home in Mira's chest and she runs her fingertips along the curve of Mira's spine as her other hand continues to guide the rhythm— each roll of Mira's hips beneath her palm, each pass of her cunt dragging wetness along her thigh— it all makes Zoey want more and more and more.
"Yes," Mira whispers in turn. "I wanna be good. I wanna—" Her voice breaks sharply on a moan. "I wanna cum, Zo, please. Fuck— can I? Can I cum for you?"
"Can you go more than once?" Zoey murmurs against Mira's jaw. "I'm not finished with you yet, jagi."
"Fuck me," Mira whines. "Yes— I can— fuck, whatever you want—"
Zoey sucks another mark that blooms beneath her mouth like spilled ink.
"Good girl."
Her teeth dig into Mira's collarbone so hard she tastes iron on her tongue; Mira moans so loudly Zoey can practically feel it pinging around in her skull and the feeling of Mira shuddering beneath her hands— gushing against her thigh— makes Zoey press a soft whine of her own against Mira's skin.
"Sorry," she mumbles sheepishly.
When she pulls back to meet Mira's eyes again she smiles— she can't help it, really— not when Mira is looking down at her with something that feels a hair's breadth from adoration, not when she's offering Zoey a soft, sweet smile that looks unfairly beautiful alongside her flushed cheeks and mussed hair.
"Don't be," Mira soothes, pressing her laughter against Zoey's mouth. "That was hot as fuck."
Zoey's expression brightens in an instant and she cradles Mira's face in her hands gently as they trade slow, deep kisses and the heaving breaths rocking Mira's ribcage slow down and settle.
"Not to be dramatic," Zoey starts. "But if I don't go down on you I'm actually gonna die. Can I?"
Mira snorts and the sound makes Zoey grin, broad and dimpled and delighted. It feels slightly ridiculous to be so caught up on the slightest bit of attention from Mira but she isn't going to complain; she's always jumped into things with open eyes and too much eagerness but some part of her, against her better judgment, feels safe.
There's no foundation for the surety that makes the coiled spring of her body loosen and relax under Mira's soft gaze but Zoey doesn't mind. She wants so much all the time— a ravenous, desperate want— and Mira seems perfectly willing to give it to her, to offer again and again while she takes and takes.
"You know it's not a competition, right?" Mira asks idly as she shuffles off of Zoey's lap and sprawls out in the middle of the bed. "There's no trophy for fucking me better than anyone else has lately."
Zoey hums. "What about a gold star?" She jokes, winking as she slips out of her dress. "And it may not be a competition but if I don't fuck you so well that you can only remember my name— I'm doing something wrong."
She pauses just long enough to kiss Mira quickly before she drags her hands along Mira's thighs and sighs happily.
She feels inexplicably lucky.
Zoey's hands splay across the smooth skin of Mira's thighs like she's eager to press until the whorls of her fingerprints brand themselves against her skin. There's a feral, possessive part of her that thrills at the thought; an eager, frantic part of her that wants to sink her teeth into Mira's throat and claim her for all to see. She's always been greedy— always hungry for everything life can give her and she's not ashamed of it; she'll take anything Mira wants to give her and swallow it whole— until she's satisfied and the screaming, gnawing ache in her chest finally eases.
Her grip on Mira's thighs tightens and Mira huffs an amused breath through her nose.
"You have me, baby," she coos. "I'm not going anywhere."
The smoothness of her voice makes Zoey feel like Mira's fingertips are trailing along her spine, leaving skittering sparks of electricity that dance along every nerve ending in her body and strike a match that burns in her belly. Her fingers brush lightly through Zoey's hair and she leans into the touch with a pleased noise, her hands flexing against Mira's body before she shimmies down and sinks her teeth into the delicate skin of Mira's inner thighs.
Mira's hips jerk and the high whine that tumbles from her lips earns another feral grin that Zoey presses into Mira's skin again and again, leaving marks like checkpoints— proof positive that she'd been there in the first place— lost in the heady scent of Mira's arousal and the soft way her voice wraps around her name.
"God, you're so fucking—"
"—pretty, baby," Zoey croons.
Rumi's hips jerk against the combined sensation of fucking into the hand wrapped around her cock and the way the head catches against the edge of the pillow wedged between her legs.
"Th-thank you," she stammers, a breathless whine splitting her words down the middle.
Her cheeks burn as she presses her forehead against the mattress and presses unintelligible pleas into her sheets; as she imagines Zoey's palms splayed against her ribs, stroking her skin, wrapping around her cock.
"Fuck, please."
"Poor baby. You don't even know what you're begging for, hm?"
Zoey's voice is low and Rumi imagines the way she might press the words against her jaw, mouthing insistently at every inch of bare skin she can reach.
"Come on, jagi," she urges. "Be a good girl and use your words."
"Zoey, I—"
The whine that escapes her is so pathetic she feels heat trailing along the back of her neck like a brand; her teeth sink into the pillow in front of her and her mind allows the image to shift, the dark fabric of her pillowcase becoming the pale skin of Mira's thighs bracketed around her head. Rumi's breath hitches hard in her chest and her cock throbs in her hand, leaking at the tip as the image of Mira smirking down at her solidifies in her mind.
"What's wrong, pretty girl?" Mira murmurs, brushing her thumb along Rumi's bottom lip.
Rumi's hips stutter, her stomach tightening as she slows her pace, fucking into her hand languidly— if she cums too soon she knows it won't make her feel any better and for as embarrassing as the thoughts in her head are making her feel, she'd much rather enjoy them for as long as she can manage.
"F-feels— hngh— it feels g-good," Rumi stutters weakly.
"Oh, so you can use your words?" Zoey asks.
The mocking tone of her voice makes Rumi whimper— pathetic, desperate, so needy she feels the heat of it searing her from the inside out.
"Sit back a little, Mira," Zoey says softly.
Mira moves without question, bracketing her thighs on either side of Rumi's ribs and settling against her stomach. Rumi's breath catches in her chest and she doesn't exhale until Zoey runs a soft hand along her upper thighs.
"Don't forget to breathe, bear," she says with a chuckle.
Somehow, the pet name is enough to make her shudder and Zoey's ensuing giggle makes her bury her face in her hands with a high, embarrassed whine. She can feel the stinging warmth in her cheeks radiating off of her skin but she knows it would be worse with anyone else, that her comfort level would likely not be nearly so high— that she would feel mortified rather than loved.
It makes something strange settle thickly in her chest and she blinks up at Mira when the older woman slips her fingers beneath Rumi's hands and pries them gently away from her face.
"Eyes on me, horangi," Mira says, a sweet smile on her face that makes Rumi's heart trip over itself in real time.
Rumi isn't certain she can look away for even a moment as Mira rolls her hips, beginning a slow grind against her stomach that makes it apparent in an instant that she is soaked. The smell of it is enough to make Rumi's mouth water and she only has a split second to wonder if she's drooling outright when the feeling of Zoey's tongue sliding along the length of her dick nearly makes her choke.
"Oh—"
She can't see anything beyond Mira— can't focus on anything outside of the feeling of Zoey mouthing insistently at the leaking tip of her cock and the fact that Mira is all but painting her skin with wetness; the fact that they both seem to relish in the sounds she's making, breathless and whiny and utterly pathetic, only makes her feel like she's sinking further and further into a space she's certain she doesn't want to come out of.
She would let them claim her utterly and beg for more.
Rumi has always been hungry.
Her hips stutter as Zoey takes more and more of her cock in her mouth and Rumi has a half-delirious thought that she's going to leave a lipstick mark around her that shouldn't be nearly as sexy a prospect as it is.
"Zo— Jesus— fuck—"
Every word is accompanied by a shuddering exhale and interspersed with Mira's soft moans; Rumi flexes her abs so Mira has a firmer surface to grind on and the way it makes Mira's thighs tremble around her ribs makes Rumi want to beg for her to sit on her face. Mira's so wet she's dripping— along Rumi's stomach and over her own thighs— and Rumi feels a desperate urge to bury her face between Mira's legs and savor the taste of her.
"Your mouth feels so—" Rumi whines loudly, a choked moan catching in her chest.
Rumi can imagine the look on her face— the ravenous satisfaction that makes her clutch at her sheets to fight the hard jerk of her hips and the orgasm threatening to rip through her. She's so close it feels like her nerve endings are on fire and she feels like she's going to fly apart, like she's one soft word away from creating a supernova from her component parts.
"Fuck."
Zoey chuckles softly, a smugness in the sound that makes her feel dizzy.
"You taste so fucking good, baby."
Mira's grip tightens where her fingers are tangled in Zoey's hair— pulling Zoey's seeking, insistent mouth against her cunt with a pressure that feels firm enough to make Zoey shiver. She's making an active mess of herself with her lips sealed around Mira's clit as she sucks hard and relishes in the way Mira's thighs tighten around her ears, in the way Mira's slick drips down her chin and clings in messy streaks against her jaw, her cheeks, her lips.
The obscene sounds of Mira's cunt clenching around her fingers makes Zoey feel borderline feral, the slick heat invading every single one of her senses until all she can focus on is getting Mira to cum in her mouth as soon as humanly possible.
Zoey's certain she could die happy exactly where she is— with her face buried in Mira's pussy and the heady taste of her arousal thick on her tongue. She pulls every sound from Mira with the confidence of an experienced conductor— plucking the sounds from the older woman like she's never done anything half as well.
The warm timbre of Mira's voice resonates in her chest and blooms outwards, like someone setting off a small bomb between her ribs and watching gleefully as it lights her from the inside. The way it crests on a moan and breaks sharply down the middle is enough to make Zoey feel like she's thirty seconds from fulfilling some divine purpose— like she's so, so close to reaching some level of consciousness heretofore unknown to her or something dramatic and painfully existential.
Mira tugs at her hair insistently when Zoey curls her fingers and presses hard against her front wall— the noise that escapes her is nearly a wail and her hips jerk hard against Zoey's mouth, her thighs trembling around Zoey's ears as she fucks her hard. Her thrusts are merciless and Zoey moans loudly against Mira as a gush of wetness fills her mouth and her fingers don't stop.
Tears run down Mira's cheeks and cling to her jaw— her hips jerking frantically as Zoey coaxes another orgasm from her until her next breath escapes her in a harsh sob. When the other woman pushes weakly against her forehead, Zoey obliges and pulls away to press a kiss against Mira's inner thigh.
"Come here, please," Mira rasps.
Zoey straddles Mira's hips and winks at her— smug and breathless— and the way Mira's eyes rolls as she laughs softly is enough to make Zoey toss her hair over her shoulder with a bright smile. Mira's lips twist towards something sweet and genuine and Zoey feels her heart twist along with it— certainly not a surprise given how prone it is to shoving her headfirst into even the barest hint of attraction.
"Hi, gorgeous," Zoey murmurs as she leans down to kiss Mira slowly.
"Hi," Mira murmurs in turn. "Did you enjoy yourself?"
"We're asking trick questions now?" Zoey laughs. "What's not to like about letting pretty girls cum in my mouth?"
The words alone make Rumi whine softly, heat suffusing her cheeks so quickly it feels borderline impossible considering how much blood flow has been directed towards her dick in the last thirty minutes. She's distantly aware of Mira turning to kiss Zoey; Zoey who sighs softly into Mira's mouth as their lips brush, Zoey who had just let Rumi cum in her mouth as Mira got off against Rumi's stomach, Zoey who's still looking at Rumi like she's seconds away from leaning in to eat her alive.
Rumi feels sluggish as she watches Mira move, the sight of the flex of muscle beneath pale skin making her cock twitch against her thigh as Mira brackets her thighs on either side of Rumi's head.
Rumi grits her teeth in a loose approximation of a snarl, something roaring in the back of her mind as sticky strands of Mira's arousal drip slowly down the older woman's thighs— perilously close to dripping into Rumi's waiting mouth as Mira hovers above her just out of reach. She's desperate for it, on the verge of begging for it in as much detail as is required of her when she feels something hot, hot, wet brush against the head of her cock.
Her back arches hard as she moans and the scrape of Zoey's nails against her ribcage makes goosebumps erupt from the area beneath Zoey's clever fingers outwards until Rumi's nearly shivering.
"Can you handle another one, sweet girl?" Mira asks.
"I—" Rumi hiccups and tries to steady her breathing. "I can—hngh— t-try," she manages airily.
Zoey smiles and squeezes her thigh affectionately; Mira's fingernails scratch lightly at her scalp and Rumi feels boneless and warm and painfully aware of the exceedingly gorgeous women who seem to want nothing more than to wring her dry in every way physically possible.
"That's my good girl," Zoey says warmly.
Rumi whimpers so softly she feels the sound vibrate against her throat more than she hears it. Mira's fingers glide through her hair and Rumi reaches for Mira's hand almost frantically, eager to have a lifeline to hang onto as she feels it happen in startlingly perfect unison.
The heat of Mira's cunt against her mouth makes Rumi groan deeply and the feeling of Zoey sinking down onto her cock makes Rumi's grip on Mira's hand tighten.
A faint tearing sound— the sheets beneath Rumi's free hand— goes largely unnoticed, lost in the combined sound of low voices and lower moans; there's nothing in the world Rumi thinks she'd rather hear than Zoey and Mira as she buries her face greedily in Mira's dripping cunt and Zoey rides her so hard Rumi sees stars.
Tears prick at the corners of her eyes and spill down her cheeks before she registers anything at all. Mira guides her mouth with a sure hand tangled in her hair and Rumi follows obediently, long since lost in the deeply pleasurable haze of her own arousal the longer it burns through her. Rumi wants so desperately to please them both— to give them anything they might ask of her and exponentially more.
"God, you're perfect. You feel so fucking good," Zoey groans.
Mira's fingers brush along her skin so lightly that the moment she puts any degree of force into the gesture it's enough to make Zoey moan— especially when Mira's large hands rest on her hips with a strength that can only be considered outright possessive and pull her more firmly against her flexing stomach as Zoey chases her building release beneath Mira's hands.
She knows she's close— her thighs have been shuddering on either side of Mira's ribs for the better part of the last five minutes but some part of her doesn't want this to end. Some part of her wants to freeze everything in this liminal space, to beg the moon for a night's mercy in allowing her to stay exactly where she is.
In allowing her to build something she wasn't aware she had the tools to cobble together.
Zoey wants.
And Mira seems more than happy to give it to her; so happy, in fact, that the glamour that has left the insistent scent of ozone and petrichor lingering at the back of Zoey's nose finally dissipates with a violet shimmer.
Something in Zoey swells at the sight, a sort of bone deep appreciation that she can't articulate to save her life but wants desperately to convey even if she can only muster a word or two of explanation. In her defense, words are a tad difficult to manage when she has a gorgeous gumiho in her bed watching her with glittering golden eyes and so much naked hunger that Zoey is almost willing to bare her throat in answer.
Mira's claws dig into her hips just enough for Zoey to feel their pressure and she whines softly as she reaches between their bodies to rub tight circles against her clit, making every drag of her pussy against Mira's stomach send a jolt of pleasure through her that's borderline overwhelming.
"Come on, gangaji," Mira coos. "Let go for me, hm? I want to see how pretty you look when you fall apart."
Zoey tries to speak but nothing more than a strangled moan escapes her and all she can process is the way she's gushing against Mira's stomach as she cums and shaking so hard the other woman wastes no time in pulling her flush against her body as she tries to catch her breath.
"Fuck."
Rumi throws her arm over her eyes as she tries to catch her breath; her chest heaves and the startling awareness of how hot and sticky and mortified she is creeps in with a force that makes her next breath shudder unsteadily. She isn't sure how she's supposed to look Zoey in the eye after this, or Mira if she ever sees her again and the muddled state of her feelings makes her dig her teeth into her lip to muffle the strangled groan that drags itself from her throat.
It's just her fucking luck.