Chapter Text
"I don't get it."
"Huh?" Michelle stops trying to glare her creative writing assignment into submission so she can look over at her best friend. Willow's sprawled out on her bed with a magazine held a few inches above her nose, brow furrowed in confusion.
"Jerking off."
Michelle chokes on her own spit at the words, coughing until she's red in the face and wheezing while Willow looks on in concern.
"You okay?" she asks as Michelle struggles to take a deep breath without hacking out her lungs again.
"Yeah, yeah— I'm fine," she croaks. "You just surprised me."
Willow's face colours a soft shade of pink and she groans, dropping the magazine onto her face in embarrassment.
"I don't know," she grumbles, muffled into the glossy pages, "I just… don't get the hype, I guess."
"Of masturbation?" Michelle replies incredulously.
"…Yeah?" Willow throws the magazine down onto the bed next to her and peers over at Michelle. "It just doesn't feel that good, you know?"
Michelle does not know. She's been getting herself off every few days for the past three years, since she moved away to college with Willow and finally had a room to herself in their shared apartment. She has multiple faithful toys, bought with the money she earned from her first part-time job, and knows just how to touch herself until she's shaking with pleasure.
"I mean…" she trails off, unsure of how to approach this topic. "It always feels good for me."
Willow sits up so fast that the bedsprings creak in complaint.
"It does?" she asks, surprise written all over her face, as if she hadn't imagined any answer other than a share in her own disinterest.
"Yeah," Michelle says, and her mind is racing, thoughts bashing together so loudly that she can barely pick one out amongst the bunch. "Why would I do it if I didn't enjoy it?"
Willow's cheeks flush a deeper shade of red, and she breaks eye contact as she looks down at the bed. She catches her bottom lip between her teeth and works at the rosy flesh until it's shiny with her saliva. Michelle watches as her tongue darts out to soothe the sorest spot as she searches for the right words.
"I thought…" Willow huffs, squeezing her eyes tight as if she could make herself entirely invisible. "I thought people were just exaggerating how often they do it, I don't know. It's just never worked for me."
"Never?" Michelle echoes, and oh, she's learning so much about her best friend today. Like the fact that, apparently, Willow hasn't ever got off successfully, a fact that makes Michelle's stomach erupt with butterflies. The anticipation brewing there must be on Willow's behalf, she thinks, because there's a whole world out there that Willow hasn't experienced, so many sensations she hasn't felt yet. She deserves to experience everything the world has to offer. She should be happier and more satisfied than anyone in existence, and Michelle feels indignant on her behalf, that no one's properly introduced her to the world of self-pleasure.
But then Michelle feels a little sick at the idea of some faceless person showing Willow how to pleasure herself. They probably wouldn't know how to read the subtle twists of her lips, or know what it means when her eyes sparkle just so. They wouldn't treat her the way she deserves, cherish her as the kindest of angels that she is.
"Not really." Willow's brows draw together, and she reaches up to fidget with her necklace. Michelle can tell she's made her feel self conscious, and her heart drops to the bottom of her chest.
"It's not— it's not a problem, or anything!" She tries to rectify, words spilling from her lips in a dizzying cascade. "I just figured everyone our age was doing it, I don't know. It's not like anyone ever talks about it."
"Yeah, well," Willow looks intently at the floor, pressing the point of her heart-shaped locket hard into the pad of her thumb. "When you spend your entire life thinking your desire is shameful, the crippling guilt is kind of the world's biggest turn-off."
Michelle hadn't thought about it like that. The downturned tilt of Willow's lips devastates her, cuts her right to the core. Neither of them have really brought up the topic of her sexuality since Willow came out to her a few months ago, her knee bouncing almost to her ears in the passenger seat of Michelle's car. Michelle hadn't really known how to approach the topic following her fumbled assurances to Willow that night, her promises that nothing would change and that she'd always be her best friend. The idea that Willow's been dealing with this for years and that she's never felt comfortable to share her struggles with Michelle makes a lump settle inexplicably in her throat.
Michelle swallows hard around it, attempting to push it down into the depths of her stomach. Now isn't the time for unpacking her own emotions, not when Willow needs her support. She'll find time later.
"Yeah," she says, and it's not helpful in the slightest, but nothing else seems to come to mind in its place. Michelle frowns, searching desperately for the words that will smooth the crease between Willow's eyebrows. "There's nothing wrong with you, though. You're perfect just the way you are."
Willow's still not looking at her, but a small smile forms on her lips, blush high on her cheeks. Michelle thrills at her own success.
"Thanks," Willow whispers, taking a deep breath. "I'd just never really thought getting yourself off was like, an option before we got to college. I don't even know if I'd enjoy it."
"Well, do you… want to enjoy it?" Michelle asks, the threads of an idea starting to knit themselves together in her mind.
"Yeah, I mean," Willow lets out a self-deprecating chuckle, "if it's as good as everyone says, then I'd like to experience that. But I have no idea what I'm doing, so…"
"I could help," Michelle blurts out, before she can consider the implications of such a statement. Willow stares at her in disbelief for a few moments and Michelle's cheeks heat under her unwavering gaze.
"Help," Willow repeats. "Help how?"
Michelle honestly hadn't thought this far. She just can't stop thinking about Willow having never experienced that post-orgasmic bliss, the breathtaking moments where everything goes quiet as pleasure overtakes every limb. Willow must be so tense. Michelle doesn't know how she'd get through the week without her own alone time. She finds herself growing curious about how Willow would touch herself if she tried, whether she'd take her time or push herself to the limit until she's writhing under her own touch.
"I can give you advice!" she decides, and that makes sense, because Michelle's gained a wealth of knowledge over the course of the last few years, so it's only right that she shares it with her best friend in need. "I get myself off all the time, so I can give you some tips, if you want."
Willow's eyes widen as Michelle realises what she's admitted to. She refuses to be ashamed, though, because they're best friends! Best friends share everything with each other, so there's surely nothing strange about sharing this part of their lives too. She's pretty sure girls talk about masturbation at sleepovers all the time.
Except for the fact that she and Willow have never been those kind of girls, she supposes. But there's no time like the present, and she'll take every opportunity to feel closer to her best friend. In fact, it's probably more odd that she and Willow haven't discussed this before. It's high time they change that, she thinks.
"You do?" Willow's face has turned an alarming shade of red.
"For sure!" Michelle barrels on, determined to make Willow feel comfortable, because there's nothing shameful about admitting it. If she talks about her own experiences and demonstrates how normal those feelings are, Willow will undoubtedly start to feel less stressed about taking time for her own self-pleasure. "I'm pretty good at it, too."
"Yeah?" Willow squeaks.
"Yeah," Michelle confirms, a little smugly. "I've got a bunch of toys, of course, but I can get myself off pretty quickly with just my hands too. I've had a lot of practice." Willow just gapes at her, flushed a pretty pink, so Michelle continues, "You can use my toys if you want! It might be easier for you to explore that way."
"I can use… your toys." Willow says blankly.
"Absolutely." Michelle smiles, leaning down to her bottom desk drawer to show Willow her collection of vibrators and dildos. "Anything you want to try! What's mine is yours."
Willow doesn't make any move to investigate the drawer. She seems frozen in place, and Michelle guesses she must be feeling more embarrassed than she had anticipated. She worries for a second that she might have taken it too far, and opens her mouth to apologise, when Willow reaches down to the drawer to pull out Michelle's black rabbit vibrator, holding it between her thumb and forefinger as if it were a venomous snake instead of a silicone toy.
"Um," Willow says, "how does this work?"
Michelle laughs, amusement and fondness bubbling up inside of her. Willow's nose is scrunched up in confusion and it makes her look kind of like a bunny. A rabbit vibe for a bunny-like girl, she thinks, and laughs harder. A fitting choice.
"Don't make fun of me," Willow huffs, rolling her eyes, but Michelle can tell she's not really mad, because she can't keep the smile from her face.
"Sorry, sorry." Michelle tries to get her laughter under control, taking a deep breath. "You don't need to hold it like it's going to bite you, it's just a toy."
Willow shifts the toy so it sits atop her palm, and it looks so elegant there, perched like a princess upon a throne. Only Willow could make a sex toy look so graceful, she thinks.
"Okay, so," she clears her throat, pointing to the bunny ears, "this bit goes against your clit, and then this bit," she points to the shaft, "goes inside you."
"Oh," Willow bites her lip, running her thumb across the shaft slowly. "Okay, um, that makes sense."
"You can try it whenever you want!" Michelle assures, "just make sure you wash it before and after."
Willow sucks in a breath, grip tightening around the vibrator.
"Are you sure this is okay?" she says, "I mean, it has been… inside you." She trails off until she's barely audible, face still flushed dark pink. Her freckles are so much more noticeable when she's blushing.
"Why wouldn't it be?" Michelle beams. "As long as you clean it well, it isn't unhygienic."
"Sure," Willow croaks, and Michelle nods in satisfaction.
"Okay, well," she decides, "You have a go with this, and let me know how it goes, yeah? No rush."
Willow nods, seemingly lost for words. Michelle supposes it is a lot of new information to process.
"Cool," she grins, excited for the brand new adventure that Willow's about to embark on.
"Cool," Willow echoes, placing the vibrator on the bed next to her and flopping down onto her back on top of the covers again. She picks up the magazine she was reading before and brings it close enough to cover her face entirely, and Michelle supposes the conversation is over for the time being.
She turns back to her assignment, but this time the words come less easily to her. The adventures of her fantastical Party are hardly interesting compared to the rabbit vibrator that sits innocently next to Willow on the bed, its black ears primed and ready to bring a girl to the heights of pleasure. It's distracting in all its potential. Maybe she's just developed a Pavlovian response to the sight of it, but she can't stop herself from thinking about how Willow might use it in her explorations. Maybe she's just ovulating. That would explain the way she suddenly feels so aware of the heat settling low in her core; she supposes this talk of masturbation has just made her generally horny.
They don't talk about it again.
Michelle had told Willow to let her know how it was once she'd tried it, but they hadn't specified a time or anything. She honestly finds herself getting a little distracted during class, wondering when Willow might next come to her with an update. Patience has never been her strong suit, and Michelle’s been vibrating with the desire to be useful to her best friend again. She doesn’t want to pry, obviously, but she’s becoming desperate to know whether Willow has tried it yet.
Every night they share a meal in their apartment, and Michelle finds her breath catching every time Willow opens her mouth to start a new conversation, thinking that perhaps this is the time she’ll bring it up and Michelle’s curiosity will be sated. When they’re apart, she finds her mind drifting regularly, wondering whether Willow could be in their apartment at that very moment. Perhaps she’s running her fingers up and down her soft stomach, exploring her body with Michelle’s vibrator, her soft noises echoing in the stillness of their shared apartment.
The not-knowing is kind of driving Michelle insane.
It’s been an entire week before Michelle decides to bring it up again. If Willow doesn’t want to talk about it, she promises herself, then she’ll back off entirely. But if she’s just embarrassed, then Michelle wants to make sure that Willow knows she’s a safe space, and that she was dead-serious in her offer of help. Willow’s tendency to bottle up her feelings to avoid burdening others is well-known to Michelle at this point, so Michelle wouldn’t be surprised if she’s been avoiding the subject for this very reason.
“Wills,” she starts, as they tuck into their pasta that evening, “you can tell me to fuck off if I’m overstepping, but… did you get a chance to try what we talked about last week?”
Willow freezes, eyes as wide and shiny as a deer's in headlights. She places her fork down, chews her bite carefully, and swallows.
“You remember?” she asks, as if Michelle hasn’t spent the last week thinking about nothing else.
“Yeah,” Michelle confirms, a flare of embarrassment creeping up within her. Maybe Willow thinks it’s weird that she’s been so focused on this? “I mean, we don’t have to talk about it. I can just forget it—”
“No, it’s okay,” Willow cuts her off gently. She takes a deep breath in and out, her shoulders rising and falling as Michelle watches her steel herself. “We can talk about it. I just figured it was a one-time conversation.”
“Willow, I literally told you to keep me updated,” Michelle points out.
“Yeah, I know, but I just—” Willow sighs, shaking her head. “Never mind. If you want to talk about it, we can.”
“Yeah?” Michelle smiles, the familiar bubble of excitement and anticipation rising up within her.
“If you insist,” Willow says dryly. “Although I still don’t know what you’re getting out of this.”
“I’m getting to help you!” Michelle declares, a wide grin on her face. “To pass on my worldly knowledge. To be your sex guru!” Willow wrinkles her nose.
“Please never say the words sex guru again,” she says, disgust written across her face. "I think I just threw up in my mouth."
Michelle rolls her eyes at her dramatics, but acquiesces.
"Okay, fine," she says, "your masturbatory advisor."
"So much worse," Willow laughs. "Maybe we don't need a label at all."
"You're dodging the question," Michelle accuses. "Did you try it?"
Willow picks up her fork again, and shovels a few pieces of pasta into her mouth. Michelle watches her patiently as she chews, likely stalling while she comes up with the words she wants to say.
"Yeah," she finally says, putting the fork down once more. Her lips twist into a dissatisfied line. "It didn't really work."
Michelle frowns, because she knows from experience that her rabbit vibe is fucking incredible. She can't imagine it not feeling at least somewhat pleasurable.
"Maybe you did it wrong," she suggests. Willow rolls her eyes, and for the first time today she seems genuinely frustrated.
"Well, I don't know!" she bites out, "it's not like anyone actually taught me what to do. I held it against myself, it just vibrated weirdly, that was it."
Michelle's brain gets stuck on her previous sentence, turning it over and over in her mind. If Willow doesn't know what she's doing, if no one's taught her…
"I could teach you," she suggests, and at Willow's answering expression, "What? I said I would help you. If you're not sure what you're doing, then I can show you, right?"
"You mean—" Willow takes a deep breath. "Let me get this straight. Are you seriously suggesting I jerk off in front of you?" Her voice rises, and Michelle feels hot all over.
"Yeah," she says faintly. "I can tell you what to do, and then you can work out what feels good for yourself."
Willow's eyes are almost comically wide.
"Is that not, I don't know, weird for you?" she says disbelievingly.
"Why would it be?" Michelle asks blithely, even as her traitorous heart seems to hammer unaccountably against her ribcage. "We're friends, and I'm straight, so."
"And you're okay with the fact that I'm not?" Willow insists, looking a little baffled.
"Of course," Michelle says, and she's not really sure why Willow is making such of a big deal about this. They've always been closer than anyone, no matter Willow's sexuality, and their bond far surpasses conforming to any trifling notion of platonic boundaries. This won't be any different from anything else they'd do together.
"It won't be weird at all, I promise. I'll just be giving you a hand."
Willow visibly blanches, and Michelle blushes.
"Not like, giving you a hand, that came out wrong, um—" she gives up, feeling light-headed. "You know what I mean."
"I—" Willow starts, and cuts herself off. "Let me think about it."
"Of course," Michelle rushes to assure her. "Take all the time you need."
"You should think about it too," Willow narrows her eyes at Michelle. "You can always take back the offer."
"I won't," Michelle promises, certain in her conviction, "but thank you."
Willow nods and picks up her fork again. Michelle follows suit, shovelling a forkful of cold pasta into her mouth to stop herself from pressing Willow any further on this topic. They eat in silence for a minute before Michelle manages to find an entertaining story about her classmate to restart the conversation, and any lingering awkwardness between them dissipates shortly after.
A few days later, Michelle is still waiting for Willow's decision. It was a no-brainer for herself, despite Willow's insistence, and she's not the type to back out once she's made her mind up about something.
But she waits, patiently, because she is a good friend and she meant it when she said that Willow should take her time. She'd never want to make her do anything she wasn't comfortable with.
Max sends a text to their Party group chat, bar tonight??? on Friday night, and Michelle sends back YES faster than she can think. She's desperate to blow off some steam after a whole week of stressful assignments, and her professor's harsh comments on her most recent short story today had left her antsy and unsettled. The lump in her throat doesn't go away until she gets home, where Willow greets her with a warm hug and a warmer smile.
"Hey," she says, after pulling away. Michelle misses her warmth immediately. "How was your day?"
"Terrible," she sighs, dropping her bag down on the kitchen table and starting to unpack. "Professor Walbrock did not appreciate my commitment to the non-linear narrative."
"Fuck him," Willow says immediately, pouting on her behalf. "He wouldn't know talent if it slapped him in the face."
Michelle laughs, heartened by Willow's support as she always is. Willow doesn't talk ill of people often, normally the first person in the room to give the benefit of the doubt, but when it comes to Michelle's enemies she always has an impressive range of insults in her back pocket. Michelle thinks it's so cute when Willow gets defensive on her behalf, her nose scrunching up like an angry bunny.
"I mean, he is the professor, so…" she starts, but she's grinning despite herself, and Willow shakes her head insistently.
"Fuck him," she says, squinting at Michelle. "You're going to do amazing things, and he's going to be a sad sack sitting in a sad office for the rest of his miserable life." Michelle loves her so much.
"Okay, okay," she giggles, as she walks over to flop down on the sofa. "Did you see Max's message? Bar tonight?"
"I did," Willow says, coming over to join her. "She's found a new place, apparently. Some girl in her class who works there?"
"Sounds cool," Michelle says, and yelps as Willow slides her cold feet under her thighs. "Hey!"
"You're warm," Willow pouts, and her face is so cute that Michelle is unable to stop a grin from overtaking her mock outrage. She huffs and rolls her eyes, the cool touch of Willow's bare feet underneath her sending a shiver up her spine. "When do you want to head out?"
The bar, it turns out, is way closer to their apartment than Michelle had imagined. Somehow in all the time they've been living here, they've never been in. The signs are large and neon, loudly proclaiming the bar as The Blue Moon. It looks cosy, warm fairy lights twinkling through the window, but Michelle pauses outside when she sees the rainbow flag stuck to the inside of the front window.
"Um," she says, and Willow follows her eyeline. She notices the flag that Michelle's looking at, and rolls her eyes.
"They're not going to throw you out for being straight," she laughs, giving Michelle a small push on the shoulder. "This is a straight-safe space."
Michelle lets out a breath, running a hand through her hair.
"I know," she says, but she feels a little thrown off in a way that she can't exactly explain. "Sorry, I just— never mind."
Willow gives her a strange look, before brushing it off as she pulls open the front door.
"Will!" Max yells immediately as they enter, running over to give her a big hug. "You made it!"
"Hi, love," Willow laughs into her shoulder, squeezing her tight. "How many margaritas have you had already?"
"Just the one," Max says, releasing her from her grasp. "You need to catch up!"
"I'm here too," Michelle grumbles, and Max finally stops ignoring her to give her a shit-eating grin.
"So you are," she says, in mock surprise. "How's baby's first time in a gay bar?"
Michelle looks around, taking in the soft blue lighting, the collection of mismatched stools and chairs. The bar isn't packed but there's a people at most of the tables, people with piercings and choppy hair. There's a mixture of styles as well, and Michelle's eye is caught by someone across the room who's decked out in silver and black, the chains glinting in the low lighting. She hasn't seen so many queer people in one place before. It's overwhelming.
"It's… cool," she says finally, because she can't find any other better words to explain how she feels right now. Her chest feels tight, and she takes a deep breath in, trying to find a little more space for her heart.
"Fuck yeah it is," Lucas grins, making Michelle jump as he slings an arm over her shoulder. "You ready to party?"
"I'm ready to get drunk," Michelle corrects, pushing Lucas off her as she grins. "Where's Jamie?"
"He got caught up at work," Dustin says, making his way over from their table, "he just texted."
"Boo," Willow pouts. "He promised to dance with me."
"You'll just have to dance with me instead then," Max laughs. "Come on, let's get you two a drink."
The menu at the bar is extensive, and a little overwhelming. There's so many different cocktails with strange names — Willow laughs particularly hard at Slippery Nipple — but in the end Michelle orders two Sex on the Beach cocktails, because Happy Hour deals must never be missed. The bartender has electric blue hair, one side of their head shaved, and Michelle admires the way it's styled while they make their drinks. She knows she could never pull that kind of thing off.
"Thanks," Willow beams as she accepts her drink, taking a sip and humming happily. "It's good!"
Michelle tries her own drink as they walk over to the group's table, where Max, Lucas and Dustin are bickering as usual. The drink is far sweeter than she'd expected. Michelle tends to prefer beer when she drinks, so she isn't used to these kinds of fruity cocktails. She screws up her face as if she'd just eaten a lemon rather than a fruity drink.
"It's so sweet!" she says, and the entire table rolls their eyes at her.
"Oh sorry, Miss I take my whiskey neat," Max laughs, as Willow and Michelle squeeze into the booth next to Dustin. "I forgot that you like to pretend you only drink hard liquor."
"I don't pretend," Michelle protests, "whisky tastes good!"
"Does it really?" Willow giggles, pressing her thigh to Michelle's. "I always see you grimacing when you think I'm not looking."
"I would never," Michelle declares, even as the rest of her friends exchange amused looks. "It tastes good! It's not my fault that I have a sophisticated palette."
Willow rolls her eyes fondly, and picks up Michelle's drink to hold it up to her.
"Try it again," she encourages, eyes bright in the low lighting of the bar. "I bet you'll like it more than you think."
Michelle leans down to the straw, unable to say no to her best friend. She takes a careful sip as Willow watches her, trying this time to savour the taste and fight through her immediate gut reaction. There's the immediate sweetness of the peach, but the cranberry does undercut the flavour well. It's… not bad.
"Hmm," she says noncommittally, because she's endlessly stubborn. "It's tolerable."
"You love it," Willow challenges, and her smile is infectious as always. Her thigh hasn't moved away from where it's pressed up against Michelle's own. And she thinks, maybe, it's worth giving it another try.
Three hours, and an uncountable number of fruity cocktails later, the bar has filled up and Michelle has lost sight of Willow.
She'd excused herself to go to the bathroom for the second time, and her reflection in the bathroom mirror had appeared far drunker than she'd thought herself to be. The mirrors were scrawled with messages of love and support — as well as a few entertainingly obscene images — and she'd stood in front of the mirror for a few moments, just staring hard at them and trying to will the fog in her brain to clear. It was almost as though the girl in the mirror looked unfamiliar to her for the first time. Michelle had squinted at her reflection before she had shaken her head, splashed cool water against her skin, and returned into the fray.
Willow isn't sat at the table with Dustin and Lucas, and Max is conspicuously absent from their party as well. When Michelle asks where they went, Lucas points to the front door.
"Smoke break, I think," he says. "They'll be back in a sec."
Michelle sits down, tries to join back in the conversation, but Dustin and Lucas are having a heated debate about the merits of the NBA. She sits there, picks at her nails, and decides that she's too drunk for this shit. She'd much rather be having fun with Willow. Maybe she can even convince her to dance.
Making her way outside, Michelle is struck by the quietness of the night as she leaves the lively chaos of the bar. The moon is bright, and Orion hangs high in the sky above her. She's always loved that constellation.
"—you can't be serious!" she hears Max say, voice raised and a little incredulous. "What if—" Michelle loses the rest of the sentence under the roar of a passing motorbike, and she makes her way over to where Willow and Max stand under the electric heater in the smoking area.
"Max, I'll be fine, I can—" Willow cuts herself off when she sees Michelle making her way towards them. A cigarette hangs from her fingers, half-smoked. The haze of tobacco hangs in the air around them, singeing Michelle's lungs when she inhales.
"Mich!" she smiles, though there's a tension behind her eyes that Michelle doesn't normally see. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Michelle says a little suspiciously, looking from Willow to Max and back again. "I didn't know you smoked, Max."
"I don't," she says cheerfully, even as she takes the cigarette from Willow's fingers and takes a drag. "If it's not my cigarette, it doesn't count."
"Pretty sure that's not how that works," Michelle says. "What were you guys talking about?"
"Nothing," Willow says quickly, too quickly, and Michelle frowns. She's distracted when Willow reaches down and takes her hand, her palm hot against Michelle's own. "Come on, let's go dance!"
Michelle allows herself to be tugged back inside, and Willow weaves them into the throng of undulating bodies before she lets go. The song playing is one unfamiliar to Michelle, heavy beat and a sultry feminine vocal that she feels reverberate through her. She starts to sway to the music awkwardly, feeling every inch of the gangly limbs she'd hoped that she'd long since outgrown, and Willow rolls her eyes at her.
"Dance properly!" she groans, taking both of Michelle's hands in hers so she can swing their arms back and forth together. Michelle laughs at the goofy faces she's making, and she attempts to join her in moving more fluidly. Willow's face is flushed, eyes glassy from the alcohol and exertion, and Michelle can't tear her eyes away. She adores seeing Willow in her element like this, free from the shackles of anxiety that sometimes plague her.
"How drunk are you?" Michelle leans in to yell in her ear, and a few strands of Willow's hair brush her cheek.
"I'm completely sober," Willow tries to say with a straight face, but she ends up in fits of giggles instead. "What about you?"
"I feel good!" Michelle says, dropping one of Willow's hands so that she can twirl her underneath the other.
"I've been thinking," Willow says, as she twirls Michelle right back, "about your offer."
Her offer? It takes Michelle a few moments to work out what she means, fog sticking to her thoughts like molasses. Oh. That offer.
"Yeah?" Michelle says, suddenly intensely aware of her own breathing. "And?"
Willow bites her lip, and her grip on Michelle's hand tightens. She pulls her close, so that she can stand up on her tiptoes and speak into her ear.
"Let's do it," she says, her breath tickling the shell of Michelle's ear.
"Really?" Michelle feels breathless, kind of overwhelmed, because she'd honestly expected Willow to shut her down entirely, and she was getting ready to be okay with that.
"Yeah!" Willow grins, drunken and dopey. The song ends and another begins, one that Michelle is familiar with, the guitar riffs of Katy Perry's I Kissed A Girl ringing out in the bar. The other patrons seem to know the song intimately, because suddenly everyone is singing along, including Willow. She's letting herself go, yelling out the words to Michelle as she pouts and points. Her eyes are so dark, eyes half lidded.
Michelle tries to join in, but she's awestruck by the movements of Willow's body. It's not what good girls do, the bar sings, and Michelle lets herself be carried away by the wave of energy among the dancers. Over Willow's shoulder, Michelle sees a couple of women go from grinding to sloppy kissing, still moving their bodies in time to the music as they bring their lips together in a different form of dance. She's struck by the tenderness of it as well as the sensuality.
She feels Willow hook both of her arms over her shoulders, clasping her hands behind her neck to hold her close. Michelle doesn't know what to do with her hands, so they just fall limply by her sides as Willow sways them back and forth.
Michelle thinks about Katy Perry, about I kissed a girl and I liked it. She wonders whether Willow's ever kissed somebody. She doesn't know how Willow could go so many years unkissed, but the thought of Willow kissing somebody else and not telling her makes bile rise in her throat.
The only person Michelle has ever kissed is Jamie during their ill advised years of dating in middle school, and it was fine, she supposes. Kind of wet, not exactly the fireworks that she'd been taught to expect. But he liked kissing, and Michelle wasn't averse to it since it made him happy, and she'd just accepted that maybe kissing just wasn't for her. Everyone likes different things. Maybe she just prefers cuddling, the press of a warm body holding her tight.
Willow's still singing to her, and her lips look so dark under the blue lighting of the bar. Michelle's eyes catch on the flash of white teeth behind her lips as she grins widely around the chorus, and her throat feels dry.
If she were to kiss a girl, it wouldn't mean anything. Girls kiss their girl friends all the time. She's heard about Max's multiple makeouts with women in clubs when she and Lucas were on their break last year, and that hadn't meant anything for her, so. If Michelle were to kiss her friend, who happens to be a girl, there's no reason for it to mean anything more than curiosity. As Katy Perry says, just to try it.
Michelle opens her mouth, heart inexplicably in her throat, to say something to this effect to Willow, but suddenly they're joined on the dance floor by Max, Lucas and Dustin, who are laughing hard and dancing harder. Katy Perry leaves the stage, and any of Michelle's courage flees along with her.
Willow and Michelle stumble back into their apartment past two in the morning, still buzzing from the drinks and the adrenaline. Michelle's exhaustion catches up with her as soon as she sits down on the sofa to take off her sneakers, and suddenly her body feels pinned down to the fraying fabric.
"Come on, sleepyhead," Willow laughs, trying to tug her up by her hand, "You have a bed."
"Urngh," Michelle grumbles into the cushion that she's pressed her face into. "I don't wanna."
"You're going to have a terrible neck tomorrow, and then you're going to complain about it for the rest of the week."
She is unfortunately correct. Michelle pouts dramatically, even though there's no way for Willow to see it.
"Help me up?" she asks finally, pitifully, sticking out her arms out and making grabby hands. Willow giggles above her. She loves the sound of Willow's laugh. If Michelle had it her way, she'd never hear anything else.
"You're such a big baby," Willow says, but she wraps a slender hand around each of Michelle's wrists and tugs.
Unfortunately, without the effort of Michelle's muscles to help her, she only gets halfway off the sofa before she's falling back down onto it with a startled huff. Unprepared, Willow collapses on top of her, their bodies colliding painfully and making them both groan at the impact. Willow ends up with a knee on top of Michelle's thigh, both of her arms shooting out reflexively to brace herself against the back of the sofa on either side of her head. Her face is so close to Michelle's own, her quickened breath ghosting hot over her eyelashes.
"Shit, sorry," Michelle yelps, as Willow lets go of her wrists. Willow's eyes are wide, the amused fondness of earlier replaced by something that might be panic as she scrambles off her as fast as she can.
"It's fine," she says, and her smile is strained. Michelle watches her fingers flex by her sides. "I'm going to— go."
"Okay," Michelle says helplessly, and watches as Willow hurries into her own room and shuts the door without saying so much as a goodnight. She slaps her palm over her forehead and drags it down her face, suddenly feeling both far more sober and far less sleepy than she had only moments earlier.
Things between them aren't normally awkward. They've never been awkward, not since Michelle got over whatever weirdness of puberty she'd been going through age sixteen. Since they moved in together, things between them have felt as easy as breathing, and Michelle's never been more content. But there's something there — something in the phantom weight of Willow's knee against her thigh, the lingering warmth encircling her wrists — that feels far more complicated. It's a riddle that Michelle can't parse, some hidden meaning just out of her reach.
That night, Michelle falls asleep to the sound of her own heartbeat ringing in her ears.