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Having your wedding on Christmas day is perhaps the most self-aggrandizing scenario Rio could ever imagine. But, it wasn’t their wedding, and it wasn’t their day. So, they packed a damn suitcase and got on the fucking plane. Rio had only met Wanda a handful of times, yet she seemed to be a good match for Monica. Rio didn’t get out to the east coast much, where her best friend lived, they preferred the west coast. It was also where the majority of their work took place, and where the money was. Additionally, New York just had too many bad memories, or rather, one too many people who hurt to see.
Rio didn’t worry about running into anyone they once knew, because Monica would have told them otherwise, they were sure of it. Traveling during the holidays was a pain in the ass, but it was worth it. Monica had even been kind enough to not make Rio her maid of honor/best man, purely because she knew Rio would have loathed the title and all the work that came with it. They were still engaged in the wedding activities, the bridal shower and bachelorette party. Rio had flown around more in the past six months than in the past two years.
At the rehearsal dinner that night, Rio nursed a drink, eyeing the sea of bodies. The holiday and the event was throwing them off, making them feel a sense of loss that they hadn’t in a while. Monica stood, talking to her mom, while Wanda smiled and wound an arm around Monica’s waist. There were twinkly lights strung up in the grand, expensive ballroom, which made the cavernous hall feel more intimate.
Oh, to be happy and in love.
Rio hadn’t had that in, well, two years.
“You seem pretty miserable for someone drinking a 30 year old scotch,” Monica quipped, throwing her arms wide for a hug.
Rio cracked a smile, hugging Monica and grumbling, “I’d say it’s ‘cause I’m single and alone on Christmas, and at this wedding.”
“Please.” Monica pulled back, smacking their shoulder. “If you’d have told me that I’d be at a wedding at some swanky hotel on Christmas Eve, I would’ve thought it was yours.”
The speakers overhead lowly played some Billie Holiday as Rio shrugged uncomfortably. “You look really happy.”
“I am,” she smiled, glancing back at Wanda giggling with her mom. “When you know, you know. Y’know?”
They forced a grin, lightly shaking their head. “I’m glad.”
“Wanda has plenty of single friends as her bridesmaids,” Monica winked. “And it’s the holidays, and weddings make people soft…”
“Yeah, I’m not really looking for a hookup.”
Monica squinted, studying them. “Well, you haven’t mentioned anyone since…her.”
“Few dates, few one night stands,” Rio said, finishing the scotch. “Guess it’s just not a priority right now.”
“I saw your dispensaries are expanding,” Monica knowingly taunted. “When were you gonna tell me?”
“At a certain point, it was inevitable,” they answered, anxiously twirling their glass. “I don’t know, it didn’t feel how I thought it would. The success was…hollow.”
“You could call her,” Monica murmured, genuine and trying to help. “I still see her around sometimes.”
The music cut out, glitching and skipping. “I think Billie would disagree.”
“Shit.” Monica looked around at the speakers. “This is why we went with a singer for the reception tomorrow.”
“Did you resurrect Billie Holiday?”
Monica rolled her eyes. “Wanda’s got a thing for the classics, it’s what her parents always played.”
“Still should’ve gone DJ,” Rio argued. “Easier and cheaper,” they tracked their eyes over the place. “Not that you guys are hurting for money…”
“I’m marrying a pediatrician," Monica retorted. “If I want The Waldorf, I get the Waldorf.”
Yes, because Monica was living off a federal government salary. “You’re gonna be a doctor’s wife,” they teased, lightly shoving her. “Who would’ve thought all those years ago when you swore up and down you’d never get married, that you’d pull Mrs. Moneybags over there.”
“You’re one to talk about moneybags,” Monica joked, squeezing their hand before taking off. “I gotta go handle the music situation before Wanda has a stress heart attack, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”
They gave her a mock salute. “Aye aye, Captain Rambeau.”
Rio shuffled back to their suite, switching out their suit for a t-shirt and boxers. They were staying in the Manhattan suite, because they could afford it, and decided to treat themself. Although, as they mulled around the full kitchen, and the dining room, and the fully ornate marble bathroom, it felt empty. The king sized bed was cold, and the sheets were sterilely clean. It wasn’t what Rio assumed their life would be by now, not if you had asked them two years ago. If they could go back in time, change the past, alter their future, would they?
No sleep was had, but they got up the next morning anyway. Breakfast was good, and they had even gone ice skating at Rockefeller Center. Rio ignored the happy couples and families spending Christmas day together, laughing and enjoying the time with those closest to them. Rio had gone here almost every year on Christmas, before the relationship ended and they disappeared to California. They did enjoy the ocean and the beach, the hiking trails and the nature, but damn, there was something that melted Rio about New York in the winter. Probably the memories of what used to be.
After a shower, they put on the nicest suit they own. Perfectly tailored, black with a white button-up beneath, a few popped up top, and a green silk tie. The ceremony itself was sappy and corny, and if Rio teared up a little bit, nobody could prove it. There was a cocktail hour just outside the ballroom, and Rio was trying to calculate just how likely it was that they could sneak into the ballroom without anyone noticing. As it turns out, it was extremely likely.
The band on the stage was setting up, and the caterers were buzzing around to get the tables set. Nobody stopped Rio, or questioned their presence. They beelined to the bar, where the fucking fetus of a bartender was still prepping the booze. “Hi,” Rio smiled. “Can I get a triple of your most expensive scotch, please?”
The boy peered up from his task, his eyes absolutely smothered in eyeliner. “Not open yet.”
“It’s for the bride,” Rio lied. “Pretty sure you don’t want to piss her off.”
His pierced eyebrow quirked. “Which one?”
Rio sprawled out their arms. “Does it matter?”
“Fine,” he grumbled, the nametag on his vest displaying Billy.
“Thanks, Billy,” they insincerely responded, tapping their fingers against the lacquered wood of the bar in wait.
A woman, farther down the bar, toyed with her glass of water. There was a lemon wedge, clearly already crumpled, that she was running around the rim over and over. Her head was turned away, but her hair tumbled for miles down her back, even if it was tied back in some loose ponytail updo. Her dress was a satiny red, cinched at the waist, with fragile, thin straps crossing along her back. A wave of recognition washed over Rio; those freckles, that skin, the wave in those locks, the color under the low lighting.
It couldn’t be.
Billy slid a glass over, Rio was too focused to grab it. Just as Rio had convinced themself they had to be going insane, the woman turned, only enough for Rio to make out her side profile.
That nose.
Those lips.
Their heart sputtered against their ribs, their blood thickened and boiled. “Agatha?”
Agatha peeked over, tucking her chin against her bare shoulder. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Rio slid down the bar, taking their drink along for the ride. “You’re here?”
She smirked, it was familiar in a way that twisted Rio’s gut. “What was your first clue?”
Their brain went blank, unable to compute their ex standing in the same place at the same time as them. “Wh- what- what?”
“Close your mouth, hon,” she mumbled over a sip of water. “You’ll catch flies.”
Fine, they’d go the polite, surface level chitchat route. “How long has it been, Agatha?”
“Not sure,” Agatha purred, dropping the lemon at the bottom of her glass and pushing it away. She rested her elbow on the bar, turning her body to face them. “At least a couple years.” Her voice was fake nice, before tacking on, “Since you chose your work over me, abandoned me.”
“That’s not fair,” Rio immediately corrected. “I didn’t-”
“I told you I wasn’t moving, and you moved anyway,” she recited, the words coming out bitter. “What would you call that?”
“It was my job,” they refuted, strangling their tumbler of scotch. “Was I supposed to throw everything away?”
“I didn’t realize that everything never included me,” Agatha somberly replied, plastering on a smile. “But hey, at least it paid off, right? Hot shot drug dealer making it big.”
“I’m not-” They sighed, trying to ignore the bait. “It’s a dispensary chain. I’m not a drug dealer.”
Rio had a very specific and unique strain that they created, grew, cultivated, and sold. Their botany degree, while intended to be used at some research lab somewhere, had paid off handsomely. Back when they were together, Agatha was still trying to make it on Broadway. The constant rejection, the auditions, the industry hadn’t been kind to their ex. And while Rio’s career took off, Agatha’s only deteriorated. When Rio decided the west coast was the better market, Agatha claimed she couldn’t be on Broadway in California. It was true, but Rio thought that Agatha would’ve been ready to throw in the towel on a dream that likely wouldn’t come to fruition. Agatha’s theatre degree was sinking her into more and more debt each month, and she never had anything to show for it.
The split was far from amicable.
It tore Rio in two, and life continued.
“Either way,” Agatha huffed. “Glad it worked out.”
“Monica didn’t mention you’d be here.”
“Probably because I’m here for Wanda,” she answered, reaching out to place two fingers on Rio’s chest, right on their sternum over their tie. “You haven’t changed a bit, though.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?” Rio tilted their head, staring a beat too long at Agatha’s cleavage. “I could say the same for you.”
Agatha knew, of course she knew. “And still checking out my tits. Old habits, hm?”
The drummer dropped a cymbal, the crash echoing through the vacant ballroom. Rio winced at the noise, muttering, “I told them to get a DJ.”
“Really?” Agatha fiddled with Rio’s tie, before straightening it. “I’m sure the band will impress you just fine.”
“Meh,” Rio groaned. “Doubtful.”
“You never were one to support the arts.”
Rio was at every god awful play, musical, and showcase that Agatha landed a role in. Sure, they didn’t love musicals, but they showed up for her. “Right.”
Agatha grabbed Rio’s wrist, looking at the time. “Reception is about to start, that’s my cue.”
“You giving a toast or something?”
Agatha snorted; it made them melt. “Or something.”
The double doors opened, the guests funneling in. Rio looked behind them, and Agatha was gone by the time they turned back around. The air that once surrounded Agatha still smelled of her perfume, another thing that hadn’t changed since their time apart from one another. Rio closed their eyes momentarily, lingering in the familiar, before taking their drink and finding their table.
And, wow.
Monica had sat Rio at the table that should’ve been labeled The single and lonely fucking losers table. Each woman was gay and available, and Rio knew better than to think that was a coincidence. It took about twenty minutes, but the band finished setting up, and that red dress and silky legs in heels made a reappearance…on stage.
“Please join me in welcoming, for the first time ever, Captain and Dr. Rambeau,” Agatha announced into the mic, clapping to get everyone else started.
Oh no.
Rio’s stomach flipped as they connected the dots. Agatha wasn’t at the ceremony, Wanda must’ve hired her, she was drinking water to preserve her voice. Fuck, fuck, fuck. They didn’t register Monica and Wanda walking in and making their way over to the dancefloor. Jesus fucking christ, their ex was the wedding singer. Why didn’t Monica tell them?
The guitarist began and Agatha smiled at the couple before taking a breath and singing. “If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I'd like to do
is to save every day 'til eternity passes away. Just to spend them with you.”
Her voice was still smooth, still the way Rio remembered on particularly lonely nights. It was Agatha’s singing voice they could never get enough of, back when they lived together. In the shower, while she was reading, while they were cooking. Agatha spent the time humming, practicing, or going on vocal rest. Rio never understood why she hadn’t made it, and why they couldn’t make it better for her.
Apparently, playing weddings was now her fulltime gig. That piece of info could’ve come in handy prior to attending, but it wasn’t their day, so they weren’t going to make a scene about it.
“If I could make days last forever, if words could make wishes come true, I'd save every day like a treasure and then–again, I would spend them with you,” Agatha melodically recited, creating a sense of intimacy between herself and the crowd. Rio zoned out, taking note of the way her throat bobbed to project. She was always gorgeous, but Rio could tell she felt her best when performing. Because, at the end of the day, Agatha was a performer, in all aspects of life. It was rare to catch a glimpse of her true self, but that wall had come down with Rio once upon a time. “If I had a box just for wishes and dreams that had never come true, the box would be empty except for the memory of how they were answered by you.”
Monica and Wanda swayed together, too enrapt in their own world. When the song ended, the couple invited everyone else to the dancefloor. The drummer created the beat, the guitarist followed, and Agatha began again. Monica wasn’t kidding when she said Wanda had a thing for classics, Rio couldn’t remember the last time they heard Little By Little by Dusty Springfield, yet Agatha was repeating it in front of their very eyes.
Rio decidedly didn’t join in on the dancing, content to relegate themself to the table and drink their scotch. Oldie after oldie was played, and Rio kept their eyes glued to Agatha. She looked comfortable and confident as ever, the stage was hers to command. She looked happy.
Post-dinner, the booze flowed, the dancing continued, the cake was cut, and the sun set. They nearly forgot it was Christmas, and as their ass remained in their seat (except for the occasional top off of their drink), Rio contemplated leaving. They had shown up, gotten the lovebirds a bougie gift, and stayed for cake. Too many bad memories, and one person too much.
They stood from the table as another song revved up, buttoning their jacket closed. Agatha’s voice in their ear sang,“Tonight, you're mine completely. You give your love so sweetly. Tonight, the light of love is in your eyes. But will you love me tomorrow? “
Rio froze, watching on from the back of the room.
The lyrics hit hard, but blue eyes finding them while she sang them hit even harder. “I'd like to know that your love is love I can be sure of. So tell me now, and I won't ask again–will you still love me tomorrow?”
It wasn’t for Rio, it didn’t have anything to do with them.
So why couldn’t they walk away?
Agatha’s gaze traced over their person before locking on their eyes, repeating the lyrics she was being paid to sing. “So tell me now, and I won't ask again. Will you still love me tomorrow? Will you still love me tomorrow?”
The band petered out, ending the music. Agatha blinked a few times; Rio pretended not to see the tears, pretended their own eyes weren’t wet as well. “We’re gonna take a quick break, folks. Eat, drink, lavish the newlyweds with love and inappropriate questions about when they’re having children!”
As the speakers poured out some Elvis, Rio wiped their face. They didn’t want to see or know where Agatha was going, and longer spent here, would only result in more misery. They needed to get the hell out of this hotel and this city, they needed to run, even if their own body protested. Before Rio could reach the doors, their ex approached, shoulder checking them. “Stop doing that.”
Rio raised their chin, working their jaw momentarily. “Doing what?”
“You’re staring,” Agatha accused, keeping her voice quiet. “You’re staring, and I’m at fucking work. You’re not the only one with a job that requires their attention.”
Smugly, foolishly, Rio smirked. “Am I distracting you, Agatha?”
“I have exactly five minutes before I have to be back on that stage, so whatever is causing you to linger like a bad cold, needs to be fixed in that time,” she hissed. “You’re an adult, buck the fuck up.”
“I wasn’t aware watching the talent was taboo,” Rio muttered. “But it doesn’t matter anyway, I’m ducking out.”
“You’re leaving?”
“What was your first clue?” Rio shot back, stuffing their hands in their pockets. “Some things are too much.”
“Fine.” Agatha nodded, biting her lower lip. “Leaving is what you do best.”
“Hey-”
“Have a nice life,” she said, spinning on her heel. “Do us both a favor and don’t come back again.”
Rio caught her wrist, tugging her back. “Don’t do that.” They slid an arm around her waist, holding her close. “I wanted you, I really wanted you. I had to do something I didn’t wanna do, but it was my job. You weren’t any better about it, you could've come with me.”
“And how many times was your job more important than me?” Agatha questioned, rigid in their hold. “How many times were you home late, gone early? You expected me to sacrifice everything for you; you gave me nothing.”
Rio cocked their head, scowling. “I wanted to get married-”
“You never asked me what I wanted,” she sharply cut in. “You assumed, you took, you couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that I had aspirations outside of you.”
“That’s bullshit,” Rio refuted, pained by the mere insinuation. “You ran, too. You took, too. You couldn’t take that I was succeeding while you weren’t.”
Agatha pushed them back, baring her teeth. “Fuck you.”
“Aw, baby, don’t pretend it wasn’t a competition. You couldn’t stand that I won in that weird little mind game you set up!”
“Yeah, and the concession was being your wife somewhere!” Agatha nearly screamed. “It was your plan, not mine. I don’t need you, I don’t need to be pacified with a life of mediocrity. I’m meant for more.”
“You’re a wedding singer,” Rio cruelly pointed out, motioning around. “Your talent is wasted here.”
Agatha sniffled, scoffing, “Better than wasted with you.”
The band shuffled back onto the stage, and their ex didn’t wait for Rio’s response. Agatha weaved through the crowd, plastering on a smile as she traipsed back on stage. “Where were we folks?”
As the lyric stylings of Harry James filled the room, Rio made a choice. “Never thought that you would be standin’ here so close to me. There’s so much I feel that I should say, but words can wait until some other day- ” They charged over to the bar, the twink bartender too distracted by other wedding guests to notice Rio snatching a bottle and making a run for it.
Between the scotch and the pack of cigarettes burning a hole in their suit, Rio could effectively numb every emotion swirling inside of them. Marriage to RIo wouldn’t be mediocrity, they would’ve treated Agatha like the goddess she is. They would’ve taken care of her, supported any new endeavor she chose. But Agatha wasn’t someone who found safety in the promise of security, she saw it as a trap. Agatha, the notorious commitment-phobe she was, had actually fooled Rio into thinking they stood a chance.
With a lit cig between their index and middle finger, and the neck of the booze secured in their thumb, ring, and pinky finger, Rio could calm. They’d fly back tomorrow night, and this would all be an inconvenient memory. The air bit at their skin, the chill curling around their bones, forcing them to remember they were alive. Even a fleeting touch with Agatha was agony, because it was temporary. So, Rio slumped against the brick of the alleyway, next to the service door, and let the smoke and alcohol burn down their esophagus.
The door swung open a few minutes later, Agatha wrapped up in a pea coat with an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips. She rifled through her jacket pockets, groaning when she couldn’t produce a lighter. Rio cleared their throat, picking a lighter from their pocket. “Need help?”
“Jesus fuck!” Agatha startled, speaking with the tobacco still wedged in her mouth. “Why are you everywhere!?”
They tossed her the lighter as she walked over, taking a pull from the bottle. “Thought you quit years ago to preserve your voice…”
“Picked it up again,” she noncommittally answered, the flickering flame illuminating her face for a small second. Agatha took a drag, sighing in contentment before swiping the bottle. “I thought you left.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be singing?”
Agatha winced when the liquor met her tongue, replying, “Lilia can take over for the last hour, she’s fine. A bit pitchy, but fine.”
“And the guitarist and drummer?”
“Jen and Alice,” she said, slumping next to them and exhaling smoke. “Three of them needed a lead vocalist, I needed a job—it's copacetic, if not very dull.”
“Audtions going well?”
Agatha cocked her head, deadpanning, “Obviously not.”
“So did you take this job out of ignorance or spite?” Rio raised their brows, horrifically flattered if Agatha took the gig on purpose.
“I met Wanda almost two years ago, I was playing this gay club and we hooked up-”
“You fucked the bride?!”
Rio didn’t even care that it was Wanda, a crushing wave of rage materialized at Agatha fucking anyone.
“More like, heavily petted. We both kept waiting for the other to top,” Agatha snorted. “We stayed friendly, I knew she had a girlfriend, then she got engaged. I didn’t ask about her partner, and Monica is a common enough name.” She shrugged, smoking her cigarette down to the filter. “Hoped it wasn’t your Monica.”
Rio flicked theirs to the ground, stomping it out. “Have you seen a lot of women since…?”
Agatha chuckled, narrowing her gaze. “Have you?”
They reached out, running their fingers along her cheek until they were cradling her jaw, thumb running along the bone. Her nose was pink from the cold, and her pupils were blown wide. “A few.”
“Mmm,” she hummed, using her free hand to fist in the lapel of their suit jacket. “Pot, meet kettle.”
Rio felt so stupid at thinking that Agatha might let them kiss her, might lean in and meet them halfway. Against all logic, Rio said the words they knew they shouldn’t, “I missed you.”
Agatha slowly blinked, looking up through her lashes. “Well, weddings make people soft…”
Do you still love me?
I still love you.
Will you still love me tomorrow?
“The holidays too,” Rio tacked on for her.
“Rio?” Agatha rasped, nestling closer.
Rio took a step forward, splitting their gaze between her eyes and her lips. “Agatha?”
Their ex shot forward first, crashing their lips together. Rio smiled into it, turning them to press Agatha against the wall. They didn’t want messy and frantic, methodically swiping their tongue over her bottom lip to get her to open wider. Agatha complied, moaning as Rio angled their head to kiss her slowly, deeply, desperately. She whined, followed by the shattering of the bottle against the pavement. Her hand tangled in their hair, whimpering as Rio’s hand dropped to her ass.
She tasted like smoke and scotch, and something so completely Agatha. She felt better than their memories of her; Rio didn’t miss her, they craved her. “I have a room,” Rio mumbled in between reconnecting their lips, pawing senselessly at the satin of the dress.
Agatha’s unfocused view met Rio’s, not saying a word as she slid out from their body. She grabbed Rio’s hand and pulled them back to the door, through the hall, and into the lobby. Agatha impatiently jammed her thumb into the elevator button, dragging them inside once the doors parted. As an afterthought, Rio bashed in the correct floor number, before returning to their ex.
Pinning her to the wall, Rio’s hands set out to return to their rightful home. The chill of their hands burned against the warmth of Agatha’s thighs, easily disappearing under her skirt, while their lips set course along her neck. She tilted her head back, lolling against the wood panel behind her.
“Ri,” Agatha gasped, as they cupped her cunt through her underwear. “Baby.”
They pressed their hips against hers, keeping their arm wedged in between. “Feels like you missed me too.”
She let her eyes slam shut as Rio pushed her underwear aside, running the pads of their fingers through drenched folds. “Shut up.”
Rio snickered at the futile attempt at arguing, because they were well-versed enough in Agatha to understand the truth. Agatha liked to claw and hiss, threaten to bite or take an eye out. The reality being, Agatha’s posturing crumbled after an orgasm or two.
They were cognizant of the camera in the corner of the elevator, but couldn’t bring themself to truly care as their ex dripped onto their digits. “C’mon, play nice or I won’t put on the strap when we get to the room.”
Agatha’s head snapped forward, her eyes wide. “You brought your strap?”
With her otherwise distracted, Rio notched their fingers, seamlessly pushing two inside and groaning at the way Agatha’s walls stretched to accommodate the intrusion. “Shit, have you gotten tighter?”
Agatha’s mouth dropped open, a high-pitched squeak emitting. “P- Probably just not used to quality pussy anymore, sweetheart,” she sighed, her voice catching in her throat. “I’m exceptional.”
Her arms coiled around Rio’s shoulders, hanging on as they started pumping. Their room was on one of the top floors, so they had a few minutes, but not enough for Rio to keep playing with their food. They recaptured her lips to muffle the small moans and tiny yelps, not wanting to draw attention to the indecency. Rio had enough patience to wait until they had her bent over to make her scream, and god, how they fucking longed to hear her screams again.
There were numerous occasions where Agatha had to shut Rio down for sex a few days before a performance, fearing she’d lose her voice from crying out Rio’s name. If that contributed to an inflated ego for Rio, so be it. They knew how to fuck Agatha, how to push and when to pull.
“You’re choking my fingers, angel,” Rio muttered, ducking down to nip at her earlobe. Their tongue ran along the shell, their teeth grazing to make Agatha shudder. “Maybe you just haven’t been fucked right since me.”
Agatha didn’t respond with words, but by arching against the wall, mewling as Rio picked up the pace. They dropped their mouth to the pulse point on her neck, scraping their canines over the delicate skin, and curling their fingers at the same time they bit down. They kept their thrusts deep and hard, because Agatha wouldn’t want it any other way. “Tell me I’m right,” Rio challenged. “Tell me that no one can make you feel this good with such little effort. I’ve barely done anything, and you’re shaking.”
“Shut up,” Agatha repeated, her chest heaving.
The elevator was slowing, coming to a stop. Placing their palm against her clit, Rio ground their hand on the next drive. Agatha released a whimper, slamming her head back. “Be a good girl and come for me.”
It took a minute, but with the soft jostle of their arrival, Agatha bit her lower lip as her orgasm ripped through her. The way her stomach clenched, and how her walls fluttered. How her jaw twitched and her brows furrowed, only left Rio wanting more. There was a ding, followed by the doors parting, causing them to pull out and step back. Agatha was flushed, rosy pink coating her cheeks.
“Ladies first,” Rio rasped, motioning for Agatha to go ahead. “Assuming the lady can walk…”
Their ex huffed and puffed up her chest, striding past them as she fixed her skirt. “You’re so fucking annoying.”
Rio followed, resting a possessive hand on the small of her back. Well, just for that, they now planned on edging Agatha to tears. “And yet, all you’re thinking about is my cock buried inside you. Right, cariño?”
Agatha tightened her jaw at the term of affection, the one Rio reserved only for her. When they got to the door, Rio swiped their keycard, stumbling over the threshold, courtesy of a hard shove from Agatha. They recovered quickly, spinning around to clutch her hips and walk them back to the bedroom. “Someone's eager.”
She hastily shucked off her coat and kicked off her heels, shrinking down about four inches. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“How you flatter me,” Rio quipped, reaching the bedroom door. They had planned to throw Agatha down, but their ex got the drop. She pushed Rio flat on their back, straddling them before they had time to react. “Definitely eager.”
“I’m tipsy.” Agatha worked off their suit jacket, then deftly undid their tie, discarding both behind her. “I’m horny.” She then ripped open their shirt, sending the buttons flying. “You’re the closest option. Keep talking and I’ll find a bridesmaid to fuck me.”
Liar, Rio thought but didn’t say.
Even if she claimed the opposite, Agatha was here because she wanted them, not just someone. “You’re making a real convincing argument.”
Agatha shuffled back, appearing starved as she took in the view. “Your abs…”
“Took up surfing,” Rio smirked, flinging their shirt elsewhere. “Did you know it gets you kinda shredded?”
She didn’t answer, unbuckling their belt and sinking to her knees on the floor. “I need you in my mouth.”
“Fuck yes,” they hissed, raising their hips as Agatha tugged down their slacks and briefs in one go. In a split second, Agatha’s tongue pressed against their cunt, flat and broad. There was no preamble, no teasing, Agatha didn’t start gently to warm them up, merely diving in head first like everything else she did in life. “Oh, god, Agatha-”
She let out a hum, the vibrations reverberating through Rio’s person and making their stomach flip. Her hands anchored themselves on Rio’s hips, her nails piercing their flesh as a reminder of who was currently in charge. Agatha’s power was fleeting, it always eventually came back to Rio. They rooted their fingers in her hair, tugging her as flush as possible.
Rio wanted to kick themself for almost forgetting how good Agatha’s mouth felt, wanting to scar the sensation into their nerve endings so they’d remember. Her nose alone was heaven, the way she purposely pressed it against their clit as she slipped her tongue inside them. Reflexively, Rio jerked up, grinding against the bridge of Agatha’s divine fucking nose; it wasn’t just pretty, it had function.
“Mi amor,” Rio quietly whined, gasping as Agatha’s head bobbed. “You feel so good.”
Agatha briefly pulled away, rasping, “You taste good.” She then stuffed her face back between their thighs, this time suctioning her lips around their clit.
Rio grinned at the compliment like Agatha had just told them they were cute, or adorable, or some other asinine shit. To fit back into their old roles, so seamlessly, that had to be a sign, right? Neither of them had changed, so maybe they were still meant to be. In all honesty, Rio wasn’t a marriage person. Rio wasn’t a ‘two kids and a house with a white picket fence in the suburbs’ type of person. Yet, Agatha was miserable, and so was Rio.
What if that was their ending?
Two people, both wholly unfit for a life brimmed with love, living as such.
It was Christmas, and as the snow stuck to the windows, and the wind howled outside, Agatha was warm. Agatha was the same as when Rio had left, and the seasons and time may change, but the two of them hadn’t. So, if Rio wanted to believe that they completed one another, what was the real harm in that?
Rio tensed their thighs together as Agatha lightly scraped her teeth over the bundle of nerve endings, teasing them by flicking her tongue out. While Agatha ate as though it was her right, she loved to make Rio suffer. She loved to withhold and taunt and make them writhe. They couldn’t really argue with the merit, as it did drive them up a fucking wall. They felt themself drip onto her chin; gush against her tongue.
She kept lavishing her tongue, and once Rio was shaking and hyperventilating, Agatha finally sucked their angry clit between those full lips. The two in tandem sent them crashing over the edge, grunting a small noise of ecstasy and arching off the bed. “Mi vida,” they breathed out, pulling her head back as she lapped at them. “C’mere.”
Agatha was on their lap in a split second, colluding her mouth with theirs. The salt on her lips, the slick on her chin, it made them dizzy. Agatha was a special kind of intoxicating, the kind that made a person feel worthy for a night. Rio experienced that for years while they were together, and getting a fresh hit of it was more potent than expected.
Rio slipped the useless straps of her dress down her shoulders, winding their grip around to tug at the zipper on the back. Thank fuck Agatha didn’t fight them, brat at or be difficult just for kicks. Agatha seemed just as feral as Rio, not daring to break contact for even a minute as she awkwardly shoved her dress down her torso.
Hooking their hands under her thighs, Rio swiftly stood and slammed Agatha onto her back, leaving her hair in a halo atop the bed. “Take that off,” they husked, stalking over to their suitcase to fish out the strap.
Listen, they didn’t truly think they were going to get laid at this wedding. Rio didn’t do one night stands often, but they also knew themself well enough to recognize that if they became drunk and sad, sex was somewhat of a viable scenario. And while they were a tad drunk, and most definitely depressed as shit, they were too distracted at the possibility of having Agatha again.
Two years was a long time, a long time to go without her. Without Agatha’s petulant fits, and demanding standards; without her shockingly massive heart, or endearing laugh that carried a tune that Rio would play over internally on especially cold nights. Two years was a long time, and try as they might’ve, Rio hadn’t let go; never would.
Rio turned around once the harness was snug on their hips, breath hitching as they took in the sight of Agatha naked and waiting. The freckles splattered along her chest, carried down to her stomach, and dusted over her thighs–Rio used to drag their finger from one to the other to try and make shapes. Agatha used to giggle and squirm when it tickled, but more often than not found it soothing enough to fall asleep. That was back when she’d shuffled around their shared apartment in Rio’s Spiderman hoodie and boxers, back when Rio would call her and ask if she wanted to do Thai for dinner. It was back when Rio’s life had this sun-soaked filter over it, contrasting with the steely gray of everyday life presently. It was back when Rio went engagement ring shopping, and when Agatha wanted to give Broadway five more years before they considered family planning. It was back when things were good, the way things had been for so long.
Do you still love me?
I still love you.
Will you still love me tomorrow?
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Rio whispered in awe, primarily to themself.
Agatha was tipsy, possibly drunk, because never had a simple compliment, even spoken with such reverence, caused her eyes to become glassy. “Come here,” she quietly pled.
Hypnotized, Rio obeyed. Agatha scooted back as Rio climbed on the bed, stealing kisses as they crawled up until Agatha’s head hit the pillow. They dropped their head down to pepper kisses along her neck, pressing their lips against the hickey now forming from the elevator. That one vein that always stood prominent was still there, and Rio nosed against it, as if to reacquaint themself with it. “I missed you,” Rio repeated, hoping she'd say it back this time.
“Baby,” Agatha huffed, annoyed. “I need your cock.”
Rio clenched their teeth together, swallowing the hurt. They gravitated lower, mouthing over the swell over her breast, before sucking her nipple into their mouth. If only to get their power back in the face of humiliation, Rio bit down enough to get Agatha to yelp. “Turn over,” they demanded, letting her nipple go with a lewd pop. “You wanna be treated like a whore, I’ll fuck you like one.”
Agatha gasped, smirking while her eyes suddenly sparkled with lust. “And here I thought you’d gone a little too soft in your old age.”
“Well,” Rio bitterly retorted. “I haven’t changed a bit, right?”
She rolled over–ass up, back arched, head down, hair splayed–the perfect presentation. “We’ll see. Your strap game might be rusty from all those easily impressed California dykes.”
Rio groped at her hips, tugging her back and teasing the tip of their cock through her drooling cunt. “You sound jealous, sweetheart…”
Agatha mewled as Rio used her own slick to lube up the shaft, how their fingers crooked at her entrance but didn’t plunge inside. “Oh, I have no leg to stand on,” she snidely chuckled. “After all, I think it’s been, what, twenty women I’ve let fuck me since you and I did this-”
Rio, in frustration, pushed their cock all the way to the hilt, bottoming out in one go. Their ex let out a whimper, scrunching her fingers in the sheets. “You were saying?” Rio asked, pulling out, before inevitably sheathing themself back in.
“Rio,” Agatha squealed, deflating as they started a brutal pace. “Fuck! Keep going!”
They smacked her ass, enough to leave the outline of their hand. “Still rusty?”
“Oh my god,” she moaned, slack-jawed. “Oh god-”
Rio drove back in, feeling the resistance of Agatha’s walls greedily sucking them back in. “Feel good?”
“So-” Agatha stammered over the sound of skin slapping. “So good, my love.”
My love.
Rio’s hips faltered, but didn’t stop. “Yeah?”
My love.
Agatha wasn’t aware of what she had just uttered, whining, “Spank me again.”
My love.
They did so, holding the hot flesh in their palm to elongate the sting. Rio’s free hand anchored itself on her hip. “Dirty girl.”
Will you still love me tomorrow?
Rio woke up the next morning to Agatha naked and tangled up next to them, the room still dark from the lack of sun; it hadn’t stopped snowing all night, keeping a blanket of clouds in the sky. Their hand gingerly reached out, tracing over Agatha’s spine, mindlessly connecting the freckles as they had before.
“This one kinda looks like the little dipper,” Rio would laugh, etching over her skin as proof.
And Agatha would giggle and burrow deeper into the safety of their shared bed. “I love you.”
Instead of choking on the memory, Rio hauled themself up out of bed, throwing on a pair of green pinestriped boxers and nothing else. Making pancakes while topless was dangerous, sure. But they were too damn happy to stress over wearing a shirt. Agatha was in their bed, and they’d have breakfast together, and maybe the clarity of a new day would bring a resolution to the one that got away. The coffee was brewed, and the pancakes were almost done, thank god for having a full kitchen in their suite.
Agatha sleepily walked out of the bedroom, wearing her lilac panties from last night, one of Rio’s t-shirts, and some thick socks that they only assumed she’d stolen from their suitcase. “I smell breakfast.”
Of course that’s when the clouds parted, letting in a few fleeting rays of sun. It drenched the kitchen in a warm glow–like in the sunny days.
“Blueberry pancakes,” Rio answered, flipping another as Agatha hoisted herself to sit atop the counter, popping a blueberry in her mouth. “Figured you’d be hungry-”
“And blueberry is my favorite,” she then accused, squinting. “What’s your game, Vidal?”
“I was thinking we could go figure skating at Rockefeller Center,” they casually proposed.
“Like old times?” She raised her brows, lips curled upwards.
“Could be fun, right?” Rio threw a couple pancakes onto the plate, handing it over and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Make up for lost time.”
The clouds shifted, smothering the kitchen in gray once more.
Agatha blinked a couple times, setting the plate down. “Huh?”
“We’ve missed out on all our usual traditions,” they explained, “The holidays and birthdays. Hey, how’s your mom?”
“Dead,” she muttered, jumping down from the counter.
“Shit, we should retroactively celebrate tonight,” Rio smiled, turning off the stove. “I could push my flight back a couple days-”
“No,” Agatha said, resolute. “No.”
Rio knitted their brows together. “No?”
“Shit,” Agatha cursed, storming off into the bedroom.
Rio followed after, being met with a door slammed in their face. “Agatha? What’s wrong?”
There was shuffling for a minute, before Agatha opened the door, clothed in her dress from last night. “Rio, this- this wasn’t…”
Rio tilted their head, waiting for the blow to hit. “What?”
She brushed past them, snatching her heels off the floor and throwing them on. “This wasn’t us getting back together,” she breathed out. “I thought you knew it was just a…”
“What,” Rio said again, louder and more firm. “Say it.”
“A mistake!” Agatha snapped, taking a deep breath. “It was a backslide, a rerun, a rewind. It was both of us alone and single on Christmas, at a wedding with really top notch booze.” She was saying all the hurtful things, but Rio heard the waver in her tone. “But nothing is different between us than it was two years ago.”
“You said yourself that I haven’t changed a bit,” Rio refuted. “We’re still us-”
“Have you considered that is exactly the fucking issue?!” Agatha yelled, hands on her hips. “We haven’t changed! Nothing that broke us the first time is resolved!”
“Then I’ll split my time between California and New York!” Rio shouted, inching closer. “Or I’ll move you out and we can be together on the west coast! There’s plenty of gigs for you in LA!”
Agatha had the audacity to snort at that. “Because a woman joining showbiz in her thirties is notoriously achievable?” She shook her head, deflating. “Baby, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but…I’m not moving, and I’m not asking you to spend half your life on a plane.”
“I’m offering-”
“Don’t! Don’t offer that! I’m not asking you to do that, and you shouldn’t!” She found her coat, shoving her arms through and sauntering over until she stood right in front of them. “Let’s just leave things better than how we found them, hm?”
“Agatha,” they murmured, throat constricting. “I’m giving you all I got.”
Agatha smiled, but it wasn’t one of joy. “Find a nice girl out there, one who actually wants what you want.”
“I don’t want a nice girl,” they sniffled. “I want you.”
She reached out, placing a strangely gentle hand on their own, holding it. “Rio, I want to be more in life than your wife. I want to do more than that.”
“So, what, you’re just gonna keep playing weddings until all avenues have been exhausted?”
“Maybe,” she chirped. “Maybe I get my big break at forty. Maybe I never get it at all.”
“Then, why take the risk?” They blinked back the tears, fighting to keep their voice even. “Why sacrifice us? Why don’t you want me?”
“Because it’s my risk to take, and it’s my failure to endure,” she whispered, wiping their face. “Hon, it’s alright, don’t cry-”
But Rio couldn’t understand how Agatha’s pursuit of glory, recognition, and power trumped them. Rio couldn’t understand that Agatha’s hunger couldn’t be satiated with a good life, rather, the one she built herself—no matter how many cracks in the foundation she had caused.
“I could give you anything,” Rio accused, low and lethal. “Anything in the world. And you deny me, all ‘cause you need to prove something to yourself? What kind of existence is that, Agatha? Aren’t you tired? Hell, aren’t you lonely?”
Blue eyes, that often reminded Rio of an ocean storm, became wet. “That’s really none of your concern, is it?”
Do you still love me?
“I don’t understand how you could stand there, see me pleading, and feel nothing.”
“I don’t feel nothing,” Agatha softly corrected, letting their hand go. “I just can’t let it stop me.”
“I don’t get it,” Rio muttered. “I- I don’t get it.”
She tucked her hair behind her ears, licking the saltwater that had trekked down her cheeks and onto her lips. “You never did.”
I still love you.
Rio crossed their arms, holding themself. “Why does this feel like a punishment?”
“If it is,” Agatha mournfully said. “It’s one for me, not you.”
I still love you.
“Mi amor,” Rio begged. “Don’t do this. I’m asking you to stay. I’m asking to get better.”
She pulled her coat tighter; the decision already made. “And I’m asking you to let me go.”
They never would.
Regrettably, Rio would never let go of this woman.
They’d fucking root thier very being to hers, and perish if she did.
I still love you.
Rio didn’t say a word more, catatonic and frozen in time.
They couldn’t make her stay, couldn’t make her want to work it out, couldn’t force her to stick around while they repaired the damage.
Agatha placed a delicate kiss to the corner of their mouth, whispering, “Merry Christmas, Rio.”
They witness her turn on her heel, and head for the door. Rio watched on as Agatha disappeared, much like she had the night they broke up.
“You want to move?!” Agatha practically fucking roared, ripping the front door of their apartment wide open to storm out. “Go ahead! You’ll be doing it alone!”
And just as they had two years ago, Rio stood and let everything slip through their fingers.
I still love you.
The click of the door was quiet, and final.
The nail in their coffin, the white flag blowing in the wind, the cry of mercy after battle.
Rio could only hope that the next time they saw each other, Agatha was ready to accept their affections, their vows of a life built together—they could only hope.
Will you still love me tomorrow?