Chapter 2

“Maybe so,” I agree.

At home, I make myself a pot of green tea, then sit down to watch Stranger Things. I haven’t caught up with the new season yet. Now that the schedule and catalog are complete, I have no excuse not to relax. It still feels wrong.

Janeway eyes me from her usual place. She might not be happy with sounds from the speaker, but she decides not to berate me for once. She stretches, then ambles over and leaps into my lap, purring as soon as my fingers touch her neck.

Of course, now, when I finish my tea, I can’t leave to pour more, so I sit quietly, as her Captainship demands, and watch more TV.

When the front door opens, Janeway glares at Lauren, disdains even to look at Mandy, then lays her head back down, paws alternately twitching as she returns to purring.

I pause the show. “Hey, love, would you pour me some more tea?” I ask. “The Captain has declared a red alert, and all crew must remain on station.”

“You let that cat rule you,” says Lauren, with a chuckle. There’s a slight slurring to her speech. The Christmas party effects remain.

“Of course I do,” I say. “This is her house. You and I only live here on sufferance.” I raise my tea cup and hand it to my lover.

“Just want a tea, or a G and T?” she asks, then grins at her own wordplay. “Or a tea and a G and T? G T squared?”

“I think that would only be G and T plus T, not G and T times T,” I say, “but yes, please.”

“Pedant,” she gripes.

Mandy doesn’t follow her into the kitchen, instead sitting on the far end of the couch from me. Her hair, almost grey-blonde, is pinned behind her by a comb, but with two braids descending from her forehead. With her sharp chin and narrow eyes she looks more fairy-like than usual. Except for the lack of wings, and the fact that fairies are not reputed to be over five feet tall.

Boss Janeway isn’t giving me the option to find a CD, so I consider what I have on the media server. Smiling, I locate a playlist. Slow but upbeat music begins, woodwind with low strings.

Mandy frowns and asks what it is.

“Fairy music,” I say. “Bax, Nympholept.”

She gives me a tipsy grin. “Are you saying fairies are nymphos?”

“Not at all,” I say, “it’s just pastoral music. But if the toadstool cap fits…”

“Nice,” she says, dryly. “I’m no nympho, just a frustrated fairy. I did like dancing with your significant other this evening. I thought about keeping her.”

“Like that would ever happen,” interjects Lauren from the doorway. “You lost that chance eleven years ago.” She carries a tray holding three glasses and my tea cup.

“Has it been that long?” Mandy asks. She plucks her drink from the tray before Lauren sets it down. “God, it has, hasn’t it?”

Lauren moves my tea and cocktail to where I can reach them without disturbing the cat. “Admit it,” she says. “You were more interested in the free champagne than your best friend.”

“I was mostly interested in not dancing with the creepy sales guy,” Mandy says. “I know sales guys are pushy, but that was too much.”

“How was your private showing?” Lauren asks me.

“It went well, I think,” I say. “Kathryn wasn’t aware that ‘Flying S’ was mine. They asked good questions. As a prep for Friday, I think it was good. They didn’t hate anything. It seems they’re heading in different directions this weekend. Do you think they’ll make a go of this relationship? It seems that they’ll be under a lot of outside stress.”

“Kat seems to thrive on stress,” my girlfriend counters. “She always complains about it, but she comes through. I am sure they’ve talked it through. Probably endlessly.”

“Shannon’s a blast,” says Mandy. “I should invite her to the cottage, instead. Do you think Kat would mind?”

“That would be a yes,” Lauren replies. “And my best friend isn’t allowed to poach from my other friends, or I’ll have to find a new best friend.”

The playlist has moved onto Bax’s Tintagel. It’s more maritime than pastoral, majestic cliffs and crashing seas, but still invoking fairy. At fourteen, I took a trip to Cornwall with a friend and her family. I fell in love with the castle location and the Arthurian legends. I discovered Bax a few months later, and the tone poem became one of my favorite pieces. I should take Lauren there. I think she’d love it.

The music ends. I’ve been hogging the selection too much lately, but I don’t want to dump the responsibility on either of them right now, while they’re relaxed and chatting. I choose the playlist Lauren just downloaded for me.

Loud guitar blares through the speakers. Janeway’s ears twist backward in horror, and she isn’t even sitting in her place beneath them. I hold the volume down button until the sound is barely audible, then increase it until the volume is acceptable. “Sorry, sorry, ” I say. “I should have expected that.”

“Is that…?” Mandy begins.

“The band you saw last week?” I finish for her. “Lemure. Lauren wanted me to listen.”

“Do you like it?” Mandy asks.

“There’s no screaming, which is a plus,” I say. “I think I can learn to tolerate it. I’m not promising more.”

Lauren leans back against me, so that she doesn’t have to keep her head turned to see Mandy. She reaches back for my hand, then drags it forward and around her belly, playing with my fingers as the two reminisce.

When Mandy stands, Lauren sits up. I carefully ease Janeway onto the floor. Not carefully enough, I suppose, because the cat turns her head to glare at me, then stalks off to the kitchen, her tail perfectly vertical, but twitching at the tip. I wrap a scarf around my neck. “I’m going to watch you get home,” I say.

Mandy sighs, then gives Lauren a brief hug, hugging me too before I follow her out of the door. She stumbles a little in the grass as she bypasses the center table, then calls to me from her front door. “I’m back at my cottage.” I continue to watch until I see the French doors open and close behind her.

Indoors, Lauren has stacked the tea cup and glasses in the sink. Janeway has crunched her cat food, and is already curling up under the speaker. Drawing my girlfriend close, I look up into eyes abounding with love. I hug her close, then lead her by the hand to our bedroom.

Minutes later, we’re side by side under the sheets. The light is off, but the moon is near to full, and the curtains are lit from behind by moonlight, making the room glow more than it does with only the neighborhood lights. I lie on my side, studying the light and shadow of her skin. She turns to watch me watching her.

“Your skin is gleaming,” I say. “I wish I had my camera to hand.”

“I hope you never lose the wonder in your eyes that you have when you look at me,” Lauren says.

“So far I haven’t failed to feel it,” I reply. I pause for a moment. “May I touch you?”

She smiles, tiredly. “Be my guest, but don’t expect a great response. I’m wiped out.”

“If you fall asleep, I will forgive you,” I reply.

Settling under the sheets, I reach out to run my finger over her lips. She smiles, then gives it a quick kiss. I draw my finger down to circle a breast, her nipple soft to my touch, then proceed lower, feeling the short, soft hair of her sex.

She’s dry there, so I move my finger back to my lips, moistening it before stroking her sex. She smiles at the feeling, but shows no sign of arousal. I lick my fingers again, then caress her labia, letting my finger slip inside, where it picks up a little moisture that I can use to continue to stroke the outside.

She is becoming more lubricated. I keep caressing her folds, then curl my middle finger and begin to slip it inside her, keeping my progress slow, and backing out to avoid pushing too far, but little by little, I penetrate her completely.

Her lips have formed an O, and I hear her breathing becoming heavier. I moisten my thumb against her now damp folds, then press it to her upper sex. Rubbing the front of her pussy, just below her clit, with my thumb, and the front wall of her vagina with the finger within her, I keep up a light pressure inside and out. Her breathing grows a little louder. I smile at the audible proof of the effect I’m having on her.

Lauren’s face has picked up a sheen of perspiration. She pushes the sheet lower to cool herself down, and I see that her nipples have begun to swell. In this light it isn’t possible to tell whether her skin is flushed, but I think it must be. Every time she breathes out she’s making a soft sound.

Her belly twitches. I can feel the sudden tensing of her sex on the inside, while her hips jerk and her breasts quiver. She rolls to face me completely, drawing back her lower leg while pushing the upper one forward, her thigh heavy against my hand. Her hips lurch forward against my finger.

I moisten my thumb again, then move it to her clit, which is swollen with arousal. I circle my thumb against it, gently at first, then more firmly as her responses make it clear that she’s welcoming my touch.

She’s panting strongly now. Sometimes she groans out my name. Her thighs begin to thrust against my hand, hard and fast. The feeling she thought she was too tired to have has now become a need.

I don’t try to tease her. I just keep working. She cries out, then gasps, “Don’t stop! Mika…” As if I had any intention of freeing her from her desire for me. There’s a sudden rush of moisture around my fingers as she crosses the peak, the movement of her hips and thighs suddenly becoming uncoordinated. I relax the pressure against her clit and the wall of her sex, while still caressing her until the pulses around my finger subside.

The glow of moonlight shows hair tangled over her cheek, her eyes wide, her face still shining with perspiration. She’s drawn a hand up to her chest as she descends from her orgasmic high. This time I’m not going to wish for my camera. “Don’t move,” I order her, leaping out of bed and trotting naked to the room where I keep my gear.

The Hasselblad has no film, of course. I always unload it after an event, whether the roll is complete or not, so I tear open a new canister of high-speed film – the kind I used for “Flying S,” and use for evening film shoots. The winder is still speeding the film into position as I return to the bed.