Chapter Text
“How was it?” Billy asks, peeking over the back of the couch as Agatha makes her way through the foyer. She shoots him a warning look, eyes flicking to the stairs, but he waves her off with an easy smile. “He’s totally knocked out. I put the white noise machine on.”
Agatha makes a grunting sound of approval and heads straight out of his eyeline and into the kitchen.
“You want a beer?” She calls. He doesn’t reply as she tugs the fridge door open and squints at the contents before realizing with a sense of defeat that she’ll need to check the garage fridge, instead. Dipping out of the heavy side door into the cement-floored space, she ignores the icy coldness seeping through her socks and into the soles of her feet, padding to the opposite wall.
By the time she returns with four beers cradled in one arm, intent on restocking the house, Billy has made himself comfortable at the kitchen island.
“Taking that as a yes,” she mutters, sliding two of the bottles onto the counter and turning her back to him to house the other two in the fridge door.
“This mean you’re going to tell me about it?” Billy asks. She hears the sound of one of the bottles cracking open and turns in time to see him reaching for the second, sweater sleeve pulled down over his palm as a makeshift opener.
“Depends,” Agatha says. “Am I going to have to deal with more third degree from your parents once I do? And speaking of… if a word of this gets back to them, you’re permanently cut off.”
She points to the bottle that he’s picked up for himself, and he grins in a self-satisfied way that she refuses to admit pulls at her heart as he takes a sip.
“Not a word,” he replies, pushing her own bottle closer to her as she joins him and leans against the island opposite him.
“Astounding how you suddenly know how to keep your mouth shut when it benefits you.”
“Permission to speak freely?”
“Shoot.”
“Your fly is down. And your shirt is inside out.”
Cursing, Agatha reels back from the counter and glances down at herself, adjusting the zip of her pants and then considering what the best course of action will be for the shirt. Giving up, she rolls her shoulders and raises her voice slightly to cut through Billy’s snickering laughter.
“I wore it that way on purpose.”
“Sure,” he agrees lightly. “Did Rio appreciate it?”
“We shouldn’t be having this conversation,” Agatha mutters, sipping from her bottle in hopes that the cool drink will break up a little of the unbearable heat on her face and neck.
“Alright, alright,” Billy holds his hands up and leans back on his stool a little, surrendering if only to get her to keep talking. “I’m sorry. Tell me how it went, please.”
Agatha levels him with a stubborn look and then caves, rolling her eyes as she sips from her bottle again to give herself a moment to gather her thoughts.
“It was nice.”
He waits a beat, then leans forward in anticipation.
“...Nice?”
“Yeah,” she replies, a little gruffly, feeling defensive without fully understanding why. “It was nice. Having someone my age to talk to. Someone to talk to that isn’t one of my dickish coworkers.”
“What did you guys talk about?” He presses, unperturbed by her offhanded insult.
“I don’t know. The shop. Work. Nicky.”
“Really?” Billy lights up and Agatha immediately regrets speaking, though she can’t quite pinpoint why; reflexively hackles-up, her specialty. She lets the silence sit between them as she has another sip of her drink; reliably, it prompts him to continue. “I just… she’s new, y’know? It’s nice how comfortable you already are.”
Standing in the middle of her kitchen, having a beer with her underage coworker and wearing pants she thinks she may have to permanently sacrifice to get out of before bed, Agatha narrows her eyes disbelievingly.
Billy smiles brightly back at her and takes a long chug from his bottle as he maintains eye contact with her.
“You all act like I’m a poorly socialized cat.”
“That… isn’t true.” His voice falters, his conviction ruined by the smile that turns mischievous.
Grunting in annoyance, Agatha eyes his mostly empty bottle and turns to the fridge to retrieve another. She slides it across the counter before finishing her own and retrieving the fourth.
“Tell me what everyone at the shop is saying.”
Billy takes the second bottle gratefully, but leaves it sealed as he continues to nurse the last of the one he’s still working on. She’d expected she’d need to prod at him a little more but, ever loyal, he spills immediately.
“Well, Alice’s client from today said Rio said she had some hot new tattoo artist she wouldn’t stop gushing over. And Alice told Jen that she thinks you two have been hooking up since the first appointment. Jen said you weren’t because you were still all wound up.”
Agatha scoffs, and sets her empty bottle in the sink. Billy snatches her next bottle out of her reach to open it for her before she can crack it with her teeth – something she knows he hates, though that’s mainly why she does it.
“Lilia said you’d be dating by Christmas. But then Alice said her client mentioned that Rio might already have moved by then.”
Freezing, Agatha wordlessly takes the bottle as Billy slides it towards her.
“...Really?”
“Yeah. I guess that’s not abnormal for her, though.”
Agatha presses her lips to the rim of the bottle but doesn’t take a sip, inhaling the scent of the cold glass and condensation instead as she rolls the thought around in her head. It’s increasingly apparent that, despite her half-serious attempts to get Billy to mind his business, he’s miles ahead of her in the race to understand all things Rio.
“What else?”
Billy purses his lips, suddenly very interested in the label on his own bottle.
“Billy.”
“Did you know these guys are the oldest brewery in Salem?” He gestures to the line of trivia on the back of the bottle.
“Billy.”
He groans.
“Just that… you’re mean whenever someone brings her up. But whenever she’s around you’re… it’s just nice. Everyone likes knowing she’s coming around because you’ll be in a good mood.”
Agatha feels the blush flood her face but feels entirely helpless to stop it, and forces her eyes down to the countertop instead. She can’t just say nothing; that’s an especially obvious admission of defeat, even if her sparring partner is her junior by decades.
"I don't know what you want me to say," she finally sniffs. "I like her company."
"You don't have to say anything," Billy tells her. She can hear the underpinned meaning there, but doesn't take too much offense. "But, while we're on the topic of the shop... I filled out your convention paperwork. Its on the dining room table – you can bring it to Lilia tomorrow."
Agatha sighs heavily again, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming.
"I'm behind on sketches," she tries.
"You can get them done at the booth. You know people love to watch that stuff, anyway."
"Yes," she agrees, "And it's extremely distracting."
Growing up, Agatha had always hated the brownnosing attention of her classmates, peeking over her shoulders with backhanded compliments like 'wow, you're actually good at that', or requests for free drawings despite very pointedly never having said a word to her otherwise. It hadn't suddenly become fun now that she was older and her peers were adults, too.
“It’ll make Lilia happy,” Billy says, and then, like the manipulative little fucker he is, tacks on, “This is probably one of the last one’s she’s going to, anyway.”
“Jesus,” Agatha breathes, reaching up and rapping her knuckles against the wooden overhanging cabinets. Billy’s eyes widen.
“I don’t mean it like that! I just meant because she’s getting tired of them.”
“She and I both,” Agatha points out.
“Well, you’ve got like twenty odd years on her, so I don’t think you’ve earned the right to be so jaded,” Billy says, his tone haughty and mocking, though he grins as he takes a sip to hide it.
Something in Agatha’s chest warms at that, and she narrows her eyes, but can’t keep the smile off of her own face.
“Oh, you don’t think I have, huh? You’re not even old enough to be drinking that.” She nods to the bottle.
A laugh escapes him as he takes another hasty sip, like she might round the counter and wrestle it away from him.
“And who are you going to tell, exactly?”
Rolling her eyes, Agatha puts both hands up in quiet defeat and then shakes her head in amusement.
“I’m only doing the convention if I can find a last-minute sitter for Nicky.”
“You could ask Rio,” he suggests. “Or do like… a trade off. You’re the one who said trading with your neighbors is becoming a lost art.”
“Yeah,” Agatha scoffs. “For like… goods and services.”
“Babysitting is literally a service.”
“Oh, did you think you were getting paid?” she asks, eyebrows raising. He levels her with an unamused look. While she’d never explicitly handed him an hourly rate, they both knew that he didn’t need to be left as much money as he was for takeout and be told to keep the change every time.
“Whatever.” He slides her his second empty bottle and slips down from his stool. “You’re being stubborn. And I don’t want to ruin that little heart-shaped cloud you floated in here on by pushing it. You win, Agatha. At least for tonight.”
He tugs on his sweater and heads toward the front door, not giving her the proper chance to defend herself from his unfairly accurate observation.
THREE HOURS EARLIER
“Next time, I’ll be better prepared, bed-wise,” Rio says. Agatha considers commenting on her continual presumptuousness, but the air is bitingly chilly around them, and she chooses to retain her warmth by staying quiet and huddled into herself.
Rio fiddles with her keys until she finds what she’s looking for, and wields a pair of nail clippers on a small ball chain triumphantly. They round the last corner towards Agatha’s car and she digs out her own keys as she hears the telltale ‘snap’ of one of Rio’s fingernails being cut down.
Agatha ignores the way her entire body seems to start thrumming at the sound. She hastily unlocks the back seat and climbs inside without another word, squirming onto her back and using her feet to shuffle up toward the opposite door.
“We’re not going to end up on the news, are we?” Rio asks. The sharp snapping sound of a second fingernail being snipped off punctuates her question. She glances down the empty street nervously.
"There's no CCTV," Agatha grits out, shifting back further still until she feels the crown of her head brushing the upholstery of the door panel. She's vaguely, fuzzily aware of how long its been since she's had the car detailed, but can't bring herself to care about the years-old dust she might be transferring into her hair.
Rio crawls in after her feet, grabbing her ankles even though she's already stopped.
"Careful, you'll hurt my feelings if you tell me I'm not the first girl you've lured out here," she says, even managing a convincing pout. Even in the dark, Agatha can make out the way her eyes sparkle challengingly.
"You sure you want to talk about that right now?"
Rio's eyes narrow, and the car jostles slightly as she pushes forward a little more, knee resting against the sideboard of the door.
"So you have," she says, her tone too light to properly convey the unbothered air that she's so obviously desperate to exude. "Good to know."
The last time Agatha had parked here to take advantage of the lack of cameras was to cry hysterically during her lunch break on Nicky's first day of school, but if Rio thinking that it was because she'd been munching box after a single light beer with an irresponsible hookup lit her fire, she was welcome to continue to live in that reality.
The old, crumbling pavement under Rio's weight-bearing foot scrapes against itself, loud in the silence of the otherwise empty street. She rucks up one leg of Agatha's pants and wraps her hand around her ankle, leaning her weight onto her forearm against the edge of the seat. Her free hand gets to work with the laces of her boot when Agatha sits up on her elbows in confusion.
"What're you doing?"
Rio blinks up at her, still unlacing, her fingers around her ankle dipping under the edge of the boot to tickle pleasantly at the skin there.
"...Taking off your boots?"
Agatha shakes her head slightly, eyebrows raising, silently asking the follow-up question which Rio dutifully answers with the same infuriating condescension.
"...So I can take off your pants?"
She falls back again to avoid directly rolling her eyes in the other woman's face.
Clearly taking that as another wordless question, Rio concludes:
"So I can go down on you. There's no way I've misread this."
She chuckles at her own sarcasm, and even Agatha feels the sound pull at the corner of her lip, but she straightens her expression again and gestures impatiently with one hand for Rio to join her in the back seat.
"You don't have to like... undress me. In the spirit of honesty, I'm not sure I'm getting out of these pants that easily, anyway. Just..."
Rio climbs over her, feet dangling out of the open door, and kisses her soundly.
It definitely feels a little out of order to throw such a soft kiss into the middle of everything, especially after the bruising makeout session against the bathroom stall and having already watched Rio cum from down on her knees on the floor, but the carefulness of it drowns everything else out for a blissful moment.
Outside the car, the street lamp buzzes loudly as it lures in and punches the ticket of a moth. Rio lowers her weight, pressing firmly and reassuringly against Agatha's side and chest, arms shaking slightly under the strain of balancing on her tiny sliver of available seat real estate.
"This is okay?"
It takes Agatha a full second to realize she's no longer being kissed and that she's also being asked a question.
"Mm?"
"This is okay? Like this?" Rio drops a little more of her weight onto her, arms steadying. The movement forces a little of the remaining air out of Agatha's chest, and she bites back a pleased sigh at how unexpectedly grounding and relaxing the pressure is.
"You're stalling," she mutters, the arm not trapped under Rio's weight slipping down to grab at her waist and hold her in place. "I knew you were going to just take your nut and run."
The playful goading drags a low rumble between a laugh and a warning from Rio's chest, and all of that slow sweet softness evaporates out of the air between them. The earlier urgency slams back into Agatha's brain like a horny, inhibition-throttling wrecking ball.
"Not a chance," Rio growls against her cheek, before biting at the apple of it harmlessly and working her hand aggressively at the zip of Agatha's pants.
She barely gets them peeled past the bottom of her underwear before giving up on that task entirely and licking her fingers obscenely. Agatha hardly has time to register it, wanting to burn the image into her memory before that same hand vanishes below her panties, startling a gasp out of her from the first touch.
Rio's fingers pause, eyes flicking down to meet Agatha's.
"I'll go slow," she offers, "We don't need to both be embarrassed."
Agatha nods, a little more frantically than she means to. She doesn’t give a fuck about pace or pressure or the definite rugburn the scratchy old upholstery of the Plymouth is going to leave on her ass for days. Rio’s middle finger presses softly – too softly, really – against her clit, stilling when Agatha inhales sharply again. Then, after patiently waiting for her full attention once more, begins rolling an impossibly small circle.
The movement is so minute that it’s almost like she isn’t moving at all, but it’s all Agatha can feel; all she can consciously grasp onto for the next few quiet moments. She’s glad she seems to have a bit of a better sense of control than Rio does, knowing she’s definitely going to be wanting something a little more on the harder, faster, deeper end of the spectrum to finally cross the finish line, but the extra-soft teasing feels so unexpectedly good that she can hardly stand it.
Rio moans into her neck like she can feel it too. Agatha mirrors her as if agreeing, lifting her hips just slightly to try to force the other woman’s touch to stutter. Something; anything to give her a second to catch her breath.
As if she were anticipating it, Rio pulls back just slightly, just enough to keep just the very tip of her finger against her clit with the same steady, almost tickling pressure, and when Agatha whines, she laughs.
Sinking defeatedly back onto the seat, Agatha’s entire world shrinks down to the inside of the car. The only things she has are her establishing rugburns; her stupid too-tight pants constricted around her thighs; the tea tree-tinged scent of Rio’s foundation mixed with something unseasonably summery.
Sunblock, Agatha realizes in the same second that she questions it. Sunblock in autumn in Massachusetts because Rio, who illegally sleeps on a futon above her place of work, is still just responsible enough to remember to wear SPF even when it’s cloudy.
That overwhelming combination of affection and attraction comes surging back into Agatha’s chest with a vengeance just as Rio decides she’s teased enough and swipes three fingers greedily through her folds, the still-long nail of the third one scratching painlessly over the slick surface of her labia and making every muscle in her torso clench up in reaction.
She cries out. Loudly. Loud enough that Rio shushes her softly, eyes flicking nervously down to the open car door by their now-tangled feet. Her fingers still again and Agatha feels a distinct pulse – her cunt protesting the sudden lack of movement and trying to take matters into its own hands.
“Fuck- don’t stop,” she says, trying to sound stern even though her voice doesn’t come out as anything other than a whisper.
Rio shushes her a second time, but she doesn’t have time to be offended before her fingers return to their work, slipping back and forth, parting her labia and brushing against her entrance but never once sliding inside her. Agatha can hear how wet she is, but rocking against Rio’s hand only forces the touch to become massage-like; too firm, borderline soothing in a way that doesn’t drive her nearly as crazy as the earlier clit-teasing had.
Groaning in frustration, she forces her hips to slow to a stop, letting Rio work at her own desired pressure and speed, and she’s quickly rewarded with the other woman taking her now much slicker fingers to her clit again.
The leather around her thighs acts like makeshift bondage, forcing her to keep her legs tight around Rio’s hand when she desperately wants to spread herself open. Her muscles strain hard as she pulls fruitlessly, the tightness in them contrasting sharply with the careful caressing around her clit.
“You actually going to fuck me a-anytime soon?” She grits out, stuttering over a telltale gasping whine when one particular circle edges just enough inwards to let off fireworks behind her eyes when Agatha squeezes them shut.
“I was thinking about it,” Rio replies, though the playfulness in her words is all show, her own breath ragged against the side of Agatha’s jaw. “You were just having such a good time, I didn’t want to interrupt.”
As if to prove her point, she suddenly switches the direction of her swirling, a second fingertip joining in and adding enough pressure that the first warning sign of her incoming orgasm washes over Agatha like a warm wave. She moans approvingly, head dropping back just in time for Rio to mouth wetly down the column of her throat, pressing a little more of her weight against her stomach and chest.
Just as she’s beginning to forgive her, Rio pulls her hand free once more and shifts off of her enough to bring it to her mouth. Glaring with real, sudden anger, Agatha snatches her wrist clumsily, digs her nails into the soft ink lines hard enough to begin to pierce the skin. The movement is too slow and too weak to fully stop Rio from putting her shining digits into her mouth, moaning around them immediately and then sucking all the way down to the middle knuckle.
“Oh, fuck,” she breathes, muffled around her fingers. She ruts hard against Agatha’s thigh and Agatha has to force herself not to move away out of petulant, impatient spite.
She tightens her grip on Rio’s wrist and feels the skin snap under her nails.
“If these aren’t back inside me in the next fifteen seconds, I’m kicking you out and going home.”
Chuckling, pupils blown wide, Rio heeds the warning and sucks at her fingers one last time before unwrapping her lips from them. She nods breathlessly, and Agatha lets go of her with a final warning look. Shakily working her hand back into her panties she tries to explain, voice hoarse:
“Said I’d go down on you but I didn’t know if you were going to make it.”
Warm fingers part her and two slide in easily (index and middle, Agatha notes, how romantic) and the sound of it coupled with the sweet relief forces Agatha’s head back with a sharp, high moan.
“What was I supposed to do if I had to go home tonight without tasting you, huh?” She picks up her pace immediately, seemingly just as out of patience as Agatha was. She latches onto her earlobe and nips, hard enough to make Agatha yelp, and soothes the impulsive choice over by laving her tongue over it, sucking gently in apology.
Agatha had never felt any particular fondness towards too much talking in bed. There were only so many times one could hear a whiny, repetitive ‘I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum’ before the urge to yell ‘THEN DO IT ALREADY’ started gnawing at the back of their mind.
But something about the delirious honesty in everything Rio said, the way that something akin to fear shook her statements as if she was horrified by her own helplessness to voicing them, made an unfamiliar excitement wake up in some part of herself that she hadn’t been aware of in decades.
Between living with her evil cunt of a mother and her angelic, unscarred (thus far) son, Agatha has pretty much mastered the art of bringing herself to orgasm in complete silence, but with the jump between the softness of Rio’s teasing and the deep, stretching sensation of her fingers inside of her, Agatha struggles to keep her volume where it won’t get the two of them in trouble – empty street or not.
She squirms when Rio licks her lips, still close enough to her ear that her tongue flicks over the lobe again and the tickling sensation spreads up from the spot to scatter across her entire scalp when a shiver runs through her.
“God, I want to taste you again but I think hearing you cum is going to be just as good-”
Rio ruts against Agatha’s hip and breaks off her own borderline-babbling with a truly pathetic whimper, and that does it.
“Fuck, Rio, I’m -”
As if it weren’t the most obvious thing in the world, she gives up and clenches her legs around Rio’s forearm, crying out high, and sharp, and long. She can’t remember the last time she let herself actually scream at anything, let alone just needing to vocalize something so good.
Rio moans softly as she pulls her fingers free, lids heavy, teeth almost bared.
“Oh, yeah, better than I imagined.”
Agatha doesn’t have time to react before Rio grabs a fistful of her pants and underwear right at the crotch, yanking hard enough to free another inch and a half of Agatha’s thighs. Just enough, it turns out, for Rio to manage to force her chin into, the material forcing her face directly up into Agatha’s pussy for her to immediately start devouring like a woman starved.
The sudden emptiness left by her fingers is filled by her tongue, deep enough that the barbell sitting halfway through its length worries hard against her oversensitized clit each time she moves.
The sound Agatha makes is somewhere between tortured and rapturous. Both hands fly out warningly, one slamming against the back of the front seat so she doesn’t fall completely into the footwell, the other practically slapping Rio in the back of the head, patting around frantically until she can get a good enough grip on her hair to pull, hard.
Rio fights her on it, moaning straight into her cunt at the pain and opening wider to envelop even more of her between her lips.
“Please, please!” Skipping demanding to fall straight into pleading, Agatha pulls at her hair again, adjusting her grip to try to push her forehead and put some distance between them. She’s horrified to hear her words losing their power as they ride out of her throat on a wave of overstimulated, borderline ticklish giggling.
Dragging her tongue firmly upward as she mercifully slips out of her, Rio lifts her head and resembles a dazed, milk-drunk kitten for a moment before she starts giggling herself.
“Sorry.”
“Jesus Christ,” Agatha breathes, chuckling again though this time in disbelief. She jerks away with a little ‘ah!’ when Rio reaches down and smooths a little of her pubic hair back into place, but it goes ignored.
Popping her fingers back into her mouth, Rio sits up properly and glances around the space curiously, much too casually.
“This is a huge fucking car.”
Closing her eyes to catch her breath, Agatha feels the blood pounding in her head begin to slow a little. She’s hyperaware of how hot she is, surprised that steam isn’t rising off of her skin from the cool air outside of the open car door.
“Yeah,” she agrees, even though her voice sounds far away.
She opens her eyes in time to see that Rio has helped herself to a tissue from the little travel pack of them that had been tucked into the seat compartment. She licks her lips widely, tongue stretched like she’s trying not to miss anything Agatha left on her chin before defeatedly wiping her mouth and balling the tissue up in her fingers.
“You alright?” She asks.
Agatha takes that as her cue to pull her clothes back on, lifting her hips and tugging her panties back up. She forces herself not to wince at the cold contact from her own wetness, reaching for her pants which turn out to be a significantly bigger challenge.
“I’m good,” she promises, huffing in protest when Rio tosses the tissue aside and slides down into the footwell, gripping both sides of Agatha’s waistband and helping her slide them back up.
The combined effort it takes makes a laugh crackle between both of them, the post-orgasm endorphins making Agatha feel unexpectedly light, almost loopy.
Without asking, Rio pushes the bottom of Agatha’s skewed tank top up a little, eyes lit up with curiosity at the sight of more tattoos.
“Hey-” Agatha stops her hand as the material bunches at her navel, quirking an eyebrow.
“Let me see,” Rio insists, chuckling softly and pushing at the material more. Agatha relents, letting it slide up to bunch below her bra, then sits up properly to pull it off entirely. Rio turns, reaching for the door to close it now that they don’t need the leg room, and Agatha takes the opportunity to begin plucking at her shirt, too.
“I want to see this one,” she says, when Rio shoots her a questioning look of her own. She nods to the top of her shirt, where the sprig vanishes down beneath it.
“I bet you do,” Rio replies playfully, though she does sit back a bit and dutifully pull her own shirt straps down her arms, letting the circle of material fall around her waist. She reaches back without an ounce of hesitation, undoing the clasp of her bralette and letting it fall down her arms.
Agatha’s eyes flick from the ink to the small golden balls secured to each of the barbells piercing her nipples, then back up to Rio’s face. She tilts her head, eyes sharpening as she quietly waits – for an opinion, or a question, or even a compliment, Agatha isn’t sure. She looks perfectly comfortable and confident, though, shoulders back and eyes forward.
Turning her attention to the tattoo, she notes the bow in the twine and the tiny berries littered throughout some of the leaves previously hidden by her clothing.
“Is that…?”
“Mistletoe,” Rio confirms.
“You slut,” Agatha scoffs, causing Rio to let out a bark of laughter too loud for the confined space of the backseat. She grins in spite of it, shaking her head as Rio reaches for her and strokes two fingers across the arc of black gothic text over her navel.
“What does this mean?”
Agatha glances down at the Latin as if she’s somehow forgotten what she had tattooed there and would be able to translate it from fluency.
“Uh… repetitio mater memoriae. It’s like… repetition is the mother of memory, or something like that.” When Rio continues to just stare patiently at her, she tacks on, “Push present to myself, once everything was sort of… back in place.”
She gestures vaguely at her midsection, feeling her cheeks growing warmer the longer that Rio looks at her, but is saved from the uncomfortable silence when Rio trails her fingers downward, brushing over the scar tissue above her navel.
“How come you never put any of your piercings back in? Assuming you took this one out for the pregnancy, too.”
She had, but she doesn’t have any real answer to give her.
“Because I’m not seventeen and a slut anymore, mostly.”
Rio scowls and pokes her in the stomach in retaliation, and when Agatha recovers from twisting away with a laugh, she catches sight of the black, dangling jewelry hanging from Rio’s stomach as she pulls her shirt up to show her.
“Well,” Agatha hums, “What did I say?”
Rio goes to prod at her again, but she catches her hand this time, stilling it and letting her flatten it to her flank instead.
“Why dogs?” She asks, brushing over one of the twin tattoos that cover either side of her stomach, vanishing just below her pants near her groin.
“Hellhounds,” Agatha corrects, sighing contently at the attentive caressing that the other woman continues administering, tracing the outline of the nearer flank’s piece.
“Oh yeah?” Rio grins. “‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here’ or whatever?”
“Something like that,” Agatha chuckles, unfolding her shirt in her hands and tugging it back on, forcing Rio to pull her hand back. She tries not to feel too flattered by how disappointed she clearly is, running a hand through her sex-mussed hair.
“Do you need to get home?”
“I should,” Agatha replies, feeling her own sinking sense of disappointment settling in as Rio opens the car door once more and slides out of the backseat into the cool night air. “I’ll drive you back.”
“It’s only a few blocks.” Rio watches her climb out as well, offering her a hand for balance just a little too late for her to take her up on it.
“Don’t be annoying,” she huffs, straightening herself out and reaching for the passenger door, tugging it open and gesturing impatiently for Rio to climb in. She does, and by the time Agatha rounds the car and gets into the driver’s seat she’s acutely aware of how obvious the scent of sex in the vehicle is.
She chooses not to mention it, nor the way Rio’s hand automatically lands on her thigh when she starts the engine as if it belongs there.
