sorrowandsorrow | Closed Post: The Three-Date Rule

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Closed Post: The Three-Date Rule

Maybe it's some kind of character growth, or something, that Janet can admit to herself she's a little bit nervous. It's embarrassing, but it would be stupid to pretend otherwise. It's also bizarre, because she hasn't been nervous about a date since she was a first year at Brakebills and Sebastien from the five-zillion-generations-of-magic family asked her out. (He turned out to be a dick. Quelle surprise.)

Anyway. The point is, she's kind of nervous, because Susan is meeting her here in T-minus not that many minutes, and this is undeniably date number three, and Janet's not supposed to give a shit about how it goes, but she can also admit to herself that she really wants it to go well. She blow-dried her hair, for Christ's sake. That was the first blow-dryer she'd seen in years, but apparently the mansion could tell she needed one. She's still in jeans, but they're nice ones, dark wash and everything. Her blouse is wine-red and off the shoulder. Basically, she's taken the whole date night thing to heart.

She's in one of the nicer lounges, one with some atmospheric exposed brick and expensive-looking furniture. There's a bottle of what she's about ninety-seven percent sure is real Fillorian wine on the table in front of her, along with two clean and empty wineglasses. There are no words on the label of the bottle, but there is a sigil of two rams' heads, which makes her irritable and nostalgic at the exact same time. Her legs are crossed, ladylike as hell, and her boots are freshly polished.

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Susan shivers, and then uses the leverage she has now to push off of the bed, rolling them over so that she's the one straddling Janet. Her hair falls over her shoulder and tangles between them; she pushes it out of the way and starts kissing her way down Janet's throat.

"Whoa." Janet laughs, not mad about it but surprised, and tips her head back to encourage those kisses. She's still for a second, just letting it happen; then, she sets her hands at Susan's hips, books her thumbs into the waist of her underwear, and starts to work it down and off of her.

It's easy enough to shimmy out of them with Janet's help; Susan kicks them free and they flop off the bed and onto the floor. Susan leans in to kiss Janet again, once, fierce and sharp and with a hint of teeth, and then sits back on her heels so she can work Janet's underwear off, too. These meet her own on the floor.

"Look at you," she says, somewhat breathless. "Gorgeous."

Janet looks up at her with a wide smile, stretching her legs out as if finally freed of some kind of confining prison instead of just a regular pair of panties. "I think I already said takes one to know one. You're making me run out of one-liners."

"No more one-liners?" Susan fakes a considering sort of expression. "That's rather a deal-breaker, isn't it?" But as a counterpoint to her joke, she runs a hand down the outside of Janet's thigh, and then back up the inside. Her touch is light and teasing, and she slows it down the higher she moves her hand.

"Hm." The lightness of Susan's touch makes Janet shiver. "I guess I'd better take what I can get, then," she says, and she reaches down to take hold of Susan's hand and guide it right up between her legs, where she's been wanting it.

Susan immediately stretches out next to Janet again, slinging one leg over Janet's thigh, kissing her. She tucks her fingers up where Janet has guided them, stroking, chasing the heat and the wet there. It's aimless for now; she's curious about how Janet will let her know she wants a more purposeful sort of movement.

For a little bit, Janet lets Susan's hand and fingers drift, the ghosts of possible pleasure enough to sustain her as she answers Susan's kiss with her own, almost languid but no less heated for it. It's easy to fall into this, Susan's tongue against her own, and maybe she should savor it all for longer, given how heroically long they held out to get here -- but fuck it. Before too long, she reaches for Susan's wrist, slips her fingers down until she's grasping two of Susan's, and guides them inside herself.

Ah, and there it is, that slick warmth snug around Susan's fingers. It's been an age since Susan had a woman like this, beneath her, and Susan immediately switches tactics, delving deeper, as far as she can go, getting the heel of her hand flat against Janet's clit. She tugs Janet's lower lip between her teeth, a gentle bite that's a striking counterpoint to the firmness of her touch. She's missed this, she realizes. Janet is more sharp angles than soft curves, but Susan's difficulty speaking of lying with women is merely an issue of communication, not one of action. Actually lying with women is deliciously easy. Craveable. She likes the feeling of Janet's body against hers, the way that she's hot and open under Susan's mouth and her fingers. She lets the tenor of the moment shift, and moves with the urgency swelling between them.

Susan's a force to be reckoned with, which is something Janet's known almost all along, but now all of that's turned on her. She grips the back of Susan's neck again, fingers tight, and rolls her hips into the weight and pressure of Susan's hand, and kisses her with searching fervor.

Susan responds in kind, propping herself up on her elbow, her hand lying against the side of Janet's neck, fingers curled in on themselves, a hank of Janet's hair tangled in them. She keeps her other hand steady, drawing her fingers back and then pushing them back in again.

Janet's still relatively quiet, but every time their mouths slip apart for a second, she can hear her own breathing, harsh and getting faster with every sure, purposeful movement Susan makes. She fucks the way she does archery, which is a thought that makes Janet's fingers grip tighter at her neck, coiling into Susan's hair at the same time.

Susan goes with Janet's grip, moving in closer, maintaining that consistent rhythm and pressure with her hand. Gradually, though, she starts to readjust her angle, so that she can replace the heel of her hand with her thumb and start working Janet's clit in small tight circles.

"Fuck," Janet says on a laughing, shuddering exhale. "Yeah, okay, that--" Susan's thumb, still so steady and assured, strikes the precise angle she wants, and she swallows a breathless little sound. "Right there. Stop and I'll hex you into oblivion." They don't even have hexes in Brakebills magic.

"Well, I shouldn't want to be hexed," Susan laughs, but the laugh is a breathless one, and she's more focused on the look on Janet's face and the way her own fingers are starting to prune. She sucks her lower lip between her teeth in concentration, and then decides to put all of those things to better use and starts sucking a mark onto Janet's collarbone, instead.

There's probably more banter somewhere in the ether, something Janet could use to prove how amazingly fucking clever she is, but with the bite of Susan's mouth on her clavicle, she forgets all of it. Susan's relentless. Usually Janet's the relentless one, but maybe she could get used to this, actually. The pleasure crests, her thighs and the hand in Susan's hair going taut, and she curls herself tighter around Susan as she comes around her fingers with one little muffled groan.

Susan lifts her head, but doesn't move her hand. "Are you a one-and-done sort of woman, or shall I keep going?"

Janet shudders with the continued pressure of Susan's hand. "Like hell am I going to stop you, but I wouldn't have pegged you for being so selfless."

"Oh, I'm not," says Susan, who has been carefully ignoring her own arousal while focusing on Janet. Now that it's been mentioned, she can feel just how slippery her thighs are growing, so she rises a little and slings her leg over Janet's thigh so she can feel it, too, careful not to dislodge her hand in the process. Fibbing through her teeth, she adds, "I'm just ever so patient. They say good things come to those who wait, you see."

"Oh, sure." Janet laughs, pressing her thigh deliberately up into that wet heat. "You're like a fucking saint." She rocks her own hips again and sighs with it. If Susan's not moving her hand, she might as well take advantage.

"Saint Susan the Enduring," says Susan, grinding down against Janet's thigh and then lowering her mouth to one of her breasts, so she can feel the shape of it against her tongue.

There's another low sigh, the looseness of one orgasm and the promise of another making Janet a little easier, a little less self-conscious. She slides a hand down to tuck against Susan's again, adding her own firm pressure. "The bards are going to go crazy over you."

Susan's lips quirk at that, but she's far too engrossed by tracing Janet's nipple with her mouth and then nipping it lightly with her teeth to respond.

Right on cue, Janet's breath stutters, subtly but obviously enough. Her grip on Susan's hand tightens, enough to shift the angle of it a little so she can keep grinding into the touch there, this time directing it more herself, just using the fact of Susan's palm and fingers.

Again, Susan's lips quirk. She lets her hand be moved, making note of the way Janet positions it for next time, and starts moving her fingers more deliberately, with a faster rhythm than before. Liking the way Janet's breath catches very much, she half-kisses, half-bites her way across Janet's chest to her other breast, so she can attend to it, too.

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