It’s just a hug, Anne tells herself. Keeping Amanda steady because they both know how much champagne has been knocked back already, and friends don’t let friends fall on their ass on live television.
I’m so drunk, Amanda whispers, and her breath is warm against Anne’s cheek. You look so pretty.
It’s not even close to the best compliment of the night, and honestly Anne should still be distracted by the pregnancy rumors flying from table to table, but those four words make her light up like a damn Christmas tree, and holy fuck will Moët & Chandon have a lot to answer for in the morning.
You two look like a lesbian wedding, Eddie teases at the second party, because somehow Amanda has decided that she can’t do anything without having at least one hand somewhere on Anne’s body. Right how it’s a loose grasp of Anne’s forearm, which is pretty comfortable and easy to explain, but on the way to the restroom earlier Amanda’s grip was a little less friendly and a lot more ass-grabby, and no matter how utterly cool she is, even Glenn Close raised at eyebrow at that.
Amanda kisses like she acts: she’s precise and thoughtful and brimming over with enthusiasm. Anne wondered before the limo, before their lips first met and the whole pretense came crumbling down, if this would feel different now there’s a ring on her finger; she’s neither surprised nor disappointed to find that it doesn’t feel any different at all.
It’s still exactly what she wants, more than all the things she’s been pretending to want so much more. This is how it felt with Emily, with Kate, and too many other faces she can’t always remember the names of, on the nights of did you know you look just like that actress….
Annie, Amanda murmurs against Anne’s collarbone, thrown closer by the bend in the road that says they’re climbing higher in the Hills now.
I don’t even know where you live, Anne admits, her voice little more than a husky whisper after a night of talking and talking and drinking and talking.
It’s not as nice as your place, Amanda looks shy then, and though there’s only a year or two between them, Anne feels every bit the older woman.
I’m sure it’s lovely, she says, with what ought to be a reassuring smile. To make sure the point hits home, she lets her hand repeat its journey under Amanda’s flowing skirt, teasing lightly with the fingernails she painted earlier.
It’s everything it’s supposed to be (although the first time, they don’t quite make it to the bed in Amanda’s pretty, warm-toned bedroom). Dresses pool on the tiled floor in puddles of silk, cream against ivory, and killer heels are kicked off with mutual sighs of relief.
Stay, Amanda pleads, when they’re naked under rumpled sheets and Anne starts to edge away. I mean, I know you have to get back to him, but give me the whole night?
If only it were that easy, Anne thinks, pulling away again and getting out of bed on still trembling legs. She picks up her clothes with eyes averted and cheeks flushed, feeling Amanda’s eyes on her the whole time.
There’s a coat by the front door, Amanda sighs a moment later. It’s cold, so you should take it.
Anne smiles at the needless generosity, and fishes her phone out of her clutch. Thank God she had the presence of mind to hand the Globe off at the party, it’ll be waiting for her at home already.
I had a really lovely time she says, instead of goodbye.
She doesn’t want to think about how much she means it.
“Oww! Shi – shoot.” Emma hissed as she once again jammed herself in the finger with a needle.
Henry, for his part, tried – and failed – to stifle his giggles, which caused Emma to toss some of the popcorn that she was supposed to be stringing at him instead. He plucked a few…
|pleaaaaaseee write anothe white swaaan pleaaaaseeee mooooaaaarrr!|
Title: Wants are the Locks
Pairing: Emma/Mary Margaret
Spoilers: set during 1x03 ‘Snow Falls’.
Summary: someone requested: sex in the car, Emma happens upon MM after her disastrous date with Dr Whale
Warnings: incest, even if MM is unknowing and Emma is in denial.