Fan-Fiction Story

You’re My Cocktail

She whispers her sorrys against a stretch of golden skin, her grin revealing her insincerity.

Under the blankets, their breath becomes steam and warms her chest like inhaling sulphur. Their sweat boils and their giggles turn conspiratorial. Elbows catch in sleeves, knees slide against seams, eyes grow heavy with mischief. Under their blankets, they birth love in secret.

“Make room,” Jun whines, slinking closer. Her complaints are meaningless. She burns and leaks, she hushes and hisses. Her mons speak for her instead.

“Sorry,” Gee teases, bending and folding and covering all of Jun’s softness with her own.

Jun is not a mystery. She is difficult to be with and she is difficult to be without. She isn’t a treasure, but she glitters like gold and shimmers like fairy dust. She isn’t smoothed out like her curves, her demands are too many and her expectations too high. She isn’t special and she isn’t perfect: like everyone else she laughs and she weeps and she hums and she plays… she exists. But Gee can’t resist her. Jun is not a goddess, she holds no control over other mortals. But Gee worships her every flaw and adores her every mistake. Jun is no queen, but Gee gives up the throne of her heart for the other to rule over. Jun is nothing more than a woman with two arms and two legs, but Gee constantly wants those arms and legs to clutch around her. She wants them over anything else in the whole world.

Jun is not special, but she makes Gee happier than she has ever been.

When her fingers snap a bra strap open with too much force and produce a complaining hiss, she apologizes with laughter. When her teeth drag over sharp collarbones and are met with a whimper, she repents with wet kisses. When her nails dig into wide hips and are wordlessly begged for more, she begs in return for forgiveness. It is a carousel, a circular game without an end—her remorse is empty and her mistakes are full. So full, some of them drip out in the space between their bodies and tie them together in clear  strings of sticky happiness.

When they lie by the riverside and watch the stars, and she doesn’t offer her arm for Jun’s head, she is sorry. When they dance in the kitchen while a lazy dinner boils in a pot, and she accidentally steps on Jun’s foot, she is sorry. When they’re playing jenga and she makes the choice to move a piece that leaves the whole thing teetering precariously for Jun’s turn, she is sorry.

She says sorry a lot, but she is not really sorry. Far from it.

She is prideful, that Jun lies beside her, that Jun plays the fool with her, that Jun laughs at her silly jokes. She is gratified by the reflection of the two of them brushing their teeth together every morning, every night. She is like an overweening child when they exchange clothes from each other’s closets. She smiles smugly when Jun takes selcas of them to post on her insta, for the whole world to see. She is a vainglorious woman because Jun chooses her, again and again, over all the other kinder smarter prettier women she could have her pick of.

As they catch their breaths under now-sweltering blankets, Gee touches her damp fingers to both their lips in turn, and says sorry. But what she really means to say is I love all of you.

This story was about: Gender Identities Lesbianism Sexuality

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Vi. 30. Ace. His walls may still stand a hundred feet tall and unyielding, his sentries may still keep their guns trained on possible intruders. His gate may be locked shut and his moat may be filled with beasts that could tear Jinki to pieces should he so much as dip a toe into the black depths. But everything else that makes Kibum has fallen to pieces. His indomitable fortress protects nothing. There is no one to save and no one to keep alive. He is completely emptied. He belongs completely to Jinki.

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