“Maybe it’s just for us.”
Dahlia caught their eye and had to look away.
Suddenly, Dahlia really couldn’t breathe.
Oh god.
She had known this for a while, probably. Maybe she didn’t know it the last time they were out here in this courtyard, but at some point after that. Maybe the first time she’d actually pressed her lips to theirs. Maybe that morning in the shower, after the food sex. This weekend, probably, when they’d gone to bookstores and museums and London had gotten a slight sunburn and she’d been happier than she could ever remember being.
But right now, as London took a step toward her and she could already anticipate how their lips were going to feel in a few seconds, she knew. When London had asked her, a few minutes ago, to tell them things, anything that bothered her, she knew they meant it, and she knew she wanted to tell them. Anything and everything. When London had told her about their dad, she felt an urge to protect London with her life, to battle anything that ever caused them harm.
Because she loved them.
London pressed her back against the concrete wall, her bare shoulders scraping against its cold, unforgiving surface. She was wearing a loose summery dress, navy dotted with small light purple hearts. Sleeveless and high necked, a small ruffle around the collar. She had her hair up; the ruffle didn’t work otherwise.
This dress wasn’t tight and revealing like the black one had been, last time they’d been here, but Dahlia still felt pretty in this one.
She knew London always thought she was pretty. But it felt better when she felt it, too.
London leaned down and claimed her mouth. Her lips parted automatically for them, wanting to be claimed. Wanting London to swallow her whole.
London’s mouth moved to her hairline behind her ear, their hands traveling up the outside of her thighs. Dahlia gazed over their shoulder at the hazy sky, orange hues blasting through the purple and pink. A picture-perfect smog-enhanced twilight. It blanketed the courtyard in warm light, making even London’s pale skin look golden. Their hair shone like fizzy champagne.
“London,” she said, her voice strained. “Can you fuck me hard and dirty? Right here?”
They lifted their head to look down at her.
“Yeah,” they said after a moment. “I can do that.”
The breeze kissed the skin of her thighs as London shifted up her dress with their palms. It was still warm, even though the sun was almost gone, that warmer-than-it-should-be late-summer evening feeling, heavy and intoxicating.
Dahlia sighed as London’s fingers smoothed over her underwear once before yanking them down completely, and Dahlia barely had a second to kick them off before London was pushing her back against the wall again, pushing their lips into hers with bruising force, while their hand slipped back under her dress and found her clit.
She moaned against their lips. She wanted this to last forever, hoped against hope that if London just fucked her hard enough, this sensation could somehow solve things. Sex felt easier than talking, than telling the truth.
Because the real truth, Dahlia knew, hiding right underneath the surface like a sad, slow song, was that no matter what happened next, one of them would be leaving soon.
And maybe they were both too scared to talk about it.
Dahlia preferred this truth: the way London’s hands always knew exactly where to go, the way their mouth always unlocked her favorite sacred spaces.
As if hearing her thoughts, London moved their lips to her neck and shifted their fingers until they were inside of her, two digits sharp and deep. Dahlia sank down onto them, shoving her body closer to their hands.
“I love how wet you always are for me,” London breathed into her neck, while their thumb found its way back to her clit.
She groaned, head falling on to their shoulder. “That’s good. Keep talking like that.”
Dahlia tried to focus on how exciting this was. They were outside, in public, the sounds of the street just beyond the courtyard walls loud in her ears, the unlocked door back to the ballroom and the hotel literal inches away. Dahlia had never done anything like this before. There was also the fact that London was fully clothed. While her dress was hitched up around her waist at the moment, Dahlia essentially was, too. She knew London was going to get her off and that it was going to be good, all while they wore those skinny jeans and that faded lavender T-shirt. Dahlia didn’t quite understand why this was so sexy, but it was.
London paused, withdrawing from her, stepping back an inch.
“Is it possible for you to move up a bit? The angle isn’t right.”