Jo/Camille comment fic round up
These are three different comment fics. Of course, since it's me, they aren't really comment-fic length...
Title: Learning the Ropes (Of Your Body)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jo doesn't quite understand her cues, but she's glad to take them when they come her way. Total fluff.
Author notes: written for shisou_eimin
Jo can't exactly figure out what Camille is glaring about. But she knows that it's something, and she knows that she it is going to make her life harder. It always makes her life harder when Camille gets that demanding look in her eyes.
Jo simply acts like nothing is happening and flicks her eyes back to the TV. It's something Camille is loving right now, Extreme Runway: Semi-Aquatic Edition or something like that. Jo could personally care less. She doesn't understand why "high fashion" translates to clothes that no one can wear anywhere without toppling over and dying in a sprained ankle and taffeta related disaster. But Camille loves it, and Jo doesn't bother to say anything. Jo has learned to pick her battles because Camille is really very good at making Jo's life much, much harder and less pleasant if she wants to.
Jo turns back to Camille while commercials played on the TV. Jo didn't see herself needing to find a contraceptive method in her near future, so he current ad was completely unnecessary. Camille is still glaring at her.
"What did I do this time?" Jo groans.
It's not that she ever does anything, as much as she forgets something that she is supposed to be doing. It wasn't like she had a lot of experiences dating girls, and Jo was learning that they seemed to require a bit more upkeep than dating boys had. Though, it was definitely better in a lot more ways.
Like, how Camille was stretching over the couch and her dress was reaching up higher on her thighs baring pale, soft skin. Or how Camille was just barely grazing Jo's hip with her toes.
"Nothing," Camille whispered, half-annoyed and half-flirtatiously.
"Oh!"
Camille laughed at Jo,"You are so slow sometimes, Josie."
But before Camille can make too much fun, Jo is kissing traces of kisses down Camille's neck and sucking on the spot on her collarbone that makes her hum.
"I thought," she whispers between kisses, "that you loved this show."
"I do."
"Then why are we doing this?"
Jo feels like the last eight months have been a whirl of confusion and Camille and soft hair and making an idiot of herself.
"Because I love you more. Why? Do you want to stop?"
"Oh, God no." And she is throwing Camille's dress across the room and pinning her to the couch.
"Wait?" she peaks up from Camille's jaw, "you love me?"
"Of course. Don't you love me?"
"Camille, I've loved you since I met you."
"I know. I've known since before you did."
And Camille is winding her hands through Jo's hair, and Jo is burying her head in Camille's breasts.
There are somethings that are definitely better about girls.
Title: Play Me a Song, Let It Ease My Pain
Rating: strong PG-13/light R
Summary: Camille and Jo are living in their new apartment. Jo can't make her house her home. Camille always has a few tricks up her sleeve.
Author notes: written for folkloric_feel
Jo stood in the weirdly large, bare apartment with her hands shoved into the back pockets of her jeans. The wood floors were cold on her bare feet and the morning breeze was harsh on her face. Camille must have opened them before she'd left for her audition to let the smell of paint dissipate off of the walls.
The sun fell in on her feet and across the walls, painting shadows and lighting the spots where her new world was empty.
The apartment had looked so much bigger when all of the old renter's furniture was gone. They had moved some of their own things into the space, but Camille was so into art now that she'd decided that nothing was useful if you could make art or have sex on it. "If it doesn't have a purpose," Camille had said the night before, "it doesn't belong in my house."
Jo laughed when she said it and nudged the floor with her sneakers. Then she said, quietly-- self-consciously-- "What about me? I don't have much of a purpose."
Camille's eyes had softened over her whole grain udon noodles. "Of course you have a purpose, Josie," she touched Jo's cheek softly. Then she smiled like the elven child she was, "I can have sex on top of you. Of course you belong in my apartment."
--
Jo had laughed like it was the greatest joke in the world that day, but now she wasn't sure if it was even a little funny.
Camille had always been the character actress. She'd always been working on trying to get the little idiosyncrasies of people down. Camille was trying to get the ugly and the beautiful out of people. She was always trying to expose it to the world.
Jo had always spent her time playing the perfect girl. Sometimes she was the girl next door that the geeky boy had been in love with forever, or sometimes she was the bitchy chick. But it always played off of her looks, no matter the part. She was pretty sure that she'd never done real acting, not a day of her life. (Except that some days she was sure that acting was all she had done for her first sixteen years.)
Now, making Jo feel even more inadequate, Camille had decided to become an artist. Acting wasn't "enough anymore," she'd said, practically bouncing around the restaurant as she told Jo and all of her friends for the first time, "to consume my entire creative identity. I can't express all of my social outrage through acting alone. How am I supposed to show my desires for the community, if I don't create art."
Jo's heart had exploded as she listened. This was her girl-- all social concerns and greater good. Jo couldn't help but be proud, even if she was a little miffed about not getting any advanced warning about the announcement. She couldn't even help but blush when Camille mentioned the big fat role that Jo was going to have and how she'd be a household name.
"Yeah," she slammed a kiss on Jo's cheek, "I don't even have to worry about being a starving artist. I got myself a sugar mama right here."
--
But that happy moment felt so long gone. All of the happy moments felt gone to Jo in that minute. She couldn't feel anything but the weight of the empty apartments or the damp smell of the paintings on the floor.
She was all alone because she didn't deserve this girl she had. She was all alone because her apartment was too big, just like Camille was too big for her.
But just as she was feeling her most self-pitying, the door slammed open. Camille came riding in on an baby grand piano rolled by two hulking men.
Camille had pulled a lot of ridiculous stunts since Jo'd met her, but this was definitely going to take the cake.
"Thanks boys," she said, hopping off once they'd put it in place. She walked over to Jo and wrapped herself around her body. She kissed Jo soft on soft lips.
"Camille, what the hell is this?" she's laughing over herself.
"You play, don't you? I hear you sing all the time," the tables are turned and she's awkward and shy now, or at least as much as she's ever been, "and I just... I thought you might like to make something too."
--
Jo is fiddling with the keys after dinner that night. She caresses them like a baby's cheek, like Camille's breasts. She can almost hear something beautiful. She can feel it surging through her body, like she is alive, when Camille comes up behind her and kisses her neck, soft and sweet.
Her moans are mixing in with the clang of the keys.
"Not only," Camille says wickedly, "can you create. It lives up to the other expectation too."
And she's hopping up on top of the piano again, and Jo can't even imaging what she is doing anymore. But there is a beautiful writhing girl atop her piano, and Jo is not going to let the opportunity to suck beneath her thighs fly away out of the fluttering curtains.
--
They are lying, sweaty and panting and tired, under the shelter of the piano. They are clinging together, and they're naked. This was the way, Jo knows, that they were born. This is how they will die.
Jo plans to spend as much of her time as she can this way in between the bookends.
"I felt," she is raking her hands through Camille's new cropped hair, "so alone this morning. But not now."
Camille kisses her, "Stick with me, kid. And you'll never feel lonely again."
Title: Chain Your Heart Up
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Jo is a control freak. Camille makes it her duty to try to change this. Or at least manipulate it to her advantage.
Author notes: oh god, i wrote porn, i'm sorry written for folkloric_feel
"No. Camille. Don't smush them against the bottom of the bowl like that. You'll make a big mess."
Camille is practically covered in flour and sugar and white chocolate, and she isn't even sure why she agreed to this, except that Jo asked. It looks like an elephant ran through their kitchen, and she's relatively sure that every single pan was dirty. Jo is the only thing in the room that looks clean and pure and lacks cake smudges.
"If I never see another cake pop in my whole life, it won't be too soon," she pouts, pouring sprinkles on top of the pops that Jo has pressed into a Styrofoam block.
"You love cake pops. Besides," she says, taking the sprinkles out of Camille's hands and decorating them herself with an irritated expression, "they're Kendall's favorites and it's his birthday."
"Why do we have to make your ex-boyfriend birthday gifts?"
"Because he's my best friend." She laughs and kisses Camille on the cheek. "After you of course. And, he took the whole 'leaving him for a woman' thing very well.'"
"Yeah. Because he likes di--"
"Camille! Be nice."
Camille thinks about how it isn’t mean it’s just a fact. Kendall is as gay as… well, as gay as every other person in the Palmwoods. Instead of saying anything, she swirls more pops in chocolate, "Fine. But I don't have to be happy about it."
Jo pulls the pop out of Camille's hands and does it herself.
That is the final straw.
Camille makes a sound a lot like an upset mule and rolls her eyes. She throws down the baked goods in her hands and walks out of the room.
Jo grabs her around the arm before she can get anywhere.
"Camille, what's wrong? I don't have any feelings for Kendall. Why are you being so ridiculous about the whole thing?"
"Jo. Don't be an idiot. You could as soon as be romantically be involved with a man as you could a platypus. I just can't do this anymore,” she says, gesturing to the cake disaster. “I don't know why you ask me to do things if you don't actually want my help!"
"Because I like your company." She pauses and takes a self-conscious breath. "But I like things my way."
"Oh trust me. I know you’re a control freak. I’ve had sex with you, it would be hard not to notice."
Camille wishes, a lot of the time, that her brain worked a lot slower, or at least that it checked things with her before they flew out of her mouth. As Jo looks wounded and shocked, Camille becomes fully aware that this definitely one of those times.
Tears are forming in her eyes, and Camille feels like the biggest idiot in the entire world. Jo sinks down into one of the dining room chairs and buries her head in her hands. Her shoulders shake, and Camille feels like the bites of cake she stole are about to work its way back up. She goes to Jo and sits in her lap, wrapping her arms around her.
"Baby, I’m sorry" she whispers. "Shhh. I didn't mean it, Josie. I was just being an idiot."
"You think I’m going to believe that it wasn’t true? You think I'm an idiot, Camille?" she asks through her tears. She pulls her head up. "You never say anything that isn’t true. I know that I am a control freak. I just-- I can't help it. I try not to be, but that doesn't change anything."
"Josie," she says sweetly, kissing tears off of her face, "don't cry. Please? Just. Don't cry."
Before tears can start in her own eyes, Camille hops off of Jo's lap and runs into her closet to fetch something hiding in the back.
She comes back to Jo, who is drying her face off with kitchen rags and sleeves.
"Josie. We're gonna break through this, okay?" Camille says, kneeling down on the floor next to her. "But you have to listen to me. And," she drops her voice to a low growl, "you have to do exactly as I say."
Jo's voice is trembling, and she looks like she might cry some more, but she mumbles out a confirmation.
Camille smiles like the cat that ate the canary and pulls two pairs of sparkling silver handcuffs out from behind her back.
Jo's voice finds its strength again when she sees them. "Where the hell did you get those?"
Camille chuckles about making Miss Prim and Proper curse. She shrugs as she says, "Stole them from the set of Junior Law: LA. It didn't really last long, as a series."
"I wouldn't think so."
Camille clicks her tongue. "Now, Josephine, none of that. You're going to have to do exactly as I say. This is all about you, okay?" she spoke in soft tones like she was talking to a frightened fawn as she stepped behind Jo and tied a silk scarf around her mouth, effectively keeping her quiet. "But you've got to let me take care of you, just this once. Please,” she set her for head on the knotted vertebrae on Jo’s back and said, her voice cracking at the edges, like some dammed up emotion was about to break lose, “just let me take care of you this one time.”
She gathered herself together and moved to kiss Jo on the top of her pretty eyebrows. Jo grabs around her hips, moving them closer together.
Camille steps back and smiles, “No, no, Josephine.” She holds Jo’s wrists together behind her back with one hand and starts to unbutton Jo’s blouse, exposing a lilac bra and a ribbon of tanned skin. Camille pushes the extra cloth off of Jo’s thin, broad shoulders and sinks her lips into the soft depression at the base of her neck, leaving a smudge of berry lipstick. She’s reveling in how Jo’s body is relaxing into hers, just starting to roll and push at the hips.
But it’s much too early for that, and Camille is wiping her hands-still messy and covered in cake-gently up and down Jo’s sides, tickling her ribs softly and making her squirm. Camille nibbles Jo’s bare ear lobes while she undoes the clasp of her bra, and Camille thinks that she will finally be able to get Jo completely undone. But the soft sound of lace and padding hitting the floor mix together with the mechanical noise of handcuffs locking mix together with Jo’s moan, and Camille does not know what else she could ask for, because she could get off with nothing but sights and sounds of Jo.
The weight of the cuffs is sinking Jo’s shoulders down, but her breasts sit on her chest and rise and fall only slightly with the movement of her terrified and excited breathing. Camille thinks that maybe, someday, if Jo wants to teach her something in this way, that Jo should teach her patience and moderation, but today is not that day. Camille’s mouth practically jumps to Jo’s small breasts, getting lost in the way they taste just like Jo should and feel like nothing else. One hand works a circular rhythm into a berry brown nipple and the other fumbles with the buttons on Jo’s inexpensive blue jeans.
“God,” she laughs, “Josie, if you could just wear skirts, this would be so much faster.”
But before she knows it, because Camille can’t learn to pace herself, because Jo-until eternity runs out-will be able to drive her out of her mind with just one flutter of her eyelids. Jo is lying naked on the floor, hands bound to two different cabinets. Camille is sitting in the middle of her spread legs, carefully running a gentle finger up and down her thighs, working outside to in.
Jo is moaning around the cloth in her mouth, worming her hips to try to get anymore of Camille’s touch, aching for relief. Her eyes look dark and angry, like if she weren’t bound, she would be strangling Camille instead of begging for any touch.
Camille is sitting, fully clothed but feeling the wet spot in her dress, on her knees. She pops up and gives Jo one soft and fast peck on her stomach, right below the belly button. Jo arches her hips up, trying to graze for contact.
“Begging is a shockingly flattering look on you, Josephine,” Camille said, arching one eyebrow and smirking as Jo grumbles through the scarf.
Something about the noise springs Camille back into want, because her teeth are biting into Jo’s hip. Jo is gasping for air, trying to calm herself and break her middle free from the bonds of Camille’s fingers. Camille mouths lazily across Jo’s hips and grabs the tops of her legs hard, massaging the insides of her legs with her thumbs.
She rises up, watching the expression on Jo’s face change as she places one, then two fingers inside. Jo looks like she might’s die, and the red velvet cake crumbs smeared on her body make her look like she’s already been around one murder. Camille works another finger into to her girl and works to find a rhythm that has always worked for her before.
But just as Jo looks like she’s close to relief, Camille pulls out suddenly, exposing her fingers to the cold, cruel world. Jo looks like maybe she might cry of frustration, and Camille almost feels guilty as she can hear her whine out something that might have been her name.
“Oh Jo. Lessons can’t be that easy to learn.”
Camille kisses the inside of Jo’s thigh, feeling the muscles and tendons work underneath the skin. She moves in closer, tonguing Jo’s insides- damp and on fire-for all that she is worth. She’s feeling Jo coming undone under her fingers. The muscles of her belly and thighs have tensed so hard that Jo is one unanimous tremble. She’s breathing shallow, and, for a moment, Camille is a little worried that she is about to kill her love. But then Jo releases in a moan that makes her head fall back and her limbs go to clay in Camille’s fingers.
Camille crawls up so her knees are on either side of Jo’s waist. She kisses Jo on the mouth, hard and deep, and slips her own fingers under her dress. It only takes a minute, because getting her girl off is more than she really needs, until she is a weak and shaky mess. She only has enough energy left in her body to unlock Jo’s bonds and tangle their legs together. Jo manages to weakly wrap her arms around Jo, looking happy and exhausted-eyes half shut. Camille unwraps the scarf around Jo’s mouth to reveal a lazy smile.
“You’re right, Cami. Sometimes good things happen when I let you run with it.”
“Yeah. Trust me, Josie. Just trust me. I’ll never let anything bad happen to you when you trust me.”
--
A week later, Camille is doing the dishes when Jo gets home from the set.
“Where do you want this plate your mom sent, babe?”
Jo looked up from the coat rack and smiled. “I don’t care, where ever you think it should go.”
Camille feels like she might cry for some stupid reason, even though she knows that, later, she’ll find that Jo moved the platter. Maybe, Camille thinks, I’m a damned better teacher then I thought.
“Jo, I love you!” She’s said it before, and even if it hurts every single time that Jo doesn’t say it back, she knows it’s going to fall out of her lips whether she tries or not, because her big mouth will always strike again.
Jo wraps Camille in her arms, kissing her on the forehead. “I love you, too.”
“Huh. Maybe there’s more to that whole ‘trust’ thing than I thought.”
Jo is laughing like white whine sloshing and fingers running across piano keys.
“What do you know? Maybe there is.”
Title: Learning the Ropes (Of Your Body)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jo doesn't quite understand her cues, but she's glad to take them when they come her way. Total fluff.
Author notes: written for shisou_eimin
Jo can't exactly figure out what Camille is glaring about. But she knows that it's something, and she knows that she it is going to make her life harder. It always makes her life harder when Camille gets that demanding look in her eyes.
Jo simply acts like nothing is happening and flicks her eyes back to the TV. It's something Camille is loving right now, Extreme Runway: Semi-Aquatic Edition or something like that. Jo could personally care less. She doesn't understand why "high fashion" translates to clothes that no one can wear anywhere without toppling over and dying in a sprained ankle and taffeta related disaster. But Camille loves it, and Jo doesn't bother to say anything. Jo has learned to pick her battles because Camille is really very good at making Jo's life much, much harder and less pleasant if she wants to.
Jo turns back to Camille while commercials played on the TV. Jo didn't see herself needing to find a contraceptive method in her near future, so he current ad was completely unnecessary. Camille is still glaring at her.
"What did I do this time?" Jo groans.
It's not that she ever does anything, as much as she forgets something that she is supposed to be doing. It wasn't like she had a lot of experiences dating girls, and Jo was learning that they seemed to require a bit more upkeep than dating boys had. Though, it was definitely better in a lot more ways.
Like, how Camille was stretching over the couch and her dress was reaching up higher on her thighs baring pale, soft skin. Or how Camille was just barely grazing Jo's hip with her toes.
"Nothing," Camille whispered, half-annoyed and half-flirtatiously.
"Oh!"
Camille laughed at Jo,"You are so slow sometimes, Josie."
But before Camille can make too much fun, Jo is kissing traces of kisses down Camille's neck and sucking on the spot on her collarbone that makes her hum.
"I thought," she whispers between kisses, "that you loved this show."
"I do."
"Then why are we doing this?"
Jo feels like the last eight months have been a whirl of confusion and Camille and soft hair and making an idiot of herself.
"Because I love you more. Why? Do you want to stop?"
"Oh, God no." And she is throwing Camille's dress across the room and pinning her to the couch.
"Wait?" she peaks up from Camille's jaw, "you love me?"
"Of course. Don't you love me?"
"Camille, I've loved you since I met you."
"I know. I've known since before you did."
And Camille is winding her hands through Jo's hair, and Jo is burying her head in Camille's breasts.
There are somethings that are definitely better about girls.
Title: Play Me a Song, Let It Ease My Pain
Rating: strong PG-13/light R
Summary: Camille and Jo are living in their new apartment. Jo can't make her house her home. Camille always has a few tricks up her sleeve.
Author notes: written for folkloric_feel
Jo stood in the weirdly large, bare apartment with her hands shoved into the back pockets of her jeans. The wood floors were cold on her bare feet and the morning breeze was harsh on her face. Camille must have opened them before she'd left for her audition to let the smell of paint dissipate off of the walls.
The sun fell in on her feet and across the walls, painting shadows and lighting the spots where her new world was empty.
The apartment had looked so much bigger when all of the old renter's furniture was gone. They had moved some of their own things into the space, but Camille was so into art now that she'd decided that nothing was useful if you could make art or have sex on it. "If it doesn't have a purpose," Camille had said the night before, "it doesn't belong in my house."
Jo laughed when she said it and nudged the floor with her sneakers. Then she said, quietly-- self-consciously-- "What about me? I don't have much of a purpose."
Camille's eyes had softened over her whole grain udon noodles. "Of course you have a purpose, Josie," she touched Jo's cheek softly. Then she smiled like the elven child she was, "I can have sex on top of you. Of course you belong in my apartment."
--
Jo had laughed like it was the greatest joke in the world that day, but now she wasn't sure if it was even a little funny.
Camille had always been the character actress. She'd always been working on trying to get the little idiosyncrasies of people down. Camille was trying to get the ugly and the beautiful out of people. She was always trying to expose it to the world.
Jo had always spent her time playing the perfect girl. Sometimes she was the girl next door that the geeky boy had been in love with forever, or sometimes she was the bitchy chick. But it always played off of her looks, no matter the part. She was pretty sure that she'd never done real acting, not a day of her life. (Except that some days she was sure that acting was all she had done for her first sixteen years.)
Now, making Jo feel even more inadequate, Camille had decided to become an artist. Acting wasn't "enough anymore," she'd said, practically bouncing around the restaurant as she told Jo and all of her friends for the first time, "to consume my entire creative identity. I can't express all of my social outrage through acting alone. How am I supposed to show my desires for the community, if I don't create art."
Jo's heart had exploded as she listened. This was her girl-- all social concerns and greater good. Jo couldn't help but be proud, even if she was a little miffed about not getting any advanced warning about the announcement. She couldn't even help but blush when Camille mentioned the big fat role that Jo was going to have and how she'd be a household name.
"Yeah," she slammed a kiss on Jo's cheek, "I don't even have to worry about being a starving artist. I got myself a sugar mama right here."
--
But that happy moment felt so long gone. All of the happy moments felt gone to Jo in that minute. She couldn't feel anything but the weight of the empty apartments or the damp smell of the paintings on the floor.
She was all alone because she didn't deserve this girl she had. She was all alone because her apartment was too big, just like Camille was too big for her.
But just as she was feeling her most self-pitying, the door slammed open. Camille came riding in on an baby grand piano rolled by two hulking men.
Camille had pulled a lot of ridiculous stunts since Jo'd met her, but this was definitely going to take the cake.
"Thanks boys," she said, hopping off once they'd put it in place. She walked over to Jo and wrapped herself around her body. She kissed Jo soft on soft lips.
"Camille, what the hell is this?" she's laughing over herself.
"You play, don't you? I hear you sing all the time," the tables are turned and she's awkward and shy now, or at least as much as she's ever been, "and I just... I thought you might like to make something too."
--
Jo is fiddling with the keys after dinner that night. She caresses them like a baby's cheek, like Camille's breasts. She can almost hear something beautiful. She can feel it surging through her body, like she is alive, when Camille comes up behind her and kisses her neck, soft and sweet.
Her moans are mixing in with the clang of the keys.
"Not only," Camille says wickedly, "can you create. It lives up to the other expectation too."
And she's hopping up on top of the piano again, and Jo can't even imaging what she is doing anymore. But there is a beautiful writhing girl atop her piano, and Jo is not going to let the opportunity to suck beneath her thighs fly away out of the fluttering curtains.
--
They are lying, sweaty and panting and tired, under the shelter of the piano. They are clinging together, and they're naked. This was the way, Jo knows, that they were born. This is how they will die.
Jo plans to spend as much of her time as she can this way in between the bookends.
"I felt," she is raking her hands through Camille's new cropped hair, "so alone this morning. But not now."
Camille kisses her, "Stick with me, kid. And you'll never feel lonely again."
Title: Chain Your Heart Up
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Jo is a control freak. Camille makes it her duty to try to change this. Or at least manipulate it to her advantage.
Author notes: oh god, i wrote porn, i'm sorry written for folkloric_feel
"No. Camille. Don't smush them against the bottom of the bowl like that. You'll make a big mess."
Camille is practically covered in flour and sugar and white chocolate, and she isn't even sure why she agreed to this, except that Jo asked. It looks like an elephant ran through their kitchen, and she's relatively sure that every single pan was dirty. Jo is the only thing in the room that looks clean and pure and lacks cake smudges.
"If I never see another cake pop in my whole life, it won't be too soon," she pouts, pouring sprinkles on top of the pops that Jo has pressed into a Styrofoam block.
"You love cake pops. Besides," she says, taking the sprinkles out of Camille's hands and decorating them herself with an irritated expression, "they're Kendall's favorites and it's his birthday."
"Why do we have to make your ex-boyfriend birthday gifts?"
"Because he's my best friend." She laughs and kisses Camille on the cheek. "After you of course. And, he took the whole 'leaving him for a woman' thing very well.'"
"Yeah. Because he likes di--"
"Camille! Be nice."
Camille thinks about how it isn’t mean it’s just a fact. Kendall is as gay as… well, as gay as every other person in the Palmwoods. Instead of saying anything, she swirls more pops in chocolate, "Fine. But I don't have to be happy about it."
Jo pulls the pop out of Camille's hands and does it herself.
That is the final straw.
Camille makes a sound a lot like an upset mule and rolls her eyes. She throws down the baked goods in her hands and walks out of the room.
Jo grabs her around the arm before she can get anywhere.
"Camille, what's wrong? I don't have any feelings for Kendall. Why are you being so ridiculous about the whole thing?"
"Jo. Don't be an idiot. You could as soon as be romantically be involved with a man as you could a platypus. I just can't do this anymore,” she says, gesturing to the cake disaster. “I don't know why you ask me to do things if you don't actually want my help!"
"Because I like your company." She pauses and takes a self-conscious breath. "But I like things my way."
"Oh trust me. I know you’re a control freak. I’ve had sex with you, it would be hard not to notice."
Camille wishes, a lot of the time, that her brain worked a lot slower, or at least that it checked things with her before they flew out of her mouth. As Jo looks wounded and shocked, Camille becomes fully aware that this definitely one of those times.
Tears are forming in her eyes, and Camille feels like the biggest idiot in the entire world. Jo sinks down into one of the dining room chairs and buries her head in her hands. Her shoulders shake, and Camille feels like the bites of cake she stole are about to work its way back up. She goes to Jo and sits in her lap, wrapping her arms around her.
"Baby, I’m sorry" she whispers. "Shhh. I didn't mean it, Josie. I was just being an idiot."
"You think I’m going to believe that it wasn’t true? You think I'm an idiot, Camille?" she asks through her tears. She pulls her head up. "You never say anything that isn’t true. I know that I am a control freak. I just-- I can't help it. I try not to be, but that doesn't change anything."
"Josie," she says sweetly, kissing tears off of her face, "don't cry. Please? Just. Don't cry."
Before tears can start in her own eyes, Camille hops off of Jo's lap and runs into her closet to fetch something hiding in the back.
She comes back to Jo, who is drying her face off with kitchen rags and sleeves.
"Josie. We're gonna break through this, okay?" Camille says, kneeling down on the floor next to her. "But you have to listen to me. And," she drops her voice to a low growl, "you have to do exactly as I say."
Jo's voice is trembling, and she looks like she might cry some more, but she mumbles out a confirmation.
Camille smiles like the cat that ate the canary and pulls two pairs of sparkling silver handcuffs out from behind her back.
Jo's voice finds its strength again when she sees them. "Where the hell did you get those?"
Camille chuckles about making Miss Prim and Proper curse. She shrugs as she says, "Stole them from the set of Junior Law: LA. It didn't really last long, as a series."
"I wouldn't think so."
Camille clicks her tongue. "Now, Josephine, none of that. You're going to have to do exactly as I say. This is all about you, okay?" she spoke in soft tones like she was talking to a frightened fawn as she stepped behind Jo and tied a silk scarf around her mouth, effectively keeping her quiet. "But you've got to let me take care of you, just this once. Please,” she set her for head on the knotted vertebrae on Jo’s back and said, her voice cracking at the edges, like some dammed up emotion was about to break lose, “just let me take care of you this one time.”
She gathered herself together and moved to kiss Jo on the top of her pretty eyebrows. Jo grabs around her hips, moving them closer together.
Camille steps back and smiles, “No, no, Josephine.” She holds Jo’s wrists together behind her back with one hand and starts to unbutton Jo’s blouse, exposing a lilac bra and a ribbon of tanned skin. Camille pushes the extra cloth off of Jo’s thin, broad shoulders and sinks her lips into the soft depression at the base of her neck, leaving a smudge of berry lipstick. She’s reveling in how Jo’s body is relaxing into hers, just starting to roll and push at the hips.
But it’s much too early for that, and Camille is wiping her hands-still messy and covered in cake-gently up and down Jo’s sides, tickling her ribs softly and making her squirm. Camille nibbles Jo’s bare ear lobes while she undoes the clasp of her bra, and Camille thinks that she will finally be able to get Jo completely undone. But the soft sound of lace and padding hitting the floor mix together with the mechanical noise of handcuffs locking mix together with Jo’s moan, and Camille does not know what else she could ask for, because she could get off with nothing but sights and sounds of Jo.
The weight of the cuffs is sinking Jo’s shoulders down, but her breasts sit on her chest and rise and fall only slightly with the movement of her terrified and excited breathing. Camille thinks that maybe, someday, if Jo wants to teach her something in this way, that Jo should teach her patience and moderation, but today is not that day. Camille’s mouth practically jumps to Jo’s small breasts, getting lost in the way they taste just like Jo should and feel like nothing else. One hand works a circular rhythm into a berry brown nipple and the other fumbles with the buttons on Jo’s inexpensive blue jeans.
“God,” she laughs, “Josie, if you could just wear skirts, this would be so much faster.”
But before she knows it, because Camille can’t learn to pace herself, because Jo-until eternity runs out-will be able to drive her out of her mind with just one flutter of her eyelids. Jo is lying naked on the floor, hands bound to two different cabinets. Camille is sitting in the middle of her spread legs, carefully running a gentle finger up and down her thighs, working outside to in.
Jo is moaning around the cloth in her mouth, worming her hips to try to get anymore of Camille’s touch, aching for relief. Her eyes look dark and angry, like if she weren’t bound, she would be strangling Camille instead of begging for any touch.
Camille is sitting, fully clothed but feeling the wet spot in her dress, on her knees. She pops up and gives Jo one soft and fast peck on her stomach, right below the belly button. Jo arches her hips up, trying to graze for contact.
“Begging is a shockingly flattering look on you, Josephine,” Camille said, arching one eyebrow and smirking as Jo grumbles through the scarf.
Something about the noise springs Camille back into want, because her teeth are biting into Jo’s hip. Jo is gasping for air, trying to calm herself and break her middle free from the bonds of Camille’s fingers. Camille mouths lazily across Jo’s hips and grabs the tops of her legs hard, massaging the insides of her legs with her thumbs.
She rises up, watching the expression on Jo’s face change as she places one, then two fingers inside. Jo looks like she might’s die, and the red velvet cake crumbs smeared on her body make her look like she’s already been around one murder. Camille works another finger into to her girl and works to find a rhythm that has always worked for her before.
But just as Jo looks like she’s close to relief, Camille pulls out suddenly, exposing her fingers to the cold, cruel world. Jo looks like maybe she might cry of frustration, and Camille almost feels guilty as she can hear her whine out something that might have been her name.
“Oh Jo. Lessons can’t be that easy to learn.”
Camille kisses the inside of Jo’s thigh, feeling the muscles and tendons work underneath the skin. She moves in closer, tonguing Jo’s insides- damp and on fire-for all that she is worth. She’s feeling Jo coming undone under her fingers. The muscles of her belly and thighs have tensed so hard that Jo is one unanimous tremble. She’s breathing shallow, and, for a moment, Camille is a little worried that she is about to kill her love. But then Jo releases in a moan that makes her head fall back and her limbs go to clay in Camille’s fingers.
Camille crawls up so her knees are on either side of Jo’s waist. She kisses Jo on the mouth, hard and deep, and slips her own fingers under her dress. It only takes a minute, because getting her girl off is more than she really needs, until she is a weak and shaky mess. She only has enough energy left in her body to unlock Jo’s bonds and tangle their legs together. Jo manages to weakly wrap her arms around Jo, looking happy and exhausted-eyes half shut. Camille unwraps the scarf around Jo’s mouth to reveal a lazy smile.
“You’re right, Cami. Sometimes good things happen when I let you run with it.”
“Yeah. Trust me, Josie. Just trust me. I’ll never let anything bad happen to you when you trust me.”
--
A week later, Camille is doing the dishes when Jo gets home from the set.
“Where do you want this plate your mom sent, babe?”
Jo looked up from the coat rack and smiled. “I don’t care, where ever you think it should go.”
Camille feels like she might cry for some stupid reason, even though she knows that, later, she’ll find that Jo moved the platter. Maybe, Camille thinks, I’m a damned better teacher then I thought.
“Jo, I love you!” She’s said it before, and even if it hurts every single time that Jo doesn’t say it back, she knows it’s going to fall out of her lips whether she tries or not, because her big mouth will always strike again.
Jo wraps Camille in her arms, kissing her on the forehead. “I love you, too.”
“Huh. Maybe there’s more to that whole ‘trust’ thing than I thought.”
Jo is laughing like white whine sloshing and fingers running across piano keys.
“What do you know? Maybe there is.”