FF: All Your Faithless Loyalties 1/5 NC-17 Myka/HG
Title: All Your Faithless Loyalties
Author: Manda
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Pairing: H.G./Myka
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: F/F sex (do I really need to warn for that anymore?)
Spoilers: Everything through the current season to be safe but this was written pre-Season Finale
Feedback: Always appreciated here or at muppetmanda@livejournal.com
A/N: Doesn’t take into account the Season Finale, but this is my own take on how HG could have gone bad. And found her way back to Myka J
*~*
All your faithless loyalties they won’t give me no rest
But I’ve got little else left to defend…
I’m sure that you’ve seen better but for you I did my best
But as I go by I think of you my friend
And I know I can’t win
She finds the orb sitting on her bed. There is no note, no explanation. Myka knows at a glance what, or rather who it is.
Helena.
Does she say the name aloud? Does she sigh it? Does she scream? It seems she does it all at once, while never making a sound.
She gives the bed a wide berth, dropping her overnight bag across the room by her chair and reading lamp, a stack of novels piled high beside them. It had been a long mission to retrieve the beach ball used in the first Frankie and Annette movie. The artifact had the uncanny knack of making anyone who touched it burst out into song and dance and immediately head for the nearest beach. It had taken an hour after Pete had manhandled the ball to convince him he’d never be able to surf like the Big Kahuna on the Mississippi River. And another hour to get him to stop singing a melancholy doo-wop number about lost dreams and lost waves.
All Myka had wanted when she returned home was a hot shower and some peace and quiet. She never expected this.
For a moment she considers calling for Artie - perhaps it’s a mistake? - but that is silly. Wishful thinking. Things like that don’t end up on her bed by accident.
Someone had placed it there that much was certain from the way the orb appeared almost snuggled into the comforter. Resting. Waiting.
Myka closes her eyes, fighting memories of the first time Helena snuggled into her bed. Resting. Waiting. But there is no fighting those memories, no way of escaping a world that has become inexorably linked to her dark-eyed lover.
She picks the orb up and sets it in her reading chair before covering it up with a jacket. First, she will shower. The orb, Helena, will just have to wait.
*~*
Myka opened up a cold beer and handed it to Helena. It hadn’t taken much to get the other woman settled into Leena’s. Despite her months on the run, Helena hadn’t acquired more than the basic necessities for clothes and toiletries. Once her trunk had been delivered, Claudia and Pete had skedaddled off to their rooms, still somewhat uncomfortable with the idea of Helena as a full time agent again. Artie hadn’t even bothered to show up.
She reached over, clinking the neck of her bottle against Helena’s. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” Helena swallowed the beer down, one small sip, and then several gulps as she realized it was a decent microbrew and not the tap-water most American’s considered palatable. They sat outside on the porch, watching the stars appear one by one in the darkening sky. It was the most relaxed Myka could remember feeling in months. “I must say, there are several things about the future I quite enjoy. Most especially an ice-cold beer.”
“And ice cream.”
“Hair dryers.”
“Cell phones.”
“Push up bras.” Myka nearly choked on her beer, both the tone of Helena’s voice and the mental image it produced sending her mind into shut down mode. “Corsets may do wonders for the figure, but I couldn’t stand the things. You could hardly breathe in them, much less fight. I once had to strip down practically to my skivvies when I was a chasing a man who had stolen Henry the Eighth’s hairbrush. It gave the user a sense of power and confidence and made his charms almost unstoppable against most women.”
Myka grins. “And how did you manage to track him down?”
Helena smirked, a hint of arrogance no amount of time could undo, and took another sip of beer. “I am not most women.”
Myka laughed and settled back into her chair, listening as HG began to describe her rather torrid love-affair with Archibald Primrose.
*
Myka sits on the bed, her wet hair hanging down her back in loose curls, the water seeping into her shirt. Once more the orb sits before her, resting far too easily against the comforter. She's been fighting a losing battle for over an hour now, telling herself again and again she will not turn it on, even as she knows with each passing moment that is exactly what she's going to do.
She has never been able to resist Helena; she doesn’t stand a chance now.
Timidly she reaches for the orb, finally giving in. It comes to life, a flash of colors and light, before condensing into a hologram so life-like Myka has to stop herself from reaching to touch it.
“Hello, Myka.”
“Hello, Helena.”
Helena looks around in confusion, noting quickly enough she hasn't been brought to consciousness inside the Warehouse, but inside Myka's bedroom instead. Her eyes flash - in memory? longing? - when she notes Myka's position on the bed. “Well, I was not expecting this.”
“Is this a trick?” It's more of an accusation than question.
“Is what a trick?”
Myka picks up the orb. “How did this end up in my bedroom instead of at the Warehouse? Is this your doing? Some plot, some game?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about darling,” Helena answers, trying for an easy smile that does nothing to set Myka at ease. “I don't exactly have much sway where I'm at.”
“Where are you at?” Myka asks, ignoring the way Helena called her 'darling'; ignoring the flutter in her stomach, the flush of warmth in her body.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Helena shrugs, passing a holographic hand through Myka's dresser. “I can't even describe my current plane of existence, much less my geographical location.”
“So this isn't a trick?”
“Myka, if I had enough pull to get that orb from the Warehouse and into your bedroom, don't you think I'd have just skipped that step and showed up in person?” There's something devilishly arrogant, fiendishly playful in her tone - the quintessential HG. It makes Myka ache. It makes her panic.
“This was a mistake. I'm sorry.”
“Myka, wait-”
The orb slides closed and Helena is gone. Myka's fingers itch to turn it back on, to bring her back. Instead, she shoves the orb back under her jacket on the chair and spends the rest of the night under the covers, awake, staring at the chair as she contemplates the great 'what ifs' of the universe.
*
Two days later and Myka opens the orb again, barely letting Helena materialize before lashing out in anger. “You tried to kill me!”
Helena flinches, although she's not wholly unprepared for this onslaught. She knew it would come eventually. “I didn't try to kill you darling, I tried to kill everyone.”
“That makes a difference?”
“All the difference in the world,” Helena sighs. “When we were together, every moment, you were the one thing tethering me to the rest of the world. The one thing that made me fight the dark whispers calling to me. And I tried, Myka. I tried so desperately hard, but every day, every hour it grew worse and worse, until I didn't feel as if I had a choice at all.”
“What are you saying? The voices in your head made you do it?”
“Would it make a difference if they had?”
Myka stares back silently, angry tears refusing to fall.
“I don't know how it started. When I went into the bronzer, I was in pain, yes, but my anger was for myself for not being there to save Christina. I'd driven myself nearly mad in my attempts to fix the past. To see that those who had caused her pain suffered. Still, the guilt had nearly eaten me alive. But by the time MacPherson brought me out...” She takes a breath, unsteady. “It was different. It felt different. It started small. Little thoughts. 'They don't deserve this world.' And I would push them aside, because I could see you, and Pete, and Claudia, and even Artie and how hard you all worked to help people, to save them. To protect them.”
Helena turns away, unable to see the heartbreak written so clearly on Myka's face. “And then there was you. Your smiles, and your kindness, and your... your forgiveness. I don't know how to explain it, but every precious gesture you made, every time you and I shared...” Helena hesitates, unable to give words to those intimate moments, “the thoughts would come back, only stronger.”
Tears shimmer like diamonds as they slide down Helena's cheeks. “We would spend the night holding each other and in the morning, all I could think was that it all had to come to an end. I did things, planned things, unconsciously. One moment I would daydream of our future together and the next all I could envision was the world a sea of ash and fire. The more I held onto you, the more the thoughts seemed to possess me. I couldn't stop them.”
Myka remains silent, trying to understand, trying to process all Helena is saying, but all she can see are her memories of Helena naked and laughing in her bed followed by images of Helena pointing a gun at her head.
“I love you, Myka.”
“You have no right to say those words to me,” Myka whispers harshly.
“No, I don't. If I am stuck here a thousand years, I will never be able to make up for what I have done. But if I am stuck here a thousand years, this one true thing I know: I will never stop loving you.”
Helena reaches for her, her fingers stopping just short as Myka slides the orb closed before sliding to the floor, her tears finally falling.
*
Three nights later Leena walks into the kitchen at four a.m. to find Myka staring out the window. From the look on Myka's face Leena can tell she's been sitting there most of the night. “You know, willing the sun to come up faster doesn't actually work.”
“What about willing time to go backward?”
Leena considers the question. “All known attempts have thus far been unsuccessful.”
That earns a slight, fleeting smile from Myka. “Leena... I know that people inside the bronzer can still think... but can they hear the outside world?”
Something's been bothering Myka since her conversation with Helena. Something she can't quite place. It's not one of Pete's “vibes” - more like a puzzle piece that doesn't quite fit. The shape is right, but there's a corner that won't align with the other pieces.
“I don't know. The only person I've ever heard of being un-bronzed was... HG.” There's something guilty in Leena's voice, as if she knows she's causing Myka pain by even mentioning the other woman. In truth, she does: Myka's aura changes with every mention of HG's name, almost always for the negative now, a deep mustard color tainting everything around her with pain. Leena shivers, remembering all too well how Helena’s aura shimmered with the same mustard flares, dark grey clouds, and white noise. She should have known then there was something wrong with the woman, but over time Helena’s aura had changed, grown less dark, less chaotic. At times, it hummed a soft, peaceful blue - but those times were only when Helena was with Myka.
“Do you think it's possible?” Myka asks, drawing Leena from her thoughts.
Leena tilts her head. “Myka, it's the Warehouse. Don't you know by now that anything is possible?”
The comment is meant to make Myka smile, but she just turns back to the window, willing the dawn to come as she works at the corner of the puzzle in her mind.
*
Although Helena had adapted rather quickly to the conveniences and trappings of modern day life, Claudia insisted on giving her a crash course in computers. Which, unfortunately, ended up being a rather literal crash.
She knocked on Myka’s open door, poking her head inside the room with a sheepish smile. “I, uh, seem to have angered this dreadful machine in some way.”
Myka fought a smile as Helena produced the laptop Claudia had given her just the day before. The “Blue Screen of Death” flashed ominously on the screen. “Oh, yikes. That doesn’t look good.”
“I swear, I was following her instructions exactly.”
Putting her book aside, Myka motioned HG to sit on the edge of the bed as she poked and prodded at the keyboard, trying the ever-helpful CTRL+ALT+DEL restart.
The screen flashed and then the entire computer went dead.
“Yeah, I think you fried it. Which, is actually pretty impressive all things considered.”
“I built a time machine using nothing more than an abacus, and now I have been defeated by something built in India.” Helena sighed. “We used to rule them.”
Myka’s lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. “Yes, those pesky Colonials wanting their independence.”
“Oh, I think America’s figured out by now being a world power is not all it’s cracked up to be. Isn’t there a great deal of the world that basically hates you right now?”
“Yes, but that’s because our main export has become reality TV.”
“Fair enough.”
Myka poked at the laptop a few more times to no avail. “In my not-so-expert opinion, I think this one’s destined for the scrap heap.”
“Will Claudia be very angry with me?”
“Claudia? No. She might even see it as a minor challenge to bring it back to life. In which case, she’ll thank you.”
“Well, in that case, I did her a favor. She should buy me a beer.”
“Or at least a cookie.”
“Oh, yes. I’ve added those ‘Oreos’ she introduced me to onto my ‘favorite modern inventions’ list.”
Myka grinned. “Have you been shown how to eat them properly yet?”
“Does it require a knife and fork?”
Myka set the laptop aside and impulsively grabbed Helena’s hand, tugging her off the bed. Neither one let go. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
Minutes later they were downstairs in the empty kitchen, a glass of milk in front of each of them and a package of Oreos. “First, you twist.” Myka twisted the top off the cookie. “Then, you lick.” Her tongue swiped across the white cream. Helena watched in rapt fascination. “Put it back together,” Myka continued, her eyes steadily on Helena’s now. “And dunk it in the milk. Not too long. And then…” she pulled the moistened cookie out of the milk, “Taste.” Myka took a bite of the cookie, her eyes closing in delight.
When she opened them back up Helena was still staring at her, a hunger in her eyes that had nothing to do with cookies. “You haven’t tried yours yet,” Myka said breathlessly.
Slowly, her eyes never leaving Myka’s, Helena reached up to brush a smear of white cream filling away from Myka’s lips. And then she leaned in and kissed her. Softly at first, just the delicate press off lips upon lips, and then the slightest brush of Helena’s tongue against Myka’s parted lips, a hint of teeth, and she pulled back.
“You’re right,” Helena responded, her voice rough as whiskey. “Taste’s delicious.”
The next morning Leena came downstairs to find two abandoned glasses of milk and an open package of Oreos sitting on the kitchen table.
Part Two
Author: Manda
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Pairing: H.G./Myka
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: F/F sex (do I really need to warn for that anymore?)
Spoilers: Everything through the current season to be safe but this was written pre-Season Finale
Feedback: Always appreciated here or at muppetmanda@livejournal.com
A/N: Doesn’t take into account the Season Finale, but this is my own take on how HG could have gone bad. And found her way back to Myka J
*~*
All your faithless loyalties they won’t give me no rest
But I’ve got little else left to defend…
I’m sure that you’ve seen better but for you I did my best
But as I go by I think of you my friend
And I know I can’t win
She finds the orb sitting on her bed. There is no note, no explanation. Myka knows at a glance what, or rather who it is.
Helena.
Does she say the name aloud? Does she sigh it? Does she scream? It seems she does it all at once, while never making a sound.
She gives the bed a wide berth, dropping her overnight bag across the room by her chair and reading lamp, a stack of novels piled high beside them. It had been a long mission to retrieve the beach ball used in the first Frankie and Annette movie. The artifact had the uncanny knack of making anyone who touched it burst out into song and dance and immediately head for the nearest beach. It had taken an hour after Pete had manhandled the ball to convince him he’d never be able to surf like the Big Kahuna on the Mississippi River. And another hour to get him to stop singing a melancholy doo-wop number about lost dreams and lost waves.
All Myka had wanted when she returned home was a hot shower and some peace and quiet. She never expected this.
For a moment she considers calling for Artie - perhaps it’s a mistake? - but that is silly. Wishful thinking. Things like that don’t end up on her bed by accident.
Someone had placed it there that much was certain from the way the orb appeared almost snuggled into the comforter. Resting. Waiting.
Myka closes her eyes, fighting memories of the first time Helena snuggled into her bed. Resting. Waiting. But there is no fighting those memories, no way of escaping a world that has become inexorably linked to her dark-eyed lover.
She picks the orb up and sets it in her reading chair before covering it up with a jacket. First, she will shower. The orb, Helena, will just have to wait.
*~*
Myka opened up a cold beer and handed it to Helena. It hadn’t taken much to get the other woman settled into Leena’s. Despite her months on the run, Helena hadn’t acquired more than the basic necessities for clothes and toiletries. Once her trunk had been delivered, Claudia and Pete had skedaddled off to their rooms, still somewhat uncomfortable with the idea of Helena as a full time agent again. Artie hadn’t even bothered to show up.
She reached over, clinking the neck of her bottle against Helena’s. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” Helena swallowed the beer down, one small sip, and then several gulps as she realized it was a decent microbrew and not the tap-water most American’s considered palatable. They sat outside on the porch, watching the stars appear one by one in the darkening sky. It was the most relaxed Myka could remember feeling in months. “I must say, there are several things about the future I quite enjoy. Most especially an ice-cold beer.”
“And ice cream.”
“Hair dryers.”
“Cell phones.”
“Push up bras.” Myka nearly choked on her beer, both the tone of Helena’s voice and the mental image it produced sending her mind into shut down mode. “Corsets may do wonders for the figure, but I couldn’t stand the things. You could hardly breathe in them, much less fight. I once had to strip down practically to my skivvies when I was a chasing a man who had stolen Henry the Eighth’s hairbrush. It gave the user a sense of power and confidence and made his charms almost unstoppable against most women.”
Myka grins. “And how did you manage to track him down?”
Helena smirked, a hint of arrogance no amount of time could undo, and took another sip of beer. “I am not most women.”
Myka laughed and settled back into her chair, listening as HG began to describe her rather torrid love-affair with Archibald Primrose.
*
Myka sits on the bed, her wet hair hanging down her back in loose curls, the water seeping into her shirt. Once more the orb sits before her, resting far too easily against the comforter. She's been fighting a losing battle for over an hour now, telling herself again and again she will not turn it on, even as she knows with each passing moment that is exactly what she's going to do.
She has never been able to resist Helena; she doesn’t stand a chance now.
Timidly she reaches for the orb, finally giving in. It comes to life, a flash of colors and light, before condensing into a hologram so life-like Myka has to stop herself from reaching to touch it.
“Hello, Myka.”
“Hello, Helena.”
Helena looks around in confusion, noting quickly enough she hasn't been brought to consciousness inside the Warehouse, but inside Myka's bedroom instead. Her eyes flash - in memory? longing? - when she notes Myka's position on the bed. “Well, I was not expecting this.”
“Is this a trick?” It's more of an accusation than question.
“Is what a trick?”
Myka picks up the orb. “How did this end up in my bedroom instead of at the Warehouse? Is this your doing? Some plot, some game?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about darling,” Helena answers, trying for an easy smile that does nothing to set Myka at ease. “I don't exactly have much sway where I'm at.”
“Where are you at?” Myka asks, ignoring the way Helena called her 'darling'; ignoring the flutter in her stomach, the flush of warmth in her body.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Helena shrugs, passing a holographic hand through Myka's dresser. “I can't even describe my current plane of existence, much less my geographical location.”
“So this isn't a trick?”
“Myka, if I had enough pull to get that orb from the Warehouse and into your bedroom, don't you think I'd have just skipped that step and showed up in person?” There's something devilishly arrogant, fiendishly playful in her tone - the quintessential HG. It makes Myka ache. It makes her panic.
“This was a mistake. I'm sorry.”
“Myka, wait-”
The orb slides closed and Helena is gone. Myka's fingers itch to turn it back on, to bring her back. Instead, she shoves the orb back under her jacket on the chair and spends the rest of the night under the covers, awake, staring at the chair as she contemplates the great 'what ifs' of the universe.
*
Two days later and Myka opens the orb again, barely letting Helena materialize before lashing out in anger. “You tried to kill me!”
Helena flinches, although she's not wholly unprepared for this onslaught. She knew it would come eventually. “I didn't try to kill you darling, I tried to kill everyone.”
“That makes a difference?”
“All the difference in the world,” Helena sighs. “When we were together, every moment, you were the one thing tethering me to the rest of the world. The one thing that made me fight the dark whispers calling to me. And I tried, Myka. I tried so desperately hard, but every day, every hour it grew worse and worse, until I didn't feel as if I had a choice at all.”
“What are you saying? The voices in your head made you do it?”
“Would it make a difference if they had?”
Myka stares back silently, angry tears refusing to fall.
“I don't know how it started. When I went into the bronzer, I was in pain, yes, but my anger was for myself for not being there to save Christina. I'd driven myself nearly mad in my attempts to fix the past. To see that those who had caused her pain suffered. Still, the guilt had nearly eaten me alive. But by the time MacPherson brought me out...” She takes a breath, unsteady. “It was different. It felt different. It started small. Little thoughts. 'They don't deserve this world.' And I would push them aside, because I could see you, and Pete, and Claudia, and even Artie and how hard you all worked to help people, to save them. To protect them.”
Helena turns away, unable to see the heartbreak written so clearly on Myka's face. “And then there was you. Your smiles, and your kindness, and your... your forgiveness. I don't know how to explain it, but every precious gesture you made, every time you and I shared...” Helena hesitates, unable to give words to those intimate moments, “the thoughts would come back, only stronger.”
Tears shimmer like diamonds as they slide down Helena's cheeks. “We would spend the night holding each other and in the morning, all I could think was that it all had to come to an end. I did things, planned things, unconsciously. One moment I would daydream of our future together and the next all I could envision was the world a sea of ash and fire. The more I held onto you, the more the thoughts seemed to possess me. I couldn't stop them.”
Myka remains silent, trying to understand, trying to process all Helena is saying, but all she can see are her memories of Helena naked and laughing in her bed followed by images of Helena pointing a gun at her head.
“I love you, Myka.”
“You have no right to say those words to me,” Myka whispers harshly.
“No, I don't. If I am stuck here a thousand years, I will never be able to make up for what I have done. But if I am stuck here a thousand years, this one true thing I know: I will never stop loving you.”
Helena reaches for her, her fingers stopping just short as Myka slides the orb closed before sliding to the floor, her tears finally falling.
*
Three nights later Leena walks into the kitchen at four a.m. to find Myka staring out the window. From the look on Myka's face Leena can tell she's been sitting there most of the night. “You know, willing the sun to come up faster doesn't actually work.”
“What about willing time to go backward?”
Leena considers the question. “All known attempts have thus far been unsuccessful.”
That earns a slight, fleeting smile from Myka. “Leena... I know that people inside the bronzer can still think... but can they hear the outside world?”
Something's been bothering Myka since her conversation with Helena. Something she can't quite place. It's not one of Pete's “vibes” - more like a puzzle piece that doesn't quite fit. The shape is right, but there's a corner that won't align with the other pieces.
“I don't know. The only person I've ever heard of being un-bronzed was... HG.” There's something guilty in Leena's voice, as if she knows she's causing Myka pain by even mentioning the other woman. In truth, she does: Myka's aura changes with every mention of HG's name, almost always for the negative now, a deep mustard color tainting everything around her with pain. Leena shivers, remembering all too well how Helena’s aura shimmered with the same mustard flares, dark grey clouds, and white noise. She should have known then there was something wrong with the woman, but over time Helena’s aura had changed, grown less dark, less chaotic. At times, it hummed a soft, peaceful blue - but those times were only when Helena was with Myka.
“Do you think it's possible?” Myka asks, drawing Leena from her thoughts.
Leena tilts her head. “Myka, it's the Warehouse. Don't you know by now that anything is possible?”
The comment is meant to make Myka smile, but she just turns back to the window, willing the dawn to come as she works at the corner of the puzzle in her mind.
*
Although Helena had adapted rather quickly to the conveniences and trappings of modern day life, Claudia insisted on giving her a crash course in computers. Which, unfortunately, ended up being a rather literal crash.
She knocked on Myka’s open door, poking her head inside the room with a sheepish smile. “I, uh, seem to have angered this dreadful machine in some way.”
Myka fought a smile as Helena produced the laptop Claudia had given her just the day before. The “Blue Screen of Death” flashed ominously on the screen. “Oh, yikes. That doesn’t look good.”
“I swear, I was following her instructions exactly.”
Putting her book aside, Myka motioned HG to sit on the edge of the bed as she poked and prodded at the keyboard, trying the ever-helpful CTRL+ALT+DEL restart.
The screen flashed and then the entire computer went dead.
“Yeah, I think you fried it. Which, is actually pretty impressive all things considered.”
“I built a time machine using nothing more than an abacus, and now I have been defeated by something built in India.” Helena sighed. “We used to rule them.”
Myka’s lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. “Yes, those pesky Colonials wanting their independence.”
“Oh, I think America’s figured out by now being a world power is not all it’s cracked up to be. Isn’t there a great deal of the world that basically hates you right now?”
“Yes, but that’s because our main export has become reality TV.”
“Fair enough.”
Myka poked at the laptop a few more times to no avail. “In my not-so-expert opinion, I think this one’s destined for the scrap heap.”
“Will Claudia be very angry with me?”
“Claudia? No. She might even see it as a minor challenge to bring it back to life. In which case, she’ll thank you.”
“Well, in that case, I did her a favor. She should buy me a beer.”
“Or at least a cookie.”
“Oh, yes. I’ve added those ‘Oreos’ she introduced me to onto my ‘favorite modern inventions’ list.”
Myka grinned. “Have you been shown how to eat them properly yet?”
“Does it require a knife and fork?”
Myka set the laptop aside and impulsively grabbed Helena’s hand, tugging her off the bed. Neither one let go. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
Minutes later they were downstairs in the empty kitchen, a glass of milk in front of each of them and a package of Oreos. “First, you twist.” Myka twisted the top off the cookie. “Then, you lick.” Her tongue swiped across the white cream. Helena watched in rapt fascination. “Put it back together,” Myka continued, her eyes steadily on Helena’s now. “And dunk it in the milk. Not too long. And then…” she pulled the moistened cookie out of the milk, “Taste.” Myka took a bite of the cookie, her eyes closing in delight.
When she opened them back up Helena was still staring at her, a hunger in her eyes that had nothing to do with cookies. “You haven’t tried yours yet,” Myka said breathlessly.
Slowly, her eyes never leaving Myka’s, Helena reached up to brush a smear of white cream filling away from Myka’s lips. And then she leaned in and kissed her. Softly at first, just the delicate press off lips upon lips, and then the slightest brush of Helena’s tongue against Myka’s parted lips, a hint of teeth, and she pulled back.
“You’re right,” Helena responded, her voice rough as whiskey. “Taste’s delicious.”
The next morning Leena came downstairs to find two abandoned glasses of milk and an open package of Oreos sitting on the kitchen table.
Part Two