Falling part 11
Title: Falling (part 11)
Author: Louisa and Tamoline
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Emma Frost
Notes: This revolves around the events of Faces, told from Emily's point of view. (We really will get around to the sequel, but Falling is of sufficiently different form that we thought it best to make a seperate story for it.)
You will need to read Faces before reading this story:
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9
The Hunt is suggested as well, as it deals with Emily prior to the events of Faces:
Groundwork Interrogation Contact Aftermath
Previous parts of Falling:
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10
Without intending to, I find myself dragging my feet as I make my way to the restaurant where I'm supposed to be meeting Emma for dinner. I want to see her, I do, but I just... I feel too raw to be out in public right now; to don my social mask and not do anything to stand out, to draw attention.
Like doing anything that might even touch the several internal boxes that I'm only just holding closed. Quite frankly at the moment it feels like that might include meeting someone's eyes or speaking.
The conversation with JJ... No. I just can't think about it right now. Drawing myself up, I square my shoulders and pick up the pace a little, turning my slow amble into a purposeful stride.
Time to put on my game face.
Emma, naturally, has already staked out her territory. She's established herself at one of the best tables in the house, where she lounges, glass of wine in hand, surveying the room and everyone in it as if they've been put there solely for her amusement. Her expression is a mixture of superiority and ennui, with just a dash of impatience. I should probably be thankful that she hasn't quite made it as far as 'irritably bored' yet.
She looks up as I approach, smiling with just enough of an edge to say: 'Your arrival pleases me, but you should have been here sooner.'
"Sorry I'm late," I offer. "Things took a little longer than I expected."
"Don't worry, darling," she drawls. "I'm sure you can make it up to me."
"I'm sure," I say dryly, doing the nearest thing to my usual slight smile that I can manage right now.
She starts to say something else, then stops, looks at me closely, then nods decisively. "I've decided. You can make it up by waiting on me hand and foot." She affects a slight smirk, but I can see the concern in her eyes. "In private."
Apparently I'm not doing as good a job hiding my state as I like to think I normally manage.
This should bother me.
Ordinarily, it would. But just now, the need to get away from all these eyes tracing across my skin like delicate brands is so much more preoccupying.
My smile widens a little in relief as I ask, "Your place or mine?"
"Mmmm..." she pretends to contemplate the remainder of her glass of wine a moment before draining it. "Yours, I think. So much better for you to serve me."
I think she means to be kind, to allow me to be on more familiar terrain, but as she says the words, I know I can't take her home tonight. Having her, anyone really, would just too personal, too private for how I'm feeling right now.
I wince a little as I reply, "Surely I could only do my apology justice in your place, not my humble abode."
She takes my rejection with nothing but a carefully schooled reaction for a moment, before nodding. "Granted, darling. Your apartment does have its limitations. Which does remind me - we really do need to do something about your decor."
I feel a laugh bubbling up from somewhere as I object with a mild, "Hey." She really does have the damnedest ways of helping me feel better, even if the difference feels far too slight at the moment.
She summons the waiter with an imperious glance, pays for the glass of wine already consumed and then takes me by the hand.
"Come on then," she says, giving me a gentle squeeze. "I do believe that you've got some serious grovelling to do."
I'm in bed that night before I can let myself go enough to dry sob a few times. No tears. I can't cry these days without my little rituals, and I wasn't in the mood for sex tonight.
I get the feeling Emma would have given me a Look if I had tried to muster the enthusiasm in any case. *She* still thinks that I need therapy.
No one has quite the zeal of a convert. And Emma does seem to believe in 'Do unto others.'
The sobs don't help - the pressure is still there - but I wasn't really expecting them to. It's enough for now. Emma has soothed my raw edges with our petty bickering.
The bitter irony strikes me suddenly. I've even compartmentalised the people I rely on. Celia is my succor. JJ is the person I can talk to, even if I *don't*.
Emma, Emma is the person I just seem to trust. The person I can let in.
I guess time will tell if she blurs these boundaries too.
In any case now I'm ready to sleep.
Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day. But, at the moment, I'm not sure I can believe that.
The next few days are hard. Much of the team is still ducking their heads after the dinner incident. And JJ and I are in a cold war. Or, more accurately, JJ is at war and I am in retreat.
JJ is a mistress of communication. Innocuous seeming comments. The way she might look at me for just a second. The silences when we might otherwise have said a word in passing.
Nothing unprofessional and individually, they'd mean nothing, even to me, their intended recipient. But accumulated...
But it's okay. We've been here before, even if then our positions were reversed.
It's almost familiar in its own way. And it's not like I don't deserve it.
I don't think that the rest of the team notice. JJ and I have always had a slightly off kilter dynamic.
This time, though, by unspoken agreement, we're keeping Garcia out of this. She patched us up last time. She doesn't deserve to get involved in my messes again.
It's better this time too, strangely enough. Despite how good JJ is at this, I'm *so* much better at hurting myself than she is. It's almost an artform, in its own twisted way. And I'm no longer carrying around the burden of that secret. The thing about compartmentalisation is that it doesn't make things disappear. You still have to deal with them one way or another.
Emma helps, too. Throughout all this, she provides me with a safe space, reminds me that there is something within me that people can find affection for.
And she'd be *awfully* offended if I forget the sex. Can't forget the sex.
Life is surprisingly not too bad.
'I'm in your apartment and I'm bored. Amuse me.
Emma.'
The invisible 'or else' is implied so strongly that it's a few seconds before I realise that it isn't actually there. I look at the time stamp and stifle a groan. Emma sent this two hours ago, but I've been so wrapped up in other things that I haven't been able to flicker into enough of a not-work mindset to check my personal email since I got in.
I try to convince myself that Emma would understand this. She really should by this point.
I have only limited success in that endeavour.
I fire off a quick email in response.
I don't get a reply.
Oh god. This really isn't good.
I hope I still have an apartment to get back to. My books. Won't anyone think of my books?
I've just about given up hope and am busy writing up an analysis when my cell phone goes. The text message sends a shiver down my spine.
'At Bean There with Celia. Am sufficiently amused. See you here after work.'
'Am sufficiently amused.' The most deadly words in *any* language. Especially when used by Emma.
And what is she doing with Celia? That bodes ill. And *there*? I couldn't believe Celia, at least, would agree to meet Emma there. Especially after their first (and, to my knowledge, last) meeting.
* * *
Watching Celia and Emma approach each other resembled nothing so much as a face off between two cats. I wasn't sure whether to be amused or to start running for cover.
This was starting well.
We weren't meeting at the Bean There. Despite the fact that I met both women there on at least a semi-regular basis, it wasn't neutral territory. Certainly not for Celia and -- I strongly suspected -- not for Emma.
It had become a place that Meant Things.
So, instead, here we were in a restaurant that Celia and Emma had managed to agree on, after a somewhat protracted battle over text and email. I had to stop my eyes rolling at the memory of *that* little dominance battle. I was fairly certain that many of the objections that each found in the other's choices were made purely so they wouldn't have to concede to the other. I was equally certain that, barring a minor miracle, choosing to meet one in one of the other's suggestions was probably not a good idea for the forseeable future.
I could, of course, have intervened to settle the matter much more quickly, but I was fairly certain that would have meant both women turning their focus on me.
I had no particular designs on being a chew toy of contention between them any time ever if I could manage it. Sadly, looking at them now, I didn't rate my chances of escaping that fate too highly.
"Celia, this is Emma. Emma, Celia," I offered up. The two women barely acknowledged me, sizing each other up. Still, Emma's grip on me, initiated shortly before we entered the restaurant, showed no signs of relenting in the slightest.
Oh so subtle, I thought sourly in her direction.
So there they stood, like two gunslingers sizing each other up, for a few minutes. Until there was a twitch -- who started it I wasn't entirely certain -- and then we were moving towards the table. From their body language, it was extremely hard to tell who had won that exchange. Both appeared to be proclaiming victory in their own way, but I *thought* that Emma had the edge. Maybe.
On the other hand, her grip on me still hadn't let up, and there was only so much of this that I was going to take.
I broke Emma's hold on me, ignored her offended look (which she was no doubt going to try to make me pay for later) and picked up to my pace so I arrived at the table first.
I knew enough about Celia and Emma to know exactly what would happen if I allowed them to get here first, and I was going to head that off right now.
I took one side and offered up the seats on the other with a bland smile. "I thought that you two could sit over there together and get to know each other a little better."
They both shot me offended looks, Emma's a tad more outraged, but there was no way I was going to let who I sat with be another point of contention. So the two of them could just live with it.
Maybe it wasn't the wisest thing, focussing their attention on me, but if they started, I'd show them this chew toy had teeth.
I always did have a lot lower threshold for this kind of thing in person rather than in text that I could easily ignore.
The two of them shot each other almost imperceptible looks, then sat down, each making sure to move their chairs away from each other just a bit.
Sigh. Children, children.
I was wise enough to keep *that* thought to myself.
"Well, Emma," Celia started with what was meant to be a smile. Of sorts. Celia's smiles can be very eloquent. "Emily has been telling me *all* about you."
I glowered at her. This really wasn't the kind of help I needed from my friends. Expected, but definitely not needed.
"Really?" Emma raised an eyebrow. "Because *you* seem to have slipped her mind completely."
"Oh, you know Emily, and how she keeps her most precious things secret," Celia smirked.
"How fascinating," Emma said looking bored. "And how novel."
Oh joy. This was looking like the kind of evening where I could be replaced by a decent mannequin, and no one would notice for at least a few hours.
Still, things could be worse. I could be seated next to Emma. Relationship or no, I was fairly certain that she wasn't above marking me with nails when it came down to pissing matches, and not even in a fun way.
I settled down to just watch the evening's entertainment. I briefly thought about keeping score, but, really, after this, both women were going to get told that they lost to the other.
Shortly before some extremely pointed conversations about etiquette. I was going to do my mother proud.
* * *
In some ways, the scene before me as I arrive at the coffee shop is eerily familiar. Both women are sitting on the same side of the table. In most ways, though, it's very different.
They're smiling at each other, more or less genuinely, as far as I can tell. Relaxed, chatting. And this time they're seated not so they can't make me choose a side as, very obviously, so they can both focus on me.
I pinch myself in the vague hope that this is all just a horrible nightmare.
It's not. It's all real. It's my worst fear come to life.
My best friend and my girlfriend are conspiring against me. And they're not even having the decency to be subtle about it.
Emma notices first as I near, and their conversation cuts off as they turn towards me and smile. Not in unison -- thankfully -- but equally terrifying in their own way. Emma's smile is the kind a large cat might us to greet a particularly juicy antelope whereas Celia's is just full of the pure evil I remember so well from our school days. I reflexively glance above me but, of course, these days she's not that easy to predict.
Oh great.
"Hey," I say tentatively, hesitating for a second before taking a seat at the table. I would consider fleeing, but, really, that would just give them more time to plot.
"Good afternoon," Celia says, then takes a sip of her coffee.
"We've resolved our differences," Emma observes blandly.
Okay, finishing each other's sentences like that is just a little creepy.
"And then we had *plenty* of time to concentrate on other things," Celia says, shooting me a look of cheerful malice.
Okay, they can really stop this now.
"It was *so* much more profitable that way," Emma continues, providing the straw that breaks the camel's back.
"Okay, just stop right there."
Shit. I didn't mean to use my outside voice,
Emma raises a perfect eyebrow. "Stop?"
"We've barely begun," smirks Celia.
"Seriously, you can stop anytime." I pause for a beat. "Like now." All in all, I think I preferred the pissing contest.
"But we're getting on well."
"So very well."
"Darling." Emma draws the word out, pouting a little; like I'm being unreasonable trying to stop their fun.
"Bonding over the things we have in common."
"Namely you."
And then they both *smile* at me. Together.
I just can't take it any more.
"Will you two just STOP DOING THAT!" I shriek a little louder than I really intend.
The coffee shop falls silent and I can feel everyone look in my direction. Great. Just great. I decide then and there that I hate the both of them.
Emma turns to look at Celia and says, "I really didn't believe you when you said that she would be that easy to crack."
Celia, of course, is looking insufferably smug as she holds out her hand. "Pay up."
Emma hands her fifty dollars. "Worth every cent."
"You *bet* on whether you could crack me?" I hiss.
They take a long look at each other, then back at me.
"No," Celia replies.
"We bet on *how long* it would take to crack you," Emma adds.
I can't help the shiver that runs through my body.
"See," Celia tells Emma. "It's like her kryptonite."
"I'll have to remember that," Emma says thoughtfully.
I glare at Celia. "Now would seem an excellent time to reminisce about library privileges."
A satisfying silence falls from that direction as I wipe the smile off Celia's face.
"Oh?" Emma raises an elegant eyebrow. "Do tell."
"And you," I say, glaring at her in turn. "I may not know the skeletons in your closet, but don't think that I won't have my revenge there either."
She flashes me a broad smile. "I can't bring myself to regret a second of it, darling."
Huh. We'll see about that.
"So, have you been doing anything else other than making a temporary alliance to pick on me?" I ask. As surreptitiously as I can, I slip my right shoe off with my left foot. For what I have planned, the extra flexibility and responsiveness will be useful.
"Well between that and the obligatory threats about what would happen if she hurt you from yours truly, we haven't had much time for anything else," Celia says, then smirks, "That we're willing to tell you about."
Great, Celia. Way to hang that sword of Damocles above my head. I wonder how much it would cost to get her drunk and ship her off to a different country for a few weeks without her passport. Hell, I know where I could probably get some contributions.
"Things you're not willing to talk about?" I turn towards Emma and give her a mock contemplative look. She makes a minute but very satisfying jump as I take the opportunity to brush her thigh with one toe. "That does remind me of a time Celia and I were in school."
Celia gives me a suspicious look. There really is far too much material we have on each other from those days. If she can share some of it with Emma, then it's only polite to do the same.
Emma's look darkens as I gently home in one of her sensitive areas on her upper thigh. Despite my best efforts, a small thrill shivers through me at her response.
"For reasons too long," and too personally embarrassing, "To relate, both Celia and I ended up working in the school library."
Celia's eyes hold dawning horror. Despite my threat earlier, she hadn't really thought that I'd go there.
I'm entirely unsurprised to feel Emma's foot returning the favour. I tap it firmly with one hand, then take it and sketch an uh-uh gesture on her skin whilst looking her in the eye with an eyebrow minutely raised.
*Someone*, after all, promised not to do this to me in public. (Even though, right now this moment, a small part of me is tempted not to hold her to it.) From the look in her eyes, *someone* is also remembering that I made no such promise in return.
I don't let the foot escape, though. It could come in useful later.
"Celia generally worked the desk and I generally stacked books in the aisles."
I go back to gently tracing designs on Emma's thigh with one foot.
"But sometimes we swapped."
As I move my foot closer to the top, she spreads her legs a little. I'm not quite sure whether that's unconsciously or by design.
"After a while, we started swapping more and more."
It doesn't really matter. I can't help but take advantage.
I feel that shiver again; deeper this time. Lower. My heart beats a little faster, my breath quickens. I bring myself back under control again, at least on the surface. How does she do this to me without letting the teasing carry her away. Maybe I'll ask her one day. Maybe it just takes... practice.
So I'll practice.
"And one day, I discovered why."
Celia's hiding her face in one hand in an exaggerated fashion by now, but I can still see a hint of true crimson in her cheeks.
Emma's hands twitch a little, then fasten onto her mug as if to stop them reaching elsewhere. Her cheeks also contain a hint of crimson, but for a far different reason.
"I *had* noticed that one of the boys in our year - who I think was called Jack and was most definitely *not* her boyfriend at that time - had been visiting the library rather a lot recently."
I start in on Emma's foot. I've discovered that she has *awfully* sensitive toes.
Besides, it means that she'll be distracted from wondering where my foot will be travelling next.
"It turned out that books hadn't been the only thing that he'd been checking out. One afternoon I heard, well, noises coming from one of the less used areas of the library."
Right on cue Emma breathes out a little raggedly as I achieve contact, my own breath hissing through my teeth in response. Luckily, Celia seems too wrapped up in her own discomfort to notice.
"Innocently," I say and Celia snorts. I hadn't been exactly that even then. Nevertheless, "Innocently, I wandered along to find my best friend and confidante on her knees in front of Jack who had his trousers down around his ankles. Shocked to my core, I gasped."
This time, Emma doesn't provide a soundtrack as I gently increase the pressure on her panties, instead just biting her lip. The motion draws my gaze to her mouth; to those full, kissable lips. So soft, so inviting. So talented. I'm starting to wish we were alone, and somewhere private. Unfortunately, heading off to the bathroom together would be a little *too* blatant.
Well, maybe not for Emma.
But no. I'll just have to save it all up for later.
Anticipation crackles through me like electricity.
Celia just gives me a jaundiced look. It hadn't been a gasp at all - I'd laughed loudly at the shock on their faces as I'd discovered them.
"A little too loudly, perhaps, because the librarian seemed to just materialise from around a corner. I've never seen anyone manage to pull their trousers up quite as quickly as Jack did that day. And, needless to say, both of them had their library privileges revoked."
Celia peeks from between her fingers at that, shooting me a hopeful look in an attempt to dissuade me from finishing the tale.
I consider and finally relent. I give her a look which informs her that she had *better* make this up to me.
Celia sags in relief, then takes a glance Emma-wards for the first time since I had started... playing.
"Hey," she says accusingly, "You two are totally fooling around under the table,"
"No," I say, retrieving my foot and releasing Emma's. "I'm not." I take a sip of my coffee and smirk as Emma sags at the loss of pressure and shoots me a look of utter frustration. From not being able to reciprocate as much as not being allowed a release, if I read her correctly.
Good. I'd hate to think I'd misjudged that.
"You two!" Celia shakes her head in disgust. "Okay, Emily, I swear I'll never do the synch thing as long as you promise to never practically have sex in front of me again."
"*Someone's* gotten staid and boring in their old age," I note. "As well as gained an acute sense of hypocrisy."
"Yeah, well," Celia says. "Sadly, I can't do that kind of thing anymore. At least not where I might be caught."
The first rule of politics.
Emma clears her throat, and raises an eyebrow. "You two are far more boring than I thought if being caught having sex in a library is the height of scandal."
Celia and I look at each other and grin. "Boring," she says.
"That's us," I continue.
Like so many things in life, it isn't a bad thing when *I* do it.
Author's Note: Due to both Louisa and I being rather busy, it looks like the next part probably won't get posted before two weeks time. Sorry!
Author: Louisa and Tamoline
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Emma Frost
Notes: This revolves around the events of Faces, told from Emily's point of view. (We really will get around to the sequel, but Falling is of sufficiently different form that we thought it best to make a seperate story for it.)
You will need to read Faces before reading this story:
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9
The Hunt is suggested as well, as it deals with Emily prior to the events of Faces:
Groundwork Interrogation Contact Aftermath
Previous parts of Falling:
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10
Without intending to, I find myself dragging my feet as I make my way to the restaurant where I'm supposed to be meeting Emma for dinner. I want to see her, I do, but I just... I feel too raw to be out in public right now; to don my social mask and not do anything to stand out, to draw attention.
Like doing anything that might even touch the several internal boxes that I'm only just holding closed. Quite frankly at the moment it feels like that might include meeting someone's eyes or speaking.
The conversation with JJ... No. I just can't think about it right now. Drawing myself up, I square my shoulders and pick up the pace a little, turning my slow amble into a purposeful stride.
Time to put on my game face.
Emma, naturally, has already staked out her territory. She's established herself at one of the best tables in the house, where she lounges, glass of wine in hand, surveying the room and everyone in it as if they've been put there solely for her amusement. Her expression is a mixture of superiority and ennui, with just a dash of impatience. I should probably be thankful that she hasn't quite made it as far as 'irritably bored' yet.
She looks up as I approach, smiling with just enough of an edge to say: 'Your arrival pleases me, but you should have been here sooner.'
"Sorry I'm late," I offer. "Things took a little longer than I expected."
"Don't worry, darling," she drawls. "I'm sure you can make it up to me."
"I'm sure," I say dryly, doing the nearest thing to my usual slight smile that I can manage right now.
She starts to say something else, then stops, looks at me closely, then nods decisively. "I've decided. You can make it up by waiting on me hand and foot." She affects a slight smirk, but I can see the concern in her eyes. "In private."
Apparently I'm not doing as good a job hiding my state as I like to think I normally manage.
This should bother me.
Ordinarily, it would. But just now, the need to get away from all these eyes tracing across my skin like delicate brands is so much more preoccupying.
My smile widens a little in relief as I ask, "Your place or mine?"
"Mmmm..." she pretends to contemplate the remainder of her glass of wine a moment before draining it. "Yours, I think. So much better for you to serve me."
I think she means to be kind, to allow me to be on more familiar terrain, but as she says the words, I know I can't take her home tonight. Having her, anyone really, would just too personal, too private for how I'm feeling right now.
I wince a little as I reply, "Surely I could only do my apology justice in your place, not my humble abode."
She takes my rejection with nothing but a carefully schooled reaction for a moment, before nodding. "Granted, darling. Your apartment does have its limitations. Which does remind me - we really do need to do something about your decor."
I feel a laugh bubbling up from somewhere as I object with a mild, "Hey." She really does have the damnedest ways of helping me feel better, even if the difference feels far too slight at the moment.
She summons the waiter with an imperious glance, pays for the glass of wine already consumed and then takes me by the hand.
"Come on then," she says, giving me a gentle squeeze. "I do believe that you've got some serious grovelling to do."
I'm in bed that night before I can let myself go enough to dry sob a few times. No tears. I can't cry these days without my little rituals, and I wasn't in the mood for sex tonight.
I get the feeling Emma would have given me a Look if I had tried to muster the enthusiasm in any case. *She* still thinks that I need therapy.
No one has quite the zeal of a convert. And Emma does seem to believe in 'Do unto others.'
The sobs don't help - the pressure is still there - but I wasn't really expecting them to. It's enough for now. Emma has soothed my raw edges with our petty bickering.
The bitter irony strikes me suddenly. I've even compartmentalised the people I rely on. Celia is my succor. JJ is the person I can talk to, even if I *don't*.
Emma, Emma is the person I just seem to trust. The person I can let in.
I guess time will tell if she blurs these boundaries too.
In any case now I'm ready to sleep.
Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day. But, at the moment, I'm not sure I can believe that.
The next few days are hard. Much of the team is still ducking their heads after the dinner incident. And JJ and I are in a cold war. Or, more accurately, JJ is at war and I am in retreat.
JJ is a mistress of communication. Innocuous seeming comments. The way she might look at me for just a second. The silences when we might otherwise have said a word in passing.
Nothing unprofessional and individually, they'd mean nothing, even to me, their intended recipient. But accumulated...
But it's okay. We've been here before, even if then our positions were reversed.
It's almost familiar in its own way. And it's not like I don't deserve it.
I don't think that the rest of the team notice. JJ and I have always had a slightly off kilter dynamic.
This time, though, by unspoken agreement, we're keeping Garcia out of this. She patched us up last time. She doesn't deserve to get involved in my messes again.
It's better this time too, strangely enough. Despite how good JJ is at this, I'm *so* much better at hurting myself than she is. It's almost an artform, in its own twisted way. And I'm no longer carrying around the burden of that secret. The thing about compartmentalisation is that it doesn't make things disappear. You still have to deal with them one way or another.
Emma helps, too. Throughout all this, she provides me with a safe space, reminds me that there is something within me that people can find affection for.
And she'd be *awfully* offended if I forget the sex. Can't forget the sex.
Life is surprisingly not too bad.
'I'm in your apartment and I'm bored. Amuse me.
Emma.'
The invisible 'or else' is implied so strongly that it's a few seconds before I realise that it isn't actually there. I look at the time stamp and stifle a groan. Emma sent this two hours ago, but I've been so wrapped up in other things that I haven't been able to flicker into enough of a not-work mindset to check my personal email since I got in.
I try to convince myself that Emma would understand this. She really should by this point.
I have only limited success in that endeavour.
I fire off a quick email in response.
I don't get a reply.
Oh god. This really isn't good.
I hope I still have an apartment to get back to. My books. Won't anyone think of my books?
I've just about given up hope and am busy writing up an analysis when my cell phone goes. The text message sends a shiver down my spine.
'At Bean There with Celia. Am sufficiently amused. See you here after work.'
'Am sufficiently amused.' The most deadly words in *any* language. Especially when used by Emma.
And what is she doing with Celia? That bodes ill. And *there*? I couldn't believe Celia, at least, would agree to meet Emma there. Especially after their first (and, to my knowledge, last) meeting.
* * *
Watching Celia and Emma approach each other resembled nothing so much as a face off between two cats. I wasn't sure whether to be amused or to start running for cover.
This was starting well.
We weren't meeting at the Bean There. Despite the fact that I met both women there on at least a semi-regular basis, it wasn't neutral territory. Certainly not for Celia and -- I strongly suspected -- not for Emma.
It had become a place that Meant Things.
So, instead, here we were in a restaurant that Celia and Emma had managed to agree on, after a somewhat protracted battle over text and email. I had to stop my eyes rolling at the memory of *that* little dominance battle. I was fairly certain that many of the objections that each found in the other's choices were made purely so they wouldn't have to concede to the other. I was equally certain that, barring a minor miracle, choosing to meet one in one of the other's suggestions was probably not a good idea for the forseeable future.
I could, of course, have intervened to settle the matter much more quickly, but I was fairly certain that would have meant both women turning their focus on me.
I had no particular designs on being a chew toy of contention between them any time ever if I could manage it. Sadly, looking at them now, I didn't rate my chances of escaping that fate too highly.
"Celia, this is Emma. Emma, Celia," I offered up. The two women barely acknowledged me, sizing each other up. Still, Emma's grip on me, initiated shortly before we entered the restaurant, showed no signs of relenting in the slightest.
Oh so subtle, I thought sourly in her direction.
So there they stood, like two gunslingers sizing each other up, for a few minutes. Until there was a twitch -- who started it I wasn't entirely certain -- and then we were moving towards the table. From their body language, it was extremely hard to tell who had won that exchange. Both appeared to be proclaiming victory in their own way, but I *thought* that Emma had the edge. Maybe.
On the other hand, her grip on me still hadn't let up, and there was only so much of this that I was going to take.
I broke Emma's hold on me, ignored her offended look (which she was no doubt going to try to make me pay for later) and picked up to my pace so I arrived at the table first.
I knew enough about Celia and Emma to know exactly what would happen if I allowed them to get here first, and I was going to head that off right now.
I took one side and offered up the seats on the other with a bland smile. "I thought that you two could sit over there together and get to know each other a little better."
They both shot me offended looks, Emma's a tad more outraged, but there was no way I was going to let who I sat with be another point of contention. So the two of them could just live with it.
Maybe it wasn't the wisest thing, focussing their attention on me, but if they started, I'd show them this chew toy had teeth.
I always did have a lot lower threshold for this kind of thing in person rather than in text that I could easily ignore.
The two of them shot each other almost imperceptible looks, then sat down, each making sure to move their chairs away from each other just a bit.
Sigh. Children, children.
I was wise enough to keep *that* thought to myself.
"Well, Emma," Celia started with what was meant to be a smile. Of sorts. Celia's smiles can be very eloquent. "Emily has been telling me *all* about you."
I glowered at her. This really wasn't the kind of help I needed from my friends. Expected, but definitely not needed.
"Really?" Emma raised an eyebrow. "Because *you* seem to have slipped her mind completely."
"Oh, you know Emily, and how she keeps her most precious things secret," Celia smirked.
"How fascinating," Emma said looking bored. "And how novel."
Oh joy. This was looking like the kind of evening where I could be replaced by a decent mannequin, and no one would notice for at least a few hours.
Still, things could be worse. I could be seated next to Emma. Relationship or no, I was fairly certain that she wasn't above marking me with nails when it came down to pissing matches, and not even in a fun way.
I settled down to just watch the evening's entertainment. I briefly thought about keeping score, but, really, after this, both women were going to get told that they lost to the other.
Shortly before some extremely pointed conversations about etiquette. I was going to do my mother proud.
* * *
In some ways, the scene before me as I arrive at the coffee shop is eerily familiar. Both women are sitting on the same side of the table. In most ways, though, it's very different.
They're smiling at each other, more or less genuinely, as far as I can tell. Relaxed, chatting. And this time they're seated not so they can't make me choose a side as, very obviously, so they can both focus on me.
I pinch myself in the vague hope that this is all just a horrible nightmare.
It's not. It's all real. It's my worst fear come to life.
My best friend and my girlfriend are conspiring against me. And they're not even having the decency to be subtle about it.
Emma notices first as I near, and their conversation cuts off as they turn towards me and smile. Not in unison -- thankfully -- but equally terrifying in their own way. Emma's smile is the kind a large cat might us to greet a particularly juicy antelope whereas Celia's is just full of the pure evil I remember so well from our school days. I reflexively glance above me but, of course, these days she's not that easy to predict.
Oh great.
"Hey," I say tentatively, hesitating for a second before taking a seat at the table. I would consider fleeing, but, really, that would just give them more time to plot.
"Good afternoon," Celia says, then takes a sip of her coffee.
"We've resolved our differences," Emma observes blandly.
Okay, finishing each other's sentences like that is just a little creepy.
"And then we had *plenty* of time to concentrate on other things," Celia says, shooting me a look of cheerful malice.
Okay, they can really stop this now.
"It was *so* much more profitable that way," Emma continues, providing the straw that breaks the camel's back.
"Okay, just stop right there."
Shit. I didn't mean to use my outside voice,
Emma raises a perfect eyebrow. "Stop?"
"We've barely begun," smirks Celia.
"Seriously, you can stop anytime." I pause for a beat. "Like now." All in all, I think I preferred the pissing contest.
"But we're getting on well."
"So very well."
"Darling." Emma draws the word out, pouting a little; like I'm being unreasonable trying to stop their fun.
"Bonding over the things we have in common."
"Namely you."
And then they both *smile* at me. Together.
I just can't take it any more.
"Will you two just STOP DOING THAT!" I shriek a little louder than I really intend.
The coffee shop falls silent and I can feel everyone look in my direction. Great. Just great. I decide then and there that I hate the both of them.
Emma turns to look at Celia and says, "I really didn't believe you when you said that she would be that easy to crack."
Celia, of course, is looking insufferably smug as she holds out her hand. "Pay up."
Emma hands her fifty dollars. "Worth every cent."
"You *bet* on whether you could crack me?" I hiss.
They take a long look at each other, then back at me.
"No," Celia replies.
"We bet on *how long* it would take to crack you," Emma adds.
I can't help the shiver that runs through my body.
"See," Celia tells Emma. "It's like her kryptonite."
"I'll have to remember that," Emma says thoughtfully.
I glare at Celia. "Now would seem an excellent time to reminisce about library privileges."
A satisfying silence falls from that direction as I wipe the smile off Celia's face.
"Oh?" Emma raises an elegant eyebrow. "Do tell."
"And you," I say, glaring at her in turn. "I may not know the skeletons in your closet, but don't think that I won't have my revenge there either."
She flashes me a broad smile. "I can't bring myself to regret a second of it, darling."
Huh. We'll see about that.
"So, have you been doing anything else other than making a temporary alliance to pick on me?" I ask. As surreptitiously as I can, I slip my right shoe off with my left foot. For what I have planned, the extra flexibility and responsiveness will be useful.
"Well between that and the obligatory threats about what would happen if she hurt you from yours truly, we haven't had much time for anything else," Celia says, then smirks, "That we're willing to tell you about."
Great, Celia. Way to hang that sword of Damocles above my head. I wonder how much it would cost to get her drunk and ship her off to a different country for a few weeks without her passport. Hell, I know where I could probably get some contributions.
"Things you're not willing to talk about?" I turn towards Emma and give her a mock contemplative look. She makes a minute but very satisfying jump as I take the opportunity to brush her thigh with one toe. "That does remind me of a time Celia and I were in school."
Celia gives me a suspicious look. There really is far too much material we have on each other from those days. If she can share some of it with Emma, then it's only polite to do the same.
Emma's look darkens as I gently home in one of her sensitive areas on her upper thigh. Despite my best efforts, a small thrill shivers through me at her response.
"For reasons too long," and too personally embarrassing, "To relate, both Celia and I ended up working in the school library."
Celia's eyes hold dawning horror. Despite my threat earlier, she hadn't really thought that I'd go there.
I'm entirely unsurprised to feel Emma's foot returning the favour. I tap it firmly with one hand, then take it and sketch an uh-uh gesture on her skin whilst looking her in the eye with an eyebrow minutely raised.
*Someone*, after all, promised not to do this to me in public. (Even though, right now this moment, a small part of me is tempted not to hold her to it.) From the look in her eyes, *someone* is also remembering that I made no such promise in return.
I don't let the foot escape, though. It could come in useful later.
"Celia generally worked the desk and I generally stacked books in the aisles."
I go back to gently tracing designs on Emma's thigh with one foot.
"But sometimes we swapped."
As I move my foot closer to the top, she spreads her legs a little. I'm not quite sure whether that's unconsciously or by design.
"After a while, we started swapping more and more."
It doesn't really matter. I can't help but take advantage.
I feel that shiver again; deeper this time. Lower. My heart beats a little faster, my breath quickens. I bring myself back under control again, at least on the surface. How does she do this to me without letting the teasing carry her away. Maybe I'll ask her one day. Maybe it just takes... practice.
So I'll practice.
"And one day, I discovered why."
Celia's hiding her face in one hand in an exaggerated fashion by now, but I can still see a hint of true crimson in her cheeks.
Emma's hands twitch a little, then fasten onto her mug as if to stop them reaching elsewhere. Her cheeks also contain a hint of crimson, but for a far different reason.
"I *had* noticed that one of the boys in our year - who I think was called Jack and was most definitely *not* her boyfriend at that time - had been visiting the library rather a lot recently."
I start in on Emma's foot. I've discovered that she has *awfully* sensitive toes.
Besides, it means that she'll be distracted from wondering where my foot will be travelling next.
"It turned out that books hadn't been the only thing that he'd been checking out. One afternoon I heard, well, noises coming from one of the less used areas of the library."
Right on cue Emma breathes out a little raggedly as I achieve contact, my own breath hissing through my teeth in response. Luckily, Celia seems too wrapped up in her own discomfort to notice.
"Innocently," I say and Celia snorts. I hadn't been exactly that even then. Nevertheless, "Innocently, I wandered along to find my best friend and confidante on her knees in front of Jack who had his trousers down around his ankles. Shocked to my core, I gasped."
This time, Emma doesn't provide a soundtrack as I gently increase the pressure on her panties, instead just biting her lip. The motion draws my gaze to her mouth; to those full, kissable lips. So soft, so inviting. So talented. I'm starting to wish we were alone, and somewhere private. Unfortunately, heading off to the bathroom together would be a little *too* blatant.
Well, maybe not for Emma.
But no. I'll just have to save it all up for later.
Anticipation crackles through me like electricity.
Celia just gives me a jaundiced look. It hadn't been a gasp at all - I'd laughed loudly at the shock on their faces as I'd discovered them.
"A little too loudly, perhaps, because the librarian seemed to just materialise from around a corner. I've never seen anyone manage to pull their trousers up quite as quickly as Jack did that day. And, needless to say, both of them had their library privileges revoked."
Celia peeks from between her fingers at that, shooting me a hopeful look in an attempt to dissuade me from finishing the tale.
I consider and finally relent. I give her a look which informs her that she had *better* make this up to me.
Celia sags in relief, then takes a glance Emma-wards for the first time since I had started... playing.
"Hey," she says accusingly, "You two are totally fooling around under the table,"
"No," I say, retrieving my foot and releasing Emma's. "I'm not." I take a sip of my coffee and smirk as Emma sags at the loss of pressure and shoots me a look of utter frustration. From not being able to reciprocate as much as not being allowed a release, if I read her correctly.
Good. I'd hate to think I'd misjudged that.
"You two!" Celia shakes her head in disgust. "Okay, Emily, I swear I'll never do the synch thing as long as you promise to never practically have sex in front of me again."
"*Someone's* gotten staid and boring in their old age," I note. "As well as gained an acute sense of hypocrisy."
"Yeah, well," Celia says. "Sadly, I can't do that kind of thing anymore. At least not where I might be caught."
The first rule of politics.
Emma clears her throat, and raises an eyebrow. "You two are far more boring than I thought if being caught having sex in a library is the height of scandal."
Celia and I look at each other and grin. "Boring," she says.
"That's us," I continue.
Like so many things in life, it isn't a bad thing when *I* do it.
Author's Note: Due to both Louisa and I being rather busy, it looks like the next part probably won't get posted before two weeks time. Sorry!