Archive of Our Own

As much as she preferred the open outdoors to a too small bedroom in an almost decent inn, Yasha was happy to have her privacy again. 

Sharing a tent with Beau and Jester had been becoming… problematic. And not just because both women snored. Three to a tent intended for two was just too many, especially for someone of Yasha’s stature. On more than one occasion, she had woken up with Jester’s tail in her face or a mouthful of Beau’s hair. It was cramped, poorly insulated, and impossible to get up in the middle of the night without stepping on someone.

And, well, not a single night passed when Yasha didn’t think about rolling on top of Beau and fucking her into the ground beneath them.

Usually, she had better self control than this. Years without another’s touch built up her tolerance to deprivation, she had thought. But gods, Yasha hadn’t anticipated crumbling under her hunger so easily. Every crooked grin, every coy flash of smiling blue eyes; Yasha felt it in the tightening of her throat and the lurching in her gut. She wanted Beau, wanted to touch her, to hold her, and to be touched and held in return. She wanted more than that even, something she didn’t dare name, yet seared the deepest caverns of her heart. 

It was an unfortunate inconvenience. 

Wrestling with that vulnerability was troublesome enough without Beau’s reckless encouragement. She had no difficulty making a display of her desire, brazen and insatiable as ever, and Yasha’s resolve always seemed to fail her whenever she did. There had been too many close calls these past nights, stifling moans and freezing in the throes of pleasure every time Jester stirred across the tent.

“Mmm, just relax, Yash,” Beau had murmured between her legs, not too long ago. “She grew up in a brothel, I guarantee she’s seen worse than this. Besides--”  Yasha shuddered as Beau gave her cunt a long, slow swipe from bottom to top. “I dunno how much longer you can hold out.”

Regardless of how convincing Beau’s argument had been at the time, it wasn’t worth the awkwardness of facing Jester the next morning. She was an awful person, certainly, for making a voyeur of their friend (even if Jester had always been a bit of one in the first place). It was weak of her to indulge in such indiscretions, to lose her conscience. The last time… Yasha didn’t want to think about the last time she let her desires cloud her better judgement. She wouldn't.

Often in those nights, she tried to distract herself from the weight of it all. There were other things, surely, other less complicated pleasures that put her at ease. The earthy perfume that hung in the air before a rainstorm. A sea of wildflowers, all bright, all in bloom. The satisfaction of a good, clean kill. But there was no sweeter scent, or sight, or thrill than Beauregard, and Yasha couldn’t blame her mind for drifting.

So, when Caduceus pointed out a distant collection of lantern light and the path beneath their cart became more and more paved, she let the corners of her mouth curl into a small smile. This was what she needed. Rest, recovery, a room all to herself. Beau all to herself… 

“You, Yasha,” Nott suddenly croaked. “What’s so funny? Why are you smiling?” 

Yasha turned her attention downwards to see a pair of suspicious yellow eyes peering at her from behind a comically large flask. 

Shit.

“Do I need a reason to smile, Nott?” She countered slowly, any and all budding fantasies dashed as abruptly as they arrived.                          

“You never smile.” 

“I smile.” Yasha replied, at the same time as Caleb, nose buried in a book, added absently, “She smiles.”

But Nott seemed to pay no mind to the man beside her’s response. She held her wary gaze, shifting her head to and fro, regarding Yasha from different angles. “Hmm…” She hummed. “Suspicious.”

Yasha let out a sigh. She could put up with Nott’s antics usually, taking all her skepticism and ridiculous accusations in stride. But her patience had been growing thin with every passing hour packed into that rickety cart. It was kind of funny, really. Yasha could live happily out in the open amongst the wind and wild, with no real roof for the rest of her days. But just one afternoon squished between Fjord and the back of the cart, with little quiet and no leg room had her in a particular sour mood. The sexual frustration probably didn’t help either.

“Would you prefer I didn’t smile at you, then?” Yasha’s eyes narrowed at the goblin and her upper lip curled into a snarl. “Is this better?” She asked, her voice stern and low, not yet a growl, but close. 

That was all it took for Nott to let out a shrill yelp and scurry to Caleb’s other side.; “Nope, nope, Miss Orphanmaker, ma’am! Your smile is lovely, I wouldn’t change a thing if were you!” She corrected quickly, surrendering. 

Yasha dropped the facade and her expression, inwardly amused by Nott’s skittish reaction, but kept her tone stern. “Good. Now mind your own business.”

A low whistle came from near the front of the cart. “Damn,” Beauregard commented, jutting up her chin in an appraising nod. “Okay, Yasha.” 

Yasha made the mistake of making eye contact with Beau, catching the momentary, suggestive quirk of an eyebrow and undeniable interest behind her gaze. Clearly, her steely, demanding demeanor didn't just have an effect on Nott. Yasha tried to clear her throat subtly and averted her eyes, regarding Beau’s relaxed, inviting posture instead. In cruel response, Beau took this moment to stretch her arms above her head and arch her back, giving Yasha an enticing glimpse of that toned abdomen, releasing a soft groan as she did so. 

In spite of the sudden rush of heat to her cheeks and between her legs, Yasha maintained a neutral exterior. Once more, she briefly locked eyes with Beau in an effort to silently communicate. You wait, she thought, biting down hard on the inside of her cheek, You wait until I finally have you all to myself. We’ll see how smug you are then.

Beau matched her stare with equal intensity, and Yasha could feel that warm, familiar stirring settle in her groin. For the longest time, Yasha had resisted this kind of carnal intimacy, but Beau… Gods, Yasha wanted to devour her. Devour with an ardor she had only ever experienced once before, no longer dormant and just as fervid. Before all that, however, Yasha wanted to get out of that fucking cart.

By the time the Mighty Nein had arrived at the town gates, the sun had already begun to set. After stowing their cargo and dolling out the necessary coin for a few night’s lodging, it was nearing twilight, and their chosen inn was bustling with noise and activity. Yasha was quick to bid each of her friends a brief goodnight, only allowing herself a short, meaningful look in Beau’s direction before retreating upstairs to the single room she had so desired.

The room was plain as any other tavern respite, though nicer than Yasha had anticipated. It had all the basic amenities: a bed pushed against the back wall, a desk, a stool, as well as an oil lamp on the nightstand and stone water basin tucked into a corner. Her traveling pack landed on small rug beside the bed with a muted thud as she shucked it to the floor. Outside the window, streaks of orange seared across a purple sky, casting the room in a fiery glow.

Running her fingers over not-too-scratchy sheets, Yasha gripped a bar of the iron bed frame, the metal cool to the touch. Cheap material to be sure, but it still had more structure than sleeping outside on a bedroll. She carefully unstrapped the two greatswords from her back, set them on the table across the room, and collapsed on the bed. 

A little bit of comfort never hurt anyone , she thought to herself, stretching out the full length of her legs until her feet were dangling off the edge. She extended her arms out to their wingspan, groaning at the tightness in her back and shoulder muscles. When was the last time she slept in an actual bed? One week ago? Two? Yasha couldn’t remember. She could have passed out right there, still clad in her leathers and furs and boots, if her entire body hadn’t been so strongly humming with anticipation.  

You’re acting ridiculous , she scolded herself as she began to unfasten her makeshift pieces of armor. This kind of thing, you never used to care about it before. Since when did you become so desperate for-- for sex?

To say she didn’t know the exact answer would be a downright lie.

For the first time in a long time, Yasha examined her naked body in the looking glass above the water basin. She had lost weight on the road, her skin tight against her biceps, the flesh above her hips trimmer than she remembered. New bruises took the place of older ones, marring marble planes with purple and yellow splotches amongst the myriad of thin, white scars. She could use a shave as well, Yasha noticed, studying her underarms. Especially between her legs, her hair had gotten rather long and unruly-- more so than usual, at least. She brought a hand down to the apex of her thighs, the hair down there coarse as she ran her fingers through it. Not an unpleasant sensation, exactly, but Yasha found herself uncharacteristically self conscious.

Beau wouldn’t mind… all this, would she?   Yasha asked herself, her reflection looking back at her, unclean and unsure. She let out a frustrated breath through her nose and turned away to riffle through her bag for a dagger. It was stupid, so stupid for her to worry herself with something so shallow and trivial. Never once had Beau been critical of her appearance. Quite the contrary, in fact. Even since they first met, hardly a day went by when Yasha hadn't caught her staring. But even so, Yasha returned to the basin, cleaned the instrument, and lathered up her body.

The distant sounds of chatter and revelry were just barely audible as Yasha gingerly dragged the knife along her skin, careful as not to nick herself with the serrated blade. It wasn’t a perfect job, a little bit patchy in places, but after a short while Yasha reexamined her form in the mirror. The bare flesh looked so strange, so naked shaven. Her calves were pleasantly smooth to the touch and the wisps of dark hair that trailed just below her navel led to nowhere but even paler skin. Yasha couldn’t decide whether she liked it or hated it.

About fifteen minutes later, after she had scrubbed the grime out of her fingernails and was in the middle of unravelling the tight braids in her hair, Yasha heard a rapping at the door. 

Beau. 

Yasha quickly reached for a rag and began to dry off her face and hands, giving the rest of her body a final dusting for any latent hairs. Someone’s eager , she thought to herself, excitement and the panic of being caught unprepared mixing into a jittery cocktail in her stomach. We couldn’t have gotten here more than thirty minutes ago. Yasha could imagine it so clearly: Beau leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed to show off her toned forearms, a desperate glint in her brilliant blue eyes betraying an otherwise teasing smile. She scrambled across the room, rummaging around her bundle of clothes to throw a relatively clean tunic on over her naked body. In her head, she kicked herself for looking such a mess, and then once more for caring so much.

The knocking sounded again, followed by a familiar, gravelly voice. “Hey, Yasha,” Beauregard called through the door, her voice more strained than usual. “You, uh, you don’t happen to have a first aid kit on you or anything?”

At those words, Yasha felt a frantic rush of concern and bounded towards the bedroom door, practically throwing it open in a fit of haste. Before her stood a slightly bewildered Beauregard, sporting a split lip and bloody scratch across her cheek, cradling her fist against her chest. 

“Are you alright?” Yasha demanded, surprised by the force and edge behind her voice. Her heart was pounding in her chest, an unprecedented wave of anxiety crashing into the collection of high strung emotions stirring inside her. The idea that something had happened to Beau, that something had hurt her filled Yasha with a frenetic kind of distress. The surge of adrenaline prickled at her skin like static, rumbling like thunder within her bones. 

“Woah, yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Beau quickly tried to reassure her, clearly taken aback by Yasha’s intensity. She put her hands up in defense, wincing slightly as she let go of her hand. “Just uh, got into a little bit of a disagreement with this guy downstairs. S’nothing.” Then, cocking her head to the side and looking the woman in front of her up and down, Beau added, “Are you not wearing pants?”

Yasha felt her cheeks go red. She looked down, where Beau’s gaze was focused, noticing how the edge of her tunic barely fell past the tops of her thighs, leaving the majority of her lower half on display. “I, ah… I was washing-- never mind, just come inside.” Yasha said, stepping behind the door as she held it open to preserve her modesty. 

“Thanks.” Beau replied, stepping across the threshold, taking in the room around her. “Man, they gave you a nice one. Mine and Jester’s doesn’t even have a window. And it cost, like, a silver more.”

A strange irritation began to gnaw at the base of Yasha’s neck. Finally getting Beau alone was all she had thought about for days now. She’d been patient (to the best of her ability), she cleaned herself (as thoroughly as a basin in a tavern room would allow), she even groomed herself for the first time in weeks in preparation for tonight. And in return, Beau had got into a bar fight, retreated to Yasha to nurse her wounds, and then acted as if nothing was wrong. Or, was it wrong of her, for this to bother her like it did?

“Sit.” Yasha told her brusquely, motioning at the stool by the desk with her chin, shutting the door behind her. Without waiting for Beau to move or reply, Yasha muttered a quiet light cantrip on the nearby oil lamp and retrieved a fresh rag, wetting it in the basin. Beau was perched on the stool, touching her cut lip with gentle fingertips, inspecting them for blood. She straightened up a little when Yasha stood before her, and let out a soft exhale of breath when she firmly tilted back her chin.

About a minute of silence went by-- Yasha wiping the blood off Beau’s face, subconsciously grinding her teeth, and Beau trying to keep still, tensing every time Yasha’s swipes were too rough-- before Yasha finally spoke up.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” 

Beau sighed. “It wasn’t even my fault. Guy thought I’d been stealing his gold outta his pockets, he starting screaming about it, I told him to fuck off, so he smashed his glass and frickin' lunged at me with it.” She paused, as if waiting for the Yasha to interrupt, and concluded when she received no response: “I put him in his place though, so I’d say we’re pretty much even.”

“Were you?” Yasha asked lightly, wringing the rag dry, looking anywhere but directly into Beau’s eyes.

“Were I what?”

“Stealing gold from his pockets.”

At that, Beau jerked away, indignant. “No!” She met Yasha’s stern gaze with a disgruntled frown for a beat, before deflating somewhat. “Nott might have been though, she was sitting between us before I lost sight of her.”

Yasha said nothing, just continued to scrub away at the wounds, cocking Beau’s head to side a little rougher than necessary. Of course , Beau had to encourage Nott’s bad habits, as if putting herself in harm’s way and causing a scene within an hour of their arrival in town wasn’t bad enough. Still, it didn’t stop Yasha from wanting to march down to the barroom and crack a tankard over her attacker’s skull. 

Beau must have picked up on her displeasure because she caught Yasha’s wrist with her good hand and tugged it away from her neck. “C’mon, you’re not seriously mad at me for being attacked are you?” She said, raising a sharp, now only slightly bloody eyebrow. 

Yasha bristled a little bit, meeting her quizzical stare with narrowed eyes. She wasn’t even sure who exactly she was mad at anymore. Even so, the ebbing ire and irritation remained a constant itch at the back of her mind.  

“I’m not.” She responded, gruff and unconvincing, trying to wrestle free from Beau’s grip. 

“Oh, no?” Beau countered, her tone and expression shifting from inquiring to downright provocative. With a sudden, swift force she tore Yasha’s hand away from her face, twisting her arm across her leg and pulling her, completely off guard, down to one knee in front of her. 

That bloody monk training.

A low, guttural sound escaped the back of Yasha’s throat as she reached around to grab the back of Beau’s stool with her free hand, surrounding her as best she could. She wrestled the wrist still caught in Beau’s clutches, flipping her hand over to dig her nails into the wiry muscle of Beau’s thigh. 

“No.” She growled, the white hot flames stirring under her skin once again, flaring up deep within her gut and groin.

If not for the tensing of her jaw and sharp inhale through her nose, Beau had no visible reaction to the sudden shift in dynamic. Yasha steeled her body and dragged the stool the slightest bit closer, prepared, this time, for an attack. She could have sworn she could feel the energy radiating from Beau’s body, heat and ki pulsing rhythmically in the air between them. Or perhaps that was just her own heart, pounding soundly in her chest, reverberating in her eardrums. Regardless, she held her stare and tightened her grip on Beau’s thigh, daring her to strike back.

To her surprise, Beau relaxed in her seat, releasing her hold on Yasha’s arm. She shifted to brace the heels of her hands against the edge of the stool and pushed herself up and into Yasha’s space until there was no more space between them to speak of. 

“Could’ve fooled me.” She breathed, with a defiant cock of her head towards the nails still biting into her flesh.

A sudden shiver traveled down Yasha’s spine and settled with a hum between her legs. Yasha could no longer ignore the effect their little altercation was having on her body. Excitement had turned to panic, to vexation, to anger, then finally came full circle back to arousal; the heat searing beneath her skin was different, if not just as strong. It would be so, so easy to throw Beau onto the desk behind her, to take her lip between her teeth, and tear off her robes in a fit. But Yasha saw the blood caked on her face and the bruises on her trembling knuckles, and something drew her back.

“I… I just don’t like seeing you hurt.” Yasha murmured, looking down slightly.

A moment of silence passed. “Yeah, I know.” Beau said softly, “I’m sorry.”

Yasha shook her head. “It’s not your fault.” Because it wasn’t. Not really. Beau getting into a bar fight was as sure as spring. It was Yasha who let it get under her skin, who gave it the power to provoke her emotions like so. It was her fault for being so weak. 

“Still though,” Beau replied, “It was kinda a dick move to hit him back. Especially considering he wasn’t entirely wrong about the money.”

Yasha snorted. “Kind of?”

“Okay, it was totally shitty of me.” Beau gave in, chuckling. “I probably deserve all this.”

Yasha looked up at the woman before her, at her crooked, sheepish smile, at the messy flyaways that framed her face. She reached out, completely unable to help herself. “Probably.” Yasha repeated softly, barely brushing her fingers along the length of Beau’s cheekbone. When she reached the broken skin, however, she felt the thunder in her bones return, and her hand twitched to crush the windpipe of a faceless drunkard just downstairs

Scratches and sore knuckles never would have fazed the Orphan Maker , Yasha scolded herself, tracing the cut along Beau’s eyebrow. With a quiet incantation, healing magic spooled from her fingertips, stitching up the wound with a fluorescent golden thread before evaporating into the air. She watched as Beau leaned into the warmth of her touch, eyelids fluttering, drawing easy breaths through parted lips. The gods have cursed me with a fragile heart.

“Better?” Yasha murmured, her fingertips selfishly lingering on Beau’s face.

“Mmm, yeah.” Beau replied, giving the cut near the corner of her mouth a tentative lick. “Yeah, thanks. It’s so frickin' cool that you can do that.”

“It’s about all I can do.” Yasha told her, withdrawing her hand and blushing a bit at the undeserved praise. “You really should have gone to Jester or Caduceus.”

“Jester completely crashed the second we put our stuff down. And Cad’s probably doing his whole ‘commune with nature’ ritual thing before bed. In order to get, like, super visceral dreams from the Wildmother, or whatever.” 

“That’s very fair. You’d have to be an idiot to interrupt that.”

“I know, right?” Beau huffed a laugh and Yasha returned a small smile. “Besides,” she added a moment later, her voice softer than before, “Is it wrong for me to want you? Over them, I mean.”

Yasha glanced up at her, meeting that genuine, almost timid look in her eye, noticing the way she bit at the flesh of her lip. Seeing Beau so gentle, so vulnerable, so loving , wasn’t exactly a common occurrence. But still, it sent her fragile heart soaring every time.

“No.” She replied in a whisper, shaking her head and leaning in until their lips were barely brushing. “I would hope you do, actually.”

“Oh, do you n--” Beau began, but Yasha silenced her as effectively as she knew how, smiling through soft kisses as Beau’s comment melted into a low, satisfied hum in the back of her throat. Blindly, she threaded her fingers through Beau’s hair until she reached a loosely held ribbon, untying it as deftly as she could with the hand not currently playing at Beau’s hipbone. Yasha felt a short, raspy moan against her mouth when she gave the hair curled in fingers a light tug, followed by a pair of fists clutching at the material of her tunic.

Always so eager. 

It was obvious Beau wanted more, judging by the nips of her teeth to the heft behind each breath. But despite the satisfaction of finally having her lover’s full attention, Yasha found herself amused more than anything else. She knew exactly what Beau wanted. She knew exactly what to withhold. That gave her the upper hand. 

And when it came to Beau, getting the upper hand was a whole kind of satisfaction in itself. 

“You know,” Beau said, occasionally interrupting herself off to kiss along Yasha’s jaw, her hands traveling the length of her body. “There’s something else that could use your attention. Unless you think Jester and Caduceus are more, uh, equipped to handle the job.”

“Is there now?”

“Mm-hm.” The response came pressed against her neck, punctuated by a firm grope at one of her breasts.

Fuck.

“Get on the bed.” Yasha demanded, her voice husky. “On your back.”

Beau bounded across the room, her loose hair rippling behind her as she went. Caught in the last light of the sunset, it spilt across the pillows in waves of dark, molten bronze.

”Lovely,” Yasha breathed, too quiet for Beau to hear. She strode over to the bed with measured, deliberate steps, her eyes locked on Beau’s figure. She watched as Beau wriggled out of her overcoat and propped herself up on her elbows and she watched as Beau looked right back at her. Watching, waiting, much like moorland beast does its prey. Biding its time, not for a direct kill (that would be impossible when the target can see open, rolling planes from every angle until the horizon), but for the chase.

She settled herself on top of Beau with a little pounce, arms pinned on either side of her head. Her bare sex pressed against the fabric of Beau’s pants as she straddled her leg, the intensity of her arousal more evident than ever. For a moment longer, neither woman moved. But then, Yasha got tired of waiting, and Beau tilted back her chin to accommodate her, and the chase had begun.

Their kisses were hungrier now. Yasha pressed herself against Beau completely and let her hips rock against Beau’s thigh. If Beau minded the pressure of Yasha’s full weight atop her chest, she didn’t show it. Instead, she bucked her hips upwards in return and grabbed at Yasha’s back, at her sides, her shoulders. Deft fingers searching for bare skin beneath her tunic, searching for contact, searching for more .

This is her nature , Yasha thought, taking Beau’s bottom lip between her teeth and biting down. She could taste the salt and iron of a wound reopened, and lapped at where the tavern patron had struck her. Action. Rebellion. Feeling. The very thing that got her hurt today.

Under her tongue, Beau let out a low moan, half pained, half elated.

The very thing that’s kept her alive this long. 

Suddenly, Yasha grabbed Beau’s hands that had been previously playing at her torso and tore them away, pinning them above Beau’s head. 

“No,” she said. 

Beau took that as a challenge, cocking an eyebrow and writhing in Yasha’s grip. When she smiled that dancing, wolfish smile, her teeth were stained with blood. 

“No.” Yasha said once again, ignoring the way that image sent her core throbbing and refusing the urge to lick her teeth clean. Her voice was stronger, harsher than before. She squeezed Beau’s hands tighter than necessary, and watched as Beau winced, her grin twisting into a grimace. The hand she had injured downstairs seemed to crumble in Yasha’s grasp.

“You don’t get to touch me tonight, Beau.”

Confusion replaced the flash of discomfort in Beauregard’s eyes. 

“Wha..”

“Your hands have gotten you in enough trouble tonight as it is.” Yasha told her. She pinned them to the pillow with her forearm now, leaving one hand free to travel down and pull at the sash around Beau’s waist. When she brushed the skin of her lower abdomen, Beau inhaled sharply, shivering. “Now, you don’t get to use them.”

“You can’t be serious,” Beau whined, sounding both disbelieving and petulant at the same time. “Yashaa...”

With a forceful tug, Yasha ripped the sash from Beau’s body, cracking it like a whip. She pressed her forearm harder against Beau’s wrists, relishing the hiss that escaped her lover’s clenched teeth. 

“Do I not look serious?”

Beau said nothing, her brow furrowed in displeasure. Then, in a sudden burst of movement, she wrapped her legs around Yasha’s hips for purchase and used the newfound leverage to jerk her arm free. A moment of struggle passed; Beau twisting and flipping the pair over, only to be swiftly overpowered by Yasha, the brief gleam of triumph in her eyes dashed as she hit the mattress with a soft thud.

“Fuck,” Beau cursed under her breath. She was breathing heavily now, her pupils blown wide in darkened irises. Yasha stared right into them with a lust shaded gaze of her own.

“Maybe you were not paying attention.” Yasha rumbled. Her words were low and dangerous, like the distant threat of rolling thunder. “I will tell you one more time, Beau, and I very much hope you listen.” 

Beau was thankfully silent beneath her, save for the slowing exhales of breath through parted lips. 

“You do not…” Yasha spoke slowly now, each syllable coated with warning, “...get to touch me tonight. You will put your hands behind your head and you will not make me ask again.”

Yasha could see the struggle to submit written in the crinkle of Beau’s nose, the bobbing of her throat. It only served to sharpen her hunger even more. The heat between her legs was roaring now, slick with arousal and so scorching it hurt. Giving in, she dragged her clit along the length of Beau’s thigh and let out a rasping moan, shuddering at the relief. Her body howled in approval and she did it again, leaving the material of Beau’s pants damp in her wake.

“Oh fuck, please Yasha,” Beau broke her vigil, her whimpered pleas swiftly splitting Yasha from her haze the way a beam of lightning splits an oak. “I know you need it, just… fucking look at yourself… I wanna make you feel good, Yash, just let me--”

Her rambling was soon cut off by the press of the sash against her throat. It had been cast aside during their brief tussle for control, but now lay across Beau’s neck like a garrote, pulled taut enough to silence in Yasha’s grip.

“I said, no .” Yasha snarled. She shifted her weight, clenching her knees tight into Beau’s sides as an additional demonstration of her control. “And you will do as I say, or you will be punished. Hands up.”

Closing her eyes and letting out a groan, Beau threw back her arms and crossed her wrists above her head. Yasha lapped up her defeat like wine, hiding her grin with a quick kiss against Beau’s jaw. 

“See,” Yasha murmured, honey dripping from her voice and replacing all edge and bite. Her touch was shockingly gentle as she wrapped the sash around Beau’s wrists and tied her to the metal bars of the bed frame. “That’s much better, isn’t it?”

Beau nodded emphatically, arching her back and stretching her binds. Yasha eyed her carefully, but there was no rebellion in her movements. She melted into submission with ease, the tension in her musculature all but gone completely. 

There was something entirely beautiful about Beau in this moment, Yasha decided. The way she lay bound and peaceful amongst the final rays of sunlight. Her parted lips, bruised by more than kisses, and the look of serenity that softened every harsh angle of her face. Perhaps Yasha was sick for thinking it, but subservience agreed with her.

Yasha’s fingers brushed the sharp line of her jaw before taking it in her hand and Beau’s eyes fluttered open. 

“Is this okay?” She asked softly.

For half a second, Beau looked almost startled by the fragility of her touch, the gentle timbre of her voice. But it did not last long. “Yes,” she breathed back, her reply earnest and sure. “This is perfect.”

When Yasha smiled her shy, ghost of a smile, her heart smiled along with her. She held Beau’s face the way one holds a moonbeam, and kissed her. She kissed her mouth, and the curves of her cheekbones, and the column of her throat. Every inch of tawny skin Yasha could find, from the tip of Beau’s nose to the valley of her breasts, was met and cherished by her lips. And Beau was deliciously complicit through it all: cocking her neck to make room, whimpering with each graze and nibble of teeth, and willing herself, as best as she could, to keep her body still.

What does it say about Beau , Yasha wondered absently, as she hiked Beau’s shirt and breast band up over her chest, that for all her stubbornness, for all the defiance within her, she will gladly prostrate herself for the intimacy of another’s touch?

She took a nipple between her teeth and Beau moaned her name. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, away from the heat and the twilight, Yasha considered what it meant for Beau to prostrate herself for her .

“Yasha,” Beau gasped again, “t’s so fucking good.”

Enjoying the broken slur of her words, Yasha sucked harder at the sensitive flesh, her hands coming down to toy with what her mouth couldn’t cover. She could feel Beau begin to strain now, the muscles of her abdomen rippling under the press of Yasha’s chest, the rocking of her hips less moderated. Yasha was fairly certain that if she were to slip a hand between her legs, the wetness she would find there would rival her own.

“You like it when I use my mouth on you, don’t you? On your tits?” Yasha teased, immediately taken aback by her own vulgarity. She drew herself away slightly to watch Beau’s reaction, gently palming a breast in each hand.

Beau tossed her head back with a choked groan, her body shuddering and grinding up against Yasha for any kind of contact. “Gods, you have no idea.”

Yasha hummed in pleasure and began a trail of kisses and bites down Beau’s sternum. “Tell me then.” Between her fingers, Beau’s nipples were peaked and flushed with arousal, and Yasha gave them a twist for good measure. “Tell me what you like. I want to hear.”

“I-- ngh -- I like your mouth,” Beau rasped, “Fucking love it. And when you’re rough with me and bite me, just… shit .”

As she spoke, Yasha raked her blunt nails down the sides of her breasts, causing Beau to shiver and moan. She almost let out a moan herself at the sight of her: Beau’s chest, rising and falling in shallow increments, her small, pert breasts covered in bite marks and budding bruises. A wave of possession crashed over Yasha suddenly. With every drag of her nails and teeth, every hickey and scratch, Beau was branded as hers. She was tied up for her . When she cried out, she cried out for her . She was hers and hers alone, and the thought of anyone else leaving so much as a mark on her made her blood boil.

Yasha retraced her steps, sucking on Beau’s flesh and nipples before kissing her way down her abdomen. Her hands followed, rubbing up and down Beau’s ribs, greedy for as much bare skin as she could touch.

“Mine.” Yasha murmured, and felt Beau’s abs tremble under her lips.

“Yours.” Beau agreed softly, her voice gravel.

Mine , Yasha thought again, tracing every line and ridge of her musculature with her tongue, delighting in the way Beau wriggled and bucked beneath her. Part of her missed the insistent tugging on her hair, the scratches Beau would have left on her back if given the chance. But she could practically taste Beau’s desperation, circumvented into other channels, hanging like petrichor in the air. 

Mine.

“Oh my g-- Please, Yasha.” Beau whined, as Yasha’s lips grazed the waist of her trousers. She was grinding her hips in a slow, wide circle, searching for contact. “Touch me, please.”

Yasha grinned against her lover’s skin, but grabbed Beau’s waist to hold her in place. “Shh… I want you to be still for me, Beau. Do you think you can do that?”

Beau bit her lip to muffle her groan of protest at the press of Yasha’s hands, but nodded. “Okay,” she said, her eyes screwed shut. “Okay, yeah, sure.”

“Good girl.” Yasha cooed, nibbling on her hip bone, and Beau whimpered at the praise. Slowly, she pulled Beau’s loose pants down around her knees, then her ankles, until they were off completely. To her credit, Beau stayed compliant the whole time, stiff as a board and stifling the urge to kick off her clothes and speed up the process. After taking a moment to just regard her-- her taut, quivering stomach, her half lidded, pleading eyes-- Yasha gave in. 

“Oh, fuck.” Beau hissed at the feeling of Yasha’s lips against her clothed center, arching into what little relief she was given. Yasha’s kisses were hot and open and unyielding, and she could feel the way Beau’s core pulsed and contracted under her tongue. Beau’s smallclothes were completely ruined by now, soaked with saliva and arousal. “Please, Yash, you’ve gotta give me more.”

And gods be damned if Yasha didn’t want more herself. What little of Beau she could taste through the fabric was intoxicating. She wanted to drown in the scent of her, in the vice like grip of strong thighs around her head, until her world was nothing less than Beau, Beau, Beau. 

She let out a delighted hum, buried between Beau’s legs, and felt Beau’s clit jump through her smallclothes. It sent a rush to her head and the stirring pit of her stomach, and Yasha lost herself in it. Almost instantly, she found the bud with a clever tongue and took it gently between her teeth. Beau gave a hoarse, choked cry as she nibbled on the flesh and fabric, and Yasha had to grasp her hips to keep her from chasing the sensation.

“I thought I told you to stay still.” Yasha said, her words muffled as she tugged Beau’s smallclothes down over the ridge of her hip bone with her teeth. She stroked up and down Beau’s wiry thighs, massaging the corded muscle, her hands venturing close enough to her center to tease and nothing more. 

Beau winced. “Yasha, I can’t, I need you so fucking bad.”

“Do you?” 

“ Yes . You’ve gotta believe me. I swear, I’m gonna explode.”

Beau was tugging on her binds deliberately now; she arched her back and flexed her abs, writhing and shuddering in her torment. Yasha could see the way her entranced shined with arousal, the wetness smeared over her inner thighs, and she reached out to drag a finger through its heat. Not in an attempt to please Beau, simply out of her own enthrallment. Yasha traced her opening, parting flushed folds, and marveled at the feverish heat she was met with. Her touch was light, clinical really, but that didn’t stop the ruined sound from escaping Beau’s lips with a shudder. 

“I can see that.” Yasha replied, half to herself. She pressed down on Beau’s hips with her free hand, daring her to move as she continued to examine her center. It was almost unsettling how wet she was. Beau’s entrance spasmed with every drag and her swollen clit was all but begging to be kissed. Yasha wanted nothing more in this moment than to devour Beau like she had been imagining for weeks now. But somehow, she steeled her will and swallowed her ravenous desire, only permitting herself to lick the gathered arousal clean off her finger for sanity’s sake.

“Gods, Yasha,” Beau moaned, throwing her head back, “You can’t-- that’s just not fair.” Her hair flipped with her, rippling like an oil slick in the low light. “Please, I’m begging you… I need it so bad… you’re killing me here.”

“Be specific.” Yasha murmured, her chin resting on Beau’s thigh, toying with the patch of neatly trimmed curls at the apex of her legs. “Tell me what you want.”

“You fucking know what.” Beau snapped, in a manner that would have perhaps been intimidating had her voice not been so raw and needy. Still, it was not the reply Yasha had been expecting. She drew back from Beau, an eyebrow raised at her boldness. The hands that had been teasing along Beau’s skin withdrew and Beau realized her mistake.

“Oh shit, no, please,” she sobbed as Yasha sat back on her knees, no longer close to where she needed her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, please just touch me again.”

Gods, she looks pathetic like this , Yasha thought. She looked down at Beau: whimpering and twitching, her shirt hiked up over her lovebitten little tits, her ruined smallclothes pulled down to her knees, all tied up with a pretty cobalt sash. For a moment, she wondered what the Knowing Mistress might do if she knew what that sacred garment was presently being used for. Nothing all that pleasurable, most likely. 

“I’m sorry too,” Yasha said, almost wistfully. She settled herself between Beau’s parted calves, and Beau instinctively spread her legs further to accommodate her. “But I did warn you what would happen if you didn’t listen.”

“I know, I know, that’s on me.” Beau replied, “Just… please, let me make it up to you. I’ll be good this time, I promise.”

And shit, that was an offer. Beau, begging to please Yasha. Promising to be good for her. The way her proposition had Yasha’s body keening was not at all lost on her.

“Will you?”

“Yes. Gods, yes.”

Yasha held the silence for a moment, just looking Beau over. “You’ve behaved very poorly today, Beau. I can’t just let you get away with that without punishment, you know.”

Beau nodded, her blue eyes wide and pleading. 

“I will let you come.” Yasha told her, leaning forward slightly to trace a hand over the muscles of Beau’s thighs, the planes of her abs. “But only if you do exactly as I say.”

Her body spasmed as if struck by a live wire. “Fuck, anything. I just wanna come for you. Want to so bad.”

The ends of Yasha’s mouth curled into a small smile. Slowly, she made her way up Beau’s body, straddling her thighs, then her hips. Her core flared up at the feeling of warm flesh pressed snug against it.

“You will stay still. You will not try me. You will not touch me. And you will wait your turn.” Yasha instructed, wiping away a bead of sweat just above her navel with a calloused thumb. “Do anything to resist, and I won’t hesitate to leave you like this.”

“Okay.” Beau told her, her voice barely audible. Her stomach rose and fell in slow, even breaths.

“Good.” Yasha said, approving. “Good girl.” And with that, she tore her tunic from her body, tossed it to the floor, leaving her completely bare and on display for the dumbstruck girl beneath her. 

Beau’s gaze was desperate and hopelessly enamored and Yasha flushed a little at the intensity of it all. “Wow,” Beau exhaled, “You’re just-- wow, you’re gorgeous.”

Yasha dipped her head, trying to hide the way her cheeks burned almost as hot as her center. She let out a breath to steady herself and gave an experimental rock of her hips against the skin just below Beau’s hip bone. It felt… it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, certainly. She repeated the motion once more, furrowing her brow at the sharp jutting of bone into her inner thigh.

“Is everything okay?” Beau asked, her voice still breathy with awe. 

“I… yes.” Yasha replied absently, still working her hips in a tentative rhythm. Something wasn’t working. She let go of the sheet she had been fisting with one hand, pressing instead just below Beau’s sternum, hoping it would push her into a better angle. She felt the muscles there jump and contract under the weight of her touch. It was fascinating, really, they way her body reacted: Her abs, taut and rippling under soft, slightly scarred skin. Sculpted from bronze, draped in silk.

And suddenly, Yasha had an idea.

Carefully, she withdrew her hands and rose from her perch, shifting forward still. Her knees followed, pressed into either side of Beau’s ribcage. All the while, Beau was watching her with rapt attention and Yasha saw her eyes widen as she planted herself slowly atop her toned, quivering stomach.

“Is this… are you comfortable?” Yasha breathed, noticing the way Beau’s breathing stilled and the oddly blank stare focused on her hips. She barely registered the gush of her own arousal at the contact, or how neatly her aching clit fit along the contours of Beau’s abdomen. All her attention was aimed at the woman beneath her. Could she breathe? Was this too much? One word from Beau and Yasha would drop this whole charade willingly, and do everything in her power to make up for it.

“Are you... Do you wanna…” Beau was gaping at her, completely at a loss for words. “Get off like this? On… On me?”

Yasha paused, a bit hesitant now. “I think so. Is that okay?”

Her uncertainties did not last long. “Are you kidding me?” Beau replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yes, fuck yes, it’s okay! Gods, that’s like the hottest thing, Yasha, seriously.”

She smiled, breathing a small sigh of relief. ”Do you think you can remember my rules then? She traced a finger along the constellations of red and purple marks on Beau’s chest as she spoke, feeling her skin prickle in her wake. “Do you think you can be good?”

Beau’s voice was throaty now, even more so than before. “I promise. I’m all yours.”

“All mine.” Yasha ecohed, and finally, finally pressed herself to her lover entirely. 

It was so much more than she could have expected.

Yasha had gotten off in similar fashions before: riding Beau’s thigh, her face, occasionally flipping her on her stomach and grinding against the firm curve of her ass. But this was something else entirely. The sculpture of Beau’s abs felt incredible against the thrumming bundle of nerves between her legs. Her cunt burned at every movement, still red and raw from her shave, but somehow the sensation of it all only goaded Yasha on more.

“Oh, shit .” Yasha cursed, the expletive soft and completely unintentional. 

“Oh, shit,” Beau repeated, incredulous. Her face was frozen in a kind of dumbfounded wonder. “Yash, you’re so fucking wet. How is that even possible?”

Yasha suppressed a grunt, fisting the bed sheets for support. “Am I?” She huffed, more than a little preoccupied with her current state. As if she couldn’t feel her entrance contract around nothing, practically painting Beau’s stomach in coats of arousal with every buck of her hips.

“Uh-huh, I’d kill to go down on you right now.” Beau replied, the amazement in her voice quickly becoming something more akin to hunger. “Bet you taste so good.” She studied Yasha’s body with half lidded eyes, her gaze lingering on her breasts, her abdomen, her center, her thighs-- all the places she would have gratefully worshiped had she been permitted to touch. Yasha noticed muscles and veins in Beau’s arms strain for a moment, a subconscious display of her frustration. But Beau had learned from her mistakes this time around, seemingly swallowing her desire to disobey with a deliberate bite of her lip.

There was little Yasha could do to stifle the quiet moan that escaped her throat. The pleasure of watching Beau struggle to control herself was second only to watching her give into submission completely. She changed the pattern of her hips, grinding them in easy, wide circles across Beau’s stomach. There was a different kind of intensity to her movements, heightened and aided by the combined slick of her arousal and the paper thin sheen of Beau’s sweat. The friction from the lean, contoured planes of muscle sent jolts of pleasure to her needy clit.

“Maybe, ngh , maybe if you’re good,” Yasha mused, soft moans interrupting her speech, “I’ll let you, ah, tidy me up a bit after.” She brought a hand up to her own chest and began massaging a breast, kneading and pinching the flesh between her fingers for some extra stimulation. “Do you think you would like that, Beau?”

“Yeah,” Beau rasped, and Yasha felt Beau’s hips give an impatient twitch in response. “A lot, actually.”

“Then behave.” Yasha said, punctuating her words with a forceful roll of her hips. Beneath her, Beau nodded in compliance, and the muscles in her abdomen tightened, rippling against Yasha’s core. She let out a whimper at the sensation, giving the bedsheet a violent tug.

“Do that again.” She gasped, giving an eager buck of her hips to urge Beau on. And Beau complied, flexing her abs again, causing Yasha to whimper at the feeling. 

“Good girl,” Yasha breathed. She was grinding faster now, feeling her orgasm steadily approaching. Her heart was racing, pulsing in tandem with the pounding in her clit as she tried to douse the roaring heat between her legs. The wet, muted slap of her cunt hungrily rocking against Beau’s abs was nothing short of obscene. “You’ll let me come like this, won’t you, Beau? You’ll stay nice and still for me like you promised?”

“Yes,” Beau agreed, barely audible. She sounded pathetic, her voice broken with arousal and frustration and strain. “Wanna be good for you, Yash, whatever you need.” 

“Mmm, such a good girl for me.” Yasha cooed, and watched Beau shudder and moan at the praise. “Letting me tie you up, letting me use you-- Oh --” Her voice broke mid thrust, her clit sliding against a ridge of Beau’s musculature in just the right way. She repeated the motion, with more force this time and cried out again, collapsing on top of her and burying her face in the curve of her neck to stifle the sound.

“Gods, Yasha,” Beau exclaimed softly, and Yasha could feel her wriggling beneath the press of her body. “You’re fucking perfect you know that?”

Perhaps, if Yasha hadn’t been furiously humping her stomach like a dog, she would have been able to give her a more articulate reply. But all she could manage was a ruined “ Beau ,” panted into her ear. 

“C’mon, c’mon, keep going.” Beau encouraged, and Yasha pick up her pace in response, dragging her clit through the swamp of her own arousal, nestling it in a particularly delicious contour of Beau’s abs. She rutted against her viciously and without abandon, practically tearing the sheets under her and biting down on the column of Beau’s throat just below her jaw. The full press of Beau’s body beneath her was everything. The scent of her, the warmth of her bare, flushed skin, the way her breasts rose and fell against her own, her frantic heartbeat echoing in her chest… 

“A-Almost... there.” Yasha replied, the words labored and raspy as they escaped her lips. Her eyes were shut tight now, all senses overwhelmed by her impending release. She could feel the muscles inside her begin to flutter and contract as she worked herself into a frenzied state, completely blind to everything but white hot brand at the apex of her legs. The muscles in her thighs were seizing up with exertion, but the discomfort meant nothing when every savage thrust of her hips yielded that much pleasure. 

Yasha growled into Beau’s neck at the twinge of pain in her legs, but continued to work herself closer and closer, frantically digging her clit against the snug dip of Beau’s musculature. “Gonna come... gonna come all over you.”

“Oh fuck, please.” Beau begged, her voice breaking. “Wanna be covered in you, Yash, want it so fucking bad.”

And gods, hearing Beau talk like that did something else to her. With a guttural cry, she let go, dropping her full weight on top of Beau, her entire body spasming as the delicious tension in her clit swelled and peaked. She gnashed her teeth at Beau’s jaw and fisted the sheets tighter as her pleasure crashed through her in a violent, all-encompassing wave, forcing her to fight to reach the other side. Broken little sounds escaped her lips as she rode out her orgasm, the pace of her movements no longer fast and rough as they were seconds before. Her rut was sloppy and slow and deep against Beau’s abdomen, as if she was trying to milk every ripple of gratification possible from her clit with the force of her thrusts. Beneath her Beau was whimpering and rolling her body, either in discomfort or delight. Probably a bit of both.

“Good girl, Beau.” Yasha rasped when she caught her breath. She continued to rub herself back and forth along the ridges of Beau’s abs, building herself towards a second orgasm with every motion. It was a different kind of pleasure now, softer, more blissful than brutal. Her clit slid deliciously against the fresh coat of arousal along Beau’s stomach. Yasha absently nuzzled Beau’s cheek almost to apologize for the vicious bitemarks she had just left.  “So, oh , good.”

Yasha felt her release wrack through her once more, chasing the sensations with each measured drag of her hips. She out a sob this time, the muscles in her thighs giving out with a twist of pain, her entire body shivering in its wake. Her lungs cried for breath. Her vision went crossed and blurred until she had to squeeze her eyes shut for relief. But still, in the midst of her agony and euphoria, something inside her burned for more. In a desperate fit, she rode Beau’s abdomen, rutting and humping the woman beneath her with a crazed, pathetic kind of vigor, reigniting the flames of her arousal and fanning them until they grew hotter and stronger and hotter and stronger…

And then everything went white. 

In the back of her mind, Yasha became aware of a pair of arms wrapping themselves around her, stirring her to consciousness. She registered a gentle hand stroking her hair and another softly shaking her, coaxing her eyes open. 

“Yasha?” There was a worried edge to Beau’s voice, from what Yasha could tell. Sound traveled like it was caught in a sea of cotton, distant in her ears. She snuggled closer into the curve of Beau’s neck, tapping weakly at her shoulder in acknowledgment.  

“Holy shit, Yasha,” Beau breathed, the sigh of relief behind her words evident. “That was… are you, like, okay?”

Yasha hummed, stretching and relaxing in Beau’s arms. Little by little, her body was coming back to her. Her throat was thick and dry. Her pounding heart was gradually slowing back down. There was a pleasant, sleepy, post sex ache in her muscles and a soreness in her core. Her stomach was sticky with sweat and arousal where it was pressed against Beau’s. The frenetic heat that had been roaring inside of her had dulled to an even, enveloping warmth. 

 “Mmm… you broke the rules.” She murmured, nuzzling at the line of Beau’s jaw. 

“Oh, fuck that.” Beau replied and Yasha huffed a rasp of a laugh at her reaction. “You were frickin’, convulsing and shit. I was worried, okay?” She was still running her hand through Yasha’s hair, gently untangling some of the knots. For a moment, both women were silent, just listening to one another’s breathing, content in the comfort of each other's touch. But soon enough, Beau’s curiosity got the better of her. “How many times was that anyway?”

“Three, maybe. I don’t know. It was a bit much for me, I think.” Yasha admitted, a bit sheepishly. Her clit, still raw and aching, and the residual arousal smeared over her thighs and center served as an uncomfortable reminder of her violent passions. She could only imagine what a mess she looked, how pathetic she looked riding Beau’s abdomen until she passed out. If Beau hadn’t been so enraptured by the idea, she would have been too embarrassed to look at her.

“Yeah, you think?” Beau asked, that playful quality returning to her voice. “I literally thought you broke or something.”

“Shh,” Yasha hushed her, pressing a sloppy, open kiss to her lips and bringing a hand down between their bodies. Gods, she really did make a mess of Beau’s stomach. After a minute of blindly fumbling and marveling at the sheer amount of slick covering both their midsections, Yasha reached to cup the heat at the apex of Beau’s thighs. “C’mere.”

“You don’t… you don’t have to.” Beau told her in between Yasha’s messy kisses. But despite her best efforts, she couldn’t hide the broken moan that escaped her or the way her entire body shuddered when Yasha found her entrance. “Oh, shit.” She breathed, as Yasha’s fingertips dipped into her just enough to tease. Inwardly, Yasha beamed a bit at the reaction. Judging by her excess arousal and heightened sensitivity, Beau must have been on the edge, or at the very least close to it, for the majority of the night.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Yasha dismissed the thought, tracing through Beau’s folds with the wetness she had gathered, leaving a soft trail of kisses up and down Beau’s jaw and throat as she did so. “How does that feel?”

Beau shivered again, bucking her hips to meet Yasha’s touch. “Good. So good, Yasha, fuck.” 

Yasha felt Beau tighten her grip on her hair, tugging more and more the closer her ministrations got to her clit. “I can tell.” She said, cupping her once more, gently pressing her fingers against Beau’s center for emphasis. “I can feel how wet you are. And this…” Yasha continued, dragging her fingers upwards and away to lightly tap that neglected, swollen bundle of nerves. “It’s so hard for me, isn’t it, Beau.”

Beau’s only response was a series of stifled whimpers through pursed lips. Yasha stroked her gently, parting sopping wet folds and rubbing at her pebble hard clit with a careful thumb. She delighted at the rapidly increasing rising and falling of Beau’s chest, shifting the weight of her torso off of her and to the side in order to get a better view of all her body’s reactions. Beau’s eyes were screwed shut and she arched her back into the newfound empty space, missing the contact. 

“Please, Yasha.” She begged once she had regained some semblance of composure “Please don’t tease me. I’m not gonna last very long.”

How in the nine hells was Yasha supposed to say no to that? Not when Beau had been such a good girl for her, and clearly needed her so much, and begged for it so prettily. With her unoccupied hand, she brushed the hair off of Beau’s face, stroking her cheek with the back of her hand. “Anything you want, just tell me.” Yasha replied gently, watchfully mapping every twist and shudder of Beau’s body, directing all her attention towards making her feel as good as possible. 

“Want you inside me.” Beau said, her voice pleading, just above a whisper. 

Yasha complied, dipping two fingers into her entrance. She curled them slightly, carefully prepping Beau before working them in and out about halfway. It wasn’t much of a challenge considering the height of Beau’s arousal, but still Yasha paused to give her fingers a suck for good measure, and went right back to work. 

“Like this?”

Beau nodded erratically, having spread her legs for Yasha the second she breached her entrance. “Yes, just like that, fuck.” She moaned, rocking her hips in time with Yasha’s thrusts. 

“Mmm, you’re so tight, Beau.” Yasha purred against her collarbone, dragging her teeth along her skin in between kisses. She pushed into Beau faster now, applying a more steady pressure to her front wall with each pump of her fingers. “Is this okay?”

Beau gave a soft, broken sound at that, somewhere between a moan and an inhale of breath. “Oh gods, keep going, please. Yash,” she whined, scratching up and down Yasha’s sides to goad her on, battering her with weak fists. “I’m so fucking close, just a little more, please.”

Yasha could feel Beau contracting around her fingers, desperate to take more of her. She fucked Beau up to the hilt, not bothering to pull out anymore than halfway before pounding into her again. “Do you want to come for me?” She asked, watching Beau curse and spasm beneath her. 

“Yes, please.” Beau replied. Her voice was almost too hoarse to be audible.

Well, since you used such nice manners...

“Good girl,” Yasha murmured, lowering the palm of her hand against Beau’s clit for her to rut against. “I want you to come for me too.”

It took little more that two strokes of her palm, and Beau was pretty much a goner. Yasha watched as her orgasm ripped through her, felt the way her internal muscles fluttered and spasmed around her fingers. Beau bit down on her finger to muffle the raspy, ruined cry that escaped her, contorting under Yasha’s weight. Yasha stifled a groan of her own, half at the sheer sight of Beau like this, half because of the sudden dig of nails into her shoulder blade, almost deep enough to draw blood.

“Shh, shh, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” Yasha told her gently, brushing aside her own wince of pain to guide the other woman down from her high. She kept her fingers inside her, delighting in the way Beau’s body seemed to milk them for more with every clench. Her palm was still pressed flat to Beau’s clit, following her as she grinded against it, chasing the echoes of her pleasure. “You’re doing very well, Beau. Mmm… just like that, how does that feel?”

Because gods, the way it looks is divine . 

“So good.” Beau replied in between breaths after she had a moment to collect herself. “Fucking incredible, Yasha, holy fuck.” She winced a little when Yasha removed her fingers, rubbing her thighs together slightly in a weak attempt to make up for the lost contact. 

Yasha felt a kind of gnawing, erotic satisfaction stir in her throat as she witnessed Beau reluctantly float back down to her senses. She brought her arousal coated fingers to Beau’s lips with a gentle command of “ suck ”, and watched those blue eyes widen as Beau eagerly took them into her mouth with a whimper of gratitude. Yasha had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to contain her glee.

“There you go, Beau, that’s very good.” Yasha hummed, regarding the way her throat bobbed and swallowed with an odd fondness. Her earlier marks were already starting to take form, blossoming into pretty shades of red and purple. She pushed her fingers down a little farther, until Beau began to gargle and gag, gently grinding against the meat of Yasha’s thigh the more Yasha tested her limits. 

That’s… that’s certainly something , she thought to herself, meeting Beau’s intense, half lidded gaze, feeling her nibble softly on her knuckles. Part of her was overcome with morbid curiosity. What would it feel like , she wondered, the column of Beau’s throat trapped under the pressure of her hand, her breath fluttering and pulsing like a caged butterfly. Would she keep making those sweet, labored sounds? Would she rut against her even harder? The question made Yasha's face flush hot and her fingertips twitch. 

Deciding against her sudden impulse, Yasha withdrew her fingers from Beau’s mouth with a dull pop, listening to her try to catch her breath, sputtering a little as she did. She rolled off Beau completely now, curled by her side with her hands tucked under her chin. After a moment, Beau flopped down to face her with a deep sigh. She looked positively elated .

“Hi,” Beau said softly, her eyes big and bright and so full of something Yasha knew better than to let herself name.

“Hi,” Yasha returned, unable to hide the shy smile that creeped at the corners of her lips. “Was that okay?” 

Beau laughed, warm and genuine, and Yasha forced her mind to take record of it all-- its timbre and rhythm and mirth-- committing everything about that laugh to the depths of her memory.

“Uh, yeah, I’d say it was okay.” Beau told her, her eyebrows crinkling in jest. “I only wish you’d have maybe, you know, let me hold you for more than five minutes. Might have been nice.”

Yasha snorted. “And I wish you hadn’t gotten into a bar fight the minute we got here. That might have been nice too, I think.” Before Beau could protest, she quickly added: “Besides, I got the sense you rather liked being tied up.”

“Yeah, I did.” Beau admitted quietly. “Liked it a lot.”

“You looked very pretty like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Yasha leaned over to kiss Beau softly on the mouth. “You always do, ah, look pretty, you know. But I quite liked you like that, I think.”

“Mmm, I’m sure.” Beau teased, rising up to meet her once more, kissing her slowly and tracing the line of her jaw with a gentle hand. Yasha shifted to her back to accommodate her, one arm wrapped lazily around her waist, the other hand weaving through messy tresses of chestnut hair. Outside the window, night had fallen completely by now.

She wasn't entirely sure what came over her, but sometime later, after Beau had long since fallen asleep atop her chest and the pair lay tangled up in bedsheets, Yasha finally allowed herself to speak aloud what had previously never breached the chambers of her heart.

“I love you.”

The admission hung in the air, joining the ambiance of Beau’s soft snoring and the occasional whistle of wind for only a moment before disappearing into the darkness. Though her voice was barely more than a sigh of breath, Yasha felt the words resonate in the room like the crack of a whip, echoing alongside her booming heartbeat like thunder. For what could have been either half a second or half an hour, terror seized every muscle and forced every hair on her body to stand erect. Her body felt hollow, cavernous, and dread filled every last nook and pore like an icy, heavy tar. Until eventually, that too melted into the discreet shadows of the steadfast night.

Beau was still snoring quietly against Yasha’s collar, draped atop her like a possessive cat and giving absolutely no indication that she was conscious for any of what had just transpired. Yasha tried to match the even tempo of her breathing, letting the measured rhythm lull her from her panic. In, and out. In, and out. The more she breathed, the more the unwarranted dread drained from her body, and the lighter she felt. It was terrifying, saying it out loud, but at the same time, something about it also made her heart shine. 

Because it was the truth. She loved Beau, and even just admitting it to the surrounding silence was more liberating than Yasha had felt in a long time.

In the back of her mind, however, a voice sounded, ugly and shrill. You are weak, it hissed. All your life you have been weak. The gods played a cruel trick when they made you, Orphanmaker, to have bestowed upon the perfect warrior the fragile heart of a coward.

Another voice, mournful and distant and so beautiful Yasha could cry joined the first: Have you forgotten so soon, my love?

Your heart is a toxin , snarled the first voice again, louder this time. It is festering, unruly. All your life it has eaten away at your strength, poisoned it, caused you nothing but guilt and torment. When will you learn this to be true, Orphanmaker? 

Yasha felt her eyes grow hot and itchy. Why, why did she have to feel like this? A second ago, every thing had just been so perfect. Now, she had a sudden urge to push Beau off of her and run from the room, as if running, alone through open air, would cure the endless tightening in her chest. As if it had ever truly cured anything before.

How much more will you subject yourself to suffer before you cut it out for good? 

Just then, Beau gave a sudden, tiny sneeze, interrupting the chorus of voices inside Yasha’s head. Yasha watched her blink a few times, her brilliant blue eyes reflecting flecks of silver from the moonlight, before giving a great yawn and settling back to sleep, now curled even more securely against Yasha’s body. On instinct, Yasha pulled her into her more closely, absently pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

Perhaps, the voices were right. Yasha was a coward. She had spent enough of her life running from one thing or another to know it to be true.

But as she lay with Beau in that nondescript tavern bed, naked and tangled up and breathing in tandem, Yasha wondered how could she ever possibly run away from her heart again. How she could ever lose something this good, how she could ever go back to how she was before. She didn’t think she could survive, if she did.

She didn’t think she would want to.