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When Marine was younger, she dreamt of stardom.
To be clear, she found it a little embarrassing—because she knew it was unlikely. The fantasy could only exist behind the safety of her eyelids. She wanted to be a basketball legend, just like the ones that inspired her. If the WNBA held strong, long enough for her to make it across the sea, maybe she could establish herself in the States just like her favorite player Tony Parker did.
The vision was clear in her daydreams. She’d train and hustle and work until she’d built a highlight reel that made everyone’s jaws drop, made them say Who is that?, made them find basketball as artistic as she did: vicious crossovers, pull-up threes, fadeaways so smooth they brought a tear to your eye. She’d be able to see ten steps ahead of everyone else, too, facilitating the ball’s movement by tossing it behind her back, from her elbow, even across the court (once she built her muscle up). She’d drop a no-look dime at least once per game and know the assist was good from the sound of the crowd going wild. Maybe if she had a crazy growth spurt, she could pull off the one-and-done dunk contest, achieve perfection the first time around and then walk off smoothly (no need to keep trying).
She’d be the face of a franchise, somewhere legendary like Chicago, donning the red and black just like Mike—or maybe Los Angeles’ rich purple and gold would suit her better by then, if she managed to get a tan. She’d be so cool, walking around with a swagger and a mystery that left everybody wanting to know more without demanding her to reveal it. She’d have the type of wealth most people can only dream of, even if she didn’t choose to live a lavish athlete’s lifestyle.
The fantasy didn’t stop there. Marine often thought about sharing these hypotheticals with someone she loved deeply. The idea of a soulmate terrified and thrilled her all at once. Growing up, all of her friends dreamt of a future with their personal idyllic men, and she supposed she could make that work. Sometimes, though, late at night when her current of anxiety was laid to rest and she didn’t worry that someone else could peek into her brain and see all of her secrets, her dream changed form. On those nights, she shared her life with another woman, a sweet girl with a pretty face that she could wrap her arms around and give the entire world.
The shape of the perfect woman changed as Marine did. First, it was the girl in les mathématiques who teased her for her hopeless grades but helped her revise anyway. After she’d made the senior team in Mondeville, it was a stranger on an opposing team (a real pro that just buried them) who clapped Marine on the back in the handshake line after and told her to keep her head up, that she would be something special if she kept working. When she made Bourges her home, it was the caissière that smiled at her every time she couldn’t resist buying a sweet or two at the corner store, looking Marine up and down as she counted change.
Marine knows now that she didn’t dream big enough. Not even close.
Her reality became more than she ever could’ve imagined. She’s too humble to call herself half of the names others have bestowed upon her, but her career is in full bloom. She’s won at home in France, away in the States, and in other foreign countries on the Olympic stage. People call her a human highlight reel because a new one goes viral after each game, earning her the attention of her idols (and sometimes their friendship and respect, too). She’s been in the WNBA for long enough to finish her first contract and she’s hungry for the next step, unsated without a championship in the best women’s basketball league in the world. She’s earned more money than she ever thought possible, enough to require an accountant (and also enough to know that she won’t have to play until her body gives up on her, like so many of the players before her did).
Oh, and she found her dream girl.
Marine’s future took solid form a few weeks after she first met her. Honestly, weeks might be too generous of an estimate—it could’ve been days, maybe even minutes—but it doesn’t matter. She took residence in Marine’s mind, growing deep roots and flowering in no time. She hasn’t left Marine’s head since.
At first, Marine told herself that her curiosity was piqued because she was different. A Franco-American, showing up to national team camp covered in tattoos and speaking French reminiscent of a fifty-year-old textbook. It’s normal to ruminate on things that are new, Marine told herself.
Then, Marine decided that she intrigued her because she was magnetic and hardworking, kind and eager, hilarious and so easy to get along with. It’s normal to make fast friends with fun people, Marine thought.
After that, Marine blamed the proximity. They were training for a continental competition followed by a global one (the biggest one on the globe, in fact). Their preparation was careful and measured after the pandemic had wrecked their Olympic plans the year before and sabotaged Marine’s return to the WNBA. It’s normal to spend every minute with your teammate and then wish you had a few more, Marine decided.
Marine kept making excuses for herself. She was just trying to be a good leader and bond with a new teammate, helping to ease her into the system she’d been navigating for the past six years. Maybe it was hormonal, since her cycle was decidedly un-cyclical after syncing up with half the team, so surely she was just moody and lonely. Plus, the pandemic had been rough: she hadn’t gotten to touch, hold, kiss, caress, or do anything else with a woman in over a year—anyone’s thoughts would wander in that situation.
Marine pulled herself together over and over, holding it inside until after they’d come up short at the Euros yet again. She was used to it by now, but the newbie wasn’t. Her heart softened and she helped the newest l’ailier en bleu off of the ledge, reassuring her that it wasn’t her fault (and really, it couldn’t have been, because Valérie hadn’t given her enough minutes for it to change their fate). She couldn’t stop thinking about the rookie’s pitiful face, big brown eyes highlighting the mopey expression she wore as she sat slumped over in front of her locker. She couldn’t stop thinking about how it’d felt when they hugged, her skin warm and sweaty and a little sticky, the younger girl’s shoulders falling as she’d let out a heavy, sad breath. She couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d wanted to do more, wanted to kiss her newest teammate’s forehead when it was right there, wanted to hold her until she felt okay, wanted to ease her to sleep and make her feel safe.
Marine couldn’t stop fidgeting as she’d tried to sleep that night. She couldn’t stop herself from texting Alexia, asking if she was awake like she didn’t already know the answer. She couldn’t stop herself from barging into the hotel room next door, sitting at the foot of the bed and pouring her heart out, hood pulled up over her head, a trembling hand covering her face as she spoke because she just couldn’t look her oldest friend and favorite teammate in the eyes over this.
Marine didn’t stop Alexia when she held her and encouraged her to cry. She didn’t stop Alexia when she spoke about it like she knew and whispered into her hair that it was okay. She didn’t stop Alexia when she said I don’t know, Jojo… I think she wants more than just friendship with you too.
The little crush enveloped her and evaded her that whole summer. Marine knew she could do this. Every time they ended up on the court together, they became poetry in motion. Their chemistry on the team—at work—temporarily convinced her that everything would be fine. They were just good teammates, yin and yang. It was purely basketball, if she ignored the cute smiles and the inside jokes and the soft touches. She couldn’t think anything more of it, even when she’d invite Marine over after an insanely good practice, like she knew she’d be the subject of Marine’s free time regardless. Marine couldn’t entertain it when she was making Marine watch all of her favorite anime because she was eager to share her favorite thing with Marine. When she talked through every episode because she always had so much to say, when she knocked knees or touched thighs with Marine like she was entirely comfortable, when she acted like everything between them was completely fine and one-hundred-percent platonic—because it was.
And yet, when Gabby Williams put the bronze medal around Marine’s neck, stared down at her with soft eyes and tear tracks dried on her cheeks, and murmured I’m so proud of you and I couldn’t have done it without you in a watery voice as they embraced, Marine knew she was a fucking goner.
Marine was a goner when Gabby teased her for being scared shitless as she permanently branded her thigh with their promised victory tattoo. Marine was a goner when Gabby sent smiley Snapchats the moment she boarded the first Air France flight back to the States, cheekily proclaiming that she missed Marine already. Marine was a goner when she watched the TikTok Gabby had made about the Olympics and saw that beautiful summer through Gabby’s eyes, blushing every time she appeared in the video. Marine was a goner when she laid eyes on Gabby for their next national team call-up a few months later and the mere sight of her made Marine feel whole again. Marine was a goner when Gabby sent her pictures every time she gave herself a DIY midnight haircut and asked Marine if she liked it (as if to imply that Gabby genuinely cared what Marine thought). Marine was definitely a fucking goner when her club was demoted to EuroCup and all she could think about was that it meant she wouldn’t get a chance to play Gabby’s team this season, so she’d have no excuse to see her outside of the national team.
When Gabby became hers, Marine knew she’d never, ever let her go, not for a single thing in the world—and she hasn’t.
Four summers have passed since that very first one. They’ve felt like four lifetimes, chock-full of soaring highs and burrowing lows. The one constant has been Gabby, her Gabrielle, the woman who stole her heart without even trying and has protected it fiercely ever since. Marine could laugh knowing what she knows now. The gravity of her crush back then is a distant memory—Marine has spent far longer knowing Gabby’s love than she ever spent feeling lovesick and wondering if Gabby could ever want her back.
This has been one of their busiest summers yet, going straight from Turkey back to the States, trading one bicoastal team commitment for another on the other side of the world. They each completed an entire WNBA season for the first time since they started dating, their exhaustion palpable. Their careers are so demanding that it’s commonplace for them to celebrate their breaks with little getaways and forays into paradise before they have to go back to the real world.
Today, Marine has found paradise in a king-sized bed in Seattle, quietly enjoying the mere presence of her fiancée.
Gabby’s sprawled out on the bed lazily, propped up against the headboard in a fashion that seems like it’ll absolutely give her neck cramps later. Her gold-rimmed glasses sit halfway down the bridge of her nose, perfectly framing her big brown eyes as they dart back and forth across the pages of the manga volume she’s engrossed in.
In contrast, Marine isn’t doing a damn thing, just laying on her side and taking it all in.
Marine holds these lazy Sundays close to her heart and never wants to let them go. They don’t get many days like this anymore thanks to their uncommon careers, so Marine treasures them a little extra now.
It’s easy to entertain herself on these days where the main event is their togetherness.
She’ll scroll through her phone, responding to the texts she’s been ignoring, liking the pictures she hasn’t seen yet, or watching the videos that have been piling up in her DMs. Sometimes she has her own book, getting completely lost in the pages until something brings her out of her spell: the cat demanding attention, Gabby asking her what she wants for dinner, one of their phones ringing and requiring an answer. If she forgets to bring something to read, Gabby will lend her a book from her endless collection, carefully picking a volume off of the first bookshelf or the second, sometimes digging around in the spilled-over piles that she’s stacked up anywhere in her apartment with enough space.
When Marine feels particularly needy, she’ll force her way into Gabby’s lap (Gabby will pretend to be annoyed by it) and lean against her like a child that wants to hear a bedtime story, to which Gabby will appease her by starting to read aloud (even when it’s mostly manga panels and Marine isn’t paying attention to them). She’ll study Gabby’s tattoos, trace the lines with her fingertip, and imagine what the art would look like in color. If Gabby’s in a particularly mellow mood, sometimes she’ll let Marine fill in the lines with washable marker, turning her fiancée into her own personal coloring book. Often, Marine closes her eyes and simply enjoys the warmth of her favorite person by her side.
The dreams of her youth never accounted for the things you can’t buy with money or notoriety. Teenage Marine had no clue how good it would feel to simply find a woman she feels so safe with. As an adult, she’ll choose the way her nervous system responds to Gabby over any sum of money, any day.
She’s safe with Gabby here and now, peaceful in her bedroom. She’s safe with Gabby on the court with dozens of cameras and thousands of eyes capturing their every move. She’s safe with Gabby across the Atlantic, exploring foreign cities together or counting the days until they’ll be in the same one again. She’s safe with Gabby in text messages, voice notes, and FaceTimes, exchanging bits of each other from any and every distance. She’s safe with Gabby in every possible way.
It doesn’t make the separation any easier, though. Marine is acutely aware of the fact that they had a fairytale arrangement for a while, waking up every morning together in France and then playing their hearts out for their club or their country. Somehow, they’ve been apart for the longest stretch of time in this first year of their engagement. Leaving ASVEL was hard, but necessary; the fairytale couldn’t last forever. Even when they both made it to Turkey, they were on opposite sides of the country, Gabby facing the Black Sea and Marine facing the Mediterranean. They got no reprieve when they made it back to the States; there’s even more distance between Gabby’s Pacific team and Marine’s Atlantic one.
The distance means that they treasure the time they get together: moments, minutes, hours, nights, days. Sometimes they skip all the formalities, politely decline the dinners and drinks with their friends, and retreat back home (wherever home is at the time). Depending on how they’re feeling, they might take their time, savoring every inch of each other, testing their muscle memories, whispering odes to each other when they’re on the verge. Other times they’re an explosion, frantic and loud and colorful, inside of each other before they even get fully undressed.
Yesterday, when they came together again for the first time in weeks, their reunion was somewhere in the middle: Gabby was kissing her everywhere, her voice raw as she told her that she loved her, and Marine felt that love so deeply that she came before Gabby had even touched her between her legs. Gabby’s mouth was all over her, tongue pressing inside deliciously and entirely impolitely, Marine whimpering foul curses as her orgasm hit in long, torturous waves. Even after that, they were insatiable in a way that leaves Marine feeling pleasantly sore today. Marine doesn’t make herself feel guilty about it—she deserves to overindulge when it’s with Gabby.
Marine’s tracing shapes on the comforter, lost in thought when Gabby shifts, curling up on her side with the manga still in hand. Her tattooed fingers hold back the thin sliver of the remaining pages.
Marine accepts her lover before her like it’s second nature. Her arm wraps around Gabby’s waist and she plants a kiss on her shoulder, right on top of her very first tattoo. She feels Gabby’s stomach suck in a little, hears the deep breath she takes in, and watches over her shoulder as she flips the page.
Gabby finishes reading only a few minutes later, closing the volume and tossing it to the carpet before she melts into Marine.
Marine hums happily, softly kissing Gabby’s neck as they meld together, becoming one. Marine’s hand is comfortable and sure against her stomach until Gabby gently pulls it away. Marine can’t see what she’s doing, but she feels Gabby lift her hand to her lips and press gentle kisses into her knuckles.
Gabby finishes her spell of affection by interlacing their fingers and pressing their intertwined hands to her heart. Marine says nothing, just feels her heart swell for her, filling her with so much love that she could burst.
Gabby gets comfortable, tucks her right arm under her head, and presses back against Marine. They fit together perfectly, like they always have. Marine’s arm is wrapped around her fiancée’s waist again, her hand still engulfed by Gabby’s own.
This. Marine could do this forever. Her breathing slows, her eyes closing easily. She just wants to feel this moment with her favorite person for as long as she possibly can. She rests her forehead between Gabby’s shoulderblades. It feels like home: warm, soft, safe. She can smell Gabby’s hair products, her lotion, and the perfume she often sprays haphazardly because she’s always in a rush—something by Armani.
This is why she didn’t book a trip to the tropics or back to Europe when the season ended. This is why she took the first flight out to Seattle the next morning, trading one league-appointed apartment for another.
Gabby is her dream destination: her home and her getaway all wrapped into one.
She feels Gabby start to fiddle with the ring that stands proud on her left hand, the same way Gabby often does with her own. Marine’s is larger, more flashy, so there’s more surfaces to touch, more stims to discover. She’s twisting the ring around Marine’s finger, pushing the center stone until it hits the top of her pinky, then switching directions. Back and forth, casually seesawing the diamonds like they’re nothing.
“I can’t wait to be your wife.”
“Oh, yeah?” Marine can’t help her goofy smile, all teeth and blushed cheeks. “I can’t wait to be yours first.”
Gabby turns to face her and she’s beaming, looking like Marine’s personal ray of sunshine as she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and gazes at her wife-to-be with love-laden brown eyes. She props her head up on her hand and scans Marine’s face like she can’t believe she’s here with her now, like she couldn’t possibly be real.
“Why are you looking at me like that, baby?”
“Just thinking about you in your dress,” Gabby says with an easy smile.
”Ah, I see,” Marine plays along, nodding understandingly. She knows exactly where this is going.
Gabby looks down, drawing shapes on the duvet with her pointer finger as she innocently posits, ”You know, it would be much easier to visualize if you showed me a picture.”
Marine is used to this game and doesn’t skip a beat: “You’ll see it on our wedding day.”
Gabby pouts, groaning as she flops onto her back dramatically.
”You’re no fun.”
”You have no patience.” Marine leans over to boop Gabby’s nose with her fingertip, which only deepens Gabby’s frown.
”I just think it’s really unfair that my sisters get to see and I don’t,” Gabby whines.
“I’m not marrying your sisters, am I?”
Gabby scoffs, then grumbles, “Yeah, well, if something ever happens to me, Jayda’s going to steal you away.”
“Ha, she can try,” Marine kisses Gabby’s forehead, right on the wrinkle between her furrowed brows. “I’m yours in this life and the next.”
Gabby’s jokes don’t come out of nowhere, though. Marine has never felt so loved by a partner’s family before. If she’s not a fully-kept secret, she’s used to being introduced as the “best friend”. Even when she was able to meet family as a girlfriend, it was nerve-wracking and a little awkward. Gabby’s family? They became her own right away: talking to her on the phone every time they call Gabby to check in, showing up to her games even when Gabby can’t, and celebrating all her wins just as loudly as they do for Gabby’s. Gabby’s younger sister, Jayda, has been the most fond of Marine from day one, more than ready to express her excitement for her big sister. Marine was touched the first time Jayda poured her love into a paintbrush and made something for her, with no clue that it would be the first of many of Jayda’s creations that she’d receive. She sent Gabby’s family a picture of her wedding dress the day she found it, needing to share her excitement with her fiancée’s people. The Williams sisters responded with teary-eyed selfies and caps-locked texts about how beautiful she was and how they couldn’t wait to make her part of the family. Marine thinks her own excitement about joining the family eclipses theirs; she can’t wait to marry their greatest part.
With the affirmation from her fiancée, Gabby’s ire is forgotten, and she gives in, more than ready to be loved. She curls into Marine, resting her head on her chest and slotting her leg between Marine’s. Marine’s eyes close again. This is everything she’s ever needed.
A smile graces Marine’s lips when she feels the rough, yet gentle touch of Gabby’s hand on her cheek, then a pair of lips delicately pressing against her jaw. Gabby has never been able to sit still for long. Marine has never minded it.
Gabby’s hand roams down her body politely, in no rush, guiding the path for her mouth. She touches each part of Marine before she kisses her there: on her jugular, on her shoulder, on her exposed bicep. Gabby’s hand slides under Marine’s t-shirt, her palm resting flat against her stomach.
Marine knows her fiancée well.
Gabby is remarkably shy—a fact that truly puzzled Marine when she first realized it.
Her new teammate seemed completely fearless at first. Marine couldn’t believe the first time she heard Gabby giving advice to Valérie Garnier in American-accented French, as if she wasn’t a newborn in FFBB years. She thought she may have passed away when their head coach listened and when it made the team better.
Only a few weeks later, she’d been suspended from her WNBA team without explanation, days after EuroLeague had ended. Gabby wasn’t quite a friend yet but Marine’s heart still ached for her as she read the texts in their group chat explaining what’d happened. Marine couldn’t imagine; that would’ve broken her back then, her team and her own league ousting her without explanation. Gabby, somehow, took it in stride, arrived at EuroBasket camp early, worked and worked and worked until she became the central piece to their Olympic bronze medal puzzle.
That next summer, Marine’s nerves were wrecked as she prepared for her first WNBA season in three years. So much had happened since she last touched down in New York: Sabrina, the Liberty being sold and relocated, COVID, Tokyo, Gabby. Her only friends would be on the other side of a country she barely knew. She wasn’t sure how she was going to do it. While Gabby was reassuring her, she was also making her own return to the league—and she came out swinging, speaking fiercely about the league’s prioritization and salary rules and how they’d harmed her the year before.
Marine thought Gabby was a superhero.
It had also taken Gabby an entire evening to work up the nerve to kiss Marine for the first time. She was a mess (adorably so, Marine thought), fidgeting and rambling and blushing her way through the night before she’d managed to press her lips to Marine’s as they were saying goodbye. Later, when Marine was staring at her phone, bleary-eyed but still too wired to sleep, Gabby would admit you make me nervous. in a good way ☺️ and Marine would refuse to believe that she could make someone like Gabby nervous.
The first time Gabby gave Marine a present, she handed her a neatly-wrapped box and nearly bolted, insisting she couldn’t be in the same room when she opened it. Marine thought she was insane but ripped it open anyways and was immediately touched by the gift. When she told Gabby she loved it, those big brown eyes widened and she’d asked Really?, as if she didn’t already believe she’d done a good job.
Gabby was the one who said I love you first—just slipped it in casual conversation without even realizing it, because it was true and it had been for so long already, too long not to voice it. But Marine didn’t know that, and before she could ask Gabby to repeat herself, Gabby was hiding her face in Marine’s shoulder, skin hot with embarrassment. Marine nearly peeled Gabby off of her, gently coaxing her tattooed hands away when she’d hidden her sweet face in them as a backup strategy. Marine had to give Gabby—her girlfriend—a dozen kisses and tell her that she loved her three times before Gabby believed it.
Admittedly, it only made Marine fall even harder for her. After so many years together, they’ve developed a completely nonverbal language, communicating effortlessly through gazes and gestures and gentle touches.
So, when Gabby squeezes Marine’s waist, presses her thigh between Marine’s, and slowly kisses Marine’s pulse, Marine has a good idea of what Gabby is trying to say. She never assumes, though. Gabby’s autonomy is her own and nobody else’s.
“Hello, my love,” Marine smirks knowingly. “Do you want something?”
“I want you.” Gabby’s voice is soft, her breath warm against Marine’s neck. Marine hums.
“I figured as much.” After a pause, she adds, “How so?”
Gabby’s response is nonverbal. She clings even closer to Marine, like she’s trying to hide. Marine can only imagine her flushed cheeks and how cute they must be right now.
Marine knows that Gabby’s shyness has nothing to do with her. Gabby’s going to be her wife; they were comfortable together inside and out long before they got engaged. Even then, her bride-to-be struggles in her own relationship with her body and sex. Being intimate together is an exercise in vulnerability, which is a muscle Marine never gets tired of helping Gabby stretch.
Admittedly, Marine likes taking on this role, being strong and encouraging for this woman she thinks the entire world of.
“Come on, my love, tell me what you want,” Marine beckons, sliding her palm beneath Gabby’s shirt to hold the small of her back. Her bare skin is hot to the touch.
“Hey, look at me,” Marine tries again when Gabby doesn’t budge. Gabby picks her head up, and she’s all flushed and wide-eyed and perfect. Marine can’t help holding her face, and Gabby leans into the touch, eyes closing.
“I’ll do whatever you want. You just have to tell me, okay?”
“I just…” Gabby averts her gaze, her face warming in Marine’s palm. “I just want to feel full of you.”
Oh. Marine’s very interested in that proposition, her heart suddenly jackhammering in her chest at a reckless pace.
Marine doesn’t need to use words to tell Gabby that she understands. Instead, she kisses Gabby deeply. She takes her time and savors this moment. It’s been months since they’ve been able to just be, not rushing to put every moment of missed intimacy into one night, a weekend, or a few hours. It’s been too fucking long since she’s been able to kiss her fiancée without a care in the world, since she’s been able to undress her favorite girl one garment at a time, since she’s been able to kiss and nibble her lover all over until she’s giggling.
“Fuck, Mar, take it off,” Gabby’s laugh turns into an impatient whine once she's in her barest state, her brows knit in frustration. She tugs desperately at the hem of Marine’s shirt with her tattooed fingers, like she can’t bear to look at it a second longer. “It’s mine anyway, damn it.”
“I think you forgot to say please,” Marine smirks, feeling so powerful that it nearly makes her giddy. To have the most perfect woman she’s ever seen underneath her, bare and desperate and so needy for her, is something Marine couldn’t have dreamt up even in her wildest fantasies before Gabby.
Truth be told, she’d pull the thing off in a heartbeat, rip it straight down the middle and promise to buy Gabby ten more after, but loving Gabby has taught her the art of patience; Marine refuses to rush when she’s admiring a masterpiece, handling her with the utmost care.
“Please, baby?” Gabby’s voice is soft, her vocal fry making the request a little gravelly. Her brown eyes are irresistibly wide and Marine immediately feels ashamed for not heeding this angel's every wish the moment she makes them.
Without another word, she grabs the collar of the oversized t-shirt (Jordan something-or-another) and pulls it off gracefully, throwing the garment to the floor as soon as she’s free of it. She apologizes with a languid kiss, and all seems to be forgiven as Gabby responds eagerly, palms finding purchase on her cheeks. Her traps bulge with the movement and Marine loves the juxtaposition, the soft touch paired with hard muscle.
Gabby is handsy and Marine doesn’t mind lending her the power as she fervently explores Marine, fondling and teasing her innocuously. Her large palms travel smoothly across Marine’s ribs, down her back, and under her waistband. As Marine predicts, Gabby starts to push down her shorts and underwear at once, eager to expose more bare skin.
Marine lets her because she’s eager, too. Gabby undresses her fully and it’s a little clumsy, a little unbalanced, but that’s okay. It reminds her that this is an act between two humans, that it’s supposed to be imperfect. Gabby’s wide smile and crinkled eyes and the giggles that leave their lips in the process remind her more so that she’s deeply and desperately in love with this woman.
Her heart swells even more when she finally sits back on her knees and takes in the sight of her favorite person completely undone before her. Marine truly believes that Gabby is a work of art in more ways than one. There’s the literal art, of course, that adorns her body, though selfishly Marine’s favorite tattoos are the shitty ones she gave her. Beyond that, Gabby’s body is like if a scientist were to genetically engineer the perfect athlete, muscled arms and firm abs and a deep v-line leading the way to the part that nobody else gets to see but her.
Marine takes her place over her love again, traces the shape of her full lips with her index finger and kisses her warmly. Her finger trails over Gabby’s warm, tanned skin: down the side of her neck, over her solar plexus and sternum, around the dips and divots of her muscled stomach. Coarse hair tickles her fingertip as she reaches the place she really wants, and she twists her hand palm-up before pressing her finger against Gabby’s soft, wet entrance.
Gabby whines, kissing Marine again then pulling away, looking down to watch that long finger disappear inside of her. She makes a noise of protest, her lips parting to complain, and Marine already knows what Gabby is thinking. Marine kisses her baby again to shut her up as she pulls out, then swiftly replaces one finger with two. Gabby’s whimper in response is gorgeous.
“Baby, you’re inside me.” Gabby says it like she’s in total disbelief, like this is the very first time, like they aren’t getting fucking married.
“That’s what you wanted, no?”
“Shut up,” Gabby smiles, somewhere between a grin and a smirk. She bites her lip and furrows her brows as Marine’s fingers curl into her, fingertips pressing and stroking gracefully inside. “Can’t you feel it?”
She absolutely can. Not that Gabby has ever not gotten wet for her—the very first time made Marine contemplate everything she thought she knew about women—but fuck, she’s wet. She’s hot and needy inside, arousal coming in waves. Gabby’s so turned on that she takes the two fingers with ease, has some more room to give.
Marine nods, studying her wife-to-be as she murmurs “You’re always so ready for me, sweetheart.”
Gabby’s pretty face softens, her pussy pulsing in Marine’s grasp as she fucks her lazily, and their lips meet in a quick kiss.
“Can I…” Gabby trails off, moaning softly as Marine pulls out just to fill her once more. “Can I have one more, baby? Please?”
“Is that what you want?”
Gabby nods eagerly. “Please, I just want every part of you.”
Marine can’t help kissing her baby softly for being so polite, so lovely, so perfect.
She looks down only to make sure she doesn’t go too fast, that she eases the three digits in gently. She can feel Gabby’s eyes poring over her own pussy, eager to get her way so quickly.
She looks up at her sweet girl to make sure this is okay. A lazy, sexy smile adorns Gabby’s lips as Marine stretches her out, the diameter widening quite a bit at the knuckle. Gabby props herself up on her elbows, picking her head up to get the perfect view of her own penetration, and grinds her hips against Marine’s hand.
Marine’s entranced by Gabby’s moans as those brown eyes meet her blues.
“You like that?” Marine knows already that she does—Gabby’s nearly fucking herself on her fingers. Gabby nods quickly, her curls just barely bouncing with her head.
“You feel so good,” Gabby gasps, hissing when she pushes her hips down at the exact moment Marine pushes into her. “Fuck. I’m so full.”
“You take it so well,” Marine murmurs. Her carotid pulses in her throat as she stares down at their obscene connection, a little obsessed with the look of her fiancée’s pussy stretched around her.
Marine bottoms out and feels another wave of arousal deep inside, drenching her fingers. The younger woman is so fucking wet, it nearly looks like Marine came inside of her.
Gabby is writhing, like every touch is too much and not enough at the same time. She’s gripping fistfuls of the sheets, veins rising on the back of her hands and her forearms. Her back arches beautifully, leaving Marine in complete and total awe as she tries to force herself even further down her fingers.
“I want another one,” Gabby’s voice is a little smaller, a little breathier, her eyes a little wider as she stares up at Marine in desperation.
Marine’s brows cock.
“If you keep being greedy, you’re going to have my whole hand inside of you.”
Gabby laughs a little, the sound high-pitched and nervous, before she pushes herself down onto Marine’s hand again and groans as she clenches around Marine’s lengthy fingers.
Marine is experiencing far too much at once and she doesn’t know what to do. She needs to catalog this moment forever, has to commit everything to memory: the look on Gabby’s face, devastating and blissful and still wanting somehow; the arch of her back, the pressure from her hips, the silent demand for more; the feeling of being inside, the oh-so-inviting combination of the warmth and the slip, the tight squeeze like she’s being welcomed home; the way that Gabby just keeps fucking opening for her like a flower that refuses to stop blooming.
She should be used to it by now, should be a little less pathetic about it all, but the idea that Gabby needs her, demands more of her, could never get enough of her makes her dizzy. Her heart pounds in her chest and she realizes at the last possible second that she’s barely remembering to fucking breathe, too entranced by her love below her.
She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes for a moment, and attempts to find some resolve. The desire to give Gabby the entire world is crashing around her, like she’s standing waist-deep in the ocean and refusing to move with the tide.
Marine expects Gabby to keep begging—she usually does, and Marine usually gives in quickly, only having denied her in the first place in the name of foreplay. She gets enough of a grip to wonder where they last put the lube, then questions if she’ll even need lube as she admires Gabby’s sex, slick and gorgeous. Her clit sits pretty above their connection, erect and sorely neglected.
Before Marine can do anything about it, she watches Gabby stick two tattooed fingers in her own mouth, sucking generously, then pulling back out, the digits glistening with her saliva.
Marine can’t help but stare as Gabby reaches down to circle the swollen bud.
Her body tenses for a split second, her pussy spasming around Marine’s fingers again, and she moans, loud and long and oh-so-pretty.
“Oh my fucking God,” She rasps, grinding against her own touch.
“That’s it,” Marine urges. “Exactly like that, my love.”
Gabby stares up at her fiancée with wide pupils as she toys with her clit, her eyes more black than brown. She falls back against the pillows, graceful even in her urgency, reaching up to grasp the corner of the pillow tight in her fist.
Marine’s wrist burns, but she’s not stopping for anything other than Gabby’s own command.
The lovers stare at each other, wordless but frantic, Gabby whimpering and Marine nearly panting at the sight. She’d do anything the younger woman asked her to in this moment, no hesitation.
Then, Gabby crumbles.
“Fuck, Mar, I’m gonna cum.” Her eyes close, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she ruts against their two hands fervently.
Marine doesn’t change a thing she’s doing, watching carefully as Gabby starts to rub her clit faster, her fingers almost a blur.
“You’re so good for me,” She murmurs. Gabby jerks her head up to stare longingly at Marine. She’s alert even as she’s whimpering, on the verge of coming undone.
Marine stares down at the delicious mess they’ve made, Gabby’s pussy stretched wide open and her wet clit being loved on. Her voice is thick as she praises, “Yeah, you’re a good girl, aren’t you? Taking all my fingers so well, playing with yourself for me…”
She could keep going forever, really, but Gabby cuts her off with a helpless whimper and a rushed “ohmygod.”
Marine’s fingers are caught in a vice grip, claimed by Gabby’s pussy as she cums. It’s quick, the first and certainly not the last—she’s rarely ever sated after just one—but Gabby is shuddering beneath Marine all the same, her heart beating so violently that Marine can just barely see the pulsing in Gabby’s chest.
Marine kisses her perfect girl hard, but not too hard, not wanting to be too much when she’s so raw and vulnerable. Gabby responds sloppily, lips smearing across Marine’s face as she rides it out.
She knows it’s over when Gabby pulls her hand back from between her legs and flops it tiredly over her stomach. Marine doesn’t take her fingers out yet, knowing the sudden emptiness will give the younger girl post-orgasmic whiplash. Instead, she fawns over her love, coos praise at her, kisses her all over, and tells her she loves her.
Gabby smiles, closes her eyes tiredly and beams like the cutest thing Marine has ever seen, holds Marine’s cheek with her non-soiled hand, thumb rubbing over her skin. She kisses her softly and accepts every piece of praise with a gentle “Thank you, baby.”
Marine feels out the aftershocks of the orgasm, waits for the pulsing to stop before she turns three fingers into two, waits another minute before two becomes one, and finally pulls completely out of Gabby when she asks for it.
Marine’s fingers go straight into her mouth as she tastes the absolute mess her love made just for her. Gabby watches carefully, eyes trailing the digits as they leave Marine’s mouth with a quiet pop.
“Was that okay?” Marine asks with a teasing smirk. Gabby rolls her eyes dramatically even though she’s beaming.
“Shut up and come hold me.”
Marine obeys, cradling Gabby safely in her arms. She relaxes herself, breathing deeply, listening to the beat of Gabby’s heart, and tracing the ink on her skin.
It doesn’t take long for Gabby to become restless again. She’s splayed out on top of Marine like she’s a couch cushion, her eyes sparkling as she gives direct instructions for what she wants next. Her meekness is out the window after one orgasm. Gabby wants more—she always does—and Marine is eager to give it to her by her exact specifications. Marine leaves the bed only to return harnessed a few minutes later, ready to take her place between Gabby’s thighs once more.
Gabby’s still so wet and messy that Marine doesn’t even think about getting lube. All she cares about is granting Gabby’s wish for her to be inside, more than her anatomy allows. Gabby’s near squirming as Marine takes her place atop her again, both of them watching closely as Marine guides the strap. She pushes the head in, carefully, and groans like she can feel it at the same time Gabby whimpers.
Marine doesn’t have a photographic memory, doesn’t believe it’s a real thing in the first place, but she knows the image before her of the silicone framed so beautifully isn’t going to leave her mind for a long, long time.
“Shit, Gab, it’s…” Marine isn’t sure there’s a word in French or English for what she wishes to convey.
Gabby’s fingers are pressed against her own lips as she stares down at their connection, as if she can’t believe that she’s getting exactly what she asked for. When she finds Marine’s hungry stare, though, she melts into the sheets, preening a little and making sure to catch her fiancée’s gaze before she asks, “Oh, so you like it?”
Marine does. She bites her lip, nods absentmindedly as she slowly, patiently cants her hips forward, watching the silicone disappear inside of her pretty girl at an aching pace.
“Please,” She murmurs in awe. “You know you look so pretty like this.”
Gabby whimpers, and Marine adores the sound.
She swears she can feel it when the sex is this sensual, swears the toy is just another part of her body, swears she’s drowning in the wet heat and suffocating from the tight clench of her lover.
When she gets deep enough, she places her palms on either side of Gabby’s head, steadying herself above her beautiful girl.
Gabby makes a broken sound as Marine adjusts, hips stuttering momentarily as she gets comfortable.
“Is this okay, my love?”
Gabby nods urgently, her brows pinching together.
“Yes, yes, yes,” She nearly sobs it, digs her short nails into the toned curves of Marine’s waist and looks up at her like she’ll fall apart if their bodies ever untangle.
She looks down again, sees that they’re nearly pelvis-to-pelvis, and softly cries, “Oh my God.”
“Hey, mon amour, ma Gabrielle,” Marine coos, pressing her lips to her sweet girl’s temple. Gabby’s eyelids close slowly as Marine kisses her skin.
“I’ve got you. I’m right here.”
Marine isn’t sure why she says it, but it feels right—it seems like something her baby needs to hear before they keep going.
Gabby nods, taking a deep breath. Marine watches as her chest falls, as her pulsing veins relax, as she stares back up at her with wide brown eyes, her pupils wide and her gaze sure.
“Thank you, baby.” Her voice is small and relaxed at the same time.
Marine responds with a gentle kiss to Gabby’s cheek, then the corner of her mouth.
“But please fucking move, I can’t take it,” Gabby whines. Amused, Marine lets out a little laugh before she heeds Gabby’s wishes.
Marine bottoms out, her dick nestled exactly where it belongs, and she puts some of her weight on her palms, her lips meeting Gabby’s in a fierce kiss.
Gabby’s palms land on her ass, squeezing, letting the fat pool between her fingers. Marine dips her head and nuzzles against Gabby’s neck, taking her skin between her teeth as she draws her hips back and ruts forward hard.
“Oh, God,” Gabby cries softly, her lips next to Marine’s ear.
“Yes, fuck yes,” Gabby hisses between grit teeth when the silicone shifts inside of her again. Marine finds her pace quickly, pulling out halfway before thrusting back into her.
This isn’t enough, somehow—Marine needs to swallow her fiancée whole. She feels like she’s moving in a blur of arousal. She kisses Gabby messily, sucks her tongue into her mouth, bites her earlobe, licks a wide stripe over her throat. Gabby is hers, hers, hers.
“I love you so much,” She mumbles into Gabby’s neck, suddenly overcome with everything she feels for her. “I belong to you. Every part of me is yours.”
Gabby whimpers, wrapping her strong arms around Marine’s shoulders and holding her tight. Marine kisses her neck, sloppy and open-mouthed. She can feel Gabby’s thick veins pulsing beneath her lips.
“Always, always, always,” Marine blurts, still keeping her pace, still fucking into Gabby greedily. “Mind, body, and soul.”
“All mine, my love,” Gabby finds her voice, her throat thick. “Your lips… your heart… your dick.”
Marine nods against her, feeling helpless. She’s the one in control, but the sound of Gabby’s voice could make her legs give out at any moment.
“Everything.”
Her lips meet Gabby’s again, but it’s a messy affair as their tongues press against each other with the same spirit of their hips, spit stringing between their mouths.
“I love you,” Gabby gasps when they part. “Mar, you’re so deep.”
Marine isn’t sure why, but she takes it as a challenge. She stops pumping her hips for a moment and draws back instead, kneeling between Gabby’s thick thighs with the strap still inside. Gabby’s propping herself up on her elbows, biceps bulging as she stares at Marine with knit brows, looking every part fucked out and confused.
Marine reaches underneath Gabby’s thighs and tugs her further into her lap, admiring the cut of her quads and the wide-open view of her pussy. She brushes her thumb over the half-faded Pac-Man on Gabby’s right thigh, the permanent reminder of when they first started. Marine’s most recent work (her own initials) is inches away, on Gabby’s outer thigh.
She ceases her reminiscing, carefully pressing her left palm into Gabby’s lower stomach as coarse hair brushes against her wrist. Her ring glitters in the light as she finds her center of balance, the small refractions dancing atop Gabby’s skin.
“I did a good job,” Gabby muses, an easy smile on her lips. She rests her hand right over Marine’s, holding it in place. The protruding diamonds are nestled safely between Gabby’s inked fingers.
“You know you did.”
Marine has hardly shut the fuck up about the ring since Gabby put it on her finger more than a year ago—partly because she’s truly still amazed by the spectacular piece of jewelry (and the fact that it’s all for her), partly because she loves to see her fiancée beam and blush so sweetly every time she fawns over it.
Gabby squeezes Marine’s hand, so gently it could make the older woman sob.
Marine takes advantage of the pause in their fun, peering up at Gabby through thick lashes as her hips press forward at an achingly slow pace.
She feels euphoric, like she’s buzzing from head to toe when Gabby’s eyes roll back, when her eyelids squeeze shut, when her abs constrict, when she moans like Marine just caressed a part of her that’s never been touched before.
“Fuck,” She spits out, her voice rough. “Fuck, baby, you’re so deep. I’m so fucking full.” She squeezes Marine’s hand again, harder this time.
“You see where your dick is?” Gabby presses down on that spot, giving herself more pressure as the toy hits deep again, Marine bottoming out.
Marine watches delightedly as Gabby starts to roll her hips against her again, slow and sensual, meeting the base of the strap in a dancer’s rhythm.
God, it’s beautiful.
“You were made for me, you know that?” Marine can’t stop herself from asking, watching Gabby’s eyes soften at her words.
She holds eye contact for a few seconds before her gaze drops to where they’re connected.
“Look how well you take me… you’re fucking beautiful.” She doesn’t give Gabby a chance to respond, instead reaching down to where their bodies meet, rubbing her sweet girl’s clit languidly.
Gabby moans loudly. Her gaze is fiery when it meets Marine’s again.
“Baby, I’m so close,” She whines, grinding her hips against every deliciously invasive inch of Marine’s touch. “Are you close, too? You gonna cum with me?”
Marine groans at the question before she answers: “If you keep being a good girl for me, taking my dick just like this.”
“I want you to cum inside me,” Gabby pleads desperately. “Claim me. I’m yours.”
They don’t always get this filthy, to the point where Gabby is asking for the impossible, but God, it feels so euphoric when they do. Marine is on top of the world, feeling like she’s everything her baby could ever need. She’s so entranced by Gabby and eager to please her that she doesn’t even care that it isn’t possible.
“You’re mine.”
“Come here again,” Gabby pleads and Marine obeys, taking her place over her baby once more, holding herself up with one hand while the other plays with Gabby’s clit still. Gabby holds her tight, nails digging into her skin, head nuzzled in her neck. Gabby’s legs wrap around Marine, her muscle demanding Marine’s cooperation with ease. Marine’s mouth is a free-flowing tap, every word of praise and encouragement she can think of pouring from her mouth as Gabby rapidly approaches the edge.
Gabby’s frantic when she cums this time, forcing Marine deeper and chanting “I’m cumming” and “Fuck” over and over again like they’re manifestations. Marine’s experiencing sensory overload or horny delusions or maybe a mix of both. She swears she can feel Gabby clenching and spasming around her dick, hot and wet and perfect, and the mere idea combined with how fucked and beautiful Gabby looks beneath her makes her explode inside. She moans and whines and cries out, rutting desperately to grind out her own orgasm as she tells Gabby she loves her over and over again.
Marine loves her more than she ever thought was possible, and really, that’s the most erotic thing to her: being able to experience this and so much more with her person.
When they gather their senses again, they fall into a familiar routine, even though they’re so exhausted they feel like they’re wading through molasses. Gabby helps Marine out of the harness and sets everything to clean later. For now, they lay side by side, catch their breath, whisper their love to each other, and kiss each other’s faces.
Marine likes to shower Gabby’s entire face with soft kisses when they’re so syrupy and euphoric like this. She pulls back after finishing with a kiss to Gabby’s forehead, only to see her baby girl’s big brown eyes filling with tears. Gabby slaps her palm over her mouth, her voice small as she says “I’m sorry.”
Molasses time is over. Marine sits up, alert with concern.
“Don’t apologize, my love. What’s the matter? What do you need?
Gabby barely squeaks out “a hug” before her face crumples, tears starting to stream down her cheeks.
“Oh, baby,” Marine coos, her heart breaking as she pulls Gabby into a nurturing hug, holding her head close as she cries. She wants to envelop Gabby and protect her fully through her touch and her love. Gabby’s body shakes with little sobs as she clutches onto Marine.
“I’ve missed you so much,” She cries. “I hate this, Mar. You’re going to be my wife and I barely get to see you.” That sentiment causes another onslaught of tears, and Marine holds her tighter as she contemplates those words with a heavy heart.
Marine can’t respond. How could she, when she feels the exact same way? When their roles have been reversed so many times, with Gabby holding her close as she sobs or worse, saying that she wishes she could be there on the other end of the phone as Marine breaks down?
Tears pool in her own eyes. Marine chooses vulnerable honesty instead of false strength, letting the tears fall freely as she rubs Gabby’s back and kisses the top of her head.
“I meant what I said before,” Marine says when her throat feels a little less tight. “I’m yours in every way, not just when we’re naked, you know?”
That gets a watery giggle out of Gabby as she haphazardly wipes her tears away. Marine keeps going, wiping her own tears with the back of her hand.
“I’m yours in New York, in Lyon, in Mersin…” She trails off as Gabby lets out a little sob and holds her tighter. Marine’s eyes water all over again remembering the cruelty of this career she chose, all the times she’s had to be apart from the woman she loves most, especially when they needed each other badly. It fills her with rage and breaks her heart all at once.
She closes her eyes for a long moment, takes a few deep breaths, and attempts to ground herself through her senses.
She can see Gabby curled up against her naked body, her sleeved arm slung over her belly to hold her tight. She can see every inch of Gabby’s small bedroom and all of the things that make it hers: the anime figurines scattered about, the pictures taped to the mirror, the glasses and bonnet on the nightstand. She can see her engagement ring, still glittering in the light.
She can hear Gabby’s even breaths: in through the nose, out through the mouth. She can hear the cat padding around the apartment, nails clicking against the vinyl floors. She can hear the cars driving by outside, coming and going.
She can smell Gabby, all of her hair products and perfume mingling to make a sweet, familiar scent. She can smell the candle Gabby likes to burn when she’s relaxing, mellow and earthy. She can smell the lunch Gabby cooked earlier today, just barely lingering from the kitchen.
She can taste the remnants of her fruity chapstick, though it’s mostly been kissed away. She can taste the caramel from her midday coffee, which she didn’t need but Gabby happily bought for her anyway. She can taste Gabby, and she wishes she’d tasted her more before they became completely spent.
She can feel Gabby’s skin pressed against hers, soft and warm and a little sticky from the physical activity. She can feel Gabby’s heartbeat thumping against her, calm and relaxed. She can feel Gabby’s fingertips drawing small squiggles and swirls on her waist.
She’s okay.
They stay like that for a while, feeling everything together without sharing a word. Marine doesn’t know how many minutes pass.
Gabby’s the one that breaks the silence. “I hate this long distance bullshit, and I can’t wait for it to be over… but I don’t know who I’d be if I never found you, Mar.” She picks up Marine’s left hand, kisses the back of it, and holds it tenderly to her chest.
Marine feels the same. Her dreams have started to shift, something she hasn’t shared in full with Gabby yet.
Marine thinks back on the little girl she used to be who was gaping at highlights and dribbling a ball everywhere she could, and she thinks about everything she’s done since then. She's dedicated more than half of her life to playing this sport in the fashion that she has: winning in small gyms around France, representing her country on continents she never thought she’d see with her own two eyes, getting a chance in the best league in the world and terrified about moving to a new country but just doing it scared. She thinks about all of the losses, the injuries, the heartbreak. The times they came so close but couldn’t get the job done. The fear, the doubt, the frustration. The Federation, being bounced back and forth between the attendance rules of each league, never being able to please either of them. She thinks about becoming best friends with one of her idols and then being scorned by her, publicly, violently. She’d gone through her entire career questioning if she really belonged where she landed every step of the way.
She thinks of all of the wins, too, and knows that everything has been worth it, even those parts that hurt. She had a family that supported her outlandish dream of becoming a pro women’s basketball player in France. She worked her way up to the best clubs in France and in Europe. Her breakout season, where she was the only European to dominate EuroLeague, got her the attention of the WNBA—the league of her dreams—and the chance to last in it. She earned the friendship and respect of the man she’d idolized from the moment she knew what basketball was, and she brought him two championships in one of the worst stages of her life. She saw the Liberty grow to a powerhouse beyond anything she could’ve dreamt after her first season in New York. She got to play basketball her way, and her highlights were plastered everywhere and adored just like she’d dreamt of. She medaled at her home Olympics, with the women she considered her family at her side and every person she’s ever loved watching her do it.
Mostly, she thinks of Gabby.
Sure, some of those wins were right next to her soulmate, which makes them extra special. But really, the biggest win of all was getting the privilege to fall in love with Gabby, as a friend and then as something more. She’s closer now to retirement age than any of her rookie years. Her dreams don’t revolve around basketballs and hardwood and trophies—she’s close to having gotten her fill. Now, her dreams consist of wedding bells, a home in the French countryside, and a reality where she never has to wake up alone again. She dreams of domesticity, two toothbrushes next to the sink, and keeping all of their clothes in the same closet because they’re just going to steal everything from each other anyway. She dreams of getting to go to their loved ones’ weddings, meeting their babies while they’re still newborns, and watching her family grow old day-by-day instead of in quick visits home a couple times a year. She wants a home and a family with the girl in her arms so badly that it makes her heart ache. She soothes that ache by reminding herself: that time is coming soon, and she can’t wait for the day that loving Gabby from a distance becomes a distant memory instead of her reality.
She squeezes Gabby in her arms, kisses the top of her head, and whispers that she loves her. She smiles when Gabby whispers it right back.
They’ll get up in a bit, clean themselves off, and likely get out of the apartment together. They’ll savor the time they have together and make plans for the next time they get to reunite, but for now, Marine closes her eyes and lets herself dream in a king-sized bed in Seattle.