Chapter Text
She can’t look at her
They’ve been traveling westward, coastward…ricocheting off countries and border towns like a pinball against the levers - bouncing and zig zagging evasively through European vistas faster than charters and all of Interpol combined. The essential nomadic lifestyle they’d all been forced to adopt was tiresome at best, disparaging at most. And with Mary on point, Camila entrenched in security detail, and Lilith relegated to a relatively benched position as navigator, Beatrice had self designated the all in all pertinent role of divine babysitter amongst their roving band of crusaders.
Ava had yet to gain a fixed hold on her energy emittance, never quite able to narrow any focus to her explosive blasts past a lesser radius rather than a focused charge - and that didn’t even begin to graze the surface of her ‘flighty’ relationship with levitation. Indeed, despite the of originality of Ava’s exposed abilities it was still all very much touch and go. The days in between travel and roving further south were occupied with training to a degree of experimentation and were otherwise parsed with a fair amount of tutelage to catch Ava up to studies (on her own surprising request). Between training the budding bearer and blitzkrieging the wholeside of Switzerland there was little time to partake of sight seeing…
And yet,
Beatrice found herself committing to her fair share of looking, against her better judgement. Ava having dragged her to the edge of enough flower fields and local markets to make her head spin.
But even the landscapes, valleyed pastures, and village cobble centers dotted far away on dark wing silhouettes in the eves…paled in comparison.
She can’t look at her
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.
But she can’t not look at her.
There’s an insurmountable attraction. An internal compulsion that steers her thoughts and body without dual process and thought. It reveals itself like a crack in the pipes - a leak so gravitational and inevitable the frustration seems childish and immature in hindsight; pitfall tells collecting and pooling like water through a sack, seeping, bleeding, weeping through the seams like liquid longing - a wayward side eye, a cursory overview, a lingering that can’t illicit full explanation. Just to see…
Beatrice catches herself red handed at what seems almost constant, too willing and too eager to fall into an invisible magnetic orbit that she must actively pry and peel away from. Far too late in to be subtle when her gaze is too intent to be idle. Her face ablaze and her chest hollowed out in a tingling damning free fall as she sneaks outlines of Ava’s shoulders, the slender flow of her hands grasping onto hers, the fit of her clothes. The shilloute of her jaw…her face - nose, cheeks, brow, lips against the golden hour sun breaking through the window when she turns and smiles at her. It’s obvious. It’s broadcasted.
It’s pathetic.
And if it’s not Ava who’s catching her in these moments of unabashed weakness, it’s her sisters…
She’s sure Mary of all of them had deduced the worst of it long ago, minimal gestures of trailing smiles and condolences made frequent and light. And that, as far as she was concerned, she was resigned to be content with. But she hadn’t expected to find Camila, of all people, seeking to give Beatrice relationship advice in a rather indiscrete open market on their way coastwards while perusing the fruit stalls - stating rather bluntly that ‘all relationships require a subtle degree of open communication and vulnerability’ if they were to prosper and procure success.
The gestures are appreciated. The forwardness is not.
And the resulting fluster and ungracious devolution of Beatrice’s composure said as much as she hastily petered away to the vegetables. She doesn’t know how to navigate this side of things. And even given as much as she was aware and conscious towards it, within and definition of herself as ever present - …it was foreign.
Resigning Ava to the peripheral was not. And it wasn’t as if Beatrice wasn’t content to wade in that glow second handedly…its warmth and emittance no less even from so far away. Energy she could touch, gravity she could feel; it was a halo brim of sun that casted and settled across the surface of water without ripple, enticing and promising of more - so imploringly that Beatrice swears she could hear it sing like violin strings…if only it didn’t sound so sweet.
And yet to see it so whole and so real - like light made skin, like love made bone. The halo bearer and nun being pressed up so close on their sides, faces even closer and wading in weaves of golden bracken hair - trading movement in the dark like liquid displacement. Equilibriant. The electricity of currents run down her spine like droplets of water with each echo their kisses resonate from her supplicating lips. Everything she did - everything she does - right here, right now…drowns…
She shuts her eyes
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‘Bea...?’
She shudders at the sound. Her name never spelt or sewn so tenderly by any voice of her life…risen up like the incense of vespers and consecrating prayers sent updrafted like birds to heaven. Unannounced, a hand rakes through her hair, swept back in combing strokes through the roots of her scalp and down to her nape. The younger girl’s fingers linger and soothe at that patch of skin…daring something inside furl, uncurl…she can’t help but bend to its beckon…
She’s absolutely hopeless
But it’s dark behind her eyelids. Her breaths are shadows, clouding around her face and curbing off the bow of Ava’s neck like a riptide against the razor rocks and coral shoals. It seizes a terrible fear of the depths deep within. A fear of the untold, a fear of the forbidden. A fear of the unseen. She clutches on so tightly…wants to weep at the freeze and lock of limb now held within with everything so close and finally in sight. Beatrice can feel the halo bearer’s lips on her forehead, her face moved to nestle in her crown and hair hugging, holding, close…patient. She buries deeper. But there’s nowhere deep enough that isn’t composed of Ava’s scent, Ava’s touch, Ava’s energy here in the soft give of her neckline and supple skin…it’s a terrible place to hide.
Aside the fact that the halo bearer’s heartbeat is unfettered and sure in the dim that she feels drawn to regardless the suffering it induces. Steady and unafraid here against the side of her cheek, her ear pressed close to pulse in an effort to mold closer, sew tighter - coiling together all in a culmative out wash that makes this encounter so confusing, so enticing, so torturous Beatrice feels it eeking out through her very soul.
And then her face, summoned up from the shadow and memories of the French day market, where her hair falls free and sun washed amidst the crowd of merchant tents and pedestrians. Eyes seeking and furtively flickering past heads and faces. Lilith nearby, safely steering the younger girl out of flow and current even as she stubbornly pursues the strain of struggle in reaching out. Beatrice can feel Camila preening besides her elbow without needing to look. Of course it hardly matters. Because Ava’s eyes are alighted like stars, connecting and recognizing her own from leagues away across the cobble center, flickering happily as she seeks to flow to passage through a throng of bypassing crowds - her hair swaying fro when her chin cuts back up to check that Beatrice hasn’t hastened away and further flown; Beatrice smiles.
The young nun braces against her sworn, lips only a little wet to the skin when she gives quiet breath to voice.
‘can I…’
Her breath stutters across the bearer’s slender collarbone. Ava’s eyes shuttering slightly at the inviting sensation. A tempting gesture caressing down low in the cove of her neck where the older woman has gathered and pooled to gravity. The covers rustle softly when she rotates her hips further in, rolling tighter from front to front under sheets and warm darkness. Beatrice breathes in, her chest rising like the tide bringing in the moon. If courage be found, let it be unearthed here and now.
…
…
…
….’can I watch?’
It’s a good solid moment of silence as it hangs between them, voided and pinned high above in full clarity for everyone to see. The room is washed in haze, a little pale hue of moonlight shifting past the panes through the cottage iron lace window. And it’s so quiet; Beatrice can feel her limbs go stiff and cold with each passing moment as Ava’s pulse gradually fills each beat of silence.
When she answers, her response is a small incredulous trill that bubbles at the center of her shuttering chest, rising up past her lips like breath. It’s not quite a laugh, but it’s kind; it’s sweet. Ava’s air and heat pressing out and imbued with spirit as it flies - the sound of which as good as a flare set sparked on the dark brine salted waves of Beatrice’s trembling soul.
‘oh, Bea…’
Beatrice doesn’t realize how tight her chest had knotted, almost tempted to reach up and twist a fist into the fabrics of her sleep shirt and dig deep for a heart. All the while Ava’s hand squeezing softly at the back of her neck, pulling back gently as she easily shepards Beatrice’s head back and tilting so she has to look her. Her brow gone lax at the crown and crease of her eyes. The ease soaked deep into her muscles.
Ava’s eyes are foggy…
slightly bemused…
and so willing
‘of course you can watch…’
Beatrice releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding. And all Ava does is chuckle in a sleepy murmuring tone, ’it’s all for you anyway,’
Their eyes connect, joined and fused together past space and time like bridges over canyons. Like leagues of ocean and coral trench parted in search of the promise land. Beatrice cannot consciously or reasonably tell where her soul begins and where Ava’s ends - if it even does. Not here, wherever they are…foreheads pressed together...noses knocking gently…Beatrice is drifting back down to chest, eyes shuttering closed as she imprints a kiss right where Ava’s heart beats with ichor. Each caress of lips an impart of as much adoration and praise either body could bear. Another kiss. And another. Reverent with each swelling gesture, yet fervent and energetic in rigor - still so eager to please. She is dutifully bound to her ministrations, branding and pressing her admiration into the surface and down to the core with teeth and tongue until Ava is gasping into top of her hair. Grasping at the thick midnight strands falling over Beatrice’s shoulders from behind as she halfway sidles up and atop the younger girl, hot breath prickling across her front.
Timeless moments drift in fuzz and haze, until the formless entity that possess their shared darkness seeps deep in through skin; Ava’s eyes fall free into bliss, Beatrice’s slipping open as something within releases.
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.
.
It’s immediately immersive. Immediately intoxicating, watching Ava’s face, her hands, her shoulders twist against the pillows and mattress pad from below. It’s the movement of water. The movement of space - dust in the light of golden hours and noxious curving motions all bled into each other. The curve of her face changing hue, from dark to moonlit light as her neck cranes back. The whites of her teeth dug down into piercing giving lip. Beatrice eyes strain upwards to see, stray hand branding swirls and whorls of patterns on Ava’s satin soft side underneath her shirt to reassure and wade.
Her body is the void.
Her skin is the night sky.
Her heart, the moon.
Beatrice, a small and reverent observer, stargazing on the beach and shore surf below …too small to even fathom the most basic shape of the heavens above…
She can already feel her veins seep in towards addiction with every little trace of essence Beatrice can draw from the source.
The older girl flicks her tongue to it like honey to taste against the girl’s breastbone, revels in the immediate reactive response as more of Ava comes up to press and present. Beatrice’s eyes intent and engaged as the nun slowly trickles upwards, licking and tasting the flavor of salt beaded up the rise of neck. Ava groaning encouragingly, fingers knotted tighter in her hair as she ambles up higher, and higher, and higher.
Beatrice knocks out an elbow for leverage to better see, hovering as one arm rocks out and stray hair strands fall across her lover’s open face. She pauses to breathe, shoulders rolling with a pleasant ache - muscles stretching like chorded power underneath skin and fabric as she looks on.
Ava’s eyes are scrunched, active underneath her eyelids as they flicker and flash unrestrained and free. Beatrice likes to see the strings pull and how observe how readily Ava responds to each tug and prompting nudge. The way her gasps pull different when she hovers over the apex of shoulder and neck, the way her throat bobs when Beatrice moves to frame and hold steady at the hinge of jaw.
The younger girl’s head turns to the side; she’s panting, chest rising like quick rain patter and hummingbird wings. But she’s holding the older girl down to her neck and lets out a whimper of frustration at how difficult it is to stay still and receive, crooning every now and then when Beatrice’s hand begins squeezing down her arm, elbow, wrist, hip…reminding her she’s here intent to stay.
Ava’s hand moves to clutch at the elastic band of Beatrice’s sweatpants when the older girl begins drawling spirals right on her hip bone. Each swirl and sway of wayward pass drawing up the edges of her tank and planing underbelly. Sinking slower…sinking lower…so gradual under the folds of fabric that the eventual intrusion colors something tender. The joining like tide waters and breath as Ava intakes what Beatrice exhales out. Their faces are so close, and Beatrice is so careful as all of her lowers down and against until her middle and ring are hilted as far as either can give - until the sweat on her brow is smoothing across Ava’s. Both of their conjoined frames turn rigid and laxing for what seems like infinite existence with the adjustment.
Beatrice is entranced and bound to the expression splaying and rendering across Ava’s features. Mouth shuttering listless in awe of some voiceless untouchable divinity. Her body twitching to the foreign sensation, but eager to accommodate and accept with a few coasting movements. It takes time for her hips to settle and eddy to a hidden rhythm, but Beatrice doesn’t feel rushed…she’s enamored simply watching the muscles around her eyes pull, lax, pull again…almost in pain…almost in bliss…free…
She can’t look away
“Oh holy father…”
She never wants to look away
Amidst the enrapture Ava cries out and digs her nails into the front of her shirt, pulling harder and insistent when the emptiness pits further - demanding attention.
The young nun blinks and moves in close, just so into orbit that a single tilt of her head could bring them crashing back together. She breathes the words in against mouth and wetness so there be no indiscretion. ‘I’m here…I’m here…’
It’s quiet. It’s soft. And Ava’s face melts with the sentiment.
She’s here. She’s not running away anymore.
The entire exchange is moving enough to demand another passioned and decided kiss, eyes caressing every facet and faze they can treble and settle across while she goes, drinking it in like nectar from the petals of blooming flower. The warmth is pooling down deep in her center, and her leg is notched tightly down below in the knock of knees to keep Ava from scrabbling in her excitement. But her legs occasionally kick out when the pads of her fingers graze just deft and sure enough to home that a spasm brings volts rocketing through their connected nervous system. Beatrice can feel every shift, every tremor, every aching break that now has Ava crawling towards salvation, calves and hips cramping and frustrated as they seek outside of conscious thought.
She cries out at a particular dive, warmth seizing and gripping tight like a vice, hands scrabbling under Beatrice’s shirt onto her bare flexing shoulders. The muscles of her back pull with the resounding pulse as she returns a decisive push closer.
The sounds grate somewhere in the back of Ava’s throat, straining softly and uninhibited.
She gasps, clutching harder so that the nails dig a little across shoulders. ‘Please, please, please,’ she croons.
It’s breaking something open with its honesty.
‘I need it. - I want it,’
‘You can,’ Beatrice pants back, fingers rolling deftly to help her. ‘You can have it,’
‘Bea - ‘
Take it
Beatrice readjusts the forearm she’s heavily leaning on so that she can hold the side of Ava’s head still from thrashing to the side, thumb swirling warm patterns under her cheek bone. She sinks just enough that her body presses and corners deeper into the memory foam and their bodies have lost definition in each other. The race of her hips picks up incrementally, a little off beat, a little erratic and tilting off a delicate axis of balance.
‘There you go…see? There you go…’ Ava’s head throws back sudden and strained, the ridge of her neck damp and humid with heat as it breaks against the dark in silhouette. Strings of wet hair plastered across her forehead as Beatrice strokes in slow rolling beckonings deep within warmth and hold. So close. So wet. ’So smooth…’
Ahh - !
Ava -
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Beatrice didn’t notice when Ava’s eyes had drifted back open. Somewhat…They’re lidded and droopy with content as she looks down at Beatrice, who still has yet to catch her breath as she stares back - cracked open so thoroughly there’s no segment of foundation left unshaken. She’s trembling from its aftershocks, Ava’s hand eventually trebling up and holding her together by the cheek.
Neither think to shy away, too leveled and burned ragged to move; she’s not even sure she wants to. Content to splay across here and float, an unphasing curtain drawn back at the rungs revealing nothing but what they already knew and now see.
Ava’s hands reach up and draw down the sides of her face, thumbs rubbing gently underneath her eyes and through the tears wetting her cheeks. She didn’t know she’d started crying.
‘You’re beautiful…’
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