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“Seriously,” the stranger says earnestly, “it’s okay. This kind of thing happens all the time. It can happen to anybody.”
Her dark brown hair is wet from the sea, waves already forming as the icy wind catches it, and her hazel eyes are bright and focused on Thranduil’s face. Thranduil’s vision is still zooming in and out, and although she’d hide from a mirror if someone held one up to her right now, she doesn’t need one to know that she looks like a skinny, pathetic drowned rat. She’s soaked to the bone and her clothes are a loss, and worse than that, she’s embarrassed. Only an idiot would ruin their first vacation in five years by failing to watch the waves and getting swept into the ocean.
“It happens to anybody?” Thranduil repeats, and the woman who rescued her nods. “Not to me. I’m not usually stupid. And I don’t usually ruin other people’s days along with mine.”
Thranduil’s lying through her teeth – with her job, she ruins at least one person’s day per shift – but there’s no reason for the stranger to know that. “My day’s not ruined,” the stranger says. “It would have been a lot more ruined if you’d drowned out here.”
“You think I was going to drown?” Thranduil’s already thrown up seawater once, but she feels nauseous again. “I’m a good swimmer. Do you think I’m lying?”
“No,” the stranger says at once. “But it’s winter and the water’s just above freezing. Nobody’s a good swimmer in that.”
“Except for you.”
“I’m a rescue swimmer with the Coast Guard,” the stranger says. “It’s my job.”
Not only did Thranduil get herself in trouble through her own stupidity, she got in so much trouble that it took a Coast Guard rescue swimmer to save her life. Thranduil would almost rather she’d drowned. “Did somebody call 911?”
“No,” the rescue swimmer says. “I live around here – my house is that way – and I saw you go in through my front window. I’m really glad I got to you in time.”
She looks like she means it. As if rescuing idiots like Thranduil is how anybody would start the day – and if this woman was at home rather than at the Coast Guard base in Grey Haven, it means it’s her day off. It’s bad enough that Thranduil ruined her own vacation. Somebody like a rescue swimmer needs days off infinitely more than Thranduil does. Who’s going to suffer if this rescue swimmer isn’t rested for her next shift? Some stranger, probably, somebody who did a lot less to deserve almost drowning than Thranduil did. It would be just Thranduil’s luck to indirectly get someone killed.
“Hey,” the rescue swimmer says, almost gently, and Thranduil looks away. “I know you don’t believe me, but it really is okay. Is there somewhere I can take you to? Your hotel, so you can get some dry clothes?”
“I don’t have a hotel,” Thranduil says. “This is just a day trip. It’s my first vacation in –”
Finishing a sentence isn’t rocket science, but the way Thranduil’s throat closes up makes it impossible. It’s been so long since she really took time to herself, since she left her work phone at home and muted text notifications from her coworkers. She was looking forward to it so much, and now she’s ruined it – and she’s ruined someone else’s day off, too. Thranduil’s missed the ocean desperately, but now she’s not sure she can even stand to look at it again.
“Hey,” the rescue swimmer says, alarmed. “Hey. It’s okay. Don’t cry. Like I said, I live just over that way. Come with me. You can dry off and warm up, and I can dig up some clothes for you, and then we can figure out how to un-ruin your day off. What do you think?”
“Aren’t you busy?”
“Nah,” the rescue swimmer says, and smiles at Thranduil. It’s not a cocky smile, but it’s confident, and if Thranduil felt slightly less like shit, she’d probably swoon or something. “It’s my day off, too.”
Thranduil knew it. “I’m sorry.”
“Nope,” the rescue swimmer says. She gets easily to her feet and holds out her hands for Thranduil’s. Even though they were both swimming in the same frigid ocean, the swimmer’s hands are warm. “There we go. I’m Bard. What’s your name?”
“Thranduil,” Thranduil mumbles, and sees Bard’s eyebrows lift. “Mouthful, isn’t it?”
“Not really. I’m just impressed you can get it out with your teeth chattering like that,” Bard says. She pulls Thranduil to her feet, then steadies her with an arm around her shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”
It’s not a long way to Bard’s house. Bard tries to talk to Thranduil, but now Thranduil’s freezing cold in addition to stupid, and she’s not in the mood. She asks Bard questions about herself instead, and learns that Bard’s twenty-eight, a year younger than she is. Bard’s been a rescue swimmer for five years, and when she’s not flying out over the open ocean on helicopters and jumping down into the water to rescue people who are drowning, she’s rescuing numbskulls like Thranduil who somehow manage to drown thirty yards off the beach.
“Thirty yards is a long way in conditions like these,” Bard says. Thranduil looks past her, at the pounding surf, and feels sick all over again. “I slept late this morning. I was just making coffee when I saw you go in.”
Thranduil can see Bard’s front door just ahead. It feels as though she’s been walking for an hour. “I’m amazed you got to me in time.”
“I had a few track records back at school,” Bard says. There’s a note of pride in her voice, but once it’s paired with an awkward shrug, Thranduil can’t tell whether Bard’s bragging about her accomplishments or simply being honest. She holds open the front door and Thranduil steps through. “Okay. Hang out right here for a second. I’ll get you some towels, and I’ll set out some clothes for you.”
Thranduil waits. At first she’s planning to stare down at her feet, but the puddle of seawater that’s forming around them makes her cringe, and she opts to look around Bard’s house instead. It’s small, and everything in it looks secondhand, but it all looks friendly and comfortable. Thranduil thinks of her apartment, done entirely according to IKEA standards, and wonders if that’s why it doesn’t feel like home. She keeps meaning to decorate. She just never has time.
Bard’s back maybe two minutes later, wearing dry clothes and carrying an armful of towels. “I’ll be in the kitchen working on the coffee,” she says. “You can leave your clothes here. Head straight through that door and you’ll be in my bedroom. I laid out some stuff on the bed.”
“Thanks,” Thranduil manages through chattering teeth. Bard is shorter than she is, so she doubts anything Bard owns will fit, but it’s the thought that counts. “I owe you.”
Bard shakes her head, a faint flush coming up in her cheeks. “Get changed. Then we’ll talk.”
Thranduil strips out of her clothes, everything from her sodden overcoat to the bra she barely needs even as an adult, cocoons herself in towels, and hurries down the hall to Bard’s bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it’s small but cozy, and Thranduil’s seized with the urge to hide under the flannel sheets and fluffy blanket on the bed and never come out. The clothes Bard promised are laid out on the bed, including a pair of underwear and a bra that’s several cup sizes larger than Thranduil could fill. Thranduil didn’t notice Bard’s breasts. She had other things on her mind.
And she shouldn’t be thinking about them now, even if it makes her briefly, uncomfortably warm. She also shouldn’t be thinking about whether or not it’s weird to wear someone else’s underwear. Thranduil restricts herself to being thankful that Bard apparently believes in buying her clothes oversize and gets dressed. It’s not until she’s squeezing water out of her hair that she realizes everything she’s wearing – from socks to sweatpants to shirt and probably to underwear, although she’s not about to check – is emblazoned with the Coast Guard logo. Before Thranduil can stop herself, she laughs.
“What?” Bard asks from somewhere else in the house. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” Thranduil says. “Do all your clothes say Coast Guard on them?”
“Only my nice ones,” Bard says, and Thranduil smothers another burst of laughter. “I get as much free merch as I want. One of the perks of a job with an eighty percent washout rate.”
Thranduil doesn’t know much about rescue swimming as a profession. She can’t tell if she’s intrigued or not. She gives up on drying her hair completely and makes her way out into the house proper. The living room is easy to find, and so is the window Bard must have spotted her through. Looking through it makes the floor sway under Thranduil’s feet, so she looks away in search of Bard.
Bard’s standing behind her, a cup of coffee in each hand and a surprised look on her face. Thranduil raises her eyebrows in response, and the same faint flush Thranduil saw before comes up in her cheeks. “Those look better on you than on me,” she says. “Maybe it’s a sign. Did you ever think of getting into rescue swimming?”
“No,” Thranduil says. She takes the coffee cup Bard offers and sits down on the couch, her back to the ocean. “I’m not cut out for it.”
“I don’t blame you. And I like your honesty.” Bard sits down across from Thranduil. Her hair is drying faster than Thranduil’s is, and it hasn’t lost the waves. “The job has crazy hours and kind of a high casualty rate. I have a hard time imagining most people don’t look at it and say no thanks.”
A high casualty rate. It makes sense, but Thranduil doesn’t like thinking about it. She remembers Bard’s confidence in the water as she pulled Thranduil to the surface and swam for shore, but she remembers the height of the waves, too. How cold the water is. How far away the shore and the sky and the seabed all seemed when she was caught in the grip of the water. A shiver runs through her. “How high?”
“Lower than the guys have on Deadliest Catch,” Bard says. She’s wearing a sweater, and as Thranduil watches, she sets her coffee aside and struggles out of it, holding it out to Thranduil. “Here.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Thranduil says, even as she reaches for it. “You’ll get cold.”
“I run pretty warm, so I was just starting to overheat. Now it’s all warmed up for you.” Bard runs her fingers through her hair, pulling it back out of her face. “Keep it, if you want. It looks better on you than on me. I feel like most things probably do.”
Thranduil pulls on the sweater. It is warm, the kind of lived-in warmth that Thranduil hasn’t felt in a long time, if ever. She huddles inside it and watches Bard, who’s looking more awkward by the second. Awkwardness suits her. Thranduil has a feeling that most things do. “Thank you,” she says, pulling her hands inside the sleeves. “This is really nice.”
Bard nods, averting her eyes. “So, your day trip to the beach. What kind of things were you hoping to do?”
“I don’t know,” Thranduil says. She assumed she’d get here and work it out, but the first thing she worked out was a walk on the beach, and that ended in disaster. “My family always came here for vacations in the summer. One day I woke up and realized that I couldn’t remember the last time I was here. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d gotten out of the city.”
“How long had it been?”
“Five years,” Thranduil says. Bard looks shocked. “Ridiculous, don’t you think?”
Bard shakes her head. “My job is basically my life. I haven’t gone home for the holidays in a while,” she says. “Your job must be really important to you.”
“It is,” Thranduil says. That feels like a lie, but she would have been lying just as much if she’d said it wasn’t. “It’s – complicated. It’s the only job I’ve ever wanted to do, and I’m proud of my work, but I don’t – when I get up to go to work in the morning – or at night, if I’m on the night shift – I don’t feel like what I’m doing –”
Thranduil trails off, frustrated. “I’m not usually this inarticulate.”
“You did almost drown,” Bard points out. She glances down and frowns. “Your hands are shaking. Let’s stop talking about your job.”
“I’m fine,” Thranduil says, but her coffee’s in danger of spilling out of her cup. She moves to put it down, but Bard’s hands come up on either side of hers, steadying them. Bard’s hands are still warm. “Are you usually this – attentive – to people you rescue?”
Bard’s face flushes. “Let’s not talk about either of our jobs,” she suggests.
She’s sitting closer to Thranduil than she was before. Her lips are fuller than Thranduil thought, too. “Then what should we talk about?”
“Our day off,” Bard says. “I’ll put your clothes in the dryer, and then why don’t we go into town? You haven’t been here in years, and I haven’t had a chance to explore since I was stationed here. Let’s do all the tourist stuff I haven’t done and all the stuff you remember from when you were a kid, and by the time we’re done with that, your clothes will be dry and you can go home.”
Home. Thranduil’s stomach clenches at the thought of going back to the city, but that won’t be for hours. Bard is offering a whole day, and Thranduil very much wants to spend that day with her. “That sounds perfect,” she says. “Are you sure I didn’t just drown?”
Bard laughs at that. Thranduil likes the sound of her laughter, bright and warm just like her house, just like her eyes. “Finish your coffee. Let’s go exploring while the weather’s good.”
Thranduil glances over her shoulder at the windswept beach. “This counts as good?”
“Any time it’s not raining,” Bard says. She lets go of Thranduil’s hands, and Thranduil misses her the moment she’s gone. “I just dried you off. I don’t want you to get wet again.”
Thranduil has an entirely inappropriate thought about that, one she drowns in her cup of coffee. She’s already nearly ruined her one-day excuse for a vacation. She’s not going to ruin it any further. “Let’s hurry, then.”
In spite of Thranduil’s greater height, Bard’s clothes are too big for her, and the wind cuts through them like a knife. She huddles closer to Bard as they walk down the street, an excuse ready on the tip of her tongue if Bard asks why. But Bard doesn’t ask. Instead she takes Thranduil’s arm and pulls her a little closer, close enough that their shoulders brush together on every step. “You’re the expert around here,” she says to Thranduil. “What should we do?”
“The arcade, maybe,” Thranduil says. She has fond memories of it, and a vague thought about impressing Bard by winning her a prize. “Unless you’re hungry.”
“I’m always hungry.”
“So I’ll buy you lunch,” Thranduil decides, “and then we’ll go to the arcade.”
Thranduil’s wallet didn’t go into the water with her – she left it locked in the glovebox of her car, which means she can pay cash for two burgers and two beers at the only non-touristy pub in town. She wasn’t old enough to drink the last time she was here, but she orders what her dad always ordered, and Bard orders the same. In spite of the fact that Bard said she hasn’t looked around much, in spite of the fact that she admittedly doesn’t do anything but eat, sleep, and work, she’s some kind of local celebrity. Everyone knows her. The server, the bartender, the trio of elderly women knitting in a corner booth in the no-minors seating section, the two kids passing through on their way to the bathroom. They all know Bard, and they’re all excited to see her.
Almost all of them. “I’m sorry,” the kids’ father says, hurrying over from the family section to rescue Bard. He looks uncomfortable. “They, uh – sorry.”
“It’s okay,’ Bard says. The kids are still trying to get Bard to arm-wrestle them, but their dad won’t even make eye contact. “I’ll see you around. Hopefully on land.”
The dad nods and hurries off, and something clicks into place in Thranduil’s head. “Is he one of your rescues?”
“Yeah.” Bard runs her hand through her hair again, and Thranduil’s hands tingle with the desire to do the same. “He and some of his buddies were out crabbing in rough seas, and they capsized. People in the water, uh – well, you know. They panic.”
Thranduil knows. That panic’s still caught within her somewhere, tangled around her ribcage, and she knows it’ll be a while before she relaxes completely. “Did you have to hit him?”
“I broke his nose,” Bard says. She coughs. “And his jaw. That was my first rescue out of school. I might have overdid it.”
“You didn’t.” A man peers over the divider from the next booth over. He’s dark-haired and black-bearded, with fierce blue eyes and a scar splitting one eyebrow. Thranduil’s starting to wonder if the Coast Guard recruits at modeling agencies. “He kept putting me under while I was trying to get his best friend in the basket. He deserved it.”
“Hey, Thorin,” Bard says. The other swimmer – Thorin – nods. “If we’re both here, who’s manning the base?”
“Percy, but I’m on standby. Balin will call if anything happens,” Thorin says. He looks Thranduil up and down. “Who are you, and why are you wearing Bard’s clothes?”
Thranduil introduces herself. “I’m wearing Bard’s clothes because mine are wet.”
“You fell in,” Thorin says, already disdainful. “Did you trip on a sand dollar or something?”
“It was a sneaker wave,” Bard says immediately. “Could happen to anybody.”
It could happen to anyone, but Thranduil pulled the short straw. “Bard kindly ruined her day off to save me.”
“You were great. You followed my instructions and everything,” Bard says. She smiles at Thranduil, and Thranduil feels warmth come to her own cheeks. “No hitting necessary.”
“You always get the good ones,” Thorin says, and rolls his eyes. Then he goes back to glaring at Thranduil. “I hope you’re thanking her better than that jackass from the crab boat did.”
“That’s not what this is about!” Bard protests, but Thorin vanishes back into his booth. Bard straightens up and peers over, then sinks back down with an eye-roll of her own. “No wonder he disappeared like that. He’s on a date, too.”
Thranduil’s nerves hum like she’s been hit by lightning. “Does that mean we’re on a date?”
“I mean – I’d want it to be a date,” Bard says. Thranduil likes seeing her blush. “Did you think it wasn’t?”
“I didn’t want to assume,” Thranduil says carefully. She stretches one leg under the table and brushes her foot against Bard’s ankle. “I’m guessing buying your lunch doesn’t count as a thank-you in Thorin’s book.”
“I don’t know what anything counts for in Thorin’s book,” Bard says, and Thranduil laughs. “You don’t have to thank me. That’s not why I did this. Are you going on a date with me to thank me?”
“No,” Thranduil says. “I’d go on a date with you no matter what.”
The instant she says it, she cringes. Usually she plays hard to get, never tipping her hand until it’s clear she’s got the upper one, but the smile that crosses Bard’s face dulls the embarrassment almost entirely. “That’s what I like to hear.”
The food arrives, and Thranduil finds herself in the odd position of explaining the restaurant’s backstory to someone who actually lives here. Bard seems to like the food, and the beer, or maybe she’s just pretending because she likes Thranduil. Thranduil likes her, too. It’s been a while since Thranduil liked someone as much as she likes Bard.
Usually it takes Thranduil a lot longer to warm up to someone, but usually whoever it is hasn’t just saved Thranduil’s life – and usually Thranduil isn’t wandering arm in arm with them through the beach town she visited as a child, ready to make the excuse that she’s only keeping close because she’s cold. But Bard hasn’t asked for an excuse. She just keeps her arm linked with Thranduil’s, and she asks Thranduil other things. About her childhood and the summers she spent here. About her family, where they live now that they’ve all moved away. And then –
“So,” Bard says, as they’re leaving the arcade, light fifteen dollars and heavy three rubber ducks, “tell me about this job of yours.”
Thranduil doesn’t want to talk about it. “What do you want to know?”
“Why it matters so much to you that you haven’t taken a day off in five years.”
“You haven’t taken a lot of time off,” Thranduil points out. “You’ve been here for two years, and you didn’t even know that the best beer on the coast was being poured a mile away from your house.”
Bard smiles at that, but she’s not as deterred as Thranduil hoped. “I’ll admit it – if my job didn’t make me take days off, I’d have a hard time justifying it. You must feel the same way about yours.”
“Mine’s not like yours,” Thranduil says. “It’s not life or death. Not like yours is.”
She’s hoping Bard will guess, but Bard keeps quiet as they wander into one of the made-for-tourists clothing stores so Thranduil can buy something to wear that isn’t Bard’s. Eventually Thranduil has to come out with it. “I’m a veterinarian. I work in the emergency department at a twenty-four hour animal hospital.”
“And that’s not life and death?” Bard says, incredulous.
“Not like yours is.” Thranduil knows better than to make a comparison between animals’ lives and people’s, no matter how intensely she feels for her patients. “I’ve been there since I got out of school.”
Bard holds the door to the shop open for Thranduil and Thranduil steps inside. “You haven’t taken a vacation from the animal emergency room in five years?”
“There aren’t enough vets. Most of us pull two or three overnight shifts a week in addition to our regular schedule, just to keep things running.” Thranduil flips through a rack of sweatshirts, wondering if there’s any item of clothing for sale in this town that doesn’t have a logo on it. “People don’t bring their animals in until it’s really serious, and if you think people are bad at handling sick or injured family members, they’re just as bad when it’s their pet. People are awful, sometimes. A lot of the time.”
People shout at Thranduil on every shift. People break down crying in front of her, and although there’s no one on the planet worse at comforting someone who’s hurting than Thranduil is, she’s all they have. Dealing with owners is hard, but lately, Thranduil’s emotions have been threatening to swamp her every time a critically sick or injured animal is carried into her exam room. Some days, all she wants to do is bolt out the back door and never come back.
Bard is looking at her over the rack of clothes, her hazel eyes intent on Thranduil’s face. “If there aren’t many of you, I can see why it’s hard to step back.”
“They give us plenty of vacation time,” Thranduil says. “It’s impossible for me to justify using it.”
The other vets have girlfriends or boyfriends or spouses or kids. Thranduil doesn’t even have a goldfish. She’s the one who can drop everything when a shift needs covering, so she does. If there’s not a vet in the ER, it closes. Someone has to be there, and it should be her. “I must sound ridiculous to you.”
“No, it sounds to me like your supervisors aren’t looking out for you,” Bard says. “I mean, with my job, there aren’t very many of us – less than three hundred in the entire Coast Guard. We cost a lot of time and money to train, so replacing one of us is a pain in the ass, no matter why we retire. So they have a vested interest in keeping us functional. See where I’m going with this?”
“Yes,” Thranduil says reluctantly. Bard pulls a sweatshirt labeled “beach babe” out of the rack, raises her eyebrows. Thranduil shakes her head. “But I’m much easier to replace than you are.”
It’s Bard’s turn to shake her head. “See, I don’t think so,” she says. “It’s the athletic stuff that keeps people away from my job. Most people like the idea of themselves saving lives, they just aren’t great at swimming. But your job – there probably aren’t a lot of people who can handle it. I don’t think I could. I mean, I couldn’t even make it through Marley and Me.”
“That book is a crime against humanity,” Thranduil says, and Bard wheezes with laughter. “Nobody ever reads that book and thinks they want to be a vet.”
“No, but somebody has to be,” Bard says. Thranduil’s hand is resting on top of the rack as she sorts through the clothes, and Bard’s hand settles on top of it. “I think it’s more similar for us than not. We both have the kind of job where there aren’t enough people to do it, and that means the most important thing is for us to be able to keep doing it. However we have to make that happen.”
Thranduil finds herself nodding. “For me, that means having other things I like to do. Things I’d rather be doing than work sometimes,” Bard says. “For you, that might just mean having time where you aren’t thinking about work. Whatever it is. Something that helps you feel like you again after you clock off.”
“I’m not thinking about work right now,” Thranduil says. Her face is warm. “Even though we’re talking about it.”
“I’m not thinking about work, either,” Bard says. “Except thinking I’m glad it helped me meet you.”
The rain starts as they’re leaving the candy store, after taste-testing Thranduil’s old favorites to see if they’re any good and collecting a mix of the things they both like now. The first drops are soft, but then the wind catches them, and in no time at all it feels less like rain and more like hail being blown sideways against Thranduil’s skin. Bard curses. “I have to get you inside. You can stay here – I’ll grab my car and come get you –”
“Or we can run,” Thranduil counters. Her heart is already pounding. It has been since Bard picked up a piece of mystery-flavored taffy and fed it to her by hand. “I’ll race you.”
It’s not much of a race, but Thranduil’s less interested in winning and far more interested in watching Bard run. Bard isn’t just fast; she’s graceful, too, her every step sure and confident as the wind whips at her dark hair. She reaches the front door first, of course. She’s waiting for Thranduil when Thranduil arrives, and as soon as Thranduil comes to a stop, Bard pulls her inside. There’s just as little space on the welcome mat as before, and they’re both breathing hard. Thranduil’s warm inside Bard’s sweater, but her hair is wet, and that’s what Bard comments on. “Damn it. I was supposed to keep you dry.”
“It’s a little late for that,” Thranduil says, and Bard’s eyes widen. “Don’t. You’re the one who said it was a date.”
“Yeah, I just –” Bard’s tongue darts out to moisten her lips, and Thranduil’s rocked with a surge of desire. “I don’t usually want this so soon, when I meet somebody new.”
“I don’t usually, either,” Thranduil admits. If she did, playing hard to get wouldn’t be her go-to strategy, and she’d have something in her arsenal for this other than bluntness, other than warmth, other than want. “But I want this a lot.”
She considers elaborating on what she wants, exactly, but Bard kisses her before she has the chance, with such surety and confidence that she can barely breathe. Thranduil’s spent more time than usual barely breathing today. This is the first time she’s enjoyed it, and she enjoys it so much that she stops holding back. She lets the bag with the candy and the dry sweater she bought fall from her hand, wraps her arms around Bard’s neck, and tangles her fingers up in Bard’s hair.
Bard shivers, and Thranduil can’t resist a joke. “Now who’s cold?”
“Sure. We can call it that.” Bard’s voice is husky. “As long as you warm me up.”
“With pleasure,” Thranduil says, and she hesitates long enough to see Bard blush scarlet before she leans in for another kiss.
They’re both dressed in layers, and Thranduil isn’t patient, not when she wants something this badly. Bard’s jacket has buttons, not a zipper, and the flannel she’s wearing underneath it has buttons, too, and beneath that she’s got a white undershirt, which Thranduil feels is wholly unnecessary. When she takes a moment to compose herself, however, she can appreciate the full effect – Bard’s skin is gorgeous, and her arms and shoulders are visibly muscled, and even as she’s blushing under Thranduil’s gaze and ducking her head, she’s the most beautiful woman Thranduil’s ever seen in real life. Thranduil could spend a long time just looking at her. Maybe sometime she’ll have the chance.
But while Thranduil’s been staring, entranced, Bard’s hands have been anything but idle. She’s loosened the ties on Thranduil’s borrowed sweatpants and slid her hands beneath Thranduil’s shirt and sweater, and when her hands skid over Thranduil’s shoulders and back, she mumbles a curse. “This whole time you weren’t wearing a bra?”
“Yours was too big for me,” Thranduil says. All at once she loses patience with Bard’s undershirt. She pulls at the hem. “Take this off. I want to – see –”
She loses her train of thought in a gasp as Bard’s fingers flick over her nipples, light and teasing, and she forgets about the undershirt entirely when Bard cups her breasts and starts playing with her nipples in earnest. For all of Bard’s blushing, she’s nothing but confident in how she touches Thranduil. Thranduil arches her back, pressing forward into Bard’s hands.
“It’s good I didn’t know you didn’t have a bra on,” Bard mumbles against Thranduil’s neck. “We’d have wound up in the dressing room at that store, and that wouldn’t have been comfortable.”
“As opposed to up against the – the front door?” Thranduil stammers as Bard rolls one of her nipples between her thumb and forefinger. “You have a bed. I saw it.”
“Yeah, but I’d have to stop,” Bard says. Her teeth scrape over Thranduil’s skin and Thranduil moans. “Do you want me to do that?”
Thranduil would let Bard fuck her against the door. Or in the dressing room. Anywhere. It’s hard to think with Bard’s lips against her neck and Bard’s hands under her shirt and Bard’s leg between hers. “I want you to – Bard, please –”
Bard pulls away from Thranduil at once, and before Thranduil can protest, Bard’s picked her up. Thranduil knew she was strong. She’s felt Bard’s strength before, but not like this, and by the time Bard’s carried her to the bed and set her down, her underwear’s soaked. It strikes Thranduil as an oversight that Bard’s still mostly clothed, but just like her frustration with the undershirt, it fades entirely when Bard kisses her again. All she can think of is doing what Bard asks. Peeling off both her shirt and her sweater. Lifting her hips so Bard can pull down her sweatpants and underwear in one smooth motion. Lying back against the pillows and spreading her legs and watching with almost painful anticipation as Bard settles between them.
Thranduil’s never been able to watch someone eat her out before. When she’s tried in the past, seeing how exposed and vulnerable she is has killed her mood instantly, but the way Bard’s eyelids flutter shut as she tastes Thranduil for the first time is the most erotic thing Thranduil’s ever seen. Her body seizes with the first stroke of Bard’s tongue against her clit, and Bard’s fingers press into her hips to hold her down. “Don’t go anywhere,” Bard murmurs, and with her hands anchoring Thranduil to the bed, there’s no escape even if Thranduil wanted one. Thranduil spreads her legs wider. “That’s it. God, you’re beautiful –”
“Don’t joke,” Thranduil says, and Bard shakes her head. Thranduil tests Bard’s grip on her by trying to lift her hips, and Bard’s grip tightens. “Don’t joke. I need you to – please –”
Nothing has ever felt as good in Thranduil’s life as the way Bard eats her out. Some fevered, unhinged part of mind muses that it was worth starting the day with almost drowning if it meant she’d end up on her back in Bard’s bed with Bard’s hair tickling the insides of her thighs and Bard’s lips closed around her clit. Bard sucks gently at first, then with increasing intensity, until Thranduil’s writhing, clawing desperately at the sheets and pillows for something to ground herself.
She wants to grab at Bard’s hair, sink her fingers in and keep Bard’s mouth pressed exactly where she needs it most – and at the same time, she doesn’t want Bard to need the help. She wants Bard to know what she needs, the same as Bard’s known the right thing to do and say all day long. Bard’s tongue traces her entrance, nudges inside, and Thranduil whines as she presses deeper, sobs when she withdraws. She’s making a mess, all over Bard, all over her bed, and she still needs more.
Bard gives her more. Bard laps at Thranduil’s clit with smooth, steady strokes, and when Thranduil’s shaking and strained to the breaking point, she traps Thranduil’s clit between her lips and sucks again. No one’s ever made Thranduil scream before, let alone scream their name. As waves of pleasure crash down over Thranduil and her body unwinds all at once, she cries out Bard’s name in a voice that barely sounds like her own.
Bard draws away from her slowly. Thranduil’s eyes are blurry, but not so blurry that she can’t see the slickness on Bard’s mouth and chin – and not so blurry that she can’t see Bard lick her lips. “Here,” Thranduil gasps, and Bard crawls back to the head of the bed to kiss her. “Bard. Bard –”
“Good?” Bard asks. Thranduil laughs, semi-hysterically. “You, um – you probably don’t feel this way, but you taste really good to me.”
Thranduil can taste herself on Bard. She used to think that was awkward. Her body is still trembling, and she can barely breathe, but she’s got one more thing on her mind. “I can’t wait to see how you taste.”
Bard stiffens. “You don’t have to,” she says. “I didn’t – I wanted to make you come. I didn’t do that so –”
“I know,” Thranduil says. She slides her fingers into Bard’s hair and gives her a slow, breathless kiss. “It’s fine if you’re nervous. But you took such good care of me. I want to make you feel as good as you can handle.”
“As I can handle?” Bard’s voice goes strained. “What are you planning to do to me?”
Thranduil gets her hands under Bard’s undershirt at last. Her skin is perfectly warm. “Whatever you want.”
Bard is shy with her body, shyer than Thranduil is, and Thranduil finds it absurdly sexy. It’s sexy to be the one who peels back the last few layers of clothing, to kiss each exposed inch of skin, to look over Bard’s broad shoulders and gorgeous breasts and narrow waist and know that seeing her is a privilege – and not a privilege Thranduil wants to share. Thranduil moves slower than Bard did with her, taking a long time kissing her neck, exploring her breasts with her fingers and her mouth, tracing the crease where her hip meets her thigh until Bard parts her legs. There’s just enough space for Thranduil’s hand between them, and Thranduil takes the invitation, brushing her fingers lightly through Bard’s hair and bringing them back wet.
She lifts them to her mouth for a taste – good, like she thought – but before she can give a verdict, Bard speaks up. “Can you – just with your fingers, for now? I want to be able to see you. Your face, I mean.”
“Of course,” Thranduil says. She wants to see Bard’s face, too.
Bard’s legs are spread a little wider when Thranduil moves her hand between them again. Thranduil can feel her heat before she’s even touched Bard in earnest, and when she does, she sees Bard’s jaw clench. She spends a while simply exploring, outlining Bard’s entrance, circling her clit without touching it directly, giving Bard a chance to get used to her. Bard’s face is crimson, her brow furrowed. Thranduil kisses her temple, then her forehead. “I thought you wanted to see my face.”
“I do,” Bard says. She opens her eyes, her features relaxing slightly, and Thranduil brushes softly over her clit with the tip of her index finger. Bard startles. “Um –”
“Yes?” Thranduil keeps up with it, a little harder with each repetition, watching as Bard’s hazel eyes dilate. “Any requests?”
Bard shakes her head, and Thranduil leans in to kiss her. Left to her own devices, Thranduil plays hard to get with kissing, too, but there’s nothing she wants to hold back from Bard. She kisses Bard deeply as she teases her clit, and as Bard’s lips part beneath Thranduil’s, Thranduil slides one finger inside her. Bard gasps against her mouth, but doesn’t pull away or protest, so Thranduil draws her finger back, takes a moment to toy with Bard’s clit, and slides her finger inside again.
Bard’s heat is intense, and she’s so wet that Thranduil meets next to no resistance. Thranduil’s still slow to add another finger, keeping her motions smooth and easy, until Bard pulls back from the kiss, breathing hard. “More,” she says, almost a demand. Her head falls back against the pillows as Thranduil complies, exposing her throat. “There. God, just like that – Thranduil –”
Thranduil’s never loved her odd, unwieldy name more than she does as it falls from Bard’s parted, kiss-swollen lips. Bard is impossible to look away from as she unravels under Thranduil’s hands. She’s quieter than Thranduil is, and Thranduil treasures every gasp or moan she’s able to ease out of her – but Bard’s silence has a price, which is that Thranduil has next to no warning when she comes. Bard shudders, her legs clamping shut to trap Thranduil’s hand. Thranduil curls and uncurls her fingers, reveling in Bard’s warmth, until Bard tells her to stop.
“I can’t,” she says to Thranduil, her voice ragged. “You’re going to make me come again, and it wouldn’t be – fair –”
Thranduil can’t resist tasting her fingers again, and her stomach knots with desire. “If you’re worried about fairness, you can eat me out again. As long as I can eat you out, too.”
“How?” Bard asks. Then her eyes widen. “Oh –”
Thranduil’s past attempts at a 69 haven’t been successful, but this time something clicks. Or maybe it’s just Bard, how Bard’s tongue feels just as good when Thranduil’s sitting on her face as it does when she’s sprawled out with her legs spread. Thranduil wouldn’t have a prayer of lasting if it wasn’t for the fact that she has Bard to focus on, Bard to taste. Bard trembles beneath her, moans against her thighs. It’s Thranduil’s new favorite sound, and Bard’s tongue pressing inside her as she thumbs Thranduil’s clit is the best thing Thranduil’s felt in her life, and although she tries to hold back, she comes all over Bard’s face for the second time this afternoon.
The second orgasm takes it out of her, but Thranduil will be damned before she leaves Bard hanging. She keeps lapping at Bard’s clit, sucking when she remembers to, until Bard gasps her name. “Thranduil,” she pants, and Thranduil stops. “How many times are you going to make me come?”
“How many times have you –”
“I thought you’d stop when you came,” Bard mumbles. Thranduil straightens up, glances over her shoulder, and finds Bard red-faced, panting, averting her eyes. She looks mortified. “I didn’t think you’d just keep going.”
“How many times?” Thranduil asks again, and Bard tells her. Thranduil has to fight to keep her jaw from dropping at the number. “One more. Tell me when to stop.”
She changes positions, climbing off of Bard and finally sprawling out between her legs. It’s easier to tell this way, with her mouth and both hands on Bard’s body, and this time, when Bard tells her to stop, she’s already pulling away. Thranduil sits up and surveys Bard. Bard looks exhausted, like Thranduil feels, but Thranduil has a hard time believing she could possibly look as stunning as Bard does this way. “You’re beautiful, you know,” she says, and Bard shakes her head weakly. “I could look at you all day. I’ve been looking at you all day. I’m an expert by now.”
“Come be an expert over here, then.” Bard shifts to one side, and Thranduil stretches out alongside her. Bard reaches for her, then hesitates. “If you want to cuddle.”
Thranduil nods. She fumbles her way under the blankets, her limbs feeling deliciously heavy and slow, and once Bard is under the blankets, Thranduil tangles her legs up with Bard’s. She’s never snuggled up to a woman with muscles like Bard’s before. There’s something comforting about the evidence of her strength, the reminder that she’s not just strong enough to carry Thranduil to bed, but strong enough to save Thranduil’s life. That was only this morning. It feels like a lifetime ago.
“What time do you have to be home tomorrow?” Bard asks sleepily. “I don’t know if you have to get home tonight –”
Thranduil can still hear rain on the roof, and the light drifting through the curtains is already going grey. She either has to leave five minutes ago or risk the drive home in bad weather, in the dark. “But if you don’t, you can stay,” Bard says. It’s quiet for a second. “I want you to stay.”
Thranduil never sleeps over after one-night stands – or she didn’t, back when she had the time for them. She preferred to do her walk of shame in the dark, not in broad daylight. But her hookup with Bard doesn’t feel like a one-night stand, or even all that much like a hookup. It felt like something else. To her, at least. She doesn’t know where Bard stands. “Do you usually ask girls to stay over after?”
“You’re the girl,” Bard says, and Thranduil’s jaw drops for the second time today. That can’t be right. There’s no way she’s the first woman Bard’s slept with. “And I want you to stay. What do you want?”
Staying over will have complications. Having to first get back to the city and get home before she can go to work will add stress Thranduil doesn’t need, and she’ll have to deal with the inherent weirdness of the morning after before she can even get out the door. Going home makes sense, and at the same time, Thranduil can’t think of anything she’d like to do less than leave Bard’s bed, then leave the first place she’s been in five years that felt lived in, loved. She feels good here. She’s not ready to let that go.
“I’ll stay,” she says, and Bard’s shoulders relax. “It’s colder here right now than it is in the city. You’ll have to keep me warm.”
Bard smiles, a sleepy smile that’s no less bright and beautiful than any other Thranduil’s seen from her. She pulls Thranduil close. “I can do that,” she says, and the two of them settle in to wait out the rain.