Work Text:
1.
Shasha keeps on stealing glances at Gorya as she stands in front of the full-length mirror with the smaller woman behind her, zipping her dress up.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Gorya drones, not meeting her reflection’s gaze.
Two clicks of a camera echo within the four walls of the dressing room, making the stylist look up. She narrows her eyes at Shasha who easily shrugs, putting her phone down. “When are you getting that drink with me?”
“How many times do I have to tell you that you aren’t my type?” Gorya counters.
“Until you actually sound believable.”
The model suddenly turns around until her face is almost a feet apart Gorya’s, making the latter falter a little, taking a half-step back. Shasha places her hand at the small of the other woman’s back and catches her in time.
“What is, then?” the model asks. Gorya looks up at her questioningly.
“Your type?”
The door suddenly opens, revealing a frowning Prim. Hands come up Shasha’s shoulders, pushing them rashly.
“Are you two good to go or do you need more time to flirt?” She gives them a once-over before turning back to walk away, not waiting for their answer.
A sudden wave of embarrassment washes over Gorya. It doesn’t help that Prim had been avoiding her the entire day.
“Ah.”
“What, Shasha?”
“For someone with shorts legs, you seem to have an affinity with chasing, don’t you?”
The model casually walks away, whistling. Gorya flips her off when she turns her head back to flash the other woman a teasing smirk.
2.
Despite Carly Rae Jepsen’s voice and the humming of the air-conditioning, the inside of their dressing room feels pretty deafening to Gorya.
The model hasn’t spared her a single glance ever since she’d arrived this morning, hadn’t even tried to start a conversation. Gorya knows she should savor the silence but something scratches her brain and she isn’t sure exactly what.
She runs her hands on the lapels of the velvet maroon suit jacket she’d chosen for Shasha, intentionally letting her fingertips trail along the model’s neck. She doesn’t even flinch. Smart-mouthed, flirty Shasha annoys the hell out of Gorya (or so she tells herself). But silent Shasha irritates her even more. She’d thrown in an approving hum there and then every time she’d attempt a conversation, but nothing more than. The stylist’s hands had been all over her for hours now, mixing and matching tops and pants but the taller woman would just stare at her blankly.
Huffing, Gorya glances at the ties she’d laid down earlier and chooses a slim black one. She laces it around the model’s shirt, perhaps tightening it too much. She snickers when Shasha inhales sharply, raising one hand to loosen the tie.
“My, my, miss Gorya. I didn’t know you were a freak,” the taller woman mutters, smirking.
She stands her ground, unfazed. “Do I have your attention now?”
The stylist lets out a little squeal when Shasha hoists her up the dressing table, spreading her legs apart. Hands come up on either side of her waist. “Well, what are you gonna do with it?” Her voice drops an octave lower.
Gorya’s mind flashes to when Prim had her in almost the same way, but it’s a different set of jet black eyes staring at her, darting downwards. She raises both hands, placing them flat against Shasha’s stomach in an attempt to push her away but the devil incarnate deliberately flexes just in time, throwing Gorya’s reasoning down the drain. Almost.
She silently sighs in relief when an incessant ringing breaks the moment. Without looking away, Shasha grabs her phone from inside her pocket. “Yeah?”
Gorya watches as the model’s face lights up, suddenly pulling away. “Bambi? Tomorrow? Yeah, okay.”
3.
A loud slamming of the door makes Shasha look up from her phone, only to meet her stylist’s death stare. Gorya stops shortly in front of the couch where she’s sitting. “Strip.”
Shasha giggles, trying to ease the tension. “Jeez, buy a lady a drink, first?”
The smaller woman rolls her eyes at her antiques, turning to her side to grab a couple of tops from the rack, slamming them down in front of Shasha who grimaces when the steel hangers make a clanging noise.
“Do I have to make you?” Gorya tilts her head, arms crossed. The model narrows her eyes in challenge. She stands up slowly, gradually. Without taking her eyes off of Gorya, she unbuttons her long-sleeved shirt. For a split second, the model thinks she sees her eyes drift below but her eyes are back on hers after a blink. She smirks, watching Gorya’s throat bob up and down.
The stylist eyes the tops and snatches a hand-painted pastel corset. “Turn around.”
Shasha follows suit, wordlessly unhooking her bra. Once she’d put the corset over her head, Gorya pulls it down, hard.
A phone rings and Shasha asks Siri to answer. The other woman sneers when Bambi’s voice comes on speaker. “Babe, are you almost done?”
Babe.
Gorya tells herself she could care less about what’s happening between Bambi and Shasha but she couldn’t fathom how selfish that woman is to get involved with the model when she still hasn’t moved on from Prim. She’s angry because she just cared about Prim, the stylist reminds herself.
Definitely doesn’t have anything to do with how Shasha gets all giggly every time Bambi’s mentioned. Or that how all of a sudden she doesn’t spare her as much as a single glance nowadays.
Gorya grabs the other woman’s phone, “No, she isn’t.” She ends the call, handing it back to the owner. The other woman looks back at her and raises her brows in question.
She grunts when Gorya pulls on the laces on the back a bit too hard, grabbing the back of the couch for support. “You just love to take my breath away, don’t you?”
“Nah, just in a hurry. Seems like your girlfriend is, too.”
Shasha scoffs. “I don’t do girlfriends, Miss.”
It’s Gorya’s turn to raise her brows in question. “I only asked you for one date,” the model adds. “Not to spend a lifetime with me.”
Right. She keeps forgetting this is all just a game.
4.
And play, Gorya did. Days of trying to avoid Shasha after that club encounter but the universe had decided to be a pain in her ass and led her to the model’s house.
She hates that she still remembers the code to Shasha’s place after being over there once. On the other hand, she’s grateful because they’re almost late to today’s shoot. Her calls had gone straight to voicemail since last night.
The bedroom door is unlocked when she gets there. She marches towards the bed and forcefully pulls the comforter down only to reveal Shasha’s bare back. Her toned, sinewy, back.
Gorya shakes her head out of the daze and grabs the other woman’s shoulder. “Hey, wake up.”
The model sleepily grunts, whisking her hand away.
She sighs and checks the time. Slowly, she moves closer and gets an idea. She darts her tongue out a little, licking Shasha’s ear lobe. The oher woman whimpers and she smirks in response. She lets her teeth graze the lobe, nipping once, twice, making Shasha utter heavenly noises. And then? She bites hard.
“Fuck! What the hell??” Shasha yelps. She narrows her eyes at her visitor. “Gorya?”
Gorya realizes her mistake when the model abruptly sits up, blanket falling down just below her waist. Blushing, the smaller woman quickly turns around, walking towards Shasha’s closet.
She grabs the first top she gets her hands on and returns to the bed, eyes trained to something definitely not Shasha’s chest. “Will you please put this on and get up already?”
“You do it,” Shasha mutters, eyes closed and arms outstretched. The stylist rolls her eyes but does as she says. Shasha’s mouth stretches into a grin.
Hands cup the stylist’s face, pulling her closer. “Thank you,” Shasha mutters, casually planting a kiss on her chin.
Gorya reminds herself she’s still in play.
1
In Gorya’s defense, she’d dressed Shasha all too well that night. The model had looked ethereal at the party held at Min’s house. Perhaps too much that by the end of it, she’d gotten a handful of phone numbers. It shouldn’t bother her, Gorya had told herself. They can have her for all she cares.
The woman could handle her alcohol but the flirt of a barista had been handing her endless cocktails. By the sixth (or seventh?), Gorya had decided she’d had enough. She’d tried to pry away the old-fashioned from her hand but Shasha had snatched it back only for it to spill on her top…which was still on loan. It had been enough to sober the model up. Gorya had dragged her to the nearest bedroom they could find.
“Sit,” she mutters, pointing the bed.
Shasha wordlessly put her arms out so Gorya could pull the (still-on-loan) top off. “God, I’m gonna be so dead,” she whispers to herself.
She puts one finger out. “Stay there.”
The model tilts her head adorably, and smirks. “Yes, boss lady.”
Gorya enters the bathroom and meticulously washes the top, hanging it out to dry. When she returns with a wet towel, she finds Shasha lying on her back, eyes closed, thankfully with her jeans still on.
Slowly, she sits at the bed and starts dabbing Shasha’s chest but the sudden coldness startles the other woman. “Oh, you’re back. Let me do that.”
There’s a faint purple mark just above Shasha’s breast, Gorya notices. And another below her collarbone. The model follows her eyes.
Gorya fists the towel harder. She looks away, putting the wet towel down. “Let’s get you home before…” the stylist trails off.
“—Before what?”
“Before I get the urge to replace those with mine,” Gorya answers, trying to stand up.
Shasha grabs her wrist before she can, and then her waist, lifting her a bit until she’s straddling her.
“Do it, then.”
Gorya palms the other woman’s chest and at first, Shasha thinks she’d push her away but the hand creeps up until it’s wrapped around her neck. Pressure builds up on either side of her throat, but she tilts her chin up in challenge. The smaller woman surges forward, swallowing her moans.
Tongues move in an orchestrated dance—frantic, yet familiar. Gorya loosens the hold on Shasha’s neck, warm lips replacing where her hands had been. Arms sneak underneath her shirt and snake around her waist, nails sinking when her teeth graze the crook of Shasha’s neck.
She peppers wet kisses all over the model’s chest and revels at the sound of the latter’s needy whimpers. Eyes scanning Shasha’s bra, she undoes the front hook with one hand. Gorya discards her own top in one swift motion before lowering herself, not thinking twice. Shasha’s hip uncontrollably lifts up when she sucks on the model’s special spot. The smaller woman grinds down just in time, creating just the right amount of friction.
As if Shasha’s entire body isn’t already ablaze, Gorya starts trailing kisses down her body until she reaches the waistband of the model’s jeans.
Save for the night light atop the bedside table, the entire room is dim. The smaller woman slips the first button and tries to pull her jeans down…but they wouldn’t give. She tries again. And fails.
“Why the FUCK does this have a million buttons?” exclaims Gorya, placing her palms flat atop the model’s toned stomach. “Are you trying to torture me?"
The model taps her side twice. “You’re the one who made me wear this?” Shasha counters, amused. Gorya grunts in answer, eyes focused on working the rest of the buttons. She gets distracted by how the model’s stomach flexes as her entire body shakes with laughter.
“You’re laughing. I’m up here struggling, frustrated, and you’re laughing,” Gorya deadpans, but it just makes the other woman chuckle harder.
The model sits up, running her hands up and down the other woman’s back, and throws her head back, giggling. For a moment, Gorya’s hands still. Hell would have to freeze over before she admits that she loves this sight—Shasha barenaked, covered in her marks, and at her mercy. Gorya’s hands casually move onto the back of the other woman’s neck, running them through her hair.
Suay mak.
The model’s laughs slowly die down as her eyes meet hers. Her grip on the other woman’s waist tightens, almost locking her in place. Gorya’s gaze falls as Shasha’s tongue peeks out, licking her bottom lip.
Blush creeps onto the stylist’s cheeks the moment she realizes she’d said it out loud.
“Remind me to send Min a bouquet of her favorite flowers as apology for wrecking her guest room,” Shasha whispers, softly pecking Gorya’s neck.
“This is wrecking it?”
The model’s hands glide over until they feel the backpockets of Gorya’s pants. She slithers her hand in, squeezing a bit. “Not yet, but you’re about to find out.”