In Good Taste [Part Nine]
Title: In Good Taste [Part Nine]
Pairing(s): YulTi
Rating/Genre: NC-17; Coming Out, Girl-Meets-Girl
Disclaimer: I don’t own Soshi. I don’t own anyone, in fact. All Fiction.
Warning(s): Explicit material. Y’all know the drill.
Author’s Notes: GUESS WHOSE EYES DON’T BURN. *points at myself* I’ve been sleeping! And writing. I’ve also been entertaining a new fic idea, but let’s just get this one done first. ;)
Yuri
--
Kissing-Kwon Yuri mused while Tiffany alternated between short, staccato pecks and sultry, prolonged passes-should be reviewed by the International Olympic Committee. She couldn’t recall ever being so winded, stomach ever knotting so tautly, for anything in her twenty-eight living years.
They’d been making out long enough for her legs to go numb in the computer chair. And based off Tiffany’s restrained thrusts against Yuri’s torso, their detour to the couch was a conscious choice. Yuri had asked for patience, she reminded herself.
“Tiffany?” Yuri roped herself into an especially salacious twist of tongues, further melting. “Should, eh, should we lie down?”
The way Tiffany reeled herself in out-romanced any drama in existence. “You steer this ship, Sexy.”
“I’d like to…continue this on my couch-bed...thing.”
“Are you positive?”
“So positive.”
Ergo, they stood. As Tiffany turned her back to her, having some sort of intense internal conversation, Yuri schooled herself to not blow this awkwardly. She glimpsed at her and Taek’s bed-a piece of furniture that’d changed from a comfy space to her least favorite location on earth-to acknowledge this new fork in the road. If she halted this progress with Tiffany, waiting up for Taekwoon as he had numerous times in the past, then she could easily acquire her life again. The life she’d only known as hers. The alternative, though…
Yuri climbed onto the bed and with both hands, pushed the upright end of her sofa. It didn’t give at first, so she shoved with all her might until it cranked down in a newly-used squeal. Damnit, this wasn’t how she pictured her first lesbian experience.
“Get comfortable, Yul.”
Rolling from her knees, Yuri collapsed into the semi-softness of the fold out bed. Suddenly stricken.
Because Tiffany Hwang looked ravenous. Unmistakably hungry. She approached the bed, eyeing Yuri thoroughly as she shed her blouse and flung it onto one of the chairs. In typical uncool glory, the site where Yuri streamed her dramas refreshed itself, auto-playing a suggested series. Some show about an ancient warrior being transported to a present-day modeling agency. A rather silly opening theme tuned softly from her laptop and, commendably, Tiffany didn’t even flinch.
“Yul,” Tiffany murmured, unbuttoning her jeans. “Is this what you want?”
Yuri maintained eye-level contact. Unaware of the protocol for women, what made somebody a weirdo or not. “Too much, yeah.”
“Then, look at me.”
“I am.”
“No, I mean look at me.” she husked, indicating for Yuri’s gaze to drop to her bra.
Shivering, Yuri followed her instruction. And silently gasped at the temple that was Tiffany’s breasts wrapped in a maroon bra printed with light pinstripes. Incredibly sexy, yet cute? Like, Yuri would’ve assumed bombshells like this one to be clad in lace à la classic Victoria’s Secret ads and somehow, she considered the reality sexier. More humanly available, less predictable. Outside her contrived theories of sexuality and lesbianism. Absently stroking her pillow, Yuri intoned, “You’re stupidly gorgeous. How do I breathe?”
And down Yuri surveyed, along a rather small frame, a stomach so flat and pristine, Tiffany may as well had been molded from glass. Slight definition curved her abs and a tattoo marked her hip bone. A small tattoo of- “Is…is that a hanger?”
Tiffany had just kicked off her tight pants as she blushed. “Don’t laugh. Yoona, Hyo, and I have a friend who’s a professional tattoo artist. She’d opened a new parlor and offered us a three-for-one special, if we’d post pictures for exposure. A hanger represented a boutique the best? I don’t even know.”
“I like you.”
In a bra and closely colored, yet unmatching panties (again, cute), Tiffany appraised Yuri. As if they were in similar states of undress. “I like you, too. If at any moment you realize I’m not what you want, I’ll stop. There’s no wrong time.”
Yuri greatly appreciated this. To solidify her stance, she made work of her own satin top.
Tiffany didn’t afford Yuri a slow, torturous removal of the interview clothes. No, she pounced at the opportunity to tug open the zip of Yuri’s skirt, sliding it to the covers, running her hands over silky skin, coyly biting her lip as she chose to leave the knee-high pantyhose on. She rose to her knees, watching Yuri fumble through her remaining top buttons. “You’re breathtaking yourself, Yul.”
The Olympic level kissing commenced again. The two of them. In bed. Wacky comedy playing in the background, noticed only by Yuri. Tiffany hurried the fabric off Yuri’s shoulders and arms, lightly tracking short nails across exposed skin.
Yuri regained lazy focus once the path of Tiffany’s warm lips journeyed to the slant of her jaw. She coiled at this, feeling the sensuality almost too much for her to tolerate. Almost.
Respecting lesbian sex’s give-and-take quality, she left her head long enough to glide nervous fingers along Tiffany’s spine. “Yo-your tongue feels phenomenal.”
“Mmmm. Your skin tastes phenomenal,” Tiffany sighed onto her neck, nipping gently. “I’m going to take your bra off, okay?”
“Please.”
And if Yuri thought she was turned on before, the twirl of Tiffany’s tongue on her nipples channeled a reaction so critical between her legs, she bucked helplessly. Had Taek ever spent full-on minutes per breast, revering each like an erotic sacrament? Never as devoutly, as…honored. As hot as Tiffany drawing herself away every now and then to stare into Yuri’s eyes as her tongue danced, her lips pursed.
“You’re wet.” Tiffany smiled, undulating her stomach onto Yuri’s clothed center. “Do you like me between your legs?”
“I-I love it.”
“What do you love?”
Oh, shit. She was being tormented. “I love you between my legs, Fany.”
In a whisper, she said, “Tell me you want my mouth there.”
Unable to speak, Yuri hooked a thumb onto the band of her panties and flexed them down. An overt signal.
A signal Tiffany cherished as she scattered slow kisses down Yuri’s stomach (smoothing her hands onto either side of her waist, calling her exquisite), aside to a hip bone, and to the spot that made Yuri moan. Really loudly, desperately.
Tiffany unlooped the panties to the floor and returned to her calling. Getting Yuri’s eyes to roll to the back of her head. Sliding her hands onto the backs of thighs to push her more open. Damp kissing, moaning on Tiffany’s part (deep within her throat, like a woman deprived) all mingled with that fucking show. Yuri envied how Tiffany ignored the mundaneness of their surroundings. Of Taek’s dusty Xbox or his abandoned alumni socks or their bed-his bed looming like a jealous lover. A twinge of guilt hit her, despite the pleasure.
“Uh, I’m-I’m sorry.”
Instantly, Tiffany’s head popped up. Long hair strewn over her face, strands wetly stuck to her cheek and lips. “Are we stopping?”
“Come here,” she rubbed shaky hands over her face as Tiffany crawled upwards.
“Second thoughts?”
“You’ve been with a fair number of women, right?”
“Uh huh.” Tiffany finger-combed hair from her eyes, obviously a little threatened. “Does that bother you? I’m tested. And safe.”
Yuri’s heart sank. “No, no I didn’t mean like that. I meant…what if I don’t satisfy you? I don’t even know if I’ll come. I’ve never come before with…you know.”
She smiled, wiping her chin with the back of her wrist. “This is about enjoying each other’s bodies, Yul. Giving you an orgasm would be great, but finally touching you, tasting you…” Tiffany circled Yuri’s closest nipple. Raising goosebumps. “Fuck, hearing you moan my name…”
“I moaned your name?”
“See? You were wrapped up in the act without realizing it. Sex, to me, isn’t a duty. I’m not a control freak, high-fiving myself for a successful objective. Seriously, I could spend happy hours between your legs.”
“Oh.” Yuri gazed at the beauty lying next to her. Hips and belly button and painted toenails. “Sorry for interrupting your, uh, flow.”
“You’re forgiven.” Tiffany winked. “Look around you. Your ex is everywhere, so I understand this blockage. On top of that, you have anxieties about sex.”
“How are you so damn intuitive?”
“Sinbi swears I’m an empath.”
“Agreeing with her worries me.”
They grinned, taking in the dark desire in each other’s eyes. Arousal hadn’t completely evaporated. “Yul, would you like,” Tiffany reached behind herself, releasing her bra. “to reciprocate?”
Yuri stared so long at Tiffany’s boobs (not too big, not too small-not that she’d ever considered her cup preference) that they burst into giggles.
“I’ll take that as a yes? ‘Cause if you don’t, I’ll excuse myself to the bathroom for some privacy. Then, we can chat in bed or watch another one of your shows.”
It registered that the warrior-turned-model show was still playing, goofy as ever. And she’d nixed it out as white noise. Maybe she was ready. “You’re still turned on?”
“Um, honey, I’m gay and I just had my mouth on you. Of course I’m turned on.”
Aww, ‘honey’. “Show me what to do.”
While Tiffany pulled the last garment from her legs, Yuri took the initiative to massage her breasts. Realizing she’d never felt this sort of softness before. An intimate, possibly taboo feeling of pliant and hard at the tips. Tiffany’s broken sigh boosted her confidence to palm them more firmly, to strum with her thumbs.
“Keep doing that,” she breathed, scooping up Yuri’s right hand. Bringing it slowly, tantalizingly between her legs. “Explore me.”
The wetness startled Yuri. “Holy fuck.”
“Good idea.”
Tiffany captured Yuri in another heated kiss. Of sweet breath, full lips radiating a uniquely attractive warmth. And during, she directed Yuri. Gliding Yuri’s middle and ring finger over her clit to build a steady rhythm.
How, just how could stroking another person cause Yuri to impart that lustful whine against Tiffany’s tongue? She couldn’t believe sex worked like this, where giving pleasure coursed arousal through her veins.
“Faster,” Tiffany whined, dropping her head onto the pillow, writhing.
Everywhere on Yuri was on fire. “O-okay.”
“You’re slipping. Stay right-” She steered Yuri’s fingers back in place. “there. Oh, god.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“So are you.”
“I like you.” Why was she obsessed with declaring that? But, she did. She liked Tiffany, so much.
Tiffany’s eyes glazed over, panting. “Say something dirty to me.”
“Uh, uhhhh…” Yuri should have researched sexy talk in advance.
“Speak your mind.”
Shit, on-the-brink Tiffany wasn’t messing around. So, following thirty seconds of half-assed contemplation (she was having sex, after all), she repeated her thought from before. “You set me on fire, Fany.”
“Do I?”
“I’m so close just touching you.”
Tiffany rolled her hips as she moaned, “Go inside, please.”
With a quick flail of anticipation, she connected with another human in a way she’d presumed impossible. She moved to hover over Tiffany for better coverage, moaning incessantly. Needing their union to be everything she’d read about and watched on TV. So, Tiffany-picking up on this-took the bait. Rocking her hips to meet every thrust, looping Yuri by the neck, bursting through the cautious lesbian virgin bubble to huff expletives and thrash brazenly. Actually enjoying it. In fact-
Somewhere, their careful, start-and-stop sex upgraded to something impassioned, fevered. Loud and even wetter. A run split into Yuri’s left knee-high.
“Oh, shit,” Yuri trembled between her own legs, mimicking the pressure around her two fingers. “Are we fucking?”
“Oh, god, yes.”
They kept at it, wildly. Yuri’s hair gathered within Tiffany’s hands, freeing her eyes to take in this scene. This steamy, delicious, sensuous, fucking award-winning scene of her loving sex. She loved sex.
Tiffany had to pat Yuri a couple times to get her attention. “Yul, I need…”
“Yes, my love?” No, no this was sex. Not lovemaking, she corrected herself. “I mean, yeah?”
“Give me your tongue.”
As instincts took ahold of Yuri, she didn’t ignorantly ask how and why. At top haste, she slithered down to her fingers exercising rapidly, pressing her tongue above, to where Tiffany begged for it. She had zero oral training, but she licked, kissed according to Tiffany’s reactions. Until her joints ached, until she couldn’t breathe. Until Tiffany froze, suspended in time, and rode off the bliss as she came back down.
Yuri waited for the last tremor to extract her fingers one at a time. She’d done it. She’d slept with Tiffany and adored every second.
And those seconds of enjoyment extended when Tiffany pulled Yuri back up, sucking a moist bottom lip with intent to destroy every self-conscious part of Yuri’s being. “Do I get another chance to make you mine?”
“I’m already yours, Tiffany.”
The woman gaped for a curious pause. Then, smiled that huge, perfect smile. “In that case…”
“Yeah?” Yuri thought she’d been relaxed, chilling in bed with Tiffany.
That is, until she whispered. With the swagger of a tried and true sexual being. “Sit on my face.”
Yep, Yuri couldn’t have imagined a more perfect mode of self-discovery. And this go-around, with her thighs clamping onto Tiffany’s ears, she tuned out the noise and distraction all around to hit her peak. Twice.
...
At the crack of dawn, Yuri vaguely remembered Tiffany shuffling around her apartment. Tossing takeout wrappers and containers into the trash, running the sink, disappearing into the bathroom. Listlessly, she lay diagonally on the bed. Her contently moronic smile paired with her tangled bird’s nest hair. Illustrating the aftermath of an exceptional night.
Of sex. She mewled, tickled in a way she’d never been.
She twisted within her sheets, savoring this newfound fondness for nudity. Even with a man she’d loved for a long time, Yuri shied away from casually exposing herself. And, interestingly enough, Taek loved that. It gave her an air of utmost virtue, of a meekness that sold them as a ‘model couple.’ Then, she went and broke up with him for somebody else.
Somebody who had her gasping for sweet mercy for hours. Hell, this feeling between her legs-a faint, delicious tingle-didn’t place coupon cutting anywhere near the top of her to-do list. Yuri’s instincts pressed her to belt ’80s power ballads in her horrible English, to jog up a forest incline, to adopt a rescue dog, to paint these dismally straight walls rainbow, to curl up into sheets that smelled like passion and Tiffany, and nap without giving a damn about her closing shift at Craftie’s.
Minutes later, Tiffany padded from the bathroom and hopped playfully onto the mattress. “I can tell you’re not asleep.”
Yuri hugged her pillow, glancing over her shoulder. God, Tiffany was flawless. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail and her walk of shame outfit-the blouse and jeans from yesterday-looked ridiculously put-together. “Wish you could stay.”
Tiffany slid the sheet from Yuri’s shoulders. She softly growled, as if this were her first time seeing the slope of anyone’s naked back. She proceeded to kiss down her spine, muttering, “If I did, you wouldn’t get the rest you sorely need.”
“I’d call out sick.”
“No, you wouldn’t, Miss Manager.” She leaned up to tease the shell of Yuri’s ear with her teeth. “I’m proud of you.”
With those lips peppering her neck and shoulders like this, Yuri ached. A good ache. One of wanting more. As subtle as a wildfire, she lifted her hips just so to bump into Tiffany’s stomach. Onto the roughness of cotton and denim.
Tiffany required no more encouragement than that. Short of breath, she hooked a hand beneath the sheets, around a thigh, between Yuri’s legs to test the wetness they both knew would be waiting. Determinedly, as if possessed, she sank two fingers in and commenced to wrench relieved groans from deep in their throats. Yuri mewled unprompted, “Yes, t-take me.”
Stoking Tiffany’s kryptonite, she was rewarded with the most sensuously satisfied purr. She pulled Yuri to her knees for better leverage and rocked her into a shuddering climax. Fuzzily, Yuri recalled screaming, chanting like only an obnoxious person fucking at 6am would.
Soon after, she escorted Tiffany to the door. They kissed timidly, as if those sounds minutes prior weren’t from them.
“Can we…do this again?”
Tiffany’s eyes welled with joy; she drew a fingertip down Yuri’s bare stomach. “I’m not into one-night stands, so yes. For sure.”
Sadness slammed into her, immediately. “I feel clingy. I don’t want you to go.”
“Spend the night at my place next time.”
“When?”
“Whenever you want.”
“I really, really like you, Tiffany. It’s debilitating.”
“The weakness is mutual.”
In the wake of Tiffany’s exit, Yuri’s insecurity of nudity returned. She pawed through her drawer (saving a moment to admire how Tiffany folded her borrowed interview attire) for soft lounge pants and an oversized tee. Her brilliant, gorgeous security net was gone.
Yuri yanked her bed back into normal couch position, not losing the symbolism there. Instead of smoothing out the wreckage that were her blankets tangled with her divested pantyhose, she wilted onto them. Closing her eyes. Dreaming of Tiffany’s smile, the twirl of her tongue. Pretending all her troubles had magically floated into nothing.
…
The next time Yuri woke up, she wished she hadn’t.
Growing up the way she did, her opportunities to wreak teenage havoc were limited. She hadn’t been wired to color outside the lines. Plus, her friends stayed on the straight-and-narrow. Well, Sooyoung had her rebellious streaks, but she studied and pored over test prep harder than she’d admit years later. By and large, Yuri couldn’t relate with the current scene Taekwoon set for her.
Window blinds drawn. Him sitting on the bed facing her. As if she’d just sneaked in after a night of underage shenanigans. Pissed as hell at her for breaking the rules.
However, what rules would those be?
She tried on a cheerful, “Well, look who survived.”
Taekwoon scowled right through her lame cover, shaking his mussed head. “Is it impulsive?”
“Hm?” She pushed herself upright, folding her legs. Slyly tucking ripped pantyhose under a cushion. “Is what impulsive?”
“Your lying.”
Outraged, Yuri’s jaw fell. Then, clicked shut.
He went on, anyways, obviously prepared for her speechlessness. “I’m at a loss, Yul.” His left leg popped as he stood in an abrupt, stilt-like manner, made even more obtuse by his lanky, swinging arms. As if his body gave up on him. “For the past hour, I’ve been reviewing our relationship. From our first date ‘til now. I’m confused. That’s all I can feel since you won’t give me more.”
“Taek…”
“Han and I talked this morning, while we waited for the painkillers to kick in.” Taekwoon’s stride to the space at Yuri’s side-on the sheets-halted right as his shin hit the couch’s edge. He retreated to Yuri’s chair instead.
The computer chair Yuri and Tiffany made out on. A detail in her sexual awakening.
Duality plagued Yuri’s heart currently. The warmth (and fear) of possibly loving again. And the gripping terror of Taekwoon in this state. She thought to trail fingers over his balled fist, but that wasn’t her place anymore. Especially now.
“I believe in keeping relationship issues only under my roof. I never…” He snorted. “I never complained about you the way Han does Sooyoung. Not that you did much wrong. Back then.” Taekwoon stared dead into Yuri’s eyes through every tough word. Reddened by a hangover and a lot of anger. “I thought, what else could I lose? I vented my doubts to him and not just this recent shit you’ve put me through. I’m talking early on. You and I waited so long to have sex, Yul. I thought you…you were pure. Intimacy like that scared you, which made my love for you stronger. Han said-”
“You’re getting advice from Han. That can’t end badly.” She scoffed, incredulous.
“I needed somebody objective.”
“He can’t be objective; Han’s your friend and work partner.”
“Don’t you find it weird that we moved into together before going past second base?”
Yuri swore any minute now, she’d faint. That’s how tensely her internals quaked. As though they’d shut down at the smallest provocation. “It’s…it’s not that weird.”
“It’s insane.”
He hadn’t screamed, but he did. If that made sense. That sentence may as well had been delivered via bullhorn.
“Yul, I am struggling through this breakup. Blaming myself for being so busy with my company-”
“It’s not that.”
“I know it’s not!” That time, a real yell bared his teeth. “You fucking-you fucking obsess over these lame-ass dramas about-” Taekwoon swung a hand towards her sleeping laptop, narrowly missing it. “about the love and devotion and intimacy you could be experiencing in real time. Our sex life, for instance-”
“Taek, it’s my fault for ending us. Can’t we just skip this?”
“I have to have closure, Yul! You broke me.” His fist slammed the oak desk he bought for her. It shook-not as much as Yuri. “When we, uh, made love…not that I don’t mind good ol’ fashioned missionary, but what gives? You were never game to switch it up. T-to try the positions I suggested. Shit, your disgust at the word ‘blow job’ kept me up at night.”
Tears gathered in Yuri’s eyes. “Where are you going with this?”
“Isn’t it strange we don’t discuss marriage much? Or children? Now that my job’s taking off, you can’t use money as an excuse.” His jaw spasmed. “I came to the only conclusion that explains this.”
Oh, fuck.
Oh, god. Not like this.
Yuri, for no logical reason but to gain control, rushed to her feet. The fanciful colors on her shirt didn’t suit this climate at all.
Taekwoon cocked his head. “Should I say it, or should you?”
This was her chance, right? To seize ownership of her narrative, her sexuality. Maybe everything would clear up if she’d give honesty a try. First, though, considering the pain to his ‘manhood’ by her and Sooyoung play-flirting, she used a disclaimer: “Remember, this isn’t all about you, okay?”
“Isn’t…” Taekwoon stared for a very long time. Blinking rapidly, tilted like he’d slump out his chair. “Isn’t about me?”
He shot to stand, too. And the swiftness caused Yuri to stumble. Taekwoon pointed violently to the floor and shouted, “You brought him into our home. My home. Fucking hell, Yul!”
Yuri’s eyes narrowed on the pulsing vein at Taekwoon’s neck, the shrillness of his strained voice. “H-him?”
“Han warned me about playing the nice guy all the time. I suppose he’s right.” He stomped to the recycling bin, snatched it by its top, and dumped its contents onto their clean floor. Crushed cans, various plastic containers-some dripping from not being rinsed properly-flew in every direction, in an arced slash of trash. From it, he picked up the empty 2-liter soda bottle from last night. “This wasn’t open when I left yesterday. Were you thirsty or what?”
Yuri gaped, not knowing what to address first.
“I found it suspicious for the kitchen to be magically spic and span already. Then, I saw those-” He gestured to the two washed glasses on the drying rack. Tiffany tidied up more than she’d thought. “You love those bad guys, huh? The ones who you can stow away to fuck you while your boyfriend’s drinking himself to death?!”
“Taek, you’re not even-”
“Sometimes, you treated our lovemaking like its fucking tax season; I could read it on your face! So, I’ll save you the time to lie ‘cause I already know. You didn’t love me, right? I was your stepping stone to a better man.”
Yuri found enough of her voice to shout back, “That’s fucking stupid!”
“You’re fucking stupid. And a fucking penniless bitch who used me.”
For the love of all things holy, can’t a retail worker fall in love without being called a con artist? Yuri buckled onto herself, onto the bed that used to be theirs, wailing. “You know that’s not fair.”
Taekwoon, taken aback at himself, toned it down. “Is the new guy sexier? Is he richer?” His eyes grew, as if he recalled something ghastly. “Do I know him?”
Yuri only sobbed. She’d broken a perfectly great guy down to this. This asshole.
“Is he…I don’t know…bigger than me?”
“Please, shut up.”
“You all but confirm our problems are sex-related, so I have to know.”
“Do you really think I’m a user?”
For what it’s worth, Taekwoon’s frown came off remorseful. “I don’t, but I know you’re a cheater.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Girlfriends are supposed to have sex with their boyfriends. It’s…it’s what we do.”
From deep within, something was triggered. While her eyes continued to water, light-years removed from the pleasure Tiffany bestowed upon her body, Yuri wobbled into a weak stance. “You’re not owed sex.” She thought on Sooyoung’s speech. “P-people have different sexual thresholds and...and chemistry…”
“In that case, we weren’t compatible.”
“No, we weren’t.”
And there it was. The final resting place of Taekwoon and Yuri, the couple. Taekwoon sniffed noisily, fighting a staggered cry. “A woman. Um, from a design firm near work, asked me out.”
Yuri bristled. This wasn’t the time. “Are you fighting with jealousy now?”
“I tried civility and that ended with a man trespassing my home.”
“Believe whatever you want.”
The resignation in Yuri’s voice sucked out Taekwoon’s bravado. He watched her pull clothes from her dresser, shuffling through scattered bottles on the floor. Packing up the coupons from her desk. “I’ll rebound with her, y-you know. I’d bring her here.”
“We’ve established I’m the worst, alright?” Yuri pushed her ironing board into formation. “I have a shift tonight. If you don’t trust me, call and ask. I don’t give a damn.”
This could be Yuri’s punishment, actually. Pressing black slacks she’d bought on clearance with a hand-me-down iron from her mother as her beloved Taekwoon stewed nearby, tossing out scathing commentary. By the time she’d finished her shirt, her ex-boyfriend ran out of steam. In fact, he shyly asked, “Um, how's work, anyways?”
Nope. She and Tiffany coupled, celebrated each other’s passion over the promotion news. Yuri wouldn’t let him scar anything else. Because, being the worst or not, her truth hadn’t changed. Her feelings for Tiffany were beautiful, special enough to be set in a vase, in the center of a grand feast or by a window, soaking rays of sunshine.
She’d been scolded. Time to move on.
Thank goodness her and Sooyoung’s shifts overlapped this evening. After all, she needed her friendship desperately.
…
Sooyoung, on the other hand, rebuffed a heart-to-heart.
Yuri’s ten-minute break coincided with the last of Sooyoung’s shift. Besides a wave or two, the atmosphere surrounding them had been downright frosty. Which pained Yuri on a deeper plane. Then, she said so, as Sooyoung untied her apron, cursing herself for yet again losing her nametag.
“Soo, would it cheer you up to know my issues have multiplied exponentially since we’ve last spoken?”
No funny barb, no follow-up question. Sooyoung’s eyes shimmered in the faintest hint of compassion before shuttering off into anger. She flailed her arms, exasperated, and headed to the exit. Grumbling an ominous, “We all have issues, Yul.”
[A/N]
Again, I thank y'all for being awesome and patient. :33
When I first posted, there was a small oopsie from an older edit that I hope nobody noticed. Ah, well. It's corrected already~
Pairing(s): YulTi
Rating/Genre: NC-17; Coming Out, Girl-Meets-Girl
Disclaimer: I don’t own Soshi. I don’t own anyone, in fact. All Fiction.
Warning(s): Explicit material. Y’all know the drill.
Author’s Notes: GUESS WHOSE EYES DON’T BURN. *points at myself* I’ve been sleeping! And writing. I’ve also been entertaining a new fic idea, but let’s just get this one done first. ;)
Yuri
--
Kissing-Kwon Yuri mused while Tiffany alternated between short, staccato pecks and sultry, prolonged passes-should be reviewed by the International Olympic Committee. She couldn’t recall ever being so winded, stomach ever knotting so tautly, for anything in her twenty-eight living years.
They’d been making out long enough for her legs to go numb in the computer chair. And based off Tiffany’s restrained thrusts against Yuri’s torso, their detour to the couch was a conscious choice. Yuri had asked for patience, she reminded herself.
“Tiffany?” Yuri roped herself into an especially salacious twist of tongues, further melting. “Should, eh, should we lie down?”
The way Tiffany reeled herself in out-romanced any drama in existence. “You steer this ship, Sexy.”
“I’d like to…continue this on my couch-bed...thing.”
“Are you positive?”
“So positive.”
Ergo, they stood. As Tiffany turned her back to her, having some sort of intense internal conversation, Yuri schooled herself to not blow this awkwardly. She glimpsed at her and Taek’s bed-a piece of furniture that’d changed from a comfy space to her least favorite location on earth-to acknowledge this new fork in the road. If she halted this progress with Tiffany, waiting up for Taekwoon as he had numerous times in the past, then she could easily acquire her life again. The life she’d only known as hers. The alternative, though…
Yuri climbed onto the bed and with both hands, pushed the upright end of her sofa. It didn’t give at first, so she shoved with all her might until it cranked down in a newly-used squeal. Damnit, this wasn’t how she pictured her first lesbian experience.
“Get comfortable, Yul.”
Rolling from her knees, Yuri collapsed into the semi-softness of the fold out bed. Suddenly stricken.
Because Tiffany Hwang looked ravenous. Unmistakably hungry. She approached the bed, eyeing Yuri thoroughly as she shed her blouse and flung it onto one of the chairs. In typical uncool glory, the site where Yuri streamed her dramas refreshed itself, auto-playing a suggested series. Some show about an ancient warrior being transported to a present-day modeling agency. A rather silly opening theme tuned softly from her laptop and, commendably, Tiffany didn’t even flinch.
“Yul,” Tiffany murmured, unbuttoning her jeans. “Is this what you want?”
Yuri maintained eye-level contact. Unaware of the protocol for women, what made somebody a weirdo or not. “Too much, yeah.”
“Then, look at me.”
“I am.”
“No, I mean look at me.” she husked, indicating for Yuri’s gaze to drop to her bra.
Shivering, Yuri followed her instruction. And silently gasped at the temple that was Tiffany’s breasts wrapped in a maroon bra printed with light pinstripes. Incredibly sexy, yet cute? Like, Yuri would’ve assumed bombshells like this one to be clad in lace à la classic Victoria’s Secret ads and somehow, she considered the reality sexier. More humanly available, less predictable. Outside her contrived theories of sexuality and lesbianism. Absently stroking her pillow, Yuri intoned, “You’re stupidly gorgeous. How do I breathe?”
And down Yuri surveyed, along a rather small frame, a stomach so flat and pristine, Tiffany may as well had been molded from glass. Slight definition curved her abs and a tattoo marked her hip bone. A small tattoo of- “Is…is that a hanger?”
Tiffany had just kicked off her tight pants as she blushed. “Don’t laugh. Yoona, Hyo, and I have a friend who’s a professional tattoo artist. She’d opened a new parlor and offered us a three-for-one special, if we’d post pictures for exposure. A hanger represented a boutique the best? I don’t even know.”
“I like you.”
In a bra and closely colored, yet unmatching panties (again, cute), Tiffany appraised Yuri. As if they were in similar states of undress. “I like you, too. If at any moment you realize I’m not what you want, I’ll stop. There’s no wrong time.”
Yuri greatly appreciated this. To solidify her stance, she made work of her own satin top.
Tiffany didn’t afford Yuri a slow, torturous removal of the interview clothes. No, she pounced at the opportunity to tug open the zip of Yuri’s skirt, sliding it to the covers, running her hands over silky skin, coyly biting her lip as she chose to leave the knee-high pantyhose on. She rose to her knees, watching Yuri fumble through her remaining top buttons. “You’re breathtaking yourself, Yul.”
The Olympic level kissing commenced again. The two of them. In bed. Wacky comedy playing in the background, noticed only by Yuri. Tiffany hurried the fabric off Yuri’s shoulders and arms, lightly tracking short nails across exposed skin.
Yuri regained lazy focus once the path of Tiffany’s warm lips journeyed to the slant of her jaw. She coiled at this, feeling the sensuality almost too much for her to tolerate. Almost.
Respecting lesbian sex’s give-and-take quality, she left her head long enough to glide nervous fingers along Tiffany’s spine. “Yo-your tongue feels phenomenal.”
“Mmmm. Your skin tastes phenomenal,” Tiffany sighed onto her neck, nipping gently. “I’m going to take your bra off, okay?”
“Please.”
And if Yuri thought she was turned on before, the twirl of Tiffany’s tongue on her nipples channeled a reaction so critical between her legs, she bucked helplessly. Had Taek ever spent full-on minutes per breast, revering each like an erotic sacrament? Never as devoutly, as…honored. As hot as Tiffany drawing herself away every now and then to stare into Yuri’s eyes as her tongue danced, her lips pursed.
“You’re wet.” Tiffany smiled, undulating her stomach onto Yuri’s clothed center. “Do you like me between your legs?”
“I-I love it.”
“What do you love?”
Oh, shit. She was being tormented. “I love you between my legs, Fany.”
In a whisper, she said, “Tell me you want my mouth there.”
Unable to speak, Yuri hooked a thumb onto the band of her panties and flexed them down. An overt signal.
A signal Tiffany cherished as she scattered slow kisses down Yuri’s stomach (smoothing her hands onto either side of her waist, calling her exquisite), aside to a hip bone, and to the spot that made Yuri moan. Really loudly, desperately.
Tiffany unlooped the panties to the floor and returned to her calling. Getting Yuri’s eyes to roll to the back of her head. Sliding her hands onto the backs of thighs to push her more open. Damp kissing, moaning on Tiffany’s part (deep within her throat, like a woman deprived) all mingled with that fucking show. Yuri envied how Tiffany ignored the mundaneness of their surroundings. Of Taek’s dusty Xbox or his abandoned alumni socks or their bed-his bed looming like a jealous lover. A twinge of guilt hit her, despite the pleasure.
“Uh, I’m-I’m sorry.”
Instantly, Tiffany’s head popped up. Long hair strewn over her face, strands wetly stuck to her cheek and lips. “Are we stopping?”
“Come here,” she rubbed shaky hands over her face as Tiffany crawled upwards.
“Second thoughts?”
“You’ve been with a fair number of women, right?”
“Uh huh.” Tiffany finger-combed hair from her eyes, obviously a little threatened. “Does that bother you? I’m tested. And safe.”
Yuri’s heart sank. “No, no I didn’t mean like that. I meant…what if I don’t satisfy you? I don’t even know if I’ll come. I’ve never come before with…you know.”
She smiled, wiping her chin with the back of her wrist. “This is about enjoying each other’s bodies, Yul. Giving you an orgasm would be great, but finally touching you, tasting you…” Tiffany circled Yuri’s closest nipple. Raising goosebumps. “Fuck, hearing you moan my name…”
“I moaned your name?”
“See? You were wrapped up in the act without realizing it. Sex, to me, isn’t a duty. I’m not a control freak, high-fiving myself for a successful objective. Seriously, I could spend happy hours between your legs.”
“Oh.” Yuri gazed at the beauty lying next to her. Hips and belly button and painted toenails. “Sorry for interrupting your, uh, flow.”
“You’re forgiven.” Tiffany winked. “Look around you. Your ex is everywhere, so I understand this blockage. On top of that, you have anxieties about sex.”
“How are you so damn intuitive?”
“Sinbi swears I’m an empath.”
“Agreeing with her worries me.”
They grinned, taking in the dark desire in each other’s eyes. Arousal hadn’t completely evaporated. “Yul, would you like,” Tiffany reached behind herself, releasing her bra. “to reciprocate?”
Yuri stared so long at Tiffany’s boobs (not too big, not too small-not that she’d ever considered her cup preference) that they burst into giggles.
“I’ll take that as a yes? ‘Cause if you don’t, I’ll excuse myself to the bathroom for some privacy. Then, we can chat in bed or watch another one of your shows.”
It registered that the warrior-turned-model show was still playing, goofy as ever. And she’d nixed it out as white noise. Maybe she was ready. “You’re still turned on?”
“Um, honey, I’m gay and I just had my mouth on you. Of course I’m turned on.”
Aww, ‘honey’. “Show me what to do.”
While Tiffany pulled the last garment from her legs, Yuri took the initiative to massage her breasts. Realizing she’d never felt this sort of softness before. An intimate, possibly taboo feeling of pliant and hard at the tips. Tiffany’s broken sigh boosted her confidence to palm them more firmly, to strum with her thumbs.
“Keep doing that,” she breathed, scooping up Yuri’s right hand. Bringing it slowly, tantalizingly between her legs. “Explore me.”
The wetness startled Yuri. “Holy fuck.”
“Good idea.”
Tiffany captured Yuri in another heated kiss. Of sweet breath, full lips radiating a uniquely attractive warmth. And during, she directed Yuri. Gliding Yuri’s middle and ring finger over her clit to build a steady rhythm.
How, just how could stroking another person cause Yuri to impart that lustful whine against Tiffany’s tongue? She couldn’t believe sex worked like this, where giving pleasure coursed arousal through her veins.
“Faster,” Tiffany whined, dropping her head onto the pillow, writhing.
Everywhere on Yuri was on fire. “O-okay.”
“You’re slipping. Stay right-” She steered Yuri’s fingers back in place. “there. Oh, god.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“So are you.”
“I like you.” Why was she obsessed with declaring that? But, she did. She liked Tiffany, so much.
Tiffany’s eyes glazed over, panting. “Say something dirty to me.”
“Uh, uhhhh…” Yuri should have researched sexy talk in advance.
“Speak your mind.”
Shit, on-the-brink Tiffany wasn’t messing around. So, following thirty seconds of half-assed contemplation (she was having sex, after all), she repeated her thought from before. “You set me on fire, Fany.”
“Do I?”
“I’m so close just touching you.”
Tiffany rolled her hips as she moaned, “Go inside, please.”
With a quick flail of anticipation, she connected with another human in a way she’d presumed impossible. She moved to hover over Tiffany for better coverage, moaning incessantly. Needing their union to be everything she’d read about and watched on TV. So, Tiffany-picking up on this-took the bait. Rocking her hips to meet every thrust, looping Yuri by the neck, bursting through the cautious lesbian virgin bubble to huff expletives and thrash brazenly. Actually enjoying it. In fact-
Somewhere, their careful, start-and-stop sex upgraded to something impassioned, fevered. Loud and even wetter. A run split into Yuri’s left knee-high.
“Oh, shit,” Yuri trembled between her own legs, mimicking the pressure around her two fingers. “Are we fucking?”
“Oh, god, yes.”
They kept at it, wildly. Yuri’s hair gathered within Tiffany’s hands, freeing her eyes to take in this scene. This steamy, delicious, sensuous, fucking award-winning scene of her loving sex. She loved sex.
Tiffany had to pat Yuri a couple times to get her attention. “Yul, I need…”
“Yes, my love?” No, no this was sex. Not lovemaking, she corrected herself. “I mean, yeah?”
“Give me your tongue.”
As instincts took ahold of Yuri, she didn’t ignorantly ask how and why. At top haste, she slithered down to her fingers exercising rapidly, pressing her tongue above, to where Tiffany begged for it. She had zero oral training, but she licked, kissed according to Tiffany’s reactions. Until her joints ached, until she couldn’t breathe. Until Tiffany froze, suspended in time, and rode off the bliss as she came back down.
Yuri waited for the last tremor to extract her fingers one at a time. She’d done it. She’d slept with Tiffany and adored every second.
And those seconds of enjoyment extended when Tiffany pulled Yuri back up, sucking a moist bottom lip with intent to destroy every self-conscious part of Yuri’s being. “Do I get another chance to make you mine?”
“I’m already yours, Tiffany.”
The woman gaped for a curious pause. Then, smiled that huge, perfect smile. “In that case…”
“Yeah?” Yuri thought she’d been relaxed, chilling in bed with Tiffany.
That is, until she whispered. With the swagger of a tried and true sexual being. “Sit on my face.”
Yep, Yuri couldn’t have imagined a more perfect mode of self-discovery. And this go-around, with her thighs clamping onto Tiffany’s ears, she tuned out the noise and distraction all around to hit her peak. Twice.
...
At the crack of dawn, Yuri vaguely remembered Tiffany shuffling around her apartment. Tossing takeout wrappers and containers into the trash, running the sink, disappearing into the bathroom. Listlessly, she lay diagonally on the bed. Her contently moronic smile paired with her tangled bird’s nest hair. Illustrating the aftermath of an exceptional night.
Of sex. She mewled, tickled in a way she’d never been.
She twisted within her sheets, savoring this newfound fondness for nudity. Even with a man she’d loved for a long time, Yuri shied away from casually exposing herself. And, interestingly enough, Taek loved that. It gave her an air of utmost virtue, of a meekness that sold them as a ‘model couple.’ Then, she went and broke up with him for somebody else.
Somebody who had her gasping for sweet mercy for hours. Hell, this feeling between her legs-a faint, delicious tingle-didn’t place coupon cutting anywhere near the top of her to-do list. Yuri’s instincts pressed her to belt ’80s power ballads in her horrible English, to jog up a forest incline, to adopt a rescue dog, to paint these dismally straight walls rainbow, to curl up into sheets that smelled like passion and Tiffany, and nap without giving a damn about her closing shift at Craftie’s.
Minutes later, Tiffany padded from the bathroom and hopped playfully onto the mattress. “I can tell you’re not asleep.”
Yuri hugged her pillow, glancing over her shoulder. God, Tiffany was flawless. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail and her walk of shame outfit-the blouse and jeans from yesterday-looked ridiculously put-together. “Wish you could stay.”
Tiffany slid the sheet from Yuri’s shoulders. She softly growled, as if this were her first time seeing the slope of anyone’s naked back. She proceeded to kiss down her spine, muttering, “If I did, you wouldn’t get the rest you sorely need.”
“I’d call out sick.”
“No, you wouldn’t, Miss Manager.” She leaned up to tease the shell of Yuri’s ear with her teeth. “I’m proud of you.”
With those lips peppering her neck and shoulders like this, Yuri ached. A good ache. One of wanting more. As subtle as a wildfire, she lifted her hips just so to bump into Tiffany’s stomach. Onto the roughness of cotton and denim.
Tiffany required no more encouragement than that. Short of breath, she hooked a hand beneath the sheets, around a thigh, between Yuri’s legs to test the wetness they both knew would be waiting. Determinedly, as if possessed, she sank two fingers in and commenced to wrench relieved groans from deep in their throats. Yuri mewled unprompted, “Yes, t-take me.”
Stoking Tiffany’s kryptonite, she was rewarded with the most sensuously satisfied purr. She pulled Yuri to her knees for better leverage and rocked her into a shuddering climax. Fuzzily, Yuri recalled screaming, chanting like only an obnoxious person fucking at 6am would.
Soon after, she escorted Tiffany to the door. They kissed timidly, as if those sounds minutes prior weren’t from them.
“Can we…do this again?”
Tiffany’s eyes welled with joy; she drew a fingertip down Yuri’s bare stomach. “I’m not into one-night stands, so yes. For sure.”
Sadness slammed into her, immediately. “I feel clingy. I don’t want you to go.”
“Spend the night at my place next time.”
“When?”
“Whenever you want.”
“I really, really like you, Tiffany. It’s debilitating.”
“The weakness is mutual.”
In the wake of Tiffany’s exit, Yuri’s insecurity of nudity returned. She pawed through her drawer (saving a moment to admire how Tiffany folded her borrowed interview attire) for soft lounge pants and an oversized tee. Her brilliant, gorgeous security net was gone.
Yuri yanked her bed back into normal couch position, not losing the symbolism there. Instead of smoothing out the wreckage that were her blankets tangled with her divested pantyhose, she wilted onto them. Closing her eyes. Dreaming of Tiffany’s smile, the twirl of her tongue. Pretending all her troubles had magically floated into nothing.
…
The next time Yuri woke up, she wished she hadn’t.
Growing up the way she did, her opportunities to wreak teenage havoc were limited. She hadn’t been wired to color outside the lines. Plus, her friends stayed on the straight-and-narrow. Well, Sooyoung had her rebellious streaks, but she studied and pored over test prep harder than she’d admit years later. By and large, Yuri couldn’t relate with the current scene Taekwoon set for her.
Window blinds drawn. Him sitting on the bed facing her. As if she’d just sneaked in after a night of underage shenanigans. Pissed as hell at her for breaking the rules.
However, what rules would those be?
She tried on a cheerful, “Well, look who survived.”
Taekwoon scowled right through her lame cover, shaking his mussed head. “Is it impulsive?”
“Hm?” She pushed herself upright, folding her legs. Slyly tucking ripped pantyhose under a cushion. “Is what impulsive?”
“Your lying.”
Outraged, Yuri’s jaw fell. Then, clicked shut.
He went on, anyways, obviously prepared for her speechlessness. “I’m at a loss, Yul.” His left leg popped as he stood in an abrupt, stilt-like manner, made even more obtuse by his lanky, swinging arms. As if his body gave up on him. “For the past hour, I’ve been reviewing our relationship. From our first date ‘til now. I’m confused. That’s all I can feel since you won’t give me more.”
“Taek…”
“Han and I talked this morning, while we waited for the painkillers to kick in.” Taekwoon’s stride to the space at Yuri’s side-on the sheets-halted right as his shin hit the couch’s edge. He retreated to Yuri’s chair instead.
The computer chair Yuri and Tiffany made out on. A detail in her sexual awakening.
Duality plagued Yuri’s heart currently. The warmth (and fear) of possibly loving again. And the gripping terror of Taekwoon in this state. She thought to trail fingers over his balled fist, but that wasn’t her place anymore. Especially now.
“I believe in keeping relationship issues only under my roof. I never…” He snorted. “I never complained about you the way Han does Sooyoung. Not that you did much wrong. Back then.” Taekwoon stared dead into Yuri’s eyes through every tough word. Reddened by a hangover and a lot of anger. “I thought, what else could I lose? I vented my doubts to him and not just this recent shit you’ve put me through. I’m talking early on. You and I waited so long to have sex, Yul. I thought you…you were pure. Intimacy like that scared you, which made my love for you stronger. Han said-”
“You’re getting advice from Han. That can’t end badly.” She scoffed, incredulous.
“I needed somebody objective.”
“He can’t be objective; Han’s your friend and work partner.”
“Don’t you find it weird that we moved into together before going past second base?”
Yuri swore any minute now, she’d faint. That’s how tensely her internals quaked. As though they’d shut down at the smallest provocation. “It’s…it’s not that weird.”
“It’s insane.”
He hadn’t screamed, but he did. If that made sense. That sentence may as well had been delivered via bullhorn.
“Yul, I am struggling through this breakup. Blaming myself for being so busy with my company-”
“It’s not that.”
“I know it’s not!” That time, a real yell bared his teeth. “You fucking-you fucking obsess over these lame-ass dramas about-” Taekwoon swung a hand towards her sleeping laptop, narrowly missing it. “about the love and devotion and intimacy you could be experiencing in real time. Our sex life, for instance-”
“Taek, it’s my fault for ending us. Can’t we just skip this?”
“I have to have closure, Yul! You broke me.” His fist slammed the oak desk he bought for her. It shook-not as much as Yuri. “When we, uh, made love…not that I don’t mind good ol’ fashioned missionary, but what gives? You were never game to switch it up. T-to try the positions I suggested. Shit, your disgust at the word ‘blow job’ kept me up at night.”
Tears gathered in Yuri’s eyes. “Where are you going with this?”
“Isn’t it strange we don’t discuss marriage much? Or children? Now that my job’s taking off, you can’t use money as an excuse.” His jaw spasmed. “I came to the only conclusion that explains this.”
Oh, fuck.
Oh, god. Not like this.
Yuri, for no logical reason but to gain control, rushed to her feet. The fanciful colors on her shirt didn’t suit this climate at all.
Taekwoon cocked his head. “Should I say it, or should you?”
This was her chance, right? To seize ownership of her narrative, her sexuality. Maybe everything would clear up if she’d give honesty a try. First, though, considering the pain to his ‘manhood’ by her and Sooyoung play-flirting, she used a disclaimer: “Remember, this isn’t all about you, okay?”
“Isn’t…” Taekwoon stared for a very long time. Blinking rapidly, tilted like he’d slump out his chair. “Isn’t about me?”
He shot to stand, too. And the swiftness caused Yuri to stumble. Taekwoon pointed violently to the floor and shouted, “You brought him into our home. My home. Fucking hell, Yul!”
Yuri’s eyes narrowed on the pulsing vein at Taekwoon’s neck, the shrillness of his strained voice. “H-him?”
“Han warned me about playing the nice guy all the time. I suppose he’s right.” He stomped to the recycling bin, snatched it by its top, and dumped its contents onto their clean floor. Crushed cans, various plastic containers-some dripping from not being rinsed properly-flew in every direction, in an arced slash of trash. From it, he picked up the empty 2-liter soda bottle from last night. “This wasn’t open when I left yesterday. Were you thirsty or what?”
Yuri gaped, not knowing what to address first.
“I found it suspicious for the kitchen to be magically spic and span already. Then, I saw those-” He gestured to the two washed glasses on the drying rack. Tiffany tidied up more than she’d thought. “You love those bad guys, huh? The ones who you can stow away to fuck you while your boyfriend’s drinking himself to death?!”
“Taek, you’re not even-”
“Sometimes, you treated our lovemaking like its fucking tax season; I could read it on your face! So, I’ll save you the time to lie ‘cause I already know. You didn’t love me, right? I was your stepping stone to a better man.”
Yuri found enough of her voice to shout back, “That’s fucking stupid!”
“You’re fucking stupid. And a fucking penniless bitch who used me.”
For the love of all things holy, can’t a retail worker fall in love without being called a con artist? Yuri buckled onto herself, onto the bed that used to be theirs, wailing. “You know that’s not fair.”
Taekwoon, taken aback at himself, toned it down. “Is the new guy sexier? Is he richer?” His eyes grew, as if he recalled something ghastly. “Do I know him?”
Yuri only sobbed. She’d broken a perfectly great guy down to this. This asshole.
“Is he…I don’t know…bigger than me?”
“Please, shut up.”
“You all but confirm our problems are sex-related, so I have to know.”
“Do you really think I’m a user?”
For what it’s worth, Taekwoon’s frown came off remorseful. “I don’t, but I know you’re a cheater.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Girlfriends are supposed to have sex with their boyfriends. It’s…it’s what we do.”
From deep within, something was triggered. While her eyes continued to water, light-years removed from the pleasure Tiffany bestowed upon her body, Yuri wobbled into a weak stance. “You’re not owed sex.” She thought on Sooyoung’s speech. “P-people have different sexual thresholds and...and chemistry…”
“In that case, we weren’t compatible.”
“No, we weren’t.”
And there it was. The final resting place of Taekwoon and Yuri, the couple. Taekwoon sniffed noisily, fighting a staggered cry. “A woman. Um, from a design firm near work, asked me out.”
Yuri bristled. This wasn’t the time. “Are you fighting with jealousy now?”
“I tried civility and that ended with a man trespassing my home.”
“Believe whatever you want.”
The resignation in Yuri’s voice sucked out Taekwoon’s bravado. He watched her pull clothes from her dresser, shuffling through scattered bottles on the floor. Packing up the coupons from her desk. “I’ll rebound with her, y-you know. I’d bring her here.”
“We’ve established I’m the worst, alright?” Yuri pushed her ironing board into formation. “I have a shift tonight. If you don’t trust me, call and ask. I don’t give a damn.”
This could be Yuri’s punishment, actually. Pressing black slacks she’d bought on clearance with a hand-me-down iron from her mother as her beloved Taekwoon stewed nearby, tossing out scathing commentary. By the time she’d finished her shirt, her ex-boyfriend ran out of steam. In fact, he shyly asked, “Um, how's work, anyways?”
Nope. She and Tiffany coupled, celebrated each other’s passion over the promotion news. Yuri wouldn’t let him scar anything else. Because, being the worst or not, her truth hadn’t changed. Her feelings for Tiffany were beautiful, special enough to be set in a vase, in the center of a grand feast or by a window, soaking rays of sunshine.
She’d been scolded. Time to move on.
Thank goodness her and Sooyoung’s shifts overlapped this evening. After all, she needed her friendship desperately.
…
Sooyoung, on the other hand, rebuffed a heart-to-heart.
Yuri’s ten-minute break coincided with the last of Sooyoung’s shift. Besides a wave or two, the atmosphere surrounding them had been downright frosty. Which pained Yuri on a deeper plane. Then, she said so, as Sooyoung untied her apron, cursing herself for yet again losing her nametag.
“Soo, would it cheer you up to know my issues have multiplied exponentially since we’ve last spoken?”
No funny barb, no follow-up question. Sooyoung’s eyes shimmered in the faintest hint of compassion before shuttering off into anger. She flailed her arms, exasperated, and headed to the exit. Grumbling an ominous, “We all have issues, Yul.”
[A/N]
Again, I thank y'all for being awesome and patient. :33
When I first posted, there was a small oopsie from an older edit that I hope nobody noticed. Ah, well. It's corrected already~