
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8683087.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Overwatch_(Video_Game)
  Relationship:
      Widowmaker_|_Amélie_Lacroix/Lena_"Tracer"_Oxton
  Character:
      Widowmaker_|_Amélie_Lacroix, Lena_"Tracer"_Oxton
  Additional Tags:
      Femslash, Smut, babysitter!au, mentions_of_underage_masturbation,
      Underage_Sex, Lena_is_sixteen_when_it_happens, so_be_warned_y'all
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-11-28 Words: 6851
****** Hands Clean ******
by Blackrising
Summary
     Lena Oxton was ten when she fell in love for the first time.
     - OR -
     Lena falls in love with her babysitter. Amélie does not believe her.
Notes
     Title from 'Hands Clean' by Alanis Morissette, obviously. Because I'm
     original as fuck.
     (Some of the formatting might still be off. I apologize for that, but
     the transfer from one program to another kind of screwed it all up.)
See the end of the work for more notes
Lena Oxton was ten when she fell in love for the first time.
She’d begged her mother not to stick her with another babysitter – they were
old and smelly and wouldn’t ever let her stay up past her bedtime even though
she was almost eleven and practically an adult. So what if she was small for
her age?
Every babysitter she’d ever had had quit, telling her parents in hushed
whispers they thought Lena couldn’t hear that ‘the child is simply too
energetic’ and ‘these old bones cannot keep up with her’ and Lena agreed whole-
heartedly.
So when her parents had announced that they had found the perfect babysitter
for her – ‘she’s not that much older than you, sweetheart, and she’s French,
can you believe it?’– she’d figured it would be another fluke. Some barely-
awake lady who would sit on the couch and tell her to watch TV when all she
wanted was to go outside and play with her toy planes.
She’d been wrong.
When the entrance door opened and Lena caught her first glimpse of ‘her name is
Amélie, dear, please behave’, her defiantly raised chin fell, along with her
lower jaw.
The girl was pretty. Really pretty.
An adult, but not old like her parents or her teachers at school, and with
longer hair than Lena had ever seen on anyone else.
Her face looked like one of the doll’s Lena had stashed away in a corner of her
toybox along with every other unwanted present she’d ever gotten – princess
carriages and plastic ponies – and now she felt like maybe she shouldn’t have
dismissed them so easily.
“Lena, say hello to Amélie.”
The woman crouched down to her level and offered her a hand. Her expression was
serious, the stretched smile Lena was so used to from her other babysitters
absent, but even though her slim palm was cool when Lena reached out to grasp
it, something about it felt comforting. And she smelled good, too, not like the
heavy and cloying perfume Lena hated.
She tried to greet her, but the words wouldn’t come.
“She’s not usually this shy,” her father declared with a chuckle. “I’m sure
she’ll warm up to you right quick.”
Amélie rose and Lena wanted to reach for her hand again. “Of course.”
Her accent was a bit strange, but not unintelligible. Lena found that she liked
it.
“Now be good, sweetheart. We’ll be back before you know it.”
They turned to leave and all Lena could do was nod meekly and steal glances at
the woman beside her.
===============================================================================
When she was twelve, Lena began to understand the difference between friendship
and attraction.
Her parents had started going out more and more often ever since the
‘babysitter situation’ had been resolved – ever since they’d found someone who
didn’t let themselves get scared away by their only daughter’s boundless
energy.
Lena hadn’t protested once.
She had never seen a reason to complain. She liked having Amélie around - a lot
- although lately something had…changed.
She couldn't quite put her finger on what it was, but it made her behave
strangely whenever she caught sight of her. It made her all but fall down the
stairs in her haste to greet her when she heard the lilting French accent
Amélie couldn't, or didn't want to, get rid of. It made her eager to follow
Amélie's orders when, by all rights, she should have protested.
It made a peculiar sensation brew in the pit of her stomach when Amélie looked
at her with cool, hard eyes. Like metal, like gold, honed to a sharp edge.
As odd and new as it all was, Lena didn't mind so much. Because staying still
and calm meant that, sometimes, Amélie would talk about herself.
It took hours of prodding and it earned her quite a few glares - they made her
shiver, somehow, made her heart pound with something that wasn't quite fear and
wasn't quite unpleasant - but Amélie relented.
She lived alone and had just started college, doing some babysitting and
tutoring on the side to help with her finances. She thought Brits couldn't
cook. Her body temperature was always a bit lower than normal. The only flowers
she liked were dark ones.
Lena soaked it all up like a sponge, not quite sure why she wanted, needed, to
know so much about her, but eager for more all the same.
Perhaps it was because Amélie always seemed just a bit softer when she was
talking, her sharp edges blunted. Perhaps it was because sometimes Amélie
drifted off as she told her stories, because whenever Lena started fidgeting,
her natural instincts telling her to move, her hand would find the top of
Lena's head and smooth over her hair distractedly.
Lena was sure Amélie didn't know she was doing it, but she leaned closer anyway
to bask in the rare bit of attention.
The change had happened gradually, but realization came with a bang.
It came during an evening that should have been like all the others, after
dinner and after Lena had had to swear to not break anything while Amélie took
a shower to get rid of the day's grime.
Lena hadn't intended to peek. She hadn't.
She'd wanted to bring her fresh clothes, nothing more, and she couldn't have
known the door would open just when she stood in front of it. She couldn't have
known that Amélie dressed in nothing but a towel and with drops of water
running down her pale, doll-like face and down her collarbones to soak into
scratchy fabric would throw her world off-kilter and put the warmth in her
belly and cheeks into sudden, stark perspective.
Even after Amélie had accepted the folded clothes with a nod and disappeared
back into the bathroom, Lena stood there like a statue, her young mind in
turmoil.
That night, when her hands delved beneath the covers for the first time, she
came with Amélie's name on her lips and the imaginary touch of her fingers in
her hair.
===============================================================================
At fourteen, Lena got her heart broken.
She didn’t need a babysitter anymore, probably hadn’t needed one in years, and
she knew her time with Amélie was rapidly coming to an end. She knew whatever
chance she had, whatever chance there was to make the woman – doll-faced and
tall and cold, older now but no less harsh and no less beautiful – understand
was running through her fingers like sand.
She’d bought flowers. Dark ones, as dark as the clothes Amélie liked to wear or
the shade of her lipstick.
Lena didn’t know what she was doing, but she held out the bouquet with
trembling fingers anyway. Smoothed down the fabric of her shirt. Tried to stand
taller, appear more mature than she was, appear worthy.
“I’m in love with you.” The words themselves came easy, because Lena had
practiced saying them for years now, had mouthed them to herself late at night
or at the closed door after Amélie had left. Nothing was certain except that
she loved her.
In her dreams, she’d imagined Amélie smiling at her confession. Not a big one,
but one that fit her – small and distanced, amused but pleased.
But Amélie’s smile was none of those things.
The corners of her mouth stretched wide, her eyes remaining cool and
unimpressed and a sheen of cruelty the only spark in her otherwise closed-off
impression. It made Lena shiver.
“Foolish girl.” Amélie laughed and the sound cut into her like a knife. “You
don’t even know what love is.”
There was something bitter in her tone, but Lena ignored it in favour of
stepping closer.
“I do,” she insisted, miffed at having her feelings questioned. “I may be
young, but I’ve fancied you for years and if you just give me a chance-“
Slim fingers wrapped harshly around her jaw. “You do not know me, chérie.”
Amélie’s piercing gaze flicked down to the flowers clutched in Lena’s hand. “I
don’t want your flowers. I don’t want your feelings. I don’t want you.”
The rejection hurt. More than it would have if Amélie had brought up concerns
for morality, for Lena’s age, because Lena could have waited. She could have
waited a few more years, until she was eighteen or twenty-one or thirty, and
perhaps then Amélie might have been willing to give her a shot.
“Whatever feelings you have will fade,” Amélie continued, cruelly dismissive,
and robbed Lena even of the touch of her hand on her face as she turned away.
“So save your affections for someone who knows what to do with them.”
Amélie left and Lena could only watch helplessly as the door fell shut, the
flowers in her hand suddenly feeling cold and heavy. Like lead.
She didn’t expect Amélie to ever come back, and she was right. ‘She’s so busy
with college, sweetheart, and I’m afraid she won’t be able to look after you
anymore’was what her parents had said, but Lena knew better.
The dark bouquet wilted away on the kitchen table.
===============================================================================
When Lena was sixteen, everything changed.
“Sweetheart, we’re going out. Remember, your tutor is coming over in a few
minutes.” Her parents were already dressed up and packed to go and Lena kissed
them both on the cheek before bidding them goodbye. “Don’t worry, I’ve got my
books all ready.”
She didn’t much care for college. Most of her plans involved going to flight
school, but she was determined not to disappoint her parents.
In hindsight, choosing French class might have been an unreasonably emotional
choice her current grades made her regret. Her parents hadn’t told her who
they’d paid to play tutor for her and Lena hadn’t thought to ask – it didn’t
matter.
She should have.
Perhaps if she’d known, if she’d had time to prepare, she wouldn’t have felt
the floor slide out from beneath her feet when the bell rang and she opened the
door to come face to face with the person she’d dreaded and longed to see again
for the past two years.
“What are you doing here?” she blurted out, stupidly, and couldn’t bring
herself to move aside as Amélie brushed past her.
She was as beautiful as Lena remembered. It had only been two years, two years
that had felt like a lifetime to her, but somehow Lena had expected Amélie to
look different. She’d expected the gap between them to seem even more
unbridgeable than ever – instead it had closed rapidly.
Lena had stopped growing sometime during the summer and she suspected she’d
always have to look up at other people, but she’d also lost the softness of
childhood and the roundness in her cheeks.
Somewhere along the way, she’d grown into something very close to an adult and
a part of her, a tiny part, wondered if Amélie could see it.
"Your parents said you need tutoring in French, no?" Amélie raised a mocking
eyebrow as she sat in one of the kitchen chairs, her legs crossed primly and
her entire demeanour far too casual for the woman who had crushed Lena's heart
beneath her killer heels two years ago. She drew the tip of a finger along the
spine of the text book on the table next to her. "So I am here."
Lena shook her head and stepped closer, ignoring how the sight of her former
babysitter sitting in front of her as though nothing had happened, as though
she wasn't still as cold and gorgeous as she'd always been, made her heart
flutter and warmth spread in her limbs.
Two years. Two years in which her feelings had only grown - like a cancerous
vine wrapping around her neck to strangle her.
"That's no reason. You shouldn't be here," she hissed, drawing her shoulders up
defensively when Amélie stared at her outburst. She'd had a long time to come
to terms with herself and what she wanted, so the low throb of arousal in her
gut as the other woman glared and shook her head scornfully wasn't surprising.
Unwelcome, but not surprising.
Too many nights had been spent biting her knuckles and convulsing around her
own fingers with the imaginary purr of a smoothly accented voice whispering
commands and scathing insults into her ear while she pictured a slim, pale hand
working harshly between her legs and the cruel glint of teeth in the darkness.
Amélie stood, her long frame towering over Lena easily, and Lena pressed her
arms tightly against her sides to stop herself from doing something stupid and
embarrassing.
The woman cocked her head, cool golden eyes sweeping over Lena's appearance and
full lips pursing as she seemed to think over her next words.
"I do not know what you are talking about."
Lena blinked. "Excuse me?"
Amélie cocked her head, brow furrowed in honest-to-god confusion above
otherwise stony features. "Why are you angry?"
Had there been any space for an emotion other than incredulous anger, Lena
might have laughed. "Two years ago," she spoke, almost tripping over the words
in her haste to choke them out. "You rejected me, remember? And then you went
and never bloody showed up again!"
She hadn't just rejected her. She'd made it clear that Lena was no more than a
job to her, a boundlessly energetic annoyance whose parents paid good money and
whatever sort of connection Lena might have formed, it was ridiculous of her to
have thought it was reciprocated.
Amélie chuckled and Lena didn't know whether she wanted to kick her or kiss
her.
"You do not really expect me to remember that little detail, do you?" There it
was again, the stretched grin that broke her doll-like facade. Two years ago,
Lena had simply thought it off-putting and unnatural - now she noticed the
stiffness of her lips and brows.
Now it somehow seemed...forced.
"You were fourteen back then, chérie. You should have forgotten as well."
Lena wanted to be angry at her dismissiveness, at having her feelings relegated
to 'a little detail', but she couldn't find it in her. She still felt it, that
tugging in her chest and limbs that urged her to make Amélie see, to grab her
and hold on until the other woman understood that she wasn't going away.
She wasn't going to wake up one day and realize her feelings had been a
mistake.
"I haven't," she insisted, back straight and for once feeling like she wasn't
just pretending to be an adult. "And I'm not going to."
Amélie's cheek twitched. "You don't-"
"I do know." The glare the other woman directed at her made Lena quake in her
shoes, but she'd always been too stubborn and too damn optimistic for her own
good. "I've loved you then and I love you now and that's not going to change."
Lena wanted to get closer, but a hand around her throat stopped her mid-step.
"I am not like your friends," Amélie growled and emphasized it with a squeeze
of her fingers. "I am not like the innocent boys and girls in your classes. I
am not the pure little fantasy you want to imagine."
She wasn't pure, no, and she wasn't like the people Lena called her friends -
but she was her fantasy.
Lena pressed against the hand constricting around her neck until her heart
pounded, until Amélie's eyes widened almost imperceptibly.
"I know." Her voice was wispy from the lack of air, her thoughts blurring, but
it only caused heat to spill in her stomach. It only made her wet. "I want
that."
Amélie’s eyes widened - just a fraction, just a hint of uncertainty amidst the
icy arrogance, and Lena took the opportunity. She surged forward, past the
loosening grip on her throat, and molded her lips tightly against the other
woman’s.
It wasn’t harsh or demanding, but a plea. A plea for concession and just a
small chink in the armour Lena might be able to squeeze through, a moment of
weakness that could give her what she’d been craving since she was old enough
to understand the concept of attraction.
“Lena,” Amélie growled against her lips in warning and pulled back. “Stop
this.”
If she could, Lena would have reclaimed the softness of her mouth, the touch
that made her ribcage thrum with every beat of her heart, but she’d never been
able to disobey the authority in her voice. Had never wanted to.
So instead of grabbing her face and claiming her lips until she gave in or
forcibly removed her, Lena sank to her knees. The carpet was scratchy
underneath her when her knees touched the ground and she didn’t miss how the
muscles in Amélie’s legs stiffened in surprise.
“Please.” She pressed her face against the other woman’s thigh, rough fabric
brushing against her cheek. It was a humiliating position on too many levels
and Lena had imagined herself in exactly this position too many times to feel
embarrassed by it. Even if Amélie ridiculed her for it later, even if she
shoved her away in disgust, even if she never came back, Lena would always have
the memory of her smell and her skin so near to cherish.
She nuzzled the sliver of skin visible in the gap between waistband and
turtleneck - both dark and expensive, almost softer than the flesh underneath -
carefully, reverently. Desperate and hoping beyond hope to be granted just a
couple more moments to sate the never-ending want in her bones.
Amélie’s stomach rose in a startled breath as Lena pressed a kiss to the soft
skin, fine, barely visible hairs tickling her nose and lips. She wanted to drag
her lips lower, to lick a path down from her stomach to below her waistband and
worship every inch of flesh she could find, but her inexperience had her rooted
to the spot. She knew what she wanted, but not what would be appropriate.
Experimentally, she brought her hands up to grasp the backs of the other
woman’s thighs and pull her closer. The tip of her tongue darted out to trace
one subtly protruding hipbone, her fingers twitching and digging into softly
rounded flesh.
Amélie sucked in a sharp breath.
It was the first sound she had made, the first sound that signaled that she was
aware of her touch, and it slid down Lena’s spine to settle warmly south of her
bellybutton. When she looked up shyly, she met heated gold. Gaze still hard,
still sharp metal instead of liquid warmth, but focused and here, and Lena was
too distracted to notice Amélie’s movement until she’d gripped a fistful of her
hair and yanked her up and to her feet mercilessly.
Anger. White-hot anger upon the woman’s delicate face that made Lena press her
thighs together to soothe the demanding pulse of arousal.
“You are making a fool of yourself,” Amélie hissed, shoving her away until she
bumped painfully into the edge of the table. “Cowering and pleading like a dog
begging for a treat.”
Amélie stalked closer. The words were meant to humiliate and agitate her, to
make her back away and flee, Lena knew that, but her nipples hardened in
response to the tall form towering over her and the casual cruelty hidden
beneath a porcelain face.
The other woman’s eyes flicked down, to her chest, where the outlines of her
hard nipples were visible to anyone who cared to look. As rapidly as her
breasts had been growing over the years, Lena still only rarely bothered with a
bra - a habit she’d been told to shuck but one which now made Amélie’s features
freeze for the shortest of moments and her throat move in a hard swallow.
“What did you expect?” Amélie’s question threw her, confused her far more than
the weight of a body suddenly pressing down on her and keeping her trapped
against the flat surface of the table. The corner of a text book dug into one
of her shoulder blades.
“What?”
She hovered above her, body pushing into the space between her thighs, and Lena
could barely choke out the word, much less think clearly when the edge of a hip
bone ground hard against the seam of her pants. She groaned, back arching even
as Amélie settled more firmly against her - stomachs and chests molded
together, heat and friction sending a delicious shiver of pleasure along her
spine.
“I said,” the older woman snarled and burrowed her nails into Lena’s cheeks,
keeping her focused. “What did you expect? When you saw me here tonight, what
did you think would happen? What were you thinking two years ago?”
There was no opportunity to answer, not when Amélie's hand suddenly slipped
between their bodies and popped open the button on Lena's jeans, the zipper
following her fingers' descent into her underwear and the heat between her
thighs.
She dipped carelessly between the folds, giving a harsh swipe through the
overabundant wetness she found, and Lena bit her lip to stop a moan from
escaping.
“Did you think I would give in just because you want it? Because you are wet
for me?”
Lena couldn’t remember what she had thought, or what she was thinking now,
because Amélie was mean and insulting, but she was touching her, dragging a
long finger up her center and around her clit in a tight circle. Her legs
spread wider on instinct.
“Answer me, chérie.” The older woman glare down at her, at the pleading roll of
her hips, and scoffed. “Did you expect me to swoon and play house with you?”
When the tip of her finger slid down to stroke her entrance - feather-light and
maddening - Lena whimpered. She’d dreamed of this so many times, had pictured
vividly what it would be like to have those long, slender fingers take her, and
the table underneath her creaked as she chased the sensation she craved with an
insistent jerk of her lower body.
Amélie bared her teeth, too raw to be called a grin. “Or is this what you
wanted all along?” She pushed in, just an inch, but Lena’s muscles clamped down
on the intrusion. Whether to pull her in further or due to the unfamiliar
feeling of it, Lena couldn’t tell, and she didn’t care when Amélie continued to
speak. “A quick fuck on the kitchen table with an older woman?”
Age had never entered Lena’s mind as anything but an obstacle. She had never
considered Amélie’s experience as something to covet, had only ever thought of
sex with her because she was Amélie, because she liked her and wanted her -
her, not just anyone with years far ahead of her own.
“No,” Lena finally managed to choke out, breathless from the pumping of her
heart and the throb of arousal between her legs, underneath the other woman’s
palm. “I just-”
Amélie shut her up with another inch of her finger. “You just what? Thought
flowers and childish confessions would be enough to seduce me?”
Her laugh caused goosebumps to rise along Lena’s arms. The finger sunk deeper,
up to the second knuckle, until Amélie had found what she was searching for. A
thin barrier Lena had never quite had the nerve to break herself.
“Did you expect me to be gentle?” Amélie grimaced, like the very thought made
her nauseous. “Did you say you love me because you thought I would be good to
you?”
Her hand twitched, jerking, grinding deliciously, but she did not take the last
step even as Lena’s hips trembled and her wetness coated Amélie’s palm -
running, dripping down her wrist.
Lena licked her lips, her grip on the edges of the table leaving her knuckles
white and aching, and she didn’t know how to respond beyond panting harder,
beyond tensing her muscles in anticipation of whatever the other woman was
willing to give her.
“Are you disappointed? Angry?” Too many questions, none of which made sense to
Lena’s addled brain and none of which seemed relevant when Amélie was atop her,
in her. “Do you wish you could take back your words?”
She pressed her palm down to grind against Lena’s clit,  hips rolling against
the back of her own hand to put more strength into it, and Lena gave a startled
groan, the sudden stimulation almost enough to make her miss the tone in
Amélie’s voice. Not questioning, but demanding, challenging her to say she’d
been wrong, to prove that she hadn’t know what she was getting into when she’d
confessed her feelings two years ago.
It took all her strength to pry one hand away from the table, but she reached
out to work it between their bodies and cover Amélie’s in a trembling grip.
“Please,” she whimpered and pushed, bucked, rubbed herself harder against
suddenly stiff finger inside her. “Please, Amélie. I want it.”
She wanted the insults and the cruelty as much as she wanted the touch of her
hand in her hair, wanted her glares just as much as the hints of a smile
resting in the corners of her full lips.
She wanted her.
The other woman flinched and growled, frustration or anger or both, a spark in
her eyes Lena fervently wanted to be arousal. Something almost like confusion
as Lena tightened around her in response.
“Why...” Amélie hissed, an unfinished question muttered under her breath and
doomed to remain unanswered when she groaned through gritted teeth and plunged
inside her in a single thrust.
Lena cried out sharply. The sting was barely noticeable, soothed by arousal and
wetness and the feeling of Amélie buried in her up to the knuckle, but the
sudden pressure of teeth digging into her neck broke through the haze. Whether
punishment or not, Lena’s inner muscles clenched as a pulse of arousal shot
straight to her groin.
Amélie moved. First in slow pumps, in and out and threatening to drive Lena
mad, then in faster thrusts and with her finger curled to hit a spot that made
Lena’s vision turn momentarily white.
Lena wasn’t aware what kind of noises left her mouth - please and bloody hell
and Amélie - and she didn’t care. Both of her hands found the other woman’s
sides, her back and then her shoulder blades, nails digging into the soft
fabric of her sweater.
“What do you want from me?” Amélie breathed against her neck, puffs of warm air
brushing against her skin. The words sounded strained, tense, but also heated.
“I cannot give you nice.”
She lifted her head and stared down at her flushed face and bleary eyes, gaze
calculating. Lena shook her head, even as the heat in her stomach spiked.
“I don’t- I don’t need you to.” Knowing it was one thing, admitting it out loud
another, but the palm rubbing her clit made it laughably easy to spit out the
words. “I like it when you’re mean.”
There was no discernable change of expression, but Lena recognized the quick
intake of breath. The quick flick of a tongue over dry lips.
And when her head was wrenched back and brutal fingers pulled at her hair, she
moaned - just a little wetter now, her legs spreading a little wider.
The second finger came without a warning - sudden pressure against her
entrance, thickness sinking into her with an obscene sound - and there was no
discomfort in the flinch of her body as Lena reared up to meet the thrusts.
"What a filthy girl," Amélie muttered, almost to herself. "Getting off on being
pushed around."
There was no sense in denying it, not when the words alone made Lena clench
tightly around her. Not when the other woman could feel the increase of her
pulse thrumming against the inside of her palm.
“Do you think about this when you touch yourself?” Soft lips brushed against
the shell of Lena’s ear, a stark contrast to the rough jerk of fingers against
her inner muscles. “Do you think about me being ‘mean’?”
Lena’s face burned, embarrassment and arousal in equal measures driving the
blood into her cheeks, but she managed a near-delirious chant of ‘yes, yes,
yes-’.
The sudden switch of Amélie’s movements drew a high-pitched whine out of her
throat. Slim fingers, curled, pressing hard against the sensitive front wall at
the apex of every thrust, stimulating a spot that sent zings of electricity up
her spine.
Lena’s legs trembled as she wrapped them around the older woman’s hips. Her
every nerve ending was tingling, reaching for that last push, and she didn’t
notice the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes until a cool tongue
caught them on her cheeks.
“Beg.”
There was only a single string of words breaking through the pleasure, only a
single sentiment Lena was still capable of formulating.
“I love you,” she groaned, husky and raw. “I love you, I love you, I-”
Amélie’s fingers dug harshly (deliciously, maddeningly, so good) into her. She
never stopped her ministrations, but angled the inside of her palm away from
her clit and if Lena wasn’t worried her voice might give out, she would have
screamed.
“No lying.”
“But I lo-”
The rest of the sentence was lost beneath the press of a palm across Lena’s
lips and the icy glare sweeping over her flushed features.
“You are not behaving,” Amélie snarled, every word punctuated by a particularly
hard pump that threatened to make Lena’s eyes roll into the back of her head.
Whatever muffled words she tried to make known, whatever defiance she might
have felt, was cut off when the other woman suddenly rested her entire weight
against her own hand, the full length of her far heavier than her frame made it
seem - and then she bucked her hips.
Not rolling, thrusting, but pushing inside her brutally, like she was fucking
her with far more than just her hand and the quiet grunts of exertion zinged
through Lena like lightening.
“Be a good girl and come for me.”
It took no more than the simple command and the sight of Amélie above her -
moving, panting, a drop of sweat dripping down her usually so collected face -
to push Lena over the edge. The hard grinding against her clit was almost too
intense, half pain and half pleasure, but she arched her back and obeyed.
She came with a muffled scream
The waves of release crashed into her like an earthquake, mind blanking out as
the pleasure in her throbbing center unfurled and consumed her from the tips of
her curled toes to her hands fisting into the other woman’s sweater so tightly
it threatened to rip apart in her grasp.
Her universe was empty except for the pulsing energy in her veins and Amélie’s
body molded to hers.
The fall back to earth was a languid one. Gradual lessening of the pressure
inside her as Amélie slowed down, caressing rather than pumping, and eventually
stopping completely.
Her harsh breathing sounded far too loud in the otherwise quiet room.
“Satisfied?” Amélie straightened and pulled out with a last curl of her fingers
that made Lena flinch and gasp. “You got what you wanted, no?”
Through heavy eyelids, Lena watched the other woman step back and put her
clothes in order. Like her palm and wrist wasn’t still glistening with Lena’s
wetness.
Lena grinned. “Almost. You’re still dressed.”
When Amélie simply stared at her, passively, cold, her smile faltered. She
didn’t stop her when she turned around and left without another word. Had
planned to let her, to accept it, and found herself opening her mouth anyway.
“I do love you, you know?”
Amélie stopped in the doorway. Her shoulders seemed heavier now, her hand
around the doorknob stiff and white-knuckled.
“You shouldn’t.”
And then she was gone.
===============================================================================
When her heart broke for the second time, Lena was 18.
"Pumpkin, did you hear?"
Lena blinked down at the newspaper in her mother's hand, at the small notice
tucked into a corner amongst the others of its kind. Amélie LaCroix and Gerard
Dubious, set to be married later this year in June.
It was traditional. Romantic.
Amélie probably hated it.
"I know it's been a few years, but you remember her, don't you? You were always
so happy to have her around."
"Yes," Lena muttered numbly, the words blurring in front of her eyes. "I
remember her."
"What an extraordinary fellow this Gerard must be, to be able to convince her
to marry him. She didn't seem the type."
Lena took the newspaper. Perhaps there was a mistake, something she had missed.
Perhaps she wouldn't have to face the bitter truth that hers was the only heart
still clinging to a single evening years ago.
"She must really be in love with him."
The paper crinkled in Lena's suddenly tight grip, the edges bending and tearing
underneath her fingers.
"Yes. She must be."
===============================================================================
The sun was high in the sky when Lena walked out of the large double doors.
First college, then flight school, her parents had said, and Lena saw no reason
to complain after they'd assured her they were willing to pay for both -
provided her grades stayed decent.
Her wristwatch blinked insistently, as it had periodically done all day.
First at 6 am, when Amélie would get out of bed to prepare herself for the day
ahead.
At 10 am, when she'd arrive at the hairdresser. (Would it be pinned-up and
curled? Falling straight down her back? The vision changed everytime Lena
imagined it.)
At 12am, for a quick lunch. (Lena couldn't be there, but it was easy to
pretend.)
At 1pm, when she'd make her way to the church. (Would they marry at a church?
Lena didn't know, maybe didn't want to know.)
At 2pm, when they'd put the finishing touches on her dress. (Lena wanted
desperately to see it.)
And now, at 4pm.
By now, Lena supposed, Amélie was married. By now she'd stood in front of the
altar with a tall, handsome man by her side - or so Lena imagined him,
everything about him somehow better than she could ever hope to be - as she
promised him forever.
She shook her head and turned off the blinking numbers.
There was another silent alarm programmed, far later that day, but she wasn't
sure she needed a reminder of what she'd been allowed to taste only once. She
didn't need a reminder that it belonged to someone else now - and had never
been hers in the first place.
She'd thought the finality of it, of knowing that it was over, might help her
recognize it as more than a theoretical tidbit of information. That it would
erase what years of absence and distance hadn’t been able to.
Amélie had made her decision and Lena hadn't even factored into it.
"That expression does not look good on you, chérie."
Lena's shoulders tensed. She was imagening things, she was sure of it.
"It is impolite to ignore people."
When she raised her gaze from the ground, the first thing it caught on was a
pair of killer heels decidedly unfit for a wedding. She didn't know if her
decision to linger on the woman's legs was a testament to her anxiety or to the
amount of time she'd spent wishing she could see her again.
Amélie gave an annoyed click of her tongue. "I do not have all day."
Of course. Lena forced herself to look up, expecting to see her painted like a
doll and made-up like the bride she was, but what greeted her was
just...Amélie. The same face, bare except for the elegant arch of eyeliner, the
same cool eyes, the same twist of impatience playing around her lips.
As if Lena had simply imagined the last four years.
"You're here," she stuttered, stumbling over the simplest of sentences. Not the
most eloquent of ways to greet the woman who'd taken her virginity and broken
her heart, but it would have to do. "But you're-"
"I am what?" Amélie casually leaned her back against her car. Sleek, purple and
obviously expensive, Lena had the uncomfortable thought that it had been a
wedding gift.
"Supposed to be getting married."
It suddenly seemed very strange to have remembered the day, and even stranger
to realize that Amélie might have put far less importance on her wedding than
Lena had, because she raised an incredulous eyebrow and chuckled quietly.
"Am I?" she asked, inspecting her right hand mock-critically. It was devoid of
jewelery.
"You're not wearing a ring." Lena was afraid to ask, but she did it anyway.
“Why didn’t you go through with it?”
What she really wanted to know was ‘did you love him?’ and, a thought that had
been following her around for far too long, ‘could you love me?’. This morning,
she’d thought she already had the answers.
Amélie didn’t seem inclined to respond to either question. She simply shrugged,
like the answer was obvious. Or irrelevant.
“When did you leave?”
A part of Lena almost felt pity for this man she didn’t know. If he’d loved
Amélie half as much as Lena did - and she couldn’t fathom a reason why he
wouldn’t have wanted to worship the ground she walked on - then this would
leave him in shambles.
“I am not a good person,” Amélie said instead and Lena had the sudden vision of
a packed church and a lonely groom waiting for someone who wouldn’t show up.
Remorse wouldn’t quite come. But hope did.
“Why are you here?”
The most important question of all, when it came down to it. Lena had long
since grown into an adult and Amélie was not about to be married and if there
had ever been a chance of something between them, something solid, then this
was it.
“I already told you.” Cool finger slipped underneath Lena’s chin. Nothing about
the sensations it evoked had changed, her heart still beat in an unsteady
staccato, her belly still warmed on contact, it still felt like her world was
tilting. “I am not a good person.”
The kiss Lena expected didn’t come. Amélie’s lips pressed to her cheek before
tracing a burning path up to her ear.
“You have had time to think,” she whispered, hot breath ghosting over Lena’s
skin. “I gave you a chance.”
Lena protested weakly even as shivers wracked her shoulders. “You hurt me.”
“It will not be the last time.”
For once, the warning did not sound like a threat. It wasn’t malicious or cruel
or designed to hurt her, just a statement of fact. Because Amélie had never
been nice or kind and it was up to Lena to deal with it or not.
“Does that include leaving again?” she asked, half-afraid of the answer. She
had never needed Amélie to be someone she wasn’t. She expected, almost craved,
the pain she offered, but she wasn’t sure she could face the sight of her
walking out the door again.
Amélie hesitated. “Not unless you ask me to.”
Closing her eyes, Lena turned her head and breathed in the hints of perfume
clinging to the other woman’s skin. Vanilla and lilacs, strangely sweet for
someone who proclaimed to be anything but. The answer came easy.
“I won’t.”
Amélie lifted her head and stared down at her as she searched her eyes for
whatever truth they may hold. Lena couldn’t tell what she saw, but it caused
the other woman’s lips to twitch into a barely-there smirk.
“Foolish girl.” Something almost like affection tinged the words. “You don’t
know what is good for you.”
She didn’t resist when Lena stepped forward to loop her arms around her waist
and she only gave the barest hint of a grimace when wet lips delivered a sound
kiss to her cheek.
They were drawing stares, people Lena knew or had seen around, and she realized
with a start that what they saw wasn’t a child with her babysitter, not two
people whose lives only connected at the very edges. What they saw were two
adults, a couple, if Lena had any say in the matter, and she allowed herself to
feel pride in holding this woman in her arms.
What her parents would say if they heard Lena wasn’t ready to think about, but
they would have to accept it all the same.
“No, I really don’t,” Lena said through the broad grin threatening to split her
face in two. “Guess you’re gonna have to live with that now, love. And if
you’re fancyin’ a shag in that car of yours, at least it’ll be legal this ti-”
The kiss that cut her off was accompanied by an annoyed sigh. Bruising, harsh,
teeth biting at her lips and fingers clawing at the small of her back -
Amélie’s affections would always be punishment and pleasure in equal measures.
But when a single thumb stroked the skin above her waistband, softness amidst
cruelty, Lena found that she quite liked it that way.
She was ten when she fell in love for the first-
No, Lena thought.
She was ten when she fell in love for the last time.
End Notes
     Anyone order a heap of sap right there at the end?
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