Chapter Text
London
Copy-pasting the bibliography into your paper, you turn in your assignment and watch the green banner appear at the top of the webpage.
You close your laptop and change into your favorite “going-out” outfit. Giving a final sigh of relief, you throw a few things into a purse and are out of your apartment quickly.
Not half an hour later you find your shoulders dropping as you dance to the thumping bass in your favorite nearby club.
You crash back into somebody and whirl around to see who it was. Another woman, her long, straight dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, holds out her hands and met your eyes with similarly wide ones.
“I’m so sorry,” you both blurt at the same time.
“It was my fault,” you both try again.
“Have we met?” she yells to you, and you wade closer through the crowd, placing a hand on her upper arm to anchor yourself to her against the shifting bodies.
“No, I think I’d remember a face like yours,” you answer, leaning to speak into her ear. “Are you a model?”
She laughs and dances closer to you. You’re almost face-to-face at this point. “I’m a linguistics student,” she says into your ear. “You?”
“History and photography,” you answer. “Where do you go?”
She names your university, which you confirm excitedly. After a moment of not talking, she takes your hands and tugs them back and forth in a mock impression of dancing. You laugh at her antics and faux-dance along with her.
Releasing one of your hands, she pulls you towards the edge of the crowd near the bathrooms. Quickly she turns and loops your arms around her so that she’s pressed against you with your hands near her hips. She grinds against you and you feel nearly breathless as you feel yourself heat up.
“You know, I never got your name,” you murmur into her ear, and she turns your head to meet your gaze.
“I’m Milana.”
“(y/n).”
You pull your hands out of hers and place them on the front side of her hips.
“Would it be too forward of me to kiss you?” you murmur in her ear.
“No,” she answers, tone wary, “but I’m not - oh.”
You press your lips to the curve of where her neck meets her shoulders.
After a moment she whirls around and slams you against the nearby wall. One hand grasps your chin as she presses her lips against yours, and you feel her other hand run over your ass as her lips move against yours. She lifts your leg by your knee and slots her hips against yours. The hand holding your face fell to hold you by the small of your back. Her kisses grew longer and longer until both of you had to pull away to catch your breath.
“I live just down the street,” you tell her. “Do you wanna take it back to my place?”
Milana licks her lips and nods, giving you a smile. You take her hand and pull her from the club into the night.
As soon as your apartment door was closed, her hands were on you, pulling your top off and quickly undoing your bottoms.
She pauses for a moment and looks up at you. “I’m sorry, I never asked - you do want this, right?”
“Yes, please,” you say through laughter, and you help her rid herself of her clothing. Once your clothing has been sufficiently tossed about the room, you lead her by the hand to your bedroom.
***
The next morning you woke up to see a head of dark hair splayed out over the other pillow. You feel a warm glow start in your chest, but startle as Milana rolls over.
“Sorry, did I wake you?”
“No, I’ve been awake for a while.” She moves closer to you, and you reach out to run your fingers through her hair.
“It’s nice to see you’re still here,” you tell her. “Normally, my nighttime partner is gone by the time I wake up.”
“You’re lucky I have a tendency to sleep in,” she says, running a hand down your cheek. You feel the butterflies in your stomach flutter.
“Damn straight.”
Milana sits up and you pull her back to the bed. “Okay, I know you said you weren’t a model, but would you let me take pictures of you? You look positively angelic.”
“As long as I’m not showing too much off.” She winks at you and you swear you feel your heart skip a beat.
She slides back under the sheets as you get your camera and change lenses for a short lens.
“Do you want me to pose, or…?” Milana asks, looking over at you.
“Just the way you are,” you tell her as you look up from your camera. “You’re perfect.”
You spent an hour shooting pictures of her, adjusting as the light shifted, and then you both got dressed once you decided you were done.
“Your eye for detail is amazing,” she says, flicking through the photos you’d shot. “I didn’t know my hair could go that color.”
“Well, now you know,” you reply as you wriggle into your shirt.
The silence was split by your stomach growling.
“Would you like to get breakfast?” you ask. “I - I know this place on the corner - not too far from the club, actually - ”
She places a hand over yours and smiles. “Let’s go.”
Milana got to the door before looking down at herself. “Do you have a shirt I could borrow?”
You bite back a laugh. “Yeah, hang on.”
You grab your favorite Joan Jett shirt and exit to the living room. “Milana,” you say, and toss the shirt to her.
She turns just in time for it to hit her in the face, and you laugh at the surprised noise she makes in response. She slips out of the black sequined top she wore the night previous and into your shirt.
“How the hell do you make a t-shirt look that good?” you ask.
“The world may never know,” she answers with a sly smile, and exits out the door. You’re in such a rush to follow her that you almost forget your keys.
Before you could leave the apartment building - no, make that your hallway - her hands are on you and she’s kissing you. Softly, this time, and you rest your forehead against hers when she pulls away.
“I’m so glad I went home with you,” she murmurs, her nose nearly touching yours. The fact that you can feel her breath makes you lightheaded.
“I’m so glad I invited you home with me,” you answer, rubbing a thumb against her jaw. You place a quick kiss on her lips before stepping past her and pulling her along by your interlaced fingers. “Let’s go, or we’re never going to eat.”
When the two of you get to the shop Milana orders two doppio espressos and an almond croissant.
“It’s not as much as I usually get,” she says through laughter at your shocked expression.
“Then how many do you usually get?!”
“Five.” She seems almost apologetic, but she’s trying not to smile at how confused you are. “Five single shots, that is. I get six if I’m having a bad day.”
She takes the two small cups that the barista hands her.
“Six?!” you cry. “I can barely drink three, and that makes me jittery for like two hours!” You eye her carefully. “You sound like my grandfather - apparently, he loved his coffee and was also a notorious adrenaline junkie. Are you an adrenaline junkie?”
She thanks the waiter who brings her her croissant. “I’m a linguistics student - what makes you think I’m an adrenaline junkie? Far from it, in fact.”
You turn a meaningful glare at her espresso cups. She laughs at you as the barista behind the counter calls your order.
“A love for caffeine does not make me an adrenaline junkie, (y/n),” she tells you once you’re sitting at the table again. “It means I really fucking love coffee.”
“Alright, fine, sure, whatever floats your goat.”
“Did you just - floats your goat?”
“Yes.”
She downs one of her espressos.
“What classes are you taking?”
She looks up at you. “A couple of core linguistics classes, an Arabic class, and an African history class.”
You smile wryly at her. “Hey, you know if you need help with that last class, just ask.”
She leans towards you, chin on her hand. “Yeah, I can just text you if I need.”
The two of you stare at each other for a moment, then scramble to pull out your phones.
“I can’t believe we didn’t exchange numbers.”
“I was sure we did,” you answer, “I just wasn’t sure when.”
You swap phones and enter your information. When you get your phone back, you see that she’s entered a kissy face next to her name along with a gorgeous selfie as a profile picture.
“Hey, I need a picture of you,” she says, already raising her phone. You pose for her with your eyes closed and your head in your hands.
“Cute,” she says after you hear the shutter noise. “Hey, there’s a new exhibit at the Louvre on some Japanese art - would you go with me this weekend?”
It takes you a moment to fully comprehend what she asked you, and then you nod quickly. “Yes, absolutely!”