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“Hey, Perry,” Laura huffed, zipping up her jacket. She hated being late to practice; the fact that it was the first of the season only made it worse.
“Good afternoon, Laura,” Perry replied crisply. “Finish stretching and then drill with our new transfer.”
“But coach, I wanted to--”
Perry intuited and forestalled Laura’s request. “You know Danny is a sabreur; you and the new girl both fence epee.” She made a shooing motion. “Now go on, make her feel welcome. Footwork first, then blades.”
Laura huffed off, but knew Perry was probably right. She ran through her stretches and jogged over to meet the stranger, already wearing her mask and practicing lunges against a wall. All of her that Laura could see was dark, shoulder-length hair, pulled back into a tight ponytail. And, actually, nicely toned calves.
“Limber enough?” the masked swordswoman taunted, turning and facing Laura. She could feel the stranger’s eyes on her, even through the opaque mask.
“Care to find out?” Laura prodded back, then came to a dead stop immediately after the still-nameless girl as they both realized the shitty double entendre. “I am so sorry--”
“Don’t be.” Laura felt the dark-haired girl’s eyes rake over her once more. “I’d rather you were intrigued...I am.”
Laura gulped. Probably audibly. “Why would I be intrigued?” she began. Gee, she wondered to herself. Could it be because the Silas women’s fencing team was notoriously queer? Or because the stranger’s purring voice was unspeakably attractive? (Both of which facts said stranger almost certainly knew!)
A quick snort of a laugh escaped the new girl’s mask. “How about we skip the foreplay--” --Laura’s jaw dropped-- “--and go right to a bout? First to five--” --and here she leaned close to Laura’s ear-- “--winner fucks the loser?”
The only advantage to having this infuriating woman’s warmth and the scent of her body pressing so close to hers was that she couldn’t see the sweat beading on Laura’s brow. “You’re on,” she hissed, and tugged her mask into place. They backed off and performed the customary salute, which barely served to center Laura. Just a warm-up bout, right? (A weirdly hot warm-up? So much for ‘dry’ fencing…) It’s not like random sex bets were enforceable? Although, she mused watching her opponent’s footwork, it wouldn’t be so bad if they were...
Laura shook her head, dropping back for a distance parry. Distraction would only cost her valuable points.
***
They traded thrusts, maneuvering back and forth, score tied at four apiece now. All pretenses of their original lanes forgotten, they circled the gym. Racing attacks were parried and dodged as they flew back and forth, each certain that the next attack would be the deciding point.
Breathing labored, Laura closed in. She was flagging and knew it, starting to heat up beneath her padded layers and the hot gym lights. Only a slight sloppiness in her foe’s footwork betrayed a similar level of tiredness, and, as if of one mind, they closed, knowing that this would decide the match.
Poop! Laura thought as she realized, too late, that they had both mistimed their fleches to land bodies entangled, their points landing in unison before being discarded in an effort to avoid a messy tangle and fall. The clatter of blades hitting parquet seemed to break the spell of silence.
“Double touch,” the stranger breathed, somewhat raggedly.
“Shall we press on?” Laura asked, hoping the answer was no.
The dark-haired girl--scratch that, total hottie!--pulled off her mask and offered the traditional handshake. As Laura accepted it, she grinned. “Given that everyone else has packed up for the night, I suggest we hit the showers.”
“What about our--oh!” Laura looked away. “Oh. Sorry. You wore me out.”
“Hopefully not irreparably,” her erstwhile opponent purred. “I’ve got plans for you.” She frowned as she stopped to wipe sweat from her eyes. “Though we should probably take a cool shower first, cupcake.”
“It’s Laura.”
“And I’m Carmilla, cupcake.” She smirked at Laura hungrily. “Now come on.”