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“This is all your fault, you overgrown antelope.”
“Excuse me, Miss Broody McNuggets? I didn’t force you to come to this party. Which, speaking of, what the hell are you here? Don’t you like, hate these shallow social gatherings and their unimaginative inanities with the fire of a thousand dying dwarf stars or something?”
Carmilla scowls at Danny in the dim glare of the flickering lightbulb of the closet they’d been shoved into by Kirsch and Will, the latter whom she was going to murder with her bare hands when they finally unlocked the fucking closet door.
“Speaking of none-of-your-fucking-business, is there any way you could move your gargantuan head to make room for the lightbulb to actually light up this hellhole, or has your overgrown, mammoth feet seeped into every available inch of space?”
Danny clenches her fists and uses her knees to roughly push a few pairs of Betty’s knee-high boots aside before leaning into the side of the closet, which gets her about two inches further from Carmilla’s cramped position between a fur coat and a packed clump of dresses, but she’s still well-within touching distance of Carmilla’s face.
“Fuck you, Karnstein. You’re a bitch.”
“Takes one to know one, Clifford.”
“How much longer before your demonic twin brother lets us out of here?”
“If it’s more than a minute in addition to the 20 seconds I’ve been forced to breathe your backwashed air, I’ll be dead anyway and they’ll have to drag me out, so I have no fucking idea.”
Danny grunts in tired frustration. “Yeah well, maybe I’ll do him a favour and drag you out by your tongue, Daria.”
“You say that like it’s an insult, Weasley,” Carmilla smirks, uncrossing her arms and tucking her hands into the pockets of her leather pants, and Danny’s suddenly incredibly aware of the pools of shadows between the ridges and curves of Carmilla’s bared shoulders and collarbones, the way she can see her grey t-shirt hanging off one shoulder under the leather jacket draped over her, the way she’s smugly looking up at Danny at the angle that accentuates her jawline.
Danny blinks rapidly, regretting the three shots of vodka she’d done with Betty when she got to her house two hours earlier, and then the one tequila shot she’d done off Betty, and then the cup of dark liquid that was probably an overly large amount of rum mixed with a negligible amount of Coke she’d had while dancing against Perry.
Danny groans out loud, letting her head thump back against the closet wall.
Carmilla twitches slightly at the dull thunk, her eyes softening for the briefest second before she tears her gaze away from Danny to glare at the floor, haphazardly scattered with shoes.
There’s a few seconds of silence, and then Danny says, “Which one?”
“Which what?” Carmilla sounds annoyed, but her voice isn’t as sharp as it was a moment ago.
“Which Weasley, asshat? You keep calling me Weasley like it should be an insult, but the amount of offence I’m going to bother taking from it depends on which one you’re referring to.”
“You’re such a fucking nerd, Amy Pond,” Carmilla says, shaking her head, which she regrets almost immediately, because she’d been drinking out of her flask all night, and as she shifts her feet, regaining her balance, she thinks it feels suspiciously empty in her inside jacket pocket. She squints and focuses on the shirt-knot around Danny’s midriff, offhandedly noting to herself that the contrast of Danny’s skin-tone against her light blue button down works really well.
“You’re staring at my abs like they hold the answer to the universe, which, by the way, 42,” Danny blurts out, her breath catching in her throat in the silence of the closet.
Carmilla laughs harshly. “Don’t flatter yourself, Lawrence. You don’t have abs.”
(She does.)
Ignoring her, Danny pushes on insistently. “So which Weasley?”
Carmilla narrows her eyes as she gives Danny a long, piercing look, and Danny’s about to give up on getting an answer when Carmilla finally says, tonelessly, “Ginny.”
“Why?”
“I thought this was ‘Seven Minutes’, not Twenty Questions. But then, you probably can’t count past five, so I understand your confusion.”
For a moment, Danny considers decking Carmilla in the face, but she’s drunk and it’s Friday night and she’s locked in a closet indefinitely with the only girl in her year who manages to make her so angry she can’t speak, thanks to said girl’s smarmy twin brother and Kirsch – she doesn’t want to add arrested at 17 for physical assault towards an asshole to that unfortunate list.
Instead, she takes a slow breath and then releases it, simultaneously unclenching her fists. “Since we’re stuck in here for probably an indeterminable amount of time, don’t you think we could try to at least be civil to each other so we don’t rip each other’s throats out?”
Carmilla tenses, surprised, but then she nods. “Fine. I don’t want to give William the satisfaction of getting my room.”
Danny grins slightly – sibling rivalry is something she understands – and Carmilla gives her a small, awkward smile in return.
“So,’ Danny starts again, ‘why Ginny? Is it because she casts a fine Bat Bogey Hex or because she’s pretty?”
Carmilla rolls her eyes and looks down at the ground again, sighing.
“C’mon, you’re nearly there; you haven’t insulted me in 9 whole seconds.”
Carmilla glances up at Danny, her awkward smile morphing into something softer, something nearly appreciative, almost… affectionate?
But then, Danny’s had at least five drinks, which isn’t too bad, because she can actually hold her liquor, but it’s also making it hard to figure out what facial expressions really mean when the lightbulb flickers and Carmilla’s lips start looking darker as she runs her tongue over them to wet them.
“It’s because she defends Luna,” Carmilla mumbles, and Danny suddenly feels herself shrink slightly.
“Oh. Thanks.”
Carmilla clears her throat, and when she looks back up, there’s a challenge in the hard line of her jaw when she says, “And it’s because she’s prettier than Ron, I guess, but then that’s not difficult, so don’t take that as a compliment or anything.”
“I will, actually.” If she doesn’t want to talk about it, well. Danny’s not a hero, and Carmilla isn’t a damsel in distress.
They fall silent again, and it’s not quite companionable, but it isn’t resentful either, just quiet, occasionally punctuated by a loud, happy yell and the low throbbing of the bass from downstairs.
“Do you think we’re going to get left in here all night?”
Carmilla shrugs. “We could break down the door.”
“We’re not going to break down Betty’s closet door just so we can get out of here a couple of minutes earlier.”
“We could pretend you breathed out and the doors burst off the hinges?”
Danny squints at Carmilla, but she’s smiling slightly, almost as if she’s making a joke, so Danny just rolls her eyes. “So why are you here at this dumb party? Underage kids drinking cheap beer and passing out under the table isn’t really your scene, is it?”
“Don’t act like you know anything about me, Lawrence,” Carmilla says, a mild warning in her voice.
Danny holds her hands up in surrender. “I just meant, y’know, it’s a little pedestrian for you, isn’t it?”
Carmilla relaxes slightly, shrugging. “Elsie asked me to come.”
“Ah.” Danny suddenly remembers briefly seeing Elsie pressed up against the pantry door earlier, her hands around Carmilla's neck.
“Hey, so, does that mean she’ll come looking for us?”
Carmilla shakes her head. “She left for greener pastures.”
Danny raises her eyebrows.
Carmilla coughs and avoids looking at Danny. “I uh, got bored. So she left.”
Danny stares, not quite sure whether to laugh or not. “How come you stayed after that?”
“I was still bored. And then Will made me play Cards Against Humanity with him and Kirsch, and then, well.”
And then, as if they were still in middle school, Kirsch had suggested Seven Minutes right as Danny came up the stairs to grab the cards, and Carmilla had violently spun the bottle in the hopes of it spinning and hitting Kirsch in the head, but Danny had caught it instead.
“This is your little boyfriend’s fault, really.”
“We ‘dated’ for like three minutes when we were 14,” Danny bristles.
“Thank god you didn’t procreate,” Carmilla shudders, and Danny scowls, because for a while, it was as if they’d almost been getting along.
Carmilla seems to notice the look on Danny’s face though, because she wriggles her hand slightly. “I meant because, you know, even you deserve better than that,” and Danny softens slightly.
“He’s not a bad dude, really. He’s just kind of a massive puppy. I mean, your brother’s best friends with him.”
Carmilla snorts. “My brother isn’t exactly full of good ideas – consider, first and foremost, the situation we are currently literally trapped in.”
Danny grimaces slightly. “Not untrue.”
“On the other hand,’ Carmilla adds thoughtfully, ‘you’re not that far off from puppy yourself so I guess in terms of species it's not a big stretch. You're like a giant baby golden retriever or something though. Or a dachshund.”
Danny can’t help grinning a bit, because really, Carmilla isn’t wrong, and also she’s teasing Danny, and as much as Danny pursues fights till the end, she doesn’t enjoy them, so she just says, “Shut up, Karnstein,” as if they could be friends.
And then this weird beat settles heavily in the air for a second between them where Carmilla grins dangerously at Danny, exposing her canines, and tauntingly says, “Make me.”
And maybe it’s something in the air – the heady scent of Carmilla’s perfume, something deep and dark; the way dancing a little harder after three drinks always makes Danny feel a little looser, happier; the way there suddenly doesn’t seem to be enough air in the small closet – and Danny doesn’t remember breathing, but she’s taken a step forward, which puts her even deeper in Carmilla’s space, and fuck, Carmilla smells like smoke and whiskey and perfume, and Danny really, really likes it.
Carmilla looks up at Danny, eyes flickering between her lips and her exposed midriff, and licks her lips, saying, “You gonna do anything, Jessica Rabbit, or do you just really enjoy standing in my light?”
Except she trails off at ‘or’, because Danny’s eyes are so bright and blue and locked on her own, there’s a calloused but soft thumb brushing lightly at her cheek, and she can feel warm, hot breath softly gusting against her lips.
“Shut up, Karnstein,” Danny murmurs, and then Carmilla’s pulling at the knot of her shirt-end with one hand, pressing another guiding hand against her bare skin, and they’re kissing, and goddamn it, but Carmilla tastes like smoke and whiskey too, and Danny can’t help it when she moans into Carmilla’s mouth, parting her lips and shivering when Carmilla’s tongue traces her lower lip.
Danny scratches lightly at the base of Carmilla’s neck and Carmilla groans against Danny’s chin, grips at Danny’s hips, pulls her closer.
“Carmilla,’ Danny breathes, ‘what are we –”
“We’re kissing,” Carmilla mumbles, and it’s kind of a lie, because right now, Carmilla’s kissing her way down Danny’s neck, so only one of them is doing the kissing, and – oh.
Danny groans and arches against Carmilla, pushes her leather jacket off her shoulders and bends her head to press hot kisses against her shoulders. When Carmilla pulls the knot of her shirt open and then pauses, Danny presses Carmilla’s hands against her abdomen, hears an appreciative hum as fingers delicately brush over her ribcage.
Danny scrapes her teeth lightly over Carmilla’s collarbones, biting down harder when Carmilla pulls her closer.
“Fuck,” Carmilla groans, her head falling back against the wall.
Danny has her hands under Carmilla’s shirt and she’s sucking hickies into Carmilla’s neck – Carmilla has one hand fisted in Danny’s hair while the other one’s fumbling at her bra clasp – when the closet door’s flung open, and through the haze of her mind she distinctly hears Kirsch say, “Holy shit,” while Will makes loud gagging noises.
When they don’t break away from each other, Kirsch’s eyes widen as he says, “Should I like, lock the door again?” as Will attempts to pluck the $10 bill out of Kirsch’s clenched fist.
Carmilla growls and her eyes flash darkly between them and they back away slowly, Will still grinning smugly.
Danny steps into the bedroom, buttoning her shirt up and resolutely ignoring the two boys.
“Fuck off,” Carmilla says flatly to her twin, who laughs and tugs Kirsch, who still looks a little awed and a lot scared, out of the room.
(When Carmilla walks out of the closet, sliding her hands into her leather jacket, Danny tries to hide her proud smile, because at least three hickies are already starting to bloom against her pale skin.)
Danny sits on the edge of the bed and reties her shoelace, absently noticing that her fingers are trembling slightly.
“Hey,” Carmilla says quietly.
Danny’s sure her voice is steady, if a bit loud in the empty room, when she says, “What?”
“It’s not a big deal, you know?”
And, yeah, okay, it’s Friday night, they’re at a party where at least three people have thrown up by now, and Danny’s still feels a little bit drunk – although she couldn’t honestly say it was from the alcohol – and it’s not a big deal at all.
“I know.”
“Hey,’ Carmilla gently catches Danny’s wrist, stopping her from untying her shoelace again, ‘Danny. Relax.”
Danny turns her head away from Carmilla, and she winces because her voice still sounds too loud when she says, “I’m relaxed, I’m fine.”
“Good,” Carmilla says simply, and Danny thinks that that’s the end of it.
But then Carmilla says, “So do you want to get out of here, or?”
“We don’t have to do anything,’ Carmilla hastily adds at the startled look on Danny’s face, ‘I just thought we could, I don’t know. Leave. Get some food, maybe.”
“Uh, yeah. Okay. That sounds good, actually."
Carmilla’s a bit surprised, but when Danny shyly takes her hand to let herself be pulled up, she doesn’t let go as they walk down the stairs.
She still dumps a cup of red liquid over Will’s head before she follows Danny out the front door though.