Work Text:
only you (my girl, only you)
Parties have never really been Scylla’s thing, one could say. For as long as she can remember she’s had, at best, a mild distaste for large crowds of people, at worst a contemptuous fear for the usually highly-anticipated events. Some might call her introverted- after all, she does tend to avoid social interaction if she can help it, only speaking to the few people she’s allowed past her carefully constructed walls, putting up a coolly courteous front with anyone else she’s forced to converse with. Some might even label her cold; certainly, her social skills leave a lot to be desired, and her immediate reaction to new people is false confidence which, she’s been told, can come across as frosty arrogance.
Of course, none of these people, none of these ignorant passers-by who think they know her, think they’ve got her all figured out, actually do. They see only what she wants them to see; the crafted image of herself she projects into the world, the shield that takes the blows. The snarky, smirking woman who takes thinly-veiled insults with a disarmingly unphased grin, who receives pity with a placid smile. Who has more than enough intelligence to tell the difference between the two.
But, truth be told, that woman has never really been Scylla. Not truly, not honestly. That woman is a mask, one she wears out of a need born of fear, one she wears for convenience, for safety. For protection. She is not Scylla, no, but without her, Scylla would be vulnerable; exposed, like a nerve. She, the woman who deflects personal questions with a noncommittal shrug, who avoids connection like the plague, is a disguise, one that only few have seen her without.
Those that are lucky enough to know Scylla, really know her (and she can count their numbers on one hand), also know of why she has this mask, this front, this shield, and the reasons are not things she tends to dwell on, if she can avoid it. Dwelling on them always leads to memories, horrible flashbacks of gunshots and blood and her mother’s voice telling her to hide, her father’s panicked shouts. And, as Scylla knows all too well, memories like that are best left in the past.
Because, the thing is, Scylla’s been burned before. She knows what it’s like to have cared for people so much that that care blocked out the darkness of the world and shone brighter than the sun. She knows what it’s like to have been young and trusting, knows what it’s like to have that trust ripped away with careless disregard. She knows what it’s like to have loved and lost, so much so that, on some level still, she believes that an absence of love entirely might be less painful than a hole where love used to be.
There are people now, though, people who make her rethink that. People who love her without strings, without consequences. People who love her regardless of her masks and disguises, even when the world is dark and cruel, even when it feels like loving her should come with a warning label. And it had been hard at first to let them in, unbelievably so. Those old wounds had throbbed round the edges every time one of the people she now considers family had attempted to uncover the real her, had hissed with cautionary agony that burned and blinded and hurt. The faces of her dead parents had flashed before her eyes with every probing question; bitter reminders of how she’d had love before, and how it had been stolen from her- taken, in the blink of an eye, by two men in masks with guns in their hands and evil in their eyes. But these people, these exceptions to her rules, had pushed through. They’d brushed away her initial coolness, had taken the insults she’d hurled when they struck a particularly personal nerve with earnest dignity, and eventually, had held her when she needed it most. And Scylla had learned to love again.
That’s not to say that she’s any more comfortable with big crowds; she has her people, her family, and sticking with them is perfectly fine by her. However, she’s come to learn that being part of a family means compromise sometimes, and this, tonight, she thinks as she glances at herself in the mirror, is one she can easily make.
After all, nobody throws a party like a Bellweather.
She runs a hand through her hair, taking one last cursory glance at her outfit for the evening. It’s nothing special (Abigail had insisted on semi-casual clothes, even though the party was happening in her family’s age-old mansion and it’s New Year’s Eve; something about not wanting to be exactly like her mother, which, fair enough- Petra would have had them all in sweeping ball gowns and no, thank you), just some jeans and her favourite maroon shirt, plus one of Raelle’s flannels tied around her waist should the evening get cold enough to merit its use. She’s pretty sure she’s hit semi-casual right on the nose, and her little self-satisfied grin at the thought only widens when the doorbell rings.
“Scylla! Collar’s here!” Anacostia’s voice, loud and clear from her years in the military, easily reaches Scylla’s ears from downstairs. With a final check that she has everything- phone, keys, card, all accounted for- she’s pulling her bedroom door open and walking down the stairs with barely contained glee. Hm. Maybe tonight might actually be kinda fun.
Anacostia is sat at the kitchen counter when she walks in, nose buried her laptop- a familiar sight around their house. The older woman’s been practically neurotic with her work since she found out she might be up for a promotion at her job, and as much as Scylla absolutely thinks she needs to take more breaks than she does, she has to admit that she’s happy for her guardian.
Well, technically Anacostia isn’t her guardian anymore, at least not in legal terms. She’s 19 now, having celebrated her birthday just a few weeks ago, and, according to Anacostia, ‘too grown-up for her own good’. But the woman had taken her in when she was just 14, young and scared and fucking traumatised from the brutal murder of her parents, and had nurtured her, out of the goodness of her own damn heart, into who she is today. Sure, it had been a real rocky start; that first year together had been full of stony silence, private tears and angry outbursts that did nothing to soothe the ache in her chest. And Anacostia had sat through it all, not judging her, not coaxing her into agonising discussions about how she felt (not like the first therapist she’d been sent to- both her and Costia agreed that she’d been a total bust), just…being there. Offering her home, her food, her presence to a broken girl, absolutely no strings attached.
And then one day, Scylla had lost it. Like, full-on mental breakdown lost her shit. She doesn’t even remember what caused it, all she knows is that she started yelling. Started screaming about how she was going to kill the motherfuckers who took her parents from her, how she was going to beat them to death for what they stole from her. Eventually, her screaming had turned to sobs, and Anacostia, who had sat and watched her shout with nothing but patience in her eyes, had taken her into her arms and rocked her as she cried. No words had left her lips, but she’d said all she needed to say with the stroke of her hands against Scylla’s hair, the gentle sway of her arms as she held her, the soft press of lips against her temple. Scylla had cried for hours, letting herself be comforted as she allowed her pain to spill over, burying her face in Anacostia’s shoulder as her loss finally, truly hit her.
After that, they’d begun to actually forge a relationship. Scylla, who finally understood the gravity of what this woman had done for her, had started trying. They ate meals together, chatted about the little things, and slowly but surely, they bonded. Shared interests were found- birdwatching, being one of them- and common dislikes discussed. They laughed at the same stupid reality shows and pretended not to cry at the same sappy rom-coms. They started a weekly game night- something Scylla had surprised herself by suggesting when she was 17- and went to see movies whenever they could. And although Scylla would never have another mother, though the loss of her parents still kept her up some nights, she had Anacostia, and that was enough for both of them.
So, no, technically Anacostia is no longer her guardian. But Scylla doesn’t need a legal document to know that they are family.
“Take a break, Costia.” Scylla says, futilely, as she breezes past the counter, heading to the front door. She doesn’t even need to look back at the other woman to know she’s been completely ignored, and she huffs out a laugh as she comes to a stop, hand reaching for the doorknob and twisting it before her nerves for the night ahead can catch up with her.
If anything was going to be a balm for those nerves, it would be the sight that greets her as the door swings open.
Raelle, grin brighter than any star that shines in the sky, eyes lit up like the Christmas tree that stands tall in the living room, rocks forward on her heels as a soft smile overtakes Scylla’s face.
“Hi, beautiful.” Her girlfriend murmurs almost reverently, her gaze tracking slowly over Scylla’s form in a way that she really thinks ought to be illegal. It’s both wanting and adoring, both filthy sin and holy benediction, how her eyes drag down and then up, leaving sparks of heat flaring under Scylla’s skin.
“Hi.” She breathes in return, and all but launches herself at the blonde, stepping forward into Raelle’s space, snaking a hand around the back of her neck and pulling lips she’s kissed a million times onto her own.
If there had been doubt in Scylla’s mind about the night ahead, it’s all erased the moment Raelle’s hands come up to grip at her waist, the instant her eyes close, the very second her girlfriend’s lips meet hers. The kiss, slow and gentle, blows everything else in her mind away, leaves her head full of the taste of Raelle, the feel of her. It’s bliss in the moment and torture to pull away but pull away she does; Anacostia is only a few metres away after all. And as close as they now are, Scylla really doesn’t want her watching when she makes out with her undeniably irresistible girlfriend.
Raelle looks slightly dazed as she steps back, eyes unfocused, mouth slightly ajar; Scylla can’t help the flush of pride that runs through her at the sight- she did that. Tough, strong, athletic Raelle, reduced to a mess of blushing bother just from one kiss. She’s almost tempted to tease the poor girl about it, but one look at her watch tells her they were meant to have left ten minutes ago, and Bellweather might actually kill them if they’re more than half an hour late. Pity, she thinks as she tugs Raelle into the house, reaching for her shoes and beginning to lace them up, she always does find the best ways to shut me up.
“Evening, Collar.” Anacostia says, finally looking up from her laptop. Scylla rolls her eyes with a huff of fondly exasperated laughter; she tries all day to get to the woman to stop working for a minute to no avail, but the second Raelle walks in, that’s when she finally decides to take a break. Of course.
“Hi, Anacostia.” Her girlfriend’s greeting is relaxed and amicable, and she raises her hand in a little wave that has Scylla melting and wishing she’d agreed when Raelle had offered her a quiet night in for New Year’s. “Whatcha workin’ on?”
“Just some old files my boss wants re-digitised, nothing exciting. How’s the lacrosse going?”
As Raelle launches into an in-depth breakdown of her progress in her sport, talking animatedly as Anacostia listens, Scylla can’t help but smile to herself at how far the two of them have come. From when they first met, a few months into Scylla and Raelle’s relationship, to here, now. Chatting like old friends, no hint of animosity or discomfort.
It hadn’t always been that way, of course. Scylla can still remember the awkwardness of that first night, the first time Raelle had joined them for dinner. Her girlfriend had been so oddly formal, so tense she had sat ramrod straight, hands clutching her cutlery as if her life depended on it, words almost monotone in their uniformity. Anacostia had been, despite Scylla’s many requests to ‘just be normal, please’, every inch the judging parent. She’d stared Raelle down, asked her a million probing questions and basically scared the shit out of the poor girl.
But, in spite of that first awkward meeting, the two had grown closer. Well, Scylla had done damage control- she’d told Raelle that Anacostia was only being overprotective and to just be herself, told Anacostia to cut the shit and try to get on with the girl she loved- and both women had stopped acting so weird, so, really, she has herself to thank for the two most important people in her life’s friendship. Good job, Ramshorn.
Now, Raelle joins them for dinner at least once a week, and has even attended one or two of their game nights (and lost miserably- Scylla and Anacostia don’t mess around when it comes to Uno). Her and Anacostia are practically buddies, even going to the same gym and working out together- goddess only knows what they talk about (Scylla’s asked them both and got the same monosyllabic response- ‘you’).
And whilst it’s lovely to the two women she loves most chatting about their lives, Scylla’s just checked her watch again and- shit, Bellweather’s going to murder me if we don’t leave right now.
“Rae, come on, we gotta go.” She stands, laces tied, and holds her hand out for her girlfriend. Raelle takes it, easily slotting their fingers together and pulling their joined hands to her mouth, pressing an absent-minded kiss to the back of Scylla’s. And it’s such a little thing, such a minute detail. But Raelle had done it as if on instinct, as if she hadn’t even thought about it, and now Scylla kinda wants to cry because her girlfriend is perhaps the sweetest person alive and she doesn’t know if she can go an entire night without kissing her senseless. Goddamn Abigail and her stupid party.
“Have fun, girls.” Scylla waits for the other shoe to drop, the older woman’s penchant for shitty jokes not escaping her memory. “See you next year!” There it is.
“Bye, Costia.” With one last eyeroll, and a tug on Raelle’s hand, they’re out the door.
-----
The car ride to Abigail’s place is pleasant and short. On the outskirts of town, the Bellweather mansion is only ten minutes up the road from Scylla, and with Raelle driving like their slight tardiness has finally been brought to her attention, they’re pulling into the driveway within almost no time at all.
Despite the number of times Scylla’s visited it, the mansion still steals her breath away when it comes into view. It’s huge, for starters, and the sheer size of it alone is enough to have her a little awed. But it’s the elegance and the class of the place that really holds her spellbound; Etruscan-style columns rise from the gravel, supporting a sweeping balcony that, Scylla knows from experience, overlooks almost the entirety of their little town. The front doors are oak, dark and polished, and gleaming windows branch out from that central space, allowing for glimpses of a life lived wealthily. Ivy climbs the sides of the house, but nothing about the growth detracts from the grandiosity of the place; the tendrils have been artfully shaped, giving the place a touch of the rustic about it, all whilst maintaining an image of clean-cut perfection. The Bellweather way, Scylla muses with wry cynicism.
Cars already line the gravel and even from the cab of Raelle’s beat-up old truck, Scylla can hear music thumping, the low hum of steady chatter. Coloured strobe lights lance out of the windows and spill rainbows onto the ground outside.
Scylla really doesn’t know how Abigail got her mom to agree to this. Petra Bellweather, vice-mayor of their town and possibly the most uptight woman in America, is nothing if not concerned with her reputation. In fact, it seems her only goal in life is to make her family look good- well, that and trying in vain to beat their current mayor, Sarah Alder, in the elections.
Petra’s parties (or gala’s, as she calls them) are lightyears away from the carnage Scylla can already see taking place in the mansion through its windows, this she knows, once again, from experience. A few months back, for her birthday, the vice-mayor had hosted and allowed her daughter to invite a few of her friends. Raelle, being the gentlewoman, had invited Scylla along, and Scylla, out of pure curiosity, had accepted.
Goddess, it had been an odd night. Mostly good, but definitely out of the ordinary. There had been speeches and anecdotes, long-winded stories of Petra’s success that nearly had the four of them falling asleep. Some stuffy politician trying to one up another stuffy old politician with praises of their bosses accomplishments, and on and on and on. Boring, boring, boring. But then had come the dancing.
And damn. If Scylla had been on the cusp of sleep listening to all those speeches, she’d never felt more alive than when she was spinning in Raelle’s arms.
Raelle, dressed to the nines in a gorgeous navy suit, and her in a sweeping blue gown she’d bought specially for the occasion, twirling across the ballroom floor. Goddess, they must’ve been quite the sight; young, tipsy from expensive champagne and so in love with each other that quite literally nothing else mattered. She remembers how Raelle had taken her hand as the music began, giving a charming little bow before asking ‘may I have this dance?’ with a grin so bright it could melt stars, remembers how she could do nothing but nod, too endeared by her girlfriend to respond any other way. They’d danced practically all night, and Scylla remembers the way Raelle’s eyes had shone underneath the chandelier, the way she’d leant in to graze her lips against her ear, whispering an ‘I love you’ for only her to hear, and for her to cherish all night long.
Scylla smiles to herself at the memory and internally chuckles at the stark contrast that night will bear to the one ahead. She has no doubt that dainty ballgowns and eloquent speeches will not be welcome at Abigail’s party, if the raucous whoops and hollers she can hear reverberating from the house are anything to go by.
“You ready?” She’s pulled from her thoughts by Raelle’s unassuming question, her soft tone and gentle eyes implying that she’d be just as happy to wile the night away sat with Scylla in her truck, mere feet away from the real party, and have just as good a time. And Scylla knows that if she asked, Raelle would absolutely do it, and the knowledge of that makes her heart swell a thousand times over.
“Mhm.” A nod, a smile, and then she’s exiting the cab, waiting for Raelle to join her before lacing their fingers together and heading towards the doors.
-----
Entering the house feels like being plunged into the belly of the beast.
The wall of sheer sensation that slams into Scylla as soon as they step inside is like a wrecking ball to the system. Music, something bassy with hazy lyrics she can’t quite decipher, blares from seemingly everywhere and rings in her ears, immersing her in sound like she’s being dragged underwater. The strobe lights she could see from outside are more vivid on the inside than she could have possibly prepared for; arcing shards of colour pierce the air in periodic bursts, so bright they’re nearly blinding, and Scylla has to blink rapidly to adjust. The air smells like alcohol, reeks of smoke, and is filled with the jumbled sounds of teenagers letting loose, shouting and laughing and slurring along to the song; well, she thinks as Raelle begins to tug her to the right, it certainly is a party.
They find Tally and Abigail by the staircase, leaning up against the marble banister with red solo cups and indulgent smiles. As Raelle leads her towards their friends, Scylla allows herself a smile of her own; whilst the other two girls might not be as close with her as they are her girlfriend, she still (though she would never admit to it) loves them and considers them family. Holy shit, Ramshorn, look at you. Her grin widens. Getting all sappy over a Bellweather and a puppy in human form. Who would’ve thought it.
Tally spots them as they make their way over, and Scylla can tell she’s barely restraining herself from sprinting at the couple- the girl’s practically vibrating with excitement, eyes shining with glee as they zero in on her and Raelle.
“You made it!” The redhead exclaims as soon as they’re within arm’s reach, squealing joyfully as she throws herself forwards, engulfing the both of them in a tight hug. Raelle chuckles beside her, used to her best friend’s affectionate nature, and Scylla simply smiles, wraps an arm around Tally in return and enjoys the feeling of unadulterated happiness that radiates from the other girl in waves. The first time Tally had hugged her had been a different story- it had been the first time they’d met, and Scylla had just stood there, arms limp at her sides, as it happened. Awkward hadn’t even covered the way she’d felt back then, but now, after almost two years of friendship with the girl, Scylla can safely say that a hug from Tally truly is a gift. One often given, of course, but undiminished in its comfort.
“Now the party can really start!” Scylla hides an amused smile at Tally’s slurred words as the girl pulls back. She’s clearly already halfway to wasted- her eyes have taken on that unfocused gleam of someone at least a few drinks in- and it’s barely 10PM. Scylla’s happy for the redhead, though; if anyone deserves to let loose, it’s Tally. After the year she’s had- massive fallings out with her mom which had led to her crashing on Raelle’s couch for nearly a month, along with finding out her boyfriend of six months was engaged- the girl probably needs to get a little crazy.
She can barely hear the teasing words Raelle shoots back at her best friend over the pumping music, but they’re obviously amusing as Tally has to clutch for support on Abigail’s shoulder as she doubles over with laughter. Or maybe they’re not, and Tally is just that drunk. Who cares, really; the sight of her friend, carefree and giggly, is one for sore eyes, and Scylla revels in it.
“Shitbird, Ramshorn.” Abigail chimes in when the laughter stops, and though her greeting is (unsurprisingly) a little less enthused than Tally’s, affection tinges her words and the smirk that creeps across her face contains more love than the Bellweather would probably ever admit to.
“Hey, Abs.” Raelle grins.
“Bellweather.” Scylla replies, trying to muster some semblance of frostiness into her tone, and, by the looks of it, failing miserably. The effort only stems from the rivalry that used to exist between the two of them, back when she’d started dating Raelle, a rivalry which has faded into nothingness as the years rolled on.
Goddess, Scylla smiles wryly as she casts her mind back, they used to hate each other. Constantly at each other’s throats, they had bickered constantly, and over the stupidest things. Abigail had been standoffish at best, downright hostile at worst, and Scylla had responded in kind, sniping at each other every time they met, until eventually, Scylla had realised that if she wanted to be a part of Raelle’s life, she had to make peace with the fact that Abigail was too. And so, she’d backed off, stopped biting back; that had taken the wind out of Abigail’s high and mighty sails, and the other girl had backed off too. And somewhere along the road, somewhere between rivals and friends, Scylla had realised that maybe the two of them weren’t so different, after all. Ambition and determination was a trait shared by both, along with a dry sense of humour and a quick wit. They were both fiercely protective of their own, and both of them loved Raelle enough to take a bullet for the girl. So, the fighting had stopped. The rivalry had ended, and now the two of them were comfortable enough to poke fun at their previous hostilities.
“Are you guys still staying over?” The Bellweather’s question shakes Scylla out of reminiscence, bringing her back to the here and now. The very noisy here and now. Goddess, she’s going to need a drink if the music is going to be that loud.
“Yeah, if that’s still good with you?” Raelle replies and her best friend nods before leaning closer with raised eyebrows and a semi-serious expression on her face.
“That’s fine. Just please, please, you guys.” Her words are pleas, but her tone is teasing, and Scylla already knows what’s about to come next. “If you two are, you know, ringing in the New Year, lock the door. I do not need a repeat of Raelle’s birthday.”
Heat rushes to Scylla’s face as she’s reminded of the rather unfortunate incident, during which Abigail and Tally had tried to surprise their best friend for her birthday in the early hours, only to burst in on the two of them in a truly compromising position (AKA: her head between Raelle’s legs- an early birthday present), before immediately running away. They hadn’t looked her and Raelle in the eye for weeks afterwards, and morning sex had been kept to a cautious minimum when staying anywhere within a mile’s radius of Abigail and Tally ever since.
If the crimson of her girlfriend’s cheeks is anything to go by, Scylla would say that Raelle is remembering the unfortunate interruption with just as much mortification as she is. It’s only a slight comfort.
“It was one time, Abs. And you guys basically broke into my house! How were we supposed to know that you two would barge into my room singing like madwomen?”
“Whatever, shitbird.” Abigail says with a roll of her eyes as Tally giggles beside her. “I don’t need to see Ramshorn chowing down ever again, thank you very much, so just lock the damn door.”
Scylla blushes so hard she’s sure eggs could fry on her cheeks, and she’s beyond embarrassed, but Raelle’s outraged cry is too adorable to handle, and Tally’s still giggling like a child, and Scylla thinks she’ll take a little humiliation if it means she gets to stay in this moment for just a while longer.
-----
One hour and two drinks later, they’re dancing.
Abigail and Tally had gone off to find their respective partners after greeting her and Raelle, leaving the couple to navigate the party together. Scylla can’t really blame them- Adil and Abigail hardly get to spend any time together because of Abigail’s disapproving mother, and Tally and M are in those first few honeymoon weeks of their relationship. Plus, she’s more than happy to have her girlfriend to herself.
They’d stayed standing by the stairs for maybe half an hour, talking and flirting like a couple of punch-drunk teenagers, feeling the music pound in their ears and under their feet. The first drink had gone down without much effect. It’s only consequences seemed to have been that Raelle’s eyes had grown a bit brighter, her smile a bit wider, and Scylla had found it a little harder to remember why exactly they were at this party and not back at her place, in the privacy of her room.
The second drink, fetched by Raelle and handed to her with a roguish wink, however, had been what had really got the party started. Scylla doesn’t even really know what was in it- it had been strong and tasted faintly of cherries- but whatever it was, it had made her realise just how much she wanted to dance. Scratch that; how much she wanted to dance with Raelle.
Her girlfriend had needed little persuasion. A tug on the hand and a wicked grin was all it took, and Raelle was following Scylla into the throng of moving bodies, adorable excitement written clearly upon her face.
That had been ten minutes ago. Now, they’re dancing. Well, dancing may not be the right word for it, if Scylla’s totally honest. It’s more of a grind disguised as a sway- Raelle’s front pressed up against her back, so deliciously close it’s hard to think straight, so close it’s difficult to tell where she ends and Raelle begins. Her girlfriend’s hands are on her hips as they rock together, fingertips creeping under the hem of Scylla’s shirt, teasing barely-there touches along her waist that nearly have her squirming, nearly have her demanding more. Her own hands are just as all over the blonde- one reaching backwards for the nape of Raelle’s neck, the other stroking patterns into her knuckles as she presses down just a little, fingers finding purchase in the divots of Scylla’s hips.
It’s intoxicating; too much and not enough at the same time, the dichotomy of it making Scylla’s head swim with want. Raelle is everywhere, and somehow Scylla still needs more. More of this, more of them, more of her. And it’s a familiar feeling, that pleasant ache she feels as Raelle lays a kiss on her neck, as her hands thread up into blonde hair. She feels it always with Raelle, because no matter what they’re doing, Scylla will always want more with her- no matter what form that more comes in. A lifetime wouldn’t, couldn’t, be enough for all the time Scylla wants to spend with the girl, all the things she wants them to do, places she wants them to go. She wants forever, and she wants it with the girl holding her in her arms.
She’s drawn out of her thoughts by the feel of said girl’s lips trailing a hot path up to her ear, and immediately her previously lovestruck mind falls straight into the gutter. Raelle’s hands are firmer now, gripping her hips and guiding them with purpose backwards into her own pelvis, and Scylla knows exactly what she’s doing. She says as much, leaning back to murmur it into Raelle’s ear, and the other girl merely chuckles- a low, teasing sound that almost has Scylla dropping to her knees in the middle of Bellweather’s fancy living room, heat racing through her body at the thought of it alone.
“Oh yeah? What am I doing?” Raelle husks, her tone suggesting she knows all too damn well the answer to her own question (the smug little shit), her hands squeezing at Scylla’s waist under her shirt.
“You’re…not fair.” Is what Scylla settles on and is frustrated with how breathy her voice sounds. Goddess, Raelle’s not even properly touched her and she’s already throbbing with want, already desperate, and sounding like it too. Her girlfriend chuckles again and it’s like lightning through Scylla’s veins; bright and burning and brilliant.
“I’m not fair? You should see yourself, beautiful.” She punctuates her words with a little jog of her hips and Scylla gasps because fuck. Every point of connection between them feels like fireworks, crackling and bursting with sparks that roar through Scylla’s blood and leave her dizzy and wanting. She groans and, finally at her breaking point, turns in Raelle’s arms and tugs her into a bruising kiss.
It’s all lips and tongue and no finesse whatsoever, but it stokes the fire burning in Scylla’s stomach until the flames lick at every part of her. A quiet moan from Raelle has her reeling but she doesn’t dare pull back, because fuck breathing when the most gorgeously handsome woman she’s ever seen is fucking moaning into her mouth like she can’t get enough of her. She catches Raelle’s bottom lip with her teeth and nips at it, pulling another heavenly sound from her girl’s throat that makes her wonder if she died on the car ride over and this is the final paradise.
Surrounded by people, enveloped in a crowd of their peers with music pulsing all around them, their kiss really isn’t all that appropriate for a public space. Raelle’s hands have come to rest dangerously low on her back, whilst her own are gripping onto her girlfriend’s hair like she’s hanging on for dear life, and if Raelle moans any louder, people are going to hear her. But shit, Scylla would let the world burn down around them before she stops kissing Raelle.
All of a sudden, Raelle is yanked backwards, and all thoughts of the world burning are forcefully shoved from Scylla’s mind as her eyes shoot open. In front of her, Raelle is being pulled into an enthusiastic hug by a face Scylla knows and (reluctantly) loves.
“Where the hell have you been, sunshine?”
Byron. Of course.
Raelle grimaces- rather half-heartedly, Scylla must admit- at her best friend’s term of endearment for her. A nickname that pokes fun at Raelle’s supposed ‘grumpiness’, it’s the only thing Byron ever calls her now, and Raelle hates it. Well, she pretends to hate it, anyways. Scylla knows she’d never admit to actually being fond of the stupid shit Byron calls her (“It’d ruin my badass reputation, Scyl!”).
(That excuse had been met with a raised eyebrow and a pointed look at Raelle’s outfit: one of Scylla’s old t-shirts, pink sleep shorts and fluffy blue socks with monkeys on them- all worn as the girl snuggled up to Scylla, burying her face in her shoulder to avoid watching the horror movie she’d chosen. Badass? Sure, Raelle, sure.)
“I’ve been dancing, asshole. With my girlfriend, who I was very much enjoying kissing until you fucked it up.” Her words hold no malice- a touch of annoyance, maybe- and Byron grins, wrapping an arm around Raelle’s shoulder before reaching for Scylla, grabbing her wrist and tugging them both along with him as begins to walk.
“What are you doing, Byron?” Scylla asks. The boy tips her a wink.
“You two can suck face later. Right now, you’re gonna come play me and Will at beer pong!”
Raelle groans and Scylla laughs at Byron’s excitement as he pulls them through the crowd towards the ping-pong table, set up neatly with red solo cups forming a pyramid on each side. A blonde boy with wavy hair and green eyes stands at one end, eyes locking onto Byron as he approaches, lighting up with glee.
“By! You got us opponents?” The guy shouts over the din of the music and Byron nods.
“Opponents we’re gonna crush, babe.”
At that, Scylla glances to Raelle and some of the earlier heat flares back in her belly when she sees her face harden into an expression of clear competition. Her eyes burn with challenge, mouth quirked up into a sardonic little smile, and Scylla thinks she might be falling in love all over again.
“Oh, you’re on.”
-----
As it turns out, her and Raelle make for a deadly pair when it comes to beer pong, and in ten minutes, they’ve reduced their opponents to just two cups left. They themselves have five left- Byron’s not a very good shot, and Will seems mostly focussed on kissing his boyfriend, throwing the ball with a hasty messiness each time before returning his attentions the brunette boy beside him.
So far, Raelle’s done most of the work (and most of the drinking- Byron seems intent on getting the girl absolutely wasted), potting five of their eight successful shots, with Scylla feeling satisfied at her respectable three. She’s mostly glad that Raelle seems to be having such a good time; her grin hasn’t left her face since she first took aim on her opening throw, and after the second drink Byron made her have, she’d started doing a little victory jig every time she scored. It’s really quite adorable.
(Plus, if Raelle leans in for a beer-flavoured kiss after every successful toss, pulling Scylla into her and grinning against her mouth with barely-contained glee, well. That’s just an added bonus.)
She leans into Raelle’s side as Byron lines up a throw, squeezing one eye shut (as if that’ll help him) and sticking his tongue out in concentration. The warmth radiating from her girlfriend is too perfect to deny herself, and she grins as Raelle wraps an arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer.
Byron releases the ball as she takes a deep breath, Raelle’s unique scent filling her senses- raspberry and cinnamon and something woodsy, something inexplicably Raelle. It makes her smile again, and that smile widens as the ping-pong ball bounces from the rim of one of their cups, skittering onto the floor at her feet. The boy groans and throws his hands up in resignation, and is quickly consoled by his cooing boyfriend, who wraps him in his arms and presses lips to his temple. It’s a sweet moment, one Scylla feels privileged to be witnessing, and it’s over almost as soon as it begins, Raelle’s voice cutting through the intimacy and reaching Scylla’s ears over the blare of the music.
“Let me show you how a pro does it, Byron.” She calls with a sly smirk, retrieving the ball from the ground and readying her throw with practised preciseness. Her best friend glares at her playfully, emerging from Will’s embrace with a scowl.
“Put your money where your mouth is, sunshine!” He yells back and she chuckles, eyes narrowing as she bends her arm at the elbow, aiming for one of the two cups left standing. And goddess, it shouldn’t be hot, how Raelle licks her lips as she stares down the table, shouldn’t have Scylla nearly salivating at the way her fingers wrap around the little plastic ball, but it is, and it does, and Scylla can’t take her eyes off of her girlfriend as she pulls her hand back and throws.
The ball lands in the left cup with a neat little splash and Raelle whoops, fist-pumping with a delighted grin as the boys curse loudly.
“Drink up, asshole!” She taunts before turning to Scylla with wild joy in her eyes. Scylla reaches up to cup her face with one hand, rubbing over her cheek with her thumb, marvelling at the softness of Raelle’s skin, at the brightness of her smile, at the blue of her eyes.
“Well done. You did good.” She says, quiet enough that only Raelle will hear, injecting her tone with pride. Her girlfriend’s eyes drop to her lips, and suddenly her heart is racing because fuck, Raelle really shouldn’t be allowed to look at her like that in public. It feels almost indecent, how her hands fall to Scylla’s hips, how her eyes, dark and lust-addled, stay locked on Scylla’s mouth as she takes a minute step closer.
“Good enough for a kiss from the prettiest girl in town?” Scylla pretends to think for a moment, her cheeks flushing at Raelle’s words as she frowns in faux-concentration, before nodding with a cheeky grin. Raelle leans in with a gruff chuckle, pressing her lips to Scylla’s with gentle vigour, humming in contentment when Scylla’s tongue touches hers, squeezing her hips and playfully nipping at Scylla’s bottom lip.
They’re drawn out of it by the sound of Byron’s disgusted grumble as he downs the cup Raelle threw into. His face is scrunched up as he slams the cup down, a shiver running through him as he swallows; he never did like beer.
“Fuck, that was awful. Babe, you better get this one.” Raelle chuckles breathlessly at her best friend’s complaining, hands still holding Scylla, still gripping at her waist with teasing pressure, still driving Scylla wild.
Will, to be fair to the boy, seems to take his boyfriend’s words seriously, settling himself behind the table and squinting over at the cups by the girls, actually aiming this time and throwing with uncharacteristic grace. Unfortunately- for the boys, anyway- his focus gets him nowhere. The ball flies from his hand and completely misses the table, striking Raelle’s jean-clad thigh and falling to the floor.
Scylla hides a grin at the miss, choosing instead to send a sympathetic glance over to the boy. Byron is groaning in dismay as Raelle taunts him, and she knows what it’s like to be stuck between these two- as much as she loves them both, they’re little kids when it comes to competition. Will meets her eye with a knowing shrug before allowing himself to be wrapped in a defeated embrace by his boyfriend. Scylla doesn’t bother with concealing the smile that creeps across her face at that.
“Alright, beautiful. All down to you now.” Raelle has retrieved the ball and Scylla turns to her with mirth hidden behind her eyes. Her girlfriend is deadly serious right now, fierce competition written on every line in her face, and Scylla can’t help but find it absolutely endearing. She takes the ball from Raelle, tossing her a wink that has the girl’s eyes darkening deliciously before turning back to the table with a deep breath.
“Don’t miss.” Byron calls loudly- a clear attempt to throw her off. She simply smiles.
“Wasn’t planning to.” She follows her rebuttal with what can only be described as the perfect throw. The ball arcs from her hand and twists through the air with precision, before…bullseye. It lands right in the middle of the boys’ remaining cup with a neat little splash, and the victory roars in Scylla’s alcohol-dulled brain.
Raelle is on her in a flash, picking her up with a raucous cheer and spinning her around as the boys curse in defeat. And they’re being rather obnoxious winners, Scylla knows as Raelle puts her back down, eyes alight with fuzzy glee, but she really can’t bring herself to care, not when her girlfriend surges forward to press their lips together with the passion of a burning flame, one hand rubbing over her hip, the other cradling her jaw. Not when Raelle’s tongue prods at the seam of her lips before she grants her entrance, letting the tide of the other girl’s affection sweep her off her feet until she can’t remember which way is up. Not when she’s so goddamn happy that cloud nine feels like a diluted dream, a weak memory of the ghost of joy.
So when Raelle pulls back with a dazed grin, their faces still only inches apart, and asks Scylla if she wants to dance again, Byron and Will still grumbling at their loss, Scylla only tugs her back in and kisses her once more, breathes an ‘absolutely’ against Raelle’s lips and feels her heart grow a dozen sizes in her chest.
-----
Ten minutes to midnight finds Scylla in the backyard- which can only really be described as some kind of secret luxury garden, to be completely honest- leaning up against the stone balustrade that overlooks the fountain. The night is chilly, and Raelle’s flannel isn’t doing anything to ward off the cold, but the stars glint down at her with soft undeniability and the quiet is too perfect to pass up.
She’d only meant to step outside for some air; Raelle had left her to go and get more drinks, pressing a kiss to her cheek with a ‘be right back’, and Scylla had only wanted to clear her head a little before the countdown, but now, now.
The moment she’d looked to the sky it had all hit her. Another year ending. Another wonderful year of friends she never thought she’d have, of family she never believed she’d find again. Of good food and drinking till the world went fuzzy, of game nights and birdwatching, of soft skin and softer lips and arms that felt more like home than her cold and lonely bed ever could.
It had been a good year. A great year. And yet her chest aches with familiar pain. Her eyes sting a little. Her hands tremble where they rest against the freezing rock.
Happy New Year, Mom, she thinks as she heaves a sigh; Happy New Year, Dad, as she closes her eyes against the onslaught of emotion.
Grief grips her heart as she allows herself to feel it, allows herself to be enveloped in a wave of that dull, throbbing sting- for her parents, for the lives they never got to live, for herself. Because, yes, the past year has been one of the best. She’s excelling at college, she’s got a group of friends who make her laugh, make her see just how gentle the world can be. She has a girl who loves her, so much she’d hang the damn moon for her, and all of it is more than she could ever have asked for. But, as she reminisces on the past twelve months, bitter sadness rears its head, pointing with its ice-cold finger to the gaps in those perfect memories where her parents ought to have been.
And she feels unbelievably guilty, all of a sudden. Here she is, mourning for the dead when the living are just mere feet away, ready to wrap her in hugs and kisses and soothing, gentle words. Stop it, she scolds herself. You’re allowed to miss them.
It’s this thought that’s interrupted by the quiet slide of the doors behind her opening, the soft pad of feet making their way over to her shivering, silent form, and Scylla freezes, slamming her eyes shut tighter and hoping that whoever it is will just go away.
“Hey,” a familiar voice calls, “it’s only me.” Scylla breathes a sigh of relief.
When she turns, it’s to find Raelle stood with understanding in her piercing eyes, watching Scylla with something other might mistake for pity, and yet it’s far less patronising in its serenity. It’s one of the many, many reasons she loves the girl; Raelle has never once pitied her, has never looked at her like she was some kicked puppy, or worse, a bomb waiting to go off. She’s seen Scylla cry over her parents more than once, has held her and whispered sweet nothings as she worked through it, but she has never uttered those goddamn words that were more cliché than cliché itself- ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
Instead, Raelle has pressed feather-light kisses to her lips, has looked at her with mind-numbing awe, and has told her that her parents would be so proud of her, that she knows they’d be so happy that she’s living a life she chose, that they love her more than anything.
Scylla isn’t sure she’d be in the position she is right now- able to think of her parents without breaking down, able to miss them and love them and be grateful for the time they had all at once- without Raelle. Isn’t sure she’d be much of anything without her, really. And she’s being a bit dramatic (plus, Anacostia and Raelle’s friends do deserve a lot of credit too) but out here, under stars that remind her so much of the proud sparkle she remembers in her dad’s eyes, remind her of the shine of her mom’s smile, stars that look so much like love, like light and happiness and the warmth she feels when Raelle wraps her in her arms, Scylla can’t help but let herself be overcome by it all.
“Hey.” She croaks, voice hoarse with bottled emotion and reaches for her girlfriend, incapable of spending another minute outside of her embrace. Raelle obliges with a contented hum, making her way over and turning Scylla around to look out at the garden before winding her arms around her waist from behind, nuzzling her nose into the crook of Scylla’s neck.
Raelle stays quiet as Scylla continues to stare up at the night sky, pressing her lips to Scylla’s shoulder every now and then- kisses that are neither demanding nor expectant, only meant to reassure and comfort, and Scylla finds that she loves the girl so much it could shake the earth with its power. Raelle is waiting, she knows, for her to talk. Giving her silence so she can work through her emotion before choosing to speak, giving her time.
A minute or two passes before she feels she’s ready, and when she speaks, her voice is whisper-quiet.
“They would’ve loved you, you know.” She’s told Raelle this a million times before, in hundreds of ways, in dozens of words. That her dad would have loved her humour, her mom her charm. That she would’ve been dragged along on fishing trips, to baseball games and poker nights by the man who raised her, would’ve been taken along to spa days and mountain hikes by the woman who created her. That (and Raelle had laughed good-naturedly at this one) she would’ve been being referred to as ‘my daughter-in-law’ by both of them within a few months. That she would’ve been just as much their family as she is to Scylla.
A bittersweet pang shoots through her at the thought. What could’ve been. She mourns for lost chances, memories that never were. Raelle, meeting her parents for the first time. Getting teased by her dad in that sweet, annoying, harmless way only dads could manage, being interrogated by her mom for every last detail. Movie nights and family vacations and Christmas with her three favourite people. Walking down the aisle, Raelle by the altar, her dad holding her arm, her mom stood tearfully at the very front.
Tears prick her eyes at the last one, and she swallows back a hiccupping sob. She sighs and shuts her eyes, willing away the sadness. Tonight is not a night for tears.
No, tonight is a night for dancing and beer pong and friends. For loud music and kisses and love. Tonight is a night her parents would want her to enjoy and damn it, she has. Despite her previous apprehensions, she’s had a wonderful time. And though she misses her parents fiercely, though she wishes, more than anything, that they could be with her to see the person they created, she knows that tears and mourning will not bring them back. Joy, however, whilst still unable to raise the dead, satisfies the living, and what is there for her to do now but live?
Raelle huffs out a pleased chuckle against her neck and Scylla grins.
“Thank you.” She murmurs, tracing a hand across the back of Raelle’s, resting her cheek atop blonde hair.
“What for?”
“For tonight. And…for everything, really.” Raelle’s hands at her waist begin to turn her, and soon she is staring into the eyes of the girl she is lucky enough to call hers. Affection flares in her chest at the raw openness in the other girl’s expression, at the trust and quiet and love in her eyes. She smiles softly.
“You make me ok.” She whispers, running a hand up Raelle’s arm to cup her cheek. Her girlfriend smiles, sending butterflies fluttering in Scylla’s stomach.
“You make me ok, too, Scyl.” Raelle breathes, before leaning in and capturing Scylla’s lips in the tenderest of kisses. Their mouths slide together in a gentle dance- no push or pull, just a flow guided by pure, unconditional love. It’s slow and it’s soft and so fucking transcendent. Scylla could fly circles around the moon, could fall asleep here and now. Could run a marathon, could doze right here on Raelle’s shoulder. She’s wired, she’s tired, and she has to pull back before she combusts.
From inside, she can hear that the music has quietened, that the din of chatter has fallen to a low ebb.
“It’s nearly midnight.” She observes, nose brushing Raelle’s.
“We should probably get inside. Tally’ll kill me if we miss the countdown.” Scylla nods in agreement but makes no attempt to move out of Raelle’s arms. Similarly, the other girl stays still, stroking patterns into the small of Scylla’s back.
It’s not a perfect moment, by any stretch; the cold is starting to make her shiver, and people can probably see them from beyond the sliding doors. But it’s quiet, and it’s theirs, so Scylla basks just a little while longer.
Eventually, Raelle steps back with a sigh. Her eyes say that she would much rather be kissing Scylla, but her brain seems to have won the battle with her heart for now, as she reaches for Scylla’s hand and begins to tug her towards the doors.
“Come on. I’m not kidding about Tally killing me. That girl is fucking dangerous when it comes to missing important bonding moments.”
With a grin, Scylla lets herself be pulled along. In the moments before they re-enter the house, before the door slides closed behind them and they’re enveloped by the warmth of the living room, Scylla takes one last look up at the stars. I love you guys. So much.
Wherever her parents are, she knows they’d be proud of her, and that’s enough for her.
-----
There’s a crowd gathered around the enormous TV by the time Scylla and Raelle make it back to the party, coming to a halt next to a very-drunk Abigail and a practically-catatonic Tally- who, it seems, is being held upright solely by M’s arms around her waist- with two minutes to spare until midnight.
“Where the fuck have you two been?” The Bellweather slurs out upon catching sight of them, her words hardly comprehendible, eyes droopy but bright, swaying dangerously from side to side. Scylla doesn’t bother hiding her wry grin, thoroughly amused at the sight of an inebriated Abigail. Beside her, Raelle chuckles and places a hand on her best friend’s shoulder to steady her.
“Doesn’t matter, Abs. We’re here now.” Abigail’s eyes narrow suspiciously, but the action loses its effect due to how it looks more like a bleary squint than anything else. Scylla grins again.
“You two better not have been fucking.” The intoxicated girl grumbles and Raelle swats her arm gently with a murmured ‘shut up’- it’s a rather endearing exchange, and Scylla feels her heart give an affectionate skip at just how happy Raelle looks right now.
Because this is what it’s supposed to be, isn’t it? This is what philosophers and songwriters and poets preach. This is what unites, what conquers, what gives and takes and flows and connects us all. This, this utter invincible joy she feels, is what matters. Not bitter loss, not buried opportunities- though those things hold a special importance all on their own- not anything that isn’t Tally’s drunken giggle, Abigail’s pretend-animosity, Byron’s wink at her from across the crowded room, wrapped around his boyfriend like some kind of affectionate vine. Not anything that isn’t Anacostia, probably asleep by now, waiting at home to offer her a hangover cure and the mandatory teasing comments when she stumbles in at noon tomorrow. Not anything that isn’t Raelle’s star-bright smile, isn’t her hand gently holding Scylla’s hip, soft as a whisper, a reassurance, an oath. Not anything that isn’t this moment, these people, this feeling. Joy satisfies the living, right?
Scylla finds she’s quite happy to continue finding it if it always feels as good as this.
“I love you guys. So much.” Tally calls over the people beginning to count down- a minute left till a whole new year, her words garbled and barely intelligible. M, smiling with a mix of amusement, exasperation and fondest affection, presses a kiss to Tally’s temple. They send a knowing look Scylla’s way as Raelle laughs, loud and uninhibited, responding with a quick ‘love you too, Tal’.
“Ditto.” Abigail chimes in, the people around her counting down from thirty now. “I love you all. Even you, Ramshorn.”
And it’s so bizarre, so…ironic, almost, that this should be what brings tears to her eyes- that this drunken, halfway-backhanded, throwaway declaration of casual love from Abigail Bellweather is what has her blinking rapidly to rid her irises of their sudden burning, and yet it is perfect. It is perfect and messy and almost too much to bear, so Scylla simply smiles, genuinely smiles, and returns the sentiment with as much elegance as she can manage (which is to say, not all that much).
Raelle tugs Scylla closer to her as the countdown hits ten, arms winding around her waist as she whispers the numbers in her ear. Tally and Abigail are shouting with glee, as are most of the kids gathered round the TV, and Scylla doesn’t think she’s ever felt more peaceful in her life.
“Three…two…one!”
The room erupts with noise. People cheer, clap, stomp their feet, yell their sentiments into the carnage and allow themselves to be swept up in it all. Someone has pulled a party popper, someone some kind of glittery streamer, and the room is awash with light and colour and such visceral physical manifestations of happiness that Scylla can’t help but let out a little whoop of her own. M is pulled into an enthusiastic kiss by Tally, and Scylla watches their face light up in delight before her attention is drawn back to girl who holds her in her arms as if she were her most precious thing.
Tomorrow (or, she supposes, later today), Scylla knows she probably won’t remember much of tonight. She’s had enough to drink to be aware of and mostly fine with that particular fact. She knows she’ll have a pounding headache, will probably throw up at least a couple of times, and will tell Anacostia she’s never drinking again (a bare-faced lie if there ever was one).
But, if one thing stays with her it will be this. Raelle, gazing at her like she painted the stars in the sky, appointed the moon its ruler. Raelle, thumbs rubbing at the small of her back, smile so soft Scylla could cry. Raelle, her girlfriend, her best friend, the love of her life, leaning in to press an easy kiss to Scylla’s lips- a kiss full of new beginnings and old promises and an abundance of overwhelming love- before pulling back with a gentle grin.
“Happy New Year, beautiful.” She murmurs, resting her forehead against Scylla’s, eyes heart-achingly soft and raw.
“Happy New Year, Raelle.”
And when the sun dawns on a fresh horizon, finding them wrapped up together in an unfamiliar bed, Scylla simply smiles against the intrusion of daylight. Any new day is a good day, she thinks, as long as Raelle is with her.