Work Text:
“Hey, uh, Y/N, can I tell you a secret?” Yaz asked, her voice just above a whisper.
She bit back a sigh at the grit in her throat, the nerves always brushing up against the surface.
Curled up on the couch in her pajamas, she stared out at the living room of Y/N’s flat, fingernails gripping the fabric of a throw pillow. All at once, the air in the room seemed to thicken, making her swallow the dry lump in her throat, her mouth full of cotton. Glancing at the tiny kitchen, she watched as Y/N searched for her corkscrew, pulling open every drawer, giving little groans as she swore she knew where she put it. Next to her, a bottle of red waited to be uncorked and enjoyed.
Her gaze lingered. Y/N never wore proper pajamas - just oversized t-shirts and shorts that made her hips look perfect. An ache echoed in Yaz’s chest, a desire that felt impossible. Biting her lip, she felt a blush creep up her neck, her eyes drifting down her friend’s legs.
Yaz’s sexuality, a desire not just for men but for women, weighed on her for quite some time. She couldn’t possibly be attracted to women. Where would that leave her? There weren’t people like her in Sheffield. She didn’t think there were people like her anywhere. You had to pick one, didn't you? So, Yaz picked one. Pretty-eyed and innocent, she easily dated plenty of men and enjoyed it, but her eyes always lingered on women. The fear always made her hesitant to act on it, but it felt invalidating. How could she possibly consider herself attracted to women and be terrified of kissing one?
A regret stayed in the back of her mind. Why couldn’t she have simply kissed her old friends? Most nights at the nearby pub, they were all drunk enough and willing to kiss her, all bubblegum pink lipstick and glittery eyelids. Yet, Yaz never tried, rejecting their silly schoolgirl advances inspired by intoxication.
Of course, for her friends, bisexuality was always a game - a sexy way to trick the boys into paying attention to them. Sticky-sweet like honey, they’d always kiss each other until they caught the boys’ eyes. It horrified Yaz. Surely, she would be caught as the only one in the group not acting. She swore she would never be the bisexual woman resigned to falling for the friends that would never love her back. An unfortunate gay stereotype.
Instead, Yaz fell into her fear and tried to bury her sexuality. But one simply can’t bury something without the bones coming to light.
When Yaz met Y/N through The Doctor, Y/N was already out to everyone. A proud bisexual woman, she ignored the sly comments. Hate seemed to slide off her back like water, especially around town when cigarette-smoking idiots muttered comments under their breath. With her, things always seemed easy, and she accepted Yaz right away. But Yaz, still hurting from her past, didn’t tell Y/N the entire truth about her lack of experience with women.
Now, after giving a cute little cheer, Y/N peeked her head out of the kitchen holding the corkscrew, face awash with victory. “Yeah, of course, love. You’re safe here.”
She ducked back into the kitchen as quickly as she came, expecting Yaz to continue as if the secret was a small piece of workplace gossip. After all, knowing all of Yaz’s old colleagues well, made it easy for the two to share it. Often, Yaz would go to Y/N with ridiculous stories about the detectives and other police constables, and they would giggle for hours.
But this was anything but workplace gossip.
Unsure of how to start, Yaz ran a palm over her face, blinking her eyes shut, fighting the quick tears pooling in her eyes. She continued to dig her fingernails into the seam of the pillow. “Can I tell you when you’re… I dunno, not in the kitchen?”
Silence.
In the kitchen, the refrigerator door slammed shut. Yaz heard the quick clinking of glasses as Y/N carried them into the living room, her face twisted into concern. “Yaz, love, is everything okay?”
Yaz always felt safe in her presence. Her chest warmed at the mention of her name - how Y/N’s dialect folded over the syllables. She often found it soothing, though, at the moment, it wasn’t quite soothing enough. Yaz cleared her throat, drawing her hands into her jumper sleeves, hoping the other woman couldn’t see how her fingertips trembled.
Across from her, Y/N took a cautious sip from her glass of wine and waited as Yaz balled her hands into fists, staring at the rug in front of her.
Yaz mulled over the words in her head - how she could phrase it without sounding bloody stupid. It felt like an hour before she willed them out of her mouth, the question tumbling out as she met her friend’s worried gaze. “You know how I like girls, right?”
Y/N made a face, eyebrows furrowing, waiting for the catch. Well, of course, she did. Yaz talked about it all the time, just as much as she talked about men - that was the joy of bisexuality. It made both women feel safe with each other, knowing they had it in common.
Y/N let out a nervous giggle at the awkward silence. She took another sip of wine and tilted her head, willing Yaz to continue.
Yaz took in a sharp breath, closing her eyes. This was it. No turning back now. “I’ve… never kissed one.”
Yaz opened her eyes to see Y/N’s widened, making her wince.
But then Y/N fell into a sigh of relief. “Oh, darling, I thought it was something serious. Christ, you really had me worried.”
“Something serious?”
“Oh, you know, you could be dying, you could be moving to the States, you could –”
“What does it feel like?” interrupted Yaz. She straightened her spine in her seat and shrugged, her legs curled up into her body. “Kissing women,” she clarified.
Y/N giggled at the moment – the innocence, the sweetness of it, and suddenly, Yaz felt silly. It reminded her of all the horrifying sleepovers mid-puberty. All of her pretty blonde friends had snogged boys already, while Yaz, the wallflower, fell behind, unsure of who would even want to kiss her.
Across from her, Y/N placed her wine down and shrugged. “It’s like kissing men, except a lot softer and it tastes better,” she joked. “I don’t know, I guess… it depends on the woman. It could be soft, or rough, and in a rare case, like kissing a bloody mutt off the street.”
Yaz nodded, an ache growing in the pit of her stomach, her brown-eyed gaze lingering on the lips of her best friend. She always wore lipstick. Yaz could smell the slight scent of cherries and wax whenever she got close enough. As Y/N looked at her, the ache grew and grew. “Will you… k-kiss me?”
Again, Y/N’s eyes widened, but this time, she froze. “Do you really want me to?”
Yaz nodded softly, the breath catching in her throat as she bit her lip, expectant. She wasn’t sure where her normal confidence went but staring ahead at the woman in front of her, she melted like candle wax. She nearly jolted at Y/N’s sudden weight on the couch – how the girl now sat in front of her, still wearing that lipstick in her pajamas.
From there, Yaz could see the smoothness of Y/N’s lips, and the little flecks of color that made up her eyes.
How did they get to this point? Yaz thought. How had it moved so fast - Y/N’s gaze shifting from her eyes to her lips? Yaz froze, feeling the warmth of Y/N’s breath on her face. Within seconds, Y/N pressed her lips to Yaz’s, careful and gentle.
Soft like velvet, it tasted like cherries, wax, and Cabernet. Somehow, it tasted better than Yaz expected, like every night they had spent together as friends - warm smiles, and waves of reassurance. Warmth pooled throughout Yaz’s body as Y/N’s hand rested on her cheek.
Both women melted into each other, tugging at each other’s bodies as they fell into another kiss.