Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I take it we’re not going to the Warehouse,” Helena checks.

“No,” Myka answers and waits for her lover to take her turn.

They don’t exactly sneak away. Not as such. Not when they run into Pete, who’s in the kitchen to satisfy a very Pete five-in-the-morning hunger.

“So what’s up with the sneaking and the bags and the-” he begins, and takes a closer look, and goggles. “I thought that was weird earlier,” he says, pointing at Helena, who is still in her (Myka’s) body. “You got swapped.” Then he gasps very ostentatiously and starts grinning, and Myka, who is still in Helena’s body, has to put a stop to that, now.

“It’s not dangerous, Pete, okay?” she says, hand outstretched – it looks different, it feels different, and it absolutely confirms Pete’s theory, she knows, because of how he looks at it and looks at her.

He nods, sagely, still grinning – oh god, he knows. “And now you’re off to-” He tuts, very pretentiously. “Not to neutralize the artifact, I’m thinking.”

“No! Yes! Well, eventually,” Helena says, with a very Helena-like roll of Myka’s eyes underlining those last words.

“Hell yeah, Mykes,” Pete grins, and holds his hand up for a high-five, towards Myka in Helena’s body.

Well, he does have experience; it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he’s cottoned on so fast. She rolls her (Helena’s) eyes now, but does give him his high five.

“Don’t worry, I’ll cover for ya,” he goes on, grin still firmly on his face, and widening as he asks, “Couple days? A week? Some kind of emergency at your house – ooh, I know!” He snaps his fingers and then points them at them. “Water leak. Takes both of you to carry all the books out so that they won’t get damaged.”

“Yes, fine, perfect,” Helena says, taking Myka by her own wrist and pulling her towards the door. “Lots and lots of damage,” she calls over Myka’s shoulder. “A week might not even cover it.”

“Sure thing,” he replies, laughing. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“Are you out of your mind?” Myka hisses at Helena as she’s tugged outside; it’s weird – she wants to pull her head forward and to the side, as she always does when she’s upset; Helena’s body wants to tilt that head, wants to frown in indignation. “We can’t just up and leave for a week!”

“Or longer,” Helena grins, a twinkle in her (Myka’s) eyes that definitely looks out of place there. She pulls Myka towards the cars parked in front of the B&B. It’s when she walks towards the driver door that Myka stops her.

“You’re not driving.” The statement is flat and finite.

“Muscle memory, darling – I’m sure I’ll be fine.” That smirk on her lips looks good, Myka has to admit that, even if she would never have thought to put it there. “Besides,” Helena goes on, wiggling her (Myka’s!) butt, “keys are in my pocket.”

Myka has to admit that they both know the way to Featherhead airport in their sleep by now, they’ve driven there so often. They know the schedule for flights to New York just as well; today, there is a connection via Minneapolis that leaves at seven twenty-four; they even know the check-in agent.

“How on Earth do you do it, darling?” Helena asks on the plane, trying to fold Myka’s body into its seat. “We really should use our miles to upgrade to business class, rather than hoard them for some mythical round-the-world trip that’ll never happen.”

Myka, who is enjoying the space she has with Helena’s shorter legs, refrains from commenting; she’s used to it, and she has given Helena the aisle seat.

It’s weird, still, but getting less so; Myka is getting used to seeing Helena walk her body fluidly, elegantly through airports and subway stations. She herself is relying a lot on Helena’s body’s muscle memory, carefully taking notes of certain movements and ways Helena’s body has about it – perhaps she can use some of them when she’s back in her own body. On the other hand, God, Helena’s body wants to hold itself extremely rigidly. She wonders if Helena’s mother made her walk around with books on her head.

Finally, mid-afternoon, they’re home in Brooklyn, groceries ordered through their usual service, a “proper brew” prepared by Helena via Myka’s hands steaming in front of them.

Helena looks over at Myka. She has taken off the glasses, now that they’re inside and Myka’s nearsightedness is less of a problem. She tried to put contact lenses into not-her eyes and failed spectacularly; she shudders to think of it even now, so glasses it was. Not having full vision is disconcerting – but the way the world softens without glasses, and focuses on what is right in front of her: that is quite charming, and so very intimate.

She thinks she can see Myka in her own face – micro-expressions, as they say. That shy smile playing around her lips, that is Myka, through and through – not that Helena isn’t capable of shyness, especially around Myka Bering, but she imagines it looks different, even accounting for the non-mirrored-ness of it. A hint of playfulness is seeping into it now, the beginnings of a smirk, then Myka says, “I do believe you’re rubbing off on me, darling. I would never do this!” She gestures around the kitchen. “Just run away like that. Seriously, being in your body is taking the whole concept of bad influence to new, unprecedented heights.”

Helena hums, then chuckles; the mixture of her own diction and accent and Myka’s wording is delightful. It’s something she’s been noticing during the journey, too: their speech is amalgamating, as are their motions. She is still, very firmly, herself – she knows that; a hundred years in bronze will leave one with quite the strong sense of self. But she finds that not-her body will sometimes surprise her by injecting itself into her actions. Take this tea: this is exactly how she takes it, and not-her nostrils take in the scent and present it to not-her synapses but it is her mind that enjoys it – and then she takes a sip, and not-her taste buds are… well, not revolted, but certainly not enjoying it as much as she expected.

“Goodness,” she murmurs, and puts the mug down. “That’s a bit of a letdown.” The t in bit comes out so very softly, running together with the of and the a; so very American.

“May I?” Myka reaches not-her hand out for the mug, and Helena readily nods her assent. Myka takes a sip – goodness, this is how Myka reacts to seeing Helena do something as simple as drink?! – and then blinks. “Oh this is weird,” she says, and takes another. “I… like it but not? I wouldn’t take my tea like this ever but… but I can feel your body enjoying it. So weird. So meta,” she adds with a chuckle.

Helena snorts a laugh; hearing the phrase “so meta” from her own lips, in her own voice, but with another soft American t is… is endearing, and enchanting, and wonderful. And Myka’s body does like to snort its laughs, and Helena loves whenever it happens – but now she feels this body she’s in flush with embarrassment. “No,” she bursts out, as if by saying it she could make that body listen. “No, please, don’t be embarrassed. I think it’s delightful, your laugh.”

“Y’know,” Myka drawls, shaking not-her head and then tilting it to look at Helena, “if I hadn’t just felt your reaction, I would not believe you. You really do, though. You’re weird.”

“Just utterly in love with you, babe.” And here it is again – “babe”! That isn’t her speaking; that just slipped out.

Myka laughs out loud. “That look on your – my – face, now that is adorable.”

Helena raises not-her eyebrows. “I’m certainly glad you think so.”

“I do love you too, darling,” Myka says, drawing out the endearment with an admirable attempt at Received Pronunciation.

Helena is coming to realize that she positively adores playful Myka. So often Agent Bering carries the weight of protecting the world on her shoulders, and while those shoulders are more than capable (and Helena now knows that Myka is physically stronger than she is), Helena loves every single moment in which that load is lightened, or shed entirely. Playfulness is rare – and now Helena resolves to bring it about as often as she can.

First, though-

“I’d like to taste the tea from your lips,” she says, leaning closer. “For science. Perhaps I like it better that way.”

Myka flutters not-her eyelashes. “Why, Agent Wells.” She takes another swig of tea, and deliberately – Helena would swear to it – leaves a sheen of it on not-her lips.

Helena closes the gap; she can smell the tea riding on Myka’s exhale, and somehow it’s sweeter than before – or perhaps that is just what Myka’s body does when it gets this close to Helena’s body; anticipation skyrockets not-her pulse, all of not-her synapses snap to attention. The kiss almost overwhelms not-her senses – yes, there is the tea, the milk, the sugar; yes, there is the flavor she now knows as how Myka’s body knows the flavor of Helena’s lips and tongue, and not just flavor either; touch too – she exhales a whimper through not-her nose. Myka brings not-her hands up, one warm still from the tea mug, one regular temperature, and wraps them along not-Helena’s jaw, pulling her close – no, holding her up, because Helena, or rather, Myka’s body, goes completely boneless at the touch.

Helena has long since discovered that Myka asserting herself, using her strength, her force of will, that tone of voice that brooks no nonsense – that all those things have a definite impact on her, all the way back to “an agent under me; does whatever I say.” She was able to mask it, back then, but here it comes to the fore, undeniable, irresistible, at a simple, if strong, pull forward. And it is fascinating to discover that Myka’s body enjoys it too. Something to expand upon, in the days to come.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2
“Well?” Myka says after a good, nice long while of kissing. It’s a bit easier now, to not let kisses escalate immediately; maybe sitting all dressed at a table helps. Then again, what with the flight and all, it’s been a while since their first orgasm. Then again, again, maybe it helps that she knows, they both know, that they’ll have a few days, perhaps even an actual week, to enjoy this – inasmuch as anyone working for the Warehouse can ever plan on time off.

Helena blinks her (Myka’s) eyes open. Myka is so close that she can see the pupils contract as the light hits them; she is surprised, once again, at the strength of feeling that such a simple sight evokes. Helena’s body really does adore so many things about Myka’s body; it’s almost disconcerting. Almost. But not quite. Because it’s also incredibly… reassuring. Helena isn’t just saying things, just making compliments, when she remarks on how beautiful she finds Myka; Myka now has undeniable proof that Helena is telling the truth, so much so that it has sunk into the very fibers of Helena’s body. She feels love flowing out towards her own eyes, eyes that she herself has always thought of as boring, neither here nor there, nothing special at best, muddy at worst. Literally: she has seen slimy woodland mud puddles that looked like this. But Helena, obviously, sees something very different, and now Myka experiences it first-hand.

It is both humbling and encouraging.

“Well what?” Helena says, with her own, Helena’s, diction rolling off Myka’s tongue.

And Myka has to actually focus and think in order to remember. She grins. “How do you like the taste of tea from my lips?”

Helena snorts another laugh, and again Myka has the privilege of feeling Helena’s body respond favorably to something about Myka’s body that she, Myka, is very much less than favorably inclined towards. Helena really does like this sound, this way Myka has of laughing.

“All the better,” is Helena’s reply, smooth as silk, and Myka hopes that Helena can feel how Myka’s body reacts to a smooth Helena reply. To judge by the faint color that creeps into her (Myka’s) cheeks, she can.

Helena is mesmerized, once again, by the sensations that rush through not-her body. Slow kisses – she now knows how much discipline it costs Myka to keep them slow, to not give in to the waves and waves of arousal that every touch of lip or tongue or teeth awakens. How in the midst of having not-her mouth be licked into, or not-her lip be raked with teeth, not-her thoughts will suddenly turn to solving mathematic equations, or to reciting sonnets, just to keep some outward calm.

It’s confusing for only a moment, then Helena cannot help but admire Myka’s mental discipline, and marvel that it is ingrained enough to live on, literally, in the physical body that Helena now inhabits.

There are so many ways in which Myka Bering is quite, quite excitable, and so many ways in which she keeps herself functioning in this so very exciting world. And there is nothing to which this applies more, Helena is learning, than to Helena Wells.

She has witnessed not-her body react to the experience of driving, rushing through an airport, flying on a plane, sitting in a taxi cab. All of that was already an amount of sensory input that Helena was ill-prepared to deal with; the word “overwhelming” has never rung so true. And on top of that, she has witnessed not-her body doing all of that in close proximity to her body, the body of Helena Wells, doing the same things, even if it, being controlled by Myka’s mind, did all those things a little differently than she, Helena, usually would. And yes, not-her body has catalogued all those little differences in minute detail.

Helena wonders, idly, what it will be like to dream in this body, to inhabit it as this brain sorts through all the experiences of the day and discards what it no longer needs – how vivid, how detailed will those discarded memories be? Or will there be none, given how Myka’s memory works?

“Helena?” she hears Myka ask, with a tinge of concern in not-Myka’s voice.

“Hm?” is her reply; it takes her a moment to focus on the here and now, on brown eyes looking at her with warm worry. “I’m sorry,” she offers. “It’s… quite distracting, your body.”

Worry morphs into a smile that’s slightly self-conscious – they both wear that expression around each other a lot, Helena suddenly realizes. “Yeah,” Myka sighs, “sorry about that.”

“Oh, but it is fascinating,” Helena says. “And besides, isn’t it the reason we’re here, not back at the B&B?”

She can see color creep into her own cheeks; Myka keeps her head and gaze downcast, the very picture of a shyly blushing maiden – it looks a little out of place, Helena thinks, on her own face, but it is quite fetching.

She extends a finger, carefully – she is still not quite used to how long Myka’s limbs are, and she does not want to poke – and lifts Myka’s chin (that isn’t Myka’s chin). She tilts her own, which is not her own, and raises not-her eyebrows. “Hmm?”

“God,” Myka says explosively, “you really like when I do that, don’t you?”

Helena blinks her surprise, but then she realizes – that little gesture, not even all that forceful, is nevertheless one of assertion. And yes, she does like whenever Myka asserts herself. And if that assertion manifests in touching her- “I do, yes,” she replies, and not-her voice is throaty.

Myka leans into the touch on not-her chin, almost in challenge. “Why don’t we look into that, then?”

Helena inhales. That is something she has thought about before: playing a little with scenarios of Myka’s assertion, dominance even, and submission on her part. They haven’t gotten much further than having a box of unused props and a safe word, though; Myka is hesitant, and with good reason. The line, for Helena, between just right and too much is thin and, what’s worse, very much not fixed. But then this, here, this situation in which they find themselves in, might make things easier: Helena’s bodily reactions might be softened, mitigated, by Myka’s mind inhabiting it, by Myka’s thoughts being, perhaps, a little clearer in the face of a panic that is intrinsic to Helena but not to Myka.

“Why don’t we, indeed,” falls from not-her lips.

She can see, in Myka’s expression on her own face, the realization of what exactly she has asked, what she has instigated, and then what Helena is agreeing to. She can see trepidation morph into admiration and determination, and she knows that Myka will work with her to make this as safe as can be, and hopefully enjoyable to boot.

Fifteen minutes later, Helena looks down on her (Helena’s) body, and Myka, in Helena’s body, looks back up at her. She is bound hand and foot – Helena bought these restraints ages ago, on a whim, and they’ve been gathering dust ever since, until today. They are ingenious, if complicated (and in that exactly the kind of gadget that appeals to Helena): wide strips of padded fabric that go around wrists and ankles, connecting to straps that go across the mattress and underneath the bed, connecting to another strap that holds everything in place, all of them adjustable in length to accommodate all kinds of restrictions. Myka’s (well, Helena’s) legs are spread, as are her arms – but the latter are pointing down and to the sides, not up. When they tried that, Myka felt Helena’s body freeze, felt ice seeping into her (Helena’s) veins, felt thoughts of the bronzer encroaching. No, pointing them anywhere else but up was definitely the better choice.

She can move a little, and it’s not precisely uncomfortable, to lie this way. She herself has never really seen the appeal of being restrained, but she can’t deny that it has an effect on Helena’s body; Helena’s heart is beating, adrenaline is coursing, she’s hyper-aware of every inch of skin, every muscle, every tendon: more than she ever has been in this body. However, none of these are negative sensations; the overarching emotion is one of profound trust. Helena’s body knows that it is safe in Myka’s hands, and it doesn’t matter, for that trust, that it’s Helena’s mind controlling those hands. It is humbling, just how deep that trust runs, and Myka vows to protect it, at all cost. And from that trust, arousal rises, anticipation – even enjoyment, of being this helpless by choice, at the mercy of the person trusted. She takes great care to observe and file away these sensations; if this goes well, probability is high that Helena will want to repeat the experience when she’s back in her own body. Myka will be at the helm then, and she needs to know what she’s doing, what she’s calling forth; what makes Helena enjoy this, and how to replicate and amplify that.

Helena is going over the straps around her (Helena’s) ankles and wrists, making sure they’re secure, making sure they don’t cut or pinch. “Everything all right?” she asks, with a bit of tremor in her voice.

“Yes.” Myka nods Helena’s head. “And the safe word is Bramley.”

Helena’s expression on Myka’s face lights up into a smile, relieved and gentle and still with a hint of concern. “You really feel okay, doing this?”

“Yes I do. I promise. Honestly, I think your body is thrilled to be feeling this.”

Helena raises Myka’s eyebrows. “Thrilled.”

Myka smirks. “Thrilled.” This face smirks so very readily; she loves it.

Helena’s gaze wanders down, along the limbs of her (Helena’s) body, to the apex of her (Helena’s) legs. Myka knows there is slickness already gathering there; she doesn’t know if it’s visible, but the way Helena’s (Myka’s) eyes light up is a good indicator that something, at least, can be seen. Helena’s scrutiny makes her feel like squirming, but she holds firm – time enough for that later. She doesn’t want Helena to jump right to there; she wants Helena’s body to experience as much of this as possible, and that means starting at the beginning, not at the finale.

“Righty-ho, then,” Helena breathes, and it sounds so… incongruous, in Myka’s voice, that it helps Myka focus on the present again, not on anticipation. “Where to start,” Helena muses, finger at her (Myka’s) lips, tapping lightly. Then she smirks. “Oh, I know.”

Helena has never enjoyed her access to Myka’s encyclopedic knowledge more. Helena knows, of course, how it feels when Myka, say, licks her nipple like that, from being on the receiving end – and now she also has access to what it does to Myka, how excited it makes her, what Myka does in preparation and what she will consider as a follow-up. Helena knows, of course, which spots on her body are erogenous zones, and what they’ll provoke when prodded in their ways. And she knows that Myka knows them too – she was there, quite literally, when Myka explored them; adored every moment of Myka exploring them. What Myka hasn’t done yet, though, is extemporize on what she has learned. Myka knows what to do, and heavens, she is good at it – but inventiveness is not her style.

And now Helena is in Myka’s body, looking down on Myka in her own body, and inventiveness is very much Helena’s style, especially with the knowledge she does have of her own body, and of Myka’s likes and dislikes.

She knows that Myka loves her voice. And while right now, the words that come from her mouth do so in not-her voice, nevertheless this is something she can play with, knowing also that she herself loves it when Myka is assertive, loves when Myka is playful. She leans forward – she is kneeling on the bed, next to not-Myka’s center – until not-her mouth is level with not-Myka’s ear, and croons, “Are you ready for me, darling?”

Heat rushes through Myka, as her (Helena’s) body reacts to her voice in its ear. “Y-yes,” she replies, and is astonished by how breathy her (Helena’s) voice sounds, how affected she is by this small thing.

“I am going to lay waste to you, my love.”

It’s Helena’s diction in Myka’s voice, and it’s promise and anticipation and- Myka’s (Helena’s) insides clench, and her mouth falls open, and she marvels. She would never talk like that, but feeling what it does to Helena’s body, she might have to rethink that “never”.

“You like that idea, don’t you,” Helena goes on. “I can tell.” She runs her hand over Myka’s (Helena’s) side, with the exact right pressure not to tickle but to make squirm. “You know I know all the right places, and all the right things to do to them. You know you’ll want to beg me, halfway through, to allow you release already – but you won’t. You will be patient. You will not say a single word to that effect, nor will you try and chase any particular sensation with the intent to get off on it. Do you understand, darling?”

Myka nods Helena’s head.

“Words, please,” Helena insists above her.

“I won’t ask you to make me come,” Myka repeats back. “And I won’t make any movements of my own to bring it about.”

“Is that acceptable to you?”

Myka nods again, and then quickly adds, “Yes. Yes, it is.” And that is a true statement, both from her and from the body she is in. She isn’t afraid; if anything, she is curious, how it might feel to be in a body that feels… that doesn’t feel sensations quite as strongly as her own does. A body in which she can, perhaps, hopefully, allow Helena the time she wants, to experiment, to “lay waste” as she put it. And it is undeniable that Helena’s body is anticipating the experiment too; her reaction to Myka’s voice delivering Helena’s condition is immediate, blossoming through every vein, every fiber, racing towards the center, pooling there.

“You’re allowed to say other things, though, filthy as you please, darling,” Helena tells her with a little chuckle.

Myka almost blushes; Helena does have a dirty mouth on her sometimes, and oh, how Myka enjoys it. She would never, ever, say such things, but… but she is in Helena’s body, and if it’s a, a release valve-

She looks up at Helena, and can tell from the look in those eyes, her own eyes god damnit, that Helena knows all this full well, and is looking forward to it.

Helena doesn’t address it though; no, the next thing she asks is, “Do you want a blindfold, darling?”

Myka can sense the tension that immediately springs up in the body she’s in, and shakes her head. “No, I… I’ll just close my eyes if… when… when I don’t want to see.”

Helena nods, and smooths her (Myka’s) palm over her own hipbone. “Good.” Her (Myka’s) thumb strokes across the tender skin that dips towards her (Helena’s) center – again, with just the right amount of pressure not to tickle.

And then she descends on her own body with undeniable delight, and Myka closes her (Helena’s) eyes and throws her (Helena’s) head back and hangs on for the ride Helena is about to take her on.

Helena has always thought of herself as appreciative of craftsmanship, as something of a craftsman herself, in the things that matter to her. Sex is such a thing; pleasuring Myka even more so. And this, here, this opportunity, of pleasuring Myka in not-Myka’s body, in a body Helena knows literally inside and out – it is delectable, and Helena intends to enjoy every minute of it.

So does not-her body.

She attends to her arm for a while, running not-her tongue and fingers over sensitive places, slightly scraping with not-her fingernails and teeth over other, yet more sensitive spots. Myka’s senses notice everything. Every thing. Every reaction: every inhale, every goosebump, every slight twitch of muscle or tendon, every little thing. It is heady, but – and Helena is extremely glad about that – the wealth of sensory input helps her stay focused, helps her stave off her own arousal. And she needs to, in order to pull off what she promised both Myka and her own body.

When Myka begins to tense in Helena’s body, from the attention Helena laves on her arm, Helena shifts on the bed, down to where her legs are bound, spread wide. She knows that Myka knows the spot behind the knee that makes Helena gasp, but Myka doesn’t know that Helena’s toes can call forth just as acute a reaction, if not more. She’s not quite sure why Myka has never gone there; she cannot feel any reluctance of Myka’s body at the idea. She checks that Myka still has not-her eyes closed and smiles to herself; this will come as a bit of a shock, and she’s looking forward to it.

“Oh god,” falls from not-Myka’s lips as not-Helena’s mouth closes around Helena’s big toe, as not-Helena’s mouth licks in between that toe and its neighbor. “Oh go- Helena, oh-” She falls silent, and not-her hips tremble as she fights not to arch off the bed, and it’s beautiful.

Helena lavishes attention onto her toes for a good long while. Myka’s almost-squirming in not-her body is delicious, especially since so often, Myka hits her peak in her own body so quickly that Helena simply cannot take this much time; it would be cruel. But here, tonight? Nothing is stopping Helena from bringing Myka to the brink with not-her tongue on her toes, and then stopping to seek another spot to minister to.

In doing so, she deliberately drags not-her breast across her torso. It makes her gasp, and it makes Myka jut not-her hips upwards, seeking relief.

Helena sits back on not-her haunches immediately, no longer touching Myka anywhere. “What was that, darling?” she asks, giving Myka’s voice a hint of steel.

“Sorry,” Myka gasps, and Helena can hear the strain in her own voice.

She leans forward, close to but not quite touching not-Myka’s ear. “Getting impatient?”

Myka’s exhale is rushed. “God,” she chokes out.

“Regrets?” Helena croons. “Just say the word, darling, and I’ll give you your release. Just one ‘please’.” She does like to tempt, sometimes.

“No,” Myka gasps, with a determined shake of her head.

“Good,” Helena replies, and oh, how that word impacts. She can see it, in how her body tightens first and then loosens. And that is fascinating in and of itself: she has never been one to react to praise all that much, but it would seem that Myka does. Something to keep in mind, both for this and for later endeavors. “Very good,” she goes on, and yes, there’s definitely a reaction there. “Have a little reward, darling.” And that reward is a full-on assault of not-her lips and tongue on not-Myka’s breast and nipple, that has Myka moan, out loud and head thrown back, within moments. Helena can feel Myka holding on to not-her body, can feel the tremble of effort with which Myka keeps not-her back from arching, keeps not-her hips from grinding. “Oh, you are a marvel,” she says fervently, and puts not-her hand on her other breast, for more lavish attention.

Myka is in heaven and in hell at the same time. Her (Helena’s) body is alive, singing in every fiber, taut with need such as she has never thought she could sustain. She knows, she knows, that it isn’t her body that is sustaining it, and she has a much better appreciation now for how long Helena can be kept on the edge – god, this is excruciating, and incredible at the same time.

Helena’s body knows that the release, when it comes, when it is allowed, will be glorious. Myka can sense that, in every moment, even underneath the disappointment whenever Helena stops what she’s been doing. Waves rush through her, each pushing her higher before receding again, and straining, straining against her bonds is delicious. Helena’s body trusts and trusts and trusts, and Myka, in it, witnessing it, is amazed and in awe and deeper in love than she thought she ever could be. And Helena, in Myka’s body, keeps praising her for it, as if it is Myka’s doing and not Myka simply following the lead of the body she’s in – but Myka’s mind laps up the accolades with a thirst, a need she had not known before, that intermingles with the trust she feels and leaves her soaring. She is doing well. She is doing her best to adhere to the rules they’ve set, and it feels, god, it feels so good to have that acknowledged.

She is getting near, though, and she remembers teasing Helena, the first time around – “will this be the touch that makes me combust? Or the next?” She – Helena’s body, she in Helena’s body: the lines are blurred right now – isn’t quite at that point, but she can feel each wave lifting her to within its reach. It’s getting harder and harder to keep her promise not to chase it, harder and harder not to – not to beg. Helena has never begged before, except in that exact moment Myka just remembered. Leave it to Helena to try and bring herself and Myka there, and deny it at the same time.

Myka is quivering in Helena’s body, alive with sensations, alight with arousal. She is tied down and she is flying. The restraints mean that there is very little she can do – and that, in turn, means that she can focus on what is being done to her, with the understanding that there is no way she can reciprocate, and thus no obligation to. And to Myka, who gets a bad conscience if Helena’s orgasm count is even just one lower than her own (and yes, she keeps track, always), that concept is foreign, so foreign, but… But so freeing. So wonderfully liberating. The feeling washes over her, and she relaxes her (Helena’s) arms and legs into their bounds, stops her half-conscious testing of them, accepts her position and its restrictions.

“Oh, my darling,” Helena murmurs against the plane of her stomach, “I can feel it. I can feel what you just released. Oh well done, my love, well done. Sink into it; I have you. I have you.”

And Myka does – it’s just one more step, after all, from letting go of her fight against the restraints, to letting go of wondering what Helena will do next.

Whatever it is, it will be good. Whatever it is, it will take her higher. Maybe to climax, maybe not – and if not, then maybe the next thing. Or maybe not. It doesn’t matter. What matters are the sensations, the need, the expertise with which Helena, in Myka’s body, strums Myka in Helena’s body.

“Beautiful,” Myka can hear Helena murmur, and her heart soars to know that this is a comment on what she just did.

Helena’s (Myka’s) mouth descends again, tongue trailing wetly from Myka’s (Helena’s) navel to her hip, down her thigh, up the other thigh. Soft bites set punctuation marks, a quick tongue soothes their sting, a whisper of breath whisks it away.

Myka trembles, trembles, stills. She fully inhabits Helena’s senses now, she is fully present, fully alive. No thought of “what if”, no thought of “what next”.

Two hands run down her sides, stroking across ribs, waist, hips, thighs, calves; another wave begins to rise. Curly hair tickles her stomach, a tongue licks the skin just below, travels lower. Two hands run up her inner thighs, spread her – the wave rises higher. Breath blows on moistness, “Oh, my love, you are so ready, so wet, so open for me,” a tongue licks, a finger follows, strokes down then up then on the other side, “stay good for me, darling; you are doing so well,” warmth spreads through Myka, she is good, she is doing well, fingers slide into her, a tongue lands on her clit, she comes apart.

Helena feels Myka shudder, feels her crest and shake, and she knows, she knows what she – what her body needs. She knows which spots to focus on and which to avoid, and oh she has dreamed of this, of a lover who knows exactly this, who can draw out and draw out – she has promised Myka to lay waste to her, and she intends to do so. Myka, in her own body, after climax, always is too overstimulated to go on; Myka has never gone from high to high to even higher high, and Helena intends to show her just how marvelous that can be.

Myka is already boneless, coming down from her first climax; Helena has focused on her g-spot and clit for this one, but oh, there are other ways, yes there are. She sits up to avail herself to a different angle and adds another finger, stimulating her entrance by stretching, filling, rather than thrusting; Myka groans and tosses not-her head back, grinding into the sensation – Helena will not hold her to the rules anymore, not at this point; she knows her own body, knows that conscious thought is all but absent now, that it is focused entirely on sensation and release-

But Myka tenses, pulls herself together, gasps out a “sorry” that takes two attempts to come out, and is repeated twice more. Helena marvels at Myka’s presence of mind in the midst of this onslaught on not-her senses. And so she plays along, stills not-her fingers and then withdraws them, taking notice of how Myka tenses not-her muscles so as not to give chase. “You slipped up,” she says matter-of-factly. “Will it happen again?”

“No,” Myka says immediately, “no it won’t.”

Helena hums, a bit stern, a bit appreciative, and says, “Well then. In that case…” and slots not-her hips between her own, pushing in so that not-her pubic mound presses against her tender, slick, needing flesh. Myka groans, deep and unfettered; Helena sees her clench not-her fists into the sheets to keep still. “Can you feel me push into you?” she croons, mouth next to not-Myka’s ear. “Can you feel me go in, in so deep, and pull out again?” Her imagination has always been strong, in bed and elsewhere, and feeling Myka shudder underneath her, she knows that it is working for her too. She eases not-her hips away as she talks of pulling out, just as she would if she were wearing a strap. She hovers, just as she would if said strap were just inside the entrance, and says, “Can you feel me, just inside? Thick and waiting, waiting to plunge into you and fill you to completion? Can you feel me?”

Myka is gasping short, sharp breaths, fingers clenching and unclenching around the fabric.

“Let me hear you, darling.”

“Y-yes,” Myka brings out.

“Good,” Helena tells her, and rolls not-her hips, just the tiniest bit, as if teasing her entrance; she loves it when Myka does it, and she knows her body will recognize the motion even if Myka is, perhaps, too caught up in the imagined sensation to be aware of it.

Myka releases a loud, gasped moan, and her lips form around the beginning of a “please”, and then fall open again.

“Good,” Helena croons for her, knowing the effect it will have. Slowly, slowly, she thrusts not-her hips forward. “So good,” she repeats, “so good for me, darling. I’m going to fuck you now, slow and deep, with nothing but your imagination, and you, oh my love, you will come, so hard, so wild. Do you hear?”

“Yes,” Myka croaks, and swallows hard, and says, “yes,” again but doesn’t give voice to the “please” that’s waiting on her tongue, impatient to spill out.

“Oh, my good lover,” Helena tells her, “my excellent lover.” Not-her pubic mound finds not-Myka’s center, and grinds into it, rolling once. And then she withdraws again, and oh she would swear she can feel it, and she knows Myka, in the body she’s in, feels it too.

“You are so wet,” she narrates as she pulls away, “so open. You can take all of me, can’t you? Can take all of my girth, my length.” She pushes in again, slow and inexorable, and relishes in Myka’s responding keen. “Tell me, my love.”

“Yes,” Myka gasps. Helena can feel her thighs strain; Myka wants to spread herself, take her in deeper. “Yes, I can. I can take you.”

“You want to open yourself wider, don’t you?” Helena chuckles, low and satisfied. “But you can’t, darling; you’re bound. You can do only what I allow you, isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” falls from not-Myka’s lips again, and Helena claims them; it is delectable how responsive Myka is now.

It is intoxicating, how this allows Helena to do something she has always wanted to try, how it mixes her own wants and Myka’s, and allows both of them to reach heights they have never before achieved. She runs not-her hands down not-Myka’s outstretched, tied-down limbs as she pushes not-her hips in again, lays herself down on not-Myka’s body to ground her with her weight, grinds not-her hips against not-Myka’s mound. “And still,” she growls, “you’re taking me so deep, love, so deep, so full.”

“So full,” Myka repeats, groaning, trembling, straining to still not-her hips.

Helena hums her approval. “And you’re being so good at adhering to the rules now, darling. I notice that, never doubt it. Can you feel me move inside you?” She begins to rock her hips, short, shallow motions that would drive a strap into her at just the right angle, in just the right spot.

“Oh god,” Myka groans, and still she trembles – and then she softens under not-Helena’s body, softens so much that her knees fall open just that tiniest bit more.

“You’ve found the place again, haven’t you?” Helena croons. “That place within you that simply wants to submit, to take in what I give you, anything I give you, no matter what occurs to me. Oh, you are so good, my love, so good at this. You’re doing so well. And oh, do I have things in mind for you. Such beautiful rewards for my beautiful lover.” She sits up and leans over Myka, to get at the bedside table, at the drawer, at the toys within. After what she had Myka just imagine, she knows exactly what to pick.

The dildo is big. Ridged, purple, and big. The biggest they own, in fact, and one that they don’t use that often, and never on Myka before, because her anatomy simply is different. But Helena knows that her own body is ready for it.

She returns to Myka’s side, kneels down next to Myka’s hips, cups Myka’s… no, cups her own center – lord, the visual is delightful; she is lying here so utterly debauched, waiting for whatever might come next – gathers moisture, and brings it to the dildo’s tip and shaft.

She pushes the dildo’s tip across her labia and reaps another groan, and yet again Myka keeps her hips still. “You’re ready for whatever I’ll do to you, aren’t you?” Helena asks, and it feels like a gift, a precious, precious gift. “Well, darling, here is your reward for being so good.” She eases the tip in; it stretches the tender, flushed flesh at the entrance, and Myka gasps. “I will fill you so fully, so deeply,” Helena announces, pushing in slowly, finding the angle. She and Myka both gasp when the first ridge slides in, and Helena can see how not-Myka’s, how her own entrance muscles relax around its girth. “You know this one, don’t you,” she says, smiling as she wonders how Myka will parse this, this knowing-and-not-knowing.

She tugs a little at the toy, to make the ridge push against the muscles of her entrance from the inside; she loves that sensation, and she can see, when she looks up, her own face grow slack with it. “That’s it,” she murmurs encouragingly, “that’s it. Oh just think how good it’ll feel in a moment, when I’ve filled you with it.” She pushes it in further, slowly, until the next ridge butts up against her entrance. “I know you can already feel the stretch,” she says. “I know you love how thick this one is, I know you know how deep it’ll go, and darling, it will go all the way.”

Myka keens, opening and closing not-her fists once more, and not-her feet now too, Helena notices.

“All the way, love,” she repeats, and it’s a low, sure growl, and again Myka keens, and tries to spread herself wider. “You’re doing so well. You’re being so good, my darling, taking what I’m giving you.” The second ridge slips in, and Myka moans, open, loud, and it’s beautiful, “You’re so beautiful,” Helena can’t help but say. Another ridge left until the dildo is buried to the hilt, but again, Helena tugs a little, again. Myka bucks, for the first time, and the ridge slides out again – that is how wet she is, how open.

Helena stops her hand on the dildo. “What was that?” she asks mildly – she knows, after all. It was an involuntary movement on Myka’s part, on the part of her own body; she doesn’t blame Myka for it, not one bit, but rules are rules.

“Sor-” Myka gasps, gurgles almost. She swallows. “Sorry.”

Helena taps the dildo, just a light knock on its side, and Myka twitches hard. Helena tuts, and withdraws the dildo completely; Myka almost sobs. Helena knows this state, and commiserates. But, rules are rules – besides, she knows that what she has planned will make Myka’s eventual orgasm even stronger. “No fucking for you, my love.”

Myka opens her mouth as if to protest – and then closes it again, closes her eyes too. She nods, accepting the punishment for her rule-breaking.

“Well done,” Helena croons. She brings out the other toy she has taken from the drawer – a vibrator, large enough to be inserted if one so wishes, which she doesn’t. Its tip is round, blunt, oval like a quail’s egg, and she presses is just underneath her clit – god, she is sopping wet. There is no friction whatsoever; she needs to take care that the tip doesn’t slip to where she doesn’t want it to go. For a moment, she lingers, delighted by the view – she rarely has the opportunity, does she. For a moment, she envisions swooping down and licking her own folds – but that is not her plan, either.

She double-checks that the vibrator is still positioned where she wants it, and turns it on to its lowest setting. As predicted, Myka jerks with this new sensation – and then she chases it.

Helena turns it off, moves it away, harrumphs. This is the second transgression in as many minutes. “Darling, I know you remember the rules.”

Myka is immediately contrite. “Yes – I’m sorry. Please, I didn’t mean to-”

“I know you’re close,” Helena interrupts, mindful of what her body can and cannot handle at this point. “I know it’s difficult. But I also know you’ll try, for me, won’t you?”

“Yes.” Myka exhales slowly through her mouth, and loosens her muscles once more.

“Look at you,” Helena sighs. “You are a marvel, my darling. And I’ll take care of you, I promise.” She positions the vibrator again. “I’m putting it here on purpose, all right? Not on your clitoris but next to it. I know you’ll want to go after it; I know you’ll want to feel it right on top – but you won’t. It’ll sit right where it sits, and the vibrations will spread through you. And if you let them, I promise you, Myka: I promise it will feel just utterly marvelous. Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” Myka nods. “Yes, I do.”

And Helena can see it, in how Myka relaxes further, how her hips and shoulders sink back into the mattress. “Good.” And she turns the vibrator on. Myka doesn’t chase it this time; she twitches, yes, but other than that, she doesn’t move. “Well done, darling,” Helena praises her, and sees the small smile twitch across her own lips. “Oh, how I love you,” she adds fervently.

Myka’s eyes – no, her own eyes, with Myka looking out from them, open and meet hers. The smile grows, shines with love. “I love you too,” Myka says. “And I do love what you’re doing. This is amazing. It’s just also really difficult,” she admits, and rolls not-her eyes at herself.

Helena turns off the vibrator – but not to mess with Myka, just to lean forward and kiss her. The kiss is loving and languid; she can taste the sweat on her own lips, from how much she’s putting this body through, and she can feel the love Myka just spoke of. “Are you all right, darling? Do you need a break? Water, food?” she asks, pulling back a little.

“Are you kidding?” Myka laughs and leans forward for another, quicker kiss. “A break,” she scoffs. “No, I do not need a break. I need you to go on taking me apart; it’s delicious.”

Helena chuckles, and brings her vibrator-free hand up for a sloppy salute. “Aye-aye,” she says, and her heart grows wide at the way Myka beams at her. “Going back down now.”

Myka just rolls not-her head back and closes not-her eyes and sighs, smile still lingering on not-her face. Helena looks at her, at her own face, at that downright blissful expression, and does her best to imprint the sight into Myka’s impeccable memory, complete with how overwhelmingly in love Helena feels right now.

When she turns the vibrator back on, all Myka does is sigh. Helena can see her clit pulsing, as if wanting to move of its own accord, but that is, of course, impossible. She indulges in watching closely – while she does want to bring Myka to the brink with this, she doesn’t want to push her over, not just yet.

Myka, meanwhile, is blissfully awash in sensations – the heaviness of her (Helena’s) limbs after orgasm is nothing like her own, which is much more intense; she understands now why Helena insisted on going on, earlier, and why Helena has brought up going on before. It’s as if orgasm is invigorating for her, where it is mostly… not quite tiring, for Myka, but a lot to feel and parse, and all that feeling and parsing does leave her tired.

Then there is the afterglow of this last little conversation – it was actually odd, to open her eyes to her own face smiling down at her with so much love; she’d almost forgotten this body she’s in isn’t her own, even if it is different. There is also the glow of the accolades Helena keeps showering her with; just, all of the words she rains down on Myka: compliments, praise, filthy descriptions of what Helena intends to do with her, declarations of love, all interspersed with each other. In part, it impacts on Helena’s physical senses: the timbre of Myka’s voice as Helena says these things, for example. But it also very much lands in Myka’s mind: the sheer love she can sense in all of those utterances, the tenderness and downright adoration that shines even through the dirtiest of dirty talk, and the warmth that every “well done” wakes in her.

God, she is so in love.

And here is Helena, weaving a cocoon of love, and lust, and dominance, and restrictions; Myka feels it in every move, and every cessation of movement too. Helena knows her own body, in and out – that much is extremely obvious. Myka knows Helena’s body too, in different ways; has, she might dare say, even taught Helena some things about her own body, in the time they’ve been together. (Helena has certainly taken to the use of toys like a duck to water, and Myka proudly accepts the responsibility for having introduced her to them.) And here, right now, Helena is using all of that knowledge, in ways Myka would never have thought of (bloody inventors, always extemporizing), and to be at the receiving end of that? Is a delight, is driving Myka out of her mind, is showing her a state of being she never would have suspected she was able to reach. And maybe she isn’t, in her own body. Or maybe, maybe this will carry over – who knows? For now, it is a gift, and she accepts it with all the love that Helena is putting into it, too.

The vibrator starts to buzz again, just, just to the side of where she would put it, had she free rein. But Helena has a plan, Helena has made her a promise, and Helena’s body knows that this kind of input is all right. Myka can feel the certainty of it spread through her; a kind of accepting anticipation that has alighted on her a few times before during this. It is nothing like she’s ever felt before, and she revels in it. Her mind is always mapping, cataloguing, extrapolating, projecting towards what might come next; to let go of it is anathema to her but, so it would seem, easy enough for Helena that her body can school Myka in it. With the previous orgasm Helena has given her, Myka is just sated enough to be able to relax into this sensation.

She wants, and does not want. She needs, and does not need. It is practically Zen, and Helena has brought her here.

The vibrator sings through her (Helena’s) flesh, calling towards the place where those vibrations are welcome. Myka can feel it, can feel the call – and the response. Blood rushes in and muscles clench and unclench, involuntarily, passively, happily. The wave that lifted her before was a torrent; this is a slow tide but it lifts her just as high, and much gentler.

She doesn’t wonder how climax will feel, achieved this way.

She doesn’t wonder anything, and that is the most wondrous thing of all. She simply feels what Helena is making her feel.

And just as that slow wave is about to crest, the vibrations stop.

Myka opens her mouth to- She doesn’t even know; she doesn’t want to complain, and there is her (Myka’s) voice, saying, “I promise, my love,” and Myka closes her (Helena’s) mouth and smiles, for the sound of that voice and the meaning of those words.

And then she feels thick, round pressure at her entrance, and gasps, and smiles more widely.

“I know you’ve half-forgotten how this felt,” she hears, and that is quite true, and what a marvel. “I know you remember now,” Helena goes on, “how good it was, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Myka says, heartfelt, deep.

Helena hums in turn, and teases the toy over her (Helena’s) opening, dipping in and out in short, shallow thrusts. “Beautiful,” she breathes out, and Myka feels warm to hear it.

Helena pushes in again, and this Myka does remember; the slow push that brings the first ridge into her, the way her (Helena’s) muscles stretch to accommodate in a way her own, Myka’s, muscles won’t. The sensation, a moment later, of that ridge nudging into those stretched-relaxed muscles from the inside – it’s not the g-spot, nowhere near the g-spot in fact, but it feels so incredibly good. Myka wonders if anything she has ever done to Helena has felt quite this way; she is pretty certain she’s never used this technique before but she will, from now on, oh she will. Because Helena’s body lights on fire from it, from the pull more than the push, in this particular spot, and god what a feeling.

And Helena knows this, of course, and makes good use of it. She stokes that fire, with this motion and with steady, slow pushes into her. At two ridges deep, the head of the toy does reach the g-spot, and between that and the pulling pressure on her entrance, the wave is lifting Myka again-

She laughs, when almost at the cresting point, Helena stops again. She laughs, free and loving, because she knows what Helena’s plan is now.

“Oh, laughing now, are we?” Helena replies, playfully incensed, and “I love you,” Myka gasps, because she does, and because she can feel how much Helena loves her.

Helena hums in response, and Myka can hear the smile in her own voice, can feel how happiness washes through Helena’s body at the sound. It still surprises and amazes her how the smallest things she, Myka, does, can bring such a wealth of feeling to Helena. Then again, isn’t that true the other way around too? There are countless little ways Helena has about her that cause Myka to melt inside, or swell with love, or even, yes, smile and laugh with happiness. And from that realization, of how much they each love so many details about each other, comes an easy, “Oh, just fuck me, my love.” Because she knows how- yes, even Helena’s body reacts, to words coming from its own vocal chords. She can only imagine how they might impact on Helena, in Myka’s body, when she, Myka, knows how fucking hot she finds it when Helena talks dirty, when Helena’s voice, Helena’s diction, Helena’s tongue, curls around filth so easily.

Helena’s – well, Myka’s – heart stutters, to hear those words fall from Myka’s – well, Helena’s – lips. To know that it is Myka who is saying them; Myka who would never- but here she does, and oh how it makes Helena clench. Oh, how it hits her, in all the places already sensitive from the sights and sounds of this encounter – she hasn’t had to resort to mathematical equations yet, or recitations of sonnets, but there have been a few moments when she was close to it. Here, now, she does as asked, and pushes the dildo forward. Ridge after ridge slides in, and Myka takes it, shudders, revels, releases a sharply hissed “yes” with her head thrown back that leaves Helena weak. Helena is going slowly; she knows Myka was close just now, and she doesn’t want to bring her to climax just yet.
She knows her body feels arousal differently when it comes from inside rather than outside, and she also knows that when both of those waves mesh, in the way she’s planning to, that those climaxes hit her the hardest. Combine them with the restraints her body is in, is straining into even now, and she has no doubt that the experience will stay, both with Myka’s mind and with her body.

She adores the way that Myka has given herself, has given Helena’s body, over to what she, Helena, is doing to her. She adores the trust of it, the boundless, boundless trust inherent in that surrender. She will honor it – she knows it, Myka knows it, there is no question; but still, to be shown this amount of trust so readily, so joyfully-

She won’t lie, there are tears in her eyes. Well. Myka’s eyes, of course, but the boundaries are beginning to blur, just as her sight does.

She does as requested, as planned: she fucks Myka, carefully, masterfully, with every ounce of adoration and love spilling into it that she possesses. She can feel and see her body coming closer to orgasm with every slow and deep thrust, with every shallow nudge against that precise spot within her, with every gentle pull against her entrance.

This time when she stops to switch, she leaves the dildo inside.

Myka revels in the sensation of that large toy inside her – her own body cannot take it, and that’s okay, that has always been okay. But she’s always been curious, and oh, god, to be filled this way, to be stretched this way, to feel this girth move against her (Helena’s) walls, to feel her walls clench around it and move with it – to feel Helena angle it to push that thick, blunt head into her g-spot, to just lie back, legs spread as wide as they may go, arousal seeping forth continuously, copiously – she’s witnessed this from the other side, of course, has always been delighted at how wet Helena can get, how unselfconscious she is about it – and why should she, she realizes now, why should it bother her, when it allows for this?

She is being fucked.

There’s nothing active about it, and she would never have thought that this kind of passivity could hold any appeal, but she loves it, she can feel Helena’s body loving it, including the restraints around her wrists and ankles that hold her in place, including the rules that hold her in their own invisible bonds.

She is being fucked, taken, filled – Helena knows exactly what she’s doing, and Myka takes, and takes, and takes it in, gratefully and happily at the receiving end. It builds inside her like a storm, of physical sensations and of finding herself in this position, of her own free will, having ceded all control, all agency; builds and builds and builds, and then that slow fucking of that big dildo stops, and she just- she just lies there, knowing that something else will happen in just a moment.

And indeed a moment later, there is pressure next to her clit, and the vibrator starts again, in just the not-right spot, but she knows, now, she knows how to let it wash through her to where the right spot is, and oh-

Helena watches her own mouth fall open and shape into an oh. She watches her own head tilt back, her hands clench into the sheets. Watches every single muscle in her body grow taut, taut, taut, and then relax, release, release, watches her body start to shiver, to tremble, to shake, to convulse; watches it find the bounds it’s in and strain against them; she pushes herself up to put the full weight of Myka’s body onto hers, not to stop the convulsions but to give them something to push against, something to hold them down; she hears her voice cry out, a wail rising in intensity to match the orgasm that is washing through her, obliterating everything in its path.

“My beautiful lover,” she whispers, and other compliments and encouragements and praise, knowing that Myka is beyond hearing them, knowing that they’ll impact nonetheless.

She knows how to draw this orgasm out, how to handle dildo and vibrator, how to hold the latter against the former so that its vibrations transfer themselves to the dildo within, to bring Myka to another crest, another yell, another shudder of flailing-but-not-flailing limbs-

She knows how to bring her down, too, softly, gently, how to make sure Myka lands softly after that climax. The bounds are easily detached and dispatched, and she gathers Myka to her, embraces her with arms and legs, croons softly to her until she can feel the wild beating of her pulse slow down a little, until Myka has the wherewithal to settle into the embrace.

She knows how, in her own body, she craves Myka’s touch. After an experience like this, doubly so – and so she does her best to give her as much touch as she can; they’re both lying on their sides, facing each other, and she holds Myka in her arms, hooks her leg around Myka’s to pull her even closer, cradles her head to her chest, presses kisses on her hair, everything, anything she can.

Myka shakes in her arms, just a little, and then stills; Helena thinks she can feel the embrace seeping into Myka’s (well, not Myka’s) skin and flesh, right down to not-her bones. Myka moves not-her head against her sternum, to find a more comfortable position; then she brings one hand to not-Helena’s waist, strokes her thumb across the skin there once, twice. “Jesus,” she whispers, in Helena’s voice; a word that would never drop from Helena’s lips like that.

“Are you all right, darling?”

Myka nods. “Intense,” she says, “but yeah, ‘m all right.” She pauses for a moment, then inhales deeply. “Wow.” Another pause. A weak laugh. “I can’t even move. Barely talk. Jesus.”

“We’ll stay here however long you like,” Helena reassures her. “Are you comfortable?”

Myka nods. “Yeah.” She sighs. “This is nice.” Her words are a little washed-out, a little slurred.

Helena nods too, and tightens her embrace for a moment. “Don’t fall asleep on me quite yet,” she says. “I want you to drink some water first, all right? When you’re ready?”

Myka snorts the tiniest laugh, and Helena revels in how it sounds coming from her own vocal chords. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” is Myka’s reply. “Just gimme a moment here, okay?”

It will never cease to tickle Helena, to hear her own voice form words like these. “No hurry,” she tells Myka. “I don’t mean right now. I just-”

“Before I fall asleep,” Myka nods. “I know. And yeah, yeah, yeah, I need to go pee, too.” She sighs again, breathes a deep breath, hums happily. “Thank you,” she says then. “That was amazing.”

“For me too,” Helena says quietly. “I would like to thank you as well, darling.”