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It’s almost embarrassing how stupid she is around Biana.
To all of Sophie's friends, it's pretty well known that she hates dressing up. The frills and the corsets and the endless amount of sparkles have been the bane of her existence ever since she first set foot in the Lost Cities. Dresses are suffocating and horribly impractical, and in comparison to a T-shirt and pants, they rank very low on Sophie's mentally numbered list of favourite clothes.
But. . .
Biana is standing in her bedroom at Everglen, bathed in the golden evening light cast into her room from almost floor-to-ceiling length arched windows, and she looks beautiful. She's in a dress, which shouldn't be any different than any other time Sophie has seen her in one. Actually, half of the time she talks to Biana, she's either completely decked out in whatever new dress she'd gotten from Atlantis, or is dressed in something equivalent to the beauty of a dress.
She shouldn't be focusing on that, though, because Biana is talking, Sophie distantly notes, earnestly rambling on about the layered tulle of the dress she's wearing, and how in her shimmering heels, she feels nothing short of a princess from the Disney movies they'd— she, Biana, Dex, Fitz, and Keefe— watched at Rimeshire together. Biana is twirling and giggling and smiling, and looking at Sophie like she deserves to see this, deserves to see Biana Vacker glowing in the light of her bedroom and spinning in a brand new dress.
Sophie feels genuinely breathless. She has to fist the fabric of Biana's bedsheets in order to stay upright, knees swaying despite her sitting at the foot of Biana's bed. This is dumb. She's nothing short of gawking at Biana, probably just staring up at her with twinkles in her eyes and her mouth gaping— which she quickly shuts at the realization.
This is not what Biana had invited her to Everglen for. When she'd approached her after study hall at Foxfire was finished, as Sophie was gathering her things into her satchel, Biana had almost certainly not had this in mind when she offered for her to come over after school. Sophie had been half-tempted to say no. To come up with an excuse, maybe Edaline and Grady had needed her to help them manage the pastures, or Keefe needed help with. . . whatever he would have needed help with.
But Biana had been smiling at her, positively gleaming, and the light had been hitting the jeweled combs in her hair in such a perfect way, and her eyes had crinkled with the force she had been grinning with, and how could Sophie have ever said no to this perfect girl standing in front of her asking her to come over to her house after school?
And yet, in hindsight, that was probably the right thing to do, because now, Sophie is screwed. Biana is still standing in front of her, still gushing about the fabric— "Feel this, Soph! Isn't it so soft?"— and she should definitely be saying something, anything.
Her head is reeling, her vision is somehow blurry in spite of how many times she has blinked her eyes in a futile attempt to clear them, her knees are wobbly and she is wildly grateful that she is currently sitting (not that being sat on Biana's bed, in Biana's bedroom, in front of Biana is helping her in any way), and—
"Sophie?" Biana is frowning. Fuck. "Are you. . . okay?"
She opens her mouth to say something, to soothe her worries, to laugh it off and ask her to continue, but now Biana is stepping closer. And closer. And suddenly Sophie is having to crane her neck to look up at Biana with how close she has gotten. Her calves are brushing against Sophie's knees, and if her legs had been spread even the slightest bit more, Biana would have surely stepped forward to stand between her legs.
Sophie locks her knees.
"I'm—" She can't breathe. "I'm fine, B. It's just. . . nothing! It's nothing."
Her voice is squeaky. This is weird. Really weird.
Biana's dress should not be doing this to her. It's pretty, sure, even Sophie can admit that. The bodice is cinching Biana's waist perfectly, enough to accentuate her figure but not enough to make Sophie actually pass out. The lilac shade looks amazing against her skin, too. The bronze tone of Biana's skin and the lightness of her scars contrast perfectly with the lavender colour. Plus, the bottom of the dress fans out wide. It does look like a Disney princess's dress, the fabric of the skirt layered to make that iconic shape, but it also looks wild in a way. It isn't perfect, not controlled or forced together. The dress looks natural on Biana, like a second skin, almost.
Standing in front of Sophie in a perfect dress with a perfect smile seems like how it should be for Biana— not that Sophie's trying to, like, tell her what to do with her life. But it looks good. Biana looks really good, from the dress to her body language. She looks happy, like how she's supposed to.
. . . Sophie might just be talking about Biana, not the dress. But her point still stands; a dress should not be making Sophie's brain malfunction. At least let it be something creative this time, not something stupid like light from the last time her brain had glitched.
Biana is being quiet, she realizes. Too quiet. For a girl who had been bursting with words only moments prior, it's strange. Concerning. Sophie did this.
Fuck.
She doesn't have time to open her mouth and apologize before Biana speaks again.
". . . Are you sure? Because if this is, like, I don't know, boring you, then it's fine, Sophie. Really. You can go. I know you don't like things like this, and I don't know, it was stupid for me to think you would. Or— whatever I was thinking." Her voice quiets significantly as she trails off. "Um, but we can do something else, maybe? I'll just. . . go change."
Biana drops her hands to her sides, flattening the fabric of the dress before it bounces back against her palms. She isn't meeting Sophie's eyes. And she continues not to look at her as she turns away, clearly intent on returning to her closet as she bundles her heavy skirt up in her hands to walk away, flickering in and out of sight for much longer than she usually does, and—
"Biana!" Sophie is on her feet. Not just standing, but grabbing at Biana's wrist, too.
She stiffens, back still turned toward Sophie. The back of her dress has some intricate criss-crossed ribbons tied at her back, which go lower than Sophie had realized while she was seated. It looks really good. Like, frustratingly, impossibly good.
Shut up, Sophie.
"I didn't mean that," she blurts, the words pouring from her mouth before she can second-guess them. "Whatever I said before, I didn't mean to say it like that. I do like the dress, B. You look really good, I promise. And you're right, I don't like dresses, but I like them on you."
Someone's heart is racing. Sophie can't tell whose it is, not with her thumb to Biana's pulse and her heartbeat ricocheting throughout her own body, but for a second she thinks it might be both of them. That this situation— whatever it is— is making Biana just as nervous as it's making Sophie.
Biana is silent for a long moment. If she hadn't known her for so long, hadn't been around Biana long enough to memorize every flicker of emotion on her face, every stiffened shoulder and fake smile, Sophie would have been concerned. But she can recognize this. Biana is gathering her thoughts, clearly being a lot smarter than Sophie had been and choosing not to just spew out whatever comes to mind. All Sophie can do is stand here, wait for Biana to speak, and try really hard not to think about what just came out of her mouth, though she's already failing at that part.
". . . And you're right, I don't like dresses, but I like them on you."
Why did she say that?
Sophie's chest is heaving for some reason, and she feels like she should drop Biana's wrist. It's weird to hold it this long, right? Yet, Sophie doesn't think she could physically bring herself to let go of her hand, to not feel the beat of her heart against her thumb just as loudly and strongly as she feels her own.
"So what did you mean?" Biana asks, finally turning to meet her gaze. Their hands are held together a little awkwardly now, with them both facing each other and Sophie holding onto her right hand with her own right hand, making a diagonal line with their hands. But she still holds them together, and Biana makes no move to drop them.
Sophie is staring at their hands, she realizes too late. When her eyes dart back to Biana's face, she's smirking in amusement. Sophie blushes.
"What did I mean. . .?"
Biana huffs. "You said you didn't mean to say whatever you said before. So, what did you mean to say?"
Sophie is fucked. Extremely so.
"I. . . I just meant that. . ."
There are two routes Sophie can take with this.
She can tell Biana the truth. Tell her that she meant to say that she looks ethereal in the lilac dress, with its frills and sparkles and bodice and all. That her smile is Sophie's favourite part of the day. That the only reason she accepted her invite to Everglen despite her insanely distracting feelings is because she wanted to be able to see that smile. Sophie can take both her hands, look her in her perfectly teal eyes, try not to stare at her rounded peach lips, and tell her that she's liked her ever since they were twelve.
That she still has that red dress she unknowingly borrowed from Biana (courtesy of Alden) from her first real day in the Lost Cities, when she had to visit Atlantis. That sometimes, in the cover of night, she tiptoes to her closet, claps the lights on, and just sits on the floor in front of that same red dress hanging off a hook in her closet and watches. Wonders. Thinks about how Biana would look in it, although it probably wouldn't fit her anymore.
And she also thinks of other things, sitting with the hem of the dress tickling her nose with every breath she exhales. Sophie thinks about that night in Alluveterre, when Biana had crawled into her bed to sleep, and how she'd spent the whole night staring at Biana's sleeping back to the side of her, chest aching with a feeling so strong it felt tangible.
That sometimes, she goes on her iPod, onto the internet and looks up why do I feel this way about girls and falls down a rabbit hole of things Sophie isn't sure she wants to touch. That one time, she stumbled upon a photo on Pinterest. There were two girls— women, actually— in a kitchen in a human home, and one of them was blonde, the other brunette, and they were laughing and smiling, and right next to them was a little girl in a highchair who looked the spitting image of her moms, and matching wedding rings were on both of their left hands, and—
Sophie had to turn her iPod off, walk out of her bedroom, and over to Calla's Panake tree before she screamed.
She can tell Biana about all of that.
But, then, she's afraid that the walls she's spent the last five years painstakingly cementing would tumble to the ground as soon as the words I love you exit her mouth. And she can't have that. Sophie's okay with a lot of things. She was fine with Biana's crush on Keefe (according to Fitz, at least. Sophie has never been very. . . good at seeing those things), she got through Dex's crush on her, and she smiled and breathed through every single interaction Biana and Tam had, and ignored Keefe's startled and confused looks every time he felt her emotions spike at the sight of them together.
But she can't have her walls fall. Because then, then Biana would be able to see every ugly thing she'd kept from her over the years, every burst of jealousy, every wanting ache, each night spent restlessly turning in bed not because of cloaked figures, but instead due to teal eyes and a pretty face.
If that happened, if Biana saw her like that, Sophie isn't sure what she would do. Because she's learned a lot of things during her time in the Lost Cities, and one thing she has come to know is that Biana Vacker doesn't feel the same way she does about her.
So, Sophie can't tell her the truth.
Her grip on her hand wavers, and she knows Biana feels it with the confused look she gives her, brows furrowing.
Sophie inhales, then smiles. "I really just meant to say you look good, Biana. That's all, maybe I just wasn't paying attention at first, sorry."
Biana's face does a strange thing, sinking and trembling all at once, and Sophie wants to cup her face, bring them forehead to forehead, and kiss her worries away.
She wants, and she wants, and she wants.
Wanting has never gotten her very far.
Sophie lets their hands drop, feeling her stomach physically swoop at the motion, and begins to walk away as she speaks. She doesn't know where she's going, but she just can't look Biana in the eyes right now.
"You said something about doing something else? If you want, maybe we can go find Fitz and play basequest? I'm sure Keefe would also be up at, like, the first call if we asked him to tag along, and no, Fitz and I won't pair up, we'll let it be no Cognate-teaming again—"
"What is wrong with you?"
Biana's voice is loud, loud enough to echo off the walls after she screams it. And it is angry. It sounds like it came straight from the depths of her chest and out of her throat like molten hot lava.
Sophie whirls around, eyes wide in shock. "Excuse me?"
Biana is pacing, running her hands wildly through her brown hair and tousling the curls. It is unfair that it still manages to fall and frame her face perfectly.
She spins around to face her, pointing an accusatory finger in her face. Her eyes were storming with something fierce, a burning anger clearly having met its boiling point.
"I have given you so many chances, Sophie," she starts. "So many outs and ins and options and you keep on doing this!"
Her voice is hoarse, tired almost, even though she has only begun talking. Sophie swallows, heart racing.
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about this!" Biana waves a frantic hand between their figures. "You are the most confusing person I've ever met, Sophie. Because one minute, you're— you're looking at me like that, and it feels amazing, and I never want to leave, never want you to go home, and the next you're talking about fucking basequest and my brother? I don't want to play basequest, Sophie, fuck! I don't—"
"Hey, hey," Sophie breathes, coming up to her to place her hands on Biana's biceps. Sophie's hands are shaking, but she still rubs them up and down her arms in a hopefully soothing manner. "You're okay, B. Breathe with me."
Biana tries to bat her arms away, tears bubbling in her eyes and breaths tearing out of her throat like they hurt, but Sophie doesn't let her. She gathers her into her arms, dress and all, laying her palm flat on her back and stroking a line up and down her spine. Her breath is still coming out fast, so fast it's scaring Sophie, but all she can do is hold an arm around her waist and card through her hair with the other.
She hums, letting the sound vibrate down to her chest. "I've got you, Biana. Just breathe for me, sweetheart."
Sophie winces as soon as the word leaves her mouth. She was trying to copy Edaline's soothing words, the ones she murmurs into her ears each time Sophie has a nightmare loud enough to wake her and Grady, but she'd taken a little too much inspiration, it seemed. It is just so easy to look at Biana and let herself call her pretty names. Biana hadn't seemed to mind it, but Sophie isn't entirely sure she'd even noticed the word slip through her lips.
She rocks them both in her arms, a swaying, side-by-side motion that calms even Sophie herself, until her breathing comes back under control. Biana had been clutching at her shoulders, a tight, near-painful grip, but it had eventually melted into a loose grasp.
It's selfish, but even after Biana clearly calms down, Sophie doesn't stop rocking them, doesn't pull Biana's face away from her chest, where tear stains had dampened the fabric of her tunic. For better or for worse, Biana doesn't stop them either, just lets herself stay stuck in this moment of time, sleepy from tears and emotions and cradled in Sophie's arms while wearing a dress with ribbons at the back. Sophie is half-certain that she had accidentally messed with the ribbons while soothing Biana, and that they were kind of falling apart, but she wouldn't say anything about that unless Biana noticed.
It takes a while before Sophie speaks, but Biana is still holding her. "B," she murmurs into her ear. Biana pulls away just enough to meet Sophie's eyes before she continues. "I'm so sorry, Biana. I didn't mean to— invalidate your feelings by offering to play basequest. You're right, I shouldn't have just ignored. . . this, and I'm sorry for doing that, B, I really am."
Biana is fiddling with Sophie's registry necklace, thumbing the extra loops and twirls it has to prevent it from being removed. "I'm not mad at that, Soph. I know that isn't what you meant, I just. . ."
Sophie decides to be brave, and tucks a brown strand of hair behind her ear. "You just. . ." she prompts.
She bites her lip. "Promise not to laugh?"
Sophie's brows furrow, and at the same time, she smiles. "I would never, Biana."
Biana's eyes seem to twinkle at that, and Sophie is suddenly so grateful for her photographic memory, so happy she will never forget how her eyes look while Sophie is cradling her in her arms in the golden evening sunlight, all while in the privacy of her bedroom.
"You mean so much to me, Sophie. Why do you think I never invite Linh or Marella over like this? Especially when they definitely like talking about dresses more than you, hell, my brother likes talking about dresses more than you." Sophie's brows raise at that. Unsurprisingly, the topic of dresses had never once come up during her Cognate trust exercises with Fitz. Now, she suddenly thinks they should.
Biana meets her eyes, but is still fiddling almost nervously with her pendant. Sophie wishes she were an Empath, wants to desperately know what Biana is feeling, and at the same time, she is so beyond grateful the Black Swan didn't make her one, because Sophie doesn't think she'd be able to handle whatever it is that Biana is feeling on top of her own emotions.
"I know it's stupid, but I want you to see me in dresses like this. I want—" she blushes, something Sophie can only notice since her skin heats up where her hand is, dangling by her neck like one of her earrings. "I like it when you see me dressed up like this. It makes me feel really pretty, especially when it's you who's seeing me like this, Sophie."
Biana whispers the last bit, making Sophie feel like they're two kids at a sleepover sharing secrets under the covers. But this is bigger than childhood rumours. Much bigger.
Sophie lets herself touch Biana's ear, playing with the gold jewelry that is always on Biana Vacker's body. "I like seeing you all dressed up, too, B. I like it a lot."
Her voice comes out different from what she expected, lower and breathier, and it's suddenly very intimate to be whispering into her friend's ear, alone in her bedroom, that she likes seeing her when she wears pretty dresses.
But Sophie can't bring herself to stop. "But most of all, I like seeing you be you, Biana. I like seeing you happy. No— I love it."
The word makes Biana's spine straighten, reminding Sophie of the hand she has at her practically bare back. The ribbons are coming undone. She should probably do something about that.
Her eyes dart around her face, smile rising almost tentatively, though Biana rarely does anything halfway. "You do?"
Biana's voice is quiet, a shy thing, not unlike a child's sweet voice, and Sophie is all of a sudden hit by a wave of memories she has none of. What Biana would have looked like as a little girl, toddling after her big brothers and speaking extra loud to be heard and seen in their shadow.
At that, Sophie can't even blame herself for what she does next.
She lifts one of the hands Biana has at her shoulders and presses her lips to one of her knuckles, looking her in the eye as she murmurs against her skin. "I love it more than anything, 'ana."
Biana is leaning into her, almost as if she's falling, but doesn't stop herself. She seems to allow herself to sway into Sophie, until they are pressed up together so firmly that the bottom of her dress is also billowing around Sophie. Her free arm is now wrapped around Sophie's neck, so Sophie's hand wraps snugly around her waist to ensure she doesn't fall.
What are they doing?
"Yeah?" Biana whispers. She's blinking really slowly at her, just like Sophie remembers her cat Marty doing when she was growing up.
Sophie's voice is low. "Yeah, Biana. Love it."
She's throwing around that word too much. Probably. Definitely.
"So—" Biana pauses. Stops herself. Before Sophie can ask, prompt her to speak again, Biana's taking a deep breath in, something steeling in her eyes.
"So, prove it."
Sophie is going to fall straight through the hardwood floor, down to the second, then first floor of Everglen, and straight through the Earth until she gets to the core. Then, she'll probably lock herself up in Exile just so she can replay the moment Biana spoke those three words to her again and again in her head until she impossibly dies of old age despite being an elf. That sounds like a good life.
Her eyes dart around her face, looking for any signs of. . . what? A lie, hesitation?
"Are you sure you know what you're asking for, Biana?" Sophie doesn't even know what Biana is asking for. Or, she has an idea, but she's too scared to wonder, to dream that Biana could possibly mean the same thing Sophie hopes she is.
Biana matches her low tone as she responds, a tone that curls in the back of her throat like a siren's call. "I know what I want, Sophie." Her jaw is set, and she's steady, stable. But there's still an underlying question left to be answered in her words. Biana knows what she wants, but does Sophie?
She leans back, a barely there motion, just enough to be able to look at Biana in full rather than just her face. Sophie starts at the bottom, from where her jewel-encrusted heels are poking out of the tulle of her dress, and follows the path up the layers of lilac fabric, to the lacy corset, all the way up to Biana's jaw, where her scars are most prominent, then her face, her pink lips, her twinkling eyes, and then back down to those lips.
Only after she's finished dragging her eyes up Biana's body does she realize how weird that probably was, darting back to her eyes in a panic. Biana is blushing, warmth coming off of her face like a fire, but she's also smiling. Sophie wishes she were better at reading people, because she knows Biana, but at the same time, she has no clue what that smile means.
Or, at least she doesn't, until Biana's hand moves from her neck into her hair, carding into her blonde curls. Biana Vacker is in her arms, in a pretty dress, with her hands in her hair. When she woke up this morning in her bedroom at Havenfield, Sophie had zero clue her day was going to lead to her dream of four years coming true, but she is not complaining, especially not when Biana starts to scratch her manicured nails against her scalp.
Sophie shivers in her arms. She wants it, wants her, so bad it feels physical. But she has to be sure. Sophie cannot fuck this up, out of all things in her life, this cannot be what she ruins.
". . . Are you sure, B. I—"
Biana surges up, pressing their lips together. Hers are glossed, Sophie's are not. She is ready, Sophie is not. She is. . . laughing at her. Sophie is most definitely not.
"Biana!" she whines, grabbing at her waist with both hands. "It's not funny."
She's still laughing at her. "I'm— I'm sorry, it's just you—!"
"B, that was not an accurate representation of my kissing skills. I just wasn't ready!"
So what if she squeaked into their kiss, somehow biting down onto Biana's bottom lip with just her lips, and then wincing in pain from her chapped lips cracking? It wasn't that funny.
Biana shoves at her shoulders playfully, snickering into Sophie's tunic, and at the same time, Sophie pulls at her waist, and suddenly her ankle fails beneath her and the pressure Biana is putting on her chest is heavy, and she's tipping back onto the floor of Biana's bedroom, with the girl herself falling straight onto her until they are lying flat on each other on the ground.
"Biana—!"
Sophie winces at the impact, yelping at the same time as Biana as they both tumble to the ground. Biana's hands in her hair prevent her head from knocking against the floor, but the shock of it somehow made it hurt all the same.
She braces her elbows beneath her, leaning up at the same time Biana straightens to straddle her lap. They lock eyes.
Sophie could have opened her mouth again, could have let something stupid blurt out. But. . .
Biana is looking at her. Perched on her lap in a lilac dress, bodice cinching her waist, and ribbons flying freely at her back. Her hand is at her shoulder, leaning her weight on it as she leans in closer, then closer. Sophie shifts her weight so that she's able to hold Biana's hips instead.
What are they doing?
Fitz is in this house, and Della. Alden, too, probably. Holed up in his office.
They all know Sophie is over, and they all have very good relationships with her. If one of them happened to want to poke their head in, there would be nothing stopping them. Biana's door is closed, not locked.
And yet. . .
Biana's curls dangle in her face, the brown suddenly framing hers the same way it had done for Biana herself only moments before. Her lips were close. They look each other in the eye, really look this time, and now Sophie is letting hers close. Letting her eyes shut, and allowing Biana to lean in and press one soft kiss to her lips.
Her lips were perfect. She has never really liked the word, but they were plump. Heart-shaped, too. She already knew that, though, as Sophie has spent every hour they'd spent together since they were kids tracing her lips with her eyes. Now, she finally knows what they feel like pressed against hers.
Biana leans back, just a bit, and their eyes meet again, one last time before she is bending back down to kiss her again. And again. And now Sophie's hands were sliding up to her waist, then back down to her hips, and up again. It feels less like a pattern than an addiction, with the way Biana whines into their kiss each time she feels her hands glide onto her waist. The noise vibrates through her lips into Sophie's own, and now she is entirely certain that this is an addiction. A fixation. Sophie wants to go to sleep dreaming about that noise and wake up with it still ringing in her ears.
Her hips shift against Sophie's, now cradling Sophie's face in her hands. Biana's tongue is proding at her lips, a barely there thing until Sophie sits up, lodging their lips firmly together and slotting her tongue into her mouth, licking promises and flames and want into her. Sophie keeps one hand braced tight around her waist, keeping their bodies locked together as the other travels up Biana's front.
Sophie's hands slide between her breasts, silently wishing they weren't stuck in a corset, before reaching her neck, tracing her scars with her thumb as Biana eagerly presses kisses to her lips.
Biana tilts their heads, seeming deadset on tracing her tongue over Sophie's lips, her tongue, the warmth of her mouth spreading to every spot she didn't know existed for her. Sophie pulls away, only slightly, enough to choke in some breaths, leaning her forehead against Biana's.
Her heart is beyond racing. Biana's warm and sweet breath is being exhaled into her mouth. Sophie inhales desperately, wanting to fog up her mind with Biana forever. She wants to imprint her into her veins. "B," she murmurs, voice shuddering. The taste of Biana's (lip gloss, chapstick? Something) lips is melting on her tongue.
She wants more.
"Soph—" Biana chokes out, just as she leans in closer to slot their lips together again. It still isn't enough. Biana is on top of her, and now Sophie's jaw is aching with the attempt of trying to get her tongue to slide against hers the way she had for her.
"Fuck," she groans, thumb reaching up to pull her lips open to allow for more leverage. That didn't work either.
Biana is shifting on her lap. "Sophie— Soph," she gasps. She closes her eyes and presses a desperate kiss to her thumb, still lodged in her mouth. Biana seems to get distracted for a moment, and Sophie feels her head go hazy at the sight of Biana sucking her thumb into her mouth, until Sophie pulls it out and swipes it over her lips.
She shivers, and then continues. "Flip me over, Sophie."
"I'm— what?"
Biana makes some sort of growled noise in the back of her throat that Sophie is suddenly very interested in hearing again, but then Biana is locking her calves at Sophie's thighs, and—
Holy shit.
She flips them both with just her legs until Biana is on her back and Sophie is leaning above her, between her legs, and yet stuck in the fabric of her dress.
"Kiss me now," Biana demands, grabbing at her face, and Sophie doesn't think that's something she could ever say no to.
Sophie licks into her mouth, slowly at first, then it's like she needs it. Because she does. Sophie needs to feel Biana's arms around her, her knees at her sides, and her tongue sliding against hers. Biana makes a noise she can only describe as a moan, and fuck if she doesn't want to hear it again, doesn't want to hear that noise echoing in her head for the rest of eternity, Sophie doesn't know what she wants.
She pulls away, making Biana huff some angry-yet-needy noise, which quickly melts away as she leans down to press kisses to her jaw, then her neck, Biana craning her neck back to make space for her head by her shoulder. Sophie doesn't know what's happening to her. Doesn't understand why she can't get off of Biana, why her lips are trailing down to her collarbone and licking long lines into her skin, but she does know that she never wants this to stop.
Biana's breath audibly hitches as Sophie presses kisses, then sucks, then bites into her soft skin, creating patterns to go along with her lightened scars.
One of Sophie's hands moves from where it had been resting by Biana's head to splay onto her bodice, Biana immediately grabbing at it like she needs to. Like it's a lifeline.
Slowly, she starts to move her kisses elsewhere. It's not what she expects to do, but Biana is wearing such a low neckline, and there is so much skin waiting for Sophie's lips to touch, and Biana keeps making these encouraging noises, and if she doesn't want her to do this, Sophie knows Biana has a good punch in her.
So, she tentatively starts to lick and bite a downward path, until it's obvious what she's doing. Biana's hands tighten, both in her hair and in her hand, but then it loosens, a silent message Sophie is willing to hear. The bites don't start until later, not until she's satisfied with the number of kisses she's peppered to Biana's cleavage, not until she's shining with the amount of licks she's pressed to her skin. When they do, Biana does something she really doesn't expect.
Knees tightening at her sides, she brings her and Sophie's entwined hands up her torso until they meet the underside of her breasts. Sophie falters, head darting up to meet Biana's.
She feels like she's intoxicated, but her hand being there is enough to sober her up from the Biana-effect. "You sure?" she mumbles, mouth still half-pressed to her skin. Biana is already looking at her, probably has been the entire time. She nods. Sophie would prefer a verbal answer, but the clouds in Biana's eyes tell her that speaking is far too large an ask, so she lets Biana's hand guide her.
Sophie's palm is flat on Biana's body now, her hand above hers to pull her hand up the curve of her body until it's exactly where Biana wants her, fingertips meeting her bare skin above the neckline, and her palm lying on her breast. She doesn't dare move, not until Biana slides her hand fully over hers and squeezes down, and Sophie thinks she's going to pass out.
The rest of it is a blur, the best however long of her life. Biana Vacker is letting her make out with her on her bedroom floor, letting her do things to her no one has done before, and Sophie doesn't want to mess it up for her. She wants this to be the best thing it can possibly be for her.
Biana's skin is beyond flushed by the time Sophie picks herself up to return to her mouth, licking into her mouth all soft and slow. Her hands are combing through the small blonde strands at the nape of her neck, and her heart skips a beat when Biana pulls back from the kiss to smile, lips swollen and wet, before leaning her forehead up against hers.
"Hi," Sophie breathes, grinning at her state.
She twirls a strand of Sophie's hair between her fingers, still smiling. "Hi."
Sophie rubs her hand up and down her side. "Was that. . . too much?"
Biana laughs. "You think I would have let you if it was too much?"
"Not even in my wildest dreams."
They both grin, a simultaneous thing that almost has Sophie laughing again before Biana tilts them into one more kiss.
This one is softer.
Sweeter, in a different way than before.
It feels like a slow early morning, like the birds chirping at sunrise. Almost like how the morning dew at Havenfield out in the pastures feels on her skin.
Sophie could probably stay here, in this moment, with Biana in her arms forever and a day. Or two.
Their kiss breaks only when Sophie smiles a little too hard into it, popping it apart.
She hadn't noticed it before, but the sun had set a while ago, as it appeared. Grady and Edaline were probably waiting for her back at home.
. . . Maybe they can wait just a little longer.
Biana watches in amusement as Sophie leans back on her knees, then her feet, and before Biana can make a move to stand up and join her, Sophie is scooping her into her arms, one hand braced under her back, and the other under her knees.
"Sophie!" she laughs, wrapping her arms around her neck without hesitation. Sophie takes the few steps from her bed to her window seat, set into the largest window in her room, overlooking the entirety of the Everglen grounds— at least the good side, or so Biana had told her before. It has the best view in the house of the lake, the trees, and the sky all together.
Biana tells her the same thing as she sets them both down on the seat, Sophie on the cushions, and Biana curled into her lap. Biana's feet tap against the window, having positioned herself in such a way that her side is to Sophie's chest. She smiles into her brown curly hair, wrapping her arms tighter around her.
"Are we gonna have the 'what are we' talk?" Sophie hums into her hair.
Biana's brows twitch. "Um, unless you're planning on telling me some bullshit about how that meant nothing, then no. You're my girlfriend."
Sophie's heart seems to soar in her chest, and she expects it to drop after a moment, at least a bit, but no. At Biana's words, it seems that her heart has been lodged in a permanent position, high up in her chest.
"And you're mine?" Sophie breathes.
Biana leans away from her to meet her eyes, then lines their foreheads up together.
"Always," she smiles, wiggling her hands between their bodies to capture hers.
Sophie kisses her just for that.
"Yeah, Biana. You and me."
Always is what it is supposed to be, Sophie knows now.
Her and Biana, always.