Chapter Text
Greta whimpers, fucking herself harder onto Carson’s fingers.
“Shh,” Carson whispers. “Everybody is going to hear.”
“Don’t fucking care,” Greta gasps, wet down her thighs, her head tipping back against the stall door. “Fuck me.”
Carson laughs, shaking her head and pressing a kiss to her pulse – with, if Greta wants to be wishful, affection – before she presses one hand over Greta’s mouth and pulls her other wrist back for a moment, before entering her again with three fingers, harder.
“Oh my God,” Greta says against Carson’s hand, lipstick smearing against her palm. “Oh my God,” she warns, whining, hips bucking as she comes, clenching hard around Carson’s fingers, heat rushing all the way through her.
She comes and she comes, her head falling against the door and her eyes rolling back. Her knees give out as she fucks herself on Carson’s hand, warm and wet, and it all feels so good, so right, Carson’s mouth against her pulse, and she can feel it again already, whimpers at Carson’s thumb against her clit until she makes a mess, wetness dripping on Carson’s palm, down her thighs.
“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Carson gasps against her neck, hips grinding against nothing, breathless.
They stand there for a moment, chests rising and falling together, Carson still inside of her but the sound of a phone ringing interrupts the quiet.
It’s Carson’s phone. That’s Charlie’s ringtone. They both know it.
“Sorry,” Carson whispers, kissing her jaw. She pulls her hand back, licking her fingers clean without thought and Greta feels how empty she is as she watches. “I have to go.”
“I know,” she says. “He’s here to pick you up, isn’t he?”
“You know he always picks me up once my day is over,” Carson reminds, and Greta just nods.
“Have a good night,” she finally whispers, swallowing hard. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
“If you’re lucky,” Carson teases, kissing her cheek. “Of course. There’s class.”
And then she’s gone, slips out the door and barely gives Greta a chance to get her feet under her.
She tries not to think of all the reasons why she should wish to be unlucky.
***
“Show Maybelle your little girlfriend,” Jess whispers, gesturing to the field. They’ve been largely helping to coach the team from the sidelines since they broke their finger, but they’ll be back on the field in no time.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Greta hisses, even as she watches the game, watches Carson leading off second base, the focus in her jawline, the flex of her calves, that stupid cap on her head. Honestly, Greta doesn’t even want to be here. She rarely comes to games anymore, not after everything, even scrimmages like this that the team uses to practice during pre-season.
But Maybelle had invited her, and Jess is her roommate. And then Carson–
There are a lot of reasons why Greta decided she should tag along today.
“Oh really?” Maybelle leans over Jess. “Then why are you drooling?”
Greta’s face goes hot. “I’m not fucking drooling!” she hisses. “Carson and I work together.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you do a lot of things together,” Jess quips, proud of themself.
Swallowing hard, Greta steels her resolve. They’re getting too close to the truth. She has to remember the rules she and Carson drew up in the back of class once – they should have been taking notes, but Carson’s hand was on her knee, her thumb drawing circles, and Greta spent most of class just doing her best to keep a clear head.
“Really, Carson and I are just friends,” Greta says firmly. “She has a boyfriend.”
“Oh,” Jess says first, something confusing in their voice, but Carson just stole third base, and so Greta’s mind isn’t totally on the conversation. She’s too busy trying to quiet the racing of her heart at Carson’s little smirk. Fuck.
“Tragic,” Maybelle adds – and that part is true at least. Carson isn’t her girlfriend; that’s Greta’s entire problem. “I’m sorry, honey. We really did think you liked her.”
“We just see each other a lot.” Greta shakes her head, plastering on a smile. “Not everybody can be like you and Joey,” she points out playfully.
Maybelle brightens at that. “Well, duh,” she jokes, gesturing to Jo who’s now in the batter’s box. “My Josephine and I have something special.”
If Greta weren’t so happy for her best friend, she might have rolled her eyes at the statement.
***
“Your UTAs – or undergraduate teaching assistants – are here to help you with any questions, office hours, and they also grade your papers,” Beverly tells the lecture hall. Behind her back, most everybody calls her Sergeant since she’s known for her tough, take-no-shit attitude. Nobody would dare call her that to her face. “They’re right behind you.”
Simultaneously, Carson and Greta both stand and wave from the last row when fifty wide-eyed freshmen all turn their way.
“Hey, you can just call me Carson,” Carson starts first, waving, adorably awkward. “I’m a senior Comparative Literature major. My section will be on Wednesdays at noon, and my office hours are Thursdays at the same time. Glad to meet y’all– well, not yet– but you know, soon.”
Greta smiles to herself at that before she introduces herself, the script that she honestly practiced in her head all the way to class. “Hi everyone, I’m Greta. I’m a fourth-year Political Science major. Discussions are on Monday, and I hold office hours on Tuesday. I hope to see you all there.” She winks. “Attendance counts.”
She watches as several students immediately check to see if they’re in her section. Good. She likes it that way. Next to her, she hears Carson snort, just barely audible, as if to say you enjoy this too much.
Greta nudges her back softly. Obviously.
After a few more moments of feeling like animals in a cage as they’re studied by a mass of eighteen year olds, Beverly finally calls for attention back at the front of the room, allowing for Greta and Carson to take their seats again.
“Well, that could have gone worse,” Greta whispers with a laugh.
“Yeah. All your students are afraid of you, and all of mine think I’m going to be soft,” Carson grumbles.
“Like I said, it went well,” she teases.
Sighing, Carson rolls her eyes playfully, pulling up the class site to upload the syllabus and first few readings. Greta starts to count heads; even though there’s no attendance requirement for lecture, Beverly still likes to get a tally of who shows up. She usually ends up giving a grade bump to students that have perfect attendance records or explainable absences.
They’ll never admit it, but Greta and Carson respect her more for it.
They’re also grateful that this first meeting presents almost no challenge. It doesn’t take them long to start texting back and forth, keeping one ear out for anything Bev might say that’s important but more focused on their conversation.
[Carson, 9:23am]: Did you see Henry’s text?
[Greta, 9:23am]: i did
[Carson, 9:23am]: Greta…
[Greta, 9:23am]: carson…?
[Carson, 9:24am]: Greta…
[Greta, 9:24am]: fine.
[Carson, 9:24am]: Yay!
[Greta: 9:24am]: you’re lucky you’re cute
[Carson, 9:24am]: :)
[Greta, 9:25am]: don’t look at me like that
Greta doesn’t have to look at Carson to know that her dimples are showing. She doesn’t have to look at her to melt because of them.
Vaguely, she registers Carson replying that she’s not looking at her any way, but already, Greta is contemplating what the night will hold. She’s not quite sure what she’s even agreed to, aside from the fact that it’s an excuse to get dressed up and maybe get just drunk enough to feel brave around Carson. Luckily, those are two of her favorite things.
[Carson, 9:27am]: What are you wearing?
It takes everything in Greta to suppress a laugh. Carson has always been somewhat clumsy in her forwardness, but she doesn’t even know what to think this time.
[Greta, 9:27am]: you’d think with how much you’re staring you would be able to tell
Immediately, it’s clear that Carson realizes what she said and wants to take it back. She practically melts into her chair as she types quickly, eyes casting a glance towards the front of the room just to be sure they aren’t needed.
[Carson, 9:28am]: Oh my God! Not like that!
[Carson, 9:28am]: I meant t
[Carson, 9:28am]: Sorry I hit enter!! I meant to the event!!!
Biting her lip around a smile, Greta types an easy reply.
[Greta, 9:29am]: sure you did
Carson sinks further into her seat in answer.
[Greta, 9:29am]: but really, i’m not telling. it’s a surprise ;)
Carson’s breath catches audibly at that.
***
Walking in on Henry’s arm to an ROTC mixer was not something Greta ever thought she would do, but she does take pleasure in the way she turns head from the moment she crosses the threshold.
Honestly, she’d only told Carson her attire was a surprise because she hadn’t yet decided what to wear, but she’s pleased with what she picked out: a black dress that comes to mid-thigh, stilettos, and subtle but dark makeup around her eyes. The red of her lip goes without saying. Her hair falls in loose curls around her shoulders, and she feels pretty.
Greta likes to feel pretty.
She senses the moment that Carson’s eyes find her, and she glances over her shoulder in the direction of her gaze, tossing a quick wink Carson’s way where she’s reluctantly hanging off of Charlie’s arm, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.
That expression on her face is the only thing that stops Greta from immediately giving in to the jealous pit in her stomach. Besides, she knows their rules. She knows that she and Charlie are somewhat friendly, and that she shouldn’t jeopardize that because it would make everything ten times more complicated. In fact, it was his idea for her to be Henry’s date in the first place; she doubts he would have been so happy if he knew that his girlfriend looked forward more to seeing her than being on his arm. The idea does make Greta preen a little, makes heat rush through her.
But she also knows Carson. And she’s not ready to give her the satisfaction of giving in so quickly, of wanting her quite so openly. Not yet. Still, Greta can’t help but think Carson looks beautiful, in a pretty blue dress that hugs her just enough and her favorite jewelry: those pretty silver earrings and that heart-shaped necklace that Greta loves to play with.
She watches the way Carson’s throat bobs as she takes a sip of her drink, the flex in her bicep–
“Thank you so much for doing this,” Henry says to her suddenly, nervous. “It’s just– I don’t want to have to explain everything…”
“It’s no problem,” Greta replies, and she does mean it even as she stares back hard at Carson, who can’t seem to stop looking at her. “I’m happy to do it.”
“For what it’s worth, if I was at all into women, you’d be everything to me,” he jokes, rambling. “This outfit is everything.”
Greta laughs. “Thank you, darling.”
“Do you have an eye on anybody right now?” he asks, guiding her towards the bar.
Forcing a grin as she turns to him and pointedly pulls out of Carson’s orbit, she shakes her head at him, saying easily, “Not really. I don’t think dating is for me.” Not totally dishonest.
“Understandable.” Henry nods, sensing her discomfort; he’s always been, above all, kind, even if there are moments where Greta knows they’re just completely different. “We can drop this for now if you’d like. Would you like something to drink?”
Greta gives him a grateful smile. “I would love something to drink.”
***
Greta ends up keeping an eye on Carson for most of the night. She parades around on Henry’s arm just like she promised she would, but she’s barely checked into most conversations, smiling and nodding at the appropriate times but hardly taking in anything she’s being told.
Instead, she sips at her drink and peeks over the top of her glass when she can, always pleased to find Carson staring right back at her. She moves through the room easily, positive that Carson is watching her, and if she smiles a little brighter because of it that’s her business.
Greta loves how Carson looks at her: the thinly-veiled depth of her desire, the way she licks her lips whenever Greta’s jaw flexes. Carson looks at her like she is something to be wanted, to be wished for, like she can’t wait to get a taste.
Carson looks at her, and what Greta knows in these moments is power. Push and pull. She feels like the queen in a chess match, like the most important piece in the game.
Because finally, when she wanders towards the back, she grins to herself when she immediately clocks Carson following suit, swift but secret, moving across the black-and-white tiled floor like it’s a board, weaving between the guests that act as pawns and knights and rooks.
Finally, they come face to face, but Carson’s eyes are anywhere but on Greta’s, gaze moving over her slowly, catching on the hem of her dress mid-thigh, how it hugs her every curve. Her eyes land hotly on Greta’s necklace that falls right between her breasts, and they stay there for longer than they should, until Carson is blushing a little, her lips parted just enough that it’s obvious there’s something on her mind – something she can’t say until they’re truly alone.
The corner of Greta’s mouth quirks up.
Checkmate.
***
“Hi,” Carson laughs as Greta walks her backwards into the stall, flipping them and pinning her to the door and locking it in one smooth motion.
“Hey,” Greta murmurs, hands finding her hips and kissing her.
“You look so fucking good tonight,” Carson says, kissing her back hard.
“I felt you looking,” Greta whispers, heat rushing through her.
Carson smiles, body pressing eagerly against her, hands sliding up her back and into her hair. Greta shivers, moaning softly into her mouth. Carson tastes like the chocolate from dessert and charm, so sweet that Greta can feel herself growing lightheaded.
“We can’t be too long,” Carson whispers, and Greta nods, and they both know, immediately, that she’s taken it as a challenge. They both know they might be here too long.
Neither of them actually seem to care.
A smirk in each kiss, Greta’s lips move along Carson’s jaw, down her neck, a constellatory pattern as she traces the space between each freckle.
“You know, I always wondered if they went under your clothes,” Greta mumbles, fingers beginning to undo the buttons on Carson’s dress. Her mouth moves along her collarbone. “I’m glad I know now.”
“Yeah?” Carson gasps, knees shaking for a moment so she has to lean against the door of the stall as Greta’s hands find her chest through her bra, certain and a little greedy in the best way.
“Mhm.” Greta hums in reply, teeth scraping just barely over her sternum before she pulls one of the cups of Carson’s bra down and swirls her tongue openly against Carson’s breast, quick, until she’s breathless, until her body curves into Greta’s waiting hands.
Pleased, Greta pins her harder against the wooden surface, looking up when Carson lifts her head to meet her eyes, gaze open and wide and dark. And then, without hesitation, still holding the look, she sinks to the floor, gets on her knees for Carson right in this restaurant she’s forgotten the name of and lifts the skirt of her dress easily, pushing it into Carson’s hands and making it clear it’s her job to hold it out of the way.
“Good girl,” Greta murmurs when she takes it, kissing her hip, and Carson wobbles where she stands in her heels. “Woah,” she teases, holding her steady. “Breathe, baby.”
It slips out before Greta can stop herself. It slips out, and for a moment, she freezes, but then Carson whimpers.
“Please,” she says softly, eyes sliding shut, and she’s wet through her underwear, sticky at the tops of her thighs. Her hips rise off the door at the same time that Greta goes to pull them down – admittedly rougher than she needed to – and before either of them know what’s happening, the elastic snaps.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Greta whispers, gaze lifting to Carson’s face, and her heart stops when she sees the look in her eyes, all desperation and barely-concealed need. And then she smirks a little to herself, finger ghosting along the crease of Carson’s leg, leaving goosebumps in her wake. “I’ll buy you new–”
“Greta,” Carson grits out, bunching the skirt of her dress into one hand and tangling her fingers up in red hair with the other. “I don’t care. Just–” Just fuck me.
Greta doesn’t have to be told twice, closing her eyes and tipping her head back so she can press her tongue against Carson’s clit. She moans at the taste of her, smiling as Carson’s hips grind against her mouth already, needy and so wet that she’s all over Greta’s chin.
“Fuck.” Carson whimpers, spreading her legs, tugging Greta closer by the hair until she slips her tongue inside. “Oh God.”
For a moment, Greta sees this all for what it is. She sees how this moment should change her. But she’s also two drinks in and she feels brave. And more than that, with Carson’s head falling back against the door, her lip bit around a moan, Greta feels wanted. More wanted than she’s ever been before. She’s fucking Carson, whose boyfriend of three years is standing out on the floor in uniform, and Greta is so into this, knows she could come just from the way Carson is trembling against her mouth. She should feel bad. She should feel the worst she ever has.
But here she is, the woman that she is, kneeling on the floor of this fancy bathroom, a strong hand pulling at her hair while she fucks Carson within an inch of her life. And she doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt.
“God, you’re so pretty like this,” Carson breathes, pulling her hair again.
Greta whimpers. She likes to feel pretty. They both know it.
She breathes through it, through the way her vision starts to swim as Carson fucks herself on Greta’s tongue, her thighs trembling.
“Close,” she breathes, and Greta moans against her, licking up until she can suck on Carson’s clit, until Carson is lifting her hips against Greta’s mouth for more, more, more–
Her knees finally give out as she comes and Greta holds her steady, clearly enjoying herself as she continues to tongue at her, drawing soft patterns against Carson until she groans, gently guiding her head away, hand still in her hair.
“Fuck, I can’t,” she laughs, reaching to support herself on the side of the stall. “Jesus.”
“Greta is fine,” she quips, rising to her feet slowly, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Most of her lipstick is on the inside of Carson’s thighs, streaked red and messy. She’s glad she brought the tube to reapply.
Carson kisses her at that, quick and dirty, lingering, like she enjoys how she tastes on Greta’s tongue. “Thank you.”
“You thank me almost every time,” Greta teases, and it’s true. Since they started this over the summer, whatever this is – they don’t talk about it – Carson has always expressed gratitude each time, like she believes it may come to an end. Both of them are aware that it could eventually.
“You just make me feel so good,” Carson flirts, looking up at her through her eyelashes. Greta kisses her again because she can’t do anything else, because she knows that Carson knows that makes her wet. Fuck.
“Get back out there,” she whispers. Because she knows how this goes. Because they’ve done this in more stalls than she can count.
“What about you?” Carson asks, eyes scanning Greta’s face, the flush in her cheeks, the desire that’s deep and heavy in her gaze.
“I told Henry I would escort him here. I never said I would escort him out.” Greta winks, leaning forward and placing Carson’s ruined, ripped panties into her hand. She runs her tongue over Carson’s ear for a moment. “You could meet me in an hour, if you want.”
“Greta,” Carson groans, letting out a sigh. “I–”
“Up to you,” she murmurs. “But for now, you go first. Farm Boy is going to wonder where you went.”
Breathing in deep, Carson nods. The her of just a few weeks ago may have corrected Greta and told her Charlie isn’t from a farm. People can change quickly. “You’re right. But I’ll– I’ll be by yours later tonight?”
“Come up the back in case Jess is home,” Greta tells her. “I’ll be out in a few to say bye to Henry.”
“Okay.” Carson takes a moment just to look at her.
“Okay?” Greta prompts.
Carson kisses her one last time. Greta kisses her back because she doesn’t know what else to do, doesn’t know what any of this means and doesn’t really care to find out – at least not now.
Carson pulls the lock free behind her and takes a few steps backwards, like she can’t take her eyes off of her for a moment.
Greta wiggles her fingers, smiling. It’s so easy to smile at Carson. Amused, she watches as a blushing Carson undoes the clasp on her purse that she left on the vanity counter and shoves her underwear inside.
“Bye,” Carson practically squeaks out.
“Bye,” Greta says softly. Softer than she meant to.