Chapter Text
Thus it was settled; Rio Vidal was to return to her old passion; Agatha Harkness was to start fresh. New state, new city, new life. Maybe even a new Agatha. Not The-Harkness-Bastard nor Your-Shitty-Ex’s-Shitty-Ex, just Agatha. Maybe. It didn’t hurt to dream in small doses.
They had three weeks to pack everything into boxes and sort affairs. Well, Rio had three weeks. Agatha’s recent de-cluttering-by-fire was quite convenient. As for loose ends, Agatha politely informed - at Rio insistence - the dipshit college student she was no longer be capable of writing his thesis by way of ‘my shit blew up,’ but he had access to her notes and outlines. Quietly, Agatha thought the dumb motherfucker got what was coming to him, but she obliged. She tended to oblige Rio, with her big dumb brown eyes.
They checked the rabbit for a microchip and, most importantly, fleas. They got him microchipped, they did not get him fleas.
Rio handed in her two weeks notice. They had a party, her last day, and Agatha swang by after closing to walk with rio back to the bus stop. Someone made cupcakes. Lilia had given Rio a potted orchid. Rio had, of course, been trying not to cry when Agatha walked in the door and planted her chin on Rio’s shoulder.
Lilia raised her eyebrows in vague recognition and, the very picture of decorum said, “you must be Rio’s Agatha,” and Rio cried for real that time.
***
Señor Scratchy butted his head against a kneeling Agatha. She giggled softly. Emboldened he climbed onto her lap. His velvet-soft snout brushed against the flat of Agatha’s hand, which opened to reveal a small cube of apple. She held it out to him.
“Hello Señor,” she cooed. His nose twitched and he ate it, before hopping away with what she could only describe as glee.
“How goes the boy’s education?” Rio called from the kitchen.
“He’s warming up to me, I think. He doesn’t immediately try to-”
She was cut off by the loud, unmistakable bing! of the Duolingo app. The rabbit, peeved, flicked his ears back and disappeared into the labyrinth of boxes that littered Rio's apartment. Agatha sighed, mumbled, “...do that,” and wandered over to the kitchen table.
The movers had already taken most of the furniture to the new house, leaving Rio in the undignified position of using her laptop on the kitchen table. The older woman, untangling her headphones, looked up apologetically through her computer glasses.
“What are you learning?” Agatha sat on the kitchen table, cater-corner.
“Español.” she shrugged, “I’m out of practice.”
“How Interesting,” Agatha mused, “yet I hear you talk to those bugs all time.”
“My love,” Rio sighed, “the girls aren’t bugs," - she pursed her lips - “they're not very good at conversation.”
Agatha nodded, rubbing her knuckles against the cotton weave of the table-cloth.
“I had a dream,” Rio continued, “I was eating dinner with my family - I couldn't remember the word for skillet. I woke up, and I still couldn’t remember it."
“Prophetic dream,” Agatha said sagely.
“Elaborate?”
“You’re a seer. You dreamed of your immediate future.”
Her girlfriend rolled her eyes in feigned annoyance, but a smile creeped across her face. Slowly it faded. She looked thoughtfully at the webpage.
“Tomorrow’s the big drive. I want to visit their graves when we get there. Talk with them.”
With them. Not to them. A fascinating choice of words. Agatha allowed it to roll around her head. She didn't want to unpack it. It seemed a bit mean-spirited, nitpicking your girlfriend’s word choice regarding her dead family. Rio was, obviously, more comfortable with the whole dying thing than most. But she occasionally phrased things in a way that made Agatha feel queasy with the vast scale of it all. There was a weird liminality to the way Rio talked about life and death, and Agatha did not like it one bit.
“Say something in Spanish,” Agatha said. It was almost a question. She had almost phrased it like a request, and not like she was commanding her girlfriend to perform tricks.
“ Algo ,” Rio said, entirely too pleased with herself. She leaned backwards in her chair, balanced on the back two legs, stretched her arms over her head. Agatha allowed herself the pleasure of lean, sinewy muscle. The way Rio stretched herself out like a cat. Agatha could figure that one out from context cues.
Then, punitively, flicked her in the middle of her forehead. Rio flinched and giggled.
“Okay,” Agatha scoffed. “What is the word for skillet?”
Rio clicked her tongue. “Easy,” she said, “I checked this morning” - then frowned. Her eyes narrowed, she glanced away from Agatha, and she steepled her fingers. She pressed the flat of her index fingers to her mouth. The frown deepened. Agatha fought the urge to interrupt. It was rude to ask , she wanted to say. I was making fun of you. I’m sorry. Rio mimed pan-frying something and her face softened in relief.
“ La sartén ,” said Rio, “Dear Lord, that took too long.”
‘Sexy,” Agatha said. She meant it. If she was trying to flirtatiously sooth over her own perceived slight, that was neither here nor there. “That rolled-r really gets me going.”
Rio didn’t seem bothered by the teasing, but she grimaced at the compliment. “I sound like my mother.”
“Okay. Your Mom’s hot,” Agatha climbed off the table and onto Rio’s lap. Rio winced a bit as Agatha’s bony ass wriggled into a comfortable position but said nothing. Agatha took off Rio’s computer glasses, tried them on, laughed, then replaced them. Finally, she said, “I’m nervous about tomorrow. About the move.”
Rio nodded and wrapped her arms around Agatha’s waist.
“I'm not good at making friends,” Agatha continued, trying to maintain a sort of cool aloofness, “and I’m kind of a bitch.”
Rio nodded again.
“You’re actually supposed to disagree with the last part.”
“Oh.” said Rio, “I think it’s your best quality.” She leaned back and peered at Agatha over her glasses. “It’s interesting you say that, given your… interrupted… trip to Massachusetts.”
“Oh, you abscond in a fit of rage one time, ” Agatha scoffed, “I wasn't planning on living there.”
Rio, amused, narrowed her eyes. “So what were you planning on doing, once you got there?”
“I dunno.” Agatha mused, tucking a stray hair behind Rio’s ear, “kill myself, probably.”
She said it lightly, with the cadence of a joke. The rhythm of a joke. The inflection of a joke. Rio, big dumb idiot, mustn’t know what a joke is, because her brow furrowed and she opened her mouth to comment. Agatha cut her off.
“Not for real,” - she looked around the main room of Rio’s apartment. It was essentially empty, now. A couple trinkets. Devices charging for the drive. The wretched porn couch. It was weird how small it felt without all Rio’s junk - “just like, ‘if this doesn’t work out I can always just kill myself.’ Then I don't. I wouldn't . But it’s nice to know I could.”
Agatha finally looked back. Rio watched her, carefully, and ran her tongue over her lip. She may have, almost, briefly looked like she wanted to say something, but it passed. Rio nodded slightly. Agatha tried to smooth the worry out of Rio’s brow with her thumbs.
Rio broke the silence.
“I’m also nervous,” she whispered, “I feel like a kid again. Like I have that big secret that’s eating me alive. Like I’m going to march into breakfast like - Mom, Dad; I’m dating a woman. You’re gonna have to be cool with that real quick.”
She pensively tapped her fingers down Agatha's waist. Agatha could feel her gaze, but it was unfocused. She was thinking about other things. Visiting a memory. Another time. Another life. Agatha grazed the flat of her nails across Rio’s temples and counted the greys. She suspected Rio hadn’t noticed the single white hair in her left eyebrow yet, and Agatha relished keeping it secret. God forbid Rio plucked it. She’d never forgive herself.
“Do you think they'd like me?” Agatha said it too quietly. Too sincerely. There was a nervous, needy quality she immediately resented.
Rio returned to reality and carefully held Agatha in her gaze.
“Not that it matters-“
“Yes,” Rio said simply. “I like to think so.”
Agatha was disarmed by this - the sudden warm burst in her solar plexus, this urge to pull Rio in for a big sloppy kiss - she did the next best thing; she said something rude to her darling girlfriend. “My mum would hate you.”
Rio’s surrendered to a big, toothy grin. “Must be doing something right,” she mumbled, and Rio relented, Rio had noticed the hunger in Agatha’s eyes, and Rio pulled Agatha in for a kiss.
***
So Agatha helped Rio pack her life - perhaps it was Agatha’s life too, now - into boxes, and then made excuses to avoid any of the hard physical labor.
While Rio toiled, Agatha resumed her current mission. The apartment had all sorts of fascinating crevices that, if one desired, could be filled with slips of paper, bric-a-brac and what-have-you. She wrote riddles and fake curses on scraps of paper and stuffed them in the cracks.
The bathroom had one of those archaic slots in the wall designed for the disposal of razor blades. Agatha had the perfect gift to place in there. Agatha had found a beautiful, shiny penny; the very same day Rio had finalised the move. It was dumb. It was embarrassing. Rio accepted it completely, Agatha’s tendency to humanise everything but people; but she needed to perform this ritual alone. She placed the penny in the slot. She patted the wall, awkwardly, and whispered a thank you. Then she heard Rio’s feet on the landing and made herself look busy. She grabbed a box and greeted her at the door.
Eventually, they stood in the middle of the empty apartment. Rio had paced every room, double checking all the cupboards and shelves. The nasty pleather porn couch remained, and Agatha thought it looked lonely. She wrapped her arms around Rio and pulled her in.
“Should we fuck on it, one last time?”
Agatha thought it was obvious she was joking but Rio glanced up, visibly considering it. She checked her watch. She sighed. “No,” she mourned, “we need to get going. I want to arrive before sundown.”
After double checking the straps on the trailer, Rio climbed into the driver’s seat. Agatha sat the rabbit’s carrier bag on her lap. The wretched spiders - she’d never admit it, but she had started to find their nocturnal rustling somewhat relaxing - had been moved into smaller cages and strapped into child seats in the back. She didn't ask if Rio specifically bought child seats for this purpose. Better not to ask.
A printed stack of directions was handed to Agatha. She squinted in confusion. “Babe,” she started. “Google Maps.”
“Babe,” replied Rio, lightly. “Nokia flip-phone. Unless you want to volunteer yours?”
Agatha had a book to read, some lesbian necromancy epic, but didn’t want to rely on it. She wasn’t used to being a passenger princess. She was worried she might become car sick, so she had the audiobook as a back-up. “If I say yes, do I get to be car DJ?”
Rio, already plugging her sony walkman into an aux cord, laughed. “Yeah,” she said, “when you’re driving.”
She finished buckling herself in and stared into space, mentally checking off a list. She pulled out a physical list and checked that off. Finally, she turned to Agatha. “Do you think we’re good to go?”
“I took a big shit in the toilet before we left and didn’t flush.”
Rio looked at her, unreadable, for a full minute. Looking for something. Anything. Agatha kept her face still. Finally, Rio sighed and unbuckled her seatbelt. Agatha grabbed Rio’s forearm. “You really believed me?” she said, baffled.
Rio nodded. “I tend to, yes.”
Agatha narrowed her eyes in confusion. She rubbed her brow. “I lie about dumb shit constantly.”
Last week she had told Rio there were coelacanths in the river at her favorite trail-head. That she had seen a minor celebrity drop a bit of hotdog on the ground, brush it off, and eat it. At Rio’s last-day-of-work-party she had lied about having an egg allergy, because she was too embarrassed to admit she ate a whole thing of donuts before she arrived. The next day they had gelato. They were extremely silly, petty lies, and she assumed Rio knew.
“I know.” Rio’s eyes twinkled. “That’s the fun part.”
“What does that mean?”
Rio winked and started the engine.
***
It was nice, watching the scenery from the passenger side. It was easy to enjoy the sights and sounds of the interstate when you weren’t thinking about the agony of other drivers. She watched the city fade into the industrial zone, fade into suburbs, fade into open roads. RIo’s jangly-guitar folk-lesbian-core indie music was soft through the speakers. The mind wandered to baser things. The mind tended to wander to baser things.
There was no aphrodisiac like moving into a new life your hot older girlfriend, Agatha decided. She watched Rio take a big gulp of water - too big - with the keen interest of a hawk. There was something mesmerising in the bob of her throat, the soft gasp of air when she finished, the water spilling down her throat-
Agatha tore her gaze away. She crossed and uncrossed her legs. Better to think of other things.
It wasn't a dry spell. It was a week and a half at most. It turned out the two had completely different responses to the stress of moving. It made Agatha feel like she was in heat, desperate for a distraction. Rio’s carnal urges had embalmed themselves.
But like, it was fine. She was a grown woman. She could handle herself. She wasn’t too proud to rub one out while Rio was away. It wasn't, like, good. It was a sad little protein shake instead of a hot meal. It was quick, and efficient, and sort of disappointing, but it got the job done.
A couple nights previous she had woken up from a sexy dream, like a teenager, and she weighed up the ethics of jerking off next to her sleeping girlfriend. Weighed the risk. Jerking-off won.
Rio Vidal, infamously light sleeper, had woken up. Obviously. “What are you doing,” she sighed into Agatha’s neck. It was mortifying. The stress made it hotter. Agatha tried, with all her might, to still her hand and hold back a moan.
She said nothing.
“Keep going,” Rio murmured, voice honey thick with sleep. She spooned Agatha's side and nestled her head into Agatha’s shoulder. One hand placed on Agatha’s stomach, just under her shirt, blunt nails raked along Agatha's hip. “Don’t stop on my account.”
The next day she apologised, for some reason, and Rio laughed in confusion. “What? You’re all good, baby,” - she planted a kiss on Agatha’s repentant little crown - “that bed’s the main place I masturbate.”
The mind wouldn’t stop wandering.
“So,” Agatha started, casually. Calmly. She didn’t even care, really, “thoughts on car sex?”
Rio’s eyes widened and she stifled a laugh. She glanced over at Agatha. “No,” she said, finally. “I won’t be a distracted driver.”
Oh. Yeah, of course, fucking idiot . Dead family. Drunk driver. Jesus Christ. Agatha cringed so deeply she worried her neck was going to fuse into her rib cage. She contemplated throwing herself out the passenger door. She could do it this time. She had placed Señor Scratchy’s cage safely in the back seat with his alleged sisters.
“Convince you to pull over,” she tried to save face with a joke, “got it.”
“You can try,” Rio laughed.
Agatha stared at Rio. She hesitated, afraid to follow one faux-pas with another. Rio gazed ever forward, eyes drifting between the road, her mirrors, the road, and Agatha. “May I,” the younger woman ventured, not quite sure what she had landed herself in but very excited to see how it played out, “convince you to pull over?”
Rio’s eyes flicked over to Agatha again. Agatha felt too warm. She felt her nerves too big for her body, pin pricks of anticipation running from the back of her sinuses to her fingertips. The car smelt like her Monster Pipeline Punch energy drink, the roadhouse fries they had shared, Rio’s deodorant.
“Sure-” Rio drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, “-I’d like to see you try.”
Agatha rubbed her sweaty palms on the back of her skirt. It was technically Rio’s, long forgotten in the back of the closet. A black pleated thing that stopped just below Agatha’s knees. She teased Rio, because of course she did, asked if it was a memento from catholic school. Rio had examined it carefully. “ No,” she had said, after her deliberation, “my uniform was teal.”
“My love,” - Agatha was neutral. Polite, even. She had the same pleasant tone one might have when talking to someone about the weather, asking them to pass the salt.
“My love,” Rio echoed, “What is it?”
“Would you pull over?” Agatha paused and added, “please,” for good measure.
“My darling,” Rio’s voice wavered as she stifled a grin, “whatever for?”
“So I can fuck you.”
Rio bit her lip to hold back a laugh, and the stupid constipated thing she did with her face made Agatha snort. She felt like she was 14 and about to be dragged out of Weeknight Mass by the housemistress, again. The snort set Rio off, and they both giggled until their ribs were tender.
Rio wiped her eyes. “Passing grade,” -she breathed deeply to compose herself- “but I think you can do better.”
Well, she loved a challenge. Agatha tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and loosely drafted her next attempt.
“Picture this,” Agatha said in her lower range. This was the voice she used when trying to bully her way into some sort of discount, having assumed the underpaid cashier would be so relieved by her acquiescence they’d forget the product stashed in her cargo-pants. She spread her palms out and gestured to an imaginary powerpoint -”you pull over this car at a nice, secluded rest-stop.”
Rio nodded.
Agatha licked her thumb and forefinger and mimed shuffling a palm card to the back of its stack. She squinted at her imaginary handwriting - terrible - and cleared her throat, “we make beautiful love in the forest. My tongue on your sweet clit. You fingers in my hot cunt-”
“At the same time?” Rio interrupted, “We don’t have a lot of space to work with.”
“I’m painting a scene,” Agatha hissed, “it doesn’t need to be realistic. It just has to be hot.”
“Not without internal consistency,” Rio said, “I need a thorough mise-en-scene to get off.”
“Are you?” Agatha shot back, tried to wrangle her snarl back into a purr, “are you getting off?”
Rio wiggled her eyebrows and said nothing.
Agatha took a sip of her energy drink and reflexively reached for her vape, then remembered she didn't have one because she was maybe-sort-of-kind-of trying to quit - Rio would also probably murder her if she vaped in the Subaru with the children - fuck - the animals present. She ran her fingertips along the hem of her skirt and hummed. She took another sip of her energy drink. She devised her most devious plan yet.
She wriggled in the passenger seat, shifting her weight from side to side. Rio glanced over, puzzled. “Eyes on the road,” Agatha said, politely but firmly. Rio raised her eyebrows but did as she was told.
She regretted wearing high waisted undergarments. This was needlessly complicated. Maybe she was overthinking this, she usually over-designed her plans, probably didn’t need to remove her panties through the skirt. She persisted, though. The wet part of the gusset broke contact long enough to be uncomfortably cold when reunited with her clit. She inhaled sharply through her nose. Rio’s head started to turn, again, and there was an edge to Agatha’s voice when she said “No. Eyes forward.”
Rio’s jaw flexed but she obeyed. Predictable. She was all sinew and right angles, an elastic band waiting to snap back into position. Agatha imagined she could see her blood pulse through her veins, thrumming against the skin.
Agatha, finally, wriggled out of her underwear and took a moment to admire her handiwork. The road was empty but Agatha wondered, as she pulled a knee to her chest and brushed her fingers against the soft part of her inner thigh, if someone could see her touching herself in the passenger seat. The thought sent a thrill through her. She unhooked the ruined garment from her ankles and draped it over Rio’s thigh.
Rio, to her credit, did not break vigil as she picked up Agatha’s wet panties. She rubbed the wet spot between thumb and forefinger.
The pads of Agatha’s fingers ghosted over her clit and the breath caught in her throat as Rio, tightly-wound restraint, lifted the panties to her maw and pressed the flat of her tongue against it.
“Pathetic,” Agatha moaned, pathetically, “you’re pathetic .” A small, choked noise escaped Rio. “I’m fucking myself within arm’s reach because you won’t pull over to the side of the road.”
Agatha’s timing was immaculate. She thanked every religious figure she could think of. Mary. Jesus. Another Mary. God. The other ones. She saw, in the distance, a sign indicating a picnic area. “Better make a decision, baby,” she sighed, pressing a finger inside, voice soft and girlish, “I’ll finish myself if I have to.”
Rio, wordlessly, took the exit. Then, wordlessly, she parked at the far corner of the area. The scenic area was actually quite beautiful, Agatha thought, as big lesbian boots crunched their way from one side of the car, to the other. Rio, again wordlessly, pulled Agatha in for a kiss and tilted the passenger seat. She pushed the seat back. “You’re a nuisance,” she said, finally, crawling under the glove-compartment. She looked quite silly. Luckily neither of them were particularly tall.
Agatha sighed, dreamily. “I think we’ve learned something today, actually,” - she couldn’t help but brag, given the situation - “it’s always easiest to give me what I want.”
“Is that so?” said Rio, rucking Agatha’s skirt over her hips. She pressed her chin into Agatha’s thigh, “...and what you want, is?”
“Three fingers,” Agatha purred, “two lips, one orgasm,” - she brushed the hair out of Rio’s face - “think you can do that, baby?”
Rio pushed one of her girlfriend’s knees up against her chest. She made long, languid strokes against Agatha’s hot centre. Agatha felt herself twitch at each pass.
“I can try,” she said, slipping a finger inside. Before Agatha could say something clever, she placed her mouth on Agatha’s clit and slipped a second digit.
Agatha bit down on the meat of her palm to keep herself from moaning. She made a tight fist in Rio’s hair. Rio hummed in approval. She was embarrassed by how quickly she could feel herself building, and she gasped out, “one more, baby, one more.” Rio, through a mouthful of clit, mumbled something about a distracting hip cramp, but she diligently fucked one more finger into her mean girlfriend.
Agatha’s breath quickened. Her tummy started to flex, hips started to wriggle, the edges of her vision went white. “Rio,” she gasped, “I’m, ah, I’m-”
Rio said, sweetly, “you’re what , Agatha?” as she withdrew her fingers and rested her cheek on Agatha’s knee. She was confused, for a moment, then a hot burst of indignation flooded her as she realised what Rio was doing. Had done, even. Rio had taken away her soft mouth and long fingers just as Agatha had started to crest, and now she was having a pathetic little mouse sneeze of an orgasm. She yanked Rio by the hair and gyrated a furious cunt against Rio's smug little face but it was for naught. She had missed it. She caught the aftershocks, at best. She had come, and it was shit, and it was all Rio's fault.
She pulled her awful girlfriend up by the collar. Rio tried, badly, to hide her glee.
“That was a nasty trick you pulled,” she hissed. She grabbed the hollow of Rio’s wet cheeks so tightly her fingernails left white half-moons when she let go.
“Three fingers,” Rio demurred, “two lips…”
“And an orgasm, you bitch.”
Rio snapped her fingers. “Of course,” - she smacked her palm against her forehead - “how could I forget?”
“You think you’re funny,” Agatha muttered as she helped Rio out from her stupid automotive cave and guided her onto her lap, facing the windscreen. She ran her hands along Rio’s waistband, under the shirt. She wanted to pinch the soft flesh there in retaliation, hard, but she thought better of it.
She could be gentle, it turned out. Rio liked pressure. Rio liked pain. Rio's piercings and her garish little cycling outfit and her tendency to order curry way too hot and bravely sniffle through it - it was all the same masochism that meant, sometimes, she came by accident when Agatha bit down hard on her shoulder. Pleasure, to Rio, wasn’t the absence of pain. Nor was pleasure the outcome of pain - the runners high, the endorphins post curry. The endorphins were nice, sure, but Rio found pain, and discomfort, inherently fun .
Which was great for Agatha, who was - if she was honest with herself - kind of a sadist. In the same way Rio squirmed in delight at darker sensations, Agatha liked exploring them. Providing them. She liked sticking her nails in Rio's flesh and watching her shiver. She liked biting down. She liked tasting blood. Maybe, one day, they’d explore other things. Implements. Tools. Things of that nature. And sure, she was probably a masochist as much as Rio was a sadist - it was sadistic, what Rio just did - but she knew what she preferred. And thus she suspected she knew exactly what Rio was trying to bait out of her.
So she touched Rio gently and slowly, fingers soft against her, and Rio's brow furrowed. It wasn’t enough. Agatha rubbed Rio through denim. When Rio canted her hips for a little more pressure, the hand withdrew. She grazed teeth against Rio’s trapezius. She could do this all day.
She wouldn't need to. It didn’t take long for Rio to start fidgeting. It didn’t take long for Rio to start whining every time Agatha removed her fingers. No surprises there. What actually caught her off guard was; Rio teared up. It was a little hot, maybe. A little thrilling, maybe. Agatha wasn’t ready to examine this.
“Are you okay?” she murmured.
“Yes. No. I don’t know,” - Rio scrunched her face up, “If you don’t touch me I’m going to die.”
“Feels bad, doesn’t it” - Agatha nestled her chin in the hollow of Rio’s shoulder and ran her thumb under Rio’s eyelid, gathering wetness - “you fuck me properly this time, then you can get off. Fair?” she rested her thumb against the older woman’s lip. Rio dutifully lapped at her tears and nodded.
Agatha patted Rio’s ass to get her moving. Rio clambered off Agatha’s lap. God, there really wasn’t much space to work with. Agatha leant against the centre console and Rio knelt in her jean shorts on the hard dirt road. She winced, - a rock, probably - and hooked Agatha’s legs over her shoulders. She immediately set on reimbursing that orgasm - eating Agatha out with the desperate, sloppy contrition of someone sad to be caught but unlikely to learn any lesson.
Agatha came with a muffled grunt, palm over her mouth, and needy Rio scrambled back to the passenger seat. She pushed Agatha’s legs back inside the car, closed the door, unbuttoned her shorts, bracketed Agatha’s thighs with her own. “C’mon,” she whined, “ please.”
Agatha felt a little dazed from the strength of that orgasm and closed her eyes for a moment. She held up her index finger. That woman was insatiable ; dear Lord. When she opened her eyes again Rio was peering down at her with concern.
“Is that your…” - Rio searched for a word but gave up with a shrug - “sad post-orgasm thing?”
Agatha barked out a laugh, sort of surprised Rio was aware of that weird quirk. She didn't remember mentioning it. “No,” she said, mostly honest, then decided to make a joke of it, “I’m going to fall asleep like a man would.”
The worried crease in Rio’s brow faded, quickly replaced by the irritated crease between her eyebrows. Her eyes narrowed. She tilted Agatha’s chin up. Low, dark, jaw clenched; she whispered, “not before you fuck me, you don’t.”
So Agatha obliged. She tended to oblige Rio. She bit Rio’s lip hard enough to draw blood and Rio came, panting, in the crook of Agatha’s neck. They kissed a little after, and Agatha checked the route on Google Maps.
Agatha took over the driving for the last stretch, and relished the opportunity to play her shitty music on her phone - after they figured out the bluetooth, her phone didn’t have a headphone jack - while Rio picked bits of gravel out of her knees.
“I’m too old to abuse my joints like this,” she muttered. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get up next time.”
“I’ll carry you,” said Agatha.
Rio’s mouth quirked up, but she politely did not mention Agatha was a little too scrawny to fight her way out of a wet paper bag.
“I’ll buy you knee pads,” Agatha amended.
“With my money?” Rio said, absently.
It was a fair observation. Rio didn’t mean it rudely. Agatha had been trying to give up her grift life and it wasn’t going great for her, financially. It was fine. It was fine. Rio liked covering the bill, because she was a nasty little pay-pig; so Agatha knew there was no logical reason to keep a running tab in her notes app - Rio would likely be offended if she tried to repay the imaginary debt, anyway - but Agatha still did, because Agatha was a bone that had never quite healed straight.
It stung, but Rio didn’t mean it, so she hardened her gaze to the road and tried to remember that.
She glanced over to meet Rio’s big brown eyes. Her girlfriend placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed apologetically. Right. Agatha probably forgot to gird herself before ruminating.
They were an hour away, maybe. The forest had thinned out and increasingly resembled civilization. The roads collected like streams into rivers, capillaries into veins, cars in parallel migration. She was sad to leave the wilderness. She was always sad to leave the wilderness. Maybe the knot in her stomach could resemble excitement in the bright warm hue, cast by a sun that hung low in the sky.
She thought about a new life, in a new city, in a new state. A new Agatha.
“No,” she said finally, “with my money, from my job.”