Sometimes, Never

This work of Heather/Nephnee music AU was commissioned by iavenjqasdf! My commissions are paused at the moment, but I do still have a Patreon and you can look me up on twitter! Sorry for my absences lately, let’s all hope we can get a lot of work done in the… new year… o_o;

(you can also read this on ao3!)

“Nephenee, I swear to christ if you don’t stop checking your phone for one minute.”

“Look, it’s fine. It ain’t hurting anyone.”

“Yeah, except my brain cells dying one by one every time you swipe refresh.”

“Will you can it? It’s only a big deal because you’re making it a big deal.”

“Yo, roadie!” A husky voice chorused with the heavy metal crash of the fire exit door against the brick wall of the alley.

Nephenee sat bolt upright, shoving her phone into the pocket of her hoodie. “Gweh!?”

There, in the cold, late-autumn night, stood Heather of Heather and the Hellions, The Holy Greil’s current headliner for what was turning into the longest three days of Nephenee’s life. Though Heather had clearly strode out with a purpose, her train of thought appeared unexpectedly derailed. She glanced up and down the alley that ran behind The Greil and said, “Huh…”


Heather shook the thought out of her head, her spray-perfect bouffant of a mane swaying with the motion. “Weird. Coulda sworn I heard someone talking out here.”

“Musta been the wind,” Nephenee replied, a bit too abruptly.

“Yeah, the wind. Cool.” Though her eyes were placid, Nephenee couldn’t shake a feeling of tension looming in Heather’s lithe shape and relaxed posture.

Nephenee cleared her throat. “You need something?”

“Well, since I’ve got your attention, one of the girls spilled, like, a whole bottle of Asti in the green room, so like…” She stuck out a boot just before the venue door creaked its agonizingly slow way shut on rusty hinges and jerked her thumb. “Clean up on aisle three?”

Heather jabbed a finger at her trucker cap, helpfully labeled CREW in big block letters even a probable illiterate like Heather couldn’t miss. “I’m tech. Go find a janitor.”

“This place have a janitor?”


The opening act was four songs in before Nephenee had dumped enough Scrubblin’ Bubbles-knock-off onto the carpet to convince herself that the new discolorations at least matched the old discolorations.

Like anyone could tell. The whole room smelled like a donkey’s personal smoking lounge before the Hellions showed up to crater the property values with their bad music and ersatz champagne. She wouldn’t even be down here on her hands and knees if she wasn’t abjectly afraid of Heather or one of her party-pals-slash-quote-extremely-unquote-band-mates complaining to the absentee manager and costing her the one job she’d found post-college that could almost keep up with the interest of her student loans.

Roadie. Yeah. Sure. She’d seen the van they camped out in. Last night she’d tromped out into the parking lot well after midnight, a wonderful evening of winding cables by herself on the empty, sticky show floor while their hyena howls and the clinking of beer bottles echoed from the place’s so-called “Green Room.”

Anyway, the van. So cramped two of them had to sleep sitting up in the front seats, bundled in their sleeping bags. If there was one thing Nephenee had learned to hate since she started this job, it was small-time bands who made a show of their big-time britches. Glam rock was SO last decade. Last century, even! So where did—

The chirrup of Nephenee’s text tone had barely started before she’d whipped out her phone, heart pounding, and…

Starvalarving! The animated bird emoji announced in a sing-song voice. When are you done work? I’m fiending for some Boran!

Ugh. Micaiah.

Headliner’s almost up. See you in a couple hours? And don’t say fiending!

Nephenee watched the flowing bubbles of Micaiah’s incoming text with hypnotic concentration. It was the only thing keeping her from tabbing over just in case she’d accidentally swiped away a notification from Elincia without realizing it. Of course she hadn’t, she had the reassurance of two dozen frantic checks throughout the day to prove it (but that was down from four dozen last week, which is what she called “progress”!)

The bird curtailed this self-destructive train of thought with a sassy thump of its wings atop its hips. Excuse me, grandma! Not my fault you can’t keep up with what the kids are saying.

The “kids” who said fiending are all forty-year-old doctors raising their 2.5 children behind 3.5 picket fences by now. Between you and this band, did the whole world slip through a time portal back into 1998 without anybody telling me? And stop using that bird! Hearing your voice come out of its lips is… is… like way creepy!

Neph swiftly muted and stowed her phone before she was forced to endure an impromptu biology lesson from Micaiah, who was almost certainly typing Birds don’t have lips! with breakneck speed. She leveled a few more miserly scrubs into the carpet. Bet even crappy rock stars like Heather and the Hellions didn’t have student loans. Probably didn’t even go to college ub the first place! Must be nice, to get paid for an hour of work an evening, bookended by drinking and horsing around with your asshole friends, and then at the end of the night you pass out in the front seat of your van without even suffering the indignity of a commute—this late at night Nephenee’s was two trains. Shit, no, three. Construction meant it was on weekend schedule for the rest of the month. So yeah, Nephenee would love to sleep in a van, because that would imply that she had enough money to own a van.  

Besides… that night Heather had looked almost… cute. Her ostentatious bandana pulled down over her eyes as an ad hoc sleep mask, her lower lip warbling with her snores, and her heavy breathing fanning her golden hair out in front of her face like wisps of willful spidersilk.

The raucous applause snapped Nephenee back to the real world.


The opener must’ve just finished their set. She scrambled among the tossed cushions and discarded beer cans to find where she’d dumped the extra-long XLR cable she’d bought special, wound, and set aside because one of the Hellions spent half the afternoon talking about what a disaster their opening night was. Despite her kvetching about student loans, Nephenee would’ve doubled them in an instant to avoid wasting even a single second more listening to a drummer freaking out about how her double bass needed at least 30 feet clearance from the guitar’s amp otherwise they’d get a—again, quote-extremely-fucking-unquote—“noise echo” in the “line.”


“Woah, roadie!”

“Huh?” Nephenee paused, tilting her head.

“Nothing.” Heather had just come in from smoking a cigarette out back. She smoothed back her hair, bright with beads of rainwater from the sudden storm that swept through just as Nephenee was squeezing the last of the hangers-on in the crowd out the door. Somehow that was part of her job too. “Just never seen anyone deadlift a Marshall stack before.”

“What, this?” Nephenee grunted, adjusting her grip on the lowest handholds of the three-tall, hundred-odd pound pile of amplifiers she was toting. She kept walking, something in her lizard brain warning her this was about to tip over into another of Heather’s “playful” bullying sessions. “It’s just…” She grunted. One step followed another. “Faster if you carry them all at once.”

“I bet it is.”

She dropped the stack by the wall, then adjusted her grip on the clutch of mic stands hooked under her arm. Glancing around for a place to stow them off stage, she turned just in time to meet the thump! of Heather’s hand against the wall beside her head.

The vibration shot through the wood panelling of the stage, sent a shiver down Nephenee’s spine, which summoned a sympathetic clatter from the triplicate of tripods she totted under her arm.

“But damn.” Heather grinned, leaning in. “Where’d ya find the space to hide a six pack on that bird body of yours?”


This was the first time Nephenee had been so close to Heather. Pomade radiated from her like a nuclear disaster.

Truthfully, it was the first time she’d been so close to anyone since…

Heather grinned as the silence extended to an absolute breaking point. The garish green stage lights accentuated her pale skin and high, angular cheekbones. Her smile was poised and prime, wolfish, even without a show of teeth, and her fingertips pattered the wall. Her jacked, still damp from the rain, was unzipped all the way to her bellybutton, and her sleeveless shirt was loose, and Nephenee couldn’t look away from how the shadows pooled in the hollow of her small breasts.

Heather clucked her tongue, crooked a finger, and said, “My eyes are up here, roadie.”

“Did someone say birds?”

Nephenee took advantage of Micaiah’s fortuitous appearance to slip the looming noose of Heather’s arm. She staggered a few steps away, hopping off the stage and barely sticking the landing. Working her way towards the beacon of sensibility Micaiah offered from this Demon Woman.

Wait… how long had Micaiah been standing there?

“Who’s this, the girlfriend?”

Micaiah snorted in obvious distate. It would’ve offended Nephenee, if she hadn’t just made the selfsame sound. “Roommate. I’m Micaiah!”

“Heather,” she replied, segueing a dashing flick of the hair out of her eyes into a stab of her index finger right towards Micaiah’s heart. “Love the sweatshirt.”

 Micaiah tented out the timeworn red-blue thing with the chubby cartoon bird. “What, this old thing?”

“You’re rocking it.”

“I am not!” Micaiah trilled, blushing. She turned to Nephenee, vibrating. “Am I?”

Nephenee slouched, fretfully tugged her hoodie sleeves off both of her wrists, and shook out her right arm with the clatter of plastic bangles. “Sure.” She jabbed an elbow towards the door. “Look we got dinner plans, so…”

“What, you mean you two aren’t coming to the blowout?”

“The blowout?” Micaiah asked.

“Yeah we’re gonna paint the town red—or this specific part of it, at least.”

“You mean you didn’t do that last night?”

“Roadie, last night was merely prelude to our debauchery. I mean, we killed it tonight, we friggin’ killed it.” She swept a hand towards Micaiah, imploringly. “Unbiased opinion, we rocked it up there, didn’t we?”

“Sorry to be a downer, but I didn’t see.” Micaiah futzed with her bangs. “She—” With a tilt of her head and a feigned pout. “Never invites me to these things.”

“Is that so?” Heather scratched her chin. “Now, why would she wanna keep a pretty thing like you a secret, I wonder?”

Heather yanked her trucker cap firmly down onto her head, cutting Heather off from her eye line. “Boran closes in like an hour, we gotta go eat.”

“It was nice meeting you!” Micaiah offered, throwing out an amiable finger-wriggle of a wave as Nephenee dragged her out of the door by her collar.

Heather turned away and, with a twirl of her finger in the air, said, “Catch you later, Neph.”

Nephenee barely lost half a stride to the realization of…

…she knows my name?


“You’re not around these people all the time like I am. They’re all the same.” Even Nephenee was surprised by the rueful tone sneaking into her voice as she dissuaded Micaiah’s attempts at matchmaking. “She’s just like some… some traveling minstrel. She does this to every girl she meets in every city she hits up. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s a game to people like her.”

Micaiah paused in the stacking of her spring rolls into a makeshift—and rather oily—house of cards to mull this over, rolling her lips against her teeth. “Well, it probably means she thinks you’re cute.”

“So? She doesn’t like me, she doesn’t even know me.”

“Not every girl has to be marriage potential before you make out with them, Neph.” Micaiah took a long drag on her bubble tea. “Maybe something quick and simple is exactly what you need to get over—”

With a groan, Nephenee shoved away her plate. “Save the rom-com advice for someone who believes that BS.”

“I just think it’d be like… good for you, you know? Get out there.” Her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth. Construction began on the second tier of her spring roll mansion. “Play the field, whatever they say?”

“Uh huh. And when was the last time you played the field?”

Micaiah parried with a brrrp of her tongue. “I said they said it, not me!”

“Anyway, I’m beat.” Neph tugged her phone out of her pocket. When Micaiah’s eyebrows immediately shot up, she raised her hands in mock defense. “Just for the calculator, so I know how much to tip.”

“Mmhmm.” Micaiah replied through a mouthful of tapioca pearls.  

She really was just going for the calculator. Honestly. In fact, tonight was the best she’d felt in ages. Keeping herself drawn and quartered between the petulant demands of The Talent and the hawkish gaze of The Roommate, she’d had nary a hand free to check her texts all evening! See? See! She could do this!

Then, glancing at the lock screen, her heart ruptured right through her chest.

She shoved it back in her hoodie pocket, and thought the whole thing was nonchalant enough, but it was obvious from the look in Micaiah’s eyes how bad she blanched.

When, in the silence, Micaiah tilted her head, and opened her mouth, Nephenee cut her off. “Is it cool if I leave my half? ”

“Sure.” Micaiah tilted her head, slow curiosity paired against Neph’s sudden blurt of motion. “You okay, babe?”

“Yeah. I—” She swallowed against the welding construction of her throat. “I just remembered I left something at the venue. I wanna go grab it, before this rain gets any worse.”


Nephenee slid down the ladder to the under-stage like they do in action movies, hands and boots gripping either side, palms, instantly raw from the flaking paint, barely slowing her from a free fall.

Of course, in action movies they’re usually doing it for something cool, like to disarm a bomb. Neph just wanted to get into the darkness before the tears burst.

She almost made it, too. But as soon as her boots hit the concrete she buckled. She sagged against the wall, sliding onto her ass with a thump into the puddle of light radiating from above, hugging her phone to her chest as the first sobs cracked her ribs.

Hey! the text read. Sorry about taking so long to get back to you! Hope you’re doing well! Don’t worry about my stuff. I’m traveling with the company for the next few months, so just throw it out or give it to goodwill or whatever. It’s just a bunch of junk anyway!

Talk about romcoms. You dumb bitch. What, did you think she was gonna sashay back into your life like “oh, dahling Nephenee. I was one foot on the plane before I remembered that cardboard box of all my precious junk. My three discarded sleep shirts, including the one with the hole over the left tit, the two CDs my grandma bought me that I never converted to mp3s, and that random cat toy that fell out of my purse and I never bothered to pick up. And once I got to thinking I couldn’t lose those things—not to mention the scented lube and the half-used pack of condoms (still good til 2026, if kept in a temperate environment!)—why, I quickly realized what truly I couldn’t bear leaving behind was… you.”

Neph held her head in both hands and emitted a properly cataclysmic groan.

“Yo, babe.” A gruff voice pierced the darkness. “Hate to interrupt but can you keep it down?”

“What the fuck?”

Suddenly alert, Nephenee shoved herself back against the ladder and thumped her hand wildly against the wall, searching for the light switch.

“That’s what I’m sayin’. I finally find a—uwah!”

Just as intended, the sudden burn of 100 watt bulbs blinded the intruder. Nephenee was up in a crouch, unsure if she if it was time to fight or flee but she damn sure was gonna so something when…

“What the fuck.” Nephenee repeated, this time unburned by heightened emotion. The threat of the scenario had evaporated with the light, given how her intruder was cocooned in approximately three layers of tattered wool comforter, and the fingerless gloves shading those squinting eyes immediately suggested that she was—of course she was—

“Heather.” Nephenee’s fist jittered at her side. It felt like there was a snake pogoing in her throat. “What the hell are you doing down here?”

Heather groaned. “Can we turn the lights off first?”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on! What are you doing in my spot?”

“Your spot? To me, this looks like company property.”

Well, technically it was. But the Greil didn’t host much theater any more, and most bands didn’t think to ask about cool under-stage lairs, and so… Nephenee had kind of made it her own. Y’know, nothing major. Just a little table from the abandoned stage props, a lamp from a second-hand shop to provide better ambiance than the industrial bulbs…

“Explains where the beer came from, though. Thanks, by the way.” Heather tapped a ringed finger in sequence along a triplicate of empty cans. “Even though they were warm.”

…and her emergency six pack.

“That’s been down here like for half a year.” Nephenee ducked her head. “Probably got spider eggs growing on them.”

Heather shrugged lackadaisically. “Night like this, I would’ve shotgunned at least two even if I knew that for sure.”

At this point, Nephenee’s body informed her that if she wasn’t going to fight OR flight then it still had a lot of weeping to do. Her knees suddenly weak, she slid sit back down to a seated position, unleashing a sound part sigh, part groan, all despair at Heather’s regrettably ongoing presence in her life. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

“Ah. See, the other two got so amped they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, so, y’know, I found somewhere to make myself scarce, as they say.” Her lips broke apart in a wild grin, and she speared her tongue through her teeth. “I told you we kicked ass tonight.”

“You couldn’t sleep on the couch in the green room?”

“No way, not after how we left it—” Nephenee’s eyes grew darker with every word, until Heather saw that discretion was the better part of valor and said. “Uh, I mean it’s… comfy down here, ain’t it.” Heather thumped her hand affectionately against the prop table. “Almost like someone made it her own personal hidey-hole.” She leaned forward, tucking her arms over her raised knees. “So, since I answered yours, go ahead and answer mine: what’s a cute girl like you doing bawling her eyes out in the middle of the night in a place like this?”

Heather tucked her hat down over her eyes, pulling it close, imagining it a helmet. “Forget it, I’m leaving.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, roadie. Tell me a story.” Heather grabbed the remaining half a six pack, jangling the cans. “There’s beer in it for you.”

“They’re my friggin’ beers anyway,” Neph said, as she snatched one free of the plastic rings.


“So she’s a cunt.”

“She ain’t a cunt. She’s an opera singer!”

“Now you’re just being redundant.”

The cramped under-stage, a little black-painted box not even tall enough for a girl Nephenee’s size to stand up in, much less an amazon like Heather, was really the perfect place for bawling your lungs out. Claustrophobic enough to feel like it was hugging you. So tight it gave the sound nowhere to go, and so the sound went everywhere instead. Every shout felt as if it echoed for hours. A little slice of well-insulated, well-isolated heaven, it really was the perfect place to bawl your lungs out.

She’d… just never done it with another person there before.

The first beer she chugged sanded that road bump down quite admirably. Now, almost finished her second, Nephenee felt the tears dissolve inside her as she approached the precipice of the absolute zen state of Bitch she’d been craving these past few weeks.

“Fine, she’s a cunt!” Her beer sloshed as she flung her arms wide in the cramped space. Heather, to her credit, ably dodged without interrupting the tirade. “She… she’s a self-centered, self-important, self-pretty, opera singing cunt!”

“There you go!” Heather cheered. “Give it to her!”

“And she left me because she’s all those things and I’m not. Because she’s beautiful, she’s special. She has a career and I’m… I’m just this monkey-rat who coils cables for a living and eats Thai food with her roommate the one night a week she even goes out at all and wears the same sweatshirt three days in a row and… and…”

“Hey, woah, I think we’re getting off track. Go back to the—”

“Oh what would you know!” Nephenee’s bluster had all but taken physical form. She took a long pull at her beer. Even warm, it still tasted fine. And it was something to do. “You’re just the bigger monkey-rat that little ones like me have to clean up after.”

“Wait, I’m a monkey-rat too?”

Oh that was IT. Just like a Heather to avoid responsibility for her crimes. “Of course you are!” Her arms spread themselves wide to really hammer the point home. “Bitch, you sleep in a van!”


Nephenee blinked, lifting her hand. She tilted her head, and flexed her fingers slowly against the curious throb in her knuckles. “…Gweh?”

“You’re a regular fireball, aintcha?” Heather asked, nursing her newly bruised temple.

The pleasant throb of Nephenee’s beer buzz vaporized in an instant. She sprung up onto her feet, turning—wobbling, really—for the ladder. “Shit! We got a first aid kit up there somewhere.”

“Chill, chill.” A hand gripped Nephenee by her belt loops, and pulled her back down to sitting. “I’m fine. I’ve had way, way worse.” Heather splayed her hand in front of her face, highlighting scars here and there. A line of white bisecting an eyebrow, the long-healed split on her lower lip, and other marks of hard living. “Didn’t figure you for a lightweight, though.”

“I’m not a lightweight, I’m just angry.”

“Don’t have to tell me, my brain’s still adjusting from the impact. You must really hate that chick, huh?”

Nephenee startled herself when her hands gripped crinkled the aluminum can beneath them. The pressure gauge inside her flared to Full after the brief reprieve. Tension pinched and quirked the corners of her eyes. “I loved her.”

“Same difference, am I right?” Heather leaned forward, gently Cheers-ing her can against Nephenee’s. “No?” She blinked guilelessly, lips smearing into an amiable smile smearing. “Maybe that’s just me.”

Nephenee offered a tepid smile in response.

“My bad.” She said, with some reservation. It was her fault she hit Heather, but it was Heather’s fault Heather was Heather, so at worst they tallied about even. “About your face.”

“No harm done. Hate to see what it’d be like to wake you up on the wrong side of the bed, though.” Heather deployed the segue with the aplomb of truly masterful idiot. “Speaking of beds…”

“You wanna fuckin’ make out or what?”

When the silence hung in the air, and all that confronted her was Heather’s hyena grin, even still it took Nephenee a moment to comprehend the only sensical conclusion:

Wait, did I just say that?


Heather’s fingers rolled beneath the band of Nephenee’s hat, scrambling and knotting in her hair. Nephenee’s breath spread soft and wide over Heather’s face. Neph had both hands in Heather’s mane, using the leverage to tug the taller woman downward and herself up, to meet in the middle and kiss with frantic necessity as Heather pinned her against the wall and cupped her breasts through her top.

“Damn bitch,” Heather whispered, breaking away from the kiss, her hand scrambling under Nephenee’s sweatshirt. Initially to grope at her tits, then… “Two… four… six…” A pair of fingers, pressing down her abdomen, counting. Reaching the spot just above her waistband, she dug her nails into the vee of hard muscle. “You gotta be kidding me. You’ve got an eight pack?”

“I-I work out…” Nephenee mumbled, her tongue too thick to fit in her mouth. She tried to rein Heather back to her.

“Yeah at the mutant gym,” Heather scoffed. “Holy god, you could cook eggs on these abs.” 

Her lithe fingers made up for the poor wordplay, groping firmly into Nephenee’s tensing stomach, thumb grinding along those fluttering oblique muscles. Nephenee felt a very Micaiah-like desire to rebuke that ridiculous statement, but it was contrasting with the very Heather-like feeling of Heather’s tongue stabbing again past her lips and Heather’s hips pinning her back against the wall. So she moaned, and decided to try and go with it, bad analogies and all. It took most of her conscious mind just to straddle Heather’s leg.

Heather scrambled for the button of Nephenee’s jeans. Nephenee gasped. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her hips ground into Heather’s leg with unsubtle urgency. With a flail of her hand, she found the light switch, and plunged the under-stage back into darkness, but for that halo by the ladder.

The air was cold. The heater must’ve kicked off again. Freezing, she felt Heather’s fingers brushing up against her cunt as all the more hot. Like fire. Like lava. No. Nephenee gulped, inwardly correcting herself, like an electrical spark. Worse than the time she touched the exposed wire on rigging.

Heathers eyes danced with lust, and Nephenee couldn’t bear to look at them. She feared if she did, that she’d understand what Heather was thinking and that, for some reason, would break whatever spell was holding this unlikely pair together.


It was Heather’s fingers, spearing into her. It was Heather’s teeth, shining in the darkness.

Gasping, she tilted her head to the side. Staring off into the gloom, the meager lights piercing the loose floorboards from the stage above writing an ominous cast to every corner of the black-painted walls. Small as it was, the under-stage seemed infinite in the dark. Some part of her wished she could be lost down here forever.

Heather groaned with urgency and need, taking fingers around Nephenee’s chin and pulling Nephenee back for a kiss. Nephenee complied readily brushing her hips forward opening her lips, twinning her tongue with Heather’s in a graceless slide of flesh. A whimper escaped her, and the sound, slipping through her lips as a vibration against Heather’s tongue, was echoed by the grunt of Heather’s smug satisfaction. Heather’s hand escaped her and came back warm against Nephenee’s cheek, rubbing the fragrant smell of herself into her skin.

Resistance flared in Nephenee. She took Heather by the neck, fingers gripping tight, unwilling to be teased at this critical juncture. She took Heather by the wrist, put that hand where it needed to be. Where she wanted it.

Heather writhed against her, hooking a hand under Neph’s leg to hump with needy devotion, her hand pinned between them. “I knew you had it in you.”

Nephenee replied to the challenge by slamming her hips down against Heathers palm. Heather’s fingers bit inside her. Nephenee rolled her hips, bracing for the discomfort of such a quick entrance, but there was barely any pain. She was wet. She was beyond wet. This woman—this irritatingly hot, coy, confident woman pissed her off and for some reason that continually eluded her…

…turned her on?

No, she corrected herself. The excitement of the moment all the hustle and bustle of finding Heather hiding down here, muddled up with all her bullshit, and her need to let it out. The feeling of sweat building all over. Wanting to scream at Micaiah to shut up and stop treating her like a charity case. Wanting to scream at Elincia to stop acting like their break-up was some kind of oopsie-daisy. Wanting to scream at her boss, her job, her student loans, the Top Ramen she ate six nights a week, and the… the…

Heather’s thumb rolled through Nephenee’s pubic hair and against the thick mound flesh beneath.

That’s what was got her ardor up. It wasn’t because Heather’s ridiculous bouffant of hair. Her  casual style. It wasn’t because of the dominant thump of her hand against the wall beside Nephenee’s head with each thrust of the paired fingers inside her.

It wasn’t because… Nephenee was… lonely.

“Ha… haahh…” she whispered softly, flinching the revelation. Heather misinterpreted her gasp for the sound of pain discomfort twin fingers flexing carefully inside her. Stroking at the ribbed spot deep inside her cunt.

“You okay, babe?”

Heather’s thumb traced downward, gently coaxing open her hood, finding Nephenee’s clit.

Nephenee grunted turning her nose away. “Don’t get full of yourself,” she said, pants clipping each word. “I was just… distracted. Thinking about what you s-said… before.”

Her hands, both around Heather’s neck. Shaking.

“Awww,” Heather replies, unable to restrain the Cheshire grin spreading over her lips, even as the cherry-red mark spread across her cheek. “Did I hurt your feelings?” Her deft fingers, nibbling in little pinches along  Nephenee’s thigh. “Want me to kiss it better?”

“Don’t you ever shut up?”

Heather’s cheeks dimpled with the full force of her grin. Laughter danced in her eyes.

“I can think of one way you’d get me to.”

Heather barely had the time to insatiate what she meant, her tongue flicking just past the gleam of her teeth in the darkness, before Nephenee took her down a notch. Several notches, really. Her boot hooked the back of Heather’s knee and brought her to the floor. She squirmed, having only enough sense left The coarse leather of Heather’s fingerless gloves roved down the outsides of her thighs. The compression of Heather’s lips against the crux of her. She slapped a hand against her mouth to muffle the groan, bashing her head back against the plywood.

Heather kissed her like how a wolf hunted prey. Taunts and feints. Jabs and ripostes. Nephenee was ashamed, feeling how open the rhythm of her body was to this woman. She bit her thumb between her teeth to stifle a cry, as Heather’s tongue retreated, and drew tickling patterns along her the labia. She bit her thumb so deeply that the instantaneous bruise felt as if it bit back.

Nephenee’s shaking hand swept up from her mouth to swipe the sweat from her brow, and, in doing so, knocked her hat to the floor.


The pair froze with the voice that accompanied the creaking of footsteps on the stage above. Micaiah? What was she doing here?

Well, Nephenee froze. Heather had other plans. Unwilling to be dissuaded, she stroked her nose coyly against Nephenee’s clit.

“Unh…” Nephenee braced a hand against her mouth. Why the hell did she give Micaiah that key!Her legs were shaking, now. Stop. She wanted to hiss it at Heather, but then Micaiah would hear THAT for sure. Instead, she groped her fingers in Heather’s hair, squeezed tight. Yes, this would give her the message. This would shut Heather up. This would stop this ridiculous…

Wait… why was she… grinding Heather’s face so hard?

“Neph?” The voice murmured up above, approaching the stage. “You okay? When you didn’t come home I figured I’d…”

Heather’s tongue struck deep inside her, embracing her with a warm roll, and then spreading wide. She suppressed a moan. This was fine. She could… handle… this…

The buzz of her cellphone lit the room, even through Nephenee’s jeans. Micaiah was calling her now. Christ, that girl didn’t know when to quit! Visions of panic filled her. What if Micaiah found them. What if that cut short this… this… whatever this was! What if it all stopped in an instant, Heather’s kiss, her hands, her warm breath, the bite of her teeth against the inside of Nephenee’s thighs. Nephenee panicked, now, her breath shallow in her lungs. This could be over at any second. This thrust of bodies. This friction of flesh. And that meant if she didn’t… if she didn’t soon…

She did.

Nephenee pitched forward, grabbing at the back of Heather’s neck with both hands, thrusting her hips forward like a battering ram. She very fucking much did. Only… with all her hands engaged, she didn’t realize that she had nothing to strangle off the moan of her climax until it was too late.

“Well, if Nephenee was here!” Micaiah announced cheerily, to no one but the phantom moaning spirit of the venue. “I’d just want her to know that I’m heading home!” Her rain boots tromped across the stage, landing at the hollow bit just above their heads. There, she stomped with all the energy of a royal decree. “And that I’m very happy for her!”

Nephenee collapsed. Heather followed, as if molded to her body. Mounting her, she drew up Nephenee’s sweatshirt, layering soft kisses over her abdomen, and all that hard muscle, as her palm rolled firm into Nephenee’s pubic mound and her fingers delved deep into that pulsing warmth. A shower of dust filtering down at them captured Nephenee’s eyes. She quaked, her eyes clouding, and the cold feeling of tears stinging the sides of her face. She hated the little mewls she made when she was like this. She wanted to cover her mouth. She wanted to run and hide.

Heather drew another one out of her, quick as a crackle of lightning and still hard enough to make her insides flex and twist. Oh screw it. What was the point in hiding, or boxing it all up? That’s half of why she felt so fucked up to begin with!

Her mouth snapped open, wide and excited. So she moaned again, this time past the point of concern over how loud it was, or how it trailed off into a whimpering squeak, and how weak that might make her sound. She did it! She let herself do it!

With a howl of triumph, Nephenee let herself go.

And she took a bit of sadistic pleasure, in how, with all the thrashing of limbs of an exhilarating, uninhibited orgasm, one of her flailing knees clocked Heather pretty good. That one was definitely all Heather’s fault, and so Nephenee enjoyed it guilt-free.

Her vision cleared up, and her higher brain function returned, and she blinked back at Heather, still atop her, her hands pillowed on Nephenee’s boobs, her chin resting lightly atop her knuckles, and that prickish hyena grin of hers, everpresent, even now.

“She’s…” Nephenee coughed. Still shaking, she curled deeper into Heather’s weight. She was like this, after orgasm. Soft. Unself-conscious. Somehow purified. “She’s never gonna let me live this down. She’ll engrave it on my tombstone.”

She… hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this feeling.

“Well,” Heather said, reaching out to affectionately muss Nephenee’s hair. “What else are friends for?”

“Uh…” A timetable flashed before her eyes. This late… she’d be lucky to get home on the train before the sun came up. Which meant… “I think… she kinda might be my ride, though?”

Heather divested Nephenee of her weight, leaning back against the wall, kicking her legs out and pillowing her hands behind her head. Cocky, even with a Nephenee-gloss still painting her smile. “Perfect timing, then! I was just about done with you.”

 Ugh. Nephenee dragged herself upright, fretting her hands in front of her. She felt gross. This was like… such a thing people did. Cumming and going? They came and went? Well, she’d never done it, and she’d never had it done to her, but she’d heard about it. And it felt like… “This isn’t, like, majorly uncool of me? Just… leaving like this?”

Heather snorted. “Do I look like a snuggler? All this means is I get the bed—such as it is.” She patted the bunched-up comforter beside her. “All to my self for my personal time.” A waggle of her eyebrows and she leaned in. A swat on Nephenee’s rear encouraged her towards the ladder. “Go on up, you can still catch her.”

Nephenee turned to go, crawling up on her knees, and, as if to get in one last little maddening dig, Heather snared her around the stomach with both arms, reining her back against her breasts. Her teeth closed around Nephenee’s ear for a possessive nibble, and she murmured,

“See you tomorrow, roadie.”

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