They were getting ready for the reading group. Just some casual dinner thing - soft lighting, recycled wine bottles, everyone pretending not to care too much. Emily was in the mirror fixing her eyeliner, wearing a white shirt Grace liked.
Grace stood behind her, still buzzing a little from the last few days. Everything had been landing. Emily was listening, showing up, soft in the right moments, sharp in others. It felt... easy.
Suddenly, an idea popped into her head.
"Take your underwear off before we go."
Emily paused, one hand still near her eye. "What?"
Grace leaned on the doorway. "Just feels like the kind of night."
Emily turned halfway, frowning. "Why?"
Grace hadn't thought it through. And... didn't have a good answer. It had just come out. Everything had been clicking and she'd let it carry her.
Emily raised an eyebrow. "I don't really want to."
Grace, slightly disappointment, slightly confused, decided to back off. "Sure. That's fine."
Emily looked at her for a second longer, then turned back to the mirror. "It's freezing anyway."
Grace let out a small breath and sat down on the edge of the bed, tying her boots. The mood changed slightly, albeit noticeably. A little static in the air.
She'd overreached. Not catastrophically. But enough to feel it. The ask had been too much, too sudden. Not where they were - not yet.
Later, at dinner, Emily was herself again. Laughing. Focused. She got into a passionate dicussion on mutual aid. She looked serious and effortless, clearly empowered by being "with Grace".
Grace couldn't stop watching her. As the room thinned out she leaned in, hand lightly on Emily's back.
"Hey," she said quietly. "You're still the hottest person in this room."
Emily turned, smiling slightly. "Even in the bad underwear?"
"Especially in the bad underwear," Grace said. "You're still exactly what I want. Always."
Emily rolled her eyes but didn't pull away. Grace let her hand stay there for a few seconds longer before pulling back.
Back at Grace's place, they didn't talk about it. Emily curled into her on the couch, and Grace wrapped her arms around her like nothing had been off at all.
Next time, she'd wait. Let it build again. Not because she was scared of the no - but because she didn't want to waste a yes.
****
The bar was packed and home to way too many conversations at once. A Thursday night, post-panel. The alt-crowd drinking gin and smoking real cigarettes, never elf bars.
Grace had already taken over the corner table. Her usual constellation gathered loosely around her - Florence in a linen blazer, two PPE chaps looking always unimpressed, a visiting PhD from Paris with a nose ring like a tiny weapon. And Siobhan: inked sleeves visible under a sleeveless black top, rings on every finger, one boot up on the chair rung, observing the room like she owned the copyrights to everyone's secrets.
Emily hovered near the bar, trying to catch the bartender's eye. Grace didn't glance over. She just raised a hand and said, calm and crisp:
"She'll have the Merlot. She's not drinking spirits tonight."
Emily blinked.
The bartender looked over. Grace still didn't turn her head. "Same as me. Trust me, she'll thank me in the morning."
Emily half-opened her mouth, then stopped. Grace's tone - cool, amused, confident - made interruption feel childish. She nodded.
When the drinks came, Grace took both glasses, passed one to Emily without looking. The handoff was seamless. And definitely not affectionate.
Across the table, Florence raised her eyebrows. "Did she lose speaking privileges?"
Grace smirked. "She doesn't like deciding. Makes her anxious."
That got a laugh - amused, complicit, comfortable. The kind of laughter that said: this has been going on long enough that it no longer surprises anyone.
Siobhan didn't laugh. She leaned back in her chair, boot still hooked on the rung, gin untouched. Her gaze flicked between them, then settled on Emily for just a second longer than polite.
Then, lightly: "Is this your soft launch?"
Emily felt her stomach flip. Grace turned her head slowly, smiling.
"We're not doing Instagram captions," she said. "Everyone already knows what's what."
Someone from the PPE contingent grinned. "So you're admitting it now?"
"Admitting what?" Grace asked, faux-innocent.
"That she's the one you always bring."
Grace shrugged. "She listens."
A pause. Then, with a flick of a smile: "And she sees more than she lets on - unlike the rest of you theatre kids."
That caused a few sharp laughs, Florence half-scoffing into her drink. One of the guys rolled his eyes in mock offense.
Emily smiled - a flicker of warmth in her chest, despite the heat crawling up her neck.
Siobhan still didn't laugh. She was watching Grace too closely for that. Her thumb tapped slowly against her glass. Just once. Then she stood, said something to Florence, and disappeared toward the smokers outside.
Later, when Emily went to the bathroom, someone she barely recognized from the St. John's crowd caught her on the way.
"Hey. You're with Grace, right?"
Emily nodded, too quickly. "Yeah."
They smiled. "Cool. I've heard."
Emily stood in front of the mirror longer than necessary. Her face gave nothing away. She wasn't calm. But she'd been noticed. Not for herself - but for being Grace's.
It felt both good and weird at once. Like something she might start needing, and something she might start loathing.
****
The flat was quiet, soft with leftover noise from the bar still humming in their bodies. Grace was stretched across the bed in a loose tank top and underwear, scrolling through something on her phone.
Emily hovered at the foot of the bed, flushed from wine.
"Your friends are intense," she said, half-smiling. "You were kind of... bossy, though."
Grace didn't look up. "Was I?"
Emily sat down on the edge of the bed. "Not in a bad way. Just... everyone could see it."
Grace set her phone down slowly. "And that bothered you?"
"No, not really" Emily said quickly. "It was just obvious."
A pause. Grace's expression didn't change, but something in her attention shifted. She leaned forward slightly.
"Obvious how?"
Emily gave a soft laugh. "Like, everyone knew I was yours. You ordered my drink. You said I listen. You spoke for me."
Grace watched her for a beat, then nodded. "That's because you are mine."
Emily didn't reply.
Grace leaned in, kissed her. Slow at first, but deepened fast - hands in hair, mouth open, hips moving. She pushed Emily gently back against the mattress and pulled off her shirt in one smooth motion. Her hands moved lower, over Emily's ribs, between her thighs. Emily arched toward her without thinking.
Grace slid down, kissing the inside of her thigh, then lower. Her mouth easily found the right rhythm. Emily gasped, her legs trembling. She was getting closer. Close. Almost there.
Then Grace stopped.
Not gradually. Not teasing. Just stopped.
She sat up, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Emily stared, panting. "What -?"
Grace tilted her head. "Actually... I've changed my mind."
Emily blinked. "About what?"
Grace's voice was calm, almost conversational. "About making you come tonight. I don't feel like it anymore."
Emily stared, breath catching in her throat. "You - you don't?"
Grace made a faint expression. "Nah, sorry. You know, if you say I am bossy, I might as well live up to the expectations."
Emily didn't quite understand the connection.
Grace sat back, legs apart, and nodded toward her own body. "But if you want to make yourself useful again, get down here."
Not a request.
Emily hesitated. Not because she didn't want to, but because her whole body was buzzing, still waiting, still wound up tight. But she nodded and moved.
Grace's hand caught her hair as she lowered herself.
"Next time," Grace said softly, "think before you editorialize."
Emily's heart kicked. She couldn't quite tell if it was a joke or not.
She pressed her mouth to Grace's pussy, tongue slow and methodical. Grace exhaled - low, satisfied - and settled back.
This time, Emily didn't rush. She licked like she had all the time in the world. Grace moved against her face with the same authority she'd used all evening. Emily closed her eyes and let herself disappear into it.
When it was over, Grace lay back, one hand lazily stroking her own thigh. Emily sat up, flushed, aching, still waiting for the cue that wasn't coming.
Grace reached out, curled a finger under Emily's chin.
"You did well," she murmured. "But you're finished for tonight."
Emily nodded. She didn't say please. She didn't protest.
She just whispered, "Okay."
Later, curled beside Grace, Emily stared at the ceiling, still flushed and half-wired.
She hadn't come. Grace had decided that. And weirdly, she didn't feel angry - just off-balance. This one word - "weird" - kept coming into her mind, like it did pretty much everytime she was with Grace these days.
She was turned on, definitely, but also... unsure. Something about it felt close to wrong. But also kind of perfect. She didn't know what to call that. So she said nothing. And tried not to think too hard.
****
Over the next couple of weeks, something else began to settle. Not the relationship - that one, whatever it was, was undeniable. But the pattern. The way things moved between them. The rhythm of asking, suggesting, deferring. Of one voice landing first, and the other adjusting around it. It wasn't named or formalized. But it kept happening - small things, daily things, one after another.
Grace didn't have a specific checklist or a full master plan. But there were moments - usually quiet, ordinary ones - where she found herself nudging things. A suggestion here, a correction there. Sometimes deliberate. Sometimes just instinct. She'd see an opening - a pause, a glance, a question - and she'd lean into it.
It was in the way Emily stood up when Grace entered a room. It was how she skipped her morning coffee even when she was clearly exhausted, because Grace had once said she liked her "clear-headed, not twitchy." It was how easily Emily internalized Grace choosing for her in restaurants and bars.
It wasn't about romance, or at least not only that. What got to her was being the axis, yes, but also the recipient. The one Emily adjusted for. What to wear. What to eat. When to sleep. When to stop. And sometimes, even more plainly, things done for her. A course prep skipped. An errand run. A plan rearranged, quietly, so Grace wouldn't be alone. It wasn't obedience for its own sake - it was service, even when it came disguised as coincidence. The sense that Emily was shaping herself to fit her needs, her wants. Grace didn't need a label for it. She just liked the feeling.
She told herself it was mutual. That Emily wanted it too - maybe not in words, but in the way she kept showing up. Kept listening. But still, sometimes, Grace saw the flicker of resistance. A pause before complying. A look that said 'I don't like this', just for a second - and that was the moment that landed hardest. Because it meant Emily knew, and still gave in. That was better than consent. That was proof.
Grace didn't need to force anything. Not yet. She just had to keep the current steady - small asks, small cues, the soft gravity of habit. But even as she let it unfold, she could feel it: she wanted more. She wanted the edges too. She noticed how much time Emily spent on her uni work, how she still kept in touch with her flatmates and coursemates, how parts of her day were, from Grace's perspective, still unaccounted for. Grace didn't say anything, for now. But she noted it. Held onto it.
She'd wait.
In the meantime, she adjusted her own rhythm. Stopped saying thank you. That didn't suit the tone. Instead, she offered praise - a hand in Emily's hair, a look, a low voice. "Good." "That's better." She learned the timing: when to be warm, when to withdraw. A colder message. A delayed reply. A remark, half-joking, about how easy Emily was, how eager. And Emily would flinch, laugh, fall in line. Grace played that line on purpose - joke, not joke. It kept things moving. Kept Emily unsure. Which, in the end, was part of the point.
****
grace: you're still typing at this hour?
emily: yes
grace: tragic
grace: sleep. now.
emily: finishing one paragraph
grace: five minutes
grace: if you're still awake at 22:20 i'm revoking textile privileges tomorrow
emily: do you think it's coat weather
grace: that depends
grace: are you asking because you're cold
grace: or because you want me to tell you what to wear
emily:
