Everything Is Grace

It had been one of those nights. Too many bars, too much cheap and wildly incompatible alcohol, and way too many conversations that made no sense. Emily had danced in a kitchen, spilled a drink on someone's coat, and spent at least half an hour talking to a guy named Tom who insisted that astrology was "basically a form of Marxism."

Now, somehow, she was on the floor of Grace's flat, cross-legged, with a glass of something red and bitter in hand, watching Grace move around the room like it wasn't 3 a.m. and none of this was strange.

Grace glanced over, smirking faintly. "You okay?"

Emily nodded. "Yeah. Just... foggy."

"You go quiet when you're out of your depth."

Emily said nothing. She wasn't sure if this was an insult, or a compliment, or what.

At one point, Grace stepped over to her, crouched down just enough to be eye-level. "So how does it feel, being invited in?"

Emily blinked. "Invited into what?"

"My world." Grace's smile sharpened. "Not everyone gets that."

Then she reached forward, not hesitating, and tucked a loose strand of Emily's hair behind her ear. Emily didn't move. Her whole body stilled. She felt her breath catch, shallow.

Grace tilted her head and smiled lightly. "You want me to stop?"

Emily opened her mouth, but no words came out. She shook her head--barely.

That was all it took. Grace leaned in and kissed her--slow, steady, with complete confidence.

Emily kissed her back. She realized she wanted it--so badly it almost hurt; somehow, the thought that this is even possible has never crossed her mind before. Grace's mouth tasted like Campari and smoke. It felt like saying yes to a question she hadn't been asked out loud.

As they kissed, Grace pulled Emily closer, one hand on her back, the other sliding down, slow and unhurried, fingers brushing over the front of her jeans. Emily's breath caught. Grace didn't stop.

The button popped open. Then the zipper. Grace's hand moved lower in a deliberate, steady motion. Suddenly, she peeled off her shirt and unclasped her bra, letting it fall to the floor beside them.

Emily stared. There was something almost surreal about it--Grace half-naked, calm, steady, with a pair of beautiful, no, perfect breasts, skin glowing faintly, her make-up slightly smudged from the night. Nothing about her asked for approval. Emily had never seen anyone look like that. Not in real life. Not for her.

Grace leaned in again and slowly brought her mouth to Emily's ear.

"You're mine now," she whispered.

****

It was Emily's first time with another woman. Not that she hadn't thought about it before--she'd never been especially attached to labels. She might've only dated men, but this wasn't about doing it with a woman. It was about doing it with Grace.

Lying on Grace's floor--Emily fully naked, Grace still half-dressed--has changed something for good. From the moment Grace's fingers first touched her labia, Emily couldn't stop looking at her, and Grace never looked away. She whispered softly--words Emily barely caught--and Emily felt a mix of ecstasy and strange tranquility. It was the most natural thing in the world, and at the same time, the most intimate. When the orgasm came, it wasn't like the ones she had with her wand. The wave moved through her body, yes--but the real release was in her mind.

****

emily:
 last night didn't feel real lol

emily: also I think I'm still dizzy??

grace:
 hope that's not a complaint

emily:
 it really isn't

emily: 
you're intense though. like

emily: 
in a good way. but wow

grace:
 don't start writing me poetry

emily:
 too late. already drafted five stanzas in my head

grace:
 delete them

grace: 
come over tonight if you want

emily:
 obviously

****

If meeting Grace had felt like the real revolution in her Oxford life, then what word could possibly describe becoming Grace's lover? The best part: it hadn't been a one-off. As time went by, Emily began to crave it more and more. She started staying over at Grace's more often--after beers, parties, late lectures. Sex was always in the program.

Sure, Emily wasn't exactly experienced when it came to sex. She'd done some things with a few boys, here and there--but still, she was certain: Grace was the best lover in the world. How could anyone be that perfect?

And Grace was always the one calling the shots. She set the pace, the style, she was the active one. She liked using her fingers on Emily, bringing her to orgasm while holding eye contact--sometimes in bed, more often not.

But she also liked being on the receiving end. She made Emily go down on her. And Emily didn't mind. Not at all. Grace's pussy--perfect, shaven, flawless--felt like the center of the universe. That small point of her body, and Emily couldn't stop looking at it. When she could taste it, smell it, feel it under her tongue--when she felt Grace's stomach tighten, heard her release--it felt like nothing else mattered. Honestly, was there anything better in the world?

And then there were those post-orgasm moments--when they lay there, panting, staring at the ceiling, wrapped in a kind of beautiful, quiet closeness.

****

It was during one of those lie-ins that Grace brought it up. She had found a pack of mints on her nightstand and was slowly chewing one, talking lazily about the party they'd gone to the week before.

"--and that girl with the lilac eyeliner? At the kitchen counter? God, she was funny. We ended up fucking the night after."

Emily blinked. "Wait--her?"

Grace turned her head, frowning slightly. "Yeah?"

"You slept with her?"

Grace stared for a second, then gave a small laugh. "Is that weird?"

"No, I just--" Emily paused, tried to fix her face. "I didn't know you two... I didn't realise."

Grace tilted her head, curious. "You do get that I'm not monogamous, right?"

Emily nodded automatically. "Yeah. Of course. Totally."

Grace kept watching her. "I mean... you're not either, are you?"

Emily froze for half a second. "No, I mean--yeah. I'm not."

Grace smiled faintly, like everything was back on track. "Good. Just making sure. Some people get twitchy about that stuff."

Emily said nothing. She tried to mirror the smile.

****

The kitchen was packed and full of cigarette smoke, and someone was DJing off a phone. Grace's core people were there, as usual. Siobhan perched on the counter, all tattoos and ripped tights, laughing at something no one else heard. Florence stood near the fridge, perfect posture, sipping gin with that calm, expensive air she always had.

Emily hovered near the doorway. Grace was mid-conversation with a guy from her course. She glanced up, caught Emily's eye, and nodded her over.

Emily moved through the crowd. Grace didn't stop talking, just reached out and rested a hand on her hip like it was the most natural thing in the world.

A few minutes later, Grace turned to her. "Where are you sleeping tonight?"

Emily shrugged. "I don't know. I'm kind of tired."

"You're coming with me," Grace said.

Emily nodded, quiet. "Yeah. Okay."

Grace gave a small smile. "Good girl."

Later, while they were pulling on coats in the hallway, Florence grinned and said, "Look at you, house-trained already."

Emily didn't reply. Just kept tying her shoelace, pretending she hadn't heard the tone beneath it.

****

Back at Grace's, the lights stayed off. Emily undressed quietly, waiting.

Grace didn't look up from where she was sitting on the bed. "Come here."

Emily climbed in. Grace pulled her close, kissed her, then said, "On your back."

It wasn't rough, not rushed. Just calm and familiar.

"Touch yourself," Grace said.

Emily hesitated, then obeyed. Grace watched, one hand on her thigh, guiding when she slowed or moved too fast. When Emily's breath started to break, Grace said, "Not yet," and pressed her wrist down until she stopped.

They kept going like that--Grace giving small instructions, never raising her voice. When she finally said, "Now," Emily came so hard she had to cover her mouth to keep from crying out.

They didn't say much after. Grace lit a cigarette. Emily watched the ceiling and felt like everything made sense again. Her body was still shaking a little, but her mind was quiet.

****

Some weeks later, Emily was sitting in a pub. They'd taken over the back table--Grace, Siobhan, Florence, two grad students Emily didn't know, and Inês, a Portuguese PhD student in political theory. Early in her doctorate, but already treated like someone worth listening to. She spoke with quiet certainty, hands still, voice level. Even Siobhan, usually the first to challenge anything, held back when Inês talked.

Emily sat between Grace and one of the guys, mostly quiet. Inês was talking about some recent conference in Berlin, quoting someone Emily hadn't heard of. Grace listened closely, smiling like they shared a private understanding. Their arms touched on the bench. Grace didn't move.

Emily tried to follow the conversation but found herself drifting. Whenever she looked at Grace, Grace was looking at Inês.

No one was unkind. Florence offered her a sip of her drink at one point. Siobhan asked what Emily thought about something, but didn't wait for a full answer before turning back to the others. She had that subtle, humming sense that she wasn't quite necessary to the room.

Then, without her noticing, Grace and Inês were gone.

Emily blinked, looked around the table. Nobody commented on it. The conversation continued. Someone brought up an upcoming protest. Florence said something about how the press would twist it.

Emily stood up and went for the loo.

****

The corridor was dim and quiet. She pushed the door open and stopped.

A breathy sound came from the last stall. Muffled. Close. Skin on skin, the catch of a breath, a soft moan.

She didn't need to look.

The stall door wasn't shut properly. She saw the edge of a shoe, the shape of two people pressed close together. Heard Grace's voice--low, quiet, unmistakably intimate.

Emily backed out, slowly, and stood in the hallway.

She didn't cry. She didn't speak. She just stared at the wall, face hot, stomach twisted into something tight and small.

****

Emily slipped back into her seat. She didn't look at anyone.

The conversation at the table was still going -- something about whether leftist orgs should take institutional funding. Siobhan had thoughts. Florence was quoting someone. Emily wasn't really listening.

Grace returned ten minutes later. Calm as ever. Jacket off, hair slightly tousled, cheeks flushed like she'd stepped into wind. Inês came in just after, fixing a loose earring. They both sat like nothing had happened.

Emily leaned slightly toward Grace, kept her voice low. "You just disappeared?"

Grace didn't look over. "We were talking."

"You could've waited," Emily said. "Or just not done it where I could hear you."

Grace turned her head now, face still neutral. "What are you on about?"

Emily's voice was quiet, but tight. "You ignored me all night. Then you vanish with her, and I go into the loo and..."

She didn't finish.

Across the table, Siobhan caught the edge of it, slowed her reply. Florence glanced over.

Grace exhaled lightly, like this was all a bit tedious. "So what, you're upset because I kissed someone?"

"I'm saying," Emily said, trying to keep steady, "I didn't need to hear it. I'm not asking you to change. I'm just asking if it ever even crossed your mind how it might feel for me."

"Right," Grace cut in. "So the problem isn't what I did. It's that you had to witness it."

Emily looked down. "I'm not trying to make a thing out of this."

"But you are," Grace said, still calm. "You think you're being honest, but really you're just punishing me for not staying inside your idea of what's appropriate"

By now, the others had stopped pretending not to listen.

Grace went on. "I thought you liked me because I was honest. Was that only true when it suited you?"

Emily's hands were still shaking, but her voice sharpened. "No, I liked you, cared for you, because I thought I mattered to you too."

That hit. A pause. The others didn't say a word.

"I wasn't asking for god knows what" Emily went on, eyes wet now, but steady. "I just wanted to believe I mean something to you."

Grace's face stayed still, unreadable.

Emily took a breath, voice catching slightly. "And maybe I fucked up thinking that"

Grace watched her in silence for a moment, then said, almost softly, "You don't get to make moral claims on people and call it care. That's just dressed-up control."

It landed like a slap. Emily stood up.

"I think I'm gonna go."

No one stopped her. Siobhan just raised an eyebrow. Florence went back to her drink.

Emily walked out quickly, coat half-buttoned, the cold hitting her face like a shock.

She turned down a side street and didn't stop. By the second corner, she was crying--tight, silent tears that made it hard to breathe. Everything felt too close, too loud. She just kept walking.