Wrecked By An Academic

This story takes place about a week after "The Stockroom" if you haven't read that one, go do that. I'll wait.

Done? Good.

The bar was loud, sticky with spilled beer and too many conversations happening at once. Bridgette leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching the door with the kind of casual disinterest that was a lie. She wasn't waiting for anyone. Not really. Definitely not waiting for her.

"You're staring at the door like you're expecting the Pope to walk in," Carrie muttered, sliding a shot in front of her. "Or worse."

Bridgette scoffed, knocking the drink back in one smooth motion. "Please. If I was waiting for anything, it'd be a real drink. Not this dishwater."

Carrie smirked, tapping her fingers against the bar. "Right. So, you're not hoping Gianna shows up?"

Bridgette rolled her eyes. "Why would I care if Gianna shows up?"

"I dunno. Maybe because she's been talking about you nonstop since that night at the store. All dreamy-eyed, like some lovesick teenager."

Bridgette scoffed again, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes. Carrie caught it, of course she did. "Gianna's a kid. She'll get over it."

Carrie laughed, full and rich, shaking her head. "A kid? She's a grown-ass woman, and you're full of shit. Don't think I don't know what this is."

Bridgette looked at her. Blinked.

"Fuck you. Gianna is now the age I was when we were together. You know you can't have me, so you'll settle for Angie's other girl. Same hair, same smile... same tits."

Before Bridgette could fire back, the bar door swung open, letting in the humid night air and--of course--Gianna Rosalita DeLuca. She stepped inside, all soft curves and dark eyes scanning the room like she was searching for someone.

Carrie grinned. "Huh. Looks like she hasn't gotten over it."

Bridgette turned away, pretending to be suddenly fascinated with her drink. "Not my problem."

Carrie leaned in, voice low, teasing. "Oh, but it is--because if you break her heart, I'm gonna break your face. I will rain down upon you like--"

Bridgette exhaled through her nose, lips curving into the smallest smirk. "Guess I better behave, then."

Carrie sat back, satisfied. "Damn right you better."

Gianna made her way to the bar, ordering a Black Cherry Wishniak. She hesitated for just a second before sliding onto the stool next to Bridgette. She was quiet at first, stirring her drink, fingers tracing the condensation on the glass. Then, she turned, eyes bright with something between curiosity and nerves.

"So, uh..." She cleared her throat. "I was reading about that, uh, astro... astro... philo--? No, wait--astrophysics stuff you do. Space-time and, um... gravity wells?"

Bridgette raised an eyebrow, barely hiding a smirk. "Astrophysics?"

Gianna nodded enthusiastically, as if that had been exactly what she said. "Yeah! That! The thing with the black holes and the, uh... event... horizons?"

Carrie, sipping her drink, snorted. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

Gianna shot her a glare before turning back to Bridgette, determined. "So, like... do you believe in, uh, quantum... star explosions?"

Bridgette exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face. "Okay, first off, you don't believe in science. It's not Santa Claus. It's not the Easter Bunny. You accept science--because it's based on peer review, rigorous testing, and repeatable results. You don't just wake up one day and believe in gravity because you tripped over a curb. Gravity doesn't need your belief. It just is."

Gianna blinked. "So, uh... no on the quantum star explosions?"

Bridgette groaned, tilting her head back like she was asking the ceiling for patience. "Supernovae. You mean supernovae. And yes, they exist, because we've observed them. We don't just take a wild guess and hope for the best. Science is about evidence, data, and--"

Carrie clapped a hand on Bridgette's shoulder, cutting her off. "Alright, Professor, we get it. You get personally offended when people talk about science like it's astrology."

Bridgette pointed at Gianna, eyes narrowed. "Did you Google this five minutes before you walked in here?"

Gianna pursed her lips, looking down at her drink. "...Maybe."

Carrie cackled. "Oh, sweetheart, you are so cute when you try to keep up."

Gianna wasn't listening anymore. She was watching Bridgette, eyes dark, fingers idly running up and down the stem of her glass. She wanted nothing more than to grab Bridgette by the collar and drag her to the ladies' room, to feel that sharp mouth against her own, to lose herself in something electric and inevitable. But she was trying to be subtle. Cagey. Seductive.

Two things she absolutely was not.

"So..." she started, voice slow, like she thought she was being smooth. "I, uh, read somewhere that... molecular attraction is a lot like... like... gravitational pull? Objects, uh, pulling toward each other?" Her lashes fluttered, a little too obviously.

Bridgette choked on her drink. Carrie turned her laugh into a cough, biting down on a grin.

Bridgette set her glass down, wiping her mouth. "Are you... trying to hit on me using physics?"

Gianna straightened her shoulders. "Yes."

"Is it working?"

Bridgette smirked, glancing at Carrie, who was watching them like a referee at a fight she hoped would break out. Bridgette leaned in just a little, lowering her voice. "It might be."

Gianna felt her stomach flip, her fingers tightening around her glass. "Then maybe we should, uh, test it? The pull?"

Carrie snorted. "Oh, for fuck's sake, just say you wanna go fuck in the bathroom and be done with it."

Bridgette leaned back immediately, sighing. "And there it is. The chaperone speaks."

Carrie rested her chin on her palm, looking entirely unbothered. "I just saved you two ten minutes of embarrassing yourselves. You're welcome."

Gianna groaned, dragging a hand down her face. Bridgette shot Carrie a glare but didn't argue.

Because, as much as she hated to admit it... she wasn't wrong.

Gianna suddenly stood, downing the rest of her drink in one determined gulp. Without a word, she turned and strode toward the ladies' room, her movements a little too quick, a little too obvious.

Carrie snorted, "She just slammed a non-alcoholic drink for courage."

Bridgette watched her go, fingers twitching against the bar. She exhaled, about to rise and follow, but before she could take a step, a firm grip closed around her arm.

Carrie.

Bridgette turned her head slowly, meeting Carrie's stare. Dark. Unwavering.

"I'm watching you," Carrie murmured, low and warning, her nails just barely digging in.

Bridgette smirked, slow and sharp, but she didn't pull away. "Wouldn't expect anything less."

But she pulled away just enough, slipping free of Carrie's grip and making her way toward the ladies' room, forcing herself to walk, not rush, even as her pulse quickened.

Inside, Gianna was waiting, leaning against the sink, lips parted like she was still catching her breath from the anticipation alone. The second the door swung shut, Bridgette was on her. No words, no hesitation--just hands threading into dark curls, mouths colliding, breathless and eager.

Gianna moaned against her lips, arms looping around Bridgette's neck, pressing flush against her, soft in all the ways Bridgette refused to acknowledge she craved. Their bodies molded together, warmth meeting warmth, the scent of perfume and liquor thick between them.

Bridgette's fingers found the hem of Gianna's top, sliding beneath, teasing over bare skin. And then higher. Because if there was a pair in the world better than Carrie's, it was Gianna's. Firm, warm, perfect. Bridgette groaned against her lips, cupping them, thumbing over soft, sensitive skin like she was mapping out something she'd never admit she wanted to know by heart.

Gianna shivered, tilting her head back, offering more, always more.

"I--" she started, but Bridgette swallowed the words with another kiss, deeper this time, her hand firm against the small of Gianna's back.

"Shut up," Bridgette murmured against her mouth, nipping at her lower lip. "Just feel."

Gianna sighed into her, melting, giving in, because she always would. Because Bridgette could deny it all she wanted, but this was gravity, pulling them closer, undeniable and inevitable.

The kissing deepened, slow and desperate, Bridgette's hands roaming, gripping, unable to get enough. Gianna was soft everywhere Bridgette was sharp, all warm skin and shaky breath. Her fingers traced lower, teasing over Bridgette's stomach, hesitant but determined.

Bridgette tensed for half a second--just long enough to feel Gianna smile against her lips. She knew what she was doing, what she was asking for.

And then Gianna was sinking to her knees.

Bridgette gasped. "You don't have to--"

"I want to," Gianna whispered, her voice hushed, reverent. But then, with a nervous laugh, she admitted, "I've never... y'know. Done this before."

Something inside Bridgette cracked--something she wasn't ready to name. Guilt. Longing. Something dangerously close to love. She reached down, fingers tilting Gianna's chin up, forcing their eyes to meet.

She exhaled slowly, her voice softer now. "Then let me teach you."

Gianna knelt before her, dark eyes wide with something between nervousness and hunger, lips parted as if waiting for permission. The air between them was thick, electric, heavy with the weight of something inevitable. Bridgette curled her fingers under Gianna's chin, tilting her head up just enough to meet her gaze.

"Slow," Bridgette murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to rush."

Gianna swallowed, nodding slightly, her breath warm against Bridgette's skin. Her hands, tentative but eager, smoothed up the back of Bridgette's thighs, fingertips tracing delicate patterns that sent shivers skating up her spine. It was all so new to her--this closeness, this uncharted territory--but she wanted to learn. And Bridgette was more than willing to teach her.

Bridgette leaned back against the sink, exhaling sharply as Gianna's touch grew bolder, more certain. "Just like that," she encouraged, one hand threading into Gianna's thick curls, guiding but never forcing. Gianna's lips drifted over her skin, warm and hesitant at first, testing, tasting, learning.

The tension between them was unbearable, the slow pull of anticipation setting Bridgette's pulse on fire. She bit her lip, fingers flexing slightly in Gianna's hair, her breaths coming quicker. "You're a fast learner," she teased, her voice uneven. Gianna looked up at her then, eyes dark and knowing, before pressing closer, letting her hands roam, letting her lips linger just a moment longer each time.

Bridgette exhaled a shaky laugh, her control unraveling, her body responding in ways she couldn't ignore. "Good girl," she murmured, barely aware she'd said it aloud. But Gianna heard. And the way she reacted--fingers tightening, gasping, body pressing closer--told Bridgette everything she needed to know.

The bathroom door creaked as someone passed by, the distant hum of bar chatter bleeding through the walls, but inside this space, inside this moment, there was only them. The scent of whiskey and perfume, the soft sounds of anticipation, the slow burn of something dangerously addictive.

Gianna pulled back just enough to catch her breath, her lips flushed, her expression dazed yet eager. "Did I...?" she started, her voice barely steady.

Bridgette reached down, her thumb tracing the curve of Gianna's jaw, her own breath uneven. "You're perfect."

Gianna's slow, satisfied smile said she understood exactly what that meant. She rose to her feet, her hands smoothing up Bridgette's sides, lingering at her waist. Their lips met again, softer this time, languid and knowing. Bridgette pulled her closer, letting the moment stretch, letting it imprint on them both.

Now Gianna is pinned, back pressed against the stall door, hands gripping the fading graffiti-carved metal, knuckles going white.

Bridgette's kneeling.

Not in prayer. Not for reverence. For science. For payback. For because she fucking wants to.

Gianna shudders as Bridgette's fingers slide up her thighs, deliberate, spreading her open, testing, feeling.

"Fuck, Doc--"

Bridgette doesn't answer with words.

She answers with her mouth.

Hot, wet, intentional.

The first stroke is slow, deliberate, just to see. To feel. To take her apart, one nerve at a time.

Gianna whimpers, gasps, her head tilting back, eyes fluttering closed as Bridgette works.

God, she's fucking gorgeous like this.

Open. Writhing. Overwhelmed.

Bridgette's tongue moves with purpose, with precision, with the kind of patience that makes a woman lose her goddamn mind.

She grips Gianna's hips, holds her still as she licks, sucks, teases, reveling in the way she shakes, the way her body begs for more without needing to say a single word.

"Jesus fuck, Doc--" Gianna's breath catches, breaks. "I-- I'm--"

Bridgette hums against her, the vibration sparking through Gianna's already electric fucking body.

Gianna's trembling now, thighs tightening, one hand gripping Bridgette's hair, pulling, pushing, desperate.

She's so close.

Bridgette pulls back just long enough to murmur, soft but smug, "I know."

Then she finishes it.

Gianna cries out, back bowing, body locking up before shattering--hot, gasping, shaking through it, Bridgette keeping her steady, keeping her grounded, letting her fall apart and catching her at the same time.

The stall door shudders with the force of it.

Outside, someone knocks. "Jesus, take it home, would ya?"

Gianna is too gone to even care.

Bridgette grins, pressing a last, lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh.

"Consider us even."

"We should go back out there before Carrie kicks the door in," Gianna murmured, her voice light, teasing, but her fingers still clung to Bridgette's hips, unwilling to let go just yet.

Bridgette smirked, letting her forehead rest against Gianna's for just a second before straightening. "Yeah," she agreed. "But next time..."

Gianna raised a brow. "Next time?"

Bridgette's fingers ghosted down her arm, the barest promise of more. "We won't have to sneak away."

Gianna bit her lip, eyes bright with anticipation. "Lookin' forward to it."

Bridgette chuckled, smoothing a hand down her own shirt before reaching for the door. The moment was over, but the fire between them was just getting started.