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Sol Tozer is ready to throw herself out of a moving car.
Her ass is slowly teetering on the edge of numbness, someone in the back is complaining of being car sick, and another needs to piss “ really bad” . They’re not even half of the way to their final destination.
Tozer doesn’t even want to think about how long she’s been inside the world’s most cramped rental minivan, which was (not so) lovingly dubbed Terror by the girls in the back. They thought it felt fitting for their 6-hour drive to play a gig far out of their home turf.
The views outside Sol’s window are nothing special. Trees burned to charcoal from past fires, hills carved from rock, fields of vegetables, and sometimes, cows, horses, sheep, goats, and once, a herd of llamas. All of these are called out by Tommy, who is sitting right behind Sol, knees digging into the back of her seat. Sol has already swatted at Tommy’s bony kneecaps twice. Telling her to “knock it off” and to “sit like a normal human being.” She doesn’t tell her a third time. Instead, she just silently prays Tommy will get the fucking hint. It isn’t until Willamina tells her to knock it off that Tommy finally does. But now Mina becomes a victim of Tommy’s undying need for comfort at all times. Draping her legs across the other girl’s lap, the lead vocalist gives a cheeky smile to the drummer and then starts complaining about being car sick. Mina then starts to complain about how Tommy’s feet squishing against her stomach are causing pressure on her bladder and how she needs to pee REAL BAD.
Sol Tozer is planning a mutiny. It’s the first thought that lands in her brain. “How many bands need a bassist? I’m a fucking great bassist. The best bassist here!” One more show with these two, and she’ll be gone. It won’t be the first time she’s up and left a band. Though Tozer thinks that Tommy isn’t capable of wielding a knife and chasing her like the former lead singer of that band. And maybe she’ll bring Johnnie with her, not as a member of the band, of course, but more for moral support. Not many ladies have the connections Diggle does. “Not many chicks make grilled cheeses for hungover losers in their late twenties like Diggle does, either,” Tozer thinks.
As if sensing Tozer’s thoughts, Johnnie says something about a gas station coming up and how they’ll stop there for a bathroom break, a restock of snacks, and some anti-nausea pills.
Thank God for Johnnie Diggle.
⭑⭑⭑
In all, it takes almost half a day to get to the city where they are playing. Tozer doesn’t think it should qualify as a city, though. Downtown is four blocks long and three blocks wide. There’s a bar on four different corners, including the bar where The Last Privateers are playing tonight. Johnnie knows a couple here who’ll let them crash at their house for the night. Jamie and Frances aren’t home this weekend, so they were more than happy to let four vagabonds run amok in their house for three whole days, provided that at least one of them is attentive toward the 180-pound Newfie named Neptune. Sol mumbles something about how “she wasn’t about to get slobber all over herself” . But of course, the rest of the girls are doting over the big lump, cooing over a great big black blob that seems to be in the shape of a dog.
Sol thought having a show on Halloween was stupid. More than stupid, actually. She doesn’t have a costume, and Tommy and Mina had pressured her to buy one for the past three weeks. She didn’t want to. It was her first sign of rebellion. She hopes that they won’t be visibly mad at her when she steps out of the bathroom in a moth-bitten band tank top, a pair of ripped black jeans that do wonders for her ass, and a paper crown absolutely covered in glitter.
“How do I look, guys?” Tozer asks, arms spread in a way that screams, “Look at me! Please don’t get mad at me for not wanting to do this stupid show in costume!”
Mina and Tommy stare at her with such distinctive looks. Oh, if Tozer could read minds. And oh, if Tommy Armitage could blow people up with hers. Both Tommy and Mina are dressed impressively well, their beer-tab chainmail cowls glinting in the light of the hallway.
“I thought we all agreed we were going as knights,” Tommy says. “I thought you said you were going to be Hotspur!”
Tozer flushes red with embarrassment. She had meant to be Hotspur. But she didn’t have the time, nor the energy, to go out of her way to buy a costume like that. Those excuses, and the fact that she didn’t have the money. Sol squeaks out, “I mean, don’t knights need to be loyal to a king?”
Sol swears she could see Tommy’s eye twitch as she says, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
⭑⭑⭑
Jane Irving does not want to be here right now. Doesn’t want to be in a seedy bar with a sticky floor with her two best friends, who have already ditched her to grab the evening’s first round of drinks. The feathers of the angel wings Jane had very delicately hot-glued together last night are coming off in clumps. It’s cold. She’s unhappy. And Neddie and Georgie have matching costumes.
Ok, it’s not like she had anything better to do. If she had it her way, she’d be back in the apartment she, Georgie, and Neddie rented together, editing the paper she’d been writing for the past few months. She’d worked herself to the bone on this one . Even Professor Crozier, the three girls’ supervisor, had told them to take it easy this weekend. And of course that meant that Georgie and Neddie were going to get blisteringly drunk, and drag Jane down with them.
“There had to be classier watering holes than this,” Jane thinks, looking at the poker table in the back of the bar or the slot machines that flash a multitude of different colors.
There aren’t. Not in this town.
⭑⭑⭑
The Last Privateers are the last band of the night. This lineup allows Armitage, Pilkington, and Tozer to smoke and shoot the shit while waiting for their set to start.
Loud music pours out of the bar's backroom, and with it, the door that leads out to the back alley swings open with a wall of heat. Sweaty and steaming people who would rather risk the tinge of the cold walk into the late October air. Their body heat combined with the air causes steam to rise from the tops of their heads and mingle with the neon lights of the bar’s multitude of different signs. Sol notices an older woman dressed as a clown step out of the bar, her entire body so sweat-covered that it looks like she’s doused herself in something. The steam coming off of her is incredible. From the top of her head, her palms, her arms, it looks like she’s been extinguished, and the dying flames are lingering on her skin. Sol wishes that her phone weren’t almost dead. It would be a great photo.
Tommy and Mina recognize a few people who had left out the back and decide to leave Sol’s side to chat with them instead. Tozer doesn’t mind, of course; she actually prefers to smoke in silence, especially before a gig.
Bud Light plastic cup in one hand, Marlboro Reds in the other, Sol takes turns nursing them both as she sits on the lip of the curb. It isn’t snowing, but it feels as if it should be. A truck races past the crowd of people, honking its horn as everyone either sitting on the curb or standing on the sidewalk hollers back. Sol just shakes her head, “fucking hicks,” she thinks, and then goes back to alternating between putting her lips over the rim of her cup and the end of her cigarette.
She thinks about everything other than the band or their music. She thinks about the weather, how cold the concrete is on her ass, her stupid costume, and how she wishes someone would offer her a hit from a joint. Fuck…
⭑⭑⭑
Jane isn’t picky when it comes to her drinks. She has taste, of course, and she thinks everyone should. But when her friends are buying, on their meager student budgets, she’ll take as many shitty shots as they will. Georgie and Neddie come back with shots in hand, beaming with such pride you’d think they hit the jackpot. Ned, one half of a costume Jane is too uncultured to recognize, gets right behind Jane and squeezes her shoulders, babbling on and on about how excited she is that Jane finally made it out with them.
Jane pats one of Ned’s hands before removing them from her shoulders, returning the straps of her dress to their proper places, “It’s a one-time thing, dear Neddie. I’m only here because if I spend another minute looking over my paper, I’m going to walk out in the cold night never to be seen again.”
Both Ned and Georgie look almost offended at the idea. “Ma petite chou, can’t you just enjoy one night out with your best friends? It’s Halloween! We should be having the night of our lives! Good music, good friends,” Georgie accentuates that last part by crushing both Ned and Jane in her grasp, “ and good drinks.”
“I didn’t celebrate Halloween as a kid… and,” Jane takes a shot and grimaces as the burning sensation slides down her throat, “I wouldn’t call these drinks 'good'.”
Georgie swats a hand, apparently dissipating the thought, “Pah! I just don’t think you appreciate the good liquor in front of you!”
It’s Ned’s turn to take a shot, and she shakes her head in disgust as it goes down, “No, George, she’s right. These taste like straight rubbing alcohol. And what’s with the name? Bearfucker ? Who thinks about fucking a bear after drinking this?”
Georgie throws a dramatic arm across her eyes. “It’s so heartbreaking to see my friends have such shit taste.”
“Shit taste? Or reasonable taste.” Ned asks.
This sets Georgie off on a whole lecture about percentages of alcohol and how only the “real ones” get it, whatever the hell that means.
Jane gets up and away from the table, heading out to the back to get some fresh air. She’s only really in the backroom of the bar for less than half a minute, but she swears the music is so loud that it is rattling her teeth. Dodging her way through the sea of people in costumes, she finally makes it outside and into the cold air of an almost November night.
There aren’t a lot of places to sit down that aren’t already taken. Also, they’re all on the ground. But beggars can’t be choosers. Jane’s angel wings bounce and recoil as she plops herself down next to someone wearing a golden crown that looks like it used to be covered in glitter, but now all the glitter is on that person’s arms and shoulders.
She’s not one to talk to strangers, but Jane feels as if a simple question about a costume couldn’t hurt to ask.
⭑⭑⭑
Lost in her thoughts and wants, Tozer doesn’t notice a girl sitting down next to her. Sol thinks she can hear something other than the music from inside, but everything is muffled.
It takes a light wave in front of her face for her to immediately snap out of whatever the hell she was thinking about. “Are you going to answer my question? Or are you just going to keep staring at nothing across the street?” Tozer hears the body beside her ask. Tozer turns her head to look at the girl, cluelessly, “Hmm?”
The girl next to her tilts her head, “I asked what your costume is supposed to be.”
Sol shakes her head, “Oh… I’m King Solomon.” (She’s not) “What are you supposed to be?”
The girl quirks an eyebrow and slurs, “And here I thought I was being obvious with it. An angel, duh.”
Tozer immediately recognizes that the angel is tipsy.
Tipsy, almost teetering on the edge of drunk, and the most gorgeous girl she’s ever seen in her entire life. Her long, chestnut brown hair is slightly pushed back by a white headband. It rolls down her cold pink skin and slightly tangles itself between the feathers of her wings.
“This couldn’t be a costume she bought,” Sol thinks. “It’s cute,” is all she can say.
The angel’s eyes light up. “Thanks, I made it myself. Well, just the wings. And the halo headband. I can tell,” she gestures to the shittly crafted together outfit Sol is wearing, “that you did too.”
Tozer laughs at this, hard. “Well, I wouldn’t say made. More like scrounged together. You should see my bandmates, though, dressed to the fucking nines, the two of them.”
The angel perks up at this, “You’re in a band?”
“Yeah, we’re the last ones of the night,” Sol shrugs, tickled with the fact that apparently, this angel is into chicks in bands.
“Oh! You’re the band my friends really want to see! Not The Last Marines… or The First Mutineers… God! What was the name?!”
“The Last Privateers? That’s me. Well- me, and Tommy, and Mina.”
The angel’s fingers snap in recognition, “That’s the name! Ugh, I knew it was somewhere in that realm!”
“So you didn’t want to see us?” Tozer puts a hand to her heart, feigning dramatic, “I’m hurt.”
The angel snorts, “Oh God, no. My friends dragged me out here. Not really my scene, this.”
“No offense to you, Ms. Angel, but I can tell.”
“Jane.”
“What?”
“Jane. My name is Jane. Not anywhere close to an angel.”
Sol almost verbally disagreed with her on that. She looks cherubic. Her rounded cheeks match the rest of her body, painted pink by the cold. The halo hanging above her head seems damn right natural.
“Sol,” Tozer offers up.
“Is that short for anything, or is it just ‘Sol’?”
“Solei. I like Sol better.”
“Alright, Just Sol.” She pauses for a second before saying, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too, Jane.”
Jane smiles so big and bright, Sol feels her heart stutter. But whatever this moment was is now interrupted by two girls dressed as the dyke versions of Don John and Don Pedro from Kenneth Branagh's Much Ado About Nothing coming over and dragging Jane back inside.
Jane waves and smiles, “I’ll see you after your set! Break a leg!”
Sol smiles wide and says, “Thanks, angel!”
Jane can only roll her eyes at the nickname as her two friends pull her farther inside the bar.
Ned quirks an eyebrow when they do finally drag Jane inside. “Jane Irving, as I live and breathe, were you flirting with someone?”
Jane crosses her arms and shakes her head, “If you mean me talking to someone before the two of you dragged me away? Then, yes, I was. She’s in that band you guys want to see.”
Georgie interrupts, “You were flirting with a member of The Last Privateers?” She swipes some fake tears away from her eyes, “Oh, Jane, I am so proud of you, I could cry.”
Jane rolls her eyes. “Oh, shove off, the two of you. I was just chatting!”
“And is chatting the reason why you’re blushing so hard right now?”
It’s Ned’s time to jump in, “Or the fact that she called you ‘angel’?”
Jane is flubbering now, “I’m blushing because it’s cold outside. AND, I’m dressed as an angel! It’s an easy connection to make!”
Georgie is beaming with pride, “Our little church mouse, flirting with a woman? In a band? What has our world come to?!”
Jane’s acceptance of her attraction to women was a long time coming. When she was younger, especially as an undergrad, she would have many a crisis regarding it, and Ned and Georgie were present for many of the eventual breakdowns she would have about it. The countless Am I Gay? quizzes that graced Jane’s computer screen and the tears that flowed afterward were all known by the other girls. Still, teasing was allowed, especially when it was the first time Jane had gone out on a limb and struck up a conversation with a, by her own admittance, fucking hot woman.
Jane had eyes for Christ's sake. Jane wants to retort. Wants to spit back something that’ll cause Georgie or Ned to burst out laughing, but she’s interrupted as she hears the strum of an electric guitar in the back room.
⭑⭑⭑
Sol Tozer is not one to flirt with random girls.
Ok, that was probably the biggest lie she’s ever told. Probably ranked next to “noooo, I swear I’d never leave the band!”
But she’s never been one to flirt with girls at shows.
Ok, maybe that was also a lie, but she would never really flirt with girls when she was performing. She lets the girls flock to her as if she’s the first butch this small town has ever seen, gives them a cocked half smile, lets them take her home, and rocks their world. Every. Fucking. Time.
Sol Tozer is a cocky son of a bitch, but this is the one thing she’d never lie about.
Jane was… Jane was different. Gorgeous, for one. Didn’t just talk to her to flirt. Jane talked with Sol just to talk to her. Asked her what her costume was. Called her Sol.
Sol Tozer doesn’t believe in love at first sight.
That’s another lie.
Sol is, once again, so lost in her thoughts she doesn’t feel Tommy kick her in between her shoulder blades until finally, there’s a pang as Tommy rears her foot back and drives her foot home into Sol’s back.
Sol shrieks and turns around to look at whoever had the balls to kick her, only to find Tommy Armitage’s twitching eyes glaring down at her and a hand reaching down to help her out, “Showtime, babe, make it count.”
Sol swats Tommy’s hand away and gets up from the cold concrete of the curb. She slowly cranes her neck around the area of the stage when the three of them finally pick up their instruments and start a little test of the speakers. Jane’s not here. She said she would be. Tommy’s guitar snaps her out of her spiral over Jane. Ah, well, the show must go on.
⭑⭑⭑
Before she can even react to the jolt of noise, Jane Irving is being dragged into that room and into the moshpit.
Jane Irving has never been in a moshpit before. The closest thing she’s got to this moment right now is dance circles at her old church’s youth events. Lights on, leaving room for Jesus, surrounded by kids who did not have a rhythmic bone in their bodies. She does not know what the hell she should do. Ned and Georgie have disappeared into the crowd. The bass drum is kicked in a steady 1-2-3-4-5-6, and Jane looks at the stage just in time to see a girl with curly brown hair strum her guitar and begin to wail, with her accompanying bandmates, Sol included, kicking shit off.
Jesus Christ , it’s loud.
It’s loud, there are so many people mushing their sweaty, hot bodies against her, and she’s lost her halo. She can’t even hear herself cry out as she tries to find her headband in the sea of people. In all the chaos, she’s thrown all the way to the front, body crashing into the stage. Her arms brace against the cold metal of the stage, and she looks up to see Sol looking down at her. She’s pretty sure she’s giving Sol a great view of her cleavage because Sol stops plucking for just a millisecond, slack-jawed, before seemingly remembering where the hell she is, and starts back up again. It was basically unnoticeable, but Jane smirks at the thought that she could be that distracting, as if she had the same reaction to Sol as Sol had to Jane when she first laid eyes on her.
It’s a great confidence boost, it turns out. Because as Jane is pulled back into the moshpit, she starts to get into the rhythm. She ebbs and flows with the crowd. If the dress she was currently wearing allowed for jumping, she would’ve.
The music is loud, but God is it good . Jane’s pretty sure she can feel the bass drum disrupt her cardiac cycle.
Five or six songs into the set, familiar sweaty palms find Jane’s shoulders, and other familiar sweaty palms find Jane’s ankles. And before she can wriggle out of Georgie and Ned’s grasp, she’s hoisted high in the air, passed from person to person. Oh God, she’s heading to the front again. She half heartedly attempts to scream at the people holding her in the air to put her down. But either the heat of this small room or the two shots she took earlier has turned her into a giggling mess. She’s brought back down to earth just short of the stage and meekly waves at the bassist before jumping her way back into the pit. She doesn’t even give Sol time to react to that .
There are a couple more songs before the lead singer/guitarist, Tommy, if Jane had to guess, grabs the mic and walks back and forth across the stage, “Ladies and germs, we are The Last Privateers. I’m Tommy, that’s Mina on drums, and that’s our great king Sol on bass. We hope you had a great fucking night here with us.” She strums her guitar
The crowd roars.
Tommy absolutely beams as the drummer, Mina, slaps her drumsticks into the high and mid toms in her own sort of applause, “We hope to be back here soon, but in the meantime, stay safe and stay sexy!” And then the band kicks back off into one last song. Jane can’t pick out the lyrics, but she’s pretty sure she can hear Sol harmonizing, and fuck if it doesn’t make Jane swoon.
The song ends with a shred from the bass and a collection of different beats from the drums as the audience roars in applause and cheers. The band bows and the lights go up.
People leave the backroom to head out into the cold October air, and Jane finally reunites with her halo. It’s smashed to hell, which kind of breaks Jane’s heart. But at least she has it back.
Jane finds Ned on her hands and knees. “Fuck. I think I lost my belly button ring while in the pit,” Ned says, standing up and wiping (presumably) sweat and beer onto her linen pants.
Georgie sticks her tongue out in disgust, “Not again. Ned, I will personally buy you another one. I do NOT want to crawl on my hands and knees looking for it like last time.”
Jane whips her head around, “What do you mean last time ?”
“Ned lost her ring last time we were at a show together. She made me and some random drunk guys look for it. It was horrible, I mean, seriously horrible. The floor was so sticky with dumped beer. Ned found it eventually and just-” Georgie shivers, “-just stuck it back in the hole in her belly button. No wipe down… no nothing.”
Jane struggles not to audibly gag, “Ned, how on God’s green earth are you still alive. How do you not have gangrene or something?”
Ned shrugs, “I think I got scurvy our first year in the Master’s Program, our house most definitely has lead paint, or mold, or both, so I’m pretty sure gangrene is the least of my worries.”
Georgia shakes her head incredulously, “What do you mean ‘gangrene is the least of your worries’? Don’t you remember Crozier’s buddy Tom? The one who did that lecture on glaciology? I think she stopped giving that lecture because she got some sort of infection in her leg.”
Ned cocks her head to the side, “Really? I thought it was because she got attacked by a bear off in the woods somewhere.”
“Well, yeah, but the infection came after the attack. Whatever prosthetic she had was rubbing her leg raw or something.”
Jane deflates, “Can we please stop talking about this? I had two shots and my stomach feels like it’s going through the Passage right now.”
At the same time, Ned and Georgia ask, “Drake or Northwest?”
“Drake.”
Georgie pats the top of Jane’s head, “Let’s get you some air, babe.”
Georgie’s the first one outside, and the minute that cold October air hits her face, she’s got her pack of fancy cigarettes out of her pocket. She offers one to Jane (who she knows will decline) and one to Ned, who, for the first time ever , declines one as well, “Gave it up for Tam, she doesn’t like kissing me and tasting cigs.”
Georgie clasps her hands in glee, “I didn’t know you and Jopson were exclusive!” And with a deep sigh, “All my dreams of the three of us becoming a throuple diminish day after day.”
“I’ll have to ask Tam if it’s ok that I’m in a throuple with my roommates,” Ned laughs.
Jane tears her eyes away from the door that leads outside and shakes her head, “I have no doubt in my mind she’ll explode you with her mind the minute you ask her that.”
“What are you looking at, Janey?”
She snaps her eyes away from the door again, “Hmm? Me? Nothing.”
Georgie narrows her eyes in suspicion, “Nuh uh. You keep looking at the door… Are you… trying to spot your band girlfriend?”
Ned joins in, “Oh my God, Georgie, you’re totally right! She literally can’t look away from it for more than five seconds! Janey’s got a cruuuuush!”
“Georgia Henrietta Hodgson, Edith Little, if either of you two brings her up again, I am leaving right now and locking you out of the house. Have fun sledging back in the cold.”
There’s a raspy, used voice from behind Jane, “Bring who up?”
Jane Irving’s skeleton almost bursts out of her skin. She knows who’s behind her, but if she doesn’t turn around, she won’t have to face Sol. Sweaty, raspy-voiced girl who saw a lot of Jane's boobs, Sol. “NO ONE.” She tries to laugh it off.
It doesn’t work.
Sol clears her throat, clearing away a little bit of the rasp, “Was just comin’ over to see if any of you got a cig, I’m fiending for one right now.”
Georgie presents her blue pack of cigarettes to Sol, who responds with a “cheers” and takes a drag. And hacks as soon as the smoke lands in her lungs. “ Jeeeesus ,” she says after a while, smoke mixing with the cold air, “what the hell kind of cigs are these?”
“Oh! They’re from China!” Georgie gestures to Ned, Jane, and herself, “Our supervisor’s wife recommended them to me."
“I didn’t know Jamie smoked,” Jane sounds seriously surprised.
“Used to, I think she stopped because it messed with her estrogen dosages. She wouldn’t stop raving about these guys, though,” Georgie says, placing a cigarette in between her lips.
Ned pulls out a lighter to light Georgie’s cigarette for her, “God, I remember the days when Frances would roll her eyes the second Jamie brought up anything China-related.” And in Ned’s best attempt at a Frances Crozier accent, she says- between giggles- “I mean, seriously, it’s not like Fitzjames was shot by the Chinese!”
And that causes all three girls to break into hysterical laughter.
“Feels like I’m on the outside of an inside joke here, ladies,” Sol frowns. “How long have you guys known each other?”
Georgia waves a hand, “Oh God, for ages ,” and moves to squish Ned and Jane between her two arms, “We’re pretty inseparable.”
Ned deadpan replies, “Unfortunately,” and Georgie slaps her on the head.
“Oh, hush, you are lucky to have us in your life.”
There’s a pause teetering right on the edge of awkward and comfortable before Georgie says, “shit! I think I left my purse back inside. Ned, would you mind helping me look?” To which Ned bows her head and says, “Oh, of course , my lady.”
Those fuckers. Georgie’s purse is literally hanging off her arm right now.
Before Jane can turn around to chase after her two friends for leaving her (wing-women or not ), Sol asks, “Wanna swap headgear? I think you’d make a pretty princess.”
Jane, honest to God, bursts out laughing at that, “Oh, so in your crown, you’re the king, but I’d be a princess? How does that work?”
Sol shrugs, “Crown chooses the role, angel, can’t tell you how it works.”
Cocking an eyebrow, Jane asks, “Think you’re good enough for my halo, oh great king?”
“Oh hell yes, live like a saint, I do.”
Ned and Georgie titter off to the side somewhere, and Jane wants to stare daggers into them. But she doesn’t, she gets on her tippy toes to reach the top of Sol’s head to reach her crown, plucks it off her head, gives Sol her very crumpled halo (and wings, no angel is complete without their wings), and places the crown upon her own head.
There’s a twinkle in Sol’s eyes, “See? I was right, you are a pretty princess.”
Ok, deep breath, Jane, you’ve got this. “Have a habit of flirting with princesses, Sol?”
Sol chuckles, “Why, you like that?”
Looking into Sol’s dilated pupils, Jane replies, “Yeah, maybe I do.”
“You wanna come home with me, pretty angel?”
Oh .
Jane is flushed. “Another habit of yours?”
Sol rubs a hand over her mouth, “You wanna find out?”
⭑⭑⭑
Sol Tozer is a cocky son of a bitch. “Cocky and arrogant, but well prepared” , she thinks to herself as she moans into Jane’s mouth.
One of the straps of the satin white slip Jane is wearing slides down her shoulder, and she doesn’t have the desire to place it back in its original spot; it’ll be off her soon enough, she thinks. Her hands firmly dig into Sol’s scalp as Sol backs them up into the room she’s sleeping in for the weekend. Whatever complaints Jane initially had about having sex in her supervisor’s home (and there were a lot of complaints before Sol kissed her for the first time outside the door of Frances Crozier’s house) have gone out the window as Sol’s tongue slides into her mouth. It’s not like she and her wife are home. And she’s been to their house many times. She has a good relationship with Professor Crozier, whom she does not want to think about right now as Jane’s back hits the mattress, and as Sol looks into her eyes, black pools of desire seep into the brown specks of her hazel eyes.
They stop kissing to heave heavy breaths. Jane’s still lying flat on the mattress, staring up at the dark ceiling above them before turning her face to look at Sol. And her puffy pink lips. And her heaving chest. She gets up on her elbows to properly kiss Sol, and she’s all but shivering. The adrenaline surging through her body is causing her teeth to chatter and her legs to shake. She’s having a hard time latching onto Sol’s lips as her elbows feel like they’re going to give up on her at any moment. Sol pulls her face away from Jane’s for just a moment, a torturous moment, according to the whine Jane lets out as Sol’s face inches farther away from her own. “You alright there, angel? You’re shaking a lot .”
What Jane wants to say is, “Me? Oh yeah, I’m SO good right now. Please, carry on with whatever it is that you were doing before you stopped kissing me.” But, through a high whine, chattering teeth, and an almost immediate pull of her slip dress (with no bra, Sol notes mentally) up over her head, it ends up sounding a lot like, “Sol pleasepleaseplease just fuck me already.”
Sol doesn’t think she’s ever moved this fast in her life. Not running from the cops after almost getting busted for being in possession of weed at the ripe age of 17, not during her sporty era, nothing . Nothing compares to the speed at which she moves to scoot Jane further toward the headboard, to the speed at which she takes off Jane’s pretty white lace panties (because of course Jane’s panties are just as pretty as the rest of her), to the speed at which Solei Tozer gets her mouth on Jane Irving’s clit.
Jane’s high whine is fucking music to Sol’s ears.
Jesus Christ, Jane is so wet. Embarrassingly so for a girl she’s only known for less than 5 hours. But no girl she’s known for this long has eaten her out like this . The sloppy precision drives Jane wild. The open-mouth kisses to her cunt, the swirl of her tongue around Jane’s clit.
It’s fucking fantastic .
And so much.
It doesn’t take long for Jane’s heaving breaths to start to come in faster and faster, for her fingers to work their way into Sol’s hair and grip , which elicits a guttural moan from Sol.
Huh , good to know.
Jane is all but riding Sol’s face as she comes with a litany of what she wanted to be, “Sol, Sol, Sol ,” but was probably high-pitched moans punched out of her.
Sol Tozer comes up from between Jane Irving’s thighs with a wet face and a wide smile, “Good?”
“For the love of all things holy, Sol, get over here right now.”
And Sol Tozer obliges, crawling on hands and knees to meet the bonelessly tired body of Jane Irving. Jane can taste herself on Sol’s tongue when they kiss and thinks herself slightly narcissistic for enjoying the taste. Jane whispers against Sol’s lips, “Let me help you now,” and her hands find the zipper of Sol’s jeans. Sol smiles against Jane’s mouth, “Nah, babe, getting you off gets me off,” but allows Jane to continue roaming.
And, to Jane’s absolute delight, she discovers that Sol is wearing her strap harness. And has been all fucking night .
Cock included.
Sol whispers into the shell of Jane’s ear, “We don’t have to if you don’t want, but I was just imagining your pretty pink lips around my cock. Do you want that, Janey?”
Jane moans whorishly at the flash of images in her mind. Her lips wrapped around the red silicone of Sol’s cock. Jane’s big eyes looking up at Sol with perfectly crafted innocence as she dips her head further down the shaft. Christ , it sends a pleasant shiver down her spine. “Yeah. Oh, God , yeah.”
Sol’s mouth quirks into a smile as she gets out of her jeans and gets her dick into her harness and flips them over so that Sol’s back is on the mattress, “Get it wet for me, alright?”
“Yessir,” and Jane’s mouth forms a perfect O as she gets her lips around the tip of the velvety soft silicone. She bobs her head experimentally and slightly gags as Sol’s cock inches more and more into Jane’s mouth. Sol’s hands plant themselves in her hair and pull her off, “You alright, Jane?”
Jane doesn’t respond; instead, she takes a deep breath, opens her mouth again, and gets to work. Her throat burns, but Sol gives her time to adjust, inching the cock slowly further and further down Jane’s throat. One of Sol’s hands finds its way to Jane’s cheek, and her thumb caresses a sprung tear off of Jane’s still, this time from arousal instead of the cold, pinked cheek. “You’re doing so good , Janey,” Sol praises, hitching her hips forward just enough to make Jane slightly gag again. Jane’s fingers reach down to touch her clit. Well, that was her plan, before Sol saw what she was doing and pulled Jane off her dick entirely. Jane moans pitifully at the emptiness she’s feeling, “Sol,” she whimpers, “come on.”
Sol crosses her arms, “Janey, hands where I can see them, or nothing.”
Jane wipes saliva off her chin, “Sol, please. I’ve been so good.”
Sol pouts and gives Jane’s hair a tousle, “I know, angel, but you gotta keep it up, alright? Are you gonna listen to me?”
And Jane wraps her hands around the silicone dick, experimentally jerking it, “Hands where I can see ‘em, right?”
Sol swallows hard, “Right.”
Jane flicks her wrist, “And can you see them?”
There’s a bead of sweat rolling down Sol’s brow, “Uh huh.”
With faux innocence in her eyes, Jane asks, “So can I get back to it?”
Rapid nodding, “Fuck- yes. Please. Angel, please.”
And the pleasant burn returns to Jane’s throat as she gets her mouth around Sol’s dick once more. From further up the bed, there’s a chorus of “fuck, angel, you’re perfect. God, angel, who taught you how to suck cock like this? Just like that, angel.” Jane’s moan is quieted by the strap deep in her throat, but she’s positive Sol can hear what that kind of thing does to her.
Sol’s hands once again find themselves in Jane’s hair as Jane takes the strap all the way to the hilt. Jane stills herself for a second, breathing through her nose, before she pulls herself off the cock with a loud pop!
Something between a laugh and a gasp emerges from Sol, “Jesus Christ , Jane. How did you- wow. Oh my God .”
The hand still on Sol’s strap gives the cock another flick of her wrist as she rises on her knees, positioning herself over it.
Sol is slack-jawed as she nods her head and watches as Jane slowly sinks herself onto the strap, a quivering cry makes its way out of Jane’s throat as she does so. Sol’s hips jerk up to flush themselves with Jane’s. They’re both still for a second, allowing Jane to get used to the stretch. The air in her lungs is punched out of her, so she has to take rapid breaths in and out. Jane’s heaving chest gives Sol a great opportunity to reach up and cup one of Jane’s breasts in her hand, tweaking the nipple as she does so. Jane’s back arches at the feeling, settling herself deeper onto Sol’s cock. With an experimental rise and fall, Jane threw her head back in a moan, exposing her bare throat as she set a pace for the two of them. Sol’s hips meet Jane’s every single time, connecting them as one body before Jane retreats, only to reconnect seconds later. One of Jane’s hands, the one not holding herself upright, grasps the hand on her tit, squeezing it tightly as the pace Jane set is interrupted by a hard one, two, three thrusts up into Jane, Sol’s whimpering lips against Jane’s damp forehead as Jane rides out Sol’s orgasm and almost immediately after, her own shivering orgasm running down her body.
Sol is staring at her with a reverence akin to a puny human seeing a god of old for the first time. She’s completely speechless, as it turns out; she doesn’t have any praise for Jane when she rises on her shaky knees and shudders as Sol’s cock slips out of her. Damp perspiration covers the back of Jane’s hand as she wipes her brow, sinking deeper and deeper into the mattress as she tries to recover from her second orgasm of the night.
Sol’s looking at her with a gentle, warm smile when her own breathing has finally calmed down. Christ alive, her lips are so puffy, and Jane is suddenly so flushed with embarrassment that she throws an arm over her eyes, hoping that the woman who just gave her two of the best orgasms she’s ever had suddenly cannot see her anymore.
It doesn’t work, in case you were wondering, because one of Sol’s large hands grabs Jane’s wrist and, with a little maneuvering, is brought to Sol’s lips, teeth dragging against the blue vein there. Jane squirms and whimpers, but is let go without being bitten. “Sol really should’ve been a vampire for her costume”, she thinks, “Oh well, there’s always next year.” God, you make a girl come twice in a row, and suddenly she’s envisioning what your future couple's costume is going to be! But Jane’s rapidly spiraling thoughts about her future with Sol are cut off when, with Sol’s other very large hand, she’s quite sweetly circles the pad of her thumb around Jane’s clit, “Can you come again, pretty angel?”
“I can’-“ a moan rising from somewhere deep in Jane’s chest cuts her off.
Sol dips her head down to lap at Jane’s collarbone, “Yes, you can. Come on, angel. Jane . You’ve been so good so far. Just one more. Three’s a magic number, you know.”
Jane can’t even form words anymore. She’s overstimulated to high heaven, and fuck, it feels so good . She nods against the pillow and cries as she feels two of Sol’s fingers enter her cunt just up to the first knuckle. There’s no stretch this time; if anything, it feels as if her fingers are sliding home.
Sol’s fingers pistoning in and out of Jane, AND the thumb on Jane’s clit were- oh God - it was so much. Jane could feel herself tightening around Sol’s fingers like a vice, third orgasm building to a crescendo as her whole entire body clenches around Sol.
“Lemme feel it, Jane. Wanna feel you come. Come on, baby. Yeah, that’s it. Come on,” Sol babbles, pumping her fingers in and out with a squelch that in any other moment would not be as hot as it sounds right now.
Jane comes with a shuddering cry, the lower half of her body rising from the mattress in her chase to meet Sol’s retreating hand.
Post orgasm, Jane Irving once again melts into the mattress, skin damp with sweat. But Sol doesn’t mind, apparently, because her lips latch onto every piece of available skin she can possibly see (which is, all of Jane’s skin at this current moment), and between small and gentle kisses to Jane’s forehead, Sol says over and over again, “So good for me, my Janey. So, so good.”
Jane replies with a boneless “mmph,” and turns her head to meet Sol’s lips once more before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep in Sol’s arms.
It’s the best night’s sleep she’s ever had.
⭑⭑⭑
In the morning, Jane comes out of the tiny guest room where Sol had sequestered herself, trips over the black mass she knows to be Neptune lying outside the doorway, and silently curses to herself when she looks up from the floor to find herself face to face with one Jamie Fitzjames. Who definitely should not be home right now.
“Jamie,” Jane squeaks out, “What are you doing back so early?! I thought you and Frances had the rest of the weekend off in the woods somewhere!” Nice Jane, real smooth.
Jamie smiles and waves a hand, “Oh, you know, flare-ups. Not as good a walker as I used to be. But what are you doing here, my dear?”
Jane flushes and fidgets with the straps of her slip. Surely Jamie can see the love marks beginning to blossom on Jane’s pale skin. “Me? Uh, I was just spending the night with a member of that band you and Frances allowed to stay over. I mean, not like ‘ spending the night’ spending the night. She showed me how to play the bass a little.”
And from a room further down the hall, a door creaks open and a voice shouts, “And that’s why you were screaming ‘ Sol, Sol, Sol’ all night? I mean, Jesus Christ, girl! She can’t be that good .”
Jane Irving is pretty sure the flush reaching down to her chest right could set her on fire, “Please never tell Frances this happened.”
The lines on Jamie’s cheeks crease in either delight or significant embarrassment, “It’s been completely wiped from my memory, dear. But I’d suggest you scoot out before she comes back.”
Jane runs back into the guest room, trying very hard not to slam the door behind her. Sol is still asleep. It takes multiple shoves, stealing the blankets away from her, and eventually whispering sweet nothings into Sol’s ear for Jane to finally wake Sol up. “Sol, are you awake?”
It’s a goofy, bright smile that plasters itself onto Sol Tozer’s face the minute she realizes where she is and who she’s with, “Hi angel.” Sol tilts her head to the side and leans in to kiss Jane, who sighs as soon as Sol’s lips touch hers. Jane’s fingers find their way into tangling themselves in Sol’s hair as Sol’s tongue slides into her mouth.
Jane pulls away to breathe, to babble about the most embarrassing moment of her life thus far, but she’s pulled back in by Sol’s hands roaming underneath her dress.
With a shiver, Jane pulls away again. Sol’s eyes are darkened by how blown-out her pupils are. “Sol, I gotta go.”
Sol whines, “No angel,” and kisses her again, “stay. Please.”
Between kisses, Jane says, “I gotta go. Like really gotta go. Here’s my number. Text me,” pulls herself away one last time, kisses Sol once more, and rushes out the door.
And as Sol hears the doors open and close, she says, “I will, angel, I certainly fucking will.”
Fin.