Ann/Leslie, Medusa 176 words + Aphrodite x words = 380. For femslash100. This completes my Greek Myth drabble cycle!
Dear Parks & Rec, I googled Harry Potter things for you. That’s real love.
*
Leslie rolls over, her breast grazing Ann’s arm, sending shivers all through her though they’re warm in bed. “Hey Ann?”
“You don’t have to say Hey Ann, Leslie. I’m right here.”
Leslie tucks her Ravenclaw bookmark in place and sets The Half-Blood Prince on the night stand. “I wonder what your patronus would be, Ann. Something beautiful, like an antelope, or a cat.”
Ann sets her own book aside, her magazine, really. After pulling shifts at both jobs she needs to unwind. Glamour is just ridiculous enough to do the trick, though Leslie finds their heterosexism frustrating and has written numerous letters to the editor. “And what would yours be?” She knows Leslie wants her to ask. It never hurts to play along.
Snuggling up against Ann, her fingers cold and sure over Ann’s hip, inching slowly lower, warmer. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe an otter.”
“Clever and very, very cute,” Ann adds, shifting against Leslie’s hand, sighing when they fall in to place, books forgotten.
“Or maybe a stag,” Leslie murmurs. “Harry’s a stag.”
*
“Mmm,” Ann says, later. “My turn.”
“I’m pretty sure you just had your turn, Ann.” Leslie’s face is soft with exertion, her smile coming easy and wet.
But Leslie doesn’t complain or dispute the facts when Ann turns them over, kicking at the already-half-discarded comforter and shivering briefly at the rush of cold air over their sweat-laced bodies. “My turn,” she says, kissing Leslie’s stomach, the underside of her right breast, licking upwards to the nipple and flicking her tongue. “My turn, my treat.”
Leslie reaches up to run her fingers through Ann’s hair, brushing back the strands that have fallen forward, tipped with sweat. She scoots up on the pillows, spreads her legs (almost imperceptible, her expectation, her desire).
“Mmm,” Ann says, shakes her head. She catches Leslie’s wrist and holds it back over her head. “Just me. I want you, Leslie.” Her voice comes out cracked, and Ann catches Leslie’s lower lip between her teeth, capturing any argument. She kisses her deep, the whole length of them touching, breasts, hips, toes. “I want you, and I don’t need any help.”
“Oh Ann,” Leslie says, letting her hand drop behind her head, catching at the pillows with tight fingers. “You’ve got this down.”
