Chapter 5

FIVE

B y the time the food is ready, the two women have put away most of the bottle of wine between them. The energy began to shift as they moved into the living room, eating on opposite ends of the couch. They didn't bother to turn the TV on or anything— the conversation continued to flow unaided, and Moriah never felt her mind start to wander.

The food turned out delicious, and the moans Cricket lets out as she chews on butter-smeared hunks of challah send embarrassing tingles through Moriah's inebriated body. She hasn't had much more than a glass of wine at a time in a while, and almost half a bottle makes her feel flowy and loose.

Loose enough, in fact, that when Cricket gets a text and groans dramatically at her phone, flipping it over on the couch cushion, Moriah braves a comment.

"I wouldn't want to be whoever that is," she murmurs. Their plates are long cleared, crumbs of crusty bread and their mostly empty wine glasses the only evidence of the meal left still, leaving room for Cricket to shift on the couch, inadvertently moving closer.

"My ex," Cricket laments. "She's…she's a good person, really, but…she still thinks I'll come running whenever she wants to get laid, and I've pretty much moved on. Like, her only priority is sex. She doesn't want to know how I'm doing, or anything, just when I can get to her place."

"Ugh," Moriah says and adjusts her posture to face Cricket better in turn. Her skirt rides up her legs a bit, revealing the bend of her left knee. "I like sex as much as the next lesbian, but you think she'd get the idea by now."

Cricket's face pinkens and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Distantly, some wine-addled part of Moriah's mind reads the motion as a nervous tick.

"I mean," she says, "it's not like I've said no."

Moriah tries to school her expression, but Cricket's face gets even more flushed.

"I don't mean any judgment! I just— I haven't slept with anyone in three years, I can't really imagine keeping someone on a tether for that long," Moriah says, the wine making her tongue trip over her words. Her mind turns— oh, that still sounds judgy. "Seriously, I get it, I just—"

"Three years?" Cricket croaks, and Moriah feels her face flush dark as her words linger in the air.

"It wasn't by choice," she says and pulls her hands close, trying to make herself small. "There was the lockdown, and then after that, I...I became a bit of a homebody, and I wouldn't even let the girlfriend that I did have come over. Someone with contamination OCD doesn't quite mix with a society of apathy during a pandemic, and even as numbers went down, I...I don't really go out, anymore. The world isn't friendly to people still concerned about getting sick."

She realizes after the words have left her mouth that she hasn't told Cricket about her OCD before this, but there's no judgment in the other woman's expression.

Cricket's face softens and she reaches over, smoothing a palm over Moriah's knee through her skirt. "I get it," she sighs. "The only reason I wasn't celibate during it all was because of my ex. She lives in Caerlloyd, we met up a few times. It wasn't anything but that, though. I was still…lonely." Moriah's skin itches under the contact. Her bones feel like red hot metal, like the videos of nickel balls slowly melting through blocks of gelatin or wax. Her stomach flips, like a child holding their crush's hand for the first time. She looks up at Cricket, whose red hair is tucked behind her ear, pierced with three golden rings.

Cricket's green eyes are almost that same gold in the low light.

"I don't tend to trust quickly," Moriah says, looking away. Cricket shines too bright, reflects all the goodness in the world right back at Moriah, and it's blinding. She can't take all of that in right now. "It makes hookups hard."

The cat feeder goes off in the kitchen and Woolf leaps from her spot between them, but Cricket just keeps looking at Moriah. A bit of her hair— a grown out strand of bangs?— falls in front of her face, but she doesn't move her hand to push it back, instead just continues to stroke her thumb over Moriah's thigh, like offering the woman a modicum of comfort is more important.

"For a long time, my only close friends were gay men," Cricket says. Her pink mouth curls in a gentle smile. There's an especially prominent freckle above her lip, just by the corner of her mouth. It shifts in shape as she smiles, and Moriah realizes belatedly that she's staring. She doesn't look away this time. "When you live in a town as small as Caerlloyd, all the queer women have already dated, fucked, or made mortal enemies with each other, sometimes at the same time. Erin is the only one who could still stand me after the mess I made after—"

Cricket cuts herself off and finally averts her eyes from Moriah's. It almost hurts when she looks away, like when a concert ends and the sound fades to silence, yet it's the loudest sound you've ever heard. Moriah rests her hand over Cricket's before she chickens out.

"After?" she breathes. Cricket meets her eyes again. The disquietude eases, and Moriah takes a long breath.

"After my parents passed," Cricket finishes. Her smile turns sad. "I was a bit of a mess after that. Bruce was the only friendship I didn't completely blow up. Even Erin was pissed, but she was lonely enough during lockdown I guess she found it in herself to forgive me just long enough to get off."

Moriah feels the heat go to her cheeks again and she manages to choke out a forced laugh at the joke.

( Cricket and a faceless, featureless woman, both nude, pressed together in a tangle of sweaty limbs as snow falls outside a bay window; Cricket tosses her head back, red hair splayed out on cream sheets, cheeks pink and mouth open, and moans — )

Moriah blinks violently and jerks her hand away from Cricket's. She lifts her hands, pressing each fingertip to the pads of her thumbs in quick succession. One two three, one two three, onetwothree—

"Moriah?" Cricket says and squeezes her knee. "I— Sorry if I'm oversharing," she says, and Moriah shakes her head. One two three, onetwothree.

"No, I—" One two three. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. " The last one comes out forceful, but it releases the pressure in her chest and she allows her hands to fall to her sides again, palms against the couch cushions. "You're not, it's just—"

"Your brain?" Cricket says and shifts a little closer. Moriah can't look at her, she just stares down at a patterned couch pillow and counts the petals on each embroidered flower. One, two, three. One, two, three.

"I can't control it," Moriah says after three even breaths. "It shows me things I don't want to see, sometimes."

"My undergrad was in psych," Cricket says with that same even tone and strokes her fingers back and forth. One, two, three. Moriah's breathing calms. "I understand intrusive thoughts."

Moriah finally raises her head and looks at Cricket. The images don't return, and for that Moriah breathes a long sigh of relief. "I'm sorry," she says again, and then repeats it until it comes out right. One, two, three. Cricket taps her fingers in sequence again and smiles.

"It's okay, don't worry about it. I can go—"

"No!"

The word comes out more forceful than Moriah intends, emboldened by the wine in her system, but Cricket doesn't flinch.

"I don't really want to be alone," Moriah confesses. Cricket's smile turns softer, kinder, and her free hand reaches up as if in slow motion to hover beside Moriah's cheek, not touching, not until Moriah leans into it and closes her eyes. Cricket's thumb strokes over Moriah's cheekbone and the very corner of her eye. "I'm always alone."

"You're not right now," Cricket whispers back. Her sweet breath curls over Moriah's face, reminding Moriah of coffee and honey. Moriah hates the taste of her own mouth after she drinks coffee. It's why she has a pack of gum in her purse, despite almost never going out anymore. It's better to be prepared.

Now, though, she wants to lick into Cricket's mouth and discover every flavor note of the french press she brewed for them that morning.

"No," Moriah breathes and opens her eyes. "I'm not."

The pale pink yellow of the evening sunset peers through the clouds and shines in through the window behind Moriah, casting Cricket into a soft glow. Her hair has strands of gold running through it, lighter and shinier than the cozy red of the rest of her. She looks beautiful, as she always does. Handsome. Strong.

"Moriah," those pink lips say.

"Cricket."

There's a beat of quiet, as the wine-spun weight in the air that has been lingering all night grows heavy, a sandbag between their bodies, attraction sharp like a blade. Cricket fits her bottom lip between her teeth and her eyebrows furrow just a hint, but Moriah lets her eyes fall closed and sways forward just a hair's breadth.

It's enough.

Cricket's mouth is soft and warm and the hand cupping Moriah's neck surges into her hair with a gentleness Moriah isn't sure she deserves. Her body reacts violently to being touched with intention for the first time in years, and Moriah hears herself moan against Cricket's mouth despite herself. She pulls away.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" she starts, but Cricket leans in and kisses her again, turning her thoughts and anxieties to mush, tasting of wine and butter. Cricket's hand cradles the back of Moriah's head and her tongue brushes Moriah's bottom lip and fuck , it's been way too long since Moriah's been properly kissed. She presses forward and cups Cricket's round cheeks, kissing her harder. Cricket licks into Moriah's mouth, curious and exploring, and she tastes like alcohol and lust, sending Moriah's mind into radio static.

Cricket pulls back after a moment and takes a heaving breath.

"Don't apologize," she says and grins. Her lips are kiss-slick and swollen already and Moriah can't help but lean in and kiss her again, just a quick press of mouth on mouth.

"It's almost sunset," Cricket breathes and strokes her thumb over Moriah's cheek. "Do you need to…before sunset, I mean."

When the question clicks, warmth blooms in Moriah's chest, but she shakes her head. "I've already turned off what needs to be off, and Hashem won't mind," she says and looks at Cricket's mouth. The woman's hand in her hair, slowly scritching at her scalp through the mussed strands, is deeply distracting, sending jolts of arousal through her gut to her core. "Sex is a mitzvah. Shabbat shalom, Cricket Sterling."

Cricket's face splits in a massive grin and she presses back in. One of her hands goes back to Moriah's thigh, this time pulling her skirt up to touch the skin of her bare thigh with her hot palm. Moriah moans again and pushes Cricket back by her shoulders until she's laying flat on the couch, head on a crooked crocheted pillow Moriah made during lockdown— the first one she ever made when she took up crocheting. It's green, and Cricket's red hair fans out over it, alighting the yarn in gentle flame. With the sun setting, the warmer, sharper light through the window makes Cricket look almost holy.

Shabbat shalom indeed.

Moriah tugs the silky hair tie out of her braid and uses it to tie her hair up in a loose bun, just to keep all two feet of it out of the way. Then, she tugs her shirt off, leaving her in a dark maroon bralette and her skirt, rucked up around her hips from Cricket's hands.

"Beautiful," Cricket murmurs and looks over Moriah's body, making goosebumps rise on the other woman's flesh. The wine is still tingling through her system, making her brave, and she leans in.

"You should see yourself," Moriah replies and tugs at the hem of Cricket's sweater. Her overalls are unlatched now, pooling at her waist just before the jut of her round hips. "I can't get enough."

Cricket props herself up on her elbows and tosses her head back, sending a curtain of red hair glimmering behind her shoulder.

"Then look as much as you need," she says simply, and Moriah's cunt clenches. Fuck. Fuck.

She's straddling Cricket's waist, but she reluctantly climbs off.

"I have some options in the bedroom," Moriah says and adjusts her skirt, then looks to Cricket, who hasn't stopped smiling as bright as the sun since they kissed the first time. "I have—" Embarrassment comes back, but it only stays long enough for Cricket to stand up and pull Moriah into another fierce kiss. Cricket is shorter than her by a few inches, but the kiss is still effortless as Cricket pulls Moriah down by her neck and kisses her hard.

"Please tell me you have a strap," Cricket murmurs against Moriah's lips, and Moriah laughs a sigh of relief.

"I do," she replies, "and I know how to use it."

Cricket presses Moriah into the wall at her back and juts her face into Moriah's neck. She kisses at the skin gently, then opens her mouth and nibbles— it's a good thing Moriah doesn't go out much, because Cricket's almost certainly going to leave a smattering of little red marks across the flesh of her throat. Each press of teeth and subsequent swipe of tongue sends a spark to Moriah's pussy.

"Moriah," Cricket murmurs before biting the woman's collarbone one, two, three times. "I'm going to eat you out so fucking good." One, two, three. "And then you're going to finger me, and I'm going to ride you."

"You promise?" Moriah replies. Cricket offers her pinky, a loose, light smile still tugging at her lips.

"I pinky swear."