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femslashficlets2019-10-23 09:43 am
ilthit) wrote in femslashficlets2019-10-23 09:43 am
Entry tags:
[Literature] Afternoon Delight (Original)
Title: Afternoon Delight
Fandom: Original
Characters/Pairings: Goldie/May, Harold
Rating: mature
Words: 852
Prompt: We have been raised to fear the yes within ourselves, our deepest cravings. Audre Lorde, Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power
Notes: Inspired by a prompt on femslashex (1950s housewife/female neighbor), but not for femslashex, because the requester didn't want fics with jealous men. Hint: This is all about that. Contains cheating. Crossposted onficlets .
Goldie was reapplying her lipstick when she heard the door downstairs.
Shit. Her husband wasn't supposed to be back before the evening, and the shower was still going. May wouldn't hear the door, and Goldie couldn't call out to her to warn her. Harold was damn sure going to notice someone who wasn't her using their upstairs, adjoined, silver-handled brand spanking new tub-and-shower combo.
She stared at herself in the mirror, the applicator stick of Afternoon Rose still hovering by her lips. She gave her lips a quick swipe, smacked them together, slammed the cover on and stood up. She had to think quick.
"Darling, you're home!" She descended the stairs with a cautious smile, eyes wide and innocent as she could make them. He still fell for that sometimes, even after twelve years. You'd think men would learn. "Is something wrong?"
He let her take his coat and hat and hung up his walking stick. That stick was an affectation; Harold had had a knee injury playing rugby in his twenties and he liked to pretend it pained him still. "Yes and no. It's work stuff, you wouldn't understand." Harold had a funny way of frowning: The middle of his face scrunched up, while the rest remained smooth. She'd found it funny, once upon a time.
"You haven't been fired, have you?" Her mind flew over the mortgage figures. Just another fourteen months of payments left.
"No, nothing like that. I just lost another contract, that's all. They kept ragging me and ragging me about this feature that's plain against the laws of physics. I tried telling them."
"Oh, Harold. You really ought to learn to control your temper."
Harold stopped like a dog sniffing the air. The shower had just turned off, and the pipes made their familiar clunking sound. "Who's that in the shower?" The redness spread from the pinpoint of the scrunch, which was his nose, to his cheeks.
"Oh, that?" said Goldie, glancing up the stairs. "That's May. She was helping me in the garden and fell into some poison ivy. No use making her go all the way home for a shower."
"She lives two houses away. Goldie, what are you saying? You got a man in there?"
"Harold, now don't be silly--" But he was already half-way up the stairs. What else could she do? She sprinted after him. "Harold, please, you'll scare the daylights out of her. Let me--" But he shoved her back. She grabbed the banister for balance, and then it was too late.
"Now let's see just who--"
She winced at the scream, then again at the crash, and finally at the strong language. She slipped downstairs and poured herself a shot of whiskey.
The opposite of Harold's scrunch was a droop, concentrated mainly on his chin and mouth. Goldie regarded it coldly from over the rim of her glass. "Honey, I--I'm so sorry, I--I thought you were cheating on me."
Goldie tossed her hair. "Like you're cheating on me? I know about Mrs Anderson."
At least he didn't deny it, just hung his head. "I think I forgot some papers at the office."
"I think you did." She took a long drink and watched him pick up his hat and go. It was only when she heard the car in the driveway that she let her breath go, set down the glass and went upstairs. May was waiting at the bedroom door in Goldie's fluffy pink bathrobe.
"I heard him go."
"Yeah, thank God." Goldie slipped into her embrace and lay her head down on her shoulder, damp strands of black hair sticking to her cheek. "You know, he never loved me. Not for a second. He just wanted kids and a housekeeper. And I could only give him one of those things, so he loved me less every year. I'm not sorry." She lifted her face and May kissed her, sweet like an early spring morning.
That kiss became deeper, recalling their afternoon. Goldie guessed--hoped--Harold had been in too much shock to notice the rumpled duvet where they'd made love, made May messy enough to need a shower. She needed her now, needed to recapture that abandon, to know he didn't own her, that what they did for one another he'd never done for her. "May, May," she moaned.
"Do you think we're safe now?" asked May, though her breath hitched with the same adrenaline-driven want. Goldie pulled back with a laugh and shook her head. It was never safe.
But it was worth it.
She took May's hand and pulled her back into the bathroom, into that installment Harold had worked hard to pay, and Goldie had put hours into keeping clean. She turned on the shower-head and kissed her again, let the still-warm water from the boiler soak them both, bathrobe, dress, hairspray all. Let it wash it all away--her marriage, her position, all the filthy little tendrils of other people's needs.
Afternoon Rose smeared on May's neck. Her fingers curled sharply up. Little cries in among the waterdrops.
Fandom: Original
Characters/Pairings: Goldie/May, Harold
Rating: mature
Words: 852
Prompt: We have been raised to fear the yes within ourselves, our deepest cravings. Audre Lorde, Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power
Notes: Inspired by a prompt on femslashex (1950s housewife/female neighbor), but not for femslashex, because the requester didn't want fics with jealous men. Hint: This is all about that. Contains cheating. Crossposted on
ficlets .Goldie was reapplying her lipstick when she heard the door downstairs.
Shit. Her husband wasn't supposed to be back before the evening, and the shower was still going. May wouldn't hear the door, and Goldie couldn't call out to her to warn her. Harold was damn sure going to notice someone who wasn't her using their upstairs, adjoined, silver-handled brand spanking new tub-and-shower combo.
She stared at herself in the mirror, the applicator stick of Afternoon Rose still hovering by her lips. She gave her lips a quick swipe, smacked them together, slammed the cover on and stood up. She had to think quick.
"Darling, you're home!" She descended the stairs with a cautious smile, eyes wide and innocent as she could make them. He still fell for that sometimes, even after twelve years. You'd think men would learn. "Is something wrong?"
He let her take his coat and hat and hung up his walking stick. That stick was an affectation; Harold had had a knee injury playing rugby in his twenties and he liked to pretend it pained him still. "Yes and no. It's work stuff, you wouldn't understand." Harold had a funny way of frowning: The middle of his face scrunched up, while the rest remained smooth. She'd found it funny, once upon a time.
"You haven't been fired, have you?" Her mind flew over the mortgage figures. Just another fourteen months of payments left.
"No, nothing like that. I just lost another contract, that's all. They kept ragging me and ragging me about this feature that's plain against the laws of physics. I tried telling them."
"Oh, Harold. You really ought to learn to control your temper."
Harold stopped like a dog sniffing the air. The shower had just turned off, and the pipes made their familiar clunking sound. "Who's that in the shower?" The redness spread from the pinpoint of the scrunch, which was his nose, to his cheeks.
"Oh, that?" said Goldie, glancing up the stairs. "That's May. She was helping me in the garden and fell into some poison ivy. No use making her go all the way home for a shower."
"She lives two houses away. Goldie, what are you saying? You got a man in there?"
"Harold, now don't be silly--" But he was already half-way up the stairs. What else could she do? She sprinted after him. "Harold, please, you'll scare the daylights out of her. Let me--" But he shoved her back. She grabbed the banister for balance, and then it was too late.
"Now let's see just who--"
She winced at the scream, then again at the crash, and finally at the strong language. She slipped downstairs and poured herself a shot of whiskey.
The opposite of Harold's scrunch was a droop, concentrated mainly on his chin and mouth. Goldie regarded it coldly from over the rim of her glass. "Honey, I--I'm so sorry, I--I thought you were cheating on me."
Goldie tossed her hair. "Like you're cheating on me? I know about Mrs Anderson."
At least he didn't deny it, just hung his head. "I think I forgot some papers at the office."
"I think you did." She took a long drink and watched him pick up his hat and go. It was only when she heard the car in the driveway that she let her breath go, set down the glass and went upstairs. May was waiting at the bedroom door in Goldie's fluffy pink bathrobe.
"I heard him go."
"Yeah, thank God." Goldie slipped into her embrace and lay her head down on her shoulder, damp strands of black hair sticking to her cheek. "You know, he never loved me. Not for a second. He just wanted kids and a housekeeper. And I could only give him one of those things, so he loved me less every year. I'm not sorry." She lifted her face and May kissed her, sweet like an early spring morning.
That kiss became deeper, recalling their afternoon. Goldie guessed--hoped--Harold had been in too much shock to notice the rumpled duvet where they'd made love, made May messy enough to need a shower. She needed her now, needed to recapture that abandon, to know he didn't own her, that what they did for one another he'd never done for her. "May, May," she moaned.
"Do you think we're safe now?" asked May, though her breath hitched with the same adrenaline-driven want. Goldie pulled back with a laugh and shook her head. It was never safe.
But it was worth it.
She took May's hand and pulled her back into the bathroom, into that installment Harold had worked hard to pay, and Goldie had put hours into keeping clean. She turned on the shower-head and kissed her again, let the still-warm water from the boiler soak them both, bathrobe, dress, hairspray all. Let it wash it all away--her marriage, her position, all the filthy little tendrils of other people's needs.
Afternoon Rose smeared on May's neck. Her fingers curled sharply up. Little cries in among the waterdrops.