Chapter 12 #2
Puck works deliberately and expertly at first, pulling Robyn deep enough into the shower so that she can keep warm, but not so close that the water will get in the way of their handiwork.
A lot of queer people act as though there’s some kind of rocket science involved in fingering someone, like fucking a girl with your hands requires knowledge of hidden arcana that has been passed down from lesbian foremother to lesbian foremother for generations.
But all it really requires is attention and focus while you kiss the right places.
Puck starts with Robyn’s neck while they keep rubbing her, then work their way up to her lips, remembering with some bemusement that this is technically only the second time they’ve kissed.
Robyn lets out an involuntary whimper as Puck feels her legs tighten around their hand, and they both stop for a moment, waiting to see if anyone overheard the noise.
For an eternal second, they look straight at each other, Robyn’s body urging them to keep going while her eyes insist they wait.
But the only sound is five different streams of running water slapping against the bathroom floor at the same time.
As a precaution, Puck grabs their unused washcloth, folds it in half, and after an assenting smile from Robyn, slides it into her mouth.
That’s better. They wish they could gag her in the outside world, too.
The groaning of plumbing in the background signals that one of the showers is already being switched off.
They better finish this before too many bridesmaids congregate and it becomes impossible to pretend like they didn’t emerge from the same stall.
But whatever happens now, there’s no way they’re letting Robyn walk out of here without an orgasm. Not after two interruptions in a row.
With the washcloth in place, Puck can’t kiss Robyn on the mouth so instead they look right into her eyes—and the same intensity that can make this woman’s anger so severe is exactly what makes her arousal so powerful.
She doesn’t even blink, only nods, encouraging Puck to keep going.
To keep touching her. Faster. To keep holding her gaze. To keep going until …
Robyn moans through the washcloth so loudly there’s no way her orgasm went unheard, sounding almost in pain from the pleasure.
She leans into Puck afterward, and they hold her upright so she can get her sea legs back as she savors her complete exhaustion—the highest compliment she could pay.
But they’ve both got bigger problems than Robyn being wobbly on her feet.
“Um, is everything OK in there?” someone calls out. It sounds like Lena.
Puck exchanges a panicked look with Robyn, silently debating which of them should respond—or if they should just stay quiet and ride it out.
But no, that won’t work. Especially if it is Lena, who’d be too worried someone slipped and fell to wait much longer than a few seconds before rushing in to help.
Puck is just about to open their mouth when Robyn spits out the washcloth and shouts back: “Yeah, sorry! I dropped the shampoo bottle on my foot!”
“Ouch!” the voice—definitely Lena—calls back.
“How’d you manage that, Robyn?” Mia asks. “My shampoo was bolted to the wall.”
Puck starts to panic even more after hearing another voice come from the common area. How are they supposed to get out of the shower if everyone has stopped early to investigate the commotion? Robyn looks at Puck and shrugs. She’s going to have to keep improvising.
“Oh, weird,” she calls back to the group. “Mine was, um, loose.”
Another shower stops and now the changing room is almost completely silent.
For all Puck’s producorial skills, they have no idea how to squirrel their way out of this jam.
Should they say that they ran into Robyn’s shower to make sure she was OK after that yelp?
No, no one would believe that, least of all Mia, who has watched them “turn” many a straight girl in the past—which is what Robyn apparently still is in her eyes.
But again, it’s Robyn who proves quickest on her feet.
Silently, she points first at herself, then walks her fingers through the air like legs toward the shower door.
I’ll go first, she’s saying. Then she points at Puck, and holds her palm flat.
You, stay. Then she taps her wrist, points again at Puck, and repeats the finger-walking gesture. Wait a minute, then leave.
Puck nods in agreement and then Robyn mouths, “Thank you,” before turning the water off and slipping out the door, careful not to open it too wide.
Puck stands there, starting to shiver, as they wait for the women to get dressed and reapply their makeup.
They grab their towel from the hook on the door to try to keep warm.
“Did Puck finish already?” Anya asks after a few minutes of shuffling, stepping, and inessential conversation.
“Yeah, we’re just waiting on them, right?” Lena says.
“They probably left already,” Mia suggests. “They don’t have much hair to wash.”
She knows them so well.
“Yeah, I heard them walk out earlier,” Robyn says with absolute conviction, and it frightens Puck that she might be an even better liar than they are.
Puck is freezing by the time the last footsteps finish echoing in the changing room, and then they race out of the shower, quickly throwing on their street clothes: another band T-shirt, a denim jacket, some rumpled black pants.
Instead of taking the door that leads toward the reception area, they slip back into the fortunately empty studio, still warm from the class, and then dash toward the emergency exit, banking on its not being alarmed.
Even if it is, they trust themself to think up some excuse.
They hold their breath while they press the bar, but the only sound Puck hears when the door opens are running cars in the parking lot.
Finally free, they jog around to the front of the studio where the women have presumably assembled, slowing down just before turning the corner so they won’t be gasping for air when they run into the girls.
And there they are, standing in front of the Sprinter van waiting to take them shopping. Mia’s pulling her phone out of her bag, looking around in confusion.
“Hi!” Puck pants, still a few yards away.
“Puck!” Mia calls out. “I was just about to call you. We’ve gotta get downtown.”
“Sorry,” Puck says, coughing to cover up their breathlessness. “You guys were, uh, taking so long that I went for a little walk.”
The women seem unsettled that Puck left without telling someone. Even Robyn, the devious little snake, fuels the suspicion. “You went for a walk … behind the yoga studio?”
“Yeah,” Puck says, disappointed that they didn’t concoct a better excuse in the moment because now they have to commit to this one. “I wanted to see what was back there.”
Robyn is throwing them off their A-game, and for what?
Revenge? Of course a shuddering orgasm wouldn’t make her forget about the icebreaker changeup.
This girl seems perfectly capable of hating them and hate-fucking them at the same time.
And yet, in a way that scares them, Puck wishes that the pleasure they’ve been sharing with Robyn in private could start to bleed into public, too.
What is she like, Puck wonders, outside of these sexual games they’ve been playing? Do they even have time to find out?
“So, what was back there then?” Mia asks.
“Oh, you know … a dumpster,” Puck says, then decides they need to get the heat off them fast before someone starts poking more holes in their cover story. “Did you all have good showers?”
This feeble attempt at a diversion is met with excruciating silence.
It’s Robyn who responds.
“Mine wasn’t hot enough,” she says, because of course she can’t help it. Puck would be tempted to tell her to go fuck herself—except they’ve taken care of that already.