4. Remi
four
Remi
I’ve been awake for forty minutes and I’ve already decided today is a coffee before anything else kind of a day.
Saturday’s decisions are Tuesday’s problem, and I am currently living that truth in real time.
I’ve eaten nothing and I already need coffee badly enough that I’m considering it a medical situation.
I pull on a hoodie over my pajama shorts, twist my hair up without looking at it, grab my keys, and head downstairs.
The café two blocks from the house has been there forever, a regular crowd, knows their orders, doesn’t play music loud enough to make your head hurt.
That last part is the only thing I require from a coffee establishment when I’m running on fumes.
I push through the door, the smell hits me, and I can feel my whole-body exhale.
I get in line behind a guy in a grey hoodie and stare at the menu board like I’m not going to order the same thing I always order.
Large oat milk latte, one sugar, and whatever pastry looks the least sad in the case.
I’ve been doing this for two years and, at this point, the menu board is just something to look at while I wait.
My phone buzzes, its Lucy.
Good morning bestie!!!
How are we feeling
Actually don’t answer that
I’m coming over at 2 to film yes or yes
Also can you grab snacks on your way back
Remi answer me i know you’re awake
How are you a functioning human right now??
I just metabolize better babe
Snacks yes or no
Fine. yes.
YAYYYY see you at 2
I put my phone away and order my coffee. I grab a croissant I probably won’t finish and a bag of chips for Lucy, and I find a table by the window while I wait for my name to get called.
The morning crowd is exactly what you’d typically expect with laptop people, a couple of older guys with newspapers, and a woman with a stroller who looks like she hasn’t slept since 2022 which I feel deeply.
I wrap both hands around the warm cup when it comes, and the first sip makes me feel human for the first time today.
Lucy shows up at two looking like she slept ten hours, got a facial, and had a green juice for breakfast. Her hair is down and bouncy, her skin is glowing, and she’s wearing a matching set like she’s ready for a photoshoot. I open the door and just stare at her.
“You look terrible,” she says cheerfully, pushing past me into the house.
“I know.” She’s already halfway up the stairs.
I follow her up to my floor deeply resenting her existence and also very glad she’s here. She drops onto my bed, crosses her legs, and I watch her click into work mode, that look on her face that tells me she’s already thinking about angles.
“You ready?” she asks.
“Give me twenty minutes.”
“You look fine.”
“I look like I went to a frat party four days ago.”
“Okaaay but you did go to a frat party four days ago.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to look like it on camera.”
Twenty minutes later I’ve fixed my face enough that the camera won’t pick up the exhaustion and Lucy’s already stripped down to the black lace set she brought specifically for this, the one that makes her look like she walked out of someone’s expensive fantasy.
I’m in red because it photographs better against my hair, and we’ve done these enough times that the setup is automatic.
Lights positioned, camera angle checked, and both of us on the bed with enough space that the frame catches everything.
She laughs and climbs over me, getting comfortable between my thighs with her hands already sliding up my sides.
The camera’s recording but we’re not performing yet, just getting into position, and when she leans down to kiss me, I almost forget we’re making content.
Her mouth tastes like the gum she was chewing in the car and her hands know exactly where to go because we’ve done this before, because she’s my best friend and also the only person I trust to do this with me.
“Ready?” she murmurs against my lips.
“Yes.”
She pulls back just enough to look at the camera and gives it that smile she does that makes subscribers lose their minds.
She’s kissing down my neck, my collarbone, taking her time because we both know that’s what people pay for.
It’s never the destination, it’s the trip.
Her hands slide my bra straps down and I arch into it because even though this is work, even though we’re being recorded, my body still responds to her.
She gets my bra off and her mouth finds my breast, tongue circling my nipple until I’m actually making noise and I forget for a second that there’s a camera three feet away.
Her hand slides down my stomach, fingers hooking into my underwear, and she looks up at me with that question in her eyes that she always asks even though she knows the answer.
“Yes,” I say, and my voice comes out more needy than I expected.
She pulls my underwear down and off, tosses them somewhere off camera, and then her hands are on my thighs pushing them apart.
The first touch of her tongue makes me gasp because Lucy knows what she’s doing and exactly how much pressure and where.
She licks up my center and I’m already gripping the sheets and feeling that pull start low in my stomach.
“Fuck,” I breathe out, and she hums against me like she’s pleased with herself.
She works me with her tongue, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on my clit, and I’m trying to stay present and remember that we’re filming, but it’s getting harder to think about anything except the sensation of her mouth on me.
She slides two fingers inside and curls them up, finding that spot that makes my hips jerk, and I’m not faking the moan that comes out of me.
“Right there,” I tell her, because she likes when I talk and give feedback, and also because it’s true.
She keeps that rhythm, tongue on my clit and fingers working inside me, and I can feel myself getting close faster than I expected. My thighs are shaking and I’m making sounds I’m not really in control of. When she adds a third finger and increases the pressure, I actually see stars for a second.
“Lucy, I’m—”
She doesn’t let up, just keeps going with that intoxicating rhythm until I’m coming hard enough that I forget the camera exists.
I honestly forget everything exists except the sensation rolling through me in waves.
She works me through it, only pulling back when I’m too sensitive to take any more, and when I finally open my eyes, she’s grinning at me like she just won a prize.
“Your turn,” I say, once I can form words again.
We switch positions and I take my time getting her worked up, kissing down her body, removing her bra and underwear piece by piece because the camera loves the slow reveal.
When I finally get my mouth on her she’s already wet, and the sound she makes when my tongue finds her clit is genuine enough that I know she’s not just performing.
I eat her out the way she likes it, and when I add fingers, she rocks against my hand like she’s chasing it. I can feel her getting close, thighs tensing around my head, and I reach for the vibrator we left on the bed earlier, the small pink one that’s her favorite.
“Yeah?” I ask, pulling back just enough to look at her.
“Please, Remi.”
I turn it on and press it against her clit while my fingers stay inside her, and the combination makes her arch off the bed. I work her with both, watching her face, and when she comes it’s with my name on her lips and her hand fisted in my hair.
We stay like that for a minute after, both of us catching our breath, and then Lucy reaches over and turns off the camera.
“Fuck. That was good,” she says.
“Yeah. Subscribers are going to lose it for this one.”
She laughs and rolls onto her side, and just like that we’re back to being best friends lying on my bed, except now we’re naked and slightly sweaty and I need to edit footage of us fucking before I can post it.
“You want to shower first, or should I?” she asks.
“You go. I need to check the footage.”
She gets up and heads to my bathroom, and I grab my laptop and start reviewing what we just filmed. The angles are good, the lighting worked, and most importantly it looks real because it was real, at least real enough that it’ll sell.
We wrap around four and she stays for another hour eating snacks in my room from the kitchen and watching videos on her phone while I edit the rough cut. When she leaves, I feel human enough to actually sit at my desk and queue up a game.
It’s almost nine when I get a message.
I’m mid match, DBD, playing survivor because I’m in that kind of mood, and my notifications ping. Not my phone, but my game interface. A message from a username I recognize immediately because I’ve been seeing it in my lobbies for weeks.