#i wish my headspace could section itself off without it being together.

[dykesbat]

part of me wants to go listen to the 2018 daidaidai album another part of me wants to listen to 505 arctic monkeys on loop for 3 hours.

[greenishbucket]

a little sweetness

Lardo gives herself a firm, bracing kind of look in the hallway mirror. Sure, your girlfriend is hot, but you can keep it together for a few hours, dude.

FordLardo, 2.3k, also on ao3

When Ford comes down the stairs, all dressed up for Lardo’s new kinda-exhibition-like-she-has-a-sorta-section-in-it-stop-giving-me-fucking-noogies-Shits, it’s so most cliché teen movie prom moment Lardo would be embarrassed if she wasn’t busy melting.

Lardo is used to the Ford she sees every day now; the Ford in her cute preppy sweaters over a patterned collard shirt, in her rolled-hem mom jeans and sneakers, in her threadbare pj bottoms and ratty souvenir shirt from a summer camp in middle school. The Ford that once reached out without asking and used Lardo’s shirt to clean her glasses – mid-conversation, in public – because it was the best material to hand.

And Lardo loves that Ford, sometimes so much she feels stupid and dizzy with it, but holy shit. The Ford making her way down the stairs has the power to make the hallway of their kinda shitty rented closet of a place look fucking radiant and has Lardo just about swallowing her tongue because that’s her legit actual girlfriend and she is so hot holy fuck.

It’s a shorter dress, and more– risqué than Ford usually goes for: two wide strips of fabric wrap across at the torso to cover her boobs, leaving gaps at the sides of the dress, at the front and back. It’s doing amazing things for Ford’s everything. Lardo wants to write to its designer and thank them personally.

“Tell me I’m not overdressed,” says Ford when she reaches Lardo at the bottom of the stairs. She twists her foot out to look sceptically at her heels, which are a demure three inches but a bright minty green to match her dress. “I can change in, like, ten minutes. Be honest with me.”

Lardo doesn’t reply with just a gurgle, but it’s a close thing. “You look legit stunning, bro,” she says, and she really deserves an award for her restraint in not saying fuck this whole show, please come the fuck to bed with me right now sweet Jesus. Lardo isn’t sure if she’s ever noticed before how much she appreciates the shape of Ford’s calves, but suddenly it’s all she can do not to get on her knees and just– touch. Let her hand rest on the curve, appreciate the strength of muscle under smooth skin, maybe just press her lips to–

It’s been a busy couple of weeks building up to this exhibition, and both of them have enough on their plates at the best of times. There hasn’t been a lot of room to squeeze sex into the agenda and suddenly that seems like the most massive of all oversights.

Ford is smiling when she says, pleased and teasing and not at all like Lardo sounds, fuck off, “For real, bro?” and it’s just a lot. Ford’s smile, and the twinkle in her eye, and Lardo’s chest twisting with an awkward mix of love and arousal.  

“For real,” says Lardo, probs a little too fervent. God, she needs to pull it together for the exhibition. Keep it chill. “I’m gonna win the award for best arm candy.”

Ford looks Lardo up and down pointedly, appreciatively, and strokes her hands up and down Lardo’s arms a little in her best attempt at sultry, which Lardo can admit is pretty good; her heart is beating double time. “Not if I win it first.” And then, because she’s a sap, Ford grins all soppy and the tension snaps as she adds, “God, Lards, you just look so beautiful and smart and your art is gonna rock it and I’m so proud of you.”

Ford leans in for a kiss – kept to a peck as much as Lardo would like to deepen it – and for a second it’s disorientating, the way Lardo has to go up on her toes a little to meet her because of the heels. Lardo is sticking to flats; no fucking way is she dealing with the stress of networking with art connoisseurs in high heels. She’s so turned around already, with the anxiety-excitement of the exhibition and now all flustered with Ford being sweet and hot and supportive and hot.

“Ready to go?” she asks, stepping back to force herself into a more professional headspace.

“Let me go grab my purse.”

Lardo gives herself a firm, bracing kind of look in the hallway mirror. Sure, your girlfriend is hot, but you can keep it together for a few hours, dude. Mirror-Lardo looks doubtfully back.

---

A little over an hour in, Lardo has drunk a fair few of the flutes of alcohol that have been going round, but she’s also eaten like a bazillion of the little hors d'oeuvres from the assorted silver plates. She doesn’t want to get sloppy. This gallery is, like, legit; Lardo loves art, has and is willing to make sacrifices for it, but at the same time she doesn’t want to be an actual starving artist forever so she needs to be on this.

And it’s fine. She’s used to this kind of glad-handing, networking, nice-talking business, and she’s even got kinda good at it with enough practice. People seem to be feeling her art, too, and that’s a pretty fucking amazing feeling, enough of a boost that the artificialness of all the interactions is barely even grating.

It’s just that she keeps seeing Ford across the room, moving easily from group to group with a glass in hand, doing half of Lardo’s networking for her. And it’s a lot. She’s almost glad that the squad picked the more public, educational, and far cheaper exhibition event to attend in a couple of weeks because she can’t imagine the kind of chirping that would be going on if they could see her now.

Ford’s thrown on a cardigan, but it hasn’t made any difference. Lardo wants to put her hands on Ford’s waist, against her stomach, where the cut of the fabric reveals bare skin. She almost misses someone probably important asking her a question, too busy watching the way the skirt of the dress moves around Ford’s thighs.

It’s ridiculous, and Lardo keeps fiddling with her lucky necklace to have some kind of outlet for the fidgety, prickly heat. Ford catches her eye across the room periodically, and it’s probably just to check she’s doing okay like Ford likes to do, but Lardo is so worked up that she can’t help reading more into it. Each look – and surely that’s Ford giving her a look, right? Lardo’s seen it enough times, it can’t just be a trick of Ford’s glasses – winds the heat in her stomach up tighter and tighter.

And so when she bumps into Ford in the narrow hallway the leads to the toilets some time later, and Ford gives her what is definitely a look, Lardo thinks she can hardly be blamed when twenty seconds later they’re making out against the wall like they’re at a college frat party.

When they pull apart for air, Lardo can feel her pulse pounding in her neck and her make up is probably already on a slippery slope to ruined. She’s got the chain of Ford’s necklace between two fingers, and as she catches her breath she looks down at the way the pendant rests comfortably in Ford’s cleavage. Huh.

“You’re the worst,” Lardo tells her because suddenly it’s all falling into place.

“What?”

“The worst. I can’t believe you, you dick.”

Ford’s smile is unapologetic. “It worked though, didn’t it?”

“Duh,” says Lardo, because Ford is one of the most attractive people she’s ever seen even in her PJs with toothpaste on her face; Ford making a concerted effort to be attractive never left Lardo with a chance. “Ugh, I’m supposed to be networking and shit.”

“Am I stopping you?” Ford asks, even as her hand rests distractingly on Lardo’s back and her body presses distractingly close against Lardo’s.

Lardo figures she’s talked to enough people that they can probably take a little more time before they need to get back, and no one’s come down the corridor yet. She leans in to kiss Ford again, a little slower than the frantic pace they had been going at before but no less intense for it. Lardo can feel the hairs on her arms standing on end as Ford moves to kiss along Lardo’s jaw and down her neck and she knows they have to keep it together, not let it go too far, but dear God.

Lardo needs to do something, feeling slowed down and foggy-headed when Ford sucks against her collar bone just so, her hands needlessly holding Ford in place. From the way Ford is moving against her just a little, and the sound she makes in response to the tiny noise Lardo lets out when Ford presses a feather-light kiss to the probably-soon-to-be-hickey, Ford is having as much of a blast as Lardo is but still.

She lets her hands wander a little, down Ford’s back and along the curve of her hip and the swell of her ass, to rest over her skirt just below the top her thigh. She runs her fingers back and forth, more of a suggestion than anything, and Ford gasps, hitching, mouth lifting away from Lardo’s neck as she presses herself firmer against Lardo. “Oh, shit.”

Lardo reaches under Ford’s skirt, feeling the warmth of bare skin and skimming along the elastic of her underwear. The ones she’s wearing are cotton, the kind she wears every other day of the week and Lardo has bunged into the washing machine a thousand times, and the contrast with the rest of the swankiness has Lardo’s mouth dry.

Ford is starting to wriggle under Lardo’s hands, whining a little when Lardo doesn’t move her fingers any further. “Pleasepleaseplease, Lards, come on.”

Lardo moves her hand to press against Ford’s clit through her underwear and she can feel how wet Ford is already, the fabric a little damp and a lot warm under her fingers. She rests her forehead against Ford’s shoulder for a second, trying to think sensibly. They should stop.

Ford whispers against Lardo’s ear, “I brought the vibrator in my purse.”

Lardo is pretty sure her brain collapses in on itself for a solid four seconds and she pulls back to see Ford’s expression. “Are you fucking with me?”

Ford holds her gaze, eyes dark, and Lardo could pretty much implode in that moment.

“I’m fucking with you,” Ford admits after a pause, sheepish, “but oh my God I wish I’d thought to do that earlier.”

Lardo lets her breath all out in a huff, then another steadier one. Jesus fucking Christ. She’s still jittery, on the edge with the very concept. Maybe it’s lucky Ford doesn’t actually have a vibrator with her; fuck knows what Lardo would have done, and they’re still cosied up in the hallway to the toilets. “Fuck it, come on, let’s leave early.”

They make their excuses and Lardo is pretty sure it’s okay, they’ve been there for ages, there’s only three quarters of an hour left, it’s whatever. They don’t get a cab because turned on as they may be, neither of them is made of money. If asked, Lardo would have said that getting any kind of public transit is grimy and irritating enough to kill any kind of mood, but that would be a lie; by the time she’s fumbling on their front step to get the key in the lock, Ford pressing in unnecessarily close behind her, she doesn’t feel any less worked up than before.

It probably tops some of the least classy sexual experiences she’s had, but Lardo has zero regrets as she gets on her knees the moment Ford closes the door behind them and pulls Ford’s underwear down just enough to get her mouth on her.

Ford makes a choked off sound and reaches down to get a hand in Lardo’s hair, to guide her in closer and to where feels best. Lardo follows Ford’s nudges happily, head swimming a little as she licks and sucks and presses, closed in by Ford’s thighs and skirt, chin catching occasionally on Ford’s underwear. She can hear Ford babbling a little, a semi-continuous stream of small gasps and moans, and she lets that guide her too without thinking too much about it.

Lardo aches for some kind of relief for herself, the taste and the smell and the sound of Ford’s voice building and building her own arousal, but she doesn’t want to stop. Ford’s legs are trembling and her moans getting louder, and before long her hand is almost painfully tight in Lardo’s hair as she cries out a jumbled, “Lardo– yes,Larissa, fuck– oh shit,” and Lardo feels her come with a shudder against her tongue.

Lardo gives Ford a few more gentler licks as she comes down, and then awkwardly extricates herself from between her legs. Her mouth and chin feel wet and sticky and she wipes across with the back of her hand before she looks up at Ford; she’s still breathing heavily, head leaned back against their front door and eyes shut, but after another moment or two she comes back to herself.

“I love you,” she says, pulling up her underwear and helping Lardo to her feet. Ford kisses her on the cheek and Lardo wonders if she can taste herself there.

“Sure, Miss I-Just-Had-an-Orgasm,” says Lardo, mostly kidding but also so desperate to come herself that she has half a mind to reach into her own underwear, just to take the edge off.

Ford kisses her again, but this time with a lot more tongue, and Lardo is quivering a bit and clinging to Ford’s shoulder for support when she pulls away. Ford looks so fond, and so hot, and Lardo loves her; she thinks Ford gets it.

“Come on,” says Ford, taking Lardo’s hand and leading her up the stairs, “Your turn. Let’s find you that vibrator.”