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elsanna-shenanigans · 2 years

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June Contest Submission #10: The Way You’re Falling In Love

Words: ca. 2,000 Setting: mAU Lemon: lime Content: heavily implied smut, legal drug use Song: Love Burning Alive - Lena Fayre

The Way You’re Falling In Love

You should know by now not to check the pictures Elsa sends you while you’re at work. It’s one of those places with a ‘collaborative open office layout’ which really just means everyone and their mother could be up in your shit at any moment, but in the end that doesn’t stop you from furtively holding the phone in your lap when you hope no one is looking and popping open that messenger app for a cool five seconds expecting a quick snap of Elsa’s delectable cleavage or her ass in those high-waist red jeans of hers, but nooo this time she had to take it to a whole other level because she’s wearing goddamn lingerie. More precisely, she’s wearing black lace lingerie with purple trim, garter belt and everything, sitting at the end of a leather couch with her long legs crossed demurely in front of her, and yes that delectable cleavage is there too, but the real killer is the way she’s biting her lip as she looks at the camera, because she knows what that does to you.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, Anna?”

The words nearly make you jump out of your seat but when you look up after stashing the phone under your butt and see that goddamn smirk plastered on Kristoff’s face you can tell he wasn’t even trying to peep, he’s just bustin’ your chops.

You try to weasel your way out of the embarrassment with a “Kristoff! Don’t scare me like that!” but he just cocks his head slightly because you know you’re good and busted.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says as he sets your coffee from the group order down on the corner of your desk, while you force yourself to take some long deep breaths, hoping it will help the color drain from your face. But then your mind drifts back to that photo and really the only thing you can do is get up and stomp over to the women’s bathroom and snag a stall just so you can open your phone again and stare at Elsa in all her glory some more.

You know, it’s really unfair of her to put you in this position, and she should know that.

Anna: elsaaaa i’m at woooork! but also 👀👀

Elsa: so am i 😏

That winky face. You swipe back to the photo. Fuck me, she’s right. The view from the windows, the degree hanging on the wall, the snow globe on the shelf with the little ice castle on the side of a mountain. You’ve been in that room. She’s sending you fucking boudoir lingerie photos from her corner office.

Elsa: meet me for lunch?

Anna: i’ll grab us some tacos

Elsa: oh, I’m not actually hungry 😉

Anna: yes ma'am 😳

It should be be scary, the way you’re falling in love like a skydiver jumping out of a plane without a parachute.

But it isn’t.

-💋-

You weren’t exactly expecting to meet the love of your life at Sally Sapphic’s WLW Speed dating in West Hollywood, but there you were on a Friday night, halfway to regretting ditching Kristoff at the firm’s Happy Hour for this, when she sat down across from you. Even in the dim afternoon light of the local queer dive bar she was stunning in her black leather jacket and white button-down shirt, the slack purple tie around her neck barely an after thought. And of course there was her sun-bleached platinum blonde hair and vibrant blue eyes, the impeccable ruby red lipstick. It was sheer luck that you managed to stop your gaping by the time she actually set her Very-Busy-Person phone down and made eye contact.

That was it. You were done for from that moment. You made it through the pleasantries of introductions without incident (hello Elsa), mostly just trying to make sure your mouth was putting one sensible word after another just to keep that light shining in her eyes because somehow it seemed like everything you said put yet another smile on her face, the kind that you could see immediately in the corners of her eyes, and in the slow build up of red in her cheeks. Those moments where you got to fully appreciate her long, dark eyelashes because she was dodging your gaze to avoid outright blushing.

And then all of a sudden you could hear the record scratch and the music halt when Elsa mentioned she was a lawyer, and was in fact just about to start a new job at a law firm on Monday.

“Ummm, that wouldn’t happen to be Weselton Westerguard and Associates… would it?” you asked, a slight sense of doom creeping into your voice.

Elsa furrowed her brow. “It would. Let me guess, you work there too?”

“Yeah,” you admitted glumly. “I’m one of the firm’s private investigators.”

“I’ll bet you are,” Elsa chuckled. “What department?”

“Family law?”

“Oh, well that’s a relief! I’m in corporate, class-action specialist.” When she saw the puzzled look on your face, she added, “That means it wouldn’t actually be unethical for us to start a relationship, since I wouldn’t be your direct superior.”

That got your attention. “You’ve decided that’s what you want already? From this five minute chat?”

“No,” Elsa answered, raising her drink to her lips. “I decided that the moment you walked through the door.”

-💋-

The sex is incredible.

Scratch that—the sex is out of this world.

It’s the kind of sex that makes you feel like the bottom guy in the galaxy brain meme, but the meme keeps getting more levels the more times you two bang each other.

It’s ‘i could quit my job to have sex more’ kind of sex except that you’re too busy having sex at your job so maybe it’s more like 'if they fire me for this it was worth it’ kind of sex.

It’s 'you used to tell yourself “Shitface McSideburns was a righteous asshole but at least he was a good fuck” but now you realize that was a goddamn lie’ kind of sex (which is kind of sad, but hey, you’re getting over it).

Seriously though, it’s the kind of sex that makes you realize you didn’t know what sex could be, had no FUCKING clue in retrospect. Because it’s more than just sex, it’s more than lips and tongues and muffled screaming (and un-muffled screaming), it’s more than a quickie in the office supply closet (though you have your fair share of those), it’s more than sex so good you could write songs about it—and though you can’t quite call it making love just yet, it’s more than that, too.

It’s not just that Elsa is some kind of lesbian sex wunderkind (she is), or that maybe you’re finally getting into That Kinky Stuff (you are), and it’s not even about the fucking orgasms (dear god so many orgasms).

It’s everything.

It’s the way she likes you to pet her head when you’re being gentle, the way she likes you to pull her hair when you’re being rough. It’s the way sometimes she doesn’t even say hello when she comes home, just pushes you up against the nearest wall and starts pulling your pants off (which, for clarity, you’re totally cool with). It’s the way she likes to rub her thumb across your cheek when it’s all said and done and you’re both just lying there, utterly exhausted.

It’s the way she’s never once even asked you about Sideburns McFuckface, because even though you were still kinda getting over him when you met her, he just doesn’t matter anymore.

It’s the way sometimes you don’t even have to have sex. Sometimes you’re just curled up on the couch together for movie night when she catches your eye for the millionth time and this involuntary shiver cascades over your body because goddamn have you seen her?? You get to date her??!

And yes, it’s the way she likes to whisper 'fuck me, sis’ in your ear when you’re making her come, because she knows what it does to you, and she likes what it makes you do to her.

More than anything, it’s the way you never stop wanting her—never stop wanting to kiss her and push her and please her and punish her.

It’s everything.

The sex is everything because Elsa is everything.

-💋-

You’re not quite sure how it came to this — packing the remainder of your belongings into the trunk and back seats of your Velocity Blue Shelby GT500 Mustang on a warm summer evening in July. All the other things you used to own that you couldn’t manage to pawn off on friends are in the dumpster around the corner.

When you’re done, you pull your stash out from the glove compartment and light up one last joint, inhaling deeply because quite frankly you deserve it. And it’s the good shit too, because who knows if Vegas will have good weed or not.

After a few minutes Elsa pops out of the front door of the apartment and dangles the keys at you. “You sure you’ve got everything you need?” she asks.

You take another hit and give her a long look. “Yeah, pretty sure I do. All the things that matter, at least.”

She looks at you for a moment trying to discern your (purposefully ambiguous) statement, before she smiles and starts flinging the keys around on her index finger as she walks over to your spot by the car, plucks the joint out of your lips and takes a hit of her own. And she only coughs a little bit; she’s been trying, but despite all her swagger, she’s still a bit FRAGILE!-handle-with-care in some respects.

“Okay, that is good,” she says when she’s recovered, and then she drops the roach on the pavement, stamps it out with one high-heeled boot (always practice fire safety in California, kids!) and then grabs you by the collar of your shirt and kisses the ever-living SHIT out of you.

“What was that for?” you manage, when you catch your breath after she finally lets up.

“For always being there for me, no matter what. No matter the consequences.”

Right, right, the consequences — that’s how it came to this. Turns out 'if they fire me for this it was worth it’ sex might actually get you fired.

Both of you.

And like, yeah, you could have gotten jobs somewhere else; LA is a big city and there’s no shortage of work for people with your skills. But sometimes you’ve gotta take a step back and look at the bigger picture; because there is so very clearly the Before Elsa part of your life—ordinary, stable, entertaining but unexciting—and the After Elsa part of your life, which can only be described as a blizzard of questionable decisions which has resulted in everything in your life that isn’t Elsa being left behind in the dust.

And it doesn’t even really phase you, because Elsa is right there with you. No matter the consequences. There’s no going back to Before Elsa, and maybe there never was. Maybe the point of no return was the moment you met her.

“I love you,” you say, when you remember that reality still exists and find Elsa gazing at you with those sparkly blue eyes of hers.

“Fuck!” Elsa exclaims. “I can’t believe you beat me to it. I love you so much, damn it.” She kisses you and you kiss her back and then she says, “You ready to get this show on the road?”

“Yes, ma'am,” you confirm. “But you’re driving first. There’s something I gotta look up on my phone.”

She squints at you, suddenly suspicious, but acquiesces and makes her way around to the driver’s side of the car. With one last look around at your surroundings you say a silent goodbye to LA and get in with her.

Later, when you’re out on the highway heading toward Las Vegas and Elsa’s eyes are safely locked on the road, you pull your phone out and bring up google.

best wedding venues in las vegas

You might as well start doing your research.

#elsanna #june 2022 contest #prompt: point of no return #lime #submission #cw: drugs

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