ONE-SHOTS

And I Have Met My Destiny [Carol x Therese]

And I Have Met My Destiny
by sapphiccryptid

Summary:
We all know what happens at Waterloo

   "Cheers." The clinking of the champagne flutes echoes through the hotel room, piercing through familiar sounds of Guy Lombardo's crooning of Auld Lang Syne on the radio.

Carol leans a hip against the vanity table, watching as Therese brushes her hair. The smooth movements of the brush gliding through her dark, silky strands have Carol's hand twitching, fingers itching to feel the soft tresses flowing between them. She's jealous almost, of the bristles on the brush, knows too, how ridiculous that sounds, but she can't fight the feelings that have been steadily climbing ever since she laid eyes on her from across that department store. She wants to touch.

The bursting bubbles of the champagne fizz across her tongue as she takes another sip to quell her nerves, the sensation in her mouth sharp enough to momentarily distract her from the way the rest of her body is also buzzing. They hadn't had much to drink after arriving at Waterloo—just a couple of hastily poured glasses to ring in the new year with—so when Carol sets her glass down and moves to stand behind Therese, hands alighting on her shoulders, delicate under the soft polka-dotted fabric of her pajamas, she doesn't have alcohol as an excuse. She is drunk on something else entirely. Has no desire to fight the heady feeling controlling her motions now, driving her hands to card through Therese's hair, driving her eyes up to meet Therese's wide ones in the mirror, driving her to open her mouth and say something,

"Harge and I never spend New Year's Eve together. There's always a business function, always clients to entertain."

"I always spend it alone. In crowds," Therese's eyes hold her gaze as she lifts her hand to grasp at her own, squeezing, "I'm not alone this year."

The air around them is still. Tremulous. Crackling like the old radio they stopped paying attention to long ago. Something is suspended in the space around them, held in their gaze, in their joined fingers, waiting to crash down upon them.

Carol's plaid robe starts feeling heavy on her frame... so she reaches for the sash, pulls it loose before slipping the fabric down and off her shoulders, draping it over the back of the chair. And she still has on her satin pajamas, but Harge's voice booms through her head, uninvited. "That's bold." The words he had thrown towards her in their kitchen somehow reaching her here, now. She falters for a moment, picks off imaginary dust from her abandoned robe, is unsure of what exactly it is she is doing, but then she looks up and catches Therese's eyes. Perhaps it is bold, but she doesn't think it's unwelcome, not with the way Therese's wide eyes are trained on her, always watching. Therese blinks, turns her head to face her, and lifts her face—a clear invitation. And before she can stop to think about what she's doing, her body is bending towards Therese's and her fingers are cradling the back of her head and she is kissing her. She sighs as the soft, tentative press of her lips erases all thoughts from her mind and for long minutes she loses herself in how good Therese feels. Eventually, Carol pulls back, breathing heavily as she brushes their foreheads together, needing a moment to reel herself in and not lose every last shred of control she possesses because she doesn't want to frighten her, scare her away, by pushing too hard. But Therese, Therese pushes forward again almost immediately, crashing their lips together as she rises from her chair, arms crossing at the wrists behind Carol's neck as she pulls her in closer.

The momentum of their bodies propels them, Therese pulling Carol along with her as she stumbles backward, the sharp edge of the vanity digging into her lower back and Carol's thumbs digging into her hips as they finally break apart. Carol shuts her eyes, opens them again when the need to see Therese, see how she's feeling overpowers her own instinctive reactions. She knows she had wanted this, had been wanting this when she had brushed her hand across her neck at Scotty's so Therese would smell her perfume, when she had stroked her shoulders as she fumbled through some notes at her piano, when she had found any excuse to feel the brush of her hand against hers. And she had also seen the way Therese looked at her, green eyes wide as she poked her head over that camera, and she doesn't quite know what Therese sees when she composes her photos with her at the center. Just know that she secretly delights in it, wants to be in every frame if it's Therese behind the lens. But they had never talked about it, never acknowledged this attraction between them, this fatal pull that has them on a crash course, because how could they? She could hardly have spoken her desires out loud before she was sure they were reciprocated and even now, with the taste of Therese's lips fresh in her mind and her hips sharp under her hands, and for all her outward bravado, and shameless flirting, she's nervous. The last thing she wants is for Therese to regret this, feels her chest constricting at the thought and she looks up, unable to voice the question in her eyes for fear of the answer.