Hey I truly hate to do this but I need some money to renew my bus pass, I have a very low salary and had to spend some unexpected expenses this month. Anything you give will be truly appreciated!!
usamericans, do you live within a two hour drive of one of these cities?
new york city
chicago
seattle
los angeles
nashville
new orleans
dallas
boston
no i do not
i am not usamerican
Voting ended onMar 12
if you live in one of the cities listed, vote for that city. you don't have to share which one you're closest to/living in in the tags or anything like that, this poll is just for fun
i really fuck with it when my oomfs start their posts in media res. they'll open it with a phrase like "it's just funny because..." and then i look at their blog to see what's funny and. nothing.
“You’ll never prove it,” Alex says, turning, holding a candle in each hand.
Her place really is close, if not exactly around the corner. No matter what, it doesn’t take very long to walk there-- they hustle in the chilly, windy, wet, street-lit night. A lot of windows still glow yellow. She and Abbie walk about shoulder to shoulder. She feels fizzy anticipation in her stomach. While crossing the street, a bike with logo-emblazoned insulated panniers splashes some puddle water onto her shoes and tights. She shivers.
Abbie stops on the corresponding corner, loosens her scarf, then drapes it on Alex’s neck. She holds and pulls her in by it, kisses her quickly. Alex doesn’t blush easily, but this makes her cheeks burn. She hopes the night covers the majority of it, but knows her smile is revealing. It’s probably okay if she knows how she feels.
“It’s that one,” she says, pointing out the townhouse in the middle of the block. Abbie looks a bit taken aback, which Alex understands. She justifies, with a truth that slightly hides the full picture:“It’s my aunt and uncle’s place. They spend most of their time in Greenwich since my aunt retired.”
She suppresses a yawn. The coffee was a mere pretext, but it’s starting to look more like a necessity as they walk up the steps, as she unlocks the door. She flicks on the foyer light and hangs her coat, then takes Abbie’s. She hasn’t tidied in a couple days-- her shoe rack is more of a shoe pile, her mail is splayed out on an end table. Abbie follows her to her bare kitchen.
“I see you’re quite the cook,” Abbie jokes, eyeing a set of Le Creuset ramekins her mother bought for her that are still in the box on her counter. Alex laughs, getting her Moka pot out of its deep drawer.
“Those were more of a hint than a present,” she says. “I promise, I make good coffee.” She dumps some grounds into the chamber, then water into the reservoir, then sets it on the stove.
---
Abbie could go without the caffeine, but Alex seems to want it; and who would she be to deny her that. From walking past the conversation pit in the living room, she can tell the house was decorated in the 70s. Alex’s aunt and uncle have good taste, though; there’s lots of art on the walls that looks to be original. You wouldn’t know Alex lived here if not for the present clutter, law books and novels on the same tables, the scented candles she’d mentioned the first time they spoke. Abbie doesn’t blame her for not putting much of her own mark on the place, it’s nice how it is.
When the coffee maker starts to quietly hiss, Alex lifts its lid with a soft clattering, checking on it. Abbie hasn’t used one like it herself. It strikes her as very European. She imagines it was designed not for a big mug like you would drink in the morning, but for the small, thin-walled cups you might use at a dinner party to serve coffee after dessert. Alex gets two cups just like the ones she’s imagining down from a high cabinet. They’re cute little things, one orange, one teal. Abbie tries not to think about how late it must be by now, midnight at least. Where’s the harm in one sleepless night? Alex clinks their cups together before taking a pulling sip. She makes eye contact over the cup and swallows. Abbie admires her neck, her shoulders. She drinks her own coffee. It’s strong, but it doesn’t need milk or sugar.
When the small portions are gone, Alex takes Abbie’s cup out of her hand and places it next to her own on the counter beside the sink. She rests invitingly against the counter behind her, pushes her hair out of her eyes. Abbie closes the small distance between them with a careful and deliberate kiss, her hands drawing her in by the waist again. She likes it when Alex leans into her with a hand on her shoulder. A small shift as the kiss gets more intense, Abbie moves one of her thighs and pushes Alex’s legs ever-so-slightly apart. The little gasp is musical. She takes it as an opportunity; her tongue agilely and easily coming between Alex’s parted lips.
---
She knows it already, from the tastes she’s had before: she’s a great kisser. It’s not so much that she has any special technique, though her prowess is undeniable. It’s that, though she leads, Abbie is listening to Alex’s cues, her sounds, her movements. She likes to be paid attention to. She’s the one to guide Abbie’s free hand up to her chest, and enjoys the smile she feels on her mouth as she starts to touch her expertly. Alex moves her hips against her thigh without really thinking about it. She notices that she’s starting to want, and want more.
She supposes that means she’ll need to be the one to move them anywhere. It is her house. While she is completely content here, doing this, she’d also like to get out of the wet tights. She’d like to get out of the rest of her clothes. Abbie does the chasing, for once, when she separates their lips to speak.
“We could go somewhere more,” she says, “comfortable.”
Abbie hums. She holds Alex’s hands and replies, “great idea.”
Alex’s steps down the hallway are purposeful, but slow enough that she doesn’t slip on the hardwood. She stops, leaning sideways, in the doorway. Abbie takes her hint, grasping her hips, then ribs with open palms. She noses Alex’s hair away from her neck and kisses her there. Alex lets herself make a moaning sigh, leaning her head back.
She steps into the bedroom, her body tingling where she misses the touch. She lights the lamp on her nightstand with a click. There are two candles on her dresser, so she asks, “Jasmine or Bergamot?” lifting one of the three lighters that live there.
Abbie makes a sound of amusement. “You had a lighter the whole time,” she says.
“You’ll never prove it,” Alex says, turning, holding a candle in each hand.
“Bergamot,” Abbie chooses-- though she doesn’t seem to care one way or another-- clearly holding back a laugh. Alex lights the candle, laughing back lightly. She sets it down again. The kiss that follows picks up where they left off in the kitchen, and grows yet more passionate quickly.
---
The red dress is starting to offend Abbie. She kisses Alex’s neck again, but stops her from sitting on the bed with gripping hands on her ass. It elicits a surprised mmph that she would like to hear again. When Alex is solidly back on her feet, Abbie touches the straps of the dress, and doesn’t have to say what she wants.
Alex turns around, and is breathing heavily when she requests, “do the honors.” Abbie does, but not before she kisses her right shoulder. As she undoes the hook and eye at the top, then the zipper, she enjoys the sight of Alex’s braless back, and the way she subtly arches, another thing that makes her want a replay. Alex doesn’t delay further, slipping the dress off her shoulders in a few smooth movements, then stepping out of her tights.
“You’re prepared,” Abbie says at the sight. Alex is wearing a pair of lace panties that suggest she thought tonight might end here. She nods, placing her hands on her hips.
“Always.”
“Good,” Abbie says, thinking about her own undergarments, which are less exciting. Abbie steps forward, so Alex has nowhere to go but down, bending her knees to sit. She leans back onto her hands, then she slides all the way onto the bed with her back against her headboard. Abbie really feels overdressed now. Hers just slips over her head, leaving her in a dark brown bra and a pair of printed boyshort-style underwear.
“Are those,” Alex squints, “raspberries?”
Abbie looks down. “Currants, I think.”
“How chic,” Alex teases.
“You like what you see?” Abbie plays back.
“Mhm,” Alex says, and appears to be growing impatient, looks expectant. Abbie obliges, joining her. She sits on her heels beside her for a second, holding her cheek as she kisses her lips, her neck. When Alex starts to squirm, she moves, straddling her.
She’s gathering, as she learns, as she experiments, Alex appears to prefer firm over soft touch. Her ghosting strokes earn responses, but not like the emphatic ones she gets when squeezes the slight flesh of her thighs, when she sucks a mark just above her collarbone.
---
She’s close to demanding more when Abbie gives it to her. Her mouth travels, from her neck to her nipples. She’s glad, Abbie has picked up on how she likes it-- unrestrained, but just shy of rough. Her controlled tongue circles and her lips wrap. It’s hot to feel, and it’s hotter when Alex watches her with open eyes. It’s very hot when Abbie’s gaze meets her own, her eyes somehow even darker. She’s so wet she can feel it on her thighs.
Abbie’s lips are kissed red around her words: “How do you want me?” She rasps.
Alex doesn’t have to think about that one. She takes Abbie’s hand in hers and brings it to her cunt. They both moan.
---
After she comes, and comes again, Alex looks beautifully worn out as she stretches and rolls her neck out. Abbie starts moving, her legs over the side of the bed; but Alex stops her from standing with a quiet sound and a hand that squeezes hers.
“It’s late,” Abbie says, but there’s not much insistence to it.
“I know.” Alex reaches opens a drawer in her nightstand. Abbie watches her shuffle through its contents, there’s some change, a packet of tissues, what appears to be a vibrator, and what her fingers wrap around-- an altoids tin. She sets it on the table. Abbie might enjoy a mint, but when Alex opens it, she sees it is full of tobacco. Another tin comes out, this one with papers and filters. She finally gets out a rolling tray, an ashtray and yet another lighter. Abbie watches her as she rolls two with an efficiency that has to come from extensive experience. She hands one to Abbie, lights it, then her own.
if alex cabot was a young woman in 2026 i think she would be a weed smoker. and i really believe that. i just think the idea of a delicate little vase-shaped bong on her coffee table is SO chic, and very her. to me.
Alex doesn’t take it personally. She got part of what she wanted, anyway; and she enjoys watching Abbie’s steps down the alley until she turns out of sight. She giggles. It was a good kiss, even if it was briefer than she would’ve liked. It’s getting late and the air nips, but she lights another cigarette. What’s the harm in more of a chase?
Monday comes after a very pleasant, and all-too-short weekend. Still, her bed is a bit easier to roll out of a bit earlier than some days. When she realizes she’s very much early enough to get a coffee, she stops at the building door and turns around. $3.80 is a very small price to pay for the plan she’s hatching.
She leaves Abbie’s black-- she doesn’t seem like the type for milk and sugar. Her own gets two sugars. She’s not sure exactly where her office is, but knows it’s up by Lewin’s. She walks down that hall until she spots “A. Carmichael” on a door. She does know how to pick a lock, but when she tries the handle, she’s surprised to find it open.
She’s in and out quickly, just long enough to place the cup on the desk and leave a note on a Post-It: Don’t think I didn’t take anything. See you later - A.
“Can I help you?” Abbie’s secretary (Katherine, she thinks she remembers) asks with a raised eyebrow as she sets a bag down by her desk in the common space.
“I’m alright, thank you.” She flashes her practiced, convincing smile.
---
Alex is already in the alley when Abbie gets there. She looks down at her watch.
“Running late today?” She brandishes an unlit cigarette. “I’ve had to wait for you. I’m really far too forgetful.”
“You really are,” Abbie says, handing her the lighter before she even gets her own. “Future reference-- one milk, one sugar.”
Alex’s look turns smug. “You should probably lock your office. Some crazy could get in there.”
“I tend to trust my colleagues.” She takes her lighter out of Alex’s returning hand.
“Always a mistake,” she says on an inhale, and tsks. Abbie laughs at it.
“What did you steal?” She returns.
“You’ll see.” Abbie flicks some ash onto the ground. The extra coffee has made her a bit jittery. Her hand trembles slightly. “Had a good weekend?”
“Read a book Saturday, Mass on Sunday.” Alex swivels her head with a perplexed expression. “The crossword,” she revises.
“Ah. Twenty-three across, ‘Risky.’ I saw a movie.”
“Shakespeare in Love?”
Now Alex laughs. “Affliction.”
“Any good?” Alex’s cigarette is nearly gone. It’s starting to get warmer recently. Abbie unzips her jacket. “Should I see it?”
Alex swishes her hair and steps closer to Abbie. “We should go to that little theater on Houston. Have you seen Better Than Chocolate yet?”
“I’ve heard good things,” Abbie says.
“How’s the nine-o’clock on Saturday?” As she makes the request, Alex has the same smirk she’d seen the other night. Abbie debates. There seems to be no stopping the woman. And Abbie has been wanting to see the film.
“Plans,” she responds, which is true. “Friday, too,” she anticipates. “Not Thursday.”
“You want to take me out on a school night?” Alex says, mock-scandalized. She spends a moment fiddling with the clasp on her purse; and then decisively pulls out her pack. Abbie notices, they’re standing close enough that she doesn’t need to move to light it for her.
“You did the inviting.”
“I’ll buy the dinner, too,” she says, pleased with herself. Abbie is bothered by it for a second, but it melts away. She lets herself feel the flattering.
---
Alex doesn’t agonize over the reservation-making, but she leaves it a bit too late by Wednesday afternoon. She has to call three places before she finds somewhere close enough to the theater with a table still available for two at seven-thirty. It works out, though. She even gets them to specify a window table. The restaurant seems like it will be a good fit, but it’s new, so she can’t be certain. From what she read in the Times, it’s upscale but not too fine; and that fits Alex’s needs.
She’s so busy finally getting time on her own with a grand jury that she doesn’t see Abbie at their smoke-spot more than once before their date. Even then, they barely have time to exchange a “hello.” She’s sure that Abbie has caught on, by now; has realized Alex keeps a small stach of bic lighters in her bottom desk drawer (and one or two in her purse). When she doesn’t see her before she takes her lunch on Thursday, Alex buys a copy of People. She writes the restaurant’s address plus ‘7:30’ on a Post-It, sitcks it to the cover, tand takes a trip upstairs. “Is Ms. Carmichael in her office?” She says to Katherine, politely.
Katherine is skeptical, but “Yes,” she says. “What do you need? I can let her know you’re here.”
Alex holds up the magazine. “No need to spoil her present.” The secretary definitely knows her boss’ reading habits: she chuckles.
“Go ahead,” she says.
Alex raps the door just twice. “Come in.”
“Hey did you hear back from,” she starts before she looks up from her notes. “You aren’t Jack.”
Abbie’s expression is far from exasperated-- she looks happy to see her, even. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“Terribly,” she says, leans back in her chair. Alex intentionally lets her eyes linger at her chest in her gray sweater, just a second long enough for her to catch her. She raises her eyebrows.
“Well, I won’t overstay.” She places People on her desk. “See you tonight.”
Abbie starts to leaf through the pages. “See you.”
---
She’d realized after Alex shut her office door behind her that she didn’t ask what she should wear. She ran the address by Jack, but he didn’t recognize it-- and he asked her why she was going (and regarded her scrambling response, “meeting a friend,” with some doubt). Every bag of Alex’s she’s seen has been designer. It has the potential to be a very fancy restaurant.
She settles on a dress she got for a Christmas party one year, a black twill number that is, she hopes, casual enough for plausible deniability while still being appropriate evening attire. It’s still really cold in the evenings: she wears her nice coat, and an orange scarf that she can drape over her shoulders.
She picks her second-nicest purse and transfers a pack of cigarettes and her lighter into it, along with her wallet and a tube of Black Honey. She rolls just a touch of perfume on her wrist, throws that in the bag too, and leaves just in time to take the subway instead of a cab to the West Village. The sky is beautifully clear.
“What’s your reservation?” The teenaged hostess asks after her warm greeting. Glancing around the restaurant, she thinks, she is just a bit overdressed.
“It should be under,” she says, then realizes she doesn’t know her date’s last name. “It’s at seven-thirty. Alexandra is the first name.” She hopes she’s not an Alexis.
The girl nods. “I’ll take your coat. Ms. Cabot is here.” Abbie follows her to a candlelit corner table in the window. “Enjoy, ladies” Alex rises and pulls Abbie’s chair out for her. Abbie is amused by the chivalry when she kisses her cheek.
As soon as they’re both seated, a waiter in a crisp white shirt arrives with a bottle and two flutes.
“Forgive me.” Alex winks before the man expertly presents it. She insists Abbie be the one to try the first sip-- it is, of course, excellent. “I felt this was an occasion for celebration,” she says. The server pours the two glasses and says something about his quick return.
Alex looks beautiful. Her red dress shows off her elegant collarbones, and she’s subtly curled her short hair so it moves in waves when she shakes her head. “You’re stunning.”
“As are you.” Alex raises her glass to that. Abbie looks down at the menu. The prices do not reflect the patrons’ attire, but she doesn’t say anything. Alex wouldn’t have invited her here if cost was a consideration. “A friend suggests we start with the scallops.”
---
Her friend was right about the scallops, and the rest of the meal measures up. The service is quick, and even after coffee there’s some time before the movie. It starts to drizzle, but not too bad: when they arrive, they join a small, variously dressed, crowd gathering under the marquee.
“Surprise,” Alex says, pulling from her purse Uncle Bill’s Dunhill. She runs her thumb over the marbled enamel surface and gold-plated details. She hands it to Abbie, who appraises it, and finds is satisfactory. Alex leans in with a cigarette in her mouth. Abbie lights hers, then her own.
“I can see why you don’t carry this around.”
“It merits a special occasion.”
Abbie smiles. She breathes in, and it’s quiet for a second. She looks at Alex. “What made you want to sink your claws into me, specifically?”
There’s a part of her voice that sounds almost self-conscious, which Alex can hardly believe. “Have you seen yourself?” Abbie’s reply is little more than a hm sound, and Alex guesses that means she needs to elaborate. She thinks of what to say. “You’re beautiful. You’re successful. I like a chase… I like your taste in lighters.”
Abbie responds to only one reason. “You’d know if I was really running away.”
“Convinced me,” Alex replies.
Abbie nods. She puts the butt of her cigarette in an mostly-full ashtray on top of a trash can. “Well. Good catch,” she says, an admission.
Alex takes her last drag, and follows suit. People are starting to file into the theater, but there’s a bit of time, still. She takes one of Abbie’s hands and places it on her own hip, then kisses her gently. She rubs the silk of Abbie’s dress between two of her fingers. Abbie deepens the kiss, not with her mouth, but with her hands, which pull their bodies together at Alex’s waist; taking her weight. Alex wants more, and almost takes it, thinks about suggesting they skip Better Than Chocolate.
But, “Let’s not miss the movie,” Abbie says. Tease.
---
“M&Ms in popcorn was a new one for me,” she says to Alex as they leave the film.
“It’s half the reason to attend the cinema,” she replies. Abbie agrees, at least in this instance. It wasn’t a bad watch, but it wasn’t that good. She’s sad that the evening is coming to an end. Extending it-- with a cocktail or a dessert-- would probably be unwise too, as late as it is. Neither of them is making any effort to go their separate ways, though; and they’re now just standing in front of the theater with the closing-up employees inside glaring out of the windows at them.
“Should we?” Alex asks, an incomplete question, that Abbie isn’t certain she means suggestively.
“On a school night?” Abbie takes it there, mock-shocked. Alex laughs.
“I was going to say, ‘call it a night,’” she says. “But now that you mention it.” Abbie has every reason to turn her down. She looks at Alex again, and decides she would rather see that dress on the floor. “I am just around the corner,” she’s pleased to hear Alex say. “Care for a coffee?”
