Batteries Not Needed

Avi paces the living room, glancing at the door every few seconds. Two years is too long. The knock hits and she yanks it open. Anny stands there. They shriek and collide, arms locking, laughs tumbling out. They drop onto the couch but never stay still. Hands brush, eyes lock. Avi spills her plans: beaches, dinners, late nights. Anny groans, smiles, says Germany is far and tonight she just wants a quiet room. Avi caves, leads her to the guest room, leaves her to settle in. Anny opens her suitcase, peels off her travel clothes. The moment she steps into the bathroom, Avi slips back inside. She digs through the open luggage and freezes when her fingers close around a vibrator. Her eyebrows lift. Bold souvenir. Anny catches her. Instead of anger, she smirks and joins Avi on the bed, talking about how good the toy feels. The battery is dead; the charger is still overseas. Avi stares, wondering aloud if Anny likes girls. Anny laughs: of course, isn’t it obvious? The laugh dies between their mouths. The kiss turns hot fast. Clothes slip away. Avi pushes Anny onto her back, spreads her thighs, and licks deep. Fingers follow, sliding in and curling. They grind together, slick and urgent, Anny’s jet lag burning off under each thrust and grind. Avi’s grin says the vacation just started.