For Old times' Sake!

Lauren shows up at the hotel like she owns the hour. Coat still on, suitcase by the door. Clara opens, they hover, then both speak at once and laugh. The room smells like steamed towels and hotel citrus. They sit on the bed, knees almost touching, and trade the last few years in clean, dry sentences. Same disappointments dressed up differently. Same ache underneath. Somewhere in the quiet, Clara reaches for the buckle on Lauren’s belt. Lauren doesn’t stop her. The coat drops. Underneath, nothing soft, only muscle memory and heat. Clara tugs Lauren’s slacks down, finds the harness already strapped to her hips, worn soft from use. The cock, black silicone, thick at the base, warm from her body, juts forward like it remembers what to do. Clara wraps her hand around it, strokes once, deliberate. Lauren watches, breath tight. Clara stands, strips fast. No performance, just need. She climbs onto the mattress, palms the sheets, hips lifted, and Lauren moves behind her. One hand on Clara’s waist, the other guiding the tip between her thighs. She pushes in slow, steady, filling her until Clara’s shoulders drop and her mouth opens on a sound that used to live between them. Lauren rocks forward again, deeper, and the strap creaks against her own cunt with every thrust. They find the old rhythm quick, the one that never learned the word goodbye. Clara reaches back, grabs Lauren’s wrist, holds her there, forces her to stay buried. Lauren bends, teeth at Clara’s shoulder, sweat slick between them. The room fills with the wet sound of the strap sliding in and out, the small, filthy noises they make when neither of them wants to be the first to let go.