This One's On Me

Freya tells herself she’s here for the coffee.

It’s a reasonable excuse. The café is close to her apartment, and the Wi-Fi is reliable. She’s worked remotely in worse places when she’s needed to push through a deadline.

It’s not even a bad coffee shop—far from it. It’s just packed with cool, hipster students who seem to have nowhere else to be. It makes her feel old. 

But there’s coffee. That’s all this is. Nothing to do with the incredibly hot, soft-masc barista she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about since yesterday.

Freya’s already pulling her phone out of her coat pocket, scanning through emails she’s half-read and messages she hasn’t replied to yet. There’s a journalist she needs to follow up with, a client waiting on revisions, a drafted PR campaign that still isn’t hitting quite the way she wants it to.

Normally, she’d already be fully inside her own head by now, lining up responses, editing phrasing, tightening angles. But she isn’t.

Because she’s looking for her. It’s subtle. Automatic enough that she almost doesn’t catch herself doing it. Almost.

Behind the counter, Alex is there—exactly where she was yesterday, like Freya had hoped her to be without consciously admitting it. Sleeves pushed up, tattoos catching briefly in the light before disappearing under slouchy fabric again, dark soft curls piled up in a messy bun on top of her head, her movements unflustered even as she works through a lengthy queue.

So fucking pretty. 

Freya joins the line. She watches Alex through the gaps between people’s heads in front of her. She can’t take her eyes off her hands. The way her long, strong fingers wrap around the mugs, curling securely around the ceramic as she slides them across the counter with practiced ease, her thumb brushing the handle before she lets go. How the tendons on the backs of her tanned hands shift subtly under the skin as she pulls a shot, adjusts a dial, wipes steam from a surface. Even the smallest gestures—tapping excess grounds away, flicking her wrist to shake off water—put Freya in an almost trance-like state, wishing those hands were on her, those fingers buried deep inside her.

She hadn’t meant to come back, not this quickly. Yesterday had been… nothing, really. A brief interaction. Names exchanged. No conversation worth remembering.

And yet—

She remembers every word. 

The way Alex had looked at her. The way Freya’s name had sounded coming out of Alex’s mouth, as if she’d purposely retained it rather than reading it from the order. The brush of Alex’s fingers when she’d handed over the cup, brief but charged enough that Freya had still felt it hours later, replaying it without meaning to.

It’s ridiculous. She knows that. Surely she’s just built this up in her head–– turning nothing into something. She runs her own public relations business for Christ’s sake––an industry built on creating interest where there isn’t much. She knows how easily attention can be manufactured, how quickly something small can be made to feel significant if you frame it right. That’s all this is, her mind doing what it’s trained to do, not reality.

Freya steps forward.

The line moves. Alex looks up, her long-lashed deep brown eyes finding Freya’s immediately.

And there it is again—that moment. That exact, precise second where Alex’s attention lands fully and Freya feels herself come into focus. 

Alex’s mouth curves, just slightly. “Back already, eh?”

A tingling immediately begins between Freya’s thighs.

“Convenient location,” she replies light-heartedly, shrugging, a smirk tugging at her lips. 

Alex hums, a quiet mmhmm paired with a nod, like she doesn’t quite believe that. “Of course. 

“Freya, right?”

Alex remembers her name. Good sign. Freya nods, holding her gaze.

“Same order as yesterday?” Alex asks, eyes glittering.

Freya should say yes. Keep it simple. She’s flattered that Alex even remembers. That has to be another good sign, right?  Or is Alex just so good at her job that she memorises everyone’s drinks?

Freya tilts her head slightly. “What would you recommend?”

Alex’s expression changes. A flicker of interest. Of approval, maybe. Possibly even a kind of relief—like she’s been waiting for someone to ask her that. 

“Well,” she says, shifting her weight into the counter, glancing over Freya properly now, taking in the laptop case, the notebook under her arm, the windswept pieces of honey-blonde hair Freya hadn’t realised had escaped her ponytail. “You look like you’ve got a lot going on today.” 

Freya lets out a quiet laugh. “I always have a lot going on.”

“Then you probably need something a bit stronger.” She licks her lips inadvertently, and Freya’s eyes dart to Alex’s tongue. It was just a flash, but Freya feels her knees weaken at the thought of that tongue on her, in her mouth, on her neck, flicking against her nipples, pressing and sliding against her clit. She’s already so wet. 

Alex turns slightly, reaching for a bag of coffee beans. “This,” she says, holding eye contact, “is a Colombian single origin. Notes of brown sugar, milk chocolate, and roasted almond, with a hint of spice if you catch it right. It doesn’t give everything away too soon; it keeps you guessing.” She grins, and Freya can’t help but think Alex isn’t talking about the coffee anymore. 

Freya giggles quietly, glancing up at Alex through her lashes. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“One you’d like to accept?”

“Why not? Let’s live life on the edge.”

“Rock ’n’ roll. I’ll make it with oat milk, same as you had in your latte yesterday, and I’ll top it with cinnamon.”

Freya smiles. “Perfect.”

“This one’s on me,” Alex says, already turning to the coffee machine. “Experimental recommendation and all that.”

Freya raises her eyebrows. “Oh, are you sure? I...”

“Get yourself a table,” Alex says over her shoulder before Freya can finish. I’ll bring it over, so you don’t have to wait.”

“Thanks,” Freya says to Alex’s back, her gaze catching on the sliver of exposed bronzed skin peeking out between Alex’s shirt and jeans––a sight that almost makes Freya drool. She blinks away the thought of her fingers gripping Alex’s back while Alex is on top of her, fucking her, her hips rolling into her. 

Without meaning to, Freya sits at the same table she’d been at yesterday. This feels like a second chance. She hadn’t asked for Alex’s number yesterday; her nerves had gotten the best of her, but all the signs were telling her to go for it. 

Her laptop comes out, emails reopen, her brain tries to slot back into its usual rhythm. It doesn’t quite manage it. How can she possibly work when Alex is in the same room as her? When Alex is about to bring over a personalised on-the-house drink for her?

Freya glances up as she approaches, then quickly back down, then up again—caught between wanting to show confidence and not quite trusting herself to.

Alex sets the cup gently in front of Freya.

“You’ll tell me what you think?” she asks.

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” Freya replies smiling, already picking up the cup and letting it warm her hands.

“I’ll have your latte waiting in the wings if this goes horribly wrong.”

Freya smiles reassuringly. “It won’t go wrong. I trust you.”

“Famous last words,” Alex says with a laugh before straightening and walking back behind the counter.

Freya watches her go.

Of course she does. Alex’s butt in those jeans. Holy Mary mother of God.

She has a feeling Alex will be watching her as she takes the first sip. She doesn’t look over to confirm it, but she can feel her eyes on her anyway. Freya lifts the cup, ready to put on her best pretend “this is lovely” expression, already bracing herself for something overly bitter, overly artisan, the kind of coffee only conissouers and douchebags enjoy.

Instead, it’s nothing like that.

It’s bright at first and then softens almost immediately into something smoother and warmer. A melting silky chocolate flavour she didn’t realise coffee could have. 

When she looks back toward the counter, Alex is there, casually drying a mug with a cloth, grinning, watching her, not even attempting to hide it. 

Freya gives a thumbs-up, a little more enthusiastically than intended, and then points at the cup.

Alex’s softly punches the air in mock celebration.

***

Freya manages to get a little work done before she gives up and lets her attention drift back to Alex again. She’s busy, naturally. Talking to customers, laughing at something Freya can’t hear, moving between machines and cups with that same easy confidence, like she’s in her element.

Freya’s laptop screen dims slightly from inactivity. She clicks it awake again, sighs under her breath, and finally gives up on pretending, and starts to shut down her multiple open pages.

Alex is walking over. Crap. This is Freya’s chance to ask her for her number and not shit the bed this time.

Freya opens her mouth, intending to be normal about it. Casual. Controlled. “Can I ask––”

Alex does the same. “Do you––”

They both stop and laugh. A second passes.

“You go first,” Freya says.

“Do you… want another coffee?”

Freya blinks. “Oh,” she says, her smile faltering just slightly before she catches it. “I thought you were going to ask—never mind.”

“What were you going to say?” Alex asks, her eyes looking hopeful. 

Freya loses her cool and can’t force out the words she wants to say so badly. She shakes her head and starts to pack away her things in a fluster. “It’s nothing. Thanks for the coffee though, it was great.” She stands to leave.

“Wait,” Alex says as Freya turns. “Could I maybe… get your number?” 

Freya’s eyes widen slightly, and she feels an immediate pulsating between her legs. “I… was going to ask you the same thing,” she says, her voice slightly vulnerable.

Alex grins, a little incredulous. “That’s… actually kind of perfect.” She wipes her hands on her apron and takes her phone out of her pocket. “I was also going to say, if you’re not doing anything later, you should swing by the bar I work at—I can whip up another experimental drink for you.” She hands her phone to Freya.

“Oh? Yeah, I think I’m free tonight,” Freya says with a shy smile, typing her number into Alex’s phone. “You work two jobs?”

“That I do.” Alex says, a quiet note of pride slipping into her voice. “I love it, though. I’m saving to open my own place one day: a queer space—coffee shop by day that becomes a chilled-out wine bar at night. Low lights, small bites, cool music, that kind of thing.”

Something low in Freya’s stomach pulls tight. She’s suddenly very aware of how close they’re standing. Of Alex’s hands, her voice, the confidence threaded through everything she says. Her passion, her ambition, her drive.

God. Freya wants to lean in. Instead, she keeps her expression level, measured—like she hasn’t just had the air knocked out of her a little—and hands Alex’s phone back. “Wow, I love that idea,” she says, and her voice is calm, even if the rest of her isn’t. “Sounds bloody amazing.”

Alex smiles. “I’ve just called you, so you have my number now, too.”

“Great, text me the details, and I’ll meet you later,” Freya says as confidently as she can muster.

“Looking forward to making you your next drink,” Alex says, her eyes flicking down to Freya’s lips.

***

By the time Freya arrives, the place is already humming. She’s deliberately left it until late because she knows the bar shuts at 11 and that’s when Alex will get off work.

Before she’s barely even two steps inside, she can see Alex waving her over, pointing toward the far end of the bar.

Freya follows her instructions. A single stool sits slightly apart from the others, tucked just around the curve of the bar. Not hidden, but a little more private. Set aside, just for her.

Alex’s smile is already giving Freya a surge in her stomach and clit simultaneously. She slips onto the stool, grinning back and smoothing her silky black dress over her knees as she settles.

“You look fucking gorgeous,” Alex says with seductive eye contact that could shatter Freya on the spot.  

She shifts slightly on the stool, trying to assuage the needy ache of the arousal blazing between her legs. “You’re sure it’s not too much?” she asks looking down at her own dress and heels.

“It’s perfect,” Alex says, her eyes travelling down Freya’s body before leaning her forearms on the bar. “Alright. Time for your surprise cocktail.”

Freya lifts a brow. “Oh?”

“But I’m going to ask you a few questions first.”

“Go for it.”

“Fruity or creamy?”

“Fruity.”

“Strong or smooth?”

“Somewhere in the middle.”

“Sweet or sour?”

“Sweet.”

Alex nods once. Then she’s moving. “Be right back, beautiful.”

Freya watches her. Alex moves like she belongs here in a way that can’t be taught—pulling bottles without hesitation, measuring swiftly, hands working on instinct; she’s like an artist at her canvas.

Ice. A pale amber spirit Freya doesn’t recognise. Something lighter after that. Then a dash from a bottle with a handwritten label. Freya lets her eyes roam over Alex’s body. She notices Alex isn’t wearing a bra. Her nipples are hard through her tight T shirt. Fuck. Freya wants them in her mouth.

Raspberries. Lime. Soda. Alex snaps the shaker shut and takes it in both her hands. She starts the motion easily, finding a rhythm and staying there. Her movements even. Controlled. Consistent. And so fucking hot. 

Her forearms flex subtly with each repetition, muscle shifting under tattooed skin, biceps tightening just enough to catch the low light as she works. It’s effortless, like she could do this all night without breaking pace.

And then she looks over.

Catches Freya watching.

She doesn’t look away, she just smirks and keeps the rhythm steady, like she knows exactly what she’s doing, like she’s letting Freya see it. There’s no way she needs to shake the drink for this long. 

Freya’s pussy is throbbing. Her breath stutters slightly, her body reacting before she can stop it, a slow heat pooling low, building in a way that feels dangerously close to spilling over.

She shifts in her seat, bites her lip, grips the edge of the bar, and can almost feel Alex inside her, Freya on her lap, riding Alex’s fingers. Fingers that drive in, in, in, hard and insistent, and Freya’s pussy pulses, matching the pace of what she’s watching.

Something in Freya’s expression must give her away, because Alex’s gaze sharpens, dragging slowly over Freya like she’s reading her in real time. Alex’s mouth parts slightly, and there’s hunger in her eyes.

Freya imagines Alex flipping her on to her back. For a second, it feels too real—the closeness, the pressure, the imagined weight of Alex, the steady rhythm of her inside her. Freya squeezes her thighs together, and then, oh fuck, she’s coming, right there in her seat. 

Thank god for the loud music drowning out the small, involuntary sounds she can’t quite hold back. Freya drops her head into her hands, heat rushing to her face, willing herself to look normal, to be normal.

Jesus.

She risks a glance up—

Alex’s jaw shifts as she swallows, her eyes slightly wider than they were a few seconds ago.

Yeah.

She knows.

Freya’s stomach flips, equal parts mortified and not quite back in her body yet.

Alex bites back a smile and strains the drink into the glass, the colour settling into something warm and hazy—rose-gold, slightly clouded.

Lime, squeezed once over the top. Dropped in.

Then she’s bringing it toward Freya, holding the partially submerged straw between two fingers, offering it to Freya’s lips while giving her the sexiest smile Freya has ever seen in her life.

She sips without question, holding Alex’s gaze as she sucks, then swallows. “Fucking sensational,” she says. “You’re good at this.”

“Even better than I thought, apparently.” Alex says smirking, her eyes dropping—slowly—to Freya’s mouth. There’s a beat, like Alex is deciding whether to cross the space between them. Then she does.

She leans over the bar, closing the distance, one hand braced lightly against the surface as she reaches for Freya. Her thumb lifts, deliberate, pressing softly against Freya’s lower lip to catch the trace of the drink left behind.

The touch isn’t quick.

It drags, just slightly, slow enough that Freya feels all of it. Feels it in her whole body. Her breath catches. Her eyes close just for a split second. Then Freya sucks her thumb clean.

Neither of them moves.

And for a second, it feels like the bar, the room, everything else, has disappeared completely.

“Dan,” Alex calls over her shoulder without looking away from Freya. “You OK to close up tonight?”

“Sure, Lex,” says one of the other bartenders with a knowing grin, having already caught the tail end of Alex and Freya’s interaction. 

“Let’s go,” Alex says without a moment’s hesitation, coming around the side of the bar and grabbing Freya’s hand. “Now.”

***

The door barely has time to click shut.

Freya is still half-turned from stepping inside when Alex is already there—close, closer than she’s been before. In her heels, Freya meets Alex exactly—eye to eye, mouth to mouth. Alex’s fingers brush Freya’s jaw. Light. Intentional. Guiding.

Freya’s heart is suddenly too loud. 

Alex’s gaze drops, briefly, to her mouth.

Then back to her eyes. 

A breath passes between them.

And then Alex leans in.

Their lips meet, soft at first, tentative for half a second, then it deepens with everything that’s been building since that first look across the coffee shop.

Freya exhales into it, one hand lifting instinctively to Alex’s arm, grounding herself, gripping onto her.

Alex presses closer, so that their bodies align, and Freya groans into her mouth. 

Alex’s hand slides from Freya’s jaw to the back of her neck, holding her there, the kiss intensifying even further.

Freya’s fingers tighten in the fabric of Alex’s T shirt, and then she’s sliding it off her, revealing more tattoos, pert breasts and hard nipples. 

Alex pulls back just enough to let it happen, just enough for Freya to drag the fabric up and over her head, her hands already back on her the second it’s gone, like she can’t stand the space even for a second. 

Freya’s hands don’t stop moving, over Alex’s shoulders, down her toned arms, across her back, squeezing at her warm breasts—mapping her out like she needs to confirm this is actually happening and is not just the best fantasy she’s ever had. “You’re so fucking hot,” Freya whimpers, her lips still in contact with Alex’s.

“You’re fucking perfect,” Alex says quickly. Her hands are on Freya’s waist now, firm, decisive, walking her backwards without breaking eye contact until Freya’s back meets the wall.

A soft impact.

Alex’s mouth finds Freya’s neck, her tongue brushing slowly against her skin. Freya’s head tilts back slightly, giving her more access without thinking about it, her hands gripping tighter now, pulling Alex closer instead of just holding on.

Alex’s hands yank the fabric of Freya’s dress up her smooth thighs, her hand landing on lacy underwear. She presses all her fingers and the heel of her hand onto the lace, feeling the wetness that has already soaked through. Freya inhales sharply then moans. Alex’s hand doesn’t stay still—manoeuvring, massaging, kneading, learning, figuring out what Freya reacts most to and then doing it again, slower this time. Softly biting into Freya’s neck as she does so.

Freya’s leg is wrapped around Alex’s back. Alex picks her other leg up and carries her to the bed, just a few feet away from the front door in her small apartment, and lays her down, her torso between Freya’s legs, Freya’s dress ruched up around her waist. 

Her hand slides down Freya’s side, stopping at her hip, tracing a line with her fingertip across the top of Freya’s underwear and down between her lips, making Freya jump in pleasure. Her finger moves to the edge of her underwear, following the seam down her groin, and then slowly prising the drenched fabric away from Freya’s pussy, slipping her middle finger straight inside her. Freya groans and throws her head back. 

Alex’s smooth finger finds an easy rhythm deep inside Freya, and Freya thinks momentarily of Alex with the cocktail shaker, how just watching her had made Freya come. Steady, meticulous, rhythmic, in charge. She slides in and up, in and up. Never coming all the way out. In and up, in and up, stroking her G spot with overwhelming accuracy.

“I need to taste you,” Alex says, her voice rough, her gaze dark with craving.

“Please,” Freya cries, already pushing at her shoulder, then the back of her neck, guiding her down. 

Alex lowers herself—eyes never leaving Freya’s face, watching every reaction.

Freya’s fingers tighten in Alex’s hair. Her back arches slightly, already feeling it before anything even happens—the anticipation, the way her body is reacting just to the idea of it.

Alex pauses there to pull Freya’s underwear further to the side. Close enough that Freya feels the warmth of her breath on her open pussy, the nearness of her without touch. She feels her desperation for Alex’s tongue.

She makes breathy moans interspersed with high-pitched split-second whimpers of want, twining one leg about Alex’s head and shoulders beggingly.

At the same time as Alex’s tongue makes contact with Freya’s needy, pulsating clit, her finger plunges back into her wetness in one long, delicious move. Freya begins to roll her hips, to cry out, feeling like she could burst open at any minute. Alex adds a second finger, crooking them as she strokes deep inside, her movements steady while her tongue moves faster.

Freya’s breathing breaks completely, her body responding before she can keep up with it, her thoughts sliding out of reach.

“Alex—”

It’s barely a word.

Alex doesn’t stop.

An oblivion of colours explodes behind her squeezed-closed eyes, her brain shattering into a thousand diamonds as Freya sigh-screams at the onslaught of pleasure which seems to go on forever.

The release, the aftermath, the way her body is still catching up with it—breath uneven, muscles relaxed and quivering, head spinning. And then something else follows. A second wave, Alex still lapping at her softly. 

Freya’s hands tighten in Alex’s hair.

“Oh my god, Alex. Oh god. Fuck. Fuck!”

The words come out rougher than she expects. A kind of a growl. And then a tight, rumbling, elongated groan after that. Her hand slides from Alex’s hair to her jaw, guiding her up, gently but not hesitantly—just enough pressure to make it clear.

Come here. Right now.

Alex comes easily.

And the second she’s within reach, Freya kisses her again, tasting herself on Alex’s tongue, wanting her, needing to taste her in return. 

Her other hand finds Alex’s waist, pulling her in, turning her, shifting the balance until Freya’s the one on top.

Alex lets out a quiet sound against her mouth—surprised, but not resisting.

Not even close.

Freya sits on Alex’s lap, deepening the kiss, slower but more deliberate, like she’s decided exactly what she wants now and isn’t going to waste a second.

Her hands move with intention, over Alex’s shoulders, down her sides, mapping her out the same way Alex had done to her. She sucks Alex’s bottom lip before lowering herself, kissing Alex’s neck and chest, sweeping and circling her tongue over her tight nipples, switching between light and firm sucks, leaving them glistening with her saliva.

Her tongue trails down Alex’s torso, worshiping her. Her hands find Alex’s waistband and she unbuttons then pulls off her jeans, and her Calvin Klein underwear with them. Post-orgasm adrenaline is coursing through Freya now, sharp and bright, making everything feel clearer, louder, more immediate.

She spreads Alex’s legs, and her ravenous mouth finds Alex’s wetness with such intense urgency that it takes Alex’s breath away, sucking her clit into her mouth, swirling her tongue around and around and around, drinking in her scent, her taste, her reaction.

“Fuck!” Alex whimpers, “Just like that. Oh god, Freya.”

Freya holds onto Alex’s thighs and buries her face between them, her mouth fixed onto Alex, lapping and swallowing every drop of her sweetness, moaning at how much she wants this. It makes the blood leave her head. 

In minutes, Alex is trembling under her, her body coiled and her eyes rolling back in her head. Freya kisses up Alex’s body, her skin hot and damp from the exertion of her orgasm, and whispers in her ear, “Can I fuck you?”

Alex looks confused for a second. 

Freya continues, “Do you have… a strap?”

“I…”

“Sorry, is that weird to ask?” Freya suddenly feels insecure. “Pretend I didn’t––”

“I do,” Alex interrupts, stroking Freya’s face softly. “You want to use it on me?”

“God yes,” Freya breathes.

“It’s still in the packaging. I’ve never gotten to use it with anyone.”

“Where is it?” Freya asks quickly. 

Alex turns and rummages through a drawer next to the bed and pulls out a box. Freya grabs it from her enthusiastically, and Alex laughs. “I love how eager you are.” She shifts slightly on the bed, watching Freya tear it open.  

Thankfully for Freya, she doesn’t have to dig out an instruction manual—her excitement is already getting ahead of her, and she’s grateful it’s a simple step-in harness, basically underwear with a ring at the front to hold the dildo in place.

Alex lays back as Freya guides her, her touch firm but careful, and positions herself between Alex’s legs. Alex pulls off Freya’s dress, which had been left on during their rush to be with each other, and unhooks her bra in one swipe.

“You’re so beautiful,” Alex says, her voice full of yearning as her gaze drops to Freya’s chest, her hand moving slowly over her.

Freya leans down. Kisses her. Not rushed. Not voracious like before. Slow, considered, reconnecting. She reaches her hand down to Alex’s pussy, still soaked. Ready for Freya.

She uses her hand to guide the tip of the dildo to Alex’s entrance, easing it through her wetness to make sure it’s slick enough.

“You’re OK?” Freya asks softly.

“Definitely.”

And then she slides into her. Alex exhales into the feeling, her body softening under Freya’s. 

“Is that OK?” Freya asks, searching her face.

“That feels so good.”

“Tell me if—” Freya starts.

“I will,” Alex says immediately, her voice steady but breathless. “I promise.”

Freya’s movements are tentative first, making sure Alex is comfortable, and then her thrusts become more certain, guided by instinct. She keeps her rhythm slow. She is aware of every breath, every small shift, every sound, and adjusts without thinking, learning Alex in real time. She doesn’t speed up, she keeps it slow, slipping in and out of Alex, lowering her breasts onto Alex’s and pressing against her, kissing her neck as she fucks her.

There’s a friction building for Freya too—each movement grinding the base of the toy against her, a low, steady pulse catching her off guard. She exhales softly into Alex’s skin, not expecting to feel quite so much of it herself.

Alex’s body responds without restraint, her hands gripping at Freya, then stroking up her back as she moans. 

“You feel amazing, Freya.” It comes out like a gasp.

Freya feels it. Feels the effect she’s having. Can feel the slip and clench of Alex’s pussy, like the toy is an extension of herself. She feels powerful, protective, melting every time she hears a sigh of satisfaction from Alex—one for each impact of Freya’s body against hers.

Alex lets herself fall into it completely, her body moving with Freya’s.

“Fuck,” she breathes. “Christ. Freya!”

Freya leans closer at that, her mouth near her ear again, her voice low, steady. “I love fucking you.”

Alex exhales a groan in response, her whole body tightening, her arms grasping around Freya’s neck and back. 

As Freya listens to Alex come—knowing she’s the one bringing her there— something inside her unravels too. The sounds of pleasure slipping from her own mouth surprise her, raw and unfiltered—sounds no other woman has ever drawn from her before. 

***

Freya’s breathing has slowed, her body still humming faintly, but calmer now, listening to Alex’s heartbeat, her ear pressed against her chest. Alex’s hand moves through Freya’s hair, fingers slow, gentle, tracing the same path over and over like she’s not thinking about it, like it’s the most natural thing to have Freya in her arms. 

“Tell me more about it,” Freya says, eyes closed, voice velvety, “the LGBT café/bar you want to open.”

Alex’s hand stills for a second, like she didn’t expect that—but then it resumes.

“Hmm,” she starts, and Freya can hear that she’s smiling. “Well, I just don’t feel like there’s anywhere for queer people to hang out in a safe space unless it’s a nightclub. 

“I can imagine board games, and chilled event nights, maybe speed dating, writing clubs, book groups, small speaker events. I want it to be a space for queer gatherings of any sort. I want it somewhere in the suburbs. A neighbourhood feel. A small, intimate place but with big windows if I can get them.”

Her fingers drift through Freya’s hair again and Alex shifts slightly, settling more comfortably as she talks.

“Then at night…” she continues, “low lighting, candles maybe, good wine, great music, cosy feels.”

“What’s your timeline in an ideal world?” Freya asks quietly.

“Soon, hopefully. I’ve saved quite a bit. Just… waiting for the right place to come up.”

That’s what does it.

Something clicks. A lightbulb goes off. Freya pushes herself up onto her elbow, turning properly toward Alex.

“Wait.”

Alex blinks and smiles. “What?”

Freya’s already thinking ahead, pieces slotting into place. “I might know somewhere.”

Alex goes still. “What do you mean?”

Freya’s brain is in PR mode and is moving fast, her earlier softness replaced with growing excitement.

“One of my clients,” she says animatedly, “they’re closing their bar. Not publicly yet—it hasn’t been announced—but they’re retiring. I was devastated, actually. I loved working with them.

“Their venue, it’s on the outskirts of the city. Good foot traffic. Already fitted out, but neutral enough you could completely make it your own. Small and cosy, massive bay window in the front. It’s—” she stops herself, recalibrates. “It’s exactly what you described for your business.”

Alex sits up straighter.

“You’re serious?”

Freya nods, eyes wide. “I could set up a private viewing. Before it goes public. It hasn’t hit the market yet.”

There’s a split second where Alex just looks at her.

Processing.

Then—

A grin, wide and unguarded, something almost disbelieving in it.

“Freya!”

“I know!” Freya says, smiling, eyebrows raised. “So… do you want me to—”

Alex doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. Definitely yes.” She lets out a breath then grabs Freya’s face and kisses her, rolling her onto her back.

***

Ten days later—before the unit is listed for commercial lease—Freya unlocks the door.

“Ready for your private viewing?” Freya asks, glancing at Alex spiritedly.

Alex lets out a breath that’s part-laugh, part-nerves. “One hundred per cent.”

Freya grins. The door opens with a soft clunk, and they step inside together.

Light spills in through the front huge front window, stretching gold across the wooden floors. The bones of the place are already there: a long bar that could be reworked, open seating, the kind of atmosphere that could carry it from day to night.

Freya looks at Alex. She hasn’t moved. She’s just… standing there. Taking it in. Her eyes move across the room, piece by piece, like she’s already building it in her head— where the coffee machines would sit, how she’d style the space, how she’d make it feel like hers.

Her hand comes up to her mouth without her realising. “Oh my—” She cuts herself off.

Freya watches as it hits her fully.

“This is—” Alex shakes her head, laughing under her breath, but her voice catches halfway through. “This is it.”

And then, she cries. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just a quiet, overwhelmed release, like the emotions she’s been holding onto for so long have finally found somewhere to land.

Freya hugs her immediately.

Alex huffs out a breath, wiping at her face, half chuckling at herself. “I just—” she gestures vaguely around them. “This is exactly what I pictured. Like, exactly.”

“I’m so glad,” Freya says quietly.

“I’m so grateful for you,” Alex says, kissing her.

They move to the bare wooden bar without really deciding to. Backwards, sideways, until Freya’s back brushes lightly against it. Alex starts unbuttoning Freya’s shirt.

Freya laughs softly into the kiss, breaking away to say, “We’re really doing this here?”

“Mmhmm,” Alex says nodding, continuing to unbutton, then pulling down one of the cups of Freya’s bra, taking her nipple into her mouth.

Freya’s breath catches as Alex’s hands slide to her hips, lifting her up onto the bar in one smooth motion. Alex’s hands move again immediately, riding Freya’s pencil skirt up over her thighs slowly, exposing inch by inch, her mouth following—kissing along her legs as she goes. Freya rises up off the bar and Alex lifts the skirt up further so that when Freya sits back down, her bare ass is against the cold, smooth wood.

Alex reaches for Freya’s thong, sliding it off carefully over her high heels, which stay on. Her hands settle at Freya’s thighs, holding her there as she leans in, her focus narrowing completely.

Freya leans back onto her elbows, her legs lifting, draping over Alex’s shoulders. Alex’s lips brush over Freya’s centre, and Freya trembles, unable to think of anything but the light kisses Alex is planting everywhere but her clit, and the pressure of Alex’s hands on her thighs. 

She gently urges Freya’s thighs further apart, and Freya complies willingly, desperately. A soft sound escapes her at the first contact of Alex’s soft, warm tongue.

Alex doesn’t rush it. She takes her time—kissing, sucking, lapping, swirling, flicking, tongue-fucking—drawing Freya further into it with every second, adding her fingers only when Freya is soaked enough that they slip in with no resistance. 

Freya loses herself in Alex’s touch. Her breath on Freya’s pussy makes Freya’s own breath come faster, her breasts rising and falling.

Freya’s fingers tighten against the edge of the bar, her breath breaking, everything pulling tighter, sharper, until it culminates in an explosion of sparks and colours and shooting stars that leave her languorous and breathless.

***

“OK,” Alex murmurs, kissing Freya’s neck, “I have to get this place, now that we’ve christened it.”

Freya beams. 

Alex holds her around her waist and kisses her on the tip of her nose, then her cheeks, then her lips. “This is it. And I don’t just mean this place. I mean you. You are it. You’re it for me.”

“I am?” Freya says, her words catching. 

“I’ve never been more sure.” Alex takes Freya’s face in both hands. “I know it’s barely even been two weeks since we met, but… I love you.”

Freya exhales softly, her eyes already shining, her hands coming up to hold Alex’s wrists where they cradle her face. “I love you too.”

***

The place is full by sunset. Not just busy—full. People pressed shoulder to shoulder, voices layered over each other, the space alive in a way that makes it almost unrecognisable from the empty shell it once was.

Voices spill out onto the pavement, laughter weaving through the low hum of music, glasses clinking somewhere between the doorway and the road that belongs, just for tonight, to them. 

Opening night. Eight months of renovations, planning, late nights and early mornings—all of it culminating in this one moment.

Alex stands just outside the entrance, savouring the view. Her own business. Her dream, come to life.

An overspill gazebo stretches out along the closed-off street, softly lit, dotted with people wrapped in jackets and conversation. 

Photographers move through the crowd, flashes catching on glasses, on toothy smiles, on the sign above the door that finally—finally—belongs to Alex.

It’s everything Alex had imagined. And more.

“Hey, baby.”

Alex turns. Freya’s behind her, looking slightly dishevelled, shirt sleeves rolled, her blonde hair a little messier than usual, like she’s been running her hands through it all evening.

“How are you feeling?” Freya asks.

Alex smiles. “Just… taking it all in.”

Freya follows her gaze, watching the crowd, the lights, the guitarist, the buzz of it all.

“Your doing,” Alex says quietly.

Freya shakes her head. “All you. I just made some calls.”

Alex huffs a soft laugh. “You literally got every journalist in the city to attend, and had a whole road shut down.”

“Occupational perk,” Freya says shrugging, but there’s a small smile she can’t quite hide.

Alex reaches for her. Her hand finds Freya’s easily, naturally, like it belongs there. She leans in, pressing a quick kiss to Freya’s temple. “Come on,” Alex says, squeezing her hand. “According to my strict PR girlfriend, I think I’m supposed to pretend I know how to give a speech now.”

“You’ll be great,” Freya replies, rubbing her thumb over the back of Alex’s hand before kissing it.

Freya taps a glass and calls for everyone to come outside. Alex steps forward, clearing her throat.

“Hi,” she says, a little overwhelmed. “Wow. I didn’t actually think this many people would show up.”

A ripple of laughter moves through the crowd. She glances toward Freya for half a second, which grounds her. “I just wanted to say… thank you. Honestly. This place—” she gestures to the building, shaking her head slightly, still not quite believing it, “—this has been in my mind for a very long time.

“And to see it like this, full of people already, before we’ve even properly opened… it means everything.”

She pauses. Her eyes find Freya again. This time, she doesn’t look away quickly. “And I definitely couldn’t have done this without the support of my incredible girlfriend, Freya.”

There are a few cheers at that.

“Come up here, Freya,” Alex says, already reaching her hand out toward her.

Applause, a few cheers, people calling her name. Of course they know her. Ninety per cent of them have worked with her, the other ten per cent want to.

Freya lets out a small laugh, shaking her head, her hand coming up in a quick absolutely not gesture. 

Alex just waits, hand outstretched, completely certain.

Freya gives in and joins her, trying to hide her smile.

“Traitor,” she mutters under her breath, grabbing Alex’s hand.

“One day you meet someone, and you don’t want to do anything without them anymore,” Alex says. “This gorgeous, wonderful woman has changed my life in ways I didn’t even know were possible.”

Freya looks at her, caught off guard now, something softer replacing the embarrassment.

Alex turns fully to her this time. “You are my everything.”

Freya’s breath catches. “Alex—”

But Alex is already moving.

She steps back slightly.

Then—

Drops to one knee.

The crowd gasps. Then erupts.

Freya just stares at her, eyes already wet. “What are you—” she laughs, half in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“I am,” Alex says, opening the ring box. “I know this place is my dream. But you—you’re my future.”

Freya’s breath catches.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” Freya says immediately, laughing, shaking, already pulling her up. “Yes, obviously yes!”

Alex slides the ring onto Freya’s finger with slightly unsteady hands, both of them laughing through it, neither of them able to quite believe this is real. 

Then Freya pulls her in, kisses her hard, certain, right there in the middle of everything they’ve built, knowing this is only just the beginning.