The Angel and Her Demon

Chapter 4 - Bathroom Privacy

Diane's Perspective

I sit with my friends at lunch the next day. They're all mocking whatever they can, and normally I'd join in, but my eyes can't be torn away from Sky as she sits in the far corner alone eating her meal while also staring at her computer.

"If you want to go taunt her, we can just get up and actually go to her," Adrielle says dully as she plays with her spoon. "You know, instead of you just staring at her."

I roll my eyes. "She's different when it's one-on-one."

"What is that supposed to mean?" another scoffs.

"She's more receptive to me."

Adrielle raises an eyebrow. "She was pretty receptive when me and Jared when over there with you. We got quite a laugh out of her. I think the poor little thing was almost on the verge of tears. Serves her right for being so stuck-up and bitchy―"

"That's enough, Adrie," I say firmly. My eyes glare into her own, and suddenly all confidence is knocked out of her. My voice may be hollow of emotion, but the command still shocks her into silence, into submission. The group looks at me with a mix of agape mouths, widened eyes, lifted eyebrows, and the slightest hatred hiding in their eyes behind a wall of fear.

"Just shut up and keep eating your cold noodles," I snap.

They all hurriedly pretend as if nothing had happened. They drop the subject.

My eyes wander to Sky once again. With her hair tied back neatly, a plain but dressy white buttoned shirt, and a black-and-white plaid skirt that is just long enough to keep anyone from seeing anything scandalous as she sits, she paints the picture of an all-around adorable college girl. The type you'd see in movies or TV shows when you knew they were too perfect to be real, yet there she is, almost within reach. I try my best to spike my gaze with fury and rage as I look at her, but I can't form even the smallest spark of hatred toward her. She sits so calmly and collectedly. All the past insults that I used to throw at her seem hollow now. To call her stuck-up and mouthy would be a lie. I'm an excellent liar, don't get me wrong, but the more I notice about Sky, the more I start to think that I wouldn't be able to lie to her if I wanted to.

What am I doing? I think to myself as I gaze at her. Who have I become? Since when would someone like Sky become appealing to me?

This is more than a simple appeal and finding her attractive though; this is going to drive me insane. I watch as she grabs onto her fork, twirling it around the noodles and ultimately bringing it up to her mouth. Her lips, a delicate pink that perfectly highlights her golden demeanor, part only to close around the fork moments later. She chews slowly and deliberately as if she believes that even a simple task such as this deserves to have her attention. What do you think she'd do if I had her attention? My mind runs wild with ideas that I force myself to stuff into a box. I can't have my gang start thinking less of me. I may be crazy, but I'm not an animal; I can control my impulses and choose where I want to let them run free. But not with Sky. Even though I admit, for some reason, the sight of her gets my motor running now, I would never do anything with her―

She picks up a noodle between her two fingers. Holding it over her head, her mouth opens and she slowly places it inside. The end of the noodle sticks out of her lips as she types something on the computer quickly, and to my surprise, she sucks on the noodle, her lips out as if waiting for a kiss, until the noodle completely disappears in her mouth. She licks her lips, a small smile playing across them as if satisfied by the display. Sky lifts her hand before her and her lips part again. Her tongue stretches out and licks her fingers. Time must have slowed down because I see her tongue slowly climbing its way up her thumb for what feels like an eternity of torture as all I can imagine is her tongue licking a certain other little pleasure spot, the thumb pressing into me, and her mouth... If Adrielle or anyone else asks why my cheeks are starting to turn flush red, I might blurt out "I forgot to breathe", which may or may not be better than the truth.

Sky grabs her soda. Distracted by a notification that seemingly appears on her phone, judging from the way her eyes flicker at it with intrigue for just a second too long, she misgrabs and the can tilts. The soda stains the white shirt tightly fitted right around her perfect, big, round brea―god I need to stop―and her plaid skirt. She quickly jumps up. Too flustered and embarrassed to move for a moment, she gazes around the dining hall to see if anyone else noticed. Her eyes connect with mine as the rest of my group see her and burst into laughter.

She quickly races off to the bathroom.

Sky's Perspective

I hurriedly race to the nearest bathroom, relieved when I see no one is inside. I risk a look at myself in the mirror. The sight of reddish brown soda covering the whole front of my shirt and dripping down to add the stain taking up the front of my skirt as well is almost enough to make me die out of pure mortification.

"Taking in your reflection?" a voice says teasingly. I rapidly turn to see Diane standing in the doorway, her red hair falling to the side as she tilts her head. "Yes, you do look quite good today, if you were wondering."

My cheeks turn red and I fold into myself, if only in a small attempt to avoid her. With my stained clothes and soda still dripping down to the floor, I imagine I look pretty pathetic. I do my best to speak up for myself anyway, "T-that's not why―"

"Hush now, I was only joking," she says, almost sounding sweet, but a playful look in her eyes says otherwise. "It's a shame about your outfit. I liked it. It brought out your best features."

It's as if she's trying to compliment me. A confused expression crosses my face. That can't be right. Diane doesn't make compliments unless there is an underlying sense of mockery, trickery, or deceit laced in her words. I inspect her closely. It's only now that I realize she's leaning against the wall not because she's doing it to complete her look, but because her eyes hold something mischievous but also tender in them, as if she's looking at a kitten that she wants to give catnip to. She smiles slightly. It's not mean or sly. There is no psychotic look in her eyes, at least not yet. Diane, for the first time, looks... genuine. She means it.

Diane lets out a sigh, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I was only hoping I could help clean up your spill."

I open my mouth but seem to be unable to release a single sound as my eyes catch on her scarlet hair again and the way it perfectly frames her face. The bathroom lighting may be complete s**t, but it doesn't damper the glow of her fiery streaks at all. In fact, I don't think even the worst lighting could do anything like that. She could take a photo in a shithole, and she'd still look stunning. Wait, am I complimenting her or her hair?

"You don't need to say anything, darling," Diane says with a dismissive wave of her hand. She moves from her position against the wall, preferring instead to slowly start walking towards me. I take a shaky step back. When she sees this, to my surprise, she stops. "I just want to help. I promise. I have no ill intentions." She pauses for a moment to contemplate something and, not even a moment later, her more devious smirk returns. "Not yet anyway."

She grabs paper towels.

I can't deny my shock. "W-what?"

"I said I'd help so I'm helping," she shrugs.

I eye her skeptically.

She grabs the edge of my shirt gently. Using the paper towel, Diane does her best to soak up the wetness from the clothing. She frowns as she realizes her method of patting the paper towel against the fabric is quite useless. Without warning, she lifts up the bottom of my shirt so she can place her other hand inside to feel the wetness. I jump slightly, the touch of her hand briefly grazing my bare skin. Her eyes meet mine instantly and her hold on my shirt loosens. It's only now that I realize exactly how close she is. Her face is mere inches from mine, so much so that I can see every little detail on her face from the way the skin around her eyes crinkle as she furrows her brow to look at me with concern. The irises of her eyes themselves, those vast blue pools, no longer look nearly as threatening and cold as they used to. Now, they appear warm, inviting me to take a swim in them. No, not inviting ― asking. She's silently asking me if what she's doing is alright. I swallow and nod shakily.

Her head bobs back slightly in response, and she continues. Her one hand gently feels the dampness of the clothing from underneath it while the other presses paper towels against it to soak up the soda. If I couldn't speak then, I certainly can't now. Her red locks brush against my skin as she tilts her head to see what she's doing better. Those eyes, the same eyes that used to make me freeze, seem so alluring now that it's hard to keep myself from sinking into them and losing all sense of reality. I can't help but feel safe. As she dries my shirt and moves down lower to dry my skirt, quickly glancing up at me to check once again that what she's doing is okay, I find myself praying to whatever god may be out there that no one else enters this bathroom to ruin this moment.

When she finishes, she stands, briefly touching my skirt again and checking its dampness. Seeming satisfied, she touches my shirt next only for a troubled expression to cross her face as her eyes reach mine once again.

"Did the soda soak through the shirt and get on you?" she asks.

My brain simply cannot handle this. I hesitate before giving a silent, weak nod. Fear seeps into any remaining conscious thoughts left as I wait for Diane to say what she proposed as a solution.

"Do you mind if I get it off of you?"

My inner lesbian starts screaming.

I bob my head, biting my lip anxiously as she lifts up my shirt and grabs another towel. She presses it against my bare stomach. Despite the layer of paper between us, I can still feel her skin against mine, surprisingly warm compared to her usual cold, cruel demeanor. She moves the paper towel to a different spot on my stomach, letting her hand rest against my stomach once again, only this time I swear I feel her fingers move slightly as if feeling the grooves of my body underneath the paper towel. She stops when she feels my eyes staring into hers. Diane quickly moves the towel elsewhere, preoccupying herself with cleaning up all the liquid, but if she looked up for just one more second, she'd see my eyes aren't full of disgust or malice. Rather, they look at her like she's the universe. Her touch is more than inviting; it's comforting and electrifying at the same time. If she looked up, she'd just see these eyes that hold so much affection and adoration ― and I have no idea why, but for some reason my heart just decided to pour itself out into my irises just for her.

Her eyes close for a moment as if she can sense the change in the atmosphere. Her fingers delicately trace my skin under the paper towel. I hold my breath, terrified that the slightest move I make might set her off. Her fingers trail along the towel, feeling every grove in my skin until they trail their way up to my chest and finally reach the edge of the paper towel. Her lips, cherry red and soft, tighten. She opens her eyes to gaze up at me. Her lips twitch into a smile as she catches the fondness behind my eyes.

The paper towel falls to the ground and her hands explore my chest freely, directly. Her touch sends sparks along every nerve, the kind that make your legs weak and also make you feel breathless. She takes her time, wanting to enjoy every moment of this, and working meticulously to be sure she leaves no area of skin untouched. Her fingers snake up a little too high and she grazes my bra. I let out a shaky breath. She instantly reels back, thinking she's going too far. She opens her mouth to say something―

I grab onto her leather jacket and kiss her before she has the chance to.

It takes her a moment before she realizes that this is real and she kisses me back eagerly. She tastes just as sweet as the demoness did in my dreams, like every pleasant memory was merely the lead-up to this moment, to this burst of energy and sweetness that can be found nowhere else. If there was ever such a thing as eternal happiness, the source of it would be Diane's lips.

We kiss for what feels like forever when really it must only be a few seconds. She pulls away finally, and I'll admit I feel a sort of smugness as I can see clearly she is in no state to form complete thoughts either. Diane looks at me, her face unable to hide her shock at how she didn't kiss me first but rather I did, and her eyebrows raise further in surprise as she sees in my eyes that I'm not quite satisfied.

I want more.

Diane quickly regains her composure as a smirk lands on her face. She leans in and kisses me. I don't hesitate to kiss back. We don't stop at one kiss. Diane and I pick a rhythm, and she keeps leaning forward into me so much so that I step back. She smirks playfully. Her hands grab onto mine and she leads me to a bathroom stall. I follow without question.

She locks the stall and turns to me. Without hesitation, she struts forward and pins me to the wall. Diane runs her hands through my hair gently, feeling the softness of each strand, before grabbing onto my scalp and forcing my head against the wall. A warmth spreads inside me, making my legs tingle and ache for something to be between them. She kisses me again, deeper this time as if she won't get the chance for another.

I run my hands down her sides, then move lower to her legs.

She catches my hand and whispers into my ear, "I think I'd rather be the one doing those things to you today if you don't mind."

"Go ahead."

She smirks. Her breath caresses my ear. "Take off your shirt."

I do so without hesitation, tossing it onto the ground without care (it already had soda poured on it, who cares how much worse it could get when I have this very important opportunity presented to me). She lets out a shaky breath as she takes in the sight of me. Her eyes roam over my body in its entirety, but they stop a moment to take in my breasts. Diane smiles to herself. Her eyes flicker up at me before she takes the lead again. She feels my chest, running her hands along it eagerly before letting her fingers outline the edges of my bra. As she kisses me once more, she finds me kissing her back enthusiastically, hungrily, so much so that her hands grab at my skin in response, digging her nails slightly into my breasts to elicit a feeling that is more pleasure than pain. I moan into her. Her whole body melts slightly at the sound. She digs her nails in harder. The urge to be touched somewhere more forbidden grows stronger and I whine.

Finding it hard to resist anymore, Diane drags her fingers down my body to my skirt. She gently flips the skirt up so I'm exposed to her. Her fingers trail along my inner thigh, hitting sensitive spots that make me twitch and whimper from the sheer power she holds over me. The smile on her face, kinder than any I've ever seen, still shows how much she delights in my reactions.

Her fingers twist under my underwear. She feels around for a moment before she touches my c**t and I release a pleased sound. Diane takes the hint and presses down on the spot again, relishing my sounds and picking a pace to satisfy me. My body rocks against the wall. I grab onto her shoulders desperately as I silently urge her to keep going. She picks up the pace. Another one of her fingers goes inside me, curving to feel for the G-spot. Diane is either incredibly lucky or incredibly skilled because she finds it quite quickly and I whine in surprise. My whole body melts under her touch, bucking against her and making it difficult to stand, since I can't f*****g feel my legs anymore as they are replaced by warm tingling sensations that have overrun my brain.

She curves her finger and presses it on the exact right spot. Pleasure ripples over me and strips away any composure I had. My legs buckle, hands grasping onto her painfully as I moan louder than I thought I was capable of, praying once more that no one has entered the bathroom or can hear us from outside. The building starts, and I know I'm close.

Diane plants kisses on my stomach as she fingers me. She increases her speed, hitting the perfect spots that elicit from me a variety of sounds I didn't know I could make. She keeps going until my whole body seizes. Every nerve is set on fire, every muscle tightens, and for a few blissful seconds, I can't breathe nor form a single thought in my mind. All I do is feel and god, does it feel good. Like electricity coursing through your veins. Like an explosion of fireworks going off in every single cell in your body. And when it ends, I collapse against the wall, the only thing holding me up is Diane as she quickly grabs onto me with those strong arms that make me dizzy just seeing them.

"How was that?" she asks.

"Orgasmic."

She chuckles. "Did you know that one of the definitions of 'die' is to have an orgasm?"

"That seems fitting," I say, trying to catch my breath. My head lulls backward. Diane smiles softly. She strokes my cheek with a hand that isn't covered in fluids.

A sound from a group outside the bathroom catches our attention. We snap back to reality. Diane looks at me and, unfortunately, her eyes regain a part of their coldness and distance. She forces herself to gaze away as she contemplates something silently. I know exactly what she's thinking because I'm thinking it too: what the hell have I done?

"This should just be a one-time thing," I say firmly.

"Yeah," she says softly, almost too softly, "yeah, right."

"This was an experiment or some s**t. We're too different. You can go back to your rat pack, I can go back to my studies, and we can pretend this didn't happen. P-please don't tell your group that this happened."

She notices my nervousness instantly and doesn't hesitate to put me at ease, "I won't tell them, I promise."

I nod barely.

I stand and grab my shirt, but she catches my arm. I glare at her on impulse. Her expression turns to shock for a moment before she quickly covers it up with her usual collected demeanor.

"You can wear my shirt," she offers.

"What?"

"I can wear your shirt under my jacket. No one will notice, and you'll get to walk around in a dry shirt," she suggests. "I can't do anything about the skirt looking like it is, but I can do this."

"You don't need to do that," I assure her.

"I'm the one who imposed myself on you. I'm the one who initiated this, so this is the least I can do."

"You're talking as if I didn't enjoy this either," I point out.

She falls quiet.

"Thank you for this... one-time fling."

Her head bobs. "Thank you."

She takes off her jacket and shirt quickly. Her body is coated in tattoos that I barely get any time to process because she throws on my shirt and covers it up by putting on her jacket and zipping it up. What a tease. She washes her hands off at the sink.

"Right," she says. "I guess we'll go back to how we were then: you bitter and I cruel."

"I'm not bitter, I just want to be left alone," I huff.

"Would you prefer the term brat?"

I open my mouth but a certain connotation to the word 'brat' makes my cheeks flush.

She catches it and smirks, shaking her head. "Sky, you aren't as innocent as you look are you?"

I recall my dreams. "I'm really not."

She nods.

"See you later, brat," she says with special, s****l implications. "And thank you again for that."

"You too."