Chapter Text
A turtle floats lazily across the giant screen. The dazzling turquoise of the ocean and the bright, impossible blue of the sky above casts a glow across the three figures draped on the couch in the otherwise dark living room.
It had all been Zoey’s idea, obviously: turtles! Like, so many turtles! Did they know turtles could live for nearly a hundred years? That they’d been around since the dinosaurs?
She lures them in with the promise of cute aquatic wildlife and buttered popcorn and being horizontal for hours, and because Mira can never say no to Zoey (or couch), of course she says yes.
Zoey conveniently leaves out that she didn’t just mean the three of them until Jinu is ringing the doorbell, the rest of the Saja Boys in tow. Apparently just because they’d once been demons who tried to take their souls and steal their fans and take over the world, etc etc, that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve a second chance.
Mira isn’t so sure about this, but whatever.
Zoey’s enormous puppy dog eyes take a little longer to work on her this time (“Pleeeeeeease Miiiiraaaa”), but finally Mira rolls her eyes and grumbles, “Fine! But they better not eat all my snacks.”
And it’s fine. Totally fine.
Does her heart skip a beat when Romance hugs her hello? Maybe, but probably that’s just like heartburn or something. And does Abby steal her spot on the couch? Of course he does. Does he look ridiculously hot in a black hoody and sweatpants that hang low on his narrow hips? Also yes. Not that Mira is staring or anything.
The others all gradually drift off; Rumi and Jinu first with a “want to help me with some lyrics?” (They’re fooling no one, but Mira is just happy to see Rumi happy); then Mystery whispers something to Zoey and she follows him out of the room with a giggle, turtles forgotten (rude); and Baby - actually, Mira has no idea where Baby has gone. (Also, she doesn’t care).
Because now she’s on the couch between Romance and Abby, and she’s having a hard time hating it.
They’re infuriating, she reminds herself. They’re the worst.
Abby with his stupid enormous muscles and stupid cocky smirk. Somehow they’ve drifted so that she’s leaning against the giant wall of his chest, one of his huge arms draped casually behind her shoulder. It’s totally not her fault: he takes up half the couch, and there was nowhere else to go because Romance has claimed the other end of the cushions (she could leave, obviously, but Mira refuses to let some stupid Saja boys chase her away from her couch).
Romance grins lazily at her whenever she throws a scowl his way.
Why are they still here?
Glowering determinedly, Mira tries to concentrate on the television and the soothing voice of the narrator explaining the migratory habits of sea turtles.
But then Abby’s hand drifts to her thigh – hesitant at first, almost like a question – then firmer when she makes no protest, and suddenly Mira can’t think about anything but his touch. Is she imagining it? Nope, it’s definitely real.
Her breath catches in her throat. She wishes she’d worn actual pajama pants rather than just her oversized t-shirt tonight.
Well, she tells herself she wishes that. Because if she was, she wouldn’t be able to feel the slight roughness of his fingers, the calluses on his palm, or how very, very warm his hand is, or – most importantly, most annoyingly – how good it feels.
“Are you that interested in the life cycle of the sea turtle?” Abby’s voice is a low, amused murmur in her ear. His hand slides ever so slightly higher. Her pulse skyrockets with it.
“Uh – yes?”
She can’t focus properly. She can feel Romance’s attention on one side, Abby’s heat on the other, and the thoughts that she’s had about them are becoming harder and harder to ignore.
Because, yeah, she’s thought about it. About them.
She’s imagined the way Romance’s smartass lips might taste, how Abby’s stupid fucking abs might feel against her body. About her in between them, what they might do (with her, to her, oh god) – but she never thought it would actually happen.
Abby huffs a laugh. His hand is still on her thigh, one finger tracing soft, maddening circles. “Really?” He murmurs. “Because I can go, if you really want. We both can.”
Mira turns her head to try and glare at him, but hears herself saying, “No.”
There is it is, that fucking smirk. “So you like this, hm?”
“No,” Mira lies, but her legs fall open ever so slightly; she arches her back against the solid warmth of him.
“Not even a little bit?”
“No,” she breathes. Her body can’t lie, though; her whole being is flushed with desire. Instinctively she wants to pull away, to hide behind her walls, to pretend this doesn't mean anything – and yet, she’s paralysed.
She wants to see what they’ll do.
She likes the way Romance is looking at her, curious and hungry. She likes how Abby’s lips feel on her neck.
She wants to turn and catch Abby’s stupid mouth with her own, she wants to reach out and bury her face against the little hollow above Romance's collarbone. Mira is used to being the one in control, but she’s far from it right now, and she feels more than a little wild.
“If we’re gonna do this,” Abby says, his lips hot on her skin – his hand on her inner thigh pauses – “Then you need to tell us how you really feel. Do you want me to stop?”
Mira bites her lip. Romance grins at her darkly, while Abby doesn’t move his hand at all – and she whines, trying to move against him to find some friction, some kind of relief for the ache inside her. “No.”
“Hmm, no, what?” His low voice is teasing but firm and commanding. It’s also completely fucking hot.
“No, I don’t want you to stop.”
“Good girl,” Abby murmurs against her ear. “Tell me what you want. Have you touched yourself, pretty hunter, thinking about me?”
God, he's arrogant. But also -
“Yes.” Mira bites the word out, and maybe she'll regret this later, but that's for Future Mira to worry about. Current Mira just wants more. “Fuck – yes –” and her hand flutters to her chest. “Here.” Then between her thighs, where she’s soaked now. “Here.”
Abby makes a low grunt of approval. He tugs her against him a little closer, spreading her legs open, his other hand sliding up beneath her top to caress one hard, peaked nipple. Mira can’t help letting out a stifled moan as he pinches it between two fingers.
Romance is still watching intently, his eyes fixed on the way her body responds to Abby’s touch. He’s perched on the couch almost casually, but Mira can tell even through her thick haze of desire that he’s tense and alert, that maybe his heart is beating just as quickly as hers.
“You like this?” Abby’s finger slides higher, finally, tracing the line of her thin cotton underwear, the other palming her small breast.
“Yes,” she hisses, her hips lifting into his touch. “Oh — fuck, I hate you –”
“Doesn’t feel like you hate me, baby.”
He continues to draw circles over her inner thighs, moving closer to her underwear and then further away again, teasing, whispering in her ear that she’s so beautiful, so pretty, that he can feel how wet she is for them, that she’s such a good girl — and fuck, she likes being told how good she is.
She likes how hard Abby feels behind her, she likes that Romance is watching – and then suddenly, Romance is in front of her as though he just can't wait any longer. He lowers himself to his knees between her legs, looking up at her through his long lashes.
“You ready for me, baby girl?”
Mira nods, her eyes glazed now. She’s aware that she looks desperate, that she’s a fucking mess, but she doesn’t care any more. She wants to know what he feels like, too.
“You gotta say the words,” Romance admonishes her, playful but stern, while Abby kisses her ear, then bites her neck, soft and wet and a little possessive.
“Yes,” she breathes, and before she can stop herself, “Please.”