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It’s pure nostalgia, really, that makes her choose the British Museum to visit on her day off. She remembers her first time in London, visiting with her parents. The massive Elgin marbles had captured her attention that day, the flow of bodies tangled into each other, the massive stones seeming fragile in their crumbled decay. Standing in the hall at eight years old, she had wondered what it would be like to be a god. She learned later it frequently meant sorting out the whims of the powerful – and seducing mortals along the way. So, not that different from her life now.
Today she wanders without a map and finds herself in a hall filled with display cases of delicate Chinese pottery. She pauses at a tea ceremony demonstration, briefly entranced by the steady hands of the museum employee as she lifts and tilts a centuries-old teapot, pouring the tea over another vessel with an almost reverential gesture.
When she looks up, Anthea’s eyes are drawn to her face; delicate features, a soft, engaging smile, but a guarded tightness around her eyes, like she’s seen enough of the world to be wary. She speaks clearly and with authority and there is a warmth to her voice that reveals how much she cares for the fragile objects in her hands. Anthea finds herself lingering near the back of the crowd, drawn to the cool, steady voice and the soothing repetition of flowing tea. Finishing her demonstration, the woman begins to place the still-damp teapots into padded cases. The crowd disperses, drawn to new stories and old artefacts.
“Your hands are so steady.” Anthea’s marvelling. She never marvels; she chides and taunts, flatters and beguiles, ignores and teases. It’s not just the woman’s quiet competence, it’s the overwhelming love she holds for these objects, humble and wonderful, her tender handling that speaks of respect for objects that outlive all sordid, small human lives.
The woman glances up, her smile small and reserved. “I’ve had practice.”
“Grace under pressure?”
“Perhaps.”
A beat. Anthea watches as the woman empties the teapots into a large bowl, wiping each one thoroughly until they are clean and dry. She wants to feel those hands on her body, fingertips on her skin, their expert touch making her come undone. “May I…may I help?”
She looks up, a bit surprised at the request. She considers, then asks to look at Anthea’s hands. Anthea holds them out, introducing herself at the same time, their touch of hands not quite a handshake. The woman gives her name as Soo Lin, soft stress on the first syllable, as she examines Anthea’s hands – clean, unshaking – then acquiesces.
“One hand here,” Soo Lin places Anthea’s palm around the underside of the pot, “and one on the handle. Never pick one up by its handle alone – the joining may be fragile.” Their fingers wrap together around the handle and Soo Lin guides Anthea’s hand to tilt and pour. Anthea feels heat – warm clay and warm hands – and the slight pulse of her blood in the controlled stillness of the room. The tea pours out, a steady stream, and only the sounds of tea splashing the bottom of the bowl and syncopated breathing of four lungs fill the room. The teapot runs out and when their hands return it to the table and break away from each other Anthea misses the warmth.
“I’m afraid I must put these back in storage now. Perhaps I will see you again?” Anthea nods. Perhaps.
++
The next time Anthea visits the museum, it’s with official paperwork clearing her to enter all storage facilities as a government security management consultant. She strides in, brash and confident, listening just enough to the head of security as he leads her around to hum her agreement or ask a bureaucratic question when he pauses. They keep him on his toes and allow her to look around while he focuses on his answers.
They round a corner into one of the long storage halls, a silver expanse of movable shelving, each with dozens of individual niches carefully interlocking to save space. Mr Browne is gesturing, talking about the state-of-the-art climate control system, when they pause next to an open gap in the shelving and there she is.
Her back is turned as she gently places a small clay pot into its designated perch; it’s one of the higher shelves and she rises onto her toes to reach. Her slim hips are canted forward to balance, her arse tense under her silk dress. The muscles of her calves shift, one ballet flat slipping off her heel; the delicacy of the revealed ankle makes Anthea’s breath heavy in her throat. Once again, she’s struck by the purposeful strength hidden in the slim, sinuous lines of Soo Lin’s body.
Pottery carefully settled, Soo Lin kneels quickly to slip her shoe back in place and turns as she rises. When she sees Anthea, staring, not really bothering to hide her disinterest in the minutiae of the air pressure warning system, her eyes widen a bit, but she stays collected. Anthea finds herself not quite sure what to say, but before she can decide, Mr Browne is gesturing to her to take a look at the individual keypad entry system in place in the precious stones storage room. The part of her brain that never stops working is thinking that maybe Mycroft’s office should submit a briefing on the holes in the security of the museum because a reasonably creative child could get through this system (well, a reasonably creative child hacker at least). Another part of her brain is imagining the muscles of Soo Lin’s arse shifting under her hands, those strong, slim calves wrapped around her waist, her eyes widening at the peak of orgasm.
The dress she’s wearing today is the rich burgundy of an old wine, cut close to her body but modern; she’s not performing as a gentle Asian flower today. The wide neckline exposes her neck and Anthea wants to bite along the ridge of her collarbone and feel the tight tendons of her neck with her lips.
Mr Browne is leading her out, tour concluded, eager to hear Anthea’s review of his precious system. Soo Lin is still replacing pieces of pottery to their shelves so she purposefully passes close to her on her way out, catching her eye and giving her a soft smile that’s half friendship and half invitation. For her part, Soo Lin nods as their arms nearly brush each other, her mouth ever-so-slightly quirked up at one corner.
As they’re passing down the corridor toward his office, Mr Browne is stopped by one of his senior technicians with a question about a problem in one of the humidity detectors in the Egyptian hall. It’s serious and unfabricated and could not have come at a better time. Anthea uses the excuse she had planned anyway – forgotten mobile in the storage room – and promises she knows her own way out. Mr Browne deliberates for a moment but she does have all necessary clearance so he turns his mind to the more immediate problem and Anthea’s free to stride back to storage.
The storage hall is almost empty, the air chill and quiet with the slight mustiness of history. Soo Lin is picking up the last pottery plate from the examination table to transfer back to its shelf. She glances up at Anthea, making no comment outside of one delicately raised eyebrow.
“Can’t seem to keep me away from here. Forgot my phone,” she gestures to the Blackberry sitting on a shelf near the gemstones room.
“Left your phone,” Soo Lin corrects as she walks toward the storage shelving, “you didn’t forget it.”
“No,” Anthea agrees, and there it is, between them: the question.
Soo Lin gently places the pottery back into its padded niche then slowly ratchets the shelves back into place. She stands, hands at her side, still, and even across the room Anthea can see the loose, relaxed poise of athletic training. Dancing – perhaps. Gymnastics more probably.
“You’re at a museum. What did you come to learn about today?” Anthea’s crossing the room, her heels reverberating in the empty basement.
“You,” Anthea breathes as she reaches her, touching one hand to her collarbone as she brings her lips down to meet Soo Lin’s mouth. They breathe in together, air heavy on their lips. Soo Lin’s mouth is gentle, but unyielding; willing to be taken yet unwilling to cede control. She kisses precisely, delicately, and Anthea wants to make her fall apart. She nips quickly at Soo Lin’s bottom lip, grinning at the slight gasp, then kisses her again, harder, with an edge of teeth and tongue insistent. At this Soo Lin meets her, her response just as forceful. When they break off Anthea’s mouth twitches into an almost-smile.
She takes Soo Lin’s hand and brings it to her mouth, her lips ghosting over those delicate, expert fingers. Soo Lin exhales softly when Anthea gently bits one fingertip. She kisses the tip of each and shivers when Soo Lin runs the dampness down her neck, fingers pausing to press ever so slightly in the soft hollow of her collarbone. Anthea can feel her own pulse against the pressure, quickening in anticipation. Her fingertips tease and test, their caress gentle and appraising. She flicks open the buttons on her blouse, skimming across the tops of her breast, barely touching the sensitive skin. Anthea feels her skin prickle, her nipples draw up tight and harden as Soo Lin’s palms brush across them.
Anthea’s hand slides down Soo Lin’s side, fingers caressing silk, and comes to rest in the hollow just above the rise of her buttocks. She pulls her close, delicately but deliberately taking charge again. Soo Lin flicks her thumb against Anthea’s nipple but then cedes to her, allowing her mouth to be taken as Anthea presses their lips together once more. They’re both aware of this dance for the lead; it’s less a seduction than a meeting of wills, a mingling of needs.
She backs Soo Lin up against the end of one of the shelves, her body tucking into the space next to the large wheel which ratchets them back into place. One hand is still at the small of her back and Anthea feels the cold metal on her fingers. Soo Lin tilts her head back and Anthea kisses down her neck, feeling the flutter of her carotid under her tongue. She shifts her hands to Soo Lin’s hips, crushing the fabric of her dress in her grip. Soo Lin parts her legs ever so slightly, a definite invitation, and with her mouth just at the corner of her neck and shoulder, Anthea starts to tug Soo Lin’s dress up her thighs.
She slips one hand between her legs, just ghosting the backs of her fingertips over the soft, warm silk of her knickers, and feels more than hears Soo Lin’s soft moan against her hair. Pulling the fabric aside, she slips into the waiting heat, slicking two fingers before curling them up to flick over her clit. Soo Lin’s muscles jolt against her body. Cradling Soo Lin’s hip with one hand, she presses on, fingers quick and steady, wet and slick. Soo Lin’s hand, curled loosely around Anthea’s neck, tightens, fingertips pressing into muscle. She’s silent but for her quick intakes of breath.
Anthea feels her orgasm blossom in the needy cant of her hips, the rough dig of her fingertips, and the clenching of her jaw. She continues, fingers making quick circles with a hard press on the upstroke, lips on her collarbone and the sweetly sensitive muscle at the base of her neck.
She’s climaxing, her breath coming in quiet gasps, shoulders pushing against the metal shelves as she arches her back and lifts her heels. Anthea fucks her through her orgasm, fingers relentless on her clit, and steadies her with one arm looped behind the small of her back. She eases up as Soo Lin’s body relaxes, limbs going soft, hot skin against cold metal. Sliding her arms down, Anthea grips the soft, yielding flesh just below Soo Lin’s arse, lifting her in one smooth, surprising movement. Soo Lin’s eyes fly open as she’s thrown off balance but with her impossible grace she catches herself, hooking her heels around Anthea’s waist and one arm around her neck.
Anthea carries her over to the large table in the centre of the room, giving a cursory glance to ensure the door is still closed and locked. They’d have little chance to hid or compose themselves if someone came in, spread in the middle of the room, but Anthea was more than used to fucking behind glass, with eyes and cameras always watching. For her part, Soo Lin seems as comfortable among the archival shelves and huge study tables as if she were at home.
She places Soo Lin at the edge of the table, guiding her hips up as she slides her knickers down and off her thighs. She drops smoothly to her knees and, taking that as her cue, Soo Lin leans back on her elbows, spreads her legs, and hooks one toned, slender calf over Anthea’s shoulder. Anthea spreads her lips with two fingers; she’s glistening wet and wide open, cunt all pink and flushed against dark, crisp hair. She dips her tongue in, savouring the sweet salty tang and the quiver of thigh against her cheek. Pressing the flat of her tongue against Soo Lin’s clit, she feels the involuntary tightening of her abdominal muscles, the slight drawing away. Still sensitive, but not refusing.
Anthea glances up to where Soo Lin is looking down at her, elbows propping her up, pool of silk spread around her and long hair spilling over her shoulders. Their eyes catch and Anthea feels a thrill of pleasure run down her spine at the sheer want in Soo Lin’s dark eyes. Holding her gaze, she parts her lips and gently sucks Soo Lin’s clit into her mouth. Soo Lin’s eyes flutter closed for a moment before she opens them, wide, like it’s an effort, and looks back at Anthea.
Anthea can feel the woman’s eyes examining her, still sizing her up even as she’s spread out, wanton and wanting. So she keeps her gaze, locking eyes as she flicks her tongue over her clit in quick, hard dashes. In her mouth, Soo Lin’s clit is hard, throbbing slightly and undoubtedly still sensitive. She feels the other woman’s body protesting, hovering on the hazy edge of too much and not enough, of pain and pleasure. Anthea holds her thighs in place, spread, feeling the muscles resist as she continues working her tongue.
The moment Soo Lin’s body shifts is apparent; her hips cant up and her mouth, silent except for breathy pants, opens slightly. She nods her head almost imperceptibly and Anthea quickens her pace, feeling Soo Lin shatter, their eyes still caught though Soo Lin’s are wide open, pupils huge and dark.
Breathing hard, Soo Lin leans on one elbow, reaches for Anthea with the other hand. She grasps the nape of her neck, fingers tangled in her hair, and tugs. Anthea goes willingly, rising up from her knees and leaning into the other woman’s body as they kiss. Soo Lin licks the taste of herself out of Anthea’s mouth methodically, her hands at Anthea’s thighs, pulling her skirt up, fingers grazing over silk stockings. The fabric’s just slide past her hips when they hear the beeping of the door’s keypad.
They freeze; then, snapping back into motion, Soo Lin pushes against Anthea’s hips, moving her away from the table, stands, grabs her wrist, and leads her around to the other side. She keys in an entry code to one of the side rooms and pulls Anthea inside after her, closing the door behind her just as they hear the main door open.
Trying to stifle their breathing, they stand still in the dark, only touching where Soo Lin still holds Anthea’s wrist. Soo Lin turns back towards the door; there’s a soft click before a row of low lights flicker on above their heads. Eyes adjusting, Anthea notices glass-fronted shelves around them, full of china and fragments of pottery.
“It’s a specially filtered light to protect the delicate glazes of these pieces,” Soo Lin whispers in her ear, breath hot. “They shouldn’t be able to see it from outside, so if you’re very quiet they won’t know we’re here,” she nips Anthea’s earlobe, causing a sharp gasp. Then, backing her up against the door, she finishes unbuttoning her blouse, pulling it free from her skirt. Anthea’s hands press up against the cold metal doorframe, bracing herself against taking the lead, regaining control. Soo Lin’s hands are steady and sure and she knows, without a doubt, that she wants them to explore her body, find her pressure points.
Soo Lin unhooks the front clasp of her bra, leaving it and her blouse hanging open to expose her breasts. Lowering her head, she mouths at a nipple, ghosting her spit-slick lips over it. Anthea feels her skin prickle in the cold air, nipples hardening, areola tight. Soo Lin teases her tongue over one then the other, delicate touches sending a shiver to Anthea’s gut.
She moves her hands back to Anthea’s skirt, pushing it roughly up this time rather than teasingly. Obligingly, Anthea spreads her legs as Soo Lin’s hand ghosts up her thigh, over her stockings to tease just at the edge of her knickers. Impatient, Anthea tilts her hips up, seeking Soo Lin’s body against hers. With a breathy laugh, Soo Lin grasps her by the hips, hooking her thumbs over the elastic of her knickers, and pushes them down her thighs in one smooth movement.
Anthea grins, kicking them off one foot to spread her legs further, and pulls Soo Lin in for a deep, hard kiss, nipping her bottom lip. Soo Lin answers with a quick bite of her own just at the moment she slides three fingers roughly into Anthea. Gasping, Anthea pushes her hips forward in response and is rewarded with a flick of Soo Lin’s thumb over her clit.
Soo Lin begins to fuck her in earnest, fingers sliding in and up quickly, finding the rough spot inside her. With each thrust, her thumb rubs over Anthea’s clit and the twin sensations force a deep, delicious pressure behind the muscles of her abdomen, heat pooling in her pelvis.
Her shoulders are pressed hard against the door, giving her leverage to cant her hips hungrily toward the other woman. Soo Lin kisses down her neck, nipping at her shoulder and dragging her tongue across the arch of her collarbone. Biting her lip to keep from moaning, Anthea grasps Soo Lin’s shoulder, fisting the fabric of her sleeve. She can feel her own legs begin to tremble, the hum of pleasure centred in her cunt growing stronger.
Soo Lin’s mouth finds her nipple again and the wet heat, the sharp edge of teeth, sends spikes of pleasure through her. Her orgasm builds and she presses up against Soo Lin, body firm against hers, one arm tucked up close as she fucks her in short, rough strokes. A cry catches in her throat as she comes, muscles tense and centred on the explosion at her core. As she comes down, she falls back against the door, suddenly unable to hold her own weight, and with a quiet laugh Soo Lin slips her fingers out and steadies her, wet hand against her hip.
They kiss, sloppy and affectionate, a sort of kiss Anthea doesn’t often let herself have. She’s breathing hard, legs still shaky. Soo Lin’s body is slotted in close to hers, feet alternating with Anthea’s so their thighs are intertwined, hips touching. She lets her head fall forward so their foreheads touch, watching Soo Lin’s dark eyes, pupils huge from the low light.
A few moments pass before Soo Lin pushes herself away and turns her head toward the door, listening intently. It’s quiet for a few moments but then they hear the creaking as a shelf is moved outside. Their eyes catch and Anthea bites her lip, trying not to giggle. Soo Lin’s eyes have gone comically large as she shrugs her shoulders helplessly.
“I think that’s Andy,” she whispers, “he might be there for hours. He’s very…diligent.” Anthea has to giggle now, and after a moment Soo Lin joins in, trying valiantly to stifle her laugh against a fist. Grasping her hand, Anthea slides down the wall to settle in on the floor, pulling Soo Lin with her.
Anthea leans over to kiss Soo Lin, whispers against her lips, “well, if we’ll be here a while, we may as well make the best of it,” and pulls her down onto the hard concrete floor.
