Work Text:
“I’m in love with him,” Victoria says through Julia’s insistent mouth, against her teeth. She’s never kissed like this before, harsh and drunken breath and honesty; Barnabas is all good intentions and tenderness, control, shackles, a straightjacket they tell her is for her own good.
“I’m in love with him,” she repeats, even as Julia’s hands are clamoring hot over her bare legs, her weight pushing her down into the old creaking couch, even as Victoria’s own hands are freeing the buttons of Julia’s blouse one by one. “I’m in love with Barnabas,” she insists, words her defense.
Julia laughs into Vicki’s mouth, long and dark and something twines hard and aching and absolutely forsakenly wonderful in her stomach.
“Sure you are,” Julia breathes. “Sure.”
“I’m going to marry him.”
To which Julia has nothing to say, argues assures convinces by biting down on her bottom lip, keen and teasing, shifts her leg between Victoria’s just so and like a sprung coil Victoria shoves up onto her elbows and kisses her back, digs her hands into Julia’s thick hair and seizes fistfuls.
Julia's second laugh, and the third, after, and the fourth she conceals in her drink when Barnabas gallantly bends over Victoria's hand, is the condemnation.