(rivals to lovers, small town, sports) (Season 2 ongoing) After a devastating Olympic loss puts her career in a downward spiral, an aging skier returns to her laid-back mountain hometown to rediscover her love of her sport and instead finds herself...
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Eddie woke to movement in the bed. At some point in the night she'd rolled away, or Holly had, but now Holly shifted close again to curl up near her back. Their hand brushed her hip as they tucked their knees behind hers. Without opening her eyes, she caught their wrist to pull their palm against her stomach.
"Sorry," they whispered. "I didn't know you were awake."
"I'm not awake."
Their laughter against her neck sent shivers up her scalp. "Don't let me wake you up, then."
She traced the shape of their hand with her finger. "Are you still sad this morning?"
For a while they were quiet. Then they said, "Actually, no. Not really."
"Wanna tell me what happened?"
"Maybe another time." They gripped her shirt. "Thanks for being here. It helps."
It was a relief to hear them feeling better this morning. It was so nice to float back into the hazy edges of sleep with them snuggled up against her.
The next time consciousness prickled, Holly was pressed so close that Eddie could feel their heartbeat. Her neck was their pillow. They'd tucked their thumb right into the waistband of her pyjama pants.
Her sleepy nerves rose to attention one by one.
Holly's breath in her ear was deep and even. They were asleep again, laying still except for their hand.
Their fingers lay loose on top of her pants and every so often they twitched, pulling at the thin cotton, drawing it up between her legs. The slightest touch. Maddening.
Eyes still shut, she felt the heat dance across her skin.
Who was Holly dreaming about? Their ex, Ava? Someone else, their perfect complement who fit into their life in all the ways they needed?
Or, maybe... Eddie?
She turned her face into the pillow and wriggled her hips a little, trying to disrupt the crescendo of tension.
At her movement, Holly's hand curled into a fist on her waistband. Their leg slotted between her knees, making space between her thighs. They nuzzled her neck with a low sigh. If they had different equipment, there would be morning wood pushing against her.
She might have been projecting.
The motion had tugged her pants down. The waistband now sat low enough on her hips that Holly's thumb was in her curls. If they spread their long fingers flat, they could have rubbed her clit through the cloth.
The way they held her- They'd said don't let me go and that's what it felt like. Like they wanted her here forever.
It was easy to imagine a future that looked just like this. Holly waking up to kiss her on her mouth and everywhere else, too. Billie Jean or a freckled toddler interrupting the afterglow, demanding breakfast and a family adventure on their bikes or the ski hill.
