Slowly, And Then All At Once

"Why?" I asked.

"We're too busy hating the Norwegians." Despite these distractions, the meetings we crammed into the day went well and, according to the partners, we had a watertight case. This may end up being quite a bit easier than we thought, they said -- it was unlikely we'd need the whole allotted three weeks in Stockholm. And, when they said that, a punch of disappointment hit me in the stomach. I understood myself a lot better after that.

That evening, after spending a couple of hours sat reading in a nearby Starbucks, I returned to Room 552 -- I'd given Elly the key after dinner so she could let herself in -- and knocked.

"One second!" came a panicked squeal from inside, and I smiled. The door opened and Elly appeared, dripping wet and wrapped in a towel.

"Didn't you shower today?" I asked in as teasing a manner as I could muster.

"It's cold in Sweden," Elly mumbled back. Naturally, she didn't return to the shower, and dressed in the bathroom while I sat with my back to the frosted glass. When she emerged, I turned to look at her and she almost jumped out of her skin.

"Don't look!" Elly hissed, both hands moving to cover her groin -- again, she wore a vest and nothing else but plain white panties, tight and soft on her hips, a gap between the waistband and her vest which revealed her plump tummy.

"Sorry!" I squawked, turning back round and trying to ignore the stirring between my legs. "I thought you said you'd buy pyjamas."

"Yeah... they're expensive. It's all designer stores around here. Just... you didn't see anything, right?"

"Course not," I lied. It was better for her mental health that way, I reasoned.

This first day had been exhausting and we were pursuing sleep within the hour -- again, we had our backs to each other and I tried to cling onto my lucidity. I didn't want to fade away just yet. Elly's cute little butt, which I admit I'd glanced at in those trousers once or twice during the workday, was again pressed against me and I almost wanted to press back against it, send some kind of signal, but that was simple suicide. So, of course, I didn't.

The days that followed all went through a similar pattern. We'd wake up, I'd shower first, and I'd dry and dress with my back to the glass while Elly followed suit before emerging already-dressed. It almost became an unspoken ritual. But, day by day, we spoke more, learned more about each other, and I realised a friendship was brewing. One I was really, really enjoying. And, as the days went by, I expected Elly to eventually find in her presumed desperation some budget clothing store to buy a pair of pyjamas. But she never did.

Then, with week one turning into week two and no sign of the work coming to a swift end as the partners had predicted, I was fast asleep dreaming of something ridiculous when I was woken by shaking. In the deranged state that comes to you when you're jolted from REM sleep, I thought it was an earthquake rocking Stockholm to oblivion, only to belatedly realise that Elly was next to me and practically convulsing in the throes of a nightmare.

"No, don't," she was whimpering, "get away from him! I said get away from him!"

"Elly, Elly!" I whispered, shaking her by the shoulder, and she jerked again before her eyes flew upon and, breathlessly, she stared at me.

"Hi," she said stupidly, not yet quite sure of where she was.

"You okay?" She looked around -- I reached over her to flick on the bedside lamp. Light flooded the room as I took my hand from the switch and, without really thinking, put it on Elly's nearest hand instead. I held it tightly.

"Yeah..." Elly mumbled, blinking hard. "Yeah, I'm okay." Tears were forming in her eyes.

"Hey now," I said, but it was too late as she sniffed and sobs began to overcome her.

"Shit, shit, shit," Elly whimpered, trying to fight it off, but it was no good. "I'm sorry -- I didn't mean to wake you."

"Hey, it's alright," I insisted. "I swear it's alright -- I'm just glad you're okay." Elly didn't reply -- just turned away from me and kept wiping at her cheeks each time hot tears ran down them. I lay back down next to her, pressed against her given our limited space, feeling the heat radiating off her body.

"Just go back to sleep," she said, eventually. "Forget about it."

"You know I can't do that, El." Again, she just went silent -- so I did the only thing I could think to do. I put my arm around her and, tentatively, pulled Elly against me and held her as tightly as could still be comfortable. Elly seemed not to know how to respond -- then, I felt her hand take my wrist and hold it, her thumb stroking my bare skin, and she shifted in the bed to press her body just a little more against my own. Normally, maybe, something would have stirred between my legs in response -- but not this time. This was too important.

"Can we keep the light on?" she whispered sleepily, after many minutes had passed.

"Of course," I replied. "Goodnight, El."

"Night, Grace." I think she drifted away again before she'd even finished saying my name.

The next day, Elly didn't say a word about what had happened and I didn't think it right to bring it up. So it just sat there. We went to the clients' office as usual, did all our dull day job demanded of us as usual, then retired back to the hotel around six as usual. I spent some time in the bar, drinking a couple of weak Swedish pilsners with some of the others and appreciating that the weekend was here, before finally, inexplicably missing Elly, I returned to the hotel room.

When I knocked, the door opened and Elly, still dressed for work, let me in. She asked how the bar was, I replied it was too expensive, and she told me she wasn't surprised. That was the extent of our conversation before, without even really thinking about it and starting to realise those beers might have been a lot stronger than I realised, the alcohol taking control slowly and then all at once, I fell backwards onto the bed and lay there.

"You're really nice, Elly," I muttered.

"Oh, no..." she sighed, with a wry smile.

"What?"

"You're drunk."

"I am not..." The ceiling was really spinning. "...oh, shit, I'm drunk."

"It's a Friday night; you're allowed." Elly took the chair at the desk as, with my elbows, I pushed myself up to a seated position.

"I guess so. I wonder what you're like drunk."

"I cry a lot," she replied. "Surprised?"

"Not really," I laughed. "But I love you anyway."

"Okay." She looked away, her face pink.

"What?" I asked -- then grinned. "Aw, is Elly all embarrassed?"

"I've never been embarrassed in my life."

"Bullshit!" I cackled, and she laughed, too.

"Listen," she said, suddenly. "I'm sorry about last night."

"Hey, you don't need to-"

"Yes I do," she said. I'd never heard her voice this loud before. "It was... I'm just sorry."

"Alright," I said, nodding. "So long as you remember you don't need to be."

"Yeah," said Elly, nodding. "And it was nice to, you know..."

"Hmm?" I cocked my head. She was biting her bottom lip, trying to force the words to leap from her tongue.

"Be held by you." I laughed.

"You're cute."

"I'm not!" Elly snapped. "I'm horrible."

"Oh, shut your face," I snapped back. "You're perfect and if you don't know it then I'll know it for you."

"Perfect?" Elly stared at me -- a tinge of regret pinched at me, somewhere deep in my brain, but I ignored it.

"I said what I said," I replied, falling backwards onto the bed again. "Hey, it's the weekend tomorrow. Let's go out. A museum or something."

"Sure," said Elly, brightly. "Which one?"

"Uh..." I didn't know any of the museums. "You choose."

"Alright," she said, with a pretty snigger. She was really pretty... "But you need to sleep."

"Definitely," I mumbled, climbing up the bed and burrowing under the covers.

Safely hidden, I started undressing, throwing items of clothing out onto the floor until they formed a little pile.

"Are you..." Elly didn't finish her sentence as she watched my black bra join the pile. "Yeah. I guess you are." I smiled.

"I'm not getting naked. I'll keep my knickers on."

"Please do," Elly mumbled. The room still spinning, I reached out from under the duvet, making sure my tits weren't making an appearance, with both arms.

"Wanna be held again?"

"Are you serious?" she mumbled. I'd never seen her face this pink before -- and that was saying something.

"Why not?"

"Well..." She looked away. "I need to get ready for bed first."

"In your own time," I sighed sarcastically, my arms retreating back under the blanket. "But it's warm in here."

"I bet." Elly sat on the foot of the bed, her back to me, unbuttoning her shirt. This felt like something. I wasn't sure what -- but it was something. Excitement coursed through me as she pulled it off, revealing a cute plain white bra maybe just a little too small given how the straps left marks on her bare back, before carefully folding it and leaving it on the desk.

Surely feeling my eyes on her, Elly was quick to throw on a white vest, then reaching beneath it to unhook her bra and pull it out as if tearing the skeleton from a fish -- it was a lot sexier than I make it sound, I assure you. She crawled, still pink-faced, over the blanket and towards me before clambering under to join me, laying her head on the pillow and raising her hips -- invisible beneath the blanket -- to pull down her trousers.

"Need any help?" I teased.

"Shut up," she mumbled back, and I watched as she threw them out of the bed and they landed in a dark crumple against the wall.

After a little while of Elly sitting up and scrolling through her phone and me just lying there, occasionally babbling drunk-talk and Elly sniggering in response, the blanket always pulled up above my breasts as I tried not to look at Elly's to see if her nipples might be pressing against the fabric, she put her phone away and switched off the bedside lamp.

"Goodnight, Grace," she mumbled from the darkness, rolling away from me -- tentatively, whispering the same (but using her name rather than mine, obviously), I put a bare arm around her and felt Elly shiver. I wondered if she was anticipating the same things I was. I was almost naked next to her in bed, I thought, and she had accepted my invitation -- but was I going too far? If you told me she was too awkward to say no then I'd believe you. Doubts swirled.

Nonetheless, I held her against my body, and Elly seemed to reciprocate. I wondered how she felt with my naked breasts pressed against her back. Our bare legs tangled together, just a bit, toasty beneath the blanket, and I tightened my hold on her, my arm around her belly. She fit so well in my arms. Her fingers stroked my hand, gentler than feathers, and I savoured her every touch even with quite a bit of her hair in my mouth. It smelled, faintly, of raspberry shampoo.

Elly shifted, just a bit, pressing her soft little butt against my lower tummy, which practically hummed with goosebumps.

"Are you awake?" she whispered, suddenly.

"Yeah," I replied. "What's up?"

"Nothing."

"No, go on," I sniggered. "What is it?"

"I just wanted to say something but I only wanted to say it if you were asleep."

"Say it anyway." There was a long pause.

"Just..." She made a deep sigh. "I think I really like you. That's it."

"I really like you, too," I said. Without really thinking about it, I leaned in two or three inches and kissed the back of her head. "I'm glad we ended up sharing a room."

"Me too." She gripped my hand and, for some stupid, stupid, stupid reason, I decided to ruin the moment.

In my inebriated state, I'd taken all this to mean I had permission to go a little further -- and, in this case, that meant the hand at the end of the arm wrapping around her was wandering up her body. It found Elly's small breasts, unguarded by anything but the thin fabric of her vest, and squeezed gently. Heh. "It." Look at me writing about my hand as if it wasn't me. Elly gasped softly in surprise, my fingers dancing around her hard nipple, as I kissed the back of her head again. Then, all of a sudden, I felt her slapping at my hand.

"No," Elly whispered, urgently. "Not like this. Not when you're drunk." In an instant, I withdrew my hand -- and so too did my drunkenness withdraw itself from me. I was suddenly sober.

"Sorry," I said, quickly. "I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay," Elly replied. "I promise. Just... I don't want to."

"Okay." Shame whirled through my newly sober brain. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." I couldn't think of anything else to say. Perhaps a minute passed before I spoke again.

"Do you want me to let go of you?"

"No," she said, quietly, and as if to punctuate the point her hand took mine and squeezed it. "I told you. I like you."

"I like you too." But I wanted to cry. I'd fucked it up. I just knew it.

The next day, I awoke in an empty bed with a throbbing headache. I could hear the shower and, though I desperately wanted to roll over and peek at whatever treasures might be beyond the frosted glass, basic respect took charge. Instead, I lay there feeling sorry for myself with regret burning a hole inside me -- there was no way she'd want to go anywhere with me after last night. Especially not some dry old museum. Snow, I could see through the gaps in the blinds, was falling on Stockholm at an alarming rate.

"Fucking idiot," I muttered, quietly, as I heard the shower turn off. A few moments later, the door opened and I turned, pulling the blanket back up over my bare chest, to see Elly stood shrouded in steam and wrapped in a red towel, her hair dripping wet.

"Hi," she said. I couldn't tell if she was blushing or if the shower had just been hot.

"Hey," I replied. "Sleep well?"

"No bad dreams for once," she said. "So... museum?" I could have jumped up and danced if I was, you know, wearing clothes.

We wrapped up as warm as we could, both in thick coats and jeans and gloves, but still nothing could prepare us for the Arctic blast waiting outside. After a brisk walk through slushy snow we ended up at the Nationalmuseum, actually Sweden's national gallery, and following a chilly wait at security where we mostly passed the time talking about DC Comics and Elly's allergy to face paint, we were in. All the while, neither of us mentioned last night.

The Nationalmuseum seemed to be Elly's element -- she stopped to examine every painting, sculpture, and vintage chair, and had plenty to say about brushstrokes. I was impressed and said as much -- Elly explained that, though she didn't have any formal artistic education, she read widely on the subject.

"So who's your favourite painter?" I asked.

"Claude Monet," she replied, not missing a beat.

"The one with the water lillies?" She nodded energetically.

"They're perfect. If we ever go to Paris I'll show you."

"When are we going to Paris?" I teased. Elly's cheeks shifted, ever so slightly, to a pinker hue. She was almost like a cartoon character in how fast it could happen -- naturally, I said so, and the pink grew to crimson.

At some point, we found ourselves staring at a big painting of a tawny owl. It was brown and very well done and that's about the extent of my ability to analyse art. Its eyes were also big and yellow and, the more I looked into them, the more colours I saw. I never knew there could be so many yellows in the world.

"That's a good owl," I said.

"Yeah," replied Elly. "Good owl." Our fingers, I noticed, were playing with each other. When did they start?

"I've only seen one once," I remarked. My stomach felt funny.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. When I was running late at night one time, back in college, and it flew overhead. Still remember it."

"Wow," said Elly. "Lucky. I've never seen one. Used to hear them every night though."

"It's a good sound," I replied, uselessly. Then, even more uselessly, I decided to do an impression. Elly, to my surprise, did the same, and a little competition broke out of who could do the best "hoo-hoo" until we were overcome by childish giggles.

"So..." said Elly, quietly, once we'd recovered.

"So...?" I tilted my head.

"You're sober, right?"

"Yeah, obviously, you seen me taking shots at any point?" I laughed. "Why?"

"Well..." She bit her bottom lip. "It's just... oh, fuck it." And then her lips were on mine. She tasted of coffee -- I responded eagerly, maybe too eagerly, as my hands gripped her hips and pulled her into me and her arms went around my neck and suddenly we were alone in the universe until I belatedly remembered we absolutely were not and pulled away.

"We're in public," I hissed, giggling through every syllable. Elly grinned and glanced back at the painting. The owl looked back at us.

"I don't give a hoot."

"Oh, fuck off," I almost shouted -- and then I had my arms around her neck and my lips were back on hers where they belonged. I dared to give her my tongue and she gave hers back. It was entirely inappropriate for the setting. When we pulled away again, almost breathless, my heart hammering like I couldn't remember it ever doing before, I saw how wide Elly's eyes were -- but I also saw the hunger burning in them.

"Wanna go back to the hotel?" she asked. Now, just for a moment, it was my turn to be the nervous little mouse.

"Are you sure?" She nodded so hard it must have given her a headache.

Our walk was strangely casual. We had forsaken our gloves so we could hold each other and, though the temperature conspired to separate our hands, it failed. All the way, cold hand in cold hand, we were lost in aimless conversation, the best kind of conversation, sometimes about Hey, Arnold! and sometimes about Ukraine. There was no word about what might happen when we got back to our room. But it was all I could think about. I was sure it was the same for Elly. I certainly hoped so, anyway.

We hurried by the front desk and straight to the elevator -- once inside, as the mechanisms whirred us up, floor by overpriced floor, my restraint slipped away from me. As Elly was mid-sentence about her old job at a youth hostel, I had my hands on her shoulders and was pushing her against the silver walls, kissing her as I did. She kissed back as desperately as I'd ever been kissed before -- I half-wanted to tear off her clothes right there but, then, the elevator stopped. We pulled away and straightened ourselves just as the doors opened and an elderly Swedish couple boarded. We swept past them and to our room.

What followed was something of a blur. Before the door of Room 522 had even closed behind us, as Elly was halfway through unzipping her coat, my lips were on her neck. She gasped beautifully as I kissed her soft skin.

"Don't mark me," she hissed.

"I won't, I promise," I replied, moving from her neck and back to her lips, helping her out of her coat. It fell to the floor behind her like a shed skin. My coat followed, and then I had Elly pressed against the wall, still kissing hungrily, becoming pretty certain of where we were going with this and fizzing with excitement. Elly's hands held my hips tightly, her fingers digging into me, and I felt them wander to, almost curiously, grab my butt. Mid-kiss, I squeaked, delighting in the confirmation of her interest this provided (as if the furious making out wasn't enough), and was then pulling her thick wool jumper over her head. Elly, almost reluctantly, broke away from me, raising her arms to let the jumper come off, which I held in one hand as I returned to her lips at the first chance.

"Be gentle," she said, quietly, now stood in her jeans and a long-sleeved stripy t-shirt.

"I will, don't worry," I promised, my mouth back at her neck, and I heard her snigger.

"I mean with my jumper. It's new." I laughed against her and, quickly, folded the jumper and put it on the desk next to us.