23/ easterlang variations
sasha easterly x rae zhang: vaguely toxic yuri
dear beloved readers. today i bring to you three random snippets featuring Sasha and Rae’s relationship in varying situations. i haven’t fully settled on what their dynamic is like, but here are a bunch of ideas. btw i think i’m gonna try do this type of thing more — less thinking, more writing. i’ve been doing a hell of a lot of the former and very little of the latter for so long now, and it’s not nearly as fun as putting my hands to they keyboard and vomiting out some self-indulgence. plus, it’s obviously better for the craft. i don’t do this for art, sit around thinking endlessly when stuck. i sketch and sketch and sketch and by god i want to bring this attitude into my writing.
anyway here we go, the DECONTEXTUALISED VIGNETTES featuring my girls in increasingly NSFW situations (vibes-wise, at least).
I. let’s chew on a cliche
I walk in to see Killian stretched out on the couch, a girl draped over him, mouth to his neck. For a second I think I’ve gone crazy, and then she lifts her head and it’s her, Ramona, Rae, and she’s breathing hard, eyes wide, glittering like diamonds as she looks from me to him.
I can’t move. Can’t speak.
Killian stares at me, guilt painted impasto on his face.
‘It’s not what it looks like,’ he says, and he’s starting to get up, and Rae’s face crumples with an emotion I’d call remorse if I didn’t know her better.
‘Sasha,’ she says, standing up, but then I find my voice.
‘Fuck you.’
It comes out quiet, not nearly as razor edged as I wanted.
‘Please listen,’ says Killian. ‘I know it —’
‘Shut the fuck up!’ I scream, and this time it’s so loud that they both startle, even Rae. ‘I don’t give a fuck what your explanation is. Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t believe I —’ I pause, taking a breath, because everything hurts all of a sudden and my lungs can’t draw in air.
‘Sasha,’ says Rae. The sound of my name in her mouth is so gentle, it makes me want to be sick, ignites my fury even more. Before I can react, though, she comes and tries to put her hand on my arm, and the moment that her skin makes contact with mine, stars explode behind my eyes.
I knock her arm away so violently she actually takes a step back.
‘Don’t FUCKING touch me!’ The words are deafening, but also like I’m screaming through glass, except they're definitely real because my throat practically rips apart as I shout.
Neither of them speak for a second, and then I’m in the bedroom — our bedroom, his bedroom, theirs? — and tipping a bunch of my shit into a tote bag, before realising that that’s actually a stupid idea.
I’m shoving things into a suitcase when I hear footsteps, and without bothering to see who it is, I slam the door shut and lock it, before getting back to packing.
Thankfully, my guitar and amp are still at our rehearsal studio. I don’t have much to lug with me.
I’m about to open the door when the sight of the bedroom window stops me.
Fuck it.
II. let’s be a little cathartically masochistic
I can feel Rae’s heartbeat thrumming against my back, hard and fast and somehow threatening and something-else at once. She wraps her arms around me from behind my waist, tucks her cheek into the hollow of my neck. Her chin’s resting on my shoulder, she leans into me, I smell her woodsmoke and leather and apple cologne and, frankly, it kinda makes me want to kill myself.
Her hands are looped around my waist, mouth easily close enough to mine to whisper in my ear, because while she may be a good few inches shorter than me, she makes up for it with fuck-off high heels and a general what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it attitude to everything and everyone.
‘Come on, Sasha,’ she breathes, lips barely brushing my cheek. The touch is so light, I wonder if I’ve imagined it.
I’ve imagined it so many times, I can’t handle the thought of this being one of them, this being a dream I wake from, pathetic and pissed-off and desperate —
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I hiss beneath my breath.
Rae’s hands shift slowly on my waist, and my mind is suddenly full of plates drifting on magma. It’s been four fucking years, and of course all it takes is this to make me lose my nerve, to blunt the teeth I've been sharpening night after pathetic night.
‘Trying to make it up to you?’ she says, in that smoky rasp that is sweet and casual and dagger-like in its danger and seduction.
Of course you’d think that, one of my wiser selves opines with disgust. You fucking idiot.
III. let’s indulge in some sadism
Sasha was a twenty-minute walk away from home when her phone started buzzing, and she pulled it from her jacket pocket to see an incoming call from Killian.
‘Hello?’ she said.
‘Hi,’ came Killian’s voice in reply, and somehow even in such a short syllable, she thought she detected a raggedness to it.
Before Sasha could reply, another voice joined the call, low and self-assured and smirking. ‘Hey, Sasha. How’s it going?’
Sasha slowed. ‘Rae?’
‘Good to hear from you, sweetheart,’ said Rae. ‘Where are you now?’
‘Um — almost home, what’s up? And am I on speaker phone?’
‘You sure are,’ said Rae, at the same time that a strange, strangled-sounding noise sounded from the line.
Something twitched at the edge of Sasha’s mind.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked with a frown, quickening her stride. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Killian,’ said Rae, ‘why don’t you answer that one?’
Another sound — was that a gasp? — and then she heard Killian’s voice.
‘We’re — good,’ he said. There was a short pause before he continued, haltingly. ‘Rae wanted — she wanted to — see you —’ His voice cracked, and the last syllable dissolved into a shudder, even a … moan.
Something clicked in Sasha’s mind, a suspicion surging to life, and she gripped the phone harder. ‘What are you two doing?’ she asked, forcing a lightness to her tone even as she started walking faster.
There was the sound of a sharp crack — some kind of impact — and then she heard Killian let out an involuntary-sounding cry of pain that was unmistakably laced with need.
With desperation —
With lust —
Sasha forced herself to take a breath. ‘Are you fucking serious,’ she half-murmured, half-snarled down the line.
Rae answered, sweet as an opioid rush. ‘You bet I am.’
Another cracking hit, and this time Killian let out a shaky growl. Sasha’s fingernails dug crescents in her palm as she crossed a road with a distinct recklessness, almost breaking into a run.
That’s not a sound I’m ever going to forget.