Chapter Text
Bernie drives back to her flat secure in the knowledge that she’s done the right thing. It hurts like hell, she thinks her heart might up and split in half, but it was the right thing. Serena didn’t deserve the confusion that Bernie placed on her by kissing her and this was the only way to make it right. There was a moment, right after Ms. Grayson offered her the permanent position, that Bernie let herself imagine what it would be like, to stay in Holby forever. To make a home here. To make a home with Serena. And then she thought of Serena on Monday, all week really. Strange and uncomfortable and unhappy.
She doesn’t want to complicate Serena’s life with all that.
She unlocks the door to her place, walks inside, sighs deeply. She wants a drink. It’s not even noon, however, and day drinking isn’t exactly the key to a well-balanced life so she decides to bake instead. Bread, she decides, almost immediately. The kneading will do her good—get some of the tension out of her shoulders. She flips through a couple of her recipe books, sets them aside in favour of one she knows by heart.
It’s a simple white bread: flour, yeast, water, salt. It was the first recipe Bernie ever tried, after her accident. The recipe that got her into the kitchen and kept her there. It feels fitting to bake it now, like closure or something.
She proofs her yeast, adds it to the other ingredients, kneads it until the dough is stretchy and shiny and passes the window-pane test with flying colours. She has it proofing in a well-oiled bowl by the time she hears a knock on the door.
“Charlotte!” she greets her daughter when she opens it, “this is a nice surprise!”
“Would you care to tell me,” Charlotte says, pushing past her and into the flat, “why I just got a text from Elinor Campbell saying, ‘are you going to talk sense into your mum or do I have to come over there and kill her myself’?”
“What?” Bernie looks at her, aghast. Charlotte turns around, crosses her arms, cocks her head.
“Yeah. That was my reaction. And then she texted me again and said, ‘sorry but she made my mum cry,’ and then a string of knife emojis so she may well be serious about the murder thing. What the hell did you do?”
Bernie’s still in shock. Serena’s crying? Because of her?
“I…” she walks over to the sofa, sits down heavily.
“Seriously mum,” Charlotte says, following her, “what did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything!” Bernie protests. Charlotte gives her a look that says, ‘yeah right’ and Bernie could do without that sass right now. “Didn’t we ever teach you ‘honour thy father and mother’ or whatever?” she asks.
“My mother was too busy not being around,” Charlotte counters and ouch. Okay. Fair. But her face softens almost immediately and she reaches out to lay a warm hand on Bernie’s knee. “Sorry, that was—”
“Warranted.”
“Not really. But why don’t you just tell me exactly what happened with Serena and we can go from there.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why?” Charlotte looks especially worried now. “Oh god what the hell did you do?”
“Nothing. It’s not that bad it’s just you’re my daughter and I’m not sure that you—”
“Oh c’mon Mum, just spit it out.”
“Okay. Fine,” she sighs. “I kissed Serena.”
“Finally!” Charlotte exclaims.
“What? No, no, Charlotte don’t smile like that. It’s really, really not a good thing.”
“Not a good kiss?”
“No, oh god no, the kiss… The kiss was perfect. It’s… I mean, I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have kissed her. I knew I shouldn’t. But, oh god, she just looked so beautiful standing there and the kitchen smelled like baking bread and her and she was smiling at me and I just, um, I don’t know. Before I could stop myself I was pressing her up against the counter and kissing her and she was kissing me back and it was, well it was amazing. But then I realised what I was doing and so, well, um I…”
“Ran?” Charlotte guesses shrewdly.
“Made a tactical retreat?” Bernie tries.
“Right. Okay and that was this morning?” Charlotte asks, obviously still trying to piece this together.
“No, no that was Sunday.”
“Almost a week ago?”
“Mmmhmmm.”
“So why would Serena be crying now?”
“Well I mean. Here’s the thing, Lottie, it’s been awful the past week. At work, I mean, I’ve only seen Serena at work and that’s part of the trouble. I tried asking her to go to Albie’s with me and she said no—”
“Serena said no to shiraz?”
“Exactly. And she’s just been so awkward, avoiding me. Obviously I made her incredibly uncomfortable and I mean of course I did! I practically assaulted her! Couldn’t keep all my messy feelings to myself, could I?”
“Okay,” Charlotte doesn’t quite sound like she agrees, “and then what?”
“Well, then today I went over to Serena’s and we talked about it and agreed that we should just be friends and I told her that I’m leaving Holby. To give her space. So she doesn’t have to feel awkward about it anymore.”
“Did you actually talk?” Charlotte asks.
“Of course.” Bernie’s confused, “why would I lie about that of all things?”
“No, what I mean is did you have an actual conversation? Or did you just do that thing where you decide what’s best for everyone and then just tell them that’s how it’s gonna be?”
“Oh.” That’s a little too on the head for Bernie right now.
“Yeah. Cause my guess is that if she’s crying about it right now she probably wasn’t too thrilled with your decision.”
“But she was so weird about it all week,” Bernie still has to try to feel like she did the right thing, “obviously it made her incredibly uncomfortable.”
“Mmm, could be,” Charlotte shrugs. “Did you ever stop and consider that maybe her awkwardness was her, a woman over fifty, coming to terms with the fact that she’s gay or bi or whatever?”
“Um,” Bernie hadn’t thought about it like that but Charlotte’s starting to make sense.
“It took you forty-odd years to come out,” Charlotte continues. “You couldn’t give Serena a few days?”
“That’s… a very good point,” Bernie admits. Her daughter seems to be particularly harsh tonight but Bernie can’t blame her, she’s right after all.
“Yeah.” Charlotte’s giving her a sort-of pitying look and Bernie knows she deserves it.
“What do you think?” she asks. Seeking advice on her love life from her daughter isn’t her idea of an ideal situation but it’s better than leaving it all up to herself apparently.
“What do I think?” Charlotte blows out a long breath, “well mum, I think that you and Serena are both so head over heels in love with each other and so maddeningly obtuse that the whole of Britain knew you were in love with each other before you two did. I think that Serena’s probably the best thing that could ever and will ever happen to you and if you let her slip through your fingers then you’re an idiot. I think—”
“That’s good enough,” Bernie interrupts. Charlotte sounded like she could keep going all night. “Thanks, very much.”
“All I was going to say was that despite your many failures—”
“Hey! Enough of that!”
“You’re not an idiot.” Charlotte smiles kindly, still a little pityingly, clasps Bernie’s knee warmly.
“You really think Serena likes me?” Bernie asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“God yes. More than likes you. And before you ask, no I don’t think it matters how many men she’s slept with or if she’s never snogged a woman before.”
Bernie sits in silence for a bit, tries to wrestle, mentally, with everything that Charlotte’s telling her. She’s known for months that she loves Serena as more than a friend. Has known in how much she yearns to be with Serena, in the fireworks that shoot through her every time they touch, has noticed in the way that she wants to spend time with her more than anyone else. But how has she not noticed the same on Serena’s behalf?
When she really concentrates she can remember Serena’s eyes flitting down to her lips as she speaks, can think of how Serena always moved in closer to her—on the sofa, at Albie’s, in the hotel lobby in Bath all those months ago. Is it possible, could it be possible that Serena likes her back? That despite the, to her seemingly insurmountable, obstacle of her gender Serena might want to be with her too?
She thinks back to the kiss. To that amazing, perfect kiss. Serena hadn’t pulled back in disgust, hadn’t moved away. No, instead Serena had moved in as Bernie pulled back, dug her hands into Bernie’s hair, parted her lips and let Bernie lick into her mouth…
Bernie looks up at her daughter, knows that comprehension must be dawning on her face, as obvious as her nose.
“Oh,” is all she says.
“Yeah.”
“So what do I do?”
“I don’t know!” Charlotte says. “How should I know? Bake her a cake? Send her flowers? Buy her chocolates? Or a bottle of shiraz? I’m not a relationship expert. What did you do with Dad when you mucked up?”
“Um,” Bernie grimaces, “ran away to a war zone?”
“Right,” Charlotte nods, “yeah, somehow I don’t think that’s gonna work here.”
“I wouldn’t think so, no.”
“This might seem a drastic suggestion, especially for our family, but have you considered just going and telling Serena how you really feel?”
“No,” she hadn’t. Of course she hadn’t. Bernie would do anything in her power to avoid telling anyone how she feels. She can’t even tell herself how she feels most of the time.
“Might be the best bet.”
“Right,” Bernie nods. “Except, I can’t go now, I just started bread.”
“You’re going to wait to tell the woman of your dreams how you feel because of some bread?” Charlotte’s words are filled with exasperation. “No, you know what, I have studying to do so I’m going to go do that and trust that you can figure this out on your own. Okay?”
“Yes. Of course. Go study,” Bernie says. “And Lottie?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.”
“I’d say any time but I think we’re probably better off not talking about your love life too often,” Charlotte says as she stands up. “Ooh! Maybe you can just let Serena make all your big emotional decisions from now on?”
“Ha!” Bernie says, standing herself and pulling Charlotte into a tight hug. “You’re hilarious.”
“I know,” Charlotte replies, laughing. “Bye Mum.”
“Bye dear.”
And then Charlotte’s out the door and Bernie’s alone again.
She decides not to go immediately, wants to wait for the bread to be done. She’d happily throw out ten times as much dough for Serena, that’s not the issue. The thing is, the bread’s given her an idea, a thought as to how she can show Serena how she feels. Bernie’s never been great with words, she knows she’ll need something more.
During the second proof she nips out to the really posh wine shop around the corner, spends an eye-watering amount on a bottle of shiraz that the woman there swears is truly the very best. She considers wrapping the bottle, thinks of her wrapping skills as a whole and decides against it. It’s not like she’s trying to keep it a secret as to what it is, anyway. When the bread is baked and mostly cooled, she wraps it loosely in a cloth, grabs the bottle of wine, and heads to Serena’s. It’s nearing on six by the time she gets there, the sun’s setting, painting the sky bright orange, Bernie just hopes that that’s a good omen.
She knocks on the door, is surprised when Elinor answers it.
“Bernie,” she says, her voice cold.
“Elinor, hi. I’m, uh, here to see your mum.”
“Hmmm,” Elinor gives her a long considering look.
“I’m here to make things right,” Bernie says, her voice cracking slightly with the earnestness of her tone. “I promise.”
“Well, okay,” Elinor nods. “But if you ever, I mean ever make her cry again, I’ll kill you.”
“Never,” Bernie vows. “I swear, Elinor. If she lets me I will spend the rest of my life doing everything in my power to make sure that she’s never unhappy again.”
“Alright,” Elinor says, reaches behind her and grabs a bag. “Let my mum know I’ll be back tomorrow? I want to give you two your space.”
Bernie just nods, steps through the door, lets it fall shut behind her.
“Who was it, Elinor?” she hears Serena call, follows the sound through to the kitchen to find Serena seated at the dining room table, flipping through a magazine.
“Hi, Serena,” she says quietly. Serena whirls around.
“Bernie!” she sort of half-gasps the word. Bernie scans her face intently, sees the signs—redness around the eyes, a slight blotchiness in her complexion—and finally truly believes that Serena had been crying. She looks sad, Bernie thinks. Sad and maybe a little hopeful, and then she watches the anger settle in, hardening Serena’s features. “I would’ve thought you’d be busy packing,” she says, her voice steel.
“Um, I…” Bernie wishes desperately she were better at talking. Serena doesn’t seem to care wait for her to gather her thoughts. She stands up, grabs mug and plate from the table, and pushes past Bernie into the kitchen to drop them both in the sink. Bernie follows, pulls the bread and wine out of her bag and places them on the countertop.
“What’s this?” Serena asks.
“Without bread and wine,” Bernie says with a shrug, “love goes hungry.”
“I’m more than capable of baking my own bread and buying my own wine,” Serena says, tone withering. “I can take care of myself, Ms. Wolfe. I was doing it long before you came along.”
“I know!” Bernie hurries to say. “I know that, I know you can. I just… um….” she takes a deep breath, then another, wills the words out of her mouth. “I think, before, when we were talking… Well, it was brought to my attention that I didn’t really give you a chance to say how you feel? The thing is I, um, oh god, I’ve loved you for so long, I don’t think I ever let myself believe that you might love me back. In the, um, lesbian sense, I mean. Oh god I’m not—”
“No,” Serena breaks in, “no you’re doing a fine job.” She pauses after she says that, takes a moment before continuing, much quieter now, “d-do you mean it? You love me?”
“Of course,” Bernie says. How could she be anything but madly in love with Serena? “This, um, loaf of bread,” she says, reaching out to touch it, “it’s not just any loaf of bread. It’s the first recipe I ever tried, the first thing I ever baked. This loaf of bread in a way brought me to you, and I. I mean, as soon as I realised how much I’d made a mess of everything I almost rushed over immediately, but I wanted to finish this loaf, and maybe that was wrong, but, um, I wanted you to have it. I wanted you to understand how much I owe to this, um, bread…” she trails off because she’s fairly certain she sounds like an idiot, searches Serena’s face and tries to understand the expression there. She doesn’t look angry, at least.
“Oh Bernie,” Serena breathes out in a rush, and then she’s stepping forward and using the tips of two fingers to lift Bernie’s chin so she can drop a kiss on Bernie’s lips. The kiss is chaste and brief but when it’s over their faces stay close to each other—close enough that Bernie can feel Serena’s breath ghost over her cheeks.
Bernie wants to kiss her again oh so badly but she wants to be sure of Serena’s feelings first. The last thing in the world she wants is a repeat of the past week, a distant and confused Serena, or worse a crying one.
“Serena is… I mean do you,” she can’t seem to figure out how to say this, how to ask Serena what she absolutely needs to know. “I’m a woman,” she manages finally.
“I’ve noticed,” Serena replies, throaty and suggestive, and Bernie colours at the innuendo woven into the words. “Bernie,” she continues, more serious now, “I’ve never been more than friends with a woman before, so this is all new territory for me, I’ll freely admit that. But I’m also, and please believe me on this point, madly in love with you, and I love kissing you,” she punctuates that point by sliding her lips against Bernie’s, slow and languid. “And,” she murmurs into Bernie’s ear when the kiss is over, “I’ve spent too many nights this week alone in my bed wondering what would’ve happened if you hadn’t high-tailed it out of here after our kiss to be worried about things like labels.”
Bernie groans at the thought of what Serena’s suggesting, her mind swamped with images of Serena with her hand in her knickers getting herself off thinking of Bernie. She leans in, presses her lips against Serena’s insistently, and Serena happily kisses her back, wrapping her arms around Bernie’s shoulders.
“Wait,” Serena says, breaking the kiss, “are you- you’re not still leaving, are you?” The worry on her face breaks Bernie’s heart. How could she have hurt Serena so badly? Especially when she was trying to do the right thing?
“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “Not if you don’t want me to.” She bites her lip for a moment, “I, um, I never wanted to leave Serena. I just thought I was doing what was best, for both of us.”
“Well that was stupid,” Serena tells her, the blunt words softened by the loving smile on her face.
“I know,” Bernie ducks her head. “Charlotte suggested I let you make all my big emotion-related decisions from now on.”
“Smart girl.”
“I just, I didn’t want to make things harder for you, and… to be honest, I wasn’t sure I could keep myself from kissing you again, once I knew how it felt.”
“Mmmm,” Serena’s eyes are gleaming, “as good as you imagined?” Bernie can recognize the searching question in those words and she wishes there were a way to show Serena just how much she had imagined it.
“Better,” she asserts, leaning in to kiss her again.
Bernie wonders if she’ll ever get over her sheer awe at this: at how incredible this feels. Serena’s lips are so soft, so warm; the little sighs and the way her breath hitches just makes Bernie want to kiss her more.
“Do you think,” Bernie asks, pulling back from Serena’s lips only as far as she needs to to be able to speak, “that everyone would mind if we just kept doing this forever?”
“Ha,” Serena grins, “surgery might get challenging.”
“I think we could manage it, we’re very good at our jobs.”
Serena just rolls her eyes and leans in to meet Bernie’s lips once more. Bernie happily kisses her back, indulges in the familiarity that already exists—the way their heads tilt perfectly so their noses don’t get smushed, the way Serena parts her lips to let Bernie lick into her mouth. She moves then, keeping her lips firmly against Serena’s, but pushing at her hips to back her up against the counter. They separate for a moment and Bernie helps Serena hop up on the counter. She likes this, likes having Serena at the perfect height, and Serena gladly wraps her legs around Bernie’s hips. Bernie braces herself against the counter and leans in towards Serena, this time to concentrate on trailing a line of kisses down her neck. Serena likes that quite a bit judging by the way she moans and leans into the touch. Bernie takes her time retracing her path back up, pausing to suck at Serena’s pulse point and grinning against her skin when Serena gives a little cry of delight at the sensation.
“Bernie, wait,” Serena says, pushing at Bernie’s shoulders, and Bernie pulls back immediately, horrified that she’s already mucked this up somehow. “Oh, Darling,” Serena cups her face in her hands, “please don’t think you were doing anything wrong. That was exquisite. I just don’t think we want Elinor walking in on us in flagrante delicto.”
“Oh,” Bernie replies. Is that all? “Did I forget to mention she left? She um,” Bernie blushes now, “said she wanted to give us our privacy and would be back tomorrow.”
“Well then,” Serena grins and reaches for the hem of her own shirt, pulling it off and tossing it aside, “who am I to keep you from the very important work you were doing?”
“Mmm,” Bernie replies, dropping a light kiss on Serena’s lips. “I think I’d like to talk about that little titbit you dropped earlier, about how you’ve been thinking about this? Thinking about, um, what could’ve happened on Sunday?” As she speaks, she brings her hands up to Serena’s hips, traces light patterns over the bare skin of her sides, back, stomach. Relishes in the fact that she’s allowed to do this, allowed to explore Serena’s skin to her heart’s content and oh god, it's so unbelievably soft and she can do this. She gets to do this.
Serena, for her part, just purses her lips, smiles, lets the wickedness dance in her eyes, and Bernie’s more in love with her than ever.
“Care to hear about it?” she asks, all faux nonchalance.
“Please,” Bernie says, wishes she didn’t sound so desperate but she is, and she’s a fool if she thinks Serena doesn’t know that. She leans back in, starts kissing and sucking at the skin on the other side of Serena’s neck, listens as Serena hums happily.
“Well,” Serena begins, trailing her hands over Bernie’s shoulders and back as she speaks, “there were many different scenarios. You left me to my own devices for an entire week after all. I thought of a few where we snogged in the kitchen for a while before relocating, to the sofa or upstairs, mmm oh I love that, but I do confess a certain fondness for the ones where you fucked me right here on the counter.”
Bernie groans against Serena’s neck at that revelation. She gives one final bit of attention to the spot under Serena’s jaw that she’s quickly learned is her favourite, before raising her head to meet Serena’s eyes. She can’t resist leaning in to kiss her again, short and sweet, thinks that this might be paradise, here in the kitchen with Serena being able to kiss her whenever she wants.
“C-can I?” she asks, inexplicably nervous as she raises a hand to Serena’s chest, is grateful when Serena doesn’t laugh at her, just nods, smiles, and then Bernie’s hand is on Serena’s breast and no, she was wrong earlier, this is paradise. Serena’s bra is a delicate thing, more lace than structure, and Bernie can feel the warmth of her skin through the fabric. She palms her breast, runs her thumb over her nipple and feels it harden in response. The bra is lovely, beautiful, but she doesn’t want any barriers between her hands and Serena’s skin right now. She reaches her other hand around Serena’s back to the clasp, looks at Serena for permission and, at her nod, unclasps it, grabs the straps of the bra and pulls them down Serena’s arms, tosses the beautiful lace behind her somewhere and focuses her attention on the newly-bared flesh.
And then she’s holding Serena’s breasts in her hands, rolling the nipples between thumbs and forefingers, listening to the pattern of Serena’s breaths to gauge her response. She leans down then, captures one nipple in her mouth, flicks the tip with her tongue, feels so very accomplished when Serena digs her hands into her hair and eggs her on.
She spends some time like that, going back and forth between Serena’s breasts, sucking and teasing her nipples, kissing all over her breasts, scraping her teeth against the skin of her chest and then laving the skin with her tongue. Serena’s sensitive and responsive, has no qualms about encouraging Bernie’s actions with sighs and cries and moans. She gets louder the longer Bernie spends like that and the thought floats through Bernie’s brain that she’s very glad indeed that Elinor’s not home.
Her hands move to Serena’s trousers, pull them and her pants off in one quick motion and then Bernie bends down, puts a hand on Serena’s hip to steady herself, and sucks Serena’s clit into her mouth. It’s murder on her back but it’s worth it for the sound Serena makes, the way her hips thrust against Bernie’s face. Bernie circles the hard nub with her tongue, presses against it and then flicks at it repeatedly, increasing the speed and the force. It doesn’t take long before Serena’s coming, digging her hands in Bernie’s hair and crying out her name, again and again.
Bernie stands up, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and waits for Serena’s breath to even out. Serena pulls her towards her, kisses her hard, murmurs a thank you into the kiss. Bernie grabs her hips, encourages her to slide off the counter and then spins her around, presses up against her back and starts to kiss her neck. She brings her hands up to Serena’s breasts, tugs at her nipples. Serena arches up at the touch, leans her head back against Bernie’s shoulder.
“Is, is this okay?” Bernie asks.
“More than,” Serena says, voice low, husky.
Bernie continues to kiss her way down Serena’s neck, pausing here and there to suck hard at the flesh as Serena squirms against her. She bites down—hard, open mouthed—on Serena's neck and Serena cries out. Bernie moves her hands down, scratching lightly at Serena’s stomach and then stroking down to her hips, her thighs.
“Don’t tease,” Serena says, breathless, and Bernie obeys the command, moves one hand to Serena’s cunt. She dips her fingers into her wetness, and then circles her clit, rubbing over it a couple of times and enjoying how responsive Serena is.
“Bernie,” Serena whines, high and thready. Bernie heeds her, moves her hand down and thrusts two fingers inside of her.
Serena gasps, thrusts up against the touch, begs Bernie for more. Bernie adds another finger, curls all three inside of her, seeking her g-spot. When she finds it, she rubs the pads of her fingers against it, adds more and more pressure, and grinds her palm down against her clit. Serena gasps and cries and Bernie presses harder and harder, building Serena up and up. She puts her free hand on Serena’s tit, tugs at her nipple, and bites down on her shoulder again.
Serena comes hard, her cunt clenching around Bernie’s fingers, a flood of wetness soaking Bernie’s hand. She wails out Bernie’s name, her hands gripping the counter hard for support. Bernie coaxes her through the orgasm, continues to rub her clit with her thumb, waits until Serena’s breathing steadies to pull her fingers out of her. She steps back a step, licks her fingers clean. Serena turns around, her eyes dark. She wastes no time in stepping forward, grabbing the hem of Bernie’s shirt and pulling it over her head. She leans in, kisses Bernie deeply, when their tongues touch Bernie feels weak in the knees. Serena reaches for the clasp of Bernie’s bra and Bernie pulls back.
“Wait,” she says, “I don’t, you don’t have to—”
“Have to?” Serena looks at her incredulously. “Bernie, I cannot explain how much I want to… Have I not made that obvious?”
“Yes,” Bernie drags out the word, “I just, I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable, to feel pressured. You don’t have to do anything…”
“Ah,” Serena says, cups Bernie’s cheek with her hand, “how about I promise to tell you if I feel uncomfortable at any point?”
Bernie nods and Serena kisses her sweetly, pulls back and reaches for the clasp of Bernie’s bra, waits for her nod before she pulls it off.
The look on Serena’s face as she holds Bernie’s breasts in her hands is what Bernie can only describe as reverent. She rubs her thumbs over Bernie’s nipples and Bernie hisses, moves into her touch and the look turns to exultant.
“I may not be an expert,” she tells Bernie solemnly, “but I’m determined to be good at this.” Bernie believes her. She leans in to kiss Serena again, slips her hand into Serena’s hair and tugs gently. Serena hums happily, deepens the kiss, runs the blunt of her nails over Bernie’s nipples.
She pulls back, kisses Bernie’s neck, and moves her hands down to Bernie’s jeans. She undoes the fly, slips her hand inside.
“Oh darling,” she says and the tone makes Bernie shiver, “you’re drenched.”
She is, she hadn’t realised just how wet she was until this moment, but now she can’t think of anything but just how turned on she is, how good Serena’s fingers feel tentatively circling her clit. She strokes harder once, twice, and Bernie thrusts up into the touch, desperate for more, more friction, more pressure, more anything. Serena seems to sense her needs and complies, rubs the pad of one finger against Bernie’s clit again and again moving faster, more sure. Bernie can feel her orgasm building up inside her, more and more, like a wall of pressure. She looks up at Serena, and Serena’s looking at her, looking at her with love and awe and wonder.
Bernie bites down on her lip as she comes.
Serena leans in, kisses her again and again, keeps her fingers on Bernie’s clit, keeps exerting pressure, doesn’t let up in the slightest and Bernie can hardly believe it as a second orgasm comes on the heels of the first.
“Wow,” she says when she finally feels back to herself. “That was, wow.”
“Eloquent,” Serena says with a smug smile. “C’mon Ms. Wolfe, I want to fuck you on my bed next.” Bernie groans, pulls her close and kisses her again, puts her hands on Serena’s incredible arse and squeezes just because she can.
They make their way upstairs, slowly, stopping innumerable times to kiss or touch each other, to let Serena pull off whatever articles of clothing Bernie has left, leaving a trail to Serena’s bedroom. Bernie quickly falls in love with the feeling of Serena pushing her against the wall and kissing her, desperate and teasing and oh so hot. She responds in turn, uses her newfound freedom to touch and explore with abandon. They make it to Serena’s bed, finally, after a good long moment against the door jamb, Bernie pressing Serena against the wood, teasing her by slipping her thigh between her legs and pressing hard enough to tease but not enough to offer any real release.
They fall onto the bed laughing, pawing at each other, kissing each other all over.
Bernie happily straddles Serena’s stomach, braces her hands on the mattress and leans down to kiss her, exults in how it feels to kiss her lying down instead of standing up. Serena’s quick to gain the upper hand, flips them over and grins down at Bernie. Bernie has her straddle her thigh, presses it up against her and watches Serena’s reactions to the sensation play out across her face.
Bernie grabs Serena’s hips, encourages her to move against her thigh. Serena puts her hands on her own breasts, tugs at her nipples and Bernie’s awed by how beautiful she is, shameless and sensual, riding Bernie’s thigh with abandon. She talks the whole time, keeping up a litany of ‘yes’ and ‘please’ and ‘oh god’ and then she’s crying out and coming, collapsing down onto Bernie, meeting her lips for a succession of soft kisses.
“Thank you,” Serena says quietly. “That was wonderful.”
“You’re wonderful,” Bernie replies, can’t think of anything else to say, really.
“Mmmm,” Serena smiles, kisses the corner of Bernie’s mouth, “now I’d like to make you come with my mouth.”
Bernie chokes at the words, at the blatancy of them.
“Is that okay?” Serena presses.
“Um, yes, of-of course.”
“Okay,” Serena smiles, “good. Now keep in mind I’ve never done this before so you’ll need to let me know if I’m doing something wrong.”
“You’ve done pretty well so far,” Bernie assures her.
“I have, haven’t I?” Serena says, smug and sexy and hot as hell.
She makes her way slowly down Bernie’s body, stopping to kiss and suck at her skin. It’s like she has a sixth sense telling her where each of Bernie’s erogenous zones are. She teases the skin in the hollow beside Bernie’s hip bone with her teeth and Bernie moans at the feeling; she didn’t even know until this moment how sensitive she was there.
By the time Serena gets to Bernie’s cunt, Bernie is absolutely drenched once again. Serena noses into Bernie’s bush, tentatively licks Bernie’s clit. Bernie’s hips buck and Serena chuckles, lays an arm over Bernie’s hips to keep them still.
She takes her time, laving Bernie’s clit with her tongue, gentle and teasing. Bernie’s breath hitches, her hips moving under Serena’s arm. Serena starts to move faster, she sucks Bernie’s clit into her mouth and then strokes against it over and over. When she has Bernie gasping and squirming under her touch she pulls back for a moment. She thrusts one finger into Bernie’s cunt, then two, and lowers her head to Bernie’s clit once more.
Serena’s driving her insane, Bernie thinks. Her brain is nothing but sensation and want and need. She reaches down, threads her fingers into Serena’s hair and Serena hums against her clit. Bernie gasps, grinds down against Serena’s mouth.
“Please,” she says, voiced laced with desperation. “Please, Serena.”
Serena adds another finger, thrusts them in and out as she sucks hard at Bernie’s clit and Bernie comes, keening.
Serena crawls back up the bed, settles against Bernie’s side. They lie curled into each other, quiet in the darkening dusk, their fingers tracing patterns over each other’s skin until the silence is broken by Bernie’s stomach grumbling loudly. Serena chuckles, curling closer into Bernie for a moment before sitting up.
“Sounds like I need to feed you if I want you to keep your strength up,” she says.
“No, Serena,” Bernie protests, “it’s fine, I’m fine.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Serena stands, goes to her closet and comes out with two robes, one of which she tosses at Bernie. “Truth be told, I’m getting hungry too.”
They pad down the stairs barefoot, find some pasta and a jar of sauce in the cupboard, Bernie helps out as Serena whips up a quick meal of spaghetti bolognese. They eat standing in the kitchen, washing the food down with hefty glasses of wine. Bernie quickly learns that she loves the taste of shiraz on Serena’s lips. They leave their dishes in the sink, top up their glasses and head back up the stairs.
They sit in bed, finish their wine, kissing softly between sips, when they’re done they put the glasses aside and Bernie tugs Serena to her, coaxes an orgasm out of her with her fingers, another with her tongue, and Serena responds in turn. They fall asleep exhausted and spent, clasped in each other’s arms.
Serena wakes warm and cosy, opens her eyes to warm autumn sun streaming in through her windows. She’s in Bernie’s arms, that she knows immediately, her head pillowed on Bernie’s chest. She smiles as she remembers everything that led her to this moment: the heartbreak and the joy of the previous day. Her stomach flutters, she wonders when she’ll get used to the incredible liberating feeling of her attraction to Bernie—to a woman. She feels Bernie shift, looks up to see her eyes flutter open. Her lips quirk into a smile when she meets Serena’s gaze and Serena grins back. She lifts her head, leans in and kisses her, morning breath and all. It’s more awkward than erotic, their teeth clash a bit and their noses end up smushed together from the angle but it’s still perfect.
“Morning,” Bernie says after they separate.
Serena just hums in response, drops one more chaste peck on the corner of Bernie’s mouth. The moment is broken by the sound of Serena’s phone buzzing on the night stand. She turns to grab it, spies the time on her alarm clock, 8:30, as she does so.
“It’s a text from Elinor,” she tells Bernie, once she’s tapped out a reply. “Wants to know when it’s, quote safe to come home end quote.”
“Oh,” Bernie replies, her cheeks beginning to colour immediately. Serena barely tamps down a laugh, making Bernie blush is one of the true joys in this world, now even more so than before. “We should go clean, shouldn’t we?” she asks, making to leave the bed. Serena stops her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“It’s fine Bernie, I told her to give us a couple of hours.”
“Hours? Surely it won’t take us that long—” her words cut off when Serena straddles her, grinning wickedly.
“Surely not,” Serena agrees. “I’m thinking it will only take us, oh, maybe twenty, thirty minutes to clean up and make ourselves look presentable, which leaves us an hour and a half for other things.”
“You,” Bernie says with that loud braying laugh Serena finds oh so endearing, “are absolutely insatiable.”
“I like sex,” Serena replies simply. She always has and she’s never found a reason to feel ashamed about it. “And it’s been far too long and you’re far too good at it for me to be anything but insatiable.” She punctuates her words with a long languid kiss, teasing Bernie with her lips and tongue.
The sex is less hurried, less frantic than it was the night before. They move in tandem, stroke the other’s clit in unison, and when they come, together, they muffle their moans with a kiss.
They shower separately, for the sake of both time and Serena’s water heater. Bernie has an extra change of clothes in her car—an old habit, she maintains, despite Serena’s gentle teasing about her expectations when she came over the night before. They backtrack their movements from the night before, make sure they pick up every stray piece of clothing, and by the time they hear the front door open the house is as neat as it ever is, the only evidence from the turmoil of the day before the cross stitch sitting on a side table in the living room and the loaf of bread and bottle of wine on the counter in the kitchen.
“Good lord,” Serena says to Bernie as they clean, taking her first good look at the wine Bernie bought, “do I want to know how much you paid for this?”
Bernie just stammers, shakes her head.
“Well,” Serena says, “the next time you muck up you can get my usual brand for a tenner. I don’t want you going broke fuelling my habit.”
“The next time?” Bernie asks. Serena cocks her head, smiles.
“Mmmm, are you living under some sort of mad illusion that we’re never going to fight again?”
“Good point,” Bernie admits. “What was the name of that wine again.”
“Ha!” Serena leans in and kisses her, rubs their noses together as she pulls away. “I’ll text it to you.”
They’re in the kitchen waiting for the coffee to finish brewing when Elinor walks in, Charlotte right behind her.
“Hi mums,” they say, almost in unison and Serena laughs as she steps forward and hugs both of them in turn.
“Is that what you’re calling us now?” she asks, casting a quick glance towards Bernie to see what she thinks of it. Bernie just sort of shrugs, grins and Serena grins right back.
“We’ve all been calling you that for months, actually,” Elinor informs her, ducking past her to be the first one to the coffee machine—some things never change.
“All?” Bernie asks.
“Yeah, all your kids,” Charlotte says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “us, Cam, Jason. We have a group chat and after a while it was just easier to just call you ‘mums’.”
“Except for Jason, of course,” Elinor adds. “Though last week he did call you ‘Aunties Serena and Bernie’ which is pretty much the same thing coming from him.”
Serena doesn’t know what to say to that, not really, but she catches Bernie’s eye again and then they’re both bursting out laughing, falling against each other in their mirth.
“We really are daft, aren’t we?” she asks Bernie once they’ve both caught their breath.
“Apparently,” Bernie agrees, leans down to kiss Serena sweetly.
“Gross,” their daughters say in unison and Serena can’t help but chuckle as she pulls away.
“Have you two eaten?” she suddenly changes the subject.
“Not yet,” Charlotte answers.
“Well then, we might as well rustle something up then eh?” Serena says.
They manage to find all the ingredients needed for a Full English, all work together to get the meal on the table.
“Oh!” Elinor says as they sit down to eat, “I almost forgot.” She heads towards the door, comes back with a bottle, hands it over to Serena. Serena has a moment of cold fear, Elinor buying alcohol isn’t exactly a good sign, but when she takes a look at the bottle she sees it’s sparkling grapefruit juice. “If you close your eyes and really lie to yourself it’s almost like drinking a grapefruit mimosa,” Elinor says, somehow sardonic and sincere all at once. “I’ll grab glasses.”
They toast to Bernie and Serena with the juice, eat their fill of breakfast. Serena happily makes do with eating one-handed, her other resting on the table, clasped with Bernie’s.
“I hope you don’t mind, I told Cam the good news,” Charlotte says, “he and Mallory are hoping to make it up for a visit within the next few weeks.”
“Good,” Bernie says, tightening her grip on Serena’s fingers for a few seconds. “He and Mallory, that’s still going well then?”
“Yeah,” Charlotte nods, “two more months and they’ll be registrars. Mallory’s gonna take a couple months off, finally change her name legally and all that and then they’re planning to move, start somewhere brand new so it’s easier for her.”
“Tell them to move closer,” Serena says.
“We’re trying,” Elinor says with a laugh. “It’d be nice to have the whole fam in one place.”
It would be.
She doesn’t have any trouble thinking of the whole group, her and Bernie and all the kids, as a family. It doesn’t seem weird, doesn’t seem like a big change, and when she thinks about it she realises it’s because they’ve already been a family for quite a while. Serena finds herself yearning for Tuesday, when Jason’s due back from Alan’s. As much as she’s glad he wasn’t here for the turmoil of the past week, she misses him. She hopes Cam and Mallory come soon, wants to have everyone together under one roof as soon as she can.
When the table cleared and the dishwasher running, the conversation turns to what to do with the rest of their day.
“Bake?” Serena suggests. “Predictable, I know, but how about something quick and easy, biscuits, maybe? We could make enough to bring them into work tomorrow, it’s been a bit since we’ve plied our ward with treats.”
They decide on shortbread and ginger snaps. It’s massively fun, hanging out in the kitchen as a group. Serena can’t ever remember Elinor being interested in something like this. Granted, she and Charlotte spend most of their time sitting on the counter and sneaking scraps of dough but Serena couldn’t care less. They’re there, Bernie is there. Everything is right in the world.
She’s baked with Bernie in this kitchen countless times but it’s so much better now. Now she gets to reach out, touch Bernie as much as she wants. She gets to stroke her hip and stand up on her tiptoes to kiss her and when she reaches out to brush flour off of Bernie’s cheek she gets to linger, to exult in the softness of her skin and the way her beautiful brown eyes widen at the touch.
They try to keep the kissing down to a minimum for the sake of their audience but Serena can’t keep herself from at least touching Bernie. With the biscuits in the oven, she leans back against Bernie who wraps her arms around Serena’s waist and rests her chin on Serena’s shoulder. With the biscuits baked and cooling, they head into the sitting room, drink tea and eat freshly baked shortbread and chat about work and school and what Bernie and Serena will do about their ward.
“We’ll have to tell Jayne,” Serena says. “You didn’t, I mean, you haven’t told her you were leaving, have you?” She’s worried, suddenly, what if Bernie had and Jayne won’t re-offer her the position?
“No,” Bernie says. “No, I haven’t. I was going to tell her tomorrow, thankfully.”
“Good.”
“I do have one problem though,” Bernie says.
“Oh?” Serena asks, feels her heart sink in preparation for what Bernie’s about to say.
“My lease is up, on my flat, at the end of this month. My landlord’s already let it to someone else.”
“I’m sure we can find you a new place,” Serena says, utterly relieved that it’s not something bad. “Somewhere close by so you can come over whenever you want,” her voice drips with suggestion and Bernie colours at the implications.
“Yeah, hi, we’re still here,” Elinor says loudly. “Please keep all that to yourselves.”
Serena chuckles, chooses to squeeze Bernie’s knee in lieu of kissing her again, thinks she shouldn’t torture her daughter too much.
“Oh!” Serena exclaims suddenly, “what are we going to tell our fans?”
“What do you mean?” Bernie asks.
“Oh you know, all those eager folks on the internet. Hashtag berena and all that, they deserve to know about us, don’t they?”
“Do they?”
“Well,” Serena turns a bit, puts her hand on Bernie’s hip, sneaks a couple fingers under the fabric of her t-shirt to stroke her bare skin. “Maybe I just want to shout my happiness from the rooftop, can you blame me?” she’s not quite making puppy eyes but she’s getting her point across just the same and Bernie caves almost immediately.
“Whatever you want,” she says.
Charlotte coughs something that easily could’ve been the word ‘whipped’ but when Serena turns around her face is a picture of innocence.
“If you want,” she offers, “I was taking picture earlier, just on my phone but I’ve got a few that might work as your big coming out post.”
She shows Serena the pictures, there’s a good dozen of her and Bernie, covered in flour, holding hands or making eyes at each other.
“What about that one?” Serena asks, pointing at one near the end of the bunch. It’s the two of them, Bernie with her hands on Serena’s hips and Serena with her arms around Bernie’s neck. They must have been just about to kiss; their noses are touching and they’re smiling against each other’s lips. They look so happy, as happy as Serena feels, almost, and it’s mind-boggling that a photo was able to capture that level of pure joy.
“Black and white filter and you’re in business,” Elinor agrees.
Bernie gives her permission as well, and Serena triple checks with her that it’s alright. She knows Bernie is much more private than she, she wants to make sure she’s okay with it. With Bernie’s blessing, Charlotte sends Serena the photo and Serena sets about crafting the instagram post.
‘I signed up for Bake Off to bake,’ she writes, ‘not fall in love. The universe had other ideas. Thank you @majorwolfe for making me the happiest woman on earth and reminding me that sometimes home has a heartbeat. #berena #gbbo’
She shows it to Bernie and, at her nod, presses ‘share’.
“I mean it,” she says softly to Bernie, later, once their daughters have gone upstairs and left them alone in the sitting room. “I am the happiest woman on earth right now.”
“No,” Bernie says, kissing her cheek, “I am.”