Work Text:
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Farah’s off of work, which seems like once in a millennium. She has nobody to come home to though, as she doesn’t have time for relationships. Alex is a close friend at best, but she doesn’t see him as any more.
Farah shouldn’t be ashamed of herself for craving sex, but she really can’t help it. There’s one thing for certain, she doesn’t like men. It shouldn’t be a problem, physically at least.
Her apartment flat is very bland, practically empty. It would be embarrassing to bring somebody home to this. She needs relief, but she can’t commit to anybody.
Farah looks over at the calendar on her wall. It’s still flipped to June, though it’s October. Another sign of how much time her work takes. Being a commander is tough shit.
It’s not like she has a choice, in her own mind, she has to protect her family. Her cousins count on her heavily. Farah wants to stop the war, and make sure nobody has to grow up in it like she did.
But that’s unrelated right now, isn’t it?
Farah feels like a teenager, ashamed for having desires, almost afraid that somebody will catch her. But who will? Nobody ever really checks up on her wellbeing.
Everybody assumes Farah has everything together, only a select few really know how she’s falling apart at the seams.
Farah just needs a distraction. Not an ugly coping mechanism, not one that’ll leave even more scars. She’s pent up and frustrated.
It’s a Saturday. She’s heard talk of a sex club opening. Saying the words aloud makes her feel gross. Farah used to be a good Muslim before she lost hope in everything.
It will be nice to let her hair down and put on a nice outfit. Being feminine makes her feel vulnerable. She will not bother with any makeup.
Farah has to resort to taking the bus, she doesn’t go out enough to really need a car. In the back of the bus Farah sits, clutching her cracked phone as she stares out the window.
This all makes her feel guilty and dirty. Farah needs to get the fuck over it, she’s a grown woman for God’s sake.
When the bus stops, she almost forgets to get off, too lost in her own thoughts. Mechanically, she stands and lumbers off the bus. The club is 6 blocks away from the stop.
Farah wants this, she really does. Maybe it’s for validation, or just pure lust. Something is making her do this. If she thinks about it too much she might just vomit.
The club is loud and basking in purple light, it smells like sex. There are booths around the walls, the seats are a dark material. To every corner is a speaker, playing the loudest music, it seems. A bar with several staff members is right in the middle, where some people are sitting and flirting.
It’s very crowded, which is a given. People roam, flirt, and kiss. Some dance, erotically. To the left, there is a staircase that leads to the private rooms.
Farah feels very out of place, as if everybody knows she isn’t supposed to be here. What if she’s caught in some way or another? Surely nobody that knows her will be here.
Already, the music hurts her head. Silently, Farah slips into a booth in the corner, reserved to herself despite what she’s here for. A waiter strides over, taking her order of a virgin lemonade.
Everything is purple. She can hear a few conversations. Farah can’t help but observe, just in case there’s a threat somewhere in the crowd. No enemies. Farah’s fine, she’s not being followed, or watched, or punished. Nothing will happen here.
Farah stirs her drink with the straw clockwise over and over again, not actually taking a sip. There’s nothing in it, just lemonade. Virgin lemonade.
Someone sits next to her. It takes Farah’s. Few heartbeats to look up. When she does, her breath hitches against her will.
There you are, smiling at her. Your movements are calculated. Farah analyzes you for a moment. The shade of your eyes, skin, and hair. The width of your shoulders, the curve of your hips. Farah finds you very pretty.
You both sit there in silence for a couple moments until Farah remembers to speak.
“Having fun?” She manages to ask, not knowing what else to say.
You nod, flashing her another awkward grin. Farah sees through you, the way you try to act confident. Really, you’re just desperate for release, and so is she. A perfect match, it seems.
“I love your hair, how do you get it so wavy?” You ask, trying to strike up a conversation.
Farah felt a buzz. You both clearly wanted the same thing, and both found each other attractive. Why else would you approach her? Farah isn’t picky, not when she never has options.
Right, her hair. Farah wishes she could give you a proper answer, but all she does is the basic shampoo and conditioner routine. She has to raise her voice so that you can hear her speak over the booming music.
Your compliments seem to get a little more heated with each one. You’re touching Farah’s arm, ghosting over the scars. It feels foreign to her, like a jolt of lighting.
“Do you know how much a room costs?” Farah asks, half for the implications to it.
“I can pay for it,” you offer quickly.
Farah didn’t really argue against it, letting you lead her upstairs. Her heart is pounding out of her chest. Your hand is soft, it has most likely never touched the surface of war and violence.
As soon as the door is closed and locked, you're undressing. Farah is busy analyzing the room. No visible cameras or chips. The room is dark, with a blue light bulb giving it a strange feel. There’s a small bed with black sheets, but that’s about it.
You step into her direct view, almost completely naked. She has to do a double take. You’re even prettier like this. Farah forgets about her worries (or at least tries to,) and undresses, walking towards the bed.
You sit down, admiring her toned muscles. Farah is tanned, her hair dark and long, eyes big and pretty. Her nose is hooked slightly, lips plump and soft looking.
The scars on her body was something you’d never suspect. You thought she was just an average woman. Stab wounds, gunshots, and thin, precise lines litter her entire body. The thin lines along her arms are too straight and perfect to be an attack. Some are worse than others.
When she sits down you kiss her cheek, testing the waters. Farah looks at you with wide eyes, but leans into it. There’s nothing to worry about, she’s fine.
One thing leads to another, and suddenly she’s on top of you, fully making out. Her tongue fights yours, almost aggressively.
Farah feels like a weight has been removed from her shoulders. She doesn’t bear a constant suffocating responsibility, at least not tonight. Farah feels lighter than she has in a long while.
The music can still be heard thundering downstairs, even in the secluded room. You toy with her bra strap, smiling up at her flirtingly. Farah quickly pulls it off, unashamed of her body.
She’s beautiful, with dark nipples and firm shoulders. They’re the perfect size to cup in your hands.
The first moan that Farah lets out is when you squeeze her nipple as you kiss her. You roll it between her fingers, watching as her hips jerk forward.
Farah can feel a wet spot on her panties. To ease some friction, her thighs bracket one of yours. Rocking her hips, she rides your thigh as you take her nipple in your mouth.
Farah’s trying to be quiet, trying not to moan too loudly. But holy shit, this feels perfect. She squeezes your hips, her hands are calloused but careful.
When you ask for it, Farah gives you space to pull off your underwear. She does the same thing. Farah is wearing boy shorts while you wear a pink, matching set.
“Is everything okay?” She asks gently, making sure that you're sure of what is happening.
You nod, biting back a groan. The muscles of your inner thighs tighten when she puts her right thigh under yours. Your pussies are lined up.
Fuck, this is hot. You want to beg for her, but she seems to know exactly what you want. Your fingers clench against her shoulders, you scratch her back with how tight you're holding her.
When she kisses your neck, you close your eyes. Farah seems to relish in the way you moan when she bites down. Tiny, quiet whimpers.
Begging for friction, you rub your pussy against hers, rolling your hips. She matches your pace, her movements more jittery. You kiss the place where her neck and shoulders meet, biting down hard then licking it.
When your clits finally rub together, you let out a loud whine, and Farah groans quietly. Your slick is mixing with hers.
Farah’s pace is relentless, she has good stamina. You try to keep up, wrapping your arms around her neck. Her grip slides up to your waist.
Every time your clit touches hers your knees shake, begging to be closed. By now your panting, and she is too. Her moans get higher pitched the more she’s aroused.
You press sloppy kisses to her mouth, saliva getting on her chin. Your breaking point is when she squeezes your thigh as hard as she could. It will most likely leave a mark.
A shudder runs through your entire body, moaning at the same time as Farah. The coil in the pit of your belly snaps, and you can feel yourself coming against her.
Farah lets out a low groan as she feels your fluids soak the sheets, and that’s enough to make her come too. Farah’s breath hitches as she does, a lurching feeling in her stomach.
You go limp against her, body demanding air. She rubs your back gently, then presses a few kisses to your collarbones.
Farah untangles herself from you, as you reach into your purse for sanitary wipes. There’s a numb silence that follows. Farah doesn’t know what to do or say. It is her first time doing something like this.
You hand her a few wipes, and she takes them with a sharp nod. Farah’s suddenly aware of her own body. Of the wear and tear she let a complete stranger see. You don’t seem to mind, of course.
You sit up properly, pulling on your clothes as you speak, “Could I get your number.?”
Farah is afraid of the commitment she’ll have to deal with if she does. What if you want something more?
When you see her clouded expression, you nervously stammer, “There’s no pressure, I’m not really looking for a relationship..”
That almost calms her nerves. Farah dresses silently, staring at the floor. She doesn’t regret doing this, but for some reason it makes her feel guilty of something.
When Farah finally pulls on her shirt, she turns to you, where you're holding out your phone. She gives you a soft smile and types in her civilian number.
It was just a quick fuck, she shouldn’t expect anything out of this. Farah almost wants to though, yearning for a little bit of normalcy.
Maybe it’ll be okay.
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