Elena’s hand closed around Liam’s arm and she walked him away from the platform at a pace that was professional and unhurried and absolutely not what it looked like.

She moved through the gallery with purpose, nodding once at someone who tried to catch her eye, steering them both through the archway and back into the first room and then past it entirely, toward the far end of the building where the foot traffic thinned out and the corridor narrowed.

The women’s bathroom door.

She pushed it open and walked in and pulled him in after her.

Liam looked around at the white tiles, the row of sinks, the mirrors running the full length of the wall. Then he looked at the door they had just come through.

"I don’t think I should be in here," he said. "If someone comes in and sees me. Especially with you. That’s going to be a whole—"

"Nobody is coming in," Elena said. She was already at the mirror, checking her hair, making sure nothing had shifted. "Every woman out there is too pretentious to use a public bathroom at an event like this. They’d rather suffer." She turned and looked at him. "Also this is your fault."

"It’s not my fault," Liam said. "It’s those live sculptures and their—"

"Their what?"

"Their." He gestured vaguely. "You know."

Elena looked at him. "Say it."

"Their tits," he said. "It’s the tits. I can’t be held responsible for that."

Elena looked at him for a moment. Her expression was composed and level and underneath it something else was sitting that wasn’t quite as composed.

"I’m fine with the other women in your life," she said. She said it simply and directly, the way she said most things. "I’ve made my peace with that." A pause. "But standing there and telling me that some random woman’s body made you hard while I’m right next to you." She looked at him. "That still stings a little."

Liam looked at her. "I’m sorry."

He meant it. It sat in his voice plainly and she heard it.

She held his gaze for a moment. Then she exhaled through her nose and the tension in her shoulders released slightly.

"What are we doing in here," Liam said.

"I can’t get the dress creased," she said. She looked down at the ivory fabric, smoothing the front of it once with both hands. "Also I can’t kneel. Which means no blow job." She looked back up at him. "So I’m going to use my hands and you’re going to be grateful about it."

Liam looked at her.

Then he smiled. Wide and genuine. "I actually really like that."

Elena looked at him for a long moment.

Then she shook her head slightly and looked at the ceiling briefly in the way she did when she was deciding whether to be exasperated or amused and landed somewhere between the two.

"Pull your trousers down," she said.

Liam reached for his belt.

He got his trousers down and looked at her and she looked at the front of his boxers, the outline of him clear and present against the fabric.

He pulled the boxers down too.

Elena looked at it. Then up at his face. Then back down.

She moved around to stand behind him, her boobs pressed against his back, her chin near his shoulder.

She reached around and wrapped both hands around him.

Liam exhaled immediately.

She started slow.

Both hands working together, one following the other, her grip firm and her pace deliberate, her fingers moving from the base upward in long continuous strokes. .

He could feel her against his back, the warmth of her through the fabric of the dress, her breath near his ear.

"Mm—"

She kept the pace steady. Unhurried. Her hands moving smoothly, feeling him respond to each stroke, the feedback immediate and clear.

Then she slowed even further.

One hand stayed at the base, holding him steady, while the fingers of the other hand traveled upward slowly and found the head of him.

She felt the wetness there already, a bead of it at the tip, and she spread it slowly with the pad of her thumb in small deliberate circles.

"Hm—" The sound left him before he could stop it.

She tapped the tip once with one finger. Lightly. Just once.

"Oh—" His jaw tightened. "Elena—"

She did it again.

"That’s—" He pressed his hand flat against the wall in front of him. "That’s not fair."

She said nothing. She went back to the full strokes, both hands this time, picking up the pace slightly from where she had started, the rhythm building steadily. His breathing had changed completely, coming through his nose in short controlled pulls that were getting harder to control.

She took her time with it. That was the thing about Elena. She didn’t rush. She moved through everything at the pace she had decided on and she didn’t let his reactions change it. She felt him get closer and slowed down. Felt him pull back from the edge and sped up again. Back and forth, precise and deliberate, keeping him exactly where she wanted him.

"I’m almost there," he managed.

"Hold it," she said against his ear.

"Elena—"

"Hold it."

He pressed his hand harder against the wall. His whole body had gone tight, his jaw locked, his breathing completely ragged.

"It’s too good," he said. "I can’t—"

"You can."

She kept going. Both hands. Steady pace. Completely unbothered by what she was doing to him.

"Elena—"

"Hold—"

He came.

Hard and immediate, his hand pressing flat against the wall, a low rough sound leaving him through his teeth, his whole body tightening at once and then releasing in waves. She kept both hands moving through all of it, unhurried, feeling everything until the last of it was done.

Then she stepped back.

She looked at her hands.

She moved to the sink and turned the tap and washed them carefully, taking her time, checking in the mirror that nothing had gone anywhere it shouldn’t have.

She dried her hands on the paper towel and dropped it and looked at herself in the mirror once more.

"Now you should be fine," she said.

Behind her Liam was already pulling his boxers back up. He got his trousers up and fastened his belt and looked at the back of her head in the mirror.

"That’s not enough," he said.

Elena turned around. "What?"

"I said that’s not enough."

She looked at him. "Liam."

"I’m just saying."

"When we leave here," she said, her voice dropping to the register it used when it was being direct and didn’t want to repeat itself, "we can go wherever you want and do whatever you want for however long you want. But right now we need to go back out there." She held his eyes. "Okay?"

Liam looked at her.

Then he straightened his jacket and looked at the door. "Okay."

"Good." She turned to the mirror one final time, checked her hair, checked the brooch at her shoulder, smoothed the front of the dress with both hands. "Let’s go."

She pushed the door open and walked out and Liam followed.

---

Quinn was standing near the archway between the two rooms when they came back through, a glass in her hand, mid-conversation with a couple Liam didn’t recognize. She noticed Elena immediately and excused herself from the couple and came over.

"I was wondering where you’d disappeared to," she said.

"My apologies," Elena said smoothly. "I remembered a piece of yours I wanted Liam to see. Something from a few years ago that reminded me of this one. I was describing it to him."

Quinn looked at Liam briefly. "Did it land?"

"It did," Liam said.

Quinn smiled, satisfied. "Good. Come. There’s more."

She turned and they followed her deeper into the second room, past the platform where the three live sculptures were still completely still, past a large photographic work mounted directly on the wall, and into a third space at the back of the building that Liam hadn’t seen yet.

Quinn talked as she moved, her voice warm and specific, pointing out decisions she had made in certain pieces and why, the material choices, the positioning, the light. Elena listened with genuine attention and asked questions that clearly came from real familiarity with the work. Liam walked beside them and looked at what was pointed out and said less but took more in than he expected to.

They spent another forty minutes moving through the rest of the show.

By the time they said goodbye to Quinn at the entrance and walked back out to the front of the building, the line of cars had thinned and the afternoon light had shifted, coming in lower and warmer across the pale stone of the facade.

The Phantom was at the curb.

The driver came around and opened Elena’s door. She got in. Liam came around to the other side and got in and pulled the door shut.

The interior settled around them, quiet and cool.

Liam reached into his jacket for his phone.

One message. From Shay.

*Shay~ Come fast.*

Two words. No explanation.

Liam looked at it. Then at Elena beside him.

"I have to go somewhere," he said.

Elena looked at him. Then at the phone. Then back at his face. She read whatever was on it without asking and nodded once.

"Alright, let’s go,"

---

Elena’s Phantom pulled up to the curb and stopped.

Liam reached for the door handle.

"Hey." Her voice stopped him.

He turned.

She was looking at him with that direct quality she had, the one that didn’t dress things up. "Be safe," she said. Simple and straight.

"I will," he said.

She held his eyes for a moment like she was checking whether she believed that. Then something in her expression shifted and she reached across and took his jaw in her hand and kissed him.

Not a quick kiss. The kind that had something behind it, warm and unhurried, her hand still against his jaw, her thumb pressed lightly against his cheek. He kissed her back and the car was quiet around them and neither of them rushed it.

When she pulled back she looked at him for a second without saying anything.

Then she let go.

Liam looked at her. "Thank you," he said. "For last night. For Stiles. For getting there when you did. I mean it."

Elena looked at him. "I told you to stop saying that."

"I know." He held her gaze. "Thank you."

She pressed her lips together. The look on her face was somewhere between exasperated and something warmer than that. "Go," she said.

He pushed the door open and stepped out onto the pavement. He closed the door behind him and stood there for a moment as the Phantom pulled away from the curb, smooth and quiet, and moved down the street.

He watched it go.

The brake lights at the end of the block. Then the turn signal. Then it was gone.

He stood there on the pavement and looked at the space where it had been and thought about nothing in particular for a second.

Then he turned toward the building ahead of him.

His vision blurred.

He blinked.

It blurred again. Harder this time, the edges of everything losing their definition, the street in front of him going soft and uncertain. He blinked again and tried to focus and found nothing to focus on, the world in front of him dissolving into a smear of light and color.

He took one step forward.

His legs didn’t cooperate. 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

The pavement came up fast.

He didn’t feel it when it arrived.