Morning light slipped through the curtains, catching dust motes suspended in golden air. Ivy had been awake for twenty minutes already, watching the play of shadows across Hazel's sleeping face, the way her lips parted slightly with each breath, the flutter of her eyelids when she dreamed. The lavender balloon still rested on the bedside table, slightly deflated now, a soft crumpled shape holding the ghost of its fullness.
Hazel stirred, her hand reaching out blindly, finding Ivy's hip, pulling herself closer without opening her eyes. "You're watching me," she murmured, her voice rough with sleep.
"Always."
Hazel's eyes cracked open, hazel-green catching the morning light. "Creep." But she was smiling, the kind of smile that started slow and spread like warmth across her whole face. She stretched, her body curving against Ivy's, and for a long moment they simply lay there, tangled in sheets that smelled like both of them.
"Breakfast?" Ivy asked.
"Shower first." Hazel's hand slid down Ivy's stomach, fingers dipping below the waistband of her pajama shorts. "Together?"
The shower was quick and warm, steam filling the small bathroom as Ivy pressed Hazel against the cool tile, kissing her until they were both breathless. Hazel's leg hooked around Ivy's hip, her hands fisting in Ivy's wet hair, and Ivy's fingers found the slick heat between her thighs. Hazel gasped against her mouth, her nails scraping Ivy's scalp, and Ivy worked her steadily until Hazel's knees buckled, her cry swallowed by the spray of water.
"Fair's fair," Hazel panted, sliding her hand down Ivy's body, finding her clit with practiced ease. Ivy's forehead pressed into Hazel's shoulder as Hazel touched her, slow and deliberate, building the tension until Ivy's whole body shuddered, her release pulling a broken moan from deep in her chest.
They dried off in comfortable silence, passing each other towels, bumping hips in the narrow bathroom. Ivy made coffee while Hazel scrambled eggs, and they ate standing at the kitchen counter, barefoot, still slightly damp, Pebbles waddling between their ankles hoping for scraps.
"I should go change," Ivy said, glancing at the clock. "I'm going to be late."
"You're always late."
"I'm never late."
"You're late right now." Hazel kissed her cheek, leaving a smudge of egg. "Go. I'll see you tonight."
Ivy dressed in a cream turtleneck and high-waisted trousers, her hair still slightly damp, and grabbed her satchel. She kissed Hazel properly at the door—deep, unhurried, the kind of kiss that said I'll be thinking about this all day. Hazel's hand lingered on her collar, fingers brushing the line of her jaw.
"Tonight," Hazel said, and it sounded like a promise.
"Tonight."
The office was quiet when Ivy arrived, most of her colleagues already at their desks. She settled in, pulling up the morning's emails, the familiar rhythm of her workday settling around her. It was nearly eleven when Liam appeared at her cubicle, looking more flustered than she'd ever seen him.
"Miss Chen." He adjusted his tie, then adjusted it again. "I need to ask you a favor."
Ivy looked up, her fingers pausing over the keyboard. "Sir?"
Liam's cheeks flushed slightly. "Today is mine and my wives' anniversary. I've been so buried in the quarterly reports that I nearly forgot completely." He let out a breath, running a hand through his chestnut-brown hair. "I need someone to go to a flower shop and buy two bouquets. And two boxes of bonbons. I'd do it myself, but I have a conference call in twenty minutes and—"
"Sir." Ivy was already saving her work. "I'll take care of it."
"Really? I'll give you the rest of the day off. Consider it overtime."
A smile tugged at Ivy's lips. "Thank you, sir. Please—call me Liam." He gave her a card with his credit card details and a note about what Zoe and Chloe liked. "I don't know much about flowers," he admitted. "Whatever looks nice."
Ivy was shrugging into her coat when a thought struck her. It rose unbidden, almost as if nudged by something outside herself. "Sir?" He turned back. "What about balloons?"
Liam froze. For a second he just stared at her, gray-blue eyes wide. Then he facepalmed, the slap loud in the quiet office, and burst into laughter—a full, belly-deep laugh that bent him double. "I—I almost forgot. They would have killed me. Zoe at least."
Ivy tilted her head. "Sir?"
He straightened, still chuckling, wiping at his eyes. "It's just—my wives. You've met them. Zoe and Chloe." Ivy nodded—how could she forget? Zoe had been the second most beautiful woman Ivy had ever seen, right after Hazel, with her sharp grin and honeydew eyes, and Chloe always had a balloon in her hand, bright and colorful, like she carried joy wherever she went. "We met in college," Liam continued, his voice softer now. "You could say balloons began our story together. Chloe loves them. And Zoe and I—we love her. So yes. Buy some too."
Ivy felt something settle in her chest, warm and solid. "I know just the place."
She found Hazel's flower shop tucked between a bakery and a bookshop, its windows bright with blooms. The bell above the door chimed as she stepped inside, and Hazel looked up from arranging a vase of peonies. The way her face lit up—like Ivy was the only person in the world—made Ivy's heart clench.
"Ivy." Hazel set down the peonies, already moving around the counter. "What are you—"
Ivy crossed the shop in three steps. She cupped Hazel's face in her hands and kissed her, deep and thorough, right there among the flowers and the customers who probably weren't watching but definitely were. Hazel made a small, surprised sound against her lips, then melted into her, fingers curling into Ivy's coat.
"Hi," Ivy breathed when she finally pulled back.
"Hi." Hazel's cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly swollen. "Not that I'm complaining, but—"
Ivy explained, quickly, the words tumbling out. Liam's anniversary. The flowers. The bonbons. The balloons. Hazel's eyes widened when Ivy mentioned Chloe, a flicker of something—recognition, kinship, warmth—passing across her face.
"She loves balloons," Hazel said softly. "Like me."
"Like you." Ivy took her hand. "So I thought maybe you could help me pick the right ones."
Hazel's smile was radiant. She pulled Ivy behind the counter, into the back room where the floral supplies were stored, and they worked side by side. Hazel's hands moved with practiced grace, selecting stems, trimming leaves, arranging the bouquets with an artist's eye. Ivy watched her, mesmerized by the concentration on her face, the way she bit her lower lip when she was focused.
For the balloons, Hazel chose carefully. A deep burgundy 24-inch for Chloe, the color of wine and warmth. A soft gold 24-inch for Zoe, catching the light. And a cluster of smaller 12-ich ones to fill the space, creating a canopy of color above the bouquets. She tied each one with precision, her fingers sure and steady, and when she was done, she stepped back, surveying her work with quiet satisfaction.
"They're perfect," Ivy said.
Hazel looked at her, her hazel eyes soft. "You think so?"
"I know so."
They delivered everything to Liam's office together, finding the floor mostly empty—everyone had gone home for the day. They set the bouquets on his desk, arranged the balloons so they bobbed gently against the ceiling, and placed the bonbon boxes beside them. Hazel adjusted a single peony, tilting it just so, and Ivy watched her, feeling something huge and tender press against her ribs.
They were turning to leave when the door opened and Zoe and Chloe walked in, arms linked, laughing about something.
"Oh," Chloe said, stopping short. Her hazel eyes landed on the balloons, and her whole face transformed—a smile so bright it seemed to light the dim office. "Oh, Liam."
Zoe spotted them too, her cat-like grin spreading slow and knowing. "He remembered."
Chloe crossed to the desk, her fingers reaching out to touch the burgundy balloon, her touch reverent. "They're perfect," she whispered, and the joy in her voice made something in Hazel's chest ease. Ivy felt Hazel's hand find hers, squeeze once, and she squeezed back.
They slipped out quietly, leaving the three of them to their anniversary. The last thing Ivy heard was Chloe's happy squeal, high and delighted, echoing down the hallway.
Hazel was quiet on the walk home, her hand in Ivy's, her steps unhurried. When they reached their apartment, she didn't let go immediately—just stood at the door, her thumb tracing circles on Ivy's knuckles.
"That felt good," she said softly. "Knowing someone else—that it made her happy."
Ivy lifted their joined hands and kissed Hazel's fingers. "She's lucky. They all are."
They fed Pebbles together, filling his water bowl, scattering seeds on the kitchen floor. The duck waddled contentedly, his bright eyes tracking their movements, and Ivy felt the quiet of the apartment settle around them like a blanket.
Hazel turned to her, something new flickering in her expression. "I don't want sex tonight."
Ivy blinked, then nodded slowly. "Okay."
"No—I mean." Hazel's cheeks flushed. "I want to touch myself, thinking of you." She looked down, then back up, her gaze steady. "And I want you to do the same. Thinking of me."
Ivy's breath caught. "Separate rooms?"
"Separate rooms." Hazel stepped closer, her hand coming up to cup Ivy's jaw. "And when we're done, we meet on the couch and—" she smiled, soft and a little shy, "—we tell each other what we imagined."
Ivy's heart was hammering, a slow, steady pulse that matched the heat spreading through her body. "I want that."
Hazel kissed her, tender and deep, then pulled away with visible effort. "My room. The lavender balloon."
Ivy's mouth went dry. "I'll use the helium tank. The one from—"
"Yes." Hazel's voice was warm. "But bigger. A cluster."
Ivy nodded, already moving toward the utility closet where the tank was stored. She pulled out a pack of eighteen-inch balloons, twenty of them, and set to work. Each one filled with helium, each one tied with a careful knot, their strings gathered together in her fist. She felt the lightness of them tugging, pulling upward, and she thought of Hazel's hands, Hazel's mouth, the sounds she made when Ivy touched her.
She inserted the dildo at the center of the cluster, positioning it so it stood upright, anchored by the balloons' constant lift. It looked absurd and deeply, deeply erotic. She stripped off her clothes in her bedroom, her skin flushed with anticipation, and positioned herself above the dildo, the balloons bobbing around her butt, their smooth latex brushing her cheeks.
She lowered herself onto it slowly, a gasp escaping her lips as the silicone filled her. The balloons swayed with her movement, their strings entangled in her hand, and she closed her eyes and thought of Hazel.
Hazel's voice, saying her name. Hazel's fingers, curling inside her. Hazel's mouth, warm and wet, the night she'd gone down on Ivy until she couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could only feel. Ivy began to move, rocking her hips, and the dildo pressed deep inside her, hitting that perfect spot. The balloons rustled overhead, a soft susurrus like whispered secrets, and Ivy let herself fall into the fantasy.
Hazel above her, Hazel's thighs on either side of her face, Hazel's cries filling the room. Ivy's hand found her clit, rubbing in tight circles, and she came with Hazel's name on her lips, her body shuddering, the balloons dancing around her face.
She came again, and again, each time finding a new angle, a new rhythm, the thought of Hazel pulling her deeper. Her thighs were slick, her breathing ragged, and when she finally couldn't take any more, she eased off the dildo and lay on the bed, her chest heaving, the balloon cluster drifting above her like a dream.
In the other room, she could hear Hazel's soft sounds—muffled, private, the creak of the bedsprings. She listened, her heart full, and waited until the sounds faded, replaced by a long, shuddering sigh.
They met on the couch in comfortable silence, both still slightly flushed, both wrapped in blankets. Ivy had released the dildo from the cluster, and the balloons bobbed gently above them, a cloud of color and light. Pebbles waddled over, hopped onto the couch, and settled himself in their shared lap, his round body warm and solid.
Ivy told Hazel what she'd imagined: Hazel's face above her, Hazel's voice telling her she was beautiful, Hazel's hand sliding down her own body, touching herself while Ivy watched. Hazel blushed, her freckles standing out against the pink of her cheeks, and whispered what she'd imagined: Ivy's mouth on her thigh, Ivy's tongue tracing the curve of her hip, Ivy's hands holding her open while she came.
They sat in the warm afterglow, petting Pebbles in alternating strokes, the balloon cluster drifting lazily above them. Hazel's fingers found Ivy's, twined together in the duck's soft down.
And then Hazel's eyes lit up. "I have an idea."
She untied one of the strings from the cluster, keeping the group intact, and carefully, so carefully, tied it around Pebbles' round body—loose enough not to constrict, snug enough to stay. She adjusted it so the tie sat between his wings, not blocking them.
Pebbles quacked, confused, as Hazel lifted him off the couch and set him on the floor. He stood there, blinking, the balloon cluster bobbing above him like a strange, colorful halo.
He flapped his wings experimentally. The balloons lifted, counterbalancing his weight, and his feet left the ground for just a second before he settled back down. He quacked again, louder, and tried to hop toward Hazel.
He overshot.
The balloons canceled his weight, and his hop carried him two feet past her, his landing clumsy and surprised. He quacked—a startled, offended sound—and tried again. This time he soared into the air, flapping wildly, the balloons lifting him toward the ceiling. He banked left, then right, his webbed feet paddling at empty air, his quacks echoing through the apartment.
Hazel was laughing, her hand pressed to her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks. Ivy was laughing too, her sides aching, watching their duck fly circles around the living room, a trail of startled quacks marking his path.
Pebbles discovered the joy of jumping. He hopped from the armchair to the coffee table, the balloons carrying him in long, floating arcs. He missed the coffee table entirely and alighted on the rug, quacking in triumph. He did it again, and again, each time more confident, his round body bobbing through the air like a feathered balloon.
Ivy's hand found Hazel's on the couch. Hazel turned to her, her face bright with joy, tears still clinging to her lashes, and Ivy kissed her—soft, and slow, and full of everything she couldn't say.
Pebbles landed on the back of the couch, his strings trailing behind him, and quacked directly into their faces. Then he hopped off again, soaring back into the center of the room, his clumsy flight filling the apartment with sound and light.
Ivy leaned her head on Hazel's shoulder, watching their duck fly. The balloons drifted, the lavender one Hazel had used resting on the bedside table in the next room, with a wet patch on it, and the world felt complete. This was theirs—all of it. The quiet mornings and the chaotic evenings. The sex and the laughter. The shame turned into joy, the secrets shared in the dark.
Pebbles crash-landed on the rug, quacking triumphantly, and waddled back to the couch for pets.
Hazel scooped him up, balloons and all, and held him to her chest. "I think he likes it."
Ivy wrapped her arms around both of them, the duck squirming happily between them, and pressed her lips to Hazel's hair. "I think he's perfect."
They sat there, tangled together, the balloon cluster bobbing above their heads, and the evening stretched out before them, warm and full of quiet possibility.