Hana's thighs pressed together so tight they ached. She stood at the edge of the park, watching Troy's car disappear around the corner, and she held. Held every muscle in her pelvis clenched like a fist, like a vault, like she could keep him inside her forever if she just refused to let go.
His cum was warm. Still warm. A slow, heavy weight deep inside her, and she wanted to feel it for as long as she could. She walked stiff-legged toward the campus, her summer dress clinging to damp skin, her thighs brushing together with every step. The walk was deliberate—careful, measured, a woman carrying something precious.
She didn't bother knocking on Priya's door. She turned the handle and pushed in.
Priya was on her bed, cross-legged in an oversized campus sweatshirt and denim skirt, a textbook open in her lap. Her wire-rimmed glasses had slipped down her nose, and her hair was tied in a loose ponytail that had gone slightly askew. She looked up, and her face shifted from concentration to surprise to something softer.
"Hana? I didn't expect—"
"Guess where I've been." Hana's voice came out light, singsong, but there was an edge underneath it. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, arms crossed.
Priya's brow furrowed. "The library? You have that essay due—"
"Wrong."
"The gym?"
"Cold." Hana pushed off the door and walked to the bed, each step deliberate. She could feel the cum shifting inside her with every movement. The sensation made her breath catch, and she let Priya see her pause, let her see the flush on her cheeks, the way her hand pressed against her lower stomach.
"You look..." Priya tilted her head, studying her. "You look different. Flushed. What's going on?"
Hana sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that their knees almost touched. She smoothed her dress over her thighs, watching Priya's face. "I saw Troy."
"Oh." Priya's voice flattened. "You went to see Troy. Without me."
"Mmhmm." Hana let the syllable hang. She traced a pattern on her own thigh, just above her knee. "We had a nice talk. A very nice talk."
Priya's jaw tightened. She closed her textbook slowly, deliberately, and set it aside. "What kind of talk?"
"The kind where he apologized." Hana's voice stayed sweet, almost innocent. "Said he missed having time with just me. Said he wanted to make it up to me." She looked at Priya through her lashes. "And he did."
The room went still. Priya's hands had stopped moving, resting on her thighs, and her knuckles were white against the fabric of her skirt.
"You had sex with him." It wasn't a question.
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to." Priya's voice was quiet, controlled. "You're practically glowing. And you're sitting there like you're waiting for me to figure something out."
Hana smiled. A slow, satisfied smile that spread across her lips and didn't reach her eyes. "I'm not waiting for anything. I just wanted to see you."
"Bullshit." Priya's voice cracked on the word. "You came here to gloat."
"Gloat?" Hana laughed, light and airy. "I don't gloat. I just... wanted to share. We're friends, aren't we? Friends share things."
Priya's face had gone pale, then flushed red. Her hands trembled, and she pressed them flat against her thighs to still them. "What exactly are you sharing?"
Hana uncrossed her legs slowly. She spread them just enough, and let her thighs fall open. The movement was small, deliberate, a stage direction rather than a reveal. She looked at Priya, held her gaze, and then she unclenched.
The release was immediate. A rush of warmth, of wetness, of liquid sliding down her inner thigh. She felt it travel, slow and thick, a trail that grew into a trickle. The fabric of her dress darkened, the white cotton turning translucent where the liquid soaked through. A single drop landed on the edge of Priya's bed, darkening the blue duvet cover.
Then another. Then a thin stream, pooling on the fabric, spreading in a slow stain.
Priya stared. Her mouth opened, then closed. Her eyes tracked the liquid as it crept across the duvet, and when she looked up, her face was a mask of shock and something much uglier.
"That's..." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Is that..."
"He wanted to take me to breakfast." Hana's voice was soft, almost dreamy. "But I told him I had other plans. I wanted to come see you first. I wanted you to know." She pressed her thighs together again, but it was too late. The cum was already leaking, a steady seeping that she couldn't stop. "I wanted you to see what he gave me."
Priya stood up so fast the textbook slid off the bed and hit the floor with a thud. Her face was twisted, her eyes wet with tears she was clearly fighting. "You're a fucking bitch."
"Am I?" Hana stayed seated, watching her. "Or am I just honest?"
"Honest?" Priya's voice rose. "You call this honest? You snuck around behind my back, you—" Her voice broke. "You have his cum leaking out of you, and you came here to show me. That's not honest. That's cruel."
Hana stood. They were inches apart now, Hana slightly taller in her flat sandals, Priya's face upturned, tears spilling over her cheeks.
"I wanted you to know what you're missing." Hana's voice was quiet. "You're so busy with Amara, with the job stuff, with your books. You forgot what he feels like. What he tastes like. What it feels like when he—"
Priya's hand connected with Hana's face before either of them could think. The slap was loud, sharp, a crack that echoed in the small room. Hana's head snapped to the side, and she stood there, stunned, the imprint of Priya's fingers blooming red on her cheek.
Hana turned back slowly. Her eyes were wide, her expression unreadable. Then her hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of Priya's ponytail, yanking hard.
Priya gasped, stumbling forward, her hands flying up to grab Hana's wrist. "Let go!"
"You hit me." Hana's voice was low, almost surprised. "You actually hit me."
"You deserved it!" Priya swung again, wild this time, her palm catching Hana's shoulder instead of her face. Hana shoved her hard, and Priya stumbled backward, her hip catching the edge of her desk, sending a lamp toppling to the floor.
Priya lunged. Her hands found Hana's hair, and she pulled, yanking, twisting. Hana cried out and grabbed Priya's collar, the fabric of her sweatshirt bunching in her fists. They staggered together, locked in a clumsy, furious tangle, knocking against the bed frame, the wall, the dresser.
"You think you're better than me?" Priya's voice was ragged, her breath coming in harsh gasps. "You think because he fucked you in a park you're special?"
"He chose me." Hana's voice was a snarl. She shoved Priya back, hard enough that Priya's head thumped against the wall. "He called me. He wanted me."
Priya's hand came up, open-palmed, and slapped Hana across the mouth. The impact split her lip, and Hana tasted blood, copper and salt. She swung back, her fist connecting with Priya's jaw, and Priya's head whipped to the side. Her glasses flew off, skittering across the floor.
Priya made a sound—half sob, half snarl—and launched herself at Hana. Her hands found Hana's throat, not squeezing, just holding, her thumbs pressing against Hana's windpipe. Hana's hands flew up to grab Priya's wrists, and they stood there, locked, breathing hard into each other's faces.
"You want to choke me?" Hana's voice was strained. "Do it. See if he forgives you."
Priya's grip loosened. Her hands dropped away, and she took a step back. Her face was a mess—mascara smeared in dark streaks down her cheeks, her lips swollen, her hair a wild tangle from Hana's pulling. The collar of her sweatshirt was twisted, stretched out of shape, exposing the strap of her bra.
Hana touched her own face. Her lip was bleeding, a thin red line that she wiped with the back of her hand. Her eye makeup was probably ruined, her hair half-fallen from its careful arrangement. The cum on her thighs had dried to a tacky residue, and she could feel it pulling at her skin with every movement.
They stood there, panting, sweating, their clothes disheveled, their makeup destroyed. The lamp lay on the floor, casting a strange angled light across the room. The textbook was open face-down, its pages bent.
Priya's hands were shaking. She looked at her own palms, at the red marks where she'd grabbed Hana, at the torn skin under her nails from pulling hair. "I'm sorry."
The words came out small. Broken.
Hana looked at her. At the mess of her face, the tears still tracking through ruined makeup, the way her shoulders slumped. "I wanted you to be jealous."
"I am." Priya's voice was barely audible. "I'm so jealous it hurts. It hurts, Hana."
"I know."
Priya sank onto the edge of the bed. The spot where Hana's cum had soaked into the duvet was darker now, spreading into an irregular stain. She stared at it, her hands limp in her lap.
"I don't know how to do this." Priya's voice cracked. "I don't know how to share him. I thought I could, but when I think about you with him, without me..." She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. "It feels like I'm dying."
Hana stood there, swaying slightly. Her legs felt weak, her limbs heavy. She sat down on the bed next to Priya, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
"I don't know either," she said. "I wanted to hurt you. I wanted you to feel what I felt when I thought you and Amara were taking him away from me."
The room settled into silence. Just the hum of the dorm's ancient radiator, the distant sound of someone's music through the wall, the soft rasp of their breathing slowing, steadying.
Priya reached out and took Hana's hand. Her fingers were cold, her grip tentative. "I don't want to fight."
"Me neither."
They sat there, hands loosely clasped, neither looking at the other. The cum stain on the duvet was the only thing that moved, slowly drying to a pale white crust.