She wants to shout at Natasha that since her ex dumped her, since she moved to Boston and left her friends behind, she's been waking up with a weight on her chest. Food turns to dust in her mouth. She needs more sleep than she's needed since her early teens. Sometimes she can tune out the voices of her friends for whole conversations because she feels like she's stuck behind a murky glass panel.
She wants to shout at Natasha that for the first time since she came to Boston, she was excited to go and out and greet the day. She wanted to do it with Natasha by her side.
Natasha unlocks the door again but she doesn’t come in. She smells of Fall air and smoke.
Sawyer takes a deep breath, "I'm sorry. I think I expected you to know things you couldn't have known."
"No, I'm sorry," says Natasha, "I like to keep a routine and I find it difficult to change my plans at short notice."
"What are your plans?" Sawyer tries to soften her tone.
Natasha hesitates for a moment, chews her fingernails. "I'm teaching at 2pm and 7pm. In between, I had planned to spend some time in the office or catch up with some chores at home."
"Yes, I can see you're a real stickler for housework," Sawyer smirks.
Natasha bursts into unexpected laughter, "Shut it, you bitch." Sawyer sniggers. Sawyer loves her red lips and her perfect skin. She even loves her wheezy smoker's laugh.
"Look, I'm tired after the tour and I've got things I should do before my first meet and greet with the crew tomorrow. Maybe we could rain check today."
Natasha is silent for a moment and then says, "Your place is lots closer to the centre. Maybe I could help you here between classes. Then after my second class, I'll go back to mine."
Sawyer likes that idea. She likes it even more when Natasha goes to get croissants and coffee while she gets in the shower. She tries to make Natasha take her purse but Natasha insists on getting it.
Natasha gets back when she's still showering. Sawyer calls for her to come in to the bathroom. Natasha's pupils widen gratifyingly when she sees Sawyer under the water.
She lets Natasha finish rinsing her off with the showerhead, and she giggles when Natasha bends and presses a kiss on her fat pussy lips and bristly hairs. Natasha holds out her towel for her, rubbing down her sides, helping Sawyer wrap up her long hair in a turban. All of Sawyer's towels are new. She couldn't be bothered to launder her old ones and pack them in her car, so she just bought new and had them delivered to Boston.
"What can I do to help?" Natasha's standing in the living room as Sawyer loads up her laptop. She points at the pile of picture frames.
"I could put these up for you?"
"Can you put up a picture?"
"I've got an art degree. I've hung up a couple of paintings."
"That's what artists always say. I lived with Kimberly, she can't get Saran wrap off the roll. I'm not losing my security deposit to indulge you feeling your butch oats this morning."
Natasha rolls her eyes, "You enjoyed that rooftop platform at the centre?"
Sawyer nods.
"I built that. You like that box office desk made from some old window frames?"
Sawyer nods.
"I built that too. So zip it, cheeky bitch."
It takes Sawyer ten minutes to wipe the smile from her face. Sawyer reads her script with her laptop next to her, making notes and typing out her questions for the director. She is distracted by Natasha's taut ass and slim hips in the jeans she had rolled up in her overnight bag. Her long sleeved top keeps riding up and showing her back, and Sawyer is quietly enjoying the view.
She's even more distracted by the mess that Natasha is making of her walls. Or rather, the lack of mess. Natasha is careful and methodical. She spends a while measuring the walls before she starts. She experiments with putting the pictures in different positions and combinations before she puts small pencil crosses to guide her drilling. Her hand on the drill is firm and steady. Sawyer is quietly admiring that too.
Sawyer likes having Natasha there while she reads the script. It's a good script, poetic and atmospheric. Natasha hums when Sawyer reads her out some good bits.
She calls her over, "Hey, Picasso. In your opinion; what is the difference between the colors of sunrise and sunset?"
"What time of year is it?" replies Natasha, talking around the nail in her teeth. "Where are we?"
"Scotland, Spring."
Natasha takes a break and Sawyer gets her gels out for her, little slips of plastic tinted in various colors. They experiment, finding the perfect sunrise effect. She knows what she usually uses when she's lighting a sunrise, but she wants to get to know how Natasha thinks.
When they're done, Natasha fists her on the sofa again. Sawyer didn't anticipate it, but before she knows it she's being moved over Natasha's lap, her knees outside Natasha's.
Natasha stuffs one hand up Sawyer's worn t-shirt to grope at her breasts, she uses the other one to push down her sweatpants so they are stuck around Sawyer's thighs. Natasha has Sawyer riding three of her fingers
