Chapter 10: The Morning Light
The first thing Y/n became aware of was warmth. A solid, breathing warmth pressed against her front, and the soft weight of an arm thrown over her own. Then came the light—a pale, diffuse gold seeping through the sheer curtains, painting the room in long, slow strokes. It illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air and fell directly across Margot’s face.
Y/n didn’t move. She lay perfectly still, her breath shallow, watching.
Margot slept deeply, her lips slightly parted, her expression utterly unguarded. In the stillness, Y/n traced the faint constellation of freckles across her nose, the delicate sweep of her eyelashes against her cheek. This was a Margot no one else saw. Not the cameras, not the fans, not the directors. This was just her. Human. Soft. Here.
A deep, quiet ache spread through Y/n’s chest. It wasn’t desire, not yet. It was something more terrifying: a sense of rightness so profound it felt like a verdict.
Margot stirred. A small sigh escaped her, her eyelids fluttering before they opened. Blue eyes, clouded with sleep, found grey-blue eyes already watching her. A slow, lazy smile bloomed on Margot’s face, untouched by any performative charm. It was sleepy, private, real.
“Hey,” she murmured, her voice a husky scrape.
“Hey yourself,” Y/n whispered back.
They didn’t say anything else for a moment. The city’ morning murmur was a distant rumor. Here, there was only the sound of their breathing, syncing up. Y/n leaned in and brushed her lips against Margot’s—a soft, closed-mouth kiss that was more a confirmation than a start.
Margot’s hand came up, her fingers sliding into Y/n’s short curls. She deepened the kiss, just a fraction. When they parted, their foreheads rested together.
“You watched me sleep,” Margot whispered, not accusing, just noting.
“Yeah.”
“Creep.”
“Your snoring is a dead giveaway. Cute, but loud.”
Margot pinched her side, making Y/n jerk. “I do not snore.”
“You do. Like a tiny, chainsaw-wielding kitten.” Y/n’s hand, which had been resting on Margot’s hip, slid around to the small of her back, pulling her closer. The friction of skin on skin under the sheets was electric.
Margot shifted, rolling onto her back and pulling Y/n with her until they were settled in a loose spoon, Y/n’s front to Margot’s back. The embrace was familiar now, but the morning light made it new. Y/n nuzzled into the space behind Margot’s ear, inhaling the scent of sleep and her own shampoo from the night before.
Her hand drifted from Margot’s stomach, over the curve of her hip, and down the length of her thigh. She hooked her hand under Margot’s knee, gently lifting it, opening her. Margot made a small, anticipatory sound, arching her back slightly.
Y/n was already hard, had been since waking. She pressed herself against Margot’s lower back, then slowly, so slowly, guided herself into the wet heat between Margot’s legs. Margot gasped, a sharp intake of breath that melted into a long, satisfied hum as Y/n slid home, filling her completely.
They froze for a heartbeat, joined, acclimating. Y/n buried her face in Margot’s hair, swallowing hard.
“Okay?” she breathed.
Margot’s answer was to push back against her, a deliberate roll of her hips. “Better than okay.”
Y/n began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that was less about passion and more about communion. Each thrust was measured, languid, a conversation in itself. The sheets whispered around them. The headboard made no sound against the wall.
“Tell me something,” Margot whispered, her hand reaching back to grip Y/n’s thigh.
“What?”
“Anything. Just talk to me.”
Y/n smiled against her skin, her thrusts not faltering. “The foreman on my site? Garcia? He brings his tiny dog, Churro, every day. Wears a little hard hat.”
Margot laughed, the sound vibrating through both of them. “No.”
“Swear to God. The guys all salute him. He pees on the rebar.”
“That’s disgusting,” Margot giggled, but she was pressing back into each stroke, her body alight.
“It’s leadership,” Y/n murmured, her voice starting to tighten. She slid a hand around, finding Margot’s center, circling with her thumb in time with her movements. Margot’s laughter dissolved into a sharp cry, her body tensing.
“Y/n…”
“I’ve got you.” Her rhythm stuttered, losing its precision as her own pleasure coiled tight. “Look at the city,” she whispered urgently.
Margot turned her head, her eyes blurry, focusing on the skyline gleaming in the morning sun. Y/n watched her face, the way her jaw went slack, the flutter of her pulse in her throat. She felt the exact moment Margot clenched around her, a soft, shuddering release that pulled Y/n over the edge with her. Her own climax was a silent, breathless rush, her hips pressing flush as she buried a groan in Margot’s shoulder.
For long minutes, they stayed like that, tangled, damp, breathing heavily. The smell of sex and sleep and morning filled the space.
Eventually, Y/n softened and slipped out. She didn’t pull away. She kept her arm locked around Margot’s waist, holding her in place.
“So,” Margot said eventually, her voice raspy. “Churro, huh?”
“Best safety inspector on the crew.”
Margot twisted in her arms, facing her. She looked rumpled, gloriously used, and happier than Y/n had ever seen her. She kissed Y/n’s chin. “I have a breakfast interview. Some eco-luxury brand. It’s obscenely early.”
“You should get in the shower.”
“You should join me.”
“Your water heater can’t handle both of us,” Y/n said, but she was already throwing the covers back.
An hour later, Y/n stood by the island, dressed in her clean jeans and a fresh t-shirt, drinking a glass of water. Margot emerged from the bedroom in a sleek cream suit, her hair perfect, her makeup subtle and flawless. The transformation was startling. The woman from the bed was still in her eyes, but now she was armored for the world.
She stopped in front of Y/n, straightening the collar of her shirt. “You’re going to work?”
“Site’s at 58th. Gotta pour a foundation.”
Margot nodded, a faint line of worry between her brows. “Tonight? I have a stupid premiere after-party. It’ll be late, and loud, and full of people I’d rather not see.”
“Sounds awful.”
“It is. But… my place afterwards? I could order more of those tostones. The garlicky ones.”
Y/n set her glass down. She cupped Margot’s face, careful not to disturb her makeup. She kissed her, a firm, lingering promise. “I’ll be here,” she said quietly. “I’ll let myself in. You just come home.”
The simplicity of it, the domesticity, made Margot’s throat tighten. She just nodded.
Y/n grabbed her tool bag from by the door. She turned, offering a small, crooked smile. “Knock ‘em dead, superstar.”
And then she was gone, the door clicking shut softly behind her.
Margot stood in the silent, sunlit kitchen. On the counter, the two empty water glasses sat side-by-side. The ghost of their laughter, their whispers, their sighs, seemed to echo in the space. She touched her lips, still feeling the pressure of Y/n’s goodbye kiss.
For the first time in a long time, the prospect of a room full of flashing lights and fake smiles didn’t just feel tedious. It felt like a trespass. She had a secret now. A real one. And it was waiting for her to come home.