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Ixazaluoh says. "Here."
    There is maybe two fingers worth of liquor in
the glass she offers, and Abby raises herself on one elbow and opens her mouth
instead of taking it. Ixazaluoh sets down the second
glass and the bottle and swings herself back across Abby's waist. The lace
between her legs scratches lightly against Abby's bellybutton and she resists
the urge to giggle, ticklish. Ixazaluoh presses the
rim of the glass to Abby's lower lip and tilts it up.
    It smells like honey. It tastes like burning.
    Abby chokes on her first mouthful, and Ixazaluoh throws her head back and laughs. When they've
both caught their breath, Ixazaluoh drains off the
whole glass and holds the second out to Abby. She takes it but doesn't sip,
peering at the cloudy contents dubiously.
    "What the heck is it?"
    " Balché ," Ixazaluoh says.
    "It's—" Abby coughs, the sting
crashing against her sinuses. "Smooth?"
    Ixazaluoh laughs more.
"It's old fashioned," she admits. "But necessary. The conquistadores added anise and rum to try to
make it more palatable, after the Maya priests tricked them into thinking the
people were dying when they banned it. But that's not proper. This is the way
it's meant to be done. This is the recipe the gods provided."
    "What's in it?"
    "Honey, water,
the roots and bark of the Balché tree. Lonchocarpis voilaceus , in the Latin. It ferments, like the
Norse god's mead." She grins, and licks her lips, slow and luscious. They
both sip again, back and forth until the second cup is empty. Then Ixazaluoh rolls them onto their sides, tucking Abby's head
against her breasts like a child. "Gods like honey."
    "Oh?" Abby asks, curling in against Ixazaluoh , ankle over ankle over ankle.
    "Like catnip for deities," Ixazaluoh says. "Fills the head with
bubbles and buzz."
    Abby pinches the side of Ixazaluoh's hip. "You're so full of shit."
    But she's also beautiful. Beautiful
in a way that Abby isn't, because she means something. It has to
mean something. Abby is desperate for it to mean something. Ixazaluoh wouldn't have come back if she didn't want it to mean something… right?
    Ixazaluoh lifts the bottle by
the neck, wraps her lips around the head and takes a swig. She leans down and
Abby opens her mouth, accepting the warmed liquor in a stinging kiss.
    "From my lips unto yours," Ixazaluoh whispers, first taking Abby's top lip between her
own, and then her bottom one.
    "Teach me," Abby says back.
"What you did to me, in the closet? Teach me how to do it. For you."
    Ixazaluoh slides over her,
pressing her down into the duvet, ankles, knees, hips, breasts aligned, then
hands pulling Abby's up, guiding them to the clasp of her bra. "No," Ixazaluoh says. "No, now is for me to worship
you."
    "But I want—" Abby protests,
unhooking the clasp.
    Ixazaluoh cuts her off by
thrusting her tongue into Abby's mouth. She curls it along the back of Abby's
teeth, mapping each one by touch and Abby groans, arching up off the bed. Ixazaluoh grabs both
of her wrists, pinning her back against the mattress, sliding her strong thighs
along the outside of Abby's and sitting on her pelvis. She kisses Abby
fiercely, possessively, and all Abby can do is lay back and open her mouth and
let her in. Let her have everything.
    Held down and worshipped , Abby thinks. Oh
god.
    "Stay still," Ixazaluoh hisses, her tongue skittering across Abby's cheek. She nips at the lobe of
Abby's ear, and then closes her mouth around the cord of muscle that stands out
of Abby's throat when she turns her head to the side, offering, begging with
actions because the words keep dying half-formed in the back of her mouth,
emerging as misshapen moans.
    Abby rolls her hips, aiming for the scratch
of lace, trying to get some pressure, friction, god, anything for
that aching gap between her legs.
    "Still!" Ixazaluoh hisses and bites down hard.
    Abby jerks like someone has hooked every
nerve ending she's got to an electrode. Ixazaluoh goes heavy and silent above her, like a statue suddenly