Tipsy Hearts
The days stretched long, day 20 of Becky’s internship at Essex Uni buzzing with a hectic rhythm. The law office piled files high—cases to sort, notes to jot, deadlines biting—but she managed, her grit shining through. She’d learned the mentors’ expectations, carved out a system, juggling the storm like a pro. Each night, she’d call Freen, her sunshine smile breaking through the screen, laughter chasing away the miles. Freen, back in Thailand, leaned on those calls—after long shoot days, her tired soul lifted by Becky’s bright grin, a burst of warmth that melted the grind. They were making it work, stitching their lives together across the sea.
One night, day 21, they video-called, Becky flopped on her bed, hair wild, tank top loose, a stack of papers shoved aside. Freen grinned from her couch, Fluffy snoring nearby, her face soft from a draining shoot. “Hey, baby—you’re too cute all sleepy,” she teased, leaning in. Becky’s smile lit up, wide and radiant, “You’re cuter—those shorts are my weakness.” They giggled, silly and light, Freen’s exhaustion fading under that glow—Becky’s joy her anchor after a rough day. Then Becky said, “Oh, Krit fixed the printer today—saved me mid-rush.” Freen rolled her eyes huge, huffing, “Krit again? He’s your work wife now?” Becky caught the edge, giggling, “Babe, he’s just a friend—chill, you’re my only wife.” Freen nodded, laughing soft, “Okay, just a friend—better be.” Her voice was playful, but inside, her stomach flipped—Krit’s name a tiny thorn she brushed off, soothed by Becky’s beaming face.
Across the ocean, Becky and Krit’s friendship tightened amid her grind. Day 22, they hit the uni café for a quick lunch—pad kra pao and iced tea, his treat, squeezed between her case reviews. He chuckled at her Thai curses when the printer jammed again, “You’re hilarious, Bec—don’t ever stop.” She grinned, scarfing a bite, “Thanks for the save, dude—you’re gold, I was swamped.” Krit’s heart skipped—he’d been hooked since her IDF days, that fire on screen, but now it was her quirks: the sharp “ugh” at tech, her sleepy chuckles, the way she leaned close even with files in hand. “You’re stuck with me,” he said, eyes lingering. She nudged him, playful, “Good friend bonus—don’t get smug.” He nodded, crush bubbling quiet, her pal vibe cutting him deeper as she powered through work like a champ.
Freen kept her days full, day 22 warm and buzzing despite a brutal shoot—lights too hot, director too loud. She hit a bar with Nam and the crew, fairy lights glowing, music thumping soft. “You work too much, you should ease up like this sometimes,” Nam said, sliding her a mango cocktail. Freen sipped, giggles spilling, “Yeah, love, but when I’m not engaged with work I start to miss my girl, though.” Nam nodded understandingly. One drink turned to three, her cheeks rosy, laughter loud. She stood, wobbly, twirling for Nam, “Am I cute yet?” Nam cackled, “Too cute—sit before you fall!” Freen plopped down, fake-pouting, “No fair, I need Becky to catch me!” The crew roared, and she snapped a pic—her in a cropped top, glass raised—texting Becky: “Tipsy and missing you, angel.” Becky pinged back fast from her desk—“So cute babe—miss you more, buried in work.” Freen grinned, the buzz softening the day’s ache, bar vibes and friends lifting her—her happy spot, brightened by thoughts of Becky’s smile.
That night, day 22, they FaceTimed late—Becky’s room dim, her in a tight tee, a messy pile of case notes shoved to the floor. Freen sprawled on her bed, hair loose, tipsy glow shining after a draining day. Becky smirked, her sunshine smile breaking wide, “Hey, tipsy babe—you’re too cute all flushed.” Freen giggled, big eyes locked on her, “You’re the cute one—that tee’s showing off.” They burst out laughing, warm and silly, Freen’s weariness dissolving under that grin. Becky yawned, “Work’s wild—still kicking its butt.” Freen nodded fast, her gaze soft and attentive, “Tell me—how’d it go?” Becky lit up, rambling about her day—cases, chaos, small wins—Freen’s wide, listening eyes making her heart flutter, happy to be heard. “You make it better,” Becky said, beaming. Freen smiled, “Your smile’s my light—been a long day ‘til now.” They giggled, kicking their feet, the air buzzing with tender joy.
Freen fake-pouted, “Not fair—you’re not here to save me from tripping.” Becky laughed, “I’d catch you, silly—then tickle you ‘til you squeal, workload or not.” Freen squeaked, “Hey, nooo—I’d lose so bad!” She flopped back, giggling, “You’re too good, angel—your grin’s been my lifeline today.” Becky blushed, “Stop, you’re too sweet—keep going, tipsy queen.” Freen grinned, leaning close, “Okay, cutie—picturing you here, stealing my drink, giggling in my lap.” Becky cackled, “I’d spill it—then kiss you sorry, papers be damned.” Freen’s breath hitched, “Oh, you flirt—keep that up.” Becky winked, “Maybe I’d tackle you—get those loud laughs out.” Freen howled, “You’d win—I’m helpless!” They dissolved into giggles, their closeness glowing through the screen.
Freen’s voice softened, tipsy neediness creeping in, “Bet I’d steal that tee first, tickle your sides ‘til you squirm.” Becky squealed, “Oh no, you sneak—I’d grab your wrists, flip you over!” Freen giggled, tugging her top’s hem, “Try it, angel—I’d slip out, kiss your cheeks ‘til you’re red.” Becky grinned, teasing slow, “Oh yeah? I’d duck—make you chase me ‘til you’re pouty.” Freen fake-pouted big, “Not fair—I’d catch you, nibble your ear!” They laughed, breathless, Becky easing her tee up, “Okay, you win—strip me, tipsy tease.” Freen’s eyes darkened, “Only if you start, sunshine—show me i need your body"
Becky peeled her tee off slow, playful, bra dropping, “Like this? Been aching for you to hold me.” She traced her collarbone, fingers lingering on the fragile dip, “Miss how you’d stroke me here—soft, then firm.” Freen groaned, pulling her top off smooth, shorts sliding down, “Bec—miss the way your back curves under my hands.” Her fingers grazed her ribs, slow and firm, tracing the smooth arc beneath her chest, “I’d press here, feel your breath catch—I’ve been craving that.” Becky’s breath hitched, fingers brushing her sides, pressing the tender hollow above her hips, “I miss your warm palms molding me—your heartbeat thumping against my skin.” Freen’s hand slid to her inner thigh, caressing the velvet skin, “Need to grip you here—feel your thighs part for me, sunshine.” Becky mirrored her, tracing her thigh’s soft crease, “I’ve been dying for your fingers teasing my edges—your lips brushing my pulse.”
The teasing melted into hunger, Freen’s voice husky with need, “I want to kiss your spine’s dip—lick the heat off your thighs, taste you slow.” Her fingers pressed deeper, circling slow then firm, eyes pleading, “Miss how you shiver—I need to feel you shake, Bec.” Becky whimpered, hand slipping lower, tracing her slick warmth, “Your tongue on my curves drives me wild—I need your weight pinning me, deep inside.” She arched slow, fingers curling in, voice trembling, “I’ve been aching for your skin on mine—take me, babe.” Freen’s moans turned raw, hand matching Becky’s rhythm, pressing into her own heat, “I’m burning to take you—taste you, fuck you ‘til we’re whole again.” Becky’s head tipped back, “Freen—I’m so close baby need you so bad!” Her body quaked, cries sharp and pleading, sweat glistening on her neck, Freen right there, “Bec-ah yes, me too—babyyyy!” They shattered together, gasps and ragged sobs blending, screens glowing with their fierce, trembling longing.
They flopped back, breathless, Becky panting, her smile soft, “You’re unreal—love you, babe ka.” Freen sighed, big eyes shining, “Love you more, sunshine—need you here so bad.” They chatted soft, winding down, Becky’s grin easing Freen’s lingering tension, Freen’s gaze grounding Becky’s tired heart. But as Freen hung up, she sighed loud—Krit’s name from earlier stuck, a heavy tug pulling at her tipsy haze. In Essex, Becky drifted off, still buzzing from Freen, case files forgotten, missing Krit’s goodnight text—“Good luck with work tomorrow, Bec—rest up.” The joy sparkled bright, but a shadow loomed, sharp and close.