Lotusland n. 1: a place inducing contentment especially through offering an idyllic living situation, 2: a state or an ideal marked by contentment often achieved through self-indulgence

Warnings: NSFW and self loathing.

The fluttering in her chest, the eagerness of her breath, all deceptions her body plays on her brain.

Or so Diana tells herself as she ravishes Leona's breast, her flesh gives willingly to Diana's tongue. Leona's fingers grasp desperately at her back, pulling her close and wrapping Diana in her heat. Diana's hands hungrily explore her opposite's body, mapping and claiming every inch.

Leona arches her back and leans in to Diana, her free hand scrambling against the wall and colliding loudly with her dresser. In the half-light Diana catches Leona's arm knock her sun sigil sideways before finally finding purchase on top of the piece of furniture.

Diana's heart races.

This has already lasted longer than she had expected. Diana is still waiting for Leona to come to her senses and walk away. It is long overdue.

Instead Leona lets out a pitiful mewling sound against the top of Diana's head that sends shivers down her spine. She strokes Diana's face, sweat covered hand running up her cheek and tracing her ear and jawline. Her hand cups Diana's face, callouses rough but touch soft.

Diana has cataloged her symptoms: impractical hopes, unexplained giddiness, the inability to focus on just about anything else. Her body warms and pulse speeds at just the thought of her, suggesting anxiety, lust, and other, more dangerous things.

Leona flips them around, pressing Diana's back to the wall and blessedly derailing her train of thought. Her eyes meet Diana's for a fraction of a second before Diana lets her gaze flit to safer targets like the line of her neck and the curve of her breasts; her expression, so open and adoring, twists Diana's stomach in knots.

Diana grabs her by the back of her head, Leona's face almost as hot as Diana's feels, and pulls her in for a frantic kiss. She attacks her lips, their tongues catching on teeth and sliding wet and sloppy against one another. Her fingers tangle in Leona's hair, grasping for a handhold, some grounding force to cling to.

Leona leans past her, whispering safety and courage and strength in her ear.

"Don't," Diana's voice rasps, barely audible. Be quiet. Don't stop. "Please."

Her tight throat makes each hitched breath burn her lungs. Diana wraps a leg around the other woman, pulling them together forcefully and trapping Leona's hand between them. Leona's fingers slide against her, sending heat rushing up her body.

She grasps her tighter still. She is a wretched, empty woman, and will take everything she is given and more. Worse still, she suspects Leona knows this as she takes Diana's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before bringing it to her lips. But she keeps giving herself anyway.

Diana drinks it up, taking in all the heat and emotion she can bear. Fingers caress her, enter her. Her body tells her it's the closest she's come to filling that void, and even though she knows it's a lie she lets go for a moment and lets herself believe.

Leona's fingers curl inside her, stroking her. Diana shudders, and bucks against her hand.

Diana doesn't believe in happy endings. Because she feels safe and wanted, and she knows that can't last.