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Subway Station Echoes
John and Harold were somewhere inside the subway station; Root knew that by the sounds of pleasure echoing against the tiled walls. She knew it, but she still couldn't fathom it. Harold and John were having sex. John and Harold were going at it! Hot, steamy, screaming out to God, sex!
"It's your fault," Root told her companion.
Shaw scowled. "How the hell is this my fault?"
"If you'd only stopped playing hard to get," Root grumbled.
"What has me being totally uninterested in you got to do with John and Harold... Doing what they're doing?"
"It has everything to do with them have sex before we do." She turned to glare at Shaw and it was a real honest to goodness death-glare rather than one of her usual you-are-so-cute glares she bestowed on the other woman. "In what sane world do Harold and John get to have hot, sweaty sex before we do?"
"This one, apparently."
The sound of climax - Harold's by the sound of it - punctuated Shaw's words and brought a look of pain to both women's faces. It wasn't that either of them begrudged their friends having found love, but they would much rather not have been subjected to the sounds that their love produced.
"We should go," Root decided, "I have a suite booked at the Marriott where we can play catch-up."
Shaw stood. "We are never having sex," she said.
"I mean ever."
"If you say so."
"What, I'm agreeing with you."
The sound of John giggling - oh, the horror - filled the station and Shaw grabbed Root's arm and pulled her towards the exit. "Okay, sex, but no lovey-dovey stuff."
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