DISCLAIMER: Friday Night Lights and its characters are the property of NBC Universal. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

I'll Let You Walk Me Up The Street
By thrace_


College is everything Lyla hoped it would be, though it somehow manages to continually surprise her well into her second semester. There's a class for just about every interest she has at UT, but sometimes those classes aren't at all what she expects. She knew living in the dorms would cram her right up against all kinds of people that didn't exist in Dillon, and yet there always seems to be another football player around the corner. If not a football player, then a basketball player or a baseball player or a sprinter or or or—there are so many sports at UT that Lyla doesn't bother to keep track of them. She loves being away from home but she's still lonely sometimes, and her new friends here are from places like Dallas, Houston, New Orleans, even as far away as Beijing.

So she's simultaneously surprised and unfazed to see Tyra Collette at the Wal-Mart. She's pushing a cart full of food with a twelve-pack of soda slung underneath, wearing a ratty black t-shirt and a pair of jeans that are about to fall off her hips.

"Hi, Tyra," she says at the beginning of the pasta aisle.

"What the hell," says Tyra, but with genuine pleasure. "I knew you were in Austin, but I didn't think I'd see you."

"You knew?" asks Lyla.

"Tim told me," says Tyra, and there's a whole different conversation layered underneath those three words. "You're at UT, huh."

"Yeah, studying psychology. Are you at UT?"

Tyra grins at her, that half-indulgent, half-sneer thing Lyla's seen so many times on Tim. She wonders if he taught Tyra, or vice versa, or if they're just cut from the same cloth. "College was never really in my cards."

"What are you doing in Austin?" asks Lyla, as nicely and non-judgmentally as possible, because she's just genuinely curious.

"Working. Saving money. Got a job as a PA on a little movie."

"A PA?"

"That's production assistant. Kind of entry-level, girl of all trades thing." Tyra gives her a measuring squint of the eye. "Come by the set some time, Garrity. We're on location all next week." She puts her cell number into Lyla's phone, gives her a little smile, and pushes off, negligently grabbing a box of linguini and tossing it into her cart.

Lyla figures if Tyra's given her her number, she was meant to use it, and calls her accordingly after a few days. Tyra gives her directions to the set and tells her to park a block away, since they've rerouted traffic for the shoot.

She finds the set easily enough; there are trailers and trucks and vans everywhere, and a pair of police officers directing traffic. She calls Tyra again, unsure of where to go.

"You just stay there. I'll come get you," says Tyra.

A few minutes later she shows up carrying a clipboard, a headset slung around her neck. "Thanks for letting me come by," says Lyla.

"Come on. They're about to shoot a scene," says Tyra, taking her by the wrist.

"So what—" Lyla begins, but Tyra places a finger to her own lips and shakes her head; someone has just yelled for silence. Together, they watch a trio of actresses running through a few minutes of lines, the humming of the camera so loud Lyla wonders why they need silence in the first place. After the director calls "Cut!" Tyra takes Lyla by the wrist again and leads her away from the cameras.

They get food and drinks from catering, Tyra shows her around the set in between calls on her headset, and then she has to leave for class.

"I'll see you around, Garrity," Tyra calls as Lyla passes the barricades.

Tyra does see her, one late Friday evening on San Jacinto. She's with a group of scruffy-looking people and Lyla is with some of her chem study group friends. "Hey there," says Tyra.

Lyla's friends all look at her, curious to known who this confident stranger is. "Hi, Tyra." She makes introductions; Tyra points to her group and calls them crew from the movie.

"We were just going to get a drink with some other friends. Care to join us?" asks Tyra.

"You're not twenty-one," says Lyla, feeling dumb the moment the words come out of her mouth. Of course Tyra Collette can get into any bar in Austin.

Tyra seems to sense Lyla's contrition, smirks at her anyway. "Come on, Garrity. What, you got early class tomorrow? Bring your friends."

"Sure," says her friend Annie, and Lyla could just kick her.

So they join Tyra at a bar that's more like a large wooden shack, with UT pennants scattered haphazardly on the walls among dinged road signs and old movie posters. A well-loved jukebox blares rockabilly music from one end of the bar. People are sprawled around tables and booths, calling to each other and laughing, but not being too rowdy about it. Lyla likes it in spite of herself.

"Can I get you ladies some drinks?" Tyra offers.

"Do they have, like, fancy drinks here? Like, not beer," says Annie.

"Sure," says Tyra, and proves it by filling their order of a margarita, a Long Island iced tea, and a vodka and Red Bull. She also plunks a sweating bottle of beer in front of Lyla, who hadn't asked for anything. "In case you get thirsty," she says, a grin creasing those smooth cheeks of hers. She sits next to Lyla and throws back her own beer, long neck working while she drinks.

The next table over is also mostly girls and Lyla listens to their conversation with one mildly interested ear, keeps the other ear on Tyra. Tyra is carousing with her crew friends, drinking steadily but not too quickly, throwing peanut shells good-naturedly as she teases. One of her arms rests casually on the back of Lyla's chair, stretched out there without touching her.

She nearly shivers when Tyra says, right into her ear, "If you're not gonna drink that, I will."

Lyla hands over the untouched beer without a word, cocking a challenging eyebrow at Tyra all the same.

Tyra just takes the beer with that sly, golden smile of hers before turning and asking one of her crew boys to get them all shots. The girls at the next table over overhear this and chime in, asking for a whole bottle so everyone can have a round. The waitress brings out a tray of shot glasses and a bottle of Patron Silver.

"Don't you need limes and salt?" asks Lyla.

"Not if the tequila's good enough," says Tyra, and throws back her shot without the slightest grimace. She adds, "And it's always good enough if the movie's paying for drinks."

Someone at the next table lets out a yelp of pleasure and a "Fuck me, that's good." Lyla's friends are enjoying themselves, sipping their drinks, gossiping, watching the crew members. "I'm gonna head home, you guys," Lyla tells them after the second and third shots of tequila have gone around, though they're still working on their original drinks.

"Are you sure?" asks Annie. "Do you want us to come with you?"

"No, that's okay. Are you guys gonna be okay to get home?"

"Yeah," says Eileen. "Last shuttle isn't for at least two hours."

Tyra follows her to the door. "It's dark. You shouldn't go out by yourself."

"I'm just going back to campus," says Lyla.

"I'll go with you," says Tyra. She waves goodbye to the crew, ignoring their catcalls, and joins Lyla outside. It's a cool night for springtime and Lyla shivers just a little, wishing she had thought to bring a coat. But it was so hot earlier in the day, and now she's stuck in mid-forties weather in nothing but a t-shirt. She's surprised to feel something warm drape around her shoulders—Tyra's military surplus canvas jacket, soft with age and smelling of the bar.

"Won't you be cold?" asks Lyla.

"I know how to layer," says Tyra, plucking at her long sleeves.

"Thanks," says Lyla, tugging on the jacket properly.

The entire trip back is silent, from the ten-minute wait at the shuttle stop, to the bus ride, to the short walk to Lyla's dorm. She tries to give back Tyra's jacket at the door.

"Invite me up," says Tyra instead.

"Are you drunk?" asks Lyla.

"I had two beers and three shots of tequila on an empty stomach. You tell me," says Tyra. She looks rock steady.

So Lyla brings her up and offers her a bottle of water from her mini-fridge.

"Is this a single?" asks Tyra, staring around at the cramped room.

"Yes," says Lyla.

"Didn't think freshmen got singles," said Tyra as she uncaps the bottle.

"My dad is paying for it," says Lyla simply.

"So you're accepting things from your dad again," says Tyra. She sips her water, looking a little bright-eyed, but otherwise decidedly the same as when she's sober.

"We worked out some of our issues," says Lyla.

"I'm sure it's better than working your way through college," says Tyra without any real acid. She sits at Lyla's desk and Lyla sits on her bed, one leg folded under her body. "So you're studying psychology. Are you pre-med?"

"I'm thinking about it," says Lyla, a little surprised at how Tyra's managed to pick up the thread of her life.

"Doctor Garrity. Kind of has a nice ring to it," says Tyra, sprawled back in the chair. She plays with her bottlecap in one hand, the other rolling a pencil around on Lyla's desk. She stares at Lyla when she speaks.

"What about Doctor Collette? That sounds nice too," says Lyla, entirely serious.

"The only way I'm getting called Doctor Collette is in someone's naughty nurse fantasy," says Tyra, entirely without embarrassment. Lyla's cheeks go a little pink at the image anyway; it doesn't escape Tyra. "Garrity, are you blushing?" she asks with overmuch glee.

"I just…wasn't expecting you to start with the sex talk," says Lyla.

"Sex talk? That's not sex talk," says Tyra.

"I'll take your word for it," says Lyla.

"Oh, don't act all innocent with me," says Tyra, and now there's a hint of something like menace in her voice. But it's lighter than that, carries a kind of bantering quality. It makes Lyla clench her comforter a little. "You know sex talk when you hear it."

Lyla feels like she knows where this is headed now and scoots back on her bed. "Do I?" she asks.

Sure enough, here's Tyra rolling closer to the bed in Lyla's desk chair. "You do," she says. Their knees are almost touching now, and Tyra's only gone two feet; the room is really that small. She leans close to Lyla, eyes searching her face. She must find what she wants, because she dips her head a little and kisses Lyla, soft lips on soft lips.

And Lyla, feeling Tyra pressing closer, opens her mouth, lets her tongue mix with Tyra's. Tyra's mouth is cold from the water, but Lyla can still taste the alcohol, the slightly sour beer and the smoother tequila undercurrent. Somewhere in there Lyla has slipped off the bed, straddling Tyra in the chair. She feels cool hands sliding up under her shirt and shivers into Tyra's body.

Tyra surges off the chair, pushing Lyla back onto the bed and landing on top of her, taking her own weight at the last moment so that Lyla feels her settling softly, slowly, from the hips up. She's kissing Tyra Collette in her bed and the feel of Tyra's body pressing her down, rubbing slowly against her, is making her feel flushed and hot. She gasps into their kiss, trying to pull in air, get a grip on the situation, but Tyra moves on to her neck and the way she sucks, just hard enough, gets Lyla wet instantly.

She nudges Tyra, gets her to sit up, and starts pulling at her shirt. Tyra takes the hint, pulls the shirt over her head and drops it to the floor. Frustratingly, she's in a tank underneath, so that has to go before she's just in her bra, a little powder blue number.

"Come on Garrity, tit for tat," says Tyra, and strips off Lyla's shirt so easily it's like she's done it a hundred times before. She pulls Lyla to her and they kiss, Tyra kneeling between Lyla's legs, one hand grasping the back of Lyla's neck and the other cupping her breast.

Lyla groans at the touch; Tyra just pushes her back and stands up, towering over her. She unbuttons her jeans, pushes them down, steps out of them and stands up again in her bra and black underwear. "Take 'em off, Garrity," she says, voice dropping low and intimate.

Lyla props herself up on her elbows far enough to look Tyra right in the eye. "My name is Lyla."

Tyra bends at the waist, plants herself above Lyla with both hands on the bed. "Take. Your pants. Off. Lyla."

So Lyla does, undoing the snap, pulling down the zip, hooking her thumbs in the waistband to push them off. Tyra grabs her jeans by the fabric at the ankles and pulls them off so hard that Lyla gets pulled with them, almost off the bed. She regains balance right as Tyra is done flinging the jeans away and so has half a second to prepare herself for the bruising kiss Tyra delivers, swooping down so that their bodies collide. Tyra guides them both up to the headboard without stopping the kiss; their legs get good and tangled on the way and Lyla starts panting when she feels Tyra's knee press against her center.

Tyra doesn't even stop kissing her to remove Lyla's bra, which she does with a one-handed snap. Her own bra is gone in a matter of seconds. Lyla doesn't have time to be impressed because Tyra is suddenly pressing their bare breasts together and her hand is dipping into Lyla's underwear. Lyla gets the feeling Tyra would rip the underwear off of her if she could, the way she pulls it off, scraping it down Lyla's legs before it joins the other clothes scattered all over the floor.

Tyra kisses her again, a little softer this time, and Lyla moans into her mouth when she feels two fingers brush her labia. Tyra lets out a harsh breath at the feel of Lyla, the heat and slick wetness of her.

"Tyra—" Lyla begins, then clenches her jaw as Tyra enters her roughly. She's a big girl, she has big hands, and Lyla can feel fingertips pushing deep inside of her. Tyra pulls all the way out, rubs Lyla's clit and makes her hips jerk. "Tyra, Tyra," she repeats like a question, reaching up, holding on to her as pressure builds at the base of her spine.

Tyra pushes into her again and bites her nipple at the same time and Lyla comes, shuddering against Tyra for long moments. Tyra rubs her clit again, driving Lyla on and on until finally she has to grab Tyra's wrist. Tyra grins knowingly at her, withdraws, and she finally manages to lie back and breathe.

"Uh uh, don't quit on me now Garrity," says Tyra. Almost tenderly, she brushes hair from Lyla's brow, cradling one side of her face.

Suddenly Lyla finds the energy to roll up and over, pinning Tyra underneath her. "I told you." She leans closer, almost nose to nose. "My name is Lyla."

"What are you gonna do about it, Garrity?" asks Tyra softly, looking up through her lashes.

Lyla kisses her just to shut her up. Tyra kicks away her underwear and Lyla likes the smooth feel of thigh on thigh. She remembers the way she used to touch herself, thinking about Jason or Tim and maybe Tyra if she's honest with herself, and touches Tyra that way. It's like trying to hold down a boy, Tyra is that much bigger and stronger, but at the same time no boy has ever wrapped herself around Lyla like this, or drawn her in like this. She fumbles a little, but either Tyra doesn't notice or she doesn't care, and she tells Lyla how she wants her clit rubbed—stronger, faster, no not that way, or yes, exactly like that. When she comes, she comes with her head thrown back and her mouth open and all the sound trapped her throat.

Lyla's surprised to feel Tyra pull her close afterwards. "You can kick me out in the morning if you want, but right now I'm falling asleep," says Tyra. Her eyelids flutter shut within a few minutes.

Lyla is too sated and sweaty to do anything but go with it. She falls asleep with her head pillowed on Tyra's arm.

Lyla wakes up first in the morning. There are no windows in her tiny room; she searches for the clock to orient herself and finds 9:46 glowing red. Disturbed by whatever minute changes her body has sensed, Tyra groans and rolls over. She pushes the hair out of her eyes. "God, what time is it," she mumbles.

"Almost ten," says Lyla.

"Go back to sleep," says Tyra, suiting actions to words as she drops face-first into Lyla's favorite pillow.

Lyla studies Tyra's body momentarily, sheets crumpled over bare bottom and not much else. She wonders if she could ever be that comfortable naked. And she wonders if she could get a bigger bed, because Tyra's feet very nearly poke over the edge of the twin mattress.

As Tyra dozes off again, Lyla gets up, showers in the girls' bath down the hall, and gets dressed. Tyra wakes up when Lyla sits next to her. "Good morning," she says pleasantly.

Tyra turns over with marked unconcern for her nudity and runs a hand through her bedhead. "Is it?" she asks, voice raspy from sleep. "It's not strange or anything for you?"

"Take me to breakfast," Lyla responds.

Tyra grins slowly. "Will you give me a minute to find my pants?"

"Maybe," says Lyla. "Maybe I won't tell you where they are unless you promise to stop calling me Garrity."

"I'll never promise that," says Tyra cheekily, and somehow Lyla is fine with that.

The End

Return to Miscellaneous Fiction

Return to Main Page