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Alex knew that she was watching her, knew she always did. Olivia probably knew every inch of her body by heart. And she didn't care. Alex could feel her heat, and thrived on it.
She leaned over to point to something on Olivia's desk, blouse unbuttoned obscenely low, purposefully giving Olivia an eyeful. She could stare, they both could, but anything more was over their undrawn line. So Alex tortured her. Giving her more than anyone could ever want, but never really giving her anything at all.
That's not to say Olivia didn't do her fair share of teasing. She was with others, without ever actually being with them, giving Alex no real reason to complain, for what was it, but mere flirting with someone she'd never see again? She was, after all, technically single. Alex loved her, yes, and in her mind, Alex was hers, and in Olivia's mind, she belonged to Alex. But that set no rules for the real world.
She learned not to get too upset. Olivia would still stare, but Alex could see the boredom in her eyes of keeping up their charade. And she was sure that same boredom showed in her own eyes. But both women were stubborn and competitive. Neither would be the first to break. The first to voice what was there, but at the same time, not. To put themselves on the line.
This isn't love.
It could be compared to a dance. The movements set and beautiful, while complicated and confusing. Always three steps away from each other, but still having that tension in the air. That static. Chemistry, if you will. That sexual tension static chemistry. It was there, and it was apparent, if anything. It was. People would roll their eyes at their antics, because it was obvious. Their constant dance was now nothing but a ritual, and the method to the madness was known to their constant comrades.
Strangers, however, didn't understand, and they'd always see it as a fight, a struggle. They'd look to each other and whisper.
This is war.
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