Angela's not sure how she ends up here. One minute she's stumbling through the village, more than a little drunk and flushed with victory, and the next Cassie Campbell's grabbed her and has yanked her into an alley.

She recognizes Campbell, of course. Who wouldn't? "Oh," she says, blinking up at her. This night was going so normally, for an Olympic gold-winning night. "I -"

"Shut up," Campbell all but snarls. That's when Angela realizes she's drunk, too. So maybe Angela's normal night isn't going to end normally. She just hopes it doesn't end in a fight. "You arrogant little bitch."

Angela blinks again. "I don't think," she says slowly, trying to gather her thoughts. It's hard with Campbell staring at her. "I don't think I'm arrogant."

"You think people are scared of you." Campbell's got hold of her shoulders, and now she shakes her angrily. "Huh? Don't you?"

"No?" Angela's just going to go with it, since she doesn't want to be punched.

But then Campbell rolls her eyes and says, "I know you do, you little bitch," and okay, Angela does actually have some pride.

"I mean," she says, "I think I'm better than you. But that's not hard, with your silver medal, and everything."

It's a lame chirp but it's exactly the right thing to say. Campbell slams her back against the wall again and says, "You fucking bitch," raising her fist.

And, okay. Angela never claimed she comes up with the greatest ideas. It just makes sense to lean in and kiss Campbell then.

At first Campbell's stiff and angry and it's a completely horrible kiss. Then she drops her fist and crowds Angela back against the wall so her coat is scraping against the brick and her head's hitting the wall hard and kisses back, knocking Angela's hat askew to grab fistfuls of her hair and rocking her hips against Angela's. It's more of a fight than a kiss and it's so, so good.

There's not enough friction, not even close. Angela was going back to her room because it was 4 AM and she's never been the type to go wild with celebrating, but now she's feeling on the edge, like she wants to take a risk. So she says, "Your place or mine?"

"Your roommates won't be back," Campbell says. Or rather, spits it out, still looking pissed as hell. A thrill goes down Angela's spine. This is so dumb, but – she's eighteen and she has a gold medal. She can make a mistake or two.

"Fine," she says, and shoves Campbell away, walking down the street like nothing happened.

Campbell follows her, obviously. She doesn't touch her until they're inside Angela's room, though. And then she grabs Angela's hat, throws it aside, and tugs viciously at her braid, messing it up as she kisses Angela again.

"Don't call me a bitch again," Angela says, shrugging out of her coat and pushing Campbell back towards the bed. Campbell's a little taller than she is, but Angela's bulkier, and it's easy to kick off her boots and then press Campbell down into the bed.

"Sure," Campbell says, sneering.

Angela bites her shoulder through her shirt. "I mean it," she says, and goes to unbutton Campbell's shirt.

And – and, okay, she mostly has made out with teammates, traded handjobs when they struck out with guys, or when taking guys back just seemed like too much work. But Campbell's got a death grip on her now, and she's talking, and Angela's so wet she's aching with it as she bites Campbell's neck.

"Next time," Campbell swears, hand still tugging at Angela's hair. "Next time, when you're an adult, we'll grind you into the fucking ice."

"Sure," Angela says. "So you like fucking kids?"

"Fuck off." Campbell grabs her and rolls them, then goes to work on Angela's shirt. Her fingers are drunk-clumsy, and it's a little weird to reach down and help her, but her reward is Campbell staring at her and then kissing her collarbone and the swell of her breasts.

Campbell doesn't take her shirt or bra off, though. Her own shirt is an Olympic tee, and Angela reaches up and tugs at it, ignoring how dumb having an open button-down makes her feel.

Campbell takes it off and Angela kisses her in an attempt at distraction as she goes for her bra. Campbell – she's not sure if that's a laugh or a snarl, but she does something and reaches back, sitting up and knocking Angela's hands away. Angela watches as she takes her bra off, and then – God, this is completely different from the locker room.

Angela reaches up tentatively, but Campbell rolls her eyes and says, "What do you think this is, kid?" before leaning down and tugging at Angela's jeans.

Angela doesn't say "I don't know." Instead she helps Campbell, until she's out of her jeans and Campbell's biting her hip right where her underwear meets her skin.

"You want me to eat you out?" Campbell says quietly, looking up at Angela.

Angela can't meet her eyes. No one's done that before. Angela's not even sure she wants it, not from some Canadian bitch who hates her.

Campbell can't possibly know, but something about Angela's reaction makes her laugh. "Jesus," she says, and tugs Angela's underwear down.

For a second she feels dumb, and embarrassed, and exposed. Then Campbell says, "Come on, you gotta help me out a little," pushing Angela's legs apart before leaning down and licking her, slow and dirty.

After that Angela can't think so much.

Somehow – maybe because she's drunk – Campbell keeps talking. "You like making me look like an idiot?" she says, sliding two fingers into Angela. If Angela was sober she'd be embarrassed about how easy it is, but as it is she just lifts her hips a little, thrusting slowly as Campbell fucks her.

She realizes, though, that Campbell's waiting for an answer. So when she leans down and licks her clit, Angela reaches down, pulls her hair hard, and says, "Yes."

Campbell's head jerks, but she doesn't pull away. The joke's on Angela, though, because it feels so stupidly good. Angela tries not to embarrass herself, but the alcohol's made her horny and the fighting's made her hornier, and Campbell's – Campbell's really good at this. It's hardly any time at all before the warmth spreading through her becomes almost-painful sensation, and then she's coming against Campbell's mouth and on her fingers.

When she's done, Campbell sits up, wiping her mouth. She's smirking and it's a look Angela hates on her, so Angela grabs her and yanks her down, turning them so Angela's on top.

"Do you even know what to do?" Campbell says, reached down and lazily rubbing herself through her pants.

Angela grabs Campbell's hand. She's not shy about squeezing hard, so Campbell will have bruises – not that Angela wants her to remember this, but she wants -

She shakes her head. "Don't," she says, and works at getting Campbell's pants off.

Her stupid shirt is still loose, so she shrugs it off. She glances up and catches Campbell looking at her, and damn it, it makes her blush. She scowls and finally gets Campbell's jeans off. She follows it with her panties, then stops for a second, trying to figure out what the fuck to do.

Normally she'd be lying up next to Campbell, kissing her neck and fingering her, but that just...seems wrong. Her problem is solved for her, though, when Campbell reaches up to her.

Angela slaps her hand away and then grabs her wrist, pinning it to the bed. She's drunk enough that she has to blink a few times, just to establish what she's doing, but after that it's easy to lean in and press her thumb against Campbell's clit.

"Fuck you," Campbell hisses, arching her back.

"We don't have time for that," Angela says. She slips a finger into Campbell, fucking her slowly. She's wet as hell, and that makes Angela flush, knowing that she's wet because of what they're doing. Maybe hating her gets Campbell off. It's working for Angela, anyway.

"Quit wandering off," Campbell moves her hips restlessly.

"Maybe I like watching you squirm," Angela says, and thrusts again, still keeping it slow.

"You little brat," Campbell says, but she throws her head back and bites her lip as Angela keeps going.

And this, okay, this Angela knows how to do. She keeps fucking Campbell, speeding up a little when she has to, and watching all of her reactions. This is going to be a tequila-fueled blur later, but right now it's all almost too clear.

"You tried that stupid toe drag," Angela says, blinking and rubbing Campbell's clit in hard, fast circles. "You think that kind of shit'll work on me?"

"You're -"

"Don't talk," Angela says. "I made you look stupid. You know why? Because you played like you were stupid. Next time, play like you're worried about me pasting you, and then we'll get somewhere."

Campbell doesn't answer. She's breathing more quickly, and rocking up against Angela's hand. It's stupidly hot, maybe the hottest thing Angela's ever seen. She bites her lip and keeps going, until finally Campbell's coming against her hand, pressing up against Angela.

Angela keeps restraining her until she's stopped shuddering. "Still think I'm a kid?"

Campbell blinks up at her, then smiles slowly. She wiggles her hand out of Angela's grip and says, "Not bad, kid," before sitting up and collecting her clothes.

Angela sits and watches her. It isn't until she gets to the door that it occurs to Angela she should change into pajamas or something, because her roommates will probably be back soon.

"Next time, I won't be the one who looks silly," Campbell says before closing the door.

Angela takes a deep breath, then gets up and goes to put her clothes away and her PJs on. Sure, there'll be a next time. Right now, though, she's got a gold medal, and Campbell doesn't have shit.

Angela's going to be on the national team a long time, hopefully. She gets a feeling the thing with Campbell isn't going to get any easier.