Yup, you read it right. I’m not writing much fanfic at the moment because I’m working on other stuff, but via Twitter, I were asked for this. And I wanted @debatingdykes to get laid of the back of my fan fic, so I wrote it.
It’s short. It’s what it is. Do not expect more, because I hate it so much when you’re disappointed.
* * * * *
It takes more than word to win a war.
The battle, however, is over, and now the rebuilding begins. She knows that it will take work. She knows that it takes more than two people finally ceasing their incessant battle to be the world’s biggest fuckwit. Right now, she knows all of that, but she doesn’t want to process it.
She doesn’t want to be anywhere but here, right here, and right now. Her hand reaches out and gently touches the end of a white-blonde tendril, letting it feather across her fingertip. The owner of the hair does not stir, and Emily likes it like that. When Naomi is asleep like this, facing her, she’s peaceful and oh-so-incredibly-beautiful.
Emily loves her.
This has never been in doubt and, despite the events of the last few months — the last year, even — Emily has always known it was true. The old adage that love conquers all looked in danger of being proven wrong yet again, but somehow they seem to have found a vague truce.
So, here and now, though she knows there are roads ahead, she’s happy. She doesn’t want to think about the words of yesterday, or the trials of tomorrow. Right now, she just wants to lie here and stare at her girlfriend.
Naomi is the most beautiful girl she’s ever seen. That has also, always been true, and probably always will be. After everything that’s gone down, Emily can’t promise herself that there will be a forever. In a neat little corner of her heart she hopes it, though.
She’s made a few promises, lying here. The first is, that while she’s around, no other girl is ever going to grace Naomi’s bed again. It’s either Emily or she’ll be gone. The second is that she will try to be a better person, the bigger person. After all, forgiveness is needed all round.
Right now, in the filtered early morning light, it’s hard not to make the promise that she’ll spend more time kissing Naomi. She wants to so badly now, but the blonde is asleep. They only got home from the shed at three, so six seems a little early to wake your girlfriend up for sex.
Even for make-up sex which has been so long in coming.
Instead, she watches the blonde breathe, soft lips just barely parted. Those blue eyes, when open, are so beautiful that they make Emily’s chest ache, but the bruised skin that covers them has its own ethereal beauty. It takes all her self-control not to reach out and brush her fingertips across it.
It would be a very weird way to wake up, with someone stroking your eyelids.
Tucking her hand under her cheek to stop herself from touching Naomi, Emily lets her eyes wander. The soft white rise of one breast is barely visible above the sheet. She doesn’t need to have the sheet gone to know what it’s like underneath; she’s been there so many times. She remembers glances in the changing room, covert ogling throughout the barren years of secondary school. She remembers the first time she was allowed free access, the memory of the taste still tangy on her tongue.
“You’re staring.” Naomi’s eyes are still closed, but the murmur through those soft lips makes Emily want to smile.
Blue eyes open. “Yes, you are.”
They’re inches apart, heads perfectly aligned, and Emily doesn’t want the perfection to break. So she says nothing, just letting her eyes drink in Naomi. Unlike the last ten or so times they’ve awoken like this, there doesn’t seem to be anything lying between them. The air is light, not heavy, dancing on the sun that wisps through the curtains.
“I love you,” Emily whispers softly, letting the words twist across the bridge between them. Her hand shifts from under her cheek to the pillow between them.
Naomi’s hand comes out from under the sheet, comes up and slips into Emily’s. “I know.”
Their eyes find each other, and Emily shifts infinitesimally closer, so she can feel Naomi’s sweet breath brushing her lips. She wants to close her eyes and imagine them kissing. More than that, she wants them to be kissing, but she also doesn’t want to break the moment.
Right now, she just wants to be.
“Why are you awake?”
Emily nestles into her pillow. “I don’t know.” She raises an eyebrow. “Why are you awake?”
“I could feel you watching me.”
“No, really, your stare is louder than Big Ben.”
Emily can’t help but cock a crooked grin at that. She reaches out and touches Naomi’s cheek, her fingertips ghosting across white, soft skin.
Naomi shifts a shoulder, as if to say she doesn’t care. The edge of her lip has curled ever so slightly, and Emily thinks Naomi liked it, waking to Emily staring at her.
Their fingers entwine, and then Naomi’s hand pulls away. Emily would protest, but there are fingers on her shoulder, her bare shoulder, and they’re stroking down her arm. They go slowly, trailing down at just the right pressure to cause goosebumps, a line of sensation in their wake.
Naomi’s hand cups her hip, softly, gently, over the sheet. Emily tries not to let her breathing become uneven, especially when a fraction of pressure is exerted, inviting the redhead to move closer. Like ink in a puddle, they spread and before moments pass they’re pressed against each other. Now Emily can’t help but tremble, because Naomi is naked and so is she.
The feeling of skin on her own is nearly unbearable. It’s not that they haven’t done this a hundred times, nor that it hasn’t been amazing every time. It’s that right now, she feels like the love that’s humming under her skin is going to burst through and coat them both in some kind of sticky, unbearable residue.
When their lips meet, she thinks she’ll die before she surfaces for air. Naomi is warm and soft and familiar, but the surging of lust and excitement under Emily’s skin is like never before. It takes all of her not to let it overwhelm them, not to thrust her hand into blonde hair and turn this into a frantic, heated coupling. Instead she lets her hand find the small of Naomi’s back.
Tongues trace patterns on lips, tangle, taste, and then dart back inside. Hands start to glide, and find skin, find places that burst with feeling on touch, and then grip just enough to burn.
Emily thinks her lungs may be on fire. She thinks her body might fall apart if she has to pull away from the warm length of Naomi’s body. Knees move aside knees as legs tangle. She feels Naomi on her thigh, wet and slick. She’s made Naomi wet and the fierceness rises inside her. No-one else will ever make Naomi this wet, ever. No-one will ever do to her what Emily does to her.
Despite the softness, the warmth and the gentle caresses, it gets warm under the sheets. Emily can’t tell which way up she is as Naomi kisses her into the bed, her longer body pressing the redhead down. She doesn’t want to know as fingers find her wet and wanting. Those fingers know her and they press in, down, around in just the right way.
She wrenches her mouth away from Naomi, gasping for air and then biting her lip. She wants Naomi to take her. She wants those fingers to thrust inside her. She wants Naomi in her and around her and all over her, enveloping her and owning her. She knows the feeling of warmth as a mouth envelops her nipple.
She knows everything as Naomi claims her with fingers, tongue, body, and drives Emily towards a place she’s never known. It’s a place she’s been before, but she’s never known it. She’s never truly known what it meant to be loved and to love. Now she knows, and the ecstasy is too much.
It takes her minutes, long minutes to recover. When she opens her eyes, chest still heaving just a little, she finds Naomi with her face buried in Emily’s neck. It’s too easy to bring her hand up and slide it up the nape into soft, feathery white hair. She rubs her fingertips up and down, loving the way it makes Naomi mumble into the damp skin of Emily’s shoulder.
When she rolls them over, it’s to look down into ice-blue eyes that say everything and nothing all at once. She reciprocates slowly, her fingers dipping in and out, up and down. Naomi is more than ready, and probably doesn’t want slow and steady. Emily doesn’t care. She wants this to last.
When Naomi clenches around her, arching back and moaning Emily’s name, Emily runs her tongue up the length of that long neck, letting her fingers twitch and prolonging the wonder of it.
They hold each other, just listening to the soft breathing and tiny noises of the morning.
“I love you.”