Wild as the wind blows
Title: Wild as the wind blows
Author: ardvari
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Original (f/f)
Disclaimer: All mine!
A/N: Smut for smut's sake because it's cold outside.
Wild as the wind blows
I love your lips when they're wet with wine and red with wicked desire. ~Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Lyra can’t remember how they got here in the first place, panting loudly with her back pressed against the door. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registers the texture of the wood beneath her fingers, feels the fingers of her other hand cramp around the other girl’s bunched up shirt. Her nails, even though they are short, dig into her own palm with the fabric as a buffer in between.
Lips slide along each other and through a haze of desire she sucks the other girl’s bottom lip between her teeth and nibbles gently. The other girl retaliates, pushing a thigh between her legs, forcing her to slide down the door a little, her shirt riding up along her back.
She’s not picky; she could do this all night, just make out against the door of this apartment that’s not hers. The rational part of her rears its head, asking her if this is wise, telling her that this is not something she’s ever done before, should ever do.
Her breath comes hard and fast, and she pushes the other girl’s jacket off her shoulders, listening to it fall to the ground before she trails a hand up her spine to feel all of the bumps there. The other girl pushes up Lyra’s shirt, pulls at her bra, fumbles its straps off her shoulders and finally cups her breasts. Her hands are cold and Lyra gasps, goose bumps raining down her skin.
She starts undoing the other girl’s belt when she raises the thigh wedged between Lyra’s legs, grinding it up, making her groan and her knees buckle. The belt is forgotten for a moment as she hangs on for dear life, her mouth sliding off the other girl’s, down to her jaw, running her lips along the edge of her jawbone.
The other girl moves off of her, taking her elbow and guiding her to the couch which will have to do for now, which is better than the door and not quite as good as a bed would be. They tumble down onto it and she grins at the bounce, at the creak of the old springs. Somewhere on the way from the door to the couch the other girl lost her belt, the waistband of her jeans now loose and flaring slightly. Lyra runs her fingers along the soft skin between the jeans and the shirt that had ridden up her stomach. Her skin is warm and creamy and she bends down, pushes the other girl back until her head lands on the couch’s armrest, and blows butterfly kisses against her belly.
She can feel the other girl’s breath fluttering; can feel her stomach muscles tense under her touch. She’s never gone home with anyone but this, this she’s certainly done before, and so does the other girl because this they had settled at the bar: Neither one of them was interested in being a teacher tonight, in waiting patiently, in guiding and hoping that clumsy fingers will find their release.
Her fingers find the button of her jeans, then the zipper. She pulls on the stiff fabric and the other girl lifts her hips, her hands finding Lyra’s, covering them and helping her shrug the jeans off.
They grin at each other for a moment, stupidly and out of breath. Then Lyra teaches out a hand, brushes it over the other girl’s lips, feels a kiss forming against her palm. She bends her head, kisses the warm fabric of the other girl’s panties, blows warm air through the thin cotton. She presses a hand down on the other girl’s stomach to keep her still when she’s starting to squirm, her hips rising and falling.
Lyra finally pulls the panties off, too, flinging them across the room carelessly. Later, much later, they will probably giggle about where all of their clothes have ended up. Now though there is only skin and the scent of sex hanging in the air. Now is when she dips her head, feels tendrils of her hair brush against the other girl’s naked thighs, rests a warm hand against skin that seems to be burning, and strokes her tongue along the other girl’s seam.
She lets her tongue explore, then her fingers, watching and listening and sensing the other girl’s reactions to find out what she likes and what she doesn’t. The other girl’s leg slips off the couch where her heel had been digging into the soft cushion and she moans, her fingers tangling in Lyra’s hair.
"Please," she breathes, a sound so fragile and light it floats to the ceiling and hangs there like a prayer.
She smiles against the other girl’s warm, moist skin, flicks her tongue over her clit once, twice, builds pressure while her fingers keep exploring, keep stroking at their own rhythm. She can feel the other girl’s thighs trembling, can feel her nerve endings catch on fire and then she moans again and shudders through her orgasm, and Lyra drops her head on the other girl’s belly. Her fingers brush up the sides of her body and they rest for a moment, both of them catching their breath.
"Your turn," the other girl finally manages huskily, pushing her down onto the couch with a wicked smile flickering across her lips.
Author: ardvari
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Original (f/f)
Disclaimer: All mine!
A/N: Smut for smut's sake because it's cold outside.
Wild as the wind blows
I love your lips when they're wet with wine and red with wicked desire. ~Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Lyra can’t remember how they got here in the first place, panting loudly with her back pressed against the door. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registers the texture of the wood beneath her fingers, feels the fingers of her other hand cramp around the other girl’s bunched up shirt. Her nails, even though they are short, dig into her own palm with the fabric as a buffer in between.
Lips slide along each other and through a haze of desire she sucks the other girl’s bottom lip between her teeth and nibbles gently. The other girl retaliates, pushing a thigh between her legs, forcing her to slide down the door a little, her shirt riding up along her back.
She’s not picky; she could do this all night, just make out against the door of this apartment that’s not hers. The rational part of her rears its head, asking her if this is wise, telling her that this is not something she’s ever done before, should ever do.
Her breath comes hard and fast, and she pushes the other girl’s jacket off her shoulders, listening to it fall to the ground before she trails a hand up her spine to feel all of the bumps there. The other girl pushes up Lyra’s shirt, pulls at her bra, fumbles its straps off her shoulders and finally cups her breasts. Her hands are cold and Lyra gasps, goose bumps raining down her skin.
She starts undoing the other girl’s belt when she raises the thigh wedged between Lyra’s legs, grinding it up, making her groan and her knees buckle. The belt is forgotten for a moment as she hangs on for dear life, her mouth sliding off the other girl’s, down to her jaw, running her lips along the edge of her jawbone.
The other girl moves off of her, taking her elbow and guiding her to the couch which will have to do for now, which is better than the door and not quite as good as a bed would be. They tumble down onto it and she grins at the bounce, at the creak of the old springs. Somewhere on the way from the door to the couch the other girl lost her belt, the waistband of her jeans now loose and flaring slightly. Lyra runs her fingers along the soft skin between the jeans and the shirt that had ridden up her stomach. Her skin is warm and creamy and she bends down, pushes the other girl back until her head lands on the couch’s armrest, and blows butterfly kisses against her belly.
She can feel the other girl’s breath fluttering; can feel her stomach muscles tense under her touch. She’s never gone home with anyone but this, this she’s certainly done before, and so does the other girl because this they had settled at the bar: Neither one of them was interested in being a teacher tonight, in waiting patiently, in guiding and hoping that clumsy fingers will find their release.
Her fingers find the button of her jeans, then the zipper. She pulls on the stiff fabric and the other girl lifts her hips, her hands finding Lyra’s, covering them and helping her shrug the jeans off.
They grin at each other for a moment, stupidly and out of breath. Then Lyra teaches out a hand, brushes it over the other girl’s lips, feels a kiss forming against her palm. She bends her head, kisses the warm fabric of the other girl’s panties, blows warm air through the thin cotton. She presses a hand down on the other girl’s stomach to keep her still when she’s starting to squirm, her hips rising and falling.
Lyra finally pulls the panties off, too, flinging them across the room carelessly. Later, much later, they will probably giggle about where all of their clothes have ended up. Now though there is only skin and the scent of sex hanging in the air. Now is when she dips her head, feels tendrils of her hair brush against the other girl’s naked thighs, rests a warm hand against skin that seems to be burning, and strokes her tongue along the other girl’s seam.
She lets her tongue explore, then her fingers, watching and listening and sensing the other girl’s reactions to find out what she likes and what she doesn’t. The other girl’s leg slips off the couch where her heel had been digging into the soft cushion and she moans, her fingers tangling in Lyra’s hair.
"Please," she breathes, a sound so fragile and light it floats to the ceiling and hangs there like a prayer.
She smiles against the other girl’s warm, moist skin, flicks her tongue over her clit once, twice, builds pressure while her fingers keep exploring, keep stroking at their own rhythm. She can feel the other girl’s thighs trembling, can feel her nerve endings catch on fire and then she moans again and shudders through her orgasm, and Lyra drops her head on the other girl’s belly. Her fingers brush up the sides of her body and they rest for a moment, both of them catching their breath.
"Your turn," the other girl finally manages huskily, pushing her down onto the couch with a wicked smile flickering across her lips.