undressing in my house again [hayley/katie; calm]
title: undressing in my house again
rated: for not-totally-explicit but almost sex
fandom/pairing: rpf; hayley williams/katie white
spoilers/warnings: hayley pov in second person
summary: lazy nights, arrogant cigarettes, and overdyed hair. sometimes, that's actually all there is to their relationship.
words: 1360
disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and does not depict irl events. these gals' lives are theirs and not mine i just have a questionable sense of boundaries. title is from charli xcx's 'what i like'.
a/n: prompt #70: calm i was really supposed to be writing an art history essay but you know w/e when the rpf crackship cunnilingus bug strikes what are you gonna do
"you have somewhere you need to be?" zhe asks, eyes rolling to peer up at you. it's lazy curious. not so much that you have to wonder if this relationship is shifting somewhere problematically legitimate, but, enough to make you feel relevant to katie's current state of happiness. whatever level that happens to be on. (zhe looks pretty content to you, but fuck. what do you ever know about chicks like zhim?)
you shake your head and your gaze falls on a naked cigarette lying out on the table. it looks sad and, not unrelated, you want it. katie follows your eyes and chuckles. you go for it anyway, sticking out your tongue and feeling the plastic of the lighter almost skitter away from your grip. zher head is still in your lap, soft (damaged) white-blond hair puddled over your thighs.
"but what about your clear, strong vocals?" zhe asks, tone lilting playfully with that tiniest hint of a rasp that’s either part of zher accent or because zhe’s a bad influence. you’ve never quite been able to figure out which one, and you’re not a quitter so it’s not like you’ve given up on figuring it out, but it sort of matters less and less every time the two of you meet up like this. it’s late and dark outside and dim inside and fuck, you’ve both got shit to do tomorrow (and zhe has an early flight back home). but zhe’s in your apartment and you’ve got tunes and when the two of you are together it’s real simple. and lazy.
you shrug and the grinders of the lighter rolls under your thumb twice before you get a light. “it never hurt sinatra, right? i’ll be fine,” you say, grinning a little, and katie snorts and snatches the cigarette from between your fingers before you can even take the first proper drag. propping zhimself up on zher elbows (which is a painful process that entails bony elbows digging into your thighs until zhe squirms back and then it’s the pressure of zher entire weight on your lap instead of just zher head), zhe brings it to zher lips and sucks in a slow breath. you watch zhim and don’t laugh because you know zhe’s kind of self-conscious about the way zhe can’t smoke lying down but you smile because sometimes with zhim you feel like you know what it’s like to be comfortably in love. you may have written a song or two about it.
katie glances over at you and grins as zhe presses the cigarette between your lips again. you part them obligingly and roll your eyes at zhim, this time, and it’s with affection and amusement and a shitload of other stupid things that don’t feel so stupid when you’re with zhim. and that also start with a, ideally. “comparing yourself to blue eyes, now?” zhe teases, and you inhale deeply. the smoke burns your eyes throat lungs but it’s good, a nice contrast to the mellow feeling that settles into your bones with katie. “fucking arrogant,” zhe teases, admonishing, and you exhale slowly until it’s quavering against zher lips, a funny contrast to the way that zhers are firm certain sure but it’s a perfect kind of funny and zher fingers twist through the limp waves of your hair.
“yeah, well,” you say against zher lips, and your fingertips fumble to stub out the cigarette in the ashtray that was supposed to be decorative (because you don’t usually smoke; something here is a waste, you think). zhe tugs your head back and not like either one of you is especially dominant or submissive, but sometimes zhe pulls or you push and it just flows together in the blurry unnatural shades of your relationship. you let zhim line kisses along the curve of your jaw, chapstick long worn into the flesh of zher lips, and you let a hand that maybe needs a manicure slip under the hem of your t-shirt that’s past the stage of being soft with not-so-tender love and no care to be spoken of and that zhe could probably tear off of you if zhe really wanted to.
zhe doesn’t, just nips at the soft skin of your neck that’s between muscle and tube. fingertips slip under the plastic rim of your bra and you feel the sharp edge of a thumb nail grown past the cuticle and not lovingly filed into shape drag over your nipple. your breath catches and that means silky soft (suffering) flyaways in your mouth. zhe used your tropical-scented conditioner but it definitely doesn’t taste anything like a pina colada. you twist a little (reluctantly) and stretch an arm behind zhim to brush it out of your mouth and katie chuckles quietly and the palm of zher free hand is smoothing down the planes of your stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
a thumb teases the inside of the elastic hem of your panties and four deft, musical fingers trail lower, a long ring finger stroking over the [already] slightly wet patch over your center. the hand (yours) around zher back clutches at zher shoulder, short nails nonthreatening but pressure possibly bruising. you feel zher lips curl into a grin against the side of your throat and a thumb and a forefinger work together to pinch a nipple and draw a gasp from the higher parts of your register.
“it’s okay,” zhe says, and you don’t just moan because of the accent thing - it’s at least forty percent because of the way zher fingers press against you but not against you enough to be into you - but you do moan.
“what is?” you ask through breaths that make you grateful to be a vocalist, because there’s no panting even though there really easily could have been. zher fingers are rubbing against you everywhere, the side of zher thumb against the grain of short-cropped pubic hair and pads of fingertips against dampness offset by cotton, a pinky gone wayward tracing along the dip of your hip and a nipple twisted to hardness and then some. you don’t really think anyone else would have been able to follow the train of conversation with all of that, either.
you’re vaguely aware that when katie says everything, zhe’s not actually answering the proper question anymore. but zhe says it as zhe’s squirming (pretty fucking skillfully) off your lap, off the sofa, onto the floor and between your knees, and in contexts like that, content doesn’t matter more than delivery. zher breath is a series of short, warm puffs where you already feel too hot but not hot enough, and you almost feel sorta lightheaded because you’re not positive but you feel like those puffs are directly in time with the steady throb you’re feeling between your thighs.
you glance down at zhim and zhe smirks up at you for just a second, and then you’re more than positive. your fingers card through zher hair and then they twist and then tug. zhe inhales sharply but it’s still easy, still okay, still mellow and simple and the eventual strokes of zher tongue are lazy and smooth when zhe’s circling your clit and fucking you discordantly rapidly with two fingers curled inside.
“jesus fuck,” you mutter, watching zhim until you can’t anymore, head thrown back against the sofa and hands in fists in zher hair and thighs quivering around zhim and loose shorts with pale yellow panties still dangling around your ankles.
katie chuckles, and you don’t have the moment, the energy, or the motivation to try and figure out if zhe does it because zhe thinks something’s funny or if zhe just does it because zhe knows how to make you convulse in just the right way. it’s not that you’re not a quitter, there are just more important things on your mind. it still counts even if that more important thing is absolutely nothing but the way katie looks when zhe licks the taste of you from zher lips.
rated: for not-totally-explicit but almost sex
fandom/pairing: rpf; hayley williams/katie white
spoilers/warnings: hayley pov in second person
summary: lazy nights, arrogant cigarettes, and overdyed hair. sometimes, that's actually all there is to their relationship.
words: 1360
disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and does not depict irl events. these gals' lives are theirs and not mine i just have a questionable sense of boundaries. title is from charli xcx's 'what i like'.
a/n: prompt #70: calm i was really supposed to be writing an art history essay but you know w/e when the rpf crackship cunnilingus bug strikes what are you gonna do
"you have somewhere you need to be?" zhe asks, eyes rolling to peer up at you. it's lazy curious. not so much that you have to wonder if this relationship is shifting somewhere problematically legitimate, but, enough to make you feel relevant to katie's current state of happiness. whatever level that happens to be on. (zhe looks pretty content to you, but fuck. what do you ever know about chicks like zhim?)
you shake your head and your gaze falls on a naked cigarette lying out on the table. it looks sad and, not unrelated, you want it. katie follows your eyes and chuckles. you go for it anyway, sticking out your tongue and feeling the plastic of the lighter almost skitter away from your grip. zher head is still in your lap, soft (damaged) white-blond hair puddled over your thighs.
"but what about your clear, strong vocals?" zhe asks, tone lilting playfully with that tiniest hint of a rasp that’s either part of zher accent or because zhe’s a bad influence. you’ve never quite been able to figure out which one, and you’re not a quitter so it’s not like you’ve given up on figuring it out, but it sort of matters less and less every time the two of you meet up like this. it’s late and dark outside and dim inside and fuck, you’ve both got shit to do tomorrow (and zhe has an early flight back home). but zhe’s in your apartment and you’ve got tunes and when the two of you are together it’s real simple. and lazy.
you shrug and the grinders of the lighter rolls under your thumb twice before you get a light. “it never hurt sinatra, right? i’ll be fine,” you say, grinning a little, and katie snorts and snatches the cigarette from between your fingers before you can even take the first proper drag. propping zhimself up on zher elbows (which is a painful process that entails bony elbows digging into your thighs until zhe squirms back and then it’s the pressure of zher entire weight on your lap instead of just zher head), zhe brings it to zher lips and sucks in a slow breath. you watch zhim and don’t laugh because you know zhe’s kind of self-conscious about the way zhe can’t smoke lying down but you smile because sometimes with zhim you feel like you know what it’s like to be comfortably in love. you may have written a song or two about it.
katie glances over at you and grins as zhe presses the cigarette between your lips again. you part them obligingly and roll your eyes at zhim, this time, and it’s with affection and amusement and a shitload of other stupid things that don’t feel so stupid when you’re with zhim. and that also start with a, ideally. “comparing yourself to blue eyes, now?” zhe teases, and you inhale deeply. the smoke burns your eyes throat lungs but it’s good, a nice contrast to the mellow feeling that settles into your bones with katie. “fucking arrogant,” zhe teases, admonishing, and you exhale slowly until it’s quavering against zher lips, a funny contrast to the way that zhers are firm certain sure but it’s a perfect kind of funny and zher fingers twist through the limp waves of your hair.
“yeah, well,” you say against zher lips, and your fingertips fumble to stub out the cigarette in the ashtray that was supposed to be decorative (because you don’t usually smoke; something here is a waste, you think). zhe tugs your head back and not like either one of you is especially dominant or submissive, but sometimes zhe pulls or you push and it just flows together in the blurry unnatural shades of your relationship. you let zhim line kisses along the curve of your jaw, chapstick long worn into the flesh of zher lips, and you let a hand that maybe needs a manicure slip under the hem of your t-shirt that’s past the stage of being soft with not-so-tender love and no care to be spoken of and that zhe could probably tear off of you if zhe really wanted to.
zhe doesn’t, just nips at the soft skin of your neck that’s between muscle and tube. fingertips slip under the plastic rim of your bra and you feel the sharp edge of a thumb nail grown past the cuticle and not lovingly filed into shape drag over your nipple. your breath catches and that means silky soft (suffering) flyaways in your mouth. zhe used your tropical-scented conditioner but it definitely doesn’t taste anything like a pina colada. you twist a little (reluctantly) and stretch an arm behind zhim to brush it out of your mouth and katie chuckles quietly and the palm of zher free hand is smoothing down the planes of your stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
a thumb teases the inside of the elastic hem of your panties and four deft, musical fingers trail lower, a long ring finger stroking over the [already] slightly wet patch over your center. the hand (yours) around zher back clutches at zher shoulder, short nails nonthreatening but pressure possibly bruising. you feel zher lips curl into a grin against the side of your throat and a thumb and a forefinger work together to pinch a nipple and draw a gasp from the higher parts of your register.
“it’s okay,” zhe says, and you don’t just moan because of the accent thing - it’s at least forty percent because of the way zher fingers press against you but not against you enough to be into you - but you do moan.
“what is?” you ask through breaths that make you grateful to be a vocalist, because there’s no panting even though there really easily could have been. zher fingers are rubbing against you everywhere, the side of zher thumb against the grain of short-cropped pubic hair and pads of fingertips against dampness offset by cotton, a pinky gone wayward tracing along the dip of your hip and a nipple twisted to hardness and then some. you don’t really think anyone else would have been able to follow the train of conversation with all of that, either.
you’re vaguely aware that when katie says everything, zhe’s not actually answering the proper question anymore. but zhe says it as zhe’s squirming (pretty fucking skillfully) off your lap, off the sofa, onto the floor and between your knees, and in contexts like that, content doesn’t matter more than delivery. zher breath is a series of short, warm puffs where you already feel too hot but not hot enough, and you almost feel sorta lightheaded because you’re not positive but you feel like those puffs are directly in time with the steady throb you’re feeling between your thighs.
you glance down at zhim and zhe smirks up at you for just a second, and then you’re more than positive. your fingers card through zher hair and then they twist and then tug. zhe inhales sharply but it’s still easy, still okay, still mellow and simple and the eventual strokes of zher tongue are lazy and smooth when zhe’s circling your clit and fucking you discordantly rapidly with two fingers curled inside.
“jesus fuck,” you mutter, watching zhim until you can’t anymore, head thrown back against the sofa and hands in fists in zher hair and thighs quivering around zhim and loose shorts with pale yellow panties still dangling around your ankles.
katie chuckles, and you don’t have the moment, the energy, or the motivation to try and figure out if zhe does it because zhe thinks something’s funny or if zhe just does it because zhe knows how to make you convulse in just the right way. it’s not that you’re not a quitter, there are just more important things on your mind. it still counts even if that more important thing is absolutely nothing but the way katie looks when zhe licks the taste of you from zher lips.