Numb3rs Fic: Ruby and Pearl
Written for rounds_of_kink - 9/10/07 Prompt Amita/Nadine
Bar and club scenes (dancing, cruising, etc)
Sweaty, crowded dance floor
Crossposted to numb3rs_slash
Title: Ruby and Pearl
Pairing/Characters: Amita/Nadine
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: Seasons 1 and 2
Summary: The girlfriends go out dancing together and cause a stir
Notes/Warnings: Read the disclaimer on my LJ
Other comments are housed at rounds_of_kink.
Spinning, spinning around like the vinyl on the DJ's turntable, Amita's dizzy as Nadine twirls her, giddy with laughter and alcohol.
Her hand slips from Nadine's grip, slick with sweat and sandalwood scented lotion. The dense crowd swallows her up and for a moment they're separated until stark blonde parts a sea of dark heads as Nadine pushes her way through the heated humanity to get to her girl.
Twisting a finger in the belt loop of her low rider jeans, Nadine tugs Amita to her possessively.
They dance like that - hipbones to hipbones, denim to denim - their bodies only separating when they hit the strip of skin peeking out at their navels, beneath sweat drenched crop tops and fuck men we don't need them decidedly non-pushup bras.
They dance like that and earn a crowd of admirers. One's coffee, one's cream and the men all want a caffeine fix with two shots.
They play with the men - let them dance behind them, let them touch their undulating bodies, pretend to listen as they shout immediately forgotten names in their ears over the din of the breakbeats. The men are just accessories, toys, there for the two of them to use to turn each other on.
Nadine's eyes are locked with Amita's as a tall black man licks the pearl shimmer powder from her neck.
Amita purses her ruby red lipstick stained lips as her hands skim over her own breasts, her fingers followed by those of her blonde surfer boy suitor.
Nadine reaches for the clip holding Amita's hair up and tugs it gently away, letting her black curls cascade over her glistening shoulders, the soft waves framing her face.
Amita returns the favor, setting Nadine's blond tresses free of their confinement, damp tendrils sticking to her long graceful neck.
Shrugging off the men, they bring their bodies flush, slender arms encircling slim waists. Their lips brush as they share breath - red meets pink, dark meets fair, India meets Indiana.
Nadine breaks first, the tip of her tongue searching out the sweetness of Amita's familiar taste. Their kiss quickly consumes them, turning the heat of the dance floor into a firestorm that the men around them gape at, suddenly feeling the need for water.
Red fingernails disappear under Nadine's shirt.
A black thong peeks out as Amita's jeans are unbuttoned.
Hungry tongues lash, fingers flit over flat bellies, but they want more.
Nadine abruptly grabs Amita by the hand and drags her away from the pressing throngs, deaf to the groans of the disappointed onlookers - not all of which are male at this point.
One track bleeds into the next, the beat quickens, intensifies, pulsing louder until they push the door open to the ladies' room and shut it behind them.
The room is dark, dank and the women at the mirrors squinting as they apply fresh eyeliner over sinks that haven't been clean since the club first opened glance uninterested then go back to their task beneath flickering half-burned out fluorescents.
They avoid the toilets - one's occupied and they both know they'll get bothered less if they don't hog one of the woefully insufficient stalls. A dark corner away from the mirrors is enough.
Nadine deftly finishes unbuttoning Amita's jeans and slips her fingers inside, pushing the lacy triangle of her thong aside, requesting entrance to her slippery core.
They kiss messily now, Amita breathing too hard to even think of technique. She grips Nadine's arm, leaving perfect little half moon marks from her manicure, willing her to speed up. Nadine understands.
Amita stiffens, shudders, sighs as she comes down panting hard against Nadine's cheek. She lays her forehead on Nadine's shoulder, leans her weight against the wall, against her lover, and waits for her limbs to come back to life.
Nadine is patient, such the lawyer - trained to take turns in debate - but Amita doesn't make her wait long.
The clinging damp top is pushed up to reveal a scant lacy bra beneath. Amita's fingers ghost over the curve of her breasts, rising and falling with each anticipatory breath. She lowers her mouth to a taut nipple and mouths it, hot and moist, through the delicate fabric.
Her hands find their way down, pants undone, pushed down with the panties. Fingers slide into place with sensory memory, flicking and stroking, knowing all the ways to make her lover squirm.
Nadine's never been quiet, but the door opens and closes without anyone noticing, her moans and obscenities lost in the dull thud of the music bleeding through the walls.
She pulls her own bra strap down, exposes her breast to Amita's talented tongue, writhing as hands and mouth drive her to the brink.
Amita shifts her other hand, slipping three fingers inside her at once and Nadine's falling, clenching tight around the digits dancing inside her, fluttering at the fingertips that feed her bliss.
Gasping, she staggers, but Amita soothes her, kissing her hair and murmuring words that neither can hear in the din.
It's midnight and they can hardly walk, let alone dance, but the night isn’t over yet. There's still time to revel in the music, their untouchable youth, and in the pleasure of each other's bodies.
And this is only Friday night. There's always Saturday to look forward to...
=
Bar and club scenes (dancing, cruising, etc)
Sweaty, crowded dance floor
Crossposted to numb3rs_slash
Title: Ruby and Pearl
Pairing/Characters: Amita/Nadine
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: Seasons 1 and 2
Summary: The girlfriends go out dancing together and cause a stir
Notes/Warnings: Read the disclaimer on my LJ
Other comments are housed at rounds_of_kink.
Spinning, spinning around like the vinyl on the DJ's turntable, Amita's dizzy as Nadine twirls her, giddy with laughter and alcohol.
Her hand slips from Nadine's grip, slick with sweat and sandalwood scented lotion. The dense crowd swallows her up and for a moment they're separated until stark blonde parts a sea of dark heads as Nadine pushes her way through the heated humanity to get to her girl.
Twisting a finger in the belt loop of her low rider jeans, Nadine tugs Amita to her possessively.
They dance like that - hipbones to hipbones, denim to denim - their bodies only separating when they hit the strip of skin peeking out at their navels, beneath sweat drenched crop tops and fuck men we don't need them decidedly non-pushup bras.
They dance like that and earn a crowd of admirers. One's coffee, one's cream and the men all want a caffeine fix with two shots.
They play with the men - let them dance behind them, let them touch their undulating bodies, pretend to listen as they shout immediately forgotten names in their ears over the din of the breakbeats. The men are just accessories, toys, there for the two of them to use to turn each other on.
Nadine's eyes are locked with Amita's as a tall black man licks the pearl shimmer powder from her neck.
Amita purses her ruby red lipstick stained lips as her hands skim over her own breasts, her fingers followed by those of her blonde surfer boy suitor.
Nadine reaches for the clip holding Amita's hair up and tugs it gently away, letting her black curls cascade over her glistening shoulders, the soft waves framing her face.
Amita returns the favor, setting Nadine's blond tresses free of their confinement, damp tendrils sticking to her long graceful neck.
Shrugging off the men, they bring their bodies flush, slender arms encircling slim waists. Their lips brush as they share breath - red meets pink, dark meets fair, India meets Indiana.
Nadine breaks first, the tip of her tongue searching out the sweetness of Amita's familiar taste. Their kiss quickly consumes them, turning the heat of the dance floor into a firestorm that the men around them gape at, suddenly feeling the need for water.
Red fingernails disappear under Nadine's shirt.
A black thong peeks out as Amita's jeans are unbuttoned.
Hungry tongues lash, fingers flit over flat bellies, but they want more.
Nadine abruptly grabs Amita by the hand and drags her away from the pressing throngs, deaf to the groans of the disappointed onlookers - not all of which are male at this point.
One track bleeds into the next, the beat quickens, intensifies, pulsing louder until they push the door open to the ladies' room and shut it behind them.
The room is dark, dank and the women at the mirrors squinting as they apply fresh eyeliner over sinks that haven't been clean since the club first opened glance uninterested then go back to their task beneath flickering half-burned out fluorescents.
They avoid the toilets - one's occupied and they both know they'll get bothered less if they don't hog one of the woefully insufficient stalls. A dark corner away from the mirrors is enough.
Nadine deftly finishes unbuttoning Amita's jeans and slips her fingers inside, pushing the lacy triangle of her thong aside, requesting entrance to her slippery core.
They kiss messily now, Amita breathing too hard to even think of technique. She grips Nadine's arm, leaving perfect little half moon marks from her manicure, willing her to speed up. Nadine understands.
Amita stiffens, shudders, sighs as she comes down panting hard against Nadine's cheek. She lays her forehead on Nadine's shoulder, leans her weight against the wall, against her lover, and waits for her limbs to come back to life.
Nadine is patient, such the lawyer - trained to take turns in debate - but Amita doesn't make her wait long.
The clinging damp top is pushed up to reveal a scant lacy bra beneath. Amita's fingers ghost over the curve of her breasts, rising and falling with each anticipatory breath. She lowers her mouth to a taut nipple and mouths it, hot and moist, through the delicate fabric.
Her hands find their way down, pants undone, pushed down with the panties. Fingers slide into place with sensory memory, flicking and stroking, knowing all the ways to make her lover squirm.
Nadine's never been quiet, but the door opens and closes without anyone noticing, her moans and obscenities lost in the dull thud of the music bleeding through the walls.
She pulls her own bra strap down, exposes her breast to Amita's talented tongue, writhing as hands and mouth drive her to the brink.
Amita shifts her other hand, slipping three fingers inside her at once and Nadine's falling, clenching tight around the digits dancing inside her, fluttering at the fingertips that feed her bliss.
Gasping, she staggers, but Amita soothes her, kissing her hair and murmuring words that neither can hear in the din.
It's midnight and they can hardly walk, let alone dance, but the night isn’t over yet. There's still time to revel in the music, their untouchable youth, and in the pleasure of each other's bodies.
And this is only Friday night. There's always Saturday to look forward to...
=