fic: so (elle/claire)
Title: So
Pairing: Elle/Claire
Rating: NC-17 (for teh girl porn!)
Warnings: None that I can think of here.
Spoilers: Vague S2, I think, just Elle and Bob.
Disclaimer: Not mine-dammit all to the Special Hell.
Teaser: So this is how it happens.
Sometimes when the house is empty and they find themselves stuck in the same room because Noah hasn’t given her anything to do and because Claire’s just bored, Claire will start talking to her. Telling her why the show she’s watching is a joke and why that color doesn’t work on her, and why she hates her as much as she does, why she doesn’t want her in her house anymore.
Elle decides to speak up on one day but Claire just shakes her head and goes back up to her room.
So Elle shuts up and goes back to watching her joke of a show.
Sparks crackle-pop-snap (that’s wrong but Elle likes that line better wrong than right) around Elle’s fingers as she thinks- and she knows the younger girl is watching, eyes shuttered but not completely closed. So she lets the sparks flare with blue and white, lets them dance up her arm to pool into the little dip where her elbow bends, that little spot that Claire stares at even when there’s no crackle-pop-snap (she likes the way the words flow together the wrong way) to act as an excuse for why she stares at that little spot.
Makes it surge with a sudden burn in her blood and tilts her head around to beam at bane of her existence (reason for why she keeps going now with no more daddy to give her orders, the big meanie, and no more things to do other than what Noah tells her to) and smiles until it reaches her eyes.
But then Claire gives her a disgusted look.
So Elle stops.
Elle’s cranky one day when she wakes up because she dreamed of an IV that she couldn’t pull out of her arm and it stung like a motherfucker even though it wasn’t real (not anymore) and sees Claire coming close, half asleep and muttering to herself, wearing a long shirt and probably panties but Elle isn’t sure because X-ray vision isn’t her power.
But she does have a power and she likes it and her head hurts so when the girl moves past her, she swings an arm up, pulls her blue and white crackle-pop-snap up through her bones and then pushes it out through her fingers and hears the startled shout of pain, the sound of a small body jerking away into the other wall in an attempt to get away.
She’s not allowed to touch Lyle or Sandra (Noah wouldn’t even blink before he put a bullet right between her big blue eyes) but Claire can take it, she’s special.
Sorry, she says happily even though she isn’t and keeps moving but then can’t because Claire grabs her by the arm and yanks on it, hauling Elle backwards into the wall she’d just slammed into herself. It takes all of a second and Elle’s surprised even though she shouldn’t have been (the girl likes jumping off buildings when Noah isn’t looking and Elle understands that even though she’ll never admit it) so she stands there and blinks in surprise, eyes a bit too wide.
There’s another heartbeat as they stare at each other, a sudden heartbeat that echoes like a painful tug between her legs but then Claire shakes her head in disgust and walks away.
So Elle goes back to her bedroom because she’s flustered, and her hands are crackling.
Noah doesn’t like taking her out but he has to one day so he does.
It’s a month later before they finally get back to the house (he says it’s home even though they’ve moved every two months because People High Up are still cranky that they killed her mean daddy and she suspects this has something to do with that weird line about homes and hearts) and Noah has a new burn on his arm and she’s lost two days but she doesn’t care too much because Claire glances up when they let themselves in and stares at her for a moment with soft eyes.
Claire ignores her again in the next moment, pushes rudely past her to fling arms around Noah and hold him tight.
So Elle’s smile dies and the happy feeling is gone- she stands awkwardly and watches, not sure who she’s jealous of.
Claire has strong legs with strong muscles that play under soft skin, and Elle likes it, likes just barely brushing the tips of her fingers across her legs, feeling muscles tighten in response to the barely there touch. Claire wears short skirts and tight slacks, walks around the house in long shirts and with bare legs, stretches when she’s bored.
The first time is an accident (only not really) when she drops her hand to get her drink, mouth dry and she hates that feeling because it tastes like pills when her mouth gets dry. But the back of her hand brushes Claire’s leg and little sparks go off under her skin, little sparks that aren’t blue and white but still make her head go all swimmy inside.
She flicks a cautious glance at Claire but the girl’s gone still, face blank and eyes shuttered but not closed and Elle takes it as permission, turns her hand and experimentally coasts her fingers more firmly across a cloth-covered thigh. More sparks, little crackles and pops and snaps, and she bites her lip, grins a bit, shifts on the couch to continue the touching.
But then Claire shoves her hand away.
So Elle stops.
Elle doesn’t know how to date.
She’s spent so much time away from people during those Important Years (Elle doesn’t know how, but when people say the words, they’re always capitalized) that she doesn’t completely get why anybody would find two girls or two guys weird to look at. She knows why on some basic level but like birthday parties and teddy bears, she doesn’t really Get It.
The real problem is that she isn’t sure what she’s supposed to do now that Claire’s letting her fingers go a little bit higher up her leg, and is left trying to figure out if she has any friends to ask. Realizes finally that she doesn’t have any and never needed any when daddy was alive to take care of her.
So Elle tries to figure it out by herself.
Elle likes moving her hand a little bit higher up every time she puts her hand on Claire’s leg, and it’s a fun little game, seeing how far her fingers can go before the younger girl smacks that creeping hand away and leaves the room, looking disgusted and shaking her head in a way that makes long curls sway across her back.
It becomes common for the two of them to stay up later after the rest of the house goes quiet and watch late night talk shows with bad music. Claire complains the whole time, insists that the older girl has no taste, but she doesn’t get up and leave and after the first hour Elle scoots closer and starts touching her leg, fascinated, captivated.
Six months after the touching starts, after she first reaches down for her drink and misses, a hand grabs hers with a brutal strength, tightens until it hurts, but her fingers aren’t pushed away.
So Elle keeps going.
Sometimes she doesn’t know if Claire even likes her.
Claire speaks to her sometimes as if she truly hates her, stares at her for long moments as if she’s the worst most horrible person in the world, flushes dark around her neck in outright hate when Noah is soft with Elle and tells her that she did well by holding herself back. She makes noises against the wall separating their bedroom for hours those nights after Noah is gentle with her, plays her music so loudly that it makes Elle’s ears ring and little sparks crackle and pop under her nails as she tries to stay calm.
Claire gets upset over little things that don’t matter, but doesn’t care when Elle kills a man for Noah.
When Elle first tries to make a batch of muffins because she’s upset (Claire always says baking makes things better because beating eggs is good for your stress level) she ends up burning them because she doesn’t know how to work the stove even though she always watches Claire do it. She gets so upset with the stove that she accidentally fries it, and then gets a Firm Talking To (that’s what daddy always called it) from Noah for not having any control.
Claire comes home in the middle of the firm talking-to, sees the stove and her father and Elle looking guilty and is upset in a way that makes no sense to the soot-streaked tiny blonde woman almost in tears. And then Claire moves forward and slaps her hard before Noah grabs her and pulls her back, and Elle starts crying then because she’d been trying to make the muffins for her because she was always so stressed when she came home from class.
So Elle finally realizes that she’s not doing very well at figuring it out for herself.
Claire doesn’t sit with her anymore, and blue-white begins to arc under Elle’s skin in ways it never has before.
Noah takes her out less and less, because she’s using too much power when they find who they’re looking for and she’s making too many messes and comes back too many times missing big chunks of time. She doesn’t mind, she’s lost enough time so a little more doesn’t seem that bad, but she doesn’t like being in the house anymore because while Mr. Muggles has stopped trying to bite her toe off, Claire’s a big meanie.
She feels like somebody put too much energy into her, too much crackle-pop-snap and kept twisting it inside her because they’re big meanies just like Claire.
Claire, who makes curls swing against her back when she walks and chews the corner of a thumbnail in a way that makes Elle hate thumbs; Claire, who stares at her but doesn’t sit with her anymore and glares at her furiously whenever Noah is gentle with her, sets a palm on her shoulder and squeezes like he’s her daddy even though he isn’t.
So Elle starts going out when Noah is busy to blow up store-bought muffins under a nearby bridge.
Noah is a good protector.
It’s a silly line but it’s true and he goes through the house every night before he finally heads to bed, Mr. Muggles at his heels, always stares at the two girls carefully on the nights when they stay up on the couch. Sometimes Elle wonders if he knows but she’s sure that if he did, he’d have already made sure they stopped and didn’t do anything ever again so she doesn’t think he knows.
But tonight she’s not downstairs because it’s been two months since The Muffin Incident and even though there’s no bruise, she’s still aware of where a small palm cracked against it long days before. She puts on her nightshirt and drops into bed and listens closely for any noise through the wall, ears straining.
She glances up once when Noah glances in, eyes flicking fast around the room, but then he’s gone with a quiet suggestion that she get some sleep and closes the door behind him, leaving her to wait for any noise through the wall. But there’s no sound and she finally wilts in acceptance, closes her eyes and makes a face and thinks for the millionth time about how mean Claire is for not letting her touch her leg.
Elle’s almost asleep when the door opens and Claire peers in, eyes shuttered but not closed and mouth tight, fingers locked around the doorframe. There’s another one of those long awkward looks but when Elle moves to get out of bed, Claire shakes her head and turns away, slips back out of her room and closes the door behind her.
So Elle is once again completely confused because daddy never taught her this.
Claire bites when she kisses.
Elle wakes up when a leg slides across hers, when a warm body drapes atop hers and presses tightly down; she has time to open her mouth but not to speak before Claire crushes her mouth to hers, digs fingers hard into her jaw and presses her down into her own bed, hips fitting neatly down on top of Elle’s.
There’s a sudden yelp into her mouth and Claire jerks back, face flushed and eyes wide, looking down at already healing skin on her arm where electricity crackle-pop-snapped a second before. Being jumped by a tiny blonde was sudden and freaky, and Elle blanches and blushes at the same time, cringes, embarrassed but not surprised-
But then Claire is on her again, harder than before, hips moving almost-but-not-quite-painfully down against hers and palms pushing her into the mattress, making tiny little noises that send little shocks down between Elle’s legs. She nearly jumps out of her skin when one hand drops between them but then it moves back against Claire, pushes between cotton and skin and Elle understands that.
She used to do it all the time, when the lights went out and she was bored in her little white bed.
Elle’s pinned, held down, so she tries to do what she can but Claire smacks her hand away, leaning forward again for another one of those kisses that feels like a bite. Hips are moving down against hers again and Elle is fascinated, pushes against a slight stomach, panting from too little air and too much movement. She can’t see much and while the noises are just barely there, they’re desperate and Elle remembers that.
Her hands claw and finally catch fabric, shocks the hand that comes down to push hers away, is smugly pleased when Claire loses balance and tumbles forward onto her. She catches herself with one arm before she can hit Elle, but she’s still startled by her little fall and Elle takes her chance, pushes a hand between cotton and skin, pushes more and finds a wetness that unnerves her for a second.
Probes for a moment and then slides fingers slightly into Claire, grinning at the low breathless sound to greet her.
Claire stops trying to shift away, instead works herself down harder around still fingers, braces herself with a hand on either side of Elle’s head and makes that sound again, a tiny little breathless noise that sends more little shocks through her. The angle’s all different and so is the body but Elle knows the basics and starts searching for that little spot that always makes her skin feel tight, works in and out determinedly, swallowing at the sounds that greet her.
Fingers dig more viciously into sheets and Claire’s moving, hard and slow right along with her, low noises staying low but becoming more frantic, head falling forward. A long fall of blonde hair leaves Elle blind but it doesn’t matter because she’s beginning to push in what she thinks is just the right way and yes, she’s got to be in the right place because the younger girl makes a thin little noise like a muffled whine and shakes inside.
Elle likes it so she does it again, more firmly than before, grinning at the way Claire tightens around her fingers, presses down hard against her hand and makes that sound again. It’s still quiet, muffled, and she realizes that Claire’s pressing her face into her pillow, so Elle works harder because she’s no longer worried that anybody’s going to hear them, not anymore.
Moves her free hand up a belly and beneath a bunched-up shirt, finds bare breasts shaking with each little jerk of hips against a hand. She spends a moment confused at which one she wants, but finally goes with the right, twisting a tightened little knot of flesh and then rolling it fast between thumb and forefinger, feeling the shudder inside the younger girl again, the one she likes.
Claire moans something then but it’s into Elle’s pillow so she doesn’t know what it is.
She changes her fingers, flexes them, searches with her thumb and finds the little bundle of nerves in a way that causes that thin little whine again. She pushes a bit more with her fingers, strokes hard with a thumb, hard and fast, and feels the shudder again, much harder than before. Again, and Claire’s sound is barely there when she peaks because she’s biting into the pillow but Elle can still feel it building and then breaking in her middle, and likes it.
Better than all the fun toys she’d never gotten when she was little, and then she grunts in pain when Claire simple collapses on top of her, shaking, panting, little trembles still traveling through her. Grimacing, Elle pulls her hand away, rolls her wrist and hears a pop because the angle had been odd and she’s only now aware of how sore her wrist is now that Claire’s no longer making those fun little noises that distracted her.
And she’s somehow only now aware of the furious ache between her legs, the one that makes her swallow when Claire slides a knee between her thighs, pulls away to stare down at Elle in a way that Elle finds herself stuck mute by. And then that leg moves more firmly upwards, and her shirt is being pushed up, and Elle nods as a palm kneads her breast and Elle gets this even if she doesn’t get anything else, gives her permission in short little pants.
So Claire doesn’t stop.
Pairing: Elle/Claire
Rating: NC-17 (for teh girl porn!)
Warnings: None that I can think of here.
Spoilers: Vague S2, I think, just Elle and Bob.
Disclaimer: Not mine-dammit all to the Special Hell.
Teaser: So this is how it happens.
Sometimes when the house is empty and they find themselves stuck in the same room because Noah hasn’t given her anything to do and because Claire’s just bored, Claire will start talking to her. Telling her why the show she’s watching is a joke and why that color doesn’t work on her, and why she hates her as much as she does, why she doesn’t want her in her house anymore.
Elle decides to speak up on one day but Claire just shakes her head and goes back up to her room.
So Elle shuts up and goes back to watching her joke of a show.
Sparks crackle-pop-snap (that’s wrong but Elle likes that line better wrong than right) around Elle’s fingers as she thinks- and she knows the younger girl is watching, eyes shuttered but not completely closed. So she lets the sparks flare with blue and white, lets them dance up her arm to pool into the little dip where her elbow bends, that little spot that Claire stares at even when there’s no crackle-pop-snap (she likes the way the words flow together the wrong way) to act as an excuse for why she stares at that little spot.
Makes it surge with a sudden burn in her blood and tilts her head around to beam at bane of her existence (reason for why she keeps going now with no more daddy to give her orders, the big meanie, and no more things to do other than what Noah tells her to) and smiles until it reaches her eyes.
But then Claire gives her a disgusted look.
So Elle stops.
Elle’s cranky one day when she wakes up because she dreamed of an IV that she couldn’t pull out of her arm and it stung like a motherfucker even though it wasn’t real (not anymore) and sees Claire coming close, half asleep and muttering to herself, wearing a long shirt and probably panties but Elle isn’t sure because X-ray vision isn’t her power.
But she does have a power and she likes it and her head hurts so when the girl moves past her, she swings an arm up, pulls her blue and white crackle-pop-snap up through her bones and then pushes it out through her fingers and hears the startled shout of pain, the sound of a small body jerking away into the other wall in an attempt to get away.
She’s not allowed to touch Lyle or Sandra (Noah wouldn’t even blink before he put a bullet right between her big blue eyes) but Claire can take it, she’s special.
Sorry, she says happily even though she isn’t and keeps moving but then can’t because Claire grabs her by the arm and yanks on it, hauling Elle backwards into the wall she’d just slammed into herself. It takes all of a second and Elle’s surprised even though she shouldn’t have been (the girl likes jumping off buildings when Noah isn’t looking and Elle understands that even though she’ll never admit it) so she stands there and blinks in surprise, eyes a bit too wide.
There’s another heartbeat as they stare at each other, a sudden heartbeat that echoes like a painful tug between her legs but then Claire shakes her head in disgust and walks away.
So Elle goes back to her bedroom because she’s flustered, and her hands are crackling.
Noah doesn’t like taking her out but he has to one day so he does.
It’s a month later before they finally get back to the house (he says it’s home even though they’ve moved every two months because People High Up are still cranky that they killed her mean daddy and she suspects this has something to do with that weird line about homes and hearts) and Noah has a new burn on his arm and she’s lost two days but she doesn’t care too much because Claire glances up when they let themselves in and stares at her for a moment with soft eyes.
Claire ignores her again in the next moment, pushes rudely past her to fling arms around Noah and hold him tight.
So Elle’s smile dies and the happy feeling is gone- she stands awkwardly and watches, not sure who she’s jealous of.
Claire has strong legs with strong muscles that play under soft skin, and Elle likes it, likes just barely brushing the tips of her fingers across her legs, feeling muscles tighten in response to the barely there touch. Claire wears short skirts and tight slacks, walks around the house in long shirts and with bare legs, stretches when she’s bored.
The first time is an accident (only not really) when she drops her hand to get her drink, mouth dry and she hates that feeling because it tastes like pills when her mouth gets dry. But the back of her hand brushes Claire’s leg and little sparks go off under her skin, little sparks that aren’t blue and white but still make her head go all swimmy inside.
She flicks a cautious glance at Claire but the girl’s gone still, face blank and eyes shuttered but not closed and Elle takes it as permission, turns her hand and experimentally coasts her fingers more firmly across a cloth-covered thigh. More sparks, little crackles and pops and snaps, and she bites her lip, grins a bit, shifts on the couch to continue the touching.
But then Claire shoves her hand away.
So Elle stops.
Elle doesn’t know how to date.
She’s spent so much time away from people during those Important Years (Elle doesn’t know how, but when people say the words, they’re always capitalized) that she doesn’t completely get why anybody would find two girls or two guys weird to look at. She knows why on some basic level but like birthday parties and teddy bears, she doesn’t really Get It.
The real problem is that she isn’t sure what she’s supposed to do now that Claire’s letting her fingers go a little bit higher up her leg, and is left trying to figure out if she has any friends to ask. Realizes finally that she doesn’t have any and never needed any when daddy was alive to take care of her.
So Elle tries to figure it out by herself.
Elle likes moving her hand a little bit higher up every time she puts her hand on Claire’s leg, and it’s a fun little game, seeing how far her fingers can go before the younger girl smacks that creeping hand away and leaves the room, looking disgusted and shaking her head in a way that makes long curls sway across her back.
It becomes common for the two of them to stay up later after the rest of the house goes quiet and watch late night talk shows with bad music. Claire complains the whole time, insists that the older girl has no taste, but she doesn’t get up and leave and after the first hour Elle scoots closer and starts touching her leg, fascinated, captivated.
Six months after the touching starts, after she first reaches down for her drink and misses, a hand grabs hers with a brutal strength, tightens until it hurts, but her fingers aren’t pushed away.
So Elle keeps going.
Sometimes she doesn’t know if Claire even likes her.
Claire speaks to her sometimes as if she truly hates her, stares at her for long moments as if she’s the worst most horrible person in the world, flushes dark around her neck in outright hate when Noah is soft with Elle and tells her that she did well by holding herself back. She makes noises against the wall separating their bedroom for hours those nights after Noah is gentle with her, plays her music so loudly that it makes Elle’s ears ring and little sparks crackle and pop under her nails as she tries to stay calm.
Claire gets upset over little things that don’t matter, but doesn’t care when Elle kills a man for Noah.
When Elle first tries to make a batch of muffins because she’s upset (Claire always says baking makes things better because beating eggs is good for your stress level) she ends up burning them because she doesn’t know how to work the stove even though she always watches Claire do it. She gets so upset with the stove that she accidentally fries it, and then gets a Firm Talking To (that’s what daddy always called it) from Noah for not having any control.
Claire comes home in the middle of the firm talking-to, sees the stove and her father and Elle looking guilty and is upset in a way that makes no sense to the soot-streaked tiny blonde woman almost in tears. And then Claire moves forward and slaps her hard before Noah grabs her and pulls her back, and Elle starts crying then because she’d been trying to make the muffins for her because she was always so stressed when she came home from class.
So Elle finally realizes that she’s not doing very well at figuring it out for herself.
Claire doesn’t sit with her anymore, and blue-white begins to arc under Elle’s skin in ways it never has before.
Noah takes her out less and less, because she’s using too much power when they find who they’re looking for and she’s making too many messes and comes back too many times missing big chunks of time. She doesn’t mind, she’s lost enough time so a little more doesn’t seem that bad, but she doesn’t like being in the house anymore because while Mr. Muggles has stopped trying to bite her toe off, Claire’s a big meanie.
She feels like somebody put too much energy into her, too much crackle-pop-snap and kept twisting it inside her because they’re big meanies just like Claire.
Claire, who makes curls swing against her back when she walks and chews the corner of a thumbnail in a way that makes Elle hate thumbs; Claire, who stares at her but doesn’t sit with her anymore and glares at her furiously whenever Noah is gentle with her, sets a palm on her shoulder and squeezes like he’s her daddy even though he isn’t.
So Elle starts going out when Noah is busy to blow up store-bought muffins under a nearby bridge.
Noah is a good protector.
It’s a silly line but it’s true and he goes through the house every night before he finally heads to bed, Mr. Muggles at his heels, always stares at the two girls carefully on the nights when they stay up on the couch. Sometimes Elle wonders if he knows but she’s sure that if he did, he’d have already made sure they stopped and didn’t do anything ever again so she doesn’t think he knows.
But tonight she’s not downstairs because it’s been two months since The Muffin Incident and even though there’s no bruise, she’s still aware of where a small palm cracked against it long days before. She puts on her nightshirt and drops into bed and listens closely for any noise through the wall, ears straining.
She glances up once when Noah glances in, eyes flicking fast around the room, but then he’s gone with a quiet suggestion that she get some sleep and closes the door behind him, leaving her to wait for any noise through the wall. But there’s no sound and she finally wilts in acceptance, closes her eyes and makes a face and thinks for the millionth time about how mean Claire is for not letting her touch her leg.
Elle’s almost asleep when the door opens and Claire peers in, eyes shuttered but not closed and mouth tight, fingers locked around the doorframe. There’s another one of those long awkward looks but when Elle moves to get out of bed, Claire shakes her head and turns away, slips back out of her room and closes the door behind her.
So Elle is once again completely confused because daddy never taught her this.
Claire bites when she kisses.
Elle wakes up when a leg slides across hers, when a warm body drapes atop hers and presses tightly down; she has time to open her mouth but not to speak before Claire crushes her mouth to hers, digs fingers hard into her jaw and presses her down into her own bed, hips fitting neatly down on top of Elle’s.
There’s a sudden yelp into her mouth and Claire jerks back, face flushed and eyes wide, looking down at already healing skin on her arm where electricity crackle-pop-snapped a second before. Being jumped by a tiny blonde was sudden and freaky, and Elle blanches and blushes at the same time, cringes, embarrassed but not surprised-
But then Claire is on her again, harder than before, hips moving almost-but-not-quite-painfully down against hers and palms pushing her into the mattress, making tiny little noises that send little shocks down between Elle’s legs. She nearly jumps out of her skin when one hand drops between them but then it moves back against Claire, pushes between cotton and skin and Elle understands that.
She used to do it all the time, when the lights went out and she was bored in her little white bed.
Elle’s pinned, held down, so she tries to do what she can but Claire smacks her hand away, leaning forward again for another one of those kisses that feels like a bite. Hips are moving down against hers again and Elle is fascinated, pushes against a slight stomach, panting from too little air and too much movement. She can’t see much and while the noises are just barely there, they’re desperate and Elle remembers that.
Her hands claw and finally catch fabric, shocks the hand that comes down to push hers away, is smugly pleased when Claire loses balance and tumbles forward onto her. She catches herself with one arm before she can hit Elle, but she’s still startled by her little fall and Elle takes her chance, pushes a hand between cotton and skin, pushes more and finds a wetness that unnerves her for a second.
Probes for a moment and then slides fingers slightly into Claire, grinning at the low breathless sound to greet her.
Claire stops trying to shift away, instead works herself down harder around still fingers, braces herself with a hand on either side of Elle’s head and makes that sound again, a tiny little breathless noise that sends more little shocks through her. The angle’s all different and so is the body but Elle knows the basics and starts searching for that little spot that always makes her skin feel tight, works in and out determinedly, swallowing at the sounds that greet her.
Fingers dig more viciously into sheets and Claire’s moving, hard and slow right along with her, low noises staying low but becoming more frantic, head falling forward. A long fall of blonde hair leaves Elle blind but it doesn’t matter because she’s beginning to push in what she thinks is just the right way and yes, she’s got to be in the right place because the younger girl makes a thin little noise like a muffled whine and shakes inside.
Elle likes it so she does it again, more firmly than before, grinning at the way Claire tightens around her fingers, presses down hard against her hand and makes that sound again. It’s still quiet, muffled, and she realizes that Claire’s pressing her face into her pillow, so Elle works harder because she’s no longer worried that anybody’s going to hear them, not anymore.
Moves her free hand up a belly and beneath a bunched-up shirt, finds bare breasts shaking with each little jerk of hips against a hand. She spends a moment confused at which one she wants, but finally goes with the right, twisting a tightened little knot of flesh and then rolling it fast between thumb and forefinger, feeling the shudder inside the younger girl again, the one she likes.
Claire moans something then but it’s into Elle’s pillow so she doesn’t know what it is.
She changes her fingers, flexes them, searches with her thumb and finds the little bundle of nerves in a way that causes that thin little whine again. She pushes a bit more with her fingers, strokes hard with a thumb, hard and fast, and feels the shudder again, much harder than before. Again, and Claire’s sound is barely there when she peaks because she’s biting into the pillow but Elle can still feel it building and then breaking in her middle, and likes it.
Better than all the fun toys she’d never gotten when she was little, and then she grunts in pain when Claire simple collapses on top of her, shaking, panting, little trembles still traveling through her. Grimacing, Elle pulls her hand away, rolls her wrist and hears a pop because the angle had been odd and she’s only now aware of how sore her wrist is now that Claire’s no longer making those fun little noises that distracted her.
And she’s somehow only now aware of the furious ache between her legs, the one that makes her swallow when Claire slides a knee between her thighs, pulls away to stare down at Elle in a way that Elle finds herself stuck mute by. And then that leg moves more firmly upwards, and her shirt is being pushed up, and Elle nods as a palm kneads her breast and Elle gets this even if she doesn’t get anything else, gives her permission in short little pants.
So Claire doesn’t stop.