you to light my nights somehow - fic, 1189 words.
Title: you to light my nights somehow
Characters, Pairing: Jo/Kat
Rating: NC-17.
Word Count: 1189.
Summary: For a girl who looks like she should be in a Midwestern Sunday school singing hymns or baking cookies, she is a crazy-good girl-kisser.
Warnings: Pornlicious. Possible tense-fuckery. I need a perma-beta, damnit.
Notes: This would have been written for rarepair50, but nobody wanted to accept my sign-up ): So I stole their kink!prompt-table in retaliation. This one is prompt #1: Leather. Title from Leather and Lace by Fleetwood Mac which has absolutely nothing to do with this fic :D, though I do like it.
The first time they meet Jo’s wearing a beaten-up brown leather jacket, looks like it’d belonged to an ex-boyfriend or a brother or a father in it’s first life, sleeves hanging down over her pale little fingers and swallowing her up. Looks heavy and warm and like it’d been pummelled it’s way soft, the collar turned up about her stubborn chin and framing her face just so, gold hair shining loose in the dim light.
“Nice jacket,” Kat said and tipped her drink. It’ll be the first thing to go, pushed off Jo’s shoulders in a rush and dropped to the ground. Kat can’t wait to taste Jo’s bared skin, the smell of the leather lingering in the crease of her elbows, the sweat under her jaw.
“You like?” Jo said, dropping her eyes with a private little grin. “I borrowed it from a friend.”
“By borrow you mean permanently, right?” Kat asked, and ate one of her chilli cheese fries with deliberate focus, licked the greasy swell of her bottom lip clean. She watched as Jo’s eyes followed the movement, thought hell yes with the thrill of it running down through her gut. Being minus one stupid boyfriend had its definite perks, she was happily remembering. Hotass girls like Jo were just one.
“Only if he and his brother don’t find out it was me,” Jo said, casually stealing a couple of Kat’s fries and leaning in, elbows on the table. Her lips shined with something Kat wanted to taste, cherry or strawberry or watermelon staining that pretty mouth; she thinks she knows how Jo will kiss already, shy and unsure ‘coz this is her first time with a girl, opening up slow under pressure. She swallows and shifts on the blood-warmed barstool, curls her hand tight about her sweating glass. “Otherwise I’m sure they’ll think of something permanent they can do to me.”
“You’re on the lam,” Kat grinned, and took a sip, rum and coke sweet and trailing warmth down her throat.
“Something like that,” Jo laughed, little edge of something there that might be truth. She blinks up at Kat from under her lashes, and Kat forgets to care. “Should probably find a place to lie low for a while, out of the firing range, you know.”
“No doubt you already thought of where,” Kat said, arched a brow.
“Yeah,” Jo said. “No doubt.”
~
Jo doesn’t kiss shy and unsure; she kisses laughing and a little feral, struggling with Kat’s belt and shoving a hand down inside her jeans to palm her through cotton panties. Kat can feel the cold shock of the leather sliding along her belly, and a gasp cleaves her mouth as Jo strokes up cool fingers, leans back to watch Kat’s wide eyes and lick the sticky pink from her own mouth.
“First time with a girl?” Jo asks, gentle and low in the darkness. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take care of you.”
If Kat could get in the breath to laugh she would - as it is she’s pushed back unexpected, knees hitting the mattress and dropping her down; barely has time to bounce before Jo’s back on her, sliding her jeans and underwear down her legs, running palms back up over her calves.
She climbs over Kat on all fours, hair swinging down, silver moonlit curtains that brush her neck and collarbone, the frozen teeth of her jacket brushing at Kat’s waist where her shirt’s ridden up. “Get this off,” Jo huffs, and helps Kat struggle it over her head, getting stuck in elbows and too many hands, her hair straggling free of it’s clip and glimmering on the pillows as they giggle breathlessly, throw it finally to the floor. “Yours is straighter’n mine,” Jo murmurs, almost curious, before shifting suddenly down to lick open Kat’s mouth again, the sweet curl of tongue, tiny teasing pecks at Kat’s lips to draw her up off the pillows and make her whine low down in her throat, before she melts once more into that surprising intensity.
For a girl who looks like she should be in a Midwestern Sunday school singing hymns or baking cookies, she is a crazy-good girl-kisser.
Jo’s eyes are fierce and dark when she moves back, her mouth already so wet and swollen from Kat’s teeth, bending over her. She groans, spreads her knees so Jo can fall between them, tilts up her hips so Jo can push her fingers back down through her heat and rub just to the left of her clit with her thumb. It’s an agonising tease, and Kat tries to shift, move herself so Jo can touch her right, but then they’re kissing again and it almost doesn’t matter, the smell of leather and sweat and Jo’s lipgloss, her hair fogging Kat’s brain. Jo stretching herself down to rub over her body like a cat, the exposed tops of Kat’s breasts, her stomach, shuddering at the cool skid of the leather jacket catching on her sweat.
The pleasure aches in her bones - it’s so good even as it’s awkward, first-time jostling for position and synchronisation. The two of them bumping foreheads when they move in together for another kiss, laughing, Kat’s hands tangled up under Jo’s jacket and shirt, trying to wrestle off her bra - and why is it so much easier to do this on herself? Finally she gives up, shoves her hands inside the cups and just rolls Jo’s nipples between two fingers each, swallows her gasp in her mouth and gives back a frustrated moan, a lick of tongue in return.
She undoes the top button of Jo’s jeans, slides in her hand and curls two fingers in her slick, Jo unsnapping Kat’s bra and pulling off the straps, one tangling doggedly around her wrist before it finally gets shaken off. Then Kat’s finally naked, and opening her eyes she realises - Jo’s not even kicked off her boots.
“You -” she says, but Jo’s finally hit the spot and it shuts her up fast, a moan clogging up her throat, back arching. “Jo -” she tries again, and that’s when Jo rolls her on top, the tender skin of her inner thighs riding denim and leather and Jo’s fingers. “Fuck,” she sighs, drawing it out, and decides it doesn’t matter, not right now. Not at all.
~
Jo sleeps light, on her stomach with her face mashed into Kat’s right shoulder, legs spread to take up the whole bed, barely-unbuttoned jeans sliding down to bare the dimples in her back. Kat, naked, dead asleep, soft wheezy little snores and grabby hands, curls into her and under the jacket to hide from the morning chill, their legs tangling together and one of Jo’s thighs cradled between her own.
When she wakes Jo’s gone, but she can still smell the leather on her own skin, can see the zipper line red and still pressed into the flesh of her back in the mirror; wishes she didn’t have to shower it off so she could remember the whole day.
She doesn’t stop remembering Jo anyway, not that day, nor the next, or the next.