Skins Fic
Title: Astrophysics
fandom: Skins
pairing: Emily/Naomi
rating: mature
a/n It's been a traumatic week for Naomily fans, thanks to She Who Shall Not Be Named, and I thought, what better time to jump into the fray? Word to the wise: stay strong, kids. Effy's only role in this is to be a purveyor of narcotic plants. This is obviously my first foray into Skins fic, and it wouldn't have come about without some tireless encouragement from crony theclosetalker and some "just do it, already," type comments from sivim27. The latter also reminded me that using paragraphs is not only acceptable, but in some circles, preferred.
a/n:2 I am not in fact, British- despite the fact that I often employ a hilariously awful British accent in everyday life. Not that I am suggesting anyone would be fooled because I replaced sweater with jumper. I'm just saying, I learned British from Skins and Harry Potter, which means I now know barmy git and cunt. Sorry.
Mum is such a cunt, Naomi thinks bitterly. Synthetic wool is nothing like the real thing; she can hear her teeth chattering as she pulls the pink blanket over her shoulders roughly.
It’s almost impossible to think about how close she is to Emily, or even to be aggravated by how close JJ is to both of them, when they’ve gone camping on a bloody polar ice cap.
Grimacing, Naomi closes her eyes, trying to hold onto the delicious high from earlier, before Cook cocked everything up. The chill begins to seep in through the blanket, and without really meaning to, she makes a sound that’s pathetically like, “Brrrr.”
Emily’s small hand floats over the edge of her own sleeping bag, until she’s lifting it up at the corner, exposing the flannel lining invitingly.
Naomi blinks at her in the darkness, and Emily rolls her eyes, not unkindly, as if Naomi is being as daft and ungracious as she’s come to expect. “In here,” she murmurs simply, after Naomi refuses to budge.
Sniffing lightly, because she feels like she should, Naomi slides over her own pallet, muttering, “Fuck’s sake,” as she scoots ungracefully into the sleeping bag.
Naomi holds herself awkwardly still inside the insulated bag, feeling as though it would be impolite for her to sprawl out into Emily’s space so quickly. She shifts further into her side of the bag, until Emily, sensing Naomi’s reluctance to move, reaches across her to lock them inside of it with a definitive scrape of the zipper.
JJ has shifted away even further from their shared warmth. Naomi forces herself to hold back an arrogant snort. It’s such an idiotic thing to do. Tosser.
Emily’s breathing is soft and slow, perfectly regular, soothing even, and Naomi bites her lip in surprise when Emily murmurs wryly, “Right sweltering in here, yeah?”
Naomi hears herself laugh, and buoyed by Emily’s lovely grin, she offers with as much cantankerousness as she can muster, “Whose bollocks idea was this, again?”
Emily smiles fondly, and Naomi can’t keep from grinning back. Their knees are touching, hers and Emily’s, and the thing she's got to do now is to look away. It’s not the right thing, but it’s the simplest, and she’s got to do what’s easy, if she’s going to do the thing she’s suddenly realized she wants to do very much.
Emily hasn’t moved her leg, and Naomi takes it as a sign of cooperation, closing her eyes tightly as she rolls onto her side. Tentatively, she reaches out, resting her hand over Emily’s stomach.
Emily’s fingers grip Naomi’s arm through her blue jumper, and Naomi recognizes the gesture as being meant to soothe her. She flinches a little at the realization that she’s conditioned Emily to believe she will bolt, and wills herself not to react; not to move.Emily continues stroking her fingers over Naomi’s arm, and it’s not the first time that Emily has made her feel like an idiot, simply be being brave; acting the way Naomi has always done, but somehow doing it better.
Lips thinned in determination, Naomi slides her hand between the layers of Emily’s jumpers. She’s already nervous, and the thought of Emily squealing at the touch of her glacially cool fingers is enough to make Naomi cringe, and so she runs her hand up and down over the fuzzy fabric of her sweater, until her hands starts to feel tingly.
They haven’t kissed since the lake, haven’t really been alone together since the cat flap; tagging along with Effy on this bizarre campout was the only way Naomi could think of to be around Emily at all, and when she cranes her neck forward, pressing her lips against Em’s in relief, she knows she’s missed it.
Naomi kisses Emily for long minutes, because she’d almost forgotten how incredible it feels, and how, if spending time with Emily makes her feel like a better person, then kissing Emily makes her feel like the best person, the happiest person. They kiss each other until Emily’s fingers falter in their rhythm on her arm, and she uses the distraction to cup the blade of Emily’s shoulder through her jumper, until she’s traced the perimeter at lease seventy times.
JJ coughs weakly behind them, and Naomi’s hands freeze on Emily’s body.
Shit.
Naomi pulls back, vaguely conscious of Emily gripping her almost desperately, but she’s mostly concerned with ways to murder the interfering little wanker in his sleep. He rolls flat on his back, his side pressed snugly against Emily, and Naomi has to concentrate very hard on her breathing. She can feel Emily’s eyes on her, waiting for her to shy away, to use JJ as an excuse to end things neatly for the evening.
Naomi is terrified. She’s never not been a bit petrified by Emily, even if it was sometimes because of her borderline stalker tendencies.
Right, Naomi thinks, after it’s clear that JJ isn’t moving any more. Right, what's next?
She does it to herself. She is bloody good at doing this to herself. She did it last night, in her warm bed, thinking of Emily- the night before last, thinking of Emily again. Now, she’s got Emily right in front of her, being well fucking agreeable, and she’s going to show Emily that she is good at this.
She moves her hand around to Emily’s side, faster than she would have liked, and when Emily jerks in surprise, she scolds herself for her graceless attempt at molestation.
Her fingers are warmer now, but it doesn’t keep Emily from shivering when they brush against the bare skin of her stomach. Shakily, she questions, “All right?”
Emily nods, quickly, and Naomi can feel the tension in her body, the muscles that quiver tellingly.
Naomi bites down on her lip, envisioning her fingers underneath the sleeping bag, working their way inside of Emily’s knickers. It’s hot, when she gets inside of them, and Naomi has to bite down even harder on her lip to keep from mumbling something terribly inappropriate.
Emily gasps, right up against her ear, and Naomi focuses on keeping her palm flat, stretching the fabric of Emily’s knickers so that she’s barely touching her.
Emily works her hips forward the tiniest bit, almost like it’s an accident, and that’s when Naomi really could give a fuck about anything but the wetness that’s coating her fingers, or the sound that Emily makes when Naomi flattens her hand.
Emily’s right arm curls under Naomi’s neck until her hand is clutching her shoulder, and Naomi hears her whisper something unintelligible. Naomi expected that it might feel strange, touching someone else’s, or that it might take her a moment to find her way; it’s not as if she’s practiced on a mirror, but all she can feel is slickness beneath her fingers, and Emily makes the most encouraging noises and so finding a good direction isn’t really all that complicated.
It doesn’t mean that she is prepared to look at Emily while she’s fucking her. Christ. Not just yet, even though thinking about it makes her unbelievably aroused.
Naomi closes her eyes, presses her forehead against the collar of Emily's jumper, and smoothes her fingers over Emily’s cunt before she drags her middle finger through perilously slick folds. She dips her finger further into Emily, and there’s a new, satisfying sound they’re making that’s just obscene. She has to stifle her own little moan into Emily’s chest when she realizes she’s dripping, too.
Emily turns her head, muttering, “Fuck,” until her mouth is open against Naomi's hair, her breath stirring it each time she exhales raggedly, and her free hand-the one not gripping Naomi's shoulder tightly- clutches wildly at Naomi's waist.
Naomi feels the material of her shirts being pulled taut around her, and she flashes briefly to her own hands that night at the lake, pulling at Emily’s hair, trying to hold her in place, and yet encouraging her to keep moving.
Emily tries to swallow a groan, and then Naomi dips her finger into her completely, wondering if Emily can feel how it shakes uncertainly; she pushes inside slowly, until the rest of her hand can cup Emily tenderly.
The pressure of Emily's hands grows more forceful and she realizes that Emily's pushed herself down, and it reminds her that it doesn't stop here, that there's more; she draws her finger away, and it slides so easily out of Emily that it seems like a magic trick.
Emily pulls her closer still, though there didn’t seem to be any space left between them, and Naomi slides right back inside, gently, before she experiments with the angles, wiggling her fingertip until Emily breathes, "Again."
Naomi permits herself a secret, hidden smile against Emily's body, and repeats the process, twisting her finger inside until Emily relaxes, just for a second, then it's time for Naomi to do it all over again.
It goes on for a while. Naomi loses all track of the time, until it becomes clear that all of Emily’s reflexive bucking and all of her artless pressing against Naomi’s hand is really just a plea for it to be over. When Emily finally comes, she squeezes Naomi until it hurts, pressing her lips against Naomi’s temple so snugly that Naomi can feel the outline of her teeth.
When it's over, Emily’s arms fall limply around Naomi’s body, and Naomi is conscious of a dull, yet somehow delicious ache in the tendons and muscles of her arm. The pleasant, constant ache dwindles slowly to the tune of Emily’s breathing, and then her world seems to expand, exponentially, with the sure knowledge that she has just gotten somebody-no, Emily-off.
And then there's Emily, lying beside her, catching her breath and still holding onto Naomi, and it’s all so fucking wonderful that she’s almost embarrassed by it, by the perfection of it all.
Emily’s pulling her into a kiss, and then her world contracts again, until she’s just Naomi, and they’re just snogging, and Emily just feels wonderful, and so there’s no reason to become inexcusably poetic about things--let alone any reason to run.
fandom: Skins
pairing: Emily/Naomi
rating: mature
a/n It's been a traumatic week for Naomily fans, thanks to She Who Shall Not Be Named, and I thought, what better time to jump into the fray? Word to the wise: stay strong, kids. Effy's only role in this is to be a purveyor of narcotic plants. This is obviously my first foray into Skins fic, and it wouldn't have come about without some tireless encouragement from crony theclosetalker and some "just do it, already," type comments from sivim27. The latter also reminded me that using paragraphs is not only acceptable, but in some circles, preferred.
a/n:2 I am not in fact, British- despite the fact that I often employ a hilariously awful British accent in everyday life. Not that I am suggesting anyone would be fooled because I replaced sweater with jumper. I'm just saying, I learned British from Skins and Harry Potter, which means I now know barmy git and cunt. Sorry.
Mum is such a cunt, Naomi thinks bitterly. Synthetic wool is nothing like the real thing; she can hear her teeth chattering as she pulls the pink blanket over her shoulders roughly.
It’s almost impossible to think about how close she is to Emily, or even to be aggravated by how close JJ is to both of them, when they’ve gone camping on a bloody polar ice cap.
Grimacing, Naomi closes her eyes, trying to hold onto the delicious high from earlier, before Cook cocked everything up. The chill begins to seep in through the blanket, and without really meaning to, she makes a sound that’s pathetically like, “Brrrr.”
Emily’s small hand floats over the edge of her own sleeping bag, until she’s lifting it up at the corner, exposing the flannel lining invitingly.
Naomi blinks at her in the darkness, and Emily rolls her eyes, not unkindly, as if Naomi is being as daft and ungracious as she’s come to expect. “In here,” she murmurs simply, after Naomi refuses to budge.
Sniffing lightly, because she feels like she should, Naomi slides over her own pallet, muttering, “Fuck’s sake,” as she scoots ungracefully into the sleeping bag.
Naomi holds herself awkwardly still inside the insulated bag, feeling as though it would be impolite for her to sprawl out into Emily’s space so quickly. She shifts further into her side of the bag, until Emily, sensing Naomi’s reluctance to move, reaches across her to lock them inside of it with a definitive scrape of the zipper.
JJ has shifted away even further from their shared warmth. Naomi forces herself to hold back an arrogant snort. It’s such an idiotic thing to do. Tosser.
Emily’s breathing is soft and slow, perfectly regular, soothing even, and Naomi bites her lip in surprise when Emily murmurs wryly, “Right sweltering in here, yeah?”
Naomi hears herself laugh, and buoyed by Emily’s lovely grin, she offers with as much cantankerousness as she can muster, “Whose bollocks idea was this, again?”
Emily smiles fondly, and Naomi can’t keep from grinning back. Their knees are touching, hers and Emily’s, and the thing she's got to do now is to look away. It’s not the right thing, but it’s the simplest, and she’s got to do what’s easy, if she’s going to do the thing she’s suddenly realized she wants to do very much.
Emily hasn’t moved her leg, and Naomi takes it as a sign of cooperation, closing her eyes tightly as she rolls onto her side. Tentatively, she reaches out, resting her hand over Emily’s stomach.
Emily’s fingers grip Naomi’s arm through her blue jumper, and Naomi recognizes the gesture as being meant to soothe her. She flinches a little at the realization that she’s conditioned Emily to believe she will bolt, and wills herself not to react; not to move.Emily continues stroking her fingers over Naomi’s arm, and it’s not the first time that Emily has made her feel like an idiot, simply be being brave; acting the way Naomi has always done, but somehow doing it better.
Lips thinned in determination, Naomi slides her hand between the layers of Emily’s jumpers. She’s already nervous, and the thought of Emily squealing at the touch of her glacially cool fingers is enough to make Naomi cringe, and so she runs her hand up and down over the fuzzy fabric of her sweater, until her hands starts to feel tingly.
They haven’t kissed since the lake, haven’t really been alone together since the cat flap; tagging along with Effy on this bizarre campout was the only way Naomi could think of to be around Emily at all, and when she cranes her neck forward, pressing her lips against Em’s in relief, she knows she’s missed it.
Naomi kisses Emily for long minutes, because she’d almost forgotten how incredible it feels, and how, if spending time with Emily makes her feel like a better person, then kissing Emily makes her feel like the best person, the happiest person. They kiss each other until Emily’s fingers falter in their rhythm on her arm, and she uses the distraction to cup the blade of Emily’s shoulder through her jumper, until she’s traced the perimeter at lease seventy times.
JJ coughs weakly behind them, and Naomi’s hands freeze on Emily’s body.
Shit.
Naomi pulls back, vaguely conscious of Emily gripping her almost desperately, but she’s mostly concerned with ways to murder the interfering little wanker in his sleep. He rolls flat on his back, his side pressed snugly against Emily, and Naomi has to concentrate very hard on her breathing. She can feel Emily’s eyes on her, waiting for her to shy away, to use JJ as an excuse to end things neatly for the evening.
Naomi is terrified. She’s never not been a bit petrified by Emily, even if it was sometimes because of her borderline stalker tendencies.
Right, Naomi thinks, after it’s clear that JJ isn’t moving any more. Right, what's next?
She does it to herself. She is bloody good at doing this to herself. She did it last night, in her warm bed, thinking of Emily- the night before last, thinking of Emily again. Now, she’s got Emily right in front of her, being well fucking agreeable, and she’s going to show Emily that she is good at this.
She moves her hand around to Emily’s side, faster than she would have liked, and when Emily jerks in surprise, she scolds herself for her graceless attempt at molestation.
Her fingers are warmer now, but it doesn’t keep Emily from shivering when they brush against the bare skin of her stomach. Shakily, she questions, “All right?”
Emily nods, quickly, and Naomi can feel the tension in her body, the muscles that quiver tellingly.
Naomi bites down on her lip, envisioning her fingers underneath the sleeping bag, working their way inside of Emily’s knickers. It’s hot, when she gets inside of them, and Naomi has to bite down even harder on her lip to keep from mumbling something terribly inappropriate.
Emily gasps, right up against her ear, and Naomi focuses on keeping her palm flat, stretching the fabric of Emily’s knickers so that she’s barely touching her.
Emily works her hips forward the tiniest bit, almost like it’s an accident, and that’s when Naomi really could give a fuck about anything but the wetness that’s coating her fingers, or the sound that Emily makes when Naomi flattens her hand.
Emily’s right arm curls under Naomi’s neck until her hand is clutching her shoulder, and Naomi hears her whisper something unintelligible. Naomi expected that it might feel strange, touching someone else’s, or that it might take her a moment to find her way; it’s not as if she’s practiced on a mirror, but all she can feel is slickness beneath her fingers, and Emily makes the most encouraging noises and so finding a good direction isn’t really all that complicated.
It doesn’t mean that she is prepared to look at Emily while she’s fucking her. Christ. Not just yet, even though thinking about it makes her unbelievably aroused.
Naomi closes her eyes, presses her forehead against the collar of Emily's jumper, and smoothes her fingers over Emily’s cunt before she drags her middle finger through perilously slick folds. She dips her finger further into Emily, and there’s a new, satisfying sound they’re making that’s just obscene. She has to stifle her own little moan into Emily’s chest when she realizes she’s dripping, too.
Emily turns her head, muttering, “Fuck,” until her mouth is open against Naomi's hair, her breath stirring it each time she exhales raggedly, and her free hand-the one not gripping Naomi's shoulder tightly- clutches wildly at Naomi's waist.
Naomi feels the material of her shirts being pulled taut around her, and she flashes briefly to her own hands that night at the lake, pulling at Emily’s hair, trying to hold her in place, and yet encouraging her to keep moving.
Emily tries to swallow a groan, and then Naomi dips her finger into her completely, wondering if Emily can feel how it shakes uncertainly; she pushes inside slowly, until the rest of her hand can cup Emily tenderly.
The pressure of Emily's hands grows more forceful and she realizes that Emily's pushed herself down, and it reminds her that it doesn't stop here, that there's more; she draws her finger away, and it slides so easily out of Emily that it seems like a magic trick.
Emily pulls her closer still, though there didn’t seem to be any space left between them, and Naomi slides right back inside, gently, before she experiments with the angles, wiggling her fingertip until Emily breathes, "Again."
Naomi permits herself a secret, hidden smile against Emily's body, and repeats the process, twisting her finger inside until Emily relaxes, just for a second, then it's time for Naomi to do it all over again.
It goes on for a while. Naomi loses all track of the time, until it becomes clear that all of Emily’s reflexive bucking and all of her artless pressing against Naomi’s hand is really just a plea for it to be over. When Emily finally comes, she squeezes Naomi until it hurts, pressing her lips against Naomi’s temple so snugly that Naomi can feel the outline of her teeth.
When it's over, Emily’s arms fall limply around Naomi’s body, and Naomi is conscious of a dull, yet somehow delicious ache in the tendons and muscles of her arm. The pleasant, constant ache dwindles slowly to the tune of Emily’s breathing, and then her world seems to expand, exponentially, with the sure knowledge that she has just gotten somebody-no, Emily-off.
And then there's Emily, lying beside her, catching her breath and still holding onto Naomi, and it’s all so fucking wonderful that she’s almost embarrassed by it, by the perfection of it all.
Emily’s pulling her into a kiss, and then her world contracts again, until she’s just Naomi, and they’re just snogging, and Emily just feels wonderful, and so there’s no reason to become inexcusably poetic about things--let alone any reason to run.