Skins: The Novel. Only Better
Title: Skins: The Novel. Only Better
Author: unconditional_w
Pairing: Naomi/Emily
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Rewriting of the smexy scene in the novel. THIS is how you do it. Pun intended.
Disclaimer: General situation stolen from the novel, some lines directly taken. No copyright infringement intended. But honestly, did you really expect us to accept this novel as good writing?
“What do you want, Fitch?” she asks in mock frustration and fuck it’s incredible to hear her voice and for some reason Emily wants to shrink herself into a tiny pebble, crawl into the telephone and somehow miraculously reach Naomi. Though she’s fairly certain that’s scientifically impossible.
She ignores the remark. “Hi,” she says simply.
There’s a laugh, and Emily can’t help but smile. “I miss you,” Naomi volunteers first, in a gentle, sweet voice, and Emily thinks they can’t be all too bad if, even apart, they can share these quiet moments that speak volumes.
“I miss you too,” she says, “How’s everything faring in Bristol, then?”
“Oh, you know,” she hears Naomi sigh, and a soft rustle makes her think maybe she’s resting on her bed. “Amazing.” The sarcasm is sky high. “Watching Mum and her boyfriend totally loved up really can’t be underestimated as a form of awesome entertainment. I never knew just how stimulating it is watching two old desperados pawing each other every second of the fucking day.”
Emily smirks. “That’s...sort of evil,” she laughs.
“Yeah, it’s shit,” Naomi agrees, sharing her laugh. Pauses. “But tonight was always going to be a bit shit,” she says quietly, and Emily closes her eyes. Another pause. “How about you?” Naomi asks, perking up, “Family loving it up over there?”
“Oh, yes,” Emily sighs, “I’m going out of my mind. Mum’s already tried to set me up with a boy.”
Instead of a sharp intake of breath or even a hesitation, Naomi just laughs, and laughs loudly. “Oh, Jesus,” she mumbles through guffaws, “Who?” and Emily wants to slap her more than ever.
“It isn’t funny,” she pouts, hoping Naomi can hear it, “It’s just this kid who’s got a chalet next door.” She pauses, smirks to herself and says, in the calmest, coolest way possible, “He’s actually pretty cute.”
Silence, and Emily’s smile grows.
“Whatever,” is Naomi’s final response, and Emily could swear she hears the clench in her jaw. “Think I care?’
“I should fucking well hope so,” Emily grins, staring at the sky. She remembers the night she spent with Naomi, when they pulled an all-nighter on her roof, watching the stars come out. Naomi knew a surprising amount about astronomy, but chalked it up to her interest in travel. She had pointed to the stars, aligning with her fingers; Orion’s belt, Ursa Minor, Gemini, and Sirius. Of course Emily had only managed to identify Orion’s belt, and Naomi laughed, rubbing her cold shoulders, saying it was the easiest one to see anyway. And she’d decided it would be their constellation. “So you can find me,” Naomi said softly, before kissing her temple, “No matter where you go, no matter where they take you, I’ll be there.”
On the beach, Emily can see it just as clearly as she did that night. Three little dots, so close and yet so far. She sighs. Fucking stars and symbolism. “I wish you were here with me,” she says quietly.
“I know,” Naomi whispers, though it sounds loud, because the world just seems to calm itself down for them.
“I’m looking up at the stars,” Emily says tryingly.
Naomi sighs, and it actually sounds like she’s in pain. “Me too,” she says in that dreamy voice Emily’s had the pleasure of hearing only once in a blue moon. “I can’t stop thinking about us that night.”
“I know,” Emily responds softly. Hesitates. She couldn’t possibly and normally she wouldn’t, but this is the first time in days she’s gotten some time alone, and with Naomi, and she wasn’t going to let that go to waste. I mean honestly, she’s just making the best of her situation. Sort of...conserving time. Naomi would approve.
So with that thought, she looks around, calmed by the emptiness of the beach. It’s late. Late enough. Growing a bit giddy with anticipation already, she lays down, flat on the sand in a much more comfortable position. Digs the phone in a makeshift sand holder beside her and brings her hands to her stomach. “Remind me,” she says as innocently as possible, “That night, what did we end up doing after we star-gazed?”
Pause. “I think you remember very well, Emily Fitch,” is the very dark, very very deep response.
And fuck it’s just what she needs as she lets her hands wander over her breasts. What happened that night was not for children’s’ (or Katie’s, for that matter) eyes. It was the night before Emily had been whisked away, and Naomi was not ready to let her go without bruises and scrapes. Everything had been so hard and heavy, and the world was ending and starting anew with every stroke and squeeze. Emily had clawed her way to the window and rolled it a teeny bit open just to get some fresh air into the musky room before being grabbed from behind, thrown back onto the bed and ravaged all over again. In fact Emily remembers nearly every detail of the night, and the thought of it is enough for her. But she wants to hear Naomi recount it, too, and especially in that voice. “Just...remind me,” she responds breathily.
There’s another pause, and Naomi’s breathing has gotten significantly audible, clearly remembering the night just as well, if not more so, than the redhead. Emily can hear some opening and closing of her mouth with every soft exhale escaping between her lips. “Emily,” she says gruffly.
She widens her legs, imagines a sexually frustrated, arrogant Naomi lowering herself between them. She closes her eyes, imagines Naomi there, on the beach with her, in that yellow bikini she’d bought for Cyprus. Imagines her long, long body on hers, warm as the sun, tasting as fresh and salty as lemonade. And she’s writhing now, her body covered with a thin but noticeable sheet of sweat, the breeze doing nothing but edging her on. “Yes,” Emily responds, not as a question, but just as a statement. Yes, Naomi. Yes.
“W-wh...what are you doing?” Naomi asks slowly, throatily, in that way she always does when Emily pushes it surprisingly far.
“I think we know what I’m doing,” is all she can say before she slips her left hand under her waistband, her right grabbing at sand. She tries to stop the groan but fails, succeeding only in biting her lower lip, turning even closer to the phone and moaning a guttural ‘God’.
“Oh Christ,” Naomi breathes into the phone and some fumbling, along with the usual Naomi profanities, is heard. “I thought you were on a beach or something. There are...people...”
“No,” Emily breathes in her own low voice, and she massages her clit, grinding against her hand, now soaked, wafting the growing fire in her belly, behind her eyes, “I’m with you,” she arches her back, “I’m fucking you.”
“Jesus,” Naomi chokes and Emily hears some frantic fumbling, shifting against the speaker, then an undeniable unzip and Naomi gripping the phone back. “Fucking Fearless Fitch,” she’s panting already.
“Only for you,” Emily responds, and Naomi responds with a groan. “Always, for you.” She turns back to stare at the skies, knowing Naomi’s staring at the same one. Inserts two fingers. Three. “Yes,” she breathes again, shuts her eyes, can feel Naomi on top of her, touching her, licking her, loving her, holding her.
“Fuck, this is ridiculous,” Naomi mumbles, her pants growing louder.
“What are you doing?” Emily asks, her eyes fluttering.
“Christ, Ems, what do you think I’m doing, I’m fucking tossing salad,” Naomi groans. There’s a silent moment between them when they get caught up, Emily licks her lips, swallows heavily as her hips start bucking against her hand at a more frenzied pace. There’s something undeniably hot about Naomi when she’s rough and just a bit out of control, or driven right to the brink of control. She takes. She takes Emily in a way that conveys she’ll simply combust in a heap of frustration if she doesn’t. “I’m fucking you,” Naomi finally whispers with a moan, “On the beach, or wherever the fuck you’re thrashing about right now, I’m with you. On you.” Groan. “Burning for you, just....fucking everywhere....jesus you make me fucking mental.”
“Faster,” Emily whines, speeding up her own fingers. She needs it now. Slow and steady maybe some other time. But a particularly warm breeze blows by and jostles her from perk nipples to warm center and she needs it now.
“Jesus,” Naomi breathes heavily, “What the fuck are you doing to me?”
“So much,” Emily pants, wishing it were true and realizing on some depth that it was, “So much.” She closes her eyes harder, because the empty space between her and the sky is too much to face right now, and she’s just too close to let go of this fantasy.
“Need you,” Naomi’s mumbling incoherently, the way she tends to during sex, “Fuck Emily, need you. Need you, come home. Need you.”
The curl in her stomach gnaws at her harder and then. And then, she hits a spot that sends everything into overdrive and suddenly Naomi is on top of her, thrusting her fingers inside of her at an inconceivable rate, licking every last bead of sweat off her breasts. Emily hits it again. Again. Her right arm flails against the sand, and fuck she’d kill for a rail or something to hold onto. “Naomi,” she whines, but can only manage calling out when she hits the spot again.
“Emily,” Naomi whispers between frantic pants, “Ems, I...” Her voice pitches.
It’s enough. She’s spent enough nights in Naomi’s bed, spent so many nights discovering every dip and curve, knowing which caress and kiss where will produce what delicious sound. And she recalls all so many nights of Naomi gripping at the sheets, gripping at her hair, gripping at her back, breathing out ‘Ems’ in that high pitch. She hears Naomi grip the cell phone, the transmission crackling, an undeniable sharp inhale, and it’s enough. “I’m coming,” Emily shudders, feels everything go warm and gooey and sparkly and explode in that fantastic out of control grounded way. “I love you,” she says somewhere along the rushing tide. “I love you so much.”
~
“Fucking Fearless Fitch,” Naomi repeats with an exhausted chuckle.
Author: unconditional_w
Pairing: Naomi/Emily
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Rewriting of the smexy scene in the novel. THIS is how you do it. Pun intended.
Disclaimer: General situation stolen from the novel, some lines directly taken. No copyright infringement intended. But honestly, did you really expect us to accept this novel as good writing?
“What do you want, Fitch?” she asks in mock frustration and fuck it’s incredible to hear her voice and for some reason Emily wants to shrink herself into a tiny pebble, crawl into the telephone and somehow miraculously reach Naomi. Though she’s fairly certain that’s scientifically impossible.
She ignores the remark. “Hi,” she says simply.
There’s a laugh, and Emily can’t help but smile. “I miss you,” Naomi volunteers first, in a gentle, sweet voice, and Emily thinks they can’t be all too bad if, even apart, they can share these quiet moments that speak volumes.
“I miss you too,” she says, “How’s everything faring in Bristol, then?”
“Oh, you know,” she hears Naomi sigh, and a soft rustle makes her think maybe she’s resting on her bed. “Amazing.” The sarcasm is sky high. “Watching Mum and her boyfriend totally loved up really can’t be underestimated as a form of awesome entertainment. I never knew just how stimulating it is watching two old desperados pawing each other every second of the fucking day.”
Emily smirks. “That’s...sort of evil,” she laughs.
“Yeah, it’s shit,” Naomi agrees, sharing her laugh. Pauses. “But tonight was always going to be a bit shit,” she says quietly, and Emily closes her eyes. Another pause. “How about you?” Naomi asks, perking up, “Family loving it up over there?”
“Oh, yes,” Emily sighs, “I’m going out of my mind. Mum’s already tried to set me up with a boy.”
Instead of a sharp intake of breath or even a hesitation, Naomi just laughs, and laughs loudly. “Oh, Jesus,” she mumbles through guffaws, “Who?” and Emily wants to slap her more than ever.
“It isn’t funny,” she pouts, hoping Naomi can hear it, “It’s just this kid who’s got a chalet next door.” She pauses, smirks to herself and says, in the calmest, coolest way possible, “He’s actually pretty cute.”
Silence, and Emily’s smile grows.
“Whatever,” is Naomi’s final response, and Emily could swear she hears the clench in her jaw. “Think I care?’
“I should fucking well hope so,” Emily grins, staring at the sky. She remembers the night she spent with Naomi, when they pulled an all-nighter on her roof, watching the stars come out. Naomi knew a surprising amount about astronomy, but chalked it up to her interest in travel. She had pointed to the stars, aligning with her fingers; Orion’s belt, Ursa Minor, Gemini, and Sirius. Of course Emily had only managed to identify Orion’s belt, and Naomi laughed, rubbing her cold shoulders, saying it was the easiest one to see anyway. And she’d decided it would be their constellation. “So you can find me,” Naomi said softly, before kissing her temple, “No matter where you go, no matter where they take you, I’ll be there.”
On the beach, Emily can see it just as clearly as she did that night. Three little dots, so close and yet so far. She sighs. Fucking stars and symbolism. “I wish you were here with me,” she says quietly.
“I know,” Naomi whispers, though it sounds loud, because the world just seems to calm itself down for them.
“I’m looking up at the stars,” Emily says tryingly.
Naomi sighs, and it actually sounds like she’s in pain. “Me too,” she says in that dreamy voice Emily’s had the pleasure of hearing only once in a blue moon. “I can’t stop thinking about us that night.”
“I know,” Emily responds softly. Hesitates. She couldn’t possibly and normally she wouldn’t, but this is the first time in days she’s gotten some time alone, and with Naomi, and she wasn’t going to let that go to waste. I mean honestly, she’s just making the best of her situation. Sort of...conserving time. Naomi would approve.
So with that thought, she looks around, calmed by the emptiness of the beach. It’s late. Late enough. Growing a bit giddy with anticipation already, she lays down, flat on the sand in a much more comfortable position. Digs the phone in a makeshift sand holder beside her and brings her hands to her stomach. “Remind me,” she says as innocently as possible, “That night, what did we end up doing after we star-gazed?”
Pause. “I think you remember very well, Emily Fitch,” is the very dark, very very deep response.
And fuck it’s just what she needs as she lets her hands wander over her breasts. What happened that night was not for children’s’ (or Katie’s, for that matter) eyes. It was the night before Emily had been whisked away, and Naomi was not ready to let her go without bruises and scrapes. Everything had been so hard and heavy, and the world was ending and starting anew with every stroke and squeeze. Emily had clawed her way to the window and rolled it a teeny bit open just to get some fresh air into the musky room before being grabbed from behind, thrown back onto the bed and ravaged all over again. In fact Emily remembers nearly every detail of the night, and the thought of it is enough for her. But she wants to hear Naomi recount it, too, and especially in that voice. “Just...remind me,” she responds breathily.
There’s another pause, and Naomi’s breathing has gotten significantly audible, clearly remembering the night just as well, if not more so, than the redhead. Emily can hear some opening and closing of her mouth with every soft exhale escaping between her lips. “Emily,” she says gruffly.
She widens her legs, imagines a sexually frustrated, arrogant Naomi lowering herself between them. She closes her eyes, imagines Naomi there, on the beach with her, in that yellow bikini she’d bought for Cyprus. Imagines her long, long body on hers, warm as the sun, tasting as fresh and salty as lemonade. And she’s writhing now, her body covered with a thin but noticeable sheet of sweat, the breeze doing nothing but edging her on. “Yes,” Emily responds, not as a question, but just as a statement. Yes, Naomi. Yes.
“W-wh...what are you doing?” Naomi asks slowly, throatily, in that way she always does when Emily pushes it surprisingly far.
“I think we know what I’m doing,” is all she can say before she slips her left hand under her waistband, her right grabbing at sand. She tries to stop the groan but fails, succeeding only in biting her lower lip, turning even closer to the phone and moaning a guttural ‘God’.
“Oh Christ,” Naomi breathes into the phone and some fumbling, along with the usual Naomi profanities, is heard. “I thought you were on a beach or something. There are...people...”
“No,” Emily breathes in her own low voice, and she massages her clit, grinding against her hand, now soaked, wafting the growing fire in her belly, behind her eyes, “I’m with you,” she arches her back, “I’m fucking you.”
“Jesus,” Naomi chokes and Emily hears some frantic fumbling, shifting against the speaker, then an undeniable unzip and Naomi gripping the phone back. “Fucking Fearless Fitch,” she’s panting already.
“Only for you,” Emily responds, and Naomi responds with a groan. “Always, for you.” She turns back to stare at the skies, knowing Naomi’s staring at the same one. Inserts two fingers. Three. “Yes,” she breathes again, shuts her eyes, can feel Naomi on top of her, touching her, licking her, loving her, holding her.
“Fuck, this is ridiculous,” Naomi mumbles, her pants growing louder.
“What are you doing?” Emily asks, her eyes fluttering.
“Christ, Ems, what do you think I’m doing, I’m fucking tossing salad,” Naomi groans. There’s a silent moment between them when they get caught up, Emily licks her lips, swallows heavily as her hips start bucking against her hand at a more frenzied pace. There’s something undeniably hot about Naomi when she’s rough and just a bit out of control, or driven right to the brink of control. She takes. She takes Emily in a way that conveys she’ll simply combust in a heap of frustration if she doesn’t. “I’m fucking you,” Naomi finally whispers with a moan, “On the beach, or wherever the fuck you’re thrashing about right now, I’m with you. On you.” Groan. “Burning for you, just....fucking everywhere....jesus you make me fucking mental.”
“Faster,” Emily whines, speeding up her own fingers. She needs it now. Slow and steady maybe some other time. But a particularly warm breeze blows by and jostles her from perk nipples to warm center and she needs it now.
“Jesus,” Naomi breathes heavily, “What the fuck are you doing to me?”
“So much,” Emily pants, wishing it were true and realizing on some depth that it was, “So much.” She closes her eyes harder, because the empty space between her and the sky is too much to face right now, and she’s just too close to let go of this fantasy.
“Need you,” Naomi’s mumbling incoherently, the way she tends to during sex, “Fuck Emily, need you. Need you, come home. Need you.”
The curl in her stomach gnaws at her harder and then. And then, she hits a spot that sends everything into overdrive and suddenly Naomi is on top of her, thrusting her fingers inside of her at an inconceivable rate, licking every last bead of sweat off her breasts. Emily hits it again. Again. Her right arm flails against the sand, and fuck she’d kill for a rail or something to hold onto. “Naomi,” she whines, but can only manage calling out when she hits the spot again.
“Emily,” Naomi whispers between frantic pants, “Ems, I...” Her voice pitches.
It’s enough. She’s spent enough nights in Naomi’s bed, spent so many nights discovering every dip and curve, knowing which caress and kiss where will produce what delicious sound. And she recalls all so many nights of Naomi gripping at the sheets, gripping at her hair, gripping at her back, breathing out ‘Ems’ in that high pitch. She hears Naomi grip the cell phone, the transmission crackling, an undeniable sharp inhale, and it’s enough. “I’m coming,” Emily shudders, feels everything go warm and gooey and sparkly and explode in that fantastic out of control grounded way. “I love you,” she says somewhere along the rushing tide. “I love you so much.”
~
“Fucking Fearless Fitch,” Naomi repeats with an exhausted chuckle.