NOTE: I no longer have time to write. I can't remember the last time I took an hour out to sit down and gather my thoughts. I have become scatterbrained.
Also, every day I fall more hopelessly in love with Naya Rivera. Fic is inspired by David Ramirez- Fires.
Be gentle, I'm out of practice.
Title: I Could Start Fires (With What I Feel For You)
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Heather Morris/Naya Rivera
Spoilers: None
Summary: A musing of sorts. Their relationship is a little like a flame.
Disclaimer: You know the drill.
That’s how it feels, when Naya touches her- like a great, roaring fire, growing within her, reaching high from the tips of her toes to the ends of her eyelashes.
That’s how it feels- as if she’s alight, a slow, bone-deep burn she can’t shake away, rooted in her chest, reaching out from her heart to the surface of her skin.
She glows red, cheeks warm, ears too, when Naya touches her.
This is how it is- don’t breathe, not so hard. In the dark, she thinks it might die, this light between them. Sometimes it’s so small, so quiet in her ears, Naya’s voice in her ears, soft and hot and fading.
She knows she has to be careful. She’s not much good at that.
Naya knows too. Just like the back of Heather’s hand, or the ridge of her hip, Naya knows they may not last. She hopes for something different. She breathes a little lighter, a little quicker, fuelling the spark between them, this tiny accident.
It’s hard; to be so delicate, when Heather’s kisses sear through the core of her, when they swallow her whole until she can’t remember herself- who is she? Where are they going? Why, why, why.
They talk when no one listens. They hide behind sets, steal time and glances they’ll never get back. It hurts so viscerally, to dance, to let Heather lead when all she wants is to kiss, to look at her and commit.
The heat is fresh, giddy, yet they scramble for it still. She’s greedy and she wants it all. She hasn’t come this far for any less.
Slow down. Naya, slow down.
It’s hard; when Heather’s hands push down every part of her, anchor her like they belong to each other. No. let me. Please. Let me, just this once. This once turns into one more time and again, please and it’s the last time, I swear.
And then slowly, finally, setting everything ablaze, those three words; whispered into the back of Heather’s neck one night, in the confines of their big-spoon-little-spoon shelter. Heather trembles and sweats, she cries and begs so much Naya thinks, like the Bronte sisters suggested, it might make her sick.
Just like that, with such ease, it slides out in the open, stretching over into the next day and the day after that, and bringing with it a fire-fever Naya knows she won’t escape. It pours through the quick of her, lazily, defining them.
She smoulders, like they warned her. Heather spins and Naya grasps for her, turns away when they come face to face.
That’s how it feels, to keep them alive- like a great, roaring fire, starting small, growing wild.