Fic: Love On Top (Heather Morris/Naya Rivera RPF)
NOTE: Hello! :) I'd like to, for risk of venturing into TMI, mention that I've never actually used a strap-on. But hey. The mind wanders.
Title: Love On Top
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Heather Morris/Naya Rivera
Spoilers: None
Summary: Heather and Naya use a strap-on.
Disclaimer: You know the drill.
Through some miraculous joke, the cosmic powers that be let the midnight sky open its arms, reach down and cradle the entire city in thick blankets of snow.
When Naya wakes up, with a mouthful of blonde hair and Heather’s sticky hand wedged between her legs, she moans sleepily, squinting at the wind as it dances the streets into a blizzard.
She thinks about reaching over to smudge her feelings into the wet window; secret messages of love and tenderness.
Then, maybe days from now, when it’s late and there’s wine and they make love again and again, when the glass is slippery with perspiration, the shapes will resurface to remind Heather of what they’ve become.
But, no, she just can’t. The sheets are too warm; she’s trapped in a heavy mountain of covers. She can’t leave. Heather’s breathing deeply; moulded wonderfully to her like a second skin, mouth light on her neck and slicker with each exhale. She can’t leave.
When she stretches her toes, they’re cocooned in what feels like a cloud. She still has on a pair of woolly socks that Heather had, after giving her the most nerve-shattering orgasm, put on for her.
She couldn’t be toastier.
She steals her phone from under her pillow, silencing it before it rips through their morning: 1 unread message.
Shooting cancelled! Snow day!!!!!! Enjoy your lie-in ;) xxL
Naya smirks, shuffling closer to the mess of tangled limbs beside her. She manages several open-mouthed kisses against Heather’s moist shoulder before Heather stirs and breaks into a yawn. With that, comes the shift-slide of fingers, curling against her in the most delicious slant.
Her arousal grows. “Oh. Hi.”
She’s greeted by a drowsy gaze and a crooked, boisterous smile that forces everything inside her to weaken. It still amazes her the way Heather’s irises marry up so beautifully with the weather: last night they were dark as the ocean floor and now, now they’re so clear, a cobalt-blue that fractures into an entire spectrum.
“Hey there,” Heather slurs quietly, shifting to accommodate Naya’s tilting hips. She lets Naya’s mouth pant over her own.
The kiss is dry but soft, a little sour and a little bit desperate and Naya can tell, through the haze of exhaustion and the easy slip of Heather against her, she’ll always wake up and want this. “No work, snow day,” she whimpers.
Heather gracefully rolls into her, half on top of her, and chides, “You should’ve woken me up.”
“Mmmh. S-sleep okay?”
Heather answers with a soft kiss to her collarbone, a careful knee to the inside of her thigh. She palms Naya’s ribs, damp and rubbery beneath her wandering fingers, skin yielding further when she lays Naya out. She knows all of Naya’s tells; every sound she makes, tender and loud and barely there; every movement. Like now; the butterfly-quick flutter of her lashes, the flickering pulse at the hollow of her neck.
“Do you want to-”
“Yes,” Naya beckons Heather with firm thighs around her waist, bracketing her with layers of duvet wrapped around their shoulders. She pushes up on her elbows so they’re in a half lotus, hips bumping, and then noses, and then lips.
Heather cradles her as they kiss, deeply, with long fingers in hair and in sheets.
“Should I-”
Naya nods a breathless ‘yes’ but makes no move to let Heather go. Heather laughs, dipping to kiss her once more.
“I love you.”
“You too,” Naya scrambles to keep them both sheltered from the cold bedroom air, pressing her lips to the fierce line of Heather’s jaw, “please, now.”
It takes several tries before Heather manages to break away, making quick work of black straps hanging from the foot of the bed.
Naya watches her; watches smooth, blonde hair slide over Heather’s bare, slightly shivering back as she moves, muscles rippling beneath the firm skin of Heather’s thighs, shadowed in the pale morning light. And god, how she moves; like she’s done this a thousand times- Naya certainly wouldn’t mind- like she could do it in her sleep, so graceful and sweet.
She tries to ignore the thudding between her legs, the heat pooling there, wild, aching. When Heather lifts her eyes to smile at her, Naya’s fingers drift from her bellybutton, lower, and she clears her throat as she meets slick skin.
Heather sits back, pulling her knees up to obscure the lilac addition, “What you doing there?”
The fingers tickling inside her thigh shift to a halt and when Naya whispers ‘nothing’, it dies in the back of her throat. Suddenly overcome with shyness, she lets her hand drop beside her and averts her eyes, squeezing her thighs shut and nudging the blankets up her stomach.
“Hey, don’t let me stop you.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I mean,” Heather begins carefully, “you know I like it Nay,” her voice drops, serious, “you know it makes me hot.”
Naya feels her cheeks set on fire and she coughs nervously, “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Keep going, it’s okay,” Heather urges, tipping her head back to look at Naya through hooded eyes, charming her with a lop-sided smile. She pokes under the duvet at Naya’s ankle with her toe. She wants Naya to feel good. It’s probably her favourite thing in the world, watching Naya make herself feel good, fall apart, watching her walls drop regardless of whose hands tear them down.
So when she gives in, reluctantly uncovering herself, Heather sighs in relief and concentrates on Naya touching herself, the same way she touches Heather sometimes; lightly, smoothly, chest rising and falling with every tilt of her wrist.
Her breathing picks up, splintering the minute she looses heat, crisp air kissing her skin. She shudders.
She starts at her hip- she doesn’t press, just sort of strokes idly: up and down, breath, up and down, breath. The tactile circles over her skin grow bigger and bigger; traverse the smooth plateau just below her navel.
Heather can see the twitch in her stomach, the way the muscles meet and diverge beneath her touch. She imagines her mouth there, and on Naya’s neck and collar, on the soft skin of Naya’s breasts, nipples dusky and straining in the thick space of their small bedroom.
“You’re so beautiful,” she whispers, “how do you feel?”
Naya’s hips arch, “G-good. Cold.”
Heather crawls to her until she’s settled right in front of her, reaching out to kiss the tip of her nose, eyes never leaving the secret place between them.
“Tell me?” she kisses Naya’s cheekbone, scooting momentarily to wrap them up as much as she can.
The contact coaxes Naya to relax, leg bending at the knee to accommodate as her hand slips further down. Her voice strains. Heather can already see the first signs of restraint in the crease of her brow, the sweat beading there.
“Soft. L-like I broke something--god,” she sighs. She tries to focus on everything she feels but it’s just so much, Heather’s so close that all she wants to do is feel her, or be felt; she wants closer.
Heather moves in between Naya’s legs and circles loose fingers around Naya’s moving wrist, “What else?”
“It hurts.”
“I love you. What else?”
Heather’s voice is firm. It breaks through Naya’s resolve. When her eyes open, all she sees is blonde hair and freckles and a wet, pink mouth. It makes her own water. “Heather, please.”
“Shh,” she runs her fingertips over the back of Naya’s hand, settling over her fingers to feel the tendons move, like the time she let Naya teach her the F major scale.
Naya rubs so slowly, Heather can practically feel it on herself, remembers what it’s like when it’s her fingers directly on Naya, loving her mercilessly, worshipping her head to toe.
The covers let little light through and Heather kind of likes it. She always was good at letting her mind wander.
“What’re you thinking about?”
Naya tells her, in hushed, broken words, how much she wants Heather inside her, how amazing it is when Heather uses her tongue in long, flat swipes, how she’s waiting for Heather to tug at her hair and fuck her into oblivion.
She knows it’s making Naya beyond wet. She can see it; the effortless, frictionless motion of their hands pushing through a glossy sheen. She can smell Naya, her warm sweat and shampoo and something else, something musky and tangy and rich.
If the thing between her legs were real, she’s sure she’d be blue-balling by now.
She cups Naya’s face and kisses her, greedily inhaling.
“C’mere.”
She sits back against the head of the bed, tugging Naya - she’s begging now- easily into her lap, into a tight embrace. The toy presses insistently between them. Naya touches it; imagines what it could do to her; analyses its masculine shape against Heather’s very womanly form. It’s a dichotomy she devours.
“It’s weird, huh?”
Naya nods, “I like it.” She nudges Heather’s chin with her nose.
Heather blushes, cupping Naya’s cheek, combing back fingers into her dark hair. She tugs lightly, pulls on a curl until it springs back into place. She really likes it, the way it falls all around Naya, frames her eyes.
She squeezes Naya’s hip, “Me too. I like that it leaves my hands free,” she leans in against Naya’s ear, “so I can touch you all over,” she nips Naya’s ear, playfully plucking at a flushed nipple.
The squeak Naya lets out, liquefies into a throaty moan the moment Heather places her entire hand over Naya’s chest, monitoring her heartbeat as it hits her palm in fast, sturdy thumps.
Naya buckles, “I’m gon’a fall.”
Heather latches onto her waist and shifts upwards, feeling Naya shake against her.
She puts arms around Naya’s neck, kissing her and kissing her, gentling her back, between her shoulder blades and down her spine. She slips inside easily, Naya’s entire being burning against her own skin.
It’s heaven.
Naya’s so alive against her, so crucial, melting at every contact point, flowing like water, milk chocolate expanses of skin, skin, skin.
Heather juts her chin out, mouthing at Naya’s shoulder as they breathe in tandem, body and hair blending to share colour.
After a quiet, tense moment, Naya exhales against her, going boneless at the sensations blooming through her bones. She can feel rivulets of sweat racing down her neck, smudged by Heather’s fingers.
“Okay?”
The answering ‘yes’ is so hushed, Heather almost doesn’t catch it. But then Naya nods against her neck, grunts at the first jolt of Heather’s hips.
“Fuck.”
Heather laughs, “Feels good for me too.”
“Huhm,” Naya shifts onto her knees, moving her hips further into the hollow of Heather’s pelvis, and lifting again. Heather meets her half way. She rakes her nails lightly over the goose flesh of Naya’s thighs, cradling her as they sway, up, up, up and down with each swing.
She licks along Naya’s damp breastbone, nosing the underside of her breast and catching a nipple between her teeth. The sharp pull makes Naya jolt.
“Baby-”
“Yum,” Heather grins, meeting Naya’s eyes. She can barely see them, long lashes fanning out over her cheeks. She thumbs at the nipple, soothing it with an apologetic kiss.
Naya lets it go, elbows already trembling against the headboard, gathering sweat at her biceps. Heather tilts her head to the side and takes a clean lick.
It feels glorious: to have Naya in charge of her own pleasure, to watch her struggle against her own desire, moving on top with stubborn determination. Her pupils blow wide and she pants, moving her head every which way to make room for Heather’s kisses along the column of her neck.
She’s careless and insistent. Heather could take a back seat and look at her all day.
But the strain is clearly too much and somehow not enough; it’s in the tremor of Naya’s thighs, the tension in her shoulders - god forbid she ever admit it- and Heather shapes them together, bucking up to break Naya’s balance.
“Wh-”
“Roll over.”
“I don’t-”
“Just roll over for me,” Heather demands, slipping out to scoot down the bed and reposition Naya so she’s facing away, rolled onto her side, “trust me.”
Naya turns to look over her shoulder, “Heather, I’m not sure-”
Heather spoons her, pushing in once more, manoeuvring one arm under Naya’s neck and one around her waist, “See?” She rolls them into a blanket taco and begins to thrust, timed, methodical pushes of her hips against Naya’s backside, every drive followed by a delicious, hiccupped ‘uh’.
She sucks at the back of Naya’s ear, swiping the wetness off her; moves to the veins of her neck, nibbles at them until Naya squirms and folds in on herself.
They carry on for a few minutes, arms outstretched and braided in front of them; Heather’s content to keep pushing, lacing fingers through Naya’s own, palming her waist and abs, squeezing her breasts tenderly, fingers careful on her sensitive nipples and between her thighs.
Naya relaxes completely- she’s in the perfect state of half-sleep-bliss and Heather’s gentle, rhythmic rocking does everything to ease her into euphoria.
When she comes, it happens slowly, soaked in big lazy waves, with Heather’s tongue licking at the corner of her mouth and feather-light circles on her clit.
Heather nuzzles her, “That was fun.” She listens to Naya’s breathing flatten; beading kisses on her shoulder blade and the mild ridges of her spine.
“Holy shit.”
They both giggle, tussling in the sheets until Naya manages to turn, attacking Heather with kisses to her face and chest.
“Think you just got me pregnant."
Heather snorts, "Should probably make an honest woman out of you then."
Naya stretches, curling in, "Mmm. Someday. If you want."