Chemicals Kicking In
Title: Chemicals Kicking In
Author: unconditional_w
Pairing: Naomi/Emily
Rating: NC-17
Summary: it’s getting heavier - these thoughts
Word Count: 3315
Disclaimer: Not my universe, not my characters. I just write ‘em for kicks.
So my head’s been in the gutter lately.
That’s all I’m really willing to get into ; )
Note: I have no idea where this takes place. Let’s say post S3, AU.
And I won’t be denied by you
the animal inside of you.
- Animals by Neon Trees
It’s gotten to the point where she’s grown to regret, really, telling Naomi how to dress. The girl had no trouble of course, looking irresistible. There had been one too many calculus classes Emily Fitch spent just letting her eyes wander over and under and into Naomi Campbell’s body; into the blouse, up the skirt, around and against those ridiculous oversized necklaces. When they broke up over the school year - one long drawn out school year - it’d been just as messy as she’d ever expect it to be. Of course she never expected them to break up to begin with. That’s just not....
whatever.
The tension had never quite lifted from them, of course. That’s just how Emily and Naomi are. So many things left unsaid, so many stolen glances, or missed opportunities. Quiet moments that mean so much more than everyone around them realize. It hadn’t gone away after they’d broken up. In fact it’d just gotten worse. More and more tension, more attraction and with it, more anger, frustration, in more ways than one. They never teased one another, but it wasn’t necessary. Sometimes all it took was a glance, a stare, a darkening of the eyes, and the other one knew exactly what the other was thinking. This, also, was frustrating in more ways than one.
By the time they’re civil enough to go to bars with friends, they deduce to simply not look at one another at all. It’s childish, but it’s necessary.
It’s a late October night, and Naomi’s sleeping on the bus, as always, the sleepyhead. It used to be adorable, so naturally it infuriates Emily, seeing it now. They arrive near the bar and everyone starts getting off, first Effy, then Katie, followed quickly by enthusiastic JJ and Cook. Emily looks over at Naomi, still sleeping as ever. The fuckers didn’t even wake her, just left her to Emily. Must’ve been a reflex from when they were still a couple. She does the only logical thing she can think of: slap Naomi’s leg.
“OI, fuckin ace!”
“We’re here.”
She’s off the bus without another word.
-
What she hates - what she really fucking hates - about drinking with Naomi is that she knows. She knows everything in Naomi’s head. She can tell when the thoughts go from sober to wild to downright filthy. She can tell from the size of her pupils just what Naomi wants to do in that moment if only she’d have the guts. So when the blonde undoubtedly starts downing her sixth beer, she looks away, promising she won’t look into those blue blue eyes again for the rest of the night.
Which of course means..
“That girl’s been staring at you all night, Naomikins,” Cook slurs to her, nodding rudely to a dirty blonde at the bar with a short black skirt and tight white top .
“Is she now?” Naomi asks, a hint of hesitation in her voice. She looks away, places an empty beer bottle on the table. She shakes her head firmly. “Not nearly drunk enough for that.”
“We’ll fix that,” Cook laughs, banging his hand on the table and waving over the waitress who hops over all too excitedly.
“Evenin all,” she says. Pauses. “Evenin Naomi.”
Naomi skilfully hides that overconfident smirk and Emily wants nothing more than to ...
“What’ll you be havin tonight, luv?”
“Just another beer, Rach,” Naomi smiles a friendly one, waving her empty. Anything to stop the thoughts. Anything to slow them down or replace them with a different face. Anything to make it all just stop even for a moment's worth of peace.
She can feel Emily’s small hands holding and wanting so much more, warm and comforting against her chest, gliding and groping at her skin, kissing her lips and nose and neck, pulling her closer and closer, flesh and hot wet skin, and she’s panting in desperation. “Naomi,” she’s mumbling incoherently, her hands just grasping at her, pulling her in, and everything clicks into place when their legs push together. “N-Naomi.”
-
“Still looking, Nomi,” Cook laughs an hour later with a terribly obvious glance over at the girl.
Naomi smirks again, allowing the alcoholic daze seep in further against the corners of her mind. The thoughts are still hitting hard, but in a slurred mind, they come in flashes instead of steady.
“Go for it,” Effy says with a hint of a smile, knocking her glass against Naomi’s. “You need it.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Naomi laughs.
“I need a fag,” Katie sighs, getting up from her seat. She knocks Emily’s shoulder. “You coming?”
Emily circles her first and only drink of the night slowly with her finger, watching the liquid thrum underneath. “I think I’ll pass.”
“Suit yourself,” Katie shrugs. She passes Naomi and it builds a sort of strength in her.
“Alright,” Naomi says, almost like someone had just asked her if she wanted to read a book. “Alright,” she repeats with a shrug, and Emily feels something hot come down on her shoulders, and so she simply grits her teeth. Naomi chugs the rest of her bottle, and slams it down with closed lids, breathing steadily.
“Oh...” Emily moans softly against her lips, and Naomi dips her head down between them, extends her tongue and licks a slow wet trail down her neck, between warm breasts, a quivering stomach, straight down to her core, relishing in the hastening of her breath and the shivering of her body. “I love you,” she hears from above, and feels hands in her hair, holding her, and holding on for dear life.
With warm liquid confidence building to solidity, she exhales slowly through her nose and with a slow purposeful stretch of her neck, opens her eyes, now cold and ice blue, not daring to meet Emily’s. Her smooth, arrogant smirk follows, and with a whoosh, she’s off the table and on her way to the blonde, Cook cheering obnoxiously, and Emily can barely feel JJ’s hesitant hand caressing her back.
--
“Had my eye on you ever since you walked in,” the girl’s muttering as Naomi pushes her into the loo. She’s giggling and laughing and roaming her hands all over Naomi’s front, teasing nipples and groping at the flesh above her belt. Naomi kicks open a stall, relived to see it’s open. Nudges the girl and herself inside, locking it in place and pushing them flush up against it.
“Yeah?” she smirks, kissing her then, pushing in her tongue and tasting the rum on her breath.
“Oh yeah,” she says seductively, and she’s got this horrible Blackpool accent that just riles something Naomi tries to push down. Luckily the girl’s distracted enough, moving her mouth away to gasp as Naomi’s hands travel down her top, ripping at her top and grabbing at everything and anything.
“Oh fuck me...”
She squints her eyes tight and gets it together. “I bet that’s just what you wanted,” she whispers harshly in her ear, one hand delving straight towards her bare leg and travelling upwards, slowly, teasingly across her wet knickers, the other spreading fingers across her face. “Bet you wanted to ride me right in front of everyone. Got wet against your seat just thinking about it and moved against the fabric of the seat for some kind of friction, any kind.” She moves the girl’s knickers aside and plunges a finger inside, relishing in just how wet she is. Not tight, or warm, but wet, wet wet like a flowing river. “Christ, you’re soaking. Bet you’ve been like this all night, then, haven’t you. Just gyrating against your chair, stifling moans, wanting me to just come over and fuck you against the bar, with everyone watching.”
“Oh god yes,” she responds in this high, high voice, and she squishes her eyes tight together, thrashes against the cool metal stall. Her hands travel into Naomi’s hair and her hips push down, desperate for more contact, throbbing and begging.
It’s all so sadly desperate and it fills Naomi with a rage, an impatient need, and she closes her eyes as she thrusts another finger, sliding and pushing and rubbing against her clit, finding the wetness just filling her with more annoyance. “Such a fucking slut,” she can only say.
“Yeah,” she pants, “Yeahyeahyeahfuckme.”
“Shut up,” Naomi mumbles, realizing too late she’d said it aloud, and without thinking, she slides her left hand into the girl’s mouth, watching her take it in, licking the fingertips so seductively, so...so whorishly, so wanton. She rips her hand away and in a flash of almost disgust, she slides that hand down and plunges two of those fingers inside her too.
She beats violently against the sides of the stall, and Naomi wonders if anyone’s in the room. “FuckME!” And just as quickly as she’d stilled in surprise, she’s squeezing Naomi down between her legs, moving against her faster than ever, panting in her ear, and her hands - her hands - are travelling.
It’s getting to her. The smell, the noises, even just the colours. It’s all so sickly, so filthy, and desperate. The girl’s hands are travelling everywhere. In her hair, on her neck, pushing against her shoulders, and sliding down down down her front to the top of her pants. “No,” Naomi shudders, shaking her head, “No, stop.”
“I love you,” Emily mumbles nonstop to her when she comes. So many times it forms a string of pearls across her naked torso. “I love you I love you I love you.”
“Let me,” the girl manages to pant, her tongue extending and moistening her hot pink lips. And Naomi can imagine it already, can already feel her long fingers travelling down to her knickers, searching and wanting to explore.
“Get off,” Naomi says firmly, shaking the girl’s hands off her, scissoring and grinding her fingers against her clit for good measure.
She lets out another moan and Naomi can swear it smells like flat gin and dusty cigarettes. Her hands don’t stop. “I-I want to make you...feel good...”
“I said get off,” she repeats this time, yanking her fingers out and pushing her off, pushing her away, sliding her across the stall and unlocking it with ease. “Fuck,” she mutters when she sees herself in the mirror. Hair a mess, her shirt rolled up to a mid-drift, her lips slightly puffy and the top button of her pants undone.
“Hey,” the girl’s panting weakly behind her.
“Fuck it,” Naomi mumbles, doing her pants and rolling her shirt down, she grabs a paper towel and wipes at her fingers, opening the door in one fell swoop.. Fuck it if it’s not going to be her. Fuck it if it’s clearly not going to work. Fuck it if she doesn’t want it - any of it - unless it’s with Emily. She’s out of the loo and back to the table where she avoids the dark brown eyes staring with expected hurt and anticipation.
Cook catcalls. “Fast job,” he observes.
She tries for another famous smirk and is relieved to see the table cheers it. She can feel Emily isn’t. “Gonna call it a night, then,” she says casually, putting on her light jacket, zipping, picking up smokes and digging them into her pocket, still avoiding those eyes. She pats herself down, trying to slide away the guilt and shame. “Night.” She nods or waves the others off, and gets tackled into a hug from Cook.
“You’re in for it now,” he mumbles seriously in her ear as he’s distractingly patting her back, and she knows he means the redhead. She gets a head start. Rushes out of the bar. She can swear she hears Emily fumbling for an excuse to leave just as the doors close behind her.
“Naomi.”
It’s starting.
She trots a bit faster, huddling up inside her jacket and hoping maybe she can just get the message. It was horrible. It was a distraction. It was a mistake. “Fuck off, Emily,” she calls over her shoulder, wanting to be less angry than it comes out.
The footsteps are angrier. “Naomi.” It’s firm and decisive and very very angry. “Naomi.”
Naomi feels it bubbling inside, the dry alcohol just hating her, spinning her head, putting these thoughts of Emily and it’s all too much. It’s just too much as it always is. She’s between Emily’s legs on the countertop, finding her drenched knickers and brushing them aside, sliding her fingers in as Emily bows her head in that lovely way she does, and her hair, and smell, and noises just surround her, tightening and panting. She turns around. “I said fuck off-”
“No I will not fuck off, you selfish twat,” Emily’s so much closer than she’d thought, her chest rising and falling, a huff of hot air escaping each time, she marches straight up to Naomi, almost nose-to-nose, and Naomi can feel the anger just seeping out. “Who do you think-what right do you have to fuck with people like this?” She goes so far to move Naomi, physically push her with her arms, and it’s all just an invitation for Naomi to come back, and closer.
“Why do you fucking care,” she spits out instead, moving closer with boldness she didn’t realize she could still have around her. Emily’s got her against the doorframe, lips attached to her neck, grinning as Naomi gasps for air, slipping and sliding against the frame behind her, moving against her hand and arching to her touch. She cranes down her head to the shorter girl, the anger and fucking frustration just boiling inside she can only exhale through gritted teeth. “You shouldn’t even fucking care, so just fuck of-”
“Fuck you,” Emily sneers with another push to Naomi’s shoulders, this time doing absolutely nothing to move the bigger girl. Nothing can move Naomi; she’s just a stone cold statue of course. She stands closer to her, fully aware of how close their legs are, and arches her head up to her. No. She’s not scared. “You mysterious fucking bitch.”
“Fuck off, Fitch,” Naomi grits, “It has nothing to do with you.” She turns back around to keep walking, only to be pulled back around with a tremendous amount of force and pushed onto the brick wall of a nearby alleyway.
“This has everything to do with me,” Emily growls in that low raspy voice.
It's that voice, the one that accompanies total loss of control and animalistic hunger. It’s her legs. It’s her fucking legs pushing between Naomi’s. It’s her breath, so hot and cold against hers. And it's her eyes, digging hard into Naomi’s as they always do, smoking through her barriers and finding everything she shouldn’t.
No. It’s these fucking thoughts of a soaking, scorching Emily Fitch writhing uncontrollably against her.
It’s everything and Emily pushing her against a wall and she spins them around, squeezes the redhead against the wall, her left hand coming out just to caress her head’s fall against the brick, kissing her hard with her right hand holding her cheek in place. And it’s everything they’d left behind and more, and she moans and groans and feels it absolutely everywhere, and she’s fucking missed this more than anything. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” she chants with closed eyelids between breathy pants, and Emily’s hands, just as greedy and comforting as she remembers, are pulling her closer and closer, grabbing at hips, her shoulderblades, her neck, making every hair stand on end, straight to attention. Everything for you, Emily Fitch.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” Naomi repeats again, this time weaker, as she falls further into her, sliding her hands down from Emily’s head to her chest, gliding over hardened nipples, spreading across her stomach, and feeling that familiar hesitancy, that familiar shiver and undeniable hitch in Emily’s throat.
And Emily’s lips, and hands, still so soft, everything so soft, touching Naomi almost like their first time, but leaving footprints all over her body, wander in her hair, and the sides of her face, unzip her jacket like a line of fire down to her chest, blazing down impatiently, and down to the top of her pants, and Naomi’s moving away. Moving away because that’s how it is. You move away.
“No, n-Stop it,” Emily gasps softly between kisses, moving her hands to Naomi's hips and pulling her back with tender firmness. She kisses Naomi harder on the lips, fighting Naomi’s hips with another sharp pull for good measure before sliding her hands up, over, and into her pants. “Don’t,” she repeats against her lips, “Don’t.” And her hands travel down Naomi’s mount, past soft curls, and slides her fingers into her.
Fireworks. Big red blue and orange ones and everything warm and distracting and just “Yessssss,” Naomi hisses quietly, holding back tears she’s almost ashamed of breaking, exhaling a hard breath against Emily’s ear to let her know. Know everything that's happened tonight, and the night before, and every moment when they weren't doing this, being this together. “Emily...”
“Yes,” Emily responds just as quietly, kissing the side of her shaking head, sliding her fingers slowly, deliberately, pushing and pulling Naomi off the edge. “I’m here.”
“Christ fuck fuck fuck,” Naomi mutters between shaking pants, her hands now grabbing at Emily’s chin, kissing her hard against the brick.
Did she do this to you, Emily wants to ask behind closed eyes as she grips Naomi closer, losing herself in that familiar scent and lovely lips. Did you let her touch you. But she doesn't ask them. Only strokes her harder and just softly enough, just the way Naomi wants it, needs it, always does.
And Naomi loses herself, closes her eyes and grinds and rides and moves perfectly in place against a sea - an ocean - of warmth and Emily. Just drowns. Just lets herself drown, and pulled down down down to the bottom. She tears herself away and their lips continue to brush as she comes in waves and groans and sighs.
Her hands drop to Emily’s pants and move to undo them, first slowly, then desperately. They’re tight, so much tighter than Naomi’s, and they need to be pushed down. She pops open the button and slides her finger to push the zipper down, steps closer to Emily so they’re flush against one another and tugs at the sides of her pants.
“Wait,” Emily whimpers weakly, pulling her hands from Naomi’s and almost stopping her arms, pausing to kiss her nonetheless, moistening their lips. She brings her hand up to Naomi’s cheek to hold her in place for a proper kiss and Naomi can feel her own wetness across her jawline. She breaks their kiss and moves her head, envelops Emily’s forefinger in her mouth, licking slowly and sliding her tongue just around the tip, then along the length. Her hands pull Emily’s pants just low enough, and the cold late autumn air hits her, gliding across her skin. Emily’s eyes, glazed over and focused on Naomi’s mouth and tongue still twirling around her finger, meet hers. “It’s cold,” she shudders, and though again there’s that huff of warm air escaping from her mouth, Naomi’s certain that isn’t from the actual cold. Emily takes her finger from Naomi and places her hands on hers, stopping them above her pants. “It’s cold.”
“No it isn’t,” Naomi rebuffs softly, kissing her hard for emphasis. “No it isn’t,” she breathes against her lips, and intertwines their fingers. “It isn’t, it isn’t,” she says, and glides both their hands down, into her knickers and slide against her cunt.
Emily’s voice hitches, hitches up in that deliciously high pitch Naomi’s always remembered. “Oh...” she exhales softly, like she’s waited for this, like it’s just how she remembered it.
“Feel it,” Naomi murmurs between kisses, stroking her slowly, then faster, her thumb tracing and rubbing hard against her clit. “Just let it flutter inside and build into a fire, Em.”
Emily’s hesitant hands and body quiver for a moment, and with a sigh and moan, push down on her hard, her 'oh' more guttural and every movement with purpose. Her hands waver up to Naomi’s head again and hold her against her lips, and they kiss, hard and broken, just between pants and muffled squeals, because Emily’s just throbbing and so so wet and warm that Naomi can feel the heat too, licking at her sides and thrashing against her cheeks. "There," she mumbles distinctly when Naomi hits a spot.
And Naomi picks it her rhythm, rubbing with more force and smiling only for a moment when Emily gasps. "There?"
"There," Emily confirms with a soft squeal and forceful nod, pulling her into a kiss and grinding down harder on Naomi's fingers. "There there there there" she repeats with closed eyes against her lips. They move against each other, hands colliding against frenzied hands, familiar lips and tastes, perfect heights and those same intoxicating pants and groans. “Oh god,” Emily whimpers quietly with a quake and her legs shudder against Naomi’s body, and she’s shaking and gripping and coming with a gasp and moan.
They hold one another for a few more minutes, calming the other down with more kisses and soft touches. It’s Naomi who caresses the side of Emily’s cheek as they do up their clothes. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know,” Emily responds quietly, sniffling as she runs her hands through her hair. She takes a breath and turns her head back to Naomi. Kisses her again. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah,” Naomi responds, and Emily smiles her lovely smile again, and something inside her bursts open, like a dam and rushing warm seafoam. “Yeah,” she repeats again.