nsfw ficlet under the cut!
Rumi flops back onto Zoey’s bed, watching her grin widen while she strips off her shorts. There isn’t much left; her hoodie has been long-forgotten in the living room as she ground her hips down onto Rumi’s thigh, and her bra is also missing, courtesy of Rumi’s own deft hands (and her desire to see more more more of Zoey’s freckles). Rumi’s still a little in disbelief that she gets to have this (will never not have that little thrill that Zoey wants her—wants this), and she feels a little swoop in her belly, aiding the already-present arousal that has Rumi leaking onto her panties.
Zoey’s underwear go next, joining her pile of dirty clothes in the hamper. Rumi will have to run a load of laundry later. But Zoey seems intent on one thing, and one thing only right now. She lays atop Rumi, pressing her whole body weight into her and fuck, Rumi can feel how wet she is, even through the cotton barrier of her underwear, and she wants she wants she wants.
Surging up, her lips meet Zoey’s, pressing and claiming and taking, because it doesn’t matter what sleazeball drives Zoey home, because Zoey is on top of her right now, and that’s all that matters. Rumi’s hands fly up from where they had been resting on the bed and trace across Zoey’s shoulders, lean and toned and so fucking hot, making sure that her fingertips land on each and every freckle. She loves Zoey’s freckles, loves them like she loves the constellations in the sky, loves them like she loves painting, loves them—well, like she loves Zoey.
Rumi sighs into the kiss, hoping to press her love and worry and devotion into every single flick of her tongue, every nip of her teeth, every seal of her lips. Zoey kisses back just as fervently and Rumi loves how her tongue traces across her gums, how she moans into Rumi’s mouth, and how she just can’t stop her hips from twitching against Rumi’s own.
“Zo—mon coeur—please,” Rumi pleads, knowing that she wants something but not sure quite what it is, nor quite how to ask. Zoey grins wickedly, sitting up slightly, hands moving from Rumi’s face to ghost over the swell of her breasts, knows that Rumi loves when she plays with them, and loves being denied even more.
“Yeah, baby?” she asks, that devastatingly gorgeous smile still adorning her face. Rumi has always though that Zoey’s smile is like the sun and an April rain shower and everything that her the tattoos winding across her body needs, and never is it more apparent than in the moments like these. “What do you need?”
Hips canting upwards unsteadily, uncontrolled, Rumi suddenly knows what she wants. She just has to figure out how to ask for it. Her hands come down and cup around the curve of Zoey’s breasts, because how could she not, when they’re right in her face and tantalizing and Zoey loves when she plays with them. Rubbing her thumbs across the sensitive skin and hearing Zoey’s gasp, Rumi asks. “Can I—can I be inside you?”
“Yeah?” Zoey says, though it’s not without a question. Rumi can’t always stomach it, and Zoey knows this, knows that it gets too much for her sometimes. But there are other times when Rumi wants, and Zoey is almost always happy to give her whatever she desires.
“Y-yeah,” Rumi answers, though it’s not without caveat. “But I want you on top still.” She knows her face is blushing bright red at the request, at the little whimpers that Zoey is still making as Rumi’s hands continue their ministrations.
“Of course,” Zoey says softly, almost too softly for this moment. She tilts off of Rumi, and for a crazed moment, Rumi thinks she’s leaving and grabs for her desperately. Zoey just laughs, a warm, bright thing that soothes Rumi’s nerves. “I’m not going anywhere, pretty girl. Just grabbing a condom.”
And the logical part of Rumi’s brain once again takes over, nodding once. Zoey yanks open the nightstand and pulls out a foil wrapper, gently opening it. “You want me to do it?” she asks, with the same care that she does every time.
“Yes please.” And then, because Rumi feels it, never feels it more than in moments like these, “I love you.”
Zoey’s face goes red and her smile, if possible, gets even bigger. She doesn’t say it back, but that’s okay. Rumi has faith that she will. And besides, she can wait. She waited for Zoey for years, even if neither of them knew it.
Rumi is lost in that world of love and memory and affection for just long enough to Zoey to get her all ready, underwear tugged off and condom rolled on. She looks up at Zoey, whose diabolical grin is back.
“You ready, sweetie?” she asks, innocent enough. And yet, Rumi knows what comes next will be anything but. She nods, nonetheless. She wants her. “Alright then.”
And Zoey’s pushing her knees up towards her chest and Rumi feels the arousal in her gut and groin surge to life at the way Zoey easily manipulates her body, at the way that Rumi lets her manipulate her. And Zoey’s taking Rumi’s hands in her own and splaying them wide, exposing Rumi even further. She knows it’ll be on Zoey’s time, but she can’t help but let out a little whine at how Zoey just looks at her, adoring and hungry all at once.
When Zoey sinks down onto Rumi, fingers pressing inside at the same time to keep Rumi lined up, it’s heavenly. She can feel how wet Zoey is, how warm and amazing she feels, how her walls flutter around Rumi and fuck, it feels so debauched to have her legs spread like this, hands pinned beneath Zoey, and to have her hips grinding back and forth against Rumi.
Zoey knows how good this feels for Rumi, and it must be feeling incredible for her as well, because she’s moaning and whimpering right along with Rumi as she starts to pick up the pace. Struck by a sudden urge, Rumi wraps her leg around Zoey’s waist, wanting her closecloser immediately. She gets her wish, Zoey’s body shifting forward and almost dislodging Rumi, but it feels so fucking good that Rumi doesn’t care.
She tucks her head into Zoey’s neck, shuddering as the coil of pleasure starts to wind tighter and tighter in her gut, with each roll of Zoey’s hips and unsteady jerks of Rumi’s own. Her fingers move slightly, interlacing with Rumi’s and pressing her more into the bed. Her thighs squeeze tighter around Rumi’s at the same time as she clenches around Rumi, making her keen. Rumi tucks her face into Zoey’s neck, eyes fluttering closed and letting herself focus just on the pleasure, the way Zoey’s breasts occasionally brush against her own, the feeling of her fingers in hers, her thighs around her, and her clit rubbing against Rumi’s abs, making her whine every time.
Zoey’s hand abruptly braces against the underside of Rumi’s calf, the one not wrapped around her, and pushes it up further and oh, that’s a much better angle and fuck, Rumi’s getting really close—
“You’re so beautiful, baby…” Zoey trails off, lips brushing against Rumi’s cheek, warm and inviting and close. “So beautiful for me, so fucked out for me, making me feel—ah—so good…”
And really, Zoey knows that’s what does it, that’s what pushes Rumi over the edge, what always pushes Rumi over the edge, is hearing how much Zoey cares about her, how pretty she thinks she is, because she doesn’t always hear it. So it’s really no surprise when—
“Zo—Zoey—gonna—gonna come—”
“Go ahead, baby,” Zoey answers, and Rumi shatters apart. She feels like a miniature star has taken up residence in her belly, tugging her upwards into an arch with its gravity. She’s twitching inside Zoey, pulsing, her heartbeat in time with her peak. The surge of heat through her whole body is only accentuated by the speedier rolls of Zoey’s hips, chasing her own orgasm before Rumi needs a break. Her clit is swollen and straining against its hood and she’s grinding it against Rumi’s abs and her own fingers; this Rumi knows without even needing to look. But she does anyway, always so enamored with how Zoey uses her body for pleasure.
“Go on, Zoey,” Rumi encourages softly, shivering as her hips buck upwards into an aftershock. “Go ahead.”
And Zoey does with a cry, clenching and squeezing around Rumi and ohfuck that pulls yet another aftershock out of her, hips meeting Zoey’s with a plap. Her shaggy wolf cut is falling down into her face as her hands leave Rumi’s, bracing herself against her chest to ride out the rest of her orgasm.
Eventually, they collapse, breathless, right next to each other, sweat and slick and skin right next to each other on the bed.
“I love you,” Rumi whispers, and Zoey wraps herself around Rumi even tighter, squeezing until Rumi can feel it in her bones.
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