hi there anon! some feeling for the sake of feeling on this one … hope you don’t mind … this idea actually has been stuck in my head for so long and this was just the right prompt to knock it loose
from the touch prompts list - ⁸⁾ thighs wrapped around a waist
inspired by this post that is at least partly to blame for my attachment to oranges as analogues for intimacy and that one image of Melissa walking around set with her suit half off
… also not fully familiar territory here so a little nervous
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Notes on Oranges (Kara and Lena)
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Kara lands and the apartment is already dark, already quiet. Her gaze drifts to the bedroom. She can just make out Lena's dress crumpled on the rug, can imagine her shrugging it off as soon as she walked through the door. Lena herself is curled within a mass of bedding and pillows, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, one foot hanging off the end, and it would be so nice just to slip right in beside her. Instead, she drops down onto the couch, sinking into the cushions as her cape spills out around her.
She closes her eyes for just a second and then leans forward just a little, reaching down to tuck her fingers past the top of her boot. She eases her leg from the worn leather, one after the other, until they fall with a soft thud against the floor.
Fingertips find the clasps at her shoulders. She unhooks them slowly, one by one, arches her back as she stretches to find the zipper she usually ignores. Tonight, though, her body seems content at a slower pace.
She lets out a soft sigh before pushing herself back up from the couch, hand sweeping through her hair, arms pulling through her sleeves.
Barefoot, half-undressed, she crosses the worn floorboards to the kitchen and the orange sitting on the table.
She picks it up, turns it over in her hands as she thinks of Lena's smile when she had given it to her that afternoon at lunch. Pulled from her bag, wrapped in a napkin, placed in her palm.
I thought of you. I saved something for you.
Arms slide around her waist. A chin rests on her shoulder.
Kara's fingers press into the pebbled skin of the orange until it just starts to give.
"Hey," Lena breathes, and she can feel the curve of her smile against her neck, can hear the undercurrent of happiness in that single syllable.
Kara leans back into her.
"You didn't eat your orange." brow creasing as she turns the fruit over in her hands, thumb running carefully over it, feeling each imperfection.
"I was waiting to share it with you." Lena's eyes narrow with amusement.
I thought of you. I saved something for you.
"I'm sorry," Kara says softly. "For waking you."
"You didn't." Lena pauses. "I was just..."
"Waiting," she repeats.
Lena smiles and shakes her head, taking the orange from her hand.
She watches the deft, practiced motions of her hands as they work at the surface. Her fingers find where the stem once was, push gently, then insistent, until it splits, breaks through to white pith, the bright scent of citrus suddenly filling the room, filling her nose, landing on her skin.
They share sections of it, fingers touching, lingering, becoming sticky.
Lena shifts closer as she pops another piece into her mouth.
There is a stray bit of pulp that gets caught in the corner of her mouth. Kara reaches up to gently wipe it away.
It's the kind of ease that suggests practice, suggests repetition.
But this peace and contentment it's new.
Kara takes the last piece of orange between her teeth, lets it rest on her tongue before biting down.
When it's all gone, Lena takes her hand and guides her towards their room.
Their room.
She stumbles over the possessive just briefly.
Stumbles over her feet just barely.
She stops to take off the rest of her suit, balancing ungracefully on one foot as Lena watches with a smirk, gathering it up along with her dress and laying them both over the back of a chair to be put away in the morning.
The sheets are still warm and Kara slides between them gratefully.
Lena's hand finds the curve of her hip and pulls her down, fingers spreading to cover as much surface as possible.
Here. There.
She kisses her and she tastes like orange, citrus-bright and sweet. Kara chases it across the collar of her shirt, along the column of her throat.
The window lets in fragments of the city—distant sirens, the rustle of leaves, a car door closing—but Lena's voice cuts through it all.
"Stay."
Though neither of them has moved, has nowhere else to go. The request feels weightless, already answered in the press of their bodies.
Lena inhales as Kara's mouth finds the sensitive spot below her ear. Her fingers dig into her shoulders. The radiator kicks on with a soft hiss, but Kara barely notices. She's focused on the way Lena's spine arches as she drags her teeth lightly along her throat, how her breath hitches on every other exhale.
Lena's shirt has ridden up and Kara slides her hand beneath it, palm flat against the plane of her stomach. The skin warm. Soft. Tacky from the bits of pulp still on her fingers.
Lena's knees tighten against her ribs, feet locking behind her, holding her there.
"Off," she says, tugging at the mess of bunched up fabric between them.
Kara nudges at her hands, nips at her skin.
Reaches first for her own shirt. Then Lena's.
It catches for a moment on her shoulders, on her arms, and she makes a small sound—impatience or frustration or need, Kara can't tell which. Lena folds at the hips, spine curving forward as the shirt slides up over her ribcage, over her breasts, and then it's free, pulled over her head as she tosses it aside without looking, without caring where it lands.
Kara's hands braced on her knees, Lena's chest pulled up towards hers.
The room feels smaller. Or perhaps they've gotten larger.
"Hi."
The word is absurd. Ridiculous. They have been touching for? Minutes? Hours? Time has become unreliable. And yet the greeting feels appropriate somehow, feels like an acknowledgment of this new position, this new angle, of seeing and being seen.
"Hi," Kara echoes, and she can feel the curve of her own smile, can feel something loosening in her chest, some tightness she didn't know she was holding.
Hair falls across her forehead. A few strands sticking to her temples. Her lips slightly parted, slightly swollen.
Kara catalogues all of it. Commits it to memory. The way Lena looks right now, in this exact configuration of light and shadow and proximity.
Lena shifts her hips upward. A small adjustment. A small claiming of even more space. A physical underlining.
Yes, this. Exactly this.
Her hand comes up to cup Lena's jaw.
Delicate. Sharp.
She can feel the hinge of it working as Lena breathes, as she swallows.
Her thumb brushes across Lena's bottom lip.
Traces the shape of it. The bow of the upper. The fuller curve of the lower.
For a moment they both hold still.
Conversation. Understanding.
Then Lena's tongue is touching the pad of Kara's thumb.
Then her lips are closing around it.
Kara feels it everywhere.
It makes her throat tight. Makes her breathing uneven. Makes her other hand tighten on Lena's waist, fingers pressing into soft flesh until it just starts to give.
Kara's hand slides between them. Lena's fingers wrap around her wrist.
Pulls her to where there is fabric. Then there isn't.
There's a moment of awkwardness, of trying to coordinate, of elbows and angles that don't quite work.
Kara adjusts their bodies, her thumb slipping free from Lena's mouth so she can reach past her, brace her hand against the headboard, and Lena makes a sound that is almost a sob, her hands scrabbling at her back, nails finding purchase against invulnerable skin but leaving their impression anyway.
Hips and hands tilt forward, up, in.
Bodies arching, taking, asking.
"Is this—" Kara starts.
"Yes—" Lena pauses "Just—"
She pulls her down and Kara can taste salt and skin, acid and sweetness, everything mixing together, everything shared.
"Please," though what she's asking for isn't clear — more, less, this, everything.
Pressure. Friction. Attention.
Lena comes apart with Kara's name caught between her teeth.
And then she is pulling her down again, pulling her close, even though there is no closer to go.
Kara follows with her forehead pressed against Lena's chest, with Lena's voice whispering encouragements, permissions, endearments that she doesn't quite hear but feels anyway in the vibration of Lena's throat, in the pressure of her fingernails against her scalp.
It feels like dissolution, like the boundaries of her body are becoming porous, uncertain. Spilling out into someone else.
She kisses the gap between Lena's breasts. Kisses the roundness of her stomach. Tastes herself. Tastes Lena. Tastes the notes of citrus lingering even now, even still. The fruit's flesh having somehow made its way into their own, having become part of them, absorbed, integrated, made cellular.
They hold onto each other. Thigh to hip, ankle to calf. This shape they've made together out of an accumulation of limbs and want. Legs. Arms. Hands. Fingers. Thighs. Sticky skin. Damp sweat. Gentle ache.
Here, this, us, stay, please, yes.
There is a bruise forming on Lena's hip where Kara forgot, briefly, to be careful. There is an imprint of teeth on Kara's thumb, already fading.
Lena finally unfolds, her legs sliding down to tangle with Kara's beneath sheets that only barely remain in their place.
"I—" Kara starts, and stops.
Love.
She rolls the word on her tongue.
But it clings to the roof of her mouth like pith.
This peace and contentment is still new.
Kara watches Lena's face in the dim light. Watches the flush that's spreads from her chest up her throat to bloom across her cheeks. Watches her breathing gradually slow, return to normal, watches the small smile once again forming at the corners of her mouth.
In the morning, there will be coffee, bitter and dark.
Sheets and clothes that will need washing.
Bits of orange peel left on the counter, curled and browning and waiting to be thrown away.
But for now, there is the scent of citrus everywhere. In the air, in their mouths, on their skin.
Ok this is slightly more angsty than I meant it. I might do the other way around as well with a bit more fluff involved to balance the scales lmao
Vel was happy for any sort of proximity. Was that pathetic? It certainly felt pathetic to her, when she was bleeding, rather heavily, and all she could focus on was Cinta’s expression. And maybe the warmth of the careful hands working diligently on the gash on her leg.
The presence of the rest of the crew meant she hadn’t yet told Vel off for this slip up- how embarrassing that would be as the leader, to be reprimanded in front of everyone. Cinta knew that.
She also knew her and Vel’s dynamic needed to be adjusted for the sake of this mission, for everyone feeling on equal ground under Vel’s authority.
But the increasing silence as everyone turned in for the night meant it was on its way. Vel was just trying to gauge when.
She hadn’t noticed how quiet the fire was until Cinta finally spoke up, her naturally quiet voice seeming clear and distinct without anything obstructing it.
“You’re lucky no one’s here to catch you looking at me like that.”
Vel flinched in embarrassment- Cinta didn’t have to elaborate. She was sure she looked ridiculous, like a dog waiting to be scolded.
Cinta’s dark eyes dart up to affirm she heard, and for some reason the thought of eye contact rouses an immediate anxiety in Vel, prompting her to look away, anywhere, perhaps checking on the sheep.
Yes, that was it. If only their black wool wasn’t a reminder of those eyes she wanted to see so badly. What?
Cinta’s hand stills on her knee, below the injury. Gently, though her words and gaze remain sharp. Well, Vel has an idea of her gaze. She can assume. She still won’t look at her.
“We’re two weeks away from the heist, and you get injured.” It’s a statement, and a heavy one. There’s a lot more Cinta could say- this was avoidable. She’s an idiot. What if this doesn’t heal in time?? What if it gets infected?? This will weigh them all down for at least a week.
“I’m sorry.” Vel mumbles, finally looking down at the woman kneeling by her. But their eyes don’t meet, Cinta’s focus locked back on wrapping a bandage.
She doesn’t respond, tugging it tighter.
Vel winces.
“There. You should be fine, let me know if it starts to act up. I’ll redo your bandages tomorrow night.”
Vel really WAS pathetic. Annoyed she was injured, sure, but she had thought maybe that could get just a minute of sympathy, a minute of alone time with the woman she loved, a single warm look… she reaches out, takes Cinta’s hand.
Was it too much to ask to be loved? Even in times like these? Was she weak for wanting that?
To Vel’s surprise, Cinta lingers, hand twining with hers.
“Come to bed.” Cinta states softly.
As always, Vel is happy to oblige, standing quickly- too quickly, forgetting her injury. A sharp pain interrupts her clouded thoughts, and, before she knows it, Cinta is by her bad side, supporting her weight.
Vel’s eyes flick to her face, sheepishly.
“…thanks.”
She was told upfront. The struggle comes first.
No matter how much more Vel wants, how much more she thinks they deserve, moments like these are all that’s left.
...when making gifs and memes no longer satisfies your shitposting urges so you learn to make videos (credit to @vidduality for linking this scene & song!!)
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