Very interesting to me that Abigail preferred Hannibal over Will, but Will had an emotional connection to her that Hannibal didn't - or at least not to the same extent.
I think maybe one day he could've found a stronger bond considering she had also killed and eaten people, but during the series she's really just a tool. Hannibal uses her to like... babytrap Will. And tbf it worked, Will didn't tell Jack what he knew when he discovered Abigail murdered that guy - if he was willing to cover for her, maybe eventually he'd cover for Hannibal too, the 3 of them too intrinsically tied for him to separate, I mean that's the trapping part. But she was just a means to an end, a relationship Hannibal nurtured for his own gain with Will....whereas Will really did view her as his daughter.
Very interesting to me...off-put by Will (especially towards the end of s1), but he had the most vested interest in her well-being out of the pair...
I’ve been thinking a lot about how Spider felt when he hit puberty and started growing facial hair, making him even more different to the Na’vi. I wonder if he hated it.
Also the inherent tenderness of a boy trusting someone else enough to help him shave for the first time… something about it makes my chest hurt. I really tried to capture it in Foreign Body but there’s so much more that I wish I’d left space for.
More WIPs from a project that was supposed to be a quick joke and is now A Whole Thing!
Here is a preliminary Hikari, and Samo's big brother! He has also escaped his genre, and he is not aware that most of the things he says sound incredibly threatening! Although only Hikari seems to notice anyway. (Luckily for Hikari, he really is a nice guy!)
Things That May Be Causing Your Writer's Block- and How to Beat Them
I don't like the term 'Writer's Block' - not because it isn't real, but because the term is so vague that it's useless. Hundreds of issues all get lumped together under this one umbrella, making writer's block seem like this all-powerful boogeyman that's impossible to beat. Worse yet, it leaves people giving and receiving advice that is completely ineffective because people often don't realize they're talking about entirely different issues.
In my experience, the key to beating writer's block is figuring out what the block even is, so I put together a list of Actual Reasons why you may be struggling to write:
(note that any case of writer's block is usually a mix of two or more)
Perfectionism (most common)
What it looks like:
You write one sentence and spend the next hour googling "synonyms for ___"
Write. Erase. Write. Rewrite. Erase.
Should I even start writing this scene when I haven't figured out this one specific detail yet?
I hate everything I write
Cringing while writing
My first draft must be perfect, or else I'm a terrible writer
Things that can help:
Give yourself permission to suck
Keep in mind that nothing you write is going to be perfect, especially your first draft
Think of writing your first/early drafts not as writing, but sketching out a loose foundation to build upon later
People write multiple drafts for a reason: write now, edit later
Stop googling synonyms and save that for editing
Write with a pen to reduce temptation to erase
Embrace leaving blank spaces in your writing when you can't think of the right word, name, or detail
It's okay if your writing sucks. We all suck at some point. Embrace the growth mindset, and focus on getting words on a page
Lack of inspiration (easiest to fix)
What it looks like:
Head empty, no ideas
What do I even write about???
I don't have a plot, I just have an image
Want to write but no story to write
Things that can help:
Google writing prompts
If writing prompts aren't your thing, instead try thinking about what kind of tropes/genres/story elements you would like to try out
Instead of thinking about the story you would like to write, think about the story you would like to read, and write that
It's okay if you don't have a fully fleshed out story idea. Even if it's just an image or a line of dialogue, it's okay to write that. A story may or may not come out of it, but at least you got the creative juices flowing
Stop writing. Step away from your desk and let yourself naturally get inspired. Go for a walk, read a book, travel, play video games, research history, etc. Don't force ideas, but do open up your mind to them
If you're like me, world-building may come more naturally than plotting. Design the world first and let the story come later
Boredom/Understimulation (lost the flow)
What it looks like:
I know I should be writing but uugggghhhh I just can'tttttt
Writing words feels like pulling teeth
I started writing, but then I got bored/distracted
I enjoy the idea of writing, but the actual process makes me want to throw my laptop out the window
Things that can help:
Introduce stimulation: snacks, beverages, gum, music such as lo-fi, blankets, decorate your writing space, get a clickity-clackity keyboard, etc.
Add variety: write in a new location, try a new idea/different story for a day or so, switch up how you write (pen and paper vs. computer) or try voice recording or speech-to-text
Gamify writing: create an arbitrary challenge, such as trying to see how many words you can write in a set time and try to beat your high score
Find a writing buddy or join a writer's group
Give yourself a reward for every writing milestone, even if it's just writing a paragraph
Ask yourself whether this project you're working on is something you really want to be doing, and be honest with your answer
Intimidation/Procrastination (often related to perfectionism, but not always)
What it looks like:
I was feeling really motivated to write, but then I opened my laptop
I don't even know where to start
I love writing, but I can never seem to get started
I'll write tomorrow. I mean next week. Next month? Next month, I swear (doesn't write next month)
Can't find the time or energy
Unreasonable expectations (I should be able to write 10,000 words a day, right????)
Feeling discouraged and wondering why I'm even trying
Things that can help:
Follow the 2 min rule (or the 1 paragraph rule, which works better for me): whenever you sit down to write, tell yourself that you are only going to write for 2 minutes. If you feel like continuing once the 2 mins are up, go for it! Otherwise, stop. Force yourself to start but DO NOT force yourself to continue unless you feel like it. The more often you do this, the easier it will be to get started
Make getting started as easy as possible (i.e. minimize barriers: if getting up to get a notebook is stopping you from getting started, then write in the notes app of your phone)
Commit to a routine that will work for you. Baby steps are important here. Go with something that feels reasonable: every day, every other day, once a week, twice a week, and use cues to help you remember to start. If you chose a set time to write, just make sure that it's a time that feels natural to you- i.e. don't force yourself to writing at 9am every morning if you're not a morning person
Find a friend or a writing buddy you can trust and talk it out or share a piece of work you're proud of. Sometimes we just get a bit bogged down by criticism- either internal or external- and need a few words of encouragement
The Problem's Not You, It's Your Story (or Outline (or Process))
What it looks like:
I have no problems writing other scenes, it's just this scene
I started writing, but now I have no idea where I'm going
I don't think I'm doing this right
What's an outline?
Drowning in documents
This. Doesn't. Make. Sense. How do I get from this plot point to this one?!?!?! (this ColeyDoesThings quote lives in my head rent free cause BOY have I been there)
Things That Can Help:
Go back to the drawing board. Really try to get at the root of why a scene or story isn't working
A part of growing as a writer is learning when to kill your darlings. Sometimes you're trying to force an idea or scene that just doesn't work and you need to let it go
If you don't have an outline, write one
If you have an outline and it isn't working, rewrite it, or look up different ways to structure it
You may be trying to write as a pantser when you're really a plotter or vice versa. Experiment with different writing processes and see what feels most natural
Study story structures, starting with the three act structure. Even if you don't use them, you should know them
Check out Ellen Brock on YouTube. She's a professional novel editor who has a lot of advice on writing strategies for different types of writers
Also check out Savage Books on YouTube (another professional story editor) for advice on story structure and dialogue. Seriously, I cannot recommend this guy enough
Executive Dysfunction, Usually From ADHD/Autism
What it looks like:
Everything in boredom/understimulation
Everything in intimidation/procrastination
You have been diagnosed with and/or have symptoms of ADHD/Autism
Things that can help:
If you haven't already, seek a diagnosis or professional treatment
Hire an ADHD coach or other specialist that can help you work with your brain (I use Shimmer; feel free to DM me for a referral)
Seek out neurodiverse communities for advice and support
Try body doubling! There's lot's of free online body doubling websites out there for you to try. If social anxiety is a barrier, start out with writing streams such as katecavanaughwrites on Twitch
Be aware of any sensory barriers that may be getting in the way of you writing (such as an uncomfortable desk chair, harsh lighting, bad sounds)
And Lastly, Burnout, Depression, or Other Mental Illness
What it looks like:
You have symptoms of burnout or depression
Struggling with all things, not just writing
It's more than a lack of inspiration- the spark is just dead
Things that can help:
Forget writing for now. Focus on healing first.
Seek professional help
If you feel like it, use writing as a way to explore your feelings. It can take the form of journaling, poetry, an abstract reflection of your thoughts, narrative essays, or exploring what you're feeling through your fictional characters. The last two helped me rediscover my love of writing after I thought years of depression had killed it for good. Just don't force yourself to do so, and stop if it takes you to a darker place instead of feeling cathartic
content: alcohol, i really tried for no plot again but the plot was calling to me like the green goblin mask, literal filth what's new, "i'm 5'10 (6'2) i can switch" cam roman makes an appearance, light thigh grinding, paige literally being a d1 asshole but honestly cam is also kind of an asshole too, very very slight voyeurism and very very slight masturbation 🌝, scissoring, face sitting, fingering, slight edging and slight overstim if you squint, author can confirm that hell is hot, honestly a little out of character (unintentional but also intentional (im coping bc i fucked up and couldn't fix it)), paige was in love from the start and this genuinely proves it i think, unnecessary feelings, poorly proofread
wc: 14.6k
notes: dedicated to the reckless driving council of moots who boss me around in dms and tell me how and what to write y'all know who you are 🤝 also lowkey if y'all do not gas this up after begging for so long i am 100% deleting this. so act right. merry (early) freakmas though i hope y'all fw this 🫶
Cam doesn’t think she’s ever been so tipsy in her life.
It’s probably better to call it like it is. She’s drunk, which is rare for her. She grew up with eyes constantly on her and despite being well past sixteen, her father still tended to treat her like she was, inquiring as to how hard she was practicing, if she was eating right, and if she was doing what she could to carry on the family name.
Whatever the fuck that meant, Cam wasn’t sure, and thinking about her father and her childhood was the last thing she wanted to do tonight. The draft after party is still alive with energy, music, and the exclaimed chatter of people trying to be heard over thumping bass. The party has only become tolerable now that she’s sufficiently a few drinks in.
In her drunk, floaty haze, Cam can’t hold back a laugh, not when she remembers how she’d made fun of Paige for ordering her juice at a stocked bar, but now? Cam thinks this juice is about to have her on her ass if she doesn’t quickly switch to something else – maybe water, or a different drink entirely whose sweet grenadine doesn’t completely mask the burn of alcohol as it slides down her perpetually dry throat.
Somewhere in between her fifth and sixth Dirty Shirley, she loses Paige, the rookie of the hour. In other conditions, Cam wouldn’t mind as much, but considering she and Paige have been relatively glued to each other’s sides for the better part of two hours, drinking and dancing and chatting and also considering the fact Cam doesn’t know anyone here besides the brief glimpses of the UConn women’s basketball team, she feels a little bit like a fish out of water.
She supposes that, while she was invited, she might be bordering on crashing the party, so she tries to be a little patient as she waits for Paige to return. Through the shifting crowd and the general noise of excitement from some yards over, she glances over, where her eyes catch on the glinting Nike button up and a brief flash of blonde hair under a skewed Dallas Wings cap. Cam’s wearing a matching one – Paige had insisted, then immediately turned it around so they could “match,” and her pupils had dilated so boldly at the sight it truthfully made Cam a little weak.
Cam would probably be the first to admit whatever was burning between her and Paige was something that would expand into a wildfire if not safely put out or attended to. It had only been a few hours, but their connection seemed nothing if not instant. Paige was sweet, coy, some sort of intoxicating mixture between smug and assured and humble, and it was like she had the uncanny ability to read a situation – to read Cam – and that was something that was probably going to be the death of her.
That would have to be a problem for another time, though, because from across the room, Paige is glancing over her shoulder and looking towards Cam. It’s almost like pure electricity when their eyes meet, like something they’d been dancing around all night – probably something they’d been dancing around ever since Cam said I’m glad you’re here. She wasn’t sure how they’d progressed so quickly, how they went from strangers to teammates to Cam wondering if Paige would taste like tequila or grenadine or how her stomach would feel under her hands, if the pilates she never seemed to shut up about had left her as toned as Cam has spent the better part of four drinks thinking about or if she was wearing anything more than a glimmering chain under that white button up of hers.
It’s then that it kind of hits her, because fuck, she wants Paige. She’s not unfamiliar with the feeling of wanting someone, but she is unfamiliar with the weight of this one, how it feels like resisting Paige is something that becomes harder and harder the longer she keeps falling right back into her orbit. Cam knew that this was something that had been marinating all night, something that only became more obvious as the liquor softened the edges of their filters and made them a little more prone to doing what felt right as opposed to doing what they should.
They hold eye contact for a few beats with Paige seemingly studying her from across the room. There’s someone hanging off her elbow, jaw running a mile a minute as she rambles about something or the other, but to see and to know that she has Paige’s undivided attention?
Cam is burning. She feels it pool low in her body, a subtle flame coiling beneath her skin. It almost feels as though her decision is made, but she only becomes more confident in it when she watches a slow, knowing smirk appear on Paige’s lips from across the party. Paige rests a consoling hand over the shoulder of whoever she’s talking to, her lips moving imperceptibly as she excuses herself, and she hardly glances over her shoulder as she slinks through the thick crowd towards Cam.
Cam allows herself a small, pleased smile, bringing the straw of her drink to her lips as she takes a quick sip of it. She knows this is reckless. If people were a little more aware of what was going on, that Paige was currently moments away from abandoning her own after party for Cam, then she knows that it would create a problem the both of them would have to spend months trying to fix.
She’s not worried about that right now, though. Something about the energy in the after party makes her feel a little looser, a little safer, like knowing that this was something she wanted and that this was something she could get away with. Things like repercussions or consequences weren’t on her mind at all.
All she’s thinking about is how, once they both got their first drinks, Paige swayed behind her as she murmured the lyrics to pushing P in her ear, their hips brushing, and Paige’s hand hovering over her waist as if trying to mask how badly she wanted it – wanted Cam. Cam didn’t need to turn around to know Paige was grinning, her teeth a little sharp and lips needy as she murmured “for P she turn Pesbian.” The lyric was stupid, but Paige’s voice was a little hoarse from the yelling and the burn of the tequila, and it felt like some sort of possessive claim that Cam was surprised she enjoyed so much.
Cam is thinking about how, once they got their second drinks, they returned to the floor again to dance and Paige finally let herself grip Cam’s waist. She’d pushed herself a little closer, her body warm and the pressure of her fingers on her skin making Cam melt into the feeling. She’s thinking about how, by the third drink, there was hardly any space between their bodies, the music loud and the smoke in the room making it hard to see, but Paige’s grip on her had been a handle and an anchor that Cam was equal parts appreciative for and drunk over for entirely different reasons.
By their fourth drink, Paige’s lips found their way to the shell of Cam’s ear, whispering words and filth that Cam hardly remembers the meaning of but she does remember the way they made her burn, the tone and rasp in Paige’s voice making her throb. By the fifth, Paige had grown a little bolder, the tips of her fingers just barely breaching under the waistband of Cam’s jeans, curling around the elastic band of the lace she wore under them.
Her cheeks burned, and Paige teased her about it. “Still tryna tell me sumn’?” she goaded, letting the waistband snap against Cam’s hips. She bit her lip to stifle the sound that had grown unprompted in the back of her throat. She felt the edge of Paige’s smile against her cheek, not needing to see it to know that she was impossibly smug, emboldened by the knowledge that she knew she had Cam right where she wanted her. “Or is this still business, Cam?”
But Cam was never going to be the kind of woman who kneeled easily – especially not for rookies like Paige Bueckers, whose words were full of well-earned confidence and whose fingers danced across her skin and made the idea of kneeling feel more like reward than humiliating punishment.
“Can’t it be both?” she asked, and Paige’s hand had tightened around her waist, pulling her closer into her body despite the fact that there was truly no where else to go, and her thigh had slipped between Cam’s legs, the pressure instant and perfect, and–
And then someone called Paige’s name from across the room. She’d groaned, the sound coming from low in her throat and making Cam a little bit crazier, but she’d excused herself and promised to return. Now, she’s making good on that promise, and Cam, perhaps a little selfishly, also hopes that her rookie has plans to make it up to her considering she left her wet and throbbing for the better part of the twenty minutes she was gone to play party host.
Judging by the hunger in Paige’s eyes, how her gaze roams across Cam’s body, catching on the bronzed skin of her navel and her pupils dilating at the sight, Cam gets the impression that Paige has every intention of apologizing in full.
Cam smells the heady scent of Paige’s cologne before she feels the warmth of her palm splaying across her hip, the grip possessive and a little desperate. Being reminded of just how much Paige clearly wants this makes desire coil hotly in Cam’s belly, desperation of her own clouding the judgement and every better thought in her brain. It takes mental strength she wasn’t even aware she had to stop herself from fisting her hand in Paige’s loose collar and kissing her in front of everyone at the party – briefly, she wonders when Paige undid the top few buttons, her chain shining in the low light of the room and sweat pooling on her collarbones, seemingly from both the room’s humidity and her own exercised restraint.
Cam isn’t one to be easy. That stems from her own relentless stubbornness and how, sometimes, yielding feels like weakness. But when she meets Paige’s eyes, stunned into beautiful silence at how a tantalizing mixture of want and need have turned the usual electric blue of her gaze into something darker, sinful, Cam is suddenly overcome with how much she wants to give herself to Paige.
So, she lets herself gravitate a little further into Paige’s personal space, allowing the blonde to swallow her up. She’s consumed in everything Paige – the heat of her body, swept up by the complex notes of her cologne, victim to just how badly she wants to be under – or on top of her – for the night. Cam wasn’t picky.
She skips the pleasantries. “Where are you staying?” she asks, her voice low and just barely audible over the thumping bass.
“The Marriott,” Paige responds. “You want–”
“Call an Uber,” Cam cuts in, trying to ignore how the smug, self-satisfied smirk on Paige’s lips make all of the blood in Cam’s body rush to her core. “I’m getting my jacket.”
She walks away before Paige has the chance to respond to that, but she feels the weight of Paige’s gaze on her as she walks away to locate her coat. The conversation alone should have reminded her of just how much more real everything has become. She’s moments away from going home with her teammate, her rookie, a woman she’s known for less than a few hours.
She’s not worried about that, though. Her main concern is where she left her jacket, and she manages to find it at the booth Paige’s team had reserved for her. Cam feels like she’s floating, a few drinks past drunk, but more than anything else, she’s surprised by how aware she is. She wants this. She wants Paige. That’s the only thing that makes any sense right now.
Cam finds Paige waiting for her right where she’d left her. Her rookie’s eyes roam across her body shamelessly, something appreciative and hungry in her gaze, and Cam only smiles knowingly at her as she laces their fingers together and pulls Paige outside.
The Uber arrives moments later. Paige gets the door for her, chivalry masked as what Cam is sure is just an excuse for her to stare at her ass, and she squeezes into the backseat next to her. Their thighs brush and Paige wastes no time before resting her palm over Cam’s thigh, her fingers brushing the inside seam of her jeans. It’s dark enough to be inconspicuous and to do nothing more than tease, but the remnants of the street lights outside highlight the curve of Paige’s smile, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to Cam.
The ride to Paige’s hotel is tense and silent. Paige doesn’t stop her ministrations, only teasing Cam further, and Cam feels as though she’s moments away from combusting completely. She’s wanted people before, she knows that. But she’s never wanted someone like she wants Paige, feeling as though she’d die or her cells would shrink and lyse if she didn’t have Paige’s hands on her skin immediately.
Paige knows that, too. It’s infuriating, because she’s so calm and collected and so content to tug on each and every one of Cam’s nerves until she’s beyond desperate. Cam would repay the favor in full. That much she’s sure of.
The car rolls to a stop in front of the Marriott. The both of them have enough sense to be cordial with the driver, who wishes them a good night. Paige holds the door for her, leading her through the lobby to the elevator, and they both breathe a sigh of relief when the lift is empty. As soon as Paige punches her floor number in and the doors slide shut, she rests both of her palms on Cam’s waist, pulling her back to her front, and her lips are hot against Cam’s neck as she presses slow, indulgent kisses to her skin.
Cam’s breath hitches, a little stunned by the boldness and how Paige hadn’t wasted any time, and she tilts her neck to the side to give her more room to work with. Paige hums low in her throat, pleased, and her fingers press more firmly against Cam’s skin, taking advantage of every inch of bronzed skin Cam’s crop top leaves exposed.
“Trying to give the entire hotel a show?” Cam says once she finds her voice, but her words are weak, the pleasure making them come out rough and raspy.
Paige scoffs, as though she hates the idea of someone else seeing them like this. “Don’t even say that shit,” she mutters hoarsely, sucking languidly at Cam’s pulse point. She smirks against Cam’s neck like she can feel her heartbeat racing. That makes heat bloom across Cam’s skin, understanding there were just some things she wasn’t able to hide from Paige, and knowing Paige was cocky enough to relentlessly tease her for it. “Your heart’s pounding, Cam. Are you really into the idea of showin’ off or are you just into me?”
Cam hates how that makes her cheeks flush red. Paige is so insufferable, yet so certain, and the fact she’s not wrong makes Cam ache. The confidence is unbelievably attractive, especially since Paige knows exactly what she’s doing to her.
“Don’t get a big head,” Cam retorts, trying to not let her control slip. Paige laughs at that, knowing and amused and the sound is edged with something low and raspy, like she knows Cam gives up more and more the longer this goes on.
“You want me,” Paige states, sure, and she kisses her way down Cam’s neck, lingering at the soft line of her shoulder, one hand raising to pull her top to the side. Cam’s already trembling, feeling the need and want seep into every pore of her body, the alcohol making everything feel slow and warm like molasses. “Don’t gotta be ashamed of it, Cam. I already know.”
“You’re annoying.”
“I’m right,” Paige fires back. Her free hand, the one still wrapped around Cam’s waist, slithers to her front, resting half on the button of her jeans and half on her lower belly, feeling the rise and fall of her disjointed breathing. The contact makes Cam shiver, her breath catching in her throat, because Paige is so close to where she wants her, and Cam is sure if she gathered enough courage to fully breach under her waistband, Paige would find her soaked and waiting and Cam honestly isn’t sure if she’d be able to survive the teasing. Her fingertips press over the button, thumb brushing across her navel, and before Cam can even coherently realize what’s happening, Paige has undone the button on her jeans, fingers mapping out the newly exposed skin.
“Tell me I’m not,” Paige murmurs, nipping at Cam’s shoulder, nose brushing her skin as she kisses her way to Cam’s ear to whisper. “Tell me you don’t want me, Camille. Tell me you ain’t come all this way just to make sure I got into bed safely. Tell me you’ont want me to touch you and I’ll call you an Uber back to your hotel and you can think about me when you get yourself off tonight.”
Cam’s chest is heaving, her restraint wearing thinner than it has all night. She thinks it truly comes to a head when Paige releases her, taking an easy step back like she didn’t care she just ruined Cam’s entire life with her words alone. Cam spins on her heel, affronted and aghast and all of the other synonyms for offended because Paige started this (mostly), and she’s sure as shit going to finish it.
Paige looks impossibly smug, her hands buried in her pockets, lips swollen and slick with her own spit and if Cam can see herself, she’s sure she would find the remnants of Paige’s affection littering her skin. The Dallas Wings cap on her head is still turned to the back, slightly askew, and Cam knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that she needs her.
The elevator, though, dings happily, the doors sliding open, and all the both of them can do is stare at each other. There’s a challenge reflected in Paige’s eyes, something humiliating like desperation in Cam’s. This is her out, her opportunity to be the bigger person and apologize for leading Paige on like this, knowing she shouldn’t follow her rookie to her hotel room and let her fuck her hours after she’d been drafted to her team.
“Last chance,” Paige says softly, and Cam doesn’t take that opportunity.
Blindly, she punches the button on the elevator panel to close the doors again, and she hardly waits for them to shut fully before she crosses the space between her and Paige and kisses her. Paige makes an eager sound against her lips, equal parts surprised and expectant and so, so gone, and she rests her hands dangerously low on Cam’s hips. Cam tangles her fingers in the loose hair at the back of Paige’s neck, surely knocking her cap loose, but neither of them care.
Taking it as an invitation, Paige’s hands slide lower on Cam’s back, cupping the swell of her ass and groaning indulgently. That just makes Cam grin, feeling the heat rush to her core, and she uses Paige’s awe to her advantage and licks into her mouth. It’s pure filth, the way Paige responds to her, how she tastes like cherries and tequila and something dangerously freeing, the wet heat of her mouth making Cam keenly aware of how there’s no going back now that she knows what she tastes like.
Paige bites her bottom lip, drawing a gasp from Cam, and she breaks away from her mouth to kiss her jaw. She edges lower, and lower, urging Cam to tilt her head back again to give her rookie more room to work with, and Cam rests her palm over the back of Paige’s head, pushing her closer to her chest, moaning when she lets herself be guided without complaint. Slowly, Paige inches towards the door, pressing Cam against it with a gentleness that shocks her out of the moment when the cool metal of the door connects with her back.
Not really wanting to have sex in an elevator of all places, Cam pulls away from Paige with great difficulty, smiling when the blonde chases her lips. “Room,” she murmurs simply, and Paige sucks in a deep breath, nodding. She presses one more lingering kiss to Cam’s lips as she reaches around her to press the button on the panel to open the door again.
Thankfully, the hallway is empty, and Paige hurriedly pulls Cam along with her in search of her door. She finds it soon enough, then rifles through her pocket for her wallet, fumbling for the keycard. Her hands are trembling with want and the alcohol probably isn’t doing her any favors – she struggles to press it to the sensor, and Cam can’t help herself when she takes the card away from Paige to unlock the door.
It clicks open on her first try. Paige huffs under her breath, but they don’t dwell on it. Paige opens the door and she hardly waits for it to close behind them before her hands are back on Cam, kissing her again. This time, it’s strangely a little more sweeter than their first one, although no less intense, and Cam has no choice but to trust Paige as she walks them slowly through the room.
Eventually, the backs of Paige’s knees hit the bed, and she sinks down onto the mattress, pulling Cam with her. Cam adjusts her legs, fully straddling Paige now, and the pressure of her thigh between Cam’s legs almost makes her fall over. She sighs against Paige’s lips, their tongues sliding together when Paige takes advantage of her reaction, and she can’t help herself as she rocks her hips in a slow grind against Paige’s slacks.
Paige can’t, either, as the motion draws a ragged gasp from her, as though she can feel the heat of Cam’s body through her clothes. Cam wouldn’t be surprised if she could – she doesn’t think she’s ever been this turned on in her life, and she knows without a doubt her panties are going to be unwearable after tonight. Regardless, Paige’s hands slide lower down her body, cupping her ass again, and she tightens her grip as she helps Cam rock against her.
It’s electric, causing Cam’s stomach to flip from the sheer pleasure of it. The pressure is perfect – the hard muscle of Paige’s thigh, defined from years of work in the gym and the effort she puts into on the court, the rough friction of her own jeans pressing back against her throbbing clit. She’s aching, keyed up and taking any and everything Paige would give her. Paige pulls her down a little more firmly, holding her down for a beat as she presses her thigh up into her, and Cam swears she sees stars, her vision blurring and drowning in the way Paige laughs smugly against her lips.
“You’re such a – fuck, P – you’re such an ass,” Cam breathes out, a moan cutting through her words. They lack any real heat, which Paige clearly picks up on, because she sucks Cam’s bottom lip in between her own, nipping at it gently. In revenge, Cam threads her fingers through Paige’s hair again, yanking her cap off and throwing it across the room before her fingers trail down to fumble with the buttons on her shirt.
“You think so?” Paige teases, still helping Cam rock against her thigh. Her hands leave Cam’s ass long enough to fist in the hem of Cam’s top, and she raises her arms long enough for Paige to pull it over the top of her head. She’s left in a thin, white bra, her nipples pebbling through the fabric due to either the chill in the room or Paige’s undivided attention. It’s probably a mix of both, and Cam’s retort dies on the tip of her tongue as Paige leans forward, wrapping her lips around a nipple through her bra, sucking her through the fabric.
Paige’s hands return to her waist, smoothing across her ribs, as though she’s trying to memorize the map of Cam’s body, aching to touch every inch of her skin. She brushes across a particularly sensitive spot just below her waistline, causing Cam to keen and arch into her, and Paige takes advantage of that immediately – she pulls Cam into her, not slowing the grind of her hips against her thigh, and she alternates to her other nipple.
With her left hand, Paige reaches up to cup Cam’s breast through her bra. “C’mon, Cam,” she goads, voice wrecked, hand slipping under the hem of her bra to press her hand directly to her tit, thumbing her nipple. “Don’t get quiet on me now. You had so much to say earlier. Where’d allat attitude go?”
Cam can’t help but laugh at that, her mind pleasantly numb and the pleasure coursing through her veins making it difficult to say much beyond, “Fuck you.” Paige’s hand is impossibly warm against her skin, her clit pulsating almost painfully. The grind is delicious, but it’s not doing nearly enough for her. She needs Paige to touch her.
“‘M trying, Cam,” Paige coos, biting her nipple gently – not enough to hurt, but enough to get her attention, to make the slight pain burst into delirious pleasure. “Still think I’m an ass?”
“Yeah,” Cam murmurs, but she cups Paige’s jaw with one of her hands, tilting her head up to connect their lips. Paige groans against her, wasting no time before deepening the kiss, their tongues sliding against each other. It’s filthy, wet, and Cam feels as though the taste of Paige’s drink on her tongue just keeps her impossibly drunk. She’s high on her, on this feeling, on the sensation of her clit rubbing against Paige’s thigh, already embarrassingly keyed up purely from rutting against her like she’s desperate and at a college frat party again.
When Cam breaks their kiss again, it’s to pull her bra over her head, breasts free and spilling out. The sight makes Paige’s eyes glaze over comically as she draws her bottom lip between her teeth, appreciation clear in her gaze. Cam doesn’t even have the chance to tease her about it before Paige surges forward, her lips wrapping around a nipple free of any obstacle, and all Cam can do is mutter a “Fuck,” as she arches into Paige’s hold.
With one hand cupping her other breast and her thumb brushing across her nipple, Paige’s other hand wraps firmly around her hip, keeping her locked in a slow, sensual grind against her thigh, and all Cam can hear is the sound of her heavy breathing and Paige kissing at her chest, her tongue flicking across the swollen bud. The friction against her jeans is everything, her clit throbbing with every hard drag across defined muscle, and Cam feels as though she’s losing all sensibility.
Wrecked, Cam’s fingers find Paige’s shirt again, fumbling with undoing the buttons. It’s sloppy, uncoordinated, and so, so difficult to focus when Paige is controlling every movement of her body, helping her grind against her like her only focus is making Cam feel good. There’s a weird, paradoxical selfishness in it, too, judging by the way Paige breathes heavily and how gone she looks with her head buried in Cam’s chest and her own hips shifting against the mattress, as though Cam’s reactions and the feeling of her chasing her own pleasure on her thigh is enough to keep Paige right on the edge.
Cam finally reaches the last button, and desperately, she pushes the shimmering top off of Paige’s shoulders. Her rookie only lets go of her hips long enough to allow her to pull her shirt off fully, and the image of Paige under her, her hair mussed, lips spit slick, torso covered by a tight, dark sports bra, the defined ridges of her abs and the steady softness around her waist makes Cam’s mouth run dry.
She knows she’s staring. She can’t help it, and the way Paige looks under her sends a fresh wave of heat to her belly and arousal pooling between her thighs. Paige is attractive – that much is and always has been obvious. But to see her like this, staring up at Cam, smug, comfortable in her own skin and confident in her own ability to ruin her veteran – that does something to her.
“You can touch me, you know,” Paige says teasingly, causing Cam to roll her eyes as her cheeks heat up. She reaches out for Cam’s hand, gripping the back of it with ease and guiding Cam’s palm to splay across her stomach, the muscles there shifting under the warmth and the pure electricity that shocks her core at the contact. She exhales breathlessly despite the confidence in her actions, swallowing thickly as her jaw clenches, and she doesn’t let go of Cam’s hand as she explores every inch of her skin.
“I think you just wanted an audience,” Cam says surely, but her voice is rough, feeling her core throb more the longer she stares. Paige is balanced on one hand, her fingers twisted in the sheets behind her, and her chest rises and falls from the pleasure and the feeling of having Cam’s hand on her, even though she’s guiding Cam to where she wants to be touched. “Just wanted to touch yourself and have me watch. Is that it?”
Paige offers a small, shameless smirk, and she tilts her chin up to make eye contact with Cam, who’s trying not to rut against her thigh. “Maybe,” she concedes, using her grasp to tug Cam’s hands towards her chest, and Cam wastes no time before brushing her thumb against an erect nipple, drawing a sigh of pleasure from Paige. Unable to resist, Cam leans down to take the other one in her mouth, wondering if the taste of Paige’s skin is as intoxicating at the taste of her mouth.
The contact draws a stifled moan from Paige, like the pleasure is immense but she doesn’t want Cam to hear. Not happy with that, Cam bites down gently on the swollen bud, drawing a hiss from Paige, and she peers up at her through her lashes to find the blonde grinning down at her, her eyes hazy and lidded and her cheeks flushed.
“You’d get jealous, though,” Paige murmurs, certain, releasing Cam’s hand to cup her cheek, brushing the hair out of her face. She grips Cam’s jaw, not hard enough to be rough but enough to guide, and she pulls Cam off of her breast to press a filthy, open mouthed kiss to her lips. Their tongues meet, sliding against each other, and Cam can’t help but grind down against Paige’s thigh in search of friction. Paige breaks their kiss, lips brushing Cam’s as she continues. “You wouldn’t be able to sit there, and–” Her voice breaks off into a soft moan when Cam’s fingers tug her nipple, brushing against the bud to soothe the sting. “Fuck, Cam.”
“I wouldn’t be able to sit there?” Cam repeats, her voice deceptively soft and consoling, urging Paige to continue. She dusts the lightest of kisses against Paige’s lips, pulling away before Paige can sink into it fully, and she smiles at the ruined look on Paige’s face, as though she can’t believe she’d just been denied like that. “You really think so, P?”
Remembering where she was, Paige nods. The hand she’d used to push Cam’s hair out of her eyes returns to Cam’s hip, fingers dragging a tickling path across her stomach to her front, where she tugs down the zipper on her jeans, the button still popped open from their stint in the elevator. “Know you wouldn’t,” she murmurs, using one hand to push Cam’s jeans down her thighs. Getting the memo, Cam helps pull them off along with her shoes, leaving her in only her panties, which have an unmistakable wet patch over the center of them. Before Paige can see how embarrassingly wet Cam is, she settles over her thigh again, which was probably just as bad – Paige pauses, glancing down at where their bodies connect, and a slow, insufferable smirk spreads across her lips. “Can feel how soaked you are, Camille. What you tryna hide from me for?”
“Focus,” Cam states, mirroring Paige’s earlier actions and using a hand to tilt her chin up to her.
Still, Paige grins, and she helps Cam rock against her thigh again. “Look at you now,” Paige murmurs, dripping in insinuation and something that sounds like pride. It makes Cam ache. “Just need it so bad, don’t you? S’why you’d get jealous. Don’t wanna be left out ‘cause you wanna touch me just as bad.”
“You’re not all that,” Cam says, lying through her teeth, but there’s something inside of her that’s unable to take the bait, something that doesn’t want to admit just how true that is. She wouldn’t be able to sit there, watching Paige get herself off when she’s made herself dizzy all night wondering what Paige would taste like, how she’d sound under her. She wouldn’t be able to sit there, throbbing and soaking through the sheets, watching as Paige convulsed and writhed and Cam couldn’t tend to herself or be part of Paige’s pleasure. It’d make her fucking sick and she hate how Paige knows it would.
“Don’t say that,” Paige murmurs, lips pushing out in a dramatic pout. She dips her head down to kiss along Cam’s jaw, nipping at her skin. “Gonna hurt my feelings, Cam.” That makes Cam roll her eyes, her breath stuttering and a moan spilling from her lips when Paige sucks at her pulse point again, palm rubbing soothingly against her back. Then, surprising her, Paige says, “Prove it to me.”
The challenge is enough to snap through the haze in her mind, the weightless, floating feeling she’s been halfway in between ever since she settled herself over Paige’s thigh and tried not to grind herself into oblivion. “Prove what to you?” she asks, perhaps a little stupidly, but she couldn’t be expected to have any real cognitive thought, not when Paige looks and feels this good beneath her.
Paige brushes a light kiss across her lips, settling her palm firmly over her hip. “If I touch myself and you can sit there without givin’ in, then you get whatever you want,” she whispers, rubbing gentle circles into Cam’s skin, “but if you give in…then I get what I want.”
“Knew you just wanted an audience,” Cam repeats in lieu of an actual confirmation, because the longer she thinks about sitting across from Paige, watching her slip her fingers under the waistband of her boxers, dragging her fingers through the slick there, rubbing messy circles against her clit and fucking into herself, the longer she feels as though she’s not going to last. She knows what kind of deal they’re making and she knows exactly how she’s going to lose. Perhaps lose is the wrong term for it when she knows she and Paige are both so down bad they’d both be getting what they wanted, but the sting of the loss is Cam’s main convincing factor. It’s the point of it all, and if there’s one thing she knows for certain about her and Paige, it’s how the both of them aren’t very good losers.
“That’s not a yes or a no, Cam,” Paige reminds her.
Cam stares at her, stuck at an impasse, but she knows the decision is all but made for her. There was no getting out of this, not when Paige has her backed into a theoretical corner and not when part of Cam enjoys being backed into that corner. Swallowing thickly, knowing she’s fucked in a variety of different ways, she gives in. “Fine,” Cam says, and Paige’s subsequent, beaming smile is almost enough to make Cam’s inevitable loss that much more worth it.
Paige brushes her hair out of her face, leaning in to press one last lingering kiss to her lips. Cam can’t help but lean into it, tilting her head to the side and deepening it, unable to not chase when Paige breaks away, her lips slick with spit and swollen. “Be good,” she teases, and the words strike Cam’s core like lightning.
Cam doesn’t dignify that with a response. She lifts herself off of Paige’s lap, trying not to stare too hard at the obvious wet spot on her thigh where Cam’s arousal had seeped through, and she inhales deeply as Paige kicks her shoes off. She scoots on the bed, back to the headboard and her legs spread, and the sight is almost enough to make Cam preemptively call off the bet so Paige could have her way with her. Still, she stays strong, sitting down at the foot of the bed, directly across from Paige.
“You sure you still wanna do this?” Paige teases, but there’s something softer underneath the fire in her words – a gentle check in, the promise that if Cam wasn’t comfortable, then they both could back out. That understanding and care is ever prevalent regardless of the alcohol making everything hazy and looser. Drunk, sober, or somewhere in between, nothing mattered like their comfort. “I’ll still get you a ride back to your hotel so you can take care of yourself.”
“I don’t quit,” Cam retorts, trying not to stare too hard at Paige’s body. It’s no use, though – between the wrecked expression on her face, fucked out despite the both of them not doing anything, and the fact she’s effectively only wearing her slacks and a pair of boxers, Cam can’t tear her eyes away. “Unless you’re tapping out already?”
“I’on quit,” Paige repeats, smug yet somehow a little offended at the idea she’d be giving up.
“Then quit stalling,” Cam says.
Paige smirks, mumbling something under her breath about Cam being desperate or bossy, and for her sake, Cam pretends not to hear that. Instead of reaching directly for the button and the zipper on her slacks like Cam thought she would, Paige slowly drags her knuckles across her navel. Cam sees goosebumps rising in the wake of her touch, her mouth going dry and cunt throbbing at the soft, blissful sound Paige makes. It’s nothing too provocative yet – just Paige dragging her fingers up and down her stomach, the muscles there stuttering and jumping between the contact and the heat of Cam’s gaze on her.
“You do this a lot?” Paige asks, seemingly just to make conversation, and her words draw Cam’s attention away from where she was laser-focused on watching Paige’s fingers trail across her own skin. Paige is already staring at her, eyes dark, lidded, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, like watching Cam sit in front of her is better than anything she could fantasize about in her head. “Fucking your rookies on draft night? Or am I just special?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Cam says hoarsely, and something about those words makes Paige’s hips shift, a low hum vibrating in her throat as she slowly drags her fingers higher. She doesn’t touch her breasts, not yet, but her fingers trace the lines of her sternum, the muscles defined there, too. Her nipples are hard, pebbled – Cam sees that much through the dim lighting of the room, and it makes her swallow, aching to reach out and touch her.
“So I am special,” Paige concludes, smiling to herself, and her fingers edge up higher, teasing the swell of her chest. Her hips shift again. Cam follows the movement hungrily, thinking about how she must be throbbing just the same as her, how she’s probably – hopefully – soaked through her boxers just like Cam’s soaked through her panties.
Cam’s chest rises and falls erratically. “Not special,” she lies. “Just my first stop.”
That makes Paige pause instantly. Her eyes dart back up to Cam’s face, indignant, possessive, and wildly jealous in a way that makes Cam burn all over. Paige should know better – Cam had been over her all night, and she’s probably the only person in the world Cam would be watching as she touched herself in a hotel room. Still, her words had the intended effect, finally shutting Paige up if even for a brief moment.
Finding her footing again, Cam meets her gaze, something hungry and dark passing between them when light brown meets electric blue. “I didn’t say you could stop, rook,” she murmurs, watching as Paige’s eyes widen with surprise and her hips twitch, clearly affected. “Keep going.”
That draws a shocked, taken aback laugh from Paige. “You’re sick,” Paige breathes out, but a hint of a smirk curls on her lips and she begins her path across her chest. She lifts her eyes up to meet Cam’s again and she doesn’t look away, even when her fingers finally brush across an erect nipple, and her eyes nearly roll into the back of her head and her lips part in pleasure. Cam swallows thickly, feeling the arousal pool between her legs. “Enjoying yourself?”
Cam scoffs, but there’s a red flush creeping up her neck and settling on her cheeks. “You wish,” she mutters. “You’re the one getting off on me watching you.”
Paige just grins at that, lazy and smug and knowing. “Yeah,” she admits after a few moments, breathless, ruined. “I am.” The acknowledgement and the lack of shame makes Cam shudder, only moments away from giving up her sense of control entirely. There was no way she was going to make it through this. “And I’on gotta wish. You’re right there. Why would I wish for somethin’ I already got?”
“Paige,” Cam stresses, mouth impossibly dry, and Paige flushes with pride.
“Givin’ up?” Cam shakes her head, even though she desperately wishes otherwise. She’s not surviving this – not when she’s been on the edge all night. Paige sighs forlornly, shaking her head in commiseration. “That’s too bad,” she says softly. Then, both of her hands begin inching down her body, skating along her ribs, down to her navel, down to her waistband, where she dips her fingers beneath to splay out across the soft skin hidden by her slacks.
Cam’s jaw clenches, finally breaking eye contact to watch as Paige slowly undoes the button, pulling the zipper down with an agonizing speed that makes all of Cam’s nerves run hot. It feels most similar to standing at center court before tip off, staring at the ball in the hands of the referee, all of the muscles in your body coiled and ready to jump for it. Paige shifts, raising her hips to pull her pants down, sliding out of them.
Paige is wearing a pair of light grey boxers. Cam knew that much for fact, because the waistband of said boxers had been teasing her all night while they were dancing and when Paige’s shirt rode up. Now, getting to see them in their full glory makes Cam hungrier, mostly because there’s a tell-tale wet patch at the apex of her thighs.
Cam is so, so, impossibly fucked.
Her knuckles brush along her hips. Cam follows the blazing trail they leave behind, not looking away, especially not when they snake under the cotton of her boxers. Paige doesn’t go far enough to reach where Cam is sure she’s dripping, but it’s the knowledge she could, that Cam is forced to sit mere inches away from her and not being able to touch despite how badly she wants to.
Cam isn’t one for regret, but this might be one. Her head spins from the messy combination of the alcohol and the sheer amount of want and despite it all, she feels like she’s floating, like she could fly away completely if she doesn’t tend to the overwhelming ache in her core. She knows there’s a simple remedy to that and it starts with admitting to Paige that she’d won, but she can’t think of anything worse than having Paige gloat about it to her.
Cam feels as though her focus hones in on this one thing, this moment between the two of them. She watches Paige’s fingers delve a little further in her boxers, her body going still, and her jaw falls open in pleasure like she’d touched the one place she’d been needing all night. It almost makes Cam fucking whimper, feeling so unhinged and out of control at the mere idea of Paige getting herself off without her help.
Cam reaches her tipping point when Paige makes a soft sound under her breath, something breathy and ruined and so, so fucking sweet. She clenches her jaw, watching as Paige’s hand moves in small, barely there circles, the fabric of her boxers shifting under her ministrations. Cam hates it. “You are such an ass,” she grits out hotly, unable to keep it in any longer, and Paige’s eyes blink open to stare at her.
The blue of her gaze is blown out beyond recognition, impossibly dark and lidded, and her expression is smug and lazy, like she knows she didn’t even need to work that hard before she would make Cam crumble. “You think so?” she murmurs, and with an agonizing slowness, she slides her hand out of her boxers.
Cam hones in on Paige’s hand, the way her fingers shine in the dim light of the room. And she cracks.
With a speed that startles her and causes the mattress to creak under her weight, Cam shoots forward on the bed and settles herself right over Paige’s lap again. If the sudden, surprised sound Paige makes is any indication, then she hadn’t been expecting Cam to give in so soon, either, but Cam just swallows Paige’s groan with a deep kiss, wrapping her arms around her neck.
Paige’s hands find her hips, sliding down to cup her ass languidly as she pulls Cam closer to her. Her hands roam, mapping out each and every inch of Cam’s skin. With less layers, the first press of their cores hits Cam like lightning and she can’t help but exhale sharply against Paige’s lips. Paige is impossibly warm against her and she spreads her legs to accommodate for Cam’s weight between her.
The bet had been for whatever Paige wanted, but it’s clear they’re on the same page now. Paige hooks her fingers in the waistband of Cam’s underwear, giving it a meaningful tug as she murmurs against her lips, “Off.” Cam doesn’t fight her on that, not breaking their kiss as she lifts herself quickly, helping Paige pull off the last garment. She breaks away, out of breath, and presses her lips to Paige’s jaw, trailing wet, hot kisses down the column of her throat as she returns the favor, gripping the hem of Paige’s boxers and pulling them off when Paige lifts her hips.
“I win,” Paige declares, her chest heaving and a satisfied expression on her face, like she hadn’t been able to resist the chance to goad.
“I know,” is all Cam can muster, not protesting as Paige grips her hips firmly and finally drags her down against her. The first press of their soaked cunts makes Cam arch directly into Paige, her fingers digging into her shoulders from the pleasure of it all, and she bites her lip to stifle the moan building in her throat. “Fuck, P.”
Paige smirks against her skin, her head tilting down to press open-mouthed kisses to her chest, not leaving a single inch of skin untouched. They slide together seamlessly, aided by their combined arousal, and Paige uses her hold on Cam’s hips to drag her down against her roughly. When her clit brushes Paige’s, Cam’s entire body seizes up, and Paige kneads the fat of her ass in between two large palms.
“Right there,” Paige murmurs, breathless, and Cam tightens her arms around her neck, pressing her forehead to Paige’s. She allows Paige to drag her as she likes, her hips gyrating and rocking and rolling into hers, and the connection feels too perfect, too right, too much like Cam’s already about to fall apart. Her body trembles, overcome with pleasure, the feeling of Paige’s fingers surely bruising her skin as she chases their combined orgasms. “Shoulda given in sooner, yeah?”
Cam rolls her eyes, but she’s not sure if it’s from annoyance or pleasure. She threads her fingers through the hair at the nape of Paige’s neck, keeping her in place as she murmurs heatedly, “You talk too much,” and effectively silences her with a kiss. Paige deepens it instantly, sliding her tongue against Cam’s. Cam rocks her hips against Paige’s a little more firmly, clits swollen and brushing against each other, and white hot, blissful pleasure curls up the length of her spine and blooms behind her eyes.
Her entire body feels as though it’s on fire. Warmth blooms in her belly, a familiar tightening that lets her know she doesn’t have much longer before she comes undone completely. The flames steadily lick at her skin, sweat beading in between her collarbones and at her temples, and Paige’s relentless determination only stokes the blazes. She pulls Cam onto her forcefully, legs spreading to maximize their connection, her own hips bucking upwards to meet every downward thrust of Cam’s. It’s a mess, and if Paige didn’t have such a secure grip on Cam’s hips, she’s sure she’d slide off completely from how slick the both of them are.
Paige doesn’t look unaffected. That bolsters Cam’s ego more than she’d care to admit. They’re uncoordinated, slightly sloppy in part due to the drinks and how much they both needed this, but it’s so right. Their kiss is more spit and teeth than lips. Cam breaks away for air, her chest heaving as the grind of her hips turn messy, and she kisses along the angular line of Paige’s jaw, nipping gently and soothing the sting with her tongue.
Paige exhales raggedly, her moan a low rumble at the back of her throat that only spurs Cam on. One of Paige’s hands smooth up the arch of her back, pulling her closer to her until there’s no space in between them, their bodies sticking from sweat and exertion. Her rookie tilts her head to the side to give Cam more room to work with and she rewards her with a languid suck just under her ear, drawing a keening groan Cam would be content to listen to for the rest of the night.
Unable to resist, Cam’s tongue darts out to lick the sweat off of Paige’s throat, and she presses an open-mouthed kiss at the center of it. She smiles at the soft noise it elicits from Paige, slowing the roll of her hips yet pressing down more firmly, feeling their swollen clits brush against each other. Her jaw falls open at the contact, pleasure blooming behind her eyes, and it finally draws a real moan from Paige as her grip tightens on Cam’s waist.
“Shoulda given in sooner, yeah?” Cam mocks, not able to resist teasing her. Paige laughs, but the sound breaks off into another breathless gasp when Cam punctuates her sentence with a bite to her pulse point.
“Fuck,” Paige hisses, but she’s grinning. She trails one of her hands up Cam’s side, smoothing across her waist and her ribs until she reaches her breast, and she thumbs across her nipple, drawing an equally wrecked sound from Cam. Cam pulls away from Paige’s neck to study the expression on her face, knowing she’s not going to last much longer, and she thinks it might be what finally tips her over the edge.
Paige is ruined, lips swollen and slick with their combined spit, mascara flaking on her lashes and Cam’s concealer is smudged on her chin. More than anything else, the sheer pride on her face is what makes Cam’s rhythm stutter, pressing into Paige’s cunt more forcefully on her next thrust. It’s like some reckless combination between Paige being smug over what she knows she’s doing to Cam and being shamelessly aware of who she’s in bed with. Cam’s stomach twists at the realization, feeling as though she’s ready to burst.
Paige leans forward into her space before Cam can warn her that she’s close. She kisses her languidly on the lips – once, twice, then draws back to take Cam’s bottom lip in between her teeth. Their chests heave through gasping breath, the rapidly building heat between the two of them, and Paige helps her rock against her, chasing her high. She doesn’t move away – their noses brush and she breathes into Cam’s mouth, lips mere centimeters away.
Finally, Paige confesses, her voice wrecked and raspy and so, so gone: “I almost did.” It takes a moment for Cam’s brain to catch up, too into the feeling and the moment and the sensation of her clit bumping against Paige’s every time Paige pulls her down against her. She makes a noise that sounds embarrassingly like a questioning whimper, and Paige kisses her deeply once more before responding. “Almost gave in. Fuck, Cam, wanted you to touch me so fuckin’ bad. Didn’t think you would, and–” Her voice breaks on a moan when Cam grinds down on her, afflicted, but she rambles through her next words. “You looked so fuckin’ pretty just sittin’ there. Didn’t think you’d take the bait – shit – but you did and I thought I was gonna die if I couldn’t feel you.”
Cam laughs breathily, her chest constricting and her mind so blissfully foggy, the edges of her vision white with pleasure. The admission hits her like a fucking truck, hips rolling quicker now, grinning when Paige gasps suddenly, not ready for the pressure. “Yeah?” she murmurs, kissing Paige again, her rookie whimpering into her. “You giving in now?”
Paige nods emphatically against her, jaw hanging in pleasure. Cam kisses the corner of her mouth, nips her bottom lip, and wraps her hand around the back of Paige’s neck to draw her closer, the both of them moving quicker now and breathing heavily. “Fuck, yeah,” Paige responds brokenly. Cam feels her begin to tremble under her, feels her stomach clench and roll from the restraint that comes with trying to hold off. “Need you to come with me, Cam, please, wanna feel you.”
Cam holds onto her a little tighter, grinding down more forcefully, and the only words she can muster are “‘M close,” before she slots her lips against Paige’s, kissing her deeply as the pleasure crests. She groans raggedly as her vision blurs at the edges, hips still rolling and riding out her orgasm as she spills over Paige completely. Paige’s entire body seizes as she follows along, a choked gasp catching in her throat as she falls apart.
They’re still rocking against each other, chasing the remnants of their highs, and they only stop when Paige whines against Cam’s mouth and uses her grip on her waist to pull Cam off of her cunt. Except, the motion forces Cam to straddle Paige’s thigh, and they both groan in tandem – Cam from wrecked overstimulation and Paige from breathless awe because Cam knows she can feel just how wet she is.
Out of breath, Cam loops her arms around Paige’s neck for stability, pressing their foreheads together. Paige smooths her hands across Cam’s waist, rubbing soothing circles against her flushed, heated skin, and she kisses her with a gentleness she hadn’t been expecting given the lead up to the moment. Cam can’t help but melt into it, though, her mouth slotting against Paige’s in a way that feels nothing short of perfect.
Cam breaks away from Paige to finally catch her breath, grinning when her rookie chases after her lips, insatiable and desperate. She brushes away the loose strands of hair sticking to Paige’s temple, palm cupping her jaw absentmindedly and thumb rubbing her cheek, teasing, “So, if you almost gave in, then that means I won, right?”
Paige blinks, aghast and confused, and there’s a red flush starting at her collarbone and creeping up her neck to settle prettily on her cheeks. Her chest is slick with sweat, eyes lidded and hazy from the alcohol and the orgasm, and Cam has to stop herself from kissing Paige again when her eyes drop down to her lips, swollen and wet and irresistible. “Bro, what? That ain’t how it works at all.”
“Yeah, but technically, you gave in before I did,” Cam declares. She intentionally drops her voice, making it a husky murmur in hopes that it would distract Paige enough for her to make her point. She knows she hasn’t actually won, but it’s the principle of the thing – and if you aren’t cheating, you aren’t trying. “You accepted defeat before me. I stayed strong until the very last moment. You would have fumbled if I wasn’t courteous enough to do it for you.”
Paige stares at her for a long beat, puzzled, and between the orgasm, the alcohol, and the fact she probably hasn’t slept more than five hours in a week, Cam can all but see the gears turning in her brain. “Nah,” she mutters, certain, and she releases Cam’s waist to loop one hand around the back of her neck, pulling Cam into her. She kisses her languidly, soft yet intense enough that Cam almost forgets the argument she was making, and Paige continues, “You gotta be fucking with me right now, right? You lost when you came and sat on my lap–” Paige punctuates her statement by using her other hand to grind Cam down onto her thigh again, causing Cam to hiss from oversensitivity, “–which means you still owe me what I want.”
Cam laughs breathlessly, kissing Paige soundly again. She breaks away to argue, “Was that not what you wanted?”
She shakes her head, dragging Cam along her thigh again. This time, the oversensitivity melts into pleasure and Cam gasps, her fingers digging into Paige’s shoulders for stability. “Nah,” Paige murmurs again, eyes blown and gaze heated, her head dropping down to watch Cam slide against her. The dim lighting in the room barely illuminates her arousal slicking Paige’s thigh, and Paige coos – a breathy, wrecked, yet smug sound that makes Cam clench around nothing. She’s grinning lazily, squeezing Cam’s ass in her hand, keeping her motions slow and controlled and just enough to make Cam feel warm all over. “I got you all night, Cam. That was just my first stop.”
That makes Cam roll her eyes, thinking back to how she told Paige she was her first stop of the night. She clearly hadn’t let it go. “Alright, rookie,” she teases, ghosting her lips across Paige’s. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”
Paige huffs, affronted, taking Cam’s hips in both of her palms now. “Ain’t even gotta worry about allat,” she says under her breath. She glances down at Cam’s soaked cunt again, a slow, almost predatory smirk curling on her lips. She gives her hips a gentle tug, pulling her closer to her stomach, but Cam’s fingers bite into her shoulder blades in confusion. Paige peers up at her through her lashes, her eyes dark and hungry. Pleadingly, she whispers, “Sit on my face.”
Cam hates the way she clenches around nothing at those words, surely soaking Paige’s lap even more, and her body warms at the implication. She’s done a lot of things in her life. She was a closeted lesbian playing basketball in California; the frat parties and athletic mixers were always ripe with opportunity and she’d gone back to the dorms with a softball player or a cheerleader a time or two. But she has never sat on someone else’s face before.
She’s two inches taller than Paige. She has a little more muscle, mostly due to practical league experience and getting bullied by the taller posts. She doesn’t want to crush her, and that’s what she settles on, the concern melting through just how badly she wants to have Paige’s mouth on her. “Are you sure?” she whispers, voice rough. “I don’t wanna–”
“‘M not a bitch,” Paige says heatedly, brows furrowing. The indignation forces Cam to hold back a smile, and Paige’s thumb brushes against her skin soothingly, reassuring her despite the heat of the moment. She can tell Cam isn’t turned off by the idea – God, Cam doesn’t think she’s ever been so gone in her life – but she understands where she’s coming from all the same. “Wanna make you feel good. Sit on it, Camille.”
“Fuck,” Cam breathes, feeling those words hit her straight in the gut, and her thighs are trembling in need when Paige’s grip tightens around her hips, slowly dragging her over her torso. Paige’s eyes are glazed over with something like awe in her expression, her lips parted in wonder as she stares directly at where Cam is dripping. It should make her feel so vulnerable, being exposed like this and having Paige staring at her so shamelessly, but it just makes her ache, needing Paige like she’s never needed anyone before. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Okay?” Paige echoes, a teasing smirk curling on her lips. Cam hates the way she says it, so smug and sure and cocky all at once, but when she glances down to look at Paige, her retort dies on her tongue. Her knees are on either side of Paige’s head, her rookie’s hands wrapped around the back of her thighs and keeping her open, and the sight knocks the breath straight out of her lungs.
She swallows thickly, trying not to let the need show too evidently on her face. She braces her hands on the headboard in an attempt to keep herself upright. She has a bright red flush from her chest to her cheeks and Paige’s eyes sparkle between her thighs, amused. “Shut up–”
Paige lowers her to her mouth before she has the chance to finish her sentence. As soon as her tongue makes contact with her cunt, an startlingly loud, high pitched moan punches out of Cam’s throat and she grips onto the headboard for stabilization. She lowers her face to her forearm, unable to process the pleasure. Paige hums against her cunt – more of a groan, as though she’s overcome with the feeling of Cam pressed directly over her face, and the vibrations rattle along her spine until it settles somewhere deep in her gut, already feeling like too much and not enough.
Paige’s tongue delves between her folds, expertly parting and lapping up every drop Cam has to offer. She’s already shaking, her knees going weak, and she’s sure Paige is the only reason why she hasn’t fallen over completely. Her grip on her thighs tighten, bringing her closer to her mouth. Paige’s nose brushes against Cam’s clit in an attempt to fuck her tongue deeper and her body seizes, a gasp ripping from her throat, already feeling as though she’s about to combust.
She’s still a little sensitive from her previous orgasm, where Paige had rubbed their cunts together, wet and hot and just fucking right. Briefly, Cam wonders if Paige can taste the both of them, if her own cum still lingers on Cam and if their tastes have combined. That thought makes her gush, and judging by the way Paige moans appreciatively from under her, Cam knows she felt it.
The sound of Paige’s tongue fucking into her is slick and obscene and filthy. Paige doesn’t slow or doesn’t stop, which only overwhelms Cam even more. Cam trembles and her thighs threaten to close in, but Paige’s hands hold onto her tighter, keeping her spread open and unable to run. That just makes her impossibly wetter, knowing there’s nowhere for her to go – not that she wants to go anywhere – but the realization Paige isn’t letting up until Cam spills over her face is enough to make her stomach clench.
Paige lifts her long enough to suck in a deep breath and then she’s suctioning her lips around Cam’s clit firmly. The pressure is delicious and the pleasure is immediate and Cam can’t help the sound she makes. If the quickening of Paige’s pace has anything to say about it, the way she drags the flat side of her tongue across the underside of Cam’s clit, then she’s no less afflicted by hearing the way Cam reacts to her. Her chest heaves and there’s sweat beading at her temples, overcome by the feeling as her vision blurs, and she releases the headboard with one of her hands to thread her fingers through Paige’s hair.
The sudden pressure makes Paige groan, which draws a stuttering gasp from Cam. She’s never felt this gone before, never so keyed up and drunk off of the way someone’s tongue felt against her. She doesn’t even think she’s ever had someone as good as Paige, who learns and masters Cam’s body within the same stroke; it took her less than a few moments to find that sensitive edge of her clit that makes her entire body lock up from pleasure.
Hardly conscious of her own body, Cam doesn’t realize she’s grinding against Paige’s tongue until her rookie hums against her, offering the broad side of her tongue for her to rut against. It feels so good, wet and firm all at once and Cam thinks all of her coherent thoughts go out of the window when one of Paige’s hands snake around her body, the pads of her fingers brushing across her cunt, soaking them. She barely feels it, too lost in the feeling of Paige’s tongue on her clit and how she sucks it in between her lips, not until one of her long fingers fuck inside of her.
That makes Cam freeze up, choking on a half-gasp half-moan, and she bites down on her lip to stop the sound from breaking out of her. Paige just pulls her back down by her hips, keeping her still, and the motion pushes her finger deeper inside of her cunt. “Fuck, P,” she babbles, breathless and ruined, and her walls flutter around Paige’s finger as she pushes deeper, allowing her to adjust to the intrusion. “Right there. Don’t fucking stop.”
Cam doesn’t know if Paige hears her, but she doesn’t slow down. Her tongue is relentless, flicking across her clit until it throbs, sucking it in between her lips like candy. Her finger fucks inside of her slowly, enough to keep her on the edge as Paige brushes across the sensitive spot inside of her that makes her see stars. It’s perfect and impossible and just enough, the edges of her vision blurring, and Cam can’t help but rock down against Paige’s tongue, no longer thinking about whether or not she’s suffocating Paige between her thighs. She gets the impression Paige is right where she wants to be.
Paige keeps lapping at her, fucking and curling her finger inside of Cam until she trembles, and Cam feels so raw and overstimulated that she can’t fully form sentences. All she can manage are fucked out, incomprehensible sounds, babbling for Paige to keep going and how she feels so good, and Paige doesn’t slow down. She can’t, not when Cam is this close for her already, not when her legs shake and the pressure builds in her core and the pleasure curls around her spine like electricity to a lightning rod.
Paige slides in a second finger, having worked Cam open enough to welcome the stretch. Her vision dots, overwhelmed by the pleasure, and Paige only seems to double her pace, recognizing just how close she is. Her tongue flicks across her clit in fast strokes, rubbing the underside of it with the flat side of her tongue, scissoring her fingers against her walls until Cam’s grip tightens in her hair. Tears fill Cam’s eyes, overcome and impossibly wrecked, and Paige finally pushes her over the edge when sucks Cam’s clit firmly into her mouth, all but pleading for her to fall apart.
And Cam does, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as she comes. Paige groans against her, appreciative and ruined and breathless as she laps up every last drop, insatiable until the very last moment. Her fingers slow gradually, her tongue brushing along her cunt gently, only stopping when the oversensitivity becomes too much and Cam whimpers. She taps the side of Paige’s head, asking for mercy, and she grants it, pulling Cam off of her mouth – albeit, with great difficulty.
Boneless, Cam rolls off to her side, her chest heaving and her mind blissfully numb. Her eyes slip shut, trying to come back down to earth as she presses her forehead against Paige’s bicep, having been successfully wrung out. Paige’s hand settles gently over her hip, soothingly rubbing her skin, a soft check-in despite everything.
“You alive?” the blonde asks, tone light, and there’s an easy concern that can’t be masked by her tease. Cam finally cracks an eye open, spent, and Paige’s face is enough to draw a laugh out of her. Her hair is a fucking mess, mussed and askew thanks to Cam’s hand, and she’s soaked, from cheek to chin to neck to chest. “What you laughin’ at me for? Was I that bad?” she jokes, and there’s no real insecurity behind her words – just an attempt to keep the mood light.
“You’re all gross,” Cam says in lieu of a response. Gingerly, she reaches for the duvet and she uses it to wipe Paige off before she gets genuinely sticky and gross. Her cheeks are flushed, mostly because she’s never come that hard before, and she thinks she might have honestly drowned Paige. It doesn’t seem like her rookie minds, though – her expression is soft, open, unbearably gentle as she lets Cam clean her up. If Cam was aware of how Paige was looking at her, like this wasn’t something they were going to come back from because one of them would get attached (spoiler alert: both of them would get attached), she might have clammed up, made an excuse about needing to go back to her room early because she had an early flight.
For now, though, there’s no panic. No unreasonable concern. No fear that they might have just done something they could never come back from. Cam’s mind buzzes pleasantly, her entire body loose and relaxed, and she’s not thinking about any of the red flags or the fine print of having slept with her rookie on the night she got drafted. There’s just peace, humor, and mild embarrassment because how the fuck did her cum get in Paige’s fucking hair?
“I’on know,” Paige says softly, her voice impossibly fond in a way that Cam is a little too fucked out and a little too drunk to pick up on. Her words do draw her attention, and she meets Paige’s eyes as she wipes down her cheeks. “Think this is your fault. You kinda sorta–” Paige trails off, pinching her fingers and pressing her hands together in an explosion gesture. As if Cam didn’t already get the memo, she makes the noise, too, a drawn out pshooooo not too dissimilar to a bomb exploding.
Cam just rolls her eyes, blushing, and she throws the duvet to the ground. She feels awful for whichever housekeeper is going to have to clean this up tomorrow morning if they don’t just burn the duvets entirely. That, however, isn’t her main concern, not when Paige can’t look away from her, eyes impossibly blue and bright and affectionate, and Cam can’t help but smile at her.
Mustering the last bit of her strength, Cam rolls over onto Paige, straddling her waist and using her forearms to prop herself up. Paige blinks, surprised, although her hands raise to rest over Cam’s hips, squeezing gently and comfortingly as she gazes up at her. “Your turn, though,” Cam murmurs, and she leans in to press an easy, languid kiss to Paige’s lips, her tongue brushing along the seam to ask for an entrance she’s immediately granted. She can taste herself on Paige’s mouth, which shouldn’t be as intoxicating but is when combined with the sweetness of their drinks and the way Paige tastes regardless.
Cam breaks away to kiss along Paige’s jaw, nipping the hinge of it and drawing a sigh from her rookie. “You sure?” she whispers, voice rough, but she tilts her head back to let Cam have her way with her. One of her hands smooth across the small of Cam’s back as though she’s trying to memorize the way she feels while the other one cups the swell of her ass, squeezing softly. “We don’t gotta if you’re tired, Cam, swear.”
Cam bites softly at Paige’s pulse point, then soothes her tongue along the bruise. Paige sighs, eyes slipping shut. “I’m not,” she says honestly, moving down the column of Paige’s throat. She lingers at her collarbone, licking into the crevice between her clavicles where sweat glistens. Instead of continuing to trail down as she’d planned, Cam pushes herself back up to Paige’s face, slotting their lips together and kissing her – hungry, yet unhurried, and Paige chases her when she disconnects. She grins at her. “But…tonight was for you.” Cam kisses her again, once, then twice, listening as Paige’s breathing deepens and her eyes glaze over. “Number one draft pick. Best in the class. National champion. Don’t you think that deserves something? Congratulations?”
“Fuck,” Paige breathes, the crack in her voice ruinous, and she threads her fingers through the hair at the back of Cam’s head. She brings her closer to her again, connecting their lips and deepening their kiss instantly. This time, their pace is much quicker, desperate and starving all at once, and when they part, Paige’s eyes are dark, needy. Cam raises a brow, questioning. Paige nods emphatically, begging, “Please, Camille.”
Cam just smiles, pressing one last kiss to Paige’s lips in promise. She kisses her way down Paige’s throat again, reacquainting herself with the bruises she’d already left there. She noses along her collarbones, nipping at her skin, before she trails down to Paige’s breasts. The muscle there nearly makes her mouth water, and Cam takes her nipple into her mouth, licking the bud with the broadside of her tongue while her thumb teases the other one. Paige’s breathing picks up, her chest rising and falling unsteadily from the pleasure, which just makes Cam impossibly hungry.
Cam alternates sides, taking Paige’s neglected nipple into her mouth while she tends to the other one. The hand Paige has wrapped around her hips slowly trails to Cam’s front, her fingers dipping down to brush through the slick heat between Cam’s thighs. She gasps, pulling off of Paige’s breast to stare at her because she’s still a little overstimulated from the previous two orgasms Paige pulled from her and her fingers against her clit – no matter how gentle they may be – makes Cam’s body feel like a live wire.
“P,” she deadpans, voice wrecked, and Paige just grins at her, smug and innocent yet needy, not like she needs Cam to get her off, but because she needs to get Cam off and she can’t resist from trying. “This is for you.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, circling Cam’s clit with her fingertips, drawing a helpless moan from her. “So lemme get you one more time. Lemme make you feel good. Know you want it, yeah?”
Cam breathes evenly through her nose, but she’s unable to deny her. She smooths her palms across Paige’s chest, her thumbs tweaking her nipples, and she slots their lips together again. Paige smiles against her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip as her fingers delve further into Cam’s cunt, the tips brushing against her entrance. “You’re insatiable,” Cam murmurs, ghosting her lips across Paige’s, and she brushes her hand along Paige’s torso before resting at her cunt.
“Look at you,” Paige breathes out. “Can’t help it.” She says it like it explains everything. Cam supposes it does, if Paige’s evident obsession with her has anything to say about it. Cam grins to herself, rubbing her fingertips over Paige’s clit. The touch is featherlight, hardly enough for Paige to feel it, but her rookie arches her back, jaw falling slack like it had hit her square in the chest.
“I know,” Cam murmurs, kissing along Paige’s jaw again as she applies a little more pressure to Paige’s clit. Paige’s breath hitches sharply, overwhelmed, and Cam’s stomach flips over when Paige matches her exactly, pressing her fingers firmly to her clit. Pleasure blooms behind her eyes and it takes everything in her to not speed up. She was going to keep this slow, drag it out. After everything Paige went through to get here, she deserved nothing but the best. “So good, P.”
“Yeah?” Paige whispers, fishing for it, hips twitching and urging Cam deeper. Smiling, Cam complies, letting her fingers slip a little further down until she circles her entrance with the tips. Paige follows, even with the uncomfortable angle, and Cam bites down on her bottom lip to not give Paige the reaction she’s so hungry for. “Best you ever had?”
Cam laughs at that, tilting her head up again. She sucks Paige’s bottom lip between hers, nipping at it gently, and Paige is breathless when Cam lets it pop back against her. “Jury’s still out,” she says teasingly. She slips her middle finger inside Paige’s cunt, feeling her squeeze around her, but she removes it just as quickly, listening to Paige’s petulant whine. She brings it back up to Paige’s clit, circling gently. Paige still matches her motions, even though she’s obviously displeased by Cam edging her. “But you can always convince me.”
“Fuck,” Paige sighs softly, gone. Cam applies more pressure on her clit, feeling Paige do the same to her, and she slowly drags her fingers down to Paige’s entrance again. She doesn’t fuck her finger inside – not yet, no matter how much she wants to. She lifts her head to meet Paige’s eyes, a brow rising in challenge. “Stop fuckin’ teasing.” Paige’s voice is barely above a whisper, more like a whine, like she thinks Cam isn’t going to give her what she needs.
“Say please, rookie,” she instructs gently.
Despite herself, Paige grins, her pupils blown and eyes lidded. She takes her bottom lip in between her teeth, already looking so fucked out that please or otherwise, Cam has half a mind to give it to her, regardless. She supposes she’s earned the right to be arrogant and demanding tonight – she did just go number one overall in the draft. “Oh, it’s like that?” she goads.
Cam nods, amused, and she kisses Paige languidly. Paige is panting when Cam releases her, cheeks flushed and chest rising and falling unevenly. “It is,” she confirms softly, teasing Paige by slipping one finger into the first knuckle then pulling it out just as fast. Paige’s brows furrow, irritated by the lack of pressure, before she exhales in resignation.
Paige breaks away from Cam’s pattern, dragging her fingers through Cam’s folds until she reaches her clit, rubbing her fingertips against it firmly. “Please, Camille?” she asks sweetly, her voice dripping in temptation. “Want you so bad. Please.”
Cam grins at her. She slots their lips together, kissing her deeply, allowing her tongue to slide against Paige’s, and she figures she’s kept her waiting long enough. She slides one finger into Paige’s cunt, drawing a long sigh from her rookie, whose hips shift as she gives her more space to work with. At the same time, Paige fucks her finger back into Cam, still worked open and ready from earlier. She wastes no time, curling her finger as she thrusts in and out, drawing those soft, wrecked noises from Cam that she can’t help but swallow with a kiss.
Cam matches her, sinking into the last knuckle, feeling Paige flutter around her. She’s so wet and warm and she just sucks Cam’s finger in, needy and wanting, whimpering into Cam’s mouth like she’d been waiting all night for this. Cam knows she won’t last long – her previous two orgasms left her on the edge, overstimulated in the best way possible, and Paige’s face makes it impossible to keep her head on straight. Her brows are pinched together, jaw slack, eyes rolled into the back of her head despite Cam only fucking into her with one finger, and Cam thinks she looks so beautiful like this.
Paige’s lips ghost along Cam’s cheek, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her jaw, and with her free hand, she tugs Cam closer to her by the hips, needing her pressed against her skin-to-skin. She curls her fingers deliciously, hitting that spot inside of Cam that makes her keen, and she takes advantage of her slack jaw to slot their lips together, licking into her mouth like she can’t get enough. It’s sloppy, filthy, and borderline uncoordinated – the only thing that makes sense is how well they’re fucking into each other, how Cam’s finger has already worked Paige dangerously closer to the edge.
Paige breaks away with a heaving gasp, her thumb extending to brush lightly against Cam’s clit. “More,” she requests brokenly, hips shifting, searching. “More, please, Cam.”
Cam just nods against her, fitting their lips back together, swallowing Paige’s moan when she squeezes in a second finger next to her first. The stretch is tight, wet heat sucking Cam right in, and the breath is knocked out of her lungs when Paige rewards her with a second finger, too. It’s overwhelming in the most perfect way imaginable. With her free hand, she rubs the pads of her fingers along Paige’s clit, drawing a whimpering moan from her that hits Cam straight in her core. She wants nothing more than to hear that sound over and over again, so she fucks her fingers a little deeper, reaching deep inside for that spot that makes Paige’s back arch, her hips stutter, and her breath hitch.
“Good?” Cam murmurs, checking in, and all Paige can do is nod against her. She uses her free hand to pull Cam back closer to her, connecting their lips together again. They’re both working each other up in tandem, hips rocking into each other’s thrusts, needy and desperate and so close.
“Not gonna last,” Paige confesses, her voice breaking on a wrecked groan. “Please, Cam. Wanna feel you come with me again. Need it.”
Cam’s breathing heavily, rolling her hips into Paige’s palm, her clit nudging against Paige’s thumb with every thrust. She’s close, stomach coiling, pleasure blurring the edges of her vision. She presses closer to Paige, their skin flush and sticky and the room is impossibly hot, and the last thing she can muster the energy to do is stare down at Paige.
Paige is a mess. Her hair sticks to her forehead, her eyes lidded and glazed over, unable to tear her eyes away from where she has her fingers fucked into Cam’s cunt – not until she registers that Cam is looking at her, too, and she makes eye contact. Between the feeling of Paige’s thumb rubbing her clit, her fingers scissoring inside of her, and the impossibly ruined, fucked out expression on her face, there was never any chance for Cam to last.
At the same time, both she and Paige reach their peaks, spilling over each other’s fingers. Cam presses her forehead to Paige’s, desperate for any sort of stabilization, and Paige curls her free arm around Cam’s waist, keeping her grounded and tethered as they rock through the last of the shockwaves, helping each other come down from their highs.
Finally, Paige makes a soft noise, spent, and Cam gingerly pulls her fingers out, wiping them against the ruined duvet. Paige is quick to follow and Cam sighs, almost missing the fullness, but she doesn’t mourn it for too long before Paige is wrapping her arms around her midsection and pulling Cam to lay fully on top of her like this was something they did regularly and, for all intents and purposes, not a one night stand.
Cam doesn’t complain, though. It feels…right. Safe and simple even though it shouldn’t be. She’ll wake up in the morning and realize she’d just slept with Paige Bueckers, the number one overall draft pick, her rookie, but she’s not thinking about it like that. She’s thinking about how this was the first night in a really long time she got to be free and make an alcohol-fueled decision. This was the first night she let herself be loose, have fun, and do something that felt good instead of something that felt proper.
Right now, it’s not complicated. There’s no unease, no worry that she’d just fucked everything up. Just the residual, simmering warmth, the humidity that sticks to hers and Paige’s body as she listens to Paige’s heartbeat gradually slow down, as she feels Paige drag her fingers up and down her back, soothing, gentle; the contentedness that comes from a really good night and that mutual exhaustion.
Paige hums. It sounds rough, hoarse, and it makes Cam crack a smile, knowing that she had just put Paige through the wringer just as well as Paige put her through one. The sound draws Cam’s attention. She glances up to meet Paige’s eyes, honestly unsure of what she’d find, but all she sees is tiredness, something loose and free and, strangely enough, affectionate, the lingering haze from the alcohol and the sex.
There’s no regret, though. Cam doesn’t let her thoughts linger on how much she appreciates that unspoken honesty. She brushes her fingers across Paige’s ribs, soaking in the peace of the moment, the warmth of the thin (and shockingly clean) comforter Paige pulled over their bodies.
For a moment, everything is just still. The morning would change everything, yet neither of them are thinking about that. Paige isn’t really thinking about much beyond–
“So, are you still makin’ other visits tonight?” Paige asks coyly, her voice too smug and insufferable considering how she was begging for Cam only some minutes ago. “Or did your first stop tire you out too much?”
All Cam can do is roll her eyes, but she’s grinning. She presses a light, probably too affectionate given the nature of their night, kiss to the hinge of Paige’s jaw, feeling her smile. “Goodnight, Paige,” she murmurs.
Paige gives her a gentle squeeze. Her voice is impossibly soft and tender as she whispers in return, “Night, Cam,” and they fall asleep like that – tangled together, blissfully unaware of how much this one night was going to change their lives.
And, in retrospect, Cam is pretty appreciative that it did.
a/n: saw this draft on docs when I was trying to work on that damn geto fic, absolutely loved it. made a few tweaks, and here it is! also, the fic that I keep mentioning won't be getting published any time sooner :') but if I ever do finish it, I will!
c/w: mdni. p in v, age-gap relationship (toji is in his forties, reader in her mid twenties), oral sex (fem receiving), porn with plot, petnames like sugar, doll, and princess if you aren't into those, ooc toji
d/c: english is not my first language, so please expect some grammar and wording mistakes. this isn't proofread in any way as well
w/c: 3.4k
Thick and bulging, the veins running down his arms were thick and bulging—and so was he through that messed-up pair of jeans, all grimy with engine oil and grease. Yet weird enough, you see right past the sweat stains on his shirt and whatever else on him. He's hot enough to consider that even those stains added to his charm; messy hands, hair damp and dripping with sweat, the wrinkles under his eyes, that graying stubble-
You are not here to ogle him. You're here to invite him for a meal as a thanks for fixing your leaking bathroom faucet, not to fuck him with your eyes as he does an oil change on his well-loved SUV.
"Y'just gonna stand there, doll?" smooth, raspy, and tired. That tone of his makes your stomach tingle with butterflies.
"Ah, no, uhm-," fighting the crack in your voice felt like a losing game for a second, but you prevailed—cue the triumph beat of the trumpets behind you. "I was planning to invite you for lunch today—if you're free?"
Toji blinks once.
Twice.
Three times.
"Any reason why? Is this a date invitation?" he chuckles with a taunting yet kind smile. "Didn't expect ya to be the forward type, to be honest."
"No, not a date invitation! Just... a thanks for helping me with my bathroom problem. You really saved the hole in my wallet from getting any bigger." you say, cheeks slowly turning red from the embarrassment your body can't ignore, despite whatever complaint you voice out internally.
He ignores it, though. He's a pretty perceptive guy, and pointing out the shy hue on your face might make things worse on your end.
"... I'm gonna guess you'll say that 'you insist', so I'll just say it first-" he makes eye contact with you as he pauses, sweat-slicked bangs swaying as he nods slowly along his words.
"I'll head on up there in a minute. Just let me clean up for a bit," he makes a gesture toward his hands. "Don't wanna leave a handprint on your pretty furniture."
At the mention of your 'pretty furniture', a bashful smile made itself present on your lips. At least he thinks that your colorful—mostly pink—home is pretty enough for him to take note of and remember after 3 days. It wasn't too long ago, yes, but him remembering makes you proud of your interior choices.
"Sure thing, Mr. Fushiguro." and just before you turn to your heels to leave and prepare for lunch, he corrects you.
"Toji. Just Toji. Mr. Fushiguro makes me feel old." he gave you a half-assed pointed look.
"Sure thing, Mr-... Toji."
"Atta girl." you quickly excuse yourself before you preen like a Golden Retriever minutes before barking for more compliments.
-
You made sure the food was plated to perfection, not that you care about keeping up with appearances, but you were the one who invited someone over in the first place. And just like the little perfectionist you were, you wanted everything to go as planned; freshly swept floors, trash out and replaced with a new bag, the sweet scent of vanilla from your air purifier wafting all throughout—everything's pristine and tidy.
"Okay... now, juice or no juice? Orange juice? Apple?—you know what? Water's fine. Water's great. Maybe both? Yeah, that fixes it." a heavy sigh leaves you as you walk to your fridge, and just before you can grab the pitcher of water and juice-
knock, knock, knock.
Your little rambling ended up not being worth anything since you closed the fridge and made your way to the entrance. The anxious fluttering in your chest from earlier is still there, and it's like it's gotten worse now that he's here. Maybe impulsively inviting him to your place wasn't a good idea? That maybe a simple 'thank you' was enough? But you brush off the negative thoughts. No time for that when you have a guest waiting just right outside your door.
"Hey," Toji greets you, face and body all clean compared to the sweat-soaked mess he was about an hour ago. He sports a similar pair of jeans like the ones he wore an hour ago, and a plain white tee with a pretty corny quote that says 'my pen is huge' with a big, sparkly pen behind the text.
"Sorry 'bout the shirt, all the good ones are in the laundry." you clear your throat once you realize that you've been caught. You internally chide yourself.
"No! Uhm, it's pretty...-, it isn't that bad, anyway. It's funny." you step aside to make room for him, giving him what you hope is a polite smile. "Come in, make yourself at home! I cooked some pasta. Just plain tomato sauce with parsley as garnish to make it fancy."
Toji gave you an appreciative hum at the mention of pasta, his feet making light stomps as he followed you through your home. Your apartment, despite living in the same complex and having the same floor layout as his, looks completely different. Yours looks cozy, like an actual home. His place looks more like a dumpster fire with a bed on the side rather than something liveable. But all of this pink pizzazz matches your personality to a T, that he's sure of.
"Thanks for inviting me. Never really expected anythin' in return other than a quick thanks." a soft grunt left him as he sat down on the chair parallel to yours, and you did the same, wooden legs scraping against the floor before you settle down to a comfortable position.
"Well, it's the least I can do. And not to pry, but I've seen you devour a gas station hotdog way more than I'd like to admit." that little quip of yours makes a grin spread on his face, a bit shy and playful like he isn't all that ashamed of getting caught. "I mean, I do admire your loyalty to it."
"Well... it ain't that bad, princess. It is bad for you, though. I've been lying low on it, so you don't gotta worry about my 'addiction', I guess."
"That's good, that's good." the snort left you pretty easily. This man, albeit having a nonchalant streak at times, his sarcastic, witty quips make up for his unapproachable demeanor. He isn't as scary as you initially thought.
"Oh, if you don't mind, I brought a little treat with me." two cans of beer were removed from the plastic bag in his hand. Huh, so that's what it was. You aren't as surprised as you thought you were going to be. The light reflects onto the condensation around the cans as he gave you your own, making it look like it's straight out of a commercial.
"Do you drink? I forgot to ask—well, I didn't really have the chance to, anyway."
"Sometimes, yeah." the last drink you had was at your last get-together with your friends in a shitty bar, and that was six months ago. Different work days and offs make it hard to schedule another night out. A bummer, you think.
"Alright. Well, let's drink up then—and eat up, too." he pops his beer open.
The one-sided beverage crisis is thankfully resolved by Toji.
-
The conversation between you two started with a slight awkwardness as you talked about your day, then he asked about his. But with the little help of cheap booze, the words came out more easily. Banter would then happen, and a bit of gossip about your fellow neighbors would eventually add to it. You started with Sato and her loud mouth, how her voice would go up in octaves as she screamed at her ex-husband through the phone for the umpteenth time, then Saito with his rude comments and grumpy huffs as he walked around the building with a frown. Just a bunch of colorful people using colorful words.
"Y'know, Saito wasn't that grumpy before the divorce, lost custody of his children." he took a swig out of his drink, and you had to stop your eyes from traveling down to his Adam's apple. "I mean, at least he can still see 'em... sometimes. If he isn't too petty."
To think that Saito wasn't grumpy—or not grumpy at all before his divorce made you hum. Because thinking back to the day you moved your things inside, he greeted you curtly with a scowl on his face as if he didn't want you here. But your thoughts would be cut off by Toji's voice.
"... Hey, if it isn't weird, how old are ya?" the question made you pause for a second, fork going limp in your hand. Toji almost shat himself at your reaction, but he kept his cool. "I know it's a well-known rule not to ask a woman her age, but uh-..." his gaze flickers from yours and down to his plate before meeting yours again.
"I just have no damn clue about yours."
Toji's usually unreadable expression finally became readable—the boyish look on his face, the subtle flush on his cheeks from the alcohol in his system, the shy grin? And you thought his normally aloof expression was hot, but this one completely steals the cake. The perfect mix of cute and sexy. And if you didn't know any better, you would've kissed him right on the spot.
But you aren't that tipsy, and you do know better.
"I'm 24, almost 25 in just a few months."
Toji almost spat out his drink.
"Are you okay? Water—do you need water?!"
"No, no. I'm alright. Just... Jesus Christ." with hopes to drive out the embarrassment coursing through him after his little scene, he took a small sip of his beer to get his shit straight. "No offense, princess, but I thought you were younger than that—you look the part, alright?"
Toji thinks back to the first week he saw you. He's heard from Tanaka, the guy you work for (who's also in the same complex as him and you), that there would be a new tenant joining in after the last one left for whatever reason. And on the day he locked eyes on you—look, Toji can admit that the way he stared at your back view wasn't entirely... innocent. His eyes raked down your curves, the subtle arch of your back, how graceful you moved—he felt like a man dying of thirst.
Then you turned around, probably wondering who's been staring for the past minute, it was like a bucket of ice was thrown at him—bucket included.
In short, he thought you were just some fresh college graduate trying to live her new life independently. Because, y'know, despite looking legal, you were just too young for him to continue thinking about anything more.
Was what he thought of before he finally had the guts to ask.
"So, you're tellin' me... You're not 19? 18?" a giggle left you as he continued with the numbers he thought was your age, smiling even harder as he progressively mentions younger ages.
"24. Mid twenties." your friends told you multiple times that you look young for your age while they look like they're already going through their midlife crises. "Not 18 or anything younger than that."
... Toji isn't as worried as he was four months ago. In fact, all worries about you being not even half his age vanished into thin air the moment you clarified and corrected his suspicions. And now, he's wondering if the stares and blushing cheeks you would send his way were intentional or not—and if you were hospitable enough to let him sleep on your bed for an entirely different reason.
And you were.
-
"T-Toji, please-" your hands try to pull Toji's face away from your overstimulated pussy, lips puffy and dripping with both your essence and his beer-laced drool. He already made you cum twice just from his tongue and thumb alone. No fingers inserted in any hole. But all of your needy complaints were met with a gentle peck to the clit—not till now, at least. Not when his leaking cock is starting to get impatient from the lack of friction.
Toji removes himself from the apex of your trembling, marked-up thighs. You see his tongue dart out to lick his lips, tasting the sweet residue you left on it. Of course, your pussy replied by clenching around nothing. It's one thing to have him eat you out, but having him inside is one thing that you desperately wanted—needed.
"Please what, princess? Use your words, I know you still have 'em inside that pretty head of yours." he coos out as he goes up so that you two can be face-to-face, lips brushing against yours in a featherlight kiss.
"Inside. I need you inside. N-No more games, please..."
He knows he shouldn't utter God's name under any obscene circumstance—but he doesn't believe in all of that Catholic, or whatever holy bullshit the masses follow. Because God, the way you sound and taste is heavenly. His eyes trail down from your dazed expression, to your beautiful tits, and to the space you made between your legs for him, dripping pussy waiting to get stuffed by him.
"C'mon, Toji..." your nails scrape at his forearms, angry red lines blossoming as you wait impatiently for his reply.
And who is he to deny you any longer? Not when you're looking up at him so sweetly, how your eyes plea silently under his cool shadow that's shielding you from anyone's view.
"Alright." he licked his lips again, eyes now hooded as he lines himself into you.
"Stop me if it hurts, don't prioritize me." a shudder captures your entire body for a second as he gives the cartilage of your ear a bite, the vibration from his voice doing little—absolutely no help.
"'Cuz it's all you right now, princess. You. Remember that."
-
An hour ago, he was just about to walk out your door, stomach full with delicious pasta and the sudden butterflies he felt near the end of your conversation. You decided to walk him to the door even if it was only a few meters away, he couldn't deny you when you insisted so keenly, like you wanted to see more of him. He didn't think too much of it, though.
"Great pasta, by the way." his voice sounded more lazy compared to the sure and casual tone he had before.
Maybe it was because of the cheap beer, maybe it was because of your great pasta, or was it just the magnetic pull you both felt as you stood face-to-face Probably the former.
"You think so? I'd hate to burst your bubble, but that was just a pre-made sauce from the grocery. Nothing too special." you snorted as you leaned against the door frame with your arms crossed.
Toji tried so hard not to stare down there, how your chest squeezed together as you made yourself comfortable. So he decided to get a grip, and stay respectful like how any normal adult would. But he did notice a few things change, like how your smile wasn't as forced anymore, shoulders not as tense with heightened nerves. He really scored with the cheap booze from Tanaka.
"It tasted like it was." it was meant to be a simple tease, a quick jab to make you laugh again. He wasn't even trying to be suggestive or anything, but the way he said it doesn't sound like it was innocent teasing.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
You both stared into each other's eyes like you were searching for something—an answer, a confirmation—something. Silence would be the only thing that answered, not the low rasp from Toji. You should probably tell him to leave-
"I should go, it's gettin' a bit late." he clears his throat, snapping not just you, but him as well out of your sudden stupor. "Probably need to fix something like Sato's sink." he doesn't have anything to fix or mend, he's free and he knows it.
"Right," you nodded as you took a quick glance at the golden hallway, glowing under the sunset's oranges, reds, and purples before returning your gaze back to him. "I'll see you... next time, yeah."
Toji gave you another nod, a quick one since he started to feel his composure crumble with each passing second he's staring at you. But not even three steps in, he felt something soft grasp at his wrist, hesitant and unsure.
It was your hand.
"... Y/N?" it was like your floating consciousness finally shot straight back at you the moment Toji called out your name, eyes going down to where he was looking at. "Shit." you think. "Shit, shit, shit." you had never seen your hand retract faster from something that wasn't burning up till now.
"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to-"
"Do you want me not to leave?" he made you pause entirely, feet moving back to where they were seconds ago. "You can just say so, y'know." he wasn't trying to be mean, you know that, but your stubborn nerves couldn't help themselves from spiking up.
"N-No, not at all! I just..." you didn't even have an excuse prepared—you weren't even prepared for your hand to do that. Just before you could wring your brain dry with a coherent excuse, he continued.
"All I'm sayin' is we're not 17 anymore, that we don't have enough bushes to play around in our big ages." he scratched the back of his head. He didn't know if he was even making the right call—and even if he was drunk, he'd never use that as an excuse.
"So, d'ya want me to stay? All I need is a 'yes' or a 'no', then I'll leave—" he took a step closer to you, the height difference between the two of you more than obvious. "Or stay, whatever your answer is."
"... Yes." you mumbled, and it wasn't loud enough for him to hear, you could tell by how he raised a brow, curious and anticipating.
"What was that, princess?"
"Yes, you can stay."
At the sound of your resounding yes, Toji wasted not a second longer. One of his hands cradled your jaw as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. It was hesitant at first, like he was wading through treacherous waters, wary of anything. But when you responded with your hands gripping at the front of his shirt?
He lost it.
"Toji-" your breath mingled with one another as you both pulled back once the air inside of your lungs vanished, pants heavy and loud. You were still holding onto him even after the unexpected kiss, and so was he. His hands felt hot against your hips, but weirdly grounding.
"Can I-" his forehead bumped against yours. He wasn't even trying to hide how worked up you've got him—eyes shimmering with intent, hands massaging your hips, lips shining with whoever's saliva, his or yours—he doesn't care anymore.
"Can I... head back inside, princess?"
"Yes."
-
plap!
"Princess?"
plap!
"Y/N!"
plap!
"He—eey, thought I lost you- fuck... back there for a sec'nd." your eyes focus back on the figure panting and sweating on top of you, dazed eyes meeting equally dazed ones. "Don't tap out just yet, this' only the second round. m'still not done with you- oh-... fuck. And I'm sure you aren't, too."
... Since when did you get stuck thinking about earlier mid fucking?
Maybe he's just stuffing you up so good with that fat cock of his, all raw and bare inside of your velvety walls. You can tell that he's about to coat it all white again, fuck it into you for the second time like a starving man. He doesn't care how filthy the aftermath would be. He's a messy man making a mess out of you on your bed.
"That was real cute, sugar, but I really need your focus on me." your hand practically flew to your mouth the moment a loud moan escaped past your swollen lips. Toji has the audacity to ram into you harder, like he's grounding you to this moment—marking thus moment to your mind with each thrust.
"Nothin' else, just me and my cock inside, alright?" all you can give him is a mindless nod, not trusting your mouth to say something coherent.
"Abso-fucking-lutely no distractions."
After this, you don't even have to worry about washing the stains off. Why? Well, Toji's gonna go out of his way to buy you new ones instead. He's sure Tanaka can give him a neat discount for some pretty, pink bedsheets.
