Funnier in Latin
Spoilers: no plot
Summary: Dirty talk and compromise. Just another summer night in LA.
Disclaimer: Joss, not me.
Author's Note: PWP
Fred has been learning to compromise
herself: her ideas, her ethics, her notions of the way things should be. Fred
is finding herself blurry and grey and not quite right in places. There's not
much fun in it; mostly it involves watching another ideal shrivel and die, and
sometimes Fred wishes she were still living her so-called illusions.
But then there's Willow, and learning to find a balance with her, and that's
the kind of compromising that's not only fun, but is probably good for Fred.
Today, for example. Today, Fred is learning what it feels like for the whole
world to be shimmery with magick on a Wednesday night, a hot sort of night
that usually would send Fred scampering to the air conditioning. She's from
Texas; it's on from May 'til October because it has to be.
But Willow, who's from a world where it's only necessary in parts of August
and September, says she can't feel the world properly with the A/C on. Fred,
for the moment, is leaving it off.
After all, feeling Willow blow against Fred's ear, her cheek, her neck, is
awfully cooling. Except where it's warming, and what's the use of air
conditioning if you're just going to get sweaty anyway?
"Mmm," Fred says. "That feels so nice."
Willow lifts Fred's mass of long, dark hair off the back of her neck, her
slender fingers transmitting prickles down Fred's skin in shuddery little
lines. Her skin's so electric, dancing atoms magnetized by the Willow-touch,
causing chain reactions of lust, need, and desire.
"I could read the map of the world from you," Willow murmurs throatily as
Fred's hair falls against her left shoulder, thick and heavy and mostly soft
against bare skin. "From your skin."
Her lips caress sensitized skin on Fred's neck, right near her throat.
Everything's throbbing in rhythm with Fred's heartbeat, which is going like
mad, because Willow has warm lips that make the delicate hairs on Fred's nape
shivery shuddery and her body ticklish.
"I like this," Fred answers, her mouth very dry as her tongue tries to wet her
lips over and over, looking at them in the mirror in the corner. Willow's
fingers are on her shoulder, tracing her upper arm, and her mouth kisses
Fred's neck and throat, nuzzling. The buzz from it--kisses and magick and the
presence of someone warm against her makes Fred drunk with all the power
that's coming off Willow as thick as desire. "I want you to do more."
Willow laughs and the vibrations from the sound, from the feeling against
Fred's shoulder are dizzyingly sweet. Fred wonders how they can be so relaxed,
wearing just bras and panties, and Willow is easing one white cotton strap
away from Fred's body, trying to reveal everything. It's so new, and at the
same time, it's second nature. Body against body. Action, reaction. Of course
she should let go. Yes.
"You're so pretty," Willow says, slipping two fingers underneath Fred's bra,
rubbing against the nipple. "Warm. Very warm. Like apple pie."
The joke earns a drowsy laugh from both of them that's less silly than it
should be, because Fred's aware that yes, she's very much like apple pie in
places where Willow's hands and mouth aren't yet. Maybe it should be naughtier
or cornier. But Willow is teasing Fred's breast with her fingers, making the
nipple hard. It's getting Fred all tingly, everything starting to float even
as Fred's hyper-aware of the whole world. The sparkly energy that is Willow
that's got them both caught up in a current, it's taking Fred as its own,
making them move together. Fred's body straining against Willow's touch, so
relaxed and yet building up this wet hot feeling. More. There has to be more.
Fred's flushed--so, so very flushed, head all askew--but she feels content to
let the need drift over her, getting stronger every minute. Does Willow mind
that she's so non-reciprocating at first? It's not that she doesn't want to.
The image of Willow's kisses on her mouth, Fred's own hands taking off
Willow's pretty lace bra, these are things that excite all the particles. And
yet she's lost in the way Willow sucking on her neck and the sound Fred's own
mouth is making, kittenish whimpers that don't belong in her throat at all.
"Do you like this?" Willow asks against Fred's ear.
"Yes," Fred gasps, her back arching. "Oh, don't stop that--"
But Willow's hand is on top of Fred's, and her lips are tugging Fred's earlobe
into her mouth while Fred gasps and whimpers, and that hand is guiding Fred's
past the waistband of Fred's panties.
"Show me how to touch you," she says, her hand so close to where Fred wants
it, and both of their bodies are trembling with all the electricity, all the
power that's being shared between them. "Let me see how you do it."
It's not as easy as it seems--Fred has to shimmy down and adjust their hands,
tilt her hips funny--but Willow seems patient and keeps tickling Fred's skin
with her lips, making Fred's hips buck and roll.
And Fred is so hot and so wet when their fingers push inside, thrusting in
deep and then out again.
"God," is all Fred says, biting her lip. They do it again, in and out, so many
fingers in such a small space making her feel very good, full is such a silly
word, but hell. Full. Both of them inside of her, in and out, and pausing at
all the spots Fred likes to stop at. The ones that make waves into spikes,
little hotspots of almost-orgasmic touch.
Fred sees them in the mirror, and she looks like she's going to lose her mind,
her face hot and red and her mouth open and big with one breast completely
exposed and the tiniest bit of hair showing from how they've got the panties
scrunched. Her hips thrust forward at the very hotness of it.
"Talk to me, Fred," Willow says, sounding a little cross.
"I like it," Fred squeaks. "Harder. Do it harder."
And Willow does. "It's funny that we don't babble during sex," she says, her
thumb just grazing Fred's clit. "Harder. Do it harder. I like it. God. Not so
many words now."
"Do you want me to?" Fred asks, feeling her stomach flutter. She doesn't mind
talking dirty; it's just that whole girl on girl thing and memories of
watching bootleg crappy porn after smoking up with the boys and she's not
gonna get all hot and bothered that way.
"Not if you don't like to," Willow says, thrusting in deeper. "You're so wet,
baby. I know you like it a lot."
"Maybe we're culturally conditioned not to," Fred muses, reveling at the feel
of fingers in her pussy, at her hand guiding fingers toward her clit. "Or just
embarrassed because the kind of girl who talks dirty is not the kind of girl I
imagine myself to be. I mean, does it turn you on to hear me moan, oh baby, oh
baby finger my clit like that cuz I'm gonna come hard?"
Willow giggles, and Fred rocks back against her, feeling Willow's breasts and
the hard nipples against her back, getting all smooshed, and the electricity's
crackling faster now.
"Well, no, not exactly that," Willow reasons. "But you're all hot and flushed
with my hands on you. Would you like it more if your hand was touching your
breast right now? Or if my other hand was on your thigh? Like, these are
questions that are mostly, y'know, academic, but they kind of do the
turning-on thing. Hey, your smart talk turns me on, because it's you."
"I want to suck on your fingers," Fred says. "After. I want to taste and
then--I dunno, I want to lick down your whole body until it's as wet as I want
your pussy to be when I lick it."
Willow swallows hard. "Better dirty talk."
"Yay me," Fred answers, arching into Willow's touch. "Come on, baby. Please
give it to me. I need a little more--"
The world dissolves. Explodes. Becomes dancing sparkles as all those
overexcited nerves respond orgasmically to one last slide of Willow and Fred
fingers and snap, Fred's neck goes back, and oh, she starts to moan because
words are too hard when your whole body is pulsing and tensing around fingers.
"Yum," Fred says when she can speak again, feeling the current calming down,
getting in control, something that she can use now. "Happy."
"Yum?" Willow asks, snickering. "Synaesthesia much?"
Fred turns around and kisses Willow, all sweaty-sticky, wet, and very happy.
"But smart girls are such a turn-on," she drawls. "I get hungry. And horny."
"You're all surprises, aren't you?" Willow asks when she pulls away. "A whole
Fred lifts Willow's wrist and licks her fingers. "Yeah," she agrees
breathlessly as she tears off Willow's bra. "Let's see what I've got up my
No one's ever accused Fred of being anything but a quick study, after all.