Disclaimer: I don't own OITNB or its characters.
Author's Note: This is something I've been dabbling with for a while before I actually decided to write it. Apologies if it seems OOC and about it being messily written (especially the smut), but I found it difficult to phase in and out of Nicky's thoughts. Enjoyed writing it, all the same. Feedback would be appreciated. Hope you enjoy. I told myself this would only be like 500-700 words. Nervous laughter.
She wants to pull her in deep, with her small fists clutching onto her orange khakis, and breaths tickling each other's necks as a result of their perfect height, like she wants to mould their tired and lonely bodies into one. The darkness makes Nicky realize she's missing a significant ring on her wedding finger. One which she longed to ignore for so long. Forget about it, they're a perfect match. Get over her. Maybe it's contraband? She lost it? She begs to differ. It ends up with Nicky perched up on the small sink in the corner of the closet that's so small, it's a narrow wonder why Lorna's desperately pulling their torsos so tightly together. There's a strange line between begging to be touched or begging to be let go. Her stomach forming in knots every time the petite brunette traces her fingertips across the skin that her meaningful tattoos cover. Murmurs apparent from both their lips, and Nicky practically sulking against Lorna's ruby red's. It's feels like she wants to escape, melt, hoping the planet will get sucked into a black hole, or hope that maybe she'll fucking explode herself. Something to ease the need and feeling she wants every millisecond of every day, only to be replaced by something other than a fix. It's the only thing she asks for the most - after Lorna, and the queasy ribboning feeling in her lower abdomen, almost like butterflies as Lorna's hands continue to roam her shoulders and arms. Lorna feels like she's scrambling; trying to put tiny pieces of a gigantic, fucked-up puzzle piece together. It reminds Nicky that she isn't all that used to this sort of lack of control or role reversal in their push and pull dynamics. But she can feel Lorna's apparent, urgent need to fix her wholesomely, only leading her to figure that there's pieces of this whole puzzle missing, hidden, buried. Missing because Lorna hid them. The gravity around them begins to fall thick and Nicky feels sucked in and swallowed up by the unnerving weight upon her brain. She wants to lean back, though instead her back arches up like some bullshit desperate yelp for need.
'Stop. Take a step back. Analyze this. Tomorrow won't be the same. Tomorrow will be another day. All of this will be burned. Ash and fallen dust. Another heart throb. Another cry for help to scribble in that stupid fuck book you should have let go of when you were a teenager for Christ sakes.'
It brings memories of waking up in another murky apartment somewhere on the Upper West Side after another absence. Another let down from her mother. Empty beer bottles, coffee mug stains, pizza boxes, the odd needle, burnt out blunts and left over underwear from a girl she fucked the night before who's name she can't quite remember, but somehow is alive enough to feel the beating sunlight through her black bedroom curtains and the thick pounding that runs through her skull. It's like a dark light in her brain, almost like a warning signal.
'Don't run from your past. Learn from it.'
Sounds like something Red would sternly discipline to her. She should stop her.
'I'm married now. I took vows.'
Nicky doesn't ask about the missing ring. Doesn't tell her to stop. But knows she should and she plans to. Only she feels the strain and the warning signals fade when Lorna takes hold of her right palm and places it under her over-sized orange shirt. Fingers brushing delicately across the smooth skin of her small bump and faint gallbladder scars beneath her tips. She feels Lorna struggling, when she realizes it's her hands she feels tugging at the bottom of her shirt. "Lorn..." Nicky breathes, her voice faltered with small cracks, pathetically attempting to gently push Lorna's hands away as she observes her facial features. She has a child-like sulk expression, although it doesn't seem stubborn. Lorna seeks to get what she wants, and Nicky takes pride in admitting that to herself. So does she. Who fucking doesn't? "Take off your shirt." She squeaks, almost timidly with those practically luminous lips. It's not a command, request, or raunchy suggestion. Almost a desperate plea, in fact. It makes Nicky grasp how far they've come. How far since she first traded her a cherry red lipstick for a shitty bag of pretzels, and stupid conversations about Christopher and how many stamps she has in her passport, to the first time she was suggesting the petite woman take of her shirt behind the alter in the chapel one fucking great afternoon. How it was followed with a raise of an eyebrow, or snarky follow-up line. Nicky would always be the one in control. "We should do this again tomorrow. There's no service." With a wink.
Time, something which they had plenty of in prison, passed by and everything began to feel still. Almost like precautions were taken because it began to feel like they're constantly stood on a thin sheet of ice. Nicky can feel her grip of reality and the self-signals slip through her fingers even more progressively when she gives in and pulls her shirt over her head. Eyes staring at the small cracks in the ceiling, when she feels the smaller woman's eyes fall upon her. She feels a chaste kiss below her issued bra in the center of her scar in between her breasts. Nicky observes with a bewildered-like expression and finds herself leaning forward to hold Lorna. Sex contests, booze and drugs are only a tag tail behind wanting to be held in life.
'You didn't want to let yourself believe that before, but you sure as hell do now. You're sucker for ritual.'
She begins to feel more eased. Relaxed, until a quiet groan spills from her lips into Lorna's shoulder making the walls build around her tremble. No one was ever supposed to see her like this.
'The iron gate already opened when you told her you love her. What's the difference?'
Lorna's breath ghosts across the skin of her neck and bottom of her earlobe. Only quick and missable pants until she slowly murmurs "I wanna do you." Into her ear. Again, it feels like that desperate plea to scoop Nicky up and fix her in one. It's that underlying concealed determination about Lorna that's always been such a turn on, and that everlasting battle with the pool of arousal in her core Nicky's been fighting everlastingly, finds herself losing. Again. Just like the last time she crawled back up the fucked-up ladder to straddle her hips and begged to be summoned. Soldiers lost. Tide rushing in. Another soft moan escapes between her teeth and spills; The noise Lorna fantasies about in her dreams. Collects them in a jar and stores them in the back of her mind where they'll stay forever until she ever gets the chance to hear them for real. Having Nicky trembling uncertainly like the cage around her heart under her touch for real, in the distance, and she's almost at the finish line to what once seemed so far. Though, she hasn't considered the outcome. After all, Lorna always has always been a retro girl living in the now. She takes it as reward and looks as if she wants to wear it round her neck like a medal. Not in the egotistical sense like Nicky once would long ago before the burdens of emotions and responsibilities began to cave in. Nicky's stunned. Lost for words, probably for the first fucking time in her life. "Babe..." Nicky pleads, because she wants to feel her inside her so much it makes her wither; Like Lorna's the sugar in her life making her decay bit by bit. Making her get all sensitive at her roots and rotten inside out. Every ounce of whatever shit she took in her life to get her that fix, boost of caffeine in those shit styrofoam cups filled with black coffee, or late night drinks. Anything to get her to feel the adrenaline pump through her fiery veins. Anything to make her feel something. And Lorna. Oh, fucking Lorna. The biggest adrenaline rush she ever obtained, someone she crashed into harder than that NYC taxi and fell so fast for. Fucking straight girls.
"You don't have... We. You're-" A finger presses gently against her lips and Nicky sucks her words back in, practically swallowing them. "Shh." Her voice soothes. Nicky wants to melt into her. Figure out what she wants. What's happening in that majestical mind. She glances up into her brown eyes, hoping the secrets somehow lye behind them. The truths she wants to seek out and learn, what they contain. Everything they both ever held. Hold? Nicky shrugs in her mind. Everything that they still hold and always will. They look glassy and damp and it takes a second for Nicky to realize that it's her vision that's blurred too. It's her eyes that hold some kind of shimmery image, quite like Nicky can almost see her reflection through those orbs and questions herself;
'Jesus, kid. Whoever let you get like this, huh? Oh yeah. Morello.
Muccio? Morello? Muccio? Eenie meenie miney mo. Fuck it now, right? Whatever these four walls hold will only hold in these four walls to preserve for eternity.'
Lorna allows her to caress Nicky's cheeks with her thumbs, fingernails digging into her skin as she reads her face. Scanning it to identify anything to recognize the pain in her she knows Nicky's been carrying around for so long. "I thought you were dead. I thought- I thought you were... Gonna die." Lorna whimpers into her skin and Nicky soaks it all up into her soul in triumph, it's strange because it's sad but she'll always know the Lorna she knows was thinking about her. Even had she died. Nicky initiates the kiss and it's not like they're used to kissing. Kissing each other. So, their lips move in sync but it's salty and sloppy, sort of like the way Nicky thinks of her own tears dampening her shirt. Another saga of moans eclipsing when Lorna trails her tongue along the bottom of Nicky's chapped lip and takes her hand to place on her inner left thigh. Again, there's no protest when she pulls at the waistband of her prison pants and so, they're messily tugged town to her knees. It's disjointed and a little awkward yet still adds to Nicky's arousal she's making apparent ever more so.
'It's not too late to stop it's not to late too stop it's not too late to stop. You can walk away from this. Go by your ways forever. Leave this to the vultures. Leave it behind like when you blasted OBN IIIs and Hole through your favorite MP3 player so loudly you're sure you're partially deaf, only you threw your only escape at the wall when you were pissed off. Forget about it like that stupid bitch at your third private school you got excluded from for cracking her square on the nose, because you got bored of the amount of times she called you a dyke. Leave it behind like all those petty times you were pissed at Red for always shitting on you when she was only doing what's best for you. Pretend what you have is nothing. The vultures have scavenged now. Forgot about her and her pretty lipstick and infuriatingly incorrect grammar and those awfully beautiful curls, that adorable tattoo and her perfect breasts and everything so good about her it leaves you stunned and infatuated every time she so little as breaths. This woman is something else. Well fuck.'
The words from the mother whom she admires so much come flooding back.
'You did the right thing, honey. You did it for her. She's safe. You'd only be selfish to take away her safety. Just thank God, or whatever the fuck we're supposed to believe in these days, that she and Крошечные один are safe.'
She brings her palms to rest upon Lorna's cheeks and breaks away from the kiss, moaning her name softly when she presses small circles around her thighs close to her area. Drawing tiny speckles of blood from her bottom lip when Lorna takes it between her teeth and chews lightly. Fingernails digging deep into her skin, she moves and husks and hitches into her creamy neck when she unclasps her bra with her right hand at a steady pace. Nicky feels herself melting away like hot wax on an overused candle. Stars still shimmering brightly behind her closed eyes as Lorna holds her; brushes back those blonde curls behind her ear, rocks her right to left while doing so. "It's okay, love." She says in that damn Italian Brooklyn sounding tone. "Let me take care of you." And she knows she shouldn't allow her to get under her skin in the way that she always fantasies about endlessly. Dreams about to help get some shut eye at night. Then again, Nicky's always been a rule breaker, not follower. More murmurs escape when Lorna takes her right nipple between her red lips and sucks while palming her left breast for equal attention. Nicky pictures the funny little marks that'll be left behind, then she imagines herself coated in red lip imprints, scaring her forever like they do in her mind only. "Holy shit, babe..." She rolls her neck back, counts the stars behind her lashes as she begins to see them fall one by one. She can practically sense the smug grin upon Lorna's face, those smudged strawberry lips. But maybe that just reminds her of herself. Lorna's hands thumb over the elastic of Nicky's pants and she lunges forward almost when she presses two fingers between her folds and begins to rub steadily. Choking down an erupting groan she knows that would have then caught in the act.
'Pull your-fucking-self together, Nichols, Jesus Chri-OH'
She allows herself to whimper Lorna's name, lingering under her when she husks "Oh, my God, you're so wet." It tingles in her ear and Nicky makes a noise that she'd be fucking embarrassed about if it wasn't the love of her sorry life. Surprisingly, Lorna's pretty good at dirt talk but then, how many times now has she managed to do something so effortlessly to steal the copper-blonde's breathe away she's lost count? Totally not like she ever did count in the first place...
'You only get one chance to break my heart. Yeah fucking right. Break it, stomp on it, pick up the broken pieces and feed them to me to mend me whole again. Do whatever you want, baby. Make me feel something whether it's comfort or fucking pain. Who cares in this life?'
She knows it's beginning to sound obsessive like a fucking Alfred Hitchcock movie. Knows she's been summoned. But she's always been a sucker. For ritual, need, attention, drugs, something, anything and Lorna's the best and most dangerous thing she's ever had to fill that desperation, escape from shitty reality. Takes her to a place of sunshine, pink skies, rainbows and purple rain. Even if it's all a bullshit creation Lorna paints with her magical words and ideologies, it's still the best feeling of belonging she's ever had the grasp of in her life. Even to touch it at a distance with the tips of her fingers is like the gateway to a heaven she knows she'll never fully have the chance to explore. Nicky knows that and will never forget it. Will never let it blind her vision.
"Does that feel good?" She whispers. And as if that's not enough to make Nicky feel like she's going to fucking come down and explode in bliss. Lorna leans down, pressing small and chaste wet kisses on her lips, jawline and down on the lips where she tingles so much Nicky's legs are like water and her heart beats like a fucking bongo drum when Lorna pumps her fingers at a steadily pace. Those stars behind those lonely eyes began to fall, crash down and burn when she feels the pressure build up and shivers shoot down near her core. She grits down hard on her teeth when Lorna takes hold of her pulse point in her neck. "Lorna... Fuck. That's... I'm gonna..." Nicky exclaims, sighing in pleasure through her moans and groans.
'Fuck it.'
Leaning to her side, she plants a heated kiss onto the brunette's mouth; capturing a gasp when she entwines their tongues and presses her hands onto her hips, trying to create more friction by thrusting her own. "You want me to go a little faster, huh?" She teases, slowly going down and removing Nicky's hands from her hips. "Mmh." Is the only response she can give, because frankly, she's never felt as possessed like this in all the time she's known this inescapable woman. Her heart is left hammering against her chest, fighting to get out, a loud moan conceals in the air and her legs gain goosebumps when Lorna connects her tongue to her clit while squeezing her breasts; simulating in a motion too heavenly for Nicky to describe. Sucking and kissing noises as she pumps a couple fingers in and out; trailing kisses around her soaked lips. She's adding her tongue here and there, to swirl around like the way she imagines Nicky does, that always leaves her shaking when she's screaming "Nicky, fuck! I'm gonna cum!" It's like floating through the fucking Milky Way, past dust and rocks into a bright light, white like the hot heat of the sun. Kind of like Icarus when his wings melted before he made it there. Maybe it's the comparison, or fear of the outcome that scares her into an all-to-familiar feeling of shame and self loathe.
'But what is the outcome of this? You fucking know. You told yourself time after time after time. Trip and fall and hurt yourself by all means, maybe smack your head on the concrete. Knock yourself unconscious, kid. Wake up with concussion, or better yet find yourself in a coma to never recover from like you never will from this if you proceed. It's too late. It's not. So what if you can feel the pleasure or the pain or fucking whatever you're left with from this. Don't hurt her. If you love her so much in the way you'd fucking beg to be loved back. Trade your last dime for. Be left with nothingness down to your knees for, then tell her.'
"Fuck." She chunters. The pressure builds up and Nicky finds herself on edge; getting close. She forces herself upon a halt before she never forgives herself. "Shit - alright. Stop stop stop stop stop. We're off on the wrong foot." Breathlessly managing to pull herself back from Lorna's possession and pulls her underwear and khakis up, slide her bra back up and slide back into her shirt. Lorna has a combination of confusion and bemusement upon her features, a look Nicky identifies and familiarizes with all too well. And it pains her to not give her what she wants. Whatever the fuck that is, at least. "What are you... I... We?" Nicky brings herself to caress Lorna's cheeks, eyes phasing in and out of concentration from her smudged lips to her golden brown eyes. This time she hushes her. "It's okay, Lorna. I missed you too, babe. But you're okay. We're both okay. And you're... You're married. You've got a baby. Little lasagna, remember? You're going to be a great mom, and this kid is going to fucking love you, okay? You got a family. Everything you ever wanted, take it and run. Don't ever let me or this shit hole hold you back. It's not worth it. Go chase all those dreams kid, forget about me. I'm not good for you, I've never been good for anybody. I fucking love you so much, Lorn, you know that. I'll do anything for you. But we can't keep doing this to each other. This isn't right. Maybe it's just time we let go, huh?" She weakly chuckles and offers a weary smile, despite the fact that she's chocked up on her own words. A bitter collapsing feeling in her throat like when she takes a couple of pills to ease her morning migraines. She won the battle. Even if she can feel the tears stabbing at the back of her eyes or a sinking sensation in her chest, even if she feels numb all over. Nicky Nichols does not take rejection well; she certainly doesn't like giving it out to the people she loves the most either. But she's fucking proud. Tries to make herself feel pride only (not like that ever fucking works), but still. She doesn't even feel aroused anymore. Pursing her lips, she avoids contact with Lorna's eyes; disallowing herself to witness of the gravity of pain she's caused.
'Fuck our sunsets and evening strolls and late night sex and ice cream and whatever other shit you dream about, Nichols. Never go back there. Just be there for her family. Isn't that what friends are supposed to do? Yeah. Just kiss away her tears and get back to shitty meals, shitting in public and sleeping with your three other bunk mates who all snore and sleep-talk really fucking loudly. Maybe if you're lucky she'll spot you out at lunch. If you're really lucky they'll be a free seat and she'll let you sit with her. Maybe you'll even catch a spare few minutes before cell time, and she'll let you feel the kid kick with all smiles and watery eyes. Maybe, just maybe, she'll know and appreciate that you observe at a distance, watching the both of them; swearing on your God forsaken life that you'll do anything to protect, defend, care for them until the time finally slips, ends, and she's out in the real world with a life she's always dreamed of. A life you'd trade anything for. Maybe sometimes she'll think back to it, too. Sat in the garden with a kid babbling in her lap. Fucking maybe, if you're good.'
Accidentally, she gleams back into those eyes.
'Oh whatever. One last time. Let's seek out both of our hearts out before she breaks down and you're left to pick her trembling-self up and tell her it's all going to be quite alright once again, right?'
"I love you too." She blurts out, bringing herself down and tears rolling. She says it like the words are sacred. Words that existed for so long but only in her mind and Lorna feels like she wants to die on the spot. Run away and never stop even if her lungs give out and the lactic acid builds up to a dangerously toxic level. Pull her hair out and scream at herself for taking so long to confess something that should be so easily confess-able for her. But it's not easy. Not when you're crazy and constantly falling through your emotions like a house of cards caving in on itself. Nicky sighs with an uprising tweak at the corners of her mouth.
'Well shit. I guess that explains the ring.'
Brushing her hair to a side, she presses a light kiss on the back of her left hand; a small plea to bring Lorna to look at her. "What are we gonna do, huh, kid? Where do we go from this?"
'Fuck our sunsets? Yeah right. Maybe when Icarus finally dies.'