measure time by how a body sways
i'm a martyr to a motion not my own;
what's freedom for? to know eternity.
i swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
but who would count eternity in days?
these old bones live to learn her wanton ways.
The thing is, see: Catherine likes dick. Don't get her wrong, okay? It's not that she doesn't like to suck a man's cock, because she does. It's repetitive and primal and silky-thin skin over carnal ache. It's salty and thick, warm and pleasurable and sinful and glorious. (Musty-slightly coarse and tobacco-flavoured.) To have the power to bring a man to his knees is the power to rule the world.
But, well, Catherine likes pussy too. Sleek and wet, filthy and absolutely delicious-like a Yoplait yogurt cup. So sweet: brilliantly, overwhelmingly, pure. She likes the way that the muscles twitch and tighten, thighs flexing and stomach quivering and hands shaking and skin pimpling. Everything subtle and blatant, rough and soft-divinity in the only way humans can recognize. Catherine likes the female curves and valleys, slanted eyes and pink lips and nose studs. (Tousled hair, sex-sweat and damp hair spray; fingers sliding through hair stringy with communication.) Girls are more vocal, less insecure: open and willing, smooth and pliable and luscious. Girlish painted nails and tattoos skirting an apple-shaped butt; toe rings and clit piercings and extensions.
Specifically speaking: Catherine likes to fuck.
Strictly speaking: Catherine likes to fuck Sofia.
Sofia has this tendency to be handsy. It's like she can't keep her hands still: she has to have them clawing into Catherine's thighs, shoulders, lower back; tangling in Catherine's hair and pulling (fingernails scrape down Catherine's back and she purrs, lifts Sofia's leg up and licks down a pale thigh, tongues the sweaty groove between crotch and leg, flicks over a wet lip and then up-down-updownleftright-slick); catching the sheets and twisting them into an irrevocable mess.
She also likes to do this thing with her hips, like a grind but with more swivel, and slow, so slow, sensual and scorching-like branding Catherine's stomach with each gradual slide down-down-down. Catherine hadn't ever invested in a strap-on before, as most of her female sexual partners had been satisfied with oral and fingering. Looking at it now, the straps slightly loose on Catherine's sweaty skin, jostling around in a slip-slide; hard, blue dildo, long and ridged and fantastic, spectacularly fantastic. It fit inside Sophia perfectly, stretching her up nice and tight, tantalizing muscle squeezing snugly to damp rubber. She was utterly rapturous spread out along cool sheets, flustered skin and malleable limbs. Parted mouth, breathless and euphoric: a melody to Catherine's soul like Aphrodite's harp.
Now, though, now (it's important, here, now, the present: stay focused or you'll lose it all again). Right now, Sofia's legs curled around Catherine's thighs, supple hips pressing into Catherine's ribs, hair sweeping Catherine's shoulders and arms, collarbone to chin to nose (sweet, candy cotton smell) to brain . Sofia's fingers tremble on the headboard, right beside Catherine's face and she can't, she has to-turns her face in and brushes her nose along Sofia's wrist, inhales the detective's sweat. Lightly musty, sticky-bubble gum, pink, taffy bubble gum. Sofia's pulse jumps and her hips drop, seductive and swaying, a lithe dance of the damned. (If this is sin,Catherine could never repent.)
Sofia sinks over the dildo gracefully. Stretched taut, her hole is inflamed dark pink, wet and perfect, so so perfect. Her voice breaks, high and keening, fingernails writing scripture along Catherine's skin. Catherine puffs out a hot breath, veins throbbing, hands sliding up Sofia's sides and cupping her perky breasts. Catherine's thumb brushes over Sofia's nipple, teasing; the nub hardens and Catherine swipes again. Pinches it, twists and nudges up into the prostrate body straddling her.
Completely in bliss, Sofia rocks her hips forward, dildo teetering precariously along the rim of her cunt, before pushing back and enveloping the shaft whole. Side-to-side, then updownup, swivel, drop-grind-rub. Over and over, tempting and liquid heat, testing Catherine's patience. Skin on fire, Catherine is a panting trip, fingers working all of Sofia's body, stopping to slide down and circle the pleasant nub of her clit. Sofia's breath hitches, hips stutter, body riding the dildo helplessly in search of the pressure on her clit. Catherine is ravenous, rubs her finger back and forth, quickquickquick then slow, so slow; pulls her finger away to lick it then brings it back, flicks and presses and skirts down to touch where the dildo is spearing her wide, presses a finger against the tight skin.
Sofia freezes. Catherine teases until she slides in, smooth-milky-chocolate, finger finding all of the spots and flesh inside of Sofia's cunt. Touches everything, every bump and vein and sacred fire.
"Ride me," Catherine says, finger curling and finding and conquering.
Sofia's hips lift up and then down, fingers tangling in Catherine's curly hair, tugging and pulling and claiming. Her voice lifts to no one in particular, praises and declarations of Catherine, not Catherine Willows, C.S.I, not Catherine Willows, single mother and female Atlas, not Catherine Willows, daughter of casino mogul and legend Sam Braun. She's Catherine, blonde hair and blue eyes and classy fingernails and wicked tongue (Catherine, unsure and vulnerable, entangled and speechless and here, now, this is the moment we've been looking for).
Catherine has always been looking for the moment in time when money and food and religion and culture would fall away; when it would just be her and them, skin and bone, united in movement and belief, space and life; two people in one entity.
Sophia tells her you and me, this and then and forever with a press of shaking thighs to tensed ones, hands to clutching hands and hips to pelvis once, twice, and salvation.
(Sofia is serious and concise, firm and stable and consistent. She is a detective and a woman in all of her right, a creature of elegance and courage. She is a lion and Catherine is a crane, sophisticated and reserved, old and vanilla.)
Catherine grips Sofia's slack hips, guides her to Catherine's core and comes.
(Sofia's light is all she sees.)
author's notes;
super, super thanks to thevinegarworks for doing a freaking awesome and speedy beta work! any remaining mistakes are my bad. :') subsequently, this fic is dedicated to her, for being an amazing friend and an enabler of my creative yearning.
title and italicized excerpt are from the poen "i knew a woman" by theodore roethke.
um, thank you for reading. :) comments would be appreciated, but aren't necessary.