Here's my first Nichorello fic! :) I'm new to this fandom and to this ship but I love these two! :) This one's called "Envy is for Lovers" It takes place probably near the end of season 5. Ish. :) Let me know what you think! :)

Lorna loved Jealous Nicky. Honestly, she did. She loved Vinny wholeheartedly, and that was all fine and good, and she wasn't a weakling, she wouldn't cheat, she would stay loyal. But Jealous Nicky was something else. She was fire. She was spite.

There was an anger there masked by blatant, ingenuine indifference and obvious annoyance, because Lorna loved a man, and Nicky Nichols, was not one. She was a woman: a woman with curly hair that could get a little scraggly, dark makeup that reminded Lorna of her older sister's teenaged 'emo' phase, often smudged, sometimes snaking down her freckly, drug addled skin.

Still though, she was a woman that Lorna found attractive. Her attitude was aggressive, powerful and no-nonsense, something picked up from Red, she'd bet. And fuck her because it was hot.

Lorna giggled to herself. Around Vinny she was always careful to watch her mouth, because classy ladies never used foul language, and she was one. It was yet another thing Nichols was not and with a groan intended only for her own ears, Lorna just smiled back, trying to bite back the scowl threatening to ruin her fresh lip.

Fuck her because she was sexy as hell. Fuck her because if she didn't stop rolling those eyes and clucking that tongue – which, she knew not five minutes ago had some tablet dissolving under it, Lorna might just have to. Fuck her, that is.

Gosh, how she loved that word in association with Nicky. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. That's what they did. She and Vinny made love, they made love like only two married people knew how, and Lorna delighted in it; but, she and Nicky did something else. Something different. Dirtier. Deeper (in the physical sense – damn that woman had tricks with her fingers that Lorna could never figure out). Kinkier.

And she loved it. She did. Craved it, even.

Right this minute was proof of that because here was Nicky, sitting across from her in the cafeteria, moaning and groaning and griping, all sardonically of course, because she never did anything without a mocking accent – it was as prevalent as her Italian, sometimes just as sharp, but never as smooth.

She was acting like a child envious of the fact that her best friend had other friends that weren't her, and as much as it was pissing Lorna off, it was also unexplainably turning her on.

But then she watched as Nicky's eyes started to shut again not of their own volition, blinking, once, twice, her gaze trained upwards and the motion backwards, proving just how high she really was, and it was enough this time for her arousal to completely dissipate; the blood that had rushed with adrenaline down south zoomed back to her head and once again, she was able to think straight. Thankfully.

Because she'd forgotten amongst all this, amongst all of her bloody hormones, how angry she really was. She tried to keep her voice even, classy, and raised her head to meet Nicky's eyes. They were dark, almost hateful, which was frightening, but then she remembered the limpidness was the drugs and she loved Lorna too much to hate her.

She'd said so herself. Okay, maybe not in so many words, but honestly, who could hate her – she was such a delight. A cute, pretty, excitable delight. Or so Vinny says. And as her husband, he was always right. She'd chosen wisely. She knew that. And so, because she was faithful and proud of that, Lorna had decided right this second that even just lusting after Nicky was inappropriate, a cheater's way. And so, she had to put a stop to it. Right now.

And Lorna knew what would hit her hard. It was a little mean but, in the end, it would also be effective. She knew that.

"Stop it. Stop it! You left, you were the one who left, right? I didn't know you were coming back, and it's your fault – "

And here, Lorna thought, was the kicker.

"Because you love heroin more than you love me."

What she didn't know was that whatever she took, in addition to death-like drowsiness, it also made Nicky resilient to feeling the sore spot of her love for her, and unfiltered, because Lorna knew that if Nicky were sober, those vile names would not have come out of her mouth.

They may have been thought but they would never have been said. It was a side effect of the love. Lorna knew Nicky couldn't stand to see her upset, let alone inflict said upset onto her, herself. Never. And here, she did. "You peanut-brained, fickle-hearted whore."

And everyone was stunned into silence. And then Red came along. And with a smugness that was totally out of character for her, she knew, Lorna sold her out. "She's on drugs, Red. Just take a look at her. She's smacked out of her gourd."

It didn't make her feel any better. It made her feel worse. Especially seeing the look on Nicky's face. It deflated her triumph like a pin to a balloon. And just like Nicky and upsetting her, it was the same side effect, of that same love. Maybe. No.

Lorna shook her head. Her love was reserved for Vinny. Her love belonged to Vinny. Maybe once upon another time, it could belong to other people, and in the past, it had belonged to other people, to someone else.

But now, she thought, not sparing a glance behind her as Nicky left in a huff, her love belonged to her husband. Mr. Muccio. And she, Mrs. Muccio.

Nicky thought she loved Jealous Lorna. The key word here being thought. As in an assumption. And you know what they say about assumptions, babe, Nicky could practically hear herself gloating to the poor girl just hours before, when she stalked into the cafeteria all high and mighty and entitled and Lorna, saying that she was pregnant and biology or some shit practically forced her to come onto her the way she did. To scream her name the way she did. "it makes an ass out of me and you."

The autonomy of the act makes that clear, the body doesn't need to be coerced by pregnancy to be horny. If it needs a good fuck, it needs a good fuck. There was no shame in that where she was concerned. Lorna though, thought differently, about their sweet, sweet, copulative relationship with a dash of unrequited love thrown in there. Some days, their relationship was a real bitch to navigate but damn her if she ever gave it up. "Actually, I think it's you and me."

Even if she wanted to slap her sometimes, she just couldn't. Wouldn't. This whole time, Nicky thought that it was Lorna who couldn't cope alone, but she was wrong, and she realized that now. It was her who couldn't cope. Bastard.

She'd been kissing that other girl - she was pretty, new and unfamiliar, like a shiny penny, whose name she'd instantly forgotten and would never need to know, and there had been tongue, so much tongue and the ass grabbing…it was insane; in the middle of a god damn riot with people fighting and screaming and pulling each other's hair like little girls.

Meanwhile, they were the grown-up ones, the adults who had wine and cheese parties and took the high road and most of all were not petty. Except, Nicky was. She was the pettiest woman alive. She'd hoped Lorna would come dashing around the corner in search for her, predictable, sweet baby Lorna, and get a nice view of her ragdoll lady love touching some other woman's tits.

The image she'd cured up in her head was perfect. It tasted like victory. And revenge. But when the moment finally came, and the image was to come to fruition outside her mind's eye, it was what it promised to be: an illusion. A heartbreaking, guilt-tripping illusion.

Lorna hadn't been running, hadn't been looking for her. She looked pathetic, actually, dragging that trash bag behind her like some good-for-nothing custodial folk, but it wasn't her stature, the way she was physically carrying herself, that stopped Nicky in her tracks, her mouth suspended above the girl's like a tease.

It was her face. The expression there. It looked a lot like defeat, looked a lot like giving up, something the junky addict liar in her knew the taste of like she knew absolutely nothing else. It gave her pause.

"Who is that?" Until that question was asked, and like a trigger, her eyes closed, then opened, so quick you would have thought she was sneering, because they'd barely closed at all. Because she didn't have time to think. If she did, she wouldn't go through with it, would answer "that is the love of my life" instead of a forcedly flippant "nobody."

And it all would have turned out great, except after that, the spite she'd been harboring in the last five minutes had all but left her completely. There was a trace of it still there but not enough. It sucked, because it meant two things: one, that Nicky couldn't appreciate the smoking hot piece of ass that she was, seriously damn, and the one that she'd been playing a tough game of tonsil hockey with a minute ago; and two, it also meant that Lorna Morello – wait, excuse her, Lorna Morello-Muccio (ugh, please, somebody gag her), still had a fucking hold on her.

Shit, this psychotic bitch was harder to shake than the heroin. The difference was Lorna caused more harm to her than the drugs. She knew that, but as it was with an addict's tendencies, she couldn't bring herself to quit. The withdrawal would be brutal.