Warning: Profanity, crude humor, and sex.
A/N: I was kind of inspired by Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston of all things for this one—and also "Froot" by Marina and the Diamonds. Omg, when I first heard that song, the lyrics made me think of Nikki and Jonesy's relationship, so expect some fruit metaphors (and sleep metaphors, too).
Might be just a little disjointed in the beginning, but it'll make sense.
She woke up.
Her slumber had been tense and longer than necessary, but, at long last, her eyes had opened. It didn't happen that long ago, either.
Her lips had met Jonesy's with sloppy movement. She, with her legs wrapped around his waist, tugged him deeper, wanting to be as close to him as possible. Their bodies had to be pressed against each other, skin desperately touching and heat enveloping them. Their hips had been rolling to the rhythm Jonesy created. As swears and terms of endearment scattered through her thoughts, she knew something would come to fruition.
When her back rose—no longer pressing against his warm bed—and her voice moaned for him, her sleep ended. Her eyelids fluttered as a shudder ran through her. She felt her muscles tighten, her nervous system going haywire, filling her with sparks. It was such a foreign feeling, but she welcomed it like an old friend.
Jonesy collapsed onto her not too long after this, and she fell back onto the bed.
As she caught her breath, she began to feel different, strange, great.
She was fully conscious of his body against hers, of the feeling between her legs, of sex.
Of course she'd given thought to having sex with Jonesy before. Being no stranger to it, she had lost her virginity before even dating him, but it wasn't worth a conversation. It was rotten, painful, and plucked away from her memories afterwards. Because of this, she maintained low expectations of her first time with Jonesy.
Yet he had totally proven her wrong by redefining the act.
He was more experienced—she knew he'd slept with a couple girls before her, which was fair enough—he was loving, and he was fiery.
She could tell he'd been anticipating that moment for ages, waiting to get drunk on her that night. When his hips had moved against hers, her reality had begun to differ from her expectations in the best way.
She hated that (most of) her cynicism regarding sex had died, but more importantly she hated that—from that night on—she wanted to be with him again and again and again because he made her feel wonderful. Her eyes were opened and they would never close again. She didn't want them to.
She knew that people fell head-over-heels for each other well into the summertime, but she never figured she would become one of those people. One of those people she believed to be hungry for sex and love and other shit she didn't want to be bothered with (at first).
Now she craved him and the taste of his skin. She wanted to swallow his groans and make her name the only one he'd ever say at night. She wanted to give him as much of a good feeling as he had given her.
The only thing standing in the way of her happiness was Nikki herself.
She didn't want to appear needy, sex-crazed, or desperate. She had gone this long without needing sex in her life, so why should she start now? At least, that's what she asked herself.
As she kissed him on her living room couch, she couldn't leave the memories of that night alone.
His lips were always sweet like wine this late at night and her heart was racing and her mind was impatient. Growing up, she'd been told that great things would come to those who kept their patience, but she had waited long enough. Her parents gone and the house barren of anybody save for her and Jonesy, Nikki knew the time was right.
So, as she kissed him and swallowed his moans, she gulped down her pride. They slowly fell back onto the couch, onto each other, and she parted from him.
"Is something wrong, babe?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"No, I'm fine," she lied. Before he could kiss her again, however, she quickly blurted, "Okay, I'm not fine, Jonesy. Listen, since the night we had sex, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you and it's driving me batshit crazy. All I've wanted to do since then is sleep with you over and over again."
He, taken aback, sat up.
She sat upright as her skin flushed. She avoided his gaze, saying, "I probably shouldn't have said anything. I just didn't want to seem, you know, needy or anything. Too late for that, right?"
Silence grew.
"You know, you're cute when you get embarrassed."
She gently pushed him. "Shut up."
"Make me," he said, licking his lips.
She planted a lingering kiss on them.
"So, am I actually cute when I'm embarrassed or were you trying to flatter me?"
"Little bit of both."
"I figured as much."
"Listen, Nik, it's fine—wanting to have sex and all. You shouldn't be embarrassed about being into it. Besides, you know I'm always into it."
She grinned. "Ain't that the truth?"
"Plus, I really needed an excuse to get your rocks off."
Her eyes rolled. "Really, Jonesy?"
"Yeah"—he leaned close and their lips were centimeters apart—"really."
The next thing she could recall was him whisking her up the steps and into her bedroom. She eventually sprawled underneath him, not even remembering when or how their clothes littered the floor.
Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths as soon as she felt him. She tugged him deeper and sloppily kissed him every chance she could, tasting his skin. When her hips moved in sync with his, she swore her name fell from his lips.
She draped her arms over his shoulders while his hands wandered about, touching and squeezing whatever would create the best reaction in her.
One of her hands rested in his hair, her fingers playing with his blue-black locks.
His movements became more rapid and, as she kept up with him, she swore her heart would explode. She kissed him hard, swallowing his groans and deep breaths, exchanging her moans and whimpers with him.
Pressure blossoming in her hips, she didn't mind dying this way—in ecstasy, in bloom. Her back arched and she panted his name. Her fingernails dug into his back as he released a groan.
"Oh, Nikki—babe," she heard him croon.
He buried his face against her neck, sucking on her skin. Judging by his intensity, he'd leave her with a bruise or two, but it was nothing she couldn't hide with a little makeup. (He'd been leaving her with hickeys for almost two years and no one ever knew but the two of them.)
Her eyelids fluttered as she fell from her high. As his lips moved to her shoulders, she moaned in content; she'd gotten her release.
His head rose and he gazed at her. "So, how was it?"
A blush creeping over her, she smiled. "Goddamn, that was worth the wait."
"Hearing you say that is the biggest ego-boost right now."
She snorted. "As if your ego can get bigger."
"I don't know, Nikki—you really liked my big ego a few minutes ago."
"That's because that ego doesn't talk shit all the time."
"Touché… So, up for another round?"
Licking her lips, she said, "Mmm, I'll think about it."
"How about later?"
"Sounds good to me."
Her head resting against his chest, she could get used to this—lying awake with him.
She would never sleep again.