Something I uploaded to my tumblr a while back that I'm particularly fond of.
You'd imagined it countless times, in those dark, claustrophobic dreams of yours. You'd always seen her face distort angrily, imagined you'd felt her body quiver above you as if she felt nothing but irritation towards you. In some twisted way, the idea warmed your core until you woke up in an uncomfortable sweat and you did your best to hide your embarrassment in the morning, hoping she hadn't heard you in your unconsciousness.
Sometimes, in those dreams, her face remained blank, tense. She let only her eyes close, as if she couldn't bare the sight of you whilst her body jolted in pleasure. Those were the dreams you feared, sometimes, because you would rather her be angry than feel nothing towards you.
These were the dreams that had frightened you after you first kissed her, after you found yourselves on your bed.
After you found yourself writhing helplessly beneath her.
But she refused to let you touch her for a while- really, properly touch her- which was understandable in her way. You knew there was little chance, but as the nights went by, her unwillingness wavered, and eventually- after a long, long time- she let you.
It took your breath away, her moments of vulnerability. Though you were a little clumsy at first, you wanted for it to last for as long as it could, and so you persisted. It was a lesson in which you were all too willing to be attentive.
The first moment she sounds something above her hushed gasps, you know she's close. Your eyes, you're sure, are gleaming with delightful anticipation, though you had never been so focused in your life. She was aware of the change- you can tell when one of her brows quirk upwards in what seems to be a satisfactory surprise. Then, not one second later, as her thighs tighten around your own, and as she clenches around your deliciously aching fingers, the other brow rises too, allowing you to see the creases on the stretched expanse of her now closed eyelids, built from years of cynicism, smoothed into light marks. Her open mouth twitches at its corners in what you hope is unrenowned bliss.
It would make you giggle were it not for the sublimeness of the sight.
Biting her lip with those sharp teeth of hers in a weak attempt to muffle her strangled "oh's", she moves one of her gripped hands from the sheets as if to cover her mouth before realising she cannot, and takes your backside in it firmly instead. You decide to lean down and kiss her, tasting her moans, for which she gives a thankful arch of her back.
You do something special with your thumb and her lips break from yours when she throws her head back, releasing a noise so high pitched, you almost believe you moaned yourself. Her hands are constantly gripping and un-gripping whatever they can grasp now, and you don't think you've ever seen Elphaba Thropp so distant from and so within herself at the same time.
To your surprise, as her hips jolt erratically against yours, her face does not screw itself up in distaste or anger, nor does it take the shape of apathy- no- it's just open to you- you, and the affection she's allowing you to give. It almost makes you cry, but you don't, because you're consumed by her, and tears do not exist in her world, so for now, they do not exist in yours either.
Her eyes open and she grasps you tighter. She was not expecting this pleasure- she probably never has- and the notion that this is because of you spurs your hand into one last flurry of glorious thrusts, causing the muscles in her neck and arms to convulse, her eyes to crush closed, her breasts to press forcefully into yours, her voice to raise into a crescendo -
She slows, and so do you. Your breaths, for one moment in their foggy solitude, harmonise with each other, and ungracefully, slowly, you pull your arm from between your bodies and use it to prop yourself above her, to give her some small space to breathe.
Then she opens her new eyes, unfocused for a brief second, and dazed after that. They meet your own and you think she's baffled because you've never seen her so unsure of herself- not nervous, never nervous- just at such a disconnect from her body. Then the skin around her eyes relaxes as she studies your face, her voiceless chuckle succeeding in melting your heart. She is back to herself, but less so- and right now, you think you're okay with that.
A few moments pass as you look at one another and you realise you want to kiss her, so you do, and she kisses you back with such a fervency that warmth fills you, like oil igniting fire.