Things got smuttier than expected, so fair warning. Also finally done!
Isabelle is obsessed with Clary's hair, a long tongue of flame falling down her back. The curls bounce around her face, the color shifting in the light, as animate as the girl they belong to. She can't stop herself from reaching out, even though it hardly needs rearranging for the photographs.
Clary looks over her shoulder at the soft touch, her eyes bright and the barest curve of her mouth visible. Isabelle snaps a picture before she's even realized she's lifting the camera. She won't be able to use it, her other hand is in the shot, fingers tangled in Clary's curls, but she doesn't care.
She never understood when their teacher talked about inspiration and finding a muse and knowing the perfect moment. Not until now.
Taking a deep breath, she steps back, framing the shot more carefully as Clary watches her with an indefinable expression in her eyes. The other girl is sitting on a chair, completely naked in the bright sun filtering into the art building's attic studio. Her back is to Isabelle, her torso shifted ever so slightly to the side to reveal the gentle curve of her breast. Her arms are draped over the chair's back, her chin hidden behind her shoulder, revealing only one alluring dimple and the barest hint of her pink lips.
And that hair, that splendid hair, is tumbling down to her waist, glinting in the warm light drifting down from the high windows.
It's a good thing Clary proposed a date in trade, because Isabelle's ability to be professional around her is nonexistent. But she needs an A in this class, so she resists every urge to touch that hair, or the creamy skin beneath it, and does her best to let the camera see Clary how Isabelle sees her.
When she's taken enough pictures—more than enough, most of which will not be shared with her professor or anyone else—Isabelle sets the camera down and approaches the other girl with all the reverence her devout mother shows at mass. She tangles her fingers into those glorious red curls, soft strands winding around her fingers as she pushes them away from the soft skin beneath. She presses her lips to the crook between Clary's neck and shoulder and hums in satisfaction when the other girl's breath catches in her throat.
Isabelle sinks to her knees, trailing kisses down Clary's spine, releasing her hair so she can curve her hands around Clary's exposed hips, her thumbs resting perfectly in the dimples above her ass. Clary's breathing has quickened, the wooden chair creaking as she shifts beneaths Isabelle's hands. She turns, no longer straddling the back of the chair, and Isabelle drags her gaze slowly up Clary's calves, the gilded v between her legs, and her perfect breasts, before meeting the other girl's eyes, hunger in that vibrant blue gaze to match her own.
Clary's teeth are sunk into her bottom lip, but she releases it as she smiles, slow and sweet, before spreading her legs in open invitation. It is all Isabelle can do to hold back a moan as she leans forward, her hands curling around Clary's knees as she presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to the inside of Clary's thighs. She pauses, hovering over the glistening prize of Clary's vulva, until Clary slips her hands into Isabelle's hair, her hips twitching with need.
Isabelle laughs, glad all over again that she'd bumped into the redhead at the party last month, and closes the distance between them, sliding her tongue over the exposed lips of Clary's labia and savoring every moan and gasp she coaxes out of the girl.
This is the true work of art, the taste, smell, and feel of Clary's sex, the way she writhes beneaths Isabelle's mouth, the delicate edge of pain on her scalp as Clary's hands clench with need and pleasure.
When she has wrung a second orgasm from her, Clary pushes her down onto the floor, swallowing Isabelle's giddy laugh as she presses their mouths together, heedless of the slick wetness of herself on Isabelle's face. Her hands attack Isabelle's clothes, seeking out the soft curves of her breasts, pinching the sensitive peaks of her nipples before delving lower, her thumb finding Isabelle's clit before she's even caught her breath.
They stay there for an hour, nothing but sensation and sound and shadows in the fading sunlight, until Isabelle's alarm goes off, alerting her that their allotted time in the studio is coming to an end and they need to get dressed if they don't want the next student to get some unwitting inspiration of their own.
Clary twines their hands together, after they are cleaned up and clothed, and grins as she pulls Isabelle down the stairs. "Come on, I want to see the pictures."
Isabelle nods, squeezing her fingers, pleasantly sore and already eager to see more of Clary, on or off film. "I'm all yours, Cinnamon."
