There's something intrinsically different about the way Waverly's taken by her lover's hands. Something much closer that a mouth can provide but in such a contrasting way; both make her back arch and her jaw slack and her toes curl, but it would be unfair to monetize one over the other. Because, truly, they're both beautiful in how they orchestrate her undoing.
Fingers press against her as Nicole's mouth sucks a hickey into her jaw and assuages the sting with her tongue; it feels like hours that she's been here in the bed with the weight of her lover above her, hands drawing amorphous patterns against the apex of her thighs and drawing the most delicious feelings from her.
Nicole's in a teasing mood, but she suspects she's nearing the end of her patience. She knows what she does to Nicole, sees the way her breath hitches in her chest when there's one button too many undone on her shirt.
She's patient now, but she won't stay that way, not for long. Waverly lives for those moments, when her resolve cracks and she transforms from sweet, patient Nicole who wants nothing but the best for her into something much stronger, harder, something that wants to take without precaution. (Of course her Nicole is always there, always, but sometimes it's easier to breathe behind a mask so as long as she can always take it off at the slightest hint of resistance).
"So good," Nicole croons. Her fingers crook inside Waverly, long and slender and knowing in just how to derive the most pleasure. "You're being so good for me, princess."
Waverly wants to mewl at the praise but forces her teeth into her lips to stave it off and instead tightens her leg muscles around Nicole's hips.
"Good girls deserve rewards, sweetheart. Are you ready for yours?"
She knows Nicole isn't looking for an answer to the question; she's made it explicit that if Waverly were to make a single sound, she'd be in much more trouble than she started in. (Which was, to say, a lot. She never quite seemed to get the message that sending nudes to her girlfriend while on duty was poor planning.)
It's her silence that's enough of a answer. Nicole's legs flex as she lifts herself to her knees to tower over the body laying before her, one hand inside her and the other pressing against her chest to keep her down.
Waverly thrashes when she comes, especially after having been teased for copious amounts of time.
Eyes trail over to the strain in Nicole's bicep as her hand works against her; a vein bulges from the shoulder to run down the length of her arm and disappear at her wrist, and the sight is enough to make a sliver of drool slip from between Waverly's lips.
Her hand freezes in Waverly and presses up, up, to hold her steady for a moment, hips raised in the air as she regards Waverly with cool, unbothered eyes. "Good girl," is all she says, and then stars explode as her hand pulls out and slams back in.
It's beautiful, beautiful the way Nicole composes her undoing. It's rough and it hurts and it's so fucking beautiful. Her fingers clench against the sheets as her hips raise, desperate to glean more of her lover inside of her with each brutal thrust of her hips as her orgasm draws nearer.
It's so, so beautiful, and then it's not.
No, it's not beautiful, it's suffocating. Everything hurts and Nicole's somehow too close and too far away at the same time. The hand that once pulled secrets from her now forces them back in, now presses too harshly against her, now paints bruises against her mind that she doesn't want.
"Stop," she gasps. "Stop stop stop stop stop stop—"
It's all she knows, it's a mantra, her only saving grace as she tries to breathe against a cracked ribcage and lungs punctured with terror. She tries to curl her body in on itself but nothing wants to respond to her as her muscles spasm. She's not thinking about her orgasm because there's not even a reminiscence of it there anymore; she needs to walls to stop closing in, she needs to breathe, she needs to stop .
"Waverly!" Nicole cries. The body beneath her gasps and begs for air as wild eyes try to focus on anything that's not what's currently happening. "Waverly, baby, I'm here, I stopped—"
She can breathe again at the sound of Nicole's voice, her Nicole's voice, above her for a second and then by her side, preventing her from feeling claustrophobic but close enough to feel that comfort that Nicole provides, the one that makes Waverly sink into her body until they become one.
Nicole isn't touching her, she's waiting for the go-ahead, for the consent to touch her, even just to pull her closer. She's waiting, because she respects Waverly and it astounds her everyday, that she could find something, someone , like this. Nicole is loving and caring and gentle and everything Waverly didn't realise she needed, but she's patient, too. She learns what Waverly needs, her habits and her flaws and she just learns .
And every time, Waverly feels safe with her. Even now.
Waverly looks at her, and Nicole knows.
She shifts on the bed, gripping a blanket in one hand and moving so she can slip under it and hold one arm out, in that way Waverly knows means comfort and gentle touches and soft kisses. Waverly moves, shuffling into the heat of Nicole's body, tentative and slow, but Nicole is patient. She's always patient.
If someone had asked Waverly Earp years prior where her home was, she would have said Purgatory, or the Homestead, or wherever she and Wynonna may be together at one time. If that same person asked her again now, with her current situation, she'd answer with Nicole's arms. Nicole's warmth. Nicole.
It's as though she needs that home, that air, more than anything and ever before.
The first touch of Nicole's hand on her body again is on her waist. It's gentle, delicate, so soft she isn't even certain it's there for a moment. But it slides around her, to her lower back, pulling their bodies closer.
"Is this okay?" Nicole whispers, lips against her forehead and she leans into it, too, which is the positive sign she was searching for. A smile plays at her lips and she nods, arms reaching to huddle closer, to circle Nicole's torso and press against her chest, to listen to her heartbeat and have it lull her to sleep. Waverly isn't a pessimist, no, she's the most positive person anyone knows, but she's still surprised—grateful—but surprised that it's still beating. Nicole had risked too much for her, and everyday she thanks her in any motion she can.
Waverly nods again, speaking softly, muffled against Nicole's chest. "I'm okay."
Nicole's fingers card through her hair, ever so gentle, and Waverly practically purrs at the feeling. There's a wave of guilt that overwhelms it though, only present for a second, but if she were standing she would've been knocked, forced to drop to the floor and curl.
"I'm so sorry, Nicole," she mumbles. "I'm so, so, so sorry, baby."
Nicole jolts quickly. Waverly can feel the way her chest moves when she breathes so quickly, in so much distress, upset, and there's a very quiet, very slight gasp there, too, she thinks.
"Waverly, look at me." Nicole pulls back an inch or so, only so much that she can allow Waverly to move and look her in the eye. "Look at me, please."
Waverly does, and she's almost certain there's a tear on Nicole's cheek.
"I understand, baby, I do. You have nothing to apologise for, okay? Nothing at all." She cups Waverly's cheek, thumb running across the flush of it, red from the heat of earlier activities and a little bit of embarrassment, Nicole thinks. Wrongly so, of course. "Did I do anything? Was it me? Did I-"
"No!" Waverly says quickly, one hand moving to grab Nicole's arm in reassurance. "I promise it isn't you, it was just…I don't even…"
"There doesn't need to be a reason, sweetheart." Fingers brush her cheek, tuck hair behind her ear and rest gentle on her neck. "You tell me to stop, or even just imply that you need me to stop, and I'll stop. That's how simple it is, and I promise you that. I'll never keep going." Nicole hasn't stopped looking at her, searching for anything else she might find in her expression because she's perceptive and knows her better than anyone, Wynonna even, and a single look of worry or doubt or guilt would be picked up on immediately.
But there's nothing, and a wave of relief that Waverly is okay floods her.
"Do you want me to put the kettle on?"
"If it means you having to leave this bed? Under no circumstances. Tea can wait."
It's not the first time Waverly's used the safeword and it's not the last time she will either, but there's nothing to complain about when she's curled against Nicole's side comfortable in her own assurity.
Nicole laughs, soft and quiet, and Waverly leans into it, presses her lips to Nicole's in a delicate kiss, and another and another, until they're both smiling to much for their mouths to touch. Waverly nestles back into her chest, noses along her clavicle and rests. Nicole can't wipe the smile off her face, and a final kiss to her forehead marks as a goodnight, as an okay, as an understanding of what they'd experienced together. It marks their connection, their shared love that always shines brighter than even Waverly does on her best days.
It marks them, and that's what's important.