Author's Note: Uhhh. Yeah. Okay I don't know about this one...something about it doesn't seem 'right' to me...I can't explain it other than to say that I'm not 100% happy with it but I'll let you guys be the judge, now. :) It's mildly smutty and I know I didn't do the 'please fuck me' scene justice...but there it is. Enjoy! :) "Let's Talk About Sex, Baby."

She didn't know what made them think of it. It wasn't like they were that couple who got mushy and sentimental at two in the morning, both awake, both for reasons that were elusive now and seemed stupid in the light of opening their eyes.

They weren't that couple who reminisced about the best of the best or the worst of the worst, laying next to each other, facing the ceiling, brains plagued with the forgotten tasks of the day.

Whether that meant they'd been neglected on purpose, like cleaning the bathroom – Lorna, one-year, seven months post-prison, now hated the chore with a passion, just because she could, because she had a choice, or vacuuming the threadbare carpets in their apartment, all of one bedroom in the ragtag part of Queens.

Or tasks that legitimately slipped their minds – like picking Anya up from daycare (if the teenaged goody-goody they paid minimum wage to constituted as a daycare) even if it was one time, and no more, promise, Lorna was never, ever going to let Nicky live it down. It was a permanent black spot on her Mommy Record. Shame on you.

It remained though, that they weren't that couple. It was a fact. A well-known fact. The damn Vause-Chapman's were proud to be that couple (and yes, those two legally changed their name after Vause got out, and yes, Nicky laughed until she gagged, and Lorna put a hand to her heart and awed for five minutes straight).

It was just how it was. And the life of Nicky Nichols and Lorna Morello, was nothing like that.

For starters, although the name Nicky Nichols made Nicky violently cringe from the inside out, Nicky Morello wasn't much better, it didn't put that thump-thump inside her chest like she'd thought it would for years, and instead made her grimace, and Lorna was adamant that changing her name would be a disservice to her family and to Morellos everywhere, although Nicky had a hunch that there was enough in the world that they wouldn't be missing one.

Nicky also didn't force her though, because they weren't that couple either. Or so they'd like to think.

As it turns out, both women were shoddy judges of character, but as past criminals, was that really a surprise? No. It wasn't.

Just as it wasn't a surprise that tonight, after Anya was down, when Nicky tried to initiate a little something (sex, she tried to initiate sex, let's not sugar coat it here, folks) and Lorna grunted, literally grunted, like some socially obtuse boyfriend – which by the way, as Nicky pointed out, she did not sign up for - and turned to her other side.

Nicky also pointed out that Vause never had to go through this with Chapman, which was mistake number one. Lorna's words were cold, straight-to-the-point, accompanied by a glare, 'Piper and Alex aren't raising a baby in their terrible twos and neither one of them is four months pregnant.'

Was she stupid? She had to have been, that, or Nicky was so desperate to get herself laid that she just ignored the threatening ire to Lorna's voice. She tried again. Dumb.

"But, babe, you're so hot when you're pregnant…even hotter than you normally are."

So dumb.

"Leave me alone, Nicky. I'm exhausted."

Lorna sighed, doing nothing else extra to acknowledge her presence there beside her.

Nope. Nuh-uh. Nichols doesn't get the brush off. She does the brushing off. Even where her wife was concerned.

"But baby, really, I can't resist you, you know that…you're like – you're like the head cheerleader and I'm the quarterback…"

Nicky began combing her fingers through Lorna's hair, her voice heavy with sex, twirling strands around and around, with her mouth purposefully positioned near her ear, speaking slowly, seductively, like they were the leading roles in a film noir.

Again, Lorna grunted. "You've really been watching too many movies."

Ah. There was the bait. Hook, line and sinker. Except, it didn't really work that way. Lorna was the unwitting one. But also, the one who'd dangled the bait so that made Nicky the fish and – oh, never mind. Idioms were stupid.

"Just one. The kind that never, ever ends."

As she was saying this, Nicky began trailing kisses down Lorna's body, from her chest and all the way down her legs. She'd gotten to just below her pelvic bone– she wasn't hasty, could never be hasty with her girl because if she was, it would be a guaranteed end; Lorna wasn't cheap, she wasn't a hussy, and if she felt like she was being treated as such, she'd shut you down faster than you could even think about getting blue clit.

Like blue balls. Except, you know, for women. With that glorious bundle of nerves. Fun fact, the clitoral plate is the size of a fucking dinner plate.

Nicky had told Lorna that once, after a particularly rough and tumble roll around in bed that had them both goners not long after they'd started, and she'd went red. She was so embarrassed and sweaty with that after-sex glow, which made Nicky pin her back down to the bed and fuck her clean of any and all reservations she'd had about discussing her needs.

For fuck sakes, all women had them, some were just more vocal about it than others. After that, Lorna was very vocal. She couldn't afford not to be. If she didn't say what she wanted, Nicky wouldn't give it to her. Simple.

Right now, for example, she was being very clear about her needs. Sleep. It was not the first time Nicky refused to give it to her. Some would say that this was going back on her word– ask and you shall receive – but she saw it as an opportunity. When her wish wasn't being respected, Lorna got upset. She got angry.

That was when they had their best.

"Fu-fuck, Nicky! Just let me sleep, alright? Baby needs sleep. I need sleep. We all need sleep!"

Lorna shoved her over to her own side and before Nicky could protest, she put a body pillow between them. She didn't say anything else, not 'goodnight', not 'I love you, hon' or 'stay on your own side or the next body part of yours that tries to come at me is getting cut off.'

That one was her personal favorite. And that's also how she knew that it wasn't really over.

Score.

"You know," she whispered into Lorna's ear, leaning her elbow on the body pillow between them and making an indent. It was less for comfort and more to piss Lorna off. "Angry sex is our best sex."

"What!?" Lorna turned to face her, glowering at her arm on the pillow. Like Nicky knew she would. "It is not! What would that say about our relationship, huh?"

Nicky shrugged, a glimmer in her eye. This was really riling her up. Better than expected. Nice job, Nichols Your prize is great sex tonight. Ata girl.

"Lots of things," she said. "Let's calm down for a minute and think about it, shall we? A little walk down memory lane? Clear our heads."

See, terrible judge of character. Tremendously shitty. They were now that couple, laying in bed, late at night, side by side but not touching. Talking. Talking about the past with this particular, pressing fondness to try and get a handle on things. To get back to where things were.

They were like a couple on the eve of signing their divorce papers, or the couple discussing the possibility of different living arrangements, or how to tell the kids about their impending separation. This though, was not that. This was all sexual. And it wasn't about what went wrong and where, it was about what was not happening. And why.

"Jesus, Nicky," Lorna moaned, crushing the pillow over her head. "I just want to fucking sleep. Pussy licking can wait until tomorrow. Really, it can."

Pussy licking. It was headless. It was crude. It was incredibly naughty. And Lorna was a bitch. A fucking bitch. Whom she loved dearly, honestly and truly.

She had no right to say those words, in that order, in that context, to her right now. And she knew that, too,

"The fact that you used those words to describe what we so love to do when our baby – babies – are asleep proves to me that you know, Lorn, you know, that it can't. So why lie?"

"Fuck, Nicky, I'm not lyin. I just fucking need fucking sleep. It's been a long day. You know Anya's had a cold for days now. She's barely sleeping. I'm barely sleeping because she's barely sleeping. Fucking let me sleep, alright?"

Nicky raised her eyebrows. There was this look in Lorna's eyes that was just skimming along the surface of the mild contempt she held. It dilated her pupils and made the green speck hidden in her irises intensify.

It said that she was ready for the taking. It was calling her out on her utter bullshit that spewed from those childishly red lips. Smudged in one corner and the color half gone. Still hot as fuck though. All of it together was…well, that's what it was.

"That was a lot of fucks. I'd say someone has something on the brain, hm?"

An eyeroll.

"Come on, Lorn," Nicky volleyed, "let's just have a little chat. Circle some memories for awhile, yeah? I've barely talked to you all day and this is how you treat me?"

"Fine," Lorna agreed, and it took all she had not to jump for joy.

"Okay, so, lets do this. I can count on one hand the times we've had angry sex. Well, let me rephrase, the times we've had angry sex and actually got off doing it."

"When have we ever not – "

"That's besides the point," Nicky interjected, waving her hand. "Help me out here."

"What – no, I have no idea which times you could be referring to."

"Yeah, you do, kid. Come on, think about it. I'll start us off. Litchfield. Make Out Alley."

"We weren't angry when we – "

"Oh yes we were," Nicky nodded her head. "Trust me. When Red paired us off to look for a place to redo the garden?"

Lorna copied her nod, but it was slower. "Right. Sweet N Low. I remember now."

There was a slight smile, well, more of a smirk, upturning the corners of her lips just a little. Teasing.

Nicky nuzzled her neck, kissed the edge of that smirk. "Yeah, you do."

...

Lorna remembered that one well. The way Nicky had all but forced her against the shed, with just enough strength so she could get out of the situation if she really wanted to. When her hand dove into Lorna's khakis it wasn't playing. She wasn't playing.

Her fingertips reached just where they needed to, fondling over the spot just where they should've been and – no. That's not right. They shouldn't have been and even now, she feels guilty, even after her and Vinny's separation, because holy hell, as Nicky's lips ghosted over hers and her hand resumed its deliberate, territory-marking, target-practice motions, there was almost a moment of letting go.

As Nicky pushed one way, causing her spine to press harder into the shed and her vision to blacken with lust, Lorna pushed back, pushed her away, screamed at her because there was no other way. It was one extreme or the other.

They fought. Nicky pushed her, sent her into the fence. She didn't push back. Knew in her heart of hearts that while she would lay a hand on her, she would never hurt her. Not for real. She attacked her in her most vulnerable of places, cursing that brain of hers that was hellbent on destroying her, destroying every ounce of happiness that she could ever have, and it wasn't like she didn't know that, so Lorna fought harder. Her addiction. Junkie. Unreliable. Liar.

It was all so fucked up. Mentally, she was fucked up. Nicky not all that much better. Once they'd drained their voices, exhausted their anger, with Nicky going the direct route, telling her just how fucked up she was, and while acknowledging it, Lorna made sure that she knew that she was just as fucked up. It was just a little less debilitating.

Both of them had ruined their lives, by past decisions and current ones, and the difference was, one of them could stop.

Nicky had curved her addiction, gotten clean, started fresh, more than once. There was the proof. Where was the proof where she was concerned, huh?

Nicky never asked the question but there it was. The answer was nowhere. No how. The only way she could be free of this was to get a fucking brain transplant. And she didn't trust the fucking placebo doctors in here, no way.

In the heavy-breathed silence, Nicky asked another question. "Wonder if she's got family?"

She said that she'd imagined her own mother getting that call, debated what was the better option, self-infliction or dying as helplessly as Poussey did.

Right then, Lorna knew that while the substance itself was out of her system, its abuse would never be. It would attack, attack, attack, until…until…nothing.

Until she was nothing but a person whose addiction played her until she could think of nothing else. Regret of not quitting earlier. Or getting her shit together quicker. As if it was so easy. As if she really cared enough to try. She'd had no one to do it for.

Because the one person she did have pulled away from her like she was a hot iron. A sexy hot iron. But that was besides the point, and now, the guilt she felt over Vinny, over her husband, and the cheating, was nothing compared to the guilt she now felt for leaving Nicky to drown at the hands of her own self destruction. Lorna knew what that felt like. She did.

"Well that's like asking if it would hurt less to get your leg cut off or your arm."

If Nicky left her with silence, she'd stand her ground. She'd find that strength, and its intensity she'd possessed only minutes ago and walk away. If she answered, if she said anything, anything at all, even a hm that said she was thinking about it, for real, then there was no way. She wouldn't walk away. Couldn't.

"You're leg, obviously."

And this time, it was Nicky with her back pressed against a hard surface – the fence – as Lorna kissed her, put all of her weight onto her, not giving her the same wiggle room Nicky had been so gracious as to grant her.

There was no time for that. Lorna knew this was what she wanted, what Nicky wanted, and now, not giving in, fooling around with her famed platitudes of 'I'm married' and 'we can't' was stupid. Dumb.

If they weren't quick about it, Red, or someone, Alex or Piper, maybe, would catch 'em or better yet, Lorna would have time to process her regret. Or lack thereof.

"Shit, Nicky, am I a terrible person?"

"Nah, kid," Nicky breathed out, heavily against her chest, her hair the only thing she could smell.

Citrus shampoo that was so not Nicky even if she tried – she'd likely stolen hers again, but Lorna would let it slide – and some odorous, but oddly not bothersome combination of salt and fresh air. Sweat.

"You're not."

Lorna applied more pressure with the heel of her palm, which made Nicky's breath hitch as she tried to speak again, slower, as if what she was feeling, the sensations of her physical body, were a resisting force, pushing the words back down her throat.

"You just know when to quit. A luxury that abated me – a junky addict liar – from the moment this fucking wonderful world showed its true colors. I couldn't live in it. Not without something to get me through."

Lorna sighed into her hair, lips pressed against her scalp, her hand poised to get her there. And then, that was it. It was over.

"It's you, kid," Nicky blubbered with this unfamiliar nakedness, her voice stark but small so that it was almost juvenile. One last breath. Shaky and deep. "You get me through."

The two of them shared a real kiss after that, holding each other's cheeks in their palms as though their skin was dandelion fuzz, to be blown haphazardly in amongst the garden with one, subtle, brush of the wind. They were cautious, aware of each and every sleight of hand, the most prominent being one working conscience, the both of them knowing well who it belonged to.

...

"Oh!" Lorna exclaimed suddenly now, her voice a shrill whisper in the dark. She grabbed Nicky's hands and put her right one against her left boob. "I told you to take care of your patient, remember?"

Nicky laughed, giving her breast a squeeze. "Ha. Right. Actually, if I remember correctly, and I do, because it is my favorite memory of all time – well one of my favorites – you said, 'fuck me.' Actually, you said 'please fuck me.'

Lorna laughed too. "And you did. But were you still mad at me then?"

Nicky clucked her tongue, pushed a stray strand of hair behind Lorna's ear with a smirk. "Oh, doll, I was pissed. But who am I to refuse a lady in need?"

...

Lorna knew the dream was out of the ordinary. She'd never lusted after mammals before, nor was she planning on starting now, but still, she couldn't shake the feeling that the blowhole was a metaphor - right? Or was it something else like a – uh – similie? She got those ones confused a lot, honestly. Was it a – she'd go with metaphor – for something else. For someone else.

Vinny would never go down on her. Said it gave him the creeps to be at eye-level with a – with a – ahem – a vagina. Lorna couldn't help it. She blushed profusely. Even the thought of the word made her lose her grip. It had always made Nicky laugh. Nicky. Of course.

So, she had decided to find Nicky, to tell her about the dream, in hopes that with her therapist mojo she could deduce it for her. Deduce her worst fears. Was that even the right way to say that? Oh well, she couldn't care less, now. Nicky would know. But Nicky wasn't here. Where was she?

It was not a metaphor. Or, it was, but it was more like a metaphor for her needs. It wasn't her wants – no sir – because if it was, she'd have to grapple with that and scold herself again and again until her thoughts were of her husband and only her husband and God help her, she had no time for that now, not in the middle of this riot, and especially not with Nicky's mouth placed firmly between her legs.

Not that she liked it. All that much. But then her mouth moved a certain way and lips suckled on a certain spot, and Lorna had cried out - fuck me – actually cried it, that wasn't an exaggeration and she knew that because she could hear herself and felt the god damn vibrations of Nicky's laughter and seriously, both things were turning her on so much more than she cared to admit.

There was something about being taken care of this way, she had discovered, taken care of sexually like this, by a woman, that was so different than being with a man. The first time she'd been with Nicky it had taken her by surprise, the second time less so, and as it got to be routine, she'd found a primal beauty in it.

For starters, a woman's mouth was softer, daintier, knew that part of you in a way that no man could ever even dream, and something about that, about that tenderness, that staggering certainty, left her breathless each and every time.

This time, their sex had started differently. This time, they had both been goaded by the other but not teased. Both were crystal clear in their intentions, but she was weak. She had always been weak. Ever since she was a little girl. It was better to give in than to fight. To beg and be given than to say nothing and get nothing in return.

So, when Nicky asked her, her voice low and grumbly, but still with that same slickness that often made her inhibitions turn to dust – "you beggin' me?' Lorna felt like her entire body was on fire, with Nicky's hands all over her, with her breath hot against her face, asking her again, and right then, there was no other answer than the one that she knew Nicky wanted to hear.

Weak. Spineless. Like a sea-urchin.

"Jellyfish," Nicky mumbled into her ear after it was over. Her breath, while it was still warm, was way less intense than it had been before this all started. The urgency was gone. The passion, a faded flame, with nothing left but whirls of smoke that carried a faint fragrance of unwashed bodies and humidity. "Jellyfish don't have spines. Spineless like a jellyfish. That's the expression."

Well, whatever the expression was, she was certainly that. It wasn't only that she'd had sex with Nicky, oh no, that wasn't the greatest offense. It was that she'd thoroughly enjoyed it.

When their clothes were off, thrown somewhere haphazardly in the room, Lorna was quick to grab onto anything, anything warm, anything soft, hands grazing along a supple chest, her supple chest, while lips, her lips, lazily kissed along her jawline, the aggression, the heat, channeled elsewhere.

Her hands were quick, rough in a different sense of the word, smooth and determined. They weren't dry or calloused, but soft and petite, the furthest thing from a man. The furthest thing from her husband. From Vinny.

With each sigh and moan that spilled out from her lips, she thought less about Vinny, cared much less about the lipstick whose pigment made unattractive rug rash across her chin, and hers now, too, because who did she wear that stuff for anyways?

Christopher, sure, maybe she had been, as she clung desperately to a ghost of a man who was never really there, but then who, before Vinny? Certainly not Nicky. She never cared for the stuff, for the choice that femininity suddenly becomes when you're gay – a lesbian – she never knew a way to say it that didn't make her seem gauche. So, who then?

So, she'd let Nicky kiss it away, because it didn't matter, did it? Not when she was with her. She knew that Nicky would think that she was still fucking hot even with a paper bag over her head and a potato rug sack over her body. Because she loved her. And today, right now, that was more than enough. It was what she needed.

Just before she came, she held on for a minute longer than usual to really look at the woman before her. The woman who would and did drop to her knees, quite literally, to give her everything she asked for and ever would ask for, without a second thought. It was just who she was. And she was so beautiful.

She had the hair of a skinny pinprick of a teenager, had the eyes of a loveless, strung out club-crawler, the mouth of a pensive old man, complete with the eyebrow creases. At first glance, in her bland prison mandated kakis with balled up fists and an intense stare you could never tell was sarcastic or not, she was, if anything, intimidating.

Until you looked past all that. Until you get to know the girl who's underneath it all. That girl, that woman, as cheesy as it may sound, is beautiful. When she lets you see that she's self-conscious, that she's sometimes vulnerable and sad and every other emotion in the rainbow, that she's human, too.

There's a special look she has, reserved for unadulterated happiness, that forms dimples that reach her eyes and a laugh that bursts free and reaches her soul, and its honestly and truly, the most beautiful expression that settles on her face for only a fleeting moment or two, but never makes a home. But Lorna gets to see it now, as she flails and withers, comes completely undone at the mouth of yours truly. Seeing it almost makes her come again. And then she does, louder than the first time, and it doesn't take either of them by surprise.

Besides, what happens in a riot, stays in a riot. She's heard that saying somewhere. Somewhere else. Was it –

"Vegas, baby," Nicky answers for her, kissing her hotly on the mouth once more. "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. And this shithole," she gestures around them, at the screaming commotion from their vintage point of the floor in another, sealed off, room. "Is our Vegas."

...

Lorna sighed, snuggled into her chest. "You know what I've noticed?"

Nicky shrugged, wrapping her arms more firmly around her. "What's that, babe?"

"That its not angry sex. It's not our best. We don't pull each other's hair, call each other bitches and fuck faces or nothing like that."

Nicky laughed, closing Lorna's hand in her fist. Like she would their little girl's. Only difference was she didn't blow raspberries into her wife's hand like she would Anya's.

Man, their little Kisa sure loved it. And suddenly, even though she was asleep in the very next room with a fistful of drool and her ducky to keep her company, Nicky missed her.

She shook her head, said the next thing that had come to her mind because if she didn't, she'd end up asking Lorna to go wake her up and bring her to sleep in their room. For the third consecutive night. She knew that it wasn't a healthy sleeping arrangement for a two-and-a-half-year-old who was already wreaking havoc in pursuit to be free of her crib, and so, she pushed the sudden yearning aside.

"You've been talking with Vause a little too often, haven't you?"

Nicky smirked, giving a light tug on Lorna's curls just for fun. And she smiled too, batting her hand away but then intertwined their fingers as soon as Nicky's hand hit the bed again.

"Nah, just an observation."

"Is that right. Well, tell me, Ms. Morello, what else have you observed about our sex life?"

"That it's love. It's not anger. We don't yell, we don't scream, none of that. Haven't you noticed, talking about it now, that we don't fight during sex? Our sex always comes after. It's like an apology."

"So…" Nicky hummed, "it's make - up sex."

Lorna shook her head.

"No. It's not. See, we fight. Big. Nasty, sometimes. And then we're silent and sullen or whatever and then we take a minute to breathe. And it's not totally an apology, out loud anyway, but you do something subtle or I do, like link my arm through yours, or you grab my hand and look at me a certain way and it's done. Sometimes there's words, sometimes there's not and that's when the sex happens. Those times are our best."

Nicky thought about it for a minute. Looked back on those times, by the greenhouse, during the riot, and agreed. There was something about them. Something deeper and more appreciative than the others. It was like, in their movements and their whispers, they would remember what losing each other feels like, and think that they'd never have to go through it. Because right now, they're intertwined.

She sighed, but it was blissful, and listened to Lorna squeal as she rolled her onto her back and was hovering above her in less than three seconds flat. It was a gift.

"So," she asked her, a grin on her face. "You think this will be one of our best?"

Lorna giggled, reaching up to push a piece of hair that had fallen into her face behind her ear. Her breathing was loud. Heavy. "Kiss me and find out."