Hello! Here I am with another Nichorello fic. It's probably the smuttiest one yet. So, read at your own discretion. :) This is the beginning of my writing prompts so we'll see how this goes, when the inspiration is given to me by somebody else. Here's the first one:
Prompt: If you do smut what about Lorna being shy at first but then becomes comfortable and really shows her dominant and kinky side for Nicky?
I liked writing it. So, there's that. Let me know if you enjoy it and anon, I hope this is to your liking. I hope I did your prompt justice. :) 'So Good.'
In the chapel for the first time, she feels like God is watching, judging, has never touched another girl before, doesn't know what to do.
She's watching Nicky and Nicky's watching her, a bemused expression on her face and then Lorna trains her gaze to the ceiling, the skylight, the stained glass, and then comments on it, purely for something to say, because if she doesn't talk she might explode.
Sexual tension like this was unfamiliar to her, although, whether or not its entirely unwelcome is a question she has yet to answer for herself.
Finally, because she can't take it anymore, because she wants to freaking kiss that cute, little Gossip Girl smirk right off of her mouth, because she wants to feel those thick, beautiful curls in between her fingertips, as she tugs and tugs and tugs, she speaks.
"I don't know how to do it, Nicky. I wanna make you feel good, you know, cause ah, you, ah, deserve it, I think, I mean, I like you, you know, as a friend and all that and uh – "
She was talking too much now but couldn't make herself stop. She didn't know how to explain how important Nicky was to her, what she was to her, right now, in this moment. Was she just a friend? A friend that came with sex? A girlfriend? But no, no, no, no. She had Christopher. And she wasn't gay.
She'd never let another woman touch her, although they'd tried, and thinking about another woman touching her didn't take her body places she hadn't known it could go until her early twenties, when Franny set her up with this guy from her work and his hand brushed across her pelvic area when he was reaching for her hip.
She'd felt this weird little jolt and it didn't stop jolting until his hands were off of her and he'd driven away from her in his car. She had almost told him to go back, to stop kissing her, release the hard grip on her hip and touch her there again, but for longer and with purpose this time.
She didn't and so he never did, a nice Catholic girl and a nice Catholic boy. There would be no mention of it again. It was a mistake, a mistake that she fantasized about for nights and mornings afterwards, even though that too, was a mistake. A sinful, sinful, mistake.
Lust was that. Lust was sinful. The cross she wore around her neck was her sign of her devotion, even as this place, this ugly, dark place, stripped away everything else. Her relationship with God would get her through, she believed that, and it would take her places, many, many places, after she was out of here. Maybe she would go to school, become a fancy lawyer or doctor or something, but then, what about the kids? Who would make dinner for them? For Christopher, after his long, hard day at the office? Yes, God would guide her to be the best housewife she could be.
Since she was a little girl, that was her dream, she'd stare at the television, her sister bored beside her, her mother reading a magazine absently, and tell herself that Leave it to Beaver had nothing on her. Nothing on Miss Lorna Morello.
But right before her eyes, her dream was wavering, lost in the mirage that was this very pretty woman.
Lost in her eyes, ringed messily with mascara, teasing now, but cautious, waiting, as though she was expecting Lorna to leap up at any moment and run from the church - as if she knew what her mind was screaming at her and that her religion, which she'd kept guarded all her life, was pleading with her; lost in her hair which carried with it a sweet, sleepy, lavender, mingling with cigarette smoke and the unpleasant scent of mildew in the chapel, although neither had the power to seduce her completely; lost in her face, softly painted with freckles that had no rhyme or reason, a constellation along her temple, a trio of spots across the bridge of her nose, and one, lone, dot above her upper lip and suddenly, Lorna couldn't fight the urge to kiss it, to glide her mouth gently over her philtrum, catch the moan that spilled from her lips at the back of her throat.
"Wow, kid," Nicky breathed out after she'd let her bottom lip spring free from the confines of her teeth. She was a bit of a biter, most of her boyfriends, most men, had found it hot, and sexy, unexpected, but she had no idea what a woman's opinion of it would be, what she would think of it. Maybe she didn't want to know. She didn't think her self-esteem could take it. "You're a great kisser."
Lorna sat back from her, now haunch on her knees; she could feel her eyes moving back and forth, searching, blip, blip, blip. She could see Nicky's slow-moving grin, could feel her teeth and tongue as she reciprocated her kiss, a kiss that now seemed like it happened a lifetime ago.
"Really?"
The kiss had felt natural, and it was even more natural to be on the receiving end of it, which felt right, but she had to know, and so did Nicky, that it was wrong. Really, really, wrong. Right? Agh, it's all so confusing. And Lorna hated confusing. Didn't fare well with it.
Even her sister could see that, said that she was a gullible little girl and somehow it had become as closely paired with who she was as her religion – for all of her life she was a gullible little Catholic girl who wore collared shirts and tunics with knee socks to school, a scrunchie in her hair with a face as fresh as winter's first snowfall, and for the first time in her life, she desired to be someone else.
Someone who was daring, wild, and one whole step ahead. She didn't want to be wet behind the ears no more, just like Nicky had called her once, or twice, maybe more, with 'kid' thrown in there, sweet as cherry pie. Kid, kid, kid.
That word held so much power, could change the tune of anything Nichols could and has said to her. Made it seem like whatever she was saying had the best of intentions, couldn't be refuted, was only said out of love and not malice. It made her feel taken care of, solaced, not coddled or patronized like a clueless child. It made her weak in the knees. And now was no exception, either.
"Yeah, really. What's the matter, kid? You've never kissed another person before or something?"
"No, I've just never kissed a woman before," Lorna nearly sputtered, choking on the word like it was making her throat swell and compromising her breathing, "or something."
"Oh yeah?" Nicky cocked her head at her, licked her lips, opened and shut her mouth. "Well I don't bite…as hard as you do, anyway."
And now she was winking and doing this thing, this thing with her eyebrows and her lips, a subtle raise, creating the smallest ripple in the skin of her forehead, a subtle bite, sinking her teeth in, soft, slow, and Jesus take the wheel because she may as well have been mouthing the words fuck me, fuck me now, and Lorna was frozen.
Until finally, her mouth could move, in answer to a challenge that Nicky had never issued outright. Did she want her to? "I don't know how to do it."
Nicky smirked, tilted her head up towards the ceiling and back, looking again at Lorna, her face blank now, impassive, almost. When she smiled again, as if to put her at ease about the whole thing, the shock of it, of her features changing like that so abruptly, and just the plain reminder of how lovely that smile of hers was, so lovely, Stevie Wonder should have written a song about it, made her silent again. As it widened some, she couldn't help but think to herself that maybe he had.
"You know that saying, treat others how you wish to be treated?"
A nod. Tentative. Unsure. Like maybe she didn't know.
"Yeah?"
A smirk. Or was it a smile? Genuine. Wholesome. It had no place here, behind this altar, where two people were readying themselves for sexual acts. Was sex the same, with a woman? Was it even called that? Or was it something softer, less volatile than the word fucking suggests?
She had a feeling that with Nicky, it wasn't.
"You know what you're doing, I know you do. Don't hold out on me now, kid."
She'd find out soon enough. Wouldn't she?
And then Nicky was kissing her again, full force, her hand against her chest, pushing on it, her other one holding her cheek, her mouth taking from her every ounce of air and giving it back all in the same frenetic second, and in that moment no matter how hard she tried, to say no, to say stop, to say this isn't right, we'renot right, Lorna still couldn't breathe.
When her strength returned to her, Lorna pushed back, sent her falling into the altar, and she was without grace but not without beauty – hair a billowy mess, sticking to her face in hot, sweaty patches, glowing with excretion and the promise of sex, her lips red and chapped, her makeup still as it was before this all started –fuck, how does she do that? How does she look so – so – Lorna didn't know how to describe how she looked, now or without the circumstance.
She was just Nicky. And Nicky wasn't just anything, just cute, just pretty, just beautiful, just funny, just coy, and boy, oh boy, was she not just shy. Nicky was a plethora of things melded together. Nicky would often call her a hurricane, and maybe it was for the same reasons, but still, Lorna was not thinking about herself. She was the hurricane. Unpredictable, unprecedented, a force to be reckoned with, one to take cover from but not to challenge. A wind that both burned your skin and soothed it, sometimes in the same breath.
She had power. She was powerful. And Lorna was scared of that, terrified. Nicky Nichols, right now, nearly naked and breathless in front of her, could sweep her into the air, take her off of her feet and make her fly, and never, ever, let her touch the ground again. She could love a woman, and - she stopped, barely breathed, because in the silence of everything but the steady pattern, Lorna thought she could hear God's admonishment.
It didn't stop her though, not this time. This time, she pretended there was no one there, no one except her and Nicky, as she tore her clothes off of her body, just barely restraining herself enough not to use her teeth, which may or may not have really impressed, but there would be other opportunities for that, she couldn't help but thinking, with this untamed smirk on her face and silvery glint in her eye.
Her own reflection in Nicky's eyes was sexy, dishevelled and immune, she was thoughtless and dizzy with light-headedness. The risk. It made her blood run hot and her kisses even hotter. Dotted along her skin like the burn of a cigarette, marking abuse as they tore further down her body, anything but gentle around her groin and inner thighs. Nicky was moaning and groaning and hissing and cussing up a storm, and when her name, Lorna, left those swollen lips in vain, fucking Christ, Lorn, she was on top of the world.
When she tried to kiss her back even harder, her fingers prying and pleading, her mouth overtaking her own, her tongue sweet, her lips even sweeter, Lorna almost let her. It was such an otherworldly sensation; in one second her mouth is pressed to hers in a kiss and in another its pressed between her legs, and then, fuck, she's tasting herself and its not as disgusting as she expected, and maybe its even turning her on.
Now Nicky's breath is on her hair, and she's sure she can smell the deep aroma of citrus and lavender and mildew and sex that's enshrouded their clothes and skin, and itsdelicious, a melding of their two scents and one they've made together, tinged with sweat and the staleness of breath. It was almost intoxicating, giving her the spins, and preventing her from thought. It was just one word in her mind, over and over. Nicky, Nicky, Nicky, oh, Nicky…
"Let me fuck you, will you?" Her breath is heavy, nearly begging, and Lorna can't help but revel in it. She wants to be, needs to be, but still, even after all this, she's nervous.
Now, she's trailing kisses up and down the side of her face, and its an oddly lustful action and Lorna can't help but make sounds of approval, feeling Nicky pause at the corner of her mouth and chuckle, and Lorna's one thought is that if she turns her head just a little to the left…and then she does; and Nicky's making a harrumph of surprise as her teeth bite softly into the flesh of her tongue, and then her fingers, at their own volition, surprising even herself, make their way, and then she's there, and its warm, wet, very wet, and coating her fingers but it's a pleasant feeling.
Her mouth leaves hers, encouraged now by the sighs that are more like groans and the hums that are probably words that she can't articulate right now, and latches onto the pinky flesh of her nipple. And after a minute or two, the other.
"Holy fuck, mmm, Lorn you are – so good..."
Nicky's eyes are shut tight, so tight that the skin there is nearly translucent, and she could almost see the whites of her eyes as they rolled back into her head. Her face is hot with this raw heat, perspiration snaking down her cheeks and across her forehead, and for so long, for her entire adult life, she'd thought that nobody could look remotely attractive like that, because sweat wasn't pretty, but she was noticing now that there was more to it than that; it was something almost celestial, and for a moment that didn't last, she felt bad for thinking of it that way, the glow of Nicky's face in the light of her ministrations. So good.
"And you, my love, are so, fucking beautiful."
She was distracted for a minute, as Nicky came in bright flashes of exclamations and expletives, and it was another thing altogether, different from what she was used to, different from what she called ejaculation, pump and done, it was so much more of what she could only describe as a production.
Lorna watched as Nicky's limbs constricted, spasmed, and it was as if her mind just stalled, waiting for her body to catch up because there was no speaking, and if not for the sporadic sounds of reaction, husky and guttural, there would be silence, because she too, was rendered speechless.
Her body relaxed then, slumped against the altar, her head laid back, her features drawn, tired, but there was a small, appreciative smile. Lorna couldn't help but draw over it with her fingers, the flesh of her lips warm and chapped.
Before Nicky could say anything, Lorna leaned forward and buried her face into her hair, feeling damp tendrils tickling her cheeks and nose. She shut her eyes against that overwhelming scent, still suffocating them, making her feel drunk and elated, giddier than she has ever been before. She almost laughed. Nicky's breathing was steady again, warm against her back, now a welcomed sensation in the chill of the chapel, which she hadn't noticed before. My love.
That was what she'd said. In that moment of grandeur, she called Nicky Nichols her love, and she couldn't take it back without sounding stupid. She didn't think she really wanted to, either. It sounded comforting, the term of endearment, it made her feel like she had someone she could rely on. She stared up inconspicuously at the ceiling of the chapel, the artwork, the stained glass, her gaze flitting briefly to the confessional. Even if that someone was a woman.
She met Nicky's eyes then, round and large with euphoria and satisfaction. She smiled, and Lorna smiled back, leaving one last, if anticlimactic, kiss to her lips.
"Well, that was fun, sweetheart. Let's do it again sometime."
She was shocked at her sudden boldness, at her brashness, and even more so at her immediate, unmistakable desire to do this again. She couldn't admit anything to herself, not yet, so that would have to do, for now.
Nicky smirked in response, pulled her back down against her body and kissed her head.
"You got it, kid. Same place, same time?"
Lorna managed a nod against the current of tiredness that had began to tug at her and could hear Nicky's chuckle as she carded her hands through her hair, and it almost sounded as though it were in admiration. She did good. So good.