[ In an even more perfect set of circumstances, the house would be fully empty, all other occupants removed elsewhere save for the ones who linger together in the master bedroom upstairs, and he could moan to his heart's content; maybe she'd even let herself be a little more vocal in the expression of the pleasure she receives by doing this, by satisfying him in turn. But they have more than who's in this room to consider now and there's almost more of a thrill in the knowledge that they need to keep it down, the risk of being overheard accompanying even the slightest adjustment of weight against the mattress. Even so much as the smallest creaking could give them away.
She glances up beneath the momentary fall of her hair and uses one hand to sweep it out of her face, wanting an unobstructed view of him — and that does not disappoint, his lips silently parting to release a sigh into the air as he blinks dazedly a handful of times, probably bringing his world back into focus a little more and her along with it, kneeling in front of him as her head bobs repetitively.
The softness of his repeated swear prompts a small laugh, more of an exhale than anything else, and her lips practically curve around him in the form of a smile because she can still hear his noises, even his attempts to stifle himself now as he clamps his mouth shut, too sleepy to be completely silent in his responses. Her head tips into the touch of his hand and she briefly slows to catch her breath, exchanging that slow suction for a few long licks until she's recovered herself enough to continue. ]
[ he’s somehow sure he’d been dreaming, but the sight he’s met with upon waking makes him question where that line had really been drawn, how it all blurs together now in knowing there’s a solid truth in the fact she’s very much tucked between his knees now and keeping her mouth low to his skin. but he has no energy to protest, and he isn’t sure that he would even if he did; she looks good where he finds her, something adamant in the occasional gazes she manages to sneak his way despite the busy task at hand, and even her eyes on him sprout another layer of arousal at the scene.
he isn’t sure how they got here, if he’d muttered something in his sleep, somehow moved unconsciously, or if this was motivation all on her own, but it doesn’t matter now, not when he’s already as far along in the build-up as he is, the shakiness in his breath providing plenty hint of it. ]
Wynonna. [ he manages to keep the moan fairly quiet, but it’s still a clear vibration from his throat, his fingers working further into the dangling locks of hair to form a bundle within his palm, clutching it together at the side of her head, where he can feel the motions of her movements from more than one source.
she licks and he twitches against her mouth, a tightening grip of his fingers a silent message for her not to stop, flush on his cheeks and a strained expression sending a signal that he’s so close, and with the sudden rise from sleep, there’s no time to consider any shamefulness in his full vulnerable display. ]
[ She figures he's still pretty dazed from it all, being gently led out of rather than yanked from sleep like this only to tumble headfirst into heightening arousal, unable to string two coherent thoughts together — and really, she doesn't need him to think right now, because it's better if he doesn't, better if he just gives himself over to it, that slightly mind-numbing sensation from a satisfying release that whites out everything else.
What she does need, however, is for him to maintain a certain volume; little noises here and there won't give them away necessarily, and she's pretty sure her imploring him to keep it down before has permeated through the warm haze of sleep and rising enjoyment, because the next time he utters her name it's barely audible, little more than a croaked whisper, and she gently nuzzles her head into his touch in wordless acknowledgment, temple nudging into the heel of his hand.
But she returns her mouth to him in earnest too, trying her hardest to keep any errant sounds of suction to a minimum even if she does start getting a little energetic about it; it's more difficult for her to maintain eye contact with him but she's still trying to look up here and there, watch those telltale signs in his expression that he's already close, the tension in his forehead and the rising color in his face, the way his body starts to go taut beneath her.
Somewhere beneath the sheet she finds his other hand, threads their fingers together, offers him a small encouraging squeeze to let go, just let go — because she's got him like this, lazy and slow in the rising morning light, and she's giving him permission to fall apart. ]
[ he won’t do well to try to think too hard here, and it’s clearly become too late to even consider that possibility. still, it’s not entirely bizarre to find themselves in this situation, either; plenty of times they’ve found themselves both working late nights, shifts that allow just enough time to wash off the grime of the day’s work — remnants of cooking oil and bacon grease or the scent of spilled whiskey — before hitting the bed for a long awaited rest. the mornings, though, if he’s not on the slate for an earlier shift, belongs to them, privacy allowed for something of an hour to laze in the relaxation of each other’s company.
and sometimes that relaxation builds, builds until his mouth is left to pant lightly as wynonna kindles that fire with every roll of her own upon him, and he’s left tensing throughout the rest of his body, anxious from basking in every sensation that drags him ever closer to that early morning release.
he groans just before it, a strained sound that’s surprisingly vulnerable out of his lips, but it’s the warning he provides as he tightens his fingers against her locks of hair, the others squeezing against her supportive hand. it’s a hold that says far more than it does, about what they do here and what it really is for them.
his hips give an instinctive buck, but they still once they lift slightly from the mattress, hovering briefly there and only lowering down again in defeat once he’s spilled every trace of the contents upon her tongue. ]
[ Mornings are a time that belongs more to them than few others do; their schedules don't so much compete for their spare hours as they overlap, but chances are they're more likely to both stumble into bed with the intention of passing out than to stay up in favor of different pursuits, and if she has the advantage of him lingering here with her in the early hours, then maybe she's not going to bother sleeping in.
There's an intimacy in this laziness too, this unguarded arousal that paints his features, half-lidded eyes and parted lips that fight not to utter anything above a quiet, strained groan, the way she threads their fingers together and communicates that permission to him without words because they've evolved beyond the need for them in every setting. Still, it hasn't stopped him from voicing her name, not in protest but overwhelmed nonetheless, and she's keeping him tethered to her throughout with the quiet promise that she'll be there to bring him back down in the aftermath.
He doesn't have to give warning; she feels the preceding signal of it before he releases into the heat of her mouth, and she carefully soothes him over with a few lingering movements until withdrawing altogether, swiping the pad of her thumb across the corner of her lips as she rolls over onto her back with her head lolling against his hip, grinning towards the ceiling.
After a few beats, she adjusts the fall of his sweats across his hips to cover him and slowly scoots up the bed along his side to prop herself up on his pillow, gazing down at him with fondness and self-satisfaction in equal measure. ] Morning.
[ he needs to take a few moments to catch his breath, to steady himself again as he sinks his back into the mattress, hips now drained to stillness with parted legs and closed eyes. it’s that time that also allows him to register himself properly into waking, to fully separate from that dreamlike state that seemed to have taken over him the moment that wynonna’s lips touched his arousal.
he only manages to open his eyes again when he feels the shift along the bed, weight pressing down at his side as she climbs it to situate herself beside him and when he looks at her, it’s with clear affection in his gaze, helplessness in the formation of a subtle smile, even as he delays a response to simply take in the sight of her as the morning light filters in through the curtains. ]
Morning. [ when he does finally speak, it’s with that waking hoarseness still lodged there, clearing his throat into a soft hum as he drags one of his arms behind his head, the other raising to brush his fingers fondly beneath her chin. ]
[ Watching him come back to himself is its own novelty, since the range of relaxed expressions playing over his face tends to be reserved for moments just like this one: early in the morning, when they're both newly roused, skin warmed from a restful sleep in a bed where he's laid beside her ever since she brought him back to her that night he'd woken from a nightmare down on the couch, sweat-drenched and frantic. She can't help but notice that the bad dreams are fewer and further in between for him these days, that maybe they've have been temporarily laid to rest for now. There's every possibility they could rear up for him again, could send him jerking awake without warning, but if they do, she'll be there — exactly like she's here right now, stretching out a hand to walk fingertips across the plane of his abdomen.
Frank blinks his eyes open to find her gazing down at him and there's no mistaking what resides in his gaze, just like she's damn sure he can see it there in hers too, that undeniable something that's been there ever since she woke up to him the first time, since she knew she wasn't going to be able to keep this casual in the least little bit. And now, thanks to a night that had consisted of a little of Chloe's weed and some feel-good endorphins, she's got a name for it now, for what they have.
Wynonna's grin practically splits her face when he responds, trails fingers beneath the shape of her chin, and maybe she gives him her best expression of innocence, offers a small hunch of her shoulders. ]
What can I say? Saw you laying there looking like a snack, so I figured I'd grab a mouthful.
Oh, yeah? You figured that, huh? [ he cracks himself into a wider grin, a low rumble of a laugh leaving him without any sort of filter. it’s not a common sight, at least not to many, but wynonna’s been known to be a more frequent witness to it in the kind of privacy they can afford. it’s a different kind of haven for them, be it in this bedroom or along the trunk bed of her truck or in the subtle fly-be moments at the diner that he manages to steal a kiss from her because it’s worth those brief seconds to remind her how he’s come to feel by her presence.
the kiss is there now, more willing with lack of interruption, and it hardly matters to him that he can taste himself there on her lips, in the same way that there’s no bother in basking in shared morning breath before they could get a good teeth brushing in. because it’s all her, and it’s all parts of her that he’s come to embrace, that have gradually, in their way, shaped him into a better version of himself, to where he’s really beginning to consider allowing himself this.
— allowing himself happiness. with her.
chuckling against her lips, he raises himself to gently nudge hers over onto her back, swapping their positions to where it’s now him there along his side peering over her laying body. ]
Didn’t know you had it in you, Judy. Taking advantage of my innocence like that. [ nothing about the slyness of his smirk spells anything close to “innocence”, especially as his palms roams low to her belly, exposed with the way her shirt has ridden up, fingertips slowly stroking along her skin. ] Meal like that — must have really built yourself up.
[ and he roams lower, fingers brushing light at the apex of her thighs. ]
I don’t think you minded being woken up that way, Harry. [ Half-distracted by the kiss, she doesn’t realize they’ve swapped positions until she’s flat on her back already looking up at him, hair fanned out in sleep-mussed waves across the pillow with a contented smile on subtly swollen lips, cheeks flushed with warmth. ] Not at all.
[ Her hand rises to cup the side of his face without thinking now, thumb sweeping over the angles of his features now made visible with his lack of beard to soften them. She touches him, period, without a second thought now, reaches for him because she can, because she’s permitted to, because she knows he’ll tilt into that contact same as she does, seeking something they’ve both craved without realizing it for so long.
She does her best not to fidget but it’s easier said than done when his fingers are skimming over the edges of her stomach, roaming across the silverlight lines of old stretch marks that run low across her hips above that waistband, where her belly had once swelled with new life. It’s the only evidence she has now to remind her of the legacy she still has, the one she’s fighting to spare from this curse, the child he’s since promised to get her home to someday.
Her head tips to the side and she watches him with a faint smile, teeth tugging at her lower lip while she tries to suss out exactly what he’s planning on. ]
Yeah, you think you could give me a hand with that?
Guess your mouth just does something to me. Can’t seem to resist it.
[ except it isn’t only her mouth, because the moment her fingers trace along his face, he sighs against their kiss, soothed down further by those gentle caresses. he does feel it more now without the presence of that beard acting as a slight barrier, and even as small strands begin to form along his jaw, he can still feel the silkiness of her skin tracing against it. and every touch of it is plenty familiar now, still just as irresistible, but routine almost in the way they consistently reach out for one another.
because it’s like this, fingers against one another, lingering in their shared spaces, that there’s a sense of safety, a sense of belonging, and it’s a feeling he chases over and over again with, never tiring of it, no matter how many kisses he’s come to steal over the span of the last several months.
he’s come to recognize every curve of this body, the softer areas of her, every unscarred batch of skin that her abilities have kept clean, save for the faintness low there on her hips, subtle and easy to miss, save for those moments that he roams his lips there, kissing those lines with tenderness and understanding. he’d kiss her there now if his mouth weren’t preoccupied, roaming close to hers where their breaths sigh softly together until she moves to let her eyes linger on him. ]
Yeah? And where’d you like that — ? [ two large fingers linger against her underwear, light in their touch until he gives a gradual press there at that sensitive center. ] Here?
[ She’s giddy on the proximity of him, the closeness, soft laughter sneaking in along the edges of the kisses they share; he slants into her palm and she keeps her hand there, spanning her fingers wide across the strength of his features as he presses his mouth to hers again and again, that sort of soft drifting that they sometimes exchange when they’re — or, more accurately, when she’s — still trying to keep talking.
But now, he actually finds a way to temporarily remove any higher thought the second his hand dips between her legs, finds where she’s already damp through that thin barrier, the blunt edges of fingers pressing hard enough to make her gasp before she shuts her mouth to stifle the sound. It comes through as a sharp intake of breath anyway and on reflex, her knees shift open a little wider. She’s never made a secret of her eagerness for this, for him and she’s not about to start now. ]
Uh — um, yeah. Yes. [ She’s struggling to not let it show in her voice but a little stammering happens anyway, as she tries to recenter her mental train from where he’d flipped that switch by touching her there; she nods once, maybe too quickly, and presses back against the pillow to look up at him. ] You’re just about there.
[ even though he’s fully awake now, there’s still a sort of laziness in this, the way they remain draped across the bed, relaxed upon the mattress as they make the most of these private moments they have, before they eventually have to rise up out of bed and recognize that they can’t remain here for as long as they want, that this house isn’t only the two of them on their own anymore. that isn’t such a bad thing, and he has plenty of fondness for the other residents that have taken up space here, including the girl he’s gradually been able to proudly declare his daughter despite their lack of blood relation.
still, there’s a selfishness for this too, for remaining tangled in the bed sheets with the woman he loves, and seeing all the ways he can make her curl her toes.
there’s especially fondness in this position too, because even if he’d often made it a habit to lower himself down to nest his face there between her thighs, he can’t quite sacrifice the opportunity to watch the shift of her expressions from such a perfect viewpoint, especially when she struggles now to speak as he touches her more firmly. ]
Does feel like I’m getting closer. [ the smirk is practically in his voice, especially because he knows where she’d want him to next, feels that dampness that calls him to bypass that single layer that keeps him away from a direct touch. but, maybe it’s in the eased mood he’s been placed into that has him feeling a little more playful, craving the results of a tease instead as his hand remains there above the fabric, instead choosing to rub a little harder, finding the source where she grows wet, adding a rhythmic friction of the cotton against it. ]
[ He's awake and she's right there with him, that shift of limbs beneath a tangled bedsheet now reversed to where it's her restless hips lifting to seek more from his touch, that subtle tease building to a more deliberate massage until the effect he's having on her even through that gentle barrier is basically undeniable. The lightest furrow appears between her brows and she dips her chin down to playfully nip at his mouth, a retaliation that loses some of its impact when she can't quite hold back the quietest of whimpers. ]
If you're trying to play that hotter-colder game with me right now, I'm just gonna say that you're definitely getting warmer.
[ When she slips a hand down to wrap loose fingers around his forearm, it's not to steer or to direct him; she has no doubt that he's got everything well in hand, but she does enjoy the feeling of that tension when he equips more of his strength to deliver that building sensation, a subtle flex of muscle and tendon that ripples beneath her touch, and she can squeeze him there too when he's on to something really good — like right the hell now, that damp press eliciting a slow rock of her hips as she moves to meet him in it. She's probably risking him pulling away just for the purposes of a continued teasing, but she really hopes he's not feeling inclined to stop.
And there's a difference in having him here stretched out alongside her as his hand works between her thighs; he's got a front-row seat to everything that plays across her face, all her undisguised, unfiltered need, the way she fights to keep quiet by pressing her lips together, the visible indents in her cheeks becoming even more prominent when something he says tickles her in just the right spot of her sense of humor.
Her smile only drifts a little when she starts to get impatient and even then it's because she's surging up to kiss him, something deep and yearning and maybe halfway to an attempt to convince him to bypass her underwear for that direct contact already. ]
I thought so. [ even his own voice is a pitch lower, both unintentional and a way to seduce her further, the close distance of their mouths punctuating that low gravel in his town and the noise he makes in turn when she nips at his lips, and he can practically taste the whimper that leaves her.
even if he teases, he knows there’s a mutual trust between the two of them, and when she takes a hold of his arm, it’s in the same way that his fingers had drifted tight into her hair, massaging his palm against her scalp, all for the mere tether that keeps them close together at all points, to sink further and further until it all blends together and they communicate every response, every need, without a single showcase of words save for the soft sounds that echo, sometimes in the form of their own names.
when she presses up her hips, he can tease her further if he desires it, but he doesn’t, instead working that hand harder against her on each rising press, meeting her there to add to that aided rhythm to coaxes more of that soaking dampness.
he can feel the shift in her breath, when instinctive humor gets traded for urgency, muscles tensing when she’s desiring more and awaiting it. he runs his tongue over his own lips right before she snatches them with hers and the sudden contact makes even him moan a little at the passion that follows with it, the slide of their mouths that prompts the final shift of the tone he’d set.
because he drifts his hand up to the hem of her underwear then, finally sneaking below to roam beneath it, earning a direct contact that makes him nip at her lip in feeling her, rubbing briefly from above before a finger snakes in to slip past that initial entry. ]
[ She'd joked once, maybe a little off-hand, about how he'd had a voice made for narration, that kind of low dimension to it that implies authority and commands a certain kind of attention — but maybe what she hadn't fully communicated to him, then or now, is the effect it has on her, that gravel in his tone when he's close enough to utter words across the shape of her mouth, to let her feel the rumbling vibration in his chest as he lays at her side. It's its own turn-on, that voice, full of implication and promise, tease and fulfillment, and she lets it roll over her skin, tilting her face up towards his like she wants his lips to form the shape of each word right across hers.
Her grip on him links them further, preserves that joining; even if they're pursuing something they don't veer towards normally, often skipping ahead to a certain main event, she wants to find every route she can to touch him, to reciprocate in putting a hand on him so she isn't just laying here passively enjoying herself. She'll seek that connection everywhere she can until it's physically impossible and she runs out of hands, or places to put her mouth; she wants him over her, against her, pressing every inch of herself to every inch of him until there's nothing that remains untouched.
But now she's being built up too high to think about anything other than where his hand resides between her legs, half-disappeared beneath a twisted sheet; the muscles in her abdomen tense slightly as those first tendrils of heat unfurl strongly in her core and she blatantly arches beneath him, the rolling wave that starts in her shoulders and carries down to her hips as his kiss stifles the ensuing moan.
And then she melts when his hand covertly slips beneath to touch her where she's aching for it, touch dipping under and in, and her fingers dig into his forearm a little more, maybe hard enough for him to perceive the rounds of her nails; if she maintains a hold somewhere, somehow, she thinks, she might be able to keep quiet, but it's a struggle to keep her eyes open, to watch him watching her as arousal plays so openly across her features, as he strips her bare with that single digit. ]
[ he can roll his eyes, pout his lips, and pretend to ignore her when she tosses over her teasing compliments, even as far back as when she brought attention to his voice, but he’s plenty attentive to know the things that have an affect on her, how sometimes a simple look that make her breathe more deeply, or a steady whisper can warm her skin. he feels it, bears witness to it as closely as he can capture the details and hold it all to memory, for the sake of showering it upon her again and again until he can coax her into unraveling.
he does it even now, and he knows she’s lost the will to retaliate in banter when all he receives in turn is the muffle of moans against his lips, his mouth parting to taste each and every one, the sound of her just as much of an important effect as what paints his fingers down below. ]
God, you’re beautiful — [ yet, not everything that comes from his mouth is purposeful, and he hardly even notices himself when he says it, distracted as he thrusts the press of a finger to a second knuckle and captures the result of it in the shifting lines across her face, the rounded workings of her lips as they gasp, and the firm grip that pinches into his skin, sharp but welcoming to any scratches of those nails that might leave remnants of this moment to draw back on later.
it’s a risk to not shield her mouth with his own, but he draws himself back just enough to gaze with fond eyes, his own breath even a light panting now, because he doesn’t want to miss the moment that he adds an additional digit, finding a steady rhythm of two fingers side by side, rocking with slick ease within the warmth of her. ]
[ It'd be a lie to say he hasn't always affected her even in some small way, provoked a response from her — the difference now is in what those reactions are, everything ranging from something fluttering low in the pit of her stomach to the equally intense swelling in her chest that happens when she glances at him and finds him already looking in her direction, surveying her with an openness she hasn't always been on the receiving end of. She knows what that latter feeling is now, even if she hadn't always been able to give a name to it; it's in her heart for her to offer up strong enough for him to feel it too, to know what exists between them, want and desire and need and love all wrapped up into one.
He's found a means to take her apart piece by piece, but she trusts him enough to put her back together afterward, and that's the difference between him and everyone else she tried to have this with — the trust to pour herself into his hands, because he's never given her any reason to doubt he's got the strength to hold her up, and she'll be there for him to lean on when it's his turn to unravel, not just on an intimate level like this moment now while the town is still waking up.
Her brow furrows more deeply, not a squint or a look of confusion at his words but somewhere closer to concentration, focus; she's lost in his eyes and everything he's saying to her while he touches her, all of it so good and safe and right that she'd be bowled over by it if she wasn't already laid out across their bed. Her mouth silently streams the sounds she can't allow herself to make, and her fingers flex at his arm, digging in even harder at that further stretch within her.
Lips form his name without a noise — Frank — and she curves against him, head tipping back against the pillow and eyes briefly screwing shut; she has to surrender his gaze for a moment but then she's reeled back to him through the rhythm of his fingers, firm and unrelenting. She blinks open to find his face and the hand at his arm travels up the length of his body to cup him at the nape of his neck, cradling their faces together while they breathe one another's breaths and he steadily works her ever closer to that release. ]
[ they’d always been channeling something together all these months, something unspoken beyond the banter and the bickering and the affectionate words that fall in between. and while it hadn’t always been this exact feeling, the more intimate and heart-gripping emotions built and stitched together somewhere along the path of all of this, the attention had always been there, capturing details and learning curves, memorizing the ease of certain expressions along with the rarity of others. but through it all, he’s never tired of her, never stopped looking, especially as he looks at her now, seeing the woman he’d accidentally given the whole of his heart to, something he’d initially tightened his grip around defensively when he’d thought it’d lost the will to beat as hard as it does now.
and yet she holds him now, just as much as he does here, and while it’s she that has his hand perched within her underwear, fabric tucked up by the firmness of his knuckles, he loses himself in her just the same, sharing in it by watching as the pieces of her lay exposed, listening for her soft hushed moans, and sighing when he sees her lips form a silent call of his name.
when she reaches her his neck, curving her fingers for that solid hold, he leans to her mouth, kissing her hard then, a tight but tender press of his mouth to hers, an echo of a reminder that goes unsaid but is told in every kiss, every fond gaze, every caress to her skin.
i love you, he doesn’t say, but he sighs to her mouth and in that steady breath, he says it again and again, i love you, i love you.
perching his thumb high against that sensitive nub, he steadies his firm touch there as he seeks a faster rhythm of his sunken fingers, a steady pumping that echoes its slick sound just enough through the room that the moment still belongs to them and them alone. ] I got you. [ he mutters to her mouth, a soft reminder, as he provides the full attention of his touch between her spread legs, aiming to help her climb and climb until she achieves that sought out peak. ]
[ They haven’t given up everything that defined those early months, the bickering and playful teasing now just adopting a different tenor as if it represents a foreplay all its own, a prelude to what they fall into when they can seize the moment long enough to achieve it. His hands are on her and his voice is uttered softly across her lips as she spirals high and higher still, now practically reduced to helpless writhing when he pairs the motion of his fingers with that glancing brush of a thumb over a point of major sensitivity.
She grips at him harder, knowing she’s lost, giving herself over to it all while he’s there to ease her back down from it in the end but touching her so capably to bring her to that breaking point first, the tension inside her building more and more until she doesn’t know if she can take it.
They don’t have the benefit of living alone, together, not anymore, but that’s proving to be the fun of it, being forced to stay quiet when she knows other ears might be sensitive enough to pick up on too many suspicious sounds and interrupt them, and not using her words hasn’t stopped her from finding his eyes in this, from letting them say what she already has but pouring it out of herself now through that shared look — keep touching me, don’t stop, please, please don’t stop, I love you.
He’s rocking with her, moving, here to hold her, to give her the graze of his mouth to hers and right when she thinks she might burst open her release rolls over her instead, played out by the rhythm of his fingers; she grinds down to meet it and presses her lips firm to his to utter her moan there, something soft and strained as she comes apart against him, around him, and she doesn’t stop until the last of it ebbs away and she can ease back into the pillow, flushed and visibly satisfied. ] Goddamn.
[ he holds her all through it, elbow notched down into the mattress as he curves his fingers to brace at her neck while the other hand works below to follow through in aiding her to achieve that desired release. he lingers close to let their mouths find one another without difficulty, lips locking to hers when she seeks him out to disguise the inevitable noise from it. in his mere presence, he aims to remind her that he isn’t going anywhere, not in the physical sense or otherwise — he’s here for the long run. with her.
even though his own release had already come and went, he still breathes deeply against her lips, as if he’d joined the ride with her, and when she finally settles her body to sink in exhaustion against the mattress, he slips his hand free from within her underwear, damp fingers splaying against her belly.
leaning down, he presses a tender kiss to her temple, remaining there for a lasting moment to hum a soft chuckle to her hair, lips spreading wide into a smile. ] Goddamn. [ he repeats, amusement clear in his voice. ] That wake you up good?
[ And he's there for her right as she'd known he would be, that continued idle motion of his fingers playing out the sensations until she collapses bonelessly beside him, sated and lightly sweaty; she can't find it in her to succumb any kind of energy yet, but she doesn't have to move for a while beyond where she tucks into his chest, seeking out the warmth she doesn't really need when she's been worked up to this degree.
She lets her eyes fall shut for a few moments, mostly refocusing on the slowing of her breathing, letting herself even out while she curls close for that cuddle she might secretly crave after all. It's like they're both spent from it even though he's more distantly removed from his unraveling, and she hums lightly in response to his question, chuckling from behind shuttered eyes. ]
Mmhmm. [ Finally, she tips her head back to bring him into her view through a half-lidded gaze; he's lightly bathed in the rays of rising sun spilling through the curtains into the room, and she brings their mouths together for a soft press before curving her body flush to his, fingertips tracing over the design inked into his chest. ] You know, I wouldn't say no to waking up like that every day.
[ considering she'd been the one to wake him, he finds plenty of amusement in the way that she twists herself into, that nuzzled cuddle that could somehow threaten sleep again if they manage to let it. though he finds himself more awakened now, especially with that light exercise exerted along his arm and wrist, even if he wraps his arms protectively and warmly around her back to hold her close against his chest. ]
Oh, you would, yeah? [ he purses his lips, a fair tease in the expression as he peers down at her with something of a judgmental stare. of course, he pairs it with a dramatic hum, eyes squinting, partially to pester her and partially to shield against the sun light drifting past the curtain. ]
Pretty sure I didn't sign up for that wake-up call. Usually a warning ain't so bad.
[ She might be in prime cuddle mode right now, but she's fully awake, merely closer to basking to the peace that falls over them afterward, the quiet of the early morning that has yet to be broken by the sound of smaller footsteps on the farmhouse's main staircase or someone opening and closing cupboards in search of that last box of Pop-Tarts that's been sequestered away. A soft sigh leaves her in that silence, while she takes a moment to recover herself, and she can faintly hear the sound of his heartbeat slowing right alongside her own. ]
You wouldn't? [ It's a tease, of course, as so much of their exchanges tend to be, remarks couched in humor and clever repartee; she fully acknowledges the ridiculousness of her suggestion with a soft curving of her mouth, docking her chin against the side of his chest as he squints in her direction. ]
Oh, well, next time I'll put a reminder on your phone. Make sure you know exactly when and where it'll be coming. Or when you'll be.
[ it's getting near that time where coffee is much desired, much needed, but even his typical morning routine can be postponed for just a little while longer as he tilts his head to bring his mouth to the messy mess of hair, humming his contentment there as he fights the chuckle that bubbles up from her playful retort. ]
Yeah, sure. Because you're always so great at planning ahead.
[ he might be teasing, or simply calling her out on something they both very much know to be true. ]
I guess I don't mind your surprises all that much.
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She glances up beneath the momentary fall of her hair and uses one hand to sweep it out of her face, wanting an unobstructed view of him — and that does not disappoint, his lips silently parting to release a sigh into the air as he blinks dazedly a handful of times, probably bringing his world back into focus a little more and her along with it, kneeling in front of him as her head bobs repetitively.
The softness of his repeated swear prompts a small laugh, more of an exhale than anything else, and her lips practically curve around him in the form of a smile because she can still hear his noises, even his attempts to stifle himself now as he clamps his mouth shut, too sleepy to be completely silent in his responses. Her head tips into the touch of his hand and she briefly slows to catch her breath, exchanging that slow suction for a few long licks until she's recovered herself enough to continue. ]
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he isn’t sure how they got here, if he’d muttered something in his sleep, somehow moved unconsciously, or if this was motivation all on her own, but it doesn’t matter now, not when he’s already as far along in the build-up as he is, the shakiness in his breath providing plenty hint of it. ]
Wynonna. [ he manages to keep the moan fairly quiet, but it’s still a clear vibration from his throat, his fingers working further into the dangling locks of hair to form a bundle within his palm, clutching it together at the side of her head, where he can feel the motions of her movements from more than one source.
she licks and he twitches against her mouth, a tightening grip of his fingers a silent message for her not to stop, flush on his cheeks and a strained expression sending a signal that he’s so close, and with the sudden rise from sleep, there’s no time to consider any shamefulness in his full vulnerable display. ]
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What she does need, however, is for him to maintain a certain volume; little noises here and there won't give them away necessarily, and she's pretty sure her imploring him to keep it down before has permeated through the warm haze of sleep and rising enjoyment, because the next time he utters her name it's barely audible, little more than a croaked whisper, and she gently nuzzles her head into his touch in wordless acknowledgment, temple nudging into the heel of his hand.
But she returns her mouth to him in earnest too, trying her hardest to keep any errant sounds of suction to a minimum even if she does start getting a little energetic about it; it's more difficult for her to maintain eye contact with him but she's still trying to look up here and there, watch those telltale signs in his expression that he's already close, the tension in his forehead and the rising color in his face, the way his body starts to go taut beneath her.
Somewhere beneath the sheet she finds his other hand, threads their fingers together, offers him a small encouraging squeeze to let go, just let go — because she's got him like this, lazy and slow in the rising morning light, and she's giving him permission to fall apart. ]
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and sometimes that relaxation builds, builds until his mouth is left to pant lightly as wynonna kindles that fire with every roll of her own upon him, and he’s left tensing throughout the rest of his body, anxious from basking in every sensation that drags him ever closer to that early morning release.
he groans just before it, a strained sound that’s surprisingly vulnerable out of his lips, but it’s the warning he provides as he tightens his fingers against her locks of hair, the others squeezing against her supportive hand. it’s a hold that says far more than it does, about what they do here and what it really is for them.
his hips give an instinctive buck, but they still once they lift slightly from the mattress, hovering briefly there and only lowering down again in defeat once he’s spilled every trace of the contents upon her tongue. ]
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There's an intimacy in this laziness too, this unguarded arousal that paints his features, half-lidded eyes and parted lips that fight not to utter anything above a quiet, strained groan, the way she threads their fingers together and communicates that permission to him without words because they've evolved beyond the need for them in every setting. Still, it hasn't stopped him from voicing her name, not in protest but overwhelmed nonetheless, and she's keeping him tethered to her throughout with the quiet promise that she'll be there to bring him back down in the aftermath.
He doesn't have to give warning; she feels the preceding signal of it before he releases into the heat of her mouth, and she carefully soothes him over with a few lingering movements until withdrawing altogether, swiping the pad of her thumb across the corner of her lips as she rolls over onto her back with her head lolling against his hip, grinning towards the ceiling.
After a few beats, she adjusts the fall of his sweats across his hips to cover him and slowly scoots up the bed along his side to prop herself up on his pillow, gazing down at him with fondness and self-satisfaction in equal measure. ] Morning.
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he only manages to open his eyes again when he feels the shift along the bed, weight pressing down at his side as she climbs it to situate herself beside him and when he looks at her, it’s with clear affection in his gaze, helplessness in the formation of a subtle smile, even as he delays a response to simply take in the sight of her as the morning light filters in through the curtains. ]
Morning. [ when he does finally speak, it’s with that waking hoarseness still lodged there, clearing his throat into a soft hum as he drags one of his arms behind his head, the other raising to brush his fingers fondly beneath her chin. ]
Had a rush to get breakfast this morning, huh?
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Frank blinks his eyes open to find her gazing down at him and there's no mistaking what resides in his gaze, just like she's damn sure he can see it there in hers too, that undeniable something that's been there ever since she woke up to him the first time, since she knew she wasn't going to be able to keep this casual in the least little bit. And now, thanks to a night that had consisted of a little of Chloe's weed and some feel-good endorphins, she's got a name for it now, for what they have.
Wynonna's grin practically splits her face when he responds, trails fingers beneath the shape of her chin, and maybe she gives him her best expression of innocence, offers a small hunch of her shoulders. ]
What can I say? Saw you laying there looking like a snack, so I figured I'd grab a mouthful.
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the kiss is there now, more willing with lack of interruption, and it hardly matters to him that he can taste himself there on her lips, in the same way that there’s no bother in basking in shared morning breath before they could get a good teeth brushing in. because it’s all her, and it’s all parts of her that he’s come to embrace, that have gradually, in their way, shaped him into a better version of himself, to where he’s really beginning to consider allowing himself this.
— allowing himself happiness. with her.
chuckling against her lips, he raises himself to gently nudge hers over onto her back, swapping their positions to where it’s now him there along his side peering over her laying body. ]
Didn’t know you had it in you, Judy. Taking advantage of my innocence like that. [ nothing about the slyness of his smirk spells anything close to “innocence”, especially as his palms roams low to her belly, exposed with the way her shirt has ridden up, fingertips slowly stroking along her skin. ] Meal like that — must have really built yourself up.
[ and he roams lower, fingers brushing light at the apex of her thighs. ]
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[ Her hand rises to cup the side of his face without thinking now, thumb sweeping over the angles of his features now made visible with his lack of beard to soften them. She touches him, period, without a second thought now, reaches for him because she can, because she’s permitted to, because she knows he’ll tilt into that contact same as she does, seeking something they’ve both craved without realizing it for so long.
She does her best not to fidget but it’s easier said than done when his fingers are skimming over the edges of her stomach, roaming across the silverlight lines of old stretch marks that run low across her hips above that waistband, where her belly had once swelled with new life. It’s the only evidence she has now to remind her of the legacy she still has, the one she’s fighting to spare from this curse, the child he’s since promised to get her home to someday.
Her head tips to the side and she watches him with a faint smile, teeth tugging at her lower lip while she tries to suss out exactly what he’s planning on. ]
Yeah, you think you could give me a hand with that?
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[ except it isn’t only her mouth, because the moment her fingers trace along his face, he sighs against their kiss, soothed down further by those gentle caresses. he does feel it more now without the presence of that beard acting as a slight barrier, and even as small strands begin to form along his jaw, he can still feel the silkiness of her skin tracing against it. and every touch of it is plenty familiar now, still just as irresistible, but routine almost in the way they consistently reach out for one another.
because it’s like this, fingers against one another, lingering in their shared spaces, that there’s a sense of safety, a sense of belonging, and it’s a feeling he chases over and over again with, never tiring of it, no matter how many kisses he’s come to steal over the span of the last several months.
he’s come to recognize every curve of this body, the softer areas of her, every unscarred batch of skin that her abilities have kept clean, save for the faintness low there on her hips, subtle and easy to miss, save for those moments that he roams his lips there, kissing those lines with tenderness and understanding. he’d kiss her there now if his mouth weren’t preoccupied, roaming close to hers where their breaths sigh softly together until she moves to let her eyes linger on him. ]
Yeah? And where’d you like that — ? [ two large fingers linger against her underwear, light in their touch until he gives a gradual press there at that sensitive center. ] Here?
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[ She’s giddy on the proximity of him, the closeness, soft laughter sneaking in along the edges of the kisses they share; he slants into her palm and she keeps her hand there, spanning her fingers wide across the strength of his features as he presses his mouth to hers again and again, that sort of soft drifting that they sometimes exchange when they’re — or, more accurately, when she’s — still trying to keep talking.
But now, he actually finds a way to temporarily remove any higher thought the second his hand dips between her legs, finds where she’s already damp through that thin barrier, the blunt edges of fingers pressing hard enough to make her gasp before she shuts her mouth to stifle the sound. It comes through as a sharp intake of breath anyway and on reflex, her knees shift open a little wider. She’s never made a secret of her eagerness for this, for him and she’s not about to start now. ]
Uh — um, yeah. Yes. [ She’s struggling to not let it show in her voice but a little stammering happens anyway, as she tries to recenter her mental train from where he’d flipped that switch by touching her there; she nods once, maybe too quickly, and presses back against the pillow to look up at him. ] You’re just about there.
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still, there’s a selfishness for this too, for remaining tangled in the bed sheets with the woman he loves, and seeing all the ways he can make her curl her toes.
there’s especially fondness in this position too, because even if he’d often made it a habit to lower himself down to nest his face there between her thighs, he can’t quite sacrifice the opportunity to watch the shift of her expressions from such a perfect viewpoint, especially when she struggles now to speak as he touches her more firmly. ]
Does feel like I’m getting closer. [ the smirk is practically in his voice, especially because he knows where she’d want him to next, feels that dampness that calls him to bypass that single layer that keeps him away from a direct touch. but, maybe it’s in the eased mood he’s been placed into that has him feeling a little more playful, craving the results of a tease instead as his hand remains there above the fabric, instead choosing to rub a little harder, finding the source where she grows wet, adding a rhythmic friction of the cotton against it. ]
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If you're trying to play that hotter-colder game with me right now, I'm just gonna say that you're definitely getting warmer.
[ When she slips a hand down to wrap loose fingers around his forearm, it's not to steer or to direct him; she has no doubt that he's got everything well in hand, but she does enjoy the feeling of that tension when he equips more of his strength to deliver that building sensation, a subtle flex of muscle and tendon that ripples beneath her touch, and she can squeeze him there too when he's on to something really good — like right the hell now, that damp press eliciting a slow rock of her hips as she moves to meet him in it. She's probably risking him pulling away just for the purposes of a continued teasing, but she really hopes he's not feeling inclined to stop.
And there's a difference in having him here stretched out alongside her as his hand works between her thighs; he's got a front-row seat to everything that plays across her face, all her undisguised, unfiltered need, the way she fights to keep quiet by pressing her lips together, the visible indents in her cheeks becoming even more prominent when something he says tickles her in just the right spot of her sense of humor.
Her smile only drifts a little when she starts to get impatient and even then it's because she's surging up to kiss him, something deep and yearning and maybe halfway to an attempt to convince him to bypass her underwear for that direct contact already. ]
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even if he teases, he knows there’s a mutual trust between the two of them, and when she takes a hold of his arm, it’s in the same way that his fingers had drifted tight into her hair, massaging his palm against her scalp, all for the mere tether that keeps them close together at all points, to sink further and further until it all blends together and they communicate every response, every need, without a single showcase of words save for the soft sounds that echo, sometimes in the form of their own names.
when she presses up her hips, he can tease her further if he desires it, but he doesn’t, instead working that hand harder against her on each rising press, meeting her there to add to that aided rhythm to coaxes more of that soaking dampness.
he can feel the shift in her breath, when instinctive humor gets traded for urgency, muscles tensing when she’s desiring more and awaiting it. he runs his tongue over his own lips right before she snatches them with hers and the sudden contact makes even him moan a little at the passion that follows with it, the slide of their mouths that prompts the final shift of the tone he’d set.
because he drifts his hand up to the hem of her underwear then, finally sneaking below to roam beneath it, earning a direct contact that makes him nip at her lip in feeling her, rubbing briefly from above before a finger snakes in to slip past that initial entry. ]
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Her grip on him links them further, preserves that joining; even if they're pursuing something they don't veer towards normally, often skipping ahead to a certain main event, she wants to find every route she can to touch him, to reciprocate in putting a hand on him so she isn't just laying here passively enjoying herself. She'll seek that connection everywhere she can until it's physically impossible and she runs out of hands, or places to put her mouth; she wants him over her, against her, pressing every inch of herself to every inch of him until there's nothing that remains untouched.
But now she's being built up too high to think about anything other than where his hand resides between her legs, half-disappeared beneath a twisted sheet; the muscles in her abdomen tense slightly as those first tendrils of heat unfurl strongly in her core and she blatantly arches beneath him, the rolling wave that starts in her shoulders and carries down to her hips as his kiss stifles the ensuing moan.
And then she melts when his hand covertly slips beneath to touch her where she's aching for it, touch dipping under and in, and her fingers dig into his forearm a little more, maybe hard enough for him to perceive the rounds of her nails; if she maintains a hold somewhere, somehow, she thinks, she might be able to keep quiet, but it's a struggle to keep her eyes open, to watch him watching her as arousal plays so openly across her features, as he strips her bare with that single digit. ]
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he does it even now, and he knows she’s lost the will to retaliate in banter when all he receives in turn is the muffle of moans against his lips, his mouth parting to taste each and every one, the sound of her just as much of an important effect as what paints his fingers down below. ]
God, you’re beautiful — [ yet, not everything that comes from his mouth is purposeful, and he hardly even notices himself when he says it, distracted as he thrusts the press of a finger to a second knuckle and captures the result of it in the shifting lines across her face, the rounded workings of her lips as they gasp, and the firm grip that pinches into his skin, sharp but welcoming to any scratches of those nails that might leave remnants of this moment to draw back on later.
it’s a risk to not shield her mouth with his own, but he draws himself back just enough to gaze with fond eyes, his own breath even a light panting now, because he doesn’t want to miss the moment that he adds an additional digit, finding a steady rhythm of two fingers side by side, rocking with slick ease within the warmth of her. ]
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He's found a means to take her apart piece by piece, but she trusts him enough to put her back together afterward, and that's the difference between him and everyone else she tried to have this with — the trust to pour herself into his hands, because he's never given her any reason to doubt he's got the strength to hold her up, and she'll be there for him to lean on when it's his turn to unravel, not just on an intimate level like this moment now while the town is still waking up.
Her brow furrows more deeply, not a squint or a look of confusion at his words but somewhere closer to concentration, focus; she's lost in his eyes and everything he's saying to her while he touches her, all of it so good and safe and right that she'd be bowled over by it if she wasn't already laid out across their bed. Her mouth silently streams the sounds she can't allow herself to make, and her fingers flex at his arm, digging in even harder at that further stretch within her.
Lips form his name without a noise — Frank — and she curves against him, head tipping back against the pillow and eyes briefly screwing shut; she has to surrender his gaze for a moment but then she's reeled back to him through the rhythm of his fingers, firm and unrelenting. She blinks open to find his face and the hand at his arm travels up the length of his body to cup him at the nape of his neck, cradling their faces together while they breathe one another's breaths and he steadily works her ever closer to that release. ]
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and yet she holds him now, just as much as he does here, and while it’s she that has his hand perched within her underwear, fabric tucked up by the firmness of his knuckles, he loses himself in her just the same, sharing in it by watching as the pieces of her lay exposed, listening for her soft hushed moans, and sighing when he sees her lips form a silent call of his name.
when she reaches her his neck, curving her fingers for that solid hold, he leans to her mouth, kissing her hard then, a tight but tender press of his mouth to hers, an echo of a reminder that goes unsaid but is told in every kiss, every fond gaze, every caress to her skin.
i love you, he doesn’t say, but he sighs to her mouth and in that steady breath, he says it again and again, i love you, i love you.
perching his thumb high against that sensitive nub, he steadies his firm touch there as he seeks a faster rhythm of his sunken fingers, a steady pumping that echoes its slick sound just enough through the room that the moment still belongs to them and them alone. ] I got you. [ he mutters to her mouth, a soft reminder, as he provides the full attention of his touch between her spread legs, aiming to help her climb and climb until she achieves that sought out peak. ]
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She grips at him harder, knowing she’s lost, giving herself over to it all while he’s there to ease her back down from it in the end but touching her so capably to bring her to that breaking point first, the tension inside her building more and more until she doesn’t know if she can take it.
They don’t have the benefit of living alone, together, not anymore, but that’s proving to be the fun of it, being forced to stay quiet when she knows other ears might be sensitive enough to pick up on too many suspicious sounds and interrupt them, and not using her words hasn’t stopped her from finding his eyes in this, from letting them say what she already has but pouring it out of herself now through that shared look — keep touching me, don’t stop, please, please don’t stop, I love you.
He’s rocking with her, moving, here to hold her, to give her the graze of his mouth to hers and right when she thinks she might burst open her release rolls over her instead, played out by the rhythm of his fingers; she grinds down to meet it and presses her lips firm to his to utter her moan there, something soft and strained as she comes apart against him, around him, and she doesn’t stop until the last of it ebbs away and she can ease back into the pillow, flushed and visibly satisfied. ] Goddamn.
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even though his own release had already come and went, he still breathes deeply against her lips, as if he’d joined the ride with her, and when she finally settles her body to sink in exhaustion against the mattress, he slips his hand free from within her underwear, damp fingers splaying against her belly.
leaning down, he presses a tender kiss to her temple, remaining there for a lasting moment to hum a soft chuckle to her hair, lips spreading wide into a smile. ] Goddamn. [ he repeats, amusement clear in his voice. ] That wake you up good?
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She lets her eyes fall shut for a few moments, mostly refocusing on the slowing of her breathing, letting herself even out while she curls close for that cuddle she might secretly crave after all. It's like they're both spent from it even though he's more distantly removed from his unraveling, and she hums lightly in response to his question, chuckling from behind shuttered eyes. ]
Mmhmm. [ Finally, she tips her head back to bring him into her view through a half-lidded gaze; he's lightly bathed in the rays of rising sun spilling through the curtains into the room, and she brings their mouths together for a soft press before curving her body flush to his, fingertips tracing over the design inked into his chest. ] You know, I wouldn't say no to waking up like that every day.
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Oh, you would, yeah? [ he purses his lips, a fair tease in the expression as he peers down at her with something of a judgmental stare. of course, he pairs it with a dramatic hum, eyes squinting, partially to pester her and partially to shield against the sun light drifting past the curtain. ]
Pretty sure I didn't sign up for that wake-up call. Usually a warning ain't so bad.
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You wouldn't? [ It's a tease, of course, as so much of their exchanges tend to be, remarks couched in humor and clever repartee; she fully acknowledges the ridiculousness of her suggestion with a soft curving of her mouth, docking her chin against the side of his chest as he squints in her direction. ]
Oh, well, next time I'll put a reminder on your phone. Make sure you know exactly when and where it'll be coming. Or when you'll be.
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Yeah, sure. Because you're always so great at planning ahead.
[ he might be teasing, or simply calling her out on something they both very much know to be true. ]
I guess I don't mind your surprises all that much.