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The good thing about Our Lady’s Sacred Heart being approximately as old as Jesus Christ himself is that they’ve simply never bothered to install cameras. Maybe this is an oversight on the safety front, but Robin has been extraordinarily thankful for it these past few weeks. Actually, she’s thankful right now as Nancy backs them gracelessly into an empty room that offshoots the library, pulling the door closed behind her with one hand while the other sinks firmly into Robin’s waist.
It’s someone’s old classroom. Ancient chalked-up blackboard on the wall, a grid of desks in severe need of a dusting. Aged-bleached posters are curling off the tile. It doesn’t really matter. The only thing that matters is that it’s empty, the noise of the school around this building faded to a just low hum, and away from everything Robin can finally pay well-deserved attention to the sound of Nancy’s breaths and the smell of her perfume and the way her body buzzes with the kind of heat that Robin has started to find addictive.
The door snicks shut behind them.
“Hi.” Nancy’s breathless, grinning at Robin with a ridiculously attractive gleam in her eye. In the dim light she has the glittering, smudgy beauty of an oil painting, shadows blurring the sharp angles of her face, eyes shimmering out of the darkness behind her. That stupid cross necklace winks against her white shirt. The whole pretty sight makes Robin’s pulse trip. Her heart stumbles right into her ribs, and yes, maybe her breath even catches in her throat a little at the flash of hunger she sees in Nancy’s gaze. It’s not like this is the first time she’s seen it, but that’s the thing about Wheeler: she never, ever gets tiresome. The backs of Robin’s knees hit a random table. They both stumble, laughing, and Robin’s just about to crack a joke when she sees Nancy’s eyes drop to her mouth.
“Hi,” Robin says back. She’s instantly embarrassed by the near-whine of it, the way it’s pitched high by the time she manages to squeak it out. There’s the sweetest kind of heat burning in Nancy’s eyes as she gazes at Robin through dark eyelashes. Her tongue pokes out between her teeth, and Robin can’t help groaning and throwing her head back at how ridiculously cute it is.
“Woah there,” Nancy teases. “I didn’t even touch you yet.” There’s a laugh in her voice, seemingly unconcerned with the implications of a word like yet.
But Robin feels her teeth grit unwittingly at the sound of it. Yet. A low, tickling heat starts to simmer at the bottom of her stomach. Nancy knows her well now. At least this part—the way she likes to be kissed, the point on her neck that’s too sensitive for teeth, how to read Robin’s most miniscule reactions. There’s no running away from the fact that Robin never doesn’t want her. And when Nancy’s grip on her waist loosens and Robin can’t help falling in to find the pressure again, she knows that she’s been caught.
A brief, tight pause. Robin feels something tense stretch between them like a rubber band. Nancy’s eyes are sharp and dark and they’re burning holes in every inch of Robin: raking over her face, along the column of her throat, setting fire to the sliver of Robin’s chest visible above the white button-up and below her neatly folded collar. Who knows if it’s visible, but Robin is blushing all over. Blanketed by a prickling heat. Everywhere Nancy’s gaze lands feels both incredibly exposed and not visible enough, like there’s some invisible layer still waiting to be peeled back.
Robin’s barely managing to pay attention when she feels Nancy nudges her knee, pushing her back. Robin fights the urge to chase Nancy’s touch instinctively and instead moves backward, nervous but obedient, Nancy’s hands guiding her by the waist, until they hit the long-abandoned teacher’s desk at the front of the room. The semi-sharp pressure against the backs of Robin’s thighs is enough to bring her all the way back into her body, and the new awareness makes the pressure of Nancy’s fingers digging into her hip feel painfully, pleasantly electric. Even this—the feeling of being, kind of, trapped—is enough to make Robin realize that she’s not not wet already.
“Sit,” Nancy says firmly, and want lances sharply through Robin’s stomach, a bolt of rich, dark heat. She scrambles up and back to sit on the edge of the desk, the smooth wooden surface bitingly cool against the backs of her thighs. Now Nancy’s moving closer, closing the distance between them (though it was never much) by sliding to stand between Robin’s knees, and—okay—maybe Robin’s chest tightens at the warm, soft fan of Nancy’s breath against her face. Nancy brushes a kiss over her cheek, so feather-light it almost tickles. Robin wrinkles her nose, inadvertently letting out a tiny giggle, and feels Nancy grin against her.
For a moment, everything is perfectly sweet. And Robin likes it like this, too—soft and slow and blush-inducing for entirely different reasons. But she saw and felt, the second they fell into this back room, that Nancy wanted something else today. And she knows she’s right when Nancy presses forward and grabs Robin’s face in both hands, this precious pretty thing, and kisses her filthy.
If Robin was incapable of stringing together a sentence thirty seconds ago, now she’s about to lose her grip on language entirely. Today Nancy kisses her like they have nowhere to be for the rest of their lives: hot and deep, urgent but unhurried. She tastes like the pleasant waxiness of chapstick and she’s so fucking good at this it hurts. Her teeth digging into Robin’s bottom lip feels deliriously good; the slight, sharp pain, and the way Nancy soothes it right after with a simple press of her tongue, is enough to wrack Robin’s body with a significant shudder. There’s a noise building in the back of Robin’s throat, and she has to try very hard to keep it from escaping when one of Nancy’s hands drops to the back of her neck. Nancy pulls her closer, firm grip, fingers digging into Robin’s vertebrae, and the low, insistent pressure has her melting into Nancy’s hands. Now every inch of Robin’s body feels liquid and warm. Without the hand behind her head holding her together, she might break apart completely.
Yet Nancy keeps turning things up another degree, keeps kissing her harder and hotter. Her tongue and teeth meet Robin’s eagerly, and as she presses forward Nancy shifts her hip to push Robin’s thighs apart, so close and so incredibly far from where Robin wants her. Fuck. The half-closed distance is infinitely worse than not being touched at all. Robin forces a harsh breath out of her nose. She tries to squirm closer surreptitiously, but Nancy dodges contact with a neat step back, somehow managing not to break their kiss.
Robin whines against her mouth, high and achy. “Nance.”
“Mm?” Nancy doesn’t sound entirely like she’s paying attention. Her hand slides down the back of Robin’s neck to her back, nails dragging thin, pleasantly prickly lines between her shoulder blades. Robin’s struggling to keep it together. She’s painfully aware of how harsh her breaths have become, the noisy scrape of air out of her lungs and, more importantly, the growing wetness in her underwear.
Impatience washes over her in a hot wave. Normally it doesn’t take quite this long; at home is one thing, but at being at school necessitates stealing kisses when dark corners present themselves or fucking in the back of Nancy’s rich-girl Jeep at lunch. Right now, though, Nancy seems to have forgotten where they are or, at least, the rules that are usually attached to it. Right now, her movements are slow and harsh and deliberate. Her nails pinch Robin’s skin through the thin fabric of her shirt. Alright, Robin thinks, enough of this shit, she lives to serve anyway, and reaches for the waistband of Nancy’s skirt.
There’s a sudden burst of pain, not unpleasant, as Nancy nips firmly at Robin’s lower lip. Robin sucks in a surprised inhale at the sting of it. “Don’t,” Nancy warns, her mouth an inch away from Robin’s. Her voice is dangerously confident, severe in a way that makes Robin’s mind go deliriously, deliciously blank.
She’s not fucking around, Robin thinks, dazed. Liquid heat pools in the bottom of her stomach.
Nancy pulls her hand from Robin’s wrist and drags her thumb under Robin’s chin instead, tilting her face up. She looks at Robin with an expression that’s half disgusting desire and half scientific curiosity: mouth set, pupils blown wide, eyes searching Robin’s face like she’s trying to read her thoughts. It’s so beautiful. The problem is that Robin’s not quite sure she’s capable of thought right now. Her breath is coming in slow, ragged gasps, and her fingers are digging deep into her palms in an effort to regain control, but all she can feel is the heavy heat of Nancy’s eyes on her. Dripping like water. Falling over her like stars.
“Say the word,” Nancy says quietly, and Robin nods. I won’t.
Then her mouth drops to Robin’s cheek, hot and open; to the curve of her jaw, then the steep slope of her neck, where her lips pull back slightly and her teeth scrape gently against Robin’s skin. Nancy has a tendency to bite, which Robin realized pretty quickly that she doesn’t mind, not just for the way it turns her body up to a buzzing ten but for the bloom of bruises that appears after. Soft, tight spots of red. Sometimes a broad lace of purple and blue. Of course the more obvious ones have to be covered up, but knowing they’re there, carefully concealed under a perfectly-starched collar or layer of concealer, is its own kind of reward. A strange little promise. (And Nancy’s so good with her mouth she likes to shape them into hearts sometimes, tiny tattoos on Robin’s hips and thighs.)
Unable to help herself, Robin threads a hand through Nancy’s hair, fingers twisting in the curls. Thankfully Nancy doesn’t seem to mind; when Robin’s grip tightens reflexively against her scalp she even lets a little noise slip out. Not a moan but a grunt. It’s deeper and less restrained than Robin can remember ever hearing, like maybe Nancy’s losing her mind too.
Cold arousal slices through Robin’s gut as the sound of it. She throws her head back and breathes fiercely out of her nose as Nancy alternates marking and soothing Robin’s neck, pain and then pleasure, each new bite making it exponentially more difficult for Robin not to touch Nancy or herself. Her breath is ragged in her chest. There’s a slick, hot coil in her stomach and a quickly-growing sense of desperation caught between her thighs.
Nancy tugs Robin’s shirt out of the waistband of her skirt, sliding her hands easily underneath. Her palms are cold against Robin’s ribs, but Robin doesn’t quite have time to react to it, because almost instantly Nancy’s pulling her bralette aside, running her thumbs against the lowest curve of Robin’s breasts. It’s a ridiculously unsatisfying touch, and Robin can’t help making a noise of exasperation.
Nancy laughs low against her neck. “Impatient.”
“Extremely,” Robin agrees.
The admission seems to spark some kind of mercy, because Nancy’s touch immediately deepens. She digs into Robin’s side with the fingers of one hand and brushes the other over Robin’s nipple, waiting a moment for it to harden before she starts to pinch with more pressure. Her mouth is still hot against Robin’s neck, though she’s easing up on the bruise procession now that Robin’s tits have drawn her attention. Robin’s whole body feels absurdly hot. She’s on the verge of for real sweating, and is ninety-nine percent sure that she’s covered in a head to toe flush. Thankfully, Nancy’s only concern seems to be teasing her until she fucking dies. Every passing second makes Robin more aware of the growing wetness in her underwear.
Nancy finally pulls back. Her face is glowing with a ragged blush, her eyes soft and dark, and there’s a pretty spit-shine on her lips. The whole sight makes Robin’s heart tremble like a deer. Nancy looks more like herself than ever, she thinks. Angel of little deaths.
For a moment, still hip to hip, they both catch their breaths. Robin’s breath comes through her nose in tiny spurts. The noise of the school day continuing on outside isn’t completely blocked out, and briefly Robin wonders if this isn’t a bad idea.
No, definitely not. Nancy’s sliding a thumb across Robin’s cheek, then over her bottom lip, and Robin instinctively lets her mouth fall open. She knows by the way Nancy’s eyes flash nearly black that it was the right response. Permission granted, Nancy slides her pointer finger into Robin’s mouth. Her skin is warm and nearly sweet, the pads of her fingers asking a question as they drag over Robin’s tongue; Robin responds with a resounding yes, eagerly closing her lips and hollowing her cheeks.
“Fuck,” Nancy mutters. There’s a glossy darkness to her eyes, heavy and trained on Robin’s. Her voice is surprisingly shaky. The sight of her so keyed up turns Robin’s eagerness to please up to eleven, the flame licking at her chest, and she only hesitates for a blink before pulling Nancy’s fingers deeper into her mouth, rolling them over her tongue. Nancy’s sharp inhale is audible, her nostrils flaring. She cocks her wrist and pressure sears over the back of Robin’s throat, triggering a half-choke that she’s instinctively embarrassed by, but that makes Nancy almost glow with satisfaction.
Interesting. Robin leans a little further forward, lips brushing Nancy’s knuckles, and this time Nancy lets out a real groan and her eyelashes flutter like this is really doing something for her. She hooks her fingers the tiniest bit, pulling partially out of Robin’s mouth before sliding gently past her teeth again, and okay, maybe Robin sort of gets it now: the slick slide and press of Nancy’s fingers on her tongue, the movements slow and deep and deliberate, the same way she likes to fuck Robin into incoherency. A nearly ticklish fire is building in her thighs and hips. She nearly blacks out in the moment that Nancy gets a little over-excited, fucking into her mouth deep enough that Robin can’t help gagging, and immediately murmurs against her temple, “Oh, sorry, baby.” A kiss against her forehead. “You’re doing so good.”
The praise fills Robin’s head so loudly it sounds like a chorus of bells, so loudly that she almost doesn’t notice the way the pressure on her tongue increases yet again: Nancy’s getting greedy. Robin makes a throaty dazed noise, like she’s a fucking squeaky toy. It’s just hot. Nancy’s laughing a little as she puts her free hand gently against Robin’s throat and pulls the other out of her mouth with a slick pop. A ribbon of spit follows, which Robin is startled and a little embarrassed to realize is trailing from her lower lip. But Nancy stares like it’s a gift. Her face is flushed and achingly affectionate. After a moment she wipes a thumb over Robin’s mouth to break the line and says, half-smiling, “You’re very cute.”
“Oh,” Robin says shakily. “Uh—” As if having a conversation wasn’t hard enough for Robin normally, the sudden raising of the stakes has left her feeling a little woozy, for lack of a proper medical term for being too horny to function. Every attempt at forming a sentence dies on her tongue in three words or less. But Nancy’s watching patiently, eyes soft and expression focused, and Robin feels her stomach sink—and then float—with the realization that she’s expected to keep talking.
Fuck. A new wave of arousal washes through her, cold and carbonated. Somehow she manages to rasp out: “Um, that’s sweet, Nance.” Probably it’s due to the too-loud roar of blood in her ears, but it doesn’t even sound like English, some foreign language Robin is going to have to learn quickly if she wants to die any older than eighteen. Nancy’s hand has been trailing up her thigh this whole time, so light and slow it could almost be an accident. It’s decidedly not.
“Yeah?” Nancy presses a thumb into the flesh just above Robin’s knee, hard enough to bruise. She puts a lot of effort into not flinching and still fails. “Are you gonna say thank you?”
Robin’s face is bright red and blazing hot. “Yeah—Sorry, I meant—” Nancy’s nails dig into her thigh, a pleasant, stinging pain that makes Robin jerk reflexively. There’s a dull thunk as her foot swings backward, accidentally hitting the front of the desk that’s still sitting cold under her thighs. She swallows hard against the dry rasp of her throat. “Meant to—” The back of Nancy’s knuckles brush against her underwear and Robin makes a noise that’s half moan, half sob. Shit. The pressure is searing, so light it’s almost worse than not beig touched at all. Her fingers tighten instinctively around the edge of the desk. “Jesus, Nance, you’re killing me.”
The smile that pulls at Nancy’s mouth is straight-up devious, so sharp it makes Robin shiver. “That’s kind of the point,” she says, so mildly it almost sounds condescending, and Robin doesn’t even have a millisecond to think about why that felt so good before Nancy presses two fingers against her and Robin’s vision goes cotton-white, heart pulsing furiously against the back of her teeth.
“Fuck,” Robin groans, throwing her head back. The moment the opening appears Nancy’s mouth is on her neck again, hot and damp, and Robin registers the sweet-dark pain of Nancy’s teeth nipping over her throat the same time she feels Nancy finally starts pulling her underwear down over her hips. The cotton only makes it to about her knees before Nancy’s hands are sliding back up under her skirt. Robin is so turned on her brain has pretty much turned off, and she doesn’t have the capacity to be embarrassed by the way her knees fall instinctively open, or even to be offended by the fact that Nancy laughs against her neck before pulling back.
The first touch is enough to make Robin’s stomach fall completely out of her body. Slow, irritatingly confident, Nancy drags her fingers through the wetness between Robin’s thighs. It’s overwhelming and not nearly enough and Robin’s hips snap up, trying to get—more. The need in her stomach is a dizzying kind of hunger. It aches and throbs, pulsing in every corner of her body like a bass line. And it’s only when Nancy curls a spit-slick finger into her that the sharp stabbing desire finally dulls, a button pressed, a switch flipped, a cold wave of relief falling through Robin’s body like sand. All the muscles in her body tense before they finally relax. She moans, head slamming forward onto Nancy’s shoulder, as everything else fades away.
“Good?” Nancy asks, low. It’s a simple question, and the answer is obvious; but Robin is far too overwhelmed to say anything that wouldn’t be pathetically slurred, so she resigns not to say anything at all, huffing out a vague mm through her teeth. Nancy laughs a little as other hand rises to the back of Robin’s head, stroking her hair. (For some reason, somehow, it feels more intimate than anything else they’ve done.) Robin is breathing furiously through her nose now, forehead pressed hard into the crook of Nancy’s neck. It takes immense effort not to buck and squirm at the pleasant new pressure. She’s just starting to settle when Nancy adds another finger—no ceremony—and Robin groans at the new stretch, her teeth clicking abruptly together, nails scraping the length of Nancy’s arm.
“Oh, good girl,” Nancy says warmly against her forehead. The movement of her lips on Robin’s skin is half-ticklish. Her hand is working deftly now, a slow, deep, consistent thrust that makes Robin’s core tighten into a perfect kind of ache. “So good, Robbie.” That’s enough to make Robin practically start hyperventilating, clenching around Nancy’s fingers, and Nancy pets the back of her head again and murmurs, “Shh, Rob, you’re okay. You’re fine.” Her touch becomes rougher and deeper, more insistent. Robin moans uselessly. Nancy continues: “You’re good at this, remember? Letting me fuck you how I want.” Her mouth drops to Robin’s temple, to the shell of her ear, to the place her heart threatens to beat out of her throat. Robin thinks her whole body must be flushed, not that much of it has even been uncovered. She’s glowing with heat. A low electric coil is tightening between her hips, every bone starting to buzz, a tremble rippling through her thighs.
A moment later Robin hears herself whine, “Ugh. Please.” The sound only comes out halfway, voice quiet and incredibly rough, and she’s so desperate it threatens to break her voice entirely in half. As good as this all feels, it’s not quite enough. And frankly Robin doesn’t think she can go one more fucking minute without an orgasm.
“Please what?”
“Fuck, Nance—”
“Say it.” Nancy’s teeth nip at her neck, hard and sharp enough that Robin squeaks. Nancy’s fucking her almost too deep now, coaxing out a dull, satisfying soreness, and Robin fails to stifle a groaning sob, desperation tearing up her insides like some parasite with claws. “C’mon, Rob, use your words. You gonna come for me?”
As Nancy says this, she finally, finally turns her wrist so the heel of her palm bumps Robin’s clit, and it’s enough to turn Robin’s vision fuzzy and pink. The touch is searing, a white-hot arc of pleasure, and she chases it by grinding down hard on Nancy’s willing hand.
It’s not a slow build. Almost the moment that second touch is offered Robin knows it’s enough, this is it, beyond it, and her orgasm is digging a hot, tight grip into the back of her hips, a tingling heaviness seeping through her gut. Darkness pulls at the edges of her vision. From somewhere above her Nancy’s voice says, sweet and disembodied: “That’s it, bee. My best girl. I got you, okay?”
And that’s it. String snapped, knot tied so tight it bursts, a deep, rushing heat that crashes over her with ridiculous immediately. Robin hears herself starting to moan and gasp; she sinks her teeth into Nancy’s shoulder in an effort to muffle the noise, but a whine still slips out of the side of her mouth as her orgasm draws a sharp-hot line all through her, jerking against Nancy’s hand as the stimulation slowly becomes painful. The aftershocks ripple through her like water.
Nancy makes sure to pull away slowly, her other hand sitting gently against Robin’s cheek. Robin watches with warm, unfocused eyes as Nancy sucks Robin off her fingers, neatly wipes her hands on her stupid green plaid skirt, plants them on either side of Robin’s hips and leans in to press a kiss to Robin’s lips that’s so chaste it makes both of them giggle.
“Thanks,” Robin says, burying her head against Nancy’s neck again. This time Nancy wraps her arms around Robin’s shoulders, rubbing slow, soft circles into her back and resting her chin on Robin’s head. Nancy’s skin is warm against her own. Her pulse is loud and confident, heart beating in Robin’s ear, and Robin can smell the strangely perfect combination of sweat and Chanel perfume that sticks to her like glue.
“You’re welcome,” Nancy says, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I appreciate the recognition. Was a lot of work.”
Robin swats her ass lightly: Nancy squeals and laughs, making a half-hearted attempt to wiggle out of her grip. “Har har. No it wasn’t.”
“No,” Nancy agrees. “Not really.”