[advent fic: coyotes] this electric feeling
fem!mikkel/fem!oliver;
r;
1000w;
for cinderlily
This isn't anything like what Mikke expected.
(She could lie to herself, tell herself that she wasn't expecting anything, that she hadn't known this was coming since the first time they'd lain eyes on each other, but she'd always known this was going to happen.)
It isn't the rough, hard play that Mikke had come to expect from Oli, hot hands and hotter mouths as they tried to devour each other.
This is... different. This is Oli stripping Mikke of her shirt only to make her way slowly down Mikke's chest, stopping to press kisses to every bruise, every freckle that dots Mikke's skin. This is Mikke's hands in Oli's hair, not tugging, not pulling, just combing through the short brown strands and cupping her face to tug her up gently for a kiss.
This is Oli kissing Mikke like she doesn't want to do anything else for the rest of her life, their mouths slotting together with an ease born of fate and not of practice (not yet, anyway).
Mikke makes a soft sound against Oli's lips as Oli's fingertips dance down her forearms and her palm slides against Mikke's, lacing their fingers together as Oli nudges her thigh in between Mikke's.
The warmth is rolling through Mikke's belly, not hurried, not frantic, just there, spreading up into her chest and she knows she's beginning to flush.
Oli notices, breaks the slow kisses to trace her nose down the pink over Mikke's fair skin, and Mikke feels more than hears the "beautiful," Oli murmurs against her clavicles.
Mikke presses her fingertips into the back of Oli's hands, in between her knuckles like they were meant to be there, as Oli nuzzles her way to Mikke's belly button, blows gently at the skin there and relishes in the way Mikke shivers. Mikke whines, quietly, in the back of her throat when Oli reaches the waistband of her sweatpants, and only lets Oli get one hand free, fingers still gripping onto the other one.
Her head falling backwards against the couch pillow, Mikke lifts her hips just enough that Oli can slide the fabric down her legs, leaving her in just her plain cotton underwear and bra. A short breath escapes Mikke as Oli slides the fingertips of her free hand over the curve of her calves, the line of her thighs, the sharp joints of her hips. Oli's touch is reverent, worshipful, and without even looking, Mikke can envision the intensity in Oli's gaze, has seen it a million times on the ice, sees it in her dreams.
“Oli,” she gasps as Oli's fingers quest over the elastic where her panties are pressed against her stomach, and Oli stops, breathes, “Mikke,” in a tone that has Mikke's heart jumping into her throat.
Oli's suddenly there, hovering above her, hair falling over her eyes, and Mikke can't stop herself from reaching out and tucking it behind Oli's ear, feeling her breath catch when Oli turns her face and nuzzles against her palm, presses a kiss to the center of it. It feels like a question, a plea, and Mikke relaxes, curls her hand around the side of Oli's neck as she nods.
Oli's eyes shine with a brightness that Mikke's only seen a few times, until she disappears, and Mikke doesn't have the chance to wonder where she is before a trail of kisses is leading up Mikke's thighs, a hint of teeth that has Mikke gasping.
The first kiss to her center has her trembling, the light pressure of Oli's lips lingering before she pulls away, just enough to breathe hotly against Mikke through the thin fabric, and Mikke makes a rough sound, turns her head to bury her face against the back of the couch.
A hand in her hair, tugging lightly but firmly, and Mikke can't find it in her to resist, lets Oli pull her away from the leather, and she's rewarded with a tongue against her that has her crying out.
Oli's fingers, for the first time, slide over the fabric; Mikke can feel the calluses and their roughness makes her shiver, combined with Oli mouthing at her clit, just enough that Mikke can feel the pleasure shoot through her.
Mikke arches her back as Oli nudges her fingers under Mikke’s panties, pushes them aside just enough that she can stroke rough fingers over her, runs her thumb around Mikke’s clit. It’s the first time in a long time that it’s been someone’s fingers other than her own against her, and Mikke knows she isn’t going to last, especially not when Oli adds her mouth back into the mix.
Heat is creeping through her, settling in the pit of her stomach, and when Mikke glances down, it’s to Oli looking back up at her, eyes dark and pupils blown wide, and Mikke groans, tosses her head back as Oli licks over her.
Mikke loses track of time, of how long she’s there, of how long Oli worships her, pulls her to the very edge of orgasm and then pulls back, until Mikke is shaking, hands fisted in her own hair and knees hooked over Oli’s shoulders.
“Oli,” she gasps, voice practically a sob as Oli swirls her tongue, closer and closer but never quite to where Mikke needs it most, and the “please, please,” that escapes her would be embarrassing if Mikke wasn’t so desperate.
A touch is all it takes before white is flashing behind Mikke’s closed eyes and she shouts, shoulders pushes against the couch as she arches her hips up into Oli’s mouth, rides out the waves of pleasure coursing through her. She’s vaguely aware of Oli crawling up her body, and when she finally falls back into herself, it’s to Oli tucked up against her side, curled around her with her arms wrapped around Mikke’s waist and chin resting on Mikke’s shoulder.
Mikke squints at her, hazily, and makes a motion towards her that Oli stops, pinning her down with a strong leg thrown over Mikke’s.
“Next time,” she says softly, words spoken into Mikke’s hair, and Mikke knows she needs to get up, she’s sticky and gross, but Oli is warm and comfortable and smells like Oli, and it’s too easy to press her face against the curve of Oli’s shoulder and mumble, “mkay.”
r;
1000w;
for cinderlily
This isn't anything like what Mikke expected.
(She could lie to herself, tell herself that she wasn't expecting anything, that she hadn't known this was coming since the first time they'd lain eyes on each other, but she'd always known this was going to happen.)
It isn't the rough, hard play that Mikke had come to expect from Oli, hot hands and hotter mouths as they tried to devour each other.
This is... different. This is Oli stripping Mikke of her shirt only to make her way slowly down Mikke's chest, stopping to press kisses to every bruise, every freckle that dots Mikke's skin. This is Mikke's hands in Oli's hair, not tugging, not pulling, just combing through the short brown strands and cupping her face to tug her up gently for a kiss.
This is Oli kissing Mikke like she doesn't want to do anything else for the rest of her life, their mouths slotting together with an ease born of fate and not of practice (not yet, anyway).
Mikke makes a soft sound against Oli's lips as Oli's fingertips dance down her forearms and her palm slides against Mikke's, lacing their fingers together as Oli nudges her thigh in between Mikke's.
The warmth is rolling through Mikke's belly, not hurried, not frantic, just there, spreading up into her chest and she knows she's beginning to flush.
Oli notices, breaks the slow kisses to trace her nose down the pink over Mikke's fair skin, and Mikke feels more than hears the "beautiful," Oli murmurs against her clavicles.
Mikke presses her fingertips into the back of Oli's hands, in between her knuckles like they were meant to be there, as Oli nuzzles her way to Mikke's belly button, blows gently at the skin there and relishes in the way Mikke shivers. Mikke whines, quietly, in the back of her throat when Oli reaches the waistband of her sweatpants, and only lets Oli get one hand free, fingers still gripping onto the other one.
Her head falling backwards against the couch pillow, Mikke lifts her hips just enough that Oli can slide the fabric down her legs, leaving her in just her plain cotton underwear and bra. A short breath escapes Mikke as Oli slides the fingertips of her free hand over the curve of her calves, the line of her thighs, the sharp joints of her hips. Oli's touch is reverent, worshipful, and without even looking, Mikke can envision the intensity in Oli's gaze, has seen it a million times on the ice, sees it in her dreams.
“Oli,” she gasps as Oli's fingers quest over the elastic where her panties are pressed against her stomach, and Oli stops, breathes, “Mikke,” in a tone that has Mikke's heart jumping into her throat.
Oli's suddenly there, hovering above her, hair falling over her eyes, and Mikke can't stop herself from reaching out and tucking it behind Oli's ear, feeling her breath catch when Oli turns her face and nuzzles against her palm, presses a kiss to the center of it. It feels like a question, a plea, and Mikke relaxes, curls her hand around the side of Oli's neck as she nods.
Oli's eyes shine with a brightness that Mikke's only seen a few times, until she disappears, and Mikke doesn't have the chance to wonder where she is before a trail of kisses is leading up Mikke's thighs, a hint of teeth that has Mikke gasping.
The first kiss to her center has her trembling, the light pressure of Oli's lips lingering before she pulls away, just enough to breathe hotly against Mikke through the thin fabric, and Mikke makes a rough sound, turns her head to bury her face against the back of the couch.
A hand in her hair, tugging lightly but firmly, and Mikke can't find it in her to resist, lets Oli pull her away from the leather, and she's rewarded with a tongue against her that has her crying out.
Oli's fingers, for the first time, slide over the fabric; Mikke can feel the calluses and their roughness makes her shiver, combined with Oli mouthing at her clit, just enough that Mikke can feel the pleasure shoot through her.
Mikke arches her back as Oli nudges her fingers under Mikke’s panties, pushes them aside just enough that she can stroke rough fingers over her, runs her thumb around Mikke’s clit. It’s the first time in a long time that it’s been someone’s fingers other than her own against her, and Mikke knows she isn’t going to last, especially not when Oli adds her mouth back into the mix.
Heat is creeping through her, settling in the pit of her stomach, and when Mikke glances down, it’s to Oli looking back up at her, eyes dark and pupils blown wide, and Mikke groans, tosses her head back as Oli licks over her.
Mikke loses track of time, of how long she’s there, of how long Oli worships her, pulls her to the very edge of orgasm and then pulls back, until Mikke is shaking, hands fisted in her own hair and knees hooked over Oli’s shoulders.
“Oli,” she gasps, voice practically a sob as Oli swirls her tongue, closer and closer but never quite to where Mikke needs it most, and the “please, please,” that escapes her would be embarrassing if Mikke wasn’t so desperate.
A touch is all it takes before white is flashing behind Mikke’s closed eyes and she shouts, shoulders pushes against the couch as she arches her hips up into Oli’s mouth, rides out the waves of pleasure coursing through her. She’s vaguely aware of Oli crawling up her body, and when she finally falls back into herself, it’s to Oli tucked up against her side, curled around her with her arms wrapped around Mikke’s waist and chin resting on Mikke’s shoulder.
Mikke squints at her, hazily, and makes a motion towards her that Oli stops, pinning her down with a strong leg thrown over Mikke’s.
“Next time,” she says softly, words spoken into Mikke’s hair, and Mikke knows she needs to get up, she’s sticky and gross, but Oli is warm and comfortable and smells like Oli, and it’s too easy to press her face against the curve of Oli’s shoulder and mumble, “mkay.”