Work Text:
You step into the shop, exhausted, bags still slung over your shoulders. The world is swimming around you. The streetlights have barely been lit but you are ready to drop, mentally more so than physically.
You drop your belongings wherever they fall, making your way back toward your small bedroom. It’s so wonderfully close, and you can imagine the soft sheets, the lingering smell of incense always there despite you not being home for weeks at a time as of late. But as you glance around the shop, as you pass shelves and jars and ornaments, you realise that there are so many things to do, things that you did not bother to fix up before you left—always leaving such things as a problem for future you—and that Asra did not return this late with you, still out, and that you cannot leave the story like this.
As you move for a nearby display of books, you grumbling, them slightly askew, you hear a murmur from the back and a shuffle of footsteps.
“It’s just me,” you answer softly.
Portia appears in the doorway, hooded eyes, hair down and mussed and blazing about her shoulders. She has clearly been waiting up for you and had fallen asleep in the bed, something about her own day having dragged her to sleep in the early hours too. The moment she sees you in your equally exhausted state, however, her eyes are clear, she stands up to her full height, and walks over to place a hand on your cheek.
You smile into it and kiss her palm, and she sighs, eyes narrowing as she says, “I knew he would make you come back on your own.”
“I chose to come back on my own. Asra just had a few more ends to tie up before he comes back, too."
“Why ever would you want to come back here in one trip and not make a stop overnight?”
You narrow your eyes at her, the corners crinkling from your smile as you look her face over, waiting for the penny to drop. And a moment later, it does, and she blushes and smiles, and presses up to kiss you on the lips.
“You are too sweet to me,” she murmurs.
“And only you,” you return.
You sigh into her as she kisses you again, her hand smoothing down your neck to your shoulder. Your own hand curls against the fat of her belly, feeling each individual roll and bump, memorising every wonderful part of her body as though for the first time. She is warm, and soft, and almost entirely pressed up against you, and it’s everything you can do to remember your duties as both a shopkeeper and, unfortunately, adult.
You pull back after a few moments, sighing as you gesture to the shop around you. Portia gives you a wry look, one she usually saves for her brother but which apparently you are deserving of tonight.
“No.” She tells you.
“It’ll only take a few moments.”
“No.”
You roll your eyes and turn back to the books you were righting, and as you do, she latches on to you from behind, arms wrapping around your waist, face pressing into your back. You laugh and attempt to move, but she has dropped every inch of her 5’1 self into keeping you grounded, and you only make it a half-hearted (pun intended) step before you groan and give up.
You turn back in defeat as she lets go, now grinning madly, and as her reward you lean in close to kiss her nose. “Fine. What did you have in mind?”
Her cheeks flush a little at your question, and her lip catches between her teeth. You follow the movement, already knowing exactly what she intends to say, but you want to hear her say it – maybe you even want to watch her squirm a little.
“Let me take your mind off your day,” she tells you, stepping forward to grab hold of the ends of the scarf Asra gifted you before you returned to Vesuvia. It’s a soft lilac that clashes horribly with your outfit, but it was silk and he insisted that if you ended up hating it, he would gladly take it off your hands.
Barely stopping to admire the make of it, something you are sure you should be offended oveR, Portia wraps her hands around the ends, pulling it a little tighter, until she’s quite sure that you can’t escape, even though you would never have the audacity to try.
“Let me make you feel good.”
She pushes her lips to yours, soft, slow, a smile still to them. Your kiss is not very successful at first, because you are both smiling like the dumb idiots that you are, and you are in the middle of the shop surrounded by the bags from your travels and a pile of books you honestly can’t stop thinking about fixing, and the nearest soft surface is way down the end, and if you open shop tomorrow and the books aren’t—
“Stop thinking about the books,” she deadpans against your lips.
“Sorry,” you say, a wicked grin splitting your features. She sighs and throws her hands up at you, then turns and begins storming toward the back of the shop.
You laugh and walk after her, catching hold of her hand just as she steps through to where your bed is waiting, sheets still mussed from where she had been dozing.
“No no no wait wait wait—” She rolls her eyes at you as she turns, and again that same look that is only ever for Ilya.
“Wow, it must be my lucky day.” You comment about the look.
“Not anymore it’s not.”
“I thought you wanted to take my mind off that?"
“I did.”
“And I thought you wanted to make me feel good.”
“…I do.”
“So then…what’s the problem? Take my mind off it.” You step forward, placing both her hands over your shoulders, then lean in to bite her bottom lip. “Make. Me. Feel. Good.”
Slowly, so slowly, your hands move hers down your shoulders to your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh there. You moan softly into her mouth, and the sound seems to tip her enthusiasm back in your favour, her hands beginning to move of their own accord until they have dislodged your blouse from your pants and begun lazily dragging her fingertips up your stomach.
You shiver, goosebumps popping on your flesh as her fingertips—always a little too cold—slip under your undergarment to find your nipples, pinching and rolling them into stiff little peaks as she hums in delight.
After a few moments of her playing and your shivering, she mumbles something to you, and you murmur back with a noise of agreement, hoping that whatever she promised you—and which you agreed to—means you will find yourselves a little more naked a lot more faster. A few more seconds pass, her hands cupping and squeezing and her body pressing into yours, until she murmurs again and you don’t answer, and she laughs and speaks a little louder to get your attention.
“I said we need a bed.”
“Huh?”
“A bed! You need to get on the bed, you—”
“Alright, alright, no need to insult me!”
Together, you twist and turn and stumble a little—mainly because you refuse to let her hands move from your chest and she refuses to let the two of you stop kissing, you both have your faults—but eventually you both make it there, Portia on top, you stretched out underneath.
Almost immediately, she pushes your blouse up to your neck, your undergarment joining it, her tongue circling your pert nipple once, twice, before she takes it into her warm mouth. You arch into her mouth, your hand smoothing down your stomach until it slips beneath the waistband of your pants and you begin to brush yourself through the fabric of your undergarments, just the lightest of teasing touches while her mouth sends jolts of pleasure to your core.
“Is your mind off it yet?” She asks, her teeth grazing your nipple. You whimper, another jolt of pleasure bursting through you, and you begin to circle your clit through the fabric.
You barely manage to scrunch your face up in playful thought. “Mmm, not quite yet.”
“I must not be working hard enough, then.”
You moan as her finger tips hook into the waistband of your pants, and you lift your hips to help her pull both them and your undergarments down. You barely pay attention to where you kick them off, because she is already back up at your lips, her tongue delving into your mouth as her fingertips brush yours aside and take over your ministrations.
“Oh—” You sigh against her touch, hips pressing up impatiently. She smiles against your lips before taking the bottom one between her teeth, tugging lightly.
“How about now?” She asks, and before you can even dare to disagree and tempt her to prove herself again, her fingers are dragging oh-so-lazily against your clit, a barely-there touch that has you shivering beneath her.
“Portia—”
“Is that a yes?”
“I—” You are cut off by your own whimper, your entire body alight with her touch, the longing for something you have not been able to have or love or feel for so many weeks.
Her fingertips finish their small circles of your clit, so happy to draw your pleasure out just a little longer, moving down to part your labia to explore a little further. They press into your folds, brushing gently, testing exactly what you and your body like and need tonight, your whimpers and whispers of yes spurring her on. As your hand slips into her hair, you feel the tip of her finger pressing gently against your hole, probing just inside, gathering the wetness of your arousal.
“I think that’s a yes,” she hums against your neck, placing a single, soft kiss just under your jaw. “And I know it’s a yes, because whenever you turn into a needy little mess, you lose your sassy pants.”
You barely have the sense to argue against her that you always have your sassy pants on, because right now—with her above you, slowly moving down your body with soft kisses to every mark and freckle she can find, her index finger beginning to slide and crook inside of you with a promise of what is to come—you barely even know what pants are, and you certainly don’t have the mind to risk losing the promise of your pleasure by putting the sassy ones back on.
Parting your thighs with the weight of her hips, Portia settles between your legs, still murmuring and humming her approval at each and every one of your responses. The way you shiver beneath her as she kisses the flesh just beside your belly button, the way your fists bunch in the sheets as her finger curls inside of you, beckoning you further into your madness. Your chest is swelling, your throat tight with the need for release and the need for her, for the woman you haven’t set eyes on in so many weeks, for the wonderful being you can never be away from for long without needing her back in your arms.
Her finger retreats from you, and you whine at the loss, propping yourself up onto your elbows to look down at her between your parted legs, her lips just inches from where she always manages to do the most delicious things.
“I missed you,” she tells you, placing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. You soften at the sight of her, the flush to her cheeks. Her own hand has already moved aside the folds of her dress to reach between her legs, the roll of her bottom lip between her teeth telling you she’s already rolling small, delicious circles across her own clit.
“I always miss you,” you agree, and she kisses your other thigh this time, a silent way of telling you to settle back and let her prove it. Let her make you forget about your worries, let her make you feel good.
With a soft smile, you take the pillow she’s offering you and place it behind your head, settling back so you can watch as you let her do exactly that.