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“Just a little further!”
You can barely hear Abby’s voice over the howling wind.
You’re hanging onto Abby’s backpack, stumbling your way through an unexpected white-out blizzard on your morning patrol to Hillcrest. It’s just the two of you, and the uneven, slippery ground and disorienting whirl of snowflakes has you fighting to stay on your feet. There’s so much snow falling that you can only see about two feet in front of you, and what you can see is already buried under a blanket of white.
It’s not supposed to snow like this in Seattle, that’s for certain, but if you had known it was supposed to snow like this, you certainly wouldn’t have headed out on foot, of all transportation modes. Thankfully, you’re paired up with your best friend, who knows her lay of the land as one of the WLF’s top soldiers, otherwise you’re not entirely sure you would have made it.
The tail of Abby’s braid is whipping wildly from underneath her navy toque when she reaches back behind her to pat you on the hip, something she’s done every few minutes to make sure you were still there with her.
You squeeze her arm in response – I’m still here, and I heard you.
When you peer over her right shoulder, you can see the vague outline of houses in the distance, probably a few minutes of a walk away still. It’s a specific house the two of you need to get to – the reinforced one with the fireplace and the intact lock at the front door – but with the buildings in sight, the two of you trudge a bit faster, eyes glued to the vine-covered brick architecture.
The wind screams in your ears, bites into any exposed skin it can find in the last few yards to the house. You continue trudging along behind Abby, ducked behind her right shoulder, per the instructions she’d given you once the storm had picked up.
She’d initially reached her hand out behind her, grabbed your own to hold onto as a way to keep tabs on you, but you’d quickly realized how much she needed her two hands to keep her toque on her head and the snow from her eyes.
So instead, you’d settled for holding onto a strap of her backpack.
And only when you’re tucked into the doorstep of the patrol house do you let go of Abby’s backpack. Despite being protected in your leather gloves, your hand feels frozen stiff in a claw position, and you try to massage some life back into it again as Abby unlocks the door.
Once open, the two of you stumble forward through the doorframe, desperate to get inside.
Abby slams the door behind you, locks it quickly as though that will keep the brutal weather out, and the two of you stand there panting for a few beats. You’re bent over at the waist, trying to catch your breath, and Abby’s leaned up against the shut door.
Well, shit.
When you stand at your full height again, you look up at her to find her smiling weakly.
“Good to see you,” she says.
It’s the first time the two of you have met eyes since being ambushed by the blizzard, you realize, and suddenly you can see just how much of the storm’s brunt Abby took. You can see it in how red her cheeks are, how purple her full lips are, and how her eyelashes are coated in frost. Her teeth are also chattering, and the top of her toque and her shoulders have a dusting of snow on them.
“Jesus Abby, are you okay?”
Nodding, she pushes herself off the door and walks over to the patrol logbook placed on the table in the entryway. She runs her finger down the rows of sign-in, sign-out information, bends and quickly pens in both of your initials. You notice she’s shivering as she pulls off her gloves and stretches out her fingers, but before you can say anything, she fixes you with a concerned look.
Outside, the wind continues howling. It’s less freezing inside, but it’s still far from warm.
“Are you okay?” she asks, rubbing her hands together.
Her eyes flick up and down your body, giving you quick once-over before settling on your face.
“I’m fine, Abby. You’re the one with the blue lips.”
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, looking like she’s attempting to suck the life back into it, and you realize too late that you’re staring with a little too much curiosity behind your gaze. You avert your gaze right as she steps toward you, reaches for you.
“Let me see your hands,” she says.
Confused, you pull off your gloves and hold out your hands, palms up.
Abby carefully takes your hands in hers. You try not to notice how much bigger her hands are than yours as she inspects them, gently pinches each of your fingertips one by one. Somehow, her hands feel warm, and the heat from them sends a little shiver up your spine before you can stop it.
“Good. No frost bite for us today,” she smiles.
“Excellent.”
“Though, you know what Manny always says – you really only need three fingers,” Abby winks.
Your cheeks heat at the lewd joke, and your eyes drop down to her fingers, which are still playing with and rubbing at your own – an attempt to coax some warmth back into them, you’re sure. But unfortunately, the blood is going to another, less helpful place in your body.
“Oh, fuck off, you can’t be cracking sex jokes after we nearly died out there,” you scold, but you’re certain there’s a smirk spreading across your face.
Abby laughs, squeezes your hands in response.
“Oh, come on. Everybody loves a good fingering joke.”
“You’re just as bad as Manny!” you laugh.
“At fingering? Or telling jokes?” Abby asks. “Because I think I’m pretty damn good in both of those departments.”
Laughing, you snatch your hands back from her dramatically, trying to stave off a full-on blush as you pull your toque off. This kind of banter, the kind that borders on being outright flirty, isn’t uncommon for the two of you. Most of your year-long friendship has hinged on making each other laugh, blush, or internally groan in sexual frustration.
“Well, if you’re so good with your hands, Abigail, why don’t you start up that fireplace?” you shoot back. “I’m fucking freezing, and you look like you are, too.”
“Sounds romantic,” she smirks. “I’m in.”
Ten minutes later, the fireplace is crackling away on the main floor.
The two of you are standing in front of it, wet jackets removed and hung up to dry. Both still wearing your boots, you’re down to the thermal long-sleeve shirt you threw on this morning and snow-dampened, green cargo pants, and Abby’s down to her beige Henley shirt and brown pair of cargo pants. The space is slowly warming up, but you’re standing with your arms wrapped around yourself, actively trying not to shiver.
The two of you are very alone, out here in this long-abandoned Seattle neighbourhood.
There’s some relief that comes with this knowledge, knowing that you’ll be away from the buzz of the stadium for at least a few hours until the weather dies down.
“Well, I’m glad we didn’t die – I was worried for a few minutes there,” Abby says.
“I had faith in you.”
Sighing with a smile, she wraps her arm around your shoulder and pulls you against her.
Tucked into her side with your arms wrapped around myself, you lean your head back against her shoulder and close your eyes. She smells like pine and the outdoors, and with her jacket off, you can feel her warmth seeping through the side of your shirt.
“This is nice,” you whisper.
You feel Abby nod, followed by her cheek resting on top of your head.
Standing together like this feels too natural, too familiar.
You inhale slowly, attempt to soak in the feeling of her leaning against you, the warmth of her hand holding your arm, the slow rise and fall of her chest against your back.
Your heart begins beating harder in your chest, and without allowing yourself to overthink it, you curl into her so that you’re snuggled into the hollow of her neck with your arms wrapped around her waist. Abby wraps her other arm across your back and pulls you closer to her immediately, even leans down to bury her face into your shoulder.
The two of you meld together like magnets, drawn tight to one another by some unseen force, and her cold nose presses into the bare skin of your neck. The warmth of her breath tickles against your sensitive skin, and goosebumps prickle up your arms. Everything in you sings with delight, sings with an overwhelming amount of sudden, irrevocable desire, and the only thing you can think to say is, “You’re so warm,” with your face tucked against her shirt.
She hums in response and wraps her strong arms around you tighter.
Fingers spread across her back, you run your hands up until you brush her shoulder blades, then slowly drag them back down. And with your eyes closed, you try to memorize the curve of her spine, the way her hard muscles feel under your fingertips, and she lets you, encourages you, even, when she leans into you further, nuzzles her face into your neck.
Slowly, giving her a chance to stop you if she wanted, you slip your fingertips under the hem of her shirt and brush them along the small of her back. Her skin is deliciously warm and soft under your touch, and she lets out a soft noise that sounds very close to a whimper.
The sound, all breathy and unguarded, makes your face burst aflame, makes your fingers flex and grip at the small of her back just for a chance to hear it again. And in response, you feel another rush of her hot breath fan across your collarbones, feel Abby’s arms tighten around you.
That telltale buzz of adrenaline begins to ramp up in your system again, and you can feel your own breath coming faster, harder, as you begin to tilt your face up toward hers, eyes still closed. You can feel how she, in turn, brings one of her hands to cradle the back of your neck, drawing you closer to her as she leans forward to touch her forehead against yours.
With the gap between your faces slowly closing, you notice she’s breathing fast, too, and that the sound of her is competing with the crackling fire, howling wind, and creaking of the old, boarded-up house. Her breath is warm and teasing on your parted lips.
Despite how heavy your eyelids feel, you open your eyes to look up at her, and Abby’s eyes are trained on you, the dark, sea-blue of her irises barely visible around her wide pupils. Her eyelids look impossibly heavy, too, with her long, blonde eyelashes fluttering on her cheeks as she fights to keep them open. Her lips – no longer purple – part so you can see the white of her teeth behind them, and she licks across them slowly. A little sigh squeezes out of your lungs at the wet flash of pink, and your hands grip at her waist, trembling.
Abby leans close enough that your noses gently bump together, and the two of you stay like that for a few beats – your face upturned to hers, her eyes jumping between your eyes and lips.
“Abby,” you breathe.
Her name slips out of your mouth before you fully know the intention behind it, but almost immediately, something shifts in her eyes, and she leans that little bit closer until your lips brush together. She knows exactly what you’re asking for. You realize she has always known exactly what you’ve wanted or needed from her, and this time is no different. And with your breath mingling together, you realize there’s nobody you adore more than this mountain of a woman who had so readily shielded you from the most brutal parts of the winter storm raging outside.
Flushed and suddenly impatient, you stretch up onto your toes to press your lips fully to hers.
It’s slow and closed mouth at first, but it still rouses a sweet little sigh from Abby, and then suddenly white is flashing behind your closed eyelids because Abby’s hands are reaching up to cradle your jaw, and you’re gripping at her waist, and she’s angling your face to the side to kiss you with parted lips – and the heat of them, the plushness of them clinging to your own is like tasting the sweetest melted honey.
When she briefly pulls away to look down at you, eyes half-lidded and dark, you’re panting like you’ve been underwater for minutes.
“Do you want this?” she whispers.
“Yes,” you whisper back, stretching up to kiss her again. “Yes, yes, yes.”
Nodding in acknowledgement, she bends forward to crash her mouth onto yours, hard enough that if she hadn’t already been holding your face, you likely would’ve been knocked back a step.
And it’s perfect, tongues meeting, breath rushing out in whimpers and moans.
It’s so good that you feel borderline dizzy, and you grip at her shoulders, at her forearms and kiss her back like the world is going to end if you stop.
“I want you,” you pant against her lips. “Please, Abby.”
She makes a strained groaning noise in the small space between your faces before pulling back. Her eyes are all pupils and desire as they flick over your face, and you don’t realize she’s picking you up until your feet are off the floor and your limbs are wrapping around her tightly.
The two of you kiss the entire way upstairs to the house’s primary bedroom, your hands in the back of Abby’s braid and her hands holding the backs of your thighs. By the time she places you at the edge of the mattress, your breath is coming so hard you’re all out panting.
It’s torture to watch her bend to slowly untie and pull off your boots, before kicking off her own and discarding them in a pile on the floor.
Your heart is hammering, pounding fast inside your ribcage, and despite the heat not fully making it up the stairs yet, you’re flushed all over. You’re too hot, in fact, and desperate to slip out of your clothes, so you pull your long sleeve over your head and manage to unbutton your cargos before Abby’s pushing you back onto the bed.
The weight of her on top of you, her hips slotted between your own, makes your head spin with hunger.
But then she’s turning to kiss at your neck, at your jaw, and ear, and you’re gasping, clutching at her back like she’s the only thing keeping you from falling off a dangerous ledge. And all you can feel is heat everywhere, from her tongue tracing along the tendons in your neck, from her hips rocking slowly into your own, from her hands grabbing at you.
It feels so good that you can feel tears of relief beginning to sting at the corners of your eyes, and you blink them away as you moan up at the ceiling, feeling the sharpness of Abby’s teeth dragging down to the swell of your breast.
“Please,” you whimper, hands clutched in her soft hair.
Abby gently pulls the unlined cups of your bra down underneath the curve of your breasts before descending upon you, all hot mouth and insistent tongue. She holds you in her hands carefully, eyes flickering up to your face between teasing licks and soft bites, and you think you could float up to the ceiling if she wasn’t holding you down with her own body.
Your entire being aches for her, throbs for more, more, more, and you don’t realize you’re clawing at her shoulders and scalp until Abby lets out a moan of her own.
She lifts her face from your breasts, panting, and then you’re urging her to take your clothes off, to take off her own, too, and she’s smiling as she does both of those things, stripping the two of you until you’re both naked on the sheets.
Abby’s all built-out muscles and soft curves underneath her clothes, and your eyes flicker over her before she climbs back on top of you, turns you on the mattress so that your head is on the pillows.
She sits back on her knees to get a better look at you, and her hands touch you everywhere but the place you need her the most. She runs them over your thighs, your stomach, your ribs, and then, with desperation pounding through you, you reach down and pull off your underwear.
Her lips fall open in a breathy sigh when she looks down at where you’re flushed and slick for her, and her hands slide down to hold your legs apart as she takes you in.
Your legs are trembling already, your breath coming in shaky inhales and exhales.
“Abby, please,” you whisper up at her.
She’s all pupils and heavy breathing when she meets your eyes.
“Fuck …” she whispers back.
And then she’s on top of you, her hand between your legs, and the two of you are gasping into one another’s mouth at the feeling of her fingertips on your clit. Her touch is soft and light and slow, and you swear you could come just like this if she keeps going, if she keeps kissing you through it, no matter how many noises spill from your lips.
“Oh my god,” you breathe out.
“Mhmm,” she hums back.
Within a matter of seconds, your hips are jerking up into her touch and you’re whimpering into her open, slick mouth for more, more, please, Abby. And she’s moaning right back against your lips, slipping her fingers lower down to stroke at the source of your wetness, barely pressing inside until you beg her again, rock your pelvis pleadingly.
And then, with your foreheads touching, she’s sliding into you – two fingers at once and as deep as she can go – and you’re pushing yourself down onto her and crying out into the small space between your faces. And Abby’s letting out a sound of her own – a choked moan – and flexing her fingers upward in an unforgiving curve, and your toes are curling.
“That feel good, baby?” Abby whispers against your lips.
Baby.
The words, in combination with another firm curl inside of you, makes your breath escape in a shuddering exhale, but you manage a nod, manage to open your eyes again to meet hers. And she’s staring down at you – eyes fluid, lips kissed red, eyebrows pulled together in her own pleasure – and you think she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.
“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop,” you whimper.
Your hips are beginning to rock up into her slow, forceful thrusts and you can feel your body beginning to shudder, muscles beginning to clench tight as though bracing for impact. You know what’s coming, and you’re sure Abby knows too based off how she groans in her own personal delight as a particularly obvious tremor shakes its way through your legs.
You throw your head back and to the side, eyes squeezing shut.
“Open your eyes,” Abby pants. “Open your eyes and look at me.”
Her free hand moves from the bedsheets to rest at the side of your face, and she gently angles your face back so that your noses are touching again. You blink your eyes open, and hers are so intent on your face that you feel yourself going red at how closely she’s watching you, how she’s taking in every flicker of pleasure that plays on your features.
“Look at me when you come.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck –
“Abby,” you whine. “Oh, Abby – I’m so close.”
Your whole body curls up toward her then, your nose pressing into the curve of her cheek, and you can feel her choking on a moan of her own as she gently presses you back into the mattress, holds you there as she fucks into you a little harder, a little faster.
Her mouth is open in a pretty o-shape when you reach up to tangle your hand into her hair, pull her face down to yours for a brief, messy kiss. The sound of heavy breathing, along the sound of two bodies meeting together in a heated exchange, fills the room, drowns out the screeching wind.
“Oh fuck, okay … okay, I’m coming –” you cry out, rushed and breathy.
You’re looking at Abby when it happens, your face cradled in her warm, strong hand, and you can see how your own pleasure shakes through Abby’s body as though she can feel it for herself, like she’s being transformed by it, too. And then you’re gasping and whining and moaning, and Abby’s fucking you through it all the same, pushing up into that spot that makes your vision go white and filling you so completely that you don’t think you’ll ever recover from this.
You only break eye contact when your eyes roll back into your head, followed by the rest of your body arching up into Abby as though you’re being tugged upward by a string. Distantly, you feel yourself spilling onto her hand, onto the sheets underneath you, and you don’t think you’ve ever come so hard in your life, nor so fast, and it’s all so overwhelming that all you can do is tremble in Abby’s arms once it passes.
She collapses on top of you then, gently slips her hand out from where you’re sensitive enough to burst, and she’s breathing almost as hard as you are, panting into the pillow beside your ear.
“Wow,” she croaks.
You can’t help but laugh then, and you turn your face toward hers to press soft, insistent pecks at the side of her face until she turns toward you, catches your lips with her own in a sweet, lingering kiss. The two of you sigh into one another’s mouths – sweaty, sated, and wrapped up in one another as the storm rages on outside.
Only once you’ve stopped trembling with aftershocks does Abby let you flip her onto her back.
She flops down easily then, flushed pink everywhere and still breathing heavily.
She allows her long, muscled legs to be pulled apart, to be kissed and bitten and teased before your head ducks between them. You wrap your mouth around her, and then she’s gasping your name, all pretty and high, and her hands are flying to your hair to gently hold you against her.
The taste of her spills onto your tongue, down your chin, and she’s salty and silky and perfect.
And within minutes, she’s coming hard, twisting and writhing against your face like she’s trying to wring it out of herself, like she can’t get enough but, simultaneously, can’t take anymore, so you let her ride it out, let her jerk her hips away when it becomes too much.
And only then do you crawl back up her body, pressing kisses below her bellybutton, along the curve of her small breasts, and over her collarbones on the way there.
Once your faces are level, she pulls you closer and licks into your mouth feverishly.
“You taste so good,” you whisper to her. “Don’t you?”
Her cheeks somehow get pinker at the question, but she nods with her bottom lip between her teeth, before kissing you again.
The two of your bodies slot together easily, legs tangled and arms wrapped around one another in the cool air. Your head rests on her chest, and you can hear the steady thumping of her heart behind her ribs, slowing but strong.
“I never would’ve thought that the threat of dying in a blizzard could be such a turn on,” Abby says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.
You burst into laughter at that.
She’s grinning when you lift your head to look up at her.
“For the record, I would have let you into my pants without the whole ‘we-almost-got-lost-and-died’ adrenaline rush,” you say with a smirk.
“Oh, really?”
“Really, really.”
“So next time, you’re saying all I have to do is ask?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Abby pauses then, smirking.
“Okay,” she says. “Well, do you want to go for round two then?”
“I absolutely do.”