Work Text:
Greta Gill was made up of curves.
There were no straight lines. No hard edges. Her words might sometimes be jagged, honed and ready to eviscerate.
But her body?
Just a series of curves and Carson cherished every one. Filed them away in her memory to revisit - time and again.
When she was feeling down… when she was feeling frisky… when she lay in her bed at night, Shirley’s inexplicable murmuring snores keeping her from drifting off… Carson would rifle through her mental index cards and choose a particular thought to dwell on. A particular curve.
There were so many to choose from.
The first of Greta’s curves that Carson ever noticed was her lips. Her mouth. Early on there was the bow of her public smile, the slight curvature at the corners of her lips when she smirked. But as Carson got to know Greta better - to understand the nuances of her smiles, to realise exactly how expressive Greta’s mouth was - she realised that Greta had a different smile for every occasion. And definitely a different smile for Carson. One that softened her eyes and rounded her cheeks and Carson loved that expression.
The next obvious curve was the arch of Greta’s eyebrows. Carson could always tell when Greta was being serious - or when she was smiling insincerely - because her eyebrows flattened and lost their beautiful curvature. When Greta was happy or excited her eyebrows rounded gloriously. And when she was teasing… there was a specific arc that formed at the outside edges of her brows and Carson… would feel a shiver down her back.
Greta’s curls were a series of loops and whorls and curves that were impossibly gorgeous and endlessly fascinating to Carson. In the rare quiet moments they found together Carson loved to not so much run her fingers through Greta’s hair as much as play with the ringlets. Pull them gently and let them bounce back into place. Follow the spirals and swirls until her fingers found Greta’s scalp.
The curve that Carson found unspeakably attractive was Greta’s calves in heels. It didn’t make sense, but there was something about the way Greta’s muscles bunched and flexed that made Carson’s mouth dry. Carson knew that Greta was aware of this. Would use that knowledge to deadly advantage.
Just like she used her hips. Carson would be in the middle of saying something, would be talking to someone or doing something, and Greta would catch her eye. Pop her hip in just this way, angle her pelvis and Carson would lose her train of thought completely. Remember the feel of that skin under her palm, the smooth warmth. It was lucky that everyone on the team thought she was weird and incapable of holding down a conversation, otherwise Greta could get Carson into a lot of trouble with the power she held.
The dip of Greta’s waist created a curve that just begged to be touched. Carson would often find her fingers gravitating there when they kissed, palms bracketing Greta’s belly. Greta’s waist was an anchor point when things got heated, when Carson’s head got hot and lost in the moment - Greta would slow things down and Carson would become aware of how tightly she was gripping Greta. Would loosen her hold and murmur apologies but Greta never minded.
The swell of Greta’s ass was another curve that just begged to be looked at. Carson didn’t feel compelled to slap any ass she came across - unlike Greta - and she’d never found them attractive on anyone else. But Greta… Carson was often torn between wanting to walk beside Greta, and being happy to walk behind her. But one day after Jo pointed out how obvious Carson was being they decided it was better if Carson walked ahead.
Greta was always so immaculately put together, so perfectly and properly dressed, that the next curve was rarely glimpsed and all the more precious for it - the swell of Greta’s cleavage. Many of Greta’s outfits were high-necked and highly principled, but there were a few exceptions. One or two dresses that dipped to a daring vee, a couple of blouses that Greta would leave unbuttoned to a discretely proper height. Revealing the barest hint of roundness that would make Carson’s heart stutter.
A few more of Greta’s curves Carson was… more intimately acquainted with. Carson had found the soft indent behind Greta’s ear as she kissed her way along her jaw. Had traced the sweep of it with her tongue and hummed in delight as Greta gasped. Tightened her grip on Carson’s shoulders.
Carson had barely breathed when she saw the gentle swell of Greta’s belly as she lay on her side in the narrow convent bed. She hadn’t wanted Greta to pull away, to be self-conscious and cover herself. So she’d angled her head away slightly, had run her fingers up and down the length of Greta’s thigh even as she stared. Entranced.
The arch of Greta’s foot as she responded to Carson’s touch was a curve that Carson relished. Took great pride and delight in bringing into the world. It didn’t happen often enough. Carson could count on one hand the times that Greta had deemed it safe enough to properly relax into Carson’s touch. To purr and stretch like a cat, sinuous and graceful and satisfied.
The most intimate was the curve of Greta’s fingers deep inside Carson, slender and strong and finding places within Carson that she never knew existed. Eliciting feelings that Carson had never felt before - never dreamed were possible before. Carson would almost bite through her lip to remain quiet when all she wanted to do was repeat Greta’s name. Over and over like a prayer. Like a plea.
Carson’s absolute favourite though - the one she thought about far more often than was probably healthy but she couldn’t bring herself to stop - was the perfect arc of Greta’s breast against her rib cage. The pendulous swoop down and around that was just… luscious. There wasn’t another word to adequately describe it. Carson had caught sight of it at the convent that night. Greta had been sitting up, dressing afterwards, because… it wasn’t safe. And Carson had frozen mid-movement as she’d been trying to put her pyjamas on, to button her top. Spellbound by the sight. Greta had noticed, had asked what Carson was looking at. Sharp. And then flushed a charming shade of pink when Carson stuttered through an explanation. That she just found Greta so beautiful that she got caught up. She seemed so worldly most of the time - so experienced and unflappable. And it made Carson’s heart light to know that she wasn’t completely immune to Carson’s awkward flattery. Her awed desire.
As she sat on the team bus now, alone on the seat across from Greta, Carson traced the visible curves of her body with her eyes. Watching as Greta chatted with Ana in the seat in front, gesturing with one hand. The fabric of her dress pulled tight against her chest and Carson saw - for the briefest moment - the clearly defined swell of Greta’s breast.
Carson closed her eyes. Content.
Another memory to add to the collection.