Archive of Our Own

Carla knows it's kind of a long shot. 

Not totally out of the question.

(Lisa's always open to her suggestions.)

But unlikely. 

(The thing she plans to suggest isn't just outside Lisa's comfort zone, it's on an entirely different continent.) 

Besides, it also happens to be the end of the working week, and her wife is probably knackered. 

Probably already swamped in her cosiest pyjamas, elbow-deep in a family-sized bag of her posh crisps, one of her god-awful documentaries playing on the telly. 

(And, really, Carla muses, as she wriggles out of her chunky boots in the little porch, the hypothetical documentary could be about anything.

Can't even hazard a guess as to what she might walk into. 

She'd once caught the blonde way too immersed in a Louis Theroux special centred on morris dancing in the rural West Country.) 

Anyway, because she's fairly certain this idea is the last thing Lisa will want to try on a Friday night, Carla's come prepared, already armed with the goods. 

(Doesn't want to give her wife too much time to get in her head about it.) 

She pushes through to the living room with a winning smile, and-

"Oh, hi." 

There she is. 

(Lazy smile. 

Swamped in her ginormous, cosy sleep shirt.

Big, fluffy throw blanket tucked around her crossed legs. 

Greg flamin' Wallace in a white tabard and a hairnet kneading some kind of dough on the telly.) 

"Hiya, love," Carla hums, subtly adjusting the two garment bags containing her lingerie prototypes over her shoulder, strips of sample fabric looped around the hangers fluttering like streamers. 

(Not making them a focus, but making sure they're seen.) 

Watching as Lisa clocks the bags, mildly curious (promising-), and- 

(Not yet.

Doesn't want to give her too much time, but doesn't want to spring it on her five seconds after walking through the door either.) 

"Got you something," Carla grins. 

(Prepared in more ways than one.) 

Chuckles as the blonde immediately sits up straighter with an excited little, "Ooh." 

She saunters over to the couch, settles down with one leg tucked beneath her, angled toward Lisa as she drapes the bags over the back of the couch between them, and-

They lean in at the same time. 

Press their lips together. 

"You taste like salt and vinegar," Carla teases, licking her own lips as they part. 

"Oh, charming," Lisa scoffs, swatting at her knee. "Where's my present, then, in here?" A hand moving to the zipper of the top bag, and-

(She could let her open it right now.

Just ask her outright, but-

Not yet.)

Carla catches ahold of her wrist, stops her.

"No," she says, too quickly. Then, under the blonde's bemused gaze, "I mean, not- We'll get to that." 

(Hopefully.) 

"Okay..." 

Mercifully, Lisa lets it slide after that. 

Carla finds her ankles under the blanket, tugs gently, and the blonde gets the hint, drapes her bare legs across her lap with an indulgent smile. 

Watches, then, as Carla reaches into the pocket of her kimono with a cheeky grin, and produces- 

"Ah, the elusive Daim bar," Lisa chuckles. "I can't believe you remembered." 

"'Course I did," she says, all casual, as she hands it over. 

(They'd had a very long, very deep conversation the other day about chocolate they remembered from years gone by.

Both vehemently agreed that Daim bars needed to make a comeback. 

Found themselves pleasantly surprised when Google informed them they'd never actually gone anywhere.

Since then, they'd been on the hunt, in between boring things like work and life responsibilities.) 

"Where'd you find it?" Lisa asks, snapping off a little piece and gently pushing it into Carla's mouth.

Giggling when Carla nips at the pad of her thumb.

"Newsagents' in town," she says, crunching. "On the way back from that flippin' meeting." 

The blonde hums in sympathy. 

Cups her face and presses another tiny kiss against her lips.

Tells her, teasing, "You taste like chocolate." 

"Yeah, well, sweet and savoury," Carla quips, tapping Lisa's mouth. 

It's then that she realises they've somehow gravitated even nearer without being aware of it. 

Faces close. 

Bodies angled, tucked into each other. 

(Fucking lingerie wrapped in its garment bags sandwiched into the small space between their shoulders.) 

"Hey, this isn't your tea, is it?" Lisa asks, nudging her with the chocolate bar, brow furrowed in concern. "You've eaten properly?" 

(The concern, as always, makes a contented warmth bloom across her chest.) 

"I have," she soothes, backs of her fingers tracing, gliding up and down a smooth shin. "Ordered sushi to the factory. In between wracking me brain." 

"No closer to a decision, then?" 

(Oh, okay.

A foot in the door.

As good a chance as any. 

It's go time-)

"Well, actually," Carla hedges, gaze flitting to the bags, hand following, "I narrowed it down to two." 

Fiddling with the zipper now, and-

"Oh, Carla, that's brilliant," Lisa says, squeezing her hand. (The one on the zipper.) Then, "Wait, these two?" 

"Yep." 

(Images of her wife in her lingerie suddenly flashing across her mind with no warning.

God.

Silently repeats 'kind of a long shot' like a mantra, but-)

Lisa's shuffling back a bit, eagerly pulling the bags onto her lap, asking, "Can I look?"

(You can do a lot more than look, Carla thinks.

Carla hopes.)

Says instead, already a little bit hot and bothered (those mental pictures-), "Go for it." 

Watches Lisa's lovely face carefully as she pulls the zipper, takes out the first piece, and-

(Watches careful, delicate hands traversing pretty lace.

Tip of a finger bumping reverently over scalloped edging.) 

"It's beautiful," Lisa says earnestly, angling the piece just so, making the intricate embroidery catch the lamplight. "God, the work you must've put into this." 

(All Carla can think about is how perfect the colour looks against the pale skin of her wife's hands.

How perfect it'd look actually on-) 

The blonde sets the first piece gently back in its bag. 

Pulls the zipper of the next, and-

"Oh, wow, Carla," Lisa breathes, spellbound, rubbing the sheer mesh between her fingertips, humming her approval at the feeling of it. 

Carla can't speak.

Just watches - mouth dry - as the blonde holds it up, a satin spaghetti strap dangling from each hand as she takes it in, curious gaze lingering on the more daring elements, and then- 

(Oh, god-)

Spins it around, holds it against herself, almost like she's wearing it, eyes sparkling. 

(Carla's brain jolts back into gear.

Heat in her belly, because-

Lisa's looking at her, like-

Like, maybe she wants to, and-)

"I actually-" Carla clears her throat, starts again, clinging to the blonde's shin to keep herself tethered to the moment. "I kind of need your help with something."

"Oh, god, you don't want me to choose, do you?" Lisa chuckles, laying the creations, Carla's creations, side-by-side on her lap. Then, smiling, hands still absentmindedly stroking the fabric, "You're the expert." 

(She is.

Which is why she can picture exactly how-)

"I want you to wear them for me, Lisa," Carla husks, low.

(Well, there it is.)

Holding the blonde's gaze, until- 

(Plump lips part. 

The tiniest gasp.

A blush, and-)

Lisa's eyes drop to the garments nestled in her lap. "Oh."

"I know lingerie's not really your thing, and I've just walked in and sprung it on you, but..." Carla trails off for a second when she clocks the tiny smile, the way her wife's fingertip is tracing over lace again, reverent. Tells her truthfully, dipping down to catch her eye, "I designed these with you in mind, you know?" 

The blonde meets her gaze again. "Really?"

Carla cups her cheek, tilts her face up.

Adoration making her bones soft when Lisa’s eyelids flutter at the contact, when she melts into Carla's hand. 

Tells her, "Really." 

Continues, carefully observed, tapping the first piece with her free hand, "I think you can guess the inspiration behind this one." 

Thumb tracing, feather-light, under the blonde's eye. 

Heat under her palm. 

Moves on to the second piece, tapping again. "And this one because you're flamin' stunning in this colour, and," she adds with a grin, "I don't know if you've noticed, but I kind of have a thing for your boobs." 

Lisa snorts. 

Shakes her head, chuckling.

Tells Carla, "Flattery will get you everywhere." Then, a cheeky glint in her eye, "Is this why you came home with chocolate?" 

"No!" Carla yelps, rearing back as her wife nods sagely, mocking. "Well, okay, kind of, but if you must know, I had the idea for our little research project after I'd already bought the chocolate." 

"Research project," Lisa scoffs. 

The disbelief is so blatant Carla can't help snickering. 

Tries to sound somewhat calm and in control when she explains, "Look, I just think it would help to see it from a consumer's perspective, and-" Lisa's on her feet, bags over her arm, pulling Carla up. "Where are we going?"

"Upstairs, Alan Sugar," Lisa says, dragging her by the hand, giggling at her own joke. "Knowing my luck, if I put this lot on down here, Sally'll pop up at the window and I'll scar her for life." 

Halfway upstairs now, and-

Carla presses up, flush, against the blonde's back, squeezes her hips.

Growls in her ear, "Turn her, more like."

"Carla!" 

-

Carla watches from behind as Lisa sets the bags on the bed. 

Gaze sweeping, and-

Catching.  

Taking in all that hair cascading down her back like sheets of liquid silk; the gorgeous swell of her backside in those tight black boxers; solid calf muscles standing to attention under soft skin; bare feet pressed into the plush carpet, starting to fidget- 

Carla doesn't realise she's drifted closer until she's at the blonde's shoulder.  

Places her hands on the dip of her waist, gently nudging her out of the way, intending to climb onto the bed, but- 

"Nope," Lisa hums, turning in her arms, grinning, putting herself between Carla and the bed. 

"What-"

And then Lisa's hands are on Carla's waist, and she's being steered backwards, until- 

Her back hits the wall, cool concrete pressing against the thin material of her clothes. 

She isn't sure if it's the wall or the way Lisa's suddenly looking at her that prompts the full-body shiver.

(Lisa.

Always Lisa.) 

"Stay here," Lisa tells her, voice soft, hands firm. 

One last squeeze of her waist, and-

(She doesn't think she could move even if she wanted to.) 

Carla watches as the blonde strolls back over to the bed, seemingly enjoying herself. 

Watches as she slowly unties the thickest strip of scrap fabric from one of the hangers-

(Slate grey.

Silk.) 

Folds it in half lengthways-

(What?)

Stretches it, taught, between both hands, and-

(Oh. 

Carla presses her thighs together.)

Strolls back.

Into Carla's orbit.

(She feels like she's under a fucking spell, and-) 

"Can I put this over your eyes?" Lisa asks, head tipped back slightly, looking up at her. 

(Jesus-

God, yes.

Words, use your words-)

"Of course, you can," Carla nods, voice thick. "But, why? Isn't the whole point to see you?" 

Lisa, voice solemn, little smirk quirking the corner of her mouth, tells her, "All in good time. This is for the sake of the research." 

"Okay," Carla croaks. 

Catches the beginning of a wicked grin spreading across the blonde's face just before she closes her eyes, and then-

She can't see anything. 

Can only feel soft silk against her eyelids.

Feel as her wife pushes up onto her tiptoes, and-

(Presses their bodies together-) 

Ties the makeshift blindfold at the back of her head.

(Breath against her parted lips.) 

Lisa pulls back slightly, cups Carla's face in her palms, and-

(Carla can feel every point of contact. 

The way their bodies press from chest to thigh.

Soft hands on her face.

Every fingertip where they rest, light, from jaw to cheekbone.

Senses heightened.)

"Good?" Lisa checks. 

(That contented warmth blooming across her chest again.)

"Perfect."

(So fucking perfect.) 

Lips on hers, then, tongue starting to tease, and-

Gone.

(Carla whines.

Tries to follow-

Hands on her face stopping her.) 

"I'll be back," Lisa soothes. Traces the bottom edge of her blindfold, thumbs smoothing over her cheekbones. "No peeking." 

(Won't be a problem.

Carla's pretty sure she's lost the use of her fine motor skills for the moment.) 

The blonde pulls away, leaves her space, and Carla mourns the loss of contact immediately.

Listens - cold wall against her back, anticipation, white-hot heat simmering in her belly, between her legs - as her wife makes her way to the bed, bare feet quietly rustling against the carpet, and-

Garment bags crinkle softly as Lisa picks them up-

Crosses to the ensuite, and-

The door clicks closed behind her. 

So, Carla waits.

Blind.

Burning. 

Twists her wedding band around her finger in a poor attempt to keep her hands occupied.

(It's either that or shoving them down her leggings.) 

Thinks about Lisa, metres away, putting on her lingerie.

(Thighs pressed together.) 

Half-fucking-feral with the mere anticipation of it, because she knows exactly how it'll look on the blonde. 

She'd designed it with her in mind, after all.

Twists.

Thinks.

Presses.

Burns, and-

The door opens. 

The soft rustle of footsteps.

Closer, and

(God-) 

Lisa's in her space. 

Inches away. 

(Wearing her lingerie.) 

And Carla-

(She's blind.) 

Reaches out, and-

Lisa catches her hands, doesn't let their bodies touch.

Tangles their fingers together. 

"Let me see you," Carla breathes.

(Pleads.)

"Soon," the blonde hums, kissing her fingers. 

(Carla tries to push against her.

Fails.

It's maddening.) 

Continues (Carla can hear the smirk-), "First, you're gonna put yourself in the consumer's shoes without the... visual distractions." 

(The visual distractions are already alive and kicking, flashing behind her closed eyelids in full, vivid technicolour. 

They've been there, centre stage, since her wife's hand grazed the fucking garment bag.

She knows Lisa knows this.) 

Carla chuckles (Carla clenches-). "Oh, I can assure you, I'm already way past the point of distraction, darlin'." 

"Think of the research," Lisa tuts. 

She snorts.

Tries to push forward again, and-

Fails (whines-), the blonde using their joined hands to press her back against the wall. 

"How about you just concentrate on how it feels first?" Lisa husks, low. "Can you do that?" 

(Oh-) 

"Fuck, yes." 

Lisa giggles. Tells her, cocky, "Yeah, that's what I thought." 

And then-

(Her wife steps in closer.

Finally, and-)

Carla's hands are guided - wrists firmly held - to rest at the curve of the blonde's waist. 

Her bare waist. 

(Oh.

The first set jumps into the spotlight in her mind.)

"You chose the two-piece," Carla hums, thumbs starting to trace soft curves. (Lisa sighs, fingers twitching, just once, around her wrists.) "Easing me in?" 

(Marvels at the feeling of tiny goosebumps.) 

"Easing myself in," Lisa admits, suddenly sheepish. "You see me in my bra and knickers every day. This is just, you know, a fancier version." 

"You're beautiful in any version," Carla says, squeezing gently. "God, I can't wait to see you, Lis'." 

(Loses herself in thoughts of green.

Green silk.

Green lace.

Green eyes.)

"Soon," the blonde repeats, indulgence in her tone. “Now, if I let go, are you gonna behave yourself?" 

"Absolutely not," she grins, wolfish, and- 

The hands around her wrists are gone, just like that, and Carla-

(Knows Lisa's arms hang loosely at her sides.

Can feel the velvety-smooth undersides of them brushing against the backs of her hands, as she-)

Starts her research. 

(Her exploration.) 

Trails slowly up bare sides, over ribs-

(Smiles at the way her wife's breath catches in the quiet of the room.

The way she immediately steps in closer.) 

Until she reaches the bra's bottom band.

Delicate, intricate lace caressing the tips of her fingers, soft skin under her palms. 

"How's it feel?" Lisa whispers. 

(Perfect.)

"You're lovely," Carla hums. Adds, grinning, "I can feel your little goosebumps." 

The blonde giggles. "The bra, Carla." 

(Oh.

Yeah.

That.)

"Great, yeah," she says, deliberately offhand. 

Snickers at her wife's exasperated groan. 

"You're impossible." 

"You love it, Swain."

Traces a deliciously slow path from the outer edges of the band, inwards, pressing, following the line of Lisa's ribs, and-

(The blonde comes closer still, breath ragged-) 

Revels in the feeling of soft lace combined with even softer skin under her hands. 

(A tiny, torturous space between their bodies, leaving her just enough room to continue- )

Unsurprised, but grinning all the same, when arms come to rest loosely over her shoulders.

(Her wife never can resist touching for too long.)

"Oh, hi."

"Hi," Lisa chuckles, breath puffing against her mouth. 

Carla moves on to the top border, then, and-

(Feels the swell of the blonde's breasts, pushed up, firmer than she's used to-)

"Jesus fucking Christ."

"Wait until you see them," Lisa teases. 

(Oh, god.

Her knees almost give out.)

"You're evil."

"You love it, Connor."

She uses the blunt edges of her nails, this time, to trace her path inwards, feather-light, meticulously traversing scalloped lace, closer- 

(Lisa sighs against her parted lips.) 

Moans quietly when she reaches her destination: 

The blonde's already perfect cleavage. 

Only elevated - highlighted, fucking spectacularly - by her expertly crafted padding. 

Dips down on pure instinct, intending to bury her face, to kiss, to sink her teeth, and-

Whines petulantly when hands cup her face, gently restraining. 

"Carla," Lisa scolds, sounding delightfully tortured. "You and I both know if you put that mouth anywhere near me, this'll be over very quickly." 

"I don't care," she drawls, smirking. "Screw the research." 

Attempts to dip down again, and-

The blonde pushes her face back.

Tells her, with a hint of stern authority that makes her throb, "You're going to be patient, Carla. Understood?" 

(Her knees might actually buckle a bit, then.)

It's all she can do to croak out a shaky, "Fine." 

Shifts her attention to the silk cups.

(Payback on her mind.) 

Nails bumping, scratching over hand-crafted embroidery, and- 

(She tries to appreciate it, she really does, but-) 

All she can focus on is the feeling of Lisa's rock-hard nipples straining through the fabric.

Notices the blonde noticing. 

The charged silence.

"What, you're not gonna ask me how it feels?" Carla teases. "Cat got your tongue, love?"

"Car-" 

Can't help palming at those perfect breasts, and-

(Lisa moans softly, hands at Carla's shoulders pressing, pulling her closer-) 

Teasing, pinching the blonde's nipples, just once. 

"Fuck, Carla."

(Probably meant to scold, but it comes out high, ragged.) 

She's the one who pulls back this time, shit-eating grin plastered across her face.

Still cupping. 

"What?" Carla asks, innocent. "I didn't use my mouth." 

She hears the intake of breath as the blonde goes to retort, but- 

Carla's on a journey south now, slowly gliding down Lisa's torso. 

Flicking at her piercing, quick, grinning, and-

Finds her hands firmly pinned behind her back. 

Her wife pressed against her from chest to thigh.

(And that?

Sends Carla feral. 

Lisa flush against her, wearing fucking lingerie.

The thin barrier of her top preventing their skin touching.) 

Lips millimetres from the shell of her ear, breath tickling, sending light little waves of sensation down the side of her neck. 

"I think you're forgetting you're the one in the blindfold, here," Lisa whispers, warning. 

A fresh wave of arousal hits her so suddenly, so intensely it makes her groan. 

The blonde's fingers tighten around her wrists, body pressing harder, whispering, close, "Bear that in mind." 

All she can manage is a jerky nod, breath coming in little pants. 

Feels Lisa's silent laugh against her ear, and-

Her hands are guided again. 

Out from behind her back, and- 

Placed on the lacy band of the matching knickers. 

(Carla wants to rip them off with her teeth.) 

Lisa makes her wait a beat.

(Wants to bite her.) 

Breathing against each other, pressed, and then-

Her wrists are finally, blessedly released.

She starts slowly tracing again, following the waistband outwards this time-

The blonde's arms coming to rest lightly over her shoulders- 

Around, to the back. 

Remembers the half-coverage, grinning.

(Mentally pats herself on the back.

Heaps praise on her past self for the fucking brilliant idea.) 

"Feel good?" Lisa hums at her ear.

"Wonderful," Carla says. Adds, "The knickers aren't bad either." 

Her wife tuts, giggles, and-

(Pushes her face into Carla's neck.

Blushing, probably.)

Carla moves down. 

Lace, silk, and lace again under her fingertips, and- 

(Lisa sighs.)

Finds her hands are all of a sudden resting on the bare skin of the blonde's lower backside. 

(Another moment of silent praise for the half-coverage.)

Toned curves filling her palms, and-

She squeezes, nails digging in. 

(Lisa moans into her neck.) 

"God, you're perfect," Carla hums, reverent, into silky hair. "Can I see you now?" 

Feels Lisa grinning against her sweat-slicked skin, and-

Pulling back.

Face-to-face.

(Or, face to blindfold.) 

"Say please." 

"Oh, just you flamin' wait, missus," Carla groans, kneading at the flesh in her hands. Adding, when her wife shows no sign of relenting, wheedling, "Fine. Please, can I see you now?" 

Upon hearing the magic word, Lisa grants her request, and-

(She’s practically vibrating with anticipation-) 

Reaches up to untie the blindfold. 

Carla bows her head slightly to assist. 

Meaning, when the silk suddenly slips from her eyes-

(Oh, god-)

She's blessed with a bird's-eye view of-

(Holy fuck.) 

Lisa's perfect, perfect chest. 

All that pale, creamy skin right there. Light pink flush dusting just beneath delicate collar bones, spreading to the tops of snowy-white breasts, pushed up, straining, and-

Showcased - marvellously, impeccably showcased - by her creation. 

A light sage-green bra. 

Silk cups painstakingly embroidered with tiny vines in almost the exact same shade. Up close like this, with the lamplight casting shadows, every delicate detail is clear.

A sheer dark emerald, almost black lace band bordering the bottom, that creamy skin tantalisingly visible beneath, and-

The same lace edging the tops of the cups, only scalloped this time, a pretty design intended to draw the eye to the wearer's cleavage. 

(Consider it well and truly fucking drawn.

Carla can't look away, can't even bring herself to blink, and then-) 

Her eyes are drawn down, landing, settling on- 

(White noise in her brain.

Static.)

The matching silky sage-green, lace-trimmed knickers. 

High-waisted. 

Hugging the blonde's ample hips, the gorgeous curve of her waist, like they were made for her, and her alone. 

(White noise.

Static.)

Carla's gone.

Just stands there.

Open-mouthed. 

Hands immobile on Lisa's backside.

A beat, and-

(Static-)

"So, what d'you think?" Lisa asks. 

The undercurrent of vulnerability, the shyness, pierces straight through the fog.

Carla won't have that.

Can't have that.

Won't leave her wife in any doubt for a second longer.

Snaps her head up to meet Lisa's gaze, and-

Oh, yeah. 

(Green.

Green on green.

The entire reason she'd chosen this particular colour.)

"It matches," she croaks, voice thick.

(Loses herself in green.

Starts sinking into the fog again-)

"Isn't that the idea, a matching set?" Lisa giggles.

(Shy, gaze flitting, blushing, and-)

Carla cups her chin.

Tilts her face up. 

(Pulls herself together.)

"I mean your eyes, Lis'. It matches your eyes." 

"Oh."

Continues with conviction, gaze unwavering, "It's perfect. You're perfect. You're beautiful." 

Lisa just looks at her for a moment.

Still blushing, but-

(There's a shift.)

Evidently seeing something in Carla's eyes.

(The truth.

The raw honesty.)

She watches as her wife nods to herself almost imperceptibly. 

Watches as she stands up a little bit straighter, pushes her shoulders back.

The little smirk on her face.

It makes Carla glow.

(Makes her feral.)

The sudden show of quiet confidence. 

The way the blonde stands tall - metaphorically tall, she still has a good three inches on her - under Carla's half-feral gaze, observed.

The way she knows - implicitly trusting Carla's words without a hint of doubt - how fucking incredible she looks, despite being miles out of her comfort zone. 

Carla wants-

(God, she wants-)

She wants to worship her. 

(Wants to make her wife feel like the fucking goddess she is for the rest of their lives.)

Moves the hand at Lisa's chin to the back of her neck, pulls her in, and-

Kisses her.

Slow.

Deep.

Whispers sweet little compliments into her mouth whenever they part for air, and-

(They're losing themselves.

Hands wandering.

Panting-)

Ghosts a hand up the inside of the blonde's thigh, fingertips grazing lace, dipping underneath-

"Ah, ah," Lisa chides, catching her wrist. 

"Come on," Carla whispers, low and persuasive, against her mouth. 

"Not yet," Lisa giggles, all breathy. Then, pressing their foreheads together, "There's still one more. I've psyched myself up for it." 

(True, but-) 

"Let's do it tomorrow," Carla tries again, lips brushing. "I'll personally psyche you up again myself, I promise."

"Think of the research," the blonde grins, parroting her earlier words, and-

Untangles.

(Damn it.

Carla wants-)

"At least let me see the back of these properly," Carla drawls, snapping the waistband of the knickers. "Before you blindfold me and flamin' torture me again." 

Lisa tilts her head to one side.

Eyes narrowed.

Bottom lip pinned between her teeth.

(A piss-poor attempt to hide her smile.) 

Looks Carla up and down, a faux-show of consideration, and- 

Springs back, yelping, when Carla makes a half-hearted grab. 

"Please?" Carla smirks, leaning back against the wall. 

"Oh, go on, then," Lisa says, haughty. "Seeing as you asked nicely." 

Carla catches the grin just before the blonde turns, and then-

(She lets the intrusive thoughts win.

Does what she's wanted to do since she remembered the half-coverage.)

She drops to her knees in a flash-

"Carla!"

Holds her giggling, squirming by the hips, and-

Sinks her teeth into the swell of her bare backside. 

Chuckles at the responding squeal, and-

Pushes back to her feet as Lisa twists in her arms, swatting at her, still giggling.

"I knew you'd do that."

"Yeah, sounded like it," Carla scoffs, rolling her eyes. Adds, pulling her in, "Anyway, can you blame me? God, you're fucking incredible- Oh, okay-" 

Lisa's spinning them, steering her backwards, fast, and-

(She has a split-second to register the duvet at the backs of her legs-)

Pushing her so that she stumbles, crash-lands arse-first, sinking into the mattress at the foot of the bed with a sharp bounce, and- 

Carla's grabbing, trying to pull the blonde down on top of her, but-

Firm hands on her shoulders stop her.

That air of stern authority shooting straight to her core again when Lisa says, "You're going to sit here nicely with your blindfold on, while I go in there and get changed. Okay?" 

(Jesus Christ, she's burning-

She's wanting-)

"Carla? Did you hear what I said?"  

(Green silk.

Green lace.

Green eyes.

So much creamy skin-

Wants to bite every inch of it-)

Soft hands on her face. "Carla?" 

"Hm? Oh, I- Yeah- Okay." 

Lisa's smirking, and-

(She's blind.)

Silk over her eyes again. 

Listens to bare feet rustling across carpet.

The click of the bathroom door.

Takes a few deep breaths.

(She's so fucking wet-)

Blindly rids herself of her kimono.

(She's sweating-)

Hears it land somewhere on the floor with a muted swish. 

She decides, then, that her leggings need to go, too. 

Flops onto her back.

Clumsily wriggles them down over her hips.

(Prays Lisa doesn't come out in the sexiest fucking lingerie she's ever created while she's here, in this state, rolling around like a frustrated turtle that's been flipped onto its back.

That doesn't happen, thank god, and-)

She sits up, peels them the rest of the way down her legs, takes her socks with them.

Lobs the bundle in the direction of the kimono. 

Folds her legs up onto the bed.

Crosses them.

Leans back on the heels of her hands, and-

Immediately leans forward again.

Fidgety. 

Sits there, cross-legged, flustered, in her black tank top and knickers. 

Twists her wedding band.

(Thinks about the second piece. 

Thinks about Lisa wearing the second piece.

Burns, and-)

The bathroom door opens. 

Footsteps.

Closer.

Lisa in her space. 

(Wearing the second piece.

Wearing the sexiest fucking lingerie Carla's ever created.)  

Feels gentle fingertips, feather-light and sudden, teasing the insides of her thighs, and-

Tries to grab, to keep them there-

Whines when she's not quite quick enough. 

"You didn't waste any time making yourself comfortable, did you?" Lisa chuckles, maddeningly out of reach. "Imagine if I'd been in there another minute." 

"You'd 'ave walked out to the full birthday suit experience," she grins. 

"Shame," the blonde hums. 

A second.

Another, and-

"Carla?" Quiet. No bravado. 

She drops her own bravado in response. 

Leans forward, searching.  

Asks, "What is it, love?" 

"Look, it's stupid, but can I just take your blindfold off now? The waiting is giving me stage fright." 

(A slightly nervous, self-deprecating giggle.

That edge of vulnerability again.) 

(Oh.

Of course. 

She could kick herself for forgetting, just for a second, how far outside her comfort zone her wife is right now.

Truth be told, Carla would probably get a touch of stage fright wearing this piece, and lingerie is very much her thing.) 

"Hey, of course you can," she tells her. "Whatever you want, beautiful." 

"Okay," Lisa whispers to herself. 

Hears the blonde take a steadying breath, then. 

Feels her, closer. 

Gentle hands at the back of her head, untying , and-

(Oh.

Wow-) 

Carla's jaw drops. 

Breath rushing out of her lungs in a sharp little whoosh.

(White noise-

Static, and-)

No mental picture, no matter how vivid, could've ever come close to doing the vision before her justice. 

Her wife stands before her looking like a fucking angel.

An honest-to-god angel. 

(A debauched, very sexy angel.

But an angel nonetheless.) 

The ensemble fits her like a fucking glove.

A sort-of-teddy with a daring twist.

The bodice is stunning in its simplicity. 

Traditional, almost. 

Powder-blue, ruffled mesh layers running from the bottom of the bralette (fuck, she can't seem to look away from that-), to the very tops of those toned, soft thighs. Cascading waves of delicate fabric, masterfully designed (not to toot her own horn-), effortlessly teasing at the gorgeous figure beneath. 

It's lovely.

Really.

The design.

The tailoring, but-

Carla's stuck.

(Awestruck.

Unblinking.)

Completely stuck, on- 

The sewn-in bralette. 

Sheer.

Fucking transparent. 

A tight, thin film of soft, baby-blue fabric offering an unobstructed, mouth-watering view of that perfect chest. 

Nipples straining against the flimsy, barely-there material. 

(She wants them in her mouth.

Now.

Can't seem to fucking move, though.)

Semicircles of a slightly darker blue fabric supporting the bottom halves of the blonde's breasts, pushing them up just slightly, just enough to have an effect, and-

(Lisa shifts, and-

Oh, god-) 

Carla's brain short-circuits all over again when she suddenly remembers the matching, sewn-in knickers.

Made from the same sheer, fucking transparent, tight film of flimsy, barely-there material.

Can't see them just yet.

Just watches, transfixed, as the ruffles of the bodice gently skim the tops of those thighs.

Every tiny movement making the entire ensemble shift and tease, and-

It's then that she realises she's fallen silent.

Again.

That her wife is waiting with baited breath, and-

(She wants to make love to her.

Wants to fuck her senseless.

Wants to worship her.

Also, inexplicably, wants to cry.

All at the same time-) 

She drags her eyes up.

Meets green.

(Loses herself in the depths of it.) 

Whispers, voice raw, "Oh, baby. Look at you."

Lisa’s shoulders drop. 

She starts to smile, blushing, and Carla-

Reaches out.

Tangles their fingers.

Tugs her closer.

Continues, as the blonde looks into her, gaze wide open, "You are fucking remarkable, Lisa. You are so, so unbelievably beautiful. God, you look like a flamin' angel-"  

Her wife chuckles, eyes sparkling, and-

"Shit. Didn't actually mean to say the angel thing out loud, but you do, so..."

Lisa's giggling. Beaming. Teasing. "No, no, carry on. You know I love it when you go all cheesy on me." 

Carla snickers.

Sobers slightly, then, still smiling.

"Alright, you asked for it," she says. (Grins when she notices the fresh wave of heat dusting the apples of the blonde's cheeks.) Continues, squeezing their joined hands, "Sometimes, I look at you and it just hits me that I get to call you my wife. This, if you haven’t already gathered, is one of those times. You're stunning always, but the fact that you agreed to do this tonight, when it's probably the last thing you wanted to-"

"Carla, do you seriously have no idea why I agreed to it so quickly?" Lisa asks, fond.

She shakes her head.

(Honestly it'd surprised her, the readiness with which she'd been dragged upstairs, but it'd slipped out of her mind the second the blindfold went on.) 

Lisa continues, "Because of you. Because I knew that no matter how awkward or out of my depth I felt, you'd make me feel beautiful in the end. You'd make me believe it. Like you always do."

"Oh." 

(She glows.)

"Yeah," the blonde hums, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I thought it'd feel like playing dress-up in someone else's clothes, but it doesn't. I like it." Adds, swaying slightly, watching the fabric's resulting ripple, "Seriously, you're a genius." 

Carla gets a tantalising glimpse of the underneath for the first time, and-

(Wants to worship-)

"Come here, darlin'," she husks.

Shuffling back.

Pulling on their joined hands.

Lisa crawls into her lap, straddles her, and-

(Carla sighs, content, under the steady weight.

The feeling of their bare legs pressed together-) 

Cups her face.

Kisses her. 

Pulls back, and-

(Lisa looks like she’s about to thank her.

It makes Carla want to cry again.)

"Do you fancy a little product demonstration?" she drawls, squeezing at the blonde's waist.

Lisa snorts, tugs gently on her hair. "Is that what we're calling it now?" 

"Oh, shut up," Carla giggles, rolling her eyes. "Seriously, though, do you see this fabric?" 

Touches a fingertip lightly to the bralette.

Lisa nods.

(Laser focuses on the point of contact.)

She continues, "I did a lot of research on this. Wanted something that looked good and felt good for the person wearing it."

"It does," the blonde nods.

(Still watching her finger.

Hands starting to scratch lightly at her scalp.)

Carla grins. "That's good to know, love, but I don't just mean how it feels on. I want it to..." She trails off for a second, searches for the words. Finds them, smirking. "Elevate the experience, if you catch my drift. And, from what I've learned," she says, voice dropping an octave lower, watching her wife's half-lidded eyes darken, "I have a strong feeling it will." 

"Show me, then," Lisa breathes.

So, Carla shows her.

Dips down, takes a nipple gently between her teeth-

"Oh-"

(Feels the blonde's hands cupping the back of her head, pushing-)

Keeps it trapped there, in her mouth, lathes the flat of her tongue over it, slowly-

"Oh, my- Fucking hell, Carla-" 

Feels the thin, barely-there film of fabric, feels its microscopic fibres grinding pleasantly over her tongue, and thus grinding pleasantly against Lisa's rock-hard nipple under her ministrations, pressing down harder, more pressure, and- 

Lisa's whining, pushing, hips rolling, until-

Carla gives one last flick with the tip of her tongue, and-

Pulls away. 

"Carla, no-"

"Hey, hey," Carla soothes, squeezing the blonde's hips, "I've got you."

One hand wrapping around to rest in the dip of the blonde's lower back, holding her in place, the other trailing down to the inside of her thigh-

Pushing up under ruffles, and-

(God, she's well and truly outdone herself with this particular element.

Briefly wonders if she should nominate herself for some kind of award. 

Outstanding Contributions to Mind-Blowing Sex, something like that.

She'll look it up-)

"Did you notice where else I used the fabric?"

A tiny gasp. A flicker of comprehension. "Oh."

"Yeah," she smirks. Presses closer, foreheads touching. "Do you think you can come like that?" 

Lisa nods slowly.

Pupils blown.

Fingers tightening in Carla's hair.

"Let's prove it, then," Carla whispers. "For the sake of the research, of course." 

Lisa hums a quiet laugh against her lips.

Climbs off her with a clumsy eagerness that makes Carla giggle, and-

Pulls them, still half-tangled, up the bed. 

They don't let go for a single second, holding on, wrapped up in each other, as-

Lisa settles, head nestled back into the pillows . 

Icy hair fanning, spilling against pretty, powder-blue fabric, those big, green eyes almost black with want, full lips parted, and-

The word flits through Carla's mind again, unbidden. 

"My angel," she coos. 

Delights at the immediate blush in response to her soft tone, her gentle compliment. 

Settles atop, hips cradled between the blonde's bent legs.

Peppers her wife's lovely face with light little kisses, tells her she's beautiful, pretty, incredible, sexy, in between each and every one, until Lisa's squirming, blunt fingernails scratching her shoulders, and-

"Oh, Carla, please." 

"I've got you, my love."

She rests her thumb against plump, parted lips.

Watches, rapt, as the blonde takes it into her hot mouth, pinned under her half-lidded gaze, and-

Slowly rolls her tongue over it, sucks.

(Carla moans.)

Nips as Carla withdraws. 

"Good girl," she whispers, smirking. 

"Don't tease- Oh, fuck, yes-" 

Carla doesn't tease.

Not tonight. 

Just dips down and captures one of the blonde's nipples between her teeth, the other between two fingers at the same time, and-

Presses down with her tongue.

Presses down with her wet thumb.

(At the same time.)

Lisa cries out, and-

Digs her nails into Carla's shoulder. 

Other hand flying up to tangle in Carla's hair, pulling so hard it burns a white-hot path down, makes her fucking throb, and she-

(Moans.)

Lathes-

Rolls-

(Worships.) 

Grinds the thin material, those microscopic fibres, against both nipples, feels that pleasant sensation under her tongue, on the pad of thumb, and-

Lisa's babbling, high, desperate whines directed up at the ceiling.

Carla-

(Almost comes at the sound of her.

At the feeling under her hands, in her mouth-)

Carries on like that.

Seconds, minutes passing, and-

Swaps sides.

(Quickly wets her own thumb this time, all business, because Lisa's gone-) 

More seconds, more minutes passing-

Working the blonde up, higher and higher- 

Flicking with the tip of her tongue, the tip of her thumb, and-

All too soon-

(She could've carried on all night.) 

"Too much- It’s- I can’t-"

Lisa's pushing her head away, overstimulated, wanting, pushing her head down-

Legs wrapped around Carla's hips like a vice, and- 

“Okay, baby, I’ve got you.”

Carla goes willingly.

Happily.

Somehow manages to wrangle the blonde's tense legs over her shoulders, and-

Settles on her belly.

In her favourite place. 

(Lisa's soaking.

Squirming.

One hand still tangled in Carla's hair.

The other twisted in the duvet at her side. 

Gaze unfocused.

Panting.

Chest heaving.)

Fucking beautiful. 

"Hey," Carla whispers, firm, squeezing at her hips.

Confused for a beat when the attempt to focus her wife's attention has the opposite effect, draws a desperate, dirty moan out of her instead, head thrown back, and-

Oh.

Oops. 

Carla realises her position has, in fact, sent a wave of hot breath directly over the blonde's soaking centre, the material sticking, slick. 

She sits up slightly, giggling.

Tries again.

"Lisa, look at me for a second." 

Lisa looks at her, then, and-

(God.

Carla thinks she'd marry her twice, if she could.) 

Carla holds her eyes, makes sure she's heard when she says, "Tell me if you can't come like this, okay? Or if it's too much, or you just wanna take it off, for any reason, alright?"

Watches, adoring, as the blonde's eyes soften. 

Glows under the fond little smile directed her way.

Presses a quick kiss to the inside of Lisa's thigh, because she can't help herself, and-

"I will," Lisa hums. 

"Glad to hear it, missus."

Rubbing her cheek against the blonde's thigh now, kissing again, nuzzling, higher, and-

"Carla?"

"Mm-hmm?"

(So much soft skin-

Losing herself-

Revelling in it-) 

Impatient. Ragged. "If you don't put your mouth on me in the next three seconds- Fuck-"

Her first swipe is clumsy on account of her shit-eating grin, but-

It doesn't seem to matter.

Lisa's head falls back into the pillows.

Dirty moan spilling from her lips, and- 

Carla-

(Starts the final phase of her research.)

Plants her mouth over the blonde's clit. 

"Oh, my god-" 

Sucks, and-

"Fuck me, that's incredible-"

(Would marry her three times, if she could.)

Feels that thin film, those fibres against her tongue when she presses, and-

Lisa's play-by-play narration ends right there.

Evidently beyond words.

Whining, keening, hips rolling, ankles locked tight, and- 

Carla fucks her like that.

Slowly.

With the flat of her tongue.

Pressed, grinding, head bobbing in time with the blonde's hips, and-

Lisa's hand untangles from the duvet-

(Legs tighten-)

Blindly reaches for her, eyes screwed shut, and-

Carla-

(Knows she's close, then.)

Locks their fingers. 

Picks up the pace, and-

(Takes care to only use the flat of her tongue, mindful of how quickly her wife had become overstimulated when she'd started teasing, flicking at her chest through the same material earlier.) 

"Yes, Carla- I'm so close- I-" 

Lisa comes hard. 

Back jolting, arching-

Legs locked- 

A moan so high it's almost a scream, and-

Squeezing Carla's fingers in hers-

Pulling her hair.

Moaning, sighing, and-

Carla works her through it.

Keeps her mouth there, lets her take what she needs, until-

The blonde's body goes slack.

Boneless. 

Still. 

Carla takes a second.

(Feels like a fucking god.)

Just watches Lisa.

(Awestruck.)

The blonde's eyes are closed. 

Long lashes casting tiny shadows on her flushed cheeks. 

The elegant lines of her neck, the hollow of her throat shiny with a sheen of sweat. 

Errant strands of sex-tousled hair sticking.

Panting.  

(The sight of Lisa post-sex never fails to make her stomach flip.

The knowledge that she did that.

The physical proof of it.) 

Carla pushes her face into powder-blue ruffles.

Nestles in.

Presses a lazy, open-mouthed kiss against the soft curve of her wife's belly, and- 

Lisa's pulling her up. Cooing, around a contented sigh, eyes still closed, "Come here, please."

She goes willingly.

Happily.

Intending to lie down, flush and pressed against her, and- 

(The blonde has this thing. 

One of those little quirks Carla discovered in the early days. 

Gets shivery sometimes, after a particularly powerful orgasm.

Likes Carla's weight pressed down against every inch of her.

Keeping her warm, but-)

She pauses. 

Thinks better of it when she sees the way Lisa's chest is still heaving.

The way she's still gulping air. 

Tugs gently at her hip, and-

(They both giggle when the blonde makes an exaggerated show of flopping over, body prone.

Sexy little dork, Carla thinks, grinning, and-)

Arranges them on their sides instead. 

Facing each other.

Mirrored.

Close.

Arms and legs tangled. 

Bodies pressed.

"How come you're not lying on me?" Lisa asks, a quiet hum, eyes hazy, tired. 

Smirking, cocky, Carla says, "You looked like you were three seconds away from a heart attack, love- Hey!" 

She grabs the blonde's hand, gently bites the fingers she'd used to flick her, and-

Lisa giggles.

Tells her, "Yeah, well, you've only got yourself to blame for that."

True.

(Her stomach flips again, and-)

Her eyes flutter closed, then, when Lisa presses their foreheads together, starts showering slow, light little kisses on Carla's face. 

Mumbles against Carla's lips, starting to shiver, "If you choose this one, you're gonna have to make it more durable, by the way." 

It takes Carla a beat to realise her wife is talking about the lingerie. 

The entire reason they're curled up together like this in the first place. 

She opens her eyes.

(Loses herself in green.)

Asks, "What d'you mean?" 

Lisa, snickering, directs Carla's attention to the bralette, and-

(Oops.)

Carla chuckles. 

Admires the teeth-shaped little rips in the material surrounding the blonde's nipples. 

Ragged semicircles, top and bottom.

Both sides. 

"Proud of that, are you?" Lisa giggles. 

"I am," she hums, smirking, and-

Her wife shudders, goosebumps up and down her arms. 

Continues, moving to sit up, "Shall we get under the covers?" 

"Don't wanna move," Lisa whines, pressing closer. "The bed's still made, too. Can't be bothered with the effort yet."

Carla rolls away for a second, snags the blanket draped stylishly over the corner of the bed. 

(The tiny, purely for decorative purposes, totally ineffective blanket she'd purchased on a complete whim during a Black Friday online shopping rabbit hole.

Currently the only thing with a remote chance of stopping her wife from developing post-orgasm hypothermia. 

Okay, maybe slightly dramatic, but still.)

"Come on, squish up," she whispers, draping it over the both of them as best she can. 

Lisa doesn't need to be told twice.

Tucks herself under Carla's chin, face pressed into her neck. 

Bodies melding together.

A (cold) hand sliding up underneath the back of Carla's tank top, palm flat. 

Carla holds her tight.

Tries to rub some warmth into her. 

"Did it help?" Lisa mumbles against her throat.

"Hm?"

"Me trying them on, did it help you choose?"

"Oh," Carla chuckles, still rubbing. "It did, as it 'appens."

"Ooh, go on, then." 

Carla noses into silky hair.

Drawls, low, in the blonde's ear, "Both."