Ramona is brought halfway to consciousness by Destiny falling onto the bed behind her. Ramona considers moving, but this is her day off. There is the soft hum of boots being unzipped. Ramona pulls the covers up and over her chill nose and her exposed ear, and she tries to slip back into the warm fog of her prolonged Sunday morning lie-in. Opportunities are limited these days. Destiny’s hands are hidden in cold cotton and they slide, pleasantly slowly, around her waist, digging determinedly between duvets and sheets. So long as Ramona doesn’t move, she’s warm. Her little pocket of body heated air, kept safe under the blankets.
“I turned the heating back on,” whispers Destiny. Ramona loves her very much. She twists her shoulders back against the soft layers of chilled clothing and Destiny throws thick socked foot over her thighs and buries her freezing nose in Ramona’s neck. Ramona’s shoulders jump without her permission. She muffles a yawn by turning her face entirely into the pillow, blinks into the crisply icy cotton, just next to where she was just moments ago, so happily asleep. She wants to arch and stretch out her sleep heavy limbs, but she doesn’t want to give in to wakefulness just yet.
“It’s not early anymore.”
If it’s before half past two on a Sunday in December, it’s early. Ramona has to hide another yawn.
“Taxi service complete?” Ramona asks.
Destiny nods against her neck and catches Ramona’s yawn, a quiet puff of hot breath against Ramona’s back. Ramona reaches back to feel the untied length of her silky hair.
“You see them onto the train?”
Destiny nods some more.
“It’s early still. Still early. You going to back to sleep, baby?”
Destiny nods again, but her hands are creeping up to play along the neck of Ramona’s t-shirt. “Any minute now,” she says and her hands don’t feel so cold anymore, fingers trailing against Ramona’s collar bone and up along the line of her neck.
Ramona swallows into her hand and tilts her head back, so that the covers fall away. Destiny strokes back the hair that has escaped form Ramona’s tied back hair, and she pushes up along the line of her back to kiss her, warm breath and warm lips behind her ear and against the hinge of her jaw, her hands and her clinging thigh pressing them tightly together. Ramona presses back, flexing her feet and calves and thighs and back, as her body comes awake. She presses back, trying to feel Destiny close against her spine. She encounters a problem that is becoming familiar.
Ramona slumps forward and puts her face back into the pillow, “Take the puffer vest off,” she says.
Destiny says, “Juliet said it was trendy,” aggrieved, but she’s sitting up and unzipping the ridiculous thing, so Ramona holds the covers secure around her neck and hums, pretending that the humming noise she makes is indulgent tolerance, and not triumph. She starts digging under the pillows for her phone. Its screen lights up, painfully bright in the dim room, and informs her that it is only five minutes past ten. She doesn’t have any messages from Juliet because Juliet is still sensibly asleep.
Destiny says, “No,” and snatches the phone away. Then she says, “wait, turn the volume on: Lily,” and hands it back. Ramona rolls onto her back and does as instructed. Then she holds it up to have it whisked away.
Ramona says, “this too,” tugging at Destiny’s sweatshirt, and then she rolls her shoulders and twists a little against the pillow, genuinely pleased by how lax and long her muscles feel, but showing off a little too, enjoying the way Destiny is genuinely caught by the motion. Ramona tucks her arm up behind her head and turns her shoulders, still lighting up her body for the day, but flexing too, letting it become a performance.
Destiny, entirely enraptured, leans in to put her hand over Ramona’s bicep, and pushes it into the pillow, ducking down to drag her mouth up over Ramona’s, catching her upper lip, before opening, when Ramona arches up, for Ramona to lick heat into her mouth. Ramona arches again, Destiny’s hair falling around them, kept on the pillow now only by Destiny’s grip on her arm. She cups the back of Destiny’s head, slowing the wet click of their mouths, pulling Destiny fully down against her. Destiny falls onto her, caught up in the sheets, fighting to get her hands under the covers and exposing Ramona finally to the crisp morning air. Ramona rocks her hips into Destiny’s searching hand, the creep of cool air in conflict with the now warm glide of Destiny’s hand creeping up under her t-shirt. Destiny’s weight shifts over her as she tries to twist through the sheets.
It’s too close and too fast. This is a morning to be appreciated and Ramona, never being one to shy from an indulgence, today has the time. Ramona lazily turns her arm to free it from Destiny’s grip and drags her fingers up from the silky stretch of Destiny’s leggings to the fleecy collar of her sweatshirt. She rolls up against Destiny’s hands and holds herself there, elongating the moment, before collapsing back into the sheets. Destiny smiles into the kiss, murmuring affectionately into Ramona’s mouth and gets a hand up between Ramona’s soft sleep shirt and her warm pull on bra. She runs quick fingers around the bloom of her nipple, drawing in, drawing up, and Ramona nearly abandons her slow morning to whatever Destiny has planned. Very nearly.
Ramona carefully parts Destiny’s hair at the back of her neck, letting her hand linger on the curve of her neck, and she smooths her hair away from the back of her collar. She balls the sweatshirt into her hand, gathering more, slowly and gently, until it is tight enough that Destiny has to break the kiss. Destiny blinks down at her, glassy but attentive, and getting sharper by the moment. Ramona presses her thighs together. The sleep drenched closeness of the dim room isn’t what she wants anymore.
She says, “Baby, go get the blinds.” Destiny sags against the grip Ramona has on the sweatshirt, the spell thoroughly broken. Ramona lets go of her collar and catches her face. She tilts up to push a light kiss into Destiny’s mouth, as quick and fleeting as Destiny appears to want this morning to be. “The line,” says Ramona, “is that I want to see you. And I do.”
“Ramona,” Destiny groans, sliding a hand down her own body and over the waistband of her own leggings. Ramona touches that wrist delicately to still her.
“Go get the blinds,” she repeats, and plucks at the hem of her own t-shirt.
Destiny drops her hands down on either side of Ramona’s head, in on the performance but still taken in by it enough to be biting her lip, somewhere between affectionate amusement and genuine frustration.
Destiny says, “Fine,” like she’s conceding that maybe Ramona does have the best ideas, and her warm weight disappears.
Ramona sits up and folds down the duvet and the covers. She arranges herself, sitting in the centre of the bed. Then, waiting until Destiny slits the blinds with a quick tug on the cord, she pulls the shirt up and over her head. Destiny stills with her hand on the cord. Her parted lips are caught in a neat rectangle of winter light. Ramona pulls the easy bra she’d slept in, Calvin Klein, a cliché she enjoys, off over her head too and falls back, catching her own breast in a hand she works her thighs together again, stomach twisting pleasantly at the exposure.
It’s still chilly enough to tighten her skin, despite the heat permeating the air in the room. She watches Destiny watching her. It’s not the performance that she enjoys. It’s how sincere Destiny’s appreciation of it continues to be. Destiny slowly pulls the cord, hand over hand, and Ramona smiles as unfiltered light spills into the room. She drags her fingers over her nipples to pull them up as sharp as they go and slides a hand down over her shorts to touch herself, not quite where she most wants to be touched, but hot and damp already through the cotton. Destiny is hopping from foot to foot, pulling off her thick boot socks.
Ramona says, “Take off the pants too,” and drags her thumb hard up the underside of her breast, lightly circling her peaked nipple.
Destiny says, “Any other demands?” and pulls down her underwear at the same time, giving Ramona only a glimpse of the slight curve of her ass before the sweatshirt is falling back into place and Destiny herself is falling back onto the bed. She ducks to drag the material off over her feet and comes up again, grinning. She clambers up onto her knees and shuffles, quick and with some attempt at a sway over to where Ramona is sprawled. She kneels up over her and stokes soft fingers and trailing sweatshirt sleeves over the dip of Ramona’s waist. Ramona turns her head, and Destiny’s eyes are drawn back to her neck, arm coming up to encircle Ramona as she leans up to kiss Ramona’s neck and then up to drag her lips over her ear lobe.
Ramona, presses against her own fingers, and with a firm hand, she tugs at Destiny’s bent knee, the bunched muscle of her thigh and at her hips, until Destiny brings her spread hips down onto Ramona’s hand. Ramona gets the quick heat of her. Wet skin, dry skin, the soft scritch of hair before Destiny flinches back at that first touch, a minute twitch of her hips that leaves Ramona’s knuckles lightly slick. Ramona press down hard on herself, finally sliding her fingers up and over her own clit. She turns her head to rub her cheek against the cool fall of Destiny’s hair. Destiny’s chest is moving quicker against her own, beneath the soft folds of her sweatshirt and she turns her own head to press her forehead down onto Ramona’s shoulder, opening up space between them again and looking down at their slow moving bodies. Ramona presses a kiss to her hair and brings her fingers gliding up away from her clit and onto the elastic waistband of her shorts. She waits there for a moment while Destiny’s breath turns audibly strained and her fingers tighten on the meat of her waist, and then she pushes her hand into the hot close confines of her underwear and finally skims two fingers over the soft dry skin of her clit. She lets her hips jump and feels Destiny gasp, and then she drags Destiny’s hips back down onto her. She bunches her knuckles and stretches the fabric up to meet her as Destiny takes over, pushing down gently with her hips and then arching down against her, grinding, slowly dampening the fabric as Ramona pushes up to meet her, keeping her fingers on her clit and feeling the heat spread out and take the strength from her legs and the breath from her chest.
“Let me,” says Destiny, and she slides a hand down over Ramona’s stomach to push down over Ramona’s hand without hesitation, past Ramona’s hand. She teases for a moment, a light touch over Ramona’s lips, and then she slides her fingers back up and alongside Ramona’s, bullying them aside for a second to stroke over the now damp skin. Ramona twists for her, dips her hips back and forth, disrupting her rhythm and strokes aside Destiny’s hair to see the smile on Destiny’s face and Destiny’s eyes on the moving muscles of her stomach. Destiny moves again, dipping between her lips and pressing unerringly back between them, two fingers already partially slick and pushing back, stretching without entering. Ramona looses control of the slow rise and fall of her chest.
Destiny brings her head up, intent and earnest when she looks down at Ramona, her elbow still locked next to Ramona’s head. Ramona drags her arm up over Destiny’s shoulders and brings her down into a kiss. Destiny, dislodged from her position ends up grinding against Ramona’s hip, now lying over her rather than kneeling, and biting at her jaw as she dips her fingers inside. Ramona brings a leg up and they twist against each other as Destiny curls her fingers, a practiced pressure as Ramona presses the same rhythm into her clit. It’s a slow build and Ramona remembers somewhere in there that this had been some kind of game. That’s fallen away now. They’re pressed tight together, and Destiny’s arm is wrapped around her shoulders now, inadvertently pulling her away from the bed, and her thigh is pressed over the combined sweaty working of their hands. Ramona doesn’t care, at this moment. The crest hits and she arches, clenching on Destiny’s determinedly stroking fingers and Ramona holds them tightly together, revealing in Destiny’s laboured breathing against her chest and rocking up into their fingers to string every last silky moment of pleasure out of the moment.
Destiny keeps stroking, slowing, but she sits up too, getting back up on her elbow and looking down at Ramona. Her hair is staring to stick to her neck and her face is as flushed as Ramona feels. Ramona moves a little on her hand, squirming, really. She could get there again so quickly, but she wants Destiny out of the sweatshirt first.
Destiny is already sitting up completely, pulling her hands from Ramona and settling them on the waistband of her shorts. She drags them away, and Ramona lets her. She stops touching herself entirely and lets her hands rest, turned up and open on the cooling on their sheets. She brings her leg back up when Destiny has removed her shorts and beckons. But Destiny is pretty focused, stroking over the insides of Ramona’s thigh and then finally looking up again. Ramona beckons again, but Destiny puts her other hand on Ramona’s other thigh and nudges her apart a little more. She was hardly absent, and now she’s back, pressing again at Ramona, again not entering, and Ramona is there, still, and probably always, as it happens. They breathe in the anticipation together; it would only take a little. Destiny can clearly read it from her body, but she still says, “You want to?”
So Ramona has to say, “Yes.”
Destiny folds to press a kiss to Ramona’s thigh, twitching her fingers a little, clearly not yet with real intent. Everything below her navel is liquid. Her legs are up because they were already up. Not because she has any control over anything but the rhythmic kneading of her toes in the air. Ramona rolls her hips and Destiny obliges, kissing her even as she presses in, Ramona looks down at the awkward curl of her shoulders and twists her legs up to meet her, but Destiny’s tongue is already testing gently at where her fingers are pressed, her nose cold for a moment, before it’s followed quickly by warm lips, where Ramona is parted and then higher. Destiny closes her lips, wet and soft over Ramona’s clit and Ramona is no longer in control of where her hips are; Destiny’s shoulders will have to cope. It’s not going to be long.
This time she remembers to make noise, or she can’t help but make noise; she’s not sure which one is more true. Her voice catches in her throat with every pass of Destiny’s tongue, with every delayed movement, now she’s not being so kind with her rhythm, because she’s being so kind with her mouth. When Ramona finally spills over, her thighs are up around Destiny’s head and her hands are in her hair. Destiny is bright red and still wearing that fucking sweatshirt when she comes up, but that’s okay because Ramona is up too; dragging up with determination and sudden strength returned to her limbs.
“That’s better,” she says with satisfaction, when she finally gets Destiny, who is trembling very finely, free of the damned thing.
She drags Destiny’s legs over her lap and gets her arms around her back and presses their chests together to kiss her. Destiny’s hands are clumsy now, at Ramona’s ears one moment and clutching at her thighs in the next. Ramona puts her thumb over Destiny’s clit and her mouth on Destiny’s neck and she holds Destiny to Ramona’s lost dreams of a lazy morning only for long enough to make Destiny buck in her lap and hiss, and then Ramona matches her, fast, hard and when Destiny goes still and taut and says, “Yes,” Ramona keeps moving and keeps moving until Destiny’s hips jump alive again and the tension slowly falls away from every muscle in her body that is holding her curled up in Ramona’s lap. Ramona tips her back onto the pillows and Destiny lies there, unmoving. That’s satisfying as Ramona had most definitely lost all control of the situation there for maybe a minute or two. She pets Destiny’s hair and kisses her slack, almost smiling mouth and falls down next to her.
Ramona stretches her arms up above her head and presses against the cool wood of the headboard, and she extends her toes and glories in the crisp morning light. How nice to be awake on such a wonderful morning. She could go for a run.
Ramona holds out her hand and says, “Could you pass my phone?” And then she waits.
It takes Destiny a moment but she reaches out and fumbles sound on her bedside table without looking. She hands over the right phone. Ramona catches he fingers and kisses them. Then she checks the time.
“Only ten thirty,” she says, approvingly. “Efficient. It’s still early.”
Destiny repeats, “efficient,” and creases up her forehead, but her eyes are still closed. Ramona sits up and kisses the future frown lines. There are a couple of messages from Juliet now.
She retrieves her comfortable bra and the sweatshirt that Destiny had been wearing because it had felt very soft during the very extended time that Destiny had been wearing it. She finally remembers to tug the tie that’s barely holding on out of her hair. Some show, she thinks. The hair is always a key element of the performance. She gets out of bed and looks down at Destiny’s naked sprawl. She’s very beautiful. Ramona tucks one of the sheets up and over her, smoothing the lived in cotton up and over her shoulders. She arranges a blanket over her feet.
“I’ll make you coffee” Ramona says, and Destiny nods without opening her eyes, turning and smiling into the pillow.
“Come back once you’re done,” says Destiny.
Ramona does like lazy Sunday mornings. She leaves the blinds up.