Dani first floats the idea the same way she does everything: hesitant, nervous, until she can’t hedge any longer and puts absolutely everything out on the table all at once, like a fizzy drink that’s been shaken and unstoppered. It’s one of the things Jamie likes most about her. At this point she thinks she can pick up on it when something like that is building up; Dani’s gaze on her turns increasingly hungry, her hands grow indelicate and clumsy when she touches Jamie, the pressure of her mouth breezes right past insistent and into petulance.
They’re in bed when Dani turns to her, propping her head up on one hand but fixing her eyes on the sheets, and says, “I’ve been thinking.”
“Shit, should I call the papers?” Jamie says, dodging Dani’s halfhearted attempt to swat at her with the TV remote. Her answering laugh sounds a bit forced, so Jamie turns to face her and says, “Sorry. What’ve you been thinking about?”
“Us.” Dani picks at a stray thread on her duvet cover, pulling at it until it comes free of its stitching. She looks up at Jamie and then says, “No, no, not like that! Not in a bad way.”
Jamie laughs. “You’ve really got to stop phrasing things so fucking ominously.”
“Sorry. I’m just nervous.”
“Dani.” Dani regards Jamie with a wide-eyed, unassuming expression. “Alright, come on. Let’s hear it.”
She isn’t sure what she’s expecting Dani to say, but it definitely isn’t, “Do you own a strap-on?”, spoken in the same casually sweet tone of voice Dani would’ve used if she were asking what they should get for dinner tonight.
“Uh,” Jamie says.
Dani huffs out an anxious laugh, returning her attention to the bedsheet. “You should see the look on your face right now. Sorry, I didn’t mean to…lead with that, that was”—she shakes her head—“weird.”
“No, no. Caught me a bit off-guard, is all, but—no worries,” she says, clearing her throat and making a show of putting on a solemn face, “I’ve regained my composure.”
Dani rolls her eyes at her and says, “Okay, well. Would you ever wanna...I don’t know, use one?” Then she bites her lip, has the audacity to look anxious as if what she’s just said hasn’t set Jamie fully on fire, and continues, “Because, I mean, I do. Just to be clear. I want to. Or, I guess, I want you to. On me.”
To tell the truth, Jamie loves when Dani asks for things. She might even like it more than actually giving Dani the things she asks for. It’s the distance between wanting and having, and Dani’s never more uninhibited and unabashed than when she’s inhabiting that space. She can’t believe she’s lucky enough to get to see this part of Dani at all. Dani is a marvel, her bright-eyed Midwestern charm coexisting with a mouth that can be filthy when she wants it to be, a sensuality about her that’s only enhanced by the wholesome innocence she wears like a veil. In the beginning Jamie had thought Dani didn’t realize the effect she had on her, but—now she thinks Dani has to know. She has to know what she looks like when she’s sinking to her knees in front of Jamie and blinking up at her through her eyelashes, or how she sounds when she asks Jamie for things during sex, the pitch of her voice, breathless— Pull my hair or Fuck my mouth or Talk to me or even just Please, which might be Jamie’s favorite, hearing Dani beg like that, and—she has to know what it does to Jamie. There’s no way she doesn’t.
Even now, the two of them lounging around in sweatpants at Jamie’s flat, on a random Wednesday night with Peep Show playing faintly on the TV in the background, it sends a distinct thrill through Jamie to know that Dani’s been thinking about this. Thinking about her, the two of them. Somehow it doesn’t feel incongruent to talk so matter-of-factly about it.
They buy it online, Dani draped all over Jamie in an armchair that really can’t fit more than one person, her laptop balanced on her knees. Dani keeps giggling about it and Jamie can’t tell if it’s because she’s nervous or because she finds it genuinely funny.
“Why are they all so...fluorescent?” she says, blushing furiously. Then, a couple scrolls further: “Okay, never mind, it’s worse when they look like—actual dicks.” She squints at the screen. “Like do they really have to have, um, anatomically correct balls?”
Jamie laughs but says, “You know we don’t have to,” shrugs casually like she hasn’t been thinking about it since Dani brought it up, like she hasn’t been caught in a loop of images—Dani with her thighs pressed up to her chest and Dani on her hands and knees in front of her and Dani so full she can’t speak and—well. Jamie’s been thinking about it, is the point. She still isn’t used to being able to think about Dani this way without the faint shadow of guilt accompanying it, even though it’s been almost four months now since they officially put a name to their relationship.
“No, no,” Dani says. “I want to. I mean—” She lowers her voice even though it’s just the two of them in Dani’s flat. “I really want to. It’s just weird, I’ve never really...bought anything before. Or used anything like this. Obviously.”
“Right,” Jamie says.
“Yeah,” she says, although it feels different now; everything, so far, has felt different with Dani. She’s never wanted so badly to give, but with Dani that hunger is always humming in her—even when it comes to practical, distinctly unsexy realities, like typing her credit card information into a website form so she can order them a strap-on.
“Well, at least one of us knows what we’re doing, then,” Dani says.
They finally settle on one that’s black, nondescript, unintimidating in size. It arrives in the mail a week later in blank cardboard packaging.
“Very discreet,” Jamie says when she brings it in, tossing it onto her dinette table along with the rest of the mail. She shrugs off her jacket and takes the kitchen towel hanging from a cabinet to dry off the ends of her hair, damp from having been caught in the rain without an umbrella. Dani stands by the stove, watching over a pot of boiling water and pushing something around a saucepan with a wooden spoon. Whatever it is, it smells good. Lately the boundaries between their individual spaces have been blurring more and more: Dani cooks at Jamie’s place, Jamie fixes everything that breaks around Dani’s shitty, ancient flat, they have keys to each others’ homes and use them regularly.
Dani glances over her shoulder at the package. “Oh. Is that—?”
“Think so,” Jamie says. She finishes wringing out her hair, slides behind Dani to get through the narrow space between the kitchen countertops, moving her gently out of the way with one hand on her lower back. Dani turns to watch her, wooden spoon still in hand, as she opens the freezer. “Fuck, I’m starving. Think I’ve got some garlic bread, if you want it.”
“Are we not gonna open it?”
“What?” Jamie says, distracted by the process of sifting through bags of frozen peas and old ice cream pints in search of the elusive garlic bread.
“The...you know. We’re not gonna open it?”
“Ah,” she says. She gives up on the bread and closes the freezer door, standing so she can lean up against it, facing Dani. She’s trying to keep her expression neutral, fight off a smile, but it’s hard when Dani is looking at her with such unashamed heat. “Eager, are we?”
Dani scoffs and returns her attention to the saucepan, giving it a perfunctory stir. “Are you telling me you’re not?”
“Didn’t say that.”
Jamie sidles over to the stove and stands behind Dani, puts both her hands on the oven handle on either side of Dani’s hips, bracketing her and keeping her pinned there in a way. She presses in just enough to feel the curve of Dani’s ass against her, rocks forward until their bodies are flush.
“Hi,” Dani says quietly. Jamie gathers her hair, flowing loose down her back, and pushes it aside so that she can brush a kiss to her spine. The back of her neck is pink and warm. She’s still poking at the sauce even though it looks like it’s finished cooking. Jamie kisses up her shoulder and to her ear, scrapes her teeth lightly over the shell of it and listens for Dani’s rushed exhale in response.
“You look good in this,” Jamie says, even as she’s pulling at Dani’s blouse, untucking it carefully, then running her hands down to Dani’s hips, gripping firm and pulling her closer in.
“Yeah, you just said that,” Dani says, breathlessness belying the teasing lilt of her tone.
“Did I?” She lets go of Dani long enough for her to lean forward over the stove, click the dials to off , push the saucepan and pot over to the cool burners. “Bit distracted, sorry.”
“Sound surprised,” Jamie says.
“Honestly, I’m always a little surprised,” Dani says, “when you say things like that.” Briefly she leans up on her toes and reaches for the pepper mill perched on a high shelf, grinds some into the sauce with a few quick turns of her wrist. “In a good way, I mean. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it.”
Jamie wants to say me either but instead she hums noncommittally into the side of Dani’s neck, kisses her again but this time keeps it slow, open-mouthed, sucks at the skin there until she feels Dani slump a little further into the oven, her head tilted to the side to allow easier access.
“Jamie,” Dani says, breathing faster now; they’re close enough that Jamie can feel the rise and fall of Dani’s back against her chest, stuttering.
She slips one hand under Dani’s untucked shirt. Grips her hip where it swells up out of her skirt, soft, trails her knuckles up the curve of her waist and over her stomach. Dani shivers under the touch and takes Jamie’s hand in her own, drags it further up to her breast, sighs as Jamie pulls down the cup of her bra to palm her, skin against warm skin.
“D’you wanna try it tonight, then?” Jamie says, tilting her head toward the table where the package sits.
“I—yeah, kind of, is that—okay?” Dani says. Jamie nods against her. “Okay, good, because I’ve been” —she interrupts herself with a rushed laugh when Jamie brushes her thumb against a nipple— “thinking about it a lot, like, a lot, um—way before I even...brought it up, actually—”
“I figured,” Jamie says, because Dani is predictable; when she’s nervous she turns things needlessly over and over in her head, and then when they finally come out it’s the result of days of overthinking. “Care to share any specifics?”
“Well, I just feel like there’s a lot you can do with both hands free. Right?”
She slides the fingers of her free hand under the waistband of Dani’s skirt, cups her briefly, gently, through her underwear, lets the ghost of her touch linger there without offering anything more, and Dani lets her head fall back. Her hair flutters with the breath she lets out, tickling Jamie’s face. But when Jamie goes to pull Dani’s underwear to the side to touch her in earnest, Dani encircles her wrist with one hand and stills it.
“Not now,” Dani says. “Later. Make me—make me wait for it.”
Jesus. Jamie pulls her fingers out of Dani’s skirt. She tries valiantly to assume the role Dani wants from her, cool and teasing and in-charge; it necessitates tamping down the thrill of want that runs through her when Dani arches back into her—briefly but with intent, she knows what she does to Jamie—before stepping sideways away from the stove.
They eat dinner. Then they put on a movie. They sit on the couch while the opening credits roll, Jamie’s arm slung around Dani’s shoulders, the unlabeled box a third presence in the room the whole time, exerting its influence on them all the way from the dinette table; they eventually pause the movie because Dani insists on at least opening the package; they take it out and give it the requisite initial wash; they put it back in its box.
Then they resume their movie. Jamie hasn’t been paying attention. She isn’t sure what they’re even watching in the first place. She suspects Dani—her eyes blank, glazed—isn’t either. She’s trying to catch up with what’s supposed to be happening on screen when Dani, without warning, reaches for the remote, switches off the TV, and kisses her.
Trying to catch her breath, Jamie pulls away briefly and says, “Thought you wanted me to make you wait for it.”
“Not this long,” Dani says. With one palm against Jamie’s chest she pushes her back until she hits the armrest, climbs into her lap. “Plus you’ve been driving me insane all night.”
“I haven’t been doing anything!”
“Yeah, you have, you keep...moving your hips, all—” Dani thrusts her hips forward in what Jamie assumes is supposed to be some sort of impression of her sitting posture, but from Dani’s current position, straddling Jamie with her legs on either side of her, she ends up just grinding into Jamie’s lap.
“Fuck,” Jamie says, and grips Dani’s ass with both hands to bring her closer, until Dani’s knees are pressed to the armrest and Jamie’s just touching her for the sake of touching her, her full hips and those fucking thighs, digging her thumbs into the crease where they meet. Dani pushes Jamie’s mouth open with her own, puts her hand on Jamie’s cheek to pull her into a kiss that’s messy and eager already, her tongue hot against Jamie’s.
They pull off their clothes—Dani tries to do it too fast and her shirt gets caught briefly on her earring, but they can laugh about things like that together now; the tense electric heat that’s always been present between them has grown into something that allows for things like laughing with each other and not having to worry so much about keeping up some smooth facade of perfection—and Jamie, well aware of Dani’s eyes on the toy still sitting in its box, warms her up with her mouth first, eats her out until Dani pulls her away with a light tug on her hair, gasping, “Oh, God, I’ll—I’ll come like this if you keep going.”
Jamie looks up at her. “That’s a problem?”
“Yeah,” Dani says. “I wanted to wait. So you could—so you could use it on me.” She inclines her head toward the box.
“Mm. I wasn’t finished here, though.”
Watching Dani for any sign of genuine protest and finding none, Jamie lowers her head again slowly, slots her hands under Dani’s thighs to pull her back in, presses her tongue back onto Dani and makes a show of moaning against her skin, slick and sweet in Jamie’s mouth.
Dani’s grip tightens in her hair. Through a laugh, she says, “Jamie, this—it’s too much, I’m gonna—”
“What if I tell you not to?”
They’ve flirted with this sort of thing before—Dani’s desire to be told, gently, what to do, to have arbitrary rules set for her by Jamie and then to decide whether or not she feels like following them—and every time Jamie is surprised by how much she likes it herself.
Dani breathes out shakily. “I can try.”
Jamie watches her close her eyes and pull her bottom lip between her teeth and it’s all she can do not to just give her what she wants already, grab the strap-on and turn her onto her back and fuck her in earnest, but—she’d said it herself, Make me wait for it, so Jamie keeps going, cataloguing Dani’s reactions to make sure she doesn’t inadvertently push her any further than the good kind of teasing. She could watch Dani forever like this: the little crease between her eyebrows where they pull together; the labored, measured breaths she drags in through her nose; the small, desperate noises she keeps letting out and trying to suppress against the back of her hand.
“You alright?” Jamie says when she thinks it’s been long enough.
Dani nods, her eyes screwed shut.
“D’you think you can take any more?”
“I don’t know,” Dani whines, her voice sounding ragged. “I don’t know, I don’t—I’ll take anything, you’re driving me crazy, baby, please.”
She smiles against Dani’s inner thigh, sucks gently on the skin there, says, “Tell me what you need,” because there’s really nothing Jamie likes more than drawing that truth out of Dani, getting her to ask for what she wants, getting her to take it.
“I need something—” she says, “—you, in me, I need —” and finally Jamie draws away from her, stands, feels the indentations left on her knees from the carpet.
She leaves Dani on the couch, where she’s sitting with her head tipped against the back, brushing her hair out of her face with one hand. Jamie only looks away from her for the brief span it takes to take the strap-on out of its box, maneuver and adjust the harness onto her hips, but when she turns back to Dani, about to make some joke about the way the toy looks on her, Dani’s watching her and touching herself. Languid hungry half-smile, fingers tracing lazy circles over her clit, eyes half-closed, she looks like something out of a dream.
“Jesus, Dani,” Jamie says. Her mouth feels dry. She has a sample-size packet of lube held uselessly in her hand—it came free with the toy—and she holds it up and stammers, “Uh—do you—this—”
“I don’t think I’m going to need that,” Dani says.
Jamie clambers ungracefully back onto the couch, balanced on her knees, hovering above Dani. The toy feels odd as an addition to her body. She’s done this before, but it’s been a while, and never with someone she cares so deeply about. Maybe it should be an incongruence, all the warmth and unspoken love she holds in her heart for Dani, the tenderness she feels for her, juxtaposed with everything she wants to do to Dani. But somehow it just feels like a natural extension of what they've built with each other.
“Jamie,” Dani says. She’s breathing hard still, a pretty flush tinting her face and neck red. Jamie leans over her to kiss her, her mouth and then down her neck, her chest. Experimentally Dani reaches down and wraps one hand around the toy, runs the tip of it over herself, pitches her head back and sighs at the feeling.
“How do you want me to…?”
“However you want,” Dani says. She lets her knuckles drift shakily over Jamie’s hipbone. “You can take me any way you want, I don’t care, you can — do anything.”
“Okay,” she says, although this presents too many options for her to make any sort of decision, her brain sort of short-circuiting over images of all the different ways she’d like to fuck Dani, but—“Up, then. On your knees. Turn around, put—put your hands on the armrest, right there.”
The eager speed with which Dani does it is its own kind of intoxicating. Jamie takes in the sight, Dani all spread out for her, waiting. With one hand she guides the tip of the toy into place, and puts her other hand on Dani’s hip.
“Tell me if you don’t like it,” Jamie says. She waits for Dani’s answering nod before pushing in further—slowly, just a little bit, watching Dani’s face for a reaction—and Dani gasps.
“Oh,” she says, voice small.
Jamie’s trying to go slow, be gentle, but something about the look on Dani’s face and the subtle arch of her back sparks something hot and wanting in Jamie, some heady need to consume and control that almost frightens her with its potency. Further, then, halfway in, and Dani says, “Oh, God, Jamie,” in that same high voice, pushes herself backward on the toy until Jamie bottoms out and their hips meet, letting out a groan of relief once they do.
“Feel alright?” Jamie says. Even to herself her voice sounds rough, ragged-edged.
“Yeah,” Dani pants. Jamie gives an experimental roll of her hips, draws out and then back in. Another roll of her hips, and Dani says, “Yeah, fuck, fuck me, I need you,” mouth always so much filthier than usual when she’s like this, asking for it harder, deeper. Jamie leans further over her, supporting her weight with one palm splayed out on the armrest, and starts driving into her harder, uneven thrusts at first and then smoother once she gets into a rhythm. Dani is normally sort of loud anyway but the sounds she’s making now, fuck—hitching breaths, high choked-off moans with every movement Jamie makes.
“Fuck, I love fucking you like this,” Jamie says clumsily, her words rendered less eloquent than usual by the sight of Dani with her mouth open and slack against the couch cushions, her face reddened, eyes closed, a little bit of her makeup smudged onto the fabric.
Jamie presses her chest to Dani’s back and winds one hand in her hair, pulls, not hard enough to hurt but enough to force Dani’s face up higher so that Jamie can kiss her, a hot, sloppy slide of a kiss. Dani is soft and pliant underneath her and Jamie doesn’t think she can get close enough, whatever she tries—not when she runs her hands aimlessly over Dani’s body, swathes of skin and warmth under her palms; not when she wraps one hand around Dani’s throat, the column of it bobbing when Dani swallows, pulse thudding, the vibration under her palm when Dani says her name, again and again; not when she fumbles her fingers into Dani’s mouth, one first and then two, Dani taking them in down to the last knuckle, so eagerly that for a moment Jamie worries she might choke on them but she doesn’t, just purses her lips around them and sucks like it’s more than just Jamie’s fingers in her mouth, and—it’s still not enough somehow, none of it is, it only further whets whatever hunger has taken up residence in Jamie.
“You’re so good,” Jamie says, her lips pressed to Dani’s ear, “for me,” and Dani makes a desperate sound that comes out muffled around Jamie’s fingers, and then briefly lifts her mouth off so that she can talk.
“Can I,” Dani says, words blurry, nearly slurred, “I mean, would it be okay if I,” and she’s already touching herself with one hand but Jamie nods anyway, watches Dani’s face as she works herself over while Jamie fucks her—the telltale pinch in her eyebrows, her mouth going loose and open, and then, finally, her voice breaking over Jamie’s name when she comes.
Afterwards they breathe heavily against each other, Jamie supporting her weight on her elbows so as not to crush Dani underneath her. Her fingers are still slick with saliva. She wipes them off Dani’s arm and laughs when Dani turns around to wrinkle her nose at her.
“Gross,” Dani says, indignant.
“That doesn’t mean I want it on my skin!”
“Mmm.” Jamie wraps both arms around Dani’s stomach and settles her face between her shoulder blades. “That was, uh. A little different, wasn’t it? Than it normally is?”
“Good different, though.” Gradually Dani’s breathing starts returning to normal. She can’t be very comfortable, Jamie thinks, with her bare skin all pressed against the cool leather of the couch like that. “Right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I thought so. Just didn’t know if it was—too much for you. I thought I might’ve been a bit rough. Got carried away.”
A thoughtful silence from Dani, and then: “I liked it. I, um. I liked—being so—I don’t know, exposed? Vulnerable?” She reaches under her stomach for Jamie’s hand and tangles their fingers together. “Not, like, in general or anything. Just...for you.”
That incompleteness, the not-close-enough-ness, is still there, burning under Jamie’s skin, but she’s not sure it’s a bad thing.
The strap-on sits in the bottom drawer of Jamie’s bedside table, nestled in the small drawstring bag it came in, and Jamie can’t stop thinking about it.
She thinks about fucking Dani with it, obviously, which is good, but she also thinks about what Dani had said after, about being exposed, vulnerable, open for her. Thinks about being under Dani that way. Thinks about opening herself up, feeling Dani in her and all around her in a new way.
She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t know if Dani would like it, if she would really want to, if she would do it anyway just to give Jamie what she wants. In the end, though, she doesn’t have to be the one to bring it up, because Dani does it first.
One night when they’re tangled together in Jamie’s bed, Dani breaks a kiss to say, in a low voice, “I want to wear it.”
Jamie pulls away, enough to look at Dani’s face. “Wear…?”
“The—thing,” Dani says. Jamie laughs.
“New rule. You have to be able to say it to wear it.”
Dani rolls her eyes. “Okay, well. I want to. Um—do you—? Is that something you would want?”
Jamie hesitates like she hasn’t been thinking about it for days. She’s pretty sure Dani has this idea of her that involves all this wide-ranging sexual experience, but to tell the truth there are still firsts for her to experience with Dani, this being one of them.
“Uh,” she says at last. “Yeah, sure, I think—if it’s alright with you.”
They fish the strap-on out from its resting place. Jamie lays on her side in bed, head propped up on one hand, watching Dani as she slides it on, adjusts it, frowns amusedly down at it.
“Sorry,” Dani says, her smile finally breaking around a laugh. She wraps one hand around the toy. “This just feels so ridiculous.”
“Won’t feel so ridiculous when you’re fucking me with it,” Jamie says, mostly just to see Dani blush and bite her lip. She turns over so that she’s sitting with her back against the headboard. “C’mere.”
Dani climbs onto the bed, rests on her knees in between Jamie’s legs. They’ve fished out the sample-size packet of lube, too, which Dani tears open—takes her a couple of tries, a sheepish smile on her face as she fiddles with it—and then empties it onto her palm, running her hand along the shaft of the toy, watching Jamie nervously the whole time. The visual of it is, truthfully, hotter than it has any logical right to be.
When Dani first sinks in—impossibly slow, gentle, one hand still on the toy and the other pressing lightly on Jamie’s thigh, keeping her legs spread—there’s a fleeting sting accompanying the fullness, and Jamie hisses involuntarily. Dani stills, eyes wide. “Does that hurt?”
Jamie shakes her head, says, “Just need a second. To get used to it.”
Dani dips her head to kiss Jamie, leaning forward and, probably inadvertently, pushing her hips a little further into her as she does it. Jamie moans into the kiss, and Dani whispers, “Sorry, should I—”
“No, fuck, just—” She grasps at Dani’s lower back, pulls her in closer until Dani is all the way inside her, the feeling nearly overwhelming—and Dani’s watching her, breathing hard through her parted mouth, an awed, dazed look on her face. She’s looking down at where they’re joined, watching the motion of herself fucking Jamie like it’s some sort of revelation. “Christ,” she says, gritting her teeth, has to close her eyes because Dani’s eyes on her are almost too intense.
“Has anyone else ever done this to you?” Dani says.
“No,” Jamie breathes.
It’s the literal truth, but it’s also true in other ways, ways Jamie has never fully explicated to Dani and isn’t sure she ever will. She could say: no one has ever touched me the way you do. Or: no one has ever wanted me like this. Or any number of similarly heady and terrifying things. Before Dani she’d spent years wanting to give and then years withholding so much, but Dani’s the first person who has made her want to give this much of herself; she wants Dani to take from her, take and give and leave her empty and fill her up. It’s new, wanting someone so completely. She can’t bring herself to tell Dani any of it; it’s all too intense, and this thing between them is too fragile and breakable in its newness to handle it. So instead Jamie chooses a different kind of honesty, swearing and wrapping one arm around Dani’s shoulders to pull her closer still, their chests and stomachs flush now as Dani moves inside her.
“God,” Dani says, “I love—you’re so, you look so good,” and she isn’t touching herself but her voice has still taken on that familiar high, shattered quality it always does when Jamie has her hands on her.
It builds much quicker than Jamie expects—she’d been unsure if she’d even be able to finish like this—but Dani’s hands are so careful and tender on her and her tongue is in Jamie’s mouth and her fingers are all tangled in Jamie’s hair, keeping their faces close together, and—her voice is soft when she says Jamie’s name, quiet and reverent, and that’s another new thing, Jamie thinks, no one has said her name that way before—
“Ah, fuck, wait, stop—” she starts, and Dani freezes and fixes her with a look of such gentle concern that Jamie hurries to finish her thought. “I want—it to be you, I’m so close, but I—just want to feel you in me when it—”
“Oh,” Dani says. “Okay, okay, yeah.”
She pulls the strap-on out and replaces it with two of her fingers before Jamie can register the lack. “Fuck,” Jamie says, taking in the easy slide of Dani inside her, “Jesus, Dani, I’m—fuck, fuck.”
“Please,” Dani says. Their foreheads knock together, Dani’s nose pressing hard into Jamie’s cheekbone, Dani mumbling practically into Jamie’s mouth, “You’re so beautiful, Jamie,” reaching back to grab the hand that Jamie has clutching one shoulder, tangling their fingers together, hands resting on the pillow. She comes with a final sigh of relief, shuddering open in Dani’s arms.
Jamie keeps her eyes closed until Dani shifts away from her. When she opens them she sees Dani tugging off the harness with her usual impatience, flinging it over the edge of the bed once she gets it off.
“Did you just throw that thing on my floor?” Jamie says.
“Sorry,” Dani says, not sounding apologetic at all. “Wanted to cuddle. Didn’t want it getting in the way.”
Dani scoots closer until she can curl up against Jamie, one hand on Jamie’s chest. She pulls the blankets up to cover both of them. Jamie should protest—they’re all sweaty now, and there’s definitely residual lube streaking Jamie’s legs, and it’s definitely going to get on the sheets, but it’s difficult to say no to the warm weight of Dani’s body against her.
“Should probably get cleaned up,” Jamie mumbles. “Or we’ll fall asleep like this.”
“Can I shower with you?”
“Only if we actually shower.” Last time, Dani had hopped in with Jamie early in the morning after spending the night; they’d gotten carried away, as they tended to, and Jamie had been disastrously late for work.
“Oh my God,” Dani says, laughing. “I’m not trying anything!”
Jamie raises her eyebrows at Dani, trying to look teasing but unable to resist mirroring her smile. “You sure about that?”
“I just wanna be around you, is that such a crime?” Dani says, faux affront coloring her tone.
“Suppose not,” Jamie says. “Lemme just lay here a bit longer, and then we can.”
She can feel Dani breathing steadily against her, the rise and fall of her chest almost synced with Jamie’s. “This is gonna sound stupid,” Dani says, “but I really like—trying new things with you. I love it. Even just dumb little things like this.”
“S’not stupid at all,” Jamie says. She threads her fingers into Dani’s hair, traces aimless patterns into her scalp. Dani yawns and closes her eyes. They’re never going to make it into the shower, but that’s alright with Jamie.
Before Dani’s breathing evens out into the steady, telltale heaviness of sleep, she mumbles, “You know, I never thought I’d get to have this,” and distantly Jamie thinks, neither did I.