She hadn't expected it to ever be like this, with Holtzmann withering in her lap.
It's a position she could not imagine until she's perched on the edge of her own bed, wearing panties, and a shirt with the buttons half ripped open, and a harness, and a cock.
Holtz is naked, shameless and so very real and right now she’s nothing but embers in Erin's arms. Skin glowing with anticipation, muscles shaking with desperation. She’s so tiny. As though all her energy, her aura has been drawn into a single point, dense and bright as she grinds down on Erin, clings to her.
Her hair is loose and long and tangled, soaked with sweat. Her hands circle Erin's neck, tilting their foreheads together, and they’re so close. Not kissing; it’s like Holtzmann is trying to inhale every part of Erin. Gasping sharply in and out and whispering, whimpering filthy little obscenities into Erin’s air.
She’s still wearing her glasses, grounding steel and damping yellow, and that's just a little bit ridiculous. Except that it’s not really because Holtz needs that filter right now, even though Erin is sure her eyes are squeezed shut.
Erin’s holding her tight because she doesn’t know what else to do. Muttering nothings into her atmosphere. Tethering her to one reality, keeping her in close orbit. Holtz is okay, she’s safe, she’s right here because Erin’s got her.
And Holtz gasps once more, and comes, and it's like a flare licking out from a diamond corona, superhot and brilliant.
Erin thinks back to their first time. She'd been so nervous and unsure but Holtzmann had fucking worshipped her, built a monument to her body; art and heart and soul.
Murmured deep and throaty against the flesh of her thigh. Holtzmann's kissing her there, sighing hot against her, quick tongue flicking out to taste the beaded sweat on her skin and she realises she's absolutely burning, the air hanging heated and still about her, hair sticking to her flaming face.
She's naked already, apart from her panties, tiny lacy things she would never have chosen in another life. And even though she knows Holtz would want her even in a burlap sack, Erin's glad that she's made the effort, made this special. She wants to be sexy and when Holtzmann's mouth drops open just a little at the sight of her in sheer black lace, she finally believes that she can be.
Holtz is proving it, proving her desire by sliding fingers lightly under the fabric, not touching her intimately but mapping the hollows of her hips, the curve of her behind, a careful cartography of Erin's boundaries. Holtzmann's hands are rough but the motions are delicate on her scorching skin, as though too much contact would shatter a beautiful mirage, too bold a touch would make Erin crumble into desert sand.
Erin's touched at the tenderness, grateful for the consideration, desperate for more. She moans, just a little, a tiny inarticulate plea and Holtz grins up at her, presses lips down against her. A single promise pressed through lace before pulling her panties down her legs. The slip of cloth is wet, soaked with anticipation, but she's not embarrassed.
That delicate, clever caress shifts against her, finally, and she exhales into the contact. Calloused fingertips explore her, moving over her folds. Circling her clit and brushing the briefest touch against her there, too brief to fully register the sensation before it is gone again. Holtz moves down ever so slightly to drag through the gathering arousal at her core, glancing over her entrance and Erin's breath hitches, involuntary.
Holtzmann's eyes flick instantly up to hers but she can't even utter a word, has to hope that the sudden rush of wetness will scream the desire, the want, that she cannot.
Holtz lowers her head, replaces fingers with a warm, wet tongue. Licking softly up and down and against her and inside her, teasing, tasting. She never imagined it could be so exquisite. Holtz's face is smooth where it is pressed against her thighs, her tongue is bold and adventurous, she's breathing small hums of pleasure into Erin's very centre. Erin's mouth is open but she's sure there's no air to make a sound, it's too hot and heavy and close to exhale.
When Holtz moves to her swollen, straining clit, wraps firm lips around the sensitive tip and sucks, the spell of suffocation is broken and she gasps, sudden and sharp, releases breathy affirmations and benedictions into the air. She's not loud, never loud, not wanting to fracture the time that stills and hangs about them and locks them into a single, fiery moment. She doesn't want this moment to ever end, wants to stay in this furnace with Holtzmann and her perfect touch, until they flake apart into ash.
Entropy takes her will from her. Her nails are clawing at the sheets, fingers clenching into tight little fists as her body starts to go rigid. She feels Holtzmann's hands covering hers, fingers entangling, anchoring them together.
It doesn't take much after that, a few tiny laps of Holtzmann's tongue and she's coming apart, coming hard, shaking and biting her lip and whimpering, sobbing, unbelieving.
Erin looks down when she can, looks and adores and breathes. She loosens her hands where they have crushed Holtzmann's knuckles, moves them to cradle her lover's head, fingers sifting through blonde hair, gently stroking all the damp strands that have come to hang loose. Holtz rests her cheek on Erin's stomach, her face sticky and wet with slick and tears and perspiration and Erin wonders if Holtz knows she's trembling.
Holtz had all the experience, though she was quick to tell Erin that all was probably much less than Erin had imagined, and Erin had blushed because she had imagined a lot. She hadn’t wanted to be selfish, she dreamed of making Holtz feel as desired and special and precious as she felt.
Holtz doesn't push her, never expects any more of her than she will offer. They are lying side by side, Erin floating in little pieces in her post-orgasm bliss, Holtz nuzzling into her neck, kissing her throat, bringing her gently back down and putting her back together and suddenly what she offers is not enough.
Erin tugs her up, crushes their parted lips together, and runs light fingers over Holtz’s flanks, down over creamy skin and full curves, cupping her behind, and hesitating. Holtz smiles into their kiss, whispers a little nonsense into her mouth.
“Whatever you want.”
Holtz lies back, Erin leads. She’s clumsy, she is sure, but Holtzmann doesn’t seem to notice. It’s different to touching her previous lovers in that way; smoother and less demanding and more responsive, hips shifting and arousal building under Erin’s touch. She stares at her fingertips, glistening, wonders at Holtz’s flushed complexion and blown pupils, and she pours herself into her lover.
Erin tries to mirror what she likes, takes note of all the little tells; when Holtzmann twitches, when she shudders, when she moans and that’s a sound Erin will never tire of hearing, so deep and desperate and it’s all for her.
Soon Holtz is gasping into the stillness and it's like all the oxygen has been consumed from their environment. They smash into another kiss, sucking and sharing what little they have as Erin slides into tight heat and that really is different.
She takes a moment to find a rhythm, to manipulate her fingers into doing the thing that will make Holtzmann shudder and scream and smash apart into tiny drops of liquid glass, like she herself has been deconstructed so many times. She twists her hand, a fractional adjustment and the body beneath her stiffens into a perfect arch, mouth torn away to shout Erin’s name. And beneath the wonder and the adoration Erin feels a tiny surge of pride that she's got this beautiful woman writhing under her, clenching around her, coming undone on her fingers.
They gave and they took, and sometimes Erin had the notion that Holtz was holding back, buckling down her wildness, keeping herself steadier than she ever has. It had dismayed Erin because she loved Holtzmann's energy and she loved the strength of Holtzmann's want.
She speaks to Holtz with her body, caving to her desire each time they come together hard and hot and crushing. When Holtz tops her, with gentle weight and careful restraint, she hints with teeth and fingernails that she wants more, that she won’t break.
But it's not until Erin uses her words, utters quietly that she'd really, really like Holtz to fuck her with a strap-on sometime that Holtz's eyes go glassy and she makes a noise stuck between a whine and a whimper. A pathetic noise. And Erin knows it's not because this is the first time Holtz has heard her say fuck.
"We are so going to talk about that."
Surprisingly articulate, then Holtz leaps at Erin, kissing her firm and hard, teeth catching on her lip. She's surging wildfire, attentions flicking like sparks dancing from one point to the next, hands stopping to set alight her shoulders, her face, her neck.
Holtzmann pushes against her, all limbs and lips, climbing up her body and tumbling them both to the carpet. Erin's winded, breath stolen in a whoosh but Holtz doesn't let her reclaim it, pressing heavily against her torso, her hips, her parted thighs.
Not willing to break their full body contact, fumbling to open Erin's shirt in the tight space between them, the simplest of fastenings stump Holtzmann’s genius. She gives a grunt in the end, a tug to send buttons ricocheting off all surfaces. There's a brief hesitance between them, chagrin shaping Holtz's kisses but Erin doesn't care; it was a stupid shirt and worth it to have this incredible, sexy woman over her like this, lust-addled and halfway lost already. She grabs Holtz's head and pushes her face down into her breasts, pushes her deep into the chasm of her chest to lie next to her erupting heart and melt in her blood like petals drowning in lava.
Her lover makes the most of it. Sucks the curve above her bra and kisses the valley between the lace and licks her stomach, chasing beads of sweat and seeking sensation. Pulling Erin’s tight jeans down is a challenge; perspiration pastes them to her legs and her panties go with them. Holtz gives up around about her knees and it’s just enough and a bit silly and Erin’s brain randomly sparks, wonders if this is what being a horny teenager would have been like, if she’d have only been the sort of girl where just enough was good enough.
Erin giggles, Holtz glances up incredulously, all breathless and sultry, moves her hand between Erin’s legs and suddenly it’s not silly at all. She throws her head back and hisses her consent, already wet and wanting and halfway lost herself.
Holtz pushes into her, takes her to the knuckle with three fingers, and Erin folds about her.
It’s quick. Holtz fucks her with the fire Erin's been longing to stoke. The rough pad of a thumb rubs over her clit and Erin bows her back, pushes her hips down to match her lover’s motions. It’s not a perfect harmony, it's a cacophony of top note sensation and deep bass need and she doesn't tame her voice now.
She groans loud and long when Holtz drags her teeth across an erect nipple, intent clear even through the constraints of her bra. She shouts out words like yes and fuck and fuck yes when Holtz crooks her fingers inside her mid thrust, stopping to press and rub and then she is coming, hard. Harder than she can believe. She bucks and screams, pouring hot and molten over Holtzmann’s hand as she feels teeth closing sharply over her breast.
Erin had chosen the toy, deep purple and deliciously thick, earning a precious goggle-eyed moment of silence and then a whoop of delight from Holtz. It had quickly became Erin's favourite, though toys had always been the exception rather than her rule.
Holtzmann is a wizard with her fingers, wicked witch with her lips, spells of fire and passion. But Erin loves to work up to a little more, every once in a while. Holtz takes her time, getting Erin ready. Teasing, soft and scorching, until Erin is begging and spreading for her, wet and needy.
"Are you ready?"
Erin doesn’t answer, can’t catch a breath to speak. Instead she reaches to tug Holtzmann closer, guiding her in.
She engulfs her partner with arms and legs and everything that she is. She's so full, and when Holtz starts to move Erin thinks that this must be what a flame feels like when it catches, sparking and spitting and flourishing effortlessly into a conflagration.
A tiny frown of concentration mars Holtzmann’s face, so close, and Erin half expects to see the tip of a tongue poking from the side of her mouth. She wonders if Holtz has done this before, then stops wondering because it doesn't matter; all that came before is ash.
Erin’s done this before, of course. But not this, with her and it’s almost the same but so very different. Not as natural, but infinitely better. Because it’s Holtz and they just fit together, tempered steel from a mould and Erin questions how she ever thought anyone else had even come close.
They fit, and Erin loves her place in the asymmetry. She loves Holtz holding her down, holding her hips and pressing into her. She loves Holtz lying on top of her, their hips and stomachs and breasts pushed together, their bodies sticking together and lips meeting and breaking and meeting again. She can feel two hearts pounding through flesh and bone, one then the other, driving liquid hot rapture through their veins and she loves it.
They make love for hours; at some point the toy is set aside and Holtzmann uses firm lips to break her down, coarse hands to rebuild her into her most courageous and beautiful form. And Erin cries before she sleeps, cries just a little bit for all the Erins who bent or ran or settled, and Holtz pouts and rubs away the salt.
Erin had loved when Holtz had surprised her with the toy, one time after a long day of lingering stares, slow winks and frustrated huffs.
They're alone, in the firehouse, and that's new, feeling the bulge pressing against her hip through layers of clothing when Holtz comes up behind her. She's brazen, moulding herself fully to Erin's back and whispering hot and dirty in her ear.
"I'm going to take you to pieces."
Erin flinches. Dark arousal flares deep inside her, shooting fire to every extremity and back to ignite the magma in her core. She rocks her hips back in a rough movement, pushes herself into Holtzmann, grinds against her. It's obscene, like nothing the old, timid Erin would do and it's all the invitation Holtz needs.
There's breath on her neck, humid, lips curving against her skin. Holtzmann's shorter stature is perfect for this, perfect for licking the drops of sweat from her throat, perfect for nibbling at the skin above her collar, sucking, biting down to leave a perfect little bruise.
Holtz is yanking her pants down, underwear to follow. Erin steps out of them, half turning to meet her lover before being spun back around, maneuvered forward half a pace till her hips are flush with her desk. Holtz is going to take her from behind, right here, on top of her notes and journals and pens and paperclips and the thought of that, the mental image of being used like that is sharp and vivid. It's so erotic, so primal, that Erin can't help herself and actually bends forward, submissive, begging.
There's the briefest swipe of fingers between her folds and then the toy is pressing against her and Holtz is pushing in and she wants it badly, so fucking badly but it's so big and she's not quite ready.
Erin groans, a filthy noise loaded with wantonness and pain. She reaches behind her, groping blindly at Holtzmann's hips and her lover stills, gives her the moment, breathes with her, for her, for just a second or two until Erin nods.
It's slow at first. The shaft drags inside her, delicious friction leaving a burning reminder and an empty, aching loss as Holtz withdraws nearly all the way. Inch after inch until only the wide head is left, stretching her entrance. Holtz flexes her fingers, digs them harder into the bones of Erin's hips, and thrusts.
Holtzmann is defined by her energy and right now she is transferring every joule into Erin, quickly, forcefully, slamming her against the desk, scattering Erin's work to random errata. Erin loves it. She'll have bruises on her thighs tomorrow, she knows, doesn't care. Her palms are sweaty, hands slipping on the smooth surface, giving her no traction to push back. She just lets Holtz fuck her, long minutes of delirious pleasure running into one another, until she hears Holtz start to pant, senses a tremble behind each thrust.
Her clit is untouched and she doesn't know if she can come quickly like this, but if she can focus on the deep sensations in her core, if her fierce lover can keep going, then maybe she can capture it. She starts muttering encouragements to Holtzmann under her breath, between the gasps, her best attempts at dirty talk; if Holtz is going to take then Erin will give this back to her, challenge her.
Challenge accepted. Holtz grunts and pulls Erin back from the desk, and they half stumble, half fall to the couch in the corner. She's pushed down, Holtz's rough hands splayed strong and wide across her hips, pushed down until her face is smashed against the seat cushion. She's bent over more now, the angle more extreme, tip of the toy rubbing over a different part within her and suddenly Erin's not chasing her orgasm any more, it's rushing head-on towards her.
Her thighs are starting to shake, there are spots in her vision. She’s dimly aware of screaming into the material beneath her, but it's impossible to focus on anything but the hard pounding in her core and the wet running down her thighs as she convulses and comes for Holtzmann.
Holtz follows a half-moment after, finishing hard and groaning loudly, a feral, high-pitched howl. Collapsing on top of Erin, spent; she's boneless and sucking in air.
They cuddle on the couch, after. After Holtz has pulled out slowly and gently and rubbed soothing circles on Erin's skin and stretched a blanket over her half-naked body and the messy proof of their potent reaction. After Holtz has kissed her and Erin has kissed Holtz back, kissed away the flicker of embarrassment at her loss of control.
Holtz had been quiet and subdued, as much as Holtz could ever be. That had worried Erin, set all her panic alarms to a ready state.
Holtz has had enough. Holtz has gotten bored. Holtz doesn't love her. Holtz doesn't even like her. Erin sees the possibilities before her, splaying outwards like cracks in her charred and brittle frame.
In the end, the what-ifs don't materialise and, after a big bust, a thrilling escapade up and down four floors of a funhouse, Holtz seems her firecracker self. She's damp and naked after a shower, rummaging in a drawer and tossing the toy and the harness into Erin's lap.
Fractures coalesce into one shining course of relief and Erin smiles, kicks herself for doubting, hates that even after everything she can still be brought up short by the tiniest of apprehensions. Holtzmann deserves better and Erin resolves to try, to let Holtzmann take the best of her.
She reaches to wrap the harness around her lover’s hips, already panting in anticipation, already dripping at the thought of Holtzmann pressing against her, fucking her into the bed. They haven't done this, like this, since they torched the firehouse and she can hardly wait to be stripped and tossed down and taken.
She pauses when Holtz puts her hands quickly over hers, shaking her head and humming and shifting on her feet, transferring her weight from one leg to the other and back. Holtz pushes Erin's fingers away, leaving her awkwardly gripping the leather straps and staring dumbly at her lover having some sort of crisis.
Erin's still not completely decrypted Holtzmann. It's a complex code of truth and metaphor, of bright yellow sunshine and bruising black uncertainty, of crunchy reality and rhythmic fantasy. Resting somewhere on a spectrum between wired and weird, where all the gradations are a shade of wonderful.
Holtzmann's being weird. Erin glances down at the harness, sees a string of code instead and she thinks she's cracked a piece of it, and it breaks her heart a little bit. She interprets the twitchy motions as regret, the lowered gaze and odd hum as shame, and her eyes widen and she drops the leather like it blisters and pulls Holtz tightly to her.
Erin presses little kisses and tries to reassure Holtzmann. Holtz, her sweet Holtz, who loves her, could never hurt her, who doesn't need to be ashamed or sorry because she loves it, loves it a little rough, a little dirty, every now and then and it's okay.
Holtzmann pulls back and stares. Then her lips twitch and she shakes her head again, quickly. Eyes wandering to the spurned harness coiled on the floor, the toy sitting purple and proud on the bed. Cheeks colouring, telling Erin that it's not that kind of shame.
And she speaks and with four words mashed together in a blurt Erin knows she's interpreted all wrong.
"I wanna ride you."