She finds Myka in the library, reading.
She shrugs off her coat, hangs it on the rack. Myka doesn't look up. It's a little surprising, Helena thinks, making her way over to the couch. She was sure that Pete would have been able to convince Myka to go out with him and Steve for a movie. But outside it is below freezing with nary a snowflake in sight, and inside Myka is curled up with a book and a mug of a drink that still steams.
“Hello,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around Myka's shoulders.
Myka hums, tilting her head so that her hair brushes against Helena's cheek. “Hey,” she says. “You done with – um.”
Helena's mouth is hot on Myka's neck, and she sucks hard at the skin there, lips curving up in a smirk when Myka gasps. Her hands slip downward, squeeze at full breasts, and Myka gives up all pretence of reading, letting her head drop back. Helena brushes her lips over her ear, delighting in Myka's full-body shiver.
Helena pulls back, sauntering over to one of the aisles. “This entire shelf is poetry,” Helena says, running a hand across the leather bound spines. “Did you notice?”
“Uh,” Myka says. “Yes? Yes. I did.” Helena doesn't need to glance behind her to know that Myka is looking at her, that she's wondering what's gotten into her. To know that she'll come to investigate any second. Helena doesn't mind waiting – she likes the way Myka looks at her, likes the way she darts quick glances then openly stares, eyes alert and soaking in every detail. She likes the way Myka looks at her because sooner or later Myka will decide looking isn't enough, and there is nothing that compares to the way Myka touches her.
Seconds later, soft footsteps sound on carpeted floor. Myka murmurs a greeting into the base of her neck, and Helena is leaning back into Myka's steady warmth before she quite realizes.
Myka slips her arms around Helena's waist. Helena's hands come up to cover them immediately, and she relaxes. Something within her settles back into place and she tilts her head to the side, exposes the long lines of her neck. Myka nips and sucks at the pale skin, lingering over a purpling spot under her jaw, from their morning activities. It doesn't take long for Helena to turn around, smiling to find Myka looking down at her with such hunger. Myka smiles back, and it is nothing like the wide grins she shares when she's amused by Pete's antics, or pleased with Claudia's progress; this is predatory and entirely self-satisfied. Myka pushes her back so that shelves holding volumes upon volumes of poetry dig into Helena's and Myka fits perfectly in the space between her legs.
Helena gasps a laugh when Myka's knee collides with her thigh as she shifts, clumsy in this small space and she almost regrets choosing the narrowest aisle for their tryst but then –
“Yours,” Myka breathes in the space between their lips, just as Helena thinks Mine and angles her head up to kiss her.
The seam of Myka's shirt nearly rips under her fingers, so she tugs at the neck of her shirt, tugs at the opening, tugs until Myka laughs, and pulls off her t-shirt while Helena runs questing fingers down the smooth skin she finds, scratching at the wonderfully lacy black bra Myka's chosen today.
“Bedroom?” Myka mumbles it against her neck.
“I like it here,” Helena declares, affecting the haughty air that makes Myka laugh.
“I'm serious,” Myka says. She purses her lips but can't hide the affection in her eyes.
“So am I,” Helena murmurs, tipping Myka's chin down with a finger. Myka sighs into Helena's mouth, and Helena grips the back of her neck to keep her in place. Myka's mouth is soft against hers, but Helena can tell she'll try to break away and cajole Helena down to the couch, or back to their bed and Helena is in the mood for neither. She wants Myka here, she wants her now, like this, she wants Myka to push Helena into the shelf and fuck her, all teeth and fingers and tongue and overwhelming heat.
Helena pushes up on her toes for a better angle, wishing she'd worn heels.
“I'm serious,” Myka says, pulling away. Her words are undermined by how breathless she sounds, how hard she drags her thumb across Helena's jaw.
She says something then, about the shelves not being as sturdy as Helena thinks they are; possibly she starts rambling about the kind of wood they're made out of. Helena's not paying attention – how can she, when a quick tongue darts out to wet a pretty pink mouth, when fingers still trace patterns on Helena's hip, when the sweet cadence of Myka's voice stutters, halts, and bright eyes are again focused on Helena's lips.
She anticipates the kiss to come, closes her eyes for it, but Myka is sinking to her knees. She finds herself with one hand in Myka's hair and the other gripping tightly to the shelf.
“Well,” Helena says, to distract from the sudden pounding in her chest. “I quite like it here, too.”
“What,” Myka says, running her hands along the insides of Helena's thighs, “can I do to coax you down here with me?”
“I'm enjoying myself as it is, actually,” Helena says. She's sure she's leering a little.
“Bet you are,” Myka whispers, and Helena makes a little noise in the back of her throat even as she spreads her legs.
Myka undoes the button with deft fingers, and the zipper slides down just as quickly. She mouths at the lines of Helena's underwear, smirking to see deep purple lace.
“Someone had plans for today,” Myka says. She takes the lace between her teeth and tugs. Helena's hips jerk. She tries to help take off her trousers but Myka bats at her hands, keeps her still.
She leans back against the shelves with a sigh. “I would never be so presumptuous,” she replies primly, and Myka laughs as she removes Helena's trousers.
“Of course not,” Myka agrees, and Helena smiles, pushing Myka's curls back.
The purple lace joins the trousers somewhere to Helena's left, Helena doesn't care where, because all of a sudden she has to clutch the shelf to keep upright. Myka licks into her again, hands smoothing over Helena's hips.
Helena's rocking into her, before long, one hand tangled tight in Myka's hair and pleading breathlessly for more. Nothing exists but the rhythm of it, the heat of Myka's mouth, hot and perfectly angled to keep her right on the edge of release. Myka pushes Helena's hips back against the shelf, but that only adds to the pressure of it. She's uncomfortably hot; she needs a little more, a little harder. Helena passes a shaking hand through Myka's hair, wanting her to look up, needing her to look up.
Bright wide eyes meet her gaze and hold it. Helena reaches up to fondle her own her breast through her shirt, knowing Myka's eyes will get dark, knowing she'll groan, knowing the vibrations will only make it better. Helena presses more desperately into Myka's mouth, arching her back. Myka licks deeper, keeps her hands hard on Helena's hips and that's how Helena comes, shaking and shouting.
When her head clears, Helena looks down to find Myka leaving soft kisses on her inner thigh. She drops to her knees and Myka yelps as she's pushed back, both of them only just avoiding hitting the bookcase. They fumble, trying to orient themselves in the narrow aisle and unwilling to take their mouths off each other. Helena hits a shelf with the back of her hand, but the pain is forgotten when Myka slows, catching her hand in hers. She brushes a chaste kiss over the knuckles, watching Helena steadily.
She makes a soft surprised sound as Helena nips at the underside of her jaw, and Helena feels it pulse hot between her legs. She wraps an arm around Myka's shoulders, fingers splaying possessively against Myka's stomach. She drags her palm up and squeezes. Myka moans.
Myka's back hits the shelf and a book topples to the ground. They reach for it automatically. Helena's balance fails and she yelps, dropping to her elbow. Myka muffles her laughter in Helena's neck, both of them struggling to get upright again.
Myka manages to pull Helena onto her lap, pulling off the blouse hanging around her shoulders. Helena looks down, momentarily surprised. She doesn't remember that getting unbuttoned. “I wonder,” she says, eying the fallen anthology, “if we could incorporate these stanzas into our – ” and Myka is not listening anymore, and Myka is nibbing at her earlobe while Helena squirms on her lap. Myka smirks.
“Sorry, were you saying something?” Helena shivers to see Myka's playful side come out at last.
“Not one little thing,” Helena vows. Myka looks back, amused and so very loving – Helena can't keep from staring. Myka softens, and she lets Helena lean in and kiss the corner of her mouth, then the other, before kissing her with an open mouth. Helena tugs, and Myka follows her down, denim pressing against her where smooth soft skin should be.
Skinny jeans, Helena decides a moment later, are the work of the devil. She nips at Myka's neck, and Myka hides a smile against Helena's jaw.
“You're laughing entirely too much,” Helena says.
“Because you're funny,” she retorts, shifting to straddle Helena's hips.
“Well, I can't take your jeans off like this,” Helena says, balancing on her elbows.
Myka bites at her shoulder and Helena tips her head back. “That's just too bad,” Myka murmurs, leaning down and slipping off Helena's bra.
Helena shivers as the cool air hits her, and Myka looks down at her, hair mussed and lips quirked. She bites at Helena's collarbone, sucks red marks onto her chest and finally takes a nipple into her mouth. Helena forgets to breathe, arching her back and trying to give Myka more access.
She makes to grab at Myka's shoulder, misses and hits the shelf instead. Pain goes singing up her arm but Myka's there again; cool fingers wrapping around her hand.
“Let's go somewhere else,” Myka says.
“Let's not,” Helena replies, mouthing down Myka's jaw, sucking at her pulse point.
Myka puts her on Helena's shoulders, squeezes and pushes down. Helena hits the carpet with a thump, heart racing. Myka's mouth is on hers in an instant, her fingers slip in soon after. Myka ravages her neck, biting and sucking and biting and sucking until Helena writhes beneath her, moaning and grasping uselessly at her shoulders.
Myka nips harshly at her bottom lip and Helena holds in a whimper. Myka makes a soft, apologetic noise and kisses her ear. “No,” she says, “Keep – I want to hear.”
Helena opens her mouth and out spill her helpless sounds; her moans and sighs, her hitching breaths that nearly sound like Myka's name.
Helena can't think beyond the fingers twisting in her, the fingers pinching at her breast, and so she wraps her legs around Myka's waist and gasps for breath, pressing blind kisses wherever she can reach. Myka sucks marks onto the surface of flushed skin that sting pleasantly as she works her clever mouth down Helena's neck.
She comes in waves, with Myka's shoulder in her mouth (there'll be bite marks there for days; it delights Helena), with Myka's words burning her ears (Myka has such a filthy mouth when she puts her mind to it; this delights Helena too), with Myka's name on her lips.
She can't lie still, she pushes herself up with shaky arms. Myka leans back, and Helena can read the confusion in her eyes. Helena grimaces, reaching behind her to rub her sore back. Myka settles more firmly into her lap, fingers tripping along behind Helena's and she coos when she feels the carpet burn.
“We should've done this on the couch,” Myka mumbles. “Why didn't we do this on the couch?”
“I wanted you to come to me,” Helena says, resting her cheek on Myka's shoulder.
“That's not an answer,” Myka replies. Helena chuckles into her shoulder.
“Shall we move to the fireplace? There's a lovely soft rug there that won't cause any problems.”
Myka murmurs a protest. “It's the first thing you see when you walk in, what if –”
“No one enters the library while you're inside,” Helena interrupts, pressing her lips to Myka's chin, delighted when Myka angles her neck to give Helena more skin to explore. “And you're going to be inside for a long while.”
“Oh yeah?” Myka murmurs, breath hot against her cheek, and Helena shivers, kisses her way down Myka's neck. “If you're cold you can just say so.” She draws back abruptly, and Helena blinks, finding herself balanced awkwardly without her arm around Myka. “You're not cold, are you?” Hands rub briskly at her bare arms, gentler on her back, searching for goosebumps. Helena bites down on a smile and crawls forward, fitting herself more comfortably against Myka. She presses a fond kiss to Myka's throat, and then another.
“I am not cold.” She pitches her voice low and watches Myka's eyes darken once again. “I'd fuck you here but I doubt you'd enjoy the rug burn.” Myka's breath hitches at the profanity, white teeth sinking into kiss-reddened lips; and briefly Helena considers pushing Myka down anyway and taking her, making her scream in this hallway of books, three fingers deep in her and marks all along her neck and chest and stomach.
Myka shudders, like she knows what Helena's thinking, but her gaze is steady and – God, Helena wishes there were words to describe this insistent press upon her heart, this eternal hunger for another person. (Love is a word too limiting, but Helena hasn't found another that comes close.)
She stands, suddenly, fluidly. “Fireplace,” Myka says, and there's a frantic undertone in her voice. Helena can't help but think ahead, to how beautifully Myka will fall apart, how hot she'll burn for Helena's touch.
“Fireplace,” Helena agrees, and then Myka's tongue is laving at her lower lip, her own fingers are pinching at Myka's breasts and Myka is moaning right into Helena's mouth.
She's conscious of pushing Myka backward, of nearly tripping over a stool, of Myka losing her bra and sneakers somewhere on the way.
Myka stumbles backward onto the armchair, shimmying out of the skinny jeans. Helena takes a minute to catch her breath, steady her hands. Myka looks up at her then, and Helena drops to her knees, kissing her way down Myka's stomach. She runs her hands down Myka's legs, and her fingers bump against Myka's thick winter socks – Charlie Brown themed. (“A gift from Claudia,” Myka insists.)
Helena is perfectly content to kneel in front of Myka and put her mouth to good use, but Myka moves them both down onto the soft carpet.
“I need you in me,” she explains briefly, and Helena will never deny her.
Helena occupies her mouth with Myka's breasts while she traces shapes onto Myka's inner thigh.
“Don't.” She's nearly moaning already. “I need you,” Myka whispers again, and Helena swallows. Helena slips her fingers inside easily.
Myka arches off the carpet, and Helena bites down on her breast. Myka moans at the slightest change of pressure. She's so close already, and Helena wishes she could prolong it but she's as desperate to see Myka undone as Myka is to be undone.
She breaks apart beautifully, hands buried in Helena's hair but Helena doesn't let up until the last aftershocks have left Myka. Only then does she withdraw her fingers – slowly, very slowly, which makes Myka bite her lip and arch again.
She settles into Myka's side, and waits.
Myka's fingers trip down her back, like she's counting the knots in her spine. “Your clothes are still in the aisle,” she says, and it's soft, nearly slurred, like she's on the edge of sleep.
Helena blinks, and her eyelashes brush Myka's skin. She does it again, and again, content to lie together and feel this wondrous being, her Myka, shiver under this lightest of touches.
“I'll get them in a minute,” Helena murmurs at last. Myka's heart beats steady under her hand. “That was the aisle in which we shared our first kiss,” Helena says. She doesn't mean to say it, but Myka is soft and warm beside her and there's nothing Helena can keep from her.
Myka stills. Helena knows she is remembering, as Helena is, the events that followed that first kiss, years ago.
But then Myka relaxes, rubs her nose against Helena's shoulder. “How sentimental,” she teases, and Helena flashes to a future where this could be a common occurrence, having Myka sleepy and warm and tucked into her side. She has to kiss Myka then, kiss her and hope she can communicate with her lips and tongue what it would take eons to cram into the right words.
Myka pulls back grinning, and Helena tangles their legs together. She makes herself small, tucking herself against Myka as best she can. She feels Myka's gaze on her once again and smiles, blinking ever heavier lids.
“What's so interesting?” Helena murmurs, blindly stroking down Myka's cheek. “What are you looking at?”
Myka hums happily, turning to press a kiss to Helena's fingers. “You,” Myka says simply, lips still warm on Helena's hand.
Look as much as you like, Helena thinks, letting her eyes fall shut. I'll never be far from your side again.