“This is fucking ridiculous.”
“You need to relax, baby.” Nicole’s hand runs smoothly over Waverly’s spine, leaving a wake of goosebumps in its path. “Let me help you.”
“She said she’d be home an hour ago.” Waverly shakes her head and leans against Nicole, her breath leaving her chest in a huff.
“Isn’t Wynonna late to everything?”
“Yes. But she has a phone. She could text me. Or even just reply, you know, to any of the texts I’ve sent her.”
“Hey.” Nicole’s voice is soft on the back of Waverly’s neck as she pulls Waverly back against her. Nicole’s leaning against arm of the couch with Waverly sitting between her legs until she finally, finally relents and lets her pull her down until she’s laying with her back to Nicole’s chest and her head resting on her shoulder. Okay, she thinks, This is nice.
Nicole’s hands find their way under Waverly’s shirt and comfortingly rub her sides. One stray finger dips below the hemline of her jeans then slides back out, as if testing the water. Her lips find purchase on the expanse of Waverly’s neck and begin to suck gently until small moans begin to seep from Waverly’s lips.
Dexterous fingers pop the button of Waverly’s jeans off and slide even lower, dipping into the hemline of her panties. They’ve only just begun to rock against Waverly, Nicole’s hips grinding against hers for better stimulation when the door to the Homestead bangs open and Wynonna strides in, phone in one hand and a powdered donut in the other.
“Jesus, Waves, I got all thirty-seven of your texts and holy fucking shit no!” It’s almost comical the way Wynonna squeezes her eyes closed, as if her life depends on how tightly she can. “Not in my fucking living room! Absolutely not!”
“Wynonna!” Waverly shrieks. Nicole’s hands are out of her pants in a matter of seconds and she’s already zipping up her jeans, but the damage is done. “You were—”
“Late, jesus.” Her fingers dig into her eyes, attempting to erase the image of a hand, Nicole’s hand, down her little sister’s pants. “I know. I need whiskey, stat.”
“She’s not going to be home for another hour, and she’s late to everything. It’s Wynonna. We’ve got time.” Waverly’s purr is absolutely not helping the situation, a low semi-growl that Nicole can feel in the back of her neck.
“But last time—”
“She was late. She’s absolutely going to be late again. Wynonna would be late to her own funeral. Honestly, if you ask me, her lack of pedanticity is the real Earp curse.”
Okay. Waverly has her there. Nicole allows herself to melt backwards against the couch again to pull Waverly against her. It reminds her of their first kiss, on the couch in Nedley’s office with Waverly straddled and hovering above her. It’s a smooth, slow kiss, and Waverly tastes like morning coffee, entirely too sweet. Her knee slots in between Waverly’s legs and begins to grind, achingly lethargic, until Waverly’s a mess of moans above her. “It’s my turn to go first,” she murmurs as her hips stutter against Nicole’s thigh. “You always go first. My turn.”
“Fine.” Nicole’s never been a fan of being taken before she can inflict pleasure on her lover, but Waverly’s too adorable to say no to, and damn it if her growling hasn’t left Nicole wanting as Waverly places kisses down her torso and unhooks her jeans with her damn teeth. Her head bows lower as more and more skin is revealed.
And then her tongue is there.
She isn’t nearly as experienced as Nicole, but enough so that only a few moments have passed before she’s gotten Nicole wound up and panting through her ministrations. “Waves—fuck—just like that.” Her hands tighten against Waverly’s hair, almost uncomfortably so, and she thinks she could probably die from how good that feels—
“You’ve got to be shitting me!” The door to the Homestead slams so loudly that it rattles the rest of the house. Waverly’s head shoots up from in between Nicole’s legs, lips shiny and brow coated in sweat. “Yesterday I was too late, now I’m too early! I can't fucking win with you two!”
Against her better judgement, Waverly croaks out, “Have you tried being on time?”
Wynonna’s glare turns murderous as she stalks off.
“Baby.” If anything, Nicole sounds exasperated. “I’m at work, and you know I love when you stop by and bring me coffee and kisses but Nedley just put me on, like, eighteen hours of paperwork.” She smiles sadly at Waverly, who, despite the rejection, still hosts a shit-eating grin.
“I’m not here to distract you.”
“Please.” Nicole rolls her eyes dramatically. “That’s practically your middle name.” She sighs as she slumps back against her chair at her desk, ready to cry, when her eyes go wide.
Waverly’s unzipped her jacket just enough that when she leans over to stare at Nicole, it’s obvious that she’s forgone a shirt.
She’s technically wearing a bra, if a skimpy piece of black lace can masquerade as that.
It leaves nothing to the imagination.
She cocks her head and pulls her lips in between her teeth as her weight mounts onto her hands against the desk, forcing her elbows to press in together. Nicole’s jaw clenches. “Waverly,” she warns, but it’s entirely too late—her voice cracks and it’s enough that Waverly knows she’s crossed the line into no return. Nicole’s turned on, unbelievably so, and once again, she’ll get what she wants.
“Do you want me to stop?” She presses her elbows even closer together, grinning maniacally when Nicole hisses out a low, yes.
“Hmm.” Waverly zips her jacket back up before waltzing back around the desk, palming the back of Nicole’s chair to slide herself in between her girlfriend and the desk before dropping to her knees. “How about I do this instead, Officer Haught?”
“You do not—I’m going to fucking murder you—” Her voice catches in her throat as Waverly’s fingers pop the button to her pants—and from there she’s a goner, really, as Waverly buries her head between her legs.
And fuck, she’s close, when the movements against her stop at the exact moment the door to her office swings open. Nicole yelps and bends forward as if to appear to be doing paperwork and to hide her sweat-riddled forehead. She can feel Waverly freeze against her. “Haughtstuff? You good?”
“Great, Wynonna, thank you,” Nicole hisses, head still buried in paperwork she’s too focused on to read.
It happens in a matter of seconds. Wynonna steps forward at the same time Waverly slams her head into the bottom of the desk in an attempt to flee, and then the pieces click into place.
“Oh my god. I cannot believe you two. I thought you were fucking sick. That’s it.” She turns and yanks the door close. “I’m quitting my fucking job!”
“It’s too cold. Give it a second.” Nicole’s hand shakes of a spattering of water as the shower heats up, then slips into it and offers Waverly a hand as she joins.
“I’ve almost gotten you off twice now—if we’re interrupted again I’m fairly positive it’s a sign that you’re never coming again.” Waverly presses her back up against Nicole’s front.
“Don’t even try to tease me like that. It’s cruel,” Nicole quips. Her hand snakes its way over Waverly’s pelvis, fingers finding purchase in Waverly’s hip bones as she leans down ever so slightly to place a kiss behind her ear. (Her front molds so perfectly to Waverly’s back, like two puzzle pieces of one way-too-fucked-up puzzle.)
It’s a particularly sensitive spot and she knows it; it’s also something she manipulates every time she finds her hands trailing over Waverly—anything to give her goosebumps that she tries to swear are from the cold.
“Besides,” she murmurs, and Waverly’s skin ripples with, okay, goosebumps. “I think it’s your turn after that little stunt you pulled at work the other day.” Her hands slide between the apex of Waverly’s thighs. “A little teasing goes a long way, baby.” Her tongue traces the curve of Waverly’s ear at the same moment that she catches her clit with her fingernail and scrapes lightly.
Waverly’s hips jolt forwards instantly and a slight moan pours from her lips before she can help herself. It’s a game with Nicole, she knows, and that gives Nicole an extra point she can’t afford to lose, not when Wynonna has an absurd penchant for walking in on them when it’s just getting interesting.
And then, like fucking clockwork, the bathroom door slams open. “Babygirl, I know you’re showering, but I really want to talk.”
Fucking Wynonna. Waverly’s not entirely positive a string of swear words to make a sailor blush won’t pour of her mouth if she keeps to herself, so she sinks back against Nicole, whose gone completely still, and waits for Wynonna to finish.
“Look, Waves, about this whole revenant situation, I just…I don’t think it’s as bad as we think it is. I was really thinking earlier—okay, I was less thinking and more drinking, but still—and I realized…” Her voice fades out. “I realized…that Nicole’s uniform is on the shower floor. She’s in the fucking shower with you, isn’t she?”
“No?” Waverly squeaks out, at the exact same time Nicole offers an apology. Damn it.
To her surprise, she doesn’t hear the bathroom door slam shut like she expects it to. Instead she hears a long, drawn out sigh, and followed by, “You know? Just because I use ‘fucking’ as an adjective in front of everything—fucking couch, fucking shower, fucking job—it doesn’t actually mean fuck in those places. Jesus. You two are ridiculous.”
She slams the door so hard in her wake that the showerhead rattles.
“I haven’t came in nine days, Nicole. Nine days. If my sister so much as thinks about texting me I’m going to shove Peacemaker down her throat.” Waverly flops back against the bed. “And I put a sock on the doorknob. So get over here right the hell now and make me come so hard I see stars.”
“That’s not very romantic.” But of course, she obliges.
“Fuck romance. I want to come.” Maybe it’s a bit harsh and maybe that’s how Nicole likes it. She drapes herself over Waverly and smatters slow, languid kisses across her collarbone. “Nicole,” she whines. “What are you doing? Did you even hear what I said?”
“I heard, baby.” Her hands swirls against the bottom hemline of Waverly’s sweater. “But if I recall correctly, it was you who had the brilliant idea to try to go down on me while I was working—”
“I was trying to help you with your paperwork,” Waverly insists.
“So I think I’m going to take my time.” Her lips have just reached the underside of Waverly’s ribcage when the stairs creak and Wynonna’s voice comes seconds after, followed by the bedroom door opening.
“Waves, why the fuck is my sock on your doorknob—okay, yeah, this one’s on me. Should’ve seen that coming.” She makes a face like she’s swallowed a lemon. “Terrible word choice.”
Waverly screams into her pillow.
“Listen here, horn dogs. Family fucking meeting.” Wynonna’s beef lo mein slams down onto the table. “Clearly, something here needs to change, because I need to never see Waverly’s face between anyone’s legs ever again. Whiskey can’t wash away that image.”
Nicole goes bright red, whereas Waverly pales. “We did put a sock on the door,” Waverly insists quietly.
“And I said that one was on me.” Wynonna huffs in exaggeration. “Anyway. I’m staying in town for the night so you two can go at it without fear of interruption. On the condition that I literally never walk in on you two having sex at my job ever again. That’s my safe space. Take it anywhere else.”
“Have you considered knocking before you barge into my office unannounced—”
Wynonna holds up her hand. “Zip it, Haught Sauce. I’m doing you kids a favor. Don’t blow it.” She plants a sloppy kiss on Waverly’s cheek and a light punch on Nicole’s shoulder, and then she’s gone.
“Do you think she’s actually serious about leaving for the night?” Nicole starts, swiveling to watch the truck disappear off the Homestead. “She’ll probably come back if she forgets—” Her breath is torn from her throat as Waverly pounces and pulls Nicole down to her, hands scrabbling for any expanse of skin they can find until they finally rest under her sweater, fingers raking into the skin of her back.
Nicole allows her tongue to part Waverly’s lips and pulls her closer, with the beauty of absolute freedom in tow, and honestly, she realizes, this is so much better.