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Eventually, when she notices Nancy’s stare, Robin looks up from her book, pen hanging out of her mouth, and furrows her brow. Her eyes roam, concerned, as she pulls the pen away and drops it in the cradle of her book.
Nancy’s in love with her, as always. She doesn’t tell her this, but she does do something different. There’s no reason for it to be now, except there’s every reason for it to be now.
“Do you want to see Pretty Woman on Saturday?”
Robin’s worry clears as she presses herself up from her slouch on the other end of the sofa, expression bright.
“Oh, yeah, let’s go! I have that awful mixer Saturday afternoon and Julia Roberts seems like the perfect-“
“Wait,” Nancy says, and Robin’s mouth stays half open as she quiets, the little furrow back. “I mean, can I take you to see Pretty Woman on Saturday?”
“Can you…” Robin asks, confusion obvious, and Nancy fights the urge to crawl across the sofa to kiss her.
“Can I take you out? On a date?”
“On a date?” Robin repeats, eyes shifting to stare down blankly at the book in her lap, and she’s obviously talking to herself, the way she does sometimes when she’s reading a line of Greek that won’t quite work itself out for her, so Nancy gives it a second.
A blush blooms on her cheeks, beautiful, and when her eyes look up at Nancy, they’re searching. Nancy runs a thumb over Robin’s ankle where she’s holding it, where she’s been holding it for probably half an hour, the contact grounding and easy for them both. The blush stays but her expression softens into one that Nancy knows well, one she gets on quiet mornings when they wake up together, or when she brings Robin tea as she pores over her work, or when she hums as she washes the dishes for Robin to dry or at the end of one of her rants about an article or a class, Robin asking all the right questions and encouraging her to keep going, or or or. She sees it often. She wants to see it more.
“Yeah.” Her voice is a rasp, happy, and Nancy squeezes her ankle, smiling in a way that she only does for Robin. She wonders if Robin knows that.
“Great,” Nancy says, and Robin’s biting her bottom lip, lit up from the inside. Nancy lets her hand travel just a little higher, gripping at the lowest part of her calf. “Can’t wait.”
“Me either.” She sinks down again, Nancy’s hand moving further up with the action, and they both go back to reading, smiling like idiots.
-
When she opens the door, she finds Robin, rocking on her heels, a bouquet of flowers in her hand at her hip. She looks nervous, which Nancy notices first, because it matters most, and she grabs the hand not holding the flowers to pull her inside, smiling at her until she sees her shoulders loosen, gets a smile back.
Then, Nancy takes a minute to admire the rest of her. Nancy always thinks Robin looks good, always has. Her affection for the memory of Robin as she was in Hawkins—figuring herself out with her shaggy hair and thick eyeliner—is so deep it makes her stomach drop, but in the years since, Robin has settled into herself, cut her hair and thrifted her way into a men’s wardrobe that she wears with an ease that makes Nancy’s throat dry.
Nancy has made a habit of teasing her in the gentlest of ways to build her up, flattening her hands over her lapels and calling her a dreamboat to make her blush, but she has been careful about how she looks, how long she looks, the words she says, because this thing between them is and always has been too important to fumble.
Now, though, now she doesn’t have to pretend not to be looking exactly the way she is. Now she bites her lip as she lets her eyes roam over Robin in her black slacks and black t-shirt, the thin silver chains around her neck and the tweed jacket that she bought in the fall. She has product in her hair, just enough to keep it from flopping in her eyes, and Nancy mourns a little the opportunity to press it back for her but she can’t help but be grateful for the clear view of her face, of her bright eyes looking at Nancy like she’s never seen her before.
“Wow, Nance. You look…I mean, you always look beautiful but you…this is…” She takes a deep breath and draws her eyes up from Nancy’s outfit, on which she did spend a significant amount of time. It’s only the movies, so it’s nothing terribly fancy, but it’s the movies with Robin. It’s a date to the movies with Robin, so Nancy had picked a dark green skirt and black tights to ward against the April chill, a loose cream sweater tucked into the front. Her hair is pulled back into a twist, and her eyes are darker than usual, her roommate having gleefully helped apply her makeup with a slightly heavier hand. “You’re gorgeous,” she says, meeting Nancy’s eyes, and then, looking mildly panicked, thrusts the hand with the flowers, a bouquet of violets, at Nancy. “Oh! These are for you.”
Nancy takes them with a smile and then, because she can, because she wants to, she steps closer to Robin and presses onto her toes, placing a quick, soft kiss against her cheek. “Thanks, Robbie.” She falls back onto her heels but stays close, smoothing Robin’s lapel with her free hand. Her cheeks are bright red, and she’s staring at Nancy wide-eyed, and Nancy is in so much trouble. “You look very handsome,” she says, and means it, means also that she’s half-tempted to say fuck the movie and take Robin to bed. Robin’s blush deepens, somehow, and Nancy can’t help the second kiss to her cheek, has no other option, really. “Let me just put these in some water and we can go.”
She finds the vase shoved into the largely useless half-cabinet above the fridge, fills it with water and carefully clips the stems of the flowers, and when she turns back, she finds Robin watching her with that soft look, her own cheeks heating at the undisguised affection being directed toward her.
“Gotta be honest, Nance. This feels a little like a dream.”
“A good one, I hope?” It’s a joke, and Robin gives her a smile in recognition, but Nancy stops in front of Robin, allows herself the pleasure of tucking a strand of hair back even though it doesn’t need it. “Thanks for saying yes,” she offers more seriously. “I’ve been waiting a long time to ask you.”
“Jesus, Nance, as if.” She rocks back on her heels with a laugh. “I wasn’t kidding; I’ve been dreaming about this for…a long time.” She shoves her hands in her pockets as she adds, “Thank you for asking. At some point I’m gonna ask you why now but the movie so, uh, maybe second date conversation?”
It’s cute, the little bit of hesitation, like Nancy isn’t planning on having so many dates with Robin that they stop bothering to keep count.
“Maybe third,” Nancy says, and Robin looks like she’s won something. “You’re right. We should go if we don’t want to miss the previews.”
“I love the previews,” Robin says, moving toward the door.
“I know.”
Robin’s already pulling Nancy’s coat from its hook by the time Nancy reaches her, helping her slip it on. She does it often, but today, again, it’s different, and anyway, it almost always threatens to make Nancy swoon. She squeezes Robin’s bicep in gratitude and tries not to die when she feels Robin’s hand settle on the small of her back as they make their way out the door.
They walk the few blocks to the theater, pressed close enough on the street that their bodies brush, and Nancy buys tickets and popcorn and Milk Duds, Robin’s favorite, handing her a Cherry Coke for them to share, as usual. Robin already has two straws in her hand, and it’s so normal, to joke with her as they make their way into the theater, to find seats near the back, as close to the center as possible without engaging in what Robin calls amoeba behavior, creating weirdly close blobs with the other people there.
It’s especially important to Nancy to avoid it today, because she intends on holding Robin’s hand, or settling under her arm, or both, if she’s lucky, and she wants exactly zero to take away from the experience of their first date.
The theater’s not crowded, so they manage without issue, and Robin’s whispering about the terribly animated Coke products dancing across the screen and making Nancy giggle until the lights dim and the real previews come on. It seems to hit them both, then, how this might be different, Robin’s body suddenly stiffening in the seat and Nancy’s heart thudding loudly in her chest. They haven’t moved, legs still pressed together and popcorn balanced between them, and Nancy makes it through one preview before she gets ahold of herself and reaches over, taking Robin’s hand and threading their fingers together.
She turns her head to catch Robin’s reaction. She’s blinking down at their hands in the light of the screen, and then she’s smiling, squeezing Nancy’s fingers and relaxing, lowering her head to whisper in Nancy’s ear, “Like a dream.”
Nancy turns and kisses the skin near her ear, satisfaction rolling through her at the hitch in Robin’s breath.
-
There’s no real question about Robin coming inside, Nancy holding her door open until Robin enters, the two of them taking off their shoes and outerwear and moving into the living room, Robin settling on the sofa while Nancy goes to make tea. The kettle’s on, and Nancy stops in the doorway to the kitchen, which has no actual door, only a frame and a weird little half-wall separating it from the living area on two sides. She leans against the frame and watches Robin, who’s watching her right back, one knee pulled to her chest in her preferred corner of the sofa.
“So,” Nancy says, “What’d you think of the movie?”
“A new favorite,” Robin says easily, grinning, and Nancy’s a little surprised, because she’d enjoyed what little she’d actually been able to pay attention to but hadn’t thought it would rank that. Before she can ask why, though, Robin’s pressing up and walking toward her. “I have absolutely no idea what happened after the first preview.” She shrugs attractively and Nancy’s rolling her eyes even as she’s blushing, waiting eagerly for Robin to be close enough to touch. “But can say with confidence that I’ve never enjoyed a movie more.”
She stops in front of Nancy, looking half nervous and half proud, and Nancy tucks her index finger in one of her belt loops. “Smooth, Buckley.”
Robin snorts, but before she can get a breath in to start a ramble, Nancy tugs on the belt loop and gets Robin closer, close enough that she can bat her eyelashes up at her as she says, voice steady despite the pounding of her heart, “I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s alright.”
The last half of Robin’s yes, please is breathed out against Nancy’s lips, and then they’re kissing, Robin’s hands coming to rest on Nancy’s waist as Nancy cups Robin’s jaw. It’s warm and slow and easy. Comfortable and familiar. It’s also gasoline on the fire that’s been burning in Nancy since well before she opened the door for Robin. The combination of sensations, of slow warmth like mulled wine running through her at the same time as the all-consuming flame of a forest fire, leaves her a little dizzy.
The kettle whistles. Nancy ignores it until she can’t, groaning as she reaches back to turn the burner off, and then leans back into Robin, kissing into her smile.
By unspoken understanding, it doesn’t escalate beyond gentle exploration, soft hands resting over clothing, Robin pulling back with a teasing scrape of teeth over Nancy’s bottom lip. She sighs as they break apart, eyes blinking open to find Robin’s waiting for her, deep blue and dazed.
“Wow,” she says, and Nancy can’t help the laugh, even as she’s nodding.
“Wow,” she agrees, teasing, and Robin pinches at her waist in mock revenge.
“Don’t be rude. I just kissed Nancy Wheeler. I’m allowed to be a little stupid. It’s, like, a totally normal reaction, actually. I’m only human.”
“Oh?” Nancy scrapes her nails against the buzzed back of Robin’s hair, watches her eyes flutter and files the reaction away. “So I should expect this every time?”
“You mean I get to do it again?” It’s a joke, but Robin doesn’t bother to hide the earnestness, the wonder, and Nancy gives her another kiss, combines it with the scrape of her nails and feels the shiver of Robin’s body.
“I’d really like it if you did.” She doesn’t hide her own earnestness either. “Often, if that’s something you’re interested in.”
“Careful,” Robin says, and it’s honest, too, the warning and the plea. “You’ll give a girl the wrong idea.”
“What idea is that?” Her fingers haven’t stopped moving, but Robin reaches up to catch her wrist, squeezes affectionately, places a kiss to her knuckles as she pulls it down to rest between them. When she lets go, Nancy threads their fingers.
“That you want her to hang around. You’ll be stuck with me, Wheeler.” She half-laughs. “Or you’ll have to tell me to leave, I guess.”
Nancy uses her free hand to tilt Robin’s chin, bring her eyes back to Nancy’s from where they’d settled on the floor. “The right idea, then. I don’t plan on letting you go unless you ask me to.” She bites her lip. “Except I actually think you should go. Tonight, I mean.”
She grasps at Robin’s belt loops a little desperately. “Not right now, I just…I want to do it right,” she tries. Her hand moves on instinct to the space below her neck where her cross used to rest in the years before middle school, eventually replaced by ballet slippers and then by nothing at all. “Not in a Catholic way.” Robin snorts, which calms Nancy enough for her to roll her eyes at herself. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Robin agrees mock-seriously, then softens. “I want to do it right, too. What, uh, what does that look like for you?”
The words are hard to find, slipping past her, her mind running over things that sound like too much and not enough. But Robin’s eyes are patient and calm, and she rests her hands over Nancy’s before tracing them up her arms, palms soothing over her biceps and shoulders and then warm against her neck. When her shoulders tense, frustration mounting, Robin smiles at her.
“We can figure it out together? We’ve got time.”
Nancy nods in relief and kisses her again, sighing out at the way Robin’s thumbs move against the skin just under her jaw.
“It’ll be nice to go slow, I think.” Her words land on Nancy’s cheek, where she’s moved to kiss her softly. “You know me,” she kisses Nancy’s temple, “old-fashioned.”
Nancy hums a laugh. “I mean, Classics. That’s what that means, right?”
“Exactly.” Her eyes are bright and happy when she pulls back to look at Nancy. “I mean it, though. Not like, in a straight way.” She pulls a face that has Nancy smirking.
“God forbid.”
“Truly. But I want to, maybe, make something of it? Of, like, actually dating you?” Her cheeks are full of color, have been since they first kissed, really, and Nancy’s chest just keeps getting fuller, at risk of exploding at this point.
Robin’s hard in some of the same ways Nancy is. There’s the upside-down of course, the walls built by grief and trauma and violence and hurt.
But they both had lives before that, even if they can feel a little hazy now. Like Nancy, Robin’s always been smart in that way that grates on certain kinds of people, those who expect her to be deferential if she can’t be quiet, to be grateful and small. Unlike Nancy, she also grew up poor and clumsy and aware that she was queer and socially awkward. She learned to compensate, to brush off assholes and hold her own.
She has edges the same way Nancy does, even if they were sharpened on different surfaces. And she loves Robin’s edges, the same way she’s come to love her own. But she also loves that they can be soft with each other.
It’s that softness she feels when she kisses Robin again, Robin’s fingers running gently over her neck and jaw and face, like she’s something delicate, something precious. It doesn’t feel suffocating, like it has in the past, like it could easily now, if she ever let the girls she brought home these days touch her this way. Robin doesn’t want or need her to be anything other than herself, her touch not a wish or an attempt at transformation but for Nancy as she is.
When Robin pulls back, she says, tone teasing but breath heavy in a way that makes Nancy smug, “Although I don’t think you’d judge me for putting out on the first date.”
Nancy snorts. “You know I wouldn’t. Can’t remember the last time I didn’t, to be honest.”
She doesn’t regret it. It has been good for her, to be honest about what she wants and with whom, has made her more confident and certainly better in bed.
“Ouch, Wheeler. Trying to make me jealous?” It’s playful, neither of them anything but happy to be where they are when they are.
Still, she gives an honest answer. “No. The opposite really.”
“The opposite, huh?” She tilts her head, and it’s not surprising at all, what follows. “You know it’s French in origin. Jealousy.”
“I didn’t know that,” she says indulgently, and Robin blushes deeper. Nancy runs her index finger along the color, an impulse she’s used to suppressing. It feels even better than she thought it would, the heat blooming under perfect freckles. “Wanna tell me more? I can put the kettle back on.”
She’s serious, and Robin knows it, looking at her feet. “No.” She looks up again, with a grin. “Not right now, anyway. I’m more interested in the linguistics of Nancy Wheeler. What’s the opposite of jealousy, to you?”
Nancy considers. She holds back a little, the force of what she wants to say. There’s a reason she waited, a reason she’s not taking Robin straight to bed, one not served by the incredibly gay, embarrassingly optimistic words waiting in her chest. There’s no one but you for me; there hasn’t been for a long time and I hope there never will be. “Security,” she tries, not quite satisfied. “Safety.” Better.
“You’ve always made me feel safe.” Robin’s voice is full of care, mirrored in her eyes. “You know that, right?”
“Good.” The fabric of Robin’s shirt is soft, worn, and it’s loose enough that Nancy can fist it easily. “I want…” She bites at her lip, weighing the options. It’s a weird delicate dance they’re doing, one they’ve been doing for years, but the rules are changing and it’s hard to tell, hard to set the right pace. Robin’s eyes are waiting for her, unabashed adoration just right there and fuck it, really. “I want to take care of you. Not that you can’t…” But Robin knows that so she doesn’t bother with the rest of the caveat. “I want to keep making you feel safe. And…and seen. I want you to feel seen.”
That’s it. That’s the closest thing. Not jealous, but held and safe and seen.
“I do. You make me…I do, Nance. Feel seen, I mean. I, uh, I want to give you that, too, you know? The way you make me feel? I want you to feel it, too.”
“I do,” she says honestly, smiling up at Robin before kissing her again. “Now go sit down and let me make tea. You can tell me more about the etymology of jealousy and then we can make out a little before you go home.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Robin says, laughing as she moves back to the sofa. Nancy lights the burner and pretends not to think about Robin saying those words in a different context. She’s moderately successful.
-
Normally, they spend Wednesday nights together, Nancy driving into the city after her 3pm because she doesn’t have Thursday classes and Robin’s only got one at 10am before she’s free for the day, too. Normally, Nancy stays with Robin, curled together in her twin bed, and she has coffee ready for when Robin scrambles to get to her class, running frantic hands through her hair and searching for her book or her favorite pen or her keys.
Normally, she slings an affectionate arm around Nancy, gives her that look, and bounds off to arrive somewhere between five minutes early and exactly on time. (Her professor locks the door. She only made that mistake once.) Afterward, they spend the day together. Nancy drives back to Evanston, or she doesn’t, depending on how she’s feeling about her Friday morning survey class, so big her professor doesn’t notice when she’s gone, and Robin either frets and tells her to call when she makes it, or she grins victoriously and gets out Nancy’s favorite tea.
This time, though, Nancy shows up at Robin’s door with a box of chocolate cookies from the bakery by Nancy’s and a pressed violet her roommate helped her work into a bookmark. (“Lesbian,” she’d teased, delighted, and Nancy had snorted good-naturedly, comfortably. “You’re the dyke teaching me how to turn a flower into a bookmark.” And Trish had laughed just as easily in agreement.)
This time, she kisses Robin hello, and she feels good about the way Robin’s eyes linger on the cut of her sweater, and she feels better about the way Robin blushes when Nancy very obviously checks her out, her own eyes catching on the sliver of collarbone exposed by the maroon button-down she’s wearing.
This time, Robin calls her beautiful and rubs her thumb over the little bookmark disbelievingly, lets Nancy press her against the back of the door and kiss her with a little more heat than might be advisable if they want to make it to dinner. They do make it to dinner, seated at their favorite table at the Korean place they both love, tucked in a back corner by a window, and Robin updates Nancy about the family of raccoons that make a nightly visit to her fire escape, about the kitchen disaster the preppy guy down the hall caused, forcing a midnight evacuation (“I can’t get mad at him, Nance. He looks too much like Steve, and he’s just so nice.”), about her least favorite professor’s horrible commentary of the week. She asks Nancy about her classes and her latest article and Trish’s goldfish, who’s still doing surprisingly well.
This time, she presses her ankle against Nancy’s under the table and pays for dinner and tastes like the cookies Nancy brought when they kiss goodnight. She tells Nancy to call when she gets home, fretting moved up a day, and Nancy makes the drive home on a Wednesday for only the third time that semester. She smiles the whole way, and she calls Robin when she makes it, as instructed, feeling close to giddy at the soft, sleepy affection in Robin’s voice as she tells her again what a good night she had, admits that it feels wrong to sleep on Wednesday without Nancy there beside her.
She trails off halfway through a story she meant to tell Nancy earlier, apparently, something about Dustin calling Steve for advice on cooking, and Nancy says into the silence, “Go to sleep, baby. You can tell me tomorrow, okay?”
She hardly thinks about it until after it’s out, and then it’s too late anyway, so she waits with a pounding heart for Robin to respond.
But all she does is sigh happily and hum in acknowledgement. “Glad you’re coming back. Sorry you have to drive so much.”
“I don’t mind.” And she doesn’t. It’s just over an hour, and she likes the time to herself. Even if she didn’t, she wouldn’t mind because there’s Robin at the other end of it. “Go to sleep, Robbie,” she says again, Robin’s heavy breathing only growing heavier. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Sweet dreams, Nance,” she mumbles.
“Sweet dreams.”
-
They’re at the unofficial queer bar near Robin’s, at a high top in the back, pressed together from ankle to hip. Robin’s got her arm around Nancy’s chair, and Nancy’s got a hand on her thigh, and it’s another familiar unfamiliar Wednesday.
“So,” Robin says, drawing squiggles in the condensation on her glass. “Wheeler. Wanna tell me why you asked me out?”
Nancy takes a sip of her gin and tonic and hums. “Fifth date conversation, turns out.” She runs her thumb along the raised seam of Robin’s jeans near her knee. Robin lets her own thumb graze Nancy’s shoulder, one side of her mouth quirking up. “I don’t know,” she says honestly, thinking about that moment. “It just felt like it was finally the right time.”
“Yeah?” Robin doesn’t tease about the finally, her tone genuinely curious, and it makes sense, because Nancy’s curious, too, has thought about it a lot.
“Mm. I didn’t plan it. I just looked at you sitting on your couch with your pen hanging out of your mouth and I didn’t see the point in waiting any longer.” She leans up and presses a kiss to the curve of her jaw, a luxury they can let themselves have in this little corner of this bar they know, full of people like them. Robin blushes, and Nancy does it again. “I wanted to do that, and it felt like I could. Without it being…” Risky? Terrifying? Irresponsible? None of them are quite right, but Robin’s nodding, moving her hand to wrap around Nancy’s shoulder from the back of her chair.
“I get it, I think.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I mean, things are…we’re good, you know? Like, we have lives here, and friends. And it feels…it feels like we’re both good with, um, ourselves?” She runs her hand absently through her hair, the wet of the condensation shining against dirty-blonde strands. “Like, you’re president of the Northwestern queers–”
Nancy snorts. “The Gay and Lesbian Alliance.”
“Exactly.” Robin grins at her. “And I’m…” She looks down at herself, an oversized, handmade shirt for a local dyke band under a red flannel that she stole from Steve a few months ago. “Myself,” she finishes with a shrug, and Nancy puts a hand to her jaw and turns her with some force, kisses her hard though not for long.
“Hot,” Nancy says, breaking away. “Handsome,” she adds, wiping away some of her lipstick from the corner of Robin’s mouth. “Yourself.”
“Fuck,” Robin laughs, breath hot against Nancy’s thumb, and shakes her head. “God, I’m glad you think so.”
Nancy lifts a shoulder and an eyebrow. “I’m right.” The confidence is easy, and the effect it has on Robin, the way her bottom lip finds a home beneath her teeth, her eyes locked on Nancy, makes Nancy burn. “I’m lucky I still had a shot. You’re a hot commodity, Buckley.”
The way Robin tilts her head makes her look like a puppy, big blue eyes earnest as they size Nancy up. “You’re the only one who had a shot. You know that, right? I mean, the line wasn’t exactly long.” When Nancy opens her mouth to protest, Robin continues, “Sorry, Nance, I’m pretty sure you’re biased.” A laugh. “Christ, I can’t believe that. Holy shit,” she mumbles to herself, eyes on her lap. She looks up again, smile in place. “Anyway, that’s what I mean, too. Like, I know we hadn’t talked about it, not really, but um, I’ve been waiting on you. On us.”
Nancy runs her hand up and down her thigh, squeezing. “Me too.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Like, there were so many pieces, you know? Figuring out ourselves and our lives here and what we wanted and where we wanted to go, and, like, I know we haven’t dated dated other people, not really, not since Jonathan and Vickie, but we’ve dated, or whatever.” Her eyes narrow at Nancy, who’s trying not to laugh, because it’s a very generous characterization of what Nancy’s done, which is fuck roughly half the queer women 18-30 in the Chicago metro area. Robin rolls her eyes and Nancy lets a giggle out. “Yeah, yeah, Wheeler, I’m trying to have some tact, okay?”
“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” It’s teasing, but she sees the panic on Robin’s face anyway. “Are you calling me a slut, Buckley?”
“Oh my god, Nance, you can’t do that to me. You know I’m not, I would never, and you’re allowed to–not that I’m trying to say I can tell you what you can–I just mean, who you have sex with is…” She stops with a whimper, eyes pleading. “Help.”
Nancy cackles, a little cruelly, but she leans into Robin’s body in consolation, hand traveling higher on her leg to rest comfortably, fingers splayed wide. “Poor baby,” she says, when Robin looks betrayed at her laughter.
“Mean,” Robin pouts, but she moves her arm to wrap around Nancy’s waist and keep her close. It’s not as comfortable, but Nancy really couldn’t give a shit. “Anyway, I just mean…” Her eyes soften again. “The pieces feel like they’ve settled, you know? Or they’re settling. Like we know where things go or where we want them to go.”
“Yeah.”
There are still things to figure out. They’re 22, with another year of college between them and the world. They’re queer, a hard thing even in Chicago, and from Hawkins, where they still spend more time than Nancy ever thought she would once she left, where it looks like they’ll keep spending time for the foreseeable future. They still have nightmares and meetings with government agents who show up somewhat randomly outside of their dorms or at the grocery store or the library. They had to grow up way too fast and sometimes it shows in the way they both startle at loud noises and keep go-bags and cassette tapes tucked under beds and in backseats, in the way they panic when they don’t hear from one of the party at the scheduled time.
But it’s also true that Nancy feels like she belongs in her own mind and her own body in a way she hasn’t ever before. She feels proud and defensive of who she is and the people, the community she loves. She wants to write and cause trouble and build a life that means something to her. And she wants to do that with Robin, feels like they can work together on whatever puzzle pieces haven’t yet been placed.
She’s not naive enough to be sure that it’ll work, but she’s waited to be as ready as she can to try. She’s waited to feel good about herself and her life so this isn’t something desperate, isn’t a bandaid or a distraction or a half-cocked attempt at adulthood. Because she’s young, yeah, but she loves Robin differently than she’s ever loved anyone, and she wants it to last.
Robin’s waiting on her, a kind of quiet patience that she gives Nancy, and Nancy tries to scoot closer still, contemplates for a moment crawling into her lap. “I want to figure out the rest of my puzzle with you.” It’s quiet, just loud enough to be heard over the laughter and general chaos of the bar. It’s honest and it’s vulnerable in a way that still makes her itch enough to notice, even with Robin, but it’s worth the discomfort, for the way Robin looks at her.
“Yeah,” she rasps. “Me too.” She presses her lips to Nancy’s forehead for a second. “Stay with me tonight? I miss sleeping with you.”
The tone, the whole conversation, is out of place in the bar, which has grown louder as they near the start of karaoke, “Wailing Wednesdays” always drawing a crowd. They’ll have people here soon, inevitably—Robin’s friends who fold Nancy into their group with such regularity that they all have her number, and the friends they’ve made together on their many nights here.
“Yes,” she says, finishing her drink. “Let’s go home.”
Robin nods, helping Nancy slip on her jacket and tangling their fingers together as they make their way through the crowd to the door. Sure enough, they see three of Robin’s crew as they’re leaving, and Robin and Nancy both flip them an affectionate finger as they yell and wolf-whistle at them when they realize they’re leaving. “About fucking time!”
“Sorry,” Robin says when they make it outside, rolling her eyes. “I, uh, obviously told them pretty much immediately when you asked me out, and given that I haven’t shut up about you in the literal years they’ve known me, they’re pretty invested. Clowns.” She rubs a nervous hand across her neck. “Sorry I didn’t ask before…”
Their hands have separated outside of their bubble in the bar, but they’re still walking close, and Nancy bumps into her with intention. “Robin Buckley agreed to go out with me. You think I’m not telling everyone I can? I called Eddie immediately. Trish squealed for like a full minute when I told her I finally got it together to ask. Pretty sure the GLA had a pool running.”
Robin laughs loudly, Nancy staring at the way her eyes crinkle in the streetlight, strong profile in sharp relief. Robin’s gaze is mostly on the ground in front of her, a good habit in her neighborhood, which has uneven sidewalks that don’t agree with Robin’s way of being in the world, but she glances at Nancy as she says, “I wish I could hold your hand anytime I wanted.”
Affection and righteous anger and a desire for violence swirl in Nancy’s stomach as she sighs. “Me too.” She settles for another bump of her shoulder, calmed a little by Robin’s smile.
-
She wakes with her ass pressed into the cradle of Robin’s hips, an arm holding her close, hand fisted in the fabric of her sleep shirt. She fits perfectly here but somehow the reverse is also true; it’s just as often that she wakes up holding Robin, and she likes it just as well.
Today, she lets herself be held, blinking at the red numbers on the little clock on Robin’s desk. 8:00am. It’s late for Nancy, who has found slow, early mornings to be a comfort the last few years, hot coffee and a newspaper giving her time to work herself into the day. On nights she sleeps with Robin, she sleeps a little later, but she’s still out of bed at least an hour before her, usually more.
Unclenching Robin’s fist with gentle strokes against her knuckles, she links their fingers briefly and presses a kiss to the back of her hand, another to her knuckles before letting go and starting to sit up. She doesn’t make it far, though, Robin’s sleepy groan of protest reaching her as her arm moves back to her waist, tugging at her until she’s flush with her body again. A soft kiss and hum of pleasure against her shoulder blade have her relaxing fully.
She won’t be able to go back to sleep but there are worse things than a few more minutes of this.
Eventually, Robin sighs, an easy sound, and flexes her fingers in the fabric of Nancy’s shirt. “Sorry,” she mumbles, gravel tone and breath moving Nancy’s hair. “Don’t mean to keep you from your coffee. Just…” Nancy feels the shrug where Robin moves against her back. “Hard to let you go.”
Nancy links their fingers again, her palm against Robin’s knuckles, moving them under the hem until Robin’s hand rests warm and comforting on the skin of her belly. Robin lets out a shuttering breath. “I’ve got a few more minutes.”
She’s not trying to start anything, not really, but the way Robin shifts behind her, the warmth of her enveloping Nancy, draws a noise from her, a breathy thing she barely recognizes, and her own hips are shifting back, fitting perfectly into the press of her.
“Nancy,” Robin says, voice still rough with the morning, and that only makes her press harder into Robin, whimper at the relief of her thighs pressed together as she arches back.
She draws Robin’s hand up further, pausing at her diaphragm, the tips of Robin’s fingers brushing against her breasts. “Okay?” She asks, surprised at the rasp in her own voice.
“Fuck. Yes.” The words are matched by a roll of hips that has Nancy squirming and a nearly violent head nod, which sends a flood of familiar soft affection into the mix. Such a nerd.
And then that nerd’s palm is over Nancy’s nipple, fingers squeezing at her breast as Nancy’s hand retreats to her stomach, resting there, her pinky and ring finger dipping below the hem of her sleep shorts. Nancy’s bending her neck back to give Robin’s mouth access, a tongue swiping over her skin briefly before Robin starts talking.
“God, you feel so good. You fit so perfectly.” She moves her hand, a hard nipple sliding between her fingers as she tightens them, squeezing and palming.
Nancy moans, and Robin’s teeth meet her shoulder through the fabric of her shirt, the dulled contact a reminder of the stupid number of clothes they’re both still wearing. The problem, of course, is that taking it off would mean pulling herself away from Robin, and Nancy has absolutely no interest in that, the now steady rock of Robin against her ass the best thing she’s ever felt in her life.
“You know how many times I’ve thought about this? About how good it would feel to just slip my hand up your shirt and work you up? Beg you to let me make you come? To let me make myself come for you? I’d do whatever you told me.”
It shouldn’t be surprising, that Robin talks in bed. It shouldn’t be surprising that she knows exactly what to say to make Nancy fucking lose her mind. It still is, a little, but it only throws Nancy for a moment and then she’s got her hand up over her shoulder and in Robin’s hair, grip tightening experimentally and grin spreading at the needy whine and nod she gets in return.
“Good girl,” she says reflexively, eyes rolling back a little at the very particular thrust of Robin’s hips, the oh, fuck that gets breathed into her neck. “Tell me what else you want.”
“Wanna be good for you, Nance.”
And Jesus Christ, Nancy’s done for, absolutely.
“Wanna make you feel good. Want you to…” She hesitates and Nancy gentles the hand in her hair, tilts her head back so she can place a soft kiss against Robin’s chin, her jaw.
I love you, she doesn’t say, not yet, instead whispering against her cheek, “I want to give you whatever you want, Robbie. Please know that. Safe,” she says with a press of her lips, a stand in, but it does the job, maybe, because Robin tilts her head in acknowledgment and jogs her hips again from where they’d slowed.
“Safe,” she echoes, to herself mostly, and the part of Nancy that met Max’s eyes like a vow as she sawed off the barrel of a shotgun, that planted her feet in front of the kids in those final days the upside-down, that knows exactly how to use the switchblade Hopper gave her when she told him she didn’t want to get caught by the wrong person with a gun, the part of Nancy that’s angry and thirsty and fierce raises its head in her stomach, ready for a challenge. Safe.
Her grip tightens in Robin’s hair, her hips pressing back again. “Tell me what you want, baby.”
She cries out, her head falling against Nancy’s temple for a second as she adjusts her fingers, tugging Nancy’s nipple between her thumb and forefinger, teeth scraping briefly at her jaw. Nancy bites back a moan, tugs harder at her hair, a command Robin follows.
“Want you to fuck me,” she says, a little broken. “However you want. Tell me what to do. Make me beg for it. Make me work for it.”
Nancy’s body is moving immediately, turning and pressing Robin into the bed below her, straddling her hips and pressing her hands up under her shirt, a worn green Hawkins High Marching Band tee with a hole at the collar.
She pauses at Robin’s ribcage meeting blown-out blue eyes until she gets a frantic nod. “Beg,” she orders, but she’s already moving the fabric up. She wants the sound but doesn’t have the patience for the rest of it, not this time.
“Please.” Her hips are moving, looking for relief against Nancy’s ass, but she’s just a little too high for it to be exactly what Robin needs. “Please, Nancy. Touch me.”
She is. She does, Robin’s shirt bunched at her collarbone as Nancy lets herself admire her, debauched and chest heaving in the morning light through the thin curtains, body tight with want. Her fingers run along the ridge of her ribs and the curve of her tits. “So fucking perfect. So handsome,” she says, and then traces a finger along Robin’s jawline. “Gonna touch you now, baby.” At Robin’s frantic nod, she bends and sucks a perfect nipple into her mouth, works the other between her fingers, pulling with increasing roughness until Robin makes the noise she wants to hear, a whining cry between her words.
“Yes, oh my god, please yes just like that.” Her hand buries itself in Nancy’s hair, and she considers stopping, forcing her to keep her hands to herself, but her patience remains thin, and there’s something about the desperation in it that Nancy doesn’t want to give up right now. Her teeth move to nip at the skin of her breast and Robin hisses her pleasure, holding Nancy close.
“You like that?” She pulls away to ask, tweaking the nipple still between her fingers roughly, watching with heady delight at the way Robin’s eyelids flutter.
She nods, hips bucking. “Yeah. Yes. More. Want you on me all the time.”
Nancy doesn’t let her own hips roll the way they want to, swallows back the groan by sinking her teeth lightly back into Robin’s skin, over a patch of freckles at the swell of her breast. She licks and soothes as Robin writhes, sucks and bites and does it again. When she pulls back, she kisses the mark.
“Mine,” she says lowly, and Robin’s arching and moaning as her second hand comes to Nancy’s head, moving to her jaw and pulling so that Nancy’s looking at her from above her sternum.
Her pupils are blown and she’s panting, but she’s soft and intentional as she agrees. “Yours.”
“Robin,” Nancy says, and feels suddenly like she might cry, but Robin’s nodding and pulling Nancy close, tucking her face into her neck and carding her fingers through Nancy’s hair. Nancy breathes her in, leather and cardamom, pine from her hair product, the faint trace of cigarettes from the air in the bar and sweat from the night and their morning so far.
Fuck. The morning. It’s Thursday morning.
“Robbie.” Nancy’s voice has lost some of its desperation, though it’s still humming through her body. She forces herself to say what she has to say. “You have class.”
Robin’s hand stills in Nancy’s hair and she tilts her head back into the pillow, groaning dramatically. Nancy smiles into the skin of her neck and presses a soft kiss there before pulling back and pressing to sit again, hands resting on Robin’s stomach.
She looks distraught and disheveled, about which Nancy feels a fair amount of pride. Some of it must show because Robin’s rolling her eyes and shaking her head fondly. “You don’t need to look so smug about it, Wheeler.”
“I think I do.” Her eyes catch on the mark below Robin’s collarbone, still angry, and she runs two of her fingers over it, pressing just a little. Robin’s hips jerk and her breath catches and Nancy doesn’t hide her smirk. “Yeah,” she says, pressing again until she gets a whimper. “I really think I do, actually.”
“You’re very mean,” Robin says, and it sounds like a request, sounds like fuck me.
Nancy’s so tempted it’s painful but she manages not to start them up again, just tsks and lowers her mouth to press a chaste kiss where her fingers had been, Robin’s skin hot under her lips.
“Only as mean as you want me to be,” she says as she pushes herself off of Robin’s body and sits at the edge of the bed. She does it as casually as she can, like it isn’t torture, like she isn’t so wet she can feel it with every movement, so turned on she can smell herself as she stretches her arms over her head in an attempt at nonchalance.
Robin doesn’t let her have it, long arms coming to wrap around her waist, nose nuzzling at the skin behind her ear.
“Yeah, Nance? Wanna give me what I want? What I need?”
Nancy groans even as she rests her own arms over Robin’s, keeping her close.
“You’re a menace.”
Robin’s tongue runs over the shell of her ear. “So make me shut up.”
“Christ,” Nancy manages. She squeezes at Robin’s forearms. “Baby, you really do have class. It’s too close to finals for you to miss.”
“I won’t miss,” Robin says between kisses to her throat. “If you’re worried about time, just let me make you come.” Her arms shift so that she can thumb at Nancy’s nipples through her shirt. “Use my hands or my mouth or both. Let me get on my knees for you. Whatever you want.”
It’s perfect. She’s perfect, desperate and gorgeous and Robin and Nancy had known, theoretically, that they would work, that they had complementary preferences, stoned confessions leading Nancy to a whole new host of fantasies months ago, but this is more than she could have ever hoped for.
She pulls herself together, eyes the clock on Robin’s desk, and makes a decision. “Sweet girl,” she says, and the way Robin makes a wanting little sound in response gives her confidence. “What I want is you.” She pulls herself from Robin’s arms and stands. When she turns, Robin’s caught herself on her elbows, shirt still rucked up, pale, freckled skin on display. Her eyes are on Nancy, half-drunk and expectant, and Nancy wants to carry the image with her like a photo in her wallet. “Lay back for me?”
She does, immediately, and Nancy whispers praises into the skin of her ribs and belly as she climbs back on to the bed and settles her body between Robin’s legs.
“I want,” she says, nuzzling at Robin’s breast before meeting her eyes, “for you to tell me how to make you feel good.”
Robin’s giving her the look, the fond one, as she traces her index finger down the slope of Nancy’s nose. “I want to feel you inside me,” she says, and Nancy kisses the tip of her finger. “I like penetration, but I need more than that to come.”
Nancy kisses at her palm and her wrist and nods. “I want that, too. My mouth?”
Robin’s hips give a little jolt and Nancy grins but waits for an answer, which Robin provides with a very gentle flick to her forehead. “God, I can’t believe I find your ego this hot.” Nancy preens and Robin flicks her again. “Yes. I want that.”
“I promise to back it up, if that helps,” Nancy says and Robin groans, begrudgingly Nancy assumes. “Anything you don’t like?”
A shake of her head. “Just check in if you’re feeling adventurous. I’ll tell you if I have a problem.” She presses her hips up into Nancy’s torso. “Fuck me now, please? Don’t want to make me late.”
Nancy laughs and sucks a nipple into her mouth in answer, Robin’s hands immediately making their home in her hair again. It’s good, so good, and easy, Robin vocal and in constant movement under her. She pauses and tugs the shirt all the way off, Robin falling back onto the bed and pulling Nancy to kiss her.
She’s glad for the glasses of water that both of them downed before bed last night, self-conscious about her morning breath, but Robin just shakes her head when she tells her so. “Don’t care. Just needed to kiss you.” And Nancy can’t argue with that.
Robin’s tits are perfect, overflowing her hands, and she keeps them there as she kisses down to the hem of Robin’s navy blue boxers, her preferred sleepwear. Her tongue traces a line just above the fabric and Robin cries out.
“Please. Please, Nancy. Need you.”
Pulling her hands away regretfully, she tugs as Robin lifts her hips, ridding her of her boxers and the black men’s briefs she’d been wearing underneath. And then Nancy stares.
She sits back on her knees and runs her hands up Robin’s thighs and stares. She’s seen Robin in various states of dress and undress—the sports bra and trunks she wears to swim, her briefs and undershirt as she changes frantically for class or a meeting—but never like this.
She’s perfect, blonde hair covering her legs, a darker thatch of it at the apex of her thighs. Scars litter her body, most of which Nancy has seen already, too, and many of which she’s bandaged and fussed over herself. She bends to place a kiss at the one just above her knee, a long, jagged thing left by a demobat that Steve had beat to a bloody pulp. Her body curves, soft and long, patches of freckles interrupting stretches of milky skin. Nancy can’t do anything but want.
“Nancy,” she whisper-whines, squirming with desire and flushed from the force of her gaze. “Please.”
It snaps her back into herself, and she stretches herself out again between Robin’s legs, spending another minute on her tits before moving down to kiss at her hip bones, at the crease of her thigh, to nuzzle at the hair there and breathe her in, hands holding her down as she tries to get more.
“Please. Please.”
Nipping at the sensitive skin of her thigh, Nancy moves herself lower and spreads Robin’s legs open and fuck, she’s soaking wet and smells so good and Nancy’s licking at the shining liquid on her inner thighs and moaning, Robin crying out and fisting her hair.
“You taste so good, Robbie. Smell so good.” She pauses there, watches as Robin takes her in. “Talk to me.”
“Oh, god.” The hand in her hair presses her closer and she goes without much fight, though not where Robin needs her, choosing instead to kiss and bite at her thighs. “You feel so good, Nance. So, so good. I’ve thought about this so many times. It’s a little embarrassing, honestly, except you’re the hottest woman on the planet so I don’t think I can be blamed.”
Nancy disagrees, because she’s about to go down on the hottest woman on the planet, her self-control waning, but she doesn’t want to stop what she’s doing to say so so she turns the thought into a hickey, suckling until there’s a bright red patch and Robin’s thigh is shaking.
“Fuck, yes. God, I want you to leave marks everywhere. Yours. Yours, yours.”
“Mine,” she agrees with another bite.
It’s too much, maybe, because the noise it pulls from Robin is pained but she’s tugging at Nancy’s hair and pleading, “Inside, Inside, please.”
Nancy presses a last soft kiss to her skin and pulls away enough that she can watch. Her middle finger parts Robin and she presses in, immediately enveloped by slick heat giving way. They both groan at the sensation, Robin tightening around her, and Nancy wants to do this forever.
“God, baby, you feel so good.”
Robin makes a mewling noise at that, hips chasing Nancy’s hand as she thrusts gently. “Come here?”
Nancy does, shifting up and giving Robin a soft kiss before tucking in closer. She thrusts again, and Robin digs her fingernails into her shoulder where she’s spread her palms to hold Nancy close. “More, please.” Nancy gives her more, eyes rolling back a little at the pleased sound Robin makes, a sigh of relief, almost, as her legs spread wider.
She kisses at Robin’s collarbones and shoulders, along her neck and jaw, fingers moving steadily. “Another?” She asks, breath heavy, and Robin nods frantically.
“Please,” she says, and Nancy works a third finger inside, moans into Robin’s skin at the feel of it, her spreading open on her fingers, hips canting into the contact, pulling Nancy deeper. “Yes, fuck, yes. God. So good, so good.”
Nancy bites at Robin’s shoulder and presses inside her a little more roughly, testing, pads of her fingers pressing upward with the motion. The response is immediately, a cry of pleasure, and Robin’s voice again. “Like that. Please, Nancy, like that. Use me.”
“Oh my god,” she breathes, her arm working to keep up the pace. “Fuck.” She can’t come like this, she’d said, and Nancy wants her mouth back on her, wants to watch her shake as she comes apart, so she bites at Robin’s earlobe and asks, “Want you to come on my tongue. Okay?”
Her hips meet Nancy’s hand and her hands let go of her shoulders as she agrees in a burst of short little yes-es.
Nancy doesn’t waste any more time, licking into Robin as she settles on her stomach, moaning at the taste that coats her tongue. She has to use her free hand to hold Robin down, forearm braced over her lower belly in a gentle reminder against her bucking hips. The view is incredible, Robin’s head thrown back, neck tight, the mark Nancy left on her chest a mottled red against cream. One of her hands fists the sheet as the other rests on the back of Nancy’s head, and she’s moaning a constant stream of pleas and affirmations that make Nancy feel feral. She’s getting tighter, and Nancy flattens her tongue and runs rough, broad strokes over her clit until Robin’s hand tightens in her hair.
“Right there, right there, oh my god Nancy, please don’t stop.”
She doesn’t, might never, and maybe a minute later Robin’s body stills, muscles tight and then she’s shaking, clenching around Nancy’s fingers with a cry. It’s the best thing that Nancy’s ever seen or heard or tasted, and she wants to make it happen again and again, wants to figure out all the ways Robin wants to be touched, all the ways to make her come apart. She licks and licks and gently moves her fingers until Robin is whimpering and tugging her away.
“Sensitive.”
She’s tempted to stay, to lick around her clit until she can take more, but she lets her eyes drift to the clock and winces. Robin really can’t miss class, and she’s absolutely going to have to shower. When her eyes move back to Robin, she’s got one hand thrown over her head, and she’s breathing hard, staring down at Nancy with a smirk.
“You’re worried about my class.”
“I’m worried about your class,” she affirms, with a kiss to her hipbone, pressing herself up the bed and onto her back, pulling Robin into her arms.
Robin settles, a hand moving under her shirt and spreading wide over her stomach. “I’m worried about making you come.”
Nancy laughs and kisses the top of her head. “Don’t be.”
Robin pushes up and narrows her eyes at her, a largely ineffective gesture given that her hair is outrageous and she looks thoroughly fucked. “Are you saying that in a ‘concerned for my academic future’ way or in an ‘I don’t want to be touched right now’ way?” She tilts her head, rids herself of the teasing tone. “Or are you saying that in an ‘I don’t like to be touched generally’ way?” She tucks some of Nancy’s hair behind her ear.
Nancy grabs her wrist and kisses her palm. “The first one. But thank you for asking.” It’s a little more complicated than that, but they don’t have the time to talk about it right now, really. “We should talk more about it?” It comes out more hesitant than she’d like, because it’s Robin, and even though she’s much more confident about herself and what she wants, she still cares. She’s nervous, even if it hurts to admit it, because Robin reacting badly would hurt in a way she doesn’t want to think about.
But of course, Robin reads her, hears the hesitation and bends down to kiss Nancy softly. “We should definitely talk more about it. You know I only want to touch you the ways you want to be touched, right?” Nancy’s eyes dart for a second, reflexive, and Robin waits until she’s ready to look at her again. “Safe, remember?”
“Safe.” She kisses Robin again, overwhelmed, and Robin shifts to get closer, her leg brushing over Nancy’s sleep shorts in a way that has her grinding for more.
“Do you want to touch yourself for me? No pressure. But if you do, I want you to. I can…you can tell me how to help? If I can?” It’s so sweet, and Nancy’s so turned on, and then Robin’s adding, “If it’s about the time, you can tell me exactly when I have to get out of bed, and I’ll listen, even if it means I don’t get to watch you come. I’ll take the fucking egg timer into the shower with me if you want, I promise.”
Nancy’s laughing, and fuck it, it’ll probably take two minutes tops, anyway, once she actually starts touching herself. She’s wetter than she’s ever been in her life, and she knows how to make herself come. When she moves to take her shirt off, Robin sits back and bites her lip in excitement, stares at Nancy’s exposed chest the same way she does the new releases section at the video store. Nancy has never wanted someone’s gaze so badly. “Touch me,” Nancy orders, and Robin’s eyes break to hers, darkening. “Anything above the waist is fine. Hands until I tell you otherwise. And…” she hesitates again but only for a moment, Robin waiting patiently, eagerly. “Tell me how you want me to use you to get off.”
“Fuck,” she breathes, nodding, and Nancy lays back, watching Robin flex her fingers and then sighing as she cups Nancy in her palms, squeezing and rubbing her thumbs over her nipples. She moves to press the length of her body against Nancy’s, which means she only has one hand on Nancy, but it’s immediately obvious what she’s thinking, because she leans in close, forehead pressed to Nancy’s temple, and begins to talk as she traces and scratches and palms at the skin of Nancy’s stomach and ribs and breasts.
“I think about you all the time, you know. Not always in a sex way, but…” She seems to catch herself, huffing a laugh, and redirects. “Sorry. Christ. Last Saturday, after you left, I couldn’t stop thinking about you in that dress. God, Nance.”
It’s a good dress, new, navy, the fabric silky and the straps thin. It hadn’t really been warm enough to wear it, but they had been going to a performance art show for a friend of a friend of Robin’s, the basement theater one Nancy had been to enough to know that it runs hot, always, the pipes exposed, and more than that, she had wanted to see Robin’s face, which was as good as she’d hoped. It’s paying off more than she could have imagined.
“The whole time that guy was dancing around in his stupid fucking panda suit…” Nancy giggles, can feel Robin’s smile against her skin.
“Awful,” she says.
“Awful,” Robin agrees. “Last time I do Nell a favor. But you were right there in that fucking dress, and it was so dark, and I just kept thinking how easy it would be for me to get on my knees and apologize for bringing you to that train wreck. How good the fabric would feel on my palms as I pushed it up. How good you’d taste.”
Nancy brings her own hand to the band of her shorts, tucks the tips of her fingers underneath. Robin tugs harshly on one of her nipples, and Nancy arches into it, lets her fingers dip a little lower, past the band of her panties.
“Yeah, baby? Wanna taste me?”
“Christ,” Robin whimpers, hips moving. “Yes.”
Nancy dips her fingers into herself; she’s so fucking wet she can hear the movement, but she brings them out nearly immediately, turning slightly so that she can face Robin, bring her hand up to her face.
“Suck,” she says, and Robin closes her eyes and moans as she does as she’s told, opening for Nancy’s fingers and licking at them, hollowing her cheeks and whimpering at the taste. “Good girl,” Nancy says, and Robin blinks open her eyes, though the lids stay drooped, mouth still working Nancy’s fingers.
Nancy pulls them back, tucking them into her shorts again to tease herself, and Robin’s pressed against her again as soon as she settles.
“Holy shit. You taste so good, Nance. So good. Use my mouth. Please. Fuck my face. That’s what I couldn’t stop thinking about–your hand in my hair, forcing me to go where you want me, my head tucked under your dress.” Her fingers are moving against Nancy’s skin again, dragging over her ribs and stomach before pulling at her nipples. “How you’d feel against my tongue. How much I wanted to feel you come against me.”
It’s so good, all of it, and Nancy’s moving her finger over her clit, swollen and sensitive, and it won’t take long. “Use your mouth now,” she says, and Robin’s sucking on a nipple immediately, teeth scraping perfectly, and she’s rutting against Nancy’s leg while she does it. “Can you come again for me, baby?” Robin nods and hums desperately into her without letting up, and Nancy fists her hair and holds her closer. “Do it. Make yourself come for me.”
It’s the noise she makes into Nancy’s breast as she touches herself, the movement of her tongue and teeth just right, and Nancy’s arching her hips and coming, holding Robin against her chest and moving her finger against her clit until she’s finished, panting. Robin’s still sucking at her, her body moving against her hand, and Nancy watches with interest.
“So needy, Robbie. You want me that badly? Can’t help but touch yourself while I use your mouth to get off?” Nancy lets up on the pressure so she can hear the noises Robin makes. “Come on, baby. Come for me. Maybe later I’ll use those fingers to get myself off again, hmm?” That does it, apparently, the telltale moment of stillness hitting and then Robin’s shaking against her.
She wraps her up kissing her head as she lets go of Nancy’s breast. “So good for me.”
“My god,” she laughs, hugging Nancy tight and tucking her head into her neck. “If you want me to leave this bed ever, you can’t just say shit like that, Wheeler.”
Nancy grins. “Well, it’s true. You were. Very, very good.”
“Oh my god. Oh my god. You want me to go again, don’t you? I mean, I can. I will. I’m certainly not complaining, although I might not be able to shower if we don’t…hey. Hey, wait. Nance, what…”
With a last kiss to her forehead, Nancy finishes untangling herself and moves to the edge of the bed, ignoring the displeased cries behind her.
“I’ll get the egg timer,” she says, off the bed and throwing on Robin’s t-shirt. “There’ll be coffee when you finish.”
“Nance, I wasn’t serious about the…”
“I was! Chop, chop, Buckley. The three minutes starts when I sit the timer down, whether you’re in the shower or not.”
“Are you at least joining me in the shower?”
“Nope,” Nancy pops her p. “I’ll be taking a nice long shower after you leave for class.”
“ Mean,” Robin says, still laying in the bed like Nancy hasn’t made herself perfectly clear, and Nancy eyes her before pulling at the handle of the door. Robin squawks, tugging the sheet over herself, though Nancy hopes to god Ella is out or they’re going to owe her so much apology ramen for the noise.
“I thought we’d established that you like that,” she calls as she enters the living space, blessedly roommate free.
Ten minutes later, Robin is frantically pulling on her socks. She has two minutes before she’s at exactly on time for her class, and she uses one of them to pull Nancy tight to her, kiss her breathless, though she’s just as affected when she pulls back.
“Best morning of my life,” she says, blushing, and Nancy kisses her again.
“Like a dream,” she says, and Robin bites her lip and shakes her head and then cusses as she drops her keys on the way out the door.