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White Whale

Chapter Text

Root was surprised by the knock at her door not two hours later.

“Coming!” she called, reaching for a t-shirt crumpled at the foot of the bed. She hadn’t felt the need to get dressed after their bath—she was alone in her cabin, in for the night—and with John and Finch back on land, and Shaw presumably asleep next door, Root hadn’t expected any visitors.

She pulled the oversized t-shirt over her head, decided it was long enough to justify not putting on pants, and padded to the door. When she opened it, she was surprised to find Shaw on her doorstep.

“I’m bad at words,” Shaw said bluntly, before Root could so much as greet her. “Better at doing.”

She reached up to cup the back of Root’s neck, and pulled her in for a kiss. In the middle of the hallway, in plain view of anyone who might pass by, Sameen Shaw kissed her like she was the sweetest thing Shaw had ever tasted.

Root’s knees were weak. Shaw’s kisses were usually bruising, hungry, desperate. But this: Shaw kissing her long and slow, sucking gently at her lip…this was new, and Root needed much, much more of it.

She led Shaw back into her cabin. Shaw’s hands cupped her face, and her tongue slipped into Root’s mouth so elegantly that it elicited a gasp. Shaw repeated the motion again—again Root gasped—and the subtlest of smiled played at her lips.

The next thing Root knew, Shaw’s mouth was at her neck and there was no way Root was going to be able to remain standing.

“Bed,” she whispered. Shaw nodded, and Root led them backwards to it.

Shaw straddled her, placing soft, wet kisses over every inch of Root’s neck. Her movements were slow, deliberate; a complete contrast to all of their other sexual encounters. She ran her tongue along Root’s jaw, chin to ear, and sucked lightly at the pressure point behind the lobe. Root let out a sigh of pleasure, and Shaw responded by running her hands beneath Root’s shirt, up the sides of her torso.

Satisfied with her work at Root’s neck, Shaw pushed up the fabric of Root’s shirt to expose her chest. She lowered her mouth to the skin just below the nipple, sending a wave of goosebumps rippling across Root’s skin. Root tangled one of her hands in Shaw’s hair, the other grasping a handful of bedsheet as Shaw took her in her mouth.

Shaw was warm and slow, lashing at the sensitive skin with her tongue. Root moaned beneath her at the contact; Shaw was (as always) doing marvelous things with that mouth, and if she wasn’t careful, Root might come from this alone.

Shaw took her sweet time before moving to the other nipple and giving it the same attention. Root pulled the t-shirt the rest of the way over her head to give Shaw better access. She whimpered with every stroke of Shaw’s hot, wet tongue, with every brush of Shaw’s thumb over her hip bones.

Shaw was on top of her, fully clothed; Root, beneath her, was completely naked. They’d never had sex like this before, so worshipping and erotic. Shaw raised her head to capture Root’s mouth in another sensual kiss, and Root whined into it. When Shaw broke away to begin her agonizingly slow trail of kisses down Root’s body, Root finally realized what was happening.

I’m bad at words. Better at doing.

Root remembered Shaw’s reaction to her flirting with someone else at the bar. Shaw’s kiss earlier in the bathtub, Shaw’s words at the door.

She and Shaw had fucked countless times before, but this was something else. Something different: this was making love.

Shaw nipped at the skin of Root’s hips, eliciting a whimper. She ran her thumbs just outside where Root wanted her, stimulating the skin beside Root’s folds. She brought her mouth to Root’s mound and teased the skin just above the clit; and when Root began to writhe under her, she took Root inside her mouth.

Root had never felt anything so good in her life.

Shaw ate her out slowly, savoring the taste of Root slick on her tongue. She kneaded the flesh of Root’s thighs with her hands, reveling in the moans that reached her ears, soaking in every twitch of Root’s body under her tongue.

She raised her eyes to meet Root’s; Root was gazing at her adoringly, mouth agape.

“Sameen,” she gasped. Shaw brushed a thumb over her slit and Root’s head fell back onto the pillow. Shaw could just make out the strained, “Fuck,” she whispered next.

Root took Shaw’s head in her hands and pulled her up, indicating she wanted Shaw to stop. Concern flashed across Shaw’s face for the briefest moment until their eyes met and Root tugged at the band of Shaw’s sweatpants.

“I want to feel you,” she said. Her voice was raspy, heavy with a note of desperation. She helped Shaw out of her clothes and brought her to a kneeling position over her face. Hands on Shaw’s waist, Root guided Shaw to her mouth and dipped her tongue inside of her.

Shaw tasted incredible; the only thing better than the sensation of Shaw’s mouth on her body was the taste of Shaw herself. Root worshipped her with her tongue until Shaw was riding the rhythm with her, Shaw’s breathing becoming haggard.

She could tell Shaw was close—another thirty seconds or so and Shaw would be coming beautifully under her tongue—but Shaw climbed off of her. She kissed Root so deeply and passionately Root started to see stars, and then she pressed herself against her, core to core.

The sound that tore from Root’s throat was unholy. Shaw was pressed against her, their wetness mixing together, and Shaw’s mouth was on hers and Root’s tongue was in her mouth and they were connected, their bodies pressed together as closely as was physically possible.

They came together, and when the waves subsided Shaw collapsed on top of her, neck buried in the crook of Root’s neck. They lay like that for awhile, Root tracing the swell of Shaw’s shoulder blade under her fingers.

“You can stay tonight, you know,” Root said softly. Shaw nuzzled further into her neck.

“Mmhm,” was her muffled response. A slow smile spread across Root’s face. Shaw didn’t have to be good at words—this was enough. More than enough. They’d crossed a threshold here, crossed the line from Fuck Buddies into something real. She didn’t need to press Shaw for labels or commitments; she knew.

She pressed a kiss to Shaw’s temple.

Long live the singles’ cruise.