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Nancy sips her beer as she watches the sun paint pink stripes over the Indiana trees. From her view atop the WSQK at the edge of Hawkins, she could see over the treeline and rolling hills, the border of the military blockade, to make out the silhouette of the water tower of the next town over. She squinted in the hazy evening sun, even knowing exactly what it would say. The words proclaiming ‘Dunkirk Township’ weren't new; she had seen them cracked and faded every time her mother took her on trips to her mom’s favorite hair salon.
But the fresh, red paint that she could make out from even here, was startling. A physical reminder that life outside Hawkins was still moving forward.
People in Dunkirk were still getting haircuts and going to the movies. Going about their normal daily lives. No tanks on the road, no checkpoints, no curfew, or metal plates criss-crossing Main Street. It was odd the way life went on, even when her own had ground to a screeching halt. Nancy never thought she’d see the day that she graduated from Hawkins and had no bags packed, no class schedule, no plan for the long trip away, wherever away was.
Now, Nancy stared blankly at the shape of the water tower, and all she could see was the fence between them, not having left Hawkins for so much as a haircut in 5 months.
The scenery was pretty, cast in pinks and oranges from the setting August sun. Looking out at it, the way the trees stretched out so far, to all the places Nancy couldn’t go, you’d never know that hell had split the town in four and had sucked all normalcy into its depths.
“Whatcha thinking?” Robin asks, flopping down into the rickety lawn chair beside her. Nancy lolls her head over to watch Robin splay out, uncaring how much space she took up, or the momentum of her long limbs tipping the chair dangerously.
“Careful, that one’s the one with the bad leg.”
Robin groaned, looking down at the worn canvas chair, “damn, I knew you grabbed the good one.” Nancy smiled. Robin always made her smile.
In the early days, when they weren't sure when Vecna would strike again, certain the end of the world couldn't be more than the next day away, Nancy had found comfort in Robin then, too. Clamping onto her in the way you only can with someone who's shared some of the worst days of your life. In those nebulous days post ‘earthquake’ they ate, breathed, and slept together. And of course, Steve was there too.
She really hadn't understood Steve and Robin’s weird little trauma bond after Starcourt. In fact, when she saw Steve in his Beamer, picking up Robin from school, or flipping lazily through a magazine while Robin reshelved tapes at Family Video, it was deeply urking in a way she very much didn't want to prod. But also kept her up at night because they just fit so easily together, in the way her and Johnathan should’ve.
Why couldn’t they be easy the way Steve and Robin were around each other? Why couldn’t she lean on him like that?
She understands Steve-and-Robin a little more now, now that she understands that no, they are not dating, they're just... something else. She gets it.
Not so much from Robin's point of view, but maybe she understands Steve a little more. Understands the need to latch onto Robin because somehow she had this ability to make things easy, had this weird ability to make you feel unjudged.
Nancy didn't want to call it a dependency, because it wasn’t. But it was easier to pull herself from the aftermath of nightmares when the other girl was drooling soundly into the pillow beside hers. When she could reach out and touch her and promise, promise herself that it would be different this time.
It was easier to sleep, is all, when Robin was under the Wheelers’ roof, because Nancy would be there if anything happened. Nancy couldn’t sleep if she wasn’t at home, in her own room. Always woke up sweating and shaking in the middle of the night with bone-deep certainty that Holly was lying gutted on the front lawn, her mom bleeding out with her arms outstretched. Mike lying dead in his bed with his limbs on wrong.
And it was really an all-around lose-lose scenario because then when she was home, she woke up grasping for Robin and Steve’s hands, certain she had left them both to die in the upside down.
It was easy, is all. To exist around Robin. She would uncurl her fingers eventually. She could. At some point, she would eventually convince herself it wouldn't be the last time they saw each other, every time she turned her back.
Robin broke the sounds of the crickets, musically tapping a pattern into her bottle with her fingernails.
“You never answered my question,” she said. You’ve got your pondering face on.”
“My pondering face? I do not,” Nancy scoffed.
Robin nods resolutely. “You totally do. It’s different from your, you're totally hiding something and I’m gonna figure it out face. It’s less–” she squints her eyes with her lip curled. “And more–” scowling, she looks at the horizon with a thousand-yard stare. Nancy finds her mouth slipping into a smile. Maybe she had been scowling.
“Shut up.”
Eyebrows raised, Robin mimes smoking a cigarette as she dramatically scowls into the distance. “I’m Nancy Wheeler, and I am going to figure out how to shove a shotgun down Vecna's throat with one hand, and simultaneously write a brilliant expose on every military goon in Hawkins with the other,” she exhales in a lofty voice.
“You missed your calling in Drama club,” Nancy fake-glares.
“Au contraire, the world simply isn't ready for the sound of my beautiful voice.”
“Beautiful is a stretch.”
“But accurate isn’t.”
“Excuse me? I sound nothing like that.”
“So you admit you look like that, though.”
She throws her balled-up bottle label at the other girl. Robin bats it away, and, in true Robin fashion, completely misses and ends up getting it right in the face, surprised and disgruntled. Cute, Nancy thinks, and shoves it down with a swig of beer. Shut up, shut up, shut up.
“Okay, fine, maybe it was a mediocre impression.”
“Try downright terrible.”
“Could possibly use a little tweaking,” Robin pretends to admit with a smile curling behind her beer.
Robin grins with her whole mouth, and it lights up her face in a way that no bottle could hide. She looks completely happy, grinning like that. Carefree in a way that Nancy would do anything to keep on her face. Keep Robin in the station, and away from Demogorgons and Vecna and Upside Down bullshit so that Nancy could finally feel like she did something right when Robin looks at her like that, whole and open.
Drinking around Robin like this was dangerous, but Nancy had a fucked up relationship to danger, and chased these moments like an addict.
“I hate you,” she tells the other girl, but it's undercut with a smile. Can feel her eyes go soft in that way that, a vodka soda and two beers in, she can't hide. Nancy abruptly clears her throat and turns away.
“How's Vickie doing?” She asks, instead. Just to remind herself, to bring herself back to reality.
Robin's smile gets a little smaller. Her eyes flick away. It's still said with a smile as she laughs, but it's not as carefree as she had been, just a second ago. Robin is good at lying, that much is true, but she hadn’t mastered the art of lying to Nancy, just yet. Nancy hopes she never will.
“She's good. You know, nurse stuff,” Robin shrugs. “How’re the Byers?” She winces through a sip of beer like she hadn't meant to say that.
Nancy's mind does a complicated little flop every time she thinks about it. It’s not super awkward between her and Jonathan, but it's not not awkward. He still lives in the basement with Will and Joyce. She still sees him at breakfast every morning. He still helps drive her little sister to school and does the dishes most nights, and then smokes pot out on the treeline, which Nancy can see from her window. Robin knows how the Byers are doing, so Nancy ignores the question.
“You always do that,” she says.
“Do what?”
“You like… brush it off, or pull back in on yourself,” Nancy says. She can't not get to the bottom of these things, even when later she’ll wish she hadn’t pushed. But she's in it now, and God she's wanted an answer to this for a long time. Needs one.
Robin sort of laughs, “Jeez Nance, you've got the I'm gonna figure it out face on right now.” She shrugs, grins again and takes another sip. “I dunno, there's not much to tell.”
The way she slumps a little further, hiding, tells Nancy all she needs to know.
“You don't have to hide it,” Nancy says. “You’re dating.” (It doesn't feel weird in her mouth, she tells herself). “You’re allowed to tell me about your girlfriend."
Robin bites her cheek and passes the bottle back and forth between her hands.
“I know,” she says, small. “Guess I'm just not used to it, is all.”
“Well, consider this an exercise,” Nancy says. “Tell me now.”
The other girl laughs at that, (finally, a real smile). “You’re something else, Wheeler.”
And Nancy plays into it. Playfully rolls her eyes, and throws back her head (even though Robin is still avoiding the question, and Nancy is not good at letting these things drop, still has trouble uncurling her finger when she wants to know something. When she wants something.)
“Oh my god Robs, it’s just like talking about boys. I told you mine and Jon's dirty laundry a thousand times.”
Robin had been there through all of it, the good, the bad, the ugly, and then the surprisingly amicable breakup. But still. Nancy had always told Robin what was going on. It kinda stings that Robin still walks like she's on eggshells. Like she's scared of making the wrong move around these things.
But it seems like maybe that wasn't the right thing to say, because just as quick, her grin winks out, and she's not quick enough with the bottle to hide the shape her mouth twists into.
“At least you guys were actually dating,” Robin mumbles, not looking at her.
Actually dating? what?
“Are you guys… not?”
This is honestly news to Nancy, because, well… Steve had thrown a faux celebration the first time Robin had ‘gotten some’.
“You've—” Nancy stumbles over it, and at Robin’s grimace, pushes through. Robin needed to know she wasn't scared to talk about it, didn't want it to feel like a delicate subject.
“We did celebrate you losing your virginity and all.” She points out, trying to make it sound light.
Robin covers the wince with a small smile and a larger groan, hiding her face in her hands. “Thank you for reminding me I'm never telling Steve anything ever again.”
“Come on,” Nancy chides. “The cake was a nice touch.”
Robin finally looked at her, face flushed. Nancy can’t help the smile she sends her way.
“It's really, like, nothing. I don't know why I'm—ugh.”
Nancy just waits. She knows Rob will fill it in if she just leaves the space for her to do so.
“It's just— we're not dating, and I know that. It's embarrassing, though— I know the rules.”
Not dating. Rules. Nancy furrows her brow. Robin must sense her curiosity without even taking her face out of her hands.
“Her and her boyfriend are on an indefinite break right now. We’re just… messing around.” Robin mumbles behind her barricade. The way she says messing around feels like she's quoting someone else. Nancy feels red-hot at the thought of Vickie’s words coming out of Robin’s mouth.
“So you're not dating?” This merits repeating because, she swore that Robin had bounded into Family Video one day, on cloud fucking nine, talking about how she had a girlfriend for the first time. And Nancy had been supportive, like, truly! But she's turned this fact over and over in her head these past few weeks, so sue her for needing the question clarified.
“No.” Robin says quietly.
“And I shouldn't be complaining because there's literally no other queer girls for I think, like, a hundred miles in any given direction. So the fact that I found Vickie and she likes me–”. Robin cuts off. “I shouldn't be complaining.”
“Rob, you deserve to date her if you want to. You're amazing. You know that, right?” Robin sighs.
“It’s whatever.”
“No, it's not.” Nancy doesn't know how to convey the fact that it matters very, very, much. “You deserve the world, Robs, I– have you talked to her about it?”
“Yeah, we've got… an understanding.” Robin stumbles over the word like she can't figure out if it's the right one. “Rules,” she clarifies at Nancy's silence. Ah, these aforementioned rules.
Robin trails off after that, so Nancy has to prompt her. “Rules such as…?” She raises her eyebrow. Singular, because the situation has her feeling bitchy. And usually it’ll make Robin snort at how severely she can arch it, but— not right now.
“Like y’know,” Robin waves her beer bottle at the sunset. “Stuff like no marks, and not to tell anyone—broke that already, but also that…” Robin winces. “That it's not–” she blows out a breath. “How it can't be anything serious. We can end it at any time, and also, we shouldn't be seen together out in public. Stuff like that.”
Nancy doesn't really know what to say, the vodka and beer is churning in her gut. She's furious on Robin’s behalf, but she tries to blink it away.
“So she's basically subjected you to mistress rules.” Nancy supplies, vowing to make Vickie's life absolute hell if she ever dares to show her face at the station again.
“It's not… It's not like that.” Robin fiddles with her rings quietly, and Nancy hurts, hurts for her.
“How is it not like that?”
“It doesn't bug me,” Robin says. Then meet my eyes when you say it, Nancy thinks.
“It’s allowed to,” Nancy says softly.
Robin slumps deeper into her chair, she lets a long stream of air out like she’s deflating. Nancy waits. She hates how she feels like she's dragging this conversation out of Robin with her fingernails. Can't stop herself from pushing through.
Robin doesn't say anything for a long time, and she lets her stew in it, slugging back her beer to wash away the bitterness.
“I get it.” Robin says eventually, when the crickets have become too loud. “I know why me and her have to be this way.” And Nancy can’t help the sound that comes out of her throat, affronted on the other girl’s behalf.
“You deserve to have someone care about you.” Nancy says fiercely. “You’re allowed to want that, Robin, not someone ready to push you out of bed the second her boyfriend calls—” she cuts herself off. Nancy’s chest hurts with how small she is, slumped in her chair. Hurts with the fact that she's defending it. “You're worth it.” She settles on, and Robin still doesn’t meet her eyes.
It's quiet for a little bit, and Robin’s still slouched down, label picked apart and lying shredded in her lap. She sets down the empty bottle finally, and Nancy realizes that somewhere along the way, the lights slipped low over the trees all at once.
“Is there something more to it?” Nancy asks, and there definitely is. She can see it being turned around in Robin's head, examined from every angle before she lets it out of her mouth. And usually Robin doesn't think at all before letting anything and everything tumble out of her mouth. The fact that she holds this back hits hard again in her chest. Just tell me, please.
Robin licks her teeth nervously— she's almost ready to let go of it, Nancy's sure.
“Its—”
“It’s not nothing.” Nancy cuts her off. Waits some more. Tell me. Tell me what you're thinking. Robin lets out a long stream of air, and Nancy knows she's won.
“I feel like a complete loser for wanting...” And she’s surprised to see Robin’s eyes are glassy. Nancy is out of her chair before she thinks to react. Awkwardly squats in front of Robin to coax her out from the chair to lean her upper body against Nancy's. Robin sniffs, and Nancy really, really hates Vickie right now.
“I don’t really think she wants me.” The admission is barely a whisper.
Nancy’s chest roars. She can only grip her tighter. It’s a different kind of anger than what she's used to. There's no adrenaline mixed with it, and there's no twitch for a gun. Just a dragging, horrible fury, as Nancy fights to bodily rip Robin out of her chair with how much she wants to envelop her into her chest, where Vickie can't get to her— can't even look at her.
“What do you mean?” Nancy wants to tell her, of course she does, how could anyone not want you?
Robin pulls herself back, and Nancy grips the air in front of her with the resolve it takes to let her go. Robin's cheeks are blotchy, but she retreats backward in a way that communicates I really need space right now.
Another thing Nancy's not good at. Her knees crack as she stands up, and she can't help how she drags her chair over gravel until the arm rests bump one another.
Robin stares at her knees. “When we—hmmhmmm,” she clears her throat, “mess around, she doesn't touch me.”
Nancy doesn't know what to say to that; she sees the hurt blatantly on Robin’s face as it screws up. The want to be wanted. It breaks Nancy’s fucking heart.
“Robs…”
Robin’s already shaking her head.
“I shouldn’t— I shouldn’t talk about her like that,” she says, and she stands up, wipes her eyes, and tries a shaky smile. “Jeez, sorry for crying on you like that, I know you didn't sign up for me, like, dumping all that on you.”
“I want you to tell me, I always do.” Nancy stands up and can’t quite stop the motion to grab Robin in a hug, but the taller girl doesn't go loose like she usually does. Just stands there strung up tight.
Robin breaks contact first.
“Thanks for the beers, Nance. It’s getting late, I think I should start biking back.”
It is dark out, all of a sudden, but they've been out here much later. Curfew doesn't kick in for at least another hour. Nancy should do the polite thing and let her go, but it's so hard.
“Let me drive you at least,” but Robin’s already shaking her head and skittering back.
“No, no, it's okay. I uh, I think the ride is—would be good for me right now.”
Nancy can only watch as Robin finds the door hatch and throws a fake, tight, “goodnight, Nance,” before she's alone on the roof. The crickets pick back up, but Nancy just stands there.
She stays on the roof until the crunch of Robin's bike on gravel has long since faded.
The conversation bugs Nancy; it bugs her hard, weighing heavy on her mind for the next beer she stews in, desperately not wanting to be sober. Eventually, being alone, and the proximity to the woods freaks her out enough to unfreeze her muscles to walk stiffly through the empty station. There's nothing out there, she tells herself, walking to the car. Pretends there isn't a stiff unnaturalness to her gait as she doesn't look back. It hurts her stomach, the loud sound of the door slamming, the engine turning over. There's nothing out there, she repeats. And there isn't.
Sitting frozen, hands on the wheel and breathing hard, she feels it, the alcohol. But curfew is—shit—in like 20 minutes, and she wouldn't pass a sobriety test right now.
Nancy takes backroads and only veers slightly off into gravel shoulder once or twice. The conversation plays over her. The twist of Robin’s mouth, and the stillness of her hands sits in her stomach as she avoids family and non-family alike, disappearing to her room.
She finds herself switching between tight, crawling fury at Vickie, for putting that look on Robin's face and squirmy upsetness deep in her gut. It bugs her for a long, long time as she lays on her bed, staring at her ceiling and sometimes makes room for an in-between indignation. She doesn't touch me.
She imagines an awkward wince on Vickie's face, post-fuck, adjusting rumpled clothing, as Robin looks at her with wary eyes and resignation settling on her shoulders. Nancy huffs and turns over. She should not be thinking about that; she should not be imagining that. It’s not productive and also it’s messy, and her fingers want to reach for another bottle. Go to bed, go to bed, she begs herself, turning anger over in her head.
Robin treats her normally, if a bit too smiley, next time she sees her, cheerful voice ringing across the radio, as the speakers crackle at The Squawk. “Morning, Nance!” She says once the on-air button flickers from red to gray. She smiles and looks at Robin, obviously trying to pretend that last night on the roof didn't happen. How could someone not want you? Nancy thinks, and she returns her smile roughly.
Robin does not bring up Vickie again when Nancy's around, and she shies away from Steve's prodding next time they're on the roof, sunset behind them. “A girl doesn't kiss and tell,” she drawls, and Nancy wishes Robin would look at her as she waves it off. Robin presses Steve about his latest date, which was interrupted by an actual radio emergency instead of the fake one he'd claimed to bail on Jennifer, during the last Crawl.
Nancy wonders what Robin tells Vickie about the late nights at the station, the odd hours and the code phrases mumbled over their walkies. She watches Robin deliberately avoid her gaze and settles back, eventually joining in, ribbing Steve. Robin looks grateful, despite not looking directly at her.
How could someone not want you? Nancy thinks over the low murmur of the beat up tv playing in the corner. The light flickers with the scene, painting the basement of the WSQK in warmth and second-hand life. The basement, like this, with the shelf firmly in place and concrete walls, all cobbled together furniture, feels safer than her own bedroom. It makes it feel like the whole world is just the two of them, away from anyone who's watching. It's a habit of Nancy's, to lock the ‘door’ when it’s her and Robin down here. Robin usually watches with a smirk, but she never calls her out on her paranoia. She knows where it comes from.
It’s just them tonight, and Nancy loves it when it's just them. There are no distractions, no Steve sitting between them and egging Robin into catching popcorn in her mouth. Robin’s softer when it's just the two of them.
They're not even drinking tonight—maybe on purpose—and Robin has finally seemed to relax around her again after baring herself so suddenly all those nights ago.
Nancy wished she could just forget about it, to stall that crawling curiosity that would find some way out if she relaxed even a little. A soft spot her fingers couldn’t stop prodding. A habit that had slowly turned the air between her and Steve toxic during junior year. That had accumulated in long silences and careful, avoidance between her and Jonathan, with all the effort to not look directly at it.
She was trying to look away, right now. Only to unfocus her eyes and realize she was staring right at it again. The big ugly well of something that pinched tightly, under her ribs. It was unfair to Robin, was all. Felt it with that conviction that drove her to do things like break into an elderly woman's house or saw off the barrel of a shotgun, because conviction made her push in a dozen small ways, only to look back and see all the damage left in her wake. Blind to it until it blew up in her face.
It was Robin’s business. If she didn’t want to talk about it, they wouldn't. She would not bring it up unless Robin did.
Only that Robin would probably never bring it up.
She wants to ask. It became her business when Vickie made her cry something savage inside her rationalizes.
It makes her simultaneously furious and also just sick to her stomach to imagine Robin hiding away with Vickie to give so much for nothing in return. Tenderizing herself for the other girl’s benefit.
Robin was always so giving. Sarcastic and biting sometimes on the outside, but so eager to please in a way that sits warm in Nancy's stomach and turns rock solid and cold when it's thought about in relation to Vickie.
Robin sits, slumped, on the lumpy couch, head propped up by her hand, elbow on the armrest. She sits with one knee bent up on the couch, the other sprawling off. She looks relaxed in her oversized t-shirt and worn-in jeans. Made soft by the flickering light of the tv.
Nancy watches the curve of her neck, the baby hairs shining blonde, sitting curled just under Robin's ear, where they’re escaping the messy knot attempting to wrangle it all in one place. Robin always runs her hands through it when it's down, just brushing past her shoulders, and Nancy knows it's only a matter of time before she stumbles in one day with choppy cut hair. Probably cut a little shorter than she meant to.
But for now, Nancy traces the way most of it piles on the top of her head, a perfect handful. How it exposes her neck, the soft slope of it into her shoulders before her loose t-shirt swallows her up.
It's times like these that Nancy is more aware than ever that they’re only animals. Smooth slopes of muscles and tendons that humans like to pretend they're more than. There's a curiosity that burns in her. Wanting to feel with her hands and trace the little blonde hairs, feel Robin’s tendons move when her head tilts. Wants to push her face into Robin’s cheek in some abstract way. There's a beauty in the way bodies are put together, the satisfaction of function. The way Robin lays, languid, is pleasing in the same way.
It's attractive. Plain and simple. The way girls should be to boys. But this isn’t that, it's just… appreciation. How Nancy felt like she could tell how Robin moved just by looking at her.
She doesn’t touch me.
The warm TV light feathers the edge of Robin's jaw. There, there are freckles near the lobe of her ear that require more dexterity than her fingertips have. Nancy wants to feel them with the sensitive skin of her cheek.
Robin breathes softly. Gentle puffs of air that would stutter if Nancy gently pressed her palm to her cheek, lent her lips to those freckles. That close, Nancy could inhale deeply, the second hand cologne from Steve, her lavender shampoo and just the smell of her skin. Would flex her fingers into Robin’s cheek just to feel it give.
Robin would probably freeze if Nancy did it, but she wouldn't duck away. She'd allow Nancy to run her fingers up her jaw to angle her face and push her nose into the softness of her cheek. She'd be— she'd be malleable. Nancy knows it somewhere deep, that if her hands guided Robin's face to look at hers, the other girl would let it happen. Look up at her with those big eyes the way she did when she sunk to her knees in Eddie’s trailer.
Confusion, maybe. But open, all trust.
In fact, she wouldn't fight it if Nancy placed her hands on her shoulder and pushed— would fall back onto the armrest with no resistance. It's a sick pleasure of Nancy’s, sometimes, to guide Robin’s body around, out of the way when she's on a collision course with a table or stack of records, the way Robin follows her direction, how it messes her up.
Robin’s looking at her now, probably feeling the way Nancy isn't even hiding the fact that she's not paying attention to the movie. Nancy's not sure what her own face looks like, but she kind of loves the deer-in-headlights look Robin’s got going on.
“Do I have popcorn grease on my face or something?” She asks, rubbing unconsciously at the same cheek Nancy’s been cataloging.
Nancy knows that Robin knows she doesn't, but she's offering an out, one Nancy isn't going to take.
She feels heady and loose in the dark with just them. Her heart drums steadily, with the knowledge that Robin will move when she pushes. She wants Robin to know how she looks right now. Wants to know how her neck feels when she skates her fingers over it.
Nancy ditches the coke that's sweated into something warm on the concrete by her feet. Untucks her feet from where they'd crept their way under Robin's thigh.
“Vickie's an asshole for treating you like that,” Nancy says instead. Robin’s face cycles through several different reactions, none of them doing anything about the red that flushes her cheeks—always so expressive.
“Not really,” Robin tries to laugh, but Nancy isn't having it. Indignation makes her forget why she should be fighting the way her hands itch to hold and prod all of the places muscle gives way between bone. She slides her socked feet to the floor. Sits up to grab Robin's shoulder, and Robin looks wide-prey-eyed at her as Nancy tugs her down, towards her.
She doesn't resist at all, just like Nancy knew she wouldn't.
Satisfaction pools in her sternum, slides heavy and hot to the pulse of her heart rhythm. Robin's face is panicked, wide alarm flashing in her eyes but there's no resistance to her body. The conflict between her brain and the give of her skin, does something to Nancy. Drives steel through her fingers as she has to fight not to push bruises into Robin's shoulder through her t-shirt.
”Nance—?” Nancy feels almost drunk. Hasn't been in this sort of headspace before, but she sees the way Robin reacts to her. This sort of recognition of what Nancy is that fills Nancy up and also makes her need more. There’s a simultaneous gnawing emptiness in her, like her stomach has opened up, and she wants to fill, fill, fill.
Fill it with Robin and her wide eyes and soft hair.
“You deserve the world.” Nancy says, “and you deserve to be touched, you know.”
Robin goes completely red, her shoulder hits Nancy’s lap. A sound of protest would've made it past the other girl’s lips if Nancy wasn't also 90% sure that Robin’s stopped breathing completely.
It's cute the way she looks like a cornered animal. Nancy's jaw aches to bite.
“She does,” Robin manages to mumble out, half-strangled. And Nancy arches one critical eyebrow at it and slides her hands into Robin's hair, finding the point where neck meets skull. Releases some of the tension that's stringing her up, digging her fingers into the muscle there.
Robin’s breath comes out in a puff. Protest leaking slowly out of her frame in an inverse relation to the red growing in her ears.
Nancy doesn't have anything to say. She's done with words, just wants to push.
Robin adjusts her lanky body so her neck slots neatly over Nancy’s thigh, and Nancy digs the pads of her fingers into Robin’s scalp again. Watches Robin’s eyes close. She’s fighting every drop of tension that Nancy pushes out because even as her muscles let go, she still holds a wiry tension deeper in her frame. Nancy damn near smiles at the challenge. She loves the act of convincing.
Robin's hair is soft. Thick, but less textured than her own. She’s warm here, at the meeting place of root and scalp. Nancy wonders if it’s a weird thing to love the shape of someone's skull. How hard knobs melt down into the give of flesh behind her ears.
She removes her hands for just a moment, noting Robin's sharp inhale like she doesn't want Nancy's hands to leave. It makes her feel syrupy and warm and a little mean, actually. She deftly removes the hair tie that's barely holding onto anything, lets Robin's hair pool out, the smell of shampoo growing stronger. Nancy rolls it down her wrist in one smooth move. It sits there on her wrist like it’s proving a point. Thinks about wearing it for the rest of the week, if Vickie would recognize it on her wrist.
Now freed, she sinks her fingers up through the roots of her hair again to watch the other girl melt at the sensation. Loosens her own leash the barest bit, lets her nails dig in to scratch at sensitive scalp, restraining pressure even now. Robin’s breath turns into just the edge of noise, her vocal cords barely engaging. Again, again, again.
There's a heavy quality to the air around them. Nancy never wants to let it go, wants to strangle the remaining oxygen out of it, in fact. How could someone not want you? she thinks, when all her hands do is ache to feel the parts of Robin that are not free for friends to touch.
It’s decidedly not friendly the way Nancy's fingers trail down Robin's neck to feel the baby hairs that had dragged her attention earlier. Feels the fine blonde hairs on the corner of Robin’s jaw.
Nancy feels her up like a child with a toy they can’t quite figure out. Just barely stops herself from turning over her ear to see behind it, see if she was hiding freckles there too. Instead, she curls a thumb behind it to feel the give of cartilage, skates back up into the soft, sandy blonde hairs at her temple.
Robin's mouth is slack, and her eyes are closed. When was the last time someone touched you like this? With intent to just make it feel good?
But there’s a nasty edge to the thoughts. The same edge that rejects the idea of anyone else anywhere near the soft slope of neck under her hands.
She scratches Robin's scalp, fingers buried in that sweet-smelling hair with intent to make Robin feel so fucking good. That’s all. And she loves the way Robin lets out a soft breath, unaware, like she's in another world.
Nancy tilts Robin’s head, letting her hand fully span the back of her skull. Lets her nails dig in, forces pleasure. Robin makes that breathy noise again, vocal cords catching.
“Fuck, that feels good, Nance.” Robin groans, fully boneless, not even trying to hide the roughness of her voice. There’s no more fight in her body, tension gone.
Robin squirms until she’s face down, granting more access, arm hanging off the couch.
It scratches satisfaction deep in Nancy's brain to see her like this, fully pliable. Hopes that Robin doesn't notice the heat of her lap, how close she is to the crux of Nancy’s thighs.
“My mom used to do this for me when I was sick,” Nancy says. “Feels good, doesn't it?”
Robin lets out an unembarrassed noise of agreement.
“Take off your shirt.” Robin's eyes blink open. Pupils blown like she's high.
”What?” Her voice is scratchy. Confused, yes, but there's no tensing of her, piled in Nancy's lap.
“Let me rub your back.” Nancy says, matter-of-fact. And Robin will let her, she knows. “It feels better without a shirt in the way. You're wearing a bra. It's fine.”
A pause as Robin’s brain catches up. Swallows.
“Okay.” Nancy loves how she follows her lead. Trusts her. It makes her want to push Robin more, see how far she would go—.
Robin’s pulling her loose, stripped, T-shirt off, grabbing it from the back like a boy. Nancy watches her, heady at the sight as she clumsily strips off the shirt with uncooperative arms. It lifts off her back to show the knobs of her spine and shoulder blades, spattered with freckles.
Nancy’s stomach flips.
She's wearing a worn purple-gray bra that's soft and fraying a bit at the seams. The shirt gets stuck briefly over her head, and Nancy feels that sugary, dark, warmth fill her chest when she sees, just briefly, the flush from Robin’s face has migrated down her chest.
Robin's face is finally freed, blushing at the brief tussle, and wow, Nancy wants to drag that flushed, dazed look out of her.
Nancy gets up. “Lay down,” she instructs Robin, who's sitting there waiting for instructions. It’s a dangerous kind of power Nancy feels, knowing she’ll listen.
She does. Pale back finally on display in the light of just the TV screen. Face angled so she still has the excuse of watching the movie, but Nancy knows she doesn't have a single idea of what's happened in the last 10 minutes.
Robin tenses briefly as Nancy throws a knee over her lower back, straddling her.
“It's okay,” She soothes like Robin’s a started animal. “Okay if I touch you?”
“Yeah,” Robin’s voice is barely a breath. Nancy feels high on it. She lets her hands fall to skin, finally. Skates her palms up to feel the length of her. Robin’s pelvis twitches.
Warm. She's so warm, In the cold of the basement, AC rattling to keep the records cool. Nancy digs her thumbs into the place that gives on either side of Robin's spine. She’s known Robin has freckles here, ever since summer and Steve’s pool. She's tried so long not to think about them.
Robin reacts like she’s pushing the air out of her, deflates, boneless, into the couch. Nancy pushes tension up and out as she moves up her back. Digs her hands into Robin's shoulders with greedy, greedy, hands.
“Ughh,” Robin lets out, and Nancy smiles–can't help it. That's it, digs in harder. She uses her finger tips, her thumbs, the pad of her palms to dig into all the soft spots of Robin's shoulder, feeling the give of muscle.
Robin's face is slack, eyes heavy-lidded with only a sliver of sclera. It’s addicting, the rush—the fucked up power trip she’s getting from this.
Nancy feels like pushing bruises into her back like hickies, like a claim.
I’ll make you feel good, Nancy thinks vindictively. Digs in particularly deep, the place right under where her arm connects to shoulder blade. Works her way across shoulders and down her back, feeling every bump of rib as Robin shivers.
Digs in harsh to her lower back when it gets too hard to be gentle.
The slope of Robin's lower back into the swell of her ass is taunting. She squeezes Robin between her thighs as she shimmies back further and digs her thumbs into the soft give of ass meeting torso.
Here, her fingers barely graze the soft band of boxers that peak above Robin’s jeans. It's really doing something to her, to not be able to cross that boundary, to feel more. More skin that she knows is hiding under there, could feel the give of muscle between her legs when she was perched there.
Robin makes a punched-out sound beyond the point of embarrassment and Nancy—Nancy can’t take it anymore.
She digs thumbs again into the sides of Robin's spine and slides up, stretching her body along with it. Hovering over Robin's back until thumb reaches the soft slope of neck. Nancy pinches softly now, pushing the rest of the way up Robin's neck into soft baby hairs, continuing into where neck meets skull, like she can push all the tension out of her body like that.
Robin is so lanky, and Nancy, stretched out, is face to face with her shoulder blade and that spattering of freckles there. She noses it. Feels Robin shudder. Tightens her thighs around her like she could pin her.
“Are you and Vickie exclusive?” She whispers because she just can't fucking take it.
Her fingers still pinched on either side of the base of Robin's skull. Holding her there. Robin makes another punched-out sound that turns into confusion. “Nghh—no?”
She says it voice scratched and head in the fucking clouds.
“Good.” Nancy punctuates this statement by finally, finally shoving her face into Robin’s back. Breathing her in and letting her mouth press against freckled skin, first closed and then open-mouthed, wants to drink her in.
The other girl jolts, shuddering now, face is shoved straight down as opposed to neck cranked toward the TV. Rib cage heaving just the way Nancy wants her to, and she can't help the sharp smile that spills past her lips.
Using barely any extra pressure, she pushes the back of Robin’s head down into the cushions just a little more— just to see how she'll react. She offers no resistance besides the slackening of neck, that slowly creeps down her spine until she’s pliable again.
Allowance, in some non-verbal language.
Ferver lances through Nancy, so strong it makes her shake. She wants to push— push Robin until she breaks, until she's gasping with it.
She lets her up to breathe but plasters herself along Robin’s back. Hands running south to smooth down Robin’s sides, just to touch her, to feel her, laid out under her. Robin squirms at the shock of skin on skin, a sliver of Nancy’s stomach against her lower back. Nancy removes herself just enough to shuck her shirt and plaster herself back against the other girl. Skin on skin.
Lets her breasts push into Robin’s back. Scoots up slightly to bury her face into that soft give of neck and shoulder. She lets her teeth show to kiss and then finally bite, worrying her teeth over the cord of Robin’s neck.
She brings her hands back up to dig into Robin’s hair, deftly dragging her head to the side so she's not face down. Robin gulps in air, eyes squeezed firmly shut—.
“Breathe,” Nancy tells her, barely recognizing her own voice.
It doesn't really help the situation, but Robin’s obviously attempting to obey, and Nancy can’t help pushing her nose into Robin’s hair like a creep. Inhales that shampoo that fucking haunts her. Props herself up just to lay heated glance all down her. Red fucking cheeks and now red shoulders.
Gorgeous, she wants to purr. Wants it to hit Robin right where it hurts, right where Vickie’s hurt her.
Nancy sees the clasp of Robin’s bra sitting softly on her back, moving up and down with each exhale. Nancy rakes her nails slowly down to meet it, reveling in the way Robin can't help but arch into it. She brushes the skin above the clasp, playing with it.
She leans over and lets her hair curtain her and Robin in. Whispers, “Can I?”
“—eah,” Robin squeaks out like she's trying to talk around something lodged in her chest.
Nancy presses a kiss behind her ear for her troubles. She's doing so well.
She unhooks the metal hooks and lets Robin feel the drag of the material as it gives, pushing the straps slightly down her shoulders until Nancy can nuzzle the skin revealed. Skating her palm from the curve of Robin’s lower back all the way up to her shoulder, finally uninterrupted.
This, of all things, makes Robin keen and Nancy rewards her by doing it again. She lets herself nuzzle behind Robin's ear to press hard kisses into it.
“You're okay,” she breathes, syrup thick into Robin's ear as she balances herself one palm on her back and dragging nails down the length of her with the other.
Robin's body reacts like she's been shocked. Back rolling up and then away like it's too much, and Nancy presses her down with heavy satisfaction and her brain dripping with embarrassing, obscene things. Practically purrs, " S’okay, pretty girl, you're doing so good.” Embarrassment hits her square in the chest; she's never even uttered the words pretty girl before in her life.
But Robin gasps again, eyes squeezed tight and face so fucking red in the light of the tv and she shakes. Nancy wipes away embarrassment in favor of making Robin forget her slip-up. Let's her hands grab handfuls of skin, reveling in how Robin lets herself get manhandled by Nancy's greedy hands and sharp nails.
She lets herself nuzzle Robin's back like an animal, just for the pleasure of it. Drags her mouth all over, bites hard at the nape of her neck, and soothes it back with her tongue.
Robin's hips can decide where to go, bucking back into Nancy and then away like she's a live wire. And Nancy, finally tears herself away to deal with that. She plants her hands against the small of her back and pushes down just because she can. Loves the way Robin squirms, and Nancy presses tight, pushing her into place until there's no more room to wiggle.
Nancy surveys her with gut-deep satisfaction. There's red nail marks down Robin’s back, and a couple at her sides, where Nancy couldn't help digging in, bites on her shoulder blades and neck. Robin gasping, back rising up and down in heaves
She digs her thumbs in, letting them dip just below the taunting band of boxers. Lifts the elastic just to let it snap back down for the fun of it. She's not sure how far Robins is going to let her go, if there was a line, if this is where she breaks.
But Robin doesn't say anything, lets Nancy run a finger under there to feel the swell of her ass.
Nancy drops one shaky leg to the floor to rearrange herself, planting her other knee in between Robin's thighs as she deftly moves them to accommodate her. She wants to be the boulder in a river, wants to make Robin accommodate, wrap around her, acknowledge her.
Robin lets this happen too, arms only coming up in pushup position; she's managed to go face down again, paused there like she's waiting for Nancy's command.
Nancy slots her thigh up until it reaches the crux between Robin's thighs. Feels the heat emanating from there, even though both of their jeans.
It matches how badly she feels she's burning up.
Nancy leans down to plant kisses on Robin’s spine soothingly, distractingly. She sneaks her fingers into Robin’s belt loops, one hand planted on her upper back, keeping it down, the other dragging her hips up until Robin gets the memo. Ass up, face down, Nancy planted over her, watching in awe the curve of her back as she accommodates Nancy's hands, how well she melts, how well she listens. She grabs Robin’s hips to drag her back into Nancy's thigh, wants to bottle the gasp she gets in response.
“Can I touch you?” The gravel in her voice must do something to Robin, who can't even talk, just jerks her half buried head. Go, go, her instincts are urging her, roaring with the allowance she's been granted.
Nancy lets her arms circle round to the soft give of Robin’s stomach, now that there's room between her front and the couch. Shivers as Nancy's fingers skate over each rib to softly cup the underside of her breast, Nancy breathing harsh at the weight of her.
“Gonna need a verbal confirmation, Robs.” She drags it writhing and screaming from her uncooperative vocal cords.
“Nancy.” Robin gasps.
“Not a yes or a no.”
“Fuck.” Robin breathes harsh, and Nancy stills her groping hands. Answer, she needs an answer, the little nagging part of her brain tells her, even as the rest of her wants to trample past it. She's so fucking close.
“Yes.” Robin whispers, wriggling surreptitiously closer. “Please,” follows lowly, gutted.
Go go go, the heat in her brain drags her past every line. Fingers wiggling their way under the loose bra.
She's never done this before, but she loves the feel of Robin, just wants to touch. She figures enthusiasm makes up for lack of experience. She’s being so good, letting Nancy touch her.
Nancy feels her nipple harden under one hand and pinches in a way she knows she likes, Robin whimpers, and yes, yes, she will do that again. Nancy descends on her sharklike, sensing blood in the water. She presses her teeth to the slope of Robin’s back and does it again and again, probably being too rough, but it's so hard not to press the entirety of her want into Robin”s skin
She’s leaving dark bruises in a belt across Robin's back, can no longer keep her skin out of her mouth for any length of time. She can feel how wrecked Robin is, feels herself sliding against the seam of her own jeans. Not with Steve, not with Jonathan, has she ever been this turned on—this half crazy with it.
Robin’s getting wiggly again, pushed up on her forearms, sloppily grinding back and Nancy skates down to still her hips, caught between wanting the other girl to grind and wanting to punish her for it. She stills her just because she can, and for the pathetic noise Robin makes when she does..
Nancy sucks in a breath, forehead pressed to spine, and hair fanning across Robin’s back in a way that feels possessive.
Nancy skates hands back down Robin's stomach, slow, feeling the muscles jump, fuck. Punishes her with slow pace as she hits the tight band of her jeans, digging into her there.
Nancy's hands shake as she undoes the denim. She's never wanted anything more in her life, and she forces herself to go slow, gives Robin time to say something. Nancy thinks she'll go crazy if Robin doesn't let her.
The zipper is loud, and the material gives way, folding open to soft cotton boxers. They’re thinner here, so close to what she wants.
Nancy is fully draped over Robin's back, letting her hold them up as she keeps one guiding hand on Robin's stomach and slowly slides a hand over Robin's boxers. The pants stop her from getting to far, but her finger tips just barely graze soft vulnerable skin as the rolled up boxers give way to shaking thigh, wiry hair peeking out in the best fucking way—Nancy shelters a burning hatred for jeans right now—how tight they are, stupidly rigid. She fights the urge to shove her hand farther with brute force, grunts in annoyance as she removes her hand, Robin jolting at the movement, a small punched out sound at Nancy pulling away.
She places soothing kiss against Robin’s lower back. Strips herself where she’d been stuck to her like velcro, pushes off on shaky knees to dig hands into Robin’s jeans.
“Take these off?” It's only just short of begging.
Robin scrambles to comply, slumping face-first into the couch in her hurry to get to her jeans, roughly shoving them off. Nancy scrabbling at them from the back, watching them reveal the pretty slope of her ass as Robin’s knees give out trying to get them further.
Nancy finishes the job, tugging Robin’s jeans down her legs as the other girl clumsily kicks off her Converse.
While she’s up, Nancy strips down her own jeans, hissing at the lack of pressure from the seam of them but needing–needing the flexibility they had denied her.
Nancy moves with a desperation to glue their skin back together. She arranges Robin back until she's on her knees again, and lets a heady groan fall from her lips at the sight of her, all pretty and fucked up. Can see the damp spot across her boxers, the vulnerable backs of her thighs, can fucking smell her, how much she wants it, pretty fucking girl begging to be touched.
Robin jolts as thumbs rub up the sweet give of her inner thighs. Shaking to hold herself up on forearms, head bowed, and Nancy feels her stop breathing. She eases her thigh back between Robin's legs feeling damp fabric hit her just below the hip, presses into her.
“S’okay Rob, you’re doing so good…” baby is at the tip of her tongue, ready to fall off. She tugs it back; she can feel Robin’s fucking heartbeat on her thigh. Hot and pulsing, the hottest fucking thing she's ever felt— ”fucking–— you feel so fucking good” Nancy growls, needing Robin to know as she barely contains the instinctive jerk into her. Robin straight up sobs for air, chest heaving, drowning herself in cushion.
“Breathe baby, come on,” Robin’s shaking like an anxious dog underneath her and Nancy would be worried if she couldn't also feel just how turned on she is. But also she gets it, she’s never felt this high, heat rolling through, an unstoppable force that feels like it might just shake her apart too. Nancy gasps for air, anything for just a little bit of clarity, needs just something to dissipate the overwhelming heat.
Nancy grabs greedy handfuls of ass, of hips, hauling Robin even closer. Trying to get past the initial gut-punch out-of-control reaction. Digging in deep for a moment to get used to the feeling. “Are you okay?” she gasps.
“Yeah,” Robin squeaks out, “just feel like I'm gonna die.”
Nancy's hands still, and Robin grinds into her. It really takes all of Nancy's composure not to react.
“Do you want to stop? I can stop,” she pants. She could, she will, if Robin asks, but there's everything in her that's so high on heat and Robin's skin, and even now her hands are shaking with the urge to move.
“No, please, please don't stop. Robin gasps. “It’s good—it’s in a good way!” And yes, yes, Nancy licks a stripe down her spine simply for the pleasure of it, she feels crazy.
Thank god, because she wants it now, and she's like every boy that doesn't want to be told no, and Nancy wants so bad, she pushes it away, trying not to feel rotten about it.
“...Just, never done this before.”
Nancy’s probably the first to touch Robin here, and the thought is vindictive and glad, and Nancy is very fucking wet. Can't help digging her nails in just the slightest bit.
“I've never either, not like this.”
“Is it—is this okay?” Robin rasps, and she's got her face back buried in the couch, can’t even look at Nancy. Am I okay, though, is what she's really asking. Is this what you want?
She's offering Nancy another out, she always is, and she should know by now that Nancy will never take them. Not with Robin.
“It's so okay,” Nancy says, because she really cannot think of any bigger words right now to tell Robin that this is beyond perfectly okay. That she thinks she might die if she doesn't touch her right now.
Robin whines, “Oh fuck,” and can't seem to help another sloppy grind, back flexing. And really, Nancy can't be blamed for trying to pin her down again. There's really nowhere more to go, Robin is well and truly pinned, but everything in Nancy wants to push her down, down, cover Robin with herself, make every inch of their bodies touch.
Obviously, she's nervous; she's also trying not to betray the shake of her hands, but when she just lets herself react, her body knows what to do. What it wants to do. She's mostly coasting on the high of it, and the need to push and feel Robin give.
She grabs Robin's hips to make her grind back against her, pushing back just the same. She can feel Robin’s muscles working, the shake of her thighs, the fluttering of what's between them. Nancy throws back her head at the sight, the sloped back and hickies dark. She feels fucking powerful, what she could do to this girl underneath her. Slowly, so slowly, she snakes a hand around again, feels the sharp inhale of Robin’s stomach. The curve of her, where it hits the band of her boxers, the shake of Robin’s thighs, is addicting. Nancy wonders how long she could make Robin hold this position until she gives out.
Finger tips hit the band, and after a pause, continue under.
Nancy feels the wiry pubic hair and can't help threading her fingers through in the crude mockery of her fingers against Robin’s scalp earlier.
Robin holds herself stock still, a miniature tremble to her muscles as she waits, but Nancy can feel her heart racing, the harsh inhales through her nose. Her fingers beat with the race of her own pulse, working furiously to catalog every sensation. They continue down, skating through curls until they find wet heat. It’s crazy how soft, how silken she is, slick-swollen as Nancy cards her fingers through it. Viscous slick that gathers on her fingers is driving spikes of madness through her resolution to be gentle, to go slow. Robin jolts as Nancy’s fingers skate over her clit accidentally, prominent and swollen. Wanting to be nice goes to war with her need—a pounding single-mindedness she's never felt that knows what Robin has down here—a need to find the place where Robin's body gives.
Robin sobs as Nancy circles her, Nancy removes her thigh for a moment to cup her fully, trying not to squeeze, fighting desperately to be normal. Robin’s making these choked-out sounds that are not helping.
Nancy makes a soothing noise. “S’ok, it's okay baby.” It makes Robin sob harder, thighs clamping on her hand, Nancy grabbing with her other hand to coax them back apart.
She’s got one hand on Robin's ass like she can make sure she won’t go anywhere, the other curled around her front. She drags her hand through the whole of her just for the pleasure of feeling— dragging slick across swollen cunt. It's the most erotic thing Nancy felt in her entire life, how hot Robin is down here, the texture of silken, delicate skin.
I’m going to fuck you, Nancy thinks deliriously, and the thought races hot down her spine. Robin grinds back against her as she bumps her clit again.
“Ahhhg,” Robin gasps, voice breaking high at the end of it, as Nancy circles, feather light touch at odds with the way the rest of her palm digs deliciously into the meat of her pelvic bone. Robin bucks away from it almost, “Nancy,” she gasps, and Nancy pauses, fingers digging into soft skin again, which makes Robin jolt.
Nancy didn't know her name could sound like that and all of a sudden she gets why guys tell girls to scream their name. “S—sensitive.” Robin gasps, and Nancy presses a kiss apologetically to her back. Robin is vibrating like a leaf, she's so fucked out and Nancy hasn't barely touched her yet— and everything in her is high on approval.
Nancy cards her fingers back to feel the give of muscle at Robin’s entrance, excitement and need making a mess of her pulse. She circles it around, loving the way Robin sobs and bucks into it. She can barely catch her breath. Embarrassed at the way she has to gasp, “s’this okay?” But Robin’s voice is just as wrecked and twice as beautiful, “yes, yes.”
So much slick, everywhere. Nancy follows it down. Slips a finger into her.
Its not like fucking herself, but it kind of is, only her own body has never sucked her fingers in like that. It’s a hot and wet press all around her, and somehow she thinks she was made for this, right here.
I’m inside her, Nancy thinks deliriously, against the sheen of sweat on Robin’s back. Somehow it’s not gross, its just stupidly hot and she smells fucking amazing the sweat of thier bodies mixing with the musk that blooms between them as Nancy spreads slick all over, wanting Robin covered in it— herself covered in it.
Nancy drags back out of her and fucks back in, thats what she has to do right? Robin makes a sharp sound, a little too sharp as Nancy slows, fucking into her slower, taking nasty pleasure in the slide of it, the feel of her. She wishes she could see it but thinks that she might fucking explode, and the non-visual the only thing keeping her from passing out.
Robin pushes back against it in an out-of-mind, wanting way, swallowing down muted noises and Nancy bites her, hard, because that's not allowed. Robin whines, opens her mouth— “tell me what feels good,” Nancy husks.
“All of it. All of it.” Robin sobs she shoves her face into the cushions again. And Nancy’s about to grab her by the hair to drag her back out because that's extremely unhelpful, when Robin rolls her head to the side and gasps out, “two fingers—please.” Nancy smiles sharp and mean. “Good job, Robs.”
And the sound that slides out of Robin when she does, long and low, lights up her own spine and hits her overexposed nerves almost painfully.
Adding the second finger changes the angle, makes it a little more awkward, but Robin’s rutting back on them in a very undignified way, and Nancy loves her and she doesn’t give a fuck about the tinge in her wrist. Robin’s really sobbing now, big mouthfuls of air in between, and it's really fucking hot how Robin’s body grips her, the animal movement of her hips.
“Curl— curl, please,” she babbles out in between and Nancy does. Robin fucks herself—yes she is getting fucked Nancy thinks viciously— knees slidding out from under her as her tempo gets more uneven, more desperate. She takes Nancy down with her, but she doesn't care. Presses her face and her teeth into the girl under her as she fucks her, wet everywhere, walls gripping her fingers. Robin’s hips roll but it’s not as good an angle anymore, and Nancy yanks her hand out, dragging slick up Robin's torso to free her hand. Robin makes a pleading noise mixed with a sob— “touch yourself,” Nancy demands, and Robin shoves a hand down her front into her boxers, pretty girl.
Robins going to come, its something Nancy knows instinctively at the desperation of her, chasing it single-mindedly, the way she does sometimes, tearing apart her VHS collection for the right movie, or frantically scrambling for a working pen to write down a song request even though its tucked behind her ear. Nancy feels crazed to see this part of Robin, how it translates to this embarrassed animal side of her.
Nancy shoves her coated fingers in her mouth, hoping Robin’s too distracted to notice, the taste hitting her senses like a brick to the face. Robin tastes like she smells, and her brain knows instinctively that nothing else tastes the way this does, identifying the lubricant and the process that demands it. The dirtiness of it all just makes her sicker for more. She shouldn’t like the taste of it, but her brain is telling her that this belongs in her mouth, that her mouth belongs at the crux of Robin’s thighs, demanding more from her. Nancy feels woozy from the hit of pleasure, the metallic glint in her mouth aching with the echo of it. She blinks at the overwhelming sensation, trying to refocus the world in front of her.
She will bury her face where it belongs after Robin comes, after she’s absolutely messy with it she thinks wobbly. For now—immediately— she needs her hands back on her, back to the heat of the other girl. Barely aware of removing her fingers from her mouth, she feels the movement of Robin’s hands scrabbling against her clit, her mouth automatically reattaching to an already raw-red mark blooming on Robin’s back.
Nancy’s wet hands leave streaks against Robin’s backside as she shoves her hand under the boxer band, ripping them down to where they bunch just under the swell of her ass— enough to get access to her this way.
You're going to come with my fingers in you, Nancy thinks violently, teeth bared.
Robin keens as Nancy oppens her up, the noise fucking filthy and Nancy presses into her from behind— like a boy, she thinks hotly, using her hips to push the back of her hand deeper.
Her fingers are pressing into Robin’s back wall as opposed to dragging across the wave of her front, but It dosent seem to matter. Robin’s trembling, she close, shes so close— yes Nancy thinks as she chokes out another noise and she clamps down on her, fucking take it.
Robin’s body coils, her whole body winding up, she's so fucking tight and the rest of her body trembling, frozen.
Nancy pushes in just a little deeper- yes, take it, take it, just keeping her fingers there as it hits Robin, collapsing with her strings cut, long boneless gasp sliding out of her. Pretty girl, pretty fucking girl, everything in her purrs, satisfaction and real, deep fucking love roaring in her chest.
Nancy’s brain says she wants to see, see where her body meets Robin's, wants to flip her over and watch this time, wants to smear Robin’s wetness all down her thighs and also down Nancy’s too. Wants there to be proof of this beautiful, wild thing, looking so pretty and fucked out.
Robin finally shifts and Nancy hears her unspoken plea. Pulls out, examines with wide eyes the evidence of Robin covering her, webbing in between her fingers.
Robin is boneless, hopefully still breathing, but Nancy can’t go another minute.
The beat of her heart is shaking her whole body as Nancy shoves a hand down her own underwear, other hand keeping her up, splayed out on Robin’s lower back, keeping her there.
It’s quick and messy, she's almost too wet to get any purchase on her clit, but Nancy comes painfully to the heaving view of Robin's back, looking like she's been mauled— like she’s been well fucked. The curve of her cheek and the fluttering of her lashes with her head cranked to the side, arms left abandoned in the wake of her orgasm.
White, hot pleasure strikes a line through her brain, through her chest, striking her blind and dumb. She works herself through the painful aftershocks, not willing to let herself come down just yet, slumping down on top of Robin, loving where their sweaty skin doesn't let them slide but sits tacky between them.
It’s white nose buzzing in Nancy’s brain, she really has never come so hard, been so oversenasative before, has never, ever felt this high.
Her brain feels like water inside her skull, reality tilting with gravity every time she moves her head. She nuzzles into Robin’s messy hair and breathes her in, not caring how she’s probably crushing her.
Robin would say something if she needed her to move.
Here, she just wants to exist right here, forever.
Robin starts stirring after a few minutes, twitchy. Can’t keep still even after being fucked into a writhing mess. Nancy smiles loopily, wondering just how fucked out she has to get her before she stops squirming.
She presses lazy kisses into her back, noting how uncomfortably cranked Robin’s neck looks.
“Hey,” she says soft, “you okay?”
Robin groans theatrically, starts pushing herself up. Nancy laughs and also pushes off onto shaky legs as Robin flips over and Nancy flops back onto the couch, falling sideways against Robin with a worn out gravity.
Robin puffs out a breath of unbelieving laughter.
“What?”
“You’ve got, uhhh—” Robin reaches out, pausing, to pull a few strands of Nancy’s hair away from where they’re stuck to her cheek from—cum?
And Nancy laughs too.
Robin’s face is still red. She looks at Nancy almost shyly, in her wet boxers and half-off bra and Wonder Woman socks— all crammed in the corner of the couch but still looking loose, with some deep, tired, look of pleased still painting her face.
Robin blushes harder at whatever look Nancy is giving her but Nancy can’t stop looking; she just can't.
“Not that I'm complaining,” Robin begins, finally looking her in the eyes, “but where'd that come from Wheeler?”
“Really?” Nancy deadpans, “back to last name status?” all for the way Robin laughs at it.
“Alright—Nancy— where'd that come from?”
And now it's her turn to be shy. “I don't know,” she shrugs. “I just—I wanted to make you feel good.”
Robin snorts. “Mission definitely accomplished. I feel—god—” she slaps her red cheeks a little. “I still feel like out of it. Don’t look so pleased Wheeler.”
But Nancy is pleased. Sue her, with the way Robin’s looking right now. “Sorry, I didn’t— I can still return the favor,” Robin nods, eyes tracing her chest with a distinctive blush. Nancy lets the grin reach her face.
“I might just take you up on that,” smiling wider, emphasizing: “Buckley.”
“Stop, stop, I’m sorry,” Robin whines. “—you literally fucked my brains out of my body, I can’t be held responsible for my pillow talk after!”
“I forgive you,” Nancy says, easily enough. She can't stop smiling at her.
They watch each other for a moment, playfulness growing under Robin’s grin. “So when did you know you wanted to be a dominatrix?” Robin blurts out.
Nancy squawks in indignation, and then laughs at the way Robin immediately tries to back pedal. Nancy hits Robin’s shoulder lightly, “I try and make you feel good—you ass—and this is what I get?”
She moves to grab her shirt, the sweat against her skin turning cold, but Robin grabs her back.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” she laughs, “I didn’t mean it, touchy subject I guess.”
Nancy pouts and Robin's eyes glitter with repressing her mirth. Nancy thinks she could do this forever.
The movie hits some crescendo of music, breaking through their moment, and Nancy looks over to see the credits rolling.
“Guess we missed the movie,” Robin says.
“We're just gonna have to watch it again,” Nancy replies breezily, and Robin blushes a pretty red.
“Yeah,” she says, smiling shyly. “We can watch it at my house next time?”
“When your parents are out, I hope.”
“Jesus, Nance!” And Robin’s looking at her again, eyes so bright and Nancy loves this girl, it sits so high in her chest.
“I'll make it up to you,” Robin says and licks her teeth nervously, flicking over Nancy's undressed figure, “next time.”
“Do I have to wait until then to kiss you?” Nancy’s already got all her cards on the table, why not.
“Oh like, for real? Yeah—um, no, we don’t have to wait.”
“Okay,” says Nancy and her hands find Robin's face. She kisses her, ridiculously chaste. Her lips are so soft, fuller than a boy’s and she smells like—they break apart and Robin blinks.
Nancy realizes she’s gotten cum all over Robin's face with her dirty hand.
“Shit, sorry!”
Robin just laughs and laughs and laughs.