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wishing on dandelions

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She holds the letter in her hands like the wind might steal it, thumb mindlessly stroking the delicate handwriting spelling her name. Her heart is racing, and her vision is blurry, but just like the first time, Carson knows she needs to do this.


It’s been months, and the snow covering the train tracks fly on either side as they ram their way through. She looks out the window and blows a hot breath on the frosty glass to see outside. She hasn’t looked back since boarding the train, and she’s afraid if she looks around, someone will know. Carson tightens her grip on her small bag, looking down at the crumpled envelope in her hands. 


She smiles without realizing, her mind playing the words she knows by heart. 


“On your way to see someone special?” a voice asks, and Carson snaps out of her reverie.

“Oh, yes, absolutely.” She says confidently, grinning from ear to ear.

“What a lucky guy.” The older woman says with a knowing smile.

“If I’m honest, I’m the lucky one.” Carson says, biting back a giggle.

“Young love is so good, I wish you both the best.”


They stay in silence again and Carson fights the urge to rub the envelope to her cheek. It doesn’t even have her perfume on it anymore; she probably rubbed it all away by keeping the letter tucked under her pillow. For weeks, she had tried to write back to Greta. 


Words were just not her forte, and she had gone through so much paper trying to find just what to say. She was buzzing from head to toe at the memories Greta had brought up. They still had months to go before the next season, but Carson just couldn’t sit idle in her little apartment she rents with Jess and Lupe.


Watching the shortstop and the pitcher so blindly in love and yet not doing anything about it just made Carson want to scream. When the letter had arrived, Lupe and Jess had teased her about it, and she had half a mind to just tell them to take care of their own feelings before meddling in hers. But Carson was polite, and she instead just grabbed the letter and locked herself in her room to read it. She hadn’t been able to read it through in one sitting, her cheeks burning red from the words delicately written.


Dear Carson,

I hope you think about me sometimes. I know I do, and my apartment is getting cold, but when I remember, the night gets warm. I can still taste you in my dreams and I wake up wishing it’s May again.


Carson closes her eyes and rests her forehead on the cold window. She breathes in and out very slowly, steadying her pulse as memories flood her mind. She’s certain she must look feverish to the outside world, her face flushed and her mouth slightly open like that. She looks beside her, suddenly remembering she’s not alone. Before she can find something else to focus on though, her eyes fall on the red velvet of the seating and she swallows hard.


I’ve found this new shade of lipstick, I think it suits me better than my old one. It’s darker, more red than before, and not as glossy, it reminds me of the flush on your cheeks in Kenosha. Now, every time I put my makeup on in the morning, I smile. I’ve left you an example, so now you can compare. Well, I guess you can’t, can you? Unless maybe if you look in the mirror when you read my letter.


Warmth spreads in her entire body and she lets out a shaky breath that’s nearly a whimper. Carson’s head is spinning. She has spent 27 years of her life feeling like her inner workings were wrong; she had been longing for that missing piece, the spark to light a fire in her belly, until her flame had nearly run out. And oh, how close she’d come to let it die; ashes filling her lungs until she could barely remember herself. How ardent and lavish are the red flames licking at her skin now, tickling her ribcage and washing her chest in deep hues.


She must remember where she is, though, before someone calls for help. They’ll think she’s hysterical; succumbed to the pressures of being anything but dainty and delicate after this first season of professional baseball playing. Carson wants to laugh; it bubbles beneath her throat and opens her eyes, and she hides it in a poorly designed cough. It’s a good thing she’s alone in her cubicle. 


Carson takes a few deep breaths, and forces her wandering mind to calculate instead how many hours were left before her arrival.


Did you do it? Did you look at yourself in a mirror, Coach? I bet you did. Good. I might be eight hours away, but I like knowing you still blush thinking about me. All I can think about is that thing you did the day you became coach. I know you remember, but I want you to hear my voice reading this. We probably should have fixed your hair before going back in. Jess will never let you live it down. I’d say sorry, but I’m really not.


If only she could have seen the bruises on your knees.


Four hours. She has four hours left of this excruciating long train ride. Carson thinks she should keep her eyes open for the rest of the trip. She tugs at her skirt, flattening the dark green fabric over her already covered knees. She doesn’t have bruises anymore. And if Carson thinks that she wouldn’t mind the ache in her knees again, she chooses to think about their next baseball season instead.




New York City is everything she has imagined, and nothing like it at once. Snow is falling in thick, wet pellets and her nose is cold. Thankfully, a taxi drops her off right in front of the narrow apartment building where Greta lives. The streets are bustling all around her, nobody but her seems to be affected by the nipping breeze. Carson knows what cold is, but this, this seeps deep inside her bones and she wasn’t ready.


Climbing the three flights of stairs with her baggage warms her up enough that she’s panting by the time she reaches the right door. There’s a little Christmas ornament hanging under the peephole; it’s a baseball ball with a Santa hat and it makes Carson smile. 


I knew I wanted you the moment you hit that first ball at tryouts. I swear, if you hadn’t looked so hot, I might’ve swung my bat at you right then and there for that shit eating grin. “I need that kind of confidence” such an asshole. I knew you were going to cause trouble for me right then. How could I resist these hungry eyes? 


I wonder how long it would’ve taken you to realize if I hadn’t kissed you. I know what you’re capable of, it was only a matter of time. I could’ve made it all your idea if I’d tried. But I simply could not resist any longer. That fire I saw in you that day, I knew I had to taste it.


Carson knocks at the door, and then tucks her cold hands in the pockets of her winter coat. Silence. She leans in to listen, and hears nothing on the other side. With a little more enthusiasm, Carson knocks again. The hallway is well lit, and she can’t see under the door if there’s light inside. Without thinking, she tries the doorknob.


Locked, of course.


I’ve always wondered how long you’d been plotting your little scheme when I walked in that night you became coach. Was it hard to focus on the book while you waited for me? How many times did you change position, I wonder? I hadn’t seen that smug look on you since tryouts, and I never wanted you to stop looking at me like that.


Did you know we didn’t even lock the door? You got so eager and pliable in my hands, I just didn’t have the heart to tell you then. It’s a good thing nuns like their walls thick. Your moans still linger on my lips, and I can still see your eyes going hazy. It’s the first thing I think about when I lay at night, wishing your mouth was my hand.


She doesn’t know how long she’s been asleep. All she knows is she’s woken up abruptly by a gasp she would recognize amongst millions. Greta is halfway up the last flight of stairs, staring at her extended legs in front of her, back against her door. Carson stumbles up, and flattens her skirt in a nervous habit. Greta leans against the wall, her chin tilted up slightly, one eyebrow cocked and teeth showing in a wicked smile. The red is darker, and it did not compare in her letter.


“I, uh, hi. Hi.” Carson coughs up, taking one step towards Greta, then one step back.

“Hi.” Greta slowly lowers her gaze towards Carson’s luggage and purses her lips.

“I got your letter.” Carson breathes it out in a whisper that makes Greta shiver.

“So you decided to come see me ?” She finally walks up the last few stairs, and stands a few feet away from Carson.


Carson feels her face burning, and she really wants to blame it on her coat she hasn’t taken off yet. Greta just puts the key in the door, and opens it up. She doesn’t move out of Carson’s way as she shuffles herself through. 


“You didn’t have an envelope?” Greta asks sheepishly once they’re both inside. 


Carson’s blush deepens and she looks at her feet. She’s still holding the letter in one hand and tries to move it away, but it’s too late. Greta sees it and a small laugh echoes in the small kitchen. 


“I’m glad you’re here, Carson.” 


Suddenly, Carson is surrounded by Greta. She has closed the distance between them, and to look at her, Carson is forced to take a step back, gasping at her sudden proximity. Her back hits the door with a thud that propels her back to their first kiss. Greta takes another step, and Carson can see her pulse hammering along her neck, and she grins. She’s not so shy suddenly. She looks Greta in the eyes and holds her gaze for what feels like an eternity.


“I just didn’t want to waste good paper,” she licks her lips, her throat dry and her voice hoarse, “when nothing I could write would be enough.”


Greta’s lips are ghosting over hers, and Carson is frozen in place. She feels Greta slowly place a hand next to her head, nudging her ear with her nose. Carson couldn’t do anything but tilt her head sideways, exposing her neck to that deep, dark, matte red mouth. Greta smiles and it makes her eyes roll to the back of her head. She leans even closer, and whispers in her ear.


“I’ve been waiting for you.”


Before Carson’s knees give out from under her, Greta places her other hand on her hip and presses her fully into the door. Carson thinks she might die; the ache in her heart and the burning in her lungs, she’s starving and Greta is smiling.


“Why are you still waiting now?” Carson manages to whisper, and she bites back a moan as she feels Greta’s fingers dig in her hip.


Greta’s mouth is slightly open as she looks at her. She hesitates between a scoff and a chuckle, but instead, she just runs her tongue over her canine, reveling in the pointed tip before dragging it slowly to the other one. Her bottom jaw is slowly going from left to right, trying to decide whether she wants to see where Carson would go with that new found arrogance, or if she’d rather wipe that smirk off her face for good.


“Say please.” She says it with a bite that takes Carson back.


She blinks a few times, and her smug grin falters as she searches Greta’s eyes. Her irises are dark and her pupils blown. She watches Carson fight the urge to immediately answer, and it stretches her lips into a wide smile. She’s won, right there, she knows she caught Carson by surprise, and she knows she did it well.


“P-pl,” she can’t quite bring herself to say it, she’s trying to remember how to breathe properly while Greta licks her lips.


Greta leans in, her ear next to Carson’s mouth, and she shivers when she feels her hot breath stumble from her parted lips. She waits, and with each second that passes by, Greta’s resolve wears out. She’s about to give in when finally, in a throaty whisper, Carson says it.


“Please, Greta.” 


Greta doesn’t waste another moment, and she captures Carson’s lips between hers. It lights a wild fire in her heart, and there’s a weight in the pit of her stomach that suddenly disappears. Carson gasps in her mouth and she sucks in her bottom lip, sucking it between her teeth and biting down gently. This time, Carson can’t, doesn’t want to, hold back the whimper that swells in the back of her throat. 


Greta swallows it with a satisfied hum in return. She presses herself harder against Carson, their bodies molding to each other like they haven’t spent the last nine weeks apart. Like the curve of Greta’s back has never left the tips of Carson’s fingers, like her hips didn’t press into her mattress, in the dead of night, when she couldn’t sleep anymore, hot beneath the collar of her shirt. Carson relishes in the sting of Greta’s teeth still clamping on her lip, and she steadies herself with her hands, letter falling quietly to the ground. Carson’s fingers sprawl over her hips. She tries not to grip too tight, but as soon as she’s touching Greta again, Carson can’t think.


I know I’ve said it before, but I’ve truly never met anyone like you, Carson. You have been the light in a time I didn’t know I was walking blindly. Your hands have found parts of me I thought I’d lost for good. And piece by piece, you’ve collected me, but I was never broken in your hands. You didn’t just open me up again, Carson, you reminded me that I can be wanted. Being wanted by you is like nothing I’ve felt before, and I could get drunk off your touch.


The hand on Carson’s hip trails up her side, burning through her clothes. She leans into the warm palm that covers her cheek, and Greta lets go of her lip with a wet noise, dragging her mouth lazily down her jawline. She doesn’t even pretend to kiss her, she’s just leaving wet lipstick stains down her neck, and every time her teeth grazes the sensitive skin, Carson grabs her a little tighter.


Her hands are grabbing and tugging and pulling at Greta’s dark teal dress, unsatisfied with the ruffling of the fabric. Carson cries out in her ear when Greta sinks her teeth in her neck, biting with the force she’s held back long enough. She draws circles over the perfectly spaced dashes with the tip of her tongue, feeling the texture with appetite. 


Greta pulls back and Carson looks like she just punched her in the face for a second. It makes Greta smile, as her thumb caresses the flushed skin of her cheek. Carson melts into her hand and her eyes flutter shut.


“Mmh, I think I still like this color best.” She winks while she says it.


Carson’s head dives down and she tries to escape the pinning stare she’s under. Greta slowly slides her hand from her cheek to her jaw, and brings her chin back up. Her thumb presses over her bottom lip, skin catching on skin, dragged across, and Carson breathes out shallowly. She manages to hold Greta’s gaze for a few seconds, and when Greta realizes how hard she’s trying not to tremble, she grins. She tilts her head to the side slightly, waiting for Carson to look back at her once more. Greta looks like her mind is racing with thoughts that aren’t supposed to be said out loud. She plays with the corner of her mouth, pressing her tongue into the slope of her upper lip, where it meets her bottom one.


“There’s so much I couldn’t say in my letter.” She watches her words seep in Carson’s mind and laughs breathlessly when she sees the shadow of worry in her furrowed brow.


Cornered under Greta’s body heat, she feels a bubbling impatience; she’s been on a train for eight hours, she’s ruined her underwear long ago, and Greta wants to play games? Carson resists with all her might from attempting to reverse their situation. Greta isn’t holding her jaw very firmly, but the mere thought of letting her fingers leave her skin makes Carson desperate. Without realizing, she lets her tongue loll out of her open mouth and she licks Greta’s thumb defiantly.


Greta’s eyebrow quirks, and her gaze flickers down to the new sensation before staring back into Carson’s own brown eyes. Instead of being shaken up like Carson was hoping, Greta moves her thumb to give her a better angle. Greta nibbles on her bottom lip with a confident smile that has Carson’s stomach do flips. 


“Keep going.” Greta says in that same hushed but urgent voice. “Words aren’t enough, right, Coach?”


Carson’s eyes roll back, but she keeps swirling her tongue around the pad of Greta’s thumb. She lets Greta press down on it, her hand gripping her chin tightly now. As she takes control, wetting her fingertip, Greta licks her own lips. She kisses Carson without taking away her hand, demanding, taking, until she’s so out of breath her head is spinning.


“Come with me.” Greta whispers between their hungry mouths.


Like an invisible string tugging at her, when Greta takes a step back, Carson takes a step forward. It makes Greta smirk as she turns around to walk towards the bedroom. Carson realizes it’s not her imagination; Greta has her hand wrapped around her wrist and she’s leading her with a firm grip.


The bedroom is bathed in cold blue streaks and incandescent greens of the still bustling street below them. New York doesn’t seem to sleep, and they can faintly hear the night life booming. It’s not snowing anymore, but the windows are still frosted over. Greta lets go of her hand once she’s guided Carson to the foot of the bed. It’s a single bed, mounted on a creaky metal frame that winces under her when Greta pushes her to sit down. Carson gasps and smiles playfully, but before she can reach for Greta and pull her down too, the redhead presses two fingers to the middle of her chest. She walks over Carson’s legs, and pushes a little harder, until Carson starts to fall back. 


She props herself up on her elbows to keep watching Greta, her jaw hanging loosely, and she tries to steady her breathing. Greta stands with a hand on her hip, her weight shifted to one side, and sucks her cheeks in. Carson tries to sit back up, impatient, but the tall redhead narrows her eyes in a silent ‘stay put’ command that Carson is more than happy to head. She shuffles herself a little more on the bed, and gets comfortable under Greta’s dark gaze. 


Carson thinks she might faint when Greta raises her hands to the very first button of her ankle length dress. She cocks an eyebrow, watching Carson realize what’s happening, and starts to undo her dress buttons one at a time. When her hands reach the front of her chest, Greta stops and delicately uses only one finger and thumb to gently pull back the fabric of her dress. She reveals the sheen of her satin bra underneath, it looks so soft, Carson just wants to reach out a hand, cup the perfect roundness of her breast, feel the warmth through the thin fabric. 


But she fists her hands in the undone comforter instead and keeps watching silently.


Greta notices the iron grip Carson has on her sheets and it’s almost enough to make her go faster. She can’t think too long of the strength she knows those hands carry, or the dry roughness of their calluses, the warmth they spread reaching up her thighs. Greta undoes a few more buttons with trembling hands, willing them to be still, to not let up. If Carson sees an ounce of the effect she has on her, Greta knows she’ll give her everything she wants.


And tonight, she wants to burn under Carson’s adoring gaze. She spent the last nine weeks on her back in that bed, gripping those same sheets, swallowing her moans so they wouldn’t echo the empty room. She has been imagining every possible idea for this exact moment, letting her mind go further than she’d ever allowed herself before. She took a risk writing those pages, and she’ll be damned if she’s going to ruin her own plan.

Carson is barely able to remind her heart to beat steadily, she’s not thinking about doing anything that could make Greta stop. She breathes through her mouth, swallowing sporadically, as an afterthought. Greta reaches her belt, and drags the back of her hands back up, spreading her dress wider, until it falls off her shoulders. She hooks the tip of her thumbs behind the small buckle of her belt and rolls one shoulder at a time, slowly, so slowly, to the tune of Carson’s breath catching.

She pulls on her belt, cinching her waist until her dress wrinkles, until her fingers get to the end. The belt falls limply against her belly, and goes undone under Carson’s bewildered gaze. She tugs sharply on both ends, a carnivorous smile hanging on her lips when the sudden gesture makes Carson jump. The belt lets out a soft whack as it untangles and Greta pulls it from around her waist. Carson doesn’t even hear it fall to the ground when Greta goes right to the next button of her dress.

The lower she goes, the looser the dress, and by the time she’s at her belly button, Greta’s shoulders are bare. She lets her arms fall on either side, and with that, the dark teal reveals pale skin in the warm light. It falls to Greta’s feet and she stays in place, letting Carson look at her, see her for the first time. 


Greta feels safe, she feels ablaze, and her cheeks are as red as her lips when she steps towards Carson. Her high waist satin underskirt rides up to her mid thigh when she places a knee at the edge of the bed. Carson tries to sit up the moment Greta leans in to fully kneel on the bed. She steadies herself on Carson’s shoulders, keeping her mouth at enough distance from the tingling skin of her chest. Greta crawls up with a knee on either side of Carson, until she’s straddling her lap. Then, Greta lets her hand fall off her shoulder while the other trails down to the middle of Carson’s chest. She walks her fingers to the first button of Carson’s shirt and stops. Carson is quick to reach for it and tries to unbutton herself, but Greta unceremoniously slaps her hands away. The sound resonates in the whispers of their shallow breaths.


Carson grapples the sheet again just as Greta starts to open her shirt. 


“Hmm, I remember this part.” Greta says suddenly, almost as if she’s talking to herself. “You remember too, don’t you?” She toys with the hem of Carson’s shirt collar. “Or did I not write that part in my letter? Mh, I’m not sure.” She sighs dramatically. “Let’s see…”


Greta taps her nail on her chin like she’s trying to remember. Her head snaps down, her dark brown eyes pinning Carson in place. Carson is not ready for Greta’s intentions. She delicately starts back on undoing her shirt, and doesn’t let up her gaze.


“Dear Carson,” The button slides through the barely wide enough hole. “I didn’t think I had missed New York this much, but I can’t tell you how excited I am to walk in Central Park again.” She slides a finger under the collar of Carson’s shirt. “I hope your move has been as smooth as possible, and that Jess and Lupe aren’t being too loud.” 


Carson smiles and rolls her eyes, ready to say something about the oblivious nature of these two. Greta’s nails are gently scratching the back of her neck, right where her thick hair starts. She shuts her mouth to stop the loud moan that appears out of nowhere and threatens to tumble out.

“I hope you think about me sometimes.” She leans down to whisper the words right above Carson’s lips.


Their kiss muffles Carson’s moan, and the hand behind her neck tugs at her hair. Greta’s tongue glides across Carson’s bottom lip, wetting it before she sucks on it. This time, Carson takes advantage of Greta’s distraction to run her hands up her rib cage. Her fingertips just barely reach the hem of her bra when Greta pulls back and fully sits right over Carson’s hips. She silently grabs her suspended wrists, never looking away, and pushes them up above her head. As she brings them up, Greta leans back down, tipping over and landing on her closed fists. Not once did Greta’s gaze falter.


“I can still taste you in my dreams,” Greta dips her chin down, breathing hot air into Carson’s ear. “And I wake up wishing it would be May again.” 


She presses a wet and soft kiss to her temple, then another at the end of her cheekbone, going lower until her arms are fully stretched above and her breasts are pressed against Carson’s belly. Her mouth has found the sharp collarbone, and she drags her teeth across, gently releasing her wrists.


“I’ve found this new shade of lipstick, I think it suits me better than my old one.” Her breath tickles Carson’s neck, and she shivers at the sloppy kisses Greta is now leaving down her half open shirt. “I bet it would look glorious staining your neck.” 


Carson’s hips buck with a force that nearly sends Greta off. She didn’t know for sure if Carson had been paying attention to her monologue. Now she knows. 


“Ooh.” She exhales sharply. “I guess I didn’t write that one. I was right though.” A finger traces blotches of red covering Carson’s neck. “Ah, yes, there it is. It reminds me of the flush of your cheeks.”


Carson thrusts once more, but this time it’s deliberate. She rolls her hips into Greta, who gasps. She puts more of her weight down, until Carson is just wiggling underneath her. Greta’s fingertips are sprawled on her belly, keeping herself upright, if not slightly arched back. She rolls her hips down once, then twice, until it gets Carson’s attention, and the smaller woman freezes. Greta finishes unbuttoning Carson’s shirt while reciting the next part of her letter. When she reaches the waistband of her skirt, Greta halts her fingers and looks up at Carson.


“Did you do it, Coach?” She loves the way Carson’s breath hitches at the nickname. “Answer me.”


Carson exhales a breathy “yes” that turns into a whimper when Greta drags her fingernail up her belly, sending goosebumps to all her limbs. She stops at the elastic of her bra, and switches to walking her finger to the hardened nipple poking through the fabric. Greta runs the pad of her thumb over it, and brings her other hand to do the same on the second. She sticks her tongue out slightly and bites it, slowly dragging it across her teeth. She recites the next part of her letter.


“... I like knowing you still blush thinking about me.” Carson finishes for her. 


It takes Greta by surprise and she cocks her head to the side, waiting for her to keep going. 


“All I can think about is that thing you did the day you became coach.” Her voice is barely a whisper, and she still hasn’t moved her hands from above her head, but she tilts her chin up in arrogance. “I know you remember, but I want you to hear my voice reading this.”


Greta grinds down without realizing, and she only stops when Carson whines for her to keep going. Carson is subtly trying to take control and Greta just can’t allow this. She tuts, shaking her head, before reaching in her hair. She takes out the pins keeping the red curls out of her eyes, and lets them fall around her face. Greta falls forward, catching herself and hovering inches above Carson. Wicked smile curling her red lips, she leans even closer to whisper in Carson’s ear.


“You’re such an asshole.” She sucks in Carson’s earlobe and bites down on it with a small growl.


Carson squeals at the sensation, Greta’s breath burning on her face. Her hands instinctively shoot up to grab at her waist, pulling her down onto her lap. For blissful seconds, Greta is sucking and biting her ear while Carson is grinding up into her. She turns her head to kiss her neck, feeling bold when she hears Greta gasp. Carson brings a hand up to her neck, gripping a handful of hair to hold her still as she licks the length of her neck, up to her jawline. 


“Yeah but you like it.” Carson hears herself say as nails dig in her scalp.


She gets a few kisses and maybe even one tentative bite in before Greta exhales shakily and shakes her head. She grabs Carson by the wrists once more, and this time, when she pins them above her head, she pushes down hard. It brings her chest right above Carson’s face. Carson struggles out of principle, but she’s exactly where she wants to be. Greta realizes miss collegiality has struck again and she scoffs, both impressed and definitely piqued. 


“You know what else I like?” Greta asks in a low voice.


She doesn’t give Carson time to think of anything before roughly pulling her half opened shirt out of her skirt. Carson gasps when buttons come flying off, and Greta looks so pleased with herself, she can’t even be upset. Even though it was one of her good shirts. Greta is bringing her shirt up and Carson is quick to try to sit up and help her get rid of it. But Greta pushes her back down unceremoniously and her eyes tell Carson that she should stop trying to help. So Carson stops, and lets Greta wrap her wrists in her shirt, and she suddenly feels the cold hard metal of her bed frame. 

“I like this.” She finally answers, once Carson’s hands are secured to the bars above her head.


Carson thinks she means having her tied up. She thinks this is as kinky as she’s ever been, she thinks she’s never not been in control during sex. She thinks that – Oh. Greta is dragging her nails like claws down her exposed ribs, and Carson is arching her back and twisting under the painfully delightful sensation. She feels her skin burning in red trails and she shivers, her moan stuck between a scream and a whimper. Greta hooks two fingers in the waistband of her skirt, and pulls it down below her belly button. She stops when the waistband of her underwear touches her knuckles. She lets go of the garment to draw lazy circles on her hip bones, dipping lower until her fingertips feel coarse curls. 


Carson isn’t thinking anymore. Greta leans down to kiss her, nudging her head to the side soon after so she can latch onto her neck. She leaves wet and stinging bites all the way down to her collarbone. Carson is so focused on the lips pressing sloppy kisses closer and closer to her chest that when a warm hand reaches in her underwear, she gasps in shock.


“And this.” Greta presses two fingers between her lips, finding Carson wet and sensitive. “I like this.”


Greta kisses her open mouth and sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, flicking her tongue over the swollen skin. She starts drawing long and calculated patterns that never quite reach where Carson needs her to most. Her nails are catching in her untrimmed hair, but Carson doesn’t mind the sharp stings when Greta is spreading her wetness all over. She should feel embarrassed by how turned on she is, but Carson doesn’t have it in her to feel anything but bliss. For a second, she forgets she’s tied up, and she tries to get her hands in Greta’s hair. Her wrists fall back on the metal bars with a thud that makes Greta’s breath tremble.


Greta keeps touching her with agonizingly slow movements, swallowing each of Carson’s moans with an appetite she’s been working up for weeks. Before she gets lost in the heat pooling between Carson’s legs and rips her clothes off, Greta brings her hand back out. Her hand is so warm, when she brings it to her lips, her breath sends cold air on her wet fingers and she shivers. Under Carson’s dazed and dark eyes, Greta lets her tongue fall out of her parted lips, slowly bringing her coated fingers to it. She opens her fingers in a small v and licks off a thick string of wetness stretching between them. Greta pushes her fingers in her mouth, gliding them on her tongue, until she has sucked them dry. 


She smiles with her teeth bared when Carson needs to look away, her entire neck flushing red. Greta grabs her chin with her other hand and makes her look at her again. Deliberately, slowly, teasingly, Greta reaches between her own legs, hiking her underskirt up to her belly, and pulls aside her underwear. She dips one finger in her cunt, spreading her tight curls, until she’s two knuckles deep. She holds Carson’s face steady, even when she tries to turn her head as her heart might give out at the sight. Greta pulls her hand out and her fingers are glistening in the dim light.


She brings her fingers to Carson’s panting mouth, squeezing her jaw a little tighter, just to feel her fingers entering. Greta slides her fingers over Carson’s tongue, letting her lick them clean with a smirk.


“This is how much I like it.” She comments, grinding down on Carson’s lap. 


This time, because her skirt is down and Greta’s underskirt has ridden high enough, Carson feels the wetness smear across her lower abdomen. Greta releases her jaw, but keeps her fingers in Carson’s mouth, and keeps grinding down, chasing her own pleasure for a moment. She slows down and comes to a halt, panting, to sneak her free hand between their bodies. The pad of her thumb presses right above Carson’s clit, and she starts rocking again. Her hand gives her a better angle on herself, while her movements set the pace. Carson feels her pleasure swelling and she tries her best not to quicken the pace, savoring the tension building in her abdomen.


“I have a surprise for you.” Greta suddenly says, slowing down once more to make sure Carson is listening. “But I’m not sure I should give it to you.”


Carson would relinquish any surprises if it meant she didn’t stop touching her, but she can’t form words. And not just because of Greta’s finger pressing down on her tongue. Greta pulls her hand away and Carson whines desperately. Her lap is suddenly cold as Greta slides off the bed. She opens her night table drawer, and Carson can’t see what she’s doing. She twists her head, trying to find what Greta could be doing that seems more important than what she was doing five seconds ago. Carson used to be a very patient woman.


Finally, Greta closes the drawer and stands up with a hand behind her back. Her hair is falling in disheveled curls all around her face, and her lips are swollen and smeared with red lipstick. She’s standing above Carson with a coy smile before kneeling at her side.


“Promise you’ll be good.” She says and starts to undo Carson’s binds with one hand. “And I’ll give it to you.”


Carson nods furiously, unable to think of anything but the way Greta said good . She’s heard Greta say that word before, but it was never to describe her, and it suddenly made Carson feel tingly all over; almost like a whiplash at the idea of being good for Greta . Greta lets her get her arms back down, but instead of giving whatever she’s hiding to Carson, she gets back up. She eyes Carson’s long brown skirt, a cunning smile stretches her lips when she sees the wet spot she left on it. 


“I want this off by the time I’m back.” 


Before Carson can protest, not that she wanted to, Greta disappears into the dark bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. She finds herself alone, a shiver running down her spine at the mysteriousness of it all. She realizes she has no idea how long Greta will be, and her words are ringing in her ears. Promise you’ll be good. She shimmies out of her skirt, her bare skin too hot for the cool air, but she resists the urge to hide herself. 


The bathroom door opens then and Carson stops breathing. Her mouth opens, jaw slack, as she takes in the sight before her. A halo of warm light around her tall silhouette, Greta is standing with one hand on her hip, her head cocked to the side. She has that wicked grin that makes Carson's knees go weak. It's a good thing she's already on the bed, and she’s not cold at all anymore. Greta isn’t wearing neither underskirt or bra she previously had on.


Greta's tongue peeks between her parted lips and she bites it teasingly. Carson can't quite wrap her mind around the sight, and a whimper escapes her lips. Greta is looking at her with an intensity Carson hasn't seen before, and she gulps down. As she finally lets her eyes wander over the delicate fabric of her lingerie, she gasps once more. It takes all her might to stop herself from running to Greta, but she can’t help sitting up to really look at her. Greta allows it for a moment, trailing a finger down between her breasts, down her belly covered in delicate lace pattern, to her lower abdomen.


"Lie back for me," Greta's voice burns through Carson's ears, and before she can think of it, she's moving back again, propping herself on the pillows behind her. "Open your legs."


The command catches her off guard, and she hesitates for a second, her eyes flicking up and down Greta's tall silhouette. Promise you’ll be good. She lets out a shaky breath as she watches her take two steps forward. Carson tentatively spreads her ankles apart, then her knees, until she's exposing herself to Greta. Carson knows she’s soaked through her underwear, but to show it off to Greta so openly, she whimpers under the weight of her hunger.


She's been fully naked in front of Greta before, she’s not uncomfortable, but this? This is like offering herself to the wolf. And Carson just wants to say thank you.


Greta isn’t just wearing lingerie, her waist is wrapped in a leather harness, and as she takes one more step towards the bed, she towers over Carson. She reaches down with one hand, cupping the base of a brand new pink dildo, running her hand along the length of the shaft a few times. She lets her eyes roam over Carson's belly, stroking her plastic cock slowly, and down to the sodden panties, then back up her panting chest. When she looks her in the eyes, Greta lowers her chin and watches her from under her dark lashes. She grins wider, baring her teeth, before she whispers;


“Good girl.”


Carson’s eyes roll to the back of her head and her hips jerk up uncontrollably, twisting and aching to be touched. Greta kneels on the bed and reaches for Carson’s hips. She hooks her fingers in the waistband of her underwear, and pulls them down swiftly. Carson is left with her cunt open and exposed, glistening wet and needy. She whimpers when Greta crawls back up between her legs. Without warning, Greta dips down, connecting her mouth with Carson’s pussy, and she sucks in her clit. Carson cries out loudly, her hands tangling in Greta’s hair before she can think better. Greta releases her clit with a loud, wet pop, using the flat of her tongue to lap her up in long, swift movements. She doesn’t want to stop; she wants Carson’s short nails to leave dents in her scalp; she wants to drink her up, to not waste one drop of the wetness dripping down her chin. Greta swirls her tongue, and presses her tongue, and flicks her tongue, all over Carson, feeling her trembling moans more than she hears them, her ears muffled by Carson’s thighs. 


When Greta resurfaces, she’s out of breath, and Carson can’t look at her for more than a second. She thinks she might have died had Greta not stopped, but she thinks she might still die if she doesn’t start again. Greta is leaning over her suddenly, and Carson opens her eyes to find her hovering a few inches away, smiling sheepishly. With one hand, Greta wipes her mouth and licks Carson off of her like a cat grooming itself. If she listens hard enough, Carson can almost hear her purring with satisfaction. 


“That was for doing what you’re told, Coach.” Greta remarks, sneaking a hand between them to grab her strap and softly presses it at Carson’s soaked entrance. “And this is for being my good little catcher.”


Greta eases herself in, watching Carson’s mouth open and form a perfect o, and she moans when her hips slot perfectly into hers. She holds herself still, panting, not only to let Carson’s body adjust to the girth of her plastic cock, but because Greta has been wanting this exact moment for so long, she’s afraid if she moves, she’ll wake up lonely, alone and desperately needy again. So she holds herself up on trembling arms, but when Carson bends her knees to open wider and wraps her arms around her waist, Greta whimpers in her neck. Carson is panting too, and she can’t quite think properly yet.


“Pl-” She gasps when Greta shifts slightly, pressing herself deeper inside. “Please, Greta.”


Greta obliges, thrusting with calculated movements, trying to keep control over herself even when all she feels are Carson’s hands gripping her back, and all she hears is Carson moaning inside her ear. It doesn’t last long, and Greta almost feels bad for picking up pace right away, but the sloppy, wet slaps of her hips ramming into Carson make her forget about patience. Carson is rocking in rhythm with her, moaning louder with every stroke that has Greta grinding down on her. 


“You take me so well, Shaw, what a good -,” Greta grunts, bottoming out and rolling her hips in place. “- girl you are for me.”


Carson finds Greta’s ass, and she grips each cheek with a strength that forces Greta to stay all the way inside her. Lost to her own pleasure, Carson is jerking up and down erratically, silently begging for Greta to keep talking. Greta grabs one of her breasts and fumbles with her bra for a second, before she scoops it out, and her mouth latches on the hardened nipple. Carson’s moan turns into a scream when she bites down on it. It’s harder than Greta has ever been, but the combined pain and pleasure are making Carson’s head spin. She’s not sure when was the last time she exhaled, but her breath is caught in her throat, something much more urgent is growing in her belly. Greta can feel Carson gripping her inside, she feels it when she slowly pulls out, just enough to rut back in. She keeps going, faster and faster, until the bed is crashing into the wall and the floor creaks, and Greta thinks they might break it.


But she doesn’t care, because Carson is suddenly coming undone beneath her, and Greta is drunk on power. 

She goes stiff under her, and Greta only slows down to match her cries of pleasure, releasing her nipple to favor her lips. Carson cries out her name and Greta doesn’t know how she went so long without hearing the raspy, hoarse voice plead in her ear to keep going. Greta keeps thrusting into Carson until her body relaxes, and she melts in her arms. Carson’s hands let go of their death grip on Greta’s ass, and she rubs her back instead, pulling her infinitely closer. They’re pressed together, breathing hard and hardly at once, a little stunned by their own reactions. 


When her arms start shaking from holding herself up, Greta gently pulls out, trying not to moan at the noise that comes out of Carson. Greta kisses down Carson’s belly, her nose pressing into her as she reaches moist hair. Carson shudders and covers her face with an arm while the other hand tangles in Greta’s hair once again. It’s softer this time around, the sense of urgency, the desperation has edged off enough that Carson can think. And it sends a rush of heat down her belly, burning under Greta’s mouth that’s still kissing lower. 


Her tongue peaks between her lips, almost asking permission, before Carson presses herself up into it. Greta smiles and flattens her tongue over Carson’s extra sensitive clit, going from side to side in large and deliberate motions. She revels in the hot, puffed skin all around her face, lapping the mess she made fucking Carson. Greta goes as slow as she can, even letting Carson grind at her own pace. Feeling her face get smeared with Carson’s wetness makes Greta moan. The sound reverberates on Carson, making her tingle all over.


She takes her time, unpressed, simply tasting Carson in ways she couldn’t when they still had to hide. Greta doesn’t have to hide, to be hasty, to be wary, here. She reaches up Carson’s sides, until her palms are pressing into her breasts, and she grabs them firmly. Carson arches her back off the bed under the heavy, languid touch. She’s never been loud in bed, and most of that was from a distinct lack of pleasantries, but even when she had tentatively slipped a hand in her pajamas and explored herself at night, Carson had barely made a peep.


Under Greta’s mouth, under her hands, though, Carson found herself making lewd noises she didn’t know she could even make. She slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle yet another loud moan, as Greta’s tongue draws smaller and smaller circles around her clit, flicking it every now and again with the tip of it. She’s not sure why, but Carson finds the strength to look down towards the foot of the bed. Her head immediately falls back on the pillows and she groans loudly. Greta is staring directly at her, her dark brown eyes following everything she does. When she catches Carson’s gaze for half a second, Greta chuckles breathlessly at the reaction. It makes Carson groan again, and Greta smiles but never lets up.


Greta lets her tongue waltz in slow, quick, quick, slow, knowing motions over Carson’s clit. She keeps a steady rhythm, feeling the tension build again, and Greta almost wants to stop. She doesn’t want this to end, and she knows if she keeps going, Carson will tip over the edge once more. Carson seems to realize that as well, and she tangles her fingers in Greta’s wild hair, pressing her shaking thighs harder around Greta’s head. Her moans are staggered, she keeps forgetting to breathe, her toes curling at the small of Greta’s back. Greta closes her eyes, not daring to slow down anymore, and she sucks in Carson’s clit, moving her jaw up and down while her tongue swirls around the sensitive bud. 


“Fuck, Greta!” Carson suddenly yells, and she folds over, hugging Greta’s head, her belly pushing against her forehead.


Greta is drunk, she must be, or maybe she’s high. High on Carson dripping down her neck, collecting between her breasts, as she cums in her mouth for seconds on end. The burn in her lungs is almost distracting, but the taste on her tongue makes her believe she could live without oxygen. Carson is red in the face, panting and ready to apologize when she releases Greta’s head and opens her legs again.


“I’m so –” Her eyes fall on Greta and she can’t get the rest of the words out. “Holy shit.”

“I believe you mean to say ‘thank you, Greta’” Greta kisses her inner thigh with a devilish smile.

“Thank you, Greta,” Carson parrots in a shuddering breath.

“Good girl.”


She could faint. Right there, Carson feels her vision go dark for a split second, before Greta’s light chuckle rips her back to reality. She blushes, as if her cheeks could be more red, but she smiles sheepishly back. Carson sits at the edge of the bed just as Greta stands up. When Carson looks up at her, Greta’s heart does a little flip and she smiles tenderly. It’s her turn to feel a little shy, and she takes a step back. Greta starts to undo the straps of the harness, looking away from the big, hungry brown eyes watching her. Carson’s hand reaches up to pull Greta by her hips and stops her. Greta bites her bottom lip when she feels Carson’s fingers dancing over hers.


“Let me do that,” Carson whispers with adoring eyes.


She places a hand on Carson’s shoulder for balance. Carson leans down, never taking her eyes off Greta, and kisses her hip bone. She shimmies the harness lower, pulling down the lacy underwear Greta is wearing with it. For every inch of newly exposed skin, Carson places a kiss that has Greta trembling. She gasps when the harness slides off her, and Carson follows it to the floor. She lets out a small “ooh” that betrays her arousal. On her knees, Carson trails her fingertips up behind Greta’s calves, up her thighs, and once more, Greta has to look away. She grips Carson’s shoulder tighter, and when she tilts her head back down, Greta cups her chin softly.


“You look so good on your knees.” It makes Carson blink a few times, but she doesn’t look away, and Greta inhales sharply.


The stark contrast of confidence when Carson knows she’s doing something that pleases her from when she lets herself be pleased is something Greta will never get tired of. Like a switch has been flipped, Carson’s eyes are full of a fire that warms her from within. Carson pulls her in by her ass, and her mouth collides with thick curls. She kisses Greta from one hip to the other, her lips dipping low but never low enough. She nuzzles her face in the coarse hairs that cover Greta’s skin and whimpers softly. Carson feels her head spinning when Greta slowly brings a leg up and props up her foot on the bed. She shudders in anticipation, her thumb pressing on Carson’s bottom lip, demanding entrance. 


Carson’s jaw drops and she sucks in Greta’s finger wetly. She stares at Greta as she leans in, her chin tickled by the hair, letting her guide her mouth to exactly where she craves it. Carson releases her thumb when her bottom lip touches hot, drenched skin. She opens wider, covering Greta’s cunt with her tongue, and presses down until her nose is scrunched up. She’s looking at Greta from under her lashes, her eyes and forehead the only visible part of her head. Greta’s leg shakes, but she remains upright. Carson starts moving her tongue from side to side, feeling for Greta’s clit. The tip of her tongue dips low enough that when she licks up, she can drink Greta’s arousal, and it makes her moan. 


The hand cupping her chin travels to the back of her head, but Greta doesn’t push. She caresses her temple, pushing wild strands of hair out of her face. Carson closes her eyes; she wants to feel every inch of Greta all over her. She sucks on Greta’s clit softly, swirling her tongue around it, sucking just a little harder with each stroke. She’s rewarded with Greta’s breath shuddering out of her parted lips and her hand tightening in her hair. Carson does it again; she feels her clit swell up between her lips. 


Carson would do anything to hear Greta’s sighing moans. She keeps circling and sucking and lapping and bobbing her head, opening her mouth as much as she can to swallow all of Greta. Her nose is rubbing just beneath her clit as her tongue dips inside of Greta. She darts in and out, pushing as deep in as she can. Greta leans into her and Carson shuffles in place to allow Greta to press her head into the edge of the bed. Carson lets her ride her tongue, rolling her hips down on it, growing desperate to feel her inside. She brings a hand from her ass to her entrance, and slides two fingers in slowly.


“God, yes, oh, my God.” Greta leans forward, vacillating on one leg and trying to stop herself from humping Carson’s face.


Carson chooses this moment to release her cunt with a loud pop, and pulls back to look at her with that shit-eating grin Greta loves so much.


“You can just call me Shaw,” Greta knows it’s coming before it’s out of Carson’s mouth and she groans loudly. 


Carson smiles wider, but before Greta can even roll her eyes, she slips her fingers back inside, deep and roughly. Greta folds in half, her knee buckling under her, and Carson curls her fingers, pulling them out slightly and pushing them back in. She receives Greta tumbling down, her mouth latching onto her clit, and her head falls back on the bed too. With her free hand, Carson draws her closer, hooking her arm behind her knee. Greta has no choice but to kneel at the foot of the bed, mounting Carson’s head. Carson leans back, her thighs stretch and her back arch in a delightfully straining pose. She presses Greta harder on her mouth, nails digging in a plump ass cheek as she fucks her faster and harder. 


It’s not long before Greta loses herself in the feeling and she forgets to be gentle. She looks down at the unruly brown hair sprawled under her belly, panting shallowly. The unholy sounds cascading out of her mouth echo down to Carson, who’s moaning every time Greta grinds down on her tongue. Carson doesn’t let up, but her hand leaves Greta’s ass to reach down beside her. Greta doesn’t even notice until Carson takes her fingers out. She’s about to protest when she feels the tip of something cold and hard press into her. As realization hits her, Carson slides the pink dildo all the way inside her, and starts thrusting at the same rhythm her fingers were going.


Greta cries out louder than she’s ever allowed herself to, unraveling from Carson’s agile tongue. She bucks her hips wildly, reaching down to hold her head in place, fingers sprawled at the base of Carson’s neck. She rides her orgasm on Carson’s tongue until she trembles at the smallest flick of it. Carson takes the dildo out, and Greta lets out a small whine she didn’t intend to. Carson is smirking when Greta rolls off her to lie on her side, and she props her elbow on the bed. She rests her cheek in her hand, head tilted to the side, and draws shapeless patterns on Greta’s bare thigh.


“You’re so proud of yourself, aren’t you?” Greta says it with a touch of pride herself, and Carson simply nods, wiping her glistening mouth and it’s so vulgar, Greta shivers. “I liked the surprise.”


She nods to the dildo in Carson’s lap. Carson smiles shyly, and shrugs. Greta almost believes she’s being nonchalant about this, but her swollen lips and her dazed look betray her. Greta nudges her knee with her foot, and Carson looks up at her. She follows Greta’s pointed look back to the harness still on the floor, and Carson blushes furiously once more.


“Why don’t you put it on?” Greta’s not really asking, and Carson knows it.


She grabs it and gets up from the hard floor with a small wince. Maybe she’ll have bruises again. Somehow, Carson doesn’t struggle too much to put it on, but when she goes to grab the dildo and attach it, Greta beats her to it. She looks Carson in the eyes before licking the length of the pink shaft. She sucks the tip in her mouth, her cheeks hollow, and slides it over her tongue back and forth a few times. Carson reminds herself to breathe before she passes out at the sight of Greta’s mouth so round and perfect, doing such filthy things. Greta tugs at the harness to pull Carson in, and secures the still glistening wet dildo to it. 


Carson tucks a strand of dark red hair behind Greta’s ear, caressing her cheek at the same time. Greta looks up at her with a loving look in her eyes, it makes Carson melt. Greta reaches for her hand, and pulls her closer until Carson’s knees hit the bed. Greta has twisted her waist to reach behind her, one leg folded to keep herself from flipping on her back fully. She gently places Carson’s hand on her thigh, leaning back down. She rests her chin on her shoulder, looking back at the short woman, and her eyes flicker down briefly. 


“Make me yours, Carson.” She whispers, arching her back until she feels the tip of the dildo.


Carson swallows audibly, her throat dry and her eyes intensely focused on Greta. She wants to sear this image into her brain; she’s pretty sure even if she wanted to, she couldn’t forget the way Greta’s eyes rolled to the back of her head when Carson guides herself inside her. She watches with a slack jaw when Greta’s head falls on the mattress, and she slowly rolls her hips. When she bottoms out, Carson looks down at their bodies, pressed together, and she grunts loudly. She slowly starts thrusting, mesmerized by the sounds Greta makes every time she pushes back in, and the little whines when Carson pulls out. 


Greta is still very sensitive from her first orgasm, and feeling the pink cock slide so easily inside her nonetheless makes her head spin. It’s not the first time Greta gets fucked, it’s not even the first time by a woman, but everything feels like a new beginning with Carson. She feels her gaze burn a love letter on her back, each stroke rocks her deeper into the mattress, further away from reality. She forgets the world exists when Carson touches her, and if she was scared of that at first, she wishes it could always be like this. Greta relinquishes control when Carson drapes herself over her back, when she kisses her shoulder blades and down her spine; she wants to give, give, give it all to Carson. When Carson grunts and tentatively drags her teeth across her shoulder, Greta doesn’t feel like she’s taking. 


Carson doesn’t take, she doesn’t borrow, she doesn’t rob; Carson asks, and says please, and thank you, and Carson gives before Greta wishes. She’s never felt this way, and the high is scary, but as her breath trembles and she moans, she finds herself wanting, needing , more. She needs Carson to cover her body with kisses, she needs her to put all her weight on Greta, to squeeze her until her hips bruise. Greta lets her head roll, her whole body pulsing with each thrust. She closes her eyes as Carson picks up speed, and she reaches a hand back, trying to pull Carson closer. Fingers wrap around her wrist and her arm is gently twisted onto her back. Carson pins her hand above her tailbone, and confidently pulls her other hand up.


Greta’s weight shifts without the support of her arms, and her cheek presses into the still humid bed sheets. She moans loudly when she realizes Carson is pushing her down hard in the dampness on purpose, rubbing her face in the spot where she made a mess earlier. With each stroke of her hips, Greta tiptoes closer and closer. She feels the powerful grip of Carson’s hand over her wrists but she doesn’t feel trapped. Greta gasps when Carson bends down over her again and starts pounding into her. Carson’s hot and damp breath makes Greta’s hair stick to her neck, and looking back over her shoulder, she can see beads of sweat forming at the crease of her brow. Greta whimpers softly at the mix of focus and desire contorting Carson’s face.

“Say it again.” Greta isn’t sure she heard right, but Carson is suddenly peering into her soul and she repeats it: “Say it again, Greta.”

“Make me yours, Carson.” The words come out in broken syllables, between a cry and a moan.


And oh, how Carson obliges. She ruts almost erratically, releasing Greta’s wrists to instead grab her hips. Carson rocks her back into her, pulling and pushing like waves at high tide. Or a French hooker. Her fingers are bruising, tightening into claws as Greta feels her pleasure build. She abandons herself to the panting over her shoulder, to the grunting in her ear, to the woman who celebrates her in every way she can.


Greta opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. She can feel the sheet under her face grow wet again, and she’s not sure if she’s tearing up, or it’s sweat, or if she’s just drooling. Greta doesn’t drool; she’s composed, even when she cries out Carson’s name, she’s not unraveling. She’s under control when she fists the fabric under her and the fitted sheet unhooks from the top corners. She’s not losing herself in feeling so full of Carson, clenching around the thick plastic shaft, she’s grasping onto reality when Carson whimpers and slows down to match the rhythm of her Greta’s backward thrusts.


She’s still holding on until Carson kisses her shoulder with a trembling breath, and Greta can feel her smile. Greta can take it, she can take the rough, the demanding, the pain even, but the delicate tenderness with which Carson looks at her, and touches her, right after ravishing Greta makes her slip. Carson gently pulls out, and wiggles the harness off to climb into bed with Greta. The smaller woman cradles Greta in her arms, wiping sweat from her forehead with a soft gaze. Greta bats her lashes at Carson, her strength slowly coming back to her. 


She snuggles in closer to Carson, who straightens herself up to be more accommodating to Greta’s frame. Greta tangles her fingers in Carson’s, bringing them to her face and nuzzling into their combined hands. 


“Was that good?” Carson whispers on top of her head.


If Greta didn’t know better, she’d think she was fishing for compliments. But Carson sounds genuinely concerned, and Greta kisses the back of her hand with a content hum. She props herself up on her elbow to look at Carson. Carson is a little blurry, so close to her face, and Greta presses her forehead on hers.


“You did so good, I loved everything.” Greta kisses her between each word, and it makes Carson giggle.

“I’m a fast learner.”


Greta rubs their noses together before rolling her eyes. No matter how unsure Carson can be of herself, there’s always going to be this underlying confidence that makes Greta swoon. And Greta loves to see it. Carson feels her travel suddenly fall on her, making her eyes droopy, and Greta notices. She turns around to pick up the blanket that had long ago fallen off, and covers them both. 


Carson lowers herself until her head rests on a pillow, and she feels something crinkle underneath. She slides a hand under and fishes out a folded up newspaper clipping. It’s a grainy picture of the Peaches on one side, and when Carson looks at Greta, ready to ask what that is, the redhead turns the picture and hands it back to her. Carson is looking at the two of them, embracing publicly, in grey tones, and half of Ana’s face. She smiles.


“I couldn’t sleep without you close to me anymore.” Greta fiddles with the corner of her pillow case.

“I kept your letter under my pillow.” Carson admits, turning on her side to face Greta.

“What happens tomorrow, Carson?” Greta’s voice is barely a whisper, but her words ring loud in Carson’s ears.

“I don’t know.” 


They stay quiet for a long moment, looking at each other in the darkness. Carson doesn’t need to see Greta’s face to know where her eyebrow dips, where the crease of her smile lays, and she extends a hand to caress her cheek. It’s wet. Greta sniffles, caught, and Carson shuffles closer to press their forehead together. There, in the space between their lips, just enough for whispers to be promises, Carson says;


“Ask me to stay. Once more. Ask me to stay.”


Greta wants to shake her head, she wants to say no, but there are tears in Carson’s eyes, and the trembling breath she’s holding comes out in one soft word.


“Stay.” Greta says, because this time, it will be different. 


This time, when Carson kisses her, it’s not goodbye.


“I will.”