Work Text:
Marcille is suddenly awoken from her dream.
In it, she’d been wading in the ocean shore at dusk. The sky overhead was starlit and prismatic, mirroring the glowing algae in the shallow water. Huge crabs, bigger than her head, darted in and out of the tides, and — in the distance, down the end of the beach — she could see someone.
She’s disturbed from her dream by the sound of Falin gasping. Her eyes blink open blearily as she mutters, voice thick with sleep, “What’s wrong…?”
Falin doesn’t respond, so Marcille rolls over.
On the other side of the pillow, Falin is still asleep. Her lips are parted, just barely, and Marcille lets herself pause to admire her fondly before she gently shakes her arm. Falin blinks awake and starts, looking disoriented — but, when her soft amber eyes focus on Marcille, she flushes.
“Good morning,” Marcille smiles. Falin’s shoulders hunch, and she laughs bashfully. “Morning.”
“Did you have a nice dream?”
Falin hums quietly. “...Yeah.”
Marcille closes the gap between them, and pecks at her mouth, once, before kissing her fully. Her hand skims across the tops of Falin’s thighs until she finds what she’s looking for — her fingertips stroke gently between her legs, and come back soaked.
“Marcy…”
“ Shh,” Marcille hushes, “Let me take care of you,” and she kisses at Falin’s jaw before shimmying down the bed and rucking Falin’s nightshirt up further. Falin doesn’t argue; she watches, before letting her eyes flutter closed again. Her hand cards softly through Marcille’s pale hair as she settles.
One thing about Falin that Marcille adores: Falin’s body is warm. Almost hot, feverish. It concerned Marcille at first, when this all was new to both of them, and there was a terrifying possibility that everything would fall apart. But, everything is fine, and Falin is warm. She’s warm when Marcille licks a slow, broad stroke over the folds of her cunt. Warmer still, when she laps her tongue softly at her entrance, feeling her twitch ever so slightly and hearing her sigh above her. Falin is warm, and so, so good, laying there, drowsily letting Marcille use her mouth on her. She grips Marcille’s hair just a bit tighter, grinding softly against her lips as she works her way up again, nosing at Falin’s clit, licking at the head and the underside, and then wrapping her lips around.
…And here’s another thing, maybe another result of chimerism — Falin’s clit is substantial, lovely and flushed red. It makes it all the easier for Marcille to slide it lazily into her mouth and suck gently.
“Marcille…” Falin murmurs, with no particular purpose. Her fingers clench gently around soft, blonde hair, and Marcille hums.
Falin tosses her head to the side lazily. Marcille watches her closed eyes flutter. Red is blooming on her ruddy cheeks, creeping down her neck — Marcille knows all too well that it will reach under the thin fabric of her nightshirt. Armed with the knowledge, she snakes a hand slowly up Falin’s torso until her hand cups one of her breasts; squeezes, just once, and then lets her fingertips rub over the pebbled nipple as she pleasures Falin’s clit, nose burying in the soft white down above her pussy — oh, that’s another peculiar, lovely little thing about her that Marcille can’t get enough of. Sometimes they even bristle when she’s surprised, or happy. Like when Marcille slips the middle finger of her other hand into Falin’s cunt. She clenches so beautifully around her, squirming and grinding down onto the single digit. Her voice is thick with torpor when she moans again. Louder still, when Marcille slips her index finger in, crooking them in time as she sucks at her clit. The sound is obscene; Marcille’s mouth and chin are both drenched. She doesn’t care.
Falin is close — Marcille can tell by how her sleepy breaths grow more laboured, until she’s almost panting. One of her favourite sounds from her, by far. So, Marcille doubles down; sucking happily at Falin’s clit as she pinches and squeezes at her breasts with one hand and crooks two fingers inside her in time. Marcille knows just where they go, where to rub against Falin’s slick walls until she feels her core drawing taut and her breath hitching — there , right there. She rubs the spot almost frantically as she sucks on her clit, and suddenly Falin is clenching and fluttering around her fingers with a feeble, sleepy little moan as she comes.
Marcille keeps pumping her two fingers lazily, flicking her tongue at Falin’s swollen clit as she settles; she only stops when Falin jerks slightly at her touch. At that, Marcille peels off, and wipes at her mouth demurely with the handkerchief on her bedside before returning to Falin’s side. Her arm hugs her waist as they press together; she can feel Falin’s heart drumming lazily in her chest. Her eyelids are heavy, soft brown eyelashes obscuring her irises, face flushed — she’s always so sweet after Marcille has finished with her, and even more so when she’s all drowsy. She burrows happily into Marcille’s neck.
“Shouldn’t we get up soon?” Marcille ventures absently, and Falin huffs something noncommittal in response, breath hot against her skin.
“Yeah, I thought so.”