Fan-fiction · Fire Emblem · Free Smut! · Slow Burns

A Touch of Matcha Upon Her Skin

Friday night closings are the WORST, huh Olivia?

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Cynthia and Severa glanced between each other, then down to the slowly expanding puddle of drool pooling at the base of their final, sleeping customer’s mouth.

“Come on, Sev, please?”

“No way in hell, I did it last time. Look, can you just poke her with a stirrer or something? It’s Friday, I’ve got places to be.”

Cynthia set her jaw. “You sure do. Just think: every minute you waste here is another frame some desperate housewife gets to appreciate Kjelle’s bowling form.”

Severa groaned. “Fine, let’s just shoot for it, okay?”

The customer’s hands, deep in their overlong hoodie sleeves shot up, tucking her hood tighter around her head with a sonorous moan of displeasure.

“Oh, just let her sleep for a while.” Olivia’s pleasant, meek voice was barely audible beneath the spray of the faucet and the clink of glasses from behind the counter. “You girls go on. I’m closing tonight anyway, I’ll get her out before I leave.”

Severa cocked her head. “You sure about that, boss? Last time I did it, she had me by the collar and was babbling in my ear about how ‘Biology is a curse’ for like forty-five minutes.”

Nevertheless, the door chimed with her co-workers’ hasty exit before Olivia could finish saying. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

She set about cleaning up around the shop, collecting left over cups and saucers, tying up the garbage, and very conscientiously only stealing a mere handful of glances at the odd customer somehow still fast asleep in her periphery. Loose strands of the woman’s hair, pale enough to be platinum, splayed out from beneath the fringe of her drawn-up hood, shivering like searching tendrils with her intermittent twitching. Olivia noticed, with concern, how the stranger’s body seemed to hunch defensively in her hoodie.

Ahem, she brought herself back to her senses with a soft cough, you’re just keeping an eye on her so she’s safe until she wakes up.

Yes… safe… from the coffee shop… demons…

Several minutes, and several stacks of dirty dishes, later, the stranger lifted her head just an inch or two off the table, rubbing at her bleary eyes with her sleeve. “Nnngh…”

“You’re finally awake, huh?


A disproportionate flinch of panic was the response to Olivia’s soft question. The stranger sat bolt upright, her green eyes growing wide. But she seemed to relax when she found herself in the mostly empty shop.

Olivia fidgeted with the soapy dish in her hands, glancing down, then back up with a press-on smile. “I’m Olivia, by the way.”

“Robin.” Still shaking away the fetters of sleep, she lowered her hood, running hands through her hair, done up in short, simple twintails. “What time is it?”

“Just after eight. You were out like a light. The other girls were going to wake you, but since this isn’t the first time it’s happened I thought maybe…” Olivia gnawed tenderly at her lip. “Would it be too forward of me to ask… ah…”

Robin rubbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “That obvious, huh?”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry, it’s just you’re here late so often, I thought it might be… that you didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Robin offered a rueful smile. “It’s not so much that I don’t have anywhere to go, as I don’t have much of a reason to go back there.”

“Well,” Olivia said. “I’ve got a bit more cleaning to do before I close up. How about an espresso? On the house.”

The pungent, warming smell of fresh grounds bloomed in the small shop. Robin stayed courteously quiet, offering a brief thanks when Olivia brought the coffee over, sipped at the bitter drink without adding any sugar, and made a show of turning a page or two in her textbook—though her heavy-lidded eyes made it clear this was a feigned interest. Olivia sat on the other side of the table, twin furrows running through brows and nose as she sorted through the day’s receipts.

They sat for a while, together in silence, until curiosity overwhelmed Olivia—and besides, she couldn’t stand the thought of looking at another blank tip field. She glanced over the book Robin was paying nominal attention to, when she wasn’t stealing glances right back at Olivia. “MCATs, huh? So you want to be a doctor then? Or a nurse?”

“Not really.”

Olivia inclined a plucked eyebrow. “Pre-med is a lot of work for a ‘not really’”

“Yeah but I guess… I just feel like if I study enough, it’ll come to me.” Robin tilted her head and scratched at her earlobe, regarding Olivia with new curiosity. “What about you? Do you have any dreams?”

“Only if you promise not to laugh at them.”

“Who’d do a thing like that?”

Olivia steeled herself with an exaggerated breath. “I’m saving up to build a theater.”

Robin snorted. “All by yourself, you mean?” And as Olivia crossed her arms and puffed her cheeks, looking pointedly away, she quickly raised her hands in a subtle, apologetic gesture. “Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” With a purse of her lips, Olivia allowed her cheeks to deflate—though her eyes remained narrowed in distrust as Robin papered over her faux pas. “I was just envious, you know? It must be nice, to have a dream.”

Olivia’s expression softened. She looked as if she was getting ready to say something, when Robin curtailed her with a dip of her head, a rifle of fingers through her hair, and a blink of her limpid eyes. “One thing, though…” Robin offered a suave hint of a smile, taking one of Olivia’s hands in hers, and tracing her fingertips over Olivia’s long, slender fingers. “Hands like these would be wasted on carpentry.”

A delicate shiver ran down Olivia’s spine at Robin’s slow touch. She froze.

“I’m sorry.” Robin quickly withdrew. “I don’t know what I was—”

But before she could escape, Olivia had her by the wrist, blurting out. “Don’t go, I liked it!”

That smooth-yet-somehow-shy smile plastered itself right back across Robin’s lips. “I did too.”

Robin learned a lot of things that night. The definition of ‘side work,’ for example, or what kinds of customers left the best tips, or the time there was a peculiar smell in the stock room that lingered for a day and a half, all distributed via the medium of Olivia’s grousing. Of course, from Robin’s perspective, she’d listen to just about anything this woman had to say. But there was something else she was far more interested in.

Olivia moistened her lips. “I can’t really do it well in this skirt…”

“C’mon.” Robin’s eyebrows lowered and her smile quirked up. Her hands thumped atop the counter as she leaned forward, poised like a mountain cat ready to pounce. “You’re just playing it up.”

“I’m not! Dancing is a lot more complicated than just… just flouncing about doing whatever you want. I’m in ballet! It’s… it’s…”


“Yes! That’s what I said!”

“Still…” Robin dipped her head. Her predatory gaze dissolved into the ether. “I’d really like to see it…”

Olivia squinted back at her. Who could say whether those puppy-dog eyes were real or feigned?

Either way, it worked.

A barista-shaped silhouette of dust floated in the air where Olivia stood just a nano-second before, so quickly did the she dash to the door to shut the blinds and double… wait, no triple check the lock.

She was halfway back to Robin before she spun on her heel to jiggle the door knob a fourth time.

“J-just in case,” she offered, sheepishly, nudging each shoe off in turn and sweeping her socked feet gently across the hardwood in front of her. “Just to warn you, there’s a lot of things I can’t do without my toe shoes, and besides there’s not a lot of space in here.”

“Someone’s stalling.”

“I’m not stalling!” Olivia stomped a socked foot and balled her fists at her side. “You’re just… the first… non-ballet person I’ve done some of this stuff in front of.”

“So I’m seeing your debut show.”

“Shut up,” Olivia replied, tilting her head away and letting the fall of her bright coral hair hide her smile.

Robin restrained her urge to tease as Olivia sandbagged getting through her stretches. Or maybe she was too distracted by even the simple and athletic movements of the warm-up routine. The smooth, supple motion of her legs as she squatted in grande plié, the strength in her ankles when she balanced against the wall, tucked the bridge of her left foot against her right calf, and lifted onto the ball of her right foot.

Pausing mid-relevé, Olivia could swear she felt the burn of Robin’s gaze tickling her ears. She glanced over her shoulder. “What? What are you looking at?”

“You,” Robin said.

“Oh, hush,” Olivia said, looking away. A petalburst of nervousness opened in her stomach. Concentrating on the cracks and seams in the wall before her, she quietly murmured. “I haven’t shown you anything yet.”

She directed Robin to clear the tables to the side, and then she took the floor.

Even encumbered by her light blouse and flouncy, knee-light skirt, Olivia moved with easy grace and astounding flexibility, lifting her leg to its apex and holding, tiptoeing across the floor with arms raised. Flexile arabesques, short pliés, and pirouettes. When she lifted her left leg high above her head, holding it vertical against her chest in an almost show of unimaginable elasticity, with soft huffs of breath and the lightest sheen of sweat on her skin, Robin was so entranced that she couldn’t help but quietly applaud.

Olivia’s leg dropped. Her lips wrinkled with returned suspicion and her hands clasped behind her back. “You’re not joking, right?” she asked. “You want to see this? You’re interested?”

“What?” Robin asked, disarmingly candid. “You’re amazing.”

Olivia resumed her routine, drawing her arms before her, elbows up, and moving into a rinbu revolution. It was a questionable choice given her attire, but swelling in her was the sudden and unfamiliar urge of a show-off, babbling as she did it to quell the tickle of nerves in her gut. “This isn’t just a… I don’t know, a practical joke?”

“Oh yeah. I’ve been coming here for a week just to see you and when I finally get the chance to talk to you and—surprise!—turns out it was all a ruse just to make fun of the most beautiful girl on campus.”

“You’ve…” Olivia hesitated in mid pas de bourré, her arms frozen at swam-like angles. “Just to…” Her arms froze. “…me?”

Robin coughed, the red rising in her face like a cartoon teapot. Olivia was staring at her in that immobile posture; lips slack, barely blinking. “N-not in a weird way o-of course,” she quickly added, toying self-consciously with the ends of her hair.

At once, Olivia snapped into motion. “No, I-” A bit of the dramatic still spooled within her, and she clasped her hands in front of her, stepping forward as if in entreaty, an emphatic shake of her head sending a lock of hair loose from its hairclip. “I wasn’t thinking that at all. I was thinking… that it… was… was…”


“Sweet!” Olivia finished with a flourish, guileless and red as a newborn piglet as she reached out to clasp both her hands around one of Robin’s.

Robin’s fingers touched that wisp of hair away from Olivia’s unblinking eyes. She smiled. “Then… would it be weird to say that I’ve been thinking about kissing you all night?”

Olivia raised their twined hands together, applying soft kisses along the clenching of Robin’s knuckles. “Only… because that means I’m a few hours behind.”

Their lips met, and then their bodies. They drowned against each other in open, earnest affection, hot breath battling hot breath. Robin’s body quivered as they touched. Her heart surged. They tented fingers and moaned against each other’s lips. Robin had to stand on her toes just to lean into it, but that was a small price to pay.

Olivia sallied forth with fervent aggression, patterning Robin’s cheek, jaw, and earlobe with eager kisses. Slender fingers found Robin’s hair, twisted her at the neck, and dove in. Her teeth sank into Robin’s vulnerable neck. At the lustful attack, Robin cried out, stumbling backwards, tripping over an inconvenient samovar and careening, with arms pinwheeling, thankfully not to the floor but into a stacked-high, aesthetically-pleasing sandbar of coffee sacks in a decorative hutch that occupied one corner of the shop.

A *whumpf!* announced the impact. Robin was obscured by a cloud of dust and burlap fibers. A floral smell burst into the air, and Robin flailed her arms in front of her. “Hey,” she stammered, unable to decide whether to giggle or sneeze. “Watch how you use those things!”

“Well I see one part of you doesn’t seem to mind,” Olivia noted, with arched eyebrow and a downward indication of her chin towards the small rise in Robin’s khakis.

Robin leaned back on her hands and sprawled her legs out in front of her. “She has exquisite taste.”

The pose painted a slightly less cool picture than she clearly thought she did, with the coffee still settling in her hair.

Olivia didn’t mind. Drunk on the salty aftertaste of Robin’s skin, still lingering on her tongue, she closed the distance between them with pointed toes and a flick of her hips, settling into Robins lap light as a cloud, taking her face in her hands, and whispering, so close their lips might touch. “That makes two of you.”

To this, Robin moaned, a sound echoed by a yip of surprise on Olivia’s part, when she realized why Robin—

“Ah…” she said, her long eyelashes fluttering with gentle perplexity, her body naturally meeting the stroking rhythm of Robin’s body up against hers.

Words failed Robin, voice emerging in a harsh squeak. An ill fit for the gentle trace of her finger tips along Olivia’s wrist. Her chin was shaking with worry.

“It’s okay…” Olivia whispered, lowering her head as if delivering a juicy secret. She smiled as radiant as the sun. “I mean, if you say it is.”

“It is! You cannot believe how okay it is. Words cannot explain how okay it is.”

Robin’s hands moved in plaintive gropes, seeking everything and nothing—nothing in particular, anything would do, any part of this woman.

Their bodies met each other in perpetual stroke, Robin’s hands scrabbling to take hold of Olivia’s shoulder blades and keep her close. The grind of their hips sent shivers through Robin’s frame, weighted down by Olivia’s perch atop her. And the third time their kiss broke with the quivering of Robin’s lips, Olivia had had quite enough.

“Dammit.” She ground her lower lip between her teeth. When that made her yelp, she retreated to a less aggressive posture, replacing it with a finger. What that wasn’t enough to sublimate the tension building inside her, she almost screamed. “I finally meet a girl I like and I don’t bring the fricking…” Her eyelashes fluttered with a rapid blink.

“The—?” Robin asked.

Olivia turned her head away with a pompous lift of her nose. “Oh, don’t make me say it.” But Robin’s pressing silence quickly got the better of her. “The condoms!” A serpentine roll of Olivia’s hips, their shared enjoyment of the friction of their clothing between them, encouraged Robin’s hips into cooperative motion. “Fricking… Do you know how long it’s been since someone’s fucked me?”

“Well, I’ve only been coming here a week, so—”

“Three months! Three months girls come in and out of here, have me make their cappuccinos and their cafés au lait, almost never frickin tip, since half of them just scrawl their number over the tip line, like yeah okay, that’s how you do it. And the ones that do tip, not a single one of them has had the balls to so much as ask me out, let alone fuck me raw in the stock room. I mean I know it’s a cliché but come on.” She leaned forward, cheeks dimpled with obvious intent, plucked eyebrows lowering over eyes flashing hungry and red. “You’d fuck me, right?”

“O-of course! I—” Robin hissed, suddenly terribly red and finding her momentum turned against her, compressing her chin into her neck as if she were evading a scolding. Wasn’t that why they were there? She thought. Wasn’t that why they were scrawling their bodies against one another like drunk rabbits? She looked back and forth with some urgency, as if she were trying to locate a hidden lifeline to say it for her. “Only… I don’t… so much… do that…”

“You…” Olivia’s eyeflashes fluttered. “Don’t?”

Head still ducked, Robin gestured a sheepish negative, her short twintails of hair swaying this way and that. Her face had gone nuclear, her eyes wide.

Olivia tilted her head. “But you’re so…” Her head tilted the other way, her hand raised, and she traced her fingers over her wrist, recalling the active, entreating sensation of Robin’s many little touches… “Forward…”

“Well, one’s g-got nothing to do with the other,” Robin said, suddenly even deeper on the defensive.

Olivia tilted her head, letting the revelation roll to one side of her brain, then the other. By the time she’d drolled out, “I suppooooose…” a wellspring of sudden and heretofore unknown sadism sprung up in her, sprinkled with a pinch of avarice. The mélange of it all roiled inside her stomach as she took in the sight of this suddenly sheepish girl before her. It moved her on impulse, and she lifted her hand, applying a soft pressure. “It’s not that I wouldn’t…” All trace of defense melted from Robin’s posture, her arms went slack, and her lips opened and accepted the coaxing advance of two of Olivia’s fingers. “It’s just that…” Olivia dragged it out as slowly as her finger tips rolled over the warm curve of Robin’s tongue. “Nobody’s ever given me the option before.”

“Wehhl, hhiss girb isd.”

Robin’s verdant eyes were wide. Her parted lips, accepting Olivia’s fingers with gentle relish, were glistening and beautiful by halogen light. But it was the slight shiver of her body beneath Olivia’s weight—the submissiveness of it, the willingness—that truly stole Olivia’s heart.

Olivia hopped to her feet, spinning in an easy circle on the ball of her foot, cupping her hands behind her in a stretch, and smiling wide enough to show her teeth. “I think you better go get that condom, Robin.”

Robin barely saved herself from a face-first fall onto the hardwood as she sprinted back to upend her backpack. “Consider yourself lucky…” Packets of tissues, change, a ruler, a slew of hard candies (provenance unknown) scattered across the table, and she rooted through them like a prospector sifting for gold before emerging with a small plastic bottle and a foil square. “Always come prepared, that’s the scout’s code.”

“Get back over here,” Olivia giggled, beckoning with her hand. “Someone might see.”

“Nobody better be peeping through those blinds, you hear?” Robin shook a fist towards the bay windows. Even this playful show of aggression sent a shiver of compulsive energy through Olivia’s hips, and curled her toes; past the point of waiting, Olivia shimmied out of her skirt, unable to wait, fidgeting on her toes and trying not to think of the lewd and over-evident bulge wrestling against her sheer panties.

Once in range, Robin found herself grabbed by the ears, reined in, and it was hard to tell if it was the slam of the kiss, or Olivia’s slam of her back against the wall, that so thoroughly knocked the wind out of her.

When they separated, panting, Olivia asked, “So, you were a scout?”

Each tooth of the zipper on Robin’s hoodie clicked with its steady, inexorable descent between Olivia’s poised fingers.

“Of course not.” Robin laughed, framing her tits with her hands beneath the simple coral top she wore under her weather-beaten hoodie. “You think they could’ve handled this?”

Olivia obscured her mouth with her hand, muffling a tinkling laugh. “So then I can assume you’re not a knot tying expert?” Her finger trailed down the soft cotton of Robin’s hoodie, slow enough to catch her nail on each tooth of her zipper.

“Hey now.” Robin shivered with uncertain breath, rising to meet Olivia’s touch. “That’s not exactly first date conversation.”

“But fucking you raw in the stock room is, huh?”

Robin was, for a moment, quiet. But her smile said everything.

It suited Olivia. She was ready to dive in for another kiss, anyway. There was a rustle of cotton along skin as she took Robin’s hoodie down to her elbows, the urgent snake of Olivia’s hand inside, tugging up at the hem of her top. Robin’s little breasts, not even handfuls, molding beneath her touch. Skin burned with fresh fire. Robin’s hips rutted the air. The frantic sound of breath each time their lips separated. Spongy clash of their noses when they pressed back together again. Their shared whimpers, impossible to know where one’s began and the other’s ended.

Their scrambling fingers did eventually manage to shake loose the button of Robin’s khakis, which, loosed, plummeted down her legs.

Olivia tented her fingers, trilling at the positively manifest—if diminutive—rise in Robin’s boy shorts. “You’re so… cute!”

Robin separated, ducked her head, hitching her underwear up a bit. “Hey now—”

“Are you ready?”

The smolder in Olivia’s eyes quelled Robin’s size-based mortification. “Totally!” Cheery as  the dawn of a summer camp morning, she took Olivia by the wrist. “But I believe a stockroom was mentioned.”

They practically skipped the distance to the stockroom, despite the shackles of khakis around Robin’s ankles. Olivia patted her hips three times in mindless excitement before realizing she’d shed most of her clothes minutes ago, her skirt didn’t have pockets anyway, and the keys were over on the counter, where they’d been the Whole. Frickin. Time.

No matter. A brief sprint and she hand them in hand, and the door opened with a rusty old creak. Hardly a wardrobe to fantasy land, but it’d suffice.

The stockroom was tight and flanked by large, industrial metal shelves, with a neon yellow mop bucket between them at the back. It couldn’t have been more than a few feet deep. There was no “Organic” promise of hipster-aesthetic burlap sacks here, just row after row of vacuum sealed metal cans and plastic bags lining shelves stretched upwards seemingly forever, so tall that their highest contents were lost to the mists of the closet’s vaulted ceiling (or, less artistically, where the flagging light of a single, free-swinging incandescent bulb couldn’t reach).

“Woah…” Robin blinked a few times. “That’s a lot of coffee.”

“It’s not much to look at, but here’s where dreams are made!” Olivia declared, sashaying past Robin into confines of the room, pirouetting, and leaning forward with her hands clasped behind her back. Her shirt showed the barest hint of cleavage and, well aware of this, she dipped forward to offer a little more. “Or stored, anyway.”

Robin chuckled sheepishly, rubbing her hand at the back of her head. A crinkle of foil at her side as she clenched her fist around the condom. “I can think of one dream we’re makin’.”

Olivia clenched a hand over the lower half of her face to muffle her snort of laughter, but couldn’t disguise the smile in her eyes. “Dork.”

With gusto, Robin uncapped the lube and squeezed a bit of the clear, slick liquid into Olivia’s waiting palm. But then, a dark expression crossed her face.

“Not that I mind, but… if it’s okay, can you… like…” Her lips swished back and forth with worry. “Leave my, ah, front junk to me?”

A squeal of glee escaped Olivia before she could stop herself. “Your…!” It was all she could do not to clench her fist with tremors of laugher and send lube squirting everywhere. Her eyes squinted to slits as she coughed, holding back further guffaws, whispering in incredulous hiss, “Your front junk?”

“W-why…” Robin glanced to the side. “…what do you call yours?”

“My cock.”

Robin took a breath.

With a roll of her fingers, Olivia made a show of spreading the lube until each slender digit glistened.

“So I’ll ask again… are you ready?”

Robin offered that wry smile of hers, tucking her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts, slipping them down her thighs with a wiggle of her hips. Her face was as red as the head of her pert little cock, but still she managed, in a husky voice, to say:

“You tell me.”

Olivia made a tut-tutting sound, clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth and bopping the tip of Robin’s nose with a lubed finger. “No sense playing it cool now. I’ve seen you passed out and drooling.”

This tease seemed to have no effect on Robin’s… readiness, so to speak. Or the quickening pulse of her chest, as Olivia stepped forward to join her. At the proximity, Robin took a sharp breath, her small breasts rising up to meet Olivia’s in the cramped space. Olivia kissed her, trailing fingers along her scalp to hold her close. Robin’s hips shuddered forward, meeting with Olivia’s, and felt the tumescent promise beneath Olivia’s panties against her own bare cock.

When they separated, it was with the delay of a nibble over Robin’s lower lip. Robin moaned, wondering why the moment had to end.

Because Olivia had to turn her.

Her teeth closed around the curve of Robin’s ear. Heated flesh quaked with each syllable. “Bend forward, okay?”

There was some resistance. There always was. Robin exhaled in time with the probe of Olivia’s finger against her. She kept her breathing slow, pointedly aware of how foolish she must look. Her eyes cinched a bit, her lips tightened. The metal struts of the shelves dug into her palms as she braced herself against them to maintain her balance, standing on tiptoes her chuck taylors to provide Olivia her target, and her lips parted with a weak “Ah” as the pressure overcame her and her body opened to Olivia’s touch.

For Olivia, this was too much. She tilted her head downwards, just a hint, and offered her lips to Robin’s.

Robin’s small moans against the confines of Olivia’s lips turned to soft, heated snuffles of air through her nose as Olivia’s fingers explored her, spread her, readied her…


“Bad?” Olivia asked with sharp worry.

“N-no…” Robin’s voice as a rasp. She chewed at the corner of her lips, her eyes pinched at the corners, unable to resist a flurry of her fingers over her cock, seeking sensation to pair with the probe of Olivia’s fingers inside of her. “B-but you gotta stop or I’ll…”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” Olivia said cheerily. “I plan to Take. My. Time. enjoying you.” She surprised even herself, how much she enjoyed the vacuum groan of muddled relief and disappointment as she separated from Robin. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she stood on her toes, preening.

Robin took a moment to recover, shaking her arms loose of her hoodie and discarding it to the floor. Leaning with arms against the shelves behind her, her breasts shivering with the panting of her shallow breaths, brown nipples crinkled and small, visible through her sweat-dampened top. And even in all that disarray, she still managed to sound rather debonair as she husked, “Now I’ll do you…”

Olivia shivered with Robin’s approach, nibbling at the back of her hand and busying herself reading the labels of the coffees on the racks behind Robin. Ethiopian Hache. The quiet rip of the foil. Italian Roast. The satiny slip of panties down her thighs. Brazilian Peaberry. Robin’s fingers rolling the condom over her tip. Panama Verve. The smooth, slippery touch around Olivia was shockingly cool, even through the latex. Light. She bit her lip, and, looking directly into Robin’s eyes. Medium. Robin flinch beneath her smoldering gaze, the muscles in her neck tightening, her lips parting—tense, eager.

“Turn around.” Olivia said. “Right frickin’ now.”


Robin turned, pooling her arms on the shelf in front of her, burning skin hissing against cool metal, exposed, heart surging fresh blood all the way down to her toes.

Olivia slipped between her cheeks with the soft squelch of lube. Her cock shuttled between Robin’s cheeks, and they met each other in bashful rhythms. Olivia tugged with urgency at the hem of Robin’s top. “Get this off, I want to touch you.” And Robin whimpered with need and numb distraction. She wriggled gracelessly out of her top at Olivia’s command, ejecting an involuntary, wanton squeal when each motion slipped Olivia against her with incumbent threat.

Olivia’s hand settled between her shoulder blades, nails digging deep.

Robin felt new.

Olivia’s cock nuzzled into her.

Robin felt potent.

The pressure of Olivia was at her gate.

She felt…

“Ah!” At the first shallow press of Olivia’s advance she cried out, knees buckling, hands clenching into trembling fists, begging, “Go slow.”

“I-I’m sorry.” Olivia whimpered, partly from the stress, partly from the strain of reining back her pure, boundless thrill. “I thought I was!”

“When it comes to…” Robin spoke through gritted teeth, a fresh sheen of sweat peppering her brow. “Even slow isn’t slow enough.” She reached back with a trembling hand. Her fingers still had a touch of slickness to them, and they slid into an embrace with Olivia’s trembling fingers. She squeezed, cautiously. “Let me…” A pant of air, as Olivia seemed to ripple inside her. “Let me… start…”

Olivia’s stomach was corded into knots, the muscles of her abdomen pulsing with rigid energy waiting to be unleashed. She was attuned to the world. She sensed a single bead of sweat trace its way down between her shoulder blades. She could even hear the buzz of the lightbulb. The tips of her ears tingled. She wanted this so badly she thought she’d scream.

“Nnnh…” Robin let slip the sound through gritted teeth as the cautious push of her hips backwards spread the pressure at her tensing entrance. Olivia’s free hand stroked her gently between her shoulders. She tried to smile, tried to blot out the worry, the fear of pain she might be inflicting. Empathy overwhelmed her. No, this was part of it, part of the fun—or at least, she’d been in Robin’s position enough times to know that…

“Oh come on,” she offered a timid giggle, fingertips touching at the tensing muscles gathering at the back of Robin’s neck. “I’m not that big.”

“Every…” Robin interrupted herself with a pant, her shoulders tightening. “Girl’s…” Her fingers clenched around the metal struts of the shelves. “Big…” Her toes curled in her boots. “Back…th—aah!”

Olivia’s head pierced past her flexing resistance, slipping inside her fully. Only the sharp yelp of Robin’s cry stilled the needy instinctual hunger to thrust, to mount, to claim. The strangled sound caught under Robin’s breath, a plaintive mewl lingering in her throat, brought a flutter of concern to Olivia’s heart. She froze, knowing she should wait for further instructions.

They game with the tenuous edging back of Robin’s body, so careful she scooted on tip toes to do it.

“Start…” Robin’s face was burning red. Her cheeks ballooned with each jerky exhale of breath. “Slow…”

From the first push of Olivia into her expanding core, Robin was insensate, wordless. She whimpered, that queer sound of pleasure muddled by the slight pain of entry. Her forehead rested against the shelf, the metal warming with body heat and pooling sweat. Her legs jittered, she lacked the executive function to stabilize them. She seemed to speak in wheezes, so only her hand, its nails digging hard furrows into the soft flesh of Olivia’s hip, could provide any further guidance for each smooth, inexorable stab of her body.

Olivia was a dancer. What did she know, if not how to move to the rhythm of a body? Her hips swayed gently in time with Robin’s guidance. She understood, by the soft flow of blood beneath her skin, what each grip of Robin’s nails at her hips suggested. Long or short thrusts. Deep or shallow. Edging all the way out, they both shuddered with fear of separation. When Olivia plunged deeply, they cried out with the mutual fulfilment of this unerring connection. They were careful, tiptoeing along the precipice of this body together. Gradually, through their sublime effort, they made a space for her inside of Robin.

“Okay,” Robin said, “Now you can go fa—”

A moan of pleasure stripped the words from her; their dance had begun in full.

Though words escaped her, the backwards thrust of Robin’s hips spot to her need. She was ready. Her body was primed. She had waited all night for this—all week! In their separate minds, neither could believe their luck, to be in this situation, with this beautiful woman, to feel these things, and do these things, and…

Olivia’s hands were restless. Holding Robin at the hips to counterbalance her hastening thrusts felt ludicrous, as if performing, showing off for an unseen audience. She wanted to explore, to touch to taste. She drew her hand up Robin’s body, following the crests and shallows of her stomach with each breath. She fucked deeper into her, bracing her hand between Robin’s tensing shoulder blades and closing her eyes. She explored her lover’s body strictly by touch, and by push, and by pulse. She traced around the circumference of her small breasts and touched feather-light against her neck. At that, Robin cleaved to her, releasing a moan of obedience, of vulnerability, of need. Then, paradoxically, she cried out in pain. “A-anh!”

Startled, Olivia realized, in her excitement, how deeply her nails had dug into Robin’s skin. But before she could pull away, Robin grabbed her by the wrist.

“Don’t.” Robin wheezed through gritted teeth, finally aware enough to speak. Her head lolled, forehead bouncing against the shelves sometimes with the power of Olivia’s thrusts. She didn’t seem to mind. Or possibly, she didn’t have the strength to do anything but accept the weight and need of Olivia’s frantic thrusts into her body. “P-please… don’t stop…”

Olivia ground her long nails deeper into Robin’s skin. Robin cried out again, and the rut of her shaking body back into Olivia’s pistoning hips seemed proof positive that she was enjoying herself. Olivia’s hand covered Robin’s on the shelf, their fingers twined together in lock-tight lace, and each thrust of Olivia’s hips was joined by a slam of their hands against the shelves.

“Fuck me!” Robin begged, the metal shelves ringing and clattering with each slap of their hands. Her neck was corded with strain and excitement. Her toes dug furrows into the ground. Her cheeks clenched, as if to grip, pulse, squeeze, and cajole Olivia’s invading length. “Oh gods, fuck me! Fuck me!”

Olivia was frantic, gluttonous. She felt a tingle growing, running up and down her body like a lightning bolt. Her arm was a scoop, and a shackle. Possessively, she folded it around Robin’s stomach, drawing her closer with every zealous thrust of her hips. They cried out, the body of them, as if every ounce of pleasure and of pain was shared between them.

“Oh gods…” Robin groaned in reply, clenching her hands around the shelf struts hard enough to leave imprints into her palm. “Liv, I-I can’t hold—Oh gods. Liv, I—”

“Unah!” Olivia finished Robin’s thoughts with a groan and the climactic pierce of her hips. Her face pressed hard into the cleave of Robin’s shoulder blades, heaving hot, sticky breath into the crux of flesh. Her cheek smeared against Robin’s sweat-slick skin. She released. A gunshot of pressure into Robin’s clenching, resistant sheathe, liquid as joy as she barreled her hips deeper, bottoming out with a singular, climactic, blissful thrust.

Then Robin’s shaking legs gave out.

“Woah!” Olivia cried out, lacing her fingers together and catching Robin by her torso, struggling to keep them both standing.

But their shared weight—Robin’s legs as useless as jelly—proved too much for Olivia, and they tumbled forward into the rickety shelves.

“Waugh!” was their conjoined cry, as they collapsed to the ground, giggling as they raised their arms to shield themselves from the fall of some of the lighter canisters their impact shook loose from the shelf.

Cheap packaging burst against the concrete floor, sending flurries of mocha and matcha into the air all around them. They gazed at each other, powder clinging to sweat-dense skin and sneaking into open, panting mouths, and burst into unselfconscious laughter at their shared ridiculousness.

The room felt like a sauna, and their shaking bodies expanded and contracted against each other with each shuddering breath. Robin was curling a bit, hunching in her discomfort on the hard concrete. The adrenaline passed, a bit of held-back trauma seeped into her, and she groped querulously at the empty air…

Olivia drew Robin to her, sensing her need for comfort. Her hand stroked at the sweat-damp hair at Robin’s scalp, and she pressed Robin’s cheek against her warm breasts. Olivia passed the time tracing small patterns and whorls into the powder dappling Robin’s back, marking her, and squeezing her shaking body close, until their breathing calmed, and they could speak without feeling like their bodies would shiver to pieces.

“D-did you…” Olivia asked, with her hands as much as her words, strolling her fingers down Robin’s spine in their soft embrace.

Robin took her by the wrist, and guided Olivia’s fingers to an overt wet spot right in the stack of fresh hand towels on one of the lower shelves.

Olivia had no way of missing the chagrin of Robin’s post-orgasmic embarrassment. She offered the girl beneath her a conciliatory squeeze of her hip, and a smile, and a cool wash of breath over her neck. “Don’t worry,” she said. “At least it wasn’t in the coffee!”

At that, the two of them shared a mild little giggle.

“Oh no. Oh no.” Olivia offered a moan of discontent, surveying the ruin one her once-orderly stock room. “I’m gonna be here all night cleaning this up!”

“Well then,” Robin said, “I guess we’ll have time for another round.”


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