![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Continuing with 2018, this is a short, PWP ficlet I wrote about Rosita Bustillos and Waverly Earp, a pairing that had me obsessed back then (and that I remain very fond of).
-
Waverly felt light-headed and reckless and overwhelmed, but most of all, she felt on ecstasy.
The kiss had been thoughtless. She was pissed and then she wasn't, and Rosita was there, beautiful and at peace and strangely wise. She seemed to get it, to have life all figured out.
Kissing her was a no brainer. By which she meant, her brain had at no point been consulted in the decision made between the bubbles and the instant their mouths collided.
It felt good. And Rosita didn't stop her, so she closed her eyes and didn't stop.
It started softly; a quiet brush of their lips, a tentative hand cupping Rosita's face. Her hands traveled to Waverly's neck, a feather-like touch.
Rosita moved away from the tub's wall, giving herself more space. Her knee grazed the inside of Waverly's leg, sending a shiver of concentrated heat through her whole body. She had to balance herself grabbing the ledge, barely suppressing the soft gasp that raised to her throat.
After half a second of hesitation, Waverly decided to climb on Rosita's lap, pressing closer to her; she moved her hands down her chest, exchanging slow, seemingly eternal kisses. Rosita's hand grasped her hips, holding her in place.
She leaned back, tentatively tugging at her bikini bottom with a questioning look in her eyes, and Waverly nodded quickly before diving back in, refusing to stop their kiss.
Rosita pulled it down all the way to her knees, leaving her feeling wonderfully exposed. Waverly's breath grew quicker, her kisses more frantic, hungry, impatient.
The brush against her clit —light, quick, almost hesitant— felt like a soft shock of electricity, and it made her gasp louder than she was comfortable with.
She moved towards Rosita's hand, signaling to her what she wanted. Soon, those fingertips came back, caressing her clit, her labia, each time steadier and more confident.
Rosita stopped the kiss, dragging a petulant whine out of her, until she started placing soft, wet kisses down her jaw; her neck; her shoulder.
As she started giving her a hickey right above her breast, Waverly pulling lightly at her hair and digging her nails on her shoulder, she introduced one of her fingers, as tentative as her first touches. She circled it, pressing, and Waverly had to bite down on her own lips, hard, to prevent any possible noise. She pushed in a second one, and yet another one, curling them and pressing it just right, as she kept rubbing her clit with her thumb.
Waverly remembered to open her eyes —she loved this moment. And somehow the look on Rosita's face, hyper-focused and —uncharacteristically, given the situation— serious, even more than anything else, was what finished building up her orgasm.
A high whine left her lips, a little too loud, and Rosita's free hand quickly covered her mouth, suffocating the next ones, until it was over.
She heard a soft thud, barely registering it in the back of her head. And it was then, with Rosita's fingers still inside her, when the guilt crashed into her, as if a dead cold knife stabbed her in the stomach.
She saw an echoing, somehow more disenchanted and jaded, guilt-ridden look on Rosita's eyes.
"We should—"
"Yeah."
They separated, incapable of looking each other in the eye.
She pulled up her bikini, something that made her feel even dirtier than anything else they'd done.
She climbed out of the hot tub and put on her bathrobe, trying to silence the ridiculous voice in her head talking about rudeness and reciprocation.
If once Shorty's had been like a second home to her —sometimes, a first home—, that night entering it felt like trespassing.
Rosita was on the bar, cleaning it, with a glass and a half-full bottle next to her.
She walked to her, reluctant, and sat a few chairs away.
"Nothing happened," Rosita said, gently. "It'll be easier that way."
She was probably right. Though she had the feeling it'd be a long time before she could forget everything Tucker said to her, while she still thought Rosita had been left to die on the floor.
She had a million things she wanted to say, from apologies to thank yous; from promises of secrecy to questions about what it was like to be a Revenant, and how maybe they weren't that different in that regard.
But the only thing she felt the strength to do was patting a second glass with her fingers, with what she hoped was an unguarded pleading look.
For the first time since they came back from the spa, Rosita's shoulders relaxed, an easy smile expanding across her face, and maybe, maybe Waverly hadn't screwed everything up.
Title: chillin' in a hot tub.
Fandom: Wynonna Earp.
Character/Pairing: Rosita Bustillos/Waverly Earp.
Rating/Warnings: E, none.
Summary: It doesn't stop at the kiss.
Word count: ~700-800.
read more
-
Waverly felt light-headed and reckless and overwhelmed, but most of all, she felt on ecstasy.
The kiss had been thoughtless. She was pissed and then she wasn't, and Rosita was there, beautiful and at peace and strangely wise. She seemed to get it, to have life all figured out.
Kissing her was a no brainer. By which she meant, her brain had at no point been consulted in the decision made between the bubbles and the instant their mouths collided.
It felt good. And Rosita didn't stop her, so she closed her eyes and didn't stop.
It started softly; a quiet brush of their lips, a tentative hand cupping Rosita's face. Her hands traveled to Waverly's neck, a feather-like touch.
Rosita moved away from the tub's wall, giving herself more space. Her knee grazed the inside of Waverly's leg, sending a shiver of concentrated heat through her whole body. She had to balance herself grabbing the ledge, barely suppressing the soft gasp that raised to her throat.
After half a second of hesitation, Waverly decided to climb on Rosita's lap, pressing closer to her; she moved her hands down her chest, exchanging slow, seemingly eternal kisses. Rosita's hand grasped her hips, holding her in place.
She leaned back, tentatively tugging at her bikini bottom with a questioning look in her eyes, and Waverly nodded quickly before diving back in, refusing to stop their kiss.
Rosita pulled it down all the way to her knees, leaving her feeling wonderfully exposed. Waverly's breath grew quicker, her kisses more frantic, hungry, impatient.
The brush against her clit —light, quick, almost hesitant— felt like a soft shock of electricity, and it made her gasp louder than she was comfortable with.
She moved towards Rosita's hand, signaling to her what she wanted. Soon, those fingertips came back, caressing her clit, her labia, each time steadier and more confident.
Rosita stopped the kiss, dragging a petulant whine out of her, until she started placing soft, wet kisses down her jaw; her neck; her shoulder.
As she started giving her a hickey right above her breast, Waverly pulling lightly at her hair and digging her nails on her shoulder, she introduced one of her fingers, as tentative as her first touches. She circled it, pressing, and Waverly had to bite down on her own lips, hard, to prevent any possible noise. She pushed in a second one, and yet another one, curling them and pressing it just right, as she kept rubbing her clit with her thumb.
Waverly remembered to open her eyes —she loved this moment. And somehow the look on Rosita's face, hyper-focused and —uncharacteristically, given the situation— serious, even more than anything else, was what finished building up her orgasm.
A high whine left her lips, a little too loud, and Rosita's free hand quickly covered her mouth, suffocating the next ones, until it was over.
She heard a soft thud, barely registering it in the back of her head. And it was then, with Rosita's fingers still inside her, when the guilt crashed into her, as if a dead cold knife stabbed her in the stomach.
She saw an echoing, somehow more disenchanted and jaded, guilt-ridden look on Rosita's eyes.
"We should—"
"Yeah."
They separated, incapable of looking each other in the eye.
She pulled up her bikini, something that made her feel even dirtier than anything else they'd done.
She climbed out of the hot tub and put on her bathrobe, trying to silence the ridiculous voice in her head talking about rudeness and reciprocation.
If once Shorty's had been like a second home to her —sometimes, a first home—, that night entering it felt like trespassing.
Rosita was on the bar, cleaning it, with a glass and a half-full bottle next to her.
She walked to her, reluctant, and sat a few chairs away.
"Nothing happened," Rosita said, gently. "It'll be easier that way."
She was probably right. Though she had the feeling it'd be a long time before she could forget everything Tucker said to her, while she still thought Rosita had been left to die on the floor.
She had a million things she wanted to say, from apologies to thank yous; from promises of secrecy to questions about what it was like to be a Revenant, and how maybe they weren't that different in that regard.
But the only thing she felt the strength to do was patting a second glass with her fingers, with what she hoped was an unguarded pleading look.
For the first time since they came back from the spa, Rosita's shoulders relaxed, an easy smile expanding across her face, and maybe, maybe Waverly hadn't screwed everything up.
