Title: Even Fiddlers Can't Play This Well
Pairing: Michaela Pratt/Laurel Castillo
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. Just having a little fun.
Summary: They're in Laurel's bed the first time it happens.
A/N: Laurel and Michaela try anal.
They're in Laurel's bed the first time it happens.
Michaela's splayed on all fours with her back arched in what is definitely not sixth date behavior. Laurel shutters to think how inappropriate this must be for Michaela considering they're not even dating.
Literally speaking, Laurel's fingers grip Michaela's thighs to pull her closer. Michaela strains against her tongue, cursing and encouraging Laurel all at once.
They had gone for drinks after pulling grueling, soul-sucking hours researching in Annalise's living room. On a whim, Laurel had suggested they visit a restaurant instead of their usual dive bar pre-game before frequenting the night club Annalise had shown them months ago. This all usually led to sex, but something about Laurel suggesting a restaurant, then paying, had caused Michaela to put out several hours ahead of schedule.
Not that Laurel is counting, or complaining.
"Fuck," Michaela groans at the promise of two fingers at her entrance.
Laurel pulls away from Michaela's lips with a wet smile. "So vulgar," she teases, imitating Michaela's prissiness.
Michaela's head snaps around to give Laurel a withering look. "Now is-is not the time," she says, sighing as Laurel enters her.
"Then when?" Laurel teases further.
But it's lost on Michaela who's lost in her own pleasure at the moment.
So much so that when Laurel removes her fingers and licks a wet trail from her lips to the puckered skin just behind it, Michaela is completely unaware.
Her knees spread on instinct to accommodate Laurel's quest until the wiggle of her tongue feels misplaced.
Michaela's eyes cross for a moment, butterflies twisting in her stomach as goose bumps break out along her skin. She shoves at Laurel's arm in disgust and scrambles to turn over and right herself. "Laurel, what the hell!"
Laurel's eyes are wide as she wipes her mouth free of Michaela and an amused grin. She shrugs a little with a tentative smile and says, "I was just trying something out, I'm sorry."
Michaela hatefully reaches for the blankets to drape across her nude form. Laurel remains naked at the foot of the bed. "I didn't like that," Michaela states with finality.
Laurel nods, scooting closer to where Michaela has cornered herself at the head of the bed. "Okay, that's no problem. Hey, I'm sorry," she reiterates, catching Michaela's gaze. "I honestly thought you'd be into a little rimming."
She smiles while Michaela rolls her eyes, and everything is back to normal.
Laurel doesn't get to kiss Michaela again until she brushes her teeth, but at least things get to continue.
Michaela had discovered recently that her second most favorite activity to do with Laurel was post-coital, when Laurel transformed from the sexiest woman Michaela had ever met back to the unpopular girl. It's weird to know these two sides of Laurel. That such vastly different people could inhabit one body.
She joins Laurel on the couch after a shower, and rests her head in Laurel's lap. Laurel divides her attention between occasionally picking at Michaela and reviewing an article about a recent circuit court case.
Michaela looks up at her then, the slope of her jaw, the tongue peaking out to wet her lower lip. Thoughts of where that tongue had previously explored push to the forefront of her mind, and her brow furrows.
When Laurel looks down to the woman in her lap again, she's met with a glare. "What?"
"Where did that come from?" Michaela demands, picking at the drawstring of her shorts.
Laurel is acutely aware of just what that is, knowing it often took several conversations (debates) for Michaela to drop a topic. She places her tablet further down the couch, then rests her hand on Michaela's exposed hipbone. "I thought you'd like it," she replies.
Her tone is unreadable, and it only serves to get under Michaela's skin. Her jaw clenches. "And what about me suggested I'd be into anal?"
Laurel shoots her a look. "What about you suggested you wanted to jump my bones since the moment you met me?"
Michaela springs up, cheeks burning as she glares at Laurel. "I did not!"
A grin spreads across Laurel's face. In a flash she pins Michaela to the couch, and the pendulum shifts. They're in the living room, but they're in the bedroom. Michaela's thighs part on instinct as Laurel slides between them like lock and key.
Their lips meet, and Michaela can't shake the feeling Laurel is up to something. She hooks her leg over Laurel's ass and meets her down swing with a moan.
Even teeth nip at her ear, and Michaela's pulse jumps in her wrist. "I just thought you'd like it," she feels more than hears Laurel whisper directly into her ear. "I know how much you like my tongue any other time," Laurel continues. Their hips pick up speed, and Michaela begins to pant.
"Have you done that with anyone else?" she grounds out before Laurel has the chance to completely obliterate her sanity.
Nails scour down Laurel's back, leaving fading red lines in their wake. Laurel grips Michaela's thigh wrapped around her hip, and drives into her harder. Her breath is ragged against Michaela's flushing ear. "No," she admits simply. "I just thought you'd like me eating your ass."
"Laurel," Michaela whines without meaning to. It slips out, and she doesn't even bother opening her eyes to see the insufferable smirk she's sure to be met with, just grits out a demand for Laurel to meet her in the bedroom.
The next time it happens, Michaela may share in the responsibility.
How she let Laurel talk her into following her into the girls' bathroom is beyond her.
"We could get caught!" Michaela points out even as she closes the stall door behind them.
Laurel turns to face Michaela with a heat in her gaze that can't be denied. She approaches slowly until they're nearly touching. "So?"
Michaela's eyes narrow, even as her breath quickens. "So, I don't want my career to be ruined because you couldn't keep it in your pants long enough for the Uber to arrive!" she hisses.
"It's twenty minutes away," Laurel points out flatly as if that explains everything. They don't speak of the elephant in the room. The fact that much more than an indecent exposure charge has the opportunity to ruin their lives. Laurel shakes it off. For now an indecent exposure charge is their biggest worry. Her hands find purchase on Michaela's hips as she leans closer. Their foreheads touch, and their noses graze. "Surely I don't have to wait that long to fuck you, Michaela."
"Laurel," Michaela breathes. It sounds like a warning and a plea all at once, and it settles warmly in Laurel's groin.
They kiss and Michaela's hands find purchase in Laurel's hips as she's backed against the wall. They have to be quick, she knows; which is why she's confused when Laurel grabs her hands reaching underneath her skirt.
Michaela's questioning, near desperate gaze, meets Laurel's cool expression. Instead of responding, Laurel kisses her hard, then spins Michaela around.
Her warm face touches the cool wall, and she should be disgusted, but right now all Michaela wants is for Laurel's fingers to finally wiggle beneath the underwire of her bra, and—
"Touch me," Michaela demands, the teasing promise of Laurel's fingers on her hardened nipple too much to bear.
Laurel cups the weight of Michaela's bare breast in her hand. She feels the hard nipple digging into her palm, and is struck with the urge to have it in her mouth.
But she has other plans.
Resisting temptation, Laurel allows a hand to drift down between Michaela's legs. She hooks her thumbs into Michaela's thong and tugs it down her legs before pressing a light kiss to smudged red lips. "All for me?" she asks.
She does a poor job of masking the surprise in her voice, which is by now both endearing to Michaela and nauseating.
But she can't help but twist in nerves and huff in frustration while Laurel runs her fingers through the length of her wetness. "Just you," she breathes.
Laurel enters her swiftly then, practiced, with three fingers. "Yes," Michaela whimpers in encouragement. She feels herself begin to stretch to accommodate the stiffness of Laurel's fingers. Inhaling a shaky breath, Michaela thrusts back into Laurel's palm. "Please."
The plea, the complete dismantling of Michaela Pratt, has become Laurel's ultimate undoing. She feels herself clench as she cups Michaela possessively in her hand and begins to thrust her fingers.
Michaela gasps, moans, slams her palms against the wall before her as she throws her head back against a steady shoulder. "So good," she pants, brow creasing. She catches Laurel's heavy lidded gaze, and feels herself clench.
"Fuck," Laurel groans as if in pain. The seam of her jeans rub against her with every thrust, and the next time Michaela throws it back, Laurel meets her with a confident thrust of her hips.
She's rewarded with a breathy "don't stop," and quickly finds Michaela's rhythm.
They're outright fucking in the bathroom stall of a night club. The sound of their skin slapping competes with the overwhelming bass muted through the doorway.
Michaela's heart is in her throat. She can't catch her breath, and isn't fully sure she's concerned, not when she can feel tingling begin to fan out from her groin.
That's when she feels it, a searching thumb, smooth and warm, gliding along her perineum. Her eyes clench shut and she arches back into Laurel's touch with a long moan.
"Is this okay?" Laurel asks. She feels the responding moisture dripping down her fingers, feels Michaela thrusting back into her for more. "Shh," she soothes, but it only seems to spur Michaela on. She can hear the askance in the tortured moans bouncing off the walls, even if the owner of the voice wouldn't dare make such a request. She doubles her efforts, thrusting hard into Michaela while her thumb plays with her puckered hole.
Michaela struggles to find purchase against the stall wall while she contracts around Laurel's fingers. She's close, so close but so unwilling to give Laurel the satisfaction. Any hope of maintaining control shatters, however, the moment she feels Laurel's other hand trekking down her mound. Michaela's hips jerk and she cries out when Laurel begins massaging the hood of her clit.
It's just enough without being too much. Three months into their situation, and Laurel knows how to play her just a little too well.
Michaela entertains a fleeting thought of ending this the moment after her orgasm. Or after she makes Laurel come. It's only polite to return the favor.
Because Laurel knows too much about her. They don't talk about each other's personal lives; Michaela has no idea how many siblings Laurel has, if any, and Laurel knows nothing of Michaela's extensive history in foster care.
But she knows how to talk to Michaela's body. She knows how to manipulate it. And by association, Michaela herself.
Laurel is holding her so close now, Michaela can feel her breath against her ear. Her hips begin to move in time with Laurel's rapid breathing, and when she feels that damn thumb start to wiggle in her entrance, Michaela sees stars.
She shouts Laurel's name in a broken cry she'll never admit to later, and clings to Laurel's thigh behind her through the silk of her skirt.
When Michaela comes to, she's leaning back against Laurel while kisses are being pressed into her neck. Lazily, she reaches up to comb her fingers through Laurel's hair before spinning in her arms.
"Okay?" Laurel asks, cautious optimism on her face.
The thought to end this enters Michaela's mind again when, beneath the quiet passion she sees in Laurel's dark gaze, she sees more.
It's alarming to know that Laurel can see the same.
It's even more alarming when Michaela just nods and sinks to her knees anyway.