Work Text:
“Hi, I just wanted... Um, to come in 'cause I found, um, a rash... on me... and... If you could come and look at it… That would be great.”
Greta rises from her bed, smiling widely at Carson, leaving her comb on her nightstand. There is a nervousness in Carson’s voice, for sure, but there is also some sense of excitement, of wanting, of pure necessity. The redhead obliges, following Carson outside her room, walking down the stairs quickly without saying anything. Just harsh breaths, hearts throbbing in their chests and fingertips burning on each other's skins. The chill night air caresses their skins as they head as fast as they can into the old shed.
Carson leads the way; her mind, her heart, every single part of her is racing. There is only one thought: she just wants to kiss the woman behind her, the one holding her hand. A deep, brave, passionate kiss. She flusters at the thought of repeating what happened at the bar the first night, hiding in that back room, Greta pressed against a wall. Their mouths fighting to dominate the situation, their lips caressing each other with little care, but at the same time, tapping themselves gently, tasting each other as if that kiss, that instant frozen in time, was their last meal. Greta’s hands tangled in her hair, her digits pressing their hips together, thrusting lightly.
Carson only remembers a fire everywhere. In the darkness of that room, there was just an orange hue bathing them both, climbing all over them, caressing them whole. A crackling breath embellished with light, soft moans, that only their ears could listen to.
Greta recalls a pit of desire burning so deep inside her, she shivers each time this memory appears. Her hands gripping Carson’s hair, her eyes trying to decipher Carson’s, her mouth eager to meet Carson’s again. Just Carson touching her, Carson all over her mouth, Carson breathing her.
Carson.
The catcher is determined to discover Greta’s mouth again, thinking only about the softness of her lips, her nose pressed against her cheek, her tongue drawing maps all over hers. And she burns again, the orange hues transform into red ones, her mind just dissolves thinking about Greta’s touch, Greta’s kisses, Greta’s glance.
Greta.
And the shed becomes their temple, just for that moment. Just for tonight, that dark, dusty garage shelters their little secret, this small game they have between their hands. The silent witness of this love they have, this affair, fling. This burning desire that can’t keep them apart. There is something magnetic, even magical, in the way Carson’s body finds Greta’s, how their hands intertwine, how they end up breathing the very same air. For Carson, this is the realest she’s ever been. For Greta, this is a carefully threaded dream. She wishes to never wake up, because this is how she really is. The most raw version of herself: she’s letting the real one slip through the cracks Carson is carefully opening. She feels desired, she feels wanted, and she hasn’t had in a very long time. So she forgets her rules for some minutes, she abandons herself to this woman in front of her, the truest representation of an appetite she hasn’t seen in a long time.
And she surrenders to Carson’s hands, who promptly push her into an old drawer near the door that creaks as it closes, keeping them safe for who knows how long. Carson’s eyes feast first on her lips, slightly opened because she’s already out of breath. Carson’s hands clenching on her hips, carving new paths on her skin and over her clothes. And their eagerness finally meet, creating a steamy, passionate and vocal kiss. Their hands roam all over their bodies, their mouths clash again for dominance –like they did the first time they kissed–, and small moans bedeck this atmosphere in which time just stopped again. Greta lifts her chin a little, trying to catch the air Carson is eagerly drinking from her lips, and she feels whole, content, at peace.
And little by little, the flame lessens its brightness and prowess; it is secured, tucked between their bodies, dancing steadily but still burning them both.
This is the first time in which they separate themselves and they properly breathe . Their eyes shimmer with urgency, cheeks flushed and bathed in the ecstasy of that kiss. It sure means a lot for both of them; their pants describe the beats of their hearts, and despite their eyes being closed, they speak a thousand words, all of those which are stuck on their throats. Quietly, softly, Greta changes her position with Carson, and helps her to sit on the desk. She asks with her hands to briefly open her legs, and the catcher tucks her skirt a little so the first basewoman can comfortably fit between them. They want to fill all the space amidst their bodies, not leaving the slightest thread of air between them.
And for once, Greta allows herself to be a little vulnerable, a little softer, letting her mask fall to her feet as it breaks into tiny pieces. This is what Carson has done to her. And she’s thankful for that, so she can –finally– show pieces of her true self. Carson pushes her closer to her body, and Greta chuckles lightly in her ear.
“I didn’t know you were such a good kisser, Carson”, she jokes, waiting for a response.
“I.. I didn’t know it until this moment, you know?”
“You’re like a hungry animal”, Greta growls in Carson’s ear, hiding herself behind her short auburn hair. “ You strike me as a woman who has never been satisfied”.
Carson hufs and protests, “I am not. I… I definitely have been… Satisfied” . She pushes Greta but regrets her decision immediately. She wants her close, like that: sharing so little space but that feels like the whole universe.
“There is no shame in that, Carson”. Greta tries to mend her words, reassuring the brunette with the softest voice she can muster. “I guess this… This can be different from what you experienced before”.
“How? I know how I felt with Charlie…” She swallows hard, deep, almost guilty for being so defensive. “Have you ever felt this… In another way?”
“I have, yes. Many times, actually”. Greta draws a shy smile and presses her forehead against Carson’s. “ This can change, actually. And you might know something you’re used to, or find easy to lean on… And you hold into it because that is what kept you satisfied at that moment. But that might not do it right now, or even in the future.”
“Why do you say all of this?”
“Because I really think that you haven’t been satisfied… Ever. Care if I try?”
Carson tries to protest but Greta’s lips shut up her thoughts with a soothing kiss, and Carson melts under Greta’s guidance. She’s intoxicating, the kind of person that enjoys covering everything with a fine mantle of mystery to just unveil it in the exact moment. She’s a magician in disguise, sometimes a wolf among sheep. But with her, with this little confused catcher, she is just trying to make her feel safe and sound, trying to wipe away her doubts and fears, and encouraging her to be who she is . For Greta, Carson is so much more than people actually see. For Greta, she’s on a journey to become, finally, herself.
For Carson, this is an eye-opening experience. She accepts the kiss, shyly at first, tasting the words Greta said earlier; they don’t seem spiteful, or bitter. They don’t encover reproval: they taste like genuine concern: caring, kind in a way she’s never experienced. This is someone asking her, for the first time, if she’s content with the life she has led until this exact moment. This woman in front of her, for the first time, is asking what Carson’s been dying to answer.
Carson has never been truly happy, or satisfied, or pleased, with the things she –and her family– deemed important. She never enjoyed sewing, or cooking, or making pies, or even singing in the choir. She loved playing baseball, getting her hands dirty with manual work, carving wood, and writing. She wasn’t allowed to express what she wanted, what she needed; the voice inside her was always shut down at the slightest faint of rebelliousness. She didn’t enjoy kissing with boys, she did it because she was supposed to do so. Charlie seemed different but she wasn’t especially keen on that.
Even when they finally got married, she still treated him as her best friend. Carson always saw him that way. Even when they made love , Carson felt that there should be something else. She learned to mask the dissatisfaction when he finished, showing him a crafted smile, especially for those situations; a half-assed smile that made him somehow proud. Not asking if she needed something. She was left there, thinking if something was wrong with her.
Carson enjoyed sometimes how he grabbed her breasts from behind, or how he touched her while she had her eyes closed. She just imagined a figure touching her, someone else that was not Charlie, not a man. Just a dark figure who caressed her. Sometimes, when they laid, she just imagined that figure so she could have some release.
And now, that figure is standing in front of her; the stranger of her dreams is a woman, a red-haired one, who asks what she likes, what she wants. How she feels.
Carson gives into on Greta’s kiss, deepening it with a needy sound, asking for some more than this luscious, devotional exchange. More of these quickened breaths, hands gripping harshly each other’s body. Greta understands the command, and she breaks the kiss slowly, the hand on Carson’s neck walking slowly to her chest, drawing an invisible line from the base of her neck to the buttons on her shirt. She breathes hard, and trembles in anticipation, eager for what’s to come.
“Do you want me to stop?” Greta breathes in a whisper, her lips still over Carson’s.
“No”, she says with certainty; the first time she sounds so self-confident, and she takes some pride in it, repeating what she said. “No, please. Keep on going.”
Greta melts under this new side of Carson. She feels good because she prompted this, but it was the catcher’s doing, in the end. She takes her time to unbutton the shirt, slowly, trying to make it last as long as she can. This is some borrowed time; in the end, if this little kissing adventure progresses, they’ll just have to live in the margins of books, trying to steal moments like this, moving outside the spotlight with lame excuses. Greta is already used to that, to just have glimpses and fragments of what she wants, to steal time, places and secret gestures. Greta knows how to sneak to make this work, she just needs Carson to follow.
Three buttons down and the chill and humid air hit with little mercy on Carson’s skin. She shivers at the touch of the cold breeze, and the touch of Greta’s warm fingertips over her bra’s cloth. She whimpers, deepening the kiss, asking without words for more . Her skin burns with every touch, and she feels this is nothing she’s ever felt before. She closes her eyes, trying to preserve every aching touch on her skin. Greta’s digits scorches all of her pores, to be soothed with a cold breeze. Dauntingly, the redhead cups softly one of Carson’s breasts and she moans. An eye opening whimper that Greta tastes like a sweet victory in her mouth.
The nipple hardens instantly and draws a bump over the cloth. Greta’s fingers tease it with softness, waiting for Carson’s reaction. Smaller but clearly defined moans climb through her throat until Greta drinks them. She’s pleased, and so seems Carson. She urges her to lift her skirt a little more, so she can have access to the warmth between the catcher’s legs. Her fingers make her way up Carson’s tights and she finds she’s already wet, wanting, expecting some more action. As she draws a finger up and down over her clothed slit, Carson moans deeply, clenching her hands on Greta’s shoulders, and her forehead resting near her neck.
“Do you want this, Carson?” Greta asks quietly, her fingers quiet as well, waiting for a clear answer.
“Yeah…” She breathes, eyes closed, hips trying to get more of that. “Yes, Greta”.
And then, her fingers keep on going, caressing slowly and softly at first, then a little harder; not much, so she just can find a way to make Carson melt under her hand. She enjoys all the quiet moans, the whimpers and the pleas, the kisses on her neck that make Greta feel adored. With all the care and love she can muster, she tries to find a way to touch deeper , under the corselette she’s wearing. It’s hard at first, and Greta curses the ridiculously layers of underwear they have to wear, but then she finally finds her panties and she smiles when she touches it: Carson is really melting just with these touches.
She moves her fingers with ease along the dampened fabric and Carson answers with a soft plea, muttered and carved into Greta’s neck. She asks for more touch, faster, and Greta obliges, delighted by the sounds Carson is gifting her. Because this, this moment in the dark, in a dusty and abandoned shack, is almost a godsend. It’s been too long since someone gave into her and her touches so easily, so willingly, so blissfully. And she enjoys giving as much as she loves to receive –and she really loves it –, but tonight, she’s just commited to give the small catcher what she’s been denied for so long.
Greta’s free hand ventures under the clothing covering her breasts and she caresses one sofly, like a feather. Carson whimpers again, and her head falls back, mouth open, panting, mouth dry, biting her lower lip, panting, asking for more, electricity coming around her body to focus just between her legs, in a very small nib that Greta is finally touching. Her mouth is drier than ever, her breath each time more erratic, her hands clasping Greta’s shoulders with little care, and she opens her legs some more so the redhead can keep on touching her like that.
“Do you like this, Carson?” She asks softly, with care, while she keeps on moving her hands. Carson's skin is burning, it makes her ache, it’s making her dizzy.
“Yeah… Yeah … Please…” She just manages to whisper this while her moans get higher; Greta presses one of her hands against her mouth.
“Carson, please… Be quieter…”
Soon her mouth replaces her hand and swallows all of Carson’s moans, pleas, whimpers. They are just delightful sounds, the music she would never get tired of listening to. And she keeps on going, two of her fingers caressing her folds over her completely soaked panties, touching her clit delicately, until Carson crosses her arms behind Greta’s neck.
“I… I am… I… gonna… ” And she can’t even finish the sentence. Every fiber in her body stops for a moment, her mouth dry as a desert, and she trembles with warmth spreading from between her legs to the rest of her body. Her mind goes blank, her senses are numbed, but she feels good . She feels tired but free. She thinks she is feeling, for the first time in her life, satisfied .
Carson comes with a soft cry, hidden in Greta’s neck, while she bucks her hips against her fingers. And God, she thinks, she could be like this all night. She would love to have this every single day, this sensation of pure bliss, of easiness. She doesn’t feel so cold anymore, despite the air in the shack is chilly. She feels like a new person, she feels renewed.
It takes her a moment to finally open her eyes and she sees Greta, smiling, petting her hair and tucking it behind her ear. Her hand leaves her inner thighs with a soft touch, and Carson sighs again. She feels she’s dreaming, she feels like every single doubt about her and who she is dissolves into the humid air of the garage.
“You okay, chickadee?” Greta speaks first, letting Carson take her time to breath and regain herself.
“Yeah, yes… I am…” She feels better than ever. “Thank… You. And sorry for being so defensive before… I… I get uncomfortable with this sometimes, and you know…”
“Do I know what?”
“I am not…used…to be like this…or talking about this .” Carson looks down, guilt going down her throat. “I am… Well, we’re not, technically, allowed to…” She sighs, trying to explain herself to Greta. “We’re not allowed to experience these things.” She musters in a really low voice.
“We’re not allowed to do this in the public eye, Carson… But we can and should do it.” She kisses her forehead with a soft touch of her lips, closing her eyes, trying to wash away those bad thoughts, the remorse, the shame, even. Greta does know very well what this is. And she won’t let Carson feel it; at least, not yet. “And don’t ever thank me again for making you feel good. It’s… Something I really like to do.” Her voice is tender and soft; her wall is already broken and she’s letting her feelings flow all over them.
“You’re really different from the rest, Greta”.
“So are you, Carson.”
Greta helps Carson to fix her blouse and skirt, untangles her hair and cleans off the smeared lipstick all over their faces. They look presentable, decent, to go inside the house first. Before going out, Carson asks Greta for another kiss, and she delivers a delicate, soft, meaningful one. She’s feeling loved, and she thinks Carson is accepting it as well. Despite the fights, the jealousy, the unnerving moments they had to share… Carson is changing, she’s evolving into a more secure, more mature person. She’s taking what she wants, she’s being determined to do anything… And that makes her proud.
Carson enters the house first, disappearing quickly into the living room and then the stairs, with the quickest steps she can walk. Greta follows her, and she just sits on one of the sofas, thinking about what happened before. Jess will ask her why she doesn’t have any lipstick, why her hair is a little messy despite having fixed it. Why some parts of her skirt have dust lines.
She laughs at the lame excuse Carson made up, and thinks about the question her roommate asked before they left. She’ll go with bumps.
When she goes upstairs, Jess is already tucked into bed, and she notices Greta entering the room. She laughs and she asks what Carson wanted. Greta replies with bumps before bursting into laughter. She picks up all of her night clothes and goes to the bathroom. She’s alone there, so she locks the door and throws herself in one of the stalls, letting her nightgown and robe hit the floor. She sighs, and she closes her eyes. The image of Carson coming undone with just the touch of her fingers over her panties makes her shiver, and she finds there is a small pool of wetness down, between her tights. She sighs again and she imagines Carson asking for more. She bites her lip.
She needs to take care of herself. Quickly.
She undresses as fast as she can and she finds herself naked, alone, in one of the stalls, bathed in the darkness this little space can give, but also caressed by the moonlight. One of her hands crawls fast to reach her folds, and she moans quietly at the first touch. She just closes her eyes and thinks about Carson kissing her. Carson saying her name. Carson asking for more of her hands. Her clit is swollen already, and she can slide with ease one of her fingers inside her. She groans and has to cover her mouth. She has to be quiet, as she asked Carson to do. She adds another digit and her palm roughly touching her clit. She’s so wet, so close she’s ashamed.
This is what Carson can do to her without touching her.
It only takes her a few minutes to come undone, legs sprawled in that tiny space, covering her mouth, her head against the cold wall. She trembles as she takes out her fingers, completely soaked, and she sighs harder. Greta feels relieved, but at the same time, there’s some concern in her head. Where is this headed to?
She keeps on thinking about this while she cleans her hand, tidies her hair and puts on her night clothes. The air in the bathroom is chill as well, and she shivers under its embrace. And she remembers again how Carson trembled under the cold atmosphere of the shack. While she goes back to her room, she hopes to find Jess asleep, as she doesn’t want to talk about what happened, or those bumps or spots. She just wants to sleep, to process what happened and hopefully to make her head stop screaming it’s just a fling .
That night, Carson dreams about that moment they had in the shed.
That night, Greta dreams of having the touch of Carson all over her naked skin.
They both shiver at the thought of having that touch again. They dream of kisses, shared beds, the intimacy of a room. They think of the possibilities of stealing some more time and trying to keep alive the flame of this little adventure as long as they can.
For tonight, they just dream, longing for each other.
Yearning for a touch that will keep them satisfied.