Work Text:
“So, you did miss me.”
Mel rolls her eyes even as she sucks yet another mark into Samira’s skin. Maroon lipstick stands out against the tan expanse of her abdomen. It’s yet another Mel Medarda masterpiece, only this one won’t be finding its way into any of her Piltovan galleries. It’ll be on display the instant they step out of this single-use bathroom though, and Samira knows her far too well to believe that all these marks were anything but intentional.
“Still mad at me, too?” Samira asks, and her ever-present smirk morphs into a grimace with a hiss attached to it as Mel sinks her teeth into the flesh of her hip-bone. She peers up at her through long eyelashes, moss-green eyes darkened by lust still innocently round.
“What can I do to make it up to you?” she purrs, relishing in the sensation of Mel’s soft lips trailing up her skin. When Mel finally stands straight—in her heels, they’re almost eye-to-eye—Samira reaches around to give her round ass a generous squeeze, and pulls her impossibly closer.
“I think you know,” Mel replies as she fits the tips of her fingers beneath the hem of Samira’s fitted halter top.
“I need you to be specific,” Samira goads, and her telltale smirk returns. “What do you want, pretty girl, hm?” She dips down to pepper open-mouthed kisses along the elegant lines of her neck and jaw, and kneads her ass as she talks. “My mouth? My fingers? Something else?” That last bit will have to wait until they get home, but it never hurts to tease.
“I want you—” Mel cuts herself off to steal a kiss, “—to get on your knees.” Samira raises an eyebrow. Look who wants to be in control today, she thinks, amused. Samira won’t relent that easily, but she’d be lying if she claimed it didn’t stir something within her every time Mel tried to assert a little dominance.
“So bossy,” she teases, biting her lip. “I need you to do one more thing for me.”
“What?”
Samira leans forward, smirk widening when a shudder passes through Mel the moment her lips ghost the skin of her ear. “Say please.”
“Samira!” Mel scoffs, jerking back. As expected, her nose scrunches up cutely just like it does every time she is frustrated. In moments like these, it’s hard not to think of her as some distressed kitten.
“Say it, or I’ll leave.”
Mel rolls her eyes and huffs. “Please.”
“Good girl.” Samira swallows the sweet whimper that escapes the other woman at the praise.
In one swift motion, she scoops Mel into her arms and sets her on the edge of the sink counter. She licks hotly into her mouth, tongue carving its own space within, one hand kneading Mel’s small breast through her dress. Mel’s teeth sink into her bottom lip and she groans. Her satisfied hum morphs into a tiny gasp when Samira fits a hand between them to test the waters, so to speak. Her finger slides against soaked panties. A part of her wants to tear away from the searing kiss and tease Mel for getting so worked up just from making out, but Samira would just look like a hypocrite.
Mel Medarda has the same effect on her, whether she wants to admit it or not.
Eventually, she does break away from the kiss, and quiets the disappointed whine that escapes the other woman’s lips by swiftly dropping to her knees. Samira places wet, open-mouthed kisses on the inside of her supple thighs, nipping occasionally the closer she comes to her center. She can’t fight the smug grin that spreads across her face when she sees that Mel is wearing the lacy black thong she bought her a few months back.
“Don’t give me that look,” Mel grumbles, but the serious tone fails to manifest.
“You knew I’d be here, didn’t you?” she teases. One hand traces one of the tattoos swirling on the outside of Mel’s thigh, and the other lightly dances its way along the inside.
Mel rolls her eyes and finds another spot in the bathroom to look at. Ego stroked, Samira hums, “I knew you missed me.”
She hooks her fingers around the fabric and slides it down. Mel gets her left leg free and tries to fling her panties off with a flick of her right foot, but they get caught around her heel, dangling precariously from her ankle. Her lips start to curve downwards in a disappointed frown but it’s interrupted by the gasp she makes when Samira hooks both her legs over her shoulders and tugs her to the edge of the counter.
Now, ordinarily, Samira would take the time to tease, putting her mouth and tongue everywhere but where Mel craved it most, but they don’t have the time for that, nor does she have the patience right now. She’s hungry for this, hungry for Mel, and eager to indulge after three long, pent-up weeks. By the way Mel’s hand immediately finds its way to her head, she knows she’s not the only one desperate for this.
She drags her tongue through Mel’s slit, generous and exploratory, growling a fuck under her breath at the taste. She laps at her hungrily, greedily, collecting every drop of wetness that pours from the woman above her. Mel moans sweetly overhead with each pass of Samira’s tongue. Her thighs tighten around her head for a dizzying moment when Samira’s lips latch onto her clit and sucks. It’s not long before her hips start grinding against her mouth, smearing her arousal all over her lips and chin.
Samira finds a rhythm, seamlessly switching between long, laving swipes of her tongue, fucking it into her, and toying with her clit. Oh, Gods, she missed this so much. Mel is the nourishment she needs; the water the Desert Rose has been yearning for.
Mel’s nails scratch at her scalp and she presses her closer. She moans, soft and high-pitched, Samira’s name spilling from her pretty lips. Her eyes have fallen shut and her back repeatedly arches in a pleasurable bow. Warm lighting makes her glow spectacularly, and Samira thinks she’s never looked more beautiful than she does now.
Another moan escapes her, louder this time, and the woman almost pauses. Samira takes pride in the ability to make Mel sing, but, as loud as the music is, the bathroom is tucked far enough away from the dancefloor that she can be heard over the bass. There’s an undeniable thrill that lies within the thought of someone hearing all the pretty sounds she makes, but one too many Noxian soldiers frequent this club, and she would rather her commanding officer not find out what she and her daughter do in private (or find out that they know each other, period).
“Mel, darling,” she murmurs. “You know I love to hear you, but you have to be quiet.”
“You’re making it very difficult,” Mel protests, thighs twitching.
“Try,” Samira orders, firm yet encouraging.
She dives right back in and utterly devours her. Mel is whimpering and moaning, hips bucking wildly and nails digging into her scalp and even scratching over the strap of her eyepatch.
Mel is right: she is making it difficult.
(Though, if you ask Samira, Mel isn’t trying very hard to stay quiet.)
There’s nothing Samira would rather do right now than make her come solely with her tongue and lap up all that pours from her, but neither of them can afford getting caught right now, Mel especially. An heiress caught in a nightclub bathroom with a soldier? The media would have a field day with that.
Mel’s eyes fly open the instant Samira pulls away. She can see the frustration and confusion dancing in darkened eyes, and her lips part to let out a noise somewhere between a whine and a groan in protest.
“What the hell?”
Samira pulls her off the sink counter. “I told you to be quiet.”
“So, what, now you won’t let me finish?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Samira turns her around and bends her over the counter. She pulls Mel close until the curve of her ass is flush against her hips, and nudges her legs further apart with her foot. Mel braces herself with one hand pressed near the edge of the sink and the other flat against the mirror, gold-covered fingers splayed out on the glass. She’s a vision, really, kiss-bitten lips parted and eyes dilated, and all Samira can think about is how badly she wants to get this girl home and fuck her into the mattress.
But, she’s getting ahead of herself.
Her hand finds its way to the apex of Mel’s thighs and starts rubbing lazy, light circles on her clit. She leans forward until her chest is flush against Mel’s gorgeous back. Lips ghosting along her highly decorated ear, she asks: “Do you want to get caught?”
“Of course not,” she answers, breathy.
“I don’t believe you,” Samira sings. Mel pushes into her in search of friction, cursing when she doesn’t find it.
“Sam, please,” Mel all but whines, desperation as heavy in her gaze as it is in her tone. “I’ll be quiet, I promise. Just… please.”
“Since you asked so nicely,” she purrs.
Samira slides her hand lower and immediately pushes two fingers into her wet heat. Mel clenches deliciously around her fingers and grinds down into them, lip tight between perfect teeth as she finally tries to stay quiet. The noises coming from her are wet and obscene, and Samira suddenly has the urge to get back down on her knees. She stays where she is, though, whispering in her ear the sweetest praise, making sure Mel knows how much she thought about her while she was away, how much she missed this, missed her.
It doesn’t take long for Mel to start teetering on the edge of the height of her pleasure. She reaches back to claw at Samira’s pants. Gasping, eyebrows furrowed, eyes fluttering shut—she’s right there.
The doorknob jiggles suddenly and two heads jerk to look at the door. Someone knocks—rather, beats—on the door, followed by a drunken bellow of Open up! that makes them both freeze. The knocks come again, but all Samira focuses on is the way Mel flutters around her fingers. Lip drawn between her teeth, she raises an eyebrow as she meets Mel’s gaze in the mirror.
A silent question is met with a silent answer.
She clasps her hand over Mel’s mouth and starts thrusting her fingers into her again, and when she hears the muffled, sweet moans rising in pitch. All it takes is one final curl of her fingers up against that spot inside of her to send her over the edge.
A delectable shudder passes through Mel and a broken moan vibrates against Samira’s palm. She arches like a cat, eyes shut tightly as she melts. Her walls pulse around her fingers as she works her through it. Being the cause of Mel’s bliss, watching it take her apart—Samira never gets tired of this.
“So pretty, azizam,” Samira murmurs in between the gentle kisses she places on Mel’s back.
Mel sighs, a pleased, dazed look on her face. Mischief finds its way into her gaze. “Don’t think this means all is forgiven.”
Samira exaggerates a groan as she stands up but mirrors her smile still. She crosses over to the door and presses her ear against it: whoever was next in line must have disappeared, thankfully. Still, they need to be discreet when they leave.
While she thinks of the best way to sneak out of the club, she watches Mel make herself as presentable as possible. Miraculously, her elaborate hairstyle is still intact. She pulls her dress down and does her best to smooth out the little wrinkles that have set into the fabric. Then, she repaints her lips in that dark maroon, carefully fixing where it had smudged. It doesn’t quite wipe away the ‘just fucked’ look, but it hides it well enough.
Her eyes catch something dark on the ground, and she almost laughs. Mel’s panties are still hanging from her ankle. Samira squats and taps her leg. Mel looks down quizzically but lifts anyway, the silent question on her face disappearing when she realizes what the younger woman is sliding off. Samira stands, rolls them into a ball, and puts them in her back pocket, smirking at Mel’s expression.
“I need those,” she argues, pouting.
“For what?” Samira counters. “To take them off again?” Mel shakes her head and looks away from her, but Samira catches the small, amused smile on her face.
Samira turns towards the door. “Let’s go.“
“Wait!” She pauses and quirks an eyebrow.
“You still have me all over your face,” Mel laughs, grabbing her by the chin and kissing her.
It’s playful at first, sweet even, but passion makes itself known quickly. Mel tangles her fingers in her hair and tugs just slightly. She slips her tongue through Samira’s parted lips just as she lightly drags her nails down the taut muscles of her stomach. Heat pools at her core, the growing need making itself known.
“Mel,” Samira moans between kisses. “If you keep kissing me like that…”
“What will you do about it?” A million and one scenarios run through her mind, and each and every one of them ends with Mel not being able to walk tomorrow.
Hand on the door, she steals one last kiss before she purrs:
“Come find out.”