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She’d had sex before, of course. Kissed them savage as the beasts humans named them, touched them gentle as dew on a flower, tasted them raw and wet and deadly, with eyes the colour of amber and poison staring back when they broke for air.
This was different.
Vastra hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected to walk up the stairs (her greenhouse collection in the audience room looked like a well-kept lawn compared to the wild collection of old plants she kept on the upper floor: birds of paradise for their strange beauty; tiny, well-kept magnolia to remind her of old times; roses, of course, roses to scent the whole area; and ferns of all shapes and sizes, just to name a small sampling of the ancient forests she tried to replicate in her home) and find Jenny waiting in her bedroom.
To be perfectly honest with herself – a value she strove for, and rarely admitted her failings in – it wasn’t that she hadn’t expected Jenny to be in her room. It was that she hadn’t expected to find Jenny sitting on her bed completely nude.
Perhaps she had also forgotten to think about what seeing her partner naked for a reason that did not involve sewing up wounds, pulling out needles, or otherwise healing injuries accumulated ensuring Earth’s safety from aliens tended to do to her. That just might have had something to do with how she stopped in the doorway, frozen by the sight of pale skin bright against the background of dark greens and browns and even the creamy linen of her bedsheets.
Jenny didn’t look up from the book she was reading. Vastra breathed a sigh of relief at that; she closed her eyes, carefully slowing her heartbeat until she thought she could pretend to be calm, and then stepped into the room, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.
Her partner looked up and smiled. “Long day?” she asked, voice bright and neutral and as if she were still perfectly covered by the layers of cloth forced upon proper women.
Vastra nodded, pulling off the veil that kept a layer of careful disbelief between her and humans who would rather not realize that perhaps peoples other than Homo sapiens walked the Earth. “Better for seeing you here, my dear.” Carefully, she set the veil on a concealed dresser. Back still to Jenny, she pulled off her gloves and laid them beside the veil. “Though I must say, I was not expecting to see quite so much of you.”
“I’m sorry, Madame.” Jenny’s voice came right behind her, and Vastra closed her eyes at her partner’s weight, her warmth exquisite even through layers of clothing. “Is this a problem?”
“My dear,” Vastra said, standing perfectly still, taking special care to shape the words without lapsing into the hissing dialect more suited to her kind, “I do not see how your presence could ever be a problem.”
“Good.”
Vastra caught her breath as Jenny kissed her ear, breath warm and lips warmer, ever so slightly damp and she still didn’t understand why that bit of moisture, so very little more than her kind produced, could produce such a strong reaction. She reached up towards Jenny, but the girl caught her hand before it could make it even halfway. “No,” Jenny whispered, words half-hissed into her ear. “Allow me.”
“Allow—”
And then she followed her hand around, pulled in a move she distantly remembered teaching Jenny until they were flush against each other, pale skin and dark velvet and oh Vastra wished it were easier to remove the ridiculous layers she had to wear to pass as human, wished it were worth it to tear and rip it all off until she could feel Jenny’s human warmth, so much higher than her own Silurian base, all throughout her body. Her eyes fixed on Jenny’s smile, on the unbound brown hair now spilling across her shoulders, and she reached forward, leaned down and kissed her.
She never tired of Jenny’s taste, never tired of the way her partner fell into her as her tongue darted past soft lips, of the way she could half-hear moans muffled by refusal to pull away. Jenny held her, fingers digging into her arms, hard even through cloth, and Vastra canted her hips forward without realizing until she heard her own throat create sounds to match Jenny’s.
Then she pulled away, swearing at clothing meant to be removed with another person’s aid as Jenny moved around her, quiet on the thick rugs, laughing not like a river, but deeper, even her laugh changed by arousal. Vastra moved at her maid’s direction, ordered to turn, to raise an arm or pull off a sleeve by gentle fingers tracing the edges of scales (teasing, not quite pulling, not quite pressing, but close, so close that she almost wanted to beg for the sensation) or a kiss that was almost a bite, hard against scales too tough to hold a bruise from suckling alone (and oh, Jenny’s dismay at discovering that, after the number of marks Vastra had unintentionally left on pale skin...).
The final shift, Jenny removed from behind, not quite touching her, and Vastra swore aloud, the sounds soft and strained, breath more than words and hissed more than spoken, but she did not move. To move, right now, would be futile – Jenny would simply retreat further and further until there wasn’t even the hint of warmth to pretend to satisfy her. Only when the thin silk fell near-silently to the rug did Vastra break off her curses and say, voice more broken than she’d thought it would be, “Now can I touch you?”
And it was worth it, oh, so worth it, to feel Jenny press against her, warm and soft and her hips rubbing ever so slightly against her buttocks, and hear her say, lips moving against the back of her neck, “Yes.”
Vastra whined. There wasn’t a better word for the noise, for the intake of breath and the output of air, for the way her whole body lurched and her hands clenched on air because there was nothing to hold on to, just Jenny’s body more solid than she remembered pressing against her, the promise of pressure and oh the heat behind her and the way her mouth half-kissed, half-bit the back of her neck, hard and warm and she wanted more.
One of Jenny’s hands stayed firmly against her stomach, holding her in place as Jenny’s hips ground their frustratingly slow rhythm against her. The other hand, the right hand, strayed upwards, towards the breasts Vastra tended to forget she had, for they were nothing like the soft, delicate rounds of fat and nerves that human women had; hers were hard and tight and more muscle than anything else, but the nerves laid across her nipples still responded to touch, still responded to the hard twist of Jenny’s fingers, and Vastra cried out, pushing back against her lover, head arching back against Jenny’s, barely missing a collision as the pressure increased and Jenny’s left hand slowly moved lower, tracing rough circles on thin scales that flexed over soft tissue and muscle tensed in desire.
“Please,” Vastra breathed, trying to move back further, stopped by the infinitely more balanced, infinitely more grounded woman who held her now by neck and nipple and not quite groin, but her fingers teased the edges of her hips, slid down to the inside of her thighs, and Vastra managed to bring her own hands around to grip her lover’s thighs and pull her closer still. The noise Jenny made, the moan breaking the pressure of the kiss but adding exquisite pleasure, simply intensified her pull, and the part of Vastra’s mind that still cared about such things worried that she might leave bruises. “Please.”
Those teasing fingers stopped teasing, and Vastra closed her eyes, the forward rocking of her hips stilling as Jenny’s fingers brushed across her cunt. She knew she was talking, knew she was saying something as Jenny’s fingers slowly (so slowly, too slowly, how did she have that much patience?) worked their way inside her, not quite fondling and not quite twisting as they did so. The pressure on her nipple slackened, and she pulled back, pulled to try and regain the pressure, but it disappeared entirely, lost as Jenny pressed against her breastbone instead, and Vastra felt her lover rubbing herself against her back, felt the hardened points of her nipples and moaned with the feeling.
“You’re going to come on the sound of me, aren’t you?” Vastra said, breathy, uncontrolled, still trying to work Jenny’s fingers in deeper (they’d stopped too soon, and Jenny knew that, had to know that, and it was all Vastra could do to hold in her whimpers, hold in her desperate pleas for more) and at the same time press back against her lover’s chest. “Going to bite me and use me and touch me until you can’t help but come and only then give me enough for myself, aren’t you?”
Jenny laughed, and her fingers dug in, fingernails painful against Vastra’s flesh, and the Silurian gasped, knees buckling at the unexpected sensation. Not a bad sensation, not as the tingles worked their way through her body, as the lightning passed up her nerves and out again, but strange, when so little of her could be scratched by such short and slender nails. Distantly, mind more on the pressure against her chest and back, on the way Jenny ground into her buttocks, and most of all on the way those calloused fingers slowly pressed their pads into her cunt, Vastra heard her lover’s voice:
“You’ll come and then you’ll eat me out and then perhaps you’ll come again, but I can wait and I don’t think you can.”
On the last word, her fingers twisted and Vastra convulsed, thrusting against them, aware of the sharp pain of Jenny’s teeth digging into her shoulder, the way her other nipple was twisted, and that her body was moving of its own accord, pleasure wiping out all the thoughts she had as internal convulsions warred with external shakes and pain danced electricity that matched the warmth spreading throughout her.
When she collapsed to the ground, Jenny didn’t catch her. Vastra sat there, head down, eyes open but unfocused, until a hand (sticky, she realized; that was the one that had been in her) pushed down the ridges on her head. “Did you forget what I said?” Jenny asked, her voice far too calm.
Vastra blinked at her for a moment, focusing on implacable brown eyes and flushed skin, travelling down a collarbone covered in fading bruises she’d left, down breasts pointed and nipples she would have sucked if only they were closer, down soft curves of stomach and the indentations made by muscle and hips to the furred area of Jenny Flint’s crotch. She could smell it, the distinctive scent of sex and desire that she could never quite place, that Jenny sometimes said humans called musk, that Vastra didn’t care about naming because it was wonderful and tasted even better.
“Come here,” Vastra said, reaching out and pulling at Jenny’s thigh. “I can’t do anything with you so far away.”
“Is that so?” The laughter was obvious in her voice even though Vastra didn’t want to look away from her target until she could feel it, could bury her face in it and hear her lover’s voice go soft and broken. “You have a rather long tongue, don’t you, Madame?”
“I’m not sure about my aim right now, however.” Her hand rested on Jenny’s thigh, relaxed, olive green against flushed pink.
Jenny spread her legs wider. “Try it anyway.”
Vastra opened her mouth, tasted the air with a flick of her tongue, and then reached out, a quick flex of a muscle she rarely used at this length. It pulled at her throat, and she moaned, even before her tongue reached Jenny’s cunt, even before she tasted salt and sweat and her fingers tightened on her lover’s flesh, digging scratches into skin not meant to take nails hard enough to be claws.
The way Jenny moved, the way the hand on her head flexed and pressed down harder, more of her weight leaning into Vastra as the other hand covered the Silurian’s own... Vastra loved it, loved it as much as she loved carefully working her way into Jenny’s cunt, loved the way she could feel warm muscles flex and pull at her, the way her tongue got covered in liquid, coated in physical evidence of her lover’s desire for her.
This time, when she pulled, Jenny moved closer, swaying at each step, until Vastra could bury her face in her lover’s crotch, breath in her scent, intensified by sex, magnified by wet and warmth, and taste it deep and pure, resplendent with Jenny’s moans as Vastra worked her other hand around to catch the small of her back and hold her steady as she thrust her tongue in deep, not even trying for subtlety.
Even now, even now the way Jenny pushed against her, the way she tried to fuck her mouth even though she had almost no control – even now that surprised her, though she loved it, loved the way Jenny took back the control Vastra had stolen until she was crying out with every thrust. Then, only then, did Vastra carefully lick that rough little nodule inside her; only then did she look up and watch her lover’s face as she came.
Jenny bit her lip every time, bit her lip and her face tightened up like she was trying not to show the strength of her reaction, but it was shown in every line of her body, and Vastra felt it as Jenny’s body tightened around her tongue, as Jenny’s fingers caught her and held her tight, as every muscle tensed and the ones in her torso relaxed, pulsing, and Vastra wondered, as she did every time she had enough mental power left to do so, if that was what she looked like when she came; if she looked just as undone, just as open and vulnerable and beautiful.
And then Jenny slowly melted to the floor, and Vastra caught her, and held her, and whispered endearments in her ear, until they both had enough energy to stand, and shower, and start the whole cycle over again.