open post for pic prompts, starters, and texts. f/m or f/f for shipping. see here for more permissions. please link nsfw images. compatible with all seasons of wynonna earp.
[ He might be trying to avoid the scratch of facial hair against her chin but she doesn't lean away from it, doesn't avoid the instinct to slant their mouths together solely because she's worried about a little razor burn; if anything, it only adds to the sensation of what kissing him already feels like, that rasp that somehow works in tandem with the firm warmth of his lips on hers for those few minutes that they're entwined like this, standing out on the street bathed in lamplight.
He's slowly winding her arms down from around his neck but not moving to separate himself from her beyond that; she can faintly perceive the warmth of his skin where her front just barely grazes his, permeates through the thin cotton of her shirt, tantalizingly close enough to make her want to draw in even more, to peel all the layers away until there's nothing between his body and hers anymore. ]
Honestly? Might have been even earlier than that, for me. [ If he's going to fess up to feeling a certain way about wanting to see her naked after tonight, then she can raise him even more truthfulness; she'd be lying if she said this hadn't been on her mind, playing somewhere in the background, even if it hasn't necessarily rocketed to the forefront of her awareness until now, when she knows what his mouth tastes like.
But they're not waiting anymore, if that's the agreement they've each navigated towards, and when she finally rocks back onto her heels it's with an accompanying jerk of her head down the street; she's never not appreciated that the bar is a short walk away from the high-rises, and she appreciates it even more at a time like this one. ] But we can get even more alone than this.
For how long? ( try as he might not to come across as overeager, the curiosity cuts through effortlessly. her body serves as a stronger temptation, right there, even as his hands retract from her wrists. he’d forgotten in a way, what this felt like with someone new. a current of excitement and anticipation so varied from being with someone you have mapped out. he wonders idly ( though it doesn’t particularly matter when ) if it had been as early as out on the dance floor or if it had been during his endless drills of exercise. sex is a pretty inarguable defense against running another mile. it would have worked.
he hates himself for breaking away from her and for living in the reality of the moment, for needing privacy and four walls. wynnona doesn’t seem too bothered when she indicates their direction with a tilt of her head and oliver falls into step with her with ease, delighting in the allure of her invitation. more alone than this is what he's after. is that fire going to dwindle on the walk over? is she going to cool off and change her mind? is she going to be the sort of person that needs a glass of wine to jump in once the moment's in front of her and it's not impulsive? there's a lot of details he doesn't know about wynonna at all. ) Because I'll admit after seeing that photograph, which I deleted, I was curious.
( he shrugs, not ashamed of the truth albeit a little awkward in regards to being the first to take the plunge and confess. )
[ Her hands almost instantly slip back into the pockets of her jacket — not to preserve any warmth, since it feels like it's radiating out of her now in a way that's almost impossible to ignore in the immediate aftermath of their kissing, the drink she still tastes on her tongue, but rather for lack of anything to do with them in the right now. She'll have plenty to do with them eventually, but right now, she curves her fingers in against her palms and casually sweeps her tongue across her lower lip, as if trying to subdue her reaction to the rising anticipation of it all, the spreading crookedness of her grin. ]
Maybe I was curious if you'd actually done anything with that picture after all. [ She knew he hadn't, had taken him at his word when he'd said he'd gotten rid of it then, but the thought of what it could have potentially led to had given her more than one image to dwell on. ]
Before that, though, the sparring. Watching, learning how you fought, how you moved. Sort of made me wonder how you'd handle yourself some other way. [ And how they'd move together by the very nature of a different tangling of limbs; if he'd let her bear him down or refuse to go easy on her, apply that same kind of concentrated focus once her thighs were wrapped around his hips or if he'd let himself lose control a little more like she knows he's capable of, had glimpsed hints of down in the Arena. She shrugs one shoulder, hair spilling forward across her profile with the movement, forcing her to toss her head slightly when she finally gives him a sidelong glance, trying to gauge his reaction to what she's implying by not saying. ]
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He's slowly winding her arms down from around his neck but not moving to separate himself from her beyond that; she can faintly perceive the warmth of his skin where her front just barely grazes his, permeates through the thin cotton of her shirt, tantalizingly close enough to make her want to draw in even more, to peel all the layers away until there's nothing between his body and hers anymore. ]
Honestly? Might have been even earlier than that, for me. [ If he's going to fess up to feeling a certain way about wanting to see her naked after tonight, then she can raise him even more truthfulness; she'd be lying if she said this hadn't been on her mind, playing somewhere in the background, even if it hasn't necessarily rocketed to the forefront of her awareness until now, when she knows what his mouth tastes like.
But they're not waiting anymore, if that's the agreement they've each navigated towards, and when she finally rocks back onto her heels it's with an accompanying jerk of her head down the street; she's never not appreciated that the bar is a short walk away from the high-rises, and she appreciates it even more at a time like this one. ] But we can get even more alone than this.
no subject
he hates himself for breaking away from her and for living in the reality of the moment, for needing privacy and four walls. wynnona doesn’t seem too bothered when she indicates their direction with a tilt of her head and oliver falls into step with her with ease, delighting in the allure of her invitation. more alone than this is what he's after. is that fire going to dwindle on the walk over? is she going to cool off and change her mind? is she going to be the sort of person that needs a glass of wine to jump in once the moment's in front of her and it's not impulsive? there's a lot of details he doesn't know about wynonna at all. ) Because I'll admit after seeing that photograph, which I deleted, I was curious.
( he shrugs, not ashamed of the truth albeit a little awkward in regards to being the first to take the plunge and confess. )
no subject
Maybe I was curious if you'd actually done anything with that picture after all. [ She knew he hadn't, had taken him at his word when he'd said he'd gotten rid of it then, but the thought of what it could have potentially led to had given her more than one image to dwell on. ]
Before that, though, the sparring. Watching, learning how you fought, how you moved. Sort of made me wonder how you'd handle yourself some other way. [ And how they'd move together by the very nature of a different tangling of limbs; if he'd let her bear him down or refuse to go easy on her, apply that same kind of concentrated focus once her thighs were wrapped around his hips or if he'd let himself lose control a little more like she knows he's capable of, had glimpsed hints of down in the Arena. She shrugs one shoulder, hair spilling forward across her profile with the movement, forcing her to toss her head slightly when she finally gives him a sidelong glance, trying to gauge his reaction to what she's implying by not saying. ]