faderift | CLOSED | She said, "Where'd you wanna go? How much you wanna risk?"

Ellie catches her breath when she hears the door open, shifting up in the water to peer through the steam, wondering if she should call out, dreading the thought of Abby coming in.

And for one horrible second Clarisse, with her build and her long hair, looks enough like Abby to send her heart rabbiting up into her throat.

Slowly, she releases where she'd been white-knuckling the side of the bath and sighs. Rubs one wet hand over her face and tries to shake off the lingering tension.

"Hey," she answers.

She thinks of asking why she's here so late, but. It's obvious. Neither of them can sleep.

Ellie's minor freakout goes mostly unnoticed, since Clarisse is doing her best not to look creepy and keep eyes on her. Instead she puts her singular focus into getting undressed. The rest of her clothes go in a messy pile over the shorts, and then Clarisse lowers herself into the water a decent distance from Ellie. She submerges her head, holds her breath until her lungs start to burn, and then reemerges to lean against the wall of the pool and close her eyes. She's not tired, but she's hoping that if she sits here long enough tiredness will take over at some point.

"I thought it'd be empty in here." Not accusatory exactly, just an explanation. Her eyes are still shut. "You always take a bath at one AM?" Like Ellie's the weird one for being in here, not her.

Ellie turns her whole body away, folding her good arm on the edge of the bath, pillowing her chin on it and letting her eyes fall shut. Her hair's loose, just long enough to trail into the water now.

There's nothing to see like this, with most of her underneath the water anyway -- the both of them looking away so hard it'd probably be fucking funny if they realized they were both doing it.

Once the splash and the direction of her voice makes it clear Clarisse is in the water, Ellie glances back over her shoulder, snorts a laugh before she can fully think it through.

"Always," she says with a sunny lightness she doesn't feel, then notices Clarisse's eyes still closed.

Instead of commenting on it, she just waits, her eyes on Clarisse's face. How long is she gonna hold out?

"Me, too. Best time for it." It's not even totally a joke. The bathrooms at camp were all communal, too. Sometimes sneaking out after lights out to take a shower without anybody else around was the best part of her day.

Clarisse opens her eyes, finally, sees Ellie half turned around and watching her, and raises both eyebrows in a silent "what the fuck?" But she can't help laughing, at the same time. It's so dumb, like they've been playing chicken and both decided to forfeit at the same time.

Ellie raises her eyebrows too, entirely not on purpose, and completely fails not to laugh with her.

"I was starting to wonder," Ellie adds, fully aware she's being a shit, "If you always take baths with your eyes closed."

"Oh." Clarisse straightens up a little. "No, only when I take baths with mortal girls as skinny as you."

At least when Ellie's being a shit, she's doing it in a way that makes sense to her, that sounds like it could be coming from one of Clarisse's own friends and that she feels comfortable throwing back at her. It doesn't feel dangerous, or like she's risking anything too big. It's nice, actually, being able to joke around like this.

Ellie splashes at her, pulling a face, but doesn't deny being skinny; she's put on a lot of weight and muscle since coming here!

"I here I thought you weren't looking," she challenges her instead, with a slow smile.

It's nice. It's good, getting out of her goddamn head like this, thinking about anything other than everything good in her life starting to fall through. About anything but her own bruises, inside and out.

"My eyes were closed. Swear. Your skinniness is just so obvious."

Clarisse flicks a finger at the water's surface, sending a spray in Ellie's direction.

She adds, "Would you be pissed if I was looking?" Look, she's just... feeling things out. She isn't going to be offended (well, not a lot) if Ellie says yes.

Ellie slows to a stop, pressing her lips together, a tingle of strange shivery awareness passing over her.

It's not often she gets this feeling. It's even less that she finds that she likes it. Plenty of people are curious. But it's not often she feels like somebody actually likes what they see.

And for a second, it knocks all of the other thoughts right out of her fucking head.

"No," she says suddenly, her eyes coming back to fix themselves on Clarisse's face. Her entire focus is an intense thing, and the answer seems to surprise her, too.

One more beat, and Ellie decides to throw caution to the wind.

Ignoring the dull screaming in her shoulder, Ellie puts both elbows and forearms up on the lip of the pool, facing out -- the water barely covers her. (It doesn't cover the bruises that blacken her shoulder, her collarbone, down her chest.)

"You want a better look?"

She wasn't sure what she was expecting. It wasn't rejection, exactly, but it wasn't this, either. Maybe something more playful, less direct, something closer to the way they'd been talking so far.

Either way, she's been given permission, so she looks. First at Ellie's face—she doesn't wilt under the intensity of Ellie's expression but seems to take the look in her eyes as something of a challenge. Then Clarisse's eyes trail down the parts of Ellie's body that she can see. They linger on the bruises, dark and dripping with water. Clarisse's mouth opens, closes. She licks her lips. It's fucked up, but the bruises just make Ellie look hotter.

"What the hell happened to you?" She sounds more impressed than anything.

Ellie's first impulse is to tell her not to worry about it. Or that it's none of her fucking business. Anything to avoid fucking talking about it more, but then she catches the way Clarisse's eyes stick on the bruises, the way her tongue darts out, unknowing.

It's a hitch in her chest. Something just a little bit fucked up, in a way that tugs at her, burning and not letting go.

This isn't concern. And Ellie zeroes in on that, feels a smile break across her face. It's not exactly a nice smile. But she finds herself leaning forward, away from the edge of the bath. Her fingertips curl against the stone.

"Fighting," she answers, which is both completely truthful and also the kind of understatement that almost makes it a lie anyway.

And she lets it hang like that, just looking at her. Letting it build up inside as she lets herself want something.

"Clarisse," she says, and it spools out between them like a thread, and for once she doesn't overthink, doesn't let herself fuck it up before it gets out of her mouth.

"You think anyone else is gonna come in here?"

Ellie's smile is something sharp and dangerous, and Clarisse has always been hopelessly attracted to sharp, dangerous things. The more likely they are to hurt her, the more she wants them. It sends a thrill down her spine, almost a shiver despite the heat of the water. All of a sudden she can feel her heartbeat in every part of her body.

Fighting. Gods. Must have been one hell of a fight.

"Ellie," she says, and pauses. Her voice is rougher, lower. "I didn't see anyone else on my way down here."

"Okay," Ellie breathes, almost to herself, her eyes stuck on Clarisse's face. She can feel the rush of blood in her ears, the pounding, familiar rush of adrenaline.

She gets to her feet, the water sluicing down her chest to pool around her waist. The bruises are dark, scattered, blooming like constellations of shadows across her skin. The fight must've been a fistfight, because every bruise is blunt-force, not hard-edge, and someone must have helped her with her face, or it would've been just as bad.

Worse are the scars -- puckered arrow holes, burns, ragged slashes that would have laid her open. A dark pink splotch across her lower abdomen on the left, where something fucking impaled her.

Clarisse was right to call her skinny, and in her clothes, she looks it. Looks small, but with her cloak and tunic and leather gone, every inch of her is lean muscle.

Ellie leans back against the stone edge. Her eyes have never left Clarisse's face. Her fingers squeeze down on the edge, like they're the only thing keeping her there.

"How would you feel," Ellie says, her knuckles white. "About getting head for like, an hour? And just keeping your hands to yourself?"

When Ellie stands up, everything in Clarisse sharpens, goes taut. She leans forward a bit without realizing she's even doing it.

The bruises, the scars, they don't freak her out but they make her ache with a longing she didn't even know she had in her. She knows exactly how it would feel to run her fingers over them. She's missed this—not the flirting, she did plenty of that at school, but the way it feels to sit across from someone else who's been chewed up and spit out by the world. The kids back at UofA would lose their minds facing a tenth of the shit she and Ellie have seen. They were soft. When she ran her hands over their skin, she never felt scars.

The moment feels fragile, and Clarisse's sudden, sharp exhalation could be mistaken for laughter. It's not. She stares at Ellie, looking for some indication that this is a joke, but Ellie's fingers are clutching the rim of the tub so hard they've gone white. Ellie's staring at her with a look on her face Clarisse isn't sure how to read.

"What, I'm not allowed to touch you?" What if she wants to? Huh?

Ellie would've been fine with not being touched. Hell, she'd say she preferred it -- it's vulnerable, letting somebody put their hands on you, and Ellie knows herself enough to know that she's honest when it gets to that place.

God knows just how vulnerable she's felt lately, how lacking in control. It would be so nice to just. Give over, and not think for a while, and just concentrate on the idea of get Clarisse to fight and shiver and break the fuck apart.

But the look of naked want Clarisse gives her is enough to leave her breathless, because it's so fucking unexpected. It knocks her off guard, puts her on a back foot. It's the kind of thing that sends hot-and-cold adrenaline through her veins, and she's surprised to find that she likes it.

More than likes it.

Fuck, where did this come from.

Ellie feels like she's going to break the stone on the lip of the bath. Her eyes have widened, lips parting, and she loses her composure, just for a second.

"If you start," Ellie says, honestly, a laugh catching up to her throat, leaving her breathless, "it's gonna get real fucking distracting."

Ellie's apparent shock, followed by that breathless little laugh, has Clarisse ducking her head to try and cover a smile. "Uh, yeah," she agrees. "That's kind of the point."

Isn't it? To be a distraction? Ellie's obviously all fucked up over something (something Clarisse has zero plans on asking about), and Clarisse is all fucked up over being stuck here in the first place, so... it's fine. It's good.

She moves, finally, lifting herself up so she can cross the water to Ellie. She stops within arms reach, just looking at her. Ellie's shorter than she is, leaner. Clarisse has always been tall; she comes by it honestly. You could say she was born to wear battle armor, in a way, and she has her own scars to prove it. The newest one is pink and still only mostly healed, on her ribs, from the demon after she'd fallen through the rift.

Slowly, giving Ellie plenty of time to stop her, she reaches out to brush her fingers across one of the bruises on Ellie's chest.

Ellie wouldn't dare call Clarisse cute to her face. Seems like a fast-track to her second broken nose of the week, but she thinks it, just for a split second when she ducks her head and can't completely hide her smile.

The question is, how fucked is she gonna be, when she gets out of the water?

So Ellie lifts her chin, inviting her -- and gets her answer. Her intake of breath is lost in the splashing of the water off Clarisse's skin, but she'll be able to see the way Ellie grits her teeth together to keep from swearing aloud.

The answer is very. Very fucking extremely fucked, thanks.

There's zero thought of stopping her. Instead, Ellie drags her gaze like a physical thing up from where the v of her hips disappears into the water, up her abs, up her breasts and her collarbones, the curve of her arms and the curve of her throat, back to her eyes.

And Clarisse touches her and it's so fucking light. It barely even hurts. Ellie grips down on the stone harder, scraping her fingernails into it, and finally detaches one hand to lay it on the back of Clarisse's wrist.

At the same time, she leans in, closing the gap between her skin and Clarisse's palm. She's warm and slick under her fingers, and her breath catches in her throat. Slowly, she leans in further. Until it's a press, and the ache of it radiates outward.

Her breath hisses out between her teeth.

Oh.

Ellie's skin is hot under her hand, slick from the water. Clarisse can feel her chest rise and fall with that little hiss of breath, and she sucks in a small breath of her own, almost in answer. Ellie's close enough, now, that Clarisse can dip her head and press her lips against the other girl's neck. She traces a trail of water downwards, toward the dip of Ellie's collarbone, with her tongue.

She wants to grab Ellie's hips and tug her forward. She wants to press her palms all over Ellie's chest and back. She wants to run her fingers through Ellie's hair and dig her nails into the skin at the nape of Ellie's neck. She wants her hands in a hundred different places at once.

"They broken?" she asks. The words are mumbled into Ellie's skin. "Your ribs."

Am I going to hurt you? is what she's really asking.

It feels blindingly, unbelievably good. Embarrassingly good. She hadn't thought she'd been in this kind of a dry spell, because Clarisse's tongue fitting into the shallow impression of her collarbone shouldn't feel like it reaches all the way down between her legs.

Ellie's pulse jumps under Clarisse's tongue, and she reaches out, her scarred and tattooed arm circling around Clarisse's waist to pull her in closer, demanding skin on skin.

She reaches up with her other hand to brush her hair away from the side of Clarisse's neck, eyes flickering up, a fleeting glance.

"They were," she admits, her fingertips skimming over the back of Clarisse's shoulders as she moves all her hair aside. She smiles, something sharp and a little challenging, to cover the way it all tugs at something deeper in her chest.

"They're fine. Just don't try to break 'em again."

She can handle it, even if Clarisse is a little rough with her. Hell, she'd even welcome it.

Meanwhile, she brushes her lips against the curve of Clarisse's shoulder, finds the place she wants to put her teeth.

Grips her tighter, and bites. Not sudden, not tearing- but then she keeps biting, increasing the pressure until it's a warm, radiating ache, and she'll have a brilliant fucking mark for later.

The sharp pinch of Ellie's teeth on her shoulder sends a shock of pleasure all the way through her. Clarisse groans, soft and low, against Ellie's neck. The feeling of her body pushed up against Clarisse's, the wet heat of her mouth on Clarisse's shoulder, has her aching in the best way.

"Okay," she says in a voice that's shaky with want. "That's—that's good."

She pushes Ellie back against the stone lip of the tub. She's strong; it feels like she could hold them both there for as long as she wants to. One hand grips the stone, and the other runs itself over the curve of Ellie's breast, less gently now, less careful. She pushes her leg in between both of Ellie's, presses up against her.

"Ellie," she says. Clarisse doesn't want to kiss her mouth—kissing would make this something other than what it's supposed to be, but she wants to snag her bottom lip between her teeth. She wants Ellie breathless and shaking against her. She doesn't know what else to say, so she murmurs it again, Ellie, not much louder than a whisper.

Ellie comes up only when her teeth and mouth have left a dark, angry bruise, only when Clarisse indicates it's enough. She runs her tongue slowly over the marks and half expects there to be blood along with the heat of her indented skin.

There's a kiss there. Blink and you'll miss it. A flash in the pan of gentleness, there and gone before Clarisse pushes Ellie suddenly back. The stone lip of the tub pushes into her lower back, an aching counterpoint to the warmth of Clarisse at her front, the her calloused hand on her breast -- fuck she can feel her nipple going hard at the unexpected touch -- feel her breath catching-

Ellie gasps aloud as Clarisse's thigh pushes firmly between her legs, and the height difference means she's up on her fucking toes, practically riding it already, forced to put both arms around her or fall backward.

"Oh fuck-" she whispers, breath stuttering as she presses fully against Clarisse's thigh, slick and hot even in the wet heat of the water. They end up forehead to forehead, close enough to kiss, the both of them breathing nothing but steam.

And Clarisse whispers her name and it's like asking permission, and Ellie slides her hands down Clarisse's back, grips both of her hips, and pulls them forward, right where she needs her. The movement is a hot slide so direct it has Ellie seeing stars, a punched out sound escaping the back of her throat.

Edited 2022-09-18 04:18 (UTC)

Okay, fuck it.

Clarisse leans in and takes Ellie's bottom lip between her teeth. It's not a kiss, it's not a kiss. She bites down hard enough to draw blood, runs her tongue over the soft wet heat of Ellie's mouth.

Ellie's hands are on her hips, pulling her closer. Clarisse presses up with her thigh, letting Ellie grind against her. She pulls her hand away from the stone lip of the bath just so she can drag her fingers over the small of Ellie's back and then hold onto her there with both hands, supporting her weight while Ellie rocks down against her thigh.

She can feel it when Ellie slides over her like this, even here. The slight resistance, the way Ellie's own thighs tense up as she moves. The noises Ellie makes, strung out and desperate and so fucking hot, make Clarisse's breath stutter in her chest.

"I can't believe you weren't going to let me fucking touch you," she gasps out, managing to sound both offended and turned on at the same time. Really, though.

Clarisse arches up, puts her thigh directly against her cunt, and pushes, and the fucking perfect friction steals all the air out of Ellie's lungs. Her thigh is hard, her skin is soft, and-

Ellie opens her mouth to tell her to fucking move and before she can get the words out, Clarisse's teeth are on Ellie's lip, hot and sharp and setting her every nerve on edge, the heat singing down her back. Purely on instinct, purely on want, Ellie presses back into it to give Clarisse a biting kiss, licking her own blood past her lips and into her mouth until they both can't breathe.

A breathless laugh explodes out of her at her words, sounding like it almost hurts.

"Better get those touches in now," she threatens, "Because once I get you on your back- fuck-"

"Big talk, for a mortal girl," Clarisse says against Ellie's mouth, breathless. The words are hardly more than gasps. Ellie tastes like blood, and she's not sure whose it is, or maybe it's both of theirs. At the sound of Ellie's laugh, Clarisse can't help but grin back at her; it's not a soft smile, self-important and all angles.

She grips Ellie tighter around the waist, pushing her down against her thigh, feels the way her clit drags over Clarisse's skin. The warm weight of her body, skin slipping against Clarisse's as she rocks forward, the gasping sounds she makes, has a low groan coming from deep in Clarisse's throat. She muffles it by placing frantic kisses along Ellie's jaw and down her neck, scraping skin with her teeth.

"Gods, you're hot. Come on, Ellie."

It's frustrating, fumbling-perfect, the kind of fuck that Ellie would have attributed more to her teenage self, finding the first thing that felt good and riding that feeling to a hot, messy orgasm.

Clarisse feels like that against her, a blur of heat that intensifies with every slide, her voice a low coaxing challenge in her ear as her clit catches on the hard, slippery plane of her thigh, outright demanding that Ellie give up on snatching at any semblance of control of this.

It feels good. It's a jolt, first, when she rides into Clarisse just right and the pleasure goes shooting up her spine, kept going by Clarisse's teeth on the pulse in her throat. One more buck of her hips and Ellie stops breathing, dragged into a shock of pleasure that has her mouth falling open, trembling on that frustrating edge-

And then slipping back from it with a desperate, aching noise of frustration.

"Clarisse-"

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cw: sexual

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cw: spice from here on

👀

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