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Despite the difficulty breathing, Lucy still threatened a jolt forward when their lips broke apart. The necessity of air hardly agreed with the intention that now laced the way she moved.
But she listened anyway, and although she'd heard those words hundreds of times before, they still caught her in a way she couldn't possibly deny.
"Bloody hell, Penny." She swore. After all, it wasn't like she didn't know of the damage those little words could cause. But she grinned regardless as she exhaled so heavily. Still, she eased herself back against the bookshelf.
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Swearing again, and breaking the connection between them to do so, even. It forced a short huff of air out of the Brit as she pressed herself flush against Lucy, pressing her into the bookcase in the same motion that she leaned back against it. For her language, Penny's hands were slow to move, settling on the ink manipulator's hips rather than anywhere lower.
Nails dug into her shirt, daring to scrape the skin underneath as she clutched the fabric.
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If Lucy had the time to think, she would have likely realised the error in her own movements. Not only did she break a connection but she swore; though, she would harshly argue that that wasn't a swear at all. Another fight for another time, probably. She didn't reciprocate such sweet words because she knew she didn't need to, but it still felt odd not to give them. They were the first response she thought of, she was just beaten to them.
Her eyebrows lowered in evident frustration, or perhaps pain as nails practically threatened to rip the fabric of her shirt to get to the skin beneath. It very much felt like punishment, not because it hurt but because it was tortuously slow. Reaching down, Lucy's hands curled around her wrists, but she didn't apply pressure as much as she just held them there.
"I love you." She argued, as harshly as those hands had just been.
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Although they remained in close proximity, Penny could feel the way her counterpart's features shifted towards something more negative. That, within itself put a little humor in the usually uptight psychometrist. She had just complimented - and even thanked - Lucy for her patience. Of course now, she exhibited none such quality. She thought to point it out, but distraction caught her in the form of hands around her wrists. It was like she still wished to lead.
Though Lucy's words sounded harsh, they carried a sweetness with them. It sounded almost desperate on the Brit's ears. And now her hands couldn't move at all in the hold they were in. So instead she kissed her again, lips pressing forcibly against the Australian's.
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Now that Lucy had a hold of her, she had to decide what to do about it. Worse, she was easy to distract; it couldn't have been more than a few seconds before familiar lips came crashing into hers. With a body against her own, there wasn't much room to move. She had control of so little as it was and pushing her back for whatever reason felt wrong.
Slow hands eased their way up her arms, releasing her wrists as quickly as she'd taken them and skirting off her skin to her waist. Following the contour of her figure, she reached for the zip between her shoulders and barely hesitated to draw it down.
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Though she made a move to kiss her, Penny was waiting. Though patience in matters with her wife were always thin, she felt she could hold on just enough to see what she would do with the sliver of power she grasped at. Yet her hands were freed, and Penny's eyebrows quirked upward at the move. Though there were no complaints at how the ink manipulator's hands shifted along her form. She didn't need a drop of the mezcal on the bookcase for her head to spin.
Cool air came in quick contact with her back, forcing her shoulder blades to tense for a moment as the material loosened around her form. With the right shift, it could have fallen all together, and it had even started to, were it not for the fact that it stopped at the crook of her elbows as her hands refused to give the space needed for it to drop to the floor, instead drawing down the zip of Lucy's jeans.
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Time changed little when it came to such familiar movements. An effortless shift of a little zip and the cool air would inevitably roll across her skin with each new exposure. Lucy almost felt jealous as she stood somehow still fully clothed, knowing hers were often the first to go. But she wouldn't deprive her love the joy of ruining what she chose to wear that day. She was just surprised to be first for a change. It was an odd exchange of power.
She waited for the dress to drop, but it didn't. Impatience clearly clouded the psychometrist who couldn't move her hands long enough to let it fall. She didn't fight the fact; that was entirely hers to deal with now. Especially in knowing she'd have to fight her own way out of skin tight jeans in a matter of seconds.
Those hands, now useless, pressed themselves to either side of her face with gentle intention. Like she was done with being the boss because it was too difficult, or she'd already gotten what she wanted. She forced a harsh and heavy exhale in the minimal break provided before she dared the space between them to steal her lips again.
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Time alone was precious when there was a child in the mix - with any passing moment, the baby monitor could crackle and force her away from her love. It meant time for formalities such as removing clothes would have to be reconsidered when her heart beat so fast. But gentle hands knew how to calm senses that she hadn't even been apparent of. Her eyes opened wide to see Lucy so close. She felt the sweet breath against her trembling lips, and with sturdy hands she dragged the tight fabric at her hips downward.
Because the second kiss felt so much sweeter, or perhaps it was Penny who implemented slower connotations as she returned it. And although she never got those skin tight jeans off, they were low enough where she hadn't needed to.
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Sometimes, it paid for Lucy to keep her beloved grounded in a specific moment in time. It wasn't always easy - her mind was always wandering without her control and consent - but it was important. Being married to a psychometrist was brought its own kind of work, and she was always dedicated to the cause.
Grounded was the way her own fingernails dug into the familiar skin of her shoulders. It was how she tried - uncharacteristically - to keep her mouth shut; to keep herself quiet. She hardly wanted to be the reason their kid woke up, but she didn't want to be stifled, for every indication that she was overwhelming was everything Lucy wanted to give.
With the harshest of exhale - like fire burning her lungs - she leaned her head back and hit the hard surface behind her. There was nothing comfortable about a bookshelf in the back, but she loved it.
"Go on," She said then, hands filtering down her arms to her own clothes. Her jeans, specifically, "I'm right behind you."
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