"Well then, just go back to hers and do more of the same. No worries mate!"
Natasha loathes that phrase and she isn't even sure why. She gives Lucia a quick kiss on the cheek and heads back to Sawyer's. Lucia waves and shouts, "I'll see you at seven when even more of your forearm smells of Sawyer Martinez's pussy!"
Natasha wheels around to see if there is anyone there to overhear. When she sees that there isn't, she gives her forearm a long, exaggerated sniff to make Lucia laugh.
On the walk back, Natasha wishes she had Lucia's easy confidence in her own decisions. She could fill her notebook with reasons that seeing Sawyer again today could go wrong. She's fighting off the urge to catalogue the ways she'll probably let Sawyer down, disappoint her. She's not sure if she's capable of love, and she knows she's not worthy of receiving it. But she wants to spend time with Sawyer, wants to wake up tangled in her thick hair.
Sawyer buzzes her in, and Natasha feels the warmth of Sawyer's apartment as soon as she opens the door. Sawyer is barefoot on her wooden floor, wearing a pastel blue negligee. She must have put the heating on in her apartment. Natasha never usually lets herself do that until right at the end of September.
"Productive couple of hours?" Natasha asks.
Sawyer giggles, "No." She fixes Natasha with a smoldering look, "Not particularly"
She pulls Natasha by the hand into the bedroom. It's only mid-afternoon but Sawyer has blackout curtains and the room is warm and dark. Sawyer has put on some sort of soothing folk music on. Natasha usually finds that sort of music doesn't give her enough mental stimulation and leaves her feeling agitated, but she'll give it a chance. Next to the bed, a little candle flickers in an oil burner. The whole room smells of rose and honey.
Natasha kisses Sawyer, roughly grabbing her ass and pulling at her little silky gown, but Sawyer bats away her hands.
She undoes the fly of Natasha's jeans and pushes the denim down Natasha's thighs, "You can't wear denim in my bed. The texture goes through me." Sawyer pauses, "Actually, I was going to give you a massage so it's easier if you just take everything off and lie down."
Natasha is often jumpy when touched before she really warms up, but she remembers how good Sawyer's skin felt against hers last night. So, she strips off and awkwardly clambers on to the bed.
Natasha lets her head sink into the pillow. As usual, her mind is reaching ahead, following a convoluted web of thoughts and sub-thoughts. At the word web, she starts thinking about the way veins and arteries look when they are spread out outside the body. She thinks about how they make those models. They pour plastic into the veins and then corrode the tissue away, leaving only the plastic. She thinks about how they look like coral. Natasha remembers Frida Kahlo's self-portraits, the spots of blood on her neck.
She tries to slow her breathing and focuses her consciousness first on her fingers, then her toes, then her belly button, then her ears. It helps, and soon her breathing is slow and her thoughts are slower too. It’s one of the reasons why yoga works for her.
Sawyer’s hand is large and reassuring on her back. She’s got some type of scented oil warmed in her hand and is smearing it over Natasha’s back. She runs her fingers down the nobbly bits of Natasha’s spine, and digs her fingers into her obliques. Sawyer grunts slightly as she uses her shoulders to work her palms into Natasha’s shoulder blades. She grinds the heel of her palm into them, twisting it into the hard knots so Natasha cries out.
Sawyer hums to herself as she strokes both palms up Natasha's waist. She bends Natasha's arms back as far as they will go and strokes her hands down the muscles in her upper arm, her forearm. "Fuck," Sawyer breathes out, "you're so strong and flexible."
Sawyer bites the mound of Natasha's palms and sucks her fingers into her mouth one by one. She releases each of them with a pop.
Natasha dimly recalls that she meant to wrangle control back from Sawyer. She decides to let it go, Sawyer seems to be doing just fine with minimal input from Natasha. Natasha finds she doesn't even mind the floaty acoustic guitar, particularly when Sawyer is grinding her fists into Natasha's firm buttocks.
Sawyer drops a kiss to the small of Natasha's back, and starts peppering kisses all over Natasha's ass. Again, Sawyer hums to herself as she presses her face more firmly between Natasha's cheeks. Natasha's body feels like it's stuck in honey, and even when Sawyer licks over her asshole, all she can muster is a little huff and a flutter of her eyelashes. Sawyer is clearly entertaining herself, licking a little star shape from the centre of Natasha's hole. She makes little smug noises into Natasha's ass, and Natasha feels her wriggle into the bed sheets. Sawyer is pressing her tongue more insistently into Natasha now, waiting for her to open up.
After a while she draws her head back, and starts rubbing her hands down Natasha's thighs. She twists her hands as she does so, moving Natasha's hamstrings and her quads. She kisses the ridges where her muscles show under the skin. Sawyer uses her thumbs to knead all down the backs of her calves and jabs her thumbs into Natasha's ankles.
Natasha loses sense of time, she gurgles into the pillows. Sawyer steps back and Natasha feels the lack of warmth immediately.
