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masserectSummary: Ymir can't fall asleep and sets out to relieve some tension. Christa wakes up and decides to "help."
Length: 1000 words
Rating: M
Notes: Filling a request for "some intimate-friends-but-not-established-as-romantically-involved stuff" on SNKkink. I am aware that the title is far too similar to the last one.
She can't sleep.
Ymir glares up at the ceiling with bleary eyes. Tired, exhausted, but sleep won't come.
It isn't usually like this. Not after a day of training. Not with Christa snoozing contentedly next to her, drawing deep, slow, even breaths - as deep as her tiny body can manage, anyway. It's a faint noise, but soothing. Usually.
She can't sleep.
Ymir bites her lip, frowns. Toys with the lining of her underwear, half trying to decide if it's worth trying, half already sure that it is. She has nothing to lose, after all.
Her fingers dip in underneath the cloth, easily through the valley between her hipbone and abs, where cloth and skin don't touch. They feel rough against the thin, sensitive skin down there, but she doesn't mind rough. She sighs deeply, draws a long, slow breath, and runs her middle finger down her clit, rubbing the hood back and forth over it; feels it stiffen under her touch. She's not that sensitive, but certainly sensitive enough.
The sensation is rough at first, not just the friction of her fingers, but the way it echoes through her body like jagged lightning, not even particularly pleasant yet, just raw. Her thighs clench, pressing her legs into the mattress. A spring goes crink somewhere. Ymir holds her breath, not just because of the sound, but nothing happens. Her finger keeps moving.
It's milder now. She feels things flushing and swelling below, growing wet. It doesn't matter; she already has all she needs.
She breathes out harshly, toes curling, tugging at the sheet. Almost misses the noise of Christa turning over in her sleep - without noisy springs; her side of the bed is quiet, although it could just be that Christa is light and gentle, and Ymir neither of those things.
She doesn't care. Closes her eyes, tries to focus on the sensation. Still electric and crackling, but not so raw now, and definitely pleasant.
A deep breath. Warm and wet, she feels a droplet trickle from her cunt, down her ass and soak into the cloth underneath.
Christa stirs again, smacks her lips, makes a little noise. It's not unusual. Ymir barely glances in her direction.
But Christa is not just stirring, she's rolling over again, closer, pressing her breasts against Ymir's left arm; a small, but surprisingly rough hand lands on her stomach.
Again, it's not unusual.
But she can't help but notice, this close, that Christa's breathing isn't as deep and slow as it was a moment ago, and just as the suspicion is taking root, the girl confirms it, fingers stroking her skin deliberately.
"Can't sleep?"
Christa mumbles, muffled, sleepy, but her voice seems startlingly loud in the silence of the night. Ymir manages, barely, to keep her own voice down as well.
"What are you doing?"
It's obvious what she's doing. Ymir's brain fizzles, and it's not because of the finger on her clit.
"Helping," mumbles Christa, and pets her stomach.
That's not how you "help"! Ymir wants to say, but it feels... nice. Strangely soothing. Even though she lies stiff as a board, breath stuck in her throat. After all, this was something Christa was never meant to know about.
But now that she knows...
"Don't stop," Christa mumbles, and nuzzles her shoulder. Small, pale fingers stroke Ymir's dark skin, one circling her navel. It tingles.
When she still doesn't move, Christa's hand moves to the right, fingers crawling over her arm and coiling loosely around it.
There isn't much force involved. Just a slight, gentle rocking. Ymir's arm moves, just a little. As does her hand. As does her finger. And she whimpers, legs pressing together.
Christa makes a small noise, maybe a chuckle. Ymir thinks she should smack her, but can't bring herself. She just relaxes instead, lets Christa move her hand, move her finger.
Until Christa stops.
Ymir turns her head. Can't see much of anything in the darkness, other than what little light there is reflecting off Christa's golden hair.
"Don't stop," Christa repeats, and slides her hand a little higher.
She's tempted to stop, just because of that remark. But her body aches with frustration and desire, and so she makes a grimace and begins to move her finger again. Side to side, just like when it was Christa doing it, flicking back and forth over her clit.
Christa strokes her arm, slowly, lazily. The touch seems electric. Just like the sensation inside of her, crackling out from her clit and crawling up her spine and down her legs, making her toes curl and back arch.
The hand on her arm slowly heads up past her elbow, then to her shoulder, and starts down again. Ymir bites her lip, moves her finger a little faster. The electric sensation reaches all the way through her body now, and bright spots dance before her eyes.
She digs her heels in, legs straight. Raises her hips off the bed, shoulders pressing hard into sweat-dampened sheets. Christa's hand stops at her wrist, squeezes it gently, not stopping her, just feeling every moment she makes. Ymir draws a long, ragged breath, holds it - and surrenders.
Lightning flashes before her eyes, golden. It curls and coils in the pit of her stomach, races through her spine, stabs out into the tips of every finger and toe.
Her body trembles, shudders. Muscles jump and clench. Her stomach rolls under Christa's arm. But her finger doesn't stop moving.
She holds her breath until her chest aches, and releases it only slowly, once the tremors stop. Lies still, just breathing deeply for a while, feeling the sweat cool on her body. Christa's arm is still draped over her stomach; fingers still wrapped around her wrist. She sighs and turns her head again, even knowing it's useless.
"You're really something, you know that?"
There is no response. Ymir waits, but all she hears is the sound of Christa's breathing, slow and even.
You're shitting me.
Even as the thought crosses her mind, she feels the corners of her mouth turning up.
You really are something, she thinks, and slowly closes her eyes.
The next day, Christa acts like nothing happened, and Ymir doesn't push the issue. But she remembers.
She remembers for a good, long time.
Length: 1000 words
Rating: M
Notes: Filling a request for "some intimate-friends-but-not-established-as-romantically-involved stuff" on SNKkink. I am aware that the title is far too similar to the last one.
She can't sleep.
Ymir glares up at the ceiling with bleary eyes. Tired, exhausted, but sleep won't come.
It isn't usually like this. Not after a day of training. Not with Christa snoozing contentedly next to her, drawing deep, slow, even breaths - as deep as her tiny body can manage, anyway. It's a faint noise, but soothing. Usually.
She can't sleep.
Ymir bites her lip, frowns. Toys with the lining of her underwear, half trying to decide if it's worth trying, half already sure that it is. She has nothing to lose, after all.
Her fingers dip in underneath the cloth, easily through the valley between her hipbone and abs, where cloth and skin don't touch. They feel rough against the thin, sensitive skin down there, but she doesn't mind rough. She sighs deeply, draws a long, slow breath, and runs her middle finger down her clit, rubbing the hood back and forth over it; feels it stiffen under her touch. She's not that sensitive, but certainly sensitive enough.
The sensation is rough at first, not just the friction of her fingers, but the way it echoes through her body like jagged lightning, not even particularly pleasant yet, just raw. Her thighs clench, pressing her legs into the mattress. A spring goes crink somewhere. Ymir holds her breath, not just because of the sound, but nothing happens. Her finger keeps moving.
It's milder now. She feels things flushing and swelling below, growing wet. It doesn't matter; she already has all she needs.
She breathes out harshly, toes curling, tugging at the sheet. Almost misses the noise of Christa turning over in her sleep - without noisy springs; her side of the bed is quiet, although it could just be that Christa is light and gentle, and Ymir neither of those things.
She doesn't care. Closes her eyes, tries to focus on the sensation. Still electric and crackling, but not so raw now, and definitely pleasant.
A deep breath. Warm and wet, she feels a droplet trickle from her cunt, down her ass and soak into the cloth underneath.
Christa stirs again, smacks her lips, makes a little noise. It's not unusual. Ymir barely glances in her direction.
But Christa is not just stirring, she's rolling over again, closer, pressing her breasts against Ymir's left arm; a small, but surprisingly rough hand lands on her stomach.
Again, it's not unusual.
But she can't help but notice, this close, that Christa's breathing isn't as deep and slow as it was a moment ago, and just as the suspicion is taking root, the girl confirms it, fingers stroking her skin deliberately.
"Can't sleep?"
Christa mumbles, muffled, sleepy, but her voice seems startlingly loud in the silence of the night. Ymir manages, barely, to keep her own voice down as well.
"What are you doing?"
It's obvious what she's doing. Ymir's brain fizzles, and it's not because of the finger on her clit.
"Helping," mumbles Christa, and pets her stomach.
That's not how you "help"! Ymir wants to say, but it feels... nice. Strangely soothing. Even though she lies stiff as a board, breath stuck in her throat. After all, this was something Christa was never meant to know about.
But now that she knows...
"Don't stop," Christa mumbles, and nuzzles her shoulder. Small, pale fingers stroke Ymir's dark skin, one circling her navel. It tingles.
When she still doesn't move, Christa's hand moves to the right, fingers crawling over her arm and coiling loosely around it.
There isn't much force involved. Just a slight, gentle rocking. Ymir's arm moves, just a little. As does her hand. As does her finger. And she whimpers, legs pressing together.
Christa makes a small noise, maybe a chuckle. Ymir thinks she should smack her, but can't bring herself. She just relaxes instead, lets Christa move her hand, move her finger.
Until Christa stops.
Ymir turns her head. Can't see much of anything in the darkness, other than what little light there is reflecting off Christa's golden hair.
"Don't stop," Christa repeats, and slides her hand a little higher.
She's tempted to stop, just because of that remark. But her body aches with frustration and desire, and so she makes a grimace and begins to move her finger again. Side to side, just like when it was Christa doing it, flicking back and forth over her clit.
Christa strokes her arm, slowly, lazily. The touch seems electric. Just like the sensation inside of her, crackling out from her clit and crawling up her spine and down her legs, making her toes curl and back arch.
The hand on her arm slowly heads up past her elbow, then to her shoulder, and starts down again. Ymir bites her lip, moves her finger a little faster. The electric sensation reaches all the way through her body now, and bright spots dance before her eyes.
She digs her heels in, legs straight. Raises her hips off the bed, shoulders pressing hard into sweat-dampened sheets. Christa's hand stops at her wrist, squeezes it gently, not stopping her, just feeling every moment she makes. Ymir draws a long, ragged breath, holds it - and surrenders.
Lightning flashes before her eyes, golden. It curls and coils in the pit of her stomach, races through her spine, stabs out into the tips of every finger and toe.
Her body trembles, shudders. Muscles jump and clench. Her stomach rolls under Christa's arm. But her finger doesn't stop moving.
She holds her breath until her chest aches, and releases it only slowly, once the tremors stop. Lies still, just breathing deeply for a while, feeling the sweat cool on her body. Christa's arm is still draped over her stomach; fingers still wrapped around her wrist. She sighs and turns her head again, even knowing it's useless.
"You're really something, you know that?"
There is no response. Ymir waits, but all she hears is the sound of Christa's breathing, slow and even.
You're shitting me.
Even as the thought crosses her mind, she feels the corners of her mouth turning up.
You really are something, she thinks, and slowly closes her eyes.
The next day, Christa acts like nothing happened, and Ymir doesn't push the issue. But she remembers.
She remembers for a good, long time.
