Tumblr fanfic

She once called home

Written by tumblr user 'ficfacfoe'

Hannah walks the streets of New York City in a state of warm reminiscence. The wind is blowing icily, tugging at her coat and tousling her bleached hair, but the inside of her chest feels warm. There's a fire pit crackling cosily in between her third and fourth rib, right in the middle, where that wonderfully tortured muscle storing all her most precious memories pumps and pumps and pumps and floods her arteries with never-ending warmth as she walks.
And Hannah walks the streets of New York City, walks by a house she once called home and smiles, and thinks back.
_
"It's raining like crazy, Grace. You can crash here if you want."
Grace had looked at her with some dangerously indecisive glint in barely open eyes, had staggered towards the window and tripped over her own feet. They'd agreed it would be better if she stayed over.
"You can take the bed, I'll just-"
"You're not sleeping on your couch Hannah, don't be ridiculous."
So there they were.
Hannah had been mildly aware that this particular scenario had a certain potential, was laden with an all too familiar tension, but as they got ready for bed side by side, brushing their teeth and patting into bed barefoot, a different, much more dangerous thought crossed Hannah's tired mind: This felt real. Not the made up spark between her and that beautiful Japanese teacher, not the fictional love she'd imagined to have experienced in the past. This was her life. The comfort of it all, the soft intimacy stretching between the side of her left arm and the pointy angle of Grace's right shoulder as they lay there, breathing calmly.
She was also mildly aware that everything had started spinning a little when her head touched the pillow, but was unsure whether it was caused by the alcohol pounding dully through her head or the scent of Grace's shampoo.
And then, Grace's hand brushed Hannah's minutely. She didn't dare to turn her head sideways, only to be robbed of the illusion that Grace was wildly aware of that, too. Hannah didn't turn her head and didn't blink her eyes open, not even when Grace moved again, because she was so awake, and surely Grace had already passed out, was moving in her sleep when suddenly, breath hit her jaw, hot and entirely too close. Hannah's heart rate exploded like a volcano, hot hot lava rolling down inside her torso, and everything quivered, her skin, her skin where Grace was breathing and her skin everywhere else. An arm wrapped around her, pulled her closer, and Hannah felt herself half-turning, half being turned onto her side until Grace's breath began to mingle with her own. She was sure the bed shook with earthquakes, and her chest was the epicenter.
How she managed to find her voice in this mess, she isn't sure, but somehow she'd strung together three words, "Are you awake?"
Grace tugged her closer in response. The cool tip of her nose pressed into Hannah's cheek where it met the mattress, Grace's face buried close by Hannah's ear now. But no words. Nothing tangible.
Hannah grasped blindly at the fabric of Grace's shirt - Hannah's shirt that Grace was wearing, and held on to where it was bunched up around her waist. Because that was real, and she needed an anchor to remind herself she hadn't drifted off to sleep yet.
The hot breath and warm skin and close closeness filled her head with contradictions, because this was pure calmness, a bath full of lavender and thyme, but this was pure adrenalin, bathing her synapses in electric fire.
Almost unnoticeably, they moved. The skin to skin contact seamlessly shape-shifted into skin to lips lips to skin lips to lips and oh god -
Lips to lips. Hannah could feel rapid heartbeats pulsating, could feel it at the roof of her mouth and thumping against her lips. They were perfectly still, except for that thundering pulse, and hot breaths pressing out of tightly contracting lungs, tight and trying not to collapse and make a sound. Hannah didn't dare to move, but then Grace's bottom lip shifted like she was scared too, and Hannah pressed forward, and Hannah kissed her.
And it felt like pressing into infinite softness, softness pressing back.
And Grace kissed her back.
Everything was spinning, and this time, Hannah was certain, it had nothing to do with the vodka in her veins. Her hand went into Grace's hair to keep her close.
And then they were really kissing.
Grace tugged at Hannah's shoulder.
Hannah was sure if she opened her eyes, she'd wake up from a dream.
So she didn't, she just let Grace tug her closer still, like somehow they could melt into each other if only they tried hard enough, kissed deeply enough.
Like that would keep away any and all concerns, reasons why this was a bad idea, like nothing else would ever have to exist in between them if only, if only they could mend their bodies like two pieces of a puzzle with superglue in between.
They held and tugged each other closer, and Hannah's leg slipped in between Graces, and she gasped at the heat, gasped heat into Grace's open mouth, gasped, gasped, let out a breath and a moan and rolled on top.
And opened her eyes.
Grace was staring up at Hannah's lips, like she hadn't just committed them to memory pressed against her own, like she hadn't had enough, and Hannah silently decided to accept that Grace wanted this, too. That it wasn't crazy. She still felt tremendously daring when she pressed the first kiss to Grace's neck, because somehow kissing skin felt even more intimate than kissing lips, or maybe just more promising, because there was so much skin to kiss, so many directions to go from there. Neck to jaw. Jaw to ear. Ear to shoulder. And Grace's hips moved and she made a sound, and there was no more denying which direction.
Hannah pressed her tongue against salty softness and drew a line back up to Grace's mouth before kissing her way down a heaving chest, down, and it had all tasted a little like forever, like from that moment on Hannah would only ever taste less, because she'd tasted it. Like that was it.
_
Hannah walks the streets of New York City. She smiles. When she concentrates very thoroughly, taking in the dirty smell of this place, she can almost taste a warm memory in the cold, polluted wind.
She can almost taste forever.