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bueckersleftbraid · 22 days ago

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gosh this is beautiful. I aspire to be as creative as this.

୨ৎ dentition.

wnba!paige x lawyer!azzi. men & minors dni.

synopsis: paige discovers that her wife has an oral fixation.

cw: explicit sexual content (oral sex, fingering, masturbation), established relationship, married couple dynamics, dom!paige, sub!azzi, possessiveness, oral fixation/kink, praise kink, power exchange, voyeurism/watching, ice play, overstimulation, discovering kinks within marriage, food as foreplay, non-sexual intimacy, mild objectification, consensual sexual experimentation.

notes: this is a short appetizer to tide you all over until i get the 10k+ monster of fairy-tale!pazzi finished. enjoy! i love you. as always, feel free to tell me what you think.

the first time paige truly notices it is on the eve of their third wedding anniversary.

her eyes are almost always on her wife. when they aren’t, it's either because they are closed or centered on something else of interest, a rare occurrence, such as keeping the car on the road, or her mind on the court. otherwise, paige doesn’t care to look at anything or anyone that is not azzi fudd-bueckers.

that’s always been the case, hasn’t it? some people orbit. others lock in. paige had locked in from the beginning. love, for her, was not diffusive; it was targeted. bright and brutal as a spotlight. and azzi—well, azzi wore it. so well. like a stage light or summer sun, she'd been built to withstand.

the restaurant is perfect in its selection. warm wood and amber light, the sushi bar stretches before them like an altar while the chef moves with a practiced ceremony behind it. brick walls the color of burnt honey, pendant lights casting pools of gold. there are other diners, but the lighting creates pockets of privacy, each table its own small world. paige had chosen this place deliberately. she wanted azzi for herself.

despite public perception, paige was more possessive than azzi seemed on a good day. once their vows had been exchanged, she had made it a point to keep every outing to just the two of them. no one deserved to see her wife as she was: that golden brown skin slick with the warm light and her custom-made vanilla lotion, her dark curls, longer than they had been in her college years, now almost to the middle of her back, cascading over bare shoulders. that perfect pouting mouth was a little too pink from where she’d worried it with her teeth in the car.

sometimes paige thought about that mouth and felt vaguely religious. not in the way of psalms, but of strange little rites—animal things. prayers mouthed into skin, whispered down a throat, the word mine swallowed and buried and inherently known.

the black lace dress azzi wore was high-necked but backless, delicate patterns creating shadows that shifted whenever she moved. it made paige want to bite her. she struck down the thought, tonguing at her canines before taking a sip of her wine.

azzi's perfect mouth, dark pink and plump, was pursed around the end of her straw now, worrying it between white teeth. she had been doing this for the better part of twenty minutes, forgoing draining the glass of her freshly squeezed lychee and pineapple smoothie. something about the way the pink snake of her tongue slipped the straw from one side to another made paige hone in on the movement, her blonde brows furrowing as she watched azzi just chew away. the plastic bent under the pressure of her bite, and when she released it, there were small indentations from her canines.

it was a bit practiced. as if her mouth didn’t know how to be empty for too long, and so azzi had to fill it. it took another moment for it to click in paige's mind. there were two consecutive thoughts: azzi had been playing with the straw all night. then, with the clarity of recognition—

azzi had an oral fixation.

paige settled back in her seat, sliding a cool cube of salmon sashimi between her lips, letting it dissolve on her tongue while she continued to watch. the knowledge felt significant, like discovering a new room in a house she thought she knew completely.

huh.

it wasn’t the surprise that got her. it was the possibilities.

she always did say that if she hadn’t gone the basketball route, she’d have been a scientist.

she begins with one soft tissue pass, nothing invasive.

three days later, paige finds azzi at the kitchen table with her laptop open, contracts spread across the dark surface like puzzle pieces. the table is made of oak, the wood gleaming with its most recent cleaning of the house, and paige can’t help but pause to take in the easy way azzi reaches beside herself to grab the thick spine of her favorite tortoise-print claw clip and drag her hair up.

the afternoon light catches in the uneven spill of curls as she leans over a document, pen cap between her teeth. not just holding it there. chewing it. the blue plastic moves between her molars as she reads, and paige can hear the faint sound it makes, soft clicks and the occasional scrape of a tooth against plastic.

paige sets down her protein shake and watches, crossing her arms across her compression-shirt-clad chest. her blonde hair has been darkened by her shower, then dragged into a tight bun at the base of her neck. azzi's concentration is complete, a variation of the focus that used to make paige jealous in college when textbooks got more attention than she did. now it just makes her want to study her wife the way azzi studies everything else: thoroughly, patiently.

the pen cap disappears further into azzi's mouth as she scrolls through something on her computer. like clockwork, her full brows come together as something displeases her, and then the cap reemerges, slightly misshapen from the pressure of her bite.

paige moves without thinking about it.

“hey,” she says softly, settling into the chair beside azzi. her wife looks up, those dark eyes still half-focused on whatever legal language she'd been parsing.

“mmm?” the pen cap is still between her teeth.

paige reaches over and gently tugs it free. azzi's lips part with a small wet sound, and for a moment, they just look at each other. paige can see the tiny indentations the plastic had left on azzi's lower lip. she thinks about kissing her, about making her lips so swollen with paige’s ever-present lust that she can’t fit anything else between them.

but today isn’t the day for that.

instead of giving the cap back, paige sets it aside and picks up a strawberry from the ceramic bowl of fruit on the table. she holds it by the green stem, bringing it close to azzi's mouth.

“you'll get ink poisoning,” she says, though they both know that's not really why. “this will be better.”

azzi's eyes widen slightly, lashes fluttering rapidly in her bewilderment, but her lips part again. paige smiles slightly at the way azzi so deeply trusts her. when she presses the strawberry gently against her mouth, azzi takes it between her teeth. the fruit is soft and sweet, and paige can see the way azzi's tongue works around it, the way her jaw moves as she chews.

“better, right?” paige asks.

azzi swallows, and there's something new in her expression. something that looks like understanding.

“yeah,” she says quietly. “better.”

paige reaches into the bowl again, claws off the green top of the fruit so she can better feed it to her wife this time. azzi opens again, lets paige tuck in the diamond body of the strawberry until she fits the whole thing in, and then begins to chew.

paige thumbs at her bottom lip, where a spot of juice has dribbled. she rises.

“i’ll wash some more for you.”

azzi hums.

II.

the next time it happens, they're watching television. some mindless reality show that azzi had put on while she sorted through emails on her phone, her legs stretched across paige's lap on the sectional. the living room is dim except for the blue glow of the screen and the warm light from the kitchen spilling through the archway.

paige isn't really watching the show. she's watching azzi, who has occupied herself with dragging the thick cake of her edible lip mask off of the skin and into her mouth, the plump edge disappearing and reappearing between her teeth as she scrolls. it's become automatic now, this cataloging. the way azzi's teeth worry at things, the small sounds she makes without realizing.

when a commercial comes on, paige shifts slightly, letting her hand rest on azzi's ankle. “you're going to split them,” she says.

azzi glances up, mouth a little slick. “what?”

instead of explaining, paige reaches into the bowl of cherries on the pale pine of the coffee table. the fruit seems to clamor together, anxious to be the one dangling from her fingers. one of her nails punctures the skin of another, the surface splitting easily and sputtering out a watercolor splash of juice. she'd been washing more fruit lately, keeping bowls of it around the house. she plucks one by its stem, the dark red skin taut and perfect.

“here,” she says, and azzi automatically opens her mouth, letting paige place it on her tongue. the cherry is cold from the refrigerator, sweet and sharp. azzi’s lips close around it, and paige can see the way she works it between her teeth, careful not to bite into the pit.

“better than the chemicals,” paige murmurs, her thumb stroking along azzi's shin.

azzi's eyes stay on hers as she chews, and when she swallows, she doesn't immediately look back at her phone.

“you've been doing that a lot,” she says quietly.

“what?”

“feeding me things.”

paige's hand stills on her leg. “you want me to stop?”

there's a long pause. on the television, someone is crying about roses. paige wonders if azzi would let a thorn pierce her tongue.

“no,” azzi says finally. “i don't want you to stop.”

paige reaches for another cherry.

III.

the next time, there is no fruit available—slightly purposeful if paige were to be honest—so paige uses her fingers. they’re in bed, so it does make sense that there wouldn’t be a bowl sitting pert and available in the room. there has to be ceremony somewhere.

azzi is reading, attempting to keep the light low so as not to wake paige. but paige is always awake when azzi is, loath to spend a moment without her. she rolls over next to her, inches closer until she can press the cold tip of her nose into azzi’s stomach like a dog. her wife’s shrieking laughter is worth it.

the laugh makes her current victim drop from her mouth—the metal aglet of paige’s hoodie string. that certainly can’t be good for her teeth. so, paige just improvises. her hand comes up, and azzi is already moving toward it, body expectant of her wife’s lingering touch.

but paige cups her jaw instead, the grip firm, and stops the return of the string to her lips. with a soft shift of her body, paige is sitting up and close enough to see the small dilation of azzi’s pupil. after a tense moment of silence, paige tenderly pries her jaw open and places the tip of her finger onto the hot, wet stripe of azzi’s tongue.

this close, she can see the exact moment in which azzi tastes what paige has been doing to herself underneath the shroud of the covers.

azzi's eyes widen, then flutter closed. her tongue moves against paige's fingertip, tentative at first, then with more purpose. the book falls forgotten against her chest, pages splayed open like wings.

“paige,” she whispers around the finger, and the vibration of her voice travels up through paige's hand, settling somewhere low in her stomach.

“shh,” paige murmurs, though there's no one to wake but themselves. her free hand smooths down azzi's hair, gentle where the other is insistent. “you’re alright. this is better. just let me—”

she doesn't finish the sentence. doesn't need to. azzi's lips have closed around her finger properly now, and she's sucking with the same careful attention she'd given the cherry, the strawberry, every small thing paige imagines feeding her. but this is different. this is paige.

when she adds a second finger, azzi's back arches slightly off the mattress. her breath comes faster through her nose, warm against paige's knuckles. the book slides off her chest entirely, lands on the floor with a soft thud. she sucks greedily, lapping up the musk and salt of her wife’s cunt. paige watches her swallow, the pulse of her golden throat gorgeous and unnecessarily obscene.

azzi has always been good at surprising her.

“you taste good,” azzi says when paige finally withdraws her fingers, her voice rough and wondering.

“i know,” paige says simply. she can see the flush spreading down azzi's neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her sleep shirt. “i’ve been eating a lot of pineapple.”

azzi laughs. paige smiles.

more seriously, she says, “i wanted you to know what you do to me.”

there's a long moment where they just look at each other. the bedside lamp casts everything in warm gold, making the moment feel suspended.

then, quietly, azzi asks,

“can i have another one?”

paige doesn’t answer at first. instead, she shifts, knees bent beneath her, the hem of her sleep shirt pooling at her hips. carefully, she lifts the hem to reveal the darkened fabric of her boxers. she places her palm flat against her stomach, two fingers slick with azzi’s spit, and then slides it lower.

she takes her time with it. her knuckles knock against slick heat. she presses in.

there’s no need to rush. not now. not when azzi is looking at her like that, lips already parted, tongue barely visible, her breath shallow and even, as if she doesn’t dare disrupt any part of the process.

paige circles once, low and firm, and it’s not performative. it feels necessary. her hips twitch despite herself, breath catching, her free hand fisting lightly in the sheets. she circles her clit again—methodical, low, firm—until her body jerks at the simulation. she’s wetter than she expected. a bit messy now. it’s only when she lets out a sound, when she feels herself gush over the flesh of her hand, does she remove it.

azzi watches the whole thing. doesn’t blink once.

paige holds them up between them, hovering. a thin thread of slick stretches from her knuckle to the heel of her palm. she sees azzi’s lips part, her pupils wide and swimming. she sees her tongue peek out like instinct. one drop of slick clings to her knuckle, then falls, landing just above azzi’s collarbone.

then she reaches out to azzi’s waiting mouth.

she already had two fingers. paige gives her a third.

the shape of azzi’s mouth stretches wide, spit pooling at the corners. paige watches her jaw work, watches her cheeks hollow out slightly with the effort. her breath stutters.

when azzi sucks, it’s with quiet, reverent purpose. she isn’t aiming to tease or even please herself. it’s more of a soothing.

paige watches her swallow. watches her eyes flutter closed.

azzi takes it all, moaning low in her throat, her lips stretched in a way that makes the band in paige’s stomach feel close to snapping.

they stay like that for a while.

“you've been watching me,” azzi says quietly.

“yes," paige agrees, “but you've been letting me.”

azzi's hand comes up to catch paige's wrist, holds it there between them. her thumb traces over paige's knuckles, still damp from her mouth.

“what else?” she asks, and her voice is different now. hungrier. “what else have you been thinking about?”

IV.

azzi’s hungry. also, impatient. a terrible combination.

the delivery’s late. she’s already paced the apartment twice, checked her email, replied to something she should’ve flagged and sent to her assistant instead. her hair is down, and she keeps tugging at the ends, the coils bouncing up into a perfect spiral whenever she lets go. she looks small here, almost unimportant, which is the most flagrant lie paige would ever tell if she made it a habit to mutilate the truth.

azzi was the most important thing. sometimes the only.

now her wife is chewing at the edge of her thumbnail, the soft part, where the skin gives. paige watches the shape of her mouth from the kitchen, eyes narrowing.

“don’t do that,” paige says gently, not quite looking at her. “you always hate how your nails look after.”

azzi pauses. the tip of her nail rests against her lower lip, caught like she might go back for it. paige knows what’s coming. “no, i don’t.”

paige moves slowly, reaches into the freezer. the bend of her back is almost painful, a well-needed stretch.

“yes,” she calls from inside the frigid maw of the freezer, “you do.”

she returns with a single cube, ice clinking against her palm. with a hand to azzi’s chest, she stills her. her voice drops.

“here.”

azzi doesn’t question it. she leans forward, lips parting automatically. it’s instinct now, a baser part of her more highly trained by paige’s curiosity. the cube slips past them like an offering, coating them with a thin glaze of frost, and she suckles at it quietly, eyes fluttering shut at the shock of cold.

paige settles next to her on the couch, thigh to thigh. the television plays something neither of them is watching. everything before this point has only been a distraction. azzi has always been a bit too cagey to ask to be settled down.

azzi shifts the cube to one side of her mouth, tongue curling around it, and paige tilts her head. she tests out a thought.

“make it last.”

azzi pauses mid-suck, brow lifting slightly, but she obeys. her mouth stills, and paige watches the melt track down her chin in a thin line.

“good girl,” paige says, almost absently.

there’s another cube waiting on the coffee table, already starting to bead with condensation. it’s probably not best for the wood, paige thinks. but they’re rich and idle and sometimes bored. it’ll be replaced during one of their moods.

paige picks the cube up, holds it between her fingers. she thinks it's a bit too white to be the blue that it's usually drawn as. she doesn’t hand it over. instead, she reaches under the waistband of her shorts—soft cotton, nothing dramatic—and presses the ice flat against herself.

she exhales slowly. the sting, the ache, is grounding. her clit buzzes. she needed this. she’s been so swollen, so heavy all day. azzi watches with her mouth slightly open, the first cube shrinking behind her teeth. her breath comes shallow now, but she doesn’t move.

when paige pulls the cube free, it’s slick with more than melt. she lifts it, brushes the side of azzi’s mouth with it like an afterthought.

“here. this one is better. it has flavor.”azzi’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t ask. she just opens, slow and steady, lets paige place it on her tongue.

“don’t bite.”

azzi nods faintly, lips closing around it. her lashes lower. she moans. just a little.

paige brushes the backs of her fingers against azzi’s cheek, then settles her hand in her lap like she didn’t just make her wife suck her off through ice.

the cube seems to melt more slowly this time. or maybe azzi’s just learned.

a few minutes pass like that, the sound of a sixties french film somewhere in the room, the wet, occasional suck of azzi’s mouth, and the press of paige’s gaze on the side of her face.

when azzi finishes the cube, paige doesn't say anything at first. just leans in, voice low:

“do you want another?”

azzi turns to her, mouth flushed, pink from effort.

“no,” she says. “i want the real thing.”

paige is unsurprised.

desire is often felt in the body before it's understood by the mind. she assumes azzi’s fixation is a vehicle for that.

she doesn’t move.

she just watches azzi for a moment. it's as if she’s watching a bruise finally bloom—slowly, painfully—on something soft and precious. she’s been hitting something all this time. here is the proof of it.

her hands stay in her lap, long and pale. her eyes, however, darken into a steel blue like something's infected them. then she leans back, just slightly.

“i’ve been sucking on everything but you,” azzi says. her voice isn’t coy. it’s almost…shy. “i think it’s time i fixed that.”

paige’s voice comes low. controlled.

“alright. take it, then.”

azzi shifts down to the floor, knees folding like human origami, a surrender to a secret she’s always carried inside of her. she doesn't try to make it delicate. she’s past the hypothesis now. past theory.

her hands are warm as they climb up paige’s thighs, reverent in a way that makes paige’s stomach pitch. she feels strangely split open already. like the ice earlier had fractured something at the center, and now it’s leaking out.

azzi noses at her boxers, peels back the waistband slowly, deliberately. breathes in. the fabric’s still damp from where the cube had melted, but now it’s stickier, sweeter. it’s so dark with wet. she doesn’t comment on it. just lowers her head and presses her mouth gently to the inside of paige’s thigh, as if in thanks. then azzi tongues a wet patch and makes a sound like she’s trying to place the flavor.

“still pineapple,” she murmurs.

paige can’t help her giggle, but it sounds broken.

azzi continues to take her time. she doesn't look up. doesn’t speak. her mouth is a little slack now, shining with a mix of spit and slick. paige’s cunt is gorgeous, the blonde hairs thin and framing her angry, pink slit. it’s almost the same pink as azzi’s favorite lipstick.

she presses a kiss just above paige’s mound, soft and soundless, then dips lower.

the first lick is indecent. long and flat. like she’s trying to taste everything in one stroke. paige’s hips jerk. her hands find azzi’s hair, and azzi offers no resistance as her thighs tighten and she pushes down. she just goes, jaw widening to devour more of her wife.

the second is more thoughtful. slower. she curls her tongue a little at the end, like she’s savoring something caramelized, something burnt.

paige fists her hands in the fabric of the couch.

azzi opens her mouth wider. there’s a little burn. her own cunt starts leaking. she starts sucking properly now—messy, rhythmic, with an almost undeserved tunnel vision paige has only seen her bring to legal briefs and complicated cravings she gets impulsive urges to satiate. she sucks like she means it. like she’s been practicing all week.

her tongue slides over paige’s clit like as if trying to soften it into something else. something she can swallow.

paige moans, soft but guttural. it sounds like something being scraped from the bottom of a pot.

azzi keeps going. wet sounds, obscene ones, echo softly against the backdrop of the film still rolling in the background. paige doesn’t know what the characters are saying anymore. her ears are ringing.

azzi’s grip tightens slightly on her thighs, pulling her closer, like she’s starving. and it feels that way. paige is being eaten. not loved nor worshipped. but consumed.

there’s a moment, just one, where paige looks down and sees the shine on azzi’s chin, the flushed swell of her cheeks, the almost fevered look in her eyes. and she realizes something brutal:

azzi likes it this way.

being allowed. having her mouth full.

paige doesn’t last long.

she comes with a low whimper, thighs clenching around azzi’s ears. she rides it out hard, one hand buried in her curls, the other over her mouth to keep from screaming. azzi doesn’t pull away until she’s licked her clean.

paige flinches from the overstimulation, trembling under her mouth.

even after, azzi doesn’t rise. just rests her cheek against paige’s thigh, face slick and quiet. her mouth is an angry red, almost swollen. she rests her cheek against paige’s thigh and closes her eyes like she’s full.

she runs her tongue along her teeth and seems to try to find paige at their root.

paige breathes through her nose. her eyes are wet and unfocused. they gleam the same way as her wedding band.

“i didn’t know you needed it that much,” she says finally.

azzi doesn’t smile. her voice is mild, dreamy.

“i didn’t either.”

paige leans forward and cups the back of her head, thumb stroking gently over the crown.

they stay like that for a while.

at some point, the doorbell rings. the food has arrived. quite late, really. paige hisses as she moves, cunt still drooling over her inner thighs.

she looks down.

“better?”

azzi smiles, front teeth peeking.

she’s perfect, paige thinks.

she nudges azzi gently to answer the question. her wife nods.

“yes. the best.”

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