"And she looks up at you and you look down at her and then all you can feel is fireworks because she's kissing you and her lips are soft and she does taste like vanilla frosting, and you gasp pulling away and staring at her..." Needs a companion story(ies). Femmeslash. Don't like, don't read.
You stare out the window of the hotel room you have to share with her, watching the fireworks--it's midnight now and she isn't there. You stop and think, however, and you realized that you don't care she isn't watching the fireworks with you, she's probably making out with her stupid boyfriend in the hall and a hate bubbles up within you that you can't help and you go and sit on your bed and turn on the TV to distract yourself because you don't feel like using the computer and everyone you would call is asleep anyways. Then you're watching Pop-up Video on VH1 because there's nothing better to do, and you have to laugh as they Rick-roll you; but then you hear the door open and it slams, but then there's silence and you know it's her but it isn't her at the same time. You mute the volume and listen closely and there are soft snuffling noises coming from the little living room, if you could call it that, at which you throw back the covers and yank on some short shorts because you were only wearing a long t-shirt and panties, and you pad over to see what's happening.
And there she is, crying, her head on her knees, and you've only seen her like this once, at your quince practice when she was crying over that bitch trying to steal her now-boyfriend, and you softly whisper your nickname for her, "Nini?" And when she looks up, oh God, your heart is breaking, and you're on your knees and she's in your bosom, making your shirt wet, but you don't care, because they've been fighting lately which makes you happy even though you shouldn't be because you've told her you only love her like a sister, but you know in your heart it isn't true because she's so pretty and lovely; and you tell her you admire her because she's so strong, but she insists that she's weak, and now you can see what she means as she cries, she's weak for him, and you hate it for her because she deserves so much better but you just press your face into her hair and inhale the scent of her shampoo and perfume that you've never been able to name and then again she insists she doesn't use it but you don't care because when you smell it you think of her and you can't help it either and you cry.
You lead her to your bed somehow, which is messy but who cares, and you ask her softly, "What happened, Ni?"
And she turns to you, fireworks still going off in the window behind her, and you can see what Gabs meant, her eyes are blue as the sea, but they drop down to her knees and she mumbles something out, and you prompt her again, a little louder, and she mumbles again. "Ni. Look at me," you insist, placing a hand on her shoulder. She shakes her pretty almost blonde head no. You force her head up, your finger under her chin and you ask her again, in a firm, motherly tone, "Ni, I'm not the mama duck for nothing," you say, using the pet name she and your friends call you by and she smiles half-heartedly and you prompt her again, "What happened?"
"W-we broke up," she murmurs brokenly, and then she's crying in your lap and you're stroking her hair again, sighing, glad in your heart, but concerned in your head and you ask her, "Why?" And she looks up at you and you look down at her and then all you can feel is fireworks because she's kissing you and her lips are soft and she does taste like vanilla frosting, and you gasp softly, pulling away and staring at her and she smiles sadly, and answers, "Because of that," and then she's kissing you again and pressing you down into the bed; something in the back of your head tells you you could easily dominate her, being heavier and more aggressive, but something else shuts that voice up as her tongue slides into your mouth and you begin to moan softly, arching your back, your larger breasts pressing into her smaller ones, and your hands are at your head, trapped by her long delicate fingers, and you don't know what but that little something notes that what an odd pair you two are, she nearly blonde, thin, delicate, tall, with a face like the moon, and you brunette, chubby, hard, short, with a glow like the sun, but you push that thought aside and you begin kissing back and you flip her over, and God, your head is spinning in that good dizzy kind of way and you want more.
Breathlessly you pull away from her and she smiles that cute little smile, the one that scrunches up her nose, which is thin and pointed in comparison to yours which is fat and round and you hate genetics for giving you the crap nose in the family. Her arms go up around your neck and she kisses you again, and then something clicks and you realize this is your first time kissing a girl and you wonder if you're okay because you've never really kissed anyone other than Michael D. that spring you dated him for a bit, and even then it was just pecks on the lips, but the way she smiles on your mouth lets you know you're okay and you think she's just stupendous, and you don't know who it comes from and neither does she but a soft moan comes out and you stare at each other and you two are making out furiously now and when you grind your hips against hers and she moans, and you both know it came from her now, and pinning her under you, you grind again and again, concentrating on that heat that's tingling in your womb, and wanting her to feel it too, and from that little 'uhhn' sound she's making you can tell she is and then she trembles and cries out against you and you know you did great, and then you're under her, and you gasp, how the hell did she do that?
And when her hands run over your breasts you can't help but moan and then those fingers you love are under your shirt playing with your tits, and she smiles and asks you, "Ree, how big are you?" You manage to gasp out you grew a cup size over last summer and you are now a 40C and she smiles this little smirk you've never seen and she says, "I thought so," and then she takes off her shirt along with yours and everything is gone, except for your lavender cotton panties and her blue lacy ones and you bite your lip; you are so wet and turned on and you know your panties are soaked and then you look her over shyly and you see hers are too, and you look up and smile a little and she kisses you. Then her hand is there in your panties and you can feel her playing with the curls there and you moan softly, and then cry out because her finger went in you and she's moving it around and pumping it and you can't help but do the same to her.
Soon, you know you are almost there, this is better than your fingers, and then suddenly everything shatters and you jerk up from the foot of the bed, where you usually sleep and you look at the time, it's only midnight. Your fingers drift down to your panties and they are soaked through and you sigh and lay back, and they slide into you and you jerk your hips, biting your lip, breathing heavily, and then you fall back when your orgasm hits you full force and you gasp quietly for air. Then you take your fingers out of yourself and you guiltily go to the restroom to clean them off and you look in the mirror, where you are short and chubby, brunette and angry, and a glow like the sun which is under an eclipse now. You push your hair out of your face and sigh, and look down at your 40B boobs, wishing they were a little bigger, and trudge off to your room to try to fall asleep again, and you cry yourself to sleep again like you did last night because, you know, you love her... But she's just so weak for him.