StH Femslash Week

Colorless ver

Rouge suppresses a wince. She's perfectly aware of whose castle she's in—but according to her intel, Blaze should have been visiting a neighboring kingdom on a diplomatic mission right now. She should have been able to get in and out without risking running into her.

Still, she can't let Blaze know seeing her has thrown her off. If there's one thing Rouge has learned over her long and illustrious career, it's that showing such weakness almost guarantees a one-way trip to a dungeon—even if the person she's showing weakness to is her ex-lover.

Maybe especially then.

Rouge shrugs a single shoulder. "I'd have expected some guards, for one. Your security has gotten quite lax over the past few years."

"Funny," Blaze says, sounding anything but amused. "I was certain there were two guards stationed at the entrance to the treasury—yet I found one of them unconscious in the hall mere minutes ago."

Oops. Seems that sleeping draught wasn't as effective as Rouge had assumed. Next time she uses it, she'll make sure to deposit her victim in a room with a door she can lock.

Blaze steps closer, the blade of her sword flashing in the firelight. "You knew the guards' schedules. You knew which ones would be susceptible to your—" She grimaces. "—charms."

Rouge inclines her head. No use playing innocent now—and maybe Blaze will appreciate the honesty.

"Just how long have you been planning to rob me, Rouge?"

Rouge makes an affronted noise. "I wouldn't consider it robbing—"

The flame in Blaze's hand flares, becoming bright enough that Rouge is forced to shield her eyes. "You didn't consider it robbing last time, either—yet you took an eighth of the kingdom's wealth with you when you departed." In the middle of the night, without warning or a goodbye.

Blaze doesn't say that last sentence out loud, but Rouge still hears it clear as day. It's in Blaze's expression, in the tenseness of her shoulders, in the tight grip she has around the hilt of her sword. An accusation—and one that Rouge is helpless to deny.

Rouge did exactly what Blaze is accusing her of doing. She seduced the princess to gain access to her castle, then snuck down to the treasury in the middle of the night and made her escape with a jewelry box filled with the kingdoms most valuable gems in tow.

She hadn't expected Blaze to have forgiven her for that, even half a decade later—which is why she'd really, really been hoping Blaze wouldn't be here.

Blaze takes another step forward. She's close enough that Rouge can see her eyes clearly, shining with the light of the fire in her hand and an emotion Rouge doesn't dare name. "Tell me honestly, Rouge—did you plan to rob me from the start? Did those months of companionship, of sharing a bed, truly mean nothing to you? Was everything a lie?"

No. Rouge had finished forming her plan after a measly two weeks—but by that time she had, in defiance of her natural instincts and everything she had been taught, grown fond of Princess Blaze. Continuing to court her for three months was not only unnecessary, but foolish and risky besides—yet Rouge stayed. Because of her feelings. Fondness, lust—perhaps even love.

Not that it matters. In the end, Rouge still went through with it. Nothing she can say could possibly soothe the undoubtedly painful sting of betrayal.

"Would it change anything if it wasn't?" Rouge asks.

Blaze's eyes flick to the side. A blush appears high on her cheeks, light enough that Rouge would think it a trick of the light of not for her intimate familiarity with the princess' body. "Perhaps knowing it was an impulsive decision—a crime of opportunity, so to speak—would ease the pain some."

Rouge attempts a smile. "Only perhaps?"

Blaze doesn't answer. She tilts her chin down, casting her face into shadow while her eyes continue to reflect the firelight; the overall effect is admittedly quite intimidating—but Rouge can't help but notice it's also devastatingly attractive.

Rouge shakes herself. She's here with a purpose, to do a job; she can't entertain these sorts thoughts. Even if she could—if she did, if she tried to rekindle whatever her and Blaze used to have—there's no way Blaze would let her back into her life without making her face some sort of consequences first.

"It was planned from the start," Rouge says, voice flat. She keeps her gaze aimed forward, not so much meeting Blaze's eyes as she is looking right through her. "I only seduced you to gain access to the treasury. So, yes—it was all a lie."

Again, the flame in Blaze's hand flares. Rouge isn't quite fast enough to shield her eyes this time; the sudden brightness momentarily blinds her, leaves her disoriented enough that she can't even struggle when she feels herself being moved.

When Rouge finally manages to blink the spots out of her eyes, she's face to face with a furious Blaze—and Blaze's sword is at her throat.

"I should kill you where you stand."

Rouge's blood runs cold, then burns hot. It's a confusing mess of feelings; the fear that comes from knowing with certainty that Blaze is capable of following through with the threat, as well as the sudden awareness of the cat's body pressing against hers. Terror and arousal in equal measure.

But she can't let that affect her. If she lets Blaze get to her, Rouge will end up in the dungeon for sure—perhaps even worse, if she doesn't manage to talk her down.

Rouge takes a moment to gather herself, to make sure her true feelings are well hidden, then tuts. "Without due process? My my, Princess. What would the people think?"

Blaze's eyes waver—but then she leans more of the weight on the sword, the edge cutting into Rouge's skin just enough for her to feel the sting. "That I rid them of a dangerous criminal—and the reason over half of them were denied aid when they requested it in the year after you robbed the castle. I suspect the common folk will wish to throw a parade in my honor."

Ouch. Rouge knows robbing the castle made things harder for Blaze's subjects, but it's not like she left the kingdom with nothing. The people have a right to be angry, yes, but a parade is going a bit far.

Rouge's breath trembles on its way out. She breathes in deeply, steadying herself, and meets Blaze's eyes. "Then do it. If you really think me no better than a common thief—if all I am is a threat to your kingdom, do it. Kill me."

Blaze's hand trembles, the sword shaking where it rests against Rouge's neck. For a moment, just a fraction of a second, the pressure increases even more. In that moment, Rouge fears she's made a grave miscalculation, that she really is about to have her head cut off—but then the sword drops.

Rouge barely has time to heave a sigh of relief before Blaze's lips are crashing into hers.

It's nothing like the way they used to kiss before, back when they were young and Blaze was still fumbling her way through a series of firsts. Those kisses were sweet, delicate; the way Blaze is kissing her now is heavy with history, rough with anger. It's as much teeth as it is lips and tongue, digging into Rouge's lips and leaving them bruised and bleeding when Blaze pulls away.

Rouge is panting, bosom heaving with her breaths. She doesn't miss the way Blaze's eyes dart down to her cleavage; she takes advantage of the moment to jut her chest out as far as she can without pushing Blaze away. "Would your subjects still throw a parade if—"

"Rouge." Blaze places a hand on Rouge's throat. She doesn't squeeze, but the threat is still present—and she's perfectly capable of burning Rouge's flesh off, so there isn't any need for her to squeeze in the first place. "Shut up."

Rouge shuts up. When Blaze leans in again she kisses her back just as fiercely, scraping her teeth over Blaze's lips and sucking her tongue into her mouth.

For all that Blaze has clearly changed in the time they've been apart, pleasing her is no more difficult. Rouge still knows just where to touch her to make her gasp, what to do to draw out sweet moans.

Before, Blaze tended to be rather hesitant in bed, preferring to let Rouge take the lead. It's impossible to know if this change has come with time or if it's a result at her anger at Rouge, but there's no trace of hesitancy now. Blaze is bold, moving with confidence and surety. She slots her body against Rouge's, pulling her closer with a hand on her upper thigh. Rouge wraps her arms around Blaze's shoulders in turn, arching her back so her breasts rub against Blaze's chest.

Blaze's sword clatters to the ground. Her newly freed hand finds its way to Rouge's other thigh, squeezing roughly at the flesh there. Rouge moans into her mouth, trying to push herself even closer, only to break the kiss with a startled gasp when Blaze uses the grip on her thighs to lift her into the air. Rouge wraps her legs around Blaze's waist on instinct, even though it will make it harder to run—but she can't bring herself to regret it when Blaze leans her against the wall, shifting her grip so she only needs one arm to keep Rouge up, and plants her other hand firmly between Rouge's legs.

Rouge gasps, head tipping back when Blaze grinds the heel of her hand against her cunt. Blaze takes the opportunity to mouth at her neck, licking at the edge of the cut left by her sword. It hurts some, but it's more pleasurable than it is painful—and even if that weren't true, Rouge supposes she deserves a little pain.

As if reading her mind, Blaze mutters, "I despise you."

Rouge opens her mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a moan when Blaze slots her thumb between her labia and moves it in tight circles around her clit.

"You stole from me, from my kingdom. You hurt my people." Blaze's voice is tight with emotion. She teases two fingers at Rouge's entrance; when she finds her already wet, she pushes them both in without warning.

Rouge hisses, then moans when the initial burn starts to fade. Blaze waits a few seconds for her to adjust, then starts thrusting, keeping her thumb on her clit.

The pleasure builds fast, almost shockingly so. Rouge is nearly too distracted to catch the words Blaze mumbles into her skin, her voice soft and almost pained.

"You broke my heart."

Rouge comes with a cry and a shudder. Blaze doesn't stop, keeps working her until Rouge is approaching the edge again, nearly shaking with it. Overwhelmed tears well up in her eyes when Blaze bites her neck and mutters something again, something about—

It doesn't matter. Rouge can't let it matter. Because if she wants to keep her freedom, she's going to have to leave again. Once Blaze is tired out, once she lets her guard down, Rouge will slip out.

"You behaved recklessly," Blaze says. She's directly in front of Surge now, even though Surge didn't hear her move. Her face is hard to focus on, the outline of it blurring in and out of focus. "Foolishly. You acted without thinking, without listening. People could have gotten hurt."

"So you've said," Surge bites back. "Look. Is there a point to this, or are you just here to scold me?"

"I think," Blaze murmurs, voice dropping to a low rumble, "it's high time I teach you a lesson in obedience."

Surge's ears tilt back, her quills bristling. She tries to hide her discomfort and apprehension with a scoff, but even she hears the way it trembles. "What? What the hell are—"

She cuts off abruptly, nearly swallowing her own tongue in surprise when Blaze's hand lands firmly in between her legs. Surge is pretty sure she was wearing pants before, but now the only barrier between Blaze's fingers and her cunt is the thin fabric of her underwear.

"You should let people finish talking before you rush off," Blaze says. She drags two fingers up from Surge's perineum, pressing against her clothed hole before moving on to settle just below her clit. Her eyes meet Blaze's, gold and luminous. "Do you understand?"

"I-I—" Surge's voice trembles. She swallows thickly, flexing and relaxing her fingers at her side. "I guess."

Blaze smiles. "Good."

She moves her fingers upwards those last few millimeters needed to press against Surge's clit. The pleasure is sharp and intense; Surge gasps, back arching off the mattress. Was she always on a bed? She's sure she was sitting up, before, but—

"You should listen," Blaze says. She pulls Surge's underwear to the side, hovering her fingers just above her labia. "You should follow the plan. Do you understand?"

"Y… ye—es!" Surge's voice cracks into an embarrassing squeak when Blaze's fingers make contact with her clit. It's even more intense without the cloth barrier between them. "I understand."

"Good girl." Blaze's eyes burn. She drags her fingers down through Surge's folds, starts to push a single digit inside—

And Surge wakes with a gasp, bolting upright. Her heart pounds against her ribs like she just ran halfway across the world. She's hot; her sheets cling to her with sweat, and between her legs—

She's soaked, wet beyond belief. Because of a dream about Blaze.

Rouge, following the script, makes a noncommittal noise.

"Seriously," Amy continues. "You listen to me. Sonic never does that. He never has time for me, either, and he never wants to go anywhere together…"

"If that's true, why do you keep trying?" Rouge asks, idly running a finger along the rim of her glass.

Amy is quiet for a moment, brow furrowing in thought—then all at once she shoots upright with such force that Rouge has to reach out to steady her still half-full glass. She's expecting it, now, but when this whole thing first started there were quite a few spills.

"You're right!" Amy gasps. "You're totally right! I need to just get over him."

Rouge nods. "That does seem like it's for the best."

"There's other guys out there, anyway," Amy continues, almost like she didn't even hear Rouge speak. "Better ones. Ones that are actually nice to me, like you."

Rouge hums, waiting patiently for the momentary burst of optimism to fade the way it always does. Sure enough, a few second later Amy wilts, tilting towards Rouge with her arms outstretched. "Rouge," she slurs, making grabby hands until Rouge scoots her barstool close enough that Amy can lean against her shoulder, arms slung loosely around her waist. "Why can't I just find a guy like you?"

"Well," Rouge says, rubbing a soothing hand down Amy's back. "You know I'm one of a kind."

Amy groans. She smushes her face against Rouge's shoulder, undoubtedly smearing her mascara. "I wish I could just date you," she mumbles. "That would be so much easier."

"I know, honey," Rouge says. She keeps rubbing Amy's back until the pink hedgehog lifts her head, face flushed and eyes shining. Like always, she doesn't make eye contact; her eyes lock onto Rouge's lips, gaze intense and unwavering.

Here, it doesn't matter so much what Rouge does. Today she licks the corner of her mouth, but she could stay perfectly still instead and Amy would still lean forward to clumsily slot their lips together.

Amy's lips are sticky with the remains of her lip gloss, face so flushed with drink Rouge can practically feel the heat radiate off her. The kiss is usually chaste, lasting only a few seconds—but today Amy opens her mouth to swipe her tongue along Rouge's bottom lip. It's habit by now to let Amy set the pace when they kiss, so Rouge parts her lips on instinct, pleasantly surprised when Amy takes the opportunity to lick into her mouth.

It's a bit of a mess; Amy is too drunk to kiss properly, more than a little sloppy with it. Even so, it's nice in its own way; she tastes like the fruity cocktails she's been drinking and faintly of vanilla, which Rouge figures must be the flavor of her lip gloss. Her lips are soft, and so is her chest when she leans in closer to press her torso against Rouge's.

They kiss for a few seconds, until Amy tries to get even closer and instead slips off her stool, saved from falling only by her and Rouge's combined efforts. She giggles as she climbs back on, rubbing her mouth and looking everywhere but at Rouge.

"Sorry," she says, following the script once more. "I don't know why I did that."

Normally, Rouge shrugs it off, making some comment or other about how alcohol makes fools of them all—but Amy normally doesn't kiss her with tongue. Things are already different, so why shouldn't Rouge improvise a little?

"You know…" Rouge places her hand on Amy's knee and leans forward until she finally manages to catch her eye. "You don't have to settle for a cheap imitation when the real thing is right here."

Amy frowns. "Huh?"

Rouge sighs. Figures Amy would be too drunk to understand subtlety. "I'm right here. If you want to date me, just ask me out."

For a moment Amy looks genuinely shaken—then she giggles again, leaning back far enough as she does so that she nearly falls off the stool in the other direction. "Don't be silly, Rouge," she says, once her giggles have mostly subsided. "I'm not gay."

And that's—

Well. Honestly, it's about the reaction Rouge was expecting—but that doesn't make it any more absurd.

"Sweetie," she tries, not unkindly, "I don't think most straight girls go out kissing girls every Friday."

"What are you talking about?" Amy asks. To Rouge's mild horror, she looks genuinely confused. "One drunken kiss is hardly every Friday."

It's rare for Rouge to find herself at a loss for words, but that does it. She opens and closes her mouth uselessly a few times before she gives up, downing what remains of her drink instead. It's not until Amy flags over the bartender that she finds her voice again. She grabs Amy's wrist to pull her hand back down, subtly shaking her head at the bartender as she says, "I think you've had enough for today, sweetheart. How about I call you a cab?"

Amy pouts and whines for a while, but gives in when she almost falls off the barstool for a third time.

"Thanks, Rouge," she says a few minutes later, when Rouge is herding her into the cab, one hand on her head to make sure she doesn't hit it on the door. "You're so nice to me."

Rouge smiles, curling her fingers in Wave's cunt. Contrary to her words, Wave rocks her hips against her hand, moaning softly when it makes the tips of Rouge's fingers strike against a particular spot inside of her.

"You can." Rouge's tone leaves no room for arguments. "Just listen." She spreads her fingers, smiling at the filthy sound of another wave of slick gushing out of Wave's cunt. "Does that sound like you've had enough?"

Another moan tumbles from Wave's beak. Her hips jerk erratically, her legs spasming. She's gorgeous like this, sloppy and desperate. Rouge wants to keep her looking like this forever.

"You can come again," Rouge murmurs. Wave's clit throbs at her words, so Rouge reaches out to rolls the pad of a single finger across it—and just like that, Wave is coming again, back arching off the bed. Her face is a sight to behold, twisted with pleasure and all the more gorgeous for it. Rouge is torn between looking at her expression and the slick that's practically pouring out of her, adding to the by now undoubtedly permanent stain on Rouge's mattress.

Rouge pulls her fingers from Wave's insides once she slumps back onto the mattress. She licks her fingers clean; even Wave's slick tastes incredible, delicate and layered like a meal at a fine-dining establishment.

Drawn in like a magnet, Rouge leans down to lick at Wave's hole. She tastes even better like this, straight from the source—and the utterly wretched keen she lets out is just an added bonus.

"Rouge. Enough, I can't—" Wave makes a sound that's almost a sob—but her hands come up to clutch at Rouge's head, keeping her in place. "It's too much—"

It's not like Rouge can go anywhere with Wave's grip on her head. She laps at Wave's hole, then moves higher to tongue at her clit. Wave occasionally protests, but she doesn't let her pull away—and whenever she's not protesting, she makes the most delectable sounds that only serve to spur Rouge on.

It doesn't take long before Wave is coming again, her slick gushing into Rouge's mouth.

Wave's hands twitch weakly, then finally go slack. As she pulls away, Rouge presses one last kiss to her clit, tearing another weak keen from her throat.

Rouge sits up, raking her eyes down Wave's body. She's completely boneless, chest heaving with her breaths and feathers matted with sweat. Really, she looks well and truly finished—but Rouge still doesn't want to take her hands off her.

She's not one to cuddle, or even linger after sex—but Wave makes her want to break her usual rules. She lies down next to Wave, pressing her body against her side and slinging an arm across her waist. Wave shuffles closer, humming contentedly, and Rouge can't quite bite down her smile.

"I don't," Surge says. She purses her lips and takes off the denim jacket, then walks over to her closet to rummage around. "And I am."

"Then why does it matter what you wear?" Kit asks. "You accomplished your goal the second Amy said yes to a date. You could stand her up and you'll still have won."

Surge sets her jaw. Kit's right; she's already won. She shouldn't care what Amy thinks of her now—and she doesn't. Definitely not. But, still—

She doesn't just want to take Amy away from Sonic for one evening. She wants Amy to stop chasing after him entirely, to realize Surge is just better than him. To choose Surge over him.

Finally, she finds what she was looking for, a black bomber jacket with neon green accents. She pulls it on and turns towards Kit, arms spread triumphantly. "How about this?"

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She ends up wearing the bomber jacket, hands stuffed in the pockets and shoulders drawn up as she waits for Amy to arrive. After a few minutes of leaning against the wall, a group of teens sitting on the terrace of a nearby cafe start giving her looks, whispering behind their hands. Surge does her best to ignore it, but by the time Amy finally arrives she's glaring at everyone who so much as glances her way.

"Hi, Surge—"

"You're late," Surge snaps.

Amy's smile falters. She's wearing a cream-colored cardigan over a baby blue sundress. The sleeves of the cardigan are slightly baggy, so she has to push them up to glance at her watch. "It's only one minute past two," she says, confusion evident in her voice.

Surge clicks her tongue. "One minute late." And dressed in Sonic's color. Sure, she looks nice, but did she have to wear blue?

Amy purses her lips. She looks at Surge, eyes narrowed. Surge pulls her shoulders up even higher, chin tucked down to her chest as she prepares for Amy to scold her—when all at once Amy's face softens and she sighs. "I'm sorry. Were you waiting long?"

Just a little over ten minutes—so forever, basically.

"Like I said," Surge sniffs, "you're late."

Amy smiles indulgently. "Sorry," she repeats. She glances over her shoulder at the cafe. "How about I get you some boba to make up for it? My treat."

Absolutely not. If Surge is going to make Amy forget all about that blue asshole, this date has to be perfect; she can't make Amy pay. And besides, Surge has the entire date planned out. Going to the cafe now would throw off her schedule—and they're already running behind.

"No," Surge says, pushing off the wall. "We're going to the boardwalk first." She starts walking, only to pause when she realizes Amy isn't walking with her. "Come on," she urges, motioning for Amy to follow.

Amy opens her mouth, then closes it with a shrug and falls into step beside Surge.

"So…" Amy starts, after they've been walking in silence for about a minute. Surge can't help but notice even the way she walks is cute, with a bounce in her step that makes the skirt of her dress sway around her legs almost like she's dancing.

…Her stupid blue dress.

Surge presses her lips together tightly and walks faster.

"How, uh." Amy falters at Surge's new tempo, then lengthens her stride to keep up. "How have you been? I feel like it's been a while since I've seen you."

"Fine," Surge says. Her and Kit have been trying to be heroes, following their new routine. "Same old, same old."

Amy makes a meaningless noise. "That's good. What—uh. What about Kit? How is he? I kind of worry about him sometimes."

The fuck? "He's fine," Surge grunts. "Great, even. Couldn't be better."

Amy blinks, clearly taken aback. "Oh, uh." Her eyes dart down to the ground, then back up. "That's great! I'm happy you two are doing well."

They arrive at the entrance to the boardwalk. Amy pauses for a moment, clearly surprised to find a fair going on, the place crawling with people.

Surge doesn't stop. She grabs Amy's wrist and pulls her along as she makes a beeline for a stall selling cotton candy.

"One, large," she tells the vendor. Amy shakes off her surprise in time to add a please on her behalf. The vendor hands Surge a stick with cotton candy larger than her entire head, which Surge passes onto Amy. "Here."

Amy takes it with a slightly wobbly smile. "Thanks." She tears off a piece and places it in her mouth. Her eyes widen and she makes a delighted noise, sucking on the tips of her fingers like she's trying to savor the taste.

Surge stares as her fingers finally leave her mouth, gloves slightly damp.

"It's really good! I wasn't expecting it to be cherry flavored, but it's a nice surprise. Here—" She tears off another piece and holds it out for Surge to take. "Try some."

Surge's stomach tries its hardest to flip inside out. She can't stop looking at Amy's fingers.

After a few seconds of Surge staring in silence, Amy frowns. "Surge? Are you—"

Surge snatches the piece of cotton candy from her and stuffs it into her own mouth. She swallows before it has fully dissolved, barely even tasting it. "You're right," she mutters. "It's good."

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They stroll along the boardwalk while Amy eats, stopping at various booths selling handmade crafts. Amy buys a pair of crocheted daisy bag charms, waving off Surge's attempts to pay for them.

"It's fine," she says. "One of them is a gift for Cream; I can't make you pay for that."

Surge sulks until she notices Amy eye a bracelet at another booth. It's a delicate gold chain with a single charm in the shape of a sun hanging off it. Surge looks at the price, winces—then grabs it anyway, ignoring Amy's protests as she hands it to the vendor.

"Surge," Amy whispers, tugging frantically at her sleeve. "What are you doing? Surge, stop that's way too expensive a gift. Seriously—"

"Too late," Surge says, smirking at Amy as the vendor hands her the bracelet in a small decorative bag. "Hold out your arm, I'll put it on for you."

Amy pouts and grumbles, but obediently raises her arm, pulling back her sleeve for Surge to put the bracelet on. For all her complaints, Surge definitely sees her smiling down at it before her sleeve covers it up again.

"I still think you shouldn't have bought this for me," Amy says, tone stern. "But—" She reaches out for Surge's hand, squeezing it gently as her voice softens. "Thank you. It's very sweet."

Surge looks at Amy's hand around hers, then away when she feels her cheeks heat up. "Don't mention it."

"I feel bad, though," Amy says. "You wouldn't let me buy you boba, then you spent all that money on a gift…" She trails off, nose scrunching up as she thinks—then lets go of Surge to ball her hand into a fist, suddenly determined. "Alright, I've got it! Once we see something you want, I'll get it for you."

Her eyes blaze with so much passion, it's a little scary. "You almost make it sound like a threat," Surge jokes.

Amy grins, teeth bared. "Who says it isn't?"

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By the time Amy makes good on her promise, the sun is starting to set.

Surge let her guard down for barely a second, allowing her eyes to linger on a plush in the shape of a cloud. It's not even that cute—it's just that it kind of reminds her of Kit, with an exaggeratedly sad face, gray like it's about to start raining.

Amy catches her looking and lights up. She shoves her purse into Surge's hands with a cheerful hold this, then strides over to the strongman game the plush is a prize for.

"One, please!"

The teenager running the game is utterly unimpressed by her enthusiasm. His face remains entirely blank as he accepts the fare and hands her a comically large hammer.

Amy tests the weight of it. She glances over her shoulder at Surge as she lifts the hammer, smiling brightly, then turns back to the game before bringing the hammer down.

The puck shoots up, impacting the bell with a loud, satisfying ding. At the same time, somehow even louder, there's a crack as the wooden handle of the hammer snaps clean in half.

"Oops," Amy says, sheepish. She hands the two pieces to the teenager, whose bored expression has finally been replaced by astonishment—and a little bit of fear. "Sorry."

"It's…" The teen looks down at the broken hammer for a long moment. "It's fine," he finally says, in a tone of voice that says he definitely considers this to be somebody else's problem.

Amy sighs, relieved. "Okay! Then, can I get my prize? I want that one."

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Surge feels a little stupid, walking around holding a huge plush, but Amy seems more excited than ever. At some point she grabs hold of Surge's hand to drag her over to a booth displaying an array of crystals and lumpy candles, then just doesn't let go as they continue to walk.

Holding hands is distracting, so Surge doesn't realize it's time for dinner until her stomach growls when they walk by a booth that smells distinctly of fried goods.

"We should eat," Surge says, pulling Amy towards the booth.

"I guess I am sort of hungry," Amy admits. "I was having so much fun, I almost didn't notice."

Surge's stomach makes another valiant attempt to invert itself. The feeling lingers until after they get their food, suppressing whatever hunger initially made her stomach rumble; she nibbles distractedly at their shared portion of fries, trying not to stare at Amy's mouth while she eats.

"Oh, shoot!"

Surge tears her eyes away from Amy's mouth, following her gaze to the sleeve of her cardigan. There's a glob of ketchup on there, the color bleeding into the wool already. Even after Amy wipes it away with a napkin, the fabric is stained orange.

Amy sighs. "I better wash this now, or that stain is never coming out. Watch my stuff?"

Surge nods, obediently keeping an eye on Amy's purse as she heads to the nearest bathroom. She returns a few minutes later, no longer wearing the cardigan. She's holding it in her arms instead, one of the sleeves seemingly entirely soaked through. Her sundress is held up by two thin straps, leaving her arms entirely bare.

The sun set a little over an hour ago, and the temperature has dropped some. It's not exactly chilly, but…

Surge frowns. "Are you cold?"

Amy smiles as she slides back into her seat. "No, I'm okay." The words have barely left her mouth when she shivers. Her smile turns awkward, the expression of somebody caught in a lie.

Surge takes her jacket off and shoves it across the table towards Amy. "Here."

Amy looks at the jacket, then back to Surge. She bites her lip. "I don't want you to be cold either."

"I'll be fine," Surge says. She's wearing a crop top and baggy jeans; all things considered, she's still pretty covered up. "Just put it on."

"…If you're sure." Amy grabs the jacket, pulling it on almost carefully. "Oh," she sighs, pulling the jacket closed around herself, hiding her dress completely. "It's warm."

She ducks her head, nuzzling into the collar. So softly Surge isn't sure she was meant to hear it, she mutters, "Smells like you, too."