#andie:thread

they’re just play fighting--- at least it starts that way-- with laughter and come backs and playfulness. but now they’ve got andie on her back-- and it doesn’t feel like play anymore-- it feels better than that. their mouth is travelling down her stomach, brushing against the skin as they blow raspberries-- and she tries to hold it in, but instead of a giggle-- a moan slips past her lips. because their mouth feels perfect there-- feels like it’s teasing her-- and she knows her panties are ruined now. she also knows that this is her best friend-- that they’re off limits. but it’s hard to get her body to understand that-- “oh fuck-- i um-- i’m sorry i didn’t mean to--” she tries to apologise, her cheeks flushed, her curls a mess-- but she doesn’t get up. she doesn’t want to. the sight of them, inches away from the top of her sweat pants, for her wet-- warm--desperate little pussy has her biting her bottom lip. “air? maybe we should both get some air...” 

“i uh-- i’m sorry-- have we met before?” 

it's past midnight and she shouldn't be here, but she can't sleep-- hasn't slept in two days, and it's eroding her decision making ability, destroying what little impulse control she has left. she isn't sure why she's here, maybe because she trusts him enough that she can risk falling asleep or because she misses him so badly it hurts. neither answer sits well with her. it doesn't occur to her that there might be someone else here until he opens the door, slightly ruffled but generally disturbingly perfect in a way that almost guarantees the rumours of his family's history of inbreeding. she on the other hand looks like an escaped carnie. "oh bugger-- did i wake you up?" she's in a dinosaur onesie-- one with tiny shorts, and a hood that she wears up, so it looks like her and her cloud of curls are currently in the mouth of barney's second cousin. she looks ridiculous-- she looks like herself. "--it's really late, i know and if there's someone here--" brielle. " i'll leave. this is an insane thing to do. i just..." missed you. needed to see you. have been thinking of you. "do you...will you watch discovery channel with me? it's shark week."

she's supposed to be used to this. they've been friends for long enough now that casual touch is a given. she slides her arm around his waist, rests her head on his shoulder all the time, but tonight she's hyper aware of every second of touch, everytime logan brushes against her. it's late, almost 1 and she's on his couch in make shift pyjamas (a shirt of his, stolen 1 year ago), and her glasses-- the epitome of comfort and yet there's something humming in the air. the show they're watching isn't helping-- the main couple is currently half undressed on screen, devouring each other. she shifts and logan's hand brushes against hers. it's innocent, she knows that-- but her body doesn't. her cheeks flood with colour-- and heat and she feels his eyes on her face. "w-what?"

it's a perfect day, the kind she's unsure she'll ever replicate. her hair is curling dramatically, half soaked in salt water and she's laying next to juelz, still half wet from the sea. her head is on his shoulder and she is holding his hand. he smells like the sea and the pina colada she'd brought with her. the sun is warming her skin. her bikini is a tiny thing, bought in a bout of bizarre self confidence. her nipple rings show through the small yellow triangles, her tattoo sits beneath the curve of her breast, a flower adorned branch with a quote woven into it-- from you the flowers grow. normally she would be in her head about everything, her mind would spin and spin, a washing machine of endless anxiety. instead she can only focus on the sun, on his hand in hers--and trying to figure out which warms her more. "maybe we should just stay here forever." she murmurs softly. "you feel really good."

for andromeda anxiety comes in waves and whispers. she's been pretending not to feel the constant barrage of it for hours, but the closer she gets to the meeting, the more liable she is to drown. she's tugging on the hem of an off the shoulder white sweater dress-- her chosen armour for today's professional battles. she's so caught in her panic, that when the lift door opens and her eyes meet a familiar bottle green, she's caught off guard. "Luca?" she exhales softly at the sight of him, so far removed from her late night imaginings, so much realer than the versions of him she'd constructed on the phone-- so much better for it. He's still devastatingly handsome-- and whatever connection she'd felt before only seems to have grown in the moments between their last meeting. "Uh-- I-- you're--you're here." There's quiet reverence and wonder in her voice. "I mean I know it's your hotel I-- It's just-- I have a meeting upstairs-- and it's very important and I-- well. It's-- I'm here for a meeting. I didn't think you'd even be... here." Her cheeks are flushed as she rushes through her sentences. It's almost too much, between her internal panic about the meeting and the sudden presence of Luca she feels overwhelmed. "You look great." She steps into the lift, hyper aware of the closing distance between them, of the way that knowledge makes her stomach clench in anticipation. She turns slightly, and finds his gaze-- "...Hi. Sorry about the little melt down i'm just-- having a bit of a panic."