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“Stop that, Jojo. You’re gonna make ‘em bleed,” Sid swats at her hands as she picks nervously at her cuticles. Joan looks up at her twin with a sheepish smile.
“Sorry. I’m just nervous I guess,” she says, still tugging at the skin on her fingers. With a huff, her brother reaches over and grasps her wrists, placing them firmly on the bus seat next to them.
“I don’t know what for, everything’s gonna be fine,” Sid assures her as he tugs his beanie tighter over his long curls. She holds back the urge to snort at the statement.
Sure.
They’re homeschool kids entering high school for the first time as seniors. She thinks they should’ve just painted ‘weirdo’ on their foreheads to spare everyone else the work. It certainly was odd that Deanna and Steve had decided to send them to school for their remaining year of high school. It would’ve been easier for them to either enter as freshmen or just remain home-schooled until college, but their foster parents were adamant that it’d be best for them to attend Sellwood for their senior year.
Deanna and Steve seem to decide what’s best for the twins without considering their input a lot.
She’s still moping as the bus comes to a screeching halt, and her stomach flips uneasily as Sid nudges her, assuring her it really will be fine.
The first thing she sees when she steps off the bus is a crowd of people. Some are cheering, some are yelling, some are shaking their heads, but most of them have their phones out, recording the event in front of them.
A small, feeble looking kid is strung up on the flagpole by her underwear. She’s covering her bright red face, which may even be streaked by tears, as teachers shoo the crowd away. The bell rings shrilly and most of them scatter, leaving Joan and Sid wide-eyed outside the doors. Sid raises his eyebrows.
“Shit.”
Michelle picks her teeth lazily with her long, press-on acrylic nails. It’s kinda funny that it’s her first day back at Sellwood and she’s already skipping class, electing to smoke with her friends outside the gym.
Bite, as usual, can’t handle his tobacco and coughs like a maniac with one drag.
“Shut yer yap, yer gonna git us caught,” Clem yells and slaps her hand against the hacking boy’s back. Josefina rolls her dark eyes at them as she stares into the front-facing camera of her phone, touching up the clown makeup under her eye.
“If you keep yelling, you’re gonna be the one that gets us caught.”
“Well shit, sorry Mom, were we interruptin’ yer beautification?” Clem grumbles back, yelping as she’s nailed in the neck by a scrunchie shot from expertly from Josi’s black nails. They all snicker as the blonde rubs her neck and pulls her flannel tighter around her collar.
“I thought I’d be able to find you here, Mueller.” An intimidating voice rings out from behind them, and Mich huffs exasperatedly, dropping her cigarette to the ground and grinding it out with her sneaker. She rises and turns, looming over Principal Green’s small stature. His thick eyebrows furrow as she blows out one last breath of smoke.
“What’cha need?” she says through her exhale.
“I need you all to get to class. Michelle, despite what the entire staff may believe, Patty told us you weren’t the one responsible for the flagpole incident this morning. So I’ll send you back to class with a warning,” he says sternly, corralling the gang through the doors and halls until they end at their respective classes. When he opens the door to Mich’s first period class, he states, “I’ve got my eye on you, Mueller.”
“That’s fuckin’ creepy,” she mutters as she ducks through the door. At least she might actually be able to sleep through this class or something, it’s some bullshit requirement she had to take for art credits. ‘History of film’, or ‘appreciation of film’ or something dumb like that. The teacher doesn’t stop her speech explaining the syllabus, due dates, and class topics as Mich scans the room, finding only one desk towards the back empty. She trudges over to it and plops down, pushing her chair back noisily and tossing her feet up on the desk. She leans her chair back on 2 legs, closing her eyes with an uninterested yawn.
“Um,” she hears a soft, sweet voice start. A hand nudges her arm and she cracks an eye open, whipping her head around to see who was dumb enough to interrupt her rest. Her angry scowl falls immediately as she’s face-to-face with the most beautiful girl she’s ever seen.
Her wide, green eyes seem uneasy and nervous. Her dark skin is sprinkled with little freckles, all the way from the span of her smooth forehead down to the fingers that are extended toward her, gripping a piece of paper. Mich stares at the hand, licking her suddenly dry lips, wondering where else this girl has freckles when she speaks up. “M-ms. Fischer wanted us to have these, and you didn’t get one,” she says with a shy smile growing on her lips, one that makes Mich’s heart spring into her throat.
“Didn’t want one,” she spits back. Internally cursing her stupid self and stupid mouth, she turns back to the front of the room, staring hard at the blank whiteboard. What the hell was that? One pretty girl shoots her a little smile and she goes and puts her foot in her mouth. She watches out of the side of her eye as the girl pulls her hand back, defeated, and sinks a bit into her chair as she tosses the paper on her desk and pushes a lock of short, curly dark hair behind her ear.
Holy shit, even her ears have freckles.
Dragging her tired feet off the steps of the bus, Joan lugs her heavy backpack over her shoulder as she and her brother make their way up the walkway to their house.
“See? Today wasn’t bad at all!” Sid says encouragingly, patting her shoulder. Joan can only respond with a weak smile, not mustering up enough energy to respond. In all honestly, she can’t believe she has to go back tomorrow, because today sucked.
Everyone she’d met or encountered seemed to be kind of terrible. An impeccably dressed blonde, Natalie, had made pig noises behind her in the lunch line while her equally well-off companions had snickered behind them. Then there was Matthew, who stuck way too close to her in his role as the nice Christian boy who befriends all the new kids, walking her to her locker after lunch and fourth period. And then there was that girl who leered at her all of first period.
Joan shudders at the thought. Her heavy amber eyes had bored into her the entire class, even though the girl was acting like she wasn’t looking. It was odd, because the girl seemingly didn’t want anything to do with her. She had been so curt and rude when Joan had only tried to be nice. She sighs, wishing that someone could’ve warned her not to talk to the tall girl. Now she was probably going to get beat up by those giant hands.
Seriously, she had never seen a girl with hands that big, and the fake nails only make them look larger. Her only hope now was to avoid the girl entirely, or face consequences she really doesn’t want to imagine.
The next day, the universe decides to continue its cruelty to Joan Wagner.
“You’ll be paired up in groups of 2 to 3 members, working on a project about a film which has been particularly influential, popular, or controversial. I’ll pass around this sheet with your choices, only one group per movie, please,” Ms. Fischer prattles, but Joan doesn’t hear a word, simply watches in a slight panic as all around her people frantically group themselves into pairs or trios.
Leaving her with the tall girl, who’s running he fingers through the long portion of her hair at the top of her head, catching and ripping apart the tangles. She shoots a wicked, toothy grin at Joan.
“Well, well, well... ain’t it just your lucky day, Spots?” she snickers, and Joan sinks into her seat.
“M-my name’s Joan.”
“I like Spots,” the girl leers at her and she shudders. The tall girl goes silent, but Joan continues to look at her expectantly. She notices after a few second and spits, “what?”
“Uh, what’s your n-name?” Joan tries.
“Mich. And I’ll whoop your ass if you call me Michelle,” she follows her threat with an even more threatening grin. The sign-up paper is tossed onto Joan’s desk, and she blinks down at it in surprise.
Oh no.
There is no way.
The only option without names next to it reads ‘Blue is the Warmest Color.’ She is not doing a project on an overtly-sexual movie about lesbian love with this girl. She’s already been picked on by pretty much everyone she’s met at Sellwood, and they don’t even know that she’s bisexual. Working on this movie would paint an even larger target on her back. She stares at the paper for a few tense seconds, but her hatred of confrontation beats out the fears of her project partner and imminent torment. Not wanting to cause any trouble, Joan scribbles her own name and Mich’s with a defeated groan. The class seems to drag on, mostly because she’s hyper-aware of the amber eyes that are locked to her the entire class. Again, Mich is trying –and miserably failing- to be discreet about staring at her. Her heart pounds nervously as she watches the hands on the clock tick down to the next period, convinced she’s going to be thrown in a trash can or stuffed in a locker by her tall counterpart. As the bell rings and she stands hastily, she knocks the binders from her desk, a waterfall of papers cascading out of them and onto the floor. She groans and burns red as a couple kids step over and onto them, stampeding out of the classroom and leaving dirty shoeprints on her homework.
“Watch where you’re fuckin’ goin’ pencil dick, can’tcha see she’s tryin’ to pick up her stuff,” Mich snarls as she strong arms a few of the boys stepping on the papers, who look back at her with fear and skitter nervously away. She crouches, collecting piles into her big hands, as Joan stares down incredulously. For a second, Mich works alone, until Joan drops down with her, their knees brushing as they cram papers into the fallen binders. After they’ve cleaned up, before she can even blurt out a thanks, Mich stands and drapes a lean arm around her, squeezing at her shoulder with long, wiry fingers.
“What’cha got next, Joanie?” she asks, sounding uninterested. It’s surprising enough that she remembers her name, but even more surprising that Mich walks her to her locker, curling her lip up at Natalie and her posse when they venture too close. Joan fumbles through her books, reciting her schedule to Mich out of nervousness, and takes longer than she’d hoped. She jumps as the bell rings, and her tall companion mutters a goodbye. Before she can turn away, Joan grabs her wrist.
“Wait, I- can I have your number?” she squeaks, following up quickly, “For the project!” Her cheeks heat up as Mich smiles wryly down at her.
“Yeah. For the project,” she says as she pulls a shattered phone from her pocket, open to a new contact page. With shaking fingers, Joan punches her number in and hands it back.
“Headed to math? This way,” Mich directs with a nod as she wraps her arm around Joan once more, steering her down the hall towards the north stairwell.
“You d-don’t have to walk me there, really,” she halfheartedly protests.
“You know where you’re goin?”
“Uh... no. I don’t, no,” she mumbles, so Mich continues walking alongside her. Joan lets herself lean into Mich’s side just slightly.
The first person to be nice to her at Sellwood is the absolute last person she’d expect. She goes the rest of the day with a small, unconscious smile sitting on her lips. When she and Sid get home, throw their backpacks on the kitchen table and rummage through the fridge for a snack, Steve asks how the day went. She answers honestly.
“It was... pretty good.”
Mich is sure she’s hit the damn jackpot. Not only had she managed to save face after her little fuck-up when first meeting Joan, but she’s even managed to worm her way into the small girl’s life. She’s pretty sure she’s making headway, too, because Joanie seems to....
Possibly,
Maybe,
Actually... enjoy spending time with her. If her shy smiles and bubbling laughter are any indication, she does enjoy Mich’s company. They text almost constantly and are practically inseparable at school. They even hang out outside of school, always vowing to do their project but never managing to stick to their word. Sometimes they walk through the woods to the coast, other times she watches Joan try to learn skateboard tricks at the old industrial park outside town, but mostly they spend their time on the rickety swing set at the abandoned playground near the trailer park. It’s simultaneously amazing and totally, totally shitty.
Because Joan is everything to Mich, and she doesn’t even know it.
Those beautiful green eyes make her knees weak. The way her hair curls around the nape of her neck gives her goosebumps. The pink which lights up her cheeks makes her heart flutter. But it’s not just how Joan looks, that’s not what made Mich fall head-over-heels, daydream and wetdream, mushily absolutely totally in love with her.
It’s her kindness. How she listens and gives advice, how she laughs, how she understands and forgives. Each moment with her is better than the last, and for the life of her Mich cannot seem to properly convey that. Instead it usually comes out as something ridiculous like “You got great tits.”
Joan is either too innocent to notice her blatant flirting or is ignoring it outright. Both possibilities are equally hard to work with. She sets her jaw hard as she walks through the doors to the high school bright and early. Today’s the day, she’s going to make sure Joanie knows that she’s into her. With determination in her long strides, she makes her way to the small girl’s locker. She’s already there, her head hidden as she stands on her tiptoes to reach the books in the back. She backs out and looks down the hallway, meeting Mich’s eyes and lighting up with a sweet smile.
Instantly, Mich is a pile of gelatin. She doesn’t know where she is, or what her name is, or what she possibly could’ve been so set on doing when she arrived at school. But she does know that Joan looks shockingly cute.
Like, unfairly adorable. Her curls are getting longer, so she’s pushing them back with an uncharacteristically feminine headband made of soft-looking green velvet. It matches her eyes. As she approaches Joan, she can’t help dumb, dopey smile which creeps across her face.
“Hair,” Mich starts, floundering over her words. She snaps her mouth shut and turns bright red as Joan cocks her head in confusion. “Long.” Fuck. “Your hair’s gettin’ long,” she finally spits out. Joan sighs and tugs at a stray curl.
“Yeah. Deanna doesn’t like me cutting it. She says short hair makes me look like a... um, a lesbian. But she doesn’t, y’know, say lesbian. She says... yeah,” she finishes with weak, humorless laugh. Mich curls her lip. She’s never had to meet Joan’s foster mom. She doesn’t think she wants to.
“Don’t listen to her. Josi can cut it for you if you want, she’s damn good. She does mine,” she says, running one hand through the long part of her hair, wincing as a knot catches her finger. She’d ripped her acrylics off the night before, tired of the nuisance, and her nails are tender.
“Uh... maybe. I don’t want to get in trouble or anything,” Joan says quickly. Mich narrows her eyes and opens her mouth to protest, but Joan shoots her a look that tells her to drop it. “You’re coming over tonight, right? We need to actually do our project, it’s due in less than a week,” she says, closing her locker. Mich’s dopey smile is back in an instant, and Joan takes it as a yes.
Like always, the tall girl wraps an arm around her companion and walks her to class.
She doesn’t have any classes with Joan on today’s schedule, so she skips most of them. The only real reason she shows up to school anymore is to see Joanie. During third period, as she wanders aimlessly waiting for classes to end, she catches sight of the small, freckled girl walking down the hall. She’s in her gym uniform, which is odd, because she has gym second period. She should be in English right now. Still, Mich can’t believe her luck. The uniform bottoms are short, pulling tight around Joan’s thighs and ass, and it makes her mouth water. She breaks into a jog, catching up with her quickly.
“Shit, you tryin’ out for somethin? My vote’s on volleyball. I’d love to see you in some spandex, bendin’ ov-”
“Not now, Mich.” The response makes the taller girl freeze. Joan’s voice is watery and quivering and she won’t look up from the ground, just continues walking briskly with her head down. She tugs at the hem of the shorts uncomfortably. Mich wraps a hand around her upper arm, gently urging her to stop and face her. Her heart drops as she hears Joan choke out a hiccup and a sniffle, bringing one hand up to her face to cover her tears.
“Joanie,” she says softly, cradling her damp face in her hands and angling it up. Joan’s eyelashes are wet and her nose is red. “The hell’s goin’ on? What happened?” The tears fall onto her big thumbs as they roll down the freckled curve of Joan’s cheeks.
“N-Natalie and her f-friends took m-my clothes-s when I changed,” she says, stuttering over uneven breaths. “I don’t know w-where they put them. They l-left clothes in my locker, but they were a s-size extra s-s-small,” she trails off, bringing her hands to her face and whimpering. Mich’s fingers start to shake in anger as she wraps them around Joan’s wrists, pulling them off her face. Using her wrists to pull her forward and force her arms open, she pulls Joan against her chest. Wrapping her up, petting her hair softly, she hushes the small girl gently and lets tears dampen her tank top. Though she cradles Joan delicately, all the muscles in her body are tense. She hasn’t been this angry since she stabbed the drug dealer that threatened her dad.
No one hurts the people Mich Mueller loves.
When Joan’s hiccups and sobs have subsided, Mitch wraps an arm around her and starts to walk towards the gym. The smaller girl protests a little, but Mich just rubs her shoulder soothingly. The locker room is closed and locked, but she jimmies the handle to pop it open. She sighs as she walks down rows of small lockers, trying to remember which one was assigned to her. She’d never changed for gym before, so she just looks for the one with a thick layer of dust. She yanks the rusted lock off and opens the door, finding the provided uniform still neatly folded. Staring at it warily, she yanks it out, the t-shirt looking incredibly small as it unrolls. With a huff, she reaches down and tugs her shirt over her head.
“MICH! Jeez, a warning would’ve been nice,” Joan protests, slapping her hands over her eyes. She just smiles. It’s not like her bare chest is anything special. With tits that barely filled an a-cup, there was no reason to wear a bra. But as she tugs the gym shirt over her chest, she realizes her dark nipples show through the white fabric.
“It’s on, ya prude,” she teases as she tugs her jeans off. She notices Joan’s eyes wander over her shyly, taking particular interest in the way her breasts show through the fabric. She feels warm, a little embarrassed, but a lot turned on as the tugs her jeans off her ankles. She’s left in boxer briefs, which she hastily pulls the shorts over. They’re probably the most uncomfortable things she’s ever worn, but she ignores the itching and pulling as she gathers her clothes. “Wanna put these in your backpack? I don’t got one, and I sure as shit ain’t leavin’ em in here,” she asks, extending the clothes towards Joan.
“I... don’t understand,” Joan responds softly, while carefully tucking Mich’s clothes into her bag.
“Thought I’d even it out. Can’t feel embarrassed if you’re not the only one walkin’ around in gym clothes,” she reasons like it makes perfect sense, but it feels dumb when she explains it. Joan’s eyes go watery again, and her nerves prickle. Before she can say anything, Joan smiles up at her and wraps her freckled arms around Mich’s thin waist, nuzzling under her chest.
“That’s... thanks, Mich.”
“Anything for you, Spots,” she mumbles earnestly. The bell rings shrilly, and people start to file back into the locker room. “Now let’s go get your clothes back,” she says wickedly, making Joan’s green eyes blow open wide.
The whole way to Natalie’s locker, Joan trails behind her, begging her not to make a scene. Well, at first she was begging her just to let it go, but she wised up to the fact that isn’t gonna happen. Mich just continues her long stride until she sees Natalie at her locker, Cameron lazily leaning against the one beside her. He catches sight of Mich and cocks an eyebrow, so she narrows her eyes.
“Beat it,” she hisses to him through gritted teeth, and he leaves quickly. The blonde turns around with a look of distaste.
“What do you want, trailer trash,” her nasally voice is bored. Mich takes a threatening step towards her, and Natalie’s face changes instantly. Her eyes widen as presses her back against the lockers in an attempt to get further away. Mich grins and flips a switchblade out close to her thigh. Natalie hears the noise and jumps, looking down at it in shock.
“I want Joanie’s clothes back, cumrag,” she hisses. The blonde rolls her eyes.
“Oh my god, you’re literally fucking crazy,” she spits, but her voice is nervous. She spins and reaches into her locker, grabbing a small garbage bag and pushing it into Mich’s chest. Without looking away from her face, Mich tosses the bag back to Joan.
“All there?” she asks, and Joan softly squeaks out a confirmation. “You’re lucky. If you ever -ever- pick on my Joanie again, I’ll yank your tampon out and shove it so far up that nose your daddy bought you it’ll come out your ear.” She plants a large had against the blonde’s shoulder and slams it into the locker door, turning on her heels and taking Joan under her arm.
They elect to skip the rest of the school day to get a start on their project, walking back to Joan’s house. Her mom’s working second shift today and her dad is in the town over with a couple of the foster kids until late evening, so the house will be empty, Joan explains as they walk. They’re still in their gym clothes, and Mich’s heart skips a beat when she thinks about the two of them in the privacy of Joan’s room.
All alone.
In the dumb, see-through t-shirts and tight shorts. A little smirk tugs at her lip.
That’s pretty hot.
And also slightly terrifying.
Heart beating rapidly, Joan unlocks the door to her house and pushes it in. Deanna’s cruiser and Steve’s minivan are both missing from the driveway, so she keeps the lights off to avoid any suspicion from their nosy neighbors. Mich follows her upstairs, into her room, and they’re both silent for a bit as Joan unpacks her bag, laying Mich’s clothes on her desk chair.
“You can change, if you want,” she says, not looking at her friend, instead electing to leave the room to go get her and Sid’s shared laptop. She’s barely been able to look at Mich all day. Things have been... different between them today. Mich is even handsier than usual, more sweet and gentle. She hasn’t teased her at all since the morning.
It’s making it very, very hard for Joan to ignore the feelings that she’s been harboring. Mich is the last person she should like; her foul mouth and nasty smoking habit should put her off entirely. But they don’t. They’ve become far too endearing. She can’t deny the way her stomach flips when Mich smiles at her on their favorite swingset, or how she runs her long fingers through her curls, or the feeling of her hand squeezing her shoulder to reassure her. She likes Mich.
Like likes her.
She thinks Mich feels the same too. She’d called her “my Joanie.”
Joan sighs dreamily as she covers her red face, leaning her forehead against Sid’s door.
And then of course there was the fact that she’d stripped down in front of her. Sure, she’d covered her eyes, but not before she’d seen everything of course. Her cheeks get hotter as she runs over the image of Mich’s breasts in her mind again and again. They’re exactly how she pictured them, identical to what she’s fantasized about late at night with her hands between her legs, imagining Mich’s lips and teeth and fingers in their place. Before she can get too flustered she bursts into Sid’s room, retrieving their laptop from his desk and walking back to her room. With a deep breath, she calls out to her friend, “You done?” A grunt of confirmation, and she pushes through the door.
Mich is sitting on Joan’s bed, unchanged. She’s still wearing the tight, white tee which barely conceals her and those shorts which leave nothing of her long legs to the imagination. The fine blonde hair which covers her legs leaves Joan’s head swimming.
“I’ll just stay in these, they’re pretty comfy,” Mich says, stretching her arms over her head. Joan doesn’t conceal the way she stares at the bit of smooth, hard stomach that becomes exposed, because Mich is lying. The gym uniforms are possibly the most uncomfortable clothes ever created, but she doesn’t question why she’s electing to stay in them. She plops down on the bed next to her, shuffling until she can lean her back on the wall and curls her knees to her chest.
“W-we can watch it online,” she explains, bringing the movie up.
“What’s it even about?” Mich asks, leaning close to her to watch what she’s doing. She blanches.
“You, you don’t know? You didn’t even look it up?”
“Well, shit, don’t get mad, we haven’t started the project till today!” she responds defensively, and Joan can only shake her head. She doesn’t answer the question, because maybe it’ll be less awkward if she just finds out by watching it.
Her guess is wrong.
It starts off fine, watching Adèle and Emma fall in love. Objectively, it’s a pretty sweet movie for being written by a straight guy and all. She doesn’t spare a look at Mich, just scribbling down notes for their paper.
It all changes once they hit that scene. The 7 minute, full frontal nudity, unabashed porn scene. She swallows as her face grows hot, watching the two women kiss, touch, and do a whole lot more on the screen in front of them. About 3 minutes in, Mich clears her throat.
“Uh. Damn,” her voice sounds raspy. “This is a French movie, huh? They can get away with anything over there.” She says, her eyes locked to the movie where Adèle’s face moves lovingly between Emma’s thighs as she palms her ass. Joan doesn’t respond.
Have her and Mich’s arms been touching this whole time? Had she really not noticed their thighs pressed flush together, or how her head is actually kind of leaning against Mich’s shoulder? There’s no way that their fingers have been twined together since they started watching, right?
“’S kinda beautiful,” Mich mumbles gurffly.
“Yeah. They’re not- not my type though,” she responds in a hushed voice.
“What’s your type?” They’re still not looking at each other, eyes locked to the screen.
“T-tall,” Joan starts softly, but before she can continue she feels Mich’s breath against her face. She turns into it, and a big hand comes up to her cheek. Before she knows it, her lips are smashed against Mich’s. She wraps her arms around the taller girl’s neck, pulling her down until they fall back into her soft bed. Her head is spinning as Mich’s hot tongue opens her lips and slides against her teeth. When her lips are released she gasps in a deep breath, not realizing she’d forgotten to breathe. It’s short-lived; the air leaves her lungs again as big teeth start to assault her neck. Moans and sighs fill the room, emanating both from Joan and the laptop, and Mich pulls up quickly. She slams the computer shut and dives back, nibbling on Joan’s freckled ear.
“I only wanna hear you,” she mumbles sweetly, and Joan threads her fingers through her long brown hair. It’s surprisingly soft, despite the grease and tangles, and she tugs on it as large hands run up her sides. Her t-shirt is pushed up slowly over the rise of her stomach, but Mich doesn’t pull it all the way off. She rises off her and groans, slowly palming over the lace of Joan’s bralette. She knows Mich must have seen it showing through her t-shirt, but the look on the taller girl’s face makes her flush. There’s so much want and awe burning in her amber eyes it makes Joan whimper.
Mich seems to snap out of the trance, leaning to kiss her deeply before dropping slightly, nuzzling the curve of her breasts. She sucks bruises all over her neck, the swell of her chest, even her shoulders as Joan starts to wriggle beneath her. Looking up into her eyes, Mich tugs her bralette down just enough to reveal one of her dusty pink nipples. Her ears are ringing as Mich pulls the garment down more, leaving both her tits exposed. Mich is wide-eyed as she cups the flesh delicately, running one of her thumbs over a nipple in soft circles. Joan whimpers as it hardens to a nub under Mich’s fingers, causing Mich to groan back.
“You’re so goddamn sexy, Joanie,” she mumbles into the hollow of her neck. With a few chaste kisses to her neck, Mich drops and runs her tongue agonizingly slowly over her already hard nipple. She throws her head back as Mich takes it into her mouth fully, sucking, licking, and nibbling so delicately it makes tears prick in her eyes. She moves to her other nipple, giving it the same treatment as she bring her fingers to Joan’s neglected tit. She kneads at the flesh for a quick moment before running her large thumb over the bud of her nipple, groaning in response to the gasp it elicits.
Joan drops her hands from Mich’s hair to tug at the hem of her ill-fitting t-shirt. The taller girl hastily tugs it off and presses back into her, the feeling of her small tits against Joan’s making her groan. Joan can only whimper as Mich’s hand lowers, running over the curve of her body and settling at her hip. Mich’s long fingers run softly along the fabric of Joan’s shorts until they reach the soft skin of her inner thigh. Joan inhales quickly.
“P-please,” she gasps, and Mich seems more than happy to oblige as her fingers rise and sneak through the waistband of Joan’s shorts and into her underwear. Joan’s green eyes roll back and her thighs fall open as Mich experimentally runs two fingers over her clit. She starts slowly, rubbing first in gentle strokes until Joan’s hips are moving against her. Then her fingers become faster, keeping her pace steadily increasing as Joan’s cries get a little louder.
Mich stops abruptly but keeps her fingers securely against Joan’s swollen clit. When Joan whines impatiently, Mich chuckles. Her fingers dip a bit, running lower until she’s stroking her long digit’s against Joan’s wet entrance.
“Can I?” she asks, and Joan nods vigorously, not trusting her voice. A content sigh leaves her as Mich pushes one finger into her, the edge of her big palm rubbing against her clit. Mich ducks down to kiss her, all wet tongue and big teeth as she starts thrusting a long finger in and out of her.
“Another, Mich, it feels- you’re s-so-” she babbles incoherently as her eyes slip shut and with a moan into her neck, Mich obliges, adding a second finger and picking up her speed. The heel of her big palm presses harder against that perfect spot, and it makes Joan’s vision go white. Her eyes fly open as the contact with Mich’s skin disappears, and she looks up questioning as the taller girls sits back on her heels. Mich’s hand is halfway in her pants and she smiles sheepishly.
“Sorry, I, uh-” she starts, but is interrupted when Joan makes a strangled noise and licks her wet lips.
“Unh-uh,” Joan goads softly, “k-keep going, I wanna... watch,” she squeaks out and brings a hand to Mich’s thigh, stroking and squeezing the muscle. Mich smiles down at her wickedly and presses her palm harder against Joan as she pushes her hand into her shorts. Joan watches through half-lidded eyes as her hand moves quickly, rubbing desperately at her own clit as Joan clenches around her fingers. A bit of unruly, dark hair peeks out from her shorts behind her hand, and Joan whines at the sight of it.
“Goddamn it, you fuckin’ kill me,” Mich grunts as Joan sinks her nails into the flesh of her thigh. Joan brings her free hand up to massage her own breast and tease at her hard nipple, reveling in how Mich moans watching her. She feels a tightness in her chest as the heat between her thighs, deep inside her, builds rapidly. Without thinking, she bucks down against Mich’s fingers and squeezes her eyes shut tight.
“Mich, oh my god, oh my god,” she gasps, and Mich’s thrusts become so quick that the heel of her hand is practically vibrating against Joan’s clit. Unexpectedly, Mich bends at the waist, pressing her forehead into Joan’s.
“Look at me, c’mon baby, I wanna see the face you make when you cum. God, like that,” she breathes as Joan opens her teary green eyes only slightly. Her thighs begin to quiver as both Mich’s hands continue moving desperately. “Fuck. Fuck, you’re so gorgeous, got no idea what you do to me. C’mon, Joanie. Cum for me.” Mich’s begging sends her violently over the edge, her thighs clamping together and trapping Mich’s wrist as her orgasm rushes over her.
Wave after wave makes her arch her back and buck her hips in a wild, uneven rhythm as she cries out. Mich hisses out a curse into Joan’s cheek as her hands tense and she finishes herself off. Joan presses hot, wet kisses against her lips and basks in the moans Mich whines out as she cums. They’re so much higher and needier than she’d imagined, and they’re absolute music to her ears as she rides out her aftershocks against Mich’s hand.
The sound of her heartbeat roars in her ears as she comes down, panting softly as her muscles stop their intermittent clenching around Mich’s fingers. Mich pulls her hand from her own shorts and settles back onto her side, curling around Joan as she slowly, gently pulls her fingers out of her. Joan’s vision is hazy as she watches Mich bring her fingers to her lips and lick them gently, then pop them in her mouth to suck the cum off them. She wrinkles her nose, but something in her brain is telling her that she’ll be thinking of this the next time she’s lonely in bed with Mich on her mind.
Joan fumbles her bralette back up and yanks her shirt back down hastily, but her tall counterpart doesn’t seem to be in any rush. She brings her now-clean hand to Joan’s face and strokes her red cheeks softly.
“Joanie,” she starts with a blissed-out smile.
“Mm?” Joan responds, plastering the same smile on her face as she turns to face Mich, snuggling into her bare chest.
“I, uh. I hope this is obvious but I... like you. A lot.” Joan can’t help but throw her head back in laughter and Mich furrows her eyebrows. “I’m serious. Shit, I want to be with you-” but she’s cut off as Joan presses a chaste kiss against her lips.
“I’m laughing ‘cuz it is obvious, you goofball,” she giggles with her nose pressed into Mich’s. “I just hope it’s obvious that I like you, too.” Mich grins shyly and presses small kisses onto the tip of her nose. They lay together in content silence before Mich interrupts it.
“You wanna get started on that project?” she asks. Joan buries her face into the crook of her neck, stroking the soft skin of Mich’s bare back slowly.
“Nah... maybe tomorrow.”