A/N: Inspired by a prompt from doorlord5ever on tumblr. Written for Femslash February.
Y'know, smexy times and all.
Dem reviews give me all the feels, so. If you have time, leave one :B
Backstage
"Nn-Mah-marce—" long fingers flex across her mouth and she's quiet, even though two more flex inside her and fill her lungs and throat with the thickness of a scream.
"Sh-shh, sh," she peppers kisses over Bubblegum's brow between shushes. Between slickslow movements.
The air is a thin wash of sweat and cigarettes, the din of thousands of screaming voices vibrates the bricks at her back, and Marceline against her, inside her is all Bubblegum can feel. All she can see, too: ember-red and shifting, shining black. There's a white rippling pond in her stomach, surface tension broken by fleetingly rough touches at just the right place.
"Such a good idea, wearing a skirt, Bonnie," Marceline commends. She jostles them both, pressing Bubblegum more firmly against the wall. "Glob, you feel good."
Good is a bit of an understatement, though Bubblegum can't say so through the squeeze of fingers over her mouth. She palms at Marceline's shoulders, imprinting nail marks in the cool blue skin there, and it's a good thing, too, because her knees buckle at the next rough thrust and her grip is the only thing keeping her upright in Marceline's embrace. Her throat beats out what strained sounds it can in time with the movement inside her and she arcs up onto her toes.
"You're close," it isn't a question. It's the fact in the clench of her, the shake in her thighs about the wrist between them. Marceline thrusts harder, makes the pull of two fingers the push of three and reiterates: "So close."
Four hitching breaths after that become one held tight, tight in the center of her. Smaller rocking movement keeps her high and then tethers her back until her heels scuffle-drop back to the pavement. The hand at her mouth moves to cup her cheek and she pants a bit, eyes closed. The other fingers leave her too, drawing out a little whimper from her freed voice.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Marceline hazards after a few moments pass and Bubblegum remains mute. Dark eyes catch her gaze.
"No, no," she answers, smearing reassurance over the curve of Marceline's shoulders. "No, you were wonderful."
"Oh," her grin sparkles in the half light and Bubblegum leans up to lip at it.
They fit together softer than before in the kiss. Marceline's mouth is cool and inviting and she tastes like a stormy evening. Bubblegum cants her body off the wall and loops her arms about her neck, tangling her hands in that mess of oil slick hair. She hums, smiles between lazy, familiar meetings of lips and tongue.
"Got a real treat for you folks comin' up next!" booms a voice from the other side of the wall. "Straight out of Ooo proper, this band is – " the crowd roars again. Marceline is the one to pull away.
"I have to go," she says. "Will you be okay getting back by yourself?"
"I'm not a child, Marceline," but she's smiling at the sentiment.
"Yeah, okay, my apologies, your highness."
Marceline pecks her cheek and walks away from her, backwards, toward the door at the end of the alley. She curls her fingers over the handle and winks grinningly at Bubblegum before tugging at it and slipping back inside.
In the renewed silence that follows her departure, the princess smiles almost sheepishly, scrubs a hand down one side of her face, and commends herself once again for being the best band manager Marceline has ever had.
