Title: Baby Girl, I'm a Blur
Author: interpol..ice
Fandom: Skins – Second Generation
Pairing: Naomi Campbell/Emily Fitch
Rating: T (naughty naught-T! not exactly T)
Summary: Naomi Campbell and the complications of having a twin for a girlfriend. Distracting flashbacks and a lovesick mind keep her from telling the night's story straight. In this comedy of errors, the first thing that got right was letting Naomi narrate. [Pre-Season 4]
Disclaimer: Little is mine. Little is mine.
Author's Notes: The titles for the story and for this chapter were taken from a Say Anything song. I wanted to write something light and funny, something before the Season 4 drama. Not saying that I didn't like the fourth season (I adored it, actually). And besides, this plot bunny hopped out of its hole after season 3 aired. Hope you people enjoy reading it anyway… :)

Baby Girl, I'm a Blur

by interpol..ice

Chapter 1: How We'd Be (You and Me)

We're at a club again. I don't know why. Folks here at Bristol are pretty keen on getting fucked for no apparent reason at all.

But mature little adults we promised to be, Emily and I try to deviate from all that. Sure, fist and cat fights in freshmen year were fun (and eventful) but I'd rather not see Emily with bruises and scratches on her face. Because that would mean I'd have complementary bruises and scratches as well.

Okay, this is quite a long back-story but I'm going to tell it anyway because it was what I liked to consider a milestone for Ems and I.

= = = * * * = = =

I am a supportive girlfriend. When you fuck with my girl, you fuck with me.

And no, Katie wasn't happy at all when I joined in on that TGIF brawl. By the time Emily was trying to pry me off of her sister, Katie's pedicure and my face were practically best mates.

After I felt Katie's nail digging into my fucking cheek, I lost whatever control I had of my fist as it swung and hit her dangerously near her nine-stitch wound.

Katie's eyes rolled themselves to the back of her head. And fuck yes, it was as if she fainted in slow motion. At least... she did for me, because time sort of warps for a person when they know something bloody fucking horrible is about to happen to them.

To start off, it was a fight between twins. And everyone knows that you shouldn't get involved in a misunderstanding such as that if you have even just a single chromosome difference in genetic makeup.

Twins. They're supposed to settle their shit on their own.

But fuck, who would've guessed that little old me, so in love with the younger twin, would forget this unspoken rule of the universe? Effy could've at least reminded me before I practically charged my furious ass at Katie's pretty face (I only say that because she looks like Emily. So I can never tell Katie that she looks like shite since that would be a secondhand insult to my girlfriend. Can you see how complicated it is when the love of your life and your arch-nemesis are twins?! You do? Then, fucktastic! Welcome to the club.)

If I had known that I'd get Emily royally pissed off that day, I would've rather gone to another tuition fee protest instead. Even if the weather was shit that morning. Even if it was to start at an unthinkable hour considering I was so bloody hung over from the night before.

Yes, anything was better than having Emily mad at me.

Come Sunday night I was back at the all-familiar Fitch porch, dejected head against the outside of her front door.

"I was trying to defend your honor," I said lamely, expecting her hand to shoot out of the cat-flap at any second. And of course, I couldn't believe I just said 'defend your honor' after which I mouthed a quick 'fuck' at myself.

"You were trying to kill my sister," she corrected. I could hear her sniffing on the other side of the door. I wanted so badly to just get in there and hold her. I had to get to her. I had to see it through.

Then I heard Mrs. Fitch through the door, being a perfect Spanish Inquisitor.

"Emily, love, what are you up to this late? Are you crying? What happened?"

Emily told her mother that she was feeding a stray three-legged cat (Oh mum, I feel so sorry for it. It doesn't deserve to be stoned to death!).

Of course, Emily, it made perfect sense that you were talking to a three-legged cat that was occasionally thrown rocks at since you're near the cat-flap and all.

Yeah, that's what she said. It was such a bullshit story that I loved her even more because... well, she obviously couldn't think straight without me.

In her mum's mind, Emily's shit story made perfect sense so I hear Mrs. Fitch's footsteps fade away.

After that, there was ominous silence. There was no hand coming out of the cat-flap. Emily confirmed my suspicions a few minutes later, when she told me to go home.

I had a nice sob-fest with mum that night. It made me feel better. I know, unbelievable right?

And I knew that she knew it was about Emily. And it felt nice, that mum wasn't being condescending and shit. She took out her secret stash of Cadbury flakes and made me hot milk. She even went as far as promising to buy me a gateau first thing in the morning.

She didn't tell me to 'forget about her.' Because, some point along the way, mum figures out that Emily means too much for me to do just that.

Emily and I had make-up sex in one of the janitor closets the next morning, before classes started. It was in that tiny, enclosed room where I fucked her senseless and eventually, into a very, very forgiving mood. And that proved to be very difficult actually, with all the buckets and brooms we knocked over. But an intense desperation to save our relationship drove me to unsettling heights of horniness.

So I hoisted her up a knee-high cabinet, seated her on top of it. Got her smirking at my new found strength. I undid her trousers and when I had a hard time taking them off, I shot her a mock-accusatory look that said, 'You should've worn a skirt.'

"How was I supposed to know you were going to jump me before first bell?" she reasoned hotly.

I gave her mouth a quick peck, because really, I was being a twat. And thankfully, that calmed her down.

Then I had to help her out of those trousers. Some awkward shimmying, giggling and pulling later, I reached the part where I had to pull down Emily's knickers.

I just knew that I had to give her the most mind-fucking shag in the history of lesbian sex. And yes, I was going to do it in a supply closet with ironically no supply of huge strap-ons, brogues or anything else of the lesbian-sex-fantasy nature.

Once I was inside of her, I thought of familiar places. Like the politics section of the library, mum's favorite vegan diner, the park outside of my house, my own room and finally... here, inside Emily's velvety warmth. That got my hand off like a sprinter after gunshot. I had to rest my other hand against the wall behind Emily; Feeling for my pace. Then there she was… her breath hitching in succession, in an unmistakable rhythm that told me I was hitting her in exactly the right spot. I couldn't believe how my fingers were pumping that fast in and out of her. I felt like a demonic succubus.

I was un-fucking-stoppable.

I slowed down a bit, until she was groaning that she wanted more, her mouth parted, eyes screwed shut. I took my free hand off the wall and gently held her by the neck. Then I pulled her closer gently, made her look at me.

I remember wishing I hadn't because after getting lost in those chocolate pools, my ability to form a decent sentence seemed to have abandoned ship as well. I wanted to say something fitting. But at that moment, all I could think of was anything but.

So I fisted her faster and harder, and with more frustration with myself than ever. Really, why couldn't I say anything? Not a fucking thing. The increased frequency and amplitude made her throw her head back, popping her chest out. The whole movement, unconsciously inviting me in. I couldn't help it. I fucking buried my face between her tits, sobbing 'sorry' a million times over, had my words intimately muffled by her cleavage and the surprising sweetness of her early-morning sweat.

There I was, loving every bit of it. The way Emily's hands ran through my hair, grabbing fistfuls while resisting the urge to pull with all her might whenever my digits dug in and hit her where she wanted. Her fringe turned a nice hue of copper red in the dim light, wet against her forehead, matching her flushed cheeks. The sight left me deliriously smug.

As I listened to her, I couldn't help but think about my name spelled backwards. While she came, her back arching wildly against my arm that steadied her, she finally graced me with her first smile in ages (okay, those three horrible, Emily-deprived days seemed to take a sodding eternity to end).

It was moments like that which made you realize how much you needed something. How much you needed someone.

Emily was trying to control her breathing while she brushed my fringe to the side, taking some of my blonde bangs and tucked them behind my ear. She trailed the tips of her fingers along my jaw-line until they reached my chin, from where she tipped my head up to look at her.

I held my breath.

Emily's looking back at me, down at me, sucking her lips in like she was trying to keep herself from crying. She licked at them, and they break into another smile.

And it was so fucking beautiful that I realized that I was already crying long before she did. The relief that crashed over me was overwhelming.

I held my breath. But she stole it anyway.

Emily Fitch still loved me.

She swooped down, smelling like happiness on a particularly excellent day. Flowers and fruits. Wine and sunshine. Earthy, woody, spicy and smoky warm.

Right off the bat, I knew that this was the scent I'd love my sheets to smell like forever. Waking up, making love, sleeping, being engulfed in this... Emily's scent.

She slowly pressed her lips against my forehead. My eyes fluttered shut in instinct, finding myself relishing her softness, her uncontested affection.

I couldn't imagine going on without Emily in my life.

Why we thought straight all day was a mystery to us. But we breezed by classes, functioning adequately. I invited her over to my house after school. Because I did recall mum mentioning there'd be a gateau.

There was no fucking gateau.

And if you think we proceeded to have sex after finding that out, you are wrong. Remember we promised to be mature individuals? Well, Emily thought it'd be a pretty nice start if we controlled our random shagging urges.

So we watched a Gossip Girl dvd instead. I never bothered with it before, but it appears that Katie got Ems hooked on this silly American program. Now Emily thinks Waldsen is absolutely brill. I couldn't say no to that kind of enthusiasm. It would be like denying Pandora a game of Twister.

After seeing Serena pinning Blair down on the grass like they were going to either snog or shag right then and there (with the latter looking to be more probable), I instantly forgot about one particular gateau. Or rather, the lack of it apparently.

"Shit. They look like they're going to shag," I stated in a happy surprise, secretly turned on by their hiked-up skirts and all those Yankee legs.

"Lovely, isn't it?" she answered, probably expected the reaction from me, her eyes still glued to the telly... for good reason.

Just so you know... Half six, we shagged again anyway.

Imagine my surprise when mum walked in on us, carrying a scrumptious-looking gateau(Black Forest, a fucking classic).

As if she were completely undisturbed by the fact that there were two half-naked girls in a compromising position nestled awkwardly on her couch, mum said, in a bright manner, "Thank God you two have made up." Then she turned to Ems and said, "Emily, stay for dinner," in the sweetest way possible.

Later, while we were straightening each other's shirts, fixing each other's hair, generally making ourselves decent for supper, we could hear mum's voice booming from the kitchen, "Girls? Girls, you have got to taste this gateau."

What can I say? Mum liked her homophones.

= = = * * * = = =

Well, that was the very important back-story as to why Ems and I have been very sensible nowadays. And since then, we've kept our word, you know? Taking this 'Operation Maturosity' shit seriously. Less alcohol, less drugs, less partying. But don't think that Ems and I have plans on turning ourselves to the nuns.

We still have mind-blowing-sex on a regular basis. Only after we get our coursework done, though.

And honestly, it's doing wonders for college. We haven't gotten anything lower than a B+ lately. Which means Ems' clever idea is actually paying off. Emily's just brilliant like that.

I know right? I'm such a lucky wanker.

A/N: I'd be great to know what you guys think. Drop me some comments… :)