Let me be honest here. This is not going to happen again in a while. Hopefully it won't take a near year for it to happen, but it's unlikely to be within the next few weeks. March sucks. Hopefully this tides you over.
Also, I've decided not to update Runt of the Litter until I've finished the entire story. I do have the next chapter done, but I think I need to see the piece as a whole before I post anything else.
Finally, note that I have been banging out the last two chapters with little to no regard to proofreading. I decided it was better to at least get them out. Otherwise I'd probably still be mulling this one over.
7. Atmosphere
The atmosphere in the car is different when they get back in. For one thing, Ashley wants to put the roses down, but she can't quite figure out how to do that in the passenger seat of the station wagon. If she puts them on the floor in front of her seat, they might get trampled. If she throws them in the backseat, that would be rude. If she puts them on the dashboard, they'll block Spencer's view. So instead she just sits there holding the bouquet in her hands, crinkling the plastic wrapping on the outside.
The atmosphere in the car is different now that Spencer has gone and done something embarrassing and cheesy. It's like Spencer has given Ashley permission to do embarrassing and cheesy things in return. Spencer has more or less declared that Ashley is allowed to touch, to give her hugs from behind and press kisses to her temple. Ashley is allowed to be affectionate, not just funny or witty or charming, but affectionate. At least for tonight, Ashley is allowed to be attracted to Spencer, in more than the you're-so-pretty-way. And suddenly Ashley really wants to run her hands all over the outside of Spencer's jeans, and if she lets her mind run that far, she really wants to feel what Spencer's like underneath those jeans too. But she can't do any of these wonderful new things she's allowed to do because she has to hold the goddamned lovely roses that Spencer got her.
Ashley despises situational irony. And English. Because maybe there wouldn't have been situational irony without English.
The atmosphere in the car is different, and Ashley wants to bang her head on the window in frustration. She tries to jam the roses between her seat and the passenger door so that they don't fall over and get squashed, but success is limited. At the rustling of plastic and the scratch of fabric on fabric, Spencer glances over and then yanks her line of sight back on the road, blushing at the sight of the roses.
"You can just put them down anywhere."
It's Spencer's voice that makes Ashley's head explode, hesitating, hopeful, and so deliciously embarrassed. Ashley can love roses another time.
"So," Ashley drawls from Spencer's right, "have I mentioned how much I liked roses?"
Spencer's hands tighten on the steering wheel. Her fingers are going to hurt from all this clenching tomorrow. The roses are driving her insane, and she can't help but squirm inside whenever Ashley brings them up. All she can do is her imagine herself holding out the bouquet like a sappy, moon-eyed idiot, who can't even come up with an original gift. It makes Spencer's cheeks burn. So of course Ashley keeps bringing it up.
"I think you said something to that effect." It's a surprisingly coherent sentence, even incorporating a touch of her usual disdain for silly questions. She opens her mouth to make the jab stick and chokes on air when she feels Ashley's fingers brush against her neck, sweeping back a stray lock of hair.
"Well, I do like roses," Ashley rasps, her words scraping along Spencer's skin. "They're very…red."
Normally, Spencer would pounce on the obtuseness of such a remark and tear the observer to pieces with her tongue. At the moment, she worries about breathing. Do not look to your right. Her muscles coil over each other, stiffening and quivering. Drive. Just freaking drive. Spencer hates driving.
"Make a left at the next traffic light."
Spencer wants to cover herself in Ashley's voice. She wants to curl up tight and hide in it. It's freaking irritating as hell. Spencer is not going to be seduced like some… some…
It's hard to come up with good similes when Ashley's finger is trailing down the right side of her neck and onto her shoulder.
The atmosphere in the car is very, very… tense when they pull into Ashley's driveway.
With a shaky breath, Ashley rinses the blueberries out at the sink and runs her fingers through them. Jesus, what did she just do? What was she thinking in the car? When did she turn into a freaking film noir femme fatale? If they hadn't been driving, hadn't had the console between them and the annoyingly transparent windshield in front…
Shuddering, Ashley dumps the blueberries into a strainer.
A thump, bang and stifled curse later, Spencer bursts through the kitchen door with the remainder of their groceries clutched in her arms. "Jesus Christ!"
"Need a hand?"
"It would be helpful," Spencer mutters. Her irritation is gentle though, more soothing than accusatory, and Ashley lets some of the food tumble into her arms before setting them on the counter.
After a moment of pulling items out of shopping bags, Ashley realizes something. "Hey Spencer? Where are my Apple Jacks?"
The answering smirk makes Ashley's heart stop. Spencer saunters—freaking saunters—up to Ashley. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Ashley closes her eyes and struggles to wrap her mind around Spencer being so… suggestive. She can feel Spencer's voice between her legs.
"I-I think I would." Words. Use them. Try not to collapse. It's hard when Spencer's hips are nudging her own against the wood of the kitchen cabinets.
"I don't think you've earned them," Spencer breathes, her hips thrust against Ashley's and the feel of the pelvic bone makes Ashley sag. When did Spencer get so fucking tall? When did Ashley start whimpering?
Ashley leans back, bracing her hands against the counter. Each breath lurches from her lungs like a drunken sailor. Totally intoxicated, she throws her head back. Why is she leaning backwards? Why isn't she pushing forward, pressing against her body up to Spencer's? She wants more. She surges towards Spencer only to be wrenched back. Her hands are trapped against the counter beneath Spencer's. The smug grin playing across Spencer's face makes her heady. If she weren't so ridiculously turned on, she'd be furious. As the case stands, she's just… wet.
When Spencer's teeth arrive under her jaw, Ashley finds herself caught between a growl and a mewl.
"Spencer…"
And then Spencer's tongue is there, sleek muscle running along her neck, and Ashley's lower body gyrates, trying to angle itself against the flare of her partner's hips. Spencer deliberately flattens herself against Ashley until there just isn't room for the pinned girl to move. Her mouth travels up to Ashley's ear, breathless but thick.
"How badly do you want it?"
Somehow, Spencer's become the temptress, the seductress, the freaking femme fatale, and Ashley is just squirming beneath her, burning and blind with desire. "God. Spencer. Please."
Spencer laughs, she just laughs, and Ashley decides that this entire situation is outrageous. She half-twists, half-shoves Spencer back with her hips. While her date yelps and stumbles, Ashley yanks her hands free and steps forward until Spencer is falling backwards, fingers clutching Ashley's shirt. It's all the victor can do to keep Spencer from knocking her head against the chilly tiles. Her hands are up Spencer's blouse, fingers probing at the edge of her bra, before she can think about what she's doing on the kitchen floor. Spencer's back arches and Ashley vengefully pushes her flat against the floor again, swallowing the dazed gasps and suppressed moans. Ashley wants to drag the noises out of Spencer, peel back the layers of cool reserve and find the warm and willing stranger underneath. Finally pushing the underwire of her bra out of the way, Ashley's fingers latch firmly onto hard nipples, just squeezing slightly and letting Spencer wriggle in her grasp.
All along the edges of her forearm, she can feel Spencer's bare torso, and it is absolutely exhilarating. Spencer's shirt bunches up further as Ashley shifts so that she's kneeling on top. Can Spencer feel the cold tiles at her back?
Spencer's control over her voice breaks as she keens into Ashley's mouth, shivering. It's Ashley's turn to straighten and chuckle.
Desperate hands scrabble first against her sides, then over the plane of Ashley's back trying to get a grip on something. They finally fasten themselves in Ashley's hair, hauling her back against demanding lips. Spencer strains upwards, shoulders leaving the floor as she tries to cover more of Ashley with her mouth. Ashley doesn't know how much control she still this interaction, and she doesn't care so long as—
"Oh my—Ashley! Use your freaking room!"
Ashley practically leaps into the air at Kyla's shrill outburst. She can't remember the last time she saw her twin so discombobulated, her neat face gaping in horror. It would've been hilarious if Ashley weren't recovering from a small heart attack.
"What? Kyla, you scared—"
"You know what? I'm just going to go up to my own private and thankfully opaque bedroom and hope the two of you are done by morning." Kyla sweeps out of there as regally as she can, mumbling to herself all the while.
"Geez," Ashley sighs, resting her forehead against cool tiles. "It's not like we were naked." She looks over at the girl still sprawled half-underneath her. "Hey! Don't worry," she says hastily. Spencer looks like a bunny rabbit in a tractor beam. Ashley presses a comforting kiss to her forehead. "It was just Kyla." Another kiss, on the lips, with Ashley's arms fully wrapped around the girl. "Don't worry," she soothes between kisses.
For a while they just lie there, kissing until they both come down from the adrenaline. Afterwards, Ashley almost makes a snarky comment about her Apple Jacks. Almost. Instead of hurling herself down the first suitable cliff, she decides (just this once) to enjoy the atmosphere at the mountaintop . And so she's quiet once the kissing stops, and she lies with Spencer on her kitchen floor.