"What do you have to say to that little monologue? My blood and guts, shaped into words. Not that I said those things to help get me laid. I didn't say them to help myself at all, really. I just wanted to speak."
The sagging pillow slowly topples over, shattering the illusion of Rouge.
"That's what I thought." Amy's sighs, chin in palm and eyelids lowered pensively. "The futility of everything." Her bare feet sway back and forth over the edge of her bed. "Say. What if she doesn't come back, homunculus? Or, hear me out… What if she does come back, and this turns out to be even worse of a mistake than we thought it'd be? What if I thoroughly enjoy every moment of my ruin? What if it ends as something wonderful?"
The pillow remains silent, as if it really is the vessel of all knowledge, the holder of all the answers, the conqueror of the unanswerable.
"And this is why pauses are dangerous." The hedgehog giggles at the absurdity. "They give you time to think and rethink. Pauses are moments to reflect, you know. And it's us miserable people who obsess the most with ourselves. We're the most reflective and our mirrors are biased because they're cracked. We just don't take enough care, I guess. Then again, how can you look elsewhere, when it's the impression of your fist that you leave behind? You're full of glass and it hurts. That's all there is. It's what you know. You're all you know."
The pillow could still resemble the bat, if she were absurdly drunk and had let herself go, somewhat.
"What if I draw a facial expression on you? We could make this a thing. You could be my therapist. Who needs a real professional when you've got a pillow and an active imagination! You can punch a pillow but you can't punch a therapist, am I right? That was a joke. Laugh."
The pillow sinks a little further when the hedgehog playfully nudges it.
"Wow. I'm not very funny, am I? Not even to myself." More quietly, she mutters,"Especially not to myself." She returns to a conversational volume. "Oh, sweet pillow. Do you think I should try burning some incense? That could help. I might have hot lesbian sex, today. Did I tell you that, already? Isn't that lucky? Shit. It's understandable if I'm a little nervous. Yeah?"
The pillow becomes concave after a rather savage blow.
"Say something comforting, dammit." She gesticulates, then, as if to encompass all of society's problems within her hands. "See, if people just communicated properly and without passing judgement, then we'd be less afraid and our little universes could actually connect within the grander scheme of things!"
The pillow almost looks like it is bowing to her.
"I'm gonna need a lot of incense, huh? Whoo, boy. I'm sweating. Drunk me was all, like, rearing to go – boobies, yay – but now I want someone to tell me I'm gonna survive whatever happens next. So, I'm telling myself, it'll all be okay. But that reassurance won't last long, because I inevitably ask myself, what if she doesn't like me? What if I'm bad in bed? And what if I feel nothing?"
Just then, there is a knock on the door.
Amy takes in a sharp breath, exhales, seizes the pillow, fluffing it into orderliness and setting it neatly in place before getting to her feet, smoothing out her appearance in turn. "Right. Here goes."
The pillow is the unseeing witness to the few steps it takes to reach the door, the way she momentarily rests her head against it, as if reconsidering again or recollecting herself, before pulling the door open.
"Hey."
As lustful hormones and chemicals of pleasure surge throughout, the hedgehog moans an inarticulate greeting into the bat's mouth. This marks the temporary death of her universe – the death of the Amy Rose who was filled with questions and doubts and inhibitions. Before she resurrects, she revels in her demise and wraps her arms around luscious curves, fingers sinking into a shapely rear and grazing along a sloping back.
Rouge is pulled further into the room much the same way as a fish is caught within the tendrils of a beautiful sea anemone. She kicks the door shut behind herself and staggers to keep their lips together, dragged like prey toward the bed. Her claws roam quills and wiry muscles, seeking, exploring.
Upon making contact with the edge of the mattress, the hedgehog displays her strength in possibly the most enthralling way, lifting the bat off of the ground and depositing her onto the bed in one fluid motion.
Rouge is very glad for those painkillers as her head is forced down, Amy's fists moving to grip her shoulders and squeezing until it hurts.
The hedgehog straddles the bat.
Rouge is afforded a little more air as Amy tears herself away, withdrawing in whimpers, sitting back.
A tee-shirt emblazoned with the name of some mediocre pre-war rock band is hastily wrenched off and tossed away. Lithe, thrumming flesh, toned by years of exercise and combat, flexes with enthusiasm, arms reaching down.
Having requested a little time away to preen, lipstick is now pointlessly smeared. A gasp announces dismay and arousal as the crisp shirt, a fashionable piece, is thoughtlessly wrenched apart, buttons spilling like loose change, baring quivering breasts and erect nipples.
Stuttered appreciation.
Aquamarine slits emerge beneath dark, heavy lashes. "Surprise."
The hedgehog eases herself upright once more, surveying her work with relish. "We're all animals," she announces.
The bat pulls an amusingly tortured face below a suggestive roll of slender hips.
"We dunno where we're going but we know what we are. Horny, desperate animals."
"Are you trying to tell me I should ditch the bra more often?"
The firm, abrasive texture of denim presses into the heat between the Amy's open thighs, provoking her to bite her lip and to thrust faster, harder, jostling Rouge's breasts.
"Have fun riding me, honey." The bat runs her fingernails slowly over the hedgehog's stomach, claws skittering over vulnerable skin, huskily humming with appreciation. "But I expect you to last."
"Damn you." Amy is wearing a skirt with the pretty flowers on it. It pools about her clenching legs to obscure Rouge's lower body.
The bat sneers, imbuing such an unflattering expression with irresistible charm that sets her apart from the shady men with cigarettes who bide their time in downtrodden bars.
The hedgehog bends, again, into another kiss. Lost in a turbulent sea wrought with mutual frustration and disappointment and desire.
"Ooh." Charmy buzzes over Vector's shoulder, the bee wearing the crocodile's golden chain like a struggling, glamorous actress with a boa. "Getting to the next level of inventiveness, I see."
Espio smiles fondly from over the pan at his station. "Shall I intervene?"
"Nah, let him play. Nobody's been poisoned."
"Yet."
"So it's harmless."
"For now."
"Muahaha."
With a cheerful, oblivious snort, Vector brings the knife down, slicing two juicy halves from the ripe lemon.