@heldgirl sent: [ TOUCH ]: while touching the receiver’s waist, the sender’s hand briefly dips beneath the hem of their shirt, skimming briefly across the bare skin of their waist. / accepting.
hold on, i want to try something, sunny had said, eyes suddenly lit up in delight the way they always did whenever she had some sort of idea pop into her head. orla must have made some kind of face, even if they didn't mean to, because she'd held her hands up in front of her excitedly, fingers wiggling in a frankly kind of ominous way, that bright smile nearly shining. nothing bad! just trust me!
and orla, forever the idiot, had said yes. not that whatever sunny's plan is is bad — in fact, even though she's not sure what it is just yet, she's sure it's something great, because she's never met anyone more fashionable than her, and she's always able to somehow elevate even the best of outfits even further. no, she's the idiot because somehow, this has ended up with sunny's hands dancing across her back, along the waistband of her jeans, as she hums in thought, and orla thinks she might just fucking explode. before she can say anything, question anything, before she can even breathe, sunny's fingers close around the fabric, tugging it loose from where they'd tucked it in haphazardly that morning, and then — and then her fucking hand ( holy shit ) slips under their shirt ( holy shit! ), the tips of her fingers brushing hot against the skin of orla's right side.
it's an accident, she realizes too quickly, when sunny gasps and she can feel the twisting of fabric by her shoulder from her nearly yanking her hand away. before orla can stop herself ( before sunny can get too far ), her mouth drops open, voice lower than she intends it to be : ❛ you're okay, don't worry about it. keep, uh, doing whatever you wanted to do. ❜
there's a pause, and orla almost wonders if she's said something wrong somehow, before sunny's hands relax against her shirt again. her humming restarts as she starts pulling the rest of it out, tugging at the fabric and shaking it out so it drapes just so, she assumes. orla can't help but notice how much more careful her movements are this time around. how much she seems to be watching exactly where her hands are going as she untucks the left side.
( she finds herself wishing she wasn't. )
eventually she pulls away, apparently pleased with her work. ❛ there, ❜ sunny says, finally, an airiness to her voice that orla swears wasn't there before, ❛ i thought it'd look better untucked. ❜ there's no mirror, no real way for them to see if she was right or not, but they're nodding already, even before they realize she's holding her phone camera out for them to see their reflection in. oh, huh. somehow this had looked bad when she'd gotten dressed this morning, having considered the option, but now it looks fine. really good, actually. even if they have to pretend the little orla on the screen's cheeks aren't painfully pink. ❛ yeah, you're right. ❜ must be her touch making it right. it usually is.