milkshakes and moonbeams
Much to Amber's relief, the change that ensues adds to their dynamic rather than takes away from it.
She had expected some form of withdrawal, some sharp awkwardness that would cut into their interactions, (they both had attachment issues, credit to their wonderful families) but if anything Tara is even clingier.
She comes over practically every day now, excluding Wednesdays because that's when she has a night class.
If she isn't staying the night, she leaves late and comes back early the next day.
Sometimes she sits in on Amber's lectures if she doesn't have one herself, usually reading or finishing up assignments for another class.
Other times, much to Amber's annoyance (amusement,) Tara will try to distract her by writing random things in the margins of her notes, like Your butt looks good in those jeans, or The guy in front of us is literally playing Roblox right now.
If she's especially bored, she'll draw little characters, like mini Ghostfaces and Minions.
And Tara facetimes Amber incessantly, like one of their calls bordered on thirty-one hours once. She'll call when she's doing her homework, or sometimes in the shower because she swears that her dorm bathroom is haunted.
And Amber, much to her bewilderment, doesn't mind.
She picks up Tara's calls, even though it's almost two in the morning, she lets Tara stay the night even though she has the past three, and she doesn't mind.
Amber (unfortunately) actually kind of likes it.
She'd always liked Tara's presence, that wasn't much of a surprise, but now she craved it.
Amber found herself growing disappointed when Tara had to go back to her dorm or if she left before Amber woke up because she had to rush to her eight AM.
Her fingers twitch with the need to text Tara every minuscule detail of her day when they're apart, and finds herself eager to hear about Tara's when they're together.
And she hates it because, seriously, when did she turn into such a sap?
Amber hated being around people, she was a trademark introvert, and hanging out for hours at a time had just never appealed to her.
Her friends know that. Tara definitely knows that. So it's a bit startling when Amber realizes that Tara's perpetual company isn't entirely unwelcome, and it scares her. Like, a lot.
And maybe it has a little bit to do with the amazing sex they've been having, and they've been having it frequently.
But if Amber was being honest, it wasn't special, at least not in the typical sense.
It wasn't particularly spontaneous, or even romantic (god forbid,) often times happening at inopportune moments like during a study break or in the middle of watching a movie.
They even did it on the kitchen counter once when Tara was too impatient to wait for Amber to finish cooking.
But the point is, it's natural.
More than half of the time, most of their clothes stay on solely because they're too lazy to take them off. Amber will grab Tara's inhaler after and help her pull up her underwear and then they'll go back to finishing whatever paper they have due that weekend.
And it's casual, and relaxed, and there's no pressure to be anything or act a certain way or look a certain way, and it's just...
God, Amber hates to say it, but it's really nice.
She detests it when Tara is right, but it's nice and good and Amber doesn't get that crawling sense of guilt in her chest afterward like she does with her other flings. She feels content, happy even.
She had just attributed it to the fact that she'd known Tara since forever, and with that she had also just sort of assumed that there wasn't a significant amount left to learn about her after growing up with her for the past fifteen years, but that sentiment proves to be untrue when Amber finds out just how much there is.
Like Tara is most sensitive at the apex of her thighs, right where it meets her hip.
Tara's also a bit obsessed with Amber's hands, she finds out quickly. And it's not like Tara hadn't been before, (she had always been an avid hand holder,) but this was new.
Like last week Amber had been mincing up some garlic for dinner and she kept finding Tara absentmindedly staring down at her fingers, and then Tara would catch herself and look away blushing.
Sometimes when they get home after a day out and are getting ready for bed, taking off their jewelry, Tara will insist on helping take off her rings, sliding each shiny band off her fingers before pressing a kiss to her bare knuckles.
And Amber's favorite thing that she's learned, maybe by far, is that Tara loves giving her hickeys, to the point that her skin hasn't been unblemished in over a month.
They're everywhere, all the time, whether it be the column of her neck or the inside of her thighs, Tara made sure to leave at least one every time and they had quickly accumulated.
Which would be really hot if they weren't going home for Thanksgiving break today and she didn't have to glob half a bottle of concealer onto her neck just to hide them from her parents.
She silently watches Tara try to shove her duffel into Amber's pathetically small trunk, pushing it in with her entire weight.
"Your car is so impractical!" She groans, attempting to close the trunk for the fifth time, only for it to fly back open.
"Leave Vince alone."
"Only losers name their cars."
"Losers don't have six-figure BMWs."
Tara gives her the finger, not even bothering to look up from her task because she already knows there's an arrogant smirk waiting for her.
Amber laughs, not attempting to help in the slightest. "We're going home for, like, five days, why is your duffel so big?"
Tara huffs, turning around to glare at Amber's smug grin. She wonders if all rich people are as gratingly irritating as Amber is.
"I'm trying to get rid of some of my summer clothes," She explains in annoyance, "Not all of us have a hundred-square foot walk-in closet here y'know."
Amber rolls her eyes but doesn't find it worth it to argue, instead opting to walk over and help Tara jostle her bag into the trunk.
She pulls her own tote out which leaves just enough space for Tara's duffel to occupy the entirety of the trunk, allowing the hinge to finally shut.
"It's California, Tara," Amber huffs out as she turns to look at her, a little winded from how much force she had to use to get the bag to fit. Maybe Tara had a point. Size does matter. "It's Summer all year round."
Despite her assertion, Amber was still dressed in a thick, gray cotton hoodie with the school's emblem embroidered on the front, and a pair of baggy black sweats. If Tara didn't know her, she would've found it a little funny seeing Amber dressed like that, getting into a car worth the price of a small house.
Tara takes Amber's tote from her, rounding towards the passenger side. "I get cold easily, you know this." Amber follows, opening the door for her to let Tara settle in. Tara sets the tote on the mat at her feet, feeling only slightly guilty that it doesn't fit in the trunk because of her stuff.
Amber rounds around to the other side, sliding into the driver's side. "You better not bring back a parka or something, it's not gonna fit."
"That's what she said." Sue her, it was too easy!
Amber shoots her a glare as she starts the engine.
"Do you want me to die of hypothermia?"
Amber ignores her, reaching down towards Tara's feet to fish out her glasses from her tote bag.
She didn't wear them nearly as much as she should, declaring that they were far too nerdy to ever come close to her face, but it made Tara wary when Amber didn't wear them while she was driving, and the last thing Amber wanted was to hear her complain and gripe for the next two and a half hours.
And if Tara only insists that she wear them because she secretly thinks that they make Amber look insanely cute, then Amber doesn't have to know that.
"Just wear my jackets," Amber easily replies, pulling out of the student parking and onto the street, "You've already stolen like half of my closet anyways."
Tara scoffs, already connecting her phone to the bluetooth system to play her road trip playlist, which consisted of copious amounts of trashy pop.
"Stolen is a strong word."
Amber glances at her from the corner of her eye. "You're literally wearing my shirt right now."
Tara looks down and— shit.
"Okay, fine, whatever, no parka."
"Good girl."
When Tara quickly turns her head out towards the window to hide her blush, no one has to know except her and Vince.
༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ
Thirty minutes.
It takes Amber thirty minutes to succumb to violent and homicidal road rage when a tiny silver Mustang brake checks Amber on the long stretch of freeway leading back home.
"Fucking bitch," Amber seethes in exasperation, her right arm quickly shooting out to brace against Tara's shoulders, making sure she doesn't surge forward and onto the dash as she similarly brakes to avoid a collision.
She expertly maneuvers two lanes over and zooms past the silver car, almost certainly going at least twenty over to do so.
Her arm stays propped against Tara's body as she does so, which only makes Tara mildly anxious as she steers the car with one hand.
When they're a decent distance away, Amber drops her hand to Tara's thigh, just above her knee, and gives it a reassuring squeeze. It almost makes Tara release a small squeak.
"You okay?" She asks concerned, which would be endearing if the contact didn't make every fiber in Tara's being want to jump over the console and mold their bodies together.
Amber has no right looking so pretty, Tara thinks.
In her old and ratty sweats and her thin, wiry glasses that made her look like some stereotypical school-obsessed dork. Her face free of makeup and her hair natural and unstyled, bordering frizzy as the waves gracefully frame her face.
Tara reaches forward to push up said glasses that had slid down the slope of Amber's nose in the midst of all of the jostling.
Amber's eyes dart over at the contact, but doesn't comment on it.
Tara forces herself to nod before verbally answering, realizing that Amber's eyes were refocused on the road. "Yeah," She murmurs.
Amber's palm stays glued to Tara's leg for the rest of the drive home, only straying to throw her hands up in frustration at a car going too slow, before dutifully returning to its spot.
༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ
Tara actually lives forty-five minutes past Woodsboro now.
Ever since Sam came back and fought for custody of Tara, which was a whole other long and dramatic story, they moved a bit farther, wanting to distance themselves from the generational trauma that had planted its roots in the small town.
Which also means that Amber has to drive an extra forty-five minutes to get to Tara's house, and then forty-five minutes back to hers.
And Amber doesn't mind. She swears, even if it does put extra mileage on her shiny black coupe. But the traffic near home was getting so unbearably packed, and if she has to hear one more Taylor Swift song from Tara's playlist, she might crash said shiny black coupe into a railing.
"I need a break," Amber groans, raising the frame of her glasses above her head so she can rub her eyes, trying to will away the mingling exhaustion and frustration brimming at her fingertips.
Tara pulls out her phone. "There's a rest stop a couple exits up?" It's a statement, but it rings like a question.
Amber nods, already trying to find a way out toward the right lane.
She feels her eye begin to twitch as Tara starts singing along to Cruel Summer.
༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ
The rest stop was much needed.
They both use the bathroom and dip into the gas station next door to buy a few snacks, and by that Tara, just grabs every other candy bar she sees, and Amber hands the cashier her credit card.
Behind the gas station, there's a dingy fast food place that's practically vacant, aside from a lingering car or two parked right in front of the doors.
"Hey," Tara eyes the restaurant as they reenter the car, "I want a milkshake."
Amber similarly glances at the restaurant, though much more warily. "Do you want food poisoning or something?"
Tara rolls her eyes, but doesn't relent. "C'mon, go park over there."
And Amber sighs but doesn't find it worth protesting further. If Tara wanted a stomach ache, then so be it.
She tries parking near the other cars that are already there, but Tara quickly redirects her, telling her to park in the most remote spot, far behind the restaurant, almost on the edge of the forest bracketing the building.
"Okay, so now you want food poisoning and for us to get robbed-"
Amber doesn't get a chance to finish her snarky statement before Tara is surging over from her seat and enveloping Amber's mouth with hers.
Amber, though shocked, is quick to reciprocate, easily pushing forward with a similar fervor.
She pulls away, gently pecking the corner of Tara's lips in between her words. "What if someone sees?" She mumbles, her eyes fixated on the curve of Tara's mouth.
"I'm pretty sure your windows are illegally tinted," She giggles, grasping the back of Amber's neck to pull her back in, "Besides, it's getting dark, anyways."
Their lips reconnect and Amber's hands hastily guide Tara over the middle console so that she can settle her weight onto Amber's waiting lap.
Amber pulls away again, a sly smirk adorning her lips, "So, no milkshake?" She asks, a meticulously curated cockiness dripping from her tone.
Tara grins, her teeth on full display as she jokes, "That's not the type of cream I want."
Both of their noses scrunch at the same time in plain disgust.
"Oh, god, that was bad."
"Yeah, sorry, it sounded funnier in my head."
Amber kisses her cheek before trailing down to her jaw, placing a reprimanding nip on her pulse point. "You're lucky you're pretty."
And it's the blatant show of affection that makes Tara actively swoon.
Amber had never been very good with her words.
She had never been very good at affection, period. But she was better at showing it through her actions, always had been.
Whether it had been snagging Tara an extra jello cup at lunch or opening car doors, Amber made up for her snide remarks in chivalrous actions, like snuggling up close to her after she had a bad dream or holding her hair up when she was hurling in a toilet after a party.
But Amber had been getting better at it. Slowly but surely.
Sometimes it would sound a little forced, like a compliment she desperately wanted to say but just didn't know how to verbalize and it would come out all awkward and backhanded.
But other times, like how, it would slip out reverently, in the space between their lips as their hands trailed the other's memorized body, mapping out the skin like they'd never get another chance to feel it.
"I am lucky," Tara whispers against her hair, just as Amber licks a long stripe up the column of Tara's throat, making her release a choked gasp.
Amber pulls away with a small huff, just briefly to slide off her glasses and drop them into a cupholder, the plastic digging uncomfortably into the bridge of her nose.
There's something about Amber that had always made her feel a little crazed, even when they were younger.
It was difficult to explain the intricacies of Amber's personality, to dissect the contradictions that thrived in her demeanor.
Tara had always been mesmerized by how dark eyes could accompany such a bright laugh, or how a distinct carelessness could harbor such an analytic mind.
Being around Amber as kids used to make her feel invincible. Hanging out with the cool, mysterious girl whose popularity was not rooted in the fact that she was particularly outgoing or preppy, but quite the opposite.
But Tara feels anything but now, especially when they're alone and Amber's lips are wanton against her skin, her hands grabbing at her waist in a way that suggests she wants to get under her skin too.
Tara doesn't feel invincible or brave or cool, she feels delicate, like one more gentle nip against her neck will make her completely snap and send her into a frenzied state she may never recover from.
She's never felt like this. Definitely never felt like this with Wes, and she actually liked him, like— like liked him, in the sort of way where her cheeks blossomed with warmth when he complimented her and her palms grew sweaty when he reached for her hand.
But the warmth that Amber sends through her shoots straight to her lower stomach. Not only her hands, but her entire body coat with a sheen of sweat under her clothes. And she wonders if she will ever achieve this level of unadulterated want with anyone else.
A cold shock of fear courses through Tara's body as she realizes she might not want to feel this way with anyone else anyways.
Amber's hands slide to the front of Tara's jeans, about to pop open the button, but Tara shifts back.
"Wait," She rasps out, her voice cracking at the end of the last syllable just from the sheer amount of desire rippling through her throat, but she pulls away nonetheless, just slightly.
She peers down at Amber's face, the girl's eyes hooded, clouded with the unmistakable glint of need, and blatant concern.
She can't quite pull her gaze away from Amber's lips, only being able to think of where they just were. Pink, and full, and noticeably swollen as they glisten with the light of the setting sun, curved in a small little pout that almost makes Tara want to let Amber continue her plans.
Amber never leaves hickeys, never leaves any sort of mark or indication that she had scoured Tara's curves, had mapped out the most intimate areas of Tara's body with her lips and teeth.
Tara hates it, because hickeys are all she can think about when she's on top of Amber. The overwhelming need to place bruising kisses all over Amber's body consumes her in these instances, and she always gives in, even if there's a small voice muttering in the back of her mind that reminds her Amber isn't hers to claim.
And if Tara didn't know Amber like she did, the premise would lead her down a dark path of self doubt, telling her that Amber just doesn't feel the same kind of craving she does, that longing.
But Tara sees it. Sees it right now as she peers into an abyssal brown and the lust is almost palpable, like she can see it swirling around in dizzying circles within her black pupils.
But she feels a little selfish, starved almost. She wonders if this is how she had always been when it came to Amber, if this explains why her company had never felt enough, even when they spent every waking and sleeping hour together.
Why it doesn't feel enough even when every inch of their bodies are pressed together, the warmth of their skin through their clothes mingling together to create a blazing and uncontrollable fire.
If this is what it feels like, Tara doesn't mind getting scorched. She'll happily run into the flames if this is the euphoria it provides.
"What's wrong?" Amber asks, her voice small in a mixture of insecurity and worry.
It's so uncharacteristic, this transparently compassionate and tender version of Amber that is so pliant under her gaze, so intentionally acquiescent under her body. This side of her had been appearing more often lately, even if they weren't having sex. Tara adores it.
Tara chews on the corner of her bottom lip, and sees Amber's eyes immediately dart to them. "I want to touch you." She whispers, their proximity making it so that her breath fans over Amber's cupid's bow, like a hazy smog.
Amber's eyes are flashing back up, and she looks almost confused for a moment before a sense of clarity washes over her.
She nods, once, small and timid, before she nods once again, more self-assured.
"Okay," She whispers back, but waits to follow Tara's lead.
Tara scoots back a touch so that their fronts aren't pressed up against each other anymore, instead settling close to Amber's knees.
Her hands reach forward to the drawstring of Amber's sweatpants, quickly undoing the tie with a swift pull of the string, but doesn't do anything further except twirl it around her pointer finger.
She looks contemplative for a moment, absentmindedly fidgeting with Amber's pants, her eyes cast downward until she finally glances up at the antsy nature of Amber's expression.
Tara releases the string from her nimble hands, instead resting them on top of Amber's which were settled on her hips.
She slowly lifts Amber's hands off her body, and maneuvers them behind Amber's head, behind the seat, so that they're positioned against the headrest
Tara pulls away, shifting back to see Amber's posture. If she were laying down, it would've looked like she was getting ready for a nap with her hands behind her head.
"Keep them there," Tara instructs, her voice so gravelly she fears there may be something lodged in her esophagus.
Amber furrows her eyebrows but doesn't move. "What?" She questions softly.
Tara leans forward, initiating a slow and languid kiss.
"Keep them there, or I'll stop." Tara mumbles against Amber's lips, feeling the girl below her vigorously nod before hastily surging back forward.
Her hands slide under the waistband of Amber's pants, her nails scratching the sensitive skin underneath.
She blindly reaches towards the door, feeling for the power seat buttons, and pushes it to try and recline the seat backward, which is only mildly successful because it's obstructed almost immediately.
Stupid tiny car.
Tara leans back, just barely, but has to tilt her head away even more when she registers Amber quickly try and crane against her, chasing the kiss.
She teases her, letting her lips brush oh so gently against the outline of Amber's, only to turn away when Amber tries to instigate another one.
It feels a lot like their first time, at least the positions do. But Tara is holding the cards now. She's in control.
"Ready?"
Amber nods again, just as enthusiastic as before. "Ready," She confirms, her voice breathless and raspy.
The position is uncomfortable for what Tara wants to do. The space is just too small and it doesn't give her enough room to efficiently slide her hand down the front of Amber's pants. But she works with what she has, scooting back until she's practically pressed against the steering wheel, and lifts herself up onto her knees to push her hand down the waistband of Amber's sweats so that her wrist isn't painfully extended.
She immediately dives underneath Amber's underwear and through her folds.
Amber's eyes instantly droop shut at the contact, brows furrowing as her mouth parts in a shuddery moan.
Tara will never get tired of it, the way Amber instantaneously melts under her touch, the way her hips will without fail always chase after the high Tara so zealously offers.
Her fingers move slowly, almost lazily, up and down, purposefully avoiding Amber's clit as she slides down to press right against her entrance, before trailing away.
Amber looks like she's desperately trying not to fall apart, her breaths deliberate as she inhales through her nose, only to get exhaled in sharp gasps through her lips.
Her hands strain against the headrest, pulling at it like they're physically bound by something. Tara wishes she had asked for Amber to take off her hoodie so she could see her arms flex, but she settles for resting her free hand against Amber's clothed bicep and is satisfied to feel the ripple of muscle underneath.
"Open your eyes," Tara requests, watching Amber's face crinkle like she doesn't quite catch what Tara says before she registers it, blearily opening her lids before blinking a few times, trying to concentrate on Tara's face.
Tara brackets Amber's clit between her middle and ring finger, gently pinching it before rubbing up and down.
It makes Amber's head fall backwards and Tara finds it creates the perfect opportunity to crane forward and begin harshly sucking at her neck.
"Tara," Amber whines underneath her, "Don't," But her moans are breathy and high pitched and she tilts her head to the side to bare her neck even further to Tara's eager mouth.
She had spent all of yesterday looking up ways to get rid of her pre-existing hickeys, icing all of the ones on her upper neck, even trying to put pineapple slices on them after reading a Wikihow article. Anything she couldn't completely get rid of was covered with makeup.
But Tara apparently had an eye for the unblemished spots, avoiding any area that didn't have concealer covering it and quickly latching on.
"Tell me to stop," Tara mutters into the crook of her neck, before finding a clean spot right under her jaw and biting into it.
Amber doesn't say a word, probably couldn't if she tried because the simple feeling of Tara's lips on her skin and her hand in her underwear was borderline life-changing. She doesn't want Tara to ever stop.
So she lets Tara leave as many marks as she wants, even though she knows it'll be a pain to cover them up before she gets home.
Tara does eventually pull away from Amber's neck, almost making Amber pout, but it's just so Tara can see her face as she slips two fingers inside of her, beginning a steady pace.
Amber's moans were always a bit more high-pitched, whiny and desperate, and Tara loved coaxing as many out of her as she could.
Somewhere in the time that Tara was mauling her neck, Amber's eyes had fallen shut again, squeezed so tightly they were crinkling at the corners.
Tara slows her fingers. "Look at me," She whispers into the space between their faces.
Again, Amber's eyes open almost like it strains her, but they open nonetheless and their eyes meet in an intense and charged stare.
The tension between them is almost tangible, like if a pair of scissors were to snip the space connecting them, something would surely snap.
It's intimate, Tara realizes. Intimate not because Tara knows she can now map out every mole on Amber's back, or describe how the wetness between Amber's legs tastes.
But because in addition to all these things, Tara knows the story behind every scar on Amber's body, and her deepest fears, and the reason why she can't look in the mirror when she cries.
Tara knows everything about her, every like, every dislike, and anything that falls between.
Tara knows Amber, and she wonders how she could've ever expected for this to just be a fling when she has been craving Amber's presence since she was four.
And maybe one day they'll abandon these random quickies for something a little more organized, but right now it's exactly what they need.
Intense and passionate and a perfect mix of intimate and detached. Call it plausible deniability, because there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for why Amber is looking up at her so transfixed.
It's just because Tara's fingers are buried deep inside her, dictating every moan, every whimper. Pulling and tugging the strings of Amber's patience at her will.
Definitely not anything else. The adoration she sees blatantly in Amber's eyes will subside the second Tara stops applying pressure to her clit, and the unfiltered praises spewing out of her mouth will cease the moment Tara dislodges herself from Amber's body.
Right?
Tara doesn't change her pace, continuing to slowly and deliberately slide her fingers out halfway, before sluggishly pushing back in.
Amber groans, almost frustrated. "Stop teasing," She whines, beyond annoyed, though it's not very intimidating when her hips keep canting up, trying to urge Tara's fingers in deeper.
Tara grins, cheeky and bold, "So rude," She croons, sliding the hand that was on Amber's bicep down to her chest and softly squeezing. Tara releases a small hum. Amber isn't wearing a bra. "Where are your manners?"
Amber moves her hands so that instead of being splayed flat against the back of the headrest, she's gripping the top of it like an imaginary headboard.
She jumps when Tara flicks her thumb against her clit, just to egg her on.
"Please," Amber moans, her hold on the headrest so tight she fears the leather may tear under her grasp.
Tara finds her nipple underneath the cloth and pinches it between her thumb and pointer finger. The gasp Amber intakes is so sharp she thinks her lungs might explode.
"Please what," Tara murmurs.
She couldn't say that she took control often, but when she did, god, was it exhilarating.
Amber frowns like she wants to say something snarky, but a particularly harsh thrust of Tara's fingers makes her reel and her face contorts into something less frustrated and more aching.
"Fuck me," Amber almost screams, so pent up from Tara's teasing that she's on the edge of combusting, "Please."
Her eyes are wide now, open like saucers as they stare pleadingly up into Tara's hooded eyes.
She acquiesces, pushing into Amber at a relentless pace, reveling in the satisfied curses that ripple out of Amber's throat.
Amber's nails uncomfortably dig into the leather. "Let me touch you," She begs, her hands itching to unravel Tara the same way she was being. "Please, Tara I- Fuck-" Another rough thrust, "I need you."
Tara moans, the words sending an irrepressible throb to the center of her legs.
"Yes," She nods frantically, "Yes, okay." As stubborn as she could be, Tara could never deny Amber's desires for too long anyways, especially if Amber was promising to alleviate her own.
Amber's hands are immediately undoing Tara's jeans, not bothering with any foreplay before a hand is sliding into her pants and easily into her opening.
Tara's mouth falls open in a sharp groan, and her hips similarly begin to roll forward against Amber's hand.
Sometimes she wished that she wasn't so susceptible to Amber's charm, that a bat of her eyelashes or the lure of her soft voice didn't make her eyes bulge out of her eyes in the shape of hearts like in the cartoons.
But Amber just had that effect. She did on everyone, and Tara, even though she liked to think otherwise, was oftentimes no less affected by Amber's allure, even if it wasn't intentional.
Just like the other times, Tara's orgasm builds jarringly fast. She's close, and she can tell Amber is too.
"Kiss me," Amber practically begs, and Tara is all too happy to oblige, the hand on Amber's chest shooting up to cradle the back of Amber's neck, pulling her close as their lips clash.
It's fervent, and their teeth knock into each other at the sheer force of it before it's all tongue and harsh bites.
Amber crooks her fingers exactly where she knows Tara is most sensitive and she suddenly feels herself crumbling.
She pulls away, hovering over Amber's lips. "I wanna come with you," She rasps out through her pants, feeling Amber tighten around her fingers.
Amber shakes her head up and down so quickly she looks like a bobblehead. She leans forward to repetitively peck the corner of Tara's mouth. "Yes," She whimpers, "Yes, yes, please," She places her thumb on Tara's clit, rubbing at it in messy circles, "I'm so close, baby."
They both come undone soon after, their bodies seizing and shuddering against each other's as they reach the peak of their highs, clenching similarly around the other's fingers.
Tara breathes, deep and deliberate as she tries to control her wheezes. She's been getting better at it lately, probably something to do with her building stamina.
Amber's face is lodged in Tara's throat, lazily kissing anywhere she can reach.
Tara wants her to bite down somewhere, to stake her claim for giving Tara possibly one of the best orgasms anyone has ever experienced, but she doesn't. She's sweet, and soft, and oh so gentle, and Tara finds that she might adore this just as much.
They pull their hands out of each other's pants, and Tara's fingers raise to her lips before she can think about it too much, licking them with a few swipes of her tongue before she's sucking them clean.
Amber watches transfixed, the fuzz in her brain making her so muddled that she doesn't even register Tara raising her hand too until she's similarly sucking Amber's fingers until the taste of her own slick dissipates.
Amber shifts uncomfortably, already feeling another surge of wetness coat her underwear.
"Are you good to drive?"
Amber just sort of dumbly blinks up at her, slowly nodding. "Yeah," She mutters, quickly clearing her throat when she realizes how hoarse it sounds, "Yeah, just give me a second."
Tara nods back, "Okay," She easily agrees, kissing Amber's forehead and retying the drawstring of her pants, before buttoning back up her jeans.
She grabs Amber's discarded glasses, slipping them back onto her face, then slides off and into her own seat.
They sit in a comfortable silence while Amber readjusts her seat and turns up the AC to try and get the foggy windows to clear and hopefully cool down her heated cheeks.
Out the corner of her eye, Amber sees Tara crack open an industrial-sized glacier freeze Gatorade bottle she got at the gas station earlier, and a bag of Skittles. She can't help but feel like this had all been meticulously planned.
She sees Tara sort out all the purple ones to eat first and grimaces. It was just bad taste.
When she's confident her legs aren't jelly anymore, Amber peels out of the parking lot and back onto the main road.
On the way home, instead of resting her hand on Tara's thigh (mostly because she fears it may end up where it's not supposed to) their hands sit intertwined together on the middle console.
When You Belong With Me starts blaring from her speakers, she simply begins to absentmindedly tap her thumb against Tara's knuckles to the beat of the music.
༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ
They arrive at Tara's house about an hour later, pulling up to the strip of townhouses she resides in and parking in the dark street, only illuminated by scattered street lamps.
Amber hears a quiet chuckle beside her. "Sam just texted me she's cooking, we might see the entire block burst into flames in a second."
She lets out a snort of her own. "Thank god I won't have to eat it."
Tara immediately pouts, small and confused. "Wait," She pauses, "You're not staying for dinner?" Not even bothering to hide her disappointment.
Sam's gonna be pissed. Tara had asked her to set three plates.
Amber smiles, small and apologetic. "I told my parents I'd be home to eat with them, and I'm already-" Her eyes dart to the clock in her car, "An hour behind."
She pins Tara with a look that says Because someone decided to pull us over into a shady parking lot and gnaw at my neck like a personal chew toy, but it's glaringly affectionate. Amber couldn't keep the warmth out of her eyes if she tried.
Tara raises her hand to the side of Amber's neck, gently caressing a particularly large bruise with the pad of her thumb. They're astoundingly red, even in the dim lighting.
"Sorry," She murmurs, though they both know she doesn't really mean it, not when she's staring at them so contently.
Amber grabs the outside of Tara's forearm, similarly rubbing delicate circles into the fabric of her shirt. She turns her head to kiss the inside of Tara's wrist before leaning into the palm against her neck.
"Are you still gonna be able to go to Mindy and Chad's Friendsgiving thing?" Tara asks, the frown in her voice detectable, even without looking.
Amber's parents weren't supposed to be home until Thanksgiving day, but some plans had changed and some flights were canceled, and they (unfortunately) were going to be home all week.
Amber's relationship with her parents was... delicate. Considering they were gone often enough to let Amber do whatever she wanted, they were oddly strict whenever they weren't.
She finds it hard to complain though, especially when the fancy car that she drives, gets her to and from the even fancier apartment she lived in, were both entirely paid by her parents.
It's the little wins she supposes.
Amber shrugs. "Probably not," She kisses the inside of Tara's wrist once more in apology, "Sorry, I know you were excited."
Tara groans, loud and exaggerated. She dramatically pulls her hand away, crossing her arms in front of her chest in a show of mock irritation. "But I was gonna make cornbread!"
Amber juts out her bottom lip in a fake pout, leaning over into Tara's space. She coos, "Awh, sweet cheeks, I know," Beginning to repeatedly peck at Tara's cheek.
But Tara just squirms away, turning her entire body towards the door to block Amber's efforts.
She's undeterred though, just migrating to wherever she can reach, like the back of Tara's neck and her shoulder. "I know something else I can eat, though."
This gets Tara to turn back towards her, her face scrunched in a grimace. "That was worse than my cream joke."
It's not, but Amber doesn't voice that she thinks that.
Amber grins, kissing Tara's nose. "I'm not hearing a no?"
"In front of my house?" Tara frowns, but can't stop glancing at Amber's lips.
She shrugs. "Why not?"
"You rich people have no class."
Amber's voice drops in the way it always does when she wants something, deep and sultry, and just downright sexy, lowering to a light and gentle rasp that enveloped Tara's ears like hands around a neck. "I thought you liked that I get a little dirty."
Tara is suddenly crashing their lips together in a frenzied haste, grabbing Amber's face in between her small hands and tugging her so close she isn't sure where she ends and Amber begins.
Amber's leaning over Tara's lap, hurriedly finding the seat buttons as she begins pushing Tara's seat the farthest back it will go. If she can get it to sit flush against the back wall of the car, there's a chance that maybe she'll be able to fit into the foot space in front of Tara's legs.
They're not able to test her theory out though, because a sharp knock against the driver's side window is shocking them apart.
Their eyes immediately dart to the culprit, finding no other than Sam on the other side with her arms crossed and a scowl marring her otherwise smooth face.
"Fuck," Tara groans, throwing her head back against the headrest.
Amber shoots her an exasperated glare. "What do I do?!"
Tara just throws her hands up in a vague gesture, not providing much help at all.
Amber cracks a gap in her window, maybe only widening about an inch.
"Sam I am," She exclaims, far too jovially considering their interesting dynamic, "How's my least favorite Carpenter doing?" That's more like it.
But Sam doesn't falter, doesn't even twitch an eyebrow. "What the hell are you two doing?" She immediately questions, "You've been parked out here for like fifteen minutes."
Sam immediately barrels into another question. "And why is your window barely open, where's Tara?"
She puts her hands on the hood, supporting her weight as she cranes forward, neck swiveling side to side as she tries looking past Amber's head. Her eyes squint through the small crack, looking for Tara like there was a possibility she could be missing.
"Get your hands off my baby," Amber tries to shoo her away, but there's not much she can do behind the glass, so Sam stays planted right where she is. Tara frowns when she realizes she shares a pet name with a fucking car.
"I'm right here, Sam!" Tara groans, making her presence known.
Sam finally leans away, "Roll down the fucking window, Amber."
Amber whips around, giving Tara a what the hell do I do, look, but again, Tara just aggressively shrugs and shoos her to turn back around.
"I can't," Amber blurts. For such a notoriously good liar, she was doing a very bad job at proving it. "Tara just farted, it stinks, I don't wanna make you smell it too."
That earns her a sharp jab in the rips, making her release a pained ow, rubbing offendedly at her side.
Rolling the window down wasn't an option. Sam would undoubtedly see the fresh marks on her neck, and even though Amber considered her fickle, and hotheaded, and just simply annoying, dumb wasn't on the list. She would put two and two together in a heartbeat.
Sam doesn't believe her, it's obvious in the vexed tick of her jaw, but she doesn't find it worth pushing further, especially if Tara was home safe and in her eyesight. "Whatever, can you guys just hurry up? I finished cooking like ten minutes ago."
"Amber's not coming in," Tara chimes in from the back.
Sam huffs, "What the hell, Tara, you said to set three plates!"
Tara called it, Sam was pissed.
"I know," Tara counters, not wanting to blow things out of proportion, "I thought she was staying!"
Sam rolls her eyes, but again, lets it go. She's working on her anger management. "Fine, whatever, let's go." She steps back, seemingly waiting for Tara to exit the car, but Tara just ushers forward towards the driver's side window, making eye contact with Sam through the sliver.
"But Amber and I haven't even said goodbye yet!" She gripes in an attempt to get Sam away for just a little longer.
Sam glares at them disbelievingly. "What the hell have you been doing then?"
"Making out," Amber immediately deadpans, earning her another rough shove.
Sam rolls her eyes. "Good one, Freeman." She looks past Amber, trying to make Tara's figure out in the dark car. "Five minutes," She permits, "The food is getting cold."
Her eyes are back on Amber. "Thanks for getting her home safe, Chicken Little," She nods towards Amber's face, specifically her glasses.
Amber grins, wide and unbothered. "Anytime, Sammy."
Sam flips her off as she retreats back into the house.
Amber rolls up her window again, just because she doesn't wanna take any chances.
"I told you your windows are illegally tinted," Tara remarks, "Or else Sam would've ripped the door off the hinges and strangled you."
Amber scoffs, a smug smile in place, "I'd like to see her try."
They sit in a relaxed silence for a minute, basking in each other's company before they're separated for an entire week, which may be the longest they've been apart in a long time.
Call it unhealthy attachment, but Tara kind of wishes she could blend Amber up and shoot her into her veins. So, yeah, maybe unhealthy attachment was accurate.
Maybe the distance could be good for them, work on their dependency issues and all that, but Tara has an overwhelming feeling she's gonna be nothing but miserable for the next few days.
They're broken out of their solitude when Tara receives a text from Sam, the small chime alerting her that she now has four minutes to get her ass inside.
Amber pops open the trunk as they exit the car, even taking it upon herself to carry Tara's duffel as they walk side by side up the short entryway. She was just gentlemanly like that.
They arrive at Tara's doorstep, and Amber sets the bag down on the slick tile beside the door, ready to make a swift exit before Sam can pop her head back out, but Tara is suddenly hurtling towards her, wrapping her arms around her waist in a tight embrace like it may be the last time they ever see each other.
The force of the hug almost knocks her off her feet, seconds away from making them both stumble to the ground, but Amber's able to take a quick step back, balancing them.
Amber sighs, light and airy, almost bordering on a chuckle, "I'm gonna be forty-five minutes away, not off at war, Tara." She scoffs gently at Tara's dramatics, but can't help but tug her in a bit tighter, her hands gripping the soft material of Tara's dark green sweater.
Tara's nose nudges up and down the side of Amber's neck like a touch-deprived kitten, and she takes a deep, but subtle inhale.
The smell of Amber's comically expensive perfume pervades her senses. Each tiny bottle costs half a grand, and every time Tara sees Amber spritz, she can't help but wince at the fact that each spray must cost at least ten dollars.
She'll chastise Amber while she watches her spray once behind each ear, once on her left wrist before she dabs it onto the right, and then twice in her dark and cascading hair.
Fifty dollars down the drain and onto Amber's (crafted by the gods) body.
Tara will scold her for her blatant disregard for money. (She's certain that Amber could destroy hundred-dollar bills in a paper shredder and not bat an eye).
And then Amber will roll her eyes and spray a bit on Tara just to annoy her.
But Tara loves it.
She loves the scent of jasmine and cedar wood that clings to her, that distinct sort of just expensive smell that shrouds Amber, even when she's fresh out of the shower and in a torn-up band shirt with the collar all stretched out, not bothering to even put on a pair of shorts because she's too lazy.
Tara loves it so much she takes another deep (and less subtle) inhale and nuzzles her face even deeper into the skin.
Amber laughs, quiet and endeared. "You're such a creep, Carpenter."
"Shhh," Tara hisses, the sound getting muffled in the juncture between Amber's neck and shoulder, "You're ruining the moment."
Amber sighs but doesn't say much else, just gently rubbing up and down the length of Tara's back.
Tara's always been small, teetering on the shorter side of their class every year, and no matter how much milk she chugged or leg stretches she did, she could never quite grow taller, leveling out just around the eighth grade.
It was good ammunition for teasing, not a year going by where Mindy and Amber didn't come up with some absurd nickname to emphasize just how short she was. Dumb things like short stack or arm rest, but Amber (not so) secretly adored it.
She especially adored it right now because her height makes it easy for Amber to move her hands to the back of Tara's head and hold her close, her fingers gently weaving into the locks as she scratches her scalp. She wishes she could tuck Tara into her pocket, protect her from everything outside.
Tara sighs at the contact, melting even further into Amber's embrace.
This stretches on for a few more moments before Tara's phone rings again, Sam on the other line complaining at her to hurry the fuck up while rambling on about the importance of al dente pasta.
Tara pulls her face out of Amber's neck, but doesn't unclasp her hands from behind Amber's back, instead just resting her chin on Amber's sternum so she can stare up.
They don't say anything, they don't really have to. There are three words fluttering in the air around them, ready to be spoken in admittance, but Amber just gently kisses the spot in between Tara's eyebrows, and Tara in turn kisses the underside of Amber's chin.
"Get home safe, loser."
"If I'm lucky I'll crash into a tree so I won't have to see you again."
Tara hums, quiet and soft as the smile on her lips weirdly grows fonder. She kisses Amber's chin one more time, solely because she's too lazy to get up on her tippy toes to reach her cheek, and slowly frees her arms from Amber's body.
They part hesitantly. Amber takes a step back to tuck her hands into the pocket of her sweats because she's scared they might reach out to pull Tara back in.
Tara grins up at her, all lopsided and charming, and Amber for whatever fucking reason wants to lean forward and kiss it off her face, but she doesn't, because there's a very real possibility Sam is still lurking around somewhere and peeking out a window.
As Tara begins to walk backward, reaching down to sling her duffel over her shoulder, she gestures to her neck, smile still cheeky. "Remember to cover up. You got a little something here."
"Yeah, whatever," Amber rolls her eyes, and Tara thinks the frown she's sporting makes her look awfully adorable.
Despite herself, Amber still fixes the collar of her jacket until it's (mostly) covering up the new hickeys.
"Bye, Tara," And Amber tries her best to sound annoyed, she swears she does, but it's practically impossible. Blame it on the November breeze sneaking down her shirt or the incessant chirping of crickets around them, but Amber finds it so glaringly difficult to be upset in any form or fashion when Tara is looking at her so smitten.
Tara does a dorky two-finger salute as she opens the front door. "Later, Freeman,"
And she chances one more glance at Amber, standing on the edge of her doorstep looking more and more like a teenage boy dropping off the girl he likes after a first date.
Tara can't help it, she tries desperately to shove the feeling bubbling in her throat down as she shuts the door, but she can't help but feel giddy.
Maybe (god forbid) a little love-struck as she leans her forehead against the wood plank that separates them, and watches Amber through the peephole, still standing on the concrete, hands in her pockets looking down at her feet with her lips tucked in between her teeth.
She sees Amber smile like she's keeping a secret, pulling a hand out of her pocket to absentmindedly rub at the hickeys along the side of her neck, before turning back around to her car and peeling away.
The feeling doesn't subside, even when Tara forces down Sam's absolutely abysmal lasagna, the taste so heinous she's scared Sam might have defective taste buds.
Tara feels it while she's in the shower, while she's brushing her teeth.
While she lays in her bed and stares hopelessly at the ceiling, the feeling plagues her like a cold she can't quite shake, and a love bug that has already made home in the safe and sound refuge of her heart.