"Blackberry"
Sep. 5th, 2005 09:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
butterflydreamingOriginal fiction
girl + girl fluffiness
PG
Blackberry
Rose had just begun to unbutton her white uniform shirt when a muted tapping sounded against her bedroom window. She did up the top button again before investigating behind the aluminum blinds. Lively blue eyes in the smiling face of Bridgette Sullivan peered back through the barrier of glass. Rose's schoolmate had not changed out of her own uniform, the yellow and black plaid skirt and the starched white shirt with pearlescent buttons down the front, though her dark blonde hair showed signs of brushing and re-braiding. Motioning for Bridgette to step back and out of the way, Rose Underhill unlatched the casement window and opened it outward.
"What are you doing?" Rose laughed, her low, throaty tones keeping the question from coming out as a giggle.
Bridgette hopped up to sit on the window sill, then swung one leg over into Rose's room. Old scars and more recent ones, too, peeked out below the hem of her neatly-pleated skirt. "Run off with me," said Bridgette. She raised her hand to show off a small, white, bakery bag. "I have macaroons."
Rose backed away from the window, reached for a hairbrush, and attacked the tangles in her brown hair. "But what about my diet? And homework?" she complained, nevertheless smiling.
"We'll take a brisk walk through the Hollow to make up for it." Bridgette slid off the windowsill and back down to the bare dirt. Hydrangea bushes bordered Rose's window, but they were trimmed back so that the window could open. "Bring your coat," she said. She then turned and sauntered across the side yard, heading toward the street without a backwards glance, her long blonde braid swinging across her back.
Rose grabbed her shoes and the pullover that was draped across her desk chair and followed out the window without sparing another thought for her homework. She sprinted after Bridgette. Between strides, she slipped her shoes on over socks now stained with dirt and grass. The Hollow, as the girls had named it, started at the greenbelt just across the street from the Underhill's craftsman house. Narrow trails through ivy and blackberry bramble sloped down to a gully and a graveled pathway. It was the kind of safe trail that would be populated by joggers in the mornings and early evenings. On a midweek afternoon, a pair of schoolgirls could walk along its secluded path without concern.
Bridgette and Rose were once placed alphabetically to sit across from each other at a pairing of desks. They no longer shared desks, rarely even classes, so though they attended the same private high school they saw more of each other outside of the school day than during school hours. Rose spent time with friends from her debate team or literature club; Bridgette ate fast lunches so that she could spend the rest of the break in the computer lab. Between classes she could sometimes be found intensely discussing strategies -- for anything from shoji to the latest internet interactive -- with another game enthusiast. The girls would wave cheerfully to each other in the halls as they passed.
Free time outside of school was almost exclusively for each other.
"Should we wander down to the stream?" asked Bridgette in the theatrical way of speaking that she playfully affected only with Rose.
"I think perhaps yes," answered the brunette in an echoed style. She led the way onto a path that diverged from the main trail. "Shall we?"
Bridgette grinned and linked her arm with Rose's. They stumbled under a covering of vine maple that made a curving canopy over the path. They found balance and a matched stride, and at the same time realized that the path, a corridor bordered with more vine maple and tall sword fern, was a tight fit for two walking side-by-side. Bridgette briefly held Rose's hand as she stepped out ahead to lead.
For the moment that their fingers were tangled together, the girls were linked by outstretched arms. A silver charm bracelet circled Rose's wrist. A twisting scar ran from the palm of Bridgette's hand, past her elbow and under her sleeve where, Rose knew, it met up with others in a network like fractured glass that dominated the pale skin of Bridgette's chest and neck. Bridgette's aunt had once been driving too fast on a rain slicked, curving road, in hurry to get home on a winter day. There had been ice, and a golden-haired child without a seatbelt. When Rose and Bridgette met, the scarred girl had been afraid of being seen as a horror. She wore only shirts that had long sleeves and high collars.
A gold St. Christopher's medallion on a thin, yellow gold chain bounced at her collarbone and glinted in the obscured sunlight when Bridgette turned to glance back at Rose. "Cookie?" she offered after reaching into the white bag and drawing out the treat.
"I will, thank you," answered the other girl, selecting her own from the bag. "There goes my diet," she said merrily, and her teeth closed over the bite sized coconut haystack.
"We're excercising," insisted Bridgette. "Anyway, we're young. We have to live a little."
"Experience carnal happiness while the blood of youth still runs in our veins?"
"Precisely."
"The nuns would have something to say about that," laughed Rose.
They overpassed a few forks, ignoring the branching paths until, at a slim opening in the undergrowth, an even narrower trail meandered under the low bows of cedar trees. Rose dipped her head and started forward, keeping a hand raised to locate spiderwebs before her face broke through them. Bridgette latched onto the untucked tail of Rose's shirt and proceeded closely behind. She didn't like spiders at all.
Rose was hardly a tomboy. She picked their way cautiously. She stepped carefully on the tree roots while Bridgette stepped heedlessly through the muddy loam. The blonde girl was aware of her companion's delicate walk, doubly so because, with her handhold on Rose's shirt, she could feel the sashaying swing of Rose's hips. Bridgette, in spite of her mature figure, her uniform-filling curves, felt cloddishly unfeminine at times like these. Rose even smelled the way a girl should smell. The waves of her fine hair held a scent of rosemary and herbs; her light perspiration was subtle and cozy.
The sound of water gurgled clearly and sharply past a knot of trees that capped the end of the deer path like columns. The girls avoided the rings and clusters of shiny toadstools that had sprung up everywhere in the soft, wet ground, and they made their way to a broken boulder across the stream by using a hazardously mossy fallen log as a bridge. Bridgette had to relinquish her hold on the other girl's shirt.
"Look. Blackberries," Rose purred. She was on the tip of her toes, reaching for a thorny cane spotted with dark, ripe berries among the greener ones. She harvested the ones that she could reach and brought the small bounty over to her friend. They sat beside each other with knees touching.
"I like this place," Bridgette proclaimed, feeling the need to say something.
"You almost can't tell we're only a few hundred feet from our houses. Nothing shows through all the blackberry. You almost can't tell we're in the city at all." She paused, listening, and looked up. "Except for the flight path overhead. Or being able to hear the traffic on the road."
"Aye," Bridgette agreed sagely. She was sedately eating the berries out of Rose's cupped hands. "I'm eating all of these," she noted.
"Give me one," said Rose.
Bridgette picked up a blackberry and contemplatively held it between the tips of her fingers. She examined the fruit. She blew on it to remove a speck that was either a small insect or a crumb of dirt. She lifted it to Rose's lips, and Rose opened her mouth to take it in.
Golden lights played in the depths of Rose's brown eyes. Bridgette chuckled, partly in bemusement, partly in uncertainty. "Want more?" Her question, though casually spoken, felt constricted in her throat. Rose's face held an open delight and a shy anticipation. Bridgette fussed with her selection, her posture leaning in towards the other girl. When she looked up, she saw that Rose had also moved forward. Their careful exhalations mingled.
A desire for mischief incited Bridgette to keep an expression of absolute seriousness when she brought the blackberry to Rose's mouth. She brushed the soft skin of the berry over lips that, she imagined, were equally soft and pliant. Rose flinched and closed her eyes at the tickling caress. Bridgette pressed the blackberry between Rose's lips, where it met the fleeting resistance of her tongue.
Rose opened her eyes only long enough to find Bridgette's lips with her own and share the acidic taste of her spontaneous harvest. She opened her hands to bring them up to Bridgette's face, letting the last of the berries tumble across both of their laps, roll off, and scatter across the ground at their feet.
- - -
girl + girl fluffiness
PG
Blackberry
Rose had just begun to unbutton her white uniform shirt when a muted tapping sounded against her bedroom window. She did up the top button again before investigating behind the aluminum blinds. Lively blue eyes in the smiling face of Bridgette Sullivan peered back through the barrier of glass. Rose's schoolmate had not changed out of her own uniform, the yellow and black plaid skirt and the starched white shirt with pearlescent buttons down the front, though her dark blonde hair showed signs of brushing and re-braiding. Motioning for Bridgette to step back and out of the way, Rose Underhill unlatched the casement window and opened it outward.
"What are you doing?" Rose laughed, her low, throaty tones keeping the question from coming out as a giggle.
Bridgette hopped up to sit on the window sill, then swung one leg over into Rose's room. Old scars and more recent ones, too, peeked out below the hem of her neatly-pleated skirt. "Run off with me," said Bridgette. She raised her hand to show off a small, white, bakery bag. "I have macaroons."
Rose backed away from the window, reached for a hairbrush, and attacked the tangles in her brown hair. "But what about my diet? And homework?" she complained, nevertheless smiling.
"We'll take a brisk walk through the Hollow to make up for it." Bridgette slid off the windowsill and back down to the bare dirt. Hydrangea bushes bordered Rose's window, but they were trimmed back so that the window could open. "Bring your coat," she said. She then turned and sauntered across the side yard, heading toward the street without a backwards glance, her long blonde braid swinging across her back.
Rose grabbed her shoes and the pullover that was draped across her desk chair and followed out the window without sparing another thought for her homework. She sprinted after Bridgette. Between strides, she slipped her shoes on over socks now stained with dirt and grass. The Hollow, as the girls had named it, started at the greenbelt just across the street from the Underhill's craftsman house. Narrow trails through ivy and blackberry bramble sloped down to a gully and a graveled pathway. It was the kind of safe trail that would be populated by joggers in the mornings and early evenings. On a midweek afternoon, a pair of schoolgirls could walk along its secluded path without concern.
Bridgette and Rose were once placed alphabetically to sit across from each other at a pairing of desks. They no longer shared desks, rarely even classes, so though they attended the same private high school they saw more of each other outside of the school day than during school hours. Rose spent time with friends from her debate team or literature club; Bridgette ate fast lunches so that she could spend the rest of the break in the computer lab. Between classes she could sometimes be found intensely discussing strategies -- for anything from shoji to the latest internet interactive -- with another game enthusiast. The girls would wave cheerfully to each other in the halls as they passed.
Free time outside of school was almost exclusively for each other.
"Should we wander down to the stream?" asked Bridgette in the theatrical way of speaking that she playfully affected only with Rose.
"I think perhaps yes," answered the brunette in an echoed style. She led the way onto a path that diverged from the main trail. "Shall we?"
Bridgette grinned and linked her arm with Rose's. They stumbled under a covering of vine maple that made a curving canopy over the path. They found balance and a matched stride, and at the same time realized that the path, a corridor bordered with more vine maple and tall sword fern, was a tight fit for two walking side-by-side. Bridgette briefly held Rose's hand as she stepped out ahead to lead.
For the moment that their fingers were tangled together, the girls were linked by outstretched arms. A silver charm bracelet circled Rose's wrist. A twisting scar ran from the palm of Bridgette's hand, past her elbow and under her sleeve where, Rose knew, it met up with others in a network like fractured glass that dominated the pale skin of Bridgette's chest and neck. Bridgette's aunt had once been driving too fast on a rain slicked, curving road, in hurry to get home on a winter day. There had been ice, and a golden-haired child without a seatbelt. When Rose and Bridgette met, the scarred girl had been afraid of being seen as a horror. She wore only shirts that had long sleeves and high collars.
A gold St. Christopher's medallion on a thin, yellow gold chain bounced at her collarbone and glinted in the obscured sunlight when Bridgette turned to glance back at Rose. "Cookie?" she offered after reaching into the white bag and drawing out the treat.
"I will, thank you," answered the other girl, selecting her own from the bag. "There goes my diet," she said merrily, and her teeth closed over the bite sized coconut haystack.
"We're excercising," insisted Bridgette. "Anyway, we're young. We have to live a little."
"Experience carnal happiness while the blood of youth still runs in our veins?"
"Precisely."
"The nuns would have something to say about that," laughed Rose.
They overpassed a few forks, ignoring the branching paths until, at a slim opening in the undergrowth, an even narrower trail meandered under the low bows of cedar trees. Rose dipped her head and started forward, keeping a hand raised to locate spiderwebs before her face broke through them. Bridgette latched onto the untucked tail of Rose's shirt and proceeded closely behind. She didn't like spiders at all.
Rose was hardly a tomboy. She picked their way cautiously. She stepped carefully on the tree roots while Bridgette stepped heedlessly through the muddy loam. The blonde girl was aware of her companion's delicate walk, doubly so because, with her handhold on Rose's shirt, she could feel the sashaying swing of Rose's hips. Bridgette, in spite of her mature figure, her uniform-filling curves, felt cloddishly unfeminine at times like these. Rose even smelled the way a girl should smell. The waves of her fine hair held a scent of rosemary and herbs; her light perspiration was subtle and cozy.
The sound of water gurgled clearly and sharply past a knot of trees that capped the end of the deer path like columns. The girls avoided the rings and clusters of shiny toadstools that had sprung up everywhere in the soft, wet ground, and they made their way to a broken boulder across the stream by using a hazardously mossy fallen log as a bridge. Bridgette had to relinquish her hold on the other girl's shirt.
"Look. Blackberries," Rose purred. She was on the tip of her toes, reaching for a thorny cane spotted with dark, ripe berries among the greener ones. She harvested the ones that she could reach and brought the small bounty over to her friend. They sat beside each other with knees touching.
"I like this place," Bridgette proclaimed, feeling the need to say something.
"You almost can't tell we're only a few hundred feet from our houses. Nothing shows through all the blackberry. You almost can't tell we're in the city at all." She paused, listening, and looked up. "Except for the flight path overhead. Or being able to hear the traffic on the road."
"Aye," Bridgette agreed sagely. She was sedately eating the berries out of Rose's cupped hands. "I'm eating all of these," she noted.
"Give me one," said Rose.
Bridgette picked up a blackberry and contemplatively held it between the tips of her fingers. She examined the fruit. She blew on it to remove a speck that was either a small insect or a crumb of dirt. She lifted it to Rose's lips, and Rose opened her mouth to take it in.
Golden lights played in the depths of Rose's brown eyes. Bridgette chuckled, partly in bemusement, partly in uncertainty. "Want more?" Her question, though casually spoken, felt constricted in her throat. Rose's face held an open delight and a shy anticipation. Bridgette fussed with her selection, her posture leaning in towards the other girl. When she looked up, she saw that Rose had also moved forward. Their careful exhalations mingled.
A desire for mischief incited Bridgette to keep an expression of absolute seriousness when she brought the blackberry to Rose's mouth. She brushed the soft skin of the berry over lips that, she imagined, were equally soft and pliant. Rose flinched and closed her eyes at the tickling caress. Bridgette pressed the blackberry between Rose's lips, where it met the fleeting resistance of her tongue.
Rose opened her eyes only long enough to find Bridgette's lips with her own and share the acidic taste of her spontaneous harvest. She opened her hands to bring them up to Bridgette's face, letting the last of the berries tumble across both of their laps, roll off, and scatter across the ground at their feet.
- - -