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passion is accurate

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She's crying on the bathroom floor when Effy finds her. She's had way too much to drink and she's just sitting there in a heap, legs clumsily splayed out across the tiles, her colourful tights laddered all the way down one knee. She doesn't even look up when she hears the door open, but somehow she knows it's Effy—she hears the sharp clack of high heels, the flick of a lighter, an intake of breath. She keeps her head hung low and tries to stop crying, wanting to save at least some of her dignity.

"Who was it this time?" Effy asks, shutting the door behind her and crossing the room to kneel down beside her. She hands Emily the cigarette she's smoking and Emily takes a clumsy drag from it.

"What d'you mean?" she says hoarsely, passing it back.

Effy takes her time with her answer, settling down across from her and leaning against the bathtub, smoking. Then she says, "Who's hurt you this time? Who's walked all over you?"

Emily sniffles.

"Katie?" Effy guesses. She lets out a huff of laughter. "She treats you like shit, I swear. Fucking up-herself bitch."

Emily's too drunk to defend her sister, too drunk to try and deny insults that are pretty much true. She shakes her head, glancing up at Effy bravely but feeling her eyes sting again as she speaks. "Naomi," she corrects.

Effy grins, eyes flickering down to the floor as she shakes her head. "Of course."

Emily bites her lip as hard as she can to stop the tears from flowing over again. It shouldn't even be such a big fucking deal, it's not like Naomi was even that mean to her. She just feels like such a fucking idiot.

The party had been going on for a couple of hours, and the two of them had ended up alone together in some bedroom. It was all going fine at first. They were kissing, really kissing, Naomi was on top of her, and nothing in her life had ever felt that good or that right. And she pulled off her t-shirt, and Naomi seemed okay with that, even if she wasn't quite ready to touch her yet. And really, that's all right, it really is, Emily understands Naomi's still a bit confused, and she's willing to wait. But then she tried guiding Naomi's hand under her skirt, and—god, it wasn't her fault, she was just so fucking wet and so, so drunk, and she needed someone to bloody well touch her before she exploded or something.

Yeah, and then Naomi freaked out, jerking back from her and like, stammering half-insults and half-apologies before basically running from the room, leaving Emily lying there in her bra and skirt with her hair all mussed up, feeling like a right fucking slut. Like she'd just thrown herself at Naomi and been rejected.

Which, she guesses, is pretty much what happened.

She'd managed to gather herself together, though, but then when she went downstairs Katie had told her Naomi'd left, looking a little too smug about it, and that was when she couldn't take it anymore.

That was how she ended up here.

"Dunno why you bother with her, really," says Effy coolly, flicking her cigarette between her fingers, scattering grey ash across the pristine white tiles.

Emily looks up, incredulous, her eyes watering. "I love her," she says.

And, well, okay, maybe she doesn't, but it really feels like it sometimes, and who the hell's Effy to try and give her advice? Like she's ever had feelings for anyone in her life. Effy just snorts with laughter and takes another draw from the cigarette.

"Fuck off," Emily snaps. "Like you'd know. All you do is fuck."

Effy smirks, raises one eyebrow. "Yeah," she says. "It's easier that way."

Emily rolls her eyes. She grabs the crumpled ball of loo paper she was blowing her nose on earlier and dabs at her teary eyes with it. Effy doesn't say anything else right away, and Emily looks around, trying to seem nonchalant, like she's actually interested in whatever shampoo the host of this party uses.

"I'm just saying, you're wasting your time," Effy shrugs after a little while. She stabs the cigarette out against the bathmat and then tosses the butt over her shoulder into the bath. "There are probably hundreds of girls out there that'd fuck you. Big dykes with like, leather wristcuffs and tattoos." She grins. "They'd love you. Little lipstick lezzie, never had her carpet munched."

Emily glares. "I don't want them," she says, prickling.

"'Course you don't," Effy states plainly.

She repositions herself, crossing her legs, and for a brief moment Emily can see up her dress, can see that Effy's knickers are like, sheer or something, and she can see almost everything. She averts her eyes quickly, her face feeling hot. She's so fucking sick of this. It's not like she fancies Effy, she just can't help herself staring. It's been like that with practically every girl she's seen lately and she's so tired of it, tired of looking like a freak for staring like some guy every time she catches a glimpse of cleavage or something. God, she needs to get laid.

"You want Naomi," Effy adds, with a quirk of her eyebrow.

"Yeah," Emily says. She sniffs, trying to forget about earlier tonight, how mortified she felt. "Yeah, I do. I really do."

Effy looks at her, apparently unimpressed. Then she licks her finger, and reaches across to her, stroking the skin just under Emily's eyes. Emily jolts at the touch, but then realises Effy's just cleaning up her fucked up make-up for her. She curses inwardly—she must look like a panda by now after all this sobbing. She wanted to borrow Katie's waterproof mascara tonight, but the selfish bitch wouldn't let her.

"You look a mess," Effy grins.

Emily laughs. "'m not surprised," she says quietly, seeing how Effy's finger is quickly gathering smudges of shimmery grey.

She watches, her vision blurred and out of focus so close, as Effy's fingertip runs gently down her cheek, to the corner of her mouth. She knows she's blushing, blushing hard, and she hopes Effy doesn't notice.

"Lipgloss's smeared, too," Effy notes. "That's not from crying."

"No," Emily hears herself respond. Effy suddenly seems really, really close. She can feel her hot breath against her cheek and when she risks a glance up, she sees that Effy's piercing blue eyes are fixed right on her. "No," she says again, weakly, "that's...that's from kissing."

"Kissing Naomi," says Effy, very matter-of-fact, her hand dropping back down by her side.

Emily nods. She's blushing still, she doesn't even want to think about how red her cheeks are. She can't seem to look away from Effy's face; her sharp cheekbones, her determined eyes, her curved pink lips. Her hair's messy and tangled, and Emily can't help but wonder who she's been getting off with tonight.

"You should forget about her," Effy goes on. She comes closer still.

"I don't—"

"She doesn't know what she wants, Ems."

"But I can wait for her to fi—" Emily starts, and Effy presses a long finger against her mouth, halting the words.

"But I do," Effy finishes her sentence, finger slipping away as she closes the gap between them, her warm soft lips pressing against Emily's and then opening, opening wide, letting Emily's tongue in.


Emily wishes she could tell herself she doesn't want this, wishes she could be strong and like, devoted or something, pushing Effy back and saying her heart belongs to Naomi. But—but—god, Effy's so good at this, pushing up against her, her tongue sliding between her lips. She kisses like Naomi does, only she's grabbing at her chest, hand beneath her t-shirt to cup Emily's tits, and this time Emily just knows she's not going to be left hanging afterwards. A spark of arousal runs through her body at the thought, making her squirm against the bathroom tiles and pull Effy closer.

Effy wastes no time, something Emily's infinitely grateful for, seeing as she's got a serious case of whatever the girls' equivalent of blue balls is, thanks to Naomi's freakout earlier. Effy's hand is under her skirt in minutes, possibly just seconds, tearing her tights even more just to get them out of the way. And then there are fingers pushing down the front of her knickers and—oh, oh God.

"Yeah," Effy mutters against Emily's lips.

Emily bucks up against her hand, feeling the slender fingers sliding between her slick folds, pressing just inside her. She lets out a little gasp, tries to dig her fingers into porcelain.

"Fuck, you're so wet," Effy murmurs into her ear. She nips at Emily's neck, her teeth sharp.

Emily turns red again and Effy thrusts one finger inside her, easily, pushing up to the knuckle and making Emily groan against Effy's shoulder. The palm of Effy's hand sort of grinds against her clit and she presses back against it brazenly, needing more pressure, more friction.

"Get up," Effy commands suddenly, drawing back, and Emily just does, not even caring that this just contributes to Effy's image of her of a pushover.

Effy pushes her up against the sink, the edge of it digging into her back, and yanks her tights and knickers down somewhere round her knees. She leans in again, kissing Emily hard and then dropping to her knees, pulling Emily's thighs apart and bending her body back. Emily gasps as Effy's tongue flicks out, touches her, strokes across her aching heat. Her skirt's pushed up around her waist and she clutches at it, grasps at the corner of the sink, needing something to hold onto.

Effy looks up at her, her hot breath ghosting over Emily's cunt. Her eyes are so, so bright. "You can grab my hair," she says simply, "if you want."

Emily doesn't need any more encouragement. She tangles her fingers in Effy's messy dark waves, pulling harshly upwards when she feels Effy's tongue against her again.

"Fuck," she sobs. This feels better than she ever imagined it could, a hundred times better.

Effy's hand snakes up between her legs, too, and she feels fingers pushing inside her once again, filling her, as a slick hot tongue laps at her clit, bringing her closer and closer.

"Fuck, fuck," she chants out.

Effy closes her lips, sucks, and Emily snaps back, her head jerking back painfully against the mirror above the sink. She tries to steady herself but her knees buckle, and it's too intense, it's just too much, and Effy just keeps it up, fucking her fast with two fingers now as her tongue slides across Emily's clit. Emily sucks in a sharp breath; it feels like her whole cunt throbs and pulses with every heartbeat and she thrusts her hips forward, her fingers digging into Effy's scalp.

"Fuck," she groans again. "Eff—fuck—"

She comes, hard, the whole room spinning around her as she holds Effy's face between her legs. She sees stars. Jesus, she's gay, she's so gay. She knew it before this, but god, having a girl eating her out, it's—it's the best thing she's felt, ever, hands fucking down. She grinds against Effy's mouth, riding out her orgasm, moaning softly. She catches her breath quickly and pulls Effy up, kissing her, tasting herself on Effy's tongue.

She steps aside and pushes Effy forward, pushing her head-first against the sink and then closing in behind her, kissing her hot neck, feeling the pulse beneath the skin. She can see herself in the mirror but she almost can't believe it's her, can't believe she's really doing this. And yet, god, she wants to, she wants to fucking touch Effy, to get the chance to touch someone else's pussy but her own for once.

Effy goes with it, of course, her forehead pressed up against the glass of the mirror. Emily can see her staring at herself as she fumbles beneath Effy's dress, slipping her hand inside those sheer knickers and feeling the slick skin underneath. Her heart pounds. She finds Effy's clit, pushes against it, and Effy's eyes squeeze closed, her long dark lashes fanned out against flushed cheeks. Emily strokes in circles, having no idea what the hell she's doing but doing it anyway, rubbing and stroking until Effy's panting, her breath fogging up the mirror.

Effy hisses yes between her teeth as she comes, and Emily feels it, feels the way Effy's body loses control against her, clenching and shuddering and shaking. And then she tightens, all over, all her muscles going taut before she rocks forward, panting and sweating against the mirror.

Emily curls her palm, feels the wet heat against the tips of her fingers. This, this is why she likes girls. This is what she can do to girls, and it's fucking amazing. She's struck by a sudden want to make it go further, to sink to her knees and just fucking taste Effy, but Effy seems pretty exhausted, slumped against the mirror, and maybe, Emily thinks, she should save that for Naomi anyway.

Effy takes a few deep breaths and turns around, steadying herself, holding onto the sink with both hands. And just like that, she's regained her composure, even though Emily's still breathing like she's just had a heart attack and she's pretty sure she's red as a tomato.

"Not bad," Effy smirks at her, slightly breathless. She produces another cigarette, leaning back against the sink, and she lights it, taking a long, harsh draw. "Guess you're not such a doormat after all." She blows out the smoke, into Emily's face. "Interesting."

There's a loud knocking all of a sudden, a sharp hammering against the bathroom door. They've been in here a while, after all.

"Fuck," Effy says, grinning as she re-adjusts her underwear. She hands her cigarette to Emily as she goes to slide the bolt aside.

Emily inhales, exhales slowly, and sorts out her own clothes. "Fuck," she echoes, following Effy out of the bathroom, letting some random guy stumble in.

And, as she follows Effy into the sweaty, dancing crowd, she wonders, distantly, what Naomi would be thinking right now if she'd stuck around.