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Into the Quiet Woods

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Later, Naomi will blame the mushrooms. Later, much, much later, Emily will, too.

For now, she smiles and sinks to the ground, weighted by the press of the night sky and Naomi’s hand in hers, warm and solid and totally, utterly *there* for the first time in ages.

Naomi drops down next to her, bites her lip; Emily watches her with a fierce concentration and it’s all she can do not to kiss her, not to lick that teeth-teased mouth and take what’s on offer.

“Emily,” Naomi says, softly, and leans forward to press her lips to Emily’s, to flick her tongue against Emily’s lips until they part, to slide inside and rub, slow and tentative and oh so sweet. She can’t help but kiss her back, lets her hands slip into the warmth of Naomi’s hair and move down to tug against her shirt until it lifts away.

Her fingers trail along Naomi’s breast, leaving shimmers of red and gold along her skin, shimmers she bends to lick and lave as Naomi moans, arches her back, whispers words of encouragement when Emily’s mouth slides lower, dips beneath Naomi’s skirt and presses against her thin knickers.

Naomi stutters out a breath, a gasp, and heat spikes in Emily’s belly, sudden and sharp in its intensity, and she exhales, licks at Naomi and pushes her hand into her own pants, desperate to relieve the ache, the *pressure* of this endless *wanting*.

“Naomi,” she says, and the vibration makes Naomi shudder, makes Emily continue murmuring her name until Naomi stiffens and comes with a faint, low hum of pleasure.

Naomi’s panting, can’t seem to catch her breath, and then she shakes her head, pushes back from Emily and stumbles to her feet, stumbles *away*.

“I can’t. I can’t,” she says, and she’s crying and the tears make her skin gleam like gold dust. “I’m sorry.”

And she runs into the forest, into the night, and Emily wants to run after her, wants to tell her that everything will be all right, that the world doesn’t have to end just because a new one is opening up, but she feels drugged, too lethargic to stand, let alone run.

She falls back to the ground, hand still in her knickers, and her fingers work at her clit until she pauses, defeated, because she can’t seem to get the pressure right, can’t seem to get that feeling of love and desire and need to return.

Emily turns her head as she catches a glimpse of something pale opposite her; she starts when she sees Effy, sees the knowing gleam in her eyes as Effy starts forward.

“Let you do all the work and then left, did she? That’s poor going,” Effy says, and kneels down beside Emily. Emily tries to get her hand to move, to stop fucking touching herself in front of Effy for God’s sake, but she can’t. She can’t, and tears fill her eyes when Effy leans forward, kisses her none too gently, nips her lower lip until it stings.

“Hush up, Em,” she says. “I’ll take care of you.”

Her eyes are black as the surrounding night, her fingers cool as they join Emily’s, trace over her clit and slide, knowing and sure, into her cunt.

“I don’t – Oh, Jesus, God, please-“ Emily stutters. Effy laughs and the sound presses in on Emily, makes her breathe a little faster, a little shallower. She throbs, she whimpers, she begs, and through it all Effy watches her, still and serene and smiling, always smiling.

She can’t look at Effy, so she stares at the blink of the stars, stares until colours split the sky and the earth realigns itself to Emily’s vision.

She doesn’t know what to say, what to do, so she sits up, parts her lips and then closes her mouth when she realises she doesn’t have anything *to* say, nothing that will make this better, make this not so fucking, unbelievably wrong.

Effy flows to her feet like water moving backwards, and though Emily’s throat is tight and her mouth won’t open, she wants to speak, to tell her that this shouldn’t have happened, that she likes Naomi, that this will ruin *everything*-

And then Effy smiles again, and a shadow slips over the moon and across her face, hides her eyes and her lips and the wicked, white gleam of her teeth.

Emily shivers, and Effy says, “Shh,” and places a sticky thumb across her lips. “No-one has to know if you don’t want them to.”

She watches Effy slip into the woods, legs perfect and pale as bone in the dappled moonlight and when she licks her lips, she tastes herself, tastes Effy, and suddenly she’s desperate to get the taste out of her mouth, out of her *system*.

But although she rubs at her mouth, scrubs with her t-shirt and the palm of her hand, she can still feel a phantom pressure against her lips, forcing them against the sharp line of her teeth, trying to quiet her.

Effy’s voice is everywhere, it echoes around her and within her, and all it seems to say, all it ever seems to say is