|When The Spring Fling is a Bore
Author: Lily Lovett PM
There is some alcohol, a crisp night, and two best friends. Fluff, femslash. SamanthaTaylorRated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Friendship - Words: 1,516 - Reviews: 6 - Favs: 3 - Published: 12-25-11 - Status: Complete - id: 7674256
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
When The Spring Fling is a Bore
Disclaimer: "Cyberbully" the 2011 television film is © ABC Family and its related entities. All rights reserved. There is no profit, aside from personal satisfaction here.
Rating: PG-13 for alcohol use, some language.
Summary: Okay, so I just want Kay Panabaker and Emily Osment to make out after watching Cyberbully and subsequent interviews about said movie. Just please don't hate me too much. This is the only solace I have after surviving that awful script.
Once the law was passed, what happened on Cliquesters became a sort of invisible elephant in the room, to never be mentioned. For the most part.
Their relationship, ironically, became stronger than ever. Neither girl was sure if their closeness had manifested out of guilt, or out of being able to relate to one another; either way, they were thankful. Cheyenne still completed their trio, but it became evident after a while that Samantha and Taylor were the very best of friends. Caleb and Scott had sort of joined their makeshift group, and as the year dragged on, it was evident that a night of debauchery would surely ensue. When it did, the thing Sam had tried so hard to keep quiet became blaring.
The Spring Fling was mostly a bore. Taylor unofficially went with Scott, Sam with Caleb (though he had his eye on this closeted wrestler—typical!), and Cheyenne with her boyfriend, Steve. Afterwards, they planned on staying the night at Steve's open house. Unused to even the whitest of lies, Sam and Taylor were equally weary, but excited at the prospect of finally trying the social lubricant of alcohol.
The living room was simple. A futon, a fairly large couch, and a large wicker table in the middle were the main pieces, and Steve's home felt utterly utilitarian. He blamed it on his dad's lack of taste. They spent the night engaging in various drinking games, starting with only light drinks that are flavored with more sugar than alcohol.
Quickly, though, Sam felt the hum of intoxication. She could hear the subtle buzz of the florescent bulbs above her head, the vaguely strawberry smell of Tay's shampoo, the way her skin seemed soft even from so far away. Sam wanted to touch it to be sure. And the sudden openness of these thoughts and feelings in Sam made her uncomfortable. She had worked long and hard to suppress them.
"Sam, you alright?" Caleb asked in concern, though his expression seemed fit for laughter. "You seem awfully quiet, and well, it's your turn to draw a card."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I still don't get Kings though," Samantha smiled at him, hoping it was a reassuring smile, but she couldn't quite tell. Her card was a seven.
"Heaven," Sam slurred with quickness, being sure to point to the sky before anyone else could react. Taylor lost that one, grinning sheepishly as she took another sip of her lemonade. It was more physically evident that Tay was in some state of drunkenness; hell, she came close to knocking over a bottle when she put her own back on the table.
They continued their round of Kings, finishing without anyone but Samantha and Taylor truly feeling anything beyond buzzed. Cheyenne insisted the rest of the group take a few shots. Her dark hair was pulled back with a headband, and she seemed too much of a heavyweight for a girl her size. It was weird, thought Sam. But it made sense. Cheyenne had gotten drunk many times before, whereas Sam and Taylor were essentially virginal to the experience. The phrase, though it was only in her head, made Sam blush mildly.
Looking across at the girl she considered her best mate made Sam's heart flutter, and she knew that was not normal. Her head was reeling; everything seemed so much prettier, but Taylor was alwayspretty. She had this natural beauty that Samantha thought she had once envied. Now she realized she could only appreciate it, yearn for it.
"I think some fresh air wouldn't hurt, huh, since maybe we should stop drinking now...Sam, I see you looking at me with those eyes. Stop observing me like that; it's creepy. Why don't you join me?" The blonde inquired, meeting her gaze across the table. It was embarrassing to be caught staring, but Sam could only manage to smile stupidly and follow the other girl out the door, their hands intertwined. It was nice. The smell of strawberries again.
"You feel alright?" Sam asked, finally breaking the silence. Taylor had been wildly energetic before in the living room, and now she seemed oddly pensive and quiet. Much like the dark neighborhood before them, sitting still with the moon overhead.
"Yeah. You know, you're kind of my favorite." The blonde buried her face into Sam's shoulder. Sam allowed a content sigh to escape her lips, the warmth of her friend easily fighting the frigidness of the air. After another beat or two:
"Mhm." Taylor muttered, her arms now tightly around the other girl. Samantha was like a human body pillow—warm, cozy, incredibly comfortable out in the crisp night. Sam herself only felt her insides burn hotter with the girl cuddled up next to her. She was thankful they were outside.
"Y'know, Tay, I never did tell you why I decided to be 'James'." The brunette instantly regretted her words, but she could not help but think of it.
"Ah that shit," Taylor whined. "What I can't believe of it, was all the times that so-called 'James' hit on me. He knew just how to sway me and explain how he wished to ravish me in his affection and that sort of bull. He knew how to compliment a damn girl. Then he goes on and claims I've got an STD. Pretty rude if you ask me." It was maybe tiredness from the dance, or the social-quality of the alcohol, because Taylor had managed all of this without conviction.
Samantha felt her face flush. There was no sting of her past mistakes—she had, in some way or the other, long since atoned for them. She could see Taylor was merely commenting on the perfect compatibility of herself and the non-existent guy from Ridgeway. Maybe on their own compatibility.
"Is this your own way of trying to say that I know how to seduce you with words, my dear Tay?" Sam let out, hoping her voice sounded more of one in jest, rather than an awkward sort of question. It was funny in a way, because Samantha would like to know the answer.
"Cliquesters was a dumb fad," Taylor responded, eyes closed, the fingers of her left hand now trailing down Sam's arm. Samantha hoped her shiver seemed as if it was from the cold. There was another beat of silence.
"Why do I need approval from my peers?" The blonde said, now suddenly perking up again, her eyes opening wide. "Why do I? When I'm able to spend a night out with my favorite person in the whole entire world!"
"You keep saying that, but I'm sure it's not true. What about Scott?" Sam commented lightly. She did not want to tread here any further—who knew how many bottles of hard lemonade she had really finished? Sam knew already she would dwell too much on the meaning Taylor's statement, and she did not want to confuse herself further. But even the subject of Scott could not provide a diversion.
"Oh, but it is absolutely true." Taylor responded with another one of her grand grins. "And I'm just so happy, sitting here, with you. Scott is a real nice guy and all, but you're better. You smell nicer—like mangos, maybe, and I love mangos. And you are always here for me. You know me well. You like my writing! You actually take it seriously, and I think, sometimes, it's weird that we're best friends. I feel like I won some sort of lottery. Even after 'James' and even apart from Scott...I just feel lucky."
Sam could not keep the lump in her throat down, and there was this strange tickling in her stomach. These sensations continued to intensify, and as she was preparing to remark to Tay that they ought to go back in, she felt warm hands turn her head, and then similarly warm lips on hers. There was not a spark, but a subtle feeling of lightness and eagerness.
Samantha for so long had kept her emotions in check, her actions platonic—and now it was Taylor who had gone and fucked it up. Fucked it well in the face, and maybe that really was the alcohol's fault, but Sam did not want to hold back. She took the other girl's wrists in her own hands and she kissed Taylor again, again, and again.