There is Nothing Here to Stop Me
I is for Impulse, Whip It, Bliss (Babe Ruthless)/Bloody Holly, for poisonarrows
Holly strips down in the locker room, pealing off her jacket, now slick with sweat. Her breasts are fully visible through the white tank top she still has on, but she keeps that on, along with a pair of boy’s underwear, something that Bliss wonders about, quickly stealing a glance, afraid for a moment that her eyes reveal too much of what she’s thinking. Which, right now, is a jumble of sensations, mostly, and images: teetering on the edge of obscene (how must those blonde curls smell, feel, now… damp), colliding quickly with almost ridiculously teenage ideas, wondering how Holly’s hair stays so cute, swept up in pigtails, for all of practice, the tiny tendrils pressed to her forehead that she now swipes away with the back of a wrist.
“See something ya like, Ruthless?” And, Christ, Bliss isn’t as subtle as she thought, not by a long shot, though to her credit, she shrugs and turns around, starting on her changing routine as though there isn’t a half-nude New Zealander staring curiously at her back.
Down to her own shorts and sports bra, Bliss starts to wonder if Holly has moved on; shrugged into another top and snuck out of the room. But there have been no tell-tale sounds of lockers slamming, or movement. Bliss shivers. “I was just curious,” she says, anticipating the question, speaking into her open locker, shaking out the pair of jeans she wore in.
“Don’t have any equipment you don’t, love. Unless you count these arm muscles,” Holly replied, laughing. She could have been angry, she could have hip-checked Bliss right then and there, so… this was going pretty well, all things considered. Still, its a good thing she can’t see how red in the face Bliss is getting; wouldn’t be good for teasing. And its not like she means to be embarrassed.
Halfway into the second leg of her jeans, Bliss turns around, nearly toppling in the process. Holly’s watching her, bemused, not about to lift a finger. She still hasn’t dressed further than panties and tank top. Bliss swallows. “I was… wondering.” She can’t force herself to finish the thought, let alone the sentence. Images bubble into her mind of limbs tangling in the back seat of a car, skates tossed in the front, covered in a pile of clothes. Lips against a neck, the release of a long, shaking breath.
Holly tugs the bands out of her hair, shaking the wavy blonde mass loose. “Tell you what, Babe. We win? I’ll answer whatever questions you have.” She gets up and moves back to her locker, letting Bliss slowly release her held breath. A t-shirt slithers over her head and pulls across Holly’s breasts. “Scouts’ honor.”
She flashes a smile, tugs on a pair of cut-off jean shorts and lets Bliss think on that awhile, still half-in her jeans. After a long minute, Bliss licks her lips, slips her jeans off again and heads back out to the track. A little extra practice never hurt.