P L E T H O R A
(n.) A large or excessive amount of something.
BLEU OPENED her eyes the next morning with an arm unattached. She was almost startled to find that she couldn't feel her fingers. She lifted her head, her eyes bleary from sleep, and stopped short when her nose came in contact with the scent of cinnamon and vanilla.
Her bedmate had fallen asleep on her arm, thus cutting off the nerve supply. Her soft, brown waves tickled Bleu's sharp nose and she craned her neck to see the upturned face better.
Paris literally looked like an angel when she was asleep. Long, curled eyelashes rested against her freckles, her eyelids moving in her sleep. Her naturally red lips were slightly parted, giving Bleu a hint of pearly white teeth and a pink tongue. Her soft breaths hit her chin with every exhale. She realized then that the brunette had her in a lock-grip, her long bare legs slung over Bleu's pajama clad ones and an arm across her stomach. Bleu's shirt had somehow ridden up and had exposed part of her flat stomach, allowing skin contact with Paris' soft skin on her arm.
Her heart was beating in deep, pounding rhythms now, and she was worried the brunette might wake up because of it. Then the events of last night came back and hit her hard. Her best friend was royalty who was next in line for the throne. Paris' parents were dead. The dead heart in her sink. The threat. It was so hard to get her mind wrapped around what she had heard and found out last night, she didn't know what to believe. No one could go through all that and still be able to walk through the halls of the school laughing and smiling, right?
But then again, this is Paris. She's strong, humble, logical, and down-to-earth. Add that to her training in becoming a Princess and Bleu had no idea if she still knew the girl laying on her arm anymore. Who have you become, Paris?
Slowly, she untangled herself from the warm body on top of hers, careful not to wake her up. Paris made a soft groaning sound, the top of her nose wrinkling adorably before softening once more in sleep. Bleu released a breath she didn't know she was holding and made her way to her bathroom to shower. She needed a cold one.
Paris woke up to the sun shining right at her eyes. She groaned, squinting hard and stretching. She found that the bed was empty. "Bleu must've gone down for breakfast," she shrugged before yawning and stretching her arms high above her head. The events of last night flashed through her mind and she froze, her eyes widening. Oh shit. I forgot I dropped the big bomb on my best friend last night. She scrambled to get up, almost running to her bag for her toiletries. Just going to take a shower and head downstairs to appease to her and calm her down, She told herself. I can't imagine what she must be feeling right now.
After placing her toothbrush on top of the towel and pile of clothes she had on her arm, she walked quickly to the bathroom and opened the door.
Oh my god.
Bleu was standing in front of the mirror, brushing her teeth with ear-pods in her ears and humming along to the tune. Paris briefly remembered that Bleu liked to keep an extra pair of ear-pods in her bathroom because she loved to listen to music whenever she could so that it could calm her. It was her daily ritual. And it looks like it hasn't changed. Just because that hadn't changed doesn't mean other factors of Bleu hadn't either.
A towel was slung low on her lean hips, clinging to her curves in just the right places. A towel was wrapped around her hair. Those two towels were the only ones covering her body. Her toned, flat stomach flexed when she softly danced to the music. Her bare breasts were high, perky globes that jiggled slightly when she brushed. Water droplets trickled down the sides of her breasts and made their way to her abs.
Paris' mouth went dry and she couldn't seem to move, entranced with the view. Bleu had no idea she was there, her eyes closed and the music in her ears. Paris could feel moisture somewhere and her heart started beating quickly. This was the second time she saw her breasts. I wonder what they would feel like when she's on the verge of-
Paris shook her head and quickly closed the door before Bleu could open her eyes and see her through the mirror. She leaned against the wooden door, panting like she had just run a marathon. Damnit, I've got it bad.
Suddenly, the door she had been leaning on opened and she let out a yelp of surprise as she fell backwards. Before she could fall to the ground, feminine but strong arms caught her. Her breath hitched as she felt the now towel-covered chest of the girl she had briefly been fantasizing about.
"Whoa there, you ok?" Bleu asked her, concern lacing her soft voice.
"Yeah," Paris squeaked, staring at the shorter girl's blue eyes and relishing at the feel of her hands wrapped around her body. "I-I'm just gonna shower real quick. See you for breakfast!" She said in a higher pitch than usual. She picked up the clothes she had dropped, quickly stuffing the black lace bra and underwear inside the folds of her shirt, half hoping the girl behind her didn't see it. Before Bleu had the chance to speak, Paris smiled wide, "Kay bye! See you downstairs!" Then practically slammed the door.
Bleu lifted a brow. What's gotten into her?
The car drive to school was more awkward than quiet. Both girls had breakfast that Bleu's housekeeper had prepared, knowing that the parents had gone to work an hour earlier than they had woken up. So they had eaten in silence, both thinking and still trying to digest the past 16 hours.
Then they had hopped into Bleu's porsche and driven to school. None of them said anything, and the silence was turning awkward.
Or is that just me? Paris thought. Oh god, Paris, just move on from that bathroom scene already! She just couldn't help but have flashbacks of those sexy dimples at the dip of her spine and that mouth-watering athletic body.
"So," Bleu cleared her throat, breaking the silence. They were still about twenty minutes away from school. "Who are you staying with?"
The slight hint at her parent's death did little to sting Paris' heart, but it was a sting nonetheless. "I'm staying with the palace guard."
Bleu's eyebrows went up. "The palace guard?"
"Yeah," Paris smiled. "She's pretty cool. She's the top notcher in her school for Royal Protection and an amazing cook. I'm in pretty good hands."
"Ah," Bleu mused. "I see. I'd love to meet her someday."
Paris regarded her. Did she insinuate that she invite her over to her place? "Sure," she smiled. "I'll ask her to cook your favorite. She makes amazing mac and cheese."
Bleu shook her head, smiling. "I love that you still remember these little details about me."
"Hey," Paris crinkled her nose playfully. "I was gone for a year, not a century."
"You old woman," Bleu replied, receiving a smack on her arm. And just like that, the friendly banter they had developed over the past few weeks came back and they were best friends again.
They arrived at school in record time, the blond twins immediately at their side.
"How was the sleepover?" Olivia asked with wide blue eyes. "You guys didn't get mad at each other or anything, right? I mean I get that you're friends, but sometimes the tension-"
"Wait, how did you know we had a sleepover?" Paris raised a brow.
"Brookie told us," Owen beamed. "She overheard you guys at the library. I'm just happy the fam is coming back together." He wiped an invisible tear, sniffing and then wiping the imaginary mucus and tears on his twin sister.
"Jerk," Olivia punched her brother on the shoulder. "God, this puppy dog eyes you get when you talk about Brooke makes me sick. You know she's like a sister to us, right?"
"A hot, chinese sister," Owen waggled his eyebrows, making Olivia roll her eyes.
"FYI, I'm Korean American, you should know that by now, you racist white ass. And yeah, I know I'm hot," Brooke slung an arm over Bleu's shoulder, realized she had to tiptoe, so settled on her waist instead. She fanned her manicured long nails on her glowing face. "Can't help it." She then eyed Paris from head to toe. From her half-up half-down hair, her cropped pink sweater, skinny black jeans and Vans, Bleu could see why everyone would check her out. She's stunning as always.
"Damn I keep forgetting how tall you are," Brooke craned her neck. "What are you, like, 6'5?"
Paris laughed, and Bleu couldn't help letting out a few of her own. "What? No," she pulled the shorter asian girl to her side while the group made their way to inside. "I'm 6'0."
Brooke whistled. "Only three inches taller than Bleu," she smacked the blonde's ass. "I'm surrounded by giants."
"You always are," a deep voice joined in the conversation before Bleu was being hugged from behind with a pair of big arms. "Hey, babe," he nuzzled her hair, his aftershave seeping into her nostrils strongly.
Bleu smiled fakely. "Hey, Dean." for some reason, she just wasn't in the mood for him right now. Hell, not today even. She just didn't want to see Dean Collins.
But why? He's your boyfriend.
"So the folks aren't home tonight," he lowered his voice only for her ears as their group walked on ahead. "And I'm really turned on right now." He eyed her body and she shuddered in disgust. She was wearing jeans and a grey shirt. How is that asking for it?
"Sorry big guy," she placed a hand on his broad chest to push him away, suddenly really annoyed at him. "Strict parents problems."
"Oh sure," he looked deflated. "Maybe next time then."
Just then a guy called his name and he responded. "Yeah man! Just a sec!" He turned to his girlfriend and kissed her. "You owe me." He winked at her than jogged away to join his other friends.
"That was the most cringe thing I've ever witnessed," Paris whistled beside her. Apperantly she had overheard. "Is he always like that?"
Bleu shook her head. "He's not usually like that. It's just been more frequent these past few weeks. It's making me uncomfortable. And honestly it shouldn't since he's my boyfriend." Somehow it made her feel a bit awkward to talk about him to her, but it shouldn't since they were friends, right?
"You should tell him, then," Paris frowned. "You shouldn't force yourself to have to like the idea. When you want to make love to someone, it should come naturally."
Bleu would be lying if she said she didn't have a brief thought of doing the same to Paris when she said that. She shook her head slightly to wave the thought away. It's just a stupid crush. I'm not gay.
"Come on, milady," Paris linked her arm with Bleu's. "We have classes to get to."
"I should be calling you that," Bleu leaned over to playfully whisper, all thoughts of Dean forgotten. "Princess."
She earned a smack at the side of her ribs that got her yelping and then giggling. "Just kidding! No one heard." Paris looked at her disapprovingly.
"There you are!" Brooke stomped over to the two tall girls, grabbing Bleu's arm and wrenching her from Paris. "We're gonna be late for French and Mrs. Dubois is cranky in the mornings!"
Bleu rolled her eyes at Paris and the latter put a hand over her mouth to cover her laughter. "Asians." Bleu muttered.
"That's racist and you're gonna get your ass whipped if you don't run right now," Brooke slapped her ass for the second time in an hour. Then she pushed the blue-eyed beauty forward and turned back to Paris. "See you at physics, Par!"
"See ya!" Paris blew them a kiss then walked by herself to homeroom. Everyone was already in their classes so the hallway was empty. She sped up her walk. She was definitely late.
Just then strong arms grabbed her from behind and pushed her inside the janitor's closet. A calloused hand roughly covered her scream and another captured both of her wrists.
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