Chapter Text
You weren’t expecting it to be this hot in Texas. You knew it got to be above one hundred degrees sometimes, but that couldn’t have been right… until here you are, stripped down to your bra and underwear while you and Dove play game after game of Go Fish with Bicycle cards that keep getting soggier and soggier with the sweat from your palms.
“It’s too hot for this,” you tell her for about the billionth time, rolling over onto your back and lying spread-eagle under the ceiling fan in her room.
“Don’t whine about it, Joan, that’s the only way you’ll stay cool with this much sweltering sexiness.”
That one makes you laugh, and you grab the pillow that had been cushioning your stomach so you can gently pap Dove’s face with it. “Sweltering sexiness my ass, I feel gross and sweaty and – and – and gross, okay, it’s so hot I can’t think of words.”
“Fine, fine,” Dove says, shoving your pillow back at you before straddling your waist and pressing it against your face as if to suffocate you. The slim weight of her hips presses down into your stomach, and when you dramatically flail her arms to get her to stop, you accidentally catch her in the boob. Well. That. Is a thing. That is happening. Now. Apparently. Um. You feel even more heat rising in your face, but Dove, collected as ever, gets up with her joints popping and opens the door, flinging a merciful but short breeze into your face. “I’m gonna go get some otter pops or someshit, what flavor d’you want?”
“Blue.”
“Blue isn’t a flavor.”
“Is too, numbnuts.”
“Is not, douchebag.” She sticks her tongue out at you – when did she get it pierced? – but before you can fully throw your pillow in her face, she hides behind the doorframe, making your projectile puff impotently against the doorknob before she sprints – flash-steps, really – to the kitchen.
“You gals aren’t fightin’, are ya?” A familiar drawl echoes in the hallway, and for a split-second you realize how undressed you actually are before the door starts to crack open again. “Dove, I told you to stop anta- oh. Hey, Joan.”
The pillow you used to fight with Dove is now hugged firmly to your body. You don’t want Sis seeing all your skin just hanging out there. You’re embarrassed, but she’s all cool and slim and perfect, really. She has less on than you, just a triangle-cup bikini and bottoms that cling to her ass in a print that reminds you of the weird puppets she makes, and she’s holding her shades to her eyes and peering at you from under the brim of her hat. “Hey,” is all you manage to squeak out in return. You’d never be able to look that amazing.
“I was gonna ask if you two wanted to lay out by the pool, but looks like you’re already stripped down to your skivvies.” A brief, inspection-like glance over the rim of her glasses, and then an elegant fingertip pushes them back into place. “Dove!” she shrieks.
Dove’s answer is an otter pop to Sis’s face. “We’re not going, we’re playing cards.” She seems more surly than normal as she comes back into the room with an armful of blue and red popsicles, and she slams the door shut on her sister with a foot before she faceplants onto her own bed. “Why does she always do that,” she grumbles into her mattress.
“Do what?” You still don’t really understand what just happened, but you’re reluctant to let go of your covering, skimpy though it is.
Dove’s voice is muffled through the pillow. “She always butts in whenever I have friends over.”
“Geez.” Your exhale blows your short black hair off of your forehead. “What’s her deal?”
“Her deal. Hah.” Dove doesn’t sound amused, but when she rolls over to face you, it’s not like you can read her face – her damn shades are still on. “Girls. Girls are her deal.”
“Wh – no, I didn’t mean deal like that, I…” What did you mean, then? “She’s…?”
“Gay. She’s a lesbian. A scissor sister. Dildo wrangler. Cunta Kinte. Vag Bedazzler. Munches tacos. Fucks with her fingers. A big fat homose–“
“Okay, okay, Dove, I get it, you can stop now, thanks.” This whole topic’s making you feel more than a little uncomfortable, especially given that this chick just saw you in your underwear. “I feel violated.”
“She probably didn’t mean anything by it.” Dove doesn’t sound so sure, though.
You put the pillow aside, but only so you can hug your knees to your chest. “Does she hit on your friends a lot?”
“Dude, ew,” she says emphatically. “You’re, like, sixteen, and she’s… not.” Does she even know how old her own sister is?
“Yeah, gross,” you agree, otter pop melting out of the plastic to make your mouth and hands all sticky with fluids. “You think you’ll grow up to look like her?”
Dove just smiles that tiny little smile. “Maybe it’s not Sis I have to worry about.”
It takes you a minute to puzzle out her meaning, but once you do, you shriek at her and throw an otter pop in her direction. It explodes in her face, spraying blue ice everywhere, and she gets you back by sliding one in your panties. “You’re such a bitch, you’re awful, I hate you,” and you mean none of that, because you’re laughing and playfully hitting and suddenly you and Dove are rolling around on the floor a mess of tangled sweaty naked teenaged limbs and when it ends this time you’re on top of her with your hands pinning hers to the floor and her thighs cradling your hips and you’re breathing hard and your larger breasts brush against hers with every pant and even though there’s two pairs of glasses separating your eyes you could swear you could see straight through her.
Maybe this trip wasn’t such a good idea.