48.)
"My bones feel like bags of sand," I whined, crawling into the beach house behind Blossom. Not literally crawling. With any other kink, I wouldn't have to make that distinction.
"Wow, you're a whiny thing when you're tired," Blossom said. "I didn't see that coming."
"I contain multitudes," I said, then promptly fell forward onto the couch. I had set my backpack down halfway between the living room and the stairs, perfect to trip over.
Blossom did her usual beach house arrival routines with the utilities, and then on her way to the sofa she picked up Amanda's backpack off the floor and set it out of the way. Once she'd done that, Blossom sat down, squeezing in at the opposite end of the sofa, and patting her thigh.
"Wriggle up," she said. "You can put your head on my lap."
"Uh..." Like, on her thigh? It was the kind of thing you'd see in a movie or something when a kid was upset. I wasn't sure I'd put my head in anyone's lap other than my mom, and that was a long time ago.
"Don't overthink it, cupcake."
I was tired. If I regretted it later, I could always just say I was too tired to think straight. I was definitely too tired to think straight. Straight wasn't how I'd describe my thoughts at all. But with another tap on her thigh, I decided to give in this once. What harm could come of it?
I scooted up the sofa until my head was near her. I rested my ear on her lap, but that felt weird. I rolled over onto my back, so I was looking up at her. She was always tall, but from down here...
"Thatta girl, cupcake."
Blossom smiled down at Amanda. Honestly, she wanted to play with her hair, but it might have been too intimate a gesture.
Blossom's thighs were pretty firm and toned, but comfortable nonetheless. Although Blossom was tense in a general sense, concerned about making her friend uncomfortable or sending the wrong kind of message - actually, Blossom didn't know what was the right message and what was the wrong one in this case - there was a certain contentedness that came with closeness.
It was nice.
"TV?" Blossom asked.
I wanted to write Academy Works, but I knew I wouldn't get anywhere. I was half asleep already, and it was better if I started in the morning. With a sigh of resignation that Blossom probably mistook for irritation, I nodded.
Blossom put on another episode of Stranger Things. We were halfway through season one. I rolled over a little and got comfortable, propping myself on the back of the couch and resting the back of my head a little closer to Blossom's stomach.
Usually we talked through the show. One time we talked about Winona Rider in diapers. This time, she was quiet. I was also quiet, just because I was tired. That quietness lingered heavily in the mostly-dark living room and it quickly started to pull me toward sleep.
Blossom didn't care if she was missing what she was watching; often the act of putting something on the TV was a precursor for someone wanting to make out with her, or for her to go down on someone, or vice versa. But this time she got to watch the entire episode.
Amanda, however, fell asleep in her lap about halfway through the episode.
Blossom wanted to wake her up, and to tease her a little bit - 'oh you can't be falling asleep without protection, silly girl' or something like that - but Blossom figured her friend would be too tired to appreciate the gesture anyway. Instead she settled for finally running her fingers through the girl's brown hair, just the way she liked it when others would do with her own blonde hair.
"Sweet dreams, little girl," Blossom said softly.
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