Work Text:
Amanda knew she shouldn’t have agreed to this.
“It’ll be fun, c’mon.” Angela had told her. “We can help each other out on the sketches for the pod and then just talk shit and watch a movie afterwards!”
Just one look at her sparkling, doe-like eyes and her cheeky grin and it was over for Amanda, apparently. Folded like a stack of cards. Shayne would’ve made fun of her for being ‘down horrendous’ (whatever that meant) had he overheard this conversation because really, how could she say no to such a simple invitation? Who could say no to Angela?
(Not Amanda, that’s for-fucking-sure.)
It’s just a sleepover, Amanda. She reasons in her head, though her internal monologue sounds a bit mocking due to her cynicism. You literally don’t have to worry about it, the most that will happen is either Angela accidentally kicking you off the bed or her farting in her sleep.
She nods to herself, psyching herself up and undoubtedly gaining some weird glances at the crew members passing her by. Amanda’s determined, focused. Giving herself a pep talk on something so laughably mundane as a sleepover. And she would be laughing, if it was anyone else, but its—
Angela’s her friend, is the thing.
A good friend. A really good friend that invited her to a sleepover and has one queen-size bed. A really good friend that doesn’t know that her other really good friend likes her in a non-really-good-friend kind of way. Has been liking her in that way for months.
Amanda scrunches her face at the thought.
It’s stupid. This is stupid, and this is already giving her a headache. They’re still in the middle of a work day—she has another shoot in an hour with Angela of all people. Stressing out on some sleepover because she’s been having feelings for her best friend for months should be the least of her priorities right now. Directing her focus back to work proves to be difficult with those thoughts swimming around her head, the script in front of her looking barren. Amanda tries to continue the sketch she’s written, wracking her brain for ideas on how to complete this one bit, but she comes up with nothing. The word document stares at her in contempt.
She sighs.
“What’s got you in a mood?”
She turns her head in surprise to see Shayne, eyebrows raised in interest. Amanda rolls her eyes.
“Nothing, mister. Now shoo.” She makes a shooing motion. “You’re distracting me, and you’re not even allowed to look at this.”
“I can’t be that distracting when you’ve been staring at your laptop for five minutes.” He snarks, and Amanda’s so close to lobbing a candy wrapper at his head. He pulls up a chair to sit near her. “Come on, what’s up? We’re not needed on the Games set ‘til the next hour anyways.”
“Man, I’ve been drawing a blank in this sketch.” She leans back in her own chair. “Brain’s not working today, I don’t know. Maybe I need a coffee.”
“Is that for our next Smosh Mouth ep?” She nods. “Why don’t you ask help from Tommy? Or Angela?”
Amanda fights the urge to fidget at the mention of the other woman. “Uh, Tommy’s busy editing his show, and–well—”
She pauses, considers whether she should tell Shayne about her plans tonight or not. After a moment, she relents.
“I’m going to Ang’s place tonight, so we might workshop our sketches for a bit.” She taps her nails on the table. “I don’t know, I guess I wanna have something worth going over, and so far I only have a bit and half a joke.”
Her nails continue to tap on the table, as her other hand reaches her laptop to check on her progress. Shayne cocks his head at her words.
“Huh.”
Oh, she doesn’t like that tone. She looks at him. “Huh, what?”
“Nothing.” He replies innocently. “Just—interesting that you have plans with Angela tonight. Hm.”
Amanda tries not to be indignant. “Okay, enough with the smarm. Don’t you have an iPad to look at or whatever?”
“Hey, I’m not saying anything!” Shayne raises his hands in surrender, before smirking. “Just, y’know, have a good time later.”
He grins at her, and she really throws a piece of scrap paper at his forehead this time. Shayne’s a nice guy—he won’t press for questions or be a dick about it if she really was uncomfortable, but damn if he isn’t a smug lil’ fucker about her predicament with Angela. He bids her good luck before walking away—to annoy another crew member, Amanda presumes. After a few minutes of staring at her laptop, she closes it shut before grabbing her phone to scroll through TikTok instead.
Might as well just get some actual work done when she’s at Angela’s place. That’s if she doesn’t act like a dumbass with a crush the whole night and she actually gets some work done, that is.
It’s fine. She’s fine. What’s the worst that could happen?
The rest of the work day goes by without a hitch, for the most part. Shayne gives her a pleased smile when she sits next to Angela for the Games video they’re filming, but she shoots him a stern look before the cameras roll that has him back off. She knows Shayne’s just teasing her, that he wouldn’t actually do something that’ll make her look like an idiot, but she already has to keep her feelings at bay when she’s right next to the person she has feelings for—she doesn’t need the blond’s knowing gaze boring at her to add to the equation. Sitting next to Angela at their tiny gaming table is already hard enough: she wills her skin not to feel clammy whenever Angela touches her bicep or grabs her hands in excitement. She manages to school her face to only mild amusement whenever she catches herself staring fondly at Angela. She has this in the bag—she’d clap herself in the back if she could.
They wrap up the shoot, and Angela asks her if she wants to grab a ride on the way back to her place. Amanda politely declines to the best of her ability, tells her that she needs to do a few errands before she drives to Angela’s apartment.
(It’s only a half-truth: she does need to pick up her laundry first, get some spare clothes and grab her overnight bag before staying the night, but she’d be lying to herself if the decision wasn’t made by Amanda thinking of spending the next 20 or minutes in a car with Angela and only Angela and panicking internally.)
So she packs up her things, and bids the cast and crew members that are still in the office goodbye. The drive back to her own place gives her enough time to calm her nerves, brain half-forming a game plan on how she’ll act around her Angela tonight. Not that she needed any coaching (a flat out lie), but reminding herself of what the both of them will do when they hang-out is a surprisingly neat way of calming herself down.
You’ll eat dinner, go through your sketches, and will probably watch a movie or NCIS. You’ve got this, Amanda. Do NOT fuck this up. The thoughts flit through her mind as she crosses intersections and passes by traffic lights, the drive feeling like thirty minutes instead of her usual fifteen the entire time.
She picks up her laundry and shoves anything that’s needed in her overnight bag once she reaches her house. She goes back to her car and then, it’s now or never.
She pulls up to the parking space of Angela’s apartment complex, trying to steel her nerves. Christ, she’s thirty-five, and yet she feels like her twenty-year-old self again; sneaking off to someone else’s dorm room in the middle of the night, high on the risk of doing something she’s not supposed to be doing. Except this time it’s about seven in the evening and the sneaking out aspect feels futile as an adult. Amanda drums her fingers on the steering wheel in an attempt to pass the time, trying to collect herself. She fires a quick text to Angela to let her know she’s here, and eventually, grabs her stuff from the passenger seat and walks up to Angela’s apartment complex, movements stilted the entire time.
Making sure that the door in front of her is actually her friend’s place and not some stranger’s, she knocks quickly and waits.
It’s fine. She’s fine. She adjusts the strap on her shoulder, feet shifting from side to side. It’s fine.
The door opens, revealing Angela. She’s still in her clothes from hours before, looking tired, but her eyes go bright at the sight of Amanda.
“Took you long enough.” She comments by way of a greeting, and Amanda chuckles as she enters the room, closing the door gently on the way in.
It’ll be fine.
The nervous energy emanating inside her goes away as the night passes, and Amanda wants to smack herself in the head for thinking that she had anything to worry about in the first place. They fall back on the familiar energy they always have when they’re in the office, albeit less chaotic. More grounded. The kind of familiar energy that happens once there’s no one to feed off of except each other’s. Dinner is peaceful but not dull; catching up with each other’s lives as they don’t really have the time for that when they’re in the middle of a shoot week. Amanda lets herself enjoy the moment rather than anticipate the dread of something going wrong, complimenting Angela on her dinner choice (Vietnamese food from their favorite take-out place) and trading jokes with her.
They finish dinner, and Amanda loads their dishes in the dishwasher (much to Angela’s protests). If she convinces herself enough, she can already see the rest of the night passing by without any problems. She’s keeping her feelings in check, and she hasn’t done anything weird like stare at Angela too long while in the middle of a conversation with her. As long as nothing embarrassing happens—like, let's say, accidentally confessing to her when she’s too tired to process what she’s saying before they go to sleep—then it’ll just be like any other hang-out they’ve done.
A different kind of worry enters her mind once they’re done with dinner. They vacate the kitchen to go to the living room couch, and Amanda tries to make herself comfortable as they work on the sketches they’ll read for the podcast. About an hour passes as they volley ideas back and forth, trying to figure which bit makes sense or which joke lands the hardest, but she still can't finish her own writing. She feels the frustration creeping in, and Amanda almost considers scrapping her sketch entirely and starting a new one, but she tries to push through.
It doesn’t really help that she feels discontented rather than enjoying the moment of working with Angela, and several minutes pass before she sets her laptop on the coffee table.
“I give up, man.” She groans, rolling her neck and hearing a soft click. “Nothing’s moving from my bit, I feel like I didn’t bring in my A-game tonight.”
“Hey, dude, relax.” Angela soothes, looking away from her own laptop to turn to her. “We don’t need to rush the writing, we can take until tomorrow to finish it.”
“I know. It’s just,” Amanda sighs, leaning back on the couch. “I don’t want to take up the entire night, y’know? This is supposed to be a fun night, can’t have it be fun if we’re just gonna sit on our asses and try to write jokes the whole night.”
“Hey, I’m having fun. Who said I’m not having fun?” Angela counters, fondness seeping into her voice. “Tell you what, let’s just finish what we can tonight, and if it’s not done—fuck it, we can always help each other out when we have time tomorrow.” She gives her an encouraging smile. “Sound good?”
Amanda sighs. “You’re right.”
“Thought so, bitch.”
“Shut up! I’m trying to be nice.” She giggles. “Alright, fine, let’s finish what we can in fifteen, and then we can watch a movie.”
“You got it, captain.”
The nerves return in full force once they head to Angela’s bedroom.
Shit. Amanda doesn’t know if it’s the glass of wine she downed while they were watching a movie or her own stupid anxiety getting the better of her, but sleeping next to Angela feels more daunting than ever. She tries to shake it off as Angela is getting ready in her bathroom, getting her sleep clothes out of her bag before grabbing her phone to waste some time. Sleeping next to her was never this nerve-wracking, as they’d spent the night in each other’s place a few times in the past few months. Granted, she’s never understood the full magnitude of her affections during those said few months, and it's only recently that she’s come to terms with the fact that her feelings for Angela all this time were more than friendly. Maybe she was also nervous during those few times were Angela slept at her place and vice-versa, maybe she wasn’t—all that matters is that she’s nervous now, and it’s not going to go away anytime soon now that she’ll be in close proximity with her.
She scrolls through her phone with a little more force than necessary. At least Shayne will have the time of his life when she inevitably spills this moment to the man.
The bedroom door opens, and Angela steps in, looking comfy in a loose tank top and sweatpants. Her grip on her phone almost slips, desperately trying not to think about the bare skin that’s showing, shoulders and forearms still a bit damp from her shower. She’s usually so much more composed and in control of herself, all professional—even if Smosh’s brand of humor is improvised unprofessionalism. But maybe that’s just the effect Angela has on her; she throws her off-kilter, disorients her in a way that sets her body alight with anticipation.
She really doesn’t know what to do with herself, when she’s with Angela, and maybe that’s what made her so nervous the most.
“Bathroom’s all yours,” Angela murmurs, suppressing a yawn. Amanda throws her a quick ‘thanks’ as she passes by her in hurried steps, trying not to look like she needs the space of the doorframe in between them. She quietly closes the door and heads off to the bathroom to take a quick shower.
Taking the time to lay out her clothes and her toiletries keeps her mind occupied, focusing on other things that’s decidedly not how much she looks like a lovesick mess at the mere sight of her friend in pajamas. She curses at her choice of sleepwear (why the hell did she not notice that she grabbed sleep shorts instead of pajama pants is her guess) but also sends out a silent blessing for remembering to pack her body wash and lotion.
(She already sees the spare toothbrush at the counter, Amanda doesn’t need to think about possibly smelling like Angela too if she forgot her own damn body wash.)
Her mind goes on autopilot as she takes her shower, can’t really decide if she wants to have a quick one (still smelling Angela’s shampoo and soap can be a bit overwhelming, she confesses.) or deciding that she wants to take her time (she doesn’t want to face the bedroom ordeal already), but by the time she makes up her mind, she’s already done, and there’s nothing left except to change into her sleep clothes and go back to Angela’s bedroom.
If she could lean her head on the shower tiles and let out a loud groan in frustration, she would.
Once she comes back, Amanda stares at the bed like it’s a challenge to be conquered. Angela’s already checking her phone idly as she’s enveloped by the covers, looking snug.
“You gonna sleep or not?” She asks, looking up after a few minutes. Amanda shakes her head.
“Yeah, yeah I’m coming.” She tells her, trying to twist the slight shake in her voice to a snarky retort. She lifts the sheet and climbs in on the unoccupied side of the bed, making herself comfortable (or as comfortable as she can be with Angela’s warmth just inches away from her). Angela yawns, and moves to switch off the light next to the bed frame.
“G’night.” She murmurs. “If you cuddle me in the middle of the night, don’t worry. M’not gonna kick you off.”
Amanda snorts halfheartedly at the quip. Finally, she can feel sleep take over her. “In your dreams, Ang.”
It turns out, she’s a light sleeper in the right (or wrong) circumstances.
She does manage to fall asleep a few minutes after the light gets turned off, worry muted into the back of her mind. It’s replaced by something fleeting, momentary thoughts about nothing in particular. The crease between her brows smooths out, finally relaxing underneath the covers and letting herself get washed away by her dreams.
That is, until she feels a body shifting beside her.
The movement wakes her up a bit, bleary-eyed and clearly still foggy from sleep, as she turns her head to find out what caused that commotion. She finds Angela closer than she would’ve expected, face pinched as if she were in pain.
“Ngh.” Angela whimpers, eyes still shut as she turns to her side. The noise alarms Amanda as she sits up a bit, worried that she’s somehow hurt herself in her sleep or is on her way to getting sick, and she almost shakes the other woman awake until she hears something that stops her in her tracks. Her soul almost leaves her body once she realizes what the noise is—and more importantly, where the noise is coming from.
“Fuck, babe I—“ Angela breathes out softly, pulling the sheets closer to herself. “—There, yeah. Right there.”
Amanda rapidly blinks her sleepiness off. No, not this. Anything but this. This cannot happen right now.
In her shame, she feels her entire body ignite. Her head swivels across the room, trying to find a way out of this. She considers shaking Angela awake again, but comes up short on what excuse she will give when the other woman wakes.
Hi, yeah, sorry to wake you Ang but you look like you were deadlifting something in your sleep and I was worried you would pull a muscle. Angela, wake up! Shit, sorry, I thought you were having a nightmare.
She shakes her head. Fuck this. No amount of excuses will make up for the inevitable moment of Angela realizing what was her dream about and making the entire night (and probably the whole week, or the whole forever while working at Smosh) awkward between them. Amanda considers just keeping this to herself and going back to sleep, for the sake of her sanity and Angela’s dignity, but the thought of Angela unconsciously doing it again has her up and ready to bolt.
As Amanda shifts her position, she can feel a slight dampness between her thighs, and the mortification of it shocks her enough to grab a pillow and swing her legs off the bed. Screw it—she is not going back to bed turned on because her best friend is having a wet dream beside her. She’s taking the couch, and if Angela asks why, she’ll just rattle off some flimsy excuse about accidentally being kicked off.
She carefully swings her legs off the bed, feet almost touching the floor, when she freezes at the noise coming from the other side again.
“ ‘Manda,” Angela moans out, leg twitching underneath the covers. “God, there, please—“
Amanda nearly goes catatonic. So that’s what she had to worry about, that was the worst that could happen: Her. Angela was having that kind of dream about her.
Oh.
“Oh my god.” She says a little bit too loudly, alarmed, and she slaps a hand to her mouth at the sudden outburst. Sadly, her yelp causes Angela to wake up, and Amanda can only stare in horror as her eyes begin to open.
“Wh—?” Angela rumbles, voice rough with sleep. She opens the bedroom light again and finds Amanda completely sat up, cheeks almost beetroot red and looking anywhere but her.
“Did I wake you up, dude?” She asks, a bit embarrassed. “Sorry if I move around in my sleep a lot, bad habit. I’ll scoot away so I don’t smack you in the chest or anything.”
Thankfully, Amanda finds her voice before Angela turns off the lights again. “No! No, you didn’t kick me. Just, um—” She clears her throat. “You were talking in your sleep and it woke me up.”
“Shit, really?” Angela grumbles, rubbing her eyes. “Damn, even in my sleep I can’t seem to shut the fuck up.” She chuckles, a low sound, and Amanda’s stomach coils tighter. “Wasn’t anything bad, was it?”
Amanda’s face contorts in a grimace. The air in the room goes from breathable to stifling.
“Well! I mean—” She stammers, trying not to focus on the slope of Angela’s neck, her sleep-mussed hair. “You were talking in your sleep, and when I checked on you it looked like you were in pain? So I was gonna wake you up because I thought you were having a nightmare or something but, no. You were just having…a dream.” Her voice falters at the end. “A really good dream.”
Amanda lets the words hang in the air as Angela goes from puzzled to wide-eyed.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. And what was—whose name were you calling out a while ago?” She licked her lips, noticing that Angela’s gaze quickly darted to her mouth. “Because it sounded like—“
It takes a second for Angela to process her words, but as soon as she remembers her face goes impossibly white, to the point that Amanda is worried that she’s going to pass out.
“Oh my god.” Her voice was just barely a whisper. “Oh my fucking god, it was—“
Angela squeezes her eyes shut and covers her face, trying not to induce a panic attack on herself. “—Shit, shit, shit. I am so, so sorry you had to hear that, I–I swear I wasn’t having a wet dream about you on fucking purpose. Oh my god you must think I’m a creep—“
Angela’s panicked explanation gets a little bit muffled in Amanda’s ears, though she is guilty of admitting so. Angela’s stuttered response and her own loud heartbeat turn into a swelling of muted noise, as three thoughts register in Amanda’s head:
- She needs to do something before Angela actually does go into a panic attack.
- Something in her short-circuited when Angela confirmed she was having a wet dream about her.
- She’s too keyed up from the information presented to not do something.
Amanda’s mouth opens before she has any time to think. “Did you want any help with that?”
“—I can take the couch, and I can ask Court if Tommy or Shayne can take my place for the shoot tomorrow. I’ll leave you alone for the week if you wa—“ Angela’s jaw snaps shut, suddenly losing all steam. “I’m sorry?”
“Well, I mean—i-it looked like you were having a good time and—and I hate to be the one to leave you high and dry, so.” Amanda’s face reddens. (Oh my god, what the fuck is she saying— ) “Maybe I could…help. Help you. Help you with your problem.”
The shorter of the two gapes at her, and now Amanda feels like she’s the one who’s gonna go into a panic attack until Angela speaks up. “You want…to help me. Get my rockers off.” She says slowly. “After hearing me have a wet dream about you.”
Amanda shrugs. “Looked like it was a good dream.”
“Do not say that, oh my god.” Angela goes red again, though her tone is more heated than embarrassed. She crawls deeper into the bed if it were possible. “You can’t just offer to help someone get off after they had a wet dream, bro.”
The tension in the room deflates, if only a bit, and Amanda snorts at her friend’s tone.
“Why not, dude?” She teases, leaning closer to Angela before making a bold move. She pulls the covers off and swings her leg to suddenly straddle her, and the move almost knocks the wind out of Angela. “This not what you wanted?”
She tilts her head, and Angela softly grasps the hem of her shirt to protest. “No, no hey—shut up. I really, really want this, but is it just me who’s freaking out? Because, yeah—you, here, on top of me is like, really fucking hot,” Angela rambles again, her hand letting go to rest on Amanda’s thigh. “You’re really fucking hot, but I wasn’t exactly expecting this when I asked you to spend the night here—“
Amanda cuts her off with a kiss before she can ramble further. It wasn’t exactly like she had thought it would go; their first kiss is heady already, with Angela’s hand cupping the back of her neck and their mouths hungry for something more. She feels inebriated already, drunk on the way Angela’s lips feel against hers.
When they both pull away, Angela’s red from cheek to sternum, already looking thoroughly fucked even if they haven’t done anything yet. Amanda must not be far from looking wrecked either, can hear her own shallow breathing in the quiet of the room.
We’re really doing this, Amanda thinks, still in disbelief. Angela’s right; she didn’t think agreeing to spend the night with her would’ve led to this—practically fearful at the thought of doing something stupid instead—but she’d be a liar if she said that she hadn’t been wanting this for a long time.
Amanda is the one to break the silence. “To answer your question—yes, I’m also freaking the fuck out, but it’s you. And you don’t need to freak out because it’s just me, so.” She rests a hand on Angela’s forearm as a way of calming her. “All that I gathered from your rambling is that you think I’m hot. Mind sharing with the class?”
“Why are you surprised?” Angela scoffs, blush still evident on her face. “Baby, you’re built like a dream. It’s hard to not not look away from you.”
Though the nickname isn’t new, Angela calling her baby goes straight to her core. She moves so she’s straddling Angela’s thigh instead, grabbing her hips and stroking the strip of skin that’s not covered by her tank top. Angela shivers at the contact.
“Looks like your dream might just come true, then.”
“This is already better than any dream I’ve had about you.” She breathes out, and Amanda’s smirk turns into a sly grin.
“You dream about me a lot, honey?”
“Of course you’d get an ego boost at that,” Angela’s retort gets cut off with a gasp, as Amanda dips a hand beneath her waistband. “Fuck—yeah, alright, this is like the third time this has happened. I thought it wouldn’t happen again tonight. There, ‘ya happy?”
Amanda bites back a grin at Angela’s frustrated tone. “Very happy.” She tells her sweetly, as her hand drifts down. Her other hand traces small circles on her hip, rubbing the expanse of skin underneath her tank top. She kisses Angela again, swallowing her moan when her finger teases her entrance, barely rubbing. She swipes her bottom lip with her tongue before pulling away.
“Not fair.” Angela pants, hips canting so she can get more friction. She has one hand grabbing Amanda’s arm and another snaking her waist, lazily scratching her back.
Amanda grips her hip tighter to stop it from angling up. “Nope, no moving.” She chastises. “Keep moving those hips and I’m going back to sleep, understand?”
Angela nods, pupils blown wide at Amanda’s commanding tone. “Crystal clear, ma’am.” She replies, biting her lip before smirking. “But who says I won’t just finish the job if you get back to sleep again?”
Amanda’s eyes go dark, chest rumbling at the mental image of the other woman touching herself as soon as she lies down. She presses a thumb to Angela’s clit at that.
“A lot of nerve for someone who’s shivering underneath me right now. You think my fingers aren’t better, honey?” She asks her, thumb circling her clit torturously slow, relishing the way Angela writhes below her.
“No—it–it’s so good. It’s better. I just need—“
She stops moving her thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure to make the other woman squirm.
“What do you need? Tell me.”
“Need you inside me.” Angela keens, voice ragged with want. “Want it so bad, please—“
Amanda’s merciful—and so fucking turned on—that she stops her teasing and presses a finger inside her, thumb rubbing her clit faster this time. Angela’s back arches off the bed as she lets out a loud moan, hand gripping tight on Amanda’s waist. In her lust-clouded brain, she hopes that it’s hard enough that it’ll leave a bruise the next day.
She presses a kiss on the juncture of Angela’s shoulder and neck before biting down on it, soothing the sting with a lick. “Gonna add another, m’kay?” She asks her, finger pumping in and out slowly. Amanda only gets a sharp nod in reply.
She adds another finger in and immediately feels the other woman clench around her. Angela gasps at the feeling, and ruts her hips for more contact. After a few moments, Amanda curls her fingers inside her, and the punched-out moan she gets has her grinding her hips faster on Angela’s thigh, chasing the same kind of pleasure.
Her fingers go in deeper, and Amanda hears Angela’s sharp intake of breath that lets her know she hit the right spot. She pumps faster this time, going from rubbing to curling her fingers then back to rubbing, her thumb still circling sloppily. She peppers kisses from Angela’s neck to her chest as she does this, feeling her clench tighter around her fingers.
“Close, I’m—” Angela tells her, voice wobbly as she pulls Amanda closer, rolling her hips in time with her thrusts. “I’m getting—”
Amanda drops her chin on her shoulder as Angela lets out a high whine near her ear, hips stuttering before it eventually stills. Her fingers come out dripping as she slides her hand away.
Amanda only gets about a few minutes of appreciating Angela's disheveled form when the other woman easily flips her over, situating herself between her thighs and pulling her sleep shorts off on the way down. It’s probably the hottest thing Amanda has seen her do.
“Shit, babe I—“ She gasps as she feels Angela press a kiss on her inner thigh. “ —I need you to—”
Angela presses kisses closer and closer to her dripping entrance, and she runs her tongue up and down her folds—Amanda’s taste sweet and perfect on her tongue. Amanda swears she can see heaven from the back of her eyelids and immediately runs a hand through Angela’s hair, tugging it lightly. Angela moans at the touch, which sends shivers from Amanda’s spine down to her thighs. Angela stops at her ministrations when she feels Amanda’s thighs shake, and by then, she moves up a bit, closing her lips around her clit and sucking lightly. The growl that comes out of Amanda’s mouth is deep and throaty; almost wild. It’s music to Angela’s ears.
Angela doesn’t relent, alternating between flicking her clit with her tongue or sucking it. Amanda tugs on her hair, a bit harder this time, and Angela glances up to look at her state: chest heaving, neck bared as her head is tilted upwards, with her hair splayed around her.
She looks like a painting, Angela thinks, almost transfixed at the sight before she resumes her task. She goes back to dragging her tongue up Amanda’s entrance, feeling her getting close.
“Ang, I’m—” Amanda whimpers, pressing her hips closer to Angela's tongue if it were possible. She feels it, the pleasure building up, so close to pushing her off the edge.
Angela stops for a moment to look back up at her. “Wanna hear you, baby.” She requests, almost reverent, and sinks her tongue inside her. It’s when Angela curls her tongue does Amanda feel like lightning struck her down.
She comes undone soon enough, thighs wrapped tight around Angela and feeling like all the air in the room got sucked out. She comes with a deep groan, repeating Angela’s name like a mantra, her tongue working her through it. She comes back up not much later, mouth shiny and hair untamed.
“That was—”
“—Yeah.” Angela husks as she sits at the edge of the bed, smooths her hair down to have some semblance of modesty. Amanda takes in her warm eyes, the strap of her tank top that slipped off from her shoulder. She looks like an angel.
Amanda smiles. God, she must look like a mess right now. “C’mere.” She tells her, and Angela obliges, moving closer so that they’re hip to hip. Their arms press against each other, and the nervousness once again crawls up her sternum.
“I just—I hope you know I didn’t do this because it turned me on when I heard you call out my name like that.” Amanda rambles, palm resting on Angela’s chest. “I like you—really like you. For a while now, actually, and—uh, this wasn’t just a one-and-done, for me. If that’s alright.”
Angela snorts. “Only you would confess your feelings to me after you’ve fucked me within an inch of my life.” She grabs the hand that's on her chest to rest it between them, rubbing her knuckles. “And for the record, I really like you too. If it wasn’t obvious enough, idiot.”
The argument dies on Amanda’s tongue. “Idiot.” She tells her instead, pulling her closer so she can kiss her properly this time.
They clean up after a few minutes, and Amanda pulls Angela’s body flush against hers, chin resting on her shoulder and arms snaked around her middle. She presses a kiss on Angela’s nape, feeling weightless. They manage to fall asleep at three in the morning, sweaty bodies intertwined. It’s the best sleep Amanda’s ever had this week.
(The both of them wake up with aching muscles and rumpled clothes. Angela spends the rest of her day in the Smosh office with a sore neck that she’s desperately trying not to show.
When Shayne takes notice of their stiff movements at the start of their lunch break, he takes a seat next to Amanda.
“So I take it you didn’t do any writing last night.” He jokes, opening a can of La Croix. “Chanse owes me fifty, by the way.”
She pinches him hard on his side as soon as he takes a swig, making him choke.
“Oh, shut the hell up.” )