( whatever emotions sara's battling, linda's happily left unaware. she's not a mind-reader, after all, just a girl from central city who bailed after a guy couldn't make up his mind about what he really wanted, who's here to have a good time and get what she wants out of the deal. granted, she had made a wish that things didn't have to end between them in order to get here, but so what? the city had been pretty damn clear that she didn't have to use her earned magical stone for said wish. she could use it for whatever she wanted, whenever she was ready to go back home.
not that she'd earned it yet. that was sort of the whole point of this tent thing, after all. togetherness. cuddling. getting intimate. racking up the points. whatever you wanted to call it, they were all here to accomplish the same goals.
speaking of goals, linda really, really wanted to accomplish hers, preferably without having to get her nailbeds dirty with potting soil or dish soap. so having this girl — sara lance, who was unreasonably hot, who was clearly capable of both talking the talk and walking the walk — show her with absolutely zero restraint exactly who and what she wanted... well, it was more than enough for linda to shove down any sort of questionable thoughts about her own vague wandering path in this place as far fucking down as humanly possible in favor of shoving other things (namely: her own tongue) down other places (namely: sara lance's throat). could anyone really blame her?
and, as if she's not #intoit already, sara pulls herself as flush as humanly possible, until it's all linda can do not to gasp into the other girl's mouth, breath pushed out of her lungs by the weight of the embrace. it's past wanting. there's desperation there, like sara hasn't been touched in far too long — not that linda really believes that, given how unreasonably fucking hot she is, but hey. if sara's in the mood to pray for release, who is she to deny her charity? )
no subject
not that she'd earned it yet. that was sort of the whole point of this tent thing, after all. togetherness. cuddling. getting intimate. racking up the points. whatever you wanted to call it, they were all here to accomplish the same goals.
speaking of goals, linda really, really wanted to accomplish hers, preferably without having to get her nailbeds dirty with potting soil or dish soap. so having this girl — sara lance, who was unreasonably hot, who was clearly capable of both talking the talk and walking the walk — show her with absolutely zero restraint exactly who and what she wanted... well, it was more than enough for linda to shove down any sort of questionable thoughts about her own vague wandering path in this place as far fucking down as humanly possible in favor of shoving other things (namely: her own tongue) down other places (namely: sara lance's throat). could anyone really blame her?
and, as if she's not #intoit already, sara pulls herself as flush as humanly possible, until it's all linda can do not to gasp into the other girl's mouth, breath pushed out of her lungs by the weight of the embrace. it's past wanting. there's desperation there, like sara hasn't been touched in far too long — not that linda really believes that, given how unreasonably fucking hot she is, but hey. if sara's in the mood to pray for release, who is she to deny her charity? )