Chapter Text
Her lips are soft.
Oh god, that’s probably cliché, isn’t it? That another girl’s lips are soft?
But they are, they are, they are, and Maya doesn’t know what she was expecting, but she wasn’t expecting that. (Maybe she should have, though. Would little Ms. Perfect ever let her lips go chapped and dry? Perish the thought. Something about: “A von Karma is never found without a stick of balm.” Probably. Maya doesn’t know what rules the von Karma’s always held, but she’s reaping the rewards.)
Franziska makes a soft sound that opens her mouth. Maya likes to tease—an innate little sister instinct—but she doesn’t this time because Fran is obviously overwhelmed.
Her cheeks are flushed and rosey under her dark eyelashes. She breathes harsh and shaky against Maya’s mouth when Maya pulls away. And it’s kind of funny; if Maya removed her hands, would Franziska fall over? She wouldn’t, of course; she would never do that to Fran. But if she did…
“Earth to Franzi.” Maya giggles. She cuts herself off and drops her voice to half-muffle it. “Come in, Franzi. Kch. How’s it lookin’ up there? Kch. Over.”
“It’s… fantastic.”
“Kch. That’s great to—oh.” Maya blinks. “Yeah?”
And all of a sudden, all at once, there’s a very warm, flustered feeling in Maya’s chest. Rare, considering she’s usually the one that takes great delight in causing said flustering. Wow. Gosh. Gee. Yikes. Zoinks, Scoob. She laughs. “Uh, I think you mean Fran-tastic, right?”
Franziska sighs and just like that, the rare moment of her open and quiet awe is gone. “Don’t say that again.”
“Major bummer; you shot that one down fast. And here I thought it was cute!” Maya fake pouts. And right then and there, within the comfort of their usual banter, she remembers her hands are still on Franziska’s waist. She grins, looking at her hands. Then she glances back up at Franziska’s face. “But…could I at least kiss you again…?”
“I…” The red on Franziska’s cheeks spreads everywhere and fast. Her hands on Maya’s shoulders tighten. “W-well, I see no reason why not.”
Maya giggles. “Cool,” she says. She rises up onto her toes.
She counts it as a great success when Franziska’s fingers slowly, one by one, manage to relax. She presses Franziska more into the wall and hums against her lips. They are just as soft as the first time. Franziska’s fingers slip into her hair, curling over her scalp. They kiss and kiss—
—and kiss.
Like they have all the time in the world.