Riptide (a camren fic)

Chapter 9: campbell's chicken noodle soup

A/N: HAVE FUN KIDS (apologies for any typos it's like 2 am rn and i have class in a few hours)

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Her eyes fall back down to her neighbor's lips. They're red and slightly swollen from their previous activity. Camila swallows thickly.

She wants to kiss her again, and it's scary how much she wants to. How primal and desperate the urge becomes deep in her core, burning like a low flame.

She licks her still tingling lips, and moves her hand to meet Lauren's. It's gripped tightly to Camila's duvet, knuckles white from strain, and suddenly Camila gets a heavy mental image of that same hand gripping the same sheets. Except, of course, both girls are in a much different position.

(And in less clothes).

Her eyes flicker back to Lauren's face who looks just about as flushed as she feels. She tries to gauge Lauren's expression. Tries to see if she can see the overwhelming feeling reflected in her green eyes.

Lauren's eyes are soft, as soft as her lips felt. It makes a warm sensation fan across Camila's chest being under the gentle gaze. Green eyes sweep over her, feeling like a delicate brush against her heated skin. She could get lost in them. If she wanted to. She wouldn't even have to try.

Their time alone is very short lived. After Camila gets over this embarrassment (and removes the stupid source of said embarrassment), they don't really have time for another kiss because then her mother walks in.

"Oh, Lauren," she exclaims.

Lauren immediately puts as much distance between them as possible, which both annoys and relieves her. She misses the absence of the warmth, but the same warmth was becoming relatively dizzy.

Lauren greets her mother sheepishly.

"I didn't know you were here. I would have made an another plate," she continues, eyes moving to Camila.

"I told you I was going out with Lauren today, Mami," Camila mutters.

"Mija, I don't think you should push yourself so hard."

"I'm fine." Her patience is wearing thin, and for the first time she doesn't think she can take any more of her mother's coddling.

Lauren glances down at her phone.

"I should probably head home," Lauren murmurs. "The girls are going to be here any minute."

"Well wait let me just pack a bag," Camila quickly says.

"I thought you said you didn't want to go," Lauren counters, surprising her with a sharp tone. Camila turns around to fully stare at her.

Wasn't Lauren the one who insisted upon her going? Going so far as to make her shove a tampon up herself?

(Incorrectly she might add).

She attempts to read her neighbor's expression again, but nothing is reaching out to her. It's a blank, pale slate, revealing absolutely nothing. Perhaps she had misread that or perhaps it's because of her deep rooted nature of seeing the negative of things. Camila dredges it up to that, as she moves to retrieve her backpack.

"You're the one that wants me to go," Camila starts, fumbling around for "beach"-y things. She tries to ignore the twinge in her chest as she realizes these "beach"-y things are stuff she hasn't touched in over a year. Sun glasses, sun block, bathing suit, beach towel.

She hesitates, packing her bag. A part of her wants to reach out and take the opportunity Lauren may have inadvertently given her – to cancel on the beach plans. But there's another part (an embarrassingly larger part) that wants to go, despite being in mixed company and despite being in the last place she'd ever want to be. And it's all because Lauren is going. That same part, she's beginning to realize, craves Lauren's presence so desperately.