Work Text:
Ema is five beers in, and she’s lost track of how much Franziska’s had. Her consciousness feels fuzzy around the edges, and the barriers she usually has up have crumbled.
She’s rambling about luminol, and Franziska is listening with rapt attention, hands folded on her lap. She’s so close that Ema can count each eyelash. Whoa, when did she get that close?
Before she realizes what’s happening, Franziska’s hands are on her face. Their lips brush together. It’s hesitant at first; then, Franziska swipes her tongue against Ema’s lower lip, and Ema is certain this is what heaven feels like.