pineneedleshurt:

Their gazes hold as their laughter dims, a comfortable silence falling over Dipper’s bedroom. The merry twinkle in her dark eyes transforms into something more mischievous the longer Dipper stare. His hand lifts, stilling mid air for just a moment before his fingers gently tuck a pink and brown curl behind her ear. The pink highlights she put in her hair for Senior Spirit Week is beginning to fade, just in time for her upcoming prom pictures to be free of them.

He vaguely remembers Mabel once saying pink was her favorite color. But they had been children then, and not even a full day had passed before she proclaimed that actually yellow was her favorite color (and it would change again and again over the years until she settled on just saying that she loved every shade of the rainbow). But pink is definitely the color Dipper associates most with his sister.

Her cheeks are naturally rosy. But they seem pinker, warmer, against the palm of his hand as he now cradles her face. His thumb sweeps over the apple of her cheek, feeling it round to fullness when her lips stretch into a grin. Her rosebud mouth is shiny from gloss, and the tip of her bubblegum tongue teases the pad of his thumb. His responding gasp makes him pink in the face. Mabel giggles softly, and yanks him down by the collar.  

It’s a searing kind of kiss, filled with Mabel nibbling his bottom lip and her tongue flicking the roof of his mouth. It’s the kind of kiss that instantly makes him feel punchdrunk, and Dipper has to struggle to keep his wits about him. Their parents are home, and he’s pretty sure they didn’t lock the door, and…And…And Mabel’s bright pink finger nails are ranking down his back, sneaking under his shirt to do it again on his bare skin, and Dipper’s a shuddering mess for a few milliseconds.

His fingers curl into her scoop neck collar. Mabel pauses her assault on his mouth to make the ‘annoyed Marge Simpson’ groan. Dipper chuckles somewhat nervously against her lips. She’s lost a lot of tops this way; him eagerly tugging down the front of her shirt until her chest is exposed and effectively stretching the collar into ruin. She breaks the kiss just long enough to toss away her shirt.

Her bra is a pastel pink with little white hearts. It’s too cutesy to exude any kind of sex appeal. But Dipper is still one offbeat inhale away from hyperventilating when they resume the kiss, his hands groping the smooth cotton blend.

They keep kissing like this for almost twenty minutes.

At some point Mabel had crawled into lap, her thighs bracketing his hips . His kiss-bruised lips start to tingle. His eyes blink in a daze when he pulls back from her to breath. Mabel doesn’t seem ready for the makeout session to end, however, and starts peppering his jaw and neck with hot kisses. Dipper lets his head fall back to give her more access, his crown bumping his head board. He swallows back a groan.

They’ve done this a few times already, but Dipper’s hands still shake as he caresses the warm skin of her back. He still has to remind himself to breath when he clumsily unhooks her bra. His mouth still waters after Mabel does a silly little shimmy dance, and her breasts come into view.

Small, perky handfuls with little gumdrop nipples. The pale pink of her areola is so subdued compared to all the other pinks that make up his secret love. But it holds his full attention, and Mabel has to bite back a small moan from his reverent touches…

 Maybe pink is his favorite color?