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escritoireazulThis was the first story I wrote as a treat when it looked like I wouldn't be able to make "Golden Touch" work. I love Emily Kmetko a lot, despite how the show ended up treating her character, and summerstorm and I have talked about her a lot in the past. I find Payson and Emily's dynamic really interesting; Payson has had the best coaches and gyms, despite the fact her family isn't rich, while Emily, whose family is flat poor, has been teaching herself and working out at the Y before she joins an elite (expensive) gym. Payson is all strength and precision and perfection, at least when the show begins, and Emily is anger and stubbornness and distrust. They are both very, very good gymnasts, and I like the way season one works around them both.
Title: Mirror, Mirror
Author: escritoireazul
Characters/Pairings: Payson Keeler/Emily Kmetko
Author's Note: This is a transformative work of fiction set during season one, around "California Girls".
Written for: summerstorm as a Yuletide 2015 treat
Word count: 1,700
Rating: 16+
Content: underage sex
Read at AO3
Summary: Payson promised Emily she would help her find her inner winner, no matter what it took. (They're really through the looking glass on this one.)
Payson put her hands on Emily’s shoulders and pushed until she stood in front of the full length mirror tucked away in one corner of the bedroom. Payson’s room still looked like a gymnast’s room, though there are pieces missing, bare spots, cracks in trophies.
It looked like a storm had torn through it.
Payson was a storm, but the thought was fleeting, and Emily easily distracted when Payson ran her hands down Emily’s arms until her fingers wrapped around Emily’s wrists.
“Look at yourself,” Payson said.
Emily ducked her head, shifted a little, but she was careful not to bump too hard into Payson as she moved. She knew Payson wasn’t as fragile as she seemed right then, but she couldn’t help be gentle with her.
“Look,” Payson said again. Ordered. She moved one hand to Emily’s face, the heel of her palm against her throat, fingers on her jaw, and pushed up. There’s no real pressure to it, but Emily lifted her head anyway, because it’s Payson.
They looked strange in the mirror, Emily’s expression twisted, Payson’s, over her shoulder, fierce. Emily’s hands were sweaty, and she pressed them harder against her cotton pants, tried to wipe them dry without Payson noticing. Payson rubbed the back of her hand, light strokes of her fingers. That did nothing to help calm Emily down; if anything, it made everything worse.
“Who do you see?”
“Payson,” Emily said, voice trailing off.
“Yeah, okay, true.” Emily felt Payson’s laugh against her body, and it made her shiver. “You know what I mean.”
“I see me, okay?” The words burst out harder than Emily intended. She didn’t want to say anything at all. “I get it, I know I exist. I’m here. I’m real.”
Payson’s breath was warm against Emily’s cheek. “Do you know what I see?” Before Emily could respond, she continued, voice steady. It wasn’t loud, but it filled Emily’s ears until that was all she could hear. “I see Emily Kmetko, elite gymnast. Championship material.”
Emily’s cheeks burned, and despite the press of Payson’s fingers against her chin, she looked down. She’d been through this with Payson before, with her mother, with Sasha, with herself, over and over again, but in the end, that little voice in the back of her head never changed.
She couldn’t do this. She didn’t belong. She wasn’t worthy.
“Tell me who you are.”
Emily, voice gone, shook her head.
“You’re Emily Kmetko,” Payson said again, steady and slow. “You can win championships. You are a winner.” Again, twice more.
Then, patient and steady as a rock – the rock, the Rock’s golden girl – she waited, all silence and warm body and even breathing.
“I’m Emily Kmetko,” she repeated dutifully. That part was easy. The rest, it strangled in her throat. Payson slid her hands along Emily’s stomach, until her fingers pressed against Emily’s ribs. She’s a steady, strong presence at Emily’s back, held her tight as Emily breathed in, breathed out.
“I’m Emily Kmetko,” she said again, voice stronger. “I can win championships.”
“You’re going to win.” Payson’s hands pressed against her hard, grounding her even as sparks fizzed through her bloodstream, radiating out from every place their bodies touched.
“I’m going to win.” Emily said it flat, rote words, and even she could hear the dullness underlying her words. Without prompting, she tried again, put energy into her voice, straightened her back, drew herself up, shoulders back, chin high. “I am going to win.”
She could see herself in the mirror, and she looked strong, talented and confident, all of the things she’s never felt, all of the things she clung to, because when Payson told her they were true, she believed, at least for the length of a breath. She could see Payson, too, always so beautiful, all-knowing, perfect.
“You aren’t nobody, Emily.” Payson’s voice was low, and the intimate warmth in it made Emily’s heart clench. “You are somebody. You are so, so important.”
“Payson.” Her voice came as a whisper, breathy and weak.
“You’re a winner. I see it in you.” Payson rested her chin on Emily’s shoulder. “I wish you saw yourself the way I see you.” Her hands shifted, arms tightened, and their position went from two girls standing together to an embrace.
Or maybe Payson had been holding her the whole time, and Emily hadn’t even realized.
Payson pressed her lips to the side of Emily’s throat, and heat shot straight through her. She leaned back against Payson, tentatively placed her hands on top of Payson’s, then, when Payson didn’t pull away, laced their fingers together.
“I see you, Emily.”
That was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her. Sexiest, too. Her heart gave a great lurch.
It was stupid, or maybe brave, or both, but Emily let go of Payson and then turned, keeping as close as possible. She pressed one hand to Payson’s cheek; Payson’s hands hovered near her waist for a moment before dropping to rest on her hips.
“Thank you,” Emily whispered, then kissed her. Payson’s lips were soft, but immediately she turned the kiss firm, strong, and the stroke of her tongue across Emily’s lower lip, into her mouth, made Emily’s knees go weak. The kiss dragged on and on, until Emily’s lungs burned and her pulse pounded in her ears. Payson’s fingers dug into her hips, holding her still, and her mouth slanted across Emily’s; she nipped at Emily’s lower lip, made her gasp into the kiss, then soothed the spot with the sweep of her tongue.
When she pulled away at last, she left Emily panting, slumped forward, hands shaky, knees weak, lips swollen.
“Turn around.” Payson held tight to her hips even while Emily slowly turned, loathe to stop looking at her, still half in shock. “Look at the mirror, not me.”
“God, so bossy.” At last, Emily found her voice again. The words came out half laughter, and she was inordinately pleased when Payson grinned at her in the mirror.
“I’m good at being bossy,” Payson admitted, then pushed Emily a step closer to the mirror. “I’m good at lots of things.”
There was no way Payson could possibly mean that as dirty as it sounded. No way.
Except as she watched Payson in the mirror, and that slow smile of hers, Emily couldn’t help but think she knew exactly what she was doing.
“You’re good at things too.” Payson positioned herself behind Emily so that most of her body was blocked, but Emily could still clearly see her face. “And you’re going to tell me about them.”
Emily shook her head, cheeks hot.
“Yes, you are.” Payson slipped her hands under the edge of Emily’s shirt. Her fingers were warm and soft against Emily’s skin, only a hint of her calluses remaining. It hadn’t been that long since she’d last practiced. It amazed her how fast some of the marks of their dream faded, while others – the brace Payson wore at all times – lingered past their welcome, and the invisible ones longer still, that deep down need for success bubbling in their blood.
“Tell me something, anything, that you like about you and your gymnastics.” Payson skimmed her hands higher, hitching up Emily’s shirt, and for a second, Emily couldn't speak, couldn't even breathe. Payson’s hands went still, and she waited, patient and steady as she’s ever been.
Finally, Emily gathered herself. “I never give up.” Her voice shook a little, but she didn’t hesitate.
“Good.” Payson slid her hands higher, until her fingers just brushed the bottom of Emily's breasts.
“Oh.” That came out no more than a breath.
Payson’s smile widened. Emily couldn’t look away from her, the way she could watch Payson in the mirror, her face visible over her shoulder, her hands moving under her shirt. Emily’s nipples tightened, and she wanted to shift her weight, squeeze her legs together.
“Another.”
“Bossy.” But before Payson could respond, she kept going. “I’m strong. I have power, my legs, my core – and good extensions.”
Payson nodded encouragingly, and moved her hands higher. She tweaked Emily’s nipples, then dragged her blunt nails across them. Emily shuddered, pressed her thighs together, tried to get friction where she wanted it most.
“Payson,” Emily tried to say, but it came out more like please.
“Tell me something else,” she said, but slipped one hand back down Emily’s stomach, then into her loose cotton pants, beneath her underwear. The pads of her fingers rested against Emily’s lower stomach, just above the cradle of her pelvis.
“I can fly.” Emily’s eyes fluttered shut when Payson touched her, fingers slipping into her cunt, spreading her lips. She’s already wet, all that heat washing through her, Payson taking her apart with just words and all that intense focus. Her fingers unerringly found Emily’s clit, and Emily gasped, canted her hips forward, seeking more pressure.
“You can win.” Payson spoke directly into Emily’s ear, and Emily’s whole body clenched. “You are a winner, Emily. You just have to see it, see you, the way I see you.”
“I’m a winner.” Emily repeated it without being told. She opened her eyes wide, focused on the mirror, on Payson’s face, expression intense, on her own body, straight and strong even while she shook apart against Payson’s fingers. “I am a champion.”
“Yes!” Payson’s smile was wide and bright, one hand tight on Emily’s breast, the other worked steady between Emily’s legs. "Good girl, good job, Emily. You're doing great." Emily arched and twitched, hips knocked forward and back, and came, cried out, wordless. She only just managed to bite back the loud noise that tore free of her throat.
For a long time, Emily’s heavy breathing was the only sound that filled the room.
“What was that?” she asked at last, still gasping for air.
Payson's grin went impish. “Positive reinforcement.” She pressed a kiss to Emily’s cheek. “Maybe this time you’ll remember who you are.”
Emily flashed her a cheesy, shit-eating grin in the mirror. “I’m Emily Kmetko,” she chirped, “and I’m a winner.”
Payson pinched her, sharp, and made her squeal. “That mouth on you,” she said, shaking her head a little.
“I’m good at being snarky,” she said, intentionally echoing Payson’s words. “I’m good at lots of things.” Then, cheeks hot and bright red, she turned and met Payson’s gaze straight on. “I can show you what else my mouth can do.”
The look on Payson’s face was enough to tamp down Emily’s nerves, fear, embarrassment that she would do something wrong, because she had never really done anything like this before – Payson looked shocked, hopeful, hungry.
“C’mere, winner,” Payson said, and Emily obediently stepped in for a kiss.
Title: Mirror, Mirror
Author: escritoireazul
Characters/Pairings: Payson Keeler/Emily Kmetko
Author's Note: This is a transformative work of fiction set during season one, around "California Girls".
Written for: summerstorm as a Yuletide 2015 treat
Word count: 1,700
Rating: 16+
Content: underage sex
Read at AO3
Summary: Payson promised Emily she would help her find her inner winner, no matter what it took. (They're really through the looking glass on this one.)
Payson put her hands on Emily’s shoulders and pushed until she stood in front of the full length mirror tucked away in one corner of the bedroom. Payson’s room still looked like a gymnast’s room, though there are pieces missing, bare spots, cracks in trophies.
It looked like a storm had torn through it.
Payson was a storm, but the thought was fleeting, and Emily easily distracted when Payson ran her hands down Emily’s arms until her fingers wrapped around Emily’s wrists.
“Look at yourself,” Payson said.
Emily ducked her head, shifted a little, but she was careful not to bump too hard into Payson as she moved. She knew Payson wasn’t as fragile as she seemed right then, but she couldn’t help be gentle with her.
“Look,” Payson said again. Ordered. She moved one hand to Emily’s face, the heel of her palm against her throat, fingers on her jaw, and pushed up. There’s no real pressure to it, but Emily lifted her head anyway, because it’s Payson.
They looked strange in the mirror, Emily’s expression twisted, Payson’s, over her shoulder, fierce. Emily’s hands were sweaty, and she pressed them harder against her cotton pants, tried to wipe them dry without Payson noticing. Payson rubbed the back of her hand, light strokes of her fingers. That did nothing to help calm Emily down; if anything, it made everything worse.
“Who do you see?”
“Payson,” Emily said, voice trailing off.
“Yeah, okay, true.” Emily felt Payson’s laugh against her body, and it made her shiver. “You know what I mean.”
“I see me, okay?” The words burst out harder than Emily intended. She didn’t want to say anything at all. “I get it, I know I exist. I’m here. I’m real.”
Payson’s breath was warm against Emily’s cheek. “Do you know what I see?” Before Emily could respond, she continued, voice steady. It wasn’t loud, but it filled Emily’s ears until that was all she could hear. “I see Emily Kmetko, elite gymnast. Championship material.”
Emily’s cheeks burned, and despite the press of Payson’s fingers against her chin, she looked down. She’d been through this with Payson before, with her mother, with Sasha, with herself, over and over again, but in the end, that little voice in the back of her head never changed.
She couldn’t do this. She didn’t belong. She wasn’t worthy.
“Tell me who you are.”
Emily, voice gone, shook her head.
“You’re Emily Kmetko,” Payson said again, steady and slow. “You can win championships. You are a winner.” Again, twice more.
Then, patient and steady as a rock – the rock, the Rock’s golden girl – she waited, all silence and warm body and even breathing.
“I’m Emily Kmetko,” she repeated dutifully. That part was easy. The rest, it strangled in her throat. Payson slid her hands along Emily’s stomach, until her fingers pressed against Emily’s ribs. She’s a steady, strong presence at Emily’s back, held her tight as Emily breathed in, breathed out.
“I’m Emily Kmetko,” she said again, voice stronger. “I can win championships.”
“You’re going to win.” Payson’s hands pressed against her hard, grounding her even as sparks fizzed through her bloodstream, radiating out from every place their bodies touched.
“I’m going to win.” Emily said it flat, rote words, and even she could hear the dullness underlying her words. Without prompting, she tried again, put energy into her voice, straightened her back, drew herself up, shoulders back, chin high. “I am going to win.”
She could see herself in the mirror, and she looked strong, talented and confident, all of the things she’s never felt, all of the things she clung to, because when Payson told her they were true, she believed, at least for the length of a breath. She could see Payson, too, always so beautiful, all-knowing, perfect.
“You aren’t nobody, Emily.” Payson’s voice was low, and the intimate warmth in it made Emily’s heart clench. “You are somebody. You are so, so important.”
“Payson.” Her voice came as a whisper, breathy and weak.
“You’re a winner. I see it in you.” Payson rested her chin on Emily’s shoulder. “I wish you saw yourself the way I see you.” Her hands shifted, arms tightened, and their position went from two girls standing together to an embrace.
Or maybe Payson had been holding her the whole time, and Emily hadn’t even realized.
Payson pressed her lips to the side of Emily’s throat, and heat shot straight through her. She leaned back against Payson, tentatively placed her hands on top of Payson’s, then, when Payson didn’t pull away, laced their fingers together.
“I see you, Emily.”
That was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her. Sexiest, too. Her heart gave a great lurch.
It was stupid, or maybe brave, or both, but Emily let go of Payson and then turned, keeping as close as possible. She pressed one hand to Payson’s cheek; Payson’s hands hovered near her waist for a moment before dropping to rest on her hips.
“Thank you,” Emily whispered, then kissed her. Payson’s lips were soft, but immediately she turned the kiss firm, strong, and the stroke of her tongue across Emily’s lower lip, into her mouth, made Emily’s knees go weak. The kiss dragged on and on, until Emily’s lungs burned and her pulse pounded in her ears. Payson’s fingers dug into her hips, holding her still, and her mouth slanted across Emily’s; she nipped at Emily’s lower lip, made her gasp into the kiss, then soothed the spot with the sweep of her tongue.
When she pulled away at last, she left Emily panting, slumped forward, hands shaky, knees weak, lips swollen.
“Turn around.” Payson held tight to her hips even while Emily slowly turned, loathe to stop looking at her, still half in shock. “Look at the mirror, not me.”
“God, so bossy.” At last, Emily found her voice again. The words came out half laughter, and she was inordinately pleased when Payson grinned at her in the mirror.
“I’m good at being bossy,” Payson admitted, then pushed Emily a step closer to the mirror. “I’m good at lots of things.”
There was no way Payson could possibly mean that as dirty as it sounded. No way.
Except as she watched Payson in the mirror, and that slow smile of hers, Emily couldn’t help but think she knew exactly what she was doing.
“You’re good at things too.” Payson positioned herself behind Emily so that most of her body was blocked, but Emily could still clearly see her face. “And you’re going to tell me about them.”
Emily shook her head, cheeks hot.
“Yes, you are.” Payson slipped her hands under the edge of Emily’s shirt. Her fingers were warm and soft against Emily’s skin, only a hint of her calluses remaining. It hadn’t been that long since she’d last practiced. It amazed her how fast some of the marks of their dream faded, while others – the brace Payson wore at all times – lingered past their welcome, and the invisible ones longer still, that deep down need for success bubbling in their blood.
“Tell me something, anything, that you like about you and your gymnastics.” Payson skimmed her hands higher, hitching up Emily’s shirt, and for a second, Emily couldn't speak, couldn't even breathe. Payson’s hands went still, and she waited, patient and steady as she’s ever been.
Finally, Emily gathered herself. “I never give up.” Her voice shook a little, but she didn’t hesitate.
“Good.” Payson slid her hands higher, until her fingers just brushed the bottom of Emily's breasts.
“Oh.” That came out no more than a breath.
Payson’s smile widened. Emily couldn’t look away from her, the way she could watch Payson in the mirror, her face visible over her shoulder, her hands moving under her shirt. Emily’s nipples tightened, and she wanted to shift her weight, squeeze her legs together.
“Another.”
“Bossy.” But before Payson could respond, she kept going. “I’m strong. I have power, my legs, my core – and good extensions.”
Payson nodded encouragingly, and moved her hands higher. She tweaked Emily’s nipples, then dragged her blunt nails across them. Emily shuddered, pressed her thighs together, tried to get friction where she wanted it most.
“Payson,” Emily tried to say, but it came out more like please.
“Tell me something else,” she said, but slipped one hand back down Emily’s stomach, then into her loose cotton pants, beneath her underwear. The pads of her fingers rested against Emily’s lower stomach, just above the cradle of her pelvis.
“I can fly.” Emily’s eyes fluttered shut when Payson touched her, fingers slipping into her cunt, spreading her lips. She’s already wet, all that heat washing through her, Payson taking her apart with just words and all that intense focus. Her fingers unerringly found Emily’s clit, and Emily gasped, canted her hips forward, seeking more pressure.
“You can win.” Payson spoke directly into Emily’s ear, and Emily’s whole body clenched. “You are a winner, Emily. You just have to see it, see you, the way I see you.”
“I’m a winner.” Emily repeated it without being told. She opened her eyes wide, focused on the mirror, on Payson’s face, expression intense, on her own body, straight and strong even while she shook apart against Payson’s fingers. “I am a champion.”
“Yes!” Payson’s smile was wide and bright, one hand tight on Emily’s breast, the other worked steady between Emily’s legs. "Good girl, good job, Emily. You're doing great." Emily arched and twitched, hips knocked forward and back, and came, cried out, wordless. She only just managed to bite back the loud noise that tore free of her throat.
For a long time, Emily’s heavy breathing was the only sound that filled the room.
“What was that?” she asked at last, still gasping for air.
Payson's grin went impish. “Positive reinforcement.” She pressed a kiss to Emily’s cheek. “Maybe this time you’ll remember who you are.”
Emily flashed her a cheesy, shit-eating grin in the mirror. “I’m Emily Kmetko,” she chirped, “and I’m a winner.”
Payson pinched her, sharp, and made her squeal. “That mouth on you,” she said, shaking her head a little.
“I’m good at being snarky,” she said, intentionally echoing Payson’s words. “I’m good at lots of things.” Then, cheeks hot and bright red, she turned and met Payson’s gaze straight on. “I can show you what else my mouth can do.”
The look on Payson’s face was enough to tamp down Emily’s nerves, fear, embarrassment that she would do something wrong, because she had never really done anything like this before – Payson looked shocked, hopeful, hungry.
“C’mere, winner,” Payson said, and Emily obediently stepped in for a kiss.
