Barbie races over to her love to see if he's okay.

Her stiletto heels clicked a frantic, uneven rhythm on the linoleum, each step sending a jolt up her slender, legs that vibrated through the newly awakened nerve endings clustered deep within her pelvis – a distracting echo of the recent, shattering pleasure. She wobbled dramatically, throwing out a hand to steady herself against a nearby sink, her perfectly sculpted nails scraping lightly against the cool metal. The scent of ozone and something vaguely chemical still hung in the air, but it was overpowered now by the cloying sweetness of her own perfume – a cloud of synthetic strawberries and vanilla that clung to her like a second skin – and the faint, lingering tang of the pearlescent fluid drying between her smooth, hairless thighs. Reaching his crumpled form, she sank down beside him with a flurry of rustling pink fabric, her descent less a graceful kneel and more a controlled collapse, her wide, guileless eyes scanning his pale face with seemingly exaggerated distress (she actually is like that). "Oh, poppet! Look what you've gone and done to yourself!" she cooed, her voice a breathy tremor of **** sympathy. One perfectly manicured hand, trembling slightly with the effort of maintaining its delicate posture, fluttered towards his cheek, hovering just above the bruise blossoming near his temple like an ugly, purple ink stain marring precious porcelain (to her).

Her hovering fingertips, painted a shell-pink that matched the flush blooming on her own cheeks, finally brushed the tender skin near his temple. Jimmy flinched, a ragged gasp escaping his lips as his eyelids fluttered aware, revealing eyes clouded with pain and disorientation. For one dizzying heartbeat, his gaze locked onto the impossible vision leaning over him – the cascade of platinum hair like spun sugar, the impossible curves barely contained by the scandalously short pink dress, the wide, artificially blue eyes brimming with saccharine concern.

His eyes, still hazy with pain, widened in dazed recognition, a flicker of something unreadable – shock? Fear? – darting across his face before dissolving into a weak grimace. "B-Barbie?" he rasped, the name tasting strange and thick on his tongue. Relief, effervescent and pink, bubbled up inside her, washing away the last vestiges of worry. "Oh, thank heavens, sugarplum!" she trilled, and before he could flinch again, she swooped down, pressing her impossibly soft, glossed lips firmly against his in a smacking, strawberry-scented kiss. It was less a romantic gesture and more an impulsive overflow of giddy relief, a physical punctuation mark to her joy at seeing him conscious.

His lips were dry and tasted faintly of copper – probably from the split lip he’d sustained when he’d fallen – but the contact sent a jolt through her nonetheless, a fizzy spark that danced down her spine and pooled low in her belly, reigniting the warm, slick ache that had only just begun to subside. She lingered for a moment, savoring the novel sensation, the yielding softness of her own lips against his, before pulling back with a soft, breathy sigh, a perfect pink ‘O’ of satisfaction. That’s when she felt it. A distinct, insistent pressure nudging firmly against the damp, sensitive apex of her thighs, right through the flimsy pink fabric of her dress and his worn denim jeans. It was hard, unyielding, and radiating a heat that seemed to sear her newly awakened flesh even through the layers separating them. Her gaze, wide and guileless, flickered downwards instinctively, her breath catching in a tiny, startled gasp. Oh. Oh my.

A wave of heat, entirely different from the lingering transformation glow, flooded her cheeks, painting them a deep, becoming rose that perfectly matched her lip gloss. A helpless, tinkling giggle escaped her, high-pitched and utterly delighted, as she squirmed almost imperceptibly against the rigid bulge, the friction sending delicious little shocks through her core.

The unexpected hardness pressed against her most intimate, sensitized flesh felt like a live wire, sending crackling currents of pure, unfiltered sensation radiating outwards, making her newly formed muscles clench involuntarily deep inside her sleek, unfamiliar core. That delicious, insistent pressure, combined with the lingering, phantom echoes of her transformation’s climax still humming beneath her skin, created a dizzying cocktail of need that made her head swim. Her breath hitched again, a soft, high-pitched whimper escaping her glossed lips as she instinctively pressed herself down harder against the denim-clad ridge, seeking more of that electrifying friction, her slender hips making tiny, involuntary circles. The flimsy barrier of her dress and panties felt suddenly, unbearably intrusive; she wanted to feel the raw heat of him, the texture of the fabric replaced by the scorching imprint of his desire. A flush, deeper and hotter than mere embarrassment, bloomed across her chest and down her throat, visible even above the low neckline of her dress, as a wave of pure, unadulterated feminine awareness washed over her.

"Oh, Jimmy!" she breathed, her voice a husky tremor laced with breathless delight, utterly unlike her usual saccharine chirp.