Substitution
folder
1 through F › Bring It On
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
5,909
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
1 through F › Bring It On
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
5,909
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Bring It On, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Substitution
title: Substitution
author: cheebs!
rating: R
fandom: Bring It On
chara: Missy/other
summary: Yet another Missyslash angst ficlet. (Just what the world needed.)
disclaimer: Chara aren't mine, story is.
warning(s): f/f
archive(s): Silverlake, Fluent Fag, my site(s)
date: 05/03 - revised 08/19/03
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With her eyes closed:
She could pretend this wasn't the fire stairwell of the Hilton, or Sheraton, or whatever upper-middle-class hotel they were in. It wasn't 2 AM the night before Finals and her fingers weren't pounding into some girl whose name she couldn't remember, whose thumbnail was flicking her clit maddeningly, over and over until she was close, so close she wanted to scream and cry and die all at once.
She could imagine the hair against her cheek was golden, fine and smooth, not brown, coarse and wavy, not much different than her own. The vanilla perfume that choked her with its cloying sweetness anointed peaches-and-cream innocence personified, not a tanned demigoddess whose every word - every action - exuded sensuality.
She could fall, and Tor would catch her.
~end~
author: cheebs!
rating: R
fandom: Bring It On
chara: Missy/other
summary: Yet another Missyslash angst ficlet. (Just what the world needed.)
disclaimer: Chara aren't mine, story is.
warning(s): f/f
archive(s): Silverlake, Fluent Fag, my site(s)
date: 05/03 - revised 08/19/03
--------------------------------
With her eyes closed:
She could pretend this wasn't the fire stairwell of the Hilton, or Sheraton, or whatever upper-middle-class hotel they were in. It wasn't 2 AM the night before Finals and her fingers weren't pounding into some girl whose name she couldn't remember, whose thumbnail was flicking her clit maddeningly, over and over until she was close, so close she wanted to scream and cry and die all at once.
She could imagine the hair against her cheek was golden, fine and smooth, not brown, coarse and wavy, not much different than her own. The vanilla perfume that choked her with its cloying sweetness anointed peaches-and-cream innocence personified, not a tanned demigoddess whose every word - every action - exuded sensuality.
She could fall, and Tor would catch her.
~end~