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femslashficlets2020-06-09 12:27 pm
ilthit) wrote in femslashficlets2020-06-09 12:27 pm
Entry tags:
[264] Yum (Community)
Title: Yum
Fandom: Community
Pairing: Annie Edison/Britta Perry
Rating: explicit
Prompt: 264 Scent
Word Count: 1,000
Summary: Annie and Britta sneak away from Shirley's Greendale reunion barbecue.
Notes: Also written for Trope Bingo and "food porn" and Season of Kink "in public".
“Shirley is going to kill us.”
“Shirley’s not going to kill us, because Shirley will never find out.”
Annie could be terrible sometimes. Britta kinda loved it, just like she loved those clever little hands wandering up under her shirt. She knew Annie liked that dip between her hip and her waist, and maybe it had been exactly why she’d worn her old low-cut jeans with the long polo shirt to Shirley’s Greendale reunion summer barbecue.
That shirt was simple and dark gray, perfectly modest, yet easy to push up and out of the way. That had also been the plan. Annie’s hands snuck up higher, across Britta’s belly, her fingertips brushing the underband of her bra.
Britta’s back was pushed against a giant ornamental chestnut tree, just out of view of the court, surrounded by tall bushes. It was a make-out spot everyone knew about. She’d been out here before for disappointing fumbles with more men than Annie knew about, and one girl she did know about, because when they’d first crossed that line, Britta had spoken for over an hour without stopping and told Annie everything. Every little thing about all the girls she had ever looked at and then never said anything about, at summer camp, gym class, or when getting high at an artist commune. About how she had always been dancing around this something, this queerness that she’d never been able to bring into the light because the most difficult, the most unattainable thing in this world was being true to yourself. Knowing who you are. Allowing for it.
She’d struggled with it all her life, and admitting even a part of the truth to herself had the scariest thing she’d ever done. There were still vistas of her surrounded by barbed wire and signposts spelling out self-help slogans.
“Fuck,” she breathed as Annie’s hands slipped under the loose band of her bra and brushed against her nipples. (And she knew Annie would be glowing with happiness right now, so she let it happen, Shirley or no Shirley. The only thing Annie loved more than rules was breaking them.) This, at least, was simple and immediate.
A touch of wind eddied through the grounds and brought with it the smell of frying meat. Britta didn’t eat animals, and yet the animal in her salivated. The appetite mixed in with the red-purple burst of pleasure as Annie’s mouth found her neck, leaving trails of apple-flavored lipgloss on her skin. There’d be apple pie as well, Britta knew, sticky and golden and glorious. Always too hot, but melting in your mouth just the same.
Annie’s index finger was in her mouth. She took hold of her wrist, between her sleeve and the bangles that Annie thought looked both feminine and serious enough for a real grown-up, and sucked in her middle finger as well. Her hips ground against Annie’s thigh, more for provocation than pleasure. Driving Annie each other wild.
They were really going to do this now, right here. She wound her tongue around Annie’s fingers, licked the line between them as if they were going to open and puff up under her tongue like Annie could, had, in their bed, at the back of Jeff’s car, that one time at the library ladies’ room. Annie gasped, and Britta released her wrist to undo her own jeans, push them down and out of the way just enough to let Annie’s hand in.
Annie kissed her hard, with teeth, as she transferred her fingers from her mouth to her pussy. Britta took hold of Annie’s hips, which were grinding the air with unconscious determination, like an engine. Annie’s free hand was in Britta’s hair now, pulling her curls into disarray.
“Fuck me, Annie, fuck me right here.” She knew Annie liked that too, the dirty talk. “God, you’re so gorgeous.” And the flattery, that never hurt, but Britta couldn’t have stopped the words if she’d wanted to. She opened her legs as far as she could in their prison of denim and Annie sunk her fingers into her with a groan, her own breath hot and needy on the crook of Britta’s neck.
They really couldn’t take all day at this, not with all the other couples that might stumble into the bushes and the barbecue queues starting to fill up, but Annie’s fingers kept going, the slick slide in and out coupled with the occasional flick of her thumb, and Britta came a little at first, then a lot a second time, and the third time she was moaning for mercy. Annie’s grin was wild and adoring, her face flushed with exertion and controlled want. Britta loved her in a lot of ways, but right now she was just the sexiest thing she had ever seen.
“Let me, let me,” Britta begged in the end, and at Annie’s imperious nod she sank to her knees and flipped up Annie’s skirt, buried her face between her legs.
She could feel Annie’s suppressed keening in the shivering of her thighs.
-
Britta didn’t really like the taste of peppermint, but it did get the sex smell off her breath. She was on her third mint, and Abed, goddamn him, looked at her like he knew what it meant—but that was just how Abed looked. Annie, for her part, looked as smug and smooth as a cat who’d got her cream.
The group settled down on the lawn on a picnic blanket, ignoring Jeff’s complaints. Shirley had flown over especially; he could put up with a few grass stains on his designer jeans. She beamed as she brought over plate after plate of food from the long table. Annie passed on the apple pie, and Britta seized it greedily. It would burn away the taste of those mints.
If Abed hadn’t known before, he certainly did after he saw the way Annie watched Britta suck the syrup off a slice of burning hot apple. But Abed never said anything.
Fandom: Community
Pairing: Annie Edison/Britta Perry
Rating: explicit
Prompt: 264 Scent
Word Count: 1,000
Summary: Annie and Britta sneak away from Shirley's Greendale reunion barbecue.
Notes: Also written for Trope Bingo and "food porn" and Season of Kink "in public".
“Shirley is going to kill us.”
“Shirley’s not going to kill us, because Shirley will never find out.”
Annie could be terrible sometimes. Britta kinda loved it, just like she loved those clever little hands wandering up under her shirt. She knew Annie liked that dip between her hip and her waist, and maybe it had been exactly why she’d worn her old low-cut jeans with the long polo shirt to Shirley’s Greendale reunion summer barbecue.
That shirt was simple and dark gray, perfectly modest, yet easy to push up and out of the way. That had also been the plan. Annie’s hands snuck up higher, across Britta’s belly, her fingertips brushing the underband of her bra.
Britta’s back was pushed against a giant ornamental chestnut tree, just out of view of the court, surrounded by tall bushes. It was a make-out spot everyone knew about. She’d been out here before for disappointing fumbles with more men than Annie knew about, and one girl she did know about, because when they’d first crossed that line, Britta had spoken for over an hour without stopping and told Annie everything. Every little thing about all the girls she had ever looked at and then never said anything about, at summer camp, gym class, or when getting high at an artist commune. About how she had always been dancing around this something, this queerness that she’d never been able to bring into the light because the most difficult, the most unattainable thing in this world was being true to yourself. Knowing who you are. Allowing for it.
She’d struggled with it all her life, and admitting even a part of the truth to herself had the scariest thing she’d ever done. There were still vistas of her surrounded by barbed wire and signposts spelling out self-help slogans.
“Fuck,” she breathed as Annie’s hands slipped under the loose band of her bra and brushed against her nipples. (And she knew Annie would be glowing with happiness right now, so she let it happen, Shirley or no Shirley. The only thing Annie loved more than rules was breaking them.) This, at least, was simple and immediate.
A touch of wind eddied through the grounds and brought with it the smell of frying meat. Britta didn’t eat animals, and yet the animal in her salivated. The appetite mixed in with the red-purple burst of pleasure as Annie’s mouth found her neck, leaving trails of apple-flavored lipgloss on her skin. There’d be apple pie as well, Britta knew, sticky and golden and glorious. Always too hot, but melting in your mouth just the same.
Annie’s index finger was in her mouth. She took hold of her wrist, between her sleeve and the bangles that Annie thought looked both feminine and serious enough for a real grown-up, and sucked in her middle finger as well. Her hips ground against Annie’s thigh, more for provocation than pleasure. Driving Annie each other wild.
They were really going to do this now, right here. She wound her tongue around Annie’s fingers, licked the line between them as if they were going to open and puff up under her tongue like Annie could, had, in their bed, at the back of Jeff’s car, that one time at the library ladies’ room. Annie gasped, and Britta released her wrist to undo her own jeans, push them down and out of the way just enough to let Annie’s hand in.
Annie kissed her hard, with teeth, as she transferred her fingers from her mouth to her pussy. Britta took hold of Annie’s hips, which were grinding the air with unconscious determination, like an engine. Annie’s free hand was in Britta’s hair now, pulling her curls into disarray.
“Fuck me, Annie, fuck me right here.” She knew Annie liked that too, the dirty talk. “God, you’re so gorgeous.” And the flattery, that never hurt, but Britta couldn’t have stopped the words if she’d wanted to. She opened her legs as far as she could in their prison of denim and Annie sunk her fingers into her with a groan, her own breath hot and needy on the crook of Britta’s neck.
They really couldn’t take all day at this, not with all the other couples that might stumble into the bushes and the barbecue queues starting to fill up, but Annie’s fingers kept going, the slick slide in and out coupled with the occasional flick of her thumb, and Britta came a little at first, then a lot a second time, and the third time she was moaning for mercy. Annie’s grin was wild and adoring, her face flushed with exertion and controlled want. Britta loved her in a lot of ways, but right now she was just the sexiest thing she had ever seen.
“Let me, let me,” Britta begged in the end, and at Annie’s imperious nod she sank to her knees and flipped up Annie’s skirt, buried her face between her legs.
She could feel Annie’s suppressed keening in the shivering of her thighs.
-
Britta didn’t really like the taste of peppermint, but it did get the sex smell off her breath. She was on her third mint, and Abed, goddamn him, looked at her like he knew what it meant—but that was just how Abed looked. Annie, for her part, looked as smug and smooth as a cat who’d got her cream.
The group settled down on the lawn on a picnic blanket, ignoring Jeff’s complaints. Shirley had flown over especially; he could put up with a few grass stains on his designer jeans. She beamed as she brought over plate after plate of food from the long table. Annie passed on the apple pie, and Britta seized it greedily. It would burn away the taste of those mints.
If Abed hadn’t known before, he certainly did after he saw the way Annie watched Britta suck the syrup off a slice of burning hot apple. But Abed never said anything.