twentysomething

Warm smell of colitas-

Fandom: St. Trinian's School for Girls (2007 film)

Pairing: Annabelle/Kelly

Summary: "She looks like that girl who blokes call when they need to scare their mothers, that knows what she's on about, she looks like she wouldn't call her father- who wouldn't care- if she was going to be five minutes past curfew."

Length: 1750 wordsish.

Warnings: LADY PORN SWEET SWEET LADY PORN

Notes: Down to the wire on this one, eh? Delicious lady porn, but I'll be honest, I sort of... stop. Halfway through the porn. I'M A BAD PERSON, OKAY?


Annabelle feels like she's been in some sort of horrid, made-for-uncouth-teens film for months now, but really, the sweeping makeover montage is the last straw.


That being said, the poking, the prodding and the wandering hands from more or less every member of the student body was maybe worth it, because she's staring in the mirror and she looks, she looks-

Annabelle looks wild.

She looks like that girl who blokes call when they need to scare their mothers, that knows what she's on about, she looks like she wouldn't call her father- who wouldn't care- if she was going to be five minutes past curfew.

So even though it's still the same Annabelle who won't even say the word "Verity" or so much as nick a pack of sweets inside- on the outside, Annabelle believes that tomorrow she's going to help steal a piece of priceless art. She looks like the kind of girl who could do it.

That being said, she's still ready to piss herself over what they're planning, so, rather than spend the hours twitching in bed, anxious and fretful and still so Annabelle, she's sitting in front of the mirror, tugging on an insane curly lock, studying the new arch of her eyebrow, pouting and pursing her lips into curious moues.

"You're not having second thoughts, are you?" Kelly asks, suddenly and silently behind her, glossy, perfect black bob pressing against Annabelle's brown, Hermione-Granger-Gone-All-Naughty 'do, a smile stretched across her scarlet lips.

"Oh!" Annabelle gasps in a typical, stupid breathy noise of well-bred shock. "Oh, no, I mean, I meant what I said- what I said earlier. St. Trinian's is a... is my family." Kelly rolls her eyes, but there's a hint of exasperated fondness, of tolerance that's never been there in anyone's eye-roll before- and Annabelle has had so many pairs of eyes rolled at her.

"No, silly, about your new look," Kelly explains, patient, like Annabelle is a first-year- although the first-years are faster on the uptake than she is, anyway. Annabelle can only watch her carefully rouged cheeks glow pink under the makeup.

"Erm, no, I- I rather..." Annabelle trails off, absently lost in the way her eyelashes look so heavy, like her eyes might flutter shut any moment now. "I rather like it," Annabelle concludes when Kelly nudges her meaningfully.

"Good." Kelly says swiftly, hooking a finger under one of Annabelle's silly garters, letting the skinny elastic snap against Annabelle's thigh in this odd shock of pain and something else. "It suits you, you know." Annabelle blinks, because as enchanting as she finds herself- looking like this, free to act like this- she's painfully aware it's a dress-up costume.

She can't seem to help herself from looking like a nonce- ever- so, when "It does?" trips out of her mouth, as graceful as the rest of her, Annabelle is only mortified, rather than horrified. She was past due for some sort of twee outburst, anyway. Kelly just stares at her, and in the dim light of the dormitory, her eyes aren't brown, they're just dark and unreadable.

"Come along." Kelly says, pulling her up by the strap of her waistcoat, like an errant kitten. "One last thing for the night."

Annabelle can hear herself offering up excuses- they have a busy day tomorrow, surely it could wait, she doesn't mean to be a bother- but Kelly just drags her to some unknown corridor and into a further unknown chamber.

"Ah, where are we?" Annabelle asks meekly as Kelly flicks a latch, locking them in. Annabelle wonders if she's being inducted into the Fight Club.

"The French classroom," Kelly mutters as she lowers the shade in the door. Somehow, Annabelle doesn't think they're here for a language lesson. Kelly pushes her into sitting at one of the perversely posh desks.

"Now, St. Trinian's prides itself on preparing it's ladies for anything, everything and some things after that, too," Kelly starts, and Annabelle wonders if this is the ‘deportment and morals' talk she'd been expecting for the first twenty minutes, then lost hope of ever hearing. "Academically, you're far more rigorous than I particularly care for and you're actually coming along quite lovely all over in the criminal aspect of your education. All that aside, I'm afraid you're woefully behind, Fritton."

Annabelle blinks, because really, she's a member- if an ineffectual one- of the field hockey team, she's not all useless outside the classroom, and- and-

Kelly kisses her.

To say the least, Annabelle is completely petrified.

"Exactly what I meant," Kelly says, with an almost smug satisfaction. Annabelle's mouth moves fruitlessly, because Kelly's lipstick is just a touch smudged and that's, that's really quite- oh.

"What is- I- You-" Annabelle stutters like some kind of demented, unprogrammable robot. Kelly smiles and it's straight out of that thing they watched on sharks in Natural Science two days ago.

"Our curriculum is aimed to develop worldly, experienced young women," Kelly purrs, and surely- surely not.

"You're not telling me that you're required to shag me for the sake of my mind," Annabelle blurts out unattractively, wholly unsuitable to a woman of her new hair. Kelly just smiles, secretive, like if the Mona Lisa had been a Posh Totty, and oh, dear, respectable, C-of-E Jesus.

"I assure you, it's a pleasure, this time," Kelly whispers against Annabelle's ear before pressing a wet trail of unbearably hot kisses down Annabelle's neck and Annabelle imagines that if she had access to a mirror right now, she'd see a phantom map of Kelly's impossibly red lipstick down her pasty, pale neck and this is so far beyond the realm of possibility.

In fact, this is so ridiculous, Annabelle is certain she's going to wake up- wake up as plain, frigid Annabelle Fritton- and since this is her delusional, lesbian dream-fantasy, there's no reason not to lean into the scraping pressure of Kelly's teeth over her pulse.

"Well, alright then," Anabelle declares before knitting a hand into Kelly's slick, silky hair and kissing her as emphatically as a virginal Briton can.

But she can't be dreaming, because as strange as her subconscious may be, Annabelle could never imagine something as utterly unnatural as Kelly making this muffled surprised noise against Annabelle's mouth.

"Oh my everlasting goodness, I'm so so-" Annabelle doesn't make it any further than that, because Kelly growls at her- growls- and bites at Annabelle's lower lip.

"Shut your face, girl, and stop apologizing for every bloody thing. Then kiss me like that again," Kelly demands. Annabelle can feel the blunt scratch of Kelly's manicured nails against her stockings, squeezing her thighs like Kelly's looking for purchase somewhere, anywhere on Annabelle's body.

Annabelle remembers her impressively free hair and her sardonic eyebrows and the superior curl of this new Annabelle's mouth and thinks, all right, I can snog the Head Girl in an empty classroom. But there's nothing like the confidence of a dream, so the resulting kiss is satisfactorily sticky-sweet, if somewhat lacking.

"Don't be a tease," Kelly instructs, sliding her amazing mouth somewhere over toward the corner of Annabelle's eye, dropping fierce little kisses along the edge of Annabelle's jaw. "Although, with a mouth like yours, I don't know what else I might have expected. Those pouty, pink lips, like someone's been having you all day."

Annabelle can't explain away the damp throb between her thighs, somewhere immediately beneath the scrap of black lace Chloe had shot at her like a party favor.

"I'm not a tease," Annabelle gasps out, and it's true- although, that's more likely out of complete inexperience rather than any conscious desire on her part. After all, how is one a tease if one doesn't know how to tease? Kelly laughs, amused and fond, again, her nose brushing the side of Annabelle's neck as she gnaws a love bite onto Annabelle's collarbone.

"Dirty fibber." Kelly accuses, cheerfully as she works open the buttons of the waistcoat, bringing a hand up to caress the ticklish skin over Annabelle's ribs, over the thin Oxford.

"Honest, I don't even know- I don't know anything about sex," Annabelle confesses in a rush. Kelly leans back for a moment then, and Annabelle feels cold all over without Kelly in her personal space, pressed all over her and she can feel her nipples tighten into stiff little peaks in the ludicrous matching bra that looks like a dark shadow under the thin, white shirting.

"I'm asking, then, Annabelle-" Kelly says, eyes suddenly serious and formal- evaluating. "Would you like me to teach you?" Annabelle can feel her breath do something queer in her throat, and her stomach feels like it's dropped out into the mantle of the Earth's crust. She feels hot and uneasy and so, so tense all over and she can't stop herself from nodding dumbly.

Kelly smiles like someone's given her a present- or a particularly easy mark- but Annabelle doesn't care to differentiate between the two looks, because Kelly's hands are wandering in opposing directions on Annabelle's body, tugging open her blouse and slipping under her skirt and it's too much, just too much for Annabelle while still being nowhere near enough.

God, sex is confusing.

Especially since- within a matter of seconds- Kelly has Annabelle's scant knickers down and dangling off an ankle, garters and stockings resolutely still in place as she flips up what little there is of Annabelle's skirt, leaving her open and exposed to the cold and light of the room from the waist down. Well, the important bits, anyway. And Annabelle is pondering the ineffability of pubic hair until Kelly tugs her shirt open, pulling the scalloped lace down over her breasts.

Annabelle dimly thinks that she should be doing something to- for?- Kelly, as well, but Annabelle can't find it in herself to do any more than twitch, moan and shiver as her bare nipples are pinched and sucked, her aching twat made slippery with her own juices and Kelly's clever hand.

"See, look at you, my little tease, how pretty you open up for me," Kelly coos against the side of Annabelle's right breast, and a burst of delirious laughter escapes Annabelle, because of course- of course Flash Harry isn't Kelly's type, eh?

"Annabelle, I don't think you're focusing," Kelly sing-songs, but God, all of Annabelle's attention is back on Kelly, because one maddeningly hot finger is tracing between Annabelle's folds and- oh- oh- slipping inside.