Sex, Drugs, and Hello Kitty
Since I didn't get a chance to write for last week's Porn Battle, I'm dubbing this week my own official cleanup round. This entails me writing all the prompts I jotted down some quick ideas for and never managed to finish during my crazy weekend. It also entails me making them as long as I bloody well please, 'cause the battle's over and I'm a rebel like that.

This prompt was for Bring it On: Missy/Torrence, kick


Title: Sex, Drugs, and Hello Kitty
Fandom: Bring It On
Pairing: Missy/Torrance
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Don’t own ’em, making no profit off ’em, etc.
Word Count: 1,467

Summary: Wherein Torrance isn't as vanilla as she looks and Missy fails at perving on girls in the locker room.





She might have acted like an over-caffeinated extra from Dawson’s Creek most of the time, but every now and then, Torrance did something that made Missy seriously double-take the girl.

“Doesn’t Cliff have any weed?”

Much, much more than bright bouncy blondeness there. Thank fuck.

The Pantone parents were out for the night and Cliff was out for the weekend and, yeah, Missy knew by now where the good stuff was stashed.

“Gymnast,” said Torrance, rolling the word around in her mouth along with the smoke. “So how flexible are you?” She leaned forward to expel a long gray stream out Missy’s bedroom window.

A joint, a few beers, MTV playing something brainless in the background; all they needed was a Ouija board or something. Two-person Truth or Dare fit the bill to a tee, but that got either boring or scandalous really fast, Missy had found.

Torrance leaned way more towards the scandalous side of things than Missy would have guessed. It started with Missy giving her an over-the-top lap dance to that corny Cardigans song—love me, love me, saaaaay that you love me—and Torrance laughing her skinny ass off, then hopping up to return the favor.

Nipples clearly outlined through her Hello Kitty camisole—did she even know how obvious that was?—Torrance seemed set on giving back much better than she’d gotten. Teasingly hooking a thumb into her overpriced boy-shorts panties and pulling the cloth down one hip ever so slightly, but apparently not noticing that Missy was having a fuckload of trouble doing things like breathing. And blinking.

Hell, no, she wasn’t missing any of this.

And Torrance, in all her tipsy cheerleading glory, doing something that was half a wriggle, half a grind, giggling all the while, and Missy couldn’t even remember the name of Torrance’s bland blond doorstop of a boyfriend, but she guessed getting a little high and flirting with a girl didn’t count or something.

She’d messed around with a few girls in LA, at least one of whom had threatened to kick her ass if word got out. Missy wasn’t bad at clawing her way out of a crisis if it came down to it. It was just…she didn’t usually feel like she was going to have a heart attack from noticing a sleek sliver of stomach bared under some flagrantly hetero chick’s stupid teenybopper top.

Still oblivious—yesyesyes, thank you God for not sending this shit over towards the fan just yet—still laughing, still straddling her, and then Torrance did the job herself and really did throw the shit at the fan. She forwent her pitiful lip-syncing efforts and declared, right into Missy’s still-unblinking eyes, “If I didn’t have a boyfriend and you had a dick, I would so do you.”

Giggling while she said it. Blue-eyed innocence and a wicked white grin, one thin thumb still toying at the waistband of her panties, and wasn’t that just cute?

Almost as good as the yelp that went bubbling out of her when Missy pushed that stupid camisole up the rest of the way. Like some locker-room porn film: naughty cheerleaders at a sleepover. Fucking lame.

Still...yeah, this got her a much better look at that flat stomach, muscles jumping fluidly under her hands. Nothing she hadn’t seen per se, but there was an art to checking out same-sex eye candy in the locker room that Missy kind of sucked at mastering and therefore tried to avoid. She always got caught leering or drooling or whatever the fuck it was that made her so obvious and then she had to make up some too-half-assed-to-be-badass excuse like “Oh, hey, sorry for staring, but that zit on your ass is shaped like Nicaragua.”

This was way less awkward and she didn’t have to put up with Courtney and Whitney comparing thong brands so shrilly Missy could hear them two rows over. The pert point of a nipple was rougher against her tongue than the soft flesh surrounding it, and when she pursed her lips there, Torrance did this hum-moaning thing and let her head fall back.

One of them got around to taking off the cami entirely. Missy slid her hands up Torrance’s back, whip-thin and sinuous and warm, and then down again.Torrance started gasping when Missy kneaded at her inner thigh, till she was practically dry-humping Missy’s hand. She kept her eyes on Torrance’s face, just in case everyone’s favorite captain remembered she was straight or something equally disappointing.

No sign of it so far, and Missy could only be considerate for so long. She started slipping those cute little boy-shorts to the side, letting her thumb move in a neat little circle over hot slick skin. She slipped her thumb inside until Torrance was whimpering for it and fuck, yeah, that was hot.

“Lie down,” she said, kissing her and grinning and noticing how glazed Torrance’s eyes had gotten and where had this confidence been ten minutes ago, seriously? “And close your eyes.”

It took some work, since she kept stealing glances over at the bed and laughing like an idiot because Torrance’s perkiness was apparently contagious, but eventually she got her vibrator, fumbled a condom over it, and pushed one of those perfect toned legs up over that perfect golden head and watched Torrance buck and writhe and shake as she fucked her with it. Every now and then she squeaked out a moan or a curse or a giggle—and once, a harder, c’mon, harder; more a command than a whine, which was awesome.

Torrance stretched out languidly afterward, tanned skin rippling prettily over her ribs, legs still spread, cunt glistening, and writhed right up to Missy and kissed her almost as soon as she’d caught her breath. Nipped her lips and nipples, worked a hand up her shirt and down her boxers until she could pull both of them off. She went bouncing back from sex as easily as anything else, apparently.

She was still a little sweaty, hair rumpled into a bright bird’s nest of a mess, cheeks cherry-red. It figured Torrance would be the kind of person to literally glow after getting laid. Missy wanted to lick her, taste every part of her, fill her and fuck her and make her come again. But Torrance toppled onto her back a second time, squirmed down between her hips, licked curiously between her legs and then laughed when Missy’s spine did some gymnastics all its own.

“Hmmm, you like that?” And she slipped a finger into her, breathing out as sharply as Missy did.

“God, you’re such a bitch.”

“You really wanna call me your bitch right now?” Torrance thrust in a second finger, which made Missy cry out sharply. She pulled them both out much faster than necessary, which was—

“Yeah, I really—nnngh”

–-totally acceptable, because with Torrance’s hand out of the way she could explore more with her tongue, and that…

Both her hands went clasping over Missy’s hipbones and then moved around even further until Torrance was holding open her cheeks, suck-lapping into her and at the same time letting that slippery finger probe at the tight patch of muscle further back.

“Fuck.” Again with that occasional-moments-of-underestimating-Torrance thing. Fuck.

Torrance paused. The fingertip pressed. Missy hissed. She’d never actually had that happen or anything, but it didn’t feel painful as much as just weird and Torrance’s tongue was eager on her clit. So she let her, crying out and climaxing hard with her face burning and her fingers clenched white on the headboard.

“You kinky. Little. Bitch.” Torrance rolled her eyes and hit her with a pillow.

They drowsed for a while, haphazardly touching each other, experimenting with licks and kisses and curious fingers. Torrance made a grab for her shirt at one point. Missy amiably announced she was going to burn it and gave her a slap on the ass, which ensured another half-hour or so of preoccupations.

Missy’s house was huge; you could practically turn seventeen cartwheels down the hall before making it to the opposite wall. The two of them went padding naked down the hall to her bathroom because there was no one to catch them, and Torrance poked around for a washcloth while Missy leaned against the wall and watched. They pretended not to notice themselves eyeing each other’s reflections when they kissed in front of the mirror.

The camisole didn’t actually end up in flames. Missy didn’t believe in keeping tokens to anything that stupid, but the shirt happened to get kicked under her dresser and seriously, Hello Kitty wasn’t a crime against nature, but no one that bouncy should be allowed to wear anything that nauseatingly cheerful anyway.

She let Torrance sleep in her Gymnasts Do It Upside Down T-shirt instead.