(fic) Lady in Waiting
Lady in Waiting | radishface
Watchmen → one-sided Edie/Sally
Edie's not quite sure how she wants Sally. 1270 words. Adult.
A/N, KM fic! Prompt asked for Edie/Sally
Sally joins them before Edie's been there a year.
She's a few years older than Edie, tits perky in post-pubescent glory, so no surprise there. Sally smiles charmingly around the room and after meeting her eyes in perfunctory acknowledgement, Edie turns a jealous gaze on Sally's legs, which look not just good, but comfortable, parading around in those knee-high lace-up boots.
"Hi there," Sally says after training one day, bosom heaving up and down and working the boxing gloves off her hands. Edie is washing her face and Sally is slipping out of her training uniform. "Sugar," Sally says in a near-Southern drawl that has to be affected, "would you pass me a towel?"
Edie complies, but not without a sneer. "Don't call me that."
Sally's eyes just go soft and she kind of whispers, kind of breathes out just so, and Edie is awash in a wave of unwarranted sympathy. "I'm sorry." Sally's voice is honey. "Edie."
After that, Edie watches Sally more than she should-- there are a few things.
One, the golden auburn of Sally's hair, catching and flashy.
Two, the glitter of Sally's teeth when she talks, and does she talk a lot, lips a plush red sheen around the glitter of white teeth as she does it.
Three, when she titters and giggles and full-blown, head-thrown-back, neck-arched laughter, Sally betrays her repertoire. Anything remotely funny or related to keeping social levity earns Sally's laughter and chatter.
While Sally has a whole range of joy and Edie, well. Edie's keeps her own with a monotonic smirk.
Maybe Sally should be the Comedienne.
*
At night, Edie rubs her hands over the swell of her breasts, gently at first, like she's trying to coax them into fruition, then harder and faster, like she's trying to speed up time.
Already sixteen, but boys don't want an angry girl, they don't want a girl who can only say things she doesn't mean and smile in a mean way, who isn't happy and stupid and an airhead like Sally Jupiter.
Edie's flicking her nipples now and the other hand is down past the elastic of her underpants. Who cares about boys anyway, who cares. She's got her own hands, hasn't she? She's got her own hands and a head fulla Sally Jupiter just like the boys do, but she's better 'an 'em, she could kick their butts any day, and she's special, because she must be the only girl like this. Edie's the only girl who sees Sally that way, head running loose with the swirl of Sally's silk and the abrupt see-saw of her eyelids blinking and lips sucking around words in slow-motion and her neck arching back around each knob of her spine and just held, just held there, mouth wide open in laughter and eyes shut in ecstasy.
Edie quivers slick and nasty around her fingers and she bites at the air, imagining it's Sally's throat.
Afterwards, she keeps rubbing her thumb over herself, already sensitive, her thumb like a razor and her body all quakes, and Edie feels stupid. Stupid and wet and tired, and Sally's back reanimated again, unfrozen from her head-thrown-back laughing and now, now she's just laughing at Edie.
Edie hates Sally.
*
"You couldn't possibly," Sally is smacking HJ on the arm as HJ whispers something to her from behind that stupid hood, and Bill nudges Edie well-meaningly, Edie, aren't you going to eat your peas?
Fuck peas, Edie thinks, her fork carving a morose path through the catered mashed potatoes and meatloaf and peas.
"You couldn't possibly," Sally whines again, voice coasting in a sing-song melody that makes everybody else laugh at the table and makes Edie say what's on her mind.
"Fuck peas," she snarls at no-one.
The table falls silent and maybe Nelson might even have dropped his fork in a melodramatic display of being appalled. Schexnayder hisses, "language, Edie," and Edie is about to leave the table when the possible becomes possible and Sally says,
"Let her be. She's not a child."
Sally's voice is too mild to appropriately accompany the sudden explosion of revelatory fireworks in Edie's head, but Edie's too busy laughing, really laughing, to care.
*
As Hollis pays the photographer and the rest of them are herded out the door, Edie sneaks to the dressing room, slowing her steps as the rug ends and the hardwood floor begins. She crosses her arms to her chest as she settles against the door frame, squishing her breasts close to her chest. She watches, heartbeats feeling like a croaking frogs in her chest, abrupt and ugly and wet.
"Edie," Sally jumps, hands still frozen by her thigh where they're undoing her garters. "What are you doing here? You knew I was changing."
"Sure I did," Edie mutters, wishing for a cigarette or something to straighten out the mishmash in her head, but Sally's cutting her off.
"Well, close the door behind you, would you?" A cheeky smile served with a dash of giggle. "I don't want the boys to see me."
Edie does so. Over by the pool table, Sally's costume lies in a distended heap. Edie takes off her gloves before she can make herself not and runs her hands along the silk, the hem of Sally's dress a warm, yellow glissando against her fingers.
"Why'd you pick this costume?" she says, and it's not what she meant to say at all.
"Oh," Sally laughs, "because it's distracting." She disappears behind the dressing screen and then all Edie can see is her shadow, opaque and blurry around the edges. "Don't you think it's easier to give someone an uppercut when their eyes are looking down?"
Edie smiles briefly, then schools her face into a scowl. "No. Yes."
Sally's costume slips from her hands.
When Sally finishes undressing and redressing, she emerges from behind the screen looking prim and pressed. Those legs are covered in knee-length wool, arms covered in a matching sports coat, nipped at the waist. Sally clicks over to Edie in brown shoes with the heel stacked an inch high.
"You're not wearing that out, are you?" Sally's hand snatches at the collar of Edie's yellow jumper, brushing against Edie's chest and lingering over the burlap. "You shouldn't, really, Edie, it's such a waste for a girl with a figure as good as yours.
But, Edie says.
"Yes, sure, Sil wears her's out, but at least it looks like... well. Come on, Edie, sit down and let's take off that mask and get you sorted out."
Edie sits down.
"You've got such pretty eyes, Edie, you really shouldn't hide them so much. Oh, don't look at me like that, somebody's got to tell you the truth. Here, I think this will fit you, I haven't worn it in ages, it'll probably fit you. Feel it, just put your hand there. Look, look, in front of the mirror. See how pretty it is?
Edie does.
"Sit here, I'm going to brush your hair. Gosh, yours is sort of tangled, isn't it? Those are the perils of having as thick and luscious hair as ours, I supposed. Why don't we just-- there we go-- there we go-- there we go-- gosh, your hair is tangled, isn't it?"
It is.
"The boys? They're waiting? Oh Edie, who cares about the boys. It's just you and me right now..."
*
Watchmen → one-sided Edie/Sally
Edie's not quite sure how she wants Sally. 1270 words. Adult.
A/N, KM fic! Prompt asked for Edie/Sally
Sally joins them before Edie's been there a year.
She's a few years older than Edie, tits perky in post-pubescent glory, so no surprise there. Sally smiles charmingly around the room and after meeting her eyes in perfunctory acknowledgement, Edie turns a jealous gaze on Sally's legs, which look not just good, but comfortable, parading around in those knee-high lace-up boots.
"Hi there," Sally says after training one day, bosom heaving up and down and working the boxing gloves off her hands. Edie is washing her face and Sally is slipping out of her training uniform. "Sugar," Sally says in a near-Southern drawl that has to be affected, "would you pass me a towel?"
Edie complies, but not without a sneer. "Don't call me that."
Sally's eyes just go soft and she kind of whispers, kind of breathes out just so, and Edie is awash in a wave of unwarranted sympathy. "I'm sorry." Sally's voice is honey. "Edie."
After that, Edie watches Sally more than she should-- there are a few things.
One, the golden auburn of Sally's hair, catching and flashy.
Two, the glitter of Sally's teeth when she talks, and does she talk a lot, lips a plush red sheen around the glitter of white teeth as she does it.
Three, when she titters and giggles and full-blown, head-thrown-back, neck-arched laughter, Sally betrays her repertoire. Anything remotely funny or related to keeping social levity earns Sally's laughter and chatter.
While Sally has a whole range of joy and Edie, well. Edie's keeps her own with a monotonic smirk.
Maybe Sally should be the Comedienne.
*
At night, Edie rubs her hands over the swell of her breasts, gently at first, like she's trying to coax them into fruition, then harder and faster, like she's trying to speed up time.
Already sixteen, but boys don't want an angry girl, they don't want a girl who can only say things she doesn't mean and smile in a mean way, who isn't happy and stupid and an airhead like Sally Jupiter.
Edie's flicking her nipples now and the other hand is down past the elastic of her underpants. Who cares about boys anyway, who cares. She's got her own hands, hasn't she? She's got her own hands and a head fulla Sally Jupiter just like the boys do, but she's better 'an 'em, she could kick their butts any day, and she's special, because she must be the only girl like this. Edie's the only girl who sees Sally that way, head running loose with the swirl of Sally's silk and the abrupt see-saw of her eyelids blinking and lips sucking around words in slow-motion and her neck arching back around each knob of her spine and just held, just held there, mouth wide open in laughter and eyes shut in ecstasy.
Edie quivers slick and nasty around her fingers and she bites at the air, imagining it's Sally's throat.
Afterwards, she keeps rubbing her thumb over herself, already sensitive, her thumb like a razor and her body all quakes, and Edie feels stupid. Stupid and wet and tired, and Sally's back reanimated again, unfrozen from her head-thrown-back laughing and now, now she's just laughing at Edie.
Edie hates Sally.
*
"You couldn't possibly," Sally is smacking HJ on the arm as HJ whispers something to her from behind that stupid hood, and Bill nudges Edie well-meaningly, Edie, aren't you going to eat your peas?
Fuck peas, Edie thinks, her fork carving a morose path through the catered mashed potatoes and meatloaf and peas.
"You couldn't possibly," Sally whines again, voice coasting in a sing-song melody that makes everybody else laugh at the table and makes Edie say what's on her mind.
"Fuck peas," she snarls at no-one.
The table falls silent and maybe Nelson might even have dropped his fork in a melodramatic display of being appalled. Schexnayder hisses, "language, Edie," and Edie is about to leave the table when the possible becomes possible and Sally says,
"Let her be. She's not a child."
Sally's voice is too mild to appropriately accompany the sudden explosion of revelatory fireworks in Edie's head, but Edie's too busy laughing, really laughing, to care.
*
As Hollis pays the photographer and the rest of them are herded out the door, Edie sneaks to the dressing room, slowing her steps as the rug ends and the hardwood floor begins. She crosses her arms to her chest as she settles against the door frame, squishing her breasts close to her chest. She watches, heartbeats feeling like a croaking frogs in her chest, abrupt and ugly and wet.
"Edie," Sally jumps, hands still frozen by her thigh where they're undoing her garters. "What are you doing here? You knew I was changing."
"Sure I did," Edie mutters, wishing for a cigarette or something to straighten out the mishmash in her head, but Sally's cutting her off.
"Well, close the door behind you, would you?" A cheeky smile served with a dash of giggle. "I don't want the boys to see me."
Edie does so. Over by the pool table, Sally's costume lies in a distended heap. Edie takes off her gloves before she can make herself not and runs her hands along the silk, the hem of Sally's dress a warm, yellow glissando against her fingers.
"Why'd you pick this costume?" she says, and it's not what she meant to say at all.
"Oh," Sally laughs, "because it's distracting." She disappears behind the dressing screen and then all Edie can see is her shadow, opaque and blurry around the edges. "Don't you think it's easier to give someone an uppercut when their eyes are looking down?"
Edie smiles briefly, then schools her face into a scowl. "No. Yes."
Sally's costume slips from her hands.
When Sally finishes undressing and redressing, she emerges from behind the screen looking prim and pressed. Those legs are covered in knee-length wool, arms covered in a matching sports coat, nipped at the waist. Sally clicks over to Edie in brown shoes with the heel stacked an inch high.
"You're not wearing that out, are you?" Sally's hand snatches at the collar of Edie's yellow jumper, brushing against Edie's chest and lingering over the burlap. "You shouldn't, really, Edie, it's such a waste for a girl with a figure as good as yours.
But, Edie says.
"Yes, sure, Sil wears her's out, but at least it looks like... well. Come on, Edie, sit down and let's take off that mask and get you sorted out."
Edie sits down.
"You've got such pretty eyes, Edie, you really shouldn't hide them so much. Oh, don't look at me like that, somebody's got to tell you the truth. Here, I think this will fit you, I haven't worn it in ages, it'll probably fit you. Feel it, just put your hand there. Look, look, in front of the mirror. See how pretty it is?
Edie does.
"Sit here, I'm going to brush your hair. Gosh, yours is sort of tangled, isn't it? Those are the perils of having as thick and luscious hair as ours, I supposed. Why don't we just-- there we go-- there we go-- there we go-- gosh, your hair is tangled, isn't it?"
It is.
"The boys? They're waiting? Oh Edie, who cares about the boys. It's just you and me right now..."
*