Drabble: More's the Pity (Skins, Katie/JJ, PG-13)
More's the Pity
[B is for Bananas, Skins, Katie/JJ, for snowwhit2189] attempting to not just write fanfiction for sivim27’s so-verse.
Negative attention is better than none at all, is what Emily tells her, rolling her eyes in the locker mirror.
“Dunno what the fuck your talking about,” she insists, shoving her tits higher in her water bra, thinking, absolutely, this top is fit, and trying to see past Em’s fat head to catch a glimpse of her own reflection. Katie’s body still curves like the dangerous roads by Gobbler’s End, not that she’d like to be reminded of any of that, thankyouverymuch.
And, again, Ems pops in, all-“I know what you’re doing, Katie,”-holier-than-thou. Easy for her to say. Not as though she’s had the fucking rug pulled from under her four-inch heels, or a god-damned rock rammed into her skull. Emily can redefine herself in a socially acceptable way, one the boys can all wank off to at night, though, if they’ve looked at Naomi for longer than five minutes, Katie doesn’t quite figure how they manage.
She’s not lost it, no matter what they say. Behind her back-in front of it. Fuck them, anyway. It’s all jealousy, right? “Fuck if you do, Emily.” The remark comes too late, and all Katie can do is flounce off to through petrol on the fire. Soon she’ll be in blazes. Twin in the spotlight, rightful place and all.
Oi, perfect. Here’s JJ to escort her to the dining hall; the little boy who fucked her lesbian sister. Bile rises in her throat and she can’t meet his eyes even though he’s practically incoherent trying not to stare into her cleavage and mumbles something about velocity and building structures and the sun’s rays and all Katie can think to reply is “The fuck?” which obviously isn’t the correct response.
The babbling stops, and he rubs his hand through his hair, pausing to look at her, at her face this time. “You… you look lovely, Katie.”
She blinks, shakes her head. “Shove off, retard. You’re deluded if you think you’ll get a piece of this. ‘M not as easy as my slag sister, you know.” Though, of course, she is, and it causes her step to falter. She hates herself for the memory that flashes into her mind, unbidden, of that first tang of latex against her tongue as she taught herself how to use teeth, lips to slide a condom down the shaft of a banana, pulling back and glaring at Emily when she walked in. “Like to see you try, twat.” And Emily dissolving into giggles. “Don’t believe I’m hungry any longer.”
“Believe me,” JJ is saying, gesturing to her, “I know full well the conditions under which-“ but it’s too much, and Katie shakes her head again to stop him.
It makes her sad for a moment, knowing already that he’ll say yes to her, that he’s just that pathetic. “Look. I’m off to flash some of the footie players. You’ll meet me here after?” The look in his eyes when he nods makes her stomach twist alarmingly. But then, isn’t she just as pitiable.
[B is for Bananas, Skins, Katie/JJ, for snowwhit2189] attempting to not just write fanfiction for sivim27’s so-verse.
Negative attention is better than none at all, is what Emily tells her, rolling her eyes in the locker mirror.
“Dunno what the fuck your talking about,” she insists, shoving her tits higher in her water bra, thinking, absolutely, this top is fit, and trying to see past Em’s fat head to catch a glimpse of her own reflection. Katie’s body still curves like the dangerous roads by Gobbler’s End, not that she’d like to be reminded of any of that, thankyouverymuch.
And, again, Ems pops in, all-“I know what you’re doing, Katie,”-holier-than-thou. Easy for her to say. Not as though she’s had the fucking rug pulled from under her four-inch heels, or a god-damned rock rammed into her skull. Emily can redefine herself in a socially acceptable way, one the boys can all wank off to at night, though, if they’ve looked at Naomi for longer than five minutes, Katie doesn’t quite figure how they manage.
She’s not lost it, no matter what they say. Behind her back-in front of it. Fuck them, anyway. It’s all jealousy, right? “Fuck if you do, Emily.” The remark comes too late, and all Katie can do is flounce off to through petrol on the fire. Soon she’ll be in blazes. Twin in the spotlight, rightful place and all.
Oi, perfect. Here’s JJ to escort her to the dining hall; the little boy who fucked her lesbian sister. Bile rises in her throat and she can’t meet his eyes even though he’s practically incoherent trying not to stare into her cleavage and mumbles something about velocity and building structures and the sun’s rays and all Katie can think to reply is “The fuck?” which obviously isn’t the correct response.
The babbling stops, and he rubs his hand through his hair, pausing to look at her, at her face this time. “You… you look lovely, Katie.”
She blinks, shakes her head. “Shove off, retard. You’re deluded if you think you’ll get a piece of this. ‘M not as easy as my slag sister, you know.” Though, of course, she is, and it causes her step to falter. She hates herself for the memory that flashes into her mind, unbidden, of that first tang of latex against her tongue as she taught herself how to use teeth, lips to slide a condom down the shaft of a banana, pulling back and glaring at Emily when she walked in. “Like to see you try, twat.” And Emily dissolving into giggles. “Don’t believe I’m hungry any longer.”
“Believe me,” JJ is saying, gesturing to her, “I know full well the conditions under which-“ but it’s too much, and Katie shakes her head again to stop him.
It makes her sad for a moment, knowing already that he’ll say yes to her, that he’s just that pathetic. “Look. I’m off to flash some of the footie players. You’ll meet me here after?” The look in his eyes when he nods makes her stomach twist alarmingly. But then, isn’t she just as pitiable.