[Kristy Round] 'Number Seventeen', Kristy/Shannon
Title: Number Seventeen
Author: velvetandlace
Fandom: Baby-Sitters Club
Characters/Pairing: Kristy/Shannon
Timeline/Spoilers: Post-BSC, flash-forward to college, there’s our girls. No specific spoilers. (Do we do spoilers in this fandom?)
Rating/Warning: R. There’s girlporn.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no gain, don’t sue please.
Summary: You know that feeling when you see an old friend after years and years? Well… this isn’t quite it. Kristy and Shannon meet up again.
A/N: Almost 1000 words.
For the short_takes Kristy challenge, and ijemanja, who wanted bossy!Kristy/Shannon, forward-dated.
Er, the title is a reference to Chicago’s “Cell Block Tango.”
Inspiration hit for this one, so, here it is early, with wisdomeagle's okay to post!
Shannon Kilbourne never was the kind of girl you expect to see sitting on the front porch of your family’s house, summer vacation, sophomore year of college. Shannon was the girl you used to know in middle school when you had a group of friends who babysat together, before you gave it up for a women’s sports scholarship and left Stoneybrook behind. But there she was.
You haven’t been back to Stoneybrook for over a year. Everything’s different now - old sitting charges have grown up and moved away, Mary Anne’s in New York and swearing she’ll never be able to leave, and who even knows what happened to Claudia Kishi after graduation?
The thing is, you’ve lost touch with a lot of people. For the last few years in this sleepy Connecticut town, you were on the girl’s baseball team, and your time was taken up by training camps and professional coaching and Miranda, your old seventh-grade friend who taught you exactly why you felt nothing when you kissed Bart and everything when her breast accidentally brushed against your arm.
And now here you are in Stoneybrook, the “good” side of town, pulling into the drive after a late night stop at Burger Express with Abby Stevenson. And there’s Shannon, and she still looks glamorous, but it’s different; it’s less “private school” and more “oh my god, she’s like a portrait from Art History 101.” You never noticed it before, not really, but Shannon is class, she’s beauty and elegance and hair falling in waves around her face. She looks up at you and smiles.
“Kristy!”
You toss off your baseball cap and run your fingers roughly through your hair (shorter now since she last saw it - Mary Anne called it pixyish last time you met up), going over to meet her. When Shannon kisses both your cheeks, you grin and look her up and down, saying, cheekily, “So are you just being European pretentious, or are you really happy to see me?”
See, you’ve just remembered something. Ninth grade, by the bus stop. Shannon and her weird friend, Greer Carson, clutching at each other like… well. You were too innocent, too blind, to realise it then, weren’t you? And right now Shannon’s laughing and twisting her necklace around her fingers and your stomach flips and you realise something: you’re going to kiss her.
So you do.
You grin and you wrap your arms around her neck and you kiss her, hard, and she’s surprised but interested (easy to tell; she presses herself against you, subtly shifts her knee to nudge and part your legs) and for a second, when you tangle her hair in your hand, you can see exactly where this is going. In a moment, so will she.
“Come inside with me. And take off your sweater.”
“Kristy!”
“No one’s home. C’mon” and you tug her hand and walk inside.
It wasn’t exactly true: Watson’s home, but he’s all the way upstairs, in his study, where the doors are so thick you can’t hear a thing, and before Shannon can say another word you’ve closed the door behind her and pinned her against it with your hands, your whole body, and you’re kissing her again. She’s breathing hard into your mouth and trembling, a little, and when you say it again - “Take off your sweater” - she does it without hesitation, biting at her lip and hissing when your hands find her breasts, her nipples, and squeeze.
You’ve always been a multi-tasker so you attach your lips to Shannon’s neck, sucking, biting, blowing, and your left hand is on her breast, caressing, and your right - oh, your right, your best hand - that’s going to her pants, unbuttoning, and you can feel her dampness, smell it, and Shannon moans.
You cup her through your clothes and Shannon murmurs, “You know, I-oh, god - I just came over to say hi...”
“Hi,” you reply, and you kiss her, hard and long, deep, and she presses her hand over yours to keep you there, keep you touching, sliding up and over and down again, beneath her underwear, your fingers walking all over her - finding her clit and twisting it between two fingers, and tugging.
Shannon’s not loud and you’re not surprised; she’s too refined for that. Instead, she gasps, and her hand creeps under your team jersey and finds your breasts. This is one of the differences between you and Shannon: you are loud, and you cry out, a little, trying to muffle it in her neck, and it’s been a long time; your hand quickens and a finger slips inside her, and you lift your head to watch her face, her wide-eyed surprise and pleasure, the shudders that start to run through her as you flex your wrist, rotate your hand, a second finger joining the first.
Sweat’s clinging to skin, to the both of you, and your head dips low, your mouth finding her nipple and your thumb flicking her clit, and that’s it, she gasps three times, fast, and clenches, and you smile.
Shannon leans back against the wall, letting her head fall back. “Oh god, Kristy…”
“We’re not done.” Your smile ups to a grin, wicked, and you take her hand.
“My room.”
She kisses your ear and takes your hand. “Your room.”
“Hey, who’s in charge here?”
She laughs, and you toss her sweater to her, walking hand-in-hand upstairs.
fin.
Author: velvetandlace
Fandom: Baby-Sitters Club
Characters/Pairing: Kristy/Shannon
Timeline/Spoilers: Post-BSC, flash-forward to college, there’s our girls. No specific spoilers. (Do we do spoilers in this fandom?)
Rating/Warning: R. There’s girlporn.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no gain, don’t sue please.
Summary: You know that feeling when you see an old friend after years and years? Well… this isn’t quite it. Kristy and Shannon meet up again.
A/N: Almost 1000 words.
For the short_takes Kristy challenge, and ijemanja, who wanted bossy!Kristy/Shannon, forward-dated.
Er, the title is a reference to Chicago’s “Cell Block Tango.”
Inspiration hit for this one, so, here it is early, with wisdomeagle's okay to post!
Shannon Kilbourne never was the kind of girl you expect to see sitting on the front porch of your family’s house, summer vacation, sophomore year of college. Shannon was the girl you used to know in middle school when you had a group of friends who babysat together, before you gave it up for a women’s sports scholarship and left Stoneybrook behind. But there she was.
You haven’t been back to Stoneybrook for over a year. Everything’s different now - old sitting charges have grown up and moved away, Mary Anne’s in New York and swearing she’ll never be able to leave, and who even knows what happened to Claudia Kishi after graduation?
The thing is, you’ve lost touch with a lot of people. For the last few years in this sleepy Connecticut town, you were on the girl’s baseball team, and your time was taken up by training camps and professional coaching and Miranda, your old seventh-grade friend who taught you exactly why you felt nothing when you kissed Bart and everything when her breast accidentally brushed against your arm.
And now here you are in Stoneybrook, the “good” side of town, pulling into the drive after a late night stop at Burger Express with Abby Stevenson. And there’s Shannon, and she still looks glamorous, but it’s different; it’s less “private school” and more “oh my god, she’s like a portrait from Art History 101.” You never noticed it before, not really, but Shannon is class, she’s beauty and elegance and hair falling in waves around her face. She looks up at you and smiles.
“Kristy!”
You toss off your baseball cap and run your fingers roughly through your hair (shorter now since she last saw it - Mary Anne called it pixyish last time you met up), going over to meet her. When Shannon kisses both your cheeks, you grin and look her up and down, saying, cheekily, “So are you just being European pretentious, or are you really happy to see me?”
See, you’ve just remembered something. Ninth grade, by the bus stop. Shannon and her weird friend, Greer Carson, clutching at each other like… well. You were too innocent, too blind, to realise it then, weren’t you? And right now Shannon’s laughing and twisting her necklace around her fingers and your stomach flips and you realise something: you’re going to kiss her.
So you do.
You grin and you wrap your arms around her neck and you kiss her, hard, and she’s surprised but interested (easy to tell; she presses herself against you, subtly shifts her knee to nudge and part your legs) and for a second, when you tangle her hair in your hand, you can see exactly where this is going. In a moment, so will she.
“Come inside with me. And take off your sweater.”
“Kristy!”
“No one’s home. C’mon” and you tug her hand and walk inside.
It wasn’t exactly true: Watson’s home, but he’s all the way upstairs, in his study, where the doors are so thick you can’t hear a thing, and before Shannon can say another word you’ve closed the door behind her and pinned her against it with your hands, your whole body, and you’re kissing her again. She’s breathing hard into your mouth and trembling, a little, and when you say it again - “Take off your sweater” - she does it without hesitation, biting at her lip and hissing when your hands find her breasts, her nipples, and squeeze.
You’ve always been a multi-tasker so you attach your lips to Shannon’s neck, sucking, biting, blowing, and your left hand is on her breast, caressing, and your right - oh, your right, your best hand - that’s going to her pants, unbuttoning, and you can feel her dampness, smell it, and Shannon moans.
You cup her through your clothes and Shannon murmurs, “You know, I-oh, god - I just came over to say hi...”
“Hi,” you reply, and you kiss her, hard and long, deep, and she presses her hand over yours to keep you there, keep you touching, sliding up and over and down again, beneath her underwear, your fingers walking all over her - finding her clit and twisting it between two fingers, and tugging.
Shannon’s not loud and you’re not surprised; she’s too refined for that. Instead, she gasps, and her hand creeps under your team jersey and finds your breasts. This is one of the differences between you and Shannon: you are loud, and you cry out, a little, trying to muffle it in her neck, and it’s been a long time; your hand quickens and a finger slips inside her, and you lift your head to watch her face, her wide-eyed surprise and pleasure, the shudders that start to run through her as you flex your wrist, rotate your hand, a second finger joining the first.
Sweat’s clinging to skin, to the both of you, and your head dips low, your mouth finding her nipple and your thumb flicking her clit, and that’s it, she gasps three times, fast, and clenches, and you smile.
Shannon leans back against the wall, letting her head fall back. “Oh god, Kristy…”
“We’re not done.” Your smile ups to a grin, wicked, and you take her hand.
“My room.”
She kisses your ear and takes your hand. “Your room.”
“Hey, who’s in charge here?”
She laughs, and you toss her sweater to her, walking hand-in-hand upstairs.
fin.