001; i like the lights turned out, the sound of closing doors
why? This was based on a prompt over at
tweendom_anon. It's the first slash (girl/girl or otherwise), as well as RPF, I've ever written, so I hope it translated well onto paper. Or, rather, computer screen. Plus, I absolutely love Miley and Demi, together or apart. They're my favourite Disney girls and I love their friendship. This isn't mean to bash or mock them in any way, so I hope you don't take it that way.
disclaimer; This is all a work of fiction. Nothing and no one, except the plot, belongs to me. I write for fun, not profit!
i like the lights turned out, the sound of closing doors.
(rpf - MILEY CYRUS/DEMI LOVATO/trace cyrus)
//
I like the lights turned out
The sound of closing doors
Not like other girls who always feel so sure
Of everything they are
Of what they're gonna be
Sometimes I'm just a girl, stuck inside of me
(of me)
"Hook Me Up" - The Veronicas.
//
The previews had just finished showing and the typical 'boy' action film Trace had dragged Demi to was just beginning. Demi's pale shoulders shook in the dark of the movie theatre. If she'd known Miley was going to be tagging along on her date, Demi might not have worn her skimpiest red tank top.
Then again, with all the half-smiles and almost-but-maybe-not-winks Miley had been giving her all evening, maybe she would have.
"Cold?" Trace asked. Not even waiting for an answer, he slipped off his pseudo-rock star blazer and dropped it on Demi's bare shoulders.
"Okay." She shrugged the material closer. "Thanks."
Miley openly pouted. Her false eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks. "I'm cold, too." Miley's fingers - slightly calloused from guitar practice that morning - looped around the collar, brushing by the strap of Demi's red top, as well as her bra strap. The girl couldn't help it. She prickled at the touch.
Miley grinned wickedly then. Ever since the beginning of their friendship, Demi got the feeling that Miley knew everything about her.
The dark blue jacket was now spread across their laps. It just covered Miley's bare miniskirt-clad knees, as well as Demi's, which were clothed in expensive denim.
It seemed like Miley's eyes were now glued on the huge screen. Almost as if she actually cared about cars that transformed into giant robots. Demi tried her best to focus, too. On her date, on the movie. In fact, she was focusing so hard she might not have noticed the gentle rubbing - back and forth - on her upper thigh.
Oh, god. She cut her eyes at Trace, but he was absorbed in the movie and both his hands were digging in the Extra-Large popcorn.
"Miley," Demi half-gasped. The girl in question didn't look or turn, or anything, just flashed a quick grin at the movie screen though nothing remotely funny was happening on-screen and continue rubbing Demi's leg.
Her hands were small, delicate - but skilled. She worked her way up and across Demi's leg, brushing by the soft curve of her stomach - and then moving down. Miley's fingers edged down the zipper of Demi's jeans.
She bit her lip. Her thighs were quivered. Oh god, she thought, why am I such a cliché?
"You like that," Miley murmured, like she was speaking to a child. She half-turned to Demi, her blue eyes flashing with something intense. "Don't you." It wasn't a question.
Miley Cyrus nudged closer to Demi, slipping her free hand under Trace's jacket. She used both to pull Demi's jeans down, just enough. If she was being honest with herself, Demi wiggled out of them a little too eagerly.
"So, uh." Trace's eyes flickered from Megan Fox's cleavage to Demi's face. He grinned, like Miley had earlier, but on him it didn't seem half as sexy. Trace casually swung a bony, tattooed arm around Demi's neck. "Liking the movie?"
Meanwhile, the Hannah Montana star finally worked Demi's panties off with a snap of the elastic. The small sound seemed deafening to Demi - surely, the whole theatre knew! - but Trace didn't flinch, but merely raised his eyebrows as he waited on his date's answer.
"Uhhh..." She couldn't think of a single thing to say. And then Miley started massaging her right there and her brain exploded. In what seemed like too short a time, the lovely pressure stopped. "It's...um...good?"
It was replaced with a single finger pushing inside of her. Demi felt hot and wet. Her cheeks were reddening by the second and she knew her answer to Trace wasn't enough and why had she agreed to go a date with him? and - oh god - her mind was working at five hundred miles an hour.
Miley slipped another slim finger in, pumping Demi hard.
"Oh god..." Demi clenched her teeth, trying to stop herself from what she well knew was coming. "Oh god, oh god... oh f-"
"Demi?" Trace seemed concerned. "You okay?
"Yeah. I'm fine." She smiled brightly, channelling the Sonny Munroe she knew she could be. "Peachy keen." WTF? 'Peachy keen'? Who said that?
As Miley really got into it, speeding her pace up and pumping harder, Demi could feel Trace's painted fingers travelling across her cleavage.
"Is this okay?" he asked. Demi's breathing was heavy and ragged, as she bit back a scream. Trace, evidently, took this as a yes. He not-so-gently pulled the straps of Demi's tank top of, one by one, leaving the top part of bra exposed.
"Mhmm. Demi. Pink lace?" She couldn't even respond. Oh god. When would this movie be over?
Just as his fingers were coming close to squeezing the life out of her right boob, even Trace had the manners to ask, "Dem? You gonna be sick or something?"
She'd never had such an intense orgasm in her life. It was so different when it was someone else's finger. "Uhm."
Miley's fingers gently raked across Demi's thigh. "I better take her home, Trace. Neither of us girlie-girls is interested in this pointless movie anyway."
"You're sure? You don't want me to come with?"
"No thanks, big bro." Miley grinned. "I can handle it. And, besides, doesn't watching a movie sound so much more fun than being with some sickly girl?"
Demi gulped. Her friend leaned in close and whispered - her breath hot on Demi's ear - "Don't worry, honey. I'll take care of you."