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stephanometraI realize it's kind of weird to be posting two genderswap Ryan/Spencer fics in two weeks, but this story is a) older than Yellow on Blue, and b) one that certain persons have been waiting on for a long time, so I figured that y'all could roll with it.
So, I give you: bb!lesbians.
Title: My Baby Loves Me (Just the Way That I Am)
Pairing: always-girls!Spencer/Ryan
Rating: NC17 and make no mistake
Summary: "Stop talking," Spencer orders, and when Ryan breaks off, staring at Spencer with wide eyes, Spencer surges forward to kiss her.
Warnings: Femmeslash ftw \o/
Notes: Written to go with this lovely art (alternate link here) by the even lovelier![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
evocatory, so you should all go tell her how awesome she is. Thanks to fictionalaspect for the beta and to sock_wha for the final read-through. 6600 words.
***
"I hate this store," Ryan grumbles.
"Believe me, Ross," Spencer replies, almost yelling so she can be heard over the obnoxiously loud music. "Your objections have been noted. Repeatedly."
"Can't you buy jeans anywhere else?" The look on Ryan's face is intensely distasteful, like she'd rather be anywhere but walking into Abercrombie and Fitch—which, since it's Ryan, is pretty much accurate.
"No," Spencer says shortly, and makes her way towards the wall of jeans. She doesn't particularly like shopping here, either, but it's not her fault that it's the only store that makes jeans long enough for her that aren't cut up to her fucking waist.
Ryan drops herself into one of the chairs by the fitting rooms with a weary sigh. "You owe me so hard for this, Spencer," she calls.
"Yeah, okay. Hold this." Dumping her Macy's bag in Ryan's lap as she passes, Spencer ducks into the fitting room with four pairs of jeans; one of them ought to fit.
As it happens, there are two pairs that fit, which pleases Spencer, because that's another year she can go without setting foot in this stupid store again. Ryan comes up to her when she's at the register, leaning her head on Spencer's shoulder. "Are we done yet?" she asks.
The girl behind a counter gives Spencer a simpering smile. "Your boyfriend doesn't like it in here, huh?"
Spencer can feel Ryan go rigid next to her, tension singing in the arm she has draped around Spencer's waist.
"No," Ryan says flatly after a long pause, giving the clerk a sharp look. "I don't."
The girl's smile crumples into a confused frown under Ryan's glare, and Spencer all but snatches back her debit card so they can get the hell out before Ryan says something rude.
"She actually thought I was a boy," Ryan says as they leave the store, somewhere between incredulous and affronted.
"Well, at least she got that you're straight," Spencer counters. "She actually thought I liked boys."
Ryan makes a face. "I hate people like that. Just—why the fuck open your mouth?"
"I think she's just got this problem with being wrong, Ry. It was an honest mistake, it happens."
She slants Spencer a considering sideways look and then shrugs. "Come on, I want ice cream," she says, and veers off towards the food court so suddenly that Spencer has to skip to catch up.
Spencer can tell from the set of Ryan's shoulders that she hasn't actually let it go, but if Ryan wants to act like it didn't bother her, that's Ryan's business. It's not like Spencer can fix it, anyway.
Spencer actually forgets about it entirely until the next time she and Ryan go out, a few days later.
"The hell is this?" Spencer demands after she gets in Ryan's car, reaching across the front seat to tug on a lock of Ryan's short hair, currently adorned with a jeweled bobby pin.
Ryan wrinkles her nose and jerks her head away from the touch. "I wanted to try something different."
Spencer looks pointedly at the rest of what Ryan's wearing—tight, dark jeans; a worn, paper-thin Modest Mouse t-shirt; beat-up Vans. If there were a Georgiana Ryan Ross uniform, that would be it. "O-kay," Spencer says, and as usual they spend most of the ride to the theater singing along loudly with Ryan's stereo.
They wait in line for tickets and then popcorn, and Ryan is twitchy the whole time, like she's expecting someone to call her out on something. Spencer buys her a bag of Twizzlers in an attempt to calm her down.
The movie is some dumb indie shit that Ryan decided they needed to see, but they're a few minutes early. They're the only ones in the theater, so they mock through the trivia slideshow, mock through the requisite Coke commercial before the previews, and then mock through the previews themselves. A bunch of people walk in during the second-to-last preview, though, and then Ryan gets quiet and stops leaning into Spencer's space to whisper cutting commentary on the Biggest Movie of the Summer™.
By the time the movie starts, Ryan is acting totally strange: she actually watches the movie. She doesn't say a word, and only rarely gives Spencer smug looks when the characters do something stupid—and it's a dumb indie film, so there's a lot of stupidity. She never once leans her head on Spencer's shoulder, either, even though there are parts that are really snooze-worthy. Spencer honestly can't remember the last time Ryan paid such close attention to a movie. It's...weird. Really weird.
She catches Spencer giving her an odd look during the credits, and says, "What?"
"Nothing," Spencer says with a shrug, deciding she must be reading too much into it, whatever "it" is. "Next time, I get to pick the movie."
Brendon wolf-whistles when Ryan pulls up to the garage and gets out of her car for practice on Tuesday, and Spencer looks up from fiddling with her new drumhead to see Ryan walking up dressed in a dark-blue top that clings to her slight curves, shirred a little at the neckline and just touching the waistband of her low-cut jeans.
"Shut up, Brendon," Ryan says, rolling her eyes.
"No, seriously, what's the occasion?" Brendon presses. Spencer would kind of like to know the answer to that, herself.
Ryan tucks her bangs back behind her ear, a self-conscious gesture. "My mom got it for me," is all she says, and that effectively shuts down the conversation; Brendon hasn't been around them for long, but he's already figured out that unless they're talking lyrics, Ryan's parents are an off-limits subject. "If we're done talking about my wardrobe, can we practice now?"
"Good plan," Spencer says from her corner, deciding that the head on her snare is fine after all.
"Yeah, good plan," Brent agrees, kicking his amp to stop the sound when it starts screeching with feedback and then looking at Ryan apologetically. Ryan is very serious about not abusing amps.
"Great," Ryan says, giving Brent the requisite dirty look, and then adds, "Brendon, I swear to God, stop looking at me like that."
"Okay, okay!" Brendon says, and grabs for his guitar, slipping the strap over his head and then wiggling until he's got it situated how he wants it. "Practice now."
Afterward, while Spencer is picking up splinters—broke another set of sticks, she really needs to stop doing that—she sees Brent leaning in close to Ryan and faintly hears him say, "…really nice, Ross, seriously."
Ryan blushes and ducks her head, and Spencer frowns.
Brendon picked Spencer up for practice, but Ryan takes her home. Ryan also spends half the drive giving Spencer these strange, expectant little glances, like she's waiting for something. Spencer has no idea what's going on, so she just turns up the radio instead.
She pulls up in front of Spencer's house, and Spencer pauses before getting out, asks, "Hey, do you want to stay for dinner? Spaghetti, I think."
Ryan waits a beat before she answers, slanting a look at Spencer across the front seat, and finally says, "No, I've got—" She jerks her head, indicating her bookbag in the backseat. "And Dad is supposed to be home tonight."
"Oh," Spencer says. "See you later, then?"
"Yeah," Ryan answers, her tone short, clipped. "Later."
Spencer gets the feeling that she was supposed to say something else, but fucked if she knows what.
Spencer hears the front door slam on Friday after school, when the twins are at soccer practice and Spencer's parents won't be home for hours. "Spencer?" Ryan calls from downstairs.
"Up here," Spencer hollers back, but she can already hear Ryan climbing the stairs.
She pauses her game when Ryan sits down next to her on the floor in the game room, assuming that Ryan will want her to switch to two-player, but when she turns her head to ask, what comes out instead is, "Okay, seriously, what is going on with you?"
Ryan blinks, affecting an expression of total innocence, but it only draws more attention to the pale-green shimmer dusted over her eyelids. "What?"
"That crap on your face. Since when do you wear sparkly green eyeshadow? Since when do you wear sparkly green anything? Do you have a boyfriend you're not telling me about, or something?" Crossing her arms over her chest, Spencer tries to think of who Ryan could possibly dating that she wouldn't immediately tell Spencer about it; it's a pretty fucking short list. "Just don't tell me it's that asshole who cheated on you with that tennis player. Or, God, is it Brent?" She remembers the other day's practice, remembers how odd she thought the way their heads looked bent together like that.
"Jesus, you think I'd go out with Brent?" Ryan looks horrified. "No, there's no guy. I'd have said."
"Well, then what's up with this?" Spencer reaches out to poke at the side of Ryan's face, close to the corner of her eye, frowning when Ryan ducks her head to avoid the touch. "And with that. You've been acting strange for, like, weeks." Since they went shopping a couple of weeks ago, actually, since—oh.
The realization must show on her face, because Ryan's eyes widen, like she's been caught out.
Spencer just looks coolly back. "You know," she says. "If it really bothers you this much when people see us and think we're together, you might want to stop sleeping in my bed two nights a week. Just a thought."
Ryan blinks. "What? I don't—"
"It's fine, I get it," Spencer says, shrugging with feigned nonchalance. She sets aside her Dual-Shock with a little more emphasis than is strictly necessary, folds her hands in her lap and pretends to find her ragged cuticles extremely interesting. Yeah, she gets it, but she's not going to pretend that it doesn't hurt a little that her best friend since kindergarten apparently freaks out over the thought of strangers seeing them together and assuming that they're dating. "I mean, you could have said something, instead of doing stupid girly shit I know you hate so nobody would ever think I was your girlfriend ever again, but. I get it."
"It's not like that," Ryan says.
"People have been mistaking you for a boy ever since you cut off your pigtails, Ryan, and it's never mattered before," Spencer argues. "What the hell am I supposed to think?"
"That's me," Ryan insists. "It's not fair for anybody to make assumptions about you because of the way I look."
Spencer glares at her. "Yeah, well, you want to let me worry about that? Seeing as how I'm the dyke, and all."
"You shouldn't have to worry about it," Ryan says stubbornly.
"I don't," Spencer says. "The only thing that makes me worry is when you start randomly acting like a weirdo whenever we're going out."
Ryan makes a face. "I'm not acting like a weirdo."
Spencer rolls her eyes. "Yes, you are. With the—" She gestures at her own face. "And the touch-me-not shit that you've started doing all of a sudden. You're avoiding me."
Ryan looks down, her cheeks heating a little. "It bothers you that much?" she asks.
"It would bother me less if you'd talk to me," Spencer says. "Right now it feels like you're acting like a freak for no reason, and that sucks."
"Yeah." Ryan bites her lip, like she's trying to decide whether or not she should say what she's thinking. "It isn't—it's just, you don't like boys," she says, and then instantly winces at the way that sounded.
"And?" Spencer arches an eyebrow and waits for Ryan to say what she actually meant.
"And maybe I was worried," she finishes lamely.
Spencer frowns as she tries to make heads or tails of that, coming up with nothing. "What the hell are you talking about?" she finally says.
Ryan sighs. "It wasn't that she thought you were my girlfriend. Really."
"Then what?" Spencer asks.
"It was—I don't know," Ryan continues. "It made me think, like, you wouldn't go for someone like me, anyway. Not if people can't even tell that I'm a girl."
Spencer's eyes widen a little. "Ryan. I don't—why would that even matter?" Ryan doesn't like girls; Ryan has never liked girls. Ryan doesn't even have any female friends other than Spencer.
"It matters," Ryan says. "It's, um. The reason I started it was because I didn't want anyone thinking wrong things about you, but then I..." She trails off, biting her lip like she always does when she's uncertain about something, refusing to meet Spencer's eyes. "I didn't like thinking that you didn't want me. Wouldn't."
"Don't be retarded," Spencer says, fumbling for some way to make sense of what Ryan's saying. "I always want you around, I don't care what you look like."
"No, it's—" Ryan bites her lip and looks up at her from under her lashes (dark with mascara, and seriously, that's so fucking weird). She reaches out and touches Spencer's knee, gentle, and finishes, "It's not just that."
Spencer's pretty sure that her jaw has gone slack with shock. She suddenly has no idea what to do with her hands; they're shaking a little, and she tucks them under her thighs to hide it. She has no idea what to say, either—she'd be lying if she said she never thought about it, about how perfect it would be if she and Ryan could fit together that way, but she never once dreamed that they'd be having this conversation.
"Oh my God," she finally says. It's a lot to process, a lot to think about in not-a-lot of time, and Ryan is finally looking up at her, anxious and hopeful, still chewing on her lower lip.
"I'm sorry," Ryan says in a rush. "I'm sorry for being weird, I'm sorry for—I just—"
"Stop talking," Spencer orders, and when Ryan breaks off, staring at Spencer with wide eyes, Spencer surges forward to kiss her.
And Ryan makes a high, startled sound, but she opens for it, hot and eager and easy, and it's like something in Spencer's chest rearranges itself, clicks into place.
Spencer is no expert on the subject, really, but she doesn't think this is how first kisses are supposed to feel.
But even as good as it feels, it isn't perfect; Ryan is too tall on her knees for the angle to be anything but awkward on Spencer's neck, so Spencer fists a hand in Ryan's sweater and drags her closer, down. She goes willingly, ending up sprawled inelegantly half in Spencer's lap. That's not particularly comfortable for Spencer, either, because Ryan has a fucking bony ass, but it's hard to mind that when she can slide her hands into Ryan's hair and around the back of her neck, holding her still so Spencer can swallow her little breathy gasps when Spencer's tongue touches her lower lip.
They kiss until Spencer's lips feel tender and bruised, until her hips are shifting involuntarily under Ryan's weight. She's aching for touch, and she moans a little when the flex of her thighs presses the seam of her jeans against her clit.
She drops her hand to the slight dip of Ryan's waist, feeling the fabric move under her fingers. "Ryan," she says urgently, mouthing the words against the white skin of Ryan's neck. "Ryan, how far are we—"
Ryan makes a needy noise low in her throat. "Tell me what you want," she says. Her hand covers Spencer's breast, a tentative brush at first that becomes a firmer pressure when Spencer gasps and arches into the touch. "I can't—I don't know what to do."
Spencer knows that's not exactly true; Ryan's discovery of masturbation when they were thirteen and fourteen is what led, indirectly, to Spencer's hushed confession when they were fourteen and fifteen that Spencer could only come when she was thinking about girls. And granted, she's done an awful lot of thinking about girls, but she's pretty sure that doesn't merit the rapt, expectant look Ryan is giving her; the sum total of Spencer's sexual experience consists of a couple of incidents of fully-clothed fumbling with her first (and only) girlfriend. That may have been thrilling at the time, but the only actual satisfaction it gave Spencer came from her own fingers when she replayed the scenes later, naked and safely alone in her own bed with her hand pressed hard between her legs. She doesn't want that to happen with Ryan, especially not now that her skin is already buzzing, when the mere thought of Ryan's fingers—or, Jesus, God, Ryan's mouth—touching her cunt is sending aching little shivers through her.
She bites her lip and leans forward, catching Ryan's mouth again, drawing a little bit of courage from the now-familiar feel of Ryan's lips on hers. "Can we go to my room?" she asks. They're home alone until Spencer's dad gets home from work, but if they're going to do...well, anything at all, really, Spencer would like to have at least a locked door as insurance against any surprises.
Ryan's grip on Spencer's shirt tightens and then relaxes. "Yeah," she says, and then she unfolds her legs and clambers out of Spencer's lap, helping her up and then leading the way across the hall to Spencer's room.
They just watch each other for what seems like a long time after Spencer closes and locks the door behind them. Spencer's mind is racing, trying to decide where to go from here. She's terrified that she's going to do the wrong thing, and then Ryan will decide that maybe she likes boys better after all, that it's fine for her to share all the other parts of herself with Spencer, but not this.
Ryan looks just as anxious, her teeth denting her lower lip as she meets Spencer's gaze, but she's the first to move, her hands going to her collar to fiddle with the top buttons of her uniform oxford. She unbuttons her collar and then reaches down and fists her hands in her shirttails, dragging both her shirt and her sweater up and off, leaving her in just a camisole and pants.
She isn't wearing a bra; she almost never does, because she doesn't have to. Her nipples are small, tight, impossibly pink through the filmy fabric clinging to the barely-there swell of her breasts. And this is hardly the first time Spencer has seen Ryan dressed like this—when she sleeps over, she's usually curled up next to Spencer in bed wearing an identical top, with a pair of Spencer's pajama pants falling off her hips because she always forgets to bring her own—but this is the first time that Spencer's ever seen her cross her arms in front of her, looking down self-consciously, all of her bravado used up in the simple act of taking off her shirt.
"I'm not much to look at," she mumbles, blushing faintly.
Spencer shakes her head and steps into Ryan's space, pulling her arms away from her chest, holding Ryan's wrists in her hands. "I like looking at you," she says softly, and then hurries to add, "Not, like, in a creepy way or anything. But I think you're beautiful."
Ryan's lips twitch as her gaze drops down to the far more generous curves of Spencer's chest. "Then there really is no accounting for taste."
"Shut up," Spencer says automatically, and then they're grinning stupidly at one another, bumping noses when they both lean in for another kiss at the same time.
Tugging her hands out of Spencer's grip, Ryan slips her fingers under the hem of Spencer's t-shirt. "Can I?" she asks when they break for air.
Spencer's stomach flutters in anticipation, and she takes a deep breath to steady herself. "God, yeah," she says, but Ryan is already pulling her shirt up as Spencer shrugs out of her hoodie. She reaches back to unhook her bra as soon as her arms are free of the fabric, letting the straps fall off her arms, hesitating for just a second before letting it drop to the floor.
She watches as Ryan reaches out to trace the red indentation Spencer's bra strap left on her shoulder and then lets her hand drift slowly downward, covering Spencer's nipple with her palm. The gentle touch sends a shock through Spencer, and she sucks in a breath at the unexpected intensity of it. Ryan looks up, startled, and Spencer says, "It's good," smiling reassuringly, leaning into the press of Ryan's hand.
Ryan's eyes seem to get a little darker, and she thumbs deliberately over Spencer's nipple before reaching down and slipping her hand into Spencer's, stepping backwards until her thighs hit the bed, pulling Spencer down with her when she sits down. Spencer does her one better, crawling up the bed and lying down on her side, poking Ryan's hip with her socked foot until Ryan lies down facing her.
She reaches for Spencer with hands and mouth, brushing her fingertips over the curve of Spencer's hip, just above the waist of Spencer's jeans, as she licks over Spencer's lower lip. Spencer makes a soft noise against Ryan's mouth when Ryan touches her breast again; her nipples are hard in the chill of the A/C, sensitive when Ryan traces careful little circles around one with her fingertips.
Spencer frowns when Ryan breaks the kiss, but then her mouth drops open on a gasp when Ryan dips her head and kisses down her neck, across the pale skin of her chest. She pauses for a moment on her way down, breath hot on the slope of Spencer's breast. If it were anyone else, Spencer might think it was a tease, but Spencer sees her hesitation, feels it in the careful way Ryan's fingers rest on her ribs.
"Hey," she says, fumbling for Ryan's hand, lacing their fingers together.
Ryan looks up, eyes dark through her lashes. "I want to," she murmurs, just before she kisses Spencer's nipple, tongue flicking out over the tip.
"Oh, God," Spencer breathes. She threads her fingers through Ryan's hair, instinctively trying to pull her closer, wanting more than that light, tentative touch. It feels—it's weird, a little, but it's good, the hot wet of Ryan's tongue on her so different from the air in the room that goosebumps break out on her arms and shoulders. She shivers, even though she feels warm all over, and Ryan takes that for the encouragement it is, sealing her lips around Spencer's nipple and sucking lightly, pushing Spencer over onto her back so Ryan can dance her fingers across Spencer's other breast.
Already breathing hard, Spencer arches up into Ryan's touch, wordlessly asking for more, but Ryan seems to want to take her time. She curls her tongue deliberately around Spencer's nipple, glancing up at Spencer's face to gauge her reaction as she alternates between broad strokes of her tongue and gentle suction, then switches to the other breast and does it all over again. It's enough to make Spencer dizzy, Ryan focused on her like this, trying to figure out exactly the best way to make Spencer moan.
She cries out sharply when Ryan grazes her teeth over the very tip of her nipple, so Ryan does that again and again, biting down gently on the peak. The sweetness of the pain makes Spencer feel like she wants to burst out of her skin, like she's got all this need humming just under the surface and she has to move, has to something. She slides her hand out of Ryan's hair and pushes it between their bodies instead, skimming her fingers down the softness of her own belly so she can rub hard over her clit through her jeans.
She can't stop the instant cant of her hips into the press of her hand, can't hold back a soft moan as she shudders, and Ryan pulls back a little, watching Spencer with huge, dark eyes, licking her shiny-red lips.
"Spence," Ryan says, reaching out and brushing her fingers over Spencer's wrist before she touches the fly of Spencer's jeans, tugging on the button. "Let me."
"Fuck," Spencer breathes, biting her lip. She nods, and Ryan gently pushes Spencer's hand away, ducking her head to kiss Spencer's stomach as she unfastens Spencer's pants, waits for Spencer to lift her hips so Ryan can push her jeans and underwear down together.
Then Spencer's naked and Ryan's pushing her thighs apart so she can kneel between them, and oh, if anyone but Ryan were around to hear it, Spencer would probably be mortified by the breathy, desperate sound she makes when Ryan finally touches her. But Ryan seems to like it, her eyes going even darker and a little wild as she surges forward to kiss Spencer's mouth, two of her fingers rubbing lightly over Spencer's clit in short, back-and-forth strokes.
"Tell me," Ryan breathes against Spencer's lips. "Tell me how you like it."
Spencer shudders, her thighs trembling as she arches into Ryan's touch. "Fuck," she says again, feeling a blush spread over the bridge of her nose, her chest. "Just—inside, please, need it." She's close already, but she feels so empty inside, her cunt clenching down on nothing so hard that it almost hurts.
Ryan groans. "Jesus Christ," she gravels out, and then she's licking sloppily into Spencer's mouth again, even as she slides her hand down, tracing two fingers slickly around Spencer's entrance and then pressing both inside at once. "So wet, fuck, Spencer."
And oh, God, that was what Spencer needed, Ryan's long, elegant fingers opening her up, filling her. She makes another high, thready noise and looks up wide-eyed at Ryan as Ryan flexes her wrist, fucking her in a slow, steady rhythm. Spencer digs her fingers into her own hip, panting as she feels the muscles in her legs twitching, so close to coming that her vision is blurring a little. Then Ryan twists her wrist so that the heel of her hand presses hard against Spencer's clit, and that's all it takes to push Spencer over the edge; her hips spasm and she cries out as she shudders, and fuck, fuck, Ryan's still touching her inside, trying to kiss her again, but her lips glance off Spencer's jaw instead, and Spencer comes so hard it feels like she's never going to stop.
"Ryan, shit, Ryan," she moans. Ryan's mouth finally find hers again, hot and desperate, and Spencer groans once more before all of the tension finally goes out of her, her hips going still as she melts into the mattress.
Gently pulling her hand away from Spencer's cunt, Ryan looks around like she's wondering what to do with her sticky fingers. She moves to wipe off her hand on the sheets, but Spencer stops her before she gets a chance, reaching out with clumsy arms to catch hold of Ryan's wrist and bring Ryan's hand to her mouth, licking her own wet off of Ryan's fingers.
"Oh my God," Ryan says, dazed, as Spencer curls her tongue around her fingertips, and Spencer can't help but sit up a little, propping herself on her elbows so she can slant their mouths together again. Ryan shudders as she darts her tongue out to touch Spencer's, moans as they share Spencer's taste between them; when Ryan pulls back, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are dark. "I want—can you? Again?"
The heat in her voice makes Spencer spasm a little, mouth dropping open on a gasp as she shivers through an aftershock. Her thighs tremble a little at the thought of Ryan spreading her open like that, of Ryan's mouth, but she shakes her head and pulls Ryan in for another kiss. "Later," she promises against Ryan's lips. "First—" She slides her hand down Ryan's back, spreading her hand out over the curve of her shoulder blade, blinking when her fingers encounter the smooth fabric of Ryan's camisole. "What the fuck, Ross, how are you still dressed?"
Ryan hides a smile against Spencer's face, brushing the tip of her nose against Spencer's cheekbone. "Better things to do," she says, and then laughs when Spencer tangles her fingers in Ryan's hair to kiss her again, reaching down with her other hand to tug at the hem of Ryan's top; Spencer, at least, can't think of a single thing more important right now than getting Ryan naked.
She rolls them over, spreading Ryan out on her back, and Ryan is already reaching for the hem of her cami as Spencer slides her hands under it, feeling Ryan's stomach muscles jumping under her touch. While Ryan finishes pulling the shirt over her head, Spencer fumbles open her pants and skims them down her long, lean thighs.
Then she sees the tiny scrap of lingerie Ryan is wearing under her pants, and she stops short.
Spencer's first instinct is just to look, admiring the way the cut makes Ryan's legs look like they go on forever, the way the delicate, lacy edges of the panties look against Ryan's pale skin. But then she frowns a little, because Spencer has never known Ryan to wear anything like these before; actually, she would have sworn that Ryan didn't own any underwear besides solid-colored cotton, cut low in the rise as a concession to the way she wears her jeans but otherwise plain, chosen for comfort and worn soft with age. Ryan wouldn't wear something this emphatically feminine unless she lost a bet, or something—and this is a bet that Spencer's pretty sure she'd remember making.
She slides two fingers under the narrowest part of the panties, knuckles brushing Ryan's hipbone, pulling on the fabric just enough to lightly dent the flesh over Ryan's hip. "Where did these come from?" she asks, glancing up at Ryan's face.
Ryan is blushing. "Don't you like them?"
"I love them," Spencer says honestly. She shifts a little, resting her chin on Ryan's hip, moving her hand to cover the shadow of Ryan's pubic hair, clearly visible under the thin, silky fabric. "But do you?"
"I—" Ryan looks away. "I like the way you're looking at me now," she says, her tone almost confessional.
Spencer kisses the ridge of Ryan's hipbone and hooks her fingers in the panties, tugging them down. "How is that?" she asks, teasing but gentle.
Ryan meets her gaze again as she lifts her hips up off the bed, letting Spencer pull her underwear off. "Like I'm everything," she says softly.
"Well," Spencer says, and she feels her cheeks flushing a little, not quite brave enough to follow with you are like she wants to, but it's not anything Ryan doesn't know, anyway. She ignores her embarrassment in favor of pushing Ryan's thighs apart and settling on her stomach between them. "You know it doesn't matter what you're wearing." She rubs her thumb over the faint marks the elastic left on the crease of Ryan's thigh, her fingers almost touching the edge of Ryan's slit.
Ryan's breath hitches. "Good," she says, her voice a little unsteady with want. "Because the lace on those is really itchy."
Laughing, Spencer lets her fingers wander down until she's touching the edge of Ryan's slit, the flesh slick and hot under her fingertips. She's wet, so wet that she's shiny with it, wet enough that Spencer can smell her; it makes Spencer's mouth water a little, her own cunt throbbing a little in sympathy even though she just came. She takes a deep breath and meets Ryan's eyes again. "You're going to tell me if I do this wrong, right?" she asks, and then—quickly, before she can think too much about how nervous she is—presses her mouth against Ryan's cunt, licking from bottom to top in a hot, messy stripe.
"Fuck," Ryan hisses, one hand tangling in Spencer's hair as she arches up off the bed. "Fuck, Spence, I'll tell you anything you want."
Spencer laughs again, happy, remembering that she doesn't have to be nervous, and Ryan moans.
She tastes different than Spencer herself does, both sharper and sweeter, and God, Spencer would probably be happy to just slide her tongue inside and swallow down that thick, heady taste, but that's probably not what Ryan wants right now, probably not what will make her come. Spencer brushes her thumbs over the dark, close-trimmed hair at the top of Ryan's slit, gently spreads her open and looks at her, fascinated. Her clit is flushed, swollen, begging for touch, and Spencer lightly traces the tip with her tongue, sneaking a glance up at Ryan through her lashes.
Ryan gasps and clenches her eyes shut, her cunt twitching under Spencer's mouth. Her hands flail out and settle on Spencer's head, threading her fingers through Spencer's hair and holding her there as Ryan pushes up into the touch of Spencer's tongue. "More," she breathes, and Spencer couldn't refuse, even if she wanted to.
She strokes hard over Ryan's clit with the flat of her tongue, a steady rhythmic pressure that mimics the way Ryan touched Spencer at first, figuring that must be the way Ryan likes it. She tries to bring her hand up so she can give Ryan her fingers, too, but Ryan's holding on too tightly, tilting up her hips so she can keep Spencer's mouth firmly pressed against her clit. Spencer tries to watch Ryan's face, tries to catalog every single gasp and moan, everything that makes Ryan's thighs shake under her hands, but it's too much to take in. Her eyes flutter shut, and she can hear herself making greedy little sounds as she loses herself in Ryan's taste and smell and heat.
Gradually, though, Ryan's grip in her hair slackens a little, and her moans take on a desperate, frustrated edge. Finally she drags Spencer away from her cunt—and Spencer makes a tiny sound of protest at that, still reaching for Ryan with her mouth—and gasps out, "Stop, stop—Spence, I need—"
"I'm trying," Spencer says, licking her lips, looking up Ryan's body to meet her eyes. "Just let me—"
"No," Ryan says, pulling Spencer's hair again when Spencer tries to lean back in. "You said."
Spencer blinks. "Said what?"
"To tell you if you were doing it wrong." Ryan is definitely blushing again, even under the sex-flush of her cheeks and chest.
Making an unhappy sound, Spencer says, "Then what?"
Ryan's gaze slips away from hers for a second, shy. "Watch me?" she suggests, softly, like she expects Spencer to tell her no. Her right hand slides out of Spencer's hair and starts to creep up her own thigh towards her slit.
Telling her no is absolutely the furthest thing from Spencer's mind. "Oh, fuck yes," she groans, and surges forward to get one last taste as Ryan spreads herself open a little with her fingertips, slipping her fingers down to get them wet before pressing her middle two fingers hard against her clit. She cries out and arches up into the press of her hand, only inches from Spencer's face, the scent of her still making Spencer's mouth water, making her lick her lips again to chase Ryan's taste.
Ryan's fingers move fast and rough over her clit, tiny circles that quickly devolve into short, jerky back-and-forth thrusts, moving in time with the roll of her hips.
"God, Ryan," Spencer breathes, rapt, fairly certain that this is the hottest thing she's ever seen in her life, and Ryan just moans and moves her hand faster in response. It doesn't take long before her thighs tense up and her hips start to move in jerky spasms; she keens high in her throat as she comes.
Spencer pushes Ryan's hand away as her fingers slow down and then leans forward again, licking up the shiny new wet from Ryan's cunt, pushing her tongue just inside to feel the slow, steady pulse of her as she comes down.
Ryan makes a broken, exhausted noise that turns into a breathy whine when Spencer drags her tongue up to the top of her slit, just the barest touch over her oversensitive clit. "Spence—" she starts.
"Shh," Spencer says, crawling up the bed, tangling their legs together and holding herself up on her elbows. She leans down and presses her mouth to Ryan's, licking into her mouth and smiling into the kiss when Ryan makes a pleased noise and loops her arms around Spencer's neck. They stay that way, kissing lazily, until the house begins to vibrate with the sound of the garage door opening.
Both of them freeze. "Oh, shit," Spencer says, and then rolls off of Ryan and gropes frantically for her clothes, shoving Ryan's uniform oxford at her when she leans over the edge of the bed to pick up their jeans. "Shit, shit, Ryan, hurry—"
"My fucking sweater's in the way," Ryan hisses back, kneeling up on the bed in nothing but that incredibly sexy little pair of panties, and Spencer's eyes lose focus for a second before she shakes it off and yanks her t-shirt over her head.
By the time Spencer's dad meanders upstairs, Spencer and Ryan are both sitting cross-legged on the floor in the game room, waiting for Dynasty Warriors 4 to load.
"Girls," Spencer's dad says absently when he pokes his head into the game room to check on them.
"Hi, Daddy," Spencer says without looking away from the television screen, and as soon as he passes she has to stifle a hysterical laugh, especially when she looks at Ryan—at Ryan's wrecked hair and bitten-red mouth. I did that, she thinks.
"What is it?" Ryan says.
Spencer reaches out and gently traces the swollen curve of Ryan's lower lip with her thumb. Ryan blushes, but in retribution she smiles and reaches out to poke at a red mark just peeking out from under the collar of Spencer's shirt, for certain a hickey in the making. Then she leans a little farther into Spencer's space, and her kiss is sweet and unhurried, like she's just enjoying the feel of Spencer's lips on hers.
They break apart, and Spencer's smiling so hard it almost hurts, but she can't seem to stop.
"So," she says, reaching for her controller and bringing up the character selection screen. "Lu Bu?"
Ryan grins back at her. "Diao Chan or nothing."
They arrive to practice together the next week, Ryan back to normal in her jeans and band shirts with not a glimmer of makeup to be seen, and Brendon's first reaction when he sees her is to pout and say, "What, you're not going to be pretty for us anymore?"
Spencer glares at him. "She's always pretty," she says emphatically, reaching down to lace their fingers together.
Ryan looks up at her, smiling. "Yeah?" she says, and then lifts up on her toes to brush her mouth over Spencer's.
"I—what?" Brendon sputters, and Spencer can't resist keeping her eyes open so she can see his eyebrows making a serious run for his hairline, his stare flicking between their mouths and their entwined hands. "When—how did—"
"Um," Brent cuts in. "Hey, guys, can we practice now?"
Ryan breaks away from Spencer's mouth and turns to give Brent a brilliant smile. "Yeah," she says. "Yeah, practice is good."
***
So, I give you: bb!lesbians.
Title: My Baby Loves Me (Just the Way That I Am)
Pairing: always-girls!Spencer/Ryan
Rating: NC17 and make no mistake
Summary: "Stop talking," Spencer orders, and when Ryan breaks off, staring at Spencer with wide eyes, Spencer surges forward to kiss her.
Warnings: Femmeslash ftw \o/
Notes: Written to go with this lovely art (alternate link here) by the even lovelier
evocatory, so you should all go tell her how awesome she is. Thanks to fictionalaspect for the beta and to sock_wha for the final read-through. 6600 words."I hate this store," Ryan grumbles.
"Believe me, Ross," Spencer replies, almost yelling so she can be heard over the obnoxiously loud music. "Your objections have been noted. Repeatedly."
"Can't you buy jeans anywhere else?" The look on Ryan's face is intensely distasteful, like she'd rather be anywhere but walking into Abercrombie and Fitch—which, since it's Ryan, is pretty much accurate.
"No," Spencer says shortly, and makes her way towards the wall of jeans. She doesn't particularly like shopping here, either, but it's not her fault that it's the only store that makes jeans long enough for her that aren't cut up to her fucking waist.
Ryan drops herself into one of the chairs by the fitting rooms with a weary sigh. "You owe me so hard for this, Spencer," she calls.
"Yeah, okay. Hold this." Dumping her Macy's bag in Ryan's lap as she passes, Spencer ducks into the fitting room with four pairs of jeans; one of them ought to fit.
As it happens, there are two pairs that fit, which pleases Spencer, because that's another year she can go without setting foot in this stupid store again. Ryan comes up to her when she's at the register, leaning her head on Spencer's shoulder. "Are we done yet?" she asks.
The girl behind a counter gives Spencer a simpering smile. "Your boyfriend doesn't like it in here, huh?"
Spencer can feel Ryan go rigid next to her, tension singing in the arm she has draped around Spencer's waist.
"No," Ryan says flatly after a long pause, giving the clerk a sharp look. "I don't."
The girl's smile crumples into a confused frown under Ryan's glare, and Spencer all but snatches back her debit card so they can get the hell out before Ryan says something rude.
"She actually thought I was a boy," Ryan says as they leave the store, somewhere between incredulous and affronted.
"Well, at least she got that you're straight," Spencer counters. "She actually thought I liked boys."
Ryan makes a face. "I hate people like that. Just—why the fuck open your mouth?"
"I think she's just got this problem with being wrong, Ry. It was an honest mistake, it happens."
She slants Spencer a considering sideways look and then shrugs. "Come on, I want ice cream," she says, and veers off towards the food court so suddenly that Spencer has to skip to catch up.
Spencer can tell from the set of Ryan's shoulders that she hasn't actually let it go, but if Ryan wants to act like it didn't bother her, that's Ryan's business. It's not like Spencer can fix it, anyway.
Spencer actually forgets about it entirely until the next time she and Ryan go out, a few days later.
"The hell is this?" Spencer demands after she gets in Ryan's car, reaching across the front seat to tug on a lock of Ryan's short hair, currently adorned with a jeweled bobby pin.
Ryan wrinkles her nose and jerks her head away from the touch. "I wanted to try something different."
Spencer looks pointedly at the rest of what Ryan's wearing—tight, dark jeans; a worn, paper-thin Modest Mouse t-shirt; beat-up Vans. If there were a Georgiana Ryan Ross uniform, that would be it. "O-kay," Spencer says, and as usual they spend most of the ride to the theater singing along loudly with Ryan's stereo.
They wait in line for tickets and then popcorn, and Ryan is twitchy the whole time, like she's expecting someone to call her out on something. Spencer buys her a bag of Twizzlers in an attempt to calm her down.
The movie is some dumb indie shit that Ryan decided they needed to see, but they're a few minutes early. They're the only ones in the theater, so they mock through the trivia slideshow, mock through the requisite Coke commercial before the previews, and then mock through the previews themselves. A bunch of people walk in during the second-to-last preview, though, and then Ryan gets quiet and stops leaning into Spencer's space to whisper cutting commentary on the Biggest Movie of the Summer™.
By the time the movie starts, Ryan is acting totally strange: she actually watches the movie. She doesn't say a word, and only rarely gives Spencer smug looks when the characters do something stupid—and it's a dumb indie film, so there's a lot of stupidity. She never once leans her head on Spencer's shoulder, either, even though there are parts that are really snooze-worthy. Spencer honestly can't remember the last time Ryan paid such close attention to a movie. It's...weird. Really weird.
She catches Spencer giving her an odd look during the credits, and says, "What?"
"Nothing," Spencer says with a shrug, deciding she must be reading too much into it, whatever "it" is. "Next time, I get to pick the movie."
Brendon wolf-whistles when Ryan pulls up to the garage and gets out of her car for practice on Tuesday, and Spencer looks up from fiddling with her new drumhead to see Ryan walking up dressed in a dark-blue top that clings to her slight curves, shirred a little at the neckline and just touching the waistband of her low-cut jeans.
"Shut up, Brendon," Ryan says, rolling her eyes.
"No, seriously, what's the occasion?" Brendon presses. Spencer would kind of like to know the answer to that, herself.
Ryan tucks her bangs back behind her ear, a self-conscious gesture. "My mom got it for me," is all she says, and that effectively shuts down the conversation; Brendon hasn't been around them for long, but he's already figured out that unless they're talking lyrics, Ryan's parents are an off-limits subject. "If we're done talking about my wardrobe, can we practice now?"
"Good plan," Spencer says from her corner, deciding that the head on her snare is fine after all.
"Yeah, good plan," Brent agrees, kicking his amp to stop the sound when it starts screeching with feedback and then looking at Ryan apologetically. Ryan is very serious about not abusing amps.
"Great," Ryan says, giving Brent the requisite dirty look, and then adds, "Brendon, I swear to God, stop looking at me like that."
"Okay, okay!" Brendon says, and grabs for his guitar, slipping the strap over his head and then wiggling until he's got it situated how he wants it. "Practice now."
Afterward, while Spencer is picking up splinters—broke another set of sticks, she really needs to stop doing that—she sees Brent leaning in close to Ryan and faintly hears him say, "…really nice, Ross, seriously."
Ryan blushes and ducks her head, and Spencer frowns.
Brendon picked Spencer up for practice, but Ryan takes her home. Ryan also spends half the drive giving Spencer these strange, expectant little glances, like she's waiting for something. Spencer has no idea what's going on, so she just turns up the radio instead.
She pulls up in front of Spencer's house, and Spencer pauses before getting out, asks, "Hey, do you want to stay for dinner? Spaghetti, I think."
Ryan waits a beat before she answers, slanting a look at Spencer across the front seat, and finally says, "No, I've got—" She jerks her head, indicating her bookbag in the backseat. "And Dad is supposed to be home tonight."
"Oh," Spencer says. "See you later, then?"
"Yeah," Ryan answers, her tone short, clipped. "Later."
Spencer gets the feeling that she was supposed to say something else, but fucked if she knows what.
Spencer hears the front door slam on Friday after school, when the twins are at soccer practice and Spencer's parents won't be home for hours. "Spencer?" Ryan calls from downstairs.
"Up here," Spencer hollers back, but she can already hear Ryan climbing the stairs.
She pauses her game when Ryan sits down next to her on the floor in the game room, assuming that Ryan will want her to switch to two-player, but when she turns her head to ask, what comes out instead is, "Okay, seriously, what is going on with you?"
Ryan blinks, affecting an expression of total innocence, but it only draws more attention to the pale-green shimmer dusted over her eyelids. "What?"
"That crap on your face. Since when do you wear sparkly green eyeshadow? Since when do you wear sparkly green anything? Do you have a boyfriend you're not telling me about, or something?" Crossing her arms over her chest, Spencer tries to think of who Ryan could possibly dating that she wouldn't immediately tell Spencer about it; it's a pretty fucking short list. "Just don't tell me it's that asshole who cheated on you with that tennis player. Or, God, is it Brent?" She remembers the other day's practice, remembers how odd she thought the way their heads looked bent together like that.
"Jesus, you think I'd go out with Brent?" Ryan looks horrified. "No, there's no guy. I'd have said."
"Well, then what's up with this?" Spencer reaches out to poke at the side of Ryan's face, close to the corner of her eye, frowning when Ryan ducks her head to avoid the touch. "And with that. You've been acting strange for, like, weeks." Since they went shopping a couple of weeks ago, actually, since—oh.
The realization must show on her face, because Ryan's eyes widen, like she's been caught out.
Spencer just looks coolly back. "You know," she says. "If it really bothers you this much when people see us and think we're together, you might want to stop sleeping in my bed two nights a week. Just a thought."
Ryan blinks. "What? I don't—"
"It's fine, I get it," Spencer says, shrugging with feigned nonchalance. She sets aside her Dual-Shock with a little more emphasis than is strictly necessary, folds her hands in her lap and pretends to find her ragged cuticles extremely interesting. Yeah, she gets it, but she's not going to pretend that it doesn't hurt a little that her best friend since kindergarten apparently freaks out over the thought of strangers seeing them together and assuming that they're dating. "I mean, you could have said something, instead of doing stupid girly shit I know you hate so nobody would ever think I was your girlfriend ever again, but. I get it."
"It's not like that," Ryan says.
"People have been mistaking you for a boy ever since you cut off your pigtails, Ryan, and it's never mattered before," Spencer argues. "What the hell am I supposed to think?"
"That's me," Ryan insists. "It's not fair for anybody to make assumptions about you because of the way I look."
Spencer glares at her. "Yeah, well, you want to let me worry about that? Seeing as how I'm the dyke, and all."
"You shouldn't have to worry about it," Ryan says stubbornly.
"I don't," Spencer says. "The only thing that makes me worry is when you start randomly acting like a weirdo whenever we're going out."
Ryan makes a face. "I'm not acting like a weirdo."
Spencer rolls her eyes. "Yes, you are. With the—" She gestures at her own face. "And the touch-me-not shit that you've started doing all of a sudden. You're avoiding me."
Ryan looks down, her cheeks heating a little. "It bothers you that much?" she asks.
"It would bother me less if you'd talk to me," Spencer says. "Right now it feels like you're acting like a freak for no reason, and that sucks."
"Yeah." Ryan bites her lip, like she's trying to decide whether or not she should say what she's thinking. "It isn't—it's just, you don't like boys," she says, and then instantly winces at the way that sounded.
"And?" Spencer arches an eyebrow and waits for Ryan to say what she actually meant.
"And maybe I was worried," she finishes lamely.
Spencer frowns as she tries to make heads or tails of that, coming up with nothing. "What the hell are you talking about?" she finally says.
Ryan sighs. "It wasn't that she thought you were my girlfriend. Really."
"Then what?" Spencer asks.
"It was—I don't know," Ryan continues. "It made me think, like, you wouldn't go for someone like me, anyway. Not if people can't even tell that I'm a girl."
Spencer's eyes widen a little. "Ryan. I don't—why would that even matter?" Ryan doesn't like girls; Ryan has never liked girls. Ryan doesn't even have any female friends other than Spencer.
"It matters," Ryan says. "It's, um. The reason I started it was because I didn't want anyone thinking wrong things about you, but then I..." She trails off, biting her lip like she always does when she's uncertain about something, refusing to meet Spencer's eyes. "I didn't like thinking that you didn't want me. Wouldn't."
"Don't be retarded," Spencer says, fumbling for some way to make sense of what Ryan's saying. "I always want you around, I don't care what you look like."
"No, it's—" Ryan bites her lip and looks up at her from under her lashes (dark with mascara, and seriously, that's so fucking weird). She reaches out and touches Spencer's knee, gentle, and finishes, "It's not just that."
Spencer's pretty sure that her jaw has gone slack with shock. She suddenly has no idea what to do with her hands; they're shaking a little, and she tucks them under her thighs to hide it. She has no idea what to say, either—she'd be lying if she said she never thought about it, about how perfect it would be if she and Ryan could fit together that way, but she never once dreamed that they'd be having this conversation.
"Oh my God," she finally says. It's a lot to process, a lot to think about in not-a-lot of time, and Ryan is finally looking up at her, anxious and hopeful, still chewing on her lower lip.
"I'm sorry," Ryan says in a rush. "I'm sorry for being weird, I'm sorry for—I just—"
"Stop talking," Spencer orders, and when Ryan breaks off, staring at Spencer with wide eyes, Spencer surges forward to kiss her.
And Ryan makes a high, startled sound, but she opens for it, hot and eager and easy, and it's like something in Spencer's chest rearranges itself, clicks into place.
Spencer is no expert on the subject, really, but she doesn't think this is how first kisses are supposed to feel.
But even as good as it feels, it isn't perfect; Ryan is too tall on her knees for the angle to be anything but awkward on Spencer's neck, so Spencer fists a hand in Ryan's sweater and drags her closer, down. She goes willingly, ending up sprawled inelegantly half in Spencer's lap. That's not particularly comfortable for Spencer, either, because Ryan has a fucking bony ass, but it's hard to mind that when she can slide her hands into Ryan's hair and around the back of her neck, holding her still so Spencer can swallow her little breathy gasps when Spencer's tongue touches her lower lip.
They kiss until Spencer's lips feel tender and bruised, until her hips are shifting involuntarily under Ryan's weight. She's aching for touch, and she moans a little when the flex of her thighs presses the seam of her jeans against her clit.
She drops her hand to the slight dip of Ryan's waist, feeling the fabric move under her fingers. "Ryan," she says urgently, mouthing the words against the white skin of Ryan's neck. "Ryan, how far are we—"
Ryan makes a needy noise low in her throat. "Tell me what you want," she says. Her hand covers Spencer's breast, a tentative brush at first that becomes a firmer pressure when Spencer gasps and arches into the touch. "I can't—I don't know what to do."
Spencer knows that's not exactly true; Ryan's discovery of masturbation when they were thirteen and fourteen is what led, indirectly, to Spencer's hushed confession when they were fourteen and fifteen that Spencer could only come when she was thinking about girls. And granted, she's done an awful lot of thinking about girls, but she's pretty sure that doesn't merit the rapt, expectant look Ryan is giving her; the sum total of Spencer's sexual experience consists of a couple of incidents of fully-clothed fumbling with her first (and only) girlfriend. That may have been thrilling at the time, but the only actual satisfaction it gave Spencer came from her own fingers when she replayed the scenes later, naked and safely alone in her own bed with her hand pressed hard between her legs. She doesn't want that to happen with Ryan, especially not now that her skin is already buzzing, when the mere thought of Ryan's fingers—or, Jesus, God, Ryan's mouth—touching her cunt is sending aching little shivers through her.
She bites her lip and leans forward, catching Ryan's mouth again, drawing a little bit of courage from the now-familiar feel of Ryan's lips on hers. "Can we go to my room?" she asks. They're home alone until Spencer's dad gets home from work, but if they're going to do...well, anything at all, really, Spencer would like to have at least a locked door as insurance against any surprises.
Ryan's grip on Spencer's shirt tightens and then relaxes. "Yeah," she says, and then she unfolds her legs and clambers out of Spencer's lap, helping her up and then leading the way across the hall to Spencer's room.
They just watch each other for what seems like a long time after Spencer closes and locks the door behind them. Spencer's mind is racing, trying to decide where to go from here. She's terrified that she's going to do the wrong thing, and then Ryan will decide that maybe she likes boys better after all, that it's fine for her to share all the other parts of herself with Spencer, but not this.
Ryan looks just as anxious, her teeth denting her lower lip as she meets Spencer's gaze, but she's the first to move, her hands going to her collar to fiddle with the top buttons of her uniform oxford. She unbuttons her collar and then reaches down and fists her hands in her shirttails, dragging both her shirt and her sweater up and off, leaving her in just a camisole and pants.
She isn't wearing a bra; she almost never does, because she doesn't have to. Her nipples are small, tight, impossibly pink through the filmy fabric clinging to the barely-there swell of her breasts. And this is hardly the first time Spencer has seen Ryan dressed like this—when she sleeps over, she's usually curled up next to Spencer in bed wearing an identical top, with a pair of Spencer's pajama pants falling off her hips because she always forgets to bring her own—but this is the first time that Spencer's ever seen her cross her arms in front of her, looking down self-consciously, all of her bravado used up in the simple act of taking off her shirt.
"I'm not much to look at," she mumbles, blushing faintly.
Spencer shakes her head and steps into Ryan's space, pulling her arms away from her chest, holding Ryan's wrists in her hands. "I like looking at you," she says softly, and then hurries to add, "Not, like, in a creepy way or anything. But I think you're beautiful."
Ryan's lips twitch as her gaze drops down to the far more generous curves of Spencer's chest. "Then there really is no accounting for taste."
"Shut up," Spencer says automatically, and then they're grinning stupidly at one another, bumping noses when they both lean in for another kiss at the same time.
Tugging her hands out of Spencer's grip, Ryan slips her fingers under the hem of Spencer's t-shirt. "Can I?" she asks when they break for air.
Spencer's stomach flutters in anticipation, and she takes a deep breath to steady herself. "God, yeah," she says, but Ryan is already pulling her shirt up as Spencer shrugs out of her hoodie. She reaches back to unhook her bra as soon as her arms are free of the fabric, letting the straps fall off her arms, hesitating for just a second before letting it drop to the floor.
She watches as Ryan reaches out to trace the red indentation Spencer's bra strap left on her shoulder and then lets her hand drift slowly downward, covering Spencer's nipple with her palm. The gentle touch sends a shock through Spencer, and she sucks in a breath at the unexpected intensity of it. Ryan looks up, startled, and Spencer says, "It's good," smiling reassuringly, leaning into the press of Ryan's hand.
Ryan's eyes seem to get a little darker, and she thumbs deliberately over Spencer's nipple before reaching down and slipping her hand into Spencer's, stepping backwards until her thighs hit the bed, pulling Spencer down with her when she sits down. Spencer does her one better, crawling up the bed and lying down on her side, poking Ryan's hip with her socked foot until Ryan lies down facing her.
She reaches for Spencer with hands and mouth, brushing her fingertips over the curve of Spencer's hip, just above the waist of Spencer's jeans, as she licks over Spencer's lower lip. Spencer makes a soft noise against Ryan's mouth when Ryan touches her breast again; her nipples are hard in the chill of the A/C, sensitive when Ryan traces careful little circles around one with her fingertips.
Spencer frowns when Ryan breaks the kiss, but then her mouth drops open on a gasp when Ryan dips her head and kisses down her neck, across the pale skin of her chest. She pauses for a moment on her way down, breath hot on the slope of Spencer's breast. If it were anyone else, Spencer might think it was a tease, but Spencer sees her hesitation, feels it in the careful way Ryan's fingers rest on her ribs.
"Hey," she says, fumbling for Ryan's hand, lacing their fingers together.
Ryan looks up, eyes dark through her lashes. "I want to," she murmurs, just before she kisses Spencer's nipple, tongue flicking out over the tip.
"Oh, God," Spencer breathes. She threads her fingers through Ryan's hair, instinctively trying to pull her closer, wanting more than that light, tentative touch. It feels—it's weird, a little, but it's good, the hot wet of Ryan's tongue on her so different from the air in the room that goosebumps break out on her arms and shoulders. She shivers, even though she feels warm all over, and Ryan takes that for the encouragement it is, sealing her lips around Spencer's nipple and sucking lightly, pushing Spencer over onto her back so Ryan can dance her fingers across Spencer's other breast.
Already breathing hard, Spencer arches up into Ryan's touch, wordlessly asking for more, but Ryan seems to want to take her time. She curls her tongue deliberately around Spencer's nipple, glancing up at Spencer's face to gauge her reaction as she alternates between broad strokes of her tongue and gentle suction, then switches to the other breast and does it all over again. It's enough to make Spencer dizzy, Ryan focused on her like this, trying to figure out exactly the best way to make Spencer moan.
She cries out sharply when Ryan grazes her teeth over the very tip of her nipple, so Ryan does that again and again, biting down gently on the peak. The sweetness of the pain makes Spencer feel like she wants to burst out of her skin, like she's got all this need humming just under the surface and she has to move, has to something. She slides her hand out of Ryan's hair and pushes it between their bodies instead, skimming her fingers down the softness of her own belly so she can rub hard over her clit through her jeans.
She can't stop the instant cant of her hips into the press of her hand, can't hold back a soft moan as she shudders, and Ryan pulls back a little, watching Spencer with huge, dark eyes, licking her shiny-red lips.
"Spence," Ryan says, reaching out and brushing her fingers over Spencer's wrist before she touches the fly of Spencer's jeans, tugging on the button. "Let me."
"Fuck," Spencer breathes, biting her lip. She nods, and Ryan gently pushes Spencer's hand away, ducking her head to kiss Spencer's stomach as she unfastens Spencer's pants, waits for Spencer to lift her hips so Ryan can push her jeans and underwear down together.
Then Spencer's naked and Ryan's pushing her thighs apart so she can kneel between them, and oh, if anyone but Ryan were around to hear it, Spencer would probably be mortified by the breathy, desperate sound she makes when Ryan finally touches her. But Ryan seems to like it, her eyes going even darker and a little wild as she surges forward to kiss Spencer's mouth, two of her fingers rubbing lightly over Spencer's clit in short, back-and-forth strokes.
"Tell me," Ryan breathes against Spencer's lips. "Tell me how you like it."
Spencer shudders, her thighs trembling as she arches into Ryan's touch. "Fuck," she says again, feeling a blush spread over the bridge of her nose, her chest. "Just—inside, please, need it." She's close already, but she feels so empty inside, her cunt clenching down on nothing so hard that it almost hurts.
Ryan groans. "Jesus Christ," she gravels out, and then she's licking sloppily into Spencer's mouth again, even as she slides her hand down, tracing two fingers slickly around Spencer's entrance and then pressing both inside at once. "So wet, fuck, Spencer."
And oh, God, that was what Spencer needed, Ryan's long, elegant fingers opening her up, filling her. She makes another high, thready noise and looks up wide-eyed at Ryan as Ryan flexes her wrist, fucking her in a slow, steady rhythm. Spencer digs her fingers into her own hip, panting as she feels the muscles in her legs twitching, so close to coming that her vision is blurring a little. Then Ryan twists her wrist so that the heel of her hand presses hard against Spencer's clit, and that's all it takes to push Spencer over the edge; her hips spasm and she cries out as she shudders, and fuck, fuck, Ryan's still touching her inside, trying to kiss her again, but her lips glance off Spencer's jaw instead, and Spencer comes so hard it feels like she's never going to stop.
"Ryan, shit, Ryan," she moans. Ryan's mouth finally find hers again, hot and desperate, and Spencer groans once more before all of the tension finally goes out of her, her hips going still as she melts into the mattress.
Gently pulling her hand away from Spencer's cunt, Ryan looks around like she's wondering what to do with her sticky fingers. She moves to wipe off her hand on the sheets, but Spencer stops her before she gets a chance, reaching out with clumsy arms to catch hold of Ryan's wrist and bring Ryan's hand to her mouth, licking her own wet off of Ryan's fingers.
"Oh my God," Ryan says, dazed, as Spencer curls her tongue around her fingertips, and Spencer can't help but sit up a little, propping herself on her elbows so she can slant their mouths together again. Ryan shudders as she darts her tongue out to touch Spencer's, moans as they share Spencer's taste between them; when Ryan pulls back, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are dark. "I want—can you? Again?"
The heat in her voice makes Spencer spasm a little, mouth dropping open on a gasp as she shivers through an aftershock. Her thighs tremble a little at the thought of Ryan spreading her open like that, of Ryan's mouth, but she shakes her head and pulls Ryan in for another kiss. "Later," she promises against Ryan's lips. "First—" She slides her hand down Ryan's back, spreading her hand out over the curve of her shoulder blade, blinking when her fingers encounter the smooth fabric of Ryan's camisole. "What the fuck, Ross, how are you still dressed?"
Ryan hides a smile against Spencer's face, brushing the tip of her nose against Spencer's cheekbone. "Better things to do," she says, and then laughs when Spencer tangles her fingers in Ryan's hair to kiss her again, reaching down with her other hand to tug at the hem of Ryan's top; Spencer, at least, can't think of a single thing more important right now than getting Ryan naked.
She rolls them over, spreading Ryan out on her back, and Ryan is already reaching for the hem of her cami as Spencer slides her hands under it, feeling Ryan's stomach muscles jumping under her touch. While Ryan finishes pulling the shirt over her head, Spencer fumbles open her pants and skims them down her long, lean thighs.
Then she sees the tiny scrap of lingerie Ryan is wearing under her pants, and she stops short.
Spencer's first instinct is just to look, admiring the way the cut makes Ryan's legs look like they go on forever, the way the delicate, lacy edges of the panties look against Ryan's pale skin. But then she frowns a little, because Spencer has never known Ryan to wear anything like these before; actually, she would have sworn that Ryan didn't own any underwear besides solid-colored cotton, cut low in the rise as a concession to the way she wears her jeans but otherwise plain, chosen for comfort and worn soft with age. Ryan wouldn't wear something this emphatically feminine unless she lost a bet, or something—and this is a bet that Spencer's pretty sure she'd remember making.
She slides two fingers under the narrowest part of the panties, knuckles brushing Ryan's hipbone, pulling on the fabric just enough to lightly dent the flesh over Ryan's hip. "Where did these come from?" she asks, glancing up at Ryan's face.
Ryan is blushing. "Don't you like them?"
"I love them," Spencer says honestly. She shifts a little, resting her chin on Ryan's hip, moving her hand to cover the shadow of Ryan's pubic hair, clearly visible under the thin, silky fabric. "But do you?"
"I—" Ryan looks away. "I like the way you're looking at me now," she says, her tone almost confessional.
Spencer kisses the ridge of Ryan's hipbone and hooks her fingers in the panties, tugging them down. "How is that?" she asks, teasing but gentle.
Ryan meets her gaze again as she lifts her hips up off the bed, letting Spencer pull her underwear off. "Like I'm everything," she says softly.
"Well," Spencer says, and she feels her cheeks flushing a little, not quite brave enough to follow with you are like she wants to, but it's not anything Ryan doesn't know, anyway. She ignores her embarrassment in favor of pushing Ryan's thighs apart and settling on her stomach between them. "You know it doesn't matter what you're wearing." She rubs her thumb over the faint marks the elastic left on the crease of Ryan's thigh, her fingers almost touching the edge of Ryan's slit.
Ryan's breath hitches. "Good," she says, her voice a little unsteady with want. "Because the lace on those is really itchy."
Laughing, Spencer lets her fingers wander down until she's touching the edge of Ryan's slit, the flesh slick and hot under her fingertips. She's wet, so wet that she's shiny with it, wet enough that Spencer can smell her; it makes Spencer's mouth water a little, her own cunt throbbing a little in sympathy even though she just came. She takes a deep breath and meets Ryan's eyes again. "You're going to tell me if I do this wrong, right?" she asks, and then—quickly, before she can think too much about how nervous she is—presses her mouth against Ryan's cunt, licking from bottom to top in a hot, messy stripe.
"Fuck," Ryan hisses, one hand tangling in Spencer's hair as she arches up off the bed. "Fuck, Spence, I'll tell you anything you want."
Spencer laughs again, happy, remembering that she doesn't have to be nervous, and Ryan moans.
She tastes different than Spencer herself does, both sharper and sweeter, and God, Spencer would probably be happy to just slide her tongue inside and swallow down that thick, heady taste, but that's probably not what Ryan wants right now, probably not what will make her come. Spencer brushes her thumbs over the dark, close-trimmed hair at the top of Ryan's slit, gently spreads her open and looks at her, fascinated. Her clit is flushed, swollen, begging for touch, and Spencer lightly traces the tip with her tongue, sneaking a glance up at Ryan through her lashes.
Ryan gasps and clenches her eyes shut, her cunt twitching under Spencer's mouth. Her hands flail out and settle on Spencer's head, threading her fingers through Spencer's hair and holding her there as Ryan pushes up into the touch of Spencer's tongue. "More," she breathes, and Spencer couldn't refuse, even if she wanted to.
She strokes hard over Ryan's clit with the flat of her tongue, a steady rhythmic pressure that mimics the way Ryan touched Spencer at first, figuring that must be the way Ryan likes it. She tries to bring her hand up so she can give Ryan her fingers, too, but Ryan's holding on too tightly, tilting up her hips so she can keep Spencer's mouth firmly pressed against her clit. Spencer tries to watch Ryan's face, tries to catalog every single gasp and moan, everything that makes Ryan's thighs shake under her hands, but it's too much to take in. Her eyes flutter shut, and she can hear herself making greedy little sounds as she loses herself in Ryan's taste and smell and heat.
Gradually, though, Ryan's grip in her hair slackens a little, and her moans take on a desperate, frustrated edge. Finally she drags Spencer away from her cunt—and Spencer makes a tiny sound of protest at that, still reaching for Ryan with her mouth—and gasps out, "Stop, stop—Spence, I need—"
"I'm trying," Spencer says, licking her lips, looking up Ryan's body to meet her eyes. "Just let me—"
"No," Ryan says, pulling Spencer's hair again when Spencer tries to lean back in. "You said."
Spencer blinks. "Said what?"
"To tell you if you were doing it wrong." Ryan is definitely blushing again, even under the sex-flush of her cheeks and chest.
Making an unhappy sound, Spencer says, "Then what?"
Ryan's gaze slips away from hers for a second, shy. "Watch me?" she suggests, softly, like she expects Spencer to tell her no. Her right hand slides out of Spencer's hair and starts to creep up her own thigh towards her slit.
Telling her no is absolutely the furthest thing from Spencer's mind. "Oh, fuck yes," she groans, and surges forward to get one last taste as Ryan spreads herself open a little with her fingertips, slipping her fingers down to get them wet before pressing her middle two fingers hard against her clit. She cries out and arches up into the press of her hand, only inches from Spencer's face, the scent of her still making Spencer's mouth water, making her lick her lips again to chase Ryan's taste.
Ryan's fingers move fast and rough over her clit, tiny circles that quickly devolve into short, jerky back-and-forth thrusts, moving in time with the roll of her hips.
"God, Ryan," Spencer breathes, rapt, fairly certain that this is the hottest thing she's ever seen in her life, and Ryan just moans and moves her hand faster in response. It doesn't take long before her thighs tense up and her hips start to move in jerky spasms; she keens high in her throat as she comes.
Spencer pushes Ryan's hand away as her fingers slow down and then leans forward again, licking up the shiny new wet from Ryan's cunt, pushing her tongue just inside to feel the slow, steady pulse of her as she comes down.
Ryan makes a broken, exhausted noise that turns into a breathy whine when Spencer drags her tongue up to the top of her slit, just the barest touch over her oversensitive clit. "Spence—" she starts.
"Shh," Spencer says, crawling up the bed, tangling their legs together and holding herself up on her elbows. She leans down and presses her mouth to Ryan's, licking into her mouth and smiling into the kiss when Ryan makes a pleased noise and loops her arms around Spencer's neck. They stay that way, kissing lazily, until the house begins to vibrate with the sound of the garage door opening.
Both of them freeze. "Oh, shit," Spencer says, and then rolls off of Ryan and gropes frantically for her clothes, shoving Ryan's uniform oxford at her when she leans over the edge of the bed to pick up their jeans. "Shit, shit, Ryan, hurry—"
"My fucking sweater's in the way," Ryan hisses back, kneeling up on the bed in nothing but that incredibly sexy little pair of panties, and Spencer's eyes lose focus for a second before she shakes it off and yanks her t-shirt over her head.
By the time Spencer's dad meanders upstairs, Spencer and Ryan are both sitting cross-legged on the floor in the game room, waiting for Dynasty Warriors 4 to load.
"Girls," Spencer's dad says absently when he pokes his head into the game room to check on them.
"Hi, Daddy," Spencer says without looking away from the television screen, and as soon as he passes she has to stifle a hysterical laugh, especially when she looks at Ryan—at Ryan's wrecked hair and bitten-red mouth. I did that, she thinks.
"What is it?" Ryan says.
Spencer reaches out and gently traces the swollen curve of Ryan's lower lip with her thumb. Ryan blushes, but in retribution she smiles and reaches out to poke at a red mark just peeking out from under the collar of Spencer's shirt, for certain a hickey in the making. Then she leans a little farther into Spencer's space, and her kiss is sweet and unhurried, like she's just enjoying the feel of Spencer's lips on hers.
They break apart, and Spencer's smiling so hard it almost hurts, but she can't seem to stop.
"So," she says, reaching for her controller and bringing up the character selection screen. "Lu Bu?"
Ryan grins back at her. "Diao Chan or nothing."
They arrive to practice together the next week, Ryan back to normal in her jeans and band shirts with not a glimmer of makeup to be seen, and Brendon's first reaction when he sees her is to pout and say, "What, you're not going to be pretty for us anymore?"
Spencer glares at him. "She's always pretty," she says emphatically, reaching down to lace their fingers together.
Ryan looks up at her, smiling. "Yeah?" she says, and then lifts up on her toes to brush her mouth over Spencer's.
"I—what?" Brendon sputters, and Spencer can't resist keeping her eyes open so she can see his eyebrows making a serious run for his hairline, his stare flicking between their mouths and their entwined hands. "When—how did—"
"Um," Brent cuts in. "Hey, guys, can we practice now?"
Ryan breaks away from Spencer's mouth and turns to give Brent a brilliant smile. "Yeah," she says. "Yeah, practice is good."
