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Author's Chapter Notes:
Disclaimer: Peyton Reed, etc., owns them, obviously.
Rating: 13+
Distribution: My site
Word count: 1060
Written for: The smallfandomfest prompt - Bring It On, Missy, she's totally bendy
The thing about Torrance is she's totally bendy.

That's a good thing, right? It means, in competition, she can do things with her body lots of girls can't, even girls who stretch and work out and want to win. Cheerleaders are competitive bitches, clawing their way to the top. Usually literally.

(Now that's a distracting thought, Torrance clawing at things. At her things. At her breasts and her hips and her thighs. Missy really, really likes when her girlfriends leave marks. Not that Torrance is her girlfriend. That's the problem.)

Of course it's a good thing.

Except when she's all bent over in front of Missy, her legs spread, her forearms resting on the floor. That means her butt is in the air and she's wearing short shorts and her legs are so smooth and they look so soft and Missy really, really wants to just reach out, grab Torrance's hips, and drag her backward. Wants to slip a hand between those legs and see if she can hold the position while Missy gets her off.

Times like that, Torrance being bendy isn't a good thing at all.

Missy stretches her arms, pushes her palms out in front of her and then lifts them overhead. She's not really paying attention to what she's doing, she's done this about a million times anyway, and the view is just so nice she can't stop looking. She starts at the curve at the small of Tor's back, slides over her ass, down her thighs -- crap.

Torrance is watching Missy watch her.

She's smiling, her head between her legs, her weight propped on her arms, and there's something a little crooked about the way her body is tilted.

"Like what you see?" She actually, unbelievably, shakes her ass. It's a terrible, teasing thing, and Missy looks away. Except that's bad, that lets Torrance know yes, she was watching; yes, she knows she's been caught; yes, she is ashamed.

Except, really, Missy has no reason to be ashamed. (Well, okay, a little. Torrance is, after all, dating her brother. She thinks. She hasn't seen them together much this summer.) So she likes girls. So what? She was even pretty out at her old school, had girlfriends and went to dances (when she had time -- gymnastics took up a lot of her life) and held hands in the hallway.

And so what if she likes Torrance? Torrance is bubbly and hilarious and smart and so, so beautiful. She gave Missy friendship when no one else did, she gave Missy this new thing, which isn't gymnastics at all, but it's fun, too, in a different way. Why wouldn't she like Torrance?

She's surprised no one else on the squad has ever been caught watching her, to be honest. It's not like there isn't plenty of cheer-sex going on at football games. What else are they supposed to do while the team loses every. single. time?

"Hello?" Torrance snaps her fingers. "Does that silence mean you don't like what you see?"

Missy crosses her arms over her chest and cocks an eyebrow. She's good at brooding disbelief. Sometimes Les says it makes her dykeadelic. She kicks his ass whenever he does, but it hasn't stopped him yet. She'd better try harder next time.

"How could I not? Tor, have you looked at your ass lately? We ever need to do another fundraiser and I'm so putting you out on the street to tempt people in."

"Gee, thanks. 'Hey, Tor, you're like a whore.' That's a great compliment, Missy."

Missy rolls her eyes. "That's not what I meant and you know it. Still, I'd make good money off you."

Torrance shakes her ass again. "You'd really let someone else oggle me? Touch me?"

She has to look away, even if it gives her the wrong impression. "Oh, I'm sure Cliff wouldn't let me. You're safe."

They're on shaky ground, and Missy tries to think of some way to get out of the conversation before it all goes downhill. Some way that doesn't involve just walking away, that is, which is her first instinct.

"Yeah, well," Torrance is suddenly standing in front of Missy. "I'm not asking him, am I? I'm asking you."

Asking her what, exactly?

Missy shrugs, and squeezes her arms together tighter, presses her thumbs into her arms. She wants to act tough, to blow her off, but this is Torrance. She can't do that, not to her.

"So?" Torrance asks, as if they're having a conversation which actually makes sense.

"So what?"

"So don't you like what you see? So don't you care when someone else looks at me? So don't you want to kiss me?"


It's too late, though, Missy's given away too much, because Torrance reaches out, puts her hands on Missy's shoulders, and gives her a kiss. She leans in close, presses her breasts against her crossed arms, and flicks her tongue across Missy's lips.

It feels so good, so good, but Missy pushes Torrance away. She has to, if she doesn't, if this goes on one more second, she's not going to be able to stop.

This is her brother's girlfriend. She's not doing this.

"Missy? What's wrong?"

She wishes she was wearing jeans, because she needs to shove her hands into her pockets to hide her fists. She wants it so much, wants Torrance so much, she can't take it. She can't walk away from this.

She must.

Missy turns her back on Torrance and runs inside, runs through the house and out the front door and down the street. She's miles from home, and she's already tired from working out, from practicing for college cheering, but she isn't going to stop, she isn't going to let Torrance catch her and offer a ride and act like nothing's wrong, like it's okay to kiss her boyfriend's sister.

She cuts through yards, leaps fences when she must. Maybe, if she tries hard enough and works long enough, she can run Torrance, the hum of her, the feel of her, the taste of her, right out of her body.


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