![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scurvyknaveryTitle: Introductory College Experimentation
Fandom: Community
Pairing: Annie/Britta
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,454
Summary: Jeff Winger's not the only person who gets to share secret kisses with Britta. Spoilers to 2.20, "Paradigms of Human Memory"
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction - all events and actions are completely made up. I am not, nor do I claim to be, the owner of the rights to any of the characters in this work. Absolutely nothing in this story should be taken as fact. This original work of fan fiction is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License; attribution should include a link to this Livejournal post.
Annie's always been the type of person who has trouble falling asleep. When she was little, she used to count things - sheep, then As, then pills - behind her eyes, willing her mind to slow down, so that her body could catch up. But these days, when Annie goes to sleep, there's a different kind of thought running through her head, over and over again, until her heart rate slows and her eyes slip shut:
Jeff Winger's not the only person who gets to share secret kisses with Britta.
*
It starts off-campus, the day they visit the ghost town of Miner's Gulch. Britta and Annie are just exploring, wandering through this empty, creepy-looking house and looking at everything. Britta's fascinated by all of it, in that too-interested Britta way, marveling at the old-fashioned kitchen tools and the photographs on the walls. She keeps touching stuff, saying things like, "Look at all of the history to this place, can you believe it?" and Annie keeps nodding and hoping she'll stop being so interested sometime soon.
Then they get to the bedroom, and everything changes.
Not like that, though, gross.
They find a wardrobe, full of clothes, and suddenly they're both just girls, excited about playing dress-up. Everything's in perfect condition, and even Annie has to admit it's pretty cool, all of the petticoats and hoop skirts and lace. There's mens' clothing, too, and Britta reaches for the cowboy hat first, sets it low down on her forehead and turns to Annie.
"Hey, little lady," she says, her voice suddenly husky. She loops her thumbs through her belt loops, jutting her hips out in a way she hasn't since she stopped hanging out with Paige.
It's a joke. Of course it's a joke. But maybe Annie has this weird thing about cowboy hats, and maybe that stems from that time Jeff dressed up for their first Halloween together, whatever - it doesn't change the fact that Britta looks really good.
It doesn't change the fact that Annie's mouth goes dry, and she has to look away for a minute, flustered. Britta notices.
*
It's not really a problem until later that day, when they're hiding out in the old brothel. (Almost getting shot by a grumpy prospector will do that to you.) They lost track of the others, and now it's just Annie and Britta, sitting in an old, creepy room that's probably seen hundreds of weird, historical sex acts.
Annie's sitting on the bed, and Britta's close by, trying to catch a glimpse of the others through a crack in the shutters.
Britta's not wearing the hat anymore, but Annie can't stop picturing it, and all the things it made Annie notice. Like the way Britta's leather jacket makes her seem surprisingly attractive in a butch sort of way, and the soft, just-right curve of her ass in those jeans, and the way the too-pink, pillowy quality of her mouth is actually sort of inviting, and -
"Annie. Annie."
Annie blinks, trying to remember if they were talking about something. "Yeah?"
Britta sits next to her. She looks concerned. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I just - yeah."
"You sure?" Britta says, and puts a hand on her shoulder.
Annie takes a shaky breath. "Totally. It's just -" she takes a moment, trying to think of an excuse. "I've never almost been shot by an angry, paranoid gold miner before, you know?"
"Oh." Britta says. Her brow furrows, and her lower lip juts out in a little pout that makes Annie want to bite at it. "I guess after the first half-dozen protests-turned-riots, you just forget how scary it can be to get shot at."
Annie nods. "Yeah," she says, forcing herself to look down at her own hands. She needs to stop objectifying Britta.
Britta moves even closer and puts an arm around her, with a comforting, friendly sort of sigh. Britta's jacket is soft and skin-warmed against Annie's shoulder, and her boobs are pressed against Annie's side, suggestive and comforting at the same time. Annie thinks that maybe she should feel a little bit guilty about enjoying it, but - well, she's enjoying it. She doesn't know what else to do.
Britta shifts, like she's about to lean down and press her chin to the top of Annie's head, right as Annie looks up. When Britta asks her later, Annie will swear up and down that she didn't mean for this to happen, but the timing is just right and their lips meet perfectly, like they're in a movie.
Britta's mouth is softer than any mouth Annie's ever kissed before, and Annie can smell her lip gloss, strawberry. It's sweet and almost chaste, except for the hammering of Annie's heart, and the way it makes her feel sexy and a little bit breathless. They pull apart, just barely, enough to see each other's eyes and not a lot more.
"Oh," Britta whispers, awkwardly.
"Um," Annie says. She's not really sure what to do, but she can't stop thinking about Britta's mouth, and Britta in that cowboy hat, and everything she didn't know she wanted to do until today.
Tentatively, she reaches up and cups Britta's jaw. Britta sort of huffs, breathing warm onto Annie's mouth, and Annie kisses her again, harder. She thinks about how she remembers Jeff kissing her, how she used to kiss Vaughn, and it makes her a little bolder. It feels weird, slipping her tongue into someone else's mouth without an invitation, but when she laps at Britta's lips they just part for her, like Britta was expecting it.
The next time they pull away from each other, they're both panting, and Annie feels much surer about how much she wants Britta. So sure that she's half-surprised when Britta suddenly pulls back, pushing at Annie's shoulders and chest so that they're separated, sort of. Their knees are still touching, and Annie can feel Britta's skin, hot through her jeans, like an invitation.
"Annie," she says, softly. It sounds like a breakup.
"What?"
Britta has this look in her eyes, the one she gets when she thinks Annie's too innocent for something. "I don't know about this. It's just -"
"I'm eighteen, Britta. That's old enough to make out with anyone I want, thank you very much."
"Yeah, but I'm not -" Britta stops, makes a face. "I'm into guys, Annie."
Annie doesn't want to turn into Pierce, but it sort of sounds like Britta's telling that to herself. "Britta," she says, gently. "Why is your hand still on my boob?"
Britta looks down, finally noticing the way she's been cupping Annie's left boob through her tank top since she first pushed her away. She rubs across the fabric with her thumb, almost experimentally, and Annie's bra is thin enough that she feels it like sparks, running up her chest and down her spine towards her groin. She hears herself sigh.
Britta's eyes go huge, like she's realizing something very important about herself. "We can't ever tell the group about this. Ever."
Annie rolls her eyes. "Duh."
Britta shrugs. "Cool."
When they kiss again, they don't stop to talk.
*
They make it to what Annie's pretty sure is the lesbian version of second base - Britta's hand is underneath her bra, and Annie's got two fingers pressed in the warm, humid space between the outside of Britta's underwear and the inside of Britta's jeans - when there are footsteps in the hallway, loud and menacing.
"Holy shit," Britta whispers against her ear, and it takes Annie a second to figure out if it's because of her hand or because they're about to get caught.
When Britta's hand slips away from Annie's skin, Annie hears herself groan, frustrated and needy. The steps outside get faster.
Britta stands first, shrugging on her jacket and zipping up her fly, while Annie works at fastening the catch on her bra. They managed to get themselves dressed just in time for the door to open, and the entire group is on the other side, looking dusty and a little wild-eyed. They stare for a long while. Annie tries not to twitch. She feels like she's got Britta's handprints all over her, above and under her clothes, and she's waiting for someone to notice.
"There you guys are," Jeff says, sarcastic and unimpressed as ever. "The old prospector got tired of chasing us, so we're all going to head home. You coming?"
Annie fixes her hair and Britta looks away, and neither of them says what they're thinking, we would have been.
But as they walk back to the cars, Britta's hand brushes against Annie's. It's casual, the kind of accidental touch that happens from walking too close together, but it makes Annie feel warm all over, just the same. The secret, petty part of her brain thinks suck it, Jeff, and she smiles.
Britta smiles back.
Fandom: Community
Pairing: Annie/Britta
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,454
Summary: Jeff Winger's not the only person who gets to share secret kisses with Britta. Spoilers to 2.20, "Paradigms of Human Memory"
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction - all events and actions are completely made up. I am not, nor do I claim to be, the owner of the rights to any of the characters in this work. Absolutely nothing in this story should be taken as fact. This original work of fan fiction is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License; attribution should include a link to this Livejournal post.
Annie's always been the type of person who has trouble falling asleep. When she was little, she used to count things - sheep, then As, then pills - behind her eyes, willing her mind to slow down, so that her body could catch up. But these days, when Annie goes to sleep, there's a different kind of thought running through her head, over and over again, until her heart rate slows and her eyes slip shut:
Jeff Winger's not the only person who gets to share secret kisses with Britta.
*
It starts off-campus, the day they visit the ghost town of Miner's Gulch. Britta and Annie are just exploring, wandering through this empty, creepy-looking house and looking at everything. Britta's fascinated by all of it, in that too-interested Britta way, marveling at the old-fashioned kitchen tools and the photographs on the walls. She keeps touching stuff, saying things like, "Look at all of the history to this place, can you believe it?" and Annie keeps nodding and hoping she'll stop being so interested sometime soon.
Then they get to the bedroom, and everything changes.
Not like that, though, gross.
They find a wardrobe, full of clothes, and suddenly they're both just girls, excited about playing dress-up. Everything's in perfect condition, and even Annie has to admit it's pretty cool, all of the petticoats and hoop skirts and lace. There's mens' clothing, too, and Britta reaches for the cowboy hat first, sets it low down on her forehead and turns to Annie.
"Hey, little lady," she says, her voice suddenly husky. She loops her thumbs through her belt loops, jutting her hips out in a way she hasn't since she stopped hanging out with Paige.
It's a joke. Of course it's a joke. But maybe Annie has this weird thing about cowboy hats, and maybe that stems from that time Jeff dressed up for their first Halloween together, whatever - it doesn't change the fact that Britta looks really good.
It doesn't change the fact that Annie's mouth goes dry, and she has to look away for a minute, flustered. Britta notices.
*
It's not really a problem until later that day, when they're hiding out in the old brothel. (Almost getting shot by a grumpy prospector will do that to you.) They lost track of the others, and now it's just Annie and Britta, sitting in an old, creepy room that's probably seen hundreds of weird, historical sex acts.
Annie's sitting on the bed, and Britta's close by, trying to catch a glimpse of the others through a crack in the shutters.
Britta's not wearing the hat anymore, but Annie can't stop picturing it, and all the things it made Annie notice. Like the way Britta's leather jacket makes her seem surprisingly attractive in a butch sort of way, and the soft, just-right curve of her ass in those jeans, and the way the too-pink, pillowy quality of her mouth is actually sort of inviting, and -
"Annie. Annie."
Annie blinks, trying to remember if they were talking about something. "Yeah?"
Britta sits next to her. She looks concerned. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I just - yeah."
"You sure?" Britta says, and puts a hand on her shoulder.
Annie takes a shaky breath. "Totally. It's just -" she takes a moment, trying to think of an excuse. "I've never almost been shot by an angry, paranoid gold miner before, you know?"
"Oh." Britta says. Her brow furrows, and her lower lip juts out in a little pout that makes Annie want to bite at it. "I guess after the first half-dozen protests-turned-riots, you just forget how scary it can be to get shot at."
Annie nods. "Yeah," she says, forcing herself to look down at her own hands. She needs to stop objectifying Britta.
Britta moves even closer and puts an arm around her, with a comforting, friendly sort of sigh. Britta's jacket is soft and skin-warmed against Annie's shoulder, and her boobs are pressed against Annie's side, suggestive and comforting at the same time. Annie thinks that maybe she should feel a little bit guilty about enjoying it, but - well, she's enjoying it. She doesn't know what else to do.
Britta shifts, like she's about to lean down and press her chin to the top of Annie's head, right as Annie looks up. When Britta asks her later, Annie will swear up and down that she didn't mean for this to happen, but the timing is just right and their lips meet perfectly, like they're in a movie.
Britta's mouth is softer than any mouth Annie's ever kissed before, and Annie can smell her lip gloss, strawberry. It's sweet and almost chaste, except for the hammering of Annie's heart, and the way it makes her feel sexy and a little bit breathless. They pull apart, just barely, enough to see each other's eyes and not a lot more.
"Oh," Britta whispers, awkwardly.
"Um," Annie says. She's not really sure what to do, but she can't stop thinking about Britta's mouth, and Britta in that cowboy hat, and everything she didn't know she wanted to do until today.
Tentatively, she reaches up and cups Britta's jaw. Britta sort of huffs, breathing warm onto Annie's mouth, and Annie kisses her again, harder. She thinks about how she remembers Jeff kissing her, how she used to kiss Vaughn, and it makes her a little bolder. It feels weird, slipping her tongue into someone else's mouth without an invitation, but when she laps at Britta's lips they just part for her, like Britta was expecting it.
The next time they pull away from each other, they're both panting, and Annie feels much surer about how much she wants Britta. So sure that she's half-surprised when Britta suddenly pulls back, pushing at Annie's shoulders and chest so that they're separated, sort of. Their knees are still touching, and Annie can feel Britta's skin, hot through her jeans, like an invitation.
"Annie," she says, softly. It sounds like a breakup.
"What?"
Britta has this look in her eyes, the one she gets when she thinks Annie's too innocent for something. "I don't know about this. It's just -"
"I'm eighteen, Britta. That's old enough to make out with anyone I want, thank you very much."
"Yeah, but I'm not -" Britta stops, makes a face. "I'm into guys, Annie."
Annie doesn't want to turn into Pierce, but it sort of sounds like Britta's telling that to herself. "Britta," she says, gently. "Why is your hand still on my boob?"
Britta looks down, finally noticing the way she's been cupping Annie's left boob through her tank top since she first pushed her away. She rubs across the fabric with her thumb, almost experimentally, and Annie's bra is thin enough that she feels it like sparks, running up her chest and down her spine towards her groin. She hears herself sigh.
Britta's eyes go huge, like she's realizing something very important about herself. "We can't ever tell the group about this. Ever."
Annie rolls her eyes. "Duh."
Britta shrugs. "Cool."
When they kiss again, they don't stop to talk.
*
They make it to what Annie's pretty sure is the lesbian version of second base - Britta's hand is underneath her bra, and Annie's got two fingers pressed in the warm, humid space between the outside of Britta's underwear and the inside of Britta's jeans - when there are footsteps in the hallway, loud and menacing.
"Holy shit," Britta whispers against her ear, and it takes Annie a second to figure out if it's because of her hand or because they're about to get caught.
When Britta's hand slips away from Annie's skin, Annie hears herself groan, frustrated and needy. The steps outside get faster.
Britta stands first, shrugging on her jacket and zipping up her fly, while Annie works at fastening the catch on her bra. They managed to get themselves dressed just in time for the door to open, and the entire group is on the other side, looking dusty and a little wild-eyed. They stare for a long while. Annie tries not to twitch. She feels like she's got Britta's handprints all over her, above and under her clothes, and she's waiting for someone to notice.
"There you guys are," Jeff says, sarcastic and unimpressed as ever. "The old prospector got tired of chasing us, so we're all going to head home. You coming?"
Annie fixes her hair and Britta looks away, and neither of them says what they're thinking, we would have been.
But as they walk back to the cars, Britta's hand brushes against Annie's. It's casual, the kind of accidental touch that happens from walking too close together, but it makes Annie feel warm all over, just the same. The secret, petty part of her brain thinks suck it, Jeff, and she smiles.
Britta smiles back.