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asimaiyatTitle: "Bang Bang"
Fandom: Kill Bill
Pairing: Beatrix/Vernita/Elle
Rating: NC-17, explicit sex and mentions of violence
Summary: It wasn't because we were killers.
AN: Written forrubynye, for the Five Acts meme. The act was "threesomes."
It wasn't a sisterhood.
Now, listen. I know that my story is epic. Legendary. And every tale like that, every big dramatic story that grabs everyone who hears it by the balls and makes them want to pass it on to any sucker who'll listen, things get exaggerated. Blown out of proportion. I'm not naive enough to think that won't happen to my little parable of betrayal and revenge. I know some would-be Sophocles is out there at this minute telling the story of the Deadly Viper Assassin Squad, and to make the violence they committed against me just that much more despicable, he'll say that what we had was a Sisterhood. But it wasn't. We didn't braid each others' hair or comfort each other after breakups or talk about our periods. We didn't tell each other the truth. We didn't all even know each other's real names. So in a lot of ways, what we had was a fuck of a lot less than in a sisterhood.
But in other ways?
It was so much more.
I'm guessing that for most of you out there, all you know of what it's like to kill a man is what you've seen in the movies. That's fine by me -- in fact, I sincerely hope that you've only experienced that moment through an aluminized screen and the steely eyes of Clint Eastwood or Toshiro Mifune. I'm sure it's very powerful. But don't believe what you hear in the movies, boys and girls. It's not like that. For one thing, it isn't really very exciting. Blowing a guy's brains out has never made my pussy wet. It's never made my heart race -- unless I thought I might not get away. Not that I had any moral compunctions about what I did -- trust me, these sleazy fuckers had every drop of it coming to them -- but it was a job. Just like washing dishes. After you're done with a job, you don't want to think about it, right? You just want to go home and crack open a cold one or something. See what's playing on HBO. Yeah, you know the feeling.
So when I tell you that Elle and Vernita and O-Ren and I sometimes liked to screw around, I don't want you thinking it was because we were killers. Because that's what those bad girls do, right? They cut men's heads off -- and their dicks too, I suppose -- and have filthy and glorious Sapphic intercourse with one another, and don't let you watch? Not to say for a moment that we were not, all of us, very bad girls. But it wasn't like that.
I got back to the lounge late that night. The clock had just struck twelve-thirty. It had been a long day, and I wanted to take my mind off of it. Vernita and Elle had wanted to take my mind off of it, too. They were waiting in the bedroom, the lights dimmed, both of those deadly beautiful bodies in silhouette against the picture window, blocking out the lights of the city. At night the neon bled through the window and everything that wasn't in shadow was tinted red, like Vernita's white fifties bullet bra, and Elle's mile-long legs.
"Hello, girls." I smiled ironically as I put down my bags by the door. Obviously, I was wearing too many clothes. I had my leather jacket and boots off by the time I got to the bed.
"Hi, Black Mamba," said Vernita, cocking an eyebrow at me before reaching out to pull my tank top up over my head. "Heard it's been a hard day's night."
"I do not --" and she kissed me, shallow but sharp -- "want" -- she bit hard at the corner of my lip, distorting the word into a groan -- "to talk about it." I let myself be dragged down to the bed as Elle went to work on my jeans, which were tight, so they took a couple of minutes.
Between me and Vernita, the kiss had turned into a battle. I got a fistful of her shiny little cornrows at the back of her head, and held her as still as I could, pressing my tongue up under her lips and accepting the minor stinging pain of her teeth. Both of our eyes were open and in contact, keeping up an unspoken dialogue.
My focus was disrupted by Elle's big, angular hands working my panties down the length of my thighs. Vernita broke off the kiss to watch as Elle straddled my hips and started in on my cunt with a couple of those long fingers. She had calluses on the pads of her fingers -- I always thought that was sexy. Kind of butch.
While Elle teased me without mercy, and I just sat back and let her, Vernita reached out to play with Elle's tits, rolling them around in her deceptively delicate hands and then squeezing and tweaking her nipples, laughing as Elle went from humming with pleasure to squealing "Ow, God damn!"
"Elle," I pronounced, with care, as she twirled her finger in a lazy circle around my clit. "Get off the dime."
"Beg pardon?" She played dumb.
"I said, get off the dime. Stop pussyfooting around. To put it crudely, shit or get off the pot."
"Well, I never." Elle laughed that real honest, country-girl laugh, and adjusted the angle of her lean raw-boned torso to insert two fingers into my slit, all at once. I gasped and time stopped for a second as she locked her eyes on mine. All I could feel in the whole world was the slow burn of those long, big-knuckled fingers in my pussy. And then she smiled, a lopsided sort of smirk, and started to fuck me with them, hard. My eyes shut and I could hear myself breathing, deep, desperate breaths, and feel the rub of her fingers up against my g-spot, and the frame of the bed creaking underneath us -- that's how much force she was putting into it -- and then I opened my eyes, and what did I see but Vernita, wrapped around Elle from behind and still playing with her tits, twisting and pinching at the nipples. I rocked up into Elle's fingers, taking it just as hard as she was dishing it out. Her fingertips felt like lit sparklers, exploding with light inside of me. I let my eyes roll back again as Elle turned her head to kiss Vernita full on the mouth, breaking her perfect rhythm just enough to set me all the way off.
It felt like a season had passed before I heard Vernita's laconic voice, somewhere above me.
"Looks like girlfriend's down for the count."
"Poor thing. She had a day."
"We've all had a day, baby. Now I don't suppose you remember whose turn it is next."
Fandom: Kill Bill
Pairing: Beatrix/Vernita/Elle
Rating: NC-17, explicit sex and mentions of violence
Summary: It wasn't because we were killers.
AN: Written for
rubynye, for the Five Acts meme. The act was "threesomes."It wasn't a sisterhood.
Now, listen. I know that my story is epic. Legendary. And every tale like that, every big dramatic story that grabs everyone who hears it by the balls and makes them want to pass it on to any sucker who'll listen, things get exaggerated. Blown out of proportion. I'm not naive enough to think that won't happen to my little parable of betrayal and revenge. I know some would-be Sophocles is out there at this minute telling the story of the Deadly Viper Assassin Squad, and to make the violence they committed against me just that much more despicable, he'll say that what we had was a Sisterhood. But it wasn't. We didn't braid each others' hair or comfort each other after breakups or talk about our periods. We didn't tell each other the truth. We didn't all even know each other's real names. So in a lot of ways, what we had was a fuck of a lot less than in a sisterhood.
But in other ways?
It was so much more.
I'm guessing that for most of you out there, all you know of what it's like to kill a man is what you've seen in the movies. That's fine by me -- in fact, I sincerely hope that you've only experienced that moment through an aluminized screen and the steely eyes of Clint Eastwood or Toshiro Mifune. I'm sure it's very powerful. But don't believe what you hear in the movies, boys and girls. It's not like that. For one thing, it isn't really very exciting. Blowing a guy's brains out has never made my pussy wet. It's never made my heart race -- unless I thought I might not get away. Not that I had any moral compunctions about what I did -- trust me, these sleazy fuckers had every drop of it coming to them -- but it was a job. Just like washing dishes. After you're done with a job, you don't want to think about it, right? You just want to go home and crack open a cold one or something. See what's playing on HBO. Yeah, you know the feeling.
So when I tell you that Elle and Vernita and O-Ren and I sometimes liked to screw around, I don't want you thinking it was because we were killers. Because that's what those bad girls do, right? They cut men's heads off -- and their dicks too, I suppose -- and have filthy and glorious Sapphic intercourse with one another, and don't let you watch? Not to say for a moment that we were not, all of us, very bad girls. But it wasn't like that.
I got back to the lounge late that night. The clock had just struck twelve-thirty. It had been a long day, and I wanted to take my mind off of it. Vernita and Elle had wanted to take my mind off of it, too. They were waiting in the bedroom, the lights dimmed, both of those deadly beautiful bodies in silhouette against the picture window, blocking out the lights of the city. At night the neon bled through the window and everything that wasn't in shadow was tinted red, like Vernita's white fifties bullet bra, and Elle's mile-long legs.
"Hello, girls." I smiled ironically as I put down my bags by the door. Obviously, I was wearing too many clothes. I had my leather jacket and boots off by the time I got to the bed.
"Hi, Black Mamba," said Vernita, cocking an eyebrow at me before reaching out to pull my tank top up over my head. "Heard it's been a hard day's night."
"I do not --" and she kissed me, shallow but sharp -- "want" -- she bit hard at the corner of my lip, distorting the word into a groan -- "to talk about it." I let myself be dragged down to the bed as Elle went to work on my jeans, which were tight, so they took a couple of minutes.
Between me and Vernita, the kiss had turned into a battle. I got a fistful of her shiny little cornrows at the back of her head, and held her as still as I could, pressing my tongue up under her lips and accepting the minor stinging pain of her teeth. Both of our eyes were open and in contact, keeping up an unspoken dialogue.
My focus was disrupted by Elle's big, angular hands working my panties down the length of my thighs. Vernita broke off the kiss to watch as Elle straddled my hips and started in on my cunt with a couple of those long fingers. She had calluses on the pads of her fingers -- I always thought that was sexy. Kind of butch.
While Elle teased me without mercy, and I just sat back and let her, Vernita reached out to play with Elle's tits, rolling them around in her deceptively delicate hands and then squeezing and tweaking her nipples, laughing as Elle went from humming with pleasure to squealing "Ow, God damn!"
"Elle," I pronounced, with care, as she twirled her finger in a lazy circle around my clit. "Get off the dime."
"Beg pardon?" She played dumb.
"I said, get off the dime. Stop pussyfooting around. To put it crudely, shit or get off the pot."
"Well, I never." Elle laughed that real honest, country-girl laugh, and adjusted the angle of her lean raw-boned torso to insert two fingers into my slit, all at once. I gasped and time stopped for a second as she locked her eyes on mine. All I could feel in the whole world was the slow burn of those long, big-knuckled fingers in my pussy. And then she smiled, a lopsided sort of smirk, and started to fuck me with them, hard. My eyes shut and I could hear myself breathing, deep, desperate breaths, and feel the rub of her fingers up against my g-spot, and the frame of the bed creaking underneath us -- that's how much force she was putting into it -- and then I opened my eyes, and what did I see but Vernita, wrapped around Elle from behind and still playing with her tits, twisting and pinching at the nipples. I rocked up into Elle's fingers, taking it just as hard as she was dishing it out. Her fingertips felt like lit sparklers, exploding with light inside of me. I let my eyes roll back again as Elle turned her head to kiss Vernita full on the mouth, breaking her perfect rhythm just enough to set me all the way off.
It felt like a season had passed before I heard Vernita's laconic voice, somewhere above me.
"Looks like girlfriend's down for the count."
"Poor thing. She had a day."
"We've all had a day, baby. Now I don't suppose you remember whose turn it is next."