I was a taller girl too, once. (regala_electra) wrote,
I was a taller girl too, once.

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Fic: three maids in a tub (SPN OFC story, R, Het)

I have this meta almost-DVD-style commentary to post, but I wrote not-sequel fic and I have that to share instead.

So I bring you a little coda.

three maids in a tub
Author: Regala Electra
Rating: R
Warning: Sexual content
Pairing: Reference to Dean/OFC, Sam/OFC, Dean/OFC/Sam, and some OFC/OMC and some OFC/OFC action
Summary: Rub-a-dub-dub.
Word Count: 1,215
Author's Notes: a Not-Sequel to the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker.

Feedback is always appreciated.



She breaks up with Tony on Tuesday and despite what her sister claims, it's not because she heard he was shopping for an engagement ring. The thing that she couldn’t accept about him was this: Tony was really awful about reciprocating. That was the thing, because yeah, while he could go down on her and he get her off, every time he did it, it was like a favor. And then he'd bring up how he had a fantasy about him and her and another girl and sure, Regina's open-minded but she's also straight.

He never offered her the choice of a guy so she doesn't see why he should pout about being in a monogamous relationship when he's the one that told her he wanted to get real serious when they had just started dating.

Besides, she has a vibrator and a good memory. She can go without dating a guy for...about a week and a half. Yes, she's a serial dater, can't help it, put a woman behind a butcher counter in a dorky paper hat and apparently she can always get a date. Oh, and Regina's never made the mistake of dating a married man despite what her cousins whisper behind her back.

However tonight, she isn't in the mood for real penetration, instead she hops into the shower and thanks her lucky stars that the plumber fixed the hot/cold dials because she'd always forget they were in reverse and wind up scalding herself.

Even though she lives by herself, she still locks the bathroom door. Habits never fade although she does leave dishes in the sink overnight more than she should admit.

Best thing she has, besides a steady hand, a pretty face and a brain behind it, is her recall. Closes her eyes as the water steams up, keeps it just warm enough then makes it cooler, always like it colder against those delicate folds, and she can bring up the echo of him as she presses her finger to the side of her clit.

“Fuck, you sit hard enough so I don’t breathe, you hear me?”

It's a shame that she can't hold off, comes right there and then and because she can't help it, screams long enough that if she hadn't soundproofed parts of her apartment, the neighbors might come a-running.



"Your Mom still thinks it's a phase?"

Lydia shrugs as she hunts for her panties in thong-land. She loves Annie a whole lot, leaves mushy love notes on her pillow when she's going to be late and won't see her until the following day, but still, Lydia can't understand Annie's constantly growing thong collection. If it wasn't for the times that Lydia's seen Annie in regular underwear during that time of the month, she'd think that Annie was incapable of having something cover her ass.

"They're in the sock drawer," Annie says, struggling to get out of the top bed sheet. She's seen too many romance movies, always twisting herself up so she can walk around not-naked in their one-bedroom apartment, and it's another thing that makes Lydia smile, bite her bottom lip and shake her head.

She'd gotten dark curtains so she could walk around stark-naked whenever she felt like it. And whenever tends to be always.

"Look, I told my mom I was bisexual when I was 18 and in school. Maybe that was a mistake, but, and I hate to disappoint you, there aren't that many orgies between aspiring pastry chefs. A-ha," Lydia says, tugging out her boy-cut panties, a thong twisted around it. Pulling them up her legs, wincing when they're a little too tight around her belly, okay, she's hitting the gym tomorrow, she adds, "After all, didn't your lovely ex say that I don't exist at that last Women-with-a-Y mixer?"

Annie rolls her eyes and nearly pitches over when she finally yanks the sheet off.

"Graceful." But Annie’s giggling which sets Lydia off, fumbling to help Annie get off of their oversized bed, queen-sized, which eats the precious bedroom space they don't have. "Sorry, it's just, you get it right?"

"Babe, of course I do.” Frowning, Annie gets serious, “But I'm getting worried now that your mom's asking me if there are single guys at the restaurant."

"Hey," Lydia says, kissing Annie, always loving how it starts slow, teasing kiss that goes deeper until they gasp in each other's mouths, have to break away. "I'd never date a coworker. Now, if you're looking for someone..."

She deserves the spank on her ass but it isn't a good deterrent.

After all, she figured out, when she was sixteen and in her mother's kitchen (and doesn't that sound like Clue, and here's the culprit: that cute guy Sam, who moved away at the beginning of summer, lost track of him, a pity), that she really enjoys spanking.



Despite the flattened accent, Elle’s not a native of Pennsylvania. She’s New Jersey born and Bronx raised but got out there as soon as her cousin settled down in the Poconos. It’s Pocono, not Poconos, her cousin Jackie would say, annoyed that Elle never learned otherwise. She finished her last year of school in Pennsylvania and crushed on the nice boy in high school, so sure he was gay because that's her life story, self-inflicted burn of just a stupid crush. That's something she learned otherwise when they’d nearly gotten caught in the high school band room, his hand down her jeans.

Her first car was a standard which she soon gave up for an automatic after one terrifying roll when she’d been going up the mountain to her cousin’s house. She still has the same car, it's third-hand at this point but she doesn't care. She actually cleans it every Saturday so long as the weather agrees with her and she remembers how she once got fucked on the hood during homecoming week at Rutgers University, it's where her brother went to school. Elle's pretty sure she fucked her brother's best friend but he was wasted enough that he never acknowledged her the few times she's run into him.

She didn’t go to college, instead, she became a babysitter and then a housesitter, whiled away time by taking on projects that the parents/homeowners were always getting around to and they were pleasantly surprised by her natural knack at carpentering. She'd always made candles and once she got the job at the Pocono Candle Factory, she began renting her converted little house, it's more a shack than anything, don't let a real estate agent say otherwise.

Elle doesn't get reprimanded for calling in sick to fuck those two brothers, Sam and Dean, she's bad with last names, but she can't forget theirs even though she's sure it's fake: Winchester.

Her mother practiced Santeria and when Elle was young, tried to teach her the ways but Elle's stubborn atheism didn't lend itself to what she thought of as mumbo-jumbo. Still, she'd been drawn to that weird candle and recognized the power of it.

Still, she's not sorry that she lost it, because now, thighs sticky with sweat as she pushes a third finger inside, they did right by her and offered a fair trade.

And because she can’t decide, she hisses out Winchester when she comes.

Tags: dean/ofc, fic, sam/ofc, spn fic
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