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Written for the thirteenth round of femslash_minis: Jenny Calendar. I was assigned wisdomeagle, who requested Jenny/Cordelia, set during the BtVS-era, with computers and hairstyles.

Title: My Footstep Intrudes
Author: voleuse
Fandom: BtVS
Ship: Jenny/Cordelia
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: The unloosened thong we call instinct quivers.
Notes: Set early in S2

i. she's drawn to it, twittering

It's two forty-five in the afternoon, and Cordelia hates being stuck in the computer lab typing. Isn't it enough she's already done all the research for her history report? Can't she, like, hire somebody to type everything out?

But it's either this, or study hall, and the library's been invaded by a gaggle of freshmen from the A/V club. Ew.

So she's stuck in front of a monitor, pecking at the keyboard with freshly-manicured fingernails, and hating everything, but freshmen especially.

And from the back of the lab, Miss Calendar says, "Cordelia."

ii. undeceives all her stealth

Cordelia hits the period at the end of the sentence, a decisive stroke. She saves, then spins in her chair and smiles.

The room is empty, save for the two of them. Cordelia leans her head back, rolls and stretches her arms. Arches her back and sighs.

"Honestly?" she says. "I'd rather be chasing after demon-spawned gerbils."

Miss Calendar laughs, settles in the chair next to Cordelia's. "Be careful what you wish for."

"You're kidding." Cordelia rolls her eyes. "Is every fantasy made up by loser wannabes real?"

"Depends." Miss Calendar smiles, gestures widely. "Try me."

"Time traveling midgets? The tooth fairy?"

A raised eyebrow. A shrug.

"Global warming? Lesbian cheerleader pillow fights?"

"Yes," Miss Calender replies, "and you'd be the expert on the latter."

"On the--" Cordelia raises her hands. "Please. I have some standards."

"Set higher than Harmony and Aura?" Miss Calendar leans forward, and her knee brushes against Cordelia's. "Do tell."

Cordelia's eyes widen. She takes a breath, and--

The bell rings, and the door swings open.

"Sorry, Cordelia." Miss Calendar stands. "I have a class coming in."

"Right." Cordelia turns back to her report. "Class."

She hits print without checking to see if she's finished.

iii. alludes to the cunning

The bell doesn't ring. Instead, Cordelia shifts forward, her legs bracketing Miss Calendar's knee.

"I'd prefer someone experienced, maybe," she says. Smiles as if she's being coy. "Someone who knows what's she's doing."

"Doing what?" Miss Calendar leans in further, and her hand slips under Cordelia's skirt, presses warm between her legs.

Cordelia gasps, and her chair rolls when her hips buck. "I could be more specific," she manages.

Miss Calendar slides off her chair, kneels in front of Cordelia. "Use details to support your thesis," she instructs. Her fingers slide under the elastic of Cordelia's panties, against wet curls, and in.

Cordelia shrieks, looks around the empty classroom. "Miss Calendar, what about--"

"The door's locked, Cordelia." She smiles. "And call me Jenny."

"Jenny," Cordelia moans, and Miss Calendar spreads her legs wider.

iv. ambushes she will not achieve

The next afternoon, Cordelia can't even look Miss Calendar in the eye.

Not because she's embarrassed or whatever, because everybody has erotic dreams about authority figures once in a while, right? So, no. Not embarrassed at all.

She can't look Miss Calendar in the eye, because every time she tries, she gets this intense flashback. Of digging her fingers into Miss Calendar's chignon. Of Miss Calendar's tongue, swirling, and fingers twisting just right. Of biting her lip, choking back a litany of, Jenny, Jenny, yes, Jenny, yes

Every time Miss Calendar looks at her, Cordelia gets a full-body flush, and her fingers trip gracelessly over the keyboard.

By the end of her study hall, Cordelia's panties are uncomfortably damp. She swears to herself she'll go to the library tomorrow, geek brigade or no.

She saves her file and gathers up her notes. Miss Calendar's talking to another student, so Cordelia makes a break for it.

She's two feet from the door when Miss Calendar touches her shoulder.

"Cordelia?" Miss Calendar sounds puzzled. "Are you okay?"

She pastes on her biggest smile and spins on her heel. "Late. Cheerleading practice. Bye!"

"Bye," Miss Calendar responds, but Cordelia's already out the door and gone.


A/N: Title, summary, and headings adapted from Ellen Kirvin's Stella in Love with My Plant. Link courtesy of breathe_poetry.

Originally linked here.


( 3 comments — Leave a comment )
Jun. 11th, 2006 02:55 am (UTC)
Whoa. Wonderfully hot.
Jun. 14th, 2006 01:26 am (UTC)
Thank you so much! I'm thrilled you liked it.
Sep. 5th, 2007 05:46 pm (UTC)
I never saw this till now, which is unfortunate, since it's awesome and lovely and perfectly pitched, voices and characters and all. Thanks for writing for me. :)
( 3 comments — Leave a comment )

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