Title: Heat Wave
Rating: What's this I hear about porn wars, eh? I'm gonna give it the props it deserves: an extra sloppy nc-17. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own them, copyright infringement not intended.
Summary: Relatively bland hunk of smut. Enjoy.
Dinah flopped over in irate despondence, the flanking air was lethargically thick and smarmy. The repair man, conveniently thwarted by a flat, had foiled them again with his bullshit repentance penny pinching scheme and seemingly sincere self-assuredness, well aware he'd be delayed by a day or so. She moaned piteously into her pillow when Helena popped the door open and slinked into the room with her uppity fluid prowess and apparent lack of modesty--clad in frayed and almost wispy cotton undies and a baby doll t.
"Where is it?" she purred in one unwavering flounce.
Dinah blinked stiffly. "Where is what?" she drawled, sponging whatever quandary and bemusement that hadn't been sucked arid dry into her voice.
"The ice, the fucking ice! You took the last payload and the fridge has been busted since that tonic water incident last Tuesday." She pursed her trembling lip and clenched her jaw, touching up her tottering composure with a swift threat,"I won't tell Barbara you've been frolicking in her sock drawer."
She flushed sheepishly. "I wasn't frolicking! I thought that was where she put Mister Puff-Puff!"
Helena's mouth twitched. "Twice?"
She'd been had. "Under the bed."
The brunette ducked into a staggering crouch and snatched the bowl from beneath the mattress. "Ah ha! You little ice hoarder!" She spun around, popping a transparent chip into her mouth. "I'm telling Barbara!"
Dinah gaped. "But you said--"
"I say a lot of things," she rolled her eyes dismissively. "I don't mean anything by it."
The blonde screeched, flinging plush pillow after plush pillow at Helena with malice laced eyes. "Oh yeah? Well I'm telling Barbara you got plastered and mopy--
"Melancholy," she interjected. "I do not mope."
"Rude, much? Got all melancholy and tripped the gas valve in Wade's car, before listening to Barry Manilow and passing out in the elevator at 4 am!"
"Which time?" she challenged.
"That fourth time."
"Not if I get to her first," she eeped before lunging through the barren doorway and skidding to halt just off the outskirts of the redhead's whereabouts. Just as she snapped her mouth open to bellow out the frantically sought for woman's name, Dinah pounced on her from behind, promptly depositing their limply skitterish bodies on the ground with a resounding thud of victory. "Ugh, get off me, you pimple popping monkey!"
"I do not!"
"Whatever, oh teenaged mutant one," she snorted, relishing in the girl's muffled yelps as she dug her elbows into her gut. "Stop biting my ankle, Dinah!"
"Only if you stop pulling my hair," she spat with an abiding wince.
"Truce?" she grunted questioningly.
Dinah whimpered a hasty agreement and released Helena's ankle only to be toppled onto her stomach and have her cheek cartoonishly smooshed against the floor. She grumbled and kicked out futily, clawing at hope as the waiflike weight of Helena seared into her lower back like a comfortably nursed cup of coffee. "Helena!" She gasped, wriggling like a guppy.
"You're so naive, kid," she chortled, grinding a noogie into her skull. "Just teaching you a valuable lesson on trust and judgment. I'll take my praise with a side of hero worship, please."
"You are so full of yourself!"
"It's called security. I'm secure enough with myself that I can preach the truth and make it sound like bullshit to you insecure little people, that's greatness personified." She tightened her grip around Dinah's pinned wrists.
"Yeah, I think the school board is planning on raising a monument in your honor by the senior quad area," she gruffed.
"Amusing," she breathed, slightly twisting the girl's arm, and relishing in the agonized groan.
"I thought so," she sputtered, bucking her hips in an effort to rock the brunette off for a smidgen of a second.
Barbara wheeled up to the graphic display of super hero related domestic abuse and sighed wearily. "Charming, both of you," she commented stiffly. "Where's Bob?"
"His van has malfunctioned again."
"Helena," she rasped. "Please release Dinah from your obstinate headlock or WWF will be blocked along with the 69 Wet Network."
"Done," she gulped, hastily pushing the blonde away from her approximate vicinity. "You'd think someone as highly intellectualized as yourself could learn a few basic motor skills in repair so that we can cut Bob off, or at least scrounge up some of the big caped crusader bucks from the Batman Funds to purchase a feasible system of cooling. I think I'm gonna start pissing sweat if this goes on any longer."
"I wouldn't mind some Batman cash?" Dinah bit her lip hopefully. "Helena? Barbara?"
"No, and stop pouting you freaky Pink Ranger incarnate."
Dinah gaped, utterly offended. "I am not!"
"That's not what the Superfriends think," she chided clandestinely.
"What did they say?" she squealed.
Helena lowered her voice. "They called you a groupie."
"You liar!" She growled grotesquely, pouncing on the brunette maliciously.
Barbara watched from her wheeled perch, chin swabbed over fist, observing, noting, and dissecting the processed information as they rolled on the floor, lunging, gnawing, and hissing like fiery little kittens. It was at that inane moment of hot poker frustration that the carnal lust whizzed on like a blinker light, errant and random. It wasn't deliberate or tended on and puffed up to a fussy flare by scheming fingers, but slinky and inconspicuous. Maybe it was the air particles or the effect of the heat waves bouncing, rebounding and colliding against their molecular structures like jumping beans, but something absolutely brilliant hooked her in a flux of tornado clip desire, heady in its purest form of saturation between her thighs. "Oh, just shut the fuck up!" She snarled, hot, bothered and cramping with lust.
Helena and Dinah snapped their heads up, propped ramrod straight in the air, eyes wide and slow to blink, mouths agape, and hissy fit forgotten. "That was harsh," rasped Helena, shifting as a sliver of internal high-octane wet heat curled in her belly. Barbara is so fucking hot when she's pissed.
"Come here, Helena."
The brunette slinked towards Barbara, and, kneeling in front of the redhead, dropped her head into her lap. Barbara's fingers stroked her hair softly, soothingly, forcing molten purrs from her sultry lips. "Up," she ordered again, tugging on the dark locks gently to coax Helene higher so that she could trace her tongue along a deliciously plump bottom lip, teasing, stroking, playing.
Oh, yeah, fucking hot. She stifled a bubbling whimper and pressed her slick lips to Barbara's jaw, down her trembling neck and throat, biting subtly, and sucking wetly. She felt Dinah's arms slither over her waist, sticky wetness pressed earnestly against her ass, and quivering spouts of breath brushing her cheek. "Dinah," she mumbled against the redhead's leeching lips, pushing into the blonde's slickness forcefully. "Bed, mmm, please."
They nodded simultaneously, jerking, fumbling into the largest bedroom hastily, Bob, a forgotten commodity. Each savoring the heat wave as an unwarranted quirk of benevolence.
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