"Locked" -- a D.E.B.S. fanfic

[hyena_gal]

Locked

by HyenaGal

Fandom: The film ''D.E.B.S.'', directed by Angela Robinson

Summary: Spare time fun with handcuffs.

Pairing: Amy/Lucy

Rating: NC-17. Erh...yeah. PWP.

Disclaimer: Stop reminding me they aren't mine.

Author's Note: Set shortly after the film. Just...a silly short piece of D.E.B.S. smut. Proper term for this.

*
''Is it standard procedure for D.E.B.S to chain a caught criminal to a bed?''

''No, it usually isn't. Only when they have lawbreaking good looks.''

Huge grin from Lucy and an answering good-natured rolling of blue eyes from Amy, but smiling, nonetheless. A game they'd come up with, rather spontaneously, actually.

It truly was amazing what a half-emptied bottle of strong malt whiskey, (name slipping after a few swallows), as well as a healthy portion of hormones could lead to:

Amy had only innocently *mentioned* that they really did need to inaugurate their newly purchased apartment; four spacious rooms, kitchen not included, plus a big marble tub in the bathroom. The place was nothing short of a find, located in spitting distance from La Rambla. Suspected her girlfriend had had a finger in it, someway, somehow.

Should probably ask her about it later.

Point -- the occasion had naturally called for alcohol. And after some concentrated drinking, and some even more concentrated kissing and groping, it had all of a sudden made perfect sense to rummage giggling through their bulging suitcases, pour the contents carelessly out on the floor.

Which lead to the discovery of the blonde's ironed D.E.B.S uniform and the loud *clang* of glinting connected silver loops.

And not much later then resulted in the ebony-haired girl ---

lying butt-naked on their large bed, both wrists chained to the steel headboard with the diamond-studded set of handcuffs Amy had given her as a gift, how many weeks ago now?

Cool metal, around, behind, cutting insistently against building warmth. Twisted her wrists experimentally. No give.

''But the undressing of said criminal is?'' Easy white grin.

Lucy, stretching, enjoying it, showing off the slender flex of muscles, (would have made the straightest girl's pasty knees buckle), and smiles a wider smile, catching the oh-too-affected expression on her girlfriend's tipsy pleasure-pleased face.

''Well...''

Slight slur, but just a question of focusing, pinpointing the target, which is, in the given case, the bare dark-skinned other woman in front of her, spead out on creased silk sheets, chocolate eyes glazed, deep and lustful and *burning*.

Slowly climbing atop, over the bed, on hands and knees, maybe a bit more unsteadily than she had initially expected, but so fucking what? To hell with it. Shakiness just added to the fun.

Thighs sliding apart, to straddle the hipbones beneath. Reaches blindly out to hold onto convenient chilly bars.

Lucy slips her eyes shut, head back and soft sigh, like breeze on leaves. The brush of fabric from the skirt, added to the sensation of feeling totally bare flesh against hers is....'greeaat', as Tony the Tiger would say.

'' -- I *have* to make sure you aren't carrying some kind of lethal weapon around on you, you know? Remove the clothes -- problem solved.''

Smallest of shifts, and *shit*, just felt it; she's not wearing panties under that scant piece of clothing. Has to bite down on her own lip for a few seconds before speech returns as a function.

''...Aha. I see. And you don't think that's taking somewhat drastic measures?''

Wicked smile from the A-student -- fluttering fingers to the tense jaw, caressing the flesh of a cheek, before moving lower, forefinger ending in a resting position in the hollow of the throat. Grins, when she feels a pulse speed up.

''No, not really. You look like a very bad, bad girl, up to no good. Wouldn't have surprised me if I'd found hand grenades hidden away somewhere on that attactive body of yours.''

Appreciative look all over the naked form, stopping at a pair of pert breasts, rising and sinking increasingly faster as the blonde's hands glide down to them. Palms them gently, before switching to hard-harder handling. Feels the swelling of the soft mounds inside her grip on them.

The young woman underneath throws a quick glance down at her occupied chest, gives a wry smile and a tiny groan as the ministrations grow more insistent.

''Those *aren't* hand grenades...''

If Amy kept this up, she'd be wriggling around on the sheets in no time.

Only answer a lascivious smirk, fingertips now rolling erect nipples expertly, kneading them back and forth alternatively.

''I know. They're *better*.''

Lucy's nostrils flare a she closes her eyes, softly moans. Her cunt crossed the heavily painful 'ache state' a short while ago; already throbbing wet, impatient, eager to get in on the action.

Restless little shit.

Still fully enjoying the caresses administered on horny flesh, she opens her eyes again. Finds Amy staring at her, half-lidded, faint smile on those glossy pink swollen lips.

''Do you miss the others?''

Quietly, almost a whisper, and Lucy isn't actually certain *why* she asks; presumably the whiskey getting the better of her, uncensored train of thoughts, relaxed stupor, all that, but doesn't change that it seem...okay, even engaged in the 'Act of the Two-backed Beast' as they were, to ask.

And Amy has a stunned moment of looking...like the sentence had been spoken in Chinese, and then a clear second of looking -- very much pleased.

Slides her thighs wider apart, pushes away with hands on either side, scoots, and then she's lying comfortably on top of the less-clother girl. Gazes down into nougat eyes with a fine-tuned expression of 'Drunk and Glad'.

''Yes and no. Spoke to Max three days ago. She's stationed in Columbia with Dominique, tracking down lairs with stashed away cocaine. And Janet...well, won't stop emailing me about you-know-who.''

Tosses blonde hair back with a practised throw of the head. This close -- throat and chin is within easy reach, and Lucy takes the opportunity to stretch her neck, lick a quick trail over the smooth length and tiny curve.

The ex-D.E.B sighs in gratitude, short and sweet, before lowering her face to nuzzle the left side of a warm neck.

''Yeah...the times I've been on the phone with Scud -- noticed he *did* have a tendency to revolve around the same topic over and over again: new girlfriend, D.E.B, favoured her hair in various braids. Was pretty obvious.''

Amused tone. A bit tipsy, too. When her girlfriend finally lifts her face again -- electric brush of noses, and her eyes are smoulderingly happy, her mouth eager as she leans in, seals their lips in an awaited-for kiss.

Parting, opening up; wet slip-slide of tongues, the supine woman deciding to take the initiative of stabbing hers in and out of the other female's co-operative slick mouth as heartfelt moans flows between them.

Amy starts rocking restlessly back and forth on top of the other woman, getting a grunted groan from beneath for the trouble. Pulls away quickly, a little breathless, frustration written in capital letters on her hot flushed countenance.

''Is there any reason why I'm still wearing clothes?''

*Obviously* the perfect time to loudly complain.

The impatient spy, frowning, mouth in a scowl, pops two buttons fluidly up on her squeaky white shirt, loosening the tie in the process.

Gleaming eyes paying careful attention, crack of a smile, and she *knows* the answer is going to be lewd to some degree.

''I *like* uniforms.''

....Yeah. Something like that.

The agent pulls more properly away, arches a jokingly prim eyebrow, and attempts the 'serious appraisal look'. Predictably, fails at it.

''Let me guess once: the *much* too short plaid skirts?''

Just the spread of yet another searing smile on those kissable lips.

''What's not to love?''

''Great. My girlfriend's got some kind of fetish thing going on for skimpy skirts.''

Despaired sigh, dramatic rolling of eyes, not really expecting to notice a badly concealed reaction, (a sort of smooth shoulder-forehead twitch), to the statement. *Had* to hear what this was.

Giggling, gentle inquisitorial nudge in the ribs. ''What?''

''I...uh. I once dated a...cheerleader. Amanda. I think that's where my semi-obsession started.''

The mix of something like embarrassment and then quite not is interesting; coming from *her* of all imaginable people. Not to mention absolutely without a doubt endearing.

Amy feels it immediately --- a scolding good heat washing through her, settling snuggly in her crotch. There's a good amount of moistness when she briefly moves her legs together.

''As long as you don't think of *her* while I'm dressed this way.''

Sulky pout, and the way Lucy is biting down at her bottom lip, glaring up with hooded lust-laced eyes, lets her know she doesn't need to worry the least about any possible near-future infidelity.

''Believe me; my thoughts aren't anywhere *near* her right now...''

Of course they aren't -- located somewhat more anatomically southwards, and that's where the blonde's head is going now: kissing, licking her way down to neglected breasts and so taut nipples they could slice steel.

When firm lips wrap around one of the protuberances, sucks and sucks and *drags* a tongue across it --- gets a loud surrendering cry from the chained female.

Spends minimally three minutes on it, before moving over to the other, giving it the same treatment, and Lucy is whimpering, infrequently hissing by now, thrusting hips aggressively up at the crawling punishing body, taking much too long to get to where it was *needed*.

Screw broken bones and bullet holes. *This* was torture.

Tongue dipping into a quavering navel, abdominal muscles hardening as silky tresses drift over them.

Amy glances up from her reached destination, a thoroughly drenched sex, smell strong in her nose, enough to see the notorious gangster boss reduced to a mumbling mass of hot trembling and begging eyes.

A small understanding smile, before her mouth is reeled in, sucks and licks firmly up the expanse of engorged cunt flesh.

Rapture like a sudden sledgehammer to her trashing head, smashing brains out all over the place, but Lucy can't care, not as long as that mouth, that tongue keeps working on her, and pleasure climbs another level when two, three, slender fingers glide inside, start thrusting.

Reaching for a way to crawl up within, and it just...keeps coming, never ceases, and there's just added another finger, keeps pushing, really *push* against the enveloping flesh, the slickness, pulsating walls of a tight straining body.

Pumping into her, wet hard rubbing across, around her protruding clit, and when the orgasm lashes out, it is like being bodily ripped apart, twisted out of encasings, breaking, losing pieces in the process, so she can never be put properly back together again.

Howls her release, tears welling behind closed lids from the intensity of it.

And it doesn't last long before her mind is floating in euphoric post-coital bliss. Is vaguely aware of her girlfriend climbing up the length of her sated body, pressing lips against skin in small fleeting brushes, before she's back in eyesight, so fucking beautiful and glowing and smiling, leaning down to kiss her passionately on the lips.

Tongues making impromptu dancing, and she can taste herself in the sharing of saliva, of lust and love, and as it grows hotter, wilder, movements, hands scratching absentmindedly at her scalp, she breaks the connection. Makes certain to pin the dazed blonde with a gaze that conveys everything.

Watches as the former D.E.B swallows a too large emotion, fingers drifiting from black hair to reach up, hold on the headboard, lifting herself off, and those blue eyes never leaving hers...

Lucy unconsciously licks her lips. Feels the shifting, changing of weight on the bed, and when the soft thighs descend on either side of her head, tries not to, really, but can't help but let the wicked grin split from ear to ear.

''Do all D.E.B.S normally have a surprising lack of underwear when they're out on a mission?''

Can tell the exhalation of the words hit right where Amy needs them most, and just chuckles when the sharp gasp is emitted from what seems like a thousand meters above. It's sort of hard to tell. What with the tiny skirt effectively closing her view inside a small cosmos of creamy thighs against her ears and an aroused vagina almost touching her nose.

''They do when it's called 'Get Properly Fucked'.''

Breathing unsteady, but there's urgency and heat in it, and Lucy suspects she might get *slapped* or something if she doesn't get to work soon.

''I might be able to help you, in that case.''

In control now. Tables turning and payback time.

Neck muscles tighten, lifting an eager face up, and it is *almost* reverently, the way she sucks the hard little nut in, circling and circling it with a wild tongue. Listens to Amy whimper like a mistreated puppy, and feels how she lowers herself more down on the hot willing mouth.

Caresses a moist entrance with long strokes, folds parting, and jabbing at the hole just makes the blonde squeal. Girl Popsicle -- running with desire, and lapping it up is truly like taking the pleasure into yourself, making the cries come louder, hips move faster, the clutching harder, better, so incredibly much better --- shining, polishing it as an accomplishment.

When Amy comes, it is with noisy sighs and half-muttered curses, liquid rushing from between her legs, and what else is there to than dutifully catch it, swallow, and uncontrollably smile, because -- knowing -- *she*, Lucy Diamond, renowned Big Bad Criminal, was the cause of that?

It is with a slow deliberate move the agent finally quits straddling the amused face of her lover, crawls back on wobbly knees and shaky hands, before returning to lying atop the dark female.

Contended smiles, cuddling up to the still-chained villain, heat drifting like tangible mist from their flushed resting forms.

A few minutes of companionable silence before a quiet question is spoken against blonde hair.

''Baby?''

''Mmmm...?''

''You *do* know where the key to the cuffs is, right?''

End.