DISCLAIMER: Suburban Shootout and its characters are the property of Feelgood Fiction, Five and Paramount Comedy. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Tights and Trysts
By ralst
Hilary reapplied her lipstick. "Something needs to be done about Joyce."
"Thank you for stating the obvious." Pam struggled with her tights and the urge to slap the smirk off Hilary's face; she had always been intolerable after sex, but ever since the tattoo incident the smug self satisfaction had become almost unbearable. "If Camilla had kept her legs crossed we wouldn't be in this position."
"You're a fine one to talk." Hilary shimmied her skirt into order. "It's hardly Camilla's fault that Barbara's little makeover project decided to wage war on Little Stempington's finest." She grazed a nail across Pam's thigh. "And take out your little sewing circle in the process."
Pam's tights puckered and a neat little run followed the trail of Hilary's nail. "Do you have to do that?" She pulled off the offending item and threw it into the back of the car. "That's the third pair of tights you've ruined this week."
"Third?" Hilary's look of confusion vanished as she remembered a tryst of a different nature "You should know better than to crawl across gravel." At Pam's incredulous look, she drawled, "I was aiming high."
"Lillian wasn't." The ambush had been fun, while it lasted, but Joyce's arrival on the scene had prompted a quick end to their little game. It was the first time in months that any of them had been able to shoot at a human target and the experience had been truly exhilarating; the smell of adrenaline and burnt gun powder had soaked the air, until you couldn't breathe without drinking in the true essence of mayhem and destruction. "I could have been killed," Pam gasped, her breath coming faster with each remembered pull of the trigger.
"Yes, you could." Hilary's smile turned distinctly predatory as she slowly began to straighten Pam's collar. "One stray bullet and no more Pam Draper."
Pam bit her bottom lip as she took in the familiar look in Hilary's eyes. "Nigel's expecting me home for dinner." The car began to sway as Hilary moved closer. "It's Beef Wellington." Pam's thighs clenched in anticipation. "My speciality."
Hilary leaned in close, her breath vibrating against Pam's ear. "My speciality first, I think."
Pam didn't disagree.
The End