DISCLAIMER: Suburban Shootout and its characters are the property of Feelgood Fiction, Five and Paramount Comedy. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks so much to Rachel for the wonderful suggestions and vote of confidence. A very special thank you to Debbie for taking on the job of beta for this fic as well as the 22 others and especially for agreeing to write her specialty, Birds of Prey, as part of this 24 fandom series. Thanks, Deb, I truly do appreciate it.
CHALLENGE: Written for the first International Day of Femslash.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

Under Her Thumb
By Ann


Lillian Gordon-Moore perched comfortably on the edge of the divan, smiling easily and projecting an aura of pure confidence. A black turtleneck peeked out from above a paisley-print scarf, both pieces of clothing perfectly accessorizing the form-fitting, tailored red blazer, while tan riding jodhpurs hugged muscular thighs and were tucked smoothly into soft, two-toned leather riding boots. The ensemble was completed by a strategically placed beret and a pair of red leather rider's gloves that accentuated strong, powerful hands. No one but Lillian could pull off the look so well.

Next to her, Hilary Davenport sat at the end of the sofa, one long, stocking-clad leg crossed over the other. She'd lean into Lillian's side every few minutes, making a show of removing imaginary lint from the other woman's blazer; as usual, she couldn't keep her hands to herself. An extremely touchy-feely woman, she seemed to always be in need of physical contact, even those times when she was threatening to maim or beat someone senseless.

It was apparent Hilary especially enjoyed those moments with Pam Draper, her personal nemesis, leaving the other women in the opposing gangs to wonder what would happen if the two ever gave in to the sexual tension that was forever present whenever they faced off against each other. Reaching yet again toward Lillian, she removed another pesky piece of imaginary lint, lightly brushing the other woman's neck as she withdrew her hand.

Her thoughts far from pure, Lillian offered a smile and sipped from her glass. She knew Hilary thrived on sex and never missed an opportunity to partake in pleasures of the flesh, not caring in the least whether her prey was male or female. It was a game to her, and one she excelled in. But Lillian knew it was just a matter of time before she'd come knocking on her door, needing what only Lillian could give her. And time after time, she'd given it to her in expert fashion.

A sudden movement caught her eye, and she instinctively eased her hand inside the top of her boot, her fingers caressing the hilt of the hidden knife, ready to pull it free and defend herself from the threat. When she noted it was only Joyce Hazeldine, their hostess returning with another tray of nibbles, she moved her hand back to her lap and relaxed, but her eyes remained glued to the small, wiry woman as she made her way around the room, prepared to act in seconds should something unexpected arise.

Joyce had been Lillian's one weak spot, but now, the fire that had burned deep in her belly whenever the other woman had graced her with her presence had been extinguished, the undeniable desire to protect Joyce slowly flickering away as the mousy housewife had become stronger and more confident. The unfortunate mental breakdown Joyce had suffered had worked to her advantage and, to everyone else's dismay, their distinct disadvantage. She now controlled Little Stempington, and in turn, controlled both factions. By blackmailing each group's leader, Barbara du Prez and Camilla Diamond, Joyce held all the cards, forcing the women to promote only those causes she personally felt were high priorities.

As Joyce neared the far end of the divan, Hilary pasted a smile on her face and reached for the contents of the plate, purposefully brushing her hand across the other woman's wrist. "What lovely little spring rolls. Did you make them yourself?" she asked in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Why yes, I did," lied Joyce smoothly, knowing full well they'd come from a carton that had been lying next to the dead body she was hiding in her freezer. She smiled at the thought of the skeleton. "Just a little recipe I dug up recently."

Lillian instantly stiffened, not at all happy with Joyce's stinging reminder that she held them under her thumb. All she needed was some time alone with the smaller woman, and this whole fiasco would be over and done with, but Camilla and Barbara had opted to wait it out awhile longer, hoping that Joyce would go off the deep end again. Then they could take their sweet time searching for the incriminating tape, but more importantly, find the body of the man Camilla and Barbara had bludgeoned to death, years earlier, with Stuart's golf clubs when they'd caught him in the act of burglarizing Camilla's home.

"From one of those cooking shows perhaps? Was it live or on tape?" asked Lillian as she removed a roll from the crystal platter. At the other end of the sofa, Barbara choked on her wine at the question, while Camilla winked across at her compatriot in arms. Lillian just took a bite and chuckled, the widening of Joyce's eyes had given her hope that the stalemate would be soon be over. She popped the rest of the roll into her mouth and smirked as a welcomed weight pressed deliciously against her leg.

Placing an elbow on Lillian's thigh, Hilary leaned heavily on the other woman, her eyes sparkling with mirth as she leapt into the friendly fray. "Oh, I do hope it's on tape; I'd love to borrow it sometime."

"I'm sure after we've had our meal Joyce would love to share her secrets with you," Jeremy piped up, placing his arm around his wife. "Isn't that right, Joyce?"

Confidence returned in full force as Joyce tilted her head and teased, "Oh, I don't know. There are some secrets that shouldn't be divulged." She slowly glanced around the room, making eye contact with each and every woman, daring them to just try to counter her words.

"I couldn't agree with you more, Joyce," said Barbara with a tight grin. "I believe there may be several people in Little Stempington who have skeletons in their closets." She paused dramatically. "Or perhaps some other location in their residence." A brief silence ensued, before the first chuckle erupted, followed soon thereafter by a chorus of laughter. The men joined in freely, clueless as to the underlying meaning.

Hilary dug her fingers into Lillian's thigh as she added her own sarcastic chuckle to the mix. Despite the pain, Lillian flexed the muscle and smiled, knowing she was in for one of their marathon sexual encounters. Hilary would be quite the wildcat tonight.

The End

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