Fic: No Alliances (Community, Annie/Britta NC-17)
Title: No Alliances
Pairing: Annie/Britta
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Total PWP. Annie runs into Britta somewhere between grabbing a pistol, running for cover, and booby trapping the science lab.
Spoilers: Set during 2.23, "A Fist Full of Paintballs."
Author’s Note: For my partner-in-flailing sword_fire . Sorry it’s late bb <3
When the giant ice cream... thing announces the prize and reveals the pile of guns, Annie takes two seconds to make her mind up. She grabs two pistols and runs for the safety of a classroom. No alliances this year. All alliances mean is that somewhere down the line you have to betray a friend or a friend has to betray you, and she knows that when it comes down to it she won’t be able to shoot one of the study group. Well, maybe Chang. Besides she needs the money; she isn’t going to live above Dildopolis forever.
She’s one of the first to make it back to the buildings. She can still hear shouts and the sound of paintball guns coming from the quad as she slams through a set of double doors and spins round with her guns raised to check there’s no one following her. She stands stock still, breathing hard, senses straining before she’s satisfied there’s no one there.
She holsters one gun - Lucky we were all dressed as cowboys, really - and keeps the other raised ahead of her as she creeps down the corridor. She has to find somewhere to hole up and assess the situation. If everyone else is fighting in packs, she has to find somewhere she can keep all the exits covered.
+
Annie runs into Britta somewhere between grabbing a pistol, running for cover, and booby trapping the science lab. She has a second’s warning from her hastily constructed traps and then the door bangs open and Britta steps into the room, gun raised in each hand, eyes tracking round the room, poised to attack. She stops when she sees Annie, half out of her seat with her gun half out of her holster, and drops her guns.
“Oh my god, Annie!” She crosses the space between them and lifts a hand to grip the top of Annie’s arm briefly. Some part of Annie’s mind registers that Britta’s hand is warm and then it’s gone and Britta is staring at her with a concerned expression, “Are you OK?” She tucks one gun into the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back, and the other hangs loose in her hand.
Annie shrugs and takes a step back, swallowing hard and raising her gun the rest of the way to point at Britta’s chest.
Britta’s eyes widen, “Annie, what the hell.” Her eyes slide down to the gun and then back up to Annie’s face. “Stop fooling around,” she eyeballs the gun again and the gun in her hand twitches. “I’m so glad I found you. It was like the frigging Hunger Games out there. Come on, we can go find the others.”
“No alliances,” Annie is annoyed that her voice comes out a little bit shaky, but she holds her gun tightly and takes another step back.
“”What, why?” Britta laughs.
“Cuz sooner or later we’ll have to betray each other.”
Britta’s eyes widen in surprise, “Wow, Jeff’s really been rubbing off on you, hasn’t he?” Her hand twitches around the gun again, and then after a second, she raises it to point at Annie slowly, as though she doesn’t want to.
Annie shrugs, “War is hell.”
They stare at each other for a moment and Annie tries to ignore the hurt look in Britta’s eyes, “So what now?” Britta asks. Her thumb reaches up to cock her gun, and she tilts her head to the side, sadly, as though she still can’t believe this is happening.
Their tableau holds for a second longer and then Annie’s traps start to go off again, and the door flies open. There’s two guys and a girl they don’t recognise, and Annie throws herself at Britta and rolls them behind one of the desks without a second’s hesitation. They end up in a tangle of limbs, and Annie is the first to pull away, trying to ignore the look on Britta’s face.
Annie leans closer and Britta’s tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip as her eyes get big again. “Annie...”
“Wait ‘til they reload,” Annie whispers, and after a second, the splatter of paint hitting the desk stops, and then Annie is on her feet firing three rapid shots while Britta looks up at her with her mouth hanging open, as though she can’t quite believe what’s happening.
Annie hits all three of their attackers in the centre of their chests, and they all complain loudly as they turn to stomp off. “Leave your guns,” Annie calls after them.
Britta comes to her feet slowly, still wide eyed, “Jesus Christ, Annie.” Her gun hangs loose in her hand again.
Annie shrugs and starts to sort through the guns, relieving them of bullets and sliding them into her pockets. She leaves half of the bullets to one side, and when she’s done she scoops them up and offers them to Britta, “Here.”
“So that’s it?” Britta looks down at her hand and back up again, and after a moment her hand snakes out to take the bullets hesitantly. “Thanks.”
Annie reloads her guns and tucks them into the holsters at her waist. “That’s it,” she confirms.
She turns and takes three steps before Britta’s hands are on her hips pulling her back, the gun she was holding falling to the floor with a clatter. Britta pulls until she’s pressed into Annie’s back, her hands still warm on Annie’s hips. “Come on, Annie, it’s me.”
Annie swallows, “We’re not doing this again.” She thinks briefly of the night after the Valentine’s dance, and Britta’s fingers in her hair as they made out in the hallway of her apartment building; the way Britta’s thigh had moved between her legs as she’d pressed Annie up against the door. She pushes the memory away.
Britta’s fingers on her hips are gently insistent, and Annie turns to face Britta slowly. She meets Britta’s eyes, “No alliances.”
“No alliances,” Britta agrees, deadly serious in the way that only Britta can be, and then she leans forward to kiss her.
Annie’s eyes flutter closed and she kisses her back before she’s quite registered what’s happening, and after a moment Britta’s hand moves from her hip to the nape of her neck and pulls her closer. There’s something about Britta that shuts down Annie’s mind, and she can’t think of a single reason why they shouldn’t be doing this even know there’ll be a hundred or so when Britta stops kissing her, and then Britta moans into her mouth, and has one hand pressing inside her shirt, and Annie stops trying to think of reasons why not.
Britta backs Annie up against one of the desks and she shifts until she can get her leg between them, but Annie’s skirt gets in the way and after a second she huffs in frustration against Annie’s neck, and scrapes her teeth across the skin.
“Your outfit is ridiculous. You look like a Mormon crossing the desert.” Britta’s voice comes from low in her throat and she trails kisses down Annie’s neck as she speaks.
“Says the cowboy,” Annie shoots back, fingers tangling in Britta’s hair, “You’re wearing a vest.”
“Yeah, says the cowboy,” Britta’s eyes darken and she drops to her haunches and pulls Annie’s skirt down in one fluid movement. Her hands settle on the back of Annie’s knees, and she moves her hands up lightly as she stands until they get to the backs of Annie’s thighs and then she lifts Annie up until she’s sitting on the desk, legs either side of her, and moves in to kiss her again. Annie feels her stomach flip flop as Britta leans into her and pulls at her hips until there’s no space between them, and one of her legs hooks itself round Britta and tries to pull her even closer.
Britta kisses her again with intent; her tongue pushing into Annie’s mouth like it belongs there, one hand on the side of her face, the other working its way into her bra. Annie gasps as Britta brushes her nipple and her hand fists in the back of Britta’s shirt, silently urging her on. Britta leans down and her mouth replaces her hand, and Annie arches her back, trying to get more contact, before she pulls Britta up to kiss her again.
Britta’s hand forces its way between them, toying with the band of Annie’s underwear, and she pulls back for second to find Annie’s eyes. Annie bites her lip and the hand on Britta’s back tightens on her shirt, and it’s all the answer she needs.
Annie gasps as Britta’s fingers push inside her underwear and settle into a steady rhythm. Britta’s other arm wraps around her shoulders and holds her close as Annie’s hips buck up to meet Britta’s hand, and Annie’s free hand comes up to tangle in Britta’s hair, desperate for something to hold on to.
Britta presses her forehead against Annie’s and her hand moves faster, as though she can sense how close Annie is to coming undone. Annie’s hips buck more erratically, and her hand tightens on Britta’s back, and then she comes with a shout, quivering in Britta’s arms as Britta’s hand slows. Britta kisses her once more, slowly, and then grins as Annie slumps back against the desk, exhaling noisily, looking thoroughly dishevelled.
“Don’t look at me like that!” Annie flushes and tries to pull her legs together, but Britta is still between them and all she succeeds in doing is closing the gap between them again.
Britta’s hand cups the side of her face, and she raises an eyebrow and smirks at her. Annie raises a hand to Britta’s chest to push her away but it betrays her at the last second and fists in her shirt, pulling her in for another kiss instead. Annie’s ankles cross behind Britta’s back and the hand on her chest shifts and palms Britta’s breast, and Britta moans and arches into her touch.
Annie’s hand is reaching for the buttons on Britta’s jeans when the traps go off again, and it takes her mind a moment to remember what that means. Britta pulls her off the desk as the door opens and she has her gun half out of the waistband of her jeans before Annie remembers she has two guns holstered at her hips, and that her skirt is somewhere on the other side of the desk. They hear the stamp stamp stamp of boots on the floor and something that sounds like spurs, and Annie rolls her eyes, “We can take one guy, Britta.”
Britta nods cockily, and slowly lifts her head to peak over the desk. She pulls back a second before the paint hits the desk behind her, where her head had been. “Holy shit, dude’s got a shotgun.”
“A shotgun?” Annie whispers incredulously. She eyes the paint on the desk behind them and swallows. Her voice sounds a lot higher than before when she speaks again, “Do you have to reload shotguns?”
Britta glances at the opposite end of the room where the other door is and nods towards it. “You go. I’ll stay and cover you.”
Annie stares at her, “We’ll go together.” She reaches for Britta’s free hand, and tugs her towards the next desk over. They reach it as another explosion of paint hits their previous hiding place.
“No alliances,” Britta whispers, her voice low and softer than Annie is used to hearing it.
“No alliances? No, Britta, I...”
“Go,” Britta cuts her off with a kiss, and after a second she pulls back to lean against Annie’s forehead and then nods towards the door again.
The last thing Annie sees before she crashes through the door is Britta watching her disappear with a grim smile on her face, gun raised in front of her, ready to attack.
Pairing: Annie/Britta
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Total PWP. Annie runs into Britta somewhere between grabbing a pistol, running for cover, and booby trapping the science lab.
Spoilers: Set during 2.23, "A Fist Full of Paintballs."
Author’s Note: For my partner-in-flailing sword_fire . Sorry it’s late bb <3
When the giant ice cream... thing announces the prize and reveals the pile of guns, Annie takes two seconds to make her mind up. She grabs two pistols and runs for the safety of a classroom. No alliances this year. All alliances mean is that somewhere down the line you have to betray a friend or a friend has to betray you, and she knows that when it comes down to it she won’t be able to shoot one of the study group. Well, maybe Chang. Besides she needs the money; she isn’t going to live above Dildopolis forever.
She’s one of the first to make it back to the buildings. She can still hear shouts and the sound of paintball guns coming from the quad as she slams through a set of double doors and spins round with her guns raised to check there’s no one following her. She stands stock still, breathing hard, senses straining before she’s satisfied there’s no one there.
She holsters one gun - Lucky we were all dressed as cowboys, really - and keeps the other raised ahead of her as she creeps down the corridor. She has to find somewhere to hole up and assess the situation. If everyone else is fighting in packs, she has to find somewhere she can keep all the exits covered.
+
Annie runs into Britta somewhere between grabbing a pistol, running for cover, and booby trapping the science lab. She has a second’s warning from her hastily constructed traps and then the door bangs open and Britta steps into the room, gun raised in each hand, eyes tracking round the room, poised to attack. She stops when she sees Annie, half out of her seat with her gun half out of her holster, and drops her guns.
“Oh my god, Annie!” She crosses the space between them and lifts a hand to grip the top of Annie’s arm briefly. Some part of Annie’s mind registers that Britta’s hand is warm and then it’s gone and Britta is staring at her with a concerned expression, “Are you OK?” She tucks one gun into the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back, and the other hangs loose in her hand.
Annie shrugs and takes a step back, swallowing hard and raising her gun the rest of the way to point at Britta’s chest.
Britta’s eyes widen, “Annie, what the hell.” Her eyes slide down to the gun and then back up to Annie’s face. “Stop fooling around,” she eyeballs the gun again and the gun in her hand twitches. “I’m so glad I found you. It was like the frigging Hunger Games out there. Come on, we can go find the others.”
“No alliances,” Annie is annoyed that her voice comes out a little bit shaky, but she holds her gun tightly and takes another step back.
“”What, why?” Britta laughs.
“Cuz sooner or later we’ll have to betray each other.”
Britta’s eyes widen in surprise, “Wow, Jeff’s really been rubbing off on you, hasn’t he?” Her hand twitches around the gun again, and then after a second, she raises it to point at Annie slowly, as though she doesn’t want to.
Annie shrugs, “War is hell.”
They stare at each other for a moment and Annie tries to ignore the hurt look in Britta’s eyes, “So what now?” Britta asks. Her thumb reaches up to cock her gun, and she tilts her head to the side, sadly, as though she still can’t believe this is happening.
Their tableau holds for a second longer and then Annie’s traps start to go off again, and the door flies open. There’s two guys and a girl they don’t recognise, and Annie throws herself at Britta and rolls them behind one of the desks without a second’s hesitation. They end up in a tangle of limbs, and Annie is the first to pull away, trying to ignore the look on Britta’s face.
Annie leans closer and Britta’s tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip as her eyes get big again. “Annie...”
“Wait ‘til they reload,” Annie whispers, and after a second, the splatter of paint hitting the desk stops, and then Annie is on her feet firing three rapid shots while Britta looks up at her with her mouth hanging open, as though she can’t quite believe what’s happening.
Annie hits all three of their attackers in the centre of their chests, and they all complain loudly as they turn to stomp off. “Leave your guns,” Annie calls after them.
Britta comes to her feet slowly, still wide eyed, “Jesus Christ, Annie.” Her gun hangs loose in her hand again.
Annie shrugs and starts to sort through the guns, relieving them of bullets and sliding them into her pockets. She leaves half of the bullets to one side, and when she’s done she scoops them up and offers them to Britta, “Here.”
“So that’s it?” Britta looks down at her hand and back up again, and after a moment her hand snakes out to take the bullets hesitantly. “Thanks.”
Annie reloads her guns and tucks them into the holsters at her waist. “That’s it,” she confirms.
She turns and takes three steps before Britta’s hands are on her hips pulling her back, the gun she was holding falling to the floor with a clatter. Britta pulls until she’s pressed into Annie’s back, her hands still warm on Annie’s hips. “Come on, Annie, it’s me.”
Annie swallows, “We’re not doing this again.” She thinks briefly of the night after the Valentine’s dance, and Britta’s fingers in her hair as they made out in the hallway of her apartment building; the way Britta’s thigh had moved between her legs as she’d pressed Annie up against the door. She pushes the memory away.
Britta’s fingers on her hips are gently insistent, and Annie turns to face Britta slowly. She meets Britta’s eyes, “No alliances.”
“No alliances,” Britta agrees, deadly serious in the way that only Britta can be, and then she leans forward to kiss her.
Annie’s eyes flutter closed and she kisses her back before she’s quite registered what’s happening, and after a moment Britta’s hand moves from her hip to the nape of her neck and pulls her closer. There’s something about Britta that shuts down Annie’s mind, and she can’t think of a single reason why they shouldn’t be doing this even know there’ll be a hundred or so when Britta stops kissing her, and then Britta moans into her mouth, and has one hand pressing inside her shirt, and Annie stops trying to think of reasons why not.
Britta backs Annie up against one of the desks and she shifts until she can get her leg between them, but Annie’s skirt gets in the way and after a second she huffs in frustration against Annie’s neck, and scrapes her teeth across the skin.
“Your outfit is ridiculous. You look like a Mormon crossing the desert.” Britta’s voice comes from low in her throat and she trails kisses down Annie’s neck as she speaks.
“Says the cowboy,” Annie shoots back, fingers tangling in Britta’s hair, “You’re wearing a vest.”
“Yeah, says the cowboy,” Britta’s eyes darken and she drops to her haunches and pulls Annie’s skirt down in one fluid movement. Her hands settle on the back of Annie’s knees, and she moves her hands up lightly as she stands until they get to the backs of Annie’s thighs and then she lifts Annie up until she’s sitting on the desk, legs either side of her, and moves in to kiss her again. Annie feels her stomach flip flop as Britta leans into her and pulls at her hips until there’s no space between them, and one of her legs hooks itself round Britta and tries to pull her even closer.
Britta kisses her again with intent; her tongue pushing into Annie’s mouth like it belongs there, one hand on the side of her face, the other working its way into her bra. Annie gasps as Britta brushes her nipple and her hand fists in the back of Britta’s shirt, silently urging her on. Britta leans down and her mouth replaces her hand, and Annie arches her back, trying to get more contact, before she pulls Britta up to kiss her again.
Britta’s hand forces its way between them, toying with the band of Annie’s underwear, and she pulls back for second to find Annie’s eyes. Annie bites her lip and the hand on Britta’s back tightens on her shirt, and it’s all the answer she needs.
Annie gasps as Britta’s fingers push inside her underwear and settle into a steady rhythm. Britta’s other arm wraps around her shoulders and holds her close as Annie’s hips buck up to meet Britta’s hand, and Annie’s free hand comes up to tangle in Britta’s hair, desperate for something to hold on to.
Britta presses her forehead against Annie’s and her hand moves faster, as though she can sense how close Annie is to coming undone. Annie’s hips buck more erratically, and her hand tightens on Britta’s back, and then she comes with a shout, quivering in Britta’s arms as Britta’s hand slows. Britta kisses her once more, slowly, and then grins as Annie slumps back against the desk, exhaling noisily, looking thoroughly dishevelled.
“Don’t look at me like that!” Annie flushes and tries to pull her legs together, but Britta is still between them and all she succeeds in doing is closing the gap between them again.
Britta’s hand cups the side of her face, and she raises an eyebrow and smirks at her. Annie raises a hand to Britta’s chest to push her away but it betrays her at the last second and fists in her shirt, pulling her in for another kiss instead. Annie’s ankles cross behind Britta’s back and the hand on her chest shifts and palms Britta’s breast, and Britta moans and arches into her touch.
Annie’s hand is reaching for the buttons on Britta’s jeans when the traps go off again, and it takes her mind a moment to remember what that means. Britta pulls her off the desk as the door opens and she has her gun half out of the waistband of her jeans before Annie remembers she has two guns holstered at her hips, and that her skirt is somewhere on the other side of the desk. They hear the stamp stamp stamp of boots on the floor and something that sounds like spurs, and Annie rolls her eyes, “We can take one guy, Britta.”
Britta nods cockily, and slowly lifts her head to peak over the desk. She pulls back a second before the paint hits the desk behind her, where her head had been. “Holy shit, dude’s got a shotgun.”
“A shotgun?” Annie whispers incredulously. She eyes the paint on the desk behind them and swallows. Her voice sounds a lot higher than before when she speaks again, “Do you have to reload shotguns?”
Britta glances at the opposite end of the room where the other door is and nods towards it. “You go. I’ll stay and cover you.”
Annie stares at her, “We’ll go together.” She reaches for Britta’s free hand, and tugs her towards the next desk over. They reach it as another explosion of paint hits their previous hiding place.
“No alliances,” Britta whispers, her voice low and softer than Annie is used to hearing it.
“No alliances? No, Britta, I...”
“Go,” Britta cuts her off with a kiss, and after a second she pulls back to lean against Annie’s forehead and then nods towards the door again.
The last thing Annie sees before she crashes through the door is Britta watching her disappear with a grim smile on her face, gun raised in front of her, ready to attack.