Title: Bad Girls Don't Need Santa
Author: Farfalla the Butterfly-Kitten
Email: blueberrysnail at yahoo.com
Website: www.cosmicduckling.com
Fandom: Chicago (the movie)
Pairing: Roxie/Velma
Codes: R, first-time, mostly foreplay
Betas: Sensefille, Leiabelle, Saavant
Archive: Part of the 2003 Slash Advent Calendar. Anywhere else, please ask.
Disclaimer: Someone else owns all these characters. No profit but my smiles and your feedback


Bad Girls Don't Need Santa

"He liked me best, ya know."

Roxie Hart was sitting on the edge of the bed, swishing her ice around in her half-empty cocktail. Firelight flickered off her pink satin dressing gown and her flashing eyes as she looked across the room in lazy defiance.

"Oh? How dya figure that." Velma Kelly, perched with her legs crossed at an unnatural angle in an armchair, took a swig directly out of the bottle. It was not a question; it was a challenge. But it was mellowed under drink and the good-naturedness of the fortunate.

"Well, you saw the way he looked at me! And my dessert was more expensive." She looked very satisfied with herself.

Velma looked unconvinced. "He didn't even stick around to watch you eat that flaming pile of calories."

"That *wasn't* my fault," Roxie said pointedly. "Can I help it if his wife dragged him out of the restaurant just as they were bringing in my Baked Alaska?"

"It's no wonder she noticed him, what with half the restaurant staring at the fire shooting out of your food."

"Oh well, Velma," Roxie said exasperatedly. "What are you complaining about? He still bought us dinner."

"Yeah, you're right. And now we get the fun of sitting around on Christmas Eve wondering which one of our sorry asses some married jerk would rather find in his stocking."

Roxie burst into giggles. Her blonde curls shook around like leaf-covered twigs in the wind.

"What's so funny?" Velma smirked.

"I just pictured us dressed like Christmas elves."

Velma raised an eyebrow in a smoldering deadpan. "What?"

Roxie tried to explain. "You know, with little pointy hats, and green stockings, and--"

Velma wasn't buying it.

"You just don't have any Christmas spirit!" Roxie whined, and started eating ice out of her glass.

"He might have liked you best if you didn't chew with your mouth open," Velma pointed out, suddenly jacknifing the topic back three minutes.

Roxie promptly corrected the error, eyes blazing and cheeks reddening.

"And just because he let you get away with ordering more food than me doesn't mean he liked you better," Velma continued. "It means he was being generous. But he looked more at me."

"Oh yeah? Well, why would he want to do that? I'm the one with the blonde hair." Roxie wrinkled her nose. "And besides, I'm cuter. Everybody says so."

"Yeah, kid, but I've got these." Velma put the bottle aside and nonchalantly opened the top of her robe with both hands.

Roxie's eyes crawled uneasily over Velma's full bosom, bulging out of the black lacy bra she still wore from her evening clothes. "So?" she stuttered in a whiny mumble. "Who cares about those?"

"You do, for one thing. You stare at them all the time."

Roxie's mouth opened in a big red O and her brows furrowed. "I do not! Whaddya talking about? Why would I wanna stare at your knockers?"

"It's perfectly understandable, kid. Y'ain't got your own, so ya gotta look at mine." Velma's smirk was drowned in another swig of liquor.

"That ain't got nothin' to do with it!" Roxie said indignantly, before she could catch herself.

A pair of huge dark eyes regarded her with suddenly very alert amusement. "Oh yeah? Then what's it all about, kid?"

Roxie froze, staring at Velma like a deer--no, a mouse--caught in the headlights. Velma waited patiently for an answer, her hands folded neatly over her black-stockinged legs. Then, looking disgusted, but probably with herself, Roxie muttered, "Don't flatter yourself."

Velma didn't let it go. "You like this, kid?" she said throatily, leaning forward in her chair so that her cleavage was more visible. "Nothin' wrong with that. Come on. Admit it. I see the way you look at me."

"Oh? And how's that?" Roxie demanded defiantly.

"Like a newspaper boy caught messin' through my underwear drawer," Velma answered nonchalantly.

"A newspaper boy?!!"

"Well, yeah, cos you're too scared to do anything but just sit there with your mouth hangin' open like a pig on a roasting dish."

"Did you just call me a pig?"

"That isn't what I meant and you know it." Velma rolled her eyes.

"You called me a pig!" Roxie's face sparkled with rage. She slammed her glass down on the nightstand with a huff and stumbled off the bed. Her dressing gown peeped open slightly as she stormed across the room, her hands knotted into fists.

She dove violently onto Velma, who was ready for her.

Velma caught her completely around the waist with strong, shapely arms and crushed her lips into a bruising kiss before Roxie knew what was going on. By the time her mind clocked in and assessed the situation, she already had her own tongue wrapping around Velma's desperately. It took several more seconds before she relaxed her body into the bosomy embrace.

"Oh my gosh," Roxie said breathlessly when they came up for air. "Shit!"

"I know," agreed Velma. "That was good!"

"Wow." Roxie exhaled loudly.

Velma quickly unpeeled her stunned dance partner, tossing the pink dressing gown across the vanity chair. "Hey! Be careful with that," Roxie protested lamely.

"Relax, sweetie, it's just wrapping paper." Velma cooed.

Roxie's hands hovered nervously around Velma's breasts. "Do it," Velma challenged her. "Touch 'em."

Roxie cupped both hands around the delightfully soft, plump flesh. "Ooh!" she squealed, squeezing them gently. "No wonder men like these so much."

Velma regarded her nonchalantly from beneath dark lush eyelashes before giving way to a sultry moan as the heels of Roxie's hands ground against her nipples. "Come on, kid, we're moving to the bed," she said, shifting suddenly. Hooking her arms under Roxie's ass, she stood up and lifted the skinny blonde into her arms.

Roxie buried her nose happily in Velma's hair and she wrapped her legs around Velma's waist. The sleek black hair smelled of woman and Christmas spice, like an apple pie in a French bordello. She bounced a little as Velma walked, bumping her crotch against Velma's stomach. The erratic contact teased her pounding pussy, and her head swam.

Velma rolled her down across the blankets and licked at her neck like a hungry cat. Roxie wriggled with arousal. Her legs hugged Velma tightly and pulled her closer. "Man--you--are--so--hot!" she murmured as she reveled in the sensation of Velma's lush breasts pressing into her chest. "This ain't how I was expectin' to spend Christmas Eve." She reached out with both hands and grasped the beautiful flesh again gently.

"Bad girls don't need Santa." Velma held a few fingers to Roxie's face, and Roxie smelled pure female sex. Their eyes met, and Roxie licked Velma's fingers exploratively. "Fruit," she commented.

"Apple, some tell me. Wanna bite?" Velma's eyebrow quirked and she cast her eyelashes downward sultrily.

"Well, I--I've never--I don't know how to--" Roxie stuttered.

It's easy. Here, I'll show ya." Velma inched her body down Roxie's, letting her bosom brush the blonde's entire body on the way. She stopped when her face was nestled between Roxie's thighs.

Roxie regarded her with thoughtful eyes. "Velma, isn't this--illegal?" She scrunched her nose questioningly.

A moment of silence. Velma paused.

And they both burst out laughing.