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Entry tags:	american idol: fic

American Idol Fic: Rip-off Becomes Homage
TITLE: Rip-off Becomes Homage
AUTHOR: Mari
RATING: NC-17
PAIRING: Kelly Clarkson/Mandy Moore
DISCLAIMER: Oh, my God, please do not believe that any of this is real. If you want to use it as fantasy material, by all means (because dude), but this is totally from the depths of my cracked-out head.
SUMMARY/AUTHOR’S NOTES: Many, many moons ago, I was talking to uberaeryn about fic ideas, one of which was Kelly Clarkson/Mandy Moore for no other reason than it would be smokin’ hot. (This was Summer 2007, so we were right in the middle of Kelly doing her very best Pat Benatar at the same time that Mandy was reaching to be the next Tori Amos, minus the crazy.) She said, “You should totally do that.” And I totally failed to do that. So now I’m totally doing that. If you’re wondering why the AN is so long and yet I’m failing in every conceivable way to give you a summary...heh.



She walks in, and the ice of the air-conditioning wicks the summer sweat away from her skin and puts goosebumps down in its place. It’s hot, it’s mid-August in a desert that people were crazy enough to actually live in kind of hot, and if Mandy hears one more person remark cheerfully to her that at least it’s not humid she thinks that she might start laughing and never stop. It’s hot, it’s sticky-hot, and she plucks at the back of her dress to shoo the last droplets of sweat on her spine into submission. She needs a cold drink, and she doesn’t even know who’s house she’s at, here, but they keep their electricity paid and that makes them Mandy’s new best friend.

Electricity paid, and an open bar. Not that that means all that much, as Mandy sidles up and says, “Diet Coke, please.” She’s costing her mysterious, unseen host all of about fifty cents-maybe as much as a buck-fifty in Hollywood movie, but Mandy believes in social responsibility. She grins at the bartender as he raises an eyebrow and slides her drink across to her.

“You know what saves you there? That you realize how silly you are.” It’s said in a honey-sex purr that’s about as far from mocking as it can possibly get, but Mandy still turns.

And there’s a curvaceous brunette watching her from only a few feet away, glass of something dark in her hand. Mandy sincerely doubts that this woman is taking the non-alcoholic route. There’s a light flush in her cheeks, across the tops of the breasts that her dark, sleeveless top is just hinting at. Mandy looks just long enough to give a hint of her own before she takes the new woman’s gaze again. Mandy believes in always remaining polite, even when some around her aren’t being hampered by the same concerns. She’s never done anything like this before, looking at another woman in a way that lets that woman know very well that she’s being looked at and admired, but this has been a summer for all kinds of new things.

“Excuse me?” she asks instead of the first thing that crosses her mind, and takes a sip of her drink. The cold and the faux-sugar explode across her tongue, startling her. She darts her tongue to lap quickly at a drop on her lower lip, and the brunette’s eyes follow. Mandy knows who she is, of course. It would be impossible for anyone remotely involved in the industry to not recognize this woman right here, standing there in her artfully punk black blouse and jeans that cost as much as a month’s rent, even if they had been managing to live completely divorced from a television set for the past five years.

Kelly Clarkson laughs in a way that shows her teeth; that doesn’t seem mocking, either. Mandy thinks that she’s being flirted with, but she’s not sure. Mandy believes in double-checking. She blinks and takes another sip of soda.

“I’m just saying,” Kelly answers before she swallows back the last gulp of her drink and sets it down so that the bartender can give her another. Her barely-perceptible wince answers Mandy’s earlier question for her. “A little bit of irony lets you get away with anything.”

Mandy always seems to get that response. Is it so hard for everyone to believe that maybe she’s just happy? “Does it bother you, being that much of a wannabe punk?” Kelly’s eyes widen slightly, and Mandy tells herself that she’s not breaking the rules. She was perfectly happy when she delivered that little bon mot. Mandy believes in being a cheerful person as much as she possibly can.

But Kelly laughs again instead of becoming angry, takes another sip of her mysterious drink. The color flows upwards into her cheeks, and her eyes are gleaming. She’s looking at Mandy as if she doesn’t know whether to call her just the cutest little thing or drag her off to a bedroom right then and there. And Mandy looks back, finds that she doesn’t mind at all.

“Been a fun ride, actually,” Kelly responds. She has stiletto heels on her boots, and they clack against imported marble flooring as she sidles closer. When she leans into Mandy’s personal space, Mandy can smell the alcohol, something sharp and something sweet. Rum, maybe? Suddenly Mandy’s thinking of an entirely different way to find out what Kelly has been drinking than simply asking.

Mandy believes in safe sex and healthy relationships. Mandy also believes that she might need to go duck her head in a bucket of ice water.

“And you?” Kelly grins around the curve of her glass. “How’s the folkster thing shaking down?”

“It’s still pop,” Mandy says defensively.

“Sweetie, you’re still bubble gum about as much as I’m still the cocktail waitress next door.” Kelly has a smile that needs a warning label. Mandy remembers seeing her coronation as corporate-made pop queen, back when the show was not yet a juggernaut, and she didn’t see one half of the woman there that she sees in this smile. Kelly reaches out the tip of her tongue and takes a swipe at a droplet that she missed on the edge of her glass.

Mandy believes in safe sex, she repeats to herself. That’s a long way from not believing in any sex at all, and she can feel color rising into her cheeks.

“Did you do that to get extra tips?” she asks. That was a bad plan; her voice is hoarse, and Kelly’s eyes are wicked.

“Please.” Kelly makes a dismissive flicking gesture and swishes her hair back across her shoulders. “Do you think everything this summer came out of nowhere? I learned how to put assholes in their place years ago.” She drains the last few drops of her drink, rattles the ice about in contemplation, and places the glass silently on the bar for another.

Mandy laughs, suddenly. She can imagine her career taking quite a different path if she had only learned how to tell off a few assholes sooner. “I don’t even know whose house I’m in,” she confesses.

“A producer?” Kelly’s nose scrunches up. Mandy has seen her both so sexy that she made Mandy press her thighs together until they ached and even a little dangerous, but this is the first time that she’s seen Kelly be cute. She wonders how much Kelly has had tonight, and what her mouth will taste like if Mandy gets the nerve to press her lips to it. She wonders if she’ll be able to taste amaretto and coke on it.

She wonders where else Kelly would be willing to let Mandy put her mouth.

“Nah.” Mandy grins and swishes her own hair back across her shoulders. She watches Kelly’s eyes following the movement, for Mandy’s dress leaves the faintest hint of her own cleavage open to the eye. “The taste is too good.”

Kelly barely tastes of her new drink before she’s setting to back down on the bar again. “Do you want to go see how good his taste is in one of the bedrooms?” she asks abruptly.

Oh, God, Mandy thought that they were never going to get around to that part. Mandy believes in exquisitely good manners. She also believes in getting the fuck on with things, already, and never mind the voice in her head saying ‘Slow down, little girl, don’t pry those training wheels off just yet.’ “It’s a chance to steal some towels,” she says, and Kelly throws back her head and laughs. She takes Mandy’s hand in her own, tugs her closer, and marches off through the crowd of A-listers with her prize in tow. Mandy can feel eyes on them both, but she can’t help but smile as she realizes how little any of them can actually guess what’s going on here. Kelly and Mandy are both good girls, after all, their recent reinventions and rebellions notwithstanding, and good girls don’t march off to borrowed bedrooms with near strangers so that they can get in a quick fuck.

More’s the pity. Mandy believes that the world would be a better place if they did.

Kelly hardly gets them upstairs, and then past one bedroom that’s already occupied with party goers who had the same idea, before they find one that will suit their purpose. She kicks the door shut behind her as soon as she has Mandy inside; it’s clear that she has an eye towards being the one holding the reins here. Mandy wonders what she makes of it when Mandy herself instead grabs Kelly’s shoulders and feels the contrast between smooth silk and warm spin before she propels her back, hard, against the door. Kelly hits it with her shoulders and makes a startled sound, her hazel eyes flashing wide and staring at Mandy with an air of, “My dear, I didn’t know that you had it in you.”

Mandy doesn’t leave her long to wait. She follows a bare second later and takes Kelly’s eager mouth, soothing the small hurt that she might have caused Kelly’s shoulders by kissing her so thoroughly that she doubts Kelly has any room left to care. Mandy was right; Kelly tastes like amaretto and soda. She also tastes like expensive lipstick and a promise, and however Mandy thought that she was taking the upper hand right off the bat here, she cannot help but moan softly into Kelly’s mouth. She’s tingling between her thighs already. Whatever nervousness she might be harboring, she’s confident that she’s not letting it show. Just like kissing a boy, Mandy tells herself, minus a certain amount of stubble.

Kelly’s hears the sound, likes it. Mandy feels her smile as a warm curve against the side of her face as Kelly breaks away for a few seconds. “Didn’t know that you had it in you,” Kelly whispers. Her voice flicks at the skin behind Mandy’s ear. Mandy would like to know how this woman became America’s sweetheart, when there’s clearly nothing innocent about her and never has been.

“I’ve been doing some growing up,” Mandy whispers back, and that’s when Kelly shoves her knee up between Mandy’s thighs. The very lightest of contacts, stopping several inches short of one area in particular that would suddenly like attention very much, but it’s still enough to suck every ounce of air from Mandy’s lungs. She feels her legs wobble for a second and manages, “Oh, okay then.”

Kelly propels them both backwards towards the bed’s exquisite, immaculate bed that is going to be neither of those things by the time that they finish. She guides with her mouth on Mandy’s, her tongue gliding against Mandy’s soft palate and drawing a series of soft sounds from Mandy’s mouth that Kelly swallows down like air. Her hands are on Mandy’s waist and drawing soft patterns across the dress that Mandy suddenly hates. She hardly even realizes that they’ve made it across the room until she feels the bed at the back of her knees, buckling them, and sits down hard on the edge of the mattress. She sure as hell feels Kelly, though, Kelly settling down with her knees on either side of Mandy’s waist, Kelly’s hands pushing her dress up her thighs, Kelly’s mouth on her ear and her voice whispering things that make Mandy want to blush. She has a musical voice even when she’s speaking; Mandy would not have guessed that.

“Look at you,” Kelly whispers, and sounds likes she’s on the verge of laughing. “Little Miss Sweetheart, all folked up and pretending to be indie.”

“How do you keep that punk eyeliner from smudging?” Mandy shoots back. “Does a make-up artist help you with that?” And she kisses Kelly hard enough to feel Kelly’s smile, pulls the edge of Kelly’s blouse up and over her head. She’s not wearing a bra.

Mandy believes that there is only so much that a person can take before lust drives them right out of their mind. She lowers her head, takes one of Kelly’s breasts into her mouth, and flicks at the nipple with her tongue until it becomes a hard pebble in her mouth and Kelly above her lets out her breath on a shuddering sigh. Her fingers tangle through Mandy’s hair and she curses, sharply and violently. Mandy spans her hands around Kelly’s waist so that Kelly doesn’t tumble right off of the edge of the bed and send this little encounter straight into the bad sex chronicles of all time. Kelly shifts and grinds herself down against Mandy’s waist. Mandy has never actually been the recipient of a lap dance before, but she now decides that it is a vastly under-appreciated art form. Kelly uses her improved leverage to push Mandy back and hike Mandy’s skirt up her thighs; the way that she’s looking at Mandy is all pupil, all hunger. Mandy feels her mouth go dry to be under the gaze of someone who wants her that much. The ache and the dampness between her thighs remains, but suddenly she feels like this entire thing is spinning out of control before she can hope to bring it back.

“I’ve never--” Mandy starts. Wanted to dozens of times, with whole lists of girls scribbled down furtively in notebooks and the subject of a thousand fantasies, but never had the nerve to make the fantasy real. It’s a time for reinvention, but she’s still not quite sure that she has the nerve even now to go through with it.

“Shh,” Kelly whispers, and leans back up again so that she can kiss Mandy on the mouth. It’s lighter, sweeter, than anything that they’ve shared so far; she waits for Mandy to part her lips for Kelly, she doesn’t go deeper until Mandy twines her fingers through silky hair and tugs her closer. Mandy feels her head spinning by the time that they part from one another to breathe. “Do you think that I didn’t know that the very first time that I saw you? It’ll be all right.” Kelly turns her face to the side, tickles her breath along Mandy’s earlobe until she jumps. “Do you trust me?”

Trust a one-night stand in a stranger’s bedroom? “Not really,” Mandy confesses, and hears that laugh again.

“Fair enough.” Kelly leans back, looks at Mandy in the eyes as casually as if they’re still fully clothed and standing downstairs rather than Kelly leaning over her and not wearing a shirt while Mandy’s skirt is hiked up around her thighs and it’s all that she can do not to squirm. “Do you still want me?”

“Yes.” It’s out of Mandy’s mouth before she knows what she’s saying. She has a second to pause, reflect, while Kelly looks her over with eyes of deep, clear hazel ringed in black lashes; the answer doesn’t change. Kelly was never one of the notebook girls. More is the pity, because she’s looking at Mandy like Mandy is the sexiest thing that she’s seen all day and for a good, long time before that besides.

“Try to trust me, then. I’ll take care of you.” And Kelly’s fingers are undoing the buttons on her dress, Kelly’s scooting back and leaning down so that she can brush her lips against the overheated skin of Mandy’s thighs, one a time, smiling slightly when she makes Mandy jump. Mandy tilts her head up and can see the faintest tinge of lipstick left even amongst the blush that feels like it’s overtaking her entire body. She wants to press her thighs together as hard as she can and only stops herself because she’s afraid that Kelly will misinterpret the gesture.

“Sit up.” Kelly only takes long enough to push Mandy’s fully unbuttoned dress down and off of her shoulders, leaving her clothed only in her bra and panties, before she gives Mandy a grin that’s best seen on the kind of DVD that children are not allowed to see. Kelly touches her lips to Mandy’s belly and makes her jump so hard that she’s surprised all over again when Kelly does not fall off of the bed. Another of those grins. Kelly keeps working down Mandy’s body one inch at a time, nipping and suckling her way down Mandy’s torso and towards the dark thatch of pubic care that is, for now, covered by the lace of her panties. Mandy is slick and aching and wants...she wants...oh, God, she doesn’t know, Kelly’s fingers, Kelly’s mouth, something right there to relieve that ache, that urge to rub her fingers against herself, that won’t stop until it reaches release. Kelly is circling her tongue around Mandy’s belly button when her breasts, the nipples still so hard that Mandy cannot imagine what kind of self-control Kelly must actually be possessed of not to be making a sound right now, brush against Mandy’s thighs. She makes her first sound yet, a deep, breathy moan that rides the air before she even knows what she’s doing. Mandy gasps as her entire body feels like it’s on fire and she’s on the verge of screaming at Kelly to just come on already, just fucking stick something in her, and her hand darts towards her own crotch. Kelly grabs her wrist and even giggles a little bit, that bitch, before she pushes Mandy’s hand back down to the bed.

“Patience,” she whispers. Kelly hooks her fingers through the elastic of Mandy’s panties; her nails scratch against delicate skin as she begins to ease them down Mandy’s thighs. They’re soaked and completely useless at this point, but Mandy still feels herself go still as she’s completely bared from her waist down, the only stitch of fabric left on her body her bra, through which she can already see that her nipples have risen into twin, aching points. Kelly kisses each of her thighs again and lets her breath fan out across Mandy’s pubic hair until Mandy is on the verge of screaming in frustration and grabbing at Kelly’s hair to just get this show on the road already.

Mandy cannot believe that she has turned into this much of a slut this quickly.

Kelly doesn’t even touch her at first, just blows air in a warm stream across Mandy’s clit. Mandy still feels her hips surge up from the bed; she still swears at Kelly more passionately than she can ever remember spitting out expletives in her life.

“No,” Kelly says, nearly laughing. Mandy decides then and there that she’s going to reverse their positions before this is over. She decides it as Kelly pushes her hand down upon Mandy’s thigh to keep her still, and that she’s going to hear Kelly screaming with lust before it’s over. “I can’t imagine Tori Amos saying anything like that, so maybe you win.”

“You’re still playing that fucking game?” Mandy spits out, disbelieving.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Kelly whispers to her. “Try to make me stop.” And she lowers her head, finally, to Mandy’s core, her tongue hot and wet and oh god almighty she knows how to use it. Mandy can’t keep her hips still this time and Kelly has no interest in making her. Kelly’s tongue is lapping at Mandy’s clitoris like it’s the sweetest candy that she’s ever had in her life and that it’s going to be pulled away from her if she doesn’t take as much as she can while it’s still available; every brush makes Mandy’s entire body thrum. She’s hears herself babbling out Kelly’s name but can’t make out what she’s actually saying, it’s all disappearing into a hum into Mandy’s ears. Kelly does another one of those laughs of hers, vibration against Mandy’s clit that makes her whole lower body turn to jelly. She pushes her tongue deep into Mandy’s core and there; Mandy feels a full-throated scream rising from her throat as her orgasm rises over her in waves. If her eyes were open at that point, she’s sure that the world would have gone hazy about the edges.

Mandy shudders and opens her eyes, feels her sticky fluids drying against the inside of her thighs at the same time that sweat is cooling across her body. She lifts her head and sees that Kelly has rocked back onto her heels, her eyes still all pupil and a flush covering every inch of her skin that Mandy can see. Kelly darts her tongue out and touches at her lower lip; Mandy would feel guilty about leaving Kelly in such a state if it were not for, well, everything.

“Was that ‘punk’ enough for you?” Kelly asks, and Mandy cannot help but roll her eyes.

“Come here,” she says, sitting up. She’s wearing nothing but her bra, still, but all thoughts of shyness have fled from her mind. She grabs Kelly by the back of her neck and tugs her forward before she can think of protesting. Kelly tastes like her; Mandy flicks her tongue throughout every inch of her mouth, catches every drop, before she reaches out and runs her thumb over one of Kelly’s nipples, over and over again, until it’s once more standing up in a point and Kelly is making soft and breathy moaning sounds into Mandy’s mouth. Annoyance has made her bold; she keeps Kelly’s attention focused solely on her with one hand and then unbuttons Kelly’s jeans with her other. It only takes a few seconds before she’s able to keep Kelly’s attention fixated on her with both hands; Kelly lets out a sharp cry into Mandy’s mouth as Mandy brushes her clitoris.

Her inexperience catches up with her, suddenly, and Mandy stumbles, feeling awkward and shy. She pulls back and catches Kelly’s eyes still dark with lust, Kelly’s cheeks suffused with a high flush of blood. Mandy doesn’t know what she’s doing here, good little girl who’s never rebelled against a label in her life, let alone a major one, kneeling over a woman who looks like she could eat her up at a gulp. She thinks that she might grab her dress and flee from the room altogether if Kelly does not reach out swiftly and grab at her wrist.

“You’re doing fine,” Kelly whispers to her. She guides Mandy’s hand deeper into the velvet slickness of her, tilts her head back and lets out a moan that has Mandy getting wet between her thighs all over again. Mandy makes a startled sound as she looks down into Kelly’s face and watches Kelly’s eyes fall shut to half-mast. It’s amazing, this power, knowing that she can make another woman feel so good that she can forget her own name. She wonders if Kelly felt this kind of good when she was pulling Mandy’s brain out through her clitoris and listening to Mandy jerk and moan ahead of her. If she did, then it’s a wonder that she even stopped at all.

It’s just like getting yourself off, Mandy tells herself, and that helps her attack of shyness, a little. What helps more is the way that Kelly’s mouth falls open slightly when Mandy does something right, the way that her breathing is coming fast and color is rising along the tops of her breasts. She arches her back suddenly and shivers; she’s going to leave dents in her lower lip by the time that they’re done.

Mandy has to press her thighs together very hard now. Even that does not stop a small sound from escaping from her tightly compressed lips.

Kelly’s slitted eyes open a bit farther; Mandy thinks that she sees a hint of a smile playing at the edges of her mouth. That spurs her forward, makes her stroke Kelly that much faster. It’s just like getting yourself off, she repeats to herself. She still feels her breath coming faster as more and more of Kelly’s juices slick her hand and Kelly can’t seem to keep her hips pinned down to the mattress. Kelly is not a silent one in bed by any means; she’s making whining moans that rise towards shrieks when Mandy drags her nails over a clitoris that is heated with blood. Mandy pictures a ring of curious faces standing just outside the door and wondering what in the hell is going on in there.

Imagining an audience is not stopping her or even slowing her down. On the contrary, Mandy has to reach down between her thighs with her free hand and begin to stroke herself in time to the ministrations that she’s playing to Kelly if she does not want to lose her mind altogether and thinks that maybe it’s time to retire the sweet and innocent image. She clearly does not wear it well.

Mandy hears Kelly on the verge of coming in the way that her breathing quickens towards hyperventilation in her chest. She twists her hand, and Kelly comes hard on a screaming sob. Mandy collapses backwards and keeps playing with herself, harder, faster, picturing that is again Kelly’s mouth or even Kelly’s hand that is teasing her clitoris mercilessly, not even letting her pause to catch her breath as the tension pulls in her belly and lower still. She feels Kelly’s hazel eyes growing lucid again and fixing upon her face as she continues to masturbate and whine with the way that her own fingers know her body so well. Kelly’s direct stare is what does it, in the end, more than Mandy’s hand; she bites her lip until she tastes blood on her tongue as her second orgasm makes it difficult to even stay conscious, let alone form speech.

Mandy lets the world go gray on her without attempting to chase after it and then stares up at the ceiling when she’s finally able to bring the details back. They are in a lovely house, there is no denying that. They are in a lovely house, and Mandy does not pity the maid in the slightest when she has to deal with the laundry in the morning.

Mandy always like to think about the little people. It’s a thing.

She feels Kelly watching her still, a little smug, a little surprised. Kelly did not think that Mandy had that in her. Mandy was amazed that she had it in her, herself. She surprises herself further by crawling up the bed, putting her hands to either side of Kelly’s sprawled body, and then licking and suckling at the side of Kelly’s neck, the most delicate space just behind her ear, until she makes a deep red blossom of blood just beneath the surface. Kelly will wear Mandy’s mark in the morning. The very thought makes Mandy wonder if a third round might not be in order.

She rocks back on her heels before Kelly can clutch at her hair in order to bring her back and feels self-conscious all over again, clad only in her bra. Kelly looks faintly dazed; Kelly looks debauched. Before Mandy can speak, though, she grins and pushes herself back up into a sitting position. Kelly grabs for Mandy’s hand before Mandy can pull herself off of the bed in embarrassment and rubs her well-manicured hand across the backs of Mandy’s knuckles.

“Planning on any other parties any time soon?” Kelly asks.

Mandy hardly has to think of her answer for a second before she grins, her self-consciousness momentarily washed away. “It’s the industry,” she says. “You know that the same old faces are all going to pop up sooner or later.” And Mandy leans forward to steal one final kiss before she scoots off of the bed so that she can dress.

End