Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13503047.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Riverdale_(TV_2017)
  Relationship:
      Alice_Cooper/Hermione_Lodge
  Additional Tags:
      High_School, Pre-Canon, POV_Hermione_Lodge, Dirty_Talk, Shower_Sex,
      Bathing/Washing, Vaginal_Fingering, Community:_femslash_kink
  Collections:
      The_Annual_Femslash_Kink_Meme_2017
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-28 Words: 3904
****** The 1992 River Vixens Back-to-School Car Wash ******
by FreshBrains
Summary
     Alice might wash cars with her mile-long legs and perfect laugh,
     tease the entire football team with nothing but a slipping bikini
     string, but at the end of the day, she’s Hermione’s.
Notes
     For the DW The Annual Femslash Kink Meme 2017 prompt: Alice/Hermione,
     shower sex.
     Since timelines are so shaky in this show, I imagine this as junior
     year, making it underage (before Alice's pregnancy). The year is just
     a headcanon based on guessing parents' ages and Chic's age.
The annual River Vixens Back to School Car Wash falls on the hottest day of
early autumn. They’re lucky this year—sophomore year was rained out before noon
and freshman year was so cold the girls washed cars in jeans and sweatshirts,
defeating the altogether purpose of one last summer fling. But this year sees a
full day of bright, cloudless skies and a warm breeze that makes their hand-
painted banner flutter noisily above Pop’s.
Hermione turns on Main Street, her cherry-red Grand Am gliding quietly up to
the line of cars waiting for a wash. She rolls down her window and waves a
handful of bills when she finally spies a high, sun-bleached blonde ponytail
among the group of bikini-clad cheerleaders.
“Hey, River Vixen,” she sing-songs. “What does a girl have to do to jump ahead
in line here?”
Alice whips around, her ponytail swishing around her neck. When she sees
Hermione’s car, she grins and throws her a cheerful middle finger. “Come on up,
baby,” she yells, hands cupped around her mouth. “I’ll get you nice and clean.”
Hermione winks at her and pulls around the line of cars, ignoring their annoyed
honking. She parks in an open space to the left of the group next to a row of
plastic buckets and yellow sponges. The pavement is already wet and glittering,
close to steaming in the heat, and most of the other girls are busy with half a
dozen cars in Pop’s lot. Pop was always good about letting the Vixens use the
space every year, mostly because nothing cools down horny high school boys (and
their dads) like a strawberry milkshake.
“Good turnout,” Hermione says, resting her sunglasses atop her head. “How many
have asked for you specifically this year?”
“Enough to keep me busy,” Alice says, leaning into Hermione’s car. She glances
around, blue eyes mischievous, before pecking Hermione on the lips in greeting.
“FP has been through twice. Paid me double plus a dime bag, but I think he was
doing it for Fred more than anything.”
Hermione rolls her eyes. Fred wouldbe too shy to come to the car wash himself.
She supposes she can’t blame him. There’s something so luridly tackyabout the
whole thing—teenage girls in cut-off shorts and bikini tops soaping down the
sedans and trucks of Riverdale’s finest for handfuls of bills, giggling and
screaming, spraying each other down like they’re in a damn Aerosmith music
video. Hermione’s inclinations would normally say she’d love the sight, but
it’s such a blatant show of manipulation that all she can do is admire the
Vixens’ industry.
Well, most of the Vixens, that is. Alice, in her too-small cut-offs with the
zipper open to reveal high-hipped neon pink bikini bottoms, is a gift in and of
herself. Her skin is golden brown from a season spent outdoors, her white
bikini top is barely enough to contain the perfect, soft spill of her breasts,
and when she leans back to take a swig from the sweating can of orange Fanta in
her hand, sweat glistens at the bob of her throat.
“So is this enough for a wash?” Hermione flashes two twenties at Alice with a
grin, holding the bills between her glossy French-tipped nails.
Alice purses her lips like she’s considering the offer. “How about,” she says,
plucking the bills from Hermione’s hand, “we skip the cash.” She tucks the
folded bills into the vee of Hermione’s white tee shirt, the paper crinkling
against her breasts. “And instead of a wash, I meet you at your place later.”
Hermione exhales, wondering when her girl got so damn smooth. She’s certainly
not learning it from FP, who is a master at being an endearingly vulgar
asshole, or Fred, who can barely look at a girl his age without blushing and
apologizing. Maybe she’s learning it from Hermione herself—thatmakes Hermione
flush with pride.
“I’ll be there,” Hermione says, looking up at Alice with hooded eyes. She tips
her sunglasses off her head and hands them to Alice. “Take these. It’s bright
today.”
“My hero,” Alice says, smiling sweetly. Hermione likes that smile, all crinkle-
eyed and genuine, nothing like the toothy, flirty look she shoots guys in the
hallway. “See you later, H.” She turns and bounces off to the next car, sandals
slapping against her feet and hair swinging against the bare small of her back.
Hermione’s know her faults and flaws. She knows she can be possessive and
haughty, knows she expects too much from the world. She sees those faults in
her mom and dad, in Hiram when he’s needling her to go on a date with him. But
right now, she can’t care about that triumphant welling of emotion in her
chest.
Alice might wash cars with her mile-long legs and perfect laugh, tease the
entire football team with nothing but a slipping bikini string, but at the end
of the day, she’s Hermione’s.
*
It’s late afternoon by the time Hermione settles into her bedroom to wait for
Alice. The big house is unusually empty for a Saturday. Sometimes it makes
Hermione lonely—with a house so cold and cavernous, it is easy to miss the
sound of Myriam Hernández ballads filtering in from her mother’s bedroom or the
soothing tone of her dad’s business-stern voice on the phone in his study. But
now, with the cooling breeze coming in through the windows and the sounds of
lawnmowers and sprinklers creating the perfect late summer song, she’s glad to
have the place to herself.
She used to see her bedroom as a place of function, somewhere to sleep and
dress, but having Alice around more often changed that. Alice’s folks aren’t
that bad, but their trailer on the South Side is small and noisy, and the
surrounding neighborhood isn’t much better. There’s definitely a lack of
privacy.
Alice lovedHermione’s bedroom. She loved the fluffy white quilted duvet
Hermione’s abuelamade for her before she was born. She loved the pink four-
poster canopy and brass bedframe. She loved the Prince and Color Me Badd tapes
neatly lined up on a low shelf beneath Hermione’s sleek silver stereo. She
loved the plush carpet, the red fleur-de-lis wallpaper, and especially the
attached private bathroom with a frosted-glass shower, enclosed tub, and
seafoam-green towels. She loved Hermione’s spicy candles and Tabu perfume and
pretty much anything else that was truly, uniquely Hermione.
Hermione lies back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. The old glow-in-the-
dark stars from her childhood are obscured by the pink tulle canopy. It’s like
looking at them through clouds. She’s growing bored—she already watched an old
movie on TV, painted her toenails, called up Mary to see what she was doing
(nothing exciting, as usual), and even started in on her trigonometry homework,
which she quickly abandoned. She wasn’t used to spending weekends without Alice
in her constant company, and it was starting to wear on her. She would put in a
tape, but she’s so comfy and her stereo is across the room. She’s not a fan of
the one FP recently lent her, but Alice likes it, the wailing male vocals and
haunting guitars.
She sighs and rolls over onto her stomach. The duvet is cool against her bare
arms and legs, the breeze from the window ruffling her hair against her
shoulders. She hates waiting. She hopes Alice isn’t going out with the team for
burgers afterwards.
Before she knows it, she’s fast asleep, the sunlight slanting in through the
blinds.
*
Hermione wakes up with a start as a hundred and five pounds of teenage girl
heavily straddles her back, crowing, “Guess who made enough money for a new
stereo for the gym?”
“Alice,” Hermione groans, shifting underneath the other girl until she’s on her
back, her white sundress twisted around her hips. “You scared the crap out of
me.”
“You’re fine,” Alice says airily, grinning from ear to ear. “Come on, let’s go
out. I skimmed a little off the top.” She flutters a handful of bills in one
hand.
“You didn’t need to do that,” Hermione says. “What if you get caught?” It’s not
that she doesn’t admire Alice’s ingenuity. After all the bullshit the other
Vixens put her through, she deserves to reap some of the reward for all her
hard work. She just doesn’t want to think of the repercussions of the only
South Side girl on the team getting caught with stolen cash.
“I never get caught, baby,” Alice says. “And besides, I wanted to do something
nice for you. You’re always paying when we go out.”
Hermione frowns, even as Alice leans over to put the money on the night-table
and her bikini top dips dangerously low. But she also knows better than to
start a conversation about money with Alice looking so happy, so she forgoes
the battle for now.
Besides, she can tell another battle is coming, judging solely by how
horrifically filthyAlice is where she’s still straddling Hermione on the bed.
“Alice Elizabeth,” Hermione says slowly, eyes scanning Alice from head to toe.
“If you don’t get your butt into that shower in ten seconds, I’m making you
wash my bedsheets by hand.”
Alice glances down at herself like she’s seeing her body for the first time.
She’s got someone’s (probably FP’s) sweatshirt on over her bikini top, unzipped
to her belly button, and it’s wet at the cuffs and hem from repeatedly dipping
sponges into buckets. It smells like FP’s cigarettes and the harsh chemical
clean of industrial soap. Her long, sun-tanned legs and toned arms are streaked
with dried mud and her bare feet are practically black from walking back and
forth across the hot pavement all day long.
Hermione swallows hard, feeling her cheeks suddenly heat. She’s never admit it
out loud, but seeing Alice all unkempt and dirty with sunburn across her nose
and the smell of car exhaust on her skin is unbelievably sexy. She envies the
way Alice can go from femme fatale in red lipstick and killer heels to mud-
splattered wild-child without missing a beat. She’s a chameleon, and that will
serve her well in the future.
Hermione’s never been good at that. She’s just herself, through and through.
Alice has a lot of selves and each and every one of them makes Hermione love
her more.
Alice grins, slow and easy, and Hermione knows she’s been caught. “What, am I
getting the Little Princess’ pretty white linens all dirty?” She flops
dramatically down onto Hermione and they both break out into breathless
laughter. “Whatever shall we do? I’ve brought shame upon the house!” Hermione
smacks her with a pillow, but Alice just catches it with one hand and leans in
to kiss Hermione. She tastes like heat and orange soda, all sticky-sweet. Her
hands cup Hermione’s face; there’s dirt under her chipped pink fingernails.
“I’m serious,” Hermione says, a whine edging into her voice. “My mom will kill
me if I ruin this quilt. I’ll go start the shower.”
Alice rolls her eyes but obediently hops off the bed, walking gingerly on her
toes so she doesn’t streak the carpet with black asphalt dust. “I’m totally
using all of your vanilla body wash, just so you know.”
“Don’t you dare,” Hermione says, trailing after her into the bathroom. She
doesn’t really mind, though—she prefers to smell it on Alice.
By the time Hermione starts the tap for the water to heat up, Alice is already
stripping down to her bikini. She leaves her shorts and sweatshirt crumpled on
the floor next to the toilet and pulls the pink scrunchie out of her hair,
shaking out her blonde waves. She doesn’t even have to use Sun-In like the
other girls—her hair is naturally wheat-gold and gorgeous. When she flips her
mane over her shoulder and turns to look at Hermione, she smiles. “You’re
staring,” she teases, and unties her bikini top in one smooth motion, letting
it fall to the tile.
Hermione swallows hard but doesn’t look away. It’s always a little game between
them, seeing who will crack first, who will blush or moan or laugh. The water
is comfortably warm, so she starts the showerhead and closes the frosty-paned
door. The rushing of hot water muffles the sound of her heart hammering in her
chest when Alice strips off her bikini bottoms and kicks them into the corner
next to the trash can.
“You’re such a slob,” Hermione says, but she’s staring blatantly at Alice’s
body. The bathroom is slowly starting to steam up and the heat combined with
the warm glow of the peach wallpaper bathes Alice in a rosy light. “Come here.”
“Aw, Princess Hermione’s going to kiss a slob,” Alice teases, but comes
willingly, slinging her arms over Hermione’s shoulders. She’s only a couple
inches taller than Hermione but she uses it to her advantage. Her body is warm
against Hermione’s front, but when Hermione trails her fingers down Alice’s
sides, she realizes Alice’s breasts are cool and damp to the touch from her wet
swimsuit. It sends a little thrill of arousal down Hermione’s spine as she
strokes Alice’s hard nipple with her thumb, trying to will away the last of the
chill with her own body.
“That’s nice,” Alice sighs, arching into Hermione’s hands. Her breasts are
small and pert and they fill Hermione’s hands nicely. Alice shivers into it,
nipples stiff against Hermione’s palms, and her legs spread, seeking the
friction of Hermione’s thigh between them.
Before she gets too caught up, Hermione pulls away and groans. “Seriously?” The
skirt of her white eyelet sundress is streaked in dirt. “You barely touched
me!”
“Well, youtouched me enough to get me all hot,” Alice pouts. She opens the
shower door, letting the warm mist coat their skin. “So now that you’re dirty,
I guess you’ll have to join me.”
“Save the pick-up lines for FP,” Hermione says drily, reaching back awkwardly
to unzip her dress. As if she wasn’t going to join Alice anyways. The warm day
has turned into a cool afternoon and Hermione’s glad to be in this small, warm
cavern of steam and heat with her favorite person. The bathroom is windowless,
so the outside world remains foreign. It could be dark and storming, it could
be cool and windless. Hermione doesn’t care about anything but the bathroom.
“Let me,” Alice says. She puts one hand on Hermione’s hip, holding her steady
as she works the zipper down slowly. “No bra? What a hussy,” Alice teases,
slipping her hand up to squeeze Hermione’s breast, making the other girl yelp
and laugh. Hermione’s dress pools on the floor at her feet. She’s left in only
her pink satin panties, the ones that make Alice go wild and call her
princesswhen they fuck.
Alice hums in appreciation. Her fingers slide beneath the waistband, teasing
soft skin. “God, that’s so hot,” she whispers hotly into Hermione’s neck,
turning them just a bit so Hermione can see them in the oval-shaped bathroom
mirror. “Look at how wet you are for me.”
Hermione’s neck and cheeks heat when she sees that the front of her pink
panties are dark and damp already. She squeezes her thighs together, squirming
back against Alice, aching for Alice to reach around and give her a little
relief. But Alice just holds her gaze in the mirror, eyes dark, and tugs
Hermione’s panties off. Hermione can feel her devious smile against the curve
of her neck.
Alice rubs at the spots on Hermione’s hips and ass where the lace edging of her
underwear dug into the skin and left red marks. “Perfect,” she says, almost
distracted, the water thundering in the shower behind them. “I’m getting cold.
Let’s warm up.”
Hermione sighs when Alice pulls away, but she follows her into the shower
quickly, closing the frosted door with a metallic click. It’s obviously a well-
used bathtub. The low acrylic sides are lined in colorful bottles of bubble
bath, bath salts, and hair products. A fat orange loofah hangs from the shower
rack next to the detachable showerhead. Glittery rubber stickers decorate the
peach and rose tiles.
Alice instantly hogs the hot spray, letting the water soak her hair and neck.
She groans, eyes closed in ecstasy. “I could live in here,” she says, turning
to face Hermione (but more likely to warm the other side of her body). “Can I
live here?”
“Only if you clean it,” Hermione says sweetly. “Now move over, I’m freezing my
butt off.” They end up shuffling into each other’s’ arms, pressed front to
front, the water sluicing between them. Hermione reaches down for a pearly
bottle of vanilla bean body wash, then grabs the loofah. Despite still aching
between her legs, she sets her sights on getting Alice clean.
The water at the bottom of the tub soon turns to the color of dishwater as
Hermione scrubs Alice from the top down—first with the vanilla soap, then with
a handful of brown sugar body scrub, getting her elbows and knees and dirty
heels. Alice revels in it, a peaceful smile on her face as she just leans back
in the warm spray and lets Alice attend to her. Her skin is soft and dewy,
water pearling on her neck and breasts, soap clinging to the small of her back.
Her hair plasters to her shoulders in brown-gold swirls.
“Let me do your hair,” Hermione says. She washes it like the girls at her salon
do, with great care and gentle fingers, massaging the cucumber-melon shampoo
into Alice’s scalp. She’s ready to go for the conditioner, but Alice shakes her
head and presses Hermione against the slick shower wall, warm hands cupping her
face.
“Let me love you now,” she says, pressing soft, small kisses to Hermione’s
lips, adoring her in the private quiet of the shower, so wonderfully,
uncharacteristically gentle that Hermione could cry. The she grins again,
showing off slightly-crooked front teeth. “Turn around, honey. And spread your
legs.”
That’s more like it, Hermione thinks, and feels her belly flutter in
anticipation as she presses her palms to the wall. Her cunt aches again,
begging to be touched. The smell of warm vanilla and clean soap makes her head
feel warm and hazy.
“I used to imagine you in here,” Alice huffs, voice low and silky in Hermione’s
ear, hands firm on her hips. “I thought your showerhead was so fancy, the way
it detached. Then I thought of you lying in your bathtub with your legs up on
the sides.” Her hand wanders down between Hermione’s legs, gently parting them
so she can cup the silken heat of her cunt. “Thought of you getting off and
trying to be quiet.”
Hermione melts into Alice’s firm touch. There isn’t a lot of room to move, but
she works her hips down on Alice’s hand, seeking friction as the water slicks
their bodies. “You were wrong,” she says. Alice’s hair falls down over both
their shoulders in a heavy, wet curtain. It sticks to Hermione’s skin as she
moves, trying to get Alice to put her fingers inside of her.
“You’re telling me you never got off in here? Never pressed this thing,” she
says, grasping onto the showerhead for leverage with her free hand as she
teases two fingers around Hermione’s cunt, “against your clit and rode one out?
God, you’re more repressed than I thought you were.”
Hermione lets the comment send a dirty, embarrassed tingle down her spine.
Alice knowsshe isn’t repressed—their current positions were proof enough. But
Hermione secretly loved that Alice thought of her as a pristine, pretty
princess who could only get off with her girlfriend’s fingers inside of her or
her mouth on her cunt.
“No,” Hermione says, grinning into the shower wall, “I got off. Never in the
tub though. I was always standing up,” she says, panting, lifting one leg onto
the built-in ledge on the side of the tub, opening herself up for Alice’s
fingers, “thinking of you fucking me like this.” Bottles and jars clatter to
the shower floor in a spectacular bang, but neither of them care.
Alice slides two fingers into Hermione to the second knuckle, the motion sure
and practiced, and moves another finger up to spread Hermione’s lips and tease
at her clit. It’s a good, hard, slick maneuver that has Hermione groaning in
record time, hips moving to make Alice go deeper and faster. “Just like this?”
Alice teases. Her other hand comes around Hermione’s waist to focus on her
clit, the dual sensations of outside and inside pleasure making Hermione’s
knees go weak. She builds up a steady rhythm, fingers pumping slickly inside,
pressure peaking outside. “Tell me, is this what you imagined?”  
Hermione knows that if the shower wall wasn’t slick from the spray, it’d be wet
from her panting mouth, her lips inches from the cool acrylic. “Al,” she moans,
breath hitching each time Alice curls her fingers. “Al-ice.”
Alice laughs against Hermione’s neck, her teeth grazing Hermione’s nape and
making her shiver. The water has gone cool over their bodies—not cold, but
comfortable, urging them close together and trapping the leftover body heat
between them. Hermione can hear Alice’s excited, wild breathing behind her when
she pushes Hermione closer to the wall, the dew unpleasantly chilly at first.
But when she traps her hand beneath the wall and Hermione’s cunt, Hermione
knows what to do. She ride’s Alice’s hand to completion, getting her orgasm
from the dull, aching pressure of Alice’s palm, cunt tightening and spasming
around nothing as she comes in short, heady waves.
She cries out softly, the sound echoing off the shower walls, and Alice’s
groans spur her on, lips pressed against Hermione’s ear as she comes down.
The shower blurs and melts for only a second as Hermione catches her breath and
opens her eyes. The small space is a mess of soapy froth and fallen bottles,
the plastic knocking against their ankles, and the water is quickly going from
cool to cold. The water slows then stops as Alice turns the faucet knob.
“And I didn’t even get to use this,” Alice says mournfully, tapping the shower
head, and they both let out exhausted laughs, suddenly loud in the silent
space. “Let’s get you dried off.”
Hermione lets Alice take the lead and drape their bodies in half a dozen fluffy
towels, their hair up in soft twists. She’s always bone-tired after an orgasm,
but she’s also mindful that Alice never came, never even got a hand on her, and
that won’t do at all. Hermione might think herself royalty, but she’s no pillow
princess.
“Now that you’re all clean,” she says, leading Alice outside the bathroom and
to the bed, “you are welcome aboard.” The air is nice and cool and the room is
shadowed in twilight, the curtains fluttering a little in the breeze.
Alice drops her towel and jumps onto the bed in all her naked glory, looking
fresh and pink and so perfect Hermione wants to eat her up. “And now that I’m
all clean,” she says, waving down at her naked body, “I’m ready for other
stuff, too.”
“Classy,” Hermione says, rolling her eyes, jumping onto the bed and into
Alice’s arms.
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