Work Text:
Grace Chasity’s life was falling apart. She had been cured of her lustful feelings towards Max Jagerman, that much she was thankful for, but something new had appeared. Something worse.
As she sat at her desk, trying to figure out how to throw the cops off the scent about her breaking and entering and burying Max’s body, her mind kept drifting. Her thoughts all converged to one person: Stephanie Lauter.
Steph, more beautiful than the Sistine Chapel, her body a greater artwork than the Venus de Milo. It’s not like it didn’t make sense; by any definition, God was a superior craftsman to any mortal sculptor. Steph, who had treated her with more kindness than any friend she had known before, who had leagues of intelligence and skill Grace knew nothing of, who was so cool and casual and charming. Steph, who made those wicked butterflies reappear.
Grace couldn’t help but think of Steph dragging her out her bedroom window, shining brighter than the stars above, leading her to a party. Her world.
Their hands touching, the contact making her each nerve Steph held explode like fireworks. Grace rushing to keep up with Steph, so wise, so sure, as she was overtaken by wonder. Running through the streets, under flickering lights, nowhere Grace would have been allowed alone, certainly not with a boy, even less with a girl she had such lustful desires for. Grace’s heart racing, creating a polyrhythm with their feet pounding against the pavement, the same feeling as a worship concert. That pulse vibrating through their bodies, connecting them forever.
Them entering the house. The host greeting Steph, while she kept looking at Grace. Damp air, hazes of smoke, things that would normally bother Grace meaning nothing, because Steph was there, perfectly clear in her vision. Maybe they were supposed to mingle with the teenagers doing keg stands, taking shots, but choosing not to do so. Choosing instead to keep their fingers interlocked.
The party continuing. The night raging on, like the turmoil in Grace’s tummy. Steph taking Grace’s cheeks in her hands. Darkness slightly obscuring Steph’s face, alcohol on her breath as she pulled Grace closer. Kissing, Steph’s hands moving up Grace’s hips, above her waist, her boysenberry lipstick transferring onto and around her lips, their bodies in a magical harmony. Closer, closer, arms draped across bare skin, hands placed where they should only be placed on a spouse.
It was a perfect fantasy, if it weren’t so sinful.
A glance at the mirror revealed that her face was flushed with red, that a strand of saliva had dripped out the corner of her mouth. Oh, heck. She was so hecking fudged. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Feelings that were just as lustful as they were for Max, just as sexual as they were for Max, but for Steph. For another girl. This was almost as bad as Clivesdale winning the big game.
Clivesdale! That was the answer. Divine intervention solved her problem. Not only were they the natural enemy of the town, maybe they killed Richie, and that transferred his queerness to her. She had to punish them for that kind of a sin.
More than that, she had to make sure that whatever happened to Richie wouldn’t happen to her. Nerdy prudes must die was a phrase which applied to no one more than Grace Chasity. But, if she was bisexual, if she couldn’t fix this, Hell would be her final resting place. She had to make it out alive. She had to be normal again. She had to show God her devotion to Him, even with the temptation that had come her way. At any cost.