Title: Over and Done
Summary: Joan laments her actions in the season finale, spoilers
Fandom: Clone High
Pairings/Characters: Joan/JFK, hints of Joan/Abe and Abe/Cleo
Tarot: King of Wands (for )
Note: Clone High is one of the best shows EVER. Here’s the premise, as explained in the theme song: "Way, way back in the 1980s secret government employees dug up famous guys and ladies and made amusing genetic copies. The Clones are sexy teens now; they’re gonna make it if they try." Where else can you have a fabulous love square of fabulousness between Joan of Arc, John F. Kennedy, Abe Lincoln and Cleopatra! ZOMG.
Over and Done
"I, er, ah, that was great Joan. And by ‘great’ I mean it was better than watching Cleo and Abe open-mouth kissing!" JFK grinned, settling back on the pillows.
"I’m glad you were here, JFK, to take advantage of my vulnerability," Joan murmured.
She’d finally done it. IT. The big I.T. She could stop obsessing over Abe being the one, but she wasn’t going to pretend that it didn’t hurt knowing that she was maybe the equivalent of a back up plan for prom night.
Hell, she was using JFK too, wasn’t she?
She’d always imagined her first time being different. In her fantasies she’d never looked like a mall rat whore—a Cleo wannabe—and she had been at home in her old bed (which, okay, wasn’t exactly logical anymore, after the fire) or in Abe’s car, or somewhere really kinky like the library. But never in a meat locker, and never with JFK (okay, except for that one time after the homecoming basketball game, but you can’t control your subconscious, right?).
Besides, she wasn’t even sure she knew what all the hype was about. JFK always had girls hanging off of him, but it sure seemed like he was the only one enjoying himself tonight. And he’d enjoyed himself quite a bit, if Joan could tell—that was the problem—it had been all about him when Joan was at least ninety percent sure that she was suffering quite a bit more than him, and therefore should have received at least some benefit from having sex with a guy she could barely tolerate out of bed, let alone in it.
But no. All she got was a slight soreness between her legs and that was nothing compared to the soreness in her heart. Before Joan knew it, she was sobbing quietly, holding her hands to her face.
"Oh," said JFK eloquently. "Can I, er, ah, do anything?"
Joan dropped her hands, peering at JFK, suddenly astonished by his sensitivity. Perhaps there was hope for him after all.
"And by ‘anything,’ I mean have sex."
Joan covered her face, falling back to the pillows.
"With you, again. In case that wasn’t clear."