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Trouble Spots

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Jason calls her in to see this girl named Ellen read with the guy from Arrested Development and Diablo's like "Okay, whatever dude," but when she sees them she can hardly sit still - "They're good," she mumbles, so good in fact, that she's considering a quick call to the fire department to put out the obvious sparks that are flying between them. She didn't expect her words to sound this fucking alive.


"So... you like older guys?" Diablo asks, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her too-small capris, the ones with the gold lame on the back.

Ellen raises her eyebrows, folds her sample pages in half, smirks. "Uh, if I understand this acting thing right, it doesn't matter if I like older guys or younger girls or my fucking gerbil as long as Juno is really into Mark."

"Meaning it's none of my business?"

"Meaning I've got the job?"


She's feeling like a pink wig day, but the ends of this one are tangled and that just won't do, so Diablo ends up going with the cropped blond one. She shimmies into her favorite jeans and a checkered halter top and grins like a schoolgirl when Ellen tells her she looks like a "fucking porn star."


Ellen has these ridiculously tiny hands, which really shouldn't surprise Diablo since everything about that girl is ridiculously tiny aside from her voice and her range of curse words. Sometimes she combines the two, yelling "FUCK" at the top of her lungs and Diablo thinks that on the other side of the world, mountain ranges collapse.

But those tiny hands? Diablo doesn't know when she's felt anything like them. She doesn't have her own trailer so she wraps her feather boa around the door handle of Ellen's and slinks inside and tries not to be embarrassed when Ellen is obviously expecting her. At least, Diablo assumes this is expecting. She doesn't know Ellen well enough yet to know if nudity is the exception or the rule.

"Well, hey there," Ellen says, like she's not leaning against the counter in her trailer, shivering a little, licking peanut butter off her fingers.

"Hey yourself, Miss Page," Diablo nods, unable to keep her eyes from the trouble spots.


It wasn't for lack of imagination that she got this far in life, but no number of nights in her hotel room spent with shower heads and vibrators prepared Diablo for the intensity of Ellen between her legs.

Diablo catches her breath, her hands tangled in Ellen's hair. "Wouldn't your lezzie fans love to see you now..."

Which was a stupid thing to say because a) Diablo doesn't care about stuff like that and b) Ellen stops doing that thing with her tongue and moves back and fucking smirks at her.

"I'm no gayer than you are, you know," Ellen says, licking her lips.

Diablo's not stupid. It wasn't for lack of brains that she got this far, either. She flicks her thumb against Ellen's clit, smiles when she moans. Diablo pulls her in for a kiss, tasting herself on supple lips.

She gets it now. This isn't acting.