
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/873574.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Whose_Line_Is_It_Anyway?_RPF
  Relationship:
      Colin_Mochrie/Greg_Proops/Ryan_Stiles
  Character:
      Colin_Mochrie, Greg_Proops, Ryan_Stiles
  Additional Tags:
      Teen_Romance, Alternate_Universe, First_Time, Genderfuck
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-01-17 Words: 1824
****** The Moon beneath My Feet ******
by Indybaggins
Summary
     Written for the prompt "Colin/Greg/Ryan genderfuck, where they're all
     girls." So I re-traced their lifelines; imagined what could have
     been.
Notes
     Thanks to jie_jie for being my awesome Thailand beta! <3
 
 
 
(Colin)
Colin at seventeen is nobody. She blends into the hallways in high school,
disappears into the wooden grooves of her desk. She’s smart, she knows that.
But deadly shy, head buried in science books and comics. She wishes for glasses
to hide behind, feels like Clark Kent much more than Superman.
But then she meets Ryan, a blonde mess of curls, tall and skinny, always moving
and joking and getting into trouble, and Greg, with her ripped stockings,
blouse opened just a button too low. Ryan has a glitter in her eyes that means
‘come play with me’, smells like the wind, always has dirt under her
fingernails. Greg is sarcastic, clever, tries to talk her way out of
everything, teachers can’t help but love the both of them. And Colin,
implausibly, does too.
Ryan teaches her how to shoplift cigarettes. Has an old, rundown car that won’t
start some evenings, so they just sit in it until it does, wrapped in clouds of
smoke, listening to mix tapes. Greg touches her, whenever she’s trying to make
a point. A poke to the side, a hand on her arm, a casual bump against her
shoulder.
Colin has to hide her blush every time.


---


Colin’s hair turns grey in her early thirties. She dyes it at first out of some
sense of misplaced vanity, but eventually grows to like the pale silver. She
keeps it long and loose, fluttering around her shoulders.
She gets pregnant at thirty-two after a short affair with her boss at Second
City. He breaks it off as soon as she tells him and hands her an envelope with
two hundred dollars inside to get an abortion. She keeps the envelope in her
coat pocket for days, thumbs the paper edges of it as she imagines stroking the
ridges in a baby foot, tracing tiny toes with her lips. She keeps the money as
she keeps the baby, hidden somewhere warm and secret, imagines it glowing as a
fervent wish deep inside her.
Motherhood surprises her in its intensity, the deep warm meatiness of it, the
milk leaking achingly from her breasts, the surges of hungry desire for this
little thing she’s made.
She enjoys naming him Luke after Star Wars and having no one to contradict her.
 
---
 
She becomes daring. Huge, when they’re together. They climb the fence of the
school’s soccer field after hours, smoke pot on the grass, giggle over nothing.
Everything is bright, so clear:
The dimples in Greg’s cheeks as she laughs with something Ryan said.
The flash of Ryan’s arm as she ties her hair back with a practiced move. She
forgets a curl or two, and they move softly in the breeze. Colin reaches out
her hand, and turns one around her finger. Ryan smiles, and presses her lips to
the side of Colin’s wrist.
Greg moves behind her, and Colin can feel the soft press of her breasts. She
shivers.


---


At forty, Colin’s stomach is softer, her breasts lower, her hips wider. She
traces her skin in bed at night, carefully catalogues the body that pregnancy
and life left her, and tries to imagine someone loving her ever again. She
can’t.
Sometimes, she still dreams, arches with pleasure against soft curves, traces
long hair, kisses parted lips. It’s always two bodies next to her instead of
one.


---


(Greg)
Greg at fifteen already knows she prefers girls but tries to make up for it by
fucking a handful of grateful, bedazzled boys first. A teacher once, too. They
do absolutely nothing for her so she systematically seduces them, kisses them,
lets them slobber all over her, come in warm spurts against her thigh, and then
drops them. She doesn’t care about the reputation that earns her, doesn’t care
about much of anything. Until Colin, who is a senior and stunningly beautiful
but doesn’t know it yet (will never know it). Until Ryan, who’s irresistible,
who both dares and completes her.
Once she figures out how to masturbate she spends countless hours in her bed,
on the bathroom floor, even in the school toilets, fantasizing about them.
Fervently pushing her fingers inside herself, filling up some ache, shivering
and flushing in turn as if she has a fever. It feels like dreaming.
It’s because of her, in the end, that they’re a tangle of heavy limbs on a
sunny soccer field. Because of her courage and lips, finding Ryan’s, then
Colin’s, and Greg has never felt more real in her life than between the two of
them, trading heated kisses.


---


Greg studies English lit in college. The first year she has a professor who
likes to glance down her blouse, or accidentally touch her ass as she walks by.
He teaches a class on how men in stories make their own fate, while women are
defined by their children, their mothers, their lovers. Greg writes a detailed
essay on all the reasons why he is a chauvinist pig and gets expelled.
She changes her major to women’s studies.
She meets Jen years later, at a party. Jen’s a high-profile lawyer, hates kids,
wants the career and she’s nothing like either Colin or Ryan were, so Greg goes
down on her an hour later in the garden’s hot tub and greedily listens to this
perfect, composed woman beg. They move into a San Francisco loft after a month,
adopt an ailing cat from a shelter, and then another, because they’re never
home and one cat gets lonely. It works well, for a long time.


---


Greg touches Colin, under a blanket on the old couch in Ryan’s dad’s garage.
Her heart is hammering in her chest while she traces Colin’s stomach, then the
line of her panties. Ryan is pasted to Colin’s side, they’re kissing, Colin’s
hand pressed between Ryan’s jeans-clad legs, and when Greg’s fingers finally
inch under her waistband, Colin twists and looks at her in surprise. She’s wet,
slippery down there and very warm and Greg rubs her fingers around, gets used
to the feeling, slowly presses one inside while Colin bites her lower lip.
It’s completely quiet but for the sound of them moving. Greg feels swelteringly
adult, meeting Ryan’s eyes and seeing her nervousness reflected there, sweat
pearling up on the side of her face and in the creases of her knees. Her hand
starts to cramp by the time Colin makes an “oh” sound and, as by accident,
trembles into an orgasm.
She tries Ryan next.


---


Greg fills out a bit throughout the years, changes from the hipless beanpole
she was in high school into a curvier middle-age. She keeps her hair short,
heavy red-rimmed glasses, she can still rock a suit if she feels like it. At
thirty-eight Jen leaves her for an organic farmer and in a secret, vindictive
part of her mind Greg is relieved, because Jen never was it all. She couldn’t
be.
She writes a self-deprecating stand-up routine about it, steps onto a free
podium in a small lesbo bar and brings down the house. Within the year she
leaves her well-paid job at an NGO to do stand-up full-time. One day she hears
Colin’s name in relation to Second City and surprises herself with the flash of
longing she feels at that, the thought of Colin on a stage somewhere as well.
She wonders if Ryan is with her.


---


(Ryan)
Ryan at sixteen is a scarecrow. All lines and limbs, a collection of awkward
bones, the nubs of her spine and hips ugly and stark underneath her skin. She
is the much-appreciated girl after four older brothers, and even after her
belly starts cramping vindictively one day and she bleeds through her school
uniform skirt, she doesn’t feel very female.
Ryan feels constantly distracted by Greg and Colin, gets obsessed with the
smallest details. Colin licking her lips. The minuscule hairs on Greg’s
forearm, and how they rise up as she gets touched. The obscene beauty of their
bare legs tangled under a table. The shadow of Colin’s nipples under her white
shirt, and the way Ryan’s allowed to touch them, trace them through the fabric
while Colin breathes quick, moist breaths into the side of her neck and then
pulls her into a kiss.
Every night she takes off her clothes in a dark bathroom, ignores the mirror
and presses her naked self against the cold tiles of the wall. It sends a
shiver through her whole body, points her nipples to the point of pain, and she
imagines them on the other side, doing the same.


---


Ryan never goes to college. She works in the factory for a year or so, then
shocks her parents by moving out to the city to try acting. She ends up working
in a bar, where she meets a waiter named Patrick with a nice smile and a nicer
cock. Twenty years later they’re married and have three kids and a mortgage and
a mini-van and she never intended this, she thinks. Every choice feels as if it
made sense, at the time. As if it was the right thing to do. But now, looking
back, she hates herself for every single one of them because she could have had
so much more.
Ryan is still thin, even after three kids, but her shoulders have stooped a
little, her stomach is a mess of scars. Her feet have grown ugly after years of
working in heels, and she has wrinkles around her eyes. Patrick is a decent
man, she thinks, but then that’s all she can manage to think about him. He
doesn’t live inside her body, he doesn’t thrill her, shake her, no memories of
him make her breath catch. She wants to leave him.


---


The pale skin between Greg’s thighs tastes like salt.
It’s a week before the school year ends and they’re leaving each other. Greg’s
panties are bunched up on Colin’s bedroom floor, there’s wetness spread over
Ryan’s cheeks and nose and fingers and hair, and her tongue is getting numb.
Greg is draped over the bed with Colin licking her breasts, she groans and
tenses her back. The light catches her glistering upper thighs, trembling
stomach, and her muscles move in some complicated dance under Ryan’s tongue as
she comes.
Ryan feels like a warrior.
Later both Colin and Greg catch her as she falls. More and more.


---


And it’s silly but after two decades those memories still hit her as a dark
heat in the stomach. Desire. Shame too, for longing after two women that are
probably nothing at all like her, now.
It’s all about choices, Ryan feels, and she tries to accept the past, day after
day.
 
Until one day she thinks “fuck it” and goes to rummage through an old box that
has a booklet with phone numbers written in faded orange and red.
She tracks down Colin’s parents, then Greg’s aunt.
 
They meet in the middle.
 
 
 
 
 
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