Disclaimer: I only own Judith and any people or details related to her. Ricky Goddard (Minnie's older brother) is HedgehogQuill's creation. All else belongs to those glorious, legendary creators of West Side Story. Though now that I think about it, I suppose Ice belongs to Ernest Lehman alone. :)
Note: So I have to credit the genesis of this fic to two things: the first, FP Week again (heh); the second, the West Side Story RP Forum. Big Deal and Ice were having a conversation about Pauline, the resident Jet Girl slut, and HedgehogQuill and I agreed that Ice was too smart to fall for her tricks (and also because Tony warned him not to). However, since I don't think Ice was all that innocent when he met Velma, a question arose: who was it, then? And this is the result. Rated T for obvious reasons. :)
once
.
He's taking his usual after-school shortcut home behind the fence when he hears it.
"Hey, you," she says. Her sultry voice is low and smoky, and sounds like she knows things he hasn't even dreamed of.
Ice turns and looks at her, pulse thudding. He recognizes her; he'd have to be an idiot not to, because every red-blooded male at school knows who Judith Larissa the senior is, with her long dark hair and olive skin and legs that go for days. "Me?" he asks, keeping his voice even.
She smiles, and to him she looks like a panther: dark and feral and dangerous. "Yeah, you. C'mere."
He takes a step closer. Judith eyes him, then closes the distance between them. She leans forward. "I ain't gonna bite ya," she says, then laughs. "Yet."
"Who says I'll let ya?" Ice asks, meeting her amber gaze squarely.
Judith smiles again, tilting her head to the side. "You're cute," she purrs. "Tell ya what: meet me at The Red Door later tonight. I know the bartender. We'll have a drink."
Ice can't do anything but nod, his senses stupefied by the catlike grace and faintly cinnamon scent of her as she reaches forward and trails her hand down the front of his shirt before backing away, her hips swaying smoothly. Judith winks. "See ya there."
.
He goes, because he has to, and as she never specified a time, Ice shows up at seven and waits for three hours on the stoop two doors down before she appears, hanging onto the arm of a tall, rangy, dark-haired man in leather. Ice gets up, feeling like the world's biggest idiot, and heads away. He's dumb enough to stick around for hours, sure, but not dumb enough to get tangled up with some other guy's girl.
He feels a hand on his elbow tugging him back. "Hey, now," drawls a very feminine voice, "don't leave before the party even starts."
Ice turns around. There is Judith, in a black dress that leaves very little to the imagination. Her companion is nowhere to be seen.
"Hey," he says shortly, trying to ignore how good she looks. Ice clears his throat. "Who was he?"
Judith laughs throatily. "My brother. Kristian," she adds, looking amused. "You're—what, a sophomore? He was a senior last year."
Ice thinks about it. Now that he knows who it is, he does vaguely remember seeing Kristian around. And from what he could see, the guy did look a whole lot like Judith. Embarrassed, Ice shrugs, trying to play off his question as completely casual. "He's got a nice jacket."
Judith gazes up at him, one corner of her mouth lifting, and Ice knows he hasn't fooled her, not one bit. "He makes good money, workin' with the Italians," she confides, then pulls him back to the rust-red door that marks the entrance of the aptly-named bar. "Enough about him, though. Come on."
And Ice, letting Judith draw him into her world of smoke and liquor and jazz, definitely isn't thinking about anything but her.
.
He downs his drinks like he does the sight of her: this is dizzying, staggering, intoxicating, like every move she makes is deliberate and designed to tantalize the nerves stretched taut across his body. Which is probably true, Ice thinks fuzzily as Judith crosses her legs and her fingertips glide across the bare skin of her bronzed thigh, and then to the shadow underneath her throat. He's never felt like this before.
They only stay at the bar long enough for Ice to lose his equilibrium—for all his and Tony and Ricky and Riff's experiments with stolen booze, he's never really been drunk before. It is wildly exhilarating, and Ice, to whom self-control is secondary only to oxygen, lets himself go for the first time in his life.
Judith watches him, amused, her eyes glittering in the dim light. "Cheap drunk, are ya?" she asks, her hand caressing his knee.
"Nah." Ice shakes his head very slowly, because if he moves any faster, he knows he will topple right over and if he does that, his chances of getting to know Judith Larissa any better will be shot. "I can drink with the best of 'em."
She laughs, then, and it is not until later that he will know why.
.
They don't even make it to her front door before they are kissing, hands roaming all over each other in the darkness. Ice explores the curves of her body almost with a sense of wonder: her body is so soft, so lithe and curving, so unlike his own. She locks her arms around his neck and presses up against his hips as he rakes his hand up over her thigh and hikes her skirt up, his fingers meeting an obstacle he very much wants to remove. At this, Judith pushes him against the wall of the hallway and gives him a slow smile, white teeth flashing.
"Wait here," she purrs.
He leans against the wall and watches, breathing heavily, as she pulls a key out from her purse and quickly unlocks the door. Judith turns around and gives him a very feline grin. "Well, come on in, Daddy-O."
And Ice, hypnotized by her voice and half-amused, half-expectant stare, needs no urging.
.
He is fascinated by her, caught by the way her tanned limbs tangle with his in the bedsheets and her dark hair splays out across the pillow.
Ice isn't quite sure what to do; after all, he's never gone this far before, has never even really kissed a girl before. Judith takes over completely, urging him on with kisses that feel like fire down his body. It's instinctual, it's animal, it's a rush of physical sensation he's irresistibly drawn to.
"Fuck me," she whispers into his ear, and in the back of his mind, Ice registers that there is a difference, somehow, between the words she is murmuring and what he has always thought this moment is supposed to be about.
When it's over, he lies panting, stretched out on the bed. Ice can see their clothes, littered haphazardly all over the floor amid piles of purses and jewelry he supposes are Judith's. He can think clearly now about what has just happened, he notices, and Ice doesn't know how to describe it, other than that it just feels…like sex.
Her lips curve as she stretches languidly. "Was that your first time?" she asks, sounding amused.
Ice shrugs noncommittally.
Judith laughs. "Nothin' to be embarrassed about, ya did fine." She arches an eyebrow and blinks lazily, once, twice, before leaning over him, the ends of her curtain of hair brushing his bare chest. "But let me teach ya how to be more than just fine."
.
He doesn't stick around, and she doesn't urge him to stay.
"Bye," Judith calls after him, and Ice pauses in the doorway and turns to look at her. She's lying on her bed, with that feline grin still on her face, and he is tempted to return. But he doesn't, for reasons he won't understand until he meets a girl who has hair that looks just like the sun reflecting off snow and eyes like the sky.
"Bye," he echoes, and heads out into the night, feet pounding against the pavement as he runs in lieu of what he doesn't want to do—which is think, really think, about the dark-haired girl stretched out on the bed in the nighttime shadows of her room.
.
"Hey, you," he hears that honeyed voice beckon again, but this time it is not directed at him. Ice peers through the fence, sees Judith pull Ricky Goddard to her by the shirtfront and begin kissing him. He watches for a minute, sees Ricky grind his hips against Judith's curves, then exhales. He's not sure how to feel, or if he should even be feeling anything.
There's a part of Ice that tells him he shouldn't care that what he can get from her is freely offered to everyone else, too. What does it matter, sharing? Ice remembers the night before and knows now that Judith is just as good, if not better, as she would be if she were his alone. He supposes he should like it that way, really; at least with her there is no clinging, no whining, no time of the month. With Judith, he can collect what he wants and get out scot-free, whenever he wants.
But that's not what Ice wants, really. He wants some girl who winds her fingers through his and smiles just for him, some girl to whom he is everything. He hasn't met her yet, and he still isn't sure if she's out there, but Ice figures if she is, she'll be worth it.
So he moves forward, slipping through the hole in the fence toward his friend and his onetime lover. Hearing his footfalls, Judith turns her head, and her dark yellow eyes meet his. "Oh, hey," she calls casually, before turning back to Ricky, who grips her waist firmly and presses himself to her, not even noticing his fellow gang-member.
"Hey," Ice says, and walks past. She doesn't look back.
Neither does he.
.
.end.