(no subject)
Title: The Last Time
Author: why_me_why_not
Rating: Mature
Fandom/Pairing(s): Original fiction
Warnings: Femmeslash.
Word Count: 1400 words
Disclaimer: I disclaim that I'm full of shit most of the time, and the characters written about here are purely voices in my head fictional beings from my imagination.
A/N: Thanks goes to anael for encouragement & betaing, and for lying to me and telling me it doesn't suck. And for just being her wonderful self, of course. I can't say that this necessarily fits the lyrics, but it's one of my interpretations of them. My first attempt at femmeslash, my first posted original fiction. And barely under the wire for the deadline too. *g*
My lyrics:
Little sister, I know that everything is not okay,
But you're like honey on my tongue.
I'm a bit surprised that she's here. I didn't expect that. I mean, she does live here, after all, but I thought she was away for the weekend.
I watch as she works the room, going easily from one group of friends to another, flirting with the men and the women with equal grace. They're drawn to her like moths to her inner flame. I'm amazed she doesn't feel the weight of my gaze on her. Finally she looks up, catches my eye across the crowded room. I catch the slight flicker of hurt in her eyes before she turns away. She turns back to her current companion, but she doesn't seem to burn quite as brightly now. I wonder how long it will take her to make her excuses and flee. She's good at running away.
Sure enough, after mere moments I see her make her excuses and head upstairs. I go the opposite direction -- to the kitchen -- refilling my drink, pretending I'm not going to follow. As if I could resist. I know she senses me when I slide into the room. Even if she doesn't hear the door close, I know she hears the soft click as I engage the lock. She keeps her back to me, though, ignoring my presence. But it's okay; I can be patient when I need to be. I've played this game before. Silently, I set my drink down on the table beside the door and lean back against the wall. Waiting.
She must be getting better at resisting me, because it takes her longer than usual to turn and face me.
"Did you want something?" Her voice is soft, the gentle whisper a caress that has haunted my dreams for months.
I push away from the door and step closer to her. "It's rude to leave your own party."
"I have a headache." It's a lie; she looks everywhere but at me as she speaks. She looks as if she wants to step back, to move away, but she holds her ground as I approach. I'm close enough to touch her, but I don't. I just stop, and stare, and wait. She looks into my eyes and slides her tongue over her bottom lip, leaving it wet and glistening. "You should go back downstairs," she tells me.
"I know." And I do know; I know all the reasons why this is a bad idea.
"We can't do this." I can feel her breath ghosting over my own lips, she's that close. Just the slightest bit forward, and I'd be able to taste her.
"I know that too." This is an old discussion. We can't, we shouldn't. But we always do.
I close the distance between us, capturing her mouth with mine, pulling her closer. I taste the sticky-sweetness of her lips as our tongues brush against each other. Running my hands along her body, soft and curvy in all the right places, loving the way she fits against me, as if we are two pieces of a puzzle, meant to be joined. I move up to catch her earlobe gently between my teeth before tonguing a trail down her neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along the way, stopping at the top button of her shirt. I love the shirts that button up, the excitement of revealing just a peek of pale, soft flesh at a time, my own private show, like unwrapping the sexiest present ever and it's all mine.
I slowly undo each button, taking each bit of skin into my mouth as it's offered, licking, sucking, biting -- just enough to make her gasp from the hint of pain mixed in with the pleasure. I slide the shirt off her arms, wondering how I've gone so long without this. Without her. With the shirt gone, I mouth her nipple through the fabric of her bra, teasing the bud to tautness before moving to the other breast to do the same. That barrier must go as well; I quickly remove her bra and cup her beautiful breasts in my hands (oh, so soft and perfect) as my mouth seeks hers again. My tongue darts into her mouth, teasing, wrapping around her tongue, as I run my thumbs in light circles over her nipples. My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure she can hear it, or at least feel it as we press closer to each other, still not close enough. Something inside me is yearning to touch her, to feel her touch me... a wanting so desperate it almost hurts...
The feeling of her tongue against mine makes my head spin. I pull away just far enough to be able to speak, panting against her lips, her hands desperately clutching at the soft fabric of my shirt. It's not enough, not enough...
I push her toward the bed, never breaking contact, feeling her hands roaming over my own body, her own form of branding because no one has ever -- or will ever -- touch me the way she does. Tomorrow I'll be surprised that there are no visible marks highlighting the paths of her explorations. Down on the bed, feeling it give beneath our combined weight, the slight creak of the bedsprings sounding extremely loud to my ears, taking up more air than our labored breathing has. I run my tongue down her arm, back to her breast, around her nipple, before clamping down on it, scraping my teeth against the sensitive skin. Her ragged moan sends shivers to my core. I soothe her with my tongue and continue down, running circles around her belly button, dipping my tongue inside once, twice. Down further, to the edge of her pants. I can feel her heat through the fabric, seducing me.
I glance up to see her watching me, anticipating my next move. My eyes keep contact with hers as I flick the button open, slide the zipper down, my mouth hovering just above her skin. I know she can feel every breath rippling lightly against her. I sit up, resting on my heels as I urge her to lift her hips enough for me to shimmy the jeans down her legs and toss them onto the floor. For a moment, I just stare. The soft swells and curves of her body, begging to be touched, stroked, licked. The rise and fall of her breasts with each ragged breath she takes. The way her hair falls to frame her face. She is the sweetest temptation I have ever faced... and the one that I'll never be able to resist. I glance into her eyes and catch the confusion mingled with the desire in their smoky depths.
I lay back down in the vee of her legs and bite the soft flesh of the inside of her thigh. I ignore her stifled gasp, and add a bit of suction to the pressure of my teeth, making sure I'm leaving a mark. My mark. Where it's at, no one would be able to see it, but I'll know it's there. And so will she, every time the tight denim of the jeans she likes to wear rubs against it. With the flat of my tongue, I follow a path from the newly-formed bruise up to the apex of her thighs. The tentative flicker of my tongue is met with the sweetness I remember all too well. I bring one of my hands up to caress her hip before anchoring it to the bed, holding her still as I lose myself in the taste, touch, and feel of her beneath my tongue.
And then there is only power. Knowing that I'm the reason she's making such delicious noises. The moans, the whimpers, the way she writhes underneath me -- it's all mine. I'm the reason her breath has become low and unsteady, the reason her hips arch off the bed as she pushes closer. It's my name that trips brokenly over her lips as she comes.
I slide up the bed, catching her lips and letting her taste herself on my tongue, running my hands up and down her naked, slightly trembling body as I pull her closer to my still-clothed one. She pulls away slowly, putting space between us on the bed. "This is the last time," she says.
"Yes," I agree. "The last time."
Until the next time.
Author: why_me_why_not
Rating: Mature
Fandom/Pairing(s): Original fiction
Warnings: Femmeslash.
Word Count: 1400 words
Disclaimer: I disclaim that I'm full of shit most of the time, and the characters written about here are purely voices in my head fictional beings from my imagination.
A/N: Thanks goes to anael for encouragement & betaing, and for lying to me and telling me it doesn't suck. And for just being her wonderful self, of course. I can't say that this necessarily fits the lyrics, but it's one of my interpretations of them. My first attempt at femmeslash, my first posted original fiction. And barely under the wire for the deadline too. *g*
My lyrics:
Little sister, I know that everything is not okay,
But you're like honey on my tongue.
I'm a bit surprised that she's here. I didn't expect that. I mean, she does live here, after all, but I thought she was away for the weekend.
I watch as she works the room, going easily from one group of friends to another, flirting with the men and the women with equal grace. They're drawn to her like moths to her inner flame. I'm amazed she doesn't feel the weight of my gaze on her. Finally she looks up, catches my eye across the crowded room. I catch the slight flicker of hurt in her eyes before she turns away. She turns back to her current companion, but she doesn't seem to burn quite as brightly now. I wonder how long it will take her to make her excuses and flee. She's good at running away.
Sure enough, after mere moments I see her make her excuses and head upstairs. I go the opposite direction -- to the kitchen -- refilling my drink, pretending I'm not going to follow. As if I could resist. I know she senses me when I slide into the room. Even if she doesn't hear the door close, I know she hears the soft click as I engage the lock. She keeps her back to me, though, ignoring my presence. But it's okay; I can be patient when I need to be. I've played this game before. Silently, I set my drink down on the table beside the door and lean back against the wall. Waiting.
She must be getting better at resisting me, because it takes her longer than usual to turn and face me.
"Did you want something?" Her voice is soft, the gentle whisper a caress that has haunted my dreams for months.
I push away from the door and step closer to her. "It's rude to leave your own party."
"I have a headache." It's a lie; she looks everywhere but at me as she speaks. She looks as if she wants to step back, to move away, but she holds her ground as I approach. I'm close enough to touch her, but I don't. I just stop, and stare, and wait. She looks into my eyes and slides her tongue over her bottom lip, leaving it wet and glistening. "You should go back downstairs," she tells me.
"I know." And I do know; I know all the reasons why this is a bad idea.
"We can't do this." I can feel her breath ghosting over my own lips, she's that close. Just the slightest bit forward, and I'd be able to taste her.
"I know that too." This is an old discussion. We can't, we shouldn't. But we always do.
I close the distance between us, capturing her mouth with mine, pulling her closer. I taste the sticky-sweetness of her lips as our tongues brush against each other. Running my hands along her body, soft and curvy in all the right places, loving the way she fits against me, as if we are two pieces of a puzzle, meant to be joined. I move up to catch her earlobe gently between my teeth before tonguing a trail down her neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along the way, stopping at the top button of her shirt. I love the shirts that button up, the excitement of revealing just a peek of pale, soft flesh at a time, my own private show, like unwrapping the sexiest present ever and it's all mine.
I slowly undo each button, taking each bit of skin into my mouth as it's offered, licking, sucking, biting -- just enough to make her gasp from the hint of pain mixed in with the pleasure. I slide the shirt off her arms, wondering how I've gone so long without this. Without her. With the shirt gone, I mouth her nipple through the fabric of her bra, teasing the bud to tautness before moving to the other breast to do the same. That barrier must go as well; I quickly remove her bra and cup her beautiful breasts in my hands (oh, so soft and perfect) as my mouth seeks hers again. My tongue darts into her mouth, teasing, wrapping around her tongue, as I run my thumbs in light circles over her nipples. My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure she can hear it, or at least feel it as we press closer to each other, still not close enough. Something inside me is yearning to touch her, to feel her touch me... a wanting so desperate it almost hurts...
The feeling of her tongue against mine makes my head spin. I pull away just far enough to be able to speak, panting against her lips, her hands desperately clutching at the soft fabric of my shirt. It's not enough, not enough...
I push her toward the bed, never breaking contact, feeling her hands roaming over my own body, her own form of branding because no one has ever -- or will ever -- touch me the way she does. Tomorrow I'll be surprised that there are no visible marks highlighting the paths of her explorations. Down on the bed, feeling it give beneath our combined weight, the slight creak of the bedsprings sounding extremely loud to my ears, taking up more air than our labored breathing has. I run my tongue down her arm, back to her breast, around her nipple, before clamping down on it, scraping my teeth against the sensitive skin. Her ragged moan sends shivers to my core. I soothe her with my tongue and continue down, running circles around her belly button, dipping my tongue inside once, twice. Down further, to the edge of her pants. I can feel her heat through the fabric, seducing me.
I glance up to see her watching me, anticipating my next move. My eyes keep contact with hers as I flick the button open, slide the zipper down, my mouth hovering just above her skin. I know she can feel every breath rippling lightly against her. I sit up, resting on my heels as I urge her to lift her hips enough for me to shimmy the jeans down her legs and toss them onto the floor. For a moment, I just stare. The soft swells and curves of her body, begging to be touched, stroked, licked. The rise and fall of her breasts with each ragged breath she takes. The way her hair falls to frame her face. She is the sweetest temptation I have ever faced... and the one that I'll never be able to resist. I glance into her eyes and catch the confusion mingled with the desire in their smoky depths.
I lay back down in the vee of her legs and bite the soft flesh of the inside of her thigh. I ignore her stifled gasp, and add a bit of suction to the pressure of my teeth, making sure I'm leaving a mark. My mark. Where it's at, no one would be able to see it, but I'll know it's there. And so will she, every time the tight denim of the jeans she likes to wear rubs against it. With the flat of my tongue, I follow a path from the newly-formed bruise up to the apex of her thighs. The tentative flicker of my tongue is met with the sweetness I remember all too well. I bring one of my hands up to caress her hip before anchoring it to the bed, holding her still as I lose myself in the taste, touch, and feel of her beneath my tongue.
And then there is only power. Knowing that I'm the reason she's making such delicious noises. The moans, the whimpers, the way she writhes underneath me -- it's all mine. I'm the reason her breath has become low and unsteady, the reason her hips arch off the bed as she pushes closer. It's my name that trips brokenly over her lips as she comes.
I slide up the bed, catching her lips and letting her taste herself on my tongue, running my hands up and down her naked, slightly trembling body as I pull her closer to my still-clothed one. She pulls away slowly, putting space between us on the bed. "This is the last time," she says.
"Yes," I agree. "The last time."
Until the next time.