Lost Girl Ficlet: Need And Want
Title: Need And Want
Fandom: Lost Girl
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Bo, Dyson.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers/Setting: Early Season One.
Summary: There’s kind of an upside to getting injured; it gives Bo a legitimate reason to seek out Dyson for… a little help.
Word Count: 590
Written For: Prompt 87: Healing at anythingdrabble.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Lost Girl, or the characters.
Torn and battered, woozy from blood loss, Bo knows she has to feed and feed big if she’s going to heal from her injuries, and she’s not talking about a Big Mac and fries either. What she needs is altogether more personal. Life force, chi, call it what you will; she can take it from anyone, but she has yet to learn control.
Being a succubus sucks, pun not intended; until recently, she didn’t even know that’s what she is, and she still has little understanding of her own powers, but she knows if she feeds from a human she’ll take and take and just keep right on taking until she drains them completely, because she doesn’t know when or how to stop. She’s killed too many people already, some of them strangers and some lovers; she won’t do that again, not if she can help it.
Not a human then, fae; someone she can take from without harming them too much, without killing. And it can’t be just any fae either; she doesn’t know all that many yet, and there are even fewer that she trusts, which leaves… Dyson.
Yeah, right. Like she’s considered all her options and come to an informed decision. Like she doesn’t have any ulterior motive for picking him. What are they anyway? More than acquaintances but less than lovers. Friends with benefits? Sounds about right, but which of them benefits the most from their… arrangement?
“Probably me,” Bo mutters to herself as she stumbles into his building, falling against the wall as her legs threaten to give out before righting herself, wincing at a sharp stab of pain. She’s leaving bloody smears everywhere, messing up what passes for the decor; someone’s not gonna be happy. Do the light fae own this building? Will the Ash send her a bill for cleanup? She snickers faintly, wondering what she’d be expected to pay with. She knows what Dyson will be getting in payment for services rendered; it’s all part of the same transaction anyway.
Dyson opens the door as Bo hammers on it, so unexpectedly she practically falls through the opening into his arms, which is… not so bad, in fact not bad at all. He’s shirtless, all lean and muscular, and he smells so good she can’t help flicking out her tongue for a taste, licking a stripe up his chest. He groans, although whether from that or her sudden weight against him she doesn’t know, and doesn’t particularly care.
“Bo, what the…?”
“Need you, Dyson, dammit.”
“You have to stop doing this.”
“Hey, it was your idea. You said you could handle it, but if you’ve changed your mind…” She hopes he hasn’t because then she’d really be in trouble, but his next words reassure her.
“And I can, but if you carry on this way you’ll…”
“I’ll what? Get myself killed?”
“Or worse.”
“Who appointed you my mother? Wait… There’s something worse than getting killed?”
Dyson ignores the question, kicking his door closed and manhandling Bo into his bedroom, and then… Bo steals some of Dyson’s chi along with a kiss, harsh with need. Draws strength from it, and then they’re tearing at each other’s clothes like lust-crazed… well, whatever. If there’s a better way of healing than this, then Bo doesn’t know what it might be, and maybe that’s the succubus talking, or maybe not; does it really matter? What she does know is that she wants Dyson, and not just in order to heal herself.
But that’ll do for a start.
The End
Fandom: Lost Girl
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Bo, Dyson.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers/Setting: Early Season One.
Summary: There’s kind of an upside to getting injured; it gives Bo a legitimate reason to seek out Dyson for… a little help.
Word Count: 590
Written For: Prompt 87: Healing at anythingdrabble.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Lost Girl, or the characters.
Torn and battered, woozy from blood loss, Bo knows she has to feed and feed big if she’s going to heal from her injuries, and she’s not talking about a Big Mac and fries either. What she needs is altogether more personal. Life force, chi, call it what you will; she can take it from anyone, but she has yet to learn control.
Being a succubus sucks, pun not intended; until recently, she didn’t even know that’s what she is, and she still has little understanding of her own powers, but she knows if she feeds from a human she’ll take and take and just keep right on taking until she drains them completely, because she doesn’t know when or how to stop. She’s killed too many people already, some of them strangers and some lovers; she won’t do that again, not if she can help it.
Not a human then, fae; someone she can take from without harming them too much, without killing. And it can’t be just any fae either; she doesn’t know all that many yet, and there are even fewer that she trusts, which leaves… Dyson.
Yeah, right. Like she’s considered all her options and come to an informed decision. Like she doesn’t have any ulterior motive for picking him. What are they anyway? More than acquaintances but less than lovers. Friends with benefits? Sounds about right, but which of them benefits the most from their… arrangement?
“Probably me,” Bo mutters to herself as she stumbles into his building, falling against the wall as her legs threaten to give out before righting herself, wincing at a sharp stab of pain. She’s leaving bloody smears everywhere, messing up what passes for the decor; someone’s not gonna be happy. Do the light fae own this building? Will the Ash send her a bill for cleanup? She snickers faintly, wondering what she’d be expected to pay with. She knows what Dyson will be getting in payment for services rendered; it’s all part of the same transaction anyway.
Dyson opens the door as Bo hammers on it, so unexpectedly she practically falls through the opening into his arms, which is… not so bad, in fact not bad at all. He’s shirtless, all lean and muscular, and he smells so good she can’t help flicking out her tongue for a taste, licking a stripe up his chest. He groans, although whether from that or her sudden weight against him she doesn’t know, and doesn’t particularly care.
“Bo, what the…?”
“Need you, Dyson, dammit.”
“You have to stop doing this.”
“Hey, it was your idea. You said you could handle it, but if you’ve changed your mind…” She hopes he hasn’t because then she’d really be in trouble, but his next words reassure her.
“And I can, but if you carry on this way you’ll…”
“I’ll what? Get myself killed?”
“Or worse.”
“Who appointed you my mother? Wait… There’s something worse than getting killed?”
Dyson ignores the question, kicking his door closed and manhandling Bo into his bedroom, and then… Bo steals some of Dyson’s chi along with a kiss, harsh with need. Draws strength from it, and then they’re tearing at each other’s clothes like lust-crazed… well, whatever. If there’s a better way of healing than this, then Bo doesn’t know what it might be, and maybe that’s the succubus talking, or maybe not; does it really matter? What she does know is that she wants Dyson, and not just in order to heal herself.
But that’ll do for a start.
The End