Took What I Could Get
Title: Took What I Could Get
Characters/Pairings: Reaper-Sock/Marlena
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Kissing
Spoiler alert: Cancun, but not really
Summary: Sock meets Marlena. AU, because I wanted her in cowboy boots.
Notes: Much thanks to the inspiration of the lovely Reaper crew at TWoP. They know who they are.
Disclaimer: Reaper is a delightful show created by Tara Butters and Michele Fazekas, not me.
Sock staggers back against the crates, rattles his head, and blinks. Lurches upward and toward the bright square of light at the back of the truck. Rubs his lips; he can still feel her touch. Jumps down to the ground, landing firm. Chest thrumming, he walks with unconscious purpose, following a pair of short red cowboy boots and long calves flashing through the glass door of the Bench.
He covers yards in a few strides, catches up with her just inside. Grabs her arm, turns her around. Fwah! Harder than he means to. “Uh, sorry, ha, don’t know my own strength.” He looks down into her glowing eyes, centers and lets the vibration fill him. “B-b-b-buh...” shit, get the breathing under control, you’re starting to babble. Maintain. “Brrrrr. Yeah. OK. Yes. Hi!” Smiles down, little finger wave. His glance flicks up to those little, shiny pointy horns, barely hidden by silky hair. “Sooo, I was thinking,” works his jaw, “what say you buy this stuff, and I’ll give you a hand, loading it up?”
Her big brown eyes look up, catch his, narrow appraisingly. “Mmmm--sure.” Tongue tip slips out, licks her lips. Those lips.
He waits impatiently at the end of the check out counter, fingers drumming on thighs. Something is uncoiling in his lower back, twisting upwards. He flashes on something he heard once, watching hot girls in leotards on some yoga channel. Kundalini.
A tinny, scratchy voice from above “Bert Wysocki, Bert Wysocki to the manager’s office, stat.” Strange, like a gnat buzzing. Nothing to him, with a serpent curling up his spine like steel, neck stiffening, blood thumping through every muscle, eyes glimmering haloes.
She flips her cart past him, through the door. He stands rooted, feeling the sensations, then shakes like a dog and heads out.
He’s never felt so powerful, lifting lumber and hunks of metal, solid boxes of whatever out of the cart and into the truck. Talking, muttering, half to her and half to himself, while she watches speculatively, the sun glinting off her body. Brushes his hands together. “There you go, my lady, and what reward will you give your humble serv-oahhh!” Pulled down by his collar, mouth crash landing on hers, tongue, lips, hot breath, even better than before. And that feeling, every cell humming; he can even feel his bones realigning.
Breaks away and gulps in air. “I know you’re a demon-woman, and all, but how-how are you doing this?” With the blood roaring in his ears, her voice sounds throaty, purring. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” she says, tilting her head, eyes filled with promise. “Come to the job site, later. We can…talk.”
Fingertips on his jawline, pulls his mouth down to hers again. He doesn’t resist. Ready for the feeling, this time, bracing for it.
Left standing in the parking lot, he could shoot flames out his fingertips, lightning from his hair. His skin burns like barbed-wire tattoos.
He’d give a year off his life for this. Even more.
Characters/Pairings: Reaper-Sock/Marlena
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Kissing
Spoiler alert: Cancun, but not really
Summary: Sock meets Marlena. AU, because I wanted her in cowboy boots.
Notes: Much thanks to the inspiration of the lovely Reaper crew at TWoP. They know who they are.
Disclaimer: Reaper is a delightful show created by Tara Butters and Michele Fazekas, not me.
Sock staggers back against the crates, rattles his head, and blinks. Lurches upward and toward the bright square of light at the back of the truck. Rubs his lips; he can still feel her touch. Jumps down to the ground, landing firm. Chest thrumming, he walks with unconscious purpose, following a pair of short red cowboy boots and long calves flashing through the glass door of the Bench.
He covers yards in a few strides, catches up with her just inside. Grabs her arm, turns her around. Fwah! Harder than he means to. “Uh, sorry, ha, don’t know my own strength.” He looks down into her glowing eyes, centers and lets the vibration fill him. “B-b-b-buh...” shit, get the breathing under control, you’re starting to babble. Maintain. “Brrrrr. Yeah. OK. Yes. Hi!” Smiles down, little finger wave. His glance flicks up to those little, shiny pointy horns, barely hidden by silky hair. “Sooo, I was thinking,” works his jaw, “what say you buy this stuff, and I’ll give you a hand, loading it up?”
Her big brown eyes look up, catch his, narrow appraisingly. “Mmmm--sure.” Tongue tip slips out, licks her lips. Those lips.
He waits impatiently at the end of the check out counter, fingers drumming on thighs. Something is uncoiling in his lower back, twisting upwards. He flashes on something he heard once, watching hot girls in leotards on some yoga channel. Kundalini.
A tinny, scratchy voice from above “Bert Wysocki, Bert Wysocki to the manager’s office, stat.” Strange, like a gnat buzzing. Nothing to him, with a serpent curling up his spine like steel, neck stiffening, blood thumping through every muscle, eyes glimmering haloes.
She flips her cart past him, through the door. He stands rooted, feeling the sensations, then shakes like a dog and heads out.
He’s never felt so powerful, lifting lumber and hunks of metal, solid boxes of whatever out of the cart and into the truck. Talking, muttering, half to her and half to himself, while she watches speculatively, the sun glinting off her body. Brushes his hands together. “There you go, my lady, and what reward will you give your humble serv-oahhh!” Pulled down by his collar, mouth crash landing on hers, tongue, lips, hot breath, even better than before. And that feeling, every cell humming; he can even feel his bones realigning.
Breaks away and gulps in air. “I know you’re a demon-woman, and all, but how-how are you doing this?” With the blood roaring in his ears, her voice sounds throaty, purring. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” she says, tilting her head, eyes filled with promise. “Come to the job site, later. We can…talk.”
Fingertips on his jawline, pulls his mouth down to hers again. He doesn’t resist. Ready for the feeling, this time, bracing for it.
Left standing in the parking lot, he could shoot flames out his fingertips, lightning from his hair. His skin burns like barbed-wire tattoos.
He’d give a year off his life for this. Even more.