Another ficlet!
I have other shit going on, in theory, but it's mostly "OH GOD WHY AM I NOT CLEANING MORE" and "OH GOD A WEEK AND A HALF UNTIL THE MONTGOMERY COUNTY EXAM" and "I'm up to my own weight + 60 pounds of gear on leg presses! \o/" so I'm sparing you. For now.
Title: Brown Liquor
Author: cidercupcakes
Rating: R
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Live Free or Die Hard
Pairing: Buffy Summers/John McClane
Notes: Again, for the porn battle.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit is being made, for entertainment purposes and external use only, etc.
Summary: There was something in the way she talked, a casual something -- heroism if you felt generous, martyrdom if you didn't.
She was beautiful, and had come in with a dark-haired, leather-clad girl who'd told him to go for it when she, herself, dragged some hapless, grinning bastard out of the bar. She was also young enough to have gone to school with Lucy, and remembered him from when she'd lived in California and her parents were still together, and he found out that at least he and Holly weren't the only people splitting that Christmas. Which was something. "It's been a long time since I had a father," she said, when he asked if she'd moved to New York after her Mom died, if her Dad lived out here. Mostly he was wondering if he was going to get a beating from the father in question.
She didn't sound bitter about it, which means it had been a long time. Plus, there was the fact that she called him "father", which even he knew kids her age didn't do if they weren't in the top income brackets. "You don't even say 'daddy' anymore," John commented, and took another drink from his Jack and Coke.
"Okay, if you're looking for that, you'll probably wanna keep moving, because even without any strong father figures that's totally creepy." She had something girly and green, and he laughed because she was barely Lucy's age, if that, and even if she used "totally" a lot there was something in her confident speech that made him feel like she was older than him.
"Nah, I'm not into anything crazy," he said, and she looked at him then, nudging his knee under the bar with her own, and grinned.
Buffy -- Jesus, her family really was from SoCal -- was in good shape. Hard muscles, he could feel them even under her clothes, even if she was so tiny he was surprised his hands didn't make it all the way round her waist and back again. Her mouth was inexplicably soft, though, and tasted great, tart and sweet, which was really great against the sickly aftertaste of all those Jack-and-Cokes. She pinned him without much trouble, which was a) even more surprising and b) really fucking hot. Maybe cop, but there was something in the way she talked, a sort of casual something (heroism if you felt generous, martyrdom if you didn't) that made him think firefighter instead. Something that kept her dirty and anonymous and that gave her thrills even if she wouldn't admit she wanted them.
Which, if he were a poet at all, would probably be a workable metaphor for the entire evening.
"I got a bed, you know," he said, when she pulled off her jacket. She looked comfortable, and not that he was going to complain about the fact that he had a twenty-something blonde straddling him -- and she had to know that was his dick she was rubbing against when she twisted to toss her jacket away; if she hadn't then the way he gasped because Jesus Christ had to have given it away -- but his back wasn't what it used to be.
"What's the matter?" she asked, and grabbed his collar, pulling him up until they were both sitting. "Bad back?"
He was being challenged, which was even hotter, and had he mentioned that the friction was getting even worse in this position? "I'm not that old, honey."
She muttered something about compared to the others, and then told him to prove it, and it was all a brown-liquor-and-cola haze from there.
It was suggested at a forum I hang out on that Buffy is one of those little black dress characters, like Methos, Krycek, and possibly Peter Petrelli, who can be crossed over into just about anything. I'm inclined to agree with this. Pretty much everyone from the Jossverse -- and maybe the Heroesverse, too -- can be classified thus, actually.
Title: Brown Liquor
Author: cidercupcakes
Rating: R
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Live Free or Die Hard
Pairing: Buffy Summers/John McClane
Notes: Again, for the porn battle.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit is being made, for entertainment purposes and external use only, etc.
Summary: There was something in the way she talked, a casual something -- heroism if you felt generous, martyrdom if you didn't.
She was beautiful, and had come in with a dark-haired, leather-clad girl who'd told him to go for it when she, herself, dragged some hapless, grinning bastard out of the bar. She was also young enough to have gone to school with Lucy, and remembered him from when she'd lived in California and her parents were still together, and he found out that at least he and Holly weren't the only people splitting that Christmas. Which was something. "It's been a long time since I had a father," she said, when he asked if she'd moved to New York after her Mom died, if her Dad lived out here. Mostly he was wondering if he was going to get a beating from the father in question.
She didn't sound bitter about it, which means it had been a long time. Plus, there was the fact that she called him "father", which even he knew kids her age didn't do if they weren't in the top income brackets. "You don't even say 'daddy' anymore," John commented, and took another drink from his Jack and Coke.
"Okay, if you're looking for that, you'll probably wanna keep moving, because even without any strong father figures that's totally creepy." She had something girly and green, and he laughed because she was barely Lucy's age, if that, and even if she used "totally" a lot there was something in her confident speech that made him feel like she was older than him.
"Nah, I'm not into anything crazy," he said, and she looked at him then, nudging his knee under the bar with her own, and grinned.
Buffy -- Jesus, her family really was from SoCal -- was in good shape. Hard muscles, he could feel them even under her clothes, even if she was so tiny he was surprised his hands didn't make it all the way round her waist and back again. Her mouth was inexplicably soft, though, and tasted great, tart and sweet, which was really great against the sickly aftertaste of all those Jack-and-Cokes. She pinned him without much trouble, which was a) even more surprising and b) really fucking hot. Maybe cop, but there was something in the way she talked, a sort of casual something (heroism if you felt generous, martyrdom if you didn't) that made him think firefighter instead. Something that kept her dirty and anonymous and that gave her thrills even if she wouldn't admit she wanted them.
Which, if he were a poet at all, would probably be a workable metaphor for the entire evening.
"I got a bed, you know," he said, when she pulled off her jacket. She looked comfortable, and not that he was going to complain about the fact that he had a twenty-something blonde straddling him -- and she had to know that was his dick she was rubbing against when she twisted to toss her jacket away; if she hadn't then the way he gasped because Jesus Christ had to have given it away -- but his back wasn't what it used to be.
"What's the matter?" she asked, and grabbed his collar, pulling him up until they were both sitting. "Bad back?"
He was being challenged, which was even hotter, and had he mentioned that the friction was getting even worse in this position? "I'm not that old, honey."
She muttered something about compared to the others, and then told him to prove it, and it was all a brown-liquor-and-cola haze from there.
It was suggested at a forum I hang out on that Buffy is one of those little black dress characters, like Methos, Krycek, and possibly Peter Petrelli, who can be crossed over into just about anything. I'm inclined to agree with this. Pretty much everyone from the Jossverse -- and maybe the Heroesverse, too -- can be classified thus, actually.