[fic] multi-fandom; five acts
I'm reposting the fic I'm writing for five acts for posterity's sake as I've seen a couple others doing. I plan on writing quite a bit more for the event so I figured I'd do a couple of half-way-through posts tonight.
DOLLHOUSE
come on, all ye reborn, r
dollhouse; alpha/echo, 489
for toestastegood
There's a period of time when Echo can't feel anything but pissed off. She takes off on her own, leaves the farm behind with a few provisions in her pack and Adelle's warnings in her ear.
She's angry at Paul, at Boyd, at Rossum. At herself. No matter how much time goes by she can't shake it, can't stop putting distance between herself, herselves, and the people who have come to believe in her. Some nights on the road she dreams of Priya and the way she looks at her son. After that, Echo won't sleep for days. It's too real, the connection too permanent. Echo seeks the impermanent, feels a desperate pull to become detached.
Echo doesn't think of the scars. [Do you trust me?] She doesn't think of the damage done by past misdeeds. [With my life.] She only tells herself that all that time spent jumping from skin to skin was just a bad habit waiting to happen. She tells herself that this is her inevitability.
Yet still, she always comes back. Something about a sense of duty and the knowledge that they aren't quite finished yet, that perhaps they'll never be.
Everyone is counting on her.
They welcome her, feed her, keep her. But it doesn't last. Too soon again she's plotting her escape, as temporary as it may be. And it isn't long until her sojourns cross into Alpha's territory.
She's always known where she was heading.
To the one person who understands what it's like to remember everything.
When she gets to his compound he's almost always waiting outside, a cigarette in hand, a bottle of precious clean water in the other. She wants to say it's extrasensory, that he knows she's coming. Logic tells her he's got scouts, logic tells her that of all the people he's been, a psychic was never one of them. But none of that matters when he presses her against the book shelf in his quarters, teeth scraping against her neck.
Echo wraps herself around him and swallows his mouth when they fumble onto the bed. She slides his jeans down his hips. The last time they did this was too long ago and she gasps when he presses inside her. She grips his strong arms; the arms of a soldier, of a father, of a killer, of a brother, of a priest. She moans, urging him on. It's too fast and too rough and both of them come too soon, out of breath and without even remembering to shut the door.
Darkness falls, and Echo lies restlessly, tracing circles over his abdomen. He pushes her hair back from her eyes, asks her the question, the one he asks every time.
Do you trust me?
With my life, she tells him. And the truth is that she has no choice.
And do you trust yourself? he asks this time.
Echo closes her eyes.
No, she says. Not anymore.
-fin
a kiss with a fist [is better than none], pg13
dollhouse, paul/topher; 726
for dreamsofspike
It's fair to say that Paul blames Topher for a lot of things. But the thing is, Topher is hyper and whip-smart and childlike and genuinely likable. The man is no reflection of the sins he has committed. If anything, he is contrary to it.
But Topher is painfully blind to all of his transgressions, the way he hurts people, the damage done. Sure, he's just a guy doing a job, making things more efficient, but he's so much more than that. And the fact that he can't see it is his biggest sin of all.
Paul wants to ask him how he lives with himself, how he sleeps at night.
But he doesn't.
He keeps his mouth shut, works closely with Topher as many of the new handlers tend to do, and in the end he realizes that he likes the guy. He'd even call him a friend if his gut didn't clench at the very thought of it.
Topher works, pressing buttons, making genius, yet short-sighted observations, his Topher-like comments, and sometimes Paul laughs, and sometimes he scowls, and sometimes he has to force himself to leave the room.
Fact is, Topher reminds Paul more and more of his old college roommate every day. Even the way Topher moves and his lanky, thin, yet muscular build is the same. Paul can remember pressing into his roommate, hips thrusting, coming hard almost every night of his college career. He can even imagine Topher, naked and smooth against him. It would probably be a welcome release. It's been a long time since Paul's been with a man, and the truth is that sometimes he craves it.
He even flirts, places a hand too long at Topher's back, stands too close when they talk. The fact is, he's considering it. He watches Topher as he works, and there really is something special about it. He brings Topher coffee in the mornings and he memorizes the shape of his eyes. Eyes are Paul's thing. Eyes are, ipso facto, the most important thing he considers when deciding whether or not to fuck a guy.
But Paul can't let Topher off the hook for all he's done, and so he refuses to let himself indulge.
He even manages to pretend not to notice Topher's increasing staring at his jawline, his tongue involuntarily darting out to lick his lips, his obvious attraction to Paul, the way he leans into his touch.
But Paul knows, he knows, he's only kidding himself.
-
But one day Topher makes a mistake. An off-the-cuff comment he makes while Echo's in the chair sets Paul off. Paul won't remember what he said, and the truth is, it could have been anything. It's a breaking point.
Paul waits until Echo's under, grabs Topher by the arm and presses him hard against the machines, lights blinking, warning bells ringing. He covers Topher's mouth with his and slips his hand between them, rubs at the denim over Topher's hardening cock, sucks behind his ear. Topher responds in kind, lips and tongue, hands roaming.
Paul lets this go on for a minute and then he pulls away. The two men stare at each other, both thinking opposing thoughts. Paul knows this will be his only indulgence. Topher's only taste. Make him want you, turn him away. A hardly proportional, but fitting punishment for Topher's arrogance.
"Did I fall asleep?"
Echo's awake in the chair, a witness to the exchange.
Topher coughs.
"For a little while," he manages.
-
After the incident, Paul won't look at him, won't talk to him. Topher tries, but all he gets is the standard, professional response, the cold shoulder, and no coffee in the morning. He has to excuse himself twice a day for the first few days to jerk off, comes into his hand with the thought of Paul in his head.
It's cruel, and it's not like he's never seen this kind of revenge before, but even he can't deny that it hurts.
"You'll get over it," Echo tells him one day when Paul leaves the room.
"Get over what?" Topher asks.
Echo looks at him in that same blank way as she always does.
"Him," she says. "You'll get over him."
Topher watches her as she walks away, knows she must be right.
"I hope so, Echo," he says. "I hope so."
-fin
FIREFLY
to keep you warm, pg13
firefly, river/jayne; 350
for wandersfound
River stays with him whenever her brother's gone. It's nothing he shares with the rest of the crew and she's back into her own bed by the morning anyway.
It makes sense. She feels he can protect her, and anything he had against her once has long since been forgiven.
It's innocent.
Innocent.
-
She has these nightmares. She wakes and screams and Jayne just climbs into the bed with her and holds her, kisses her forehead, tucks her hair behind her ears.
"They won't ever stop," she tells him one night, but Jayne only shushes her and tells her she's wrong, tells her they'll go away and she'll be her again.
He can't remember the last time he was that human with anyone.
-
Soon, River's taken to sneaking into his room even when Simon's not off somewhere.
Jayne doesn't mention this either. Logic says that if he doesn't mention this he won't have to worry with mentioning that he doesn't even bother sleeping on the floor anymore.
"You're warm," she tells him, one night. "You keep away the dreams."
Jayne can't remember the last time she woke with a start. Can't remember a night she wasn't in his arms.
-
She kisses him one night, full on the lips and her tongue seeking, teeth biting.
He pulls back, searches her face.
"I'm not a little girl anymore, Jayne Cobb," she tells him matter-of-fact.
"No. No, you ain't," he agrees, kisses her again, hard, lets his hands roam places they've kept far away from for the near year she's been sleeping in his bed.
She makes soft sounds, not like the women he usually keeps. And she feels like butterflies under his palms, and it makes him slower, surer than he ever has been. She wraps herself around him and becomes his undoing, all while being undone.
"No little girl," she whispers again and again.
Jayne kisses her when she comes, helps her ride it out, tells her he won't let anything happen to her.
River, sated, runs a hand through his hair.
"I know," she tells him. "I know."
-fin
the hardest button to button, r
firefly, mal/simon; 614
for haldoor
Crew ain't stupid, that's for sure. There's things they know, and things they know but know better'n to say out loud.
For example, they know that Mal's been in love with one Inara Serra for longer than counting's worth. And they know that when the captain gets in one of his moods it's best to stay out of the way and keep your mouth shut, if you have a care for what's good for you. What they may not know is that when he hollers at Simon to get that gorram equipment out of his cargo bay and stocked in the infirmary, lest he want it floating in the black, what he's really doing is releasing some of that pent-up sexual tension he's usually so apt to hold onto.
And Simon, bright as he is, hasn't quite figured that out yet either, despite the vivid memory of Mal's hot tongue driving him to orgasm two nights prior.
"Captain Reynolds," Simon fumes following him down the causeway, "If you don't mind. I'm still taking inventory."
"Well take it on your own time, Doctor Tam!" Mal grabs Simon by the collar and shoves him into one of the empty rooms and against a wall. His voice is softer now, rough. "Crew's in the galley, little sister's sleeping, and we haven't but a few minutes."
"Oh," Simon says after a beat, the feel of Mal's cock pressed hard against his ass telling him everything he needs to know.
Mal can tell it takes Simon a minute for that doctor brain of his to switch gears, but when Mal slides his hand across Simon's belly, fingers teasing at exposed skin and dipping below his trousers, Simon's approving grunts prove that the body's already taken over.
It only takes a few seconds for Mal to free himself from his pants, Simon too. They somehow find their way to the low bed and Mal spits into his hand, coats himself with slick saliva.
"I've got," Simon gasps, "in the infirmary."
"No time, doc." Mal growls, his hands sliding down Simon's sides, stopping at his ass, his tongue finding its way between Simon's cheeks. Simon arches with the sensation, his dick growing harder than before. Mal takes his time to prepare him, first with his tongue, then a finger or two, before he slides his chest across Simon's back, kissing the sweaty freckled skin as he shoves inside.
Simon bites back a scream, braces himself to give Mal enough leverage, swears he can hear someone coming down the hall. Mal closes his teeth over Simon's shoulder, nipping as he reaches around to fist Simon in his hand.
"Just," Simon breathes, "hurry, fuck."
Mal grins, slows. "Patience, Doctor," he teases.
Simon keens, an almost whine, and Mal gives him what he wants. When they come, Simon isn't exactly the picture of quiet, and neither is Mal, but the truth is that neither of them care enough to notice.
"Now when were you planning to get that gou shi outta my cargo bay?"
"Shut up," Simon laughs.
--
Up in the kitchen, the rest of the crew sits at the table polishing off their meal, when River saunters in, whisp-like as she tends to do, circling around a bit before finding a seat.
"So much flesh," she muses. "Miles and miles and.... miles." Shephard Book reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder, bringing her attention back to the room.
She giggles, flashes a grin at Inara.
"Aw, hell," Jayne grumbles.
Kaylee, laughs openly and Wash and Zoe exchange knowing looks.
Crew ain't stupid, that's for sure. There's things they know, and things they know but know better'n to say out loud.
-fin
GREY'S ANATOMY
in your wake, pg13
grey's anatomy, cristina/burke; 164
for primarycolors92
Cristina has this, wandering, recurring dream.
Or is it a nightmare?
She's naked, lying on a sheet of white, and Burke is there, pressed tight against her, his body just the way she remembers it, fit against hers like they're two pieces of a whole.
"Is this our honeymoon?" she wonders.
"No," he'll answer with a laugh, even though she's sure she never spoke out loud.
"Then where the hell are we?" she says, with her voice this time.
"Does it matter?" he'll say, fingers tracing along her spine, lips close enough to taste.
She'll wake up at this point, always. And sometimes she's with Owen, or sometimes alone in an on-call room bunk, but either way, she wakes up with this ache, this feeling of being unfinished.
It's only later, when Preston shows up at the hospital one rainy day to consult on a case, and her stomach drops to her toes, that Cristina understands the dreams.
She's not finished.
She never was.
-fin
LIFE UNEXPECTED
confession unsaid; r
life unexpected, cate/baze; 544
for nightswhisper
This is the part she wants to forget.
It's the night before her wedding and Cate is leaving Baze's apartment. She doesn't know why she came here, she just knows she wants to leave. Nevermind what Lux says, the fact that she showed up on his balcony past midnight on her wedding night says a lot more than she's hoping Baze will remember in the morning.
"Cate," he calls to her, says her name in that earnest way of his, and his closeness stops her dead in her tracks. She's one step down to the lower level of the bar, one step out of his apartment, one step in.
"What, Baze?" she says, trying to mask the hurt with irritation, a habit she can't get out of. When is she going to learn that it's okay to be hurt? That it's okay to feel things?
"Just," he fumbles, his voice cracks. This is it. "Wait."
She turns then, back into the apartment, and crosses the handful of steps it takes to stare him face to face. "I would love to wait for you, Nathaniel," she begins, "but as you may know, I have a big day tomorrow."
"Shut up," Baze tells her, and takes a step forward.
"What?"
"Just shut up," he says again.
And with those words the space between them vanishes, both reaching for each other, pulling at each other's clothes. It's only a moment before Baze has her wrapped around his waist as he heists her to the kitchen counter. Cate groans when his tongue brushes against the roof of her mouth, lets him shove her pants down her legs. She unbuttons him, sliding his jeans just far enough down to expose his dick, wraps her legs around him and reaches between them to help guide his direction.
"Cate," Baze gasps at her touch and meets her hand between them, a question in his voice.
"Shut up," she tells him in kind, and digs her heels into his exposed ass, urging him on as he guides himself inside her.
They move together a moment, trying to find the right rhythm. When they've finally got it, when they find that familiar pace, Baze kisses her again, his mouth moving down her neck until it meets the fabric of her shirt. He struggles to keep his balance while pushing the material up so he can lick at her taught nipples. "Jesus christ," she whines, attempting to grind herself into him as he thrusts in and out of her, the sensation of his tongue sending tremors all the way down to her clit. Encouraged, he reaches up with a hand, thumbs over the sensitive flesh. Cate's breath hitches as she climaxes, tightening around him.
The word "fuck" barely escape's Baze's lips as he comes, hot and sticky inside her.
After they've recovered, Baze helps Cate off the counter. They manage to clean up, move their clothes back into place, and find their way into his bed without so much as a word.
"Cate," Baze says, his voice tired, and just as earnest.
"This doesn't change anything," she tells him. And even then, she doesn't know why she says it. "I'm marrying Ryan."
Baze closes his eyes, the confession now forever lost on his lips.
-fin
DOLLHOUSE
come on, all ye reborn, r
dollhouse; alpha/echo, 489
for toestastegood
There's a period of time when Echo can't feel anything but pissed off. She takes off on her own, leaves the farm behind with a few provisions in her pack and Adelle's warnings in her ear.
She's angry at Paul, at Boyd, at Rossum. At herself. No matter how much time goes by she can't shake it, can't stop putting distance between herself, herselves, and the people who have come to believe in her. Some nights on the road she dreams of Priya and the way she looks at her son. After that, Echo won't sleep for days. It's too real, the connection too permanent. Echo seeks the impermanent, feels a desperate pull to become detached.
Echo doesn't think of the scars. [Do you trust me?] She doesn't think of the damage done by past misdeeds. [With my life.] She only tells herself that all that time spent jumping from skin to skin was just a bad habit waiting to happen. She tells herself that this is her inevitability.
Yet still, she always comes back. Something about a sense of duty and the knowledge that they aren't quite finished yet, that perhaps they'll never be.
Everyone is counting on her.
They welcome her, feed her, keep her. But it doesn't last. Too soon again she's plotting her escape, as temporary as it may be. And it isn't long until her sojourns cross into Alpha's territory.
She's always known where she was heading.
To the one person who understands what it's like to remember everything.
When she gets to his compound he's almost always waiting outside, a cigarette in hand, a bottle of precious clean water in the other. She wants to say it's extrasensory, that he knows she's coming. Logic tells her he's got scouts, logic tells her that of all the people he's been, a psychic was never one of them. But none of that matters when he presses her against the book shelf in his quarters, teeth scraping against her neck.
Echo wraps herself around him and swallows his mouth when they fumble onto the bed. She slides his jeans down his hips. The last time they did this was too long ago and she gasps when he presses inside her. She grips his strong arms; the arms of a soldier, of a father, of a killer, of a brother, of a priest. She moans, urging him on. It's too fast and too rough and both of them come too soon, out of breath and without even remembering to shut the door.
Darkness falls, and Echo lies restlessly, tracing circles over his abdomen. He pushes her hair back from her eyes, asks her the question, the one he asks every time.
Do you trust me?
With my life, she tells him. And the truth is that she has no choice.
And do you trust yourself? he asks this time.
Echo closes her eyes.
No, she says. Not anymore.
-fin
a kiss with a fist [is better than none], pg13
dollhouse, paul/topher; 726
for dreamsofspike
It's fair to say that Paul blames Topher for a lot of things. But the thing is, Topher is hyper and whip-smart and childlike and genuinely likable. The man is no reflection of the sins he has committed. If anything, he is contrary to it.
But Topher is painfully blind to all of his transgressions, the way he hurts people, the damage done. Sure, he's just a guy doing a job, making things more efficient, but he's so much more than that. And the fact that he can't see it is his biggest sin of all.
Paul wants to ask him how he lives with himself, how he sleeps at night.
But he doesn't.
He keeps his mouth shut, works closely with Topher as many of the new handlers tend to do, and in the end he realizes that he likes the guy. He'd even call him a friend if his gut didn't clench at the very thought of it.
Topher works, pressing buttons, making genius, yet short-sighted observations, his Topher-like comments, and sometimes Paul laughs, and sometimes he scowls, and sometimes he has to force himself to leave the room.
Fact is, Topher reminds Paul more and more of his old college roommate every day. Even the way Topher moves and his lanky, thin, yet muscular build is the same. Paul can remember pressing into his roommate, hips thrusting, coming hard almost every night of his college career. He can even imagine Topher, naked and smooth against him. It would probably be a welcome release. It's been a long time since Paul's been with a man, and the truth is that sometimes he craves it.
He even flirts, places a hand too long at Topher's back, stands too close when they talk. The fact is, he's considering it. He watches Topher as he works, and there really is something special about it. He brings Topher coffee in the mornings and he memorizes the shape of his eyes. Eyes are Paul's thing. Eyes are, ipso facto, the most important thing he considers when deciding whether or not to fuck a guy.
But Paul can't let Topher off the hook for all he's done, and so he refuses to let himself indulge.
He even manages to pretend not to notice Topher's increasing staring at his jawline, his tongue involuntarily darting out to lick his lips, his obvious attraction to Paul, the way he leans into his touch.
But Paul knows, he knows, he's only kidding himself.
-
But one day Topher makes a mistake. An off-the-cuff comment he makes while Echo's in the chair sets Paul off. Paul won't remember what he said, and the truth is, it could have been anything. It's a breaking point.
Paul waits until Echo's under, grabs Topher by the arm and presses him hard against the machines, lights blinking, warning bells ringing. He covers Topher's mouth with his and slips his hand between them, rubs at the denim over Topher's hardening cock, sucks behind his ear. Topher responds in kind, lips and tongue, hands roaming.
Paul lets this go on for a minute and then he pulls away. The two men stare at each other, both thinking opposing thoughts. Paul knows this will be his only indulgence. Topher's only taste. Make him want you, turn him away. A hardly proportional, but fitting punishment for Topher's arrogance.
"Did I fall asleep?"
Echo's awake in the chair, a witness to the exchange.
Topher coughs.
"For a little while," he manages.
-
After the incident, Paul won't look at him, won't talk to him. Topher tries, but all he gets is the standard, professional response, the cold shoulder, and no coffee in the morning. He has to excuse himself twice a day for the first few days to jerk off, comes into his hand with the thought of Paul in his head.
It's cruel, and it's not like he's never seen this kind of revenge before, but even he can't deny that it hurts.
"You'll get over it," Echo tells him one day when Paul leaves the room.
"Get over what?" Topher asks.
Echo looks at him in that same blank way as she always does.
"Him," she says. "You'll get over him."
Topher watches her as she walks away, knows she must be right.
"I hope so, Echo," he says. "I hope so."
-fin
FIREFLY
to keep you warm, pg13
firefly, river/jayne; 350
for wandersfound
River stays with him whenever her brother's gone. It's nothing he shares with the rest of the crew and she's back into her own bed by the morning anyway.
It makes sense. She feels he can protect her, and anything he had against her once has long since been forgiven.
It's innocent.
Innocent.
-
She has these nightmares. She wakes and screams and Jayne just climbs into the bed with her and holds her, kisses her forehead, tucks her hair behind her ears.
"They won't ever stop," she tells him one night, but Jayne only shushes her and tells her she's wrong, tells her they'll go away and she'll be her again.
He can't remember the last time he was that human with anyone.
-
Soon, River's taken to sneaking into his room even when Simon's not off somewhere.
Jayne doesn't mention this either. Logic says that if he doesn't mention this he won't have to worry with mentioning that he doesn't even bother sleeping on the floor anymore.
"You're warm," she tells him, one night. "You keep away the dreams."
Jayne can't remember the last time she woke with a start. Can't remember a night she wasn't in his arms.
-
She kisses him one night, full on the lips and her tongue seeking, teeth biting.
He pulls back, searches her face.
"I'm not a little girl anymore, Jayne Cobb," she tells him matter-of-fact.
"No. No, you ain't," he agrees, kisses her again, hard, lets his hands roam places they've kept far away from for the near year she's been sleeping in his bed.
She makes soft sounds, not like the women he usually keeps. And she feels like butterflies under his palms, and it makes him slower, surer than he ever has been. She wraps herself around him and becomes his undoing, all while being undone.
"No little girl," she whispers again and again.
Jayne kisses her when she comes, helps her ride it out, tells her he won't let anything happen to her.
River, sated, runs a hand through his hair.
"I know," she tells him. "I know."
-fin
the hardest button to button, r
firefly, mal/simon; 614
for haldoor
Crew ain't stupid, that's for sure. There's things they know, and things they know but know better'n to say out loud.
For example, they know that Mal's been in love with one Inara Serra for longer than counting's worth. And they know that when the captain gets in one of his moods it's best to stay out of the way and keep your mouth shut, if you have a care for what's good for you. What they may not know is that when he hollers at Simon to get that gorram equipment out of his cargo bay and stocked in the infirmary, lest he want it floating in the black, what he's really doing is releasing some of that pent-up sexual tension he's usually so apt to hold onto.
And Simon, bright as he is, hasn't quite figured that out yet either, despite the vivid memory of Mal's hot tongue driving him to orgasm two nights prior.
"Captain Reynolds," Simon fumes following him down the causeway, "If you don't mind. I'm still taking inventory."
"Well take it on your own time, Doctor Tam!" Mal grabs Simon by the collar and shoves him into one of the empty rooms and against a wall. His voice is softer now, rough. "Crew's in the galley, little sister's sleeping, and we haven't but a few minutes."
"Oh," Simon says after a beat, the feel of Mal's cock pressed hard against his ass telling him everything he needs to know.
Mal can tell it takes Simon a minute for that doctor brain of his to switch gears, but when Mal slides his hand across Simon's belly, fingers teasing at exposed skin and dipping below his trousers, Simon's approving grunts prove that the body's already taken over.
It only takes a few seconds for Mal to free himself from his pants, Simon too. They somehow find their way to the low bed and Mal spits into his hand, coats himself with slick saliva.
"I've got," Simon gasps, "in the infirmary."
"No time, doc." Mal growls, his hands sliding down Simon's sides, stopping at his ass, his tongue finding its way between Simon's cheeks. Simon arches with the sensation, his dick growing harder than before. Mal takes his time to prepare him, first with his tongue, then a finger or two, before he slides his chest across Simon's back, kissing the sweaty freckled skin as he shoves inside.
Simon bites back a scream, braces himself to give Mal enough leverage, swears he can hear someone coming down the hall. Mal closes his teeth over Simon's shoulder, nipping as he reaches around to fist Simon in his hand.
"Just," Simon breathes, "hurry, fuck."
Mal grins, slows. "Patience, Doctor," he teases.
Simon keens, an almost whine, and Mal gives him what he wants. When they come, Simon isn't exactly the picture of quiet, and neither is Mal, but the truth is that neither of them care enough to notice.
"Now when were you planning to get that gou shi outta my cargo bay?"
"Shut up," Simon laughs.
--
Up in the kitchen, the rest of the crew sits at the table polishing off their meal, when River saunters in, whisp-like as she tends to do, circling around a bit before finding a seat.
"So much flesh," she muses. "Miles and miles and.... miles." Shephard Book reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder, bringing her attention back to the room.
She giggles, flashes a grin at Inara.
"Aw, hell," Jayne grumbles.
Kaylee, laughs openly and Wash and Zoe exchange knowing looks.
Crew ain't stupid, that's for sure. There's things they know, and things they know but know better'n to say out loud.
-fin
GREY'S ANATOMY
in your wake, pg13
grey's anatomy, cristina/burke; 164
for primarycolors92
Cristina has this, wandering, recurring dream.
Or is it a nightmare?
She's naked, lying on a sheet of white, and Burke is there, pressed tight against her, his body just the way she remembers it, fit against hers like they're two pieces of a whole.
"Is this our honeymoon?" she wonders.
"No," he'll answer with a laugh, even though she's sure she never spoke out loud.
"Then where the hell are we?" she says, with her voice this time.
"Does it matter?" he'll say, fingers tracing along her spine, lips close enough to taste.
She'll wake up at this point, always. And sometimes she's with Owen, or sometimes alone in an on-call room bunk, but either way, she wakes up with this ache, this feeling of being unfinished.
It's only later, when Preston shows up at the hospital one rainy day to consult on a case, and her stomach drops to her toes, that Cristina understands the dreams.
She's not finished.
She never was.
-fin
LIFE UNEXPECTED
confession unsaid; r
life unexpected, cate/baze; 544
for nightswhisper
This is the part she wants to forget.
It's the night before her wedding and Cate is leaving Baze's apartment. She doesn't know why she came here, she just knows she wants to leave. Nevermind what Lux says, the fact that she showed up on his balcony past midnight on her wedding night says a lot more than she's hoping Baze will remember in the morning.
"Cate," he calls to her, says her name in that earnest way of his, and his closeness stops her dead in her tracks. She's one step down to the lower level of the bar, one step out of his apartment, one step in.
"What, Baze?" she says, trying to mask the hurt with irritation, a habit she can't get out of. When is she going to learn that it's okay to be hurt? That it's okay to feel things?
"Just," he fumbles, his voice cracks. This is it. "Wait."
She turns then, back into the apartment, and crosses the handful of steps it takes to stare him face to face. "I would love to wait for you, Nathaniel," she begins, "but as you may know, I have a big day tomorrow."
"Shut up," Baze tells her, and takes a step forward.
"What?"
"Just shut up," he says again.
And with those words the space between them vanishes, both reaching for each other, pulling at each other's clothes. It's only a moment before Baze has her wrapped around his waist as he heists her to the kitchen counter. Cate groans when his tongue brushes against the roof of her mouth, lets him shove her pants down her legs. She unbuttons him, sliding his jeans just far enough down to expose his dick, wraps her legs around him and reaches between them to help guide his direction.
"Cate," Baze gasps at her touch and meets her hand between them, a question in his voice.
"Shut up," she tells him in kind, and digs her heels into his exposed ass, urging him on as he guides himself inside her.
They move together a moment, trying to find the right rhythm. When they've finally got it, when they find that familiar pace, Baze kisses her again, his mouth moving down her neck until it meets the fabric of her shirt. He struggles to keep his balance while pushing the material up so he can lick at her taught nipples. "Jesus christ," she whines, attempting to grind herself into him as he thrusts in and out of her, the sensation of his tongue sending tremors all the way down to her clit. Encouraged, he reaches up with a hand, thumbs over the sensitive flesh. Cate's breath hitches as she climaxes, tightening around him.
The word "fuck" barely escape's Baze's lips as he comes, hot and sticky inside her.
After they've recovered, Baze helps Cate off the counter. They manage to clean up, move their clothes back into place, and find their way into his bed without so much as a word.
"Cate," Baze says, his voice tired, and just as earnest.
"This doesn't change anything," she tells him. And even then, she doesn't know why she says it. "I'm marrying Ryan."
Baze closes his eyes, the confession now forever lost on his lips.
-fin