(no subject)
Title: No Rush
Author: Kelly, buffy_lily
Rating: R to NC-17
Pairing: Lindsay/OFC, Lindsay/Danny implied
Disclaimer: The OFC is mine, but I don't own the other two.
A/N: The first bit of femslash I've written in ages, but I was craving something with Lindsay. So here it is. And this is also my first post here, so hello.
x-posted at my fiction journal, pornybits and csi_slash
Lindsay hasn't done this before.
She thought about it, once or twice, after seeing a pretty girl in the bar, on the street.
But she's never done this.
She thinks it might have been the way the girl looks a little like Danny and a little like her old boyfriend. The glasses, the dark hair, the green eyes and the confidence. She doesn't quite have Danny's strut, but that's because she's not from New York.
These are things Lindsay learns, things she sees, things she just seems to know.
Lindsay didn't know what to say when the girl came over, bought her a drink, smiled at her, eyes hidden a little behind the glasses. Lindsay had opened her mouth to deny, to refuse, to run, and put up the wall.
Then the light shifted, and the music quieted and the girl leaned in, put a hand on Lindsay's arm, and the girl's eyes, her voice and the warmth of her skin.
It was part loneliness, part curiosity and mostly a new sense of lust that made Lindsay cock her head, nod, sip the drink and smile right back.
They flirted, the girl asking Lindsay if she wanted to dance. Lindsay nodded and the girl gave her a little half smile, a little bit of triumph. Endearing in it's arrogance, really.
They danced. Lindsay felt conspicuous. She knew how it must look, two women, one dressed just a little too masculine, and her, dressed to blend in. She blushed at the girl's hands on her body and then shook her head. The girl nodded and pulled her hands back. No rush, she mouthed. Lindsay realized there was more to this than dancing.
They ended up pressed against the back wall of the alley, the girl's lips ghosting over Lindsay's, not kissing, just there. Lindsay's wearing a low cut top and she can feel a slide of cold metal against her chest. The girl looks down when Lindsay shivers and then she slips her dog tags back into her shirt, winking. Something secret. Lindsay wonders what they mean.
She stops thinking, then, because a hot mouth it pressed against hers, kissing her, making her forget. Lindsay knows it's meant to make her forget, just as much as it's meant to make her wonder and she kisses back, asking and answering the questions. She opens her mouth to the tongue that traces her lower lip and then sighs when she feels a hand tangle in her hair.
She hasn't been kissed like this, ever. Not this knowingly, not this confidently. Her and Danny's one stolen kiss comes close, but Danny hadn't kissed her because he wanted to explore her, it wasn't like this, this was timeless. It had been stolen, rushed, needy, desperate.
This kiss was slow, unhurried. The girl kissed like she didn't care who saw, like she had all the time in the world. No rush. Lindsay kissed back, something in the back of her head thinking about what Danny would say if he could see her now.
She moves her hand from where it lies pressed against the brick wall and places it at the waist of the girl, who smiles into this kiss and moved closer, taking Lindsay's invitation for all it was worth. They're pressed together and Lindsay imagines she can feel metal dog tags even through the shirt. She gasps when the girl moves her own hand to Lindsay's leg and then gasps again when it slides higher, just under the hem of her skirt, hot, hotter than anything Lindsay has felt. She moans, quietly, and the girl pulls back from the kiss, keeps herself pressed against Lindsay.
She can see that the girl's lips are swollen and Lindsay realizes how alike they must look right now, hair mussed, faces flushed. The girl's eyes are sparkling behind glasses she has yet to remove and Lindsay can't tell if she's drunk on the vodka she's been drinking or the taste of Lindsay's mouth and the feel of her skin, and Lindsay realizes she doesn't care.
It's Lindsay who starts the kiss back up, and it's Lindsay who places her hand on the girl's urging it higher up her skirt. Lindsay wants flashes of light other than a crime scene camera, she wants to feel warm skin and no barrier of latex gloves. She doesn't care that she doesn't know who this is, doesn't even care that this is a girl, she just wants to experience something alive. She pulls back from the kiss gasping for air.
She moans again when the girl's fingers slip under her panties, and one finger slides into her, and there's that smile again, the confidence that makes her think of Danny. But this isn't Danny, and Lindsay can't imagine it is, because her hands are tracing the curves of breasts and the hard peak of nipple through the girl's shirt and there's another finger inside her and the girl's thumb is teasing her clit, and she seems to sense Lindsay's need because she's unrelenting, pushing against Lindsay's clit in circles, her face pressed into Lindsay's neck, leaving tiny bite marks and bruises that Lindsay dreads and relishes having to explain tomorrow.
Lindsay shudders, closes her eyes and comes, and the fingers move once more in and out before pulling away, out, gone and Lindsay is empty. She is spent, done for the night and the girl seems to know this as well, because she wipes her hands on her jeans and then steps back, keeping Lindsay from any attempt to reciprocate. Lindsay blushes and when her breathing slows she smiles apologetically but the girl shakes her head and smiles. She hands Lindsay a small card, a phone number and a name, an opportunity and an invitation. No rush. She mouths again and then she's gone, around the corner, out of sight.
Danny finds her the next day, standing next to the door of the station, card in hand, the name daring her to call. He takes it from her and raises an eyebrow, the look asking too much, more than Lindsay can answer. Then his eyes take in her glazed over look, the bruises on her neck and the bite marks on her collarbone, not quite hidden by her shirt. And he smiles, and it's not quite, but it's an echo, of her smile. And he whistles under his breath and then shakes his head, handing her back the card.
"If it makes you happy, Montana, call. I just didn't think you did that." He's not mean, just surprised and she shakes her head, opens her mouth, protesting. But he's gone.
She doesn't do this.
She dials the number asks the name, a million questions answered and asked in a single word.
Lindsay's never done this.
Author: Kelly, buffy_lily
Rating: R to NC-17
Pairing: Lindsay/OFC, Lindsay/Danny implied
Disclaimer: The OFC is mine, but I don't own the other two.
A/N: The first bit of femslash I've written in ages, but I was craving something with Lindsay. So here it is. And this is also my first post here, so hello.
x-posted at my fiction journal, pornybits and csi_slash
Lindsay hasn't done this before.
She thought about it, once or twice, after seeing a pretty girl in the bar, on the street.
But she's never done this.
She thinks it might have been the way the girl looks a little like Danny and a little like her old boyfriend. The glasses, the dark hair, the green eyes and the confidence. She doesn't quite have Danny's strut, but that's because she's not from New York.
These are things Lindsay learns, things she sees, things she just seems to know.
Lindsay didn't know what to say when the girl came over, bought her a drink, smiled at her, eyes hidden a little behind the glasses. Lindsay had opened her mouth to deny, to refuse, to run, and put up the wall.
Then the light shifted, and the music quieted and the girl leaned in, put a hand on Lindsay's arm, and the girl's eyes, her voice and the warmth of her skin.
It was part loneliness, part curiosity and mostly a new sense of lust that made Lindsay cock her head, nod, sip the drink and smile right back.
They flirted, the girl asking Lindsay if she wanted to dance. Lindsay nodded and the girl gave her a little half smile, a little bit of triumph. Endearing in it's arrogance, really.
They danced. Lindsay felt conspicuous. She knew how it must look, two women, one dressed just a little too masculine, and her, dressed to blend in. She blushed at the girl's hands on her body and then shook her head. The girl nodded and pulled her hands back. No rush, she mouthed. Lindsay realized there was more to this than dancing.
They ended up pressed against the back wall of the alley, the girl's lips ghosting over Lindsay's, not kissing, just there. Lindsay's wearing a low cut top and she can feel a slide of cold metal against her chest. The girl looks down when Lindsay shivers and then she slips her dog tags back into her shirt, winking. Something secret. Lindsay wonders what they mean.
She stops thinking, then, because a hot mouth it pressed against hers, kissing her, making her forget. Lindsay knows it's meant to make her forget, just as much as it's meant to make her wonder and she kisses back, asking and answering the questions. She opens her mouth to the tongue that traces her lower lip and then sighs when she feels a hand tangle in her hair.
She hasn't been kissed like this, ever. Not this knowingly, not this confidently. Her and Danny's one stolen kiss comes close, but Danny hadn't kissed her because he wanted to explore her, it wasn't like this, this was timeless. It had been stolen, rushed, needy, desperate.
This kiss was slow, unhurried. The girl kissed like she didn't care who saw, like she had all the time in the world. No rush. Lindsay kissed back, something in the back of her head thinking about what Danny would say if he could see her now.
She moves her hand from where it lies pressed against the brick wall and places it at the waist of the girl, who smiles into this kiss and moved closer, taking Lindsay's invitation for all it was worth. They're pressed together and Lindsay imagines she can feel metal dog tags even through the shirt. She gasps when the girl moves her own hand to Lindsay's leg and then gasps again when it slides higher, just under the hem of her skirt, hot, hotter than anything Lindsay has felt. She moans, quietly, and the girl pulls back from the kiss, keeps herself pressed against Lindsay.
She can see that the girl's lips are swollen and Lindsay realizes how alike they must look right now, hair mussed, faces flushed. The girl's eyes are sparkling behind glasses she has yet to remove and Lindsay can't tell if she's drunk on the vodka she's been drinking or the taste of Lindsay's mouth and the feel of her skin, and Lindsay realizes she doesn't care.
It's Lindsay who starts the kiss back up, and it's Lindsay who places her hand on the girl's urging it higher up her skirt. Lindsay wants flashes of light other than a crime scene camera, she wants to feel warm skin and no barrier of latex gloves. She doesn't care that she doesn't know who this is, doesn't even care that this is a girl, she just wants to experience something alive. She pulls back from the kiss gasping for air.
She moans again when the girl's fingers slip under her panties, and one finger slides into her, and there's that smile again, the confidence that makes her think of Danny. But this isn't Danny, and Lindsay can't imagine it is, because her hands are tracing the curves of breasts and the hard peak of nipple through the girl's shirt and there's another finger inside her and the girl's thumb is teasing her clit, and she seems to sense Lindsay's need because she's unrelenting, pushing against Lindsay's clit in circles, her face pressed into Lindsay's neck, leaving tiny bite marks and bruises that Lindsay dreads and relishes having to explain tomorrow.
Lindsay shudders, closes her eyes and comes, and the fingers move once more in and out before pulling away, out, gone and Lindsay is empty. She is spent, done for the night and the girl seems to know this as well, because she wipes her hands on her jeans and then steps back, keeping Lindsay from any attempt to reciprocate. Lindsay blushes and when her breathing slows she smiles apologetically but the girl shakes her head and smiles. She hands Lindsay a small card, a phone number and a name, an opportunity and an invitation. No rush. She mouths again and then she's gone, around the corner, out of sight.
Danny finds her the next day, standing next to the door of the station, card in hand, the name daring her to call. He takes it from her and raises an eyebrow, the look asking too much, more than Lindsay can answer. Then his eyes take in her glazed over look, the bruises on her neck and the bite marks on her collarbone, not quite hidden by her shirt. And he smiles, and it's not quite, but it's an echo, of her smile. And he whistles under his breath and then shakes his head, handing her back the card.
"If it makes you happy, Montana, call. I just didn't think you did that." He's not mean, just surprised and she shakes her head, opens her mouth, protesting. But he's gone.
She doesn't do this.
She dials the number asks the name, a million questions answered and asked in a single word.
Lindsay's never done this.