Misfits Fic: Her Touch
While tidying up my "Writings" folder on my hard drive, I came across this. It was written a few months ago, mid-season 2 of Misfits, but I never got around to posting it. I think it was meant to be two chapters of the same story but it isn't long so I'm posting as one. The beginning is rather pornographic, which is very strange for me, but that's just what Misfits does: corrupt. XD Also worth noting? This is the one and only Misfits fanfic I've ever written so TA DA!
Title: Her Touch
Fandom: Misfits
Pairing/Characters: Simon/Alisha
Rating: NC-17; vaguely pornographic
Warnings: none
Spoilers: Probably up to S02E04
Summary: Before Superhoodie, before love, she fantasises about him and she's not ashamed of it. Its in the way he stares with those wide, bright eyes, paying attention to every little thing. Later, its different.
--
She could have Simon if she wanted.
Sometimes when Nathan was spouting bollocks and holding centre stage, her eyes would drift over to Simon and she would imagine what her hands would look like spread across his porcelain skin. Sometimes, though she would never admit to this, she felt a little frenzied herself when thought about what it might feel like to touch his skin, to rake her nails down him.
Just one brush of the hands and the veins in his neck would pulse.
His wide, bright blue eyes would go hazy and wild. He’d grasp at her orange jumpsuit, not quite knowing where to put his hands and yet desperate to touch her. Maybe it’d be right there, in front of the vending machine, where Nathan might suddenly appear demanding a packet of Monster Munch. She wouldn’t care, he definitely wouldn’t. All he cared about was her, and she would bask in the glow of being caught in his focused gaze. He wouldn’t look anywhere but at her.
Simon would rip the zip from its seams in his haste and then his pale hands would be reaching past the bright orange barriers and he would be touching her. He wouldn’t know what to do, wouldn’t know where to put his mouth, to put his hands, all he would know is that he needed her, needed to be inside her, desperately, more than he needed air, but she would show him.
She’d keep his lips on her, to drown out the sound of the fucked up things he tended to spout when she touched him, and his tongue would be a little too forceful, his teeth a little too rough, but she wouldn’t mind. She was used to it by now.
They’d be frantic, as it always had to be with her, she knew no other way. He’d press his lips to her neck, to her breasts, and his hands would travel south, searching for something, he didn’t quite know what. She’d put her hands over his and lead them where they both wanted them to go, even though he didn’t know what he has doing. She’d show him, she’d let him touch her folds, she’d let him touch her like he’d never touched another woman, and she’d enjoy the sound of his breath growing ragged. She’d enjoy how it made her feel, although she might not admit it to herself.
She’d run her fingers through his thick, always neat hair, and pull at it until it was dishevelled and he looked like a savage attacking her body with his lips and teeth and fingers. She’d peel off his jumpsuit and savage his body too. Just to be courteous, you know. Equality, and all that.
He’d push her against the grimy grey wall, losing patience with the game; he wouldn’t be able to wait for what her touch promised him.
She’d grin into his face, and climb up onto him, clinging to his shoulders, and his hands would grip her arse tightly as she impaled herself on him. His fingers would flex into her skin and she’d meet his piercing blue gaze, her breath catching with the expression in his eyes. Reverence. Surprise. Like she was the only person in the universe. In the next moment, teeth clashed and they moved together frantically like the pistons of a ship, perfectly in sync.
She would laugh and he would swing them around so that her back slammed against the vending machine. Sweets and crisps would shake beneath their ardour, and the machine would slam into the wall as they slammed into each other. She’d reach up and grab onto his hair, pull his head back and suckle his neck, like she’d wanted to since she first saw him shuffling into the Community Centre, head bowed nervously.
“Bit harder,” she’d gasp into his ear, “I really wanted,” she would have to bite her lip to stop the groan that pulsed through her, “I wanted- a- Crunchie.”
She’d feel his chuckle vibrate all the way down his body, and her insides would start to constrict. Their movements would grow even more furious as they neared that peak, he would slam into her so hard that nails dragging down his back would draw blood, and she would cry out, would cry out for him.
“Alisha.”
Her gaze snapped up, away from where she’d been staring at the loser weird kid as he’d nervously watched Nathan and Kelly banter, and up to the tall figure looming over her, his brow furrowed. “What?” She dropped the straw she’d been brushing against her lips.
“Are you coming?”
She bit back a smirk and answered innocently enough. “Nearly.”
“What?”
“Yes, Curtis,” she answered with a smile, pushing herself to her feet, “I’m coming, Curtis.”
She should’ve felt bad about betraying Curtis in her thoughts, but she didn’t. Fantasies were fantasies, right? Who didn’t get themselves off thinking about the person they were least likely to shag in real life? It wasn’t like she was actually attracted to the freaky kid. He was a loser. So what if she sometimes wondered about what was hidden underneath his buttoned up collars and starched trousers? He did wank himself off thinking about her, she was allowed to repay the favour, wasn’t she?
Her hips swung as she followed Curtis through the centre of the room on her way out, passing Nathan and Simon and Kelly as she did. Her eyes met Simon’s and she smirked, remembering what he’d just done to her in her mind.
She made sure she paused at the vending machine for a Crunchie on her way out.
--
Later, it’s different.
She looks at him from across the Community Centre, and she doesn’t see her power over him, she doesn’t see how she could make him lose control at just a touch. She sees the quirk of his lips, the furrowing of his eyebrows, the flexing of his shoulders as he moves boxes with Curtis, and it makes her head swim a little. It reminds her of what she’s lost, and she finds herself rubbing her heart where it’s beating painfully in her chest.
Her Simon had carved a heart-shaped hole in her body and kept the pieces. They’d burned with him.
She dusts off the book at the top of the pile that she’s meant to be stacking and stares blindly at the words printed across the cover. Tears spring to her eyes and she laughs grimly to herself. She doesn’t know why she’s surprised. The Time-Traveller’s Wife. She’d seen the film, mostly because it’d got that hot bloke in it, the one who’d been all bronze and naked in Troy. She remembers how hard it had made her mum cry and she remembers how she had laughed at its tragic love story. How pathetic it had seemed. Now, it just seems like fate.
He carries a box past her, and she clutches the book to her chest and smiles brightly at him, too brightly, the sheen of tears in her eyes. His step falters as he meets her gaze and he immediately ducks his head down, frowning, away from her and what she is trying to tell him, what she is trying to not tell him with her eyes.
He’s avoiding her, she realises as her gaze follows his retreating back. She wonders if he’d always avoided her, and she’d just been too self-absorbed to notice. He doesn’t understand why she’d suddenly notice that he exists, and she knows that it must intrigue him. Simon can never leave mysteries alone and she, the girl who had flashed her knickers at the sixth form prom, has unwittingly turned into the biggest enigma around. She can tell from the way he’s begun to look at her from the corner of his eye that he’s trying to figure out what’s wrong, what he’s done to make her stare at him so often, what he’s done to offend her. Girls don’t tend to look at him, unless they’re freaked out or scared or planning on manipulating him. At least, that’s what he thought, and it had been compounded by every person he had ever had feelings for.
He doesn’t get why she’d be nice to him, she knows, he doesn’t get why she’d pay him any attention whatsoever. A few days ago, she wouldn’t have known either.
Now, she just wants to be close to him, any version of him, even if it feels like something is clawing at her skin, pulling her inside out, until she doesn’t know what she’s doing or where she is or who she is meant to love anymore.
She wants to laugh when she thinks that less than a month ago she had thought she was falling for Curtis. The noise dies in her throat.
Then, love had been smirking at each other and wanking yourself off in a store cupboard. Then, she hadn’t had a clue what it should’ve been like, what it would be like if she just waited long enough.
She’d been so young then. Arrogant. Naive. She’d broken the moment his eyes had shut and the flames had embraced him.
She’d grown old in a single day.
THE END
Title: Her Touch
Fandom: Misfits
Pairing/Characters: Simon/Alisha
Rating: NC-17; vaguely pornographic
Warnings: none
Spoilers: Probably up to S02E04
Summary: Before Superhoodie, before love, she fantasises about him and she's not ashamed of it. Its in the way he stares with those wide, bright eyes, paying attention to every little thing. Later, its different.
--
She could have Simon if she wanted.
Sometimes when Nathan was spouting bollocks and holding centre stage, her eyes would drift over to Simon and she would imagine what her hands would look like spread across his porcelain skin. Sometimes, though she would never admit to this, she felt a little frenzied herself when thought about what it might feel like to touch his skin, to rake her nails down him.
Just one brush of the hands and the veins in his neck would pulse.
His wide, bright blue eyes would go hazy and wild. He’d grasp at her orange jumpsuit, not quite knowing where to put his hands and yet desperate to touch her. Maybe it’d be right there, in front of the vending machine, where Nathan might suddenly appear demanding a packet of Monster Munch. She wouldn’t care, he definitely wouldn’t. All he cared about was her, and she would bask in the glow of being caught in his focused gaze. He wouldn’t look anywhere but at her.
Simon would rip the zip from its seams in his haste and then his pale hands would be reaching past the bright orange barriers and he would be touching her. He wouldn’t know what to do, wouldn’t know where to put his mouth, to put his hands, all he would know is that he needed her, needed to be inside her, desperately, more than he needed air, but she would show him.
She’d keep his lips on her, to drown out the sound of the fucked up things he tended to spout when she touched him, and his tongue would be a little too forceful, his teeth a little too rough, but she wouldn’t mind. She was used to it by now.
They’d be frantic, as it always had to be with her, she knew no other way. He’d press his lips to her neck, to her breasts, and his hands would travel south, searching for something, he didn’t quite know what. She’d put her hands over his and lead them where they both wanted them to go, even though he didn’t know what he has doing. She’d show him, she’d let him touch her folds, she’d let him touch her like he’d never touched another woman, and she’d enjoy the sound of his breath growing ragged. She’d enjoy how it made her feel, although she might not admit it to herself.
She’d run her fingers through his thick, always neat hair, and pull at it until it was dishevelled and he looked like a savage attacking her body with his lips and teeth and fingers. She’d peel off his jumpsuit and savage his body too. Just to be courteous, you know. Equality, and all that.
He’d push her against the grimy grey wall, losing patience with the game; he wouldn’t be able to wait for what her touch promised him.
She’d grin into his face, and climb up onto him, clinging to his shoulders, and his hands would grip her arse tightly as she impaled herself on him. His fingers would flex into her skin and she’d meet his piercing blue gaze, her breath catching with the expression in his eyes. Reverence. Surprise. Like she was the only person in the universe. In the next moment, teeth clashed and they moved together frantically like the pistons of a ship, perfectly in sync.
She would laugh and he would swing them around so that her back slammed against the vending machine. Sweets and crisps would shake beneath their ardour, and the machine would slam into the wall as they slammed into each other. She’d reach up and grab onto his hair, pull his head back and suckle his neck, like she’d wanted to since she first saw him shuffling into the Community Centre, head bowed nervously.
“Bit harder,” she’d gasp into his ear, “I really wanted,” she would have to bite her lip to stop the groan that pulsed through her, “I wanted- a- Crunchie.”
She’d feel his chuckle vibrate all the way down his body, and her insides would start to constrict. Their movements would grow even more furious as they neared that peak, he would slam into her so hard that nails dragging down his back would draw blood, and she would cry out, would cry out for him.
“Alisha.”
Her gaze snapped up, away from where she’d been staring at the loser weird kid as he’d nervously watched Nathan and Kelly banter, and up to the tall figure looming over her, his brow furrowed. “What?” She dropped the straw she’d been brushing against her lips.
“Are you coming?”
She bit back a smirk and answered innocently enough. “Nearly.”
“What?”
“Yes, Curtis,” she answered with a smile, pushing herself to her feet, “I’m coming, Curtis.”
She should’ve felt bad about betraying Curtis in her thoughts, but she didn’t. Fantasies were fantasies, right? Who didn’t get themselves off thinking about the person they were least likely to shag in real life? It wasn’t like she was actually attracted to the freaky kid. He was a loser. So what if she sometimes wondered about what was hidden underneath his buttoned up collars and starched trousers? He did wank himself off thinking about her, she was allowed to repay the favour, wasn’t she?
Her hips swung as she followed Curtis through the centre of the room on her way out, passing Nathan and Simon and Kelly as she did. Her eyes met Simon’s and she smirked, remembering what he’d just done to her in her mind.
She made sure she paused at the vending machine for a Crunchie on her way out.
--
Later, it’s different.
She looks at him from across the Community Centre, and she doesn’t see her power over him, she doesn’t see how she could make him lose control at just a touch. She sees the quirk of his lips, the furrowing of his eyebrows, the flexing of his shoulders as he moves boxes with Curtis, and it makes her head swim a little. It reminds her of what she’s lost, and she finds herself rubbing her heart where it’s beating painfully in her chest.
Her Simon had carved a heart-shaped hole in her body and kept the pieces. They’d burned with him.
She dusts off the book at the top of the pile that she’s meant to be stacking and stares blindly at the words printed across the cover. Tears spring to her eyes and she laughs grimly to herself. She doesn’t know why she’s surprised. The Time-Traveller’s Wife. She’d seen the film, mostly because it’d got that hot bloke in it, the one who’d been all bronze and naked in Troy. She remembers how hard it had made her mum cry and she remembers how she had laughed at its tragic love story. How pathetic it had seemed. Now, it just seems like fate.
He carries a box past her, and she clutches the book to her chest and smiles brightly at him, too brightly, the sheen of tears in her eyes. His step falters as he meets her gaze and he immediately ducks his head down, frowning, away from her and what she is trying to tell him, what she is trying to not tell him with her eyes.
He’s avoiding her, she realises as her gaze follows his retreating back. She wonders if he’d always avoided her, and she’d just been too self-absorbed to notice. He doesn’t understand why she’d suddenly notice that he exists, and she knows that it must intrigue him. Simon can never leave mysteries alone and she, the girl who had flashed her knickers at the sixth form prom, has unwittingly turned into the biggest enigma around. She can tell from the way he’s begun to look at her from the corner of his eye that he’s trying to figure out what’s wrong, what he’s done to make her stare at him so often, what he’s done to offend her. Girls don’t tend to look at him, unless they’re freaked out or scared or planning on manipulating him. At least, that’s what he thought, and it had been compounded by every person he had ever had feelings for.
He doesn’t get why she’d be nice to him, she knows, he doesn’t get why she’d pay him any attention whatsoever. A few days ago, she wouldn’t have known either.
Now, she just wants to be close to him, any version of him, even if it feels like something is clawing at her skin, pulling her inside out, until she doesn’t know what she’s doing or where she is or who she is meant to love anymore.
She wants to laugh when she thinks that less than a month ago she had thought she was falling for Curtis. The noise dies in her throat.
Then, love had been smirking at each other and wanking yourself off in a store cupboard. Then, she hadn’t had a clue what it should’ve been like, what it would be like if she just waited long enough.
She’d been so young then. Arrogant. Naive. She’d broken the moment his eyes had shut and the flames had embraced him.
She’d grown old in a single day.
THE END