Porn Battle XI fills (part 2)
It’s Porn Battle XI time and I wrote porn. Go figure. ;)
None of these were beta’ed. I don’t own ANYONE in these ficlets, which is a shame. Everyone here is an adult and engaging in very consensual and very not kid safe activities. You know how I like to write it at this point. :D
"And The Winner Is..." Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley, surprise, acceptance
"You weren't supposed to win."
"You're just a sore loser," Ginny replied, ignoring Draco to slide around him. They were competing reporters up for the same award, and Ginny had won first place. Draco hadn't even placed.
"Your stupid acceptance speech was horrid," Draco continued. "With shoddy writing like that, you can't possibly have won that award."
"Sod off, Malfoy." She was heading back to the office; just because she won an award didn't excuse her from meeting her deadlines.
He grasped her arm and spun her around. "No, you don't get to just run off..." he began, but their bodies collided in the hallway and his breath caught. It was as if he had never really seen her before, and he had been too busy competing with her to notice. Which was likely very true.
"What is it, then?" Ginny asked, nearly rolling her eyes at him. "No words? That's why you didn't-"
His mouth crashed down over hers, and Ginny stared at him in shock when he pulled back. He stuttered, something about not knowing what came over him or some such nonsense. She dragged him down a different hallway and pulled his mouth down to hers again, her fingers sliding in through the baby soft whiteblond hair at the nape of his neck. "Stupid idiot," she murmured against his mouth. "Is this why you keep coming up with silly arguments with me?"
"Maybe," Draco hedged, his brain not fully engaged. She kissed him back. Never mind he hadn't entirely meant to kiss her first, but she kissed him back.
Ginny laughed and pushed him up against a wall. She was pressed against him, sliding herself into all the nooks and crannies of his angular body, and it was amazing how well she just seemed to fit. He was grasping at her, hands not knowing where to settle against her body. It was endearing to see him like this, less of the self assured idiot and more of an ordinary man with a crush. He kissed like living sin, and she could feel her toes curl inside her very expensive shoes. After a moment, Draco's hands on her rear firmed, and he lifted her up off of the floor. She gave a small squeal of surprise, clinging to him. Draco turned so that she was propped up against the wall, her legs around his waist and her dress robes hiked up around her. He fumbled with his own and managed not to drop her.
She supposed that it was a testament to how addled he was that he forgot about magic. Her own thoughts flew out of the window as soon his fingers touched her, sliding into her, finding her wet and waiting for him. She mewled against his mouth and tilted her hips to give him better access. His fingers were deft and sure, more than his words had been, and there was no trace of surprise in his touch. It was as if this was every dream he'd had of her, as if this was his chance to live it for real.
Ginny didn't mind at all.
She came, moaning into his mouth. She pulled at his arms, and Draco chuckled. He thrust into her, driving his length into her. Ginny was filled so completely that she saw stars, and she couldn't even breathe. He moved rapidly, pushing so deeply into her that Ginny thought she was going to fly apart at the seams. She wound her arms around him and felt her entire body shiver and tighten around his. Draco grunted, his thrusts erratic as he moved toward his own release. His hips stuttered against her, then he came with a sigh. Draco drew in a few shaky breaths, his heartbeat loud to Ginny's ears.
"You know," Ginny began slowly, a slight smile on her lips. "I can't tell who won that round."
Draco merely stared at her, not quite comprehending. He blinked as they untangled themselves. "Ginny..."
"We need a rematch," she continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "Your place or mine?"
He understood suddenly, and grinned. "Definitely mine."
"Running To Stand Still." Harry Potter, Katie/Marcus, truth
Katie shivered as she hid in the alley, not sure where she could go. All of the usual hiding places were out of the question, and the war was still in full swing. There were rumors that Harry Potter was dead, though she couldn't believe that. He had to be alive. Otherwise, this misery that had overtaken the wizarding world would be permanent. Katie pulled her cloak tighter around herself and wished that she had managed to grab something a bit more appropriate for the weather before she ran. At least she still had her wand.
She huddled tighter into herself when the shadows grew longer. She could hear voices at the end of the alley, and her hiding spot behind the garbage bins wasn't a very good one. It wasn't the sort of place that people would expect to find her, but that didn't mean very much these days.
"You take that direction," she heard a rough voice say clearly. "I'll check these parts. I'm sure if there's anything to find, we'll find it."
Pressing her lips together, Katie managed to keep herself from shivering too hard. She didn't want to make any noise, but the footsteps came closer and closer. Just when she thought she would be caught, there was the sound of air rushing past and then a dull thud. Cracking her eyes open, she saw the glassy eyes of a man a few feet away staring at her. Beside him was a figure checking that he was dead.
Katie looked up into the eyes of Marcus Flint, and she wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.
"I thought you said you'd stopped working as an informant," he said quietly, moving to her side.
"I thought you said you wouldn't help me," Katie replied in a shaky voice. She accepted his help in standing and was engulfed in his arms. "Marcus," she whispered, clinging to him.
"I almost wasn't here," he said, voice rough with emotion. "You need to stop."
"I can't," she whispered, shaking her head. "There's so much that still needs to be done..."
"Why does it have to be you?" he asked, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. "Why can't it be someone else?"
"Because no one ever believes a little girl like me can make a difference," Katie said, bitterness in her tone. "They think I'm still broken, I'm still useless, still someone they can push around. I need to know that it's not true."
"It's not," Marcus insisted. He ran his fingers across her cheeks and lower lip. "Come home with me, Katie. At least for a little while. If you have to leave again, we'll deal with it then."
Nodding, Katie wrapped her arms around him and let him apparate them back to his flat. She'd been there twice before, each time after he had rescued her from some debacle. It was getting to be something of a habit, but it was a pleasant one, all things considered. Katie wasn't willing to let him go.
He drew a bath for her, and Katie stripped off the torn clothing and thin cloak she was wearing. It hadn't occurred to her to be shy or hide herself from his gaze. Marcus looked at her hungrily; it had been nearly two months since he had last seen her.
Their mouths crashed together in a tangle of lips and tongues and teeth, all desperation and loneliness and lust. Marcus ran his hands down her back and then touched her breasts, rolling the nipple between his fingers. Katie moaned and leaned into his touch, her hands moving to remove his clothing. He helped yank off his shirt and trousers, then picked her up in his arms and brought her to the bath. He stepped into the tub with her, then lowered himself on top of her carefully. It was warm all around them, and they traced the lines and curves of each others' bodies as their mouths melded together. Katie let out a sigh of relief when Marcus slid his length into her, one of his hands on her hip and the other braced against the side of the tub. She locked her ankles around his waist and traced the muscles of his back beneath her fingertips. She had missed this, had forgotten how good his touch could be.
Marcus moved slowly and deliberately, advance and retreat, filling her and then sliding almost all the way out to tease her. "Faster," she pleaded, tightening her legs around his waist. "More, Marcus, please..."
He kissed her jaw and thrust harder. "Merlin, Katie," he growled as she tightened around him. He groaned and moved faster. It had been too long since they had last been together, and there was no one else he wanted. "You can't leave again. You can't."
She wanted to promise him that, she really did. But she came with a cry and couldn't answer as she nearly convulsed beneath him. Marcus arched his back, eyes shut tight as his own orgasm washed over him. He carefully collapsed on top of her, his weight pinning her to the tub. "Katie," he whispered when he could speak again, pushing her damp hair from her face.
Katie turned to him, a lie on her lips, but it died at the look in his eyes. He wanted her to stay so badly, but he wouldn't beg her to. As much as he didn't understand her constant need to prove herself in this war, he wouldn't hold her back if that was what she really wanted. He deserved better than a ghost slipping in and out of his bed. "Is there any other way, then?" she asked quietly, cupping his face with one hand. "Can I still help the Resistance and stay safe?"
"We can figure it out if you want to," he answered.
"I do," she said, meaning it. The truth shone in her eyes, and Marcus relaxed above her. "We'll figure it out."
"Roghan Badam." Crossover, Torchwood/Highlander, Captain Jack Harkness/Methos, almond oil.
Methos had retreated into a different alias, one that owned a natural health foods store. It was perfectly ordinary, not a place where anyone remotely connected to the Game could find him. He didn't have to think, and he could use some of the esoteric knowledge he had amassed over the centuries without looking strange.
"Well. This is an interesting change for you."
Methos turned at the sound of the familiar voice. He quirked a smile at the man standing in front of him. He wore a long trench coat, trousers, button down shirt and bracers. "I see you really do stick with a style that works for you, no matter what the time period."
"It's a classic," Jack Harkness replied with an easy grin. "This is very different from being an informant," he said, taking a look through the store. "Much safer, I'd bet."
"If you're here, I wouldn't be so sure," Methos said in a dry tone.
Jack laughed and picked up a bottle from the shelf. "Almond oil. How is this an alternative medicine thing?"
"It's helpful for the brain and nervous system, and can boost the immune system. For thousands of years, that's been used to stimulate the intellect and help maintain longevity. It also figured you'd find something considered an aphrodisiac," he added with a laugh.
"You're kidding," Jack replied with a smile, putting it back on the shelf.
"It's used as a massage oil or people drink it." Methos shrugged. "People have always had odd beliefs about that sort of thing."
"Do they really?" Jack asked, coming back to walk up to Methos. "Have you tried it?"
"I've tried just about everything in this store," Methos hedged.
"So... Massage oil or drink? Which works better for the libido?"
"Knowing you? Either one would do."
Jack laughed, delighted. He reached out and ran his fingers along the inside of Methos' wrist. "Care to give it a try?"
Methos shook his head ruefully. "What are you really doing here?"
"I can't visit an old friend?"
Lofting an eyebrow, Methos merely stared at him.
Jack laughed again. "Okay, okay. I'm hiding from someone. Mind if I stay here?"
"Is this going to be like Vienna?" Methos asked with a sigh. "I like my shop, Harkness. This is a nice little life. Don't fuck it up for me."
He moved into Methos' space, liking that the other immortal didn't back down. "How about I make it worth your while? Test that almond oil theory?" Jack pulled Methos right up against him. "Come on. It's been years."
Methos sighed. "It is close to closing time..."
"And not a customer in sight," Jack teased. "We can entertain each other."
"Why is it that I never run you off?" Methos asked, shaking his head as he locked up his shop.
"Admit it," Jack said, molding himself to Methos' back and running his lips over the outer edge of his ear. "A little spice once in a while is a good thing. And I'm as spicy as they come."
Methos laughed. "You're such a bastard sometimes, Harkness." He let out a soft sigh as Jack's hands slid beneath his jeans. "Jack."
"Take those off. I can't wait to try that oil on you."
"You're definitely not in need of an aphrodesiac."
"So glad you've noticed. Let's use it anyway."
Laughing, they did just that.
"Visions." Push, Nick/Cassie, need, longing
He had known her since she was thirteen. Cassie was twenty now and just as mouthy as she had been back then. Nick had tried to think of her as a little sister figure, but it just didn't work out that way. He couldn't help but notice her or think of her laughing. Sometimes his dreams turned down a decidedly nonsisterly path, and he would wake up in a sweat. Nick hoped that Cassie didn't know which way his thoughts had turned, because he didn't want her thinking of him as some kind of dirty old man. Of course, he was ten years older than her and hadn't dated seriously in the entire time they've known each other.
She was wearing a skimpy outfit in the Guatemalan heat, not seeming to care that everyone was ogling the expanse of pale skin that was on display. Nick pretended that he didn't notice it, that it wasn't burned into his brain. He pretended he didn't need her, that this wasn't a romantic kind of love. He pretended he didn't wish he knew what her lips tasted like, what she sounded like when she came. He pretended that they were just friends, coworkers bent on taking down Division. He couldn't afford to have her run from him because he couldn't keep it in his pants. He couldn't afford to be alone again. He didn't know how to function like that anymore. He wanted the bright colors in her hair and the whimsical prints on her clothes. He wanted her scribbled drawings in gel pens and the occasional cryptic comments. He wanted to catch her when she stumbled and fell after drinking too much to bring the visions on, and he wanted to breathe in the scent of her.
This was fucked up, but he couldn't leave. He was trapped by his own tangled feelings, by his inability to leave her behind.
"You're thinking serious thoughts," Cassie said, tossing one of her pens at him. She had at least six of them still tucked into her hair, pinning it up and off of her neck. His eyes tracked the slope of it, imagining what her skin tasted like, imagining the soft sigh she would make if he ran his hands along it.
Nick passed her back the pen. "No, nothing serious."
"I'm sure it won't be too much longer before we can make a move, Nick," she said with a careless shrug. It was still graceful, and Nick's eyes were caught by the bright pink straps of her cami. It was such a thin scrap of fabric, really. Between that and the denim shorts that fell a few inches above her knees, there was very little left to his imagination.
Well, his imagination had filled in the blanks many, many times over already.
She leaned into him, and Nick had a nearly perfect view down the front of her cami. "You worry too much," she said quietly. "You think too much. Sometimes that keeps you from doing what you really ought to do."
He blinked and felt as if he was half asleep. "Oh? And what should I be doing?"
"You're a Mover, Nick. So Move."
He shook his head. "I use the talents that way and Division will have something to track. We can't take that chance."
Cassie sighed and patted his knee then got up. "Don't you think I'd have a vision of them coming first? I'm very good at Seeing them a few moves ahead now. I can understand them a lot better, and I can pick and choose which ones I See."
Somehow that wasn't as comforting as she meant it to be, and Nick stayed where he was. It was a dingy rat trap of a motel, but the rooms were clean enough to spend time in. Cassie's Spanish was better than his, though it was improving every day. He knew more than cerveza now, at least.
He watched her walk across the courtyard, stretching her arms over her head. It lifted her breasts high, and Nick swallowed uneasily. Her hips sashayed as she walked, then she looked at him over her shoulder. He hoped he didn't look as gobsmacked as he felt. Looking around for anything to take his mind off of the sight, he noted her sketchbook. He hadn't looked in it recently, and he snatched it up as if his life depended on it. He didn't need to be looking at how her legs stretched out as she walked around in her sandals. He already had the curve of her spine memorized, the odd tilting smile that she had when she looked at him. Nick didn't need any more ammunition for his fantasies.
Her drawings were as crude as ever, but there was still no mistaking some of her drawings. Several were of a man and woman entwined in various sexual positions; the woman had colored streaks in her hair and the man had a scar along the inside of his forearm just where Nick had his.
"Oh, fuck," he breathed, looking at the drawings. They were exactly what some of his thoughts had been.
"This is the idea, genius," Cassie said with a sarcastic drawl, leaning over him. She had come back to where he was sitting outside of their room while he was looking at the sketchbook, and he had been so engrossed in the drawings that he hadn't seen her come back. "You can be really hard headed sometimes, you know that? I've been leaving you clues for years, Nick."
His mouth opened and closed, and he wasn't able to make a coherent comment. "Cassie..."
She plucked the book from his nerveless hands and tossed it aside before straddling his waist and putting her arms around his shoulders. "I've had the same thoughts about you, Nick. I'm tired of waiting for you to make a move."
"I'm ten years older than you are."
"You say that like it's a bad thing." Her lips quirked into that sarcastic smile that she always seemed to have around him. "That means we're the same age emotionally."
Nick laughed, he couldn't help it. Cassie leaned in to kiss him, her mouth hot and open over his. She rolled her hips over his, and Nick could feel his body waking up. God, the last thing he needed was for everything to stand at attention just when he wasn't quite ready to do anything about it. She shimmied against him, her breasts rubbing at his chest through the thin layers separating them. Nick couldn't breathe, since he could feel her pert breasts as if there were no layers at all. Her nipples were peaked and ready for him to touch, if only he would move his hands from his sides and put them there.
With an impatient sigh, Cassie took his hands and brought them up to her breasts. "You're a little slow on the uptake, Nick."
"Cassie. We shouldn't..."
"I've had visions of this for years, Nick," she whispered as she leaned down to kiss him again. "I think I only just got it that the one to make the first move is me."
He kneaded her breasts and his tongue slid into her mouth. He couldn't help himself, really, because she felt good and tasted like strawberries. "Are you sure?" he asked, a last ditch effort to try to be a good guy.
She rocked against him, her thigh rubbing him through his shorts. Nick groaned and let his head fall back. They were the only ones in the courtyard, and it was painfully obvious what they were doing if someone walked by. "So damn sure it hurts, Nick," Cassie breathed, rocking against him. His breath caught and the shorts felt too tight. She kept up that same steady rhythm, not pulling away. Her mouth was against his temple, her hands on his shoulders for balance. Cassie took his earlobe between her lips and ran her tongue along its edge, hearing him moan a little. "I've had so many visions," Cassie whispered, rocking her hips a little faster against him. Nick made a strangled noise and pulled at her rear, clutching her close and trying to get her to speed up. "I want them all," she said, her voice low and insistent. "I need this, Nick. I need you."
It was enough to get Nick to come with a grunt, arching his hips up against her. Cassie's breath was fast, her eyes blown wide with desire. Nick pushed her back slightly to cup her face in his hands. "If this happens, there's no going back and saying you regret it."
"That goes for you, too," Cassie agreed, locking eyes with him. "I know I won't regret it."
Nick Moved the door to their room open and carried her inside. He didn't plan to leave for hours. There were quite a few visions to go through, after all.
"Scars." Pitch Black, Carolyn Fry/Riddick, survival, cover
Carolyn shouldn't be this close to him. She shouldn't depend on him. Riddick had thought she was dead and left that godforsaken rock of a planet, and it had taken years for her to recover from nearly dying. She was older now, supposedly wiser, and he didn't recognize her face. The hair was longer and darker, there were some lines on her face and scars all over her back and abdomen. While she had never been terribly vain before, now she absolutely didn't reveal any skin. She was no longer a pilot, but taught at an academy. It was the best compromise she could have made, but it still left her feeling hollow inside.
Riddick was being hailed as a god, and she had to come see him. It was impossible not to remember him, though she had tried to forget. Carolyn told herself she wasn't sentimental, that she was glorifying his memory because he had gone back to save the others even if he had left her behind. He couldn't have known she wasn't dead. She remembered what those creatures had done to everyone else when the lights went out.
His eyes rolled past her and didn't see her, and she let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. He didn't remember her. He didn't recognize her. Maybe that would be enough to make the dreams stop. Maybe now she could be free of that place.
That night she startled awake. She lived alone and rarely socialized. Few people knew where she lived, and she liked it that way. Now she was regretting that decision; though she couldn't say why exactly, she knew she wasn't alone in her room any longer. There was nothing about the shadows that were different, but she knew someone was in the room with her.
"Is someone there?" she asked, her voice more tremulous than she hoped it would be.
"I never thought I'd smell that kind of beautiful again," Riddick rasped, that deep voice reverberating inside Carolyn's chest.
She had only been fooling herself. She would never be free of his memory.
The shadows shifted and he rose from the foot of her bed. He crawled over her, the covers pressing down over her, trapping her beneath him. "I thought you died," he said softly.
"For a long time, I thought I would, too."
She could remember the rain, the taste of those creatures' blood, the feel of their flesh in her mouth. She'd been a wreck when a scout ship picked up on the distress signals and found her, but she had still been alive. Just barely, but still alive. No one else would have understood that, but Riddick would. He had always understood things like that.
They stared at each other in silence for a long time. Both were comfortable with silence, and neither wanted to be the one to break first.
It was Carolyn that moved first, pulling her hand out of her blankets and covering his cheek. She rubbed her thumb along the edge of his lower lip, seeing the shine in his eyes. He took the pad of her thumb between his teeth, running his tongue along her skin. His eyes never left her face, and she wished she could read him. Carolyn had never been able to predict him or understand why he did the things he did. He was a killer, of that she was sure. Everything else was a mystery.
Riddick gradually lowered himself over her, her thumb still in his mouth. His weight was braced on one hand, and he placed his hand at her back, between her shoulder blades. She was wearing a very thin nightdress, and she wondered if he could feel the scars there. She didn't want to ask him, didn't want to break this spell. If they didn't speak, she could pretend this was just a dream.
He lifted her up to meet him, and he let go of her thumb to kiss her. It was rough and possessive, just as she remembered. Carolyn wrapped her arms around his shoulders and made a soft sound low in her throat at the sensation. It felt almost like floating at first, and then the covers pressed too tightly against her. She was pinned, and the panic set in. She kicked at the covers to try to get them off of her. Riddick lowered her back to the bed and tossed them aside, then pushed the nightdress up from her legs. Carolyn froze when he bared her scars, not sure if she should run.
His fingers fell to the twisted tissue, stroking them carefully. She nearly wanted to cry, and she bit her lip to keep from covering herself back up. Riddick looked back up at her, taking in her trembling lips and agonized expression. Deliberately, he pulled off the nightdress and then bent his head down to lick and kiss the scars covering her body. Carolyn let out a choked sob and pushed at his shoulders, but she couldn't get him to move. His lips were gentle against the delicate scar tissue, as if they were fresh and would break under too much pressure. She hated them, hated the reminder at how close she had come to death. She hated thinking of herself as weak.
Riddick found the matching scars on her back, and Carolyn let out a low sound. It sounded more like a wounded animal than a person, and Carolyn could remember the taste of her own fear in the dark on that planet.
"I would have ripped them all apart if I had known," he said, lips poised over the scars between her breasts. "I never would have left you there. I should have known."
Something in her chest broke at those words, and she could feel the tears burn along her cheeks. He hadn't forgotten. Whatever it was between them, he had felt it, too.
Licking the tears from her cheeks, Riddick moved over Carolyn, pinning her to the bed. It was small and narrow, not the kind of bed that was shared. He felt massive above her, and Carolyn could feel the dark closing in. Choking on the ghostly feeling of pain in her chest, she twisted beneath him and tried to push him away. He moved back, watching her closely. She couldn't say anything, couldn't meet his eyes. Hyperventilating, all she could taste was blood of those creatures.
"We all pay something to survive, Carolyn," Riddick said, entirely too understanding for her comfort.
Carolyn sat up, not able to meet his eyes. His fingers traced the scars on her back, and when she didn't push him away he touched the thick scars on her front. She was pinned between his hands, his lips at her shoulder. This she could tolerate. This didn't feel like anything other than it was, Riddick mysteriously in her life again and upending everything she had ever known about herself.
Twisting in his grasp, Carolyn held him as he moved to run his lips along her chest. He traced the scars with lips and tongue and fingertips, making her gasp and shudder. She pushed at his clothes, baring his chest to her touch. Wordlessly, he helped her undress him, then he pulled her on top of him. Absurdly grateful, she straddled his waist and looking into those shimmering eyes of his. "What did I pay, Riddick?" she asked, her hands spread across his muscled chest.
"The last of your illusions," he said, pulling her down so that he could thrust into her. She gasped, nails raking welts across his chest. His hands were at her back, steadying her until she found a rhythm. Then he palmed one breast, a swirl of scar tissue replacing a nipple. He rubbed at the skin gently, abrading the scars, making her moan. She hadn't thought she could still feel pleasure from that kind of touch. She had thought she was dead and numb to that.
Carolyn gave herself up to the sensations rolling through her, rocking hard and fast over Riddick. This was what they should have had years ago, if those alien creatures hadn't stolen the time from her. She might have cursed herself for it later, might have thought she was even more callous and soulless than she had already thought herself to be. But he was right; it was in dragging herself from the brink of death that she had really learned who she was. She had been willing to do anything to survive, anything at all.
She cried out when she came, and Riddick urged her to continue. He was still thick and hard inside her, all too real as he stroked her body. He touched her scars reverently, and she supposed they were badges of honor. She had survived something terrible and come through it. She was still here, still alive, and at the moment she was gloriously alive.
When Carolyn nearly collapsed, Riddick slid out of her and urged her onto her back again. This time he leaned back and away from her torso, somehow knowing that she couldn't be pressed in or caged. He drove into her repeatedly, moving hard and fast, his hands tight as bands over hers. They were pinned on either side of her head, but she didn't feel trapped in the slightest. She looked up into his intense gaze and surged upward to meet his thrusts. His breath was quick, his grunts barely audible. Carolyn was loud in the darkness, not caring if Riddick liked the sounds of her passion or not. She nearly screamed when she came, tight around him. He let out another grunt and stiffened above her, then blew out a long breath.
As difficult as it was on her narrow bed, he did his best to fall to the side of her. She appreciated that, and ran her hands along his face. "Riddick? Are you staying?"
"Are you offering?"
"I don't know what I'm offering."
"I've got weird shit going on right now," he said, which wasn't much of an explanation at all. "Do you really need to be here?"
She thought of teaching, of the life she had carefully built for herself. It was empty, really. It was a house of cards waiting to tumble.
Riddick watched her closely as she thought about it, not pressuring her in the slightest. "I don't have anywhere else to go," Carolyn said finally.
"Do you want to be a queen?" he asked. He wasn't teasing her, and Carolyn didn't think he would be that kind of man anyway.
"Of what?"
"Of the dead." He shrugged at her incredulous stare. "Long story."
"There's enough dead in my life," Carolyn told him quietly.
"Yeah. There's that."
He was offering her something she couldn't quite grasp. "You're lonely, aren't you?" she asked suddenly.
"Aren't you?"
She wanted to tell him no, but that would be a lie. "I'm tired, Riddick."
He pulled her against him, and she settled over his chest. His heart beat strong and sure beneath her ear. "Rest, then."
"Will you be here in the morning?" she asked in a small voice.
"If you want me to be."
Carolyn couldn't tell if he cared one way or another, his voice was so flat. "I'd like it if you were."
Riddick's arms settled heavily around her, but she felt almost comfortable. "Then I will be."
For the first time in years, there were no nightmares of the dark.
"Learning To Relax." Underworld, Selene/Michael, bullets
Selene checked the clip of her semiautomatic grimly. She had a full clip with one in the chamber, three at her waist and two incendiary grenades. There was one last nest of feral werewolves to clear out, and the odds of flushing them all out were high. Killing them all might be a problem. If even one escaped into a nearby village, the problem would start all over again. Michael was on the other side of the nest, and their plan was to come in on either side, then kill all of the werewolves. It would be one thing if these were intelligent enough to reason with. But these were descended from a survivor of the castle, so there was no talking. It would be about bullets and lots of them.
She didn't think about how easy it was to kill as she charged forward. She was a death dealer. It was what she knew, what she had done for far too long. Covered in blood and gore at the end of the battle, she was down to half a clip left. Michael was laughing beside her, blood all over his naked chest. Fighting might not have been what he originally wanted to do with his life, but he had taken to it really well.
"I think we got them all," she said in crisp tones, looking at the wasteland around them.
Michael pulled her close and kissed her, not caring about the blood that coated them. "So we're done. We're finally done."
Selene allowed a smile then. "Yes, I think we're finally done."
They were staying in an abandoned farmhouse. There was no electricity in it and an old water pump outside. Neither of them bothered with the pump. There was a small lake beyond the barn, and they headed straight there. Dawn was coming, and it was quiet on the property as they dove into the water. It didn't matter that the leather was ruined, that some of it was shredded. If the feral wolves were gone, they didn't have to worry about the countryside. They could stop and rest and figure out what to do with themselves.
Michael grasped Selene in the water, rubbing the dried blood from her skin. He pressed his lips against her temple, holding her close. "You know, I like it here. Quiet, isolated. A great place to relax. No one checking in on us, no one to run from..."
She smiled and scrubbed at his skin as well. "I don't know how to relax, Michael."
"I'll teach you," he said, lips curling into a smile.
His kiss was tender as he grasped her face in his hands. She wrapped her arms around him, tracing the muscles beneath his skin. She had almost lost him too many times. It would be nice to slow down and not worry about death anymore.
Michael's hands roamed over her body, teasing her with his light touch. One hand dipped below the water and tangled between her thighs, tracing her. "Sh... Relax," he admonished when she tried to reach down to stroke him in turn. "Let me take care of you first."
It was hard not to try to wrest control from him or pull him toward the shore and push him onto his back. Selene gasped at his touch, at the slide of his fingers against her. He picked her up and out of the water enough to fix his mouth to her collarbone, to shower kisses along the tops of her breasts. He coaxed an orgasm out of her, then cradled her slowly and pushed her to the edge of the water. He kissed her and lifted her hips to his, pushing into her waiting heat as the sun came up. Michael's strokes were slow and sure, unhurried. He filled her, his mouth over hers. Selene tried to pull him closer, but he resisted and smiled against her mouth. "Savor this," he said, running his teeth over her lip. "Let go."
Selene wasn't used to that, and had to forcibly loosen her grip on his waist. He laughed at her mulish expression, then layered kisses all over her face. She responded enthusiastically, as she usually did, twisting around beneath him and threading her fingers through his hair. Michael continued to go slowly, but he was too far gone and came before he meant to. With a soft sigh, he shifted position so that he could push his fingers into her wet heat. He mouthed her breasts, one after the other, his fingers inside her and his thumb rubbing at her clit. Selene gasped, eyes sliding shut as she finally gave herself over to the sensations flooding through her. She lost count of how many times Michael made her come, but she was finally loose limbed and boneless. He had to carry her back into the farmhouse and lay her down on the bed.
The sunlight streamed in, falling over them. She still wasn't used to the sunlight, and she smiled softly. "So this is relaxing, then?"
Michael smiled. "I think it is."
"Then I might just have to do this more often."
"Sounds like a plan," he told her with a grin, leaning in for a kiss.
None of these were beta’ed. I don’t own ANYONE in these ficlets, which is a shame. Everyone here is an adult and engaging in very consensual and very not kid safe activities. You know how I like to write it at this point. :D
"And The Winner Is..." Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley, surprise, acceptance
"You weren't supposed to win."
"You're just a sore loser," Ginny replied, ignoring Draco to slide around him. They were competing reporters up for the same award, and Ginny had won first place. Draco hadn't even placed.
"Your stupid acceptance speech was horrid," Draco continued. "With shoddy writing like that, you can't possibly have won that award."
"Sod off, Malfoy." She was heading back to the office; just because she won an award didn't excuse her from meeting her deadlines.
He grasped her arm and spun her around. "No, you don't get to just run off..." he began, but their bodies collided in the hallway and his breath caught. It was as if he had never really seen her before, and he had been too busy competing with her to notice. Which was likely very true.
"What is it, then?" Ginny asked, nearly rolling her eyes at him. "No words? That's why you didn't-"
His mouth crashed down over hers, and Ginny stared at him in shock when he pulled back. He stuttered, something about not knowing what came over him or some such nonsense. She dragged him down a different hallway and pulled his mouth down to hers again, her fingers sliding in through the baby soft whiteblond hair at the nape of his neck. "Stupid idiot," she murmured against his mouth. "Is this why you keep coming up with silly arguments with me?"
"Maybe," Draco hedged, his brain not fully engaged. She kissed him back. Never mind he hadn't entirely meant to kiss her first, but she kissed him back.
Ginny laughed and pushed him up against a wall. She was pressed against him, sliding herself into all the nooks and crannies of his angular body, and it was amazing how well she just seemed to fit. He was grasping at her, hands not knowing where to settle against her body. It was endearing to see him like this, less of the self assured idiot and more of an ordinary man with a crush. He kissed like living sin, and she could feel her toes curl inside her very expensive shoes. After a moment, Draco's hands on her rear firmed, and he lifted her up off of the floor. She gave a small squeal of surprise, clinging to him. Draco turned so that she was propped up against the wall, her legs around his waist and her dress robes hiked up around her. He fumbled with his own and managed not to drop her.
She supposed that it was a testament to how addled he was that he forgot about magic. Her own thoughts flew out of the window as soon his fingers touched her, sliding into her, finding her wet and waiting for him. She mewled against his mouth and tilted her hips to give him better access. His fingers were deft and sure, more than his words had been, and there was no trace of surprise in his touch. It was as if this was every dream he'd had of her, as if this was his chance to live it for real.
Ginny didn't mind at all.
She came, moaning into his mouth. She pulled at his arms, and Draco chuckled. He thrust into her, driving his length into her. Ginny was filled so completely that she saw stars, and she couldn't even breathe. He moved rapidly, pushing so deeply into her that Ginny thought she was going to fly apart at the seams. She wound her arms around him and felt her entire body shiver and tighten around his. Draco grunted, his thrusts erratic as he moved toward his own release. His hips stuttered against her, then he came with a sigh. Draco drew in a few shaky breaths, his heartbeat loud to Ginny's ears.
"You know," Ginny began slowly, a slight smile on her lips. "I can't tell who won that round."
Draco merely stared at her, not quite comprehending. He blinked as they untangled themselves. "Ginny..."
"We need a rematch," she continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "Your place or mine?"
He understood suddenly, and grinned. "Definitely mine."
"Running To Stand Still." Harry Potter, Katie/Marcus, truth
Katie shivered as she hid in the alley, not sure where she could go. All of the usual hiding places were out of the question, and the war was still in full swing. There were rumors that Harry Potter was dead, though she couldn't believe that. He had to be alive. Otherwise, this misery that had overtaken the wizarding world would be permanent. Katie pulled her cloak tighter around herself and wished that she had managed to grab something a bit more appropriate for the weather before she ran. At least she still had her wand.
She huddled tighter into herself when the shadows grew longer. She could hear voices at the end of the alley, and her hiding spot behind the garbage bins wasn't a very good one. It wasn't the sort of place that people would expect to find her, but that didn't mean very much these days.
"You take that direction," she heard a rough voice say clearly. "I'll check these parts. I'm sure if there's anything to find, we'll find it."
Pressing her lips together, Katie managed to keep herself from shivering too hard. She didn't want to make any noise, but the footsteps came closer and closer. Just when she thought she would be caught, there was the sound of air rushing past and then a dull thud. Cracking her eyes open, she saw the glassy eyes of a man a few feet away staring at her. Beside him was a figure checking that he was dead.
Katie looked up into the eyes of Marcus Flint, and she wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.
"I thought you said you'd stopped working as an informant," he said quietly, moving to her side.
"I thought you said you wouldn't help me," Katie replied in a shaky voice. She accepted his help in standing and was engulfed in his arms. "Marcus," she whispered, clinging to him.
"I almost wasn't here," he said, voice rough with emotion. "You need to stop."
"I can't," she whispered, shaking her head. "There's so much that still needs to be done..."
"Why does it have to be you?" he asked, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. "Why can't it be someone else?"
"Because no one ever believes a little girl like me can make a difference," Katie said, bitterness in her tone. "They think I'm still broken, I'm still useless, still someone they can push around. I need to know that it's not true."
"It's not," Marcus insisted. He ran his fingers across her cheeks and lower lip. "Come home with me, Katie. At least for a little while. If you have to leave again, we'll deal with it then."
Nodding, Katie wrapped her arms around him and let him apparate them back to his flat. She'd been there twice before, each time after he had rescued her from some debacle. It was getting to be something of a habit, but it was a pleasant one, all things considered. Katie wasn't willing to let him go.
He drew a bath for her, and Katie stripped off the torn clothing and thin cloak she was wearing. It hadn't occurred to her to be shy or hide herself from his gaze. Marcus looked at her hungrily; it had been nearly two months since he had last seen her.
Their mouths crashed together in a tangle of lips and tongues and teeth, all desperation and loneliness and lust. Marcus ran his hands down her back and then touched her breasts, rolling the nipple between his fingers. Katie moaned and leaned into his touch, her hands moving to remove his clothing. He helped yank off his shirt and trousers, then picked her up in his arms and brought her to the bath. He stepped into the tub with her, then lowered himself on top of her carefully. It was warm all around them, and they traced the lines and curves of each others' bodies as their mouths melded together. Katie let out a sigh of relief when Marcus slid his length into her, one of his hands on her hip and the other braced against the side of the tub. She locked her ankles around his waist and traced the muscles of his back beneath her fingertips. She had missed this, had forgotten how good his touch could be.
Marcus moved slowly and deliberately, advance and retreat, filling her and then sliding almost all the way out to tease her. "Faster," she pleaded, tightening her legs around his waist. "More, Marcus, please..."
He kissed her jaw and thrust harder. "Merlin, Katie," he growled as she tightened around him. He groaned and moved faster. It had been too long since they had last been together, and there was no one else he wanted. "You can't leave again. You can't."
She wanted to promise him that, she really did. But she came with a cry and couldn't answer as she nearly convulsed beneath him. Marcus arched his back, eyes shut tight as his own orgasm washed over him. He carefully collapsed on top of her, his weight pinning her to the tub. "Katie," he whispered when he could speak again, pushing her damp hair from her face.
Katie turned to him, a lie on her lips, but it died at the look in his eyes. He wanted her to stay so badly, but he wouldn't beg her to. As much as he didn't understand her constant need to prove herself in this war, he wouldn't hold her back if that was what she really wanted. He deserved better than a ghost slipping in and out of his bed. "Is there any other way, then?" she asked quietly, cupping his face with one hand. "Can I still help the Resistance and stay safe?"
"We can figure it out if you want to," he answered.
"I do," she said, meaning it. The truth shone in her eyes, and Marcus relaxed above her. "We'll figure it out."
"Roghan Badam." Crossover, Torchwood/Highlander, Captain Jack Harkness/Methos, almond oil.
Methos had retreated into a different alias, one that owned a natural health foods store. It was perfectly ordinary, not a place where anyone remotely connected to the Game could find him. He didn't have to think, and he could use some of the esoteric knowledge he had amassed over the centuries without looking strange.
"Well. This is an interesting change for you."
Methos turned at the sound of the familiar voice. He quirked a smile at the man standing in front of him. He wore a long trench coat, trousers, button down shirt and bracers. "I see you really do stick with a style that works for you, no matter what the time period."
"It's a classic," Jack Harkness replied with an easy grin. "This is very different from being an informant," he said, taking a look through the store. "Much safer, I'd bet."
"If you're here, I wouldn't be so sure," Methos said in a dry tone.
Jack laughed and picked up a bottle from the shelf. "Almond oil. How is this an alternative medicine thing?"
"It's helpful for the brain and nervous system, and can boost the immune system. For thousands of years, that's been used to stimulate the intellect and help maintain longevity. It also figured you'd find something considered an aphrodisiac," he added with a laugh.
"You're kidding," Jack replied with a smile, putting it back on the shelf.
"It's used as a massage oil or people drink it." Methos shrugged. "People have always had odd beliefs about that sort of thing."
"Do they really?" Jack asked, coming back to walk up to Methos. "Have you tried it?"
"I've tried just about everything in this store," Methos hedged.
"So... Massage oil or drink? Which works better for the libido?"
"Knowing you? Either one would do."
Jack laughed, delighted. He reached out and ran his fingers along the inside of Methos' wrist. "Care to give it a try?"
Methos shook his head ruefully. "What are you really doing here?"
"I can't visit an old friend?"
Lofting an eyebrow, Methos merely stared at him.
Jack laughed again. "Okay, okay. I'm hiding from someone. Mind if I stay here?"
"Is this going to be like Vienna?" Methos asked with a sigh. "I like my shop, Harkness. This is a nice little life. Don't fuck it up for me."
He moved into Methos' space, liking that the other immortal didn't back down. "How about I make it worth your while? Test that almond oil theory?" Jack pulled Methos right up against him. "Come on. It's been years."
Methos sighed. "It is close to closing time..."
"And not a customer in sight," Jack teased. "We can entertain each other."
"Why is it that I never run you off?" Methos asked, shaking his head as he locked up his shop.
"Admit it," Jack said, molding himself to Methos' back and running his lips over the outer edge of his ear. "A little spice once in a while is a good thing. And I'm as spicy as they come."
Methos laughed. "You're such a bastard sometimes, Harkness." He let out a soft sigh as Jack's hands slid beneath his jeans. "Jack."
"Take those off. I can't wait to try that oil on you."
"You're definitely not in need of an aphrodesiac."
"So glad you've noticed. Let's use it anyway."
Laughing, they did just that.
"Visions." Push, Nick/Cassie, need, longing
He had known her since she was thirteen. Cassie was twenty now and just as mouthy as she had been back then. Nick had tried to think of her as a little sister figure, but it just didn't work out that way. He couldn't help but notice her or think of her laughing. Sometimes his dreams turned down a decidedly nonsisterly path, and he would wake up in a sweat. Nick hoped that Cassie didn't know which way his thoughts had turned, because he didn't want her thinking of him as some kind of dirty old man. Of course, he was ten years older than her and hadn't dated seriously in the entire time they've known each other.
She was wearing a skimpy outfit in the Guatemalan heat, not seeming to care that everyone was ogling the expanse of pale skin that was on display. Nick pretended that he didn't notice it, that it wasn't burned into his brain. He pretended he didn't need her, that this wasn't a romantic kind of love. He pretended he didn't wish he knew what her lips tasted like, what she sounded like when she came. He pretended that they were just friends, coworkers bent on taking down Division. He couldn't afford to have her run from him because he couldn't keep it in his pants. He couldn't afford to be alone again. He didn't know how to function like that anymore. He wanted the bright colors in her hair and the whimsical prints on her clothes. He wanted her scribbled drawings in gel pens and the occasional cryptic comments. He wanted to catch her when she stumbled and fell after drinking too much to bring the visions on, and he wanted to breathe in the scent of her.
This was fucked up, but he couldn't leave. He was trapped by his own tangled feelings, by his inability to leave her behind.
"You're thinking serious thoughts," Cassie said, tossing one of her pens at him. She had at least six of them still tucked into her hair, pinning it up and off of her neck. His eyes tracked the slope of it, imagining what her skin tasted like, imagining the soft sigh she would make if he ran his hands along it.
Nick passed her back the pen. "No, nothing serious."
"I'm sure it won't be too much longer before we can make a move, Nick," she said with a careless shrug. It was still graceful, and Nick's eyes were caught by the bright pink straps of her cami. It was such a thin scrap of fabric, really. Between that and the denim shorts that fell a few inches above her knees, there was very little left to his imagination.
Well, his imagination had filled in the blanks many, many times over already.
She leaned into him, and Nick had a nearly perfect view down the front of her cami. "You worry too much," she said quietly. "You think too much. Sometimes that keeps you from doing what you really ought to do."
He blinked and felt as if he was half asleep. "Oh? And what should I be doing?"
"You're a Mover, Nick. So Move."
He shook his head. "I use the talents that way and Division will have something to track. We can't take that chance."
Cassie sighed and patted his knee then got up. "Don't you think I'd have a vision of them coming first? I'm very good at Seeing them a few moves ahead now. I can understand them a lot better, and I can pick and choose which ones I See."
Somehow that wasn't as comforting as she meant it to be, and Nick stayed where he was. It was a dingy rat trap of a motel, but the rooms were clean enough to spend time in. Cassie's Spanish was better than his, though it was improving every day. He knew more than cerveza now, at least.
He watched her walk across the courtyard, stretching her arms over her head. It lifted her breasts high, and Nick swallowed uneasily. Her hips sashayed as she walked, then she looked at him over her shoulder. He hoped he didn't look as gobsmacked as he felt. Looking around for anything to take his mind off of the sight, he noted her sketchbook. He hadn't looked in it recently, and he snatched it up as if his life depended on it. He didn't need to be looking at how her legs stretched out as she walked around in her sandals. He already had the curve of her spine memorized, the odd tilting smile that she had when she looked at him. Nick didn't need any more ammunition for his fantasies.
Her drawings were as crude as ever, but there was still no mistaking some of her drawings. Several were of a man and woman entwined in various sexual positions; the woman had colored streaks in her hair and the man had a scar along the inside of his forearm just where Nick had his.
"Oh, fuck," he breathed, looking at the drawings. They were exactly what some of his thoughts had been.
"This is the idea, genius," Cassie said with a sarcastic drawl, leaning over him. She had come back to where he was sitting outside of their room while he was looking at the sketchbook, and he had been so engrossed in the drawings that he hadn't seen her come back. "You can be really hard headed sometimes, you know that? I've been leaving you clues for years, Nick."
His mouth opened and closed, and he wasn't able to make a coherent comment. "Cassie..."
She plucked the book from his nerveless hands and tossed it aside before straddling his waist and putting her arms around his shoulders. "I've had the same thoughts about you, Nick. I'm tired of waiting for you to make a move."
"I'm ten years older than you are."
"You say that like it's a bad thing." Her lips quirked into that sarcastic smile that she always seemed to have around him. "That means we're the same age emotionally."
Nick laughed, he couldn't help it. Cassie leaned in to kiss him, her mouth hot and open over his. She rolled her hips over his, and Nick could feel his body waking up. God, the last thing he needed was for everything to stand at attention just when he wasn't quite ready to do anything about it. She shimmied against him, her breasts rubbing at his chest through the thin layers separating them. Nick couldn't breathe, since he could feel her pert breasts as if there were no layers at all. Her nipples were peaked and ready for him to touch, if only he would move his hands from his sides and put them there.
With an impatient sigh, Cassie took his hands and brought them up to her breasts. "You're a little slow on the uptake, Nick."
"Cassie. We shouldn't..."
"I've had visions of this for years, Nick," she whispered as she leaned down to kiss him again. "I think I only just got it that the one to make the first move is me."
He kneaded her breasts and his tongue slid into her mouth. He couldn't help himself, really, because she felt good and tasted like strawberries. "Are you sure?" he asked, a last ditch effort to try to be a good guy.
She rocked against him, her thigh rubbing him through his shorts. Nick groaned and let his head fall back. They were the only ones in the courtyard, and it was painfully obvious what they were doing if someone walked by. "So damn sure it hurts, Nick," Cassie breathed, rocking against him. His breath caught and the shorts felt too tight. She kept up that same steady rhythm, not pulling away. Her mouth was against his temple, her hands on his shoulders for balance. Cassie took his earlobe between her lips and ran her tongue along its edge, hearing him moan a little. "I've had so many visions," Cassie whispered, rocking her hips a little faster against him. Nick made a strangled noise and pulled at her rear, clutching her close and trying to get her to speed up. "I want them all," she said, her voice low and insistent. "I need this, Nick. I need you."
It was enough to get Nick to come with a grunt, arching his hips up against her. Cassie's breath was fast, her eyes blown wide with desire. Nick pushed her back slightly to cup her face in his hands. "If this happens, there's no going back and saying you regret it."
"That goes for you, too," Cassie agreed, locking eyes with him. "I know I won't regret it."
Nick Moved the door to their room open and carried her inside. He didn't plan to leave for hours. There were quite a few visions to go through, after all.
"Scars." Pitch Black, Carolyn Fry/Riddick, survival, cover
Carolyn shouldn't be this close to him. She shouldn't depend on him. Riddick had thought she was dead and left that godforsaken rock of a planet, and it had taken years for her to recover from nearly dying. She was older now, supposedly wiser, and he didn't recognize her face. The hair was longer and darker, there were some lines on her face and scars all over her back and abdomen. While she had never been terribly vain before, now she absolutely didn't reveal any skin. She was no longer a pilot, but taught at an academy. It was the best compromise she could have made, but it still left her feeling hollow inside.
Riddick was being hailed as a god, and she had to come see him. It was impossible not to remember him, though she had tried to forget. Carolyn told herself she wasn't sentimental, that she was glorifying his memory because he had gone back to save the others even if he had left her behind. He couldn't have known she wasn't dead. She remembered what those creatures had done to everyone else when the lights went out.
His eyes rolled past her and didn't see her, and she let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. He didn't remember her. He didn't recognize her. Maybe that would be enough to make the dreams stop. Maybe now she could be free of that place.
That night she startled awake. She lived alone and rarely socialized. Few people knew where she lived, and she liked it that way. Now she was regretting that decision; though she couldn't say why exactly, she knew she wasn't alone in her room any longer. There was nothing about the shadows that were different, but she knew someone was in the room with her.
"Is someone there?" she asked, her voice more tremulous than she hoped it would be.
"I never thought I'd smell that kind of beautiful again," Riddick rasped, that deep voice reverberating inside Carolyn's chest.
She had only been fooling herself. She would never be free of his memory.
The shadows shifted and he rose from the foot of her bed. He crawled over her, the covers pressing down over her, trapping her beneath him. "I thought you died," he said softly.
"For a long time, I thought I would, too."
She could remember the rain, the taste of those creatures' blood, the feel of their flesh in her mouth. She'd been a wreck when a scout ship picked up on the distress signals and found her, but she had still been alive. Just barely, but still alive. No one else would have understood that, but Riddick would. He had always understood things like that.
They stared at each other in silence for a long time. Both were comfortable with silence, and neither wanted to be the one to break first.
It was Carolyn that moved first, pulling her hand out of her blankets and covering his cheek. She rubbed her thumb along the edge of his lower lip, seeing the shine in his eyes. He took the pad of her thumb between his teeth, running his tongue along her skin. His eyes never left her face, and she wished she could read him. Carolyn had never been able to predict him or understand why he did the things he did. He was a killer, of that she was sure. Everything else was a mystery.
Riddick gradually lowered himself over her, her thumb still in his mouth. His weight was braced on one hand, and he placed his hand at her back, between her shoulder blades. She was wearing a very thin nightdress, and she wondered if he could feel the scars there. She didn't want to ask him, didn't want to break this spell. If they didn't speak, she could pretend this was just a dream.
He lifted her up to meet him, and he let go of her thumb to kiss her. It was rough and possessive, just as she remembered. Carolyn wrapped her arms around his shoulders and made a soft sound low in her throat at the sensation. It felt almost like floating at first, and then the covers pressed too tightly against her. She was pinned, and the panic set in. She kicked at the covers to try to get them off of her. Riddick lowered her back to the bed and tossed them aside, then pushed the nightdress up from her legs. Carolyn froze when he bared her scars, not sure if she should run.
His fingers fell to the twisted tissue, stroking them carefully. She nearly wanted to cry, and she bit her lip to keep from covering herself back up. Riddick looked back up at her, taking in her trembling lips and agonized expression. Deliberately, he pulled off the nightdress and then bent his head down to lick and kiss the scars covering her body. Carolyn let out a choked sob and pushed at his shoulders, but she couldn't get him to move. His lips were gentle against the delicate scar tissue, as if they were fresh and would break under too much pressure. She hated them, hated the reminder at how close she had come to death. She hated thinking of herself as weak.
Riddick found the matching scars on her back, and Carolyn let out a low sound. It sounded more like a wounded animal than a person, and Carolyn could remember the taste of her own fear in the dark on that planet.
"I would have ripped them all apart if I had known," he said, lips poised over the scars between her breasts. "I never would have left you there. I should have known."
Something in her chest broke at those words, and she could feel the tears burn along her cheeks. He hadn't forgotten. Whatever it was between them, he had felt it, too.
Licking the tears from her cheeks, Riddick moved over Carolyn, pinning her to the bed. It was small and narrow, not the kind of bed that was shared. He felt massive above her, and Carolyn could feel the dark closing in. Choking on the ghostly feeling of pain in her chest, she twisted beneath him and tried to push him away. He moved back, watching her closely. She couldn't say anything, couldn't meet his eyes. Hyperventilating, all she could taste was blood of those creatures.
"We all pay something to survive, Carolyn," Riddick said, entirely too understanding for her comfort.
Carolyn sat up, not able to meet his eyes. His fingers traced the scars on her back, and when she didn't push him away he touched the thick scars on her front. She was pinned between his hands, his lips at her shoulder. This she could tolerate. This didn't feel like anything other than it was, Riddick mysteriously in her life again and upending everything she had ever known about herself.
Twisting in his grasp, Carolyn held him as he moved to run his lips along her chest. He traced the scars with lips and tongue and fingertips, making her gasp and shudder. She pushed at his clothes, baring his chest to her touch. Wordlessly, he helped her undress him, then he pulled her on top of him. Absurdly grateful, she straddled his waist and looking into those shimmering eyes of his. "What did I pay, Riddick?" she asked, her hands spread across his muscled chest.
"The last of your illusions," he said, pulling her down so that he could thrust into her. She gasped, nails raking welts across his chest. His hands were at her back, steadying her until she found a rhythm. Then he palmed one breast, a swirl of scar tissue replacing a nipple. He rubbed at the skin gently, abrading the scars, making her moan. She hadn't thought she could still feel pleasure from that kind of touch. She had thought she was dead and numb to that.
Carolyn gave herself up to the sensations rolling through her, rocking hard and fast over Riddick. This was what they should have had years ago, if those alien creatures hadn't stolen the time from her. She might have cursed herself for it later, might have thought she was even more callous and soulless than she had already thought herself to be. But he was right; it was in dragging herself from the brink of death that she had really learned who she was. She had been willing to do anything to survive, anything at all.
She cried out when she came, and Riddick urged her to continue. He was still thick and hard inside her, all too real as he stroked her body. He touched her scars reverently, and she supposed they were badges of honor. She had survived something terrible and come through it. She was still here, still alive, and at the moment she was gloriously alive.
When Carolyn nearly collapsed, Riddick slid out of her and urged her onto her back again. This time he leaned back and away from her torso, somehow knowing that she couldn't be pressed in or caged. He drove into her repeatedly, moving hard and fast, his hands tight as bands over hers. They were pinned on either side of her head, but she didn't feel trapped in the slightest. She looked up into his intense gaze and surged upward to meet his thrusts. His breath was quick, his grunts barely audible. Carolyn was loud in the darkness, not caring if Riddick liked the sounds of her passion or not. She nearly screamed when she came, tight around him. He let out another grunt and stiffened above her, then blew out a long breath.
As difficult as it was on her narrow bed, he did his best to fall to the side of her. She appreciated that, and ran her hands along his face. "Riddick? Are you staying?"
"Are you offering?"
"I don't know what I'm offering."
"I've got weird shit going on right now," he said, which wasn't much of an explanation at all. "Do you really need to be here?"
She thought of teaching, of the life she had carefully built for herself. It was empty, really. It was a house of cards waiting to tumble.
Riddick watched her closely as she thought about it, not pressuring her in the slightest. "I don't have anywhere else to go," Carolyn said finally.
"Do you want to be a queen?" he asked. He wasn't teasing her, and Carolyn didn't think he would be that kind of man anyway.
"Of what?"
"Of the dead." He shrugged at her incredulous stare. "Long story."
"There's enough dead in my life," Carolyn told him quietly.
"Yeah. There's that."
He was offering her something she couldn't quite grasp. "You're lonely, aren't you?" she asked suddenly.
"Aren't you?"
She wanted to tell him no, but that would be a lie. "I'm tired, Riddick."
He pulled her against him, and she settled over his chest. His heart beat strong and sure beneath her ear. "Rest, then."
"Will you be here in the morning?" she asked in a small voice.
"If you want me to be."
Carolyn couldn't tell if he cared one way or another, his voice was so flat. "I'd like it if you were."
Riddick's arms settled heavily around her, but she felt almost comfortable. "Then I will be."
For the first time in years, there were no nightmares of the dark.
"Learning To Relax." Underworld, Selene/Michael, bullets
Selene checked the clip of her semiautomatic grimly. She had a full clip with one in the chamber, three at her waist and two incendiary grenades. There was one last nest of feral werewolves to clear out, and the odds of flushing them all out were high. Killing them all might be a problem. If even one escaped into a nearby village, the problem would start all over again. Michael was on the other side of the nest, and their plan was to come in on either side, then kill all of the werewolves. It would be one thing if these were intelligent enough to reason with. But these were descended from a survivor of the castle, so there was no talking. It would be about bullets and lots of them.
She didn't think about how easy it was to kill as she charged forward. She was a death dealer. It was what she knew, what she had done for far too long. Covered in blood and gore at the end of the battle, she was down to half a clip left. Michael was laughing beside her, blood all over his naked chest. Fighting might not have been what he originally wanted to do with his life, but he had taken to it really well.
"I think we got them all," she said in crisp tones, looking at the wasteland around them.
Michael pulled her close and kissed her, not caring about the blood that coated them. "So we're done. We're finally done."
Selene allowed a smile then. "Yes, I think we're finally done."
They were staying in an abandoned farmhouse. There was no electricity in it and an old water pump outside. Neither of them bothered with the pump. There was a small lake beyond the barn, and they headed straight there. Dawn was coming, and it was quiet on the property as they dove into the water. It didn't matter that the leather was ruined, that some of it was shredded. If the feral wolves were gone, they didn't have to worry about the countryside. They could stop and rest and figure out what to do with themselves.
Michael grasped Selene in the water, rubbing the dried blood from her skin. He pressed his lips against her temple, holding her close. "You know, I like it here. Quiet, isolated. A great place to relax. No one checking in on us, no one to run from..."
She smiled and scrubbed at his skin as well. "I don't know how to relax, Michael."
"I'll teach you," he said, lips curling into a smile.
His kiss was tender as he grasped her face in his hands. She wrapped her arms around him, tracing the muscles beneath his skin. She had almost lost him too many times. It would be nice to slow down and not worry about death anymore.
Michael's hands roamed over her body, teasing her with his light touch. One hand dipped below the water and tangled between her thighs, tracing her. "Sh... Relax," he admonished when she tried to reach down to stroke him in turn. "Let me take care of you first."
It was hard not to try to wrest control from him or pull him toward the shore and push him onto his back. Selene gasped at his touch, at the slide of his fingers against her. He picked her up and out of the water enough to fix his mouth to her collarbone, to shower kisses along the tops of her breasts. He coaxed an orgasm out of her, then cradled her slowly and pushed her to the edge of the water. He kissed her and lifted her hips to his, pushing into her waiting heat as the sun came up. Michael's strokes were slow and sure, unhurried. He filled her, his mouth over hers. Selene tried to pull him closer, but he resisted and smiled against her mouth. "Savor this," he said, running his teeth over her lip. "Let go."
Selene wasn't used to that, and had to forcibly loosen her grip on his waist. He laughed at her mulish expression, then layered kisses all over her face. She responded enthusiastically, as she usually did, twisting around beneath him and threading her fingers through his hair. Michael continued to go slowly, but he was too far gone and came before he meant to. With a soft sigh, he shifted position so that he could push his fingers into her wet heat. He mouthed her breasts, one after the other, his fingers inside her and his thumb rubbing at her clit. Selene gasped, eyes sliding shut as she finally gave herself over to the sensations flooding through her. She lost count of how many times Michael made her come, but she was finally loose limbed and boneless. He had to carry her back into the farmhouse and lay her down on the bed.
The sunlight streamed in, falling over them. She still wasn't used to the sunlight, and she smiled softly. "So this is relaxing, then?"
Michael smiled. "I think it is."
"Then I might just have to do this more often."
"Sounds like a plan," he told her with a grin, leaning in for a kiss.