day eleven: this is heaven to no one else but me - claire/valenti - lost/roswell - fanfiction
Title: this is heaven to no one else but me
Rating: PG
Fandom: Lost/Roswell
Pairing: Claire/Valenti
Characters: Claire Littleton, Jim Valenti
Word Count: 788
Spoilers: general for both series.
Summary: i'm drunk on my desire, but i love the way you smile at me (Elsewhere by Sarah McLachlan) Jim sees a familiar face at a bar one night.
Note: Day eleven of my 25 Fics In 25 Days Challenge. Written for princess_vevay, who requested Claire/Valenti to the prompt "baby it's cold outside".
Warnings: implied sexual content.
Originally Posted: 11th December, 2007
His eyes land on her practically as soon as she enters the bar. He almost drops his guitar - fuck, it’s been five years since he last saw her; the night of her death. He still remembers it like it were yesterday.
Once they finish up “If I had a million dollars” (which had apparently become their signature number over the years), he signals to the other boys that he’s calling it a night and heads over to the bar. He orders a beer before sliding into the stool next to her.
She barely even glances at him, and he can’t say he isn’t a little hurt, but he pushes it into the back of his mind as he takes her in. Her hair is short again, even shorter than it was when he first met her, and she looks older too, but that’s to be expected.
“What are you doing here?” he asks roughly, swigging down his beer as she glances at him in confusion.
“Sir, if that’s some sort of pick-up line, not only am I extremely not interested, it’s also really bad,” she snaps at him, and he lets out a rough bark of laughter.
“Don’t play dumb Tess. What are you doing back in Roswell?”
The younger woman’s staring at him skeptically now, “I’m sorry sir, clearly you think I’m someone I’m not.” She holds out her hand, “my name’s Claire.”
He watches her suspiciously for a moment, but there isn’t a lick of dishonesty in her eyes and she does have an accent lilting her voice that’s not quite the same as Tess’s, so he takes her small hand in his own and shakes it tentatively.
“Sorry ma’am, you just look a hell of a lot like a girl I used to know,” he mutters, rubbing his hand over his stubbled face. She smiles slightly, sipping her cocktail lightly.
“That’s fine; but please, call me Claire. Ma’am makes me feel old,” she teases, brushing a stray eyelash from her cheek absently. He grins, nods, “only if you call me Jim.” Claire smiles and agrees brightly.
They sit in companionable silence for a long moment until Claire turns back to him with a darker look in her eye.
“You know, I really don’t know my way around this town yet, and it’s cold outside. Do you mind accompanying me home?” she asks briskly, her tone almost clinical. This is a bad idea, but you take her hand and follow her outside anyway.
-
You want to say you’re surprised to find her living in Michael’s old apartment, but you’re really not. You’ve realized in the past decade that fate works in twisted ways.
Her apartment is neat and clean, almost excessively so. There’s no homely feeling to it; but maybe it’s simply that she’s newly moved in you decide. She smiles tightly as she offers you a drink, bustling around the small kitchen area to make your black coffee.
You make small talk about your job at the sheriff’s department and she makes mention of her job at the Crashdown; and it’s eerie enough to make you shudder. There’s too much coincidence here, and you start to wonder if this girl isn’t really Tess, but she can’t be because Tess is dead, long gone.
After awhile the conversation dies down and her lips meet yours. She presses against you and it feels so damn good, and you can’t remember the last time you were with a woman, especially one so gorgeous. Your fingers curl in her cropped hair and hers cling to the back of your shirt, and if she moans a name against your lips that’s far too familiar for comfort, you pay it no heed. It doesn’t really matter when she’s practically squirming your lap; hell, it never really mattered in the first place.
-
It’s after, when she’s curled up in your arms that it finally clicks.
“Ava,” you murmur, and you can feel her smiling against your chest. She twists to face you and you watch her with suspicious eyes as she reaches up to touch your lips.
“Figured it out huh?” she teases gently, and you can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, but I really do go by Claire now. Have since I left this little cornball town.”
“So why’d you come back?” you ask curiously, and she shrugs.
“Probably the closest I ever came to a home, other than a messed up little island in the middle of nowhere.” You shoot her an amused look, and she rolls her eyes, “oh don’t even ask.”
She slides back against you, nuzzling her face to your neck; you wrap your arms tighter around her, and suddenly it doesn’t feel so cold anymore.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Lost/Roswell
Pairing: Claire/Valenti
Characters: Claire Littleton, Jim Valenti
Word Count: 788
Spoilers: general for both series.
Summary: i'm drunk on my desire, but i love the way you smile at me (Elsewhere by Sarah McLachlan) Jim sees a familiar face at a bar one night.
Note: Day eleven of my 25 Fics In 25 Days Challenge. Written for princess_vevay, who requested Claire/Valenti to the prompt "baby it's cold outside".
Warnings: implied sexual content.
Originally Posted: 11th December, 2007
His eyes land on her practically as soon as she enters the bar. He almost drops his guitar - fuck, it’s been five years since he last saw her; the night of her death. He still remembers it like it were yesterday.
Once they finish up “If I had a million dollars” (which had apparently become their signature number over the years), he signals to the other boys that he’s calling it a night and heads over to the bar. He orders a beer before sliding into the stool next to her.
She barely even glances at him, and he can’t say he isn’t a little hurt, but he pushes it into the back of his mind as he takes her in. Her hair is short again, even shorter than it was when he first met her, and she looks older too, but that’s to be expected.
“What are you doing here?” he asks roughly, swigging down his beer as she glances at him in confusion.
“Sir, if that’s some sort of pick-up line, not only am I extremely not interested, it’s also really bad,” she snaps at him, and he lets out a rough bark of laughter.
“Don’t play dumb Tess. What are you doing back in Roswell?”
The younger woman’s staring at him skeptically now, “I’m sorry sir, clearly you think I’m someone I’m not.” She holds out her hand, “my name’s Claire.”
He watches her suspiciously for a moment, but there isn’t a lick of dishonesty in her eyes and she does have an accent lilting her voice that’s not quite the same as Tess’s, so he takes her small hand in his own and shakes it tentatively.
“Sorry ma’am, you just look a hell of a lot like a girl I used to know,” he mutters, rubbing his hand over his stubbled face. She smiles slightly, sipping her cocktail lightly.
“That’s fine; but please, call me Claire. Ma’am makes me feel old,” she teases, brushing a stray eyelash from her cheek absently. He grins, nods, “only if you call me Jim.” Claire smiles and agrees brightly.
They sit in companionable silence for a long moment until Claire turns back to him with a darker look in her eye.
“You know, I really don’t know my way around this town yet, and it’s cold outside. Do you mind accompanying me home?” she asks briskly, her tone almost clinical. This is a bad idea, but you take her hand and follow her outside anyway.
-
You want to say you’re surprised to find her living in Michael’s old apartment, but you’re really not. You’ve realized in the past decade that fate works in twisted ways.
Her apartment is neat and clean, almost excessively so. There’s no homely feeling to it; but maybe it’s simply that she’s newly moved in you decide. She smiles tightly as she offers you a drink, bustling around the small kitchen area to make your black coffee.
You make small talk about your job at the sheriff’s department and she makes mention of her job at the Crashdown; and it’s eerie enough to make you shudder. There’s too much coincidence here, and you start to wonder if this girl isn’t really Tess, but she can’t be because Tess is dead, long gone.
After awhile the conversation dies down and her lips meet yours. She presses against you and it feels so damn good, and you can’t remember the last time you were with a woman, especially one so gorgeous. Your fingers curl in her cropped hair and hers cling to the back of your shirt, and if she moans a name against your lips that’s far too familiar for comfort, you pay it no heed. It doesn’t really matter when she’s practically squirming your lap; hell, it never really mattered in the first place.
-
It’s after, when she’s curled up in your arms that it finally clicks.
“Ava,” you murmur, and you can feel her smiling against your chest. She twists to face you and you watch her with suspicious eyes as she reaches up to touch your lips.
“Figured it out huh?” she teases gently, and you can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, but I really do go by Claire now. Have since I left this little cornball town.”
“So why’d you come back?” you ask curiously, and she shrugs.
“Probably the closest I ever came to a home, other than a messed up little island in the middle of nowhere.” You shoot her an amused look, and she rolls her eyes, “oh don’t even ask.”
She slides back against you, nuzzling her face to your neck; you wrap your arms tighter around her, and suddenly it doesn’t feel so cold anymore.