Challenge 77 and Alphabet Soup
Fandom: CSI (Las Vegas)
Pairing: Sara/Catherine (Catherine/Warwick)
Challenge: Control
Rating: NC17 (Probably) for girl-sex in a bathroom.
Word-Count: 220
Notes: This may find its way into my fic/esque for one of the cheesemongers' challenges as well. We'll see. :-)
Title:
Cherry Stem
You knew she’d go home with Warwick. You knew it, and you wanted her anyway. You’d been talking together with Nick and Brass about stuff you learned in college but not in class, and you’d showed them the trick with the cherry-stem that you could still do.
She’d come up behind you at the buffet and asked you what other tricks you could do with that tongue, and you’d got wet before you even hit the line-up for the salads.
You’d been wet for an hour before she led you into the disabled stall with that look in her eyes, and you’d groaned and arched your back when she twisted your nipples hard under your t-shirt. You’d moaned like a whore when she pushed her fingers inside you, circling your clit with her thumb. She always fucked you with her hands, never with her mouth, like she didn’t want to ruin her lipstick or maybe because she didn't like the taste of you. You’d panted like a dog for her, anyway, kneeling on the floor, your mouth pressed to her steaming cunt, aching to make her come. You’d wanted her to take you home, some sort of public statement about where her allegiance lay. You’d wanted it, but you knew she wouldn’t.
You’d fucked her anyway.
You’ve got no self-control.
*****
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand, I've had the go-ahead for Alphabet Soup: Polly/Mal. so here are my first... thirteen? :-)
Title: See individual cuts
Fandom: Monstrous Regiment (Discworld)
Pairing: Polly/Mal
Claim: Polly/Mal of Monstrous Regiment
Rating: See individual cuts
Word count: See individual cuts
The first four follow directly behind "Monochrome", which I wrote for the 'sugar' challenge.
BLACK AND WHITE BALL or: I THINK WE'RE ALONE NOW
Do You Feel the Same
I can feel her hips pressed against mine, despite the layers of silk and lace, the think velvet covering it all. I can feel the way they move as we dance, a waltz, an allemande, a gavotte.
I can feel her breath, the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the whisper of her exhalation brushing through my hair.
I can feel her heartbeat, the throb of her pulse in wrist and throat.
I can feel all of these things and more, and they drive me to distraction. I want press my mouth the pulse in her throat, to fill my eager hands with her hips, I want her breath to race at my touch.
“Get some air with me?” I murmur, my mouth brushing her ear.
“Good idea,” she whispers. She looks at me with liquid eyes, her skin flushed and glowing, and I know she feels the same.
Just Can't Get Enough
An empty balcony, with an easily snuffed lamp burning in the bracket. Polly presses Mal against the stone balustrade, tearing at her velvet jacket. Mal pulls her close, eager to taste her mouth, to touch her skin. Their breath mists in the March air, cold enough to prickle the flesh, but not cold enough to have kept them from creeping out here in the first place, burning with shared desire.
Polly’s mouth closes hungrily on Mal’s nipple, already tight from the cold. She lasps and teases it through the thin silk of Mal’ shirt, Mal’s hand tightens on the back of her neck, she breaths Polly’s name like a plea.
Polly unfastens the buttons of Mal’s velvet trousers, and she slips her hand inside. Mal gasps as Polly’s cool fingers make contact with her flesh, hot and wet, slipping over and around the nub of her clit. Mal’s hands slip over Polly’s breasts and down, cicling her waist. She leans back against the balustrade, her hips thrusting towards Polly, her breath fast and shallow, riding waves of pleasure. The waves build and crest, tumbling her into shuddering climax.
“Please,” she murmurs, her voice husky, when she gets her breath back. “Let me do that for you.”
Weak at the Knees
When Mal touches her like this, light fingers tracing whorls on her slick thighs, Mal’s tongue slipping between the folds of her slick flesh, lapping and sucking and teasing her so achingly well, it feels so good that Polly goes weak at the knees. Her legs turn to jelly and she has to grip something - the pallet cover, the door knob, Mal’s own dark hair, something, just to keep from tumbling to the ground.
She’s doing it now, hidden under the black velvet gown that Polly borrowed for the ball they’ve snuck away from, her tongue flickering fast and insatiable over Polly’s wet, quivering flesh. Her clit throbs under Mal’s mouth, and her breath comes in ragged gasps. She can feel the pressure building in her abdomen and, gripping the stone balustrade, her knuckles go white.
Very Bad Timing
”Captain!”
Every muscle in Polly’s body which, til then, had been fluttering with the beginnings of orgasm, squeezed at once. She couldn’t turn to face… whoever-he-was, not with Mal on her knees under the wide velvet skirt, not with the flush of desire suffusing her face.
“A-are you unwell?”
Polly recognized the voice. Harker. Gods, that boy had bad timing. Polly felt Mal’s cheek brush her inner thigh, and shuddered, trying to suppress the waves of pleasure rippling through her body.
A gloved hand on her bare shoulder. “You’re shaking rather a lot…”
Polly shrugged him off. “I assure you I’m fine, ensign, I just needed some air. I expect you’ve got a lady-friend wondering where the hell you’ve gone.”
Harker leaned against the balustrade, shaking his head.
“Where’s your vampire tonight, sir?”
Polly gritted her teeth. “I’m sure he’s around somewhere.” She shifted her weight, trying to ignore Mal’s breath on her lower lips. Mal appeared to be laughing. It wasn’t helping Polly’s composure. She tried to nudge Mal with her foot, and felt Mal’s tongue lapping at her salt-slick thigh.
“Harker, go back inside, that’s an order!”
“Y-yes, s-sir,” he stammered, taken aback.
But it got him out of there.
“Gods, that boy has bad timing,” an amused voice from under Polly’s skirts.
“You weren’t exactly helping.”
“I couldn’t resist.”
Mal’s hands brushed Polly’s thighs and the warm moistness of Mal’s mouth enveloped her sex. Polly groaned, hips moving involuntarily as Mal picked up where she’d left off.
*****
Moving right along...
All the Things She Likes
Polly lies under the thick wool blanket, alone in the big officers' tent. She’s waiting for Mal to come off watch.
She lies in the tent and she thinks about all the things Mal likes her to do, the way she likes her neck kissed - hard and hungry and, when Polly can bring herself to do it, with the delicate touch of teeth against her skin - and how she likes it when Polly strokes her hidden lips slowly, slowly, with her tongue. How she likes the inside of her thighs to be sucked and nibbled, how she likes her nipples touched and teased.
Polly lies in the tent, her cheeks growing flushed in the dark, looking forward to doing every single one of those things.
Behind Closed Doors
Polly has an office now. There’s even a window to let in some air, if she needs it. There are perks to being a colonel.
She wonders if she can get Mal in here under false pretences.
Oh, Mal wouldn’t be fooled for an instant. She knows that. Mal would arrive, hot and wet and ready to be fucked (if there was one thing Polly knew she could count on, it was Mal's never-flagging libido), pushing the door shut with her heel, a smirk twisting her lush, dark lips, and a suggestive lift to her eyebrow. "Did you want something?" And Polly would fall at Mal's feet and set about the delicious business of coaxing sighs and gasps and whimpers from her lips, and Mal would tangle her fingers in Polly’s hair.
No. Getting Mal in here was not the problem.
The problem was fooling the rest of high command over what they were doing behind that handily closed door.
She Changes Everything
Mal remembers the inside of the castle, the way it smelled on wet days, which was most of them. Her family had actually refused to use the castle at all the entire time she was there.
She’d eaten rats then. She ate them now.
Part of her wants to finish that thought with the words not much has changed.
But it has changed.
Now there’s a blond solider girl beside her, smiling ruefully over their shared meal of Rat Scubbo, or curling up beside her under their damp woollen blanket to help keep the chill away.
Now, Mal’s not alone.
Underneath Her Clothes
Polly never bothered with underclothes. It’s almost refreshing, really, to find someone who shares my aversion to garters and cinches and stockings with seams up the back.
Back in the bad old days, I’d drawn plenty of human girls into my snares, although I never did as much with them as I wanted to. I got quite an education on lingerie from them, though: Bloomers, and petticoats, and all manner of constricting things made of wood and silk and lace.
Tonight, when I peel back the wine-red velvet of Polly's dress, I know I'll find muscled flesh and down-soft skin. With Polly, I know there's only Polly under her clothes.
Blood Spattered Dreams
Mal presses her mouth to Polly’s throat, feels the pulse under the soft skin.
She dreams about this.
Sometimes the dreams are good dreams, dreams where it’s Polly’s mouth pressed to her throat, Polly’s teeth tearing at Mal’s eager flesh. Mal dreams of sharing herself with Polly.
Sometimes the dreams are bad - if by 'bad' she means 'causing her to wake up in a cold sweat, impossibly aroused and wishing she hadn’t opened her eyes' - those are the dreams where Polly tilts her head back, pressing Mal closer, offering her exactly what she has wanted, for years and years, to do. Those are the dreams where Mal breaks her promise, where she bends her head and pierces Polly’s sweet flesh, and drinks deeply from her throat, her wrist, her breast, her thigh.
Mal likes those dreams far too much. She wishes she didn’t have them so often.
Love Like a Drug
When Mal underwent the process of transference, she was told that the need for human blood was - as she already knew - a false need. It was an addiction and, like any other addiction, it had to be broken.
Unfortunately, the League didn’t actually try to break the addiction (possibly because vampires need to drink some sort of blood to survive), they just taught her to crave something else.
Coffee.
Mal drinks coffee at least twice a day, more when she can. Like any other drug, she craves it when it's not in her system.
Mal thinks about Polly, who she met less than two years after taking the Pledge, who saw her at her worst and didn't abandon her.
She never entertained the notion of under-going a second transference. That would have been foolish on her part, and far too dangerous for Polly. But, addicted or not, Mal has already realized she doesn’t want to live without her.
Night and Day
We are like night and day, she and I, her with her golden hair, her smile that can light the darkness, and me… dark-headed and brooding half the time and, well, naturally nocturnal if it comes to that. Sometimes I wonder what she sees in me. Opposites attract? Maybe. Sometimes I wonder why she stays.
But when we move together under the blankets, limbs tangling and bodies mingling, I’m reminded of how day and night flow together, through moments that are not quite one, not quite the other, two halves of the same whole, neither one complete without the other.
The Suplicants
Another ramshackle inn, another rented room, a single candle burning on the dresser. In the shadows, Mal traces whorls and spirals on Polly’s body with her tongue, tasting every inch of her. Polly gasps, arching her back, fingers brushing lightly over Mal’s back, her touch is gentle, reverent. It makes Mal’s breath, hot on Polly’s skin, come in gasps.
The Daughters of Nuggan perform nightly devotions, whispering prayers in candle-lit rooms, rocking on their knees.
In this darkened room two women rock together, hands and mouths moving on each other’s flesh, whispering pleas and praises. A different type of devotion.
Button by Button
In Borogravia they do not have zippers, or snaps, or the strange substance known as 'velcro', the formula for-which is known only to the Seamstress’s Guild in Ankh Morpork.
In Borogravia, it’s either buttons or laces, and each article of clothing has to be unfastened slowly, top to bottom, before it can be removed.
Mal kisses the back of Polly’s neck as she slips one jet button, then another, from its loop. She follows the path of her fingers with her mouth, kissing her way down Polly’s spine. Polly quivers under the slow touch, her breath deepening. Soon it will be her turn to undress Mal, one slow button at a time.
There’s no reason to rush this pleasure.
*****
Please give me comments. Lots and lots of comments. Tell me what you like about them, tell me what needs work. :-)
- TTFN,
- Amazon. :-)
Pairing: Sara/Catherine (Catherine/Warwick)
Challenge: Control
Rating: NC17 (Probably) for girl-sex in a bathroom.
Word-Count: 220
Notes: This may find its way into my fic/esque for one of the cheesemongers' challenges as well. We'll see. :-)
Title:
Cherry Stem
You knew she’d go home with Warwick. You knew it, and you wanted her anyway. You’d been talking together with Nick and Brass about stuff you learned in college but not in class, and you’d showed them the trick with the cherry-stem that you could still do.
She’d come up behind you at the buffet and asked you what other tricks you could do with that tongue, and you’d got wet before you even hit the line-up for the salads.
You’d been wet for an hour before she led you into the disabled stall with that look in her eyes, and you’d groaned and arched your back when she twisted your nipples hard under your t-shirt. You’d moaned like a whore when she pushed her fingers inside you, circling your clit with her thumb. She always fucked you with her hands, never with her mouth, like she didn’t want to ruin her lipstick or maybe because she didn't like the taste of you. You’d panted like a dog for her, anyway, kneeling on the floor, your mouth pressed to her steaming cunt, aching to make her come. You’d wanted her to take you home, some sort of public statement about where her allegiance lay. You’d wanted it, but you knew she wouldn’t.
You’d fucked her anyway.
You’ve got no self-control.
*****
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand, I've had the go-ahead for Alphabet Soup: Polly/Mal. so here are my first... thirteen? :-)
Title: See individual cuts
Fandom: Monstrous Regiment (Discworld)
Pairing: Polly/Mal
Claim: Polly/Mal of Monstrous Regiment
Rating: See individual cuts
Word count: See individual cuts
The first four follow directly behind "Monochrome", which I wrote for the 'sugar' challenge.
BLACK AND WHITE BALL or: I THINK WE'RE ALONE NOW
Do You Feel the Same
I can feel her hips pressed against mine, despite the layers of silk and lace, the think velvet covering it all. I can feel the way they move as we dance, a waltz, an allemande, a gavotte.
I can feel her breath, the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the whisper of her exhalation brushing through my hair.
I can feel her heartbeat, the throb of her pulse in wrist and throat.
I can feel all of these things and more, and they drive me to distraction. I want press my mouth the pulse in her throat, to fill my eager hands with her hips, I want her breath to race at my touch.
“Get some air with me?” I murmur, my mouth brushing her ear.
“Good idea,” she whispers. She looks at me with liquid eyes, her skin flushed and glowing, and I know she feels the same.
Just Can't Get Enough
An empty balcony, with an easily snuffed lamp burning in the bracket. Polly presses Mal against the stone balustrade, tearing at her velvet jacket. Mal pulls her close, eager to taste her mouth, to touch her skin. Their breath mists in the March air, cold enough to prickle the flesh, but not cold enough to have kept them from creeping out here in the first place, burning with shared desire.
Polly’s mouth closes hungrily on Mal’s nipple, already tight from the cold. She lasps and teases it through the thin silk of Mal’ shirt, Mal’s hand tightens on the back of her neck, she breaths Polly’s name like a plea.
Polly unfastens the buttons of Mal’s velvet trousers, and she slips her hand inside. Mal gasps as Polly’s cool fingers make contact with her flesh, hot and wet, slipping over and around the nub of her clit. Mal’s hands slip over Polly’s breasts and down, cicling her waist. She leans back against the balustrade, her hips thrusting towards Polly, her breath fast and shallow, riding waves of pleasure. The waves build and crest, tumbling her into shuddering climax.
“Please,” she murmurs, her voice husky, when she gets her breath back. “Let me do that for you.”
Weak at the Knees
When Mal touches her like this, light fingers tracing whorls on her slick thighs, Mal’s tongue slipping between the folds of her slick flesh, lapping and sucking and teasing her so achingly well, it feels so good that Polly goes weak at the knees. Her legs turn to jelly and she has to grip something - the pallet cover, the door knob, Mal’s own dark hair, something, just to keep from tumbling to the ground.
She’s doing it now, hidden under the black velvet gown that Polly borrowed for the ball they’ve snuck away from, her tongue flickering fast and insatiable over Polly’s wet, quivering flesh. Her clit throbs under Mal’s mouth, and her breath comes in ragged gasps. She can feel the pressure building in her abdomen and, gripping the stone balustrade, her knuckles go white.
Very Bad Timing
”Captain!”
Every muscle in Polly’s body which, til then, had been fluttering with the beginnings of orgasm, squeezed at once. She couldn’t turn to face… whoever-he-was, not with Mal on her knees under the wide velvet skirt, not with the flush of desire suffusing her face.
“A-are you unwell?”
Polly recognized the voice. Harker. Gods, that boy had bad timing. Polly felt Mal’s cheek brush her inner thigh, and shuddered, trying to suppress the waves of pleasure rippling through her body.
A gloved hand on her bare shoulder. “You’re shaking rather a lot…”
Polly shrugged him off. “I assure you I’m fine, ensign, I just needed some air. I expect you’ve got a lady-friend wondering where the hell you’ve gone.”
Harker leaned against the balustrade, shaking his head.
“Where’s your vampire tonight, sir?”
Polly gritted her teeth. “I’m sure he’s around somewhere.” She shifted her weight, trying to ignore Mal’s breath on her lower lips. Mal appeared to be laughing. It wasn’t helping Polly’s composure. She tried to nudge Mal with her foot, and felt Mal’s tongue lapping at her salt-slick thigh.
“Harker, go back inside, that’s an order!”
“Y-yes, s-sir,” he stammered, taken aback.
But it got him out of there.
“Gods, that boy has bad timing,” an amused voice from under Polly’s skirts.
“You weren’t exactly helping.”
“I couldn’t resist.”
Mal’s hands brushed Polly’s thighs and the warm moistness of Mal’s mouth enveloped her sex. Polly groaned, hips moving involuntarily as Mal picked up where she’d left off.
*****
Moving right along...
All the Things She Likes
Polly lies under the thick wool blanket, alone in the big officers' tent. She’s waiting for Mal to come off watch.
She lies in the tent and she thinks about all the things Mal likes her to do, the way she likes her neck kissed - hard and hungry and, when Polly can bring herself to do it, with the delicate touch of teeth against her skin - and how she likes it when Polly strokes her hidden lips slowly, slowly, with her tongue. How she likes the inside of her thighs to be sucked and nibbled, how she likes her nipples touched and teased.
Polly lies in the tent, her cheeks growing flushed in the dark, looking forward to doing every single one of those things.
Behind Closed Doors
Polly has an office now. There’s even a window to let in some air, if she needs it. There are perks to being a colonel.
She wonders if she can get Mal in here under false pretences.
Oh, Mal wouldn’t be fooled for an instant. She knows that. Mal would arrive, hot and wet and ready to be fucked (if there was one thing Polly knew she could count on, it was Mal's never-flagging libido), pushing the door shut with her heel, a smirk twisting her lush, dark lips, and a suggestive lift to her eyebrow. "Did you want something?" And Polly would fall at Mal's feet and set about the delicious business of coaxing sighs and gasps and whimpers from her lips, and Mal would tangle her fingers in Polly’s hair.
No. Getting Mal in here was not the problem.
The problem was fooling the rest of high command over what they were doing behind that handily closed door.
She Changes Everything
Mal remembers the inside of the castle, the way it smelled on wet days, which was most of them. Her family had actually refused to use the castle at all the entire time she was there.
She’d eaten rats then. She ate them now.
Part of her wants to finish that thought with the words not much has changed.
But it has changed.
Now there’s a blond solider girl beside her, smiling ruefully over their shared meal of Rat Scubbo, or curling up beside her under their damp woollen blanket to help keep the chill away.
Now, Mal’s not alone.
Underneath Her Clothes
Polly never bothered with underclothes. It’s almost refreshing, really, to find someone who shares my aversion to garters and cinches and stockings with seams up the back.
Back in the bad old days, I’d drawn plenty of human girls into my snares, although I never did as much with them as I wanted to. I got quite an education on lingerie from them, though: Bloomers, and petticoats, and all manner of constricting things made of wood and silk and lace.
Tonight, when I peel back the wine-red velvet of Polly's dress, I know I'll find muscled flesh and down-soft skin. With Polly, I know there's only Polly under her clothes.
Blood Spattered Dreams
Mal presses her mouth to Polly’s throat, feels the pulse under the soft skin.
She dreams about this.
Sometimes the dreams are good dreams, dreams where it’s Polly’s mouth pressed to her throat, Polly’s teeth tearing at Mal’s eager flesh. Mal dreams of sharing herself with Polly.
Sometimes the dreams are bad - if by 'bad' she means 'causing her to wake up in a cold sweat, impossibly aroused and wishing she hadn’t opened her eyes' - those are the dreams where Polly tilts her head back, pressing Mal closer, offering her exactly what she has wanted, for years and years, to do. Those are the dreams where Mal breaks her promise, where she bends her head and pierces Polly’s sweet flesh, and drinks deeply from her throat, her wrist, her breast, her thigh.
Mal likes those dreams far too much. She wishes she didn’t have them so often.
Love Like a Drug
When Mal underwent the process of transference, she was told that the need for human blood was - as she already knew - a false need. It was an addiction and, like any other addiction, it had to be broken.
Unfortunately, the League didn’t actually try to break the addiction (possibly because vampires need to drink some sort of blood to survive), they just taught her to crave something else.
Coffee.
Mal drinks coffee at least twice a day, more when she can. Like any other drug, she craves it when it's not in her system.
Mal thinks about Polly, who she met less than two years after taking the Pledge, who saw her at her worst and didn't abandon her.
She never entertained the notion of under-going a second transference. That would have been foolish on her part, and far too dangerous for Polly. But, addicted or not, Mal has already realized she doesn’t want to live without her.
Night and Day
We are like night and day, she and I, her with her golden hair, her smile that can light the darkness, and me… dark-headed and brooding half the time and, well, naturally nocturnal if it comes to that. Sometimes I wonder what she sees in me. Opposites attract? Maybe. Sometimes I wonder why she stays.
But when we move together under the blankets, limbs tangling and bodies mingling, I’m reminded of how day and night flow together, through moments that are not quite one, not quite the other, two halves of the same whole, neither one complete without the other.
The Suplicants
Another ramshackle inn, another rented room, a single candle burning on the dresser. In the shadows, Mal traces whorls and spirals on Polly’s body with her tongue, tasting every inch of her. Polly gasps, arching her back, fingers brushing lightly over Mal’s back, her touch is gentle, reverent. It makes Mal’s breath, hot on Polly’s skin, come in gasps.
The Daughters of Nuggan perform nightly devotions, whispering prayers in candle-lit rooms, rocking on their knees.
In this darkened room two women rock together, hands and mouths moving on each other’s flesh, whispering pleas and praises. A different type of devotion.
Button by Button
In Borogravia they do not have zippers, or snaps, or the strange substance known as 'velcro', the formula for-which is known only to the Seamstress’s Guild in Ankh Morpork.
In Borogravia, it’s either buttons or laces, and each article of clothing has to be unfastened slowly, top to bottom, before it can be removed.
Mal kisses the back of Polly’s neck as she slips one jet button, then another, from its loop. She follows the path of her fingers with her mouth, kissing her way down Polly’s spine. Polly quivers under the slow touch, her breath deepening. Soon it will be her turn to undress Mal, one slow button at a time.
There’s no reason to rush this pleasure.
*****
Please give me comments. Lots and lots of comments. Tell me what you like about them, tell me what needs work. :-)
- TTFN,
- Amazon. :-)