Pulp Fiction #17 - Love In The Shadows
Title: Love In The Shadows
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Steph/Kate
Prompt: Lesbian Pulp Fiction #17
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 186
Batwoman’s mouth is a slash of red through the shadows. Moonlight filtered through smog, the glow from skyscraper windows sickly and weak, everything painted dim and lifeless except the curve of those lips.
Steph pushes up on tiptoes, feeling lipstick smear over her mouth as their kisses grow rougher, more hurried.
Strong hands at her waist, gripping her hard enough to feel through the armour. A thigh wedged between her own, and Steph makes a greedy noise in the back of her throat as she rides solid muscle and strength.
Steph’s hair is a washed-out grey, the purple of her Batsuit almost charcoal. She’s grown used to life in the darkness, but it’s different now.
Now she watches for a flash of vibrant scarlet, flowing hair on a man-made breeze, the flap of Batwoman’s cape. Chasing her down until she’s close enough to see the lines of Batwoman’s mouth, close enough to taste them.
Wrapped together, here in the shadows of ugly buildings that dominate the skyline, and there’s red splashed across the back of her eyelids as she moans for the sensation, for Batwoman’s touch.
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Steph/Kate
Prompt: Lesbian Pulp Fiction #17
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 186
Batwoman’s mouth is a slash of red through the shadows. Moonlight filtered through smog, the glow from skyscraper windows sickly and weak, everything painted dim and lifeless except the curve of those lips.
Steph pushes up on tiptoes, feeling lipstick smear over her mouth as their kisses grow rougher, more hurried.
Strong hands at her waist, gripping her hard enough to feel through the armour. A thigh wedged between her own, and Steph makes a greedy noise in the back of her throat as she rides solid muscle and strength.
Steph’s hair is a washed-out grey, the purple of her Batsuit almost charcoal. She’s grown used to life in the darkness, but it’s different now.
Now she watches for a flash of vibrant scarlet, flowing hair on a man-made breeze, the flap of Batwoman’s cape. Chasing her down until she’s close enough to see the lines of Batwoman’s mouth, close enough to taste them.
Wrapped together, here in the shadows of ugly buildings that dominate the skyline, and there’s red splashed across the back of her eyelids as she moans for the sensation, for Batwoman’s touch.