Lost Souls - The West Wing/The O.C.
Title: Lost Souls
Author: Femslashqueen
Fandom: The O.C./The West Wing
Pairing: Kirsten Cohen/Amy Gardner
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Ask me first, just so I know where it's going
Written for: The 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover Challenge
A/N: Moments of a one-night stand. Second person narrative. Slight A/U for The O.C., takes place early spring 2004, during the California 47th by-election, about three months before Ryan came into Kirsten’s life. Femslash. Title stolen from a Doves song.
Blonde hair and blue eyes, typical southern California girl if there ever was one, tall and thin, million dollar smile, she is the stuff of fantasy and she is walking over to you, hesitant, yet there is still a quiet confidence, you are smitten with her, it is an instantaneous reaction, your heart beats a little faster, you want her, now. Can only hope she wants you, you pretend not to notice the wedding ring she is sliding off as she moves closer.
+++
Her name is Kirsten Cohen, you recognize that name but can’t remember why, not that it really matters right now, her voice has a cool tone, measured and controlled. She never says more than she needs to make her point. So different from you. You like to talk; will argue passionately for hours, if only to avoid silence, she doesn’t reveal much through her body language, although you can tell despite the façade that she is nervous, scared even, it is pretty obvious that this is her first time here.
+++
She orders you a Martini, herself a triple shot of Canadian Club on the rocks, smiles and throws her drink back in one gulp before ordering another.
“Do you want to get out of here?” she asks after a while.
You smile, surprised that she made the first move.
“What about you husband?” you ask, testing her, making sure that she was for real, that she wouldn’t get scared, back out halfway through.
“What husband?” She asks coyly.
“Let’s go.”
+++
“Have you ever done this before?” you ask, already knowing the answer, her shaking hands say it all.
She says nothing but shakes her head.
You’re driving back to your hotel, the Hyatt, Newport Beach, you are thankful you are not staying with the rest of the first lady’s staff tonight.
She is silent for much of ride, “Is it normal to feel this scared.” She whispers.
“Not if you want it.” You say coolly.
“I want it, I’ve always wanted it.” She replies with a shy half-smile. “There was this one time in college, I almost did but I was already married.”
“Are you still married or is the ring you are hiding in your bra just for show?” you ask.
“Still married,” she says looking away from you.
“Why are you here then?” you ask.
“He’s having an affair, with a co-worker.” she says her voice cracking ever-so-slightly.
“I’m sorry.” You reply hoping it comes off as sincere, revenge fucks are always fabulous; you don’t want to ruin your chances now.
“Me too.” She says dryly.
+++
For someone who has never done this before far more comfortable than you initially expected, after a few hesitant pecks she parts her lips, full and red and lets her tongue brush against yours, she kisses you desperately, hungrily and you savor the taste of her tongue, the feel of her fingers brushing against your skin, the wild look in her eyes as passion overtakes her, the smell of sweat and French perfume, the sound of her breath in your ear as she kisses your neck.
You fumble for the zipper on her green cocktail dress and she unbuttons your red silk shirt.
+++
You don’t care in this moment what her husband’s name is or the name of his mistress, if she has children, weather or not she likes Van Morrison, the guilt she’ll inevitably feel come morning all you can think about is kissing her, taunting her, making her scream for you love to be in control, making someone else scream your name is a turn-on. You slide the straps of her dress down, she has an incredible body, if she has had children her pert breasts and taut stomach don’t show it, her skin here is a pale and slightly freckly, a stark contrast to her tan limbs, you kiss her stomach, just above her belly button and work your way upwards towards her chest as she continues to fumble with your shirt, alcohol and nerves making a seemingly simple task next to impossible.
+++
She has finally given upon trying to undo your shirt as her passion and desperation grows finally just ripping the last three buttons out of their holes, she clumsily strokes your breast through your bra as you draw languid, perfectly controlled circles over her chest, causing her to writhe underneath you, she moans to God when you finally choose to slide down her waiting body, leaving a wet trail of saliva where your tongue has traced her skin. She has stopped trying to play with your breast as you slid away from her and now her hands are grabbing wildly at your hair as turn your attention to her inner thighs, you can feel her wetness and heat through her silk panties as you suck a spot in the crease between her torso and her leg that causes her entire left leg to jerk involuntarily as she moans your name with increasing volume.
+++
You feel what could almost be described as a jolt of electricity as your tongue brushes against her clit, she still has one hand in your hair and the other braced on the wall behind her as she thrusts her hips in time with your strokes, she comes easily without you even needing to enter her, she doesn’t really say anything as she comes, just the strangled cry of release of someone who has waited far too long for this moment. You pull back from her slightly after she comes, and look up at her, from your position between her long tan legs, she has a distant, almost dreamy look on her face and you want to ask her if she is thinking about you.
+++
After a few minutes she pulls you up to her and kisses you on the lips, you are looking into her eyes and they are bearing the stereotypical dullness, almost emptiness of someone who is slowly beginning to feel the crushing sense of guilt over what they are doing but feels compelled to continue. She nibbles at your collarbone while unhooking your bra.
“Is this alright?” she asks quietly as she rolls your right nipple between her thumb and forefinger.
“Harder.” You instruct.
+++
“Deeper.” You yell as she thrusts her hand into you while rubbing her thumb lightly over your clit.
She follows the instruction and with that you come, screaming her name, your whole body shaking.
She pulls herself along side you and drapes a hand over your waist in a semi-hug, you have the sudden need to escape but you don’t, you just lay there breathing hard.
“Thank you.” She says quietly before burying her head in your shoulder and falling asleep.
+++
You make sure she is asleep before slipping out from under her, she has curled up to you, in the way that married people always do, and it is difficult to untangle yourself, you throw on a t-shirt and jeans before silently leaving the room, you know it will be easier on her if you aren’t there when she wakes-up.
+++
At least that it is what you tell yourself when you see her exiting the hotel lobby three hours later, tears streaming down her face.
Author: Femslashqueen
Fandom: The O.C./The West Wing
Pairing: Kirsten Cohen/Amy Gardner
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Ask me first, just so I know where it's going
Written for: The 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover Challenge
A/N: Moments of a one-night stand. Second person narrative. Slight A/U for The O.C., takes place early spring 2004, during the California 47th by-election, about three months before Ryan came into Kirsten’s life. Femslash. Title stolen from a Doves song.
Blonde hair and blue eyes, typical southern California girl if there ever was one, tall and thin, million dollar smile, she is the stuff of fantasy and she is walking over to you, hesitant, yet there is still a quiet confidence, you are smitten with her, it is an instantaneous reaction, your heart beats a little faster, you want her, now. Can only hope she wants you, you pretend not to notice the wedding ring she is sliding off as she moves closer.
+++
Her name is Kirsten Cohen, you recognize that name but can’t remember why, not that it really matters right now, her voice has a cool tone, measured and controlled. She never says more than she needs to make her point. So different from you. You like to talk; will argue passionately for hours, if only to avoid silence, she doesn’t reveal much through her body language, although you can tell despite the façade that she is nervous, scared even, it is pretty obvious that this is her first time here.
+++
She orders you a Martini, herself a triple shot of Canadian Club on the rocks, smiles and throws her drink back in one gulp before ordering another.
“Do you want to get out of here?” she asks after a while.
You smile, surprised that she made the first move.
“What about you husband?” you ask, testing her, making sure that she was for real, that she wouldn’t get scared, back out halfway through.
“What husband?” She asks coyly.
“Let’s go.”
+++
“Have you ever done this before?” you ask, already knowing the answer, her shaking hands say it all.
She says nothing but shakes her head.
You’re driving back to your hotel, the Hyatt, Newport Beach, you are thankful you are not staying with the rest of the first lady’s staff tonight.
She is silent for much of ride, “Is it normal to feel this scared.” She whispers.
“Not if you want it.” You say coolly.
“I want it, I’ve always wanted it.” She replies with a shy half-smile. “There was this one time in college, I almost did but I was already married.”
“Are you still married or is the ring you are hiding in your bra just for show?” you ask.
“Still married,” she says looking away from you.
“Why are you here then?” you ask.
“He’s having an affair, with a co-worker.” she says her voice cracking ever-so-slightly.
“I’m sorry.” You reply hoping it comes off as sincere, revenge fucks are always fabulous; you don’t want to ruin your chances now.
“Me too.” She says dryly.
+++
For someone who has never done this before far more comfortable than you initially expected, after a few hesitant pecks she parts her lips, full and red and lets her tongue brush against yours, she kisses you desperately, hungrily and you savor the taste of her tongue, the feel of her fingers brushing against your skin, the wild look in her eyes as passion overtakes her, the smell of sweat and French perfume, the sound of her breath in your ear as she kisses your neck.
You fumble for the zipper on her green cocktail dress and she unbuttons your red silk shirt.
+++
You don’t care in this moment what her husband’s name is or the name of his mistress, if she has children, weather or not she likes Van Morrison, the guilt she’ll inevitably feel come morning all you can think about is kissing her, taunting her, making her scream for you love to be in control, making someone else scream your name is a turn-on. You slide the straps of her dress down, she has an incredible body, if she has had children her pert breasts and taut stomach don’t show it, her skin here is a pale and slightly freckly, a stark contrast to her tan limbs, you kiss her stomach, just above her belly button and work your way upwards towards her chest as she continues to fumble with your shirt, alcohol and nerves making a seemingly simple task next to impossible.
+++
She has finally given upon trying to undo your shirt as her passion and desperation grows finally just ripping the last three buttons out of their holes, she clumsily strokes your breast through your bra as you draw languid, perfectly controlled circles over her chest, causing her to writhe underneath you, she moans to God when you finally choose to slide down her waiting body, leaving a wet trail of saliva where your tongue has traced her skin. She has stopped trying to play with your breast as you slid away from her and now her hands are grabbing wildly at your hair as turn your attention to her inner thighs, you can feel her wetness and heat through her silk panties as you suck a spot in the crease between her torso and her leg that causes her entire left leg to jerk involuntarily as she moans your name with increasing volume.
+++
You feel what could almost be described as a jolt of electricity as your tongue brushes against her clit, she still has one hand in your hair and the other braced on the wall behind her as she thrusts her hips in time with your strokes, she comes easily without you even needing to enter her, she doesn’t really say anything as she comes, just the strangled cry of release of someone who has waited far too long for this moment. You pull back from her slightly after she comes, and look up at her, from your position between her long tan legs, she has a distant, almost dreamy look on her face and you want to ask her if she is thinking about you.
+++
After a few minutes she pulls you up to her and kisses you on the lips, you are looking into her eyes and they are bearing the stereotypical dullness, almost emptiness of someone who is slowly beginning to feel the crushing sense of guilt over what they are doing but feels compelled to continue. She nibbles at your collarbone while unhooking your bra.
“Is this alright?” she asks quietly as she rolls your right nipple between her thumb and forefinger.
“Harder.” You instruct.
+++
“Deeper.” You yell as she thrusts her hand into you while rubbing her thumb lightly over your clit.
She follows the instruction and with that you come, screaming her name, your whole body shaking.
She pulls herself along side you and drapes a hand over your waist in a semi-hug, you have the sudden need to escape but you don’t, you just lay there breathing hard.
“Thank you.” She says quietly before burying her head in your shoulder and falling asleep.
+++
You make sure she is asleep before slipping out from under her, she has curled up to you, in the way that married people always do, and it is difficult to untangle yourself, you throw on a t-shirt and jeans before silently leaving the room, you know it will be easier on her if you aren’t there when she wakes-up.
+++
At least that it is what you tell yourself when you see her exiting the hotel lobby three hours later, tears streaming down her face.