Red Lipstick - Heroes - Elle/Monica
Title: Red Lipstick
Pairing: Elle/Monica
Word Count: 972
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Originally written for dragynflies, a CEO at heroes_exchange. It's rather late! Also using a prompt from a_to_z_prompts.
Summary: On their night off from work, Elle and Monica have some girl time.
Elle sits still for her, like a blue-eyed doll. She barely blinks, with all of her usual hyperactive motion restrained at Monica's wish. Monica looks down at the selection of colours on her bedspread, all the contents of her make-up bag spilled out onto the mattress. She doesn't wear a lot of make-up herself. She thinks it makes her look funny - but she loves to see a smudge of red on her girlfriend's lips. With her pale skin and blonde hair, it makes her look like a siren.
Picking up the brightest red that she can find, Monica smiles. "Hold still," she instructs, reaching out with one hand to cup Elle's delicate chin. "Don't giggle!"
The second she says that a smile begins to twitch at Elle's lips; Monica has fun waiting a moment or two to watch her struggling to control it. "Don't watch me," Elle says. "I'll laugh if you watch."
"I can't do this with my eyes shut," Monica says. "I can try, but you might end up kinda clown-ish. Just think of something serious."
"Like what?"
"Our next mission, okay? I want you thinking up plans for it."
"You make me look romantic," Elle complains, but the smile begins to fade and the expression on her face is distracted. By the time Monica has finished they will have an in-depth plan: there's a reason that they're almost unstoppable when they work for Primatech. They make the bad guys shake, and when she's by Elle's side Monica feels like some kind of superhero - like they're strong enough to take on the whole damn world.
But not tonight.
Tonight is their night off: their cell phones have been switched off and she's given strict instructions to their co-workers not to get in touch unless the world is ending and everybody else that could handle it is maimed or dead. Even Noah Bennet had seemed rather alarmed by how serious she'd sounded. Monica thinks she could get pretty used to being a scary individual instead of having to be a scared one. She knows it's mostly because she's got Elle and her reputation behind her, but she thinks she's a fairly threatening woman in her own right. With her ability, there's nothing she can't do. No skill she can't learn.
And that's what brings her here: one behind-the-scenes show on MTV and now she's a make-up artist. She pulls the cap off of the lipstick in her hands and places it against Elle's lips, turning their pale pink a bright red. She looks like a femme fatale from an old movie: a real blonde bombshell. She struggles not to smile as Monica works like an artist with a canvas; Monica can see the tiny twitches of her mouth as she fights against the urge.
Elle's eyes close when Monica applies eye shadow to the lids, and Monica is able to take a moment to look at her, just look. Elle is beautiful from the moment she first opens her eyes in the morning to welcome a new day. She is beautiful when she doesn't mean to be, when she's doing something else, when she's kicking ass and when she's sleepily coming home with Monica after work.
When she's finished she moves in for a kiss, ready to taste those fresh strawberry lips, but Elle giggles and holds up a hand to block her. "Not until I've seen it," she says. "I've got to check you haven't made me look funny."
"Would I do that?" Monica protests, but she allows Elle to get up from the bed and pad towards the mirror at the left of the room. It is so large that it makes her feel embarassed sometimes - but Elle had insisted on it when they moved in together, and she's long since resigned herself to the fact that there's no way she can say no to Elle, not once she breaks out her pout and puppy-dog eyes.
Catching sight of herself, Elle claps her hands in delight. "I don't even look like me," she squeals, though Monica would beg to differ. She looks exactly like herself, with all of Monica's favourite bits highlighted, her eyes, her lips. It's Elle Enhanced, not Elle Replaced.
Monica leans back on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows as she smiles. "Get back over here," she instructs, but she has to give a laugh a moment later at the authority in her voice. She can't boss Elle around; nobody can. She wouldn't even want to, but she stretches one arm out to wait for Elle's hand once Elle looks back over her shoulder at her. "Please?"
"How am I supposed to resist that?" Elle complains, as she walks towards Monica as if ensnared.
Monica's hand folds around Elle's once it is offered. "That's kinda the whole point," she says as she pulls Elle onto the bed. "You're not supposed to resist it. You're supposed to give in to me and my every single whim."
"That doesn't sound exactly fair," Elle says, her bottom lip sticking out for a moment or two. Monica swoops in to catch it between her teeth, tasting the layer of red lipstick that covers it with her tongue. She pulls back again before they both start laughing, but Elle comes with her, climbing into her lap and kissing her more conventionally. Wet and warm and utterly demanding. Elle wriggles upon her before they settle into a more even rhythm: sliding together, Monica's hand creeping between them to add a higher friction.
"You're going to smudge your lipstick," Monica complains, but it's half-hearted and the words are muffled against the slide of Elle's mouth.
Elle laughs against her skin. "'That's kinda the whole point', silly," she quotes in a laughable imitation of Monica's accent, before she kisses Monica in a way that makes them both stop talking completely.
Pairing: Elle/Monica
Word Count: 972
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Originally written for dragynflies, a CEO at heroes_exchange. It's rather late! Also using a prompt from a_to_z_prompts.
Summary: On their night off from work, Elle and Monica have some girl time.
Elle sits still for her, like a blue-eyed doll. She barely blinks, with all of her usual hyperactive motion restrained at Monica's wish. Monica looks down at the selection of colours on her bedspread, all the contents of her make-up bag spilled out onto the mattress. She doesn't wear a lot of make-up herself. She thinks it makes her look funny - but she loves to see a smudge of red on her girlfriend's lips. With her pale skin and blonde hair, it makes her look like a siren.
Picking up the brightest red that she can find, Monica smiles. "Hold still," she instructs, reaching out with one hand to cup Elle's delicate chin. "Don't giggle!"
The second she says that a smile begins to twitch at Elle's lips; Monica has fun waiting a moment or two to watch her struggling to control it. "Don't watch me," Elle says. "I'll laugh if you watch."
"I can't do this with my eyes shut," Monica says. "I can try, but you might end up kinda clown-ish. Just think of something serious."
"Like what?"
"Our next mission, okay? I want you thinking up plans for it."
"You make me look romantic," Elle complains, but the smile begins to fade and the expression on her face is distracted. By the time Monica has finished they will have an in-depth plan: there's a reason that they're almost unstoppable when they work for Primatech. They make the bad guys shake, and when she's by Elle's side Monica feels like some kind of superhero - like they're strong enough to take on the whole damn world.
But not tonight.
Tonight is their night off: their cell phones have been switched off and she's given strict instructions to their co-workers not to get in touch unless the world is ending and everybody else that could handle it is maimed or dead. Even Noah Bennet had seemed rather alarmed by how serious she'd sounded. Monica thinks she could get pretty used to being a scary individual instead of having to be a scared one. She knows it's mostly because she's got Elle and her reputation behind her, but she thinks she's a fairly threatening woman in her own right. With her ability, there's nothing she can't do. No skill she can't learn.
And that's what brings her here: one behind-the-scenes show on MTV and now she's a make-up artist. She pulls the cap off of the lipstick in her hands and places it against Elle's lips, turning their pale pink a bright red. She looks like a femme fatale from an old movie: a real blonde bombshell. She struggles not to smile as Monica works like an artist with a canvas; Monica can see the tiny twitches of her mouth as she fights against the urge.
Elle's eyes close when Monica applies eye shadow to the lids, and Monica is able to take a moment to look at her, just look. Elle is beautiful from the moment she first opens her eyes in the morning to welcome a new day. She is beautiful when she doesn't mean to be, when she's doing something else, when she's kicking ass and when she's sleepily coming home with Monica after work.
When she's finished she moves in for a kiss, ready to taste those fresh strawberry lips, but Elle giggles and holds up a hand to block her. "Not until I've seen it," she says. "I've got to check you haven't made me look funny."
"Would I do that?" Monica protests, but she allows Elle to get up from the bed and pad towards the mirror at the left of the room. It is so large that it makes her feel embarassed sometimes - but Elle had insisted on it when they moved in together, and she's long since resigned herself to the fact that there's no way she can say no to Elle, not once she breaks out her pout and puppy-dog eyes.
Catching sight of herself, Elle claps her hands in delight. "I don't even look like me," she squeals, though Monica would beg to differ. She looks exactly like herself, with all of Monica's favourite bits highlighted, her eyes, her lips. It's Elle Enhanced, not Elle Replaced.
Monica leans back on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows as she smiles. "Get back over here," she instructs, but she has to give a laugh a moment later at the authority in her voice. She can't boss Elle around; nobody can. She wouldn't even want to, but she stretches one arm out to wait for Elle's hand once Elle looks back over her shoulder at her. "Please?"
"How am I supposed to resist that?" Elle complains, as she walks towards Monica as if ensnared.
Monica's hand folds around Elle's once it is offered. "That's kinda the whole point," she says as she pulls Elle onto the bed. "You're not supposed to resist it. You're supposed to give in to me and my every single whim."
"That doesn't sound exactly fair," Elle says, her bottom lip sticking out for a moment or two. Monica swoops in to catch it between her teeth, tasting the layer of red lipstick that covers it with her tongue. She pulls back again before they both start laughing, but Elle comes with her, climbing into her lap and kissing her more conventionally. Wet and warm and utterly demanding. Elle wriggles upon her before they settle into a more even rhythm: sliding together, Monica's hand creeping between them to add a higher friction.
"You're going to smudge your lipstick," Monica complains, but it's half-hearted and the words are muffled against the slide of Elle's mouth.
Elle laughs against her skin. "'That's kinda the whole point', silly," she quotes in a laughable imitation of Monica's accent, before she kisses Monica in a way that makes them both stop talking completely.