Fic: The Same Release (NC-17)
Title: The Same Release
Author: sabinelagrande
Summary: What she really needs is somebody who knows her.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis/House MD
Word Count: 2213
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, toys, mild D/s, spanking
Timeline: S3 on both counts (isn't it convenient how that works?): during The Return and between Lines in the Sand and Fools for Love.
Pairing: Lisa Cuddy/Elizabeth Weir
A/N: The esteemed deelaundry asked me to repost this here, and who am I to say no? Enjoy!
Her dress doesn't fit.
It cost a king's ransom, even by her standards, when she bought it. Fashion's a tool, not a goal for her- but she loved this dress. It made her look tall and graceful and stunning and incredibly sexy, just the thing to strike that balance between fitting in and standing out, just the thing to make her feel at ease.
But she's lost weight since she left, and now it just makes her look bony and pale and strung out- all of which she undoubtedly is. It's too nice to be gotten rid of- it'll go back in the closet in her mother's spare room, next to all her tailored suits and her stiletto heels and her winter clothes. She has plenty of room in the new apartment, but bringing all that stuff in will just make it feel like she's staying.
Carson is somewhere talking to someone- she thinks she saw some spiky hair go by- but it doesn't really matter. He only brought her out of fear of feeling awkward, a sense of don't leave me alone with these strangers on his part that she knows all about- and she's pretty much certain he has no idea why she's come.
The party is well attended even for a conference this size. She's still a little shocked when people recognize her, mostly people she went to some college or served at some NGO with- the deflection, the secrecy about her job is accustomed and so hollow, now that she has nothing to protect. Yet, she can't bring herself to hide from them, so she drinks her ginger ale and stands next to a particularly hideous piece of statuary.
The crowd is thinning out now, shifting in patterns that open up new clusters of people to her view- Carson is talking to a small knot of women, his easy charm in full display- a few couples still fitfully dancing to the rather lackluster band- and in the center of everything, the keynote speaker herself. Elizabeth watches her gaze flicker back to the ugly sculpture, watches her make excuses and cross the floor, strutting in that way she has, the one that says she owns the place. Her manner reminds Elizabeth absurdly of a Wraith queen; that thought really shouldn't bring on a stab of homesickness, but there it is.
“Liz,” she says, her eyes warm and crinkly like Elizabeth always thinks about them being- and nobody's called her that in years.
“Lisa,” she replies, her lips quirking upward, though she knows her smile isn't quite reaching her eyes. Lisa sees it- she always does- and Elizabeth lets herself be pulled into a hug that lasts just a little longer than it should.
“McKay's not here, is he?” Lisa asks, mockingly wary. It hurts a little- she doesn't, can't know why, of course. It's just a coincidence- the fact that the man's got a bad habit of showing up when the two of them are together- but it cuts the tension nonetheless.
They chat for a bit, mostly for appearance's sake- the party's winding down, and Elizabeth knows Lisa's saved her for last, knows that she's thought about where this might be going. They stay politely distant, but no one who could see their eyes right now could mistake what's actually going on.
It's been this way since Michigan, both of them hilariously out of place in Kappa Kappa Gamma, the power brokers turned loose amongst the pretty girls. They'd never have made it through four years of it without each other- almost didn't, on several occasions. Elizabeth can't help thinking about it now- how, twenty years and a whole galaxy later, things still seem to refuse to change.
The assistant director of the conference comes over to say goodbye to Lisa, and both of them know that's their cue. Elizabeth drifts away politely before she can be introduced, slipping over to where Carson is still holding court. One of the women looks daggers at her, and Elizabeth puts her hand on his arm out of sheer spite. All she tells him is that she's leaving with a friend; Carson gives her a chaste kiss on the cheek and lets her go with only the minimum fuss. She knows he won't bring it up to her or anyone else until or unless she does, and she's grateful for that.
Lisa is waiting for her downstairs. She offers her hand, and Elizabeth takes it without hesitation. They've long since learned how to hide in plain sight, the closeness women are afforded masking intent. Lisa's hotel is only a short walk away- Elizabeth doesn't even consider offering the apartment. She's in no hurry to see it again.
When they get to Lisa's room, Lisa sits down next to her on the bed, close but not quite touching. She doesn't actually say anything; she just looks at her expectantly, ready to push it if Elizabeth won't talk.
“I lost my job,” Elizabeth tells her, and she knows that's all she has to say. They know each other- she knows that Lisa hears the unspoken whisper of I have lost myself, knows that she'd feel the same way. And, no, Lisa could lose her work and her home and everything else and it still wouldn't be one tenth of one percent of what Elizabeth's lost, but Elizabeth knows that it would feel every ounce as devastating.
Lisa pulls Elizabeth close, tucking her face into the crook of Elizabeth's neck. Lisa's hair has always been so gorgeous, spilling everywhere in exactly the way that Elizabeth's never has. She finds herself petting it idly, letting the curls pass through her fingers unbroken.
“I need it,” Elizabeth finds herself saying, stopping, feeling Lisa's sharp intake of breath at the words. “Can you- please?”
Elizabeth knows she doesn't have to justify herself, doesn't need to explain. It's only a stopgap measure, and she knows they both know that. It's a nice place to visit, but no one can live there- there isn't any life there. And more than anything, it's an excuse, a way to pour out her grief without actually having to face it.
Lisa looks like she wants to protest, but she nods instead. She knows that what Lisa really wants is to fix her, just like she wants to fix everybody- the fact that she's not even trying says that something's happened, something that Elizabeth can neither put her finger on nor fix right now. But she also knows Lisa realizes that there isn't anyone else she'd let do this to her- for her. Lisa's only got the right because Lisa's like the other half of her.
“Take your hot dress off before we wrinkle it to death,” she says, half chiding and half playful, brushing Elizabeth's hair away from her face. Lisa helps her to do it, standing her up and unbuttoning the halter, pressing a kiss against the nape of her neck. Lisa's hands are smooth and sure, their touch on her skin a counterpoint to the slick of the material as they both slide down her body. Her palms are warm and soft as they come to rest on her small breasts, thumbs teasing over Elizabeth's nipples. Her hands are so delicate- not like Elizabeth's, which seem to stay rough no matter what she does.
She hadn't even known how far gone she was until this moment, until Lisa has to help her to step out of her clothing and her heels. She feels locked up, incapable, totally wrung out; Lisa knows it, tells it in the way she pulls her face down to kiss her mouth, the way she pets Elizabeth's hair and strokes her hand down her back.
They don't talk about it- Lisa's never been able to discuss it with a straight face, and Elizabeth would just fall to bits if that happened right now. Instead, Lisa helps her into position, hands and knees on the bed.
The first stroke of the hairbrush surprises her like it always does, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. It doesn't hurt, really, but that doesn't stop it startling her.
She's never been able to describe what this feels like. It's not about sex- except that it is- and it's not something she really needs- except when she does. Putting herself so totally in someone else's- Lisa's- hands untwists something she never realizes is knotted. The pain helps, somehow, helps focus it. She doesn't really get it- and she understands even less what Lisa gets out of it. It's a nurturing thing, she's pretty sure, tied to Lisa's pathological need to help by any means necessary.
Lisa's really working her over now, and it really is starting to hurt. She realizes she's biting her lip, every whimper and moan that escapes feeling like a self-betrayal. Despite herself, she's still desperate to keep it together, clinging to the same self-control that's got her paralyzed. She feels like she's cracking with every impact, like Lisa is going to shatter her down to nothing.
“Come on, Liz,” Lisa says, her voice sounding almost annoyed, and Elizabeth realizes she's stopped when her fingernails skate over the backs of her thighs, making her shudder and choke out a gasp. “Let it go.” She shakes her head, and Lisa snorts softly, landing a particularly hard slap right where her ass meets her thighs.
Somewhere in between one blow and the next, something passes, clicks into place, and she can't hold it in anymore. Everything- Pegasus and Simon and Ford and Grodin and everyone and everything else, right down to her fucking dress- just comes spilling, tearing out of her, wracking her body with huge sobs.
Lisa keeps going for just a few more strokes before tossing the brush away, somewhere onto the floor. Elizabeth feels herself being helped down to the bed, but she isn't really there, isn't really anything. Lisa lays down next to her, and Elizabeth all but attaches herself to her. It feels a little absurd- she's naked except her panties, but Lisa's still in a camisole and the pants from her suit- but she can't bring herself to start worrying about anything right now.
Lisa rubs her back and whispers meaningless, soothing things until she cries herself out, devolving into embarrassing little sniveling sounds before she runs it down entirely. Lisa still knows just when to get up, bring her a glass of water and a damp washcloth.
It doesn't surprise her when Lisa undresses and produces a harness from her luggage. Under any other circumstances, Elizabeth might crack a joke about her presumption; but right now she's too far gone, too compliant and soothed to do anything, the endorphins making her lightheaded and blurry. She's always thought it should bother her that all this stuff is all rolled up together, sex and relief and her persistent inability to just freak out and let go like a normal person- but just for the moment, and because it's Lisa, she gives in to it.
It's been too long, but they still know how to do this. Elizabeth hooks her legs around Lisa's waist, pulling her closer as she pushes in. The stiff sheets rub against her ass as Lisa thrusts into her, the warm pain only adding to the sensation. From the way Lisa's tensing and shaking, it's not going to take long for either of them. She slides a hand up Lisa's side, covering one of her generous, perfect breasts, stroking her own clit with the other hand. She doesn't hold back when her orgasm creeps up over her, snapping her hips up and throwing her head back with a satisfied groan. Lisa doesn't last much longer after that, giving a couple of erratic final thrusts that Elizabeth knows must be driving the plug end of the dildo even further inside her.
Lisa collapses beside her with nothing resembling grace, close but not touching, looking debauched and beautiful like she always does. In a fit of childishness born out of a relaxation she hasn't felt in years, Elizabeth bats at the head of the strap-on where it juts absurdly out from Lisa's groin, and they both crack up laughing. Lisa snorts, and that just feeds it; and God, she's needed a laugh almost more that everything else.
Lisa pulls her back into bed after they've cleaned up; if this were anyone else, Elizabeth would get up right now and make her excuses, put her clothes on and go back to the apartment that still doesn't feel like it's hers. But instead, she fits herself in behind Lisa, letting her hand rest on the warm curve of her hip, her nose buried in Lisa's hair.
In the morning, the two of them will work on getting her put back together. Lisa will drag her out of bed and fuss over her and dress her in her own clothes and take her out for breakfast. And then Elizabeth will go back to her apartment and water her plants and try not to wait for the SGC to call.
It might even work this time.
For the first time since she left Atlantis, she falls asleep without any trouble.
Author: sabinelagrande
Summary: What she really needs is somebody who knows her.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis/House MD
Word Count: 2213
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, toys, mild D/s, spanking
Timeline: S3 on both counts (isn't it convenient how that works?): during The Return and between Lines in the Sand and Fools for Love.
Pairing: Lisa Cuddy/Elizabeth Weir
A/N: The esteemed deelaundry asked me to repost this here, and who am I to say no? Enjoy!
Her dress doesn't fit.
It cost a king's ransom, even by her standards, when she bought it. Fashion's a tool, not a goal for her- but she loved this dress. It made her look tall and graceful and stunning and incredibly sexy, just the thing to strike that balance between fitting in and standing out, just the thing to make her feel at ease.
But she's lost weight since she left, and now it just makes her look bony and pale and strung out- all of which she undoubtedly is. It's too nice to be gotten rid of- it'll go back in the closet in her mother's spare room, next to all her tailored suits and her stiletto heels and her winter clothes. She has plenty of room in the new apartment, but bringing all that stuff in will just make it feel like she's staying.
Carson is somewhere talking to someone- she thinks she saw some spiky hair go by- but it doesn't really matter. He only brought her out of fear of feeling awkward, a sense of don't leave me alone with these strangers on his part that she knows all about- and she's pretty much certain he has no idea why she's come.
The party is well attended even for a conference this size. She's still a little shocked when people recognize her, mostly people she went to some college or served at some NGO with- the deflection, the secrecy about her job is accustomed and so hollow, now that she has nothing to protect. Yet, she can't bring herself to hide from them, so she drinks her ginger ale and stands next to a particularly hideous piece of statuary.
The crowd is thinning out now, shifting in patterns that open up new clusters of people to her view- Carson is talking to a small knot of women, his easy charm in full display- a few couples still fitfully dancing to the rather lackluster band- and in the center of everything, the keynote speaker herself. Elizabeth watches her gaze flicker back to the ugly sculpture, watches her make excuses and cross the floor, strutting in that way she has, the one that says she owns the place. Her manner reminds Elizabeth absurdly of a Wraith queen; that thought really shouldn't bring on a stab of homesickness, but there it is.
“Liz,” she says, her eyes warm and crinkly like Elizabeth always thinks about them being- and nobody's called her that in years.
“Lisa,” she replies, her lips quirking upward, though she knows her smile isn't quite reaching her eyes. Lisa sees it- she always does- and Elizabeth lets herself be pulled into a hug that lasts just a little longer than it should.
“McKay's not here, is he?” Lisa asks, mockingly wary. It hurts a little- she doesn't, can't know why, of course. It's just a coincidence- the fact that the man's got a bad habit of showing up when the two of them are together- but it cuts the tension nonetheless.
They chat for a bit, mostly for appearance's sake- the party's winding down, and Elizabeth knows Lisa's saved her for last, knows that she's thought about where this might be going. They stay politely distant, but no one who could see their eyes right now could mistake what's actually going on.
It's been this way since Michigan, both of them hilariously out of place in Kappa Kappa Gamma, the power brokers turned loose amongst the pretty girls. They'd never have made it through four years of it without each other- almost didn't, on several occasions. Elizabeth can't help thinking about it now- how, twenty years and a whole galaxy later, things still seem to refuse to change.
The assistant director of the conference comes over to say goodbye to Lisa, and both of them know that's their cue. Elizabeth drifts away politely before she can be introduced, slipping over to where Carson is still holding court. One of the women looks daggers at her, and Elizabeth puts her hand on his arm out of sheer spite. All she tells him is that she's leaving with a friend; Carson gives her a chaste kiss on the cheek and lets her go with only the minimum fuss. She knows he won't bring it up to her or anyone else until or unless she does, and she's grateful for that.
Lisa is waiting for her downstairs. She offers her hand, and Elizabeth takes it without hesitation. They've long since learned how to hide in plain sight, the closeness women are afforded masking intent. Lisa's hotel is only a short walk away- Elizabeth doesn't even consider offering the apartment. She's in no hurry to see it again.
When they get to Lisa's room, Lisa sits down next to her on the bed, close but not quite touching. She doesn't actually say anything; she just looks at her expectantly, ready to push it if Elizabeth won't talk.
“I lost my job,” Elizabeth tells her, and she knows that's all she has to say. They know each other- she knows that Lisa hears the unspoken whisper of I have lost myself, knows that she'd feel the same way. And, no, Lisa could lose her work and her home and everything else and it still wouldn't be one tenth of one percent of what Elizabeth's lost, but Elizabeth knows that it would feel every ounce as devastating.
Lisa pulls Elizabeth close, tucking her face into the crook of Elizabeth's neck. Lisa's hair has always been so gorgeous, spilling everywhere in exactly the way that Elizabeth's never has. She finds herself petting it idly, letting the curls pass through her fingers unbroken.
“I need it,” Elizabeth finds herself saying, stopping, feeling Lisa's sharp intake of breath at the words. “Can you- please?”
Elizabeth knows she doesn't have to justify herself, doesn't need to explain. It's only a stopgap measure, and she knows they both know that. It's a nice place to visit, but no one can live there- there isn't any life there. And more than anything, it's an excuse, a way to pour out her grief without actually having to face it.
Lisa looks like she wants to protest, but she nods instead. She knows that what Lisa really wants is to fix her, just like she wants to fix everybody- the fact that she's not even trying says that something's happened, something that Elizabeth can neither put her finger on nor fix right now. But she also knows Lisa realizes that there isn't anyone else she'd let do this to her- for her. Lisa's only got the right because Lisa's like the other half of her.
“Take your hot dress off before we wrinkle it to death,” she says, half chiding and half playful, brushing Elizabeth's hair away from her face. Lisa helps her to do it, standing her up and unbuttoning the halter, pressing a kiss against the nape of her neck. Lisa's hands are smooth and sure, their touch on her skin a counterpoint to the slick of the material as they both slide down her body. Her palms are warm and soft as they come to rest on her small breasts, thumbs teasing over Elizabeth's nipples. Her hands are so delicate- not like Elizabeth's, which seem to stay rough no matter what she does.
She hadn't even known how far gone she was until this moment, until Lisa has to help her to step out of her clothing and her heels. She feels locked up, incapable, totally wrung out; Lisa knows it, tells it in the way she pulls her face down to kiss her mouth, the way she pets Elizabeth's hair and strokes her hand down her back.
They don't talk about it- Lisa's never been able to discuss it with a straight face, and Elizabeth would just fall to bits if that happened right now. Instead, Lisa helps her into position, hands and knees on the bed.
The first stroke of the hairbrush surprises her like it always does, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. It doesn't hurt, really, but that doesn't stop it startling her.
She's never been able to describe what this feels like. It's not about sex- except that it is- and it's not something she really needs- except when she does. Putting herself so totally in someone else's- Lisa's- hands untwists something she never realizes is knotted. The pain helps, somehow, helps focus it. She doesn't really get it- and she understands even less what Lisa gets out of it. It's a nurturing thing, she's pretty sure, tied to Lisa's pathological need to help by any means necessary.
Lisa's really working her over now, and it really is starting to hurt. She realizes she's biting her lip, every whimper and moan that escapes feeling like a self-betrayal. Despite herself, she's still desperate to keep it together, clinging to the same self-control that's got her paralyzed. She feels like she's cracking with every impact, like Lisa is going to shatter her down to nothing.
“Come on, Liz,” Lisa says, her voice sounding almost annoyed, and Elizabeth realizes she's stopped when her fingernails skate over the backs of her thighs, making her shudder and choke out a gasp. “Let it go.” She shakes her head, and Lisa snorts softly, landing a particularly hard slap right where her ass meets her thighs.
Somewhere in between one blow and the next, something passes, clicks into place, and she can't hold it in anymore. Everything- Pegasus and Simon and Ford and Grodin and everyone and everything else, right down to her fucking dress- just comes spilling, tearing out of her, wracking her body with huge sobs.
Lisa keeps going for just a few more strokes before tossing the brush away, somewhere onto the floor. Elizabeth feels herself being helped down to the bed, but she isn't really there, isn't really anything. Lisa lays down next to her, and Elizabeth all but attaches herself to her. It feels a little absurd- she's naked except her panties, but Lisa's still in a camisole and the pants from her suit- but she can't bring herself to start worrying about anything right now.
Lisa rubs her back and whispers meaningless, soothing things until she cries herself out, devolving into embarrassing little sniveling sounds before she runs it down entirely. Lisa still knows just when to get up, bring her a glass of water and a damp washcloth.
It doesn't surprise her when Lisa undresses and produces a harness from her luggage. Under any other circumstances, Elizabeth might crack a joke about her presumption; but right now she's too far gone, too compliant and soothed to do anything, the endorphins making her lightheaded and blurry. She's always thought it should bother her that all this stuff is all rolled up together, sex and relief and her persistent inability to just freak out and let go like a normal person- but just for the moment, and because it's Lisa, she gives in to it.
It's been too long, but they still know how to do this. Elizabeth hooks her legs around Lisa's waist, pulling her closer as she pushes in. The stiff sheets rub against her ass as Lisa thrusts into her, the warm pain only adding to the sensation. From the way Lisa's tensing and shaking, it's not going to take long for either of them. She slides a hand up Lisa's side, covering one of her generous, perfect breasts, stroking her own clit with the other hand. She doesn't hold back when her orgasm creeps up over her, snapping her hips up and throwing her head back with a satisfied groan. Lisa doesn't last much longer after that, giving a couple of erratic final thrusts that Elizabeth knows must be driving the plug end of the dildo even further inside her.
Lisa collapses beside her with nothing resembling grace, close but not touching, looking debauched and beautiful like she always does. In a fit of childishness born out of a relaxation she hasn't felt in years, Elizabeth bats at the head of the strap-on where it juts absurdly out from Lisa's groin, and they both crack up laughing. Lisa snorts, and that just feeds it; and God, she's needed a laugh almost more that everything else.
Lisa pulls her back into bed after they've cleaned up; if this were anyone else, Elizabeth would get up right now and make her excuses, put her clothes on and go back to the apartment that still doesn't feel like it's hers. But instead, she fits herself in behind Lisa, letting her hand rest on the warm curve of her hip, her nose buried in Lisa's hair.
In the morning, the two of them will work on getting her put back together. Lisa will drag her out of bed and fuss over her and dress her in her own clothes and take her out for breakfast. And then Elizabeth will go back to her apartment and water her plants and try not to wait for the SGC to call.
It might even work this time.
For the first time since she left Atlantis, she falls asleep without any trouble.