Senseless by Inkweaver_Amara (NC17)
Title: Senseless
Author: inkweaver_amara
Pairing: Glinda/Elphaba
Rating: NC17 for pr0n. 8|
World: Booksical. I guess. I don't know, really.
Description: Stupid is as stupid does. Or so they say.
Disclaimer: Okay so like, no, I don't own Wicked. Maguire owns the whole kit n' caboodle.
--
"Forgive me, Sister, for I have sinned."
"Haven't we all, my dear?"
"Oh. Well, yes, we all have, I suppose, if your definition of sin and my definition are indeed the same, and if our same definition is the one definition that all Ozians live and inevitably die by. But I'm not in the right frame of mind to seek a philosophical debate about definitions with you."
"But you sound like you would debate so well, dear."
"I'm a public figure. I've got to have some sense around words."
"Well, I would expect you to have some sense in everything, not just words."
"If that were true, would I be here, Sister? Sense does not drive a person who has committed a wrong, be it a lie or sleeping with another man's wife, into the arms of the church. Sense does not even cause the sins to begin with.
Sense does not drive a condemned person to the arms of a stranger, seeking salvation from a human who only carries the title of servant to a deity. A deity that may or may not exist, as you see, there are both logical and fanatical versions as to how life was created.
Perhaps it is not sense that drove me here, but the instinctual need to be taken in and loved unconditionally. The Unnamed God and His Saints provide that unconditional love we so crave. That's what you maunts are supposed to say, anyway. "
"My my, was this in a book you once read."
"Nonsense, I don't read heavy literature like that. A very, very good friend of mine would babble about the nature of Nature and such. I prefer romance novels anyway."
"Those lumps of trash? That's just heavy literature in another sense isn't it?"
"I skip those heavy parts."
"Really."
"No, not really."
"Is that the sin you, oh Good Witch of the North, have come to confess to me? You,Glinda, the Senseless Good Witch of the North?"
"No, I'm afraid not." Glinda paused, let the air hang with words yet unspoken and questions never thought to be asked. She licked her lips, quickly, nervously. "I'm afraid."
There was a cackle. A loud, familiar, spine-tingling cackle.
"Fear is a sin, is it?" The Sister moved and Glinda heard robes rustling. The cold, silken material over her eyes was suddenly heavy, and Glinda felt skinny, familiar fingers resting over her cheeks and fragile jawline.
"I'm afraid for someone I should be afraid of," Glinda whispered, feeling the fingers drift lower to brush at the sides of her neck. She felt lips press into the crown of her head and resisted the urge to purr.
"Hm," the Sister said in a throaty voice. Glinda felt the lips that had pressed into the crown of her head skim the shell of her ear.
"I'm afraid for someone who has long since...flown out of my life. I'm afraid for someone who has broken my heart. I'm afraid for someone who has taken it upon herself to defy this world."
"So much fear for someone who has wronged you," the Sister said softly, and Glinda heard the tremor of sorrow in her voice. "You really do have a good heart. Well, for a Witch."
"It's not a good heart, Sister," Glinda said, her words ending in a slight gasp when those familiar fingers skimmed her ribs and then higher, to her breasts. "I've just been stupid enough to fall hopelessly in love with this person. This person I should," she took in a sharp breath, "fear..."
"Ah," the Sister said after a moment. Glinda felt two arms wind around her waist, and a hawkish nose press into the nape of her neck. "You are a senseless little thing aren't you?"
The hands disappeared beneath her skirt. Glinda let out a noise that seemed to be an erotic blend of a moan and a name.
"This is why I sought you, Sister," the Witch cried out, arching. Beneath the blindfold there was darkness and nothing more.
"Liar," the Sister said, and her sharp teeth caught Glinda's bottom lip in a half-hearted bite that morphed slowly into a kiss. "You want me only for my body."
"Well, your heart is off limits," Glinda replied smartly, "isn't it, Elphie?"
The hands stilled. The warmth of the Sister's lips was puled away, if only for a moment, and then returned to Glinda's temple.
"May I call you Elphie?" Glinda asked, breathlessly. A pause. A heartbeat.
"It's a bit perky." Slender fingers went to the top buttons of her dress and undid them. The cool breeze felt deliciously lovely on her skin, and, caught up in the heartbreaking nostalgia of the moment, Glinda slid off the expensive silk and satin creation and stepped on it, feeling around for the Sister's body to wrap the woman in a hug.
"You can call me--"
"Galinda."
"--Glinda." The blindfold was slipped off, but Glinda kept her eyes shut tight as fear gripped her heart. "Just Glinda."
A weary, ached chuckle, and the Sister's--Elphie's--hands cupped her cheeks again. Glinda felt another kiss on her lips and returned it, her hand curling in the black (for Elphie wore nothing but black) material of Elphie's robes.
"Would you cling to me so tightly," Elphie murmured against her lips, "if I weren't your Elphie?"
"The question," Glinda replied, taking Elphie's hand in her own and leading it down to the strawberry blonde curls between her legs. Her breath caught as she continued, "Is irrelevant. Only Elphie would ask such a thing during sex with Glinda the Senseless Good Witch of the North."
Another rich and vibrant cackle, and then Elphie was consuming her, condemning her, sinning with and within her, and all sense was forgotten.
--
A/C: ffff. badly written pr0n is bad.
Author: inkweaver_amara
Pairing: Glinda/Elphaba
Rating: NC17 for pr0n. 8|
World: Booksical. I guess. I don't know, really.
Description: Stupid is as stupid does. Or so they say.
Disclaimer: Okay so like, no, I don't own Wicked. Maguire owns the whole kit n' caboodle.
--
"Forgive me, Sister, for I have sinned."
"Haven't we all, my dear?"
"Oh. Well, yes, we all have, I suppose, if your definition of sin and my definition are indeed the same, and if our same definition is the one definition that all Ozians live and inevitably die by. But I'm not in the right frame of mind to seek a philosophical debate about definitions with you."
"But you sound like you would debate so well, dear."
"I'm a public figure. I've got to have some sense around words."
"Well, I would expect you to have some sense in everything, not just words."
"If that were true, would I be here, Sister? Sense does not drive a person who has committed a wrong, be it a lie or sleeping with another man's wife, into the arms of the church. Sense does not even cause the sins to begin with.
Sense does not drive a condemned person to the arms of a stranger, seeking salvation from a human who only carries the title of servant to a deity. A deity that may or may not exist, as you see, there are both logical and fanatical versions as to how life was created.
Perhaps it is not sense that drove me here, but the instinctual need to be taken in and loved unconditionally. The Unnamed God and His Saints provide that unconditional love we so crave. That's what you maunts are supposed to say, anyway. "
"My my, was this in a book you once read."
"Nonsense, I don't read heavy literature like that. A very, very good friend of mine would babble about the nature of Nature and such. I prefer romance novels anyway."
"Those lumps of trash? That's just heavy literature in another sense isn't it?"
"I skip those heavy parts."
"Really."
"No, not really."
"Is that the sin you, oh Good Witch of the North, have come to confess to me? You,Glinda, the Senseless Good Witch of the North?"
"No, I'm afraid not." Glinda paused, let the air hang with words yet unspoken and questions never thought to be asked. She licked her lips, quickly, nervously. "I'm afraid."
There was a cackle. A loud, familiar, spine-tingling cackle.
"Fear is a sin, is it?" The Sister moved and Glinda heard robes rustling. The cold, silken material over her eyes was suddenly heavy, and Glinda felt skinny, familiar fingers resting over her cheeks and fragile jawline.
"I'm afraid for someone I should be afraid of," Glinda whispered, feeling the fingers drift lower to brush at the sides of her neck. She felt lips press into the crown of her head and resisted the urge to purr.
"Hm," the Sister said in a throaty voice. Glinda felt the lips that had pressed into the crown of her head skim the shell of her ear.
"I'm afraid for someone who has long since...flown out of my life. I'm afraid for someone who has broken my heart. I'm afraid for someone who has taken it upon herself to defy this world."
"So much fear for someone who has wronged you," the Sister said softly, and Glinda heard the tremor of sorrow in her voice. "You really do have a good heart. Well, for a Witch."
"It's not a good heart, Sister," Glinda said, her words ending in a slight gasp when those familiar fingers skimmed her ribs and then higher, to her breasts. "I've just been stupid enough to fall hopelessly in love with this person. This person I should," she took in a sharp breath, "fear..."
"Ah," the Sister said after a moment. Glinda felt two arms wind around her waist, and a hawkish nose press into the nape of her neck. "You are a senseless little thing aren't you?"
The hands disappeared beneath her skirt. Glinda let out a noise that seemed to be an erotic blend of a moan and a name.
"This is why I sought you, Sister," the Witch cried out, arching. Beneath the blindfold there was darkness and nothing more.
"Liar," the Sister said, and her sharp teeth caught Glinda's bottom lip in a half-hearted bite that morphed slowly into a kiss. "You want me only for my body."
"Well, your heart is off limits," Glinda replied smartly, "isn't it, Elphie?"
The hands stilled. The warmth of the Sister's lips was puled away, if only for a moment, and then returned to Glinda's temple.
"May I call you Elphie?" Glinda asked, breathlessly. A pause. A heartbeat.
"It's a bit perky." Slender fingers went to the top buttons of her dress and undid them. The cool breeze felt deliciously lovely on her skin, and, caught up in the heartbreaking nostalgia of the moment, Glinda slid off the expensive silk and satin creation and stepped on it, feeling around for the Sister's body to wrap the woman in a hug.
"You can call me--"
"Galinda."
"--Glinda." The blindfold was slipped off, but Glinda kept her eyes shut tight as fear gripped her heart. "Just Glinda."
A weary, ached chuckle, and the Sister's--Elphie's--hands cupped her cheeks again. Glinda felt another kiss on her lips and returned it, her hand curling in the black (for Elphie wore nothing but black) material of Elphie's robes.
"Would you cling to me so tightly," Elphie murmured against her lips, "if I weren't your Elphie?"
"The question," Glinda replied, taking Elphie's hand in her own and leading it down to the strawberry blonde curls between her legs. Her breath caught as she continued, "Is irrelevant. Only Elphie would ask such a thing during sex with Glinda the Senseless Good Witch of the North."
Another rich and vibrant cackle, and then Elphie was consuming her, condemning her, sinning with and within her, and all sense was forgotten.
--
A/C: ffff. badly written pr0n is bad.