breaking radio silence and Guildfic
Seven months. Oh my gosh, guys. Seven months. Seven frakking months without a post. Wow.
I tried, guys. After I finished Rough-and-Tumble, I graduated from college and decided it was time to get off the web, get a respectable job, an apartment of my own, and a boyfriend, possibly even one who'd played organized sports at some point in his life. Yeah, ask me how well that went. I stayed off the Net for a while, anyway, trying to figure out just what it was I was supposed to be doing with my life. I sent out applications for jobs and internships, moved in with my mother on a temporary basis, and went to therapy at Riduclous Dollars a session. Then I proceded to get bitch-slapped but good by the Current Economic Climate.
Long story short, I'm still living at home, working temp retail gigs at the local mall, applying to grad school (which still grinds my gears), and as I mentioned at my other collaborative blogging project Generation Fail , the only other warm body sharing my bed is my cat, Cleo.
And here am I, on the raggedly edge, slinking back to my computer, tail set firmly between my legs.
Heeey buuddddiiess. Suuup?
I know, I know, I know, I'm a terrible person who doesn't return emails or phone calls (just ask my ex-boyfriends) and I'm sure you all have better things to do than chat with me, but maybe if I offered some fic as a peace offering? Maybe y'all wouldn't hate me? Please?
This is the pairing that dragged me back into writing after a six month dry spell and my general inability to write in my mother's house. What got me back onto the the web was Fandom Secrets. And what caught my attention was a secret about something called "The Guild." And WIL WHEATON's role on said web series. Now WIL WHEATON and I go way, way back to my childhood and my personal feelings about a certain Star Trek Ensign. So I watched. And I shipped. And I wrote.
Halfpenny's back, kids. And she comes bearing fic. X-posted to codexfawkes . Support vaguely obscure ships!
Embrace the Fear,
or There is No Surge Protector for Your Heart
by halfpenny
(I own nothing, Ms. Day and/or Mr. Wheaton, please don’t sue)
High on the Guild’s victory, or rather her victory, gosh that felt good to say, Codex took a detour on the way back to her apartment and bought not one, but two flavors of low-fat frozen yogurt at the convenience store. With Peanut Butter Brickle and Cherry-Mania tucked safely into her side, she finessed her lock open and set her laptop down on her sofa. She didn’t even bother to wind the power cord properly. She got a dark little thrill seeing it strewn haphazardly across the paisley throw pillows. After all, she was a winner now, the conquering hero. This was better than the last time she’d leveled up twice in twenty-four hours. She even dumped her plastic shopping bag on the kitchen table and breezed into her bedroom, only to scramble back out again to put the yogurt in the freezer. There was being confident and then there was being foolhardy.
The feeling lasted all the way through a hot shower and several off-key renditions of “Eye of the Tiger,” and only flickered when someone from upstairs thumped on the ceiling to stop that racket. And while Cyd Sherman may not have naturally wavy hair, a handful of Zaboo’s left-behind styling gel produced some half-hearted kinks, at least. Her avatar would be proud. Well no, her avatar would be reveling on a pile of loot and scoffing at her pitiful curls, but still. Anyways, what did it matter if her hair waved or not? She had a long night of expansion play and frozen yogurt ahead of her.
Except.
Except instead of getting into her favorite yoga pants and fuzzy slippers, she decided to see if that strappy pink top from the W-A-D-E incident still fit her. And instead of logging on to vlog about the reunited Knights of Good, she grabbed her best recital cardigan and headed out into the cool evening air.
None of this was unheard of. Unusual for her, sure, but not impossible. People took walks all the time, especially when they had something awesome to think about, like crushing those stupid Anarchists. Especially Fawkes, that pompous quote-spouting jerk. Nothing unusual about a celebratory walk around town at all.
Ending up outside Renatta’s Bar and Grill at precisely 7:59 PM? Slightly unusual.
One look through the wide front window confirmed it. In his green army jacket and oh my gosh, he really was wearing the kilt, Fawkes looked about as inconspicuous as a dwarf at a night elf raid. He seemed unconcerned with the looks the suits and polo shirts were shooting him from the corner of their eyes. He seemed perfectly calm as he sipped a glass of something that was certainly not the single syllable domestic beer Codex was familiar with. In one hand a blood-red DS flashed and blinked. Codex squinted through at his profile. Stupid Fawkes with his stupid Guild and his stupid, scruffy face. She instinctively pulled her sweater tighter around her and decided to head back to her apartment and her waiting Peanut Butter Brickle.
Except.
Except even if he was a total douchebag who engineered the downfall of her only support system, Codex couldn’t leave him sitting alone in a bar waiting on her, could she? That would be sinking to his level, she reasoned. It was only polite to tell him she wouldn’t be joining him. And if nothing else, she was unfailingly polite. Codex squared her shoulders and pushed through the front door.
Low, musical beeps from the DS continued as Codex tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, a scowl already in place, but when he saw it was her, a sure, soft smile took its place. He opened his mouth and Codex plunged ahead. “If you quote anything, I’ll leave right now.” Fawkes chuckled, the smug jerkwad. Codex could feel heat rising in her face and kept talking. “I’m not coming here tonight. I mean, I’m here, but I’m not staying. So it’s like I’m not here. Right now. With you.” Codex offered a weak smile. “So umm, bye?”
Fawkes knocked on the bar. “Barkeep, the lady will have-” He looked at Codex.
“Oh I don’t really drink. I mean, this one time, I drank like three glasses of peach Schnapps after an orchestra concert and then threw up twenty minutes later, but-”
“The lady will have a double Scotch, neat,” Fawkes finished. Codex slumped further into her cardigan. Fawkes gestured to the open stool next to him. She climbed on and plunked her elbows onto the bar. Fawkes took a sip from his own drink and said, “You actually showed up. That’s twice you’ve impressed me today.”
Naturally wavy, naturally wavy, Codex chanted. My hair is naturally wavy. “Yeah well, getting taken down by a priest with one hit-point left is pretty impressive.” Fawkes looked torn between being angry and incredulous, but another sip of his drink had him ruefully nodding his head. Suddenly, the reality of the situation hit Codex and her heart rate kicked up. “Oh my God, what am I doing here?”
“You still haven’t figured it out?” Fawkes sounded more confused than superior, but not by much. “Really?” He cocked his head to the side and let his gaze slid down to where the flimsy pink of her shirt peeked out. Codex’s pulse had become a whirring sound in her ears by now and the skin at the base of her spine prickled hotly. Fear responses, she told herself firmly. Nothing more. She glared at Fawkes who was watching her like…like, she didn’t know what. Like she was somebody else.
“I am not afraid of my sexuality,” she declared. She was the conquering hero, damnit, and she refused to be intimidated by a guy in a kilt. Against her will, her eyes strayed downward. She wondered if what Clara asked-“I’m not,” she insisted through the tight feeling in her throat. She was saved from Fawkes’ reply when the bartender set down a glass of smoky brown liquid in front of her.
“Double Scotch, neat,” he said and vanished up the bar.
She poked at the tumbler with a wary forefinger. “What makes it neat?” she asked, not Fawkes, no, just in general. To the universe.
His voice was a lot closer to her ear than she’d thought when he answered. “Drink it and find out.”
It burned all the way down.
Another Scotch, two beers, and a strawberry daiquiri later, Codex was feeling a little loopy. She’d lost the cardigan a few drinks back, having piled it on top of Fawkes’ jacket on an empty stool. A discussion of his t-shirt which announced that he rolled twenties lead to a debate about table-top games in general. Codex credited the alcohol for her passionate defense of decided deck games. She also credited the alcohol for the warm feelings that pooled low in her belly when Fawkes banged his fist on the bar while ranting against Magic: the Gathering. And for the tingles in her hand when he levered her off her stool and onto unsteady feet.
They walked outside together and when Codex started toward home, he followed her, pressing her for more reasons why Vork had become Guild leader in the first place. It didn’t cross her mind to tell him to leave and when he asks if she’s cold, she lied and said yes. His jacket smelled like drugstore Old Spice and laundry soap. It smelled stale and spicy, or something, whatever, she didn’t think too hard about it. Anyways, the damp night air was adding a little bounce to her sort-of wavy hair.
Codex had no idea how they got back to her place or how long it took the pair of them to climb the steps to her front door, but it only took a second for Fawkes to swipe her keys out of her hands. He wrangled the lock open and disappeared inside without even asking. Codex shook her head. The fuzziness was beginning to fade, leaving that uncomfortable combination of frustration and not-quite-fear, if she was being honest with herself.
“You got anything to eat?” Fawkes’ voice accompanied the sound of her refrigerator door opening. By the time, she closed and locked the door behind her- force of habit, meant nothing- he was standing over her sink, eating her Peanut Butter Brickle straight from the carton.
“Wha-what are you doing?” she cried.
“Eating ice cream,” he said through a full mouth.
“It’s low-fat frozen yogurt and who said you could eat that? You’re not even using a bowl!” It suddenly seemed very important that Codex stake her claim to that dessert. She lunged forward, but Fawkes simply lifted the pint above his head. “It’s rude, it’s impolite, It’s-”
“-anarchy,” he finished. A smudge of vanilla yogurt lingered at the corner of his lips. Codex felt a very unfamiliar urge to put her mouth over it. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and balled up her fists.
“I’m-I don’t--,” she stammered. “Anarchy’s not really my thing.”
Fawkes offered a cool, creamy smile and the rushing in her ears returned. “Are you sure? A nice little Knight of Good like you could use some mayhem in your life.” Codex felt her chewed nails bite into her palms. Fawkes dug his spoon into the yogurt again. The rushing inside her head got louder. “I mean, haven’t you ever, deep down, just wanted to say ‘fuck it,’ and do whatever the hell you want?” The spoon disappeared into his mouth and his eyebrow slowly, carefully arched.
Codex distinctly heard a soft pop inside her head. “Fuck it,” she said and moved.
The spoon clattered into the sink, but the frozen yogurt hit the edge of the counter and sprayed all over the floor, the cabinets, and their legs. Codex seized two fistfuls of Fawkes’ shirt and jerked him forward until she was kissing him. She meant it to be a chaste-ish kiss, more a gesture than anything else, but he wrapped his arms around her waist and spread wide hands across her back. Between his warm hands and cool mouth, Codex forgot exactly what she was doing and slid her hands up and onto his face. She’d never kissed anyone with a beard before and the stubble scratched in a way that made all thoughts of maybe we shouldn’t do this slide right out of her head.
Fawkes dragged one hand up her back and Codex knew that this was it, this was the moment she needed to pull away. He’d make his excuses and leave her to clean up her kitchen, and they would never, ever discuss this ever again. But then Fawkes slipped that hand into her hair and twined his fingers against her nape, tugging a little. She couldn’t help it, she made a small, soft noise into his mouth and he did it again, harder. And that was it, point of no return passed and lapped. She whimpered and he moaned, and she gasped as Fawkes spun her around.
He sat down hard on one of her kitchen chairs and pulled Codex down into his lap. By now, the kissing was, by Codex’s standards, getting a little out of hand. There was considerably more tongue and teeth than she was used to, but it was his hands that were really causing her problems. They were everywhere, her face, her shoulders, her hips, and it wasn’t enough. Codex fumbled her arms free and ripped his shirt up and off. She heard something tear. “Sorry,” she said into his shoulder as he twisted at the snap of her bra.
“It’s fine,” he gasped as he worked her jeans open. He sounded so different, younger maybe or just surprised. Codex liked it. Not so high and mighty now with his face screwed up and his breath coming shallow. Codex stood up to untangle herself from her bra and blouse. When she got her head clear, Fawkes’ kilt was lying in a heap on the floor and-“Oh my God, you’re naked,” Codex said, eyes firmly on the ceiling. She heard him padding toward her and then circle behind her.
He cupped her shoulders and breathed hot against her neck. “Yes, and you’re not.” He nipped at her ear. “We should get on that.” He pushed fingers into the waistband of her jeans and pulled, kissing down her spine as they went.
Now that they weren’t kissing, Codex began to think. And think. And think. “Umm,” she said as she stepped out of her pants. “Wait, this is crazy.”
“Mmhm,” he hummed, his lips on her hip. “That it is. Enjoy it.”
“Crazy,” Codex began and faltered when he did-did something to a spot behind her knee. “Crazy is generally considered to be a bad thing.” She turned and he stood up, tall and naked and looking at her so intently she thought she might burst into flame. She retreated back and back, which in theory would have worked, but in practice only moved them into her bedroom. She tottered when her knees hit the side of her bed, but Fawkes took her elbow to keep her steady. She could barely see in the low light, but she knew he was smirking.
“Think of it this way,” he said, thick and persuasive. “You pwned me, right?”
“Y-yes,” she said. Fawkes tipped her easily back onto her neat stack of throw pillows. The bed squeaked when Fawkes followed and settled over her.
“Then to the victor,” he whispered as he led her hand down, down, omigosh down. “Go the spoils.” Codex throbbed horribly, obscenely for him. She laced the fingers of her free hand in the short, soft hairs at the nape of his neck. A few awkward shifts and there he was, and there they were and she was really doing this, wasn’t she? This was real life and those were his teeth on her pulse point and that was her voice sighing Fawkes Fawkes Fawkes high and strained again and again.
And it was good. It was really, really good. Not that Codex had a lot of experience in that department-adequate was a good word in the end-but it’s never been this sharp or immediate before. Never this chaotic. She could feel every breath he took, feel the sweat gathering at his temples, and the sensory overload of it all carried her over the edge. Well, that and the fact that it was really kind of fantastic.
After it was over, after he’d groaned and shook and collapsed beside her, Codex wondered what they did next. “We sleep,” Fawkes replied and Codex jumped, unaware she’d spoken out loud. Codex’s pillow muffled his voice so that Codex had to lean in close to him to hear. That was the only reason her head was sort-of on his chest. “We sleep and do that again and then sleep some more.” Codex sat up to say if that’s his idea of a plan, then how did he ever become Guild leader, but he was already asleep. She padded into the kitchen and retrieved his jacket from the table. Eyeing the mess of melted yogurt everywhere, part of her perked up and wanted to start cleaning right away. Fuck it, the rest of her thought. She grabbed the Cherry-Mania out of the freezer and headed back to bed. She’ll deal with it tomorrow.
I tried, guys. After I finished Rough-and-Tumble, I graduated from college and decided it was time to get off the web, get a respectable job, an apartment of my own, and a boyfriend, possibly even one who'd played organized sports at some point in his life. Yeah, ask me how well that went. I stayed off the Net for a while, anyway, trying to figure out just what it was I was supposed to be doing with my life. I sent out applications for jobs and internships, moved in with my mother on a temporary basis, and went to therapy at Riduclous Dollars a session. Then I proceded to get bitch-slapped but good by the Current Economic Climate.
Long story short, I'm still living at home, working temp retail gigs at the local mall, applying to grad school (which still grinds my gears), and as I mentioned at my other collaborative blogging project Generation Fail , the only other warm body sharing my bed is my cat, Cleo.
And here am I, on the raggedly edge, slinking back to my computer, tail set firmly between my legs.
Heeey buuddddiiess. Suuup?
I know, I know, I know, I'm a terrible person who doesn't return emails or phone calls (just ask my ex-boyfriends) and I'm sure you all have better things to do than chat with me, but maybe if I offered some fic as a peace offering? Maybe y'all wouldn't hate me? Please?
This is the pairing that dragged me back into writing after a six month dry spell and my general inability to write in my mother's house. What got me back onto the the web was Fandom Secrets. And what caught my attention was a secret about something called "The Guild." And WIL WHEATON's role on said web series. Now WIL WHEATON and I go way, way back to my childhood and my personal feelings about a certain Star Trek Ensign. So I watched. And I shipped. And I wrote.
Halfpenny's back, kids. And she comes bearing fic. X-posted to codexfawkes . Support vaguely obscure ships!
Embrace the Fear,
or There is No Surge Protector for Your Heart
by halfpenny
(I own nothing, Ms. Day and/or Mr. Wheaton, please don’t sue)
High on the Guild’s victory, or rather her victory, gosh that felt good to say, Codex took a detour on the way back to her apartment and bought not one, but two flavors of low-fat frozen yogurt at the convenience store. With Peanut Butter Brickle and Cherry-Mania tucked safely into her side, she finessed her lock open and set her laptop down on her sofa. She didn’t even bother to wind the power cord properly. She got a dark little thrill seeing it strewn haphazardly across the paisley throw pillows. After all, she was a winner now, the conquering hero. This was better than the last time she’d leveled up twice in twenty-four hours. She even dumped her plastic shopping bag on the kitchen table and breezed into her bedroom, only to scramble back out again to put the yogurt in the freezer. There was being confident and then there was being foolhardy.
The feeling lasted all the way through a hot shower and several off-key renditions of “Eye of the Tiger,” and only flickered when someone from upstairs thumped on the ceiling to stop that racket. And while Cyd Sherman may not have naturally wavy hair, a handful of Zaboo’s left-behind styling gel produced some half-hearted kinks, at least. Her avatar would be proud. Well no, her avatar would be reveling on a pile of loot and scoffing at her pitiful curls, but still. Anyways, what did it matter if her hair waved or not? She had a long night of expansion play and frozen yogurt ahead of her.
Except.
Except instead of getting into her favorite yoga pants and fuzzy slippers, she decided to see if that strappy pink top from the W-A-D-E incident still fit her. And instead of logging on to vlog about the reunited Knights of Good, she grabbed her best recital cardigan and headed out into the cool evening air.
None of this was unheard of. Unusual for her, sure, but not impossible. People took walks all the time, especially when they had something awesome to think about, like crushing those stupid Anarchists. Especially Fawkes, that pompous quote-spouting jerk. Nothing unusual about a celebratory walk around town at all.
Ending up outside Renatta’s Bar and Grill at precisely 7:59 PM? Slightly unusual.
One look through the wide front window confirmed it. In his green army jacket and oh my gosh, he really was wearing the kilt, Fawkes looked about as inconspicuous as a dwarf at a night elf raid. He seemed unconcerned with the looks the suits and polo shirts were shooting him from the corner of their eyes. He seemed perfectly calm as he sipped a glass of something that was certainly not the single syllable domestic beer Codex was familiar with. In one hand a blood-red DS flashed and blinked. Codex squinted through at his profile. Stupid Fawkes with his stupid Guild and his stupid, scruffy face. She instinctively pulled her sweater tighter around her and decided to head back to her apartment and her waiting Peanut Butter Brickle.
Except.
Except even if he was a total douchebag who engineered the downfall of her only support system, Codex couldn’t leave him sitting alone in a bar waiting on her, could she? That would be sinking to his level, she reasoned. It was only polite to tell him she wouldn’t be joining him. And if nothing else, she was unfailingly polite. Codex squared her shoulders and pushed through the front door.
Low, musical beeps from the DS continued as Codex tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, a scowl already in place, but when he saw it was her, a sure, soft smile took its place. He opened his mouth and Codex plunged ahead. “If you quote anything, I’ll leave right now.” Fawkes chuckled, the smug jerkwad. Codex could feel heat rising in her face and kept talking. “I’m not coming here tonight. I mean, I’m here, but I’m not staying. So it’s like I’m not here. Right now. With you.” Codex offered a weak smile. “So umm, bye?”
Fawkes knocked on the bar. “Barkeep, the lady will have-” He looked at Codex.
“Oh I don’t really drink. I mean, this one time, I drank like three glasses of peach Schnapps after an orchestra concert and then threw up twenty minutes later, but-”
“The lady will have a double Scotch, neat,” Fawkes finished. Codex slumped further into her cardigan. Fawkes gestured to the open stool next to him. She climbed on and plunked her elbows onto the bar. Fawkes took a sip from his own drink and said, “You actually showed up. That’s twice you’ve impressed me today.”
Naturally wavy, naturally wavy, Codex chanted. My hair is naturally wavy. “Yeah well, getting taken down by a priest with one hit-point left is pretty impressive.” Fawkes looked torn between being angry and incredulous, but another sip of his drink had him ruefully nodding his head. Suddenly, the reality of the situation hit Codex and her heart rate kicked up. “Oh my God, what am I doing here?”
“You still haven’t figured it out?” Fawkes sounded more confused than superior, but not by much. “Really?” He cocked his head to the side and let his gaze slid down to where the flimsy pink of her shirt peeked out. Codex’s pulse had become a whirring sound in her ears by now and the skin at the base of her spine prickled hotly. Fear responses, she told herself firmly. Nothing more. She glared at Fawkes who was watching her like…like, she didn’t know what. Like she was somebody else.
“I am not afraid of my sexuality,” she declared. She was the conquering hero, damnit, and she refused to be intimidated by a guy in a kilt. Against her will, her eyes strayed downward. She wondered if what Clara asked-“I’m not,” she insisted through the tight feeling in her throat. She was saved from Fawkes’ reply when the bartender set down a glass of smoky brown liquid in front of her.
“Double Scotch, neat,” he said and vanished up the bar.
She poked at the tumbler with a wary forefinger. “What makes it neat?” she asked, not Fawkes, no, just in general. To the universe.
His voice was a lot closer to her ear than she’d thought when he answered. “Drink it and find out.”
It burned all the way down.
Another Scotch, two beers, and a strawberry daiquiri later, Codex was feeling a little loopy. She’d lost the cardigan a few drinks back, having piled it on top of Fawkes’ jacket on an empty stool. A discussion of his t-shirt which announced that he rolled twenties lead to a debate about table-top games in general. Codex credited the alcohol for her passionate defense of decided deck games. She also credited the alcohol for the warm feelings that pooled low in her belly when Fawkes banged his fist on the bar while ranting against Magic: the Gathering. And for the tingles in her hand when he levered her off her stool and onto unsteady feet.
They walked outside together and when Codex started toward home, he followed her, pressing her for more reasons why Vork had become Guild leader in the first place. It didn’t cross her mind to tell him to leave and when he asks if she’s cold, she lied and said yes. His jacket smelled like drugstore Old Spice and laundry soap. It smelled stale and spicy, or something, whatever, she didn’t think too hard about it. Anyways, the damp night air was adding a little bounce to her sort-of wavy hair.
Codex had no idea how they got back to her place or how long it took the pair of them to climb the steps to her front door, but it only took a second for Fawkes to swipe her keys out of her hands. He wrangled the lock open and disappeared inside without even asking. Codex shook her head. The fuzziness was beginning to fade, leaving that uncomfortable combination of frustration and not-quite-fear, if she was being honest with herself.
“You got anything to eat?” Fawkes’ voice accompanied the sound of her refrigerator door opening. By the time, she closed and locked the door behind her- force of habit, meant nothing- he was standing over her sink, eating her Peanut Butter Brickle straight from the carton.
“Wha-what are you doing?” she cried.
“Eating ice cream,” he said through a full mouth.
“It’s low-fat frozen yogurt and who said you could eat that? You’re not even using a bowl!” It suddenly seemed very important that Codex stake her claim to that dessert. She lunged forward, but Fawkes simply lifted the pint above his head. “It’s rude, it’s impolite, It’s-”
“-anarchy,” he finished. A smudge of vanilla yogurt lingered at the corner of his lips. Codex felt a very unfamiliar urge to put her mouth over it. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and balled up her fists.
“I’m-I don’t--,” she stammered. “Anarchy’s not really my thing.”
Fawkes offered a cool, creamy smile and the rushing in her ears returned. “Are you sure? A nice little Knight of Good like you could use some mayhem in your life.” Codex felt her chewed nails bite into her palms. Fawkes dug his spoon into the yogurt again. The rushing inside her head got louder. “I mean, haven’t you ever, deep down, just wanted to say ‘fuck it,’ and do whatever the hell you want?” The spoon disappeared into his mouth and his eyebrow slowly, carefully arched.
Codex distinctly heard a soft pop inside her head. “Fuck it,” she said and moved.
The spoon clattered into the sink, but the frozen yogurt hit the edge of the counter and sprayed all over the floor, the cabinets, and their legs. Codex seized two fistfuls of Fawkes’ shirt and jerked him forward until she was kissing him. She meant it to be a chaste-ish kiss, more a gesture than anything else, but he wrapped his arms around her waist and spread wide hands across her back. Between his warm hands and cool mouth, Codex forgot exactly what she was doing and slid her hands up and onto his face. She’d never kissed anyone with a beard before and the stubble scratched in a way that made all thoughts of maybe we shouldn’t do this slide right out of her head.
Fawkes dragged one hand up her back and Codex knew that this was it, this was the moment she needed to pull away. He’d make his excuses and leave her to clean up her kitchen, and they would never, ever discuss this ever again. But then Fawkes slipped that hand into her hair and twined his fingers against her nape, tugging a little. She couldn’t help it, she made a small, soft noise into his mouth and he did it again, harder. And that was it, point of no return passed and lapped. She whimpered and he moaned, and she gasped as Fawkes spun her around.
He sat down hard on one of her kitchen chairs and pulled Codex down into his lap. By now, the kissing was, by Codex’s standards, getting a little out of hand. There was considerably more tongue and teeth than she was used to, but it was his hands that were really causing her problems. They were everywhere, her face, her shoulders, her hips, and it wasn’t enough. Codex fumbled her arms free and ripped his shirt up and off. She heard something tear. “Sorry,” she said into his shoulder as he twisted at the snap of her bra.
“It’s fine,” he gasped as he worked her jeans open. He sounded so different, younger maybe or just surprised. Codex liked it. Not so high and mighty now with his face screwed up and his breath coming shallow. Codex stood up to untangle herself from her bra and blouse. When she got her head clear, Fawkes’ kilt was lying in a heap on the floor and-“Oh my God, you’re naked,” Codex said, eyes firmly on the ceiling. She heard him padding toward her and then circle behind her.
He cupped her shoulders and breathed hot against her neck. “Yes, and you’re not.” He nipped at her ear. “We should get on that.” He pushed fingers into the waistband of her jeans and pulled, kissing down her spine as they went.
Now that they weren’t kissing, Codex began to think. And think. And think. “Umm,” she said as she stepped out of her pants. “Wait, this is crazy.”
“Mmhm,” he hummed, his lips on her hip. “That it is. Enjoy it.”
“Crazy,” Codex began and faltered when he did-did something to a spot behind her knee. “Crazy is generally considered to be a bad thing.” She turned and he stood up, tall and naked and looking at her so intently she thought she might burst into flame. She retreated back and back, which in theory would have worked, but in practice only moved them into her bedroom. She tottered when her knees hit the side of her bed, but Fawkes took her elbow to keep her steady. She could barely see in the low light, but she knew he was smirking.
“Think of it this way,” he said, thick and persuasive. “You pwned me, right?”
“Y-yes,” she said. Fawkes tipped her easily back onto her neat stack of throw pillows. The bed squeaked when Fawkes followed and settled over her.
“Then to the victor,” he whispered as he led her hand down, down, omigosh down. “Go the spoils.” Codex throbbed horribly, obscenely for him. She laced the fingers of her free hand in the short, soft hairs at the nape of his neck. A few awkward shifts and there he was, and there they were and she was really doing this, wasn’t she? This was real life and those were his teeth on her pulse point and that was her voice sighing Fawkes Fawkes Fawkes high and strained again and again.
And it was good. It was really, really good. Not that Codex had a lot of experience in that department-adequate was a good word in the end-but it’s never been this sharp or immediate before. Never this chaotic. She could feel every breath he took, feel the sweat gathering at his temples, and the sensory overload of it all carried her over the edge. Well, that and the fact that it was really kind of fantastic.
After it was over, after he’d groaned and shook and collapsed beside her, Codex wondered what they did next. “We sleep,” Fawkes replied and Codex jumped, unaware she’d spoken out loud. Codex’s pillow muffled his voice so that Codex had to lean in close to him to hear. That was the only reason her head was sort-of on his chest. “We sleep and do that again and then sleep some more.” Codex sat up to say if that’s his idea of a plan, then how did he ever become Guild leader, but he was already asleep. She padded into the kitchen and retrieved his jacket from the table. Eyeing the mess of melted yogurt everywhere, part of her perked up and wanted to start cleaning right away. Fuck it, the rest of her thought. She grabbed the Cherry-Mania out of the freezer and headed back to bed. She’ll deal with it tomorrow.