simon and alisha || misfits || three drabbles "you fall in love with me..."
pairing: Simon/Alisha (both super!Simon and present!Simon)
rating: pg to NC17
disclaimer: don't own a thing.
summary: "you fall in love with me...." -- mostly fluffy drabbles from prompts stolen from a friend's table
an: I've never written in this fandom before. I started watching the show on Thursday, actually. I'm getting a handle on the characters so these are just a little try at doing that. This pairing HAS LITERALLY CHANGED MY WORLD. Seriously, I've been sucked into these two big-time after 2.03, although, I shipped them quite gleefully from the middle of season one. You'll find one present-Simon ficlet, and two with 'super' Simon-- I love them both equally. Really tried to keep them below 1000, and succeeded. There'll be time enough to really get into things when I'm more comfortable with the characters.
Thanks for reading. And feedback is better than ... well anything.
we live and breathe in time; prompt: procrastination; word count: 629
She can hear him moving around.
It’s been a few short weeks but she’s already figuring out his routine. Simon, no matter what time he’s from, is a creature of habit. It doesn’t help that the wall is lined with digital clocks, and he lives and breathes by the turning of each number. Doing the ‘superhero thing’, she likes to call it.
She smiles faintly. Who would’ve thought that she’d ever be with an actual superhero - that those sorts of guys were even real? Although, with the thunderstorm and stuff, she sometimes she felt like a superhero herself - like Catwoman or something. She buries her face in the pillow and catches his scent and hers; clean, basic and something floral. She could get used to that smell, the mix of the two of them.
A hand glides along the small of her back and the bed dips to her left. “Time to get up,” he says, and his breath moves through her hair and sets everything to tingling.
She moans, annoyed at everything - the world in general - and those clocks with their endless ticking, mockingly silent and yet moving all the time. “I really don’t wanna get up right now.”
He nudges her over onto her back, and she grudgingly opens her eyes to find him leaning above, body bent at an awkward angle. His eyes, slate-colored and serious, watch her. He’s hardly said a word and she’s blushing, fiddling with the sheet wrapped around her chest. It’s weird to have Simon, of all people, make her this nervous. It’s the way he looks at her, she’s decided. If she wasn’t already naked under the sheets she’d feel that way.
Except sometimes it feels like he can see her all the way to the bones and flesh, right to where her heart is and that’s the bit that steals her breath.
“You’ll be late.”
She lets her hand glance along his arm, and fiddles with sleeves on his dark gray vest before pulling him down. He loses his balance and topples over her with a muffled grunt. She wraps her arms around him, effectively trapped. “I’ll go,” she says with a smirk even as her fingers inch his top up his torso. “Just give me five more minutes.”
His lips are soft and warm against hers and she feels his hands slip down her hips.
---
She gets to the center twenty minutes late. They’re scrubbing graffiti off the back walls today. She’s kitted out in the sickly orange jumpsuit, a dark blue belt on this time with a matching headband. The ammoniac smell of cleaner fluid stings her nostrils as she scrubs, up and down, back and forth, her mind lost in thought.
“Where’ve ya been?” Kelly asks this one.
She shoots her a look and a smile, shrugs. “Oh, you know - missed my alarm clock today.”
Kelly looks at her carefully and she empties her head of serious things. She always has to be careful not to give too much. “Hunh, well you’re lucky ‘cause we covered for you with that wanker probation officer.”
“Thanks,” she says and turns her eyes back to the wall.
She pretends not to feel the suspicious looks from the rest of the gang. She’s not stupid; she knows they’ve noticed her missing and her dodgy behavior. Usually she can get away with blowing smoke rings in their faces or notching her sunglasses atop her nose and pretending she doesn’t quite understand. They let it pass.
Well, all but one of them.
She takes special care not to look at Simon - the Simon that isn’t hers yet - that is. She’s discovering that she can’t lie to him the way she can the others.
She doesn’t want to think too closely on why that is.
melt me, make me; prompt: hot shower; word count: 335
She bangs her head against the shower stall, her hands grasping for purchase along the slippery surface. She rises up on her tip toes, entire body strained and pulsing, curling inward.
Simon’s on his knees in front of her, his face buried between her legs. He nibbles his way along her thigh and then swipes his tongue along the seam of her cunt. She brings her hand down to latch onto his hair to pull him closer. His fingers are digging into her thighs to hold her as steady as possible and he wraps his mouth around her nub and sucks, long and hard. She looks down at his dark head, moving back and forth, moaning every few seconds. Simon’s different from most boys - he actually likes doing this. It’s seriously weird, but it’s definitely one of those weird things that she likes about him.
He slows the movement of his tongue and leans back a little to catch her gaze. She can see his pink tongue swirling and curling against her and the look in his eyes… she bites her lip.
“Oh, shit.”
She turns her face up to the showerhead and feels wet pellets hit her face, her tongue, her body and tries not to scream. Because what he’s doing to her with his mouth and his hands and his tongue is fucking amazing.
God, she's missed this, the realness of this, something concrete that she can hold in her hand and feel and taste. Touch.
---
He likes his water tepid at best; she hates that. What’s the point of taking a shower if it isn’t hot?
He complained once that if he let it get too hot his skin would be red as a tomato for hours because he’s so pale. She’d laughed at him and called him a pasty-arsed albino and anything else she could come up with before he muzzled her with a kiss.
---
When his teeth graze her clit and he slides one long finger inside her, forcing a scream from her throat - she realizes that there are plenty of other ways to get a hot shower in the morning.
childhood memories; prompt: pets; word count: 455
Simon’s very good at tending wounds.
He has gentle hands; neatly-pared nails, pale fingers like an artist. He’s covered them up with bright yellow latex gloves so he can touch her. They, his hands, are bigger than hers. She knows every weft and weave, calluses on his thumbs that glide along her lower lip; the press of life-lines into her cheek, across her breasts, clasping her ankle - but they're not this Simon's hands. She's got to remind herself of that.
The garish yellow gloves help her to distinguish things.
His hands are a little ungainly now, and the yellow's speckled with blood, her blood, from their latest scuffle with a crazy flower shop owner with the power to make weed or something. She’s fuzzy on the details.
She’s been avoiding Curtis like the plague lately with all the lying going on, the secrets. And Nathan wouldn’t know his way around a plaster if it bit him. Kelly’s helping Curtis with his injured leg. So she gets Simon, not that she’s complaining too hard.
She cocks her head curiously and looks at the top of his skull; the dark, almost-black hair slicked down and swept to the side. “How did you get so good at this then?”
He jerks up; surprised; as if he’s wondering why she’s even talking to him. He does that a lot.
She’s also noticed that he does this thing with his mouth before he speaks, purses it a little as if he’s thinking of what to say or how to say it. He raises his eyes from her bleeding fist up to her face for the first time. “I - had a pet rabbit when I was a child. It broke its leg once and I made a splint from a pencil and some my mother’s serviettes,” he says in a rush. “I didn’t want to take it to the vet, you see - I didn’t like vets or doctors or anything like that.”
He glances down at her hand and shrugs. “This isn’t much harder.”
It’s probably the most he’s said to her in one go in all the time they’ve known each other.
“Did you just compare me to your pet rabbit?” she jokes, biting down on a grin.
“Oh - um, no - I didn’t-.” His eyes snap nervously and he snatches his hands from hers, back stiffening up like he’s about to run away or something.
She lays a hand on his arm and laughs out loud. “I’m just kidding with you, Simon - you should loosen up a little.”
He looks slowly from the hand on his arm and up to her face. She sees his gaze flicker down to her mouth and then skitter off nervously the way it often did when she caught him staring - and now that she was looking for it, she noticed it quite a bit. And then he let out a smile, nothing huge, just a twitching of the lips and an ease around the eyes.
She grins. It feels like she’s accomplished something quite important by getting that much out of him.
fin
rating: pg to NC17
disclaimer: don't own a thing.
summary: "you fall in love with me...." -- mostly fluffy drabbles from prompts stolen from a friend's table
an: I've never written in this fandom before. I started watching the show on Thursday, actually. I'm getting a handle on the characters so these are just a little try at doing that. This pairing HAS LITERALLY CHANGED MY WORLD. Seriously, I've been sucked into these two big-time after 2.03, although, I shipped them quite gleefully from the middle of season one. You'll find one present-Simon ficlet, and two with 'super' Simon-- I love them both equally. Really tried to keep them below 1000, and succeeded. There'll be time enough to really get into things when I'm more comfortable with the characters.
Thanks for reading. And feedback is better than ... well anything.
we live and breathe in time; prompt: procrastination; word count: 629
She can hear him moving around.
It’s been a few short weeks but she’s already figuring out his routine. Simon, no matter what time he’s from, is a creature of habit. It doesn’t help that the wall is lined with digital clocks, and he lives and breathes by the turning of each number. Doing the ‘superhero thing’, she likes to call it.
She smiles faintly. Who would’ve thought that she’d ever be with an actual superhero - that those sorts of guys were even real? Although, with the thunderstorm and stuff, she sometimes she felt like a superhero herself - like Catwoman or something. She buries her face in the pillow and catches his scent and hers; clean, basic and something floral. She could get used to that smell, the mix of the two of them.
A hand glides along the small of her back and the bed dips to her left. “Time to get up,” he says, and his breath moves through her hair and sets everything to tingling.
She moans, annoyed at everything - the world in general - and those clocks with their endless ticking, mockingly silent and yet moving all the time. “I really don’t wanna get up right now.”
He nudges her over onto her back, and she grudgingly opens her eyes to find him leaning above, body bent at an awkward angle. His eyes, slate-colored and serious, watch her. He’s hardly said a word and she’s blushing, fiddling with the sheet wrapped around her chest. It’s weird to have Simon, of all people, make her this nervous. It’s the way he looks at her, she’s decided. If she wasn’t already naked under the sheets she’d feel that way.
Except sometimes it feels like he can see her all the way to the bones and flesh, right to where her heart is and that’s the bit that steals her breath.
“You’ll be late.”
She lets her hand glance along his arm, and fiddles with sleeves on his dark gray vest before pulling him down. He loses his balance and topples over her with a muffled grunt. She wraps her arms around him, effectively trapped. “I’ll go,” she says with a smirk even as her fingers inch his top up his torso. “Just give me five more minutes.”
His lips are soft and warm against hers and she feels his hands slip down her hips.
---
She gets to the center twenty minutes late. They’re scrubbing graffiti off the back walls today. She’s kitted out in the sickly orange jumpsuit, a dark blue belt on this time with a matching headband. The ammoniac smell of cleaner fluid stings her nostrils as she scrubs, up and down, back and forth, her mind lost in thought.
“Where’ve ya been?” Kelly asks this one.
She shoots her a look and a smile, shrugs. “Oh, you know - missed my alarm clock today.”
Kelly looks at her carefully and she empties her head of serious things. She always has to be careful not to give too much. “Hunh, well you’re lucky ‘cause we covered for you with that wanker probation officer.”
“Thanks,” she says and turns her eyes back to the wall.
She pretends not to feel the suspicious looks from the rest of the gang. She’s not stupid; she knows they’ve noticed her missing and her dodgy behavior. Usually she can get away with blowing smoke rings in their faces or notching her sunglasses atop her nose and pretending she doesn’t quite understand. They let it pass.
Well, all but one of them.
She takes special care not to look at Simon - the Simon that isn’t hers yet - that is. She’s discovering that she can’t lie to him the way she can the others.
She doesn’t want to think too closely on why that is.
melt me, make me; prompt: hot shower; word count: 335
She bangs her head against the shower stall, her hands grasping for purchase along the slippery surface. She rises up on her tip toes, entire body strained and pulsing, curling inward.
Simon’s on his knees in front of her, his face buried between her legs. He nibbles his way along her thigh and then swipes his tongue along the seam of her cunt. She brings her hand down to latch onto his hair to pull him closer. His fingers are digging into her thighs to hold her as steady as possible and he wraps his mouth around her nub and sucks, long and hard. She looks down at his dark head, moving back and forth, moaning every few seconds. Simon’s different from most boys - he actually likes doing this. It’s seriously weird, but it’s definitely one of those weird things that she likes about him.
He slows the movement of his tongue and leans back a little to catch her gaze. She can see his pink tongue swirling and curling against her and the look in his eyes… she bites her lip.
“Oh, shit.”
She turns her face up to the showerhead and feels wet pellets hit her face, her tongue, her body and tries not to scream. Because what he’s doing to her with his mouth and his hands and his tongue is fucking amazing.
God, she's missed this, the realness of this, something concrete that she can hold in her hand and feel and taste. Touch.
---
He likes his water tepid at best; she hates that. What’s the point of taking a shower if it isn’t hot?
He complained once that if he let it get too hot his skin would be red as a tomato for hours because he’s so pale. She’d laughed at him and called him a pasty-arsed albino and anything else she could come up with before he muzzled her with a kiss.
---
When his teeth graze her clit and he slides one long finger inside her, forcing a scream from her throat - she realizes that there are plenty of other ways to get a hot shower in the morning.
childhood memories; prompt: pets; word count: 455
Simon’s very good at tending wounds.
He has gentle hands; neatly-pared nails, pale fingers like an artist. He’s covered them up with bright yellow latex gloves so he can touch her. They, his hands, are bigger than hers. She knows every weft and weave, calluses on his thumbs that glide along her lower lip; the press of life-lines into her cheek, across her breasts, clasping her ankle - but they're not this Simon's hands. She's got to remind herself of that.
The garish yellow gloves help her to distinguish things.
His hands are a little ungainly now, and the yellow's speckled with blood, her blood, from their latest scuffle with a crazy flower shop owner with the power to make weed or something. She’s fuzzy on the details.
She’s been avoiding Curtis like the plague lately with all the lying going on, the secrets. And Nathan wouldn’t know his way around a plaster if it bit him. Kelly’s helping Curtis with his injured leg. So she gets Simon, not that she’s complaining too hard.
She cocks her head curiously and looks at the top of his skull; the dark, almost-black hair slicked down and swept to the side. “How did you get so good at this then?”
He jerks up; surprised; as if he’s wondering why she’s even talking to him. He does that a lot.
She’s also noticed that he does this thing with his mouth before he speaks, purses it a little as if he’s thinking of what to say or how to say it. He raises his eyes from her bleeding fist up to her face for the first time. “I - had a pet rabbit when I was a child. It broke its leg once and I made a splint from a pencil and some my mother’s serviettes,” he says in a rush. “I didn’t want to take it to the vet, you see - I didn’t like vets or doctors or anything like that.”
He glances down at her hand and shrugs. “This isn’t much harder.”
It’s probably the most he’s said to her in one go in all the time they’ve known each other.
“Did you just compare me to your pet rabbit?” she jokes, biting down on a grin.
“Oh - um, no - I didn’t-.” His eyes snap nervously and he snatches his hands from hers, back stiffening up like he’s about to run away or something.
She lays a hand on his arm and laughs out loud. “I’m just kidding with you, Simon - you should loosen up a little.”
He looks slowly from the hand on his arm and up to her face. She sees his gaze flicker down to her mouth and then skitter off nervously the way it often did when she caught him staring - and now that she was looking for it, she noticed it quite a bit. And then he let out a smile, nothing huge, just a twitching of the lips and an ease around the eyes.
She grins. It feels like she’s accomplished something quite important by getting that much out of him.
fin