Fringe Fanfic - Astrid / Olivia Femslash
Title: All That And Some Caramel Sprinkles
Author: Lule-bell
Paring: Astrid / Olivia
Rating: R
Word Count: 1668
Summary: What happened next didn't make any sense - not to Astrid and certainly not to Olivia.
She’s not interested in most things she should be - shoes, fashion, cooking. She likes her sensible pantsuits and trusted loafers and swears by the take-out menus that are pinned up on her refrigerator. She likes her gun. Girls with guns Peter has been known to murmur, smiling lightly to himself, while giving her the once over. She smiles because she thinks that it’s cute, that he’s cute, but he refuses to give him anything else. She’s not interested, not in these things.
--
“Half-half caramel latte,” Astrid smirks and licks her lips; her eyes can’t see anything else and she wishes she would look up and notice -- “There are no caramel sprinkles!” Astrid’s pout is nothing short of adorable and Olivia has the sudden urge to to wage war against the world over all of it’s injustices. Her gun is suddenly there, against her hip.
“Are you still waiting?” Olivia’s reached a stalemate with the world as Astrid’s voice pulls her back from the brink.
“Uh, no. No, I didn’t get anything.”
Astrid’s eyes widen, determination resting squarely between her eyebrows. “That can’t be right. You don’t come here and just not get anything. People don’t do that, Olivia.”
People.
Normal, everyday people, interested in what’s normal, everyday.
“I’ll get a...” Astrid eyes her carefully. “A vanilla latte, no whip.”
Olivia doesn't want that but she doesn't object either. This gives her the opportunity to watch - observe quietly, concentrating on her hands, the shape her eyes take when she laughs. The sound elevates over all others, a happy ring that makes her smile without thinking. Astrid hands Olivia the coffee and in a whirlwind of newspapers, chatter and sophisticated jazz music, they’re out the door.
--
She’s come to accept her solitary lifestyle with a particular grace she finds rather attractive; she couldn’t care less about her reputation or what anyone else thinks about her. She enjoys her quiet mornings and no one asks if she’ll be home for dinner or why she’s home so late. She doesn't have to hear the “really Liv? Take out again”s that follows her about with her sister around. She adores her niece but that’s precisely the reason why - she’s her niece. She’s just not interested, not in these things.
--
She’s mesmerized by Astrid’s dance - the wind picks up her coat tails and shuffles her forward. Coffee in one hand, the other atop her head, in an attempt to keep her jacket hood on. Olivia follows slowly, watching carefully, burning Astrid’s steps into her mind. She catches up only because Astrid’s stopped to take a sip of her candy-coffee.
“You don’t want yours?”
“It’s keeping my hands warm.”
“It’s deceptively cold today.”
“I didn’t bring any gloves.”
“You don’t need them.”
Astrid grabs Olivia’s free hand with her own, tuck it into her jacket pocket snugly. She can feel Astrid’s stomach and the tip of her hip; she’s warm and Olivia sucks in her heat like a night beside an Arctic fire.
--
The sky grows dark, kidnapping what little sun light they had left and it’s a race for shelter against the threatening storm.
Astrid still has Olivia by the hand, despite them both having finished their coffees long before and she’s leading them... somewhere. Somewhere not here. Not this, crowded place filled with noises, people crunching snow beneath concrete with heavy shoes. Someplace further, warmer, where the sunshines and even the nights aren’t as crazy as this wind is now.
The push through nowhere slowly, Astrid in the lead, and normally Olivia wouldn’t be so quick as to allow this to happen but her hand is warm in Astrid’s and she’s hesitant to give that up; her other hand screamed as winter wind ripped her flesh. She squeezes Astrid’s hand tightly and she smiles when Astrid squeezed back. She took her victories where she could find them.
Blinded by the wind and snow that collected itself on her lashes, Olivia’s surprised when they finally stop at a red door with a gold lock; Astrid has the key and together, they stumble inside.
--
Astrid’s apartment is warm and roomy with pictures of her with her friends and family around the living room, each in pretty frames that suit the moment nicely. There’s a framed picture of her and Walter and Gene sitting squarely on her kitchen island.
“Who took this?”
“Oh, Peter,” Astrid answers absently, fumbling with the tea kettle, debating between several packages of tea. But, we just had coffee...
Olivia wondered around the apartment: warm and inviting, an extension of Astrid herself. There were no unpacked boxes, or any boxes at all, anywhere in the apartment.
“Olivia? Milk and sugar?”
“Honey.” The unexpected choice started both of them.
“Honey.” Astrid rummaged through the cupboard. “You can take your jacket off --” Olivia played with a button on her jacket -- “just put it on the couch or in the hall closet there --” Astrid gripped with honey bottle tightly, jerking it frontwards and backwards, trying to get the liquid moving. “C’mon!”
Olivia approaches her from behind, collecting Astrid’s hand in her own. Her fingers fold over Astrid’s, milk washing over chocolate, cream on coffee, ice cooling heat. She still has the honey bottle in her hand when she turns around to face Olivia, who doesn't release Astrid’s hand from her own. Astrid’s eyes relax into a soft brown and what happened next didn’t make sense -- not to Astrid and certainly not to Olivia, but then normal and what interested normal people didn’t apply to her.
--
She remembers John, vividly, as if every second has been burned behind her eyelids, tattooed on to her skin and streaked into her hair. The harder she scrubs, the more raw the flesh becomes, yet the scars still remain. Open, red and raw. The mark of a traitor on places the whole world can see and Astrid is sure to notice. But as fingers work buttons and clothes succumb to gravity, it’s all a whirl of hands and skin and lips and it turns out that she’s more interested than she had originally believed.
--
Some how they make it to Astrid’s bedroom; she’s certain Astrid leads. Olivia is having trouble concentrating on anything besides the fire that creeps up her skin. She lets her feet walk, her lips kiss and her hands feel everything all at once. Her legs hit the back of the bed and she falls into it, back first, head over heels and she starts to panic. She doesn't do these kinds of things -- not any more, not since John. Astrid catches her, a hand beneath her head but she’s not used to this feeling and she grabs on to Astrid’s wrists, wide-eyed, gasping for air.
“Olivia! It’s alright!” Astrid lets off of her, giving her much needed room to breathe, relax and just be.... She’s more than somewhat naked now but she’s more than less panicky and she chooses to claim that as a small victory.
--
Astrid runs her tongue over Olivia’s inner thigh, nipping at her flesh while toying gently with her right breast. She presses on her stomach firmly, anchoring her down. Olivia could push her off easily, find her clothes, her gun, and brave the howling storm all the way back home. But she doesn’t. She lies there, under Astrid’s hands, under her tongue, letting her take the dominant lead.
Astrid’s tongue is experienced to say the least: she flips Olivia’s folds from side to side, piercing between them, poking in with just the tip. She knows exactly what she’s doing: she’s an experienced fox down the rabbit hole and for a moment, one single moment in a cluster of a whole day’s, Olivia manages to turn her brain off.
All the voices in her head that scream reasons why not are gone and it’s only the snow hitting the window pane and the sound of her own orgasm that fills her ears and the room. Astrid drinks her like fresh cream at the county fair, smacking her lips loudly as she swallows.
Olivia’s arch is slowly sinking, her breathing becoming slow and regulated, controlled. Astrid recognizes this and is immediately up on Olivia’s body, whose sweat lubricates them both and she pushes up on her toes, clamping her mouth over Olivia’s.
She’s startled at first, at her taste on Astrid’s tongue, her wet on Astrid’s nose, but she adjusts, pressing her hands against Astrid’s cheeks, deepening the kiss and pressing their breasts together. She flips them suddenly and Olivia falls between Astrid’s legs easily, and she plunges her tongue into her mouth, claiming her as her own.
Olivia’s fast - far too fast but her fingers ignore her brain and she plunges deep inside Astrid, pumping and undulating until her cries are all Olivia can hear, silencing the outside storm.
Olivia rolls off of Astrid but grabs her hand, resting it on her thigh. Slowly, Astrid’s breathing returns to normal and she lulls her head to the side, tucking her head under Olivia’s shoulder and drifts off to sleep. Olivia’s last thought escapes before she can process it -- “Maybe I am interested... in these things....”
--
She awakes to an empty bed and a quiet apartment, light and airy from the open bedroom window. She showers quickly, borrowing Astrid’s shampoo and hairbrush; she picks her clothes up off of the floor and finds her jacket waiting for her still neatly folded on the couch. She pauses momentarily and spies a fresh cup of coffee perched on Astrid’s kitchen island, beside the picture of her and Walter and Gene, waiting for its owner.
A note flutters to the ground when she picks up the paper travel cup: “They had caramel sprinkles today!”
She can feel Astrid’s joy - it’s infectious, bubbling around her like a magic spell. She smiles, bright, beautiful and happy like the sunshiny day. Coffee in hand and gun on hip, she walks into the rest of the day.
Author: Lule-bell
Paring: Astrid / Olivia
Rating: R
Word Count: 1668
Summary: What happened next didn't make any sense - not to Astrid and certainly not to Olivia.
She’s not interested in most things she should be - shoes, fashion, cooking. She likes her sensible pantsuits and trusted loafers and swears by the take-out menus that are pinned up on her refrigerator. She likes her gun. Girls with guns Peter has been known to murmur, smiling lightly to himself, while giving her the once over. She smiles because she thinks that it’s cute, that he’s cute, but he refuses to give him anything else. She’s not interested, not in these things.
--
“Half-half caramel latte,” Astrid smirks and licks her lips; her eyes can’t see anything else and she wishes she would look up and notice -- “There are no caramel sprinkles!” Astrid’s pout is nothing short of adorable and Olivia has the sudden urge to to wage war against the world over all of it’s injustices. Her gun is suddenly there, against her hip.
“Are you still waiting?” Olivia’s reached a stalemate with the world as Astrid’s voice pulls her back from the brink.
“Uh, no. No, I didn’t get anything.”
Astrid’s eyes widen, determination resting squarely between her eyebrows. “That can’t be right. You don’t come here and just not get anything. People don’t do that, Olivia.”
People.
Normal, everyday people, interested in what’s normal, everyday.
“I’ll get a...” Astrid eyes her carefully. “A vanilla latte, no whip.”
Olivia doesn't want that but she doesn't object either. This gives her the opportunity to watch - observe quietly, concentrating on her hands, the shape her eyes take when she laughs. The sound elevates over all others, a happy ring that makes her smile without thinking. Astrid hands Olivia the coffee and in a whirlwind of newspapers, chatter and sophisticated jazz music, they’re out the door.
--
She’s come to accept her solitary lifestyle with a particular grace she finds rather attractive; she couldn’t care less about her reputation or what anyone else thinks about her. She enjoys her quiet mornings and no one asks if she’ll be home for dinner or why she’s home so late. She doesn't have to hear the “really Liv? Take out again”s that follows her about with her sister around. She adores her niece but that’s precisely the reason why - she’s her niece. She’s just not interested, not in these things.
--
She’s mesmerized by Astrid’s dance - the wind picks up her coat tails and shuffles her forward. Coffee in one hand, the other atop her head, in an attempt to keep her jacket hood on. Olivia follows slowly, watching carefully, burning Astrid’s steps into her mind. She catches up only because Astrid’s stopped to take a sip of her candy-coffee.
“You don’t want yours?”
“It’s keeping my hands warm.”
“It’s deceptively cold today.”
“I didn’t bring any gloves.”
“You don’t need them.”
Astrid grabs Olivia’s free hand with her own, tuck it into her jacket pocket snugly. She can feel Astrid’s stomach and the tip of her hip; she’s warm and Olivia sucks in her heat like a night beside an Arctic fire.
--
The sky grows dark, kidnapping what little sun light they had left and it’s a race for shelter against the threatening storm.
Astrid still has Olivia by the hand, despite them both having finished their coffees long before and she’s leading them... somewhere. Somewhere not here. Not this, crowded place filled with noises, people crunching snow beneath concrete with heavy shoes. Someplace further, warmer, where the sunshines and even the nights aren’t as crazy as this wind is now.
The push through nowhere slowly, Astrid in the lead, and normally Olivia wouldn’t be so quick as to allow this to happen but her hand is warm in Astrid’s and she’s hesitant to give that up; her other hand screamed as winter wind ripped her flesh. She squeezes Astrid’s hand tightly and she smiles when Astrid squeezed back. She took her victories where she could find them.
Blinded by the wind and snow that collected itself on her lashes, Olivia’s surprised when they finally stop at a red door with a gold lock; Astrid has the key and together, they stumble inside.
--
Astrid’s apartment is warm and roomy with pictures of her with her friends and family around the living room, each in pretty frames that suit the moment nicely. There’s a framed picture of her and Walter and Gene sitting squarely on her kitchen island.
“Who took this?”
“Oh, Peter,” Astrid answers absently, fumbling with the tea kettle, debating between several packages of tea. But, we just had coffee...
Olivia wondered around the apartment: warm and inviting, an extension of Astrid herself. There were no unpacked boxes, or any boxes at all, anywhere in the apartment.
“Olivia? Milk and sugar?”
“Honey.” The unexpected choice started both of them.
“Honey.” Astrid rummaged through the cupboard. “You can take your jacket off --” Olivia played with a button on her jacket -- “just put it on the couch or in the hall closet there --” Astrid gripped with honey bottle tightly, jerking it frontwards and backwards, trying to get the liquid moving. “C’mon!”
Olivia approaches her from behind, collecting Astrid’s hand in her own. Her fingers fold over Astrid’s, milk washing over chocolate, cream on coffee, ice cooling heat. She still has the honey bottle in her hand when she turns around to face Olivia, who doesn't release Astrid’s hand from her own. Astrid’s eyes relax into a soft brown and what happened next didn’t make sense -- not to Astrid and certainly not to Olivia, but then normal and what interested normal people didn’t apply to her.
--
She remembers John, vividly, as if every second has been burned behind her eyelids, tattooed on to her skin and streaked into her hair. The harder she scrubs, the more raw the flesh becomes, yet the scars still remain. Open, red and raw. The mark of a traitor on places the whole world can see and Astrid is sure to notice. But as fingers work buttons and clothes succumb to gravity, it’s all a whirl of hands and skin and lips and it turns out that she’s more interested than she had originally believed.
--
Some how they make it to Astrid’s bedroom; she’s certain Astrid leads. Olivia is having trouble concentrating on anything besides the fire that creeps up her skin. She lets her feet walk, her lips kiss and her hands feel everything all at once. Her legs hit the back of the bed and she falls into it, back first, head over heels and she starts to panic. She doesn't do these kinds of things -- not any more, not since John. Astrid catches her, a hand beneath her head but she’s not used to this feeling and she grabs on to Astrid’s wrists, wide-eyed, gasping for air.
“Olivia! It’s alright!” Astrid lets off of her, giving her much needed room to breathe, relax and just be.... She’s more than somewhat naked now but she’s more than less panicky and she chooses to claim that as a small victory.
--
Astrid runs her tongue over Olivia’s inner thigh, nipping at her flesh while toying gently with her right breast. She presses on her stomach firmly, anchoring her down. Olivia could push her off easily, find her clothes, her gun, and brave the howling storm all the way back home. But she doesn’t. She lies there, under Astrid’s hands, under her tongue, letting her take the dominant lead.
Astrid’s tongue is experienced to say the least: she flips Olivia’s folds from side to side, piercing between them, poking in with just the tip. She knows exactly what she’s doing: she’s an experienced fox down the rabbit hole and for a moment, one single moment in a cluster of a whole day’s, Olivia manages to turn her brain off.
All the voices in her head that scream reasons why not are gone and it’s only the snow hitting the window pane and the sound of her own orgasm that fills her ears and the room. Astrid drinks her like fresh cream at the county fair, smacking her lips loudly as she swallows.
Olivia’s arch is slowly sinking, her breathing becoming slow and regulated, controlled. Astrid recognizes this and is immediately up on Olivia’s body, whose sweat lubricates them both and she pushes up on her toes, clamping her mouth over Olivia’s.
She’s startled at first, at her taste on Astrid’s tongue, her wet on Astrid’s nose, but she adjusts, pressing her hands against Astrid’s cheeks, deepening the kiss and pressing their breasts together. She flips them suddenly and Olivia falls between Astrid’s legs easily, and she plunges her tongue into her mouth, claiming her as her own.
Olivia’s fast - far too fast but her fingers ignore her brain and she plunges deep inside Astrid, pumping and undulating until her cries are all Olivia can hear, silencing the outside storm.
Olivia rolls off of Astrid but grabs her hand, resting it on her thigh. Slowly, Astrid’s breathing returns to normal and she lulls her head to the side, tucking her head under Olivia’s shoulder and drifts off to sleep. Olivia’s last thought escapes before she can process it -- “Maybe I am interested... in these things....”
--
She awakes to an empty bed and a quiet apartment, light and airy from the open bedroom window. She showers quickly, borrowing Astrid’s shampoo and hairbrush; she picks her clothes up off of the floor and finds her jacket waiting for her still neatly folded on the couch. She pauses momentarily and spies a fresh cup of coffee perched on Astrid’s kitchen island, beside the picture of her and Walter and Gene, waiting for its owner.
A note flutters to the ground when she picks up the paper travel cup: “They had caramel sprinkles today!”
She can feel Astrid’s joy - it’s infectious, bubbling around her like a magic spell. She smiles, bright, beautiful and happy like the sunshiny day. Coffee in hand and gun on hip, she walks into the rest of the day.