crossover: BSG/Dresden Files, Murphy/Anders, Just for a Day
Disclaimer: not mine. Totally not mine.
Fandoms: Battlestar Galactica, Dresden Files tv series.
Pairing: Connie Murphy/Sam Anders, prompt: wall (sadly, there is no wallsex)
Rating: Rish. Sex. Language. Length: 1100+
Notes: Wrote this for the porn battle, but it's a bit long. (actually wrote it on Monday, but I've been ignoring it, since no one but me wants this, anyway ;)
Just for a Day
by ALC Punk!
Connie Murphy is having sex with a man who claims he isn't human. It's a claim she doesn't believe--even after all this time around Harry Dresden, she doesn't believe his tall tales and explanations of magic. What she does believe (and understand) is the simplicity of human need.
Ok, so it might not be sex, either. It might just be making out, and, damn, but she thinks she's too old for that.
It comes as no surprise to her that Dresden introduced them with that half-grin of his, like he was daring her to ask him about it all (and wishing she wouldn't). Connie remembers shaking Sam Anders' hand and looking up at him suspiciously for an instant before she'd noticed how blue his eyes were (everyone was taller, these days, it was damned unfair).
Then had come alcohol. And chocolate cake.
She wasn't sure why Dresden gave them both tequila, or how she started talking about her daughter. She just knows it felt like what she needed. Or maybe what Anders needed.
His eyes had been sympathetic, and something else--something that talked of walls and pain she didn't want to know about. When he'd reached out and swiped his thumb over the chocolate icing caught on the corner of her mouth, she'd turned her head, catching him with her lips.
"I'm not--"
"Dresden said," Connie says, dragging herself to her feet and leaning over the table towards him. She can smell the alcohol on both of them, and wonders where Dresden went. Her mouth hovers for an instant before she closes that last bit of distance.
He feels like heaven. She's got to be drunk to think of stupid things like that. Drunk or just damned hard up. When his hand comes up to cup her cheek, she figures she's allowed a little poetry.
She doesn't remember crawling into his lap (or climbing, and there's a damp spot down her side, so maybe she crawled over the table?), but she does enjoy the way he tenses when she lands. A laugh escapes her before her mouth is back on his. His lips are smiling under hers, curving up while his hands go to her shoulders.
The kisses seem to go on forever, and Connie's brain is almost dead to the world when his hand comes up to brush against her breast. It jars her from the world of lips and tongue and she pulls back.
Now, embarrassment is clawing its way through her gut (it's fighting arousal, though). Connie pulls away and drops her head to his shoulder, forehead pressed against the cloth there. "I--"
"Sorry." His voice is husky, and he shifts a moment, hands dropping to her waist.
"I don't normally do this sort of thing," she admits, knowing she should be climbing off his lap and heading for the door (and a cab--can she call a cab from Dresden's phone, if the damned thing isn't broken again). But there's something about the way he feels against her that makes her want to stay right where she is.
"Kiss strange men?" he hazards, his tone almost amused. His hands loosen and one comes up to brush her hair back from her cheek. He kisses the spot he uncovered.
"Kiss aliens," Connie replies, grabbing for the ridiculous, because it's all she's got.
"Right. No kissing aliens allowed."
Connie likes to think of herself as a smart girl, a good girl, who doesn't do stupid shit. No sleeping with married men, no sex without a condom, and no sex on the first date. But then again, it's been a long time since she's had a date of any sort, and a really long time since her body's reacted to a man like this.
"You might want to get up," he murmurs, hands still touching her waist and shoulder.
Yeah, she should. It takes a second, but she untangles herself and stands. A grab for the bottle of tequila and Sam's hands catch her when she trips on his feet reaching for it. "Fuck--" Crap. She hasn't sworn like a cop in months. She's been so damned good, watching her language around her kid.
"That a request?" He asks, voice low and husky.
It does things to her insides and Connie bites her lip before drinking a shot that burns all the way down. The bottle hits the table and she's turning back to him before her brain catches up with her body.
His hands pull her shirt from her pants as she straddles his lap, arms around his neck, fingers in his hair.
The burn of the tequila is chased away by his mouth and hands--big hands, stroking her skin, almost reverently and she arches, a little shocked about how desperate she is.
"Slow--" he breaks off on a gasp when her hand drops between them, pressing down on his hard cock.
Connie almost laughs, before her brain finally catches up. And while his hand retaliates, dipping beneath her waistband, she wonders if Dresden will catch them doing this in his kitchen. The thought disappears a second later, the ache between her legs arrested for a second when he brushes his fingers against her through her underwear.
There's not a lot of room with her pants still on, but she's not going to stop him. Not yet.
His hand grabs at her hip, tugging her up a little and then he's got more room. Room is good, Connie decides, her brain a little fuzzy with his fingers stroking her and his mouth on hers and his other hand up her shirt again.
There are vibrators and dildoes, but there's nothing quite like a guy's fingers and mouth, and Connie figures this alien will be in her dreams and fantasies for quite a few months as he strokes carefully, gaging her reactions and changing them until he's got it so right she's rocking hard against him and trying not to make a sound.
If Dresden walks in now, she will never hear the end of it.
"Hurry--" her voice breaks on a moan that he catches in his mouth.
There, she thinks, and then she doesn't think until the world comes back, all soft edges and dusty colors.
"Hey." He kisses her cheek again, then her mouth, teasing her lightly, but letting her catch her breath.
"I, ah," embarrassment tries to make an advance and Connie ignores it, leaning against Sam Anders' chest. "That was nice."
"Nice. Nice is good."
She chuckles a little at the strained hope in his voice and pats his shoulder. "C'mon," she tugs his hand free and starts climbing off of him, "let's go find somewhere a little more comfortable."
Connie reflects, as he stands, that she doesn't normally do this sort of thing. But there's just something about him. Besides, he's real good with his hands, and a girl could do worse. Dresden, for instance. But she shoves the thought away as Sam Anders follows her from the kitchen. He's not an alien, and for the next few hours, she's not a cop.
-f-
Fandoms: Battlestar Galactica, Dresden Files tv series.
Pairing: Connie Murphy/Sam Anders, prompt: wall (sadly, there is no wallsex)
Rating: Rish. Sex. Language. Length: 1100+
Notes: Wrote this for the porn battle, but it's a bit long. (actually wrote it on Monday, but I've been ignoring it, since no one but me wants this, anyway ;)
Just for a Day
by ALC Punk!
Connie Murphy is having sex with a man who claims he isn't human. It's a claim she doesn't believe--even after all this time around Harry Dresden, she doesn't believe his tall tales and explanations of magic. What she does believe (and understand) is the simplicity of human need.
Ok, so it might not be sex, either. It might just be making out, and, damn, but she thinks she's too old for that.
It comes as no surprise to her that Dresden introduced them with that half-grin of his, like he was daring her to ask him about it all (and wishing she wouldn't). Connie remembers shaking Sam Anders' hand and looking up at him suspiciously for an instant before she'd noticed how blue his eyes were (everyone was taller, these days, it was damned unfair).
Then had come alcohol. And chocolate cake.
She wasn't sure why Dresden gave them both tequila, or how she started talking about her daughter. She just knows it felt like what she needed. Or maybe what Anders needed.
His eyes had been sympathetic, and something else--something that talked of walls and pain she didn't want to know about. When he'd reached out and swiped his thumb over the chocolate icing caught on the corner of her mouth, she'd turned her head, catching him with her lips.
"I'm not--"
"Dresden said," Connie says, dragging herself to her feet and leaning over the table towards him. She can smell the alcohol on both of them, and wonders where Dresden went. Her mouth hovers for an instant before she closes that last bit of distance.
He feels like heaven. She's got to be drunk to think of stupid things like that. Drunk or just damned hard up. When his hand comes up to cup her cheek, she figures she's allowed a little poetry.
She doesn't remember crawling into his lap (or climbing, and there's a damp spot down her side, so maybe she crawled over the table?), but she does enjoy the way he tenses when she lands. A laugh escapes her before her mouth is back on his. His lips are smiling under hers, curving up while his hands go to her shoulders.
The kisses seem to go on forever, and Connie's brain is almost dead to the world when his hand comes up to brush against her breast. It jars her from the world of lips and tongue and she pulls back.
Now, embarrassment is clawing its way through her gut (it's fighting arousal, though). Connie pulls away and drops her head to his shoulder, forehead pressed against the cloth there. "I--"
"Sorry." His voice is husky, and he shifts a moment, hands dropping to her waist.
"I don't normally do this sort of thing," she admits, knowing she should be climbing off his lap and heading for the door (and a cab--can she call a cab from Dresden's phone, if the damned thing isn't broken again). But there's something about the way he feels against her that makes her want to stay right where she is.
"Kiss strange men?" he hazards, his tone almost amused. His hands loosen and one comes up to brush her hair back from her cheek. He kisses the spot he uncovered.
"Kiss aliens," Connie replies, grabbing for the ridiculous, because it's all she's got.
"Right. No kissing aliens allowed."
Connie likes to think of herself as a smart girl, a good girl, who doesn't do stupid shit. No sleeping with married men, no sex without a condom, and no sex on the first date. But then again, it's been a long time since she's had a date of any sort, and a really long time since her body's reacted to a man like this.
"You might want to get up," he murmurs, hands still touching her waist and shoulder.
Yeah, she should. It takes a second, but she untangles herself and stands. A grab for the bottle of tequila and Sam's hands catch her when she trips on his feet reaching for it. "Fuck--" Crap. She hasn't sworn like a cop in months. She's been so damned good, watching her language around her kid.
"That a request?" He asks, voice low and husky.
It does things to her insides and Connie bites her lip before drinking a shot that burns all the way down. The bottle hits the table and she's turning back to him before her brain catches up with her body.
His hands pull her shirt from her pants as she straddles his lap, arms around his neck, fingers in his hair.
The burn of the tequila is chased away by his mouth and hands--big hands, stroking her skin, almost reverently and she arches, a little shocked about how desperate she is.
"Slow--" he breaks off on a gasp when her hand drops between them, pressing down on his hard cock.
Connie almost laughs, before her brain finally catches up. And while his hand retaliates, dipping beneath her waistband, she wonders if Dresden will catch them doing this in his kitchen. The thought disappears a second later, the ache between her legs arrested for a second when he brushes his fingers against her through her underwear.
There's not a lot of room with her pants still on, but she's not going to stop him. Not yet.
His hand grabs at her hip, tugging her up a little and then he's got more room. Room is good, Connie decides, her brain a little fuzzy with his fingers stroking her and his mouth on hers and his other hand up her shirt again.
There are vibrators and dildoes, but there's nothing quite like a guy's fingers and mouth, and Connie figures this alien will be in her dreams and fantasies for quite a few months as he strokes carefully, gaging her reactions and changing them until he's got it so right she's rocking hard against him and trying not to make a sound.
If Dresden walks in now, she will never hear the end of it.
"Hurry--" her voice breaks on a moan that he catches in his mouth.
There, she thinks, and then she doesn't think until the world comes back, all soft edges and dusty colors.
"Hey." He kisses her cheek again, then her mouth, teasing her lightly, but letting her catch her breath.
"I, ah," embarrassment tries to make an advance and Connie ignores it, leaning against Sam Anders' chest. "That was nice."
"Nice. Nice is good."
She chuckles a little at the strained hope in his voice and pats his shoulder. "C'mon," she tugs his hand free and starts climbing off of him, "let's go find somewhere a little more comfortable."
Connie reflects, as he stands, that she doesn't normally do this sort of thing. But there's just something about him. Besides, he's real good with his hands, and a girl could do worse. Dresden, for instance. But she shoves the thought away as Sam Anders follows her from the kitchen. He's not an alien, and for the next few hours, she's not a cop.
-f-