femslash
was pondering my love of naked Sam and Kara, and my utter indifference to a bunch of other femslash (Law and Order does Olivia/Cabot; SG-1 Sam/Janet, Sam/new Doc; BSG does Kara/Roslin), and realized that I do kinda like other stuff. But not that. Like, say, Jo McDonagh/Susan Taylor would amuse me. Because they would be accidental lovers--drunk, and fall into bed, and wake up and say, "Never speak of this again." "Nope. Didn't happen." then two months later, end up waking again. "Er..." Still didn't happen."
etc...
Which gives me the following fic (also, on another tangent, Abby/Kate is... ok):
This is rough, and I go to bed soon....
Susan woke up all at once, and wondered precisely what sort of animal had died whilst crawling across her tongue during the night. One bleary eye popped open, and she eyed her surroundings, searching for something that might take the taste away. Light speared into her socket, and she stifled a groan. And perhaps something like a sledgehammer for the pain.
It occured to her that she wasn't entirely alone in her bed. Her bed? The eye popped open again.
Ah. Yes. Hotel room, recquisitioned by Her Majesty for visiting army troops, especially the officers and upper echelons. So as to keep them happy on their rather meagre salaries.
Not hers.
Who had she come back with last night?
The bed shifted, and a groan that was not Susan's normal stalwart, lack-of-brains type sounded (the type with blond hair and blue eyes who scraped by because someone high up knew their mother very very well). She opened both eyes and slowly turned her head.
Well.
She'd gotten the blonde part right, at least.
"How drunk was I?" Mumbled the blonde woman lying next to her.
"Very." Supplied Susan, shifting and discovering that she was sore. And not in the just run a ten-mile hike on acid way. "D'you... remember anything?"
The other woman's eyes flew open.
She'd gotten the blue eyed part right, too.
"Really. Very. Drunk." Confirmed Susan, helpfully.
It took a moment or two, but the other woman finally said, "Jo."
"Susan," offered Susan, deciding that getting up wasn't going to be a good idea. Not, at least, until her stomach stopped attempting to climb out her esophagus. "I seem to recall rather a lot of--"
"Tequila." said Jo.
"Yes."
"And there were..." She squinted in pain, then moaned and covered her eyes. "Can we pretend--"
"Like this didn't happen?"
"Yes."
Susan considered this, then nodded (and regretted it as her head pounded extra hard). "Sure. I'm not..."
"Me, either."
They stopped talking by mutual unspoken agreement, and Susan attempted to climb out of bed. Sitting up made the nausea worse, but she gritted her teeth until she was standing.
A glance down made her pause. There were finger-marks on her thighs, and scratches. "Huh."
"Sorry." Jo hadn't moved, except for opening her eyes again. "I think I got a little..."
"Been a while?"
"Yes."
Susan shrugged. Carefully. "Me, too." Finally visually identifying her clothing, she moved towards it and began to dress. "As a rule, though, I usually don't do this sort of thing."
"There was a lot of tequila," Jo pardonned.
"A lot of complaining, too, as I recall."
"Rather."
Susan frowned as she buttoned her pants. "I seem to remember something about Linda Hamilton."
"I wanted to be her," offered Jo, closing her eyes and pulling the covers over her head.
"Ah. Did it work?"
"Ask me in ten years."
"Right." Susan grabbed her wallet and keys, stepped into her shoes, and headed for the door. "I'll, ah, look you up then."
"Thanks." Called Jo, her voice muffled by the bed clothes.
Susan left the room and headed, carefully, towards the elevator. She had an immediate appointment with aspirin, water, and her bed. Lots of aspiring.
--
five months, ten days, two hours....
"We have got to stop meeting like this," Jo says as she turns over and finds Susan asleep in her bed.
One eye opens, and it's not as bloodshot this time. "What would you suggest?"
"Stay away from army bars when I'm in town?"
"Good plan."
"Yeah." Jo's at a loss. She knows there was sex, and she knows it was with a woman. What she doesn't get is why--especially considering her current romantic entanglements with a certain Phillip Roper. "Could you flip the sign on your way?"
Susan stops her movement from the bed and blinks, "Do not disturb?"
"Yeah. Need more sleep."
"Sure."
There aren't as many marks on Susan this time, and Jo has a feeling she's got them (last time, she found hickeys in places that would've made young Mr. Vicary blush). She dresses quickly, efficiently, and Jo tries not to admire it through her hangover.
"Don't forget the sign," she reminds when Susan heads for the door.
"I won't."
There's no point in trying to go back to sleep, this time.
-f-
etc...
Which gives me the following fic (also, on another tangent, Abby/Kate is... ok):
This is rough, and I go to bed soon....
Susan woke up all at once, and wondered precisely what sort of animal had died whilst crawling across her tongue during the night. One bleary eye popped open, and she eyed her surroundings, searching for something that might take the taste away. Light speared into her socket, and she stifled a groan. And perhaps something like a sledgehammer for the pain.
It occured to her that she wasn't entirely alone in her bed. Her bed? The eye popped open again.
Ah. Yes. Hotel room, recquisitioned by Her Majesty for visiting army troops, especially the officers and upper echelons. So as to keep them happy on their rather meagre salaries.
Not hers.
Who had she come back with last night?
The bed shifted, and a groan that was not Susan's normal stalwart, lack-of-brains type sounded (the type with blond hair and blue eyes who scraped by because someone high up knew their mother very very well). She opened both eyes and slowly turned her head.
Well.
She'd gotten the blonde part right, at least.
"How drunk was I?" Mumbled the blonde woman lying next to her.
"Very." Supplied Susan, shifting and discovering that she was sore. And not in the just run a ten-mile hike on acid way. "D'you... remember anything?"
The other woman's eyes flew open.
She'd gotten the blue eyed part right, too.
"Really. Very. Drunk." Confirmed Susan, helpfully.
It took a moment or two, but the other woman finally said, "Jo."
"Susan," offered Susan, deciding that getting up wasn't going to be a good idea. Not, at least, until her stomach stopped attempting to climb out her esophagus. "I seem to recall rather a lot of--"
"Tequila." said Jo.
"Yes."
"And there were..." She squinted in pain, then moaned and covered her eyes. "Can we pretend--"
"Like this didn't happen?"
"Yes."
Susan considered this, then nodded (and regretted it as her head pounded extra hard). "Sure. I'm not..."
"Me, either."
They stopped talking by mutual unspoken agreement, and Susan attempted to climb out of bed. Sitting up made the nausea worse, but she gritted her teeth until she was standing.
A glance down made her pause. There were finger-marks on her thighs, and scratches. "Huh."
"Sorry." Jo hadn't moved, except for opening her eyes again. "I think I got a little..."
"Been a while?"
"Yes."
Susan shrugged. Carefully. "Me, too." Finally visually identifying her clothing, she moved towards it and began to dress. "As a rule, though, I usually don't do this sort of thing."
"There was a lot of tequila," Jo pardonned.
"A lot of complaining, too, as I recall."
"Rather."
Susan frowned as she buttoned her pants. "I seem to remember something about Linda Hamilton."
"I wanted to be her," offered Jo, closing her eyes and pulling the covers over her head.
"Ah. Did it work?"
"Ask me in ten years."
"Right." Susan grabbed her wallet and keys, stepped into her shoes, and headed for the door. "I'll, ah, look you up then."
"Thanks." Called Jo, her voice muffled by the bed clothes.
Susan left the room and headed, carefully, towards the elevator. She had an immediate appointment with aspirin, water, and her bed. Lots of aspiring.
--
five months, ten days, two hours....
"We have got to stop meeting like this," Jo says as she turns over and finds Susan asleep in her bed.
One eye opens, and it's not as bloodshot this time. "What would you suggest?"
"Stay away from army bars when I'm in town?"
"Good plan."
"Yeah." Jo's at a loss. She knows there was sex, and she knows it was with a woman. What she doesn't get is why--especially considering her current romantic entanglements with a certain Phillip Roper. "Could you flip the sign on your way?"
Susan stops her movement from the bed and blinks, "Do not disturb?"
"Yeah. Need more sleep."
"Sure."
There aren't as many marks on Susan this time, and Jo has a feeling she's got them (last time, she found hickeys in places that would've made young Mr. Vicary blush). She dresses quickly, efficiently, and Jo tries not to admire it through her hangover.
"Don't forget the sign," she reminds when Susan heads for the door.
"I won't."
There's no point in trying to go back to sleep, this time.
-f-