Ficbits AGAIN?
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Good god, am I doing one of these every other week now? (I. I just. I keep getting enough done. And I'm a little drained after Visitation.)
FICBIT ME.
Bits will be five hundred words at least. Any fandom you know I know.
I am receptive to crossovers* this time around. (white_aster, I am looking STRAIGHT AT YOU.) In fact, if it is something I have ( Read more... )
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for Kristin - I don’t do this for everyone
They never kiss. It isn’t that she hates kissing, or hates kissing him, which might be more offensive; Mathiu reasons (in the part of him that still reasoned at the moment) that there is something for her, about being that close to another person’s face, that sparks her off. That close to something, you should be able to see it for what it is; you can’t.
Nonetheless, they are face to face now, but her head is thrown back against the coarse pillows on her mat, her dripping chin arched toward the ceiling. He can still smell the tea they had been sharing-it is good tea, and he looks forward to some more after-but the scent is being stifled by their sweat. She smells like ink and wax and money, and it makes him feel convivially childish.
He has to do something with his lips, otherwise he’ll default to kissing her, or do something foolish like ask her why (and he doesn’t think she’ll like it when he talks either) so he brings his face down to her neck and sucks sharply. She moans, and grinds against his hips, but he isn’t quite poised to enter her, so she keeps writhing. Her impatient whimpers are pitched higher than her speaking voice. He wonders which she really sounds like.
“Take your time, why don’t you,” she rasps harshly, sliding up the mat and trying to lower herself again. “Damned patient rich brats.”
He smirks darkly, and mutters, “It’s not patience.”
“Right,” she says, and her swelling, paint-smudged lips purse saucily. “You’re just being an ass.”
He laughs, pulls back, and holds her by the upper arms so that he’s actually in control. Glaring down into her eyes, which are sparkling mischievously but starting to lose focus, he stays precisely where he is, keeping his face as blank as he can. “Say that again.”
“You’re being an ass, Silverberg,” she obliges, and perhaps her eyes weren’t unfocusing after all. “Come on, you like thinking I want you more than you want me.
“That aside,” he says, rolling his eyes and tightening his grip, “I’d rather you actually did.”
She knots her eyebrows-they are darker than her fair hair, he notices now of all times-and pouts dramatically. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t do this for everyone.”
It relieves him a little bit to hear, enough that he loosens up. Unpinned, she reaches down between their bodies and grabs him instead, and it’s only the tactical part of his mind that keeps him braced above her. “That’s right,” she coaxes, joining their bodies. She’s unsurprisingly loose. “You don’t really want the upper hand, now, do you?”
Apparently she is more torso than leg, as he finds himself in a perfect position to shut her up with his mouth if he wants to. He doesn’t. “You might make a fine strategist, Kimberly,” he says, and it isn’t all mockery.
“An ass and a flatterer,” she drones, and bucks up. “Now get going.”
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I always wondered how well Mathiu knew Kimberley...heeee.
She's so delightfully skanky and you write her perfectly. Well done!
Thanks so much, this made my day!
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