gift fic: for chibijaime aubby
Because CJ chibijaime is made of win. And because I was itching to write for Nadz's oniwanbashu TransHumans all over again.
Come On In (Baby It's Cold Outside).
Characters: Ben (TransHuman Bumblebee) x Sarah (TransHuman SteepleChase)
Rating: R/NC-17
Notes: I caught ChibiJaime aubby online sometime during the first few hours of New Year's Day. Was high from watching fireworks and itching to spread the happy, ontop of mulling over ideas for her little request for Sarah!fic of the mature variety. Figured I'd give it a shot, since her Sarah with TransHuman Bee a.k.a. Ben is an OTP I love just as much as my Caty and her childhood friend's Camaro turned hyoooman in TM.
This is gift fic, because in what little time I've known Chibi, I have already gleaned that she is awesome and win and amaaaaaaazingly sweet.
1,326 words. Set on New Year's Eve and the hours thereafter. Ben/Bee, first-person POV. Both kids are legal btw, in case any of you think different.
It’s midnight when she strikes, slipping her hand into mine to drag me away amidst the cheering and confetti. I figure everyone’s too drunk to care or too preoccupied to notice the two of us sneaking off from the main function room that Dad rented out for the evening. Either way, I’m thankful that nobody sees. Because really, I’ve been waiting for this.
We reach the hall and duck in a corner, her fingers fisting on the cloth of the jacket I pulled on when I realized that it was going to be cold never mind that we’d be indoors. She tastes like the Tiramisu we’d been served, feels so small when I press myself against her, pushing her up against the wall. “Happy New Year,” she sighs into my mouth and I swear I go over.
We make our exit as a group -- me, Sarah, Clive, Sean and Cody. The adults shaking their heads going kids’ like it’s nothing at all. I don’t sweat so much when Jace calls me over, only to give instructions that Sarah is to be home by 3am the latest, no extensions, no excuses. She and I have been together for awhile and he trusts me a little bit more now than he did before. It’s the look in Sabela’s eye that warns me. This is Sarah after all, and now she’s legal and school’s out for the new few weeks.
A taxi ride and several drinks into clubbing at a schoolmate’s father’s hotel, we stumble into an elevator, her mouth in my ear as I lift a hand to press my fist to the floor where she’s promised us a room.
I’ll be dead in the morning, I figure that much, nail bat embedded into my skull, but at the moment I don’t really care for much except holding her close, skimming my lips over the skin of her bare shoulder and spanning her waist with my hands.
She smells like cotton, or powder -- hell if I know which it is, it’s Sarah.
We can’t get the key into the door in the first couple of tries, but when we do, it’s in, shut and up against another wall; her first and then me, smaller hands slipping under my shirt to trace cold-tipped fingers over warm flesh.
I hiss, because God, it’s a guilty fantasy coming to life, the way she’s so attentive, so focused, while my head clouds over and I lift her up, her tiny yelp of protest hushed by my mouth as I drink her in: breath and all.
We never make it to the bed. The couch will have to do -- at least for the first couple of minutes because I’m reeling with want and a little too much booze and the image of her dancing in the middle of that floor while Clive elbowed me in the ribs, telling me Man, look at her. Unbelievably hot.
I know Clive, I know. I wanted to say. That’s my girl, my baby. Mine. God, Jace is gonna kick my ass good.
She’s soft and she frowns, swatting my hands away saying ticklish though I know that the flush on her cheeks isn’t just from the amount of kissing we’ve done.
Why? I ask, one palm kneading the flesh of her stomach while I shift over, making sure that I don’t squish her good against the pillows. It’s cute. I nip at her throat, all lips and no teeth while she tells me that cute is not what she wants to be.
I laugh, murmur something about how cute can also be sexy and shift to let her wrap her legs around me, her jeans now forgotten either under the coffee table or the couch. I knead her calves and then skim fingers on the inside of her thigh and feel her tremble, head falling back and chest coming up to press against me as if to say, Ben, come here.
I shed my shirt, and feel gooseflesh rise along my arms, the air conditioning colder now that we’re generating enough heat between us. I hear her laugh again when the sleeve of her top, tight little thing that it is, clings to her arm and I kiss her quiet, my tongue finding hers as I watch, eyes unblinking, level and calm. She watches right back for awhile, before I inhale a little, stealing her breath and those eyes flutter to a close, her hand almost feeble against my chest.
Baby, baby, I tell her, cupping her breast, Love you. Love you so much. And I do. I really do love her. Which is why I’m so careful, which is why this is all her and less of me, at least tonight because there’s never been anyone before me and there are a lot of expectations to meet -- all of them, my own.
She gives without question.
Maybe it’s because we’ve known each other all our lives, as much family as everyone else in the team. Maybe it’s because I’ve seen her at every stage: every tantrum, every prank, all the important landmarks. Maybe it’s because I never want it to be anyone else. No guys from college who’ll take her down to Florida for Spring Break (not that that’d ever happen with Jace around), no other boyfriends and breakups. No me taking out frustration at the gym, Cody holding the punching bag in place, while Sean is telling me Ben, Ben, dude, c’mon man, chill. It’s a punching bag -- not shishkabob.
Ben, she arches like a bow, taut as I stroke the space between her legs, the slick and wet making me heady in the head. I bury my face in her shoulder, my mouth pressing clumsy kisses against the side of her neck, my own hips rocking of their own volition against her hip. I’ll have scratches tomorrow, right along the underside of my shoulder blades and I figure she might need to retouch the French tip manicure she got just that morning.
She peaks and clings to me like she can’t breathe, her cry muffled against my chest as my shoulders hunch to draw her in. I hold her close while I ignore the cramp in my hand and murmur all the promises I’ve ever made all over again.
She’s soft as wax when I pick her up, clothes forgotten all over the couch, heading straight for the bed right behind it. I figure I’d let her rest awhile, but her mouth is on mine, hot and needy and the other contingency plans fly out the window like yesterday’s pigeons in Central Park.
I want to say her name until it’s the only thing left that matters, try not to be such a guy and more her guy, but I can’t help but think Jesus, she’s so tight.
I think I hear her ask Want me? and I show instead of tell always, always, honey the last few months -- hell, last two years crammed in what little time this is. Years and months of me watching and holding back because she had always been too young for things like this, feeling guilty in the middle of the night, jerking wide awake from a dream where she’s arching over and under.
I take her with me, one hand sliding between us whenever it seems she’s not right there alongside me, until I cling so tight before we go over the edge, tumbling and holding on.
I hear her now, her mouth trailing a path of kisses from my neck, down to my shoulder and across my chest. X marks the spot over my heart, where my love for her is the buried treasure that everyone else can see but can’t ever have.
“Hey,” I say, my fingers trembling over her cheek. And she smiles, coming close with that look of mischief in her eyes. “Wanna try the shower?”
Come On In (Baby It's Cold Outside).
Characters: Ben (TransHuman Bumblebee) x Sarah (TransHuman SteepleChase)
Rating: R/NC-17
Notes: I caught ChibiJaime aubby online sometime during the first few hours of New Year's Day. Was high from watching fireworks and itching to spread the happy, ontop of mulling over ideas for her little request for Sarah!fic of the mature variety. Figured I'd give it a shot, since her Sarah with TransHuman Bee a.k.a. Ben is an OTP I love just as much as my Caty and her childhood friend's Camaro turned hyoooman in TM.
This is gift fic, because in what little time I've known Chibi, I have already gleaned that she is awesome and win and amaaaaaaazingly sweet.
1,326 words. Set on New Year's Eve and the hours thereafter. Ben/Bee, first-person POV. Both kids are legal btw, in case any of you think different.
It’s midnight when she strikes, slipping her hand into mine to drag me away amidst the cheering and confetti. I figure everyone’s too drunk to care or too preoccupied to notice the two of us sneaking off from the main function room that Dad rented out for the evening. Either way, I’m thankful that nobody sees. Because really, I’ve been waiting for this.
We reach the hall and duck in a corner, her fingers fisting on the cloth of the jacket I pulled on when I realized that it was going to be cold never mind that we’d be indoors. She tastes like the Tiramisu we’d been served, feels so small when I press myself against her, pushing her up against the wall. “Happy New Year,” she sighs into my mouth and I swear I go over.
We make our exit as a group -- me, Sarah, Clive, Sean and Cody. The adults shaking their heads going kids’ like it’s nothing at all. I don’t sweat so much when Jace calls me over, only to give instructions that Sarah is to be home by 3am the latest, no extensions, no excuses. She and I have been together for awhile and he trusts me a little bit more now than he did before. It’s the look in Sabela’s eye that warns me. This is Sarah after all, and now she’s legal and school’s out for the new few weeks.
A taxi ride and several drinks into clubbing at a schoolmate’s father’s hotel, we stumble into an elevator, her mouth in my ear as I lift a hand to press my fist to the floor where she’s promised us a room.
I’ll be dead in the morning, I figure that much, nail bat embedded into my skull, but at the moment I don’t really care for much except holding her close, skimming my lips over the skin of her bare shoulder and spanning her waist with my hands.
She smells like cotton, or powder -- hell if I know which it is, it’s Sarah.
We can’t get the key into the door in the first couple of tries, but when we do, it’s in, shut and up against another wall; her first and then me, smaller hands slipping under my shirt to trace cold-tipped fingers over warm flesh.
I hiss, because God, it’s a guilty fantasy coming to life, the way she’s so attentive, so focused, while my head clouds over and I lift her up, her tiny yelp of protest hushed by my mouth as I drink her in: breath and all.
We never make it to the bed. The couch will have to do -- at least for the first couple of minutes because I’m reeling with want and a little too much booze and the image of her dancing in the middle of that floor while Clive elbowed me in the ribs, telling me Man, look at her. Unbelievably hot.
I know Clive, I know. I wanted to say. That’s my girl, my baby. Mine. God, Jace is gonna kick my ass good.
She’s soft and she frowns, swatting my hands away saying ticklish though I know that the flush on her cheeks isn’t just from the amount of kissing we’ve done.
Why? I ask, one palm kneading the flesh of her stomach while I shift over, making sure that I don’t squish her good against the pillows. It’s cute. I nip at her throat, all lips and no teeth while she tells me that cute is not what she wants to be.
I laugh, murmur something about how cute can also be sexy and shift to let her wrap her legs around me, her jeans now forgotten either under the coffee table or the couch. I knead her calves and then skim fingers on the inside of her thigh and feel her tremble, head falling back and chest coming up to press against me as if to say, Ben, come here.
I shed my shirt, and feel gooseflesh rise along my arms, the air conditioning colder now that we’re generating enough heat between us. I hear her laugh again when the sleeve of her top, tight little thing that it is, clings to her arm and I kiss her quiet, my tongue finding hers as I watch, eyes unblinking, level and calm. She watches right back for awhile, before I inhale a little, stealing her breath and those eyes flutter to a close, her hand almost feeble against my chest.
Baby, baby, I tell her, cupping her breast, Love you. Love you so much. And I do. I really do love her. Which is why I’m so careful, which is why this is all her and less of me, at least tonight because there’s never been anyone before me and there are a lot of expectations to meet -- all of them, my own.
She gives without question.
Maybe it’s because we’ve known each other all our lives, as much family as everyone else in the team. Maybe it’s because I’ve seen her at every stage: every tantrum, every prank, all the important landmarks. Maybe it’s because I never want it to be anyone else. No guys from college who’ll take her down to Florida for Spring Break (not that that’d ever happen with Jace around), no other boyfriends and breakups. No me taking out frustration at the gym, Cody holding the punching bag in place, while Sean is telling me Ben, Ben, dude, c’mon man, chill. It’s a punching bag -- not shishkabob.
Ben, she arches like a bow, taut as I stroke the space between her legs, the slick and wet making me heady in the head. I bury my face in her shoulder, my mouth pressing clumsy kisses against the side of her neck, my own hips rocking of their own volition against her hip. I’ll have scratches tomorrow, right along the underside of my shoulder blades and I figure she might need to retouch the French tip manicure she got just that morning.
She peaks and clings to me like she can’t breathe, her cry muffled against my chest as my shoulders hunch to draw her in. I hold her close while I ignore the cramp in my hand and murmur all the promises I’ve ever made all over again.
She’s soft as wax when I pick her up, clothes forgotten all over the couch, heading straight for the bed right behind it. I figure I’d let her rest awhile, but her mouth is on mine, hot and needy and the other contingency plans fly out the window like yesterday’s pigeons in Central Park.
I want to say her name until it’s the only thing left that matters, try not to be such a guy and more her guy, but I can’t help but think Jesus, she’s so tight.
I think I hear her ask Want me? and I show instead of tell always, always, honey the last few months -- hell, last two years crammed in what little time this is. Years and months of me watching and holding back because she had always been too young for things like this, feeling guilty in the middle of the night, jerking wide awake from a dream where she’s arching over and under.
I take her with me, one hand sliding between us whenever it seems she’s not right there alongside me, until I cling so tight before we go over the edge, tumbling and holding on.
I hear her now, her mouth trailing a path of kisses from my neck, down to my shoulder and across my chest. X marks the spot over my heart, where my love for her is the buried treasure that everyone else can see but can’t ever have.
“Hey,” I say, my fingers trembling over her cheek. And she smiles, coming close with that look of mischief in her eyes. “Wanna try the shower?”