The OC: Not One of Those Couples (Seth/Summer)
slodwick organized A Picture is Worth 1000 Words challenge (picfor1000). I was assigned this picture:
Title: Not One of Those Couples
Author: voleuse
Fandom: The OC
Ship: Seth/Summer
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: A romance in four parts. Kind of.
Notes: Set after 1.19
i. it feels like four
Summer tosses the key onto the table in front of Cohen, narrowly missing his fries and just barely grazing the latest Batman, but that doesn't stop him from grabbing the comic book up and clutching it to his chest like he was saving a puppy or something. Summer rolls her eyes and waits for him to recover from the non-trauma.
After he's inspected the pages of the comic book, he picks up the key and examines it. It's small, kind of dingy-looking, and labeled "372." He looks at it, then up to Summer, then back to the key again.
"It's a key," she explains, because it looks like it's taking some time for the obvious to sink in.
"Yes," Cohen replies slowly. "Why is there a key?"
"For our motel room, dumbass." Summer rolls her eyes again, to save time later, and drops her purse onto the table before sitting down. "It's the step-monster's birthday tonight, and I don't want to be in the house when there's any romancing going on with her and my dad. Ew."
Cohen smirks. "Couldn't go a day without a little bit of this, huh, Summer?" He smoothes a hand over his chest and down, and Summer's tempted to take the key back and walk away, but she has a flashback to the way that hand smoothes over her, and suddenly her mouth is very, very dry.
"Just be there at six, okay?" she manages to snap. "If I have to see her getting wasted on cheap champagne, I might have to barf."
"No barfy Summer," he nods. "Gotcha."
ii. behind closed doors
She arrives at 5:47, and he's already there, slouched on the bed and clicking through the channels idly.
"You'd better not be watching any pay-per-view," she warns, kicking off her sandals. "My dad pays my credit card bills, and I refuse to explain soft-core on the bill."
Cohen grins slowly. "How'd you pay for the room?"
"Cash, duh." She padlocks the door. "But I had to give them a credit card number to make the reservation."
She starts to untie her halter top, but he hops up to stop her, rubbing her shoulders lightly before tugging at the knots. He grins slowly, and Summer's knees kind of wobble, and threaten to give out when his fingers stray into her hair.
He bends to kiss her--it's only at these times when she realizes how much taller he is--and starts to fumble with the buttons of her jeans.
"So," he mumbles against her skin, "how much time do I have?"
"I told them I'm staying at Coop's tonight."
"Excellent." Cohen pulls back, lets her yank his shirt over his head. "More time to work my magic."
"Yeah." Summer laughs. "Right. It's not like you need more than--"
Cohen cuts her off with a kiss.
iii. underneath the sheets he's like the anti-Cohen
She's not sure where Cohen learned to do this, whether it was from Chino or some website for pervs with no social skills, but as she clutches at his hair, her thighs hooked over his shoulders, she doesn't give a damn as long as he doesn't stop.
His jaw gets enough exercise with all that talking, anyway, so why shouldn't she have him put it to better use?
When he slides a finger, then two, inside of her, Summer lets out a low, loud moan, and lets go of his scalp to clutch at the sheets, run her hands over her breasts.
Then he stops.
Summer expresses her displeasure with a kick to his ribs and a few choice words.
Cohen grimaces, rubs at his side, then kneels between her thighs, wrapping his palms around her hips, raising them and pushing, sliding, thrusting into her until she's gasping, bowing her body.
He doesn't move for a minute, braces his elbows against the bed and just breathes, deeply, until Summer growls and cants her hips up, pay attention.
They grind together, quick, or maybe too slow. Summer digs her heels into the mattress, drags her nails against his skin, and he presses his lips against her neck, just so, and she twists, bucks, comes, shrieking quietly.
Cohen rests his head against her shoulder, and maybe she hears him moan, thank god, but her ears are ringing, so she isn't sure, and then there's a warm rush of wet against her, and he falls limp onto her.
"Cohen?"
"Mmm?" He nuzzles her neck.
"Get off my hair."
He rolls to the side with a sigh. "Right."
iv. we have less than nothing in common
Cosmopolitan was right, Summer thinks. Guys do fall asleep right after.
She doesn't mind so much, though, because her skin is still buzzing pleasantly, and Cohen's kind of cute when he's half-asleep.
She eases out from under his arm, slips into the bathroom to clean up and brush her teeth. She contemplates brushing her hair, but decides not to worry about it for now.
Cohen's still dozing on the bed, so she grabs her robe from her overnight bag, turning the TV on as she wraps it around her.
The Valley isn't on, but she finds a rerun of The Daily Show and tosses the remote onto the end table before slipping under the covers again. She doesn't know, exactly, what they're talking about, not because she doesn't pay attention to the news, but because she didn't watch the news this morning, what with the motel reservation and the third period chemistry quiz. She gets the gist, though, and besides, Jon Stewart is hot. Not that she'd mention that to Cohen, because he's kind of insecure.
Beside her, Cohen kind of mutters something, so she pokes his shoulder to see if he's awake.
Nothing.
Summer sighs, looks at the clock. Sets the alarm for quarter to eleven, because she never gets to watch TV with Cohen, and she thinks it's amusing when he attempts to explain current events to her, especially since she watches CNN more than he does, anyway.
When the program's over, she turns off the TV, ducks under Cohen's arm again, and falls asleep.
###
A/N: Title and headings adapted from Summer's dialogue in 1.20, "The Telenovela."
Originally linked here and here. Linked on theoc_fiction.
Title: Not One of Those Couples
Author: voleuse
Fandom: The OC
Ship: Seth/Summer
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: A romance in four parts. Kind of.
Notes: Set after 1.19
i. it feels like four
Summer tosses the key onto the table in front of Cohen, narrowly missing his fries and just barely grazing the latest Batman, but that doesn't stop him from grabbing the comic book up and clutching it to his chest like he was saving a puppy or something. Summer rolls her eyes and waits for him to recover from the non-trauma.
After he's inspected the pages of the comic book, he picks up the key and examines it. It's small, kind of dingy-looking, and labeled "372." He looks at it, then up to Summer, then back to the key again.
"It's a key," she explains, because it looks like it's taking some time for the obvious to sink in.
"Yes," Cohen replies slowly. "Why is there a key?"
"For our motel room, dumbass." Summer rolls her eyes again, to save time later, and drops her purse onto the table before sitting down. "It's the step-monster's birthday tonight, and I don't want to be in the house when there's any romancing going on with her and my dad. Ew."
Cohen smirks. "Couldn't go a day without a little bit of this, huh, Summer?" He smoothes a hand over his chest and down, and Summer's tempted to take the key back and walk away, but she has a flashback to the way that hand smoothes over her, and suddenly her mouth is very, very dry.
"Just be there at six, okay?" she manages to snap. "If I have to see her getting wasted on cheap champagne, I might have to barf."
"No barfy Summer," he nods. "Gotcha."
ii. behind closed doors
She arrives at 5:47, and he's already there, slouched on the bed and clicking through the channels idly.
"You'd better not be watching any pay-per-view," she warns, kicking off her sandals. "My dad pays my credit card bills, and I refuse to explain soft-core on the bill."
Cohen grins slowly. "How'd you pay for the room?"
"Cash, duh." She padlocks the door. "But I had to give them a credit card number to make the reservation."
She starts to untie her halter top, but he hops up to stop her, rubbing her shoulders lightly before tugging at the knots. He grins slowly, and Summer's knees kind of wobble, and threaten to give out when his fingers stray into her hair.
He bends to kiss her--it's only at these times when she realizes how much taller he is--and starts to fumble with the buttons of her jeans.
"So," he mumbles against her skin, "how much time do I have?"
"I told them I'm staying at Coop's tonight."
"Excellent." Cohen pulls back, lets her yank his shirt over his head. "More time to work my magic."
"Yeah." Summer laughs. "Right. It's not like you need more than--"
Cohen cuts her off with a kiss.
iii. underneath the sheets he's like the anti-Cohen
She's not sure where Cohen learned to do this, whether it was from Chino or some website for pervs with no social skills, but as she clutches at his hair, her thighs hooked over his shoulders, she doesn't give a damn as long as he doesn't stop.
His jaw gets enough exercise with all that talking, anyway, so why shouldn't she have him put it to better use?
When he slides a finger, then two, inside of her, Summer lets out a low, loud moan, and lets go of his scalp to clutch at the sheets, run her hands over her breasts.
Then he stops.
Summer expresses her displeasure with a kick to his ribs and a few choice words.
Cohen grimaces, rubs at his side, then kneels between her thighs, wrapping his palms around her hips, raising them and pushing, sliding, thrusting into her until she's gasping, bowing her body.
He doesn't move for a minute, braces his elbows against the bed and just breathes, deeply, until Summer growls and cants her hips up, pay attention.
They grind together, quick, or maybe too slow. Summer digs her heels into the mattress, drags her nails against his skin, and he presses his lips against her neck, just so, and she twists, bucks, comes, shrieking quietly.
Cohen rests his head against her shoulder, and maybe she hears him moan, thank god, but her ears are ringing, so she isn't sure, and then there's a warm rush of wet against her, and he falls limp onto her.
"Cohen?"
"Mmm?" He nuzzles her neck.
"Get off my hair."
He rolls to the side with a sigh. "Right."
iv. we have less than nothing in common
Cosmopolitan was right, Summer thinks. Guys do fall asleep right after.
She doesn't mind so much, though, because her skin is still buzzing pleasantly, and Cohen's kind of cute when he's half-asleep.
She eases out from under his arm, slips into the bathroom to clean up and brush her teeth. She contemplates brushing her hair, but decides not to worry about it for now.
Cohen's still dozing on the bed, so she grabs her robe from her overnight bag, turning the TV on as she wraps it around her.
The Valley isn't on, but she finds a rerun of The Daily Show and tosses the remote onto the end table before slipping under the covers again. She doesn't know, exactly, what they're talking about, not because she doesn't pay attention to the news, but because she didn't watch the news this morning, what with the motel reservation and the third period chemistry quiz. She gets the gist, though, and besides, Jon Stewart is hot. Not that she'd mention that to Cohen, because he's kind of insecure.
Beside her, Cohen kind of mutters something, so she pokes his shoulder to see if he's awake.
Nothing.
Summer sighs, looks at the clock. Sets the alarm for quarter to eleven, because she never gets to watch TV with Cohen, and she thinks it's amusing when he attempts to explain current events to her, especially since she watches CNN more than he does, anyway.
When the program's over, she turns off the TV, ducks under Cohen's arm again, and falls asleep.
###
A/N: Title and headings adapted from Summer's dialogue in 1.20, "The Telenovela."
Originally linked here and here. Linked on theoc_fiction.