(no subject)
I wrote something. Yah me!
This was originally intended for the Anon Halloween Challenge at the The LFN Fan Fic Board but as soon as I finished, I knew there was no way that everyone and their dog wouldn't guess that this was my writing. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not, lol!
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Title: Sugar
Pairing: Michael/Nikita
Rating: SS for Slightly Saucy
Summary: He's never been able to understand her love of refined sugar.
~*~
He finds her in the kitchen, pouring the contents of a large bag of candy into a bowl. Just looking at the end result makes his teeth ache. He's never been able to understand her love of refined sugar.
"I hope that's not dinner."
She snorts quietly. "Serve you right if it was."
An echo of last night's discussion regarding cooking responsibilities lurks beneath her words, but he lets it go. Walking into the kitchen, he studies the pile of brightly colored plastic packets carefully. They hadn't been in the house when he'd left for Section that morning. "When did you buy these?"
"I went to the store after lunch." She looks at him with guileless blue eyes, then pops a square marshmallow-like thing into her mouth.
He quells the urge to narrow his gaze. Going to the local store was a perfectly reasonable thing for her to do - it fit in with her profile and gave her the opportunity to familiarize herself further with the area. Unless, of course, they'd both been ordered to keep to their current schedule until otherwise instructed. Which, of course, they had been, not more than twelve hours ago.
"I checked in with Birkoff before I left and I was only gone for fifteen minutes," she adds coolly, slanting a quick glance in his direction, and he hears what she's left unsaid as clearly as if she'd uttered it. You get to go to your pretend job at your pretend office all day - if you think I'm going to sit in this house for the next two days and do nothing, think again.
The familiarity of such a domestic exchange in the midst of a cold Op in middle America disconcerts him, reviving the uneasiness he's felt from the moment they took up their positions in this suburban stronghold. It should have been easier this time, he thinks. Section is only monitoring them by audio - there is no Armel watching their every move. Elena and Adam are no longer a secret he needs to keep, and his whereabouts no longer need to be explained to an anxious wife and child.
It should be easier. It's not.
"I didn't have time to decorate the front porch," she says now, breaking into his reverie.
"Does that matter?"
Her hands busily ripping open a huge packet of bright red lollipops, she tosses him a glance over her shoulder. "Have you seen the other houses, Michael?"
He has. Commercially overwrought nightmares, every one of them. "Yes. What's your point?"
"We stick out like a sore thumb."
"We're not here to play house," he says flatly, and he wonders if he's reminding her or himself.
She brushes off his terseness with a shrug. "You just don't get Halloween, do you?" Shaking her head, she unwraps a lollipop with nimble fingers, then lifts it to her lips. "We're supposed to be blending in," she says thickly around a mouthful of candy, her eyes fluttering shut in apparent gourmand delight. "The house isn't decorated," she continues, "Can you imagine the uproar if we didn't have anything to give out to visitors either?"
He wants to remonstrate with her, but the simple act of eating a lollipop is proving far more distracting than he ever would have thought possible. He averts his gaze, wishing he could subjugate his desire for her as easily, and runs his hand through the closest bowl of gaudily wrapped candies. "So you're plying the neighborhood children with sugar and fat in order to strengthen our cover?"
"That's right." She bumps his shoulder with hers as she crosses the kitchen floor, shaking her head once more. "Here, I bought something for you when I was out," she announces, retrieving something from yet another shopping bag on the floor. "But I'm not sure you deserve it now."
It's a small slab of Belgian dark chocolate, the only kind he enjoys, the only kind she doesn't like. She presses the chocolate bar into his hand, then watches him, waiting for his reaction. Grinning at him as though this was normal for them, as though this teasing banter is something they could do every day. As though tomorrow doesn't hold the promise of death and blood. This isn't real, he tells himself, but he can't bring himself to say the words to her. She knows it as well as he does. Perhaps better.
She leans back against the kitchen bench, lollipop still tucked into the corner of her mouth, her eyes glowing with too many emotions for him to catalogue. "So, Michael..." One of her bare feet is pressed against the side of his boot, her knee almost touching his. "Trick or treat?"
No, it's not easier this time, but that doesn't matter. Not now. Carefully placing the chocolate on the bench, he nudges his knee against hers, then presses closer, his thigh moving against hers in a long, slow slide that makes his body sing with hunger. "Both."
Her lips twitch. "That's against the rules."
He allows himself a few seconds to study her, knowing that they're no longer discussing the merits of chocolate versus pranks, then pulls the lollipop from her mouth. The candy drops unheeded to the wooden floor as the hitch of her breath mingles with his own, his mouth hard and hot on hers. She tastes of sugar and heat and sex, her skin flushing beneath his seeking touch, her heartbeat fluttering in his palm when he cups her breast. He waits until she arches against him, her hips pressing against his in wordless supplication, then puts his lips to her ear. "Some rules deserve to be broken."
~*~
This was originally intended for the Anon Halloween Challenge at the The LFN Fan Fic Board but as soon as I finished, I knew there was no way that everyone and their dog wouldn't guess that this was my writing. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not, lol!
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Title: Sugar
Pairing: Michael/Nikita
Rating: SS for Slightly Saucy
Summary: He's never been able to understand her love of refined sugar.
~*~
He finds her in the kitchen, pouring the contents of a large bag of candy into a bowl. Just looking at the end result makes his teeth ache. He's never been able to understand her love of refined sugar.
"I hope that's not dinner."
She snorts quietly. "Serve you right if it was."
An echo of last night's discussion regarding cooking responsibilities lurks beneath her words, but he lets it go. Walking into the kitchen, he studies the pile of brightly colored plastic packets carefully. They hadn't been in the house when he'd left for Section that morning. "When did you buy these?"
"I went to the store after lunch." She looks at him with guileless blue eyes, then pops a square marshmallow-like thing into her mouth.
He quells the urge to narrow his gaze. Going to the local store was a perfectly reasonable thing for her to do - it fit in with her profile and gave her the opportunity to familiarize herself further with the area. Unless, of course, they'd both been ordered to keep to their current schedule until otherwise instructed. Which, of course, they had been, not more than twelve hours ago.
"I checked in with Birkoff before I left and I was only gone for fifteen minutes," she adds coolly, slanting a quick glance in his direction, and he hears what she's left unsaid as clearly as if she'd uttered it. You get to go to your pretend job at your pretend office all day - if you think I'm going to sit in this house for the next two days and do nothing, think again.
The familiarity of such a domestic exchange in the midst of a cold Op in middle America disconcerts him, reviving the uneasiness he's felt from the moment they took up their positions in this suburban stronghold. It should have been easier this time, he thinks. Section is only monitoring them by audio - there is no Armel watching their every move. Elena and Adam are no longer a secret he needs to keep, and his whereabouts no longer need to be explained to an anxious wife and child.
It should be easier. It's not.
"I didn't have time to decorate the front porch," she says now, breaking into his reverie.
"Does that matter?"
Her hands busily ripping open a huge packet of bright red lollipops, she tosses him a glance over her shoulder. "Have you seen the other houses, Michael?"
He has. Commercially overwrought nightmares, every one of them. "Yes. What's your point?"
"We stick out like a sore thumb."
"We're not here to play house," he says flatly, and he wonders if he's reminding her or himself.
She brushes off his terseness with a shrug. "You just don't get Halloween, do you?" Shaking her head, she unwraps a lollipop with nimble fingers, then lifts it to her lips. "We're supposed to be blending in," she says thickly around a mouthful of candy, her eyes fluttering shut in apparent gourmand delight. "The house isn't decorated," she continues, "Can you imagine the uproar if we didn't have anything to give out to visitors either?"
He wants to remonstrate with her, but the simple act of eating a lollipop is proving far more distracting than he ever would have thought possible. He averts his gaze, wishing he could subjugate his desire for her as easily, and runs his hand through the closest bowl of gaudily wrapped candies. "So you're plying the neighborhood children with sugar and fat in order to strengthen our cover?"
"That's right." She bumps his shoulder with hers as she crosses the kitchen floor, shaking her head once more. "Here, I bought something for you when I was out," she announces, retrieving something from yet another shopping bag on the floor. "But I'm not sure you deserve it now."
It's a small slab of Belgian dark chocolate, the only kind he enjoys, the only kind she doesn't like. She presses the chocolate bar into his hand, then watches him, waiting for his reaction. Grinning at him as though this was normal for them, as though this teasing banter is something they could do every day. As though tomorrow doesn't hold the promise of death and blood. This isn't real, he tells himself, but he can't bring himself to say the words to her. She knows it as well as he does. Perhaps better.
She leans back against the kitchen bench, lollipop still tucked into the corner of her mouth, her eyes glowing with too many emotions for him to catalogue. "So, Michael..." One of her bare feet is pressed against the side of his boot, her knee almost touching his. "Trick or treat?"
No, it's not easier this time, but that doesn't matter. Not now. Carefully placing the chocolate on the bench, he nudges his knee against hers, then presses closer, his thigh moving against hers in a long, slow slide that makes his body sing with hunger. "Both."
Her lips twitch. "That's against the rules."
He allows himself a few seconds to study her, knowing that they're no longer discussing the merits of chocolate versus pranks, then pulls the lollipop from her mouth. The candy drops unheeded to the wooden floor as the hitch of her breath mingles with his own, his mouth hard and hot on hers. She tastes of sugar and heat and sex, her skin flushing beneath his seeking touch, her heartbeat fluttering in his palm when he cups her breast. He waits until she arches against him, her hips pressing against his in wordless supplication, then puts his lips to her ear. "Some rules deserve to be broken."
~*~